† 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟱𝟯 †

⚠️ Warning: This chapter contains smut, including dominant behavior, degradation, and intense sexual content. If you're uncomfortable with explicit dominance, feel free to skip this chapter. Please read responsibly and don't spread hate. This is fiction.

╭─━─━─━─━─━─╮𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟱𝟯†❝𝗪𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗞𝗘𝗗 𝗕𝗬 𝗛𝗜𝗠❞╰─━─━─━─━─━─╯

༺ ☠︎ †  𝖁 𝖎 𝖘 𝖎 𝖔 𝖓  𝖎 𝖓  𝕯 𝖆 𝖗 𝖐  † ☠︎ ༻

Dark. Intense. Possessive.

Jungkook stood at the edge of the bed, still fully dressed but already looking like sin itself. His gaze locked on her with that wicked, hungry glint–like he was already fucking her with his eyes.

That smirk he wore wasn't playful–it was dangerous. There was something different about him tonight. He wasn't just playful like before. No teasing. He looked like he wanted to ruin her. Break her in. Mark her in every way.

The alcohol he drank only made it worse. His aura? Unhinged. Raw power. Total control.

Evie lay back peeking up by the support of elbow, heart pounding so loud it echoed in her chest. Her legs subtly clenched together. Her wedding dress didn't help—it made everything worse. Off-shoulder, low-cut, the way it clung to her thighs and rode up slightly as she shifted on the bed.

She looked fucking perfect. Nervous. Barely breathing. Waiting for him. Submissive and sweet.

His new wife. His.

Jungkook's fingers worked slowly down the last buttons of his shirt, one by one, deliberately dragging it out. His eyes never left her. Every movement was made to drive her heart beat faster.

When the last button came undone, he shrugged off the shirt and let it fall to the floor with no care. His chest–inked, solid and fully defined rose and fell with calmness, but his hard cock was already twitching in his pants, straining.

Just the sight of her like this—laid out in her wedding dress, ready to be claimed—was enough to make him lose it.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his eyes dragging over her body like a physical touch. "You look so goddamn good, baby."

She squirmed, her thighs pressing tighter.

He tilted his head, smirk growing darker. "You really think I'm gonna let you take this off?"

He stepped closer, hand slowly palming the thick bulge straining against his pants.

"No," he said lowly, voice dripping with unfilthy lust. "I'm gonna fuck you in that dress, sweetheart. And I'm not stopping until it's soaked, wrinkled, and reeking of me."

He stepped out of his shoes with a casual ease, like he had all the time in the world to ruin her. And then, without saying a word, he slowly climbed onto the bed–caging her in with his body. She instinctively leaned back on her elbows, her breath caught in her throat as he moved closer, and the mattress dipped beneath his weight, making her sink deeper into the softness.

His fingertips began their slow descent–starting at her ankle, brushing up the side of her leg in an excruciating tease. Up her calf, across her thigh, dragging so lightly it made her shiver. And when he grazed her core, even through the thin fabric of dress, her body jolted–clenching hard from the emptiness he hadn't yet filled.

That smirk grew on his lips as his fingers kept going, tracing up her waist, across her stomach, until they finally reached her chest. Her breasts were heaving–half-pressed against the tight fabric of her dress, the other half spilling out slightly, the neckline already soaked with sweat from how hard she was breathing. It was like the dress was giving up the fight too, surrendering her to him.

Fuck. What a filthy sight.

Then he reached out and flicked her bottom lip with his finger–slow, taunting, sexy as fuck–watching her mouth part involuntarily.

"Look at you," he murmured, voice low and dark against the shell of her ear. "Already breathing like you've been fucked for hours. And I haven't even kissed you yet."

He leaned in, lips brushing against her jaw, dragging along her skin as he moved lower. His mouth found her neck, biting down hard enough to leave his claim behind, before moving toward her exposed cleavage. And without warning, he sucked on the sweaty dip between her breasts, tongue flat and slow, like he was tasting her heat.

She moaned and instinctively reached for him–trying to touch, to hold, to ground herself.

But he wasn't having it.

"No, baby," he growled against her skin, grabbing both her wrists in one hand and slamming them firmly above her head. "Tonight I am in charge, so just lay down and obey your husband."

He hovered over her lips–so close she could feel his breath but not the kiss. His eyes locked on hers, dark and dangerous, daring her to beg. But he wasn't going to give it easy. Not tonight.

His hand slowly slid down, fingers trailing over the fabric of her dress, bunching it up as he drifted lower, slowly, like he was unwrapping something that belonged to him.

Her breath hitched, her arms still pinned above her head by his grip, lips parted under his teasing mouth. He wasn't kissing her–just hovering, letting her feel his breath as his other hand pushed the dress higher until it pooled at her waist.

His fingers grazed her bare thigh, the warmth of her skin making his breath deepen, nostrils flaring. She could feel how close he was, her heart hammering as he slid higher–knuckles brushing the lace edge of her panties. His fingers ran over the damp spot slowly–barely a touch, but enough to make her gasp and arch into his hand.

He let out a low chuckle, dark and amused, lifting his head to meet her eyes.

"Already dripping, sweetheart?" he muttered with a smug smirk, eyes full of twisted pride. "Fuck, I haven't even started yet."

And just like that, he hooked his fingers around the lower band of her panties, pulling them aside in one slow drag. She gasped at the sudden exposure, the air hitting her soaked heat making her hips jolt.

His fingers found her bare pussy—hot, soaked, and aching—and he groaned at the feel of it, dragging his fingertips along her folds. She moaned when he parted her folds down there, teasing right at the center, flicking over her sensitive bud with just enough pressure to make her hips twitch.

"You're burning," he growled under his breath, his fingers slick with her need. "You're so fucking ready for me, it's so pathetic."

Before she could process his words, two of his long fingers slammed inside her–rough and deep, stretching her wide without a warning. She cried out, body tensing at the sudden intrusion, but he crashed his mouth onto hers–silencing the sound with a bruising, filthy kiss.

His tongue dominated hers immediately, forcing its way in, the taste of alcohol sharp and overwhelming on his lips as he devoured her mouth like he owned it.

He didn't give her a second to adjust—his fingers were already moving, fast and relentless, knuckles curling just right, making her shake beneath him. His palm rubbed against her swollen clit with every thrust, pressure building with every motion until she could barely breathe.

Her body writhed beneath his weight, but he didn't ease up. He kept her arms pinned, lips still on hers, his rough fingers fucking her like he was punishing her for looking too good in that dress.

She was falling apart and he was watching every second of it with dark, hungry eyes.

He lived for this–seeing her undone, ruined under his touch. And he wasn't even close to done yet.

He pulled his fingers out of her with a wet sound, the slick clinging to his fingers. She gasped at the emptiness, body still pulsing around nothing. But he didn't care for more foreplay–he'd already fucked her enough times to know exactly how she responded to him. She was already drenched, clenching, trembling… just the way he liked her.

"You're directly wanting me to take you raw, aren't you?" he muttered darkly, wiping his fingers on the curve of her ass before gripping her hips. "Fuck you so many times already, your pussy should know exactly how to stretch for it."

He didn't wait for an answer–just grabbed her waist and flipped her to her knees, forcing her into position. Her arms stretched forward, face down into the pillow, ass arched up just how he wanted it.

Her wedding dress was hiked up above her waist, pooling at her lower back, exposing her curves. Her lace panties were soaked, clinging to her skin, the thin fabric pushed aside to show her glistening pussy.

He stared, chest heaving. His cock was twitching painfully hard in his pants, pressing against the fabric like it was begging to be buried deep inside her heat.

He knelt behind her, the sight enough to make him groan.

"Look at you," he murmured, running his palm over the swell of her ass. "Kneeling for your husband like a good little whore."

She flinched at the words–her breath hitching, throat tight. She didn't like being called that. She never had. But she didn't stop him. Not when his voice sounded like sin. Not when his hands made her feel like she belonged to him, whether she liked it or not.

He pulled her panties down slowly, dragging the soaked lace along her thighs until they were trapped around her knees. He leaned in and pressed a kiss just above her cheek, then suddenly slapped her ass with a loud, sharp smack that made her jolt forward into the pillows.

"Can't help it," he muttered darkly, gripping the spot where his handprint was starting to show. "You offer this view and expect me not to fucking lose it?"

She whimpered against the sheets, breath shaking.

He sat back and finally reached for his belt, unbuckling it with deliberate slowness–the sound of the metal clicking made her thighs tremble. He unfastened his pants and shoved them down along with his boxers, letting his cock spring free with relief.

Thick. Heavy. Veined and hard as stone—his shaft was flushed deep, angry red at the tip, already leaking, standing proud and heavy between his legs. He wrapped a hand around the base and hissed as he stroked once, his jaw flexing at the sight of her wet pussy still waiting.

"Fuck, baby…" he muttered, voice low and sharp with lust. "You really gonna make me go insane tonight."

He leaned over her, the thick head of his cock sliding between her folds, dragging through the wetness without pushing in yet. She gasped at the contact, hips twitching back into him instinctively.

"You want this?" he whispered right into her ear, chest pressing to her back as he bent over her, cock poised right at her entrance. "You want your husband's cock to ruin you on our wedding night?"

Without warning, he slammed his cock into her in one hard, brutal thrust, burying himself to the base with a low, feral growl. She gasped–choked on it–as the stretch burned and her walls clenched down around him, still too tight despite the wetness dripping down her thighs.

"Fuck, just like that," he groaned, voice raw in his throat, "so tight for me… like this pussy was made just to take my dick."

She whimpered into the pillow, body jolting as he gave no time to adjust, already grinding his hips against her, dragging his shaft deep inside her heat. Her back arched under him, overwhelmed by the mixture of pain and pleasure tearing through her core.

His hand slid around her front, fingers hooking the top of her dress and yanking it down hard until her breasts spilled free–hot, soft, flushed. His hands molded them instantly, thumbs rubbing over her nipples as they bounced from the force of his thrusts.

"Wearing my ring and this fucking dress while getting fucked like this," he muttered, biting into her shoulder, "you're mine now. My pretty little slut."

Every time he pulled back, it was just far enough to slam forward again with a slap that echoed through the room—skin to skin, wet and raw. Her body moved with every thrust, her breasts bouncing, her moans breaking, her pussy clenching desperately around his thick length.

He hissed, voice harsh, "Don't squeeze me like that–unless you want me to come too fucking early." His hand snaked into her hair, yanking her head back roughly so her face tilted to the side. He caught her lips in a brutal kiss, tongues tangling, breathless and messy as he fucked her through it, swallowing her moans and gasps.

Then he released her, letting her fall forward again onto her elbows, and sat up straight, grabbing her hips hard as he began pounding into her from behind–long, deep, ruthless strokes that made her knees shake and her spine curve.

His grip on her ass was unforgiving, fingers digging into the flesh as he used her body like it was his to destroy. He looked down between them, watching how her pussy swallowed every inch of him, slick clinging to his shaft, shining under the low light.

"Fucking dripping," he growled, voice dark and nearly shaking with restraint. "You're taking this cock so well tonight–like a good wife should."

His rhythm got faster, rougher, each thrust knocking her forward on the bed, her body jerking helplessly from the force. The wet sounds, her moans, his low curses–they filled the room in with filth.

And he wasn't stopping. Not until she was ruined.

He was pounding into her with a brutal rhythm now–sharp, relentless thrusts that made her body jolt forward with each stroke, her knees struggling to hold under the force.

Her wedding dress clung to her spine, damp with sweat, sticking to her as his hand slid up her back, slowly, possessively, until his fingers tangled in her hair and pulled–not harshly, but firmly enough to tilt her head back, to remind her who was in charge tonight.

She moaned his name like a prayer mixed with sin, her voice cracking with every breath she tried to take, as if even air was hard to catch when he was buried so deep inside her.

"You're mine, aren't you?" he asked low, his voice gravel and heat pressed against her ear. His hips didn't stop. Not for a second.

She was lost—gone.

Mind spiraling, body trembling, walls squeezing his thick cock so tightly he gritted his teeth from the pressure. She didn't answer. Couldn't. She just clenched again around him, like her body wanted to say what her mouth couldn't.

He growled darkly at that.

"I said, you're mine. Aren't you?"

She gave a small, shaky nod, face buried in the pillow, breath choked.

But that wasn't enough for him.

He slowed his thrusts, dragging them out, rough and deep, until she was squirming. Until the emptiness between each snap of his hips made her beg with her body. Then he grabbed her hips hard enough to bruise, yanked her back against him, and demanded it again.

"Say it."

"I–I…" she couldn't get it out.

He raised his hand and spanked her ass hard–just once. Sharp. The sound echoed through the room and her moan shattered into a whimper.

"Say it, Evie."

"I—I'm yours," she gasped finally, breath hitching. "...I'm yours, J-Jungkook."

He smirked–dark and satisfied.

Then came the line. The line.

He leaned down, body blanketing hers, lips brushing her ear as his hips slammed into her with punishing power, forcing a loud cry out of her throat.

"You're mine, baby. Mine. Mine to love. Mine to care. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin."

Each word dripped with obsession, heat, and vicious devotion. It wasn't just filth–it was a vow.

Only he could ruin her and only he could fix her. But now he just wanted to ruin her.

Then his hand wrapped around her throat lightly, pulling her back into him just enough, and he thrust again–hard–making her gasp.

"Say it," he ordered again, voice dangerous with authority. "Repeat it with me."

She shook her head, moaning too hard to form words.

He didn't like that.

"Say it—'You are mine to love.'"

Another spank. She cried out.

"I'm yours to love," she moaned.

"Good girl. Now—'Mine to care.'"

Another deep thrust, her body jolting.

"I—I'm yours to care."

"Say the next one," he growled, hips snapping. "Now."

"I'm yours to f—," she whimpered, her voice nearly breaking from the force he drove into her.

He pulled her tighter. "Again."

"I'm yours to fuck–"

"Say the last one," he whispered into her skin, his breath hot and ragged as his cock twitched deep inside her. "Say you are mine to ruin."

He spanked her again, hard enough to make her jolt and moan.

"I—I'm yours to ruin," she cried out, voice raw, body trembling.

"That's right," he growled, his thrusts growing rougher now, faster, meaner. "Only I get to destroy you. You hear me? Only I get to ruin what's mine. No one else. No one touches you. No one gets to fuck you. No one gets inside that pretty head. I'll erase every goddamn memory of another man if I have to."

He was deeper now, one hand gripping her hips so tight it left red imprints, the other still fisting her hair, pulling her head back just enough to remind her she belonged to him.

"Only I make you say this all and only I can talk to you like this. You understand that?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "I'll fuck the past right out of you. I'll fuck your mind so full of me, you won't remember what it felt like to breathe without me inside you."

God, heavens.

She couldn't speak anymore. Her moans were broken, her body undone, trembling uncontrollably under his dominance. His name fell from her lips over and over like she couldn't say anything else.

And still–he didn't stop.

Not until she'd said it all. Not until he'd marked every part of her from the inside out.

Jungkook kept taking her–again and again–through the night like a man possessed, like he was proving something with every thrust, every grip, every spank, every release. He used her body like it was his addiction, his obsession, and she surrendered like she was made for it.

He flipped her, bent her, pinned her, marked her–his pace ruthless, his control terrifyingly unshakable. Her moans turned to gasps, her body trembling and limp, but he kept going. Every time she thought it was over, he pulled her back under him and reminded her she was his. Only his.

They came so many times it blurred–her legs shaking, eyes half-lidded, throat raw from moaning, his cock heavy and twitching, still hungry. He didn't stop until her body was wrecked, her dress torn, and her voice barely a whisper.

By the time dawn crept through the curtains, she was on the edge of passing out–breathless, overstimulated, ruined in the most devastating way. And even then, he wasn't finished. Not until he was sure there was no part of her untouched, unclaimed, or unstained by him.

He had taken their wedding night seriously–maybe too seriously.

Jungkook finally gave out first. After dragging her through countless highs, pushing her body far beyond what it was used to, and making their wedding night into something animalistic and relentless, he collapsed beside her–chest heaving, jaw clenched, every part of him spent.

Evie had been so far gone by the end, trembling and overstimulated, barely able to hold herself up as her arms gave out and her body dropped on the bed with no energy left to even think.

Her wedding dress was still tangled around her waist, twisted and ruined in places, her breasts exposed and flushed, her thighs sore, her core still aching and wet from the mess they had made together.

Neither of them spoke at first. It was silent except for their breathing, and then Jungkook pushed himself off the bed slowly, groaning slightly. He didn't say much, just muttered something under his breath, then padded toward the bathroom. She heard the water run briefly–maybe he splashed his face, maybe rinsed off the sweat, she couldn't be sure.

When he returned, he only wore his boxers, body still damp, hair sticking a bit to his forehead. He looked down at her and asked casually, "You good?"

She, still on her side, barely able to keep her eyes open, gave a small nod. It was all she could offer.

That was enough for him.

Without another word, Jungkook slipped under the covers and lay on his side, his back facing her. He let out a tired sigh and drifted off within minutes, exhaustion clearly taking over after such an intense night.

It took her longer to come down from everything–to calm her breathing, to steady her racing heart, to let her body slowly relax.

When she finally began to regain her senses, her body felt wrecked in every way. Her muscles ached, her inner thighs were sore, and her skin felt sensitive from the friction. She lay there half-dressed, chest rising and falling as she tried to slow her breathing. It took time for her to settle after such a consuming night.

When her breathing finally evened out, she turned her head to look at him. His back was still facing her, his body completely relaxed. She frowned slightly at the steady sound of his calm breathing. Lifting her hand, she gently brushed her fingers over his shoulder.

"Jungkook," she whispered softly.

There was no response.

Noticing the depth of his breathing and the faint sound of a small snore, she realized he had already fallen asleep.

It felt strange—almost unsettling.

They had just shared such a long and intense night. He had always been intense, possessive even, but afterward he used to pull her close, murmur something softly against her ear, press kisses to her lips or shoulder and refuse to let her go. He would hold her tightly, as if she belonged right there.

But tonight… there was nothing.

Not even a hand resting on her back. Not a quiet word. Not a kiss. No aftercare. Nothing.

He had come out of the bathroom, slipped into bed, and fallen asleep without even checking on her. She was still lying exactly as he had left her, and he hadn't bothered to notice.

Especially today. Today they had gotten married. Today she became his wife, and he became her husband. It felt like it should have meant more.

Maybe he was just tired. It had been a long day–emotionally and physically. He had been drinking too. She reminded herself of all of that, even as her throat tightened slightly.

It wasn't exactly disappointment. Or maybe it was.

Maybe it was just a quiet ache—the kind that doesn't make you cry, the kind you simply swallow and keep to yourself.

She finally pushed herself up, arms shaking slightly as she adjusted her dress, pulling it up awkwardly to cover what was still bare. Her legs wobbled when she stood, her whole body flinching at the soreness in her core.

She took a deep breath and bent down to pick up her nightdress from the floor–it was still crumpled where he'd tossed it earlier, before everything escalated. She carried it with her to the bathroom, dragging her feet slowly.

Inside, she turned on the light and winced a little at her reflection. Her makeup was smudged, hair messy, skin flushed and marked in places from his grip. She cleaned herself gently, taking slow, small breaths as she moved carefully. The warm water stung at first, but it helped her feel like herself again. She pulled on the soft nightdress, combed her fingers through her tangled hair and sipped water from the sink to cool her dry throat.

When she returned to the bedroom, the lights were off and the room was dark. It was quiet–so quiet that she could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. Jungkook hadn't moved at all. He was lying exactly the way she had left him, his back turned toward her, broad and bare, rising and falling slowly with each deep breath.

For a few seconds, she simply stood there near the bed, watching him in silence.

There was something almost vulnerable about him like this—completely unaware, completely at rest.

Carefully, she walked to her side of the bed and slipped under the covers, moving slowly so the mattress wouldn't dip too much. Her body still ached in places, a dull soreness that reminded her of the night, but she ignored it. She adjusted the blanket over herself first, then gently pulled a little more of it over him too, noticing that it had slid down to his waist.

She hesitated only a second before shifting closer. At first, it was just a small inch forward. Then another. Until the warmth of his back met her front. She moved slowly, mindful of every small motion, careful not to disturb his sleep.

Her hand hovered for a moment before resting lightly against his side. Then she slid her arm around his waist in a quiet back hug, her palm flattening against his stomach. Her touch was soft, protective almost. She rested her cheek between his shoulder blades and closed her eyes briefly, adjusting herself until she fit comfortably against him.

He was warm.

She breathed him in, the faint scent of his cologne still lingering on his skin.

After a moment, she noticed the pillow under his head had shifted awkwardly. Gently, she lifted herself a little and adjusted it, sliding it more comfortably beneath him without waking him.

For a few moments, she simply stayed like that, looking at him, as if memorizing him in this quiet state.

His expression was completely relaxed now. His lips were slightly parted, his brow smooth, his lashes soft over his cheeks.

He didn't look like the man who'd wrecked her a few hours ago. He looked almost… boyish in sleep. Really pretty man, far from that devilish, handsome man.

Her fingers moved gently to his hair, brushing a loose strand away from his forehead. The touch was slow and careful, filled with a tenderness she didn't even try to hide. Then she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Another one to his shoulder. They were small kisses—quiet, loving. Not to wake him. Just because she wanted to.

A faint smile curved on her lips despite her exhaustion. She was tired, her body sore and heavy, yet looking at him like this made something inside her feel lighter.

Her fingers trailed lightly down his arm, slow and soothing, as if reassuring herself that he was right there. She traced lazy circles against his skin before resting her hand again at his waist.

She shifted once more, tangling her legs loosely with his enough to feel connected. Her body still felt tired and sore, but she didn't complain. Instead, she reached for the edge of the blanket again and tucked it properly around both of them.

Then she settled fully against him, her face resting softly against his back. She pressed one last small kiss there before relaxing completely.

Finally, with her arm wrapped around him and her breathing syncing slowly with his, she let her eyes close.

And little by little, she drifted to sleep—curled around a man she loved deeply, not fully knowing what the future would bring, but holding him anyway.

★ ★ ★

—No one's allowed to judge me after this, okay? 🤡😭 I'm actually a very decent human being in real life–this is just my shitty imagination.

—𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗏𝗈𝗍𝖾          𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍···୨ৎ