cxcotin

…

The eighth month of a relationship is a strange, beautiful middle ground. You are no longer on your "best behavior" 24/7, but you haven't yet reached the stage of effortless, decades-long predictability. For you and Jungkook, this was the sweet spot. You knew his coffee order by heart, and he knew exactly which playlist to put on when you had a long day of creative work. It felt safe.

That evening started with the kind of comfortable domesticity you had come to cherish. The apartment was warm, the scent of a failed attempt at a new pasta recipe lingering in the air. Jungkook was sitting on the edge of the sofa, scrolling through his phone, while you were trying to organize a cluttered shelf nearby.

The disagreement started over something incredibly small: a weekend trip.

"I already told the guys we’d probably join them at the cabin," Jungkook said, his voice casual, not looking up from his screen.

You paused, a stack of books in your hands. "Wait, this weekend? I thought we were staying in. I have a deadline for my draft, and you said you wanted to help me with the new product shots for the shop."

Jungkook sighed—a small, tired sound. "It’s just two days, and I haven't seen them in a while. You can bring your laptop. It’s not a big deal, right?"

"It is a big deal if we already had a plan," you countered, your voice steady but rising slightly. "I’m trying to get this business off the ground, Jungkook. I can't just drop everything because you 'probably' told them we’d come."

Jungkook finally looked up, his brows furrowed. He was tired from a long day of practice, and the frustration he’d been suppressing bubbled to the surface. "It’s not about dropping everything. It’s about being flexible. Sometimes it feels like if things don't go exactly your way, you just... stall."

"I don't 'stall,'" you snapped, feeling a defensive heat creep up your neck. "I prioritize. There’s a difference."

"Is there?" Jungkook stood up, tossing his phone onto the cushion. He wasn't yelling, but his voice had that sharp, competitive edge he used when he was pushed too far. "Because whenever things get a little complicated or stressful, you start overthinking and making everything a hurdle. You’re so focused on your own little world that you forget there’s someone else here trying to move with you."

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that your "little world" was the career you were building from scratch, but he wasn't finished.

"Honestly," he muttered, turning to grab a glass of water from the table, "it’s like I can't ever fully rely on you to just... be there without a thousand conditions. You’re always looking for a reason to stay guarded."

The room went icy.

It wasn't a loud sentence. It wasn't even the meanest thing someone could say in an argument. But the word rely and the accusation of being guarded hit a tripwire deep inside your chest.

Suddenly, you weren't in your apartment with Jungkook. You were years back, hearing a similar tone from a voice that should have loved you unconditionally—someone telling you that your needs were a burden, that you were "too much" and "too difficult" to deal with. Your brain didn't process it as a lovers' spat anymore. It processed it as a threat.

The air in your lungs felt thin. You looked at Jungkook, who was now leaning against the kitchen counter, looking slightly guilty for the sharpness of his tone but still waiting for a comeback. He expected you to fire back, to defend yourself, to keep the "silly" argument going until you both got tired and apologized.

But you couldn't.

The familiar, heavy curtain of silence began to fall. It started in your throat, a physical tightening that made swallowing difficult. Then it moved to your limbs, making them feel heavy and disconnected. You didn't want to be angry at him; in fact, you could see the slight regret in his eyes already. But the "shutdown" wasn't a choice—it was a door locking from the inside, and you didn't have the key.

You carefully placed the books down on the table. You didn't look at him.

"Hey," Jungkook said, his voice softening. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just frustrated. Let’s just talk about the schedule properly."

You didn't answer. You walked past him toward the bedroom.

"Are you serious?" he asked, his frustration returning, fueled by the sudden lack of feedback. "Are we doing this? You’re just going to walk away because I said one thing you didn't like?"

You stopped at the doorway, your back to him. You wanted to say, It’s not that I don't like it, it’s that it hurts. You wanted to say, Please don't use those words with me. But the words stayed trapped behind the wall of your trauma. To speak would be to show the wound, and your brain told you that showing the wound was dangerous.

You stepped into the room and gently closed the door.

Outside, you heard Jungkook let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Fine. Great communication. Truly."

You sat on the edge of the bed, the silence of the room ringing in your ears. You knew, logically, that you were making it worse. You knew that shutting him out was a flaw—a reflex you hadn't outgrown. You loved him, and you knew he loved you. But as you stared at the wall, the weight of the words he’d spoken felt like a physical barrier between the bedroom and the kitchen.

Eighty-five feet of hallway felt like a thousand miles. The silence had officially begun.

Inside the bedroom, you sat perfectly still. The "shutdown" wasn't just a lack of words; it was a sensory experience. It felt like being submerged in deep water where every sound from the surface was muffled and distorted. You could hear Jungkook moving in the living room—the clink of a glass, the heavy thud of him sitting back down on the sofa, the restless tapping of his foot. Each sound felt like a physical pressure against your chest.

You hated this. A rational part of your brain was screaming at you to stand up, open the door, and say, “I’m sorry I froze, let’s talk.” But the rest of your body was in survival mode. To your nervous system, Jungkook’s comment about being "unreliable" hadn't been a critique of a weekend schedule; it had been a confirmation of your deepest fear—that you were fundamentally difficult to love.

When you were younger, silence had been your only shield. If you didn't speak, you couldn't be blamed. If you stayed quiet, you were invisible, and if you were invisible, you were safe. Now, as an adult in a loving relationship, that shield had turned into a cage. You felt the guilt pooling in your stomach, heavy and bitter. You knew you were punishing him with your silence, even though you didn't want to.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, Jungkook was vibrating with a mixture of confusion and mounting irritation.

He stared at the closed bedroom door, his chest tight. He was a man who lived loudly—he spoke his mind, he laughed with his whole body, and when he was upset, he wanted to hash it out and move on. To him, the silence felt like a weapon. It felt calculated, even though it was anything but.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” he thought, dragging a hand through his hair. “Every time I’m honest about how I feel, she just disappears?”

He felt a flash of resentment. He had worked hard to be a good partner, to support your business, to be the "reliable" one. Seeing you pull back felt like a rejection of everything he had invested over the last eight months. He wanted to knock on the door and demand an explanation. He wanted to tell you that it wasn't fair to leave him hanging in the middle of a conversation.

But then, he stopped.

He remembered a night three months ago, early in the relationship, when you had briefly mentioned how your parents used to stop speaking to you for days as a "lesson." You had said it with a forced laugh, dismissing it as "just how things were," but Jungkook had seen the way your fingers trembled as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

His anger flickered, replaced by a cold, sobering realization.

He looked down at his hands. He had used the word unreliable. He had told you that you were guarded. To him, they were just words born of frustration. To you, they were the echo of a ghost.

The silence stretched for hours.

Around 11:00 PM, you finally emerged. Your throat felt dry, and your head ached from the internal tension. You walked into the kitchen to get water, moving like a ghost. You saw Jungkook still on the sofa, the TV on but muted, his eyes fixed on the blank screen.

As you passed, he looked up. His expression wasn't angry anymore—it was exhausted.

“Do you want to talk now?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.

You looked at him, and for a second, the wall almost crumbled. You wanted to reach out. But then you saw the flicker of expectation in his eyes, the "demand" for a resolution you weren't ready to give yet, and the wall reinforced itself. Your throat tightened.

You didn't say a word. You filled your glass, drank the water in a few quick gulps, and walked back toward the bedroom.

“Seriously?” Jungkook’s voice cracked slightly. He didn't follow you this time. He just stayed there, shadowed by the dim light of the TV. “You’re just going to pretend I’m not even in the room?”

You closed the door again, but this time, you leaned your forehead against the wood. Tears finally began to prick at your eyes. You weren't pretending he wasn't there. You were painfully aware of every breath he took. You were just terrified that if you opened your mouth, you would fall apart, and you didn't know if he would be there to catch the pieces or if he would just see the mess and finally decide he’d had enough.

The silent treatment wasn't just hurting him; it was isolating you in a way that felt like drowning. And for the first time, you realized that if you didn't learn how to swim, you were going to take the person you loved down with you.

Jungkook didn't sleep. He spent most of the night on the sofa, the cushions feeling less like furniture and more like a raft in the middle of a dark ocean. He was used to fixing things—broken electronics, a difficult dance routine, a bad mood. But this? This was a silence he couldn't muscle his way through.

By 4:00 AM, his mind was a chaotic loop of frustration and guilt.

“I’m the one who should be mad,” he told himself, staring at the ceiling. “She’s the one who shut down. She’s the one who walked away.” He thought about the weekend trip, the work he’d put into the relationship, and how much it hurt to be treated like a stranger in his own home. He felt a surge of pride—the part of him that wanted to stay silent too, just to show her how it felt. A "tit-for-tat" strategy that his ego whispered was only fair.

But then, he looked at the bedroom door.

He thought about the way your shoulders had slumped when you walked to the kitchen. You hadn't looked like a person winning a fight; you looked like a person who was lost.

Jungkook sat up, rubbing his face with both hands. He realized that if he chose his pride, he might "win" the argument, but he would lose you. And the thought of a life without your quiet laugh, your messy baking sessions, and the way you leaned into him when you were tired was far more terrifying than the thought of swallowing his pride.

“She isn't doing this to hurt me,” he realized, the thought landing like a heavy stone. “She’s doing this because she doesn't know what else to do.”

As the sun began to peek through the blinds, Jungkook stopped focusing on the argument and started focusing on the person. He knew he couldn't force you to talk. If he pounded on the door and demanded a conversation, you would only retreat further into your shell. He needed to build a bridge, not a battering ram.

He spent the morning in a state of quiet, focused energy. He didn't try to initiate a conversation when you finally came out of the bedroom to start your day. He didn't huff or puff or give "loud" sighs to let you know he was bothered. Instead, he simply existed in the same space as you, providing a calm, non-threatening presence.

He saw you sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at your laptop, your fingers hovering over the keys but never typing. You looked paralyzed.

Without a word, he moved into the kitchen. He didn't ask if you wanted anything. He just brewed a fresh pot of coffee—the roast you liked, not the one he preferred. He placed a mug next to your hand, along with a small plate of the brownies you had made the day before.

He saw your hand twitch toward the mug. You didn't look up, but your posture softened by a fraction of an inch.

Jungkook didn't linger. He didn't wait for a "thank you." He just went back to the living room and began to clear a space. He moved the cluttered boxes, straightened the rug, and set up a small, comfortable area with pillows on the floor near the window—a place where you usually felt most creative.

He was setting the stage for safety.

Throughout the day, he felt the urge to snap, to ask, "How much longer is this going to last?" but he suppressed it. He was learning a new kind of strength: patience. He realized that his desire to save the relationship had to be bigger than his desire to be heard.

By the late afternoon, the tension in the apartment hadn't disappeared, but it had changed. It was no longer sharp and jagged; it was soft and expectant.

Jungkook took a deep breath and sat down on the floor in the space he had cleared. He didn't call your name. He just waited. He was proving to you that he wasn't going anywhere—that even in the silence, he was reliable. Even when you were guarded, he would stay.

He was waiting for you to realize that the door wasn't locked from the outside. He was just waiting for you to turn the handle.

…

The evening light filtered through the window, casting long, amber shadows across the floor. You had watched Jungkook all day. You watched him choose patience over anger, and every time he moved through the apartment without slamming a door or throwing a cold glance, a brick from your internal wall crumbled.

He was sitting on the floor in the little nook he’d cleared for you. He wasn't on his phone; he wasn't distracting himself. He was just... there. Presence was his peace offering.

Your legs felt heavy as you finally stood up from the kitchen table. The silence was starting to feel less like a shield and more like a suffocating weight. You walked over, your heart hammering against your ribs, and sat down on the floor a few feet away from him.

Jungkook didn't jump to speak. He didn't demand an apology. He just looked at you, his large eyes soft and weary.

"I’m sorry," you whispered. The words felt like sandpaper in your dry throat. "I’m sorry I... stopped."

Jungkook reached out, not to pull you into a hug yet, but just to rest his hand on the floor between you, an invitation. "I’m sorry too," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have used those words. I was frustrated about the trip, but that was no excuse to call you 'unreliable' or tell you that you're always guarded. I know why you stay guarded, and I shouldn't have thrown that in your face."

The honesty of his apology made your eyes sting. You looked down at your lap, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. "When you said that, it felt like... like you were seeing me the way my past saw me. Like I was a problem to be solved instead of a person."

Jungkook nodded slowly. "I see that now. But we need to talk about the silence, too." He moved a little closer, his voice calm but firm. "When you shut down, I feel like I’ve been evicted from our life. I’m standing right in front of you, but you’re a thousand miles away. I want to respect your space, but I can't fight for us if I’m the only one in the ring."

You bit your lip, the guilt finally finding a voice. "I don't do it to hurt you. It’s like... a reflex. My brain thinks if I don't speak, I can't make it worse. But I realize now that the silence makes it so much worse for you."

"It does," Jungkook admitted, his thumb tracing the pattern on the rug. "It’s okay to be hurt. It’s okay to be triggered. But you have to tell me, even if it’s just one sentence. Tell me 'I’m triggered and I need an hour,' or 'That word hurt me.' Give me a map, so I don't get lost trying to find you."

You looked up at him, seeing the vulnerability he was showing. He was an "alpha" in so many parts of his life—confident, strong, capable—but here, he was making himself soft just so you wouldn't feel threatened. It was a realization that hit you hard: a relationship isn't just about being loved for your best parts; it’s about someone seeing your flaws and staying to help you work through them.

"I don't want to be the person who shuts down forever," you said, your voice gaining a bit of strength. "I want to be better for you. Because I want this... us... to be forever. I need to learn to trust you with the 'messy' version of me."

Jungkook finally reached out, taking your hand in his. His grip was warm and grounding. "Then let’s practice. Next time I say something stupid—because I will, I’m human—don't run to the bedroom. Stay in the room. Even if you’re just sitting there being angry, stay in the room with me."

You squeezed his hand back, a small, tearful smile finally breaking through. "I'll try. I really will."

"That’s all I need," he whispered. "We don't have to be perfect. We just have to be present."

For the first time in twenty-four hours, the air in the apartment felt light enough to breathe. The argument hadn't been swept under the rug; it had been dismantled, piece by piece, through the very thing you feared most: being seen.

…

The weeks following the air in the apartment felt lighter, not because the problems had vanished, but because the fear of them had. You no longer walked on eggshells, and Jungkook no longer treated every disagreement like a battle to be won.

It was a Tuesday evening, and the coffee table was a chaotic spread of your brownie business spreadsheets and Jungkook’s messy handwritten lyrics. The "S and M" logo you had been working on sat open on your laptop screen.

"I think we should go with the pastel cream for the packaging," you murmured, mostly to yourself. "The dark brown is too heavy."

Jungkook looked up from his notebook, leaning over to squint at the screen. "I like the cream. It looks... approachable. Like you."

You smiled, but then your eyes snagged on the calendar. "Oh, wait. Friday. You have that recording session, and I have the bulk order for the assorted samplers. We’re going to be in each other's way in the kitchen again, aren't we?"

A month ago, this realization might have sparked a sharp comment about space or a defensive remark about whose work was more "urgent." You felt that familiar spark of anxiety—the urge to preemptively protect your workspace.

Jungkook noticed the tiny shift in your posture—the way your shoulders climbed a fraction of an inch toward your ears. He didn't ignore it, and he didn't poke at it.

"Yellow?" he asked softly, his voice humored but sincere.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and laughed. "Maybe a very pale lime green. Not a full yellow yet."

"Okay," he said, closing his notebook. "If it's lime green, let's solve it now before it turns bright red. I can move my setup to the bedroom for the afternoon so you have the counter space for the brownies. Then, when you’re done, we can clear the table and have dinner. Deal?"

"Deal," you said, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

It was a small moment, but it felt monumental. You hadn't shut down. You hadn't retreated into the "survival mode" of your childhood. You had acknowledged the friction, and he had met you halfway with a solution.

Later that night, as you both lay in the quiet of the bedroom, the city lights filtering through the curtains, you turned to him. "I realized something today," you whispered.

Jungkook shifted, pulling the duvet up. "What’s that?"

"I used to think that a strong relationship was one where people never fought. I thought if we hit a wall, it meant we were failing," you confessed, tracing the tattoos on his arm. "But I think I was wrong. The wall is where the growth happens. If we didn't hit it, I'd still be hiding behind my silence, and you'd still be shouting to be heard."

Jungkook turned on his side to face you, his expression uncharacteristically soft. "I think the same thing. I used to think being a good partner meant being 'right' all the time. But being right is lonely. I’d much rather be wrong and be with you."

He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your forehead. "You’ve been doing so well, you know. I see you trying. I see you staying in the room even when you want to run. I know how hard that is for you."

"It’s getting easier," you admitted. "Because I know that even if I fall apart, you aren't going to use it against me. You’ve given me a safe place to be 'messy.'"

"That's the goal," he whispered. "Eight months down, and a lifetime of 'messy' to go."

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady, reliable beat of his heart. You weren't the same people who had argued over a weekend trip a few weeks ago. You were older, wiser, and more deeply connected.

Love is about the hard, unglamorous work of unlearning your own defense mechanisms. It’s about choosing to stay when every instinct tells you to bolt.

As you drifted off to sleep, you didn't feel the need to be guarded. For the first time in your life, the weight of your words didn't feel like a burden—it felt like a bridge. And on the other side, Jungkook was waiting, ready to walk across it with you, every single time.99

Everything Jeongguk does has some sort of musicality to it. Even the way he kisses feels melodic. He’s the only person who can play you like a fiddle, or the only one you allow to. 

“It’s open,” you holler from the kitchen. 

It isn’t the norm for you to keep your door unlocked, but you already knew he was coming. Not because you two talked about it beforehand or because he texted you on his way over. This is just what you two do, and have done, for two years shy of a decade now. 

Light shines in from the street lamps outside when Jeongguk enters your house, drops his bag, and kicks off his shoes. The sounds are understandably familiar given how many times this exact scenario’s played out. And just like clockwork, a couple seconds after the door clicks shut, you feel two warm, strong arms wrapping around your middle. 

“This all for little ole me, huh?” Jeongguk whispers where his lips are grazing your neck. 

You hear him inhale your scent and contentedly hum between his soft kisses along your throat, leaving you to fight off the urge to totally melt into him. 

“Why would it be? Is today a special occasion or something?” 

He chuckles into your skin. It’s low and deep, making it obvious how tired he is, but still as bright as ever. 

“Oh, not really. Just Bangtan’s golden anniversary.” 

“Ah, I see.” While he continues to paint your neck in affection, you add the finishing touches to the seaweed soup you made. “Well, I’ll have you know you guys don’t own the date June thirteenth.” 

“No?” 

His cheerful giggles tickle your ear and cause your head to tilt, unintentionally giving his mouth more space to work. 

“Nuh uh. It also happens to be my, um, my grandma’s cat’s birthday,” you retort.

It’s such a stupid joke, but hearing Jeongguk’s loud laugh is enough to tell it again and again. 

“My apologies,” he drawls with a final peck. “To the cat.” 

By the time he turns you around in his arms, you’re giggling, too. It’s par for the course whenever you’re together, just like his hands caressing the bare skin of your waist below your top. 

He looks so unbelievably handsome, even with evidence of fatigue written all over his face. His black hair’s gotten longer since you last saw him, but it’s parted on one side to show off his forehead and pretty, doe eyes. 

On instinct, you reach up to comb through the front pieces and Jeongguk instantly wilts. His eyes close, shoulders drop, and muscles relax, bringing his body an inch closer to you.

“You didn’t have to come, you know.” As if to directly counter your statement, one of his arms loops around your back. “It’s been a long two days, no?” 

“Missed you.” 

His response is so quick it’s almost like muscle memory and you have to fend off the butterflies in your stomach as a result. 

“I’m not going anywhere. You could’ve stopped by tomorrow or something.” When Jeongguk shakes his head with a slight pout, it triggers your memories of him doing the exact same thing as a kid. He hasn’t changed at all since you two grew up together here in Busan, even though it feels like a lifetime ago. “Ggukie.”

“I…” His eyes open again and a smile slowly breaks out across his face as he surveys you. “I didn’t wanna wait. I needed to be with you tonight.” You can’t resist mirroring his expression. “Is that alright?” 

After a long inhale, you nod. 

“It’s always alright.” 

That’s apparently all he needs to hear because he kisses you without missing a beat. It’s mundane and regular to feel his lips against your own. Of course, it is. He was your first kiss as a teenager and you’ve lost count of how many you’ve shared since then. 

Jeongguk’s lips are consistently soft, pleasant, and gentle. He kisses you like it’s the first time even in the middle of your raunchiest affairs. Sometimes he’s so delicate you forget the type of relationship this really is. 

To be fair, Jeongguk doesn't treat you like just some friend with benefits or a random situationship. The years of familiarity between you garner a much deeper respect than that. But that also allows your heart to occasionally get the wrong idea. 

He isn’t yours, and you’re not sure if he ever will be. Which is okay. All you ever want is to have him in your life and whether that’s platonically or romantically, you don’t care. The only thing you could never withstand is losing him altogether. 

Although, it’s a lie to say you won’t miss the feeling of his hands on your spine and your chests pressed together if your relationship suddenly becomes friendly. His long fingers occupy the majority of your back whenever he holds you like this, encompassing you in his presence until it’s all you can think about. Not to mention how his mouth guides your own open so he can slip his tongue inside. 

This is how he gets you every time without fail. You can be completely focused on something, but as soon as his lips are on you, it’s game over. 

For instance, the meticulously planned meal on the counter behind you.

“Jeo — Jeongguk,” you murmur between kisses. “The food’s getting cold.” 

He just laughs at your feeble attempt to stop him. 

“You have a microwave for a reason, no?”

His head tilts to the opposite side so he can kiss you with more fervor, but you push on his chest to force him back. He looks cartoonishly offended by your actions and you have to lace your fingers together just wipe the frown off his face. 

“You’re really choosing pussy over food? That’s a little out of character.” 

“Nah, not when it’s you,” he argues. “You gotta know by now you’re my favorite meal.” 

An embarrassingly bright blush creeps in which you try to hide by glancing to your left, but Jeongguk knows you too well. He uses your chin to turn your head before smiling like a devil because of how pink your cheeks are. Leading you to swat his hand away and pivot in the opposite direction. 

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” 

You barely make it two feet before he catches you with a single arm, tugging you into his chest while you squeal and pretend to fight back. Jeongguk triumphantly cackles in return as he carries you to the couch and flops onto his back, bringing you down with him. 

The position leaves all your most sensitive areas wide open and he takes full advantage by tickling you wherever he can reach. It’s no different from when you were kids on the playground, although back then the behavior wasn’t inundated with sexual tension. Because despite him making you screech and flail, a tender heat follows his fingers where they dance across your skin. His lips are also right beside your ear and the puffs of air from his laughter spreads goosebumps all down your arms.

“Ggukie,” you whine, but he ignores the protest.

Well, partially. He stops tickling you, but only so his hands can slide beneath your shirt to feel your bare skin. One arm fully wraps around your stomach to keep you close while the other sneaks upwards until he finds your bra. His fingers push the material up so he can grope you unimpeached, eliciting a quiet moan when he begins massaging your breast.

In the meantime, he starts kissing your neck again. And like a true musician, he marries the tempo of his hand and mouth so every peck coincides with a firm squeeze. It turns your brain to putty and all you can do is let him keep touching you like his own personal piano. 

“God, you’re so warm.” His lips are dangerously close to your weak spot, the skin right before your shoulder that always makes you squirm. “This is always what I miss the most.”

“Oh, so you don’t miss my company? Just my body?” 

Jeongguk giggles and it’s so damn cute you almost forget your tit’s engulfed in his palm. 

“Of course, I do,” he assures you. “I miss everything about you. All the time.”

You hate when he says shit that makes your heart race. It isn’t fair because you can’t respond in kind or else you risk scaring him away. 

He’s the one who asked for this arrangement; to be able to stroll through your door whenever he’s in town and have you all to himself until he has to leave again. It’s not like you mind. You’ll give yourself to him any day of the week if he asks, but it means there are boundaries he’s allowed to push and you aren’t.

Still, you find ways to skirt around your limitations.

“I missed you, too. It’s been so long.”

“Mm. When was the last time I was here? March?”

“Yeah.” Before you can finish your sentence, he switches to your neglected breast and repeats his ministrations. “Right before the album dropped.” 

“I’m sorry, sunshine. I didn’t mean to neglect you.” 

His lips move to your earlobe and it sends a familiar chill down your spine. 

“S’okay. I’ll forgive you as long as you actually touch me,” you tease. 

When he laughs again, you swear it’s like everything in the world just feels right. 

Rather than responding, Jeongguk trails his other hand down your torso until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. He doesn’t dip his fingers beneath the fabric, though, instead choosing to fiddle with the buttons while you grow increasingly more impatient.

“Gguk.” 

“Hmm?”

Along with a dry chuckle, you twist your upper body so you can see him.

“You think you’re so cute, don’t you?” 

You could drown in his responding smile. 

“No.” His hands move to your hips as he sits you both upright. “But I do know you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Even though you’re in a less compromising position, you’re still between his legs with your back half against his chest.

“For starters, you made me seaweed soup to celebrate the special occasion,” he answers. “And you know I just got done with back-to-back concerts. So I’ll be two seconds into fingering you when you hit me with, ‘no, Ggukie, you deserve to come before I do.’”

Unfortunately, his impression of you is spot on, but you can’t let him have a complete win.

“Eh, five seconds.” 

Perhaps you deserve the reprise of his tickle attack, but you still try evading it by standing to create more distance between you. The only problem is Jeongguk’s arms are long enough to catch you, allowing him to force you onto his lap so his hands can torture you for however long he pleases. 

Which is thankfully not long at all, because once you’re straddling his thighs, his fingers creep underneath your shirt to yank it over your head. Your bra’s his next victim, joining your top on the floor before he leans in to suck your nipple into his mouth. 

“Oh,” you gasp as one hand sinks into his hair. “Fuck.”

He hums around your nub while pinching the other between his thumb and forefinger. 

You would let him play with your tits all night if only you had the time. He’s an expert at bringing you pleasure with his fingers, teeth, and tongue. Alas, he’s right about you wanting him to come first. It’s only fair after how hard he’s been working lately. 

As much as you’d love to let him keep going, you use your grip on his scalp to pull his head away from your chest so you can kiss him. His mouth’s warm and swollen from his efforts, making it all too easy to nibble on his bottom lip until you hear a low groan. 

Jeongguk’s hands are already on a different quest now, too, moving up and down your bare back and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Eventually, one of them glides up into your hair where he turns your soft strands into a mess of knots. 

It’s not like you mind, by the time you two are done your hair’s usually unrecognizable. 

“You should be proud, Ggukie.” You leave his mouth alone to pepper his sharp jaw with kisses. “Thirteen years is a long time.” 

He breathes out a laugh.

“Are you proud of me?” 

The question halts you. Not because of the words themselves, but their sincerity. You lift your head so you can see his eyes and just like you expected, there’s a glimmer of expectation in them.

“I’m always proud of you.” Your fingers in his hair begin to brush some locks away from his face before trailing down his cheek. “And I always have been. Since the day you left for Seoul.” 

A nostalgic smile graces his lips.

“You mean when I kissed you goodbye at the train station?” 

It was your first kiss, his as well, and although it was nothing more than a millisecond-long peck, it stopped your heart. 

“Oh, I’ve never been prouder of you than in that moment.”

His grin grows before he cranes his neck for another kiss, albeit much more chaste than its predecessors. 

“I can’t thank you enough for always being here,” he remarks. “And I’m not just talking about the sex. I know you know that, but I wanna make sure you understand how much you mean to me.” 

It’s so hard getting sentimental without your shirt on because then he can see your whole chest and neck flushing with affection. 

“I know,” you tell him.

Jeongguk sighs and lets his head fall forward into your sternum where he places a couple gentle kisses. 

“You smell nice.” 

The unexpected compliment causes you to snicker. 

“Yeah?” He nods. “Well, surprisingly, you do, too.”

“Because I showered, you brat!”

He’s forced to glance up again when your laughter makes his resting place shake too much, but he doesn’t seem to mind. There’s a wistful smile on his lips as his eyes flit around your face. 

“It’s because you’re expecting to get your dick sucked, isn’t it?” As much as he tries to hide it, the lopsided smirk that forms immediately gives him away. “You greedy bastard.” 

“Oh, please, like I’ve ever stepped through your doors and not gotten my dick sucked.” 

Alright, you suppose that’s fair. 

“Whatever. It still shouldn’t be expected.” 

His tongue hits the roof of his mouth. 

“So it’s not happening?” 

“I never said tha —” 

“Then why aren’t you on your knees yet?” You gawk at him before smacking his chest, leaving him melodramatically clutching his left pec. “I was kidding!” 

“No, you weren’t,” you challenge. 

After another moment, he drops the act and lets his hands roam your hips. 

“I mean, don’t you think I deserve it? Thirteen years of working day in and day out. The least my best friend can do is let me fuck her pretty little mouth.”

It’s genuinely diabolical how wet you become from his words alone. 

“You have a sick interpretation of what best friends are for.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t respond, just tilts his head to one side while waiting for you to give in, because he knows you will. You always do because you want him just as badly as he wants you. That’s why this arrangement works so well and has lasted this long. 

Like clockwork, you roll your eyes and drop to your knees in front of him. It produces an overconfident grin as Jeongguk sinks into the couch and spreads his legs apart to make room for you. 

“And yet, here we are,” he comments. 

You gaze up at him with a fiery glare, but it’s contrary to how your hands are already undoing his belt buckle. He pitches his hips up to help you pull his jeans and boxers down, revealing just how hard he is after everything you two have gotten up to so far. 

His dick’s so pretty; long and thick with big veins running down his shaft. You haven’t even touched him yet, but he’s twitching and leaking precum all over his cockhead. 

“No wonder you’re so demanding tonight, you look like you’re about to bust.” 

He groans when you place your hands on his thighs instead of touching him where he clearly needs you. 

“Please, sunshine, I’ve been thinking about you all fucking day.” 

“Oh?” Your fingers inch higher, but not nearly close enough. “How so?”

“Y/N.”

“If you tell me, I’ll give you what you want,” you sing-song.

Jeongguk’s head falls back onto the cushions as another sound of protest passes through his lips. He must realize you won’t give in, though, because he eventually looks down to hold your eye contact. 

“Since the moment I woke up this morning I’ve been picturing all the different positions I wanna put you in. Could barely focus during soundcheck because of how badly I need you.” 

Well, that was a bad idea because now you’re freaking drenched. But you still gotta maintain a little dignity.

“Is this one of them?”

Before replying, he slowly nods.

“Of many.” 

You sure like the sound of that. It also seems particularly mean to continue torturing him. Not to mention how terribly you want him after months apart. It isn’t the longest you’ve gone without seeing each other, but any amount of time is tough when he’s the only person who knows how to make you feel good. 

So, you move your hands up to give yourself enough leverage before leaning in to kiss his tip. His whole body lurches from your touch, but once your tongue darts out to collect his precum, he relaxes against the couch cushions.

At the same time you moan over his familiar taste, he groans and tosses his head back again. His fingers find your scalp and latch onto your hair, simultaneously pulling it away from your face and giving him an anchor. 

You don’t waste time, not like how you normally do by dragging your tongue up and down his shaft. Tonight you immediately take his head into your mouth while letting spit drip out to lubricate him. 

Jeongguk’s clearly happy with the decision because you feel a harsh tug on your hair as well as his thighs clenching beneath your hands. 

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he mindlessly encourages you. 

Except it actually almost stops you in your tracks. He’s never called you baby before, or any pet name, at least not during a sexual encounter. Maybe while trying to tease you or in a general manner, but never like this. 

He doesn’t seem to notice, though, so you chalk it up to him being deep in the throes of pleasure. 

After pushing the comment from your mind, you inhale through your nose and sink lower, swallowing another inch of length as Jeongguk loudly moans above you.

“God.” While you focus on not gagging, his free hand combs more of your hair back so he can see your lips stretched around his thick cock. “You have no idea how good this feels, sunshine. No one does it like you.” 

You hum in acknowledgment, eliciting another deep moan. 

Before his praises can distract you any longer, you take in one last gulp of air and force your head all the way down to his pelvis. Both you and Jeongguk choke, but surprisingly, his own lasts longer than yours. You’re used to having his dick deep inside your throat, so although it’s been a while, you only need a moment to adjust. 

On the contrary, Jeongguk’s practically losing his mind. Both of his hands land on your head as he endlessly groans and pants your name. 

“Oh, fuck. Jesus… fuck.” It’s hard not to laugh at how seemingly mesmerized he is. “Y/N, baby, please move. Need you so bad.” 

Another one? How does he expect you to give him the blowjob of his dreams when he keeps calling you that? 

Luckily for him, you’ve been doing this long enough to overcome his abnormal behavior. 

You already know exactly how he likes it; slow, sloppy, and wet. Jeongguk’s an attention whore and loves knowing all of your focus is solely on pleasuring him. Hence why you begin leisurely bobbing up and down while using the tip of your tongue to trace the underside of his cock. 

He sighs in relief and you can feel all his muscles unwinding, giving you quite the confidence boost. Jeongguk’s always responsive in these situations, but he seems particularly drunk on you tonight. 

Besides the actions of your tongue and lips, you alternate between moaning and humming whenever his tip sinks deeper into your mouth. You also repeatedly let more spit roll down his shaft, which creates a sinful cacophony of sound when mixed with Jeongguk’s whines and groans. 

“Shit. Oh… my god.” 

When you glance up, all you see is a sharp jawline and pretty neck. But it isn’t long before a pair of shiny, doe eyes meet your gaze. 

Jeongguk’s pupils blow wide when he realizes you're watching him and you even feel his dick twitch inside your esophagus. Soon enough a proud smirk appears and one of his hands traces your profile until he’s caressing your cheek.

“You look so beautiful, sunshine.” He pulls on your hair to bring your mouth back up around his head and you instantly understand the silent memo. Rather than swallowing his length again, you circle and tease the sensitive ridge of his tip with your tongue. “That’s it. Always s’good for me, aren’t you?”

After humming and batting your eyelashes at him, you feel another sharp jolt from his cock. You take it as your cue to keep going and even start massaging his balls that are covered in your drool. In response, Jeongguk shouts a string of curses and his fingers scratch your scalp as he struggles to stay sane. 

You’ve done this enough to know he’s close, but you need a break before you can finish him off. Following one last lap of your mouth, you let your hand take over so you can replenish your oxygen.

“Goddamn,” he huffs as his eyes follow your finger’s movements along his shaft.

“Where do you wanna come?”

His focus shifts to your face again, so you send him a mischievous grin.

“C’mon, sunshine, you already know where.”

“You never know,” you counter. “My tits look pretty good tonight.”

Jeongguk snickers. 

“They always look good.” The next thing you know, he’s leaning down and using his grip on your face to guide you closer. “But I wanna fill you up right here.” 

There’s no need for clarification because he kisses you to explain himself. It’s messy and amorous, not only because of how swollen your lips are, but because Jeongguk shoves his tongue inside your mouth. 

You both moan and more precum leaks from his tip as your wet muscles tangle together. If you aren’t careful, he might come before you even wrap your lips around him again. 

When you finally pull back, a string of saliva stretches between your mouths that Jeongguk swipes away. He leaves his thumb there for a moment, pressing down on your bottom lip before slipping his finger between your teeth. 

Even though you know what he wants, you playfully bite down on his knuckle instead. Following his shocked yelp, you both burst into laughter.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he scolds you. 

“Well, this brat’s still got her hand around your cock.” 

You squeeze his head to make a point, causing Jeongguk to hiss and yank on your hair in retaliation. 

“Can we change that?” As if you two weren’t just teasing each other a second ago, he gently cradles your face again. “Will you let me paint your pretty throat white?” 

If only you could muster a witty response, but all you can manage is an aimless nod that leaves him smirking as he sits back against the couch once more. 

There isn’t any reason to wait, so you let your hand drop back down to his balls before encasing his head between your lips. You immediately bring his entire length inside your mouth again, picking up where you left off without any hesitation. 

Similarly, it doesn’t take long for Jeongguk to teeter on the brink of ecstasy. After only a few strokes, you feel his balls tighten and then his hot cum floods your mouth. His release makes him groan so loud you actually worry your neighbors will hear, but you also don’t care when you’re busy swallowing his seed. 

Jeongguk always tastes good and you can’t resist moaning while moving up and down his shaft to collect all his cum. 

“Holy shit, baby,” he gasps as you continue lick and suck throughout his climax. “Fuck, don’t stop.” 

Not like you need to be told twice. You love breaking him off just as much as he does. 

Once he’s practically devoid of semen and you’re out of oxygen, you release his cock and sit back on your heels. Jeongguk melts into the couch afterwards, including his eyes rolling back as his whole body relaxes. 

“Good?” 

He humorlessly laughs.

“The best fucking head of my life.” 

In the middle of you pridefully giggling, Jeongguk hooks his arms under your shoulders to hoist you back up. But you have other plans, and before he can manhandle you into his lap, you grab the bottom hem of his shirt to pull it off. 

He’s so fucking sexy it makes your head spin, especially after how much he’s been working out on tour. You could spend hours just running your tongue along his abs if he’d only let you. 

“Oh, is this what you want?” 

Instead of waiting for a response, Jeongguk tugs your jeans and panties to the floor in one smooth motion before guiding you to straddle him again. 

As if he wasn’t wet enough from your blowjob, your cunt lands right on his dick and all the essence you’ve been leaking since the moment he stepped inside your house lubricates him even more. 

“Oh, my god,” you whine, causing him to smile over his effect on you.

“You get this wet just from sucking me off, sunshine?” Despite how embarrassing it is, you nod. “Good. Want you to be nice and soaked when I fuck you.” 

“Ggukie, please.”

“Yeah, is that what you want? For me to fuck you just right? Like I always do?”

“Mmhm.”

Based on past patterns, you expect him to drive his cock into you without another word, but his hands just trace your curves while his eyes map your features. 

You’re about to question his hesitation when he delicately cups your jaw, causing your eyebrows to pinch together.

“What if I want more?” He asks sincerely, in complete contrast to a moment ago.

“What?”

Jeongguk inhales and licks his lips.

“What if I don’t want to just see you whenever I’m in Busan? What if I want to see you in my bedroom and my kitchen and lying on my couch?”

“In… in Seoul?” 

He smiles.

“Itaewon.”

If your heart wasn’t about to beat out of your body, your eyes would roll back so far they’d get stuck. 

“Jeongguk, my whole life’s here. My job, my family —”

“I know, sunshine. I do.” His fingertips brush against your cheek and it takes all your willpower not to rest your head in his palm. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy or can happen right away, but eventually…” He looks uncharacteristically nervous and it makes you hold your breath in anticipation. “Eventually, I want your face to be the first thing I see when I come home at the end of the day.” 

The air you were keeping captive disappears in an instant as you digest his words. You desperately want them to mean exactly what they sound like, but you’re terrified of misinterpreting the situation. 

Except when you focus on how Jeongguk’s looking at you, with starry eyes full of wonder and hope, you don’t believe you are. Which elicits quite possibly the biggest smile you’ve ever worn before you lean in to kiss him. 

Jeongguk catches on quickly, his fingers on your face sliding into your hair so he can keep you close. Your own hands move from his shoulders to his neck while his opposite arm circles your waist. It doesn’t even matter that you’re naked, all your attention’s on the fluid movement of your mouths and how undeniably happy you are. 

“I’m crazy about you, Y/N,” he whispers to your lips. 

Although you delightfully giggle at first, you soon pull away to smack his chest. 

“What took you so damn long, huh?” 

He momentarily gawks before parroting your laughter.

“I’m sorry, baby. I just didn’t think I’d be able to handle it all.” 

“I wouldn’t have cared,” you protest. 

“But I would’ve. I needed to make sure I could be an idol and the boyfriend you deserve before asking you to be anything more than this.” 

As much as you want to fight him on it, there’s no going back now, and all you truly care about is having a future with him. 

“And you feel like you can do that?” 

You trust him to be everything you deserve and more, but you want to ensure he won’t be spreading himself too thin for your sake. 

“I do. More importantly, I want to,” he clarifies. “I want you so fucking bad, and I don’t mean sexually. I wanna cook you dinner, take you out for ice cream, and go on walks near the Han river.” 

“Oh, I’ve never been there.”

“I know! I’ve been dying to take you for years.” 

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Jeongguk this excited about something, and your possible life together being the reason is more than you could ever wish for. 

“I want that, too,” you declare. “I’ve always wanted you, Ggukie.”

When he smiles in response to your confession, it feels like the entire world around you falls away. In fact, you barely register him closing in for another kiss. And you certainly don’t realize he’s flipping you over until you feel the cushions on your back. 

Nothing else really matters after that, anyway. You two have had sex so many times over the years it’s the last thing on your mind in comparison to the future. 

Not to say you don’t thoroughly enjoy yourself when he puts you in all those positions he mentioned earlier, but all you can think about is what sex will be like in a shared bed. One you’ll wake up and fall asleep in together, for many years to come. 

The first time he drives to your parents' house, he almost turns the car around.

Three times… scratch that…actually, four.

The fourth time is especially embarrassing because he has already parked. The engine is off. The keys are in his hand. He's committed, and yet his hand keeps drifting toward the ignition like it has its own agenda, like it wants to go home.

He sits behind the steering wheel, staring at your childhood home. The house itself isn't scary. It's just a house with white walls that need repainting. A small garden where your mother has beautiful flowers. A blue mailbox that has your last name on it with faded stickers that are peeling at the edges. Normal things.

Unfortunately, your father lives inside, and your father is terrifying. Not in a dramatic movie way, he doesn't threaten people or is part of the mafia, and he definitely doesn't own weapons or has a scar across his face.

It’s the fact that he looks at people the way professors look at exam papers, as if he's found three mistakes in the first paragraph and is debating whether he should continue reading or just fail you now and save him some time.

Jungkook swallows. His palms are sweating against the steering wheel. This is ridiculous… What if your father hates him? What if he laughs? What if he says no?

Then you'll ask again.

He grabs the box of pastries from the passenger seat and gets out before his courage disappears completely.

The door opens, and your father appears. For a moment, nobody says anything. The silence stretches and Jungkook becomes suddenly, painfully aware of every part of his body. He bows politely. The low and respectful kind of bow that says I come in peace, I mean no harm, please don't destroy me.

The silence grows longer, and our dear Jungkook begins wondering if people can die from awkwardness. If that's a medical condition, and if he should have written a will. Your father stares, Jungkook bows a little deeper. His back protesting.

Finally, your father speaks. "Did my daughter send you?"

"No, sir." Jungkook's voice comes out steady.

A pause. Your father's eyes narrow slightly, scanning him like he's reading a label. "Did something happen to her?"

"No, sir."

"Then why are you here?"

Jungkook suddenly forgets every sentence he prepared during the drive. All those carefully constructed arguments inside his overthinker mind, all those practiced phrases…gone, evaporated.

Wonderful

He manages a nervous smile. It feels crooked on his face, too big, too desperate. "I wanted to talk to you."

Your father doesn't move. "About?"

For a fleeting second, Jungkook considers pretending he came to discuss the weather. The weather is safe, but unfortunately for him, that would make even less sense than his actual reason, and also, he's pretty sure your father can smell lies the way other people smell smoke.

"Sir, I love your daughter."

Your father blinks a few times. "Oh."

Jungkook nods. Encouraged. Maybe this is going well. Maybe the hard part is over. Maybe…it is not going well.

"That's unfortunate," your father says, and steps aside to let him in.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

Five minutes later, they're sitting at the kitchen table.

Jungkook has never seen such an intimidating kitchen before. Everything is clean and organized. He is afraid to touch anything. Your father places a cup of tea in front of him. The gesture is kind, but the expression on your father's face is not kind. Not in a malicious way, it’s the expression of someone who has watched young men come and go from this exact house, who has learned that most of them are not worth the time it takes to memorize their names. Jungkook suddenly understands where you inherited your stubbornness from.

"So," your father says.

"So," Jungkook echoes, and he immediately hates himself for echoing. He's not a parrot. He's a grown man. He has tattoos. He pays taxes, and he should be able to handle a conversation without turning into a robot.

"You love my daughter."

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

Why? Because you're funny, because you laugh with your entire body, throwing your head back, because you cry during movies and then deny it, because you pretend not to like affection and attention and then complain when he stops giving it, which is confusing and annoying and completely endearing, because loving you happened so naturally he didn't notice it until he was already too deep in love with you.

He clears his throat. All of this is too much to say to your father. "She's amazing," Jungkook says.

Your father's face remains unreadable. "That's your argument?"

Jungkook panics. His brain, which had just started working again, shuts down completely. "No, sir."

"Good."

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

An hour later, Jungkook has somehow been interviewed more thoroughly than a job applicant for a position that requires government clearance.

Career plans. Finances. Future goals. Emergency savings. Apartment size. Life insurance. Retirement planning. Your father asks about his parents, his siblings, his thoughts on home ownership versus renting, his opinion on private schools versus public schools for hypothetical future children that Jungkook is definitely not ready to discuss but finds himself discussing anyway because when your father asks a question, answering feels mandatory.

At one point, your father asks what kind of husband he intends to be. Jungkook answers honestly. It's the only answer he has, the only one he's sure of. "The best one I can."

Something shifts in your father's expression, only for a second. Maybe it was approval…or pity…or maybe even indigestion. Who knows…Then comes the final question and the most important one.

The reason Jungkook is here, sweating through his nice shirt

His heartbeat speeds up. He sits straighter, tries to look like the kind of man who deserves what he's about to ask for.

"Sir."

Your father waits. He knows what's coming. Jungkook can see it in the set of his shoulders and the slight tilt of his head.

"I want to marry her."

Your father folds his hands and looks directly at him.

And says:

"No."

Like he was declining extra napkins. Like Jungkook had offered him a flyer for a kebab place he wasn't interested in. Like this whole hour meant absolutely nothing.

Jungkook stares. Surely there's more, surely there's a ‘but’ or an ‘unless’ or a ‘however’ waiting in the air, ready to step on stage and save this moment from being exactly what it sounds like.

There isn't.

Your father takes another sip of tea.

Jungkook blinks. His mouth feels dry. His ears are ringing. "Sir?"

"No."

"I understand, but—"

"No."

"Can I ask why?"

Your father nods. "You can."

Jungkook waits. Your father waits too.

Nothing happens.

"...Why?"

"Because I said no."

Jungkook nearly laughs. Not because it's funny, but because otherwise he might cry, and he's pretty sure crying in your father's kitchen would be the final nail in a coffin that's already been nailed shut, buried, and had a parking lot built over it.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

The drive home feels longer. His pride aches took, his heart too…everything aches, actually, in a way that makes him wonder if this is what adulthood feels like. He should probably be upset, and angry, and embarrassed that he poured his heart out to a man who responded with a single syllable.

But Jungkook finds himself smiling, a small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth while he waits at a red light because beneath the frustration is something unexpected.

Your father didn't laugh or mock him or send him out, and he didn’t tell Jungkook to find someone else’s daughter to love and cherish. He didn't say Jungkook wasn't good enough, wasn't successful enough, wasn't worthy. He just said 'no', and then he said it again, and then he kept saying it until Jungkook ran out of questions.  He smiles because for two whole hours, he listened.

And Jungkook overthinks about it… a man doesn't spend two hours questioning someone he doesn't care about. A father doesn't interrogate a future son-in-law candidate unless the answer matters… unless the person sitting across from him is a real possibility.

‘No’ wasn't the end.

Jungkook glances at the road ahead, next Friday isn't far away. Five days, six hours, maybe less if he leaves work early. He can survive five days. He can survive anything if there's a chance at the end of it.

That evening, you're both sprawled across his couch, casually stealing fries from his plate. Your own plate sits untouched, still full, but you keep reaching for his anyway. Not because they're any different, just because they're his. This is the thing that you always do, and Jungkook loves it; it’s predictable and is exactly what he wants to come home to, exactly what he's fighting for.

Jungkook watches you. You glance up, caught, a fry halfway to your mouth.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Suspicious. Very suspicious. You narrow your eyes, and he sees your father in you for just a moment.

"What are you smiling about?"

He shakes his head. He can't tell you. Not yet. Not until he has something real to offer, something earned, something that proves he's serious. "Nothing."

You throw a fry at him. It bounces off his forehead and lands in his lap. You look proud, as if you've accomplished something significant, and your boyfriend laughs. Suddenly, the rejection doesn't feel so heavy anymore, because at the end of the day, every difficult conversation leads back to this. To you, to the future he's trying to build, one Friday at a time.

Jungkook picks up another fry. You steal that one too, quick as a cat, and he lets you. He doesn't even try to stop you. He watches you eat it, watches you chew, and for now, he lets you.

After all, he has bigger battles waiting for him next Friday. And the Friday after that. And however many it takes until your father finally says yes.

Now, 6 Months later

You are folding laundry when your phone buzzes against the coffee table, skittering like an insect that can't decide where to die. It's a text from him.

jk: Still at work, might be late for dinner, don't wait up

 You smile because, of course, he is. He's always at work, or the gym, or somewhere building his body while you eat instant noodles in sweatpants that have a hole in the left thigh. (no shame)

What you don't know is that your boyfriend is not at work. Your boyfriend is currently sitting in his car in front of your parents' house. He's been here before. Many times. 6 months of Fridays, to be exact, which is 24 Fridays, which is 24 times he's climbed out of this same car with his heart hammering against his ribs.

Jungkook checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looks good. He looks great, actually, black sweater, hair styled in that particular way that took him 45 and 3 YouTube tutorials. He looks like a man who deserves a ‘yes.’ He looks like a man who is about to get another 'no', but hope, as they say, is a stupid and beautiful thing that dies slowly.

"Okay," he whispers to himself. "Okay. This time."

He reaches into the backseat for the flowers, peonies this week, because last week your mother mentioned she liked them and Jungkook remembered. He bought pastries again from that French place across town that requires a reservation three days in advance. Your father sees him coming up the walk through the living room window, and he doesn't move.

"Who is it, dear?" your mother calls from the kitchen.

"Nobody," your father says, which is technically true because, as far as he's concerned, Jungkook hasn't earned the right to be somebody yet.

"Nobody" rings the doorbell. Your father counts to ten before he stands. He opens the door.

"Sir," Jungkook says.

"Jungkook," your father says, like he's surprised, like he hasn't been watching the car sit in the driveway for fifteen minutes. "Again?"

"Yes, sir. If you have a moment."

"I suppose I have a moment."

This is their ritual. Your father steps aside to let him in, and Jungkook enters your childhood home. He can smell your mother's cooking from the kitchen. Something with garlic. His stomach growls, which is embarrassing, but your father pretends not to notice because even he has limits to his cruelty.

"Flowers," Jungkook says, holding them out. "For Mrs. … he clears his throat…for your wife."

"She'll appreciate them."

"And these are from Maison Blanc. The almond croissants you mentioned."

"You remembered."

"I remember everything, sir."

This is the part where your father should feel bad. This is the part where a normal person would see the earnestness in this young man's face. Your father is not having any of it. "Sit," he says. "I'll make tea once again."

They sit in the living room. The couch is old, and Jungkook sinks into it the way he always does, while your father sits in his armchair. The tea is green and bitter. Jungkook hates green tea, but he drinks it anyway.

"So," your father says.

"Sir," Jungkook begins, and he sets down his cup because his hands are shaking again and he doesn't want to spill on the carpet. "I know I've asked before. Many times. But I'm here to ask again."

"Mhm."

"I love your daughter. I have loved her for…" He pauses, does the math "…two years, four months, and sixteen days. Not that I'm counting. I mean, I am counting. I have a calendar. That sounds creepy. It's not creepy. It's —"

"Jungkook."

"Yes, sir?"

"Deep breath, son."

Jungkook takes a deep breath. Your father watches him.

"Sir, may I have your blessing to marry your daughter?" The question hangs in the air between them.

Your father takes a sip of tea. He thinks about you,  his daughter, his only child, the person who once cried for three hours because her goldfish died and then forgot about it by dinner time. He thinks about the way you looked at Jungkook the first time you brought him home, like he was made of magic and promises. He thinks about the way Jungkook looks at you, like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he would burn down every building between here and the sea if you asked him to.

He thinks, good.

Then he says: "No."

Jungkook nods. He expected this, but something in his chest still sinks, still curls up small and wounded. 25 rejections. 25 times he's asked.

"Can I ask again why, sir?"

"Because," your father says, and he leans forward, and Jungkook recognizes this posture. This is the posture of a man about to deliver a lesson. "You still flinch when I say no."

"I … what?"

"You flinch. Your shoulders go up, your eyes go down. You look like a dog that's been kicked." Your father's voice is not unkind, but it is firm. It is the voice of a man who has spent thirty years teaching high school English and knows exactly how to make a point land. "If you want to marry my daughter, you need to be able to hear 'no' without breaking. You need to be able to hear 'no' and keep standing anyway."

Jungkook stares at him. "You want me to… you're testing me??"

"I'm teaching you," your father corrects. "There's a difference."

"How long?"

"Until you stop flinching."

"And if I never stop flinching?"

Your father smiles. "Then you're not the man I thought you were, and my daughter deserves better."

They sit in silence. From the kitchen, your mother's voice rises in a question about dinner, and your father calls back that they'll be a while.

"You can go," your father says. "Unless you want to stay. Daeun made enough for three."

Jungkook should go. He knows he should go. He's supposed to meet you in two hours, and he needs to shower, and he needs to practice his smile so you won't know that he's been here again, that he's been rejected again, but the smell of garlic is making him dizzy with hunger, and your father's face has softened in a way it never has before, and something in Jungkook makes him stay.

"I'd like to stay," he says. "If that's okay."

Your father nods. "Set the table, then. You know where the plates are."

He does. He knows where everything is. He's been here enough times to have memorized the layout of your childhood home. He knows your father takes his coffee black and your mother hums when she cooks.  He knows these things because he loves you, and loving you means loving where you came from, even when where you came from keeps telling him no.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

You just got out of the shower when he texts again.

 jk: “omw saved you some dumplings. It was a coworker's bday today.”

Y/n doesn’t question anything. You don't know about the tea, or the conversation, or the way your father's eyes went soft when Jungkook finally laughed at one of his jokes. You have no idea that somewhere in your childhood home, there's a drawer where your father keeps the cards Jungkook has brought. And you definitely have no idea that your father talks about Jungkook to his friends, calls him "that persistent kid" with something like pride in his voice. You don't know that your boyfriend is learning how to be the kind of man who doesn't flinch. You don't know that his heart that's been broken so many times and still beats hopeful.

He thinks about you. He thinks about the way you look when you first wake up, he thinks about the way you laugh, he thinks about getting down on one knee and offering you everything he has, which is not much, which is everything. Because many months ago, he made a promise to himself that he would do this right, that he would have your father's blessing.

You text him

You: hurry up, I'm hungry, and the TV show just started!! <3

Three socks and a suspicion

You are standing in front of your open sock drawer when you realize something is wrong with your boyfriend. Not wrong-wrong, not cheating-wrong or lying-wrong or has-a-secret-family-in-a-whole-different-country-wrong.

Jungkook has been... off.

Not distant, if anything, he's been more present than usual, texting more, calling for no reason, showing up at your apartment with food he claims is "leftover from the guys" but is clearly freshly bought because since when does Namjoon eat salmon with lemon dill sauce? Since when does anyone in that dorm eat vegetables that aren't covered in cheese? (again, no shame)

You hold up three socks. None of them match.

"You're thinking loudly," Jungkook says from your bed, where he's sprawled on his stomach, scrolling through his phone. He always knows when you're thinking. It's one of his most annoying qualities as a boyfriend.

"I'm not thinking," you lie.

"Your forehead does this thing." He finally looks up, and his eyes… those big, dark eyes that you fell into like a well you never wanted to climb out of… crinkle at the corners. "It wrinkles. Right here."

"Maybe I'm just getting old."

"You're 23."

"24 in three months."

"Ancient," he agrees, solemn as a funeral. "Should I buy you a cane? Or maybe one of those chairs that lifts you up?"

"Jeon Jungkook."

"Yes, my elderly girlfriend?"

You giggle and throw a sock at him. "You've been weird lately," you say.

"Weird how?" he asks, and his voice is casual, perfectly casual, too casual.

"I don't know. Distracted. Happy distracted. Like you're not telling me something."

Something flickers across his face. Something that looks almost like panic, or maybe hope, or maybe a little bit of both.

"Maybe I am," he says, and then he smiles and pats the space on the bed next to him. "Come here. I'll tell you, angel."

You go because you've always been weak when it comes to him. After all, he could ask you to follow him into a burning building, and you'd follow. The bed dips under your weight.

"Tell me," you say.

"I can't."

"Jungkook."

"I literally can't. It's not my secret to tell…But I promise it's a good secret. The best secret, and when you find out." He stops and swallows… "when you find out, I hope you'll say yes."

Your heart does something complicated in your chest, a backflip, a small, confused seizure. "Say yes to what?"

"Everything," he whispers.

You should push. You know you should push, but he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world, and you forget how to form words. You forget your own name. You lean in to kiss him because that's the only thing your brain will allow, you kiss him and he kisses you back.

Your mother knows.

She's known since week three, when she came home early from her book club and found Jungkook washing dishes in their kitchen while your father dried. They were arguing about baseball, and your father was laughing. She stood in the doorway and watched them.

"Mrs. Y/L/N" Jungkook had stuttered when he saw her, dropping a plate back into the sink with a splash that soaked his shirt. "I can explain."

"Can you?" she'd asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Not really. No. I'm sorry."

She'd looked at your father, who was doing a terrible job of looking innocent. Your father, who had told Jungkook ‘no’ 13 times at that time, showed no signs of stopping.

"How long?" she'd asked your father.

"13 weeks," he'd said, like he was proud of it. Like this was an accomplishment.

"And how many more?"

"We'll see."

Your mother had sighed then, it's the sigh of a woman who has been married to this man for 22 years and has learned that some battles are not worth fighting. She'd picked up a towel, started drying the plate that Jungkook had abandoned, and said: "He likes the almond croissants from Maison Blanc. But the chocolate ones are better."

Jungkook had stared at her. "You're not... mad?"

"Oh, I'm furious," she'd said, and smiled. "But I'm also hungry, and you two have clearly been eating without me, so you're taking me to dinner. Somewhere expensive."

That was week 13.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

Now it's week 27, and your mother has become Jungkook's accomplice. She texts him recipes your father likes. She has, on two occasions, lied to you about where Jungkook is on Friday afternoons, which makes her feel slightly guilty, but she's never seen your father have this much fun. Not at your graduation, not at your sister's wedding, not when he finally beat his brother at golf after 15 years of losing. This ridiculous ritual of weekly interrogation is the most fun he's had in decades.

"He's coming today," your father says now, not looking up from his newspaper. It's Friday. It's 3:30. He checked the clock four times in the last hour.

"I know," your mother says.

"He's bringing those almond things."

"You love almond things."

"I tolerate them," he corrects.

She sits down across from him. "You know you're going to ahve to say ‘yes’ eventually."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Because, despite your best efforts, you like him. You like him more than you liked Minji's husband, and you liked Minji's husband enough to cry at their wedding."

Your father sniffs. "I had allergies."

"You had feelings." She reaches across the table and touches his hand. "When are you going to tell her?"

"Who?"

"Your daughter. The person this actually concerns."

Your father is quiet for a long moment. Outside, Jungkook's car pulls up, and your father straightens his shoulders and puts on his mask of indifference to become the man who says ‘no.’

"When he stops flinching," your father says. "Or when she figures it out. Whichever comes first."

"And if she never figures it out?"

Your father smiles. It's a small, complicated smile, the smile of a man who has spent his life teaching other people lessons they didn't know they needed to learn. "Then she's not as smart as I raised her to be," he says, "and Jungkook will have to keep coming forever."

The doorbell rings. Your mother gets up to answer it, leaving your father to his newspaper and his anticipation and his strange, stubborn hope.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

Jungkook is not flinching today.

He's thought about it all week, actually, ever since your father said those words like a challenge.

He's practiced in the mirror. He's practiced in the shower. He's practiced saying ‘no’ to himself, which felt ridiculous but also necessary.

He stands on your parents' porch with lilies-of-the-valley in one hand and chocolate croissants in the other. He switched because he suspects your father is tired of pretending to like almonds.

I will not flinch, he thinks.

Your mother opens the door. "Chocolate," she says, looking at the box. "Smart boy."

"I have it on good authority that almonds are overrated."

"Your authority is correct. Come in. He's in his usual spot."

The living room is the same as always. The couch is waiting to swallow him. The armchair is waiting to judge him. Your father is waiting to break his heart, gently.

"Sir," Jungkook says. He doesn't sit. Not yet.

"Jungkook." Your father folds his newspaper. "You're early."

"I couldn't wait."

"Eager to be rejected?"

"Eager to try."

They sit. The tea is prepared, black today, not green, which Jungkook takes as a good sign, or maybe just as your mother intervening on his behalf. The chocolate croissants are placed on a plate.

"So," your father says.

"Sir," Jungkook says, and he sets down his cup, and he looks your father directly in the eyes, and he does not look away. "May I have your blessing to marry your daughter?"

Your father opens his mouth to say ‘no.’

Jungkook does not flinch or move, and your father notices. Your father notices, and something shifts in his expression like seeing a student finally understand the lesson.

"No," your father says.

Jungkook does not flinch.

"Okay," Jungkook says. "I'll ask again next week."

Your father leans forward. "Why?"

"Because I love her. Because I want to do this right. Because… because you saying ‘no’ doesn't change what I want. It just changes how long I have to wait."

Your father is very still. From the kitchen, your mother is listening, holding her breath, ready to intervene if necessary.

"And if I never say yes?" your father asks. "If I keep saying ‘no’ until you're old and gray and she's moved on to someone else?"

"Then I'll keep coming," Jungkook says, and he means it. "I'll keep coming because this isn't about you. It's about her. And she deserves someone who doesn't give up just because it's hard."

Your father looks at him for a long time. "You're not flinching," your father says quietly.

"No, sir. I'm not."

Your father sits back. He picks up his tea. He drinks it, slowly, thoughtfully, like he's tasting something new. "The chocolate croissants are better," he says finally. “Do you think I’m being cruel to you?”

"No, I understand you’re being careful."

"Do you?"

"I have a sister," Jungkook says. "She's younger, if someone wanted to marry her, I'd want them to work for it. I'd want to know if they were serious." He pauses, chooses his words carefully. "I don't think you're cruel, sir. I think you're scared. And I think that's okay. Because I'm scared too."

Your father laughs. It's a short, surprised sound, like a cough that turned into something better. "You're scared? Of what?"

"Of not being enough. Of messing up. Of all of it…marriage, forever, being someone's whole world. What if I'm bad at it? What if I hurt her? What if I try my best and my best isn't good enough?"

Jungkook realizes he's said too much, but your father doesn't attack. He just nods, slowly, like he's hearing an answer to a question he didn't know he was asking.

"So that's why you flinched," your father says. "Not because of me. Because of the fear."

"Yes, sir."

"And now?"

Jungkook thinks about the fear, which is still there; it will always be there, he knows that now. He thinks about the future, which is uncertain, which is terrifying, which is beautiful because it contains you.

"Now I'm scared," he says, "but I'm here anyway."

"Next week," your father says. "Bring the almond croissants. I changed my mind. I like them better."

"Yes, sir."

"And Jungkook?"

"Yes?"

Your father turns around and smiles, "Stop calling me sir. My name is Seojun."

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

You are eating a salad when Jungkook finally shows up, two hours late.

"Sorry," he says, dropping onto your couch with the boneless grace of a man who has been through something and survived. "A meeting ran long."

"Liar," you say, but you're smiling because he's here. He's always here, because even when he's keeping secrets, he's keeping them with such obvious love that you can't really be mad.

"Am I?"

"You're wearing a hoodie. You don't wear a hoodie to meetings."

He looks down at himself, surprised, like he hadn't noticed. "Huh. Guess I'm caught."

"Guess you are. Where were you, really?"

"I was," he says slowly, "learning how to be brave."

"Jungkook…”

"And I think," he continues, "that I'm almost there, almost ready., my love." He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers are warm. "Soon," he promises. "Soon you'll know everything.”

"Okay," you say. "But if this secret is bad, if you're secretly a criminal or you have a twin, I'm going to be mad."

He pulls you close, rests his chin on your head, and you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek. "I love you," he says, like it's a promise, like it's a prayer, like it's the only true thing in the world.

"I love you too," you say..

The Blessing

You are standing in the middle of your apartment holding a spoon when the world changes. Your mother calls, and her voice, when you answer, sounds strange.

"You need to come home," she says. "This Friday. Four o'clock."

"Mom, I have work-"

"Four o'clock," she repeats, "And honey? Don't tell Jungkook."

"Mom...?," you say slowly, "what's going on...?"

But she already hung up.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

Jungkook knows something is different. He's known since Tuesday, when your mother texted him with instructions for this Friday that were more specific than usual.

Daeun: Wear the blue shirt, and bring the small box, not the big one. She's suspicious enough already.

He's been carrying the small box for four months. It lives in his gym bag, wrapped in an old T-shirt, tucked between his protein powder and his backup headphones. He's taken it to work, to the convenience store at 2 am, when you wanted ice cream. He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. The blue shirt, your favorite.

Today feels different. Today feels like the last time, one way or another. He drives across town with the box in his pocket and his heart in his throat. He doesn't know you're already there. He doesn't know that your mother finally broke, finally told you everything, finally couldn't stand keeping the secret for one more day. He doesn't know that you're sitting in your childhood bedroom right now, listening to your mother's rushed explanation to you, “Every Friday, for 6 months, he…” with your hands shaking and your eyes filling with tears that you can't quite name.

Are you angry? You should be angry. He kept a secret. A big one. A secret that involved your father and pastries and some kind of ongoing test that you apparently needed to pass without knowing you were taking it. But underneath the anger is something else that feels like being chosen, over and over again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you ask your mother, and your voice sounds small, like a child's.

"Because he asked us not to. Because he wanted to do it right. And because your father was having too much fun to stop."

"He's been rejecting him? For 6 months?"

"29 times," your mother says. "This will be 30."

"That's…" you stop, because you don't know what that is. Cruel? Romantic?  "Where are they?"

"Living room…waiting."

You stand up. Your legs feel unsteady, and you walk to the door, opening it and hear:

"You're late," your father says.

"Traffic," Jungkook replies, and his voice is steady.

You walk slowly and silently down the hall. You can see them through the doorway. Your father in his armchair, the throne, Jungkook on the couch.

"So," your father says. "This is 30."

"Yes, sir."

"You know what I'm going to say."

"I think so," Jungkook says. "But I'd like to hear it anyway."

"You stopped flinching," your father says. "Week 26. Do you remember?"

"I remember."

"I thought that would be it. I thought I'd say ‘yes’ then, and we'd be done with this." Your father leans forward. "But then I realized… flinching was just the first test. The easy one. The real test is what you do after."

Jungkook is very still. "And?"

"And you've shown up," your father says. "29 times. Through my bad moods and my stupid questions and that week where I made you help me clean the garage because I wanted to see if you'd complain."

"I didn't complain, sir."

"Yes, that's right."

You are holding your breath. You realize this only when your lungs start to hurt, when the edges of your vision go blurry. You let it out, slow and silent, and you watch your father's face.

"Jungkook," your father says.

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you love my daughter?"

"More than anything."

"Will you keep loving her? When is she difficult? When she's tired? When she's been your wife for 20, and the newness has worn off, and you're left with just, with her ordinary flaws?"

Jungkook doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Will you keep showing up?"

"Every day," Jungkook says, and his voice breaks slightly, but he doesn't flinch. He doesn't look away. "Every Friday. Every Tuesday. Every day that ends in Y, I'll keep showing up until you believe me, and then I'll keep showing up so you don't forget."

"Jungkook," your father says.

"Yes, sir?"

"My name is Seojun."

"I know, sir. I mean — I know, Seojun."

Your father stands up. He walks to Jungkook, who stands too, automatic, respectful, ready for whatever comes next. He puts his hand on Jungkook's shoulder.

"Yes," your father says.

Jungkook's face crumples for a blink…the relief, the exhaustion, the pure happiness of finally being enough.

"Thank you," Jungkook whispers. "Thank you, sir. Thank you-"

"Seojun," your father corrects, but he's smiling. "And you're welcome. Now…" he steps back, clears his throat "…you have a question to ask, don't you? Might want to get to it. She's standing right behind you."

Jungkook turns.

You are crying. You didn't realize you were crying, but your face is wet, and your hands are shaking, and you can't seem to make your mouth form words. You look at him. at your boyfriend, at this stubborn, persistent man who loved you enough to endure 29 rejections just for the chance to propose properly.

"You…" you start, and your voice breaks. "You idiot. You absolute…why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to- " he starts, and then stops, because you're walking toward him, and then you're in his arms.

"I would have said yes," you mumble into his shoulder. "Week one. I would have said yes."

"I know," he says.

"Ask me," you say.

"What?"

"Ask me. You came here thirty times to ask him, now ask me."

Jungkook's hands are shaking. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out the small box. It's worn from being carried, from being hidden.

He gets down on one knee. Your mother appears in the doorway, raising the phone to record this, to capture it, to prove that it really happened.

"Okay," Jungkook says, and he's crying now too; you realize the tears tracking down his face in the most undignified, most beautiful way. "Okay. I've been practicing this. In the car. In the shower. In my head, about a thousand times." He opens the box. The ring is simple, exactly right, exactly you. "I love you. I've loved you for two years and four months and thirty days. Your father told me I wasn't ready. But I think- I hope- I'm ready now. Will you…" He stops, swallows, starts again, " …will you marry me? Will you let me keep showing up? Will you be my family, officially?"

You look at him. You look at your father, who is wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and pretending he's not. You look at your mother, who is crying, who has been waiting for this for weeks when she first saw Jungkook washing dishes in her kitchen.

You look at Jungkook.

"Yes," you say. "Yes, you idiot. Yes, I'll marry you. Yes to all of it. Yes, forever."

He puts the ring on your finger.  He stands up, and he kisses you.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ♡ྀི ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

Later, after the crying and the laughing and your father insisting on opening the good wine that he's been saving for something important, you sit on the porch with Jungkook, your hand in his, the ring catching the light.

"30 Fridays," you say. "You came here 30 times."

"29 rejections," he confirms. "One yes."

"Was it worth it?"

He looks at you. He looks at you like he looked at you the first time, like he'll look at you when you're old and gray and arguing about whose turn it is to take out the trash.

"Every single one," he says. "I'd do 30 more. 300. However many it will take."

You lean your head on his shoulder.

Inside, your father is telling your mother that he knew Jungkook would make it, that he never doubted, that he was just testing him to be sure. Your mother is rolling her eyes and pouring more wine and smiling in a way that says she knows exactly what really happened. That her husband has already accepted your boyfriend somewhere around week twelve, and has been pretending otherwise ever since.

But that's their story.

This is yours.

The future is waiting.

It's going to be exhausting and beautiful and completely worth it.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▱▰▱▰▱

a/n: i might have cried a little

hope you enojyed !! >.<

— and when he glances down at you, you’re suddenly very interested in the blanket covering your lap. that’s when he knows something is up.

— “what?”

— you immediately shake your head. “nothing.”

— “that’s definitely not nothing.”

— and after several minutes of him poking at the conversation, you finally admit it.

— you’ve never had a boyfriend before. ever.

— no first relationship. no first anniversary. no first “good morning” texts. nothing.

— for a second jungkook just stares at you. not because he’s judging you, but because suddenly so many things make sense. the way you got nervous the first time he held your hand. the way you spent twenty minutes choosing a text message before sending it. the way your face turned bright red when someone referred to him as your boyfriend.

— and instead of teasing you, his expression softens. completely, because suddenly he realizes something important. every single relationship milestone you’re experiencing…

— you’re experiencing with him first.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• boyfriend things you never got to experience before

— jungkook becomes very aware of your firsts after that. not in a weird way, in a protective way, because he knows these moments matter to you.

— he remembers the first time he picked you up for a date, the first time he kissed you, the first time you stole one of his hoodies and refused to give it back, the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder during a movie.

— he remembers everything.

— sometimes months later he’ll randomly bring something up. “remember when you were too nervous to call me?”

— and you’ll immediately hide your face, while he’s sitting there smiling because he remembers exactly how cute you looked.

— you’ll complain that he’s embarrassing, he’ll complain that you’re adorable, and somehow neither of you wins.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• him realizing how much you trust him

— out of everything, this is what affects jungkook the most. the trust.

— because being someone’s first boyfriend isn’t just about cute milestones, it means you’re trusting him with experiences you’ve never had before.

— you’re trusting him with your first relationship. your first heartbreak, if things ever went wrong. your first real love, and that’s not something jungkook takes lightly.

— sometimes he’ll be holding your hand while walking somewhere and the realization hits him all over again. you chose him. out of everyone. him.

— and honestly? it scares him a little, because suddenly he wants to get everything right. he wants your memories of your first relationship to be good ones. he wants you to feel loved, safe, cherished. he wants you to look back years from now and smile when you remember him.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• your first time sleeping beside him

— The first time you fall asleep together, you’re nervous for absolutely no reason. Well. Several reasons.

— You’re aware of everything. How close he is, how warm he is, how easily his arm settles around your waist.

— Meanwhile Jungkook looks completely relaxed. Which honestly feels unfair, because you’re overthinking every movement while he’s already pulling you closer against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

— “Comfortable?”

— “No.”

— He laughs immediately. That deep sleepy laugh, the one that makes your stomach flip. Then he kisses your forehead and pulls the blankets higher around both of you.

— “We’ve got all night.” And somehow that makes everything easier, because he never rushes you, never makes you feel silly for being nervous, never acts like you should already know what you’re doing. He just lets you figure things out at your own pace, with him right beside you.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• when he realizes how easily he affects you

— Jungkook discovers very quickly that he doesn’t have to do much to make you flustered. A look. A compliment. His arm around your waist. That’s usually enough.

— Which becomes a problem. Because once he realizes this? He starts enjoying it way too much.

— You’ll be talking about something completely normal and suddenly he’s staring. Just staring, eyes focused entirely on you.

— And eventually you’ll stop talking. “What?”

— “Nothing.”

— “Jungkook.”

— Tiny smile. “No, keep talking.”

— that somehow makes it worse, because now you’re aware of how close he is. How his hand is resting on yours, how he’s looking at you, and meanwhile he’s completely entertained by your reaction.

— The worst part? The second you hide your face, he’s pulling your hands away. “Don’t do that.”

— “Why?”

— “Wanna see you.”

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• the first time he realizes he’s in love with being your first boyfriend

— this is not because of possessiveness, not because nobody came before him, but because every experience feels special.

— The first relationship nickname, the first anniversary, he’s the first person you call when something good happens, the first person you want beside you when something goes wrong.

— Sometimes jungkook’ll catch himself thinking about it randomly. Like when you’re walking together holding hands, or when you steal his hoodie, or when you automatically curl up beside him on the couch.

— he’ll smile to himself, because those things are normal relationship moments for most people, but they’re new for you. And somehow you chose him to experience them with.

— Which still amazes him. Every single day.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• when you stop being nervous

— His favorite moment isn’t actually your first date. Or your first kiss. Or any of the big milestones. It’s the day he notices you’ve stopped hesitating, stopped second-guessing yourself, stopped worrying about whether you’re doing things right.

— Because now you’re reaching for his hand first, leaning against him automatically, stealing kisses from his cheek without getting embarrassed afterward.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• when he realizes how inexperienced you actually are

— At first, Jungkook thinks you’re just shy. Shy about holding hands, shy about compliments, shy whenever he gets too close.

— But the longer you’re together, the more he starts noticing things. The way you secretly google relationship questions, the way you ask your friends whether certain things are normal, the way you overthink every little milestone between the two of you. He notices all of it.

— And one night, while you’re curled against his side in bed watching a movie neither of you are paying attention to anymore, he catches you staring at your intertwined hands. Just staring. Lost in thought.

— “What?”

— You immediately shake your head.“Nothing.”

— “It wasn’t nothing.”

— “It was.”

— “It definitely wasn’t.”

— Eventually you sigh, then admit it. “I just never thought I’d have this.”

— Jungkook’s entire expression changes, because suddenly he understands. You aren’t nervous because you’re uncertain about him, you’re nervous because all of this is new. The hand holding, the cuddling, the good morning texts, the kisses goodbye, everything.

— And for some reason that realization completely wrecks him, because now all he can think about is how much trust you’re placing in him. How every relationship memory you’re making is being made with him first, and suddenly he wants to protect every single one of them.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• your first sleepover as his girlfriend

— The first time you stay overnight with him, you’re so nervous it’s almost ridiculous. You spend an hour deciding what pajamas to bring, you overthink where you’ll sleep, you overthink whether you’ll snore, you overthink literally everything.

— Meanwhile Jungkook thinks it’s adorable. Not that he tells you that immediately, because he knows you’d die of embarrassment.

— Instead he just quietly helps you settle in, shows you where everything is, lets you take your time, and acts completely normal, even though he’s secretly smiling every time you get flustered.

— The thing that finally breaks him? When you emerge from the bathroom looking nervous and immediately ask: “Is this okay?” Referring to your pajamas.

— And Jungkook just stares, because suddenly he’s realizing how badly you want everything to go right. How much effort you’re putting into something that feels effortless to him.

— His chest hurts a little in the best way, so he simply reaches for your hand, pulls you closer, and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You’re cute, you know that?”

— Then he watches your entire face turn red.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• clingy boyfriend jk after he discovers you’re touch-starved

— Jungkook discovers something very dangerous early into the relationship: You love affection, you just aren’t used to receiving it. Which means every little thing affects you. His arm around your shoulders, his fingers brushing yours, his hand resting on your knee during car rides.

— The first time he pulls you into his lap while you’re both watching a movie, you practically stop functioning, and he notices immediately. Of course he does. He’s Jungkook, nothing gets past him.

— The movie continues playing, but neither of you are watching it, because now he’s distracted by how nervous you are. How your hands don’t know where to go, how you’re trying so hard to act normal. Eventually he wraps both arms around your waist, pulls you comfortably against his chest, and rests his chin on your shoulder.

— “Relax.” Easy for him to say. He’s not the one whose heart is trying to escape through their ribs, but eventually you do relax.

— You settle against him naturally, and once that happens? Jungkook is finished, because now he never wants to sit normally again.

— If you’re nearby, he wants you touching him somehow. Holding hands, curled into his side, sitting beside him. Resting your head on his shoulder.

— Anything. Everything. Because he gets just as addicted to your affection as you are to his.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• when you get shy about relationship things

— Sometimes Jungkook forgets that things which feel normal to him still feel huge to you. Like introducing each other as boyfriend and girlfriend. Or couple photos. Or meeting family members.

— The first time someone asks who he is and you quietly answer: “My boyfriend.” Jungkook almost loses his mind. Not outwardly, internally, because hearing you say it does something to him.

— The shy smile afterward. The way you immediately look away. The tiny blush spreading across your cheeks. He’s completely gone.

:<:<:<:<:<:<:<

• when he catches himself imagining your future together

— This one scares him. A little.

— Because one night you’re asleep beside him. Curled into his chest, wearing one of his shirts. Completely peaceful, and he’s supposed to be sleeping too.

— Instead he’s awake. Watching you. Thinking. Dangerous activity.

— Because suddenly he starts realizing how attached he’s become, how important you’ve become, how natural you feel in his life. And then an even more dangerous thought appears.

— He doesn’t want to be your first boyfriend. He wants to be your last one too. And that realization hits him so hard that he actually laughs quietly to himself.

— Because he’s gone. Completely. Hopelessly. Embarrassingly gone. For the girl who still gets excited when he holds her hand.

──────────────────────

Jeon Jungkook could not accept defeat. 

That was an irrefutable fact, not an opinion, and that is how the whole stupid argument had started. 

"You cheated." 

You stare at him from across the living room. "I didn't cheat."

"You absolutely cheated."

You set your game controller down on the coffee table with exaggerated care. "Explain how."

Jungkook points at you immediately, as if he'd been waiting for the question. "You distracted me."

A laugh of disbelief escapes before you can stop it. "That's your defence?"

"It's a valid defence,” he insists. 

"It really isn't,” you argue back. 

His eyes narrow, and not to be outdone, yours narrow right back. Both of you glare silently at one another for a moment, nobody saying anything, but the battle rages on in wills. 

"You did distract me." The sheer seriousness in his voice makes you laugh harder. “Then you took advantage.”

You sigh exasperatedly. "Oh yeah? And how did I manage to do that exactly?"

"You kept talking."

"Talking isn't cheating."

"You know it affects my concentration."

"You've spent ten years performing in front of stadiums."

"That’s not the same thing and you know it,” he states. "It’s different. I wasn't trying to beat seventy thousand people."

You throw your head back. "Come on, Jungkook."

"I'm serious."

"No, you're being ridiculous."

His mouth drops open, but he’s still ridiculously pretty unfortunately. That makes winning arguments harder.

"You’re calling me ridiculous?” he states, unimpressed. 

"You are being ridiculous."

His eyebrows lift. "You know what?" he says sulkily. "I don't think you're taking this seriously at all."

You blink. "You think?"

"I'm hurt."

"Hurt?” you echo. 

"Yeah, Y/N, hurt."

"You lost one round."

"Three rounds actually.”

"Who's counting?" You really are losing your mind with him now. 

"I am."

Jungkook glares and you grin which only serves to infuriate him further, and his glare deepens. He’s so cute when he’s getting mad, so your grin broadens uncontrollably. In all the years you’d been dating, you’ve managed to learn every expression he has.

You know when he's genuinely annoyed, when he's exhausted or overwhelmed, and even when he’s pretending to be angry because he thinks it'll help him win an argument. This is definitely the third one, his twitching lip gives that away as he tries not to smile and ends up failing miserably. 

"You think this is funny?" he asks. 

"A little, yeah."

His glare finally breaks, the corners of his mouth turning upward. "There is something deeply wrong with you."

"You love me,” you chime. 

"Unfortunately."

You gasp, reclining in mock horror, one hand to your chest. "Unfortunately?"

"I said what I said."

"You take it back, Koo."

"No."

"Take it back."

"I will not," he retorts stubbornly. 

You grab a throw pillow and watch his doe eyes widen with awareness immediately. “Don’t you dare!” he warns. 

The pillow hits him square in the chest, and the resulting sound is embarrassingly dramatic. "Violence, really?" he muses theatrically. 

"Oh, please,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. 

"Violence in my own home, Y/N,” he tuts. “I expected better of you.”

"It’s our home, Koo," you correct him with a smile. 

He gives the smallest pause, the smile on his face softer now. "Our home,” he repeats, and the way he says it makes your heart swell. 

You try not to react, but you know he sees all the things you don’t say, the things you don’t even realise you’re feeling. His gaze lingers on you for a second too long, and the room quietens around you. 

"You still cheated,” Jungkook says suddenly. 

You groan, and the moment evaporates instantly. "You’re unbelievable."

"I know."

"You ruined the nice moment.”

"What nice moment?"

You point at him. "Exactly."

When he laughs, it’s the kind of laugh that you love the most. Deep and genuine, full of warmth and sincerity. The kind it’s hard not to join in with. When he looks at you, it feels like he’s looking at you differently, but you can’t quite put your finger on how or why. His eyes linger on you as if he’s really taking in the curve of your smile, how you tuck your legs beneath yourself when you sit and wrinkle up your nose when you’re trying not to laugh. 

You’ve been noticing the strange, thoughtful looks he’s been giving you for months now. How he’ll glance at you during conversations and then disappear into his own head, brushing it off whenever you questioned him about it. Your suspicions have definitely been raised. 

"Earth to Jungkook," you say, snapping your fingers. 

His eyes refocus. "Huh −what?"

“You were miles away,” you tell him. “I’d love to know where.”

He laughs. "I don't know what you're talking about."

You shoot him a look, and his expression instantly turns far too innocent, which means he's definitely lying. "You don’t trust me,” he says, pouting again. “I’m hurt, Y/N.”

"You'll survive,” you say firmly. 

"I might not."

"You will."

Jungkook’s hand reaches out suddenly and before you can react, he catches your wrist gently. The movement silences both of you, because somehow after all these years, simple things still affect you. The warmth of his hand, the graze of his fingers against your skin and the way his eyes soften automatically when he’s touching you. As if affection is his default setting and loving you is instinct.

He looks at your intertwined hands, and something flashes in his eyes that is gone almost immediately. You don't know what it means, only that it makes your heart skip a beat. 

"Now you’re miles away," he says quietly. “What’s on your mind?”

He knows you even more than you know yourself. "You started this,” you tell him evasively. 

"I know." 

The smile that follows is absolutely devastating −the sort of smile that should honestly come with a warning label. You narrow your eyes and he laughs, the moment dissolving. 

"Shall we order dinner?" he asks. "It's almost seven."

You smile inwardly. No matter what went on, Jungkook’s stomach never had a day off. It worked with military precision, you could set your watch by it. You check the clock and raise an eyebrow. "When did that happen?"

"I don't know,” he says, “I guess we both lost track of time.”

He releases your hand and you grimace as the space feels colder. You aren’t subtle because Jungkook picks up your expression. He smirks knowingly before standing up and stretching. The hem of his shirt lifts slightly to reveal those glorious abs you loved to run your hands over. 

You look away immediately, but you’re too slow. Jungkook catches you, his grin growing. The man was seriously impossible. You flush. 

"Don't start,” you tell him. 

"I didn't say anything,” he says defensively, looking only too entirely pleased with himself. It only strengthens your belief that he deserved to lose all three rounds. Perhaps four, on principle alone. 

"I'm ordering food,” Jungkook says. "What do you want?"

"You know what I want."

He bites his lip, the tip of his tongue flicking out over the silver of his lip ring. Your stomach does somersaults. "Hmm, maybe…” he says teasingly. 

“Koo!” you exclaim. If he was going to do this now, you weren’t sure your resistance would be up to scratch. It hardly ever was. 

“What?” he says, feigning yet more of that cutesy innocence. “I always know what you get from the Chinese."

You roll your eyes. "Then why ask?"

"See?” he says pointedly. “−This is why we argue."

"We argue because you're dramatic,” you respond, all flustered now. 

"We argue because you're impossible,” he hits back quickly. 

"We argue because you're too competitive.” 

"We argue because you're cute."

The words leave his mouth so effortlessly, as if he hasn’t got a clue what they do to you. Your brain stalls completely. Jungkook freezes, realizing what he said, his expression sheepishly shy. 

Suddenly you’re the one smiling. "You think I'm cute?"

"I take it back."

"Too late."

"I take it back."

"You can't."

"I absolutely can."

"Nope,” you insist. “Them’s the rules. You’ve said it now.”

He groans dramatically, and you chuckle. Despite all the teasing and bickering, the endless back and forth, you feel that familiar certainty that settles in your chest whenever you look at him. No matter how many arguments you have about games, food, movies, laundry, or whose turn it is to do literally anything, home has somehow become a person, and that person is standing in your kitchen pretending not to blush.

You don't notice the way Jungkook watches you afterward. The way his expression changes as his hand briefly slips into his pocket to touch something hidden there that he’s been carrying around for weeks. Something that suddenly feels much heavier than before, because when he looks at you smiling at him from across the room, his carefully planned proposal becomes infinitely more terrifying.

The cold war lasts exactly five minutes and twenty-two seconds, not that you're counting. You are absolutely counting, but only because Jungkook is being ridiculous. The two of you sit at opposite ends of the couch while waiting for dinner to arrive, both pretending to be deeply invested in your phones.

A heavy, intentional silence hangs between you. The kind that says I'm not talking to you first.

You glance up to see Jungkook scrolling, his face completely neutral −suspiciously neutral. You look back at your phone and a few seconds pass. 

Then out of the blue, a cushion hits your shoulder. You stare at it and slowly turn your head. Jungkook is still looking at his phone, scrolling and pretending he had nothing to do with it. 

"You missed,” you announce. 

He stills for a second. “I don't know what you're talking about."

"You threw a cushion at me."

"You have no proof of that."

You can’t help but laugh. "There is literally a cushion in my lap."

"It could've fallen,” he shrugs. 

"Across the room?"

"Gravity works in mysterious ways."

You huff and shake your head, while Jungkook's shoulders shake suspiciously. And just like that, the cold war is over. Dinner arrives ten minutes later. By then you're both squeezed into the same corner of the couch again, arguing over what movie to watch, which feels much more normal.

"Oh no,” he says. “Definitely not that one."

"Why not?"

"You cry every time, Y/N,” he says. “I end up having to dry clean shirts covered in mascara repeatedly.”

"That is so not true." Jungkook turns to look at you with a pierced eyebrow arched and you lose confidence. "Not every time."

"You cried last week,” he reminds you. "You cried because the dog found its owner."

"It was emotional."

"The dog was missing for fifteen minutes."

"That's fifteen minutes too long."

He starts laughing and you shove his shoulder. He barely moves. Years of boxing and working out have made that a one-sided contest.

"You're mean,” you sulk. 

"But you still want me."

"There you go again."

"There I go again."

The smile he gives you is so soft that it still catches you off guard regardless of how many years have passed or however many times you’ve seen it. 

The movie ends up forgotten entirely, mostly because Jungkook keeps talking through it. Then you keep talking through it. Then neither of you remembers what's happening anymore and the TV becomes background noise, a soundtrack to a conversation that wanders aimlessly through a dozen different topics. A funny comment he saw online, a song that's been stuck in his head, a trip that the two of you keep promising you'll take when schedules calm down or the latest tattoo idea he's considering.

Halfway through explaining it, he notices your expression change. "What?" he asks. 

You hesitate. "You know you say that every time,” you tell him. “You say one more tattoo."

His mouth falls open. "You're making things up."

"Koo, you've said it at least ten times before."

His betrayal is immediate. "Whose side are you on?"

"Reality's."

The offended noise he makes nearly sends you into another fit of laughter. You love him so much, like something your heart learned years ago and never forgot. Perhaps that's what love becomes after enough time; certainty that settled into your bones and stayed there ingrained within you. 

Across from you, Jungkook is still arguing his case in the typical Jungkook way. He looks unbelievably adorable still, and your heart flutters. Damn him. After all these years, he can still make you feel sixteen, twenty-six and eighty-six all at once. The words linger on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t say anything. Suddenly bursting out with telling him how much you love him feels embarrassingly vulnerable.

But as ever, Jungkook reads you like a book and apparently your silence speaks some coded language he understands perfectly. He reaches out and hooks a finger around yours, and the gesture makes you ache. 

"You okay?" he asks gently. It’s always gentle and tender when it’s you. 

You nod. "Yeah."

He studies you for another second as if making sure, before he nods too, satisfied. The movie continues playing in the background, and for a little while, everything is perfect. Until Jungkook's phone rings. The second he sees the screen, he sits up straighter, and you bristle instantly, your senses on alert. 

"Who is it?"

"It's not important."

Now you're definitely suspicious, and as the phone keeps vibrating, Jungkook’s panic grows visibly. You watch, and he watches you watching him. The phone rings off and then on again. Then, in a move so obvious it's honestly insulting, he places the phone face down. 

"You're hiding something,” you state. 

His eyes widen. "No, Y/N."

"Then let me see."

"No."

Now you're sitting upright too. His face tells you he thinks he’s made a mistake. You’ve seen that face many times, usually right before he loses an argument. "It's not what you think."

"I don't even know what I think."

The phone starts ringing again and Jungkook looks ready to launch himself through the nearest window. You burst into a fit of giggles which somehow makes him look even more distressed. That's when you come to a strange realisation. Jungkook is many things −competitive, stubborn, playful and sometimes dramatic. 

But he isn't secretive −not with you. The nervousness you're seeing now feels different, and concern fleets through your chest. You needed to trust him −and you did. "Hey."

His eyes lift and you reach for his hand. The tension in his shoulders eases a little, just from you touching him. "Is everything okay?"

Jungkook looks down, and when he finally looks up again, you see something unreadable lingering in his eyes. “Yeah, everything's okay."

Your concern eases, but not entirely because that look remains for a moment longer. When his phone rings again you both jump and the spell breaks instantly. 

"Answer it,” you tell him. 

"I don't want to."

"It might be important."

"It isn’t."

The phone continues vibrating relentlessly and you squint. "Who is it?"

"No one."

"That's not an answer."

"It is technically an answer."

You lunge at him, although you’re not seriously trying to take his phone. Jungkook reacts like someone defending nuclear codes. The man practically tackles the phone first.

"Koo!" you yell. “Let me see!”

“No!”

You laugh so hard you're barely functional. He's laughing too now, although his sounds slightly hysterical. Eventually he answers the phone, but only because he has no choice.

"Hello?" 

The glare he sends whoever is on the other end could melt steel. You hear a voice, but it’s too faint to understand. Jungkook's eyes dart toward you and there’s a pause, and he curses under his breath before his face turns bright red.

"What?"

He points at you, as though you're somehow responsible. The person on the phone says something else and now Jungkook looks like he's considering murder. A few moments later, the call ends and the room falls silent. 

"That was so suspicious,” you say. "Why are you blushing?"

His hand flies to his face and you grin. "I'm warm."

"It's winter."

"I'm still warm."

You laugh and despite his obvious embarrassment, a smile tugs at Jungkook’s mouth too. That’s the thing about Jungkook −even when he's stressed or nervous, and even when something is clearly eating him alive, he loves to make you laugh. Sometimes you think it's one of his favourite sounds.

Across from you, Jungkook watches your smile appear, and he forgets whatever excuse he was about to make. Because all he can think is, just one more day and then he won’t have to keep secrets anymore. Then he can finally ask the question that's been living in his chest for months.

Then if he’s lucky, you’ll say yes −and the thought terrifies him far more than performing in front of a stadium ever could.

The next morning, Jungkook is weird. You squint at him over your coffee, feeling like you’re missing part of a conversation or something, because Jungkook is usually predictable in the small things. You know how he takes his coffee, know without doubt that he’ll steal bites from your breakfast even when he orders his own, and leave cabinet doors open and swear he didn't.

You know he'll wander into whatever room you're in eventually, even if he has absolutely no reason to be there.

Today he looks distracted. He’s burnt his toast twice, put orange juice in the cupboard and cereal in the refrigerator. You watch silently. Jungkook stares at the carton of orange juice sitting beside the plates, and then at you. "I meant to do that."

"Sure."

The smile threatening your lips finally wins.

Jungkook points accusingly. "Don't."

"You put orange juice in a cupboard."

"It happens."

"No, baby."

His ears turn pink, but he’s distracted by something else that follows him through the entire day, because by lunchtime, he's checked his phone fourteen times. You've counted because he’s acting suspicious again. The man who usually leaves his phone lying around without a second thought has now developed a serious case of attachment to it. 

Every notification gets a reaction, every vibration gets checked and every message gets answered immediately.

"You'd be terrible at crime,” you tell him. 

His eyebrows lift. "What does that even mean?"

"It means if you were hiding a body, everyone would know."

His jaw drops. "A body?"

"It’s just an example."

"That's your example?"

"It is when you're acting suspicious."

Jungkook sighs dramatically and that's when you know you've won, because he only sighs like that when he's losing. "Fine,” he concedes. 

"Aha."

"I'm busy."

"Doing what?"

"Things."

"What things?"

“Just things.”

"Very convincing."

"Thank you."

You snort, and Jungkook grins. For an instant, everything feels normal again. But later that evening, Jungkook disappears into another room for half an hour. It wouldn’t normally be something to be concerned about, except whenever you try to enter that room to check on him, he appears like a summoned guardian spirit.

The first time, you don't think much of it, but at the second time, you get suspicious. After the third time, you decide you’re definitely going in no matter what. 

"No, Y/N −you can’t," Jungkook tells you.

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because reasons."

You cross your arms and he mirrors you immediately. Somewhere along the way, your relationship became ninety percent affection and ten percent staring contests.

"What are you hiding?" you say, taking a step forward. 

He takes a step sideways, directly into your path.

"You're literally blocking the door,” you tell him. 

"I'm standing."

"You're impossible."

"I've heard that before."

The smile he gives you is annoyingly charming, he usually gets forgiven for everything when he pulls that one out. This time it works as usual and you roll your eyes before leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek. 

His entire train of thought derails, and the effect is almost comical. One second he's confidently standing there, the next he's blinking at you, speechless. You smile victoriously, then walk away, leaving him frozen in the hallway.

"You're evil,” he calls out. 

You laugh from the kitchen, and his answering laugh follows a second later, full of something fond and sweet that allays any doubt you might have had in him. 

An hour later, you're curled up on the couch and Jungkook eventually joins you. He doesn’t sit beside you, but ends up practically on top of you, because personal space has never been his strongest quality. You barely have time to react before he's dropping onto the couch and pulling you against his side.

You settle instinctively and his arm tightens around your shoulders. It's one of your favourite things about him, the ability to simply exist together without expectations or the need to fill every moment with words. Eventually you tilt your head to find him already looking at you.

You smile and he smiles back. "Hi."

"Hi."

"You've been weird all day."

His groan is immediate. "Is this going to be another interrogation?”

"You earned it," you say lightly. 

His eyes drift over your face, longer than usual. The teasing smile slowly disappears, and the mood seems to change. There’s a look in his eyes you haven’t seen before, and your heart races. 

You’ve seen Jungkook happy, playful, excited and emotional −but not this. This looks almost nervous, which doesn't make sense. Not for him, and not here, with you. 

"Koo?"

His gaze drops briefly, and when it returns, the vulnerability there hits you so hard it almost hurts. For the first time all weekend, you stop joking. This feels too important. 

"I need to show you something,” Jungkook says, standing and offering you his hand. 

"Baby,” you call hesitantly, unsure what to make of this. "What’s happening?"

His smile is shaky but terrifyingly beautiful. "Just come with me."

You take his hand, because despite your confusion and curiosity, and the thousand questions now running through your head, you do trust him entirely. His fingers tighten around yours, and together, you walk toward the room he's been guarding all day.

The mysterious room that you’re finally allowed to enter. Your heart pounds harder with every step as Jungkook opens the door. Then it all makes sense, and the breath leaves your lungs. There’s nothing there; no flowers or lavishly decorated scene. It's just the two of you. 

Years of you.

Photographs line the walls; hundreds of them. Concerts, vacations, late-night selfies, blurry moments and ordinary moments. The life you've shared together so far told through memories. You recognize pictures you forgot existed that Jungkook had somehow kept and saved, that he had remembered.

Your vision blurs almost immediately. "Koo−"

You hear him exhale shakily as if he's gathering courage, standing on the edge of something enormous. When you turn toward him, his eyes are already shining −and then yours are too. Because now you know.

“God−,” you gasp, the sound barely a whisper of a breath. 

Jungkook laughs softly, nervously, and his hand finds yours again. Holding on, maybe for your sake, or maybe for his, but probably both. 

"I rehearsed a speech−" he starts, his voice cracking. He chuckles embarrassedly and you feel tears gathering. "I practiced."

You laugh through your tears. Typical Jungkook the perfectionist, of course he had practiced. 

"I had everything planned,” he continues with a shake of his head. “−Then I saw you and forgot half of it."

The room blurs, your heart feeling impossibly full. Jungkook looks down at you, and suddenly every bit of nervousness disappears. "I spend a lot of my life being somewhere else,” he says quietly. “But no matter where I go, or how amazing it is−" His eyes never leave yours. "I always want to come back to you."

Your breath catches, and a tear slips free. Jungkook smiles softly. "You're my favourite part of every day." The ache in your chest becomes overwhelming. "You make ordinary things feel important."

He strokes your face tenderly. "You make bad days easier." A shaky breath escapes him. "You make good days better."

Now he's crying a little too, enough to make your heart shatter and rebuild itself, stronger and fuller. 

"I don't need everything." His voice drops. "I just need you."

The tears are impossible to stop now and Jungkook laughs through his own. Then finally, Jungkook drops to one knee and pulls out the tiny box, opening it to reveal a solid golden band, and your world stops. Nothing exists except him, only him, staring up at you like you're the most important person he's ever known.

"Will you marry me?"

It’s perfect. 

A sob escapes you and his eyes widen as he stands up immediately. “Y/N−“

You laugh through tears of happiness and the complete destruction of your ability to function.

"Are those happy tears? he asks softly.

Then you’re both laughing together, relief flooding his handsome features. His smile grows, the smile that made you fall for him years ago, that you know you will never get tired of seeing. 

“Koo?”

His breath catches as he waits expectantly for your answer. 

“Yes.”

The exact moment the word reaches him, and he realises you’ve agreed, his expression turns to nothing but pure joy and disbelief. In a heartbeat he has you wrapped in his arms, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe. But you don’t care because you're holding him just as tightly.

Both of you are laughing, crying, kissing one another. You can feel him smiling against your lips, feeling the future unfolding around both of you, bright and beautiful as he slides the ring onto your finger where it fits like it had always been there. 

Jungkook looks stunned, as if he can't quite believe this is real. "I love you." he says. 

You smile. "I love you too."

And somewhere between the laughter, the tears, the kisses, and the ring now resting on your finger, you realize that the proposal wasn't hidden in this room or in the photographs. It wasn't even in the ring. It had been there all along; in every coffee shared, every playful argument, quiet evening, every hand held, every moment he chose you again and again. 

The question was only four words, but the answer had been building for years. 

thanks for reading | ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 bts taglist @mikrokookiex, @satinroses11, @bjoriis, @caun2556

Beauty had always been your burden as much as your blessing. Tales of it traveled farther than merchants and faster than ravens, crossing borders until even distant courts spoke your name with a mixture of admiration and longing. Princes penned verses in your honor without ever meeting you. Even seasoned knights, men hardened by war and duty, often found themselves disarmed by nothing more than a smile.

With your coronation fast approaching, the kingdom stood on the brink of celebration. It would be the grandest event seen in decades, drawing princes, dignitaries from every corner of the continent. Some would arrive seeking alliances. Most would arrive seeking you.

The prospect amused you more than it excited you.

“Protecting my daughter is not merely a matter of strength,” your father’s voice boomed through the hall. “It demands unyielding discipline and absolute loyalty. You will each face three trials. The princess herself will accompany you, so that you may prove your worth in her presence.”

Your eyes swept slowly across the line of knights standing before the throne, a faint mask of boredom kissing your beautiful face, certain that none of them would truly be able to handle you.

For years, entertaining yourself at the expense of knights had become something of a pastime. A lingering touch against a gauntleted hand, a mere whispered compliment that left disciplined warriors suddenly forgetting their own names. Watching them struggle to maintain their composure was endlessly amusing.

You had notoriously toyed with men like this, living wildly beneath the weight of your royal title, and your father knew this better than anyone. That was precisely why he had designed these trials.

He wasn’t simply looking for the strongest sword arm. He wanted a knight with sharp intellect and the rare ability to withstand your constant attempts to live life on your terms rather than as a perfectly mannered princess.

A small, intrigued smile played on your lips when the first few knights stepped forward. They were impressive in brute force, but you could already tell they would crumble the moment you decided to play.

Then he stepped forward.

Sir Jeon Jungkook.

Even fully armored, with only his dark, piercing eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet, once his unflinching gaze met yours for a brief second, a strange spark ignited low in your belly. You tilted your head, studying those dark eyes with growing interest.

The first trial took place that very evening in the smaller banquet hall. Only a select few courtiers were present. You sat at the high table beside your father, sipping from a jeweled goblet.

Unknown to the competing knights, the King had arranged for one of the wine pitchers to be laced with a powerful sleeping draught. Harmless, but potent enough to leave the princess disoriented and vulnerable. Only the King, a few trusted advisors, and the princess herself knew of the plan.

The knights had been given only one instruction: protect the princess. No further details.

As the evening progressed, the effects of the draught began to take hold. Your thoughts grew pleasantly hazy, movements slower. The jeweled goblet nearly slipped from your grasp once before you caught it. A second time, you laughed at something that had not been particularly funny.

Several knights noticed. Some were too busy trying to appear vigilant, eyes constantly scanning the room for imaginary assassins.

A few noticed your condition and drew dangerously close. One insisted on helping you stand despite the fact that you had not asked for assistance. Another rested a hand against your lower back almost inappropriately while guiding you through the room. One knight even smiled when he realized how heavily you leaned upon him after stumbling.

The courtiers watched everything. So did the King.

You were beginning to feel genuinely annoyed when a tall figure stepped silently between you and yet another overeager knight.

Sir Jeon Jungkook.

Unlike the others, he had not hovered around you all evening. He had remained where a royal protector belonged, close enough to intervene, distant enough to respect your space.

Dark eyes studied your face through the narrow opening of his helmet. “The princess has had enough wine,” he declared.

The knight beside you scoffed. “She seems perfectly fin—”

“She does not.”

You watched surprise flicker across the other knight’s face.

Sir Jungkook’s hand briefly closed around your forearm as you swayed, steadying you before immediately letting go the moment your balance returned.

Within moments he had summoned two ladies-in-waiting to accompany you back to your chambers. When another knight offered to carry you himself, Sir Jungkook declined on your behalf before you could even answer.

“Her reputation is as important as her safety.”

For the first time all evening, genuine curiosity stirred within you.

Most men saw opportunity when they looked at you. Some saw beauty, a few saw a future crown. Yet somehow, Sir Jeon Jungkook seemed to see only his duty.

As the ladies guided you toward the doorway, you glanced back over your shoulder.

“How noble of you, Sir Jungkook,” you teased, voice softened by the draught. “Are you always so resistant to temptation?”

His gaze never wavered. “My duty is to protect Your Highness.”

For reasons you could not quite explain, that response lingered in your thoughts far longer than any flirtatious remark ever had.

The final trial was, by all appearances, the simplest.

After weeks of staged attacks, hidden tests, the remaining candidates expected one final demonstration of skill. Some anticipated a duel. Others believed they would be sent to defend the princess from another fabricated threat. Instead, the King announced that the last trial would consist of a single week of personal duty beside the princess. No further explanation was offered.

The knights were disappointed.

You, however, knew exactly what your father was doing.

The trial was not designed to test strength or intelligence. It was designed to test restraint.

Most of the candidates failed within days. Some became overly eager whenever you requested their company.

Others ignored palace protocol the moment you suggested bending the rules. One knight allowed you to wander through the city market without informing the royal guard because he was too eager to please you. Another accepted an invitation to share wine in one of the palace balconies despite knowing perfectly well how improper it appeared. Every failure was carefully observed and quietly recorded.

Only one knight remained infuriatingly impossible.

Sir Jeon Jungkook.

The more you watched him, the more determined you became to discover his weakness. Surely he had one. Everyone did.

At first, your attempts were harmless. During walks through the palace gardens, you lingered beside him instead of remaining ahead as protocol dictated. During meals, you directed most of your conversation toward him. More than once, you deliberately brushed your fingers against the steel of his gauntlet while speaking. Other knights would have turned crimson. Some would have stumbled over their own words.

Sir Jungkook merely stepped aside and continued his duties as though nothing had happened.

Perhaps it was the way every other knight had spent the past weeks attempting to impress you, the King, or the court.

Where others sought favor, he sought only to fulfill his duty. And thus, when the day of the final judgment arrived, the outcome surprised absolutely no one.

Your father rose slowly from his seat.

“Sir Jeon Jungkook,” he declared, voice echoing through the hall. “You have successfully completed all trials. You have shown not only strength and intellect, but the rare ability to anticipate danger and resist… temptation.” His gaze flicked briefly to you. “From this day forward, you are hereby appointed as the princess’s personal royal knight and protector. Guard her with your life. And may the gods help you.”

A murmur rippled through the court.

You turned toward Sir Jeon Jungkook, stepping just close enough that your crimson gown brushed his armor.

“Welcome to my service, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered so only he could hear. “I do hope you’re prepared. Resisting me may prove to be your greatest trial yet.”

His dark eyes held yours with unshakable strength. “I was under the impression I had already passed that one, Your Highness.”

—

Having Sir Jeon Jungkook follow you around all day wasn’t ideal.

It had not even been three months since his appointment as your royal knight, yet his constant, silent presence had already begun to grate on your nerves. He was always a towering shadow in dark armor, never more than a few steps behind. What annoyed you most was his utter lack of reaction.

No matter how boldly you flirted, no matter how you tightened your corset in front of him until your breasts nearly spilled over, no matter how many times you “accidentally” brushed against him, he remained perfectly composed.

What bothered you most of all was that you still had no idea what he looked like. Only those dark, intense eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet. The rest of him remained hidden behind steel, a constant, frustrating mystery.

The journey to the neighboring kingdom for the grand alliance celebration had been long and stifling. You rode in the royal ornate covered carriage borne by four strong horses and guarded on all sides. The extravagant gown you wore was beautiful but suffocating, the tight corset pressing against your ribs and making every breath feel like a struggle. Boredom weighed on you like lead.

Your dearest friend, Lady Isolde rode beside you in her own litter. She was to be wed in a month, and the two of you had spent the journey giggling like girls again, whispering behind silk curtains.

“He’s so tall,” Isolde teased, peeking through the gap toward where Sir Jeon Jungkook rode steadily beside your litter. “And those eyes… I wonder what the rest of him looks like under all that steel. Do you think he’s handsome, or just another brute?”

You laughed softly, though your gaze lingered on the narrow slit of Jungkook’s helmet, where those dark, intense eyes remained fixed forward.

“As if,” you replied, laced with mock boredom. “He’s far too proper. I could tighten my corset until my breasts nearly spill, and he wouldn’t even glance.”

Isolde giggled. “You should try. For science.”

Sir Jungkook’s eyes flicked toward the litter for the briefest second before returning forward. You smirked. Annoyed as you were by his constant, unflinching presence… you were also undeniably intrigued.

That night, after the feasting and music had died down and the royal party made camp near the forest’s edge, you slipped away, desperate for even a moment of peace, and determined to test just how far his restraint could stretch.

The air had grown chilly, carrying the faint bite of early autumn as you made your way to the forbidden stretch of the deep bend where the river water ran swift and dangerously deep. No one was permitted here after dark, especially not the princess.

You knew he would follow.

The heavy footsteps of armor soon echoed behind you on the rocky bank.

“Your Highness,” Sir Jungkook’s deep voice rang out, firm. “This area is strictly prohibited at night. The currents are treacherous and the water is far too cold. We must return to the palace at once.”

You barely looked at him. Your eyes were fastened upon the vast expanse of the river, moonlight dancing across its dark surface like scattered diamonds. You wanted nothing more than to feel the cool waves kissing your bare skin, to swim freely under the moon with no eyes judging you in, except his.

A small, unusually kind smile touched your lips as you turned toward him.

“Why don’t you join me, Sir Jungkook?” you asked softly, your voice carrying on the gentle night breeze. “Just for a little while. The water looks so peaceful tonight.”

Sir Jungkook stood like a statue in his dark armor. “Your Highness… that would be highly improper,” he replied, voice low. “I am here to protect you, not to… bathe with you.”

You let out a soft, melodic laugh and began walking toward the river’s edge, the hem of your gown brushing the grass.

“Well, I suppose then…” you bit your lip, your fingers moving to the laces of your gown with aching slowness. “I shall swim, and you will stand guard like the loyal knight you are.”

You could feel his intense eyes watching through the narrow slit of his helmet as you loosened the ties. The rich fabric slid from your shoulders like liquid silk, pooling at your feet.

Completely bare under the moonlight, you wore nothing beneath. Your skin glowed luminous and your full breasts rose and fell with each breath, nipples already stiff from the cold night air. The curve of your waist flared into soft hips, and the smooth, delicate skin between your thighs was on full display.

Sir Jungkook immediately turned his head sharply away, staring fixedly into the dark trees.

“Your Highness!” His voice was strained. “This is highly inappropriate. I cannot allow—”

“You don’t have to allow anything,” you cut him off, dripping with defiance. “You’re not permitted to touch me while I’m bare. So you’ll just have to stand there.”

You waded into the river with a soft gasp. The icy water bit into your skin, but the thrill of rebellion pushed you forward. You swam out deeper, the cold making your body hypersensitive.

You glanced back at the bank. Sir Jungkook stood like a statue, head turned away, refusing to look at your naked form even once. His armored fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

A thrill of satisfaction ran through you.

You felt exhilarated. Free. And wickedly aware that the most disciplined man in the kingdom was standing on the bank, fighting not to look at you.

“Are you really going to stand there all night, Sir Jungkook? The water feels wonderful… and I’m all alone out here.” You swam further out, the cold water caressing every inch of your bare skin. A soft, content sigh escaped your lips.

It would be a plain lie if you said you weren’t at least a little relieved that he had followed you. The deep bend was no joke. its treacherous currents and deadly depth were feared even by The King. Yet here you were, aching to tear down the walls of the knight who refused to bend to your charms.

You floated lazily on your back, letting the moonlight kiss your bare skin. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you took your chance.

Once a subtle current tugged at your legs, you gasped dramatically, flailing your arms and letting out a soft, helpless cry. “Oh—!”

You fought back a giggle, pretending to be a damsel in distress, knowing the current wasn’t strong enough to truly endanger you. You wanted to see if you could finally crack his composure.

But the gods had other plans.

Without warning, a far more treacherous undercurrent slammed into you like a living beast. It dragged you under violently, twisting your body, filling your mouth and nose with icy water. Real panic surged through you as you lost your breath and sight in the black depths.

“Jungkook!” you screamed, the sound barely coherent as water rushed into your lungs. This time, it was no act.

Sir Jeon Jungkook did not hesitate for even a fraction of a second. He plunged into the river fully armored, cutting through the violent current with powerful strokes. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, yanking your naked body against his steel chest as he fought the river with raw, expert strength. You clung to him desperately, coughing and gasping as he dragged you back to the rocky bank.

The moment he pulled you ashore, his helmet caught on a low hanging branch and was ripped clean off.

You lay on the grass, gasping for air, when your eyes finally focused on the man hovering above you.

And you forgot how to breathe.

Sir Jeon Jungkook was devastatingly, unfairly handsome.

Wet raven black hair clung to his forehead and sharp, sculpted cheekbones. Water droplets traced the strong line of his jaw and dripped from sensual lips. His dark eyes, now fully exposed, were intense and beautiful, framed by long lashes and thick brows. A faint scar graced his left eyebrow, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise perfect masculine beauty.

Before you could speak, he swiftly grabbed his crimson cloak and draped it over your naked body, covering you completely with careful reverence. His gaze remained locked strictly on your face, never once drifting to your exposed skin.

“Are you okay, Your Highness?” he asked, voice rough with concern. A faint blush colored his cheeks as he noticed the way you were staring at his now-bare face.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The combination of the dangerous current, the shock of nearly drowning, and the overwhelming sight of your knight’s true face left you dizzy and speechless.

Your vision blurred. You passed out in his arms.

Sir Jungkook pulled you closer against his armored chest, one large hand gently brushed your wet hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. He lifted you effortlessly, cradling you like a warrior carrying his lady, your head resting against his broad shoulder, body wrapped securely in his cloak, legs draped over his arm as he carried you back to his mare.

He mounted carefully, keeping you nestled safely against him as the horse began the journey back to the palace through secret paths.

You woke briefly as he laid you down on the thick rug before the hearth in your royal chambers. The fire was already roaring. You were still wrapped in his cloak, beneath it only a thin silk bandeau now clung to your body, the delicate material barely containing your breasts, pressing them together in a deep, soft cleavage that rose and fell with each shaky breath.

You trembled from the cold and the lingering shock of the river.

Sir Jeon Jungkook remained kneeling by the fire, his movements precise as he stoked the flames. Water dripped from his raven hair onto his armoured shoulders. Then he rose to his full, imposing height, towering, broad shouldered.

Without a word, he reached for his helmet, which rested upon a nearby oak chest, clearly intending to conceal his face once more.

“No,” you whispered, your voice soft yet commanding as you pushed yourself up on one elbow. “Do not put it back on.”

The knight paused, gloved hand hovering above the helm. His dark eyes met yours, intense and conflicted.

“Your Highness… it is not fitting for me to stand before you unveiled,” he said, his voice carrying the formal cadence of a sworn knight. “I must maintain the dignity of my position.”

You sat up fully, the cloak slipping slightly from one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin and the edge of the silk bandeau. Despite the cold still clinging to your bones, warmth bloomed low in your belly as you gazed upon his face, truly beheld it for the first time.

“Come closer,” You rose to your knees on the rug, the cloak parting further as you reached for him. “Let me see you properly.”

He hesitated, every line of his powerful frame taut with restraint. Yet he obeyed, lowering himself once more to kneel before you. Even on his knees, he remained nearly at your eye level, so tall and broad was he.

You lifted a delicate hand and brushed your fingers through his damp raven locks, pushing them back from his forehead. A contented sigh escaped your lips.

“You are far too pleasing to look upon, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered, almost in awe. “I had wondered what lay beneath that steel. Never did I imagine such a face.”

Sir Jungkook remained perfectly still on his knees before you. His hands rested tensely on his armoured thighs as he fought to keep his gaze fixed on your face and not the way your breasts strained against the thin silk bandeau.

“You flatter me, Your Highness,” he replied, voice low. “But I am your knight. Nothing more. Please allow me to restore my helmet.”

You shook your head slowly, refusing to let him hide again. Instead, you leaned closer, your fingers still buried in his damp raven hair.

A new, overwhelming wave of admiration and obsession washed over you. This man... this mature, hardened, breathtakingly handsome knight was kneeling before you like a devotee. The realization sent a fresh rush of heat between your thighs.

“You’re older than me, aren’t you?” you murmured softly, continuing to caress his hair with gentle strokes. “Hardened by battles and years I haven’t yet seen.”

You wondered how many more scars he carried beneath that heavy armor hidden across his broad chest, his strong back.

“I am twenty eight, Your Highness,” he answered quietly, his deep voice carrying that disciplined tone you were growing addicted to.

“Tell me something personal,” you said, your voice turning playful yet curious. Your fingers trailed from his hair down to trace his cheekbone once more. “Have you ever been with a woman, Sir Jeon? Truly been with one?”

His jaw tightened visibly. The question crossed every boundary a knight was sworn to respect.

“Your Highness… such questions are not appropriate for me to answer,” he replied. You leaned in even closer, still stroking his hair tenderly, your breath brushing against his skin.

“But I want to know,” you whispered. “Have you ever touched a woman the way a man touches a lover? Ever kissed one?”

Jungkook’s breathing grew slightly heavier. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours with iron discipline, though you could clearly see the storm brewing behind them.

“I have not, Your Highness,” he finally answered, voice low and honest. “My duty has always come first.”

A thrill ran through you at his confession. You let your fingers drift lower, brushing along his sharp jawline. “And if a woman wanted you… desperately?” your voice dropped to a near whisper. “If she wanted your mouth between her thighs… your tongue tasting her, would you deny her?”

The impure question hung heavy in the air between you. You shocked even yourself with how boldly it slipped out, but the vivid image, his devastatingly handsome face trapped between your legs, mouth glistening with your arousal made the heat bloom even more slick between your thighs.

Sir Jungkook’s hands clenched tighter on his armored thighs. A faint flush colored the tips of his ears and neck, but he remained on his knees.

“Your Highness,” he said, reverently, “I am sworn to protect you. Not to… indulge in such thoughts.”

You smiled softly. Then you leaned back on the bed, letting the crimson cloak fall open completely. The thin silk bandeau was the only thing left covering you, and even that felt too much now.

“Then I command you,” You looked down at him, this powerful knight on his knees before you, and felt a rush of pure need. “I want your mouth on me, Jungkook. Right now.”

“Your Highness, I—”

“Touch me,” you breathed, cutting him off. “Please, Jungkook…”

You reached down and grabbed his gloved hand, bringing it to your chest. Slowly, you pressed his large palm over the thin silk bandeau, letting him feel the soft, heavy weight of your breast. Your nipple was already painfully hard beneath the fabric.

Sir Jungkook’s breath hitched sharply. His entire body tensed, the muscles in his arm flexing under the armor as he fought against every instinct.

You didn’t stop there, dragging his hand lower, sliding it down your stomach until his fingers rested between your thighs. You were soaked. your petals slick and hot against his gloved fingers.

“Feel how damp you make me,” you whispered, voice shaking with need.

Sir Jungkook let out a low, strained groan. His dark eyes were fixed on your face, but you could see the violent war happening behind them.

The most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on — the princess, the future queen, was laid out before him in nothing but a flimsy silk bandeau, legs spread, pressing his hand against her dripping cunt.

“Your Highness…” he rasped, albeit desperate. “This is beyond forbidden. You are royalty. I am sworn—”

“I don’t care,” you whimpered, grinding slowly against his gloved fingers. “I need you. I’ve never felt this way before. Touch me now, my knight. Please.”

His hand trembled. For a long moment, he simply rested there, feeling your wetness soak through the leather of his glove. Then, with a broken exhale that sounded like surrender, his fingers moved.

He stroked along your soaked folds, parting the delicate petals of your most secret flower. And what a flower it was... a lush, glistening rosebud blooming only for him. Your outer lips were soft and swollen with need, flushed deep, delicate like the first blush of dawn.

As he gently spread you open, the inner petals revealed themselves: silky, and impossibly tender, layered like the finest rose in full bloom after a summer rain. At the center lay your sweetest nectar, dripping and honeyed, flowing abundantly from your aching entrance.

The knight didn’t know what came over him, but your pulsing heat and slick, puckering folds had him utterly entranced. His breathing grew ragged. You could see the way his throat worked, the way his tongue unconsciously darted out to wet his lips. He was drooling.

“May I lick you, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with barely contained hunger. “Please… allow me to taste you.”

The desperate plea from such a disciplined man sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you.

“Yes,” you breathed, spreading your thighs wider for him, your voice trembling with raw need. “Use your mouth on me, Jungkook. Lick your princess until she cannot think.”

The moment the words left your lips, something in him broke. Sir Jungkook leaned in and dragged his hot, wet tongue slowly up your soaked slit. The first full taste of you pulled a deep, guttural groan from his chest. You were intoxicatingly sweet and dripping with arousal. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every slick fold as if he were drinking the finest wine in the kingdom.

You cried out sharply, back arching off the bed as overwhelming pleasure flooded your body. The sensation was brand new, so intense it made your legs twitch violently.

“Oh... Jungkook!” you moaned, fingers digging into his raven hair.

The knight’s tongue circled your swollen clit before sucking it gently into his mouth, then plunged inside your tight heat, ravishing you with slow, deep strokes. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth eagerly eating you echoed through the chamber, obscene, and shameless.

The most beautiful woman he had ever known, the future queen, was thrashing beneath him, legs shaking uncontrollably around his head, soft whimpers and loud moans spilling from her pretty lips.

Your hips rolled desperately against his face, coating his tongue, lips, and chin with your sweet release. Sir Jungkook drank every drop you gave him, groaning against your cunt as his own cock strained painfully against his armor.

He had never tasted anything so addictive.

You were already twitching, gasping, legs trembling so hard they threatened to close around his head. The pleasure was too much, too new, too overwhelming for your body.

Suddenly, Sir Jungkook pulled back slightly, his lips glistening with your juices. His dark eyes looked up at you, breathing ragged.

“Should I continue, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with lust and devotion. “Tell me… do you want more?”

You could barely form words. Your body was shaking, pussy throbbing, dripping onto the mattress beneath you.

“Please don’t stop,” you whimpered desperately. “Keep licking me... please...”

The knight obeyed instantly. He buried his face back between your thighs and attacked your clit with relentless strokes of his tongue. Two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot while he sucked hard on your swollen pearl.

The pleasure hit you like a storm.

Your entire body seized up. A loud, broken scream tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you violently. Your thighs clamped around his head, hips bucking wildly against his mouth as you gushed on his tongue. Wave after wave of intense pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking uncontrollably, vision blurring at the edges.

You nearly passed out from the sheer intensity of it. body twitching, chest heaving, soft cries still falling from your lips as the pleasure refused to let go.

Sir Jungkook stayed between your thighs through every tremor, drinking down every last drop of your release like a man who had finally found salvation.

When your body finally went limp, trembling and oversensitive, he gently kissed your inner thigh before pulling back, his handsome face flushed and glistening with your arousal.

You could barely speak, still catching your breath as you stared at the sight of your proud, disciplined knight with your release shining on his lips.

—

“The Princess requires her knight’s escort to the eastern tower for stargazing.”

The message was innocent enough on paper. But the court had begun to notice how often you summoned Sir Jeon Jungkook for these private “duties.” Some whispered that the Princess trusted no one else. Others envied the knight who had earned such unwavering favor from the realm’s greatest beauty.

They had no idea what really happened once the tower door was bolted.

In the eastern tower under the stars, you would push Sir Jungkook against the cold stone wall and demand his mouth on you again. He always hesitated at first, “Your Highness, we mustn’t…” but the moment you looked at him with those wide, needy eyes and whispered “Please, Jungkook… I ache for you,” his resolve crumbled.

He would drop to his knees in full armor, push your skirts up to your waist, and bury his face between your thighs. The sounds he made while devouring you were filthy and desperately loud. wet slurps and deep groans as he drank every drop of your arousal. You quickly learned to muffle your loud moans against your own arm or his shoulder, thighs shaking violently around his head as he brought you to shattering orgasm after orgasm.

He never asked for anything in return at first. But one night, after he had made you come so hard you saw stars, you dropped to your knees in front of him, hands trembling as you freed his thick, aching cock from his breeches.

You had never seen the knight fully bare, but you had tasted him.

You took him into your mouth with clumsy but eager hunger, sucking and licking until he was groaning your name like a prayer, his gloved hand gently cradling the back of your head. When he spilled down your throat, you swallowed every drop, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes.

The tension between you only grew hotter, more forbidden.

You began creating excuses just to be close to him.

You “accidentally” wandered into dangerous parts of the forest during hunts. You “lost” your way in the palace corridors at night. You deliberately teased foreign dignitaries until they grew too bold, all so Sir Jungkook would have to step in, pull you protectively against his armored chest, and hold you there while scolding you with his low voice.

Each time, you nestled your head against his chest plate, breathing in his scent, feeling safe in a way you had never felt with anyone else.

One quiet afternoon in the royal rose gardens, while the other knights kept their distance. The summer blooms were at their peak, rows upon rows of crimson roses spilling over marble trellises in a riot of color and fragrance. Courtiers often compared them to you. You had heard the comparison so many times throughout your life that it had long since lost all meaning.

Your attention was elsewhere when Sir Jungkook paused beside a rose bush heavy with crimson blooms. Reaching out, he selected a single flower and turned it thoughtfully between his fingers before approaching.

“A gift?” you asked.

“If Your Highness would accept it.”

The answer surprised a smile from you.

He stepped forward and tucked the rose behind your ear. His gloved fingers lingered only for a second before withdrawing, but even that brief touch seemed to affect him more than he wished to admit.

When you looked up, his gaze was fixed upon the flower. “Beautiful things are dangerous,” he said quietly.

You laughed. “I believe roses are dangerous for everyone except gardeners.”

His expression didn’t change.

“I wasn’t speaking about the rose.”

Your heart fluttered so violently you had to look away. it was becoming impossible to deny how deeply you were falling for him.

The kisses grew sloppier, more desperate with every stolen moment.

In the abandoned library, your knight would press you against the bookshelves, helmet removed, and kiss you like he was drowning, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your waist as if afraid you might vanish. You kissed him back just as hungrily, tugging at his hair, moaning softly into his mouth while your hand palmed the hard bulge in his breeches.

Your hunger for him was insatiable. You ached for his presence constantly. The court noticed how you lit up when he entered a room, how you instinctively moved closer to him during gatherings. They saw devotion, they saw trust.

They never saw the way you both held each other’s eyes like lovers who knew their time was stolen.

The relationship was utterly forbidden. Your father would banish him, or worse, if he ever discovered the truth. But neither of you could stop. Something real was blossoming between you.

The knight admired your wild, rebellious spirit. You admired his quiet strength and unwavering honor. In the darkness, you were no longer just princess and knight. You were becoming each other’s secret salvation. And it was only a matter of time before the tension finally snapped.

—

The Coronation.

The kingdom was in full celebration. Banners of the finest gold flew from every tower. The greatest event in decades had arrived, your coronation as Queen.

Princes from across the realms had come in droves, each more eager than the last to win your hand and the throne beside you. They brought lavish gifts, performed in grand tournaments, and showered you with compliments. The entire court watched with bated breath, waiting for you to choose.

You sat upon the raised dais in a breathtaking gown of white, looking every bit the ethereal queen-to-be. But your eyes kept drifting to the tall, armored figure standing silently behind your throne, Sir Jeon Jungkook.

He had become even more composed in public, yet you could feel the storm raging beneath his helmet. Especially when you decided to play your cruel little game.

Prince Min of Veina leaned close during the feast, whispering sweet nothings about your beauty. You laughed brightly, placing a hand on his arm, letting your fingers linger, leaning in just enough for your neckline to offer him a generous view of your breasts.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Sir Jungkook’s gloved hand tighten around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.

Another prince, a golden haired lord from the eastern isles, offered you a rose during the garden promenade. You accepted it with a coy smile, twirling it between your fingers while glancing toward your knight.

Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned behind the helmet. You could feel his jealousy like a living thing, hot and barely contained.

That night, after the feasting and dancing, you summoned him to the eastern tower under the usual pretense.

The moment the door closed, he was on you.

The knight pinned you against the cold stone wall. The single rose you’d been idly twirling between your fingers, a gift from one of the many princes, fell forgotten to the floor.

Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned with something almost feral.

“You will be wed off soon?” he growled dangerously, breath hot against your ear.

You looked up at him, heart racing. Your long, wavy hair had finally been let down after the long day, cascading over your shoulders and hips like dark silk. The tight corset of your white coronation gown was already loosened, the fabric slipping slightly off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin.

“What do you think about Prince Min?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head. “I think he’s quite lovely. So charming. He even said he would worship me every night once we’re wed.”

Sir Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard you heard it crack. The jealousy that had been simmering all day threatening to explode.

“Doesn’t it drive you mad, Sir Jeon?” You leaned in closer, letting your breasts brush against his armored chest. “Knowing your princess, the one you’ve been secretly devouring every night, is wanted by so many powerful men? That they all dream of putting a ring on my finger and taking me to their beds?”

“It is exquisite torture, Your Highness,” he growled, eyes burning. “Watching them look at you like they have any right to you. Knowing I’m the only one who’s ever tasted you, the only one who’s ever made you scream.”

His raw honesty sent a sharp thrill through you. You bit your lip, loving the way jealousy sharpened his features, making his dark eyes appear even more intense. He was possessive and barely holding himself back. And you wanted to push him further.

You stepped away from the wall with a teasing smile, walking over to the tall, gilded mirror that stood near the fireplace. The white gown still clung to your body, hair cascading in long, wild waves down your back. You picked up a silver brush and began slowly running it through it, watching him in the reflection.

Sir Jungkook followed you like a shadow, stopping just behind you. His tall, powerful frame loomed in the mirror, twice your size, radiating heat and restrained fury.

“Does that bother you, my knight?” A teasing smile played on your lips. “Knowing that soon I might have to let another man—”

You didn’t get to finish. Sir Jungkook’s large hand closed around your wrist, stopping the brush mid stroke. He plucked it from your fingers and set it down with a deliberate clack. His other hand gripped your hip, pulling your back flush against his armored chest.

Your breath hitched. The playful boldness you’d been wielding all night vanished in an instant.

“Enough,” he growled low against your ear, “You’ve teased me enough tonight, Your Highness.”

His dark eyes burned into yours through the mirror. The intensity there made your knees weak. This wasn’t the restrained, obedient knight anymore. This was a man who had finally reached his limit.

He reached around you and slowly began unlacing the rest of your corset. The white gown loosened further, slipping down your shoulders. You watched in the mirror as he tugged it lower, exposing your full breasts to the cool air and the warm firelight. Your nipples were hard, flushed, and sensitive.

Sir Jungkook’s hand cupped one breast possessively, squeezing it as his thumb brushed over the stiff peak. You gasped, arching into his touch.

“Look at yourself,” he ordered quietly, voice rough. “Look how beautiful you are. How perfect. And yet you let them think they could ever have this.”

He pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers until you whimpered. His other hand slid down, gathering the fabric of your gown and pulling it up to your waist, fully exposing your bare cunt in the mirror.

Your face bloomed bright red as you instinctively tried to close your legs, suddenly overwhelmed with shyness at the sight of yourself so lewdly displayed, flushed and completely bare in the golden firelight.

But Sir Jungkook wouldn’t allow it. His large hand gripped your thigh firmly, spreading you open again as he pressed his body harder against your back.

“Don’t hide,” His dark eyes met yours in the mirror, intense and commanding. “Look how filthy and wet you are for me.”

You shivered, unable to tear your eyes away from the reflection. The contrast was obscene, your ethereal white gown bunched around your waist, breasts exposed and heaving, legs spread wide while his armored body loomed behind you like a dark, possessive shadow.

Sir Jungkook’s hand returned between your thighs. Two thick fingers slid through your slick folds, parting them slowly so you could see everything in the mirror. You whimpered at the sight, embarrassed yet unbearably aroused.

“So beautiful,” he breathed as he circled your swollen clit with his fingertip. “This is what belongs to me. Not to any prince. Not to anyone else.”

He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as he began ravishing you with slow, deliberate strokes that made wet, obscene sounds echo in the quiet tower.

You tried to close your legs again, overwhelmed, but he held them open with ease, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Watch,” he ordered softly, voice dark with lust. “Watch how easily I can make my princess fall apart.”

Your eyes stayed glued to the mirror as his fingers plunged in and out of your soaked cunt, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your cheeks were flushed deep crimson, lips parted in shameless moans, breasts bouncing slightly with every thrust of his hand.

The pleasure built fast and merciless. Your legs started shaking, thighs trembling violently as you fought to stay upright.

Sir Jungkook’s fingers curled deeper, stroking that perfect spot inside you while his thumb pressed firm circles on your swollen clit.

You came hard with a broken cry, arousal gushing down his wrist and dripping onto the stone floor beneath you. Your head fell back against his armored shoulder, body convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through right after.

The knight dragged his arousal coated fingers from your pulsing heat and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean while his dark eyes stayed locked on yours in the mirror. The obscene sight made you whimper, legs pressing together instinctively. This time, he allowed it.

You pulled away from him shyly, legs unsteady as you walked toward the wide couch near the fireplace. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover your bare breasts, suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment.

Sir Jungkook approached you ever so slowly. His heart was pounding. you could see it in the rise and fall of his broad chest. The way your flushed cheeks and shy posture made you look so adorable only made his desire burn hotter.

He stopped in front of you, towering over your smaller frame. Without a word, he gently uncrossed your arms, exposing your breasts again. You tried to cover them once more, but he caught your wrists softly.

“You’re too beautiful to hide, my love.” he murmured, voice low.

He leaned down and took one sensitive nipple into his hot mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder. You gasped sharply, hands flying to his shoulders as overwhelming sensitivity shot through you.

“Jungkook... it’s too much...” you whimpered, lightly pushing at his shoulders, cheeks burning with shyness.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark with lust and affection. “You’re so sensitive here,” he whispered, almost in awe. He flicked his tongue over your nipple again, watching your reaction closely. “So angelic when you tremble like this.”

He sucked harder, alternating between your breasts, licking and biting softly until you were a whimpering mess, pushing at him weakly while your body arched into his mouth.

You grew frustrated at the unfairness, nearly naked while he was still fully armored. With a small, determined huff, you pushed him back slightly and began tugging at the straps of his armor.

“It is not fair,” you muttered, cheeks still flushed. “You get to see all of me, but I still haven’t seen you.”

The knight let you undress him, helping you remove piece after piece until he stood completely bare before you for the first time.

Your breath caught.

He was magnificent. Broad shoulders, powerfully sculpted chest marked with old scars, some long and faded, others newer. A few dark tattoos adorned his left pectoral and ribs. His abdomen was ridged with muscle, leading down to narrow hips. His cock hung heavy between his legs, thick and already hard.

You stepped closer, running your hands over his bare chest, tracing every scar with reverent fingers, exploring the strong lines of his back, more scars mapping his battles. He stood perfectly still, letting you admire him, though his breathing had grown heavier.

“You are… so manly, my knight,” you breathed, barely coherent, as your hands returned to his chest, sliding down the hard ridges of his abdomen. “So big… so perfect.”

The room had grown hotter, heavier. The air between you felt charged with months of suppressed longing. Your breaths mingled as you stared into each other’s eyes... yours wide with awe and desire, his dark with barely restrained hunger.

Sir Jungkook’s control finally snapped. He lifted you and laid you down on the wide couch near the fireplace, pinning your exploring hands above your head with one large hand, holding them there firmly before his body hovered over yours, powerful and imposing, thick cock resting heavy against your inner thigh.

“Look at me,” he commanded, voice low and rough.

You did, heart hammering.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, eyes burning into yours.

You squirmed beneath him, aching and desperate. “Take me,” you pleaded, trembling. “Please, Jungkook… give it to me. I need you inside me.”

Sir Jungkook let out a low groan at your words. He positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. He was big, almost intimidatingly so. You felt the stretch even before he pushed in.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Your Highness,” he whispered, voice strained with worry and barely contained lust. His dark eyes searched yours, torn between desire and restraint. “You’re so tight...”

You trembled beneath him, legs parted wide around his hips. “Please,” you begged softly, cupping his face. “Don’t hold back. I need you. All of you.”

The knight exhaled shakily and began to push inside.

The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply as the thick head of his cock breached you, slowly forcing your walls open. Inch by thick inch, he sank deeper, filling you in a way you had never experienced before. It burned sweetly, bordering on too much, making your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Ah... Jungkook…” you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes at the overwhelming fullness.

He paused halfway, breathing hard, jaw clenched tight. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, rough. “I’ll stop. I swear it.”

But you shook your head, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, voice breaking. “I need you deeper… please.”

With a low groan, he pushed the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt. The fullness was devastating. You felt so stretched, so completely claimed, that for a moment you could barely breathe.

Sir Jungkook stayed still, letting you adjust, pressing soft kisses to your tear stained cheeks.

“You’re taking me so well,” he murmured, voice filled with awe and lust. “Such a good girl for me.”

When the burn finally melted into aching pleasure, you rolled your hips experimentally.

“Move,” you whispered. “Please… ruin me.”

That was all it took.

Sir Jungkook’s control snapped completely. He pulled back and thrust into you hard, setting a deep, punishing rhythm. Jealousy and months of pent up desire fueled every powerful stroke. The wet, filthy sound of his thick cock slamming into your soaked cunt filled the tower, mixing with your loud, broken moans.

He was a knight sworn to protect the crown, now utterly ruining the very sovereign he had pledged his life to shield.

“Mine,” Sir Jungkook growled, biting down on your neck hard enough to leave a dark mark. “Not theirs. Never theirs.”

He ravished you relentlessly, claiming you, marking you. His mouth was everywhere: sucking bruises into your breasts, biting your collarbone, licking the tears from your cheeks. He pinned your wrists above your head again, hips snapping against yours with raw need.

You came hard the first time, screaming his name as your walls clenched violently around his thick length. But he didn’t stop. He took you through it, then flipped you onto your hands and knees, on the wide couch.

First, he worshipped.

The knight dropped to his knees behind you, his large hands spreading your cheeks reverently. He leaned in and pressed slow, open mouthed kisses along the curve of your royal backside, lingering presses of his lips that made your breath hitch. He kissed lower, then lower still, until his tongue dragged hot and wet over your soaked folds from behind.

“So beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot and heavy. “So divine. And yet I am going to ruin every sacred inch of you.”

Then the worship turned into ruin.

He rose, gripping your hips with white knuckled force, and thrust into you from behind in one deep, devastating stroke. You cried out sharply at the stretch, the thick length of his cock forcing your walls open, filling you so completely it stole your breath.

You sobbed in pleasure, fingers clawing at the cushions as he drove into you relentlessly. The power he exerted over you was intoxicating. this hardened warrior, dominating you utterly while still worshipping every tremble of your body.

“You belong to me,” he rasped, ruining you with slow, devastating strokes now. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whimpered, voice breaking. “Only yours, Jungkook... ahh!”

By the third round, you were a sobbing, whimpering mess, tears streaming down your face from overwhelming pleasure, body covered in his marks, cunt swollen and dripping with your combined release.

He took you in every way he could: against the wall, bent over the couch, riding him as he sat on the edge of the seat, then finally on your back again with your legs over his shoulders as he drove impossibly deep.

All night long, the tower echoed with your moans, his deep groans, the obscene wet sounds of your bodies joining. He claimed you utterly and completely devoted.

When he finally came for the last time, buried deep inside you, he held you tight, spilling pulse after pulse of hot seed into your womb, filling you until you felt impossibly full, claimed from the inside out.

Sir Jeon Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every word.

“You command the entire kingdom, my lady,” he whispered reverently, “but here in this hidden place… you are mine to ruin.”

You could only tremble in his arms, utterly spent, legs wrapped around his waist, heart pounding wildly as the fire crackled beside you.

The weight of what you had just done, and what it meant for both of you settled uncomfortably in the air. But in that moment, wrapped in his powerful arms, marked and filled by your knight, nothing else in the kingdom mattered.

The days that followed were a delicate illusion of peace.

It was late morning when you found yourself in the secluded royal bathing pool fed by a gentle river, surrounded by floating lily pads and white blossoms that drifted lazily on the current. The water was warm, scented with rose and lavender oils poured in by your maids. Sunlight filtered through the overhanging willow branches, casting soft, dappled light across the surface.

You leaned back against the smooth stone edge, your long dark hair floating around you like ink in water. Your body still carried the secret marks of the previous night, faint bruises on your hips, love bites hidden beneath the waterline, and a persistent, delicious ache between your thighs that reminded you with every shift who had claimed you so thoroughly.

Your maids, Elara, Verra, and old, wise Selyse moved around you carefully. They had raised you since you were a babe, more mothers than servants. They knew you better than anyone.

Elara poured another stream of warm water over your shoulders, her sharp eyes catching the faint flush that still lingered on your cheeks.

“You are glowing again this morning, my lady,” she said lightly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “One might think the moon itself had kissed your skin.”

Verra, younger and bolder, laughed softly as she massaged oil into your scalp. “Or perhaps a certain tall, dark eyed knight has been keeping you… well attended.”

You felt your face heat, but you couldn’t stop the small, secret smile that curved your lips.

Selyse, the eldest, clicked her tongue but her eyes were soft with affection. “Hush, you two. Our princess has always been radiant. Though…” she tilted her head, studying you, “there is a new light in her eyes these days. And a certain weariness in her step that speaks of long nights.”

You bit your lip, sinking a little lower into the water as lily pads brushed against your skin.

“It is nothing,” you murmured, though the flush in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Nothing?” Vera teased, wading closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially.

“We have seen you grow from a wild little girl into this breathtaking woman. We know your heart. And we know it does not belong to any of those puffed up princes parading through the halls.”

You reached out, squeezing Elara’s hand, then Verra’s, your voice dropping to a shy, trembling whisper.

“It is true,” you confessed, cheeks burning hotter than the midday sun. “I have given myself to Sir Jeon. Body and heart. He is the only man I have ever wanted. The only one who has ever touched me.”

For a heartbeat, silence fell over the bathing pool. Then came the gasps.

Elara’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. Verra let out a delighted little squeak, nearly dropping the oil vial. Even old Selyse, usually so composed, looked momentarily stunned before her face broke into a warm, knowing smile.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Elara breathed, scandalized, thrilled. “You wicked little thing! With your own knight? Right under the King’s nose?”

Verra giggled uncontrollably, splashing water playfully in your direction. “And here we thought you were simply fond of him! All those late night ‘stargazing’ trips… you minx! Was he gentle? Was he… big?”

“Verra!” Selyse scolded, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. She turned to you with motherly affection. “Though I must admit, we have suspected for some time. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching… that man is utterly gone for you, my lady.”

You buried your face in your hands, mortified but unable to stop the shy, giddy smile spreading across your lips. Your gaze drifted across the river to where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard a respectful distance away, half hidden among the willow trees.

Even from here, you could feel the weight of his stare. He stood tall and imposing in his armor, but his dark eyes were fixed on you with a quiet, burning intensity that always made your stomach flutter.

You bit your lip, still flushed from both the warm water and the memory of his mouth, his hands, his body claiming you so thoroughly the night before.

“He is… everything,” you whispered dreamily, more to yourself than the maids. “Strong. Honorable. And when we are alone… he worships me like I am his entire world.”

Verra let out another delighted laugh. “As he should! Our princess deserves nothing less. Though if the King ever finds out…”

Selyse gently squeezed your shoulder, her voice softening with both love and concern.

“Then we will protect your secret as fiercely as we have protected you all these years,” she said. “You deserve to love who you love, my dear. Crown or no crown.”

You looked back at Sir Jungkook again. He hadn’t moved from his post among the willow trees, tall and steadfast in his armor, but your heart ached with a sharp mix of fear and wonder.

If The King ever discovered the truth, he would not spare your knight. Sir Jungkook would be banished, or worse. And you… you would be married off immediately to seal the wound.

The thought disturbed you deeply.

You turned back to the water, forcing a smile for your maids, but the warmth of the bath could no longer chase away the chill settling in your chest.

—

The rumors had begun to spread like fire through the palace corridors.

A lesser knight claimed he had seen “suspicious movement” near the eastern tower. One of the visiting princes mentioned, with a sly smile, that the Princess seemed unusually attached to her personal guard. Nothing concrete, nor proven. But the whispers were growing louder.

Your maids noticed your distraction immediately. During your morning dressing, Verra fastened the laces of your gown with unusually tight pulls, her voice urgent.

“My lady… you must be more careful,” she whispered. “Some of the king’s men have been asking questions about Sir Jeon. They say he spends too many nights away from the barracks. And one of Prince Min’s retainers swears he saw a tall figure slipping into your wing after midnight.”

Elara’s hands paused on your hair. “The knight is being cautious now. He avoids being seen with you as much. But you… you still look at him like he hung the moon. It is only a matter of time before the King hears something he cannot ignore.”

Selyse placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her eyes full of love and worry. “You are playing with fire, sweet girl. And fire does not care how much you love it.”

Your heart clenched with fear. You hadn’t seen your knight alone in a week. He had been deliberately distant, protecting you both by keeping his distance. The absence gnawed at you like hunger.

That night, you sent for him under the pretense of needing extra security for a private walk in the inner courtyard.

The moment the hidden door to your chambers closed behind him, you were on him.

You pushed Sir Jungkook against the wall, frustration and fear pouring out of you in a desperate kiss. Your hands fisted in his tunic, tugging him closer.

“Where have you been?” you demanded between kisses, voice shaking. “I was scared. I thought something had happened to you. I thought my father had already—”

“I’m here,” he whispered against your lips, rough with emotion. He pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you. “I’m right here, my love.”

But then he pulled back slightly, forehead pressed to yours. His dark eyes were filled with pain.

“I cannot stay,” he said quietly. The words hit you like a blow. “Your father has ordered me to lead a company to the western borders. There have been reports of raiders. He says it is to prove my devotion to protecting the realm… and you. He also made it clear I can no longer linger so closely around you. The rumors are growing too loud.”

You stared at him, heart shattering.

“No,” you whispered, then louder, “No. You cannot leave me. Not now. Not after everything.”

Tears stung your eyes as the hurt poured out.

“After our first night, you pulled away. You kept your distance like I was poison. And now you’re leaving entirely? What if something happens to you out there? What if I lose you forever? I can’t take it, Jungkook. I won’t survive it.”

Your hands moved frantically, tugging at the straps of his armor with desperate, angry fingers.

“I don’t care about the king. I don’t care about the borders. I only care about you.”

Piece by piece, you stripped him. The armor fell to the floor with heavy clangs until he stood completely bare before you, broad chest, scarred skin, powerful frame looking every bit of the warrior he was. You shoved him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.

Sir Jungkook’s hands moved instinctively to the laces of your corset, trying to free you fully, but you slapped his hand away, tears already glistening in your eyes.

But the knight was patient. He sat up slowly, your legs still wrapped tightly around his waist, and gently cupped your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears on your cheeks with heartbreaking tenderness.

“My love,” he whispered, voice soothing, “Let me worship you. Let me take care of you tonight. Please.”

He leaned in and captured one of your sensitive breasts in his mouth, sucking slowly. His tongue swirled around your stiff nipple, drawing a shaky moan from you. He moved to the other, giving it the same devoted attention, sucking and licking until your back arched and fresh tears slipped down your cheeks, this time from overwhelming sensation and emotion.

Holding you close, then gently but firmly, Sir Jungkook leaned back, gripping your hips and guiding you upward. In one rapid motion, he pulled you over his face, settling you directly onto his waiting mouth. Your soaked folds pressed flush against his lips and tongue, your thighs framing his head as he looked up at you with pure hunger.

“Use me,” he growled against your dripping folds, the vibration sending sparks through your core. “Pleasure yourself on my tongue love. I want to drown in you.”

You hesitated for half a second, still shy and nervous, cheeks burning hot even as your body screamed for more. But the frantic ache between your legs won out. You lowered yourself more fully, your slick cunt sliding over his mouth, his nose buried against your clit. He groaned loudly, the sound muffled and obscene as he immediately speared his tongue deep inside you, licking and sucking at your juices like a man starved.

You started moving almost desperately, grinding down with frantic little rocks of your hips. Shyness still flickered in your chest, making you whimper and bite your lip, but the pleasure overrode everything. Your hands braced on the headboard as wet, filthy sounds filled the room, the slick slide of your cunt over his tongue, his eager slurping and moaning, the way he sucked your swollen clit between his lips and flicked it mercilessly.

“Oh gods...” you gasped. Your thighs trembled around his head as you grew bolder, grinding harder, smearing your arousal all over his face. He gripped your cheeks, spreading them, holding you down so you could use him exactly how you needed. His tongue ravished in and out of your dripping hole, then flattened to lap broad strokes from your entrance to your clit, devouring every drop.

But it wasn’t enough.

You lifted off his face with a wet pop, strings of your arousal connecting you to his glistening mouth. His eyes were dark, lips swollen and shiny with your juices. Before he could speak, you slid down his body impatiently.

You straddled his hips, wrapped your hand around his thick, throbbing cock, and sank down onto him in one frantic motion.

The stretch made you cry out, but you didn’t stop. You rode him hard, bouncing on his length with frantic, emotional need, your breasts bouncing heavily with every harsh drop of your hips.

“Don’t leave me,” you sobbed, riding him faster, tears falling onto his chest. “Please, Jungkook… I can’t lose you. Not after this. Not after you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

He thrust up to meet you, matching your desperate rhythm, his strong hands gripping your hips to guide you deeper.

“I don’t want to go,” he rasped, voice breaking with the same pain. “But I must. Your father commands it. I have to prove my loyalty… so I can stay by your side.”

You leaned down, kissing him messily through your tears, riding him like you could keep him here forever if you just moved fast enough.

“Then stay inside me,” you begged, voice cracking. “Fill me up. So deep that a part of you stays with me even when you’re gone. I want to carry you with me when they try to take you away.”

Sir Jungkook groaned deeply. His hands tightened on your hips as he suddenly flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath his powerful body.

He made love to you then, with deep, devastating strokes that reached the very core of you. His mouth never left your skin, sucking marks into your neck, whispering promises between every thrust.

“You are mine,” he breathed against your lips, hips rolling deeply. “I will come back to you. I will fill you again and again until you swell with our future.”

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, clinging desperately as another orgasm built inside you. When it finally crashed over you, you sobbed his name, walls pulsing tightly around his thick cock.

Sir Jungkook followed right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a low, guttural groan. He came hard, flooding your womb with thick, pulsing ropes of his seed, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your souls together.

Even after, he stayed buried inside you, pressing soft kisses to your damp forehead, your cheeks, your trembling lips.

“I don’t want you to go,” you whispered, small and broken. “I love you too much.”

Sir Jungkook pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his arms never loosening. “I know, my love,” he murmured. “And that is why I must return to you. No matter what.”

The weeks following Sir Jungkook’s departure had stretched into an endless gray fog.

You moved through your royal duties like a ghost wearing a crown. You sat through council meetings with a straight spine and a hollow smile, listening to nobles bicker about alliances, trade routes while your mind wandered back to your knight’s strong arms. Every night since, your bed felt too large, too cold. You would press your face into the pillow he had once used and fight the ache in your chest.

You missed him with a desperation that bordered on madness.

This morning was no different. You had barely kept your breakfast down before the maids helped you into a heavy velvet gown the color of deep wine for yet another assembly with potential suitors. The princes and lords from neighboring kingdoms were growing impatient. Your coronation was only a month away, and the pressure to choose a consort was mounting like a noose around your throat.

By midday, the nausea returned with a vengeance. You barely made it through the formal greetings before excusing yourself to the private solar, hand pressed to your mouth.

Elara followed quickly with a basin. You retched violently into it, eyes watering.

“Your Highness…” she whispered, rubbing gentle circles on your back.

“I’m fine,” you rasped, waving her away. “Just… something I ate.”

But it wasn’t.

Later that evening, after the day’s obligations were finally over, Vera and Selyse insisted on the usual massage to ease the tension in your shoulders. They helped you out of your gown until you lay on the wide cushioned table in nothing but a thin silk shift.

The moment Selyse’s skilled hands moved over your breasts, the older maid froze.

Verra, who was working on your legs, also stilled.

“…Your Highness,” Selyse said carefully, “Your breasts… they are fuller. Tender, yes?”

Your breath hitched. You had noticed it days ago but had tried to ignore the swelling, the sensitivity. The way even the softest fabric sometimes made you wince.

Verra’s hands gently pressed against your lower belly, not quite a touch, more an assessment. “And the sickness every morning… the fatigue… the way you’ve been crying in your chambers…”

Your eyes filled with tears. You turned your face into your folded arms, shoulders shaking.

Selyse knelt beside the table, taking your hand gently. “My lady… are you with a child?”

You didn’t answer at first. Then a broken sob escaped you.

“I think so,” you whispered. “I… I don’t know for certain, but the timing…” Your voice cracked. “It would be his. Sir Jungkook’s.”

Both maids exchanged a heavy glance. This changed everything.

Verra spoke softly, “My lady... with your coronation approaching. The lords are already circling like vultures, pushing their sons at you. If this comes out before you choose a prince…”

“I know,” you said, voice muffled. Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks. “I know what it means. But I can’t… I can’t just marry one of them. Not when I’m carrying the child of the only man I’ve ever loved.”

You sat up slowly, clutching the silk shift to your chest, arms wrapped protectively around your still flat stomach.

“My dear knight...” you sniffled. “He is out there fighting gods-know-what, and I’m here pretending to be the perfect princess while my body betrays our secret.”

Selyse brushed a strand of hair from your face with motherly tenderness. “We can hide it a little longer, Highness. Looser gowns. Ginger tea for the sickness. But you must decide soon what path you will take. The child… it will not stay hidden forever.”

You nodded, but your heart was breaking all over again. The thought of choosing one of those cold, ambitious princes while carrying Sir Jungkook’s child made you feel ill all over again.

Selyse pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her voice firm with loyalty. “We pray he returns soon, my lady. And until then, we will guard you and this little one with our lives.”

—

The weeks blurred into months as winter settled over the kingdom like a heavy white shroud. Snow blanketed the towers and gardens, turning the world soft and silent, yet inside your chest, the storm only grew louder.

Sir Jeon Jungkook had not returned.

Your belly had swelled noticeably now, a gentle but undeniable curve that marked the life growing within you. With the help of Elara, Verra, and Selyse, you hid it beneath layers of loose, flowing gowns and heavy cloaks lined with fur.

The rich fabrics concealed the truth for now, but you could no longer ignore the way your body changed, the tender fullness of your breasts, the occasional flutter of movement beneath your skin, and the constant, bone deep exhaustion.

You had begun excusing yourself from the suitors’ assemblies more frequently, claiming headaches or matters of state. But the King, grew increasingly impatient.

In the grand throne room one frost laced afternoon, he fixed you with a stern gaze as snow fell outside the tall windows. “You cannot delay any longer, daughter,” he spoke, heavy with royal command. “Prince Min of Viena is a strong candidate. The coronation is weeks away. You must choose a consort soon. The realm needs stability.”

You bowed your head, hands clasped tightly over your hidden belly beneath the voluminous velvet. “Yes, Father,” you murmured, the lie tasting like ash. Inside, your heart screamed for the only man you wanted.

Every few days, with your maids’ help, you sent letters. Verra would sneak them to a trusted rider, sealed with your private wax. You poured your soul onto the parchment; how much you missed him, the way your body was changing, the secret you carried, your love that only deepened with every passing day. Yet no responses ever came. The silence gnawed at you, feeding nightmares of him lying wounded on some distant battlefield or worse.

The worry became unbearable.

One bitter winter morning, wrapped in a thick hooded cloak that concealed your swollen middle, you slipped away from the castle with only Elara and Selyse accompanying you. The three of you rode through the snow dusted forest to a modest stone cottage on the outskirts of the kingdom, the home where Sir Jungkook had grown up.

When the door opened, an older woman with kind eyes and streaks of silver in her dark hair stood before you. Sir Jungkook’s mother. She froze at the sight of the princess on her doorstep, her hand flying to her chest.

“Your Highness…?” she whispered, stunned. “Surely I do not deserve to be blessed with your presence at my humble door. Please, come inside before the cold takes you.”

She ushered you, Elara, and Selyse quickly into the warm cottage, the scent of pinewood and baking bread wrapping around you like an embrace. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth as she helped you remove your snow dusted cloak. Only when you were seated by the fire did her gaze drop to the unmistakable swell of your belly beneath the loose gown.

You took a steadying breath, your hands resting protectively over your rounded stomach.

“I carry his child,” you said softly, trembling with emotion. “Your son’s. Sir Jungkook’s. He does not know yet… he has not returned, and I… I needed to feel close to him somehow.”

Jungkook’s mother, Maera, stood completely still for a long moment, her eyes wide with shock. Then her hand flew to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.

“Oh… gods above,” she breathed, her voice cracking. “A grandchild…? From my Jungkook?” Fresh tears flowed freely as she dropped to her knees in front of you, taking your hands in hers with deep reverence. “My lady… my princess. You honor me beyond words. You honor my son. To think that you, a royal daughter, would carry his child… I am stunned. Truly stunned. And so deeply moved.”

She pressed her forehead to your knuckles, weeping quietly with pure joy and emotion. When she lifted her head again, her eyes shone with fierce affection.

“You are already family to me,” she whispered. “Come here, sweet child.” She rose and pulled you into a warm embrace, cradling you gently as if you were made of glass. “You must be so frightened, carrying this secret alone while he is away. But you are not alone anymore. Not while I draw breath.”

You felt safe in her arms, the weight on your heart easing just a little as winter wind howled softly outside the cottage walls.

After composing herself, Maera wiped her tears and fetched a small wooden chest from a shelf. She sat beside you, opening it with trembling hands.

“Look,” she said tenderly, pulling out several treasured items. She showed you a faded sketch of a chubby baby with dark, serious eyes —Sir Jungkook as an infant. Another portrait showed him as a sturdy little boy of four, holding a wooden sword with determination. There was even a lock of his soft baby hair tied with a ribbon.

“He was always so intense, even as a babe,” she said with a watery laugh. “Strong and quiet… but when he smiled, the whole world lit up. Just like I imagine your little one will.”

You traced the portraits with gentle fingers, tears slipping down your own cheeks. Seeing these glimpses of him as a child made your love for the knight swell even deeper. You could so clearly picture your baby with his eyes, his strength, his rare smile. The thought made your heart ache with both joy and longing.

Maera kept one hand over yours, cherishing you openly. “Thank you for coming to me,” she murmured. “For trusting me with this precious news. We will wait for him together, my daughter. And when he returns, he will be the happiest man alive.”

The two of you sat by the fire for a long while — his mother and the mother of his child, talking softly as snow continued to fall outside, bound by love for the same man.

The days after your visit to Maera’s cottage only deepened the ache in your soul. Winter grew harsher, and so did your impatience. Every morning you woke with your hands on your swelling belly, feeling the strong kicks of his child, and the longing became unbearable.

One evening in the royal chambers, you fell to your knees before the King, tears streaming down your face. “Father, please… I beg you. Bring Sir Jungkook back. I need him. I cannot do this without him.”

The King frowned, confused by your desperation. “Daughter, he is leading my forces on the border. The realm needs him there. Why this sudden insistence on one knight?”

You could not tell him the truth. “I just… need him,” you whispered brokenly. “Please.”

He did not relent. The pressure to choose a suitor only intensified.

And then the sickness took hold.

Your body ached constantly. deep soreness in your back, hips, and breasts that made every movement painful. The baby’s kicks, once a comfort, now left you breathless. You grew feverish and weak.

Elara, Verra, and Selyse rarely left your side, forcing herbal teas and bitter medicines down your throat while piling warm blankets over you. For nearly a week you were bedridden, barely able to leave your chambers, hidden away from the court under the excuse of a winter chill.

One cold, silent night, as snow tapped gently against the window panes, you drifted in and out of a fevered haze. The herbs made the world soft and blurry around the edges.

You thought it was a dream when the heavy door to your chambers opened with a quiet creak and a tall, familiar figure stepped inside, shedding his snow dusted cloak. The firelight caught on his sharp jawline and those intense dark eyes.

Strong arms slipped beneath you, lifting you carefully as he climbed into your grand bed. A warm, calloused hand gently cradled your swollen belly. You felt the press of soft, reverent lips against the curve of your stomach.

“My love…” The knight’s deep voice whispered against your skin, rough with emotion. “I’m here. I finally came back to you.”

“Jungkook…?” you murmured drowsily, eyelids heavy, unsure if this was real or another cruel dream born of longing and medicine.

“It’s me,” he breathed, pulling your body flush against his solid chest. He was real. warm, solid, smelling of snow, leather, and the faint scent of campfires. “I’ve been aching for you every single day. Your touch, your voice… it kept me alive out there.”

His large hand stroked slow, soothing circles over your rounded belly, feeling the baby shift and kick beneath his palm. He lowered his head, pressing his lips directly to the taut skin.

You let out a tired, broken sound. “You left me… You promised you’d come back sooner. Look at me… I’m so sore, so heavy with your child, and you weren’t here…”

Sir Jungkook chuckled softly, the sound warm against your skin, even as his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I know, my princess. I deserve your scolding. I’m deeply sorry.” He kissed your belly again and again, soft open mouthed presses wherever he could reach. Then he trailed his lips higher, attaching his mouth gently to the swollen, aching curve of your breasts, sucking lightly and kissing away the soreness with such care that you whimpered in relief.

His hands never stopped moving, massaging the deep ache in your lower back, cupping and gently holding your heavy breasts to ease their weight, stroking your hips and thighs. He intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly as if afraid you might vanish.

“You are unreal, my love.” he murmured, voice hoarse with awe as he looked at you. “Your glow… it’s deeper now. The way pregnancy has changed you… you’re beyond anything I could have imagined. You shine like starlight. Carrying our child has only made you more radiant, more mine.”

You clung to him weakly, drowsy but desperate for his touch. “The baby… it kicks so much. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl… but it feels like you. Strong and stubborn.”

Jungkook smiled against your temple, one hand still resting warmly over your belly. “This child is the product of our love. A piece of both of us. I already love them more than life.” He kissed you deeply, slowly, pouring months of aching into it. “Every battle, every cold night, I thought only of coming home to you like this… holding you, feeling our baby move, worshipping the body that’s creating our future.”

He continued kissing every place that ached... the sides of your breasts, the curve of your belly, the inside of your wrist, his mouth soft and devoted. You melted into him, the pain easing under his gentle care as he held you close.

“Stay…” you whispered tiredly, already slipping back into sleep.

“I’m here right now,” he promised, lips brushing your ear. “Sleep, my love. I’ve got you both.”

When morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, you woke slowly, body still aching but strangely comforted.

The bed beside you was cold. No warmth lingered. No cloak on the chair. No scent of him on the pillows. Only the faint memory of strong hands, whispered words to your belly, and soft kisses remained.

You touched your swollen stomach, feeling another firm kick, and tears filled your eyes.

Was it a dream? A fevered hallucination woven from medicine, longing, and love? Or had Sir Jungkook truly returned to you in the dead of night… only to disappear again before dawn?

The herbs and medicines your maids prepared worked their magic. The fever finally broke, the deep soreness in your body eased into a manageable ache, and the constant nausea faded. Though you were still tired, your strength slowly returned. Your belly continued to grow rounder and heavier, the baby’s kicks becoming more insistent and lively.

One quiet winter evening, when the moon hung full over the snow covered palace, your maids turned your chambers into a secret sanctuary.

Accompanied by Sir Jungkook’s mother, they had worked together in absolute secrecy. No one outside your trusted circle knew. They had decorated the large private solar adjacent to your bedroom with soft candlelight, evergreen boughs, and winter white roses. Warm furs and silk pillows were arranged in a luxurious nest near the hearth. Incense of myrrh filled the air, and a small table held gifts wrapped in fine cloth.

They helped you into a loose, flowing gown of the softest ivory silk that draped beautifully over your swollen belly, leaving your shoulders bare. When you stepped into the room, all four women bowed their heads in reverence.

Selyse took your hand and guided you to the center of the soft pillows. “Tonight we celebrate you, my lady. And the precious life you carry. No one else will know of this blessing. It is ours alone.”

They treated you with deep adoration, as though you were sacred.

Elara gently massaged your feet with warm scented oil while Maera brushed your hair until it shone. Verra offered you sweet honeyed fruits and warm spiced milk, foods meant to nourish both you and the baby. Selyse laid her hands lightly on your rounded belly and spoke soft blessings for a safe birth and a strong child.

Selyse, ever wise, placed a small crown of dried herbs and winter berries on your head. “You are the vessel of love and life,” she murmured. “Even in these uncertain times, you bloom. We honor you as our princess… and as the mother of Sir Jungkook’s heir.”

You felt tears prick your eyes as they presented their secret gifts: tiny embroidered blankets, a soft knitted cap in deep green, a small silver pendant shaped like a blooming rose, a symbol of motherhood.

Vera leaned her cheek against your belly for a moment, grinning when the baby kicked in response. “He or she is strong already. Just like their father.”

You placed both hands over your swollen stomach, feeling another firm flutter. The warmth of their love and the secret celebration soothed the constant ache of missing your knight.

“Thank you,” you whispered, “All of you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Elara kissed your temple. “We will keep you and this little one safe until Sir Jungkook returns. And he will return.”

The warmth of the secret celebration lingered on your skin as you returned to your chambers that night. The maids had just helped you out of the ivory silk gown when a royal messenger knocked urgently.

“The King demands your presence immediately, Your Highness. In his private study.”

You had no time to prepare. Still glowing from the love and blessings of your maids, you wrapped yourself in a heavy velvet robe that concealed your very swollen belly and followed the messenger.

The moment you entered the study, the atmosphere turned icy. Your father stood behind his desk, several of your letters spread before him.

“Daughter,” he spoke, controlled. “I have given you time to come to me yourself. I know you have been sending letters to the front lines. To Sir Jungkook, specifically.” He turned to face you, his expression stern but not yet furious. “I know of your… admiration for him. Speak truthfully now. What is this attachment?”

Your throat tightened. This was the moment. With your belly heavy with his child and your heart aching, you could no longer hide everything.

“Father…” you began, voice trembling as you stepped closer. “It is more than admiration. I love him. Sir Jungkook is the only man I want.” Your hands instinctively moved to cradle your stomach. “And I… I am carrying his child.”

Silence crashed over the room.

The King’s eyes widened, then narrowed sharply as his gaze dropped to the unmistakable swell beneath your gown. His face darkened with shock, then rage.

“You what?” he hissed. “A knight’s bastard? While I have been parading princes before you? While the entire realm waits for you to secure the throne with a proper alliance?”

“Father, please,” you begged, tears filling your eyes. “It is his. Our love is real. If you would only let him return, we could—”

The King’s face twisted with fury. “You dare speak such filth to me? A royal princess swollen with a common knight’s bastard?”

You rebelled, voice shaking but defiant. “It is not filth. It is love. I will not marry Prince Min. I will not let you use me as a pawn for alliances while I carry the man I love’s child.”

“Enough!” The King slammed his fist on the table, making you flinch. “I have been patient with your childish infatuation, but this is treason against your bloodline. You will do as you are told! Your fate is sealed. You will marry Prince Min before the month ends.”

Later that same night, before your maids could even calm you, you found your most trusted rider in the stables. With tears streaming down your face and snow falling around you, you whispered your final message: “Tell him… tell Sir Jungkook that I will wait for him. No matter how long it takes. My heart is his alone. I will wait.”

The rider bowed and galloped into the night. No response ever came.

The next weeks were a nightmare.

Prince Min visited often, his eyes raking over your body with open lust and infatuation. He complimented your “ethereal glow”, clearly aroused by your pregnant form, but his arrogance disgusted you. He spoke openly of claiming the throne through you, of bedding you the moment you were his. You hated him with every fiber of your being.

You fought your father harder than ever, refusing to attend meetings with Prince Min, screaming that you would rather die than marry him. But the King had reached his limit.

One brutal afternoon, he summoned you again and placed a bloodied cloak and a forged letter before you.

“Sir Jeon Jungkook is dead,” he said flatly. “He fell in battle two weeks ago. This is proof.”

The world shattered.

You collapsed to the floor, a guttural sob tearing from your throat. The baby inside you kicked as if sensing your pain. From that moment, you broke completely.

You refused to eat. You barely slept. You stopped speaking, even to Elara, Verra, and Selyse who begged you through tears to think of the child. You lay in bed for days, staring at nothing, your once radiant glow fading into pale exhaustion. Your maids feared for both your life and the baby’s.

Despite how numb you had become, when your maids gently suggested taking you to Maera’s quiet home on the edge of the forest, you agreed without protest. You were taken there in secret under the cover of night.

Maera, a strong but grieving woman with the same dark eyes as her son, took you in without question. She cared for you with quiet hands and even quieter words. You didn’t speak much to her either, but you accepted her care wholeheartedly. After all, she was mourning the loss of her son, and you were mourning the loss of your lover and the father of your child.

The King, despite his fury, still sent guards to watch over you from a distance. You were still royalty, still carrying what he believed might be his grandchild. But you could only think of the protection you once had... the strongest, safest pair of arms that had ever wrapped around you.

You mourned deeply. But you couldn’t be completely selfish with a baby on the way, restless and eager to come into the world.

The labor came on a stormy night.

The pains started suddenly and violently. Maera and your maids worked frantically around you as you screamed and cried, gripping the sheets until your knuckles turned white. The King himself had ridden out in secret when he heard you had gone into labor, standing outside the cottage with a face pale with rare fear.

He didn’t know how to comfort you. He only knew one thing, his daughter was calling for her knight in her delirium.

Even though he viewed the child as the product of a sinful affair, something in him softened at the sound of your broken sobs. He could not lose you.

Inside the cottage, you gave birth to a baby girl.

She was small, chubby, with a shock of raven hair and big, dark eyes that looked exactly like her father’s. The moment the midwife placed her on your chest, fresh tears streamed down your face.

“She looks like him…” you whispered, hoarse and broken. “My little love… she has his eyes.”

You held her close, sobbing softly as the pain and grief mixed with a fragile, overwhelming love. Even in your exhaustion, you couldn’t stop crying. You believed Sir Jungkook was dead. The thought that your daughter would never know her father tore you apart.

Maera wept beside you, gently stroking your hair. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Just like her mother.”

Outside, the King stood in the rain, waiting.

When the door finally opened and the midwife stepped out, he demanded to know if you and the child were alive. Upon hearing they both were, something in his hardened heart shifted.

He turned to his captain without a word and gave the order.

“Send riders to the western borders at once. Bring Sir Jeon Jungkook back. Tell him… his princess has need of him.”

It would take time. The borders were far, and the roads were muddy from the storms. A week, perhaps a month.

In the quiet warmth of the cottage, you held your newborn daughter against your chest, wrapped in soft linen.

You rocked her gently as she fussed against your breast, nursing hungrily. Your maids and Maera moved around you, bringing broth, fresh cloths, and ever soft words. But you barely spoke. The grief had hollowed you out.

“I wish you could meet your father,” you whispered to the baby one quiet night, voice cracking. Tears slipped down your cheeks as she latched on again. “He would have held you so carefully. He would have loved you more than anything in this world. He would have protected us both…”

Maera sat beside you, her own eyes red from mourning. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would have been so proud,” she said softly. “Of both of you.”

You could only nod, throat too tight to speak. The emptiness inside you felt endless. Every time the baby cried, every time she looked up at you with those familiar dark eyes, the pain returned like a fresh wound.

The King demanded your return to the palace, as you were still royalty, still bound to your father’s will despite carrying a child out of wedlock. He wrote letter after letter insisting you resume your duties and prepare for the inevitable marriage to Prince Min. You refused to answer most of them.

Your maids tried their best to comfort you, but even they could not reach the depths of your sorrow. The only light in your world was your daughter. Tiny, perfect, with Jungkook’s dark eyes and a tuft of raven hair. You held her constantly, whispering stories about her father, singing lullabies with a voice that often broke halfway through.

You mourned him deeply. The King had not even granted him a proper funeral. No rites. No chance to say goodbye. Just a bloodied cloak and a cold declaration.

One quiet evening, Maera left the cottage to fetch groceries from the nearby village. Your maids had been called back to the palace on the King’s orders, duties they could not refuse. For the first time in weeks, it was just you and your baby in the small, warm cottage.

You sat by the window, cradling her in your arms. She cooed softly, tiny fingers wrapping around yours as you gently rocked her. For a few precious minutes, you allowed yourself to smile a real, soft smile as you played with her little hands and kissed her forehead.

“My baby,” you whispered, “The loveliest babe. Don’t tell the queens and princesses, I think they’d be terribly jealous.”

The baby blinked up at you. “Oh, yes,” you continued solemnly. “Especially of those cheeks.”

You leaned back in the chair as exhaustion eventually won over you, your eyes growing heavy. With your daughter nestled safely against your chest, sleep claimed you quickly.

When you woke, the cottage was awfully quiet.

Your arms were empty.

Panic slammed into you like a physical blow. You shot upright, heart hammering wildly as you looked around the room.

The baby was gone.

“No… no, no, no...” you gasped, stumbling to your feet, voice rising into a broken sob. “Where is my baby?!”

You searched frantically, under the blankets, behind the chairs, near the hearth, terror clawing at your throat. Your mind spun with nightmarish possibilities. Had someone taken her? Had the King sent men to steal her away?

Then you saw him.

A tall figure standing near the doorway, cradling your daughter gently in his strong arms. She was sleeping peacefully against his chest, tiny fist curled into his tunic.

Your knees buckled.

It was Sir Jungkook.

He looked exhausted, travel worn, mud on his boots, shadows under his eyes, but he was alive. Real. His dark eyes met yours, filled with unbearable love and pain.

You stared at him, trembling violently, refusing to believe what you were seeing.

“No…” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, no, this isn’t real. You’re dead. They told me you were dead. This is another dream. You always come in my dreams and then you leave me again—”

Your voice cracked into a sob as you backed away, hands clutching your chest.

“You left me,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “You left me and our child. I mourned you. I almost died mourning you. Please… don’t do this to me again. I can’t take another dream. I can’t wake up to find you gone again.”

Sir Jungkook’s face crumpled with anguish. He took one careful step forward, still cradling your daughter like the most precious thing in the world.

“My love,” he said hoarsely, voice breaking. “It’s not a dream. I’m here. I’m real. Your father… he lied. He sent me away to the borders to keep me from you. But I came back the moment he allowed it. I rode without stopping.”

You shook your head harder, tears falling faster, refusing to believe it even as your heart screamed at you to run to him.

“You’re dead,” you repeated, voice small and shattered. “You have to be dead… because if you’re not, then you let me believe it. You never answered my letters. Not one. I wrote to you every single day, pouring my heart out, begging you to come back to me, to our child… and you never...”

Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as the pain twisted deeper.

“You were in on it, weren’t you?” you whispered, voice breaking. “You let my father tell me you were gone. You left me here to rot in grief while I carried your child alone. How could you?”

The knight’s face crumpled with agony. He took a step forward, but you flinched, and he stopped immediately, hands trembling at his sides.

Before he could speak, your daughter stirred in his arms. As if sensing the suffocating tension in the room, she let out a sharp, hungry cry, her little lips puckering, tiny fists waving.

You moved without thinking, reaching for her. Sir Jungkook gently handed her over, his hands lingering for a moment as if afraid to let go. You turned away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed and loosening your dress to feed her. The baby latched on eagerly, her cries softening into small, contented sounds.

The knight stood there, watching you in silence. He looked lost, this battle-hardened soldier, returned from war, now completely unsure how to comfort the woman he loved. He slowly lowered himself to his knees in the middle of the room, head bowed.

“I wrote to you,” he admitted hoarsely. “Every chance I had. Your father… he made sure none of my letters reached you. He wanted you to believe I was gone. I fought every day to come back to you. I almost died trying to get word to you.”

You didn’t look at him. You kept your eyes on your daughter, tears falling silently onto her soft hair.

“I mourned you like a widow,” you whispered, voice thick with pain. “I almost died. And now you’re here… acting like you didn’t abandon me when I needed you most.”

The words cut awfully deep. Sir Jungkook’s shoulders slumped, but he stayed on his knees, silent and respectful, giving you the space your wounded heart demanded.

Your daughter stirred in your arms, letting out a small, distressed whimper as if she could sense the storm raging between her parents. You rocked her gently, pressing a kiss to her soft raven hair.

“Shh, my sweet one,” you cooed softly, “Mama’s here. You’re safe.”

Sir Jungkook’s hands twitched at his sides, aching to reach out, to touch you, to hold both of you, but he remained still, jaw clenched tight. He was no longer in full armor, only a worn tunic and breeches, his appearance shambled from the long ride, fresh bruises blooming across his knuckles and jaw.

You turned away from him, focusing on the small tasks that had become your life in the cottage. The rain outside grew heavier, pounding against the roof like a relentless drum.

You moved about the space, stirring the pot of stew over the fire, folding fresh linens, anything to keep your hands busy and your mind from breaking completely.

Hours passed in heavy silence. When your daughter finally grew fussy again, you nursed her by the hearth until her little eyes fluttered shut. You laid her gently in the wooden cradle Maera had prepared, stroking her cheek one last time before covering her with a soft blanket.

Only then did you notice movement near the door.

Sir Jungkook was standing there, cloak in hand, quietly preparing to leave.

Something inside you fractured. You stepped toward him, voice cracking. “You’re leaving again?”

He turned slowly, eyes filled with torment. “I was only going to check the perimeter. The rain is heavy, and I… I didn’t want to burden you further.”

You stared at him, this warrior who had survived hell just to return to you, and the dam finally broke.

“Come here,” you whispered.

He obeyed without hesitation.

You led him to your bed and with trembling hands, you began removing his tunic, revealing the damage the war had left behind.

New bruises painted his ribs and shoulders in shades of purple and blue. Fresh scars, still healing, cut across his chest and abdomen. He looked harder, a man who had walked through fire and barely returned.

Your lips trembled, but you forced yourself to stay steady. You turned away briefly, gathering clean linen strips, salve, and a bowl of warm water. When you returned, the knight stood perfectly still, letting you see all of him, the bruises, the brutal evidence of everything he had endured just to return to you.

You began tending to him in silence, your hands gentle as you cleaned a particularly nasty cut along his side. But the more you looked, the more the dam inside you cracked.

“What have they done to you, Jungkook?” you whispered, voice breaking. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you carefully wrapped a bandage around his ribs. “You’re… you’re covered in pain. All of this… just to come back to me?”

He stood motionless, letting you care for him, but his dark eyes never left your face.

“I would go through it a thousand times more,” he said softly, “if it meant coming back to you and our daughter.”

You shook your head, fresh tears falling as you pressed a bandage over another wound. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that. I can’t bear thinking of you suffering like this. I thought you were dead. I thought I would never see you again, and now you’re here… broken because of me.”

Sir Jungkook slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of you, even though you were still trying to tend to him. The powerful knight, the man who had survived war, knelt before you like the loyal protector he had always been.

“Your Highness,” he murmured, head slightly bowed, voice thick with emotion. “I failed you. I wasn’t here when you needed me most. I wasn’t here when you carried our child. I wasn’t here when you gave birth. I wasn’t here when they told you I was gone. Forgive me.”

You dropped the bandages and pulled him into your arms, holding his head to your chest. His arms wrapped around your waist instantly, clinging to you like a man who had almost lost everything.

A broken sob tore from his throat.

Your knight, your warrior, the strongest person you had ever known, cried against your chest like a child. Deep, shuddering sobs that shook his powerful frame as his arms tightened around you.

“I thought I lost you,” he choked out, voice muffled against your skin. “Every night on the border, I prayed I would make it back to you. To both of you.”

You held him tighter, fingers threading through his raven hair, your own tears falling onto his head.

“You’re here now,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “You’re here. You came back to us. That’s all that matters.”

For a long time, the only sounds in the cottage were the rain outside, the crackling fire, and the quiet, heartbroken sobs of a knight who had finally returned to his princess.

—

The rain had not eased by the middle of the night. It hammered against the thatched roof like an impatient army. You had fallen asleep in Jungkook’s arms on the narrow bed, your daughter nestled safely in her cradle beside you. For the first time in months, your sleep was deep and dreamless.

A sharp knock on the cottage door shattered the peace.

Sir Jungkook was awake in an instant. He slipped from the bed silently, pulling on his tunic and reaching for the sword he had left by the door. His body was still tense from war, every muscle ready for threat.

“Stay here,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “I will see who it is.”

But you already knew.

A cold certainty settled in your chest. You rose, wrapping a shawl around your shoulders, and followed him despite his warning. Your daughter stirred but remained asleep.

Sir Jungkook opened the door, sword half drawn, rain pouring behind the figure standing outside.

It was the King.

Your father stood in the downpour, cloak heavy with water, face pale and drawn. Guards waited at a respectful distance, torches flickering weakly in the storm. His eyes moved past your knight and landed on you.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then the King stepped inside without invitation, water dripping onto the wooden floor. His gaze softened when it fell on you — his only daughter, still pale from childbirth, carrying the weight of grief and motherhood.

“My child,” he said, voice rough. “You must return to the palace. You are still royalty. Still my blood. You do not belong in a cottage like this.”

You stood straighter, even as exhaustion and lingering pain made your body ache.

“I belong where I choose,” you replied quietly, but firmly. “And I will not return without Sir Jeon. He is my knight. He is the father of my daughter. He stays with me.”

The King’s jaw tightened. He glanced at Jungkook, who stood tall and silent beside you, sword now lowered but ready.

“I know what you are to each other,” the King said heavily. “I have known for some time. Prince Min is a fool and a coward, but his bloodline is strong. The alliance—”

“I will not marry him,” you cut in, voice steady despite the tears gathering in your eyes. “I will return to the palace. I will perform my duties as princess, as future queen. I will be the ruler this kingdom needs. But only if Sir Jungkook remains at my side. As my knight. As the man I have chosen. As the only man with any right to me.”

The King looked at you for a long time. He saw the woman you had become, not just his rebellious daughter, but a figure of quiet strength. The people in the surrounding villages spoke of you with reverence. They told stories of the princess who helped common women, shared food during hard winters, who listened to their troubles as if they mattered as much as any noble’s.

The King exhaled slowly, defeated but not broken.

“Very well,” he said at last. “Sir Jeon will return with you. He will remain your personal knight. But this… affair… must remain hidden from the court. For now.”

You nodded once, relief flooding through you.

The King’s gaze drifted to the cradle where your daughter slept. He had not yet seen her. You had kept her away from him, protecting her with every fiber of your being.

He took one hesitant step toward the cradle, then stopped, as if afraid.

The King’s shoulders sagged. For the first time in years, he looked truly old.

“Bring her home,” he said quietly. “Both of you. We will find a way.”

When the heavy door of the cottage finally closed behind your father, you let out a huge, shaky sigh. The weight of the conversation pressed on your chest like a stone. You turned and walked to the cradle, gently lifting your daughter into your arms. She stirred but settled quickly against your chest.

Sir Jungkook followed silently behind you, his presence warm.

“I would not trust him,” you whispered, voice laced with bitterness. “My father lied. He did all of this, told me you were dead, kept us apart, made me believe I had lost you forever. How can I believe a single word he says now?”

Jungkook stepped closer. He gently wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on the top of your head as you held your daughter.

“Petal,” he murmured softly, the old endearment slipping out like a balm. “Your father is a hard man, but he is not as cold as he pretends to be. He sent for me the moment he learned you had gone into labor. He could have kept me away forever. But he didn’t.”

You turned slightly in his arms, eyes wide with disbelief.

The knight continued, low and calm.

“There was one night… when you were still heavy with our child and very sick. I rode through a storm to reach you. Your father allowed it. He let me see you. I held you while you slept, fevered and restless. I whispered to you. I kissed your forehead and promised I would return. But I had to leave before dawn. He made me swear not to wake you. He said it would only make the pain worse when I had to go back to the borders.”

You stared at him, stunned. Tears welled up again.

“That night… it was real?” you whispered. “I thought it was a dream. I thought I imagined your arms around me.”

“It was real,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I was there. And I have regretted leaving you every single day since.”

You turned fully toward him, still cradling your daughter. The baby had woken and was fussing softly. You loosened your dress and began to feed her.

Sir Jungkook watched the two of you with such open love and longing that it made your chest ache.

“She has your eyes,” you said softly, brushing a finger over your daughter’s cheek. “So dark and beautiful. Just like yours.”

Sir Jungkook’s expression softened further. He reached out, gently stroking the baby’s tiny hand.

“And she is as beautiful as her mother,” he murmured. “I hope she grows to be as strong as her. As kind. As full of fire and love.”

For a while, the only sounds were the soft suckling of your daughter and the rain pattering against the roof. Sir Jungkook stayed close, one arm around your waist, the other lightly resting near the baby.

Eventually, after your daughter had fallen asleep again, you made the decision.

“We will return to the palace,” you said quietly. “Together. As a family. I will not hide anymore.”

The next morning, after tender farewells to Maera, who hugged you both tightly and kissed her granddaughter’s forehead with tears in her eyes, you left the cottage.

—

Three Months Later,

The palace had transformed around you.

After your return, the finest healers in the realm were summoned, learned men and women versed in herbs and ancient remedies. They tended to you with the utmost care, restoring the strength you had lost in grief and childbirth. Slowly, the hollow exhaustion faded. Color returned to your cheeks. Your body healed, and with it, your spirit bloomed once more.

You were treated not merely as royalty, but as something sacred. The people whispered that the Princess had returned more radiant than before, as if the earth itself had blessed her.

Your maids, Elara, Verra, and Selyse, were beyond ecstatic to have you back. They fussed over you constantly, brushing your long hair until it shone, dressing you in the finest silks, and whispering prayers of gratitude for your safe return.

The kingdom now knew the truth: the child was Sir Jeon Jungkook’s. The scandal had spread like wildfire, but instead of outrage, most of the people embraced it. They saw their princess glowing, and fiercely protected.

Prince Min had tried to slander you upon his return, calling you impure, unfit, a disgrace for bearing a knight’s child out of wedlock. Sir Jungkook had nearly killed him in the great hall before the King’s guards pulled him back. Prince Min was expelled from the kingdom that very day, the alliance shattered. No one mourned his departure.

It was a warm evening when you returned to the royal bathing pool, surrounded by floating lily pads and fragrant white blossoms. The water shimmered under the sunlight as your maids helped you undress. Your daughter, now three months old and full of life, babbled happily in Elara’s arms, reaching for you with chubby little hands.

“Come here, my sweet,” you cooed, taking her into the warm water with you. She immediately nestled against your bare chest, tiny fingers grasping at your long, wavy hair as you gently rocked her. She was a needy little thing, always wanting her mother’s warmth, her scent, her voice.

Verra smiled as she poured scented oil over your shoulders. “She adores you, my lady. Look at those big, bejeweled eyes.”

You glanced toward the far bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, as always. He was no longer forced to hide. He remained your personal knight, ever watchful and devoted. His gaze met yours across the water, soft with love and quiet pride. He had become even more protective since your return, rarely leaving your side unless duty demanded it.

The King had grown strangely silent on the matter of your relationship. Seeing you flourish and beloved by the people, had turned him into something of a coward when it came to opposing you.

He doted on his granddaughter in private, though he still struggled to fully accept the circumstances. Yet he no longer pushed for any other marriage. He had seen what happened when he tried to separate you from your knight.

Bit by bit, your beauty had deepened into something almost otherworldly, skin luminous, eyes bright with life, a gentle fullness to your figure from motherhood that only made you more captivating. You moved through the palace performing your duties with grace while still finding time to help the common women who came to the gates seeking aid. You had become more than a princess.

At night, when the palace slept, Sir Jungkook was yours completely.

He would slip into your chambers, shed his armor, and worship you with slow hands and mouth. He made love to you like a man who had walked through hell and returned only for this. You clung to him every night, whispering how much you loved him, how you had chosen him long before the crown ever mattered.

Your daughter babbled softly, pulling at your long hair again with her tiny fist, drawing a soft, delighted laugh from you.

“Oh, my little one,” you cooed, gently untangling her fingers from your waves before pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “You are going to pull Mama’s hair right off if you keep that up, aren’t you? Such a strong little flower.”

She giggled in your arms, reaching up to pat your face with her small, uncoordinated hand, her big dark eyes, exact replicas of her father’s, sparkling with pure joy. The resemblance was almost startling even at such a young age. She was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

Elara sighed dreamily as she poured warm water over your shoulders. “Look at her, my lady. She is perfection. She already has the whole palace wrapped around her tiny finger.”

Verra nodded, gently massaging oil into your hair. “And you, my princess. You glow like the sun itself these days. Motherhood suits you more than any crown ever could.”

Selyse, ever the wise one, glanced toward the bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, fully armored but with his helmet removed today. A small, teasing smile tugged at her lips.

“And that one over there… he can’t take his eyes off the two of you. Look at him, standing there like a lovesick fool in steel. Our fierce knight, brought to his knees by a baby and her mother.”

The knight’s ears turned faintly red, but he didn’t deny it. His gaze remained soft, locked on you and your daughter with quiet awe and devotion.

Later that evening, in the royal rose gardens where he had once walked beside you as your new knight, Sir Jungkook carried your daughter in his arms.

He was still in full armor, crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders, but he held her with such careful gentleness it made your heart melt. The baby was dressed in the softest cream colored gown embroidered with tiny golden flowers, a little bonnet tied under her chin. She looked like a living doll against his armored chest.

She reached up with both hands, grabbing at the edge of his armor, babbling excitedly as she tried to pull herself closer to his face. When he leaned down, she patted his cheek with a wet, sloppy kiss.

Sir Jungkook’s entire expression softened into something almost boyish. He smiled, genuine and devastatingly handsome.

“My little love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

You walked beside them, heart full as you watched your daughter play with the buckles on his armor. Every time he lowered his head to let her see his face, she lit up. But when he playfully put his helmet back on for a moment to tease her, she immediately fussed, letting out a small, indignant cry and reaching for him with both arms.

“No helmet,” you laughed softly. “She hates it. She wants to see her father’s face.”

Sir Jungkook removed it immediately, tucking it under one arm while cradling her with the other. He leaned down so she could press her tiny palms against his cheeks and give him another sloppy kiss on the jaw.

The maids watching from a distance cooed and teased him lightly.

“Look at that,” Verra whispered loudly enough for him to hear. “Who would have thought the man who survived the western borders would be brought down by tiny hands and gummy smiles?”

Later that night, the heavy oak door to your royal chambers was barred, only the soft glow of candles and the low fire in the hearth illuminated the room.

You stood before the tall mirror, slowly changing into your nightgown. The fabric whispered against your skin as it slid down your body. Your gaze caught on the beautiful ring on your finger, the one Sir Jungkook had slipped onto your hand in secret weeks ago, a quiet promise between the two of you. You turned it gently, a small, private smile touching your lips.

Your daughter lay nestled against your bare chest, warm and content, her tiny fingers curled around the edge of your loosened gown. She babbled softly, her big dark eyes full of adoration for her mother.

Sir Jungkook stood a few steps behind you, fully armored except for his helmet, watching the two of you with quiet awe. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting every healed scar and the lingering shadows of war that still clung to him.

You gently laid your daughter in her ornate cradle, pressing one last kiss to her forehead as she drifted into sleep. Then you returned to the mirror, picking up the silver brush to run it through your long, wavy hair.

Sir Jungkook followed without a word. He stopped behind you, his large hands resting lightly on your waist. Slowly, he leaned down and began pressing soft kisses along your bare arms, from shoulder to wrist, as you continued brushing your hair.

You giggled softly, cheeks flushing with that familiar shyness even after all this time.

“Jungkook…” you murmured, breathy. “You ought to distract me.”

“Good,” he whispered against your skin, kissing the curve of your shoulder. “I have missed you all day. I need my darling.”

He dropped to his knees behind you with a quiet clink of armor, bowing his head in his familiar, devoted way. You turned to face him, running your fingers through his raven hair, then tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the faint scars that remained on his face.

You saddened for a moment, remembering the brutality he had endured.

But he looked up at you with such pure worship that it took your breath away. To him, you were more than a princess. you were his salvation, the very source of life that had healed him.

You pulled him closer, and he rose, lifting you effortlessly into his arms and carrying you to the grand bed.

The knight laid you down gently, then began to worship you with slow, reverent hands. He unlaced your nightgown with painstaking care, peeling the silk away until you were bare before him. His mouth found your breasts immediately, sucking softly on one sensitive nipple, then the other, drinking the sweet milk that flowed for him with deep, grateful groans.

You moaned softly, fingers threading through his hair as he fed from you, his tongue swirling, lips sealed tight around your peak. He drank like a man who had been starving for you, savoring every drop as if it were the very essence of life itself.

Sir Jungkook groaned deeply against your breast, the sound vibrating through your chest as he drank almost desperately. His large hand cradled the soft weight of your breast, squeezing gently to draw more from you while his other hand stroked your side with reverent tenderness.

“So sweet,” he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse and worshipful. “You give me life, my petal. You heal what war tried to break.”

You whimpered, arching into his mouth, overwhelmed by the intimate, sacred act, fresh heat blooming between your thighs.

When he finally released your nipple with a wet pop, his lips glistening, he looked up at you with dark, adoring eyes.

“You are my salvation,” he murmured, kissing the valley between your breasts before moving lower. “The mother of my child. The light that brought me home.”

When he finally moved lower, he spread your thighs with firm hands and settled between them. He looked up at you once, eyes dark with devotion, before lowering his mouth to your core.

He worshipped your flower, seeking nectar with slow, deep licks that made your back arch, followed by gentle suction on your swollen clit. His tongue delved inside you, tasting every inch, groaning at your sweetness as if it were the most sacred thing he had ever known.

You whimpered and moaned, hips rolling against his handsome face as pleasure built in waves. He was relentless yet tender, bringing you to the edge again and again before letting you tip over.

When you finally begged for him, voice trembling with need, Sir Jungkook rose above you like a knight before his altar.

He did not rush. Instead, he sat back on his heels, dark eyes drinking in every inch of your bare, flushed body with such raw hunger that it made your skin burn. You felt vulnerable and impossibly desired under that gaze. A shy, breathless giggle escaped your lips as heat flooded your cheeks.

Sir Jungkook reached out with one large, calloused hand and traced a single finger slowly down your body, from the delicate line of your throat, between your heaving breasts, over the soft curve of your belly, and down to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The touch ever so feather light, yet it left fire in its wake.

“You are a goddess made flesh,” he whispered, voice hoarse with awe. “And I am but a mortal who has been granted the honor of kneeling at your feet.”

He leaned down and pressed his forehead to your thigh in a gesture of pure worship, eyes closed, breath warm against your skin as if he were praying to the only deity he had ever believed in.

Then he moved over you, settling between your spread thighs. His thick cock pressed against your entrance, hot and heavy. He looked into your eyes as he slowly pushed inside, inch by thick, stretching inch, filling you so completely that your mouth fell open in a silent cry.

You dug your nails into his back as he began to move, first slow and loving, then harder, deeper, claiming you with every thrust.

“I love you,” he groaned against your neck, hips snapping forward. “I love you more than life itself.”

When you came, it was with his name on your lips and tears of overwhelming pleasure in your eyes. Jungkook followed moments later, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a low, broken groan, filling you with pulse after pulse of his release.

In the quiet that followed, with the knight’s arms still wrapped around you and the weight of the world momentarily forgotten, it was strangely easy to remember the day he had first knelt before the throne.

The impenetrable knight clad in steel, sworn to protect a princess draped in silk. and protect you he would, as though it had been carved into the marrow of every breath he would draw, for eternity.