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bratkook · 8 months

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two point five. part three (m) jjk.

part one. part two. pairing. handyman!jungkook x reader genre. smut, pwp, fluff!! word count. 5.9k warnings. they’re in luvvv its sick, jungkook still loves to tease, pussy job, finger sucking, its just sweet and dirty idk summary. jungkook finally fixes your pipes, sure he gets distracted while doing it, but what else could you expect when you’re sitting on top of him looking like that. note. thank u guys for loving them & for being patient for more! they make my heart happy so i had to continue writing for them. i hope u enjoy the filth and brief jimin interaction hehe

“Isn’t it cute?” The excitement in your voice makes Jungkook smile as he stares at you, nose scrunched up in endearment when you pull out the shiny brass object from the box you had just ripped open.

“Super cute, baby. What is it?” Jungkook honestly hadn’t seen it too well, but anything you liked was cute to him so he obviously agreed. He was currently leaning against your dining chair, hands resting along the back of it as he hunched over to examine the plastic wrapped thing. It’s not until you peel it back that he knows exactly what it is, giving you another smile when he looks up to meet your gaze.

“A new faucet! I figured since you still need to fix my leaky pipes you could just…install this for me too?” Your voice is hopeful, almost as if you think there’s a chance he’d say no.

“I’ve been trying to fix it for weeks and you keep telling me no.” His eyes are playfully narrowed at you.

“I know, but that’s because this was back ordered. But it’s here now, so can you? Please.”

He sighs, looking away from you as he pretends to contemplate it, giggling when you whine and round the table to grip his shoulders. Even as you wrap your arms around him and beg, he continues to hum in thought, not caving until you’re leaning up and gingerly kissing his jaw and finally his lips.

“Mm, you know just how to convince me huh?” he mumbles against your lips, feeling you smile as he kisses you back.

“Kisses are your weakness?” You giggle when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer.

“No, just you.” His smile is cheeky as he admits this, giving you another squeeze before you’re pulling back with a cute laugh.

Jungkook had taken it upon himself to just keep a tool box at your place, leaving it in your coat closet for emergencies. He had gone ahead and told you what every tool in there did, not like it meant anything to you, knowing you wouldn’t be reaching in there after how horrible your attempt at mounting your television had gone.

This was Jungkook’s emergency tool box, not yours. So, after a quick trip to his truck parked down below, grabbing a few things he knew he’d need, he’s grabbing his toolbox out of your closet and getting right to work. You typically let him work on his own now, busying yourself with cleaning up your apartment, hanging up the newest photostrip you both took last night at your favorite bar and admiring it on the fridge with a smile. But once your to-do list runs out you can’t help it when your feet lead you to your bathroom, slowly pushing open the door as you lean on the frame and observe your boyfriend.

He had managed to remove the old faucet, cleaning up the caulking and any weird water spots before replacing it with the cute brass swan faucet you had scored. He is crouched on his knees now, trying his best to fit under the small cabinet to properly screw everything in, cursing slightly under his breath when he lifts his head and bangs it on the wood.

“I think you’re too big to fit under there babe,” you giggle, enjoying the pointed look he gives you as he straightens himself back out. “What if you try doing it from under?”

His brows pinch on his forehead as he looks at your floor, checking the spacing between the sink and the wall across from it, deeming it wide enough for him to lay on his back to get a better point of view. As long as he kept his knees slightly bent he could definitely fit, he’ll just have to keep his light on his chest to be able to see, unless, “Can you do me a favor, baby?”

Your face lights up at the question, nodding in confirmation instantly, already stepping into the bathroom for whatever he might need.

“Hold the light for me? I need both my hands to finish this off.” You could definitely do that. That’s literally the only way you knew how to help. So without another thought you’re grabbing the flashlight for him and squatting beside his body, angling the light to where you think he might need it.

Jungkook chuckles lightly under his breath when the beam of light hits the wrong spot, his large hand coming out to grip yours and angle it a little better, making you partially lean over him.

“Jungkook, I can’t keep this position for too long,” you laugh out, your knees already burning from the weird angle. He peers out and laughs too, well attempting to before it slowly dies in his throat when you get the grand idea of swinging your leg over his body and straddling his hips. It’s clear your thoughts are pure as you smile at how much easier it is this way, but Jungkook was a weak weak man, and the pretty flowy dress you were wearing made it so he could feel you directly on top of him, only the thin fabric of your underwear and his sweats separating you two.

“Better right?” you wonder, ever so softly putting more pressure on him as you settle, your free hand gently resting on his stomach, thumb mindlessly rubbing along the thin sliver of skin exposed as his shirt rode up. When he simply stares at you, absolutely dazed, you tilt your head and give him a pout that makes him want to sit up and capture your lips in a kiss. Luckily, he snaps out of it, thankfully saving his poor forehead from receiving another awful slam against the cabinet.

“Much better,” he forces out, letting his head fall back to resume his work. His eyes are focused on tightening the screws holding the new faucet in place, but then you’re adjusting your position and his eyes can’t help but look back down at you. He knows you’re not being intentional, but the pressure of you resting on his slowly hardening cock was going to be the death of him. Jungkook really didn’t have anyone to blame but himself, getting riled up so easily thanks to the horny lovesick cocktail he always had fogging up his brain around you.

“Baby,” he groans out, squeezing his eyes shut as he leans back and lets his palm fall over his face. “You gotta stop moving.”

“I’m sorry. Am I not pointing the light where you need it?” Your brows are furrowed on your forehead, pure confusion clouding your features as Jungkook gives you another glance. He has a very familiar look on his face, a look reserved for when he was inches away from you before pouncing on you and turning you into an absolute mess.

That’s when you notice it, the firmness pressed up against your core as you slowly settle back. Your eyes widen briefly, fighting back a sly smile from spreading onto your lips when you realize just how easily affected he is by you.

Maybe it's cruel to relish in it, the mischief already brewing in your mind as you give an experimental roll of your hips. Jungkook groans instantly, brows pinching on his forehead as he glances down at where you connect, words dying on his tongue when you roll forward again before he has a chance to utter anything out.

“Focus on what you’re doing,” you murmur, head tilted slightly as you smile down at him. Jungkook refuses to look away, his brain fighting him on what to do. He knew he could easily turn this around, scoop you up and fuck you right on this bathroom floor. But why was this so hot to him?

All of his thoughts turn into mush when you reach forward, fingers cupping his cheeks as you forcefully turn his head to look at the faucet again. His cock twitches beneath you as you speak once more. “Focus, baby.”

Oh yeah, he’s whipped.

You hum in content when he does just that, hands a little shaky as he resumes his work and attempts to act unaffected. The act only works for a brief moment, his hands faltering when he feels you shift around, your fingers dipping into the waistband of his sweats before you tug them down. Jungkook’s breath shudders as he shuts his eyes and just waits, knowing he couldn’t look down at you because the temptation would be too much.

A small gasp hits the air when you see he’s bare underneath his sweats, his cock already hard and leaking. Jungkook hisses when your hand wraps around him, giving him a gentle tug and swiping your thumb along the tip. He only caves and looks down again when he feels the way you press his length against his stomach, curiosity getting the best of him, allowing him the sight of you tugging your panties to the side before you’re settling back onto him.

“Fuck,” he groans out, seeing your pussy lips spread around him as you rock along his length, tip of his cock nudging against your clit perfectly. The view only lasts a minute before you’re letting your dress float back down around you, the playful look in your eyes telling him he needed to focus on his job.

Jungkook knows he’s good at his job, and he’s proud of it, knowing he always does his best to do everything perfectly. But he usually doesn’t have the prettiest girl he’s ever known on top of him, hell bent on making him cum as he works. So he admits he might not be doing the absolute best job he can, going through the steps as fast as possible, trying his best to focus on something other than how fucking amazing he feels.

Your hand trembles a bit as you continue to hold the light for him, small little moans of pleasure filling up the room as you continue to roll your hips, your other hand resting firmly on his chest to hold you steady.

“I can feel you making a mess,” you giggle, knowing there would be a puddle of precum on his tummy, smearing along your folds with each rock forward.

Jungkook just grunts in response, jaw clenched tightly as he finishes up tightening the last screw. With one final check, he’s smiling underneath the sink, allowing his tools to clang beside him as he grips your hips with both palms, enjoying the way you gasp in surprise.

“My turn,” he breathes out, tongue prodding along his cheek as he effortlessly shimmies out of his position. Your eyes are wide as you take in the look on his face, feeling your chest fluttering in excitement as he easily sits up, scooping an arm around you as he stands up straight.

“That was fast,” you breathe out, the slight tingling of nerves crawling up your spine, knowing Jungkook didn’t love being teased like that—not without knowing he’d get a chance to pounce back at least.

“I had some helpful motivation,” he mumbles, turning you around and settling behind you. His nose nudges along your head as he bends forward, soft breath felt against your ear as his hands slide up your thighs beneath your dress. Your skin tingles as his fingers dance along the edge of your wet panties, teasingly tugging at them as he presses his hardened length against your ass.

“Jungkook, we’re meeting up with your friends in a little bit,” you breathe out, voice trembling slightly as your hands fumble against the sink.

“I know, but you started it.” He smiles now, his eyes looking forward to meet your gaze in the mirror above your sink, brow cocked up. “Do you want me to finish it?”

He can see the way your face is lit up, lower lip held captive by your teeth as you gently bite down, eyes already glossed over as you mindlessly nod. Of course you want him to finish what you started.

“I need words, pretty girl,” he murmurs, both palms continuing to glide along your skin, enjoying the slight tremble he feels, how your body reacts to him instantly. His smile is teasing, lip curling up as he breathes out a laugh when you can only shudder as you try to get your brain to cooperate.

“Please. I want you to fuck me.” Your voice is low, raspy around each syllable, already on your way to being ruined before he has a chance to do anything. Perfect.

“Oh, I get a please? So polite,” he jests, peppering a kiss to your temple as his hands finally hook into your underwear and yank them down. When they pool around your feet you kick them out of the way, instinctually spreading your legs and pressing your ass further into him. Jungkook hums in content, his gaze falling down as he flips up the bottom of your dress, seeing the soft skin of your ass pressing against his length.

He guides his length between your thighs once more, resting perfectly against your sodden folds as he shallowly ruts forward. You moan softly as the tip of his cock nudges your clit, aching for his touch.

“I’ll always do whatever you want.” You know this is a promise from him, having experienced how true to his word he is during the last few months. All you can do is grip onto the counter to prepare yourself when you feel him start to move back. Your gaze is locked onto his reflection, seeing the way he bites onto his lip when he grabs your ass, gripping onto the flesh for his own satisfaction before delivering a swift slap, smiling at the small mewl you release.

You watch with bated breath as he grips the base of his cock, feeling the tip of it pressing into your soaked entrance, teasingly circling around it just to see the way your walls beg for him. He loved it too much, thoughts getting hazier with each small moan that escapes you. The bulbous head of his cock slowly inches forward, your pussy tightening around his tip and making him moan under his breath before pulling out entirely. It was the same motion he loved to do, teasing himself and getting a kick out of the delayed pleasure.

“Jungkook,” you whine out, giving him a pout when he looks up at your reflection. He mumbles out an apology that he clearly doesn’t mean judging by the smile on his face, but the way he finally sinks into you makes up for it. The satisfying stretch that follows is something that will never get old, and the small gasp he lets out when he bottoms out lets you know he feels the same.

Jungkook can only shut his eyes as he lets the feeling wash over him, his palms gripping your hips tightly when he feels your walls pulse around his length. He could live and die buried inside of you, always wanting to hear the soft moans of his name and the small whimper you release when he pulls his hips back and thrusts forward.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans out, eyes fluttering open to stare at the way your arousal coats his cock, shiny essence glimmering in the bathroom light. His mouth drops open in awe, stomach tensing up at the sight, hands gripping you harder when he sees the way you arch your back for more.

“You were fucking made for me.”

His words make your body warm up, spoken so sweetly in such a lewd context, only intensifying when he speeds up the thrust of his hips, bending forward to kiss the exposed skin of your shoulder.

“Tell me,” he breathes out, slight begging dripping from his tone, always so desperate to hear how much you wanted him. His hand comes up to grip your face, fingers cupping your jaw to turn you to look at him. The look on his face makes more arousal gush out of you, seeing the pinch between his brows, eyes swimming with desire as they float between your eyes and your lips.

“I was—fuck—“ you keen at a particular thrust, eyes rolling back momentarily. “I was made for you. Only you.”

“Mm, good girl,” he sighs, connecting your lips in a messy kiss. You moan against his lips when he snaps his hips forward, just hard enough to have you seeing stars behind your closed lids. His fingers rub your cheeks, gently coaxing your mouth open as he flicks his tongue along the seam of your lips, groaning in approval when you allow him entrance.

Your arm reaches back to grip his face, needing to touch him, to let your fingers slip into his hair and yank as your tongues flick against each other. Jungkook groans unabashedly when you gently suck his tongue, heavy eyes opening up to stare at you when you pull away briefly.

“We gotta be quick.” It’s spoken mainly to himself, a reminder that he couldn’t take his sweet time with you today, knowing there was a ticking clock telling you both to hurry up. He’s tempted to say fuck it, to blow off the plans with his friends and ravish you the way he always wanted to. But he knows how much you were looking forward to it so he sucks it up, deciding he’ll just have to make up for it tonight.

“Yeah, quick. Quick is fine,” you shudder, eyes focused on the way his lips shine, slightly swollen from your kissing. His tongue swipes at his piercing as he smiles when he notices your dazed stare, giving you another kiss to satisfy you before turning your head back to stare at your reflection once more.

“Don’t worry baby. I’ll still take care of you.” His head presses against yours, staring directly into the mirror. “Want you to be good and watch yourself for me though. Can you do that?”

His hips have yet to slow their rhythm, the wet smack of your skin connecting still filling up the bathroom. It makes you feel dizzy, too transfixed on it and the way he just looks at you. His smile is as sweet as can be, his fingers coming to your lips, humming in content when you open your mouth to allow them in, coating them in your spit just the way he liked it before pulling them out.

“Yeah, I can do that.” He mumbles out more praise against your head, whispering it into your ear, each raspy syllable turning you into a puddle against him. Your eyes are glued to your reflection, seeing the way he kisses down the side of your neck, sucking on your skin until he’s satisfied with the mark he leaves. His trail isn’t complete until he’s yanking down the top of your dress, watching in fascination as your tits spilled out. A choked moan fills the air when he pinches a sensitive bud, spit covered fingers rolling along it, smiling when you jut your chest out further for more.

“You said quick, Jungkook,” you pant out, having an internal battle just like he was. It was easy for him to get side tracked though, enjoying the teasing, taking it slow until you were crying for it, bringing you right to the edge just for you to stay there until he thought it was time. You can see his mind floating now as he grabs your boob, admiring the way it fills up his palm, his hips slowing down ever so slightly to really enjoy the way you clench around him with each yank of your nipple.

“Sorry baby.” He’s back now, eyes sharpening up as he looks at you again. You can see something brewing in his mind and it fills you with the tingle of nerves, not knowing what he could be thinking. “I’ll be quick.”

Before you have time to think, his hand slides down to scoop around your thigh, hauling up one of your legs, fucking you deeper and laughing when you squeal at the feeling. Your mouth is dropped open as you try to take it all in, hands gripping the counter until your knuckles pale, the curve of his cock hitting just right inside of you.

“Oh fuck, feels so good—you always feel so good.” Your mindless babbles have pride filling his chest, seeing the debauched look on your face reflected back on the mirror. Everything feels hot, the thick air clinging to your skin, leaving you gasping out as he fucks you harder. It has you desperate, leaning back against him, one hand reaching behind you to hold him close despite the position.

“Yeah? You like the way my cock fills you up, pretty girl?” Jungkook huffs out a breath when you tighten around him in response, his arm situating your thigh until your knee catches on the counter. “Keep that there for me baby.”

You can only nod in response, doing your best to do as he asks despite the rocking of his hips. His hand settles onto the countertop on top of yours, interlocking your fingers together as he speeds up. A mewl reaches his ears when his free palm slides up your supported thigh, under your little dress and meets your clit, soaked in your arousal as he rubs tight circles into it.

“Oh fuck, just like that,” you gasp out, your hand clinging onto his bicep, digging tiny half moons into his skin. The muscle in your thigh is starting to ache from the position but the overwhelming pleasure you feel is enough for you to ebb it away.

You can feel the way his arm flexes as he rubs deft circles onto your swollen clit, his harsh breathing hitting your hair, and when you meet his gaze in the mirror it makes your stomach flip.

“You’re so wet,” he groans out, his fingers glide with ease, applying more pressure so they don’t slip around, sending sparks up your spine. “Always so messy for me. Do you really like me that much?” He teases you, trying to act calm and unaffected but you can see the clenching in his jaw, can feel the way his hips stutter slightly as his orgasm creeps up on him.

Jungkook moans out your name when your walls tighten around him, body desperately trying to keep him in as your own high approaches. “I can’t help it, you know I love you.” You sigh it out so beautifully it makes his heart skip a beat. You had both said it before but Jungkook would never get tired of hearing it, would never get tired of saying it back to you, not ashamed to admit that a simple four letter word was enough to nearly send him over the edge.

“I love you more,” he groans out, snapping his hips fluidly, feeling the way you start to tense in his hold as all of it begins to overwhelm you. His eyes are locked onto you, the way your chest hiccups as you gasp out in pleasure, the purple splotch on your neck that he was so proud of, your kiss swollen lips dropped open perfectly, eyes glossed over in ecstasy. You were close, the grip you have on his arm tightening, digging into the dark ink on his skin.

“I gotta feel you cum baby,” he begs, not wanting to cum before you did, already feeling it too close to hold it off any further. His cock throbs inside of you, each torturous glide of his hips making his eyes fall shut, finger continuing to flick along your clit. You’re nodding against him, head falling back, moans getting breathier until your orgasm finally washes over you.

“Fuck fuck, oh my god,” you whine out, brows pinching together as you squeeze your eyes shut, bright white flashes behind your lids as the feeling spreads through your limbs. Jungkook groans as he fucks you through it, your walls milking his cock, feeling you gush around his length until it trickles down your legs.

It’s an absolute mess between your thighs and Jungkook just wants to add to it. His hand finally retreats from your clit when you start to whimper at the overstimulation, his lips peppering kisses onto your shoulder as he lowers your thigh, being as gentle as he could be while pushing you forward. You’re pliant in his grasp, allowing him to bend you over, supporting yourself on the sink while he repositions you enough to be comfortable.

“C’mon Kookie, want you to make me messier,” you coo out, voice sounding dreamy as the afterglow hits you. He can see the soft smile on your lips as you turn your head to look back at him, fully enjoying the sight of your boyfriend falling apart.

“Don’t worry baby, I will.” Both hands grip your hips now, his hips snapping forward with enough force to turn your mind into mush. His eyes fall on the way your ass bounces with each thrust, the smack of your skin sounding like music to his ears. He curses under his breath as the familiar feeling starts to spread, hips losing their grace as he gets desperate, surging forward to get as deep as he could before he finally cums too. A guttural moan of your name fills the room as he shoots into you, painting your walls and making you hum in content at the warmth.

Jungkook fucks into you a few more times, savoring the feeling as he comes down from the high, bending forward to kiss and soothe your skin. His hands glide up your body, gentle touches making goosebumps flare up on your arms. A smile spreads on your face when he interlocks your fingers, gently tugging you back up and wrapping his arms around you.

He looks like a giddy child in the reflection, face smushed against your head, eyes shut with the biggest smile on his lips. You take this moment in just like you do every other moment with him, shutting your eyes and smiling as you let him hold you, storing the memory in your mind in a space made just for him.

Jungkook gives your temple another kiss before slowly pulling out of you, the two of you groaning at the feeling. You wince when you feel the globs of cum already leaking out of you, but before you can move he’s already reaching to the side, grabbing a handful of toilet paper to clean up the mess he made before letting your dress fall back down.

You spin around now, finally seeing him face to face, wrapping your arms around his neck, the sweetest smile on your lips. His hands smooth down the fabric of your dress, fingers fiddling with the material.

“This dress is really pretty by the way. Makes you look like an angel.” He makes it easy to swoon over him, your heart warming in your chest as you take in his casual compliment.

“Thank you baby.” You pucker your lips as you lean up and he wastes no time kissing you back.

“I ruined your lip gloss,” Jungkook murmurs against your lips, pulling back to stare at your bare lips, no longer shiny with your favorite coconut scented gloss. The pink gloss was long gone, no evidence left on his own lips either.

“Yeah, you always do.” You give him another kiss before looking at yourself in the mirror and groaning while your fingers attempt to fix your mess of hair. “Jungkook, we’re supposed to meet your friends in half an hour.”

Jungkook laughs as his hand comes up to gently prod at the small hickey he had mindlessly sucked into your neck. It was a teenage habit he would be taking to his grave. “Oh shit, well you better cover that up or they’re gonna make it the topic of conversation for the night.”

You glare at him through the mirror. This would be the first time you’d be meeting his friends, and if they were really the way he described them to be then you know that Taehyung and Jimin would definitely point your hickey out. The tingle of anxiety starts pooling in your stomach as you make a move to exit the bathroom, needing to fix yourself up as quickly as possible. As you walk you realize you’re still naked from the waist down, only the thin fabric of your dress keeping you decent.

“Oh god. I need my underwear too, I can’t embarrass myself with a hickey and going commando.”

Jungkook beats you to it, bending over to pick up your ruined panties off the floor, looking cocky as he lets them dangle off his finger like a prize. “These are mine.”

Your cheeks burn as you watch with wide eyes, seeing him bring the material close to his face before he’s tucking them into the pocket of his pants. He looks so proud as he pats them, acting like it was nothing as he turns around to open the bathroom door. It’s not like he gets far though, your hand grabbing his arm and yanking him back with a force he had never experienced.

“Jungkook, you freak! You can’t take those with you.” His eyes are huge as he stares at you, slightly impressed at your determined strength and entirely amused at how scandalized you look.

“Says who?” he guffaws, keeping you at arms length when you try to reach for them.

“Says me! I’ll tell your friends you’re a panty thief.”

“Please,” he laughs, loud. “They already know! Already roasted me about it a few weeks back.”

“Wait, is this something you do?”

His face falls briefly, realizing he had just confessed to stealing your underwear. “What?”

That makes you laugh now, no longer trying to reach for your panties, letting your head come to rest against his chest as you giggle. This all made sense now, the realization that a few pairs of your underwear had mysteriously gone missing. You had blamed it on your washing machine eating them, had even asked Jungkook to check it or call someone to repair it before the entirety of your underwear drawer went missing.

Of course it was him.

“You’re so dirty!”

Jungkook reassures you that you look great for the millionth time in the span of twenty minutes, a smile still on his face as you ask him, “Are you sure?”

“Yes baby. Your lipgloss looks perfect and you can’t even tell that I went to town on your neck.” He laughs when you gently swat his stomach, holding the door open for you as you step into the brewery. Jungkook had said it was his group's favorite place to hang out in, a huge space with games and activities for everyone to enjoy, a wide selection of beers and even a few cocktails that he knew you would prefer. He leads the way with his hand in yours, knowing exactly where they would be.

When you approach a corner near the dart wall you spot a group of boys, all standing up with dorky smiles on their faces as they clap obnoxiously loud.

“Oh my god, what are you guys doing?” Jungkook questions, laughing as he gets closer. None of them pay him any attention though, looking right at you as they continue to clap.

“Wow,” a boy with pale blonde hair sighs out, being the first to stop clapping as the rest slowly follow suit. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet the woman who has turned Jungkookie into an absolute fucking simp.”

That makes you laugh now, hand covering up your mouth as you see them all nod along. Jungkook doesn’t even respond, tonguing his cheek as he tries to hide his smile when he steps away from you to allow you to have your moment.

“Really, it’s honest work but I’m happy to do it. You must be Jimin?”

He gasps, smile growing wider on his face as he looks at Jungkook, finally acknowledging him. “Do you talk about me?”

“Yeah, about how fucking annoying you are,” Jungkook scoffs, playfully rolling his eyes as he takes a seat at the edge of the bench, scooting down enough for you to settle in next to him.

Your earlier nerves calm a bit as everyone starts to talk, introducing themselves before it flows into easy conversation. Once the drinks start making their rounds you find yourself joining in, laughing along to old stories they reminisce on, playfully teasing one another in a brotherly way that shows you how deep their friendship actually was.

“Oh no, we need to tell you about that time Jungkook got so high off a pot brownie that he cried at ColorMeMine.” Taehyung can barely say the sentence before he’s cackling as he recalls it, smile wide as can be while he throws his head back.

“No you absolutely fucking don’t!”

“C’mon, we basically already told her! She just needs all the juicy details.” Yoongi adds on to it, a smug smile on his face as he holds up his beer to take a long sip.

“What, the juicy details of them threatening to kick me out?” Jungkook groans, covering his face in embarrassment. It wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t properly read the strength of it and before he knew it he was staring at his half painted plate wondering how the hell he got so high and why the fuck everyone else was so calm about it.

“Well…that, and the video I took of it all,” Jimin whispers out, biting down on his lip as he starts to unlock his phone and scroll through his photo gallery.

That makes Jungkook’s head snap up, wide eyes giving Jimin a look that you know was meant to be threatening but the other boy finds it funny, giggling as he turns to look at you.

“I’ll send it to you later. Keep it for emergencies.”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open in betrayal, eyes floating over to you and seeing the way you smile and nod. “Emergencies?”

“Jungkook, don’t worry about it!” You cackle as you gently cup his cheek, feeling it bulge out as he smiles back, enjoying the way you were getting along with his friends—even if it was at his expense. He didn’t care really, he’d dish out all of his embarrassing stories if it made you laugh as hard as it did today.

“Am I gonna regret introducing you to each other?” he mumbles out, playfully glaring at his friend.

You look over at Jimin too, the same thoughts brewing in your minds as you laugh together. You could only imagine all the ways you and him would gang up on your boyfriend, pushing his buttons in that way he swore he didn’t like while secretly enjoying it.

“Oh, definitely.”

Jungkook can only groan, trying so hard to pretend like this was detrimental, as if the idea of two of his favorite people getting along was the end of the world. But as he stares at you giggling while you watch that god forsaken video, his heart swells, thankful Jimin had given him the pep talk he needed to confess and even more grateful you had decided to hire him off the sketchiest app ever made.

#jungkook smut #new

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amyriadofleaves · 2 months

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outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter four

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

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ao3 : wattpad ˚　.˚　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, wriothesley, clorinde, sigewinne ⌗ warnings : a lot of blood?? ⌗ word count: 6.6k (a little longer this time teehee)

“I never knew entourages were your thing.”

You tilt your head. “How’d you know I had someone with me?” The image of the Chief Justice flashes through your mind for a moment.

Clorinde shrugs. “Some people from outside the Pankration Ring were babbling about seeing someone with the head of civil affairs. Were you always such a high reward person? Fame catch up with you yet?” She says this as she deepens her voice, posture straightened with her hands on her hips. Your eyes wander around the fortress, at the brass that graced every corner, seeing a few puddles pooling under a number of leaky pipes.

Playfully nudging her arm, you snort at her jab. “You’re acting as if I’m some textbook rags-to-riches story. And no, fame has not caught up to me. I am no snob,” you tell her with a chastising look, but the attempt to steel yourself breaks when you feel your lips unwillingly quirking upwards into a smile, before you begin to shake trying to restrain your laugh.

It is not long before it infects Clorinde, too, and she falls victim to your foolish sense of humour. You lean on each other like two girls who’ve had too much to drink, afraid to let go lest one of you falls over; and you fail to notice the chiding looks of the people around you, but Clorinde shakes herself off before flicking your forehead causing you to stop your fit of laughter.

“Gosh, remind me why I’m here again?”

“Oh I’ve seen you in your office, working away like a lifeless machine—” Clorinde feels at your arm. “What a pity. All that muscle is now reduced to flab.”

“Okay, ouch.”

Someone clears their throat from the other end of the room, and a manly voice sounds. “Hey. Clorinde. Get your friend over here so you can finally get to sparring.”

“Alright, alright,” Clorinde groans before dragging you by the arm to the ring; you stumble on the heel of your boot, stride broken by the unexpected force.

She chuckles at your clumsiness, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Come on, don't be such a klutz," she teases, her grip firm as she leads you towards the sparring ring. You shoot her a playful glare, feigning annoyance.

As you approach the ring, the shouts of brutes and the scrape from blade against blade pierces the air in a dissonant choir. Clorinde releases your arm as you stand at the very base of the stairs leading to the ring, and you square your shoulders — drawing in a long, sharp breath. Acutely aware of their eyes on you, you smirk. You are knowing how their eyes follow you — others, a bit more indifferent in the ‘affairs of the ‘overworld’’ so to speak. If you were any younger and naïve as you were, you would’ve crumbled under their watchful eyes, but you know better than to have your weakness out for show, to be an open book.

A man clad in a dark grey coat and haphazardly bound black bandages stands in the centre of the ring, eyeing your every move, and you see him smile to the duelist next to you. From description alone, you surmise that this is the Duke; and you take in how he is a lot more different in appearance than you last saw him: a little bulkier in frame, the pinch of boyish recklessness now discreetly tucked under the guise of responsibility.

A cheeky grin plays on his lips, before he gives you a bow. You return the courtesy with a light curtsy. It is a lie to say you aren’t a little intimidated, but you play it off by avoiding his eyes, afraid that he might see right through you and immediately think you an idiot. And you are not an idiot, you tell yourself over and over like a broken record.

“It is a pleasure to meet you again, Your Grace.” Your eyes stay trained on the floor before a chuckle breaks the silence.

Bewildered, you look up to face him and he waves a gloved hand in jest. “There is no need for such formalities. If anything, it should be me doing all of that. And plus, a friend of Clorinde is a friend of mine.”

Clorinde sees right through his facade and dismisses it with a derisive ‘pfft’. “You certainly didn’t act like that when you first met me.”

“Oh come on my dear, dear Clorinde,” he places a hand on his chest in faux distress, a pout forming on his lips. “You know it isn’t like that.”

The duelist rolls her eyes before he puts his hands up in surrender and steps backwards.

The ring awaits, and you take a deep breath, ready for the impending spar. The crowd's anticipation adds to the pressure, but you push aside any lingering hesitation. Clorinde smirks, sensing your resolve, and steps into the ring beside you.

The announcer from the side announces the start with a rumble. “Let the sparring begin!”

The duelist bows her head, and you follow suit. Instinctively, you reach for the pellet gun at your hip as Clorinde does for her sword; it is an odd selection for a spar, and the crowd seems to raise a few eyebrows at this. Dejected as you are at the pellet gun resting in your fingers instead of your normal musket, you take this as an opportunity to give yourself more of an advantage with a slowing factor. A mere practice of skill, it was, really.

Clorinde rushes in with a burst of speed, her blade flashing downward in an opening diagonal slash at your torso. You slip left of the weapon’s reach and step backwards, barely missing a cut by a finger’s breadth. You and Clorinde possess different skill sets: she requires a closing of distance whilst you have to create distance.

A space separates the two of you and you slightly duck before firing a shot at her shoulder blade. The gun recoils against your arm and sends the bullet ricocheting against the wall and you stumble. Frustrated, you palm the holster of your gun and wriggle your hand to loosen your muscles. Can’t blame me for this, you think blindly, giving yourself a petty excuse for your blunder. Clorinde springs forward at the brief seconds of your imbalance and slashes at an angle. Rather than trying to escape backward or sideways, which you cannot do in time, you draw your gun as you drop to the ground on your back and you fire upwards. You cannot help but smile as the bullet hits her in the torso.

She grimaces in stinging pain as the bullet falls to the floor. Rolling onto your stomach, you fire again from a crouch. From all the spinning, your vision swirls in a blur and your head is clouded. Without thinking, you stand and attempt to create more space, but realise you have unequivocally cornered yourself against the restraints of the arena. Before you can manoeuvre your way through the ring, the duelist comes in at full speed and you are given a mere few seconds to react. Clorinde slams her own blade into the path of your weapon with the intent of disarming you with so much force that you feel the impact reverberate through you like a shockwave. You fully expect the impending pain to come at any moment, but it never does. Instead, a resounding clash sounds from metal against ice echoes throughout the ring. You do not even realise the sword that comes to manifest through your fingers until you notice the gleam of light blue shielding you from the overhead lights.

A still silence fills the air as both of you widen your eyes in astonishment. Amazed gasps sound from the onlookers, and they are now eyeing you with more intent. You do not dwell on it for long before you bring your sword down at a speed, sending Clorinde staggering.

You cannot help but laugh. “And you called me a klutz.”

The look in her eyes almost shouts a flippant: 'I am totally fucking you over,' and it makes you instantly regret even speaking.

Clorinde’s left hand seizes your hand, gripping hard. You let out a grunt of pain. With a light twist, she forces your makeshift weapon downward, and the numbing pain that grows in your wrist knocks the blade out of your arm, and you barely catch the glint of your own gun at the base of your feet. One final cry to win was you squirming in her grasp to reach it, but your fingers hover helplessly, unable to grab the grip of the gun.

The next move you make is miscalculated, an oversight. You jab your elbow into her shoulder, overlooking the blade that she left hanging in the little space between the both of you. Adrenaline pumps through you like a vice, and you push further, forcing another blade of ice spiralling through your fingers, ignoring how you are completely stripped of your energy and the sudden humidity of the room. The crowd gasps, and for whatever reason, you do not pay it any mind — until you see Clorinde stopping too, stepping away.

Your eyes flicker haphazardly and notice that her eyes trail slowly to your abdomen, and you absentmindedly comply. At first you do not notice anything, but then the hand that had come to rest over your stomach comes away red, and you stumble in horror at the wetness flowing down your pants as if your intestines had given out. Your blouse blooms red too, clinging to your skin like a lifeline, and the forearm that clutched your stomach is now stained with blood, diluting further as it trails down the sword swirling with the condensate that rests on the ice.

Clorinde steps forward, but you hold out an arm to command her to stop. You can handle this, it is nothing you can’t bear. You take a few steps backwards, your free arm reaching for the rope that lines the ring. Sweat beads on your forehead and suddenly everything is burning and your stomach is catching fire. Your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage and you greet the feeling like a friend; it is a familiar one, the same heart that beats whenever you are huddled in the corner of your room blocking out the shouts from the other end of the door along with other more unimportant things.

No. You can already vision how this would turn out for you. You cannot emerge from the depths of the sea injured and dead weight for the contract that stands. How will Neuvillette push through without you to serve as a catalyst? This was no one-man act, and this, you have come to terms with.

With your blade still held and your resolve unchanged, you advance with a futile step. Might as well push forward now; it would be pathetic to surrender in a friendly match against your own best friend.

Clorinde’s eyes flood with worry as you show no sign of yielding. “Name, stop. Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

You are wordless as the pain festers to your upper chest and you feel as if you cannot breathe and all the air is knocked out of your lungs. People are going to think you’re weak, unable to defend yourself: a delicate worse-for-nothing figure. But I’m not weak, you want to scream at the world. If they think otherwise, so be it. The thought teeters precariously before ultimately shattering into the void of the unspoken.

The duelist looks over at Wriothesley pleadingly as she stabilises your weakened figure and eyes the audience with a sort of disdain. “I concede,” she says, before repeating: “I concede.” She also doesn’t fail to shield you from them, and you wish to thank her later for it.

“Wriothesley, help me out here?” She manoeuvres herself so she can wrap your right arm around her neck and, expectantly, waits for Wriothesley to take your left.

“Yes ma'am.”

Though you do not hear it, you see the silhouettes of many receding from around the ring in a blur. Black spots form in your vision and you barely catch Wriothesley taking your left arm over his neck before your consciousness lurches what it feels to be a sudden moment. A brief thought is pushed to the forefront of your mind before everything swarms black — and the question is as mundane as the person it concerns:

Just what exactly could the Chief Justice be doing right about now?

____

“Ah, my dear Neuvillette. Don’t you just love the taste of fame?”

Neuvillette’s eyes do not leave his paperwork and the last thing he wants right now is to be pestered by the lady in front of him. “Now’s not the time, Lady Furina.”

She steps forward, the thud of her heels growing increasingly louder in an act of taunt. “And when is the right time, Chief Justice? This is a breakthrough for your career, and you’re sitting around your office like a nobody when you’ve quite literally stolen the hearts of the whole populace.”

Neuvillette taps in rapid succession at a blank piece of paper, subconsciously counting the dots that spray from the quill in his hand. It is not everyday that the Chief Justice loses his temper. But today is not everyday and nor is it anything normal. He still feels your warmth against his ear, and he lightly ghosts his hand over it.

Furina snaps her fingers repeatedly. “Monsieur Neuvilletteee! Earth to you?”

He responds with a darkening glower. Looking away, he makes out the shape of her pout through his blurred peripheral vision, and hears her sulk. “I need to talk to you about preparations for the proposal! This is very important — go too long without one, and the people will think the two of you are simply an affair. Oh, I bet you don’t like the sound of that.”

“The proposal? We’ve barely gone a day with the approval of the contract, and you’re already pressing me for the proposal? Give her a rest, she is out with a good friend of hers.

“Well obviously the proposal isn’t for today, I’m talking about preparations. You need to purchase a ring, she needs her hair done — perhaps a new dress tailored — I think the dress she wore yesterday was rather tattered and worn…” she tuts, finger on chin. “Oh! And I don’t think it would be much trouble to have the Melusines involved, would it?”

The silver-haired man sitting in his seat is being pulled from all his limbs like a puppet. He subconsciously notes all the things she had just listed, and his mind hiccups at the idea of purchasing a ring.

“Can’t it just be simple? Such exaggerations of a mere profession of romance shan’t be necessary.”

“But that is exactly the point! Don’t forget that I have my own duties to attend to in the dark, you are hot news. I saw how you two were this morning — everyone did!”

The flashing of cameras and the unwavering look on your face rushes through him like a deluge and his stomach pits. When he returned from his trip to the Fortress of Meropide, he had washed his face in a nearby restroom earlier and noticed the touch of lipstick on the very point of his ear. He found no point in removing it.

“So you want me to purchase a ring and propose to her in front of every breathing Fontainian, is that right?”

Lady Furina's smile widens a little too much and becomes a pain to look at. “Why yes, it is a statement of love and devotion, after all. Make sure what you pick makes her eyes pop. No woman wants a ring that dulls complexion.”

He does not care that it is him that has to oblige — but subjecting you to unwanted fame is beyond him.

Not wanting any further arguments, he caves.

____

You are in and out of consciousness, but not so much that you cannot make out the panicked conversations the two are having in hushed voices. Funny enough, you're unsure if the fact that they can't find Sigewinne anywhere troubles you a little or if you're simply just drained and want to go to sleep.

“Can’t you walk any slower?” Wriothesley grunts.

Clorinde snaps back with a glare .“Can’t you realise we’re dealing with a gash that could tear open if you keep up this pace?”

“Can’t you both,” your voice breaks off, and instead of continuing you droop your head before mumbling: “just shut up?”

The two people on either side of you are stunned into a chastising silence and if this were any different you feel that you would’ve laughed.

The man to your right clicks his tongue. “Oh, whoops. Forgot you were even awake.” He adjusts your arm a little too roughly and you let out a cry of pain as it doubles the sensation of your wound.

Clorinde smacks his arm and you slightly shift backwards at the lack of support. “What did I tell you? Okay — let's set this aside for now. We need her in the infirmary before her whole blouse gets drenched.”

You don’t see or hear his response, and so you briefly imagine him having an indifference to this. Sure, it is everyday for him in the Fortress, but you do not know him very well, so he might have had a different reaction — perhaps a brief look at Clorinde almost begging her through his eyes for her to know what to do even though he, too, knows basic protocol? Plausible too.

“You’re going to need to take a deep breath for this.” The duelist’s voice is as monotone as ever, and as your lids flutter open you see that you are greeted with your archnemesis.

Stairs.

Not like they were anything too taxing; a mere five steps up and another few steps down and you’d be in the infirmary; but you instantly flinch back as they assist you with the first step, and you feel their arms grab for your back. You almost black out again the moment you glance at your abdomen but Clorinde promptly pushes your chin upwards so you don’t see the worst of it.

“I don’t think I can make it up the stairs,” you say, defeated. You eye both of them carefully and they seem to almost weigh the possibilities and come to a solid conclusion (the word ‘solid’ is an overstatement).

“I mean we could bring the infirmary to her…”

Safe to say, Clorinde isn’t amused. “Wow, let's bring a whole bed out for everyone to see! Forgive me, but I won’t allow that for her. There are many problems on the surface as is, and I don’t think this paints a good image for her.”

As delirious as you are, you manage a nod in agreement and squeak out: “Whatever. Get me there.”

Wriothesley’s eyes are crazed as he looks at you with doubt.“W— you just said you couldn’t make it up the stairs.”

“...And that claim still stands. But what other choice do I have?” You say this through gritted teeth as the pain wells up in your side for the nth time this afternoon. The light peeking through the ceiling of the Fortress seems to dim and you take this as a sign that is just shy of dusk.

Clorinde’s lips quirk into a small smile, and you miss it because you are unable to keep focus on anything except the blood you feel dripping into your slacks. “Alright. Just squeeze something every step you take. On the count of three:”

Wriothesley starts and they alternate. “Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

With a yelp, you grip firmly onto the man next to you and let out a sigh of relief when your feet touch another step of the staircase.

“Next time, please grip me somewhere else.” You slowly eye where your hand lies and it is unfortunately somewhere not ideal. Oops.

“Not my fault you have a built-in stress ball,” you look at him and Clorinde and realise that you have four more to go. “OK. I think we can go at a faster pace.”

Clorinde’s hand leaves your wrist as she wipes her palm on the base of her shorts and finds your hand again. “Are you sure? You looked like you’ve walked ten miles and it’s been just a step up.”

You look forward and nod your head. “Affirmative.”

“Alright then.”

Wriothesely announces the count of three rather plainly and you grip somewhere else this time. You bite your lip harshly; you do not want to complain any more than you have and instead shut your eyes to steel yourself, but fuck, did it hurt more than the first time.

You thank the gods above that it did grow easier the more steps you took, and with having given Wriothesley more bruises than dignity you finally made it to the platform at the top.

“Tough part done,” you mumble, eyeing the corridor with contempt. Not as tough, you suppose, and push ahead, your arms still hanging limp by their shoulders. You can't help but notice your blood swirling in the pools that flowed from each end of the hall, but the metallic scent of the pipes overpowers the metallic of your own.

Your boots touch the ground with a heavy thump that echoes so loudly it feels like your head is whirling quicker and you can’t make out any object in front of you.

“Smells like murder.” His attempt at lightening the mood does more harm than good, and through your lethargy you still furrow your brow. Clorinde berates him in a low voice and you don’t even attempt to say anything in response. It is awfully silent, and suddenly you wish he had continued speaking. You force your eyes wide open out of fear that you might not wake up the moment you close them, but you have to fight against your weighted eyelids, and it is, by a mile, a terrible battle.

Fatigue - 1, You - 0.

A light shines from your left and you let yourself breathe.

“We’re here. Just need to tough through another flight of stairs and you’ll be alright,” Clorinde comforts, lifting your right arm a little more after noticing that you were slightly being raised a little higher on your left because of the height difference between her and Wriothesley.

“Here goes,” you tell yourself. This is not the first time you’ve been in a situation like this.

Just a bit of blood and you’re crying? You look just like your mother.

You do not particularly enjoy the feeling of descending the stairs, but at least it is better than ascending them, and faster too. No need for any counts to threes.

You wring your arms out of their grips, and soundlessly stumble to the bed closest to you. Mindlessly, you slip into the slight depression of the mattress and the springs groan under a new added weight.

Wriothesley frantically looks around and suddenly his head is in his hands. Clorinde seems to adopt the same wrinkles between her brows as the man beside her has, and they are both thrown in a panic. The duelist still appears calm and collected throughout, and you’re surprised that the ‘panic’ they are thrown into has been reduced to a civilised conversation on how to deal with you.

Unbuttoning your blouse reveals that it takes a lot of work to separate skin from material, and you feel something stir in the pit of your stomach, or lack thereof. Dried blood starts to flake from the chilly air and the skin lining the wound is swollen pink, puffy and tender to the touch. Turning away, you aren’t partial to someone like Wriothesley to seeing the other scars that are littered throughout your skin like a canvas, and you know it isn’t pretty. You do not like your idea on what you are to do next, nor do you think it’s ideal, but with nothing to show of Sigewinne, you have to take the risk.

“Clorinde. Pass me rubbing alcohol and a towel.”

Clorinde casts you a weary look. “Surely you’re not thinking to do what I think you’re gonna do —”

“Yes. It's exactly what you think. Now pass it to me.” You turn your head a little as your hands beckon her over, and she hesitates before reaching for what you asked for and passes it to you. You do not miss the long look she gives Wriothesley.

The items weigh like a burden on your hands, and you almost decide to hold out until Sigewinne arrives. Even though you know this is probably the worst choice you'll ever make, you choose to ignore the nagging voice and go forward with it because simply, you are impatient. And what good were you to the public if you were ugly and unkempt? You know that everyone and Lady Furina would find you ridiculous. Would the Chief Justice share the same opinion? Would he break his impartiality to think that of you? For a brief moment, the answer flickers to a yes, but you swallow it down like a pill. No. No, he wouldn’t.

“Shouldn’t be too bad.” Bracing for the sting, the anticipated pain hovers like a phantom before the fabric even grazes your skin, but before you can give yourself room to yield, you jab the cloth over the gash and almost scream at the sting. You keep your mouth sealed shut and only rapid pants escape your lips. The pain courses through your veins and suddenly every working limb is now subject to agony. You absolutely detest the feeling, and you were sure that you would never find yourself like this after your father…

Shaking your head, you distract yourself by observing how the blood seeps through the cloth with ease, and you begin to question just how much blood you’re losing and how your body hasn’t given out. But the answer to it is fairly simple. Or maybe it isn’t.

Your composure is so frigid you think the Duke is beginning to grow a little uncomfortable with just standing there.

“You can look away.” Even though you didn't have much energy to begin with, you startle yourself by being able to talk coherently in spite of everything.Your mind is dumbfoundedly collected, almost as if trained; for this you know why, and you decide not to mope over the memory. It still does end up slipping through the cracks.

The clean blade against skin. Your father’s nasty laugh as you let out a cry of defeat. The reopened wound triggers a cascade of memories, but you resolve to relegate it to the past: a mere memory. You know you will never see him again, the idea of closure long gone and ties severed. His name, once a burden, now fades into the recesses of your memory, and you find solace in no longer sharing it.

Wiping the blood around your wound, you robotically reach for a needle and thread next, and this time Wriothesley steps forward with his hand outstretched to finally say something. “Woah there. I think we’re gonna need Sigewinne for this one.”

Your arm retracts from the needle and you wave him off with a curt wave of your hand. “I got this under control, don’t you worry,” you declare, but the claim dies on your lips when you feel your eyes drooping and your limbs going slack and the two are thrown into another dispute.

“We need Sigewinne!”

“She should be coming in about,” the Duke checks his watch. “Five minutes.” He steals you a glance and continues: “Hang in there.”

Clorinde tears her gaze off yours and her brows knit again. “Well what if she doesn’t ‘hang in there’?” Her voice is thrown into a hush, but you can still hear it, and she knows you hear every word leaving her lips.

You use this time to silently teeter to the open cupboard of needles and thread. Surprisingly enough, you look back and find them in their own world. Perfect! You take a generous amount of thread along with a few needles with different gauges and slyly return to your place at the foot of the nursing bed. You dab antiseptic on the tender flesh of your gash. The sting is something you never get used to, and a low groan leaves your lips, and your head tips over.

Clorinde whirls lazily on her heel and points a finger at you. “You. Stop playing a fool. Your wound will get infected if you keep going at this rate. And don’t think I can’t see what you’re trying to do when I’m not looking,” the duelist reprimands, and you can’t help but admit defeat. Hah! She thought.

“Yeah, OK. Shut up and come over here for a second.” You do not face her, but hear her slow strides from behind.

“What is it?”

“Come closer.” you place the needle under her fingers, and flick her forehead. A zap courses from her fingers.

“Ow?”

Her complaints morph into incoherence as you study the needle and find that it is warm to the touch and slightly blackened at its point.

“Thank you!”

Feeling at your abdomen, you conclude that it is numb enough to begin stitching. The sanitisation is a mere precaution, because as much as you trust everyone in this room and the nurse that isn’t present, you cannot trust whatever might be in the Fortress’ air. It takes a few attempts before you successfully guide the thread through.

And before Clorinde can stop you, it is far too late. The needle pierces skin, and you squint your eyes at the discomfort. If you could manage one, you could manage seven more. You are nowhere adept nor do you have a steady hand, but you are quite proud of the deep cuts you’ve stitched up in the past; they still did their job.

The Duke’s complexion is nothing short of sickly as his hand flies to his mouth. “I can’t— I can't watch this.”

“You just don’t listen, do you?”

You smile wearily. “Well, Clorinde, that is my expertise.”

Just before your fingers swoop down for another stitch, a certain Melusine skips down the steps and pauses at the sight.

“Oh? What do we have here?”

Wriothesley scratches the back of his neck before cracking a smile that seems to say: ‘caught us!’. “Ah, Sigewinne! We were just looking for you. Now if you could tend to this high demand patient we have it would be greatly appreciated.” He points over his shoulder without turning his head, and yet the shaky undertone in his demeanour is unmistakable.

You give him a look even though his back is towards you.

Sigewinne nods her head. “Alright then. Let’s take a look…” if she’s surprised, her face betrays nothing. She waddles to the other side of the room and reaches for a new, cleaner towel; and you realise how comical a sight this is — with both the Champion Duelist and the Duke following her every move in silence as you sit stiffly on a worn mattress. She returns and studies the needle in your hand and holds her own paw-like hand out. Placing it in her hand, she dips the towel into a bowl of warm water and cleans the area properly this time.

“Take a deep breath in for me please.” you do not know why you silently follow her orders. “And out.”

That was your que to prepare for the second stitch. Not bad; it did feel less haphazard than your own. Sigewinne’s eyes do not leave your wound as she pops a question: “Will you need your entourage to escort you to the Overworld?”

Suddenly all your worries are gone and are now replaced with a new one. “My entourage? Oh, no, that wouldn’t be necessary.” The needle comes up from under your skin and her paws move downwards.

“Are you sure? I can contact him if you like.”

You playfully look to the side. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Sigewinne unfortunately does not take the hint and questions your dismissal of your dealing with him. “But you were just with Monsieur Neuvillette just now, I don’t see why it would slip your mind. Unless you’re suffering from short term memory loss, that is.” Your eyes widen at the mention and you motion your hand to to your neck to stop her before she goes off on a tangent.

The pair standing on the other corner both seem to share the same concerns. Wriothesley quirks a brow. “Monsieur Neuvillette? Surely you haven’t made yourself fancy for the Chief Justice.”

“No, he is not my suitor; just a mere colleague of mine. Our relationship is strictly professional — that is all.”

The Duke smiles. “Yeah. Sure. That’s how it always starts. Workplace romance is a classic.”

Clorinde tilts her head. “What has gotten into you? Always blabbering about romance this and romance that.”

“You, Miss Clorinde, should be aware that I have always been hopeless for things like this. I am not as stoic as you or the Chief Justice of Fontaine.”

“I am well aware. I just choose not to acknowledge it — oh and…” she breaks off mid-conversation, leaving Wriothesley sulking like a defeated dog. “How has Monsieur Neuvillette been? I’ve heard that he’s been involved in some ‘scandal’, but I’ve been too busy resolving business. I haven't an idea what it’s about.”

Dread fills your gut as you come to another decision you have to make today. Either you tell her the truth or skirt over some details so she doesn’t tie any link back to you. “As it turns out I haven’t really been well-versed in the melodrama of the people, but from word of mouth,” your hand cups one side of your face as you whisper, “he has entangled himself with a commoner.”

Wriothesley and Clorinde both shout a distressed “What?” in unison.

“I surmise he hasn’t taken any of it into account,” the duelist guesses, shooting a blind shot in the dark.

Your lips curve into a leer. “He’s doing what he always does. His job.”

___

"M-monsieur Neuvillette! What brings you here?”

“Good afternoon. What rings do you suggest would suit...”

The jeweller, filled with the delicate hum of conversation and soft hushes of conversation, momentarily hushes in anticipation. Neuvillette, however, maintains a calm demeanour, allowing the flustered individual to collect himself.

The person takes a moment, clears their throat, and continues, “... suit your refined taste? We have an exquisite collection of vintage pieces or, if you prefer, more contemporary designs. Perhaps something that resonates with the essence of your intended occasion?” He glances nervously at Neuvillette, awaiting his response with bated breath.

“A simple engagement ring would be right up my alley. Your guidance…” He quickly searches for the name etched into his nametag and spots a ‘GATTINEO’ on his person “Monsieur Gattineo,, in finding the perfect ring, would be much appreciated,” Neuvillette states, and he smiles stiffly, unable to tell if he’s just scared the worker senseless or struck the first normal human conversation he’s had in weeks.

The person behind the counter nods profusely and points his arm to the left. “R— Right this way, monsieur.”

Neuvillette gazes at the employee intently, studying the way his hands slips at the knob that seals the rings from under the glass display and slowly retrieves them, pushing the array of wedding bands toward the Chief Justice as if a single sound might shatter the fabric of time.

The Iudex takes pity and reassures him that he ‘need not be so tense’, but whether the employee buys the claim is a story he does not remain privy to. Gloved hands pick a ring from the second row from the array and he holds it in the light, checking the glimmer of the diamond that sits snug under the hooks of white gold. Too dull, he notes, already picturing it against your ring finger. He thinks that you do not deserve such a ring of commonplace, and he politely places it back into its respectful place on the display.

He reaches for another, acutely aware of the growing pairs of eyes that are burning into his back. Another ring is victim to the light and he needs little inspection to know that this wouldn’t flatter you in the slightest. Scrunching his nose, he turns to look at other options.

None seem to suit his taste.

Neuvillette stands stationary for a moment before noticing a glint to his right. It is a ring that appears lacklustre at first glance, but when he looks at it for longer, he realises that the ring is not as uninteresting as it initially seemed.

He points at it through the glass. “Would you mind if I take a look at that one?”

“Why, sure. It is a latest addition, monsieur, and is very much flattering on any bride.” The Chief Justice, who is ever impartial to opinions, disagrees. He does not think it is flattering on just any bride.

Its centrepiece is a gorgeous sapphire, and his mind immediately shifts to the casual blue undertones of the clothes you wear. It would certainly complement her eyes, he thinks, picturing the glimmer of blue on your skin. It would make your complexion ‘pop’, as Lady Furina had said. It is nowhere near extravagant, but keeping it simple is to make a statement.

He pinches the ring in between the pad of his thumb and index finger. “I would like to purchase this — does it come with a box?”

The worker is stunned, eyes practically popping out of his skull. “Y—Yes! It surely does. That would be one hundred thou—”

“Please, put it on my tab.”

Now the worker is really ogling at him. He hasn’t even heard the full price! He figures up how much he will get for this commission, and it will buy him a luxurious lifestyle for several months. Heavens above, he really was lucky today.

“I can do that for you. Just give me a moment to get the box from the back.” The man scutters away, and the conversations around Neuvillette are now brought into vivid technicolour.

“Is it for the woman in the tabloids? I heard she’s the newly employed head of civil affairs.”

“She really has done everything under the sun.”

The Chief Justice’s ears perk at the phrase in response. “You can’t trust everything you see in the media. Looks to me that she’s only in it for the money.”

“You are right… Perhaps it is a calculated move to push her way through the ranks! What a sly, sly woman she is.”

Are they seriously speaking about you around the very man that dictates the verdict of whom is guilty? That kind of daring makes Neuvillette's eyes narrow. He does not wish to entertain their idle gossip, but he also can't watch while his future wife is being disparaged in such a manner. To him, your resilience is remarkable. That, is one aspect of your character that he truly admires. But one thing rings true: fame comes with a price.

Neuvillette’s jaw ticks, and his warm, serene mien freezes over, his glare a piercing chill. He composes himself, and turns on his heel with a rigid calm. The words that leave his lips send the people’s blood running cold.

“If you are to speak ill of the woman I am to propose to — and that is certain — I hope you see to it that the repercussions are to be nothing but shy of being remarkably uncomfortable. ”

a/n: this one kinda strayed off my outline if im gonna b honest but like are we really complaining cuz PROTECTIVE NEUVILLETTEE OGME

taglist : @sek0ya, @souxiesun

#neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #genshin impact #neuvillette fanfic #neuvillette genshin #enemies to lovers #marriage of convenience #arranged marriage

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