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candles & flames: fire | jjk (m)

chapter II: fire

Summary: The aftermath of wicked deception and painful revelations. You’re lost and confused, and so is he.

➳ pairing:Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: enemies to lovers, royal!au; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: oblivious jk, hurt oc, misunderstandings, miscommunication is my brand lol, deception, lies, tension, tears, fights, crying, yearning so much yearning !!!, insecurity, flashbacks, pov switch, mention of past minor character death, jk as a kid, angst!; explicit sexual content: hook-ups, fondling with tiddies, biting, bit of choking, kissing, fondling with pussay, erection, bit of grinding, bit of dom!jk, yearning; the ending </3 ➳ wc: 22.8k ➳ a/n: phew okay, here goes :’) super nervous about this one, and super excited for the last/upcoming one. i hope everything turned out well and that you guys enjoy it. as always, do let me know what you think… i appreciate y’all a lot 🥺 !! 👑🤍 ➳ a/n2: this is part 2 to my mini-series candles & flames !! read part 1 here <3

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When a rhythmic knocking sounds against your entrance door the next morning, you already know who trudged his entire way down to your house.

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candles & flames | jjk (m)

chapter I:  water

Summary: He wasn’t supposed to be yours. His foolery wasn’t supposed to target you. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

➳ pairing:Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: enemies to lovers, royal!au; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: so! they’re both royalty/high in society (gd should’ve called this ‘royals’), fuckboy jk, banter, past side character death mentioned, hints of fake dating but not really, angst!, the ending.., douchebag jk at times, crying, guilt, jk is sus too, bits of jealousy, society sucks, explicit sexual content: carriage shenanigans, sexual tension, fingering, oral (m. & f. receiving), mouth fucking, spit stuff?, manhandling, spanking, dry humping, dirty talk, angry foreplay but things get softer, he comes in her mouth <3, they’re hiding during all that <3 ➳ wc: 24.6k 😐 ➳ a/n: sooo. i love e2l and regency aus, but i haven’t written much/any of those, so they’re not my strongest suit. but hopefully y’all will still enjoy reading it, bc i did enjoy writing it. it’s just the beginning hehe <3 this entirely new genre/trope took some brainpower lmao so i’d love if you dropped by and told me what you think !! 🤍 

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Jeon Jungkook’s sincerity doesn’t run as deep as his undeniable beauty.

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wicked • 16

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 10.8k

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Note: the queen has returned everybody! good luck

Wood echoed off of wood, clapping together in a viscous motion as Jungkook’s brows pinched together, frantic to stave off the aggressive blows. He was already exhausted though, training before sunrise until sunset, only to sneak out like this. 

It could get him in a lot of trouble- both of them for that matter.

He fumbled against a blow he deflected, stepping back only for his foot to hit a dip in the ground. 

The next blow came but his reflexives weren’t sharp enough to block it, resulting in the wooden sword slamming hard into his shoulder as he yelped out.

The breath felt as though it had been knocked out of him as he gasped for air, his back planted into the ground as his name was called- or perhaps the closest he usually heard to it.

“Your Highness!” Big brown eyes peered over him in concern, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

Jungkook sputtered, long black hair accidentally getting in his mouth as he waved her away, “You didn’t hurt me Wheein, and stop calling me that!” He hurriedly sat upright before slumping a little.

Though Jungkook said it, it didn’t take away from the fact that it did hurt, Wheein hit hard, perhaps harder than she intended too. But Jungkook wouldn’t shy away from it, he needed to be pushed hard if he wanted to one day be a good swordsman. 

Wheein quickly backed away from him, kneeling down as she peered at him, still in mild concern, “But you’re the Crowned Prince.” 

This made Jungkook cross his arms with a huff, he knew he was the Crowned Prince, but for once he just wanted someone to treat him as a friend. He hated his title, he didn’t ask to be the next King of Penumbra, and he certainly didn’t ask to be drafted into this stupid war.

Just the thought had fear plunging into his veins like poison, he only had two weeks of training left before his official draft would begin. 

When his father told him, Jungkook knew better than to cry, though he wanted to. He kept it in, but still his father was repulsed at the sight of the boy groveling, begging his father to not send him.

‘This isn’t fair, father!’ He remembered crying out, his eyes filled with hurt and glassy, on the verge of tears he told himself he wouldn’t cry. 

And then his father’s response was even more vivid than his own.‘Life isn’t fair nor is it kind Jungkook, and you best be learning that as soon as you can.’

Just the memory made him clench his fists, and just as his father suggested, he decided to put all of his anger and frustration into training. But no matter how hard he trained, how hard he tried, how much he exhausted himself. 

It still hurt.His uncle, Jeong Dae didn’t seem to understand either, he had gone to him in some effort to lick his wounds and receive a bit of comfort, but his uncle only replied by telling him he should be honored to serve his country.

That this was his chance to prove himself to his people, to the Rosewood’s, to the world that he would be worthy of being King. 

The only problem was that Jungkook didn’t want to be King. He didn’t want to rule, he didn’t want to go to war and he certainly didn’t want to die. And no matter how much everyone tried to pet him, he could see past their empty eyes, they were sending him to his grave, he was certain of it. 

“Are you okay?” Wheein frowned, mirroring his own as she set down her sword, “You’re crying…”

Jungkook’s bottom lip quivered, both in anger and pent up sadness as he roughly shoved his tears away. How they had managed to slip out was beyond him, but he wouldn’t let it happen again. For his father, his family, and his country, he would do what was expected of him. 

His feelings didn’t matter, evidently enough. 

“It doesn’t hurt that bad.” He shook his head, ignoring her words, “You should get back to Skol before Di Jin catches you out here.”

Wheein’s frown deepened as she folded her hands together, taking one long look at him before she took a breath, “Alright, you should rest as well, I know the War Matron has been pushing all of the underling’s after dark now that there’s only a two weeks left until graduation.” 

Jungkook set his hands on his lap, “If they’d let you serve the war would be over in a day.” 

Wheein offered a small smile, “Maybe, but I’m not a boy and I’m not royalty either. Rest well Prince.” 

And with that Wheein grabbed her cloak that had been discarded, pulling it over her head to conceal her figure before she disappeared into the dark. Jungkook might have been concerned had it been anyone else, but he saw her take her wooden sword. 

He winced as he rubbed his shoulder, she could easily bludgeon someone to death if they made her angry enough, she’d be fine. 

Jungkook had sulked for only a little longer before getting up, rubbing his shoulder as he grabbed his wooden sword before sneaking his way back to the boys barracks. 

“You are an idiot, truly.” 

Jungkook hadn’t said anything for a long while, his gaze looking out over their great kingdom, the very same one his great grandfather built stone by stone, all for it to turn into this? And even despite the shitshow of a display earlier the only person missing from the parlor was his father. 

Perhaps unwilling to bother with such trifles at the late hour despite it being the Crowned Princess who had been missing. Jungkook had felt his whole stomach lurch when he had woken up, you missing from his embrace and he attempted to be rational at first, assuming you had gone on a late walk and taken Yoongi with you. 

But upon seeing Yoongi still on watch outside the doors had him immediately reeling, flashes of anxiousness and worry wrought in his entire being which came in lashes of anger to everyone around him. It didn’t matter what Jeong Dae and Areum told him in an attempt to calm him down, he wouldn’t be until you were found and safe. 

And the relief he felt when you came in, when he was finally able to hold you once more and see with his own two eyes that you were safe, it was in that moment that he knew there was no going back with how he felt. 

You had somehow entangled yourself in his entire being, somehow wiggling your way into the forefront of his mind every time you were apart and making him constantly have the desire to keep you wrapped against him. 

And yet he didn’t understand. Your words still coldly rang in his ears. Things could not be over between you both, they had hardly even begun, so surely, out of a fit of rage, much like you had in the past, said something damning in the moment.

Still, it troubled him deeply, Jungkook shook his head, “I don’t understand what I said wrong,” He frowned, deeply troubled by what had transpired, “It was the truth nobody else would tell her…”

He was honest when he said he took no pleasure in telling you the truth, but everything he said was the truth you so desperately wanted.

Your anger was justified, but why couldn’t you see from his side…? He was stretched beyond thin and Jeong Dae had only goaded him further into investigating you, he was the one who had planted a seed of doubt. 

But deep in the crevices of Jungkook’s mind laid bare his true feelings, ones he wanted viciously to deny, but still they lingered in the dark, perhaps the seed had already been there, Jeong Dae only watered it.

“You don’t…!?” Areum raised her brows, groaning as she ran a hand through her hair, “Good god you don’t understand why she was upset with you!? Jeon Jungkook! You don’t tell the women you love that you were justified in what you did!” 

“Then what would you have me do?” Jungkook snarled, his gaze finally snapping to hers. 

He already had one woman scold him tonight, he didn’t need another one to further it.

Areum puffed a breath, crossing her arms, “You could first start by swallowing your pride and admitting your’re wrong, and then you could move along to groveling for her forgiveness. But something tells me she won’t care until you genuinely mean it.” 

Jungkook’s lip twitched as he angrily shook his head, “She’ll be fine after she’s done throwing her tantrum. She’s prone to saying cruel things when she’s angry, she didn’t earn that title for nothing.” 

His words may be cruel, but they were a truth no one could dispute, Jungkook was the first to witness your wrath the very moment the door to your wedding chambers had closed. Though in time he grew to know you as you were truly seen by those closest to you. 

Tender to the core, there was such a profound air of softness about you that was constantly coiled tight like a venomous snake, hissing and ready to strike at anybody who dared get close to it. 

And yet again, Jungkook was struck by your venom this night. When you loved, you were like the gentlest, warmth of days, the embodiment of the sun in his eyes, incandescent and enchanting, but when you raged? 

You were nothing short of a thunderstorm, not the rain but the lightning that followed, striking yet again in a chaotic manner that no one, let alone he could predict. Your voice was like a war drum that would not be silenced. Areum only raised her brows at this, “Right…well, let me know how that goes for you little nephew. Betrayal is easily the deepest wound one can inflict, lest we all know that here. Goodnight.” 

She spoke with finality before she exited the room, leaving Jungkook alone with his uncle. 

Silence lingered in the room, the fireplace roaring with flames and wickedly dancing as Jungkook glowered in the coals.

He only wanted your safety tonight, perhaps if he had stayed asleep, this all could have been prevented.

“Are you satisfied?” Jungkook finally asked, “She hadn’t even sent a single letter out until she began writing to her mother to inquire about Yule.” It left an empty feeling in his chest as he crossed his arms, “She’d never be a spy, it isn’t who she is.”

You were many things, a dichotomy to the court. You were soft but sharp, merciful but unforgiving, hot and cold. But of all the things you were, Jungkook knew the one thing you were not, was indefinitely, a spy.

He was consumed by paranoia when he sent for your letters to be searched, in hindsight he wondered if he had calmed his mind down, he would’ve made a different decision.

Jeong Dae walked over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, “You did what you must to yet again secure your seat to the throne, we would never be certain until you had it done. True as Areum’s words may be, the girl will come to one day understand your reasoning.” 

Jungkook said nothing in return, his eyes still cast out over the dark kingdom, “I hope you’re right.” 

“Get some rest Jungkook,” Jeong Dae replied, “You’ll need it in the days to come.” 

Jungkook was then left alone with his thoughts before he reluctantly returned to his chambers where it laid empty just as he had woken up earlier, the bed felt entirely too big and as he laid awake in bed, staring up at the canopy a feeling began to creep into his chest that felt entirely too much like regret. 

“Princess…I’m not typically someone who pries but…is there a reason we’ve been here all morning?” Yoongi had finally spoken up after taking you to the stables at the first light of day where you had been keeping Fenrir company. 

At first you had went on a walk with him before playing with him and now you had been resting in the stables for the last hour, tenderly stroking through his fur as he rested his chin on his paws, perhaps sensing your downcast mood as he licked at your hands occasionally in comfort. 

The pup had definitely grown, he was bigger now, to some guards uncomfortably so, his head was perched at the top of your stomach when he stood tall now.

“No reason in particular…” You mumbled, not wanting to talk about it at the moment. You had so many things and feelings to sort through, and admittedly you were not used to working through it completely by yourself. 

Not only were you having to deal with Wheein being unrightfully accused of being the assassin but now with the betrayal of Jungkook having investigated you as a spy behind your back along with the news of Eunoia.

It made your head dully ache in all truthfulness, it would have been one thing if Di Jin pounced on you with a dated piece of information, something you wouldn’t have put past Jungkook to do just after your wedding. 

But two weeks ago?

Two weeks?

You felt incredibly naive and stupid to believe, geniunely that you both were closer then this. You didn’t know how to feel, about anything anymore, and more than anything you were wrought with homesickness. 

You didn’t want the gray chilled days anymore, you wanted to go home. 

Yoongi sighed in exasperation as he nodded, “Very well, then let’s discuss why you thought it was a good decision to go outside the castle after hours, by yourself, telling no one of your status and meeting up with the sworn enemy of the crown!”

Your lip jutted a little, not appreciating the scolding, but it was a foolish decision you made and the least you deserved was this for that. One thing however caused your head to shoot up right, “How did you…?” 

It was one thing for you to admit to going to the Undeside, but how could Yoongi know that you met up with Claudin? He fled the moment he got you outside the courtyard. 

“I’m Areum’s right hand and before that an assassin, I have more eyes then just my own after hours.” Yoongi’s glare furrowed, “And to let that rat take you to the Underside, did you want a death sentence Princess?”

You glumly leaned back against the wooden wall, your hand mindlessly stroking Fenrir’s side as he sprawled out at the attention, his feet digging into your side but you paid it no mind. Had you not gone to the Underside you would’ve assumed he meant all of the looming assassination threats.

But after having gone, it was only now that you realized being assassinated was a lot lower on the list of ways you could potentially die in Penumbra then you had originally thought. It was undeniable that your eyes were opened to the truth. Just about everyone in this damn kingdom wanted your head on a pike. It was a bitter pill to swallow. 

“Well it’s certainly come to my attention that a death sentence for me is far more imminent then the court ever let on. If visiting the Underside was anything to go by.” You mumbled the comment that occupied your mind. 

Yoongi ignored your question, “Send me outside if it upsets you Princess but I’m going to ask anyway, why did you go with him?” You shook your head, lip twitching with anger just as he anticipated, “I had no other choice,” You finally spoke, eyes raw with rage, “Not a single person in this castle dared to tell me anything, it’s as if, I was living in a bubble this whole time, blind to what’s been going on in the outside world. I took no pleasure in going with Claudin, but he was the only one willing to show me the truth.” 

Yoongi frowned deeply as he crossed his arms, “And how is that cold truth treating you Princess? Being ignorant is a blessing few come by these days.”

Your eyes stung with tears of rage but you refused to let them fall, “That is a luxury I was never allowed to have as a child. I tended to the disembodied civilians of children, men and women alike, all left from the wars your country waged. I stoked the fires with their bodies and choked on the ash of their bones. Ignorance was never an option.”

Yoongi huffed shaking his head, as though he didn’t particularly enjoy hearing about the mess they caused without thinking twice, “How long will you weaponize the past against Penumbra?” 

You shook your head, “It’s not a matter of weaponizing, it goes beyond Penumbra, beyond myself, it goes back to the Age of Celestia, the moment the Dryads left this earth, the moment we were stripped from our grace. That’s when our eyes were opened to the world around us, it is our curse to bear. To be savage, tooth and fang and yet wholly crave the peace of the earth.”

“Call it whatever you may, but I would always rather the unpleasant truth than the sweetness of lies.”

Yoongi said no more, leaning against the side of the wall as he shook his head. 

It was silent for a long moment before you spoke up, not wanting to bid ill with him, after all he was your personal knight, or you supposed assassin was a better interpretation. He had every right to be upset with you, but you didn’t want any more bad blood to fester. 

“Last night,” You frowned, “When Di Jin came in, it was he who announced I went to the Underside.” 

Yoonig snorted, “A pot-stirrer that one, I’m not surprised.” 

“Neither am I,” You admitted, the little time you’ve spent with Di Jin would point to such, “But it was what Jungkook said to him in return. Something that insinuated Di Jin played a hand in the Underside…?” 

‘My wife would never step foot in that pit you caused.’

Jungkook’s words rang in your ears as you glanced at Yoongi, perhaps with him being Areum’s right hand, he would have more insight into this. Yoongi however only sighed as he ran a hand through his hair before he finally took a seat upon a bale of hay that was against the wall beside him.

“While I am still indefinitely angry at you,” Yoongi glared a little before it softened, “I also want to impart some knowledge on you, seeing how serious you take this whole truthful business. While what you saw in the Underside is very real, it is only a fragment of Penumbra as a whole. It is the depths of criminal activity and the most low or dangerous of people roam.” 

“Di Jin was the captain of the Guard during the five year war, but during this time, we had serviced many into the war to help, many volunteered as well, food had to be rationed and many mourned for their men and boys that would not return. But many men also resisted to help in the war, they flooded the streets with crime of all sorts as a way to rebel against the draft,”

Yoongi frowned as he recalled those days, “While the King was busy buried in the war room, Di Jin took it upon himself to create a prison of sorts in the lowest district in the city, him and his guard raided the whole Capitol at night and threw them all in there as some means of justice and restoring order.” 

You tilted your heads in curiosity at his words. 

“And I understand the idea he had in mind,” Yoongi admitted before scoffing, “But imagine it Princess, throwing all of the lowly thieves and murders together in one place? It’d be hell on earth, well instead of murdering one another like Di Jin assumed they would, they ended up couping the whole place. Tearing it down in troves and claiming it as their own little Kingdom, it is now shrouded from the Capitol in fear of who still roams there. It is without a doubt the most dangerous part of Penumbra.” 

“So what happened to Di Jin when they all took hold of the district?” You asked, almost eager as you sat upright from your previously slumped position. 

“Well he got decommissioned,” Yoongi grinned, as if it amused him, “Conducting something on that scale without the King’s permission was a one way ticket to it, not only that but thoroughly botching it too? Because Di Jin served in the war alongside the King, he allowed him to walk free. Otherwise he’d surely be rotting in the dungeon right now.” 

You grabbed your chin in thought, “There must be a reason Di Jin is trying to say Wheein is the assassin, I just can’t make sense of it…” 

“I wouldn’t think much of it truthfully Princess,” Yoongi said with a soft lament, “I feel as though, in some cases, it purely has to do with being at the wrong place, in the wrong time.”

Somehow this horrified you even more than if it was some clever plot, “Wheein does not deserve to die- let alone at the fate of being at the wrong place and the wrong time!” 

“But think Princess,” Yoongi urged you, “If Di Jin caught the ‘assassin’ he would be back in favor with the court and more importantly, the King.”

“Why would he want the King’s favor now though?” You wondered aloud, frowning at the idea, surely Dae Seong wasn’t blind to the idea that letting Di Jin into his court was a poor idea, let alone letting the man be an advisor to him.

‘Well…You said Di Jin was the one who announced you went to the Underside, did he say anything else…?” 

You thought on it for a long moment, “No he didn’t but…” you trailed off at remembering what Yoongi previously said, how he had more than his own eyes at night, “It’s more, what he didn’t say.” 

You felt a sense of dread fill in your stomach as Yoongi urged you on, “And what would that be?” 

“You said you knew I went with Claudin,” You replied, “But Di Jin…He didn’t mention Claudin at all, just that I had been seen there…Yoongi.” 

You turned to him, something akin to the realization in your face, “After Di Jin was decommissioned from the Captain of the Guard…he became a bounty hunter. The Wolf of the West.” Yoongi's expression twisted from confusion to shock and then to pure anger as he crossed his arms, “Perfect, now we have two rats to deal with. Best we set one trap for both Princess…” 

You nodded, “Yes...you are certainly right about that.” 

The idea of facing your husband once again at the table of Namjoon’s study was less than desired, but if your judgment was right, then you would simply have to put your hurt aside, for the safety of not only Wheein but for yourself and potentially the whole of the kingdom. 

“Are you ready Princess?” Yoongi asked, grabbing the handle of the door. Taking one deep breath to calm yourself you nodded before he opened the door for you stepped inside. 

The others were in hushed voices before pausing at the sight of you, all giving you a bow except for you at the end of the table. 

Jungkook. 

His eyes were unreadable as yours at the moment, but the coldness between you both was difficult to not notice. It was hard to imagine once upon a time, this was a normal interaction to you both, now you felt oceans apart. 

“Princess,” Namjoon spoke first, his eyes filled with both concern and curiosity, “We all received word about you urgently needing to speak with us, has something new developed.”

“It has not completely revealed itself but Yoongi and I were speaking this morning and happened upon an odd but…damning clue that’s been staring us in the face this whole time…” You frowned as you walked to the table, “Please sit.” 

Everyone did so as Yoongi pushed your chair, sitting at the opposite end of the table you chose to ignore his intense stare as you began to recall the events of the evening, leaving out most details of the Underside as you were simply too embarrassed to actually speak of what you had discovered. 

After explaining your thoughts and concerns to them Jungkook was immediately the first to speak, “I’m going to slaughter that man,” There was a deep rage in his eyes, “To have the audacity to parade around in my castle, pretend to be someone he isn’t at my court. Try to murder my wife.” It was hissed out, his fingers twitching as if wanting to pick up a blade and slit the man's throat this very moment. 

“Jungkook,” Namjoon ushered in a soft chastising voice, as if scolding a younger brother that was being too hasty with his decisions, “As the Princess said, we don’t know if this is the full truth. However it is the best lead we have and most likely right. But we need to play our cards right, Dae Seong favors him, it would be best to not go in accusing him of anything without any evidence.”

“So where does that leave us then?” Hoseok frowned looking in thought, “We’ve double downed on our efforts but whatever Di Jin is hiding, it’s locked tight.” 

“It would make sense though,” Jimin frowned, leaning back in his seat, his cheek resting on his palm, “Whenever I’ve spoken to him all he’s said is cryptic things like, ‘if you side with me you’re boon will be great’ or ‘just wait watch as the chaos unfolds’.”

“Chaos unfold?” Namjoon asked with piqued curiosity. 

Jimin lifted his hands in exasperation, “Don’t ask me, I never knew what the hell my old man was on about. What I do know is that he has always put himself first. So even if he is aligned with the Rosewoods, it’s only temporary.” 

“So what?” Yoongi asked, “You think if the Rosewood’s take the crown Di Jin would simply murder them and take it for himself.” 

“That's what I would do,” Jimin shrugged, “Take’s a bastard to know a bastard.” 

“If his information is locked tight then we need to dig harder.” Jungkook replied, he looked brooding and still very much angry, “I want eyes on him at all time.” He looked to Yoongi who nodded, “And Claudin as well, as much as they can without compromising their position.” 

Everyone nodded at this before the meeting was dismissed, everyone departing until it was three who remained. 

“Yoongi, leave us.” Jungkook still sat at the opposite end of you, not even sparing the assassin a glance. 

Yoongi however did not leave as he glanced at you, as if asking for your permission if you were okay with this. 

Did you want to talk to him? Not particularly, but he was your husband and this court was only so big, you would eventually have to talk to him about it, the idea of forgiving him made you seethe in rage though. 

You were tired of compromising, tired of learning, tired of having to be understanding. 

“You may wait outside.” You finally glanced at Yoongi with a nod, he then bowed before he exited, closing the door behind him. It was silent for a long minute as you glanced around the study, it was well decorated, maps lining the walls and bookshelves filled to the brim.

It was a quaint thing, not at all organized like the great library, but absolutely Namjoon, books of all shapes and sizes crammed together, some standing up right, others laid on their side to fit inside. 

You stood up to wander around a little in curiosity, ignoring the blatant stares of your husband before you finally settled at the window out looking over the woodland of the meadow. 

“It doesn’t have to be like Y/n…” Jungkook sighed, staring at your back, a sense of yearning in his chest, as if you were so close and yet so far from his reach once again. 

“No it didn’t.” You agreed coldly, folding your arms. He acted as if you’re the one being unreasonable here when he was the one who betrayed you. 

“All you have to do-”

“Yes I know!” You snarled, turning around as fury whiplashed into your veins once more, “All I have to do! Tell me Jungkook had I not been the one to apologize first to you, would you have ever given me a chance? Had I not been the one to swallow my pride, take the lashings from you even so. All I have ever done is give. I am done giving.” Your lips trembled despite the glares you both mirrored, “I have nothing left to give. I meant every word I said to you last night. I may be many things but I am not a fool.” 

“What I did was necessary to secure the crown,” Jungkook hissed back, angry and upset with your words, as if flat out refusing to believe they were nothing but the truth you spoke, “The world is engulfed in politics, all of that of Eunoia is only rumors, rumors you were better off not festering among the thousand other things we’re dealing with. But most of all, I am not your enemy Y/n.” 

You shook your head angrily, “That may be how you feel but that isn’t how I see it Jungkook, I had every right to know about Eunoia, even if nothing more then rumors. You may not be my enemy but you are certainly not my lover.” 

Jungkook’s lip visibly twitched, as if what you had said struck a nerve before he leaned in, eyes cold as before his lips curled in an icy smile, “That’s not what you said when you were moaning like a bitch in heat stuffed full with my fingers.” 

You ignored how hot the tips of your ears burned as your hands curled into fists, you had thought Claudin would be the only person who ever provoked you enough to consider violence and yet here you stand, silenting seething in rage as you glared up at your haughty so-called husband. 

You were above slapping him, but it certainly seemed tempting. So instead you say the next best thing. 

A cruel smile on your own dancing on your lips, “Perhaps because I was imagining it being my actual lover instead of you.” 

You were suddenly jostled around, pressing against the window with his chest against your back, a hand slithering possessively around your throat, “Funny because you were moaning my name the whole time.”

It would be a lie to say you weren’t shamelessly turned on right now, the sexual tension in the room was bursting from the seams, especially so with the visitation of your last intimacy together. 

But unfortunately for Jungkook, your pride would always outwin your sex drive. “You’re doing no favors for yourself right now.” You glared over your shoulder at him. 

You were unable to, however, as his mouth was already pressing a sloppy open mouthed kiss against your skin, his voice deep and breathy against the shell of your ear, “Then let me do a favor for you.” 

When you don’t reply he turned you back to face him, his lips pressing from your neck down your chest as his hands dragged from your waist to your hips, kneeling down in front of him. 

In the moment you couldn’t help but scoff a little, suddenly grabbing a fist full of his hair, yanking hard on it to make his eyes meet yours, what surprised you however was the moan that escaped his lips.

His expression may have remained neutral but you had gotten to know him too well, the slight part of his lips, his pupils blown out from lust. 

The gesture only made you more angry, “The fact that you think head is going to fix this is a joke better left unsaid. You had your chance and now it is gone. I have things to do, do not bother me again.” 

You shoved his head away from you before you stepped away from him, walking out the door without looking back. 

‘Are you ready to go Princess?” 

“More than ready.” 

“Would you like to visit Wheein meanwhile?” 

Your gaze shot up, “I can do that?” It felt like a stupid question, you were the Crowned Princess, it felt as if you shouldn’t even need to ask but given this was Penumbra, you didn’t know how things work. 

Of course you had heard of dungeons before but you had never been in one, nor did one even exist in Eunoia, the closest equivalent were called Repentance Rooms, and they were nothing like a dungeon, they were clean and well lit with barred windows captives could look out of. 

Comfortable even, they were for the liminal time between a captive being captured and trialed and if their punishment was severe they would be sent to the housing district next. 

You wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for a dungeon. 

Yoongi frowned at your words, “Well, you certainly can but last thing you want is for Di Jin to catch you snooping about.” 

“Can you make sure I’m not seen?” You stood up, folding your hands together as you stared at Yoongi pensively. 

His lips curled into a small smile as he kneeled down in front of you, grabbing your hand, “Of course, my lady. But just know there will be guards that are siding with Di Jin, if they see you they’ll alert him immediately.” 

Your face was covered with a hood and Yoongi had skillfully guided you along the narrow halls as you entered the lower levels of the castle where everything was dark and dimly lit, the smell of must becoming overpowering as guards patrolled each hall. 

Just the dim lights and dank smell made you increasingly worried, you had heard about dungeons before what it meant for captives in other kingdoms, but never thought you’d live to see one yourself. 

A naive thought once upon a time. But here you were, visiting your dearest maid who was being wrongfully accused of something you knew in your heart she’d never do. 

Yoongi had you hide in one last nook before he guided you to the very last dungeon, “Okay,” He spoke softly, “You’ll have only a few minutes with her, be brief.” 

You nodded as you crouched down, making your way to the gate, the sight broke your heart, you could hear a soft sob but Wheein was laid down on the ground, nothing but a pile of straw hay serving as a bed in a windowless cell. 

“Oh Wheein,” Your eyes immediately welled with tears, “I’m so sorry.” 

She jolted, scrambling to get up before she gapped at the sight of you, tearings streaming down her face before she crawled to the bars, “Princess.” She wept softly, before reaching throught the bars to you. 

Your arms curled around her as best as possible as she whimpered quietly, “I don’t want to die! Please! They’ll burn me! That’s what Di Jin will do, please!” 

“Princess,” Yoongi ushered out, “One more minute.”

“Shh!” You ushered, trying to keep your voice down as you pulled away from her, grabbing her soft cheeks in your hands, “We aren’t going to let that happen! Okay?” You nodded, “We’ll find a way to prove your innocence I swear by it Wheein.” 

Wheein only continued to cry, shaking her head, “He’s going to kill me Princess, I’ve dreamt of it for so long, I just know it.” 

You grabbed her hands into yours squeezing them tight as your heart ached seeing her in so many tears, “Not as long as I’m alive he won’t,” New determination rushed into your body, anger that hell had not rage against burning in your veins, “I swear on Galadria that I will serve justice where it is due.” 

“Princess! We need to go.” Yoongi whispered out, ushering you quickly. 

Wheein closed her eyes as tears trickled down her face but said no more, quickly you ushered her into one last hug before you whispered, “I’ll return soon! We better news than I have now.” 

“Please Princess, be safe.”

Those were her last whispered words before Yoongi quickly guided you back to a crook to hide as the guards made their rotation. Unfortunately for Wheein, you had no intentions of being safe, you were going to prove her innocence at whatever cost was needed. 

When you had first been told by the King, Dae Seong that you would be expected to dine with the family once a week, it had filled you with nothing but dread. Being among three men at the time was daunting.

Two which didn’t take you seriously at all, and of course the third, your husband who would either pretend you didn’t exist, or give you an icy stare and then proceed to pretend you didn’t exist.

But after the incident in the market place, Jungkook and you had somehow grown closer, fonder of one another, came to an understanding of one another and where you both had come from. 

Two weeks ago…

Your heart squeezed as you stared in the mirror, several maids floated in and out of your room and while you always tried to be kind, today you felt exhausted, only giving simple answers to whatever they asked.

What did you do two weeks ago that finally made him decide to have you spied on? You had gotten into an argument that week- at the time you thought it stupid but only now did you reflect back and realize Jungkook was venomously jealous of any inkling of an idea of Seokjin ever being your lover. 

Not only this but an odd inferiority complex he has that he would rather die than ever admit too. But…why? It made your eyes sting with tears that you refused to shed. You had said hurtful things during that argument but surely it wasn’t enough to make him do that? You’ve had worse arguments with him before that moment.

You just didn’t understand. 

“Finished Your Highness.”

The maid placed the crown on your head as you stared at yourself in the mirror, taking it in, it was heavier then it looked, but then again it was made of Noxtria metal, elaborately weaving with sharp, angles stones of onyx and metal winging out of it's sides and one large center piece in the middle.

The maids all courtesy to you, you offered a weak smile and thanks before they were dismissed. 

You took a deep shaky breath, wiping your eyes before any real tears had fallen. You just had to get through tonight, somehow, despite all of the time that had passed, it felt as if you were in some liminal space between how you first felt going to a family dinner and what it had slowly turned in too. 

Family dinner was expected tonight, however an additional note had been added on, Di Jin and close friends of the family would be attending tonight. Knowing your friends, and though you were upset with Jungkook- that they would be there brought you comfort. 

But having to deal with Di Jin all evening was not something you wanted to deal with. 

However, you were not about to cower away from him, your eyes had gone from mournful to near vengeful as you glared in the mirror, your hair elaborately done for the night by your request and a specific dress for the occasion. 

It had been hanging for a long while and you had truthfully shied away from it, feeling it was a bit too Penumbrian even for you. 

But not tonight.

It was a raven black gown, cold metal weaved into leaves intricately, an armored sweetheart neckline that wrapped all the way up to your throat, your upperarm dawned with cufflets that flowed with even more black fabric and a solid band of metal cinching your waist. 

Black had become a color of mourning in Eunoia, it was something you wore daily during the Five Year war while working in the tents as a healer. But something dawned on you as you looked through your gowns earlier in the evening. 

Before that, during the Age of Celestia, it was said that black was the color of power. Queen Celestia wore it for her ascension after devouring her husband, becoming the sole ruler of Eunoia. 

You didn’t like to think you took after the gruesome woman. But something that wasn’t often talked about was Celestia and Galadria were sisters. You shared just as much blood from one as the other. 

And right now, you wanted to wield power, not grief. 

Standing upright you were escorted down the hall, heads turned in your direction from various aristocrats to maids and servants alike as you kept your head held high and an unwelcoming expression on your face. 

The double doors were shut as per usual and though you had walked through them many times, tonight you felt just as anxious as you had the very first time as they opened. Every set of eyes at the table had turned to you, seeing as you had clearly interrupted the conversation that went on. 

Many at the table had quickly stood up, bowing to you, some more begrudging than others as your eyes locked onto Di Jin’s, his lip twitching a little as he bowed, your expression stayed as unwelcoming as before. 

You may not have been a Jeon by blood but you would certainly pretend you had their trademark cold glare tonight.

Taehyun who had been standing behind Jungkook’s chair had stepped back to pulled the empty chair out beside his, your cold look softened only a little for him, offering a brief tiny smile of thanks as he pushed you in. 

Jungkook had previously looked bored, crown of his own on his head, though from how he slumped in his chair it was just a hair crooked, dark hair dusting in front of his eyes as they met yours. 

And for the briefest moment you felt just a bit stronger having him by your side before anger quelled in you once more at the memory, two weeks, for some reason two weeks ago he chose to no longer trust you. 

Your expression remained as you looked away from him as the voice of Di Jin spoke, “It’s good to see the Princess can finally grace us with her presence.” 

“Yes, just in time for the meal, seeing as the conversation wasn’t much to look forward to.” A mocking smile curled on your lips, never before did you usually take pleasure in having power over someone, but you were experiencing many firsts in Penumbra. 

No matter how much Di Jin disliked you, he knew better than to openly disrespect you, no matter how hard he tried to undermine you in his discreet way. 

“What matters is the Princess is here now,” Jeong Dae’s gaze narrowed on Di Jin before nodding, “let us all dine now. Tell me, the progress on the market is coming along, yes?” 

You stared into your glass of wine as you swirled in, “Yes, they’re starting to lay the foundation down. Though I must confess, my servant being thrown in the dungeon has caused quite a bit of a mess in my schedule.” 

An uncomfortable energy had taken over the table as you shrugged, taking a long drink from your cup, you were not going to sit here and pretend along with everyone else that Di Jin had not done what he had.

“It’s a necessary precaution, once this assassin business has been taken care of you’ll have your servant back,” Dae Seong answered gruffly, not appreciating your lack of tack, “But should more incriminating evidence come out, a servant is expandable and just as easily replaceable.”

Your gaze slowly pulled to his as the silence at the table ensued once more, when had human life become so expandable as he said? 

You understood less and less as to why they felt this way, why they chose to believe this.

After a long moment your lips twisted into a grin that looked more like a grimace, “I thought you might say that your Majesty.” You however said nothing else as you took another drink from your cup.

The table was quiet for a long moment and nobody spoke, despite the silence it was almost comforting to you, to know that your words held some sort of weight to them even if it felt in the moment they were nothing more than an illusion to how you truly felt. 

“Not to interrupt this moment, but perhaps we should discuss the east, it's come to our attention that Kyoto has movement in the east, if they continue our progress will be delayed“ Jimin spoke up, a frown on his face with evident worry, “We've been tracking them down, and it seems they're making a sort of pattern, if I didn't know any better I'd say they were mapping out the best way to invade us.”

“That would be hasty on their part,” Jeong Dae spoke up, “We just passed The Rite of Peace this year, they wouldn’t be foolish to invade us just after the prince and princess wed.”

“Fools aren't so different from the brave,” Jungkook spoke up, swirling his goblet of wine in his hand looking rather bored, though his gaze occasionally went to you, as if hoping you would be looking at him, “ Would it be that outlandish to assume, that they do not care about the Rite of Peace?” 

“This is true,” Di Jin, surprisingly spoke up with agreement, “After all, why would the world let a nation as glorious as us live for one simple girl.”

There was a certain amount of venom in his tone that did not surpass you, though you didn't let it disturb you as it once may have. you suppose somewhere along the line, that you had gotten used to an unsurpassable amount of hatred that for some reason people in Penumbra felt entitled to take out on you.

it was a ugly truth, but it was the truth nonetheless, and Di Jin had a point, no matter how unpleasant it was, why would the world let a nation that had killed countless people, destroyed homes, decimated nations live on, if there is one thing you had learned in Eunoia, it was that you were indeed replaceable.

Dare you say you felt almost as if you were a sacrificial lamb, sent to slaughter, and whether you died by an assassin or by an invasion, did it ever truly matter in the end? You weren't sure. 

Jungkook did not speak, but he didn't need words to convey his feelings, his glare was enough to display his displeasure in Di Jin’s words.

Hoseok cut in, “Perhaps, but if they were to invade, there's no telling what kind of uproar it would cause with other nations. Especially if they kill the princess in the process, even if it is only one person, nobody can deny the influence Eunoian Princess has.” 

“Regardless, it would be wise to have a plan.”  Namjoon said diplomacy and his voice as he attempted to steer the conversation into a less hostile direction, “The people are restless, and with word having gotten out about Eunoia training soldiers along with Kimhae, and now Kyoto, they'll need guidance especially as winter approaches.” 

You sharply inhaled, trying to not let anger seep through your veins again, though tempting, just the idea of Eunoia training soldiers was outlandish, ever since the Age of Celestia soldiers have been out of the question, if the rumors were true why would they start now?

Nothing made sense, you tried to ignore the stares, but it was evident that people in the room did not trust you, after all even your own husband felt he could not trust you at one time. 

Two weeks ago, no matter how hard you tried your mind kept going back to two weeks ago, what had you done two weeks ago to warrant his distrust, what could you have changed to have changed his mind.

Just the thought made your heart ache and for a brief moment your anger had subsided.

“It would only be right to assume that Eunoia and Kimhae have their own plans to invade us. it would be within our best interest to strike first if that is the case.” Di Jin lifted his goblet before taking a long drink.

I'm just like that your anger had returned.

But before you could speak, your husband had beat you to it, anger evident in his voice as he spoke, “When we wrote the Rite of Peace, we promised Eunoia protection should someone ever threaten Invasion on them, they are honorable, if they desire to have their own protection let them have it, but do not sit at my table and claim loyalty to my family, and then proceed to disrespect my wife and her country in front of me.” 

Di Jin laughed, “You've got a lot to learn boy, love rarely saves anyone and the few bastards it does, life has a certain way of shortening their lives.”

“And men who disrespect women, tend to live even shorter lives.” Jungkook said, his voice having grown a little darker and expressionless, his fingers now drumming against the table as if aching to reach across it and wrap his knuckles around Di Jin’s neck.

“Regardless of Kimhae and Kyoto, I can only speak for my own nation, and I can swear this we are pacifists by nature, we do not desire for nor want bloodshed, but do not mistake our heritage, we do bite back should we be provoked, after all, history proves that.” You spoke, your voice calm, “Should we be treated fairly, you will only expect kindness in return, for that is who my people are, while I understand your caution, we created the Rite of Peace for its very name, to bring peace to the world and put these past grudges to rest. And I intend to keep it that way to the best of my ability.” 

“It seems you've all mistaken this dinner, we are here to gather and make merry not discuss politics,” Dae Seong looked much like his son, bored by the conversation, “We will not strike first, nor will we feed into their antics, after all this was the very reason I recalled the march to the East, there is no reason to wage war when our enemies have been defeated.”

You glanced around, noting the expressions on some of your friends' faces, it was evident just about nobody agreed with Dae Seong in one way or another, But nobody dared express how they felt, after all he was the king. 

The dinner had went on for the rest of the evening without much of a hiccup, granted it gave you a headache and you had found yourself sunk back into your chair the whole time, more than anything you wanted to get out of your seat and away from your husband, who had been staring at you with puppy eyes most of the evening.

Occasionally you'd watch his fingers twitch as if aching to reach out to you, to pull your chair closer, to brush your hair from your face, or to fix a piece of your dress that I've been wrinkled, but he knew better rather he kept his hand in his lap or against his cup, his sixth glass might you add.

In some ways you understood that this was perhaps unfair on your part, the more you thought about it the more you realized that you could have confided him and you had chosen not to, this was in some ways your fault as well but it did not take away the hurt you felt, that you felt you were closer than this.

But it seemed you both were wrong in many ways and you weren't certain of how to fix this, if you even wanted to fix this anymore, what you did know was that you were at a breaking point, you were uncertain of how much more you could take before you would break.

And every time you thought it couldn't get worse it without a doubt somehow got worse, but surely you would hit a plateau, your husband had lied to you, your servant was on trial for your attempted assassination, and you found out your home country was enlisting soldiers into a military, to say your life had fallen apart was an understatement.

Or at least that was how you felt.

You had been sat in bed, a book in hand though you hadn't read it all evening, and once again no matter how hard you tried to focus a book was just a book, and words were just words, you could read but the sentence just kept going over your head each time you read it, no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't focus.

A knock at your door however had drew you from your thoughts causing you to stand up reluctantly before trudging over and opening the door

The person who stood before you was unshocking to you, after all it seemed since the unsavory reveal of his deeds your husband could hardly stay away from you, no matter how many times you would ask him to give you space, in fact he seem to be doing the opposite these days.

“I know you don’t wish to see me-”

You abruptly tried to shut the door but his arm caught against the door. 

“Y/n just listen to me,” Jungkook’s voice was weak, hair brushing over his eyes but the desperation in them was pathetic, “Let me talk, please.” 

“You’re drunk Jungkook,” Your teeth gritted but you didn’t try to force the door anymore, your hand still curled tight against the knob as you glared at him. He reeked of liquor and it was evident as his white shirt had a large inky red spill down the front that had been dried out, this was his sleep shirt which meant he hadn’t stopped drinking even after everyone had retired. 

Jungkook had one hand still flat against the door keeping it ajar and the other on the frame as he peered down at you, “I just wanted to see you, to tell you in my own words, I was complacent about your feelings, about my own. I have no excuses left, I have no words to defend myself, only my desire to be with you.”

You shook your head, trying to not let your heart twist further in pain, you wanted to look past this, to let it go, but how could you? Spying through letters was the first step, how could you know this wasn’t some elaborate plan all along to use you?

“It’s not that easy Jungkook,” You tried to contain the grief in your voice, guilt eating you up the more you thought of your own actions, “I should’ve trusted you more, confided in you about what I heard from Claudin, but I didn’t. I think it’s best if whatever this, does not continue.”

It was Jungkook’s turn to shake his head, his knuckles curling against the door, “We’ve both made mistakes. Forgive yourself Y/n and forgive me. Let me prove myself to you, let me earn your love.”

You roughly brushed the tears from your cheeks, “We were never meant to be together Jungkook, you know that just as well a I do-” 

You were cut off abruptly by his hand suddenly snaking through the small gap of the door,  wrapping around your waist and his lips immediately pressing into yours in a devouring hold, a surprised whimper escaped you at his iron hold increasingly becoming tighter on your waist. 

Your head was telling you one thing, but your heart was so desperately wanting another.

His other hand immediately snaked around your throat in a firm grip, not tight but not loose as you tried your best to not give into the temptation to melt into his hold but it was becoming more difficult when his tongue had pushed between your lips in determination. 

You broke, unable to resist the soft moan that escaped you as you felt your back push against the wall, arms wrapping around his neck before curling into his soft locks, giving them a soft yank as he moaned into your mouth,

You could taste the sweet wine still lingering on his lips, the unmistakable feeling curling into your stomach as you let yourself surrender to him for the briefest moment, and for the brief moment, everything felt better.

Two weeks ago…

The realization quickly followed after you and anger kindled in your veins once more, your hands had quickly slid to his shoulders to push back against him, “Jeon Jungkook!” You broke the kiss by turning your head with a hiss. 

Jungkook didn’t relent though his forehead pressing against yours as he heaved a breath, “What have you done to me? Some ancient dryad magick?” He gave a mirthless smile, “You are all I can ever think about from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed, seeing you cry makes me want to kill whatever is causing them, I’m drowning in you my sweet doe. I’m intoxicated and desperate so indulge me,”

“Tell me what I need to do to earn your forgiveness.” Jungkook ushered out, wet kissing being placed on your neck as the internal battle waged war in your head, one part of you wanting to immediately crumble but the other was indignant, this relationship surely would not end well.

At one time when you were younger, you would have laughed, after all you were married. But your eyes had been opened, things were never that simple, not when one was a Princess, marriage was contract, love was a luxury.

He broke away from you only a little, almost nose to nose with you and hair hanging over his eyes like a cloud, “I thought I knew love, I thought I knew many things before I met you,” His hands trembled as if the emotions were too powerful, “But it turns out I know nothing. Without you, I know nothing.”

“Jungkook…” You ushered out quietly, shaking your head as you tried to swallow down the hurt that began to bubble once more. 

“I feel like I’m being consumed by you,” Jungkook confessed, his hand squeezing your neck ever so slightly, his thumb rubbing softly along your windpipe, “It feels like you’re very being is sucking the soul from my body. And now that I’ve had you,” His voice broke only a little, his eyes like steel as he whispered a growl, “I would die without you.” 

“Jungkook!” You whispered out frantically at the sight of him letting you go only to kneel down on both knees. 

“Let me repeat my question; what do I have to do to earn your forgiveness?” Jungkook’s eyes burned with a bright intensity that nearly frightened you, his hand stroking up your thigh, “Is it Wheein? I’ll get her back for you. I’ll burn this entire fucking kingdom and rebuild it if I have too.” 

Was he hearing himself right now!?

You were panicked at his words and his actions, he had pushed his way into your room but the door was wide open, anybody could walk down this corridor and overhear him! “You can start by getting off the ground and going to bed!” You hissed out panickedly, flailing your hands to gesture him to stand, “And give me some time to think about it! Jungkook I…so much has happened I just need time! There’s no reason for you to say something so damning!” 

“I mean every word I’m saying.” Jungkook’s voice was serious, his eyes burning into you as he gazed up at you. 

It was silent for a long moment and Jungkook’s gaze did not lighten, hesitantly you lowered a hand down to his head, running your nails through his hair, it caused his lids to lower until they closed, his forehead resting against your thigh, hands still delicately trembling against your thighs.

“If you want my love so desperately, then give me time and space,” You whispered out, “You’re right, we’ve both made mistakes, and they can be forgiven, but forgiveness takes time that cannot be rushed.” 

“I can’t lose you.” Jungkook mumbled out, his weight slowly sinking into you. 

“You won’t.” Your words however went unheard as he slumped down, before collapsing to the ground, passed out. 

You stared down at him for a long moment before you sighed, “I’m sorry but you’re not spending the night here.” You stepped over him as you walked to the door, glancing around, the guard at your door must have been dismissed by him. 

You were in luck however as a pair of guards were at the end of the hall, walking quietly as they spoke, you flagged them down, requesting they find Taehyun and then have your guard returned to your door. 

Shortly Taehyun had arrived, the poor boy looking half asleep himself as he took in his Prince’s slumped figure on the ground, “He didn’t cause too many problems did he, Princess?” 

You shook your head, “No more than he usually does, I apologize for interrupting your night Taehyun, thank you for taking him back to his room.”

Taehyun offered a tired smile, “Of course your Highness, have a restful night.” He hauled Jungkook up with a groan, and briefly you wondered if Taehyun could even carry him, but he did manage to get him out the door and you supposed that was good enough.

Taking a shaky breath you sat back down in your bed, deciding you would be reading deep into the night, as you surely wouldn't be getting any rest regardless.

It was late morning and you had been eating out on the second floor terrace, the day was slightly warmer but still gray and cloudy, it made you depressed and you briefly wondered just how Penumbrian’s coped with it. 

But then again, they knew no different, for them, this was normal. 

You envied that.

“You mind if I join, Princess?” 

You twisted in your seat at the sight behind you, “Areum, of course, please have a seat.” You gestured to the empty table. 

You had been sitting out here alone, Yoongi on the inside as you wanted a moment to yourself but deep down you felt alone and you deeply missed Wheein’s company, each passing day made you more anxious, and the gap in your heart widen even more. 

Many questions filled your head, how would you set one trap to catch both Di Jin and Claudin in? You were not in a favorable position either way, Di Jin had a personal connection to the king and Dae Seong would need a damn good reason to believe you.

And you would have to be extra careful navigating Claudin as the Rosewood ties with the Jeon’s was already strained, one weak accusation and it could cause a civil war. 

“You seem so sullied these days Princess,” Areum commented as she sat next to you, promptly grabbing a plate and stacking it with rice cakes.

“I miss when I first arrived here,” You admitted, “Things weren’t complicated the way they are now.” 

“Perhaps,” Areum agreed, “But my, my, look how far you’ve come. I heard from your husband this morning. He looked dreadful.”

Your lips curled into a brief grimace at the memory, he looked rough last night, you couldn’t possibly imagine what he looked like when he woke up, no doubt hungover and upset. 

“What of it?” You felt slightly nervous, had someone overheard Jungkook’s over dramatic declaration last night?

“He asked me to take you to the Jeon Estate,” Areum smiled at your surprised and confused expression, “The estate was created for the royal family during the early days of Penumbra when the castle had yet to be built. It’s no longer used regularly, but occasionally we still hold family celebrations there for privacy. It’s deep in the woodland forest, past the Seer’s refuge.” 

“...May I ask why?” You frowned, uncertain of how to feel about this, there was so much at stake, how could Jungkook just expect you to leave…?

Areum smiled, “Something about wanting to allow you to have space and piece of mind. I understand your feelings Princess, I can’t imagine the weight you must be feeling right now, and I certainly wouldn’t blame you if you want to stay here at the castle.” 

Areum tapped her chin, “However I will say this much, the Estate has something primal to it, some may even call it magick. If you are seeking answers, there is no better place to meditate than there.” 

“I’ll think about it.” You nodded as you gazed out over the meadow in thought. 

Perhaps time away from the castle and Jungkook would serve you well.

wicked • 15

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 13k

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tags: jungkook really loves grabbing mc’s throat, dirty talk, breath play, dom!kook, possessiveness, clit play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation (m & f), vaginal fingering, squirting, wet humping…?  is that a thing? slight size kink

Note:I’m so excited to announce chapter 15! I hope you all love it as much as I do, inbox is open for asks and I would love to hear everyones opinions bc im sure yall are gonna be feeling some type of way by the end.

“How dare you accuse my maid of such a thing!” You hissed out from your seat, glaring into Di Jin with a venomous glare, “She is no such thing as an assassin and you should be utterly ashamed of yourself for even thinking of such!” 

Di Jin slammed his hands on the stable snarling at you, “Then tell me why she’s been missing from several of her shifts the last month? The only person who would be able to get into your room late into the night with guards posted would be her? There was a second attempt, was there not?” 

You shook your head, trying to not let your jaw slackened at the blatant disrespect, “Because I authorized it! Her mother has been deathly ill over the last month and I’ve given her time to be away from the castle to tend to her!” 

Di Jin’s nostrils flared as he leaned back in his seat, as he stared at you for a long moment as if a predator sizing its prey, “What a convenient cover, tell me Princess, have you ever seen this sickly mother?” 

Keep reading

Love to Hate (Epilogue)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Fuck Buddies / Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Synopsis: Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you’ve done your best to rid yourself of the taste since you were old enough to walk. Occasionally though, your mother manages to rope you into an obligatory function – or a blind date with playboy billionaire, Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook stands for everything you loathe about the world you left behind, but you can’t deny the spark of attraction between you. Intrigued by the promise of mutual satisfaction, you agree to one night in bed… and quickly realize you’re in far, far deeper than you ever intended.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: dirty talk, mentions of cum pay + pregnancy kink (no explicit content in the chapter) 

Word Count: 4,133

Author’s Note: links to be updated at a later date!

Keep reading

I’m not even gonna lie this is absolutely my favorite part of chapter 15 so far

Bear & Sparrow- Eyes on Me |KNJ smut| complete ✅

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader

Genre: Romance. Angst, Smut. Action. (semi) Legal drama. FLUFFY ending. Immigrant AU

Rating: EXPLICIT. FUCKING EXPLICIT. 🔞

WC: 20k

Summary: Namjoon is an illegal alien, an immigrant looking to cross the border illegally, just like you. The journey is perilous. Will you both be able to make it?

Trigger Warnings: there are BAD guys (not KNJ) who abuse their power, make degrading comments about women, and participate in drunken pack behavior. Implied mentions of non-con (in a comment). There is also Poverty. Illegal immigration. People smuggling. PTSD. It gets intense. But there’s a HAPPY ending. Unplanned pregnancy. Labor and Delivery. Incarceration. Dubious legalities. Corruption. But HAPPY ENDING. Liberal dose of Deus Ex Machina. Swearing. HAPPY ENDING. Capitalism.

Smut warnings: Voyeurism, slight dub-con by a bad guy. OC is a virgin. Namjoon is very careful, very tender, very protective. Fingering. Hot, emotional sex. Longing. Nipple play. Hot married sex. REUNION SEX.

Thank you to: @hobi-gif, @bangtanmademedoit, @xjoonchildx, @jinfizz @augustbutwinter @joheunsaram who have betad parts of this fic and who gave stunning suggestions.

And really, many many thanks to @vyduan @shatzkrinslinzki @bangtanmademedoit @jinfizz who make me richer in so many ways.

Thank you to every single reader who gave kind comments about this fic and encouraged me gently to post the ending. I appreciate it so, so much. Thank YOU.

*for readers who have read this, you're looking for chapter 8. I did tweak the front chapters, but nothing major. Enjoy!

BEAR & SPARROW -- Eyes On Me

Chapter 1

You’ve just traded your phone for a seat on this truck. 

It was the same story with your earrings, the bracelet from your grandmother, and the gold good-luck pendant you’ve worn on a red string around your neck since you were born. 

All were given in exchange for safe passage across river and thorny brush, over mountains and under the cover of night, all in the hopes of reaching a country where you can be free—free to eke out a living, to make the kind of money people in your village could only dream of.

Free to finally afford the medical care your brother so desperately needs. 

“It’s too dangerous,” your mother had protested.

“Too foolish,” your father had remonstrated.

You agreed with them. But slipped out anyway a few nights later to meet the people smuggler.

He was supposed to take you all the way to the border, even guaranteed a passport with a visa that’s ready to withstand the scrutiny of customs. He’d showed you the promised passport with your photograph and the official-looking visa – both of which he had said he’ll hold on for you until you reach customs.

But five villages and two hundred miles later, he left you on the side of the road, too far from home and too near your dreams to give up.

Your savings were gone. The extra clothes you had washed in the icy river for a few coins, the tonnes of garlic you had peeled by hand at the factory so that your skin turned raw and red – all that money disappeared like that. 

Somehow you made it to this truck with a bunch of desperados, each one eager to leave behind what they know for the unknown.  

You’re the last one to board, the only woman.

There are five others. Most of them look older, faces lined with worry typical of fathers with many mouths to feed back home.

Spread about the crates of vegetables, they each take a favorite position. One rests his head between his knees propped up. Another leans his head into the basket of potatoes, as if it were an embrace of a mother.

You’re about to settle in the middle of the cargo area between two large crates when a younger man speaks up quietly. 

“Here, take my place.” He scoots away from the inner corner of the truck and gestures to you to go there. It’s a coveted spot since there’s more privacy and furthest away from the door of the truck; a little safer than the middle area should any customs officer make an inspection of the cargo. 

Quickly, you try to memorize his face. His eyes seem kind even though his mouth isn’t smiling, but before you can take in the rest of his features, the driver slams the back doors shut, plunging the cargo area into darkness. You gasp at the sudden darkness; it’s impossible to even make out the outline of your hand. 

“You ok?” the same man whispers. “I can turn on my phone if you need.”

“No. Don’t waste your battery. I’m fine.” You’re quiet for a moment, absorbing his kindness. Everyone you’ve met on this journey has tried to take from you. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah. No problem.” The deep gravel of his voice is comforting, like it will catch you if you ever fall.

Behind the crates of cabbage and potato, with your back snug against the back wall of the truck, you soon fall into a dreamless sleep, finally too tired to fear. 

 ——————————

At a pit stop, the driver stops by the side of a dark, dusty road for you to relieve yourselves. You’ve been warned not to pee or shit in the truck, and that if it happens, the whole lot of you would be dumped in the middle of nowhere. You walk further away from the others and from the dim headlights of the vegetable truck to maintain some sort of privacy. You’re just about done when you hear a grunt just a few feet ahead of you. 

Wild boar. 

You know that sound anywhere.

Its meat is prized in your village; its bite and temperament, however, is what mothers warn little children of when they play in the woods. 

Quietly, you back away. 

But the rustle in the grass comes closer. 

You try to remember what your aunt had said when she tended to the wound of an unlucky boy who was gored by a boar. Something about look for a tree. Something about stay upright because your injury would be worse if you lie down and play dead. 

Well, a tree is out of the question. There’s nothing here but dirt and grass. You stay stock still, waiting for the ominous grunts in the darkness to stop, hoping that the truck hasn’t left you behind. 

“Hey… um, Miss? The truck’s about to – ”

It’s him. The tall man who gave you his spot in the truck.

“Wild Boar,” you whisper, not daring to raise your voice for fear of agitating it.

Footsteps as quiet as ever, he comes up. “Just back up, nice and easy to the truck. Whatever you do, don’t turn your back,” he murmurs by your ear. Stealthily, he steps in front of you, putting himself between you and the boar, hands urging you to go behind him.

“What about y— ”

“Trust me. Just go.”

There’s something about his voice that assures you he knows what he’s doing. And so you inch your way slowly back towards the truck. The rest of the men have already boarded and one of them leans down to help you clamber on. The driver is about to close the back doors of the truck when you stop him.

“Please. There’s one more. He’s coming back.”

“We don’t have time. Need to keep moving. Patrol is on the way.”

“No. Please. He was trying to protect me from a wild boar –”

The rest of the men give a low whistle. “Wild boar? Might be dead by now.”

“Please. I beg you. He’ll be here. I know it.” You hope so. 

“One minute. That’s all we can wait,” the driver replies tersely, looking at his watch. 

You’re praying to every god you know, the ones who live on a high mountain you’ve read from a picture book as a child. The one your grandmother always leaves a cup of rice wine for on the red family altar at every full moon. Even the one your neighbor prays to and talks about from a thick leather bound book. Please let him make it. 

With just seconds to spare, his tall, muscled silhouette sprints to the back of the truck. 

“Next time, we won’t wait. You better thank your girlfriend,” the driver spits before heaving the doors close the moment your rescuer climbs in. 

In the darkness, he falters and bangs around the crates of vegetables, looking for his spot. Instinctively, you reach your arms out towards him. “Over here,” you call out. The strong grip of his hands finds yours and you lead him to your corner. Hastily pushing the crates with your feet to make room for him, you pull him down beside you. 

“You okay? Shit. You had me worried for a moment there.” Above the rumble of the truck, you have to bend your head towards his a little so he can hear you.

His laugh is quiet and low. “I said, Trust me.” 

“I did. I told the driver you’ll be back. But still… for a moment… Anyway, what happened?”

“Doesn’t matter. I made it back.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Really.” 

Still it must have been something, he’s still panting a little, like he ran a mile. You wait for his breathing to even out.

“Thanks for everything,” you say. 

“You’re welcome.”

“I feel like I should at least know your name,” you say. 

“Um… just call me Bear.”

You know why. If you ever get interrogated at customs, the less you know of each other the better. 

“Bear as in…?” you ask.

“Bear as in bear,” he huffs.

“Altogether there are eight species of bears. Are you a Polar bear, or Asiatic black bear or… ” You can’t help yourself. You love zoology.

“Bear as in bear. But I’m calling your wild boar a member of the sus scrofa domesticus species.”

“Really? It wasn’t a wild boar?”

“Nope. It was a domesticated sow. I saw it for a brief moment before I started running for the truck.”

“Well. Everything changes then. I hereby withdraw my thanks for everything.”

“You would huh? Gimme back my corner spot then,” he says.

 You could feel his grin in the darkness, and you grin back too, hoping he feels yours.

“So what’s your name?” he asks. 

“Sparrow,” you say without a second’s thought. It’s what your grandmother calls you. 

“Sparrow because you’re small and chirpy?” he quips.

“For your information, sparrows are loyal and resilient. But yes, I’m also small and chirpy.” 

“Well. Little Sparrow, time to go to sleep.” His voice is serious now. “There’s a border crossing coming up soon. We need to rest while we can. Who knows what’s waiting for us there.”

You’ve been on your own for three long weeks with zero meaningful conversations; this is one connection you don’t want to end so soon. But you know he’s right. The first border crossing is coming up. You’ll need your wits about you.  

 ————————

You don’t know how long you’ve slept but you feel his warm breath against your ear before his words register.

 “Sh… we’re at the checkpoint.”

The truck is deathly silent. You hope the border patrol will just wave the truck across. Sometimes it depends on how calm and nonchalant the driver can act. Sometimes it depends on the luck of the draw. Sometimes there are thermal scanners. Sometimes there are dogs.

You search for Bear’s hand in the dark and grip him unapologetically, too terrified to feel shy. 

 He grips right back. 

You can hear the border patrol officers shouting at the driver, asking for his papers. There is banging on the sides of the truck; the officers are probably enjoying the ringing sound of their batons against metal.

 “We’re looking for illegal aliens,” one of the shouts, in a heavy accent.

“Only vegetables, I’m afraid. Maybe a carrot or potato that looks like E.T.¹” It’s a smart move. The driver makes a small joke so as to get the customs officers to like him. Hopefully, they’ll wave the truck on. 

After an agonizing wait, you finally feel the rumble of the truck and it’s only then that you let go of Bear’s hand. Realizing that you might have squeezed him too tightly, you apologize. 

“It’s ok,” he says. “I’ve a sister. She does the same thing too whenever she hears the army guys enter the village.”

“Why? What do they do when they come to the village?” You wonder which exact province he’s from. 

 “Just things.” His words have a bitter edge. 

 You know what he means. 

 “I’ve a brother too. He’s home. Needs the hospital but we can’t even…” your words trail off as you remember his face. Your phone is gone now, and you have no photos to remember him by. 

 “We’ll make it,” he says, like it’s the indisputable ending of a fairy-tale. The Prince finds Cinderella. Sleeping Beauty wakes up. Happily-ever-after. Bear and Sparrow. 

 We’ll make it. 

 ————————————–

It’s perhaps five hours to the foothills of the mountains. The driver throws a loaf of bread and two litres of water for you to divide among yourselves. With you and Bear at the back corner of the truck, the loaf has dwindled to a few miserable pieces by the time it gets to you. 

You give Bear half of your share, insisting he eat more. “I’m Sparrow, remember? I eat like a bird. Don’t need much. Don’t wanna pee too often either.”

He resists for a while but soon realizes you must descend from the most stubborn breed of sparrows. 

 “So. You have relatives waiting for you on the other side?” he asks, trying to make conversation so as to forget the gnawing hunger in his belly.

 “A friend’s aunt. I don’t really know her. I just know I want to send money home. Maybe find a job as a dishwasher first or something.”

 “Be careful who you trust out there, Sparrow.” Even above the grind of the truck hitting the bumpy dirt road, you hear the softness and tenderness in his voice.

Sigh. It’s true. Your instincts regarding people have not always been correct. But the thought of your brother not getting the treatment he needs just because of a lack of money is a reality that you cannot accept. How can something so simple stand in the way of something so monumental? You just have to trust your wits not to fail you again. 

“You?” It’s easier to ask him rather than talk about yourself. 

“A cousin. I’m going to work for him. He has room for me in his home. Gonna stay there until I get my papers…” 

“Sounds perfect.”

“Yeah. Well, he also just had a baby. So I’m not sure if I’ll be getting much sleep.”

“By the time this truck takes us across the borders, you’ll be a pro at interrupted sleep.” 

You’re rewarded with his laugh. It rolls out easily like happy thunder, and you imagine his eyes crinkling. 

“What do you think you’ll miss about home when we get there?” he asks you.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it. Just need to focus on getting there first, you know? But right now? Right now, I miss feeling safe.”

“You’re safe with me.” he says quietly.

You don’t know what to say. It’s not like he’s the driver of the truck who will guarantee you’ll make it to customs. It’s not like he’s a border policeman who promises to look the other way when you cross state lines. 

 No. He’s here with you in the same vegetable truck, deep in this nightmare of crossing borders illegally, reaching for the same dream of making it to the other side alive. 

“Who knows what’s safe anymore?” You try to sound flippant, but it’s too hard to hide your gratitude for his words. 

You simply say Thanks Bear and hope you don’t cry.

 ————————————

The terrain of the mountain road is even bumpier than at the foothills. The truck hugs the curves of the sides of the mountain precariously, slipping backwards on the upslope, skidding sideways on the downslope. You’ve always been good with motion sickness, but you’re not used to the creeping cold that’s slithering through the tiny air vents. Next to Bear, you’re shivering. 

 “Cold, little Sparrow?”

“Y-yeah.” You wish you could stop the chatter in your teeth but the thin coat you have on at the moment is not helping. The cold metal of the truck on your back seems to seeping deep into your very bones.

 You hear the zip of Bear’s coat and he tucks it around you in the darkness. 

 “Bear, no–” 

 “Trust me. I’m good.”

He’s good. He’s more than good though. Kind. Honorable. Brave. Quietly, you dig around in the side pocket of your jeans. It’s a hard piece of peach candy that you’ve saved from home. The one your grandma makes with the unsold harvest. 

Your hands search for his face. Finding his lips, you press the little piece of candy into his mouth. “Here, suck on it slowly. It’ll help with the motion sickness.” He’s about to say something when you press a finger to his lips.

 “Sh… trust me. I’m good.”

His fingers find yours then. Surrounded by vegetables, by his coat, by his male musky scent, by the whiff of peach candy from your childhood, you place your hand in his, feeling like you’re in the safest place you can be right now in the whole wide world.  

 ——————

It’s the arguing that wakes you before you realize the truck has stopped moving. The back and forth shouting is loud. You hear the driver’s protests that there’s nothing in his truck but vegetables. The old ET joke again. But the banging on the truck doesn’t fade away this time. They want him to open the cargo area. 

 “Inspection! Inspection! Inspection!” You hear them sing gleefully.

 Shit. They must be drunk. Who knows what will happen. You’ve heard that the border police in the mountains are a little wilder. There’s less oversight here since it’s a remote outpost stuck in a little valley between two mountains. Bear is trying to stack another crate around you, anything to keep you hidden. There’s a slight chance they won’t see you in the far corner if they’re that drunk.

 “Be brave now, Sparrow,” he whispers before he pushes your head down to balance another basket of vegetables over you. Quietly, he stacks it on top of the crates that he’s surrounded you with.

The cargo doors swing open without a second to spare, and the gust of snowy wind sweeps eagerly in. You hear the chortles of the patrolmen, laughing at their bounty as they haul each of the men out of the truck. 

 One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Five dogs today! What shall we do to them?! 

 Too bad there isn’t a bitch. 

You’re willing yourself invisible, willing the cramp in your muscles to lock you in like a statue so you don’t move, breathe, or cough to give yourself away. 

Meanwhile, you hear the little shit of a driver arguing that he had no idea how these illegals ot into his truck. 

 Too bad we don’t believe you. We usually do if there’s a bitch on board. But you don’t, so you’ll go to jail like the rest of them. 

 “But there is.” You hear the driver say. Loud and clear. Triumphant even.

 Where’s the bitch? Boys! He says there’s a bitch in there!

They come crashing in, drunkenly flinging and pushing crates and baskets this way and that, rolling potatoes and cabbages about until they come to your corner. 

Got the bitch! Got the bitch! A pretty one too! Chief will like this!

They drag you out into the open and you gasp at the sudden cold. The afternoon light is dimmed by the grey rain clouds in the sky, but the fear in the eyes of the men from the truck, including the driver’s, is bright and alarming. They’re lined up, forced to put their hands behind their heads.

 Chief! Chief! Chief! There’s a bitch here for you! 

You can only stare at the frosty ground, heart racing at the terrible thoughts of what might happen next. There’s a slow, deliberate crunch of footsteps before a pair of shiny black boots parades itself in front of you. He walks to your left, then to your right, circling you, assessing his prey. Breath reeking of alcohol, he lifts your chin to meet his gaze and you see a face, twisted with a merciless grin, matched with a set of small, beady eyes that are piercing even in his drunken state. 

 “Well. Well. What have we here?” 

 A bitch! A bitch! They are baying now at their prize. Out of control.

You look back at him, proud and unflinching. You might lose everything today. But you will not lose your dignity. 

“Your papers, miss?” he asks, voice dripping with mockery.

“I don’t have any.” 

“Then we need to use what you do have, isn’t it?” A finger reaches to glide down your face, and your skin crawls at his touch. 

“For god’s sake!” shouts one of the men from the truck. “Stop this insanity!” 

You know his voice. He was the one who helped you up the truck on the night of the boar. You turn to give him a grateful look only to see the policemen punching him down to the ground. 

The chief ignores the scuffle. He keeps his attention on you, fingering the thin sleeve of your coat. “Must be cold. Let’s get you all nice and warm, shall we? And after that, you and your friends here can be on your merry little – ” 

“Get your hands off my wife!” Behind you, Bear rushes towards you, but is stopped by the henchmen of the chief. He doesn’t let up even as he’s being forced to the ground and held face-down next to you, in front of the chief. “She’s a married woman! Don’t touch her! Adulterer!”  

The chief pauses for a moment. Reassessing his options. The mountain people have their own superstitions even in this day and age. Plus, if his superior ever catches a whiff of scandal with him and a married woman, there’ll be hell to pay. But first, he has to make sure he absolutely can’t play with you. “If you’re her husband, where’s your ring? Where’s hers?” he asks slyly.

“People like us do not get to hold on to our wedding rings. They’ve been given up to your dear comrades at the previous checkpoint.” The dignity in your voice unnerves him. He usually likes his prey scared, terrified of his power even. But you’re barely showing a hint of fear.

“Well, then — ” the chief bends down to the ground to pull Bear’s head up, twisting his neck so far back that you fear Bear’s neck may snap, “— fuck your wife. We’ll watch. Go on.”

Let us watch! Let us watch! Let us watch!

Pure agony is written on Bear’s face. His plan has backfired and he is at a complete loss as to what to do.

 “We’ll do it. But only in front of you. The others have to go.” The command in your voice surprises you. You’d forgotten that you’re the only woman who could hold her price for the rice and corn at the wholesaler’s market; forgotten about the girl who could make the neighborhood bullies grovel at her feet when she caught them teasing her younger brother; forgotten the steel that’s always been inside you, the one which drove you on this journey in the first place.

 “Of course,” the chief purrs sickeningly. “I do love a private show.”

“Where’s your bed? You don’t think I’m going to do it here on the ground, do you? Or do people like you sleep and fuck on the ground like animals?” The fiery challenge in your tone is unmistakable.

The chief’s narrowed eyes are focused on you. He’s well within his powers to have you all killed and buried twelve feet under the snow. But you’re so close to the final border you’re sure as hell not going to give up now. Defiantly, you lift your chin proudly, meeting his gaze. 

Confused and worried, Bear stares at you from his position on the floor. He’s crippled with shock but your fearlessness gives him the little bit of courage to go on. He remembers his promise to keep you safe and vows to stay strong for you.

 “Gentlemen, take care of the rest of the dogs out here. I have some business to attend to with these two.” 

The rest of his men howl with laughter, like wolves, and you shudder at their depravity while you and Bear are led to the barracks.

The chief’s personal quarters are surprisingly luxurious, considering how remote the post is. There’s a little oil heater and a sitting area near a large bed piled with furs and blankets. 

 “Go on then,” the chief smirks as he settles in his arm chair. “Or have you forgotten how?”

“I said only in front of you. Not those goons,” you say pointing to the two officers who escorted you and Bear in. 

“Chief, what if –”

“Get out. I’m fine. I’m armed and they aren’t. Just stand outside the door.” He waves them out of the room distractedly.

Bear is standing there, burning with rage. How he wishes he could tear this… this animal apart. You see the angry clench of his jaw and quickly put your hand in his, twining your fingers around his. 

“I’m bored. Are you going to just stand there?” His tone is infuriatingly contemptuous. 

“Be quiet if you want a show,” you retort back. You’re nervous as hell. You’ve never slept with a man, but you have heard things from the other married women before. Read things too. But you can’t let this bastard know you’re a virgin.

Going up to Bear, you put your arms around him in an embrace. 

“That’s more like it,” the chief murmurs approvingly from his spectator’s seat.

But Bear stands stiffly, awkwardly, unsure of where to put his hands. Uncertain if this is right or not.

“Help me, I haven’t done this before,” you whisper into his ear. 

He sucks in a breath. “Please Bear. I rather you than him,” you beg. 

He hesitates, and finally gives himself permission to pull you slowly towards him. You feel so warm, so soft. Tenderly, he caresses your hair as he first kisses your forehead, then your cheek. When his lips reach the curve of your ear, he murmurs, “Brave Sparrow, I’m Namjoon. At least know my name.” 

“I’m Y/N,” you whisper back while stealing backward glances at the chief, afraid that he’ll start yelling orders again, or worse, take out his gun. You’re trembling with fear, but there is something comforting about knowing Bear’s name. It sounds solid and strong, like the protective steel of his arms around you, nevermind the chief behind you who’s armed and dangerous.

“Y/N.” Namjoon tests out the shape of your name on his tongue as he cradles your face in his hands. The syllables of your name are beautiful. Soothing. Like music. “Eyes on me. You’ll have me because you’ll want me.” He cradles your face, his thumbs and fingers shielding your eyes protectively from wandering to the chief’s detestable form. “You’re safe with me.”

Slowly, he nudges your lips apart, and slots his own into yours. Moaning quietly into you, he tells you how sweet you taste, how perfect you are for him, how good you feel. He waits until you’re melting into him before he brings his hands to curve over your ass, gently pulling your belly flush to his hardness.

You gasp as your gaze drops to his crotch. Even with his pants on, you can see how large he is. A panicky feeling rises and you wonder how he’s going to fit. 

 “Eyes on me,” he murmurs. “Trust me.”

He kisses you deeper this time. Tongue teasing yours, inviting you to play with his, to taste him just as he has tasted you. You listen to his body, and to yours, listen to the siren call that your heart already knows, that your body now feels, that your mind is slowly learning. 

“Gonna take off your top now okay?” He breathes the question into your skin, seeking permission, like it’s your wedding night. You nod shyly to him and he peels off his coat, then your sweater; lifts off your shirt over your head and then takes a moment to fill his eyes with you shirtless before him. 

 “Come on. Enough with the foreplay. Hurry up and take it all off.” The nasty snarl breaks the reverence of the moment.

Namjoon pointedly ignores him, plants kisses down the column of your neck, hands chastely on your back. He will die a gentleman if he has to. 

“Not gonna let him rush us. Not your first time. Not if I can help it.” He takes a deep breath. “May I? Let me take it off?” His fingers are at the back hook of your bra, patient and gentle.

“Yeah. Take it all off. Want you to do it,” you whimper into him. There’s fear but there’s also… dare you say it… a desire for him to want you.

 The loud, sudden banging on the door stops everything. 

“Chief! Chief! Avalanche Warning. Level Four! There’s a heavy rain higher up on the mountain! This post is going to get buried!” 

The chief throws you a look of utter frustration and dashes out of the room, leaving the door open in his haste. There’s shouting in the hallway, orders being barked, the rushed stomping of booted feet and then… nothing.

Bared before Namjoon, with just you and him left in the room, you look away, suddenly vulnerable, suddenly ashamed of your semi-nakedness. 

 “Eyes on me,” he says quietly. With a silent reverence, he dresses you like he’s clothing you with finery but it’s just an old shirt. Just your sweater. Just his coat. 

You remember how your mother dressed you on the first day of school. With loving and gentle hands, she buttoned every button and smoothed every crease. You remember you stood taller, smiled wider, felt prouder of yourself for being a big girl ready for first grade. 

In this inferno of shame, anger and hurt, Namjoon’s careful hands restore you; he clothes you with dignity you thought you’d given up. 

 When he pulls the zip of his coat all the way up to your chin, he finally speaks. “Just now –”

 “Don’t worry. I’ve already forgotten it.” You smile bravely, trying to show it didn’t matter.

 “–I meant every word I said,” he finishes. 

 You look at him in disbelief. 

 But he says it again, “Trust me.”

 —————————————–

The journey across the final border is strangely uneventful. You hear from the others that the patrolmen evacuated immediately as a serious avalanche brought on by the impending rain would bury the valley outpost for weeks. 

Namjoon has the foresight to rummage through the deserted office for official paperwork, the right stamps, the right visas, everything. While he gets everyone’s papers sorted in the office with your help, the older men are outside with the driver. You don’t know and don’t care what happens to the asshole. All you know is one of the men comes back with your phone, and with it – all the photos of home.

The men insist that you and Namjoon sit in the cab of the truck, next to the self-designated driver from amongst them. They count themselves alive because of you both. The least they could do is give you both pride of place in the front bench seat. 

But first, to get through the mountain pass safely, the driver expertly maneuvers the truck through the icy roads. Every yard takes you further away from danger, every inch, closer to freedom.

From your vantage point, you watch for the very moment the truck officially crosses international boundaries and you wind the window down a crack. 

The old cliché is true after all. Freedom smells different. Taking a deep breath, you gulp in air that is full of promise. It’s laden with hope. It’s suffused with dreams. 

“We made it, Bear.”

Namjoon grins at the way you revel in the icy air that has filled the cab of the truck. Leaning into your ear, he whispers shyly, “It’s bear as in Sun bear. Known for their intelligence, sun bears tend to be shy and prefer to live among trees.”

You smile. You know this one. “Helarctos malayanus,” you say. “From the Greek helios meaning of the sun, and arctos meaning bear. Malayanus because they were first found in British Malaya.”

The papers you hold in your hand declare you as a Resident Alien in your newly adopted country. Your other hand in Namjoon’s, however, declares that you’re already home. 

Sun bear and Sparrow. 

We made it. 

Chapter 2

Kim Namjoon wants to fuck you.

He knows you want to fuck him too, if the friction of your hips against his is any indication of how much you want him. 

Your breath is hot against his neck as you lick a thick stripe up to the back of his ear, thighs straddled around him as you press his back towards the hard concrete of the bench. The roaring of the waves in the distance cannot compare to the loud pounding of his heart. He wants you so badly. The tightening in his groin tortures him, and the eager grind of your hips against his fucking hard cock is not helping. 

It’s late and the beach is mostly deserted, little bonfires littering the sandy expanse on this warm summer night. Here on this park bench, your thighs are driving him mad, silky smooth skin wrapped around his hips, clamping down on him as you urge him to touch you. 

He allows himself a little touch, hands tentatively gliding under your airy floral skirt, groaning at how soft you are under his fingertips. 

“More, Bear.” 

“You sure?” His breaths are coming hot and hard, chest burning with desire from the tight push of your breasts on him. 

“Want your fingers inside me,” you whisper, the thick muscle of his shoulder muffling the desire in your words. 

Namjoon chokes back a needy groan. 

You can’t bear to watch his expression and so you rather bury your face in the crook of his neck, a little ashamed of how much you want to feel a part of him inside you. 

“Hey. You going all shy on me?” he nudges his words gently by your ear.

How he has dreamt about you coming all over his fingers, to hear your moans deep and desperate by his ear. It has been a few months of going slow, agonizingly slow, to help you get comfortable with the glide of his lips on you, to feel safe under the press of his hands. And now, here you are, pleading for more.

“Hnnnnggggh.” You wrap your hands around his neck tighter, burrowing your nose into him, too bashful to look at him. 

“Shy Sparrow. Always let me know what you want, okay?” He ghosts a single finger up the side of your thigh, trembling a little as he finds the curve of the fabric and follows it down along the hem of your panties until he feels the soaked cotton cleaving to your mound.

Slowly, he presses a finger into the cleft of your cunt, wishing the cotton barrier could just disappear. 

“This okay?”

You arch into his finger, a needy whimper of come inside tumbles out.

Namjoon slides a finger under and lightly traces the cleft of your folds, pleasure coursing through him as he feels the hot sticky slick coating his finger as he brings his finger up, then down, then up again. Tentatively, he curls it inside you a little. 

“Does this hurt?”

“No. I… I… can usually fit two of my fingers in when I…” Shit. This is embarrassing.

“You touch yourself?” His words are coated only with reassurance and love.

“Only when I miss you,” you confess. 

An image of you sprawled out on the mattress, fingers stroking yourself, calling his name flits across his mind. He swallows thickly, growing impossibly harder.

“Can you come from that?” 

You shake your head. 

“Wanna try?” 

“Yeah. Let’s try,” you breathe. It’s not the first time you’re so wet from just kissing and making out with Namjoon, but it’s the first time you want him inside you. 

“Tell me what feels good,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. 

He feels for your clit and draws a gasp from you when he finds it. 

“Too much?”

“A little.”

Namjoon plays with the area around your sensitive bud, enjoying the way you squirm around him, arousal clinging on to one finger, then two, then his thumb. Every inhale and exhale from you is sweet, shallow, and fast. His other hand is firm against your back, rubbing gently as you arch yourself against him, little jolts of pleasure zinging through your spine whenever he brushes against your g-spot. 

He moves in to kiss your neck, gently nipping at your ear lobe, then your temple, tracing the hairline with his lips, worshipping your face.  

“Kiss me, Bear.” You want his lips on you once more, want the hot slide of tongue against tongue, of spit and love and breath mixed together. 

He swoops in, kissing you deep and slow, drawing you into the wet heat of his mouth. You’re kissing and kissing and kissing, barely breathing, but completely alive. 

“Going to rub your clit now. That okay?”

“Yeah. Oh god, Bear.”

His teasing thumb finds the bundle of nerves easily now, muscle memory as usual proves a faithful servant. Namjoon shudders as he feels your walls squeeze around his fingers 

You know you can’t get too loud, not here in public. But what he’s doing to you is driving you a little mad. 

Namjoon watches your face as he rubs his thumb lightly on your swollen nub, memorizing the way your eyes open and close as you try to hold on to that feeling of teetering on the edge. 

“You can do it.”

He rubs a little more, relishing how your jaw hangs open as you tilt your head back, fingernails digging into the meat of his shoulders. 

“Fly, little bird,” he murmurs as he plants a kiss on the slope of your neck and nips at the skin. 

You feel it first in your belly, electricity shooting through to the back of your spine and up, drawing every ligament and tendon taut and tight until the shockwave releases its grip on you. 

“Bear.” 

Beautiful. You’re so beautiful. So brave. And bold. His Sweet Sparrow. Namjoon feels his balls tighten, he’s trying not to come in his pants like a horny teenager. He can already feel his pre-cum leaking into his pants as a wave of your arousal drips around his fingers. He keeps you steady, hands still supporting you as you gasp out your orgasm, holds you until the wave subsides. Only then, he allows himself to taste the slick creaming around his fingers. 

“Fuck. All for me.” His eyes go dark for a moment as your arousal coats his tongue. 

You can’t believe what you’re seeing, it’s hot, but it’s also new. How is it he loves you so much like that? You don’t know what else to do so you just press the side of his face next to yours, unable to meet his eyes and clutch on those shoulders in the cosy aftermath of your climax. 

Suddenly, a flashlight sweeps across the bench. 

“Break it up, kids! Go get a room!” 

You both squint at the sudden intrusion. The gold badge flashes in the darkness. A policeman. 

Shit. 

You instinctively freeze. 

It’s that expression of real fear that prompts the cop to narrow his eyes. “I.D.s please.”

You’ve never shown your ID papers to law enforcement before, the very same papers Namjoon cleverly stamped at the last checkpoint months ago. But you’re prepared. Like every recent immigrant with real or forged papers, you carry it with you wherever you go, ready to fight tooth and nail for your right to stay. 

You climb off Namjoon and immediately start to reach in your bag for your papers. The policeman, however, starts to shout, “Put your hands UP!” as he draws his gun out and points it at the both of you. 

“Sir, we are unarmed. Just reaching for  I.D. papers.” Namjoon keeps his eyes down, speaking slowly and clearly. He knows he hasn’t gotten the accent quite exactly right, but he sounds pretty good already.

“Kick the bags over here,” the officer demands. 

Instantly, you both comply. With his gun still trained on you, he calls for backup through his walkie talkie. 

You feel sick to your stomach. The memories of crossing borders come flooding back and suddenly you feel faint. The world seems to tilt a little and the policeman starts looking fuzzy. Namjoon sees your shaking form and reaches for your hand. 

“Hey, keep your hands UP!” The gun is raised again. 

“Eyes on me, Sparrow. Breathe.” Namjoon forces out the words through clenched teeth, slow and soft. He’s doing what he can to divert your attention away from the gun.

Your eyes meet and he gives you the slightest nod, dimpled smile giving you a little courage. It’s his voice though, that brings strength to your heart, the voice which comforted you in the pitch blackness of the vegetable truck. Slowly, you breathe, keeping your eyes on Namjoon, trying to remember the safety you felt when you were with him. 

Arms aching from raising them so long, you wait. You breathe. You remember. 

Finally, the policeman’s partner comes, checks your bags for your identification papers. They take down your names, and then ask for your address. 

Namjoon cuts smoothly in and says you are both living at his cousin’s, Jin’s. He says the memorized address smoothly and perfectly. 

The truth, however, is a little more complicated. You’ve been staying there in the attic intended for Namjoon while he took the couch at his cousin’s office. Namjoon wanted you to have your own space, and thought that it would be too much of an imposition on Jin if he crashed every night on the living room sofa.

The officers take down the address and finally let you go with a warning. 

Relieved, you take your bags and start on the long walk home, your knees still wobbly from the encounter.

It’s quiet at first, both of you still processing what just transpired. His arm is protective around your shoulder and you’re grateful for its comforting weight around you. 

“I was so scared.” You’re close to crying now. You couldn’t earlier when your senses were all on high alert. Now that it’s over, the tears are finally pooling in you eyes.

“Me too,” he says quietly. “I really shouldn’t have brought you out here to the beach just to make out with you like that. You deserve better, and I was just too impatient. I’m sorry – “

“Sh… silly Bear. No, I wanted this. I wanted you.” The night air carries your words, soft and sweet to him; the catch in your throat, however, is unmistakable. 

He draws you in for a hug, thumbs each little teardrop away, heart aching for you. He nuzzles a promise into your ear. “We’ll find a place that we can afford. Let’s wait till then, and do it right.”

Encircling you in his arms, he pulls you in deeper into him and wishes he didn’t have to let go. 

But dawn beckons and work’s calling. There’s money to make. A place to rent.  And hopefully, someday, a family to build. 

Chapter 3

“I’m home, Mrs. Kim.”

It’s instinct by now. You turn around at the sound of his voice, at the call of your name. The voice is familiar; the name, new, but both feel right, like the snug fit of the new gold band on your finger. 

“Hey, Mr. Kim.” The lighting is low and you can hardly make out the features of his face in the doorway. There’s not much to light up anyway. In this little efficient apartment, the living room is the dining room, the bedroom, the kitchen, and the study all rolled into one tiny space. Thankfully, the bathroom remains a bathroom. 

“Enjoying the view from our new mansion?” he jokes, taking a few short strides to cover the length of the apartment. He brings his arms around your waist from behind you and gazes out the window with you. 

“Of course.” The view is stunning, stunningly awful, but it’s a view from your very own place. It looks over the dingy alley behind a popular restaurant. Cheap rent, free smells, and the world’s most expensive ring bought with the precious sweat of his brow– there’s nothing more you can ask for. 

“Missed my wife.” Namjoon swoops in for a hello kiss and you tilt your head for him, the exact angle practiced and perfected, lips ready to receive. He tastes like coffee, like overwork and exhaustion from two shifts and three jobs; smells like paint and varnish, like stale freezer burn and shoe polish; but oh god, he feels, he feels like home. 

“Missed my husband,” you coo back.

The quick peck turns a little wilder, hungrier. He moves his tongue past your lips, past your teeth, eager for a taste of sweetness. You offer it to him, soft and yielding. There’s not much more you can give him except your very self. Truly, what else is there that you can bring? The meager paycheck and free overripe bananas from the grocery store where you work hardly count for much. And so you flood your kiss with all the feeling you can muster, try to tell him how grateful you are for him, thankful for how hard he works. 

“Hungry?” you ask, tone playful but also concerned. “Dinner’s done.”

He probably hasn’t eaten much all day nor all night. When he isn’t at night-school to get his art teacher’s license, he’s working the night shift at the frozen meat packing plant. This is on top of working as a shoe-shiner in the city’s financial district Monday to Friday for his cousin’s business. Weekends are spent peddling his own little paintings to tourists. The paintings are always of his home, acrylic renditions of hill and vale, surf and sea. 

“Hungry. So hungry,” he groans into your mouth, desperate, like a little boy who can’t get enough, but kisses you like a man who has everything he needs. And you? You touch him like a girl, eager and willing; kiss him back like a woman who has everything she wants.

“Glad you’re home then,” you whisper, happy that two warm bowls of rice are ready. 

His hands cup your ass, the rounded curves always an open invitation for the meat of his palms, your skin all too familiar with the press of his fingertips. “Need you,” he growls into your ear, nips your earlobe while he’s at it. The column of your neck proves too tempting for him. He bites lightly, running his teeth playfully down on the smooth flesh, drawing little gasps from you. 

You welcome the eager rock of his hips against your belly. The way he gets so hard for you, so fast, so soon, is something you can’t get over. This man truly wants you. And oh, how you want him back.

“Go shower. We can play later. Rice is hot,” you murmur. You don’t want this to end, but you do worry about him. He hardly has time to eat between jobs and classes. 

“Wife is hot,” he murmurs back, hands now roving up to knead the full flesh of your breasts. He tilts his head back on contact with the lush bountiful weight, thumbs tracing the tops, then the sides, then around the downward dip of the curves. 

His hands work overtime to undress you, aching to have you completely naked before him. You’re eager too. His shirt comes off, then his belt, then his work-worn jeans and underwear. 

“Husband’s hot too.” You’re kissing the hard planes of his chest, fingers kneading gently into his shoulders to soothe the muscle aches from all the heavy lifting he does as a meat packer.

You’re both tumbling into bed, not caring that it’s just a secondhand mattress on the floor, propped up by wood pallets lashed together. There will be money for a proper bed later. What matters is that the sheets have tasted love firsthand, never mind the dip and creak of old, tired springs. 

He pulls you on top of him, wanting the twin globes of your breasts to hang over him like forbidden fruit. He buries his nose in the valley of creamy flesh, breathing in the sweetness of coming home to your body. 

“So good for me,” he groans as he starts licking around the nipple. 

You want him to suckle, want the peak tight in his mouth, the pleasure with the slightest edge of pain when he draws on the hardened bud. “Namjoon, please. Need more.”

“More’s coming,” he promises as he finally has your nipple in his mouth. He rolls his tongue over it, teases and tweaks it with tongue and a hint of teeth, thumbs the other nipple to its peak, pulling little whimpers from you. You arch into his lips, elbows collapsing a little around his head, smooshing him with the soft pillows of your breasts.

“Feels good?” His voice is deep and husky with desire and it thrills you.

“S-so good,” you hiss, pleasure flooding through your chest.

You can feel wetness pooling in your pussy, slicking you up. You grab his hair, urge him lower, words no longer needed between lovers who’ve already learned each other so well.

Namjoon gets it and eases your back onto the quilt your mother sent from home. It was her wedding gift to you, and it was her apology to Namjoon for the lack of a dowry. Not that he cared. Your breasts, your belly, your cries and moans on the wedding night were reward enough.

“Want you. Wantyou. Wantyouwantyouwantyou.” It’s a new chant tonight, one he keeps up as he tastes you, lips sampling the expanse of silky skin, then the inward bend of your waist, fingers swiftly stroking lower and lower, seeking out the heat between your thighs. To hell with dinner. You feel warm and wet and sticky and he needs dessert first.

Shifting his body down, he sucks on the soft skin up the inside of your thighs, drawn by the scent of your arousal, marvels at how it leaves a layer of glossy slick right between your legs before he dips his head down for a taste of your cunt, laves his tongue between your slit, all the way up, up, up to your clit, drawing you into his mouth. He knows how you like it, heard you bliss out that first night, and then again and again every night after. 

There’s something different about tonight though, you think. You haven’t been man and wife for long, and Namjoon has always been tender and careful. Tonight, it’s as though he needs to melt himself completely into you, body pressing hard and heavy and urgent into your skin. It’s a feeling you welcome, eager for the fire of flesh on flesh, yours against his. But there’s a wild look in his eyes which worries you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he lies. “Just missed you. Want me to slow down?”

“No, no. Not at all. Want you too.” 

The truth is the bastard supervisor at the plant had picked on him again, called him that slur, knew an immigrant like him needed the job and wouldn’t fight back. 

Namjoon had shut the fuck up, swallowed down his pride, allowed the insult to rake its fingernails deep and hard through his dignity before it slid off his consciousness, leaving a bitter taste that colored every second of his shift. 

He needed home, needed you then; and now he’s here, he can’t wait, can’t stop. 

“Bear. Bear. Bear.”

Your little gasps of pleasure are music to him as his tongue works on your clit. He wants to lose himself in your moans, wants you louder, then faster, then harder. 

Lining himself up at your dripping pussy, he burns to lock you in his arms, yearns to be locked in by your legs, deep in your heat. 

“Need to fuck now. That okay?” he’s breathing hard, drawing your legs around his waist, wanting to forget the shitty day, hoping to remember that he’s strong, he’s still a man, still your Bear.  

He’s barely hanging by a thread, using the last ounce of restraint to stop himself from fucking straight into you. 

“Bear.”

He surges in then at the permission of his name, bucking deep into you, knows you well enough that you can take him hard like that all slicked up. 

You meet his thrusts, squeezing your walls around him, tightening at each drag and pull of his cock, wishing he could just stay forever inside deeper than deep. But then he’s folding your left knee up with one hand, switching the angle to thrust into you further while another hand brings a finger down to your clit, stroking slow, working the pressure in a rhythm that echoes the thumping of his heart and yours. It causes you to forget momentarily about clenching around him but focus on the ripples he’s sending into you. 

“Sparrow. Sing for me.” It’s a choked cry that comes from deep within him, the part that needs validation he can make his wife come. 

You’re heating up, familiar with the pressure that builds into paradise and pleasure. He’s going to sweep you off your feet, fingers knowing exactly how to take you there. But tonight, you don’t want to make this journey alone.

“Bear, come with me. Please.”

You’re eager to take him home inside you, eager for him to escape for a while, to a place where you’re both no longer strangers, or foreigners, or aliens–just lovers who speak the same language of desire, locals who know the secret spots, citizens with right of residence inside each other. 

Over and over he drives his hips into you, now with one hand under your head to anchor himself within you, another over your clit, cock filling you, hitting just the perfect place, curving deep, coming fast, coming hard, coming now.

“I’m close, Sparrow, too fucking close.”

His jaw is tight, taut with tension, trying hard to hold off the tempest, waits for you first, always you, always first. But not much longer, not much more. One arch into him, the first scream of his name on your lips and he feels himself twitch. He comes inside you, warm, wet, wailing your name, wanton hips stuttering after going for long, hard strokes. 

The sounds of traffic and the late night crowd outside your window fade into nothing in your little den, replaced by the echoes of the intermingling of your names, of sex sounds of sweat and slick mixed together, the satisfied sighs of yours and his. 

Too overwhelmed to speak, you use the language of touch, fingers soothing the expanse of his back, then up his scalp, down the sides of his face. He’s hurt. That much you know, that much you sense when he fucked you deep into the sheets. You draw your legs up tighter around him, lest he slip out of you before you’ve done your best to minister to whatever ache he’s carrying inside. 

He, too, clings to you, trying to anchor himself into you even as he’s spent. The whole world can go to hell, and he would not give a fuck. He’s here with you, buried inside you, wrapped in you, thinking how he’s somehow weaker, yet stronger, with you. 

It’s strange how quickly the cramped space within four walls already feels like home with Namjoon in your bed. Between the both of you, you’re supporting four elderly parents and two siblings, a mountain of hospital bills and one college education. After the monthly remittance back home, there’s hardly enough to save for a down payment for a house. But Namjoon insists on saving for it, says a little at a time will keep the dream alive. So you’re at this place instead of the nicer one two streets over. 

But with him here, this place definitely now feels like the nicer one. You snuggle in closer to him, enjoying the press of his body against yours.

“Want to tell me what happened today?” you ask, finally able to string words into coherence.

“It’s nothing, All better. Must be that magic pussy,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck.

You laugh in spite of being the tiniest bit concerned. The growl from his stomach reminds you the rice is still uneaten. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up. Need to put food in your belly, fuel you for another round.” 

It’s true: he’s still hungry, for food and for you. Reluctantly, he lets you go to clean up and set the table as exhaustion overtakes him. When he finally joins you, he’s still bleary-eyed but smelling fresh and clean, grateful for the warmed rice and vegetables waiting at the table.

“What will I do without you, wife?” He’s brimming with contentment, thinks he might burst from how right this quiet moment feels.

“We’re doing this toget–”

Bang! Bang! Bang!  The pounding on the door is violent and loud. 

“OPEN UP! POLICE! We know you’re inside!”

Shit. What now? 

With shaking hands, you grab your identification papers that Namjoon insists must always be kept in that same spot by the makeshift shelf of wine crates by the bed. Visa, birth certificate, passport, and letter of employment are all there in a plastic folder.

Namjoon squeezes your hand, eyes locked with yours, silently finishing the words that you did not get to say a moment ago. He opens the door and the shiny police badges are the first things you see, then the guns, then the handcuffs. 

“Ms Y/L/N? You’re under arrest–”

Oh God. This can’t be happening. It can’t. 

“Officer, there must be a mistake. She’s my wife, we are legal residents here. We have the papers to prove it.” Namjoon tries to keep his voice calm and even.

“We know. But she’s charged for something else.”

He blanches. “With what?”

“Murder. Read the warrant. We’re taking her in.”

Namjoon looks at the paper. The murder victim’s name is one he doesn’t recognize, it’s not a name you’re familiar with either. But the police wait for no one. Swiftly, a handcuff slams onto your wrist and you’re being pulled away, legs useless with shock.

“Namjoon! Nam—”

“It’s going to be okay! I’m going to call Jin! Don’t say anything!” he yells above the din of the policemen, rushing out to get a last glimpse of you as they push you into the car.

The quiet on the street is deafening once the car speeds away. 

It must be a mistake. A mistake that surely would be cleared up by tomorrow. He enters the name he had memorized into his phone and runs a search. 

The face that finally loads in his phone stares back at him accusingly.

It’s the driver of the vegetable truck. 

Meanwhile, in the silent apartment, the two bowls of rice have turned cold.

Chapter 4

Namjoon is worried.

The last time he had seen you, you were wan and tired. Today, you seem thinner, gaunt even, as you approach his booth. You put on a brave smile when you see him and he questions himself what he has done to deserve that smile. He couldn’t even protect you from this mess.

Separated by a glass panel, you both reach for your phones. The first few seconds are always the same. There’s only silence as you look, drinking each other in. There’s too much to say and not enough time, and so those words that can’t be spoken are spoken first through the meeting of your eyes. 

It’s always Namjoon who breaks first. 

In your presence, his tears, locked up from waiting to see you, can finally run free. He hates himself for that, but he can’t help it when he sees you swimming in the dull grey of the too-big uniform, wishing so much it’s him, instead of you behind bars.

He longs for quiet, to murmur right into your ear that you’re his brave sparrow, tell you he yearns to hold you, and touch you, and breathe you. Instead, there’s always the sharp clanging of gates and doors, the clink of handcuffs, the clamour of guards and inmates that drown out everything he wants to say. 

So he cries and lets his tears speak instead.

“Hey, not happy to see me?” you tease. 

“Devastated,” he replies, sniffling. 

“Come on. Be a good bear and give me a smile,” you say.

He doesn’t understand how you can joke at a time like this, but for you, he smiles. What else can he give?

“You’re losing weight, baby. What’s going on?” he finally asks.

“Food here’s terrible. I keep throwing up,” you say.

“Oh love.”

“Hey don’t worry. Makes me look forward to your Michelin-star cooking when I get out.” You try to humour him because he can’t cook for nuts.               

When I get out.

Both of you become quiet at those words. The public defender appointed to your case said that because the truck driver had last used your phone before he went missing, the evidence against you looks compelling. 

Your only hope is for one of the guys on the truck to admit to the killing, a highly unlikely scenario. 

Still, your lawyer is trying his best to search for these witnesses by the trial date, still another ten months away. “It’s not easy to find people who don’t want to be found,” is what he always says.

Bail, of course, was out of the question. There’s just no money.

You change the topic before Namjoon can ask about you. You don’t want to talk about the drab walls, the sickening ring of metal against metal, of lock against key, every day, every night, every meal. “Tell me about school?” you ask, tone a tad too bright and cheery.

He knows what you’re up to but gives in anyway, thrilling you with details about his grades at night school, or about the teacher who never wears matching socks. You listen and love the way his eyes light up whenever he talks about art and you just know he will be the best kind of art teacher. 

He tells you how much Jin’s baby has grown and you smile faintly, happy for them, but also a little sad because you don’t know when it’s going to be your turn with Bear to have a little one. If you ever. A murder conviction can mean a life sentence. 

“Five more minutes! Five more minutes!” the prison guard calls out. 

It starts the same and it ends the same: with silence. 

He puts his hand on the glass, and you, careful to match exactly where he places his hand, puts yours on the glass too, both of you indulging in those last moments to imagine away those four inches of transparent barrier. 

The shrill whistle indicates it’s time to go. 

You put on a brave smile again so he wouldn’t worry. 

And just like that, he’s gone once more. 

—————————————————-

The journey home is long and when he finally stumbles into bed, it’s you he dreams of. 

Even though you’ve been married for only a few months, he has gotten used to having you on the right side of the bed, your left leg thrown over his, your nose warm and sweet against his neck. He’s so used to reaching for you throughout the night and pulling you close. Now, he wakes up every time he does this and grabs at nothing.

Mornings are supposed to be easier than the nights. 

He gets out of bed, brushes his teeth, and tries to ignore the empty seat at the dining table while he gulps something down. 

The apartment, he thinks, is his own prison. 

The imprint you leave on everything makes him see you and miss you. There’s the matching chipped mugs, “Sweeter Than This Tea” (yours) and “Stronger Than This Coffee” (his) you found at the secondhand store. 

Then, there’s the wedding photo you stuck on the otherwise bare wall. He’s in a button-down shirt and jeans  and you have on your best blouse; but both of you are wearing the same loopy grin of two kids in love, finally married at the county town hall. 

The potted plant sitting quietly in the corner was one you found on the sidewalk. You’d brought the orphaned plant home and named it Little Bird, while he insisted it was Baby Bear; both of you fighting over who gets to water it and put it by the window for sun; both dreaming of the day when after he gets his teaching license, after his sister is out of college, after your brother is done with hospital treatments, you can finally, finally, have your real Little Bird and Baby Bear together. 

He’d fucked you against the back of the door, fingered you by the window, made you come in the shower, fondled and caressed you by the sink as you washed the dishes. 

And the bed, the bed that often feels too small as he made love to you now feels too big all the damned time. 

So he gets out of the apartment as fast as he can, every second too painful to see you there but not there. Each time he locks the front door, he hopes it can somehow keep away the ache as he heads to his shoe-shine job for the day in the city.

In this five block radius of billion-dollar deals and million-dollar salaries, he always wonders if he would ever feel like he’s made it. For a brief moment, with you in his arms, in his bed, in his home, he felt that way. Now, the future looks so bleak that he doesn’t know what to think anymore.

He slides into Jin’s shoe-shine shop and grabs the toolkit from the counter with a thanks hyung. It’s quick so he can avoid a conversation about how his visit with you went. 

He hurries to his usual booth, ready to lose himself in the smell of leather lotion and shoe cream. It’s easy to forget everything when he works the horsehair brush on leather, buffing the shoe for a mirror shine, polished enough for him to see his own unpolished soul.

Customer after customer steps up, sits down on the padded chair, shoes poised on the brass pedestal for some tender, loving care. 

Namjoon doesn’t discriminate among the shoes. Whether they’re bespoke John Lobbs, to the more pedestrian Cole Haans, even no-brand leather shoes worn by a desperate graduate on the way to an interview, shoes from all walks of life get the same, respectful treatment from him. 

He hardly lifts his eyes. With his head bowed, he prefers to study the leather grain, to think of the play of light on the shoe, always aiming for a shine so bright and color so deep the shoe looks like it can move on its own.

“Hurry up, I haven’t got all day,” says his next customer. 

Namjoon says a quiet yes sir and keeps his eyes down, polishing as hard and as fast as he can. The shoe is caked with mud on the sole and shank, lined with deep creases that hide even more dirt. Quickly, he takes out the shoe cream to match the exact shade of the customer’s shoe and starts to rub it into the leather with swift, deft strokes. 

“That’s more like it,” the customer drawls.

Namjoon shudders involuntarily. Where has he heard this before?

It can’t be. 

He keeps his face down, hopes his baseball cap casts a dark enough shadow over his face. He chooses to wait for a moment where he can steal a glance up at his customer from the side. 

It’s him all right. 

It’s the chief from the outpost. 

Namjoon’s heart is pounding. The papers he has gotten, the stamps, the visas, the life he has built in this country is suddenly under threat. With shaking fingers, he ties the knots of the shoelaces, reminding himself to keep calm, keep low, keep down. 

“All done, sir.” 

“Took you long enough,” the chief says, “You people are so fucking slow.” 

Namjoon knows better than to say anything. Quietly, he bows as the chief brushes past him to the exit, only to see him drop a one-dollar bill into the tip box. 

Ten seconds later, Namjoon hurries out onto the street to follow the chief, always keeping his cap down, ready to turn and walk in another direction should the chief look behind. After two blocks, the chief turns into a shiny new building and saunters to the security counter by the side. He picks up a jacket from the counter and a badge and disappears from view. 

Quickly, Namjoon takes out a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and heads to the security counter too. “That guy that just walked in dropped this. Could you pass it to him please? God, who drops ten dollar bills around, huh?”

“Oh him? That’s our new head of security. I’ll give it to Chief. Thanks bro,” says the staff at the counter.

“My pleasure, bro.” Armed with this knowledge, Namjoon walks quietly out of the building emblazoned with the words Lee & Partners, Solicitors and Advocates. 

One day, he’ll get his money back.

One fucking day.

Chapter 5

Your cellmate talks incessantly. 

Trapped behind bars, words are all she has that can truly break free. 

She talks morning, noon, and night, talks in her sleep, talks when she wakes, talks while she’s on the toilet, talks when she’s brushing her teeth spewing toothpaste foam around her like a Catholic priest sprinkling holy water on adoring parishioners. 

She talks about her kids, about the weather, about the guards, about who’s in for what, since when, and for how long. She talks about the price of mushrooms when she was twelve, twenty-four, and thirty-two; about human rights and animal rights and why vegetables have no rights, about the mating habits of kangaroos and the water cycle, never failing to remind you that you might be drinking dinosaur piss from the faucet. 

You’re amazed she knows anything at all because it would mean she would actually have to stop talking to listen. But nope, she listens while she talks, words flowing undisturbed into her ears and out her mouth; her brain, at times, retaining nothing, something, anything, everything.

It suits you fine. You keep mostly to yourself and let her prattle, glad to not have to make polite talk when you’re so tired all the time. Instead, you long for sleep – a place where you can have some quiet from her continuous commentary on who from which cell is having her period today; a place where you are free to dream in a riot of color in this world of gray.

In your sleep, you finger the dark-green of the plant you have in your home with Namjoon, brush your lips on the pink of your husband’s cheeks after he has a hot shower, remember the black of his eyes when you lose yourselves in each other. 

You miss the burnished yellow of the gold ring on your finger, the warmth of his arms around you that feels like a deep wine-red, his kisses on the nape of your neck trailing lower and lower like liquid silver. 

You feel his body anchored into yours like you’re his ocean: blue, deep, and boundless; hear his desperate whispers of eyes on me when he comes inside you, the bronze of his skin melding into your flesh. 

You see the amber hues that fill the bed in the aftermath of lovemaking, relish the familiar thread of his fingers through your hair, the slope of his nose resting so comfortably by your left temple it’s as though the little indent was made just for him. 

You wonder if he’s okay, if he remembers to soak the rice before cooking it, if he has forgotten the electric fan needs two heavy slaps by the corner button to work. 

Most of all, you wonder if he regrets marrying you.

The brutal clang of batons against the metal bars of the cells in Block D pulls you rudely back into reality, or is it a nightmare?

Sometimes you don’t know which is which. 

Your dreams are so full of life that, surely, they must be real, not this ashen existence behind bars. Other times, you have such vivid nightmares that you wake up relieved to see the gray cell walls around you, glad you’ve at least lived to see another day.

As you get up and slip your feet into prison-issued rubber sandals, a wave of nausea hits you. Weakly, you force yourself to stand up. The morning headcount is in ten seconds. There’s hell to pay for any inmate not at the front of the cell when the warden walks past. Grasping the thick metal bars for support to steady yourself, you will your legs to stand. 

After headcount, you shuffle in line for breakfast. The pasty mixture of cooked grains sticks to the roof of your mouth, coats the back of your throat, slides uncomfortably into your stomach. You crave for the flavors and textures of your childhood, but you swallow every bite anyway, afraid of the guards who’ll accuse you of going on a hunger strike and throw you into solitary. 

You’ve begged your government-issued lawyer to get you out of here. 

It’s not like you’re convicted, so why are you here with thieves and armed robbers and drug traffickers and gang leaders and murderers? Your lawyer just shrugs and mentions overcrowding along with his usual I’m trying, his hands forever helplessly upturned like a forgetful student who can’t find the homework he swore he did last night. 

If only you could afford bail. If only you could hire your own lawyer. The untold truth has always been there: your newly adopted home is just like the one you’ve left: being poor is a crime.

Breakfast is quiet. There are no fights today. Everyone is listless from the humid heat that seeps in through the stout walls which are ever efficient at keeping the inside from getting out, but utterly useless at keeping the outside from coming in. 

Back at the cell, you sit at the edge of your bed, ready for the bile to rise up your throat like it has every day for the past month. The familiar feeling creeps on you and you make it to the open toilet bowl just in time to empty the entire contents of breakfast. A bitter slick stays on your tongue, tempting you to throw up what you don’t have anymore.

“Whoa. You throwing up again? Maybe you have a food allergy. You should get checked out. There was a woman in Block A who–”

No, I don’t have a food allergy. 

“was allergic to all kinds of shit. Wheat. Eggs. Meat. Dairy. Soy. She threw up all the damned time before they gave her some weird protein substitute. The other woman who kept throwing up had an eating disorder. The moment the guards found out, she was moved to another facility. As for me, the only time I throw up is when I get pregnant. You know, one would think you might be pregnant, the way you keep throwing up and all in the mornings. I bet you haven’t had your period. I bet your boobs hurt like hell. My boobs always did, like I them run over by a truck or–”

Oh god, no. 

The sudden silence in the cell weighs as thick as the humid air that sits in the cell. Your cellmate never ever stops talking. Until now. 

“You got your period yet?” she asks quietly. She knows as well as you do that you haven’t. The shared open toilet in the cell hides nothing.

“You guys were trying for a kid?” she asks. 

No. You were extra careful about birth control, knowing full well that a baby was the last thing you needed with Namjoon, though it is the first thing you want with him.

“I think you got an egg in your nest, Sparrow.”

Shit.

“No. Not possible,” you whisper with unbelief. It can’t be. God, not a baby. Not in jail. Not now. But the signs are there. You’ve missed two periods (you thought, from stress). You can’t stomach anything but you’re hungry all the time. And then, there’s an unfamiliar soreness in your breasts. 

“Suit yourself, mama bird. I know what I know. You won’t be the first or the last to have a baby in prison. There have been quite a few before you. Why just the other day, I heard that—”

You’re barely listening to her, her engine revving up again once more.

What will Namjoon say? 

“— there’s one over at Block E  She’s in for some shit like heroin possession. I’ve never seen a druggie with such baby-smooth arms. Doesn’t look a bit like a user or dealer to me. Not one bit.  You know– ”

Will Namjoon want the baby? Maybe? Probably? Surely, you think. He wants what’s his. Always. But what about school? And his job? 

“–what I think? I think she’s in here for something worse. Maybe espionage. She’s not from around here, that’s for sure. Maybe she’s selling state secrets. I just want to know what the hell is in the mystery meat casserole they serve us on Wednesdays. Who the hell is keeping that a secret? She–” 

Could you keep this a secret from him? No. You can’t. It’s not fair. He should know. Just… how? And… when?

“–tries to tell everyone she was knocked-up by a border policeman in the mountains. No one believes her, with that funny accent, with that half-crazy look in her eyes. I could hardly understand her myself, but I believe her. I saw her eyes and she looked like she went through something terrible. Anyways, she’s probably going to pop next week. She looks huge, like a grey whale. Geddit? Cuz we’re wearing grey and all– ”

Is it better to tell him face-to-face? Or maybe in a letter?

In the back of your mind, intuition tells you that your cellmate has just said something important, but you’re drowning in a dark vortex of doubt and fear. You are pregnant. In jail. Awaiting trial for murder which carries a life sentence. How will you face your husband when he visits next week?

You need to figure it out.

——————————————

Namjoon’s ritual for reading your letters is always the same.

Under the rafters of Jin’s attic, Namjoon settles into the mattress before pulling out your envelope. He’s glad Jin has offered his home again. Without your paycheck from the grocery store, there’s just no money for rent when he still has the remittance obligations to your families back home. 

With the light of his cellphone adjusted at the corner of his pillow, he carefully tears the flap of the envelope for your letter inside, fingers trembling at the weight of your words you are just about to speak to him.

Before reading, he brings the single piece of folded paper to his nose, and he thinks he catches a whiff of you. He runs the letter down the side of his cheek and can almost feel the softness of your hands; but he definitely, definitely hears your voice. 

Sometimes you tell him a funny joke from childhood, sometimes it’s about your cellmate. Most times, you ask if he’s eating well, sleeping well, if school is going well. 

Always, you tell him you miss him. 

But not today. 

Today, you’re telling him to run free. To forgive you. To forget you. Because you’re too much. It’s too much. And you are so, so sorry. 

As his eyes walk over line after line of your words, he doesn’t know what to think anymore.

There’s going to be a baby. 

Chapter 6

When visiting hours roll around after you’ve sent the letter, you’re not sure if Namjoon will visit. Maybe he needed time to process what you told him. Maybe he heeded your words to forget you and move on.

But the officer tapped on your cell and said you have a visitor and now you know he’s here in the same building. After all, there’s no one else you know in this country who would visit you in prison.

You wonder if the child inside you can feel the presence of its father because surely, your bones now know Namjoon is here.

Slowly, you walk to your booth, a little uncertain of the emotion you will see on his face. Would there be coldness? Confusion? Anger?

When you round the corner, there’s no mistaking the sheer relief that washes over him. His eyes seem to say: You’re here. You’re really here.

You’ve prepared a brave smile for him like always, but for once, it fails you. To see him here, in the flesh, floods you with comfort and you choke back immediate tears. 

When you both pick up the wall phones to speak, Namjoon has so many questions that he doesn’t know how to begin. He reminds himself to not overwhelm you. But with you in front of him, carrying his child; so near, yet so far; he is overwhelmed.

So you speak first.

“I’m sorry. So sorry. I must have messed up somehow with the birth control–” You’re crying because you feel like it’s your fault somehow. In the presence of your husband, the confusion, the fear, and the loneliness of finding out about your pregnancy can finally tumble out.

“Shh… shh… don’t apologize. It’s something we made together.”

He wishes he could pull you into him, secure you in his embrace to remind you that he’s got you. But all he has are his words on the other end of the phone, his hand on the other side of the glass.

You place your hand to meet his on the glass. Patiently, he waits for the tears to subside before he asks carefully, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Less nausea. It’s still hard to fall asleep though. Miss you.”

“I know.” He feels his voice cracking.

“So… what will we do?” you ask, looking down at your belly. There’s not much to see. But you know somewhere in the depths, little eyes and little fingers and little toes are being wrought.

Namjoon knows what he wants to do. He keeps whatever is his. It’s been this way ever since he was a child. A bully in class once stole his pencil thinking it would be funny that the straight-A student won’t be able to do his math test. Namjoon ended up sitting very still, refusing to ask another classmate for a pencil when the test had already started. He turned in a completely blank answer booklet and the fight after school was ugly. But, the important thing was he got his pencil back.

So heaven help whoever tries to take anything or anyone that belongs to him. Except you.

He knows you hold the keys in this decision; he will never fight you on this. He fights beside you, fights for you, but never against you.  

“It’s your call sweetheart,” he says quietly. He doesn’t want you to second guess yourself, doesn’t want to burden you with his own longing.

You take in a deep breath. You have rehearsed this little speech for the last couple of nights. “This baby is the only way I can have a part of you with me while I’m in here. And if I don’t ever get out, you can walk away and still have a…”

You don’t need to finish the rest of the sentence. He knows it. And so do you.

– it’s the only way he can have a part of you.

“Eyes on me,” he says hoarsely. “You’re carrying our baby. No more talk about telling me to walk away. No more. Promise.”

How can you promise him this? The future is too uncertain and what if–

“Promise,” he insists, daring you to fight him on this.

“I promise.” You are nobody’s fool. Except for him.

After the quiet glimmer of silence that follows the making of vow, he asks if you think the baby is a boy or girl. Namjoon feels sure it’s a girl. “I bet it’s a girl. She’s going to be gorgeous like you. A full head of Mommy’s hair. Mommy’s eyes. Mommy’s nose.”

“What about lips?” you ask

“I like my lips. Hope she has Daddy’s lips.”

“Like your lips too.” It was supposed to sound playful. But it came out a little sad. You miss your husband. His touch. His warmth. His strength.

You look a little wistful, and Namjoon quickly cuts in to lighten the mood.

“Let’s make a deal. Whoever gets the baby’s sex right, gets to name her–”

“Him.” You’re not going to let him sneak his preference just like that.

“Okay. It. Gets to name IT. And the loser gets to name the plant at home.”

You remember that plant, the plant you call little bird and he insists is baby bear. Knowing Namjoon, it’s thriving even in Jin’s dark attic where he sleeps.

“Deal.”

And just like that, Namjoon helps you, at least for a while, to forget how much you’ve missed being with him.

He doesn’t forget anything about you though. Keys? Yes, more often than not. Sunglasses? Sometimes. But never you. He forgets nothing ever, when it comes to you. 

And so he burns the image of the swell of your breasts beneath the drab uniform into his mind, takes in the radiance and glow of your face, wills himself to remember the fullness of your belly, the lush curves of your body. All this before the whistle, before visitation is over.

It’s time for you to go. The guard’s whistle will blow any moment now.

Can I touch? He mouths from across the glass separating you.

You nod shyly and stand, leaning as close to the glass as you can, but there’s a table in front of you and a guard behind, and you don’t want to draw too much attention and lose your visiting privileges.

Hurry. You mouth back. 

Namjoon quickly places both hands on the glass, his hands easily spanning the width of your belly, imagining his baby in there, nestling safe and warm in the cradle of your womb. 

He tells himself not to cry. He’s a father now. He needs to be strong. He bites the inside of his cheek, punishing himself with pain so that he’ll get a grip on himself.

You’re looking at his fingers against the glass, tempted to close your eyes to imagine them pressing on your belly. Yet you force your eyes open, afraid to waste a single second of seeing your husband in front of you.

But it’s okay. Because for the next couple of months, a part of him will be right here with you.

Chapter 7

It’s almost Christmas.

You’ve heard about a child born two thousand years ago on this day to bridge heaven and earth.

But tonight, you know only the child who is your bridge to Namjoon.

There’s no soft starlight, no gentle lowing of cow or sheep. Instead, you have the harsh glare of hospital lights on this chilly winter night.

“Please, I need something for the pain,” you beg the officer standing guard by your bed. She must be new–you haven’t met her before, but you hope she will be kind.

She gives you a quick look, assessing if you’re a liar, if you can be trusted. “I’m not a doctor. It’s not my call. You’ll just have to wait till she comes around.” The tone is hard and cold, like the unforgiving metal around your wrist which shackles you to the hospital bed.

As another contraction rips through your body, you remember what Namjoon said to you. Every contraction brings us closer to our little one.

If only this were completely true.

For the past nine months, every kick and hiccup from the baby reminded you that you weren’t alone behind bars. 

A somersault in the middle of the night, a fist here, a foot there poking into your rib were all the joys of knowing that despite the rigid walls of prison, your little one had all the freedom to move in the warmth of your womb.

Every time you spoke to the baby, telling stories about your homeland, about the red of ladybugs and the blue of the sky, you swear the baby leapt, especially so when you mentioned the strength of his daddy.

But the birth pangs you’re experiencing are just a painful reminder you will soon lose a part of Namjoon with you. 

You’ve been told exactly what would happen once the baby is delivered. After twenty-four hours, pending the doctor’s approval over your health status, you would be brought back to the prison. Your pre-appointed guardian for the baby, in this case, Namjoon, would be notified to collect the baby from the hospital. There will be no visitation rights, no contact, no mercy.

The bottom line is, you’ve only got a short amount of time with your baby in the hospital before you go back to your cell without him.

The contractions started after dinner on Christmas Eve which you didn’t eat much of. It was not a particularly special dinner, because celebrations are not a thing in prison. Perhaps your body knew the travail you would have to undergo soon, and that all your energy would have to be conserved for pushing out the little one.

Like a tentative knock of an embarrassed guest who shows up unannounced, the first contraction was hardly noticeable. And then another knock, another twinge. The shy guest gradually became more and more annoying, the contractions more regular, more insistent. You walked around in your cell as much as you could, breathing long and deep, anything to delay the inevitable trip to the hospital. The countdown to separation would be ticking for you and your baby once you give birth there.

But there was no turning back when your waters broke. Your cellmate called for the guards and you were packed into the van and transported to the county hospital.

The look on the faces of the nurses when you were wheeled into the ward confirmed your suspicions you wouldn’t be treated fairly here. 

Their furtive glances at the handcuffs on your wrists showed they’ve already judged you. Another glimpse of your name on the clipboard was enough for them to know that you’re not from these parts. What’s more, you sounded different, your accent not quite accurate when you asked if you could have something for the pain.

It was all they needed to know everything about you.

Knocked up before she was locked up.

You were wheeled to a corner farthest from the main doors. “Don’t want you running away now, would we dearie?” laughed the orderly, beady eyes crinkling at her own little joke. “Besides, we have those new mums to think about. Those shackles are just going to scare them. Staay heere,” she’d said loudly to you, exaggerated as fuck, as if you could understand her better when she infantalized you. “The doctor will come. Soooon.”

You’ll be lucky if a doctor comes at all to this godforsaken corner.

The doctor never comes. Nor a midwife. Nor a nurse. In this county hospital, you’re separated by a thin curtain from the next, and the next, and the next bed of women in various stages of labor pains. You’re hoping you’ll get an epidural before it becomes too late. Too near the actual delivery and the anesthetist will not allow you one. You’ll have to push the baby out on your own, without medication, and worse, without Namjoon.

How you wish he were here. He would be holding your hand, comforting you with his presence, giving you his strength.

The contractions are coming now. Stronger. Closer. You can hardly catch your breath. Each one rolling into the next. The baby is twisting inside, and you long for a hand to hold. Your back arches off the bed at each sharp contraction.

You yearn to get on all fours, or stand, or squat, anything but be flat on your back. Frantically, you try to shift your body but the shackled arm restrains you and reminds you that even in the act of birthing, you have no choice.

Tears are welling up as you try in vain to tug off the shackle. You must get up to push this baby. The urge to push and bear down is so intense that you will go to any lengths to aid the passage of your little one. In vain you try to tuck your knees under you to help you rise to a kneeling position.

“Help. Help.” Your own pleas for help are too weak in your ears. There are other women in the delivery ward, moaning, screaming; nurses commanding them to push, to slow down, to breathe; midwives ordering new mothers and seasoned ones to be quiet, to just bear with it. It hurts for everyone. Doctor’s not available for epidurals.

You look to your right, and see only the revolver in the officer’s holster, the sight of the weapon and its black, menacing shape chills you to the bones.

Eyes on me.

You hear the voice inside you. It’s his voice. You close your eyes to see Namjoon, see the rise and fall of his chest, his fingers curling into yours, the cold metal of the shackles now replaced by the warmth of his hand. You remember his hand anywhere, in the dark nights and dark days in the vegetable truck, you always found comfort in his firm grasp.

We’ll make it. Breathe, Sparrow.

You breathe, directing your breath down at every contraction, imagining the baby descending, aided by the wind you blow, a little ship who needs that extra help to make it to the other side. Mommy’s waiting for you. Daddy, too.

Getting there.

It’s the ring of fire now. There’s burning as the baby crowns against the birth canal. You’re so close. It’s so scary, you’re afraid you’ll tear. Around you, there’s commotion as finally a midwife arrives with a nurse. But their voices are garbled, like you’re underwater. You remember the squeeze of Namjoon’s hand. The immense comfort to know he’s with you even in the scariest of situations.

Brave Sparrow.

You push. Another wave of pain and another, and you know the baby’s head is out. One more contraction. Shoulders now. Just one more.

Then, the most glorious feeling when you feel the slippery slide of the rest of the baby’s body. Another contraction. Another push. This time a hand presses hard on your belly for the placenta to be guided out.

A short, beautiful cry.

And suddenly, the baby is placed on your chest. Warm. Quiet. Yours.

The wisps of fine dark hair. Perfect ears. Perfect nose. Perfect lips. Perfect eyes, curious and unblinking.

“Eyes on me,” you whisper to your little one. 

You want your child to remember all of you, because from this moment on, you have 23 hours and 59 seconds left with your perfect little bear.

——————————————–

Seeing Jin and his family celebrate Christmas, Namjoon wonders when it will be his turn. 

There’s a present under the tree for you, kindly wrapped by Jin’s wife. She presses the little gift in his hands. “Keep it for her. For when she gets out.” 

He swallows hard. He wants to scream it wasn’t meant to be this way! You should be here, receiving the gift yourself. 

“Thank you,” he says, bowing quietly, mind already drifting back to what he’s rehearsed in case he gets a phone call from the hospital today.

Everyday since you reached 37 weeks, his phone has always been charged, the baby’s things packed, a car seat installed in Jin’s car which is always filled with gas to make the hour-long drive to get to the hospital to pick up his baby.

The call, however, comes the next day, Boxing Day.

Would you please pick up your baby and fill out the paperwork?

Of course.

With trembling fingers he grabs the bag that’s been packed three weeks ago with formula and a warm woolen hat and the softest blanket. He hurries with Jin to the hospital, glad Jin is driving, the car seat long installed at the back. Jin knows the importance of this moment and keeps quiet, not wanting to disturb his cousin’s thoughts.

The journey is filled with a roil of feelings for Namjoon. “I just wish it doesn’t have to be this way,” he mutters quietly. God. You should be coming home with him together with the baby. He should have been there with you throughout labor.

Jin stays silent.

“Thanks for all of this. Driving me. And also letting me stay in the attic. And even for your wife to help with the baby…”

“You’re still doing the night feeds though. Not us.” It’s times like this Jin prefers the safety of a quip than of dealing with emotions.

The rest of the journey is marked by silence. Namjoon was given the ward number and floor to meet the social worker. He runs there, not wanting his child to spend another second alone, without mom or dad.

Namjoon has his IDs, passport, employment cards. He’s signing the paperwork with trembling hands. Somewhere in this building, is his Sparrow. If she hasn’t flown yet.

The social worker sees the drip drop of tears in his eyes, smudging the ink on all the forms. Her heart is moved. Handing the sleeping bundle to him, she tells him that his wife is probably still in the building. “They’re taking her to the parking lot around the back. Follow directions to Cafeteria. Take the side exit and you’ll see a sign that says Delivery. You might get a glimpse of her there. Hurry, and good luck.”

Namjoon is torn between kissing his son and going after you. It’s times like this that Jin is the clearer-headed of the two. He offers to hold the baby and urges Namjoon to run ahead. We’ll catch up, he promises.

It’s quiet before dawn. Namjoon hurries along the silent corridors down to the desolate cafeteria, turning quickly into a stairwell looking out into the delivery area. His heart is pounding. He wants to see you, to know if you’re okay.

Through the slim glass panel of the emergency door into the delivery area, he sees the waiting van, labelled garishly in black Correctional Facilities. It makes him want to throw up. There is nothing about his wife which needs correcting.

When he sees a guard come out of the van, Namjoon ducks behind the glass panel almost knocking backward into Jin who has just huffed into the stairwell, the baby still sleeping soundly in his arms. “Oof. You made a big baby. He’s heavy.”

“Shhh…” shushes Namjoon. He guesses you’ll be arriving any moment. Jin goes quiet, knowing the precious weight of the moment for a husband to meet the mother of his child.

And then you’re here. Pushed out in a wheelchair, you look pale and tired, hands still sickeningly cuffed. He detects a peaceful smile on your face, the corners of your lips lifting in the slightest. He hopes you know he’s here somehow, that he’ll take good care of the baby you made together.

He’s so proud of you, wishes so much to call your name, to let you know he’s right here, but he knows this will only get you into trouble. 

As the van starts to back into the loading bay where you’re waiting under guard, Namjoon quickly carries his baby from Jin, hands sure and steady, surprising even himself.

He raises the little one to the glass panel, his heart aching for the day you can see each other face to face and be a family.

“Say bye-bye to Eomma,” he whispers to the sleeping little bundle in his arms, pointing at you through the panel.

One day, he thinks, he hopes, there will be nothing between him and his Sparrow.

“Say bye-bye to Eomma,” Namjoon repeats as he watches you disappear into the van.

One day, there will be no more glass, nor law, nor guard separating you and your Bear.

Witnessing this, Jin blinks back tears.

It was not meant to be this way.

Chapter 8

Winter boots of all kinds come out to play on the slushy sidewalks of the city’s concrete jungle. This is usually when women, more than men, come into the shoe-shine shop for some tender loving care for their footwear. 

Namjoon has already counted three Stuart Weiztmans, four Jimmys, and a handful of Louboutins. But the boots in front of him is one he has never handled before. “Hiro Yanagimachi,” he murmurs. “Never thought I’d live to see this day.”

He glances up at the wearer seated in the plush leather club chair atop the pedestal. Like her boots, she looks exquisite–classic features, and very, very well-kept. 

“Ma’am, it’s an honor,” he says quietly.

She smiles, pleased that her boots got the attention she wanted. “I’m inclined to say the same,” she says, voice husky from too many cigarettes and too many cocktails. Namjoon guesses she might be in her late fifties. “A friend said you’re one of the best at Jin’s. And Jin’s is the best. So it makes you the best of the best.”

Namjoon blushes. The customer’s piercing gaze is a little too much for him, so he drops his eyes and bends down to focus on his job of polishing her boots. 

There’s not much to clean, really, just a few smudges here and there. But judging from the woman’s immaculate outfit, Namjoon knows he should gun for perfection. 

He takes out his standard-issue horsehair shoe brush to clear away the surface dust and to prep the surface for the first layer of leather cleaner. He can already feel her foot relax inside the boot at his gentle handling. Touch, he thinks, is a universal equalizer. Rich or poor, touch is as essential as air. 

His mind drifts to you. 

He misses your touch–the way your hands flit over his shoulders playfully when he comes out of the shower, the way your palms knead deep into the knots of his neck after dinner, the way your fingers cradle his face just after he comes inside you. 

He wonders if you miss his touches like he does yours. 

A sharp wail breaks his little reverie. Uh oh. 

Namjoon tries to ignore it. He has already shown Jin where the bottles of formula are kept in the little insulated compartment of the diaper bag. He’ll go to his son the moment he finishes this job. Jin’s wife was visiting her mother with their child, so his own little one had to come to work today. 

But the wailing continues just as he gets out the bottle of leather conditioner. His hands pause over the cap of the bottle, caught between his role as a father and as breadwinner.

“Excuse me, Ma’am,” Jimin slides up, his smooth business voice rolls out soothingly with impeccable manners, the hand behind his back however, is gesturing wildly for Namjoon to head to the backroom. “We need our associate Kim for something urgent. May I introduce myself—my name is Park Jimin who will take over the care of your absolutely stunning Hiro Yanamigachis.”

“Ah. Looks like word travels fast about my Hiros.” 

“As it should. It’s not often we are graced with a pair of bespoke boots by the master himself,” Jimin says smoothly.

“Well, I was hoping I would get Mr. Kim’s full-service treatment today. What the hell is happening in the back that’s more urgent than my Hiros?” she asks this with an air of mock snobbishness. 

“I’m so sorry, it’s my infant son. He’s probably hungr–”

“Well, do you have a bottle of formula?” she asks.

“Yes, but—“

“Well bring him out then! I’ll feed him! Then we don’t have to trouble poor Mr. Park here. Plus I love babies,” she pauses for a wicked lift of her eyebrow then adds, “especially when they’re not mine.” 

Namjoon bursts out laughing. This lady is nuts. He goes into the back room to see Jin struggling to calm the baby down to put the bottle in his mouth. 

The moment Jin hands the baby to him though, all fussing stops. “There, there. Appa’s here,” he murmurs quietly, careful to support the neck of the baby as he holds the baby against his chest, glad that the sound of his voice is always a balm for the little one.

“Thanks, hyung,” he says to Jin. “I’m sorry he was crying so loudly. The Hiro Yanagimachi lady says she wants to try to feed the baby. Is it okay if—”

“No shit. If she wears Hiro, she can do whatever the fuck she wants,” Jin says, surrendering the bottle of formula to Namjoon with a dramatic sigh. “It’s official. Your son hates me.”

Namjoon raises the milk bottle to Jin as he makes his way out of the backroom. “I owe you a drink.”

“It better have alcohol in it!” Jin calls out, “A lot of alcohol!”

Pretending not to hear Jin, Namjoon deftly steps onto the shop floor with the baby. 

“Oh, he’s gorgeous!” the lady says. “Come here, little one,” she motions for Namjoon to bring the baby into her arms where she’s seated in the plush leather club chair.

She settles the baby expertly in the crook of her arm, drips a few drops of formula from the bottle on the inside of her wrist to check its temperature and then stuffs the bottle into the babe’s mouth.  

Eagerly, the baby starts sucking in loud gulps. 

“You’re a hungry little one, aren’t you?” she coos. 

“You’re a natural, Ma’am,” Namjoon says, as he bends down to work the conditioner into the shoe. With his son contentedly drinking, Namjoon lets instinct take over, fingers sliding a soft rag supple with mink oil over the beautifully cut leather.

“Well, I did raise three children after all. They’re all grown now, and the little shits aren’t giving me any grandbabies,” she says wryly. “I guess this little guy will have to do for now,” she lets her fingers linger over the plump of the cheeks. “Right little fella? You’re gonna drink up and be handsome just like daddy. So. Where’s Mom?” she asks, “Or Dad?”

Namjoon is working on the other boot, when the question comes like a salvo, stilling his rag mid-polish. “Mom,” he says tightly, willing his voice not to crack with emotion. “His mom–my wife–is uh––”

She senses that she might have crossed the line. Perhaps this question is too personal.

“Well. You don’t have to tell me. From how good looking this baby is, she must be beautiful.”

She is. Namjoon bites the inside of his jaw. No one has said that before just seeing his son. His voice cracks a bit. “His name is Haneul. Haneul means heaven.”

“Oh,” she says, realizing perhaps she really should have just kept her big mouth shut in the first place. “Oh.” A long pause ensues and then she says, “Well, I guess this is when I would put my foot in my mouth except that you’re still cleaning the boot it’s still stuck in. I’m sorry for your loss—”

“Oh no no! It’s not what you think. His mom–my wife–she’s not in heaven–” 

More like hell. 

“She’s in–”

“In?”

“Incarcerated.”

Slowly, with the baby drowsily draining the last dregs of formula, Namjoon busies himself with brushing on the first layer of polish of the boot—making sure to get the toe box, then the instep, the vamp, followed by the shaft. 

At each part of the boot, he pauses, gathering courage to retell each step of your story. How you both met in the vegetable truck. The border police. The mountain pass. The avalanche. The arrest. The stupid court appointed lawyer. The chief who sat in this very same seat. The baby. Oh so much about the baby. 

“We named him Haneul because he’s our little piece of heaven, bridging the hell of separation between my wife and me." He swallows hard before continuing, "And because only heaven can help us now to reunite.”

There’s silence as she takes it all in.  

Namjoon curses himself as a drop of his tears–one, then two–slide along the now polished boot. He cleans it off quickly, and is startled to see his own gaunt reflection staring back at him.

It’s truly been hell.

“I’m not sure how heaven can help. But I’m sure as hell getting my husband to help you.”

Namjoon looks up, startled.

“My husband is a lawyer—”

“It’s okay, Ma’am. We have a court-appointed one. He’s shitty but we don’t need to bother your hus—”

“You don’t understand. My husband a fucking good lawyer. He’s the best of the best—the Lee in Lee and Partners.”

—-------------------------------------------

Chapter 9

Sometimes even when you’re far from home, you find family. 

Here at the one-year celebration of the birth of Baby Bear, you’re surrounded by familiar faces who’ve become your family. 

There’s Jin and his wife and all the boys from the shoeshine shop. There’s the social worker from the hospital. There’s your lawyer Lee and his partner (she always says she made partner before anyone else), with Baby Bear in her arms. Even Namjoon’s befuddled art professor with his mismatched socks managed to find the right address. 

Your heart is so, so full.

There’s a tradition from Namjoon’s hometown that every one-year-old celebrates. The baby gets to pick one item from an array of items as an act of choosing his destiny. Here on the tray table, each guest prepared an item for the baby. There’s a play stethoscope, a clipboard (from the social worker), an artist’s sketch pencil, a horsehair brush from a shoeshine kit, and a gavel. 

The baby makes a grab for the pencil and everyone cheers. “Just like Daddy!” they say, while you and Namjoon exchange smiles. 

When everyone has gone home, and Haneul given his bath and his favorite bear plushie to babble to in his crib, you and Namjoon clean up. It's your very own place bought with the settlement from the government for human rights abuses by the border police. The Chief is now in jail for life. 

Lawyer Lee found three other women who came forward to testify against him, each bringing children to court who not only resemble him in face and feature, but also in DNA. All were granted amnesty from deportation and a huge settlement. 

And your murder charge? It was thrown out. The court learned that Chief has been bribing the public prosecutor to charge witnesses with bogus crimes like drug possession so as to discredit them in the future if they ever press charges against the border police.

In your brand new bed, with Namjoon by your side, you melt in his arms, relishing the warmth of his body. 

“Tired?” he asks, lips ghosting at the back of your neck.

“No. Not really,” you sigh with pleasure, arching at the contact of his tongue behind your ear. 

“Wanna try?” he asks tentatively in between nibbles at the shell of your ear. 

Months of being separated as man and wife has made you feel skittish. The first night together was difficult, and awkward. Namjoon ended up in a chair next to the bed, holding your hand and stroking your hair until you fell asleep. Over the next few nights, he eased you back into sleeping next to him, cuddling, getting used to his touch, his hands, his mouth on you.

You wish you could just go back to how you once were, frustrated at how long you’re making him wait to finally be your husband in the fullest sense again. 

But he’s patient. And kind. And doesn’t insist. He just loves you and loves you and loves you.

“Y-yeah,” you say with a shaky breath as you feel his fingers find their way to the hem of your nightgown and trail up, up, up your knee then your bare thigh, over the round of your ass, caressing your hip, and your belly.

“I love your body, you know?” he says, spooning you tight against him, fingers dipping down from your belly button, to go lower. 

“But the baby has changed so much of it–”

“Still my hot wife,” he whispers, a finger now boldly parting your folds to tease the hidden heat there. “My very hot wife.” Bringing his thumb to your clit, he rubs a light circle there. “This okay?”

“Very okay,” you moan, pushing back into him to feel the hard length of him against the cleft of your ass. “Shit, you’re so hard, Bear.”

“Hard just for you.” he gasps, rocking his hips. 

Urgently, you clench your thighs around his hand while you bring his other hand up to your breast. “Please, baby. Want your mouth here.”

Namjoon doesn’t need another prompting. He turns you over and unbuttons your nightgown, and gives himself a second to drink you in, your breasts bare and beautiful before him, neck arched with want just for him. 

He bends down and teases your nipple with his tongue, fingers stimulating you in the hot slick between your legs. 

“Just my mouth, here?” he says as he laves at the other nipple. “Nowhere else?”

“Joon, Joon.”

Namjoon chuckles quietly. The last few nights of helping you to get to a place where you want him as much as he wants you has paid off. 

“I gotcha, love.” He blows against your skin inside your thighs, placing little kisses everywhere, before descending on your clit, full lips kissing then licking you.

He eats you gently, patiently waiting for your fingers to pull on his hair, for every exhalation to come out in sharp, desperate gasps. You might have forgotten how he feels on you, but he remembers all your tells, remembers the thrill of pleasure when you whimper for his cock in broken breaths: Bear, Bear, Bear.

He slides a finger in, massaging your walls, enjoying the wet heat. “You’re dripping, love.”

“‘Only for y-you,” you warble as you grind yourself against him desperately. 

Namjoon keeps at it, nose then lips then tongue on you and inside you; his hands sometimes playing with your tits, sometimes stroking along the outside of your thighs, trailing ever so lightly that your very cells on your skin are drawn to his fingertips.

“Shit. Bear. Bear.”

There it is. 

“‘Want it,” you cry. “Wanna cum.” Your fingers find your clit, and rubbing yourself with one hand, you reach to palm his erection through his boxers. “Cum with me. Inside.” You can’t wait any longer. 

“Yeah? You sure?” he asks.

You nod, frantic, as you paw at the waistband of his underwear. “Need you.”

Namjoon scrambles off the bed to shove down his boxers, groaning the moment you wrap your hands around his length. 

“Let me get some lube, baby. It’s been a long time. Don’t want it to hurt, love.”

“Hurry.” 

Laughing, he reaches over the side of the bed and grabs bottle from the nightstand. “Haneul is asleep. We have all the time in the world.”

“I just really want you,” you say, growing more aroused as you watch him lube himself. “Let me, Joon.” 

You squeeze your thighs together in anticipation, hands taking over the bottle and stroking him with firm, full strokes, from the tip to the base, adding some pressure to his balls before stroking up again and thumbing the slit on the tip that’s leaking pre-cum. 

“Your hands feel so good,” he chokes. “Best hands in the world.”

You savor how his cock throbs at your touch, how his very being seems to tremble when your hands are on him.

“Inside, Bear. I’m ready.”

He kisses you, kisses you and kisses you on your jaw, your neck, your nose and your eyes. Kisses you everywhere because he can’t believe you’re here, and you’re real. He angles himself above you and steels himself to make it last, make it good for you. With your hand guiding him into you, he lets you set the pace.

You whine at the first intrusion of his thick cock and Namjoon stills himself, resting on his elbows, making sure not to crush you with his weight, but breathing so hard because all he wants is to fuck right into you, right now. 

He kisses your hairline. “You okay? Want me to pull out?”

“N-no… want you,” you say, a little teary, not from the soreness but from how he’s so, so good to you. 

“Brave sparrow… let me make you feel good,” he pants, as his hand reaches between your bodies to play with your clit. 

You relax at his touch, letting his expert fingers carry you on a wave higher and higher. With each of his circling of your clit, you cant your hips a just little more, just a little closer to him, take him just a little deeper. 

Namjoon clenches his jaw. You feel so tight, and warm, and wet and he’s about to lose his fucking mind. The way you take him is so agonizingly slow; slow–-but perfect. He will have you no other way than on your terms and on your time.

“Bear.” You feel the tremors take hold of your limbs, your synapses on heightened alert as your body readies to hurtle over the edge. 

“Cumming?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

You fuck into his cock wildly, compelled by raw need to have him reach your g-spot over and over. Your fingers claw at his back just so you can cleave completely to him. 

Namjoon fights off the urge to buck his hips into you. He wants to see you cum on his cock. God he’s missed the way you moan and arch into him in deep desperate heaves of your body. 

Your orgasm comes in wave after wave, cunt squeezing his cock so tightly that it makes him bite down on his lip hard enough to taste blood.

“Sweet Sparrow. So good to hear you sing,” he praises as you come down from your high. 

Grabbing your waist, he gets on his knees and pulls you to him, loving the way you instinctively wrap your legs around him. He wants to see your cum all over his dick, wants to see evidence of what he does to you. Pulling out a little he sees the evidence of your arousal coating his length. “You came hard, love.”

“Want you to cum, too,” you blush. “Fuck me hard, Joon.”

He loses it then, drives his thick cock back into your tight heat, pounds into you, hands on your ass to give him the leverage to thrust even deeper into you. All those nights of missing you, wanting you, needing you elides into this moment. 

He looks on with satisfaction as your breasts sway with each hard thrust, every moan from you timed to each surge of his hips.

“Eyes on me,” he pants. “You’re too tight. Too goddamn tight—agh–”

He cums hard, harder than ever in his life, face twisting as his balls tighten before that sweet release. Hot streams of his cum fill you, each one accompanied by a sob of your name. Sparrow. Sparrow. Sparrow.

Your hand cradles his face. He looks so vulnerable when he climaxes, when everything he needs in the world is what only you can give him. 

He collapses hard over you, breath hot on your neck, body slick with sweat, cock still inside you.

“We made it, Bear,” you say, smiling at him. 

Startled by your words, he grins. “We made it.”

Later that night, you watch the steady rise and fall of Namjoon’s chest. Next to him, Haneul, in the baby monitor, looks just like his father, mouth slightly agape with the head tilted to the right. 

It certainly feels like you’ve made it, together, for real. But you know there will be other times on this journey where you’ll again and again face the fear of whether you’ll make it. 

Whatever the case, you’ll walk with your Bear, and he with you. 

And that makes the journey altogether worthwhile. 

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

Posted on Dec 30, 2020, completed on Aug 7, 2022 by @sahmfanficbts. All Rights Reserved © 2022. @sahmfanficbts. Please do not translate, post or upload this content on to any platform including YouTube without permission. This is a work of fiction.

Dear Reader,

What a ride. Thank you for sticking with me and with Bear and Sparoow. The immigrant story is close to my heart. My father was an illegal immigrant, as was his father, fleeing ethnic cleansing on a little boat piled with screaming children and terrified men and women. My grandmother died stateless in a country that did not recognise her 60 year contribution to society all because she had no birth certificate since the entire family fled in a hurry.

Witnessing the indiginity of how incarcerated women and women of ethnic minorities are treated in the labor and delivery ward in a land I now live as an expat, I crafted this story to tell the story of women who have little opportunity to let their voices be heard.

This fic carries parts of me that I carry all the time. I hope that a part of you will carry a part of it wherever you go. May it give us all a sense of compassion for the outcast, courage to stand up to injustice, and connection with our fellow sojourners on life's journey.

All best,

Sam

What if I love you too much?

Summary: Jungkook. It’s only a name you learn after your son kicks his ball over the fence. Before that you only knew him as the hot new neighbour who mows his lawn topless. And though you have no intention of getting to know him anymore than that, inevitably you do. You don’t necessarily fall, it’s too slow for that, but you definitely develop feelings you don’t intend to feel. Because you know men like him, and you know that whatever you’re feeling, he’s probably not feeling the same. All the same, however hard you try, you can’t help yourself.

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: fluff; angst; smut; single mum reader

Word count: 20.6k

Warnings: Single mum, small fights, explicit sexual content, oral (f receiving), safe penetrative sex, reader thinks Jungkook is cheating/playing the field, angst, but also fluff, child gets injured (though not seriously), talks of cuts and a small amount of blood.

Authors Note: Happy Saturday! Hope you’re having a nice weekend so far :) 

“Ask him to mow your lawn.”

“What? Rosie, why would I –”

“Because look at your lawn, Y/N,” she twists to look at you with a flat face before looking back out your front window with dreamy eyes. “And then look at him.”

You look at the man in question, every glistening, no-tee-shirt-on, tattooed sleeved, square inch of him. Ok, so maybe you get her point a little. Still, you’re not about agree with her.

“I can mow,” you defend yourself instead. “And my lawns not that bad.”

“But can you mow like him?”

“Anyone can mow like him. He’s literally just going up and down the grass.”

“Y/N. Please. Just look at that body.”

“I thought you wanted me to look at his mowing.”

You catch her rolling her eyes as you twist to sit properly on your sofa, no longer wanting to objectify your new neighbour. You don’t even know his name and yet you’re already ogling at the beads of sweat that roll down the many abs he’s sporting. The feminist in you is ashamed.

Keep reading

wicked • 14

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 10k

Previous | Next

tags: oral (f receiving), breath play, slight spit kink (it does not end well), lots of kissing >:)

Note: surprise shawtysss!!! I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I have! I cannot apologize enough for this incredibly late chapter but I hope a lil somthing makes up for it ;)

“How do you feel?” 

“Umm, nervous?” 

Wearing armor was….different then you had anticipated, first off it was heavy- which you knew logically it was, but you didn’t realize just how heavy it was. Jungkook had gotten it fit for you once you had started up training and only in the past week had you started wearing it to train in. 

Time, however, had run out. 

Meaning today was the day. 

Keep reading

tease

| 8 |

↳ Summary: You came with the intentions of your best friend landing a job as a stripper. You never meant to catch the eyes of the king stripper of the establishment- Jeon Jungkook, yourself. With what was supposed to be a harmless way of paying off college debt faster you find yourself falling into a very odd and passionate relationship with your new mentor. Between infidelity, passion and jealousy there’s never a dull moment at Cherry Bomb.

↳ Pairing: Stripper!Jungkook/Reader

↳ Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, drama, slice of life, relationship problems without the relationship, reader is such a shy baby protect her, MUTUAL pining, so much sexual frustration,  

Word count: 18k x)

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Song Mood

Tags: spanking, heavy degradation, daddy kink, pussy slapping, fingering, oral (male receiving), praise kink, throat fucking, so much dirty talk, just a little edging, JK is also a jealous hoe this chapter, doesn’t pertain to the tags but I just thought I’d let y’all know,

Warning: This story touches on both sexual harassment and abuse, please read with caution if any of these things are triggers to you. Additional warnings will be given when a chapter presents them.

Admittedly, you felt like you were in some ultra realistic fever dream that you just couldn’t wake up from ever since you arrived back home from the hospital. Work had been resumed as per normal later that evening though you’d be closing earlier due to Namjoon’s performances not being fit into the schedule anymore.

Not as if anyone was complaining about going home early. No, not when they could simply complain about you, instead. You didn’t think of anything at first, when a few of the fillers glared in your direction when you first came in. But then you subtly noticed the glares were constant, it hadn’t even been this bad when you first started working. 

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friends to lovers never had a bad track. “scared i’ll ruin what we have” SLAPS. “friendship cuddles while secretly dying inside” BANGER. “teasing each other and holding eye contact for a little too long” KILLS ME. and don’t even get me STARTED on “screaming i love you in the middle of a heated argument.”

Star Struck

| 1 |

↳ Summary: You’re a creature of habit, you plan everything from each hour to each day, so you can imagine the chaos which ensues after you discover a random guy leaking black goo in a ditch- who just so happens to be an alien.

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/Reader

↳ Genre: lowkey strangers to lovers, alien!jungkook, fluff, smut,

Word Count: 12k

Tags: before anyone asks, yes tentacles are involved because I’m a proud monster fucker, jungkook has separation anxiety from Mc :(, he’s immediately whipped, and he can’t speak any human language at first oops, he like,,,tries it for a second before MC goes 🏃‍♀️ this is unedited and for that im sorry bc yikes

___ | Next

In many cases, you could recall how you got into situations. For instance, when you were late to your mid morning lecture, you had zero excuses- not that the professor cared at all when you walked in with a bag of mcdonalds and a venti latte from starbucks. But the principle of the situation remained the same, you knew your actions would cause you to be late. You understood the consequences of your actions. 

The same could not be said for when you took in the curious male who didn’t understand a word you said.

“What do you mean you just- picked him up off the side of a fucking ditch!” Jimin flailed his hands as you twisted around to face you, the male was examining his hands as if he had never seen them before, not paying either of you any mind. 

You held up your hands as you replied, “I did!” You shouted back, immediately gaining the males attention as his eyes flashed between you and Jimin, “He was just…! Laying there! I don’t fucking know! What was I supposed to do? Leave him, look he’s hurt.” You pointed out the obvious wounds he sported. 

“…He’s bleeding black goo Y/n! Have you never seen a horror movie before oh my god!” Jimin grabbed his head as his voice became dramatic and peril, “You’re practically number one on his kill list! He’s probably here to abduct us and- and butt probe us or some shit!” 

You raised your brows defensively as you crossed your arms, “Look at him!” You pointed a finger at the male making him flinch a little, leaning a little away from you where he sat as his expression shifted, looking as if he was a kicked puppy at your tone, “Does that look like a butt probing alien to you shit face?” 

“Maybe!” Jimin snapped back, “He ain’t human that’s for fucking sure! Just…!” Jimin flailed his hands, “Just look at him!” 

Keep reading

wicked • 13

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 9k

Previous | Next

Note: hello everyone!! it seems as though almost everyone was in favor of me posting 13 when it was finished so here it is!! I hope you enjoy it because it’s laying out some ground work for a lot more intense stuff in the next few chapters! in other news if steve harrington dies tomorrow in v2 of stranger things I will not be okay </3 so I figured it would be better to get this out tonight! enjoy!! 

“Duck.” 

“Ah!” 

A dull throb immediately entered your back as you yelped out, dropping the wooden sword instinctively, “Hey…! That’s unfair!” You cried out as you whipped around to glare at Jungkook. 

His brows pinched as he waved his own wooden sword at your abandoned one lying on the ground, “It’s not, you think someone is going to play fair during combat? And don’t drop your weapon, you’re defenseless right now, what do you think would happen during your duel at this very moment?” 

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wicked • 12

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 9k

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Note: thank u sm for being patient everyone! I hope you enjoy the chapter bc i definitely did!! :)

Dread filled your entire being as silence thickened in the air, your lips had parted multiple times and yet you could find the will to say a thing. 

Your mothers head had been lowered somber as she folded her hands, the news bearing a weight heavier than you would have ever anticipated, “Why…?” You finally rasped out, “Why would they request our presence at the War Meetings?” 

It was difficult to believe earlier that day you had been running in the fields with Seokjin, blissfully ignorant to the circumstances that were brewing in the castle. You knew that just because Penumbra had made the request, it didn’t mean anything. 

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wicked • 8

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 11k

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Note: ahhhh!!! im so excited chapter 8 is finally here!! let me know how you guys feel about it and thank you so much for reading! 

“We’re doing everything we can but…I’m sorry, it’s just too soon to say she’ll be okay.” 

All Jungkook saw was red. He was so livid he couldn’t even speak, Taehyung had looked beyond apologetic and in disbelief himself earlier that day before he had re-entered your room once more. 

Jungkook’s duties had been abandoned and whatever previous anger and resentment he had towards you was quickly replaced by a new anger of how unbelievably reckless you could be! Did you not understand who you were? What you meant to this country? Jungkook leaned against the wall trying to calm himself as he rubbed his forehead. 

True not everyone had been the most kind to you but to go against his orders and put your own life in danger…had he not realized you had disobeyed him you would’ve…! Just the thought had his jaw clenched, when you woke up you were certainly going to have hell to pay from him…

If you woke up. 

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wicked • 5

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 5.3k

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Note: bye this took me way longer then needed to write but its finally here and lemme tell yall, they might as well already kiss T_T

“I can’t apologize to you enough Wheein.” 

Your morning had been horrid, your head pounded and you had vomited whatever you had eaten the day before right up. The tight dress you wore, the sun shining on your face, everything made you feel sick.

“M’lady,” Wheein frowned gently, “It’s not a big deal…” 

“No it is!” You insistent as you walked side by side with her to the arena, you had slept in later than usual, perhaps Wheein had known you wouldn’t be able to wake up as early and you had no intentions of eating breakfast at this rate. 

“I was utterly irresponsible last night, I shouldn’t have let those men persuade me to drink and above all else I shouldn’t of made you drink with me!” You stopped as you faced her, your expression firm before it softened a little as you mumbled, “Please forgive me. I’m sure it was an unpleasant night having to get me up all those stairs and somehow into bed.” 

“M’lady,” Wheein offered a weak smile as she nodded her head, “Of course I forgive you. I only wanted to make sure you were safe last night, and you are! No feelings harm.” 

She tenderly hooked her arm around yours as she began to walk once more as she spoke, “And don’t give me so much credit m’lady. His Highness helped you to bed after all. There was no way we were making it up the stairs last night.” 

Wheein laughed tenderly but your body had stiffened at her words as you did a double take. His Highness…? 

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wicked • 4

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader feat. Seokjin

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 10k shes a long one babes

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Note: everyone giving me so much love over this series never fails to make me squeal!!! thank u to everyone who has said such lovely things about wicked! I hope you enjoy this next part!

“Here go on, take this to your family.” 

This was the only time you had to yourself these days, in the early wake of the day when the world was still murky and dark out and clouded sunlight would occasionally shroud. Today however…today was different, there was a warmth from the sunlight that kindled against your skin pleasantly and the sky was so blue, an azure color that crossed the vast sky and massive fluffy white clouds lazily breezed by. 

The little girl shyly took the loaf of bread you had wrapped up as you shooed her along with a little giggle, knowing she had been lingering in hopes that maybe you would ready another story, you had found it tucked deep in the bookshelf that had lined your room, an old folktale book, children’s stories, you had first found it a month ago during your first few weeks of staying in Penumbra and the idea had come to you like lightening. 

In hopes of keeping yourself grounded, you wanted to visit the outer villages of Penumbra, Wheein looked surprised when you asked if that would be okay and she was more than happy to wake early with you and accompany you to the outer districts. You had even asked the kitchen to keep any leftovers in the bakery rather than throw out anything and let it go to waste, as that was what was requested of the kitchen in Eunoia, food never went to waste there. 

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wicked • 2

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader feat. Seokjin

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 6k

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Note: I’m a whore for already updating this but I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been so excited to share this story 😭 lemme know how y’all feel about it!

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Your dress felt more like a prison with every breath you forced from your lips. You had always imagined your wedding day, how sunny and beautiful it would be. You always wanted a wedding in spring when the flowers would be blooming, and the man waiting at the end of the aisle would be your lover Seokjin. Many things were wrong with this day, how the remaining nip of winter was still in the air. How it was gray murky. How the man who was waiting for you was a disgusting disgrace to mankind.

Just the memory of the indecent moan you had heard yesterday evening came to mind making your lips twist into a scowl, the unflattering sight of your harsh glare staring back at you in the mirror as the maid continued braiding and elaborately decorating it.

You would be getting married in less than an hour, soon your life would be sealed away as nothing more than a pond in a much larger game of chess. “You shouldn’t look so distraught Y/n.” You straightened up at the sound of your mother, her image coming into view in the reflection of the mirror, your lips quivered before falling into a frown, refusing to meet her gaze once more as she tutted, “It is your wedding day.”

“To a callous, cruel, man.” You muttered under your breath, leaning your head against your hand to rest as the maid finished up on your hair, curtseying before taking her leave. Leaving you and your mother alone as you sighed, standing up, “Am I not allowed to even feel anymore?” You didn’t mean for it to come out accusingly, yet it did anyways, your true feelings for the situation bleeding through as you quickly turned away, closing your eyes as you sighed, “I’m..I’m sorry mother, I didn’t…”

You felt a soft delicate hand rest on your shoulder, “I know, my love. If I could have it my way I would send them away. But I can’t, so we must make the most of our situation.” You felt your eyes sting as your mother turned you around, your heart gripping at the idea of leaving first thing in the morning to ride for Penumbra’s capitol. You’d leave your only home, the beautiful fields, and warm sunny days behind.

“I don’t wanna go.” You could barely whisper before choking on your tears, your vision blurred and your heart wretched with pain at the idea of parting with your family. You’d be alone with no one to help you once you crossed the border, you had heard Penumbra was a heathenistic kingdom, full of thugs and ruffians. You didn’t want to see if those rumors were true.

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wicked • 1

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader feat. Seokjin

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 4k

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Note: I’ve sat on this story for like 8 months and I still feel bad for posting but bYe I’m a hoe for e2l and I sure hope y’all are too bc gOd daYum

To be a princess, is that of obtaining and following duty whenever it calls. Whether you agree with it or not is of none concern to no one, even yourself to an extent. There were many times in your life when you could assume that, if you felt strong enough about a situation, eventually, your parents would sit you down and work something out that was, at the very least, comparable.

Those times were few and far in between as you often understood that you had to do things, even if you didn’t personally want to, from a young age that you could no longer remember. But still, to be told this. It was a laughable matter at the time, you were so shocked that you couldn’t even fully believe it, it was two years ago after all. But for the day to have finally come. 

For the little bubble you had sheltered yourself in, to pop.

It was laughable only at how pathetic you were, you had two years to prepare. And yet here you were, still in denial and even more bitter than before. You had cried, begged your parents for some other alternative, but low and behold, they could only look at you with pity in their eyes. After all, what good was a daughter outside of selling off in marriage?

“Mmm, is something wrong, my love?” Your heart beat had risen and your hands were a little too shaky, was it because you were naturally shy during such activities as these? Or was it the shame cast over you? This was the day you’d meet him, and you were currently in your room doing this. 

A hand tenderly stroked your face, cupping your cheek as he gently raised your chin to look at him, Seokjin’s face was soft as a finger traced your jawline, your lips had jutted a little and your expression strong in remorse, if you stared at him any longer the moment would be ruined by your tears, “I’m fine.” You mumbled, offering a weak smile that you were sure if Seokjin looked close enough he would be able to tell it was a lie for the sake of the moment. 

Your hands quickly got back to work to keep him from asking any questions, you didn’t want to talk about it. Nor did you want to be in this position either but when would be the next time you got to do this? If ever. 

Sexual favors were not something you were often inclined to do but Seokjin was an exception as he was your lover and originally, had things gone the way they should, you would be married off to Seokjin. But of course not, no, Penumbra had to frighten every nation in the world by threat of invasion. 

They had to be so cruel in their wars and battles, their soldiers and training, it was no match for anyone. No matter how many troops were sent, they were torn down one after the other by the highly skilled soldiers there. Penumbra was everyone’s worst nightmare, a nation so bitter and angry, they’d stop at nothing to seek vengeance on everyone who once destroyed their original nation of Seoul. 

They didn’t take mercy on children or women, they didn’t care about anything but their own. You wholeheartedly despised and stood against everything they were. And for your parents to look you in the eyes and say you’d have to marry their Prince. 

The Wicked Prince. 

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Chem Miss

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Content Contributors: @daegusoftboys (her moodboards for the series are perfection)

Pairing: Reader / Jimin

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex, dirty talk)

Word Count: 12,807

Summary: “You’re my TA. I’m in your class. I’m sure you don’t want to spend your Saturday night talking to me about biochem.”

Jimin appears amused by this. “Who’s to say that I don’t? Also,” he leans in, a slight smile on his lips. “Who says we have to talk about Chemistry?”

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Kakistocracy (M)

Genre: Political Satire!AU

Synopsis: As the top Senior Aides to the President of the Republic (a fictitious country, based on absolutely no specific location whatsoever), you and Namjoon are nearly always at one another’s throats. The sole thing you agree upon is that your new leader is an absolute idiot, with zero idea how to run a country. This is why, when a new threat emerges and your nation is plunged into chaos, you two are the only ones capable of keeping the world from disaster. If you can stop arguing long enough to try, that is. (HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, @underthejoon !!!)

Warning: This fic will contain political commentary, satire and humor (mostly on the American political system). If you are easily offended by such things, please do not read. Anyways, who wants Namjoon for President?

Word Count: 22,651

Rating: 18+ (smut; male oral, female oral, spanking, dirty talk)

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Dichotomy

Author: @kpopfanfictrash , as part of the Bound series with @underthejoon 

Creative Content Contributor: @m00nk1ld FOR THIS FREAKING AMAZING MOODBOARD. I actually yelled out loud, the first time I laid eyes. 

Rating: 18 + (explicit sex, road head, denied orgasm, dirty talk, hate sex) 

Word Count: 14,566

Summary:  You hate him. He hates you. It’s a fine line though, isn’t it  – between love and hate? (Arranged Marriage!AU)

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colour me in: layers | jjk (m)

Summary: The deeper you dive into Jungkook’s mind, the more you question your own thoughts.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating, college!au; light angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings:artist!jk <3, sexual tension, dorky but also wholesome and sweet dialogues, teasing/banter, fuckboy!jk, paparazzi/journalists ain’t shit, her mom isn’t cool :c, jimin is very sus and causes problems smh, a forehead kiss….., they make my heart bleed, a club scene, angry kook hhhh, bits of jealousy, they’re both confused 😐, drunk people; explicit sexual content: drunk (consensual !!!) sex, unprotected sex (safer sex is cool), dom!jk, big dick jk ofc, manhandling, dirty talk (lots of talking in general tbh), fingering, oral (m. receiving), soft/rough sex, dry humping?, praises, aftercare and cuddles, cockwarming; basically – they’re dorks ok, also that ending 2.0…. ➳ word count: 18.4k (omg i’m sorry !!) ➳ a/n: this chapter was such a joy to write, but damn i struggled with it quite a bit 💀 i hope you guys enjoy it lots !!! do leave your thoughts <3 thank you so much for taking your precious time and beta’ing this for me, @missgeniality​​ i owe you big time <333 ➳listen to: stay (acoustic) by zedd & alessia cara |full playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

Yoongi [11:23AM]: Did u know about this ????? Yoongi [11:23AM]: Look at this complete horseshit…it took them what. A few weeks or so ?? Yoongi [11:24AM]: Maybe ask ur gf what she thinks of this…it’s ridiculous

Jungkook’s hand clutches his device; his knuckles pale.

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colour me in: outlines | jjk (m)

Summary: The silent deal between Jungkook and you brings a level of amity and closeness that surprises neither of you. But you didn’t quite foresee the deep glimpses into each other’s minds and souls; enthralling and… maybe even somewhat hypnotising. 

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating, college!au; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: artist!jk <3, sexual tension, dorky but also wholesome and sweet dialogues, teasing, 1 mention of stranger things bcos i’ve a problem, fuckboy!jk, paparazzi being shitty as always, TAE N YOONGI INTRODUCTION !!, insecurities; explicit sexual content: unprotected sex (be more responsible than them !!), dom!jk, big cawk jk, manhandling, dirty talk, both soft and rough sex, oral (f. receiving), fingering, crying cos jcawk too good, multiple orgasms, she sees stars, some hair pulling, some begging, that ending :c ➳ word count: 10.6k ➳ a/n: hey hey hey !! this one made me feel all fuzzy and warm inside and i hope you guys feel the same way <3 thank you @missgeniality​​​ for dealing with my bullshit again, i owe you as always 😔 and @lavienjin​​​ for reading through the first draft back when it was still very bad lol <3 ➳ listen to: slow down by chase atlantic |full playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

“Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, fortytwofortythreeforty—”

“Jungkook.”

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