Fight for You Epilogue (12)
12: Finale part 2: What happens when you learn to give love
Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader
Genre/Tags: established relationship - FFY couple; fluff, smut (18+)
Warnings: Adorable babies and cute family moments 🥺 talks of parenting, mentions of past child neglect, sexual content (making out, breast play, unprotective penetrative sex [please be safe!])
Word count: 5.1k
A/N: Aaaand this wraps up our FFY couple’s fairytale! I know it was a quick one that spanned many years in the story but I had to get these out and I’m really appreciative of all your support for this. It was lovely to write - especially this last one, which is a peek into their family life - and I’ve become so attached to them 😢 Here’s to the healing of all our scars and to being brave to give and accept love. 🥰🥰 Also, thank you to the anon who imagined dad jk in the grocery! Got a bit of that in here 😊
And finally, thank you to Ash @jimilter for this banner and for always being so lovely 🥰
Epilogue Series Masterlist || Previous || End
Jungkook stands helplessly as he watches his 2-year old son run around his bedroom on the hobby horse with his cowboy hat, the stick he’s riding seemingly not bothering him even if Jungkook always felt it was too long.
“Hee-ya!” He says in his tiny voice, kicking the stick with the side of his foot, and much as Jungkook wants to coo and tell his son how adorable he is, he’s trying to be firm.
“Ji-hun, come on, it’s time for bed,” Jungkook says, blocking his son’s way as he goes for another round, but the little one goes another direction, having so much space in his own room.
“If you keep running, you’ll sweat and you might get sick, and mommy and daddy don’t like it when you get sick,” Jungkook says, sighing in desperation, as they've been on this for 30 minutes now.
But it’s what gets Ji-hun to stop, and he looks up at his dad with sad eyes and a pout, sullenly removing his hat and placing the horse stick toy on the side.
Jungkook picks him up and kisses his forehead. “There you go, my little prince. Let’s get you to sleep.”
As he’s about to place the little one on the bed, Ji-hun raises his arms. “Weee! Daddy, weee!”
Jungkook grumbles as he knows what his son wants, asking this of him every time he’s in his father’s arms.
“You get so hyper when I do that. You won’t be able to sleep.”
The 2-year old doesn’t really understand, but he knows his father’s unhappy face, so he pouts again.
The two go through this almost every night, and it’s often a cycle of telling Ji-hun to sleep but the latter doing a bunch of other things before he settles in bed, and Jungkook - even if he resists at the start - gives in. He throws the little one up twice, causing Ji-hun to squeal and laugh, and it’s a sound Jungkook will never tire of hearing.
Ji-hun is finally tucked under the covers, smiling now, and Jungkook chuckles. “You’re like your mommy, you know that? Pouting to get away with everything and to get what you want.”
“Is that a complaint?” You ask playfully, prompting Jungkook to turn around to find you leaning on the door, laughing. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who lets me get away with things and gives me what I want when I pout.”
“It’s because you’re too good at it, and this little prince is getting good at it, too,” Jungkook says.
“It’s because you’re weak for us, babe,” you tease, kneeling beside him.
“Go to sleep now, jellybean. Sweet dreams. I love you,” you kiss your son’s forehead, with Jungkook doing the same after, whispering “I love you” in his son’s ears.
Ji-hun smiles, squeals “I wuv you, mommy and daddy,” then closes his eyes, and it’s one of those moments that Jungkook treasures and thinks about all the time, especially when he’s tired or upset at work.
You take his hand and walk out quietly.
“Seriously, our son is deceitful. He tricked us by barely crying when he was born and now he won’t keep still,” Jungkook whines. “I don’t know how many rounds of ‘go to bed’ we’ll have every night before he actually goes to bed.”
“Maybe just like his spoiled mom, he likes to annoy you, too,” you cock an eyebrow, stopping in the middle of the hallway to give him a hug.
He wraps his arms around your waist and laughs. “I mean it though, he takes after you so much.”
“He does, it’s pretty amazing. I think it was all the times I cried and whined and pouted and couldn’t keep still when I was pregnant with him,” you say, recalling that whole 9-month period of you going over all the emotions expected of a first-time pregnancy.
It wasn’t easy. Conceiving Ji-hun wasn’t easy to begin with, and the frustration and worry carried over to when he finally came out of you.
Your mood swings and cravings were pretty intense, but Jungkook, as he promised you during the times you were most scared, held your hand through it all, cradled you to sleep, gave you baths, drove to the convenience store, and cooked up something in the middle of the night to satisfy your needs and wants. He never complained, too, as he’d caress your cheeks and kiss you softly when you cried, reminding you of how strong you are and how beautiful the little human you were carrying was.
“Yup, and now, whining and pouting is all he does,” Jungkook chuckles. “But you’re right. I’m so weak for him. It’s not fair.”
“He’s our child, babe. It’s normal,” you kiss his lips. “Now let’s go to bed, we’ve got a long day tomorrow.”
“Is Hyun-joo asleep?”
“Yeah, cried and sucked me dry before she did, though,” you laugh. “Kinda like you.”
Jungkook scowls, earning him a laugh, but he heads to the nursery and you know, like every night, he wants to look at his daughter one last time.
You swoon at him smiling tenderly at the little girl you gave birth to just 6 months ago. You hadn’t planned on having her so soon, but the news felt different that time when it wasn’t something you were expecting. But she came out perfectly, and Ji-hun was the curious older brother who was so amused at the tiny human you always held.
“Sleep well, my little princess,” Jungkook whispers, grazing her plump little cheeks with his finger.
He always enjoys doing this, watching his daughter sleep so peacefully, her tiny body wrapped in a blanket and looking so delicate and perfect.
“Good night, pumpkin. Please sleep until 6AM, at least,” you plead.
Jungkook giggles and leads you out to head to your bedroom. “I wonder what food you’ll crave that you’ll name our next baby after.”
“Muffin? Pudding? Dumpling? Depends on how good you make them. Your pumpkin soup was to die for, babe.”
“I mean, I had to make them everyday for weeks, of course I’d perfect it,” he reminds you, saying he wanted to be the one to do it instead of Mrs. Hwang so he could share in the responsibility of the pregnancy. “But none of what you said is easy to make so let’s go with something similar to jellybean or you know, fruits!” He teases.
You get a laugh in, as what you both need.
Your evenings really begin once the kids are asleep. Despite having your own home offices, during times like this, you and Jungkook prefer to do your work next to each other either on your bed or your couch.
“I miss fucking then going straight to bed after a long day,” you sigh as you type away on your laptop.
“So do I,” Jungkook looks up at you from his. “We could get a round in after?”
You smile in agreement, knowing that his amazing stamina always allows him to have enough energy for it every night; it’s you who gets tired so easily or falls asleep right away, but he never points it out.
It’s 3 hours later when you finally turn off your laptop and lie in bed, next to Jungkook and his bare chest that you just want to snuggle and kiss. But you’re exhausted from the whole week and your body is sore from trying to make a perpetually restless Ji-hun eat his dinner, and from breastfeeding Hyun-joo who still feeds so much off you that it’s draining. You look up at your husband with a pout and he cups your cheek as he laughs.
“It’s okay, angel, come here.” He pulls you close and cuddles you how you want, kissing your forehead and caressing the thigh that’s placed over his. “I’m tired, too. We can always do it another time.”
Jungkook looks up, scouring for the brand of almond flour he needs, parting some of the boxes to check the depths of the shelf in case he missed it.
“Do you need some help?” An unfamiliar yet perky and high-pitched voice calls out.
Jungkook turns to see a young woman wearing gym attire. She’s not a clerk so he’s unsure how she could assist him.
She seems to pick this up from his furrowed eyebrows and confused look, as she continues, “I work at a bakery, I might know what you’re looking for.”
“I’m alright, thanks,” he nods then turns to Hyun-joo who’s currently strapped on the carrier he’s wearing, facing him.
“Okay, princess. They don’t have the brand I like, so I’ll just go with this one,” he says, taking one of the boxes, ready to head out.
“Your baby is beautiful. She’s got such pretty eyes and a cute nose,” the woman giggles.
Jungkook doesn’t miss the way she eyes him as she says it, the lip-biting and hair-tucking giving her away.
“She is, isn’t she? She takes after my wife, actually,” he smiles, patting Hyun-joo’s cute little head.
“Let’s go look for mommy,” he tells his daughter, not bothering to glance at the woman, though he hears her sigh and turn away.
He sees you at the end of the aisle pushing the cart with Mrs. Hwang, giggling to each other as he approaches.
“Are you two gossiping about me?” Jungkook cocks his eyebrow.
“Yes, we are, sweetie,” Mrs. Hwang says. “It’s entertaining to watch strangers approach you and then walk away defeated. Your charms are truly unmatched,” she laughs.
“I can’t believe I snagged you before the rest of the female population did,” you tease.
“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes. “She looked so young, probably in her early twenties or something.”
“You don’t look that far from that age, babe. But like I’ve told you, it’s the dilf look,” you smirk, and he rolls his eyes in response.
Jungkook’s boyish features have always made him look younger than he really is, but all the changes have added to that youthful vibe, too. Jin told you once that his friend has this glow - Jungkook smiles a lot more, looks less intimidating when he doesn’t, and he just has this relaxed aura, a complete 180 to how he used to be. And you can’t agree more.
He’s still just as handsome, though, or even more, as you seem to rub off on his wardrobe choice, looking less like a man ready to fight anyone and more like a responsible and loving husband and father. The navy blue collarless blazer over his plain tee and sweatpants - and maybe your daughter strapped to his front - definitely help, though, as he looks mature yet youthful. It’s no wonder he gets as much attention as he does.
“Okay, I think we have everything we need for the next 2 weeks,” Mrs. Hwang informs you, and you all proceed to the counter to check out all the groceries.
It’s one of the things you insisted on after Ji-hun started to get older. There are things you want to do as a family, even if you don't really need to, like do the groceries, go to the park, and visit flea markets. Jungkook said that’s more exposure for your family, but you’d said you wanted your kids to experience things beyond your own house, something you got to do very little of when you were younger.
You’re on your way out when Ji-hun, who’s currently comfortably wrapped around your hips, squeals in excitement.
“Star! Mommy, I want star!”
He points towards a kiosk selling dalgona, with the shapes of the sugar candy out on display. You’re about to head to the vendor, giddy at the thought of eating it, as you only ever did when you were with Hoseok and Yoongi when you were young.
But Jungkook’s “not for you, little prince” stops you.
You turn to your husband with a pout. “Just one? He seems to like the star-shaped piece.”
“___, that’s literally sugar and oil. That’s too sweet for him.”
“What yummy things aren't made of sugar and oil?” You retort. “I’ll give him small pieces, then. I’ll buy it for myself.”
“He’ll try to take it from you and then he’ll flutter his eyelashes and pout and you’ll give it to him!”
You frown but don’t take it too hard; you know your husband’s right.
“Mommy! Star! Pwease I want star!”
You sigh and know you need to let your son down today, but Jungkook repeats his earlier statement and Ji-hun’s lips start to quiver.
Jungkook’s used to this, too, as your son seems to run on an endless supply of sugar, which is why you and Jungkook try to limit his actual intake. Ji-hun is always running around, falling on his butt, hitting things, jumping on tables, and screaming while doing all those. It’s normal for his age, you remind Jungkook, but he tends to be a little too cautious sometimes. It’s the middle of the day and Ji-hun’s already had his butter cookies earlier after breakfast; Jungkook thinks that’s enough sweets for today.
“Come here,” he says, switching kids with you, leaving a now sleepy Hyun-joo in your arms.
He hugs your son as you all enter the van. “We’ll get your star tomorrow, okay?”
Ji-hun just nods, sniffing as he feels he’s been scolded by his father, given the multiple times that Jungkook said “no.”
Jungkook looks stressed as he massages his son’s back, feeling bad at having to keep turning him down.
“He’ll be fine, babe,” you take your husband’s hand. “Don’t think too much about it. We still have that interview with the bodyguard and chauffeur applicants. Let’s focus on that,” you remind him. “Just don’t scare them like you did the last time, okay?”
He frowns at your statement.
“I didn’t scare them. I was assessing them. It's normal. It’s what your father did with me.”
“I know for a fact that my father at least smiled at you that day. You don’t. Ever.”
“They need to know who they’re dealing with if they screw up at the job,” Jungkook says.
“They went through your training academy. I’m sure they’re great. It’s the personality we’re looking at, remember? That’s what you said.”
“Yeah, but…” Jungkook sighs, not knowing what else to say. “Let’s just head home and prepare.”
The applicants were good, as were the last times you did interviews but Jungkook was never satisfied. You’re not quite sure what he’s looking for, but you let him take the lead, as he definitely knows more than you do.
You both decided to assign Mr. Sim and Namjoon to your kids as the people you trust with your children’s lives, so those applying are for you. Jungkook has been stressing himself about it lately; it seems like a lot of things have.
It’s late in the night, after you’ve put the kids to bed and you had your bath that you find him in his office, reading documents with his serious face on.
“What you doing, babe?” You enter and lean on his desk.
“Going over some more applicants,” he says, pushing aside a stack of papers and looking up at you. “They don’t seem to be a good fit for you.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not in a rush, right?” You smile.
“I’m on a timeline, Ms. Vice President,” he says.
“So that’s why you’re nitpicking? Because my father told you that he’ll be promoting me and that’s gonna make me more vulnerable?”
“I’m not nitpicking,” he furrows his brows. “I just… I just wanna make sure that whoever we’ll get will do their job right and will protect you because I won’t be able to do that as much, especially with your new role.”
“Okay, first of all, that promotion isn’t until at least a year from now, so we’ve got time. And secondly, whoever we’ll get will do their job as instructed and you, my wonderful husband, will do all the loving and caring for me. The protecting aspect is integrated in the whole husband thing, I guess, but it’s not a separate role.”
He laughs, knowing you have a point.
“I really liked the woman from last week,” you say. “She’s smart and such a bad-ass. Scarier than you, actually. Less obvious, too, since she could easily blend in as my friend.”
“Makes sense. I’ll look more into her.”
“Okay, great! But again, no rush. We don’t need to do reassignments yet since Ji-hun isn’t starting school soon. We could work around the schedules easily,” you say, sitting on his lap at his invitation.
“I guess, but speaking of which,” he says excitedly. “I’ve started to look at schools for him and I’ve found some good ones. They’re safe and reported high percentages of the kids moving up to prestigious elementary…”
He trails, curious of your frown. “What’s wrong, angel?”
“Do you think that maybe we could slow down a bit? Ji-hun is just 2 and he’s still enjoying being a child.”
“We could still plan it out early though, right?”
“Yeah but that’ll influence what we make him do or try out and he’s just been trying out everything. I mean, he could be a professional athlete because he never runs out of energy and just chases Hoseok everywhere. He’s been digging up holes in the garden, too, and I can’t figure out if he wants to plant something or find something,” you laugh. “He’s been enjoying listening to Yoongi play the piano, and helping Mrs. Hwang in the kitchen, watching the fish in the pond…”
“He does, doesn’t he? He goes from one thing to another,” Jungkook chuckles.
“It’s so adorable and it’s been fun exploring all his likes and dislikes with him, don’t you think? It’s been fun watching him be a kid, playing around until past his bedtime, eating sweets…” you cock an eyebrow, and Jungkook knows what you mean.
He’s a stickler for rules ever since, and you knew he’d be laying them down for your kids, too. It’s not much of a surprise, and it’s not that bad - you know he just wants the best for them, but you also wish that Jungkook would enjoy this whole parenting thing as much as you are.
“Am I being too much?” He asks after a while.
“Hmm, maybe just a tiny bit,” you turn to him and giggle.
“Not the fun dad you imagined, huh?” His smile immediately fades.
“But you are!” You exclaim, shifting on his lap so you could look at him better. “You let Ji-hun put all those clothespins on your hair and face and he doesn’t stop laughing. You let him climb on you like you’re some tower, ride on your back and call you dinosaur…” you remind your husband. “Look, I know it’s a struggle, wanting to make sure he doesn’t get sick, wanting to protect him even from the smallest things, making sure he has everything he needs very early on… I want that, too.”
“I just… I just wanna make sure we’re not lacking in anything,” Jungkook sighs. “I mean, I was running around the market and rundown alleyways unattended, I’d go home with scratches on my arms from falling somewhere, my teacher was the one who noticed they were infected,” he recalls. “I didn’t know drinking coffee as a 10 year old was bad, I hated vegetables… I hated school because I lagged behind… My childhood was reckless because my father didn’t care, didn’t give me anything. And I just want to make sure I do it right with our kids this time.”
“And you are doing it right,” you assure him. “Baby, my parents gave me everything I needed so I never asked for anything anymore. They just gave it all. But they never hugged me to sleep nor laughed with me, cooked me food, or told me they loved me.”
You cup his cheeks and turn him to face you. “We can protect them and help them grow but still let them play, have fun, enjoy things; we can let them learn with us. We’ll still set the rules but they’ll follow out of trust and love for us, not out of fear or a need for approval. Don’t you think that’s how we could get it right?”
He nods, knowing that approach is based on experience - a combination of what you both lacked growing up, and something you want to make sure you give to your children.
“You’re so good at this,” he mumbles, burying his head in your neck.
“So are you, Jungkook. We’re both new to this, we’re figuring it out as we go but we at least know what not to do.”
He nods again. You know deep down, what Jungkook fears the most is his children not loving him, not trusting him, and you know that can’t be further from the truth.
You wrap your arms around him for comfort. “Our son adores you. Our daughter adores you. Ji-hun loves riding his hobby horse because he keeps watching that video of you in Spain riding a real one. He’s always got his doe eyes and he squeals in excitement every time. And Hyun-joo flutters her eyelashes whenever she hears your voice, did you know that? I think that’s her identifying you.”
“Do you mean those? You’re not just saying them so I’ll stop moping?” He peers at you.
“I mean them. You’re doing great, Jungkook, we both are,” you kiss his lips softly. “Grow up with our child, okay babe? Let’s do that with both of them.”
He nods with a smile this time. “I’m still a little sad, though. Can you give me another kiss?”
You give in, pressing into him deeply, then another, and another, until he’s gripping onto your waist and you’re holding onto his neck and you get lost in each other’s lips, as if to remind the other of the love that created your precious prince and princess. It’s that same love that’ll raise them to be happy and kind people, like what you and Jungkook wished for them when they were born.
The light seeps through the blinds and you barely make out the time on the clock. It’s 7AM but you feel like you haven’t gotten proper sleep. Your make-out session with your husband last night only escalated to feeling each other up until you both had to stop because Hyun-joo cried and it took a while for her to get back to sleep.
She woke up again in the middle of the night, prompting you to do the same, and you feel like you’d finally gotten close to your deep sleep but she starts crying once more. Jungkook gets to it first, whispering that there’s stored milk he could give her in case she’s hungry.
He returns to bed with his arm wrapped around you and you mindlessly ask what it was.
“She was hungry but then she pooped right away. It was nasty.”
You snort at this, making you be a bit more awake.
“Thank you, though. I didn’t have the energy to get up earlier,” you mumble.
“I know, my fingers could do that to you,” he teases.
You don’t mind the cockiness though, since he says it with that deep, morning voice of his. And well, because he’s also right.
“Oh, I know, babe,” you moan, imagining the feel of his rough hands on you from last night.
“Yeah?” He whispers in your ear, that grunt turning you on.
You nod, starting to feel his dick poking your back, and your grinding on it turns the switch for him.
His tender kisses on your neck turn heated. His gentle strokes on your waist become desperate - one hand wraps around you to move towards your breast and another to your cunt; the moans get louder and deeper, too.
He pulls you closer, removes his boxers, and slips inside you from behind. You thrust against each other languidly, as your movements slow down. The pleasure is in the relaxed pace, as making love to him this way - after a restless night, some pillow talk, and another reminder of your love for each other - heightens the sensation. The pressure starts to build and right when you feel yourself reaching your climax, you hear Hyun-joo cry again.
“Fuck,” you whine, and it’s not from the orgasm you didn’t reach.
Jungkook slows down and the responsibility to your child breaks the mood.
“I’ll get her,” he says, slowly slipping out of you.
“No, it’s okay. She’s probably teething or something, or maybe just hungry again,” you pant, already missing Jungkook, but getting out of bed to put on your robe.
“Go back to sleep, babe. We can continue later.”
You rush to the nursery next door and take your daughter in your arms, who cries a little bit more but calms down after you rock her in the chair. You feed her, thinking she’s hungry again and it’s the tiny hand that rests gently on your chest that tells you that she is and also in need of your touch.
“There you go, my precious jewel,” you smile, the tiredness melting away at the sight of your little girl looking so peaceful so close to you.
You love bonding with her like this, and you can’t wait to grow up with her, too.
The door opens and in comes Jungkook, and you could feel him smiling softly at this sight as well. He likes to do that, you’ve noticed. He loves watching your intimate moments with your children.
“Everything okay?” He asks.
“Yeah, she just missed me,” you smile.
Jungkook takes the small chair next to you and rubs Hyun-joo’s little arms to help her fall asleep.
Silence overtakes the room, but then the other baby monitor lights up, signaling that Ji-hun’s awake, too.
Your husband stands up, kisses your forehead, and heads out the door.
It’s a while later when he returns with the little boy clinging on to his torso like a koala.
“He keeps saying I’m the tree from his favorite book,” Jungkook whispers.
You quietly laugh and greet your son good morning with a kiss.
“Mommy, I’m hungwee,” he says, scratching his sleepy eyes with his tiny hands.
You turn to Jungkook, who knows he’s got some making up to do.
“Do you want some star-shaped pancakes, big boy?”
Ji-hun nods excitedly. “Ice cweam, daddy!”
You laugh at your son testing Jungkook immediately, but you know your husband knows what to do.
“Okay but just a bit, alright? We’ll share a cup.”
You know the little one doesn’t fully understand but he nods happily at the word okay and his father’s smiling face. He kisses Jungkook’s cheeks and your husband’s smile is such a heavenly sight.
“Does my wife have any requests?” He turns to you.
“Fluffy chocolate pancakes for me, please,” you flutter your eyelashes.
He frowns, knowing that Ji-hun will be begging for the chocolate chips, too, but Jungkook still manages a laugh.
“Okay, angel. I’ll see you downstairs.”
You watch them go and your eyes focus on Hyun-joo, wincing at the slight pain of her sucking.
It’s half an hour later when Mrs. Hwang peeks inside.
“Your boys are going at it again downstairs,” she giggles.
“What now?” You laugh.
“Ji-hun keeps saying he’s hungry but won’t let his father go. Jungkook can’t make the pancakes with your son hanging onto him,” she narrates amusingly. “I’m thinking maybe you could referee the two.”
“That little boy is so clingy. He’s really like me,” you muse, giving Hyun-joo to Mrs. Hwang.
“So much like you,” she affirms. “I’ll take care of her. Go ahead.”
You rush downstairs and immediately hear Ji-hun squealing and Jungkook panicking. Your son, currently dangling in his high-chair, is attempting to get down while your husband is holding the mixing bowl on one hand and pulling the little one with the other.
“I want daddy!” Ji-hun screams.
“How’re the pancakes going?” You tease Jungkook.
“It’s not going,” he frowns. “Can you please tell him that I can’t carry him while I cook on the stove?”
He looks desperate to get the food done but doesn’t want to let your son down again.
“He just wants to be close to you,” you smile, taking the little one from the high-chair and carrying him in your arms, facing him forward.
“Now go cook and we’ll stay next to you.”
Jungkook follows and heads to pour the batter on the star-shaped cookie cutter while you and your son stand close to your husband, Ji-hun’s eyes wide in amusement.
“Isn’t daddy so good?” You ask the now tempered little one, who squeals like he understands it.
“Okay, now give him a kiss as a thank you,” you instruct the boy in your arms.
He raises his arms and plants a wet kiss on Jungkook’s cheeks once he gets close, and Jungkook does the same, earning him a happier squeal from the little one this time.
Your husband laughs and turns to you with his soft eyes.
“You always know what to do,” he says. “I couldn’t keep him still earlier.”
“He loves affection, especially when it’s from you.”
The thought warms Jungkook. Being needed like that by his own child feels different, satisfying, fulfilling. More than anything, he’s happy that he’s able to give that love and affection to your children, something you both didn’t have growing up, and something you promised each other you’ll always provide to them.
He looks at you, cuddling Ji-hun as you both wait for Jungkook to finish the pancakes, and he feels like he’s on top of the world like always.
You created this home that's safe and nurturing for the two little treasures you both created. And knowing that he gets to have this everyday makes him feel like a superhuman of all sorts, like what you tell him all the time.
He’s not just someone. He’s your pillar of strength and guiding light. He’s Ji-hun and Hyun-joo’s hero, their blanket of warmth, their shield of protection.
Mrs. Hwang comes down with a now-awake Hyun-joo. You take her in your arms while Jungkook takes Ji-hun in his, and you all enjoy the breakfast he made, with all of you smiling and laughing together, as a family. Jungkook thinks there’s absolutely nothing that could be better than this. He has you and your children, all of whom are love personified. He knows he deserves all this, and he’ll give and receive love happily for the rest of his life.
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Warnings: rape/nonconsensual sex, violence, power imbalance, manipulation, coercion.
This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.
Summary: Princess Madeline has left her homeland to marry a king. On her journey, she has brought her most trusted handmaiden. Little do either of them know how perilous their new home will be.
Note: We get more of this bastard and I can’t even promise that he’s gonna get any better.
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!
The king reluctantly let you off his lap with a brusque order that you wait for him in the bedchamber. You were obedient, weak. You went without protest but what more could you do? Even a queen like Madeline could not defy the king and you feared, your own missteps might come down on her.
He was not long after you. You sat on the foot of the bed, legs folded and wrapped in your arms as you shivered. As he entered, you lowered your chin. His footsteps paced around you as the rustle of fabric rained around him. He was quiet as he approached and you averted your eyes from his naked legs.
He took your hands and pulled your arms from your knees. He urged you onto your back and knelt between your legs. He sidled you further up the bed and held himself over you, his warmth flowing into you. His hot breath tickled your cheek.
"You are thinking of your queen," he asserted.
You looked away guiltily and your chest fell. You felt the world growing smaller beneath him as the power of his figure confined you against the coverlet. You pressed your hands to his chest where they were pinned by his weight.
"I might think of her, your majesty, but you are my king," you uttered, "I serve you first and foremost. I know that now… now that you've corrected my error."
"You are skilled at pliant words, mouse," he purred and hooked his arms beneath you, "show me what else I've taught you."
He rolled over and scooped you up atop him. You felt him growing hard beneath you as you leaned on his chest. His large hands covered yours and crawled up your arms and down your sides. He gripped your hips, fingertips pressed along the edge of your rear.
"Do you believe you might convince me to spare her?" He squeezed, "can you make me believe you love me above her as you swear? Or have you lied to your king?" He slid his hands down along your thighs, "do you know that is an offense against the crown?"
"I… I will love you, my king, I do love you," your throat constricted as you forced the words from it, "please, I… I do."
"Then show me, mouse," he pushed you down as his length pressed firm to your folds, "show me how much you truly love me."
You kept your lip from quivering and laced your fingers in the thick hair over his chest. He was an admirable man to the eyes but you knew him to be sinister to the core. He'd proven that to you but you were only a servant, thus were you not bound to serve him? When Madeline did marry him, you became as much his as she did.
You trailed your hand down the line of his muscles and closed your eyes as your fingers closed around his member. You raised yourself as you put his tip to your cunt and suddenly his hand was at your chin.
"Look at me," he demanded.
You open your eyes as you ease yourself onto him. His gaze falls to the joining of your flesh and he groans as you sink lower. Your nails dig into the muscle along his chest as you pull your hand from beneath your pelvis. You mewl as you take all of him, the angle letting him deeper than ever.
"Oh, Lord," he gasped and framed your waist with one hand, his other thumb pressing into the crease of your thigh, "that's it, mouse."
You tilt and another moan escapes you as your bud rubs flush against his pelvis. You latch onto his burly arm as you rock, your motion fed by the blooming flames on your core. Your breath wisps out as you gulp for air, overwhelmed by shame and pleasure at battle in your loins.
His fingers curled into your hip as he coaxed you faster, long fingers spread over your stomach as he admired you.
"Say you love me again," he rasped, "you do, don't you?"
"I love you," you puffed.
"Again," he grunted.
You repeated the empty words as he begged to hear them again and again. He moved his hips in time with yours as he sat up, shaking his arms up your back and gripping your shoulders as he guided you in his lap. Your sweaty chests stuck together as he nuzzled his beard into the crook of your neck.
He hissed and hummed as his body tensed and he held you down. He spasmed as he clung to you and his seed spilled into you hotly. He quaked and drew you with him as fell onto his back, panting.
"Mouse, I would kill for you," he exhaled each word, "I would rid us both of my wife."
You winced and lifted your head to gape down at him. You searched his face, swallowed by his smoky eyes beneath his dark lashes.
"And if I asked you to keep her alive," you whispered, "if I swore my life to you to save hers, is that not a testament to my love for you?"
"But why would you want her to remain if you love me?" He wondered as he cradled your face.
"She is my friend, my king, but you… you are my love," you almost convinced yourself as you spoke, "I've known the queen my whole life but I promise the rest of it to you, but I could not live knowing mine was given in her place. But I will live as you will have me, however you wish it to be."
"I prefer to live only inside you, my love," he stroked your cheek with his thumb, "but I shall settle for this night and sleep upon my thoughts."
"Thank you, my king," you lowered yourself and kissed his lips, a kiss sour with the taste of wine, "consider my loyalty and that as diligent as I've been in the name of the queen, I will now be thus for you."
"Hmm, I deign to believe it as you hold her still at heart," he caressed your neck and shoulder, "I will let my own guide my verdict. You must accept that her offenses against me cannot be stomach lightly. She wrote as good as treason in that ink."
"She is young and afraid," you touched his beard delicately and his cheek twitched. He leaned into your fingers and smiled. "As am I, my king, for I know I can never be your queen and you must know that. Another queen would not… permit us, would she?"
He narrowed his eyes and put his hand over yours. He kissed your fingers and marveled at them.
"You are wise," he praised, "and gentle…" he took your hand and pushed your fingers through his locks, "and I am sorry I hurt you. I was… taken so by my temper." He let go of you and purred as your nails grazed his scalp, "did you mean it? Do you truly love me?"
"I wouldn't lie to a king," you avowed, "I only feared to say it before as I did serve the queen. I haven't the stature to speak outwardly my whims."
"And I did not consider it, how low, how weak your position, and I see by her letter my wife has a cruel will," he sighed and embraced you, "better we bear it together. At last."
"At last, my king," you said as your head rested on his shoulder. You hoped it was enough, you prayed. If your deceit could spare Madeline, you would tell a thousand lies, "and forever. I am yours."
You were tender when at last morning came and the king relinquished you from his grasp. He lingered much of the night inside you, at times he fucked you, others he snored in your ear but remained snug between your walls. You felt a void when he did climb off of you but it was much deeper than your cunt.
The king draped himself in a robe and called an attendant. He disappeared into the receiving chamber and the scratch of nib and parchment followed. He returned after a low, indefinable directive was issued. You sat up as he drank from a goblet and neared the side of the bed.
"I have thought on it," he said, "I will not act against the queen hastily, perhaps instead it is better to extend mercy, or at the least, a truce."
You watched him, astounded. He never offered much explanation or reasoning. He just did as he wished and that was that.
"We will to Lofting as the court proceeds to Hariskil," he turned and sat as he swirled the wine, "we will… discuss and see if she might cast aside her conspiracy and perhaps we might overcome this ill will."
Your confusion pounded in your ears but you said nothing. He changed almost completely. He was calm and cool, he seemed, almost, amenable. You might dare to call him kind.
You chewed your lip, too afraid to overstep.
"Ask," he said as he turned to face you.
"My king,” you began, “might I ask why we won’t travel with the court?”
“You may,” his lips slanted, “Lofting is my mother’s family hold and it is customary to lay a wreath there upon our progress. It is a private affair among the royal family and a ripe opportunity for privacy in convening with my wife and queen. As you girded last night, I cannot toss her aside, even for you. You are but a maid …” a frown played at the corner of his lips, “Alas, I must try to be a dutiful husband. Even if it pains me so.”
“My king,” you breathed in shock.
“It means we must keep this secret between us,” He reached over to touch the curve of your leg as it rounded the coverlet, “you cannot let her know of our love. I can play the part of king and you can be her maid but she cannot know any more than that.”
“I don’t… understand,” you searched his face.
“We will continue this in hidden chambers and quiet whispers,” he squeezed your hand, “I can behave for my wife but not without you.”
You knew there had to be a boon. The price for Madeline’s head was the betrayal of her heart. Let her hate you should she ever find out but let her be alive.
“I will not tell,” you said as you resisted pulling away, “I will do whatever you wish, my king. For you and the kingdom.”
“I am terribly sorry of all that came before, of the things I had to do… for our love,” he inched his hand away hesitantly, “you must dress and go to your queen. I have had Lord Barnes inform her of this redirection and your return to her service.”
“Your majesty,” you lowered your chin.
“Mouse, “ he stood and bent to kiss your crown, “hurry, for every second without you will be little more than torture.”
He pulled down the blanket and took you by the elbow. He helped you out of the bed and let his hand drift down your side. His eyes followed his touch and he bit his lip. You tried not to shy away and he slowly backed away. He went to the chest where a wool dress awaited you, a cap and apron over a pair of stocking and shoes.
“I had another fetch proper attire,” he said as he fingered the edge of the cap, “no matter how many layers conceal your figure, I cannot help but see it.”
“Your majesty,” you approached him cautiously.
“My king, please,” he looked up, “I do prefer to hear it from your tongue.”
He heaved and outstretched his arms. Before you knew it, he swept you up and carried you back to the bed. He fell atop you and hummed.
“Mouse, I cannot resist. A little longer before you go,” he peered down at you coyly, “one last romp before we must hide again.
You made your lips curve, mustered a mask of happiness and gently touched the stitching along his robe. “My king, I will do whatever you… whatever your heart bids.”
“Mmm, and it bids me to you,” he pet your head as he rubbed the tip of his nose to yours, “I knew it, mouse, from the moment I saw you. The way you lingered by the wall, watching wantingly, enviously as you princess stole every gaze in the room. All but mine. I saw you and you saw me.”
“Yes, your majesty,” you surrendered, “I recall that day. You looked fine indeed. The most striking man I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, and how you must have felt misery to think I could never be yours,” he pecked your lips quickly, “but behold us this day and I cannot think of any but you.”
Your lips trembled and you sniffed without thinking. His forehead creased as his hand crept down your neck.
“What is it, mouse? You look distraught,” he said.
“It is bittersweet, is it not?” you quavered, “that is why I seem so.”
His fingertips danced along your throat as he watched you. You focused on the way your stomach roiled and chest knotted. You fought to keep it all within as he moved to kiss your collarbone and ventured down to the rise of your bosom.
“Let me cheer you one last time,” he swirled his tongue around your nipple, “these coming days will be long…” he nipped, “tiresome…” he suckled and purred, “lonely…” he teased and fondled you, “painful.”
“My king,” you ran your fingers over his hair, “they will pass.”
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Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; violence; criminal activity; alcohol; PTSD; threats, blood, humiliation, grief. Read at your own risk
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. It features Tommy Shelby x reader. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Synopsis: when your father went away to serve in The Great War, you took over his side business in the shed. After the war, he struggles to recover from the damage of his trauma as an unexpected investor shows up at your door.
Note: Yay, it’s Friday! Let’s hate on Tommy.
Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!
You set the plate back in the cupboard as you sense Thomas stand and you glance over as he swigs the last of his whiskey. You close the wooden cabinet as he checks his watch and glances over at the window. He puts the glass down and his blue eyes slowly wander over to you.
"Well," he says, "I've enough of wasting time. As amusing as you are, I am well past impatient."
You look at him dully as you turn back to put away the fork in the drawer and hang the cloth back on its peg. You hear his soles as he comes closer and sense him beside you. He touches the small of your back, just below the knot of the apron. He tugs the string and looses the fabric so it hangs from your front.
"Let's not make this difficult," his breath tickles your cheek, "you've already made certain to make it insufferable."
You glare at the wall as he brushes his hand along the edge of the apron and lifts it over your head. He drops it so it crumples at your feet. Your hands balls and your nails dig into your palms. His fingertips dance along your arm and across your stomach. He hums and moves behind you.
You tense and he grips the edge of the counter, closing you in as he nuzzles your neck. You grit your teeth and stare at the mortar between the brickwork. His hands frame your hips as his lips send a chill down your spine. You swallow and try not to think.
He traces along the band of your brassiere and stretches his fingers over the curve of your tits. He squeezes and wiggles his crotch against you. You inhale sharply as he pulls down the flimsy bra and tweaks your nipples. You wince and brace yourself as he nips at your neck.
"You're fighting hard, eh?" He growls into your skin, "I feel the goosebumps."
He lets his fingers trail back down your side and pokes his fingers in the top of your underwear. He shimmies them down slowly and a strike of anger sears your skin. You grab the counter and shove yourself back into him, knocking him away.
You barely keep from tripping as your knickers slip to your knees. You spin to face him and swing and elbow. You catch his shoulder and push him with all your weight. The cotton slips from your ankles as you collide, almost completely naked.
You can't help yourself, you have to fight. You saw the smug glimmer in his eye, heard the same in his voice. You know that he will take everything from you and no measure of complacency will keep him from doing so.
He staggers and grabs onto you as he falls back. He takes you down with him as he lands on his back and the breath wheezes from his throat. He keeps his arms locked around you as he gulps at air and coughs.
"You stubborn bitch," he hisses as you wriggle atop him, "shit, you don't stop, do ya?"
He rolls over suddenly and pins you to the floor, legs splayed around him as he stretches a hand across your throat. You hit his shoulder then aim at his face. He straightens his arm as he keeps you against the floor and you croak from the pressure of his grip.
He snarls as you flail and thrash. His fingers stab painfully into the side of your neck and you grab onto the lapel of his jacket.
"Kill me, you fucking coward," your throat whistles as you gasp, "you fucking grimy piece of--"
"Shut the fuck up," he grunts as he blows a dark strand out of his face, "I was willing to make it easy. You asked for this."
"Tell yourself-- whatever-- you like," you gristle through your tight throat, "I don't want you-- Thom--as."
His lip curls as he squeezes your throat to silence and picks frantically at the front of his trousers. Your vision speckles with silver and black, the haze of his figure squirming between your legs as he mutters darkly.
You grasp his wrist as you feel him between your legs, his hard tip pressing along your folds as he spreads your cunt with two fingers, curling his nails cruelly against your tenderness. He tilts and prods clumsily until he finds your entrance. You hold what little breath you can swallow and clamps your dry lips together as he thrusts inside you meanly.
You latch onto his tie as you kick out around him. He jerks his hips as your heels bounce off the floor and you exhale with a squeak. He releases your neck and grips your chin instead, so hard your jaw feels as if it will snap.
You swipe at him desperately as he ruts into you. He brings his hips down in sharp, angry jolts, crushing you as his knees slip against the tile. Your nails meet his forehead and you drag them down as he cries out and the blind clawing leaves bright red scatches down his face.
He lifts your head and slams it back down, leaving you dizzy and weak to him. The room spins and his hand slips down to your chest, fingers wide as he holds you down, his weight centered on your sternum. His hips snap, over and over, in a cacophony of slapping flesh and whimpers. It takes a moment to realise it's your own voice babbling amidst his growls.
You groan and fling your hand out again, nails grazing his neck before he catches them. He puts both above your head and keeps them to the floor. He fucks you, harder and harder, until every bone aches and rattles.
You bite down on your tongue and swallow the agony nestled between your legs. You stare past the sinister shadow of his sneer. He won't win, he won't. Your father swore it on his dying breath. You won't let him win.
He slams into you suddenly and collapses. His hips keep moving, slowing with each stroke until he stills, buried completely. He pants beside your head as he lets go of your hands. You stay as you are, sweating in his heat.
"Every nag has her breaking point," he rasps, "she kicks, she bites, she huffs, but put her in a stable…" he lifts himself to look down at you, "and those four walls will keep her. Don't matter how much she fusses, it's only a matter of time before the saddle fits."
Your eyes meet his and you scowl. A cold wave flows through your veins and numbs the hollow left in you.
"Are you done?" You ask tritely.
He bares his teeth and thrusts into you. The force of it jolts you but you don't react. He glares down at you as he fucks you, the marks of your nails rent down his forehead and cheek. The small victory keeps you from exclaiming as you let your lips curve. The thin-lipped gesture further provokes him.
You might not defeat him, but you can keep him from his triumph. A stalemate is neither a loss nor an accord. It is a mutual suffering you might yet survive.
When he's gone, you listen to the pipes rumble as you stand beneath the steaming stream. You keep your hands on the wall, every inch of you battered and bare. You let the heat slake over you and boil out the taint of his touch.
You refuse to think of your father, only grateful that he did not live to see you brought low as a whore. You ignore the mirror as you step out and wrap yourself haphazardly in a bath sheet. Your feet slap against the hardwood floors as you enter the front room, the sound of flesh bringing back the struggle on the kitchen tile.
You sit on the couch, dazed and distant. You dress without drying, the thick flannel nightgown offering little comfort to your overwrought body. You extinguish the lamp and lay staring into the dark. It is worse to face your own shame than the monster named Shelby.
You don't sleep, not truly. Shallow spurts flecked with wandering reminders of his hands crawling over you. You wake before the sub though it never shines very bright in Birmingham. You pull on trousers and a roomy shirt, a striped piece you took from your father's closet. You leave without ceremony and walk the cobbles down to the smoky stacks.
Yuri greets your open door when he arrives but you don't linger long in the office. You go down to the floor to watch the sills puff and shake and taste a freshly brewed barrel. There's some citrus missing and you advise the lead hand. The details distract you but hardly worry you.
You go out the yard and watch a truck putter in. Your breath fogs and you cross your arms, tucking your chin down as you consider the thick grey clouds of the city. You lean against the brick and pick your nails, the tenderness between your thighs agitated by the wool seams of your trousers.
No matter how you try, you think of him, of what he did. You don't know what you feel if this is feeling at all.
You look at the men smoking, passing an unlabeled bottle of the brew without zest, and you go inside, unseen and unbothered. You rub your cold hands together and climb the stairs as you hear Yuri below bellowing.
Your door is open. You don't acknowledge the blonde as she turns to greet you with her pointed glare. You go around and sit in your chair and open the ledger, some papers left on your desk from the lead hands for the prior day's production. You'll have to account for the subpar batch.
"Well," Grace intones, "nothing to say."
"Is there something I should say to you, miss?" You ask without looking up, "I do have work to attend to."
"Fuck your work," her Irish accents lilts harshly as she tries to rip the ledger from your grasp, "you think I'm stupid? Or perhaps you think me a willful fool."
"What I think," you say as you let the ledger rest flat, "is this is a conversation to have with Thomas, but I also think you haven't the gull or the allowance to speak to him thus so you've come to unload your temper on me."
"You don't deny it?" She spits.
"I am not inclined to report for your… fiance's behaviour," you lean back, "as much as you cannot keep a lead on him, neither can I."
"You are a shameless whore," she snaps.
"And you are a twit," you retort, "let me tell you something," you stand and put your hands to your hips, "I've had enough of the Shelby's and their minions. I've enough of spiteful women speaking as if I should fear them." You walk around the desk and come chest to chest with her, "I will not trade words with you but if you wish to deal as a man does, I will lay you flat. Now get out of my factory."
"You think I'm afraid of you?" She snorts, "I'll drag ya out in the street, you bitch."
"Like to see you try," you step closer, almost touching, "I've met hens made me more nervous than you. Go tend to your cock, you'll get nothing from me."
She swings and you barely step out of the way as you turn and grab her wrist. You pull her to her knees the force of her punch throws her off kilter. You twist her arm and knee her side as you bring her hand behind her back. You move behind her and force your leg against her back, threatening to bring her to her stomach and keep her down like a hog for slaughter.
"I don't wanna fight you," you say, "but don't think I won't. I spent my days with farm boys and worse beasts. You and yours don't scare me none." You shove her away and she catches herself before she can't hit the floor, "I've lost all I can, so what's a few more bruises."
She sits up and you pull your foot back as if to kick her, "don't try it. Get the fuck out, now."
She fixes her drooping hairpin and stands, wiping her scraped knees as she grimaces at you. You brace yourself for another scuffle but she relents and turns on her heel, limping slightly as she nears the door.
"He'll tire of you, he always does," she hisses.
"I pray that he does," you bark after her, "probably more than you."
The apartment is dark when you get in. You pull the chain on a lamp and sit numb. You look at your hands and wonder at the corporeal conundrum of your existence. Is life created only to die in misery? What a cursed plight.
The latch on the door slides loudly and you shake off your trance. You don't look over as Thomas enters. You sit back and wait.
He says nothing as you listen to his heels and he walks past you. His footfalls trail down the hall and he returns, a flutter of fabric as he lays the dress over the back of the couch.
"Get dressed," he demands, "and hurry up."
You don't ask and you don't care. You get up and glance at the sapphire silk overlaid with black weaving and beads. You unbutton your shirt and unbuckle your belt. You strip wordlessly and pull the dress over your head.
"Can't wear dirty boots, kitty," he taunts and you snarl at his pet name, "can take the barn cat out of the barn but she'll still bite your fingers."
You curl your lip and kick aside your boots. The fabric swishes lightly around your legs as you stride away down the hall. You find a pair of the narrow toed shoes in the closet, to that point unopened, and shove your feet into them. You snatch a jacket from the wardrobe and drape it lazily from your arm.
"We've reservations at a fine establishment, they're not in the habit of letting in factory rabble," he muses, "perhaps a look in the mirror--"
You drop the coat over the end of the couch and storm away once more. You grimace at your reflection as you enter the washroom. What can you do? You never were one to doll up nor were you in the mood to preen and smile like that blonde he flaunted in his oversized mansion.
You wash your face and fix your hair as best you can. The stick of charcoal and pot of lip stain remain undisturbed as you leave your miserable likeness to the mirror.
"Better, I suppose," he remarks.
You glower and go to grab the coat. You want this over with. Whatever humiliation he has planned, it's best to be done. He scoops it up first and offers it in a gentlemanly gesture. You purse your lips and turn to slip your arms into the sleeves.
"I hope you're not this quiet during dinner," his hand creeps down and gropes your ass through the fabric, "or the food is rather interesting."
You turn to him and he grins as he straightens his jacket. The lines of your nails left down his face almost make you do the same. He looks quite beat up as the bruise along his hairline is still a mottled shade of red.
"And you're saying I look a mess?" You shake your head.
"More than willing to even the tables, kitty," he mocks, "now be good and purr for me."
"You're pathetic," you recoil, "can you not realise that? I'm just some farm girl and you're here feeding your ego off my back. As low as you put me, I will never be as low as you."
"All the better to have someone to wallow with," he grabs your arm and spins you back, his other hand framing the valley of your neck, "you've not even begun to know the meaning of pathetic but I promise you will. There are many ways to make you bleed."
You scoff and raise your chin defiantly, "big words."
"Don't you fret," his hand falls to your arm and he draws you with him towards the door, "I am just as much a man of action."
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