Still With You (Yandere Prince! Jungkook)
➵ It’s simple. You’re a servant, he’s a prince. So when you become pregnant, you know you have to leave in order to protect his reputation. But he doesn’t seem to be able to let you go...
➵ Warnings: Obsessive behaviour, brief mention of possible abortion, 18+
➵ Word Count: 6.7k
➵ Masterlist
We laugh together, we cry together
These simple feelings were everything I had
When will it be?
If I see you again
I will look into your eyes and say “I missed you”
You had always wanted what was best for Jungkook.
The first time you saw him, he was training outside in the gardens. Princes weren’t meant to be outside for too long, but there he was, laughing as he dodged his sparring partner, sunlight bouncing off his sweat-gilded skin. You had been sent to gather flowers. Kneeling beside the flower beds, you did not pick a single one, watching as the prince danced past trimmed hedges and statues and the occasional stunned groundskeeper. He was so light on his feet, always moving, teasing. He looked like he was flying.
And then, somehow, you caught his eye. The two of you looked at each other. He tripped.
You are ashamed to admit you ran away. Too scared of the consequences of causing a prince (the prince!) injury, you yanked a fistful of flowers from the bed beside you, flung them into your basked, and fled. Later, as you were being scolded by the girl who sent you for them, asking you how she could use such disheveled flowers for icing decorations, you didn’t even bother to listen. You could only think about him.
Was he badly hurt? Was he angry at you? Was he, at this very minute, hunting through the palace to find and punish you? Or had he forgotten your face right away?
You hoped he forgot you. Even thinking about him made your stomach clench in fear and guilt. You hoped you never saw him again.
A week later, a cupbearer got sick. You had been staying as much in the servant’s quarters as possible, dedicating yourself to menial tasks. It wasn’t hard to stay out of the way, only certain servants were permitted to be in the presence of the royal family, like chambermaids and stewards, and tutors. And cupbearers.
Taehyung, the tall, handsome boy a few years older than you, had apparently recommended you to replace him for the night. Because of that, you slightly regretted not telling him of your brief interaction with the prince — he was far too kind to have recommended you for the position if he thought you would face punishment. But you had been so embarrassed about it all. You didn’t know how you would explain why you crouched by the flowers and watched the prince for so long, as he joked with his sparring partner and grinned until his dimples showed and ran across the fountain wall, getting his hair wet with the spray.
Maybe Taehyung would have just told you that the prince wouldn’t care. That he had already forgotten, just one slight in a lifetime of pleasant experiences one after the other, having anything he wants. Having anyone he wants. One forgettable face wouldn’t stay in his mind for long at all.
You chanted this to yourself as you entered the banquet hall, following beside the other cupbearers as they all situated themselves against with their backs against the walls, facing the table. Smelling all the delicious food in front of you was a benefit, the hunger in your stomach distracted you from the pit burrowed by your anxiety.
You were there long before any members of royalty arrived, early in order to be prepared and waiting to serve. Because Taehyung was the prince’s cupbearer — of course he was — you were stuck looking at the back of the ornate chair a few steps away from you. It didn’t look very comfortable, and you felt a pang of sympathy for the prince who must sit there every day and eat in front of the king and queen.
Having an audience like that must be nerve-racking. You were lucky that you got to always take your meals alone (sitting in your box-room on your sleeping mat, eating the leftovers from the kitchen. Or the leftover leftovers. More senior servants took what they wanted first, and sometimes there wasn’t even anything left for you)
Then the big doors opened and you held your breath, keeping your head down like you were told to do as members of the royal family filed in. You did not look up as you heard the chair legs in front of you scrape against the floor, did not look as you heard the prince sat down, and did not look as the royal family started to talk amongst themselves.
You did not even look up when you heard the voice of the prince call out “Wine.”
You scurried to the table, raising your gaze only slightly to find the jug of wine. After that, you picked it up and stepped back, poised to pour it into the cup Taehyung told you would be raised and expectant. But the prince had not even picked it up.
You couldn’t help it anymore. For the second time in your life, you locked eyes with the prince.
His stare was punishing, anger burning in his eyes with all the passion that you hoped would have melted away after the whole week you spent hidden away. You waited for him to call out to the king, to have you flogged or dismissed or… killed.
But he did none of those things. After staring at you for a little longer, he slowly reached out, not taking his eyes off you once, and picked up his glass. You hastily looked away from him to focus on pouring the wine — you didn’t want to make him even angrier by spilling it! — and let out an exhale once it was done, ready to step away from the table and fade blissfully into the background. But when you tried, the prince grabbed your wrist.
You flinched, expecting the worst. He seemed to be intrigued by this, those dark eyes twinkling as he cocked his head and pressed the glass into your hand.
“Drink,” he ordered.
You hesitated for a moment, before realising. Taehyung had specifically told you the first cup poured for the prince would have to be drunk by you first to check for poison but in your tangled emotions of apprehension and anxiety you had forgotten. How stupid of you. Now the prince had another reason to be displeased with you.
You gave a jerky bow in apology and raised the cup to your lips. You took a mouthful of bitterness and heady flavour, letting it slide down your throat; you had just swallowed something worth more than anything you had ever owned in your life. You tried not to wince.
You handed the cup back to the prince, noticing your lips had left a slight mark on the rim. His hand closed over yours briefly as he took the cup and, eyes still burning into you, he placed his lips directly where yours had been as he took a deep mouthful of wine. You desperately retreated to the shadows but even though he did not turn around you could somehow still feel his eyes burning into you.
The prince drunk four cups of wine that night, eyes on you has he drank every single one. He instructed you to stand by his side instead of darting back and forth so you stood there, ears burning even as as the rest of the royal family thankfully paid you no mind, practised at disregarding servants. Taehyung must have been mistaken when he told you that the prince normally took one cup, and quietly thanked Taehyung every time he served him. Or perhaps the prince hated you enough to alter his behaviour so drastically.
You were only half surprised when the prince grabbed you soon after you left the banquet hall. He had retired earlier than the rest of his family, and you stood in the hall in silence with the rest of the servants until the whole family had left and it was time to clean up. By the time you were carrying the plates and leftovers out of the hall, it had been almost two hours since the prince had left.
You were surrounded by servants when the prince darted out of a corridor and yanked you away by the wrist, but they all looked the other way, ignoring the indiscretion as any misdeeds done by the royal family towards servants were ignored. There would be no one to help you.
The wall that the prince pushed you onto was painful and cold through the thin layers of your smock. You couldn’t help but cringe as he leaned closer, enough to feel his wine-tinged breath warm against your cheeks.
“You tried to run away again,” he said, the alcohol hot on his breath.
“Your highness-” you began, hushed, unaware of what you were even going to say, but he placed his hand over your mouth. The other was braced beside your head as he leaned in.
“My name is Jungkook.”
He took his hand away from your mouth and nodded at you, almost expectingly. What he expected from you… you had no idea.
“Your highness-” you tried again, but he interrupted you with a frustrated groan, pushing away from the wall and rubbing his face. You knew people acted strange when they drank too much, but you couldn’t predict the prince’s behaviour at all. The punishment you were dreading had not yet arrived and it was hard to predict what it would be.
“Your highness, I apologise for making you trip in the gardens. I should not have distracted you,” you whisper into the corridor. It was not a main corridor, and the evening had deepened into darkness so there were no torches to illuminate the shadows playing across the prince’s face when he turned to you again.
He came closer, and you pressed yourself flat against the wall in trepidation.
“You think I am angry because I tripped?”
His tone suggested you had gotten something wrong, but you knew that you mustn’t lie to the prince so you nodded hesitantly.
Instead of getting angry, he huffed a laugh, blowing another waft of that alcohol-scent towards you. He must’ve drunk more in the hours after he left the hall.
“No, I am angry because you left before I could get to you. And then-” he leaned even closer, enough that you could see the eyelashes brushing his cheekbone as his lids lowered, “you hid yourself away so I could not find you again.”
“Your- your highness,” you stuttered, but yet again he interrupted you, indicative of the entitlement a prince expects to receive in all things.
“If you are truly sorry then you must take responsibility for your actions,” he told you imperiously. You did not know what this meant. Your cluelessness must have shown itself on your face, because he laughed at you again and placed his hand on your cheek.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I promise I’m not truly angry. You delivered yourself to me tonight, and for that I am thankful. You did not make me wait long.”
The prince was inscrutable. He laughed again when you did not understand, and insisted on walking you back to your room, and was upset with you when you insisted that he could not enter the servant quarters, only relenting when you told him that you would be punished if you led him to your room.
The next morning you were told by an equally confused servant that you were to receive tutoring lessons alongside the prince. You were given several dresses to wear — a uniform, you presumed — and brought to a quarter of the palace you weren’t even good enough to clean, let alone sit in beside the prince.
Still, you tried to fulfil your duties. It was clear that the prince had requested some sort of lesson servant, presumably to clean up after him, dispose of his notes and brush away charcoal dust, that kind of thing. It is understandable that he wished for someone the same age as him to do this, after all, wouldn’t it be a little uncomfortable to have to sit besides an adult doing all of this for him during lessons, instead of a companion his own age?
However, the prince seemed to want to make your duties as difficult as possible. He stopped you from tidying up after him, making you sit down in your chair again each time and telling you to listen carefully to the instructor. Perhaps he wanted a study partner to aid his learning. But then every time you attempted to explain concepts to him, he seemed fully cognisant, and even asked you if there was anything additional you wanted him to explain!
Perhaps this was the prince’s way of tormenting you for tripping him. But a year followed, the prince’s sixteenth name-day passing with you in his presence for the entire day, and you started to think he may not be punishing you. After all, despite the nervousness you felt in his presence at all times, it had been… rather pleasant, getting to receive tutoring like a noble-born girl, and sitting in the prince’s wing of the palace, and even talking to the prince.
He insisted on you calling him Jungkook, and after a while, it felt less stilted and horrifically impolite and more natural. You had even called him Jungkook once in front of the other servants. Taehyung laughed and teased you for it with a strangely knowing glint in his eye, but the other servants regarded you coldly for a while.
Some of them called you names you didn’t understand, or that simply weren’t applicable, but once it seemed to sink in, for them and you, that this was not a temporary arrangement, people started acting more kindly towards you. They would pat your head, smile at you benevolently, or give you food “to share with your prince!”. Those comments always made you blush, and Jungkook would laugh when you relayed them to him. Yes, of course. It was a rather ridiculous notion. Your prince.
After spending two years with Jungkook, you began to understand why he chose to spend time with you. Jungkook did not have many peers his own age, and even those that he was allowed to consort with were either awkward, unfamiliar, or sycophantic. The boys were eager to foster connections for a possible future alliance and the girls had clearly been instructed by their parents to ensure a marriage to Jungkook by any means possible.
When you quizzed Jungkook on his marriage prospects after such meetings, attempting to help him sort out who he might want to choose, he would always smile at you happily and say “no one”. No one! It is not a surprise that your prince spent this much time with you if he was this happy to turn away any possible love interests.
Jungkook was lonely. You could feel it in the way he held your hand when you walked through the gardens; he didn’t want you to go too far away from him, even for a moment. He guarded your time, angry if others took up any part of it, especially those of a similar age such as Taehyung. You tried to get Jungkook to bond with Taehyung too, so that he could have another friend but Jungkook wasn’t very receptive.
You theorised that he was probably quite shy and intimidated, meeting an older and, at that time, much taller boy. Jungkook did not like that theory very much at all and threatened to banish Taehyung from the palace if you talked about him again. Indeed, you thought pityingly, Jungkook must’ve been very intimidated by Taehyung if you weren’t even allowed to mention him. You hoped that he would overcome his shyness in due time.
He wasn’t at all shy with you, and as the years passed, Jungkook grew more and more confident, often embracing you and keeping you in his room until you insisted that you had to go back to your own quarters and sleep. For convenience, he had your room moved into his wing of the palace.
Coincidentally, this room was an immense improvement from your former room. It was much bigger and well appointed, with a window that allowed you to see into the very garden where you first met Jungkook. After you told Jungkook all of this, he seemed very smug, and from then on you often found little trinkets or pieces of furniture that Jungkook bought for you in your room.
You realised that, though Jungkook heard many words of false flattery, he did not often hear genuine words of kindness from those he cared about — his own family. So you tried your best to make up for it, telling him every positive thought about him that came into your head, and there were quite a few of those. It seemed to work well, Jungkook would always smile and often repaid you with jokes or teases that would make you flush entirely red.
The worst was when he would pretend as if he were saying something sincere, something horribly embarrassing like I only need you or you make me happier than I’ve ever been or all I ask is that you never leave my side. On those occasions you would try to run away from him, but he would always catch you, dragging you back in with a smug grin.
It was on his eighteenth name-day that Jungkook kissed you for the first time.
He was drunk after his birthday feast, during which you had sat by his side the entire time as requested, ready to obey his commands or help to serve him in any way. (but he never asked you to do anything. he just looked at you, all night). Back in his chambers, he crowded you against the wall and kissed you once, twice, then buried his face in your neck as he gripped both your arms, stiff at your sides.
“Jungkook,” you whispered and he hummed into your skin, which was slightly tacky with his spit from where he had been dragging his mouth along your skin, trying to kiss it. “you should go to sleep.”
“Alright, my love,” he said, and you almost tripped as he pulled away from you, tugging you towards the bed. “Let’s go to sleep.”
And then he pushed you onto the bed and landed atop you, barely having the bearings to tug the covers over the two of you before losing consciousness. Try as you might, you could not rouse him, and it was difficult to push him off on account of the muscles he had packed on from training. The weight on top of you, however, was not uncomfortable.
It was bearable, you decided, apart from the smell of alcohol on Jungkook’s clothes, but after you tugged off most of his outer garments which had the strongest smell, as well as your own which, though not particularly odorous were not comfortable to sleep in, it was agreeable enough that you fell asleep there in Jungkook’s bed.
After that night, Jungkook seemed even more comfortable around you. He must have decided that since you had slept in his bed the two of you were as close as could be, and was content to practice all manner of things with you.
The first was kissing, which you two practised a lot. It was also remarkably pleasant, an activity you would be happy to do with any friend! Except most of them were not blessed with a prince’s oral hygiene, and you guessed Jungkook was embarrassed that he was practising these things with you. He certainly did not want you to practice with anyone else.
It was a strange sort of contradiction. Jungkook was very eager to practice things in order to prepare for his future marriage, but was reluctant to secure any actual marriage. Many times, you would suggest the name of an eligible young lady that Jungkook could marry, and ask him if he was interested. And each time, he would look at you, kiss you deeply, and then say with an indulgent smile: “No.”
Next was… well. Marriage bed activities. When he first proposed it, you were quite nervous and asked him if it was really alright to do this before marriage. He then kissed you many times, demonstrating that practice yields very effective results, and with that evidence before you, you eventually acquiesced.
This was the right decision because it was clear that Jungkook needed exceeding amounts of practice with this.
You were also uncertain. After a lot of kissing, both on your mouth and… other places — perhaps Jungkook wanted the reassurance of doing something he was familiar with before diving right in? — he started to initiate the next phase. When he told you that he had to put his… thing… in there… you seriously started to question whether he was correct.
He told you, blushing out of embarrassment — though there was no need for it, you were a beginner too — that he had studied many illustrations of the action, and he was sure that this was the correct way. Even so, it was painful, and he didn’t even put it in all the way before the two of you gave up, slumping back on the bed.
You watched with a morbid fascination as his manhood slowly started to deflate. After a few minutes he told you to look away. Jungkook seemed very put out by the whole affair, and was not cheered when you told him that nobody is good on their first try at anything. In fact, this seemed to upset him more, and he told you to get out and go back to your chambers. However, he quickly relented when he saw you were having trouble walking and pushed you back into bed, pulling the covers back over you with a guilty expression.
It took a week after that before you tried again. This time was markedly better — Jungkook confided in you that he had asked the physician for advice and had learned a great number of things. This was true, and after a few more tries you began to understand why men would pay for this kind of experience. Jungkook seemed just as keen as you and would instigate practice sessions practically every day.
Jungkook never truly changed, and was still lonely enough that he would make you stay in his room even after practice, holding you in his arms all night and whispering meaningless things. You thought that whoever Jungkook married would be quite lucky — it was nice to fall asleep like that, and it must be even nicer for Jungkook’s eventual wife, because when he said those lovely things to her they would be true.
And then you ruined it all.
After waking up every week to the sensation of overwhelming nausea, you complained to Taehyung. Your normal recipient of complaints was, of course, Jungkook, but he was easily worried when it came to illnesses, and you did want to unnecessarily upset him. On the other hand, Taehyung now had his own family and lived out of the palace, so you thought he simply did not have the capacity to be too overbearing.
But when he heard your description of your mysterious illness, he went pale. He then suddenly told you that you should go and visit his wife. You knew her and were indeed quite friendly with her, but the change of subject was strange. But he was insistent so you left that morning to go and visit her.
She also did strange things, pressing a hand to your stomach and asking, mortifyingly, about your private time with the prince. When you confirmed that you had been practising marital duties with him, her face took on the same expression Taehyung’s had. And then she told you that you were pregnant.
For some reason, you simply had not predicted this as a problem. Children came from marriage, everyone knew that, and bastards came from prostitutes. There was no category for servant-companions who were just helping for practice. You had thought that it wouldn’t count. Yet, it apparently did.
You knew what you had to do.
Stealing away quietly was the best thing you could do. You knew that Jungkook was a good man, and if you told him you were pregnant he would not hesitate to marry you. Would insist on it, even. But, though you did not do the work of a servant, or live the life of a servant, you were still unavoidably… a servant. As the people of the court loved to remind you. Jungkook could not marry a servant for his queen.
The other option was… you could not consider it. Though you had even helped other servant girls do that exact thing, helping to procure the necessary herbs and staying with them the whole time to try and help with the pain, you could not imagine doing it yourself. Inside of you, it was… the baby was a part of Jungkook. You couldn’t bear to hurt it.
If you left without a word, Jungkook would try to find you. He often had nightmares about you being taken from him or kidnapped, which you knew because you were the one to pull him from those nightmares, to kiss him and tell him that it was all a dream. You hoped he found someone else to fulfil this role for him once you left — you didn’t want him to spend too much time alone.
So you told him that it was a short journey, an absence of two weeks while you visited your ailing grandmother. He was incredibly reluctant to let you go, but you stood firm. Perhaps your insistence, when you have always before bent to his will with little resistance, that persuaded him to let you go, even providing you with a horse and enough supplies to last four weeks.
So you rode away on that horse and did not look back.
You travelled until you couldn’t anymore and found an abandoned farm house to give birth in. Your son came screaming into the world, screaming alongside you as you cried and bled in the cold barn. That was the only time you regretted leaving Jungkook. You were so tired, but so scared that if you fell asleep you would not wake again and that you would leave your son all alone, so you remained awake the whole night, cradling him in your arms and crying quietly enough to not disturb him.
You named him Sungho. Once you were recovered enough to ride your horse again, you continued travelling. You had to, for it seemed that your disappearance had not escaped the notice of Jungkook, and there were stories about how the prince was “searching for his lost love”. The gossip you heard exchanged in taverns had been passed from mouth to mouth far too many times to be credible, but you had no choice to listen, and kept going until you no longer heard any discussion of Jungkook, or of the capital city in general.
You found a small village to settle down in, a community to join with grandmas to spoil Sungho and children for him to play with and aunties to commiserate with you as you told them about your dead husband. This far from the capital, people did not even know the prince’s name, so you felt free enough to tell them it. After all, a lie is far more convincing if parts of it are true. It certainly worked — the village community was convinced that you were heartbroken.
Even now, three years since you arrived here, and four years since Sungho was born, village elders still visit you with food or invite you to their homes because “a widow shouldn’t spend all her time alone”. You pay their worries no mind. Why should you? You have exactly what you wanted. You’ve saved Jungkook from having to marry a servant girl, you’ve saved Sungho from having to face the contempt of the royal court, and you’ve saved yourself from… well, you’ve saved yourself from having to worry about the difficulties of Jungkook and Sungho!
You finally got what was best for Jungkook and what was best for Sungho. And you’re truly happy.
A happiness which is disrupted when you walk into your house to see a man sat at the table.
An achingly familiar man. A man you barely recognise.
“Hello Y/n.”
Jungkook greets you with a coldness you’ve never felt directed towards yourself. His tone is sweet, but his eyes are burning, the same way they burned all those years ago after you made him trip and he hated you. Across the table sits one of the ahjummas who always gave you extra side dishes to take home. You’ve never resented her more.
“You’re finally home, dear,” she says, oblivious to the tension rising in the room as you studiously avoid Jungkook’s gaze. “I was just telling this lovely young man that you would be here soon! How could you not tell this old woman that you had a brother!”
Ah, so Jungkook told her you were his sister. You need to assess the situation, figure out whether he knows yet. Somehow, you don’t think he does, so if you can just get Jungkook away then everything might be alright. Sungho is most likely playing with his friends so he should be out of the way.
But things never have worked out for you, have they?
“The familial resemblance is uncanny,” the ahjumma says, and thankfully Jungkook does not seem to be listening to her at all, so if you could just get her to be quiet-
“He looks exactly like his nephew- oh! Sungho-yah! I was just talking about you!”
Your son runs through the door and is immediately trapped in Jungkook’s gaze.
They turn to you as one, and it makes your heart hurt. In his absence, you convinced yourself that Sungho does not look too much like his father, but faced with both of them looking at you it is impossible to deny. Jungkook, at least, certainly seems to understand without having to say a word.
“I saw a man coming into our home,” Sungho tells you, “so I came back.”
“Ah,” you crouch down and take your sons’ hands in yours, unable to resist the well-worn instinct to reassure your son even at this moment. “you don’t need to trouble yourself with this, Sungho-yah, just go back to your friends.”
Sungho risks another glance at Jungkook, whose facial expression seems to be frozen on you. “He looks scary, Eomma.”
At this, Jungkook regains some awareness and, after a moment, cracks a convincing smile. Well, convincing to anyone who doesn’t know him as well as you do. You’re surprised that you can still read his feelings easily after all these years. It gives you a strange feeling in your heart.
“Don’t worry… Sungho-yah,” Jungkook says awkwardly, visibly taking a moment to speak the name of his son for the first time. He softens slightly. “You don’t have to be scared of me at all. I would never hurt you.”
Sungho simply regards him with his little squint, and- oh, it’s the same face Jungkook always used to look at Taehyung with. You don’t even know why you remember that.
“Ah, Sunho-yah, don’t be rude to your uncle,” the ahjumma — presumably the only reason why Jungkook is keeping a tight lid on his anger right now — says, “you should tell him about your name-day celebrations!”
“His name-day?” Jungkook flicks his gaze to you carefully. “His fourth one?”
“Yes, of course!” The ahjumma replies, “Don’t you know the age of your own nephew?”
“I know, how reprehensible of me,” Jungkook tells her with an easy smile, which sharpens when directed at you. “Family should always know things like this, right?”
The ahjumma falters a little, finally beginning to sense the tension in the room. Sungho reaches for your hand and you take it, squeezing it reassuringly. Jungkook follows the motion with his eyes.
“Sorry, ahjumma, but I’d like to have some time alone with-” he smiles at you mockingly, “my sister.”
She mumbles her agreement and a moment later her and Sungho are bustling out of your house, leaving only you and Jungkook. Alone. Together.
Jungkook barely waits for them to be out of hearing range before slamming you against the wall. You open your mouth to explain but then Jungkook is kissing you and it’s too late.
You forgot what it was like to be kissed by him. Rainy days spent in libraries, picnics in the gardens of the palace, studying done under candlelight, all were made better with kisses traded between you and Jungkook. He grips you like you’re liable to run away again, and you can almost feel the bruises curving under the shape of his fingertips. That comforts you a little. Once he’s gone at least you’ll have a reminder for a few days of what it felt like to be touched.
He pulls away and you chase after his lips even though you really should focus on breathing. You feel all faint and fuzzy. Jungkook braces you firmly against the wall and looks you right in the eye, and his fury almost burns you.
“The one thing I asked of you,” Jungkook growls, “was to not run away. Not where I can’t find you. Not for five fucking years.”
“Your highness-”
He kisses you again. His kisses are nothing like what they once were. The desperation was always there, yes, but the fear, the insistence, the anger…
There are other changes too. The boy of eighteen who you abandoned has grown into a man. He towers over you even more than he did, and his arms can hold you much firmer with what seems like a lot less effort. Keeping you still almost seems like an afterthought as he ravages your mouth, like he’s trying to drag your heart out with its teeth.
He finally pulls away again and both of you are gasping for air. Old instincts make you rest your forehead on his shoulder. He tenses, and you almost apologise but then he’s wrapping both arms around you and squeezing like he’s never going to let go again. Like he’s never going to leave.
He presses a kiss against your head.
“Call me your highness again I will drag you back home by your hair.”
“Your highness-”
“I’m going to chain you to the bed so you can’t even try to run away.”
“Your highness-”
“All this time I thought you could be dead but no, you were just hiding-”
“Jungkook!” you yell, and he falls silent.
The two of you stand, intertwined in silence for a moment, before he reluctantly draws back. He still keeps his hands on you, afraid to let go even for a second, but he gives you enough distance to bend down and look you in the eye.
“I wasn’t…” you falter. He watches you silently. He’s so different now. He has a scar on his neck, like someone tried to slit his throat and they only just failed. He has lost the chubbiness that makes Sungho’s cheeks so perfect to pinch and kiss. But he’s still… your prince.
“I wasn’t abandoning you.”
Jungkook recoils like you’ve slapped him, turning to pace around the room. The absence of his touch is startling. “You were. You did.”
“I didn’t!” you insist, feeling almost petulant. “I helped you.”
“Helped me?” Jungkook gives an empty laugh. “You left me alone with no one to trust, in a situation where my father died and I had no allies to rely on.”
“You think a peasant queen would have won you allies?” you counter, and the look he gives you is full of contempt. “Jungkook, if you knew I was pregnant you would have married me.”
“Yes!” he declares earnestly, “I would have married you.” His expression flickers. “Would you have hated it so much?”
The anger in his voice does not hide the sorrow, or the self-deprecation.
And, even after all this time and everything that lies in between the two of you, you cross it all in that moment and embrace him. He lets you. You can feel his chest shudder as he takes in a deep breath and holds it.
“I wasn’t abandoning you,” you repeat, face pressed against his shoulder. “All I wanted was what was best for you.”
He pulls back to look you in the eye. “All I wanted was you.”
“Yes, but did you want Sungho?” you asked, but you regret it when you see the hurt that bleeds through his expression.
“You think I would have tried to harm him?”
“I… Jungkook, no-”
“You think I didn’t want a child with you?” He does it again, that empty laugh that is nothing like the old Jungkook. That’s what you did to him. “All I wanted was a family with you, to take care of you and our children, to provide for you and keep you safe.”
“But you couldn’t, Jungkook,” you persist, “the king would not have let you take me as your bride, nor would he have my son as the heir.”
“Well,” a resolute glint comes into Jungkook’s eye. “That king is dead. And now I can do whatever I want.”
He takes a step towards you. You take a step back.
“Your advisors won’t accept me as the queen,” you threaten. He shrugs.
“I’ll get new advisors.”
Another step.
“I don’t know how to be a queen.”
“You can learn.”
Another step.
“I’m not good enough.”
Your back hits the wall.
He leans in until you feel his breath hitting your cheek.
“You haven’t once said that you don’t love me.”
Your throat dries up.
“One would think,” he continues, “that love is the most important aspect in a marriage.” His nose brushes yours. “So?”
The way he phrases the question is almost casual, but one look in his eyes and you can see all the fear and pain and anger that’s working beneath the surface. Jungkook’s eyes have always been so expressive. You don’t know how you never truly understood him until now.
“I…” you start, about to lie, and you see his expression shutter. Just like back then, when the two of you were curled up on Jungkook’s window seat, looking out at the gardens. And Jungkook asked you if you had ever thought about what you were going to name your children.
Of course I haven’t, you laughed. Who thinks about something like that at our age?
Ah. Jungkook had said, and his expression shuttered a little, so you pushed yourself onto his lap and kissed his cheek, taking his face in your hands and squishing it a little.
Sorry, sorry, Jungkook-ah, I didn’t mean it like that. Tell me then, go on.
And he told you he would name his daughter Jiho and his son Sungho. Ji for justice and Sung for victory, with Ho as the generational name for both. Ho for protect, because he would always protect them. And he looked at you like he had just given you his heart and you kissed him and didn’t understand.
But now you do.
“I love you, Jungkook.”
The pure relief that washes over his face is too much to bear. You kiss him and he cradles you in his arms like something precious. You are something precious to him, you realise that now.
Later on, you’ll fetch Suho and introduce him to his father properly. Jungkook will know his son, and they’ll start to build the bond that you broke all those years ago. The three of you will journey back to the palace and live in comfort and security, rising every morning with the sun and watching the stars together at night.
For now, though, you let yourself be held. You finally accept the love Jungkook has been trying to give you this whole time, and realise that, despite the sacrifices and servitude and companionship you’ve dedicated to him in the name of his best interests… the best thing you could ever give him is yourself.
