#this goes out to the tiddy lovers out there

[taegularities]

candles & flames: steam | jjk (m)

chapter III: steam

Summary: As you travel to unveil secrets, you slowly, surely, find your way back to Jungkook. The final act starts now.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: enemies to lovers, royal!au; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: talks about hook-ups, arguing and fighting, tears, a very bad uncle, (mention of past) minor character death, jk is hurting, tension, misunderstandings, anger, a slap..., revelations; explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, grinding, brief cockwarming, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, teasing, dirty talk, tiddie sucking, he just loves her tatas, slow and rough sex, bits of sub!jk :D and then dom!jk, big dick jk, he comes on her tummyyy, some giggly sex, feelings !!, jk is very vocal, begging, praises, super brief pain kink (?), multiple orgasms. lmk if i forgot something :’) ➳ wc: 34.3k what the actual fck ➳ a/n: here goes the last one. thank you so much for all the love and support, guys. i adore you so much 👑🤍  ➳ a/n2: this is part 3 to my mini-series candles & flames !! find the mpost below<3

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

How long have you been sitting on the cushioned seat and forcing your drooping eyelids to remain open now?

Hours must have passed, because the sun you squinted into only a while ago has set now. The red, orange and yellow hues of dusk are giving way to nearly pitch darkness; it’s time to find an inn for the night soon.

Perhaps you should forward the suggestion to the rider.

Preferably before you fall asleep on your rather uncomfortable spot; or at least before the unease deriving from the hours you’ve travelled drives you insane. Either way, you need to lay down — catching yourself from falling sideways has become exhausting.

In hindsight, it’s surreal that you’re here at all, watching the moon ascend so far from home.

If your parents knew about your true whereabouts, they’d probably lock you in your room. Guard you from yourself, unlike you, who dove head-first into… whatever this is.

But you were lucky; only half-expected their calm response. Of course you didn’t think they’d buy your lie when you crafted it so carefully. Or perhaps, they were focused enough on your joy with the former beloved Duke’s son to not mingle.

Either way… You’re certainly not visiting the countryside with Jungkook, and he’s surely not showing you the fields and sunsets at a stranger place. A mansion you’d move into if you ever got married.

It’s usually not quite appropriate for a lady to travel alone with a man she’s not even engaged to; in your time, pretty much unheard of. But somehow, they trust you to not ruin your own future. They trust in true love, in your relationship.

Funny, because they have a lot more faith in you than you do yourself.

Which is why you feel worse about lying. Your words are what your parents know to be true. And what you know to be fabricated.

Especially because you’ve been dodging thoughts about your blurry future; Jeon Jungkook is an uncertainty like nothing else.

But considering what occurred at the cemetery, and how intense your desire to seek the truth is, you truly did not have any other choice.

Fear had shook his body, and the tremble had yet to subside.

Your nerve-wracking request was still sinking in when his already big eyes spread a little more. He looked younger like this — confused, scared, inhabiting a million thoughts he couldn’t articulate.

As you saw his armour cracking, you wanted to drop yours, too. His spiralling mind demanded arms around his body; some solace to alleviate the pain he’d been carrying with him for so long now.

On the cold bench you sat, you scooted closer. You hoped that the warmth you emanated reached him, in case the heat of the summer didn’t. Something in the vast black of his eyes changed, though it wasn’t enough.

So you tried again, as carefully and kindly as you could, “Can you tell me about her? His daughter?”

He started mumbling something then, and silenced soon again. You think you remember his focus fizzling; his eyes unfocused. The panic the situation triggered calmed down a fraction; and when his tired eyelids seemed to droop again, you thought you were losing his attention.

But then, he licked his lip. Let his shoulders fall and said, “Her name is Suhana. And she’s an illegitimate child.”

Your heart dropped the moment that very first fact did.

For some unfathomable reason, something deep in your soul had already figured as much — if she wasn’t a reminder of something that society deems a sin, she’d be here, right?

Of course she was his illegitimate child. Somewhere far away, a decade-old secret, treasured carefully.

You nodded, a hand on his, pressing down a little to reassure him.

Observing him closely, he looked like he didn’t quite understand how to confide in people. He was struggling for words. Searching for trust. Hesitating to spill his knowledge, thinking about each word he said.

You whispered, “I’m listening, Kook. Only I am listening.”

As if on cue, his gaze wandered through the room. As if to check whether you were telling the truth.

And when he’d made sure of it, some of the child-like fear diminished.

He blinked rapidly, full lower lip jutting out, before his gentle voice stuttered, “She— no one knows about this but my mother, brother and me. Not even his sons…”

You weren’t certain how smart it was to voice what you knew, but you figured that you needed to destroy all the walls you’d built against him, if you wanted him to do the same.

“And my father, it seems,” is what you answered then.

Which, as much expected, surprised him.

“What?”

“Your uncle is his client,” you explained. “My father and a handful of people at the bank know about this, because he needs them to know. Because of all the money he sends forth.”

Jungkook’s wonder fell; it made sense to him now.

He agreed before he continued, “Right. He sends that money. We have warned him before that the amount is too large. That the town and our family needs it, too. But he’s bull-headed.”

You kept nodding slowly. Understandingly. It kept him going.

“Her mere existence is a sin, in theory. But he’s always loved her. Not enough to travel and see her, but enough to send that very love from afar.”

It’s cruel how people are able to twist the definition like this.

In the matter of weeks, you had learned that affection isn’t a straight road, and that not every relationship leads to the same goal. Sometimes, paths diverge: some end in what you’ve always imagined about love; others are far darker.

Jungkook had turned love into something hopeful for you before he’d painted it black; and now that you were here, feeling the same sparks of hope again, its colour was slowly returning again.

But his uncle? He wouldn’t be able to conceptualise that emotion. Not when those gestures of his were what he imagined to be valid in love.

You asked, “Where does she live?”

A curious mind is hard to tame.

Since the desire to solve this riddle had unleashed in you, your brain kept forming ideas. And right now, you could see one materialising so clearly.

He, however, couldn’t just yet.

Because obliviously, still sporting sweet eyes and a defeated expression, he answered, “Somewhere a little bit far from here. It takes a while. I think to remember she lives with her mother Jiyoo… However, I have never seen her before.”

You nodded. “Seemingly, she does not receive the money at times.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “my uncle assumes it gets lost on the way. But how would that be possible?” He clicked his tongue in mock; a hint of a lopsided smirk floated over his lips. “Or that Jiyoo never sends a letter back, so he may send more. He’s not very fond of her, but Suhana is close to his heart.”

You formulated a possibly stupid question; you could already foresee what he might answer, but you guessed it couldn’t hurt to make sure. You needed to collect as much information as you could.

“You’ve never written to her, either?” you asked.

He clicked his tongue. “No.”

“Did she? Write to you?”

“Never,” he said. Another dead end. So that was all he knew about her; she was a true stranger to him. Which he confirmed, “I doubt she knows of my existence at all.”

She probably didn’t. After all, the Duke didn’t have a logical reason to introduce someone who wasn’t supposed to exist to a nephew he couldn’t stand.

A pity. Who knows where Jungkook could’ve been today if he’d had proper company to grow up with?

But the mystery that she is, the money she receives, and the fact that she never got curious enough to reach out… to travel out. Perhaps it was just you — but the situation felt odd to you.

You pulled your hand back, lifting all ten fingers to your face. If your mother had seen you rubbing your flawless face like that, she would’ve scolded the soul out of you. But the stress and the lack of knowledge were frustrating.

Fear was creeping into the crevices of your nervous heart.

Standing from your spot, you wrapped your arms around your torso. The sleeves of your dress were too thin; you were shivering, either from the chilly room or the tension.

Your eyes scanned the Latin letters and the tomb again, and when you turned back to Jungkook, dark, round eyes were staring up at you in question.

“I don’t know, Jungkook,” you murmured. “This entire letter exchange, the— the entire relationship are strange to me.” You squinted your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. “I mean. He never travels to see her? But accuses Jiyoo of such a thing?”

Jungkook already knew of the cruelty one man could trigger, and the realisation pricked your heart.

Because as you spoke, narrating a father’s tainted love, Jungkook didn’t even flinch.

Not a muscle of his face contorted, and you immediately knew that he’d gotten used to the pain.

Perhaps his uncle’s existence in his young life still gutted him, but he just couldn’t physically react to it anymore. You didn’t know… You wanted to know. But you also didn’t want to.

It hurt when he shrugged, pressing his lips together. The mole underneath gave him a pure, sweet look, and it made your shoulders drop when he, overthrown and sad, asked, “But what could we possibly do, right?”

Maybe you’d continue feeling as dejected as him if you hadn’t come with a plan, no matter how possibly stupid. You hadn’t known what you’d learn about her, but you’d already formed a suggestion in your head, and now was as good of a time to drop it as ever.

You started carefully.

“You said… you’ve never seen her.”

But Jungkook didn’t need care. He didn’t need caution; no need to wrap your words in riddles for him to understand. The talk about his uncle didn’t elicit a reaction, but your statement did.

He shook his head immediately, still staring up at you. His cheeks looked puffy all of a sudden; his entire being radiated innocence when he pouted and said, “…I wouldn’t—”

But you interrupted, “We could find out so much.”

“We can’t just go on a journey to find her. It’s too much of a risk.”

He kept shaking his head, and you kept sighing. You were on two different pages, but you both had in common that you were worried about the other.

You argued, “Not doing anything is a risk, too.”

Jungkook’s demeanour changed immediately. He leaned forwards just a little, ogling at you in utter worry. You thought he was getting frustrated with your stubborn urge to solve this mystery, but he didn’t show any of it.

He was still gentle when his tender, mild voice, dipped in sugar, begged, “Sweetheart…”

You ignored the drop of your heart; planted a hand to your tummy, right where you felt the rapid beat of it, instead of in your chest. An endearment comes straight from the soul when one’s in despair.

But it wasn’t allowed to distract you right now.

So you immediately argued, “Jungkook… You have drowned in pain for more than a decade because of him. Why do you not wish to be free?”

“Because,” he started. Gulped. Looked away from you and to his hands. “I’ve never known another way.”

Falling for him felt painful then.

In a way, you were overwhelmed — what if you couldn’t help him in the end? What if he refused to heal? Human beings are creatures of habit, after all. Maybe, you thought, he didn’t want to break out of his chains at all.

But he’d changed the way his mind was wired once. There was surely a flicker of hope in him that could grow into something bigger; you wanted him to find it. Wanted to see it in his eyes, too.

So you thought back to the moments he showcased change, and said, “When you despised me so much… Did you know any other way to feel towards me?”

His desperation grew. “I—”

“And it might turn out well,” you said, blinking quickly, “everything. For you, me… us. I don’t want to lose you, no matter in whichever way.”

He silenced. Started pondering.

His gaze flitted back up to you, and he looked at you in thought, internalising your words. You knew something was changing in him, but it wasn’t certain enough to voice agreement.

All he did was dive deeper into his emotions, proving why your suggestion wasn’t as idiotic as you priorly deemed it to be.

Confessed to you, “...Growing up, I always desired a relationship I could trust.”

Perhaps you were getting there. You knew what he needed to say; so you kept listening, nodded, kept your mouth shut even when he paused.

And then, “Taehyung and Seokjin were both my family and my friends. But they are his sons after all. What could I have told them?”

“She’s his daughter, too.”

It made a difference, though. Of course you knew. So did he.

“No,” is what accompanied another sure shake of his head. “I cannot imagine any bond between two people like them. They are so far away. So vastly different. If I was her, I would not consider myself someone with a father at all.”

The harsh truth of it made you flinch.

On one hand, because you had never thought of such a reality before. You, who’d grown up with a loving family all your life, basking in the trust and affection you shared with each other.

But on the other hand, as he froze and fixated his eyes somewhere away from you, you realised at the same time that he was just such a someone, too.

With unmoving pupils, he still whispered, “I assume we would understand each other then, wouldn’t we? Maybe I need someone like her in my life.”

You waited for a conclusion. Watched him grit his teeth, his jaw hard and firm. When nothing came, you tried, “So?”

And he didn’t answer — only let his gaze drift into the distance.

Further time must have passed.

Because when you open your eyes, owls and other nightlife sing outside. The darkness has fully fallen, and silver-white dots glimmer in the sky above.

If your neck didn’t hurt so much, you’d be able to appreciate the view more from where you sit. You don’t move your head just yet; only crack your eyes open. For now, you try to fathom the position you’ve somehow gotten yourself in.

Your stance could’ve been worse, if not for the comfort of a warm chest.

You slip out of your peaceful sleep when gentle fingers brush along your cheek. They feel like they’re trying to stir you awake; combing back thin strands of your hair when your body moves against his.

A quiet whisper fills the suffocating inside of the carriage, and you register only one of the sentences, “Are you alright?”

You press your cheek against his chest before you lift your head a little. You don’t move away; still nestled in his embrace. Feeling the arm he slung around you, a large hand on your arm. Rubbing it, soothing you.

“I am… fine, yes,” you answer, still groggy. Your eyelids are half-closed.

He doesn’t let you go yet. Maybe he’s craving your touch as much as you crave his pure affection.

You sigh, but it goes under when Jungkook says, “Good. We’re arriving shortly. You can properly rest soon.”

Glancing up carefully, your gaze meets his, hiding in the shadows. You can’t see much of him, but you feel his breath and his proximity so clearly.

You might be sleep-drunken, but none of your slumbers will ever be deep enough to keep him from lighting up your veins. Not with his body wrapped around yours. Holding you like a guardian, keeping you close to his heart as you wish him to.

Your voice is faint and feeble when you ask, “Arriving where?”

“Lodging,” he answers. His voice is so soft. “One of the locals here told us there is an accommodation nearby. We’ll stay there for the night, yes?”

“Yes…”

Brief silence descends between you, and you attempt to ignore how close his lips are to yours. If you leaned in just a little, an inch might remain between them.

Jungkook doesn’t let the quietude stretch as he looks straight ahead again, but his hold around you relaxes a bit. Some of his warmth falls, but in this chill summer night, your skin demands more of it.

“Were you dreaming?” he wants to know.

You scour your mind for a moment and come up blank. Dreams never linger for too long anyway; but you can’t conjure any pictures you might have seen. So you say, “I don’t remember a dream.”

“You seemed uneasy.”

Did you? Is that why he’s holding you?

You glance at him, but then look away immediately. You can’t muster the courage to stare at the fatigued sadness in his expressions just yet. It’s been here for a while now.

Do you look the same?

“I do not recall a dream,” you repeat, “but I dozed off thinking of a memory.”

“Yes? Which one?”

You think of the hot cheek you grazed. Of the dark glassy eyes, hopeless in the middle of the mausoleum. It happened merely two days ago; yet, it feels far away already.

If you could erase all the pain you saw and replace it with lifelong joy, you would.

In fact, that’s what this journey is for, right?

As the carriage rides over a bumpy road, you put a hand on his knee, though it does nothing to stabilise your balance. Close to him, your eyelashes lift, and tenderly, you tell him, “You…”

Jungkook tenses. Breathes out. You don’t know what you evoked in him, but his words are sober, although a little regretful, when he says, “I shall hope it wasn’t anything hurtful.”

His statement renders you speechless. He waits for your response; you feel his eyes fixated on you.

That is, until he realises you’re reluctant to answer and darts his head to the other side.

In the light of the street lamps outside, you see him blinking. He’s biting his lower lip; despite the pain he’s caused you, you don’t think he’s faring any better without your fondness.

As a hint of guilt pricks your heart, you lean slightly forwards, seeking his gaze as you ask, “Were you hurting, too?”

“Hm?”

He looks back at you; he’s heard the question, you know. Maybe he’s searching for an answer.

You explain, “When I rejected you. When you walked away, and realised what I knew. Were you hurting?”

You’re sure you know what he’ll say, but you want to hear it from him. Want to analyse his tone, pick out the sincerity in it.

Whether it’s still an act or not, though, when he speaks, he sounds as genuine as you want him to. His words feel heavy, tinged with ache when he admits, “I was.”

“Why?”

Perhaps another stupid question. Yet, another attempt to find out his true feelings, too.

“Because,” Jungkook begins. His voice is cautious, and his body unmoving. A familiar yearning fills the air when he sighs; dragging your heart to your stomach as he continues, “Something about you is hard to let go.”

Your heartbeat keeps you wide awake.

When did you start affecting him like this? Was it at the same time as when he infiltrated your mind?

You can’t remember the first time he looked at you as though he orbited you. Like you shone a light into the darkness his heart inhabits. At least that spark of affection must’ve been real.

Or so you hope.

“How did you cope with it then?” you ask.

Oddly, he doesn’t answer. His eyes fall to his lap, his feet suddenly shuffling. Restless. You don’t understand the motions, but they feel like a bad omen.

You continue, “I uhm— I read. Any book, really.”

The silence doesn’t go away, and you grow antsier by the second. Is it another one of his secrets? Why won’t he spill it? Is he ashamed of it?

A dozen questions accumulate. Your hand quavers, tempting you to reach out.

But.

When the volume of his voice drops to an eerily rueful whisper, you think you know what he’s suggesting.

“I am sorry,” he only says. “You deserve none of what I do to you.”

It must be what you’re thinking.

You ask, “Why?” Your thumbs circle around each other; your chest feels tight. “Was it…”

Was it a relapse? Him going back to whatever he used to know? Does he always cope like that?

“I—”

“Who was it?” you question.

You shouldn’t feel the way you do — you pushed him away. When he stood at your doorstep, begging for your attention, you sent him away.

But you were right. And your feelings were valid. If you could go back with the same knowledge you possessed back then, you’d make the exact same decision again.

Yet, it doesn’t hurt any less.

Perhaps he can assure you that you’re wrong. Widen his already big eyes and say that this isn’t what happened and that you misinterpreted his apology…

But of course, life isn’t a wish-granting genie.

You think you hear your heart crumble when he tells you, “Just… someone. She was a stranger.”

Does this make matters better or worse? He didn’t know her to remember her well after all. But he still found distraction in someone else — did you start out the same way to him?

The thought of intimacy; of two naked bodies colliding. Of the physical connection he shared with her, even though the night didn’t last forever… It hurts how breathless it leaves you.

“How did it feel?” you want to know. You cannot say why.

The question is risky. What could you possibly gain from it? More pain?

You regret it in the very next moment, ready to take it back and wave it off; but his mouth opens before yours does. And what comes out of it surprises you.

“It hurt.” There’s remorse in his voice. He looks like he wants to reach out; and he sounds sincere. “I was talking about you.”

The honesty baffles you. Maybe it shouldn’t; how else would he gain back your trust?

“Oh,” you voice.

“I apologise.”

You gulp. “Why would you apologise?”

“Because… it feels like I betrayed you.”

Did he? Logically, he didn’t.

Societal factors demand otherwise; people like him are frowned upon. You cannot court someone and simultaneously stain someone else; not if you want to keep a decent reputation.

But thinking about it from a rational side, one that doesn’t agree with society and its odd rules, he didn’t do anything wrong. It was you who rejected further advances.

So you promise, “You did not. We were apart… Never together, in fact. You were free to do such a thing when hope seemed pointless.”

Yes…

He could’ve even partook in orgies at brothels… Your pain aside, he could’ve.

And anyway.

You have bigger hurdles to fight right now. What Jungkook may truly want or not, aside from searching for answers, is irrelevant now.

You need to push your negative feelings back. Your thoughts and your doubts. You don’t want to dwell on mistakes but find a way to heal him, and the two of you. Don’t want to think of other women, or the scheme that hurt you.

He had reasons you want to forgive.

Reasons you keep repeating to yourself: Jungkook knows too much. The Duke fears that side of him; wants him gone, wants the threat out of his sight, and Jungkook wishes to leave the misery, too.

But his uncle — he is too scared an irresponsible man like Jungkook might not be able to live alone.

Seeking a wife to keep him grounded — breaks your heart in the process.

It’s not Jungkook’s fault, if you think about it like this.

Because if you were him, you’d fear a terrible uncle enough to hurt someone else, too. Maybe. 

So you need to forgive; the past needs to fade.

Jungkook is dwelling in other parts of your conversation. Timid and dejected when he asks, “Is there hope now?”

Not a bad inquiry. You can't say.

“I am not quite sure. But we will see.”

You only notice his hand still loosely on your arm when he squeezes a little. His fingers drop to your wrist in your lap, a thumb brushing along the fabric of your coat. You feel closer to his scent when he mumbles, “What do you want?”

“I…” you start, letting him fog your brain once more, “I want there to be hope.”

“But?”

“But I don’t know how this journey will end.”

The issue with forgiving, however, isn’t Jungkook himself.

Yes, the betrayal and the hidden plan he agreed to will always be a truth; all of it really happened. And while trust is sparse these days, you don’t think he’s lying when he says he never intended to hurt anyone.

But… What if the secrets his family hides are too big for you to endure? What if the intrigues are too ominous, too dark for your colourful life? Could you fight through them for him?

Are you in love enough?

You don’t know. But you shall find out.

Jungkook stirs next to you. You think you feel his heartbeat straight through his chest, right against your shoulder. It hurts you when he says, “I want you to know that… I am still hoping.”

He looks at you with endless longing. With so much sorrow.

“That shall benefit us, then,” you say, “first as we look for your cousin. Then, perhaps for our sake.”

He nods slowly.

“I am somewhat excited to meet her. My cousin.”

Your lips move to a smile, encouraging words laying on your tongue when the coachman interrupts, “We have arrived.”

A glance out of the window shows a humble abode. One light is still burning; the area is pretty but desolate. Scary, but it has to do.

“Good,” you say, stretching your limbs a little, “sitting here started hurting.”

Jungkook’s grip finally falls around you, and he straightens his back, ready to step out before he tells you, “Then let’s alleviate the pain.”

You know he’s talking about proper rest.

But you can’t help but wonder whether he really will.

The trip from the carriage to your room remains uneventful. Your feelings, however, do not.

Somehow, you managed to be the one to speak to the receptionist the most. Jungkook, while popular in town, a rumour on any woman’s lips, is strangely shy in front of strangers.

He didn’t talk to him much, only barging in when he, to your surprise, rejected your idea to get separate rooms. It’d be cheaper to share one, he said.

You would’ve contradicted his idea, if you’d truly wanted to. But the prospect of whatever might happen if you stayed between four walls with him… intrigued you.

Now that you’ve stepped over the threshold of the room, however, you’re nervy. There is only one bed.

Of course there is.

You knew — why does it only seep in once you’ve memorised the interior of the room? 

Suddenly, your thoughts spin around their own axis. How are you going to split the room? Will you at all? If you changed into different clothes now, would he have to go out?

And most importantly. Will you be able to catch a minute of sleep tonight?

Jungkook must notice your restlessness, the way you nibble your lips. Because when he walks deeper into the room, brushing his hair back, he asks, “Should I get another room after all? Or maybe…” He glances around, then points to a corner. “I could take that chair.”

“No,” you refuse, “I can take the chair.”

“Out of the question. You are not.”

“But we—”

“I do not want to trouble you. I can leave… I regard this room yours for the night. I could—”

He makes advances to leave, walking back to the door, but you rush towards him, grabbing his hand instinctively. Your eyes rip apart the moment his do; neither of you expected the touch.

Carefully and quietly, you hesitate, stuttering, “We… I think. I reckon we could just. Both stay here. It is cheaper, you were right, and…”

This is embarrassing.

But he understands. Merely nods, staring at your feet for a second. His round eyes are huge. Innocent, unsure.

And then, he licks his dry lips, pointing to another, smaller room. You didn’t see it before — guess you can use it to change, because you’re sure you won’t find another bed in there.

When he walks away, you use the emptiness of the room to change, too. The white nightdress is far more comfortable than the one you sweated into in the carriage.

The day feels endless; your eyes beg for sleep.

But when you lay down, hands under your head, turned to your side, sleep won’t overcome you anymore. Even less when you feel him drop onto the mattress behind you. There must be a safe distance between you, because you can’t feel his warmth.

And he is quiet.

Not a word is uttered for a couple of minutes. You think that’s how the night will proceed, and that’s how you will fall asleep.

You assume he’s the first one to drift away; at least that’s what you interpret when his throat-clearing and turning and tossing stop. When his breathing calms, you think him fast asleep.

It’s incredibly quiet; almost uncomfortable. But his inhales and exhales soothe your heart.

You turn around, fully expecting an angel-like form slumbering next to you. Drowning in dreams. But when you catch open eyes immediately, a head moving to meet your gaze, you flinch.

He looks distraught when you gasp. Worry spreads across his features, a hand moving to reach out as he asks, “What what? What happened?”

You put a hand on your heart, shutting your eyes before opening them again. Falling on your back, you say, “I thought you were asleep.”

“I thought you were, too,” he says. His eyebrows are furrowed when you look at him. “You were so worn out during the ride.”

“It’s just…”

You don’t finish your sentence. Only back away an inch, putting both your hands on your stomach to busy them.

He waits for your explanation, but when none arrives, he says, “I know. I meant it, I can go away.”

“No,” you tell him immediately, “you don’t need to. It is just… new.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. What is he thinking? Perhaps that it isn’t new to him? That he’s woken up in different bedrooms often enough to know this feeling?

No.

Something entirely different.

Because a tiny moment later, he asks, “What can I do to help you fall asleep?” He moves again, and now he’s on his side, looking at you. “We have an early morning and a long day ahead.”

What… he could do?

Oh God, how would you know…

Uhm.

“I don’t know,” you eventually say. Scouring your brain did nothing.

“I could sing something to you.”

What?

Really?

“No, I…” You’re clueless. You didn’t think he’d worry so much; you fully expected him to knock himself out the moment he touched the mattress. “You don’t need to. But thank you.”

You see his silhouette nod; you register the outlines of his face, but can’t see his eyes’ sparkle that you love so much. Then again, maybe you’d spiral harder if his pupils dug into your soul directly. Maybe his voice is enough.

Especially when he says things like—

“Then. Can I hold you?”

Jeon Jungkook.

What the hell are you saying?

Is he intending something? Is there a deeper meaning in his suggestions? A way to reconcile, to gain back all of your trust and your touch?

Your heart will break your ribs if it beats any faster.

Letting out an embarrassingly shaky breath, you tell him, “Don’t feel obligated to—”

“I do not,” he cuts you off, “I… I am a little selfish.” You almost hear it when he swallows. Maybe he’s feeling as fragile as you do. “…I want to hold you.”

Why?

Why, why, why?

No… you’re not asking yourself why he wishes for such a thing.

But why you’re holding back so incessantly.

Sure, there’s the fear of falling deeper into this mess; to lock him deeper in your heart and forbid an escape. Although it might be too late anyway.

But if he’s truly fallen for you, too, maybe you should let those emotions flow for just a few nights. Just for now; you don’t know how things will play out.

Right? 

So you draw a deep breath. Lose your inhibitions, lured in through pleading words only. He wants you close; you’re too brittle to decline.

Back on your side, you inch closer to him. Fingers reach out and grip his linen shirt before they turn into loose fists. Your forehead remains a few inches from his chest; you’re still too reticent to snuggle into him.

But he’s not.

An arm snakes around you; his palm settles on your back and pulls you nearly flush against him. His scent… the touch. You missed all of it.

None of it will help you fall asleep tonight, though.

A slight whimper escapes you when he pushes against your body. Your fists clench, and when he notices, he’s quick to inquire, “Too much?”

You shake your head fast. “No.”

“More?”

He’s daring. The purity in his eyes from before must still be there; but his words are bolder now. Maybe your willingness to… all of this boosted his courage.

“I…” you say.

You don’t know the answer, because you can’t decode what more is.

Impatient touches? Bare bodies…?

His hand rubs your back before it moves to the nape of your neck. He raises your head gently, spotting your eyes in the dark. A breath fans your face.

Against your better judgement, you let him do; even lift your head further until your mouths are aligned. As though enchanted, the power he emanates pulls you closer.

You barely notice when his lips graze yours, but the faint touch causes a million explosions, scattered across your torso.

You can barely breathe.

His hand tugs you in a little more before it floats down to the small of your back, and his breathing is as irregular as yours now.

Your legs urge you to wrap around his body; you want your bodies to become one. You want his kiss to burn you. All you’ve held back so far, all the desire and yearning pools in your stomach and heart — you want to free them.

But your journey isn’t over yet.

And the thought of him touching someone else just like this only recently messes with your head. Tears suddenly prick your eyes, but you blink them away.

Aside from any coping methods he chose, you don’t think that, considering his cousin and all the secrets revolving around her, this is an appropriate thing to do right now.

So you move from the kiss; leave him puzzled and taken aback. A questioning hum falls through his lips, but you don’t know how to escape. Instead, you let his shirt go, quickly turning to your original position.

Your back turned to him. Eyes squinted shut. Trying to calm the adrenaline, coming back to reality.

For a couple seconds, he doesn’t fight your reluctance. He lets you dodge his body and his existence. You wonder what’s going on in his head; he doesn’t speak his thoughts.

And maybe he doesn’t need to.

Maybe it says enough when he closes in to you, delicately slinging an arm around your body again. He’s careful, as though he’s asking for permission, before he actually voices, “May I?”

You don’t answer. He draws you in until your back touches his chest. Asks, “Do you want me to move away?”

You can’t quite look at him; but you don’t want to miss his touch. You shake your head.

His lips fall to your shoulder. He’s not kissing you, but the gesture feels intimate; intense. More so when his mouth travels up to your neck. Elicits goosebumps when he breathes against you, “Am I still hurting you?”

No, you’re just… bewildered.

“You’re not…” you answer.

“What are you thinking of, then?”

“Nothing.”

You tilt your head back, shivering when he presses his lips to the skin right under your ear, ever-so-slightly. His hands don’t move; they remain on your stomach. Never exploring anything above or underneath that spot.

The embrace is harmless; innocent. But it feels like smothering flames.

You thought you were water, cool as ice; and that he was fire, hot-headed and irresistible. You wanted to evaporate with him, but right now, you’re both burning.

Right now, you’re not steam but a wildfire.

He’ll leave you in ashes, and you’ll let him.

You keep proving it to yourself — with how you let him hold you. With how you let his kiss barely ghost over your skin. With how you allow his words to affect you.

And how could you not? How do you ignore it when he confesses—

“I want you.”

You grimace. The agony is unbearable — love hurts worse when both hearts are involved but reality keeps pulling them apart.

He robs you of breath when he whispers, “Just you.” As he nuzzles your neck, you lose half your mind; devoid of thoughts when he adds, “And I won’t stop trying.”

That’s it.

The final words of tonight before the two of you silence once and for all. You linger in his embrace. Not brave enough to pull yourself out of it.

And like this, you count the seconds until you finally fall asleep in his arms.

The remainder of your journey passes with stolen glances and a silent tension between you.

The carriage transports you to your desired goal within a few hours. But time stretches in a way that it feels like an illusion.

Both of you want to talk about the implicit confessions last night; but neither of you has the courage to speak up first. Or perhaps, this just isn’t the time to lay it all out.

And when you finally arrive at the cottage, stepping out into the evening sun, the opportunity passes quickly and silently. As you stare at the scenery stretching in front of you, your minds blank anyway.

It’s green. Incredibly green.

The fields are wide, ending in wide forests. Drunk by the blue sky, containing a pleasantly low number of clouds. And the cottage reminds you of the tomb at the cemetery, though reeking less of death and wet soil.

Flowers surround it; it’s made of wood.

If you have ever seen a place that resembles a separate world, a fairytale standing on its own, it must be this. Idyllic. Surreal.

Maybe you can understand after all why neither mother nor daughter would seek the company of a terrible man.

This place’s scent is far lovelier than the rotten heartbreak your town has become. It brings back some of the tenderness you were made of; some of the love you housed for the world.

Whenever it dawns on you how realities have broken you within weeks, your cheerful little self, hidden in the depths of your brain, recoils.

But today, you muster a hopeful smile. Something optimistic sparks in you as you near the cottage; like you’re entering the beginning of an end.

It increases when you step onto the narrow porch and lift a fist to knock. But the door is already ajar — like a sign of a welcome.

You look at Jungkook and expand the smile that he must interpret as reassurance; because he smiles back, takes your hand in response.

But you’re laughing at yourself — it’s refreshing, feeling dreamy again. Hope feels good.

You knock nevertheless and step back. Your blinking accelerates, lips pressed together. Wandering eyes peek through the tiny gap as you wait; you can’t see much anyway.

Jungkook inches closer to you until his cheek almost touches yours and imitates your curiosity; he does it with his whole body. With an open mouth and a craning neck; his tongue dampens his lips before he hums and starts, “Might need to knock aga—”

And right when you prepare for an answer, already nodding with raising knuckles, a loud, friendly voice chimes, “Just another moment!”

Jungkook and you flinch at the same time. Your fist floating near his torso twitches and hits his stomach lightly, and you immediately gasp, uncurling it to a protective hand. A grunting man might not be the best sight to the woman inside, but you on the other hand?

You can’t help but giggle at the crunched button nose, joining the distorted chuckle that hides his miniscule pain.

He catches himself before the door finally opens; you’re glad you didn’t keep your fist any lower.

His voice is back to normal and his stance as elegant and charming as ever when a middle-aged woman’s tender eyes greet the strangers at her doorstep. Her dark pupils are large. The warm kind; the one that inhabit endless kindness.

You don’t know if it’s just another hopeful spark that lights your chest, but despite how little you know about her, you feel comforted instantly.

She looks at you for a moment; she doesn’t seem like she expected anyone. Especially not  full strangers.

Suddenly nervous, you feel yourself unable to answer. You squeeze the hand still holding yours, and it presses back in reassurance before his timid voice greets, “Good day.”

She — Jiyoo? –– responds with a tiny nod and an unsure smile. Lets her gaze flit down to your entwined hands and then back to you.

“Good day,” she says. You notice she’s holding a cloth when she grips it with both hands; the door moves when she steps forwards and her shoulder brushes the wood. “How may I be of help?”

You’re so incredibly tense. What if she pushes you away, no matter how kind she seems? She doesn’t know a thing about you after all — and she might not want to relive a past that might or might not have ended terribly.

Briefly, you look past her. Not a sound escapes the house, not a single voice asking what’s going on. The place seems empty, but homely. The table behind her is tiny.

You try, “Are you Jiyoo?”

What else is there left to do? You need to take the plunge.

“Yes,” she answers, still sporting a smile despite the slightly ominous encounter. “Who are you if I may ask?”

Of course she can ask.

You’re intruding. You’re travellers. It’s her home.

Sympathy floods through you. You wonder if Jungkook feels the same.

You want to answer, but her expression shuts you up. She looks content; you can’t bear to see that smile drop. What’s the right thing to say?

You’re waiting too long.

All of you knows that you’re waiting too long, so Jungkook takes over.

“We…” He looks to the side, right at you, sighing. “We came from not too far. Travelled for nearly two days. We were…” He’s on the edge, too. You squeeze his hand again; he clears his throat. “We were told you reside here with your daughter and are incredibly welcoming.”

The last part is a cheat. A way to arrive at the goal faster. Not too stupid of him.

Her expressions change; the smile drops, replaced by genuine surprise. “Oh. You know my daughter?”

Jungkook shifts his balance to one leg when he says, “Suhana… we… yes.”

“How?”

“She—”

He will reveal it all. You aren’t even inside and he’ll put every little detail into your introduction. Not that you’d planned anything else — but now that you’re here, looking at a woman clutching a cloth like a child does with a toy, you just…

You can’t. Not yet.

God, you’re an idiot. You’ll regret it.

But—

“Did you meet on her travels?”

Not you. That was not you talking, although you had another dumb excuse ready; one that would’ve undoubtedly ruined your plans.

That will do, too.

“Yes,” you spit.

You’re daring a risk — you might say something wrong. She might be testing you. This could go so, so wrong. And Jungkook, aware of this, wants to correct you. His hand slips out of yours, and he hesitates, but you’re quick to speak first.

Goodness, her eyes look genuine.

“Yes, we generally travel quite often as well, so we met her a while ago. Is she…” Your pupils dart past her again, and you dip your voice in a bit more honey. “Is she here?”

Maybe it’s wrong to lie to a gentle soul. You know your protection techniques will backfire; especially since you’ll need to reveal the truth at some point. You just…

You want to ease her into this.

“Not yet,” Jiyoo says. “She is gone again. But she uhm— have you two eaten?”

The sudden change in topics catches you off guard. You stutter for a second, and then realise how empty your stomach is indeed.

“We are actually starving,” you admit.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

“No… not yet.”

You should feel pathetic.

You came here without a plan — perhaps she feels disturbed. Maybe she thinks she’s facing clueless wastrels. People who freed their spirits too much and are now roaming the country.

But that’s not what her intentions are.

Instead she lifts her eyebrows; her smile returns and she claps once before she says, “Oh, then just ask! I will not find it rude.” You want to ask what she means, but then she gestures towards the back of the house. “I have a spare room with a spacious bed, if you’d like to stay the night.”

You’re dumbfounded.

What?

“Suhana should be back by tomorrow afternoon.” She says it casually, but… what is that? Something in her words. In her tone. There’s melancholy, something entirely new; peculiar. You ignore it for now. “You shall say hello then. As old friends.”

When you gauge Jungkook’s reaction, his jaw is clenched again. His expression is neutral; you can’t decode it. But it’s different from the nervousness before. Different from the friendliness; a lot colder now.

Yet, he manages a kind tone, and asks, “You would allow that? We do not mean to be a nuisan—”

“Oh, no!” Jiyoo argues. “She likes to make new acquaintances. Some travel, like you, and they stop here to stay and keep us company for a night or two.”

So… this is not the first time?

Has she already treated strangers as friends? Offered them shelter, welcomed them into her home?

It’s surreal. It’s strange. She emanates warmth and a pure heart, but suddenly you’re…

Wondering. You just don’t know what about.

You’ll have a night to figure out, you guess.

“That would be incredibly kind,” you then say. “We would love to wait.”

And that’s it.

She invites you in like friends she has known all her life. She makes the table, talks about how her bed has always been way too spacious for her alone, too.

Speaks about her fields and vegetables and other random things; asks you about your meal preferences, keeps repeating how different fresh, self-harvested food tastes.

Jungkook and you cooperate. You listen without feigning interest, and tell her half-truths, never diving into your actual personas. You let your names drift into the conversation; your heart stops when Jungkook tells her his, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

Maybe you are far enough from the Dukedom. Maybe people have built a life in small villages such as this one, separated from royalty and towns.

You’re relieved. Jungkook not so.

Something is bothering him, and you hate that you cannot ask him yet.

Instead you indulge in the little talks with Jiyoo. Endeared when she asks, “Would you like some tea to warm up? It is getting a little late, so it must be colder outside.”

Was it late before, too? Or has time just passed since you arrived?

“Of course,” you say. “Thank you.”

Smalltalk continues. The words you exchange mean nothing, but they make her open up. You sit still as a mouse, barely lifting your hand from your lap until dinner is served. You offer your help which she immediately denies, and do all the right things to gain her trust.

Not that you deserved it… not yet, at least.

You want to do the right thing, but you feel awful.

“She does travel a lot, yes?” you ask as you swallow the last bite of your meal.

Jiyoo nods, covering her mouth with her hand, chewing until nothing’s left before she finally answers, “She does. She was never one to stay at one place. It’s frowned upon in towns when women do it,” she gestures towards the door, as if a town stretches right in front of it, “but in the countryside, they do whatever they want to.”

You nod understandingly. It sounds nice. No judgemental stares, no expensive balls. No whispers that have never been subtle.

Suhana must be living the life that Jungkook craves.

You look at him again. He’s focused on his plate. Barely talking. You wish you could reach out, decipher his thoughts.

Jiyoo leans forward just a little, squinting her eyes in question, “You met her when?”

Good question…

“A year or two ago,” you improvise. “She was very kind to us, so it was easy to remember her.”

Jiyoo’s smile stays plastered on her face, but some of the cheerfulness in her eyes dies. You don’t know what it is — did you say something wrong? Has Suhana ever done something to Jiyoo for her mother to think otherwise?

For Jungkook’s sake, you don’t want Suhana to mirror her father’s cruelty.

“Yes, I can imagine that,” Jiyoo murmurs. Shit, you cannot fathom her tone; nor her eyes, because she looks away, around the room. “I apologise that you couldn’t find her here today. I get lonely, too.”

You don’t answer. All you can offer her is a gentle smile, a tilted head. Empathy.

“But,” she then adds, “it is lovely that you came. I have company as I wait for her.”

Almost reaching out to her hand, you hold yourself back, only shaking your head as you assure, “Don’t apologise. You’re not at fault at all.”

She looks between Jungkook and you; nibbles her lips, nods. The man is still quiet — if you weren’t aware of his presence at all times, you could almost assume that he left.

And you still don’t get the opportunity to talk it out until Jiyoo suggests, “You must be exhausted from travelling. If you need to, you can take a rest. I shall clean up before resting, too.”

You offer your help once more; and when she declines, you find yourself in the spare room, dressed in the nightgown she lent you. Jungkook improvised his nightwear, using the same as last night, and takes a seat at the edge of the bed.

Standing in front of a painting, you let him ponder. Maybe he’ll voice his thoughts in a minute or two.

But his behaviour remains; entirely different from the moments he held you last night.

Reserved, seemingly… angry?

Once enough time has passed, you lift the fingertips that brushed the painting, and turn towards him to ask, “Are you mad?”

He lifts his head, shifting his attention from the wooden ground to your face with a deep inhale. There’s uncertainty in his eyes, but on top of that thin layer, you see disappointment.

Yet, he lies, “No.” Strengthens the false truth with a click of his tongue; looks at you with half-lidded eyes. And then he shakes his head, rubs his thighs and adds, “Or, I do not want to be. I’m just confused.”

Confusion isn’t what you interpret from his expressions, but you choose to believe. Your thumb points to the closed door and you ask, “Are you talking about her? There is something odd about her, though she has been incredibly kin—”

“No.”

You shut up immediately. When you meet his eyes again, another emotion has snuck its way to his gaze. You wonder how he can be so expressive; how a single glance conveys so many unspoken words.

You instantly know his anger targets you.

“Why did you not tell her the truth?” he asks.

Somewhere in the depths of your idiotic head, you knew. Of course that’s where the distance started. And frankly, convincing him to come, travelling so far, just to back away from the original plan — if you were him, you’d be upset, too.

You don’t know what to say just yet; all you know is that the walls here look thin. So you only say, “Please lower your voice.”

He doesn’t comment on your plea, but he obliges. Yet, none of the dejection leaves his face — it hurts you. Considering how flush your body rested against his last night, you hate that you’ve disappointed him.

Shrugging a shoulder, he repeats, “Why? I do not understand.”

“Because,” you look between random furniture in the room, catching your thoughts. You feel bad; suddenly, your reasoning sounds stupid. “What good would it have done? She is a lone parent, taking care of an adult daughter, and is all alone.”

Jungkook doesn’t buy it. An evil smirk creeps upon his face, and he keeps shaking his head, murmuring something; so you’re fast to add, “No matter how much money your family provides… What if she despises everything about royals?”

“And if she doesn’t?” he immediately defends. “You played along with her, but what if she was deceiving you, too?”

“I know. I had to risk it.”

“You had to why?”

You think for a moment. Your face falls, lower lip jutting out in a pout. Swallowing, you shuffle your foot, incredibly embarrassed. It wasn’t your right to lie.

But he wants an honest answer. So you say, “I don’t know. Instincts…”

He snorts.

“Your instin—”

“I just do not think that telling her too much could do us any good yet!”

”But,” he emphasises, “you said you met Suhana when she was travelling. That we did. That she was kind. What if she wasn’t? Jiyoo will know we’re lyi––”

He gazes up to the ceiling; a light grunt is muffled when he covers his face with his hands. When he emerges again, he points at you.

“God, you were pushing it so much!”

Alright. Fine, yes.

You made a mistake.

But his tone is condescending, and your ego won’t let him talk to you like that.

Licking your lips, you step forwards, glaring at him darkly before you attack, “What is it? Why are you so absurdly upset? Everything is working out so far!”

Jungkook grimaces; his face grows redder by the second. “Why am I upset? I— we came a long way. And you did not do a thing we agreed upon! You never do!”

Silence.

The knife straight to your chest feels so palpable that you think he must be seeing it, too.

He flinches back, like he’s realised how horrible his words were. And you keep looking down at where he still sits, frustrated when he averts your gaze. You hear your heartbeat in your ears when the vexation grows.

And then, quieter than before, you question, “What else did we agree upon? Except this.”

Because you cannot remember a thing he ever asked of you. Just one. And when it came to that, he’s always been alone, never seeking your consent.

And even now, he does not say a word.

You try again, “No, tell me…” You move closer. Your knees almost touch his. “What did we agree upon? We came here because of me in the first place. We’re still here because of me.”

You don’t like to take credit for anything; not one to do anyone a favour to receive one back. You help because you want to; because it’s a good thing to do.

But maybe he needs to hear this.

“I—” he starts, but you interrupt.

“No,” you ball your hands to fists, inhaling deeply, “fucking explain.” As you curse, he stares up at you. Big, dark eyes won’t soothe the ache anymore. “When did I not comply? When I didn’t play your sick, twisted game, right?”

“I did not mean that,” he momentarily argues, “and I explained to you that—”

You don’t care. “Or did I not comply when I fell for you but still pushed you away?”

"Stop. I never did this, because I wanted to, but because I needed to," he attempts to argue, but you're sick of all those lazy excuses.

"Right. You were going to take me to a faraway kingdom, as charming as you are—"

“Stop. It.”

“And would’ve kept up your lies.”

Despite your anger, you shrink when he takes a stand. He pushes himself off the bed with a mocking laugh, hands on his hips, and turns away from you. The cocky side-view of his face angers you — he won’t even look at you.

Just keeps that dumb grin on his face.

“Right,” he says.

“Until I asked you, you probably did not even feel bad about it,” you keep going.

He sighs. Your accusations trigger fury in him; you see it in his demeanour. Another glance towards you, eyes piqued; another warning, “Please shut up.”

But. You’re too heated now — hitherto hidden words come out like a waterfall.

“Why? You cannot live with the guilt, can you?” you challenge. “With the fact that I would have lived my entire life deceived by you. Thinking you were,” you gulp, and then stretch the words, “in love with me, t—”

“Fuck it.”

And suddenly, the next thirty seconds pass in blurry slow-motion.

The curse that interrupted your rage is a whisper, almost as breathless as your gasp when he bolts towards you. You stumble, stretching a hand behind you, careful to not slam against furniture.

But when he sandwiches you between him and the cold wall instead, firm hands on your shoulders pinning your body back, you shiver. Whatever mock you were still intending to throw at him disperses immediately; he sews your mouth shut.

“I was.” It takes you a moment to decipher what he’s talking about; when you remember, your thoughts tangle up. “I am.” Another pause. His hands leave your shoulders, palms instead pressing flat next to your head. “You think so twisted of me. And I don’t blame you.”

You want to escape the menacing gaze; want to slip under his arms and run away. But he traps you, way too close, and repeats, “I don’t. But I mean it.”

He means it. How often has he said that already — and you, carrying a fractured heart, how many times have you doubted him already?

“Jungkook…”

A hand moves to your clavicles; its fingers press into your neck just a little. He’s unleashing something dangerous, and you don’t know how to stop it. Or worse, you don’t think you want to, either.

“I mean it. I was,” he says. “And I am.”

Speechlessly, you stare at him for a moment. He’s awaiting a response, gulping, staring holes into your pupils. Like he’s searching for something in your eyes.

His shoulders drop in an unknown kind of relief when your fear subsides and gentle, melting warmth replaces it. You’re not scared of him — you’re in love with him. So this expression he wears, the situation he’s in, the pain he’s experienced; they don’t elicit fright.

Your eyebrows draw together in worry; and he mirrors your expression.

You think he’s imagining something — seeing pictures he needs gone. It’s easy for you to assume such a thing, because you think you look the same when you paint a future without him.

The more you look at him, the more you fear loneliness; and you know it’d drown you if you ended up losing him.

So you understand his sentiments; know what his swearing means when he takes a deep breath and whispers again, ”Fuck it.”

And then, he’s kissing you.

His lips are hot and intense. A hand spreads over the back of your head, protecting you from hitting the wall as he pushes into you harder.

Both your faces tilt at the same time; your lips lock in place just right. You taste your shared affection, hear the gasps and breathlessness, right here, pressed against the damn wall.

When your fingers tightly wrap around the fabric of his shirt, he moves away from your mouth and to your cheek for just a second. You use the moment that his pillowy lips wander along your cheekbone to whisper his name.

And the single word makes the grip around your hair tighter; he whispers a little, “How much longer were we supposed to wait?” before the silken softness of his mouth falls back on yours.

You don’t have an answer to his question.

But you know that if the world had worked as it was supposed to, throwing back the good karma you know you deserve, you wouldn’t have needed to wait at all.

Because despite the game he played, his passion was real. You feel it; you know it.

Heat blossoms in your chest; fire burns through your veins. His scent robs your breath equally as much as the fervent kiss does; and when he slips his tongue through and unleashes all he kept veiled, you can barely stand.

You moan against the wet muscle when it dances with yours — and the sound reaches deep within him, because in the matter of seconds, he’s pulled you away from the wall. Tumbles the few steps back, and plops onto the bed.

The eyes that usually spread so wide are hazy now; half-lidded, looking at you in silent longing.

You don’t know when his fingers entangled with yours, but he’s luring you in now, closer to his body; and you oblige until your knees hit the mattress. Lifting your nightgown, lips parted, straddling him eagerly.

In the shadow of the candlelight, his face shimmers golden. He’s close to you, closer than he’s ever been; and you look at him, freeing his forehead of his hair. Keep staring until you realise his taste on your tongue again, craving more.

So you give in — not holding back your desires anymore. Whatever has accumulated since that night in the dark room must escape now, or the two of you might implode at once.

You don’t know what you expected two minutes ago; but you don’t have it in you to care anyway. Not when you cup his face, leaning down wordlessly, and delight yourself with more of him.

God.

He feels like a cure.

And perhaps you are ready to fight and endure for him. No matter what the truth may be; what the future might entail.

He, against you, with you, next to you — a cure.

Those swollen lips of his. The hands on your back, moving up and down, finding a spot he can settle on. Pushing you into him, spreading your legs around his torso.

When you focus enough, you feel the effect your hot tongue practices on him. Beneath you, a bulge grows against you, hips rising. You grind into him; his fingers flash down immediately, gripping your teasing ass.

He digs into the flesh almost painfully, but it doesn’t stop you from rolling your hips. A patch of his hair in your fist, your mouths separate with a string of spit connecting you.

And he uses the moment to wander to your dress, pushing it off your shoulders to plant kisses on your skin.

As your head falls back, fingers clutching his shirt, and eyes clenching shut, you murmur, “Do not go too far just yet.”

He lifts his lips off your shoulder just an inch; his breath still tickles you when he speaks, “Mh, why not?”

“We’re not alone. What will she think?”

“That,” he pecks your neck, “she gave us the guest room.” Teeth graze your jaw; fingers pull down your face again. “That we are a married couple.” Another kiss under your ear. “That we do such… things.”

“But… decency and— Jungkook—”

You almost whine out loud when he leaves a wet patch on your neck. You shiver, your nerves alight.

“I don’t have it in me to be patient any longer,” he admits. When you grind into him again, he holds you in place firmer; looks up at you. “I can’t not go too far.” Soft fingertips seek the hem of your gown, and then push it up to your waist. “Unless you want me to slow down.”

Between the insanity of ball night, the fever during brunch and the tension in the last days and hours, you’d be stupid to tell him to back off. The lust pooling in your stomach is about to overflow — and he knows. He must be testing you.

Yet, you deliver an answer when you shake your head, gulping when he only says, “Good.”

He shifts back, pulling you with him, and you reckon he’s only making himself comfortable with you on top of him. But when he plants a palm against the small of your back and tosses you onto your back, you shriek.

His body hovers over yours with his signature smirk — it’s a crucial part of him. You used to detest it; grit your teeth at its sight. But today, it relieves you, because you must admit that you missed it.

Your arms fall to the side of your head, fingers digging into your palm. Anticipation gathers in your gaze as he draws closer. Eyelids flutter shut when his hair, brushing your face like a waterfall, tickles your cheeks.

“Why do you look so surprised?” he asks.

Do you? Surprise isn’t the first emotion you’d name right now, though.

“I am not surprised.”

“Frightened, then?” He leans down, pressing the gentlest kiss to the apple of your cheek. “Do I back away? Just say the word.”

He means it. In those caring eyes of his, you know he does.

And it means something to you. In this messed up world, it must.

“I’m not frightened, I promise,” you assure immediately, lifting a hand to his face. His skin is soft and hot under your touch, lips swollen as you brush a thumb over them. “Just. Digesting the reality of the moment.”

He looks like he’s… melting. Liquifying right over you.

His eyebrows relax, a smile gracing his features so fondly; something about your adoration, how you deem him unreal must be gratifying to him.

Or maybe, he isn’t used to feeling special. Because somehow, it seems that most of your words catch him off guard, no matter how devotedly you kiss him.

“Is it a reality you wished for?” he asks, stupidly so. He must already know the answer; if you asked him to, he’d probably be able to mouth it with you.

But with the overthinking that crushed your skull in the past few days, you understand the need for double confirmation. Especially for someone like him.

So you nod eagerly, speaking over your wild, treacherous heartbeat, “Of course… Is there any other reality to wish for, Jungkook?”

“Yes,” he immediately answers. “Yes, I think there is.” A peck lands on the corner of your lips. “One where,” another under your mouth, “we can do all of this without hiding. As an official unit. And…”

His breath falls, mingles with yours. He whispers, “Once this is over…”

”Please.”

The rest of the sentence remains unspoken when he kisses you again. You drink up all of the syllables, replace them with soft sounds.

Wide awake, you writhe beneath him. Your restless fingers crumple up his clothes when you tug him in, unaware of your own strength — because his balance vanishes and he nearly falls onto you with his entire weight.

A smile spreads on your lips, and he laughs when you do. Your apology is muffled, and his mouth moves with yours when you mumble, “My bad.”

When he lifts himself from the awkward position, he shifts into a far more dangerous one. Priorly kneeling next to you, his knees now hit the gap between your legs, pushing them apart until your dress shifts to your thighs again.

Playfully scolding, he shakes his head, eyes too fixated on yours to notice what’s going on between your thighs.

Attempting to swerve his attention just a little, you lift your legs, wrapping them around his tiny waist; and he reacts, just not in the way you want him to. Not that you’ll decline the fingertips that brush along your calf, hooking under your knee to pull you closer.

“Be careful,” he delivers delayed, caressing the skin of your limbs; starting at the legs, past your sides, delicately along your arm. “I am finding it hard to do so. So you need to be careful for me.”

Your heart flutters.

You know what he means.

If it was up to you, you’d let him devour you already; perhaps he’s just as impatient, ready to break you into pieces. But then again, he’s savouring the moment just as much as you, too — none of you will hurry tonight. 

When you wriggle a little more, trying to arch your back, he warns, “Stay still.”

“Come closer, please.”

“Only if you don’t hurt yourself.”

You roll your eyes, digging your nails in the white material of his shirt harder. He looks amused, but finally gives in as his body, carefully, drops a few inches.

He positions his crotch against your leaking bits the moment he dives in for another frenzied kiss, emptying your lungs when he grinds into you once.

The bulge is thicker and firmer now, hard when he slides it over your clothed folds — and it makes you whine so damn pathetically. You might embarrass yourself soon enough.

Languidly, he repeats the movement, giving you a first taste of what’s yet to come. You grab a patch of his hair with a sensual moan; and when you chase more of him, lifting your head and chest towards his, he chuckles.

“What are you doing, hm?” he wants to know. He kisses the spot next to your eye, and it reflexively shuts; so adorable that he combusts. “Princess cannot get enough, yes?”

If he’d said that weeks ago, you’d been absolutely furious. But now that the world has given way to a new reality, you don’t mind it as much anymore.

But you still furrow your eyebrows when he grins cockily; an old habit. Irritated when he refuses more of his taste and wanders to your neck instead. His snicker remains as he opts for his favourite spot, but his hot breath distracts you too much to join in.

Right above your clavicles, he toys with the hem of your gown. His fingernails graze the mound of your breasts; not quite accidentally, you assume. And when he looks at you cautiously, reading your gaze, you already know what he’s going to say.

“I want to see them.” Unbelievable that he still feels the need to state that with those red lips of his. As if the permission isn’t written in your eyes. “May I?”

“You may see them,” you allow with an eager nod. “Touch them. Kiss them. You can—” You keen when he pushes down your dress, delighted at the absence of the stupid corset. “Yes, yes, you m—”

Whatever you’ll say from now on will be nonsense. You know. That’s alright.

Who cares when he swirls his tongue around your perked nipple? When he licks it wet and then breathes against it, continuing the tease with his eyes glued on your face.

He cups the other side with a large palm, pushing it up before it bounces back in its place. His thumb rolls over your other nipple; he’s so out of it that he doesn’t notice the teeth around your sensitive bud until you yelp.

“How long will you keep doing this?” you ask.

Confusion crawls over his fucked out gaze, and his pupils flicker when he looks at you and asks, “Doing what?”

“Stalling what we both want. Taking me the way you truly want to.”

Your whispered truths echo in his mind — combined with this gorgeous expression you’re sporting, your tender voice affects his entire body. The urge to ruin you grows tenfold; that purity you portray, he wants it to fall just once, under his ministrations.

Because the thought of affecting you so deeply; of wanting you and making you want him so ardently…

Jungkook might not survive tonight.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he suddenly says.

Pressed between him and the mattress, you can barely breathe anyway, but when his eyes turn so endlessly starry and fond, you crumble. Not under his weight, but his words’.

He’s still scared.

And frankly, thinking about it, so are you.

Your legs shift down to his thighs, and you place a hand on his cheek as you assure, “You won’t.”

“Not now, and… not like this,” he says, hinting to the intimacy, “but I do not want to make another mistake and for you to regre—”

“Then don’t,” you hastily interrupt, so ridiculously thirsty, blindly in love. “Don’t make me regret it.”

You don’t know what the future will bring; pain and misery come suddenly. So this is all you can offer; a soft order, a plea to him to keep you sane.

And Jungkook, obeying with a careful expression, merely nods.

He licks his lips. His face is red from the heat and from staying afloat above you; his torso is shaking a little when he inquires, “Have you done this before?”

You still remember your conversation back at the orphanage. Implicitly, you’d given him the answer already, but it must have slipped his mind. You don’t blame him, because you can’t properly think either.

You say, “Yes, but… It’s been long.”

For a tiny moment, an unspoken emotion flashes across his face. As if he expected a different answer; as if he’d already mapped out several ways to bruise and twist your body tonight.

But when he realises that he still can, the thought doesn’t deter him anymore. You see it in his eyes; the silent worry vanishes again. Maybe he’s content that he’s the one you chose eventually.

Just like the thought that he’s chosen you keeps your mind away from his… recent escapades.

Jungkook drops to his side when you answer, giving his body a break, but never letting you go. A hand still fiddles with your dress, brushing up and down in comfort as he asks, “What do you like? Do you still remember?”

This is unusual.

All those questions. It’s not what you still remember from your prior partners.

They were tender; they were fond of you. Their affection was genuine, but so was their pride. Perhaps they thought that asking for preferences was more awkward than having their way and finishing quickly.

But Jungkook isn’t only taking his time with you, but observing your reactions, too.

It’s killing you.

“I…” you whisper, slightly distracted by the fingers roaming your body. “Finger. Down there.”

He pecks your cheek, humming in satisfaction. He must be liking your answer — because he’s keen when his touch descends, lifting your dress one last time as he orders, “Take this off, please. It’s been vexing me for so long now.”

You glance at him. He hasn’t lost a piece of clothing, while your legs are half bare and your tits exposed. You touch his trousers and ask, “And you?”

“Me too. I will, right away.”

“You first.”

For a moment, he stares at you dumbfounded, and then laughs. “You are negotiating, aren’t you?”

“You will play with me until I beg. I know.”

“And you would be against it?”

You take a deep breath, holding back a gasp when he pushes his nails into your now naked waist.

Airily, you repeat, ”You first.”

“Good,” he says, lifting his torso. “Sly.”

He crosses his arms over it, and when he pulls the shirt over his head, your breath hitches.

His waist truly is tiny. It leads to curvy hips and a curvier bottom; Jungkook is built like an hourglass.

The toned, golden chest is defined. Dark brown nipples are as perked as yours, ready to be touched; almost as inviting as the chiselled abdominal muscles. He’s brawny, but not too much — and you can’t wait to have him flush against you.

“Sweetheart,” you hear his voice. When he falls back next to you, his fingers settle under your chin, and he says, “Close your mouth.”

You do, immediately embarrassed. “Oh. I was—”

You don’t say what you were. But he understands, asking for what you owe him, “I want to feel that way as well.” He draws impossibly close to your ear, kissing the shell of it; his hand sneaks beneath the dress and to your underboob when he whispers, “Take it off?”

And this time, while still somewhat in trance, you do. Not just the dress, but those damn drawers, too.

Part of you is shy when you throw the gown to the side, fully vulnerable, lacking even a single piece of clothing. You fix your hair and lie back down; and when you look at him and notice his frozen state, you gulp.

He’s studying you.

His eyes scan your body, halting at your chest, and then fall further before they pause again at the pelvis. Your inner thighs are glossy and damp; he sees it the moment you do, and it makes his pretty chest rise.

“Incredible,” he says.

“Jungkook…”

“I need to…” He exhales when you press yourself into the mattress, closer to his body. A warm palm comes back to your sides, soothing your worries. “I need to draw you one day.”

What?

Unexpected.

“I… Draw me?” you ask. “You draw?”

He nods, fingers squeezing and caressing your ass.

“I draw. I paint… I need you on a canvas.”

He pushes his body back and looks at you, lifting your head by the chin before he obliges to your wishes.

Finger. Down there.

Gently, he brushes along your pelvis before he finally, so, so delicately, ghosts over your clit and then down between your folds. Your response is immediate; your legs shut and trap his hand, and he hisses before you open them again.

He tuts, and you think he’ll throw another warning at you — instead, he says as tenderly as he can, “Keep them open, yes? It will feel better that way.”

You nod, but you don’t know how much of your control you’ll maintain. You have a very menacing feeling that he’ll shatter your world.

But he’s satisfied with your weak answer. Brings two fingers to your mouth, taps at your lower lip, pushes in when you understand.

As you drench his digits in your saliva, flicking your tongue over it, his body tenses, and he curses, “Fuck… Good enough.”

Jeon Jungkook is weak, too — you’re eagerly awaiting his reaction to when you’ll replace those fingers with something else.

Wet fingertips dampen your clit, drawing slow circles on it. But he doesn’t linger there for long, instead parting your nether lips until he’s prodding your entrance.

Of course, he doesn’t dig in just yet. You wouldn’t recognise him anyway if he didn’t take his sweet time with you. Instead, he rubs the fingers up and down, back to your clit, repeating his movements.

Goosebumps arise, and you focus harder on keeping your legs spread when he murmurs, “My God… I still remember how you taste.”

Thinking is difficult, and speaking even more so. But you still breathe a little, “How do I taste?”

“Addictive.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Then…

“Taste me again,” you beg in your fog; truly, your head is spinning around its own axis.

Thankfully, he doesn’t listen to you just yet, or you might have lost your mind entirely. No, he thumbs at the engorged bundle of nerves, and says, “Wait…”

For now, you understand that he wants to keep testing the waters. And God, they’re overflowing.

You’re soaked, and you can hear it.

Jungkook seems distracted, focusing on something specific, and you finally decipher what it is when he asks, “How did this happen so quickly?”

The fact that he’s known for jumping into different women’s beds should have numbed him to such an experience. The surprise in his tone makes you self-conscious — do the other girls have so much more self-control than you?

Sheepishly, you tell him, “I really cannot say.”

“Maybe… maybe I should kiss you again if that’s what—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but draws close instead. Tilting his head, lips over yours, and you tighten the grip around his bicep. From the side, he humps your hip, and you’re surprised when you realise that he keeps growing.

His length seems bigger through his trousers now. Harder.

You won’t refuse a kiss — fuck, if it makes him release his shaft from its confines faster that way, you will never retract your tongue.

But when he’s close enough, the jerk smiles — leans back all of a sudden, lets his hand roam over your stomach again.

What?

Where has his touch gone? Why—

Your mind races with curses.

Part of you wants to pout at him, wave the white flag and shake him. Let out an embarrassing plea to finally do more. Those fleeting touches along your pussy, retreating whenever your body reacts, are brutal.

But your second half orders you to let him do — to wait for a moment and let him try his own medicine.

Constructing ideas, you wait. Distracted only by the goosebumps that his teasing teeth around your earlobes call forth.

His breath tickles your neck when he says, “My God, I— I have wanted to touch you again since the last time. The moment in the forest was not enough…”

It’s a strange memory to choose; not quite delightful, but at least sincere. In that very moment, he meant everything he said and everything he did.

Thinking back, hadn’t it been for the pain, you’d wanted more, too.

So you agree, “I know. I know, but…” Your body tingles when he kisses your shoulder; a hand grips your naked tit. “But we’re here now.”

“And I want every inch of you.”

“Then take it.”

“...I will.”

Only that he won’t. At least not yet.

His skilled fingers are devilish; they mix your thoughts and increase your thirst.

But this time, you won’t let yourself stay passive; want him to beg, too.

So when he leans back fully, ready to focus on your body again, you grab the chance immediately. The sudden confusion he voices when you raise your body is no surprise; but he doesn’t fight you when you push his shoulders down, swiftly sitting up to straddle him again.

When you stare down at him, his eyes are bigger than ever.

His hands fall next to his head, his mouth slightly open; he doesn’t need to speak for you to hear his questions. And you deliver an answer, “Let me first.”

He blinks. “Why?”

“Because you did not have any of this last time.” Because you didn’t get the opportunity to. You were pressed against a tree, battling your own mind. “Want to give you something. Properly.” 

“As you did in the tiny, dark room, huh?”

God.

“No,” you say, “better.”

He’s breathless already. Maybe because you’re dripping not far from his own ache; still towering against his stomach.

God, he looks glorious like that.

The snatched waist. The picture-perfect torso. Lean but not too muscular; a warm skin colour amplified by the candlelight. His hair is falling to the side and freeing his forehead, allowing an unhindered view to his entire, gorgeous face.

And… he looks like he’s liking this.

Half-lidded eyes; light red lips; Adam’s apple bobbing when he takes in every bare patch of you.

You know he wants to touch you, wants to bruise you. His eyes cannot decide whether to look at your perked nipples, or your wanting eyes, or the hair he could pull at.

From what you gathered the first time, back in that room before agony striked, he will do it all — you know he will. He is the type to. And his fingers are twitching.

But. Not yet.

“You are…” you start, palms brushing along the muscles of his abdomen. “You are so beautiful.”

He smiles with his teeth worrying his lower lip; releases it with sheer lust in his pupils, and then counters, “And you are breathtaking.”

You believe him. He does look as though he can barely breathe.

It fuels your ego and your motivation.

So you shift back on his legs, lean down until your nipples are nearly touching his. You grant him one brief kiss, too ephemeral to get lost into.

And then, you move down his body, targeting his chest. His skin looks pretty whenever you lick along it — like liquid gold.

Your ministrations elicit a deep groan out of his throat, and his fingers move to your sides, somewhere below your armpits. As though he’s about to pull you up to his lips again.

But he doesn’t. You guess he’s enjoying this too much.

The way you bite his small, brown nipples, grazing his torso with exploring hands. The way you look up at him. The self-assured smirk he has never seen on you before.

Holy fuck.

His cock jumps against your tummy, and when you bite back a laugh, his hoarse voice asks, “What is so funny?”

“Oh, I just…” you look at the length trapped between your bodies. “I am liking this.”

He tuts, lets his head fall on the pillow and pulls his lips to another Jungkookesque smirk. The palm moving along your side is soothing. You must not let it catch your focus.

“I am as well,” he assures. “Did not know you would be smitten with my body like this.”

He must be joking.

“Well,” you touch his pecs, moving farther down. “I might have an obsession with them, too.”

“Another thing we have in… common then, I— whatareyoudoi—”

His words spill out quickly and hastily when you kiss along his skin, blowing against his pelvis and the veiny dick. Tall against his belly button, you watch a drop of precum connect the tip and his stomach.

You toy with the bright head, and lick the salty droplet away.

It’s enough for him to let out a guttural sound; the hand previously on your waist now settles at the back of your head. Impatient.

“Memorise those sounds, because you might not hear them again,” Jungkook says, and you look at him with raised eyebrows; his eyes are still closed. “This might kill me.”

You giggle at the sudden humour; you wish you had the ability to utter such coherent nonsense when he does his thing with you.

With a roll of your eyes, your mouth falls back onto the leaking shaft. Just the tip of your tongue licks along his underside first; you ignore the angry red head, but his cock still jerks under your touch.

You almost regret it as soon as you say it, but in the heat of the moment, it falls without a thought, “For someone so active, I did not think you would be so sensitive.”

The statement makes you sick. He might say something you might not like — for a moment, the realisation of his past makes your heart fall again.

But either he notices, or he means it, because he doesn’t let you dwell in ugly feelings too long when he says, “It’s because of you. I cannot remember ever… wanting anyone so much.”

And considering the amount of times he has sought temporary intimacy, you cannot take his words lightly.

“Good,” you say, biting your lip as you bring a hand to the thick member. Brushing down to his firm balls. His legs open a little, allowing you some more space; thighs harden next to your head. “That is good to hear.”

And with that, you start properly.

Your tongue slides from bottom to top again, finally teasing the head in slow swirls. The vibrations of your moans make him react immediately; you guess that gentleness is key sometimes.

You keep the pace when you wrap your hand around him, pumping, leading him away from his stomach and into your mouth. The moment you stretch out your tongue wide, Jungkook allows himself a gaze down to you.

And when you tap the cock against the wet muscle thrice, you watch his teeth grit. The quiet growl wants to evolve into something more animalistic; you know.

But the fact that he’s holding back all of his impatience evokes something unknown in you.

You are fucking loving it; enough to finally swallow him as much as you can.

“Oh my God, you are killing me,” he makes sure to let you know again; deep in your mouth, laying on your tongue, he twitches again. He wipes the hair out of your face, looks at you, and adds, “Holy fuck. Your lips look… so pretty around my cock.”

He enjoys the word pretty; for a full minute, he whisper-repeats it like a maniac. Swears and sighs; his exclaims stop making sense.

And when your eyes dart up again, coming up his curvy cock to catch a breath, you see the angry furrow of his eyebrows. Smileless dimples dig into his cheeks, and he looks like he’s focusing too hard.

So you press a palm against his stomach, still moving your hand up and down the shaft as you order, “Lean back. Calm down.”

He shakes his head, but not to disobey. Fucked out.

“You are just… incredible at this.”

“Then lean back… and trust me.”

This time he does, but the hand remains on your head. Fights the urge to pull.

And you resume your actions. Take him in deep, suppressing your reflexes when his tip reaches the back. You taste more precum on your tongue, swallow around him eagerly with hollow cheeks.

And just when he is fully hard, solid and almost ready to burst, you back off.

Much to his chagrin.

Because his voice turns… whiny.

Amazing.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Simple answer. “I like how desperate you look.”

“Why the hell…”

“Just,” you interrupt. “Imagine it with me. Do you not want me desperate?”

He tongues the inside of his cheek, puffing out a breath. His laugh sounds as if it’s ridiculing you, but his warning is the opposite. Dangerous; affects your lower tummy and heart.

“You will be,” he says. “You will be once it’s my turn.”

Shit.

But. But—

Whatever he says… for now, his true thoughts are revealed through his actions and reactions.

Like, when you decide to continue your slow edging for just a second. Sucking at medium speed, bopping your head up and down and then backing away with a plop. Spitting, all wet and slobbery, attentive to the balls until he’s whispering your name.

You feel his nails against your scalp now.

“When did you learn such a thing?” he asks. It’s hilarious how exhausted he sounds; so surprised you’re almost offended. “I thought you’d…”

“What?” you defend. “That I would lay back, have no idea what to do? Let you do all the work?”

“I just…”

You shrug your shoulders with a confident yet honey-sweet smile. “Do you like it?”

He’s astonished. Doesn’t need to answer; but still does, “It’s amazing.”

“Good.” You stroke his dick a little. “Here… what about this?”

“Go slow.” You oblige, adjusting your pace. “This…”

“What do you want?”

“This… all night long. I want you gagging and breathless.” Fuck. You need to burn the image or you might faint. “But…”

You gulp. “Yes?”

“I don’t want to end tonight like this.”

Oh? Oh.

In truth, you don’t want anything different, either — you just didn’t expect for him to hold back this well. Chasing his high isn’t a priority; he wants you closer.

You understand.

And you cooperate — come up, lean down, breasts in his face. You’re surprised but also not when he latches onto them in an instant; grabbing them, squeezing them, lifting his head to give one of your tits a singular wet kiss.

You shift on his lap, spreading your folds against the base of his cock. The soaked member slaps back against his stomach, aggressively veiny. You grind against it once, spreading your juices along its thickness.

The gesture forces his mouth open and you use the moment to connect his tongue with yours.

God.

This position alone, with him not even inside, could make you come, you think. Because whenever you move backwards, his length throbs against your clit, hot and ready to split you in half soon.

You place a hand under his jaw, looking at him attentively as he stutters, “I di–didn’t know you had it in you… To do such… a thing.”

When you attempt to speak, you can’t get a word out; so you fill your lungs with air, and try, “You weren’t the only one fantasising… you know?”

“Yes?” His forehead is covered in a thin sweat. Talking requires all his strength, with your pussy gliding over his dick and whatnot. “I want to know all about it.”

“No… you’ll feel it all, too.”

“God, are you still the same perso—”

His speech breaks when he sees you spitting into your hand. You lift your body from his, his hands chasing your touch; his grip on your hip is brutal when you bring down your soiled fingers and circle your clit.

Cover his cock with it. Delighted when he begs, “Stop it.”

“What?”

You slow down, but don’t come to a full stop. His chest rises and falls heavily; he’s tired and desperate when he says, “Please put it in.”

Oh. That’s what it is.

The traces of the controlling beast are gone; he’s a mess beneath you.

A corner of your mouth tugs upward, and you challenge, “Why don’t you do it?”

“Because you’re a vixen.”

You laugh. “Do it.”

He waits. Hesitates. He doesn’t trust you, and the suspicious look lights up your chest. You have never had this much fun in bed before.

You lift yourself off him when his trembling hand moves to his cock. He breathes through the mouth only, guiding his cock to your cunt, and when the tip touches your clit, you dodge.

Just a little. Enough to make him exclaim, “I fucking knew it, you vix—”

“I am joking,” you giggle, basking in his faux-annoyance.

When he tries again this time, you let him.

And…

Something in you bursts into flames.

This. This is the first time you are truly feeling him.

The thick, big length penetrates your walls so easily, leaving no gap. You sink onto him, but it doesn’t seem to end — the more inches you take in, the more you spiral.

Shit, that damn curve; it hits you right where it should, digging and digging in until you think he must be in your stomach. Your pussy clenches hard, and he hisses when you do.

“I— are you alright?” he asks; a drop of sweat trails down his temple.

“You’re big,” you whisper.

He smiles; nods. When he shifts on the bed, he slips deeper into you, and you gasp. Balls hit your ass when he says, “Be gentle. Don’t hurt yourself. Is that good?”

“It’s more than good. ‘M fine, I… I needed this.”

His fingernails rake along your arms; you shiver, angling your head with parted lips.

You’re almost scared of moving. He will break you.

But isn’t that what you dreamed of all those weeks? What you yearned for?

Carefully, with a deep breath in, you move up; your thighs are shaking, legs weak from how far his cock reaches. You make it halfway, and then drop onto him again.

And the sensation is…

Insane.

“Oh God, Jungko—”

“You aren’t already tired, yes?” he teases. You would remark something just as cocky, but you can’t form a word. He’s far better at this thinking thing than you are. “Go on. You can do it.”

You repeat the action, go further this time. Try to establish a rhythm with each lift and dip. He is so fucking huge, he stuffs you to the brim. With how long it’s been, you wonder how it’s so easy for you to take him like that.

“Good… good, yes, take it all,” Jungkook encourages.

You don’t know when your eyes squinted shut so tightly, but when you leave out an idiotic whine, looking at him, he’s staring at you with utter, dirty pleasure.

“You do look like you needed it,” he breathes. “Me. My cock.”

“Nnngh, I— yours.”

“Just my cock, is that right?”

He’s milking it. Absolutely getting off on your repetition, your sexual frustration, the way your body craves his. Back arched, sensual movements above him that scramble his thoughts.

And your tits. They’re jiggling, restless, sweat beads between them and hair strands stuck to them.

He clenches his jaw; his biceps bulge when he grabs you harder, makes you yelp.

“You’re so… beautiful,” he says, and your movements slow down just a little.

Your throat hurts from the heavy breaths, from the whisper of his name. You bounce on him for another few seconds, hands on his tummy, arms pushing your tits together.

And then, you near his lips. Seek his kiss, say against his mouth, “I don’t compare to you.”

“Do you… compare to anyone, though?”

“Jungkook…”

Another damn, tender-sweet call of his name. It drives him crazy.

His hands sneak to your ass, lifting it far, and slam it back down. Your lips spread wide, above and below, and your eyes roll back in your head.

“Come here,” he says before your tongues meet again.

Only the tongues. No true kiss.

He wraps your hair in his hand, rolls it behind your head and holds it there in a makeshift bun. When he snaps his hips against yours, you feel the tug at your scalp, but it elicits an odd… ecstatic pain.

Your entire body shivers.

In the heat of the moment, as he kisses you until breathless, his cock slips out once. Immediately, he guides it back to your cunt, and when he drives it back in again, he seems to lose his mind.

Because suddenly, he’s jackhammering into you. Swiftly, controlled and calculated, but hard. 

You fall against him with all your weight, immediately sorry.

“O–oh, Ju—”

His name transforms into a lengthy moan, and within a moment, you bury your mouth into the crook of his neck. Muffling the sound, still loud against his skin when he holds your ass in place, balls slapping against it, pounding into you.

But the moment is short lived.

Because merely a minute later, just when your pussy starts clenching around his veins, he lifts you off of him once and for all. He pushes you onto your back, leaving you clueless and wincing.

And before you can blink again, he’s pulling you down the bed by your legs, angling one of it against your stomach before he licks his thumb. 

“It is finally my turn, isn’t it?”

Oh, goodness.

Oh, shit.

Fuck, is he…?

Yes… yes, he’s crawling down, still sporting a standing, glistening, crazy wet dick, ready to eat you alive.

“Is this revenge… for me almost killing you?” you ask.

He clicks his tongue, but — when he looks at you, his breath hitches. The rise of your chest is mesmerising; the clenched fists adorable.

And your lecherous gaze mixes with amusement. He can’t help but laugh, but simultaneously feel a stinging ache in his chest.

Worse than ever before.

If everything he has felt for you until now was yearning, then this must be something… something far beyond his understanding. 

“No,” he murmurs, shaking his head just a little. “This is me pouring all my desire into you.” He raises the leg he priorly angled, and kisses above your ankle. “All of what I feel for you.”

The muscles of your face relax. You can’t even smile — you’re frozen in place. Falling into his dark eyes.

“Yes?” he asks.

And you nod. Whisper, “Yes.”

Which is all Jungkook needs.

His face drops between your legs like yours did before. Licking his lips, he parts your thighs again, caressing your flesh. And then, his soft, nimble digits move up to your clit, raising it with a finger and a thumb on either side.

For a second, he reciprocates your weak smile, holds your stare. But then, his eyes close softly. Eyelashes brush his cheeks. And the tip of his tongue…

Darts out and flicks over your tiny bud.

And the touch’s effect is immediate.

Your nerves burn up when he licks around your clit, and then comes back straight to it again. Never harshly, but so, so tenderly, only allowing you a tiny touch. Not pressing against it, not pushing it too far.

It affects you the most; so soft and fond and careful.

He knows… he knows what he’s doing.

When your body responses edge him on, he increases the pace, flattening his tongue a little more before he finally moves down from your clit and between your pussy. 

One hand holds a leg apart, pushes it back against your stomach again, and then runs down to your ass. His fingers and his mouth, the breath that falls against your wet cunt; all of it combined makes you dizzy.

The same palm reaches for your breasts, squeezes and massages one of it, and then, sneaks down to your entrance where he doesn’t push inside. Only teases you.

And amidst all the inner chaos, you choke his name, repeatedly, “Jungkook… Kook—”

“Hmm…”

“I think I will…”

He hums again, this time in agreement. His nose buries into your bundle of nerves, tickling and stimulating it as he, eventually, shoves two fingers in cautiously.

“Jungkook, I will come, I—”

He doesn’t answer. Now that you have said it, you know he won’t.

Instead, he keeps going. Keeps the speed, curls his fingers, presses against the rough spot inside you. His flat tongue drinks you up, steady and rhythmic between your swollen lips; flicking and circling motions make you keen.

And then, finally…

Your orgasm shatters you inside out. The coil snaps and affects your entire lower stomach.

The world tilts off its axis, suddenly spinning too fast. You see the ceiling twice before you shut your eyes close, winding on the bed.

Jungkook fingers you through your high, and you think you feel a wet sensation along your legs and on the bed beneath you.

What is it?

You’ve never…

But…

It feels so good.

Stars float in your vision. God, if you sat up now, you’d fall back again. You’re so dizzy; your legs are shaking.

It takes a moment to realise he’s calling your name. You’re near frantic, still catching your breath.

When you hum in question, looking down at him, he’s still forcing your legs apart, fingers gone from your pussy, but his lips still pecking your sensitive clit.

“What—” you begin, reaching for his hand. “What was that?”

“You… you liked this one.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “I know. I loved it, I just…” You puff out an exhale. “It’s wet. What did you…”

Jungkook looks surprised. And then, he smiles a little, enraptured by your cluelessness. He pushes his cheek against your thigh; gazes at you like you’re a star in the sky.

You remember what he knows. Remember that he’s probably done this to so many women before — that you aren’t the first. But he doesn’t show off with those skills.

You know he understands the craft, but instead of laughing about your inexperience, he keeps smiling. Quietly and in love… and then explains, “Sweetheart, you… you finished… hard. Have you ever felt this way before?”

Unafraid to admit, you shake your head. “No. Never.”

“It was gorgeous,” he says, moving back up to you. “You were beautiful.” He settles between your legs; lets his cock prod against your hole. “You are beautiful.”

And then, he’s pushing in again.

Reflexively, you hold onto his shoulders. You gasp and moan when he shoves himself all the way in, oh-so-slowly. He pins your knee against his waist; wraps his fingers around one of your wrists to raise it above your head.

His eyes are fluttering close, and he’s trying his hardest to keep them open. 

So are you.

Until you can’t anymore; until both pairs of eyes finally shut, and he hugs you close, melting both your skins as his mouth attaches to your neck.

Your pussy is aching; it feels like you’re still riding the waves of the prior orgasm, and he’s already pulling another out of you.

“Jungkook, it feels…”

So good. But so new, too. No partner has ever cared for you like that.

“Hm?” he speaks against your neck, kissing you softly. “Am I hurting you?”

“No… no, I just. I cannot say if I can… again—”

“It doesn’t hurt?”

“No,” you repeat.

“Does it feel good?”

“...Yes.”

Jungkook shifts on the bed, deeper and harder inside you now, lets your wrist go; his ass must be moving so swiftly, like he’s dancing against you. You wish you could see it from above.

He asks, “Do you want me to stop? If it is too much, then…”

He hasn’t come yet. And you don’t want him gone yet. Not now, not ever.

So you whisper truthfully, “No… Please don’t stop.”

“Then,” he says, suddenly delivering a ball-deep stroke, remaining there for a moment. You’re so breathless that you can’t even moan. “You can take it. Once more, my angel.”

And that’s it.

What follows is a series of almost relentless snaps. He’s vocal, and the arms around you still suggest complete devotion; but the way he fucks into you dampens your waterline.

You hold onto him, moving your hands up and down the expanse of his back, down to his ass. Following his movements, fearing for the creaking bed.

No matter what you do, you won’t be able to hide this from Jiyoo anymore.

It’s awkward; but right now, you don’t have it in you to care.

It takes one more minute; his pelvis keeps grinding against your clit. And then, you’re clenching again. The waves aren’t as high this time as they were with his mouth on you, but they’re overwhelming nevertheless.

They’re making you tired.

And as if on cue, as you’re still mewling, he pulls out and follows — and fuck, Jungkook’s orgasms are one to remember.

No wonder he has always been popular with the ladies. Even if they weren’t in love with him as you are, the sensation of him coming undone is worth everything.

The broken groans, the taut jaw. The hisses and the alternating tone. High and whiny first, deep and enticing later.

The beautiful arch-form of his upper lip, and the plumpness of the lower lip; both parted.

Shit.

When he’s pumped himself empty, covered your stomach with his seed, you’re spent; all he whispers is another, “…Incredible.” He wipes the hair out of your face, and adds, “I promise you I have never felt this way before.”

“Me neither,” you answer. Your voice is weak.

Both of you feel like you have run all the distance from your home; your heads are spinning, and you’re soaked in sweat.

He falls next to you, calms his heart.

The next minutes pass in a blur, quietly, sweetly, patiently.

Jungkook, once he’s recovered, stands. Scours the room for a handkerchief, and finds one in his sky blue coat. You grimace when he chooses it to wipe away his climax, saying, “I am sorry for ruining your cloth.”

“This one?” he asks, shaking his head. “I could use your gown, then.”

You laugh, slapping his arm, “Do not.”

He flicks his hair off his forehead, and stands once he’s done. Slips into his clothes and then says, “Wait here. I will get a wet cloth and some water.”

You nod. “It’s not like I can walk, honestly.”

And that’s how another hour plays out. It might be late and you feel incredibly tired, but wasting your moments with Jungkook feels inefficient.

It’s only when your eyes start drooping once and for all that your jokes die; and Jungkook says,

“I am falling for you. So hard.”

Against his chest, your eyes blow wide. Your lips tug upward.

No matter how many confessions he utters… you cannot get used to them.

“But my uncle’s eyes are set on us all the time.” Your smile drops immediately. “He does not want to risk any scandal between us. Says we can wait with… this shenanigan until after the marriage. Just wants me to formally court you.”

“He cannot,” you argue, cuddling into him, “stop you from falling for me. You can have me either way. No matter what he says.”

“It just hurts to be observed when I just want to be here. With you. The nights we spent away from balls were the only ones he didn’t see, and I felt… free.”

Your guts twist. You hate that you’re the first to provide such a humane feeling; hate that he feels like a caged bird.

You listen, “He did not mind my affairs so much, because according to him, that’s what men do. That’s why he doesn’t suspect anything now, either. It’s why I am here.”

He laughs in mock; the words sting in your chest.

“But he would mind with you. Because you are my wife-to-be and part of the peerage. Other women are too common to him; but you are too important to have your reputation tarnished.”

“But I choose to do all of this with you. To be with you.”

“Yes, I just… I wish I could fall for you without his watchful eye on us,” he repeats.

You pause, tapping against his chest.

Grinding your teeth, you think back to other balls. You don’t think you saw the Duke much, but… back in that dark room. When you and Jungkook…

He was quick to find you there.

“He never lets us out of his sight,” you say, more a statement than a question.

“Unfortunately.”

“Scary.”

Jungkook moves under you. “But. Let us talk about something else now.”

“Yes,” you immediately agree. Your heart feels too heavy. “Like what?”

He hums, thinking, and then says, “You once asked me what my goals were. What makes me happy.”

You remember. “I did.”

“Well, I…” He keeps staring at the ceiling. Blinks and gulps. Admits, “I do like to draw and paint. I wish to finish a big portrait one day.”

“Why did you not before?”

“Not much time to think about dreams.”

You silence. Then, you nod, and say, “Then I wish for you to reach that goal.”

“Mhm,” he makes, rubbing your arm. “And you?”

Not a difficult question. You read too much; novels stay glued to your hands. You must have thought about this a million times before, so your answer is immediate.

“I wish I was better at writing,” you tell him.

“Who says you are bad?”

“I do.”

“I do not believe this.”

You chuckle. He’s so warm against you; you should hate it in this summer heat. But he feels comforting. His touch and his encouragement are lovely.

“Perhaps I can show you one day,” you say.

A peck lands on your head; you feel the nod, cherishing the quietude until he questions, “Can you tell me something else about you?”

Hmm…

A harder question.

There are a thousand things about you; naturally, you cannot think of one now.

But when you look up to the same ceiling as him, thinking, you notice the flickering candlelight again. It’s dimmer now; maybe you should blow out the flame.

It reminds you of something, too, though.

So you answer, “When I get scared, I look for something that calms me down. Like a big tree to hide under. The starry sky.” Like his eyes. “Or a lake. I— oh, I once found comfort in fireflies.”

Back when you were younger, you’d sometimes sneak out of those fancy balls and walk along a garden until someone caught you. Jungkook, fooling around with his friends on his trail, saw you under those trees sometimes.

Weird that he remembers.

He doesn’t mention it, though; instead, he asks, “Fireflies?”

“They glow!” you say; your pure, enthusiastic voice makes him laugh. “No, but they do. Why do they? If not for us to admire them. Some find them strange, but I find them wonderful… shows that everyone and everything is worth admiring.”

That poetic gene again. You will never stop dreaming; and he will never stop adoring this quality of yours.

“Me too?” he asks.

“You are…” You wait. Think. Then add, “Extraordinary, Jungkook.”

He snickers for a moment, presumably because your hesitation suggested otherwise. But the proximity and your touch on him, still cuddling closer and closer, must prove that you mean it.

Squeezing your body, he mumbles some praises you barely understand; all you do is enjoy the foolery for a moment.

Until his joy falls once more, and the room becomes quiet again, and his smile drops, and you ask, “What’s wrong?”

Slowly and hushed, incredibly unsure, he asks, “What about my uncle? Is he… worth admiring, too?”

His uncle…

He feels less humane at least. Not even you can deny it.

But in your old, gentle manner, always believing in the good nature of people, you say, “I think there is often a reason why people turn bad. Not always. But his type of anger seems to have a trigger. I… I want to know about it.”

Another beat of pause.

Arms that tug you close, as if to protect you from an immediate demon in the room.

He breathes hope into his lungs, quieter than before. You don’t discuss the argument you had before all the intimacy; questioning your intentions won’t change reality now, and he knows.

He chooses to trust you; even if your actions entail dangerous lies.

You mean it well.

So all he whispers is, “You shall… I hope you are right with all this.”

Bliss isn’t the first phenomenon you expect upon waking. Considering the situation and the purpose of your journey, you should be on edge, dreading each revelation another morning brings.

But despite whatever truth you’re searching, the one you found in the candlelit night won’t leave your mind.

And it consists of.

One, the fact that the act has fallen; whatever touch Jungkook planted on you last night was real.

And two, the realisation that all the emotions you deemed feigned, all the starry affection his eyes carried… all of it was real, too.

Has been real.

His uncle built the cage that trapped Jungkook with unbreakable steel, and each moment you look into your lover’s eyes, you see the urge to break free.

None of it is an act anymore.

But with your distrust falling, perhaps you can indulge in whatever Jeon Jungkook as a person is. To unveil more of his true self and break the cage for him. You’d introduce another play, but skip to the very last act right away.

You wish you could tell him if the other side of the bed wasn’t empty. His warmth lingers, but he’s missing.

So you flutter your eyes open and lift your body with a long yawn. The long-case clock shifts into focus once you’ve blinked away your sleepy blur, and you realise that you’re not quite having an early morning after all.

It’s close to eleven. You don’t think you’ve slept in so late in a long time; not since you were genuinely ill the last time. But then again, you were occupied most of last night, too.

Draping the dress over you that Jiyoo provided yesterday, you come to a stand. You feel the ache between your legs immediately; your limbs’ muscles are still recovering.

If the man who caused it was here, he’d probably smile. Perhaps he’d make it worse. You don’t know, but you keep fantasising.

The door opens with a creak; the moment you step out into the main room, you recognise within a second that the house is empty. You don’t hear any shuffling, no voices, no conversation.

A chirping bird sits on the windowsill; along with the wooden furniture and the bright sunlight seeping into the room, the little mockingbird drowns the cottage in a fairy-tale glow.

And the next existence you register is him.

Standing near the entrance door, lost in whatever thoughts. Your steps are light, but he notices your presence when you dig further into the room. His head snaps towards you, arms folded.

His voice is as gentle as yesterday, though a little more fatigued when he says, “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

Presumably half expecting that you might join him in the nearly noon sun, he draws a deep sigh and turns back. And you’re fully intending to.

If the old cupboard next to you didn’t catch your attention.

Through its glass door, you see a variation of decoration. Little ceramic figures. Copper cutlery and cups that look untouched and dusty. And amidst all the possessions, you notice little drawings, framed.

There are a handful of them.

Merely pieces that showcase a girl and a woman, the mother as you assume. And that very mother looks like Jiyoo, so you can only guess that the girl’s the daughter you’re looking for.

They’re smiling on all of them; it’s like the drawings narrate a story from early childhood to late teenagehood.

The reality that strokes of pencils paint is fascinating to you. Pictures taken from the mind and eternalised on paper; for someone who has never attempted proper art, creativity of such calibre is mind-blowing to you.

You could keep staring at the old pieces.

But then a thought distracts you, though if you think about it, it isn’t very surprising.

There’s not a trace of a man…

It must have been hard for them to live without a husband, or a father figure. But such a life strengthens a mother-daughter-bond, too, does it not?

Judging from the emotions you perceive from their expressions, they’re a happy duo — you wonder how Jiyoo copes with the solitude around here. Her only daughter and solace is travelling; it must affect a single mother somehow.

If you had the power to take everyone’s pain…

You flinch when Jungkook calls your name again. Realising your absence next to him, his voice carries a fragment of confusion; so you turn to him and away from the dusty cupboard.

His back is plastered to the doorframe, and his face is a silhouette against the sun. He’s standing more to the outside than inside of the house, so you don’t see the raised eyebrows turn into a fond expression until you’ve stepped closer.

You press your back against the other side of the doorframe, facing him with a distance of mere two feet between you. The warm countryside breeze blows some of the untamed hair into your face, and he reaches out, pushes it back. Your skin tingles again.

Soft fingers barely grazing your cheek, he asks, “Are you feeling well?”

His expression is worried; his tone is careful.

Do you look unwell?

In spite of the circumstances, you can’t help but feel radiant.

“Hm?” you hum, frozen in place. “Yes. Why?”

Red-pink lips press together and then release. Jungkook has a dozen habits, but this is one you find oddly endearing; a smack of his lips, like he’s tasting heaven. The way he looked last night, too.

It might evoke irritation in a hundred people, but you, perceiving the world through rose-tinted lenses and utterly biased, crave this very mouth.

You’d cherish it a little longer if he didn’t look so worried. Bobbing his Adam’s apple when he swallows and murmurs, “Just… after last night.”

“I do,” you’re quick to bolster. “Of course I do.”

Jungkook hesitates; his eyes hide behind his bangs when the gust scatters them across his forehead. But when he clears his sight, you see relief in his shiny orbits.

“Good,” he says, “I was uneasy because you…”

The dangling, unfinished sentence is clear enough. His dropping head speaks for his silence, and he shuffles his feet, unconsciously bringing them closer to yours and sliding a few inches down the frame.

He is uneasy, because he worries you might regret it. Your willingness beneath him, the permission for him to leave no spot untouched. He’s scared he might have sullied you, but the colours your soul lit up in begged to differ.

You understand his point of view — after all that has happened to the both of you, the thought isn’t too far-fetched, right?

But you still say, “You don’t need to be worried.”

It’s all he needs. When his shoulders drop, you know that his fears have, too, before he verbalises it, “I’m relieved then.”

You flash one last smile for good measure, accompanied by a gentle nod. He’s close enough for you to touch; his movements pass in slow motions when a voice whispers to you to reach out.

Perhaps you could sidle back into the room; writhe under the sheets. Taste the future your heart urges you to approach. You hunger for more confessions. More breathless moments.

But the recurring fantasy of a utopian future reminds you—

The miniscule moment of oblivion crumbles when nature’s scent wafts towards you again. It smells different from the city. The house you were invited into, and the fields outside.

They look different from what you know.

So you ground yourself, snap out of it.

And ask, “Why’s the house empty?”

“She’s picking fruit.” Jungkook squints at the bright horizon, nodding towards a figure in the distance. “She was already gone when I stepped out.”

“Oh. When was that?”

“Just a couple minutes before you did.”

His dangling arms lift and he pushes his hands behind his back, supporting it. Now that he has confirmed the absence of your regrets, he isn't looking at you anymore. You wonder if there’s more that’s bothering him.

Maybe the fever of last night didn’t leave him as inebriated and lovesick as you.

Your romanticising self who’s hoping that you woke up, because you noticed his absence.

You who’s wondering what his first thought was as he saw you sleeping there. Curious whether he thought the same things that you did when you met his dozing form in the mausoleum. Or if he was rather lost in the creeping worries he spoke of.

Either way, he looks calmer now.

For a minute or two, you close your eyes and soak in the sun’s warmth in silence. Your mind blanks, but as time keeps stretching on, a question about the further plan forms in the back of your mind.

Reluctantly, you pull your eyelids apart, ready to discuss today and tomorrow and forever with him before a pleasant voice sing-songs, “Good morning!”

You didn’t hear her approaching, so you recoil immediately, dropping an eye shut again. It takes a moment to realise that they’re both laughing at your antics, and all you manage to react with is a flat hand over your dress. Eliminating wrinkles that aren’t there.

She doesn’t lose a word about last night. She must have heard — but she understands the concept that privacy is.

You’re grateful.

Timidly, you walk back into the house, watching her place two baskets on the table. She takes out a handful of the fruit, washes it quickly before she places it in a bowl and offers, “Fresh strawberries. Would you like some?”

Jungkook and you share a look; he shrugs his shoulders, pointing to the table with a friendly smirk, as if to encourage you to respond. And when you stall your answer some more, she looks up at you, eyebrows adorably raised.

“Um,” you laugh, nearing the table with a straight back, “of course. I’ve never had fresh strawberries.”

Jungkook takes a stand next to you, uttering a mannerful, Thank you, before he grabs a juicy strawberry for himself. Its intense taste could be enough for you to forget about the issue on hand.

His mind must have surely eliminated the thought, because he starts nodding with pleased hums, repeating over and over again, “They’re so sweet. They’re incredible.”

For a minute, both you and her admire his appetite and manners. The constant praises as though she just invented strawberries herself. She glances at you; her eyes reveal that she deems you lucky, and you throw a proud smile back.

You giggle when Jungkook throws his head back; when he looks back at you, his eyes are glowing, slowly blinking as if he’s seen the doors to Heaven. But the next bite changes his expressions, eyebrows kissing like the food has offended him.

He must be exaggerating, but you find it ridiculously endearing.

Yet, no matter how lighthearted your journey becomes, something lingers in your mind that no fruit can eliminate. You can’t fall into distractions again, and you think that’s what he is doing right now. Probably just waiting for this afternoon, though.

“They are very sweet indeed,” Jiyoo says. “I like to think that mine are the best around here.”

This will never end. Next topic.

“Thank you for them!” you hasten, wiping the corner of your lips. “Do you need any help with anything?”

Maybe a moment alone could help you out. Just a few minutes to find out more.

You must not forget that you need Suhana’s presence here. If you could just take her with you to town for a while… to have her talk to the Duke, speak some sense into him. Tell him to stop sending the money and tormenting his family…

But to your chagrin, she shakes her head immediately and assures, “Not at all. Cannot let my guests work.”

“Oh, I just thought,” you gulp, “you might need help to prepare for this afternoon.”

“Hm?”

She looks confused. Strange.

“Your daughter,” you explain; not quite sure why you need to, “since she is returning, I reckoned you might have your hands full. I could provide one.”

The brief silence that follows is awkward; soon broken when she promises, “Oh, no. She won’t be back in a couple of hours, so I will rest just a little for now.”

Strange, strange, strange.

Unable to prod, you nod, whispering a fading, Alright, before your gaze shifts outside the window. You can’t figure out the atmosphere here. The woman seems genuine, but her mind keeps wandering off.

Why is everyone hiding something? Why is no one straightforward?

You could just lean back, like Jungkook, and wait. But there’s this nagging feeling inside you…

“If you’d like,” she begins. Pauses until the two of you look at her. She uses the fact that your eyes keep fixating on the outside; you know that she does when she says, “You could take a walk in the meantime. I could prepare lunch. It’s a beautiful day.”

Yes. Maybe that’s what you truly need.

Jungkook begins to form a rejection, but you interrupt, overshadowing his soft voice, “We shall! We haven't had an opportunity to do so yet.”

You never thought Jungkook could ever showcase such a shy side of him. Because when you look at him, he looks baffled for a moment, his usually confident self cluelessly stuttering.

That is, until he registers the silent plea in your eyes, and echoes, “We shall.”

You spend the minutes fixing your hair and your clothes, jumping into the ones you wore yesterday, with half your attention to the sounds in the kitchen.

Your pupils fog when your ears get used to the resonant clinking of steel tableware; and then, your sight clears each time you think you notice another voice.

But there’s never anything or anyone other than her and her engrossed hums.

Jungkook changes in another room, and doesn’t disturb your thoughts either when you tackle the path up the hill. You haven’t properly heard his voice since last night, and somewhere in the back of your mind, the fact renders you uncomfortable.

But the forefront of your head is filled with the riddles that plague the cottage down there. You can’t wrap a finger around it; or perhaps you can, but you don’t want to accept it as the truth. Because despite her kindness, the iffiness is almost palpable.

It wasn’t yesterday; not when she stepped into the house earlier. But her confusion. The insecurity in her eyes.

You need to know.

However…

You stop in your tracks, watching a ladybug cross the path. You don’t look at his face, deep in your thoughts, but tell him, “I cannot stay much longer. My parents will grow suspicious.”

A short silence, only broken by the birds’ songs.

You glance up at him, awaiting a solution, disappointed when all he comes up with is, “You can leave if you need to. I won’t hold you ba—”

“I know,” you interrupt softly, daring one step closer. “I know. But nothing in me wants to leave you alone.” You tilt your head, look down to the house. “You’d need a carriage, if I left.”

You gesture to said vehicle, hands nervously flailing around when you add, “And… besides, I crave the truth as much as y—”

Fingers around your wrist stop your frantic movements, pulling your chest close to his. If you leaned in, your nose might brush his; his dizzying breath mingles with the scent of the trees.

Intense eyes dig into yours; his pupils are shaking, looking for an answer in yours without uttering the question. And it seems he doesn’t find one when his eyebrows relax again.

Deep breath drawn, you shake your head slightly, adding an inquiry to your puzzlement, “What’s wrong?”

“Why,” he begins, a firm hold around your wrist, “are you doing this for me?”

You hold his stare. Realise his quietude all morning bit by bit. The worries, the way he dodged your eyes, the uncertain stance.

You thought he knew why. That he understood that you feel the same for him as vice versa.

What is it?

Is he scared you might leave, that your infatuation with him will end once this is over? Does he think last night will become a fleeting memory? Does the thought of letting you go hurt him, too; has he really fallen hard, too?

What if you told him now…

Fuck it.

No what ifs. No uncertainty.

You need to try.

“Because,” you say, carefully diving into the truth, “I am ready to do anything for you. I want to find my way back to you once and for all, and I want you to heal. And I need to separate him from you. For you to find a family member you can trust.”

His lips part. The expression is so painfully pure that your heart parts, too.

You say, “It’s what you deserve, and what we deserve.”

“We do.”

The answer comes quickly. Reassuringly. The grip around your arm grows softer, and he lets his hand, along with yours, fall to the side.

You use the opportunity to wriggle out of his digits, and instead, graze your fingertips along his palm until you’re holding his hand just barely.

“The way we were last night.” Your voice is a whisper now. If the wind blew any harder, he wouldn’t be able to take in a single word. “I want it every night. Not just our bare bodies, but… your touch on me. No matter how.”

Your fingers entangle, but you’re still not holding each other firmly. It reminds you of the night it rained; after you snuck into the theatre. Insane how much has changed; insane how much hasn’t.

Jungkook is still listening, but the sparkle in his eyes is changing. He’s still… pining for you.

The bittersweet ache in his gaze is apparent; the one that longing evokes. The ache that urges one to reach out and trap the other in a ceaseless embrace.

“It felt right,” you continue. “So I don’t want this to go wrong.”

His breathing alters; the apples of his cheeks blush. You nod, as if to say—

I know. I want you closer, too.

He swallows his insecurities, shuffling nearer to your body as if on cue; you feel breathless despite the fresh air. You need to skip this part. You need your glorious, blooming ending now.

His other hand lifts to your arm slowly. Settles there, and then moves to the crook between your neck and shoulder in tiny motions.

His skin burns against yours; much as last night. But when the shiver he elicits comes in touch with him, the heat evaporates.

You feel at ease.

Though your face still warms when he asks, “Is that what you wish for, sweetheart? To be with me?”

To be with him.

How exemplary it sounds.

“If I spoke about an ideal ending,” you say, “then I think that would be it.”

“Good,” he murmurs; his whisper nearly matches yours now. “Good. I want it, as well.”

You put a gentle hand on his. Wrap it around his fingers, let them drift to your jaw and cheek. When you smile, he responds in kind, and when all words have been spoken, you say, “Come.”

Still hand in hand, you tug him forwards — only to realise that Jungkook might not have said all he needed to after all.

Because he pulls you back immediately, risking a clash; he seems to like doing this. You want to laugh and tease him, lean into the kiss you expect.

But his tone is still serious. Agonisingly mild when he admits, “I meant it. I… I told you I fell for you, and I meant it.”

He’s said this so many times, and yet—

Your stomach turns. Butterflies escape their cocoons, raging as you take him in carefully. His pupils are still now, different from before. He looks sure. No trace of doubt.

You realise it, too. Echo in your mind that yes, yes, he means it.

And tell him, “I know.”

But he clarifies further, “I do not merely want this to end, because I need the truth about my cousin. Or because I need her help to end his tyranny. And also not only, because I need someone else to confide in. But, because I need you back, too.”

Growing up, you learned to never be dependent on anyone. You consider the women in your house strong; because they taught you that—

“You don’t need anybody in life, Jungkook.”

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But I do need you, so I can understand what this life thing is. You lead a path to understanding. I’m not as strong as you, you see?” He angles his head. Beautiful even in his grief. “I wouldn’t have found it myself.”

And suddenly, you do realise… It isn’t wrong to need anyone.

There is no defeat in admitting it. No weakness. That Jungkook wants you by his side, to flourish, to heal, to love — is a strength, if anything, isn’t it?

You blink slowly, tenderly; the fondness in your eyes is real and unfiltered, soft when you touch his jaw and say, “We will be alright.”

A belief that crumbles just a bit later on. Suddenly and harshly.

As you walk back to the cottage, something finally happens.

The fog of fragility clears; it helped to know where he stands with you. And it lets you see the world without those blurry glasses you wore before that very walk; lets you concentrate on this journey and its purpose better.

But then again…

It means that you’re more impatient, too — forgetting Jiyoo’s kindness and overthinking the insecurity from this morning. Your mind works at double speed. 

Just — nothing is happening, and you feel like you betrayed Jungkook with the promise that everything would turn out okay. And it drives you crazy.

You linger for another few hours, waiting for someone to arrive who doesn’t. You grow more suspicious by the minute; and when early evening finally breaks in, and the house still only carries three people, you take a stand.

Perhaps you are just suddenly nervous; but being trapped in a stranger’s house, waiting for a glorious revelation tires you out. And Jiyoo… she barely talks to you anymore, busy with her duties.

No. This isn’t right.

“Where are you going?” Jungkook asks, flinching out of his thoughts from the other corner of the bed.

You wonder how he got any thinking done at all, with you pacing the room in idle steps. Waiting for something.

“I don’t know,” you snap. “Out. To find something. Or her. I don’t know.”

You must admit that part of your impatience goes hand in hand with the fact that time is running out. You can’t remain here for the rest of your days, so you need to find out why she’s keeping you at this place and not revealing the truth.

So you shake your head with a smack of your lips, rushing to the main room slash kitchen. Jungkook’s steps follow closely; he’s saying something. Coming up with theories. Which you understand — it’s natural that he’s still hoping.

But you can’t ignore the empty house anymore. Or the time of day. Or Jiyoo’s silence.

You scan the room for clues; anything you might notice. A false fever burns up your forehead; half of you is anxious for Jiyoo’s return, and the other half wants to confront her right here, right now.

Jungkook’s voice shifts into the background. You’re doing this for him — but it’s fascinating how your mind shuts him out, muffling his words, slowly spiralling into insanity. You don’t know yourself like this. Funny what love and care can do to you.

“Listen—”

It’s him again.

A heavy hand falls on your shoulder, attempting to turn you around, but you’re too busy cramming through the content of some cupboard drawer. It’s the same one with the glass doors; the one inhabiting the drawings.

Your eyes shift up to them, but your sight is blurry. You breathe in, shaking your head as you inhale the drawing’s dark hair. The eyes. A child’s eyes.

If the room wasn’t quaking like this, you’d admire the talent more. Maybe ask her for a lesson.

Instead, all you manage is a broken answer to Jungkook, eyelids suddenly heavy, “This is all ridiculous. It’s evening. What is happening? Is she just late?”

Because maybe you are exaggerating. Travels can be hindered; arrival can be postponed.

But the nagging feeling…

“Listen to me,” he repeats, stepping next to you. Out of habit, he brushes back the strands that escaped as you searched; but your eyes stay fixated on the drawings. “You need to go home. I will unveil the secrets, and I will ensure that we remain together.”

Yes, you know that’s what he intends to do. But seeing the truth will take him far too long. It won’t come easy to him if he doesn’t put all the puzzle pieces together — his way of solving this problem relies too much on Suhana’s actual presence.

But you see something else.

Those drawings, their eyes, the age, all of it tells you something else.

Maybe you’re waiting for nothing. And maybe it’s time to demand an explanation.

As something clicks in your mind, you form one yourself — an idea you desperately need to be wrong. But you guess there’s only one person to confirm it.

So you blend out the little pleas Jungkook voices. You don’t know whether it’s the situation or your sudden outburst that worries him more.

But he’s still confused when you step away, arguing about something that you might come back to later.

For now, you walk to the back of the house, to the stall with the cows, interrupting Jiyoo’s milking session. Jungkook follows and shuts his mouth once you find yourself face-to-face with her.

She looks up from the animals with a deep sigh. Upon detecting you slowly walking closer, she smiles; you assume that another hospitable suggestion lies on her tongue.

Maybe she’ll ask whether you’re hungry. Or if you’d like to converse with her, keep her company.

Anything but the truth; some twisted method to keep you here, for whatever reason.

But here’s what you know.

Suhana seemingly still sends letters to the Duke.

But Jiyoo let slip on the very first night that her bed has always been too large for her alone, as though she always sleeps in it alone — and that the only other room remains for guests solely. Her dining table is tiny, barely enough for one person. And her daughter’s name alone saddens her.

It’s as though she invented a daughter, or as though the girl left, and the mother continued to receive money.

Too odd.

And you’re done beating around the bush.

So you state more than you ask, “She’s not coming.”

The corners of her lips drop immediately. Her hands leave the poor cow’s udder, wiping at the apron to avoid your gaze. But you can still see how her eyes fill with sorrow.

Like she’s sorry. Whether about being caught or about something else, you don’t know.

And she refuses to answer.

Silent, lost in her head. You look at Jungkook, and he looks terrified — like you, he expected a solution to your problems. The accusation you just uttered must overwhelm him.

And he wants to ask — you know. But he wants to hear Jiyoo’s response, too.

So he remains silent, as does she. Jiyoo only flinches, looking up at you when you call her name, blinking the misery away as you ask again,

“Where is she?” Pause. And then, “Who is she?”

You prefer the solace of your leisure room to the commotion at balls.

Maybe because you’ve, while socially competent, always chosen silence over hour-long socialising. And you’ve always guessed that you got it from your father.

The ball gown dances around your legs when you advance towards him. Your fingers half-nervously fold over your tummy, teeth nibbling at your lips. You’ll need to check your reflection before you leave — maybe relax the crinkles on your forehead.

Your father notices you mid-yawn, raising both his eyebrows as a greeting that you counter with a smile. The collars of his button-up stand tall, glasses sliding down his nose. He must’ve ran his fingers through his hair, because he looks worn out.

“Are you certain you’re not attending the ball?” you ask.

You place a hand on the arms of his chair. Your question doesn’t sound too worried — more like you’re making sure that he stays right here. It won’t be much of a dangerous affair for your mother or your sister — you doubt they know details of whatever your father involved himself in.

Or at least you hope so. Because they will be accompanying you tonight.

“Very likely not,” he answers. A book lies on his lap; probably a well-deserved break between the work that’s spread on the table in front of him. He points to it. “And I do not think I need to attend every party anyway.”

You don’t, either. In fact, you somewhat envy him, because he gets to stay at home, blissfully unaware of what might happen in someone else’s mansion.

Maybe it’s easiest for him to remain here and drown in work.

A short glance at the papers reveals that this time, he’s not handling business circling around the Duke or his daughter. These are common names and common numbers. Just paperwork like on any other day.

You’re relieved.

Yet, you fear the worst — what if the stack of doom is hiding somewhere underneath the harmless pile?

“Good,” you say. You wait; then ask, “Is it still the same case as last time?”

And to your comfort, he immediately shakes his head, thick eyebrows shooting to the sky, “Oh no. Boring paperwork tonight.”

“Good,” you repeat.

You turn half your body away from him, still fumbling with your fingers. You hear him clear his throat, drum against the back of his book. His eyes flit back and forth between the novel and his work; he must be back in his thoughts, debating what to do next.

For a moment, you let him. Think of leaving him alone, putting your trust in him.

But the itch on your tongue won’t still; so you inhale through your nose, tremendously nervous, and blurt, “Do not get involved in royal business anymore.” He looks up at you, shock written in your eyes. You shrink where you stand, and quietly add a shy, “Please.”

“What?”

“The thing with the Duke and his daughter. I know you had no other choice and he is influential, but do not accept illegal requests anymore.”

“Darling,” he begins, shifting in his seat, “if I am ever made to do it, I must follow orders.”

Lost in the adrenaline, you spit, “You won’t have to, I am sure.”

And that’s what shuts him up once and for all. He leans back again, knuckles pushing back his glasses as he likes to do. His eyes are indecipherable behind the reflection of the lusters, but you hear the confusion in his voice.

“How are you so sure, though?” he wants to know. Perhaps he thinks you’re worried for him — when the bewilderment dies, he flashes an endeared smile. “Do you possess any knowledge I do not?”

If you could, you’d give into your nervous ticks again. But if you bit your lip again now, he’d know that he hit a mark.

You choose to stay neutral, neither forming a lie nor giving him the truth. Instead, you vaguely inform, “Well. I am trying to confirm a theory. But you don’t need to play the messenger anymore.”

“And you do?” he asks, suddenly worried. “Not quite sure whether I am liking the mission you assigned to yourself.”

“Oh, it is not a mission,” you say. Somehow, it is. But then again, it isn’t. You guess that your first priority is truly just to confirm something. Everything else shall be dealt with later. “I am being careful.”

“You better be. Do not get involved either.”

“Father, believe me, I—”

“They’re not a joke, those royals. If I am staying out of it, you are even more so.”

You want to stomp your feet like a child. Want to roll your eyes, tongue your cheek. But what good would it do? You’d just reveal your plans — would make clear that this isn’t just a harmless night to seek information.

So you remain quiet.

You nod. You think he wants to say more, warn you further. But you use his words to play the docile, little daughter, bow just slightly and rush out of the room before he can utter another word.

Each of your movements as you enter another luxurious house and are welcomed by the hosts comes from muscle memory.

Your head slowly scans the ball room; you digest the sceptical looks; smile towards those who greet you with warmth. 

And each of your steps happens automatically. The way you halt for just a moment when the crowd comes into view, admiring the glass decoration while simultaneously wondering if the money could’ve been spent on something more efficient.

How your hand lays on Jungkook’s arm has turned into a habit, too. Probably not just for you — because the part of the guests who doesn’t look at you like it’s brewing another rumour, looks at you like you’re already married.

They don’t stare at you like anything strange ever happened between the two of you; it’s like the brunch never occurred. No one talks about it. Of course they don’t. How would they know about your rage; his mistakes?

You wish you could bask in that peace and his touch. If there was a possibility to dance the night away without those intrusive thoughts and the lingering anxiety, you’d take it without hesitation.

But tonight serves a bigger purpose. And all the habits you think you knew might come crumbling down; something might change this time.

You think it will… soon. But for now you gaze back at those who have their eyes fixated on you.

Do they ever blink?

Honestly, they’re only this obsessed with you, because you’re still the girl courted by the Duke’s bachelor nephew. By the Lord Jeon Jungkook — a pairing still unusual; not least because of your polar reputations.

Men must care less; they don’t focus on you too much. Though they do look surprised. And a dozen women — they are jealous of you.

And then there’s you, worried how long this bond might last. Scared of how this night might end, because you don’t know its results yet.

You walk through the hall, mustering utmost elegance, looking around. Smiling under the Duke’s careful stare. He might not realise it — but you’re aware of the eyes that glance at you from the other side of the room, sipping whatever he chose to down.

So you behave as you’re supposed to, without ever bothering to talk to him. In all honesty, you’re terrified of him; he’s like an ominous being from nightmares.

The one who welcomes you with open arms and a pleasant smile, despite not being the host of this expensive gathering, is a mother.

Not any mother.

The Duchess herself, in all her glory.

Diamonds adorn her dress; her gloves are snow white, a contrast to her black hair. She looks like the sweetest, little woman. Can’t do anyone wrong. Big eyes, a small nose. Shorter and softer than Jungkook, but her smile is the same.

You bow deeply and immediately, angling your knees as much as you can. Hoping to gain some plus points from her and his son, but she reaches for you instantly and says, “Oh goodness, no need to!”

Which is ridiculous; of course you need to.

She gestures around, “I shall be a mere guest tonight. You can greet me as one, too.”

How do you usually greet other guests? A nod, is it? A slight bow?

But.

“You aren’t a mere guest tonight, though, Ma’am,” you say.

Jungkook stares from the side; you’re too nervous to notice his fond gaze. You’re always soft-spoken, but the tone you gave your answer in is a melody to his ears.

“Still!” she says, cheerful and sweet. “Treat me as one. I cannot take any attention from our lovely host and countess. It is her night, after all.”

It is her night indeed. What exactly she is celebrating, you cannot quite say. At this point in the summer, you usually trudge along with your mother and sister. Every event is an opportunity for you to enjoy the summer season — nothing more.

“I shall, Duchess,” you promise, and gesture gently towards her dress. “Perhaps I was too blinded by the diamonds anyway.”

She laughs wholeheartedly, nodding as if to agree, and then responds, “Your gown is gorgeous as well, though. You will need to reveal your seamstress’ name to me.”

You puff out a breath playfully, feigning an apologetic expression and joke, “A woman cannot possibly do that.”

And she tilts her head, joining in the casual fun. “That is right, I must agree.”

“But I am jesting,” you say with a shake of your head, a soft blink. “Of course I shall. Maybe we can even visit her together.”

You must delight her — her smile seems genuine at least. You know it from Jungkook; by now, you think you can differentiate a weak, forced smile from a meaningful one.

Her eyes dart over to him; he’s standing still, listening in, not uttering a word. Only lowers his head shyly when his mother focuses on him.

You wish he could break the ice a little more; apart from the greetings and introductions, he hasn’t said much. And she might be thinking the same, because she asks him, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Oh,” he voices, “this is your conversation.”

His mother smirks; God, their features are strikingly similar. Sure, blood binds them together, and their appearance and habits are bound to align. But he’s like a male mini version of her.

You see the same tenderness in her starry eyes.

You know immediately that she’s mocking him when she questions, “That’s the reason, is it?”

But you don’t fully understand her hint until you look at him. He’s beet-red, embarrassed; or possibly just liking your interaction. He looks at you like he’s dizzy.

So, so fond.

The lost expression and the gentle smile catch you off guard. You might faint like other women often feign.

You wonder if he’d catch you.

You hold his stare until his mother clears her throat; even then, you know that he’s frozen in place, eyes stuck on your profile. Barely blinks when she says, “I shall let you two be then.”

His head only darts to her amused expression when you start assuring she can interrupt anytime she’d like; but she gives a tiny wave, and sing-songs, “Enjoy the music.”

Does she mean…

Oh.

It might be your cue to join the other pairs on the dancefloor.

Not a bad tactic to implicitly push you towards the man you adore; perhaps she knows that swaying in his arms could be a prettier dream to you than just looking at him.

Maybe you’re on the same wavelength as him — or maybe he’s understood the assignment, too.

Because a second later, he lifts a finger to his ear, urging you to listen to the fading music. And then, he says, “Another round seems to be starting.”

You nod. “Seems to be.”

To which he finally stretches his hand towards you; the one you’ve held so tightly already. Fingers you tangled yours with numerous times.

A touch in the pouring rain. Finding his warmth in a cold room at the cemetery. Letting him raise your arms up the mattress, cementing your wants for each other.

But tonight, for now, it’s just the hand of a courting man. Innocent and sweet.

Not because so many people are watching, but because this purity is a side of him that you’ve grown to cherish. The softness is reserved for you; the doting eyes blend out every light and shadow around you.

And as the same sparks flicker in your chest, you accept his hand with the slightest of bows. Your annoyingly dreamy mind imagines he’s not just leading you to the dance floor but into a future, too.

At least for the moment, everything around you feels like a dream.

All the candlelight, the golden room, dozens of flower arrangements. The lusters hanging above you, reminiscent of magical castles.

And in front of you, bowing before he pulls you in, the prince who’ll escort you away from all evil.

As the music starts and you step towards him, he nearly immediately says, “Thank you.”

You tilt your head, blinking as you ask, “What for?”

“For… being you. She likes you,” he nods in a general direction; you assume his mother is standing somewhere there. “And I do, too.”

You cannot help but laugh about the sudden admission. It’s sweet; you aren’t used to much sappy talk from him. So you just tease, “I like you as well, Lord.”

“A true angel,” he nods. “You like everyone.”

“Do not call me that.”

“I think you are, though. Fell from the Heavens, but cannot remember.”

You roll your eyes, rocking with him; your feet move automatically, and your answer is just as much of a reflex, “Shut up.”

He, of course, doesn’t stop. Turns you in a circle, and then places his hand at the small of your back. Presses in as he says, “You shall get used to the name as you try remembering your celestial life.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Sorry. Perhaps you will like it one day.”

“Mh-mh,” you press your lips together, clicking your tongue. This is somewhat… fun — you almost forget the purpose of tonight. “Not even if I am reborn a dozen times.”

He chuckles; his laughter is always so lovely. Addictive. Quieter when he asks, “Do you think you’d get the chance to hear it if you were reborn, though?”

The switch to another partner is close.

Hastily, you ask, “What?”

And just as quickly, he questions, “Do you reckon we’d meet again?”

The answer stuck in your throat remains there. Because a moment later, you’re in someone else’s arms, moving tenderly, but not looking away from him.

As a silent response, you shrug your shoulders. Nod towards your dance partner when he looks into the crowd. As if to say, “Maybe it’ll be him I shall meet in my next life.”

It’s meant as a tease — and you think Jungkook understands.

From afar, he rolls his eyes; and then, for a second, he’s out of view.

It’s the only time you can ease the tension and the stress; if you can annoy him for just another moment before the tears stream, you shall.

So you indulge in the joy when you see him again. Your dance partner is quiet, doesn’t bother conversation; or maybe, he knows where your attention actually lies.

You are aware that you are being rude, but you can’t help — the way Jungkook’s gaze changes and his jaw clenches is hilarious. He isn’t truly jealous; you know. But it’s funny — letting the other man smile at you. Smiling back at him.

Jungkook isn’t hardening his jaw because of envy. But because he needed to be romantic for once, and you are being a brat.

The usual sweetness you’ve learned to love in the last days is soon replaced when he cocks an eyebrow as though to scold you from afar. A response already lies in your movements; you know what provoking him does, and you want to keep doing it.

But then, something catches your attention.

From the side of your eye, you see a family gathered near a small fountain. They’re not talking to each other, but they’re keeping the picture of being a unit intact.

Jungkook’s mother distracts herself from him as she converses with another lady next to her, and Junghyun, his brother, is busy staring into the crowd, grimacing about something. And then, close to him, stands the villain of the night.

His eyes are scanning the room, but when he notices yours on him, he holds your gaze for a second.

Lifeless.

It’s how you’ve always remembered him.

Your dance partner spins you in a circle once more, and when you seek Jungkook’s attention again, he’s already looking at you. Some of the tension evaporates for just the moment, and instead, you initiate tonight’s big moment with a nod.

The music continues for another minute, and you remain in strangers’ arms, following automatic dance moves until it’s finally quieter. You bow when the man does, and then excuse yourself with a tenderly kind voice.

It takes Jungkook a mere second to follow suit.

And when you lift your dress, hastily climbing up the stairs, you notice how wild your heartbeat is. The lack of music, or at least the fading of it, reveals the loud chaos in your head. 

Your guts are twisting.

A few people still loiter around in the lit hallway that you step into. You stroll through it casually, nodding towards those who know you. Usually nosy people are seemingly too busy with something else — to your pleasure, no one asks you a lot of questions.

Or maybe, that’s because your admirer isn’t far away. When you halt and look over your shoulder, he’s still following with a distance of a few feet. Jungkook looks as nervous as you feel.

And then, when you finally reach a poorly lit place, escaping from the hungry eyes of the guests, he speeds up. The hallway is empty, and his steps echo through it.

You turn around the moment he reaches you; arms wrap around your waist immediately and gently push you against the wall, right next to a door.

Gasping, you swallow your words when his chest nears yours. You can’t see him much — you can make out his silhouette, the movements in his face, his touch.

But you hear the desperation in his voice when he whispers your name; feel the adoration in his touch when he leans forwards and, suddenly, presses his lips on yours.

It’s a quick and brief kiss, yet filled with unfaltering passion. His tongue doesn’t peek through; he only kisses you once, robbing your breath, placing a hand under your ear.

And once he draws back ever-so-slowly, putting all his longing into the thumb that’s grazing your cheek, you say, “That was not planned…”

“I just… I needed it.”

Your hands swiftly brush along his broad shoulders. “Why?”

“Because,” he sighs. Some of the yearning in his voice shifts to something amusing, and quietly, he jests, “I need my hands on you. I… need to wipe away the remnants of his.”

The man downstairs? The one you danced with?

God.

You laugh tenderly. He’s grown used to that sound — repeats it like a lullaby before he falls asleep.

“Do not be so envious all the time,” you tell him.

“I will be. I need to be until this is over, because it reminds me that I belong to you. Me,” he emphasises, connecting your foreheads. “Of all the hearts that exist, I want you to hold mine.”

You pause.

Your own heart pulverises.

He overthinks like you do.

All those nights lying awake, thinking about the future. Repeating moments that are proof of your togetherness. The only bits that remind you that you didn’t dream those words and touches.

“Do you…” you start, palms travelling to his chest and down to his waistcoat-clad stomach. “Do you think we will be alright?”

His answer is immediate, “I think we already are.”

“But—”

“I will not believe otherwise. I’ve given up my heart already, and I will not accept any other reality anymore.”

“...Jungkook—”

He pulls you closer by your waist; closer to the sky in his eyes. “I will find a way. Should tonight end in a disaster, I still will not give up on you. Hear me?”

You hear him. Loud and clear.

His voice echoes through your mind as much as your heartbeat. The quietude of the night and the emptiness of the hallway amplify the sound of your breaths; you inhale him when his lips inch to yours like a magnet.

For a tiny moment, his closeness allows you to forget the moment you’re in. The caressing fingers on your cheeks, the approaching kiss that society might deem sinful if people saw you — the intensifying passion is tangible.

In those short minutes, you have gotten used to the silence so much that you don’t notice when it falls. The change only occurs to you when steps grow louder on the marble floor, hurried and accompanied by heavy breaths.

”What is going on?”

You part from Jungkook in time.

Fists retreat to your stomach; your chest hurts. Despite how much you anticipated this very moment, you are horrified.

The Duke rushes into the darkness to you, glancing over his shoulder once before he lets out a whisper too loud, “It is thorough luck that you were not found by one of the gossipers downstairs!”

You don’t feel bad. Your fears aside, this is exactly what you needed to happen.

My uncle’s eyes are set on us all the time. He does not want to risk any scandal between us.

You guess Jungkook was right.

His scolding continues when he halts mere feet from you. Where he stands, right under a large window, the moonlight shines onto him enough to make out the flaring nostrils, the anger in his eyes.

Instinctively, Jungkook slowly shoves you behind his body. You attempt to fight against the gesture; you need to be as present as him. But he wraps a hand around your wrist firmly, and you suppress a hiss.

“Well, this might just be the definition of luck,” Jungkook argues, “you are right.”

The Duke doesn’t like the answer, it seems. Because he draws an annoyed breath; you hear him smack his lips before he says, “The two of you are not children anymore, so do not play Hide and Seek with me.”

Ironic that he might say that.

He’s the worst game maker of them all.

“We were no—” Jungkook begins, but his words overlap with his uncle’s.

“I wish I could count on only one hand, the amount of people who jested about your disappearance just now.”

His voice grows nearly maniac. There’s insanity in it; an unhealthy obsession you didn’t understand weeks ago.

But now that you do, you almost feel sorry for him.

You put a palm against Jungkook’s back, and upon noticing the soft touch, his fingers unwrap just a little. Instead, his thumb brushes along your arm, a quiet gesture to signal comfort.

You have so much to say. His grip keeps you grounded; keeps your thoughts from combusting.

Looking at the man from here, you don’t understand how he’s, after figuring out the truths and sorrows of his world, still living the way he is. At least you assume he knows what you know.

You’re getting impatient.

And as if he’s heard your thoughts, Jungkook finally spits the suggestion you’ve been aching to spill; a simple one, yet hopefully leading to an ending.

“If you need to yell and talk, then we should do it somewhere no one may catch us, yes?”

Pause.

If the following moments happen in a different sequence than you expect, you might need to oblige and walk downstairs again.

He could be done with reprimanding the two of you — and the night would be over.

A few days ago, you wondered why that’d be so bad. Even if he forced you into that marriage, attempting to rid this town of his younger nephew that he’s named a threat to him, you could do just that, couldn’t you?

Yearning and in love, you could step to the altar. Accept his vows; move somewhere far away; live the life with the honesty he’s finally ready to provide.

But life isn’t as simple as that.

His mother still lives under the same roof as her forced husband. His brother, actually worthy of the title, would remain a shadow. And the town would still suffer under the hands of a liar.

If so much more wasn’t on the line here, you’d run away before the next full moon.

So you hope.

You keep hoping; not for a better future, but for now, only for a yes.

And it takes him only another moment to oblige.

While grumpy and irritated, he grumbles something in agreement, and Jungkook, eager and satisfied, pushes down the handle of the door next to you.

And different from the shadows outside, the room isn’t dark. Your eyes squint when they gaze into the light. 

The Duke walks in first; you follow carefully, trying to keep him in place, hastily shutting the door behind you when he—

Dreadful silence fills the room. The high windows are locked well enough to not let a chirp from outside into the small office; the shutting of the door is the only sound that echoes off the walls.

The dramatic showdown feels petrifying now, and you remain close to the door. Scared, holding onto Jungkook, witnessing whatever might go down now.

You don’t know what you expected when you formed that plan, but the stare-off, wordlessly occurring in the middle of the room was certainly one of the things you did.

There is a desk at the very end, and a chair that a form rises from. She waited here — smuggling her in was easy in a crowd; but she’s been here so long that you cannot imagine how tense she must feel.

Between all the wooden luxury, she looks incredibly out of place.

You are used to seeing here surrounded by smaller furniture, living a humble life. A soothing home, green fields.

She doesn’t belong in this cruel, modern world, in the centre of chaos and so far from the idyllic life she’s built.

You feel sorry that you dragged her here.

But.

This needs to end.

Jiyoo stands up from her seat slowly, as carefully as her knees allow. She has her hands folded, not trying to hide her fear and agony.

She, of course, isn’t as surprised as the Duke; she must have written out her speech and arguments days ago. Her mouth is already parted, and her breathing deep — she’s ready to talk, but the Duke, apparently, is not.

Because when he shuts whatever words she would’ve spoken with a lifted palm, you flinch back just a little.

Jungkook must be on the same boat, because his hand twitches in yours when his uncle turns to you. Surprise mixes with anger, and you stare back in pain.

“You did this?” he asks.

You keep your voice calm when you argue, “We had to.”

Every time you talk, Jungkook steps in front of you. It’s an instinct found five minutes ago; you can’t help but wonder if he’s always been like that. Like, when his mother or his brother were around, conversing with the head of the family.

“Why did you?” the Duke snarls. “What do you have to do with this?”

Maybe not much. Maybe it wasn’t your right to intrude.

Staying away from the pains of the world might have been smart after all; but then again, distancing yourself from what Jungkook has become to you might have inflicted worse wounds to your heart.

So maybe you do not have anything to do with this — but striving towards the truth and what you want is not a bad thing to do.

How would you explain this to him? He wouldn’t accept it.

So Jungkook answers in your stead, far harsher than your own thoughts, “You need to reveal your secrets to us, and if you can’t, we will do it for you.”

There’s finality in his voice. Courage. Not an attempt to win this fight, but the knowledge that he will.

Despite the insecurity Jungkook might be feeling inside, he’s putting on a brave act — and you admire it for it.

“What?” the older man inquires.

“Uncle,” Jungkook begins, as though teaching a child not to curse, “you cannot waste money irresponsibly anymore. You have used too much of what the town needed and what our family required.”

The information isn’t new to the man; it’s just a recap. But he doesn’t want to hear it, because he laughs, and the urge to push at his chest grows.

“You have thrown it out to someone who doesn't need your help anymore,” Jungkook argues, louder now, overshadowing the stupid laughter. “Come on.”

“What do you kn—”

“Enough. I know enough.” He inhales, lets go of your hand cautiously. “I was aware of her existence since the day Father died. I have known about how you strayed from my aunt, seeking someone else’s company and giving life to someone you would later abandon.”

Yes…

It’s why the Duke wants him gone at all. As long as Jungkook knows of an illegitimate child, he is a threat. 

And Jiyoo at the back of the room looks ashamed. Her gaze lowers to the ground, fingers fiddling, and you feel painfully sorry for her.

Past mistakes hurt. But it’s worse when you realise you could’ve avoided them.

She was a victim at a horrible time; judging her morals, you don’t think she would’ve dove headfirst into such a dangerous affair if she’d been any wiser.

No one speaks. Jungkook waits.

And then, he adds, “I reckon the sin of breaking your wife’s soul wasn’t enough. You continued your acts and your lies. In fact,” Jungkook takes just one step forward; your hands lift in protection, wanting to hold him back, but they soon curl in again. “I bet you were happy when Aunt died and took your secrets to the grave.”

Oh God.

Fuck.

Why are you so scared? You planned this all out. You knew you had to provoke him to get anything out of him.

But fuck.

You close your eyes, conjure courage, inhaling through the nose, exhaling through the mouth. Then, you wait and listen with a sliver of patience.

“Shut up,” the Duke says; oddly calm.

It doesn’t deter Jungkook.

“But my father knew, too. That is why you are here at all. Guarding documents, using the fortune to nurture someone who’s never seen you before…”

“Leave it be. That is the easiest way, nephew.”

Jungkook’s presence somehow triggered a peculiar relaxation in him; as if he’s used to talking down to his family. But now that Jungkook is so blatantly spitting all those facts, the man’s fury is returning.

And it doesn’t seem that Jungkook is done yet. Pausing, though.

From where you stand, you see that he’s trembling; much like you did a moment ago. Witnessing the effect his uncle has on him alters something in your brain within a moment — you don’t like the heavy breathing you hear.

Don’t like all those pictures your imagination painted in the past few days.

Of a child frightened by a man who was supposed to replace a father. Of a teenager worrying about his mother, his brother. Of a young adult fleeing his home every day to seek comfort in strangers.

He wasn’t supposed to grow up that way.

And when he thought he found someone he could confide in, who could help him talk sense into that monster who loved her — he didn’t deserve to hear the truth for what it is.

You’re aching for him.

With a gulp, you step forward. Your movement extracts an instant reaction from Jungkook, and he shakes his head at you, stretching an arm in front of you.

But you push the limb down, big, sweet eyes staring into his; you portray candour, and you almost see it physically melt his body.

“Trust me,” you whisper.

Hesitation apparent, he keeps looking at you. And then, slowly, nearly reluctantly, he finally obeys.

You deliver a thankful nod, and then walk the short distance to his uncle.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard the man’s voice so long in succession. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close. And in hindsight, you don’t even think you’ve ever actively thought of his name.

Because if you do, he’ll become more humane in your mind.

So all he is for you is the Duke. Jungkook’s uncle.

He has lost most of his humanity. You don’t see a proper person in him, because you don’t deem proper people this horrible.

Though, in some sense, you understand him now.

Because…

“Suhana does not require the money anymore,” you echo Jungkook’s words.

And he reacts the same, “What would you know?”

“I think,” you breathe, closing your hands to loose fists. Courage, courage, courage. “I think I know as much as you. But I am ready to admit it.”

He is irritated now. Pinches the bridge of his nose, a hand on his hip, turns away a little and then towards you again.

“What?” he inquires, confused and angry. “You are a mere Lady. You act far too royal for a Viscount’s son! And you have no right to snoop—”

“Yes, you are right. I do not,” you agree, leaning forwards. “And you do not have the right to betray this town, or yourself. Or. The family that’s still here,” you swallow the painful lump. Your chin quivers. “Breathing and alive.”

…It breaks him.

You see that it breaks him.

Maybe he knew that you know — but hearing it spelled out, so shamelessly by a stranger, crumbles pieces of him.

The trip you made with Jungkook came from your heart; your intentions were pure. You thought you were walking towards a better ending, a conclusion, something you could work with.

And you did.

Here and now, you have arrived at the same level of knowledge as the Duke, the same level Jungkook’s late father was at. But the bitter facts you sought turned out far worse than you priorly imagined.

You hear Jungkook mutter your name from behind you, growing increasingly anxious. But his uncle’s voice overshadows his quiet one, “...What?”

“You know,” you say, hints of desperation in your tone. “God, you must know.”

You wish it wasn’t true, though. That pain was what you travelled for for days.

“Stop,” he warns again, much as he did Jungkook. But he’s faltering. You need to keep talking.

“Why do you keep sending those letters?” you want to know. “The money? What are you trying to achieve? Keeping a ghost alive? A memory, is it?”

“Listen—”

You are done beating around the bush. You need him to say it — need him to confess it to all of you before he does the same with the police. Because even if they interrogated you later, at least you’d narrate the confession in the same way.

You hope he doesn’t bribe them, too — that’s why you need to keep talking; to break him more.

You interrupt, “She has been dead for so many years.”

A beat of silence. You watch his hands ball to fists.

And then, “You missed your chance with her when she was born. And you felt bad, didn’t you?”

Like a waterfall. Previous fear gone, the words fall out of you like a waterfall.

Maybe because a stranger’s absence hurts you more than a monster’s presence does.

“You thought you could set things right when your sons were born,” you tell him. Jiyoo is still behind him, but inches closer; you don’t know what the Duke looks like from the back, but she seems worried. “But this is a burden not so easily forgotten.”

Yes…

Yes, he is shattering.

His mind, his heart, his entire soul — you don’t wish such pain on your worst enemy, but it makes him falter bit by bit.

Pique is still apparent in his eyes, but it mingles with despair. He looks like he’ll buckle, fall forwards to his knees. Whispers, “Why are you doing…”

“Because she is dead.” You aren’t responding to his half-question. You’re merely continuing your own speech. Because it’s all that’s cutting him open. “You have made your extended family’s life hell, not only to guard your secret, but because you are mourning someone who’s goddamn dea—.”

A sharp blow blinds you for a second.

The rise of his heavy hand is sudden, and the gasps that sound through the room synchronised.

Your head falls, and your hand snaps to your cheek; the slap toys with your balance, but careful arms catch you immediately.

“You dare open this filthy mouth of yours when you have no right to.”

His voice sounds in the back of your mind; your ears are ringing.

You wish you could explain to him that repeating your faults won’t bury his.

When you look up, Jungkook’s face is blurry. It takes a moment to see the rage in his dark pupils. You’re pressed against his torso, one hand holding onto his coat, the other clutching his wrist. And his chest is rising heavily…

“This is absolute nonsense.”

You don’t see what his uncle is doing; you just hear his weak voice.

But judging from how Jungkook steps back immediately with you in tow, you assume the Duke is targeting the door. You feel Jungkook’s headshake more than you see it.

“Go the hell away from the—”

“I do not think you should leave just yet.”

It’s Jiyoo’s voice.

And among their arguments, you hear Jungkook quietly say through gritted teeth, “He fucking shouldn’t have.”

So much is happening.

Your sight clears. Tears of anger burn in your eyes.

You tighten your grip around Jungkook’s wrist when he inhales a furious breath; one palm brushes your cheek. The fingers of the other hand curl to a fist, ready to bash. 

But the moment you realise his intention, you press him further against the door. You must look insane with those hair strands dangling; tears streaming down your cheeks. But your gaze is genuine, and it breaks his heart.

Eradicates the hardness in his eyes.

“No…” you whisper. “Don’t.”

“He—”

“Yes,” you nod slowly, swallowing the knot, “let’s use it, yes? When someone asks, we can use it as a defence.” You lean into him, talking quieter. “Do not make the same mistake. They will believe him over you.”

Jungkook’s body is feeble against yours. Every shaky syllable you utter delivers a punch to his guts; if he could, he’d rip his own uncle apart.

But your eyes beg otherwise.

And he gives into them.

Hands under your ears pull your head closer, a thumb brushing over the aching spot. He asks, “Are you alright?”

You nod; your eyes shut when he wraps his arms around you, staring ahead. You wish you could see. What you know is that the Duke’s and Jiyoo’s voices are faint now; you’re almost blending them out.

His attention isn’t on you, and you use the moment to remain against Jungkook’s heartbeat for just a few seconds longer. You let him guard you from all evil for just a bit.

And then, you ask, “What’s happening?”

“They are… talking.” He soothes your mind with a rub along your back, speaks quietly, as long as peace lasts. “But he will want to leave in a moment.”

“Please let me see.”

He stalls again; thinks about your suggestion. And then, he lets you out of his embrace, still holding you but allowing you more space. Lets you turn a little, until you can hear the heated hisses the man delivers.

Jiyoo looks more patient than him — you guess that’s a mother’s instinct.

“I am sorry,” Jungkook says. “I should have handled this alone.”

“Don’t—”

“You knew she was dead.”

Jiyoo’s voice catches both of your attention. She’s louder now, crying. An accusing finger points at him, and you listen in.

No matter who initiated this project, it was always supposed to end like this, right?

This is why you brought Jiyoo to this place.

Because no matter what Jungkook says or how many violence-inducing speeches you deliver, none of you have ever been directly involved in this.

Jiyoo is the other side of the Duke. The white, bright side of the monochrome picture; far more hopeful than his dark soul. Despite the pain she’s endured, she came out of it kindhearted and empathic.

Yet, no matter how different, she’s the other parent, too.

Forever connected to him by the existence they created.

If someone can end it once and for all, it’s her.

So you stand back. Eyes dart back and forth. Your heart aches again when you remember the lost life; your eyes water with Jiyoo’s when her shaky, mature voice asks, “What were you trying to do?”

He looks dizzy. Like he wants out of here; to forward time and escape distress.

But he catches himself to answer, “She was my eldest child. I wanted the memory. I could pretend.”

The decreasing volume of his voice is… strange.

Has she truly broken his shield and gotten through to him? Because he—

“What did you gain from it, though? Did it bring her back?” Jiyoo prods; the man shrinks into himself.

He is incredibly out of it.

Timid almost when he tries, “Are you in a position to deny… that you would have died had I not aided you?”

Jiyoo’s demeanour softens. A steady hand — how does she do it? — lifts to his arm. Settles over the coat; she looks him in the eyes she probably used to adore. Back before they betrayed her.

You wonder what he used to be like.

She admits, “You know. Perhaps you are right. And I was thankful for that.” Her eyes are misty. You cannot imagine what her mind must be circling around. Memories of the past. Long forgotten youth. Pain. “But she… Suhana and I made a living.”

Jungkook’s arms unwrap around you. One still lies around your shoulders, a hand pressing into your arm to keep you close. Right now, the scene that plays out in front of you makes you require emotional assistance more than anything.

Slaps and punches be damned.

This hurts.

“We know how to survive,” Jiyoo adds, quietly, slowly. She’s looking at the collar of his coat, keeping her sobs in now. “We aren’t worth less, just because we aren’t Duchesses and Ladies.”

Pause.

Then, “We weren’t. Ever.”

Something in you splinters at the choice of words. The crack widens when you see the Duke’s fallen face; a father’s who never learned how to love, but hurt anyway. Who still lost a damn daughter.

And all of you breaks into two pieces when you glance at Jungkook and see it.

The fist against his chest. Locating the heartbreak, alleviating the pain.

An open mouth, furrowed eyebrows, the hope to find another part of the family to love dwindling.

Maybe he’s realising what’s lost the same moment the Duke is. You can’t fathom how much it must hurt him to understand the reality after days of learning it.

And you cannot fathom how soul-breaking it must be to understand the reality after years of denying it.

“Why did you—” the Duke stutters. “Why did you never bring her to me?”

“How could I? You had a wife. A life. Why…” she counters. “Why did you not tell me that you did?”

“Because I loved you, too.”

In a moment of unexpected confessions, your eyes widen.

Behind the cruelty and tyranny, you finally see something like… a heart. Warmth. A human being.

And in the same moment as his monstrous persona turns into something colourful for you, something palpable, not animalistic, Jiyoo says, “I do not know if I can believe that, Minjoon.” She lowers her head. “I just know that. If I’d known what was to occur, I never would have let you touch me.”

The man… the person. The human cracking. Minjoon.

His face collapses. You can tell he means what he’s saying. Behind his chest, there’s a bloody, beating heart; yearning too late, but still yearning nevertheless.

You feel sorry for him.

“I never regretted my little girl’s existence,” Jiyoo says. The sobs aren’t as controlled anymore. “But I would not have let you close. Because then I’d known what I’d have to live without.”

“I…”

“No parent should ever lose a child. No one.”

“I did, too.”

“And you didn’t deserve it, either,” she says.

You are mesmerised. Not by any kind of beauty — more by the tragedy that unfolds.

You didn’t think such a thing existed outside your novels. Looking at it, you wish it didn’t.

But the words exchanged are real. The situation is real. Minjoon faltering, finally giving up, saying what he says next is real.

“What would you like me to do?”

He is crying now. An elderly man in genuine tears; always breaking, but never fully broken. Until now.

Jungkook holds you tight as you cry, too.

Jiyoo’s voice is softer now. She brings her hand down to his elbow when he sways, finding support in the table next to him to not fall.

She nearly begs, “Please stop sending money. Get away from,” she looks at Jungkook, and then back at Minjoon, “that family. Give them what they deserve and own up to your mistakes.”

She sniffles, catching herself to utter somewhat rational words, “You bribed people as well. You need to tell the policemen that the bankiers weren’t at fault. Do what you were supposed to do so long ago.”

He doesn’t speak. He is only half there. Paralysed.

“She deserves it, too,” Jiyoo finishes, delivering the last blow.

Minjoon leans against the table, and this time, his knees do give in. His eyes are fixated on some spot; his world breaks apart, all purpose gone when the past eventually catches up to him.

”She’s gone. She has been gone,” he just whispers. Repeats it.

After so many years of neglecting the truth, the dam must have broken. And you imagine that the built-up water is hitting him in violent waves.

His lips pale a little, and he remains like that — you keep observing him, until a couple minutes later, he does nothing but gulp and give you one last nod.

Minjoon does not see the inside of a prison.

Not because he is a royal.

In fact, the policemen aren’t as corrupt as you feared — they believe you. See the proof, because Minjoon delivers it voluntarily.

More because it is soon declared that he needs doctors rather than a life-long punishment. Perhaps, you think, they are right.

Despite his misdeeds and the lack of children you have, you think to understand what loss feels like. Fortunately not because you experienced it, but because you want to understand.

Maybe he will come out on a brighter side. Maybe he will learn what it means to be human and alive.

Maybe he will regret his life just a little less once he makes peace with his very own, tragic reality.

You don’t know.

But at least for Jungkook, his family and you—

It’s over.

Cemeteries in the countryside deliver an entirely different atmosphere.

The tombstones are still the same desolate grey. The grass is just as green, and you stand above ashes, as you did days ago at the cemetery you know.

But the scent is different. The names are strangers to you. The people that lived and died here are their own community; it’s like you’re disrupting their peace.

And no matter how beloved the former Duke of your home was, the mausoleum built for him lifted some of your sadness. He is buried in his little, fancy house. Still admired from afar; people probably still put flowers at the doorstep.

He won’t be forgotten; won’t be one more lost existence in a sea of sorrow.

But this grave…

The one you’re looking at — a small tombstone.

Engravings are sparse, because the more you write, the more expensive things get. Jiyoo told you that.

She was supposed to accompany you, but sat the pain out for today. Said she needs a while to recover from recent events. During this time, you have grown close to her.

When you confronted her that day, she broke down — narrated Suhana’s story. Told you how she feared you were one of his people, ready to hurt her. 

Which is why she lied. Played your game, saving herself in a stupid way; out of fright.

You understand. 

Maybe it was better to come here alone anyway. It lets you think.

Lets you realise how insignificant Suhana’s name looks among so many. It makes your chest heavy.

As you see her birth and death year, your head reflexively calculates; a reminder of how young she was.

Is Jungkook thinking the same? When you look at him, he’s unmoving, rigid. Staring ahead, barely blinking.

Sparks of life only return in his foggy gaze when you press into the arm you are holding. You suck in a breath, and he graces you with a brief stare so lost. He mirrors your smile when he falls back into the real world, but his lips drop soon again.

His fingers are clutching a bouquet of peonies. You’d suggested white roses before, a sign of purity, but he insisted otherwise.

Peonies, he said, signify healing, and to him, that’s worth far more than innocence. Perhaps, beyond that grave of hers, resting peacefully after a strugglesome life, she could heal alongside him.

The ache of this interpretation sits deep; you wish you knew how to change the past. Even if for that young life she lived; if she could’ve shared her joys and pains with someone who understands, both of them might have perceived the world differently.

Albeit hurt, you wouldn’t be clutching a man’s arm who forgot how to love as he grew up. You hope you can lead him back onto that path. Back to the sunny side of the world, where you like to reside.

His fingers wrap around the bouquet tighter before he finally loosens the grip. One more inhale of fresh air, and then, he’s leaning down. Crouching in front of the grave as you fold your fingers, observing the scene you’ve dreaded for days now.

But whatever you expected — tears, deep-sitting words, confessions he buried deep — the moment passes entirely differently.

He remains quiet. Keeps looking at her name. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this still — if his hair didn’t move in the breeze, you might confuse him with one of the angelic statues here.

But he keeps looking at her; at whatever remains of her. You reckon his words are silent, never exiting his mind. When you tilt your head, peeking at his face, his eyes are closed.

He might be praying. Maybe you should, too.

A minute or two passes in the silence. The day is quieter than any other you’ve experienced with him.

But when he stands, wrapping his hand around yours so tenderly, your soul awakens again.

You glance at him — he’s not looking at you, but the touch of his palm against yours speaks volumes. Like a plea to stay. A sign of comfort.

“Is it stupid to mourn someone you never knew?” he asks.

Is it? Of course not. While not at the same extent, you do mourn her lost life, too.

“No. It isn’t,” you promise. You squeeze his hand back as a silent response to his quiet begging; you think he breathes a sigh of relief. “I assume that if the roles were reversed, she would have dwelled in the same sentiments.”

“It’s… such a shame that we cannot say with certainty,” Jungkook murmurs. Regret swims in his words, but not because he has committed a mistake — regret for her. Regret in the world’s stead. “She didn’t deserve any of this.”

Someone like her truly didn’t. Not that any kind-hearted creature that floats through this universe deserves such an early demise. But you wish she could’ve met like-minded people just once.

You remember the drawings in Jiyoo’s cottage. You wonder how many people she surrounded herself with, apart from her mother; whether she grew up well in the village. Larked about with peers of the same age.

Whatever she did, you somehow believe the smile Jiyoo drew. And with that, you also believe that—

“I think she was happy, though,” you say. “As long as she remained.”

“I hope so.”

“And…” You press your lips together before wetting them lightly; you taste the red colour on them. “You should be as well. For as long as you might remain, you should find joy again.”

Easier said than done. You know.

You don’t need to experience excruciating pain and an unforgiving childhood to know that wounds don’t heal so fast. Jungkook’s starry eyes carry his past pain, and you understand that it’ll fade just bit by bit.

But he isn’t the same as before anymore, and it feels like a fresh change in his life. You have seen how the days progressed; realised that he’s attempting his best.

He affirms your thoughts when he nods slowly, finally granting you his full attention as he turns towards you.

A light smile tugs at his lips, and he says, “I have been trying. I finally gave up everything I needed to, so I could chase what I need to — rather than what I thought I might need.”

What he thought he needed were distractions. The constant roaming around, throwing his youth away. He’s not doing it anymore — and you like to imagine that he’ll keep wandering that mature path.

He leans down slowly, crouching to touch the flowers again before he grazes the grave. He mouths something to her, sighs deeply, and when he’s standing again, he says, “Come.”

Further silent prayers sent beneath the ground with closed eyes, you bid her farewell. If you could choose, you’d come again, honour the brief life she was allowed to enjoy.

And then, you’re hooking your arm with his, taking the same deep breath as him. And eventually, you start trudging towards the carriage that brought you here.

The walk takes a couple of minutes, and Jungkook uses the silence and the solitude with you to continue, “My brother is older than me, but he still asked whether I wished to alter my life to something better.”

You know the story. So you add, “By taking the Duke’s title.”

“Yes… I don’t think I have ever said no to anything before this quickly.”

You think you have infiltrated Jungkook’s mind enough to understand why. The boy who dodged responsibilities, seeking freedom and happiness — it’s not necessarily hard to guess why he declined.

But you still ask, “Why did you?”

Jungkook squints into the sun. For some reason, the summer is making the melancholy more intense; harder than the winter’s cold or rain could. The sun is supposed to be a comforting source — so the fact that this moment is so blue feels strange.

“Because,” he starts, “I want to start living for myself. I cannot be responsible for so many lives. I just.” He halts in his steps, looks at you so softly. “I need to be at peace with myself. And I think Junghyun has the… meaning of everything already figured out.”

You could tell. Despite the past, he’s always seemed cheerful to you. Perhaps it was easier to get over the miseries as the older brother. Children are vulnerable after all.

You ask, “But are you still staying?”

Your heart jumps to your throat and then back into its cage. It’s a question you’ve stalled for too long.

For several nights now, you reached to the other side of your bed, looking for the touch he granted you two nights in a row as you travelled.

The warmth he exuded, adding to the summer’s heat; the lips that brushed along your shoulders. All those whispers and confessions; the tangled up limbs; the featherlight kisses he so carefully planted along your jaw.

The past sleepless nights were spent thinking of his ghost next to you; wondering for hours if he’d still be there next week. Whether, once you left the cemetery you promised to visit with him, he’d voice his goodbyes.

You dreaded that moment, stewed over the answer — and when his doe eyes look at you so fondly, processing your question, you think he’ll break your heart in the gentlest manner he knows.

“Are you?” you ask again.

He doesn’t have to. With Minjoon out of his life, he doesn’t have to leave you.

Your lower lip trembles; your heart panics when he opens his mouth.

And a thick knot forms in your throat when he tilts his head and says, “I have always wanted to leave.”

You shouldn’t feel this weak in the presence of a mere man. But Jeon Jungkook proved to be more than that — he’s long turned your body into liquid.

Without gulping down the knot in your throat, you pull your eyebrows together. The long awaited dampness in your eyes feels like overkill, but you can’t hold back the longing when you whisper, “You will leave, then?”

He will. Of course he will.

No matter what his uncle wanted, it’s what Jungkook has waited for all his life, too.

You’re a fool to expect otherwise.

You lower your gaze, refusing to blink to dry out your eyes. A bite hurts the inside of your cheek, before you stutter, “Well, I—”

“When…” he interjects. You let him speak, nibbling at your lip. “When we stood there… in that room.” Jungkook’s forefinger settles under your chin and lifts your face to align your pure, gentle gaze with his. “Even when I held you, you felt too far away.”

You remember.

How he pulled you into his chest, inspecting any potential wounds. Looking at you with utter fear in his stare; endlessly caring and angry.

You knew right then that he was ready to wade through oceans for you.

Despite the inhumanity of the moment, you still dream of the affection in those eyes.

Hopefully, you look at him, eyelids wide open. And he, torturously slowly, concludes, “If I went away, I would look into the distance and into crowds of faces every day, and you’d be nowhere. And I don’t know how to live like that anymore.”

It’s funny.

How you sought someone and something you never found –– but instead, the journey helped you find your way to each other instead. Suhana did a lot for the two of you after all.

You say, “So…”

“So, however stupid it may sound, I want to be wherever you are.”

It might sound stupid to him — to you, who dreams and levitates above clouds, it sounds like a song; a poem.

“Would you stay in this godforsaken town if I did?” you ask weakly, fighting tears. “Where all your pain started?”

“But that’s not all there is, is it? My pain.”

“What then?”

He waits; looks at you. Then—

“...You.”

You…

Are you enough to combat all he’s endured? Do you have that kind of power over him? It’s surreal; why does it make you fall so much harder?

Your recently overthinking mind throws another question at you, and you forward it to him, “So if I did stay—”

“Are you staying?”

“Should I not?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Everything is over, and you haven’t said anything about us yet.”

He’s always been oblivious. Even now, in the shadow of the oak tree, years and years later, he’s still the same zany you used to know.

You chuckle a little, shaking your head, and ask him matter-of-factly, “Why do you think am I here, Jungkook?”

“I…”

“You’ve always been stupid.”

“Maybe it’s not stupidity now,” he defends. He tugs you closer by your arm, tucking back your stray locks. “But. Hope was sparse.”

Filled with fondness and yearning, he presses his lips together when you inch closer. You put a hand over his heart, breathing against him as you wonder, “And now?”

From his chest, you move your palm to his cheek. He looks as sweet and meek as he always does when his eyes grow this wide. He stands in front of you with his signature pout; smirk long forgotten.

Hesitates with his answer, chooses his words carefully, and then says, “If I told you I want to see more stages with you… inhale poetry. Hear you talking in the rain. About clouds and a sky we cannot touch,” you laugh, and he pauses to join, “would you let me?”

You were fearful of his decisions; you didn’t think he’d be the one begging for your presence in his life.

“Let you?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow. “What do you think, Lord Jeon?”

“That I still need to plead for permission.”

“You do?”

Your body sways in his grip — you might faint at this stranger place.

At least, you get dangerously close to it soon, barely keeping your heartbeat at bay when he speaks, “I do not want to love alone.” You might throw up. Did he say what you think he said? “So I need to, yes.”

You deemed him fire; yourself water.

But compared to this moment, you realise that up until now, he’s always been a mere harmless flame of a candle. No matter how irritating or pain-inducing, it was easier for you to fight his heat.

But right now, you’re defeated.

He was never the fire you thought he was before; now, he is. And thinking about it, with him, you grew so much wilder, too — a tsunami, two polar elements clashing.

Now, you don’t fight him anymore.

You laugh nervously, drawing into him, and mumble, “Good. Ask then.”

He snickers; it’s the first genuine chuckle you’ve heard from him today. Some of the prior bicker returns, eyes rolling when he jokes, “May I court you then, m’Lady?”

Both of you physically cringe at the formality — but you know that somewhere deep inside, the question was overdue. As was your answer.

“I shall let you allow it, Lord Jeon Jungkook. Just this once,” you say back just as cheesily.

He bites his lower lip, furrowed eyebrows recovering from the awkward dialogue. Blinded by the light you emanate, he tilts his head. This… he wants to keep this emotion.

You should walk back to the carriage. The coachman probably doesn’t appreciate being grilled under the afternoon sun. But just a moment longer.

Just a bit.

He shall forgive you for a second as you near Jungkook’s rosy, promising lips. Right there, you see joy written.

There is a fine line between love and hate; you bet the story of the two of you is the ultimate proof for that. Whatever despise you felt has turned into thirst.

He quenches it when he puts a burning hand to your cheek, right when his mouth touches yours.

As you collide, you eventually meet in the middle — and evaporate to steam.

AH happy ending. see y’all when the epilogue drops !!

but alright, was that... okay? :’) vv nervous about your guys’ reaction lol please let me know what you think !! i’ll be a bit busier with school from now on, but i really worked hard to have this out today, so... yeah :D if it’s not good, i’ll try and make things good with the epilogue/the next fic LOL 🤞 

also y’all... thank you so much for supporting this series the way you did. i absolutely didn’t think you’d like it so much, so i’m endlessly grateful for the love it received. it means so much to me :((

if you enjoyed this part, too !! don’t forget to like, comment, reblog (do it on desktop, since mobile doesn’t let you rb big posts!!( and reach out to me. i love you all <333

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

The Woes of Weddings (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

You can read the first part, The Woes of Betrothals, but it’s not necessary to read it to understand the plot :) 

Synopsis: Your wedding with Prince Aemond draws near. 

Warnings: fluff, so. much. fluff, p in v sex, tiddy succin’, oral (f! receiving), and fingering, slight impreg kink?? (if i missed out anything someone please tell me I’m too sleep deprived for this), jace shaming (on aemond’s part) 

Word Count: 5K words 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: You asked for a sequel to The Woes of Betrothals...and you got it. Featuring my first time writing smut 👀 I’m still improving on my smut writing skills, so please don’t laugh (I spent like five hours pouring about the specifics of smut writing too so) 😳 (see end of chapter for more A/N) 

wonderful dividers credited to @firefly-graphics as always! 

‘By the gods,’ you swore silently to yourself, watching the scene unfold before you, ‘I did not think that I could have anticipated anything quite as worrisome as this.’ 

Your wedding day was in less than a week’s time, and your anxiety was just reaching breaking point. 

You stood uncomfortably on a slightly raised dais, attempting to keep as still as possible while the seamstresses around you fussed with the measurements of your wedding gown and cloak, adjusting it to perfection. You were unsuccessful in your regard, as you occasionally winced from the sharp sting of a needle poking your skin. Helaena sat in one corner of the room, observing the proceedings with a dreamy smile, which you returned. But it was the presence of the Queen Alicent that made you feel a little discomfited. Though the Queen was watching the scene with a smile, you saw glimmer of sorrow in her eyes every now and then, though it was quickly masked by her usual veneer of geniality. You wondered with a small blip of terror if the Queen was having second thoughts of wedding you to her beloved second son, but your worries were soon soothed with the thoughts of your beloved. You had greatly enjoyed the time you had both spent over the past few weeks: he had been nothing but a consummate gentleman and lover, nothing like the rumours of the cold prince you were once deceived by. Even now, thinking of your beloved, you had a rosy tinge to your cheeks and a smile on your face, despite the sting of the needles. You simply could not wait to discover what marital bliss your marriage will bring. 

In another room, Aemond was faring far better than his fair lady was. Despite the rather unneeded presence of his grandsire in the room, scrutinising every move the tailors made, Aemond found himself to be quite far away from current happenings. His mind kept wandering back to his lady, and the sheer elation he felt that he would be wedding her in less than a week. It had been nearly a moon’s turn since he had confessed his true feelings to her, and every day since then has felt like a dream he never wished to wake from. He thought he would never experience more happiness as he had when he had claimed Vhagar, but this…it was a different sort of joy entirely. A contentment far more peaceful, and he found that he preferred this contentment to the hot blooded rush of triumph and adrenaline every time he rode Vhagar or won in his sparring jousts with Ser Criston. 

The both of you had spent the past few weeks spending nearly every waking moment with each other: you watching him train at arms with a wide smile on your lovely face that never ceased to spur him on, which always made Ser Criston raise his eyebrows in both amusement and a sort of pride; both of you discussing histories and philosophies in the library, where Aemond had discovered your passion for dissecting philosophical theology, much to his delight; strolling in the gardens and watching you blush with joy whenever he picked a flower and put it in your hair. He had also made it a custom to bring you a hand-picked bouquet of flowers every day, utterly enchanted by the near ethereal glow of happiness on his lady’s face every time he presented the bouquet to you. If he were a better painter, he would have asked you to sit for a portrait. Alas. Well, he could always commission the best painter in Westeros to do so, although he wasn’t quite sure if they would be able to capture your essence. 

Aemond sometimes thought it foolish that he had fallen in love so hastily, and so deeply at that. But he realised that when he woke up thinking about your smile and went to sleep every night thinking about how to make you smile even wider the next morrow, that no matter how much of a fool’s folly this may be, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He could not wait to be wedded to you. 

The merry toll of bells resounded throughout King’s Landing, as nearly every single noble lord and lady gathered before the Iron Throne to celebrate the wedding of Prince Aemond Targaryen to his much cherished bride. 

Aemond fidgeted nervously with the hem of his sleeves, a habit he hadn’t done since he was a young child. He had never really liked crowds, despite being a Prince. Helaena, who was standing next to him, separating him from a probably drunk Aegon, patted his arm reassuringly. Aemond turned his head to shoot her a small, grateful smile, just as trumpets heralded the entrance of the bride. 

The courtiers turned their head to the doors, and gasps rippled through the crowd as they beheld the bride. Aemond felt as though he had lost all capability to function. 

There you were, gliding towards him in a gown of white, looking like a vision of the Maiden herself. Delicate spirals of gold and flowers adorned the thick brocade and silk of your gown, a thick cloak of your House’s colours draped snugly across your shoulders. You were escorted down the aisle by your lord father, who was beaming with pride while shedding some very non-discrete tears. Aemond felt like weeping himself, and Helaena was tearing up a little herself. 

When you reached the end of the aisle, your father removed the cloak from your shoulders, kissing you on your forehead, before entrusting your hand to Aemond, your beloved, who looked extremely dashing in his intricately tailored white wedding clothes. “Take care of my daughter, Your Grace,” your father said tearfully. Aemond gave the man a nod, “I will love her till the end of my days, my lord. Have no fear.” Then, Aemond turned to face you, a wide smile on his face, as he draped a heavy cloak of black and red across your shoulders. “My princess, my lady wife,” he whispered softly to you, caressing your hand in his. You smiled back at him, “My prince. My lord husband.” The both of you walked to the septon, pure joy emanating from your faces, as he officially pronounced the both of you man and wife, much to the raucous cheers of the crowd behind you. 

The wedding feast was underway, and laughter and merriment was abound. For your first dance, you were whirled around the room by your husband, whose smile had not left his face since the moment he saw you. “I find it difficult to believe this is your first time waltzing, husband,” you said incredulously. “You are as nimble and graceful as any other lord in the room.” Aemond laughed softly, “Believe it or not, my lady, it is the first.” “But why?” you questioned, as Aemond twirled you around. Aemond looked hesitant, before answering softly, “Perhaps it was because I’ve never found the right dancing partner, until now.” You blushed, unsure of how to answer back, when Prince Jacaerys cut in, gallantly asking you for a dance, which you happily granted. What you did not notice however, was Aemond clenching his jaw as he watched you being whisked away by Lord Strong, but he shoved down the overbearing urge to punch the bastard in his face. ‘My love would be unhappy if I ruined our night,’ he kept repeating to himself, although he clenched his fists when he returned to the table and Aegon shot him a smirk, having saw everything. “Weren’t you drowning yourself in your cups, brother?” Aemond narrowed his eyes at him. “And weren’t you dancing with your bride? Oh wait,” Aegon said mockingly, “You’ve been forsaken for Jace once more.” 

Now Aegon was the one Aemond wished to punch. But he took a deep breath, not wanting to cause any conflict on such a joyous night. It wasn’t worth it to get riled up over Aegon’s japes, it never was. However, Aemond felt miserable as he watched you getting twirled around by Jace, laughing with him, instead of him. No matter, in the end, it was him that was your husband, not the Strong bastard, nor anyone else. 

You were a little out of breath, after being asked to dance by three other lords after Prince Jacaerys. Now, you were exhausted, and wished nothing more than to return to your husband’s side and converse with him, particularly about…You felt your cheeks heat up at the thought. Of your wedding night. 

Spotting your husband sitting at the head table, you began to make your way towards him, but you were stopped by a familiar figure swathed in Hightower green. “Your Grace,” your eyes widened, before you dropped to a curtsey. Queen Alicent looked down at you with a smile, “At ease, please, we are family now, after all. You should address me as Mother instead.” You straightened, looking unsure as you glanced at your husband, who had already noticed you being accosted by his mother and was looking a little concerned. “Of course, Your Gr- I mean, Mother,” you said hesitantly. Queen Alicent’s smile turned a little warmer, “You may relax, dear, I merely wanted to have a conversation with you, from mother to daughter-in-law. Would you mind having a drink with me?” 

“I would be honoured, Your Grace.” Queen Alicent swept towards her seat at the head of the table, you following obediently behind her, but not before looking to your husband for guidance, and perhaps some help. As you passed by Aemond, he squeezed your hand in a reassuring gesture, which made your nerves sooth a little. ‘I can do this’, you chanted in your head, ‘tis only the Queen after all. And we are family now, this sort of thing is inescapable.’ Queen Alicent gestured for you to take a seat, as the servants began pouring wine into your goblets. “I trust you understand what would happen after the wedding feast, yes?” You fought the urge to blush, as you answered, “Yes, Your- Mother. Septa Marlow has kindly instructed me on the matter.” The Queen nodded approvingly, “Good, then we can move on to the other matter I wish to speak of then.” You were startled, what other matter could the Queen wish to speak of with you? 

The Queen took a sip of her wine, and for the first time, you noticed a certain sort of apprehension in her expression. The Queen said your name carefully, before asking, “Are you happy with my son?” You were struck by her sudden question, but you answered truthfully, “Yes, I am. He’s chivalrous, kind, and I have no doubt he would be a loving husband. I couldn’t have found a better husband.” The Queen smiled, but there was a certain bitterness in it. “You do not know how it warms my heart to hear you say so. Among my sons, I cherish Aemond the most. Though he may be…impassioned at times, my son is a good man. And it pleases me so that he is lucky enough to have found a wonderful woman such as you as his wife. I am certain that you will both have a happy union.” You blinked, taken aback by the scale of her compliments, “Thank you, my Queen. You flatter me, truly.” Suddenly, Aemond appeared next to you, hand on your shoulder as he greeted his mother. “Mother, if I may, I must steal my wife away for the moment. It is nearly time for the bedding ceremony.” 

“Oh, yes, I nearly forgot about that.” The Queen laughs, standing up. She pecked her son on the cheek, “Well, the both of you best be off to your bedchambers then. I will await for the both of you to break fast with me on the morrow.” Aemond inclined his head and smiled tenderly at his mother, “Of course, Mother. I bid you good night.” When the Queen had walked away, Aemond gave you a sheepish smile, “Did my mother trouble you in any way?” You shook your head, though you were still reeling a little at the oddity of your conversation with the Queen. “No, my love…she only wished to express her congratulations to our union.” 

Aemond breathed a sigh of relief, the tension seeping out of his muscles. “I’m glad to hear that.” He lowered his head to whisper huskily in your ear, “Now…how scandalous do you think it would be if I swept you into my arms right now and carried you to our bedchambers to consummate our marriage?” You looked at him with a mix of amusement and mortification, trying to discern how serious he was being. “I think we would be unable to show our face in court for nigh a moon’s turn.” 

Aemond sighed mournfully, “A shame then….that I do not much care for that.” With that, he scooped you up into his arms, grinning wolfishly at your shriek of surprise and the bemused and intrigued looks the rest of the court was giving the both of you. “Please, continue to enjoy the feast, my lords and ladies. Tonight, I wish to express to my lady wife how elated I am at our union.” You heard Prince Aegon whistle at Aemond’s antics, and you buried your face in Aemond’s chest, unable to face the crowd as he carried you out the throne room. When the both of you reached your bedchambers, Aemond set you down gently, and smiled, “Was that too much?” 

“Very much so,” you admitted, feeling your face burn. Aemond found it rather adorable that you were so embarrassed. “I do not think I can face anybody in court for the next few weeks.” Aemond laughed, sweeping you into an embrace and kissing you on the forehead, “Worry not, my love. If things go as planned…I can assure you you will not be leaving our bedchambers for a moon’s turn.” 

You gaped, a little awestruck at your husband’s newfound boldness. He seemed to have transformed greatly from the shy, yet affectionate prince you had been spending your time with, into a confident, and evidently starved man, who was scanning you with such a greedy gleam in his lone violet eye that made a strange heat flare in your abdomen. His hands on your waist, he leaned in to whisper to you, “I trust you know what that entails?” You nodded slightly, not trusting yourself to speak at the moment, gazing up at his eye, which was clouded over in reverence and lust. “Good,” he whispered, “Now, would you allow your husband to unlace your bodice and help you out of your gown?” You nodded meekly. He smiled tenderly at you, turning you around and getting to work undoing your laces. You gasped when you felt your husband plant a kiss onto your exposed neck. “Are you nervous, my love?” Aemond asked sweetly, finally loosening the last laces of your dress.

“Yes…” you murmured softly, feeling anxiety begin to build in you as Aemond began to tug off your gown. “I’ve…I’ve never…” 

Aemond turned you around to face him again, your bodice hanging around your waist by now, and his breathing was growing more erratic by the second. But his expression was loving as he said, “I know, my love. I know. I don’t want you to worry, all you need to do is lay there and allow me to give you your pleasure. Is that alright?” “But I wish to please you too,” you protested softly. Aemond took your hand in his and planted a kiss to the back of it, his gaze never leaving yours. “To be able to bring you pleasure is the greatest satisfaction I could ever want for, my love. Now…” He finally undresses you, making quick work of your smallclothes. 

The first sight of your bare form has him questioning if he had truly died and went to heaven. You were the most marvellous sight he had ever laid eyes upon: your skin smooth and glowing in the firelight, your gait shy, legs pressed together to hide the growing arousal he had no doubt was pooling between your thighs. “Oh, my love…” 

“Why? Is there something wrong?” you ask worriedly. Aemond shook his head, cupping your cheeks softly. “On the contrary, nothing has felt more right.” He directed you to sit on the bed, and you watched, riveted as he began to undress himself, his eye never leaving your face. He wanted to savour every single expression that graced your features tonight. When he had stripped himself off his doublet and smallclothes, you couldn’t help but admire the sight before you. He was majestic, his frame lithe and muscled. You let out a small gasp when you saw some scars littering his abdomen, tracing your fingers over them. His affectionate gaze followed you as you did. “How did you get these?” you asked quietly, looking up at your husband again. He smiled, threading a hand through your hair, “Just some scars from training at arms, my love. I wasn’t quite as proficient with the sword when I was younger, you know.” You continued tracing over them gently, almost reverently. “Do you…think they’re ugly?” Aemond asked quietly. You shook your head fervently, which made Aemond feel relieved. “Of course not, my love! Like my father likes to say, all scars tell of a story of failure, and how you managed to overcome them.” Aemond looked bemused, “Well, your father was very wise.” Aemond gently pushed your hands away, hands moving to his belt. “But enough of this talk, I think I’m neglecting the main purpose of the night: which is to lavish upon my beautiful wife all the attention she rightfully deserves.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but you soon felt your mouth running dry as Aemond undid his belt and shucked off his pants. You had seen an illustration of a man’s…cock several times, when you had the misfortune of stumbling upon a copy of ‘A Caution for Young Girls’ and several rather raunchy books by Grand Maester Elysar. But that all seemed like child’s play compared to the man before you. “Aemond, I…” you shut your mouth for fear of blurting out something that was very indecent, although from your state of undress, decency was the furthest thing from your mind now. 

Aemond chuckled, bringing a hand to stroke your cheek gently. “Are you impressed by what you see, ñuha jorrāelagon?” Aemond asked teasingly. “Nuha jorrāelagon?” you wrinkled your forehead in a most adorable display. “It means my love in High Valyrian. I think that’s more unique than simply calling you my love in the Common Tongue. You deserve nothing but the most special things, after all. Which is why-” Your eyes widened as Aemond got onto his knees before you, grinning up at you mischievously. “I plan to make this the most memorable wedding night in history.” 

“I-” you were cut off as Aemond began lavishing kisses on your breasts and chest, fingers nimbly flicking at your sensitive nipples. “Oh, Aemond!” you cried out, as his mouth replaced his fingers, gripping tightly onto his shoulders. “Mmm, and here I thought I would never hear a sweeter sound from your lips,” Aemond hummed gently against your skin, the sensation nearly driving you crazy. “Keep them coming, ñuha jorrāelagon.” 

You gasped as you felt Aemond gently prying your legs apart, exposing your soaked cunny to him. Within a heartbeat, his fingers grazed over your cunt, making you cry out and arch your back. “My love-” You were interrupted by the sensation of Aemond inserting a finger inside of you, while his hot mouth was still sucking at your erect nipples. Your husband was a fan of interrupting you, it seems. “How does that feel, ñuha jorrāelagon?” Aemond asked in a sultry tone. “Good?” 

“Yes, so good. So, so good,” you moaned out, nails digging into Aemond’s shoulder as he added a second finger and began pumping a little faster, encouraged by how wet your cunt was becoming for him. He grinned devilishly, moving his mouth from your nipples to your neck. You let out another cry as you felt Aemond’s teeth sink into the soft flesh just above your collarbone, before immediately soothing it over with his tongue. Aemond let out a groan as he felt you becoming even wetter as he left love bites across your neck, he didn’t even know it was possible for him to get even more turned on by how aroused you were getting from the pain. His cock was growing even more painfully hard by the second, and he gritted his teeth, trying to will himself to calm down. ‘This night is about her pleasure,’ he told himself sternly, ‘You can have your pleasure later, when she is satisfied first.’ 

You let out a whine as you felt Aemond remove his fingers, but a moan soon replaced whatever complaints you had when Aemond latched his tongue onto your cunt, licking and slurping at your juices like a starved man. Digging your fingers into Aemond’s shoulder, you felt an unfamiliar sensation begin building in your stomach as Aemond’s tongue began flicking and sucking at your clit, making you squirm. Aemond kept one firm hand on your thigh, while the other wandered up to play with your breasts. “Aemond…Aemond!” you cried out as you felt your “peak” (Coryanne Wylde had described that in A Caution For Young Girls) hit you, making your orgasm gush out all over Aemond’s tongue. Aemond groaned, feeling his cock become painfully hard as he watched you climax right before him. He continued devouring your cunt, determined to make you orgasm again. The taste of you was just too sweet that he had to have you come undone on his tongue again. You moaned and cried out, writhing as you felt the sensation building up in your stomach again. Your second peak came much sooner this time, in part due to how sensitive your clit was. Aemond dutifully lapped up every last drop of your juices, sucking at your clit before withdrawing and wiping his mouth with a grin. You looked completely blissed out, if not a bit lost as to what had happened. “Are you alright, ñuha jorrāelagon?” Aemond asked softly, hands caressing your thighs. You nodded shyly, and Aemond smirked. “Good.” 

You yelped as Aemond pushed you onto the bed, your back hitting the sheets with a soft thump. The cool silk sheets were a welcome contrast to your burning skin, as Aemond grabbed your legs and hooked them around his waist. He leaned down to capture your lips with his, his kiss nothing like the chaste ones you had shared before. This kiss was messy, filled with lustful need, as he eagerly delved into your mouth with his tongue, fighting the urge to smirk when he heard you moan helplessly into his mouth at the pleasure. And it was about to get better for you, and for him as well. 

You were breathing heavily as Aemond finally broke your intense kiss, looking up at your husband like he was a god. You noticed a hungry gleam in his eye as he leaned in to whisper, “This might hurt a bit, ñuha jorrāelagon. But I swear, the pleasure will overtake the pain soon enough. Do you trust me?” 

You gulped, but you tried to put on a brave face as you replied,  “I trust you, my love..” Aemond bent down to kiss you sweetly. “Thank you, ñuha jorrāelagon. Just hold on to me, alright?” 

Your brows furrowed, but you squeezed your eyes shut in pain at the next moment, when you felt your husband’s cock slip between your folds and inside you. You cried out, the discomfort jarring you as he gradually sunk into you, letting you get used to his huge size. Aemond stroked your cheek softly, kissing away the tears that had formed at your eyes. “It’s alright, ñuha jorrāelagon. It will get better, I promise.” And he was right, you felt the pain ebb away slowly, replaced by a yearning for Aemond to move inside of you. “Aemond,” you whispered, “Husband. Could you move, please?” 

Aemond smiled tenderly at you. “With pleasure, ābrazȳrys.” He slowly rolled his hips, and you felt your eyes flutter shut with pleasure. “Oh…feels so good, my love.” Aemond chuckled softly, moving in and out of you in a leisurely pace, enjoying the sight before him. “I’m glad to hear that, ñuha jorrāelagon. I’m going to pick up the pace now, is that alright?” You nodded, desperate to relieve the ache you felt. Aemond kissed you on the nose, before speeding up, causing your eyes to roll back. “Seven hells,” Aemond swore, panting a little, “You’re so tight for me. So perfect.” You moaned at his words, feeling a hot wave of shame, but also arousal wash over you. His words were so filthy…but you wanted to hear more of it. Aemond moved even faster, his own pleasure overtaking whatever rational thought he had about taking it slow. You whimpered when you felt him hit a spongy spot, tightening your grip on his shoulder at how deep he was going. 

“I love you so much, you know,” Aemond panted out, his silver hair now in disarray and his forehead beaded with sweat as he thrusted inside you. “More than anything in the world. I never thought it was possible for me to love someone to this extent, but you…with you, everything feels possible. I would move mountains for you, ñuha jorrāelagon.” You bit your lip, touched by his words. Moving your hand to the strap of his eyepatch, you murmured, “May I?” Aemond swallowed, feeling reluctant for you to see his actual face, to see the ugly scar that tormented him constantly. But you seemed so genuine, so earnest, that he could only nod stiffly. You pulled it off, setting the eyepatch aside, and ran your finger gently on his scar. You beheld the sight of his sapphire eye without much fear, or disgust, both reactions that Aemond had been fearing, and he let out a sigh of relief, leaning down to kiss you again, before trailing his lips onto your neck and collarbone. 

“You are truly wondrous, ñuha jorrāelagon, do you know that? You make me want to learn every little thing about you…all your likes, your dislikes, what makes you beam and what makes you tick…I just want to never stop learning about you.” Aemond whispered against your skin. “No other books in the world, both known and unknown, could measure up to the enchanting goddess that is you, ñuha jorrāelagon. I love you, so much.” 

You moaned softly, moving to tug at Aemond’s hair as he left more love bites on your neck. “I love you too, Aemond. From now, till the end of our days. You are the sun in my universe. No, more than that. You are my moon, my light, my reason to keep breathing. You are everything to me.” 

Aemond groaned softly, feeling his own release getting closer as he listened to your declaration of love. He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, “Thank you, ñuha jorrāelagon. Thank you for not turning away from me. For loving me. For not seeing me as lesser than.” You tilted your head upwards to give him a tender smooch on the lips. “You never need to thank me for loving you, Aemond. You are deserving of it. And I promise to show you all the love that you deserve throughout our marriage.” And that was the final straw for Aemond. With a throaty moan, he spilled inside of you, feeling your walls clench around him as he did. You followed shortly after, reaching your third climax of the night as you arched your back in pleasure. Aemond continued thrusting inside you, letting you ride out your peak, as he kissed you fervently. You tangled your hands in his hair, moaning into his mouth. After a while, Aemond finally ceased moving in you, pulling out of you. He broke your kiss and pecked you on the forehead, “Wait here, ñuha jorrāelagon.” You watched, confused, as Aemond disappeared, returning with a wet cloth. He sat next to you, cleaning up the mess of fluids on your thighs, where you noticed a small spot of blood on the sheets. ‘My maidenhood,’ you thought, chewing on your bottom lip. ‘It seems I am well and truly a woman now.’ You watched with wide eyes as Aemond kissed up your thighs softly, before pushing his fingers inside your cunny again, causing you to gasp out. “It’s to make sure my seed isn’t wasted, ñuha jorrāelagon,” Aemond explained, stroking your skin softly. “I hope that it’ll get you with child a little sooner.” 

You felt your cheeks flush as he planted a final kiss over your cunt, smirking as he murmured, “I would like nothing more than to see your belly swell with my child, ñuha jorrāelagon. I am sure that you would be a wonderful mother.” 

He then disposed of the cloth, settling next to you on the bed comfortably and taking you into his embrace. “Did I hurt you anywhere, ñuha jorrāelagon?” Aemond asked you with a concerned look on his face. You smiled reassuringly, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry, I’m alright. You didn’t hurt me anywhere.” “I’m glad,” he smiled, before his expression turned coy. “And was everything to your satisfaction, ñuha jorrāelagon?” You laughed, “It was everything the romance novels promised.” That answer pleased him, and he swept you into another kiss, his thumb swiping across your cheekbones. 

‘And so, Prince Aemond of House Targaryen took Lady Y/N of House Y/H/N to bride in 126 AC, and all who witnessed their nuptials agreed that the match was well made, indeed. Prince Aemond and Lady Y/N’s union would prove to be both happy and fruitful, bringing forth five children: three sons and two daughters.’ 

-from the chronicles of Fire and Blood, on the reign of Viserys the Peaceful, written by Archmaester Gyldayn.

translations: ābrazȳrys - wife, ñuha jorrāelagon - my love 

Aemond General Taglist: @aiyaiy @sylas-the-grim​ 

if you wish to be added to the taglist for all my aemond-related works, you can tell me in the comments or through this form :) 

A/N: And that’s part 2! I hope the people who requested for one are happy with this haha 💗 I’m also thinking if I should turn this into a domestic fluff Aemond series lol, what do you guys think? If you’ve gotten this far, thank you for reading! If you liked this one shot, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated xxx

[victoryverse]

I liked the request you did of ghost with gf with small breasts! But.. as a Soap lover, could you do a Soap version? As a small titted gal myself <3

insecure (soap's version)

i hope you like this <3 tell me if you do!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You can't help but feel self-conscious as you stand in front of the mirror, your boyfriend John sitting on the edge of the bed behind you, watching you with a small smile on his face.

'Come on, love. What's taking you so long?' He asks, his voice laced with amusement.

You let out a sigh and turn to face him, feeling your cheeks heat up as you cross your arms over your chest. 'I just...I don't know, John. I feel like...like my boobs are too small.'

He raises an eyebrow at you and chuckles. 'What are you talking about? Your boobs are perfect.'

You roll your eyes and let out a small laugh. 'You're just saying that because you're my boyfriend.'

He stands up and walks over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. 'No, I'm saying that because it's the truth. I love every part of you, Y/N. Including your 'tiny tiddies'.'

You can't help but smile at his words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. 'You always know just what to say, don't you?'

He grins and leans in to kiss you softly. 'I try my best. Now, come on. We're going to be late for dinner with the team.'

You nod and quickly finish getting ready, still feeling a little insecure but also comforted by his words. As you both head out of the room and make your way to the restaurant, you can't help but think about how lucky you are to have John in your life.

As you sit down at the table with the rest of the team, you can't help but feel a little out of place. These were all strong, confident women and you couldn't help but compare yourself to them. You were the only one with smaller breasts and it made you feel even more self-conscious.

'Y/N, baby, You okay?' John whispers, noticing your uneasy expression.

You smile at him and nod, not wanting to ruin the night for everyone else. But deep down, you couldn't shake off the feeling of insecurity.

As the night goes on, you try to focus on the conversation and enjoy the dinner, but your mind keeps drifting back to your insecurities. You were so lost in your thoughts that you don't even notice when John places his hand on yours under the table.

'Y/N- Look at me,' he says softly.

You turn to look at him, feeling a lump form in your throat as you see the concern in his eyes.

'I can tell that something's bothering you. What's going on?'

You take a deep breath and open up to him, telling him about your insecurities and how you felt out of place with the other women at the table.

John listens patiently, his hand never leaving yours as you speak. When you finish, he leans in and kisses you gently before speaking.

'Y/N, listen to me. You are beautiful, inside and out. And your body is perfect just the way it is. Don't ever compare yourself to anyone else. You are unique and that's what makes you so special to me. You're perfect just the way you are. So stop comparing yourself to them or I'll throw you over my shoulder and take you home right now, show you just how much I love your body'

You chuckle, but also let out a deep sigh at his words. You lean in and hug him tightly, grateful for his understanding and love.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur, but you can't stop smiling, feeling more confident and loved than ever. As you and John head back to your apartment, he turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

'Hey, I have an idea. How about we have a little fashion show?'

You raise an eyebrow at him, not sure what he's getting at. But he just grins and takes your hand, leading you to the bedroom.

He pulls out a few different outfits from your closet and encourages you to try them on. With each outfit, he compliments you and tells you how amazing you look. He details how just how perfect every part of your body looks, and you;re blushing and smiling like crazy. By the end of the mini fashion show, you feel like a supermodel, your insecurities long forgotten.

As you both lay in bed, cuddled up together, you can't help but think back to earlier in the evening and how John's love and support had helped you.

'Thank you, Johnny. For everything,' you whisper, looking up at him with love in your eyes.

He brushes a strand of hair away from your face and smiles down at you. 'Always, my love. I'll always be here to remind you just how amazing you are.'

You lean in and kiss him deeply, feeling overwhelmed with love and gratitude for this amazing man who had stolen your heart.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[footballffbarbiex]

Face The Music

player: trent alexander-arnold words: 530 warnings: blow jobs, brief mention of ejaculation on tiddies. 2 requests merged: 250 - 500 words - she / her - Smut -  enemies to lovers (reader is a man utd fan and dislikes liverpool but somehow it goes around like that idk)

Idea for Trent: You’re the daughter of a Gary Neville and he finds out you are dating Trent by seeing you at a Liverpool game in #66 shirt❤️‍🔥

“Don’t fucking say it,” you say through gritted teeth when you see the size of his grin. You’re down on your knees, the towel discarded on either side of you as the water droplets from the shower air dry on your skin. He doesn’t need to say it, his face does it for him as you flatten your tongue along the underside of his shaft and lick him from base to tip before sinking your lips down over the first couple of inches, stopping before he can hit your gag reflex.

You shouldn’t be here and you certainly shouldn’t be on the floor before him giving him another “a world class blow job” as he put it. You’d told him after the first time that you wouldn’t do this again. Manchester United was in your blood and if your dad knew you were texting Trent let alone fucking him, you wouldn’t be allowed to his for at least a month. Then again, you probably wouldn’t be able to look your dad in the eye after this for worry he’d just know.

But Trent found it amusing. He loved how a little flirting had turned into sexting and taken further in the last month. He loved how, in a twisted way, Gary Neville’s daughter, a long term United supporter, is sucking not only a Liverpool player’s cock, but his. You thought having him once would sate your sexual appetite for him but that hadn’t been the case and you needed him more than ever. You’d tried to ignore it, not wanting to give in but it didn’t work. The harder you tried to suppress the urge, the stronger it became and now here you are.

Your hand grips his shaft while your mouth takes as much as you can in, whilst being torn between wanting to keep your eyes open and looking up at him and closing them to savour this as much as possible. Your legs clamp together, trying not to let your pussy wet anywhere other than the tops of your thighs when you mostly want his cum dripping down your thigh instead of just your own wetness.

-

“Thought you weren’t gonna wear it?” Trent asks, snapping the waistband of his boxers back into place as you tie his jersey in a knot at your waist. The bold 66 on your back remains there, unlike something else that was spurted over your tits before being thoroughly cleaned off.

“Not where people can see, I’m not.” You comment and fill your hands with a United jersey that you intend to cover it with.

“Then why wear it at all?” He asks, looking down at his body to make sure he’s looking ok before holding open the door for you.

“Thought you might like knowing I’m wearing it. Even if no-one else knows.”

“And why would he like that?” the distinct voice that you’ve grown up with sounds and just like when you were a child, you feel your shoulders raise as your head dips low at the question which serves as a reprimand. With a grimace twisting your features, you turn to look at your dad and face the music.

[moonduckling]

♡Assigning A Body Part To Every NCT 127 Member♡

Taeyong: This man fest on coochie 🤧. He needs it, it's his lifeline. He loves everything about it, when he use his fingers and the way your jewel just sucks him in, when he tastes it the way your juice leaves the bottom of his face absolutely soaked. Also, when he bottoms out inside you and it makes his mind go blank.

Yuta Nakamoto: I feel he's more of a boobs, waist, and arms typa guy. (When I say arms I mean like Gomez Addams way, loves to kiss up and down them when you say a certain word that drives him crazy.) He loves wrapping his arms around your waist so he can easily pull you closer to him and it's easier for him to hold onto when pounding into you. Basically he like boob fucking.

Jaehyun: Definitely a booty lover. I feel he needs something nice and plush, but honestly it doesn't matter if you got a flatty or a fatty it all the same to him. He just want to able to lay his head on it, grope it, or just straight up abuses it when you guys are doing the deed.

Jungwoo: He loves your tongue and your toes. When you guys kiss he loves to suck on your tongue until your gasping for air. He loves to push his fingers in your mouth so you can run your tongue all over his digits. The same goes for his mini-me. Your toes is a dream of his, he absolutely love when your toenail drag down his leg when he's pounding you senseless. He also likes to suck on them just so he can see you blush and giggle as he do it.

Mark Lee: This man has needs, so it doesn't really matter what body part he's touching or abusing he wants it all. It's best for just to be prepare to have a bunch of marks to cover up. Because Mark is going to mark you up.

Doyoung: This man, loves your eyes and lips. Just the sight of you rolling them is hot enough. But, his favorite is when you guys are getting it own and your eyes just roll up in your head as things begin to get to overwhelming for you. It literally drives him up the wall to see his "precious little baby all messed up" he needs this. Your lips, oh man your lips. He loves to you bit the edge of your pencil/pen, when your eating and your slowly lick your fingers to get the sweetness off, when your confused and the shape your mouth makes when you say, "Oh?" He loves when your lips are sucking on his red hot angry tip and when grabs onto her head to force you down so you can take him all in and how your lips are covered in spit and his seed. He can't stop himself from abusing her swollen pink lips.

Haechan: On to this sweet bundle of sunshine. So we all know Haechan got a thing for boobs, your tummy, face, and your radiant heat source down below. He can't help how he feels about your boobs it effected him the most when you wear nothing but thin shirt or dress with no bra on where he can see straight through to your nipples, ugh it drives him nuts. He loves tiddy fucking and exploding on your face. The look of you with white sticky residue on your face, he can't take it, it's going to be a long night before you can get any rest. He third favorite place to let it explode is on you tummy, he'll rub it across your stomach and say, "Look at this mess I made all over my stupid baby!" You already know he has a breeding kink and abusing that little kitty cat is his game.

Taeil: The sweetest human on this planet and I don't just mean taste. Okay, I know I said there favorite body part, but I'm going to go out on a limb here. Taeil's favorite thing is your voice and your hair. He loves your voice a lot especially when you make little whiny noises when he don't share his food, when your in a argument that your very passionate about and you make little groaning growling noises that make his stomach stir in the most pleasant ways, and when your making passionate love and your gasping long drawn out moans ring through room. When you call out his name in a breathy tone that leaves him dizzy. My goodness he could make music out of you. Taeil isn't the type for quickies, but every now and then he'll participate in the act and when does his favorite thing is to have his hands buried deep in your hair and you suck on his throbbed cock. When close to releasing he'll stroke his cock hard and fast coming undone all over your hair and face. Then he'll tell you that "Your such a good girl for let me cover your hair with my cum!" He then pats your head giving you a quick kiss and goes back to what he was doing before.

Johnny: Papi John John needs his attention. So his favorite thing is EVERYTHING! He'll cum in your ear if he have too, it doesn't really matter to him because everything on you belong to him and he's the only who can touch it. So he'll use everything to the max? "Oh, pretty girl your body is amazing!"

A/N: Hey guys hope you enjoyed this. I will be writing more for the other NCT subunits, just wait and they'll be out soon. Also, please leave request because I'm willing to do one of these for any group just ask. 😁 Anyway this wasn't proofread after finishing because it's really late right now so excuse me for any grammar mistakes.

[asumofwords]

The ask about the dicks??yall are wild 💀💀💀

I want to ask something spicy too and very important: what do Aemond, Aegon, Daemon, Jace and Criston like more?ass or boobs? Like what do they prefers in a woman or what do they see fisrt?what preferences do they have?for example I know for sure that Aemond would have a massive size kink and is into petite girls(and it has nothing to do with being a short queen myself and being delulu) because he likes the power dynamic

Sorry for taking so long to answer this but omg I love it heheh. I am literally cackling as I write this. I know I'm going to miss a lot, but let's at least set down the baseline.

What Aemond, Aegon, Daemon, Jace and Criston fancy.

Aemond is definitely a boobs kind of guy, we all know how feral he gets at the thought of breast milk and them tiddies being swollen (Mummy issues right? Freud is rolling in his grave if he existed in the HOTD universe lmao).

You’re right about Aemond having a size kink, he likes loves when you’re smaller than him. He loves when he has power, strength over you. To throw you around, grab you, fuck you and do anything he wants.

He definitely loves marking people, whether hands, lips or teeth, he wants to mark you so that everyone knows you are his. Possessive right?

Loves submission but also brattiness is a weak spot for him. He wants to break someone in, bend them to his will and put them in their place. Massive power dynamics with him.

Loves fear play as well, the hunter/prey gig. Aemond lives for the chase, loves to see the fear in your eyes when he catches you. Did I say knife kink?

Somnophillia is definitely something he thrives on too, this man is just a filthy little deviant. DID I MENTION BREEDING KINK. Pussy eating is an addiction this man will not go to rehab for.

Aegon; Tits and ass man, not really fussed, anything goes. He’s got that ‘any holes a goal’ attitude and sticks to it.

Breeding kink 100%, loves watching cum drip out of cunnies, or to be fair, any orifice. This man will cum on your face, tits, back or wherever he wants. The dirtier the better.

Definitely a switch. Can be very submissive, mummy kink to boot. Wants to be taken care of and praised, held and doted on. Wants someone to press kisses to his face whilst they ride him and tell him he makes them feel good.

Loves quiet, little creatures who will squeak if he pinches them. Insatiable, like his brother. Will fuck you anywhere, anytime, drunk, sober, awake, asleep. If your hole is the goal, Aegon is gonna get it.

If we ignore cannon assaults, I would say he definitely has a CNC kink (consensual non consent). When he’s in the mood, stressed or pushed, he will bend you over any surface and force himself in.

Free use King.

Not a pleasure dom, will get his nut and run most of the time.

Our Daddy Daemon has no limits to his tastes. Call this man a connoisseur. Tits, ass, anything goes for this man.

Absolute kink King, would let you peg him if you begged prettily enough. Orgies galore, the more the merrier. Loves his ass being played with, lick, finger, rub, fuck, anything for that stimulation that makes his toes curl and teeth clench. Go. Off. King. If you play with his balls when you suck him off, that man is a goner, eyes will roll in the back of his head.

Definite size kink, loves the power of it, seeing how small you look beneath him as he fucks into you. This man has a giant cock, we all know it's the truth, and he would delight seeing the bulge of it in your stomach.

Daemon has a thing for eating pussy like his nephew Aemond, blood runs thick in this family, and Daemon will spend an entire night between your thighs until you are crying and begging for him to stop or have passed out.

Restraints? No problem, he will tie you up with silk or whatever is lying around and have his way with you, or simply hold both of your wrists in his hands as he plows into you.

Breeding kink��enough said.

Considerate lover, will make you cum every time. Voyeur king, anywhere he can get caught? Mans will be there to fuck you into any surface.

Jacaerys is an ass man. Don’t ask questions, I just get the vibe. He wants to grab your cheeks and spread them apart, look down at both of your fluttering holes and watch his seed or your release leak out. Speaking of ass man, anal. Loves it.

He’s such a cutie as well, will praise the living hell out of you. Spit? Loves it. Will spit in your mouth, on your pussy, in your holes, wherever he can, but he will be real polite about it.

Soft dom for days, will praise, compliment and encourage you until you’re a puddle beneath him and blushing. But will also grab the fuck out of you if you are bratty. He has his mothers temper.

And like his Step Daddy Daemon, man has a fucking hog, and loves to stretch you out on it, insert oooh big stretch. Size kinks galore with this one.

Loves to fuck your face and coo at how well you take him, smoothing hair and tears away from your cheeks as you gag on his length.

Skilled fingers, this man has a thing about his hands and needs them to be on you. If you have your period, he will make love to you during it and be so doting and caring about it. He loves how much wetter you are and how sensitive you can be. He also loves knowing it makes you feel good, because he wants to take care of you.

Anything you want, Jace will give to you.

Criston Incel Cole. Wants a submissive, demure woman who won’t hurt him like Rhaenyra (cough Alicent cough). Boobs and thigh man, loves to grab and suck at the skin and mark it, but not in a way that could be seen publicly. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s broken his oath or that you’re his whore behind closed doors.

Loves praise.

Hard dom. Very strict on instructions and commands, will wear his uniform as he fucks you, will be angry, rough, but after, soft and gentle. He has to get his anger out somehow.

Creampie kink, not necessarily a breeding kink, but loves to see you full of him. Will play with it as it leaks out of you. Has a thing about kissing you though.

A Missionary Man, hard to get him to fuck you in any other position, but he likes to watch you below him, how your breasts jiggle with each thrust or how your face flushes when you cum.

Not the most skilled of lovers, but is eager and willing to learn.

If he really trusts you, man is a fucking SUB. But that is a rare occurrence.

-

Hope you enjoyed my disgusting fucking thoughts on this hahahaha

[sugar-omi]

BIG FAT ORANGE CAT. I LOVE IT HERE. YOUR CAT IS MINE NOW RUNS AWAY WITH MY TIDDIES OUT

DUUUUUDE. i would've crashed out so bad omfg the sibling interrupting trope is SO GUT WRENCHING. (and can probably relate to olba. somehow.)

BUT LIKE YEAH NO IT GOT HOT. LIKE WE WERE MAKING OUT FOR A GOOD LIKE FIFTEEN MINUTES. HIS TONGUE AND FINGERS WRE IN MY MOUTH ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. MY SHIRT ALMOST CAME OFF. I STILL HAVE HICKIES.

and GOD. the way he was fucking whining and panting into my mouth the whole time?? the way he made it impossible to arch with how heavily he was pressing against me??? the way he pulled away at the end of it breathless and whimpering, begging me to "stop feeling so good against [him] before [he stopped] being able to hold back"???? i had to take the bus home because if i let him drive me back to the dorms i would NOT have gotten back before midnight.

we agreed not to put a label on it yet, that we'd keep things light until we figured out what we both felt and what we both wanted without jumping into anything too early...BUT THE TEXT I GOT THIS MORNING. "but i wouldn't mind if we did. that. again"

HHHOOOOOOLY SHIT. OMI THIS CANNOT BE REAL.

i am now making it my mission to seduce this man into being all mine. i'm committed now.

STOPP NOOO HE DIDNT SAY THAT!!! NO WAY!!!!! usually im not crazy over the "i cant hold back" line but im so obsessed rn.... he's literally whipped. obsessed. a ximi lover. XIMI KISSER!!! HES LOCKED IN!!!!!

ALSO FINGERS ARE CRAZY. THATS. OH MAN THAT IS 🥵🥵🥵 AAAAA ALSO YESS HICKEYS ARE SO CRAZY. I LOVE IT.

AND PRESSING SO HARD AGAONST YOU YOU CANT EVEN MOVE BACK INTO HIM.... OHHH THATS SO COVE CODED. IM WRITING THAT DOWN RIGHT NOW

N THE WHIMPERING. PLEASE. THATS SO CUTE???? I need that so bad. oh my god. I cannot go on....

arghhh you would've had to pry my cold dead body off of him what the FUCK. I LOVE THIS!!! YAYYY!!!!

slow is good. slow is super good. definitely communicate what you want, like if you're a long-term girlie or if he's a long-term girlie but the other isnt/hasn't said that, jus go like "i wanna see how long this lasts bc this relationship feels really good so far"

(must say. idk whats in yalls head, so im jus talking to you like i would any of my friends okie<3333)

or even if ya don't know if you're a long-term type! or whatever!!! I think saying you wanna see how far this goes bc you're having a good time already, is good. it's like. no pressure yk. just wanna explore how deep the water is and enjoy it, and wherever it goes, you're happy with it

n ofc say if you'd like it to be a bf/gf thing. like "I'd like to be committed but rn I'm happy to see where it goes bc I rlly like you (and i wanna get there if possible)"

BUT YESS I SO AGREE WITH YOU ABOUT SEDUCING HIM. LOCK HIM UP!! PUT A RING ON IT!!!!!!

I told u I would immediately be planning our wedding, I can't so slow i am locked in IMMMMEDIATELY!!!

BUT DOMT BE CRAZY LIKE ME LMAOOO JUST HAVE FUN!!! GO ON DATES N STUFF!!!!! omg yknow what. fill out those like, friendship questionnaires. and those partner ones. like it may have things u might not have thought to know abt each other

like some things jus come naturally, but I think a quick way is cute, and sometimes stupid, and mundane dates, and questions like you're back in middle school

eeekk I can't believe we've made this much progress in jus a few DAYSSS IM SO OBSESSED 😫 u must tell me how things go.... my dms are wideeeee open 🥹💞

[piedpiperslists]

Jungkook One Shots (XLVII)

* s - contains smut

"Big Tiddie Anime Bitches" by @h0neypjm s wc~3.5k / established relationship, PWP Summary: Jungkook, bless his heart, has an obsession. An obsession with big titty anime girls and the idea of you dressed as them. His birthday is coming up, what better time to fulfil his weeb fantasies than on Jungkook's special day. Alternatively... You hate the idea of dressing up as those stupid "big tiddie anime bitches" but your love for Jeon Jungkook is stronger. Besides Jungkook will have his turn next.

Maid for You by @h0neypjm s wc~3.8k / established relationship Summary: Despite his many protests, you always thought Jungkook was the prettiest boy you have ever laid your eyes upon and you would do anything to prove it to him. It was then on one fateful night, you had then struck gold when you had stumbled upon the beauty of men in maid costumes, finally giving you a way to prove just how pretty Jeon Jungkook truly is.

In which Jungkook loves doing nothing with you. by @onlyswan wc~2.9k / established relationship, idol au

Happy Birthday Loser by @jungk0oksthighs s wc~8k / roommates au, PWP Summary: After three years of simping over your roommate, you give him one hell of a birthday celebration.

Daddy's 95 by @bambikisss s wc~3k / street racers au Summary: You were a successful underground street racer with an annoying past. He was an up-and-comer who wanted to prove himself and get the hot girl’s number.

Abundance by @xenizaation s wc~4.3k / established relationship, idol au

Project: Star X by @xenizaation s wc~6k / rockstar!Jungkook, friends to lovers

Never Be Friends by @jjungxkook wc~3k / friends to lovers Summary: A healthy mix of irritation and amusement leads to kissing and making out with your best friend. Everyone knows that.

OREOs… and Electroshock Couples Therapy by @ladyartemesia wc~3.3k / rivals to lovers, fake dating, police detective au Summary: You and infuriating precinct playboy Jeon Jungkook go undercover to lure out a killer targeting engaged couples. Literally nothing goes according to plan…

Starry Night by @kithtaehyung s wc~7k / established relationship, gamer au Summary: All you wanted to do was take your boyfriend on a super late date.

[sunxdusk]

NSFW Headcanons

Here are some naughty headcanons about Briengr and his tastes!

-) Briengr enjoys giving a sincere compliment, but he can only be seduced by those who let him do the hunting; Briengr is the type who needs to "catch" his mates. Tease him, taunt him, and make him work for it. Then, sit back and enjoy letting him "catch" you.

-) Briengr loves to take an inexperienced partner under his wing and show them the ropes, so to speak. But in the kindest, most patient way. Anyone looking to get their maidenhead claimed, ask Briengr, and he'll happily agree and make your first time a dream.

-) He's so fantastic at oral sex that you might think he has two tongues. Not only is Briengr artful at cunnilingus and fellatio, but he supremely enjoys performing the act — so much so that he prefers giving a bit more than getting. Don't be insulted if he would rather give than receive. It's just in his nature, so go with it. Believe it or not, Briengr gets off on you getting off almost as much as you do.

-) Briengr constantly looks for dynamics and competition in and out of the bedroom. So, when sex starts to bore him, he’ll be eager to spice it up. That said, I hope you like being chased in the forest.

-) Briengr is a breast man. Big or small, there's just something about those plush mounds of flesh that he loves. Briengr will spend more time suckling your nipples or rubbing his cock between your breasts. And yes, that goes double for male tiddies.

-) If you're horny and he smells your arousal, be prepared for him to straight up ask you if you'd like to have him get you off. If there's one thing he hates, it's not pleasuring his lover when they need a good romp.

-) Bad sex is a thing, and it can happen to even the most experienced of lovers. Briengr is not spared from this. If he's distracted, overwhelmed, or just not feeling it, the sex will be lukewarm and not as spicy. It's not your fault, and he'll be damned sure to tell you. In fact, he'll even go so far as to sacrifice his own pleasure to make sure that you get off nice and proper.

-) When it comes to kissing, Briengr won't just kiss you on the mouth — he'll kiss every inch of your body with various techniques. Is licking considered kissing? For Briengr, it is. He'll tell you, "Never trust a man who won't kiss you from head to toe."

-) The neck and throat are major erogenous zones and will have him hard in minutes and cumming in seconds.

-) Another erogenous zone is his nipples. Lick them, rub them, twist them (but not too painfully), and don't forget his chest. Make sure you give his chest all the attention it deserves and pull at his chest hairs a little. He loves that.

-) Briengr loathes analingus. Even mentioning it will make him grimace with disgust and gag. Yeah, he's an ass man, but he won't eat your booty! :/

-) If you want to have sex with him in his werewolf form, ask him. He will ask you over and over again if this is what you want before giving you careful instructions on what to do and what not to do when you're "riding the wolf." Anything can go horribly wrong while he's in that state, catastrophic if you're not his mate.

[mari-the-bimbo]

Hello!! I miss your door mate!Gojo series! I love them so much! (°◡°♡) May I request one where Y/N goes home for a while (because she has not seen her parents and she misses them hehe) and Mr. Satoru Gojo — clingy baby that he is — pouts all throughout as Y/N packs her stuff, even disrupting by hiding some of her things to delay her from leaving. And when Y/N is at home, he just bombards her with his calls and says random stuff to make her come back (e.g. everyday that he doesn’t get to give her kisses, he gets weak so for the good of the world, she must go back). Please and thank you! (♡°▽°♡)

Dorm mate Gojo: weekend away

A/N: This is such a cute idea!!! Thank you and I hope you enjoy!! <3

“Ya breaking my heart pea brain”

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at your clingy dorm mate’s exaggeration. You look up at Gojo as he leans against your bedroom door, pouting.

“It’s just for the weekend idiot! It feels like ages since I’ve been home” you say excitedly as you pack your belongings, making him frown even more.

“This is your home pea brain!” Gojo exclaims as he hits you with your own plushie.

“Ow- Hey!!” You say, as you turn around, attempting to retrieve your plushie from the tall white haired man who grinned mischievously, as he held the plushie over your head.

“Give it back! I need it!” You protest as you grabbed his shirt and jumped up to grab the plushie.

“Awww you shortie, c’mon it’s not that hard” he coos, knowing he was riling you up so easily, a pervy wide smile adorning his face as he felt you press your body against his in desperation to grab it. He couldn’t help but laugh as you glared up at him because to him it was just cute.

But that smile was wiped off his face quickly when you called out for Geto.

“GETO!!! GOJO IS BEING MEAN TO MEEEEE” you complain like a child complaining to its mother. Gojo’s large hands quickly cover your mouth but it was already too late.

A thump is heard in the wall before Geto’s voice from the shower came through “GOJO STOP BEING A LITTLE BITCH PLEASE”

Gojo tsks before manhandling you onto your bed, with him falling on top of you. “You’re such a lil snitch” he says, biting his shoulder, making you squeal.

His wide cocky smile returns as he look up at you “that’s what you get for snitching”

“Shut up” you giggle as you playfully glare at him but he only smiles at you fondly, refusing to tear his gaze away from your face.

“What?” you mutter with a smile.

“Nothing, I’m just gonna miss your pretty face” he replies.

You laugh before wrapping your arms around his big, broad body making him melt into you as he nuzzled his face into your chest.

“Hmmmm tiddies”

—-

As you set up the table for dinner back home, you watch your phone notifs blow up with texts and calls from Gojo. You smile to yourself at the millions of texts of how much he misses you. But as you’re about to text back that’ll you’ll call him after dinner, your mom calls you.

“Yeah mom?” You reply, walking over to where her voice was coming from.

You pause once you reach the front door which your mom had already opened. “You have a very handsome visitor” she says.

You stare dumbfounded at your white haired lover who stood at the door with a bouquet of flowers, your plushie, and his signature cocky grin.

“For you, m’lady” he says to your mom as he hands her the flowers, making her coo at her child’s gentleman lover.

“Gojo? What are you doing here?” You ask amusedly.

“You forgot your plushie silly! I reminded you to take it and you still forgot!” He lied with an ever so charming smile, making your mom shake her head, apologising to Gojo, claiming you were always so forgetful and careless.

“Wha- no mom he’s lying! He stole it from me when I was packing and refused to give it back!”

Gojo turned his attention to your mom. “She’s delusional ma’am, it’s okay I take great care of her” he says, subtly lowering his shades to give you a flirty wink.

Geto, who’s waiting in the car after Gojo forced him to drive here because Gojo can’t drive:

[prettyboykatsuki]

net positives | m. izuku

✫ tags ;; friends to lovers, fingering, tiddy sucking, vanila sex, reader is gn but afab, no set dynamics but reader is forward, dialogue heavy. very tame stuff, 18+

✫ wc ;; 2k

✫ a/n ;; i haven't slept at all. i love deku. found this manga panel in my phone so sorry for low qual

"You what?!"

"I wanna fuck you. Very simple stuff, Midoriya."

Deku stares at you like you've just informed him the world is ending tomorrow. Your blasé attitude about the whole thing is not helping him. He's used to you saying whatever so much as passes your mind. It's a driving force in your friendship, after all. For Deku, who tends to be an overthinker - you serve as a nice reminder that nothing is ever that serious. At least in day to day life.

Still, you have enough of a conscious to know that this is a lot of information for someone like Deku. You lean back lightly, like you're giving it some second thought. You're not, you said what you said. But Deku relaxes as you ponder the subject.

"I don't know why you're so surprised." You say after sometime. Deku frowns, brows stitched together in displeasure. Or maybe something more akin to confusion.

"Anyone would be surprised."

'"But I've been flirting with you for like 2 years. I confess my feelings for you like.. once a week. It can't be that surprising."

His eyes widen - emerald and shiny. Then a blush forms on the bridge of his nose, down to his chest. All freckles and tan skin, he shoves a pillow at you like he can't believe what you've said.

"You were being serious??"

"There's no way you're this dense. No way on earth." You say, scoffing. His chest grows hot. He pulls his knees up, burying his face. He's so big and imposing normally, yet he's sitting on your couch like a maiden - flushed and panicky. It's very Deku.

"I just.. you never... I don't know! I don't know. You're just like that."

"Callin' me easy, Deku?"

"You know that's not what I mean."

You snicker, closing your eyes as you lean back on the couch. He's sitting a few inches from you, but the gap doesn't feel wide.

"I was always serious about it. You're fun to tease but I'm not that much of a dick."

He sits and then groans like he's considering something.

"But like.. are you sure? Like really sure? I don't have like.. no experience? But it's not a lot? And it's me -"

"Yeah. It is you. That's why. You could suck and I'd still probably want it."

"You're just saying that."

"You're the only person that would question someone admitting they want to fuck you this much. You're a pro-hero. Isn't this like... a day on Twitter for you?"

He huffs a little, straightening out. There's merit to what you've said.

"You don't care about stuff like that."

"Mm.. that's true. But I like you. Always and forever. I just assumed you didn't like me back. Then you drag me here and -"

"Stop, it's embarassing now." He groans.

"And confess to me all nervous. And now what? You can't look me in the eyes cause I wanna sleep with you?"

"Shut up." He snips, with no bite or malice.

"Make me." You say with a giggle, sticking your tongue out. He shoots you an unimpressed look but you smile back on him. Suddenly, your tone goes softer. A genuineness to your

"We don't have too, if you don't want. Whatever's comfortable. We can just watch a movie - "

"No I... I want too. It's just kinda.. I don't know. A lot?"

"It's a lot for me too. I'm just better at hiding it. Sweatin' bullets though." You whistle. He laughs at your little joke and it eases your nerves a little.

"Okay..okay. Let's do it."

You break out into a laugh as you crawl over to him. Your whole body shakes with it as you approach Deku.

"Can you not sound like we're about to go on a mission, baby?"

"B-baby?"

"Uh-huh. 'Cause we like each other and what-not. Hate it?"

Deku lays back on the couch and lets you crawl on top of him. The couch was ridiculously big when you went with him to buy it. Like this, you think it makes a little more sense. He looks good underneath you. Curls pressed against the cushions, laid out.

He's far from plain. Soft rounded eyes but steady jaw and cheeks that squish when he frowns. He's cute and overbearingly handsome. A total knockout. Deku looks down between his legs and then looks up at you with mirth.

"I don't hate it." He replies. You let your weight down onto him, leaned forward so you're noses are touching. His hands come up on your sides - tentative and gentle.

"You can touch me." You say. Your lips brush and Deku lets out an uneven breath.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Touch me wherever you want."

"Wherever?"

His voice has gone a little thick.

"Wherever, Midoriya."

He presses his lips to yours with a soft sound. He's warm to the touch, radiating from him. His hands come up to cradle your neck, bringing you closer. The kiss isn't desperate, but it's not soft. There's heat behind it. His tongue slips between your lips, and you roll your hips against him. His hands roam your skin. Kissing you and then kissing your neck, tonguing the skin to taste you.

"Izuku.." He say, breathless. He kisses you one more time like confirmation for something before repeating himself "Izuku."

"Izuku." You repeat, smiling "Touch me wherever you want."

He curses under his breath, so soft you almost miss it. Suddenly his hands are all over you. For Deku, Izuku - who's always been patient, the longing in his touches makes you reel. He slips your shirt off quickly, unclasps your bra with one hand. Everything happens quick. He barely takes his shirt off even after getting you naked.

His palms are covered in callouses. Working mans hands, big and steady. He cups your chest with tenderness and want all wrapped into one. He's mesmerized by you, the way your nipples pebbled under the pads of his fingers. When you moan, his eyes flicker. He looks at you like Mercury looks at Venus. Bright but not burning.

You feel it between your legs. You moan his name, soft again. Izuku. And then Izuku pulls you up. He cranes his neck and wraps his mouth around your tits with a groan. It's pulled from his chest.

Briefly you understand how much he wants you. From something so small - you can feel it. In his every gesture is this ache, desire so apparent it almost unnerves you. It might if you didn't want him just as bad.

"Izuku." You say, whisper. He licks the underneath side of your tits, biting soft before humming.

"Touch me."

"How do you want it?" He asks, eyes lidded.

"We have time. Just want you right now."

And he groans, flushes. He doesn't bother taking your pants off all the way. He simply pulls your sweats until he has access to you. You fall forward onto his chest as his big hands spread you apart. You feel it in your core.

"You're so pretty, so - "

He whines, high and pitchy and you smile. His hands intrude a little more, no longer over the fabric of your panties. You can feel a single digit, thick against your folds as you lay on him. Your chin is resting on his chest.

It's painfully intimate to look at him. He looks back at you, a warbly smile on his mouth.

"You're so wet."

"Mhm."

He flushes again. Another something that doesn't need your explanation. He's starting to understand.

You lift your hips up slightly to make it easier for him to fuck into you. A single digit pushes against your entrance. Fluttering, and tight - your whole body trembles. He takes it slow. Kissing your forehead with too much tenderness, despite himself as he lets his middle finger curl into your pussy. You wiggle your hips at the intrusion.

He holds you like that. Lets you get used to the thickness of one finger, rubbing softly against your g-spot. It's not enough, but he must know that. He looks at you sympathetically as he fucks you open with another finger.

"Izuku." You huff. He laughs lightly.

"I know, I know. I'm not that patient, but I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't hurt me."

"Just being careful."

You look at him adoration littered all over your face. You can't help it. He's just so..cute. Likeable. Lovely. Whatever the word, it makes you grin. Even like this, you're giggling. Kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, hero."

You can't help but pick up on the way he stiffens. Laughter erupts from you and he groans in shame. You'll have to explore it later.

"Do you have any condoms?"

Izuku points to his coffee table drawer. When you open it, there's a box of them along with other miscellaneous items. You gasp, faux scandalized.

"You playboy." you seethe He laughs at that. You both know it couldn't be less true. Still, he lets you tease him. Faux guilt on his expression, biting back a grin.

"Forgive me, hm?"

"Should I?"

"Uh-huh. I think so."

You sit up and as Izuku pulls away from you. There's something lewd about seeing arousal on his fingers. He pulls his cock free from his sweats and coats himself with it. You shiver at the sight. He's not small. It makes you gasp. Thick, and uncut - with dark hairs at the best. He's well groomed all the same. You unwrap the condom from the foil, placing it on the tip and rolling down slowly.

You spit onto your palm, slicking it up before steadying yourself. Your breath hitches. His eyes are fixated on your cunt, where you meet. You twitch as you settle over the tip. He lets his hands hold your hips as you sink, so slowly.

Deku is so thick it stretches you. The burn feels nice, the curve and heavy weight making your mind feel almost numb with want. You take a second to breathe, trembling. He throws his head back, groaning deeply.

"Fuck, you're.. fuck. Tell me when I can m-move." He says, strained. He looks concentrated.

You take a deep breath. Nodding. Whatever you had in your head before melts away.

"Move, Izuku."

His hand immediately rests on your navel, thumb on your clit. He uses the strength in his core and thighs to thrust as he fucks into you. Deku is so strong. Even when you're collapsed on his chest, he fucks into you with pace and rhythm. It's all happening so quickly you can't stand it. Too much, too much.

"Oh fuuck, that's good. You're so good, Izuku."

He grunts back, into the space between your neck and shoulders as you hug him close. Skin to skin, your fingers in his curls as he fucks you so good. It drags on your walls, hits that spot inside you that makes your mind feel like it's melting from your ears. The sound of his cock fucking into you is so lewd. Wet and shameless, it fills the room in a symphony. The world is spinning as something coils in your gut. He isn't far behind, because his words come out choked.

"Are you close?"

You nod rapidly. His movement doesn't change at all. Keeps fucking you with soft praises about how good you feel until you're at the edge. You clench around him, suffocating with want.

"C-cumming, fuck I'm cumming."

"Yeah, yeah - cum for me."

You cum hard, so hard you see white in your eyelids. Deku isn't far off. You brace yourself as his thrusts get sloppier but harder. You brace yourself for it as he fucks you through your orgasm and chases his own climax. He looks good like that. Normally he looks so sweet, but he looks so different when he's cumming. Mouth fallen open, panting and hot all over. The focus on his features, you want to memorize it.

The both of you lay there, exhausted. When you managed to open your eyes, Deku is looking down at you with a warm grin. You grin back, chuckling.

"We coulda done this a year ago."

He snorts with laughter.

"Don't remind me of my failings."

[elysianslove]

omg wait ok who in jjk do you think is an ass, thigh or tits person?? also congrats on 4k thats so sexc of u!!! you're so talented you deserve every one of them <33 MWAH

bb thank you so much ily so much <333 kiss kiss mwah <333 and! thank you for asking this i have been waiting for this ask to come into my inbox. warning; suggestive and mentions of nsfw

ITADORI YUUJI is an ass person. aside from the fact that it’s canon, i see him as someone that’s just mesmerized with ass. loves seeing it in jeans, or those patterned loose pants yk the one that make everyone’s ass jiggle, or in a tight dress, or in booty shorts. and not just that! he loves to be touching you too. as his s/o, you are never free from his groping hands. loves to lift you up and just place his hands on your ass, to ‘keep you steady’ or whatever, and also loves to lay on your ass if you’re on your stomach. makes you laugh so it jiggles against his head/cheek. he’s a bit too shy to smack your ass in public, but catch him doing it all the time at home. like as you’re passing by him or standing there minding your business. or just always having a handful of your ass when you two are sitting down/cuddling. definitely fake fucks you when you bend over too just saying. 

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI i see more as a tits kinda guy. he says doesn’t have a preference, but that all changes when he sees you in a low-cut revealing shirt. he’s a respectful guy so he will be trying not to look. it doesn’t really work though. it’s not that he doesn’t like ass or thighs, it’s more that whenever he sees your tits it goes to his dick a lot quicker lmao. he loves, loves, loves it when you don’t wear a bra, no matter the shirt you wear, no matter your breast size, and if it’s see through as well? consider him dead. oh and megumi’s hands are large. i’m not saying he has a size kink but, there’s just something about the way they look against your breasts. also! he really likes,,, just, kinda, fondling with them. holding them, groping them, as he’s sitting there. it’s fun. and warm. also adores stuffing his face against your chest, even if you have small tits, he just likes it. it’s all about the intimacy of laying on your lover’s naked chest for him <3 

KUGISAKI NOBARA is definitely a tits kinda girl. like no questions, no criticisms, nothing just vibes and titties. she loves the way they look, the way they feel, in her hands, in her mouth, literally anything and everything. considering she has breasts too, she knows just how comforting it is to hold onto them just randomly. if you have big breasts, she’s in heaven as she stuffs her face against them, nothing nsfw just cause. if you have small breasts, she’s still in heaven as she just sucks on them as a stress reliever. she’s like a toddler when she’s stressed like ‘lemme suck on your tiddies pls’ lmfao. also!! she is a fashion icon, an star, an idol, she knows the type of clothes that look flattering and which don’t. also she loves to go bra shopping with you just so she can get into the changing room and start groping and bouncing your breasts to test out the bra, as she claims. but yes, she’s a titties girl! 

RYOMEN SUKUNA is, if not an all kinda guy, a thighs man. wears them like ear muffs lmfao. his infatuation was first purely nsfw, and he would show it by constantly leaving bruises all over them, marking you, whether it was from his tight, vice like grip, or from his mouth. but then over time it became just genuine love and fascination, especially after that one time you had whined at him after sex to just massage your sore thighs for you. he’d begrudgingly agreed, but then he ended up loving the feel of kneading them in his strong hands. and after growing comfortable with cuddling, his favorite position is just where his head is in between your thighs and your ankles are crossed at his chest. he can stay like that for hours honestly. also he likes to have his hands resting there, squeezing every once in a while. but, like i said, sukuna just likes your body in general. 

INUMAKI TOGE was a little more difficult to decide, and i’m still not that sure of this, but i think he’d be an ass person, just because i think he’s lowkey very touchy with his s/o and he’d like to just— rest his hands there all the time. likes it when the two of you are cuddling and you leg is lifted up across him, allowing him to settle his hand on the curve of your ass. also he’s lowkey a very cheeky person when it comes to his s/o, so i can just imagine as you’re laying down on your tummy, he pats your ass and every time it jiggles he giggles to himself lightly. also the type to rest against his s/o’s ass just cause but he would actually fall asleep like that. also! whenever he’s resting like that, he likes to give your ass a little peck, just a small smooch, a token of appreciation if you will, before he pats where he kissed lightly, and in his own way he just says, “nice :D.” 

GOJŌ SATORU. ass. ass. ass. ass. ass. ass man! is absolutely in love with your ass. smacks it in public with zero shame, just sends a teasing grin your way, and like, finger guns at you with a wink or something. when you walk past him at home in shorts or like only your underwear, he likes to give it a nice little pat. every single time. and when you bend over while he’s sitting on the couch or laying on the bed or something, he calls out in the cheekiest, most teasing, most annoying voice, “nice.” i hate his sexy ass sm. does tiktoks with you that include you throwing it back on him because he wants to give you reason to. loves to watch you put on your clothes, especially jeans, when you like jump in them. he’s just a pervert with a license to constantly hit on you. 

NANAMI KENTŌ is also definitely an ass man. look at him. tell me he doesn’t love ass. loves to fondle and grope it all the time, no matter where you are, and he’s very good at making it look subtle too so he gets away with doing in public too. nanami strikes me as someone that’s slightly possessive, not unhealthily so, but he does always like to subtle hand on you whenever the two of you are out, and more often than not his hand’s resting right above your ass. also he’s a very giving partner, in all ways, so i see him offering to give you massages all the time. definitely lingers on your ass, kneading strongly yet softly, even if you don’t need it? he just likes to do it. is not as open about it as the others, but he’s very obvious about it hehe

ZENIN MAKI is a thighs girl. also is the type to love stuffing her face in between them, but it’s a fixation kinda thing where she cannot stop ogling at your legs, specifically your thighs. loves to grope and squeeze at them all the time, and her all time favorite thing is seeing you in thigh highs, where the stockings squeeze at your thighs just a little. it makes her mind cloud over. 

ZENIN MAI is a a tits girl. i was thinking maybe she’s an ass girl, but i’m so certain she wouldn’t be able to take her eyes off of you or your cleavage if you wore anything to show off your breasts. definitely likes to lay on your chest and kiss and suckle on them, just randomly. also kinda a possessive thing, cause she will absolutely leave marks. she just. loves your tits okay? 

GETŌ SUGURU is an ass man. loves seeing you all dressed up in outfits that show your ass off, and almost always he won’t really touch, not unless the two of you were really intimate, but he looks. he looks so much, and he makes it so obvious that he’s checking you out. in public, at home, doesn’t matter. he’ll be eyeing you up and down and will have this sultry smirk as he glances at your ass. kinda hot ngl.

MAHITO is also a little bit tricky because i want to say ass, but i also want to say tits. somewhere in between ass and tits then. he has like,,, moods for them you know. sometimes he won’t stop ogling at your breasts, and other times he can’t keep his hands off your ass. either way, he’s very teasing about it, and he will buy you really provocative clothes to show both off. so kind <3

[tteokdoroki]

HI LOVE MY BRAIN GOES BRRR RN-

so remember the little drabble you wrote about 'oral fixation' where Bakugou sucked on tiddies

Well

Let's turn it around and say you got a stressful day at work so when you come home and lean against his chest for comfort- he catches you in his arms thinking you want a hug but suddenly you pull his tanktop up and start sucking on his tiddies as well because gawd it calms you so much and they're so soft and warm

Bakugou loves the feeling of your mouth around him and he can feel his pants getting tighter with every suck, lick or nibble you make <\3

-glasses anon

## new match ! -> fixated.

— re: katsuki bakugou.

— a/n: PLEASE okay, i had to write this because i did the reverse a few months ago and it makes me so happy !! i hope you liked this baby, thank you for sending it in <33

— cw: smut, mdni 18+, oral fixation, dry humping, soft baku :(( gn!reader.

— wc: 1.5K

okay but like ?? i can imagine you waddling in after a really long day, like your whole body is sore and your manager completely shattered your confidence and all you need is some comfort so naturally you’re heading straight for bakugou.

as always, he doesn’t question you when you collapse on top of him, clinging to every wave of warmth that radiates from his body. he doesn’t say a word when you force your head under his chin and curl up— he might look away from his phone or book for a second, just to sweep his vermillion eyes over you and check that you’re not physically hurt. but bakugou would never push you unless he knew that he needed to.

it’s only when you toy with the hem of his shirt, debating on tugging it up without asking ,that he gives you his full attention. “what’s the matter?” his voice rumbles through his chest, vibrating underneath you in an oddly calming way...because bakugou’s voice sounds like home, wraps you up and keeps you safe.

“bad day,” you tell him, still thumbing a loose string on his shirt and occasionally brushing the heat of his tummy.

“wanna talk about it?” you’d shake your head, hand crawling further up his shirt just to feel him but it’s not enough to touch his skin or to have his arms wrapped around you. you need more. katsuki cocks his head down at you— there’s something you need but won’t say. he’s always been one for tough love, never backing down when he sees you struggle but he can’t help you without letting you help yourself too. running a large hand down the curve of your spine, he speaks again in gentle tones. “you gotta use your words with me, you want somethin’ don’cha?”

“wanna be close to you…” is all you can manage, turning your face into his chest as craving to hear the thump of his heart becomes too much to withstand. bakugou wouldn’t force anymore out of you from there— he’d already have an inkling of what you needed, pushing you back to sit up and throw off his shirt before helping you to do the same.

skin on skin, is how you felt closest to bakugou. vulnerable to the blood red stare in the form of your lover’s eyes. you feel naked under his gaze even when you already are, you feel cool and goosebumps rise on your arms even though his skin is hot. but when katsuki’s rough hands tilt your chin up so he can reach you for a kiss— you don’t feel scared or unwanted or unloved, because he tells you without words that you’re all that he needs, that you’re more than good enough although the world or whatever bothers you screams that you aren’t.

the voice of bakugou’s love for you has always been louder than anyone else’s, his presence has always been more overwhelming than anything else you’ve ever felt. so you’ve learned over the years to trust him, to believe in what he says.

so with lips locked and bare skin against bare skin, your hands both perched at his collar bones begin to travel over the uneven patches of his body— the ones with battle stories written across flesh in the form of scars, your lips free his and start their own journey too, heading further south until your nose is pressed up against his heart beat.

you’d look up at katsuki, eyes locked and breath ticklish against your skin— as if you’re waiting for permission that he’ll give you anyways. behind his eyes you find reassurance before your mouth slips over his chest and encases one of his nipples. bakugou hisses at first, his chest had always been a sensitive area for him— especially with the scar scrawled between his pectoral muscles in chicken scratch— but whenever you’d asked, he let you suck away on it, watching the stress seep out of your pores and your body physically relax.

you can’t help but cling to bakugou, running your tongue over his perky nipples in slow circles and breathing heavily through your nose— your eyes grow hazy just as the memories of your bad day do. you can’t remember what your manager had said to make you so upset, they’re not even a thought in your mind. instead your mind is filled with bakugou and all the ways in which he overwhelms you. his presence is strong enough to flood a room and fill your heart with ease, he’s always been that way.

he’s always been your rock.

you hum in content, sleepy and pacified as your lover brushes his hands over your head, cooing to you as you suck on his chest and leave tiny bites in your wake. maybe you mark him to prove comfort to yourself, knowing that you’ll be the only person to ever have katsuki bakugou like this. to love and hold him like this.

to see the faint shade of pink rose rise on his cheeks while you drool and slobber over his chest painted with blue and purple blooms.

katsuki bakugou is your garden, your place of peace and solace.

eventually you come up for air, a light shine to your chin from where you’ve sucked too much on his pecs and your spit has seeped from the corners of your mouth— your brain crackles with serotonin, your body warm and soft against bakugou’s. and he smiles at you, vermillion orbs brimming with adoration as he swipes his thumb over your chin. “feelin’ good, darlin?” he coos down to you, head tilted as he looks at you through his pretty lashes.

he’s so pretty and you’re so so lucky. “‘m okay, i jus…” you can’t find the words, your mind too full of him and too tired to find words. your eyes start to water, a whimper laying wet on your bottom lip as you find yourself . “love you,”

“you do?” bakugou asks, although he already knows the answer and you know, he knows from the light brush of his thumb under your soaked starry eyes and the toothy, hooded grin shot your way. “yeah you do. y’know that i love you too, yeah? ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me from doin’ so,”

your tummy rumbles with warmth and affection, body moving on its own accord to press yourself closer to the man above you— as if your body will melt into his if you try hard enough and will fill your need to become one with katsuki bakugou. dazed, brain fuzzy you latch onto his unattended nipple, not missing the way bakugou’s hips jump up and a quiet groan wets his pink lips. teeth and tongue the pink bud, keeping you sane after everything you’ve been through especially when bakugou’s hands slowly drop to your ass to pull your hips through the motion with his.

like this, your bodies feel perfect slotted against one another— the grinding of your hips fluid like waves pushing and pulling against a calm shoreline. you’re made for bakugou and he is the same for you. he’s the moon to your tide, the gravity that keeps you down to earth. your everything, you decide.

you’re his everything too, it’s written amongst the almost brown flecks contrasting against his dark red eyes— especially with the way he looks at you, mirroring your content expression as you write your love in the form of teeth marks and bruises against his scarred chest. when your tongue rolls across his rosey bud, you moan— relaxed and katsuki gasps, pinching you here or there, pushing his ever growing hard on into the sanctum of your soft thighs.

you could cum like this, both of you, but there isn’t a feverishness or need to, only underneath the desire to be close to one another— to cling to the intimacy hanging in the warm air of the night. the affinity you share blooms like rose petals across your skin from the build up of the night— hazy smiles and soft touches are shared until you surface for air and all you can breathe is him.

so when you do eventually both reach your highs from grinding against one another—katsuki’s clothed dick brushing your sex in regular motions, his breath hot against your lips— his chest stings with your fixation for him, bruised purple until your body comes down from its trembles and the stress is eliminated from your bloodstream.

“love you,” you repeat into a kiss with bakugou—clothes soiled, and your chest sticky and lips bruised.

“love you too, never gonna stop loving you,” bakugou smiles, chest and pecs sore from your attention but heart beating strong for you. “no matter what,”

and katsuki? he meant every word, because even if you biting and sucking at his chest would take away from all the pain you felt, would make you soft and at ease in his arms like you were right now, he’d take your fixation over your stress any day... tender chest and all.

[bunny-rafa]

Daichi tiddies daichi tiddies dai- okay.

reader always attends his boyfriend daichi's games. one day after a game (that karasuno won (: ) daichi gets oh-so-needy for readers attention, so he gives it to him. reader cockwarms daichi and forbids daichi from moving while he plays with his pecs. reader tells daichi that he'll only let daichi move if daichi cums from only having his boobies (snorts) played with kinks and pet names: begging, sir k. (to reader), puppy (to daichi), praise

THANK YOU LOVELY

Puppy Boy

"You're so cute babe, but stay still."

Friday afternoon, Karasuno had won their latest volleyball game. You had nearly ripped out your vocal cords from how hard you had cheered for everyone after their win.

Your lover, Daichi, was even happier. He'd ran to you, hugging you and kissing you in his happiness.

The first years had been the first to tease you both, making gagging noises and faces despite the tears of joy running down their faces. The thirds years had come and knocked you both over to get their own hugs.

Daichi had been so cute and had handled it all so well, you just had to reward him.

You'd guided him towards your shared bed, grabbed his jaw in your hand so that he'd face you. You stripped him, kissing every piece of skin you revealed.

And now, Daichi is impatient. He just can't stay still. You look so gorgeous, thighs spread and caging his hips underneath them. He wanted to touch you so bad but also wanted to obey your command.

"Sir, please... let me touch you, I want you to feel good."

You coo softly at him, pinching at his nipple and lapping your tongue over his other one.

"Shh, sweet boy. Don't worry about me."

Your hand leaves his nipple. Instead, you inch it down towards his cock. You lightly wrap your hand around it, stroking it slowly.

"You've been such a good boy, so we're going to play a little game, pup."

Daichi stills at this. His eyes jump up towards your face, thighs twitching.

"We both know you're a sensitive little puppy. So here's what we're gonna do. I'm going to let you get inside me, real deep, ok? But then you'll have to stay still. And if you come from me playing with your tits, then I'll let you fuck me however you want."

That breaks whatever trance he was in. He starts squirming and begging, "no no, please sir, I've been so good. I wanna get you off, want to fuck you good, please!"

You shush him gently, "baby, you want to be good for me right?" He nods gently, "then do as I say. If you're good for me, I'll reward you by letting you fuck me as much as you want. Understood?"

He breathes out a soft yes, and watches you with eyes filled with wonder as you prep yourself in front of him. Even letting him help you by using his fingers on your lube slick hole.

He lets out the prettiest moans as you sink down on his cock, kissing his tears away gently.

"Good boy, such a good boy for sir. Stretching me out so well," you grind your hips against his, as he gasps dreamily at the pleasure, "you're so deep baby. Look at how good you're making me feel, precious boy."

"Oh god, so tight. Please, please. It's so good, feels so good-"

He's crying softly, staring at the slight bulge in your abdomen. And then you lower yourself the rest of the way.

Tears are running down his flushed cheeks. He looks so pretty like this, messy haired and filthy. You softly brush your finger over his pecs, ghosting your touch over his nips.

The effect is instantaneous. He yells and grabs onto your arms, unsure if he should pull them away or bring them closer.

"Move your hands, puppy."

"Please, no, sir please"

"Move them now."

Daichi goes back to gripping the sheets, but you're already thinking up a punishment for him.

"Place your hands near the headboard, hun."

He does as told and you grab a pair of handcuffs from the bedside table, clipping them onto his arms and through the headboard.

Inching your hands close to his chest, you rub softly at the nipples. Pinching them. He's so far gone, moaning and squirming away from the pleasure. Watching him cry makes you feel so powerful and so you lean down and take one in your mouth. Biting it and licking it as he yells.

You do this for a while, biting and pinching his chest and making sure to keep him still. Soon, you feel his breath hitch. His hips twitch pathetically from where he lays beneath you, cockhead rubbing softly against your prostate.

You moan softly against his nipple and feel his dick twitch hard inside you. His thighs are flexing, tempting you to bite against the thick muscle.

He starts begging faster, begging you to let him come since he's been such a good boy.

"Aww, sweet puppy. Go ahead, come like the bitch in heat you are."

"Thank you- thank you, sir! Feel so good, fuckk!"

You pinch harder at his nipples, bouncing slightly to prolong his orgasm. The feeling of his come filling you makes you groan, grinding against him to find your own relief.

"Sir- wait! I can't go again..!"

You grin devilishly at him.

"You're the one that wanted to make me feel good, pup."

[shotorozu]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬’ 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝟰𝟬𝟬 & 𝟱𝟬𝟬 𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹

character(s) : haikyuu!! - multiple characters

legend : [Y/N = your name] f!reader with they/them pronouns. fluff to the mildest of spice, not nsfw. timeskip 

note(s) : so like.. the bnha one did very well, so i wanted to do a haikyuu version of it. im obviously not doing all the boys sadly. (will probably do 3-5 boys per team idk), but i’ll just do as many as i can until my idea train dies. i would add more tags but 30 is the limit so.. sorry. very long overdue because this was in my drafts for the longest time

read more will be added later along with the link to part one.

»»————-　♡　————-««

hinata shoyo

↮ a legs lover. there’s something about them he’s really enamored by. a bonus if you’re shorter than him, and an even bigger bonus if you’re taller than him (if you’re much taller than him since he’s 5′7 in the timeskip, I think) then he’ll pass tf out) he LOVES it when you wear stockings or fishnets, and he loves the way the material contours the shape of your legs. he’ll stare at them a lot, and he will be embarrassed if you catch him, and even more so when the team catches him. please reassure him that it’s fine.

kageyama tobio

↮ loves your chest, regardless of size (but if you must insist, he leans towards bigger sets) is it a thing connecting to milk? he doesn’t really know to be honest. kageyama really loves taking naps on your chest, because he falls asleep pretty fast when he takes naps on your chest. he won’t touch them because he’s a lil hesitant, but he’ll just.. rest his hand on there, and admire the softness. (will suckle on them if you’ll let him. is it a milk thing? again, we don’t know)

kōshi sugawara

↮ your lower back is his favorite. it’s not so common as “breasts” or “ass” but, he has good reasoning behind his favorite! in general, he loves his face, but he loves just laying his hand on your lower back. there’s just something about looking at you from behind that makes his heart pound 10x faster. oh and, he really loves putting kisses on there, because every time your back will be towards him in your shared room, he’ll catch a glimpse of those little bite marks. he’s smug, and he’s very proud of them, especially because you can only see them.

tsukishima kei

↮ he’s stuck between hands, tiddies and neck, but for the sake of this post- we’ll settle for hands. they’re so much smaller than his?? like.. he wonders how that’s possible, and he’ll probably tease you about it. (uh.. how can someone’s hands be that long? tf tsuki) it’s canon that he fiddles with his fingers when nervous, so when he’s with you- he’ll fiddle with your fingers instead. he also finds himself playing with your fingers, memorizing all of the details of your fingers. if you offer to put on bandages on his fingers whenever he gets hurt or something similar, he’ll get very bashful. but please do that!! he loves that a lot. with tiddies, his preference is definitely on the smaller side ngl

kozume kenma

↮ collarbones to him are  ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ “mwah.” so elegant, so beautiful. how did this happen? well- he was doing work one day (like the rich man he is) and you sit on his lap per usual- but !! your collarbones were all up in his face. he’ll get very red, and lose focus, so give him a heads up. wear shirts that show off your collarbones, and he’ll stare hard. so yeah. he loves resting his face on them, and he’ll occasionally give you kisses, ranging from cute lil ones, to the wet open mouth kisses. 

yaku morisuke

↮ yaku likes short hair, i repeat- he likes short hair. therefore!! his favorite part would be your upperback/neck. it really depends if you’re taller than him or shorter than him. tbh idk how tall that man is in the timeskip (but he sexy af) but he always loves resting his hand on your upperback, regardless if you have long hair or short hair. if you’re shorter than him, he’ll pull you in for a hug with a hand on your upperback, and if you’re taller— he’ll rest his head on your shoulder, hand loosely hung around your back.

lev haiba

↮ this man screams legs man. like.. i also don’t really have much evidence to back this up, but this man has this weird attraction to your legs. he’ll probably make you walks in front of him so he can take a good stare at your legs. doesn’t matter if they’re long, skinny legs— or short ones! he just adores legs. lev is really tall so.. please put your legs on him, he’ll be in heaven. his preference definitely leans on long legs though.. he just really likes them :)

oikawa tōru

↮ uh ok.. i had a difficult time with deciding with this one tbh, but this man loves your waist. at first, i thought he was a tiddies man, which.. i feel like he is? but not that much of a tiddies man compared to being a waist man. his favorite way to greet you is to hug you from behind, hands resting on your waist as he inhales your scent. he’ll probably bite the soft skin on your waist as a way to tease you, that is.. if you allow him lol

iwaizumi hajime

↮ man is a collarbone man, change my mind. again, i partially feel like he also loves thighs and ass but look!! collarbones. he loves seeing them when you wear baggy clothes, unintentionally showing off your collarbones to him. his mind goes haywire at the sight. loves putting kisses on your collarbones, occasionally putting hickies there— but he also doesn’t wanna inflict pain on your collarbones so.. hickies are not a common thing. but don’t worry! he has a lot of ways to show you his love for collarbones.

akaashi keiji

↮ definitely a collarbone/hands type of guy. he has a strong affixiation towards them, it came to the point that even bokuto noticed that he had some sort of attachment to them. he just loves admiring collarbones, especially if they’re adorn with shiny necklaces, or just anything that’ll make them look amazing. as for hands, he loves playing with the tip of your fingers— tracing from your wrists, to the back of your hands, to your fingertips.

bokuto koutarou

↮ thighs :)) his preference is “the bigger, the better” and it’s literally canon too. he doesn’t mind smaller thighs, but he’s such a sucker of huge thighs. i guess it’s because he has thick thighs himself so that’s why bigger girls gravitate towards him. there’s always a hand on your thigh if you sit on his lap, and before games, he finds himself patting your thighs for good luck (he’ll never smack them because man’s highkey gonna leave marks on you)

ushijima wakatoshi

↮ thighs. thighs. thighs. man absolutely loves them, more so if they’re a little bit on the thicker side, but obviously— if this man loves you, he’ll love all of you. head really empty, and it’s just him gripping on your thighs while he drives the car, practically having a vice grip on your poor thighs— but it’s okay, because he’ll rub the irritated spot with a gentle touch, his baritone voice apologizing to you. not really big on words, but.. he’ll stare at your thighs a lot.

tendou satori

↮ has a thing for your hips. hm tbh, i was stuck between him having a thing for your neck and thighs— but he absolutely loves hips, just as any other intellectual. he loves squishing the plump flesh between his skinny fingers, and he also loves tapping on them while you stand infront of him doing.. with small hips, he still likes holding on then. okay but,, he also really loves hip dips. even he can’t explain it, he’ll just repeat him— telling you he loves hip dips. he really loves the silhoutte of them. so yeah, if you’re insecure, he’ll punt your insecurities until they rot :)

semi eita

↮ he admires your hands, it’s just that.. they feel so much softer than his, and the size difference between your hand and his hand makes his mind go haywire, his heart pounding against his chest. his hands are still in top shape, but over the years— they definitely roughened a bit due to practicing guitar and other instruments for his band, so his heart will definitely swoon if you put lotion on them. he’s also the type that would kiss the back of your hand before gigs for good luck, only to kiss them after his shows, saying he did well because of you :)

rintarou suna

↮ a thighs man for sure. the bigger thighs the better, it’s just his preference. not saying he hates small thighs though— thighs will be thighs. however!! his preference just loves squishy thighs. if you were to squeeze them around his head— he’d surely die a happy man. doesn’t care where y’all are and who you guys are with, he’s 100% going to put his hand on your thigh. if you decide to wear clothes revealing your thighs, or just.. tight fitted jeans or leggings, expect him to squeeze the soft flesh that’s there. he’ll definitely make a remark about how your thighs expand like crazy when you sit down, but he doesn’t mean it in a insulting way. he actually really loves it.

kita shinsuke

↮ he loves everything about you, so it really takes him a while to actually settle on something. one day— he’ll be touching your thighs, another day he’ll be holding your waist, then another day, he has his hand gliding over your collarbones. eventually, he settles on favoriting your hands, because he can hold them regardless of the setting. he can kiss them, hold them, and intertwin his fingers all he likes.

the miya twins

↮ OSAMU LOVES TIDDIES, AND ATSUMU LOVES ASS :) i don’t make the rules.

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading! (can y’all tell i got a little exhausted with writing the miya twins lol)

i do not own haikyuu!!/hq!! and it’s characters. haikyuu belongs to haruichi furudate, i only own the writing.

do not plagiarize my work :))

edit : just realized y’all like haikyuu so.. please submit haikyuu headcanon ideas

[bigtittydemonwife]

The pasta’s love language Part 1

Jeff The Killer 

Protectiveness

 this is the most obviously way the bastard man lets you know he cares about you 

Behind the asshole tsundere attitude and I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude about life lays another smaller asshole and buried deep under that lays the small boy that picked a fight with three bullies to protect his loving brother

Weather it’s him decking o**enderman for being creepy or saving you from a tricky last victim it seems Jeff always knows when your in trouble 

So low-key about it you never really notice his eyes on you until you’re being helped, and even then you never notice how they never leave

Jeff is like a dog, but not the loving wagging tail dog, the asshole that stands on your feet with his sharp claws, rips open your pillows and terrorises the mailman so much your mail is delivered by drone.

but he is also the dog that late at night sneaks onto your bed and whenever there’s someone strange approaching you on the street at night stands in front of you and bares his teeth 

Physical Touch 

Jeff’s love isn’t soft

Jeff’s love is as rough as he is 

Jeff’s touch is soft head-pats after you put someone in their place 

His touch is high fives after a successful mission where your hands linger together

His touch is quick side hugs before he goes off to go do something stupid 

Cheeky neck kisses in front of others to make you flustered 

fingers running though your hair or down your sides whenever he gets bored 

easiest way to get cuddled by this man? after a mission when he’s too tired to act like a tsundere  

Jeff is funnily like a cat in this regards, his cuddles are fun but he has to want to, otherwise it’s deemed as unnecessary

Defensiveness

Jeff isn’t a rational man 

So when he gets jealous his first response is to just stab the guy and run 

Ass a traumatised stubborn teen Jeff is quick to anger but he toe’s the line (aha reference) at when people disrespect you 

Is he an asshole to you all the time?

Yes

Is he the only person who can be mean to you?

Yes

Despite what everyone thinks Jeff does understand the difference between mean teasing and just being an asshole 

And if your someone like me who shows your love to people you care about by teasing and being mean to him he’s gonna understand if your friends are the same way 

What he does not accept is anyone who dares treat you like your lower than them 

thats when he pulls out his knife and commits stabby stabby 

Ticci Toby 

Physical Touch 

Unlike Jeff when Toby is in love he’s a touchy feely person

And once again unlike Jeff when it comes to cuddles Toby is most likely to be the one to initiate cuddles 

On a good day Toby recharges with touch

Most of the time he’s all over you 

His favourite way to cuddle is him on the bottom with you on his chest and your face buried into his neck 

If you cuddle with him like that theres a 97% chance you are not leaving any time soon 

He loves to hold your hands alot, Toby hands are an eternal mystery as sometimes their cold as fuck and others their super warm

After a really bad day when he’s had his alone time and recharged (which can take as long as a week) he just wants to lay with you a bit 

this usually happens when he’s burnt out (missions do not help) 

on days like that he wants to be held in your arms and rest his head on your chest

that way as he falls asleep he can hear your heartbeat and know your safe and alive 

Compliments 

Toby is an asshole, but he’s a lovable asshole 

And on a good day when he’s happy and in love he’s acting like a lovestuck school boy 

He’s the type to give you either the cutest nicknames or the weirdest 

One day he’ll call you love the next Mustard 

 His compliments are the sweetest thing ever because of how special they are 

instead of complimenting something basic about you (well not basic but well seen by everyone) he compliments you on some of the most obscure things that you didn’t think anyone noticed about you 

“I love how fast you talk when you get excited”

“I love easily you get along with sally”

“Your eyes glow in the sunset, it’s really pretty”

Ben Drowned 

Space

Ben is an antisocial person. 

He’s not bitter about it but most of the time he prefers to keep to himself 

Ben understands if his partner isn’t like that, but one of his ways of showing love is giving them space to be their own person 

While Ben does love to spend time with you and share interests and hobbies 

He is a human demon? ghost? thing that loves alone time 

And by giving you space and your own time alone it’s his way of letting you still have freedom to be you

Ben recharges his social battery with a quiet atmosphere so alone time or cuddle time is his favourite thing to do with you when he’s down

Don’t get me wrong he loves cuddles 

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to be clinging to you 24/7

Acts of service

Ben is a patient person 

Despite what people think all his years of gaming have taught him a lot about taking his time and how easier it is to get things done when he’s chill 

So he’s quite alright with doing things for people when they need help 

But even so he’s still his own person 

So he doesn’t usually do it for free unless it’s for someone he really cares about 

And that’s when you come in 

Ben is basically ready to do anything for you 

Will Jeff call him a simp? Yes, will he care? No 

In the end of the day he’s getting ass and Jeff’s not

Anyway 

You could ask him to hack the government for you and he would 

But basic shit is him bringing you snacks he stole from Jeff’s room when your hungry 

He just likes making you happy 

Physical Touch

Ironically enough in complete contradiction of the first one Ben actually loves spending time with you 

Not all the time, otherwise in his opinion the time he gets with you will feel less special 

But when either of you have a bad day he likes to either cuddle you and take a nap or hold you while you both/ he plays video games 

Ben’s a ghost? Thing so his body is always cold 

That’s one of the reasons why he loves holding you so much is feeling your warm body against him 

He likes to nap on your tiddys because 1) he’s perverted and 2) he likes to hear your heartbeat 

He finds the sound of it fascinating 

Sometimes he feels his pulse just because the shock of not feeling anything is fun to him 

Ben is probably one of the easiest pastas to date 

He’s like a house cat

Just give him attention and water and he can fend for himself all good 

Eyeless Jack 

Giving Gifts

Jack in love is a very very confusing thing 

Not because he’s contradictory but because the way he flirts sometimes ties into his demonic animalistic tendencies 

For example 

His gifts to you can sometimes be very sweet things that instead are normal gifts like flowers or chocolates but instead small things like breakfast in bed after a stressful mission (He may or may not use his acting like a doctor as an excuse yes EJ is the mansions doctor fight me bitch)

and then other times it’s organs like a heart or an eyeball, bones or a skull (sometimes animal) and sometimes even teeth, if your lucky most of the time once more they just belong to some pour animal in the woods 

and they say romance is dead

Jacks way of showing love is sorta a mixture of how some birds gift their mates things to flirt and how cats give their owners dead animals

He’s cute I swear 

Acts of Service

Unlike Ben jack isn’t going to drop everything to please you 

but once again the way he shows his love is more casual(?) (I mean he gives you dead things to show his love that ain’t casual)

and if he’s in a good mood/ had a good day then more often than not you’ll find yourself being spoiled in a completely Jack way?

You’re thirsty? He made you both coffee/ tea/ hot chocolate 

You’re on a mission and it’s raining? Take his jacket (not like he’s gonna die from the cold)

You’re hungry? Take a snack from his secret stash that no one else is aloud to go through (though most of the time it’s filled with organs)

Jack hates it when his lover is stressed so he likes to do whatever he can to help them out 

Physical Touch

I hate to sound stereotypical but Jack does this the most because he is extremely touch starved 

Trust me he’s not into PDA at all but behind closed doors he’s finding any excuse he can get to touch you ( with your consent )

he loves sleeping together because usually at night he’s reading or trying to piece together his broken parts

But when he’s holding you in his arms, and whispering how much he loves you in your ear when he’s sure you’re asleep he feels like he doesn’t to be whole 

that he can’t expect you to fix him at all, but being with you is enough to make him feel like instead of being broken, being fractured is alright 

But weather it’s his hand on your cheek on your hands laced together Jack likes to feel your skin against his 

fucckkkk I’m tired, this like took three days, you’re getting a part two when I don’t feel like my head’s trying to kill itself and no I did not spell check this nor will I ever as spellings for pussys and people who graduate school