[minyoonjin]

justice for namjoon 😭

[rubykooks]

😭😭😭

[ohhowjooniewept]

prince jungkook x princess y/n

fluff, angst, smut

<13k

24 years. 24 years you had lived your life in quiet solitude, ignored, disregarded and cast aside by family and all those around you, only to be deemed of use in a single night. despite being a princess to a wealthy kingdom, you had nothing. no love, no care - you couldn’t really remember the last time someone had actively been nice to you simply because they wanted to.

your parents had one single objective. a male heir. considering you were an only child, to say you were a disappointment was both evident and clear, something you were routinely reminded every chance they got. you were never tall enough, powerful enough, never quite as commanding as other princesses or even as graceful. you were just quiet, anxious y/n. poor little bird who’s wings were clipped early on, and yet expected to fly with each passing wind.

your only solitude was the small library that was well stocked within the castle. you dreamt of a world that aligned with the stories you read, dragons and knights, incredible adventures and sweet princes. whether it was a possibility made little difference to you, and yet every time you closed your eyes with your head against the pillow, you dared yourself to dream.

daily life for you was simple. you’d wake up, earlier than you’d prefer, have breakfast with your parents as a code of expectation where they’d no doubt be spewing whatever first came to mind whilst servants cowered around you. then, you’d grab a book and head to the gardens, hiding away in trees and random little nooks you’d found solace in over the years. you weren’t allowed out of the palace, despite your heart yearning for a friend, just one, just anything.

you’d undergo your lessons. first, languages, where you were undeniably an expert of multiple, only to follow up with diplomacy. not that you’d ever be allowed to rule, you were sure your father had bastard sons somewhere he was simply waiting to legitimise the second your mother passed away. art, culture and etiquette would come last before you were free to live your own, silent little life again.

the servants around you were either cruel, or dismissive. you didn’t have the heart to blame them, your parents were harsh rulers and they ran their palace with an iron fist. it was no secret to anyone that they did not like you, often insulting you and belittling you in front of anyone, and therefore the maids picked this up too. they figured it was an easy way to get into the good books of their king and queen. those who were not as foolish made the wise decision of simply ignoring you, to which you were highly thankful.

some days you wondered if you were real. flesh and bones hardly felt tangible when all they contributed to was a gaping hole inside your heart, followed by an over imaginative brain that painted a future you were sure you’d never have. you dreamt of death, not in a suicidal way, but mere curiosity - would it bring you peace? comfort? would it kiss you upon your brow, and whisper the same sweet nothings you quietly murmured to yourself each night?

indeed, life was cruel for the forgotten princess. both silent and unkind, a reality you now had learnt to accept.

today, however, was different. the hallways were bustling with an unspoken rush, as though something was on the cusp of happening. something big. your curiosity was at an all time high as you made your way to the royal dining room, your thick, velvet dress floating around you. you couldn’t help but notice the way everyone was ignoring you, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but even the staff that liked to take every opportunity to belittle you were rushing past you with chattering mouths as though they knew something you didn’t.

upon entering the room, even your parents seemed engrossed in something, making your ears perk up. no one ever told you anything, but half of the fun was finding out anyway, was it not?

you took a seat, your royal servants plating your food for you as you began to eat in silence, careful not to make a noise. stood in the corner of the room were two men, dressed in royal garments that did not correspond with your kingdom’s colours, only heightening the confusion in your chest. your father, the king, sat with a scroll beside him and your mother, who both left their wines untouched.

the sound of silverware clicking against plates and silent conversation was driving you insane, and though you didn’t have the power to challenge it, it aggravated you nonetheless. to be the only one in a room, a palace even, who had no idea of what was going on was undoubtedly frustrating. you could feel it rising to your throat, curbing your appetite until your father finally looked up, acknowledging you for the first time that day.

“you’ve received a proposal.” he muttered, as though he was merely commentating on the weather. as though you weren’t watching him shuffle your life like a pack of cards.

your knife slips from your hand, causing a loud clatter. “what?”

“a marriage proposal. from haneul.”

your eyebrows furrowed and your throat clenched. that was the kingdom that sat all the way down south, in the warmer regions. they were renowned for their wealth and tactical ability in battle, earning them respect anywhere they’d go. they had no enemies, no one would dare go against such a mighty nation and you’d often read books that referenced their customs and fashion, as they were known to be quite trendy. most importantly, however, they were known for having 7 heirs. 7 children, all male, all ready to wed.

“the last one. prince jungkook, the soldier boy.” your mother added before continuing to eat. “so you’ll never be queen, not that you had any chance.”

you blinked rapidly at her, before looking at your father, the servants, the men in the corner who watched the interaction in half shock and confusion. they’d never seen a princess be treated in such a manner, by her own parents no doubt. you could feel your chest closing in slightly, finding it hard to breathe at the prospect of being taken from one jail only to enter another, but this time? it was in a place you knew nothing of.

“when?” you asked, voice hoarse.

they couldn’t even give you the respect of looking up, merely continuing to eat. “5 days. the royal carriage will be here tomorrow, and your ladies in waiting will gather your things. we leave at dawn.”

you slumped slightly. of course there was no choice. your parents would be fools to deny themselves a political allegiance as good as this, especially considering all they had to offer was a daughter and not much else.

you peered up, through weighted lashes covered in tears. “why me?”

your father put down his utensils, face cold and eyes narrowed. “he asked for you.”

—

the journey took four days, your carriage an utter nightmare as you sat in a confined space, alone, without anyone to keep you company. you typically enjoyed being on your own, but the anxiety that was brewing in your stomach was hard to handle as it was.

prince jungkook. the soldier. you’d taken this time to read up on the kingdom of haneul and despite your fear, intrigue swirled in your stomach. the king and queen were known to be mighty but fair, both slightly older in age and having 7 children as a whole.

prince seokjin was heir to the throne, and the kingdom’s favourite, renowned for both his charm and diplomacy. his brothers were very much well liked too, and his bride, yejin, was the princess darling of the capital. they’d both make for an incredible king and queen. jungkook, however, was a different case. they practically worshiped him, for he symbolised something much greater than just monarchy - he was the nation’s strength.

the books you were reading said he had first killed at the age of 12, battling in numerous wars where he had single-handedly protected his men against other kingdoms. he was the most skilled swordsman in all of the realms combined, and his agility was no laughing matter. you had managed to find paintings of each sibling, and yet nothing for the man you were betrothed to.

the journey was long and tiresome, and though you couldn’t sleep, by the end of it, you could feel exhaustion seeping into all of your bones. by the time you had arrived, your eyes were wide and your lips parted at the sight of the sun beating warmly down onto the palace, small gasps escaping you at the feel of such heat. it was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, especially since your nation was one of snow and cold.

your parents had set off a day after you, meaning you had arrived all on your own, and to say you were terrified was an understatement. your ladies in waiting sat in another carriage, following you closely whilst you began pulling up to the palace, peering outside nervously to see both the king and queen, the eldest prince and princess. you recognised him from the painting in the book you were reading - it seemed seokjin was even more handsome in person, with his bride matching him in beauty.

within minutes, you were out of your carriage, your ladies behind you as you were presented to your new in laws. you were a princess, so formalities were something you were trained for to an inch of your life - you bowed before them, head down and graceful.

“oh, we’ll have none of that, sweet girl. we are to be family.” the king laughed quietly, as his wife approached you with a warm embrace, helping you up and holding you tightly, planting two kisses to each cheek.

you knew your face must have looked utterly bewildered, your cheeks flushed a shade of pink that you’d never even seen on your expression before. the others simply laughed, each taking an opportunity to embrace you.

“hi, i’m yejin.” the princess grinned, smile brighter than anything you’d ever seen. you were struck for a moment - you hadn’t seen anyone so beautiful..ever.

“hi, i’m y/n.” you shyly murmured back, a small smile forming on your own face.

you hadn’t expected this. you’d never had people be kind to you like this, and a part of you felt anxiety at the mere attention, but for once in your life, you felt a craving satiate. was it so wrong to accept this?

“god, you must be sweltering wearing that.” yejin frowned, looking over at your attire. you were wearing your kingdom’s latest fashions, a vast difference to the ones here in haneul where her skin was vastly on show, summer dresses that were both flowy and light. you envied how free she looked, longing to feel the same.

you shuffled. “oh..yes, we don’t..have heat so this is my lightest dress.”

your embarrassment was creeping up your spine in what felt like a rush, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. you expected her to make fun of you, for all of them to snicker in a way you were used to, shame clawing at your throat over something small, something insignificant.

“come on, then. lets take you shopping in my wardrobe, i have so many dresses that would look wonderful on you!”

before you could even say anything, she was already taking your hand and pulling you in, everyone watching happily whilst your maids blinked in confusion, almost shocked to see you received so kindly.

within a single hour, yejin had adopted you as her new best friend, sister and confidant, excitedly telling you everything about the kingdom, about her family in her own nation, daily life and what was to come. in the span of 60 minutes, you had felt more seen and heard than you had in your entire life, and your heart pulled with genuine excitement at the thought of living in a place where this was the norm.

she sat outside whilst you bathed, even picked out a dress for you, had her personal ladies in waiting attend to your hair as she gossiped away, rambling about how excited she was to have another girl she could befriend. it made your heart swell. you’d never had a friend before but it was something you wanted more than anything, and the more time you were spending with her, albeit it only being a little while, you knew this was something you couldn’t give up.

“oh you look so beautiful! you look like a true haneulian.”

you peered up, flushing pink as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

your hair was waved, with a single, thin plait going down the right side of your head. your dress was much more revealing than anything you’d ever worn, with your arms out, cut outs near your waist and chest but one look around you assured this was a norm here, and entirely encouraged. even the little flower your new sister in law tucked in your ear brightened your face up.

“jungkook’s favourite.” she had teased, with a small wink, completely bringing you back to the situation at hand.

it was like cold water had been doused onto you as you peered at yourself reflection, your eyebrows furrowing slightly. you hadn’t really asked anything about him, too afraid to mess up this sudden found kindness - you weren’t new to someone offering you warmth as a ploy to hurt you further, and this felt too good to pass up.

yejin could recognise the look on your face immediately, the unspoken words on your tongue. you were so reserved, shaky and unsure. despite possessing every skill a princess ought to have, your lack of confidence felt deep rooted and assured, it was something she couldn’t quite understand, was this a norm where you were from?

“you can ask about him. it’s okay.” she suddenly whispered to you, brushing a strand away from your face as you both peered at your reflection in the mirror. “he might be my brother in law, but you’re now my sister. i think it’s only fair you know about your husband to be.”

you met her gaze, lip trembling slightly, forcing you to bite down on rouge stained skin.

“what is he like?” you whispered back, quiet. worried, almost.

to that, she gave you the softest smile.

“jungkook is the most protective person i know. he’ll spend his life making sure you feel safe.” she stood straight. “i grew up with him and the others. he’s incredibly fair and he’s got a strong sense of justice, he’s not the best listener though - whenever i tell him my problems, he’s always up out of his chair ready to deal with it before i can finish my sentence.”

“oh! he has a great memory and he’s always the first to notice little things. i think he’s the most attentive out of all of my in laws, which can get annoying sometimes. nice to be seen though, you know?”

your lip was trembling again, your hands shaking as you cupped them to your chest in a bid to hide them from her. hearing about your betrothed offered you a sort of relief, a breath of encouragement that you needed this entire time. your parents had given you nothing, and all of the books you’d read on your journey here merely discussed how harsh of a swordsman he was, his skill and ferocious nature. you honestly assumed he would be just as harsh outside of the battlefield. to hear he was not was a shock.

“do you not know anything about him?” she tilted her head gently at you, taking a hold of one of your hands as a bid to offer you comfort.

you shook your head after a moment of silence, choosing to be honest, despite knowing it incriminated your parents for their negligence.

her eyebrows furrowed.

“funny. you’re all he talks about.”

—

you wake later than you initially expected to. after a sleepless night, you’d finally managed to close your eyes in the early morning only to wake up groggy. sunlight pulled through the windows in a way you had never experienced before, sweet kisses of gentle heat fluttering up and down your body whilst a flourish of people moved around you.

servants were in and out of your room, rushing down the hallways and preparing things whilst your new ladies in waiting helped you up, kindly taking you to your bathhouse to run you a ceremonial bath. your own ladies in waiting, however, simply stood and scoffed, complaining to anyone who would listen to them that this was not the tradition of your kingdom and it was uncouth for you to listen to them considering you were technically yet to be married.

you were completely dazed, however, simply letting your naked body soak in the water and oils whilst closing your eyes. within what felt like seconds, you were out, your hair and makeup styled gently, movement around you only growing quicker and quicker and quicker. before you could even realise it, your dress was being buttoned behind you, and you were being accompanied to the bridal suite where your parents, yejin and a few more ladies sat.

upon walking in, your new sister in law was the first to jump up, adorned in a lavish baby blue that sparkled with each step she took, a large smile on her face as she gushed about how beautiful you looked, tucking the royal flower behind your ear. a custom, it seemed.

you were already out of your depth when your parents then stood, walking over to you whilst yejin moved to one side. without you realising, two of your brothers in law, namjoon and hoseok stood by the door, grinning at their brother’s bride and watching the interaction curiously.

the way your parents looked at you unnerved you. this was not a send off, this was an inspection, a final warning.

“you look ridiculous.” your mother scoffed, with a click of her tongue, pulling at your dress. “this is utterly indecent.”

you peered down at your dress. in the colder realms, where you were from, dresses like this didn’t exist. warm colours, bright and sweet - brides in your kingdom wore black on their wedding, whilst here you stood in a warm white, golden rays etched into the fabric. you embodied the very nation you were marrying into, and you truly looked like you belonged here.

your father then took his turn.

“you’ll bow when told. speak when spoken to. and for heaven’s sake, y/n, stop fidgeting.”

the way in which he spoke to you was not new - but to have an audience watching in, one that was not privy to it like your servants were, who all stood snickering, felt humiliating in a way you’d not felt in a long time. you were already feeling anxious, but whatever light or happiness you had found in the past 24 hours was diminished right before everyone’s eyes as you nodded, your gaze dropping to your feet.

yejin, alongside her brothers, stood watching in shock. your parents had assumed she had left, not aware she was still stood by the doorway, now accompanied by her husband’s two siblings. the three exchanged a glance, sharp and quiet, the kind that spoke a thousand words without ever having to open a mouth. they didn’t interrupt, but namjoon made sure to capture your gaze, a fire blazing in his eyes that had a small, secret pocket of comfort grow in your stomach. you were seen.

soon, everyone had left the room and you were left alone for a few moments. you found yourself sitting down, inhaling and exhaling slowly as a bid to calm your racing heart. you almost didn’t hear the door open, the sound of footsteps reaching close enough for you to open your eyes, and peer up.

“hello, princess.” your brother in law, yoongi, bowed before you, gracious and kind as he offered you his hand.

you nervously looked up, hesitating before taking it, hand gentle.

you’d read about this in the books. haneulian tradition differed from your own kingdom in the practise that your father would not walk you down the isle, but instead, the groom’s most trusted friend would escort you to symbolise a welcoming and protection. in this case, prince yoongi was the one to do so.

he led you to the doors of the great hall, where music could be heard, people excitedly chatting. your breathing felt tight, your vision blurry.

“i’ve got you.” he suddenly whispered beside you, making you look up at him.

an uncharacteristic whimper left you, feeling more vulnerable than you’d ever felt in your life. you didn’t know this man, and you’d learnt early on not to trust anyone’s kindness and yet, here you stood, nodding at him with teary eyes.

“promise?”

“i promise you.” he assured.

instead of holding your hand in the air to lead you, he took it and wrapped it around his arm, to steady you. though this was not tradition, he hardly cared - he was determined to make sure his brother’s bride felt comfort, especially after yejin had just informed him of what tyrants your parents were towards you.

suddenly, the doors began to open. the music changed to something softer, gentler whilst the general chatter began to quieten down. you both stepped forward, your long, golden threaded train trailing over marble floors as you began your descent towards the alter. people around you were whispering, some commenting on your beauty, others in awe of your mere poise. you were every inch of what a princess was ought to be, and to know you were marrying their beloved prince, it only heightened emotions.

everything was a blur to you. you couldn’t see ahead of you, your brain completely disregarding your sight as you clutched yoongi’s arm desperately, chest offering only shallow breaths to your lungs. you couldn’t even decipher yejin’s supportive smile at the front of the hall until you were close by, a sense of comfort swirling in your stomach at the sight of your new friend. your brother in law walked slowly beside you, offering you time, giving you space to do this within your own rhythm.

after what felt like mere seconlds, he stopped, forcing you to do the same, your thick veil long behind you whilst a thin portion of it hid your face in a translucent manner. though everyone could see you, it still acted as a barrier that you felt thankful for - it was offering you safety.

yoongi turned to you, planting a gentle kiss to your forehead before placing your hand in the embrace of another.

small sparks travelled up your arm at mere contact with the man in front of you, landing straight to both your heart and mind as you peered up, finally making eye contact with your husband to be.

jungkook stood at the alter, leading you to your positions with a stature befitting of a prince. he had returned in the early hours of that morning from a campaign near by, one that had taken much longer than he initially expected, forcing him to miss your entrance to the palace, and instead mean your first meeting would be here, in front of everyone.

his hair, dark and luscious, was slightly damp from his morning bathe whilst he donned his ceremonial armour. black trimmed with gold, he was both a juxtaposition to you and yet a perfect match, his sword belted at his hip as custom dictated.

you looked up, gaze meeting his and you nearly audibly gasped. face soft, gentle, and yet with a harshness you weren’t sure how to pin point. he wasn’t smiling, but his eyes spoke a million words, dark and claiming as they looked over you, consistently returning to meet your gaze, as though he had waited for you for a millennia.

you couldn’t look away from him, the way he was staring at you, or the way his hand still clutched yours despite not needing to whatsoever. people watched as you both took one another in, not realising how deep his infatuation for you truly ran. oh, sweet y/n, he thought. if only you knew.

the priest began to speak, but you could hardly hear him above the sound of your heart beating so quickly, your brain malfunctioning having him so close. you knew he’d be handsome, all of the books told you so, but to see him? to know he was akin to the princes you’d read about in the romance books you so often indulged? this was beyond anything you’d ever dreamt of.

you couldn’t help but feel like he was seeing you, not at you, or through you, but inside every nook and cranny. it was a feeling that confused you; it was hardly something you’d ever experienced before, but as the priest instructed him to say his vows, the feeling only grew.

“before the eyes of the gods who wove our fates, i give you my blade, my breath, my blood. where your shadow falls, i bring you the sun. in war and peace, in silence or in storm - i am yours, until the gods unmake me.”

hearing his voice for the first time was an out of body experience. you knew your chest was rising and falling in a way that had him stepping closer to you, only slightly, only for you to see and be aware of.

soon, it was your turn.

“before the eyes of the gods who wove our fates, i give you my heart, my voice, my vow. where your fire burns, i will bring you calm. in war and peace, in silence or in storm - i am yours, until the gods unmake me.”

you watched as his eyes shut tightly, a shudder of a breath escaping him quietly, again, only for you to see. silence echoed the hall as everyone watched with bated breath, the coming of two kingdoms but more importantly, a union between two people.

once they opened again, he looked at you for a moment, admiring the pink of your cheeks, the stain on your lips, the large eyes you peered up at him with. he extended his right hand, palm up.

you nervously laid yours upon it, knowing this was another haneulian tradition. upon contact, you could see his throat constrict, and it filled you with a new sort of emotion in your stomach. excitement? glee?

the priest wrapped your hands with a length of crimson silk, binding you both to one another under the gods, all the whilst neither of you could look away. the butterflies in your stomach were a roaring stampede, your heart beating out of your chest. once the knot was tied, jungkook gripped your hand firmly, bringing it to his lips with a gentle kiss before raising it to the sun.

the hall had an open ceiling, a dome like shape where the sun shon directly down at the both of you with your hands raised towards it. in that exact moment, a gust of wind fluttered in, a myriad of pretty petals from the outside trees circling, rotating around the room before gently landing by your feet.

“the gods approve.” one man shouted out, whilst everyone erupted in cheers, causing you to gasp out loud whilst jungkook couldn’t tear his eyes from you.

your audience were pleased, clapping, cheering and smiling brightly at you. even your parents were stood, and despite not showing any happiness whatsoever, they at least didn’t look angry which was all you could hope for. your new in laws, however, were akin to the sun itself, bright and smiling, laughing and clapping along with the crowd as though you were a gift to them.

nervously, you looked up to your now husband who was already staring down at you. for the first time in your life, you allowed yourself the pleasure of doing what you wanted and peered up at him unabashedly. there was a softness to his features you hadn’t expected, the slope of his nose, his lips and the way his eyes peered down at you. the hardness came from his gaze, the surface scars littered across his face alongside the deeper one alongside his jaw. your fingers twitched against him, wanting desperately to run them against each one, almost in awe at the way they created a juxtaposition before your very eyes.

trumpets and bells began to signal to the rest of the kingdom, meaning the two of you began your walk towards the massive balcony that sat on the edge of the hall. your dress flowed behind you as you nervously followed him, and it was clear he was matching your pace despite it being a slow one. your anxiety was evident to him from the way your fingers twitched in his bound hand, and so, he gently tugged you towards him, as a bid to bring you comfort.

you both stood in front of the closed doors, the cheers and whoops from outside doing nothing to alleviate the nervous pool forming inside your brain. as though he could sense this, jungkook peered down at you, openly watching you.

“don’t be afraid.” he whispered, head dropping so his cheek grazed your own, lips touching your ear. the act was utterly indecent. “you are my bride now, and their princess.”

with that, you shuddered as the doors opened, whilst you once more made eye contact with him, his face so close to your own. you were pulled forward until the crowd could openly see you both, your bound hands straightened to the crowd for all to awe at. the crowd screamed in joy.

you were the perfect match. light and steel. warmth and cold. a shared joy that would grow solely for you both.

selfishly, you found yourself flushing at the sight of such attention. candied heat, kindness thrown towards you intrinsically - you’d never felt such love before. maybe this was it. maybe the gods above finally had heard your prayer, the one you’d whisper into your pillow each tear stricken night, hoping for change, begging for care.

bring me the sun. bring me hope.

—

celebrations continued on into the evening. music blared all the way down the streets as the entire kingdom rejoiced, parties being held in the streets, feasts in your honour and prayers made for you both. the sound of people dancing had a shy smile pulling at your features throughout your wedding, giggling on many occasion as you glimpsed at your new brothers in law having fun.

you weren’t used to anything like this. the only fun you’d ever really had was when new books would come through to the library, meaning you had new stories to pick up and read - something like this was unheard of for you.

jungkook sat beside you, your hands interlocked the entire time. he watched you openly, a matching smile forming on his own face whenever he’d hear your sweet laugh. he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

you felt too shy to address him, nervously stealing glances only to catch him already staring at you, making you quickly look away. he was enjoying this little cat and mouse game you had begun, and he could see the way your cheeks would flush at any mere contact, like you weren’t curling your fingers around his subconsciously.

“is the wedding to your liking, princess?” he suddenly reached over, pouring wine into your glass. the action caused him to be incredibly close to you for a moment.

your gasp was music to his ears.

“it’s beautiful.” you nodded, nervously shuffling. “i-i didn’t expect such a lavish celebration.”

he pulled away, pouring wine into his own goblet. “i imagine you have different customs in the north.”

you nodded again, shyly taking a sip. “less…happy.”

he pondered for a moment, watching you take small little mouthfuls, instead of clearly drinking the way you wanted to. he felt his hand slip gently, curling around your fingers that held the goblet. this position was inappropriate for anyone to see, not that he gave a fuck.

“drink.” he whispered down at you, voice suddenly huskier than it was a moment ago.

your eyes connected, and neither of you looked away as you obeyed him, drinking in bigger gulps, a lone drip of wine collecting by the corner of your mouth. your brain felt hazy at his actions, suddenly commanded and controlled by whatever he wanted, as though an innate part of you knew that it was him your brain needed.

as you pulled the goblet away, his hand left yours. instead, his thumb traced your lips, collecting the remnants of the red wine before slipping it into his mouth, sucking it openly.

your heart stopped beating for a moment. you blinked up at him with shallow breaths before he pulled it out, a low groan rumbling out of his lips. he didn’t care who was watching, though he was sure most were occupied drinking themselves.

“sweet.” he murmured, only for you to hear. you gasped silently at his admission, his gaze lazily falling back down to your lips.

fuck, the things he wanted to do to you.

a deep red blush formed on your cheeks, forcing you to look away but jungkook noticed the way you shifted in your seat, your hands shaking. he tilted his head slightly.

“you really don’t remember me, do you?”

your brain was a jumbled mess, so it took you a moment to process his words, turning back to him as your eyebrows furrowed, despite your body still reacting to his earlier actions. “we’ve never met..”

“oh, we have.” he was sporting a small smirk. “many years ago, we were children.”

you furrowed your brows, trying to recall a time when you’d come to the kingdom, but you were sure this was your first time here. he watched the confusion on your face, how it tugged at your features, you had no idea how badly it drove him insane. he was utterly obsessed with you, and you had yet to even realise it.

“funny, we were both attending a wedding in liora, their eldest son. every royal in the 10 lands had to attend, do you remember?”

you blinked rapidly at him, nodding your head. how could you not? for 6 days, you had left the four walls of your room for the first time and into society, and for over a decade after, it was all you’d thought about. the pretty colours, the different food, and so many beautiful people - you didn’t make any friends but you could hardly care, simply being in the presence of others was comforting.

he smirked wider. “you sat in front of me in the chapel. i played with your hair the entire time.” your head tilted also as recognition swept in.

you gasped, suddenly. “that was you?”

he reached over, taking a strand of your hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “you were the sweetest thing i’d ever seen, even asked my father if he would marry us that day.” he scoffed. “but we were children. i couldn’t get you out of my head, i felt an odd sort of attachment to you.”

you were blinking quickly.

“i’ve harboured an affection for you for far too long, princess. i’ve even gone as far as to employ spies in your kingdom to watch over you, to make sure you’re safe, happy…”

the casual way in which he was describing his actions had you nearly combusting. he was entirely nonchalant, as though he wasn’t describing a crime fit for a war between your nations.

“but..i-i never knew..” you shook your head. “i know. i wanted to come to you when the time was right. i have security, i’ve made sure your life here will be safe, lavish, even stocked our library up since i heard you like to read.”

his comments were made overly casually, as though it was small, minute - as though he had much more planned for you. you, however, sat, chest rising and falling as your throat constricted.

you were lonely. you’d never even had a friend to call your own, no one to show you even a glimmer of kindness. to suddenly be told that there was someone longing for you the entire time was something you could hardly comprehend. to know there was someone out there, yearning, bidding their time, actively making steps in their life to accommodate you was beyond anything you’d ever dreamt about.

“i wish you had come sooner.” you whispered up at him, looking up with tears lining your lower lash line. you wished so desperately he could have come then and there, and saved you from the years of tornment, of solitude.

at this, jungkook inhaled, nostrils flaring slightly. he could see how deeply his words had impacted you, and considering your parents had been scowling the entire wedding, displeased at the festivities, it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. instead, he took your hand, interlocking his fingers with your own before pressing the back of it to his lips.

once he pulled away, he pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek whilst you nuzzled into his touch. “i wish i had too.” he admitted. “but i’m here now. my sweet princess.”

your eyes closed momentarily, a slight slump in your shoulders. you shared a moment with your new husband, something intimate and quiet, and despite everyone being able to see you, you knew you were protected beside him. to think in the span of a week, your entire life had changed, as though every prayer you’d quietly whisper in the confinement of your covers had finally come true.

soon later, the whooping of the crowd elevated as attentions turned back to you both. it was finally time for the bedding ceremony. despite the vast differences between your two kingdoms, one thing that remained the same was the expectation and duty of a wedding night.

your cheeks flushed pink as your new ladies in waiting approached you, gently guiding you away from the banquet hall and to your new shared quarters with your husband. you marvelled at the room in utter awe, it being unlike anything you’ve ever seen, the musky scent that emitted from jungkook was heavy and strong here.

you were taken to the bath house that sat just beside your new room, private and warm, steam emitting from the springs of water. your maids lined the water with oils and other things, helping you get in, your eyes closing for a moment as you audibly sighed in content.

your hair was brushed, gentle hands running through them as your body hid between the heated water. your brain was filled with the thought of jungkook and his admission - it was driving you crazy. your father told you he had asked for you directly, yejin even expressing how often he talked about you; did this mean he truly wanted you in the way you had only ever seen in books.

you couldn’t deny how attractive he was. it was down right sinful the way he’d rake his gaze over you, your face and body, as though he had waited for this day for far too long. he was so big, wide shoulders, big beefy arms, you even noticed his biceps flexing subconsciously underneath his royal attire as though they weren’t use to feeling so restricted. it made your head swim.

whilst being lost in your thoughts, you heard a shuffling of feet around you. something heavier, firmer.

“leave us.” a voice called out gently to your maids, who all bowed and did exactly that, leaving you to open your eyes, only to meet that of your husband.

your body was partly covered by the angle, but the water was clear, your naked figure entirely on show for him. the way you were slumped, your hair behind your back and dipped in the water also - jungkook couldn’t help but think you were the epitome of a siren.

jungkook unbuttoned his garments. his eyes holding your gaze in an almost challenge. first came his royal jacket, with his pins and medals clattering to the floor as he pushed it to a side, unbuttoning his crisp shirt to reveal hard and scarred abs. he had deep scars all over his pecs and chest, that traveled across his beefy arms too. you knew it was poison of the mind to think how incredibly attractive they were.

soon, jungkook removed his last article of clothing, leaving him completely naked in front of you. you tried to be a good girl, advert your eyes and look away type thing but you couldn’t even if you wanted to. his hard, fat cock sat against his stomach, already fully hard and clearly ready to utterly break you.

he stepped into the springs, reaching so he now sat beside you, his legs spread wide as he leaned back, grinning lightly. as of 24 hours ago, he was on his way back from a campaign and now, he had the woman of his dreams, baked, staring beside him.

you couldn’t stop staring at him. his entire arm of tattoos, something you never would have expected a prince to have and yet you could feel yourself clench at the mere sight of them. he wasn’t fairing any better, staring down at you as he took in your naked body, knowing that he was about to make love to you in a way where he’d fucking make home inside of you.

“come closer.” he asserted, causing your body to move without thinking, until your body was grazing his, the two of you still looking at one another. “are you scared?”

you didn’t answer straight away, instead begging to nibble on your bottom lip. “not scared..” you whispered truthfully.

he reached for you. one hand dipped under the water, finding home on your waist whilst the other cupped your cheek - he pulled you into him, almost too quickly, with the way the water sloshed around you. you found yourself clutching his shoulders, the two of you in a sudden position that felt more intense than anything you’d ever imagined.

you weren’t an idiot, you knew what sex would entail. you’d had one too many lonely days in your life, so books were the only outlet, many of which had explicit content that you’d read over and over. this felt different. the stampede in your stomach was nothing like the butterflies that usually erupted; this was so much bigger.

“you feel so soft.” he grunted, hands travelling over you now.

you flushed pink, his hands going from innocent touches to suddenly cupping your ass, rolling up your stomach to your breasts, where he audibly groaned. your hands curled against his shoulders, shuffling, positioning yourself on his lap almost naturally, to which he clearly enjoyed.

“fuck. look at you.” he cupped your breasts again, thumbs running over pebbled nipples. “the things i want to do to you are endless.”

the breath in your throat died there and then. “we can’t do it here.” you shyly murmured at him, shuffling lightly on his lap to alleviate your core’s thumping. “w-we have to do it in the royal chamber.”

it was a well known fact that marriage between royals had to be consummated in the royal chambers, the beautiful room you had just seen and been in. jungkook smirked lightly at your words, head dipping down to meet your gaze, something that felt so suddenly all consuming.

“i’m not going to fuck you here.” he shook his head, nose bumping against yours as you blinked up at him. “but i’m gonna make you cum as many times as i can. need to make sure i fit.”

his words were utterly sinful. the gasp that left your lips only spurred him on, feeling the way your fingernails dug into his biceps. he was nuzzling his nose against you now, an act gentle and sweet, a complete juxtaposition to the way he was positioning you against his cock, slowly applying pressure so that you were grinding against it.

“o-oh.” you let out a broken moan, looking down to see your own clit nudging against the tip of his cock, the sight breaking something inside your brain.

he leaned down so his lips positioned themselves against your bare nipples, sucking and biting them whole heartedly. your moans rivalled his grunts as he began leaving purple bruises as a symbol of his love to you. the way you were pressed against him made it utterly sinful, your tits shoved against his face as though he wanted to bury himself in them.

he took one, leaving a line of bruises around the nipple before biting harshly against the underside of your boob. you yelped, causing him to smirk up at you, enjoying the noise thoroughly. he soon did the same with the other, and you couldn’t help but notice how wet you felt at the mix of both pleasure and pain.

by the time he was pulling away, your breasts felt sore. you were desperate for his lips against you, wanting more and more of the feel of his teeth grazing against skin, your poor pussy thumping at the constant attention.

“gonna ask you some questions, okay princess? i expect your honesty. i’ll know if you’re lying.” he whispered down at you, making you nod almost immediately, chasing the feeling of pleasure that rolled through you as you humped him. he nudged your nose, forcing an answer out of you, bringing you out of your new pleasure haze. “okay.”

he smirked a little wider, loving the way you were so easily distracted.

“do you touch yourself?” he murmured down at you, causing you to flush, and hold still for a moment. he took a hold of your hips, continuing your actions for you, despite your brain hazing in on the question.

“sometimes.” you admitted in a smaller voice, nervously peering up at him. the way he closed his eyes and breathed shook you for a moment - he looked pleased. “mm, how often is sometimes? daily?”

you nodded, too embarassed to vocalise it. jungkook dipped his head into the gap between your shoulder and neck, breathing deeply once more. “fuck, thought of you cumming like that has me going crazy.”

you tried to continue your actions, to rub your clit against his cock once more but the iron grip on your body stopped you. he was moving you in a way where you were still getting shoots of pleasure up your body, but it wasn’t enough.

“such a good girl, aren’t you?” he purred. “and when you touch yourself, do you rub your clit?”

“yeah.” you breathed, eyebrows knotting together as a small whine left your lips.

jungkook was going insane just watching you, the way your eyes were so lidded, fingers digging into both his shoulders and biceps, curling closer and closer to him whilst water sloshed around you both.

“fuck.” he grunted, arms now wrapping around your waist, hands against your back as he pulled you impossibly close. in this position, your forehead and nose were pressed against his firmly, eye contact a fixed point where neither of you could look away even if you wanted to. your clit sat exactly against the tip of his cock, and it was making you delirious.

“what about your hole baby? you finger it?” he whispered against you, cooing despite his tone dripping in lust. “sometimes.” you whimpered at him, your breaths mixing. you were so close to kissing, you wanted it so badly but you needed him to make the first move.

“fuck.” he whispered quietly to himself, arms curling around you in a way that felt bruising. you could feel the years of longing radiating from him as he curled his fingers against your back, dragging you back and forth, loving the feel of your smaller figure shaking in his arms.

he tilted your chin slightly, so that you were looking him in the eye straight on before he pressed his lips against yours.

the kiss was unlike anything you’d ever expected your first kiss to be - this was nothing like the nervous, shy pecks you’d read about, or the way the two lovers would collide in desperation. this was need, pure, unadulterated necessity.

you were inexperienced, but it mattered little as jungkook led you with his mouth whilst you kept up. the noises you were both making were utterly indecent, neither of you really making an effort to quieten down. soon his tongue began exploring your mouth whilst you panted lightly, naked bodies curled against one another so firmly.

once you pulled away, a thin string of saliva connected you both, the sight making his cock thump against your core. the action had you letting out a shocked little moan, to which he could only close his eyes at the feel of.

soon enough, you found yourself with your back to his chest, legs spread whilst his hands explored. one hand cupped your boobs, playing, teasing and pulling on your nipples whilst the other fingered your poor pussy mercilessly.

the way he was fucking you open felt downright mean. he was peppering kisses all over the sides of your face, your head, your hands that were clutching at any part of him. you’d never felt like this before, and sure you often made yourself cum, but like this? this was a slow growing addiction you knew would take over your life.

“gods, look at you.” he hissed by your ear, two fingers pushing in and out, thicker than anything you’d ever taken. “born to take me, weren’t you?”

your brain was so hazy, you could hardly register what he was saying, feeling utterly fucked out before even getting to the good stuff.

he let out a loud grunt at the way you were sucking his fingers in, so extremely tight he wondered how he’d ever actually get to fuck you. “cmon baby, look at me. wanna see my wife.”

his words had you letting out a loud moan, the way you’d only really known him a matter of hours whilst he had waited what felt like a lifetime for you. you were his wife, and he, your husband.

his other hand came down to circle your clit, as he bit against your neck, leaving crimson marks, a physical manifestation of his brewing love for you. your moans were driving him insane, he could barely think, breathe, move. all he wanted to do was pleasure you in every way he knew how.

soon enough, you felt your hips lift as your orgasm crashed through your entire body, jungkook more than happily fucking you through it. his pace never let up, fingers curling and hitting you exactly where they needed whilst his other hand focused on your already sensitive nub.

he didn’t stop there though. you came a total of 5 times, twice from his fingers inside of you, twice from his tongue and a third just grinding you against his cock. he wanted you completely dumb in the brain by the time he was going to fuck you, and he had ensured it.

by the time you were in the royal chambers, bodies colliding on the too large bed, you were already a sensitive mess. the way he was running his cock up and down your slit had you whining, scratching his shoulders, tears streaming down your face.

“want it.” you whimpered, nails digging into him.

had he been any ordinary man, jungkook would have winced from the marks you were leaving all over him. his back, his shoulders, neck, lower jaw, his chest. you’d even scratched his stomach. he’d wear them with pride, knowing they were done by his pretty little wife that he had yearned for.

he pressed his lips to yours, as he began sinking in, your moans only getting louder against his mouth as your sensitive pussy stretched to accommodate his size. he was stretching you more than you’d ever experienced, and your brain could hardly handle it, wanting to shut down from the mix of pleasure and ache.

“my wife. my fucking wife.” jungkook hissed against you as he pulled back slightly, thrusting back into you. “gods, if only you knew how badly i’ve wanted you.”

his words were like your own personal brand of cocaine, curated solely for your use. they were mixing in your brain, easing the pressure between your legs and replacing it with a feeling you’d truly never experienced before.

jungkook tried to be gentle with you, and at first, he had accomplished exactly that. it wasn’t until your legs clambered around his hips, arms curling against him, meeting his thrusts that he noticed how easily he fell into the trap of pounding into you.

you were both an utter mess, the bed banging against the wall, noises that could be heard from half way down the hall as you both kissed, pulled, scratched, moaned.

you were sure you’d never feel as physically close to someone as you did in that moment. eye contact was maintained the entire time, your husband peering down at you as though you were a literal gift given to him.

“wish you knew what i felt for you, y/n. fuck..wish you understood.” he grunted against you, making you whine out loud. with the way you clenched around his cock, he knew was hitting the right spots.

your fingers found his hair, curling desperately. “wish you had come sooner, i was so lonely.”

your admission had him growling, making harsh noises that were going straight to your core. “i’m here now princess. never, ever going to let you go again. you’ll be happy for the rest of your life, you hear me?”

you whined, your lip beginning to tremble. “promise?”

his thrusting was begging to make that familiar burn appear in your stomach, your high close and you knew this one would utterly ruin you.

“promise, baby. everything i’ve done has been for you. made sure you’re gonna be secure and happy here..set up the library cause i know you like books..fuck, even have the chefs trained for your favourite foods.”

his words had your brain melting. “jungkook..i can’t.” you let out a little sob, and he audibly grunted out loud at the mere sight of you, crying and clinging tighter to him, your legs clinging to his hips, making sure he was as deep as possible.

“gonna give you the life you deserve.” he promised, panting over you, eyebrows furrowed. “gonna keep you happy, always smiling. i’ll fill you up with cum every fucking change i get, baby, and i’ll make sure it sticks too. get you nice and pregnant.”

suddenly, your core gave out, your orgasm rushing through every inch of your body due to his words whilst a white light blinded your vision. you completely slumped, feeling jungkook curse loudly as he came also, pumping his cum deep inside of you, forcing you to take every single inch.

you were completely out of it for a few minutes, half in a daze as your body quivered and shook. jungkook spent that time cleaning up, pressing kisses to every inch of you, eyes peering down at you so lovingly you were sure this was all a dream.

curled into his arms, he wrapped you both in the plush covers, luxury dripping in every angle around you, something that despite being a princess, you truly weren’t used to. he pressed another kiss to your nose, nuzzling his own into you.

“sleep.” he gently whispered down at you, a warm grin forming on his lips at the way you shuffled closer with a nod. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

kisses were shared all night, the two of you waking up countless times just to marvel at one another. you’d gone another two rounds, energy spent until you found yourself exhausted, instead quietly laughing and curling into each other.

the clock hit 6 in the morning before a loud banging was heard through your shared quarters. jungkook groaned, engulfing you further in his arms as a bid to make the noise not reach you but it was utterly futile, the banging insistent as the call of his name echoed through the walls.

“what?” jungkook hissed, grabbing his trousers and putting them on whilst you groaned, hiding your naked body in the covers, still exhausted.

“you have to come, sire. there’s an emergency.” one of jungkook’s soldiers panted by the door, dressed head to toe in fighting armour.

you found yourself sitting up with your covers hiding you, sleep slipping away as you watched jungkook’s face change from anger, to shock, to worry.

“where?”

“thalor. the treaty has been broken, three villages have been ravaged. they’re in ruins, sire, the rebels have accumulated and they’re heading north.”

jungkook let out a loud hiss, running his hands through his hair before breathing deeply. you startled at the sight, not at him, but the immense stress that radiated from his body.

you sat up further. “jungkook?” you called gently, with a tilt to your head.

he sighed, turning to you with eyes that looked utterly desperate.

“i’m sorry baby, i’m so sorry.” he curled his hands over your face, pressing gentle kisses over each every crevice he could find. “but i have to go. i’ll be back soon, so i need you to wait for me, okay?”

“will you be gone long?” you murmured, in confusion as he ran a hand through your hair.

“i…” he wasn’t sure how to respond. would this take a few hours, a few days? “i don’t know, but i need you to wait for me. can you do that, sweet girl?”

you nodded immediately, brushing your own hand through his hair. “you’ll come back to me?” you gently whispered, knowing he wouldn’t leave you easily. the marks all over your body were assurance enough.

“i swear to the gods above. i’ll crawl to you if i must.”

—

jungkook’s absence was something you were entirely unprepared for. he had left within 10 minutes of your conversation, and you watched from your window as he galloped away on his horse, dressed head to toe in armour you suddenly realised was synonymous with him. your heart clenched, fearing the worst.

the first week was the most torturous, as you bit your nails down to the bone, your heart a constant anxious mess. there was no word of where he was, or when he’d come back, only reports of how dire the situation was.

the first month was arguably the worst of your entire life. despite only having shared a small amount of time with your husband, he had quickly become one of the most important people in your life - he had promised you a life that he had every intention to fulfil.

soon enough, time began dripping like water. 6 months had now passed, and the solemn that was taking over you started to feel like something you’d never experienced before. it was all encompassing, stripping you of every joy - replaced with anxiety.

by the 9 month mark, you were writing letters daily, giving them to your owl merchant, despite knowing there was no way for jungkook to see them. you wrote about your feelings, the new founded longing in your heart, the desperation you felt for his safety. you had accepted that the chance to see him again was slim, but you wanted his safety regardless.

once it hit one year, your parents had demanded for your return to your original kingdom. you had cried for three days, comforted by your in laws, your new brothers who cherished you like their own sister and yejin who couldn’t imagine a single hour without your presence, the two of you having bonded like you were blood.

their excuse was diplomatic reasons, something you could have easily overturned with jungkook by your side. but alas, you were a northern princess in a southern palace with no husband in sight, with each day growing graver and graver. your brother in laws begged you to stay, and you pleaded with the messengers that would come to tell your parents you wanted to remain in case of his return, but they were furious. their best case scenario was to find you another match - your royal allegiance to haneul would die alongside jungkook, and you were still relatively young. they refused to waste this opportunity.

by the fourth day, you were packed and on your way home, forcing you to cry the entire journey.

after a year in a place that, despite your situation, was filled with warmth, returning back to the northern kingdom felt wrong. it no longer felt like home, but instead a shallow excuse of what it once was. you were treated with love, respect and kindness and from the moment your foot stepped onto cold soil, you knew you’d never experience it again.

the cruelty was much worse than you’d ever known it to be. it started subtle at first, after all, you now technically belonged to a much stronger kingdom. over the months, however, as they were used to your presence, their behaviour amped up.

first, it was the jabs, quiet and seedy. then came the constant and consistent insults. whether it be on your appearance, or the fact you were so anxiety riddled all of the time, you truly weren’t allowed a moments rest. a maid had even had the gall to look you in the face and tell you that you must have been such a disappointment to jungkook, that he has chosen death over you.

that single comment had made you cry for weeks.

it was hard not to believe their insults, the isolation, the reminder that you weren’t good enough. this was your norm back then, but it felt so much worse now you knew this wasn’t normal, that princesses weren’t supposed to feel like they were locked away in tall towers with mighty dragons. they were bolder once they assumed him to be dead, it wasn’t like anyone would stick up for you anyway.

soon enough, a year and a half had passed, and you were a mere shell of what you once were. your body was thinner, your anxiety now a permanent residence in your mind as you often couldn’t sleep. the thought of your husband, the only man to fully embrace you and show you kindness, being dead was driving you insane.

you often wrote to yejin, but you were yet to get a single response, the isolation only confirming to you that you’d never be able to return. you were destined for a life within the four walls that tortured you, and you’d have to accept it sooner rather than later. you hated your life, hated this fucking kingdom, your parents, the maids, the politicians - every single person. it was like the soil you stepped on each single day rejected you.

in haneul, your in-laws weren’t fairing any better.

your father in law was beginning preparations for a funeral, whilst his children sobbed all day. despite having 7 sons, it was his youngest that truly captured all of their hearts. jungkook was blindly loyal, a friend and a trusted individual, to have that suddenly stripped from them was cruel.

little did you know, yejin wrote letters to you each and every day despite never getting a single response. you had no idea that her handwritten notes were being intercepted and burned by your kingdom’s mailer, whilst they did the same with yours. she wrote about how deeply she missed you, how despite only spending a short time with you, she felt as though you were one half of her.

she would write of stories of jungkook, things he had yet to tell you himself, anything to keep him alive both in memory and spirit. each letter was signed with a gentle kiss, tears smudging her signature, always marked with a “forever your sister, yejin.”

all in all, nearly a year and 7 months had passed before that fateful dusk.

the kingdom of sunlight welcomed twilight evenings with ease, as warmth was always promised tomorrow - but that winters night felt different. the air was charged with an emotion no one could truly put their hands on, perhaps it was because jungkook’s funeral would be in two days, or the fact countless soldiers and knights still remained missing under his watch.

the palace’s kingsmen noticed a stream of figures approaching, distant and in the horizon, and yet they were rapidly charging. it wasn’t long until people were screaming, telling everyone to ready weapons, to prepare for what they could only assume to be a slaughter from the rebels jungkook failed to defeat.

“wait.” prince hoseok all but screamed, forcing everyone to nervously look over to him, as he and his brothers stood on the front lines, suddenly gasping for air.

they would recognise the silhouette of their youngest brother in a swarm of men, strong, hardened and fierce. jungkook sat on his horse, leading his men towards their home in a manner no one had ever quite seen before. by the time he had reached the gates, the men of his kingdom were charging towards him, not in battle, but in sheer joy.

he was held, kissed, fawned. he could feel his brothers pushing, pulling, screaming and crying at the sight of him alive, no matter how dishevelled. the injured were immediately taken to aid, but he was unable to think about anything other than you.

“where is she?” he’d mutter, slightly out of it from an exhausting trip, whilst they all walked into the palace, desperate to get him warm and safe.

the others couldn’t hear him above the commotion, and soon enough he was in a room with all of his loved ones. his features were pinched together, why were you absent? were you asleep? he didn’t want to wake you, but gods, he just wanted one glimpse of your sweet face sleeping in his bed.

yejin noticed the look on his face and a grimace pulled on her own, something that he himself noticed immediately. his blood ran cold as he looked each and every one of his family members direvtly in the face, blood crusted on his jaw, eyes dark.

“where the fuck is my wife?”

—

it typically took 5 days to reach your kingdom from his, and yet jungkook made the journey in 2. anger radiated off of him like nothing before as he marched his men to your border. yejin had informed him, in a flood of tears that you were taken away, that none of them had heard a single word from you for months, that your parents were difficult and yet demanded knowing his absence meant he couldn’t stick up for you.

he recounted the moment he realised you weren’t there over and over and over.

namjoon had tried to hold him back, but he was futile.

“you need aid, brother. we can go in the morning when you’re well rested.”

“no one has heard from my wife in months and i’m supposed to just sit here?” he bellowed, voice cracking against every wall.

“your in laws are sneaky people.” seokjin sighed, the crown prince holding his own wide who wept quietly into his chest. “they wouldn’t leave her alone until she had no choice but to return, and since then, we’ve heard nothing. we know she’s safe, we have our scouts sent and they’ve reported that much.”

jungkook shut his eyes as he rode his horse to you, an uncharacteristic whimper like noise leaving him. did you think he’d abandoned you? did you think him to be dead? he couldn’t stomach the thought of you not knowing whether you’d ever see him again. he promised you after all.

the atrocities he’d seen for nearly the past two years were things he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, but death was never an option. he’d sooner burn the world to a crisp than be denied a future with you, one he had just gotten a taste of.

the journey was strenuous, his men were following him but they couldn’t keep up - jungkook was a warrior before anything else and it was clear now. nearly two years of fighting, and the fire in his stomach was deadlier than anything they’d see.

the sight of thalor came into view just as his men began catching up to him. jungkook was their prince, their friend and someone they trusted; they’d follow him to the ends of the earth but this was more than that. you were also their princess, and there was a threat to your comfort. they wouldn’t stand for it both as your subjects, and people who truly cared for you.

dense forest was becoming icy terrain, the walls to your kingdom high. jungkook entered, passing multiple guards who were stationed, so fast they could hardly compute what had just happened. he bore them no mind. if it was a fight they wanted, they’d have to wait.

the colours worn by his men had your own soldiers scrambling, fear battling their heart. they weren’t just haneulian soldiers, no - this was the first battalion. jungkook’s personal men.

by the time he reached the castle, there was a swarm of soldiers, all bearing a weapon either by their hip or in their hand. jungkook snarled.

“identify yourself.” one shouted, causing his eyes to flicker over, a tilt to his head.

jungkook stepped forward with his horse, his hood pushed back, face scarred and eyes bloody.

“tell your king the prince of haneul demands entry.”

before he could even breathe after his sentence, the men before him were dropping to their knees, some whimpering at the mere recognition of him. it was no laughing matter that jungkook could easily kill each and every one of them despite his injured and tired state - he was the crown prince of violence. there was a reason why so many feared him.

soon enough, he was walking through the courtyard. servants were scrambling, ministers whispering whilst maids stared in fear. he wasn’t supposed to be alive. how was he alive?

he couldn’t help but notice how cold it was here. weather aside, the brick and mortar of the walls was enough to drive him insane, he couldn’t fathom something as sweet as you being raised here. you were so delicate whilst everything around you felt brutalist at best.

he walked straight through the main palace doors, leading to the throne room where your parents sat, too smug for the situation at hand. they were gearing up a lie, already salty and ready on their tongues.

“prince jungkook..what an unexpected surprise.” the king bellowed, in a bid to be polite.

“where is my wife?” he wasted no time, eyes dark.

“she’s resting. the poor girl-“

“where is my wife?” jungkook cut your mother off, hissing in a way that made it understood his anger was within seconds of erupting.

silence swarmed through the room. your parents royal guards shifted nervously. they weren’t quipped to fight hanuelian soldiers, never mind the crown prince.

“she fell ill.” your father shifted uncomfortably. “she requires care.”

jungkook tilted his head. “and yet you did not think to write this to my family? she is our princess, is she not?”

your mother opened her mouth, stuttering over her tongue.

“we..we thought it best to keep her here. her typical climate and what..what not..”

“if i repeat myself one more time, i will have this entire kingdom engulfed with my men.” jungkook suddenly promised, hand on his sword. “where the fuck is my wife?”

“the library, sire.” one of the maids, hidden away in the corner squeaked, earning furious looks from the king and queen.

jungkook was turning before she could even finish her sentence, harsh boots slapping against the floor as a servant scurried to show him, half of his men following whilst the other half stayed within the room, equally as terrifying.

meanwhile, you were sat in said room, perched on a chair. you donned a thin nightdress, one that barely grazed your ankles, your hair loosely braided as you reread your favourite book for the millionth time. it seemed to be the only thing that comforted you these days, your fingers busing over every page.

you read of a love story, two people kept apart due to circumstances they had no part in, only to one day be reunited. in your dreams, you imagined your husband to be the love interest and you the protagonist. how you yearned to wake up from this nightmare.

you were harshly interrupted as a maid shuttered in with a loud bang in the room, forcing you to look up, startled.

“y-you have to get up. quick!”

“what?” you whispered, voice hoarse from all of the crying.

“the crown prince is here. you need to get up.”

“who?”

“haneul. the prince.” she was grabbing your arms, pulling you out of the room.

your legs protested, weak and in pain, as she all but pushed you down the end of the hallway, telling you to make your journey to the throne room.

your eyes were furrowed. why on earth would one of your brothers in law be here? your heart startled at the thought of a funeral for your husband, quickly ridding yourself of the thought as it nearly made you collapse, forcing you to take in a big gulp of air.

you rounded the corner at the exact same time as jungkook, who was walking forwards in such a thunderous way, that it stopped you right in your tracks.

the both of you stood, blinking at one another, neither believing what they could see.

he looked different. harsher. meaner. scarier. you were slightly afraid when you first met him, but now, it was even worse. a thick scar sat across his jaw, bruises in every other crevice whilst fresh cuts sat on his cheek. his eyes seemed darker than ever, whilst his nose and lips remained the same. this wasn’t your husband. this was a man who had been hardened by what he had seen, empowered solely by the thought of his sweet wife.

it was you who completely undone him. you stood, legs shaking, and eyes so wide he was sure they’d pop out of your head. you looked frail, half the size you were when he’d seen you last. despite knowing you were not sick, you looked weak, with tear stains deeply stitched into your skin, red lining your lashes where you’d no doubt cried constantly.

“jungkook?” you whispered, voice scratching your throat.

he couldn’t speak, eyes roaming over every inch of you. what a dream. what a paradise.

instead, his legs began to move, walking forwards, step by step. he moved until he was stood in front of you, height looming and eyes peering down at you. you’d seen pure hatred, shock, despair and obsession roam in his eyes in the span of a few seconds, but now they were all replaced with devotion.

he grabbed you just as your legs gave out from before you, engulfing you in the warmth of his arms. he cradled you, breathing in your scent, breathing in every inch of your body. burying his face into your neck, he kissedc he caressed and he held, whilst you loudly sobbed.

you were pulling at his hair, his biceps, his abs, his chest, his thighs. he was real. this was tangible, it existed in both your brain and the wretched life you were forced to wake up to.

“oh my sweet wife, i’m here. i’m here.” he whispered into your ear, only making you cry harder as you pulled away slightly, so your heads were touching.

sunlight thawed the ice around your soul, and warmth that knew you by name had finally come home.

-

thank you for reading! if you liked this fic and wanted to support a struggling author just trying to survive, here’s my kofi ❤️

love u guys xx

[jung-koook]

look at the gif that ck left in the comments on their instagram omg

[rubykooks]

ON MY FUCKING KNEES

[httpknjoon]

Medstudent!MC using her celebrity crush's picture to study for an upcoming test in Anaphy. But, after fwb!Jungkook saw it, he sent her a topless photo of himself for her to change her reviewer.

[httpknjoon]

LOOK WHAT I SAW JSJDJDKDKL

[jintheastronaut]

WHORES…i love them

[jung-koook]

LA 브이로그 ep.1 (feat.BTS)

[blushedarmybunny]

Fine Line | JJK x reader

♡ Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x fem reader

♡ Word count: 3.3k

♡ Genre: smut

♡ summary:

Bachelor party. Jeon Jungkook is halfway there, halfway gone.

drinks, confusion, sex in the air.

A stripper in his lap.

A moment he doesn’t stop fast enough. And when his fiancée finds out? She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream. She tells him to sit down and talk. Then she shows him exactly where the line is and what it feels like to cross it.

♡Trigger warnings: sexual explicit acts depicted and substance consumption.

♡ a/n: I got a hint of inspiration and i had to wrote it down.

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

Part 2

The club was a fucking zoo. Music too loud, lights too bright, air too heavy. Smelled like smoke, sweat, spilled soju, and God knows what else.

Jungkook sat stiff in the booth like he was waiting for someone to shoot him.

His shirt clung to his back, sweat dripping in his neck. His drink was warm in his hand, untouched. He’d already had enough to stop thinking clearly.

Shots. Weed. That mystery pill that Hobi gave him. The edges of the world were blurry now and those fucking flashing lights that made his pulse feel like it was pounding behind his eyes.

The youngest in his friend group. He was still Kookie, still the one who could be teased into anything. This night above all others teasing was a given.

“Why do you look like you’re about to get executed?” Taehyung asked, tipping back his whiskey and smiling at the dancer on the pole.

“You’d think he was at a funeral, not a strip club,” Jimin added with a laugh. “You good, Kook?”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook said, voice tight. He wasn’t. He needed some noodles and his bed, not the drink Jimin placed in his hand.

Namjoon slid back into the booth beside him, clapping him hard on the shoulder. “This is the part where you stop being a monk and enjoy your goddamn bachelor party.”

Jungkook blinked at him, eyes wide, too wide, ike a deer caught in headlights.

“Guy’s acting like he’s never seen tits before,” Hobi  said, laughing.

“Didn’t he used to be the horniest little shit alive?” Jimin added. “Back in the day? Before Yn?”

“Oh yeah,” Taehyung chimed in. “Dude used to hook up off just eye contact.”

“Legend,” Namjoon smirked, raising his glass. “RIP to Jungkook’s long conquest list.”

Jungkook tried to laugh, but he chugged the rest of his drink. 

They didn’t know about the celibacy vow. They didn’t know he hadn’t touched himself in four weeks. That he and Yn made a whole promise about coming into marriage clean, raw, and ready for an explosive honeymoon. That he was holding onto that like it was oxygen.

All they saw was a quiet version of Jungkook trying to keep it clean.

He looked around the club, at the bodies moving, women dancing, tits bouncing, asses grinding.

Everything was a hazy pulse of energy.  Every flash of skin sparked heat down his spine.

His cock was already half hard just from existing in the room.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Don’t be that guy,” he told himself under his breath. “Don’t think with your dick. Just breathe.”

A dancer passed close. Namjoon shoved a bill in Jungkook’s hand and nodded toward her.

“Go on. Make it rain.”

Jungkook looked down at the cash, then up at the woman. She was covered in tattoos, curvy and her eyes locked on his. She spun and arched her back. Her thong shifted.

He hesitated.

Then reached up with the bill, fingers shaking so bad it took him two tries to slip it into the strap of her thong.

She smiled at him, sweet and condescending, then moved on, no time to waste. 

Jungkook’s ears burned. His hand dropped to his lap, he felt like a loser.

He needed air.

Instead, the music changed, slower now, dirtier.

And she appeared.

Tan skin. Long legs. Barely covered tits. A face like doll and a body like a fucking video game mod.

She moved straight for him, smiling her way through. Not like he was special,  just like she’d already picked her target.

“You’re the groom?” she asked, her voice high pitched.

He opened his mouth. Nodded.

She climbed into his lap.

Just like that.

His whole body tensed. Her skin was hot and damp against his pants. Her thighs gripped his hips. He didn’t know where to put his hands, so he didn’t.

She started to move. Grind. Pressure. Rhythm.

“Relax, baby,” she said. “Let me take care of you.”

Jungkook’s eyes darted around like he was waiting for Yn to walk in and catch him in 4K.

He should’ve pushed her off.

Instead, he stayed frozen, jaw clenched.

“You’re tense,” she whispered, lips brushing his ear. “Haven’t had any lately?”

He inhaled sharply, pulse surging through his dick.

the guys started cheering from the next booth.

“Let’s GOOOO!”

“There he is! There’s the Kook we remember!”

The dancer pressed harder. Her pussy dragged over the thickening bulge in his pants.

“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth.

Her hands slid under his shirt. her nails brushing abs. She leaned in, licking the edge of his jaw. “You’re rock hard already. Poor thing.”

His hips bucked up once,  quick, animalistic. He couldn’t help it.

She gasped, soft and perfect. Moaned right into his neck. “Mmm, you wanna fuck me so bad, don’t you?”

His throat closed.

He was sweating. Hard as hell. Dizzy.

Every nerve in his body was screaming yes, even as his heart beat out no with every pulse.

“You wanna go to the back?” she asked, voice tempting and slow. “I’ll ride you until you forget your name.”

His hands finally moved  to her waist. Not to pull her closer. To stop her.

“Don’t,” he said, voice hoarse.

She blinked down at him with her long lashes. “What?”

“Get off. I’m done. Please.”

She stared, then laughed. “What a waste.”

She slid off his lap and walked away, her heels clicking on the floor.

Jungkook just sat there. Still hard. Still sweating. Still shaking.

Namjoon leaned over the booth divider, squinting at him. “Bro. You alright?”

He couldn’t answer. He just stood, legs unsteady, and pushed through the crowd to the bathroom.

Locked the door.

He gripped the sink.

Looked at himself.

Hair a mess. Face red. Lips swollen. Eyes wide.

His dick was still hard.

“I didn’t do anything,” he muttered. “I stopped it. I didn’t cheat.”

His breathing got faster. His chest tightened.

Water. Cold. Splash it. Again.

Did he want it?

Was that cheating?

Was thinking about it cheating?

He pulled out his phone with trembling hands. Thumbs fumbling.

Something happened tonight. Can we talk?

He pressed send. Then stared at his own reflection like it might judge him too.

The screen says 3:58 when he hits call.

He’s outside the club now. Alley behind the parking lot. Cold air dragging sweat off his neck, smoke curling off the second cigarette clenched between his teeth. His hands won’t stop shaking. He’s been pacing this same twenty feet of asphalt for ten minutes, heart slamming like a bass drum.

The worst part is— He’s still hard. Still throbbing.

It hurts now. Unspent, swollen against the front of his jeans. Makes him sick.

He nearly drops the phone when she picks up.

“Hello?” Yn said, her voice raspy and a little tipsy.

He winces at the sound of her voice. She’s still drunk, maybe half-asleep. His baby. His fiancé. Somewhere in a hotel bed in Bangkok, on her bachelorette weekend. And here he is. Sweating. Shaking. Full of shame and panic and someone else’s perfume.

He presses the phone tighter to his ear.

“Baby, are you alone? Please, just…don’t hang up, okay? Please, just…just listen to me for a second ” Jungkook rushes out, breathless, almost pleading.

There’s a pause. Distant music.

“I’m alone,” Yn said softly, voice low now. “I’m listening.”

The words land like a safety net, and somehow make it worse.

His head tips back against the brick. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fuck. Okay,” Jungkook choked. “Something happened. Nothing happened, but…fuck…I need to say it out loud. I need you to hear it from me first.”

“I’m here,” she replied.

Her voice is clear now. Not warm. Just… present.

“They paid for a dance. the guys…,” Jungkook said. “I didn’t ask for it. You know I didn’t fucking want that shit, I didn’t-”

He cuts himself off, dragging a breath through his teeth.

“She sat on me,” he continued. “Full grind. Body to body. I didn’t stop her. Not right away.”

His jaw clenches. Throat raw. His hand curls in his jacket like he’s holding his own guts in.

“She was almost naked” he admitted. “She was bouncing on me and I-I got hard. I got fucking hard.”

There’s a silence on the line. He swears he can hear her blink then adjust herself in the sofa.

“Not because I wanted her” he added quickly. “My body just…it reacted. And I hated it. I hated it, Yn”

His voice cracks again, pitched too high for how he usually talks. He sounds like a fucking idiot. Like a scared little boy who got caught doing something he didn’t even want to do.

“I pushed her off. I didn’t touch her after that. I walked straight to the bathroom and stayed there. Washed my fucking hands five times,” Jungkook said, voice shaking.

He presses the heel of his hand into his chest. The pain there is physical. Real.

“Okay,” Yn replied, level and calm.

It’s not judgmental. But it’s not soft either.

He stares at the dark sky like it might give him an answer.

“I know I didn’t cheat, I know that,” Jungkook rambled. “But my dick was fucking throbbing under her and everyone was watching and laughing like it was nothing, like I’m just one of the guys…”

He grits his teeth. Swallows.

“-But I’m not. I’m yours. I’ve been good. You know that. I haven’t cum in three weeks. I don’t even jerk off anymore. I miss you so bad it makes my stomach hurt and then this- this fucking thing happened and I-”

“You stopped it,” Yn said.

“Yeah, but my body wanted it,” Jungkook said quietly. “Even just for a second.”

“And then you called me,” she replied evenly.

He exhales hard, like he’s been punched in the gut.

“Because I needed you to hear it. I didn’t want to sit on this and rot with it,” he said. “I needed you to know before I got home, I couldn’t lie to you. I couldn’t.”

There’s a pause.

“I appreciate that,” Yn said.

Her tone hasn’t changed. That’s what’s killing him. It’s like she’s holding back the fire, and he doesn’t know if it’s because she’s calm or a storm is coming. 

“Do you hate me?” Jungkook whispered.

“No,” she said firmly.

Another pause.

“I’m not happy. But I’m not judging either” she continued. “I need time to process. That’s all.”

He presses the phone tighter, feels the static in his ear.

“When do you land tomorrow?” he asked.

“Afternoon,” Yn said.

“I’ll pick you up,” he offered.

“No, its fine” she said.

“…What?” he asked.

“I’ll take a cab. You don’t have to come” she told him.

His stomach turns.

“Babe, please, let me at least see you…” Jungkook started.

“We’ll talk when I’m home. Not at the airport,” she said.

She says it gently but it’s firm, non negotiable. Jungkook leans into the wall, jaw tight, he’s blinking too fast.

“Okay,” he murmured. “I just-okay.”

There’s a silence between them but neither hangs up.

“I still love you. Nothing changed that,” Jungkook said quietly.

“I know,” Yn replied like a fact  “Sleep well, shower and cleanse that dirty club smell off of you”

“Yeah. I will,” he said with a broken laugh.

“Goodnight, Jungkook” she said, soft but distant.

He closes his eyes.

“Goodnight, baby” he whispered.

The call ends.

He stares at the black screen for a long time, then walks home alone, zipper biting into the bulge he hasn’t dealt with,  cold sweat on his skin. His chest is full of something he can’t name yet.

He doesn’t cry but he want to. 

He showers with the lights off,  cums in his hand just to get rid of it. He oesn’t feel better after.

The only thing he does right is leave his phone face up on the nightstand.

Waiting for her.

4:00pm

Yn: “Landed. I’ll take a cab, meet you at home in 40.”

He stares at the text like for a few seconds.

Reads it again. Then again.

Doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even move.

I’m not happy. But I’m not judging either

He keeps hearing that over and over again, its playing it like a loop in his head, like it might start to mean something better the tenth time through. It doesn’t.

He can’t sit still.

He paces around their apartment, floor to window, back to the kitchen, back again, Every time a car drives past, his body flinches, his neck snaps, his heart jumps, he wipes his hands on his pants for no reason. 

when the 40 minutes hit he’s already downstairs standing in the entrance of their building like a stray dog.

Hood up in good old hoodie, sleeves stretched. He couldn’t decide what shoes so he just threw on the first ones he found . 

A yellow cab slows to a stop.

He almost drops his phone.

She steps out and his head goes blank.

Her dress is flowy  in that light blue color he always liked is short enough that when she moves, it  shows just a little on her thigh, she has her sunglasses still on and her hair in a messy bun, No jewelry, she has a tiny bag  and a suitcase behind her, rolling quiet on the pavement.

She looks like the version of her he missed so bad it physically hurt.

And Yn doesn’t look at him.

Not right away.

He jogs the steps, heart in his throat, grabs the suitcase before she can continue, his fingers brush hers on the handle and he nearly flinches.

She glances up and her expression is unreadable.

Then she tips her head, she says with dry, deadpan tone:

“Don’t you want to greet me properly?”

Jungkook chokes on relief. He takes steps forward fast with his arms around her in an instant. he hugs tight. Desperate. His face in her shoulder, her scent grounding him like nothing else could. Gosh she always smells amazing. 

She’s Airplane cold when her cheek presses to his collarbone she hears his heart beats going faster.

She breaks the hug first.

“Let’s go inside,” she says, already turning.

He nods. Quiet. Pulls the suitcase behind her.

Yn doesn’t speak, Jungkook doesn’t breathe.

When they reach their door, Yn steps out first then reaches back and grabs his hand.

Just to pull him along his body just goes with it like inertia. 

The kettle’s on steaming, Jungkook  just stares at it like it might tell him what to say he needs to be doing something. Anything. He grabs two mugs,  swaps them, picks different ones then fills the wrong one first. Starts over. Keeps wiping his hands on his thighs.

He can’t stop glancing at her.

She’s on the couch now, bare feet as usual, Yn seems to be texting on her phone completely unaware of her what her presence is causing on Jungkook.

eventually he goes to her side and give her a mug.

She looks at him still unreadable, then she made a gestures beside her, he goes to her side like a grounded puppy.

Yn takes a long sip of her tea, then said with her voice is measured:

“Jungkook. I don’t care about the rest. I need to know exactly what happened when that stripper got on your lap. Every single detail. Don’t skip anything just because it’s embarrassing. Okay?”

He can’t look at her, his fingers clench around the mug, he doesn’t bring it to his lips.

“Okay,” he says with his voice thin.

He stares at a spot just over her shoulder.

“She just walked up. No music cue, no show, just, right in front of me she picked me, sat down, she was almost completely naked”

He swallows.

“She straddled me , full weight, her thighs spread over mine, and I could feel  everything. Sweat. Heat. Like body heat, not sexy heat. Just… hot. She pressed down hard  like she knew.”

His jaw tightens. Breath shallow.

“Her hands went around my neck then she leaned in and her tits were in my face even her hair got in my mouth…”

He wets his lips.

“She started moving. FIrst slowly, rolling her hips,  grinding…My dick-it reacted, like, fast. I wasn’t even thinking. It just was heat and pressure and I got hard.  She smiled when she felt it then she moved slower.”

His voice is cracking already.

“She bent down, whispered in my ear, said she wanted to take me to the back said she’d ride me till I cried.”

He chokes on the next breath.

“ i could hear the guys screaming and laughing , i could hear  the bass also my own blood in my ears.”

Jungkook tries to drink the tea but can’t. Sets it down on the table.

“My hips moved, Yn,  without thinking, i was thrusting up into her, barely but it happened. She moaned I think on purpose tried to make me feel like i was making her flushed”

He swallows hard.

“ I didn’t kiss her, I swear, Yn, but it was close. I think I wanted to just for a second. It was like i wasn’t in my body anymore like my body was betraying me.”

Jungkook hands are shaking now he doesn’t hide it.

“Then I panicked, I grabbed her hips , pushed her off and told her no said I was getting married, of course she didn’t care she just smiled slid off and moved on.”

He drops his face into his hands. Then rubs hard, trying to get something off his skin that won’t come off.

“I sat there douldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. I was still hard. It fucking hurt. My pants were damp. I felt like a freak. Like I’d ruined something I couldn’t fix. I ran to the bathroom. Scrubbed my hands. My face. Almost puked.”

Jungkook finally looks at Yn. His voice barely a whisper.

“I texted you right after that…I just couldn’t hold it in, I didn’t want her, I didn’t want any of it. I just froze then I panicked and then I left.”

Silence.

Not a breath in the room.

He watches her. Waits for anything, any reaction: Disgust. Anger. Sadness.

But she’s still.

Just… still.

And then:

“Wow,” she says  “That actually sounds… kind of hot, honestly.”

He blinks.

The world stutters.

She leans back slightly, arms still folded, watching him.

“The way you tell it?” she almost smiles “I’m surprised you didn’t lose control for real.”

His body locks.

For a second, everything inside him just…malfunctions.

His breath catches in his throat, his spine goes rigid while his chest floods with heat. It hits ike whiplash. Like she just slapped him and whispered more.

He stares at her. Literally doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t even know how to breathe right.

What the fuck kind of response is that?

His ears burn and his thighs twitch. 

What is she doing?

Is she joking?

Is she punishing him?

Is she…turned on?

No. That can’t be it. That would be insane. That would be…

His stomach turns. His face is on fire. He’s flushed to his chest now, skin prickling like she just undressed him with her eyes, but didn’t touch him. Didn't have to.

His tongue moves in his mouth but no sound comes out.

She doesn’t say anything else. Just sits there. Still. Watching him.

Not smiling. Not explaining.

Just letting it hang.

Like a hook in his ribs.

And he…he has no idea what the fuck to do with it.

[blushedarmybunny]

Fine Line | JJK x reader

♡ Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x fem reader

♡ Word count: 6k

♡ Genre: smut

♡ summary:

Bachelor party. Jeon Jungkook is halfway there, halfway gone.

drinks, confusion, sex in the air.

A stripper in his lap.

A moment he doesn’t stop fast enough. And when his fiancée finds out? She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream. She tells him to sit down and talk. Then she shows him exactly where the line is and what it feels like to cross it.

♡Trigger warnings: sexual explicit acts depicted and substance consumption.

♡ a/n: happy birthday to me!! <3 my gift to you<3 also good reminder minors DNI

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

Part 1

He stared at her.

“…What the fuck?” Jungkook says, voice cracking. Not loud but definitely sharper than he means it.

His eyes snap to hers, wide and disbelieving.

“Are you seriously…what -what does that mean?” he asks, stunned. “What, like-you think that was… hot?”

It comes out half a whisper, half a sputter, and he hates the way it sounds…like he just shy and astonished.

“Are you messing with me?” he asks again, quieter this time “Is this a joke? Or -what? Are you… turned on right now?”

His ears are flaming. The heat has crawled down his neck, across his chest, Jungkook's legs twitch, thighs flexing involuntarily.

Yn still hasn’t moved. Still hasn’t blinked. Just sits there on the other end of the couch, perfectly calm, one leg crossed over the other and her dress riding up just enough to show a good part of her thigh.

She tilts her head. 

And smiles.

Not a warm smile. Not mean, either. Just… entertained.

His stomach drops.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, sinking back a little. “You’re fucking enjoying this.”

Still, she says nothing.

Jungkook doesn’t know if he’s supposed to defend himself again, or apologize, or laugh it off.

What is she doing? What does she want? Is this punishment? Forgiveness? Some twisted middle ground?

Because the way she’s looking at him now, like she’s studying him, dissecting him, it makes his skin itch, its like she can see through him completely, see everything he did, everything he wanted, every dirty thought he tried to bury.

And she’s not angry.

That’s the worst part. She’s amused.

“I don’t-I don’t even know what you want me to say right now,” he admits, barely above a whisper.

Yn eyes flick to his lap then back up.

That’s when she speaks low, deliberate.

“On the phone you sounded like you saw a ghost,” she says. “But now, here? Sitting across from me? Talking about tits in your mouth and pussy on your thigh…”

She shrugs.

“You’re not some poor victim, Jungkook. And you’re definitely not a saint.”

“I didn’t want any of it,” he said. Fast. Too fast. “I swear. I didn’t. I just…my body-fuck, I couldn’t control it.”

Jungkook  felt like this couldn't be happening to him, he continued.

“You’re not serious,” he said, voice flat with disbelief. “You’re not…after what I told you-you’re not seriously saying that to me.”

“I am,” she said, with the same maddening calm. “And I’m watching you squirm, which is even better.”

Fuck.

His skin crawled under his hoodie, the tension in his pants hadn’t gone away,it had shifted, changed shape, throbbed with every beat of his stupid, guilty heart, Jungkook  could still feel the memory of her eyes earlier, locked on his face, listening, patient, and then…

That smirk.

That fucking smirk.

“what you think about breaking the vow?” Yn asked immediately after like nothing.

His brows pinched together slowly, brows furrowing like the realization was dragging his whole face with it.

“You mean, right now? With you?”

A smile ghosted across her lips.

“Yes, silly” she said gently. “With me, unless you have someone else in mind…”

His brushed off her last sentence.

“Are you… testing me?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned in, rested her hand lightly on his knee, thumb brushing small, deliberate circles through the fabric of his sweats. His thigh jumped under her touch.

“I’m not testing you,” she said, voice low, even. “I’m telling you what I want. And asking if you want it too.”

His jaw tensed. He sat very still.

“But after what happened…” His voice cracked again. “You’re not… mad? Not punishing me? Not trying to… get back at me?”

Her hand didn’t move.

“No,” she said. “I already told you. I believe you.”

He stared down at her hand. His chest was rising too fast, too shallow. The tips of his ears were still burning.

“I don’t get it,” he whispered. “You should be furious. You should be… disappointed. I fucked it up. And you…want to have sex with me?”

His voice cracked again. He swallowed hard, then lifted his gaze, eyes wild with confusion.

“Why aren’t you mad?”

Her gaze softened, but it didn’t lose its precision.

“Because what happened doest affect how I feel about you in the slightest ” she said.

Jungkook blinked. His lips parted. He stared at her, with those big doe eyes.

“You don’t… hate me?”

“No,” she said firmly. “Not even close. I’m not jealous of some stranger, Jungkook but I’m annoyed about the mess it left behind. That’s it. The guilt, the shame it’s sitting on your chest heavy. And I know you. If we don’t get it out now if we don’t burn it out of you you’ll carry it into the ceremony, into the vows, into our life. You’ll be thinking about it while I walk down the aisle.”

Jungkook gasped, how can someone known him so well, even the feelings he could not name.

“So no,” she said, gentler now. “This isn’t revenge, it’s just me trying to reconnect with you.”

He exhaled shakily.

“But what if I… what if I still want to keep the vow? Just until the wedding?”

She nodded, brushing her fingers higher, toward the hem of his hoodie. “Then we do. I’ll respect your choice. We can wait, it’s just a week away”

Her voice dipped lower and she smiled at him.

“But I’ll warn you now. On our honeymoon? You’re getting punished for every extra day you made me wait.”

That startled a huff of breath from him and he  almost laughed. 

Jungkook let out a slow, shaking breath, still with that confusing frustration he could not express but determination at connecting again with Yn.

He gave her a nod.Then, quieter:

“…Okay, let’s do it”

She smiled not in a  kind nor cruel way, it was something else entirely.

And whispered with her voice sounding like velvet:

“Good boy.”

The silence was hot and charged with tension.

Jungkook sat there motionless, the last echo of her words still buzzing behind his ears. His throat moved with a swallow, his breath was shallow, eyes still locked on hers like he hadn’t caught up with the moment like he didn’t trust her absolution.

He for a second debated in his mind if he should just turn around and kiss her, it’s awkward already that he hasn't taken charge, he always takes charge, but now he feels like a lost puppy.

“I want you to show me,” she said softly after a few seconds of silence “ When you got aroused by that stranger, where did you feel it first?”

Jungkook blinked. A nervous tic twitched at the corner of his mouth. It took him a moment, his whole body already tense again, a knot in his lower abdomen started to form, slowly, his hand lifted and pressed to the space just below his ribs. His palm spread across the fabric of his hoodie, right over the dip above his waistband.

“Here” Jungkook muttered. Barely audible.

Her nails followed immediately, tracing the outline of his hand. She didn’t rush. She just touched, brushed, let her fingers press into the fabric. His abs jumped beneath her as if flinching like his skin already knew what was coming.

Her gaze didn’t leave his face “Lift it.”

Jungkook hesitated but he obeyed, he bit his bottom lip and yanked the hoodie up, inch by inch, until the soft cotton bunched around his armpits. His bare torso was on display, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. His nipples were hard. His abs were tense, shifting with each inhale like they couldn’t decide whether to clench or release.

Yn didn’t comment on the way he shook, or how fast he was breathing, but she did notice,with no rush Yn just placed her hand flat against the center of his stomach, the other hand was dragging her long acrylic nail up slowly, over the ridges of muscle, around the curves of his ribs, deliberately circling one nipple. Jungkook gasped not loud but raw like the sound ripped up from someplace deeper than he expected,

He clenched his fists in his lap.

“Higher” she murmured.

Jungkook jerked the hoodie up further until it hiked over his shoulders and finally gave up and pulled it over his head completely. It hit the floor with a dull thud, leaving him bare from the waist up vulnerable and trembling.

Yn leaned closer, her dress rustling as it moved over her thighs then she scratched down the center of his chest, dragging the tips of her nails down to his navel, then lower pausing just above the drawstring of his sweats.

“And after that?” she asked her tone hadn’t changed, it was slightly assertive but also soft somehow. 

Jungkook lips parted, he didn’t answer at first, just stared at her like she’d peeled back his soul.

Then he reached for the drawstring.

His hands fumbled, trembling but still he loosened it, then slid the waistband down inch by inch, revealing the lines of his hips, the muscle twitching low on his stomach, the thick shaft of his cock already flushed and twitching, heavy against one thigh.

“Here,” he whispered. “It… moved here.”

Yn's eyes dropped to it. Unapologetically.

“You’re already getting hard.”

He looked away, ears flaming red, the shame and arousal battling under his skin like a fever.

Yn didn’t give him time to sink into it, she reached forward, slow and deliberate, and dragged her nail along the underside of his cock, just a whisper of contact, feather-light. Jungkook choked on a sound. His hips jumped before he could stop them, his thighs twitching, toes curling inside his socks.

“Did she see you like this?” she asked, voice low, voice deadly.

“No” he rasped. “Never. Just you.”

Her fingers moved again, this time tracing the head of him with a circle playing a little with his foreskin, watching him flinch watching his lips part around a broken gasp.

“But she felt it, didn’t she?”

His eyes snapped shut. His hands fisted again, like restraint was the only thing holding him together.

“…Yeah” he admitted in a breath

A soft, amused sound left her, it was not a laugh but something playfully sinister.

“Look at you,” she whispered. “just from my voice and i barely touched you”

And then she spit.

Hot and slow, let it fall from her mouth in a glistening string that landed across the head of his cock, thick and wet. It hit his overheated skin , dripped down his shaft, warm and slick and filthy.

He made a sound high, broken, not even fully formed. His hand twitched toward his thigh like he didn’t know whether to touch himself or grip something, anything, to stop from losing it.

His body jolted with the effort it took to stay still.

The sofa creaked beneath them as he shifted involuntarily. His breath came louder now panting through his nose, jaw clenched, lips bitten red.

She could see the desperation in his eyes. Could see the way the pulse jumped in his neck, the flush blooming down his chest.

Her fingers returned to his jaw, tilting his head up gently just enough to keep his gaze locked with hers.

“Stroke it for me” she whispered.

His hand moved instantly.

He gripped himself tight, the slick from her spit letting him glide down his length, slow and controlled, the tension in his thighs, the way his stomach fluttered every time his palm passed the head, He wasn’t going to last, not without direction.

She leaned in. Let her fingers curl into his hair.

And spit again right onto his cock and fist, the mess thick and gleaming, dripping down to his balls. Jungkook’s fingers were still  wrapped around the base, slow and careful, stroking upward with a trembling drag. The sound was obscene, the wet glide of skin over slickened flesh, the faint sticky pop at the head.

His hips jerked up by instinct raw groan tore from his throat.

She felt aroused at his helplessness. 

Then her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Stop.”

He did.

Immediately.

His chest heaved. His cock twitched in the open air wet and  swollen, leaking at the tip, desperate for friction. His hand hovered, twitching. 

She watched him for a heartbeat longer let the silence stretch. Let him burn.

Then slowly, she rose from the sofa.

Hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties and peeled them off.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. A small satisfaction grin appeared on his lips. 

She let them fall to the floor. Climbed into his lap without a word, the heat of her bare cunt brushing against his thigh.

And he… 

He didn’t dare to move.

Not without Yn’s permission.

Yn straddled him.

One smooth motion, slow and purposeful the brush of her thighs spreading around his hips, the warm drag of her skin over his as she settled her weight onto his lap. Her dress slid higher with every inch, bunching at her waist, exposing the sleek lines of her hips, the full heat of her against his bare stomach.

And fuck -he felt it.

The contrast of her slick warmth against his overheated skin made him react instantly, his cock throbbing where it pressed up between them, trapped between his abs and the soft, wet heat of her center.

His breath stuttered.

It sounded loud in the quiet room, broken and thin. The fabric of the sofa creaked beneath again as his thighs trembled, every muscle pulled tight, begging for control.

“be still” she whispered again.

He obeyed her again.

She tilted his chin up with one slow finger under it. His lashes fluttered. His pupils were blown wide already, and the heat rising off him was wild and palpable. His lips were parted, damp with quick breath, still unsure if he was really allowed to want this. 

Her grip shifted. She slid her hand into his hair, firm but not cruel, anchoring him as she stared into his face.

“Open,” she said softly.

And without hesitation, Jungkook opened his mouth.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, the couch creaking again at the slight shift of their bodies, and she slipped two fingers between his lips without warning. He gasped around them, then immediately sucked down, lips closing tight, tongue lapping instinctively.

The suction was messy, drool spilling down his chin, glistening at the corners of his mouth. His lashes fluttered with every slow drag of her fingers, every wet gag of sound she teased from his throat. He moaned, quiet, embarrassed, almost grateful.

She pulled her fingers out slowly, watching a string of spit cling between his lips and her hand before it snapped, glistening against his chin.

Jungkook cheeks had this blushed on them, his breath came in panting waves.His cock throbbed, leaking thick onto his stomach, shiny and aching. The air felt too thin now. His whole body hummed under her, desperate to move, to buck, to take. But he didn’t. Not yet.

She leaned in, her breath brushing his cheek, voice assuring. 

“You’re doing so well, baby.”

His jaw clenched, Jungkook wanted to cry or  moan or bury himself in her and never come out but instead, he sucked in a shaky breath, and let her guide him further.

Yn hand dropped between them. She use her fingers to pleasure herself then she grab around the base of his cock, slow and sure. He nearly sobbed from the contact.

She rubbed him against her slit, not taking him inside, just letting his tip slide through her folds smearing her wetness over him, letting it drip down his shaft in messy trails. She rocked her hips just enough to make him feel it. The heat. The tightness. The promise.

His hips jerked once before he could stop himself.

She slapped his thigh. Not hard but firm. A clear warning.

“Did I say you could move?”

“N–no,” Jungkook managed to respond, eyes shut in a pain mixed with pleasure.

“Then don’t.”

He choked on a breath, nodding frantically, head tilted back.

But beneath it all, she could feel the trust.

That thread of trembling, electric faith stringing between his restraint and her control. He wasn’t afraid of her. Jungkook was afraid of failing her. Of failing this.

And she knew him.

She knew if she didn’t do this if she didn’t fuck this guilt and need out of him now he would drag it with him.

This was not for punishment. Not for control. This was to take that weight from his shoulders. To remind him what was real.

Her. Him. Them.

Nothing else.

She guided him again, dragging the head of his cock over her clit, slow and tempting, her breath catching just a little. She could feel his tension breaking down bit by bit. His hands trembled where they gripped the cushions, his mouth parted, gasping for air.

His thighs flexed beneath her, trying not to move.

She smirked softly and leaned close, and said:

“Tell me where you want to be.”

He blinked up at her still dazed. His pupils were becoming bigger and his lips were trembling.

“…Inside” he whispered. “Please, Yn”

“Inside who?”

“You” he croaked. “Only you. Always you.”

She smiled.

But she didn’t give it yet.

She circled his tip over her clit again slow, teasing, cruel. He jerked once, then stopped himself, a strangled moan clawing out of his throat.

She leaned in, mouth against his jaw.

“Then ask me again, baby.”

His voice cracked.

“Please,” he begged, “please let me inside. Please Yn-I need you, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything, I-please… ”

That was it.

She guided him to her entrance.

And sank down.

Slow.

So fucking slow.

And Jungkook felt he shattered.

His head dropped back, a broken sound tearing from deep in his chest, if like the relief hurt more than the need ever did. His hips surged up, instinct taking over only to stop himself again halfway through, body trembling with restraint.

She took all of him, inch by inch, until she was seated full on his lap, stretched around him, the tight wet heat of her clutching him so perfectly it nearly killed him.

His hands finally came up, but they hovered shaking, unsure where to land.

She let them stay like that.

Made him hold on.

Made him feel it.

“Yn…” he whispered, voice raw.

“Shhh,” she soothed, nails tracing his shoulders, her hips grinding once tight and slow. “You’re doing so well. You’re already mine. You’ve always been mine.”

He moaned again high, lost, undone.

And didn’t move an inch.

He was obeying her. But barely.

there was a tension in him and also that restraint, there was a thin thread of guilt still wrapped around his chest like a leash stopping him from taking over.

Because he could.

She knew he could. And he knew she knew.

Jungkook was strong. Not just physically, but viscerally. She’d felt it before the way he could throw her, pin her, ruin her without breaking a sweat when he lost himself. And he wanted to. She could tell. His pupils were blown wide, his body slick and buzzing beneath hers, everything in him screaming to grab her, fuck up into her, make her pay for every slow second of denial.

But tonight, he was giving her all the power.

And she could sense how close he was to breaking.

If she teased too long, dragged this edge out one second more than necessary Yn knew Jungkook would snap on her. Jungkook can only handle this intensity to a default.

Her breath hitched.

Because God, it thrilled her to see him like this, to ride that razor's edge of control, where he was still hers, in his pathetic try of being submissive, open, wrecked but one flick away from unraveling into something else.

Yn leaned in. Pressed her chest to his. Her mouth hovered beside his ear, her breath sticky against his cheek. she moaned as she rolled her hips she was just getting started, she had more things in mind, but first Jungkook needed some release.

He whimpered again, helpless.

His cock was already slick, his shaft smeared in her arousal, his thighs trembling from the effort of not thrusting up into the wet, hot heaven just hovering above him. Her cunt dragged against him as she back and forth slowly.

His moans came quieter now, broken things that punched out of his throat with every cruel, perfect pass of her body.

“Fuck, please,” he gasped. His voice cracked, shaken . “I can’t-baby, I can’t…”

“You can.” Her nails bit into his shoulders as she sat up straighter. “...And you will.”

She moved again, hips rolling.

“Look at you,” she murmured “You’re aching, aren’t you?”

He nodded, almost violently. His hair clung to his forehead in damp strands. His eyes were frantic. She could feel the tremble in his thighs building knew exactly how hard he was holding back.

“You want to lose control so bad.”

“I- fuck…yeah,” he choked out.

“But you won’t,” she said, mouth right against his  “Not until I say.”

He swallowed hard. 

The soft slap of their bodies echoed with every thrust, every wet grind. the skin on skin slapping sound was matching the quiet whimpers that broke from him, one after another. He was shaking, not from the effort, but from restraint.the pressure was enough to drag anyone to madness.

His eyes dragged up her body, and something wild flickered in them.

She was still dressed. Her dress bunched and rucked up over her hips, but her chest, covered. Untouched.

Jungkook havent seen her naked in a whole fucking month, if she didnt increse the friction he atleast deserved to see her precious body, her swollen breasts… he felt the sudden whip of pleasure that scattered in his lower belly, his mouth just wanted one of her nipples to suck. He didn't care to sound pathetic.

“Please,” he begged, voice hoarse. “Please, can I- your tits -can I just…”

His hands hovered, trembling.

“Just one in my mouth,” he whispered, desperate. “Just -just let me taste you -please- ”

Her expression didn’t change. Instead she took his nipple in her finger and applied enough pressure to make him moan high pitch

“I can’t ” He swallowed hard. “I can’t take much more.”

She smiled faintly. “Oh babe, you better stop whining or ill make you truly regret it”

His eyes fluttered he just nodded, desperate.

But his obedience didn’t last.

The next time she rolled her hips, she felt it …the shift in him. That raw, starving instinct rising. His hands moved on their own, gripping her hips tight, dragging her down hard against him like his body couldn’t take being teased anymore. His cock twitched swollen inside her, trying to find the fiction he cravedas he moved his hips on his pace.

“Fuck-” she gasped, almost unseated by the force of it, he was thrusting in her too deep as his hands were tight on both sides of her hips making pressure.

For one second, she felt the snap of dominance pushing through him. A surge of power, of muscle, of wild tension desperate to reclaim something primal. she would not allow it.

“Hands off. Now.”

Jungkook froze,his hands immediately let go, but the damage was done.

Yn pulled back and raised her brows.

She abruptly stood, sliding off him in one fluid motion.

"Yn—!" he cried, voice cracking, hands reaching for her before slapping uselessly at his thighs.Jungkook’s chest heaving, desperation written in every line of his body. His cock throbbed, flushed dark, leaking at the tip, twitching against his stomach completely helpless.

“No-no, don’t-please, I didn’t mean…” His voice cracked, he swears he felt hot tears accumulate in his eyes.

She bent just enough to hiss, “If you grab me again without permission, I’ll finish myself off in the fucking bathroom and leave you like this. Is that what you want?”

Jungkook's face crumpled.

“Fuck, I’m sorry -please -please, I didn’t mean to-” His voice cracked again, and his hands shook where they gripped his knees. His cockaching for her. “Don’t stop-please-I’ll be good, I swear!”

Yn stared at him aware of exactly what she was doing.

Jungkook looked so wrecked.

Sweat clung to his jawline. His cheeks were flushed deep red. Tears glimmered in his lashes actual tears, the kind of frustrated, helpless sobs that came from deep inside, from being denied over and over again.

Yn couldn’t help it. She smiled. Just a little.

“Im going to give you a second chance”

And then she climbed back into his lap sliding his cook inside, this time intense and merciless. letting him feel every inch as she sank onto him again. Jungkook head dropped forward, mouth wide, hands fisting in the couch cushions. she grabbed his face choking a moan off her mouth before talking.

“You better not cum withouth my fucking permission”

She rode him with a punishing rhythm, letting her hips rock in deep, grinding circles, the sounds were too dirty,  Jungkook was trembling now, coming closer.

it pulsed low and delicious in his belly, thick, flowy waves rolling through him, slow and heavy. the pressure coiled deep, just beneath his navel, every grind drawing out that tight, aching pleasure that throbbed like a second heartbeat. it hurt, but sweetly. so fucking good he never wanted it to stop.

But all he could think about was her fucking mouth.

Jungkook wanted her mouth on his,  not in some sweet, tender way ,he didn’t want a simple kiss, he wanted something filthy. something degrading.

Jungkook wanted their tongues locked together, deep, wet and slippery, he wanted the kind of kiss that left strings of spit connecting their lips every time she pulled away. wanted to suck Yn tongue like he’d suck her clit, mouth open, breathing hard through his nose, swallowing her moans.

he blinked up at her with glassy, tear-glazed eyes, voice barely a whisper.

“…can I…”

his throat worked, but the words caught there, thin and wet and soft as a whimper.

“…can I kiss you?”

She look at him for a second and then look to other direction.

Jungkook realized she wasn’t going to kiss him the moment her lips hovered just above his, close enough for him to feel the heat of her breath, to go still beneath her like prey under a predator mercy, but she didn’t close the gap.

she didn’t lean in.

and god, the look on Yn’s face…so calm, so knowing, so fucking entertained by his unraveling. like she was drinking in every broken little twitch of his mouth with a twisted satisfaction. 

he stared, breath caught, hope fluttering in his throat like something dying.

but her lips didn’t move toward his.

instead, she gave this ghost smile.

"oh, baby," she murmured "You haven't earned it "

and it landed.

Jungkook knew then, with a sharp, aching certainty that she wasn’t going to give it to him. not yet. maybe not for a long while.

Yn spoke again.

“open your mouth.”

he obeyed. instantly.

Jungkook was so far gone, so completely shattered under her control, that he welcomed it.

his mouth opened wide, tongue pushed out eagerly, trembling slightly as it waited, offered, no shame in his eyes now, no trace of dignity left. just want.

he wanted to look pathetic. wanted to be the disgusting, desperate thing she’d turned him into.

and Yn saw it. saw how willingly he opened for her. saw how glad he was for even this mockery of a kiss.

she let the spit hang from her lip slow.

it dragged down in a thick, glistening strand, touching the tip of his tongue, sticking to it as it pulled taut then fell.

his eyes rolled back slightly as it settled. thick, warm. her taste.

he moaned.

just from that.

just from the feel of her spit in his mouth, from the taste of her breath and her heat sliding down his tongue.

he swallowed without being told. swallowed like he was drinking her, and as soon as it slid down his throat he stuck his tongue right back out again, eager, obedient, trembling with need.

she laughed, grinned, actually, watching his tongue wiggle just a little, like he was trying not to move too much, not to break the moment, but couldn’t help how much he wanted it.

and she gave him more.

another line of drool, slower this time. she let it hang, stretch, string down and down and down, until it drooped across the flat of his tongue and his lips and the corners of his mouth.

he swallowed again with a shaky moan, eyes fluttering, the spit slicking his chin now.

her pussy clenched down around him and she rolled her hips deep, slow and hard, watching him squirm, watching the line of her spit slide down his jaw and neck and pool in the hollow of his throat.

oh…he enjoyed it.

he was that far gone.

that fucked.

his climax was right there, hovering, curling up from his balls to his gut like lightning under his skin. his abs locked, toes curled, breath stuttered out of him in wet little gasps as Yn kept going, riding him like his unraveling is not her business.

“Yn… b-baby, I- I think I’m gonna-” his voice was breaking, high and wrecked, lip caught between his teeth to hold back the moan rising in his chest.

but she didn’t slow.

she slammed down again

again

and again

slick and loud and fast.

and just as his vision started to blur…

the phone rang.

her phone.

and she looked at it.

still bouncing, then without warning she stopped. 

the denial hit like a car crash.

his stomach clenched so violently it forced the breath out of him in a choked gasp, muscles spasming around a climax that never came.

"No-” he whimpered, voice cracking, hands shaking at his sides. but she was already moving already rising.

her pussy slipped off his cock in one slow, agonizing slide, wet and glistening, leaving him bare and aching in the open air.

he sobbed.

a real, broken sob, raw and high and trembling, like something in him just cracked apart. his thighs shook, his cock bobbed uselessly in the air, red and leaking and denied, a thin trail of wetness stretched between him and her as she stepped away.

“No- fuck- no, no, no, please-please don’t- don’t stop, I can’t-”

“I can’t lose this call, it probably is the wedding planner” she said over her shoulder after she rolled her eyes at him, calm as ever, plucking the phone from the table like she wasn’t walking away from a man begging at the edge of ruin.

he curled inward with a sound that wasn’t even human.

cock twitching, pulsing, leaking down his stomach. lips parted, gasping, chest moving rapidly.

“Yes! Hi. I was hoping it was you.”

He crumbled forward, genuinely ruined. Not just from arousal now, but humiliation. Exhaustion. Frustration at war with devotion.

He leaned against her leg, forehead to her thigh, barely holding himself up.

She didn’t even glance down. Just moved a hand lazily through his hair, not to soothe, but to remind him where he belonged.

“I’ll confirm the delivery times first thing,” she said smoothly into the phone. “We’re still expecting the florist at ten, right?”

She sat beside him on the couch, legs crossed, phone still to her ear like she wasn’t soaked and panting and teasing the love of her life within an inch of his sanity.

He couldn’t take it.

But he couldn’t touch her either. Not without breaking her rules.

So Jungkook did the only thing he could,  he leaned against her shoulder, lips brushing her bare skin, breath heavy and raw like an animal in a trap. He buried his face in her neck, sobbing without sound, tears wetting the curve of her collarbone.

She rolled her eyes, barely hiding her smile.

“You poor thing,” she whispered, not even covering the mic.

And then

Her hand moved.

Slowly.

Down his chest. Over this abs. Down, down, down—

Until her nails brushed the tip of his cock a tease.

She drew a lazy spiral over the flushed head, and then, casually, still chatting with the planner, she went on top of his lap.

Sank down.

He gasped like he'd been submerged underwater and finally broke the surface.

But she didn’t ride him.

Didn’t move.

Just sat there full of him hot and pulsing, his cock swollen being squeezed helplessly inside her.

Still on the phone, she traced her fingers across his nipples now tempting him, she pinched one, rubbed circles around the other. Jungkook whimpered like he might lose consciousness.

“I think the head table will look gorgeous,” Yn said sweetly. “Thank you so much. Really.”

His breath hitched on every word. Eyes squeezed shut. Jungkook was crying again, for real this time, every nerve in his body flayed open and exposed.

“Okay. see you then”

She hung up.

The silence in the room collapsed like a wave.

And then she started to ride him again, going for the sweet release. 

Yn pace was brutal, wild, no tease this time, just fast and frantic, her hips slamming down on him again and again, the wet sounds filling the room again as his body arched helplessly beneath her. Jungkook fists gripped the sofa so hard his knuckles burned, sweat rolling off his temples, every thrust making his cock throb like it was about to burst. 

“Yn-baby, please, I’m-fuck, I’m so close -please, can I- can I come?” his voice cracked, trembling, his chest heaving like he was drowning.

she didn’t answer.

she just kept riding him, harder, sharper, her slick pussy squeezing the breath out of him while he writhed.

a second passed.

his toes curled, his jaw clenched, a sob caught in his throat. “Yn, please, I can’t -I can’t hold it-please say yes…”

another second.

her hips snapped down. his body jerked, his cock twitching violently inside her, his vision blurring.

a third.

“please,” he gasped, eyes wide and wet, “please, I’ll do anything…”

a fourth.

he was breaking now, crying with the effort, the tension in his belly so unbearable it hurt, his whole body begging with him.

a fifth.

finally, she leaned down, lips brushing his ear, voice low and merciless. “you can come.”

Jungkook climax tore through his body like lightning, violent, shuddering, endless. his vision blurred white, chest heaving as his love so deep, so overwhelming, exploded in his chest with every pulse of release. every exhale made it swell bigger, bigger, bigger, until it felt like his ribs would burst with it, until all he could do was moan her name in broken sobs while she rode him through it moaning her own orgasm.

“Yn-I love you,” he gasped, broken and wild, tears leaking hot down his cheeks. “fuck, I love you so much, I love you so fucking much-”

sweat poured down both their bodies, skin slick, hair clinging. she hadn’t even bothered to take off the dress, still fucking him in it, fabric clinging to her curves, teasing him, tempting him.

Jungkook wanted to rip it to  fucking shreds. wanted to tear it off her shoulders, bury his face in her sweat soaked skin, mark her everywhere.

but he couldn’t.

not without permission.

so he lay there, chest rising and falling, body trembling, staring up at her with wide, desperate eyes

Jungkook waited , aching for that moment, that shift. The one he always saw in her, just after intense sex.

Her smile.

That softened gaze. That lazy hum. The post orgasm glow where she’d lean in and kiss him, whisper something like “baby,” or “you did so good,” and let him hold her. Let him love her.

But this time… it didn’t come.

Yn stayed still. Sitting heavy in his lap, cock still buried in her, dress sticking to her thighs. Her breath came slow but steady. Her eyes on his determined.

And then she leaned in  not with affection, but with intent.

Her lips brushed the shell of his ear. He froze.

And in the quiet, dominant hush that made his spine snap straight, Yn whispered:

“Let’s finish this in the bedroom.”

part 3 comming soon

[bnunybusiness]

[minyoonjin]

[jkwrites-m]

The Wrong Sister

Pairing: prince!Jungkook x princess!female reader

Genre: angst, smut, royalty au, arranged marriage au

Word Count: 14.8k

Summary: She was never his choice- until she became his world.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, angst, smut, royalty au, slow burn?, power struggle, age gap (10 yrs), older jungkook, arranged marriage, (somewhat) enemies to lovers, jealousy, jungkook is a meanie 🙁, possessiveness, hurt/comfort, politics, soft love, declarations, explicit: multiple smut scenes, consensual, unprotected sex, cold/obligatory sex, power play, loving sex, praise, degradation, oral (f. receiving), fingering, clit play, overstimulation

A/N: this was a request from a lovely anon 🫶 friends, i redid the outline for this multiple times bc i normally shy away from fantasies/royalty, so it was cool to try it out! hopefully it lives up to expectations!! (also i rlly don’t know what time period this is so just imagine wtv 🫩)

Note: jungkook’s pov is noted. if it isn’t- it’s y/n’s! also y/n is 21, jungkook is 31, jisoo is 26

LINK TO REQUEST ♡ MASTERLIST

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The mirror stares back at you like it’s trying to convince you of something.

That you’re beautiful. That you’re lucky. That this is what you’ve always wanted.

But the mirror lies.

You’re dressed in layers of ivory lace and silk so heavy it feels like armor. Gold threads snake across your bodice like vines, binding you into a shape you barely recognize. Somewhere behind you, handmaidens fuss with ribbons and brocade, cooing soft words you don’t hear. Your reflection looks poised- majestic, even.

But you feel like you’re drowning beneath the weight of expectation.

Your chest tightens. Not from nerves. No, you’d welcome nerves. This is worse. This is suffocation. The perfume in the room is too sweet. The silence, too loud. Every delicate “Princess” that slips from a servant’s tongue hits like a blade.

You’re getting married today.

To a man you’ve barely spoken to.

A man who’s ten years older.

A prince from a kingdom that needed a treaty more than a love story.

You catch your own gaze in the mirror again. Your lips are painted, your hair perfectly pinned, your veil stitched with symbols older than your name. You look like a queen-in-the-making.

But inside?

You’re unraveling.

“Too tight,” you say sharply, not looking at the handmaiden tying your corset.

She freezes. “Apologies, Your Highness…”

You stand abruptly, fingers tugging the laces yourself until the pressure eases from your ribs.

“Leave,” you murmur.

They hesitate.

“I said leave.”

Their skirts whisper across the marble floor as they vanish, one by one, until the room is yours again. Quiet. Empty. Suffocating.

You exhale shakily and lower yourself onto the velvet stool near the fire. You should feel like a bride. Instead, you feel like a pawn being moved across a glittering board.

A knock at the door makes your spine go rigid.

“Come in,” you say, voice tighter than you’d like.

The door creaks open. And there she is.

Jisoo.

Your older sister. Your kingdom’s golden girl.

She steps inside delicately, wrapped in blush silk with her hair softly swept up, eyes wide with sympathy you don’t want. She’s everything gentle and graceful the court adores. She looks like spring in human form.

And she looks like someone’s first choice.

“Soo,” you say, your tone unsure- too many emotions knotted in one syllable.

She smiles. Soft. Almost apologetic. “You look… stunning.”

You blink at her. “Why weren’t you here earlier?”

“I thought you’d want to be alone.”

“I didn’t,” you admit. “Not today.”

She hesitates a step from you. Her fingers curl into each other.

You feel the question bubbling before you can stop it. “Does he love you?”

The words spill out like poison.

Jisoo’s expression flickers- guilt, shock, something unreadable but she catches it before it fully forms. “Y/N…”

“You don’t have to lie,” you whisper. “Not today.”

“I never encouraged it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You must’ve known.” Your voice cracks just slightly. “He looks at you like you’re the crown he lost.”

Jisoo swallows, her voice quiet. “He’s marrying you.”

You stare into the fire, the flickering light licking at your gown like flame to paper. “But he wanted you.”

She doesn’t answer. And her silence says more than a confession ever could.

You don’t blame her. Not really. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Maybe you should be the one marrying him,” you say, not able to meet her eyes.

“I would never take this from you,” she breathes.

You turn to face her finally. “Would it really be stealing if I was just keeping your seat warm?”

The air between you thickens. You’re not angry at her. Not really. You’re angry at fate. At politics. At the cold man waiting at the altar who wants a different bride.

Jisoo takes a step closer. “You’re stronger than you think.”

“No, I’m just better at pretending.”

She reaches out to touch your shoulder. You don’t pull away, but you don’t lean in either.

“He’ll learn to love you,” she says gently. “Anyone would.”

You let out a dry laugh, sharp as glass. “You don’t learn to love someone like me. You endure her.”

The bell tolls outside- three slow, echoing chimes that stretch across the walls like the opening notes of a funeral dirge.

It’s time.

You rise. Your gown shifts like water. You steady your shoulders, straighten your crown. You feel her watching you, but you can’t look at her again.

Because you are walking down the aisle

Not as the girl he dreamed of. Not as the sister he wanted. But as the bride he’s stuck with.

The chapel smells like ancient roses and old prayers.

You glide down the aisle slowly, deliberately, as the eyes of two kingdoms drink you in. The train of your gown trails behind you like spilled moonlight. Hundreds of royals, nobles, and dignitaries line the carved pews, all dressed in silks and golds, but none of them matter. You feel them watching, judging, whispering about your age, your family, your worth.

But you only look forward.

You keep your eyes on the altar where Prince Jeon Jungkook stands like he’s carved from ice.

He doesn’t smile.

Not even a flicker of warmth touches his face when he sees you. His expression remains cold, impassive, lips a straight line, shoulders square. You wonder if he even sees you or if he’s just counting the seconds until this political obligation is complete.

The music swells. The world fades.

You reach him.

He doesn’t offer his hand.

The High Cleric begins the ceremony with blessings in a language older than either of your kingdoms. You barely hear the words. Your fingers are trembling in your gloves. You feel like you’re underwater. Everything is soft and distant and slow.

Until it’s time for the vows.

You turn to face him. And his eyes aren’t on you.

They’re on her.

You see it. Just for a second. A flicker. A heartbeat. But it’s real.

His gaze shifts- barely, subtly- but you know the direction. You don’t even have to look.

Jisoo.

She’s seated near the front. Pale dress. Downcast eyes. Perfect posture. As still and serene as a statue. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t acknowledge it.

But you feel it. All of it.

The phantom of his feelings for her settles like a chill between your ribs.

“Repeat after me,” the Cleric intones, unaware of the slow fracture blooming in your chest.

You say the words.

You pledge your body, your name, your crown.

You do not cry.

He says the words, too. Calm. Flat. Emotionless. He binds himself to you in front of gods and ghosts, but his voice doesn’t tremble. Not from nerves. Not from affection.

Because he feels nothing.

He lifts your veil. His hands are steady. Distant.

Your first kiss as husband and wife is just that- a formality. His lips brush yours like the passing of winter wind. No passion. No warmth. No curiosity.

The crowd erupts into applause.

You smile.

You have to.

He offers you his arm.

You take it.

You walk down the aisle together, shoulder to shoulder but not touching, as cheers rain down from the golden arches of the chapel.

You smile.

You have to.

And though you can feel him beside you… 

he says nothing.

═══════

The ballroom gleams with gold and artifice.

You’re standing in the center of it, hand in hand with a man who hasn’t spoken a word to you all day. Not during the procession. Not during the ceremony. Not after the kiss. Not when he escorted you down the aisle like he was walking beside a shadow.

And now, in front of hundreds of watching eyes, it’s time for the first dance.

The music begins. You take one step forward, and so does he.

His gloved hand rests against your waist like he’s afraid to touch you too firmly- as if contact might imply something that isn’t there. His other hand holds yours, just tight enough to be respectful, just distant enough to make your stomach sink.

You lift your eyes to his.

And for the first time, he speaks, “You should smile.”

Your breath catches.

“That’s what they’re expecting,” he continues, voice low, precise. “A happy bride. A glowing princess.”

You try to smile, but it curls wrong on your lips.

“And you?” you murmur, eyes still fixed on his. “Are you pretending too?”

His grip tightens ever so slightly. “I’m fulfilling a role.”

You laugh- soft, bitter. “And what role is that? Dutiful husband or heartless executioner?”

He doesn’t answer.

You move together across the marble floor like strangers trapped in the same song. The music is beautiful, swelling in delicate arcs around you. But you can’t feel any of it.

“What did I do to make you hate this so much?” you whisper.

He blinks, slowly. “I don’t hate you.”

“No?” you scoff. “Then why won’t you look at me the way you looked at her?”

The words are out before you can stop them. His jaw clenches.

“Don’t bring her into this.”

“She’s already in it,” you breathe. “You put her there when you looked at her during our vows.”

The music swells again, a waltz that sounds too pretty for this kind of pain.

“I don’t want to embarrass you,” he says finally, voice tight.

You force a smile- sharp, graceful, empty. “Too late.”

He turns you in a slow spin, elegant, effortless. From a distance, the court sees perfection. A prince and his new bride, radiant under the candlelight.

But you know better.

You feel the space between your bodies like a scar that hasn’t healed yet.

“Do you love her?” you ask, quiet enough for only him to hear.

He doesn’t answer.

His silence slices deeper than any truth could.

You feel your chest tighten, throat burning. But your face? Your face stays royal. Untouched. Serene.

“Will I ever be more than her shadow to you?”

You see something flicker in his gaze, but it’s gone as fast as it comes.

“You were not the choice,” he says at last.

You blink. You stop moving for half a second. Your shoes nearly slip on the polished floor. The world tilts.

But then the music carries on.

So you do too.

He guides you back into motion, and you match him- fluid, poised, empty.

When the music ends, he steps back. Bows. You curtsy.

Applause erupts across the hall. And you smile so wide it almost cracks your face open.

═══════

The halls are empty when you’re escorted to the royal bedchamber.

No music now. No guests. No watching eyes. Just the sound of your heels against marble and your pulse humming beneath your skin.

The doors are already open.

He’s already inside.

You step in carefully, unsure of what you’ll find. The room is as grand as you imagined- pillars of carved obsidian, embroidered silks draped from the high ceiling, a fire crackling in the hearth like it’s mocking you with its warmth. A table is set with untouched wine. Rose petals litter the floor like someone believed romance could be faked.

He stands by the window, facing away from you. Still dressed in full ceremonial regalia. Still silent.

The doors shut behind you with a hollow thud.

You wait.

You don’t know what you’re waiting for. Instructions? Affection? A beginning?

Instead, you get nothing.

You unclasp your cloak. It falls silently around your feet. Your hair is pinned and tight, your corset aching against your ribs. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to be held.

But he still won’t look at you.

“It’s done,” you say quietly, just to break the silence.

He hums in acknowledgment. Doesn’t turn.

You take a step forward, cautious. “Is there something you’d like me to do?”

At last, he speaks. “Sleep. That’s all.”

That’s all.

The words hang heavy in the air.

You try not to show it, but your fingers curl against your side. “Isn’t this… expected?”

“I don’t owe them a performance.”

“And me?” you ask.

He turns to face you now, slowly. His expression unreadable. Cold. He looks at you like a decision he regrets making. Like a formality he’s been assigned.

“You don’t want this,” he says.

You flinch at the assumption. “You don’t know what I want.”

“You want love. Passion. Devotion.” He crosses his arms. “I’m not the man who gives those things.”

“No,” you say, stepping closer, “you’re the man who gives silence. Distance. Glances meant for someone else.”

His jaw ticks.

You keep going. You’re tired of swallowing pain. “You said your vows. You kissed me. You danced with me. And not once did you pretend I was enough.”

“I told you I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Oh, so this is honesty?” you snap. “This- coldness. This rejection. This… emptiness?”

He sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. His voice is quieter now. “It’s mercy.”

You shake your head. “It’s cruelty.”

Neither of you speak for a long moment.

You break the silence again. “Did you ever think that maybe I didn’t want to be just some treaty girl, either? That I didn’t want to marry a man in love with someone else?”

His face flickers. Just briefly.

You don’t know what emotion it is. Pity? Guilt? Regret?

But it fades too quickly to hold onto.

“You can sleep in here if you want,” he says, voice controlled again. “Or I’ll have a separate room prepared.”

You take a deep breath, walk past him toward the bed. You don’t look at him. Not this time.

“I’ll stay here,” you say softly. “Not because I want you. But because this is my marriage, too.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, spine straight, heart hollow. And he walks away without another word.

The doors close.

You are alone.

Again.

You unlace your corset with trembling fingers. You slide the jewelry off your skin like it’s shackles. You curl beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling that feels more like sky than stone.

And for the first time since the ceremony began, you let the tears fall. No one hears them. No one sees. And when morning comes, you will wear the crown like it never hurt.

═══════

The palace is dead quiet after midnight.

You lie still in the enormous bed, staring up at the carved ceiling, your body wrapped in satin, your heart wrapped in stone.

Jungkook came back hours ago.

He didn’t speak when he entered.

He didn’t speak when he undressed, carefully, methodically, folding his ceremonial uniform with military precision and draping a robe over his bare chest. He didn’t speak when he climbed into the opposite side of the bed, a world away from your side.

He just turned his back to you.

And that was that.

You listened to his breathing even out. Watched the fire in the hearth dim into embers. Let the weight of the sheets press your body down like a crown too heavy to wear.

Sleep never came.

The silence around you was too loud.

You watched the moonlight crawl across the walls until your eyes ached. You imagined what it might’ve felt like to be chosen. To be wanted. To be seen.

You almost didn’t hear it.

A whisper. Barely there.

You blink, breath catching, your body frozen as stone.

Then again- soft. Muffled. Threaded with sleep.

“…Jisoo…”

Your heart stops.

The name barely drips from his mouth- half breath, half confession- but it’s real. It slithers through the shadows between you like smoke.

“…Jisoo…”

He shifts in the bed beside you, still deep in dreams.

And you?

You’re wide awake.

The ache in your chest is immediate and consuming. Sharp enough to make your eyes water, soft enough to break you slowly. You don’t speak. Don’t move.

You lie there, paralyzed. Because how can you scream when the knife was never even meant for you?

It was a whisper. A sleep-talk. A mistake.

But it was her name. Not yours.

Not once tonight- not in his gaze, not in his vows, not in his arms- did you belong to him. But her? She owns the quietest part of him. The part he doesn’t even guard.

You turn your head toward him slowly. His face is peaceful in sleep. Untroubled. Like he hasn’t just carved you open.

You stare at him for a long time.

And for the first time since this all began, you don’t feel sad. You feel cold.

Numb. Resolved.

You pull the covers tighter around you- not for warmth, but for armor.

He may have married you.

But he dreams of her.

And if he thinks you’ll stay quiet forever, if he thinks you’ll simply live in her shadow…

He doesn’t know you at all.

═══════

The first week of marriage does not belong to you.

It belongs to the court.

Every morning begins with a maid waking you before the sun, layering you in gowns chosen by someone else, and fitting a crown so heavy you can feel it in your spine. Every day ends with aching cheeks from holding the same smile for hours.

They don’t call you by name anymore.

You’re Her Royal Highness, Princess Consort of the Northern Kingdom.

A title. Not a person.

The palace calendar is full- parades, charity luncheons, handshakes with foreign diplomats, appearances at schools, hospitals, markets. At each stop, you are arranged like part of the decor. A jeweled accessory for the prince’s arm.

He almost never offers it.

When he does, it’s for the benefit of the crowd. An elbow bent at a perfect angle, a smile carved into place like it was taught, not felt. He’s a master of performance.

So are you.

The people cheer for the image of you both. They throw flower petals into the street, shout blessings, push forward to glimpse their fairytale couple.

If only they knew fairytales rot when the gold is only paint.

At the textile factory, you stand beside him while the foreman gushes about the kingdom’s prosperity. At the ribbon-cutting for a new bridge, you’re handed the scissors, smiling for the press while Jungkook stares past you at some distant point, as though the moment doesn’t require him.

Sometimes, you catch yourself wondering if he forgets you’re even there.

You’ve learned the choreography. Sit still. Smile faintly. Look engaged, but not outspoken. Be regal, but not commanding. Be graceful, but not bold.

Be there.

But never be.

The only time you feel remotely human is during the carriage rides between engagements, when the curtains are drawn, and the crowds can’t see you.

That’s when the silence between you becomes unbearable. He doesn’t speak.

You don’t either.

But you glance at him once, catching his profile in the dim light. It’s like looking at a portrait- beautiful, distant, untouchable. You turn away before he can feel you watching.

By the end of the week, you’ve perfected the role:

A crown without a voice.

═══════

It happens because it has to.

Not because he wants you. Not because you want him. But because it’s expected. Because the kingdom will talk if it doesn’t.

The door opens without a knock. You glance up from your seat on the edge of the bed, silk robe tied loosely around your waist, hair falling over your shoulders. He steps inside, closing the door with quiet finality.

“We need to talk,” you say.

“Not tonight.” His voice is low, clipped, as he shrugs out of his coat. “This isn’t a conversation.”

Your brow furrows. “Then what is it?”

He looks at you but it’s the way a jeweler inspects a gem before deciding if it’s worth setting. “It’s what’s required,” he says. “For the line. For the crown.”

Your chest tightens. You know the court’s whispers- how the marriage will be scrutinized until you produce an heir. You know the timeline they expect. You’d expected distance. You hadn’t expected to feel like an appointment.

He approaches slowly, rolling his cuffs to his forearms. When he stops in front of you, he doesn’t touch you right away- just stands there until the air between you grows heavy.

When he stops in front of you, he looks down at you with the same expression he wears in court- measured, guarded, cold.

“Stand up,” he says.

The command leaves no room for hesitation. You rise.

His hands land on your waist, not with affection but with control, guiding you closer. His mouth meets yours in a kiss that isn’t really a kiss- no give, no hunger, no softness. You press harder anyway, trying to spark something. He responds by gripping your jaw, holding you still.

“You’re trying too hard,” he murmurs.

“At least I’m trying,” you bite back.

A slow, humorless smile curves his lips. “Careful.”

He turns you with deliberate force until your knees meet the bed. You sit. He follows, untying your robe in one smooth pull. It falls to your sides, cool air grazing bare skin.

His gaze sweeps over you- assessing, not admiring. “Beautiful,” he says, tone flat. “But beauty doesn’t make you powerful.”

You swallow. “Then what does?”

His eyes lift to yours, sharp as steel. “Control. And you don’t have any here.”

The word sends a shiver down your spine- half fear, half something you don’t want to name.

He presses you back into the mattress with a firm hand to your shoulder, sliding the robe from your arms. His touch is skilled, confident, but there’s no tenderness. Every movement feels deliberate- designed to take without giving.

You arch into him once, testing him. His palm flattens against your sternum, holding you down.

“Do you think I’ll lose myself for you?” he asks softly, mockingly. “You can’t provoke me into wanting you.”

The words burn hotter than his hands.

When he finally takes you, it’s with the same efficiency as everything else he does- controlled, unhurried, purposeful. The sounds in the room are soft but sharp: the creak of the bed, your shallow breaths, the low rumble of his voice telling you to hold still.

His grip on your hips is firm, guiding you exactly how he wants. You try to match his rhythm, to pull him closer. He shifts his hold, pinning your wrists above your head against the mattress.

“Not yours to lead,” he says. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

It’s almost clinical. Almost mechanical. Your body reacts anyway- heat, breathlessness, the helpless ache for more. But you know he’s watching every flicker of your expression like a general studying an opponent’s next move.

When it’s over, he pulls away immediately. No lingering touch. No kiss. Just rises, adjusting his clothes with the same precision he undid them.

You’re still catching your breath when he looks at you one last time. “This is duty, Princess. Don’t confuse it with anything else.”

And then he’s gone.

The door shuts behind him.

You stay there, robe open, pulse still racing- not from closeness, but from the sting of his words.

═══════

The council chamber smells faintly of parchment, polished wood, and the faint metallic tang of ambition.

You sit in the gilded chair to Jungkook’s right, posture flawless, hands folded in your lap. It’s your first time attending a full royal council since the wedding. You’re here to listen. To be silent. To play the part of the well-bred consort.

At least, that’s what they expect.

The chamber doors close, and the discussion begins. Ministers rise, presenting their concerns: border tensions with the Western Kingdom, grain shortages in the southern provinces, a brewing dispute with the merchant guilds.

Your husband listens with that same infuriating calm, speaking only when necessary, voice even, deliberate. A king in training.

But when the Minister of Trade suggests raising tariffs on imported grain to “incentivize” local production, something twists in your chest.

“That would starve half the southern provinces,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

Every head in the room turns.

Jungkook’s gaze cuts to you. Sharp. Warning.

The Minister blinks, surprised. “Your Highness, the measure-”

“-would drive up prices so high,” you continue, “that families already struggling would have to choose between bread and rent. And if the people are hungry, unrest follows. That is not ‘incentive,’ Minister. That is negligence.”

Murmurs ripple through the chamber.

Jungkook’s voice is quiet but firm. “Princess-”

You turn your head slowly, meeting his eyes. “Am I mistaken?”

A pause. His jaw tightens.

“You are… uninformed,” he says at last.

You lean forward, resting your hands on the table. “Then perhaps inform me. Tell me how destabilizing our food supply will help secure your rule. Or ours.”

A faint gasp from one of the scribes. A few ministers look away, hiding smirks. The Minister of Trade fidgets.

Jungkook’s expression doesn’t change, but you see the flicker in his eyes- anger, yes, but something else. Curiosity.

You look back at the table. “Instead of tariffs, subsidize local farmers to increase production. Buy excess grain directly from them at fair prices, then sell it cheaply in the provinces that need it most. The treasury loses nothing if the surplus is sold abroad. Everyone wins. The farmers, the provinces, the crown.”

The room goes still.

Then, slowly, the Minister of Agriculture nods. “It’s… a sound plan.”

More murmurs. Agreement.

Jungkook leans back in his chair, studying you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You can feel his gaze on your skin, hot and assessing.

“Very well,” he says finally. “We’ll consider the Princess’s… suggestion.”

It’s not an admission. Not in his tone.

But you’ve already won.

When the meeting ends, you rise before he does, smoothing your skirts. As you pass his chair, you feel his hand catch your wrist under the table.

You glance down at him.

His voice is low, for you alone. “We will discuss this later.”

You smile sweetly. “Of course, Your Highness.”

And you leave the chamber with your head high, the echo of your heels a victory drumbeat in the quiet hall. Yet, the moment the council doors close behind you, you know he’s following.

Your heels click against the marble corridor, echoing between the towering pillars. You don’t turn around, but you can feel him gaining on you- steady, purposeful, silent.

You make it halfway to your chambers before his hand closes around your wrist.

He pulls you into a side room- an antechamber lined with bookshelves and an unused writing desk- and shuts the door hard enough to rattle the hinges.

The air changes instantly.

He steps closer. Not close enough to touch, but enough that you can feel the weight of him, the way his presence seems to draw the oxygen from the room.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he says, voice low, razor-edged.

You arch a brow. “Speak?”

“Undermine me in front of my council.” His gaze is molten steel, locked on yours. “You embarrassed me.”

You take a deliberate step forward, closing some of the space between you. “I saved you from making a decision that would’ve turned half your kingdom against you.”

His jaw flexes. “That’s not your place.”

“And sitting there like a decorative vase is?” Your voice is calm, but each word lands sharp.

He moves closer, forcing you to back up until the edge of the desk presses against the back of your thighs. His hands plant on either side of you, caging you in without touching. “You don’t understand how dangerous it is to overstep in that room.”

You tilt your chin up. “I understand perfectly. They’ll eat you alive if they think you’re weak. And nothing says weakness like a wife too afraid to speak her mind.”

His eyes narrow. “You think you’re clever.”

“I know I am.”

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing. His gaze drops briefly- not to your mouth, but to the stubborn lift of your chin- then returns to your eyes.

“You enjoy provoking me,” he says quietly.

“Only when you deserve it.”

One corner of his mouth twitches- not quite a smile, not quite a snarl. “Careful, Princess. If you make a habit of this, you might find I have… inventive ways of teaching obedience.”

You lean just slightly into the space between you, your voice a whisper. “And if you keep underestimating me, you might find I have inventive ways of winning.”

The tension between you is almost unbearable- not heat, not tenderness, just raw defiance meeting raw authority.

Finally, he pushes back, giving you space. “You’re not stupid,” he says. “But you are mine to manage.”

You smooth your skirts, stepping past him toward the door. “If you think I’ll be managed, Your Highness… you really haven’t been paying attention.”

You don’t wait for him to follow.

═══════

5 years earlier (jungkook’s pov): 

The gala had been suffocating.

Perfume and politics choked the air inside the ballroom. Every step, every word, every glance felt calculated. The music was loud enough to cover whispers but not loud enough to drown them out.

Jungkook slipped through a side door.

The night air hit him like a blessing- cool, crisp, tinged with the scent of rain. He loosened his collar and exhaled, letting the weight of the crown’s expectations roll off his shoulders, if only for a breath.

That’s when he saw her.

Jisoo.

She was standing at the edge of the balcony, moonlight touching the soft curve of her cheek. A pale silk gown flowed around her like water. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her lips moving faintly as she hummed something he didn’t recognize.

She turned when she heard him.

“Oh- Your Highness,” she said, voice light, careful. She curtsied, the movement graceful, unhurried. “I didn’t realize anyone else would be out here.”

“I needed air,” he admitted.

Her smile was small but knowing. “So did I.”

They stood there for a moment, the muffled music from the ballroom spilling through the open doors. He should have gone back inside. Instead, he found himself asking, “Do you come to many of these events?”

“More than I’d like.” Her gaze drifted toward the gardens below. “But my father says it’s important to be seen.”

The words were simple. Obvious, even. But the way she said them- steady, resigned, without bitterness-  struck him. She wasn’t like the others inside, scrambling for attention or advantage.

“I suppose he’s right,” he said.

She looked at him then, really looked, and for a second, he thought she might see past the prince to the man beneath. “You wear the pressure well.”

The compliment shouldn’t have mattered. It was the kind of thing royals said to each other all the time. But there was no jest in her tone, no false sweetness. It felt… clean.

Someone called her name from inside- a soft summons from a lady-in-waiting.

She dipped her head. “I should go.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Jungkook stayed on that balcony long after, the faint sound of her humming still in his ears.

It had been nothing- a polite exchange in the quiet. But in a life where every word was a weapon, her simplicity had felt like a shield.

Years later, he still told himself she was different.

He never noticed that he didn’t know a single thing more about her.

═══════

Two months change nothing… and everything.

The last time you and Jungkook stood together in the council chamber, you defied him in front of his ministers. He hasn’t forgotten. Neither have you.

The winter gala is your first appearance together since then.

The ballroom glitters under crystal chandeliers, every corner alive with silks, jewels, and the low hum of politics disguised as conversation. Gold light spills across polished marble, and the air is warm with the scent of champagne and candle wax.

You’ve chosen your gown carefully.

Silk the color of deep wine, cut low enough at the back to reveal the elegant dip of your spine, the fabric clinging to your curves before spilling loose in a daring slit high on your thigh. By court standards, it’s scandalous. By yours, it’s perfect.

You don’t tell Jungkook you’ve done it for him.

You tell yourself it’s for you.

The heads turn as soon as you enter on his arm. Ministers pause mid-sentence. Noblewomen whisper behind jeweled fans. Men look longer than they should. You feel the power in it- the way the room bends toward you.

Jungkook’s grip on your arm is tight enough to bruise.

“Enjoying yourself already?” you murmur, eyes fixed forward.

“You think this is clever?” His voice is low, dangerous. “Every man here staring at what’s mine?”

“Every man here staring at their future queen,” you correct softly.

He doesn’t reply, but you feel the tension radiating off him.

And then you see her.

Jisoo.

She stands near the far end of the room, surrounded by a small cluster of dignitaries. She’s dressed in soft silver, hair pinned in perfect curls, a picture of refined restraint. The kind of elegance that draws admiration without scandal.

She sees you. She smiles- polite, warm, and just a little too knowing. You smile back, the kind that could be taken for friendliness or challenge.

You make your rounds, greeting nobles, shaking hands, accepting compliments that dance on the edge of impropriety. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you even when he’s not beside you- especially when you laugh at another man’s joke, your fingers brushing his sleeve as you speak.

When you finally return to Jungkook’s side, his jaw is tight.

“Careful, Princess,” he says under his breath. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

You sip your champagne, unbothered. “So are you.”

The orchestra swells, the floor clears for the next dance. He offers his hand, not out of romance, but because tradition demands it.

You place your hand in his and let him lead you into the spotlight.

Around you, the court watches. Some curious, some envious, some waiting for one of you to slip.

Under the chandeliers, his hand rests low on your back, almost possessive.

You wonder if he’s imagining Jisoo in your place. You wonder if it’s killing him that he can’t look away from you.

═══════

The ride back to the palace is silent.

Not the comfortable kind.

The kind that crackles with things unsaid.

You can feel him beside you in the carriage, his body still wound tight, his hand flexing once on his knee as though resisting the urge to act. He doesn’t look at you, but his gaze burns into the side of your face all the same.

When the carriage stops, he’s out first, striding through the palace doors without a word. You follow, heels clicking against marble. He doesn’t slow down until you’re inside your chambers.

The door shuts hard behind you.

“Do you enjoy humiliating me?” His voice is sharp, each word laced with steel.

You slip off your gloves one finger at a time. “Do you enjoy pretending you own me?”

He takes two steps forward, closing the space between you. “Everything you did tonight- the dress, the smiles, touching him-”

“-was diplomacy,” you cut in. “Something a ruler should understand.”

His eyes flash, and then he’s crowding you backward until your spine meets the wall. His hand presses against it beside your head, trapping you in place.

“You wanted my attention?” His voice drops lower, dangerous. “Now you have it.”

Your heart kicks hard, but you lift your chin. “And what will you do with it, Your Highness?”

His mouth crashes onto yours- not gentle, not tentative, but claiming. His other hand drags up your thigh, finding the slit in your gown and shoving the silk higher.

“Prove to you,” he murmurs against your lips, “that you can play with anyone else in the room… but you’ll still end up here.”

You bite his lower lip, pulling back just enough to smirk. “And if I’m not impressed?”

His grip tightens on your hip. “Then I’ll try harder.”

He turns you toward the bed in one swift movement, the skirt of your gown bunching in his fist. You go willingly, but when he pushes you down, you twist to look over your shoulder.

“Still just duty?” you taunt.

He freezes for a fraction of a second- then his hands are on you again, rougher now, dragging you back against the hard, unmistakable shape of his cock through his trousers. “Tonight? It’s a lesson.”

The dress comes off in a series of impatient tugs, pooling on the floor. His palms roam over your bare skin like he’s taking inventory, thumbs digging into your ass before parting you just enough to feel the heat of his breath between your legs. You shiver, but refuse to turn your face away.

His clothes follow- not rushed, but stripped with deliberate precision, every motion dripping with control. When he finally presses the heavy, hot length of him against your entrance, he holds there for a moment, letting you feel every inch before he pushes in.

The stretch is deep and sudden, making your breath catch, your nails digging into the sheets. He doesn’t give you time to adjust- his hips drive forward in hard, unrelenting strokes, the thick slide of him hitting deep enough to make you gasp every time. His hands lock your hips in place, forcing you to take him exactly how he wants, his pace a brutal, steady rhythm meant to grind down your defiance.

But you meet every thrust, rocking back against him with just as much force, your slick making every connection filthy and loud.

“Say you belong to me,” he orders, voice ragged.

You shake your head, breathless but smiling even as pleasure twists low in your belly. “No.”

His mouth is at your ear in the next breath, teeth grazing the shell before his words pour over you like molten heat. “You will.”

You push back harder, grinding until the head of his cock drags against that sweet, swollen spot inside you. A moan slips free- you swallow it down before it can give him satisfaction. “Or you’ll learn I don’t belong to anyone.”

The challenge hangs between you, thick as the sweat on your skin. Neither of you slow down, each thrust sharper, wetter, more desperate. The slap of skin fills the room, your breaths tangled with curses and broken sounds you’d never admit to making.

You’re so close you can feel it buzzing in your bones but you hold it back out of spite, out of sheer will. His fingers slip down between your thighs, finding your clit and circling hard until your resolve cracks and your body shudders around him.

He follows with a deep, savage thrust, spilling into you with a low groan, hips grinding through the aftershocks like he’s branding you from the inside.

When it ends, you’re both breathless, flushed, staring at each other across the tangle of sheets.

He doesn’t kiss you. You don’t ask him to.

“You’re exhausting,” he says finally.

“You’re obsessed,” you reply.

And you both know you’re right.

═══════

Two weeks have passed since that night.

The night where anger blurred with want, where neither of you surrendered but both of you took.

Since then, you’ve spoken little. Polite exchanges in public, calculated silences in private.

The world sees perfection. You see the cracks.

This morning, the palace gardens are alive with late winter sunlight. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of blooming camellias and damp earth. You’ve always preferred this part of the palace- away from the council chambers, away from the eyes of the court.

Your ladies follow at a respectful distance as you take the marble path toward the upper terrace. The view from there sweeps over the river, the towers, and the city beyond- a reminder of everything that belongs to the crown, if not to you.

You’re halfway up the wide steps when your heel catches on the edge of your gown.

The world tilts.

Your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp as your foot slides on the slick marble. You stumble forward, ankle twisting hard. The pain shoots up your leg before your knees hit the ground.

And then- 

Strong hands catch you before you collapse completely.

The scent of warm spice and leather floods your senses.

“Y/N.” His voice is low, urgent.

You blink up into Jungkook’s face. For once, his expression isn’t composed. His eyes are wide, scanning you for injury.

“My ankle,” you breathe, wincing as the weight shifts.

Without hesitation, he bends and sweeps you into his arms. The motion startles you, your hands gripping his shoulders instinctively.

“Put me down,” you protest.

“Not a chance,” he says, his tone sharp but not cold. It’s threaded with something you’ve never heard from him before. Fear.

He carries you to a shaded bench, lowering you carefully. His fingers are warm and gentle as they press around the swelling ankle, his jaw tight.

“You’ll be off it for a day at least,” he says.

“It’s just a twist-”

“You’ll rest,” he interrupts, brooking no argument. “I’ll have a physician sent immediately.”

You tilt your head. “Are you… worried?”

His eyes meet yours. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t answer. “You are my wife,” he says finally, voice softer than you expect. “What happens to you matters.”

“You’ll stay in your chambers today. I’ll make the arrangements.”

And before you can protest, he bends again, one arm hooking under your knees, the other around your back, lifting you as if you weigh nothing.

“Jungkook-”

“Save your breath,” he says, eyes fixed forward. “You’re not walking on it.”

The world tilts in a different way now, the solid heat of him under you, the steady rhythm of his steps carrying you through the garden paths. Court attendants bow as he passes, some openly staring, but he doesn’t slow.

He carries you up the palace steps, down the corridors, and straight into your chambers-  only setting you down on the bed once you’re surrounded by the familiar silk and shadow.

His hands linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary before he steps back. “Rest.”

Then the mask is back, and he’s gone.

═══════

The physician leaves just before noon.

“It’s only a mild sprain,” he’d said, binding your ankle with clean linen and instructing you to stay off it for a day or two. “Nothing serious, Your Highness. As long as you rest.”

You’re propped against a fortress of pillows in your bed, silk sheets spilling over your legs, a cup of cooling tea at your side. The room is too still, too quiet. You’ve never been good at sitting still.

Your ladies-in-waiting keep offering to read to you or bring fresh flowers, but you send them away after the fourth polite interruption. It’s not their fault you feel caged. The crown fits heavy enough without being confined to your chambers.

You’re staring at the gilded canopy when there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” you call.

Jungkook steps inside.

You blink. “I thought you had meetings all afternoon.”

“I do,” he says, but he doesn’t leave. He crosses the room, the sound of his boots muffled against the carpet. “I wanted to see if you were following orders.”

“Orders?” you repeat, arching a brow. “I didn’t realize marriage came with a chain of command.”

His gaze flicks to your bandaged ankle. “You’re still in bed. That’s a start.”

You expect him to leave after that, but instead, he moves toward the table and pours you fresh tea, setting the cup within reach. You catch the faintest furrow between his brows, the one that appears when he’s thinking too much.

“You didn’t have to-”

“It was closer to me than to you,” he cuts in.

“Right,” you murmur, hiding a small smile behind the rim of your cup.

He stands there a moment longer, as if debating something. “If you need anything-”

“I’ll send for a guard?” you finish for him, teasing.

His eyes narrow slightly, but there’s no heat in it. “Exactly.”

He turns to go, and something in you flares- curiosity, stubbornness, maybe both. “Jungkook.”

He pauses at the door.

“You caught me before I fell,” you say. “Why?”

For a heartbeat, his eyes meet yours. “Because you’re mine to protect.”

Then the door shuts behind him.

You’re left staring at it, unsure whether his words were a claim, a duty… or something else entirely.

═══════

By morning, the dull ache in your ankle has faded to something tolerable. Not gone- but not enough to keep you trapped in bed.

You dress yourself in a pale blue day gown, something soft and unassuming, and braid your hair back in a way that says I am perfectly fine, thank you. Your ladies-in-waiting hover nervously as you make your way to the sitting room.

“Your Highness,” one begins gently, “perhaps you should-”

“I’ve rested long enough,” you say, taking the first careful step toward the door. “There are things I need to see to.”

They exchange looks but say nothing.

The moment you open the door, you nearly collide with him.

Jungkook stands there, dressed in deep charcoal, the morning light catching on the silver clasp at his cloak. His gaze drops immediately to your feet, to the subtle limp you try- and fail- to hide.

“Where are you going?” His tone is calm, but there’s a weight to it.

“For a walk,” you say. “It’s a palace, not a prison.”

His jaw flexes. “Not without me.”

You fold your arms. “You’re busy. I can manage.”

He steps past you into the room, closing the door behind him. “You can barely walk without favoring that ankle.”

“I can walk,” you counter. “And I intend to.”

Something flickers in his eyes- not anger, not quite- before he exhales sharply. “Then I’ll escort you.”

It’s not a request.

You consider arguing, but there’s something in his stance, in the set of his shoulders, that tells you it will only waste time. So instead, you smile- sweet, false. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

He offers his arm. You take it, because refusing would feel like losing, and you refuse to lose to him in anything.

The walk is slow, deliberate. The gardens are busy with attendants pruning roses and sweeping paths. You can feel the eyes on you- the court always watches. Jungkook’s hand stays steady under yours, guiding you away from uneven ground, adjusting his pace without comment when you falter.

It’s infuriating how natural it feels.

When you reach the far end of the garden, you stop beside the fountain, pretending to admire the lilies floating on the surface.

“See?” you say. “Perfectly capable.”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re stubborn.”

“And you’re controlling,” you reply. “Somehow, we make it work.”

For a moment, it almost feels like truce.

Almost.

Then he says, “Next time, I’ll carry you from the start.”

And before you can respond, he turns and starts back toward the palace, leaving you to follow with the faintest, most infuriating smile tugging at your lips.

═══════

The royal conservatory smells faintly of jasmine and politics.

Today’s luncheon is meant to honor a visiting trade delegation, but as always, it’s also a performance- a showcase of unity between the prince and his consort. You sit at Jungkook’s right, posture perfect, hands folded loosely in your lap.

The conversation drifts from tariffs to art to upcoming festivals. You answer politely when addressed, keeping your smile fixed in place.

Until Lord Jimin speaks.

He’s old money, old power, and old enough to think his opinion is law. Leaning back in his chair with a practiced smile, he says, “It’s lovely to see you out and about again, Your Highness. I’d heard you’d been… recovering from a fall? I suppose marble steps can be dangerous… for those unused to palace life.”

A polite ripple of laughter travels the table. The words are coated in courtesy, but the meaning is sharp- a reminder you’re an outsider, unaccustomed, and perhaps unfit.

You meet his gaze without flinching. “It’s true. I fell. Luckily, my husband was there to catch me.”

“Yes,” Jimin says smoothly, “though I imagine His Highness has far more pressing matters than tending to scraped ankles. Affairs of state require… sturdier footing.”

It’s a dig. Gentle enough to pass as banter, but you hear the insinuation beneath it: fragile, ornamental, a burden.

You’re ready to respond, but Jungkook speaks first.

“Lord Jimin,” he says, voice even but edged with steel, “you mistake grace for weakness.” The table quiets instantly. “The Princess has already proven herself in council and in matters of policy. She is not a burden. She is my partner.”

Jimin blinks, caught off guard.

“And,” Jungkook continues, his gaze locking with the older lord’s, “if I ever hear you suggest otherwise again- even in jest- I will ensure you regret it.”

A ripple of stunned silence follows. Somewhere down the table, a glass is set down a little too quickly.

Jimin forces a smile. “Of course, Your Highness. I meant no offense.”

“Then perhaps,” Jungkook says, his tone softening but not losing its weight, “you should choose your words more carefully.”

The conversation resumes, but the balance at the table has shifted.

You glance at Jungkook. His expression is unreadable, his focus already on the next course being served.

But under the table, you let your fingers brush his hand- not a thank-you, exactly, but an acknowledgment.

He doesn’t pull away.

The luncheon ends in a blur of polite farewells and murmured congratulations. You don’t remember half the names of the people you shook hands with- not because they weren’t important, but because you could feel Jungkook beside you.

Not just beside you. With you.

Every time you replay his words- “She is my partner”- your pulse stirs a little faster.

The doors close behind the last of the guests. Servants move to collect the empty glasses, but Jungkook’s voice stops them.

“Leave us.”

The room empties quickly. You’re still standing by the long banquet table when he crosses to you, his steps unhurried, but his gaze locked on yours like he’s already made a decision.

“You enjoyed that,” you murmur, chin lifting.

“What?” he says, stopping just close enough that you feel the warmth of him.

“Defending me.” You allow a slow smile. “Making it clear I’m yours.”

His hand is at your waist before you can react, pulling you flush against him. “You are mine.”

The words aren’t cold this time. They’re hot. Dangerous.

You open your mouth to retort, but his lips crash onto yours- not claiming like before, but taking, deep and insistent, like he’s been holding it back all afternoon. His tongue pushes past your lips, tasting you, coaxing a soft sound from the back of your throat.

Your fingers curl into his jacket, dragging him closer. The kiss breaks just long enough for him to murmur, voice rough, “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

He lifts you onto the table in one motion, your skirts spilling over polished wood. His mouth moves to your neck, your jaw, his teeth scraping lightly before his hands shove fabric higher and higher, until your thighs are bare.

“This isn’t about duty,” you breathe, half dazed.

He pushes you back so you’re lying on the table, bunching your dress up, and then he drops to his knees between your legs. Your breath catches. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you open. 

“No,” he agrees, his voice low, almost dangerous. “This is about you.”

And then his mouth is on you- a slow, deliberate lick over your slit that makes you jolt.

He doesn’t give you time to think before his mouth is on you- hot, wet, and devastatingly slow. His tongue slides from your entrance to your clit in one unhurried stroke, making you jolt.

His hands grip your thighs like steel, keeping you open while his tongue circles lazily, deliberately avoiding giving you enough pressure to push you over. He pulls back just enough to blow a warm breath over you, watching the way you shiver.

“Already wet,” he murmurs, smirking before diving in again, licking you like he’s savoring every drop. He alternates between slow, languid strokes and fast, focused flicks over your clit until your hips are rocking into his face.

You try to pull him closer, but he shakes his head against you, forcing you to take his pace. “You’ll come when I say,” he growls, before sealing his mouth over your clit and sucking hard. The sound that tears from your throat is half-moan, half-curse.

He doesn’t stop. His tongue fucks into you, wet and insistent, before returning to your clit. The obscene sounds of his mouth on you fill the room, mingling with your ragged breathing. You’re panting now, thighs trembling against his grip, every muscle wound tight.

When your climax finally breaks, it’s sharp and shuddering, your back arching off the table. He holds you there, riding out every wave, his mouth never leaving you until you whimper from oversensitivity.

Only then does he rise, mouth slick, eyes dark. He leans over you, his cock already pressing against your thigh. “You don’t get to keep pretending after this,” you whisper, still catching your breath.

His hips still for a second, gaze locked on yours. Then he leans to your ear. “Then don’t give me a reason to.”

He frees himself and pushes into you in one deep, steady thrust, the thick stretch forcing a sharp gasp from your lips. The aftershocks of your orgasm make every inch of him feel amplified, your walls fluttering around him as he bottoms out.

He doesn’t give you time to settle- his hips draw back slow, almost teasing, before slamming forward again, the table groaning under the force. The rhythm he finds is hard and sure, each thrust hitting deep enough to make your breath hitch. His hands grip your hips, dragging you into every snap of his body, the sound of skin meeting skin sharp in the quiet room.

You cling to him, nails digging into the back of his jacket as he fucks you like he’s trying to brand himself into your muscles. The slick slide between you is filthy, your wetness coating him, making each thrust faster, harder.

When his mouth finds yours again, the kiss is desperate-  teeth, tongue, shared breath- his pace never faltering. He swallows your moans, dragging them out until they’re rough, uncontrolled sounds you swore you wouldn’t make for him.

Your legs wrap tighter around his waist, angling him deeper, and he growls low in his chest, the sound vibrating against your mouth. His hand slips between you, thumb finding your clit and circling just hard enough to make your vision blur.

“Come for me,” he orders, voice ragged. You do- helplessly- your body clenching around him as the climax rips through you. He groans, hips driving deep one last time before he spills inside you, grinding through the aftershocks until you’re both shaking.

For a moment, the only sound is your mingled breathing.

When it’s over, he stays inside you just long enough to make you feel the weight of it- then pulls out, tucking himself back in with slow precision. He adjusts his jacket, then reaches down, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“You should eat dinner in your chambers tonight,” he says.

It sounds like an order. It feels like care.

═══════

It’s only been a few days since the luncheon- and what happened after- but already, the edges between you and Jungkook are back to cutting.

The council chamber is thick with debate. A dispute over land rights has ministers talking over one another, and you’ve had enough. You speak up, cutting through the noise with a solution that’s both strategic and bold.

The room goes quiet. Even the scribe pauses his pen.

Jungkook’s expression doesn’t change, but you catch the way his knuckles tap the table once- a subtle warning meant for you.

When the meeting adjourns, you rise with the others, smoothing your skirts. You expect him to walk beside you. Instead, he barely glances your way.

“You enjoy taking command in front of my council,” he says as you step into the corridor. His tone is light enough that an outsider wouldn’t catch the bite beneath it.

“They were wasting time,” you reply evenly. “I offered a solution.”

“You offered my solution,” he says, eyes forward. “Before I could give it.”

“That’s not my fault,” you counter, but he’s already striding ahead.

By the time you reach the great hall, he’s gone. No explanation. No dismissal. Just gone.

You wander the palace to cool your temper, your steps echoing in the quiet corridors. You’ve never cared much for the east wing- it’s quieter, more private- but today, you find yourself there.

A door at the end of the hall stands slightly ajar.

Jungkook’s office.

You hesitate, but curiosity wins.

Inside, the space is meticulously ordered- shelves lined with ledgers, a polished desk, the faint scent of ink and parchment in the air. You trail your fingers along the edge of the desk, noticing the papers stacked with military precision.

And then, near the bottom of one stack, you see it.

An envelope. Unsealed. Your name isn’t on it and the handwriting is Jungkook’s.

The date at the top freezes your breath in your chest- the day after your wedding.

You shouldn’t read it. You know that. But your fingers are already sliding the page free.

The first word you see is her. 

Jisoo.

Your stomach twists.

You look toward the door- still closed- then back at the page, your pulse loud in your ears.

You sink into his chair, the letter trembling slightly in your hands.

Whatever’s written here, you already know it’s going to hurt.

═══════

My dearest Jisoo,

I should not be writing to you. Every reason I have been given tells me to let go- to accept the reality they have bound me to. But it is not reality I am living in. It is a sentence.

Yesterday, I stood at the altar with your sister. I said the vows. I placed the ring on her finger. I lifted her veil. And the entire time, all I could think was how wrong it was that it was her standing there, and not you.

You should have been my bride. You should have worn the crown beside me.

But politics is a crueler ruler than either of us. You know as well as I do that your father would never have allowed it- not with the trade agreement your marriage prospects could secure for your kingdom.

You were promised long before I had the right to ask.

Lord Dae-Hyun’s second son was a match your father could not afford to lose, and once your name was spoken, it could not be withdrawn. By the time I realized, you were already gone- sealed off by duty, unreachable by even my title.

They told me it was impossible. That I had to take the match offered. That she was the only way to solidify the alliance.

As though I should be grateful.

I am not.

Y/N is… restless. Too quick to speak, too unwilling to simply be still. She moves like she’s waiting for a fight that no one has offered her, and perhaps that is the part I resent most- her constant need to be seen, to be heard. Even in these first hours as husband and wife, she seems determined to prove something, though I cannot imagine what it is, or to whom.

She will make noise, I am sure, and perhaps even cause enough distraction to make the ministers believe she is worth the trouble.

But she is not you.

She does not have your grace. Your steadiness. The way you can command a room without raising your voice.

When I look at her, I see only the shadow of what could have been. And it is unbearable to wake each day beside the wrong sister, knowing the one I wanted most is still within reach, yet impossibly far.

I do not expect you to answer this. Perhaps you will not even read it. But I needed you to know that, in every way that matters, I am still yours.

I will always be yours.

- Jungkook

═══════

You don’t remember standing.

One moment, you’re staring at the ink-  the words curling across the page like they were meant to strangle you- and the next, you’re shoving the letter back into the envelope with shaking hands.

Your legs move without thought, carrying you out of his office and through the palace corridors. You don’t care if anyone sees you. You just need to be away from there. Away from him.

By the time you reach your chambers, your breath is uneven, your vision swimming. The ladies-in-waiting rush to greet you, offering tea, asking if you’d like to change before dinner.

“Leave,” you say, your voice tight.

They freeze. “Your Highness-”

“Please,” you add, softer this time, but your voice cracks around the word. “I need to be alone.”

They bow and file out, glancing back as though worried to leave you like this. The door shuts.

The silence is crushing.

You press your back against it for a moment before sliding down to the floor. The sob breaks free before you can stop it-  raw, shattering, the kind that leaves you gasping.

You push yourself up and stagger to the bed, sinking into the mattress as if the weight of the letter is still pressing down on you. The tears come harder now, unstoppable. You press your hands over your mouth to muffle the sounds, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no one left to hear.

Every word replays in your mind- restless, wrong sister, always be yours. Each one cuts deeper, tearing through every fragile thread of dignity you’ve tried to hold together since the wedding.

Hours pass. The light outside dims to gold, then gray, then nothing. You don’t move. Dinner comes and goes. You don’t send for food. You don’t light the lamps. The only glow in the room is the faint spill of moonlight across the floor.

The knock at the door comes late. Before you can answer, it opens.

Jungkook steps inside, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “You weren’t at dinner.”

You don’t reply.

His gaze shifts to your face- the flushed skin, the reddened eyes, the damp lashes. His body stills.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

You just stare at him, the letter’s words burning between you like a secret only you know.

You don’t remember standing, but you’re on your feet when he steps closer.

“What happened?” he asks again.

Your fingers curl into fists at your sides. “If my father let you marry her right now,” you say, your voice shaking, “would I still be here?”

His brows draw together. “What are you talking about?”

“Answer me!” Your voice rises, breaking against the walls. “Would I still be here, Jungkook?”

His eyes narrow. “You went through my things.”

“You wrote it!” you shout, the tears burning hot again. “You wrote it the day after our wedding! You said you wished it was her. You said I was the wrong sister. You said you’d always be hers.”

His jaw tightens, but his voice stays level- too level. “And what if I did? It was the truth.”

Your breath catches.

“I married you for politics,” he says, each word deliberate, cold. “Not for love. And yes, everything in that letter is true.”

It feels like the floor drops out from under you.

You take a step back, but he follows, his voice sharper now. “You think snooping through my office will make you more than what you are? It doesn’t. You were a convenience, Y/N. Nothing more.”

The sob rips from your throat before you can stop it. “You’re cruel.”

“And you’re naive,” he snaps. “If you thought this marriage was anything else, that’s on you.”

It’s the final blow- not just the words, but the way he says them, like they’re facts, not daggers.

Your vision blurs. You turn away before he can see the collapse happening inside you. “I’m going home.”

“You can’t just-”

But you’re already moving, shoving past him, through the door, and down the corridor.

Within the hour, you’re in the stables, your guards scrambling to follow orders they didn’t expect. The palace fades behind you as the carriage rattles toward your father’s kingdom.

You don’t look back.

If you did, you might see the shadow in the window- a figure watching you leave, unmoving until you vanish from sight.

═══════

jungkook’s pov: 

The door slammed behind her hours ago. And yet, the echo of her voice still lingers.

Jungkook sits at his desk, the untouched glass of brandy in front of him reflecting the moonlight. He’d been furious when she confronted him- furious she’d been in his office, furious she’d read the letter. But fury fades fast when it’s replaced by the memory of her face, wet with tears, breaking in front of him.

Six months.

They’ve been married six months. Long enough for him to know the sound of her laughter when she’s not guarding it, the precise way her brow furrows when she’s deciding whether to speak her mind, the warmth in her voice when she’s talking to anyone who isn’t him.

And long enough for him to notice her- truly notice her. The way she moves, carries herself, commands attention without even trying. The way her beauty isn’t something the court dresses gave her, but something she wears like armor.

He’d told himself from the start that she was a political necessity, nothing more. The letter he’d written to Jisoo had been the truth back then or at least the truth he’d chosen to believe. But now?

Now he remembers the garden. How light she’d felt in his arms when he carried her back to her chambers. How she hadn’t flinched when Lord Jimin made his sly dig, but met it with a smile that made Jungkook want to break the man’s teeth.

The way her hand had brushed his under the table after he defended her. The faint smile she tried to hide.

And after everyone left , the way she’d come apart under his hands. How the urgency between them had been more than anger, more than duty. The taste of her still lingers on his tongue, the sound of her voice when she moaned his name still carved into his memory. It hadn’t been detached, like before- not when he was buried inside her, not when his mouth was on her, not when her nails clawed at his shoulders like she was trying to hold him there forever. He’d been closer to her in that hour than in the entire six months of their marriage.

God, he’d said she was a convenience. Nothing more.

The lie tastes bitter.

He pushes back from the desk and stands abruptly, the chair scraping the floor. His coat is on in seconds, boots echoing against the stone floors as he makes for the stables.

It doesn’t matter that it’s past midnight. It doesn’t matter that the journey to her father’s kingdom will take hours.

He has to see her.

Not as a prince, not as a husband fulfilling some duty- but as a man who knows he’s made a mistake.

The groomsman barely has time to saddle his horse before Jungkook swings into the saddle. The cold night air bites at his skin, but it’s nothing compared to the emptiness in the palace without her.

He rides hard.

He’s going to bring her home.

═══════

The warmth of your father’s manor is different from the one you left.

Here, the air doesn’t feel like it’s pressing down on you. The corridors smell faintly of cedar and fresh bread instead of cold stone. You can breathe without worrying about who’s watching.

For the first time in months, you let yourself sit without the weight of the crown. Wrapped in a thick blanket in your father’s private sitting room, you sip tea, listening to the muted hum of distant conversation.

You’re not healed. You know that. But for now, you’re home.

The knock on the front doors comes just as you set your cup down. Footsteps cross the marble foyer, and then- a voice you never thought you’d hear here.

“Is she here?”

Your blood runs cold.

Jisoo’s voice answers, careful but unmistakably surprised. “Jungkook.”

You freeze, every muscle locking in place.

“I need to see her,” he says- no hesitation, no preamble.

Before you can even decide whether to stand or run, he’s inside. His eyes find you across the room in an instant. And then he’s moving- past Jisoo, past the threshold, crossing the space between you like nothing else exists. He’s in front of you before you can even get to your feet.

Jungkook drops to his knees, the movement sharp and sudden, his hands coming up to cradle your face like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on. His eyes search yours- not for anger, not for forgiveness, but for proof you’re real.

“Y/N-”

You shove his hands away, the blanket slipping from your shoulders. “Don’t.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. Then Jisoo, sensing the air between you, murmurs something to your father and slips from the room. The door shuts behind them, leaving only the two of you.

Your voice is low, but cutting. “You don’t get to come here, after what you said, and pretend it never happened.”

He doesn’t argue. He just looks at you- truly looks- as though you’ve hung the stars and he’s only just realizing it.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For all of it. For the letter. For what I said after. For every time I made you feel unwanted.”

You fold your arms, holding your ground.

“I didn’t know I was falling for you,” he continues, “until it was already happening.”

You scoff. “Falling for me?”

“The winter gala,” he says, and you can hear the truth in his voice. “You walked into that room and the whole court bent toward you, even when I was furious. The garden- when you fell, I’ve never been that afraid in my life. Your wit, the way you see through people at council. The luncheon- the way you touched my hand under the table like you knew exactly what it meant. And after… when we were together, it wasn’t just anger or duty anymore. For the first time, I felt like I was with you, not just my wife.”

He swallows hard. “And the quieter things. Dinners where you laughed with the servants and made them forget you were royalty. The way you read late at night, biting your lip when you turn the page. The way you hum when you think no one’s listening.”

Your breath catches, but you mask it with a shake of your head. “Words are easy, Jungkook. You’ve had six months to show me I matter and you didn’t. Why should I believe you now?”

His jaw tightens. “Because I’m standing here, asking you to come home.”

You meet his gaze, steady and unflinching. “No. Not until you prove it.”

The silence that follows is heavy, but you don’t look away. For the first time since you’ve known him, he nods- not in dismissal, but in acceptance.

“I will.”

═══════

jungkook’s pov:

The court is already buzzing when Jungkook walks into the great hall. Ministers in rich silks murmur over parchment, their jeweled rings catching the light. They fall silent when they see what he’s carrying.

An envelope. Old. Unsealed.

He walks to the center of the room, past the council table, past the throne. The letter-the one he wrote to Jisoo six months ago-  feels like it weighs more than steel in his hand.

Without preamble, he sets it atop the silver brazier meant for burning old decrees.

“This letter,” he says, his voice carrying easily in the vaulted hall, “is a lie I let live too long.”

The ministers glance at one another.

He strikes a match and drops it onto the parchment. Flame curls the edges, swallowing the words, until nothing remains but black ash.

“I have one queen,” he continues. “Not simply a wife to fulfill politics, not a placeholder for another. Y/N is my queen- in title, in duty, and in my heart.”

Murmurs ripple through the chamber.

“She is the woman who has stood beside me when I gave her no reason to. Who has shown strength where others expected silence. Who has matched me in wit, in will, and in fire.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “And I love her.”

The last of the letter collapses into ash.

He turns to the royal scribe. “Send word to her father’s court. Let it be known across both kingdoms.”

═══════

The day is uneventful until the envoy arrives.

The royal messenger steps into your father’s receiving room, his cloak still dusted with travel, the sealed scroll in his hand gleaming with Jungkook’s crest.

“For Her Highness, the Princess Consort,” he says, bowing as he offers it.

Your father watches you break the seal.

The parchment is brief but formal- the kind of statement meant to be read in public squares and whispered over in taverns:

A letter burned. Your name spoken in the great hall. You, named not only wife, but queen. And the final line, in Jungkook’s unmistakable hand: I love you.

Your fingers tighten on the parchment. You can hear the pounding of your own heart.

“Seems he’s made his choice,” your father says quietly.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not yet.

You’re still staring at the proclamation when Jisoo slips into your room.

“So… he burned it?” she says, perching lightly on the edge of your bed.

You nod, the parchment still in your lap. “In front of everyone. Declared me his queen. Said he loves me.”

Jisoo studies your face. “And you don’t believe him?”

“I want to,” you admit, your voice low. “But wanting to and trusting are two different things.”

Jisoo’s expression softens. “You’ve always been braver than you think, Y/N. Go see him. Make him prove it in person.”

The next day, you do.

The journey back to his kingdom feels shorter this time, though your heart is heavier with each mile.

When the carriage pulls into the palace courtyard, you expect the usual line of attendants and guards. You don’t expect him- standing at the base of the steps, dressed simply, holding a bouquet of deep red roses.

The door opens, and the early Spring air rushes in.

He looks up at you, something unguarded in his eyes. “Welcome home, Y/N.”

You step down from the carriage, the scent of the roses reaching you before his hands do.

For a moment, neither of you moves. Then he offers them to you. You take the roses, the petals velvety against your fingers.

“They’re beautiful,” you say, your voice careful.

“They’re not enough,” Jungkook replies.

You blink up at him. “Then why give them to me?”

“Because I needed something in my hands when I saw you,” he admits. “Otherwise I might not have been able to keep from-” He stops himself, his jaw flexing. “-from saying too much, too soon.”

The words catch you off guard.

An attendant moves to take your luggage, but Jungkook waves them off. “I’ll walk her.”

You glance at him, then at the long climb up the palace steps. “You don’t usually play porter.”

“I don’t usually try to win back my wife,” he says, matter-of-fact.

Inside, the corridors are quieter than usual. He walks beside you, matching your pace, and doesn’t speak again until you reach your chambers.

“I know words won’t be enough,” he says, stopping at the threshold. “So I’ll show you.”

“How?” you ask, wary but curious.

“By being the man you deserve,” he answers without hesitation. “By giving you reason to believe me every day, not just when it’s convenient for me. By making sure you never have to doubt you are my queen- in every way that matters.”

You search his face, looking for cracks in the resolve. But his gaze holds steady.

“Then start proving it,” you say finally, stepping into the room.

Before the door closes, you hear him say softly, “I already am.”

═══════

The council chamber feels different this morning.

The air isn’t thick with the weight of being tolerated- it hums with the quiet acknowledgment of your place at the table. The ministers rise when you enter, bowing not out of obligation, but something closer to respect.

Jungkook takes his seat at the head of the table. You take yours at his right but for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re in his shadow.

A dispute over the naval fleet’s funding takes center stage. Two ministers argue over whether to cut costs or invest in new shipbuilding.

You listen. And when their voices climb over each other, you speak.

“Cutting costs now will cost us more later,” you say, your tone firm but measured. “If we invest in the fleet, we secure our trade routes. That’s more revenue in the long term- and more security for our allies.”

All eyes shift to you.

One minister hesitates. “But, Your Highness-”

“She’s right,” Jungkook cuts in smoothly, his gaze steady on you. “The Princess’s proposal is sound. It will be implemented.”

You allow yourself a small smile, meeting his eyes.

The discussion moves on, but the shift lingers- ministers asking for your opinion, valuing it, weighing it as they would his. And each time you speak, Jungkook listens. Not with the detached patience of before, but with intent, his attention fixed on you as though no other voice in the room matters.

By the end of the session, the room feels different again. Not because you’ve changed, but because they’ve started to see you as you’ve always been.

A queen in the room.

═══════

The council chamber has long since emptied, but the weight of the day lingers in your shoulders.

You find him in his office, the golden light of late afternoon spilling over the maps and scrolls spread across his desk. He looks up when you enter, his expression softening almost imperceptibly.

“You were remarkable today,” Jungkook says, leaning back in his chair. “The fleet’s commanders will be sending you wine for that decision.”

You smile faintly but don’t sit. Instead, you step closer, your skirts whispering over the polished floor. “I need to ask you something.”

His gaze sharpens. “Anything.”

You stop a few feet from him, folding your hands in front of you. “What do you see in me,” you ask slowly, “that you never saw in Jisoo?”

The room stills.

He blinks once, as if he’s not sure he heard you right. “Why are you asking me that now?”

“Because,” you say, keeping your voice even, “you’ve told me you love me. You’ve burned your letter. You’ve defended me in court. But there’s still a part of me that wonders if you love me for me, or because I became what you needed.”

He rises from the chair, closing the distance until he’s standing right in front of you. “You think I’d confuse the two?”

“I think,” you answer, meeting his eyes, “that I deserve to know the difference.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The only sound is the quiet ticking of the clock on the mantle, marking each second between you.

And then he nods once- slow, deliberate. “Alright. I’ll tell you.”

He doesn’t look away when he speaks.

“When I thought of Jisoo,” Jungkook begins, “I saw… calm. The kind of quiet the court praises. She was gentle, and she fit the image of a queen in everyone’s mind, including mine. But it was a dream I built out of fragments. I didn’t know her. I had a single conversation with her.”

He takes another step closer. “And when I married you… I told myself it was only politics. But then the reality of you started undoing me.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t interrupt.

“The winter gala,” he says softly. “You walked in wearing that wine-red gown, and the entire court turned toward you- not because of your title, but because you owned the room. And I hated how much I noticed. The garden, when you fell-  I’ve been in battles where men were dying around me, and I wasn’t as scared as I was in that moment.”

His voice lowers. “Your wit in council. The way you don’t back down, even when I’ve given you every reason to. That day you outmaneuvered Lord Jimin with a single look and a sharper tongue- I wanted to kiss you in front of everyone.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding.

“And the luncheon,” he continues. “When you touched my hand under the table, I thought it was nothing. But afterwards… when I had you in my arms, when you let me in completely- it wasn’t anger, or duty, or proving a point. It was you. Just you. And I realized I’d never had that with anyone before.”

He exhales slowly. “You don’t just fit the image of a queen. You are one. And I see you, Y/N- not the crown, not the alliance, not my title beside yours. Just you. And I love what I see.”

He runs a hand through his hair, almost like he’s searching for the right words. “I think I was in love with you before I even understood it. Before I let myself admit it. Every time you challenged me, every time you made me see the world differently, it was another thread pulling me toward you. And now… now I can’t imagine a world where you’re not mine.”

The silence between you is different now- not the sharp-edged kind that’s filled your marriage, but something warmer. Something that pulls you toward him instead of pushing you away.

When he reaches for you, it’s not rushed. His hands frame your face gently, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. His kiss is unhurried, deep, and you taste the truth of everything he’s just said in the way his mouth moves against yours.

You let him guide you back toward the bed, but this time there’s no battle for control- only the steady pull of his hands and the unspoken promise in his touch. Every glance, every brush of his fingers is a question, and you answer without hesitation, giving him all of you.

When his lips trail down your throat, you feel the weight of his love in the way he lingers, his mouth pressing gentle kisses, his nose brushing your skin like he’s breathing you in.

Clothing falls away slowly- not torn, but removed like it’s precious. He studies every inch of revealed skin with eyes that are soft and heavy with want, his hands tracing you as though he’s committing each curve to memory.

He eases you back onto the bed, kneeling between your thighs, and lowers himself until his breath ghosts over your core. The first kiss he presses there is slow, deliberate, making you gasp. “You’re so beautiful here,” he murmurs, before his tongue drags through your folds.

The first wave comes quickly- his mouth seals over your clit, tongue flicking just right while two fingers slide inside you, curling until you’re gasping his name. He hums, the sound sending shivers through you as you clench around him, hips rocking helplessly.

He doesn’t let you come down. His mouth never leaves you, his fingers easing out only to be replaced by the wet slide of his tongue dipping inside you, tasting everything you give him. You whimper, overstimulated already, but his hands pin your hips to the mattress, holding you there until the second orgasm crashes over you- sharper this time, your thighs trembling around his head.

When you sag against the bed, panting, he kisses your inner thigh, his voice low and reverent. “One more for me, love.”

You can barely shake your head before his mouth is back on your clit, slower this time, coaxing instead of demanding. His fingers return, pumping deep and steady while his tongue traces lazy circles. The build is excruciatingly tender, your body tightening until you spill over again, crying out and clinging to him like you might drown without him.

Only then does he finally come up to you, his mouth finding yours, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “Perfect,” he whispers, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “You’re perfect.”

He lines himself up and pushes into you with a long, steady thrust, the head of his cock stretching you inch by inch until he’s buried fully inside. Your lips part in a shuddering gasp, your body still fluttering from the last climax, the aftershocks wrapping around him and drawing a deep groan from his chest.

He stills there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard like he’s savoring every second of being inside you. “God, you feel incredible,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “I love you so much.”

His hips begin to move- slow at first, dragging all the way out before pressing back into the hilt, making you feel every inch. Each thrust is deep and deliberate, his hand finding yours between your bodies and lacing your fingers together like he’s anchoring himself.

He kisses you through it, the kind of kisses that steal your breath- soft one moment, hungry the next. His free hand strokes your cheek, tucks your hair back, touches you like you’re fragile and the most precious thing he’s ever held.

“You take me so well,” he breathes against your lips. “Every time… every time you feel like home.”

The words make your chest ache in the best way, your hips rising to meet his as the rhythm builds. He shifts slightly, angling his thrusts until the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. His thumb finds your clit again, stroking in slow, perfect circles that have you gasping into his mouth.

“Come with me,” he whispers, his voice almost desperate. “Please… I need to feel you.”

It hits you fast, your body clenching hard around him as your climax rips through you. He follows instantly, his hips stuttering as he spills deep inside, groaning your name into the crook of your neck. He keeps moving, slow and gentle now, riding out every aftershock until you’re both trembling and breathless.

When it’s over, he stays inside you, his chest pressed to yours, his hand still laced with yours. Finally, he eases out, tucks himself back in, and gathers you against him. His lips brush your temple in a soft, lingering kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs again, quieter now, like the words are meant just for you.

You close your eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart under your ear, and for the first time since you married him, you let yourself believe it.

═══════

Four months pass, and the court is no longer divided over you.

You’ve stood in the council chamber beside Jungkook, your voice carrying as much weight as his. You’ve walked the gardens with visiting dignitaries, negotiated trade proposals, and heard the people’s petitions in the great hall. Every step, every decision, every glance exchanged with him has been watched- and now, no one doubts.

Today is the day it becomes official.

The great hall is a sea of color, banners of both your kingdoms and his draped from the vaulted ceiling. Sunlight pours through stained glass, scattering jewels of light across the marble floor. Nobles, ministers, and foreign rulers fill the room, their eyes on the dais where two thrones sit side by side.

Jungkook is already there, dressed in ceremonial black and gold, a crown resting lightly on his head. He turns when you enter, and the faint smile that touches his lips is for you alone.

The High Chancellor’s voice rings out, carrying over the hush. “By the will of the Crown and the grace of Almighty God, let it be known throughout this realm and beyond its borders: Princess consort Y/N, beloved daughter of the realm and consort to His Majesty the King, having been found worthy in faith, in honor, and in steadfast devotion, is this day anointed and crowned.

From henceforth she shall be known as Her Most Gracious Majesty, Y/N, Queen Consort of this Kingdom, Guardian of the Crown’s dignity, and sworn companion to the Sovereign.

May her counsel be wise, her heart steadfast, and her reign beside His Majesty bring peace, prosperity, and glory to the realm.

Long live the Queen!”

You step forward, and the crown- lighter than you imagined, yet impossibly heavy with meaning- is placed upon your head.

When you rise, Jungkook takes your hand in front of the entire court, his grip warm and steady. The cheers that follow echo through the hall, the sound of a kingdom bearing witness.

You glance at him, your heart steady and certain.

Once, his heart was elsewhere. Now, it beats for me alone.

═══════

LINK TO REQUEST ♡ MASTERLIST

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 08/15/2025

Taglist: @mar-lo-pap @lovingkoalaface @whoa-jo @kiliskywalker666 @sucker4jeon @annpeachy-blog @kaiparkerwifes @nikkinikj @asyr97 @jjkluver7 @bammbi-jeon127 @kookoo-kachoo @angelsdecalcomania @kayswatanabe @kelsyx33 @tatamicc @llallaaa @chromietriestowrite @k1ll1ngcl0wns @jahnaviii @mfsitscho @traumaanatomy @yu-justme @bangtaniess @roseda @hottigerboba @xumyboo @bangtansfav-7 @ggukieskookie @granataepfelchen @blubird592 @mellyyyyyyx @gukkiemybaby @likeesapphire @jaerisdiction @amarawayne @elithenium @heyinwluv85s @prilnextdoor23 @Strxqrd1 @uli_o7 @jojojoliejolene @kyrasworldd @sc05

[nerikoki]

honestly all day project was a genius move by the black label. debuting a coed group is already out of the norm, but with kard maturing and spreading out as a group they are able to tap in to that intrigue with a new generation of fans. but what I think is really fascinating is that this also comes at a time where tensions between men and women are already very high. this tension is not only in the idol industry where idols, and fans, seem hyper aware of how much they can interact with other idols of the opposite sex or if what they choose to do will get them implicated in a dating rumor, but in korean (and really global) society as well. the timing couldn't be any better because it is really, really, refreshing to see the members interact freely and openly, caring for and joking around with each other, seemingly without these pressures.

[taegularities]

a thousand reasons why | jjk (m)

Summary: “And if all of this experience was indeed a dream, you chose to stay just a little longer.”

After leaving to work towards his dream rather than the bonds that shackle him to home, you didn’t expect to see Jungkook again years later at your best friend’s wedding. And even less, for love to rekindle at second glance.

pairing: Jungkook x reader

genre: f2l; fluff, angst, smut, crack

warnings: a whole laundry list tf: (past) minor character death, somewhat toxic parents, (mentions of) gambling, blond & then 5th muster pied piper (fuckboy) jk lol, this jimin, jealousy, alcohol consumption, unrequited love (not between jk & oc), friends fighting; explicit multiple (2) sex scenes that include: dom & big dick!jk, light hair pulling, marking, tiddie sucking/breast play, clit pinching, pussy slapping, soft & rough sex, praising, biting, some spit ig, oral (f. & m.), fingering, handjob, consent <3, cockwarming, squirting, oversensitivity, multiple orgasms, mouth fucking,… uhh, consensual drunk sex, protected & unprotected sex…. yeah

word count: 43.1k (i sincerely apologise <3)

credits: such a beautiful banner by my lovely @taemaknae​​ <3 !! beta’d by @bangtanhome​​​ @hobiandsprite​​ & @missgeniality​​ - your brains are exquisite and this fic would be NOTHING without you !! & parts read by @hantaev​​ ILY ALL <3

a/n: i’m honestly SORRY for the wc lol pls still read tho, i worked so so hard on it :’) a belated love letter to one of my favourite people in this world - happy birthday, jeon jungkook. i’ll always be inspired by your words and admire you forever <3

BASED ON THE 2013 MOVIE ‘YEH JAWAANI HAI DEEWANI’!

uploaded to AO3, too (for those who prefer pdfs or mobile readings!) + the fic is split in ‘Before’ & ‘Now’ - that way, you can read it in 2 sittings if you’d like <3

➳ listen to the (collaborative!) ATRW playlist for the full experience!

MASTERLIST | WIPs

The slowly vanishing light of the sun bathes the room in a golden glow when you close the door to your apartment behind you.

Coming home feels different today. With the boxes under your arms, you feel the weight of the postcards and invitations heavier than usual. After letting Dia ramble about the plans for the next few days, dreamy eyes drifting off now and then, you’ve grown increasingly tired this evening. And yet, you can’t wait to send off the cards that remain before the big day breaks in.

You lift the sunglasses from your eyes and place them on your head, not bothering to change your clothes before you sit down at your desk and start putting the invitations into envelopes. You wait and read with a thumping heart, fingers working through the pile quickly until you finally see it.

Keep reading

[rubykooks]

A true masterpiece🙏

[solemnreads]

i’m not crying—YOU ARE

[smoljimjim]

Update regarding user: Runariya / Soulrestsarah

To anyone following the user above (she’s the author of the amazing Crash Course in Love fic), she and I are mutuals outside of tumblr, and she has decided to delete her tumblr and AO3 accounts. She wants to go back to being a silent BTS Army and she doesn’t think she’ll be back to writing again sadly 🥺

Sorry to those who were looking forward to seeing the end of CCL as well as her other fics.

I felt like putting a post up regarding her leave because as a reader myself, I always feel my heart drop when I can’t find my favourite author, and I know some of you will miss her and her lovely fics.

[smoljimjim]

Sarah gave me a little run down of what was supposed to happen to CCL, and she gave me permission to copy and paste her reply here ☺️

Ending of Crash Course in Love (CCL) by Runariya / Soulrestsarah here:

So basically the next morning they’re still super distant and it just keeps building with all the miscommunication. Then two days later the others stage an intervention and literally force jk and oc to talk, like they even pretend locking them in the dining room. that’s when it all properly blows up, they actually talk for the first time about everything that happened and what’s going on now, loads of shouting and crying until everything’s finally out in the open.

Oc still thinks it’s all over but jk’s head is clearer and he finally starts acting like a real man should when his girl‘s overwhelmed lol they end up spending the night together but i wanted to end the scene on a kind of cliffhanger like they kiss just before midnight… or maybe they don’t yk lol after that things slowly get better, more normal, there’s def a jacuzzi scene and in the end jk gives her the painting he originally made for her. had a few more little ideas i wanted to throw in but that’d take too long to explain. maybe that they move to the village to the others bc she gets a new job through hobi’s wife.

[rubykooks]

Oooo i can rest in peace now😭

[lovetales]

2013 — 2025

[youthguk]

another good day!!!!!

[smoljimjim]

Update regarding user: Runariya / Soulrestsarah

To anyone following the user above (she’s the author of the amazing Crash Course in Love fic), she and I are mutuals outside of tumblr, and she has decided to delete her tumblr and AO3 accounts. She wants to go back to being a silent BTS Army and she doesn’t think she’ll be back to writing again sadly 🥺

Sorry to those who were looking forward to seeing the end of CCL as well as her other fics.

I felt like putting a post up regarding her leave because as a reader myself, I always feel my heart drop when I can’t find my favourite author, and I know some of you will miss her and her lovely fics.

[rubykooks]

Man she was one of my favourite authors here

Soo sad seeing her leave 😭

Her work was amazing

I hope she is doing well <3