als.

he owned his own mechanics company, the biggest in the city, which meant he worked like a dog but he earned good enough money to spoil you rotten. nothing had really changed after the divorce other than a formal understanding. he paid for your entire lifestyle, making sure you used his card for the groceries, the upkeep of your once shared home, your stupid skincare orders and of course, your sweet children.

jungkook’s only rule pending the divorce was made incredibly clear to you. he was the sole provider. him and only him.

you genuinely wondered whether his personal nightmare consisted of you working a shift with the way he’d get angry at you spending your own money, queuing another heavy argument that had you all but icing him out for a full day. enough to have him kissing down your neck in apology, all whilst groping your ass the way you secretly loved.

truthfully, he had never known how not to provide for you.

it lived somewhere deep inside of him, carved into his very being and instinct, so much so he thought it defined him as a man. once you had birthed your twin children, it was like something had switched in his brain to amplify it all that much harder. despite no longer being his wife, he supported you and the children, telling you it was the one thing he wouldn’t let you fight him on.

you were a princess to the core. manicured nails, weekly blowouts and a shopping addiction that only spurred jungkook on to work harder - you were his polar opposite, never having worked too hard a day in your life and he wanted to keep it that way. even your children were a gift from above, so well behaved and sweet that you had never struggled with them, loving nothing more than to pamper and shower them with all of your love.

you were an odd family unit, even you could recognise that, with your coparenting dynamic meaning he had unrestricted access to your home. he was over multiple times a week after work, always using the excuse of wanting to see the kids which of course was half true, but really, any access to you was worth making the journey over. you kept his stomach full and his annoyance high, just how he liked it.

no matter how well you were together, being married just didn’t work. he worked too hard, you pushed too much - you both wanted things from the other that seemed impossible, leaving you in limbo where all you’d do is argue. it would always end with him inside of you, but sex could only fix so much. somehow, not being together had only strengthened the tension between you as you made it your life mission to keep him on his toes, and he made sure you’d feel his presence no matter what.

in theory, you were perfect for each other.

because the thing about jeon jungkook is he liked his woman difficult.

liked when you bitched at him with glossy lips and french tips all curled onto your hips, scoffing at whatever he was telling you before taking his card to online shop. it was even better when you’d stomp around the house in your flimsy little pyjamas, pretending to be annoyed at him over stupid things he knew had no merit - it had him hardening beyond words.

you were his little minx, and he fucking loved it.

—

“mamma, daddy said i could stay up until nine today.” your son, minjae, giggled from his seat beside his sister on the couch, their favourite show playing on the screen.

“daddy’s stupid, baby. we don’t listen to him.” you cooed back as you handed them their snacks, the sound of your kids giggling enough to put a grin on your face.

“heard that.”

the deep voice came before you actually saw him, followed by the sound of heavy work boots by the door of your home. within seconds, you watched as he appeared by the doorway, in all of his obnoxiously masculine glory.

jeon jungkook practically swallowed your doorway whole as he stepped into the living room. broad shoulders were the first thing you saw as they stretched the material of his work t-shirt, his brand logo clear on his chest, the navy a fitting contrast to his tanned skin. his hair was messy, pulled back from his face, faint traces of grease still staining his forearms where he had scrubbed clean just minutes ago.

he was just so big. big hands, big biceps, big thighs - his muscles were something that you could never really get over, something he was very much privy to. he was the sort of man who reached for things on the top of the shelf without thinking, carrying both children with such ease that it had you malfunctioning in real time. his voice was low, gruff. the type that had people listening as though he was a natural leader.

a beast of a man.

“daddy!” minji, your little girl, squealed as she carefully placed her plate next to her before scurrying away to launch herself at him.

jungkook’s entire face softened, letting out a soft laugh as he picked her up, all whilst minjae copied his older sister, instead cupping his legs, much shyer than his overexcited sibling.

he cooed at them, his voice dropping low whilst he ruffled his hair affectionately. your children absolutely adored him, both sweet little things that glowed whenever their dad would appear.

you could never get over how good of a father he was, and despite your relationship not always being the best, he prioritised your children the way you wanted. even the way he provided for you, as the mother of his children, was beyond generous and underneath the bitchy attitude, you were grateful tenfold. he treated you three like you were a natural extension of him.

but unfortunately for him, you were simply unable to let him live in peace.

“you’re late.” you murmured casually from the couch, going back to filing your nails.

jungkook’s eyes lifted to yours. narrowing. he lingered, looking you up and down openly, hungrily, as though the prospect of you getting on his nerves whilst looking the way you did was straight out of a fantasy.

“traffic.”

“mm.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed a little.

“nothing.” you hummed again, all too casual, but he could see what you were doing.

that didn’t stop him falling victim to it.

“been here three seconds and you’re already being bitchy.”

you gasped dramatically, pointing your nail file in his direction as it became your turn to narrow your eyes into slits. “watch your mouth in front of the children!”

“but mamma, you called daddy stupid.” minjae, your sweet angel inquired with a tone of genuine confusion, the two words falling into the same category in his mind.

jungkook watched as you cooed at him, getting up from your seat to plant a big kiss to his cheek, before reciprocating it with his sister too who giggled.

“that’s because your daddy is stupid, my love.”

he scoffed again at you with a shake of his head, muttering something under his breath that earned him a hefty glare from yourself. he put minji down finally, his hand still on minjae’s head affectionately only for the pair to grab at his hands in a shared babble, leading him over to the couch to show him the cartoon they had just been watching out of excitement.

and despite being exhausted, jungkook was utterly weak at the knees for his kids, and thus, followed along immediately.

you watched him, having moved to the kitchen where you got a clear view of them from your position near the doorway. his big body sunk into the couch whilst minjae shuffled closer, settling into his father’s side. the entire vision was enough to tug at your heart as you fought down your cuteness aggression - especially with the way he just looked too large for the area he was sat in, with all the cushions surrounding him, his two kids. he looked silly.

particularly with the way minji was now climbing all over him whilst explaining the plot with deadly seriousness.

“and then she lost her crown.” she informed him sadly.

“shit,” jungkook remarked with raised eyebrows. “that’s bad.”

“daddy!”

“sorry. shoot.”

you rolled your eyes as he looked up, meeting your gaze momentarily with a sheepish grin, before you looked away, settling over the stove once more.

it happened every time.

you’d spend all day mentally preparing yourself to be annoyed at him only for jungkook to walk in through the door and utterly transform. he became so soft, so gentle when it came to your pair and it was a constant reminder that the one good thing that came out of this situation was you had picked the perfect father.

he’d listen to them properly - never offering them a half assed version of himself, especially since you had both come from such broken homes. always listening properly, no distractions, despite the fact he would work gruelling shifts that had him using his body for hours on hours. even now, he’d always have his hand rubbing up and down minjae’s back as his sister yapped and yapped, knowing he was the quieter one of the two and therefore the shyer one.

your chest squeezed at the thought.

“you feedin’ me tonight, or what?”

you swore if you rolled your eyes any more that night, they’d pop out of your skull.

“you’re so romantic.”

“been thinking about your food all day.” he grunted, walking into the kitchen properly to allow the kids their time on the tv, and of course, his time to terrorise their mother.

“that’s because you eat like an animal.”

“worked twelve hours today.”

“who’s fault is that?”

he couldn’t help the smirk on his face. he loved you bratty. “yours. you’re milking me dry.”

you narrowed your eyes, stirring his food in the pot, though you’d never admit you cooked solely for him and his taste, despite it being more than clear. behind you, you could hear the soft sounds of the familiar cartoon playing mixed with the twins’ occasional giggle, though it wasn’t long until the heavy sound of jungkook’s footsteps became louder and louder, souring your mood.

of course. the man couldn’t survive without being near you when given the option.

“you’re extra bratty tonight.” he observed casually, leaning against one of the counters, though his voice was twinged in exhaustion.

“you’re projecting.” you hummed back.

“am not.

“are too.”

“you text me a thumbs up earlier.”

“and?”

jungkook scoffed before coming to the counter closest to you, leaning, despite your refusal to look at him.

“you know i hate that fucking shit.”

instead, you chose to feign ignorance, going so far as to prettily turn your back to him with a flick of your hair. you couldn’t help but wind him up, it was genuinely your favourite thing to do considering his reactions were always just so worth it. a man you knew could ruin you in seconds holding back because he knew he truly didn’t have access to you anymore, and until you gave him the green light needed, he was stuck in limbo.

lord knew whenever you gave him a faraway nod, he’d have you up on the counters and in between your thighs in seconds, always telling you it was the only way he felt satisfied anymore despite not being touched.

your hand reached upwards to grab a plate from the cabinet above your head. before you could even touch it, your feet on their tip toes, a large arm reached over your head instantly.

his chest brushed your back in the process in a way that felt accidental at first, but immediately, you found yourself pressed almost harshly into the stove, his front pushing your back against him cheekily.

fucking ridiculous.

jungkook grabbed the plate effortlessly, barely having to raise his hand whatsoever. instead of handing it to you immediately, he merely pressed against you further, your eyes widening just a fraction as you felt every inch of him behind you, warmth bleeding through the very thin material of your tiny pyjama top.

he was always so warm after work, it made your head spin.

“could’ve got it myself.” you murmured under your breath, cheeks hot.

“yeah?” he dipped his head down, lips grazing your ear. “looked like you were struggling.”

you hated how much you loved it - how big he was compared to you, how he towered over you. jungkook made you feel tiny in a way that genuinely fucked with your head, all broad muscle and rough hands, and sheer overwhelming man. even now, one of his thighs nudged between yours absentmindedly as he reached around you to place the plate down for you.

“you’re in my space.” you shifted, pretending like you weren’t enjoying it.

he could read you like an open book.

“your space?” he let out a small laugh.

you wanted to push him away, annoyed at his amusement at your words and even more annoyed at the way he so casually touched you, especially considering he knew what it did to you. it made you weak everywhere, to the point where you were utter putty in the palm of his hands and he relished in the feeling - the woman he obsessed over equally as ruined by something he did without thought.

you opened your mouth to speak only to feel his too large hand suddenly slide over to your stomach, digits digging into your skin before yanking you back into him. you were no longer pushed against the stove, now completely entirely into him, meaning you could feel every inch, including the harsh bulge that had begun to form just by speaking to you.

a squeak nearly left you before your eyes fell into slits, huffing as you smacked his hand meanly. fucking brute.

“jungkook!” you immediately snapped at him, but it did nothing to deter him as his fingers spread wide, practically covering every inch of the skin on your stomach all whilst he held you to him like he had every right.

“stop moving.” he muttered against your ear.

“ugh, you’re such a brute!”

“hard to do that when you’re walking around our house looking like this.”

your mouth fell open.

“our house?” you hissed, though he couldn’t help but realise the way your shoulders had dropped a little, almost at ease at his words despite your words. “i divorced you, this is my home.”

“stupid divorce.” he huffed a little under his breath, face dropping into your neck as he breathed in your scent. “worst fucking decision of my life.”

the words came out flat - immediate, as though they were plain fact. it constantly knocked you of breath whenever he talked like that, knowing that deep down you agreed too, that despite the problems between you, the divorce was also a big regret of your own. perhaps that was why neither of you acted like it had actually happened, simply playing house as though you were still together.

“you wear these shorts on purpose?”

you hummed at him then, looking over your shoulder at him just as he pulled away from your neck, your eyes connecting. “they’re just pyjamas.”

his hand, however, slid over to your hip with a grunt, squeezing.

“you’re killing me walking around like this.”

you rolled your eyes so hard, your head hurt. “just had a twelve hour shift and it’s my shorts that are killing you?”

“yeah,” jungkook replied instantly, with no hesitation whatsoever, eyeing you almost meanly. “you know what you’re doing. cut the innocent shit.”

you scoffed dramatically despite the heat travelling up and down your body. “you’re so embarrassing!”

“you’re a fucking minx.”

his teeth grazed the curve where your shoulder met your neck before he bit down, teeth sinking into your skin just enough to have you jolting. immediately, you smacked him on his arm with a hiss despite the utter mess between your legs, your brain growing hazier by the second.

“ow! you dog!”

“keep being mouthy,” he muttered against your skin, gently sucking on the area he bit, planting heavy kisses before dragging his lips to your ear once more. “watch what happens.”

the threat settled low in your stomach.

you could feel it everywhere, deep between your thighs and in the thump of your heart, all whilst your mind malfunctioned in real time. jungkook watched you slump against him, knowing how badly you were affected when he spoke like that. vulgar. nasty. all heavy hands and filthy promises he’d whisper into your skin like they belonged there. you couldn’t help how your body reacted to him, not when he was the only living thing that knew exactly which buttons to press to have you fall on your knees for him, to shut your pretty little mouth up with ease.

you twisted in his hold, finally managing to part from him just enough to actually turn in his hold, trying your best to glare at him despite the hazy look in your eye. he wanted to devour you, head dropping low to properly meet your gaze, feeling his breath against your lips.

“you’re disgusting.” you weakly rebutted at him.

“you like it.” his mouth curled.

he could take you now, right here, and he knew you’d let him - knew you’d open up your pretty little legs for him to give way for all of the things he had wanted. he also knew you weren’t ready for it, and despite the heavy tension between you and the thick want that clouded every conversation, he’d never push until you were the one that initiated.

that was the rules afterall.

you had told him as much, plainly. he could eat you out as much as he wanted, and lord knew he did with absolute glee, but no sex, no kisses. you simply used him to get off, grinding on his hardened cock through his work trousers late in the evening, his hand on your mouth to muffle the loud moans you couldn’t keep inside. he was a mere toy, happy to be at your disposal.

the smug bastard let out a low hum before finally releasing you, his fingers squeezing your stomach one last time to remind you of his hold on you, before grunting lightly, stepping back. you watched him, openly, one hand going down to adjust the growing bulge that had formed whilst he took a seat at the table, just like you had wanted him to at the beginning, still palming himself as he watched you as though it was perfectly normal.

you turned, plating his food despite your warm cheeks, all whilst your ex husband sat there, massaging his cock at the sight of your ass openly. you knew that to anyone else, the dynamic was batshit crazy, but to you? this was all you wanted, all you ever needed - a fucked up lover who managed to match you, none of that sappy shit. you wanted a man, and a man you had gotten indeed.

you turned, placing it in front of him, already turning to walk away before a large arm darted out, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you down onto his lap, against the very bulge that was growing and growing and growing. he knew how messed up you’d get just from grinding on him, and he had every intention of making you cum tonight, multiple times hopefully. the thought thrilled him.

“get off!”

his hand flattened against your back as your legs came up onto the side of him, your core nestled so perfectly against his clothed cock that it pulled a tiny gasp from your throat, a hitch of breath that had him openly bucking his hips into you so you could feel it more prominently. the man was obscene, genuinely obscene and the worst thing was that you were equally as sick, capitalising off of the interaction by grinding right back down on him, as though his food wasn’t there, as though he wasn’t exhausted from the day he’d just had.

“always fucking mouthing off.” he muttered darkly, lips now grazing your jaw in sweet kisses. “then look at you..” another grind, heavier now. enough to have you whimpering a little, the friction of his heavy duty trousers delicious against your barely there shorts. “get so sweet when i put you on my lap like you belong.”

at that, you shut your eyes, unable to rebut or saying more when you knew it was the truth.

no matter how mouthy you were, jungkook always put you in your place the same way each time. a roll of his hips, a thrust of his tongue - you were his girl through and through, no matter what you told him. it was his obligation, his duty, to satisfy you in the ways you’d let him and god did he exploit the fuck out of those decisions.

heat flooded your entire body, just as you spread your legs for him properly, straddling him the way he liked, your head on his shoulder, hands on his chest. you watched him eat, eyeing his adam’s apple half in hunger yourself, only for him. only ever him. he was filth personified, what with his obsessive and controlling tendencies but it was what made you want him so badly - even now, he found himself feeding you from his own plate despite being starved, always putting your comfort in front of his.

all whilst forcing your clothed cunt down on him harder.

you spent the next few minutes like that, in a state of bliss like you hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes being mean to him for no apparently reason, but he loved it, holding you tight to him as he indulged in your needy tendencies. he didn’t care what you did, or how you chose to use him as long as it was him you selected.

you were his fucking girl, and he’d never let you forget it.

—

shopping had easily become one of your favourite hobbies after the divorce.

that wasn’t to say you didn’t indulge prior, but having jungkook’s debit cards in your pink chanel purse post divorce meant you could spend as frivolously as you wanted with full knowledge that he couldn’t complain or you’d revoke all access to yourself. it was pure evil coming from you, that much you could agree, but it wasn’t like you cared to be honest - he wanted to give you his money, who were you not to spend it at dior?

it was his fault, really, considering jungkook had managed to make the separation somehow more beneficial than the actual relationship.

his cards sat so pretty in your bag, begging, yearning to be used by you and you, of course, were never one to deny your soul of what was so easily accessible to you. how could you deny a gift when given with so much love, so freely as though it was what he had intended in the first place.

and so, you found yourself on your weekly shopping spree, humming under your breath. dressed in your cute little skirt, top accentuating your breasts in a way you know would have jungkook passing away if he saw you, all whilst your big heels clicked and clacked on the pavement; you indulged in the strip of shops that had become home to you.

fendi, gucci, louis, hermes, chanel, prada - you knew them all, and oh, how they knew you.

you had already spent an ungodly amount.

a new perfume just because the bottle was pretty, alongside some high end skincare you secretly knew was utter bullshit. two sets of expensive heels that accentuated the length of your legs so deliciously, you’d be a fool not to purchase them. countless dresses and cute little jumpers for your sweet babies too, things you knew that they would love and feel comfortable in all whilst sporting a hefty price tag.

the best thing about all of this? jungkook didn’t give a fuck.

if anything, you were the sure he had something clinically wrong with him considering the way he would ask you what you had purchased, notification after notification plaguing his phone and despite seeing the ridiculous price tags, it never deterred him from making sure he worked hard enough to accommodate you. ex wife or not, you were his to provide for - you just came with a specific price.

you knew he was genuinely crazy when you had bought a whole new wardrobe full of clothes after a horrible day, needing some retail therapy more than anything else, spending an ungodly amount only to see a single text from him in response.

“good girl.”

god, you had nearly moaned.

spending his money seemed to satisfy something deeply primitive in him. the bastard was everything you had ever wanted.

still, despite being an utter bitch to him any chance you got, even you recognised that there were rules and boundaries.

you knew that jungkook would let you buy whatever you wanted, to your hearts content no matter how stupid, but your heart still ached whenever he would come utterly exhausted after a particularly gruelling shift at the shop. being a business owner was one thing, having the largest mechanic shop was another - being the head mechanic, and actually getting your hands dirty each and every waking day from morning till night? that was a whole different ballpark, and you often found yourself returning things secretly, or putting things down whenever you’d get the familiar feeling of guilt.

unfortunately for you, said feeling was no where to be seen when all you could think about was how pretty the pink bag in front of you was.

it was ridiculous, completely and entirely - even you knew that.

the second you saw it, your hands darted out, fingers gently grazing the gold hardware, pink leather soft against your touch all whilst your heart began to beat in that all familiar way. you wanted it. needed it.

oh, how your chest fluttered at pretty things. you had always been this way, no matter the price tag, and jungkook had done nothing but absolutely untrue it throughout your relationship so really, you had no one else to blame but him.

and so you stood, bottom lip jutted out slightly as you tapped your manicured finger against your chin in thought, humming lightly before looking over to the sales assistant. even she knew this was out of your typical budget, which wasn’t to say you couldn’t afford it because with jungkook’s work ethic, you could do whatever you wanted. this was just a large amount, all at once, all on one thing.

with a little huff, you pulled out your phone.

god this was humiliating. never a day in your life had you asked jungkook for permission on anything, especially not when it came to your shopping purchases, but that horrible gnawing feeling all too similar to guilt was already finding home in your stomach. you were simply going to inform him because you were so nice.

you weren’t even sure why you were feeling this way when he had never even uttered the word no in your presence.

your eyes dragged to the price tag one last time before letting out another huff, finding his contact and pressing the ring button all whilst grumbling.

the phone rang.

once.

twice.

three times.

your mouth fell open. nothing.

you immediately called again, now suddenly feeling even more humiliated, and more annoyed with each passing ring. once the second call rang out too, your eye officially began twitching.

you were the love of his life, the mother of his children - the only person he could cum to the thought of and yet here was, not answering your calls? what, did he have a new girl? someone else to keep him company? was that it? spoiling another girl with his bank card so he could get hard?

the deluded thought had you almost shaking as you took your furious fingers over to your messages, texting out immediately.

‘hello?????’

silence.

‘i need you’

silence again - you were starting to feel seriously pissed off. who cared about a job this much?

‘answer your phone, dickhead’

your eye was fully twitching in annoyance at the consistent blue messaging bubbles in front of you, all decorated with a single word at the bottom. delivered.

then, because you knew nothing else other than being a natural nuisance to him, you began spamming.

‘jungkook’

‘jungkook’

‘jungkook’

‘jungkook’

still nothing. the audacity of it all.

you wanted to sit and deflate before the very bag of your dreams, heart half hurting over it not already being in a shopping bag with your name on it and other half straining at the thought of jungkook not providing the attention you so desperately needed from him to live. he always had his phone on him, you thought, mind going into a million different conclusions that each felt as warped as the next.

you couldn’t remember a single instance where he hadn’t answered you - meetings, working, mid shower, mid wank. no matter the inconvenience, he’d be quick to hear your voice even if it was so you could bitch at him because even you knew he was down bad when it came to you. the man could have been elbow deep in an engine and somehow still find a way to have the phone on speaker next to him.

you could physically feel yourself growing more and more irritated the more you demanded for his attention, all whilst each message sat unread, until you let out a small whine. you had never done this before - never begged for him to look at you, focus on you and now? you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a horrible twinge of anxiety in your stomach at the thought of you dropping in his priorities.

he was your jungkook, afterall.

in that hazy train of thought, you put your phone away, turning sharply on your heel and towards the door, making your way outside with your multiple bags on your arms. the shop was only a few streets away, and you were quick on your feet. you wouldn’t usually walk so much in these heels, but these were trying times and you didn’t have a moment to waste.

it wasn’t even about the bag anymore. it was the principle.

at least, that was what you kept telling yourself.

-

the horrible mixture of irritation, brattiness and insecurity swirled deep inside your chest as you practically marched over to the mechanics shop, your hair bouncing with each step all whilst your insane heels clicked loudly. your multiple shopping bags were beginning to hurt your arms, another thing you were sure to take out on jungkook despite the fact it was a self inflicted problem.

your shoes, ones you never really had a problem with, were beginning to dig into your feet and you were sure it was because you were already annoyed. they had long stopped looking cute and started feeling devilish, but unfortunately for you, your pride well outweighed the hassle of it all.

you marched right inside, only to be hit with the all too familiar smell of oil and metal. it lived permanently in the walls and into your ex husband’s clothing, and no matter how much you denied it, it felt like home - comforting beyond means, so much so that you found yourself craving to be wrapped in it whenever you would see him.

the large workshop was busy despite the afternoon dragging on with engines high in the air, toolboxes scattered on each section, concrete floors muddied and dirtied whilst you could hear someone on the far end of the room call out about a missing wrench. again, it felt like home.

a few heads lifted immediately upon your arrival, with all six raising as you stepped forward a little. the move instantly changed, as all of them greeted you warmly, some waving, sweet jin even going so far as to take the bags off of your arms and put them in jungkook’s office.

you knew them all personally, of course. you had been here for years, when your ex had first opened the shop, hiring all of them. you had brought lunches, been pregnant with your babies here, waddling around whilst they all debated baby names with you. a family dynamic that resulted in there being no sense of awkwardness whatsoever, despite the divorce.

your gaze swept around the garage, looking, searching, finally finding him.

your breath caught. annoyingly.

because, unfortunately for you, no matter how many years had passed between you, no matter how many arguments where you’d poke and prod, and certainly no matter how many times you pushed him to brink of genuine desperation; the sight of him was always enough to have butterflies erupt in your stomach as though it was the first time.

your heart skipped a beat as you watched him, lowered over an engine with a tool in hand, grease and something dark smeared on his hands all whilst his work t-shirt stretched around his torso unfairly. his biceps were bulging, your kryptonite, all whilst he seemed completely focused on what he was doing.

it wasn’t until he could hear everyone greeting you that had him looking to the side, where you stood, giving you full access to his face. the same dark substance was smeared slightly on his jaw, his dark hair pushed out of his face all whilst his tatted frame turned to fully face you.

if you thought you had been undone by a mere look at you, it was jungkook who felt his entire life stop.

you, his minx of a girl, dressed in a skirt too tiny for his liking with a cute matching top, one that pushed your breast up, giving him the perfect view despite the distance between you. the way your hair sat, your lips plump with lip gloss he longed to kiss off of you, and your high heels that still couldn’t match his height.

he was assessing you hungrily, a darkened look on his face as he admired you head to toe over and over, openly for everyone to see. he had no shame, he didn’t give a fuck when it came to you - you might have divorced him but you were every inch his wife and you knew it too.

you recognised that look, and with each heavy step towards you, it simply expanded to every one of his limbs. he was a man starved, hungry for one thing in his life and that was you. he still looked at you like it was the first time seeing you, even after all these years.

his jaw was harsh, tightened, as though your presence here had fucked him.

good, you thought bitterly, still annoyed. you wanted him to suffer.

he grabbed a rag on his way to you, cleaning his hands of clinging grease before shoving the cloth over his shoulder. once he was in front of you, you readied yourself, lips parting to no doubt spit some venom at him over your own insecurities but he offered no time. instead, jungkook grabbed you by your waist and pushed you firmly in the direction of his office, no words exchanged.

“jungkook!” you hissed, turning a little as your body was all but forced to walk in a direction, the click of your heels heavy on the dirty workfloor.

he didn’t respond, eyes meeting yours in heavy warning, a reminder that this was his workplace, where he was a working professional, where his rules reigned first and foremost. you hated how badly the thought swirled in your stomach, coaxing you out of your negative thoughts and straight back where you felt most at home.

once you were in his office, he turned to close the door. with a single flick of his finger, the lock turned, confining you into the space, all whilst you narrowed your eyes at him. with a small huff, you turned around, flicking your hair at him before walking over to his large seat behind his mahogany desk, sitting down on it as though it belonged to you.

it was laughable, really, how easily you managed to rile him up. just the sight of you, bare legs crossed and high heeled feet - he wanted to fucking ruin you just to remind you that you were all his.

“you should clean up.” you huffed once more, fingers pushing the stacks of contracts away from your space, annoyingly mixing up important papers.

he simply stood in front of the door, before walking over to the desk, resting on the corner of it, eyes meeting yours. he didn’t bother even looking at what you were doing, despite it no doubt causing him problems in the future - he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

“you walked here.”

it wasn’t a question. a loaded statement no doubt used to coax you into revealing your full emotions.

your eye twitched. “i have legs.”

“your heels are new.”

“and?”

his lips quirked up slightly. “they’re hurting your feet.”

“no they aren’t.” you snapped back, despite your toes hurting slightly.

his eyebrows lifted. you were such a liar, dressed in sin. he wanted to kiss you.

jungkook pushed off of the desk, walking past the pile of bags that jin had placed in the office for you no longer than a few minutes ago, his eyes still trained on you as he refused to look away. your own eyes faltered, dropping onto the bags momentarily as that familiar feeling of guilt wrapped around your stomach before it returned to his gaze, insecurity wrapped in anger only coming back harder.

he looked like he was approaching a skittish animal, as though he was trained to deal with you entirely. unfortunately for him, you had claws.

“don’t.” you hissed.

“don’t what?”

“do that.”

“do what?” he was fighting a dimpled grin.

you grit your teeth. you extended your hand, finger pointing at him harshly, accusatively, all whilst he walked over to you, until your digit was actually pressing into him. your nail dug into his stomach, not by your own doing, but his as he pushed his skin harsher against you, the sting a healthy reminder of how much he yearned for your touch.

“real scary, baby.”

you nearly shuddered, his voice heavy and loaded.

“i’m serious.”

“yeah, i know.”

you hated when his voice did that, low and certain all whilst his eyelids drooped just from looking at you. you retracted your finger, only for his own hand to dart out and grab a hold of your own until it was pressed against his stomach completely flat.

“you ignored me.” you murmured in annoyance, all whilst you let him manoeuvre you. “did i?”

“mhm.”

he nodded, half condescending and other half fucking enamoured by you. “and that’s why you’re here?”

“don’t act stupid.”

your hissing had his eyes narrowing.

“careful.”

the single word landed heavy, your mouth snapping shut. if anyone was to ask you your favourite quality about jungkook, it would always be the sheer dominance he radiated without even trying - all man, half assertion and other half brute, he plagued your every thought and yet it still never felt enough.

his grip on your hand harshened, as though he needed to feel you on him in a way that hurt, with fingers digging into his skin through his t-shirt. you gulped a little at the feel of his warmth.

“walked into my garage wearing this shit, your feet hurting, and you’re not gonna tell me what’s got you so bratty?” he muttered down at you, voice low.

your eyebrows pulled at his choice of words, peering down at your outfit. this was the exact clothing choice that had you guys arguing so often, what with your breasts accentuated and your ass barely hidden by the cute skirt - you couldn’t help the fact that you liked things on the shorter and tighter side, especially when they’d rile him up so bad.

“you ignored me.” you repeated, with a frown imbedded into your skin.

“never ignored you a day in my fucking life. what you talking about?” he scoffed a little down at you, all whilst your head had to tilt just to look at him from your seated position.

“called you twice, jungkook, and i text you.” it was your turn now to push your finger into him willingly. “you ignored me, so don’t pretend like you didn’t. i’m not an idiot.”

“i was under a car.”

“you always answer.” you rebutted.

his eyes narrowed. there really wasn’t any winning with you, he knew that better than most, but he also wasn’t an idiot. you wouldn’t have marched here for no reason, especially over a missed call or two whilst he was at work considering he never really had his phone on him. he had a receptionist out front, practically hired for the sole reason of being able to inform him whenever you needed him. you knew that, so why was this so upsetting to you now?

“don’t look at me like that.” you huffed.

neither of you mentioned the way his hand on top of yours began to caress your skin, intertwining your fingers as he continued to press further into himself.

“not looking at you like anything.”

“yeah you are, like i’m being stupid.”

he cursed under his breath as he took his other hand and rubbed it up and down his face, as though this was the cherry on top of a long and stressful day. you could feel your blood pressure rising in annoyance at the thought - he had no right to be annoyed with you, not when you were too busy being annoyed at him. how dare he?

“y/n.” he warned lightly. “this shit is pissing me off. you ignore me every chance you get, so why the fuck are you so upset?”

you felt your cheeks begin to heat, half in embarrassment and other in deeper annoyance at being called out. was it your fault that you rolled your eyes whenever he text you, too busy grumbling to actually respond? the nasty feeling in your stomach only grew as he watched you swallow harshly, too humiliated to tell him the real reason all whilst he refused to read between the lines until you actually said something.

the office felt too small, and for the first time during the entire interaction, jungkook swore he could read genuine discomfort on your face.

it was as though the conversation at hand was something you weren’t expecting, simply assuming this was another instance where he’d bow down and allow you to be bratty but, alas - he could see this time that this was different. you weren’t annoyed, you weren’t even upset; you looked hurt.

it was an emotion he couldn’t quite understand, knowing fully he had absolutely done nothing wrong, not having even seen his phone since lunch time. rationality mattered little between the both of you, especially whenever it concerned you, but this was strange even for you. your sudden silence, your lips pressing into each other as you looked away from him, eyes unsure, gaze confused - it had his stomach dropping.

the humiliation was heavy in your frame as you realised how stupid you were being. you had marched here in these heels, a pair that were currently ruining your feet as you spoke, wincing a little as you shifted your toes to make it more comfortable. twenty minutes of amping your own emotions up only to arrive and realise the disgusting, simple fact of jungkook had been divorced by you.

you. you alone.

you had made the decision.

you had chosen to kick him out, break up the marriage over petty arguments that were a norm if anything.

you had done that, with the full expectation of him still fulfilling his husbandly duties as though you had any right to him, any access.

that alone was a horrible pill to swallow.

unfortunately for you, if anyone knew you inside and out, it was the very man in front of you. he reached over to you, tilting your chin forwards, and then up, so that your unsure eyes met his, all whilst you maintained your bratty nature by keeping your mouth shut. he wanted nothing more than to ruin your lips for even starting with him today, with that sleek gloss covering each inch of surface.

you hated when he looked at you like this, as though he was able to dismantle the corners of your feigned disdain, softening them, eroding them until all that was left was you. only you.

before you could look away, you watched as your hunk of an ex husband, all muscle and all tattoos, dropped to his knees in front of you. his arms came around your waist, yanking you forward until either of your legs were around him, his hands heavy on your back. your skirt rode up naturally, allowing him to slot in against you, forcing you to maintain eye contact despite the intimate position.

you flailed for a moment, gasping, everything happening so suddenly but his grip on you was harsh, mean even.

“you thought i was with someone else?” he immediately challenged.

his eyes were narrowed, scowl evident on his lips as he looked at you harshly, as though the notion was enough to genuinely piss him off. despite his nature, he wasn’t one to ever get angry with you, usually directing his annoyance elsewhere but in moments like this, you exasperated him enough that he had no option but to tell you.

“jungkook-“

“missed two fucking calls,” he hissed at you, pulling you closer, harsher. “and you’re already mapping random shit in your head? you trying to piss me off on purpose?”

heat flooded your face in embarrassment, already feeling heat in your chest with the way he looked so annoyed. you hated how attractive he was.

“that’s not what i said.”

“yeah?” he scoffed at you openly, one hand moving to the side to grip your waist instead. “you walked over here in those heels over nothing?”

you hid the insecurity on your face underneath a layer of annoyance, bratty to the core even when you knew you weren’t in the right.

“what’s it to you? if you don’t want me visiting, i won’t come again.” you huffed, pressing him by his shoulders to push him back and away from you.

unfortunately for you, jungkook was made half from stone - unmovable, with biceps thicker than your head, chest and shoulders so broad that it often had your eyelashes fluttering up at him even when you didn’t realise.

“don’t try that shit with me, y/n. you’re in your own head about something that isn’t real, and you’re taking it out on me.”

his tone was laced with something that had your throat swallowing a lump, your eyes struggling to maintain eye contact due to the heavy, and intense heat in his gaze. he was openly pissed off, and you wished you weren’t battling so many emotions at the same time, instead wanting to capitalise on it.

instead of responding, you huffed a little, looking away despite it all. you lifted your chin slightly, ignoring your wandering fingers that were already tracing his tattoos out of habit, grumbling a little under your breath. you hated that he had managed to figure you out so easily, as though he knew the ridges of your brain far more than you yourself, able to peel apart each nasty thought that occupied your thought simply because he could.

you couldn’t let him win. you wouldn’t.

“maybe i wouldn’t think like this if you just answered your phone.” you huffed back at him, returning the eye contact once you had finally settled into your usual bratty self. “god forbid i assume my ex husband might actually move on one day. how am i supposed to know what you get up to all day here?”

you laughed once. sharp. mean. defensive.

“wouldn’t exactly be shocking, would it?” you hissed once more. “we’re divorced.”

for a moment, silence filled the room, all whilst jungkook remained awfully still in front of you.

a sick part of you felt rewarded in thinking you had managed to hit him right where it hurt, to act as a reminder that despite everything, you were the one in control, but that emotion completely slipped away once you watched him stand up.

he stood to his full height, causing you to tip your head back to maintain the eye contact from your sat position. instead of moving back, his hands dropped from your back and waist.

his left hand rose, fingers immediately darting until they reached your throat, wrapping firmly. enough to push your head towards his, and not enough to hurt, his darkened eyes showcasing the same scary, obsessive streak that had you moaning into your pillow every night.

you could feel dampness between your legs, your heartbeat quickening immediately at the showcase of such dominance above you, your eyelids growing almost hooded whilst he leaned down until your breaths were mingling.

“careful.” he reminded, for the second time that night, long fingers digging into either side of your neck.

you, who had never learnt a lesson for long enough to actually make a difference a day in your life, couldn’t help the look of utter petulance on your face.

“or what?” you spat at him.

within seconds, you were put in a state of vertigo as you were yanked up from your seat. before you could realise what was happening, jungkook had you in his lap, yanked forwards so that your ass was jutted out into the air. your skirt had been pushed up, leaving your tiny panties on show.

“j-jungkook!” you squeaked but he took no notice, your arms going up to wrap around his neck all whilst he planted his palm heavy against your now bare ass.

smack.

you squeaked louder.

he didn’t bother saying anything, soothing your ass cheek as though he hadn’t just smacked it. that was, until he repeated his action, the noise sounding off of the walls of the office.

smack.

over, and over, and over, and over.

he didn’t stop, repeating his action of soothing your ass only to slap it harder, all until you were a mewling mess, whimpering at him like a wounded puppy, his eyes harsher than you’d ever seen him. you felt sore, both of his hands now massaging you despite his growing annoyance.

the office was silent apart from the sound of your shaking breath, all whilst you clung to him, your eyes still matching his in a heavy, tension filled gaze that neither of you could look away from. he wanted to coo at you, wanted to hold you, kiss it better but fuck; he wouldn’t have you thinking like this ever again.

“the problem with you is you think a piece of paper changed shit between us.” he whispered down at you suddenly, voice meaner than you’d ever heard him. your eyelashes fluttered. “makes you think a judge signing off on some fucking divorce means you’re any less mine.”

“kook..” you whined quietly, causing him to massage deeper.

“that’s not how this works, baby. get that through your thick skull before i fuck it back into you, you understand me?” he warned, all whilst pushing his head against yours.

your noses touched, rubbing together almost romantically as he nuzzled against you, positioning you better on his lap despite the incessant sting on your ass. he slid your legs over his legs as he brought you closer and closer, his intensely large frame entirely engulfing you.

“we’re not together though..” you whispered at him, the horrible insecurity that remained deep in your bones, the same one you refused to ever show him, bleeding into your tone. “it’s only a matter of time before you meet someone new. even i know that.”

your admission was raw, honest - far more than you’d ever been in a very long time. he knew that, he could see it, especially with the way you felt utterly scared at even letting the words leave your mouth, nibbling on your lip immediately after as though you almost regretted being so truthful.

“what you want, y/n? want a ring? i’ll marry you today.” he scoffed down at you, as though your words were utter bullshit, anger still heavy in his veins. “you are my girl. you hear me? you. you’re mine, every bit of you, and i’m yours.”

you swallowed down the lump in your throat, as he began to kiss at your cheek, your nose and jaw, planting promises deep into your skin so that you’d absorb them as truth. he didn’t care that you guys weren’t together due to a technicality - you were his wife, entirely, fully. no one would ever be able to take that away from him.

the next few hours were spent in a way that felt like home.

he had first spent the first hour just holding you, watching you trace the tattoo peaking from his chest, the colours up and down his arm all whilst nuzzling deeper into him like you hadn’t been a bitch to him for no reason. his hands had roamed up and down you, cupping you warmly, touching you at times inappropriately just to have your usual brattiness shine through.

alas, work called, and so he placed you onto the couch in the office, murmuring something about ordering you food before kissing your head, turning to leave. the whine you let out was enough to have him curse under his breath, knowing he spoilt you far too often and that’s why you were doing what you were.

it wasn’t until you were dragging him back to you that he understood exactly what you wanted.

it had been two years since the divorce - no intimacy beside him going down on you here and there, but apart from that, it was all hidden kisses down your neck and gropes on your ass whenever he’d walk past.

that didn’t stop him from leaning down, one hand on the head of the sofa beside your head and pressing his lips to yours.

the breathy sound that escaped you from being kissed by him was truly enough to drive a man like jungkook wild, his lips moving, guiding, encouraging you to catch up with him. you did exactly that, hands yanking him further down until you could wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him as though this was the most natural thing you knew how to do.

he was your husband, after all.

parting from his lips, you both watched as a thin string of saliva separated you.

standing up tall had your eyes falling to the evident bulge in his utility trousers, your eyelashes fluttering up at him as you pretended to be indifferent to it. you hummed a little, raising your hand. “you can go now.”

the corner of his lip lifted.

such a fucking minx.

the rest of the day had him popping into the office, bringing you food, spending time with you whenever it was quiet. you gave him a haul at one point, showing him all the things you had bought with his hard earned money, even mentioning the bag you had eyed up earlier.

his response?

he had tilted his head in confusion, asking you why you didn’t buy it despite you telling him the price tag.

you had never been wetter.

by the time the garage was closing, he had you in the car, bags already put into the boot, whilst a heavy hand sat on your thigh, driving you home.

it felt like something had completely shifted between you now the unspoken had been spoken. it made you feel good, but you wanted more, craved it - you had spent so long pushing him away, even when you were married, that you had forgotten what it was like just to give into his affections. even slightly, it felt fulfilling in a way that left you hungry.

once your driveway came into view, you already knew he was gonna stay the night. it was common enough, usually forcing him to stay in the guest room like you wouldn’t be up all night wishing he would just come in already. alas, you had married, and divorced, a respectful man.

“kids coming back tomorrow morning?” he asked as he parked up, both of you walking to the door, all of the bags in his hand.

“afternoon.” you corrected over your shoulder, eyes meeting his. you watched as his eyes lifted from your ass in your tiny skirt, cheeks already slightly bruised and red from your earlier spankings, only for his gaze to lift back up to you.

he didn’t respond, simply following you in, locking the door behind him as you slipped off your heels.

“my feet hurt.” you huffed a little to yourself whilst flexing your toes a little.

he let out a slight laugh, placing your bags down on the kitchen table before grabbing you by the waist, lips attacking your neck almost immediately. your back hit his chest as he took a hold of your personal space, breathing in your floral scent now that you were all alone, with no one to interrupt.

no kids.

no garage.

nothing but the two of you and the dying tension between you.

“ugh!” you huffed, brattiness at an all time high, despite tilting your head so he could kiss you further. “you stink.”

“yeah?” he continued his kisses, fingers digging into your hips. “gonna join me in the shower?”

you rolled your eyes, just as he twirled you, towering over you so easily that you found yourself tilting your head just to be able to meet his gaze. his hardened jaw, the feel of his abs where your hands sat on his stomach - you hated him.

“you wish.” you retorted, just as his hands drifted down to your ass.

a large hand smoothed your ass, causing you to wince up at him a little, falling further into his chest causing him to laugh. you swatted his chest with a huff, hissing at him.

“meet me in there in two.” he whispered into your ear, squeezing once more before you huffed again, walking upstairs to your own room.

within the next five minutes, the water had been turned on, and jungkook had pulled his t-shirt off, grunting a little as he undressed in what he had always deemed to be a too small bathroom. it wasn’t until the door opened and he watched you walk in, just as the water had begun to spray down onto his chest, that he felt his stomach tighten.

he watched as you undressed, clothes pooling at your feet, your bra and panties dropping in seconds all whilst you joined him in the shower, almost paying him no mind as though he too wasn’t here. it wasn’t until you stepped back into him, letting the water hit your body instead of his that he properly yanked you back, bodies suddenly flushed against each other.

he tilted your head for the millionth time that day, lips grazing over your pulse, kissing as though he truly couldn’t get enough. he hummed against it, tongue tracing over it as his hands openly began running up and down you, clutching your breasts, your thighs, your stomach.

he loved when you acted like this. all snooty, as though he was beneath you despite your legs parting just as his hands drifted down. his, bratty girl. what a dream.

“missed this.” he whispered into your ear, just as you reached for the body wash.

“need to wash my body.” you huffed back, looking over your shoulder at him in that familiar bitchy way, only for him to lean downwards towards your face.

he grinned, twisting you properly in his arms so that you were actually facing him. the glare you gave him was enough to have his cock twitching against you, causing you to look down momentarily.

you could have sighed out of content, feeling it against you, so, so thick. so large, pressed against his stomach as he openly admired you, his own hands roaming over you as though he had every right.

the last time you had both hooked up was after you had signed the divorce papers. he had pounded you in the courthouse bathroom, with a hand over your mouth, and a hiss in your ear reminding you that no matter what, you still belonged to him, to which you had nodded, promising him. you were both so fucked for each other it was unreal.

queue two years later, you hadn’t actually seen his cock in so long despite having craved it for what felt like eons. despite what you felt, you knew you couldn’t bring yourself to cave in, yearning for something more than just sex and you couldn’t afford to get attached without it.

here you were, with that exact thing.

you were both so fucked in the head when it came to one another, with jungkook even going so far as to make a dildo for you that replicated his cock, just so you could pleasure yourself the exact way you wanted. it killed him inside to know you used it every night instead of using him, but with you in his arms right now, he hardly gave a fuck.

he watched as you lifted one of your hands, fingers brushing against the tip, all whilst your big eyes fluttered up at him in a sort of faux innocence. he cupped your hand, bringing it to his lips, before wrapping it around his cock properly.

you let out another sigh of content as you pumped him, up and down, all whilst water cascaded down onto both of your bodies. his head pressed against yours, lips brushing against one another so naturally it felt innate to the both of you.

his breath hitched just slightly as you used both hands, your heart fluttering at the feel of him so intimately against you.

“my pretty girl.” he pressed sweet pecks to your lips, whilst you tilted your head up at him, his hands openly massaging your ass again.

“so big.” you whispered back at him with a little sigh, thumb tracing over his slitted tip. “yeah? been stretching yourself out every night on your own?”

“trying to.” you mumbled back. his hand cupped yours, guiding you faster. “just too big sometimes to do it on my own.”

his eyes closed at your words, letting out a shaking breath, gripping you so much tighter before opening them up once more. he nudged his nose against yours, before pressing his lips harshly to yours.

your lips immediately moved in unison, bodies aligning as you both pumped his cock as though you couldn’t get enough of one another. tongues wrapped until they became one, your soft moans gliding through the falling water as jungkook pushed, and pushed and pushed until you were pressed against the wall.

by the time he was parting from your lips, you were a panting mess, your chest rising and falling. your hand dropped from his cock as he lifted you in his arms, your back pressed against the cool tile whilst he took your left breast in his mouth. sucking, biting, moaning - he was a mess against you, your hands pulling at his long strands that were growing damper by the second from the falling water.

the moan of his name on your tongue had him hissing, moving to your right breast. you had become a mural, a physical manifestation of his morbid love as he decorated you in purple bruises, your big eyes closing in sheer pleasure.

“don’t wanna wait anymore.” you whimpered at him, shaking your head as you began to pull his hair off of you.

he hissed a little from the shot of pain, not afraid to admit his cock twitched from the shock of it. at that, he gave your ass another smack, watching the way you squeaked before narrowing your eyes at him with a loud huff.

“need to stretch you out before i fuck you.” he grunted at you, both of your cheeks flushed from the steam of the shower.

“i don’t care. want it now.”

“stop being a fucking brat.” he hissed again, spanking you for the umpteenth time, your poor ass bruised.

you slid down from his arms, narrowing your eyes at him as you cheekily turned away. he stuck his tongue deep into his cheek as he watched you, soap suds washing down your body before you reached for a towel, sliding out before he could even stop you, only to watch you slip out of the bathroom immediately.

he wanted to curse. his cock had never been so hard in his life, and oh, the things he wanted to do to you - he felt like a born again virgin, having been celibate the second you had pushed him away after the courthouse fiasco. he matched your movements, washing his body before grabbing a towel, drying himself off and walking to your room.

the sight of you on the bed, sat, still in the towel, huffing a little as you checked your nails, pretending to be completely disinterested in him had his jaw ticking again. such a fucking brat.

you opened your mouth, no doubt to spew some utter bullshit to rile him up, but he didn’t give you a chance. within seconds, he had his hands on you, dropping you fully onto the bed, hovering over you, both towels on the ground almost immediately.

the sight of him on top of you, inbetween your legs had you rendered speechless for the first time in eons, a shaking gasp leaving you. it was the feel of his cock running up and down your already weeping pussy that had you actually letting out loud whimpers and whines, rotating your hips in hopes you could finally get what you wanted.

“spoilt rotten. that’s your fucking problem.” he hissed at you, grabbing your face with one of his hands, forcing you to look at him. “always get what you want.”

“because you always wanna give it to me.” you whimpered back at him, grabbing onto his shoulders before raising your legs higher, begging for more.

he hated how true your statement was.

before you could think, jungkook lined himself and began to push inside, all whilst watching your eyes widen only for them to shut tightly.

euphoric. that was the only, single emotion he could describe the feeling of his cock being hugged by your velvet walls after so long, your pussy clinging to him almost as desperately as he pushed and pushed until he was entirely inside of you. you couldn’t breathe, not when you swore you could feel him inside your stomach, your fingers digging so deeply into his shoulders you swore you’d scar him.

even when you masturbated on your own with the dildo, you struggled to take him fully, but having him all but bullying his cock inside of you, making sure you took it all? nothing had never felt better, with his sheer size stretching a home deep inside of you, one that you had missed more than anything else.

“jungkook.” you mewled out, lip already about to quiver.

god.

he had dreamt of this exact situation.

you, underneath him, chest rising and falling whilst your tits were decorated in bruises, symbols of his devotion to you. his cock, thick and heavy, deep inside of you as he watched you quiver trying to accommodate for him despite knowing it was all too much. god, he had dreamt indeed and yet it paled in comparison to what he was seeing.

two years.

two years of being denied this, and here he was, finally claiming his girl once more.

instead of letting you adjust, jungkook grabbed the bottoms of your thighs, lifting them slightly before beginning to thrust.

had you been a normal girl, he would have been gentler, kinder, maybe even sweeter but he knew you better than anyone else. you were a slut for him, through and through - couldn’t cum unless he was mean to your pussy.

and so, he did what any good ex husband would do.

he pounded.

your moans turned into loud whines of pleasure, back arching as jungkook set out a pace that you certainly couldn’t keep up with, scratching over his shoulders and biceps almost desperately. the chant of his name echoed around the room, only adding to his pace, his head pressing against yours.

“look at you.” he grunted loudly, hips slapping against hips, skin smacking against skin. “needed this so bad, didn’t you?”

“so bad.” you whined, with a shaking nod.

“that’s my girl.” he kissed your nose almost romantically, only making you whimper as he pushed your thighs against your chest, before pressing down on you.

the new position had your back curling upwards as you somehow managed to feel him so much deeper, your hands now shaking in the confinements of his hair. you couldn’t stop thrashing, as though all of the begging to get him to fuck you without actually prepping you were all stupid ramblings now that you couldn’t take it.

he loved the sight. there was nothing jungkook loved more than watching you grow more cockdrunk by the minute, what with the way your eyes were rolling to the back of your head, drool beginning to drip by the corner of your mouth.

he had never been more in love with you.

he pounded you over and over, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you until you were an overwhelmed mess, sobbing in his arms whilst trying to shut your legs around him, the overstimulation only gripping you by the throat meanly. by your fourth orgasm, you were babbling utter nonsense, a mixture of tears, mascara and drool all over you.

he had tapped your jaw with his hand, only for you to open up, watching him spit in your mouth. you clenched around him hard just as you swallowed, the sight something he knew he’d replay for time to come over and over over.

“so fucking tight.” he hissed down at you.

your positions had changed, with the both of you on your sides as he thrusted into you, his lips attacking the side of your face and shoulder all whilst you clung to the pillow in front of you, poor pussy leaking on either side of him. you were being ruined in real time.

“gonna get you nice and round baby. you’d like that, hm? like it when kookie fucks his cum into you?” he cooed down at you, condescending enough to have your brain begging for mercy. all you could muster was a loud moan, back arching into him at the promise of another baby. “please. want it so bad.”

“yeah?” he hissed, thrusts only getting meaner. “fuck…gotta put a ring on your finger first.”

at that, your legs began to shake.

“gonna take you out tomorrow morning. gonna cum nice and deep inside of you, and take you ring shopping so you can get what you want, hm?” he hissed down at you through his heavy breaths. “gonna be a good girl for me?”

“mhm..i’ll be so good, k-kookie. promise.” you whimpered.

jungkook gave you a hard thrust. he knew it was a lie.

“should’ve never let you go, baby. been missing my girl so much. should’ve kept you nice and full like you deserve.” he bit down on your shoulder. “but jungkook’s gonna fix it. just need you to cum for me, sweetheart.“

it was like he had control over your mind and body. your orgasm erupted through your body, clamping harshly onto his cock, causing him to choke as his thrusts faltered, already on the edge. waves of excruciating pleasure ran through you, grabbing you at every angle all whilst you coaxed him into his own orgasm, his loud grunts echoing off of the walls.

you could feel his hot cum reach all the way into your womb - a promise of what was to come, an assurance for the future. the thought of having more of his children only stretched out your orgasm as you cried out his name, his large fingers harsh on your clit to really force you over the edge.

by the time you were both settling down, you were a shaking mess.

cum plugged inside of you as he refused to pull out just yet, your bodies both sweating, hair a mess, makeup utterly ruined. jungkook had never seen you look so pretty, wanting nothing more than to propose to you right then and there, but even he knew you deserved far better than that.

it was when only ten minutes later, he turned you fully after pulling out, did he plant soft kisses to your face, all whilst fingering his cum back inside of you. you cried in oversensitivity, only causing him to coo at you, whispering sweet nothings about how good you had taken him, about how he needed the cum to stick to get you round and pregnant.

you could feel your eyes drooping as he took care of you, manoeuvring your body until it was utterly engulfed by his, your body sore and mind free.

for the first time in two years, you felt like you were home.

—

true to his promise, you were both out of the house by the early morning.

also true to his word, you were currently stuffed with cum, littered in an array of hickeys both from the previous evening and that morning, causing you to choose an uncharacteristically modest outfit for the day. you had hissed at him all the way to the shop, huffing at having to hide your body in full length clothing only for him to smirk quietly to himself.

he couldn’t get enough of you.

still bitching, still whining - he had stopped pretending like he didn’t like it, especially when you could see right through him. he was yours, yes, but oh how you were his. he had woken you up to his mouth on your clit, coaxing you to a sweet orgasm before fucking you with the promises of a life even grander than the one you were currently living. that alone had gotten three orgasms out of you.

now, you were in the ring shop, frowning, flicking your hair and rolling your eyes at him with every ring you were shown, rudely grumbling over how it just wasn’t the one.

the one you had on was beautiful, which only irritated you more.

you made the effort of moving your hand in three separate angles, turning it to the light, turning your wrist away. the diamond caught every flicker, as it shon and sang to you, all whilst you pursed your lips.

“i don’t like it.”

the jeweller openly frowned at you.

this had been the tenth ring he had shown you, and none of them made you happy. none were the ring you had envisioned, wanting something different and yet something classic, the oxymoron killing you from the inside out.

whilst the man behind the counter was quite startled by your behaviour, jungkook was certainly not.

he stood beside you, t shirt stretched over his figure deliciously, arm heavy around your waist as he maintained you flushed against his figure no matter how bitchy you were being with him. it only had him tightening his fingers on you.

you continued your comments to the jeweller as he showed you more and more rings, before he sensed the growing tension, leaving you both be for a moment. once you were alone on the shop floor, jungkook nudged you a little so you’d look up at him.

“enough.”

the word was quiet. commanding. enough to have your pussy clenching despite how sore you already were, not that it was enough to stop you wanting him in every single way. unfortunately, despite your lapse in demeanour the night before, you weren’t willing to let it show easily again.

you huffed. “none of these are right.”

“you’re being nitpicky on purpose.”

“maybe i just have standards.” you rolled your eyes at him, making a show of crossing your arms across your chest.

it was his turn to make his eyes narrow down at you meanly.

“you done?” he asked, with a small hiss. “your ass not sore enough, y/n?”

you grit your teeth as you willed yourself to be quiet, wanting nothing more than to rebut at him but even you knew jeon jungkook was certainly not above spanking you in a jewellery shop, especially if it meant you’d actually shut up. so, instead, you found yourself huffing a little at him again, picking at your manicure.

“just don’t wanna pick the wrong one.” you admitted in a much smaller voice, refusing to meet his eyes as you ruined your french tips, frown heavy on your face.

the admission was quiet, barely above a mumble but it hit jungkook right in his chest, knowing that despite the rushed nature of everything, this symbolised something so much bigger. starting again when the first time around had been a rush in itself was scary, especially when the stakes were so much higher this time. sure, you had been divorced once and you were marrying him again but you knew this meant you guys would actually have to work through your annoyances with one another.

the thought honestly scared you.

his devotion, his obsession, his incessant need to have you in his arms whether you liked him or not was reciprocated heavily by yourself, only masked with an air of indifference.

“baby.”

he pulled you out of your thoughts, making you look up through your lashes.

“buy as many as you fucking want. you want seven, huh? all days of the week?” he narrowed his eyes down at you. “there isn’t a wrong one, so get that out of your head.”

for the first time in that interaction, you properly turned into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck with a soft sigh of content at his words. good answer, you thought, as you nuzzled into his neck, all whilst he pushed you against the jewellery counter.

by the time the owner had come back, you had finally made your selection, feeling almost shy as you watched jungkook pay for it. sure, you spent his money without thinking, but you were quickly realising how much better it felt with him beside you actually taking charge of the transaction part. the thought began to fester all over you as he signed the receipt, turning to walk you out as the jeweller began sizing the rings immediately.

unfortunately for him, you pressed your lips to his cheek in the sweetest action you could muster. judging from the flip in your eyes, the way affection swirled in them, he knew you wanted something.

“what?” he grunted.

“so..remember that bag?”

—

my babies!! i’m back!!

my first fic / one shot since the mature label got slapped on my page which means half of my followers won’t see this but i’m keeping optimistic!!

as usual, let me know your thoughts, i loveeeee reading your guys’ comments and asks so feel free to keep me in the loop with what you’re thinking

if you wanna support a bad b pay her london rent, my kofi is here <3

The light that spilt through the open windows of the royal suite was warm and golden, filtered by sheer white curtains and the soft hush of early morning in the palace. Dawn had barely broken, and already your eyes were open. 

You were pressed between two bodies, far too warm and far too unwilling to let you leave. Aelin was curling into your front, her leg hooked over your hip, face buried in your neck. Rowan was at your back, his arm heavy over your waist, his breath soft and even as it ghosted along your skin.

It was quiet. Peaceful. And entirely dangerous.

You had ten, maybe fifteen minutes to get everything in order before the palace staff expected to see the head maid in presentable order. You were expected to look immaculate and to appear behind the Queen’s shoulder like a shadow, composed and unreadable.

Not like someone who had spent the night tangled in their sheets, kissed breathless and worshipped.

You slowly and carefully slipped from between them.

Aelin groaned the moment she sensed your absence. “No. No, come back.”

“I can’t,” you whispered, already crossing the room. “Your breakfast is in forty minutes, and you’re not even bathed.”

“You can bathe me,” Aelin purred from the sheets, sitting up and looking as effortlessly beautiful as ever with golden spirals of hair curling over her bare shoulders.

You sent her a look over your shoulder as you slipped behind the folding screen, trying not to be distracted by her beauty. “That’s the problem, your majesty.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Within ten minutes, you were fully dressed. A deep forest green gown lined with gold thread, your hair left in its natural state, simply petted down to look presentable. You looked regal enough to stand beside a queen without drawing too much attention, yet invisible enough to be passed off as any other servant if someone looked too closely.

You pressed cool water to your cheeks, steadying yourself. There was no time to ache for them. You had work to do.

By the time you returned to the bed, Aelin was sprawled on top of the covers like a lazy cat, one bare leg hanging off the edge, the golden shift she wears to bed hardly covering her backside. She smirked as you approached with a robe.

“Come to kiss me good morning, darling?”

“Come to drag your arse into the bath, more like,” you replied sweetly, tossing the robe onto the bed.

Aelin sat up with a groan, letting the sheets fall to her waist. Her breathtaking eyes were sleepy and yet wicked. “You’re no fun when you’re professional.”

You tried to keep your expression composed as you helped her stand, wrapping the robe around her shoulders and guiding her into the adjoining bathing chamber.

“I am very fun when I'm not trying to keep your entire court from gossiping about the fact that their queen has her maid in her bed,” you said dryly. 

Aelin only laughed, and the sound echoed off the marble walls.

The bath was already dawn, deep and steaming, infused with floral oils and herbs you’d placed there to steep from the night before.

Aelin stepped in with a sigh, and you knelt at the edge, sleeves rolled up as you washed her hair, careful and practised with deep massages into her scalp until she was mewling obscenely. 

She leaned back against the tub and watched you with open admiration. 

“Do you have to be so good at this?” she murmured with tired eyes.

“It’s literally my job.”

“No, your job is to drive me insane by looking like that and pretending you’re not mine.”

Your cheeks heated, fingers hesitating in her hair. Aelin smirked, “Did I say stop?”

You resumed your work, focusing on the strands between your fingers, even as Aelin’s foot slid along the edge of the tub, offering you a glimpse between her legs.

“Stop it,” you warned, but there was no heat to it.

“Make me.”

She reached for your hand, pressed a kiss to your palm, and your breath caught.

The door opened behind you.

“She’s misbehaving again, isn’t she?” Rowan’s voice was amused, gravelly and smoky first thing in the morning. 

You didn’t turn; you were too focused on keeping your face composed as you reached for the oils.

“She’s refusing to let me get her ready,” you said primly.

“I am tempting her,” Aelin corrected, eyes sparkling. 

Rowan chuckled, and you could hear the sounds of his boots crossing the chamber. A moment later, his presence was at your back, warm and solid. You shivered when he brushed his fingers over your wrist.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered lowly against the shell of your ear.

You swallowed. “So do you. Now sit. I need to braid your hair.”

“I already–”, you turned just as he sank gracefully into the armchair near the vanity, a soft towel slung around his waist. Washed my hair. I’m all ready for you; you always do it better than I do.”

Rowan raised a brow, green eyes gleaming as he reached for a brush. “You usually do it.”

You sigh, mostly at yourself, and cross over, accepting the brush from his hand. He sat patiently, back straight, bare shoulders relaxed beneath your touch as you began to comb through his damn hair. As much as Rowan was a strong, independent male, the moment he sees your fingers caressing Aelins hair, he becomes jealous and comes up with any excuse to take her place.

Behind you, Aelinstretched in the bath, watching the two of you with a knowing smile. “You two look disgustingly domestic.”

“You’re just jealous she’s not braiding your hair right now,” Rowan grunted with his eyes closed, focusing on every touch that you provided. 

You worked in silence for a few more moments, your fingers careful and skilled as you wove Rowan’s hair into a simple warrior’s braid.

It should’ve been professional. It wasn’t. Not with the way his head tilted slightly into your hand, not with the way he turned to kiss your wrist when you were done. Not with the look he gave you, that quiet, worshipful look that made your chest ache.

“You should go help your queen,” Rowan said softly.

“I am helping her,” you say, brushing a kiss to his cheek. “By making sure she doesn't arrive at breakfast looking like she’s been in bed for half the morning.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Aelin called from the bath.

You turned, lifting your brow. “Out. Towel. Now.” 

She groaned but obeyed, standing in all her glory as you and Rowan admired her before wrapping her in a towel. She was dripping and smug as she stepped out of the bath.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you say with a twitch of a smirk on your lips.

“I’m lucky for a lot of things,” she said, voice quieter now, more real.

And when her hand reached for yours, you didn’t hesitate. You helped her dress in a royal blue gown with silver embroidery, soft velvet and silk. You fastened her corset, tugged her laces, arranged her jewellery, painted a soft flush on her cheeks, all whilst Rowan arranged subtle weapons upon her person. 

As you both moved, Aelin stole kisses. All while she whispered compliments about her two favourite people. 

When her hair was finally twisted and pinned, her lips painted, and her expression appropriately regal, you stepped back.

“Majesty,” you said with a practised nod.

Aelin stepped close, her mouth brushing your ear. “Lover,” she whispered, with wicked affection.

And Rowan, behind you, just smiled.

But when you opened the chamber doors, when your hand was on the handle and your composure perfectly in place, the three of you looked like nothing more than royalty and servant.

Just like you were supposed to. But the warmth on your neck? That was from Roan’s kiss. And the fire in your veins? That would always be Aelin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The kitchens were already buzzing by the time you stepped in.

The scent of fresh bread, herbs, and strong coffee clung to the air. Steam curled from silver pots. Trays clattered, boots shuffled, and half-awake servants whispered to one another in that early-morning lull before Terrasen truly woke.

But the moment your voice cut through the noise – clear, calm, commanding – the room still. “Three trays for the high table. One plain, no spices – that’s Lord Darrow’s. Watch the wine goblets; he’ll notice if there’s even a spot on the rim.”

Several nods. People moved faster. You crossed the room with purpose, tightening the belt of your robe as you snatched a cloth and wiped a plate yourself.

“Have the Queen’s lemon water poured in her special glass this morning, with extra mint. Thank you, Geoffrey! Yes–that’s the glass, she needs a little love this morning,” you say to the young man before you carry Aelin’s crystal cup that she’d received as a gift for her last birthday. 

And then, a voice at your shoulder, “Well, well. If it isn’t Her Highness, the Terror of the Kitchen.”

“Fenrys,” you say flatly, already knowing who was there without turning to him. “I’m pretty sure I asked for useful hands to help this morning.”

He grinned, picking a slice of peach from a dish and popping it into his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m simply here to protect the Queen, and the food just happens to be a bonus.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

Fenrys had taken a liking to you early on, long before he’d suspected your real relationship with Rowan and Aelin. He teased mercilessly, flirted often, and offered sarcastic commentary from every corner of the palace. But there was loyalty beneath it. A sharp, watchful intelligence. He noticed things others didn’t.

“What are the royals?” he asked, mouth full of grapes.

“Getting ready,” you reply, giving him a pointed look. Try not to say anything that makes Aelin launch her goblet at you this time.”

“That was once,” he said, offendedly. “And it was a funny joke.”

“She’d just had four hours of court meetings and a visit from Lord Solstice. Your joke was about a goat falling down the castle steps. Real classy.”

“Still funny.”

You rolled your eyes again, but your smile softened. It felt good to laugh in the mornings, especially when you knew what the day would bring.

Moments later, you carried the final tray out yourself, a detail no one questioned anymore. It gave you a reason to be in their chambers, to linger just long enough to check if Rowan had remembered to fix the collar of his tunic or if Aelin needed a second pin in her hair.

But by the time you reached the upper terrace, the one overlooking the eastern courtyard and the rolling hills of Terrasen, the high table was still empty. You set the tray down, turned–

And paused. There they were.

Standing at the far edge of the stone balcony, her head resting against his collarbone. Aedion stood just beside them, arms crossed, expression unreadable as he stared out over the land.

This moment was one shared most mornings if they could help it. Just a moment. To remember those lost. The hardships they’d suffered. To dream and pray and thank all of those who no longer walk the soil.

Turning back to the room, you found the servants and guards all with their heads lowered. Remembering the families, the friends, and the pain they had also endured.

It was a beautiful moment. One never disturbed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in the main hall, you busied yourself with straightening cushions, adjusting silverware, and inspecting every single glass. The court will be arriving soon. Nobles with sharp eyes and sharper tongues. Eyes would be on the Queen and King, always. And by extension, on you.

You caught your reflection in the polished silver plate. Composed and regal as perfectly trained.

But your heart still beat like a second rhythm, one only two others truly knew. You pressed a hand lightly to your chest, steadied your breath, and stepped into place just behind the Queen’s chair.

When they entered, Aelin, Rowan, and Aedoin, no one would notice the way Aelin’s hand brushed your waist as she passed.

But you would. And so would Fenrys.

Conversations ebbed and flowed throughout the hall, chairs scraping back in hasty retreats. Breakfast was never quiet in Terrsaen. The high table bore gold-rimmed goblets, polished fruit bowls, flaky pastries, and gleaming silverware.

Around it, the court tried to behave itself, tried being the operative word.

You moved silently around the Queen’s side, adjusting her glass, topping off the coffee she hadn’t touched, ensuring the lemon water was the correct temperature.

Rowan barely glanced at his plate. You saw it in his stillness, the alert tension in his shoulders, as he scanned the room, listening without seeming to.

Aelin leans back just slightly as you reach over her, adjusting the angle of a tray. “You smell too good,” she whispered under her breath.

“You majesty?” you asked sweetly.

Her smirk was lethal. “Nothing.”

You gave her the look, the one that said, “not here, not now”, and moved behind her once more, hands folded neatly at your front. Her fingers brushed your hand under the table. You didn’t move. But your pulse fluttered wildly.

Across from you, a round-faced lord with thinning hair and a high-pitched voice spoke directly to Aelin, as if he thought his tone didn’t carry insult.

“You look… well-rested this morning, Majesty,” he said with a polite smile that did little to mask the suggestion behind his words.”One might think you’d been sleeping instead of handling the unrest in the South.”

Aelin’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Careful, Lord Halron. You’re starting to sound like someone who thinks he could do better.” The room stilled at her tone. 

“Perhaps someone should remind Lord Halron that women can manage both diplomacy and sleep without his permission,” you said mildly, with an elegant raise of your brow as you just couldn’t sit and keep your mouth quiet.

Every head turned. Aelin froze. Rowan went utterly still. And Lord Halron turned a delicate shade of red. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m sure you do,” you said, making sure to flaunt a gracious little smile, the rage spiking in your chest that it took all of your energy not to throw something at his thick head. “Though not as often as you beg the council to take your opinions seriously.”

The silence that followed was delicious. Aedoin was the first to recover; he let out a sharp, barked laugh and quickly masked it as a cough.

Fenrys, seated near the edge of the table, coughed loudly into his cup, covering his grin with suspicious effort.

Lord Halron looked seconds from combustion.

Aelin reached for her goblet and drank, only the faintest shimmer of amusement in her eyes.

But it was Rowan who glanced toward you, that unreadable stare locking onto yours across the table. His jaw flexed.

And gods above, the head in his gaze nearly sent your knees weak. Not anger. Lust.

He was undressing you with his eyes in the middle of a royal breakfast.

You dropped your gaze before anyone could notice, but not before Fenrys cut a sharp glance between the two of you.

Thankfully, Aedion leaned in toward Hhalron with a wolfish smile, breaking the tension. “Tell me, Lord Halron– when’s the last time you won a debate in court? Or do you prefer being spanked by the Queen’s maid instead?”

That drew a round of startled chuckles from nearby nobles, and a chorus of forced, diplomatic coughs. Lord Halron’s face deepened in the shade as his rage erupted.

“It’s one thing for you to speak out of turn, General,” he said sharply to Aedion, who continued to grin at the man’s outburst. “But I won’t be publicly humiliated by some… servant girl pretending to have a voice at the royal table.”

And there it was. The shift was immediate.

The air turned sharp as steel. Not just the court’s tension–no, something far colder.

Rowan stood instantly, silent as snowfall but radiating lethal intent. His face was calm, too calm, his eyes glinting with quiet, deadly rage. 

Aaelin didn’t rise. She didn’t need to.

She simply tilted her head at Halron, her smile razor-sharp and causing the man to drop his stare submissively. “That ‘servant girl’, Lord Halron,” she said smoothly, voice chilled, “commands my household. She has earned the trust of the Queen of Terrsen, of the King, and every member of this court whose opinion actually matters.”

You didn't move, not even as your pulse roared in your ears. You stood just behind her, shoulders straight, eyes calm because Aelin had just named you more than staff.

And Halron knew it.

“Is that a threat, Your Majesty?” he sneers, but his voice cracked.

Rowan stepped forward then, slow and quiet, gaze locked on the man like a predator's eyes on its prey. “No. this is.”

A beat of silence passed. Then Rowan leaned in and whispered something too low for anyone to hear – Except Haloron.

The colour drained from the man’s face, standing abruptly.

“Fenrys,” Aelin said idly, lifting a slice of buttered toast to her lips.

“Yes, Majesty?” Fenrys said as he rose from his seat, his eyes already gleaming with heat.

“Escot Lord Halron out. Kindly. Firmly.”

“With or without his dignity?”

“Up to you.”

“Marvellous.”

Fenrys strode toward Halron with the casual menace of someone who wanted the man to resit, but Halron wisely turned on his heel, practically tripping over himself to leave. The doors slammed shut behind him.

And the moment was over.

The atmosphere remained lively and bright as if nothing had even occurred. With everyone's eyes now not cast on the drama, you could take a steadying breath. 

Aelin sipped from her glass, her smirk was lazy now, satisfaction humming in her eyes as Rowan returned to his seat beside her. “Your mouth is going to get you in some trouble,” she drawled, voice quiet enough only you could hear.

You stepped in to adjust her place, adding more grapes, your hand brushing her shoulder, her fingers catching yours just briefly. “You love it.”

“I want to bite it.”

You nearly choked on air, knees buckling ever so slightly.

Rowan, who had not turned to his mate, leaned over her, pouring more juice into her glass, allowing him to speak lowly to you, “You keep speaking like that in court, and we might have to show you our appreciation with an audience.” 

You didn’t answer, couldn’t with the way you were trying to keep your features neutral, despite the way your cheeks were heating.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning air was crisp as you stepped beyond the castle gates, the faint scent of pine and wild mint clinging to the forest path. The trail between the castle and the lower town was well-worn and well-guarded.

But today, the shift had changed. You had insisted you didn’t need an escort; you’d walked this path dozens of times every week. It was safe.

Aelin had insisted on having someone else attend to inspect the crates being delivered to the city kitchens; however, you had spare time, especially as she and Rowan were spending the afternoon training, something you were wholly ill-skilled in.

A small, routine errand. An excuse for some peace and quiet.

And it had been until it wasn’t.

You’d barely crossed the laurel archway that marked the forest’s edge when you heard them. Footsteps behind you. Slow and deliberate.

You turned and froze.

Lord Halron stepped out of the trees, his cloak dusty and torn, his face still marred by a darkening bruise along his jawline. You recognise it instantly, Fenrys’ parting gift. 

Two men flanked him, both strangers, both armed. Not guard. Mercenaries.

Your mouth dried.

“You're far from the high table, Halron,” you said calmly, spine straightening.

He smiled, or tried to. The bruise pulled oddly at his skin. “So are you.”

You didn't reach for the dagger hidden in your boot. Not yet.

“I could scream,” you said quietly, the confidence in your voice wavering.

“You could,” he agreed, voice dripping with venom. “But I don't doubt that Queen would want her little pet involved in another scandal. And anyway, it's not like there’s anyone around to hear.” 

You took a slow step back, hand brushing your cloak.

“I wasn’t planning on hurting you,” he continued, curling like a dog. “Until you opened your mouth in front of the whole court. You humiliated me.”

“You humiliated yourself,” you said coldly. “By speaking like a coward, to the queen no less. I just helped you finish the performance.”

Maybe, on reflection, your goading and taunts weren’t warranted, but you often spoke before thinking.

His smile vanished. He nodded once, and the two men moved.

You barely ducked the first blow, a fist meant for your face, but the second mercenary caught your arm in a brutal grip and wrenched it behind your back.

Pain lanced through your shoulder. You cried out in shock and fear.

“Still have that smart mouth?” Halron hissed, stepping closer and gripping your cheeks until pain sparked through your jaw. “Let’s see if you’re still so quick-witted once you’re reminded where you belong.”

You spat at his feet. “Terrasen won’t blink before ending you. Think before your next move, Halron.”

“Then you’d better not tell them,” he whispered, too close. The guard holding you twisted your arm again, not enough to break it, but enough to make fire bloom behind your eyes.

Then a sharp thud, a fist into your ribs, quick and surgical. You folded forward with a gasp, knees buckling. Stars burst behind your eyes. It wasn’t the worst pain you'd ever felt, but it was deep and wrong.

“That's enough,” Halron ordered, glancing around. “We don't need her broken.” 

The guards released you. You instantly dropped to your knees, hand clutching your side, the air refusing to return to your lungs for one long, frozen moment.

Halron crouched beside you, his shadow cutting across your cheek. “You’ll keep your mouth shut now,” he said softly. “If you don’t want your Queen to be responsible for a scandal involving her previous maid caught alone in the forest with disgraced men. You know how rumours spread.”

You met his eyes. And smiled. “You should have killed me if you really wanted to cause a stir.” He flinched, just slightly, at your confident tone. 

Then leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear as he held your chin in a fierce grip. “I know where your family lives.” Your entire body went still. “I know the street. The market stall your parents own. That farm where your grandparents reside. I know what time your cousins walk to school.”

He pulled back, eyes dark. “So let’s not pretend you’re invincible. You don't get to play the martyr when you've got people worth hurting.” 

And just like that, everything changed. Your entire body gave up the fight.

“Tell the Queen,” he said quietly, “And I’ll make sure someone else pays for your sharp tongue.”

He stood and left you kneeling there in the dirt.

~~~~~~~~~~

The forest was beautiful that day. Sunlight filtered through the golden leaves, leaving an ethereal beauty across the floor. The birds chirped overhead, the wind brushing over your skin gently.

And with every step, pain lanced through your side, destroying any chance that you had at admiring your surroundings.

You wrapped your arm tighter around your ribs, the thick wool of your cloak doing little to ease the deep, blooming ache beneath. Breathing fully hurt. Walking hurt. You weren’t sure which part of your body throbbed more: your shoulder or abdomen. 

Each step was a carefully calculated lie.

Left foot, breathe. Right foot, mask it.

Again and again, and you didn’t cry then. You didn’t let yourself, not while Halron’s voice still echoed in your ears, whispering names he should not have known.

Your fury had burned at first, but now, it had cooled into something unsettled. You had decided immediately that you couldn’t tell anyone with the risk feeling too real.

By the time you reached the rear entrance of the castle, the sun had begun to sink lower, painting the courtyard in warm amber hues.

You avoided the main halls. Too many eyes. Too many chances to be noticed.

Instead, you slipped into the servants' wing, a hallway of polished stone and narrow doors. Until you nearly collided with Lysandra. 

The shifter paused mid-step, brows knitted as she caught your uninjured arm gently. “Gods, sorry–” then her eyes narrowed. “Are you limping?”

You straightened, ignoring the strike of pain that came with the movement, “No, I just twisted my ankle a little in the market, you know how the cobbles are uneven.” 

“Are you sure? Did something happen?” she asked softly. Lysandra’s eyes scanned your face, and it was evident that she didn’t believe you.

“I’m fine,” you lied with a surprisingly calm voice.

“I need to bring the supply list to the kitchens. They're waiting on my approval.” You offered a quick smile. “I’ll catch you later?”

Lysandra watched you for a beat longer. Then nodded. “Come by tonight,” she said gently. “Even if it’s just for tea. You don't have to talk.” 

You squeezed her hand before moving on.

You made it as far as the old linen room. The one no one used anymore, tucked between stairwells, just before the Queen's wing.

And that’s where you let yourself fall. Not hard. Not fully.

Just on the edge of a crate, hands pressed to your stomach, jaw clenched as the tears came, hot and furious tears that slipped down your cheeks and into your cloak.

You cried for the pain in your ribs, the strain in your shoulder, the truth that for the first time, Aelin and Rowan hadn’t been there to protect you, and you were terrified.

But only for a minute did you break as you wiped your face, standing slowly and pulling your cloak tighter.

All you needed to do was breathe, smile and serve. It was a simple job to complete.

You were almost back in the Queen’s chambers when Fenrys turned a corner and spotted you. His steps slowed instantly as his golden eyes scanned your face, and then your posture.

“You’re walking like you’ve been stabbed,” he said, the tone between jesting and concern.

You offered a soft laugh, “It’s been a long day.”

Fenrys frowned as his eyes still searched your body, looking thoroughly, “Has something happened?”

You paused, just long enough for him to know you were choosing not to answer, “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

He stepped closer, “Listen-”

You cut him off with a look, “Don’t. I’m fine.”

Fenrys exhaled, frustration clear on his face. Thankfully, he didn’t push, just simply stepped aside and let you pass. 

“I’ll be watching and don’t think I’ll be letting this go.”

“I know.”

You made it to the queen’s chamber just as the door opened and Aelin and Rowan entered together, sweat-slick and flushed from training, laughing about something you didn’t catch.

Their eyes found you instantly. Aelin’s smile deepened. “There you are.”

Rowan’s gaze sharpened slightly, as it always did, noting your presence, cataloguing your state. But your mask was already on.

“I just returned from the market,” you said easily, brushing imaginary dust from your sleeve. “The Eyllwe shipment arrived. Spices all accounted for.”

Aelin leaned into Rowan’s side. “Remind me to gift them something extra this solstice.”

Rowan nodded, but his eyes hadn’t let up yet.

You dropped your gaze, stepping forward, already beginning to help unfasten Aelin’s cloak with soft, steady hands.

No tremor or flinch—just silence and the slow, steady countdown to when everyone would finally snap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The evening moved like clockwork.

Aelin bathed while Yu prepared her nightwear. Rowan stood shirtless at the far window, brushing down his damp hair after a sparring session that left a line of redness across his ribs. You caught glimpses of them as you folded linens, every flex of his shoulder causing something to stir low in your stomach, as it usually did. 

Tonight, you could hardly stand up straight without your ribs aching. Still, you smiled through it.

“You’re quiet,” Aelin said lazily from the bath. She lounged in the scented water, eyes half-lidded, golden with firelight. “Too tired to tease me?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, your Majesty.”

Rowan snorted.

Aelin frowned slightly. “You didn’t correct me. Usually by now, I’ve been scolded twice.”

You looked up briefly and forced a small smile. “Maybe I'm being merciful.” 

She narrowed her eyes at you but thankfully didn’t press. 

When she stepped from the bath, you were ready for her robe. You helped dry her off in silence, but not the uncomfortable kind. Your shoulder twinged sharply when you moved to brush out her hair, and you had to swallow a gasp.

Rowan saw it. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes lingered a little too long, and you felt the weight of his attention even as he crossed to the table.

Aelin, still facing the mirror, caught your reflection behind hers. “You staying tonight?”

You hesitated, just for a moment. But it was enough.

“Not tonight,” you said as carefully as you could. I'm tired. And I have to help the kitchen staff early.”

Aelin turned, robe tied loosely around her waist. “You're always up early, and that's never stopped you before.”

Rowan folded his muscular arms tightly across his chest. “She's lying.” 

You shot him a fierce look. “I'm not.”

“Yes, you are,” he said calmly, stepping closer. “You've been lying since you came back from the market.

“Stop.”

Aelin stepped in then, her hand soft on your arm, the wrong arm. You flinched before you could stop it, breath catching.

Aelin’s brows lifted, but Rowan’s expression didn’t change, and the room dropped ten degrees.

“You’re hurt,” Aelin said softly.

“I’m not,” you whispered, stepping away from her. “I swear. It’s nothing–”

“Don’t lie to us.” Rowan's voice was low and dangerous. “You think we wouldn’t notice?”

You backed up a step, too fast, too sharp, and pain flared in your side. You winced, biting your lip.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you said, eyes wide now. “Please. Please just let it go.”

“You come back, flinching in pain and expect us to sit quietly?” Aelin asked with concern etched on her beautiful face. “Talk to us.”

You shook your head. “I can’t. I-If I tell you, you’ll–.” You stopped.

You couldn't finish. Aelin stepped forward. Rowan didn’t move, but you could feel his presence, steady and coiled. 

“Did someone hurt you?” she asked quietly.

“I can’t,” you repeated, voice cracking, facade fading away.

Rowan’s voice was near your ear now. “Tell me who–”

“Stop–”

“We’ll hand it. We always do–”

“Stop!” you snapped, voice rising. And then you flinched.

Your body twists, trying to shield your side. But the motion was too fast. White-hot pain ripped through your ribs and shoulder. A ragged sound tore from your throat, not a scream, but close, a strangled cry.

You dropped to your knees, one hand pressed to your ribs, the other bracing on the cold stone floor. Breathing turned shallow. Panic surged.

Both of them were on you instantly. Aelin dropped beside you, handshoering but not touching. Rowan crouched close, his voice suddenly gentle.

“Where?”

You shook your head.

“I'm going to touch your side. Just to check,” he said with all the patience in the world.

“No! Don’t–please–”

You were shaking so violently that it was causing more pain to shoot down your side.

“I can’t,” you whispered. “I can’t say it.”

You couldn’t breathe, which was the worst pain of all. It was everything and completely overwhelming to the point that the air refused to reach your lungs. You were gasping, but nothing came. No air and no words as your throat locked up. 

Everything was spinning.

Rowan’s voice cut through it, firm but low. “Hey–Hey, look at me. Look at me, love.”

You barely heard him. Aelin’s hand hovered near your face, her voice steadier than it should have been. “You’re okay. You’re here. No one’s going to hurt you.”

But the fear was louder. You tried to speak, to say sorry, to explain, to lie again, but your body shook violently, and nothing came but a slight, desperate sound. You flinched when Roan reached for your side again, a protective curl overtaking your spine.

Your vision was going black at the edges.

Then, the door slammed open. “What’s going on?” Fenrys demanded.

His voice was sharp and unguarded for once. 

He didn’t wait for permission. He crossed the room in two steps, crouched low beside Rowan, his eyes taking over your form like a prying predator assessing the damage.

“She’s panicking,” Aelin snapped, trying to keep her tone soft, but her panic was there, too.

“I know,” Fenrys said tightly,” I can feel it. I saw her earlier. I knew something was wrong.” 

Rowan touched your face, cupping it gently between both hands. “You’re safe. Breathe with me. Just breathe.”

You were trying. But panic clawed at your chest, your ribs burning from the effort.

“It hurts,” you choked. “It hurts–I can’t–breathe–”

Aelin’s palm found yours. “Then don’t talk. Just listen to us.”

“Here.” Rowan moved behind you, gently, so gently, and sat down with you between his legs, his chest pressed to your back, his arms a cage around you. “Lean into me. I’ve got you.” 

You were still trembling, but his warmth helped ease the sensation. Then he took a deep breath and, using his magic, forced crisp, chilled air into your lungs. His steady heartbeat against your spine, his breath brushing your ear. His hands, large and callused, rubbed soothing circles over your uninjured arm. 

“Well done, love,” he encouraged, continuing to help you breathe.

Aelin moved in front of you, crouching low. Her expression had softened, still fierce, still glowing with silent rage, but now focused on you as nothing else mattered.

“Darling,” she said softly. “What happened to you?”

You shook your head, tears tracking down your cheeks. You couldn’t.

Rowan didn't push; he just held you tighter, supplying you with fresh air. 

But Fenrys watched you, and he knew.

He looked at your body, where you clutched your ribs, where your shoulder sagged too low. He looked at your ashen face, open and terrified. 

And his expression changed.

Something cold settled over him. His posture straightened. His eyes went flat and deathly.

“Who touched her?” he asked quietly, not even looking at Aelin or Rowan.

Having calmed down enough from the panic attack, you were exhausted, physically and emotionally, so that you couldn’t stop the word from slipping past your lips. 

“Halron.”

Rowan went very still behind you. Aelin didn’t move either, her face unreadable, her eyes suddenly like chipped glass. Fenrys let out a breath.

“I’ll get a healer,” he said softly.

“No one but Yrene,” Aelin snapped.

“She’s not in the castle.”

“Then someone she trained. I don't care who, but if they don't have golden hands, I’ll gut them at the door.” 

Fenrys didn’t argue. He only met your eyes, his softening just slightly.

“I’ll fix it,” he promised. And then he was gone.

You stayed cradled against Rowan, barely aware of the minutes passing. His hands never left you. Neither did Aelin.

She brushed sweat-damp hair from your brow, her voice softer than the silk you kept folded in her wardrobe.

“You should have told us.”

“I couldn’t,” you whispered. “He said he knew about my family. He threatened them. He knew such specific details, I had no choice but to believe him.”

Her lips pressed into a tight line, but she didn't explode. She didn't roar, break glass, or summon fire. 

Instead, she reached forward and pressed her forehead to yours.

“You’re ours,” she whispered. “And no one hurts what's ours.”

Rowan hummed in agreement behind you, a low sound of quiet, brutal promise. You were safe now. And someone would pay for what had been done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn’t remember falling asleep. But you woke to soft voices, the scent of lavender, and a pair of cool, careful fingers pressing just below your ribs.

Your body jolted, but you were held gently in place, Rowan’s hands anchoring your hips.

“It’s alright,” Aelin's voice reassured beside you, her fingers brushing over your forehead. “You’re safe.” 

The healer, young, quiet with golden embroidery along her sleeves, didn’t meet your eyes. She was respectful, professional, and had been carefully chosen by Fenrys from the list of those Yrene had personally trained. 

“She’s bruised, not broken,” the healer said gently, her hands glowing faintly as she passed them over your ribs. “Deep bruising here, shoulder strain. Pulled, but not dislocated.”

Rowan’s jaw clenched. You could feel it in the way his hands curled around the blanket.” Pain level?” the healer asked you, voice soft and calming.

You hesitated. “Seven.”

Rowan made a sound, quiet, low and furious.

She said, bruised,” Aelin said under her breath, but her tone was tight. “Not impaled.” 

You almost laughed, but it hurt to breathe deeply, so you didn’t.  

Soon, the healer had wrapped your ribs in special bandaging and placed a warming pouch across your shoulder. You were fading quickly from exhaustion, as your body ached in ways you hadn't experienced before. 

As you eventually attempted to sit up, Rowan stopped you, “You’re not sleeping in your quarters tonight.”

“But I–”

“No.” Rowan’s one word left no room for argument. 

“You’ll stay here,” Aelin added, fluffing the pillows behind you and pulling the blanket up higher. “With us, end of discussion.”

“I don't want to be a burden,” you admitted with a whisper.

Aelin’s eyes flashed. “You’re not.”

Rowan shifted closer to the bed, one hand brushing your uninjured arm. “We’ll breathe easier with you here.”

You nodded, throat tight.

There was a knock at the door. Fenrys slipped in without waiting for permission.

“They're in the dungeons,” he informed Aelin and Rowan. “Halron and both his men. We caught them trying to slip downriver.”

Rowan’s body coiled.

“They’ll live long enough to answer for what they did,” Fenrys added, gaze flicking to you. “But they’re done. You’re safe.” 

You managed a small smile. “Thank you.”

Fenrys gave you a short note, nothing more, but it held the weight of loyalty. He didn't stay long after that. There was a quiet understanding in the room now. Halron could wait. For now, you were what mattered. 

Later that night, Rowan lifted you gently into the centre of the bed, his movements careful, his hands never leaving yours. Aelin crawled in beside you, wrapping herself around your uninjured side like a shield. 

They didn't press. Didn't touch you with hunger or demand, only with comfort. 

Rowan’s hand cupped the back of your neck. Aelin’s lips brushed your temple. “You’re not alone anymore,” she whispered. “You never were. We’ll always keep you safe.” 

And with both of them at your side, one heartbeat steady against your back, the other warm and soft against your front, you finally allowed yourself to drift off, safe and surrounded. 

~~~~~~~

It had been four days since they returned from the dungeons. You hadn’t asked. You hadn’t needed to.

Aelin and Rowan had vanished that morning with no explanation and returned just before dinner. Blood-soaked and silent, eyes hard and satisfied. They hadn’t tried to hide it from you. Aelin had kissed your temple before bathing, still streaked in crimson. Rowan had cradled your face in his blood-stained hands and said, “They will never hurt you again.” 

You had been at a loss for words and were only able to nod. And everyone, from courtier to guard, had seen the blood. Seen your lovers returned, marked and triumphant, having made an example. 

The court learned quickly, hurt the Queen's maid, and they bled. 

Now, four days later, you were losing your fucking mind.

Your ribs still ached faintly, and your shoulder was stiff, but you could move. You could breathe. And yet they insisted on rest.

You were tired of resting.

So when you found the sitting room scattered with books and scrolls, you took your chance, tidying, straightening, ignoring the little voice in your head that warned you not to stretch too far.

You were halfway through refolding a blanket when the door creaked open behind you.

You froze. Then slowly, very slowly, turned around.

Rowan stood in the doorway. Arms crossed. Brows raised.

Aelin stepped in behind him and surveyed the scene.

Her lips quirked. “Oh no.”

You offered a sheepish smile. “I was bored.”

Rowan didn’t speak. He just strode forward, scooped you up effortlessly, and sat down on the chaise with you draped across his lap like a misbehaving kitten.

“I'm fine,” you said, muffled by the arm he tucked your head beneath his chin. 

“You were told to rest.”

“I have been resting–”

Aelin dropped into the cushions beside him, dragging her legs across both of yours. “Don’t lie to us, darling. You’ve been plotting your escape since yesterday.”

“She alphabetised your personal library last night when we weren’t looking,” Rowan added.

You blinked up at him. “You noticed?”

“His eyes narrowed. “The books are not in author order anymore; it looks ridiculous.”

“Yes, but now you can easily find which books you’re looking for–”

Aelin laughed, rich and warm, and leaned in to brush your lips with hers. “You’re such a menace.”

“You flushed, grinning. “Can’t help it.”

Rowan’s hand slid slowly along your thigh, grounding you. “And what happens when you push yourself too soon?”

You sighed, “I get lectured.”

Aelin nipped your bottom lip gently with her sharpened canines. “You get punished.”

That made your breath hitch.

Rowan smirked, just faintly, the dark tattoos etched across his face shifting with the movement. “Do you want to be punished, sweet thing?”

You swallowed. “I…”

“You want to be touched,” Aelin said, lips now brushing the shell of your ear. “You’ve been aching for it.”

“I didn’t want to rush you,” you admitted softly.

“You’re not rushing us,” Rowan said, his voice low and gravel-soft. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Aelin slid off the couch and knelt between your legs. Her fingers skimmed up your arm as she looked up at you with a wicked grin, “And now you’ve been bad.” 

“Very bad,” Rowan agreed, tugging your dress slowly up your thighs. “Disobeying orders and putting stress on bruised ribs.”

You whimpered as Aelin pressed a kiss to your knee, moving higher. “Can we? We’ll make sure to be careful,” she asked, eyes suddenly softer, her hand brushing the bandages at your side.

You nod quickly. Rowan adjusted your body in his lap, cradling your back, “You tell us to stop, and we stop. Immediately.”

“I trust you,” you breathed.

This was all they needed.

Aelin was playful first, always was. She lifted your dress in slow, deliberate folds until your thighs were bare to the cool air. Her fingers traced teasing paths, skipping over where you wanted her most.

Rowan didn’t rush either.

He turned your ace to his and kissed you deeply, not demanding, not rough, just claiming. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek as he kissed you like you were made of silk.

You whined softly as Aelin’s mouth pressed to the inside of your thigh.

“Such a needy thing,” she whispered, smiling against your skin. “Always pretending you don’t like being looked after.”

“Brat,”  Rowan muttered, but fondly. He flung one arm around your waist to support you, and the other moved lower, sliding between your legs.

You gasped, soft and instinctive as his fingers stroked your already soaked core through your undergarments.

“You’re dripping,” he growled, voice tight with restraint. “You like being scolded, don’t you?”

Aelin chuckled. “She likes it when you growl at her. Don’t you, love?”

You mewled as she kissed over your hipbone. “Yes.”

Rowan pulled your panites down slowly, dragging them along your thighs, and passed them to Aelin with a smirk. “Trophy,” she said, tucking the lacy material into the cleavage of her dress.

Then her mouth was on you. And all self-control shattered.

Her tongue was sinful. Licking you slowly, starting lower and rising, caressing your clit in pressured circles that had your hips rolling, chasing more friction.

Rowan kissed your temple, holding you close and whispering praises into your skin. “So good, our perfect girl.”

“She tastes better every time,” Aelin said between strokes, voice thick with pleasure.

Rowan let one hand slide to your breast, kneading carefully, never pressing where the bruises still lingered. “Ours,” he whispered again. “You remember that, don’t you?”

You nodded desperately, hips arching into Aelin’s mouth. She moaned into you, and the sound broke you.

Your orgasm hit fast, white-hot and dizzying. You clutched Rowan’s tunic, cried out Aelin’s name and let the wave crash over you with no shame.

They didn’t stop.

Rowan lifted you into his arms, carried you carefully to the bed, and laid you down like you were glass. 

Aelin stripped out of her dress and crawled in beside you, kissing your throat. 

“Ready for more?” she asked, eyes gleaming and wild.

“Please.”

Rowan undressed wth unhurried precision, and when he knelt between your legs, cock hard and throbbing, you swore you’d never seen anything more beautiful.

He pressed a hand between your thighs again, slicking you up once more. “You’ll take me slow.”

You nodded, happy to do anything that came out of his mouth.

His first push still stole the air from your lungs. He moved gently, lowering himself and entering you inch by inch, careful to keep his weight off your ribs, one hand stroking your cheek, the other tangled with Aelins as she held you from behind. 

“You’re everything,” Rowan groaned, beginning to thrust. “Every gods-damned part of you belongs to us.” 

“Say it,” Aelin encouraged, her mouth against your shoulder. “Say who you belong to.”

“You,” you gasped, arching your back, thighs tightening around Rowan's hips. “Both of you. I’m yours.” 

“Good girl,” they said together.

Rowan didn’t change the pace, no matter how much you begged or tried to roll your hips.

“Please,” you cried out, nails digging into the tattoos covering his back. “Faster, harder–”

“No, he demanded, voice dark but tender. “You're still healing. I won't hurt you.” 

His thrusts stayed steady, slow and deep. Hitting all the right places, dragging it out, making you feel every inch of him. His restraint was maddening, beautiful. And then Aelin’s fingers flipped between your thighs again, circling your clit in tight, expert circles.

“Don’t pout,” she purred against your throat. “We’ll give you everything. Just like this.”

The pleasure hit so fast that you sobbed.

Rowan hissed through his teeth as your walls clenched around him, his control finally snapping as he groaned and thrust deep one last time, filling you with a low, broken growl of your name.

You barely had time to breathe before Aelin slid down between your thighs. “Let me taste,” she whispered, her eyes molten. 

You whined, overstimulated, but she didn't wait.

She spread your legs gently, kissed your inner thigh and devoured you. Tongue flicking over where Rowan had just been, fingers curling deep as she worked you to your third orgasm. Your cries were helpless, trembling under her mouth.

And just when you thought you couldn’t take any more–

Rowan moved behind her, pushing her gently onto her elbows, spreading her knees as he dropped to the floor behind her.

His tongue met her soaked cunt at the same time your orgasm crested again. 

Rowan licked Aelin with slow strokes of his tongue, all whilst Aelin moaned into your clit, her fingers pumping inside you, her lips tasting your shared pleasure. 

She was relentless, to the point that when your final orgasm hit, you were boneless, collapsing into the bed.

They curled around you afterwards like they were made for it, Rowan tucking you to his chest, Aelin curled behind you, arm slung over your waist. Her face pressed to your neck. 

“I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” Aelin whispered, brushing her finger over your collarbone.

“You’re safe,” Rowan reiterated tenderly, his lips to your temple. “Forever. With us.”

Your heart pounds as your door clicks shut at your back.  

They’ve been alluding to this for a while…

Heat flushes your skin as you slip out from your dormitory, equal parts excitement and anticipation thrumming in the pit of your stomach as you head out into the night. Seeking the High Lord and Lady of this Court. 

————

“What do you think?” 

Heat flushes your cheeks as you shift on your feet, half turning to see yourself in the mirror, observing the dark-cherry lace clinging to your hips and breasts. A pink so dark it might be red.

Your fingers dip to the lacy band of the underwear, running over the trimming, hands trailing up over your stomach, exploring how the material fits to the curve of your breasts. Your throat rolls, and you turn, meeting the hungry pairs of eyes licking up every detail of your body. “Do you…like it?” 

“Why do you think we picked it out for you?” Rhysand asks, a low drawl in his voice that has you anxious to crawl into his lap already. Curious to know how it will feel, to be on top of him while he’s inside of you. How good it might feel, compared to the press of a tongue, or the curl of fingers. 

Teeth push into the inside of your lower lip. “So…you do like it?” 

A breath of amusement leaves Feyre’s chest and instantly your eyes are on her, curious, desperate for her approval; her appetite. She takes a measured sip from her glass of wine—a near match to the shade you’re currently wearing for them—before setting it down on the wooden table. “Will you turn for us, sweetness?” 

Nerves flutter between your legs, but you take care to keep your balance as you spin, slowly, in place. 

Feyre hums, reclining into the rouge fabric of the sofa opposite the crackling fireplace. With age her eyes have become more grey than blue, laugh lines at their edges and curves either side her mouth. Her light brown hair cascades down to her waist, thick and luscious as it’s ever been except now with a bold streak of grey running through the front. An indigo dress wraps her figure, matching the shade she’s painted her lips with, and your cunt tightens around nothing as you imagine waking up tomorrow with her dark lipstick marring your thighs and throat. How easy it would be to keep them to yourself, or peer into the mirror and recall the memories of the previous night. 

Feyre’s mouth tugs upward, eyes glinting as heat runs wild beneath your skin, shifting so your thighs brush, anxious to gain some friction as a huff of amusement breathes from her lips. “Careful with slipping away from us like that,” she drawls, shifting on the sofa, recrossing her long legs, indigo fabric fluttering around her ankles. “You never know what we’ll come up with to put inside your pretty head.” 

Your throat rolls. 

‘Pretty,’ she’d said. 

“Come over here, sweetness,” Feyre beckons, “you’re too good to resist, dressed like that, but we’ve one more step planned for you.” You follow obediently, anxious to please them in whatever way you can, but Feyre clicks her tongue and you pause. She’s reaching for something on the table, but she raises a brow, as if disapproving of your behaviour. You blink, peering at her as your fingers wring together. 

“Sometimes I think you forget we’re your rulers, sweetness,” Feyre drawls, and needful arousal liquefies between your thighs, desperate for a rule to follow, to prove just how good you’ll be. 

Rhysand’s long fingers thread through his wife’s hair, wrapping that beautiful streak of grey between his knuckles as he guides locks over her shoulder. “What your High Lady is saying,” he drawls, violet flicking over to you, “is crawl.” 

Oh. 

Relief washes down your spine, and you wonder if it shows as you settle to your knees, making your way across the patterned rug cushioning your knees against the hardwood floorboards. Dark mauve lips sharpen at their corners, and a sigh nearly slips from your lungs. 

“To Rhys this time,” the High Lady instructs, and you obey without question, coming to a pause between Rhysand’s long legs, settling into a kneeling position. He leans forward, and you lift your chin, inclining into his touch as his fingers slide beneath your jaw, thumb swiping below the curve of your lip. “What colour do you think we should give you?” He murmurs, voice as soft and intimate as a lover’s. 

“Whatever colour you like,” you answer mindlessly, peering into the galaxies in his eyes, flecked with starlight. He hums, then darkness is guiding your hands into his, firm and calloused beneath your own, and your insides flutter as he pulls you into his lap, thighs spreading over his hips and pleasure turns molten as you settle your full weight over him, your centre aligned with him. 

You’re excited. 

You’re impatient. 

You want to feel him. 

“Over here, sweet girl,” Feyre calls, summoning your attention. In one of her hands is a palette, in the other, a small but sharp, squarish brush. Your hips shift subconsciously over Rhysand’s lap, and your breathing stutters as his broad palms squeeze your waist, admiring the curve of your spine with his fingers. 

Your High Lady swipes the brush through a dark pigment that’s only a few shades darker than the cherry tone of the lace. She doesn’t have to issue a single command for you to lean forward, inclining your chin to rest on the tips of her fingers as she begins brushing the pigment to your lips, cold against the heat of your mouth but quick to dry and set. 

“Keep still,” Feyre drawls, dragging the flat of the brush over your lower lip. A whine slips free, and your fingers curl around the silver buckle of Rhys’ belt, needing something to do with your hands to keep from touching her. She’s giving you her undivided attention, and unbearable heat is simmering within your body.

You want her sat on top of you again. How she did a few nights ago. 

“There you go,” Feyre murmurs, eyes sweeping across your now painted mouth. “So pretty.” 

“Mommy…” you beg. Soft breaths pant from your lungs, and you’re not even sure what you’re begging for. Just that you need her. Need them. Need to feel them. 

Her dark lips tug upwards, grey-blue eyes sparkling with hunger. “What do you want us to do to you, sweet girl?” 

Ruin me. 

Her eyes twinkle, and you wonder if she might have somehow heard. 

“What I want…” you repeat, breathless. “I… I want both of you… please…” Rhysand chuckles and the sound melts over your pussy, arousal surely wetting the lace with slick. His hands squeeze your waist, bringing your attention to his wicked, violet eyes. “I don’t think you’d be able to handle both of us at the same time,” he murmurs, dark amusement glittering in his gaze. Feyre huffs a laugh at that, leaning forward to brush hair over your shoulder, her fingers snagging on the cherry strap, tipping it down over your arm.

 “Greedy thing,” Feyre whispers to you, and heat flushes your skin and you might cry if they don’t touch more of you. Your hips shift, rubbing your centre over the steadily growing erection beneath you. 

“I…can I…” you try, but the more you glance between them the more difficult it is to choose. 

Rhysand chuckles, laced with dark amusement as he looks over to his wife. “Maybe we should help. We don’t want to overwork that mind of hers.” 

Feyre smirks, raising a brow, “what do you suggest?” 

The High Lord’s expression had been wicked, and then you’d been lifted from his lap and bent over the arm of the sofa. Soft pants had turned to whimpers as Feyre had shifted along with you, reclining into a pile of pillows as her dress pooled around her waist, legs curving at the knee to spread apart, guiding your head to her cunt so she can watch. Rhysand settles behind you, fingers running up and down the sopping lace, and you whimper as his breath grazes your inner thighs. 

Feyre’s fingers slide into your hair, winding it between her digits to keep out of your face as your arms curve beneath her legs, one of your hands splaying across the top of her thigh while the other spreads across her abdomen, needfully toying with the band of black lace preventing you from fully getting your mouth on her.

“Mommy…” you whimper, leaning forward so your lips are pressed against the apex of her thighs, adding a pressure to her clit in the hopes she’ll allow you to taste her. She hums her amusement, and Rhysand pushes his middle and forth finger against your clothed entrance, a startled moan breathing free as you shift your hips, tiptoes barely balancing upon the floor. The High Lord chuckles, before handling your thighs so they’re leveraged atop his shoulders, pushing you further against your High Lady’s cunt. 

“Want my underwear gone?” Feyre muses, guiding her hair out of the way with her free hand, inadvertently tugging on your own and pleasure drips from your cunt. You try to nod, and she laughs, inclining her hips to gently rub against the pressure of your mouth. You shiver. “What about how generous Rhys is being? Touching you while you have me, since you’re so greedy?” 

You jolt as the heat of the High Lord’s mouth settles behind you, thumb idly stroking your clit while his tongue saturates the dark cherry lace. Your toes curl, anticipation tingling in your lower belly—already you want him to be standing behind you, holding your legs aloft as he pounds into your drooling cunt, forcing you to take every thick inch of him while his wife is stroking her fingers through your hair. 

Rhysand pulls your underwear to one side, and your breath catches, waiting with bated breath. 

Your High Lady hums, disapproving, and gently tugs on your hair, hips bucking to draw your attention back where it belongs. “Getting distracted already, sweet girl? He’s not even inside of you yet.” She hums, parting her thighs a little wider, “maybe it’s too soon for you to be taking his cock. Should we put it off for another night?” 

You whine, fingers stroking back and forth across her abdomen, brushing the roots of the coarse hair flourishing between her legs. She’ll taste divine, once you’re permitted to fully set your mouth on her. 

Already you can scent her arousal—heady and dizzying, like an aphrodisiac. 

You don’t want it to be put off for another night. 

You want to ride him tonight. At least feel his cock inside of you in some manner. 

“Please…” you mumble, peering up at her, playing with the black lace. “I want…I want to taste you again…” Feyre laughs, eyes twinkling with pleasure, crinkling at their edges. Her lips smile, skin wrinkling around her dimples, and you’ll cry if she doesn’t give in soon. “Three months ago you would never have said something so dirty,” she muses, fingers stroking through your hair, pulling a whimper from your throat. Rhysand’s tongue licks up your bare centre, and you attempt to shift against him—to no avail. 

“Will you beg for me, yet?” Your High Lady wonders. She hardly seems rushed. Her heavy scent of arousal isn’t aligning with the nonchalance of her actions. Surely she must be just as hungry as you…so why insist on playing? 

“Please…” you whisper, “please…”

She raises a brow. 

“Mommy…” 

Her nails scrape teasingly through your hair, your eyes rolling with pleasure. Dark lips sharpen at their corners, and the High Lord’s hands grip your hips, pulling you back to him while your High Lady stretches her legs in the air, balancing her heels on the sofa as she pulls the lace up over her thighs, down over the curve of her knees. Her fingers have already returned to your hair, pulling you to her cunt while her husband effortlessly slides the black underwear over her heels, discarding them on the sofa’s arm before offering the same service to you, though not in completion, only slipping the cherry lace down to your thighs rather than all the way free. 

Slick arousal slides across your mouth, tongue splitting upwards between the lips of her labia, centring on her clit with small, soft licks. Feyre moans, once more gathering your hair between her fingers to keep it from your face, her free hand dipping between her thighs so her digits can spread herself apart, hips inclining to smear arousal across your face, eager to mark her territory. 

At your back, Rhysand latches his mouth over your heat, thumb oscillating atop your clit, the circles swift and soft from the slick dripping down your centre. Whines build in your chest, and you lick slowly up her cunt, suctioning her clit between your lips, stroking your fingers across her thigh and stomach while the High Lord shifts his grip on you. His mouth removes itself from your cunt, and you’re on the verge of whimpering when he spreads you apart with his own fingers, lubricating the length of his digits before gently working his way inside. 

Feyre releases a soft, wanton noise, low and gravel-like as it’s dragged from her throat. “That’s it,” she whispers, laying back atop the pillows, hair splayed over her shoulders, curving around the soft weight of her breasts. Fingers scratch through your hair, and you squeeze around Rhysand’s fingers. “A little firmer…” she breathes. 

You obey, legs shaking as the High Lord’s fingers gently push and prod in rhythmic waves, your tongue flattening over your High Lady’s sex, licking upward through her centre, once, twice… She moans, hips rubbing up against your mouth, keeping herself spread apart but you love the feminine scratch of coarse hair against your skin. 

A whine slips from your lips as the High Lord continues to work on you while Feyre’s fingers soothe through your hair, your tongue licking and lapping over her. Kissing her clit, suctioning it between your lips, circling the very tip of your tongue around her before returning to her entrance, nose touched to the slight underside of her clit.

“You’re doing so well…” She whispers, eyes fluttering, on the verge of sliding shut. “Just like that…” 

Her chest heaves, sucking in a slow breath, hips undulating against your mouth. A series of short, stuttering gasps leave her throat, and her cunt pulses beneath your tongue. 

You almost whine, knowing it’s nearly over, pressing flush to her cunt as the orgasm releases through her body, licking eagerly at whatever parts of her you cat get your mouth on. 

Once her high has faded to dusk, your High Lady takes some time to ease her breaths, soothing her hot cunt with your tongue, teasingly flicking her hardened clit until she’s softly retaliating by holding your face to her cunt and closing her legs, heels dragging up and over your back until she’s deemed you properly chastised. 

“Are you excited, sweet girl?” Feyre asks as her husband eases your feet to the ground, helping you up from where he’d had you bent over the sofa, pulling your underwear up as he goes, allowing the bands to snap back against your hips. Maybe soon he’ll be bending you over more furniture, but those next times he’ll be using his cock instead of his fingers. 

Heat warms your cheeks, arousal simmering between your legs as anticipation gathers, anxious to finally feel what he’s like.

“Yes, mommy…” It draws a breathless laugh from her, gathering herself from the sofa and getting to her feet, unclipping her bra as she goes so she’s only left in her black heels and dark mauve lip stain. “Let’s take you to our bedroom then.”

You blink. Most of your explicit activities have either happened here—in this dark alcove of their lounge—or their…kitchen, the first place they’d ever touched you. This is the first time you’ll be sharing their bed. 

Rhysand doesn’t give you much of a chance to process, once again taking you by the hips, and lifting you over his shoulder, effortlessly taking you with him as the two make their way to their bedroom. 

You wriggle lightly, half from anticipation and half to revel in the strength he possesses to put you over his shoulder. You get what you deserve when a hard spank is landed across your behind, making your thighs press together. 

“Why your bedroom, all of a sudden?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steady as Rhysand runs his fingers over your clothed sex, as if soothing the damage. “‘All of a sudden’?” The High Lord drawls, hand rubbing across your hind, perhaps considering landing a second spank to your sore skin. 

“We’ve never…You’ve never taken me there before.” You point out, eyes straying now to the backs of Feyre’s thighs, the full curve of her calves as they climb the stairs. You wet your lips, tasting the remnants of her arousal. 

“This is a special occasion, isn’t it?” Feyre replies, making you shiver as she skates her fingers teasingly up the back of your thigh. 

Your pulse spikes as you’re taken into their bedroom, warmly lit with yellow-tinted faelights, linear groupings of them floating around the upper canopy of their large bed. Rhysand pauses at the foot of the mattress and Feyre walks round to his front, two sets of hands clasping your waist. Anticipation simmers in your belly, but your breath hitches as your High Lady hooks her finger beneath the slick gusset or your underwear, pulling it aside. Her breath ghosts across your cunt and your toes curl, keeping so carefully still, praying she’ll do something to you. 

A huff of her amusement brushes your inner thigh and you can perfectly picture the smirk on her mouth before she drags the tip of her tongue through your centre, Rhysand settling his palm on the small of your back, keeping you steady. 

“I can taste how excited you are…” Feyre murmurs, and your thighs try to rub together. She presses a kiss to your sopping pussy, and you whimper. “Mommy…please… Please, please, please…” 

Feyre hums, her amusement clear.

Hands squeeze your waist as you’re ever so gently slid down your High Lord’s front, until your feet are touching the carpeted floor. Feyre presses close to your back, her arms wrapping your waist while your hands find place in the crook of Rhysand’s elbows, his own palms cupping your cheeks. Violet eyes peer down on you, his wife’s head tilting to lean against your own, her fingers ticklishly splayed across your abdomen. 

“Are you sure about this?” Rhysand asks, watching intently. 

You nod, squeezing him. “I’m sure.” 

It’s more like you’re begging than acquiescing.

His thumb brushes across your cheek, and something separate from arousal warms in your stomach. Soft and buttery, hot and molten as it shimmers beneath your skin. 

“If you want to stop, you’ll tell us?” It’s supposed to be a question, but from his mouth there’s no mistaking the command. You tilt your head, leaning into his touch, “I said I’m sure.” 

Feyre nips at your lobe, hand sliding between your legs and cupping your heat. You flush, about to start begging again but Rhysand commands your attention, shifting your head in his hands. “You’ll tell us.” He repeats, firmly. 

A hint of bashfulness peeks her way through the arousal flooding your mind, relaxing beneath his touch. “I’ll tell you,” you murmur, squeezing him again. 

Rhysand’s lips tug upwards at their corners, not a full smile, but enough approval to have any doubts dissipating. He leans down, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your mouth. “Good girl.” 

A lazy smile curls your lips, entirely relinquishing yourself to them as your hands settle over his, and you watch his eyes mark the difference in size. Feel the evidence of what it does to him as you offer that blissed out look, “yes daddy.” 

Feyre tries to muffle her wine-rich laugh, running her fingers over your sex in reward as Rhysand tightens his grip on your jaw, violet eyes glittering as he inclines your head to meet his gaze. “You’re going to be well fucked by the end of tonight,” he growls. 

Teeth bite on the interior of your lower lip as he manages to step back from you, removing his clothes while Feyre unclasps your bra, turning you around so she can rid you of your underwear. She settles on the floor, sliding one lacy band over the curve of your knee as she guides your foot into the air, allowing your fingers to slip into her open palm for balance. She places a kiss to the inside of your thigh, her pale eyes filled with hunger and adoration. 

You want to feel her presence when you have him. 

Want both of them near. 

The High Lord has settled himself on the bed, back propped up against cushions and the headboard, a hand squeezing his cock, thumb rubbing in minute circles over the slit in his tip, precum still managing to slip out, drizzling down his underside. That’s going to be inside of you.

Violet eyes glitter, patting the mattress to his side, inviting his wife to accompany. 

Feyre’s lips tug upwards, her hand splaying across your lower back as she gently pushes you forward. You need no extra encouragement, climbing onto the bed as soon as you’re able, lifting your knee to land the far side of his hips, straddling his lap, palms resting on his shoulders. Teeth prod into your lower lip as you look down your front, peering at his cock, the hand wrapped around it, pumping slowly. Tiding him over as he waits these last few moments. 

Your High Lady settles on the bed, leaning her head on his shoulder. Both Rhysand’s hands settle on your hips, one of Feyre’s stroking against your waist, and your heart pounds. Anticipation, excitement, lust. 

“Ready, sweetheart?” Rhysand muses, thumbs swiping across your skin. He shifts his hips, the head of his cock nudging against your clit and you shudder, cunt tightening around nothing. Yet. 

You nod, desperate. “Please- hurry up…” 

The High Lord lifts a brow and Feyre laughs. You flush. Why are they laughing? You just want to take him inside… To ride him… Why won’t they let you already? 

“Did Feyre take away your manners along with your clothes?” Rhysand drawls, and your lower lip curves—stop dragging it out. 

“Ask nicely, sweet girl,” Feyre prompts, squeezing your waist. 

“Please Mommy…” you beg. “Please Daddy…” 

Your arms begin to shake, fingers trailing down Rhys’ chest, down to his stomach. Fingers trembling as you’re held just atop him. 

The High Lord’s lips curve, “that’s better.” His grip on you loosens. “Go slowly,” he instructs,  then gently, “don’t hurt yourself.” 

You shift, breath catching as the tip of his cock slots between your thighs, pressing to the wet dip between your legs. You swallow then try to lower yourself, spreading your knees a little further the deeper he gets. A whine slips from your lips when something hurts, but Rhysand guides you back up, pulling out before letting you try again. You tilt the angle of your hips a little, and this time there’s no pinching pain—just sweet, fulfilling pressure. 

The breath is pushed from your lungs as you slide down—not entirely able to sit in his lap yet, but you’re full, and they’ve made it clear you’re not experienced enough to be able to safely push for more. 

Still…

Teeth push at your lower lip, settling a little more weight over him. 

Your breath catches when a twinge of pain needles deep inside of you, and Rhysand clicks his tongue, pulling you up by a full inch—much further than you need to go—and you whimper. 

“What did we say, sweet girl?” Feyre muses, her hand vacating your waist to stroke across your leg, rubbing in wide circles, occasionally dipping to your inner thigh. “This is your first time. We need to be careful until we know how much you can take.” 

“But I want to sit down…” 

“No,” she soothes, “you’ll hurt yourself.” 

Your shoulders slope, but it makes sense. 

And a small part of you likes that they’re looking out for you. 

“Lift up, sweetheart,” Feyre instructs, and you obey, allowing her to slide a plush pillow atop Rhys’ thighs. “How’s that? Better?” 

You try it, and your eyes flutter when you hit your limit, perfectly supported by the cushion. 

Your head is swimming, heat simmering beneath your skin, hips shifting of their own accord. 

Feyre smiles. “Mhmm? Feeling good now?” 

“…Yes- Mommy…” Your eyes are fluttering, unable to keep them fully open. Pleasure wrapping your senses, turning you blind to everything aside from the gentle pressure of his cock filling you up. 

Feyre hums a laugh, hands moving to your breasts, swiping her thumbs across your nipples. “Our sweet little virgin. So sensitive.” A whimper slips free from your throat—you know it’s affectionate, but a part of you likes that slightly diminutive tone. 

“I’m sat on top of him…” you pant, “it doesn’t…count anymore.” 

It’s Rhysand’s turn to chuckle, shifting you on his lap, knocking the breath from your lungs with such a small movement. Hot, rough palms grip your waist, lifting you so he can kiss your mouth. “The rule is, sweetheart, you only lose your virginity once you get an orgasm from it,” he drawls, violet eyes latches intently with your own set as he slides you back down, memorising the pleasure that glazes your irises. His cock twitches. 

“Struggling, sweetheart?” 

A pathetic noise sounds in your throat, but you can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed. It’s too much. How are you supposed to move in a state like this? 

The High Lord looks to his wife and they share a knowing glance, lips curving, eyes twinkling. 

Feyre moves, and all the strength melts from your body as she swings her knee over Rhys’ legs, her front pressing flush to your back, fine-boned fingers delicately sprawling across your lower tummy, her breath tickling your ear. “Want some help, sweet girl?” 

All you manage is a vague nod, spine arching as she cups your breasts, your head falling back onto her shoulder as her hips press against your own, encouraging movement. Between Rhysand’s hot palms and Feyre’s guiding pressure, you begin to find your rhythm. Slow, at first, leisurely and tentative. 

Feyre pinches your nipples, plucking them to pull noises from you. “You’re doing so well,” she whispers, dipping her head to press a kiss to your neck. “And this is your first time? You’re a natural sweet girl.” 

“…Mommy…Mommy—!” One hand has slipped between your thighs, the pad of her finger settling atop your clit, offering slow, tender circles. You whine, and whimper, squirming from sensitivity. 

It’s too much.

“That’s it—you’re taking me so well,” Rhysand praises, and your eyes nearly roll with pleasure, lashes fluttering. “Can you feel me inside of her?” He asks his wife.

“Hmmm? Let’s see…” 

Feyre’s palm splays across your lower abdomen and your nipples tighten, cunt pulsing with arousal at the way they touch you. So freely—touching with the knowledge you want them to touch you. 

“Lift up a little, sweet girl. Can you do that for me?” 

You can’t even muster up a reply anymore, and it’s mostly the two of them that manage to have you raising a few inches on your knees, a breath of Feyre’s laughter ghosting down your front. “There you are…—you should take a look for yourself, sweet thing,” Feyre goads, and you hardly manage to lift your head from her shoulder before one of Rhysand’s hands is vacating your waist to feel where Feyre is, applying further pressure to your abdomen as you sink back down those few inches. 

It pulls a laugh from him—low, rough, and strained as he feels how deep his cock is inside of you. 

“Come on darling girl,” Feyre whispers, “you want to make daddy feel good don’t you? Move with me. You can do it.” Your High Lady takes a hold of you, helping you rise up and down, moving with you, and every drop is a wave of pleasure on its own, a tingling tension pooling between your thighs, pressure building so swiftly you know it will soon need release. 

Rhysand groans, his palm still resting flat against your abdomen, pushing in to better feel the silhouette of him as you sink down. Your lungs are trembling, breath stuttering with every fall, adding a rocking motion with Feyre’s help that has him touching new parts inside of you—parts you like too much, that are hurrying you, and you’re not prepared to tip over that edge. 

“Good girl,” Rhysand grits out, hand returning to your hips, adding a rougher force as he handles you to his pleasure. “Good fucking girl.” 

Tears prick in your eyes, mouth parting as loud moans break from your chest, pleasure filling your body up from the inside, like a balloon filled to the brim with air pressure finally granted release. Feyre keeps you moving, keeps making it so the head of Rhys’ cock is rubbing against that lovely spot that has you pulsing around him rhythmically, each hit of his cock sending a shockwave of sweet tension ticking through your body, thighs shaking. 

The orgasm crescendos, pleasure fluttering around your insides, and your mouth drops open as Rhysand’s brows furrow, his eyes sliding shut, arms loosening their grip as his head leans back against the headboard, release flooding your cunt. 

Feyre’s laughter is sweet and sultry, circling your clit as she presses tender kisses to the sensitive length of your throat. Heat is flushing your skin, and you jolt with every passing swipe of your High Lady’s finger, body overstimulated from so much attention. 

Rhysand’s fingers thread through your hair, and you’re being dragged to his mouth, his hot lips slanting across your own, and shivers run down your spine as your breasts are pressed flush to his chest, Feyre following close behind as she latches onto your neck, nipping at the skin as she strokes along the curve of your hips. 

‘Think you’ll be able to go another round, sweet girl?’ Feyre muses, squeezing your waist.

A whimper slides free from your throat, feeling the twitch of Rhysand’s cock as he hears his wife’s suggestion. His grip falls to your shoulders, and Feyre’s pulling you back to lean against her, giving you time to breathe. 

You want to. 

You want to go again so badly. 

But you’re already so worn out.

You flush, nerves wriggling beneath your skin. “…tomorrow…?” 

It’s presumptuous for you to be the one arranging dates, but…if it’s already gone this far…

Feyre kisses the crown of your head, Rhysand’s palms settling flat against your naked waist. 

You shift in his lap—you only managed one round, and now you’re about ready to turn in for the night. 

“Tomorrow,” Feyre agrees, stroking your arms. 

“We’ll see how you feel,” Rhys adds on, drawing your attention. The corners of his mouth flicker with a smile, and your tummy flutters. “Make sure you aren’t sore after tonight. We wouldn’t want our darling girl in any discomfort.” 

Feyre nips at the lobe of your ear, tugging gently. “The bath’s ready for you. Head next door and relax for a bit.” 

She kisses a spot just below your jaw, “Rhys and I will be through shortly to give you some care.”

~~~~

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