' So you can drag me through hell, if it meant I can hold you hand.'
Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x (fem) reader
Genre: 18+ , Smut , angst (Oneshot)
Word count: 1981
Warnings : MDNI! | hard dom jk | sub reader | toxic relationship| psychological tension| power dynamics | Dub-con! | Manhandling | Verbal and emotional abuse| strong language / adult themes | Headlocking | Hair pulling | Angry sex | Rough , raw sex | degradation | verbal humiliation | mentions of smoking | explicit content |
The air in the room was heavy with unspoken frustration. Y/N’s eyes blazed, fists clenched at her sides as she faced her husband, Jeon across the polished floor of his study. He stood silent, a storm barely contained behind those dark, unreadable eyes.
"Do you even see me, Jeon?” she snapped, voice shaking with suppressed anger and with raw hurt, stopping to face him. “You’re leaving for another country and I have to hear it from your secretary? Do you even realize how humiliating that is for me?!”
Jeon didn’t look up from the documents in his hand. The air around him felt carved from ice calm, dangerous, deliberate. “It’s work.”
“Work?” she repeated, incredulous. “You always say that. You disappear for days, you come back when you want, you never talk about anything-”
His jaw flexed. “Because it’s none of your concern.”
She flinched but didn’t stop. The words she had swallowed for months clawed their way out.
“None of my concern...?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Do you even see me as your wife?." She took a step closer, tears burning her eyes. "You don't talk. You don’t look at me unless it’s in bed. Am I just someone you fuck and forget? You come home use me whenever you want like I am some cheap whore you pay to spread her legs!"
The word hit the room like shattering glass.
Jeon’s pen dropped, jaw tightened. He didn’t speak immediately just watched her, that cold, piercing gaze stripping her bare in a way that made her shiver and resent him in the same breath.
“Shut your mouth” he said, low and sharp, the single command stopping her mid sentence as he surged to his feet, closing the distance in two strides, his large hand fisting in her hair with brutal force. He yanked her head back forcing her to stare into his raging gaze. Pain seared her scalp but she bit her lip refusing to make a sound.
“If you think you’re just some whore then that’s the role you insist on playing.” His voice was low, venomous and yet underneath it simmered a dark unyielding need.
Before she could react he dragged her toward the bedroom. She shoved at his chest but it was like pushing a wall. "Leave me!" she hissed though her body heated under his grip. Her protests caught in her throat as he held her by her hair like she weighed nothing at all. The door slammed shut behind them.
He threw her onto the bed , impact knocking the wind from her lungs and her nightgown riding up to expose her thighs. Her chest heaved, eyes wide, cheeks flushed from and something darker she didn’t want to admit.
Jeon moved with calculated slowness unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes never leaving hers. She scrambled to sit up , defiance burning in her eyes but Jeon was already at the bedside table. He pulled a cigar from the nightstand and lit it, the ember flaring brightly in the dark. Smoke curled around him, the rich tobacco scent filling the air.
He unbuckled his belt, the metallic clink echoing like a threat. His shirt followed, buttons popping open one by one to expose his chest and tattoes along his arm. The cigar dangled from his lips, smoke trailing as he was climbing onto the bed.
He grabbed her by the hair again, flipping her onto her stomach with ease. Before she could react his tattooed arm snaked around her neck from behind, locking her in a firm headlock, his favorite way to control her, to feel her pulse hammering against his skin.
"Hate me all you want" his voice was quiet, terrifyingly calm. His free hand yanking her nightgown and panties down in one rough motion, exposing her to the cool air.
His cock, already straining against his pants as he unzipped it quickly, freeing his massive length thick, veined and unforgiving. Without warning he positioned himself behind her, the head nudging her slick entrance. She was dripping already because her body conditioned to his touch.
He thrust in hard burying half his cock in one brutal stroke. Y/N cried out, the stretch burning as her tight walls struggled to take him.
"Jeon please..slow d-down" she gasped, tears springing to her eyes.
"Take it." he commanded gripping her hip with bruising force as he slammed the rest of the way in, bottoming out until his balls slapped against her clit. The headlock tightened just enough to make her vision blur, her breaths coming in short.
"Why's this pussy still so tight hmm?" he rasped, his voice rough with lust and rage, the cigar's smoke wafting over her as he leaned in.
"If I fuck you all the time like you claim then it should've lossed up by now but no always clenching like a virgin every damn time." He hissed, his free hand pinching her nipple hard, twisting until she sobbed.
Y/n whimpered, her body rocking forward with the force of his words and his hips. He pulled back and pounded in again, setting a punishing rhythm rough, anger fueled thrusts and each one stretched her wide, his cock dragging along her sensitive walls, hitting deep enough to bruise her cervix. The headlock kept her pinned.
"Repeat what you called yourself" he demanded.
"N-no" she choked out, stubborn even now but her pussy betrayed her, fluttering around him juices coating his shaft.
Jeon's laugh was dark, devoid of humor. He released the headlock only to flip her onto her back recapturing her neck in the hold while hooking her legs over his shoulders. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his hips snapping with vicious intensity. Sweat glistened on his skin, the cigar now stubbed out on the nightstand. He fucked her like he owned her soul raw, possessive, every thrust a punishment for her words.
Her tears of frustration mixing with unwanted pleasure, his cold facade cracking just enough to reveal the possessiveness he holds. Y/N's hands pushed at his chest weakly but her resolve crumbling as his cock hammered that spot inside her relentlessly. The pain of his grip, the slap of skin on skin, the way he used her it all built a mixture of pain and need within her.
"I h-hate how y-you make me f-feel" she gasped, her voice breaking as her orgasm coiled tight.
His pace faltering as her walls clenched harder. He snarled "hate me while you cum on my cock and prove you're nothing without it."
She shattered first milking his length as waves of ecstasy ripped through her soaking the sheets. Jeon followed with a guttural groan, thrusting deep one last time before flooding her with his hot cum painting her insides. He held her until she shuddered through the aftershocks then shoved her away rolling off the bed.
Panting, Y/N curled into herself, body throbbing, heart shattered. Jeon stood, zipping up his pants with cold indifference as he went towards his safe in the corner of the room punching in the codes with sharp jabs. The door swung open revealing stacks of cash.
Grabbing a thick wad, crisp hundreds , he turned back to her and hurled it at her face watching them flutter down around her like a humiliating rain of green. "There's your payment” he sneered, voice dripping with contempt and unresolved rage.
"Next time you want to accuse me about using you remember you're bought and paid for the night." With that he stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him.
The proof of how deeply she’d struck something inside him that he refused to name because Jeon wasn’t a man who explained himself. He never had been. And he didn’t now. With Y/N, there was no tenderness not because he didn’t crave it but because he didn’t know how to give it. His love was obsession, rough around the edges, wild and consuming.
Y/N lay there, money fluttering around her. The gesture of his stinging more than any slap. She hated him for what he did. But she hated herself more for still wanting him to come back.
She hated herself for missing the sound of his voice, for wishing he’d turn around but no matter how much she tried to deny it, her heart didn’t understand cruelty. It only understood him.
Jeon.
The man who could ruin her with a glance and yet was the only person she felt safe around. Because no one would dare touch her when he was near. No one would ever hurt her more than he could.
He was probably back in his study now already planning his leave. She wanted to go to him to beg him not to leave. To tell him that she didn’t want his apologies, his money, his rage. She just wanted him to stay.
But he wouldn’t listen. He never did.
___
From the beginning Jeon had never been a man who made love. Sex with him had never been soft. It wasn’t about affection or comfort but it was about control. Whenever he was intimate , it was with the same intensity he lived his life which was fierce, consuming and unapologetic. Passion for him was possession, desire and control.
Outside that space, he was unreadable, composed almost mechanical. He never never let her see the man beneath the mask. It left her craving the smallest signs of warmth, clinging to moments when his restraint cracked and she could almost believe there was something human behind those dark eyes. And she realized then that loving Jeon was like loving a storm , it always left you in ruins.
___
Hours later, the mansion was still covered in darkness when Jeon came back. It was nearing five in the morning, the time his jet was scheduled to depart. He should have been gone already. His bag was packed, the car waiting outside, his men standing by for the departure. But something damn it, something kept pulling him back.
He told himself it was habit. Just making sure things were in order before leaving. But when his steps brought him to their bedroom door, he knew that was a lie.
The room was dim, lit only by the pale blue of the pre dawn sky seeping through the curtains. She was asleep deeply, her lashes casting faint shadows on her cheeks, her hair spilled over the pillow like ink.
His gaze drifted to the bedside table to his side. The money he had thrown at her lay there, neatly stacked, collected with care. Not on her side. But kept on his.
He exhaled sharply, looking away, his jaw tight. He’d known she wouldn’t take it. She wasn’t like that and never had been. He’d done it to hurt her because she’d said words that actually cut through him than she could ever understand. Because love for him always came wrapped in cruelty.
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stepped closer. He reached for the table on her side, setting down a small bottle of painkillers and ointment , things she’d need after what he had done.
He adjusted the blanket that had slipped from her shoulder tucking it up to her collarbone. Then without a word, he turned and left the room closing the door behind him.
___
Outside, he spoke quietly to his men.
“She doesn’t leave the house. No one gets in unless I say so. Make sure she has everything she needs.”
They nodded without question, no one ever did.
As he stepped into the black SUV waiting to take him to the airport, he didn’t look back. But somewhere between the silence and the rising sun a single truth burned beneath all his rage.
No matter how far he went he’d always return to her. Because she was his ruin and his home.
He exhaled smoke into the cold dawn air as the car pulled away. It was easier to be cruel than to admit he cared.
‘He knows it's a big bad world, knows that I'm a good girl. I like 'em tough and mean, J is the worst that I've ever seen.’
Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Trophy wife (fem) reader.
Word count: 3,240
Genre: organized crime, toxic attachment, dark romance
Warnings: MDNI! Explicit sexual content(adult themes) | graphic violence (implied) | threats | mentions of death | coercion | harsh language| power imbalance | morally grey ml | gun | distress | smoking | dom jk | rough sex | raw sex | heavy makeout | oral (m. receiving) | man handling | dirty talk | age gap | observer/close third perspective | heavy misogynistic undertones |
The ice in Jeon's glass clinked as he swirled it, the amber liquid catching the dim light. Across the room, his Rolex lay discarded on the coffee table.
“Dumb fuck thought he could skim my shipments? Twelve years I fed that rat’s familly, put food in his kids mouth and this is his gratitude?" Jeon's voice cut through, deep and relentless like thunder rolling in. He was sprawled on the leather couch, a glass of whiskey in one hand, his broad shoulders straining against his black shirt. The room reeked of cigar smoke and expensive cologne, his three men hulking figures with scarred knuckles nodding respectfully around the coffee table scattered with papers and half empty bottles.
One of the older men, the one with the jagged scar, stepped forward carefully. “We’ll handle it, sir.”
“Oh, I know you will” Jeon said, barely listening. He set the glass down with a solid thud, leaning forward, forearms on his knees. “Make it ugly” he added almost lazily. “But clean. I don’t want stray blood landing anywhere it shouldn’t.”
His gaze lifted briefly, sharp enough to cut through steel. “A man who bites the hand that feeds him loses his teeth first."
One of the men cleared his throat rubbing a scar across his knuckles.“Sir… what about his wife?”
Jeon’s eyes narrowed. “No one touch her. She can cry over the scraps we leave behind. Loyalty is a family duty. They failed.”
__
It had been just over a week since the wedding, binding her to Jeon. No reception, no honeymoon plans. Just a drive back to his mansion in a blacked out suv as the city lights blurred into the night.
They told her she was lucky. Chosen. Blessed.
He was filthy rich that much she knew from her family's whispers. But the rest? A mystery wrapped in tailored suits and piercing stares.
She'd noticed the unfamiliar men at the reception, lurking in the corners like wolves in sheep's clothing. Their eyes scan the room with predatory intent. She had no idea who half those men were. She had no idea who her husband really was either.
Before the engagement they exchanged maybe three full conversations. Everyone assumed he chose her because she was a pretty docile and an easy wife for a man of his power. But he liked her precisely because she wasn’t fit for a world like his.
He kept his inner world sealed shut, a door she didn’t have the key to. Everything about him was controlled, guarded, untouchable. To him, dominance was natural. Authority was instinct.
He was good to her in his way. Providing everything she could ever need. He liked order. He liked routine. And she gave him exactly that.
Every night, she folded his watch and cufflinks neatly on the table. Every night, she waited in bed but pretended to be asleep when he entered because Jeon hated when she stayed up for him. Never climbed into bed with the air of a lover.
That was their normal.
__
It was well past midnight and the air hummed with the low buzz of the air conditioning, contrast to the humid summer night outside.
Tonight, she'd waited up longer than usual. Jeon's car had pulled into the drive hours ago but he hadn't come to their bedroom. Worry gnawed at her silly perhaps. Slipping from the silk sheets, she went barefoot down the glass stairs.
She'd only meant to check on him or maybe leave his usual whiskey on his table like she always did. He'd made it clear earlier. "Stay in your room when I have business." She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. But Voices grew clearer laced with profanity and menace. Then she saw him and surrounding him were four of his men.
"They'll find him by dawn, sir " one of his men grunted. Jeon swirled his drink "Make sure they don’t leave enough for a funeral. I want his wife to identify him by his fucking dental records." Jeon said, voice low almost conversational. The men nodded, their faces blank. They respected the boundaries he'd set, eyes averted from the upper floors.
Her blood turned to ice. Her heart hammered in her chest as she backed away, eyes wide with terror. She silently backed up, pulse thundering in her ears. Get out, she thought. Before he sees. Her mind raced with images of blood, of his men pulling a trigger because Jeon said so.
One of the men turned his head just enough. His eyes locked on hers with just a flicker of recognition and he dipped his head slightly, respectful even now.
"Mrs. Jeon" he said softly, voice steady not rising to alert the others yet.
Too late Jeon's gaze snapped up, dark and furious like it's ready to unleash hell. The room fell silent, the air thick with tension.
“The fuck is she doing out here?” he snarled.
Her breath catching as she saw him before she could even slip into the hallway. “I—I just…” she began, her voice cracking mid word. “I just came to check if you were home."
He set his glass down on the table with a quiet clink. He rose in one fluid motion all coiled power and menace striding toward the staircase. “Out” he ordered his men flatly. They emptied the room without a word, the door clicking shut behind them.
“Come down” he ordered.
She shook her head slightly without meaning to. His jaw twitched once.
“Fucking come down!” he barked.
Her legs carried her before her brain caught up. When she reached the last few steps, she stopped too scared to close the distance. And Jeon climbed the remaining steps toward her. Until they were eye level, only inches apart.
“What the fuck did I tell you?” he asked, voice low and laced with that edge that always made her knees weak with equal parts fear and something darker, something that pulled her to him despite everything. His presence was overwhelming as he grabbed her wrist yanking her close with effortless strength. She gasped twisting in his grip, tears pricking her eyes. “What did you hear?” he asked, the question laced with venom.
Her mind raced with survival mode. This was no negotiation. She understood that her answer determined not only her future but potentially her continued existence. Y/n straightened her spine slightly despite the overwhelming terror attempting to weaken her knees. She drew a shallow breath.
“N-Nothing..” she whispered, the words barely audible. “I heard nothing. I promise..”
He laughed then, a short, harsh sound that held no humor. The alcohol in his breath warmed her skin. “Do you think I am fucking stupid? “
His free hand gripped her chin, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “Eavesdropping on shit you shouldn't. Now you're a liability.”
“I… I don’t understand your business.” she managed, her voice still thin. This much was true. “I only heard sounds. I couldn't process the words..” Another lie but it was the best she had. She had overheard enough to know the gravity of the situation.
He searched her eyes looking for any flicker of deceit. The necessity to intimidate her fully remained however. His expression shifted from pure menace to something bordering on frustrated disbelief. In a swift motion, he reached into the waistband of his pants and pulled out a Glock, the matte black metal gleaming under the light. He pressed the cold barrel against her temple not hard enough to bruise but firm enough to make her gasp. Her body went rigid, tears pricking at her eyes as she stared into his madening gaze.
"Lie again" he murmured "and I'll fuck the truth out of you right here" His eyes weren't angry. That was worse. They burned with something predatory like he'd been waiting for this.
“This is the only warning you get. My business is not your concern. It is not dinner table talk. If you ever, ever repeat anything you hear in this house to anyone it won't just be that fucker bleeding out. You get me? I'd hate to see that innocent face ruined. ” The cold finality of his threat left no room for doubt. He wasn’t threatening divorce ofcourse but he was confirming his power over her mere existence.
She nodded frantically unable to speak hoping he'd understand. Jeon exhaled once. “You're my wife. That's the only reason my gun isn't already smoking” he muttered more to himself than to her. He suspected her immediately agreeing as calculated rather than a genuine reaction of terror. He wanted resistance perhaps so he could crush it but her immediate surrender angered him.
Her breath trembled. “I swear I won't tell-”
He tilted her chin up with the cold metal edge of the gun not hurting her, just freezing her in place. “You overheard things that people die for” he whispered. “Things I never wanted you dragged into.”
“Jeon... please…” Tears streamed down her face. The gun's weight was like a death sentence hovering and she could smell the faint tang of gun oil mixed with his cologne.
He dragged the barrel down her cheek, tracing her jawline with deliberate slowness, the threat lingering. “You're in it now. If you even think about running. I'll fucking hunt you down. And when I find you. You'll wish I'd pulled this trigger. Am I clear?” His thumb brushed her tears , a mocking tenderness amid the threat.
“I.. I get it” she choked out, voice barely a whisper. “I won't. I swear!”
Jeon studied her for a long moment, the gun still in his hand, then holstered it with a fluid motion. “Get back to bed”
He stepped back just enough for her to slip away. Her legs wobbled as she retreated back to the bedroom, her heart still racing.
Jeon knew the hold he had on her the way she'd fallen into his trap drawn to the danger like a moth to flame. Her family would disown her for going against someone like Jeon anyway. But this, this was to break her, to etch fear into her bones because trust was a luxury he couldn't afford.
__
Jeon remained in the living room, drinking the last sip of his whiskey, the burn in his throat doing little to dull the rage simmering in his veins. She'd know too much today. For her own fucking good, he'd scared her straight and he didn't regret the lesson she'd needed.
He climbed the stairs, taking off his suit along the way. The bedroom door creaked open, revealing her curled on her side. Her shoulders shook faintly, sobs escaping despite her efforts to muffle them. Not asleep. Crying like a child caught in a storm she didn't understand.
He hadn't meant to shatter her this bad because vulnerability wasn't his style. Though he didn't regret the scare, loose lips sank ships and she needed to learn her place in his world. Not because he doubted her but because she would never survive it.
Jeon kicked off his shoes, fingers working the buttons of his shirt loose one by one exposing the hard planes of his inked chest. He unclasped his watch tossing it onto the dresser with a clink.
“Stop crying” he said, voice rough. “I haven't hurt you before and I don't plan to. I don't want to do a damn thing to you if you just listen. Keep your nose out of my shit and we're good.”
She didn't respond, her back rigid, face buried in the pillow. She knew he wouldn't pull the trigger not really. Deep down in the twisted combination of her fear and inexplicable pull toward him she sensed it. But the scare? It was real, raw.
The silence grated on him, fueling the fire. He hated this, her pulling away. This genuinely wasn't how he pictured their nights together, him playing their villain. But blame her for eaves dropping and acting like he was the monster when he'd built this life to protect what was his.
With a curse, he crossed the room in two strides, grabbing her shoulder and yanking her onto her back. “Look at me when I talk to you” he snarled, pinning her with his gaze. Her eyes, red rimmed and wide, met his, fresh tears spilling over. "You're gonna kill me for this, aren't you? "
Jeon's laugh scraped out, bitter yet hurt. "Kill you? Jesus fuck, no. This life? It devours the innocents. I wanted a wife , someone to handle the home, pop out kids maybe, keep shit together while I bleed for my fucking empire. Not some partner meddling in deals that could get her raped or worse. Stay in your lane or they drag you in and rip you apart. And I... shit, can't lose you to that." He pulled her closer by her hand, forehead thudded against hers, breath ragged, the confession ripping him open. Tenderness bled through the cracks, possessive and raw.
Y/N's chest heaved, terror twisting with the magnetic pull of him, her body betraying her mind. His hands roamed her back, slipping under the slik slip night dress to trace her spine.
Pulling away, Jeon straightened reaching into his pocket for the cigar he'd been saving. He lit it with a flick of his lighter, the flame casting shadows across his face as he inhaled deeply. The scent filled the room mixing with his cologne and the faint tang of sweat from the night's tension.
“I'm already pissed as fuck darling” he said, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling, his free hand unbuckling his belt with sharp jerks. The leather slid free and he tossed it across the room where it thudded against the wall. “The least you can do right now is be a good wife and satisfy me in bed. Make me forget your little stunt.”
Y/N's breath hitched, her body trembling under the sheets but she didn't protest. Fear fueled the heat pooling between her thighs. Jeon's eyes darkened, the cigar clamped between his teeth as he unzipped his pants shoving them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy already hardening at the sight of her fear laced submission. His dark eyes dropped pointedly to his crotch, a silent order that needed no argument.
She hesitated for a heartbeat then slid from the bed, knees hitting the plush carpet. Her nightgown rode up, eyes down , cheeks flushed with something deeper. Lips parting on instinct. Her hand wrapped around the base, barely circling its girth and she leaned forward, tongue flicking out to taste the salty bead at the tip. Jeon groaned, fingers threading into her hair not pulling yet but guiding. “Suck it like you fucking mean it.”
Y/n stretched her jaw wide, sliding the head past her lips. It filled her immediately, stretching her mouth around its thickness. She bobbed her head, sucking with wet, slurping sounds, her tongue swirling along the underside. Saliva dripped down her chin as she worked more of him in, gagging softly when it hit the back of her throat. The fear made her movements frantic but the way he throbbed against her tongue ignited a twisted heat in her core.
“Fuck, yeah“ Jeon rasped, hips rocking forward gently. “Look at you, choking on my cock. So scared but your mouth's greedy for it.” He tightened his hold in her hair, fucking her face with shallow thrusts.
Jeon's free hand cupped her jaw while he took another drag, the nicotine sharpening the edge of his arousal. With a grunt, he pulled out strings of spit connecting them.
“Enough. Up here.” He hauled her up by the arms onto the bed face down, the mattress bouncing under her weight. Y/N gasped, scrambling to push up but he was on her in seconds, yanking the nightgown over her head and snapping the clasp of her bra open. It fell away, freeing her breasts, nipples hardening in the cool air. Jeon flipped her onto her stomach again, kneeing her legs apart, his body covering hers like a shadow.
“Gonna fuck you now, darling” he muttered, grinding his cock against her ass, the tip nudging her slick folds. She was wet traitorously. He leaned down, cigar still lit and pressed his mouth to hers in a brutal kiss, exhaling smoke directly into her lungs. She coughed, inhaling the bitter haze, his tongue forcing deeper, tasting of whiskey and tobacco.
The kiss broke with a wet smack and Jeon tossed the cigar into an ashtray. His hands roamed, rough palms squeezing her hips, then sliding under to grope her breasts.
He lined up and thrust in without warning, burying his cock fully in her pussy. Y/N's walls clenched around him, tight and soaking, a muffled sob escaping into the pillow. Jeon didn't pause, pounding into her with aggressive snaps of his hips, the bedframe creaking under the force. Each drive stretched her, his balls slapping against her clit, building friction that made her body betray her with involuntary moans.
The stretch burning. Y/N screamed, nails raking his back, pain exploding into twisted bliss.
"Feel why I keep you out?" he grunted, hand on her throat. "This world's for men like me. You? You're for this, for taking my cock, shutting the fuck up about the rest" he rasped, sweat beading on his brow, one hand fisting the sheets beside her head while the other reached around to grab her tits, squeezing them harshly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he rutted deeper. Her nipples scraped against his palm, the pain mingling with pleasure, her cries turning breathy. She writhed under him, fear spiking the ecstasy.
Jeon shifted, hooking an arm under her waist to yank her ass higher, fucking her from behind with an insane speed. His cock dragged along her inner walls, hitting that spot that made her shake, her juices coating him, dripping down her thighs. “My cock owns this pussy.” The room filling with the obscene sounds of skin slapping skin, her whimpers, his grunts. And when she clenched around him, he slammed deep one last time flooding her with hot cum, ropes pulsing inside her.
Jeon collapsed over her, chest heaving still buried inside as he nipped her shoulder. Their heated bodies tangled, his lips pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, a whisper of care.
He pulled out slowly, watching his seed leak from her swollen folds.
__
The room was thick with the scent of sweat, smoke and the leftover heat of bodies.
Jeon sat back up slowly breathing hard, watching her chest rise and fall in shallow motions. There was no satisfaction in his expression now. No softness. Nothing smug. Only a simmering frustration buried under something he refused to voice.
He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. She met his gaze, eyes wide and red rimmed. “I don't get off on this shit. Scaring you. You think I wanted this life?”He paused, thumb brushing away a tear from her cheek, the touch un sarcastically tender before his hand dropped. “Born into it, clawed my way up. It's a goddamn meat grinder.” he muttered.
She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat burning. "I... I was just worried" she whispered, voice breaking. "And I just want to understand you. Be part of-"
"Part of what? You think I dragged your ass into this marriage for shits and giggles?" He barked a harsh laugh but it held no humor. "Worry from afar. Keep my home running, warm my bed, play the perfect wife. That's your place. Not dodging bullets. "
Jeon pulled her back against him then. The vulnerability lingered, a rare glimpse of the man haunted by his duties but it vanished as quickly as it came. “Understand this darling, my world's a fucking hell. You wouldn't survive it. I married you to keep something clean in this filthy world." The raw edge in his voice cracked her open wider, anger, fear, that possessive affection spilling through like poison in honey. She whimpered, body pressing closer overwhelmed by the storm of emotions. His mouth found here, lips brushing in a kiss that was almost tender.
The room fell silent save for their shared breaths. He held her tighter, a silent vow intertwined with curses and care binding her to his darkness even as he shielded her from its depths.
She felt safe and trapped, loved and diminished, the toxic pull of their bond dragging her under.
Summary: It's your birthday, so you should be able to do whatever you want, right? Nope. Not when you're royal. Ever since you were little, there was never enough 'a princess must never...' rules coming from your mother's mouth. However a certain Prince convinces you to live your life a little more dangerously...
Themes: fluff n smut (18+)
w/c: 4k
Includes: outdoor sex (unseen, unheard), unprotected sex, slight choking
MASTERLIST
Tonight you sit, more anxious than usual, in the position that's moulded your posture ever since you were a little girl. Your mother always told you that a princess must never slouch. Well, there was never enough 'a princess must never...' rules coming from your mother's mouth, but that one in particular was exercised daily.
And today is no exception.
The 90° regal chair has your spine crumbling with discomfort, but yet you comply with the expected attribute influenced by your mother's incessant lessons on being royal. Surrounded by many alike you, you dine in celebration of your 25th birthday. The champagne tastes bitter, the food barely edible for its decadence and barely satisfying for its gourmet portions; the meals being the only thing in this room that are less interesting than those who serve it.
You discreetly glance around the room, struggling to pair faces with names and names with faces and you realise there's a substantial gap between knowing someone and knowing of someone. You peer to your sister, dressed in her finely detailed gown, sitting elegantly around her hips and shoulders flattering her almost-perfect body. You know everything there is to her especially being 3 years older, familiarity couldn't come closer to you with anyone else. Again you peer around the room, spotting the old gentlemen talking to your uncle with a sincere, solemn look to his ageing eyes. Who is that? Why is he invited? What relation does he have to your family? Should you know him? Have you met him before? These are the questions that burn your mind and you ask yourself if all guests really are as important as your mother entails. Because God forbid you invite your own guests to your own birthday celebrations.
Drowning the nerves with the glass of champagne that sits neatly in the curve of your hand, you plaster on a smile, clear your throat and make your announcement.
"Good evening everyone. I would like to express my gratitude to everyone who came today in celebration of my 25th birthday. From family members to office secretaries, and from dukes and duchesses to school friends, I cannot personally thank you all enough for the wonderful gifts I have received. Now, if you would like to join me in the grand hall for refreshments and entertainment, that would be absolutely wonderful.”
If only you could cut to the chase sooner. But, as royalty, everything you say must be formal to some respect. Your mother always tells you that whatever you say must show a degree of intelligence, otherwise you'll be mistaken for someone who is uneducated, immature, inexperienced: traits that won't be tolerated at this level of authority. Whether anyone has ever thought of you like that, you don't know. But you always do what you are told despite what you believe.
It's just all part of being royal, isn't it? Your life has been decided for you since you were able to take your first breath, and it will remain that way until you take your last.
Just as you had advised, the crowd of people slowly disperse into the grand hall as waiters and maids begin to clear the table, the murmuration of voices overlapped by the clinking of glassware and cutlery. You sheepishly follow behind, lagging behind the rest to gain some privacy in the dining hall to gather your thoughts before mingling with the guests, familiar or not.
Well, at least you thought you had some privacy.
"It must be hard," a gentleman's voice appears from beside you. You whip around to see a man of around your age sauntering closer towards you. His navy blue uniform hugs him in all the right places, multiple badges glistening and polished to a sheen on the recognisable Order of the Garter blue sash. He's royal alright, a duke or perhaps, if your luck strikes fortunate tonight, a prince. It’s a conclusion evident enough not because of the obvious uniform, but by the way he composes his elegance and stands poised with such stature. Suddenly the air is sucked from your breath as he demands your attention, reigning in the existing aura and suffocating it with his own presence until his prestige is in full command of this room and everything in it. The brown eyes are familiar, but memory of his name fails you which is a shame. Surely with a man as strikingly charming as the one standing before you, his name would come easily to your lips.
"What is?”
"Being polite to complete strangers you'll probably never meet again and who are only involved with your family because they're desperately hanging on to the idea that somehow your power just might become theirs," he bluntly remarks, plastering a proud grin on his lips. A sly snigger escapes you, blown away by his blatancy which, you admit, speaks some truth.
"You know that because…?"
"I'm not deluded by manners. It's clear to see, but you just don't observe," he asserts.
"And who do these wise words belong to?" You take two timid steps forward towards him, locking him under your glare with a slight smile on your face. You can't help but swing your hips playfully as you stride towards him, branching out and putting aside the typical behaviour of royalty since he’s already done so through his words.
He fixes his posture, arms and legs locked in and upright, as if mocking his seniors.
“Thomas Stanley Holland, Prince of England, your majesty." He takes ahold of your hand bringing it to his lips and place a gentle kiss on your skin.
Yet again, another example of a face you failed to match to name.
"Oh a Prince, how delightful!" You mock, resembling your grandmother with her wavering voice ringing through your ear.
"Now, your royal highness, would you care to take a stroll with me through the garden, which I might say, has the most impressive botanical display I have ever seen.”
You buffer slightly and the comical impressions wear off, debating whether to take up his offer. You turn your head back to the grand hall where everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, oblivious to your absence. Should you? You are the guest of honour, wouldn't people notice? Your mother won't be too happy either…
"Look at them, princess. They're too wrapped up in their own little lives to notice that you're not there." His voice hums softly your ear, hands resting gently on the curves of your shoulders, fingers tracing over the silk fabric as if to coax you into his offer. Your mind latches onto the cold sting of the insignia ring wrapped around his pinky finger before being lost in the ghost of chills that follow his breath, skimming along the curve of your clavicle. “It’s your birthday party for God sake. Leave them, they're not worth your time. Come with me, I want to show you something that is worth your time." You turn to face him. He reads the doubt on your face like it is written in words. You don't think it's possible for you to sink any further into the gentle tones of his voice, but yet, he fails to disappoint. "I promise you they won't notice,” he whispers and seals his promise with a wink. He's ever so persuasive. So much so that you link your arms with his and wander down the hall to the back garden, giggling as you share one last glance to the crowded room behind, successfully leaving without witness.
It's late and the gardeners have switched on the fairy lights decorating the trees that line the stone pathway leading you directly into the botanical greenhouse. The flowers are in full bloom and there's a majestic array of colours bouncing around every corner of the room. From the pink vibrancy of the peonies to the midnight blues of the hydrangeas; every shade lures you towards them, fingers twitching to steal one for yourself. There's a twinkle in the air with the occasional firefly hovering above the flowers, setting the atmosphere perfectly. Although it’s a beautiful sight that is only deserving of your eyes, you can’t help but close them to soak in the calm and natural aura of the room as your ears slip into the low hum of the electric buzzers hidden far in the corners and the delicate trickle of the small waterfall.
Admittedly, it takes your breath away. Mother never allowed you out here this late, 'a princess must be in bed at a reasonable hour to preserve her youth' so she says. You always hated that rule. Especially as a child where your curiosity knew no limits; you wanted to explore everything but you were never allowed. You still aren’t, even as an adult that curiosity still roars as furiously as ever, so being here at this time of night is like a whole new world to you.
"Wow," you whisper, eyes fluttering open once more to take in the botanical magic around you. “It's...beautiful."
"It is, isn't it? Spotted it while I was out having a walk through the garden earlier.”
"I've never seen it like this before, mother never let me out after dark," you cowardly mumble, sweeping your fingertips across the petal of a rose. Imagine: a 25 year old still living under the authority of her mother. He gives you a scowling look.
“You’ve never…? But…you live here.”
You shrug your shoulders, eyes hidden with shame.
“You need to stop letting your mother take control of you. You're a mature woman, there is no doubt you are competent enough to make your own decisions! You're a princess not a pet!”
"And she's the Queen! It just doesn't work like that. I can't disobey her, she'll...she'll disown me."
You can't disregard the look of pity evident in his chocolate brown eyes, nor the soft smile playing on his lips. He closes the distance between you just an inch at a time.
"Princess," he sighs, tongue rolling in the golden honey of his accent. “Life goes too quickly. Especially at our age. I understand perfectly-“
"Do you, though? You're a boy, I bet your mother didn't have any reins on you," you snap, admittedly rather unladylike but your mother isn't here to scorn you.
“No, that may be true enough but I'll tell you what she told me.”
Your heart rate picks up the pace that it's almost bursting through your chest. He's almost a hair's breadth away and you listen very intently to the words being whispered in your ear, ever so gently.
"If you don't challenge it, then it won't change you." He draws back and once again his eyes meet yours purely to see your reaction. A minute passes and nothing is said. Tom’s philosophy, or more rather his mother's, imprints a rebellious thought in your mind. Defying your mother was always hypothetical because you feared of the consequences that you had yet to challenge. You've always been the ideal, obedient daughter your mother always wanted, but what about what you want? If you are to eventually rule this kingdom, then what sort of Queen would cower and fall so easily beneath the authority of others? What Queen leads a kingdom if she cannot even lead her own life?
There's a knowing smile playing on his lips as he observes your epiphany. He brings up his hand towards your face, fingers lightly skimming against your forehead like you were made of glass as he neatly tucks away a stray strand of hair. Every gesture and every word leaves you swooning over the little mannerisms that he owns. It's the way he treats you like you are the most fragile and delicate thing, but yet knows that you are far from it; knows that there’s a spark inside you waiting to be ignited where your true power manifests.
"Happy birthday, princess.”
Just as that sweet, little sobriquet rolls effortlessly off his tongue, his head veers down and blesses your cheek with a kiss so soft, you almost don't feel it. Ironically, the effects are quite the opposite. Now that the distance between you and the Prince is almost close to nothing, a sudden, intense urge pushes you to take advantage of the moment and of his words. It’s almost tantalising how there’s only just a slither of air separating you and feel nothing more than the insatiable desire to make a move. That, and the urge to go against everything your mother has ever taught you.
'The gentleman always makes the first move, it is not ladylike to throw yourself onto them' you hear the echo of your mother's obnoxious tones swimming through your mind.
Oh yeah?
"You mentioned that I should start making my own decisions…"
"Princess?" His eyebrow perks up as does the smirk on your lips.
"How's this for a decision?”
Without even thinking, you instinctively crash your lips onto his. A surge of adrenaline courses through your veins knowing that you're deliberately going behind your mother's back, and completely obliterating everything you know about royal etiquette. The Prince seems more than willing to share this new found maturity with you, mirroring your devotion and giving even more, sinking his lips further into yours that you have to take two timid steps back.
It's sweet, giving you that first taste of independence but it doesn’t last long and you yearn for more. He eases just centimetres away from you and you look up to find his lips still parted and his eyes still closed, taking a moment to himself to savour those precious moments. In your peripheral, you see his tongue run across his bottom lip, but your eyes are glued to the bobble of his Adam’s apple as he swallows and there’s something about the natural instinct that strangely alluring, seductive. A quality you very rarely find in someone whether that be your naivety or the dullness of any other man you have ever come across.
"That's...more like it.” The Prince’s eyes open once again, finding you with rosy cheeks and a fluttering heart beat pounding against your ribcage. Itching, his hands slither around the tight corset at your waist and grips the fastenings at the back. There’s a spark of mischief evident in his eyes. “Any other decisions waiting to be made?” He pulls you closer towards him.
Tom radiates a particular suggestive tone to his words that once heard instantly attracts the newly-born rebel inside you. It drowns out the warnings of your mother until they slip into oblivion, and just like that, you take control. You bite your lip as your hands sweep away the fine lint gracing his chest.
“There might be a few,” you whisper.
“Then go ahead,” he whispers back, eyes darkening with hunger. “There’s nothing to stop you, princess.”
Slowly, tentatively, your hands slide down to find his adorning your waist. Keen eyes watch for his reaction when you guide his hand to your throat and he’s completely captivated by you. You can’t help but let your eyes flutter close when you start to feel his fingers coiling around your neck, deliberate but calculated, not too hard but not too gentle. He hears the quick gasp when the cold insignia ring presses against your skin. Gold, pressed with his family crest, its symbolism of power recreates itself in Tom as he lets go of his inhibitions, closing his fist around your neck.
“Thomas…” A soft whimper escapes your lips and he drinks it in. His lips lie just millimetres out of touch from your own, teasing with the soft sweep of his breath. You need his kiss again. Once is definitely not enough. You’ve explored too much, your curiosity isn’t nearly satisfied and you fear it might never let up knowing what it’s already gotten a taste of.
“What do you want, hm? Tell me. What has the birthday girl wished for?”
“I want…” you take a breath, “I want you to use me.”
“Oh, Your Royal Highness, I like this side of you.” A sinful smirk stretches wide across his lips before he crashes them into yours. You mewl as he melts his lips into yours, his tongue breaching into your mouth, exploring and mingling with your own. All the while his hand coils tighter and tighter. You yelp when your hips bang against the table laden with smaller plant pots, shaking like an earthquake erupts beneath them.
The Prince snakes his way across your cheek, along the line of your jaw and down the column of your neck, replacing his hand with his lips as they kiss your pulse with each beat. You are inevitably stuck with the press of Tom’s body against yours, shaking under his touch as it roams all over you, and a certain heat rises at your core.
“Mmm,” he hums. “You smell amazing, princess. I should keep you all to myself.” He seals his pledge with the sharp pinch of his teeth, sucking a blemish into your skin. Your eyes whip open when you realise that he’s branding you, liberating you from your mother’s clutches and claiming you as his own. Although you know you should be worried about the very visible mark that will be left on your neck, and what insults it’ll pay your mother and her work to make you perfect, but you can’t help lose yourself to his seduction. It’s all so appetising, so alluring, it’s delicious.
He pulls away ever so slowly, noses briefly clashing for a fleeting moment while he peers down to you, lips swollen and glistening. His hands, ever curious, circle around your waist and feel the curve of your hips as they suffocate under the tight corset. Somehow, he grips tighter and whips you around, holding you just as close as before, so much so that his breath funnels against your ear.
You stare at your reflection of the glass, nothing but darkness looming behind it. Prince Thomas catches your gaze with his, darkening by the second and it steals a gasp from you. You are simply pooling at the sight.
“How naughty are you feeling, princess?” He whispers in cool tones.
“Very.”
“Good.” Hands catch themselves on the table in front of you as Prince Tom lifts the hem of your dress until it rests around your hips, throwing you forward. The Prince behind you can't resist to feel the shape of your legs as his fingers drag closely behind, and the closer he gets to your cunt, the more visible the chills become. You release a soft mewl when his thumb trickles down the centre of your underwear, pressing into the wetness and dancing it around in circles. You lean into it, evoking an amused chuckle to swarm your ears while he watches you fall so easily for him. He knew you would.
Standing there, you can’t ignore how good it feels having someone pay you so much attention, listening to your needs instead of reprimanding you for debauchery. The Prince plays you like his own, a puppet and her puppeteer.
After what feels like an eternity, he finally hooks the thin material of your underwear and peels it away from your cunt, slowly, leisurely, adoring the way the wet material grips onto you for just a second longer.
“Fuck.” The expletive sounds like a holy berceuse in his voice. “So wet for me.” He’s almost panting at how tight you look, and he grips your hips like a vice because he’s not going to let you run away now. Not a chance.
Instinctively, he ruts into you and releases just the hint of a groan, suppressing it until he can fully feel inside of you.
The thrill of adrenaline runs ragged in your veins, eagerly waiting for what you know is coming. However, when you feel his hand coil around your wrist, pulling it blindly behind you, you feel a certain trepidation. Yet, you find it completely justified when he coils the palm of your hand around his cock and shit, he’s huge. A bead of cum seeps from his tip and your hand catches it, and with his slow thrusts, it spreads along his length. He’s teasing, you realise. Your cunt waits impatiently just inches away from him, his tip poking and prodding sparingly, but yet he thrusts into your hand instead.
“Stop the teasing,” you beg. Your head cranes over your shoulder to catch a glance, but he snakes his hand around the back of your neck.
“Patience, your highness. I’m going to take my time to fuck you.”
Your hand slips, and his cock buries deep inside of you. A sharp inhale pierces your lungs where a low growl leaves his. For a moment, he stays still to feel the minute clenches of your walls as they try to acclimate to his size. Overwhelmed with pleasure, his fingers grip around the curve of your neck and your hip, holding you down while he pushes himself to reach your limits. You're on the verge of tears and very quickly losing control over the scream that’s trapped in your throat, but you have to hold it in: letting it out would alert everyone in the palace.
He shifts and you squeal. The Prince starts to rut his hips back and forth, grinding himself against you in the filthiest of ways, uninhibited and drunk of the tight squeeze of your cunt.
“God. Fuck. You feel amazing. You feel like fucking royalty.”
His virile thrusts are torturous, meticulously slow in their movements as he savours every twitch of your cunt, every lewd noise, every moment his hips grind against yours. He keeps you hanging on the edge for what feels like hours, internally pleading for more.
Things thankfully change pace when your clit suffers under his fingers and his cock pumps harder and harder into you. The table beneath you is shaking and threateningly close to breaking, but you lack the attention to care. Everything on your mind evolves around Prince Tom and the way he’s making you feel, the way he expertly arouses a very particular feeling to pull taut in your stomach. You cry out for release and Tom responds with something similar, guiding you over the threshold until suddenly, you’re cumming.
It washes over you hard and fast. With your head sunken low against the table, your body falls victim to its instincts, squeezing around Tom as he remains deep inside you to feel what he can from the repercussions of your orgasm. It feels dirty and obscenely vulgar, but yet you’ve never felt so unrestrained, finally living the liberation of the many etiquette rules your mother forced upon you.
God, what your mother would think of you now…
“Oh my God,” you breathe. “I can’t…I can’t believe we just done that…”
Prince Tom heaves a mirthful chuckle, gently easing away from you and coaxing you into his care with the warmth of his hands. He sweeps them across the expanse of your hips and thighs, soothing them, forcing them to unwind from the strain. He graciously fixes you up while you recover, pulling you up into his embrace when you eventually do.
“I mean, we’re outside! Anyone could’ve walked out here and seen us! We could’ve been caught! My mother…she would absolutely kill me. She would kill you! Thomas-“
Tom silences you with his lips, a small smile shaping his kiss while he sinks into you. You audibly hum, sighing into his lips. When he pulls away, you seem to be more level-headed.
“Sorry,” you murmur. “Killed the mood, didn’t I?” You’re all-too-aware of the bashful, coy smirk that dons your lips when you face him again. He can’t suppress the compulsion to gently pinch your chin, and let his thumb graze over your bottom lip, trapped in between your teeth and visibly smiles at your diffidence, eyes twinkling with admiration.
Is that your heart fluttering?
“Not at all, princess. That’s just what happens when you live a little.” With the lightest of touches, he traces around the shape of the blemish he left on your neck…that you completely forgot about. Stunned, you grip his hand but his smile just stretches wider.
“I don’t think I’ll be living much longer if my mother sees this.”
has anyone written anything about like mechanic!yeol and asshole!sehun ??🤔🤔🤔 like plz pass onto yours truly and if not send me shit and I’ll write it 🤷🏼♀️
has anyone written anything about like mechanic!yeol and asshole!sehun ??🤔🤔🤔 like plz pass onto yours truly and if not send me shit and I’ll write it 🤷🏼♀️
has anyone written anything about like mechanic!yeol and asshole!sehun ??🤔🤔🤔 like plz pass onto yours truly and if not send me shit and I’ll write it 🤷🏼♀️
This post is going to rushed but I’m still shaking and it’s hard to type but I NEED people to know this
My mom just took my dog to the vet
She(my dog) was(still is?) having a seizure
Last month we took my dog to the vet and they told us she had developed diabetes, they told us it was caused by the food she was eating, purina beneful.
They told us that there have been many many many reports of Beneful has been causing diabetes, seizures, and even death in dogs.
We had no idea
We immediately switched her food and put her on a special diet plan for her diabetes, unfortunately the effects were already permeate.
Today at 11:20 my mom woke me up crying, I helped her carry my dog to the car (while she was still having a seizure) and watched her drive away red faced and still crying.
Please please PLEASE if you are feeding your pets Purina beneful PLEASE switch their food ASAP
Beneful is poising dogs and I don’t want anyone else to experience what I just did
Also if you could please help me signal boost this so everyone can know
reblog even if you don’t own a dog or even if you’re not “a dog person” because I can’t even imagine how horribly depressed I would be if this happened to my dog
My last dog ate this for years, and started to have seizures, they got so bad and he got so sick we ended up having to put him down. PLEASE DO NOT feed your dog beneful
The plan for the 17th, when the adult content ban comes in, is to protest.
To do that, we are making as much noise either side of the 17th as possible, and using the site as normal.
On the 17th, dead silence.
People are saying log off but what they really mean is don’t open the site or the app.
But, on the 17th make as much noise as possible on every other platform. Tweet about it and post on facebook and instagram and everywhere else.
What this does is causes a massive dip in ad revenue for one single day. That does not make staff think ‘oh everyone’s gone let’s shut down.’ What it actually makes them think is ‘oh shit people aren’t happy and if people don’t keep using our site we’re out of money and out of jobs.’
A boycott reminds a company that the users (consumers) have the power to make their site (business) worthless with one single coordinated decision.
If you want to join in, here’s what to do:
Do:
Close all open instances of the app and site on all your devices before the 17th
Make posts before and after the 17th on tumblr and other platforms, talking about why this ban is bad
Make posts on other sites during the 17th. Flood the official tumblr staff twitter and facebook with your anger and your opinion
Come back on the 18th and check in
Don’t:
Delete the app from your phone (this doesn’t affect their revenue and since it’s off the store at the moment it’ll be hard to get back)
Delete your account. I mean you can if you want to, but if you keep your account and don’t use it you’re saying to staff that there’s still time to save it. If you delete it’s hard work to come back.
Open the app or website (including specific blogs)
Make any posts (turn down/off your queue and make sure nothing is scheduled)
Go quiet elsewhere. Make it clear that this is just about tumblr, not a mass move away from all social media.
Remember: the execs don’t care about anything but money. Shutting down the site means there’s $0 further income from it. That’s their last possible course of action. If we make it clear we’re not happy, they’ll have to do something or we can do more and more until it becomes too expensive.
Protests take commitment. They’re a defiant action against a business that is doing something wrong. They will try to scare you into not participating, because they’re scared. We hold all the power here, sometimes the execs just need to be reminded of that.
