joonlonelyheartsclub - Tumblr blog

joonlonelyheartsclub · 2 years

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how many | jjk | 0

Pairing: Jungkook x TattooArtist!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut, BadBoy!AU

Summary: To Jeon Jungkook, you're just the cutie who sits across from him in art class. He doesn’t have a clue that you're also the hidden face of his favorite tattoo artist on social media. When the bad boy notices you've taken a surprising interest in his ink, he dares you to explore every inch of his body until all of his tattoos are accounted for. Tempted by his irresistible smile and delicate touch, you might even let him in on your little secret.

Word Count: 3.2k

Parts: 0 ◆ 1 ◆ 2 ◆ 3 ◆ 4 ◆ 5 ◆ 6

A/N: hello! this is going to feel more like a series of drabbles with an overarching plot rather than a traditional series. also please note that only certain chapters will contain smut (ill mark the ones that do). this particular chapter has no smut

Art class isn’t supposed to be scary, but that doesn’t stop you from taking the furthest possible seat from where all the chatty people are getting acquainted before the new semester officially begins. Maybe you fucked up. Maybe you should’ve picked a seat closer to all those extroverts, and maybe you would’ve naturally fallen into their circle. Or not. You wouldn’t blame them.

You decide you’re fine right where you are. It gives you the space you need to ensure no one else sees the internal chaos reflected in the whites of your eyes whenever it comes to social interactions. You’re the opposite of a social butterfly, and it’s at times like this when you wonder how the fuck some like you has such a huge social media following—503,448 followers to be exact. It’s not your personality (you’re too much of an introvert for anyone to really get to know you). It’s not your face (you haven’t posted a single photo of yourself on your account). So it has to be your art.

And although you’re a lover of all different art forms, your true love lies with ink on skin. It’s a bit unexpected for someone like you, a soft girl with not a single drop of ink on her own arms. But regardless of your unassuming appearance and quiet nature, you’ve won over countless people who proudly wear your art on their skin. That’s the business you built for yourself from nothing more than a passion you’d always kept close to your heart.

So maybe you should stop worrying so much about making good first impressions. Your art will break the ice for you.

“Is this seat open?” A finger with a fine crown etched into it points at the spot across from you. Your eyes follow a long sleeve of eyeballs, text, and rock ’n’ roll up to a handsome face with too many piercings to count. He fits the description of someone you’d only heard rumors about but never saw in the flesh. Tatts and piercings? Check. Man bun? Check. Hot as fuck?

You take a quick glance at the boy as a whole. Some of his features are surprisingly soft. His eyes are enormous, his nose is adorable, and his lips are the prettiest pink you’ve ever seen—1775 C in Pantone if you had to guess. He even smells nice. Fuck. Definitely hot as fuck but also lowkey cute.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you say while trying to get your heart rate under control. He nods and pulls his earbuds out as he takes a seat. He uses his phone screen to check his reflection, making more of an effort to rub a speck of who-knows-what off his lip than to make small talk with you. This person is someone who clearly doesn’t give a fuck where he sits, and it’s sad that you’re envious of that.

“Hey, nice tatts, bro,” another guy calls out as he passes by your new neighbor.

“Thanks,” he calls back. It isn’t long before he’s back to his phone. You wonder if he’s too absorbed in his own reflection to hear the girls talking about him at the other table.

“I told you we should’ve sat over there.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“That’s Jeon Jungkook, isn’t it?”

Aha. Jeon Jungkook. That name rings a bell. You whip out your phone and search him up. It only takes a few seconds to find that his Instagram @ArtOfKooking has quite a following too. You scroll through his most recent posts but find none of this “art” that he speaks of in his handle aside from what’s visible on his arm. Imagine having 100k followers just for being an attractive human.

Your mindless scrolling comes to an abrupt stop at a black and white photo from a few months back. He weaves his fingers through his long locks with a killer gaze. You take back what you said about the lack of art on his page. It turns out the boy himself is a work of art and he knows it.

You suddenly remember why you’d avoided searching Jungkook up when your friend Seokjin first mentioned him to you a while back. The last thing you wanted was to fall victim to a pretty face with excellent taste in body art—a deadly combination and one of your biggest weaknesses. But it’s already too late. Your thumb double-taps the photo to trigger the little heart animation.

Wait.

You study his profile again and identify a bigger problem than your tiny crush on a boy who’s probably going to get you into a lot of trouble. Jungkook follows your tattoo account, which means he’s going to get a big fat notification that you liked his photo from months ago, which means you must’ve been scrolling through his posts for some time, which means you’re clearly intrigued by him, which means you’re actually fucked.

Thank god your professor finally starts the class. You need some sort of distraction from the first-world problem you currently find yourself in with the fine specimen sitting across from you.

“Let’s start with an exercise with the person sitting across from you.” You already hate this professor. “To get better acquainted with your classmates, I want you to draw whatever your partner requests in your own style. The request can be as specific or vague as you want. Oh, and no dick pics or boobs, please. I was told to keep the first day as clean as possible.”

With the assignment underway, you and Jungkook both pull out your sketchbooks. Yours looks practically new despite being halfway filled. His looks like a dinosaur stepped on it with more than a few pages falling out. Without saying a word, he slides his sketchbook over to you, inviting you to snoop around inside his world and waiting for an invitation of his own. Your sketchbook is too heavy to slide across the table, so he watches patiently as you push your sketchbook to him inch by inch until he picks it up with a silent chuckle. Great, he already thinks your weird.

The physical state of his sketchbook is deceptively sloppy. There are probably more torn-out pages than actual drawings, but you have to admit you like what you find. His style is a tad chaotic yet somehow in good taste. You can easily picture these designs somewhere on his body, and perhaps they already are.

Your favorite detail is that everything is in ink.

“You’re incredible,” he says, flipping through your pages. “You’re like those YouTubers who draw soda bottles and shit as if it's sitting on the page in real life. You know what I mean?”

“Thanks,” you nod. The compliment is oddly specific and not exactly your niche or platform, but you do get what he means. You have a knack for replicating what you see. If you were to copy a barcode line by line, it’d probably fool the scanner. That’s the level of precision in your work.

“Ah, I got it.” He twirls his pen around. “Can you draw my arm drawing whatever you want me to draw?”

“Sure.” Of course Jeon Jungkook wants you to draw him. Sounds on-brand for someone who is quite possibly in love with himself. But maybe you can use that trait of his to your advantage. “I want you to draw your next tattoo.”

You see his eyes shift from your art to your face. He studies you for a moment. If you had to guess, he probably doesn’t believe someone like you is actually interested in his tattoos. After all, most tattoo enthusiasts are identified by the ink they proudly wear on their sleeves. Meanwhile, your version of a sleeve is cozy, knitted, oversized, and void of any ink.

“What if I drew one for you instead?” He places the pen down on the blank page in front of him and stretches his arms up toward the ceiling. The upper section of his sleeve peeks out from his black tee. It's even more intense than his forearm. “I’m kind of over the thrill of injecting ink into my veins.”

“Oh…” That’s most definitely not the response you were expecting. Maybe you shouldn’t have assumed that someone with a lot of tattoos wouldn’t mind one more. How dare you make such a bold assumption. You'll never open your mouth again.

“I’d much rather taint someone else,” he hums. His tone is light but his eyes are dark as they pierce the air between you and him. You’d really like to see him try.

“Art can be tainted by people, but people can’t be tainted by art,” you respond. As introverted as you are, you gain a sense of comfort to speak your mind when it comes to an art form that has defined your life thus far. “Unless they have a tattoo of their ex. Then I guess they’re kind of fucked.”

“Truer words have never been spoken. I knew I liked you.” Oh. His nose crinkles and his laugh is much softer than expected. He picks up his pen and starts drawing heavy smooth lines. “I was just fucking with you, by the way. You can never have too many tattoos, right?”

You nod as if you also have a full sleeve of eyeballs and rock ’n’ roll. That’s when you notice he’s drawing in your sketchbook as if what’s yours is his. Whether intentional or not on his end, you don’t really want to swap back.

“I don’t think the professor intended for us to draw in each other’s sketchbook,” you point out as you follow his lead and start marking up the next blank page in the Jurassic artifact. You outline the positions of Jungkook’s arm, your sketchbook, and the top of his sketchbook from your perspective.

“I like it better this way,” he says. His lines are starting to come together, but you still have no idea what it’s supposed to be. You just have to trust the process. “It’ll give me something to remember you by.”

“You make it sound like I’m going to be dead by sunrise.” You try not to look at the smile that forms on his face when you say that. Instead, you focus on the details in his tattoos and transfer them onto your page. Some of the tattoos match the style found in his sketchbook, and it’s not a coincidence. “How many of your tattoos are your own design?”

Jungkook puts a pause on his drawing to examine his arm and run some calculations in his head. His answer isn’t a number. “I lost track, but maybe you can count them for me.”

He gives you a better look at all the art on his arm. He’s practically asking for your attention, and a part of you hates that you’re so quick to give it. Your innocent soul diligently counts all of the ones you assume to be in Jungkook’s style. You count around five. But then it hits you. You don’t know how many other tattoos are beneath his clothes and where they might be hiding.

“How many others are hidden?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Let me know when you’ve found them all.”

It takes you a minute to wrap your innocent head around what he’s implying. You imagine he might have one on his ribs—that’s the most attractive spot you’ve come across as a tattoo artist. But in what scenario are you going to find a shirtless Jeon Jungkook in front of you? Clients strip down for you all the time in the name of art, but it’s not like Jungkook is aware of your inking business. So the only way you’d ever thoroughly explore his bare body is if—

Your mouth forms a tiny O, but no words come out. In fact, you find it pretty hard to do anything at the moment, so you just watch as the boy continues on with his mysterious design. He definitely knows what he’s drawing, and yet you can’t seem to crack the code.

“You’re fun to tease, Y/N,” Jungkook says, nonchalantly flipping your sketchbook back to the inside cover to make sure he got your name right. Of course you’re That Girl with your name written in fancy font on your fucking sketchbook. And of course he’s going to tease you about every quirky thing you do. “I really hope you aren’t dead by sunrise.”

“Unlikely.” You realize you’ve regained your ability to function properly and point to his work in progress. “But if I am, promise me you’ll get that tattooed on your forehead where everyone can see it.”

“It’s a promise.” He plays along with your dry humor before getting back to work with a cute smile. Wholesome smiles always seem to hit different when they’re coming from the people you least expect.

At some point, Jungkook waits for you to finish drawing his arm so that the two of you can complete his design at the same time. He claims his design is only a few strokes away from the big reveal, but you’re still not seeing it.

As class comes to a close, your page is filled with a beautiful arm, two sketchbooks, and a design that’s apparently “only a few strokes away.” Jungkook takes you line by line until you see it. Very clearly, in fact. It’s a bunny with a tiny carrot tattoo, and it’s been staring you in the face the entire time. The boy drew it upside-down from his perspective so that it’d be right-side up for you. You’re thoroughly impressed.

“Is this tattoo for you or for me?” you ask. While the bunny might definitely be on-brand with Jungkook’s art style, it’s not quite as edgy as his other tattoos.

“Does it get your stamp of approval?” He closes your sketchbook and hands it back to you.

“Of course it does.” You try not to smile too much at the fact that Jungkook’s adorable design is forever inked into your sketchbook. “I love it,” you say as quietly as possible.

“Then it's all yours.” He whips out a black marker and gestures for your hand. You give it to him without question. The hand that holds yours is rough (in that he should probably invest in some higher quality lotion) and gentle (in that you never want him to let go). The subtle caresses engulfing your hand distract you from the marker gliding across your skin. Twenty seconds later, you have a simplified version of the bunny on the back of your hand.

You flail your hand about and blow on it in hopes that the ink will dry before it can smug. “If you ever get your license, this is the one I want,” you say.

“Sounds like a plan.” He takes one last look at your completed drawing and tucks it away safely into his bag. For someone with such a beaten-up sketchbook, you expected him to be a bit more careless with his belongings. But maybe he’s a little different from what you thought you knew about him.

In fact, it’s thanks to this boy that your first day in art class went as well as it did. You made him laugh, and he made you smile. Like everything just felt right between you and him.

You feel like you’re forgetting something though.

“Hey, by the way, do you have an IG for your art that I can follow?” Jungkook pulls out his phone because why wouldn’t you have an account to showcase all of your art? You blink at him because here’s your next mistake: Your only Instagram account @snowsleeve is the one for your tattoo business, the one where your identity is more or less kept out of the spotlight. And you never thought to make a separate account with all of your non-tattoo art under your real name.

“I actually don’t… but it’d probably be beneficial for me to make one.” You’re embarrassed that this is your reality. You’ve utilized social media to build a strong reputation for your business, and yet you totally failed to get your real name out there in the art community. Because perhaps someday, you won’t want to be known solely for your tattoos.

“Well, make one and add me,” he says. “I’ll be your first follower.”

“What’s your account?” Of course you’ve already tracked him down at @ArtOfKooking with your subpar sleuthing skills, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“It’s @jjkINK.” He pulls the account up for you to view. All of the art missing from his other account can be found here, and his face is nowhere in sight. Maybe having multiple accounts is more common than you thought.

“Wow, 30,000 followers? I didn’t know I was in the presence of an influencer,” you gasp and make it extra dramatic. After all, 30,000 is a big following for someone who isn’t a celebrity or well-known figure.

“I’m not an influencer.” He laughs and waves off your dramatic performance. “I’m just someone who shares his art with others. It’s really not that impressive, you know.”

“Well I’m impressed,” you say. And you mean it. You find it interesting how he doesn’t just dump all of his art into his @ArtOfKooking account with over three times as many followers. You imagine it’d be pretty tempting to do that for the sake of more exposure.

Once you’ve set up an alternate account under your real name with @Y/NsArtCorner, you hit the follow button on Jungkook’s art page and leave it at that. A few seconds later, you get a follow back from @ArtOfKooking.

“Oh, that’s my main account,” he explains. “I don’t post any art on that one, so you don’t really have to follow—”

You hit the follow button on that account too. “104,343 followers... Are you sure you aren’t an influencer?”

“I haven’t influenced anyone to do anything, for your information.” You feel like there should’ve been a hmph at the end of his sentence. He points to the bunny on your hand and says, “Well, except for you getting that rad tattoo.”

“Hey, don’t go thinking your bad boy self is a bad influence on me,” you say, holding your wrist close to your heart. “I’m totally not against the encouragement of getting something permanent branded into your skin.” You play it off as sarcasm, but that’s how you make bank.

“Would you really get one?” His eyes lock onto your body, identifying it as the perfect blank canvas for whatever he’s imagining.

“How do you know I don’t already have one?” You raise an eyebrow and cross your arms, still careful not to smudge the precious ink on your hand.

Jungkook tilts his head and squints as if he’s trying to see through the knitted holes of your slouchy sweater. As far as he can see, you don’t have any. But maybe that’s the point. Any tattoo you may or may not have would have to be hidden somewhere on your bare skin beneath your sweater, your lingerie, and most importantly, your soft smile. And the thought of that puts a curious little gleam in the boy’s eyes.

“Wait, how many do you have…?” He needs answers.

You throw your bag over your shoulder and shrug on the way out of the classroom. “Let me know when you’ve found them all.”

5K notes · View notes

joonlonelyheartsclub · 2 years

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BODYGUARD - JJK

↬ description: when you’re stuck in a near-death situation, your high school crush, now your bodyguard, begins to regret ever rejecting you 5 years ago.

pairing — jungkook x female reader

genre — fluff, smut, angst

rating — 18+

word count — 2.6k

warnings/tags — bodyguard!au, bodyguard!jk, idol!reader, softdom!jk, sub!reader, unrequited love, explicit smut, rejection, a little pining, active shooter situation, mentions of guns, mentions of death, death threats, attempted murder, jk regrets a lot, making out, teasing, foreplay, fingering, finger sucking, choking, dirty talk, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, ladies & gents), indirect confession, mentions of body worship, love-making, gets a bit fluffy near the end

If you had known Jeon Jungkook would be filling in the role as your bodyguard, you would’ve never gone through with it.

Your first love, Jeon Jungkook.

Your crush on him back in high school was a pretty big one. So big, your whole year group knew about it, and that meant Jungkook knew as well. You assumed he wouldn’t care, but in fact he did.

He cared enough to tell you the feelings weren’t mutual.

Since then, you avoided him for the remainder of the year before going off to university. You couldn’t bring yourself to be in his presence after that, and you were lucky to have not bumped into him during that time.

Here you are now, 23 years old, world-renowned artist, squeezed into a limo and forced to sit in between Jungkook and his associate. You were on your way back from what you thought was nothing more than a red carpet event, but it was far from it.

Multiple rumours were circulating that there was an attacker present at the event you attended earlier today, threatening to fire a gun at you, and in all honesty, you weren’t too phased since these ‘threats’ were always empty.

“You can never be too cautious, Y/N,” Jungkook scolds you, equipping his wires under his bulletproof vest beneath his dress shirt and fixing his in-ears. Your carelessness was something he hated, and the fact that you didn’t care much about the threat only proved his point further.

“Jungkook, it’s really not that deep. Almost a hundred people have sent me death threats, and here I am, standing in front of you, alive and well,” you say, your arms out by your side to show him that really, you were perfectly fine.

You were minding your own business, flashing a smile at all the cameras in front of you, pulling different poses, when the piercing sound of what you failed to fear most, sounded across the venue.

Any normal person would make a run for it, which is what everyone did, except for you. You were stuck in a state of shock, standing on the red carpet and watching everyone panic.

If it wasn’t for Jungkook, you’d be 100% dead by now. With his quick thinking and fast reflexes, he was able to join you on the carpet, grabbing tightly at your wrist and dragging you away from the scene to somewhere more safe.

He was muttering a bunch of code into his earpiece, something along the lines of you being escorted out through the back of the venue.

And that brings you here, in the car whilst Jungkook’s associate went on about extra precautionary measures.

“We’ve prepared a safe house for you both to stay in indefinitely.”

Safe house?

Mentions of the safe house certainly woke you up. “You mean, locking us up in a house with no outside contact, and no fresh air? Do we at least get internet?”

Jungkook stayed silent, knowing he had no choice but to abide since it was his job.

“Miss L/N, we can’t take any risks. We’ve had to cut off the internet in the safe-house in case the perpetrator tracks it back to your personal devices. We’ve upped our cyber security, but we just can’t risk the shooter getting to you.”

It all sounded like too much. It sounded suffocating.

“Besides, you’ll have Mr Jeon joining you on your stay. You guys have history, no? It shouldn’t be too bad.”

Your body went stiff.

You and Jungkook had gone two years without high school being mentioned and this was probably the worst time to think about him rejecting you 5 years ago.

Neither of you said a word after that, silently driving to the safe-house and when you got there, Jungkook escorted you inside, following behind you and closing the door.

Much to your surprise, all of your belongings were stuffed in a suitcase by the front door.

At least you saved time on packing.

The safe house wasn’t too bad, it looked like an average family home. The curtains were forced shut, restricting any possible line of sight into the house. There were certain places marked ‘x’ on the floor, indicating the spots you weren’t allowed to stand on.

“You should probably get out of that dress, I can’t imagine how uncomfortable it is,” you hear Jungkook’s voice behind you as he grabs your suitcases. He was right, the black Vera Wang dress you were forced to wear was extremely tight fitting, almost suffocating, but you couldn’t deny, it did the job of showing off your best assets.

“What? You think I don’t look good?” you prompt, trying to sound offended but it was all in good humour.

Jungkook scoffed and pushed past you to go upstairs and into your assigned room. “I already said you looked good earlier, what more do you want from me?”

You follow behind him and throw yourself onto the bed with a sigh. You don’t respond straight away, tempted to go with ‘your love,’ but instead you opt for something else. “I don’t know? Anything? It’s not everyday you get shot at.”

Jungkook’s eyes softened at your words. He felt pity for you. You were nothing more than a pure soul that didn’t deserve any of this shit and yet there were people out there trying to get you. How would you ever recover from this?

“That door by the corner leads into my room. If you need anything from me during the night, just knock and I’ll be happy to assist, but aside from that, join me downstairs if you wish to have company tonight.”

With that, Jungkook leaves you to change. You sit up on the bed, eyes wandering around the unfamiliar room as tonight’s events slowly started to sink in.

You didn’t want to be alone tonight. What if someone tried to kidnap you?

Or kill you?

You shook your head of your incessant thoughts, making quick moves to change out of your evening dress and into something more comfortable; a pair of black leggings and a crème blouse.

Back downstairs, Jungkook was carrying out last minute security checks around the house, ensuring every door and window was locked. He put on some slow music in hopes it would help distract you from everything that happened tonight and when your ears first picked up on it, you couldn’t help but smile.

Once everything was deemed safe, Jungkook fell back on the couch, eyes closing and mind running 100 miles per minute.

What if you did get shot today?

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself after that. His life was flashing before his eyes, mind running back to high school when you both first met. Things were easier back then. These days you were forced to stick by his side just for a visit to the local cafe.

His train of thoughts came to a stop the moment you walked into the room with a hopeful smile on your face.

“Dance with me?”

Jungkook would normally refuse such a request, wanting to keep things professional, but if this was your way of coping, then he’d do it a hundred times over for you.

“Just this once, Miss L/N”

You turn up the music on the bluetooth speaker, humming along to the song as Jungkook makes his way over to you, his hands starting to sweat profusely.

As he got closer to you, you could feel the heat radiating off his body, and you were certain your request had made him uncomfortable, but you didn’t back down. Once he was close enough to you, you grabbed his hands, setting them on your hips to which Jungkook gladly pulled your body closer to his.

You were surprised by his forwardness and laughed softly, “I know you’re not the dancing type, but I just need something..” you mumble, holding his hand out to the side and resting your chin on his shoulder. Jungkook stayed silently, paying extra attention to the beat of the song and swaying both your bodies in time to the music.

You couldn’t tell if you were doing this because you needed to ‘cope,’ or if you still had feelings for him, but the fact that he wasn’t stopping you, gave you the green light.

“This is nice..” you whisper, to which Jungkook hummed in agreement. Everything felt so peaceful; both of you lost in your own worlds, ignoring whoever the hell was after you.

After a few minutes of mindless swaying, Jungkook pulled away from you with a soft smile on his face. You looked so beautiful; bare-faced and glowing under the dim light of the room. His eyes were seeping into you, and you looked so clueless you couldn’t do anything but clear your throat awkwardly.

“What?”

He needed to do this. He went 5 years lying to himself about his feelings for you. Now would be the right time to change that.

Jungkook’s eyes flickered down to your lips, and without second-guessing himself, his lips were moulding perfectly with yours.

At first you froze, just like you did on the red carpet, but once it hit you that this was Jeon Jungkook kissing you, you gladly returned the kiss, your hands moving down to grip onto his biceps as he held you tightly in his arms.

You took a few steps forward, forcing him to take a few steps back until he fell back onto the couch. The sight in front of him was to die for; you towering over him with utmost desire in your eyes.

“Have I ever told you how attracted I am to you?” He asks breathlessly, staring up at your form with a small smirk on his lips.

Jungkook was sprawled out on the couch, almost as if he was offering you his lap, which you couldn’t turn down. You set yourself on top of him, your hands creeping up to brush through his dark hair as your hips simultaneously rolled against him, eliciting a quiet groan to fall from his lips.

“Forced myself to keep my mouth shut all these years,” he seethes, gripping your hips and guiding your clothed cunt over his growing erection. It sounded like he was mad at himself, but who were you to stop him? He missed out on you, if anything, he deserved some hard hitting self-realisation.

“Had to watch all these men fawn over you for the last two years. I fucking hated it.”

You whimper at his words, your hands moving to grip onto his shoulders for more stability. By now your poor cunt was pulsating between your legs, desperate for something other than childish grinding, and it seemed that Jungkook took notice, his hands pulling your leggings down half way so he could dip his index and middle finger into your soaking heat.

“There she is,” he teases, pushing his fingers deeper inside of you and wallowing at the way your walls would greedily squeeze around his digits. Your pussy was salivating around him and the sheer embarrassment on your face completely gave you away.

“Can’t imagine how you’d react with my cock buried deep inside you, huh?” Neither could you. You’d probably lose yourself on his cock, and the idea seemed quite enjoyable.

You couldn’t even sit up right, finding yourself burying your face into the crook of his neck as his digits stretched you out. Never in a million years did you think you’d be in this situation with your highschool crush, and now that it was finally happening, you had no clue how to act.

“Come on, Y/N.. tell me how much you love me,” Jungkook taunts you, licking over his bottom lip and pulling his fingers out of you, all covered in your arousal. He grabs ahold of your jaw and forces your mouth open before stuffing his coated digits into your mouth, completely catching you off-guard.

“I said tell me how much you love me.”

Your lips act on its own accord, immediately wrapping around his fingers as you stare at him like a lost puppy.

“I’m not gonna cum on my own, so make it quick,” he grips your jaw harder, urging you to go on.

“Mmf— I love you—!” you cry out, words all muffled and incoherent, but Jungkook let you off, retracting his hands away to fiddle with the belt of his black dress pants, pulling them down along with his boxers

Even though he was satisfied with your response, you still continued, “So, so much!”

You blabbered on about how you never got over him, you went to sleep every night creating fake scenarios about him, and spent your more ‘intimate’ moments thinking about him. You did that far too much to the point where you couldn’t even cum without thinking of him.

You hadn’t even noticed that Jungkook had his cock standing tall and hard beneath you, magically slipping into your tight cunt which so happily took him in, your walls wrapping around him perfectly.

The stretch was undeniably painful, but you knew you could handle it, whimpering softly when you felt him lift his hips up into you.

“Pretty girl with such a pretty pussy, hm?” Jungkook’s eyes danced down to where his body met yours, almost cumming on the spot just from the sight of his cock splitting you open.

You couldn’t handle such compliments, such praise, unable to respond to him, but the way your body was taking him so well was enough to let him know that you were enjoying yourself.

“Fuck— this isn’t doing it for me,” Jungkook had given you enough time to get used to his size and his current pace, so he decided to completely take over, lifting you up and shifting your position; now you were on the couch whilst he was still stuffed between your legs.

The position was far more extravagant, allowing him to bunch your knees up your chest, watching them press against your clothed tits as he mercilessly fucked into you at an ungodly pace.

“We could be stuck here for days, weeks, even months,” he starts, digging his nails into the plush skin of your thighs, “I’m gonna spend every minute of everyday with you, making love to you, worshipping your body the way I should’ve done 5 years ago.”

Your heart was running laps, butterflies forming in the pit of your stomach and your pussy fluttering after every word.

The more he went on, the closer you were to cumming all over him. “Come on pretty baby, I can feel you clenching around me, you don’t need to ask for permission,” Jungkook coos, softly rubbing his thumb against your cheek without disrupting the movement of his hips as his orgasm neared closer to yours.

And before you knew it, your body was breaking down beneath him, your orgasm washing over your body like a herd as a string of curses oh-so-effortlessly fell from your lips.

“Shit—” Jungkook joined you down under, his hips finally coming to a slow stutter as he drained his thick load inside of you, watching the way hints of white would spill out onto the sofa beneath you.

“Aw, you made such a mess,” he pouts, pulling out and replacing his cock with his fingers, stuffing the excess cum back into your sensitive, gaping hole. He let out an airy chuckle, jerking himself off a couple times to get himself up and running again and you couldn’t tell if he was being serious.

“Jungkook—?”

“You know I’m nowhere near finished with you, right?”

please do not repost my works onto any platforms.

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joonlonelyheartsclub · 2 years

Text

most undesirable || (M)

Spring has sprung and engagement is on the forefront of all of Regency London's young ladies' minds. All except for yours, of course– the Queen's niece who a certain notorious author has named the Ton's most undesirable.

pairing: lord!jungkook x lady!reader

word count: 5k

genre: BRIDGERTON AU, regency era, angst, eventual smut

warnings: cocaine usage (not oc or jk), oc has dead parents

A/N: this fic was commissioned by the lovely Baby. As per her request, it features me and our beloved izzy! please do let me know if you would like a part two, i have big plans for whats to come next ;)

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PART ONE **UNEDITED**

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A word of profanity left your painted lips as the outsoles of your lace-up boots danced across the limestone floor of the palace, making haste but not in a manner that was unbecoming, your head held high despite your mood running low.

You reached the door of Her Majesty's room with purpose, hands fiddling with the satin of your dress to make sure it covered your shoes. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate the influx of garments your dear aunt had gifted you upon your arrival. Still, the heels Her Majesty had deemed in style this season were particularly uncomfortable. She would no doubt grow sour to see you parading in countryside shoes in her home.

"Your highness." One of the oldest guards snickered, his eyes flicking towards you knowingly as he and another guard moved to open the grand doors to their Queen's private quarters.

You crunched your nose, "Shh."

Of course, the guards had already read the paper… Rotten gossips.

Willing a smile onto your face, you were let into the room. Your aunt sat at her sofa, the furniture floral in design, its fabric dyed a luxurious red. Between her hands were the source of your dismay, the newest Lady Whistledown papers fresh off the press.

You hadn't had the pleasure of reading this week's issue personally, but word traveled outrageously fast in the palace; both maids and guards suckers for a good scandal. You knew quite intimately the matter of its content as you were the matter of its content.

"Ah. Niece. There you are.” The Queen called you over, setting the paper down beside her unceremoniously.

You walked closer stiffly, "Aunt Charlotte, you wished to speak to me?"

"You know I adore you, don't you? You're like a breath of fresh air in this miserably dull palace."

Your once tense shoulders relaxed instantly, taking comfort in knowing she hadn't called you in for a scolding.

"It is you that lights up every room you enter, your Majesty." You bowed your head slightly, knowing well that flattery was your best line of defense should the tides change against you.

"I do, don't I?" She agreed with a grin, before it fell off her face suddenly. "Sorry– whatever were we talking about?"

"Um–"

"Ah, yes! Well, there's no point mincing words. I'm sure you've seen it by now. I mean, can you believe it? That sorrowful sow Whistledown attempting to soil the reputation of my bloodline with such a frivolous title as… as…" She snapped her fingers, forgetting the word she was looking for.

The sound echoed throughout her enormous chambers, currently barren as your aunt was in the process of renovating.

"Ice Princess." You reminded her quietly. She tutted her tongue in recognition.

"How tactless, how tasteless! It is me who sets reputations. Not her. No, no, this simply won't do."

You watched in silence as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Remind me, darling. Why weren't you at the Danbury Ball?"

You shifted, thinking back on the excuse you had given her, "I was… ill."

It was a lie, of course. You had been feeling quite well actually when notice of the ball came 'round. But could anyone fault you? Ballrooms and gowns weren't exactly your area of expertise.

Growing up, your mother and your aunt couldn't be more different; you often heard stories of the two sisters butting heads from your grandfather. One sister went on to marry the king of England, the other a humble traveling merchant. One stood throne in England; the other lived simply in France's countryside. Despite their differences, it was no secret that your aunt loved her older sister dearly, writing to her often in hopes of convincing her to come move to England. When she learned that your mother was with child, she even went as far as to purchase land for her sister and soon to be niece.

But your mother was every bit as stubborn as she was kind. She loved her husband and the life she had built with him, staying by his side until she passed last year. Your poor father was grief-stricken; by eight months, the stress on his heart had become too much, dying nearly a year after your mother.

It was your aunt who had reached out first, offering her deepest condolences and, far more noticeably, all the money you could ever need and your very own suite in the palace.

You weren't exactly sure why you had agreed to such a lucrative proposal. You, much like your mother, adored the countryside and the small town you grew up in. And perhaps that was why you agreed, not to move in, but instead to visit. She was family, after all, something you didn't have very much of left, though you have since come to know of a cousin Friedrich, recently married to an Edwina Sharma that your aunt raved on and on about.

In the week you had been here, you had come to know far more about British aristocracy than you ever wished to know, entirely out of your element amidst the corsets and personal maids. Only recently had you managed to lower your number of attending maids to two, a far cry from the original seven you were greeted with.

You did your best to fit in, but you were no fool. You knew nothing of soireés– or how to dance for that matter, so the moment your aunt spoke of a ball, you knew you had to conjure up some excuse as to why you woefully must decline.

"Exactly! For heaven's sake, you were ill. How dare Whistledown suggest otherwise." She gestured at the staff in the room as though they were her audience.

The sound of the Queen's chamber doors being thrown stole the attention of everyone in the room. Unsurprising to you, two young maids barreling in, tripping on each other.

"S-Sorry, Your Majesty!" The blonde stuttered out.

The brunette nodded in agreement, "Our apologies, Your Majesty. We didn't know where her highness had gone–"

"–We came running as soon as we realized she had snuck off."

Isabella and Roselia. Of course. Your two personal maids. You had only just managed to shake them from your trail when you heard the news that the Queen had sent for you. You should have figured they'd inevitably catch up with you.

They were pleasant enough company, the duo were quite funny, actually, but the constant shadowing was something you learned you rather detested. You understood they were under strict orders by the Queen to ensure your every need was attended to but still… surely even nobility understood the concept of wanting to have a moment alone?

"Oh— Are we interrupting something?" Roselia's cheeks went pink, eyes running over the room as she took note of the Queen's pursed mouth. "We'll just… we can wait outside actually."

"Outside, right! We'll be just outside." Isabella chimed in, heading bowing as the brunette maid yanked her back and out of the room.

"Sorry for the intrusion!"

You stifled a snicker, watching as the young maids slipped back out of the Queen's chambers, shutting the grand doors as they went. Your aunt merely rolled her eyes at the bumbling maids.

Suddenly, her Majesty sniffed, and it was as if a switch had been flipped. All her maids ran towards her, offering handkerchiefs as if their life depended on it. You nearly laughed at such a ridiculous display of servitude, but seeing as you had spent well over a week in the palace, you had become accustomed to such theatrics.

"Whistledown is right about one thing, you know." Queen Charlotte said as her nose was blotted at. "Everyone needs to meet you. And meet you they shall."

In surprise, you pulled your eyes from the doting maids, "They shall?"

"Certainly. We shall have a ball. Here in the palace, of course."

You felt your stomach plummet into your leather-bound boots, your aunt's words echoing.

"All of London's marriage-minded ladies and lords are to be invited. We'll show Whistledown just how splendid you are. Oh! How glorious if you were to find a suitor! That certainly would put to rest that frozen title once and for all."

Just faintly, you could make out the sound of white noise buzzing, mixing with the words the Queen spoke. Anxiety flooded you, deafening your brain's attempts to self-soothe and rationalize that this wasn't the catastrophe you felt it was.

"Aunt Charlotte," you tried to swallow, but your mouth felt stripped of all moisture, "I… I'm not sure if that is wise–"

But it was as if she hadn't heard you, rambling on as if you hadn't objected, "I'll be arranging for etiquette and dance lessons since my beloved sister undoubtedly failed to do the same for you. Are you free this afternoon, darling?"

You stood for a moment, no doubt looking foolish as you struggled to get your words out, "I… I suppose I am…"

"Dear, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Are you feeling well?" The Queen cocked her head at you, eyes sizing you up with concern.

"I… I am not feeling my best." You admitted.

"That's the second time now. Growing up in the countryside— all that sun and dirt— it's made you weak of constitution. Hm. Very well. We'll wait until you're feeling better. In the meantime, I will begin planning!"

You averted your eyes politely as she bent over suddenly, inhaling a white powder off her tea tray through a nostril. She sat up with an exhale, eyes fluttering open with a smile.

"Oh, how I love having you come to stay in the palace for a change. I'm terribly bored these days, you know." She sighed. "Did you care to assist me with planning?"

Despite how you felt seconds from unearthing your already digested lunch, you managed an apologetic smile, "I'm not sure I'd be of much help. I'm afraid I've never hosted a party before."

"Yes, my dearly departed sister never cared much for such things, did she? Such a shame she raised you out of the aristocracy." She said.

A furrow found your brow.

"You're wrong, you know." You disagreed before you could think to hold your tongue. And just like that you had become a magnet, all eyes in the room snapping towards your frame.

"Oh? About?" The Queen offered you a pointed look.

"About the way I was raised. I wouldn't change a thing about it. My mother didn't fail me… she loved me. I had a mother and father who loved me. That was worth more to me than any new dress could ever." You said, gesturing to the gifted garment you adorned today, with perhaps a touch more spite than you should've.

Of two things those in the palace knew to be true. One— Her Majesty was not wrong. Ever. Her opinion was the first to seek and the only to matter. Anyone was someone because she said so, whether explicitly or subtly.

And two— her love for her niece ran deeper than even she anticipated, as watching you stand before her defiantly didn't fill her with rage as the staff in the room assumed, but rather with melancholy.

You looked like your mother just then. It seemed you reminded her of her sister more and more as the days rolled by.

"Your mother would be pleased to hear that." She merely replied, wondering if her sister might be looking down on you both at this moment. At her words, your entire demeanor softened.

"Very well. Off you go." Your Queen sniffed, a handkerchief at her nose within seconds.

Bowing, you moved to exit the room.

"And niece," she called one last time, causing you to turn around, "must you wear such unsightly footwear under your dress?"

You felt your face grow hot, muttering a quiet apology before exiting the room altogether.

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"Chin up, darling." Your aunt reminded you.

You followed her instructions coolly, hoping you didn't look nearly as nervous as you felt.

It was undoubtedly a soirée for the books; every square inch of the ballroom was gilded in gold, the chandeliers' gleam diffusing luxuriously as it bounced around the room.

Eligible men and women of all shapes and sizes had come from far and wide, donned in their absolute best; every possible hue of pink, blue and purple on display for Her Majesty. The ballroom looked akin to the royal grounds, you thought; the cool-toned dresses reminding you of upside-down bellflowers, floating across the marble floor in a synchronized dance.

Flocks of the most noticeable families and town figures had swarmed their way to the royal estate, drowning themselves in champagne as corseted woman fluttered their eyes at the Ton's lords.

But despite their poised smiles, neither woman nor man spared you more than a cautious glance and courteous bow. As the hours ticked by, you couldn't help but feel increasingly uneasy. Was it fear of Her Majesty sitting beside you that kept them away from you? Or was it the less than auspicious picture a certain faceless author had painted for them about you?

"It's rather hot in here, wouldn't you say?" The Queen spoke to you suddenly, looking larger than life from her magnificent throne.

"I suppose." You agreed absentmindedly, far too occupied with how a group of ladies' eyes flickered your way.

She continued, "Perhaps some champagne will cool you down. Why don't you fetch yourself a glass, dear?"

The meaning behind her words was clear. Go. Socialize.

"A splendid idea." You concurred.

Granting yourself one final shaky breath, you straightened up, walking towards the table where drinks were being freshly poured.

"What shall it be, my lady?" A servant greeted you politely as you reached it.

"A glass of champagne, please." You smiled, grateful for a friendly face, perhaps the first of the night.

The servant nodded, moving to open a new bottle.

"She doesn't even hold a title, you know. That Ice Princess."

You blinked, growing still as your ears caught wind of a conversation between party goers not far from you.

"But she's the Queen's niece?"

A sinking feeling washed over you, the kind that made all the other noise in the room disappear. You flirted briefly with abandoning your spot in the room altogether, but the bubbling pour of golden liquid into a glass kept you still. You thanked the servant with a halfhearted smile.

Bringing the glass to your mouth, you turned an ear to the three gossiping ladies, careful to avoid their gaze.

"Word has it her mother married out of the aristocracy." One of them babbled, pulling noises of disbelief from the others.

"Pity. Though, I suppose that explains the appalling way she walks in heels. You'd think she grew hooves from all that time she spent in the countryside." Another prattled. Stifled giggles rang around the group like they were all in some sort of secret, one that wasn't theirs to know. "Can you believe she thinks herself better than us?"

"One more glass, if you please." You asked the same servant, quickly making your way back to the Queen, now with a glass in either hand.

You approached her wordlessly, merely offering her a glass.

"Ah." She accepted the drink eagerly, and for a moment, there was silence, the two family members enjoying the cool velvety acidity of what was no doubt costly champagne.

"It appears the Ton thinks poorly of me." You blurted out.

You felt rather foolish telling this to your aunt. It wasn't as if you really cared what three cankerous aristocrats thought of you. But who else were you to tell? You knew no one.

Your Aunt Charlotte furrowed her delicately painted brow, "Darling, it'll do you well to realize that this Ton doesn't think. They merely reiterate what they've been told. They don't know you. Never mind what they think they know."

But her words went in one ear and out the other, merely background noise to the way you suddenly felt all eyes on you.

And suddenly, your dress was too tight, the ballroom too small. You felt your breath grow shallow, a sure sign of panic. How may others deemed you the subject of gossip tonight? What else were they saying about you?

"I think I should step out for a moment." You muttered.

"Take your maids with you!"

You were halfway across the room before you could even think to register your aunt's reply. Blinking away your tears, you pushed yourself through the crowd, muttering absentminded apologies as partygoers scoffed in protest.

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How small you felt sitting alone in the palace's rose gardens. You wept on a stone bench, wishing ever so badly that your mother was here, looking back with sorrow at how she used to pull you into her lap whenever you were upset. How she used to wrap her arms around you, and everything seemed better, if even for a moment.

How you missed her. How you missed your father. How you missed your life away from this shining, hollow palace.

But they were gone, and the simple life that awaited you back home was gone. Aunt Charlotte was all the family you had left. Without your parents, your home was gone.

"Oh! My lady… forgive me!"

A soft voice caused you to gasp, turning to face the man that had walked in on your self wallowing.

You were up on your feet in seconds, wiping away at your face.

"No… no, it is I who should apologize! I'm sorry you had to see me like that." Your cheeks burned.

"See you like what?" The mysterious raven-haired stranger pressed, a note of cheekiness to his tone. "Human? Heaven forbid."

You laughed gently, sniffling away your shame. You knew at once he was no threat to you.

The young lord wasn't exactly sure what had led him to the palace gardens; most of the event seemed to be taking place indoors as the night nipped and chilled unforgivingly. Still, a few stray bodies mingled underneath the string of lights that the palace servants had strung up. He had briefly greeted them, passing through the clouds of cigar smoke and small talk before bounding down limestone stairs.

He had tucked his hands into his pants pockets, sighing as the night's festivities grew quieter the further he slipped away, the crunch of wet grass kissing the underneath of his dress shoes. His mind was heavy with thoughts, hardly noticing where his legs had taken him.

It was the sound of your cries that pulled him from his thoughts and jerked him back to his senses.

He was in the Queen's rose garden; he immediately recognized the vibrant flowers and tall bushes. What he failed to recognize, however, was the weeping girl sitting on a stone bench, a look of embarrassment written plainly on her pretty face as she realized she was not alone.

He was quite handsome, you noticed despite your humiliation. He was younger than most of the lords inside, his face still featuring a certain softness despite his sharp features. His gaze was inherently kind, his warm brown eyes all but beckoning you to lower your guards.

"Lord Jeon.” He introduced himself with a bow, eyes never leaving yours. "Forgive me if I frightened you, my lady. I shall return at once and grant you your privacy."

You sank back down onto the bench, pulling the shawl wrapped around your shoulders closer. Your dress was beautiful— you were beautiful… puffy eyes, smeared makeup and all. He couldn't imagine why a lady like yourself would be weeping in the rose gardens unattended.

"It's alright. I supposed I'm not the only introvert at this party tonight. The garden is big enough for the two of us."

Lord Jeon shrugged, "A bit of fresh air is good for the soul."

You watched cautiously as he walked closer, sitting beside you on the opposite side of the bench.

"You know… I've been told I'm a decent listener." He said suddenly, brown eyes admiring the roses surrounding you.

You blinked, "Is that so?"

"Well… not explicitly. But I've got two ears, so I'd say I do alright." He teased.

You smiled softly, contemplating how much to reveal to this stranger.

"It's… I suppose I'm just a bit out of my element here."

"You?" He seemed surprised, a slight chuckle of disbelief accompanying his question.

"You laughed." You raised a brow.

He bit down on his lower lip as if contemplating his following words.

"Well, it's just… I can't imagine someone like you having trouble at these events." He confessed.

For a moment, you wondered what he could mean. Looking down at your lap, you realized he must be referring to your extraordinarily fanciful garments.

"Ah. These clothes were a gift, and this hair— well, none of this is me. Not really. Truly, I don't know why I came." You sighed.

He nodded, "Beginning to feel that way myself, actually. Most lose interest when they hear my name. I'm a bit of a nobody, it seems."

"Funny. It would appear you and I have the opposite problem." You nearly laughed.

"Uptown girl, are you?"

"I'm afraid I've got a bit of a reputation. And no one cares to know whether it's true or not." You said.

He let out a sigh.

"Terrible soirée full of terrible people. I can't say that doesn't happen here often."

You let his words hang in the night's cold air, your fingers intertwining themselves across your lap.

"Is that all?"

Your head turned to face him, growing warm to find him already looking at you.

"Forgive me, it's just," he continued, "your sadness… it feels heavier than you're letting on."

He watched as your body language changed, suddenly tense as if you had built your walls back up.

He was back up on his feet within seconds, his shoes coming into view by the bottom of your dress as he stood in front of you.

Swallowing down a sob, you allowed yourself to look up at him.

"May I?" He asked, extending a hand out as if wanting yours.

Hesitantly, you gave it to him, assuming you would be ushered back onto your feet. To your surprise, however, he merely flipped your hand over, your palm now facing the night sky.

Your eyes widened as he took a finger and traced a line onto your palm.

No. Not A line. A letter.

L-O-V-E-R-?

He wrote into your palm. You stared at your hand, skin still buzzing faintly from where his finger had run across.

His mother used to do such a thing when he was younger and much angrier, often struggling to say the words when something troubled him. He only hoped it would work for you the way he had for him.

Frowning, you shook your head. He wrote once again.

F-A-M-I-L-Y-?

A tear fell from you as if instinctively. You nodded your head, confirming his suspicions. Spurred on by his touch, you moved to grab his hand, flipping it upside down as he had done to yours.

L-O-N-E-L-Y you wrote.

"… I just wish I had a little bit longer with them." You found yourself saying once you had finished.

"No time is enough when it comes to the people you love." He spoke with heart as if referring to his own personal melancholy.

Another tear fell from your eyes as his thumb ran over your palm, not to spell anything but to offer his condolences.

"No. I suppose not." You sniffed, a shiver running over you as a crisp breeze passed the two of you.

He wrote into your palm again.

C-O-L-D-?

You let out a laugh, shrugging dismissively.

"Here." Lord Jeon suddenly peeled his suit jacket off his shoulders. You froze, stunned silent as he gently draped it over your shoulders, a gentle smile on his face.

Your chest tightened, moved by the gesture of kindness. But before you could think to thank him, his warm fingers were at your palm once more.

F-R-I-E-N-D-?

His smile tugged at your heartstrings. You wondered how anyone inside could possibly look down on him. You didn't need to know his name to see that he was kind, a worthy suitor for any marriage-minded aristocrat.

F-R-I-E-N-D. You wrote back.

Happy was the girl who sat on the cement bench of the palace's rose garden, wrapped up warm under the jacket of the first person to show you genuine, unconditional kindness since arriving weeks ago.

The two strangers sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the quiet of company. Neither of you knew the other, but there was comfort in the silhouettes of the adjacent shadows at your feet, knowing that neither had ill intent towards the other.

"Do you ever wonder what it might be like to live in a palace?"

You fell stiff, mute as you turned towards him, watching how he looked over at the illuminated estate.

"Lonely."

"You think?" He pondered.

"I'm not fond of big empty rooms. They tend to make me feel small." You explained quietly.

"Well, should I ever have a palace, there would be no empty rooms. Every room with music and the sound of children's laughter. I would decree it so."

"Children? And where do you figure you might obtain those?" You chuckled.

"Well, they'd be mine, of course." He grinned lopsidedly.

You grinned back at him. "Then the happiest of children they would be."

You suppose the young lord reminded you somewhat of a child. He was a man by every definition of the word, standing tall and proud, but there was something about the way his large eyes took in the palace that was decidedly childlike. Eyes wide and glimmering with awe.

You watched contently as he suddenly noticed the silver plated container that sat by the leg of the bench; an unopened bottle of champagne sat neatly in a bed of ice, several glasses along side it.

Your dear aunt thought of everything when it came to party planning, you were coming to find out.

"Shall we?" He smirked suggestively.

"I don't see why not." You laughed.

The two of you giggled as he attempted to open the bottle, champagne spilling everywhere. He tried to pour you a glass neatly, but your new friend had no future in bartending, champagne spilling over the glass' edge and onto your fingers.

Sticky but smiling, you brought your glass up, mirroring him.

"A toast." He decided, his own glass now only half full from his carelessness.

"To?" You questioned.

He contemplated for a moment, meeting your inquisitive eyes innocently. A boyish smile broke out across his face.

"To us, of course. Tonight's most undesirables." He declared, making you chuckle.

But before you could touch glasses…

"Your highness!"

Your eyes went wide, your stomach dropping as a certain blond maid came scrambling into the garden.

"Isabella! Please! Just 'my lady' will do." Heat rocketed up your neck, ears no doubt hot to the touch.

Her hands fell to her knees, clearly out of breath from running around the palace grounds, undoubtedly in search of you.

"My lady, I should advise you to return to the party. Her Majesty the Queen has someone she wants you to meet." She cautioned.

You cursed internally.

"Of course, she does. Give me just a moment then. I'll be over shortly."

The young maid's eyes flickered over to Lord Jeon, cheeks rosy.

"But your highness—"

"Thank you, Isabella." You cut her off curtly.

The young maid gave you two one more final look over before nodded, pardoning herself with a curtesy.

Hesitantly, you turned back towards Lord Jeon, unsure what to make of the look of disbelief clearly written across his face.

Awkwardly, you brought your glass to your mouth, taking a cautious sip.

"Your highness? You're a princess?" He gawked, eyes still wide.

"No!" You quipped. "Not… technically?"

The young lord merely blinked at you, his doe eyes telling you everything his mouth wasn't.

You were rambling before you could help yourself.

"M-My mother is the Queen's sister. Technically speaking, she held the title of 'Princess.' Though, I suppose if my mother were born a man then, yes, that would make me a princess— titles are patriarchal in nature, it's all… very complicated, really…"

You felt like you couldn't take in a deep enough breath, the chilly air now burning your lungs.

"So… not a princess. Just… daughter of a princess." He reiterated, clearly stunned.

You felt a frown form on your face, all your etiquette instructor's reminders of poise and manners slipping from your mind.

"I am the Queen's niece. We shall leave it at that."

The handsome lord had the most fascinated look on his face, eyes locked on the way your jaw twitched, mouth shut rigidly to hold back the slew of word vomit you instinctively felt compelled to let out.

The way he held your eyes – the intensity behind his dark orbs – made you uneasy yet engrossed you all the same.

You bit down on the side of your cheek, "Are you upset that I didn't tell you?"

He shook his head suddenly as if trying to shake off his shock.

"No. I'm not."

"Are you… disappointed?" You grimaced.

You hadn't the faintest clue as to what was running around in his handsome head.

"Disappointed?" He cocked his head.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what the hell you're thinking right now, and it's frankly unnerving." You frowned.

The raven-haired man let out a noise that toed the line between amusement and disbelief.

"I think you owe me a toast… your highness." He teased.

Rolling your eyes, you failed to fight back a smile, bringing your champagne glass up to meet his, his smirk assuring you that whoever your aunt wished you to meet could wait a moment or two.

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