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↣ sequel to tell me no lies ↢
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The trees flitter and shake between the howls of wind that gust through the nipping air. Somewhere between the chaos of blooming fall and the almost setting sun does a young man walk down the concrete path. He walks with a limp, a cane in his right hand guiding his steps. Trees stand stout yet tall on each side of the path that leads up to the hospital doors. The man pauses, a boxy smile peaking on his face as he cranks his face towards the window on the 5th floor, 6 windows to the right.
He pats the breast pocket of his black suede trench coat. There, he pulls out a pair of brown thick-rimmed sunglasses and fits them just above the broad end of his nose bridge where they sit snug over his chocolate eyes. He takes a forefinger to the left side of the temple where the screw holds the rim attached. His thumb rests on the apple of his cheek as the side of his index finger lightly turns the screw. He hears the soft buzz of the zoom, his vision through the sunglasses adjusting closer to the window. It’s his luck that the room is lit and the blinds haven’t been closed quite yet. He sees you, a tray in hand as you walk towards the man in the hospital bed. He continues to watch, observing the way the man smiles back at you when you set the tray of food down on the table that sits between the window and his bed. The observing man readies himself. His index now moves to the top of the screw where a button is present. He sees you face the window now, stretching your arms to the top of the curtains. The man hovers over the button, pressing down only halfway for the image to come into focus. For a moment, he thinks you may have seen him when it seems like you’re looking directly at him. He promptly presses down on the button, a quiet click sounding as it would on an actual camera.
“I’ve got you now.” He says to himself, his smile growing to an eerie grin as he watches you drape the curtains closed.
Time moves fast in hospitals– or at least it feels that way to you, sitting in the Doctor’s office with your legs crossed, glass panes gleaming and sunlight too bright to bear. It's been over a year since Jungkook walked out of your apartment and into the autumn night. Some days it feels like yesterday; most days it feels like a lifetime ago.
“I swear time couldn’t go any slower right now,” Namjoon drags out the words laced in frustration. You sit in stunned silence at how he protests to even your inner thoughts. He leans back in his chair with a groan, the toe of his shoe tapping impatiently against the sterile tile floor. The clock above the door ticks loud enough to grate on your nerves, each second dragging longer than the last. You try to count them, but lose track somewhere past thirty, your eyes drifting instead to the maze of reflections in the glass panes.
Just as Namjoon opens his mouth to complain again, the door finally clicks open. The doctor steps in, clipboard tucked under his arm, his face carefully arranged in that unreadable mask you’ve come to dread.
He offers a polite nod. “Sorry to keep you both waiting,” he says, settling into the chair across from you.
Namjoon exhales through his nose, a strained smile barely covering his impatience. “What do you have for us, doc?”
The doctor gives a sympathetic dip of his head before glancing down at his notes. His voice softens. “The experimental treatment given to Mr. Jung Hoseok was… mostly successful.”
“What do you mean mostly?” Namjoon almost hisses.
"Well– the first dose of the trial medication stabilized his vitals, but the results weren't as consistent as we had hoped." The doctor shifts in his chair, tapping the edge of the clipboard. "As you know, we were only able to identify the mass during the third round of imaging, it took us far longer than we'd have liked. The treatment has slowed its progression, but there are side effects and we won't know the extent of them for another few months. For now it's fatigue, muscle weakness… but he is awake."
The words hang in the air, heavy. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until it rushes out. You lean forward. “Awake?” Your voice cracks. “A-as in- he can talk to us?”
The doctor nods once. “He’s conscious, responsive. Though he’ll need assistance for now.”
And that was enough for you all, until it wasn’t anymore.
The months that followed blurred into a rhythm of hospital visits and hollow routines. You moved through them the way you moved through water. It’s slow, heavy, and you never quite reach the surface. Some nights, you didn't reach it at all.
You think if you close your eyes hard enough, maybe just maybe you’d cease to exist.
3.
2.
1.
You let out all the air in your lungs, and your eyes bulge out. When the panic settles, you’re at complete and utter peace. But it doesn’t last for too long. Just as your vision goes dark and you let the water fill your lungs until there is nothing left of you, you wake up with a loud gasp.
“Woah, bad dream?” The voice seems distant yet all too familiar. It’s the voice of your very dear friend. It’s the voice of Hoseok.
You remember where you are again when your eyes hit the panelled ceiling. The metal grids give way to beaming lights subdued by frosted plastic, reminding you of the place you have basically called home for the last year. For as much money as it is to keep him here, you would be the first to admit Hoseok definitely has the best room in this hospital.
“I guess.” You let out a shaky breath and push up, palms flattening against the mattress as you swing your legs over the side. Bittersweet. Hoseok watches you with that careful tilt of his head, like he’s cataloguing your frayed edges. You don’t know that he’s wondering when your spirits had gotten so low. To him, you’ve always been the light of the group, though little did he know, you’d think the same of him.
You sigh once more and face towards him, brows now strewn together, a serious expression crossing your face until a question lodges in your throat.
“Are you afraid to die?”
It’s a heavy subject you’ve introduced, and you feel the room grow silent as Hoseok ponders over your question. Perhaps it’s because he’s so close to death itself that he doesn’t have to give it much thought for too long. He simply purses his lips and shakes his head ‘no’ in response. Maybe proximity to the edge makes it easier to answer; maybe he’s already rehearsed this.
Not a day has gone by since he woke up that you haven’t thought about how to say goodbye to Hoseok. Your friend is still very ill. Maybe that’s why you’ve grown so much resentment towards the world. It’s hard to wrap your head around but you try not to think about it often because he’s here right now, conscious and most importantly alive.
Hoseok’s hospital bed is quite different from the hospital bed the nurse put in the room for you. It’s quite different from yours as it’s actually hooked up to something- a lot of somethings at that. A nasal cannula is stuffed up his nose, attached to two giant tanks of oxygen and for a brief moment, it pangs you to see him like this. You’ve lost count of the wires that seem relentlessly stuck to his body, working tirelessly just to keep him afloat. Sometimes you wonder if it would have been better to let go than to see him struggle like this. But you’d never share this thought out loud, shuddering at yourself for even thinking it just now.
“It’s inevitable, _____.” A weak hand waves in the air as he tries to continue explaining his thoughts. “If not now, it’ll happen eventually- to all of us, so why be scared?” His voice is airy, quiet and less vibrant than you remember it being.
“The after-stuff,” you prompt. “What do you think happens after?”
He smiles the kind of smile you remember from before the sickness. It's small, stubborn and heart-shaped. “The after-stuff is whatever you want it to be.”
It’s then that Namjoon chimes in as he walks into the hospital room, a tray of hospital food in his hands. You already know whatever he’s about to say will be utter rubbish. “Well, _____ some people swear you’ll wake up in paradise, rivers of milk and honey, endless peace. Others think you’re reborn, spinning through life again and again until you finally get it right. There are even people who say we just…merge with the light, some kind of cosmic energy.” He pauses, smirking as he shifts the tray in his hands.
“Or if you’re like me, you know that there’s nothing waiting. There’s no heaven, no reincarnation…just dirt and silence.” It’s said in poor taste, and you see Hoseok frown in response.
“I didn’t realize I was asking you.” You say, deadpan at how ridiculous he sounds. Leave it to Namjoon to kill the mood. “And I didn’t realize the Christopher Hitchens was a part of our friend group.” To this, Hoseok snorts weakly and reaches over for the remote that controls his bed. You watch as he pushes a button that allows the headboard to elevate, letting him sit up in bed. Namjoon strides towards him, swivelling the tray attached to the hospital bed in front of Hoseok before placing the steaming bowl of rice porridge on the tray. A side of white kimchi follows, but Hoseok merely pushes it aside. Your stomach growls in response, realization setting in that you haven’t had anything to eat today. Granted, you haven’t had much of an appetite for a while.
Namjoon simply ignores you and stretches out a hand. “Come, _____, we’ll grab you something to eat too.” You reluctantly agree and take his offering hand. Though your stomach is angry, rumbling the weight of Thor’s hammer itself. You can’t find the strength to leave Hoseok alone for even 10 minutes.
It strikes you as you walk the hallway that it's only two of you now. The halls feel wider without Jimin's nervous energy filling them. He stopped answering the group chat three months ago. He moved cities, changed his number, and you don't blame him, not really. After the heist, the guilt ate at all of you differently. Jimin just let it swallow him whole. You just regret not thinking of doing it first. Then again, you don't think you'd be able to leave even if you tried.
When you reach the hospital’s food court with Namjoon, it hums with the low chatter of visitors and the clatter of trays. By the windowsill, Yoongi sits hunched over his laptop, brows furrowed and a tongue pressed against his cheek. You know that it means he’s deep in code or trouble– maybe even both. He’s always damn up to something. He hasn’t noticed you yet, fingers tapping in sharp, relentless bursts. A knot of unease coils in your chest.
Namjoon doesn’t hesitate, steering you toward him. “C’mon,” he mutters, nodding at the empty chairs. Yoongi glances up as you approach, eyes narrowing briefly before he snaps the laptop half-shut. You can't help but notice it's like he’s guarding secrets. Still, he kicks out a chair with his foot in silent invitation.
Namjoon orders a big bowl of pasta for you, sliding a tray into your hands before you can protest. It’s a rose cream pasta and the first bite is so rich and velvety it almost knocks the air out of you. For a brief moment, you forget everything. You forget Hoseok’s laboured breaths, the sterile walls and the gnawing fear. You just sit there savoring the food. Who knew hospital chefs could cook up a mean pasta? Enough about the pasta. You tell yourself as you stab into it. Then you look at Namjoon, at Yoongi, at the two constants who’ve dragged you through hell and back, and you can’t help the bitter thought: it’s crazy that you still keep these sacks of shit as your friends after everything they’ve put you through.
You twirl another forkful of pasta, pretending not to notice how Yoongi keeps one hand planted on the lid of his laptop. What has him guarding it like a vault? Curiosity prickles at you.
“So…” you start carefully, tilting your head. “What’s got you looking like you’re about to declare war on that keyboard?”
Yoongi smirks faintly but doesn’t answer you right away. He leans back, eyes flicking to Namjoon. “She doesn’t know?”
Namjoon sighs, running a hand down his face. “Not yet.”
Your fork clinks against the bowl. “Know what?”
Yoongi drums his fingers on the table, weighing his words. “Another job.”
Your stomach lurches. “You’ve got to be kidding.” And just like that, you’ve lost your appetite. The pasta might as well be ash on your tongue. You shove the bowl forward, porcelain clattering against the tray, and the screech of your chair rips through the food court as you push back in one frantic motion. A few heads turn but you don’t care as you grab your tote bag and storm off past the rows of tables, through the automatic doors, and out into the back courtyard. The air hits different here. It’s crisp, carrying the faint scent of disinfectant masked poorly by trimmed hedges and damp grass. Patients wheel slowly along the paved paths, loved ones trailing beside them with soft voices and careful hands. It's a cruel contrast to the storm churning in your chest.
You drop onto a bench beneath a bare tree, the tote bag slumping against your feet. You feel sick.
“_____!” You groan out loud, the sound ripping from your chest as you shove yourself up from the bench. Twisting toward him, you see Namjoon striding across the courtyard, hands jammed into his pockets like he’s trying to anchor himself.
“Are you fucking serious, Namjoon?” The words spill out harsher than you intend, but you don’t reel them back. “After everything? After the mess you dragged us into already? Are you out of your fucking mind?” A couple nearby patients turn their heads, but Namjoon doesn’t slow. His jaw tightens and his footsteps steady until he stops just a few feet away from you.
“We need the money.” Namjoon’s voice is flat, but there’s a tremor under it.
“Fuck the money!” You snap, springing to your feet. Your palms ball into fists at your sides. “No wonder Jimin fucked off to wherever the fuck— I’m surrounded by a bunch of selfish—”
“Selfish?” Namjoon’s voice rockets up to match yours, and suddenly neither of you gives a damn who’s listening. He takes a step forward, chest heaving. “You’re calling me selfish? After everything? After the nights we slept in shifts keeping him breathing, after the loans we sold our souls for? Everything we’ve done has been for each other. For Hoseok. Just because your little fling got complicated doesn’t change that.”
You point, the finger shaking. “Hoseok is dying, Namjoon!“ Silence drops between you. It's heavy and oh. so suffocating. It's only broken by the squeak of a wheelchair rolling past and the low murmur of a caregiver. You think you'll be kicked out of here soon if you guys keep talking like this so publicly. But you can't help it. How else are you supposed to react? “The money didn’t fix him before and it’s not going to fix him now.” You hate that you’re a crier when you’re angry and you hate it even more that you’re now crying in public as the words spew without reason. “And don’t you dare minimize what happened. You’re lucky Jungkook didn’t put us in jail.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Namjoon snaps back, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. “Do you remember what the oncologist said? The treatments found what's been killing him and they slowed it down, yeah and guess what? He’s awake. Has been for 8 months. Time and medicine cost money. This isn’t about some adrenaline rush anymore. This is about buying him time to be lucid one more week, one more month. You’d rather let that slide because what? You feel guilty about Jungkook?”
Your shoulders sag and your bottom lip quivers as you look at him, defeated.
“I’m not minimizing it,” he says quieter, too tired to keep yelling. “But does that mean we bury Hoseok because we can’t live with our choices? Is that the line you’re gonna draw?”
“So we become worse thieves for one life?” You sit back down, dragging the heel of your hand across your cheek to wipe the tears away. “We used to have purpose. Now it’s just… wrong. All of it. We’re clutching at a thread that’s already frayed.” You meet his eyes. “I can’t do it anymore, Namjoon.”
For the first beat, something like shame flickers across his face. Then he clasps his hands together like he’s trying to hold himself in. “It’s not logic,” Namjoon admits and the words are raw. “It’s desperation. And yeah, maybe it’s stupid. Maybe it’ll ruin us. But if I had a choice between sitting in this courtyard pretending we did the right thing or giving him a chance to walk again– I’ll take the chance.”
Around you, a nurse huffs past pushing a cart. Yeah, you're definitely going to get kicked out. Life goes on indifferent to how you break. You want to argue until your voice shreds, but the furious words dissolve into air. The truth is bitter, small, and undeniable. It settles between you both and the reality is that you’re all out of clean options. Hoseok is dying, and Namjoon’s grasping at straws to save his best friend.
Namjoon straightens, jaw clenched. “I can’t promise it won’t hurt us more. I can’t promise anything but we have to try. We do this one right, and then we get out. No more risks after. I swear it to you.”
You look at him. In his face you see sleepless nights, math done in the dark, the same stubborn loyalty that once made him the one you could lean on. It’s not enough to make you agree. But it’s enough to make your anger hiccup into a different kind of ache.
“How much money is it this time?” You ask, your voice small.
“Half a billion dollars.”
Your mouth goes dry.
“How the fuck are we going to do that?”
An hour later, you're back in the hospital room, sitting by the window across from Namjoon, who's excitedly bouncing back and forth as he explains.
“It’s this thing called Obsidian and this shit, _____, it works. It really works, and the best part is, it’s completely untraceable.”
You nervously look over at Hoseok, who's sound asleep in the center of the room. You don't understand why this is being discussed right now but here you are. You can't lie, his excitement is undeniably contagious but despite it all, it's crazy.
Yoongi, who'd been quiet until now, looks up from where he's been fiddling with his phone. His tone is flat. "No one gets a magic bullet. Obsidian adds obfuscation layers, but there are still technical limits, market realities, people trying to map transactions. Nothing's foolproof."
Namjoon waves his hand as if swatting at Yoongi’s caution. “Still. Compared to bank transfers or the usual rails, this is the closest thing to disappearing a trail. If we move smart, if Yoongi can work the ledger-side…we can buy ourselves distance.”
You stare at them both, the words twisting in your chest. Hope and dread tangle when you realize the plan feels like a lifeline and a razor at once. Hoseok shifts faintly in his sleep, machines humming softly around him.
“We’d be gambling on a lot more than just code,” Yoongi says finally. “Half a billion moves markets. There are legal heats, exchanges, and people who make a living unpicking this stuff. What I'm trying to say is that it won’t be clean.” The uncertainty in his tone makes your stomach drop.
Namjoon swallows and, for the first time, his bravado flickers. “We don’t have clean options,” he says, quiet. “Not anymore. This is just…our best shot.”
Silence settles over the room. It's thick and so suffocating, your head feels like it's caving in on itself.
You drag a hand down your face before looking back up at them. “So what’s the plan?” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “Because we can’t afford messy. Not with this kind of money.” You glance at Hoseok, then back at them. “Jail would be the least of our problems.”
Namjoon and Yoongi exchange a quick and loaded look.
“It’s not a smash-and-grab,” Yoongi says. “It’s a transfer. It has to be quiet and scheduled.” He taps his phone, then turns it so you can see a grid of timestamps, nodes- something far too complex to fully grasp. “There’s a window. It's eight minutes or maybe less but it's where their system mirrors itself for auditing. That’s the gap.”
Namjoon leans in, voice dropping. “It’s happening during a private event. It's invitation-only and high security. It’s the kind of place no one questions money moving because everyone there has too much of it.”
Your brows knit together. “What kind of event?”
Yoongi hesitates for just a second.
“A gala,” Namjoon answers instead. “Investors, executives, elites…people who think they’re untouchable.” He laughs a bitter laugh. "Who knows, maybe they are untouchable." He's not doing any favours absolving the uncertainty.
A bad feeling creeps up your spine. “And we just…walk in?”
Namjoon doesn’t answer right away.
Yoongi does. “We don’t all walk in.” His eyes lift to meet yours. “We need one person inside. Someone who can blend. Someone who won’t get flagged. Someone who’s invited.”
The room feels smaller. “And you think that’s me?”
Namjoon’s silence is answer enough.
Your stomach drops. “Why me?” The question comes out sharper than you intend. It feels like déjà vu, and you’re so damn tired of being the guinea pig in their plans.
Another look passes between them and this one you don’t miss.
Yoongi exhales through his nose. “Because of who’s hosting it.”
Your pulse spikes. “Who?”
Namjoon finally says it.
“Jungkook.”
The name hits like a physical blow. For a second, you swear the machines in the room grow louder. Hoseok shifts in his sleep, completely unaware of the way your world just tilted.
Oh god. Oh no, no, no-
Namjoon presses forward and now there's urgency bleeding into his voice. "After the Gemini merger went through, GFC exploded. He's not just running a production company anymore– he's sitting on a media conglomerate. The gala is for his parent fund. He's tied to the company moving the funds, front-facing, the whole deal. What matters is you have a way in that none of us do."
“A way in?” You let out a hollow laugh. “I stole nearly three million dollars from him– actually, we did, Namjoon– and now you want me to steal from him again?” Your voice rises despite yourself before you force it back down. “Are you guys out of your damn minds?”
“Exactly,” Yoongi mutters. “Which means he remembers you.”
“That’s not a good thing!” You snap, exasperated.
“It means you won’t be invisible,” Namjoon says. “And right now, invisible people don’t get into rooms like that. Plus he sent an invitation.”
You stare at him, disbelief morphing into something sharper. “So your plan is to walk me into a room full of elite, powerful people– his room– and hope he doesn’t decide to ruin my life on the spot?” And you think why would Jungkook invite you? Is this a humiliation ritual? Are you dreaming again?
Namjoon doesn’t flinch. “My plan is to get you close enough to access what we need. Eight minutes. That’s all.”
“Eight minutes,” You repeat. “We failed last time. How can I trust you this time? And what if he recognizes me?”
“He will,” Yoongi says bluntly. Your throat goes dry as your gaze drifts back to Hoseok.
Your fingers curl against your sleeve as you watch him breathe. The idea hits you before you can stop yourself from speaking.
“…Then I have a condition.”
Namjoon stiffens. “This isn’t exactly–”
“It is,” you cut in, quieter now, but firm. “If I’m doing this, I’m not doing it your way.” Quite frankly, you're allowed to ask for this.
Yoongi studies you. “What do you want?”
You don’t look at them when you say it.
“Hoseok comes with me.”
The silence that follows is different from the others. It's not heavy with guilt or grief but bewildered and almost offended. You can feel Namjoon's stare boring into you without looking.
"He can barely stand," Namjoon says slowly, as if explaining something to a child.
"I know what he can barely do." You snap, your sharp eyes finally meet his. "But if I'm walking back into that man's life to rob him again, Hoseok is going to know exactly what we're doing and why. No more secrets. No more pretending this is noble while he sleeps through it." Your voice doesn't waver. "He deserves to see what his life is costing us. And if he tells us to stop, we stop."
Namjoon opens his mouth and then closes it. His jaw works like he's chewing on glass.
Yoongi is the one who speaks. "That's a hell of a condition."
"It's the only one I've got."
It takes you three days to work up the nerve.
Three days of rehearsing speeches in the shower, of mouthing words into the bathroom mirror that dissolve the second you try to hold them. Three days of sitting at Hoseok's bedside, watching him sip broth through a straw, laughing weakly at whatever variety show is playing on the mounted TV and swallowing the confession each time it crawls up your throat.
On the fourth morning, you arrive earlier than usual. The hallway is quiet and the nurses mid-shift change. You carry two cups of vending machine coffee that you know Hoseok isn't supposed to have. It's a peace offering or maybe a bribe. You're not sure there's a difference anymore.
He's already awake when you nudge the door open with your hip, propped up against the elevated headboard with his eyes fixed on the window. The morning light catches the hollows of his cheeks, the sharpness of his jaw that used to be softer. He looks like a pencil sketch of the person you grew up with, with all the right lines but now, thinner.
"You're early," he says without turning. His voice carries that raspy quality it has before noon.
"Couldn't sleep." You set both cups on his tray table, nudging one towards him. He eyes it, then eyes you, with a lifted brow.
"Is that coffee?"
"It's a vending machine's best interpretation of coffee."
He takes it anyway, wrapping both hands around the paper cup like it's something precious. You watch his fingers as they appear thinner than they should be, the knuckles more pronounced. He catches you staring and you look away too quickly.
"You've been weird," Hoseok says.
You blink. "What are you talking about?" You say it with a scoff.
"Weird. Weirder than usual." He takes a careful sip, wincing at the taste but drinking again anyway. "You keep looking at me funny. And you chew your lip when you're holding something back– you've been doing that since high school." He gestures vaguely at your mouth with the cup. "You're doing it right now."
You release your bottom lip from between your teeth. Damn him.
A silence stretches, filled only by the rhythmic beep of his heart monitor and the distant squeak of a cart rolling down the hallway. You pull the chair closer to his bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor. When you sit, your knees are almost touching the bed rail.
"Hobi," you start, and the nickname alone shifts something in the room. His expression doesn't change, but you notice the way his fingers tighten around the cup. "I need to tell you something. And I need you to let me finish before you say anything."
He regards you for a long moment, lips pressed together, before he gives a single nod.
You don't start where you expected to. You thought you'd begin with the plan, with Namjoon's blueprints and Yoongi's flash drives and the clinical structure of it all. Instead, what comes out is Jungkook's name.
"I fell in love with someone." The words feel foreign and familiar at once, like a language you used to speak fluently. "His name is Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. He's– he was my boss. CEO of a film production company." You pause, tracing a scratch on the bed rail with your thumbnail. "I was supposed to be a distraction. That's all. And those were Namjoon's word, not mine. Just get close, earn his trust, keep his attention somewhere else while Yoongi and Jimin did their thing."
Hoseok's brow furrows, but he stays silent to honour his promise.
"But I fell for him, Hobi. Completely. Stupidly. The kind of falling where you don't realize it's happening until you're already at the bottom." You swallow hard. The coffee in your hand has gone lukewarm but you grip it tighter. A breath shudders out of you. "He told me he loved me, and I said it back, and I meant it. I meant every syllable."
Something akin to a mimicking ache shifts behind Hoseok's eyes.
"And then I robbed him."
The words drop like stones into still water. You watch the ripple cross Hoseok's face. It’s confusion at first, and then a slow, dawning understanding that rearranges his features entirely.
"We took two and a half million dollars," you continue. Your voice feels flat and mechanical because if you let yourself feel it now, you'll never finish. "The Gemini Pictures merger… Jungkook's company was about to become one of the biggest production firms in the industry. We stole the deal. Yoongi hacked the system, Jimin and I broke in at night. I used a secret entrance Jungkook had shown me in confidence. I used his password, which was the date we first met, to access his computer." You pause. "He'd changed it to that date because it mattered to him. And I used it to steal from him."
Hoseok's jaw tightens. He sets the coffee cup down carefully, deliberately, the way you set down something when your hands need to be free.
"He found out with security cameras we missed. He showed me the footage over a dinner I cooked him– sat across from me with flowers and an envelope and watched me unravel." You're not crying yet, which surprises you. Maybe you've cried it all out. Maybe the numbness has finally won. "He didn't press charges. He just… left."
The heart monitor beeps and in the silence that fills between the both of you, it beeps again.
"Why?" Hoseok's voice is barely above a whisper. It's the first word he's spoken, and it cuts deeper than any sentence could.
You look at him, really look at him. At the nasal cannula, the oxygen tanks, the constellation of wires that tether him to the machines keeping him alive. At the boy who used to outrun all of you, who danced until his shoes wore through, who laughed so loud it filled whatever room he was in.
"For you."
The next onslaught of silence that follows is not like the others. It doesn't settle, it detonates. Hoseok's face doesn't crumble the way you expected. It hardens into something ugly. You watch something cold move across his features, something you've never seen directed at you in all the years you've known him.
"For me," he repeats. There's no question mark attached to it, only a plain statement.
"Your medical bills were–"
"I know what my medical bills are." His voice is quiet, but the edges of it are bladed. "I see the invoices. I'm sick, _____, not blind." He shifts in the bed, the movement costing him visible effort, and you instinctively reach forward to help. He stops you with a look. "Don't."
Your hand hovers, then retreats.
"So let me get this straight." Hoseok's breathing has quickened, the cannula hissing faintly with each inhale. "You, Namjoon, Yoongi and Jimin— my best friends— decided to become thieves. To steal from people. To ruin someone's life." He holds up a trembling hand when you open your mouth. "I said let me finish."
You press your lips shut, the irony of your own request being turned against you.
"You fell in love with this man. And then you robbed him. While he was falling in love with you." He lets the words breathe, each one more clipped than the last. "And the whole time, I was unconscious. You just decided—all of you— that my life was worth more than your souls and you never once thought to ask me if I agreed."
The tears come now. Of course they do.
"Hobi–"
"Who asked you to do that?" The question snaps out of him with a force that startles you both. The heart monitor spikes briefly and a nurse peeks through the window before Hoseok waves her away with a shaking hand. He waits until the footsteps recede before he speaks again, quieter now, but no less sharp. "Who asked any of you to do that for me?"
"Nobody had to ask!" Your voice breaks open. "You're our family, you were dying, Hoseok, and we couldn't just–"
"You turned yourselves into criminals for me," he says, and the way he says it is almost disgusted and that disgust mirrors itself in you. "You destroyed a man who loved you. For me. And I didn't even get to have a choice."
A sob wracks through you. It's so ugly and uncontrolled. You press the heel of your palm against your mouth, trying to contain it, but it spills through your fingers like water. Hoseok watches you cry. He doesn't reach for you. He doesn't soothe you. For the first time in your friendship, he lets you sit in it.
When your breathing steadies to something resembling functional, Hoseok speaks again. "And now?" He tilts his head, eyes narrowing with a sharpness that reminds you he was always smarter than any of you gave him credit for. "You didn't come here just to confess. There's something else."
Of course he knows. The realization almost makes you laugh– a watery, broken thing. You drag your sleeve across your face.
"Namjoon has another plan. And it’s bigger, way bigger." You force yourself to hold his gaze. "Half a billion dollars. And it’s tied to Jungkook's company." You watch his eyes widen, his lips parting. "I told them I wouldn't do it unless you knew. Unless you were there. And unless you had the right to tell us to stop." You tell him everything about the plan, as much as you can remember from Yoongi's technical terms to the fact that there's a gala hosted by Jungkook they want you to attend.
Hoseok stares at you for a long time. Long enough for the light in the room to shift, the morning sun climbing higher past the blinds, painting warm stripes across the foot of his bed. His jaw works, lips pressing and releasing. You can see the war behind his eyes and the fury wrestling with something else, something softer and more complicated.
"You want to take me to a gala," he says slowly. "Me." He gestures at himself with the wires, the tubes, the hospital gown. "Looking like this."
"I don't care what you look like."
"That's not the point and you know it." He exhales, the sound rattling in the way that makes your stomach clench. He looks towards the window. "Do you still love him?"
The question catches you off guard, an ambush from a flank you hadn't defended. Your mouth opens and then closes. You think of the carnival, the Ferris wheel, fireworks reflected in Jungkook's dark eyes. You think of Lyara the penguin, waterlogged and drenched on your apartment floor. You think of the blue plastic ring.
"Yes." It comes out barely audible and the confession itself even startles you. You haven't been able to even admit it to yourself. "I don't think I ever stopped."
Hoseok closes his eyes. The heart monitor beeps its steady rhythm, indifferent to the weight of what's unfolding.
"Then you need to know something." He opens his eyes, and when they meet yours, the anger has dimmed. What remains is the Hoseok who held your hair back at parties, who proofread your essays at 3am, who once drove four hours in a thunderstorm because you called him crying. "If I let you do this… if I agree to be part of whatever the hell this is– it's not so you can steal from him again."
Your brow creases. "Then what—"
"It's so you can tell him the truth." His voice is firm despite its fragility, carrying a conviction that his body can no longer match. "About me. About why. About everything." He holds your gaze, unyielding. "You said he asked why, and you couldn't answer. This is your answer, _____. I am."
The simplicity of it winds you.
"If we walk into his world," Hoseok continues, "I'm not going as your alibi or your excuse. I'm going so he can see what you were trying to save. And then he can decide for himself whether it was worth what you took from him." He pauses, chest rising with a laboured breath. "That's my condition. Not Namjoon's money. Not Yoongi's code. The truth."
You stare at him, this man held together by machines and sheer will, and you realize that in trying to save his life, you forgot to account for who he actually is. He’s not a cause nor a justification but a person. One with more moral clarity in his deteriorating body than the rest of you have managed with your healthy ones. It's the Hoseok you've been fighting to keep alive.
"And if I tell him the truth," you say quietly, "and he still hates me?"
Hoseok's expression softens. For the first time since you started talking, you see the ghost of his heart-shaped smile but it’s not the full thing– just the scaffolding of it.
"Then at least he'll hate you for who you really are. Not for who he thinks you are."
You exhale. It feels like the first real breath you've taken in a year.
"And if Namjoon…"
"I'll deal with Namjoon." There's a glint in Hoseok's eye, something almost mischievous buried beneath the exhaustion. "He's not going to like it. But the last time I checked, it's my life you're all wagering with. I think that earns me a seat at the table."
You look down at your hands. They've stopped shaking. When you look back up, you reach for his hand gently, careful of the IV line taped to his wrist. He lets you take it this time. His fingers are cold, but they tighten around yours with surprising strength.
"I'm sorry, Hobi." The apology sits differently now. It's not the performative kind you've been rehearsing. It's genuine.
He squeezes your hand once. "I know." He regards you carefully and you wonder what he must be thinking. "But you owe that apology to someone else more than you owe it to me."
You nod, because he's right. He's so devastatingly right.
Outside the window, behind the curtains neither of you can see past, the autumn wind picks up. Somewhere on the path below, a young man in a black suede trench coat tucks his camera glasses into his breast pocket and pulls out his phone.
He dials and the line picks up on the second ring.
"She told him everything," he says, his boxy smile pulling wide. He pauses, listening. Then: "No, not yet. But she will."
A voice on the other end is quiet.
"Understood, Mr. Jeon. I'll keep you updated."
The line goes dead. Kim Taehyung pockets his phone, adjusts the grip on his cane, and walks back towards the parking lot. The first leaves of autumn skitter across the concrete behind him, carried by a wind that seems to know exactly where it's going.
Namjoon doesn't take it well.
You expect this, of course. You've known him long enough to read the weather patterns of his anger. The tight jaw comes first, then the nostril flare, then the deadly calm that precedes the storm. What you don't expect is for Hoseok to be the one holding the umbrella.
It happens the following evening. You're the one who texts Namjoon, a simple 'come to the hospital.' With no context. He arrives within the hour, Yoongi trailing behind him with his hands buried in his hoodie pockets and his laptop bag slung over one shoulder. They enter Hoseok's room expecting a logistics meeting. Instead, they find Hoseok sitting upright in bed– truly upright, not the half-reclined slouch he usually settles for. The TV is off and the overhead lights are turned to full. It feels less like a hospital room and more like a courtroom.
"Sit down," Hoseok says.
Namjoon glances at you. You're already seated by the window, arms crossed, offering nothing. It feels like when you're younger and your sibling is about to get in trouble. You can only watch from a distance and although it will be satisfying, it will also suck. He pulls up a chair, the legs squealing against the tile. Yoongi claims the far corner, perched on the windowsill with his legs dangling.
"She told me." Three words. Hoseok lets them land without a cushion, watching the impact register on Namjoon's face. To his credit, Namjoon doesn't flinch. But you see it, the barely perceptible tightening around his eyes and the way his fingers flatten against his thighs.
"Told you what?" Namjoon asks. It's not denial. It's a test– he wants to know how much.
"Everything." Hoseok holds his gaze. "RED Hotel. Jungkook. The two and a half million. The fact that four people I'd take a bullet for became thieves while I was unconscious, and nobody thought to mention it once I woke up."
The room goes vacuum-sealed. You hear the oxygen tank hiss beside Hoseok's bed, marking time in soft, mechanical breaths. Namjoon's jaw works. You recognize the motion as he's building an argument, assembling it brick by brick behind his teeth.
"Hoseok–"
"I'm not done." Hoseok's voice carries an authority you haven't heard from him in years. It's faint, sure and it’s carried on compromised lungs and thinned breath. But the steel in it is unmistakable. Namjoon's mouth closes. "I know why you did it. I understand the reasoning. I even understand the math." He gestures faintly toward the machines flanking his bed. "Trust me, nobody in this room is more aware of what it costs to keep me alive than the person it's actually costing."
The guilt hits all three of you simultaneously. You see it in the way Yoongi's gaze drops to his sneakers and Namjoon's throat bobs with a hard swallow.
"But you didn't give me a choice." Hoseok's eyes are glassy now, though nothing falls. "You decided my life was worth whatever it cost and you took that decision away from me." He pauses, the effort of sustained speech visible in the rise and fall of his chest. "I'm the one dying, Joon. Don't I get a say in what people destroy to keep me here?"
Namjoon leans forward, elbows on his knees, head dropping between his shoulders. For a long, terrible moment, you think he might cry. Namjoon doesn't cry. You've seen him through breakups, through his father's funeral, through the night Hoseok collapsed and the ambulance took twenty-three minutes to arrive. He didn't cry then. He’s organized, he’s planned, he’s calculated. Crying was a luxury he never permitted himself.
He doesn't cry now either. But it's close. When he raises his head, his eyes are red-rimmed, his voice stripped of its usual command.
"What was I supposed to do?" The question is so raw, so unlike the Namjoon who always has an answer, that it physically hurts to hear. "Watch you die? Sit in that waiting room and count ceiling tiles while they told us you had weeks?" His voice cracks on the last word. He catches it, swallows, presses on. "There was no version of this where I did nothing. I couldn't– I can't do nothing. Not when it comes to you."
The confession unpins something in the room. Yoongi turns his face toward the window, his reflection caught in the glass with a tight jaw and distant eyes. You wonder if he's thinking the same thing you are: that Namjoon never once framed this as anything other than a mission, a plan, a stratagem. Never once admitted that underneath the blueprints and the bravado, it was just a man terrified of losing his best friend.
Hoseok exhales a long, thin whistle through the cannula. "I know," he says, and there's no anger left– just a bone-deep weariness. "I know you can't sit back and do nothing. It's the most annoying thing about you." There's the faintest crack of a smile but it's gone as quickly as it appears. "But here's what's going to happen."
Namjoon straightens. You see him shift instinctively into listening mode, the same posture he adopts when a plan is being laid out. Old habits.
"I'm going to the gala," Hoseok says as if he's announcing he's going to the cafeteria. It's so matter-of-fact and decided, it surprises you again. "Not as a prop. Not as your sick friend who justifies everything. I'm going because _____ owes someone the truth and she's not going to do it alone." His eyes find yours and hold. "And I'm going because if this is what my life is costing, I want to look the price in the face."
Namjoon opens his mouth–
"I'm not finished." Hoseok's hand raises, trembling but firm. "The job goes forward. I'm not going to pretend I can stop you, you're all too stubborn and too stupid for that." The faintest ghost of warmth in his voice. "But the truth comes first. Before Yoongi touches a keyboard, before anyone transfers a single won, _____ tells Jungkook why. She shows him me. And if after he knows, if after he sees what you were trying to save, he still wants us gone? We go. We walk away. No arguments. I don't want to hear it."
"That's—" Namjoon starts.
"Non-negotiable." Hoseok meets his stare, unflinching. "You stole two and a half million dollars from that man to pay for my heartbeat. I think the least I can do is show him the heart."
The silence that follows is so absolute, you can hear the fluorescent lights humming above you. Namjoon sits motionless, eyes locked with Hoseok's. Something passes between them that you've only ever witnessed a handful of times. It’s a form of communication that predates the rest of you, rooted in a friendship that started before any of yours did. They were friends first. Before the group, before Jimin, before Yoongi, before you. That foundation carries a weight none of you can overrule.
Namjoon's shoulders drop but not in defeat, in concession. He nods once. "Okay." The word costs him more than the half a billion ever could.
Yoongi speaks for the first time. "For the record," he says from his corner, still facing the window, "I think this is the best idea any of us has had in two years." He turns, and there's something close to respect in his gaze when it settles on Hoseok. "You should've been calling the shots the whole time."
Hoseok smiles and it’s the real one this time, heart-shaped and warm, though it sits on a face too thin to hold it properly. "Yeah," he says. "I should've been."
Two weeks before the gala, your life becomes a choreography of preparation and pretense.
Yoongi sets up a command center of sorts in Hoseok's hospital room, much to the displeasure of the nursing staff. His laptop occupies the guest table, flanked by two additional monitors he smuggled in inside instrument cases. The wires snake across the floor like veins, taped down in haphazard lines that one particular nurse has tripped over three times. You've started leaving her apology chocolates at the nurses' station.
"The system mirrors for exactly seven minutes and forty-three seconds," Yoongi explains one afternoon, pointing to a diagram on his screen that looks like a subway map designed by a lunatic. The lunatic being Yoongi. "During that window, the auditing protocol creates a duplicate ledger. We intercept the mirror, redirect the funds through a series of Obsidian wallets layered on the platform’s blockchain, and by the time the mirror collapses, the money's been scattered across so many nodes it would take a forensic team six months to trace a single transaction."
"And you can do all of that in seven minutes?" You lean over his shoulder, squinting at the screen.
"Seven minutes and forty-three seconds," he corrects. "And no. I can do it in four."
"Then why do we need eight?"
"Because four minutes is for the transfer." He taps a second diagram. "The other four are for you."
You frown. "Me?"
"You need to physically access a terminal at the event. The system requires biometric confirmation from an authorized user to initiate the mirror. A fingerprint scan." He looks at you over the rim of his glasses. "Jungkook's fingerprint."
Your stomach bottoms out. "You want me to get his fingerprint."
"I want you to get him to touch a screen," Yoongi clarifies, pulling up an image of what looks like an ordinary phone. "This. It's a modified device, looks like a standard tablet. The screen captures biometric data on contact. All you need to do is get him to interact with it. Hand it to him, show him something on it. Thirty seconds of contact is all I need."
"You want me to hand Jungkook, a man I robbed and whose heart I broke— a tablet. And have him casually press his finger to it."
"Ideally his thumb." Yoongi's tone doesn't change. "Index works too."
You stare at him until he has the decency to look uncomfortable. From across the room, Hoseok snorts.
The suit fitting happens on a Tuesday.
Namjoon arranges it through a contact, someone who doesn't ask questions and makes house calls to hospitals. The tailor arrives with a rolling rack and a measuring tape draped around his neck like a stethoscope. The irony isn't lost on any of you.
Hoseok hasn't stood unaided in months, but he insists on being upright for the measurements. It takes both you and Namjoon to help him from the bed, his arms draped over your shoulders, legs finding the floor like a newborn colt. The tailor politely pretends not to notice the IV stand trailing behind his client.
"Charcoal or navy?" the tailor asks, unfurling fabric swatches.
Hoseok studies them with more intensity than a dying man should reasonably dedicate to colour theory. "Black," he says finally.
"Black wasn't an option," Namjoon mutters.
"It is now." Hoseok stands a little straighter, the effort whitening his knuckles where they grip the bed rail. "If I'm going to a party to show some billionaire what his money paid for, I'm not doing it in charcoal."
You press your lips together to keep from laughing, but the sound escapes anyway, a wet, breathy thing that's half humor and half grief. The tailor measures him with clinical efficiency: inseam, shoulders, waist. Each number feels like a subtraction, a quantification of how much of Hoseok has been whittled away. His waist is narrower than yours now. The tailor doesn't comment.
When it's your turn, the process is quicker. Namjoon has procured a gown that’s floor-length, deep emerald, with a neckline that suggests elegance and a back that suggests intention. You try it on in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror under fluorescent light that does no one any favours.
You barely recognize yourself, and it’s not because of the dress, but because of the eyes staring back at you. They're harder than you remember. You wonder if Jungkook will notice. You wonder what will happen when you see him again and if you truly are prepared. You're most likely not but whatever, you're used to flying by the seat of your pants.
When you step out, Hoseok is back in bed, but he wolf-whistles, breathy and weak and absolutely ridiculous. And for a single, perfect moment, it feels like old times.
"Stunning," he says. "He won't know what hit him."
You smooth the fabric over your hip. "That's what I'm afraid of."
The days leading up to the gala pass in a strange twilight of hyperactivity and dread. Yoongi runs simulations, Namjoon drills contingencies and Hoseok practices walking.
This last part guts you more than anything else. Every morning, you watch him grip the parallel bars the physical therapist set up along the length of his room, knuckles bone-white, jaw set, legs quaking beneath him as he forces one foot in front of the other. The cannula trails behind him, the oxygen tank wheeled alongside by a patient nurse who's learned to match his agonizing pace. Ten steps the first day. Twelve the second. By the end of the first week, he makes it to the door and back.
He doesn't complain. Not once. Not about the pain, not about the exhaustion that collapses him back into bed afterward, not about the indignity of a twenty-six year old man celebrating the fact that he walked fourteen steps. When you catch him grimacing after a session, he flattens his expression the instant he notices you watching.
"Stop looking at me like that," he says one evening, breathless and sheened with sweat.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm going to break."
You hold his gaze. "Are you?"
He considers this for a moment, genuinely, then shakes his head. "Not yet."
By the second week, he can manage twenty steps with a cane. It's enough. It has to be.
Fifty kilometres away, in a penthouse suite that overlooks the city from the forty-second floor, Jeon Jungkook stands at the floor-to-ceiling window with a glass of whiskey he hasn't touched.
The city below pulses with light and arterial reds of brake lights, the gold spill of storefronts, the cold blue wash of office buildings still lit past midnight. It's beautiful in the way that expensive things are beautiful: perfectly maintained and utterly soulless.
He hears the elevator chime behind him but he doesn't turn.
"She told him," Kim Taehyung's voice carries across the marble floor, accompanied by the rhythmic tap of his cane. "Everything. The first heist, you, the money. All of it."
Jungkook's reflection stares back at him in the glass, translucent, ghostly against the cityscape. He's changed in the year since he walked away from her door. His hair is shorter, cropped close at the sides and pushed back from his forehead. The softness that once rounded his cheeks has sharpened into angles. He looks older. Not in years but in something harder to quantify.
"How did he react?" Jungkook asks. His voice is even, controlled. It’s the voice of a man who's spent twelve months learning how to discuss her without flinching.
Taehyung settles onto the leather sofa behind him, stretching his bad leg out with a wince. "Angry. He didn't know any of it. They kept him in the dark the entire time." He pauses.
Jungkook is quiet for a long time. The ice in his untouched whiskey has melted, the amber liquid diluted to pale gold.
"He's dying. Has been for a while." Taehyung's voice loses its professional edge, softening into something more human. He and Jungkook are friends before they are business associates and have been since Taehyung took a bullet in Busan five years ago that left him with a permanent limp. Jungkook paid for his rehabilitation without being asked. Loyalty between them is a currency that predates money.
Jungkook closes his eyes. Behind his lids, he sees her. What he doesn't see is the woman who sat across from him at the dinner table, leafing through surveillance photos with trembling hands, but the woman he fell in love with ice cream on her lip, laughing at something he said.
"I hired you to find out why she did it," he says quietly. "I hired you to get them close enough so I could look her in the eye and understand. That's all I wanted. An answer." He finally lifts the glass, taking a sip of the watered-down whiskey. It's weak and bitter, and he grimaces but drinks again anyway. "I didn't plan for this."
"For what?"
"For a reason that makes sense." He sets the glass down on the sill, harder than necessary. The sound pings across the silent penthouse. "It was supposed to be greed. Something I could be angry at.” He swallows. "Not a dying man in a hospital bed."
Taehyung watches him carefully. "Does it change anything?"
Jungkook doesn't answer immediately. He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out— a small, circular object that catches the city light. A bright blue plastic ring. The paint has faded, chipped in places, but he's kept it. This entire time, he's kept it.
He turns it between his fingers, studying it the way one studies a relic from a past life.
"It changes everything," he says finally. "And nothing. She still lied." He pockets the ring again. "But now I know she had a reason. And that might be worse."
"Worse?"
Jungkook looks at Taehyung, and for the first time, the mask slips. Underneath is not the CEO, or conglomerate head- hell, it's not even the man with his name on buildings and gala invitations. Underneath is a boy with doe eyes who fell in love with the wrong person and hasn't figured out how to fall back out.
"Because I could've helped her." The words land like a confession of their own. "If she had just told me about her friend, about the money, about any of it— I would've helped. I had the resources. I had the means. She didn't have to steal from me." His voice frays at the edges. "She chose to rob me instead of trust me. And I don't know which one hurts more."
Taehyung is silent for a long time. "The gala is in six days."
"I know."
"Namjoon's team is prepping. Your security detail has their profiles. We can intercept at any point."
"No." Jungkook turns from the window, eyes hardened with resolve. "Let them come. I need them to do this for me.”
Taehyung nods, rising from the sofa with a lean on his cane. He studies Jungkook for a moment, then turns for the elevator. He stops halfway, speaking over his shoulder. "For what it's worth," he says, "I don’t think you’ve left her mind."
"Maybe." Jungkook's voice is barely a whisper. "But eventually she’ll have to leave mine."
The elevator doors close. Jungkook stands alone in the penthouse, the city sprawled beneath him like a circuit board, every light a connection, every dark space a severance. He thinks of a password he once set: eight digits, a date, a beginning. He wonders if endings have dates too.
The night of the gala arrives the way all inevitable things do, too quickly and not quickly enough.
You're in Hoseok's room, the emerald gown pooling around your feet as you sit on the edge of his bed, holding a tube of lipstick you can't seem to apply with steady hands. A garment bag hangs from the curtain rod, Hoseok's black suit pressed and waiting.
Namjoon arrives in a charcoal suit that fits like an apology. He hasn't said much in the days since Hoseok laid down his terms, operating with a quiet efficiency that you've come to interpret as his version of penance. He runs through the plan one final time with Yoongi over comms, voice low and clinical, stripped of the bravado that used to characterize these briefings. Something has changed in him. The desperation is still there, but it's been tempered, reined in by the leash of Hoseok's conviction.
"Comms check," Yoongi says from behind his monitors, an earpiece tucked into his right ear. He'll be stationed in a service van two blocks from the venue, running the operation remotely. "Radio silence unless absolutely necessary. _____, your frequency is channel 3. Namjoon is on standby at channel 7. If anything goes sideways—"
"It won't," Namjoon interrupts. He meets Yoongi's stare. "It can't."
Yoongi holds his gaze for a beat, then nods.
The hardest part is getting Hoseok ready.
It takes forty minutes. You help him into his shirt first, guiding his arms through the sleeves with the gentleness of handling something irreplaceable. Namjoon handles the trousers, steadying Hoseok's legs as he steps into them one at a time, both of them pretending it's not a struggle. The jacket goes last, and when Hoseok is finally dressed, standing between the two of you in his black suit, cane in one hand, cannula removed for the first time in months, you almost lose your composure entirely.
He looks beautiful. Devastatingly, impossibly beautiful. The suit hangs on his diminished frame in ways the tailor couldn't fully compensate for, the shoulders a touch too wide, the waist pinched with an extra fold of fabric. But his face– his face is alive. His eyes are bright, focused, burning with a determination that his body has no business supporting.
"How do I look?" he asks, adjusting his cuffs with fingers that only shake a little.
"Like hell," Namjoon says.
Hoseok grins fully, heart-shaped and radiant. "Perfect."
A portable oxygen concentrator has been arranged that’s small enough to fit in a bag and discreet enough to pass unnoticed. The doctor fought against this expedition with considerable force, relenting only when Hoseok signed a release form with the calm resignation of a man who's already made peace with every possible outcome. The nurse attached a pulse oximeter to his finger with a look that said everything her professionalism wouldn't allow.
The car waits at the hospital's rear exit. Namjoon drives. You sit in the back with Hoseok, his hand in yours, his cane propped between his knees. The city slides past the tinted windows in streaks of light and shadow. None of you speak. The silence is too full for words and weighted with everything you're about to do, everything you've done and everything that can't be undone.
Hoseok squeezes your hand once. You look at him.
"Whatever happens in there," he says quietly, "you just need to tell him the truth." His eyes hold yours, steady despite the exhaustion pulling at their edges. "Promise me."
You squeeze back, a nervous smile settling across your face. "I promise."
The car pulls to a stop and your heart beats louder. This is it.
Through the window, you see it, the Grand Meridian Hotel. Its façade bathed in gold light, a procession of black cars depositing glittering figures onto a red carpet that bleeds into the lobby. The building reaches into the night sky like a monolith, its upper floors disappearing into low-hanging clouds. Security lines the entrance in tailored suits, earpieces catching light.
Namjoon kills the engine. In the rearview mirror, his eyes find yours.
"Eight minutes," he says. "That's all we need."
You hold his gaze. "No," you say quietly. "That's all you need."
You step out of the car first, the autumn air biting through the silk of your gown. You turn and offer your hand to Hoseok. He takes it, rising from the car with a controlled effort that costs him more than anyone watching would ever guess. His cane clicks against the pavement. He steadies himself, lifts his chin, and for a moment, just a moment, you see the Hoseok from before. The one who lit up every room. The one who made you believe that sheer force of joy could outrun anything, even death.
The two of you stand together at the base of the steps, staring up at the golden doors. Music drifts out with a string quartet, something classical and expensive. Laughter follows, the tinkling kind that belongs to people who've never had to choose between rent and groceries.
Hoseok glances at you. "Ready?"
You think of Jungkook somewhere inside those walls. Of the love you once shared, although now one-sided. You don't know how you're holding your composure but it's now or never.
"No," you answer honestly.
He smiles. "Good. That means you care."
Together, you climb the steps. Hoseok's cane taps a steady rhythm against the stone, one, two, one, two- a metronome counting down to something neither of you can predict. Your hand stays on his arm. The doorman opens the gilded entrance without a word.
Warmth engulfs you. Light, sound, perfume, the shimmer of crystal and the murmur of a hundred conversations layered over strings. The ballroom opens before you like the throat of some magnificent, glittering beast. Chandeliers hang like frozen constellations. Men in tuxedos and women in gowns orbit each other in practiced elegance, champagne catching light in their hands. It’s the kind of wealth that you only see in the movies.
A waiter materializes at your elbow with a tray of champagne flutes, and you take two without thinking, pressing one into Hoseok's free hand. He accepts it with a look that says he has no intention of drinking it and every intention of using it as a prop.
"Smile," he murmurs, lips barely moving. "You look like you're calculating an exit route."
"I am calculating an exit route."
"Do it while smiling."
You smile. It feels like something you're wearing, like the gown, like the earrings that are already beginning to pinch. Hoseok's arm is warm beneath your hand, and you focus on that, on the solidity of him, as you move deeper into the ballroom's current.
The room works the way these rooms always do, pulling people into its orbit through some unspoken social gravity. A couple drifts past you, trailing perfume and quiet laughter. A man in a tuxedo gestures broadly at nothing, making a point no one will remember. Somewhere to your left, a woman's necklace catches the chandelier light and throws small stars across the ceiling. You feel so out of place walking amongst the wealth like an imposter that you get caught off guard mid thought when your ear piece goes off.
Yoongi's voice arrives in your ear, low and even. “Perimeter looks clean. Security rotation is every four minutes on the east corridor. Namjoon's in position near the main stairs. You have time.”
You search the crowd of elites and suck in a breath when you see him.
Across the room, half-turned from you, a glass of something dark in his hand. His hair is shorter than you remember, pushed back from his forehead in a way that sharpens the line of his jaw. He's mid-conversation with a silver-haired man, nodding at something being said, his posture carrying the easy authority of someone who owns the room and every wall around it.
Your body responds before your brain can intervene. Heat blooms across your chest, your pulse spiking in places that have nothing to do with fear. You know this reaction, in fact you know it intimately. You know it from every time he walked into a room, every time his hand found the small of your back and every time he had you pinned underneath him with slow, deliberate drags of his– no. You can’t go there. A year of distance has done nothing to rewire it. Your body still recognizes him as something it wants, and the betrayal of that recognition makes your skin burn.
Your breath catches and your fingers tighten around Hoseok's arm.
Jungkook hasn't seen you yet. Or maybe he has. You can't tell from here whether the slight tension in his shoulders is for you or for the conversation. That is before a woman joins in. She’s breathtakingly gorgeous, a red gown ten times more luxurious than the one you’ve adorned. Her dark hair falls behind her open back in curls, and what takes you most aback is the way Jungkook lights up when he sees her- gently placing a small peck against her cheek.
Something sharp and ugly twists in your chest. You have absolutely no right to feel it, and you feel it anyway.
Hoseok follows your gaze across the room. He studies the man who funded his heartbeat without ever knowing it. The man you robbed, loved, and lost. Or you suppose, loved, then robbed and then lost.
"He's tall," Hoseok observes quietly.
You can't bring yourself to respond. Your heart is hammering so violently, you're certain Hoseok can feel it through your arm.
And then, as if summoned by the weight of your stare, Jungkook turns.
As you loosen your grip on Hoseok’s arm, you’re met by the vibrant and bright chocolate doe eyes of Jeon Jungkook while he holds her the way he once held you.
And the world goes quiet. The music fades. The chatter dissolves. There is only the distance between you, forty feet of marble floor, a year of silence, and every unspoken word that fills the space between.
The look he gives you isn't anger but isn't warmth either. It's the look of a man taking inventory of something he lost. His gaze traces from your eyes to your mouth, lingering there for a beat that makes your skin prickle, before dropping to the emerald neckline and back up. You feel it like a physical thing, like fingers dragging across your collarbone or how soft and careful his kisses were, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.
He doesn't move. Neither do you.
The woman in red places a hand on Jungkook's arm, saying something you can't hear. He doesn't look at her. His eyes stay on yours, and whatever she says dissolves into the noise of the room, unanswered.
"You should go," Hoseok says.
"I'm not leaving you standing alone."
"I'm not alone." He nods toward the column. "I have this very sturdy piece of architecture." A beat passes. "And Yoongi will talk my ear off if I ask him to."
“He's not wrong,” Yoongi says in your ear, and you almost laugh despite everything.
You look at Hoseok for a moment longer than you mean to. He's watching the room with those bright, tired eyes, his cane resting against the column, champagne held loosely in one hand. He has spent so much of these last months becoming smaller, quieter, reduced by increments. But here, in this borrowed hour, he has made himself enormous again through sheer will alone.
You squeeze his arm once, and he nods without looking at you, and that's enough. You turn. You begin to move through the crowd.
You catch Namjoon by the main stairs as Yoongi mentioned. He's not just standing there; he's working. You catch him mid-handshake with a man in a navy blazer, his smile sharp and practiced, and as the man turns away, you see Namjoon's left hand slip something small and flat into his inner jacket pocket. A cloned access badge. He's already halfway through his own mission, running a parallel track you can only glimpse in fragments. His eyes cut to yours for half a second with a flicker of acknowledgment, a silent status report and then he looks away. The sight of it settles something cold in your chest, the reality of it all.
Eight minutes, he'd said.
Your heels click against the marble. One step. Then another.
Jungkook watches you come.
He moves before you've fully decided to. Or perhaps you move first. Later, you won't be able to say with certainty. What you'll remember is that the distance between you simply begins to close, pulled shut by something older and more stubborn than either of your intentions. And then there are only a few feet of marble between you, and then there are none.
Up close, he is worse.
That's the only word for it. Worse. More real. The year that stretched between you like an ocean has done nothing to blunt the specific way he occupies space, the breadth of his shoulders, the slight asymmetry of his mouth, the way his eyes catch light and hold it longer than they should. He is exactly as you remember and entirely different and both of these things are devastating in their own register.
The woman in red has drifted away. You caught the movement in your periphery, some acquaintance pulling her into a separate orbit, laughing at something, her dark curls disappearing into the crowd. She doesn't know she's given you anything. She doesn't know there is anything to give.
Jungkook's glass is still in his hand. He hasn't looked away from you since you started moving.
"You’re here," he says.
It's not what you expected. You don't know what you expected, something cooler, something with more architecture to hide behind. But those two words come out slightly uneven, fractionally too quiet for the room, and you watch him register that he's said them wrong before his expression closes over it like water over a stone.
"I was invited," you say.
Something moves behind his eyes that you can't quite read. Then again, it's been a while. "You were."
The space between those words and his next ones is too long. He fills it by dropping his gaze briefly, just a half-second, taking in the emerald gown, the earrings, the lipstick you finally managed to apply with shaking hands in the car. When he looks back up, his jaw is set in a way you recognize. It's the look he gets when he's decided to be careful.
"You look—" He stops and starts again. "It's good to see you." It isn't what he was going to say. You both know it.
The string quartet shifts into something slower. Around you, the room continues its elaborate performance of itself, glasses lifted, laughter rising and falling in practiced waves, none of it touching the two feet of charged air between you and the man you robbed. The man you loved. The man who is watching you now, like he's trying to solve something.
Your pulse is very loud and you want to ask him why he invited you but instead you call to him.
"Jungkook," you begin, because you promised Hoseok, because there is a clock somewhere running down eight minutes that has nothing to do with why you're really here, because the truth has been sitting in your chest for a year, and it is very heavy. "There are things I need to say to you."
His chin dips slightly. An acknowledgment that isn't quite permission.
"I know," he says.
Something in his tone stops you. Not the words, but the texture of them.
Your eyes search his face. "What do you know?"
He holds your gaze for a beat that lasts too long. His fingers shift around his glass. In another life, in another version of this night, you think he might have reached for your hand instead.
"That you're here," he says finally. "That's enough for now."
It's not an answer. You file that away somewhere and let it sit, because Yoongi's voice is a low murmur in your ear, reminding you of timelines. And across the room Namjoon is still performing his own careful theatre, and Hoseok is leaning against a column with a champagne glass he won't drink from, and you made a promise.
But Jungkook is looking at you the way he used to, underneath the composure, underneath whatever careful thing he's built around himself this past year. Like you are something he thought he'd finished grieving. You feel like you might break under his gaze. The onslaught of emotions hit you harder than that night he left your house. And you can’t help but crave his touch again.
You look away first. You have to.
There's a pillar to your left and you fix your gaze on it for exactly two seconds, long enough to find the floor beneath your feet again.
Then you look back at him, because you promised.
"Can we go somewhere quieter?" you ask. The ballroom feels like it's shrinking, the string quartet and the laughter and the perfume collapsing inward.
Jungkook studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he tilts his head toward a corridor beyond the grand staircase. "There's a terrace."
You nod, and he moves first, setting his glass on a passing waiter's tray without looking. You follow a half-step behind, close enough to catch the scent of his cologne. It’s different from what he used to wear– it’s something darker and woodier. You hate that you notice.
As you pass the staircase, your eyes catch Namjoon's. He's watching you move toward the corridor, his jaw tightening. You give an imperceptible shake of your head of a "not yet". His gaze holds yours for a beat too long before he turns back to his conversation, the tension in his shoulders broadcasting everything his face won't.
"She's moving to the east terrace," you hear Yoongi murmur through the earpiece, talking to Namjoon rather than you. "Timeline still holds. Let her work."
The corridor narrows, the noise of the ballroom dimming behind you like a radio being dialled down. Jungkook pushes through a glass door, and the autumn night hits you, sharp and clean against the heat of the gala. The terrace overlooks the city from a height that makes everything below look insignificant.
Jungkook walks to the stone railing and rests both hands on it, his back to you for a moment. You watch the way his shoulders rise with a breath, then drop. When he turns, he leans against the railing, arms crossed, and the posture is so deliberately casual it hurts. He's armouring himself.
"So," he says. "Talk."
The word is blunt but underneath it, you hear the thing he's actually saying: I've been waiting a year for this. You straighten your spine. You think of everything, every version of the speech you've prepared but you go off pure gut instinct.
"The night you came to my apartment," you start, your voice thin against the open air. "You showed me the photos. You asked me why." The memory is a blade. You distinctly remember his flowers, the envelope, the surveillance stills scattering across the table. "I couldn't answer you then."
"I remember." His voice is flat but his eyes aren't. There's something deep and restless moving behind them.
"I'm answering you now."
Jungkook doesn't speak. He waits the way a man waits for a verdict he's already tried to accept.
"His name is Jung Hoseok." You say it clearly, giving the name its full weight. "He's my best friend. He's been my best friend since we were fourteen years old." You take a breath that shakes more than you'd like. "He got sick two years ago, and nobody knew what it was. The doctors ran every test, every scan, and came back with nothing. Then the bills started. You can't imagine what it costs to keep someone alive when medicine doesn't even know what's killing them."
Jungkook's expression hasn't changed, but you see the shift. There’s a fractional loosening around his jaw, like a door being unlocked without being opened.
"We were drowning," you continue. "Student loans, medical debt, the cost of keeping him in a hospital that could actually help. Namjoon– you remember Namjoon?" You don't wait for an answer. "He came up with the plan. The first one. Then the second." You swallow. "The second one was you."
A muscle feathers along Jungkook's jaw. His arms stay crossed.
"I was supposed to be a distraction. Get hired as your assistant, keep your attention occupied while they handled the technical side." You force yourself to hold his gaze. "That's all it was supposed to be."
"But it wasn't." His voice is quiet.
"No." The word catches in your throat. "It wasn't. I fell in love with you. I fell in love with the way you held doors open and remembered dates and how you loved me without condition." Your eyes are burning, but you refuse to blink. "I didn't plan on any of it. I didn't plan on you."
Jungkook uncrosses his arms. His hands find the railing behind him and grip it, knuckles whitening. The movement pulls his shirt taut across his chest, and you hate yourself for noticing and hate that even now, even mid-confession, some traitorous part of your brain is cataloguing the way his jaw catches the moonlight, the column of his throat above his loosened collar. You're telling him about the worst thing you've ever done, and your body is remembering the best things he's ever done to it.
The silence between you is different from the ballroom silence, from the hospital silence, from the silence that fell when Jungkook walked away from your apartment a year ago. This silence has oxygen in it. It has room to breathe.
"March 14th," Jungkook says, very quietly.
"March 14th," you repeat. "I typed it into your computer to steal from you, and I hated myself for knowing it." You look towards him. "He's here," you say. "Hoseok. He's inside."
Something crosses Jungkook's face that you can't fully read; surprise isn't quite it because it moves too quickly. It's quickly replaced by something more complex. Recognition, maybe. Like a piece sliding into a puzzle he's been working on in the dark.
"He signed himself out of the hospital to be here tonight. He can barely walk. He has a cane and a portable oxygen concentrator in a bag, and he's wearing a suit that doesn't fit because his body is half of what it used to be." Your voice breaks on the last part, but you keep going because you promised. "He's twenty-six years old, and he's dying, and he's standing in your ballroom right now because he thinks you deserve to know that his heartbeat is the reason I broke yours."
The wind picks up, carrying with it the faint sound of the string quartet from inside, something melancholy, something in a minor key that has no business being this appropriate. Jungkook's chest rises with a deep breath, his fingers releasing the railing.
"Where is he?" he asks.
The question shocks you into stillness. You expected him to still be angry, cold or even dismissal. You expected the same venom that lacerated you at your dinner table a year ago. You had prepped yourself to brace for impact. Instead, he's asking where Hoseok is.
"By the east columns," you manage. "Near the entrance."
Jungkook pushes off the railing. He takes a step toward the door and then stops to turn back to you. The city lights catch the silver of his cufflinks, the sharp line of his jaw, the look in his eyes that you've never seen before.
"I would love to meet him," he says. "Not for you. For me."
He holds the terrace door open for you, and you walk through it feeling as if you've just stepped off the edge of something with no certainty of where you'll land.
As you pass him in the doorway, the space is narrow enough that your arm grazes his chest. The contact lasts less than a second. It’s silk against cotton, your bare arm against the warmth of him– and you feel it everywhere. His breath catches. Or maybe yours does too. You don’t look at him. You can’t. If you look at him right now, with your defences stripped and his chest warm against your skin, you will do something you can’t take back. You keep walking as he follows.
Yoongi's voice returns in your ear, sharper now. "Fifteen minutes to mirror. _____, where are you? I need confirmation you're moving to the terminal."
"I need a minute," you say to both of them, though only one can hear you.
The ballroom swallows you both back into its machinery. Jungkook walks beside you but not with you, a deliberate distance maintained. You're aware of every inch of it.
You're halfway across the floor when it happens. A sharp voice cuts through the ambient noise.
"Wait– don't I know you?"
You freeze. The woman in the red dress you saw earlier with Jungkook has stepped into your path, head tilted, eyes narrowing with the specific intensity of someone rifling through their memory. She's even more beautiful up close with expensive jewellery and the kind of face that attends a lot of industry events.
"You worked at GFC, didn't you?" she says. "Jungkook's assistant?"
Your blood goes cold. Beside you, Jungkook stiffens almost imperceptibly.
"I think you're mistaken," you manage, your voice remarkably steady for someone whose heart has just relocated to her throat.
The woman squints harder. "No, I'm sure of it. The holiday party, two years ago? You were handling the guest list. I remember because you—"
"Mrs. Ahn." Jungkook's voice slides in, smooth and warm, and the interruption is so seamless. He steps forward with a smile that reaches exactly as far as it needs to. "I'm so glad you could make it tonight. Have you met the team from Hana Ventures? I believe your husband was asking about their sustainability portfolio. They're just by the bar." Oh. She’s married. You can’t help but feel relief.
It's a redirection so elegant it borders on art. Mrs. Ahn's attention pivots to Jungkook entirely, her recognition of you dissolving into the social gravity of a CEO's full attention. She brightens, adjusts her necklace, and allows herself to be guided toward the bar with a delighted "Oh, wonderful!"
Jungkook glances back at you over his shoulder as he walks Mrs. Ahn away. The look lasts one second. In it, you read: Stay. I'll be back.
You press your back against the nearest column, heart hammering, and wait. Jungkook returns within two minutes, his composure fully restored.
"Thank you," you breathe.
"Don't thank me yet." The words carry a weight you don't fully understand. "Come on. Show me your friend."
You navigate the remaining distance to the east columns. Hoseok is where you left him, still propped against the column with his untouched champagne. His cane is hooked over his forearm while he's watching a couple dance. His expression carries a wistfulness that makes your throat close. From this distance, in this light, in that suit, you could almost forget he's sick.
Hoseok senses your approach. His gaze shifts to you, then past you to the man walking in your wake. His eyes sharpen. He straightens with a conscious effort, drawing every reserve of energy he has to meet this moment upright. He sets the champagne glass on the column's ledge, frees his cane, and faces Jungkook fully.
The two men regard each other across a narrowing distance. You step to the side, because this isn't yours anymore. This is between the man whose life was bought at another man's expense and the man who paid the price without knowing.
Jungkook stops three feet from Hoseok. He takes him in, the ill-fitting suit, the too-sharp cheekbones, the way he leans on the cane with practised subtlety. You watch Jungkook's eyes trace the details the way he used to study you. It’s as if he’s cataloguing, absorbing, trying to understand.
"Jung Hoseok," Hoseok says, extending a hand that trembles just slightly. His voice is steady despite it. "I believe you've been keeping me alive.”
You see the impact land on Jungkook's face like a wave of something cresting and breaking behind his careful composure. He looks at Hoseok's extended hand. He then takes it warmly.
"Jeon Jungkook," he replies, and his voice is thick. "I wish we'd met differently."
"So do I." Hoseok's grip tightens before releasing. "But if we'd met differently, I'd probably be dead. So I'll take this."
The bluntness catches Jungkook off guard. You watch him blink to recalibrate. Hoseok does that to people and has always done that. Even diminished, even tethered to machines and measured in borrowed months, he has a way of cutting straight to the marrow of a thing.
Hoseok shifts his weight onto his cane, glancing at you briefly before returning to Jungkook.
"You're quite handsome," he says conversationally. "No wonder she's in love with you."
The floor drops out from under you.
"Hoseok!" His name comes out strangled.
"What?" He turns to you with an expression of perfect innocence that has absolutely no business existing on a man in his condition. "It's true."
You look at Jungkook who is already looking at you. You look away with flushed cheeks and another wave of warmth spreading across the back of your neck.
"He's been on an extraordinary amount of medication," you say to no one and everyone. "Practically braindead. Medically speaking."
"Medically speaking, I have excellent observational skills," Hoseok replies, entirely unbothered. He takes a small sip of the champagne he was never going to drink and grimaces at the taste.
Jungkook lets the silence sit for exactly long enough that you feel every degree of it against your skin. Then, with a grace that costs him something you're certain of, he lets it go.
He turns to Hoseok.
"How are you feeling tonight?" The question is genuine, stripped of the social reflex that usually props up that particular phrase. He means it. You can tell he means it by the way he waits for the answer.
Hoseok glances around the ballroom, at the chandeliers, the gowns, the ancient indifferent wealth of it all. "Great. I haven't been anywhere in months, years some would say. Everywhere starts to look like a hospital ceiling after a while." His eyes return to Jungkook. "This is a very good ceiling."
Jungkook looks up despite himself. The chandelier throws fractured light across his face.
"It is," he agrees quietly.
Something passes between them that you don't entirely have access to. Two people negotiating the strange territory of a connection that has no map, no precedent and no name for what they are to each other.
"I wanted to meet you," Hoseok says. "That was the other reason I came tonight." He pauses. "She didn't know I was going to say that. She'd have talked me out of it."
"I absolutely would have," you confirm.
Jungkook's gaze moves to you then, briefly, warm in a way that undoes something small and load-bearing inside your chest, before returning to Hoseok. "I'm glad you did."
Hoseok nods slowly, as if this confirms something he suspected. He studies Jungkook for a moment with those bright, tired eyes, the same way he studied the ceiling of his hospital room on bad nights.
"You should talk," Hoseok says, looking between you both. "Really talk." His eyes flick almost imperceptibly toward your earpiece before coming back. "Because you owe it to each other."
A chill rolls through you. Time is ticking and quite frankly, you can’t think of how you’re going to pull this off.
"I'm going to find a chair before my legs stage a mutiny," Hoseok says, straightening with effort. He gives Jungkook a final look. It’s warm with a shot of exhaustion he can no longer mask. "Thank you for meeting me. Whatever you decide…about her, about all of this, I wanted you to know that your money bought time. And I used that time to wake up." He smiles, the heart-shaped one. "That's not nothing." He turns, cane tapping a steady beat against the marble, and you watch him walk toward a chair near the far column. A waiter approaches and Hoseok waves him off politely.
You turn back to Jungkook. He's watching Hoseok too. His expression is caught between something shattered and something mending.
"Jungkook–" you start.
"Not here." His voice is rough. He drags his gaze from Hoseok's retreating figure back to you. His eyes are wet. "Come with me."
He doesn't reach for your hand. He simply walks, and you follow.
Jungkook takes you through a service corridor that the guests don't see. It’s past stacked chairs, and folded tablecloths, and the muted clatter of the kitchen beyond a swinging door. The noise of the gala dims to a muffle. He stops in a narrow hallway lit by bare bulbs.
He turns to face you. In this light, stripped of the ballroom's gilding, he looks younger. Closer to the boy you met on March 14th. His collar is still open, and in the bare light you can see the faint sheen of sweat at the base of his throat. You wonder if its nerves, or the heat of the ballroom, or something else entirely. You force your gaze upward.
"I need to tell you something," he says. His voice is steady but his hands aren't. You see them at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling. "And you're not going to like it."
Your blood cools. "What?"
He meets your eyes. "This gala. The invitation. You being here tonight." He pauses for a moment. "It wasn't coincidence."
Your stomach folds in on itself. "What are you talking about?"
"I know about Namjoon's plan." The words drop like stones against marble flooring. "I've known for weeks. The Obsidian transfer, the eight-minute window, the biometric scan. All of it."
The corridor tilts. You feel the wall at your back before you realize you've stepped into it. "How?"
"Because I'm the one who gave it to them."
Silence. It’s the kind that has a sound with a high, ringing pitch that fills your skull.
"I hired someone," Jungkook continues, his voice measured and careful. "After that night at your apartment... I hired a private investigator. I needed to understand why. You couldn't tell me, so I went looking for the answer myself." He swallows. “He found your team. He found Namjoon."
Your mind races, tripping over itself. "Namjoon doesn't know," you say, the realization bleeding through the shock. "He thinks this job is real."
"It is real." Jungkook's jaw tightens. "The funds exist. The transfer window is genuine. Everything Yoongi built, everything Namjoon planned, it works. I just made sure I was on the other end of it."
"Why?" The word comes out shredded. "If you knew– if you've known this whole time…why let us get this far? Why let me walk in here and–" Your voice breaks. "Why let me tell you about Hoseok like you didn't already know?"
Jungkook flinches. It's the first true crack in his composure, a visible wound. "Because I needed to hear you say it." His voice drops. "I needed to know if you'd actually tell me the truth this time. Or if you'd just steal from me again."
The words land like a hand against your cheek. It’s not a violent slap per se, more devastatingly soft. Like the way he used to cup it before planting a kiss on your lips.
You stare at him, tears sliding silently, and the worst part isn't the betrayal. The worst part is that you understand. You understand because you would have done the same thing. Maybe you already did.
"So this whole time," you say slowly, "you've been watching us. Watching me. Planning this the same way Namjoon planned the first heist." A bitter laugh escapes you, wet and fractured. "You out-heisted the heist."
"I didn't want to." The urgency in his voice surprises you. He steps closer, and the distance between you shrinks to something dangerous. You can feel the warmth of him, smell the cedar and something underneath it. It’s something that's just him, unchanged and achingly familiar. Your back is against the wall and he's close enough that if either of you breathed too deeply, you'd touch. But neither of you breathes too deeply and neither of you steps back.
"I didn't set out to trap you," he says, and his voice is low enough that you feel it more than hear it. It’s a vibration that moves through the small space between your bodies. "I set out to understand you. And then Taehyung told me about Hoseok, and how you sleep in a bed next to his almost every night." His voice wavers. "And I realized you weren't a thief. You were desperate. The same way I was desperate to know why."
His eyes drop to your mouth just for a second. It's just long enough for you to feel it like a physical touch. You press your back harder against the wall, as if the concrete can anchor you, because every nerve in your body is screaming at you to close the distance and every rational thought is screaming at you not to.
"There's more," he says, pulling his gaze back to your eyes with visible effort. "The half billion you came here to steal, it's not mine."
You blink. "What?"
"The parent fund, GFC Capital,” he starts. “My name's on it. Every press release, every letterhead. But the money inside it isn't clean." His jaw tightens with controlled fury. "Three board members have been siphoning funds through shell companies for two years. Foreign accounts, fabricated invoices, phantom subsidiaries. By the time my forensic auditors flagged it, they'd already moved close to $400 million through channels I couldn't touch without exposing the entire fund which includes the legitimate investors who'd lose everything."
"Your own board has been stealing from you."
"From everyone. Pension funds. Institutional investors. People who trusted GFC Capital with their futures." His voice is cold now, but the coldness isn't aimed at you. "And I couldn't go public because the moment I do, the fund collapses, the stock craters, and thousands of people lose their retirement savings. The corruption has to be excised without killing the patient."
The medical metaphor isn't lost on you.
"So you need someone to move the money," you say slowly, the architecture of his plan assembling itself in your mind. "Someone outside the system. Someone untraceable."
"Someone who's already proven they can get in, take what they need, and disappear." He holds your gaze. "I didn't pick your team because of our history. I picked them because they're good. Yoongi's Obsidian protocol is better than anything my security consultants could design. And Namjoon's operational planning is…" He pauses, a reluctant admission pulling at his mouth. "Annoyingly brilliant."
"So we're not robbing you."
"You're robbing the people who robbed me. And the $500 million you redirect through Obsidian doesn't vanish. It gets funnelled into a forensic trust that my legal team uses to build a case. Every transaction Yoongi routes becomes evidence, every node, every wallet, every timestamp." You realize it's a paper trail that looks invisible from the outside but reads like a confession from the inside.
You stare at him. The magnitude of it settles over you in layers. First, it’s the relief that you're not betraying him again, then the fury that he manipulated you into it, then the grudging, bone-deep recognition that it's exactly what you would have done.
The relief that floods through you is so disproportionate to the moment that it embarrasses you. You press your lips together, looking at the ceiling, and you hear him exhale.
Jungkook’s expression sobers. He reaches into his jacket pocket. His hand passes close enough to your hip that you feel the displacement of air, and what he pulls out makes your breath stop.
A bright blue plastic ring. It's faded, chipped and absolutely ridiculous that it's here in front of you. It's the one you won him at the carnival, the one he wore for the rest of the night because it matched his shirt.
He holds it between his thumb and forefinger, studying it in the bare light. You watch his hands, the same hands that held you, turn it slowly, and your throat tightens with something that isn't only grief.
"I could've helped," he says quietly. "If you had told me about him from the start, I would have helped." His voice frays. "You just had to trust me."
"I know," you whisper. Because what else is there? He's right. He's been right this entire time, and the most excruciating part is that some desperate, frightened version of you from two years ago knew it too and chose theft over trust anyway. That's what it was at the end of the day, pure desperation.
His hand rises almost involuntarily and his thumb grazes the edge of your jaw. It's featherlight and barely there, gone before you can lean into it. The touch lasts less than a second, but it sends a current through you that buckles your knees. He pulls his hand back like he's been burned, fingers curling into his palm.
"Sorry," he says. He doesn't look sorry. He looks wrecked.
"Namjoon and Yoongi," you manage, dragging yourself back from the edge. "Are you going to—"
"Nobody's getting arrested." He says it firmly. "I told you before, it was never about the money. It's still not." He exhales. "But the transfer needs to happen tonight. The way Yoongi designed it."
In your ear, Yoongi's voice returns, oblivious. "Four minutes to mirror window. _____, I need you at the east wing terminal. Where are you?"
You close your eyes.
"What do you need from me?" Jungkook asks you. He looks at you for a long time. The bare bulb flickers once, casting his face in a brief strobe of shadow.
You look down at the purse hanging off your shoulder and unclip it open. From there, you pull out the small tablet Yoongi placed earlier with the calibration screen already on display for his fingerprint.
“Preferably your thumb or index finger.” You repeat Yoongi’s words.
As Jungkook registers his fingerprint, you stare at him. You stare at the ring still in his fingers, the boy underneath the CEO, at the man who kept a worthless piece of plastic in his pocket for over a year because it was the last honest thing you’d given him.
"Go," he says softly, turning the tablet back to you and creating space between you as he steps back. "Clock's ticking."
You go but before you do, Jungkook grabs your wrist and spins you toward him and then his mouth is on yours and every carefully constructed thing inside you comes apart at once.
It isn't gentle. It isn't the kind of kiss that asks permission or makes apologies. It is a year of silence compressed into something urgent and graceless and completely beyond either of your better judgments. His free hand comes up to cup the side of your face with a pressure that says stay even as everything around you is screaming go. You feel the cold of his ring against your jaw and it undoes you further.
You kiss him back. Of course you do. You kiss him back like you've been holding your breath for over twelve months and he is the only available air. Your fingers twisting into the lapel of his jacket, pulling him closer.
He makes a low sound against your mouth. His hand slides from your face to the back of your neck, thumb tracing the line of your jaw on its way. It’s unhurried despite the chaos assembling itself on the other side of the ballroom. You feel the warmth of his palm against your bare skin and your brain goes briefly, completely white.
Then his forehead drops to yours. Both of you breathing, the fraction of space between your mouths charged and unbearable.
His jaw tightens. "I couldn't make myself believe you were only that."
"Jungkook–"
"Go." His voice comes out rough at the edges. He pulls back, not far, just enough to look at you, and what's on his face is the full version of everything he's been carefully not showing all evening. Raw and steady and terrifying in its patience. Like a man who has decided he can wait a little longer now that he knows there's something worth waiting for. "Come back when it's done."
It's the come back that breaks you open.
You release his lapel. You smooth the fabric with your palm out of some automatic instinct toward repair, and his hand falls from your neck slowly but his fingertips last. It's like he's reluctant to confirm the absence.
You step back. Then another step. Your heels find their purpose again.
"When it's done," you repeat. A promise shaped like an echo.
His eyes hold yours until the crowd swallows you.
The east wing terminal is exactly where Yoongi's schematics said it would be, tucked behind a service door at the end of a corridor branching off the main ballroom. Namjoon is already there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his charcoal suit jacket unbuttoned. He straightens when he sees you.
"Where the hell have you been?" His voice is a controlled hiss. "Yoongi's been—"
"I know." You cut past him and approach the terminal. A sleek console is embedded in the wall, its screen dark waiting. "I'm here. Let's go."
Namjoon studies you and you hope he doesn’t notice the distinct flush of your cheeks. He has that look, the one that precedes an interrogation. But there isn't time.
"Yoongi," you say into the mic. "I'm at the terminal."
"Finally." His relief is audible. "Placing the tablet on the scanner now, biometric should authenticate in three… two…"
A soft chime. The screen illuminates, casting blue light across your face.
[BIOMETRIC AUTHENTICATION: ACCEPTED]
"We're in." Yoongi's voice accelerates, the flat effect giving way to focused energy. "Mirror sequence initiating. Seven minutes forty-three seconds. Starting the Obsidian routing, first tranche moving through Node Alpha." Whatever he said is all gibberish to you as you watch numbers cascade down the terminal screen too fast to comprehend.
Your palms are slick against the console's edge. A bead of sweat tracks down the back of your neck, disappearing into the fabric of your gown. Every sound is amplified, the hum of the terminal, your own breathing and the distant echo of the ballroom.
Then you both hear footsteps in the corridor behind you.
You spin. Namjoon's hand shoots to your arm, pulling you behind the terminal alcove. You both press flat against the wall, heartbeats competing. Through the crack in the service door, you see a security guard pass with an earpiece in, flashlight sweeping in a lazy arc. He pauses at the junction, tilts his head like he's listening to something on his radio, then continues down the opposite corridor.
You don't breathe again until his footsteps fade.
"Security sweep, east wing," Yoongi reports, his voice tight. "Routine. You're clear. Five minutes remaining."
Namjoon steps back to the terminal, eyes fixed on the screen. "It's working," he breathes. For the first time in months, you hear something in his voice you'd almost forgotten. It’s unguarded, uncalculated hope. "It's actually working."
You feel sick.
"Namjoon," you say quietly, your eyes still on the screen. The numbers keep cascading. Four minutes left.
"Not now."
"It has to be now."
Something in your tone makes him turn. His brow creases, then furrows, then drops into the expression you've come to associate with the moments before everything goes wrong.
"What did you do?" he asks.
"It's not what I did." You finally look at him. "It's what Jungkook did."
The name hits him like a slap. His eyes narrow. "What about him?"
"He knows, Joon." You say it plainly, the way Hoseok told you the truth deserved to be said without cushion. "He's known the whole time. The job, the Obsidian protocol. He's the one who set it up."
Namjoon goes very still. It’s not the calculated stillness of a strategist processing variables its the stillness of a man whose operating system has crashed.
"That's not possible," he says.
"The investigator who fed you the job, he works for Jungkook. Has been the whole time."
You watch the sequence unfold on Namjoon's face. It's disbelief, analysis, and fury. Each phase is distinct and each lasting exactly as long as it takes for the next to overwhelm it. His hands ball into fists at his sides.
"He played us." The words come through his teeth.
"He guided us." You echo Jungkook's word deliberately. "Namjoon, the money we're moving right now is not Jungkook's. It belongs to corrupt board members who've been embezzling from his fund for years. We're not robbing him. We're helping him clean house."
"I don't give a damn whose money it is!" Namjoon's voice rises, bouncing off the corridor. "He manipulated us and he used us like fucking tools—"
"The way we used me?" The question leaves you before you can measure it, and it lands with surgical precision. Namjoon's mouth snaps shut.
Two minutes left. The numbers keep falling.
"He's not pressing charges," you say. "He never was. He built this so we could do what we're good at and so the people who actually deserve to be caught get caught."
Namjoon's chest heaves. He looks at the terminal, at the cascading numbers that represent everything he's spent months planning, and you watch the terrible realization settle over him: his masterwork was never his. Every contingency he mapped, every variable he accounted for, every sleepless night spent perfecting the plan– all of it ran on tracks that Jungkook had laid first.
"Ninety seconds," Yoongi reports. "Third tranche routing clean. No flags."
Namjoon stares at the screen. His fists unclench, finger by finger.
"Does Yoongi know?" he asks quietly.
"Not yet."
He nods. Something shifts behind his eyes. "The board members," he says. "Who are they?"
"Jungkook has the details."
"Of course he does." A bitter exhale. Then, quieter: "Is the evidence actually solid? If this goes to prosecution–"
"He has a forensic team. The Obsidian routing creates the trail. Every transaction we move tonight becomes a timestamped record."
"Thirty seconds," Yoongi's voice. "Final tranche clearing now."
Namjoon watches the last numbers fall. When the screen flashes [TRANSFER COMPLETE — MIRROR SEQUENCE CLOSING], he lets out a breath that seems to carry years in it.
"So we just helped a billionaire take out his own trash," Namjoon says flatly.
"We helped a man who could've sent us to prison choose to give us a second chance instead."
Namjoon's jaw clenches. He doesn't look at you when he speaks again.
"I want to talk to him. Directly."
"He's in the ballroom."
"Fuck. Okay." Namjoon pushes off the wall, buttoning his jacket with sharp, precise movements. He pauses at the corridor entrance before half-turning to you.
"For what it's worth," he says, his voice stripped of its usual command, "I'm sorry. For putting you in the middle of this. For making you the weapon." He swallows. "You deserved better than that."
Before you can respond, he's gone.
You stand alone in the corridor. The terminal screen has gone dark. The earpiece is silent, Yoongi running post-transfer protocols in focused quiet surely.
You lean against the wall and close your eyes.
When you return to the ballroom almost thirty-five minutes later, the scene that greets you is one you couldn't have predicted.
Hoseok is seated at a table near the east columns, his cane propped against the chair beside him. Across from him sits Jungkook, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He's listening to whatever Hoseok is saying that has Jungkook's complete attention. It’s not the typical polite, half-engaged attention of a CEO at a networking event, but the focused, full-bodied attention of a person hearing something that matters.
And Hoseok is laughing.
It's not the full, room-filling laugh you remember from before. It's thinner, breathier, punctuated by pauses where his lungs catch up. But it's real. And Jungkook is smiling. An actual smile, slightly crooked, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
You stop mid-step, afraid that moving closer will break whatever fragile thing is happening between them.
Hoseok spots you first. He waves you over, and as you approach, you catch the tail end of whatever story he's been telling.
"—and she just stood there with spaghetti sauce on her face, trying to convince Namjoon that Italian cooking was her hidden talent." Hoseok wheezes slightly on the last word, pressing a hand to his chest. "She burned the garlic bread so badly the smoke detector went off twice."
Jungkook's eyes flick to you as you reach the table, and the amusement in them is so unexpected it winds you. "Sounds familiar," he says, and there's a warmth there that has no business existing tonight. "She tried to make me dinner once. I think I'm still recovering."
"Slander," you manage, sinking into the chair between them. "Both of you."
Hoseok's laughter fades into a cough but it’s just one and it's enough to remind everyone at the table of the stakes. He waves off your concern before it reaches your face.
Then Namjoon appears.
He approaches the table with the measured stride of a man who has reorganized his entire worldview in the span of a hallway walk. His eyes move from Hoseok to you to Jungkook, where they settle.
"Mr. Jeon," Namjoon says. His voice is level.
Jungkook rises from his chair. He stands a full inch shorter than Namjoon, but the height difference isn't what fills the space between them. It's everything else.
"Kim Namjoon," Jungkook says. Neither extends a hand. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Apparently not as much as you already knew."
A moment passes. Then, impossibly, the corner of Jungkook's mouth twitches. "Your operational planning is impressive. Taehyung's words, not mine."
"I'll be sure to thank the man who conned me," Namjoon replies, dry as bone. But there's no venom in it- just pure exhaustion and grudging respect.
Jungkook gestures to the chairs. "Sit down. We have a lot to discuss."
Namjoon glances at you. You nod.
He sits.
And from his chair, cane resting against his knee, oxygen concentrator humming quietly in the bag beneath the table, Hoseok watches the architect of his survival sit down across from the man whose money built it.
He reaches for his water glass, takes a slow sip, and closes his eyes.
For the first time in a very long while, he isn't counting breaths, he's just breathing.
Jungkook speaks quietly. "The board members, Park Chansik, Lee Minho, Kwon Jaesung– my legal team has everything they need as of forty minutes ago. The Obsidian routing created a clean timestamped trail. Prosecution is already in motion." He looks at Namjoon evenly. "No one at this table will be contacted by law enforcement. That was never the intended outcome."
Namjoon is quiet for a long moment. His hands are flat on the table. You watch him work through it, the last of the resistance, the pride that has kept him upright through years of operating in margins and shadows. You watch him set it down.
"You could have done this without us," Namjoon says.
"Yes."
"But you needed someone who wouldn't leave a trail back to you."
"I needed people who were good at what they do," Jungkook says. "There's a difference."
Another silence. Then Namjoon exhales through his nose, slow and controlled. "If you ever need anything," he says, each word measured, "done legitimately." He pauses. "You know where to find me."
It isn't quite gratitude. It isn't quite an apology. It is, you think, the closest Namjoon has ever come to either in a single sentence.
Jungkook nods. "I do."
Namjoon stands, straightening his jacket. He looks at you and something passes across his face that's complicated, brief and genuine.
"Take care of yourself," he says.
Then he's gone, swallowed by the ballroom's glittering current, and you think that wherever he ends up next will be somewhere worth being.
Jungkook turns to Hoseok.
He doesn't ease into it. You've come to understand this about him, that he reserves gentleness for his delivery, not his honesty.
"I'll be covering your treatment going forward," he says. "Full continuity of care. Whatever the next stage requires." He holds Hoseok's gaze. "No debt and no condition attached to it."
Hoseok is quiet. The ballroom moves around you three in almost slow motion.
Then Hoseok slowly nods in the way you'd accept something you'd almost stopped believing was possible. His jaw works briefly and then steadies. His eyes are very bright but nothing falls.
"Okay," he says softly. The same word Jungkook gave you earlier, carrying the same impossible weight. There's no reason to say thank you. What's done is done and he can only be internally grateful.
Jungkook nods back. The matter is settled in the way that only truly important things are, in the space between two people who have decided to mean what they say.
Under the table, you find Hoseok's hand and press it once. He squeezes back and doesn't let go for a long moment. He’s going to be okay.
You take Hoseok out through the east corridor, away from the crowds, his cane tapping its familiar rhythm against the marble. At the rear exit, where the town car is already waiting, you both stop.
The autumn air is sharper now. Hoseok tilts his face up toward the sky, eyes closing briefly, and you watch him breathe it in deliberately.
"Hoseok—"
"Don't," he says gently, eyes still closed. "Don't do the thing where you cry and then apologize for crying."
"I wasn't going to cry."
"You absolutely were." He opens his eyes and looks at you, and the smile that follows is the full radiant one, the one that has survived everything. "Go back inside. Yoongi will ride with me." As if summoned, your earpiece crackles.
“Already on my way down,” Yoongi says, flat and fond in equal measure. “Go back inside.”
You look at Hoseok for a long moment. At the ill-fitting suit and the too-sharp cheekbones and the eyes that are still, despite everything, the brightest thing in any room he enters.
"You planned this," you say quietly. "All of it. Getting me here, saying what you said to him."
"I have limited time and unlimited audacity," he replies serenely. "It seemed efficient."
A sound escapes you that is almost a laugh. You step forward and press your forehead to his, carefully, the way you handle things that matter. His free hand comes up to the back of your head and holds you there for a moment.
"Go," he murmurs. "Be happy. That's an order."
You pull back. You smooth his lapel and he lets you.
The ballroom has thinned. The late hour has winnowed the crowd to its most committed members, small clusters of people with nowhere better to be. The string quartet is replaced by something low and recorded. The chandeliers are still burning but they feel softer now.
You find him where you somehow knew you would. Not waiting dramatically or posed. He’s simply there, standing near the tall windows at the far end of the room, looking out at the city below with his jacket unbuttoned and his glass long since abandoned. Like a man who has finished the work of the evening and is simply existing in what remains of it.
He hears your heels before he sees you. You watch his shoulders shift slightly, just a fraction, the body registering something before the mind catches up.
When he turns, his eyes find yours immediately.
"Hoseok?" he asks.
"With Yoongi. And Namjoon."
His expression softens. "Good.”
He looks at you across the remaining distance, and there is nothing careful in it anymore. The composure that has been doing its careful architectural work all evening has finally, quietly, stood down.
"My suite is on the fourteenth floor," he says.
It isn't a question and it isn't quite an invitation. It is simply a fact, offered plainly, leaving the rest entirely to you.
You cross the distance between you.
"Then take me there," you say.
The elevator ascends in silence.
You're aware of everything. The warmth radiating off him where your arm almost touches his. The slight unevenness of his breathing. Your own reflection in the mirrored doors, the emerald gown and the lipstick worn down to almost nothing. It’s the evidence of a night that has taken you apart and put you back together in a different order.
His hand finds yours somewhere between the eighth and ninth floor. It’s not dramatic but it does knock some kind of breath out of you. It’s the way his fingers slide between yours like they belong there and they remember the divots.
You look down at your joined hands. You don't say anything and neither does he.
The doors open.
His suite is at the end of a quiet corridor, all muted carpet and low light. He unlocks the door and holds it open and when you step through, you hear it close behind you. The sound of the latch catching feels like the period at the end of a very long sentence yet your heartbeat quickens. You can’t believe you’re here with Jungkook. After everything, the year of inner turmoil and hospital stays.
You turn and Jungkook is already looking at you.
And then there is no more careful distance. No more city full of people between you and this.
He reaches you in two strides and his mouth finds yours, and it's nothing like the kiss downstairs, which was urgent, surprised and compressed. This is slower and more devastating, his hands cupping your face with a pressure that says I have been thinking about this for a very long time and his mouth moving against yours like he intends to be thorough about it.
"I've thought about this," he says against your mouth, low and rough at the edges. "More than I should have."
"Tell me," you breathe. His mouth feels so good on you.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and intent. What's on his face is the unguarded version, the one with nothing between you and it.
"Every version of how it should have gone," he says. His thumb traces your jaw, slowly, deliberate. "Every version where you stayed."
Something in your chest cracks cleanly open.
You pull him back to you.
He finds the zip at the back of your gown with careful hands, drawing it down slowly, like he's unwrapping something he plans to take his time with. The silk loosens around you and he peels it from your shoulders with a patience that borders on unbearable, pressing his mouth to each inch of skin he uncovers. He starts at your shoulder then moves along the curve of your neck to the line of your collarbone.
The gown pools at your feet.
He looks at you. Really looks, in the low warm light of the suite, with an expression that makes your skin feel like it belongs to you differently than it did before.
"God," he says softly.
You reach for his shirt buttons. Your fingers are steadier than they were this morning with the lipstick and you're obscurely proud of this, working each button open while he watches you with that lustful, patient attention. His hands rest at your hips as if he's restraining them.
You push the shirt open and run your palms flat up his chest, feeling him pull in a slow breath.
"Your turn," you say.
It seems as though his patience reaches its limit as something shifts in him.
He walks you backward to the bed, not roughly but with a decisive authority that makes your breath catch, his mouth finding your neck, your shoulder, the curve of your ear, cataloguing you the way he always did.
When the backs of your knees meet the mattress he lowers you onto it and follows, bracing above you. The weight of him bracketing you feels like the answer to a question you've been carrying for over a year.
"I missed you," you say. The words come out unplanned.
He goes very still above you. His doe eyes find yours in the low light.
"I know," he says. And then, quieter, his forehead dropping to yours: "I missed you every single day."
The words dissolve whatever was left of the distance.
What follows is desperate in the way that only reunion can be, the kind of desperate that isn't frantic but deep, the satisfaction of finally filling a space that has been hollow too long.
He starts at your throat.
His mouth drags slowly down the column of your neck, and you feel the graze of his teeth at your pulse point before he soothes it with his tongue. Your fingers go into his hair automatically, the muscle memory of a body that never forgot him even when you were trying to. He makes a low sound of approval against your skin that vibrates all the way down your spine. His hands map you like he's reclaiming territory. Palms sliding up your sides, thumbs tracing the undersides of your ribs, learning the topography of you with an unhurried thoroughness.
He cups your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra and watches your face when he does it, taking in your reaction with those dark intent eyes.
"Still the same," he murmurs, more to himself than to you, unclasping your bra and drawing it away. He looks at you in the low light of the suite for a long moment, chest rising and falling. It’s like he’s learning you back like a language he was afraid he'd forgotten. He then dips his head and takes one nipple into his mouth and you arch off the bed with a sharp inhale.
He is not merciful about it. He takes his time, his tongue circling and his teeth grazing, one hand attending to what his mouth isn't. By the time he moves lower, your hands are fisted in the sheets and you have entirely abandoned any pretense of composure.
His mouth traces down your sternum, your stomach, pausing at your hip to press a kiss to the bone that is soft enough to undo you in an entirely different way. His fingers hook into the last of your underwear and draw it down slowly. He looks up at you from where he is and the expression on his face is dark, patient and wanting. It makes your breath stall completely.
"Jungkook—"
"I've got you," he says quietly. And then his mouth finds the most sensitive part of you and every coherent thought you had evaporates.
He is meticulous. Devastatingly and deliberately meticulous, like he has all night and intends to use it. His tongue works in slow controlled strokes against your clit while his hands hold your hips with a firmness that makes it clear he'll set the pace, not you. You try anyway, your hips rolling, chasing, but he presses down until you still beneath him.
"Stay," he says against you, the word more felt than heard.
You make a sound that is almost his name.
He takes you apart with a patience that borders on cruel, bringing you to the edge twice and pulling back. He reads your body with an attention to detail that makes you feel known like he did back then. By the time he finally lets you fall over it, you've said his name so many times it's lost all meaning and found a new one.
You're still catching your breath when he kisses his way back up your body. He tastes of you when his mouth finds yours and you feel it everywhere. His weight settles over you and you reach between his legs, wrapping your hand around the thick and warm cock. You feel him shudder against your throat.
And then you flip him.
He lands on his back with a slight exhale of surprise and you rise over him with intent. There’s a look on his face when he registers what you're doing. Surprise cedes to something darker and more interested, sending heat flooding through you all over again.
You take your time the same way he did, because you have your own year's worth of thinking about this. Your mouth traces his chest, his stomach and the deep cut of muscle below his hip until his hand fists in your hair and his breathing has gone ragged.
"_____." His voice is strained. A warning and a plea at once.
"Stay," you say against his skin, throwing his own word back at him.
He says something under his breath that might be a curse.
You take him into your mouth and his whole body goes taut, the hand in your hair tightening. A low broken sound escapes him that you feel in your chest like a struck chord. You are thorough about it in the same way he was thorough about you. You're being carefully slow and attentive. You're entirely in control.
His grip in your hair tightens further and he pulls you up with a firmness that makes it clear the balance of power has shifted again.
He rolls you back beneath him in one fluid motion.
"Enough," he says roughly, and his voice has lost all its careful edges. He looks at you with his hair disheveled and his chest heaving and every last layer of composure completely dismantled. He truly is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. "I need to feel you."
"Then feel me," you say.
He does.
The moment he presses into you for the first time you both go very still. His forehead drops to yours. Your hands grip his shoulders. The room is completely quiet except for both of you breathing.
"Okay?" he asks softly.
"Yes," you breathe. "Yes."
He begins to roll his hips back before thrusting forward.
It's slow at first, deep and measured with each movement deliberate. You haven’t had sex in so long, it feels like the first time again. The uncontrollable way your skin buzzes with need makes your hands slide down his back and pull him closer. It’s urgent and he obliges, the pace building in increments that winds you tighter with every thrust.
His mouth finds your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. He says your name once, quietly, like it's something he's been holding carefully for a long time. You can’t help the onslaught of moans that bleed past your lips. Feeling him like this again is so sinfully beautiful.
Then the slowness runs out.
What replaces it is urgent, consuming and entirely mutual. His hands grip your hips and yours grip him back, both of you chasing the same thing with equal desperation. The headboard and the low sounds he makes against your throat is everything that has been held tightly finally, completely releasing. You feel it building at the base of your spine, tightening. He must feel it too because his hand slides between you and finds exactly the right place to be. You shatter with his name in your mouth and your fingers in his hair as he drags his thumb in circles around your sensitive bud.
He follows moments later, his whole body going rigid, your name broken apart on his lips as he buries himself deep and holds there.
The feeling of it, of him, of this, of all the right pieces finally back in place, is so complete that your eyes sting with something that has nothing to do with sadness.
Afterward the room settles around you like an exhale.
He gathers you against his chest without a word, one hand moving slowly through your hair. Your ear is pressed to his heartbeat and you count it without meaning to. It's the way you've been counting Hoseok's breaths for months, the habit of holding onto proof of life.
His heartbeat is steady and real and yours again.
The suite holds you both in its quiet, the city burning silently beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, all that distant light doing nothing to touch the stillness in here. His hand moves through your hair in slow, absent strokes. Your fingers trace idle patterns on his chest without deciding to.
This is the part you didn't let yourself imagine. Not the wanting, you'd lived inside that for twelve months without permission. But this. The after. The specific peace of lying in the wreckage of everything that was held too long and finding it habitable. Finding it, impossibly, like home.
"I have something to tell you," he says eventually. His voice is low and unhurried. It's the voice he uses when he's simply finding the words for it.
You tilt your head up to look at him.
"Tonight at the gala" he says, his eyes on the ceiling. "When you walked across that ballroom toward me." A pause. "I'd been planning every variable for months. Every possible outcome." His jaw shifts. "And then you were just…there. In that dress. Walking toward me like it cost you something, and I couldn't remember a single thing I'd prepared."
You're quiet for a moment. "Good," you say finally. "That means you care." Echoing Hoseok’s words.
He looks down at you.
He exhales something that is almost a soft laugh, and presses his lips to the top of your head. You feel him settle more completely into the mattress beneath you, some last residual tension finally locating the exit.
"I want to do this properly," he says. "Whatever comes next. I want to do it right."
You think about what right means, after everything. After the theft and the year of silence and the gala and Hoseok. After Namjoon's careful penance and Yoongi running an operation from a service van two blocks away because that's simply the kind of person he is. After all of it.
"Right doesn't look the same as it did before," you say carefully.
"No," he agrees. "It looks like this. Like whatever this is." His arm tightens around you slightly. "I just want it to be honest."
You press your palm flat against his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath it.
"Then we start there," you say.
He turns his head and finds your mouth in the dark, slow and soft. It’s the kind of kiss that isn't going anywhere because it doesn't need to.
You fall asleep before you mean to, somewhere between one breath and the next, his heartbeat counting you down into something that feels, for the first time in a very long time, like genuine rest.
Spring arrives quickly, the days in winter blurring into one giant thing.
Hoseok's new facility is twenty minutes from the city center, close enough that you can visit twice a week without rearranging your life around it. The room has a window that faces east, which he requested specifically because he has developed strong opinions about morning light now that mornings are something he's decided to keep having.
He looks different. Not restored to before but present in a way that was once uncertain. The sharpness has softened back into his face by degrees. He laughs fully now, the room-filling version, and his lungs mostly cooperate.
Today he's sitting up in the chair by the window when you arrive, a book open in his lap and Jimin cross-legged on the floor beside him, arguing about something with the comfortable ferocity of people who have known each other long enough to mean nothing by it. That’s right, Jimin is back and his hair is blond now. It came as a text on a random Tuesday to let him into your house and he never left again since.
"She's here," Jimin announces without looking up. "Tell him he's wrong about the ending."
"I'm not getting involved," you say, setting the takeout containers on the table.
"You're already involved," Hoseok says. "You brought food. That's a political statement."
Jungkook arrives twenty minutes later, still in his work shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The sight of him in this room, standing in the doorway of the place his money is keeping lit and warm and full of morning light, does something to you that nine months hasn't made ordinary.
He crosses to you first. Presses a kiss to your temple. His hand rests at the small of your back like it lives there, because it does now.
Hoseok watches this with the expression of a man who has been right about something for a very long time.
"I'm not going to say I told you so," he announces to the room.
"You absolutely are," Jimin replies.
"I told you so," Hoseok says serenely.
Yoongi arrives last, because Yoongi always arrives last, sliding into the remaining chair with a convenience store coffee and the flat affect of a man who finds this entire situation both deeply chaotic and exactly correct. He looks around the room. At Jimin on the floor. At Hoseok in the light. At you and Jungkook and the space between you that has finally, completely closed.
He takes a sip of his coffee.
"Good," he says simply.
And it is. It genuinely, completely is.
Namjoon sends a message that evening, while you're in the car going home with Jungkook's hand over yours on the console. A single line, no context, typical of him.
Started something new. Legitimate. Thought you should know.
You show it to Jungkook. He reads it and smiles.
"Good for him," he says.
You lean your head against the window. The city moves past in its familiar blur of light and shadow. Jungkook's thumb traces slow circles on the back of your hand.
Nothing was returned to its original shape. That's not how any of this works. People don't unbreak, they rebuild differently. The seams show, and that's fine. That's more than fine.
You turn your hand over from under his and lace your fingers together.
Outside the window the city burns on, brilliant and ordinary and alive.
it's been a long wait my friends but i hope it was worth the 6 year wait. i hope this closes a chapter you all have been waiting for and as always, i hope you enjoyed tmnl jungkook again (: i promised it would be a happy ending xx
thank you for your patience and thank you for continuously supporting me after all this time. i love you to no end ♡
Pairing: camboy! Beomgyu x gn reader (afab when smut)
Warnings: camboy, sub! beomgyu, dom! reader, solo beomgyu, anal
Synopsis: Every Thursday night at 8pm, you tune into your favourite camboy: Angel313. What you don’t know is he even goes to the same uni as you, is in the same class as you and is Choi Beomgyu, the campus fuckboy but will you keep his secret?
summary: When you meet Jungkook— an older man who is amazing in bed, you thought it would be a simple arrangement of casual sex. Except things start getting serious and before you know he’s asking you on dates and introducing you to his daughter… Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re bad with kids and never wanted one of your own— well, at least it was just something temporary… right?
pairing: business! fem reader x dad! jeon jungkook
genre/warning: fluff, crack, smut, angst / a lot of themes like insecurity, jealousy, death, dysfunctional family, etc.
You hadn’t had sex in two hundred and forty-two days. Not that you were counting. You just happened to be excellent with numbers… and even better at holding grudges against time, men, and the unrelenting passage of your own libido. For nearly eight month, you had buried yourself in work, business trips, back-to-back restaurant openings, pasta-tasting menus, board meetings, and the sweet sound of silence in you phone’s notification tab. No “thinking of you” texts. No “u up?” bait. No apologies. And more importantly, no Jungwoo Lee.
You had moved on. Or at least, you had been exceptionally productive in pretending to.
Which was why you found yourself on a Friday night in a low-lit cocktail bar you would normally call “too crowded, too loud, and too thirsty,” sipping something citrusy and overpriced, wearing heels you hadn’t worn since the engagement party you never showed up to. So-hee said they made your legs look dangerous. Bohyung said they made you taller than God. Both were right. And both were sitting across from you in a booth, watching you with the kind of silent encouragement that only meant one thing: it’s time.
“Alright, Y/n,” Bohyung said, swirling his whiskey like he was about to deliver a TED Talk on hoeing responsibly. “You’ve mourned. You’ve moped. You’ve Marie Kondo’d your entire love life. I think it’s time we introduce your libido back to the field.”
So-hee raised a brow. “He means sex. You haven’t had sex in a eight months. It’s starting to worry us.”
“I’ve been busy,” you said coolly, checking your lipstick in the reflection of your martini glass. “Some of us own empires.”
“Empires don’t keep you warm at night,” your friend said. “Unless you’re sleeping with a pizza oven.”
“Which I’d honestly respect,” the girl added.
You gave a dry smile, elegant and a little cruel. “It’s not that I don’t want to date again. I tried, didn’t work. And I’m done trying to date anyone I’ve already know.”
The table hummed with mutual understanding. There it was… the shadow of the person you weren’t naming.
So-hee leaned forward, thoughtful. “Look, it ended for a reason. And if the universe wanted you two to circle back, it wouldn’t have yanked you in opposite time zones every week for three years.”
“I’m not looking for him again,” you said, perhaps too quickly. “I just want… something new. Someone new. A palate cleanser.”
Bohyung lit up. “A palate cleanser! Like tequila. You don’t need a five-course meal. You need a shot and some bad decisions.”
Your other friend smirked. “You need a man with no potential. Just vibes.”
You laughed — real, throat-deep. “That’s exactly what I need. Something with tequila. No last names. No matching values. Just someone tall, hot, and emotionally irrelevant.”
“Then finish that drink,” your friend raised his glass. “And go find yourself a temporary disaster with biceps.”
You stood, smoothing the hem of your black silk dress. You looked expensive, unattainable, and slightly amused… like someone who would ruin a guy’s life and leave a tip for the effort.
“I’ll get another drink,” you said, flashing your friends a perfectly manicured finger— the signal. The one that meant don’t wait up.
That night wasn’t just about having sex. It was about moving on. About making the decision that you wouldn’t feel bad for seeing other people when you weren’t in a relationship already. It was about ending things completely, about showing yourself that those loyal feelings didn’t need to stay there because you weren’t engaged to someone anymore… or in love.
Tonight it was about fucking someone and let things go. And you were ready for that.
The bar got busier some minutes later. Warm with people, pulsing with low music and clinking glasses. You moved through the crowd like you owned it, heels precise, perfume like a dare. You slid up to the bar, leaned in on one elbow, and flagged the bartender with the kind of practiced ease that said: I’ve never had to try that hard.
“Two fingers of tequila,” you said. “Neat.”
The man beside you turned slightly, his glass half-full and his body language relaxed, like he had nowhere better to be, and wasn’t looking for an excuse to leave.
“You ordering by volume or emotional state?” he asked.
You glanced at him. And for a second, you didn’t respond. He was older. Not by decades, but enough to register. And he was attractive in a way you didn’t usually go for. You gave him a long look. He was hot. Undeniably hot. Not in the fancy, polished kind of way Jungwoo had been… not suit-and-watch hot. This man was worn jeans and a leather jacket. He had broad shoulders and tattoos creeping from beneath the cuff of his sleeve, including some piercing— in his mouth and eyebrow. He looked like he could fight someone or build furniture. Maybe both in the same night.
“Excuse me?” you said, eyebrow arched.
He didn’t flinch. Just sipped his drink. “Two fingers neat. That’s either ‘I’ve had a day,’ or ‘I’m trying to look cool ordering tequila alone.’”
You gave a tight-lipped smile. “Or maybe I just like the taste.”
“Sure,” he said, amused. “Let me guess… citrus-forward, oaky, no burn, you pretend to know the brand but really just like that it matches your mood.”
“Wow,” you said, accepting your glass from the bartender. “You should put that on a dating profile. ‘Insufferably observant. Mildly psychic. Judgmental about liquor choices.’ I bet you just drink beer and don’t know anything about good wine.”
“I like cheap wine.” He grinned. “ And I don’t have a dating profile.”
“Of course you don’t,” you said, swirling the glass. “You’re the type that likes to meet people in person. Eye contact. Conversation. You think apps are ruining the mystery of it all.”
“…And you’re the type that deletes apps just to reinstall them an hour later and then tell your friends dating is dead,” he said, matching your rhythm without missing a beat.
You laughed, surprised by it. “You’re good at this.”
“I’m not trying to be good at anything,” he said. “Just talking.”
You turned slightly, angling toward him. “So what’s your name, Not Trying to Be Good at Anything?”
He leaned forward, offering his hand. “Jungkook.”
You took it. His grip was warm, rough-palmed.
“Y/n,” you said.
“Of course it is.”
You tilted your head. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged, sipping again. “You look like someone who owns a name like that. Clean. Sharp. Expensive.”
“Sounds like a compliment disguised as an insult.”
“Maybe it is.”
You chuckled. “I’ll take it. My name is clean, sharp and, of course, expensive.”
He smiled. You two let the silence settle for a second, but it wasn’t awkward. It was something else. Charged.
Jungkook nodded toward your glass. “You from around here?”
“From everywhere and nowhere,” you said vaguely, then added, “But yes. I live a few blocks from here.”
“Let me guess. Not the apartment above the laundromat.”
“No,” you said, dry. “I’m more of a penthouse-and-comfort kind of girl.”
That made him laugh. “I respect that.”
“And you?” you asked. “You seem… not from this bar.”
“Because I’m not swiping, or because I didn’t comment on your expensive jewelry?”
“Both,” you said. “You don’t belong here. You look like you belong somewhere with a jukebox and cheap beer.”
He nodded slowly. “Not a bad guess. I own a tattoo shop a few neighborhoods over.”
“Of course you do.”
“Why’s that?”
“You have that look. Like, you smell like ink and confidence and haven’t apologized for anything in years.”
He gave you a look. “I apologize plenty. Just never for things I meant.” You liked that. More than you should. The bartender returned, and you ordered another, slower this time. Jungkook watched you out of the corner of his eye. “Rough day?”
“Rough year,” you said. Then added, “But I’m still standing. In heels and expensive jewelry, no less.”
He looked down again at your shoes. “Do you always wear your armor to battle?”
You smirked. “No. Sometimes I wear it to flirt with strange men at bars.”
He raised his glass. “Lucky me.”
You both drank.
And for a few minutes, you didn’t say anything. The music thumped low, a crowd shifting behind you two. Jungkook didn’t seem in a rush. He didn’t try to make a move, didn’t ask if you were single or if you came here often. He just existed beside you, quiet and steady— a calm presence in the buzz of the bar.
You broke the silence. “So. Are you waiting for someone?”
He shook his head. “Nah. Just came out to unwind. Long week.”
“Tattooing?”
He nodded. “That, and keeping a tiny human alive.”
You blinked, freezing for a moment. “You’re a dad?”
“Yeah,” he said. No drama. No pity play. Just fact.
“How old?”
“Seven. Sharp as hell. Smarter than me in most ways. Dangerous with glitter.” You sipped your drink. You didn’t respond right away. He caught it. “That a problem?”
“No,” you said. “Just… unexpected.”
He was too hot to be a dad, you thought. But luckily, you were just trying to fuck him, not build a relationship.
He looked at you for a moment. Then said, “I won’t ask what you’re doing here.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll lie.”
You smiled. “You’re right.”
Jungkook set his empty glass down. “So here’s my theory. You’re not looking for something serious, but you’re not here for a sloppy mistake either. You want control. You want to decide exactly what tonight is and what it isn’t. And you don’t want anyone thinking they get to make that call for you.”
You blinked. You hadn’t expected to feel seen. Not tonight. Not by him. “Are you always this good at reading people?” you asked.
“Only when they want to be read.”
Your eyes locked. And just like that, you two knew.
Back at the booth, So-hee looked up just in time to see you scratching your arm and giggling, leaning into the bar. Bohyung tilted his glass in silent admiration.
The girl sighed. “She’s doing the signal.”
The guy smiled. “About damn time.”
And across the bar, you touched the man’s wrist and said, “I don’t usually do this,” which was only partly a lie. You used to do it a lot in college.
He leaned in, brushed a knuckle against your thigh like a question. You didn’t answer— just smiled, slow and dangerous. Then turned to your friends, gave them the look again. The one that said, don’t wait up.
And then you left with him.
No last names. No expectations. Just something with tequila.
Just what you thought you wanted. Not exactly thinking everything was about to change so suddenly because of a one night stand.
so i cooked something…
i actually hate the dad trope but i found myself writing it??? just because i thought it would be funny for the reader to hate the child 😭
anyway hope you like this little little short intro? this is a long fic i wrote it a long time ago and it’s already finish so i just need to edit the chapters hehe.
so let me know if you’re liking it so far or if u want me to do a taglist >_<
Summary: Taehyung finally finds you again after years of searching, and all he needs to do is kiss you to return the memories of your past life together. The only problem is you're already in a relationship, and with the very person who executed you in the first place.
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, Taehyung x Reader
Genre: Reincarnation/Past Lives AU, Royalty AU, Friends to Lovers, Ex-Friends to Lovers, Affair, Angst, Smut, Fluff
Word Count: 28.5k+
Warnings: major character death(s) (in the past, they get reincarnated), execution/death, suicide, blood, swords, wound from a blade, crying, screaming, arguing, cheating, lying, heartbreak, mentions of war, death of loved ones, the fifteenth century, horses, fear of heights, pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, being restrained, migraines, hallucinations/seeing visions, flashbacks, corsets, gowns, basketball, cheerleading, loud crowds, gymnasiums, passing out, needles, being sedated, vomiting, drinking, cursing, depression, mention of graves, crypts, children, chapel, wedding, priest, sacraments, kings, queens, knights, armor and shields, pet names (baby, love, darling), beer pong, darts, loss of friendship, nonconsensual kissing, mention of sorcery/sorceress, spells, reincarnation. SMUT: big dick tae and jk 🤪, loss of virginity, missionary, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, pull-out method, mention of masturbation (f), jacking off/hand job, dick riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, forced exhibitionism (idk how to explain it properly but someone listens outside the door as they have sex), cum eating, coming on skin, cream pie, making out in public, alright I think that's everything but lmk if I missed something.
Author’s Note: jungkook villain era?? haha jk... unless 👀, ok anyway, happy festa everyone! for this fic we got BOAF ‘EM, baby! So excited to have my biases front and center in this monster of a fic lmao. I didn’t even know this many words were capable of coming from my brain but here they are. I really hope you guys love it even though some of our characters be making some major blunders. please don't judge OC too harshly, ok? she's doing her best. also I'll formally apologize to tae for constantly putting him in these situations at a later date. I'm very proud of how this turned out, so, as always, please lmk your thoughts and I hope you enjoyyyy :)
Taehyung kneels across from you, devoid of the armor and shield which make up his regular attire. They’ve been stripped from him, leaving him in just his frock and riding pants. Two of his fellow knights hold his arms out, turning him into the image of the cross before your eyes. You don’t repent, since God is not the one you need to beg for forgiveness.
Your nails scratch harshly against the wood below you as you listen to the footsteps of the King circling around before they halt behind your back. His footsteps which are so familiar and were once the sound you stayed up waiting to hear come down the corridor.
Time moves like the cogs of an ungreased wheel, each click of its turns bringing you closer to the fate which awaits you.
Taehyung glares at the King and thrashes against his restraints, even though every soul in the room, including him, knows it’s useless. His insubordination goes ignored.
“Any last words, your Highness?”
Eyes snapping shut, your emotions betray you as a sob escapes from your chest and tears fall from your eyes onto the floor below. An unalterable grief overtakes you when you look into Taehyung’s chocolate eyes one last time before returning your gaze to the floor.
“I love you,” you whisper across an exhale, most likely your last. “I am so sorry.”
A single poignant moment passes before the sharp blade slices across the delicate skin of your neck.
You gasp and grab at your throat, but the sound becomes a gurgle as blood pours from your neck, staining the wood and your gown below you. The deep red liquid flows around your fingers and stains your skin with its potency. Your vision is already gone, and your hearing follows only seconds after. Your body meets the floor with a thump as the light in your eyes flickers out.
Blood continues to spill from your wound and run through the knots in the wood like a river around stones, creating a halo of it around your body.
“No, no, no, Y/N!” Taehyung cries as he pulls against the knights again, trying to reach you even though you’re already gone. The beautiful eyes he adores stare lifelessly back at him. “You monster,” he sneers.
The King doesn’t say another word, and doesn’t offer Taehyung the same grace he did to you. He just slowly makes his way across the room before repeating the action across his former first knight’s neck.
His body falls next to yours, his blood fanning out around him and combining with yours into a pool of thick, dark liquid that leaks through the cracks in the wood. Your clothing absorbs the fluid and paints you both red.
A final thump follows shortly after.
PRESENT DAY
Taehyung doesn’t know where he’s going, but he thinks it must be the right direction because he can hear cheers from the building coming into view. It’s massive compared to the rest of the school's architecture, but he’s not surprised by that. Most universities nowadays put more emphasis on sports than anything else.
The cheers only grow as he approaches, a loud buzzer triggering the eruption of sound each time. When he enters the gym, the bounce of the basketball and swoosh of it falling into the net joins the mixture of noises coming from inside. He hands his ticket to the woman at the entrance before heading towards the basketball court.
It’s uncomfortably warm in the gym. All the bodies stacked in the bleachers and the sweat from the players creates a thick air around the whole scene. The combination of the temperature and loud noises only perpetuates the distortion of his senses, as if he isn’t anxious enough already. Taehyung’s eyes scan the space as he stands in the doorway, off to the side to avoid disturbing the patrons who come and go.
It only takes him a few seconds to find you.
You’re standing courtside, among the first row of cheerleaders who stand with their pom poms behind their back. Hair down and in curls, with a piece of it tucked behind one ear, and glitter all over your eyelids and cheeks. You look nothing like the last time he saw you and yet somehow you’re exactly the same.
Every few minutes you rub the plastic poms together to cheer on the team, sometimes shouting for them, too. It’s so mundane and yet it takes Taehyung’s breath away. It’s only natural, given that this is his first time seeing you in… well, since his last life.
He never moves from his spot in the doorway, he just stands and admires your every movement and gesture.
His eyes trace across your familiar visage. Your eyes still sparkle, your skin is soft and dewy, and your lips steal his attention instantaneously. The faint blush across your cheeks reminds him of his childhood and of home. It’s been so long, but seeing you now makes him feel like it was only yesterday.
The only thing out of place is seeing you in this attire. Your cheerleader uniform consists of a miniskirt and tight top which only just meets the top of your skirt. Every time you stretch or move your hips, a sliver of your stomach shows and Taehyung is holding his breath. It’s enough to send his mind into a frenzy. In his last life, he never saw so much as your ankle until the first time he made love to you.
All too soon, the game ends with a final buzzer. Your team must have won, because you join the rest of the cheerleaders in a chant with the spectators behind you before congratulating the team one by one.
Once the celebrations are through, you begin packing your things in a duffel matching the university's colors. One of the basketball players walks over and talks to you as you swap out your shoes for something more comfortable and bring a sweatshirt down over your head. Taehyung’s in a love-filled daze as he watches you pull your hair out from where it’s trapped under the neckline and smile at your conversation partner. Every little thing you do is pure magic in his eyes.
Suddenly, you’re waving goodbye to the athlete and walking towards the very exit where Taehyung stands. He’s nervous, more nervous than he’s ever been in his entire life. This one, at least. His heartbeat slows in time with your steps as you grow closer and closer.
“Hi!” Taehyung catches your attention.
You look confused as to where the voice is coming from, your eyes flitting around the room to find the answer, but then you spot Taehyung in front of you and smile.
“Hi,” you respond.
“You — you were great out there,” Taehyung compliments.
Your head tilts to the right and your nose scrunches as you smile. There’s an ache in Taehyung’s chest at the familiar movement. Even your mannerisms are the same.
“Was I? Thank you,” you say. “I didn’t do much.”
“Maybe not, but it’s obvious why you’re front and center,” Taehyung continues.
“That’s what I get for being cheer captain,” you sing-song. Taehyung opens his mouth to say something else, but you continue before he can. “I’m so sorry, my boyfriend is sick so I’m trying to get back to him as fast as I can.”
“Oh.” Boyfriend? “That’s alright, I’ll leave you be. I’m Taehyung, by the way.”
“Y/N,” you reply with a miniature curtsy. You have no memories of ever being a royal, but it must still be in your blood somewhere. “Well, see you later.”
“Yeah, later,” Taehyung concurs.
Taehyung should be elated about having his first conversation with you after an over twenty-year-long hunt, but he didn’t account for everything before traveling across the country to find you. The possibility of you already being in a relationship when he found you never once crossed his mind.
How is he supposed to kiss you and return your memories if you’re already taken?
Taehyung sits in his new dorm for the next couple days and paces around the small room as he thinks of a plan. Eventually, he decides to befriend you, which should be easy since an introduction has already been made, and make you fall in love with him the same way he did in your last lives together.
He stole you from someone once before and all he has to do is do it again.
The next time he sees you is in the library. You’re sitting at a table near the wall of windows that overlooks the large plane of grass marking the center of campus. You have big pink headphones on and are moving your head slowly back and forth to whatever music is coming from them. There are two books and a laptop in front of you and you’re writing diligently in a notebook which rests on your lap.
Taehyung approaches you slowly, checking his surroundings for any mysterious boyfriends who may come to join you.
When he reaches you without any interruptions, he taps the desk with his knuckles to grab your attention. You smile when you see him and remove your headphones.
“Hey, Taehyung,” you greet him.
His heart soars over you remembering his name.
“Hi, mind if I join you?”
“No, of course not,” you respond. Gesturing to the empty seat across from you with your hand, you smile again as Taehyung takes his backpack off and sits down. “So, you’re new around here. Transfer student?”
“Yup,” Taehyung says as he pulls his laptop out.
“Are you a senior, too?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a majority of my credits, but because of the transfer nonsense there are some things I’ll need to retake,” he explains.
“Bummer,” you reply. Your hand fishes in your backpack before pulling out a piece of candy and popping it in your mouth. “Do you play any sports?”
Before Taehyung answers, you offer him a piece of your sweets, but he declines with a wave.
“Just fencing and horseback riding, if you count those,” he answers.
“Um, woah. Yes, I count those,” you laugh. “That’s way cooler than contact sports.”
Talking to you is as easy as breathing and it sets Taehyung’s heart alight in his chest. It makes him remember all of your long conversations about everything and nothing. Your presence is so warm, welcoming, and familiar that it’s easy for him to forget this is only your second conversation.
“How’s your boyfriend?”
“Oh, he’s doing a lot better. Thanks for asking,” you say. “Normally, he’s at the games with me, since he’s the captain of the team, but he caught a nasty cold last week and couldn’t play.”
“So he’s a basketball player?” You nod and bite your candy in half. You’re adorably vicious with the chewy treat. “And how long have you known each other or been together or whatever.”
“Two years,” you say nonchalantly.
Two years?
Taehyung definitely has his work cut out for him. You’re not just in any relationship, you’re in a serious, long standing relationship. He needs to learn more about him so he can better understand who he’s up against. Hopefully, as your friendship grows, you’ll offer to introduce the two of them.
“Wow, that’s awesome,” he says even though it tastes bitter in his mouth.
“Yeah, we met freshman year and were just friends for a long time, but the heart wants what the heart wants, ya know?”
Yes, he certainly knows all too well.
You end up studying together for a couple hours before you leave for cheer practice. After that, you form a routine of meeting up to work on assignments and study, which perfectly aligns with Taehyung’s plans.
The study “dates” always happen at the library on Tuesdays and Thursdays, usually after lunch. It works well for you both because the silent moments are comfortable and the conversation is easy. Your study sessions are the only time Taehyung sees you for a couple months, and he’s yet to meet your boyfriend.
That changes one Thursday when you invite him to the basketball game the following night. Apparently, it’s against the university’s main rival and you’re giddy about the competition and hopefully seeing the team win. Taehyung graciously accepts and tells you he’ll see you then when you say goodbye.
Taehyung is wearing a hoodie with the university logo on it that he picked up from the school store earlier today. He blends in seamlessly with the crowd of students all wearing the same colors to support the team. After handing his ticket over, he makes his way into the gym and finds one of the few empty spots on the bleachers.
The court is currently empty since there’s still some time before the game starts. The other students on the bleachers are conversing with each other and eating their concessions, but Taehyung is mentally preparing himself to finally see his competitor for your heart.
Taehyung isn’t one to brag, but he’s been told he’s pretty handsome, and he likes to think he’s got a good personality. He’s just worrying himself sick over whether those attributes will be enough to make you end a two year long partnership. All he can hope for is that you walk into the gym with someone of below average looks and a shitty personality.
His leg bounces incessantly as the minutes tick by and the start time of the game nears. He watches other cheerleaders and basketball players filter in through the doors, every single one making his heart stop until he realizes it isn’t you. When it finally is you, Taehyung finds himself moving to the edge of his seat, his lip catching between his teeth.
You walk into the gym through the large metal doors first, but Taehyung can see a hand laced with yours. His eyes trace from where your hands are connected up the tattooed arm of your companion until he’s able to see the stranger’s face.
No amount of mental preparation could’ve prepared him for this sight.
As if his prior life is flashing before his very eyes, he watches in horror as you reach up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to your boyfriend’s lips. Your boyfriend smiles against your mouth in return, chasing your lips with his own before pulling back and moving your hair away from your face.
There is no mistaking the familiar features Taehyung is seeing. Besides maybe the length of his hair and the tattoo sleeve occupying his right arm, everything is identical.
Taehyung scores through his memories for an answer, any explanation for the disturbing scene he's watching. It doesn’t make any sense. The reincarnation spell should’ve only applied to you two. So why are you walking hand-in-hand across the basketball court with the King?
What the fuck is Jungkook doing here?
1422
The spring rainfall gave life to more blooms this season than last, creating a beautiful vision of purple and white in the valley near your home. They’re only wildflowers, but they still spread a sweet fragrance through the air. The sight of the flowers billowing in the wind is picturesque and something you look forward to at the conclusion of every winter.
On the road parallel to the valley, two figures on horseback come into view ahead of the slow-sinking sun. You wave to greet your regular visitors, laughing when you notice one of them speeding up and leaving the other in the dust.
The horse galloping towards you is a familiar sight, and you trust the rider enough to know he’ll stop with plenty of time before he reaches you.
“Jungkook, that was not very nice,” you scold him playfully once he’s close enough to hear you.
Taehyung follows the same path to you on his own steed, a frown evident on his features as he approaches.
“He is never nice!”
“I am always nice,” Jungkook corrects him.
They both dismount gracefully, and you follow your usual routine of walking over to Jungkook’s horse, Bam, and petting him on his forehead. Your fingers gently move down the horse’s face as you coo at him. Bam nudges his muzzle into your hand, making a noise of appreciation at the attention you’re providing him.
Jungkook watches the scene affectionately, his starry eyes following the movement of your hand and the smile that grows on your lips the more you interact with his beloved horse. You don’t see the way his eyes trace over your profile with a smile of his own.
“You can ride him, if you would like,” Jungkook offers.
“What?” You ask, but before he can answer you, Jungkook’s hands are on either side of your waist and he’s lifting you onto the saddle. “Oh, wait, wait!”
Your hands grab onto the saddle to steady yourself, your eyes wide as you look down from the great height.
“Uh, Jungkook —”
“Do not worry, I am holding you. You are not going to fall,” Jungkook states.
You feel his palm on your lower back, and his other hand is petting Bam to keep him calm. It’s unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, feeling the heat of his hand on you, but you don’t want him to see the blush appearing on your cheeks.
“Oh… okay,” you mumble.
Eyes glancing down again, you shut them instantly when you see how high off the ground you are.
“I believe she would still like to get down, Jungkook,” Taehyung comments.
You look down at Jungkook with fearful eyes to confirm Taehyung’s statement. His lips quirk downward in a frown before he grabs you by the waist again and brings your feet safely to the ground.
“I am sorry,” Jungkook tells you, his hands still on your waist. “I did not mean to scare you.”
“You did not scare me,” you say, stepping back so his hands fall away from you. “Bam scares me. Well, not Bam, because he is so sweet, but Bam’s height.”
Jungkook smiles at your explanation, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and it makes you mirror his expression.
“Yeontan would like some attention, too, m’lady,” Taehyung says as walks towards you both, his horse following him by the reins.
“I will be there in a moment,” you say. You pet Bam’s forehead once more before moving to Taehyung’s horse to give him the same affection. “What was the subject of your royal lessons today?”
“Battle strategy,” Jungkook says as he ties Bam to your stable. Taehyung follows suit with Yeontan once you’re done petting him.
Your heartbeat comes to a screeching halt at his answer, and a wave of fear washes over you at the dramatic change of topic for their lessons. Yesterday, they were learning about the proper way to eat soup and which fork should be used first.
Jungkook notices your worried expression and walks towards you. His eyes search yours for the reason you look so frightened as his hand slowly rises to hold your own. You allow him to take it, and you know he can feel the way it shakes in his grasp.
“That is not because you will be heading to battle anytime soon, is it?” You ask him.
The Kingdom is at war with a neighboring country and has been for nearly three years. Despite how long the men have been fighting, there is still no end in sight. It’s been devastating for the Kingdom as men leave their homes and families never to return again. Almost every child in your town is without a father and their mothers are left alone to care for their land and houses.
“No,” Jungkook answers, his hand squeezing your own before letting it go. Relief spreads across your chest and dispels the anxiety pooling in your gut. “Two heirs cannot go to battle at the same time.”
Your friend Jungkook is actually Prince Jungkook, but it’s easy to forget that when he’s teasing you or rolling around in the valley. He’s the younger of two sons, and his brother Junghyun is fighting alongside his father in the war. Since Jungkook isn’t next in line for the throne, he lives life at a slower pace and is more carefree. You appreciate that about him and enjoy taking part in his boyish antics.
Taehyung comes from a long line of knights who have served the crown for generations. Knights begin training at a very young age, and depending on their lineage, their future role is decided long before they complete their training. Taehyung has known he’d eventually be Jungkook’s first knight since childhood. The pair have known each other since they were toddlers and are as close as brothers.
You grew up with both of them because your parents work at the castle and you lived in the staff quarters until you began working yourself. Jungkook’s mother, the Queen, absolutely adores children and believes education is essential to living a good life. As such, she hires tutors to teach the children of all the staff as well as the young knights and royal family. It was during these lessons that you first met Jungkook and Taehyung. The three of you bonded over folktales and your love of animals and quickly became close friends.
Since you no longer live at the castle since becoming a midwife, the two boys come to visit you nearly every day between their daily lessons. The time is usually spent talking about what they learned or which books they’re reading. Sometimes, often in the summertime, the three of you play childhood games in the valley or take a short walk to the river where you can sink your feet into the cool water.
A new anxiety emerges when you remember that the rules which dictate Jungkook’s life are not the same for Taehyung.
“That does not apply to Taehyung, does it?” You question as he comes to stand beside you, too.
“No,” Taehyung says with a grimace. “I could be called upon at any time, but I am not fully trained. I do not believe that will occur unless there are no other options.”
Taehyung spoke too soon, because within a month’s time, he’s visiting you to tell you he has to leave for the battlefront in a fortnight.
Something in you knows as soon as you see him what news he’ll be sharing, but your heart shatters all the same when the words leave his mouth. You cry into your hands as he sits across from you at your kitchen table. He’s your best friend and you know there is a chance you will never see him again once he departs. The fear and sorrow coursing through you are enough to drown you. There is nothing that terrifies you more than losing him or Jungkook.
Taehyung reaches across the table and removes your hands from your face to hold them instead.
“I promise I will come back, Y/N, and when I do… I will take care of you. If you will have me,” he states.
“What?”
“I love you, and I want to marry you,” he confesses.
The thought doesn’t make sense within your mind. Taehyung’s noble status gives him the right to have the pick of the litter in terms of a wife. You don’t even have a dowry you can offer him.
“I do not understand how you could love me,” you respond.
“How could I not?”
He kisses the back of your hands and then rests his cheek against them.
You’re unsure how to respond to his proposal, or if you even should. He’s saying this now because he’s leaving, and you can’t give him an answer when there’s a chance he’ll never return. The reveal of his feelings for you frazels your mind and makes you question everything. So, you decide his proposal is something you’ll organize your thoughts about once he returns, if he returns.
The fortnight passes by both agonizingly slow and too quickly. The anxiety eating away at your nervous system turns the days into long threads of time with no end, but simultaneously, the calendar seems to be skippping ahead multiple days at a time.
When time lands on the third day from his departure, the whispers of a tragedy spread across the land like wildfire.
You hear it first from one of your patients, an expecting mother who you’re checking up on after she fell ill. When she whispers the news to you, your blood runs cold. You don’t believe her initially, but then, as you leave her home, you hear it repeating all around you in the voices of your neighbors.
King Jeon and Prince Junghyun are dead. The father and son perished in a bloody battle which took more than half of your men’s lives.
Whispers in bars and conversations across fields about how the King’s death will affect farming and trade are all you hear in the days following the announcement, but all you can think about is whether or not Jungkook is alright.
Unsurprisingly, you have no visitors until the morning Taehyung is supposed to leave. You watch from your kitchen window as the sunrise breaks over the valley. As the sky goes from deep blue to orange, you hear the familiar sound of horses galloping down the road.
Exiting your house in a flash, you wait for your friends to reach you and dismount before approaching them. You go straight to Jungkook, taking his hands in your own and rubbing over his knuckles with your thumbs.
“I am so, so sorry, Jungkook,” you tell him.
He squeezes your hands in return and a small smile appears on his lips, except it doesn't reach his eyes the way it normally does.
“I am alright,” he assures you. “I will miss them dearly, but it is my mother I truly worry about.”
“If there is anything I can do, please tell me,” you reply. His only response is a nod as Taehyung comes from behind the horses after tying them up. “When do you leave?”
“I am not leaving anymore,” he states. “I have to stay to protect the King.”
“The King?” The dead King?
“Yes, the King,” he parrots, gesturing to Jungkook.
You feel so foolish for forgetting what the consequences of Junghyun’s death really are. Jungkook will now have to take up the mantle of King without anyone ahead of him to guide him into the role.
You gaze at your childhood friend, attempting to imagine him in a crown. A smile appears on your face when you think about how handsome he will look with it sitting atop his pretty black hair. Jungkook is prudent, kind, and compassionate and you know he will make a wonderful ruler.
“Oh,” you say, letting his hands go as you take a step back. It’s one thing to be affectionate with a Prince, it’s another entirely to do so with a King. “Well, I suppose I will be seeing a lot less of you then.”
Jungkook frowns deeply and shakes his head.
“I do not want that,” he responds. “You are important to me and I will make time to visit you regardless.”
You’re sure Jungkook means what he’s saying, and believes it himself, but the odds of it being true are slim to none. A King has to bear the weight of the world and his new role will certainly keep him and Taehyung from visiting you as often.
It feels like goodbye as you wave at them and watch their figures disappear down the road. Your head falls forward and tears fall from your eyes onto the grass. The world is changing too fast for you to keep up.
Despite your worries, Jungkook comes to visit you the next day carrying a bouquet of white roses.
You’ve never been in a carriage before, let alone in one which is currently on its way to the castle. It’s been years since you were last at the monumental estate which houses both your parents and best friends.
As you approach, you notice the familiar grounds where you once played as a child. You see visions of you, Jungkook, and Taehyung running around in circles as they chase you and all at once the memories of your time here come flooding back. The memory of when Jungkook accidentally sent you both flying into one of the fountains brings a smile to your face. You’ll never forget the look on his mother’s face when she saw you both soaked and dripping on the castle floor. And the one of Taehyung picking flowers for you only for them to blow away when a strong wind flew in. He pouted for hours afterwards.
The feeling of returning home brings you comfort amongst all the chaos surrounding you.
The carriage stops in front of the entrance to the castle and you see the massive stone doors which separate the outside world from the home of the royal family. Your parents are already waiting for you along with some fellow staff, their faces giddy with excitement about seeing you. The driver offers you his hand to help you down the steps and once your feet hit the ground, you run straight into your mother’s embrace.
“Oh, honey, we missed you,” she tells you.
“I missed you, too,” you sigh.
A lurching sound indicates the doors are opening and Jungkook and his mother emerge from behind them. Jungkook takes two steps at a time, skipping down the limestone to reach you faster. His mother sighs knowingly at his behavior, a warm smile present on her lips.
“I am happy to see you arrived safely,” he says as he offers you his hand.
You curtsy to his mother, the Queen, who you haven’t seen since in many years now. She’s just as beautiful as you remember, even though her eyes carry a new sadness in them.
“Your Majesty, I am so very sorry about your husband and son,” you say to her.
“I appreciate it, my dear. I am so happy to see you,” she replies. “Let us go inside and I can show you around.”
She hooks her arm around yours and you almost recoil away from her in shock. The Queen is escorting you like an old friend and it defies all the logic in your brain. Even though you grew up here, you have always been well aware of your place in the world.
Your mother and father wave goodbye to the three of you as they report back to their duties. A pair of matching smiles on their faces as they watch you enter the castle.
Once inside, your eyes sweep around the grand entrance and the corridors which splinter away from the room. You notice all the beautiful artwork and intricate architecture of the castle that you didn’t take the time to admire as a child. You were too busy playing and soaking up all the knowledge you could from your tutors.
“I apologize, I have a meeting to attend, if you will excuse me,” Jungkook tells you.
Then, much to your surprise, he takes the back of his hand and runs it along your cheekbone, the softest of smiles present on his face as he does so. Your eyes open in wonder at the gesture, but once he’s turning and walking away from you, a matching smile appears on your lips.
Your skin feels warm where his fingers were, and you avert your eyes from his disappearing figure to try and stop the blush from continuing to spread. When you turn to your left towards the Queen, that knowing, motherly look is back. She just shrugs before turning in the opposite direction to lead you further into the castle.
When Jungkook enters the room the sound of chairs scraping against the stone floor permeates the air. All of the staff, parliamentarians, advisors, and knights stand at attention in the presence of their future King. The knights place their arms across their chest out of respect, including Taehyung, who is sitting to the left of the throne. Not yet being acclimated to the sight, Jungkook gestures for everyone to sit with a wave of his hand before taking his seat next to Taehyung.
The throne to the right of Jungkook, which is reserved for his future Queen, remains empty.
“How is the planning coming along?” Jungkook asks the royal coordinator. He is effectively the head of staff who oversees everything that goes on inside the castle.
“Wonderfully, your Highness. The wedding and coronations will occur subsequently in the chapel three days from now. The Priest is already preparing the sacraments,” the man replies.
“Wedding? Whose wedding?” Taehyung asks as he looks over at Jungkook.
Jungkook doesn’t get the chance to answer him before a parliamentarian joins the conversation.
“Have you not heard? She is supposed to be arriving today, is that right, your Majesty?”
“Yes.” Jungkook clears his throat before continuing. “Y/N arrived only moments ago and is currently touring the castle with my mother.”
“Y/N?” Taehyung snaps. His whole body turns towards Jungkook, the shock and disbelief distorting his features. Jungkook doesn’t explain or answer, he merely glances at him in warning before continuing the meeting.
When the meeting concludes, the entire room stands at attention again as Jungkook exits. Taehyung follows closely behind and catches up to match Jungkook’s pace.
“You are marrying Y/N?” Taehyung asks incredulously. “When did this happen?”
“Yes, I am,” Jungkook responds flatly. “She will be your Queen soon. You should refrain from calling her by name.”
“What is wrong with you?” Taehyung stops Jungkook with his arm. “I have known you my whole life, you would never do something like this to me.”
“Do to you?”
“Yes, your Highness,” Taehyung says sarcastically. “You know how I feel about her.”
“Things change, Taehyung. Half of my family is dead. I have a role to play that I am nowhere near prepared for. I am sorry if this hurts you, but I have different priorities now; different responsibilities.”
“What do those responsibilities have to do with Y/N?”
Jungkook stops walking again and turns to face his friend, his wall of regality dropping to allow his true emotions to surface.
“Because there is no else I would rather have by my side when I face them,” he answers whole-heartedly. Jungkook doesn’t wait for Taehyung to reply before he continues down the corridor.
When you wake up on the morning of your wedding, you momentarily forget where you are until you see the dazzling wedding dress hanging from the wardrobe. The gown is almost too beautiful to wear, and it stares at you from across the room as if to ask “are you ready for this?” You aren’t sure of the answer.
The sound of knocking steals you away from your thoughts. Assuming it’s the maids coming to help you get ready, you tell them to come in and rise from your bed.
It’s shocking how efficiently the group of women work to turn you into a living, breathing doll. One of them brushes and styles your hair, another puts makeup on you for the first time in your life, and two of them work to get you into your dress.
The dress takes longer to put on you than both the hair and makeup combined. It’s a massive pool of fabric and you can barely tell which end is the top and which is the bottom. You stand with your hands gripping the dresser as both women tug at the strings of the corset and lock you into place. When they finish, you clutch your stomach and attempt to inhale a deep breath. They smile assuredly at you and encourage you to walk around so you can get used to being in such a gown.
Later in the day, you’re alone with one of the maids while she finishes your hair by placing pins in it. A sudden knock interrupts her and she goes to answer it. You aren’t sure who it is until you see her stepping back with wide eyes. Jungkook enters with a slight bow of his head and she immediately curtsies and then proceeds to stand at attention.
Jungkook chuckles nervously, still acclimating himself with everyone’s new behavior towards him.
“Can we have a minute?” He asks her and she obeys with a curt nod before exiting the room.
“Hi,” you greet him.
“You look beautiful,” Jungkook tells you.
“It is none of my doing,” you say. “The maids are amazing at making me look like something I am not.”
“That is not true,” Jungkook argues. “You have always been beautiful, Y/N.” Tilting your head to the right, your nose scrunches and you smile at his compliment. “I wanted to make sure I came to see you before… I know it has been a few days and I apologize, it has been so hectic lately.”
You haven’t seen him since arriving at the castle and he’s certainly a sight for sore eyes. Rising from your seat, you walk to him and take his hands.
“You do not have to worry about me,” you affirm. “I know you have a lot of responsibilities.”
“Yes,” he smiles. “And unfortunately, soon you will, too.”
“Right,” you laugh. “Being the Queen and all.”
The idea is still so foreign to you that it feels unnatural leaving your lips.
“I… I cannot thank you enough for doing this for me, Y/N. I know it is a huge commitment and I am so grateful.”
“Jungkook.” You grip his hands a little tighter and he reciprocates the action. “Why are you acting like I am the one doing you a favor? You asked me to be your Queen, to rule a Kingdom by your side. I should be thanking you.”
Jungkook sighs, his gaze dropping to your connected hands. His thumbs massage over your knuckles absentmindedly.
“I just know this was not the life you envisioned for yourself,” he eventually responds.
“It is not,” you concur. Jungkook frowns and you continue before he gets the wrong idea. “I would say it is better. I loved being a midwife and bringing children into the world, but I grew up here and now I get to spend the rest of my days here.” You squeeze his hands one more time before speaking again. “I am here because I wish to be, Jungkook. Nothing more.”
Jungkook smiles at you and lifts your hands to his lips to kiss them before letting you go and heading for the door.
“I will see you at the altar, my Queen.”
Your dress weighs down on you like a pile of bricks. It’s your first time wearing a gown, and you didn’t anticipate it being this hard to move. Despite the uncomfortability, the lace and fabric cover you beautifully and it’s easy to feel like a Queen when you look down at its design.
When you first enter the chapel, Jungkook’s eyes go wide and his lips part before his expression slowly softens into one of admiration and awe. He saw you only moments ago, but the vision of you coming towards him surrounded by flowers and soft candlelight takes his breath away.
When you see him, you’re equally as stunned. His hair is pushed back away from his forehead, leaving his pretty features as the main focal point. The style makes him look regal and elegant. His wedding attire compliments him in all the right places and the white color accentuates his honey skin. When he visited you before he was still in his normal clothes, so the sight is truly something to behold.
Once you reach the altar, Jungkook stands to the right of you as his left hand holds yours. You’re thankful because if he wasn’t holding your hand the entire room would be able to see it shaking. You know he can feel the movement in his grasp, because every so often he squeezes your fingers. Sometimes he does it twice or three times in a row, and it reminds you of the secret messages you would send to each other across the library during lessons.
In the back corner behind the altar, just on the other side of Jungkook, stands Taehyung, dawning his armor for the first time. It makes you so proud to see him living up to his family’s legacy.
Although, his new uniform isn’t what catches your attention, it’s the deep scowl painting his features into something you’ve never seen before. It makes you look over at him with a face of concern, silently questioning what’s wrong, although, you believe you know the answer already.
Taehyung has every right to be angry with you. He told you he loves you and wants to marry you, and then you accepted a proposal from his best friend. To make matters worse, you weren’t able to tell him about the marriage yourself since you didn’t see him before traveling to the castle. You want to tell him everything, explain your feelings and why you’re standing next to Jungkook today and not him, but the conversation will have to wait.
The wedding ceremony ends with a final prayer before the Priest immediately begins the prayers and readings for the coronation. You and Jungkook turn around to face the crowd and it only heightens your nerves. Jungkook notices the shift in your body language and soothingly runs his thumb up and down your pointer finger. Taking a deep breath, you squeeze his hand in return to communicate to him that you’re alright.
At the instruction of the Priest, the two of you kneel down together and wait patiently for the crowns to be placed on your heads.
Jungkook goes first, and you watch in awe as the Priest places a large gold crown onto his head. When he does, a lock of shiny black hair falls onto Jungkook’s forehead. You can’t help but smile, noticing how it somehow makes him look even more handsome. Your best friend is a King now and you have to blink a couple times to stop tears from forming in your eyes.
Only a moment later, the cool metal of a tiara is resting on your hair, the edges of it sinking between your strands to keep it secure. It simply doesn’t feel real and you’re terrified of waking up from this dream come true.
You stand up as one and the entire chapel erupts with cheers and hollers. You and Jungkook make eye contact and both have to suppress a laugh. His eyes are shining with the light of the whole galaxy, and it brings you more happiness than you can put into words.
The celebratory feast commemorating your marriage begins as soon as you leave the chapel. The transition happens so quickly you don’t even get to speak with Jungkook privately before you’re entering the grand ballroom. The large space is ornately decorated and every corner has a giant table of food and wine.
Jungkook never once lets go of your hand.
There is a constant stream of guests greeting and congratulating you, and his touch and presence beside you is the only thing keeping you calm. Jungkook is used to this, and he handles every single encounter with grace. You mostly stumble about and nod as people regale you with kind words and affection.
Taehyung is on your mind the entire night, and your eyes are constantly scanning the massive crowd of people for his familiar head of hair. You want to speak with him as soon as possible to clear the air between you. He’s so important to you and it kills you knowing how much you hurt him. You never find him, and the evening comes to a close before you have a chance to reconcile.
Before you know it, you and Jungkook are traveling in a lavish carriage to begin your honeymoon. The war prevents you from traveling to another country for the occasion, but you’ll still be spending a month at the family’s countryside estate before returning to your regular duties at the castle.
Even though it’s the middle of the night when you arrive, there are staff outside the entrance waiting to greet you and take your luggage.
The head parliamentarian escorts you and Jungkook to the King’s suite. Your hands are shaking again as reality kicks in, but you curl your fingers into your palm to keep anyone from noticing.
The parliamentarian must escort you as well as stand outside your door tonight so he can report back that the marriage has been consummated. The thought of a stranger listening in on your first night with your husband makes your skin crawl, but this is how things are done when you’re royalty.
The man opens the door to the suite so you and Jungkook can enter before shutting it behind you with a slam. Silence overtakes the room as your eyes roam over the walls and windows, the sachet in the corner, and the large bed in the center of the back wall.
You take a shaky breath, itching at your sleeve where the unfamiliar material rubs against you uncomfortably.
Jungkook gets your attention with a call of your name. He points at the artwork on one of the walls, a large painting with a gaudy gold frame encapsulating it.
“What was the artist thinking when they made this one?” He asks through a laugh.
You hum as you study the painting. It’s rather unpleasant to look at, and you can’t even fully make out all the shapes and colors.
“We will have to call upon him to ask,” you respond. “I do not think one could guess if they tried.”
Jungkook laughs and the familiar sound eases your mind and calms your nerves a little. You keep reminding yourself that it’s just him, someone you’ve known all your life, but your brain still persists with its overthinking.
You mosey around the room and peruse more of the artwork and decor before falling onto the bed with a plop. Despite your best efforts, your gown is too heavy and large to sit down normally. You’re half laying-half sitting on the mattress as your feet dangle over the edge. The fabric pools all around you and threatens to drown you in white lace.
Jungkook joins you on the bed, but leaves a decent amount of space between you.
“I am unsure if I know how to get this monstrosity off of me,” you admit with a scoff.
Reaching over your shoulder, you tug at the ribbon caging you into the gown. When you aren’t able to loosen it yourself, Jungkook clears his throat, raising his eyebrows and gesturing towards you to ask permission. You let your hands fall back onto your lap before answering him with a nod of your head.
Jungkook kneels behind you on the bed so he can begin loosening the ties of the corset. You jump when you first feel his hands brush against you. He moves slowly, his touch as light as a feather as he unties the knot and begins to weave the ribbon back and forth to remove it. Once he’s about halfway done, the tension releases from around your waist and you take your first unimpeached breath of the day.
“Oh, thank you,” you sigh. You watch curiously as Jungkook stands to face you and reaches his hands out for you to take. “What?”
“Stand up and I will help you out of it,” he replies.
You obey quickly, standing up while holding the fabric to your chest so it doesn’t fall away. Jungkook laughs when he notices the action.
“Why are you laughing?”
“I cannot get you out of it if you are holding it up, my darling.”
The deep timbre of his voice as he uses the pet name is enough to make your heart skip a beat.
“Right,” you reply and let go.
Maybe Jungkook isn’t as nervous as you, or maybe he just hides it well. As a woman, you are completely untouched, your own hand being your only source of pleasure so far. But the rules are different for men and Jungkook may not be as shy about these things as you are.
The dress falls into a heap on the floor and Jungkook takes your hands to hold you steady as you step out of the large skirt one foot at a time. Even with your body still covered by your underdress, this is the most exposed you’ve ever been to another person. The raw vulnerability causes your hands to start shaking again, but you let go of Jungkook before he can notice.
“Feel better?”
“Yes, thank you so much,” you respond.
Jungkook grabs the expansive amount of fabric and places it gently over one of the dressers. You return to your spot on the bed and he follows suit, this time sitting a bit closer to you.
A weighted tension creeps into the room like fog across the morning air. It beckons a silence between you that leaves only your breathing as background noise. There’s a feeling of anticipation floating around as well, like the whole atmosphere is on edge and waiting to see what happens next.
“How do you feel now that everything is done?” Jungkook asks.
“Hmm, I am happy, but also nervous,” you admit.
“Me, too,” he replies.
“You are? I figured you would be used to this.”
“It is not the royal aspect I am nervous about.”
“What are you nervous about then?”
Jungkook chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, ruining the style and bringing his black locks down onto his forehead. It makes him look boyish and charming.
“Not only did I go from being a Prince to a King in a matter of days, but I am a husband now, too. Your husband,” he explains. He looks down and sighs, his eyes closing momentarily. “I want to do right by you, Y/N.”
“You have always done right by me, Jungkook, I do not see that changing anytime soon,” you reassure him.
There’s a lull in the conversation, but the tension is slowly dissipating and morphing into a comforting aura instead.
“Hmm, I am so glad it is you. I cannot imagine how anxious I would be if it was anyone else,” Jungkook states.
“Is that why you asked me?” You probe him. “Because I am familiar to you?”
“No,” he says with a shake of his head. You raise your eyebrows at him when he doesn’t add anything else to his answer. He chuckles and licks his lips. “I asked because I wanted to marry you. Simple as that.”
His eyes meet yours and the ever-present stars and sincerity in them make you feel like you’re the only person in the world.
“Why?” You whisper. You fear if you speak too loud it will ruin the moment.
Jungkook tilts his head and tongues his cheek.
“You know I am not good with my words,” he says. “Can I show you instead?”
“Show me?”
Jungkook nods as his hand twists around your forearm, gently pulling you towards him. You stand to better adjust your position, but then he pulls you into his lap, holding you by the backs of your thighs so he can place them on either side of his own. The sudden movement makes you gasp and hold onto his shoulders for support.
Being this close to him is startling, but feeling him beneath you is as comforting as a warm bath after a long day of work. You wonder how you ever went this long without touching him like this in the first place.
Jungkook’s hand caresses your jaw as he looks into your eyes. You can see the cogs turning in his mind as he assesses whether or not you’re comfortable with his touch.
His hand is bigger than your entire cheek and the feeling of his skin on yours makes your eyes shut in pleasure. You feel his thumb gently moving back and forth across your cheekbone and you sigh happily.
“Jungkook,” you murmur. “That feels so nice.”
“It does?” You nod your head with your eyes still closed. “Do you want me to keep going?”
“What do you mean?”
Jungkook’s chuckle forces your eyes open. There are crinkles around his eyes as his gazes at you from mere inches away. He looks so pretty up close.
“We have to appease the man outside at some point tonight, so I am asking you if you would like me to keep making you feel nice,” he explains.
Your mouth snaps shut as the overwhelming anxiety from earlier begins to burrow inside you again. There’s no doubt your body wants your husband, wants Jungkook, as you can feel a tightness in your thighs you’ve only experienced during self exploration before, but it’s all so nerve wracking that you can’t bring yourself to answer him.
“I… I have never, I —”
“I know, my darling,” he responds. His thumb moves across your cheek again before he leans in and presses a kiss to the other one. He lets his lips linger there for a moment before coming back to face you. “Was that alright?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Alright, how about I keep going and you tell me if you want me to stop,” he suggests.
You only nod in response, not trusting your own voice to get your thoughts across clearly.
Jungkook leans in and kisses the same spot before moving down your face, pressing his lips to every inch of skin he comes in contact with. When he reaches your jaw, he lets his tongue drag across you and it pulls a gasp from your throat. He kisses you even harder when he gets to your neck, his lips and tongue moving slowly against your delicate skin before sucking over your pulse point.
“Oh,” you gasp at the unfamiliar sensation. “Oh, Jungkook,” you moan, not recognizing the tone of your own voice.
“Still feel nice, my Queen?” His words dance across the wet spot he’s left on your neck.
“Yes, my King,” you answer breathlessly.
He continues to kiss across your neck and the exposed area on your shoulder while his hand moves away from your face to caress your body. Starting at your shoulder, he traces your outline slowly until he reaches your hip, where his other hand already resides on the opposite side.
His lips leave your neck and a whimper escapes you involuntarily. Jungkook smiles and rests his forehead against yours.
“Can I kiss you?”
You giggle at him being chivalrous enough to ask when he was just painting your neck in his saliva.
“Yes, of course.”
Jungkook kisses you tentatively, so gentle with the pressure of his lips that you almost don’t feel it. You can tell he’s hesitant and doesn’t want to scare you, but when you feel his lips on yours for the first time, your own hesitation melts away.
Your hands leave his shoulders to wrap around his neck as he moves his lips in a slow rhythm against your own. It sends sparks throughout your entire body and makes the feeling in your thighs even more distracting. Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him so your chests touch. His hands flex against your back as he moves them up and down to feel you.
You begin kissing him back as you get the hang of things, mirroring his movements and turning your head to gain better access. Jungkook’s hand sinks into your hair and you moan into his mouth when you feel his fingers on your scalp. The kiss is slow and sensual and you already feel more in your loins than you ever have when pleasuring yourself.
“Jungkook,” you speak when you come up for air. “I need more.”
Jungkook smiles adoringly at you and kisses you once more before lifting you off his lap and standing up. He takes his first layers of clothing off without ever breaking eye contact with you. It has your thighs rubbing together as you watch his fingers pop open buttons and untie laces.
Once he matches you in his state of undress, he gestures to you to come closer with his pointer finger. You obey instantly, not wanting to wait another moment to feel him against you again.
“Have you ever touched yourself?” He asks once you’re standing inches from him. You nod. “Good.”
“Have you… done this before?” Jungkook frowns at your question, and you know he doesn’t want to disappoint you with his reply. “I will not be upset, I promise.”
“I have,” he answers.
“Will you show me, then? I want to make you feel nice, too,” you ask quietly.
The corner of Jungkook’s mouth quirks up and he nods in affirmation. His hands reach out to caress your waist before he turns you around so your back is pressed against his chest. The movement has you gasping, but it morphs into a moan when his lips return to your neck.
He sits again, bringing you with him. He spreads your legs overtop his own which completely opens you up for him. It makes your heart race and your nerves come alive, but you push the anxiety away to continue enjoying his touch.
His hand catches the bottom hem of your underdress and slowly moves it up until your undergarments are exposed to the air. You gasp and grip Jungkook’s forearm when his palm comes to rest over your center. He isn’t touching you yet, necessarily, but you can still feel your core pulsing in anticipation.
“Do you trust me?” He whispers directly into your ear.
“Always,” you reply without missing a beat.
Jungkook hooks his fingers in your undergarment and you lift your hips just enough for him to remove it from your body. The cool air against your wetness sends shivers down your spine.
The initial feeling of Jungkook gently tracing your folds makes you jump in his arms. He shushes you quietly before continuing his ministrations, adding more pressure as his fingers spread your essence around. His hand moves upwards until he’s touching your swollen nub and a loud moan escapes from your mouth.
Your hand covers your mouth in response, your eyes wide in shock of a noise like that coming from you. Jungkook chuckles warmly from behind you.
“No, no,” he says, removing your hand from your face. “They are supposed to hear us, anyway. Do not muffle your noises. I want to hear everything, my Queen.”
Jungkook presses down on your clit and your moan again without restraint. He uses the wetness he collects on his fingers to massage you in your most sensitive spot and it makes your head spin. You’re certain if he wasn’t holding you, your knees would give out. They’re the same motions you use on yourself and yet his fingers make it feel so much more intense. It’s incomparable to anything you’ve ever experienced before in your life.
He retreats back into your folds to spreads them apart before pushing his middle finger into your hole. You gasp again, your nails digging into his skin where you’re still holding onto his arm.
“Is this okay?”
You nod repeatedly in response. It is more than okay. It feels so heavenly you wonder if you’re about to meet God himself.
Jungkook’s finger moves in and out of your hole slowly, a squelching sound accompanying each slide of his appendage. Before long, he adds his ring finger and fucks you with them both, stretching your hole open for the first time.
“Oh, God,” you moan as your head falls to his shoulder. “That… that is amazing, my King.”
Jungkook presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving his lips there as he continues to fuck you slowly with his fingers. He presses his palm down so it meets your clit as his hand moves against you. Your moans are short and high pitched, happening in quick succession now as your orgasm nears.
Your husband picks up the pace, moving his fingers faster and sending them deeper into your pussy. Every time he enters you he reaches a spongy spot inside your walls that has you reeling from the pleasure.
Not only are you focusing on your own ecstasy, but you can feel him hardening beneath you and it makes you want him even more. There is a deep, instinctual need inside you to provide him the same pleasure he is giving you.
“I want you to come for me, my darling,” Jungkook whispers before kissing your neck again. “Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, Jungkook, I am so close,” you respond.
The words have barely left your lips when you feel your orgasm crashing over you like a wave with a high pitched scream that barely sounds like yourself. Jungkook continues to pump his fingers into you as you shake in his arms and your pussy convulses around him.
It’s the most euphoric thing you’ve ever felt and it’s almost too overwhelming to bear. Your thighs are still shaking even once he removes his fingers. You watch with wide eyes as he slips them into his mouth to suck your juices off.
“Jung — mmhf.”
He cuts you off with a kiss, gripping your jaw to keep your face where it is. You moan into each other’s mouths as you devour one another passionately. Jungkook leans you both back, the two of you crashing to the bed with him above you. Leaving your lips for only a moment, Jungkook reaches down to grab the hem of your dress and pull it over your head.
It leaves you completely bare before him and on instinct you go to cover your chest and stomach. Jungkook smiles affectionately at your shyness, but he doesn’t scold you, just laces his fingers with yours and moves your hands away from your body.
“I want to see you, too,” you say as you look into his deep brown eyes.
Jungkook obliges you silently, stretching up and removing his top before kneeling to remove his pants, leaving him with only a single garment covering his manhood.
“Better?”
You nod and reach up to bring his face to yours again. He lovingly traces over your figure beneath him, moving his hands over your waist, hips, shoulders, and arms. It feels as though he is trying to map you in your entirety. His big hands complete their exploration by grabbing both of your breasts and massaging them. You moan, your head falling back against the bed and opening your neck up for him to kiss again.
He doesn’t stay there long before moving lower and kissing across your tits as he squeezes them. His lips latch onto your nipple and you gasp, you hand gripping his black hair in response. He sucks and licks over the nub of your left breast before moving to the right. The sensation has you going mad and it makes your hips buck up against his own.
When you do, you feel how hard his cock has become. Your hand sneaks down and you grab him over his garment, pushing your palm gently against his bulge.
“Oh, darling,” he gasps. You laugh happily at his reaction, feeling accomplished that you’re pleasuring him as well.
“Is this alright?” You ask as you bat your eyelashes.
“It is… so much more than alright. Please do not stop,” he begs you.
You continue the same movement, applying more pressure as Jungkook’s head falls to your shoulder, pressing soft kisses on your skin as he moans.
Feeling more confident now, you stop your movements to remove his undergarment. He stares at your hands as they reveal his body to you. A shuddering breath pushes past your lips when you see your husband’s cock for the first time.
“Oh,” you say as your voice drops an octave.
Jungkook is what you can only assume is large. It’s certainly bigger than the penises you’ve seen in art and statues, but you have no real life comparison. He’s long and thick, with large veins running down his shaft. You don’t think your fingers will touch if you wrap your hand around him.
Jungkook chuckles and raises your head to meet his eyes.
“Do not worry. I will make sure you are ready before you take me,” he assures you.
“How will you do that?”
Jungkook doesn’t respond verbally, he simply maneuvers you both to the center of the bed before sinking down so his face is in front of your cunt. He leans down to kiss and bite along the supple skin of your thighs as he makes his way to where you’re leaking for him already.
His eyes bore into yours when he finally reaches your center and his tongue leaves his mouth for a tentative lick along your folds. You break his eye contact with a loud and deep moan as your head tips back and hits the pillows beneath you.
“Oh, my King,” you sigh in ecstasy.
Your husband wastes not a single second more, his tongue flattening against your hole and licking up the essence that’s collected there. Your legs shake where they rest next to his head and your nails dig into the sheets, twisting them in your grasp.
Jungkook is relentless, despite your body already showing signs of oversensitivity. His tongue slides through your folds as he kisses your cunt and moans into you. Then he moves to lick your clit and suck it into his mouth, before returning again to fuck his tongue into you. While his mouth is abusing your hole he uses his nose to create friction on your swollen nub. Everything he does sends shockwaves through your entire being and you feel like your consciousness is no longer on the earth.
You come again faster than you can even register, your thighs locking around Jungkook’s head as you whole body spasms. Jungkook doesn’t stop, though, even once your breathing begins to return to normal. He continues on as if you didn’t reach a climax at all. It sends your body into overdrive and you gasp at the painful pleasure that shoots through your core.
Hands finding his hair, you tug on the strands as your hips move to meet his mouth. He groans against you, nodding as if to tell you to keep going. You do, your pussy rubbing against his face while he licks your cum away.
Everything about it is downright filthy and yet it creates the most wonderful feeling to ever course through your veins.
Jungkook’s mouth moves against you like he knows your body better than you do. His tongue only laps at you a couple more times before another orgasm hits you, and it causes you to gasp and moan pathetically as your hips gyrate against him. He finally comes up for air once he feels your body still, his head resting on your thigh as he kisses it softly.
“Did that feel good, my darling?” Jungkook asks with a smile. His pink lips are swollen and shiny with your essence.
“You have no idea,” you pant, each word coming out across an exhale.
Jungkook’s smile grows exponentially and he comes up to meet you at your lips again. You can taste yourself on him and it makes you moan into his kiss.
“Are you ready, my Queen?”
His eyes peer into your own when he asks and you can tell he wants to see you so he knows whether you truly are or not.
“Well, what about you?”
“You do not need to worry about me,” he tells you.
“But I want to,” you argue. “I want to pleasure you, my King. I want to give you everything.”
Jungkook pauses your conversation as his eyes search yours for something.
“Are you saying that because you think it is your duty?”
“No.”
“Then —”
“I am saying it because it is how I feel about you, Jungkook. It has nothing to do with duty.”
Jungkook sighs and kisses the tip of your nose. You can’t help but blush, the gentle affection warming your heart and making you smile up at him.
“I would love nothing more, my darling,” he tells you. “But I think we should save that for another day. Truthfully, I need to be inside you or I will go mad.”
His words spread heat throughout your entire body.
“Is that so?”
The smirk currently occupying your lips isn’t there for long because Jungkook kisses it away. A dreamy sigh comes from you as your tongues meet for a lazy dance inside your mouth. You could kiss him forever if given the chance. The taste of his lips and the feel of them against your own has you completely hypnotized.
Jungkook uses the distraction of his kiss to line himself up with your core, gently running the tip of his cock through your folds and then spreading your cum down his shaft to lubricate his skin. Your pussy reacts immediately, clenching around nothing and leaking more cum onto your thighs. When he’s ready, he nuzzles his nose against yours and kisses your cheek.
“This may hurt,” he warns you.
“I know,” you smile reassuringly. “I will be alright.”
“You will tell me if you are uncomfortable at all, yes?”
“Yes, darling,” you reply in a mock-tone of his deep voice. He beams at you, his eyes disappearing for a moment before giving you one final peck.
Jungkook enters you slowly, letting just his head push past your tight circle of nerves before waiting to make sure you’re alright. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders as your pussy stretches to accommodate him. It isn’t as painful as you expected, more so a tight pressure within your walls. You nod reassuringly at him once you’ve adjusted and he continues gently until his hips meet yours and his cock is nestled up against your cervix.
You gasp at the full intrusion, your lips kissing his shoulder and biting down on the muscle to relieve the foreign ache.
“Try to relax, darling, it will help,” he coos in your ear.
Taking multiple deep breaths, you close your eyes and wait for the pressure to subside. Once it does, you’re mesmerized by the pleasure. Jungkook’s cock throbs inside you and he’s so thick that you can feel every ridge and vein pressing against your walls.
“Okay,” you say, looking into Jungkook’s eyes and brushing his hair away from his face. He still looks hesitant, raising his eyebrows at you confirm you’re truly ready. You answer him with a kiss and he smiles against your mouth.
Jungkook rears back slowly, never once looking away from you to ensure you’re alright, and then sinks back in. You moan when he enters you again, this time feeling nothing but pleasure and euphoria. His tip repeatedly hits the same spot inside you and it makes you see stars as your eyes roll back.
His body hovers over yours, his forearms holding him steady. Your hands are in his hair and around his neck, tugging on the strands in time with his movements. He grabs your leg to bring it higher around his hip and thrusts into you even deeper. Your moans tangle together in the air between you along with the wet sound of his cock entering you over and over. Jungkook is fucking you like his life depends on it, like is whole life has lead to this very moment. He kisses your shoulder and neck and sucks on your earlobe before finally coming back to your lips to ravish your mouth.
Consummation of marriage doesn’t seem like the right term for this act anymore, it’s too exquisite to be described in such a mundane way.
You gaze up at Jungkook as he watches his cock come out of you and go back in again. He groans at the sight, throwing his head back, and you run your hand down his sharp jaw to grab his attention.
“I love you,” you tell him, despite how terrified you are for him to finally know the truth. His eyes go wide, his mouth opening and shutting again when he can’t find the right words to reply. You smile at his reaction, finding it utterly adorable how you’ve stunned him into silence. “I love you, my King, my husband… my Jungkook.”
Jungkook blinks repeatedly and you can see tears pricking at the corners of his starry eyes, which only makes yours do the same. He maps your face with his eyes as he relishes in your confession. His head shakes in disbelief, but then he smiles and breathes out a laugh.
“I love you, Y/N,” he finally responds. “My Queen, you have no idea how long I have loved you.”
He kisses you again, this time so ardently it steals your breath right from your lungs. His thrusts speed up while your mouths chase each other, the emotions swirling inside you both making you even needier. Your nails rake down his back in red streaks as he pistons into you and grinds against your hips.
“M’close, my love,” he tells you with a kiss to your neck.
“Give me a child, Jungkook,” you reply. “Fill up my womb, please.”
Jungkook groans extensively into the skin of your neck as his pushes your hips deeper into the bed so he can fuck you harder. One his hands sneaks between your bodies to massage your clit, making sure you are on the same precipice as he is.
You come together, loud moans filling the air as your pussy spasms and squeezes Jungkook’s cock inside your walls. Warmth spreads through you as his cum fills you up and he fucks it deeper into you. Gasping at how utterly full you feel, you go to move until Jungkook stops you with a squeeze to your hip.
“Not yet,” he whispers. “I do not want you to lose a single drop.”
The thought of Jungkook’s seed sitting deep inside your womb and him refusing to pull out to keep it there has you moaning all over again.
You whine at the feeling of emptiness that overtakes you when he does finally leave the warmth of your cunt. You’re in delirium from all the climaxes and pleasure your husband gave to you and you can barely keep your eyes open.
Jungkook cleans away any excess fluid from between your legs with a rag before tucking you in and joining you in the bed. He kisses you goodnight with a peck to your lips and forehead before telling you he loves you again. You are already halfway asleep, but make an attempt to tell him the same nonetheless.
The honeymoon gets extended to three months, simply because Jungkook refuses to share you with anyone else; completely content with having you all to himself for just a while longer. Now that the feelings you were both hiding for so long are out in the open, you want to enjoy your time together without reality sneaking its way in.
When you do finally return, you’re very much pregnant. Initially, you and Jungkook decide to keep it a secret, but then his mother notices the small bump over your womb and practically shouts the news from the rooftop of the castle. Your mother and father are absolutely elated and everytime they even glance at you tears of joy well up in their eyes.
Your pregnancy is celebrated all throughout the Kingdom with festivals and parades, but there’s one person you never hear congratulations from. In fact, you barely see him around the many halls and rooms which surround you, as if he’s merely a myth your mind conjured up.
Once you do see Taehyung, it’s a far cry from the reunion you were hoping for. All he does is bow to you before continuing on down the corridor. His eyes don’t even meet yours and his expression is stone cold and empty. Your heart absolutely shatters in two and you find solace in the library to cry the ache away.
Jungkook finds you before anyone else does, his eyes going wide when he sees you slumped over with your head in your hands.
“Darling?” He crouches down before you and pulls your head up by your chin. “My love, what is wrong? Is it something with the baby?”
“No,” you cry and shake your head. “Taehyung… he will not even look at me.”
Jungkook frowns and tucks some of your hair behind your ear.
“Just give him some time,” he tells you.
You shake your head again.
“No, I need to speak to him. I have to tell him why I accepted your proposal and not his,” you explain.
“Taehyung proposed to you?” Jungkook asks, shock evident in his tone.
“Yes, when he came to tell me he was leaving for the war,” you state. “He told me he would come back and marry me, but I did not give him an answer.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have only ever loved you, Jungkook.”
Just as you feared, time does nothing to bridge the gap between you and your best friend.
The war ends six months into your pregnancy, and even as all the residents of the castle gather in the ballroom for a celebratory feast, he utters not a single word to you. When you give birth a few months later, your relationship is still not mended and you fear it never will be.
PRESENT DAY
Taehyung thinks he’s going to throw up. His hands are sweaty and shaking, his internal temperature is dropping, and his leg won’t stop bouncing against the bleachers. Despite all that, he can’t bring himself to peel his eyes away from you and Jungkook as you enter the gym together.
Jungkook’s fingers are laced with yours as you walk just ahead of him. Your smile is so bright when you glance back at him momentarily and all Taehyung can think is that you don’t know. You have no idea you’re holding hands with your own killer.
Once you reach the other cheerleaders, you wrap your arms around Jungkook’s neck to hug him. He smiles at your embrace and nuzzles his head in the junction of your neck and shoulder, pecking your cheek before letting you go. You mouth “I love you” to him and his smile grows as he repeats the phrase back to you. As if it could get worse, Jungkook taps your ass before walking towards the locker room. You don’t even turn around to scold him, just playfully slap his hand as he laughs and leaves you with your teammates.
Bile threatens to scratch Taehyung's esophagus as he watches Jungkook stroll away from you and disappear into the locker room. He hopes no one notices his staring problem, but it’s impossible for him to look away from the reincarnation of his former best friend.
This shouldn’t be possible and yet he can’t deny what’s right in front of his own eyes.
A buzzer pulls Taehyung from his thoughts and the game begins with introductions of both teams. You’re standing courtside in your usual spot at the center of the formation. You cheer as they announce all the players and you yell even louder when they announce Jungkook, after which he winks at you and returns to his position on the court.
The irony of a former King and Queen being reincarnated as the captain of the cheerleading squad and the captain of the basketball team doesn’t escape Taehyung. Because what else would they be?
Taehyung would love nothing more than to enjoy the game and cheer along with the rest of the crowd, but his mind is slowly spiraling into madness.
He needs to find out if Jungkook remembers his past life or not.
If Jungkook does have his memories, that means he’s dating you when he knows what he did and you don’t. Taehyung’s face scrunches in disgust at the thought. He would have to be getting off on it if that’s the case, of knowing he has you back in his clutches while you’re clueless.
On the other hand, if Jungkook doesn’t remember his last life, then you two are clearly drawn together by some other force of nature that Taehyung isn’t aware of. Perhaps this is just the way your fates are always meant to align, with you and Jungkook together while Taehyung has to come in and save you from him. At least this time Jungkook doesn’t have the authority to murder you.
The biggest question of the night is still how.
Sometime before you and Taehyung were killed, he sought out a sorceress to cast a protection spell. The spell was simple, but it could only be cast on one of you, so Taehyung made the decision to cast it on you instead of himself. It read:
The person you love will follow you into the next life, and with a kiss, your memories will be returned to you.
Taehyung chose the spell because he wanted you and him to get a do-over in case something bad happens to you. The only requirement of the spell is that you have to die together, or at least in quick succession to one another. Since that prerequisite was met, you were reincarnated and he has knowledge of his past life.
Jungkook being here adds a wrench of astronomical proportions to his plans and makes him wonder if Jungkook cast a spell of his own before he killed you. Maybe he got wind of what Taehyung had done and decided to add himself into the mix.
He may never find out, especially if Jungkook is truly clueless to who he was before.
When the game ends, Taehyung watches with a clenched jaw as Jungkook scoops you into his arms and lifts you off the ground. You giggle as he does it and the sound is so beautiful it almost brings tears to Taehyung’s eyes. He can practically feel the happiness radiating from you as Jungkook kisses you before setting you back down on the floor.
It feels like the past is haunting him and laughing in his face. The image of you two before him is so familiar he can almost picture you in your wedding gown instead of your uniform.
You and Jungkook hold hands again as you converse with all the students coming over to congratulate the team on their big win. Taehyung knows it’s now or never and makes his way down to greet you two.
“Taehyung!” You wave at him with your free hand.
Jungkook looks up to follow your line of sight. He doesn’t look stunned by the sound of Taehyung’s name and his eyes don’t go wide when he spots him amongst the crowd, so that must be a good sign.
“Hey,” Taehyung says as he steps in front of you.
“Taehyung, this is Jungkook and Jungkook, this is Taehyung,” you introduce the two boys.
Taehyung could laugh out loud at the irony of it.
“Hey man, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Jungkook says as he shakes Taehyung’s hand. “Y/N has told me all about you. I’m glad she finally has someone to study with who doesn’t distract her.”
“You mean yourself?” You say, turning to him with a smirk.
He teasingly blows a kiss at you and your head tilts to the right, accompanied by your usual nose scrunch and smile combo.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Taehyung says with a forced smile. If he could go a hundred lives without ever meeting Jungkook again, he would. “She talks about you a lot, as well. The mysterious boyfriend.”
“Yeah, I wish we could’ve met sooner. This one says we would get along great,” Jungkook explains.
He moves behind you to rest his arms over your shoulders, his chin meeting your hair. Your fingers absentmindedly trace his tattoos where his arms hang over your chest. Taehyung’s eyes follow every movement and he has to fight not to lose his mind at the displays of affection.
“You think so?” Taehyung asks you and you nod repeatedly.
“Oh, yeah,” you answer. “I don’t know what it is, I can just tell you’d be like two peas in a pod.”
“Well, we should all hang out sometime and see if she’s right,” Taehyung suggests.
He only does so because he needs to know for sure about Jungkook’s memories. If he can find ways to test him and possibly trip him up, he will.
“I’m always right,” you argue.
“Mmhm, sure you are, my love,” Jungkook says as he kisses your shoulder before standing back up to his full height and taking your hand.
Taehyung almost visibly recoils at the sound of one of Jungkook’s old pet names for you.
“We have to get going to the team’s celebration dinner, but I’ll text you and maybe we can plan something with the three of us?” You propose.
You go to grab your bag but Jungkook is already slinging it over his shoulder. When you notice, you smile and slap his arm playfully.
“Yeah, sounds great,” Taehyung responds.
Jungkook waves goodbye and you follow suit before you’re both turning around and heading for the door. You lay your head on Jungkook’s bicep as you walk and he bends over to kiss the top of your head.
Taehyung throws his head back with a groan. He’s waited hundreds of years and spent the last 20 or so looking for you only to find you in Jungkook’s arms yet again. He wants to have a word with the universe so he can really speak his mind on the matter.
You text him a couple days later inviting him to a party with some athletes at an off-campus house. It isn’t ideal, but he needs to get as close to you as possible if this is ever going to work.
The familiar stench of cheap beer and marijuana is already infiltrating Taehyung’s nostrils as he enters. In fact, he walks right through someone’s puff cloud and coughs his whole way into the house. Once inside, he grabs a strong drink from the kitchen and starts searching for you.
When he finds you, you’re facing his direction while closing one eye to better aim your ping pong ball. Jungkook is opposite you, his back to Taehyung, as everyone waits with bated breath for the outcome of your shot.
You toss the ping pong ball with precision and it bounces once on the table before sinking right in the center cup. Throwing your hands up to cheer, your proud eyes find Jungkook’s to validate your accomplishment even though he’s on the opposing team.
“Ha! Take that, Kook,” you tease.
“Alright, alright, I’ll give you that one,” Jungkook responds as he grabs the ball from the cup and downs the drink. “But it’s the last one you’re going to get, baby.”
Jungkook is much quicker than you with his aim and sinks his ball into the matching cup on your side of the table. He puts his arms out and shrugs when you pout in his direction. Rolling your eyes, you chug the beer before setting the cup to the side.
Taehyung stands to the side to watch the rest of the beer pong tournament and unfortunately for you, Jungkook was right, and you never land a ball in one of his cups again.
When the game ends you sulk your way over to Jungkook, making a show of crossing your arms over your chest and pouting at him. Taehyung has to look away when he notices Jungkook bending down to kiss the pout away. By the time he looks back, Jungkook has his arm around your shoulders and yours is around his waist.
“Oh, Tae, hi!” You shout when you notice him. “Oh wait, can I call you that?”
“Of course,” Taehyung replies with a smile. “Hey Jungkook.”
“Hey, what’s up? Glad you could make it,” Jungkook says.
“You know I think the rules of boyfriendship say you’re supposed to let your girlfriend win at these things,” Taehyung points out.
“See! What did I say?”
You look up at Jungkook, the pout returning with a vengeance.
Jungkook squishes your cheeks between his fingers and coos at you mockingly. You giggle and your eyes squeeze shut before pushing him away with a gentle shove to his chest.
“I never let anyone win,” Jungkook states.
I am fully aware.
“It’s true, he’s stupid competitive, but he’s also magically good at fucking everything, so it kinda works in his favor,” you explain.
“I bet I could beat you at something,” Taehyung says casually.
Jungkook’s eyebrows move up his forehead, a big toothy grin appearing on his face.
“Am I finally about to face a worthy opponent?” He asks rhetorically, his voice pitching up with eagerness. “What’s your game, Taetae?”
Taetae?
Taehyung is almost tempted to ask Jungkook to slice his neck open again. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to feign nicety when all he wants to do is punch the guy. Whether he has his memories or not, he’s still the only obstacle left standing in Taehyung’s path to you.
“Um,” Taehyung scopes out the landscape of the house. “Darts?”
Jungkook nods, pursing his lips as he thinks and gazes at the dart board.
“I can do darts,” he replies.
You leave to grab more drinks while they stroll over to the empty corner where the dart board is hanging. Jungkook pulls the darts from the board and tosses some to Taehyung before stepping back behind the duck tape marking the floor. He gestures with his hands for Taehyung to go first.
“So, I don’t want to make anything awkward, but I feel like I have to give you the obligatory ‘don’t try anything with my girl’ speech,” Jungkook says after Taehyung has thrown his first dart. “Not to say you guys can’t hang out because I’m not like that. She can do whatever she wants. I just like to let guys know that I mean business, ya know?”
“What do you mean?” Taehyung asks.
“I mean that I’m head over heels in love and would do just about anything to keep her next to me,” Jungkook states. He aims quickly and throws his first dart. “As long as she wants me, of course.”
“And if she didn’t… want you, I mean, would you fight for her?” Taehyung continues before taking his next throw.
“Of course I would,” Jungkook responds with a shrug, as if it’s the easiest answer in the world. “She means everything to me.”
Taehyung can hear the sincerity in Jungkook’s voice and it reflects in his eyes, too, even in the dim lighting.
“I hear you, Jungkook. Loud and clear,” Taehyung says before gesturing for Jungkook to take his next shot. “How did you guys meet anyway?”
Jungkook takes a sip from his cup before throwing his next dart, the guy barely has to look at the board and he still hits a bullseye. Some things never change.
“The weekend before freshman orientation all the athletes move in early and have this big mixer,” Jungkook explains. “She took my fucking breath away from across the room, but we were actually friends for a long time before we started dating.”
“Why is that?” Taehyung throws his last dart and then leans against the nearby railing.
“Well, honestly, I wanted to try out the whole ‘soil your oats’ thing when I first got to college, but then the more time I spent with her, the more I couldn’t get her off my mind. I never even touched another girl the whole year, even before we got together.”
“Baby, I brought drinks!” Your sweet voice rings out before they can continue their conversation.
Jungkook turns around at the sound of it, a huge smile on his face even though you’ve only been gone a couple minutes.
“Oh, thanks, Princess.”
He greets you with a kiss as he takes the beer bottle from your hand.
Taehyung has to hide the way his teeth grind together at the nickname. He hates how ironic it is given that you were never a Princess, only a Queen, because you were shoved into a role you never asked for by your so-called best friend.
His inner monologue is interrupted when you hand him a beer bottle as well. He thanks you with a bow of his head before turning back to the game. Jungkook throws his last dart and then leans forward to count up the points.
“Oh, you guys are tied,” you say with a smile. “Looks like someone’s giving you a run for your money, Kook.”
“It appears so,” he responds. “I think you were right about me and Taetae, we’re gonna be great friends.”
Taehyung’s head tilts at the tiny lick of sarcasm in Jungkook’s voice. He doesn’t think you notice it, though, since you’re still smiling at your boyfriend like he hung the stars in the sky.
There isn’t a second round because you tug on Jungkook’s hand and ask him to dance with you instead. He obliges your request without hesitation, already moving towards the other room while you wave goodbye to Taehyung. Once you’re gone, Taehyung runs his fingers through his hair and looks at the dart board with matching scores. Figures.
He doesn’t see you again until much later after he’s had a little too much to drink. When he does, he immediately regrets coming to look for you.
Jungkook is pinning you against the wall as he kisses you slowly, his mouth moving against yours like he has all the time in the world. His knee is between your thighs and he’s caressing your waist beneath your shirt. You make out hungrily, his tongue slipping into your mouth while you bite on his lower lip. Then he grips your jaw and kisses your neck, sucking on your skin until you whimper. Your hands run up his back and grip tightly onto his jacket.
“Kook,” you moan. “Upstairs.”
Jungkook nods at your command from where his face is still against your neck. Without missing a beat, he takes your hand and leads you around the corner to the back stairwell. Taehyung can hear your giggles as you two run up the stairs together.
Taehyung actually does get sick this time. It’s a mixture of the alcohol and his mind agonizing over the thought of you two in a bedroom alone together. His knuckles turn white as he grips the edge of the toilet bowl he’s currently bent over.
Jungkook shouldn’t get to touch you like that, shouldn’t get to hold you or kiss you after what he did.
Taehyung’s eyes snap shut as the memory of you clutching your bleeding neck flashes in his mind. He presses his knuckles to his eyelids to try and get the image to go away. It never does. Taehyung is constantly haunted by the look of terror in your eyes as you fall over and bleed out right in front of him.
He presses his forehead against the cabinet next to him as he tries to catch his breath. He still isn’t sure if Jungkook has his memories or not, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You deserve to know exactly who you’re dating.
A few days later, you’re sitting across from him with half a gummy worm hanging from your mouth while you read something on your laptop. Every so often you start typing and your brow creases in concentration. Taehyung can’t keep his eyes off you for a second. You’re undeniably endearing and it’s taking everything in him not to reach across the table and kiss you right now.
“Jungkook says he really likes you,” you say without looking up.
“Really? I honestly couldn’t tell,” Taehyung replies.
“Oh yeah, no, he talked about you a lot after the party. Said he finally met his match,” you continue.
“Hmm, he wasn’t jealous at all?”
You look up with confusion written on your face.
“No,” you stretch out the syllable. “Should he be?”
“No, no! I just know him and I talked about it a bit and —”
“Talked about what?”
“Well, about you being his and that I should respect that,” Taehyung explains.
“Oh, yeah, he does that,” you say with a wave of your hand. “In his eyes, I’m the most beautiful girl in the world, so everyone must want me, ya know?”
“You are,” Taehyung accidentally says before biting his lip aggressively. Your eyes bulge as you stare at him in shock across the table. “I… I didn’t mean it like that.”
You nod, your lip held captive between your teeth while you look everywhere but at Taehyung.
“Um —”
“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” Taehyung interrupts. “I promise, I’m not trying to make a move on you or steal you away from Jungkook. You just… I mean, objectively, you are beautiful, and truth be told you remind me of someone I used to know, so I just… oh I don’t know.”
“It’s alright,” you say with a gentle smile. “Let’s just forget about it, yeah?”
You end up missing your study session with him on Thursday, shooting him a text an hour after you normally arrive that you got caught up with something else and you’ll see him next time.
Taehyung already knows next time is never going to come. You’ll subtly ghost him after making excuses for a few weeks, and he doesn’t blame you. He crossed a line and you’re trying to set some boundaries in return. But he refuses to leave you in the dark any longer, and if his plan is failing, he’ll need to come up with another one.
There’s a home basketball game tonight, so Taehyung buys a ticket at the entrance before heading into the gym. You’re already there with the other cheerleaders, but Jungkook is nowhere in sight. Taehyung knows he has to be quick about this and doesn’t hesitate to approach you courtside.
“Hey,” he greets you.
“Oh, hi,” you respond with your usual smile. Maybe you really were busy yesterday or maybe you’re just good at hiding your true emotions.
“Can we talk for a minute?”
Your body tenses at his question, and your eyes flit to the other side of the room, but you eventually nod and the two of you leave and stand in an unoccupied area behind the gym doors.
“What’s up?” You ask as you cross your arms.
“I just wanted to make sure everything is still good between us,” he admits.
You nod slowly and chew on your lip as you debate over your answer.
“Honestly? No,” you confess. “You’re really fun to hang out with and I’ve enjoyed our study time together, but what you said the other day… it’s obvious that this is more than a friendship for you and I’m not comfortable continuing to hang out one-on-one knowing that.”
Taehyung’s hands begin to shake as he digests your words. He knows what he has to do and yet he can’t bring himself to do it.
“Look, I do like you as more than a friend, and I think you should give me a shot because Jungkook isn’t who you think he is.”
“Excuse me?” You gawk at him. “You’ve met him twice, Tae! How dare you?”
“No, Y/N, you don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand, huh?”
“That… you don’t have all the information, but I can give it to you,” Taehyung offers.
“Information? What are you even talking about?” There’s a momentary pause until you shake your head and put your hands up in surrender. “You know what, no, I don’t even wanna know. I trust my boyfriend more than a guy I’ve known for barely three months.”
You start to walk away, moving swiftly past Taehyung, but he catches your wrist.
“Wait!”
“Taehyung, let go of me.”
“I’m sorry about this.”
Taehyung uses his grip on your wrist to pull you into him and presses his lips to yours. He never wanted to do it this way, never without your consent, but he’s losing you again and he can’t risk that.
It only lasts two seconds before you’re shoving him off of you, but it’s enough. This kiss is the final puzzle piece to returning your memories so you can be together again.
“What the hell, Tae?” You shout before running back towards the gym.
The words have barely passed your lips when the first wave hits you. It stops you in your tracks, your hands bracing themselves on the cold metal doors as images flood your mind.
Ball gowns, children playing, a grassy field with wildflowers, two horses galloping towards you, blood pooling on the floor. You gasp and your hand instinctively grabs at your neck. The mirage stops and you shake your head, thinking it’s just some bizarre daydream brought on by the stress of Taehyung’s actions.
You return to your courtside formation just in time to see Jungkook entering the gym from the locker room. As soon as your eyes land on his silhouette, more images appear.
A large bed in a dark room, a gold crown, white roses, a baby cradle, his hand pulling a dress up your thigh, him spinning you in the air, and finally, his eyes, sharp and cold, looking at you in disgust.
You trip over nothing at all, accidentally bumping into your teammate behind you. She asks if you’re alright, but you're too frazzled to verbally answer her and nod instead.
Jungkook notices your abnormal behavior from across the room and pivots to walk towards you. When he does, the Jungkook you know seemingly blinks out of existence and is replaced by a version of him in medieval attire with a crown on his head. You blink rapidly to eradicate the hallucination, but it only lasts for a split second before you see him in his basketball uniform again.
Lifting your hands to stop him from coming any closer, you avoid his eyes and turn around to take a sip of water. Your head is pounding as unfamiliar scenes infiltrate your mind one at a time. Nothing makes sense and you wonder if you somehow fell asleep and are dreaming all of this. You pinch your forearm and flinch when your nails dig in and send a sharp pain through your skin.
You try to steady your breathing, but the images are unyielding and overwhelming. Looking up into the bleachers, you see Taehyung, and just like before, he phases into a version of himself wearing knight’s armor and a shield.
Grasping the side of your head and massaging your temple, you turn back towards the game just as the buzzer sounds.
The roar of the crowd and the players yelling commands at each other only serves to make matters worse. You brace your head between your hands and bend over, willing the kaleidoscope of visions to cease. Squeezing your eyes shut, you count your inhales and exhales in a feeble attempt to self soothe.
Another cheerleader rubs your back and asks if you’re feeling okay, but her voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. All you can see, hear, and feel are the vivid daydreams of you, Taehyung, and Jungkook in medieval clothes as you stroll around a huge stone castle. The last thing you see is Taehyung held taut by two knights. A deep, foreboding aura seeps into your bones and then you feel a sharp blade slice across your jugular.
Everything fades to black as you pass out.
“Oh, my God, Y/N,” the cheerleader behind you gasps as you fall into her.
All movement on the court comes to a screeching halt, and Jungkook is throwing the ball out of his hands before running over to you.
“What happened?” He asks as he bends down. His fingers gently move your hair away from your face and he presses the back of his hand to your forehead to check your temperature.
“I don’t know, she looked like she was having a migraine and then she was just out,” someone explains.
Taehyung starts moving through the stands to reach you, but before he can, your eyes begin to blink open. He stands still as a statue as he watches you take in your surroundings. When you see Jungkook leaning over you, you gasp and move away.
“No… no,” you whimper.
“Baby?”
“No, don’t touch me,” you yell when his hand goes to caress your arm.
“Y/N, it’s me.”
“No, no, no,” you cry as you cradle your head in your hands. “Make it stop, please make it stop.”
Jungkook looks at the girl still holding you in horror, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
The first-aid team runs in and heads towards the commotion. One of them tries to move you, but you only wail louder and coil into yourself, preventing them from doing anything to help.
“We’re gonna need to sedate her,” one of them says.
“What?” Jungkook asks with wide eyes. “What do you mean?”
The paramedic doesn’t answer him, they just stick a small needle in your arm and push the medicine into your vein. Your cries subside into whimpers almost immediately, and then you’re out cold again.
The gym is completely silent as everyone watches with concern for you and your wellbeing.
The paramedics move you to a stretcher and roll you out of the gym. Jungkook stands to follow them, but not before turning over his shoulder and meeting eyes with Taehyung.
“You, with me, now,” he orders.
And that’s the moment Taehyung finally knows for sure. Jungkook has his memories. He knows exactly who he was in his past life, and more importantly, what he did.
1430
You’re clutching your dress between the fingers of your left hand as you take quick steps down the hall, attempting to catch up to the tiny figure ahead of you. The five year old is far too quick for your liking, and she’s mischievous in nature which only makes it worse.
“Sooyoung,” you call when you finally catch up to her, scooping her into your arms when you’re close enough. “What did mommy say about running in the corridors? There are big, pointy objects all around and you could run into one.”
“Sorry, mommy,” she giggles, tucking herself into your chest.
You rub her back and place a kiss in her hair. Just then, you hear the sound of a door opening and Jungkook steps out, running his hands through his hair methodically.
“Daddy!” Sooyoung shouts and wiggles herself away from you.
Putting her down, you watch as her little feet carry her to his side. Jungkook stops in his tracks, his eyes bright with affection and a large toothy grin on his face. When she finally reaches him, he lifts her up by her waist, bringing her over his head as she giggles endlessly before resting her against his hip.
“How is my beautiful Princess doing?”
“Good, I learned the alphabet this morning,” she tells him.
“You did? Baby, that is wonderful,” he praises her. She smiles and leans over to plant a wet smooch on his cheek. Jungkook laughs and returns the favor to her, kissing her multiple times until she tells him to stop with a giggle. When Jungkook reaches you he leans down to kiss your lips. “Hi, my love.”
“Hello, my King,” you say as he passes Sooyoung over to you. You put her down and let her roam in the room just off to the left where some of her toys are. “Are you joining us for lunch?”
“No, my darling, I cannot,” he says with a frown. You mirror his expression and he tucks some of your hair behind your ear. “I am sorry, my Queen. You know I would if it were up to me.”
“I know,” you reply.
Even though the war which took the lives of Jungkook’s brother and father ended shortly before you gave birth to your first son, another one broke out three months ago. Thankfully, since his heirs are too young to rule in his stead, there was a mutual agreement that Jungkook wouldn’t go away to fight because of what happened during the last war. But even though he’s here with you, moments like this are some of the only ones you get to spend together.
Other than these brief encounters when you happen to cross paths, the only time you see him is when he comes to bed for the night. During the first month of the war, you would stay up for him, waiting in eager anticipation for the sound of his footsteps coming down the corridor. When he did finally arrive, he would sweep you up into his arms and make love to you before tucking you into bed and falling asleep with you in his hold. Over time, his entrances into your bedroom came later and later, and you would fall asleep while waiting for him. Now, he simply presses a kiss to your forehead in your sleep before pulling you into his arms. When you wake up, he’s usually already gone.
Everytime you get so much as a glimpse of him, it soothes the melancholy feeling in your heart and brings a smile to your face. Even if all you see is a familiar head of black hair and broad shoulders turning around a corner.
Time moves torturously slow without him beside you and you feel the ache of missing him all the way down to your bones. The loneliness is becoming unbearable, especially since your two eldest children, Sooyoung, who is almost five, and Junghyun, named after his late uncle, who is seven, are busy with their tutor most of the day. That leaves you with your identical twin boys, Minho and Wonshik, who are two. They’re quite entertaining, but nothing can fill the void of not having your beloved husband around.
“Perhaps I will see you tonight?” You ask.
“I hope so,” Jungkook says as he caresses your cheek. He bends down to kiss you again, for longer this time now that your daughter is out of the way. “I love you, my Queen, so very much.”
“I love you more,” you reply with a final peck.
Jungkook raises his eyebrow to silently challenge your statement before waving goodbye to you and your daughter as he continues down the corridor.
Sighing in exasperation, you call for your daughter and take her hand as you walk towards the dining hall to eat lunch with your other children.
Some days later you’re walking through the large gardens behind the castle while the twins nap inside. Early afternoons are the only time of day when you’re able to take a break from motherhood and be alone with your thoughts. Although, you’re certainly not lacking in alone time at the moment.
As you pass by the hedges on your way back inside, you spot Taehyung speaking with some fellow knights. You no longer attempt to make eye contact with him and neither does he. It’s been nearly eight years since you last spoke besides obligatory greetings or discussions involving his duties. The idea of you two ever being close again is a pipe dream you stopped hoping for long ago. You miss him dearly, and you always will, but it’s useless driving yourself mad over an impossibility.
After lunch, you hear a knock at the nursery door where you’re playing with Minho and Wonshik. When you see Taehyung enter after allowing the visitor entry, you’re taken aback. He’s usually only ever with Jungkook or completely a task on his behalf.
“Sir Taehyung, can I help you?” You ask him.
“I am assigned to be here, your Majesty,” he answers you flatly.
“Pardon?”
“The King has assigned me to be your personal guard.”
“Why would I need a personal guard?” You question, pulling Minho closer to your chest. There’s never been a reason or need for you to be under supervision before and you don’t like the sound of it.
“The battlefront has moved closer to the Eastern border and as such, King Jungkook wants you and the children to each be guarded day and night in the event that the enemy breaks down our defenses or sneaks into the Kingdom,” he explains.
You nod as you digest the news, looking down at your two-year old who gazes back with familiar big, brown eyes. Putting him back on the ground to play with his twin, you stand and walk towards Taehyung.
“If that is the case I believe we should have a conversation, Sir Taehyung.”
“I do not believe that is necessary, my Queen.”
“I think it is,” you argue. “If you are going to be with me around the clock I do not want it to be awkward.”
Taehyung grimaces and chews on his bottom lip as he thinks about his following words. You cross your arms over your chest for good measure, even though you look nowhere near intimidating.
“I do not wish to speak about the past, but I will attempt to be cordial with you for the sake of the arrangement,” he proposes. “Is that alright with you, your Highness?”
You mull it over in your mind for a minute before nodding curtly and turning back towards your children.
His assignment of guarding you is considerably more boring compared to his usual duties. All he does is walk behind you at a reasonable distance while you traverse the gardens, stand behind your seat at meal times, guard the door while you read in the library, and sit in the nursery with you as you play with the children.
Despite Taehyung assuring you otherwise, the first days of his assignment are extremely awkward. He hardly speaks to you and when he does, it’s clipped and cold. But time seems to massage the tension away and slowly, but surely, he warms up to you.
The first time you see him smile is when Wonshik decides to come towards you for a hug and falls flat on his face. Your whole body tenses in shock when you hear the nostalgic sound of Taehyung chuckling behind you. It brings a huge smile to your face even as you’re trying to calm Wonshik down from his accident.
Eventually, the quiet moments turn into real conversations.
You often stop to enjoy nature during your garden walks and there’s a large bench near the creek you like sitting on. One day, your hand taps against the stone and you look over your shoulder at Taehyung. He raises his eyebrows, silently asking if you mean for him to sit there. When you nod, he waits a few moments before moving towards you and sitting down on the other end of the bench.
“Is this not the most beautiful view?” You ask as you gaze out across the creek.
“It is one of them, for sure,” Taehyung answers.
It’s the first time he’s said anything of substance to you in close to a decade, and you almost begin to cry at the thought.
“The valley by my house was beautiful, too, but I believe I prefer this,” you state. Taehyung only hums in response. “Do you have any special spots around the castle you think are particularly nice?”
“I do, actually,” Taehyung says. “There is a corridor just off the maid’s quarters where they store the new and old artwork as they cycle through them. I go there sometimes and look at the art up close. Not many people know about it, so it is always peaceful.”
You admire his profile as he speaks, and a smile appears on your lips involuntarily. Even with the passage of time, his features are identical to the boy you once knew. Losing his friendship has always been your biggest heartbreak, and you can feel your soul slowly healing whenever you’re with him.
That encounter becomes the starting point for your new relationship with Taehyung. It becomes a routine to stop and chat during your daily walks, and you look forward to it everyday. As time goes on your conversations grow longer and dive deeper. You never touch on the past, but you don’t need to. The friendship picks up where it left off as if no time has passed at all.
A few months into Taehyung’s assignment as your personal guard, you’re walking through the garden when Jungkook comes out from the castle.
“Darling?” You call out to him when you see him. “What are you doing out here?”
“I came to say goodbye, my love. I have to leave to speak to some allies in a neighboring town,” he tells you.
You frown and your shoulders drop. When Jungkook reaches you he takes your hands in his and kisses them.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Three days.”
“That is Sooyoung’s birthday.”
“Well, then I will make it two days,” he responds without missing a beat.
“Are you sure?”
Jungkook smiles and tucks your hair behind your ear.
“I would not miss it for the world, my love,” he assures you. You acknowledge his promise with a nod before wrapping your arms around his neck to hug him goodbye. He returns the gesture in kind, lifting your heels off the ground as he embraces you tightly. “I love you, I will see you soon.”
He kisses you for a lingering moment before nodding towards Taehyung and leaving to meet the parliamentarians in the entryway of the castle.
You bite down hard on your lip to stop the bubbling sorrow within you from spilling over to the surface, but it does so anyway. Hands coming up to hide your face, a sob breaks from your chest as your palms collect your tears.
“Your Majesty? Is everything alright?” Taehyung asks, his surprise at your reaction evident in his tone. He moves to stand in front of you.
“I am sorry, I do not mean to be emotional,” you say as you lift your head and wipe the tears away.
“That is nothing to apologize for,” he states. “Can I do anything?”
“No, no,” you respond. “Unless you know how to end this Godforsaken war.”
“Is it the war that is upsetting you, my Queen?”
“Yes, because it is the war that is keeping my husband from me.”
“What do you mean, your Highness?”
“I have not had a real conversation with Jungkook in nearly half a year, Sir Taehyung,” you tell him. “Moments like these are all I get. He is too busy with battle strategies and trade routes to spend any time with me or the children.”
“Your Highness, I am so sorry to hear that. I was not aware,” he replies.
“I should not be telling you this, I apologize,” you say. “Please forget I mentioned anything.”
“Your Highness, if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know,” Taehyung offers.
The conversation ends there and you finish your stroll before returning inside to your children for dinner. When you tell them about Jungkook being gone, they all cry the same as you, not used to their father being gone even though he’s around less these days. The sentiment is shared amongst all five of you. You feel Jungkook’s absence from the castle everywhere you turn even if you wouldn’t normally see him anyway.
Exiting your room the next day, you find Taehyung outside your door as usual, but he has something hidden in his left hand. Before you have the opportunity to question him about it, he pulls a bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back.
“I wanted to cheer you up, your Majesty, I hope I am not overstepping.” The flowers are purple and white, same as the ones which grew outside your home. You gasp in delight, your hands coming up to cover your mouth.
“Oh, Taehyung, they are so beautiful,” you tell him as he hands them to you. “Thank you so very much.”
You don’t realize your slip of the tongue, the honorific noticeably absent when you say his name, and it brings a smile to your companion’s face.
“I am glad you like them, my Queen,” he says with a deep bow.
You smile at him, your head tilting to the right as your nose scrunches, before putting your nose to the bouquet to smell the flower’s sweet scent. It reminds you of home and fills you with a deep, comforting warmth.
Over the next two days you and Taehyung begin to speak even more, conversing as you walk the halls and making jokes while playing with the children. Taehyung even joins you on the floor and playfully teases the twins with a game of peek-a-boo. It’s the happiest you’ve been in months. You still miss Jungkook dearly, but the loneliness that’s made a home inside your heart goes away on a brief vacation.
By the morning of Sooyoung’s birthday Jungkook has yet to return, but you still have hope he’ll make it back before the end of the day.
You’re arranging some of her presents sent from family members and citizens alike when Taehyung enters with some more that were just dropped off. As you’re moving one of the larger gifts, your hair falls into your face and you attempt to push it away by blowing air out of your mouth since your hands are full.
Suddenly, you feel a fingertip against your cheek, and you look over to see Taehyung moving the strand out of the way for you. He’s close enough that you can see the deep chocolate color of his irises.
An unfamiliar tension threads itself between you both as you stand in silence only inches apart. Taehyung opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by a voice coming from outside the room.
“Where is my beautiful wife?”
Your eyes light up at the sound of Jungkook’s voice, breaking the moment between you and Taehyung in an instant. Rushing towards the door, you throw it open and look for the source of your husband’s voice.
Jungkook spots you from down the hall and he sighs in relief, an adoring smile growing on his lips. Running towards him without another thought, you laugh cheerfully as he opens his arms to welcome you into his chest.
Instead of hugging you, though, he grabs you by the waist and lifts you above his head as he often does with your daughter. You make a sound somewhere between a laugh and a squeal before wrapping your arms around his neck as he brings you down into his embrace.
“Oh, I missed you, my darling,” he whispers into your hair.
“I missed you so much, Jungkook,” you respond and bury your face into his shoulder. “You made it back in time.”
“I promised you I would, did I not?” You look up and nod, fresh tears evident in your eyes. He frowns when he notices them and reaches up to wipe the tears away. “What is wrong, my love?”
“I just missed you, that is all,” you answer.
Jungkook nods in agreement before bending down to kiss you, your mouths naturally moving together in a practiced rhythm. He holds you in place with a desperate grip to the back of your head as your fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt. His head tilts to kiss you with more fervor and swallow the noise you make when his tongue traces your bottom lip and sinks into your mouth. It’s a passionate dance you haven’t experienced in months, and it almost makes you start crying again.
You reluctantly pull away, the breath missing from both your lungs, as your hands tighten around the collar of his shirt.
“I am sorry it has been so long since I have done that,” Jungkook pants as he caresses your face. “I hope you know I think about it all the time. I am always thinking of you, my Y/N.”
You nod as another tear rolls down your cheek. Jungkook kisses it away before letting you go so he can greet the children.
Your strange moment with Taehyung is forgotten, and weeks go by with your friendship continuing to blossom as it did over those two days.
Jungkook leaves again, this time for a week, to visit with the ruler of a neighboring Kingdom who can possibly help end the war. It breaks your heart all over again, even though you know a week isn’t that long. The distance between you has just grown so wide, that seeing him between meetings and feeling his arms around you at night is the only thing keeping you sane.
You haven’t had sex since the first month of the war, and it feels like you’re being slowly drawn and quartered. Before, sex was almost a nightly occurrence, sometimes even twice a day if the children were with their grandparents. Jungkook spoiled you with pleasure, and now the torture of being without his touch is downright unbearable.
Sometimes you pleasure yourself, just to take the edge off, but it’s nothing compared to Jungkook. He knows your body better than you do, and your hands don’t even come close to doing him justice.
Last night you cried yourself to sleep from the pain of missing him and the need pulsating in your thighs. You’d do anything, even take up a sword yourself, to end this war so you can have him back. Whenever he’s gone, it feels like the weight of the entire castle is sitting on your chest.
Your emotions from the night before are still evident on your face this morning, and Taehyung notices.
“Are you alright, your Majesty?” He asks after greeting you in the library. “Your eyes look swollen, did you have a negative reaction to something you ate?”
“No,” you say with a shake of your head.
“Then, what is it, my Queen?” Taehyung probes with a look of concern.
“It is nothing, Sir Taehyung,” you answer. “I was merely missing my husband again.”
Taehyung frowns and takes a step closer to you. You notice the movement, but don’t step back as you normally would.
“Is there anything I can do? Anyway I can help you, your Majesty?”
Taehyung’s gaze is piercing and it makes your face and neck flush with a pink hue. Without warning, an undeniable heat begins to spread across your abdomen and simmer in your gut. You know the sensation all too well, but you’ve never felt something like this for Taehyung, even before you were married. Forcing your eyes shut, you will the temptation to disappear. But it’s been so long since you’ve been touched, and Taehyung is the one constant in your life at the moment.
“I… am not sure,” you admit.
“Is it just him that you miss or something else as well?” Taehyung asks cautiously. “I cannot do anything about your husband not being here, but I can help in other ways.”
Biting your lip hard enough to draw blood, you avoid his stare and beg your feet to move away from him. All you need is to take a single step back and the tension will break.
“Taehyung,” you speak softly.
“Y/N,” he replies, his eyes sharpening. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice speak your name since before you got married, before you became Queen.
“Will you help me… please?”
Taehyung moves like lightning, as if he’s been waiting an eternity for you to say those words. His warm hands engulf your waist so he can push you back until your thighs hit the large desk behind you. He lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the edge of the wood without ever breaking eye contact. Descending to his knees before you, his hands trace the curve of your legs over your dress.
Your brain is screaming at you to stop now before you’re past the point of no return. But there is nothing you can do, your body is overriding the commands which normally control your movements. It’s aching to be touched, and it no longer cares who’s doing it.
Taehyung’s hands disappear beneath your gown, caressing your ankles and calves before he’s pulling up the fabric so it rests above your knees. His head leaves your line of sight, and then you feel a featherlight touch to your covered sex.
You gasp, clapping your hand over your mouth when you do. Taehyung’s fingers trace your folds through your undergarment, and you can feel his warm breath on your inner thighs. Then, you feel him pull the fabric aside and he touches you for the first time. You moan into your palm as he dips his fingers into your essence and carries it up to your clit. He gently circles the sensitive nub before pressing down hard and rubbing. Head tipping back in euphoria, you use your elbows to keep yourself somewhat upright.
He plays with your pussy for a while, exploring the unfamiliar territory of your body, before finally sinking his fingers into your hole. Your desperate whimper is muffled by your flesh when he inserts two fingers into you and begins pumping them in and out. The wet squelch of him fucking his fingers into is almost foreign, since it’s been so long since you’ve heard it.
A shockwave of pleasure devours you whole when he kisses your clit and then flattens his tongue to lick you repeatedly. He matches the pace of his fingers and the dual sensation has you biting down on your hand to stop yourself from screaming. You feel yourself drowning in the hellish desire that’s slowly overtaking your soul.
Taehyung moans against you, removing his hand from your pussy to grip you by the thighs and pull you closer to his face. Once he’s hands-free, he begins devouring your cunt like he hasn’t eaten for days. He licks all the way up your slit before circling your clit with his tongue. Then he goes back down and kisses you as he drinks the juices leaking out of your hole. Your mind is paralyzed by the pleasure and it isn’t long before you feel your orgasm nearing.
Your hand grips his hair, tugging on the dark strands and making him grunt. He licks you harder in response, fucking his tongue into your hole and using his nose to keep friction on your clit. You come with a cry, sinking your teeth into the skin of your hand to keep yourself quiet.
It’s only then you realize you’re crying, but they aren’t tears of pleasure. The emotional response is from the unfathomable guilt and self-hatred over what you’ve just done. An act you can never take back and must live with for the rest of your life.
Taehyung licks you a few more times, slurping up your cum and moaning at the taste before rising to stand in front of you. Your chest is red and heaving as you come down from your high. He looks smug and proud of what he’s done to you, and it makes you sick.
You gag into the hand still covering your mouth before leaping off of the table and finding the nearest basin. The contents of your stomach force their way up your throat as you vomit into the receptacle. Your fingers shake and you grip the metal edge to hold yourself upright. Bile burns your esophagus as tears roll down and collect on your chin.
When your stomach is completely empty, and only mucus drips from your mouth, you fall over onto the floor. Your hands cover your face as you scream and cry. The harsh, deep sobs making you gasp for air and cough repeatedly.
“What have I done?” You wail into your hands and shake your head back and forth, as if the movement could somehow turn back time. The faces of your children and husband flash across your mind and make more tears fall. You think of Jungkook, hundreds of miles away, probably wondering how you’re doing, and your soul tears itself to shreds. “Oh, God, what have I done?”
Taehyung crouches down next to you and moves his hand along your spine to soothe you as best he can. You’re undeserving of his affection, the only thing you deserve now is damnation.
Jungkook comes home three days later. You get sick again as soon as you hear his voice filtering in from down the hall.
A month goes by without you or Taehyung mentioning the incident. You push forward and pretend like nothing happened, or least you do. It’s uncertain how Taehyung feels, but frankly, you don’t care to know. The only thing that matters is that it can never happen again. You’ve loved Jungkook since you were a child, and the putrid thought of betraying him again is enough to send you to your grave.
But it’s hard, it's so very hard. Because he isn’t here beside you to hold you and kiss you and remind you that everything’s going to be alright. You only hear his voice every few days, if that; only feel his touch once every other week if you happen to wake up in the night and feel his arm around you. The loneliness is suffocating you from the inside and you feel it choking you to death more and more everyday.
You cry for hours on end most days. The self-hatred, guilt, sorrow, and despair mix together to create a cacophony of emotions you have no way of controlling. Taehyung just waits outside your door and listens to your sobs with no power to do anything about them.
Your children are the only joy in your life at the moment, but even spending time with them is difficult because all four of them share a pair of eyes with their father. Everywhere you look you see pieces of Jungkook, whether in the children or in the desolate halls of the castle, but you never see the man himself.
At least strolling through the gardens and speaking with Taehyung while you sit near the creek brings you peace. It reminds you so much of old times and you’re relieved to finally have your best friend back after reconnecting over these many months.
He makes you laugh and listens intently when you tell him about the books you’re reading and what the children are learning about in their lessons. In return, he talks about knighthood and whatever silliness the men got up to in their freetime. Without him, you don’t think you would be surviving this endless solitude.
“Your Majesty, if I may?” Taehyung says from beside you on the bench. You gesture with your hand for him to continue. “Forgive me for my forwardness, but your mental state is only getting worse. I do not know how much longer you can go on like this.”
Eyes glancing down, you pick at the fabric of your dress and pull at the threads with your fingers.
“I will be fine. I just have to wait until the war is over,” you state.
“Your Highness, the last war went on for close to four years, and it has not even been one yet,” he points out. “You cannot go on like this.”
“What would you have me do?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
“No,” you snap at him.
“Y/N —”
“No, do not even think of speaking it out loud,” you order him sternly. “That was the biggest regret of my life and I will not give into it again.”
“There is no reason you should be alone, Y/N!” Taehyung stands and faces you as he speaks. “Jungkook asked you to marry him and now he leaves you alone and untouched and it is killing you.”
Tears prick at your eyes as Taehyung’s words force reality close enough until you can no longer hide from it. Jungkook’s love for you is unquestionable, and you know the war is the sole reason he isn’t beside you, but the war is still ongoing, and he has no control over its end.
“Taehyung, I cannot betray him again,” you whisper, more so to yourself than to him.
“It does not have to be like that,” Taehyung argues. “It is just pleasure. A body to touch and hold you so you are no longer lonely and isolated. Nothing can take away from the love you and him share. But this situation is unfair to you, and you know it is.”
“What is in it for you, Taehyung?” You ask him. “Why are you so set on being the body which helps me with that endeavor?”
“You already know why, my Queen. My feelings have never changed, even after all this time.”
The day Taehyung confessed his feelings for you was so long ago it almost feels like another lifetime. You never responded, because you didn’t share those same feelings for him. But these months together have meant more to you than you can even articulate, and you aren’t sure if that’s still the case.
What you feel for Taehyung is very different from what you feel for Jungkook.
Jungkook is, without a shadow of a doubt, the love of your life. Your love for him burns deep within your heart like an ever-glowing hearth. It’s solid and foundational to your very being. He's your best friend, husband, and father of your children, and there’s nothing in this world that could make you love him less.
Taehyung is more like a candle, something that only burns you if you reach out and touch the flame. It’s warm and inviting during a time where your whole world feels dark. The love feels familiar because the seed was planted long ago and nourished throughout your years of friendship, but now it’s blooming.
“You still love me?”
“With every part of me.”
You pause and compartmentalize your thoughts before continuing.
“I never meant to hurt you, all those years ago,” you tell him. “I am sorry for doing so.”
“It is alright, my Queen,” he responds, taking his seat beside you again. “I know you did not have much choice in the matter.”
You assume he means the speed at which everything happened, and don’t correct him.
“I care about you very much, Taehyung.” You inhale and close your eyes, counting to four before releasing the air from your lungs. “I do love you. It… it is not like my love for my husband, but it is there. I cannot deny that.”
“Then will you let me do this for you?” Taehyung asks. When you look at him, his eyes are glossy, no doubt from the confession of your newfound feelings. “I am not asking for anything in return, your Majesty. I only want to help you.”
Your thoughts trample over one another as they all scramble for the top position on the dog pile. But you truly believe the only way you’ll survive this war is if you shut your mind off, turn out the lights and let your body puppeteer you.
Taehyung is right that your depression and isolation are slowly killing you. There’s no energy left for you to play with your children, you can barely eat or sleep, and your hair has even begun to fall out.
So, you follow him to his quarters in the Eastern wing of the castle.
You jump at the sound of the door shutting behind you and locking into place. It’s strange being inside his bedroom, but the trinkets and items scattered around the room feel familiar to you because they’re his.
Taehyung is quick to capture your lips with his and it sends a shock through your nervous system. You’ve never kissed anyone but Jungkook, and he kisses you so differently than your husband does. If Jungkook is water, Taehyung is fire. The kiss scorches you and burns across your insides until it lights a fire inside your stomach. You allow yourself to return his affection, let your lips move against his as he walks you backwards towards the bed.
The two of you fall together onto the mattress with a soft bounce. Taehyung’s hands find your own and pull them over your head, imprisoning them against the bed. He begins to kiss down your face and neck, sucking gently and licking over your skin. You moan and tilt your head to give him more access to you. It’s been so long since you’ve felt ravished and worshipped, and your body welcomes it on impulse.
He moves slowly from your neck to your chest, his lips and tongue caressing the tops of your breasts and softly biting down on the fatty flesh.
You nudge him with your knee to make him sit up before reaching around to untie your corset. Taking the hint, Taehyung begins undressing as well. His armor meets the floor with a loud metallic clap as you step out of your clothes and return to his bed.
He moves you up the mattress by your waist, all the while still kissing you and exploring your mouth with his tongue. Taehyung takes a moment to admire your bare chest before him, his hands coming up to caress your breasts and then kiss them. His tongue circles your nipple before sucking on it, turning it hard and sensitive between his teeth. You gasp and moan as your hands grab onto his hair.
Continuing down your body, Taehyung removes the undergarment hiding your pussy from him and kisses your folds. Your head falls back against the pillows as your chest rises with ragged breaths. He eats you out like it will be his last meal, and if the two of you are ever caught, it will be. His tongue fucks into your hole and the sloppy sound of your essence and his salvia mixing into one fills the room. He moves to your clit and lets his teeth scrape over the flesh. You whine as he sucks and licks on your sensitive nerve endings.
His two middle fingers enter you with a wet squelch and he starts curling them so they press against your spongy walls. You moan freely, knowing the first knight’s quarters are completely secluded. He pumps his fingers in and out of you as he devours your clit with his mouth. Your head is spinning in ecstasy. Your pussy greedily sucks his digits in and leaks essence all over his hand.
It doesn’t take long for you to come with a strained gasp, your legs shaking and clenching around his head.
Taehyung removes his fingers slowly before licking them clean and kissing along your thighs. When he kisses you again you can taste yourself on him. It’s been so long now that the flavor is almost foreign.
You push forward without reprieve, wrapping your legs around Taehyung’s thighs to flip him over. He matches your eagerness and starts pulling his undergarment off so you can pump his cock with your hand. The sound of spit has Taehyung’s eyes rolling back as you coat his length in your saliva and begin sliding your fingers up and down his shaft. He moans from deep within his chest. His eyes close as he relishes in the feeling of you jacking him off. His cock is big and thick, and your mouth waters instinctively as you think about him filling you up.
Once he’s hard and leaking precum all over your hand, you position yourself over him and sink down into his lap. The intrusion hurts at first, since your hole isn’t used to stretching open anymore, but then your pussy adjusts to the shape of him and pleasure rolls over you in waves.
Taehyung’s hands grasp desperately at your hips, his fingertips making divots in your flesh. He leans in to kiss and suck on your breasts again and you hold his head to you to continue enjoying the feeling. Hips rising until only his tip is left inside, you slam down against him and proceed to bounce on his dick at a steadfast pace. Identical moans breach the air and Taehyung sits up to kiss at your exposed throat when your head tips back. He licks across your jugular and bites into the skin below your ear. Need and desire course through you like lava as the veins of his cock rub against your velvet walls.
You force your mind into submission, refusing to allow the feelings of guilt and despair to take a single breath. This is something your body has been craving for months and now isn’t the time for your incessant thoughts to bury you in agony. For the first time in a long while, your mind is completely silent.
Tears of pleasure fall as Taehyung guides you by the hips to bounce on him harder, sending his cock deeper into your cunt until you can feel him in your stomach. When your bodies meet, you grind against his pelvis to create friction on your clit.
“You cannot come inside me,” you say through a groan. “You will have to pull out and come on my skin instead.”
Taehyung nods responsively before grabbing you by the hair to kiss you feverishly. His tongue sinks into your mouth and tangles with your own and you moan around the wet muscle. Your teeth drag his bottom lip away before letting it snap back into place. You hear him growl beneath you.
“Does it feel good, my Queen?”
“Yes,” you answer breathlessly before pushing him back onto the bed and gripping his chest to support your body.
Your nails scratch at his pecks as you fuck yourself on his hardness, leaning down to kiss his collarbones and shoulder. Taehyung takes the opportunity the new position grants him to plant his feet on the bed and thrust up into you. You scream, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the sound as he abuses your pussy. You feel his balls slapping against your ass as he fucks into you relentlessly, not slowing his pace for a single moment.
“I am going to come,” you pant into his ear.
“Please, my Queen, let me feel you finish,” he responds.
Your orgasm builds from embers into a slow-burning fire as Taehyung’s final thrusts send you over the edge. When your cunt pulses and soaks Taehyung’s length in cum he moans and rolls you over in one fluid motion. His cock leaves you empty and he fucks his hand before painting your stomach in his seed.
You gasp at the novel feeling of cum splashing onto your flesh. It’s hot and sticky, but you feel prideful over the physical manifestation of Taehyung’s pleasure on your body.
Taehyung gets up from the bed while you’re still trying to catch your breath. The feeling of a wet cloth greets you as he wipes away his cum from your skin and then throws the cloth onto a dresser.
“Did it help, your Highness?”
You can only nod in return, too fucked-out and delirious from the pleasure and adrenaline.
It does help. The two of you continue to sneak away to his quarters two to three times a week so you can use his body to relieve the ache of loneliness. Soon enough your energy returns, allowing you to play with your children again. You lovingly watch their smiles and hear their laughter as they run around the grass. Your appetite returns and your health improves, both physically and mentally. The guilt still eats at you like a famished predator, especially anytime you see Jungkook around the castle or feel him pull you into him at night, but your mind has reached its limit and it can no longer carry the weight of the world.
Neither of you speak of the feelings you shared in the garden before this all started. Taehyung knows how fragile and vulnerable your mental state is and he doesn’t want to pressure you into making this anything more than what it is; just the pleasures of the flesh, only desire, and not love.
The anniversary of the war comes and goes as if it’s just another day, and you and Taehyung continue your affair unbridled. Your entanglements don’t last much longer than that, though.
On the last day of your life, you and Taehyung are in his quarters getting dressed after sleeping together. He leans down to kiss you goodbye when the sound of his door hinges breaking forces you apart.
Four knights barge in, followed by Jungkook.
Your husband’s eyes are unrecognizable, cold and harsh, with no light in them. Reality grips you tight and your hands clasp over your mouth when you realize what must happen now. Jungkook doesn’t say a word, just gestures towards you with his head to command the knights to grab you.
“No! Wait!” You shout as they take each of your arms and restrain you between their bodies. They do the same to Taehyung and he thrashes against their hold. “Wait, Jungkook, please let me explain.” He’s turned away from you now, but you see his hands shake before clenching into fists. The membrane around your heart closes in on the beating muscle. “Jungkook, please just let me see the children,” you beg. “Let me say goodbye to them. Please, my King.”
There’s a heavy moment of silence, the only sound coming from the tears already rolling down your cheeks.
“Take her to the nursery before bringing her to me,” he instructs the knights before exiting. The knights holding Taehyung force him out of the room to follow Jungkook while they bring you in the opposite direction.
The knights hold you taut between them as you walk to where your children are with their nanny, but there is no need. You won’t fight the inevitable.
When you reach the nursery, they let go of you with a glare of warning before allowing you to go inside. The tears begin to fall again as soon as you see your children playing with their toys and books on the ground.
“Mommy!” The four of them shout in unison before running over to you, the young twins stumbling over their little legs to get to you.
You bend down and open your arms for all of them to embrace you at once. Your hands comb over their hair as you kiss their heads. The tears never once cease as you gaze at their beautiful faces.
“Why are you crying, Mommy?” Junghyun asks as he wipes at a tear on your cheek. He’s practically a mini Jungkook, his big eyes and black hair identical to his father’s.
“I have to go away for a while, and I am going to miss you so very much,” you tell him as you caress his cheek.
“Where are you going?” Sooyoung asks with tears in her own eyes.
“It does not matter, my Princess, all that matters is that I love you, and I will miss you all so, so much,” you explain as your voice breaks. “Daddy is going to take good care of you, alright? You know mommy and daddy love you more than anything, yes?”
All four of their little heads nod at you. It makes you smile through the streaks of tears coming down.
“I love you, mommy, and we will miss you, too,” Junghyun says.
He wraps his arms around your neck and you have to bite your lip to suppress a sob. Minho and Wonshik coo and make grabby hands at you for attention. You pick them up one at a time and kiss their cheeks as they tell you they “wuv you foo.”
Sooyoung, your brave little girl, wipes her own tears away before hugging you and kissing your cheek. You return the affection and brush her hair from her eyes.
“Alright. Goodbye, my loves,” you say as evenly as you can.
You don’t glance back at them as you leave. If you see them even once more, you know you will not be able to walk down the long corridor to the fate that awaits you. The knights take your arms again once you’re out of sight of the children. The tears finally cease, and you walk with your back straight and head up.
There’s no reason to cower from what lies ahead, you made your bed and now you must lay in it.
PRESENT DAY
The first-aid team brings you to the nurse’s office in the adjoining building to the gym. The nurse briefly checks your vitals before letting you sleep off the medicine in the back room. It’s supposed to last about an hour, so she places two chairs inside for Taehyung and Jungkook to sit while they wait.
Jungkook storms in first, barely allowing Taehyung to shut the door behind him before he’s facing him with rage burning in his irises.
“Really great fucking timing, Taehyung, truly,” he snaps.
Taehyung has to refrain from physically attacking Jungkook. He clenches his hands into fists until his nails make crescents in his palms.
“You disgusting piece of shit, you fucking monster!” Taehyung shouts. “How dare you hold and kiss her and let her love you when you know what you did and she’s clueless!”
“How dare I?” Jungkook mirrors his tone. “How dare you! You transferred to our fucking school and became friends with her just to try and steal her from me again.”
“I am trying to save her from you!” Taehyung says through gritted teeth.
“Save her? What am I going to do to her? I’m not a King anymore, I’m a fucking college basketball player.”
“You murdered her and she deserves to know.”
Jungkook pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath and releasing the pressure from his neck with a turn of his head.
“Executed.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I executed her, Taehyung, not murdered. And I did it because it was my fucking job as King!” Jungkook yells as he closes in on his former friend.
“She was your wife, the mother of your fucking children and —”
“YOU LEFT ME NO CHOICE!” Jungkook screams at him before stepping back again. He runs his hands down his face and pushes his hair back before continuing, calmer this time. “What did you want me to do, huh? What should I have done when my Queen and first knight betrayed me? Should I have made you sleep in the stables and called it good? That would’ve done an excellent job at showing the entire Kingdom and all our enemies how much of a coward I am.” Jungkook laughs incredulously. “No, no, you do not get to make me the villain, Taehyung. I may have held the blade in my hand but you are the reason she died.”
Taehyung doesn’t respond to his statements, just shakes his head and asks him what he really wants to know.
“How are you even here, Jungkook? I had a sorceress put a spell on Y/N to reincarnate us. You were never supposed to be a part of it,” Taehyung explains.
“I don’t know, what did the spell say?”
“That the person she loves will meet her in the next life and return her memories.”
Jungkook stares him down with his eyebrows raised.
“I’m sorry, you’re confused why a spell like that would bring me, her husband, here, too? You can’t see why that would include me?” Jungkook scoffs and turns away. “Do you think I forced her to marry me? Forced her to be with me and bear my children? Who the fuck do you think I am?” He turns back towards Taehyung again with more fire in his eyes. “She loved me. We loved each other and your little affair did nothing to change that.”
“That’s not what I mean. There was a catch, Jungkook. We had to die together for the spell to work. One right after the other.” Jungkook goes quiet after he hears Taehyung’s words, his eyes tilting towards the floor as his jaw ticks. “Wait…”
“I hadn’t even cleaned your blood off my sword yet.”
Taehyung takes a step back, his eyes opening in shock. He shakes his head, pushing his hair from his eyes as he does so.
“You aren’t seriously saying —”
“I didn’t plan to do it,” Jungkook admits quietly. “But when I looked down at you two, I just…” He glances at your sleeping form, his eyes following the way your chest rises and falls. “I couldn’t live without her. Couldn’t live without either of you, truthfully.”
Silence is all Taehyung can respond with as the true answer of how the three of you are all together again breaks his resolve of confronting Jungkook. The two don’t speak again, they just take the seats at opposite ends of the room and wait for you to wake up.
When you do, it’s with a groan. Your hand comes to rest against your temple as you slowly sit up. Once you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, your eyes finally open and land on Jungkook across from you. They widen for a moment, but then soften as tears well up in them.
“Jungkook,” you cry, your arms opening for him.
He gets to you in a millisecond, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you. You sob against him as your hands grip the edges of his uniform. He shushes you comfortingly, combing through your hair with his fingers and pressing his lips to the crown of your head.
“S’okay, baby, I’m right here,” he whispers to you.
You stay like that for a while, your cries filling the room and breaking both their hearts in the process.
“Do you know?” You ask without looking up. “Do you have your memories, too?”
“Yeah, my love, I do,” he answers you.
You look up at him with glassy eyes. It’s overwhelming now that your memories are back. He’s here in front of you as you know him, but just underneath the surface there is a shimmer of the King you once knew.
“And you still wanted to be with me after we met?” You ask through a hiccup. “Even knowing what I did?”
Jungkook grabs your face with both hands and pushes your hair out your eyes so he can see you properly.
“Are you kidding?” He smiles upon remembering your reunion. “When I found you again it was the happiest day of my life.” A watery chuckle escapes your lips. “I don’t care about any of that, Y/N. I have loved you in all of my lifetimes and I will continue to do so in however many more the universe grants me.”
“I love you so much,” you tell him. “And I am so, so sorry.”
He shakes his head, his thumbs gently moving across your cheekbones.
“It was a long time ago, my darling. All is forgiven.”
“It doesn’t feel like a long time ago, more like it was only yesterday.”
“That’s because you just got your memories back,” he reassures you. “After a while, they’ll seem like nothing more than an old dream.”
You nod to acknowledge his words before crashing back into him, letting your arms snake around his neck as he pulls you into his lap. It only takes you another minute to fall asleep again in Jungkook’s arms, a side effect the nurse warned them about earlier.
Taehyung doesn’t stay much longer. Truthfully, he needs to gather his own thoughts, and he knows you’ll be in no condition to talk with him when you wake up.
You text him once the weekend passes and ask to meet by the lake behind the university. When he arrives, you’re already sitting on the wooden bench with your legs crossed and a notebook open in your lap. He doesn’t approach you right away, instead he just takes in the sight of you tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and bending over to write in your notebook.
“Hi,” Taehyung greets you as he rounds the bench.
“Hi,” you reply quietly and gesture for him to sit beside you.
“I didn’t see you around campus at all this weekend,” Taehyung notes.
You sigh and meet his eyes with a soft smile.
“Yeah, um, Jungkook and I decided to take the train to the museum they built out of our castle. We saw our family crypt, too, where we, our children, and grandchildren are buried,” you explain.
“Oh, wow,” Taehyung replies.
“There was this history book they were selling at the gift shop with our entire family tree in it. We sat where the library used to be and read it together. It talked about what happened to the children and had the names and titles of all your grandchildren,” you tell him. “It was really nice.”
“So, what happened with your children?”
“The royal advisor ruled in Junghyun’s stead since he was too young to be King when Jungkook died. The war ended after about five years, and then when Junghyun turned sixteen he was able to rule on his own. Sooyoung married a Prince in a neighboring Kingdom and ruled there as Queen, which is exactly what she always wanted. Minho and Wonshik married a Duchess and Viscountess and they actually became royal tutors. You know, like the ones you and Jungkook had growing up, who taught you sword fighting and horseback riding and all that?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“I’m so happy knowing they all grew up well and started their own families. Jungkook and I have ten grandchildren.”
“Ten? Wow,” Taehyung laughs. You proudly nod your head and gaze out again at the water. “I’m glad you were able to learn all about them.”
“Yeah… I just wish I had been there to see it,” you whisper. “Wish we both had.” A moment later you snap your fingers when you remember something else. “Actually, we saw your grave, too. It’s in the knight’s crypt not far from our own.”
“Knight’s crypt? I shouldn’t have been buried there. I was stripped of my knighthood when we… well, you know,” he replies.
“I thought the same thing, but Jungkook told me he ordered you to be buried there anyway before the execution,” you respond.
Taehyung is completely dumbfounded by what you’re telling him. It doesn’t compute in his brain why Jungkook would allow him to be buried among the other knights. Before he can question you further, you turn towards him, crossing one leg under your knee so you can face him directly.
“Look, I never got to explain everything to you about what happened leading up to Jungkook and I getting married, and I would like to, if you’ll let me.”
Taehyung nods encouragingly for you to continue, gesturing with his hands that you have the floor to speak your mind. You thank him with a calm smile before sitting up straight so you can finally say what you need to after all this time.
“When you told me you were leaving for the war and confessed that you loved me and wanted to marry me, I didn’t give you an answer because, one, I was shocked, and two, I couldn’t reciprocate. Growing up, I only ever had feelings for Jungkook. I certainly loved you because you were my best friend, but it was strictly platonic. I honestly put your proposal in the back of my mind because you were leaving and I didn’t even know if you would survive the war or not. Then all of a sudden Jungkook had to become King, meaning you were no longer going away and I didn’t know what that meant in regard to your proposal. You were about to be first knight and have a lot more responsibilities, so I figured I would wait for you to approach me before finally giving you my answer. All that changed when Jungkook came by the following day to ask for my hand in marriage because that… that was my dream, Tae. I had loved him for almost my entire life. I wanted to speak to you prior to the wedding or even before arriving at the castle, but there was no time. I had hoped to explain my feelings so you knew I wasn’t just ignoring your confession and doing whatever I wanted. Obviously, I never got the chance, and you stopped speaking to me altogether.”
You pause to take a deep breath.
“It’s true that when the war broke out and we grew close again, I developed feelings for you. You were there for me when no one else was and it was easy to fall for you when we would spend day in and day out together. But that was the first time in my life I ever held any romantic feelings for you. I know you think Jungkook stole me from you or forced me into becoming Queen, but that’s just not the case. My heart has always belonged to Jungkook from the very beginning and even when I did grow to love you, my feelings for him never waned.”
He believes you may be done, but then you speak again after gathering your thoughts.
“All this to say, I am so grateful you cast a spell on me so we all have a second chance at this, but the memories you returned to me are just that… memories. The life I’m currently living; the one where I was born to two pediatricians, went to ballet school, and became a cheerleader; that’s my life. It’s not the one where I was a midwife and later a Queen. Even if you and I had been these star-crossed lovers who never got the chance to be together, it doesn’t change the life I’ve lived so far. It doesn’t change the fact that I fell in love with Jungkook. Not the Prince or King, but the computer science major who plays basketball and is competitive, funny, spontaneous, and kind. I love him for who he is today, memories or not.”
Taehyung takes several moments to absorb everything you’re telling him, and truthfully, he’s confused. His entire life he’s always believed you felt the same way for him, and when you told him you loved him in the gardens he thought you meant you always had.
“But, before you were executed, your last words… you told me you loved me, Y/N,” Taehyung argues.
Your eyes widen and a sympathetic frown appears on your face.
“Taehyung, my last words...” You sigh. “I wasn’t saying that to you. I was saying it to Jungkook.”
The truth forces a sob out of Taehyung as tears escape from his waterline. He goes to wipe them away, but your finger is already grazing his cheek and doing so yourself.
“This was supposed to be our second chance, Y/N. For you and me to finally be together,” he cries.
“It still can be. Romantic love is not the only kind there is. You are and forever will be my best friend, and this can be our second chance to have the friendship we were always supposed to have. For all three of us to be together the way we once were,” you propose.
“No, I could never forgive Jungkook for what he did,” he snaps.
“Forgive him?” You harshly respond. “We stabbed him in the fucking back. I vowed to love and cherish him and then I fucked his best friend and first knight. The one person he was supposed to trust more than anyone in the world. Then we forced a sword into his hand and made him kill the two people he loved the most. We knew when we started sleeping together what would happen if we got caught and we did it anyway. He didn’t kill us, Tae, we killed him.”
You exhale and tuck your hair behind your ear, chewing on your lip as you calm down and think of your next words.
“I love you, Taehyung. I will always love you, and I want you in my life. Jungkook wants you in his life,” you state. “But you have to be willing to move on from the past and accept what happened. Take accountability for the things we did and let it all go.”
Once you leave, Taehyung sits in silence as he stares out across the lake, sorrowful tears staining his skin. He knows you’re right about the past. It’s time to move on and start living the life he has now, but it isn’t easy when he’s spent so long just waiting for you to start your lives together.
The sun disappears from the sky before Taehyung comes to the realization he can still have that, just as you said, because being together doesn’t have to mean romantically. And truth be told, he needs his friends more than anything else.
He finds you and Jungkook at a picnic table outside the library about a week later.
Your arms are pushing at Jungkook’s shoulders to keep him from grabbing the candy bag between your legs. He’s sporting a mischievous toothy grin as he tries to maneuver around your hold to successfully steal your treat. You laugh loudly when Jungkook bites at the air in a feeble attempt to use his teeth as a method of thievery. It distracts you enough, though, and Jungkook uses the opportunity to snatch the bag from you before stealing a kiss, too.
“Nooo,” you whine as he laughs and eats your candy uninterrupted.
Taehyung clears his throat, and you both stop in your tracks, the candy bag falling from Jungkook’s hands onto the table with a soft plop.
“Hey,” Taehyung says through a chuckle. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for… well, there’s a lot, isn’t there?” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m just sorry, and if you guys would be interested, maybe we can all hang out sometime.”
For the first time, he looks at Jungkook instead of you, and watches the way his expression morphs from surprise to delight. In an instant, Jungkook is standing and rounding the table to bring Taehyung into a crippling embrace. Taehyung chuckles awkwardly, hesitant to show any affection in return, but then Jungkook rests his chin on Taehyung’s shoulder, and the bittersweet nostalgia makes him wrap his arms around him.
“I missed you,” Jungkook confesses.
Taehyung sighs and tightens his grip.
“Missed you, too… your Highness.”
“Don’t even joke, man.”
You squeal behind them, your feet tapping against the ground while you do a miniature victory dance from your seat. They both turn to look at you with completely endeared twin smiles, and you smile right back, head tilting to the right as your nose scrunches up.
The smell of wildflowers wafts through the air, despite there being none around, as if the universe is congratulating the three of you on finally making it back home to each other.
For the 2k event I would love to see football player!taehyun x cheerleader! Y/N and idc what the scenario is I would just love to see some spicy smut 🥵🥵 thank you!
[2K Masterlist]
"How not to scare off the stupid flirt that won’t leave you alone."
football player!Taehyun x fem!cheerleader!reader // wc: 5.7K // genre: college au, one-sided enemies to lovers, smut, MDNI.
warnings: i glanced over it does that count as a proof read, slight himbo tyun, (?!) mans a munch, switchy/kinda sub leaning service top! tyun (!!!?), switchy/dom leaning! mc, strength kink, degrading, praise, oral (f. rec.), dry humping, hair pulling, begging, bondage, creampies, overstimulation, lmk if i should add anything!
notes: went just a bit overboard rawr
Taehyun— star player of the football team, a total womanizer and flirt— has taken an interest in you.
It was only a matter of time before he set his sights on you, wasn’t it? The cute cheerleader who was nothing short of energetic and endearing, waving your pom poms excitedly and sporting a bright smile on your face that never ceased at every game— you were easily the smartest person there, given a full-ride scholarship and spending your weekdays cooped up in the library studying, a complete switch from the preppy persona you put on display for the students and families in the bleachers, never giving anyone the time of day and focusing solely on your studies— in short, you were entirely unattainable.
Which only served to entice Taehyun more.
You never gave in to any of Taehyun’s advances— every wave, greeting, or call of your name was strictly ignored; any attempts to be friendly with you were thrown straight into the gutter by a single glare of yours, and Taehyun found himself lucky on the days you would even look at him willingly.
Of course, your withering glares and upturned nose as you walked away from every approach would have any sane person tucking their tail and giving up immediately— but Taehyun wasn’t just anyone, and he found that it was quite fun to try and rile you up whenever he saw you— in and out of uniform— and it made his friends wonder if he was simply a masochist.
“Dude, she looks like she’s ready to blow you up with her mind every time she sees you,” Yeonjun told him once, recounting the way you sneered at Taehyun the moment he tried to interact with you after the game, yet another successful win under their belts, “you mean to tell me you’re into that?”
Taehyun never bothered to deny such accusations; why would he, when he felt himself smile a little wider every time you told him to get lost, or would feel himself eager to chase after you when you would simply turn on your heel and walk the opposite direction whenever you made eye-contact with him? And if he spent nights staying up and thinking about the way your bright smile lit up the stadium and the bow on your head would bounce cutely with each stunt you performed, that was no one else’s business but his own.
To Taehyun, you were the most refreshing part of every game; to you, Kang Taehyun was a stupid tick you just couldn’t get rid of.
All charming smiles and smooth flirty lines— you were warned of him by your team, you knew that he was nothing but trouble the moment the rumors of his reputation started swimming around from ear to ear— a cocky D1 athlete that couldn’t stick to a single girl for more than a few days.
So how is it possible that he’s still bothering you? He’s been after you since the season started, following you around dumbly and trying to get you to cave with even dumber lines you know he’s used on other girls. You never even bothered to bat an eye at him— you’ve never spoken to him past a snide remark telling him to get lost; you’ve shown negative interest in him, but even so, you still catch him staring at you with stars in his eyes.
“Hey,” Taehyun says, managing to catch you after the home game has ended; still in your full face of makeup, so tired that you haven’t even bothered to change out of your uniform yet— you sneer on instinct, turning on your heel and walking the opposite way you were heading, even if it meant taking the farther exit— but Taehyun simply runs after you, not fazed in the slightest at your behavior, “Great game today, right? You guys were awesome. Your routines were super cool.”
“They’re the same ones we’ve been doing for a while now.” you comment dryly, tugging your duffle bag’s strap over your shoulder more; Oh, you can hear Taehyun mumble softly— you wonder if this is the moment he decides it's no longer worth it to pursue you. But again— things are never that simple for you.
“Still, I just never get tired of watching you.”
You falter; Taehyun senses it, just like you sense his searing gaze on your face.
“You’re not supposed to be watching me,” is all you’re able to say, albeit softly, a lot weaker than your usual dismissive tone.
“I know,” Taehyun hums softly, tilting his head as he continues to watch you, analyzing your expression acutely, “it’s just hard not to.”
Alright, you find yourself thinking, coming to a complete halt the moment you feel your heart fluttering hopelessly, this has to stop.
“Wow. Smooth,” you say apathetically, pursing your lips in distaste and observing the man before you— his relaxed, cocky demeanor, the lazy smile that pulls at his lips, his head that tilts curiously, grown out hair covering his eyes and hiding what he might be thinking— and you scoff, voice dripping with distaste as you continue, “how many girls has that line worked on already?”
“None. One, maybe,” Taehyun quickly says, taking a step closer to you, until you’re able to smell him, the natural musk mixed with the fading scent of his cologne, “if she decides to give me a chance.”
Your lips press together, your face unimpressed; he raises a brow at you, as though asking for an answer— swiftly, you roll your eyes and ignore his silent queues.
“Not happening.” you’re turning around again, your pace must faster now, “go bother someone else who’s willing to be part of your roster.”
“I don’t want someone else,” Taehyun groans, jogging after you and placing himself in front of you, just so you’ll actually give him the time of day, “I just want you.”
“Oh really?” you laugh mockingly, entirely unconvinced by this act he seems to be putting up, “So if I fuck you, will you finally stop throwing a tantrum over something you can’t have?”
He’s stunned; with hands on your hips, you step closer to him, getting up in his face as you continue to taunt him.
“Are you gonna get bored and dump me after? Hmm?” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest and taking a step back— Taehyun remains bewildered. “You’re probably not even worth it, actually.”
Just like he did earlier, you raise a brow; mocking him, waiting for him to respond as you tap your foot impatiently— instead, he remains silent, eyes scanning your face, as though waiting for you to say something else— you roll your eyes and shake your head, more than ready to push past him and finally go shower in the comfort of your own apartment.
Your shoulder almost pushes against Taehyun’s body as you go to leave— but you’re stopped in your tracks before you can get the last say, a strong grip on your bicep keeping you still and turning your body around roughly— your duffle bag swings and the strap falls down your arm at the action.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Taehyun says, leering down at you with dark eyes— he’s irritated, teeth gritted and brows knitted together as he speaks.
“Awh, is your ego wounded now?” you ask, pouting and batting your eyes at him, feeling his fingers dig into your skin as a result, “does it hurt your big macho pride to get rejected?”
Taehyun doesn’t say anything to that— his eyes seem to do the talking for him, narrowed dangerously at you, but even so, you still don’t care to take the hint.
“Or— don’t tell me,” you make a point to lower your voice to a whisper, looking around skeptically for anyone else that could hear— but, the stadium was empty at this point, “did I hit too close to home? Oh no, are you that bad of a fuck?”
Taehyun’s jaw is clenched; he takes one look at your pouting, pitied face, at his fingertips that dig into the muscle of your bicep, and inhales slowly— and with one last glance around the area, he turns away and begins to roughly tug you along.
“Woah— hey– hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing—?!”
You’re yelling and bitching at him, slapping at his shoulder and calling him names he could never come up with himself— and yet, you stumble along, refusing to take your arm out of his loosening grip— your actions speak louder than your (abrasive yet creative, Taehyun will admit) words; you’re curious, and Taehyun can already picture the look on your face the moment he finally brings the two of you into the empty locker room he previously raced out of just to look for you.
“What the hell man?” you yell, allowing yourself to be tugged further into the room, straight to a secluded corner that you immediately get backed up in; his hands are on your shoulders as he presses you firmly against the metal lockers, your back arching to get away from the uncomfortable feeling— he’s got you caged in with his body, unable to do anything more than press your hands against his chest in an attempt to keep your distance. You reluctantly take note of how firm his muscles feel.
“What’s your deal?” you roll your eyes, noticing that he has yet to explain himself, resorting to glaring down at you with his stupid, big brown eyes, “Is this all you can do? Don’t know how to use your big boy words so you resort to force instead?”
“I should be asking you the same thing,” he suddenly says, his voice quiet and restrained as he eyes you carefully; your eyes widen, as though you weren’t actually expecting him to say anything, “all that talk for someone that doesn’t wanna be here.”
Your body heats up instantly at his words; you feel like a fish out of water with the way your mouth opens and closes, trying to find your rebuttal yet faltering under the heat of his gaze— he looks pissed, as though he’ll pounce on you the moment you say something wrong.
“I don’t,” you finally say, the words not as confident as you wish they were, “you were the one that dragged me here.”
“Really?” he asks, raising a brow at the way you scoff and glare at him, standing your ground even if you both know you’re lying; his hands fall from your shoulders and he takes a step back, watching as you simply remain there, shocked.
“Then leave.”
The look on his face is much too smug for your liking. He crosses his arms and smirks, taking another step back and nodding to the other side of the room, telling you that “the exit’s over there.”
You take a step forward, only to hesitate. Your eyes narrow at the sight of him, deep in thought before you finally kiss your teeth in distaste.
“God, you’re so fucking insufferable.”
Taehyun doesn’t get a chance to say anything to that because you’re all but leaping onto him after— you’re taking hastes steps to him and your hand reaches out for his nape, digging into his hair before pulling him in towards you for a kiss; to say he was expecting this would be a lie, but he’s more than prepared to melt into you anyway.
You’re nothing like the sweet and innocent persona you put up for the stadium; you’re insatiable, kissing Taehyun like you were starving, a hand reaching up to place itself on his chest, the feeling welcomed until he realizes something— you’re pushing him back, and before he knows it, he’s the one slamming back into the lockers.
His hand falls onto your hip, the other coming up to cup your jaw; his fingers wander endlessly, going from the pleats of your skirt to the elastic waistband, sly fingertips sneaking beneath before he’s pulling away and reaching down to cup your ass— he’s groaning into your mouth at the feeling, your teeth sinking in retaliation to him groping you like a bitch in heat.
Taehyun’s mind is racing a million miles a minute; he never actually thought he’d get here, but now that he did, he’s found himself to be feeling ridiculously antsy— he wants to feel you, take his time to memorize every detail of you, but he also wants to perform ever fantasy he’s ever had about you, bad.
And if he thinks he’s good at masking his desperation from you, he’s wrong. Very, very wrong. You could feel it from the way he kissed you back to the way his dick hardened in what you think is record time, his motions growing hasty as he couldn’t stop feeling you up, as though he’d die if he didn’t go from venturing up your shirt to grabbing at your ass, going back and forth and fucking up your balance completely— at this point, Taehyun was only left against the lockers because you were full on leaning on him.
When you pull away from the kiss, lips swollen and entirely out of breath, Taehyun chases after you; his eyes are low lidded and dazed as he looks at you, confused on why you look at him as though you’ll start laughing any second now.
“Where’s that smooth guy from earlier?” you taunt, punctuating your words by pressing yourself firmly against him, listening to the quiet hiss you get in return, “you almost made me think that your reputation was actually true.”
God, he’s so predictable. You can barely hold back the smile that tugs at your lips, watching Taehyun’s reaction intently; it was like a light finally turned on in his head, glassed over eyes finally becoming conscious as he blinks at you, words registering in his head and grip slowly become harsher; his hand falls from your face and down to the small of your back, pulling you close and raising a confused brow at you.
“What reputation?” he asks, the faux innocence making you roll your eyes.
“Oh y’know, just some girls saying shit. That you fuck the living daylights out of them, or whatever,” your hand that was braced against his chest trails up, fingertips going to the underside of his chin to flick his head up playfully— his eyes are pinned on you the entire time, and you giggle mockingly. “But all I see here is a horny teen that gets hard over a little bit of kissing.”
You’re baiting him— it’s so obvious and you both know it, but that doesn’t stop Taehyun from biting the said bait shamelessly, dark eyes glaring daggers at you challengingly as stares you down.
It all happens too quickly for you to process; your positions are being flipped around yet again and your back is slamming into the lockers, letting out a small yelp at the feeling— but it’s all washed out by the sight of Taehyun falling to his knees, pushing your legs open before he’s settling himself between them comfortably— his eyes sparkle under the lights as he looks up at you, the crude contrasting bringing a wave of heat throughout your body.
“You have no idea how long I wanted to do this,” Taehyun rasps, grabbing your leg before he’s lifting it up, feeling your hand on his shoulder at the unexpected action; he merely chuckles, placing slow, wet kisses from your inner knee before he begins to trail in— once he’s at your inner thighs, he slings your leg over his shoulder leisurely, sucking and biting at the skin before mumbling against it, “fucking dreamed about this.”
His words are pathetically effective— your panties feel uncomfortably stuck to your cunt, and the anticipation of feeling Taehyun’s mouth there definitely isn’t helping.
“Bullshit,” you grit, your free hand reaching down to lace into his hair; your nails scratch along his scalp and pull at his roots, and Taehyun shivers at the feeling, “god, do your other hookups like it when you say this shit?”
Beneath your skirt, he shakes his head, fingertips digging into your thighs at the thought. You’re trying to provoke him, it’s obvious, yet Taehyun can’t help but get irritated at the fact that you seem to be focusing on everything but him.
“You’re the only one I’ve ever talked to like this,” he says, pulling out from under your skirt to bring your panties down, dragging them slowly until they’re finally off— you note with wide eyes that he immediately pockets them. “I’m usually not much of a talker.”
“But if you hate it that much, I can be quiet,” he murmurs, beginning to go back to your cunt again, bunching your skirt at your hips so you can get a good view of him— his doe eyes flicker up at you, and you swear he must know what that does to you as he continues. “I can be whatever you want me to be.”
The dry laugh you let out comes out shaky and breathy; his affect on you is so obvious, yet you still seem to want to hide it all under this persona of yours, digging your heel in his back and tilting your hips closer to his face— he oggles at how visibly wet you are, a soft hiss leaving his lips as you pull at his hair, not giving him a chance to react before you’re pushing him in to where you need him the most.
If you’re finally gonna give in to this stupid student athlete, it’s going to be on your terms. At least that’s what you tell yourself, a shaky moan escaping you and your grip tightening on Taehyun’s hair— he really doesn’t want to waste any time, you note.
His mouth feels like heaven; he’s quick to lick a stripe across your cunt, tongue digging at your needy hole before he comes up to your clit, licking at it teasingly until he finally hears you whine. His lips are soft and plump as he places messy kisses at your clit, his hands digging into your thighs in an attempt to stop you from shifting around so much— if anything, his bruising grip only serves to rip out another moan from you.
“S-shit, Taehyun— just like that, ah,” your moans are just as pretty as you— Taehyun feels like he’s in a daze as he presses closer against you, sucking your clit harshly and listening to the sweet whine you let out— he can feel his cock twitching pathetically in his pants, hips bucking at the air as his mouth moves down to your entrance.
“Fuck!” your eyes screw shut as you feel Taehyun’s tongue enter you, the tip of his nose pressing against your clit as he nuzzles into your cunt, as though he could get further inside your pussy. The sighs and grunts he lets out aren’t lost on your ears either, cunt clenching desperately against him as you begin to wriggle out of his grip without realizing.
“Mmmh, pretty face was meant to get fucked,” you groan out, the words slipping out of you without control. Your hips rock and grind against him, dazed eyes watching as his hold on you loosens and his tongue lolls out; watery eyes flicker back up to look at you, glowing from your compliment.
Taehyun thinks that he could die happily like this. Your cunt is so sweet, so wet, the glide of it against his face enough to have him throbbing painfully in his pants. His jaw aches and it’s getting hard for him to breathe, but even then he refuses to stop— the sight of you is like a dream come true for him to pull away now.
You’re so close— it’s evident by the way your hips start bucking against his face harshly, nails digging into his scalp as you push him closer, impossibly close— your mouth is left open, soft moans turning into curses as your leg tries to hook him in further, pressing against the firm muscles of his back— Taehyun’s eyes flutter shut, and before he can really second guess himself, he pulls away.
The wet sound of his mouth leaving your dripping cunt should have you curling away and cringing in embarrassment. Instead, the only thing you can muster is a cry of his name, the sound venomous and disappointed as you glare down at the boy.
“Sorry,” he says, voice broken and raspy, a panting and blushing mess, “I just— fuck, I need you.”
You’re left speechless at his desperation— but Taehyun doesn’t seem to mind, getting back up to his feet before he’s grabbing at your waist and leaning in to kiss you; you can feel how hard he is against you, and it allows you to snap into your senses as you go up to place your hands against his chest once more; pulling away, you push against him in order to get him to walk— he obeys immediately.
“Geez, you give a guy a chance and he starts acting like a little virgin,” you sneer, noting with a flip of your stomach that Taehyun only grins, unaffected by your jab. You’ve led him to the edge of the bench set in the middle of this small area, pressing down on his shoulders and getting him to sit down; he watches with stars in his eyes as you straddle his lap, sitting your dripping cunt over his bulge firmly. “Am I gonna have to put in all the work here?”
“I mean,” Taehyun trails off, his hands finding purchase on your ass and beginning to guide you to rock against him; his teeth sink into his lip and his eyes darken as he takes in the sight, drawing a gasp out of you as he bucks his hips up. Looking back up at you, his face is happy and sweet. “You really don’t have to. But it’s kinda hot to get bossed around by you though— just thought you were more into that.”
Your jaw ticks. Without warning, you push him down against the bench, hovering over him and placing your hands on his waistband as you begin to undo his jeans.
“Quite a weird way to try and play off that you’re my bitch,” you grit out, tugging at his boxers and watching his cock spring out— he groans, hips bucking up at the feeling, his tip a pretty pink that throbs and leaks pathetically.
Taehyun laughs softly, watching with awe as you spit in your palm and slowly begin to stroke him; his head falls back and his eyes screw shut, noting with coy satisfaction that your hand doesn’t fully wrap around him.
“Yeah, I’m your bitch,” he sighs out, his hands flying to your waist and getting him to sit on his thighs, “fuck, you’re too good at this.”
God, he’s so stupid; giving in to all your taunts without much of a fight, sucked in entirely by the feeling of your hand that pumps his length so slowly, tightening your hold on him and twisting, squeezing his tip teasingly— his hands reach up to cover his face before he can stop himself, pretty hands obscuring his heated face and parted lips that let out soft sighs of pleasure.
“Don’t hide from me now,” you say, reaching up to pry his hands away, his eyes fluttering open before locking with yours, “you look so good like this.”
His eyes widen, the tips of his ears reddening with a cute blush; your praise is so unfamiliar, yet it renders him weak and needy for more, reaching out to grab your waist to scoot you up more— your cunt is touching his length by the time you scold him to stop, though he doesn’t seem to care much for your orders as he begins to fuck his hips against you.
“C’mon, just fuck me already,” he groans, your eyes as big as saucers as he continues to whine and beg. “Aren’t you supposed to like, use me and stuff?”
This… is not what you were expecting from him.
You’re sure the words are written across your face too, the incredulous look you give him making him shrink slightly, as though he was just now realizing what he was saying.
But before he can backtrack and say something monumentally stupid to cancel it out, you grin, hovering over his lap and grabbing at his cock, lining it up with your entrance and taking in the way he visibly shudders.
“You sound so cute when you’re begging,” you say, running his tip along your slit, allowing it to collect your growing arousal, the sound loud to both of you, “y’know, I would’ve given you a chance much earlier if you acted all nice and cute like this from the start.
“That player persona of yours wasn’t really my thing.”
The head of his cock finally breaches your entrance; Taehyun moans at the feeling of you finally sinking on him, able to feel the way he stretches you out the further you take him in, wet and warm walls fluttering with each gentle push.
“Mmh,” your brows are furrowing at the feeling, not expecting him to be so damn thick— but you took him in regardless, putting on an apathetic front even if you were on the verge of melting on top of him— you can feel him twitch inside you, a weak whimper escaping you as his hands dig into your thighs, digging into the flesh cruelly once he finally bottoms out.
“God, you’re fucking perfect,” Taehyun breathes out, hissing through his teeth once you finally start moving; your hips are methodical, your movements cruelly calculated as you rise slowly, leaving him waiting for a second before you slam back down— his legs jump, your body bouncing from the motion.
You can’t help but laugh at the sight of him; he’s the definition of fucked out, sweat that beaded at his hairline causing strands of hair to stick to his skin, chest heaving and teeth digging into his lips with every bounce on his cock— when you start to set a pace, you note with annoyance that Taehyun just can’t stop trying to take over, his hands traveling to your waist to try and guide you, his hips fucking up to meet your pace. It’s endearing, for a moment, but then you find that he begins to get too handsy, his hands now lost underneath your shirt and trailing over your breasts curiously.
“Okay now, don’t get too ahead of yourself,” you chide condescendingly, stopping your pace and sinking onto him, your weight fully on him as you swat his hands off. Taehyun begins to protest immediately, groaning about how mean and unfair you’re being. His hands attempt to go back to your waist, but you slap them off again, giving him a glare that makes him pout at you.
Thoughts on how to get him to listen to you course through your mind, unsure of what to do until one hits you like a freight train.
Taehyun watches in confusion as you reach for your hair, unsure of what to make of the sly smile on your face— it’s only once he sees the pretty bow unravel from your head that his eyes widen in understanding.
“Oh no,” he mutters, your smile only growing wider as you reach for his hands— he retaliates, bringing his wrists together and just outside your reach, “oh hell no, c’mon!”
“Give me your hands,” you huff, lips pressing together in annoyance as he shakes his head and puts them over his head instead, just out of your reach, “give me your hands or I walk out right now.”
Taehyun knows how you are. You’re completely serious about that.
“C’monnnn,” he groans, reluctantly offering his hands out for you to take. He watches with a petulant look as you wrap the ribbon around his wrists, tying them together so quickly he’s barely able to process what you’re doing, “please, I just wanna touch you.”
You ignore him, adding the final touch with careful hands; the bow on his wrists is just as pretty as the proud smile on your face, he notes bitterly.
“Perfect,” you murmur to yourself, pushing his bound hands against his chest, holding onto them for leverage as you begin to move again; you can practically see all the thoughts leave his mind as he feels you around him, sucking him in and clenching with each prod against your sweet spot, hips angling so you’re hitting it perfectly.
With a cruel curiosity, you shift on top of him, a hand holding his wrists down while the other drags his shirt up— though expected, you can’t help but whistle at the sight, running a hand over his abs, watching eagerly as he flinches from the contact. Without much of a thought, you bend down to place a kiss on his stomach, laughing at the soft whine you get in return. Sitting back up, you go back to the pace you set before, satisfied by the flustered man you see beneath you.
Your nails are digging into his wrists; the orgasm he took from you is quickly building back up, your lips swollen and shining from how bitten they are— your cunt gushes around him, a ring beginning to form at the base of his length; Taehyun’s eyes roll back at the sight.
The pretty moans you’re letting out and the tight grip your pussy has on him is making it impossible for him to last— he’s only a bit behind you as you feel your knees begin to become weak, your pace inconsistent as you grind on him in search of more.
“M’close… fuck…” you breathe out, hovering over Taehyun and caging him in— the roles have been reversed now, your elbows on each side of his head holding you up as you press yourself against him, your pace agonizingly slow as you lean down to kiss him— it’s sloppy and neither of you are entirely in your right minds, pathetically moaning into each other’s mouths the closer to your peak you get.
It’s nice to feel the heat of your body against his, but what you’re doing now simply isn’t enough for Taehyun. And though he knows you strictly forbade him, he can’t help himself from reaching down to grab your side, startling you and forcing you to sit up in confusion.
“Sorry, I just— I’m so close, I need more,” he says, fingers digging into your side and thighs flexing beneath you— his brows furrow in concentration and next thing you know, he’s fucking up into you.
The yelp you let out only makes Taehyun’s cock twitch inside you— you sound so good like this, overwhelmed and ruined, unable to stop or control the way he bucks his hips up into you, his hands on your side forcing you to come down on him with every thrust— you’re falling forward and pressing down on his chest in an attempt to not lay on him entirely, and Taehyun thinks that he might’ve just gotten the sight of you bouncing on top of him ingrained into his mind now.
“Oh fuck, you keep fucking squeezing me— are you close? Yeah? I am too,” he moans, watching as you hang your head and dig your nails into his skin— you’re both soooo close, Taehyun can feel it— and before he can second guess himself, words spill from his mouth in a desperate haste.
“Can I cum inside you?” he asks, your eyes snapping open at the question— they meet his stupid, shiny round eyes, turned completely glassy as he tilts his head, his pace never ceasing for a second. “Can I, can I please? You’re so pretty, feel so good, c’mon, just wanna fill you up like you deserve—”
“Shit, yeah,” you whine, not needing much convincing in the first place to agree. “Fill me up, c’mon tyunnie, wanna be full—!”
The sound of the cute nickname coming from you sets Taehyun off instantly; his cock bottoms out and his hand slams your body down, your faint gasp barely registering in his mind as he finally cums— and it’s so much, spurts and spurts of warm cum filling you up and setting you off seconds after.
When Taehyun feels your cunt fluttering around him, he helps you ride it out; even if it means his eyes get watery and his cock hurts with every thrust into you. He still does it, the overstimulation a small price to pay for being able to watch you fall apart on top of him, moaning out his name so nicely that he never wants it to be said by anyone that’s not you from now on.
You’re an out of breath, sweaty mess by the time you finally come to your senses— well, kind of. You’d still rather not accept that womanizing student athlete Taehyun finally succeeded in getting in your pants. Maybe now he’ll finally leave you alone; you try to ignore the disappointed pang you get in your stomach from the thought.
Beneath you, Taehyun simply pants, eyes closed in a sweet bliss; when they open back up, he looks at you with such fondness you can’t help but startle.
“Can I take you out on a date?”
Your eyes widen, and you try to pretend as though the question doesn’t immediately lift up your mood. (Though the way your lips quirk up in an amused smile is definitely a giveaway.)
“You ask this now?” you say, crossing your arms and letting out a soft tsk, “I feel like it’s supposed to go the other way around.”
Taehyun smiles, and you can’t resist the contagious sight.
“I know. Sorry for being so irresistible.”
Your smile drops.
“Just for that, I’m saying no.”
“Waitwaitwait—” You make a move to get off Taehyun, but are stopped immediately with his hands on your side, forcing you to stay put the best you can— he tugs you back into him, cradling your face and ignoring your protests to let go.
“I lied, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry,” he coos, smiling at the way you continue to glare at him; so cute, he thinks, unable to stop himself from craning his neck up and placing a peck on your lips— you melt instantly, giggling softly and placing a peck of your own on the tip of his nose.
⸝⸝ IN a world where soulmates are tied by "soulblooms," flowers that manifest on the hand when touched by fate’s match, you have spent your life with an empty wrist and a guarded heart. but when a fleeting touch with taehyun—a boy you find insufferably perfect—awakens a blue hydrangea on your grasp, everything you thought you knew about fate, connection, and him, turned on its head.
pairings and tags. academicrival!taehyun x fem!reader . soulmate au. enemies to lovers . slowburn . grumpy x sunshine . forced proximity . slowburn . taehyun is a huge tease . tension !!!! not actually unrequited love? angst
word count. 29.7k
short note! it's finally here!!!! it was such an honor to work alongside such talented moas! i am beyond grateful to be part of something this special >< every moment spent working on this was filled with so much love and excitement, and i hope you all enjoy it as much as we did creating it!! <3
you hated kang taehyun with every fiber of your being.
there was something about him that irked you to your very core, something that made your teeth grit and your stomach twist every time you were forced to be near him.
it wasn't just his irritatingly perfect smile, or his perfect grades, or his constant ability to somehow do everything just a little bit better than you, no. it was something more insidious—something about how effortlessly he seemed to exist in a world where everything was perfectly aligned in his favor. he was always better, always one step ahead.
and it wasn’t just in the classroom either. taehyun's reach extended far beyond that, into places where you thought you had some semblance of control. in the student council, for example, where you held the position of vice president—a role you worked your ass off to attain—taehyun somehow made being the president look like a walk in the park.
with his easy charm and flawless leadership, he outshone you at every turn. it wasn’t that you didn’t have the capacity for leadership, you knew you were just as capable. more capable. but taehyun? he was like a magnet, drawing the attention of everyone in the room with a simple flash of his smile, a soft laugh that echoed off the walls of the council room.
you hated how easy he made it look.
every time you thought you had finally gained some ground, taehyun would be there. standing just a little bit taller, a little bit more poised—effortlessly securing the praise, the respect, the adoration. it was maddening.
you hated him.
and yet, it wasn’t just the ways he made you feel small, it was how he never let you hide it. how, no matter how obviously you displayed your contempt for him, he remained annoyingly unfazed, like he could see right through the walls you tried to build. he never flinched, never reacted in the way you expected. he’d simply laugh, his voice low and warm, as though everything you did to push him away was just a minor inconvenience.
the worst part? taehyun was nice to you.
you could never understand it.
it was almost like he reveled in it—like he enjoyed seeing you fume in frustration. he would do things like open doors for you, something so simple and innocent, yet it felt like a taunt. he’d hold the door wide, with that stupid, gentle smile of his. he would always ask how you were, even though it felt like a question that was both too casual and too personal, as if he could sense the tension in your voice, the subtle crack in your facade whenever you answered him.
you hated how taehyun made you feel seen, how he seemed to know you better than anyone else, even though you barely let anyone in. he noticed the way you hesitated, the way your voice would shake when you pretended not to care. it was infuriating. you’d shove it all down, but he’d always come back for more, always patient, always gentle, like a relentless force pulling at the edges of your defenses.
you hated that no matter how many times you tried to push him away, he would be right back the next day, like nothing ever happened. you’d look away, stubborn and angry, trying to ignore the faint flutter in your chest when he smiled at you. his smile—always so warm, so effortless—made everything worse. because deep down, you knew you hated it... but you couldn’t look away.
before you could shove the thought away, before you could shake off the way his gaze lingered just a second too long, the static hum of the intercom crackled through the classroom, making you flinch.
“president and vice president of the student council, please report to the principal’s office.”
the words rang in your ears, a sudden disruption to the taut thread of your thoughts. you let out a slow breath, forcing your shoulders to relax, pushing down whatever unwanted feeling had started to creep in.
you turned on your heel without another glance in his direction, your steps measured and purposeful as you headed towards the door. the room buzzed faintly behind you, students murmuring about why the two of you were being called this time. probably another event to oversee, another responsibility stacked onto the ever-growing pile.
but just as you reached the door, he moved ahead of you, stopping right at the threshold. his hand rested lightly against the frame as he turned back, expression as unreadable as ever—soft yet calculated, warm yet knowing.
“after you,” taehyun says smoothly, tilting his head ever so slightly.
your eyes flickered to him, lingering for only a second before you scoffed. of course. always so proper, so polite. always so perfectly composed.
“just go, kang.” your voice was clipped, your patience thinning at the edges.
but he didn’t budge. instead, a small chuckle escaped him, low and unhurried, like he found your irritation amusing. he remained still, waiting, that same infuriatingly gentle smile tugging at his lips.
for a moment, you considered pushing past him, ignoring his presence entirely. but something about the way he stood there—calm, unshaken, as if he had all the time in the world—made your skin prickle. unwilling to prolong the moment, you rolled your eyes and stepped through first, feeling the weight of taehyun’s gaze trailing behind you as he finally followed.
the hallway was quieter than usual, the usual rush of students dwindling between periods. your footsteps echoed faintly against the polished floors, the rhythmic tap of your shoes the only sound filling the space between you. for once, you wished it would stay that way.
but taehyun was never one to let silence settle for too long.
“you did well on the last presentation,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet with an ease that made your fingers twitch.
you kept your gaze ahead, eyes fixed on the stretch of hallway before you. “so?”
taehyun hummed, slow and thoughtful. “the teachers were impressed. even the principal didn’t have anything to correct, which is rare.”
there was something in his tone—something easy yet deliberate. you weren’t sure if he was just making conversation or if he was testing you, seeing how long it would take before you snapped at him.
your fingers curled at your sides. “is that supposed to mean something?”
taehyun let out a soft chuckle, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “it means you’re good at what you do.”
you stole a glance at him from the corner of your eye, but his expression remained neutral, unreadable. there was no teasing lilt to his voice, no smugness in his words. just a simple statement, spoken like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
you looked away, exhaling through your nose. “obviously.”
taehyun laughs, a quiet, breathy sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “you’re awfully cute when you’re smug.”
your steps faltered—just barely, just for a second—before you snapped your head towards him with a sharp glare. “don’t say weird things.”
but he only smiled, eyes twinkling with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.
“it’s not weird if it’s true.”
your fingers twitched at your sides, a heat creeping up the back of your neck. you hated this. hated how easily he got under your skin, how effortlessly he chipped away at your walls like it was second nature to him. like he wasn’t even trying.
but more than anything, you hated that, despite everything, you never had it in you to stop him.
before you knew it, the office door was already looming ahead, its dark wooden surface polished to a near mirror-like shine, reflecting the dim glow of the hallway’s overhead lights.
despite the countless times you had stood before it, waiting to be summoned inside for meetings, discussions, and the occasional reprimand over minor council disputes, it never failed to fill you with a familiar sense of dread. not because you feared the principal—he was reasonable enough—but because you knew that whatever awaited you beyond that door would inevitably mean more work, more responsibilities. more time spent in taehyun’s infuriating presence.
your fingers twitched at your sides, itching to get this over with. but before you could reach for the handle, taehyun was already moving, stepping forward with that effortless confidence that made your teeth grind. it was miniscule but it never fails to cause irritation to bubble up into your already wounded ego.
his knuckles met the wood in three firm, evenly spaced knocks—never too loud, never too soft. just right. of course.
then, without hesitation, he twisted the handle and pushed the door open. but instead of stepping through, he turned to you—that familiar, insufferably polite smile curving his lips.
“after you,” he says once again, his voice smooth, as if this wasn’t the hundredth time he’d done this.
your lips pressed into a thin, irritated line, and you felt the immediate, burning need to roll your eyes. instead, you inhaled sharply, resisting the urge to push past him just to spite him.
“stop doing that,” you muttered, stepping into the office without sparing him a glance.
behind you, taehyun let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and warm, like he had been expecting your reaction all along. you could practically feel the amusement radiating off him as he followed you inside at an easy, unhurried pace, as if this was all some game to him.
the office was warm, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faintest traces of old paper and polished wood. the large mahogany desk stood at the center, stacked neatly with files, reports, and what you assumed were upcoming event proposals.
behind the desk sat the principal, an older man with sharp, perceptive eyes that held a kindness just beneath their surface. his neatly pressed suit was accompanied by a tie that looked slightly askew, as if he had been rushing between meetings all morning. at the sight of you both, he offered a welcoming nod, his hands clasping together in front of him.
“ah, president,” he greeted, his voice carrying that authoritative weight you had grown used to. “vice president,” somehow, the fact that he regarded you a little later adds another stack of reasons to be vexed as you remain in this room with not only him, but also the principal. “thank you for coming on such short notice.”
you returned the gesture with a curt nod, holding your hands behind your back in an attempt to brace yourself for whatever was about to be dropped onto your already full plate. beside you, taehyun dipped his head in acknowledgment, his posture effortlessly composed.
the principal didn’t waste time, leaning forward slightly as he rested his forearms on the desk. his sharp gaze flickered between the two of you, a knowing glint settling in his eyes.
“i’m sure you both know what time of year it is,” he began, his tone measured, expectant.
your brows furrowed slightly, the question lingering in the air for only a second before taehyun, ever the perfect student, filled the silence.
“the winter ball,” he supplied smoothly, the answer rolling off his tongue like second nature.
the principal’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “precisely. it’s one of our school’s most anticipated events, and this year, we want it to be even more memorable than the last.” he gestured towards the neatly stacked files on his desk, his fingers tapping lightly against the topmost folder. “as always, we’re prepared to provide you with all the budget you need to bring it to life. however, the student council will be in charge of every aspect of the planning.”
your stomach twisted.
of course it was. as if the student council didn’t already have enough responsibilities—event coordination, student affairs, disciplinary oversight—now you had to organize the biggest event of the year on top of everything else. had it not been for your role and how you regaled yourself as orderly, you would have questioned if the school boards even did anything apart from providing budgetary funds. you held your tongue and kept yourself poised despite yourself.
swallowing the sigh that threatens to escape your lips, you focus on maintaining your total composure. breaking would be unnecessary and you knew better than to crack under pressure just because something began to grind your gears.
“understood,” taehyun said without missing a beat, his tone carrying that same unwavering confidence he always spoke with. “we’ll handle everything.”
your eyes snapped to him, barely concealing your incredulity. we? we weren’t the ones who would end up buried in logistical nightmares and last-minute disasters. you were. while taehyun would breeze through meetings with his stupid, easy charm, you’d be the one pulling late nights, making sure every detail was perfect.
but of course, he looked completely at ease, his expression betraying none of the stress you already felt settling onto your shoulders.
the principal nodded in approval, leaning back in his chair. “good. i expected nothing less.” he glanced between the two of you once more before offering a small, knowing smile. “i trust that the two of you, along with the rest of the council, will make this year’s ball unforgettable.”
as the meeting wrapped up, you and taehyun dipped into a synchronized bow, offering the principal a respectful farewell before turning towards the door. you moved first, your steps quick and eager to escape the weight of unadulterated expectations that had just been placed on your shoulders.
the moment you stepped out into the hallway and the door clicked shut behind you, the sigh you had been holding back finally slipped past your lips. it was long and heavy, filled with every ounce of exasperation you had swallowed down in that office.
taehyun must have noticed, because just as you were trying to compose yourself, you caught the slightest movement from the corner of your eye—his hand, lifting ever so slightly, as if to place a reassuring touch on your shoulder.
you moved away before he could.
your sharp glare met his gaze, and for a second, the air between you crackled with tension. his hand dropped back to his side, but the teasing curve of his lips remained.
“don’t,” you warned, voice flat.
taehyun let out a soft chuckle, utterly unbothered. “what? i was just going to tell you that you’re gonna do great.”
“oh, shut up,” you muttered, rubbing your temple as if that would somehow ease the headache forming at the thought of the endless planning ahead. “this is a lot of work. again. do they not realize how much we already do?”
taehyun hummed in thought, shoving his hands into the pockets of his blazer. “well, to be fair, the winter ball is a big deal. people look forward to it all year. it makes sense they want to go all out.”
“great. good for them,” you deadpanned. “meanwhile, i’ll be drowning in event proposals, budgeting spreadsheets, and people asking if we can add a ‘winter wonderland’ theme for the fourth time.”
taehyun chuckled, tilting his head slightly as he glanced at you. “you’re being dramatic.”
you shot him an exasperated look, one that should’ve been enough to burn through his unshakable confidence. should’ve been, but of course, this was kang taehyun you were dealing with—unfazed, infuriating, and always ready with some smooth remark that made your blood boil.
“oh, am i? am i really, kang?” you seethed, voice laced with frustration. “because guess who’s going to be stuck micromanaging everything while everyone else just throws out random ideas and disappears?”
taehyun blinked at you, the picture of innocence. “us?”
you let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head as you leveled him with a sharp glare. “me,” you corrected, jabbing a finger against your chest. “because you’ll probably just sit there smiling and nodding while i suffer.”
his laughter came easily, light and unhurried, like the idea of your impending misery was genuinely amusing to him. the corners of his eyes crinkled in that stupidly endearing way, and for a moment, you forgot what you were mad about.
“come on, give me some credit,” taehyun replies, and before you could take a step back, he nudged your arm playfully—so effortless, so natural, like touching you was just second nature to him. you recoiled instantly, pulling away before the warmth of his skin could linger against your jacket. “i help out a lot too. i mean, i am the president.”
“oh, please,” you scoffed, folding your arms over your chest like a barrier, like it would somehow protect you from his relentless confidence. “you showing up to meetings with an iced americano and nodding along to whatever’s being said is not helping.”
taehyun’s grin widened, all sharp amusement, like he was enjoying this far more than he should. “hey, that’s unfair. sometimes i write stuff down.”
“you doodle.”
“art is important for brainstorming.”
you shot him a deadpan look. “so is actual brainstorming.”
but taehyun didn’t waver. his smile softened just a fraction, the teasing edge in his tone giving way to something quieter, something dangerously close to sincerity.
“i do mean it,” taehyun said, and this time, he didn’t laugh. didn’t flash that insufferable, knowing smirk. didn’t lace his words with teasing or smug amusement. instead, his voice came quieter, steadier—like an oath meant to be kept. “i’m not just going to let you do all the work. i’ll help, i promise.”
his words should have rolled right off you, should have been easy to dismiss like every other time he made empty assurances with that effortless confidence of his. but something about the way he said it—the way he looked at you—made you pause for just a fraction of a second too long.
you scoffed again, but the usual sharpness in your voice was missing, dulled by the unexpected sincerity lingering between you. “i know you,” you muttered, grasping for the familiar rhythm of irritation that kept you balanced around him. “you’ll just charm everyone into doing things for you while i handle the logistics.”
taehyun’s grin stretched wider, his eyes glinting with something dangerously playful—like you had just unknowingly handed him the perfect setup for a joke. “well, yeah,” he admitted with a casual shrug, the corners of his lips twitching. “that’s called teamwork.”
you groaned dramatically, tilting your head back, pressing your fingers against the bridge of your nose as if you could physically push away the headache he was undoubtedly going to give you. “you are so—”
“but,” he cut in smoothly, and there was something in his tone that made you drop your hand and actually look at him. he wasn’t done. “since you’re so convinced i’m just going to sit back and make you do everything, let me put it on record—i’ll be in charge of buying the decorations. i’ll help with booking the venue, the catering, and dealing with the faculty.”
your arms, which had been folded tightly against your chest, slackened just slightly.
“i’ll help set up, too,” taehyun continued easily, ticking things off on his fingers like he was reading off a checklist. “and—” he shot you a knowing glance, “—i’ll make sure no one dumps last-minute work on you like they always do.”
your mouth opened—whether to argue or to question him, you weren’t even sure—but nothing came out.
taehyun noticed. he always did.
“what?” he teased, leaning in slightly like he was studying your reaction up close. “shocked into silence? i should say sincere things more often.”
you snapped out of it, glaring as you stepped back. “i just didn’t expect you to actually think about any of this.”
“what, you think i don’t pay attention?” taehyun hummed, tilting his head. “i know you do all the heavy lifting every year. i know you always end up picking up the slack when people flake. and i know you’d rather pretend you don’t care than let anyone see you stressed about it.”
taehyun smiled, but it wasn’t smug this time. it was softer. easier. genuine.“so, yeah,” he said, as if his words hadn’t just shaken something loose inside you. “i’ll help. properly.”
you swallowed, forcing yourself to scoff, to keep your defenses up. “yeah, well,” you muttered, looking away. “you better.”
he chuckled, unfazed as always. “see? we’re making progress already.”
“i hate you.”
“no, you don’t,” he said, and the worst part was that he sounded like he knew it.
꒰💐꒱
the student council room buzzed with the quiet shuffle of papers and the faint hum of conversation as the members gathered around the long wooden table, settling into their seats. the late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the windows, casting elongated shadows across the polished surface.
you sat near the head of the table, arms crossed, posture composed, but your patience was already thinning before the meeting had even begun. beside you, taehyun leaned forward slightly, his usual composed expression unreadable as he flipped through a neatly organized binder—probably filled with notes and plans that he had somehow managed to put together in the few hours since you both left the principal’s office. you wondered if an actual job would be just as exhausting as this—but at least having work meant you were paid for all of this trouble.
the moment the last person took their seat, you cleared your throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “alright, let’s get this over with,” you said, ignoring the amused glance taehyun shot your way. “as you all know, the winter ball is coming up, and since the school is giving us the budget we need, it’s up to us to handle all the planning.”
taehyun, ever the composed leader, leaned forward with his arms resting against the table, scanning the three of you with his usual unreadable expression. “which means first things first,” he says, “we need a theme.”
a beat of silence followed, filled only by the distant chatter of students lingering in the hallways and the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall.
then, with a loud thud, beomgyu—who had been balancing his chair precariously on two legs—let it drop back down, the abrupt sound making jiwon, the treasurer, flinch. he leaned forward, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his palm, his eyes glinting with easy confidence. "what about… a black-and-white party?"
you blinked, eyebrows furrowing. “you mean… just two colors?”
"yeah," beomgyu confirmed, nonchalant. "like, everyone wears black or white. sleek. simple. no weird decorations." he shrugged as if he had just solved an age-old dilemma, clearly satisfied with himself. "it’ll be easy."
taehyun hummed, tapping the end of his pen against his notebook in thought. "it’s not bad, but it might be too minimal. people like having something to work with beyond just a color palette."
you nodded, already envisioning how utterly lifeless it would be. "and it could get boring fast. we need something with more… i don’t know. atmosphere."
before beomgyu could defend his idea, jiwon suddenly straightened in his seat, his perfectly styled hair falling slightly over his forehead as he tilted his head in what you knew was supposed to be a calculated display of charm.
“hmm,” he mused, twirling his pen between his fingers. “what about an enchanted garden theme? twinkling fairy lights, roses everywhere, maybe even a little love-seat corner for couples…” his eyes flickered towardss taehyun, the end of his sentence laced with a easy lilt. “it’d be so cool, don’t you think, taehyun?”
taehyun, either genuinely oblivious or just expertly unfazed, regarded him with a blank expression, blinking once. “...that’s just prom with plants.”
jiwon’s smile faltered for half a second before he recovered, running a hand through his neatly styled hair. “well, not just a prom! we could—”
“it’s a winter formal,” taehyun cut in smoothly, his tone polite but unwavering. “not a midsummer night’s dream.”
jiwon huffed, his expression tightening for a split second before he forced another airy laugh, though the slight flicker of irritation in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you. “fine. whatever,”
taehyun paid him no mind, glancing at the rest of you. "anyone else?"
beomgyu, who was still highly entertained by the exchange, perked up once more, his lips stretching into a grin. "okay, okay," he sighed, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "what if we do… a retro neon theme?"
you, taehyun, and jiwon turned to look at him at the exact same time, identical expressions of sheer disbelief written across your faces.
“…beomgyu,” you deadpanned, eyeing him as if he had just suggested you all hold the event in a convenience store parking lot. “this is a winter formal.”
beomgyu blinked innocently. “yeah, and?”
taehyun tilted his head slightly, looking at him as if he were trying to decipher an alien language. “so, you want people to slow dance under fluorescent pink lights?”
beomgyu crossed his arms, clearly standing by his idea. “who said anything about slow dancing? picture this—electric blues, neon signs, a dance floor that actually lights up. vintage, but modern.”
you stared at him. “that literally makes no sense.”
beomgyu groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. "you guys are impossible.”
before another argument could erupt, jiwon clapped his hands together, his eyes brightening with excitement. "ooh! what about a winter wonderland?"
you physically felt your soul leave your body.
slowly, deliberately, you turned to face him, fingers tightening around your pen. "jiwon," you said, voice calm yet edged with thinly veiled exasperation, "it is already winter. people are literally living in a winter wonderland right now."
he pouted slightly, tilting his head as if that would somehow make his idea sound more appealing. "but we could make it cute! like, snowflakes everywhere, and maybe a big fake ice castle—"
“so… the exact same theme the school has used like four times before?” beomgyu interjected, raising an eyebrow.
jiwon frowned, tapping his pen against the table in thought. “well, i mean… yeah, but it’s classic.”
you exhaled through your nose, pressing your fingers against your temple. classic or not, it was painfully predictable, and if you had to sit through another event drowning in fake icicles and blue-tinted lights as if you were in the antartica, you were going to lose your mind.
“we need something fresh,” you muttered. “something that actually makes people excited to go.”
taehyun glanced at you, a knowing glint in his eyes. "so, you want something that stands out?"
you turned to him, narrowing your eyes. "obviously."
beomgyu, who had been silent for a beat too long, suddenly leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. “alright, then.” he let his arms drop back down, his gaze flickering between the three of you before a slow grin curved on his lips. “what about a masquerade ball?”
the room went quiet.
taehyun’s pen stilled between his fingers. you turned your head just in time to catch the way his gaze flickered to yours, brows raising slightly in silent acknowledgment. huh.
you narrowed your eyes, already seeing the gears turning in his head.
he knew.
you knew.
and beomgyu, perceptive as ever, caught onto the silent exchange in an instant. his grin widened, mischief flickering behind his eyes as he leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the table. “what’s with the looks? did i just blow your tiny little minds?”
you scoffed, but the corners of your lips twitched, betraying your amusement. “please. let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
taehyun hummed, drumming his fingers against his notebook, the sound a steady, thoughtful rhythm. “she’s right. however, it’s actually a solid concept.”
beomgyu clutched his chest dramatically, leaning back in his chair like he had just been struck by an arrow. “oh my god. did the two scariest people in the student council just agree with me?”
jiwon, who had been slouching in his seat ever since his winter wonderland idea got shot down, straightened up slightly, interest piqued. “so… like those fancy, mysterious balls in movies?”
“exactly,” beomgyu confirmed, voice brimming with satisfaction. “dim lighting, chandeliers, intricate masks—people get to dress up and pretend to be someone else for a night.” he wagged his brows. “cool, isn’t it?”
taehyun ignored his theatrics, already scribbling down notes. “formal but not boring. atmospheric without being overly complicated. it works.”
you tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to deliberate. “hmm. it does sound good, but i don’t know, gyu. the fact that it came from you makes me a little skeptical.”
beomgyu gasped, feigning betrayal as he placed a hand over his heart. “come on, don’t you have faith in me?.”
you smirked, tilting your head. “oh, i have faith in you. just not in your taste.”
“says the girl who still thinks vanilla ice cream is the superior flavor,” beomgyu shot back, eyes gleaming.
your jaw dropped. “what does that have to do with anything?”
taehyun, barely glancing up from his notes, murmured, “she’s right, though. it’s a classic.”
beomgyu let out an irked groan, throwing his hands up. “oh, so she gets a pass for being boring, but i make one suggestion and suddenly—”
“masquerade it is,” taehyun interrupted smoothly, tapping his pen against the page for emphasis. “it’s decided.”
beomgyu sat up a little straighter, his usual playful arrogance giving way to something softer—something closer to pride. he actually contributed something worthwhile, and he knew it.
you glanced around the table, noting the shift in energy. what started as a frustrating mess of half-baked ideas had finally settled into something concrete. something promising.
as the meeting neared its end, the room gradually emptied, leaving behind the quiet remnants of rustling papers and the faint echo of footsteps against the tiled floor. beomgyu was the first to sling his bag over his shoulder, stretching his arms high above his head with a satisfied groan. he looked far too pleased with himself, as if he had just single-handedly saved the winter formal instead of throwing out the most ridiculous suggestions until he accidentally landed on the perfect one.
“alright, my job here is done,” he announced, adjusting his strap before flashing a lopsided grin at you and taehyun. “don’t stay too late, lovebirds.”
“we are not—” you started, only for beomgyu to duck out the door before you could finish.
you let out a frustrated huff, but before you could dwell on it, jiwon stepped forward, his movements unhurried as he gathered his things. he lingered near taehyun’s side, adjusting the strap of his bag with an easygoing air, as if trying to find the right words.
“hey,” he started, offering a small, casual smile, “if you ever need help with anything, you can call me. you know, student council teamwork and all.”
taehyun, ever the picture of polite indifference, barely spared him a glance. “sure, noted.”
jiwon hesitated, clearly expecting something more—maybe a nod of acknowledgment, maybe even a small thanks—but when taehyun remained as detached as ever, he let out a short laugh, shaking his head as if to brush it off. “right. see you guys later, then. goodluck!”
and then, it was just you and taehyun.
the door clicked shut behind him, sealing your fate.
you exhaled, resting your elbows against the table before letting your forehead drop against the cool surface. “this is cruel and unusual punishment.”
taehyun barely looked up from his notes. “it’s called responsibility.”
you groaned. “i have plenty of responsibilities, thank you very much. this just happens to be the one i want to run from the most.”
“too bad.”
taehyun’s tone was frustratingly even, the very definition of someone who had already accepted his fate. you peeked up at him through your arms, watching as he methodically sorted through the remaining paperwork, his expression unreadable. it was strange. you were used to him being sharp, snarky, always finding ways to make your life harder rather than easier. but right now?
right now, he was just… doing the work. without complaint. without prodding.
you slowly sat up, watching him with narrowed eyes.
“okay, what’s your deal?”
taehyun finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. “what?”
“you.” you gestured vaguely at him, then at the neatly arranged papers in front of him. “you’re being helpful. like, actually helpful. it’s weird.”
his lips curled slightly, though the amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “i told you i’d help, didn’t i?”
“yeah, but not like.. this..”
he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head before flipping through one of the documents. “you seriously underestimate me.”
“i seriously don’t.” you crossed your arms. “which is why i’m suspicious.”
taehyun sighed, tapping his pen against the table. “if it makes you feel better, i’ll handle the layout and catering logistics. you can start drafting the seating arrangements.”
you stared at him.
he stares back.
“…you already planned half of this, didn’t you?”
his silence was answer enough.
you blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sheer efficiency of it all. then, something flickered in his expression—something almost unreadable, something sincere—and suddenly, you didn’t know where to look.
“i told you,” taehyun murmured, his voice quieter now, as if he didn’t want to break whatever fragile moment had settled between you, “i’ll help.”
you huffed out a breath, pushing aside the odd weight pressing at the edges of your mind, and refocused on the papers spread before you. whatever strange moment had just passed between you and taehyun—whatever flicker of something that had settled in the quiet between you—it didn’t matter. you had work to do.
the room sank into a silence that, against all odds, felt… natural. not suffocating, not strained, not heavy with the usual tension that came with being near taehyun for too long. it was a stark contrast to the earlier chaos of the meeting, the air now humming with something softer—less sharp edges, less sharp words.
it was almost unsettling how easily you both worked like this.
every now and then, one of you would break the silence.
“do we need to confirm the dj by the end of the week?”
“yeah, and the photographer too.”
or—
“should we let people vote for their own ball court, or do you think it’ll just turn into a popularity contest?”
“kang, every ball court is a popularity contest.”
for once, there were no playful jabs, no attempts to rile each other up—just efficiency. a rare, mutual understanding.
and yet, the hours dragged.
outside, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, casting the room in streaks of orange and pink, elongating shadows across the table. the once-bright fluorescent lights above now felt too harsh, highlighting the exhaustion that had begun creeping into your bones. the weight of the day settled over you in increments—shoulders aching, head growing heavier, eyelids drooping ever so slightly.
then, as you were scanning through a list of venue restrictions, a yawn tore its way out of you before you could stop it.
taehyun’s head lifted at once. “tired?”
you blinked at him, rubbing your eyes as inconspicuously as possible. “no.”
his gaze flickered towardss you, sharp yet unreadable. “you should just go home. i can finish the rest.”
you scoffed, dropping your hand from your face. “what, and let you mess everything up? not on my watch.”
his brows raised slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “mess everything up? bold words, considering i’ve been handling student council work longer than you have.”
“exactly,” you countered, deadpan. “which means i know what you’re capable of, and frankly, it’s concerning.”
taehyun exhaled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “you really don’t trust me with this, huh?”
“would you trust you?”
his lips curled, eyes glinting with amusement. “i trust myself way more than i trust you.”
you let out an exaggerated gasp. “excuse me?”
“you heard me.”
“taehyun, i carry the weight of this council on my back, and you know it.”
he let out a soft chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “right, because your world would fall apart if you admitted i actually help out around here.”
you narrowed your eyes, pointing a pen at him. “if you actually helped, i wouldn’t be here right now.”
“or maybe,” he mused, tilting his head, “you just like spending time with me.”
you nearly choked.
“as if,” you spluttered, eyes widening.
taehyun smirked, seemingly satisfied with your reaction. “so dramatic.”
you let out a groan, too tired to argue as you drag a hand down your face. “you’re insufferable.”
“and yet, you’re still here.”
“because i have to be,” you shot back.
he hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. “alright, then. let me—”
without thinking, your hand shot out, curling firmly around his wrist.
your breath caught in your throat, the moment stretching impossibly thin, charged with something you couldn’t name. your fingers were wrapped around the bare skin of taehyun’s wrist, his pulse thrumming steadily beneath your touch—warm, solid, real.
taehyun stilled.
for once, he looked just as caught off guard as you felt, his gaze flickering downward, lips parting slightly. you could see the exact moment realization dawned on him, something shifting in his expression, his breath coming just a fraction sharper.
but neither of you moved.
the air between you thickened, something unspoken curling into the space left behind by your bickering. your heart pounded against your ribs, so loud, you were convinced he could hear it. your palm burned against his skin, a sensation you weren’t sure was entirely physical.
you ripped your hand away, as if you had been scorched.
taehyun blinked at you, his expression unreadable, caught between something unreadable and something almost… curious. then, his lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk forming, though this one was softer—less teasing, more thoughtful.
“okay, okay,” he said, voice quieter now, almost teasing but not quite. “i’ll let you finish your own work.”
you barely heard taehyun’s voice. barely registered the joyful lilt of his words or the soft chuckle that followed.
because something felt wrong.
not wrong in the way that set off alarms in your head—not danger, not fear—but something different. something foreign pressing against the edges of your awareness, unfamiliar yet impossibly warm.
your wrist tingled, the sensation starting as a faint whisper beneath your skin before deepening into something more insistent, something that crawled up your arm like a quiet, lingering heat. it wasn’t painful, but it burned in a way that made your breath catch, a way that made your fingers curl against the table as if grounding yourself would somehow steady the sudden unease settling in your chest.
your brows furrowed as the warmth pulsed again, slow and steady, like a heartbeat against your palm. for a second, you tried to ignore it, forcing your focus back onto the scattered documents before you.
but the feeling refused to fade, refused to be dismissed as something inconsequential. it lingered, curling beneath your skin, insistent, waiting. a strange, quiet whisper of a sensation that made something stir uneasily in your chest.
your fingers twitched.
the urge to check clawed at you.
hesitantly, almost cautiously, you turned your palm over. your breath felt uneven, the steady rhythm of your chest rising and falling suddenly harder to control. your fingers flexed once, twice, before finally, with a sharp inhale, you reached for the sleeve of your jacket.
you hesitated.
just for a second.
then, slowly, you peeled the fabric back—
and you felt your breath hitch.
there, resting in the curve of your palm, was a single blue hydrangea.
it was small, delicate, impossibly soft-looking, its petals shimmering faintly with an ethereal glow. the light was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was there, a quiet pulse of something that shouldn’t be real. your eyes widen, your chest tightening, the air around you suddenly feeling too thick, too heavy, as if the weight of the moment itself was pressing down on you, demanding to be acknowledged.
your fingers twitched again, hesitant, unsure, before finally moving—just barely grazing the petals. they were cool beneath your fingertips, soft as silk, fragile in a way that made your stomach twist. and yet, the moment you made contact, a warmth surged through you—different from before, deeper, curling through your chest, spreading outward in gentle waves, like ripples disturbing still water.
panic clawed at your ribs.
this wasn’t real.
it couldn’t be real.
cautiously, carefully, you lifted your gaze—
taehyun wasn’t even looking at you.
he was still focused on his own work, completely unaware of the storm unraveling within you. his expression remained neutral, his hands moving with practiced ease as he gathered the last of the documents, his posture relaxed as if nothing had happened. he hadn’t noticed the way you had frozen. he hadn’t heard the sharp breath that had caught in your throat. he hadn’t felt what you had felt.
you sat there, staring, mind spinning in frantic circles, barely registering the movement of his hands, the faint sound of paper rustling as he organized everything into neat stacks. he was still working. he had moved on.
your fingers tightened around your sleeve, pressing the fabric into your palm, concealing the impossible proof still resting there.
taehyun had no idea.
he hadn’t seen it.
but you had.
suddenly, the way taehyun had been looking at you earlier—the way his voice had softened when he told you he’d help, the way his fingers had tapped against the table absentmindedly, as if waiting for something—felt different.
suddenly, the small, glowing flower sitting against your skin felt heavier than anything you had ever held.
your stomach twisted, fingers still curled tightly around your sleeve as you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, to act as if your world hadn’t just been turned upside down.
but deep down, you already knew.
taehyun was your soulmate.
the chair scraped against the floor as you pushed back suddenly, the legs dragging loud and jarring against the quiet that had settled between you and taehyun. the movement was too sharp, too abrupt, and when you stood, a wave of dizziness hit you like a punch to the chest.
taehyun’s head snapped up at the sudden movement, brows knitting together in something close to confusion. “where are you going?” his voice was steady, but there was a slight edge to it—one that might’ve gone unnoticed if your heart wasn’t already hammering in your chest. “i thought you wanted to stay?”
you swallowed, trying to mask the way your breath felt uneven, the way something inside you trembled like a frayed wire sparking against itself. “i—” your throat felt dry. you shook your head, barely able to string together a convincing excuse. “i-i just remembered i have something to do.”
taehyun’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze sharp and assessing as he leaned back in his chair. “really?”
you exhaled sharply, trying to pull yourself together, trying to keep your feet moving before you did something foolish. “yes, really,” you bit out, words a little too rushed, too forced. you took a step back, then another. “i should go.”
“now?” taehyun’s voice carried a note of incredulity, as if he was trying to make sense of the contradiction. just minutes ago, you had argued tooth and nail about staying, yet now, here you were, bolting for the door like something was chasing you.
you nodded once, stiffly, pressing your lips together. “yes. now.”
before he could say anything else, before the weight of his gaze could pin you down, you spun on your heel and hurried for the door. your heart thundered violently against your ribs, your pulse roaring in your ears, but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t.
the cool evening air hit you like a shock to the system when you finally stepped outside, your lungs burning with the weight of everything you had just run from. but even then, even with the distance now stretching between you and taehyun, your fingers curled instinctively tighter around your sleeve, as if the mere act of holding it close could somehow make the truth disappear.
but it didn’t.
because pressed against your palm, glowing softly beneath the fabric, the tiny blue hydrangea still remained.
꒰💐꒱
you couldn't sleep.
you lay on your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, but the silence in your room was anything but peaceful. it was suffocating—thick and pressing, curling around your ribs like invisible vines, making it impossible to breathe.
every time you closed your eyes, you saw it. that flower. delicate and impossibly vibrant, glowing softly against your palm as if mocking you. and with it came the realization you still weren’t ready to accept, the one that had rattled you so deeply you could barely think straight.
kang taehyun was your soulmate.
your stomach twisted, a cold weight settling deep in your gut.
it didn’t make sense. it couldn’t make sense. the universe, fate—whatever cruel force had determined this—must have made a mistake. had to have made a mistake. because out of all the people in the world, why him? why the one person you could barely stand, the one person who got under your skin like no one else could?
a frustrated breath tore from your lips as you sat up abruptly, shoving your blanket off. you couldn’t just sit here, drowning in the sheer absurdity of it all. your fingers reached for your phone, unlocking it in one swift motion before you began typing furiously into the search bar, your heart hammering so loudly it nearly drowned out the quiet hum of the device.
how to break a soulmate bond?
your thumb hovered over the screen as you hesitated, an uneasy feeling creeping into your chest.
then you pressed enter.
your eyes scanned the results, fingers scrolling hastily, only for a sharp sting of disappointment to hit you when the answers all read the same:
soulmates are predetermined from birth.a soulmate bond cannot be unbound.a soulmate connection is permanent.
your grip on your phone tightened.
you tried again.
can you reject your soulmate?can a soulmate connection fade?is there a way to erase a soulmate bond?
but again, every response remained cruelly, infuriatingly unchanged.
your chest constricted, heat rising to your cheeks as frustration built like a storm inside you. you hated this. hated the idea that some unseen force had decided your fate without your consent, tying you to taehyun in a way you couldn’t even begin to understand.
your pulse pounded in your ears, but you forced yourself to keep reading, scanning through endless articles, forums, old folklore—anything that might give you a loophole.
and then, finally, you found something.
your eyes locked onto a passage buried within a lengthy explanation on soulmate manifestations. the words swam before you, but you forced yourself to focus, breath catching as you reread the key line over and over again.
"the flower will continue to appear until the bond is acknowledged and reciprocated."
you swallowed hard, gripping your phone tighter.
"only through mutual recognition—through intertwined touch—can the cycle be broken."
a shiver crawled up your spine, slow and deliberate, like a creeping realization settling deep into your bones. the weight of it pressed against your chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to think past the overwhelming truth that had been forced upon you.
your stomach twisted at the thought. as long as he didn’t know—as long as you never let your hands fully intertwine—he wouldn’t find out. the flower would keep returning, yes, but it wasn’t permanent. it wasn’t an unshakable mark of fate binding the two of you together in an irreversible way.
your breath caught as you hesitated, then slowly peeled back your sleeve, heart hammering wildly against your ribs. but when your gaze flickered down—
nothing.
the flower was gone.
a sharp exhale left you, a rush of relief so sudden it nearly made you laugh. it wasn’t a mark you were doomed to wear forever. it could be hidden, erased, kept entirely to yourself. your fingers curled into a fist, as if trying to physically trap the secret away, to hold it tight before it could slip through the cracks and ruin everything.
taehyun didn’t have to know.
you could keep this to yourself. you could pretend it never happened. as long as you avoided direct contact, as long as you stayed careful, the truth would remain buried. and taehyun—your soulmate—would never have to find out.
the thought should have been comforting, should have eased the sick feeling that had settled in your stomach. but it didn’t. because no matter how much you tried to ignore it, push it down, pretend it wasn’t real—
the fact remained.
the universe had chosen taehyun for you.
and worse—
it had chosen you for him.
you exhaled slowly, pressing your palms over your eyes as if the darkness behind your lids could somehow erase the thoughts running rampant in your mind. it was useless—no matter how much you tried to push it away, the truth remained, lodged deep beneath your skin like a splinter that refused to be ignored.
still, you had to at least try.
dragging in a breath, you shifted onto your side, curling beneath the covers in a last-ditch effort to find rest, even if only for a few fleeting hours. the room was silent, save for the faint ticking of the clock on your desk, a reminder of just how little time you had left before the world would start moving again.
you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to focus on the steady rise and fall of your chest, on the softness of the sheets beneath your fingertips. if you could just empty your mind, even just for a moment.
but sleep never truly came.
instead, you drifted in and out of a restless haze, thoughts tangling and unraveling like threads in your mind. each time you closed your eyes, you swore you could still feel the lingering warmth against your palm, the faint ghost of a touch that had changed everything.
and before you knew it, the sun had already risen.
a sliver of golden light filtered through your curtains, painting soft, dappled shapes across your walls. you barely had time to register the shift before your alarm blared to life, the sharp, grating sound pulling you straight back into reality.
with a heavy sigh, you rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling as exhaustion settled deep in your bones. the weight in your chest hadn't lessened overnight—if anything, it had only grown heavier, sinking deeper now that you had to face what came next.
school. preparing for the winter ball. more responsibilities.
and worse than that, taehyun.
your jaw tightened at the thought. there was no avoiding him. no ignoring his presence, no pretending he didn’t exist when he was the student council president, when you had to work with him to organize the ball, when he was everywhere. when, no matter how much you wanted to, you couldn't just erase him from your world.
but today, you had no choice but to pretend.
pretend like nothing had changed. pretend like you weren’t walking into the same room as the person you were now inexplicably tied to. pretend like he wasn’t your soulmate.with one last deep breath, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, steeling yourself for the day ahead.
as you got ready, the soft rustle of fabric filled the quiet of your room as you slipped into your jacket, fingers instinctively pulling the sleeves down past your wrists. you had always worn one out of habit, for comfort more than anything else, but today—it served a different purpose.
today, it was a barrier.
a thin layer of protection between you and the one person who could never know the truth.
your hands lingered for a moment, curling around the edges of your sleeves as if gripping them tighter would somehow ease the weight pressing against your chest. it didn’t. but still, you exhaled slowly, steeling yourself, before finally grabbing your bag and heading out the door.
as you got off the bus, the walk to school felt longer than usual. every step was heavy, your mind still tangled in the sleepless hours of the night before. the closer you got, the more you could feel it—that slow, creeping sense of unease settling in your bones, tightening its hold with each passing second.
but you kept your head low.
you had no interest in conversation. no interest in being perceived. the last thing you needed was someone taking notice of the way your mind was still reeling, the way your body was thrumming with something unsettled, something wrong.
“you in a hurry or something?”
your breath caught.
a voice. familiar. casual. far too easy going for how completely, utterly not easy this situation was.
you didn’t have to look to know who it was.
your fingers curled tighter around the strap of your bag, your knuckles turning faintly white from the force of your grip. as if holding on to something tangible could tether you, could anchor you to a reality that suddenly felt unbearably fragile.
his voice was light, threaded with that signature confidence that made your stomach curl uncomfortably.
"you practically ran out of the council room yesterday," taehyun mused, the curiosity in his voice so casual, so innocent, that it almost sounded like he wasn’t completely prying. but you knew better. taehyun never asked without reason. "thought you were so insistent on staying late and finishing up the work. kind of weird that you suddenly changed your mind."
your pulse stuttered.
so he noticed.
of course he did.
you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, to fight against the tension creeping into your shoulders, the way your skin still buzzed with the weight of yesterday’s discovery.
"i changed my mind," you muttered, your voice clipped, carefully detached. "had more important things to do."
a hum. slow. drawn out. deliberate.
"oh?" taehyun says, his voice dipping ever so slightly, laced with a knowing lilt that sent an uncomfortable prickle down your spine. "that doesn’t sound like you. you never leave work unfinished, no matter how late it gets. if anything, you’d rather scold me for trying to leave early. i think that’s why it’s kind of… suspicious."
your fingers twitched.
he was digging. picking at the cracks in your carefully composed exterior, sifting through the spaces where your walls weren’t quite thick enough. and you could feel it—the weight of his gaze as he examined you, silently cataloging every tiny inconsistency, every hesitation, every shift in your posture.
your stomach twisted.
he couldn’t know.
"look, i don’t know what you’re talking about," you said, feigning indifference, eyes fixed ahead. "i went home. did what i needed to do. end of story."
a silence stretched between you, thin yet impossibly dense.
"you’re a terrible liar."
the words were soft. simple. but they landed like a blow, striking something deep within you.
"seriously, what’s up with you?" taehyun continued, voice quieter now, softer around the edges, but no less insistent. his eyes were sharp, searching, tracing over your profile like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he wasn’t meant to solve. "you’ve been acting weird since yesterday. not just weird—weird in a way that actually bothers me. and that’s saying something."
your breath hitched before you could stop it, and for just a fraction of a second, your steps faltered.
it was slight—barely noticeable, barely anything—but taehyun caught it. of course he did.
his gaze sharpened, quiet and unrelenting, brushing over the rigid line of your shoulders, the tightness in your grip, the way your breath had become just a little too controlled.
"seriously," he pressed again, more deliberate this time. "what’s going on with you? you don’t usually avoid eye contact like this. or, you know, sprint out of rooms like you just saw a ghost."
he was watching you. waiting. reading between the spaces of your words, searching for something—an answer, a tell, the truth.
and it was too much.
too much when your thoughts were still tangled in the ghost of a blue hydrangea, too much when the memory of it felt like a brand against your skin, too much when your own chest felt like it was caving under the weight of what you could not let him know.
"i told you, it’s nothing!"
the word came out too fast, too sharp, too frayed at the edges, spilling into the space between you like a crack in fragile glass.
"nothing’s wrong, okay?" you snapped, exasperation bleeding into every syllable as you finally turned to glare at him. "i don’t know why you’re so fixated on this, but if i say it’s nothing, then it’s nothing!"
taehyun’s steps slowed, just barely, but enough for you to feel it.
then, after a beat, his lips curled.
"there’s my girl."
the words were light, teasing, but something about the way he said them—low, warm, unbearably fond—made your breath catch in your throat.
your stomach flipped.
heat crept up your neck, curling at the edges of your resolve, licking at the barriers you had so carefully built.
"don’t call me that," you snapped, voice edged with irritation, but the way your chest tightened betrayed you.
taehyun only grinned wider, unfazed. "why not?”
you let out a scoff, shoving past him with a force that felt more like fleeing than anything else, quickening your pace towards the school entrance, desperate to put space between you, to shake off the warmth he left behind.
taehyun only chuckled, the sound rich with amusement, smooth and unbothered, trailing after you like a shadow you couldn’t escape.
as you and taehyun made your way towards the principal’s office, you could still feel the weight of his earlier words clinging to your skin. you forced yourself to set it aside, straightening your posture and steeling your expression as the two of you stepped into the office.
the principal greeted you both with a bright, approving smile, clearly pleased that the student council had taken the initiative to organize such an elaborate event. as you and taehyun pitched the ideas you had gathered from the meeting—the masquerade ball, the theme, the various activities planned—their expression only grew more delighted, nodding along enthusiastically.
"this all sounds wonderful!" he beamed, already reaching for the budget reports. "i'll grant you the funds you requested, and since this will require a lot of preparation, i'll allow you both to skip certain classes leading up to the event. just make sure to check in with your teachers and stay on top of your work."
you forced a polite smile, nodding in agreement, though internally, you grimaced at the thought of spending even more time with taehyun outside of your usual council duties. meanwhile, beside you, taehyun merely gave an easy, knowing grin, as if he could already sense your reluctance.
with the necessary approvals in hand, the two of you left the office and quickly made your way to find beomgyu and jiwon, easily spotting them in the hallway between classes. after explaining the situation, excusing them from their schedules, and going over the event details, the four of you gathered in the council room once again to divide the responsibilities.
"beomgyu, jiwon, you’ll be in charge of designing and putting up the promotional posters," taehyun started, his voice smooth and sure, as if he had already planned out the entire structure of the event in his head. "you’ll also be handling the setup for the photobooth and confirming everything with the dj and photographer."
beomgyu perked up at that, a spark of excitement in his eyes as he nodded. "oh, i have ideas already. don’t worry, the posters are gonna be a masterpiece."
“so do i!” jiwon chimed in, nodding with a soft smile.
"good," taehyun said before turning to you. his gaze was steady, too steady, and you already had a bad feeling about what was coming. "that leaves us to handle the venue arrangements, the catering, and organizing the seating plans."
your stomach dropped.
"wait, what?" you blurted, brows knitting together. "why do i have to be paired with you? can't i switch?"
taehyun barely looked fazed, tilting his head in amusement. "because you’re the vice president, and i’m the president. it makes sense that we handle the major logistics together."
"but—"
"besides," he cut you off smoothly, a teasing lilt creeping into his voice, "you wouldn't want to leave all the important decision-making to me, would you? i might pick the absolute worst venue just to spite you."
you opened your mouth to protest, only to close it again when you realized he had you cornered. he knew you couldn’t let him handle this alone—not because you trusted his judgment, but because you absolutely didn’t.
your fingers clenched around the edge of the table before you finally let out a sharp exhale, shoulders dropping in reluctant defeat. "fine," you muttered, crossing your arms. "but if you make this unbearable for me, i swear—"
"i wouldn’t dream of it," taehyun interjected smoothly, lips quirking up in that ever-infuriating smirk of his.
beomgyu, watching the exchange, let out a low whistle, shooting you a look that was half amused, half pitying. "good luck," he mused, already turning towards jiwon to start discussing the poster designs.
as much as you wanted to drag your feet and stall for time, taehyun was already leading the way towards the computer lab, walking with that effortless confidence that somehow always managed to get under your skin. you followed begrudgingly, arms still crossed over your chest, every step weighed down by the unfortunate reality that you were stuck with him for this part of the planning.
the computer lab was mostly empty when you entered, save for a few students hunched over their screens, quietly typing away. the hum of the machines filled the air, the glow of the monitors casting a cool, sterile light over the room. taehyun wasted no time claiming a spot near the corner, settling into one of the chairs and gesturing for you to take the seat beside him.
reluctantly, you did.
"all right," he murmured, fingers already flying across the keyboard as he pulled up a search tab. "we need a venue that’s available in less than two weeks, big enough for the whole student body, and actually within our budget."
you scoffed, leaning back against your chair with an unimpressed look. "wow, really? i had no idea. it's not like i wasn’t at the meeting where we came up with this idea or anything."
taehyun barely spared you a glance, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitch. "just making sure we’re on the same page," he said smoothly, scrolling through a list of banquet halls. "i know how slow you can be sometimes."
your head snapped towards him, eyes narrowing. "excuse me?"
he hummed, feigning deep concentration as he clicked through different options. "i mean, it took you ages to realize you liked working with me. maybe this will take just as long."
"i do not like working with you," you shot back, voice low and sharp.
"mhm," he teased, tilting his head. "whatever helps you sleep at night."
your fingers curled into fists as you resisted the urge to reach over and shove him off his chair. instead, you let out a long, slow exhale, rolling your shoulders before refocusing on the task at hand. arguing with him was getting you nowhere, and you refused to give him the satisfaction of throwing you off track.
"just focus," you muttered, pulling up a different search window. "we need to find a venue, not waste time on whatever nonsense is coming out of your mouth."
"you wound me," taehyun sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "but fine, i’ll behave. for now."
you didn’t believe that for a second.
the next minutes were spent in a tense yet oddly efficient silence, both of you scanning through listings, occasionally typing out emails or jotting down notes. but of course, peace was never meant to last when taehyun was involved.
"how about this one?" he asked suddenly, turning his screen to your direction. "it’s big, has great lighting, and look—it even comes with a dance floor."
you barely glanced at it before shaking your head. "too expensive."
"oh, so now you're frugal?" he teased, clicking his tongue. "you didn't seem to care when we were talking about decorations."
"because decorations actually matter," you retorted. "unlike whatever overpriced ballroom you're looking at right now."
"overpriced?" taehyun leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "you have no taste."
"and you have no concept of budgeting," you shot back, matching his posture with a challenging stare.
he grinned. "fine. your turn. pick a place."
you turned back to your screen, scanning through the options until you found one that seemed promising—spacious, reasonably priced, and still available within your tight timeframe. with a victorious smirk, you veered your laptop in his direction. "this one."
taehyun hummed, skimming over the details. then, to your immense irritation, he shrugged. "eh. it's decent."
"decent?" you repeated, your eye twitching. "it's perfect."
"i don't know," he mused, dragging out the words. "it’s a little plain, don’t you think?"
"you're plain," you grumbled under your breath.
taehyun chuckled, shaking his head as he clicked on the venue’s contact page. "all right, i’ll admit—it’s not bad. let’s call and see if it’s available."
"thank you," you huffed, leaning back in your chair.
taehyun shot you a look, his smirk still annoyingly present. "see? wasn’t that fun?"
"you’re insufferable."
"oh, please," he said, spinning slightly in his chair, "we both know that’s not true."
you exhaled sharply, closing your eyes for a brief moment to collect what little patience you had left.
taehyun wasted no time pulling out his phone, fingers tapping swiftly as he dialed the number listed on the venue’s website. you followed suit, opening your email and drafting a message to another potential location, your heart already sinking at the thought of waiting for replies.
"come on, pick up," taehyun muttered under his breath, tapping his fingers against the desk impatiently as the call rang. his expression remained neutral, but you could tell from the slight furrow of his brows that he wasn’t the biggest fan of uncertainty either.
you pressed send on your email, leaning back with a sigh. "i hate this part," you admitted, watching as the message disappeared into the abyss of cyberspace. "just sitting around, waiting, hoping someone actually gets back to us soon."
"patience, grasshopper," taehyun mused, shooting you a teasing glance before straightening when someone finally answered his call. "yes, hi," he said smoothly, his tone shifting into something professional yet casual. "i was wondering if your venue is available for a school event in—"
he suddenly went quiet. you watched as his lips pressed into a thin line, his expression darkening slightly.
"... oh," he said after a pause, voice flat. "i see. no, that’s fine. thanks anyway."
you already knew what had happened before he even ended the call. "booked?"
"booked," taehyun confirmed with a sigh, tossing his phone onto the desk. "for the next three months."
"great," you muttered, rubbing your temples. "just our luck."
"don't be so dramatic," taehyun teased, picking up his phone again. "we still have options. just gotta keep trying."
"yeah, yeah," you sighed, refreshing your inbox just in case. nothing yet. not that you expected an immediate response, but it didn't stop the impatience from creeping in.
your fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard, the soft clicks filling the quiet space between you and taehyun as you sent out the last of your inquiries. with a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples before glancing at him. "i'll start looking for catering too," you said, already pulling up a new tab. "no point in wasting time while we wait."
taehyun glanced up from his phone, his lips curling into an approving smile. "look at you," he mused, amusement laced in his tone. "so efficient. what would we do without you?"
you rolled your eyes. "fail, probably."
he chuckled, tilting his head as if considering it. "you might be right." then, before you could react, his hand lifted slightly, fingers reaching towards your head, the familiar motion making it painfully clear what he was about to do.
your body reacts before your mind fully processed it. panic surged through you, a sharp, instinctual jolt of alarm shooting down your spine as you immediately ducked out of his reach. your chair scraped against the floor as you leaned away, eyes widening slightly before narrowing into a glare. "don’t," you snapped, voice sharp with warning.
taehyun blinked at you, startled for all of a second before a slow, knowing grin stretched across his face. "wow," he laughed, clearly entertained by your reaction. "didn't realize you hated me that much."
you scowled, heat prickling at the back of your neck. "i just don’t like being touched."
"uh-huh," he drawled, unconvinced, but he let it go, instead leaning back in his chair with a smirk that made you want to throw your laptop at him. too bad you had nothing to reimburse the ruin if you did decide to do just that. "whatever you say."
you huffed, turning back to your screen with more force than necessary. ignoring the way your heartbeat was still uneven, you focused on scrolling through catering options, clicking on the ones that looked promising. taehyun, meanwhile, resumed his calls, his voice switching between polite and slightly frustrated as he dealt with yet another rejection.
"seriously?" he muttered under his breath after hanging up. "do people just book venues for fun? why is everything taken?"
you barely spared him a glance, typing out another inquiry. "maybe the universe just enjoys watching you suffer."
taehyun exhaled a sharp laugh, shaking his head as he dialed another number. "if that's the case, then it really needs to get a new hobby."
your lips parted slightly as a soft chuckle slipped out before you even realized it, the sound light and fleeting amidst the quiet hum of the computer lab.
you didn’t dwell on it, simply shaking your head before shifting your focus back to your screen, fingers gliding over the keyboard as you continued to scroll through catering services, listing them down one by one in a growing document. beside you, taehyun remained engrossed in his own task, his voice occasionally dipping in and out of conversation as he made yet another call.
and so, the afternoon passed in a steady rhythm—clicks of the keyboard, the quiet murmur of emails being typed, the occasional sigh of frustration whenever another rejection came through. time blurred into an endless cycle of inquiries and planning, every second dedicated to ensuring the ball would come together despite the ridiculous time constraint.
but eventually, exhaustion began to creep in, a slow and subtle weight pressing against you. the lack of sleep from the night before clawed at your consciousness, your eyelids growing heavier with every passing moment.
at first, you tried to fight it, blinking rapidly and straightening your posture, but it was no use. the lull of soft ambient noise, the gentle warmth of the room, the repetitive motions all pooled together into something dangerously lulling, and before you knew it, your head dipped slightly, your body leaning into the comfortable haze of rest.
meanwhile, taehyun was still fully engaged in his work, the tip of his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as he skimmed through his emails. his patience was wearing thin after what felt like the hundredth rejection, but then, his screen lit up with a notification, a new message appearing in his inbox. when he opened it, his eyes widened slightly.
"finally," he breathed, his tone shifting from weary to triumphant in an instant. then, louder, "we got one! a venue just confirmed they’re available!"
but no response came.
taehyun furrowed his brows, turning his head slightly. "hey, are you—"
he stopped mid-sentence.
his gaze landed on you, and for the first time that day, he fell completely silent.
your body was relaxed, posture softened in a way he’d never seen before. your breathing was slow, steady, your lashes resting lightly against your cheeks as you remained completely still. the exhaustion you had been so clearly fighting had finally won, lulling you into an unguarded moment of peace.
taehyun’s lips parted slightly as he took in the sight before him, the sharp edges of his usual teasing demeanor smoothing out into something gentler.
his eyes traced the curve of your cheek, the way a few stray strands of hair had fallen into your face, shifting slightly with each slow exhale. for a fleeting second, his fingers twitched, the urge to reach out and tuck them away bubbling up inside him.
but he hesitated.
he knew you wouldn’t like that.
instead, taehyun simply sighed, a quiet, barely-there smile tugging at the corners of his lips. shaking his head to himself, he leaned back in his chair, voice a hushed murmur as he muttered,
"maybe another time."
꒰💐꒱
the world around you was slow to come into focus.
a quiet groan slipped past your lips as you sat up, stretching your arms over your head, your body protesting the hours spent slumped over in an awkward position.
your fingers moved to rub the sleep from your eyes, the lingering haze of exhaustion still clinging to you like a thick fog. for a moment, everything was a blur—the dim hum of computer screens, the distant echoes of muffled footsteps from outside, the faint glow of the overhead lights. but as your mind caught up with your surroundings, realization settled over you like a sudden jolt.
you were still in the computer lab.
blinking away the remnants of sleep, your gaze drifted over the space, taking in the faint glow of the monitors, the scattered notes, and the quiet that had settled into the room like a thick, undisturbed blanket. it was late. way too late.
but then, as your eyes continued to wander, they landed on something—or rather, someone.
just beside you, head tilted ever so slightly to the side, arms loosely crossed over his chest, was taehyun. asleep.
you stilled.
for a long moment, you simply stared, your breath caught somewhere between surprise and something far too unnameable to grasp. taehyun was never this still, never this quiet. he was all sharp edges and smooth confidence, all witty remarks and knowing smirks. yet, in this moment, every single ounce of that usual energy had melted away.
your eyes traced the softened lines of his face, the way his lashes rested against his cheeks, casting delicate shadows against his skin. his lips, usually curved into something smug or teasing, were parted just slightly, his breathing even and unhurried. he looked… peaceful.
your fingers twitched slightly against your lap, as if unsure of what to do with themselves. you had never seen him like this before, had never had the chance to observe him without his usual air of unwavering self-assurance.
your body moved before your mind could even begin to comprehend what you were about to do.
it was irrational. reckless, even. completely devoid of the careful distance you had sworn to maintain between the two of you. but despite every screaming thought urging you to stop, despite the warning bells ringing furiously in the back of your mind, your hand was already moving, trembling slightly as it hovered just above taehyun’s skin, caught in a delicate hesitation that lasted all but a second.
and then, before you could so much as blink, before common sense could come crashing down like a tidal wave and pull you away—
your fingertips brushed against his cheek.
warm.
taehyun was warm.
so impossibly warm that the contrast against the cool air of the computer lab sent a shiver down your spine. it wasn’t much—just the lightest touch, barely there, fleeting like a whisper of wind. so delicate it could have easily been mistaken for a trick of the mind.
but it wasn’t.
because the moment your skin made contact with his, an all-too-familiar heat unfurled across your wrist—burning, spreading, blooming like ink in water. your breath caught in your throat, your entire body stiffening as realization slammed into you with the force of a freight train.
oh.
oh no.
it was happening again.
the hydrangea—it was back. you didn’t even need to roll up your sleeve to check. you felt it, felt the warmth seeping into your skin like an irreversible brand, a cruel reminder of the connection you were desperately trying to ignore.
your heartbeat stuttered, then picked up pace, pounding against your ribs like it was attempting to escape. what have you done? what on earth had possessed you to—
a shift.
a breath.
a quiet inhale, followed by the faintest stir of movement.
taehyun was waking up.
your stomach twisted painfully, panic slamming into your chest with dizzying force as his body tensed slightly, as his lashes fluttered ever so faintly, as the slow pull of consciousness dragged him from sleep.
you ripped your hand away as if burned, shoving it into your lap, curling your fingers into the fabric of your skirt in a poor attempt to ground yourself. but the damage was already done. you had been too late.
taehyun’s eyes cracked open, hazy with sleep, dark irises unfocused as they attempted to adjust to the dim lighting. for a moment, he looked dazed, blinking sluggishly, his expression lost in the remnants of slumber. but then his gaze settled on you.
still sitting too close.
still stiff with the remnants of panic.
taehyun’s brows furrowed slightly, a quiet breath escaping his lips, his voice still heavy with drowsiness. “were you just—?”
“no.”
the word shot out of your mouth before he could even finish his sentence, abrupt and sharp, too quick, too defensive. you barely resisted the urge to flinch at how obvious it sounded, how guilty it made you seem.
taehyun blinked again, sluggish and confused, his gaze flickering between your face and the way you were suddenly clutching your hands together as if you were trying to physically restrain yourself.
his gaze lingered for a second too long, sharp despite the remnants of sleep still clouding his features, and then, as if a switch had flipped, his lips stretched into that insufferable, knowing grin—the one that always meant trouble.
taehyun sat up straighter, stretching his arms out with a low hum before tilting his head towardss you, expression brimming with mischief. “so,” he drawled, eyes glinting, “are you gonna tell me what that was about, or should i start guessing?”
“nothing,” you muttered, a little too quickly, shifting in your seat, fingers curling tighter around the ends of your sleeves, your grip near suffocating as you tugged the fabric down as far as it would go.
taehyun leaned in slightly, feigning deep contemplation. “hm, you sure? because it really seemed like—”
“it wasn’t,” you snapped, gaze locked stubbornly on the desk, anywhere but at him, anywhere but those sharp eyes that always seemed to see far too much. “just thought you had dirt in your face.”
“you’re a terrible liar.”
“and you’re annoying.”
“a little defensive, don’t you think?”
your grip on your sleeves tightened further, fingers curling so desperately around the fabric that your knuckles turned white, nails pressing in with enough force that they nearly pierced through.
taehyun simply leaned back against his chair, smugness dripping from every inch of him as he studied you with lazy amusement. “what, did you get tired of glaring at me and decide watching me sleep was more entertaining?”
your patience, already worn dangerously thin, snapped.
“i told you, it’s not what you think!” you groaned, pushing yourself up from your seat and shoving your things into your bag with far more force than necessary, each motion sharp and hurried—zipping up folders with a little too much vigor, stuffing loose papers inside with no care for whether they crumpled or not.
taehyun’s grin only widened as he watched you all but stuff your things into your bag, each movement hurried and brimming with frustration. you could practically hear the amusement dripping from his voice as he tilted his head, unbothered by your growing irritation.
“you know,” he mused, stretching his arms out as if he had all the time in the world, “you’re acting really suspicious right now.”
you rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “oh, please. if anyone’s suspicious, it’s you.”
“me?” he gasped, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense, though the effect was ruined by the barely contained smirk tugging at his lips. “i just woke up, and now i’m being accused? unbelievable.”
“yeah, well, believe it,” you shot back, zipping up your bag with more force than necessary. “you’re always up to something.”
taehyun hummed, resting his chin on his hand as he studied you with lazy amusement. “you’re deflecting.”
“you’re projecting.”
he let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “this is the worst attempt at changing the subject i’ve ever seen.”
your grip on your bag strap tightened. “maybe if you shut up, we wouldn’t need to change the subject at all.”
taehyun only smirked, his eyes glinting in that way that always made your stomach twist. “so, let me get this straight,” he says, tapping a finger against his chin as if deep in thought. “you’re telling me you really weren’t just staring at me while i was sleeping? because from where i’m standing, it really looked like you were admiring me.”
your entire body went rigid. “i was not—!”
“no need to be shy,” taehyun continued, his voice syrupy sweet, the kind of tone that dripped with amusement and a touch of self-satisfaction, tilting his head just slightly, leaning into your space like he was savoring every second of your frustration. “i get it. i mean, you don’t get to see me this peaceful that often. i must’ve looked pretty cute, huh?”
your jaw nearly dropped, lips parting in sheer disbelief at the audacity—the absolute gall—he had to say that with a straight face. “oh my god. shut up.”
taehyun gasped again, clutching his chest as if you had just personally wounded him, eyes wide with faux shock, though the mischief never left his face. “you were watching me, weren’t you? i knew it!”
your fingers curled around the strap of your bag, knuckles turning bone-white from how hard you were gripping it, the pressure grounding you against the unbearable mix of panic and irritation bubbling in your chest. “you know what?” you huffed, your voice sharp and clipped, already done with this conversation before it could escalate any further. “i don’t have to stand here and listen to this.”
without another word, you spun on your heel, movements stiff with frustration as you stormed towards the door, each step fueled by the desperate need to escape before he could dig any deeper into your flustered state.
but, of course, taehyun was already up, barely missing a beat before falling into step beside you, effortlessly matching your hurried pace with infuriating ease. his laughter trailed after you like an ever-present shadow, light and teasing, his amusement practically radiating off of him.
“hey, don’t run away now,” he drawled, his voice laced with amusement, the playfulness evident in every syllable as he shot you a look that only made your irritation spike further. “i have more questions!”
you groaned, pressing your lips together in a firm line, refusing to dignify him with a response as you quickened your steps—but taehyun was right there, undeterred, his grin only widening as if he thrived on seeing you squirm.
as if sensing the utter exasperation radiating off you in waves, taehyun finally—mercifully—let the teasing subside, falling into step beside you without another word. you kept to yourself, keeping your gaze ahead, shoulders still slightly tense from the lingering remnants of his antics.
every now and then, your fingers twitched at your side before subtly moving to check your wrist, barely lifting the fabric of your sleeve as you stole a glance at the skin beneath. you weren’t sure why you kept looking, but each time, your stomach twisted with a strange mix of nerves and anticipation.
eventually, on what must have been your fifth or sixth check, you finally let out a quiet sigh, relief washing over you at the sight of bare skin. the soft exhale wasn’t loud by any means, but taehyun, ever perceptive, immediately picked up on it.
“what’s got you so relieved?” he chirped, his voice breaking through the quiet with an almost childlike curiosity.
you tensed for half a second before quickly schooling your features back into indifference, rolling your eyes as if to dismiss his question entirely. “none of your business,” you muttered, keeping your voice even, though you didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary.
but instead of prying, which was something he would normally do just to get a rise out of you, taehyun simply smiled. not the usual smirk, not the playful glint of mischief, but something softer, something almost… fond.
“okay,” he said easily, like he wasn’t the least bit offended by your refusal to answer.
the two of you walked in silence after that, the rhythmic tapping of your footsteps against the pavement filling the space between you. the air was crisp, carrying with it the distant hum of the city, the occasional rustle of leaves as the wind passed through.
after a while, taehyun spoke again, this time without any trace of teasing in his tone. “by the way, the venue’s set,” he said, glancing at you briefly before turning his gaze back ahead. “we got the confirmation while you were asleep. the deal’s all settled.”
you hummed at that, not quite looking at him as you muttered, “that’s good.”
another beat of silence stretched between you before something nudged at the back of your mind, something that had been lingering there ever since you had woken up in the computer lab. furrowing your brows slightly, you turned to him, your voice laced with mild confusion as you asked, “why were you sleeping too, anyway? you could’ve just gone home.”
taehyun barely blinked, as if he had been expecting the question. his expression remained as casual as ever, hands tucked into his pockets as he shrugged. “well, i couldn’t just leave you sleeping there all alone,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “and i’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have liked it if i woke you up either, so…”
his voice trailed off, but the implication lingered between you. your steps faltered for just a fraction of a second, eyes flickering towards him instinctively, but he wasn’t looking at you. instead, he just kept walking, his expression unreadable, as if what he had said wasn’t anything significant at all.
the silence lingered between you, stretching with each step as the station gradually came into view. the sky had dimmed to a deeper shade of blue, the distant hum of the city settling into its evening rhythm. streetlights flickered on one by one, casting pools of golden light onto the pavement, their glow catching in the strands of taehyun’s hair as he walked just a little ahead of you.
you weren’t sure why, but you found yourself slowing down, your feet moving with less urgency now that you were nearing your stop. it was strange; usually, by this point, you would’ve been itching to part ways, to shake off the exhausting push and pull that always came with being around taehyun. but tonight, the usual exasperation felt… muted. replaced by something quieter. something you couldn’t quite name.
taehyun was the first to break the silence.
“well,” he said, stopping just before the steps leading down to the station. he turned to you then, hands still tucked into his pockets, his smile softer now, lacking its usual sharp edge. “guess this is where we part ways.”
you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden finality of it. but before you could even think of something to say, he was already stepping back, tilting his head slightly as he regarded you with something unreadable in his expression.
“don’t stay up too late,” taehyun added, and though his tone remained casual, there was a quiet sincerity beneath it, woven into the way his gaze lingered for just a second longer than necessary.
your fingers curled around the strap of your bag, tightening for reasons you didn’t quite understand. “yeah,” you muttered, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “you too.”
taehyun exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head as if amused by your halfhearted response. then, with one last glance, he turned, descending the steps with an ease that made it seem like this was nothing more than an ordinary parting.
but as you stood there, watching his figure disappear into the station, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. that, for the first time, you weren’t entirely relieved to see him go.
꒰💐꒱
the next few days blurred into a whirlwind of endless tasks, a relentless cycle of emails, phone calls, and meetings that left little room for anything else. mornings bled into afternoons, and afternoons stretched deep into the night, each one spent buried under an ever-growing to-do list. it felt as if the four of you were caught in the eye of a storm—one of your own making—drowning in preparations with barely a moment to come up for air.
the student council room had practically become your second home, its once neat and organized space now overrun with scattered papers, sample designs, and half-empty cups of coffee that none of you had the energy to clean up.
rolls of fabric for table decorations sat in one corner, half-unfurled and abandoned, while poster drafts covered every available surface, some marked with hurried notes and others discarded altogether. the air was thick with the scent of paper and ink, the soft hum of printers and the occasional frustrated groan the only constants in the chaos.
beomgyu and jiwon were deep into their share of responsibilities, bouncing between designing promotional posters and confirming song choices with the dj. beomgyu, ever the perfectionist, went through what felt like a hundred drafts, grumbling under his breath every time jiwon pointed out a detail he had missed. their bickering became white noise at this point—background music to the madness—though, to be fair, it was nowhere near as bad as yours and taehyun’s.
because while the two argued over shades of blue and font choices, you and taehyun had the far more tedious task of finalizing the seating arrangements and catering.
it meant making endless calls, negotiating over prices, and somehow fitting everything within the budget. it meant working side by side for hours on end, forced to cooperate despite how often you got on each other’s nerves. and somehow, even in the midst of all this exhaustion, taehyun still found the time to tease you—throwing in an unnecessary comment every chance he got just to watch your patience wear thinner and thinner.
"what would you do without me?" he mused one afternoon, stretching his arms behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. "actually, don’t answer that. i already know—this whole event would be a disaster."
you didn’t even look up from your laptop. "i swear to god, kang, if you don’t shut up—"
"what?" taehyun grinned, feigning innocence. "you’d miss me."
your glare could’ve set something on fire.
but despite all of it—the chaos, the exhaustion, the relentless teasing—the ball was finally beginning to take shape. details were falling into place, confirmations were being made, and the days that once seemed endless were now hurtling towards the event itself. there was still so much to do, but for the first time, it felt within reach.
the halls of the campus were practically buzzing with anticipation, filled with the kind of excitement that only came around during events like this. everywhere you looked, people were either wrapped up in their own little worlds with their significant others or fluttering around in hopeful search of their soulmates, their eyes filled with that dreamy sort of longing. laughter echoed off the walls, whispered confessions were exchanged in corners, and the air itself seemed to hum with something light and intoxicating.
it was nauseating.
you rolled your eyes, a quiet scoff slipping past your lips as you adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder. the entire scene before you was so painfully cliché, it almost made your skin crawl.
and yet, despite the irritation bristling at the back of your mind, there was something else beneath it—something quiet, something you didn’t want to name. a strange unease settled in the pit of your stomach, an odd sort of weight pressing against your chest.
but like always, you ignored it.
beside you, taehyun walked with easy strides, hands tucked into his pockets, the usual self-assured air about him. today, the two of you were heading out to check on the venue for the winter masquerade ball, making sure the decorations were all set and that everything was coming together smoothly. with only a few days left before the event, the pressure was starting to settle in, but for now, you were stuck navigating through the suffocating atmosphere of romance filling the campus.
taehyun, ever perceptive, caught the eye roll almost instantly.
"oh? what’s this?" his voice was dripping with amusement, and when you turned to look at him, he was already wearing that insufferably smug smirk. "jealous, aren’t we?"
your head snapped towards him, shooting him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel. "excuse me?"
taehyun only laughed, clearly enjoying this far too much. "come on, it’s okay to admit it. all these happy couples, all these people finding their soulmates just in time for the ball—" he gestured lazily at the scene around you. "i get it. it must be hard, watching all this when you’re still so tragically alone."
your lips parted, utterly scandalized. "i am not—" you sucked in a breath, fingers curling into your sleeves as you struggled to find a proper retort. "oh, shut up. just because you have nothing better to do than pester me doesn’t mean you get to act like you’re above all of this."
he hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head as if he was actually considering your words. then, with a completely straight face, he replied, "oh, but i am above all of this."
you groaned, throwing your hands up in exasperation as you quickened your pace, determined to put some distance between yourself and his insufferable teasing. but, as always, he was right there beside you, matching your steps with ease, his laughter trailing behind him like an echo.
the crisp winter air greeted you the moment you stepped outside, biting at the exposed skin of your cheeks despite the layers of warmth wrapped around you. the sun hung low in the sky, its golden light diffused by thin clouds, casting long, spindly shadows across the pavement like delicate cracks in ice.
you barely spared a thought for the route ahead, already expecting taehyun to lead the way towards the bus station, except, when you glanced over, he was walking in an entirely different direction, his strides unbothered, as if this was the plan all along.
your steps faltered, boots scuffing against the pavement as you abruptly came to a halt, brows knitting together in confusion. your gaze followed his path, trailing after him as he moved further and further away from the usual route. "...where are you going?" you called out, your voice carrying across the quiet afternoon air, laced with equal parts bewilderment and suspicion.
"to the venue."
his response was casual, so effortlessly nonchalant that for a brief second, you thought you had misheard him. but he didn’t stop walking. he didn’t even bother to glance back at you, hands shoved into his pockets as he strode ahead with unwavering confidence.
you blinked. once. twice.
then, as if compelled by some cruel force, you turned your head slightly, following the path of his footsteps until—
your stomach plummeted.
there, parked neatly along the sidewalk, was a row of bicycles, their metal frames gleaming coldly beneath the pale winter sun. they stood like silent witnesses to your impending doom, completely harmless to anyone else—but to you, they may as well have been a death sentence.
"you're joking," you deadpanned, your voice void of any amusement, the words falling from your lips like lead.
finally, taehyun turned his head just enough to flash you a slow, lazy grin, the kind that sent warning bells clanging in your head. "nope."
"you're going the wrong way,"
"nope,"
a sharp huff of disbelief escaped you, frustration curling in your chest as you hastened your steps to catch up with him. "taehyun," you said, his name leaving your lips like a warning, like a thread pulled taut. "the station’s that way." with a swift movement, you jabbed a gloved finger behind you, pointing at the correct direction as if he had somehow forgotten the most basic detail of your usual routine.
but taehyun didn’t so much as falter. instead, he merely hummed, finally coming to a stop beside the bicycles, his movements as fluid as ever as he bent down, fingers deftly unfastening one of the helmets before straightening back up. "and the buses during noon are either overflowing with people or completely nonexistent," he countered smoothly, his voice carrying that infuriating ease that told you he had already thought this through. "so, unless you’d rather stand around for an hour getting elbowed and shoved by strangers, we’re going by bike."
your breath caught in your throat.
by bike.as in, you would have to sit behind him. on the same seat. with your hands gripping onto him for balance. close. too close.
panic flared within you like a sudden spark, igniting a wildfire of dread that spread rapidly through your veins. this was bad. this was very, very bad.
your fingers curled at your sides, tightening into fists as you scrambled for an excuse, anything that would get you out of this. "absolutely not," you blurted out, the words spilling out in an instant, rushed and firm. "there is no way i’m getting on that thing."
taehyun finally turned to you fully, one brow arching in that insufferable way that made your blood simmer with irritation. "oh?" he drawled, tilting his head slightly, his lips twitching at the corners as if barely restraining a smirk. "what, scared you'll fall?"
"no!" you snapped, far too quickly, far too defensive.
his smirk widened, amusement twinkling in his dark eyes like a cat who had cornered its prey. "then what's the problem?"
you opened your mouth, ready to throw back a sharp retort, ready to argue—but nothing came out. because you had no real excuse. not one that you could say aloud, at least.
because what were you supposed to tell him? that if you got too close, if your fingers so much as brushed against his skin, the hydrangea might bloom? that if he saw it, if he noticed, he would know?
taehyun, of course, was not one to back down so easily. he tapped his fingers against the bicycle’s handlebars, pretending to contemplate something, his expression exaggeratedly thoughtful.
"hmm," he mused aloud, his tone light, almost playful. "well, if i go by myself, i’ll just have to check on the decor alone." taehyun sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if the very thought was exhausting. "and you know what that means. one second, the decorations are fine, the next, they’re a complete disaster. bows tied the wrong way, color schemes clashing, centerpieces all tilted and uneven—"
your eye twitched violently.
"you're doing this on purpose," you accused, voice tight, heat creeping into your tone as frustration bubbled dangerously close to the surface.
"i have no idea what you’re talking about."
your jaw clenched.
you inhaled sharply, a single, measured breath, before exhaling just as forcefully. then, with a muttered curse under your breath, you ripped the helmet from his hands, yanking it onto your head with far more aggression than necessary. the strap snapped against your chin, stinging slightly, but you ignored it, too preoccupied with the simmering frustration roiling in your chest.
taehyun simply grinned, utterly unfazed by your obvious annoyance, and with an easy flick of his wrist, he patted the seat behind him before nudging his chin towards it. “alright, hop on.”
your entire body refused to move.
standing there, feet rooted firmly to the ground, you stared at the bicycle as if it were some kind of trap, a snare carefully laid out just for you. your fingers twitched slightly at your sides, curling inward, heart drumming steadily against your ribs as your mind whirred through all the possible ways this could go wrong.
if you got on, you wouldn’t be able to avoid touching him—not entirely. even the smallest brush of your skin against his, even the briefest moment of contact, could be enough. and if it bloomed, if the petals unfurled along your wrist, or worse, his—
you swallowed hard.
the helmet suddenly felt suffocating, its strap pressing against your chin as if trying to ground you, trying to force you into action. but you hesitated, standing frozen on the pavement, unable to shake off the overwhelming weight of uncertainty pressing down on you.
taehyun notices.
“what? don’t tell me you’re scared now,” he drawled, amusement still evident in his voice, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—curiosity, maybe, or just the simple act of waiting.
you scowled, snapping yourself out of your daze with a sharp inhale through your nose. you couldn’t stand here forever.
gathering whatever was left of your resolve, you stepped forward, moving stiffly as you approached the bicycle. your movements felt painfully deliberate, like you were walking straight towards a decision you couldn’t take back. then, with a slow, reluctant motion, you lifted your leg over the seat, settling yourself behind taehyun, barely touching him.
your hands hovered uncertainly in the air, fingers twitching slightly as you debated where to place them. his shoulders? his waist? no. definitely not his waist. the thought alone sent a rush of warmth up your cheeks.
finally, hesitantly, you let your hands rest lightly on his shoulders, barely applying any pressure, as if keeping yourself from pressing too close would somehow change anything.
taehyun must have felt your hesitance, because he turned his head slightly, a knowing grin tugging at his lips. “you’re gonna fall off if you sit like that,” he remarked, his voice laced with something dangerously close to amusement.
“i’m fine.”
“mhm. sure.”
he didn’t sound convinced.
then, without warning, he pushed off the ground with an effortless ease, his foot pressing against the pavement before the bike lurched forward.
the sudden movement sent a sharp jolt through your entire body, a startled gasp slipping past your lips before you could swallow it down. the world tilted for a split second, the ground beneath you no longer stable, no longer unmoving, and the realization crashed over you all at once—you were on a bike, with taehyun, and you were moving. Fast.
your fingers curled around his shoulders, grip tightening instinctively, and for a brief, terrifying second, you thought you felt something stir beneath your sleeve—a faint, barely-there sensation, like a whisper against your skin. but before panic could sink its claws into you, taehyun’s voice broke through the moment.
"relax," he mused, his voice carrying that ever-present amusement, like he was thoroughly enjoying your distress. "hold on tight, yeah? don’t want you flying off."
your head snapped up, indignation flaring in your chest as you gritted your teeth. "don’t move so fast, idiot! you’re gonna kill us both!"
but taehyun only laughed, the sound warm and unbothered, like the very thought of crashing was so far-fetched that it didn’t even deserve consideration. the bike swayed slightly as he shifted his weight, adjusting the pedals with a practiced ease, and your breath hitched, grip tightening further.
"oh, come on," he sighed dramatically, though there was no mistaking the grin in his voice. "have a little faith, will you?"
you squeezed your eyes shut for a brief second, inhaling sharply as you willed your nerves to settle. the cold air whipped past your face, stinging against your skin, but that was the least of your worries right now, no, what truly had your heart in a vice grip was the fact that you were still on his stupid bike, still pressed far too close to taehyun, still painfully aware of every little movement he made.
you prayed silently, desperately to whoever was out there listening that you wouldn’t fall off to your untimely demise, that you wouldn’t end up sprawled across the pavement in a tangled heap of limbs and regret. but, more than anything, you prayed that your skin wouldn’t touch his. not even for a second. not even the faintest brush.
your hands remained stiff where they rested on his shoulders, fingers curled awkwardly, hovering more than gripping, as if maintaining even the smallest gap would somehow be enough to stop the inevitable. it was ridiculous. stupid, even. and yet, you couldn’t shake the fear that if your wrists so much as grazed against him, the delicate petals of a hydrangea might bloom in betrayal.
taehyun, of course, was completely unaware of your silent internal crisis. if anything, he seemed to be enjoying himself, weaving through the streets with an effortless ease, as if he wasn’t carrying the weight of someone actively trying not to touch him. the bike glided smoothly along the pavement, tires humming against the road, and despite the sheer panic buzzing in your chest, you had to admit—he was good at this. confident. steady. in control.
not that you would ever tell him that.
“you’re awfully quiet back there,” taehyun noted after a moment, his voice laced with amusement. "don't tell me you're actually scared."
you scowled, even though he couldn’t see it. “i'm not scared,” you muttered through gritted teeth.
"right," he drawled, clearly unconvinced. "is that why you’re holding onto me like i’m your last hope for survival?"
your cheeks burned. "i’m most definitely not—"
before you could finish, he suddenly shifted his weight again, making a sharp but controlled turn onto a smaller road, and you barely swallowed down a yelp, fingers tightening against his shoulders by instinct.
taehyun laughed, a full, delighted laugh that rang through the air like a bell. "see? told you to hold on tight."
if the threat of a hydrangea blooming on either of your wrists wasn’t dangling over you like a guillotine—if it wouldn’t immediately make it known to taehyun that you were soulmates—you would have already smacked him straight to the ends of the earth without hesitation.
but, as it stood, you could only grit your teeth and endure, willing yourself to focus on anything else, anything other than the warmth radiating from where your fingers clutched his shoulders, anything other than the way his laughter curled around you like an infuriatingly bright ribbon.
thankfully, after what felt like an eternity of praying, of resisting the urge to strangle him, of cursing whoever decided bikes were a viable mode of transportation, the venue finally came into view.
and it was… perfect.
even from the outside, the building exudes elegance, standing tall with its grand, arched windows and smooth stone façade. the entrance is framed by a set of wide, ornate double doors, the deep mahogany polished to a gleam, reflecting the soft, winter light. despite the season, the space feels warm and inviting, as if it had been plucked straight out of a fairy tale and placed in the heart of the city.
the mere thought of the upcoming event—the swirling gowns, the mystery of masked faces, the way the night will undoubtedly hold something unforeseen—sends a strange sensation curling in your chest. something close to anticipation, but not quite.
you quickly shove the feeling aside, choosing instead to focus on the fact that you have, miraculously, survived the journey in one piece.
taehyun rolls the bike to a stop just outside the entrance, planting his foot down to steady you both before tilting his head back slightly. "see?" he hums, the smugness practically dripping from his voice. "told you i'd get us here alive."
you roll your eyes, exhaling sharply as you finally hop off his godforsaken bike, your legs feeling slightly wobbly beneath you. stretching your arms over your head, you try to shake off the lingering tension, as if that might somehow erase the memory of the past ten minutes clinging onto taehyun for dear life.
taehyun, of course, was completely unaffected, effortlessly swinging his leg over and parking the bike right near the entrance. you followed suit, brushing your hands against your coat, as if smoothing out invisible creases, before the two of you step forward, pushing through the grand double doors and into the venue.
and the minute you do, it's… everything.
you step further into the ballroom, your gaze sweeping across the breathtaking transformation before you. for a moment, you allow yourself to take it all in—the warm, golden light filtering through the chandeliers, the way the sheer, icy-blue drapes cascade from the walls like frozen waterfalls, the way the entire space shimmers with an almost dreamlike quality.
it feels unreal. after all the planning, the endless meetings, the stress and exhaustion of making sure everything fell into place… it’s finally here. almost.
taehyun lets out a low whistle beside you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he surveys the room. “not bad,” he muses, tilting his head. “almost looks too good, actually. like if someone breathes wrong, the whole thing will fall apart.”
you scoff, “let’s hope that doesn’t happen, then.”
as if summoned by your words, one of the hired decorators suddenly calls out, struggling with a particularly stubborn garland that refuses to stay in place. without hesitation, taehyun strides over, sleeves rolling up as he offers a hand, his sharp eyes quickly assessing the situation. you follow, stepping in to adjust a centerpiece that’s slightly off-center, making sure every little detail is aligned to perfection.
but as you reach for the delicate arrangement, your gloves—thick and slightly cumbersome from the cold—made it difficult to adjust the smaller details. you hesitate, glancing down at your hands before exhaling softly.
with a swift motion, you tug them off, tucking them into your coat pocket. bare fingers now meeting the cool surface of the table, you press forward, ensuring everything was as precise as possible.
it took a while, moving from one area to another, helping the staff tweak small things here and there—fixing a misplaced bow, adjusting the arrangement of fairy lights along the balcony railing, making sure the candles in the lanterns were evenly spaced. the chill in the air bites at your exposed skin, but you barely register it, too focused on making sure everything is just right.
but then, just as you’re adjusting the placement of one of the floral centerpieces, your fingers freeze mid-motion.
blue hydrangeas.among the delicate clusters of winter roses and baby’s breath, the soft, cerulean petals stand out like tiny fragments of the sky, woven seamlessly into the arrangements, as if they belonged there all along.
your heart stutters.
you turn to taehyun, pointing at the flowers, your voice carefully neutral. “since when were these part of the arrangement?”
he follows your gaze, eyes landing on the hydrangeas, before he shrugs with an easy, unconcerned expression. “i don’t know. added them to the mix since i thought they’d look really pretty.”
you swallowed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, fingers absently curling onto the fabric of your coat sleeve. they were just flowers. nothing more. just a simple, aesthetic choice. that’s all.
and yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe was laughing at you.
at one point, you found yourself untangling a mess of fairy lights that had somehow gotten knotted beyond reason. your fingers worked through them carefully, but the knots were stubborn, refusing to budge no matter how gently you pried them apart. frustration bubbles up in your chest as you huff, brows furrowing in concentration.
and then, without warning, taehyun’s hands appear beside yours.
your breath stills, body going rigid, heart lurching into your throat as his fingers slip effortlessly into the tangled mess. for one agonizing second, panic flares beneath your skin—what if you touch? what if, just for a moment, his fingertips graze yours? what if—
but before the thought can spiral any further, before disaster can strike, he’d already flicked his wrist, unraveling the last of the tangles with infuriating ease, his hands retreating just as quickly as they arrived.
"you're too slow," taehyun teases, a smug grin tugging at his lips.
you exhale sharply, a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, forcing yourself to relax as you straighten. you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to will away the lingering tension in your spine, but before you could snap back with something equally smug, he was already walking off, adjusting the final row of lanterns along the walls like nothing had happened.
time slips by unnoticed as you both continue, making minor adjustments, ensuring that every single detail was as perfect as it could be. and when you finally step back, surveying the entirety of the ballroom, it hits you—this is it. it was done.
everything was set.
with a slow, satisfied exhale, you turned to taehyun, who stood a few feet away, hands on his hips as he scanned the space with an approving nod. "not bad," he mutters, more to himself than to you.
"not bad?" you echo, raising a brow. "try amazing."
taehyun chuckles, shaking his head before motioning towards the stage. "c’mon, let’s sit for a bit before heading back. i think we earned it."
you don’t argue, your feet already aching from standing for so long. together, the two of you made your way towards the stage, slipping past the elegant centerpieces and rows of carefully arranged chairs. as soon as you reach the steps leading up to the platform, you drop down onto the edge of it, stretching your legs out with a quiet sigh.
for a moment, neither of you spoke, simply taking in the sight before you. the ballroom, once a hollow, undecorated space, now glows under the golden hue of the chandeliers, the candlelight flickering against the polished floors, the sheer drapery billowing gently with the faintest movement of air. the hydrangeas—those damned, perfectly arranged hydrangeas—stood out among the floral displays, their deep blue petals catching the light in a way that made them look almost otherworldly.
it was beautiful. truly.
and yet, as your eyes flicker to taehyun, who sits beside you on the stage steps, you find the weight of his gaze is already on you.
your breath catches in your throat.
his eyes held a certain softness to them, something quiet and knowing, as if he had been watching you for longer than you realized. it sends a strange, unwelcome warmth creeping up your neck, and before it can spread any further, you quickly tear your gaze away, looking straight ahead instead.
"the flowers," you murmur, forcing the words out before the silence stretches too long. "they're really pretty."
you didn’t look at him when you said it. you didn’t dare.
but taehyun, who kept his gaze trained on you, only smiles—slow and fond, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
"yeah," he says, his voice impossibly gentle. "really pretty indeed."
the silence stretches between you again, heavier this time, though you refused to acknowledge it. you kept your gaze fixed ahead, determined to avoid taehyun’s eyes, pretending that the steady warmth of his presence beside you wasn’t throwing you off balance.
you shift slightly, putting a little more distance between you. it wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you feel like you could breathe properly again.
and then, taehyun spoke.
"say…" his voice was casual, almost too casual, but there was a lilt of something unreadable beneath it. "do you already have your date for the winter ball?"
your fingers, still idly toying with the edge of your sleeve, still at his words.
you scoffed, more out of reflex than anything, before rolling your shoulders in an attempt to feign nonchalance. "i’ll be too busy," you say, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. "you know, making sure everything goes smoothly. unlike you, who’ll probably spend the whole night slacking off."
taehyun huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "still have no faith in me?" he says, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. "and here i was, thinking you’d at least take a break to enjoy the night."
"not happening."
"oh, come on," he drawls, nudging your arm with his elbow. "you mean to tell me that out of everyone in the entire school, no one's lined up to ask the vice president to be their date?"
"i don’t know, kang," you deadpan, finally glancing at him, only to be met with his smug little smirk. "why don’t you take a wild guess?"
his smirk deepens, a flash of white against the dim glow of the fairy lights. “ouch,” taehyun drawls, tilting his head slightly as he watches you with playful intent. “so, what, are you just gonna spend the whole night running around, making sure forks are perfectly aligned or something?”
you let out a huff, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to ignore the way his teasing lilt sends an unwelcome flutter through your stomach. “someone has to,” you counter, lifting your chin in defiance.
taehyun hums, a quiet sound that vibrates in the space between you, and for a moment, his gaze flickers—just for a fraction of a second, like he’s thinking about something, weighing his words before he speaks. and then, after a pause that stretches just long enough to make you shift uncomfortably, he says, voice smooth, casual, yet somehow deliberate.
“well, if you don’t have a date… then go with me.”
the world seems to tilt beneath you.
your breath stills, caught somewhere between your lungs, your entire body locking into place as if you’ve been turned to stone. the words didn’t register at first—not fully, not properly—because there was no way he just said that.
but then, taehyun’s eyes were on you, unwavering, unreadable, and suddenly, it was real.
your head snaps towards him so fast that your vision blurs for a second, a sharp jolt running down your spine from the sheer force of your reaction. “what?”
taehyun doesn’t laugh. he doesn’t smirk, doesn’t follow it up with some teasing remark like you expected him to. instead, he just looks at you, gaze steady, unwavering. there was something different in his expression—something softer, something that sent your heartbeat into an erratic, stuttering rhythm that you couldn’t seem to control.
he tilts his head slightly, brows lifting in the faintest hint of amusement, but his voice remains even, genuine, when he repeats, “be my date for the winter ball.”
and that’s when it truly sinks in.
taehyun wasn’t joking.
he wasn’t messing with you, not throwing out an empty invitation just to get a reaction out of you. he was asking—really asking.
your pulse pounds so loudly in your ears that you almost missed the way his fingers tapped idly against his knee, the only sign that he might not be as unaffected as he looked.
you stare at him, mouth opening, then closing, then opening again, but no sound comes out. your brain was short-circuiting, struggling to process this new reality, to make sense of the fact that kang taehyun—the sharp-witted, ever-teasing, infuriatingly smug student council president—just asked you to be his date.
and what’s worse was he was still looking at you like he was waiting for an answer.
your throat feels dry as you blinked rapidly, the weight of his words settling over you like a thick, suffocating fog. you struggle to find your voice, to piece together a response that doesn’t make you sound completely and utterly unhinged, but all that comes out is a broken, stuttering—
“w-why are you asking me?”
taehyun stiffened, just slightly.
it was barely noticeable; the way his shoulders tensed for half a second before he exhales slowly, as if trying to compose himself. and then, just like that, the boy in front of you suddenly wasn’t quite as composed as before.
he clears his throat, glancing away for a moment, his fingers absently picking at an invisible thread on his sleeve. “well,” he starts, voice a little quieter now, a little less teasing. “i just thought… i mean, you’re always so busy with everything—running around, making sure everything is perfect, taking care of things no one even notices..”
taehyun pauses, pressing his lips together as if debating whether to continue, but then he sighs and pushes forward, gaze flickering back to you.
“i guess i just wanted you to have a reason to enjoy it, too. with me.”
his words hung between you, soft yet unbearably heavy. and maybe it’s the way he says it, so matter-of-factly, like it was the most natural thing in the world—like it was obvious, like it was something he’s thought about before.
maybe that was what left you speechless.
your lips part before you could stop them, the words slipping past your tongue in a breath, barely louder than a whisper—fragile, uncertain, like a secret not meant to be spoken aloud.
"that’s it..?"
the moment they left your mouth, you realized your mistake.
taehyun stilled.
it was subtle at first, just a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes, a split-second shift in his posture, the faintest tension in his shoulders. but then the silence swells, thick and suffocating, pressing against your lungs like a weight you couldn’t shake off. your own breath falters, hitching ever so slightly, and you swore you could hear the soft, sharp inhale taehyun took in response.
he didn’t expect that.
and neither did you.
and you didn’t know what was worse—the fact that you let it slip or the fact that taehyun seems so thrown off by it.
his fingers twitched at his sides, just the barest movement, but you noticed. you noticed the way his lips parted slightly, as if he had something to say, only to press them together again, hesitation flickering behind his sharp gaze.
then, finally—
"do you really want me to say it?"
taehyun’s voice was softer this time, lower, laced with something heavier, something cautious, yet impossibly steady. his gaze never wavers, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a sharp jolt down your spine.
you didn’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until the air rushes back into your lungs all at once, too fast, too sharp. because he was close again, too close, and the space between you felt thinner than paper, more fragile than glass.
and as if the moment wasn’t already dangerous enough, he leaned in.
not much, just a fraction, just enough to make the air around you shift, just enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin, just enough that you panic.
you shifted back almost instantly, pressing yourself further against the stage as if it’ll somehow create more distance, more space, more room to breathe. but all it did was make your flustered state even more obvious, the warmth on your cheeks burning deeper, spreading to the tips of your ears.
taehyun notices.
his eyes flicker, his lips twitch, and for the briefest moment, he almost looks amused—like he caught onto something, like he learned something. but there was something else beneath it, something more hesitant, more careful, as if he was testing the waters, as if he was waiting for you to stop him.
"do you really want to know why i asked you?"taehyun’s voice was impossibly softer, if that was even possible, barely above a whisper, yet it crashes into you like a tidal wave. your stomach twists, your hands curling into the fabric of your coat, as if that might somehow ground you, as if that might keep you from spiraling any further into whatever this is.
the space between you grew smaller, inch by inch, breath by breath. it was agonizingly slow, deliberate in a way that made your pulse pound against your ribs, making your breath hitch at the back of your throat. he wasn’t just leaning in, he was watching you—taking in every flicker of emotion that crossed your face, every shallow inhale, every unspoken thought that lingered in the air between you.
you couldn’t do this.
the weight of his gaze, the closeness, the way his voice curled around the edges of something unspoken—it was too much. your breath was coming in short, uneven bursts now, your heartbeat hammering loudly in your ears, and you know, you know, if you stayed here any longer, if you let him get any closer, you were going to fall into something you wouldn't be able to climb back out of.
so you move.
your legs pushed you up before you could think twice, a desperate attempt to escape the heavy pull of his presence. but you barely take a step before—
warm hands hold around your wrists.
your world tilts.
not in the way it had earlier, when taehyun had sent his bike into motion and nearly launched you both into the afterlife, but in a way that felt heavier, deeper—like the very foundation of your understanding has cracked beneath your feet, sending you spiraling into something you weren’t prepared for.
because there, just above the place where his fingers wrap around your wrist, something was blooming.
not metaphorically, not in some abstract, romantic sense, but literally.
soft blue petals unfurled against your skin like a whisper, delicate yet impossibly real. a hydrangea, its blue hue rich and vibrant, appearing right where his touch lingered, as if drawn forth by the warmth of his hand against your bare wrist.
and before you could even comprehend it, before the weight of what’s happening can fully settle, you see it—
another one.
on his wrist.
a mirror to yours.
your breath stutters.
a sharp, unsteady inhale rushes through your lungs, but the air felt thick, too thick, like the moment itself was pressing down on you, sinking into your bones, refusing to be ignored. you couldn't move. couldn't breathe. couldn't think. the world has shrunk down to this single, impossible reality, this moment suspended in time where nothing existed but this.
taehyun sucks in a breath.
his grip on you falters, just slightly, but it was enough. enough to tell you that he was feeling it too—the way the air has shifted, the way the ground no longer felt steady beneath your feet. and when you forced yourself to look at him, to really look at him, what you saw made your stomach twist.
he was frozen.
taehyun, who always had something to say, who teased and taunted and never hesitated to throw a playful jab, was speechless.
his eyes were wide, dark pupils blown with something unreadable, something teetering between disbelief and sheer, undiluted shock. his lips parted, then pressed together again, as if he was trying to find the right words but coming up completely empty.
he blinked once.
twice.
then, slowly, almost hesitantly, his gaze dropped back down—to where his hand still holds your wrist, then to where the hydrangea had bloomed against his skin.
the proof.
the impossible, undeniable proof.
you didn’t know how long you both stood there like that, suspended in the moment, locked in place by something you didn’t yet have the words for. the silence between you was deafening, thick and weighted, pulsing with something neither of you know how to name.
“what…” taehyun’s voice finally comes, but it was quiet. too quiet. fragile.
“what just—”
but he didn’t finish. didn’t have to. because the answer was right there, imprinted against your wrists, marking you both in a way that cannot be ignored.
“you’re my soulmate?”you couldn’t speak.
you couldn’t reply.
you couldn't do anything.
the weight of reality crashes down on you with an intensity that made your head spin, your breath hitching painfully in your throat. the room suddenly felt much too small, the air thick and unsteady, pressing in from all sides as if the universe itself was forcing you to acknowledge the truth—the truth that had been lingering just beneath the surface for weeks, waiting, biding its time, until this exact moment. until now.
taehyun knows.
he finally knows.
and you didn’t know what was worse—the fact that you kept it from him, or the fact that deep down, a part of you had always known this moment would come.
you had feared it, dreaded it, had told yourself over and over again that you were prepared for it, that you had built up enough walls to keep yourself safe when the inevitable finally arrived. but standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, you realize you weren’t prepared at all.
your body refused to move. your fingers, still curled slightly from where they had almost—almost—reached back for him, felt like they were frozen in place, caught between instinct and hesitation. the silence between you was so thick, so deafening, it drowned out every other sound in the room, leaving only the frantic pounding of your own heartbeat, a desperate, uneven rhythm that betrays every attempt at composure.
taehyun was just as still, just as caught in the moment as you were. his expression was unreadable, his lips parted slightly as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know where to start. his gaze flickers down to his wrist, his breath visibly hitching when he takes in the intricate petals of the blue hydrangea, now settled against his skin like an unspoken truth that neither of you can deny. his fingers twitch once, twice, as though testing to see if the mark is real, as though part of him is still grappling with the weight of what this meant.
it was real.
it had always been real.
finally, after what felt like a lifetime, taehyun spoke.
“did you know?”
his voice was barely above a whisper, each syllable laced with a quiet, underlying emotion that you couldn’t quite place. there was no anger, no accusation, nothing sharp or cutting—only something softer, something careful, something almost hesitant. it was a question, but more than that, a plea, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between you, to make sense of the revelation that had just unraveled before him.
but still, you said nothing.
your throat was dry, your mouth refusing to form the words that sat heavy on your tongue. your breath came in shallow, uneven exhales, your fingers on your other hand curling into the fabric of your sleeve as if that alone might keep you from falling apart.
and that silence—your silence—was all he needed to know.
taehyun exhales, the sound slow and measured, but you saw the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers pressed onto your skin before uncurling again, the way his entire posture shifted ever so slightly as realization settled deep into his bones. his face remained composed, but his eyes—his eyes that have always been so sharp, so piercing, so impossibly hard to fool—betrayed him entirely.
“why…” his voice faltered, catching slightly before he swallowed and tried again, this time more resolute, more certain. “why didn’t you tell me?”
taehyun took a single step forward, slow, hesitant, and careful in a way that made your stomach twist with unease. it was as if he was afraid that any sudden movement would send you running, as if he was walking on fragile ground, unsure of what might shatter beneath him.
you felt your breath catch, the air between you growing heavier, charged with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.
“how long have you known?”
your hands trembled, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a force you couldn't escape. you swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in your throat, willing yourself to find your voice, to say something, anything.
“i…” the word barely made it past your lips before you had to clear your throat, forcing yourself to steady the shake in your voice. “since about… two weeks ago…”
taehyun breathed in sharply, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t figure out, something shifting, something unraveling. you watched as his gaze drops slightly, as though he was replaying every moment, every conversation, every fleeting glance from the past two weeks with a new understanding.
and then he laughs.
soft, breathless, light as air.
not in mockery, not in disbelief, not with amusement, but something else entirely.
relief.
taehyun’s shoulders eased, his posture relaxing just slightly as the realization settled deep within him. he lifted his free hand, pushing back the hair that had fallen into his eyes, before shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.
“i knew it,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, as if the words had been lingering in the back of his mind all this time, just waiting to be spoken. “so this was why… why i’ve always felt this… pull towards you… no matter how much you tried to push me away.”
his voice was filled with certainty, with something raw, something so achingly sincere that it makes your breath stutter in your chest.
because you know exactly what he meant.
that pull.
the way your eyes always found him in a crowded room, the way his voice had always cut through the noise, the way his laughter had always settled so easily in the spaces between you. the way his presence had always been something you could never quite shake, no matter how much you tried to ignore it and tell yourself that you hated it.
and now you both know why.
taehyun takes another step forward, closer this time, close enough that the warmth of his presence began to seep into your skin, making your pulse pound against your chest.
his hand lifts, his fingers brushing against your other one, just barely, just enough to send a spark of warmth racing up your arm. it was the softest touch, barely there, but it made your entire body go still.
he hesitated for only a moment before fully taking your hand in his.
you inhaled sharply.
his grip was firm but gentle, steady but careful, like he was afraid of pushing too far, like he was still waiting for you to pull away. his thumb brushes against the side of your palm, the warmth of his skin bleeding into yours, grounding you, anchoring you to the moment.
“you feel it too, right?”
your lips part, the answer right there, right at the tip of your tongue, so close you can taste it.
but then—
panic.
it surged through your veins like wildfire, swallowing you whole before you could stop it, before you could even try to fight against it. your chest tightened, breath shallow and uneven, and for a split second, the weight of taehyun’s touch—the warmth of his fingers wrapped gently around you—became unbearable. because if you admit it—if you said it aloud, if you give in, if you let yourself fall—there would be no turning back.
no running.
no pretending.
no more hiding behind the walls you spent so long building.
your fingers twitched, your entire body tensing as if preparing to flee even before your mind could catch up. taehyun’s presence was everywhere—his touch, his gaze, the quiet steadiness of his breath filling the space between you. it was overwhelming, suffocating in a way that had nothing to do with discomfort and everything to do with fear.
so you do the only thing you know how to do.
you yanked yourself away.
the movement was so sudden, so desperate, that taehyun barely had time to react before you were stumbling back, ripping yourself from the warmth of his grasp as though it burnt. his hands slipped away from yours, the loss of contact immediate, startling, like stepping into the cold after being wrapped in the sun’s embrace. but the absence wasn’t just physical—it was something deeper, something that lingered in the air between you like a wound torn open too soon.
taehyun didn’t move.
his brows furrowed, the lines of his face tightening, a flicker of confusion passing through his wide, searching eyes. his mouth parted slightly, as if he was about to say something—to ask, to reach, to hold—but you didn't give him the chance.
you didn’t even give yourself the chance to think.
you turned.
your breath hitches, your pulse roaring in your ears as your legs move on instinct, on impulse, on fear.
and then you ran.
you didn’t stop, didn’t look back, didn’t let yourself process the way your vision blurs at the edges or the way your heartbeat pounded against your chest, each thud a deafening reminder of what you’ve just done. your limbs felt weightless yet heavy all at once, like you were floating through a dream you desperately wished to wake up from.
your hands tremble at your sides, curled into fists so tight that your nails bite into your palms, a feeble attempt to anchor yourself, to ground yourself against the storm raging inside you.
but there was no grounding yourself from this.
there was no outrunning the way your soul ached, the way something inside you screamed at you to stop, to turn back, to look at him just once, just for a second.
but you couldn’t.
not when his words still echoed in your mind, wrapping around your thoughts and pressing against your lungs. you feel it too, right?
not when the memory of his laughter still lingered, warm and full of relief, the sound of someone who had just found something they had spent their whole life searching for.
not when you know—when you know—that if you let yourself turn back now, you will never have the strength to leave again.
so you kept going. you push past the door, your movements frantic, your breath coming out in broken, uneven exhales as you slipped away, disappearing into the night like a shadow retreating from the light.
and taehyun?
taehyun just stood there.
his hands were still outstretched, fingers curled ever so slightly, as if still reaching for something—someone—who was no longer there. his expression was blank, his chest rising and falling with steady, measured breaths, but his eyes—his impossibly expressive eyes—were frozen in place, locked onto the spot where you stood only moments before.
and yet, despite the stillness, despite the quiet composure he had always carried so effortlessly, taehyun looked shattered.
꒰💐꒱
the night felt endless.
you lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, but sleep refused to come. the weight of your actions, of everything that had unfolded just hours ago, sat heavy on your chest, pressing down like an unbearable force. you tried to shut your eyes, tried to will yourself into oblivion, but every time you did, you saw him—saw the look on his face when he realized, saw the way eyes brightened like never before.
taehyun was happy. no, he was ecstatic.
you could still hear his laugh, that breathless, wondrous kind, like the world had just revealed its greatest secret to him. i knew it… he said, voice laced with something so soft, so full of relief, as if everything in his life had suddenly fallen into place. you had never seen him like that before—never seen kang taehyun, with all his sharp wit and unwavering confidence, look so utterly and completely at peace.
and then. and then you ripped it all away.
the moment your hands had left his, the moment your body turned, his joy had shattered. you had felt it, even with your back to him, even as you pushed past the door, as you fled like a coward. you had felt the shift in the air, the quiet devastation settling in behind you.
now, as you lay in the suffocating silence of your room, you wondered if taehyun was still standing there, staring at the empty space where you had been. wondered if he was replaying everything in his mind the way you were, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand why—why—you ran.
you squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn’t help. the memory of his expression—the way his brows drew together, the way his mouth parted just slightly in stunned disbelief—burned behind your eyelids.
the ache in your chest only grew heavier, sinking deep into your bones like a weight you couldn’t shake off. it was unbearable—this gnawing, twisting feeling of guilt, regret, and something else, something even more terrifying.
because it wasn’t just taehyun’s expression that haunted you. it wasn’t just the way his joy crumbled into confusion, into hurt, into quiet devastation—it was the way he had reached for you, the way his fingers had brushed against yours so gently, so tentatively, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he held on too tightly.
and in the end, you did.
you saw the light in his eyes, the unguarded, unfiltered joy written all over his face, and you destroyed it.
a strangled breath left your lips as you curled in on yourself, pressing your hands against your chest as if that could somehow hold everything in, as if that could stop your heart from unraveling at the seams. the past few weeks—every moment, every lingering glance, every teasing remark that had felt just a little too soft—they all came crashing down on you at once, suffocating in their intensity.
and morning arrived too soon.
no matter how tightly you curled into yourself, no matter how desperately you tried to will the world away, time didn’t stop for you. it marched forward, indifferent to the storm that raged inside you throughout the night.
you didn’t sleep a wink—you simply drifted, slipped in and out of restless, fragmented dreams, only to jolt awake each time with his voice echoing in your head, with the memory of his warmth ghosting over your skin. you turned onto your side, onto your back, onto your stomach, but no position, no adjustment, no desperate attempt to push the thoughts away helped.
so when your alarm finally rang, shrill and unforgiving in the silence of your room, you had no choice but to face the day.
your limbs felt heavy as you dragged yourself out of bed, exhaustion pressing down on you like a weight. the mirror was unkind, reflecting back dark circles beneath your eyes, the dullness in your gaze, the exhaustion carved into every line of your face. you moved through the motions of getting ready on autopilot—washing up, dressing, gathering your things—but the entire time, your mind remained stuck on one single, inescapable fact.
you would see him today.
you would step into the council room, and taehyun would be there.
and you had no idea what would be waiting for you on the other side of that door.
was he angry? hurt? indifferent? did he spend the night thinking about it, just as you did? had he regretted it?
or worse, did he realize that maybe, maybe this whole thing had been a mistake?
your thoughts clung to you as you made your way to school, each step feeling heavier than the last. the usual morning sounds—the chatter of students, the rustling of papers, the distant ringing of a bell—faded into background noise as you moved through the halls, your heart hammering with each step that brought you closer to the council room.
and then you stepped inside.
you barely had time to take in the familiar sight of scattered documents, opened planners, and the faint scent of coffee before your eyes landed on him.
taehyun.
and he… he looked hollow.
the sight nearly knocked the breath out of you.
gone was the sharp glint in his eyes, the ever-present amusement, the effortless ease he carried himself with. instead, his features were dull, tired—shoulders slumped, gaze distant as he stared down at the papers in front of him, pen loosely gripped in his hand.
the weight in your chest only grew heavier as you hesitantly stepped further into the room, the familiar scrape of the chair against the floor sounding much louder than it should have in the suffocating silence. you lowered yourself into your usual seat, forcing yourself to settle, to breathe, to act as if everything was fine.
but nothing was.
because taehyun didn’t even look at you.
not a glance. not a teasing remark. not even the usual exasperated sigh when you made a little too much noise pulling out your notes. nothing. he simply remained as he was, unmoving, his gaze still fixed on the papers before him as if they held the answers to something greater, something deeper, something that could explain why.
and the absence of his attention, of his presence, of him—stung far more than you ever anticipated.
you swallowed hard, fingers curling into your lap, nails pressing into your palms as you willed yourself to keep your expression neutral, to not let the weight of your own guilt show. but the silence stretched, pressing down on you like a vice, wrapping itself around your throat until you thought you might suffocate under it—
“what’s with you two?”
the voice cut through the tension like a blade, startling you from your spiraling thoughts.
beomgyu.
you turned your head just slightly, enough to see him watching the both of you with furrowed brows, arms crossed over his chest. his gaze flickered between you and taehyun, sharp, calculating, observant.
beside him, jiwon leaned back in his chair, one elbow propped on the table as he arched a brow. “yeah, seriously. it’s weird in here.” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, lips pulling into a frown. “you guys didn’t, like, mess up the decor together yesterday and made a pact of silence, right?”
you flinched.
taehyun didn’t even blink.
beomgyu’s frown deepened. “okay, what the hell. what is going on?”
you spoke—too forced, too strained. “nothing.”
“bullshit.”
jiwon scoffed, nudging beomgyu with his elbow. “look, man, maybe they’re just in a bad mood.”
beomgyu didn’t look convinced.
but taehyun didn’t give him a chance to press further, because before beomgyu could open his mouth again, he quietly cleared his throat, finally shifting, finally moving—only to stand from his seat, pushing his chair back with slow, deliberate movements.
“i need some air,” taehyun muttered, and just like that, he walked out, and now it was your turn to be left dumbfounded and hurt.
the days leading up to the ball passed in a blur, but the weight in your chest remained the same. if anything, it only grew heavier, sinking deeper into your bones with each passing moment.
and throughout it all, taehyun didn’t speak to you. to anyone, rather.
he wasn’t gone, not physically—he was still here, still doing his work with the same meticulous precision, still showing up early, still staying late. but he was missing in a way that was impossible to ignore, and the weight of it pressed against you, suffocating and relentless.
and it wasn’t just you who noticed.
at first, beomgyu had been the most vocal about it. he had tried everything—nudging taehyun’s shoulder playfully, cracking jokes that usually earned him an exaggerated eye-roll or a deadpan retort, even deliberately messing up the seating chart just to get a reaction. but nothing worked. taehyun barely reacted, only offering the occasional hum of acknowledgment or a clipped, indifferent response before returning to whatever task was in front of him.
he had always been diligent, always the type to follow through with his responsibilities, but this was no longer dedication, this was detachment.
"seriously, what is his problem?" beomgyu had muttered under his breath one afternoon, throwing his pen onto the table with a frustrated sigh. he turned towards you then, his brows furrowed, gaze sharp. "he’s been acting like a ghost for days.”
your breath caught in your throat, fingers tightening instinctively around the clipboard in your lap.
jiwon, who had been watching the entire exchange with thinly veiled curiosity, shifted in his seat, drumming his fingers idly against the desk. "maybe he’s just tired,” he mused, though even he didn’t sound convinced.
beomgyu scoffed, shaking his head. "no. no, this isn’t tired—this is something else. he’s not just quiet, he’s—” beomgyu hesitated, frowning as he searched for the right word before finally settling on, “empty.”
and god, wasn’t that the truth?
taehyun had always been level-headed, composed, but never like this. never so distant. his sharp wit and effortless charm had dulled into something barely there, and the shift was so stark, so jarring, it left an undeniable hollowness in the air.
you wanted to say something, needed to say something. but what could you possibly say? that it was your fault? that you had seen the light in his eyes, the happiness that had appeared in his features when he first saw the flower on both your wrists, and how you crushed it beneath your own fear?
the weight of your own cowardice sat heavy on your shoulders, suffocating, unbearable.
so you said nothing.
the ball was only days away. the decorations were finalized, the arrangements had been double-checked, and everything was falling into place, piece by perfect piece. and yet, for all that careful planning, for all the progress and preparation, everything still felt like it was falling apart.
꒰💐꒱
the night of the ball finally arrived.
golden lights illuminated the grand hall, casting a soft, ambient glow that seeped through the tall windows, flickering like distant stars against the darkness of the evening. inside, the sound of laughter and lively chatter drifted through the open doors, mingling with the faint melody of a waltz playing from within. everything was perfect—just as the council had planned, just as everyone had spent weeks ensuring.
but you simply stood outside.
your fingers curled around the delicate mask in your hands, the material pressing against your skin. the evening breeze brushed against your shoulders, carrying with it the distant hum of celebration, but you couldn't bring yourself to move forward, to step inside and immerse yourself in it all.
your dress, a simple yet breathtaking gown, clung to your frame in all the right places, accentuating without overwhelming, elegant without being extravagant. the fabric, a soft black satin that shimmered under the moonlight, cascaded down your figure in smooth waves, pooling ever so slightly at your feet. it was understated, refined, beautiful, and yet, despite how perfectly it fit, despite how much care had gone into choosing it, you had never felt more out of place.
you had spent days, weeks, preparing for this night. every detail had been planned, every decoration meticulously arranged. this was supposed to be a night of celebration, of triumph—a culmination of all the hard work the council had poured into making this event a reality.
but the thought of stepping inside, of weaving through the sea of masks and laughter, of pretending that everything was fine?
it terrified you.
because you didn’t know how you would feel once you see him tonight.
and perhaps, worse than that, you didn’t know if you even would.
your stomach twisted painfully, an ache that no amount of deep breaths could ease. would taehyun even be here? had he decided to stay away, just as you had considered doing? or would he be inside, blending into the crowd, masked and distant, just another face in a room full of strangers?
or would he be there, looking the same as always, standing in a corner with that quiet confidence, that knowing gaze, that presence that you could never quite shake, no matter how much distance you tried to put between you?
your heart pounded at the thought.
you had spent the past week avoiding his eyes, ducking away from his presence, watching helplessly as he withdrew further and further into himself. and yet, even as he distanced himself, even as the banter faded and the stolen glances disappeared, he never confronted you. never pushed, never asked for an explanation.
but tonight, there would be no desks between you, no schedules to hide behind.
if taehyun was here—if he sees you—then there would be no more avoiding it.
the weight of that realization sat heavy in your chest, pressing down, making it harder and harder to breathe.
you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to move, to take a single step forward.
but your legs felt rooted in place, your body paralyzed by the what-ifs, by the uncertainty, by the unbearable truth that no matter how much you wanted to run, no matter how much you wanted to hide, you wanted to see him.
god, you wanted to see him.
but did he still want to see you?
taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself, gripping the delicate mask in your hands one final time before slipping it over your face. the satin ribbon tied keeping it in place felt tighter than necessary, as if it was binding you in place, but you refused to let yourself hesitate any longer.
with slow, deliberate steps, you moved forward, the soft fabric of your gown brushing against your ankles as you entered the venue. the moment you crossed the threshold, you were met with a breathtaking sight—warm golden light spilling from crystal chandeliers, illuminating a sea of elegantly dressed students, their gowns and suits shimmering beneath the glow.
a small smile ghosted over your lips, a rare moment of relief settling in your chest. this was it. after weeks of planning, after endless discussions and meticulous arrangements, the masquerade ball came to life. and seeing it unfold, watching as your peers twirled across the floor, their laughter ringing through the air, made all of the exhaustion worth it. it was beautiful.
as you weaved through the crowd, exchanging polite nods and returning greetings, a sudden poke at your shoulder made you pause. blinking, you turned on your heel, only to be met with a grinning masked beomgyu, standing beside someone whose presence, even behind an intricately designed mask, was unmistakable—soobin. their hands were intertwined, fingers loosely laced together, a silent testament to their bond.
“there you are!” beomgyu beamed, his enthusiasm practically radiating off him as he gestured wildly around the venue. “you have to admit, this is pretty amazing.”
soobin, ever the calmer presence, chuckled softly before dipping his head slightly in greeting. “congratulations,” he said, his voice smooth and sincere. “everything turned out beautifully. thank you for all the effort you put into making this happen.”
before you could even respond, beomgyu huffed, dramatically tossing an arm over soobin’s shoulder. “my idea, by the way,” he interjected, puffing out his chest in pride.
soobin, despite his mask obscuring half of his face, still managed to exude exasperation as he shot beomgyu a tired look. “i know, beomgyu. you’ve told me like a billion times.”
a quiet laugh left your lips as you shook your head, momentarily allowing yourself to bask in their familiar bickering. there was something comforting about it, something steady and unchanging. but just as quickly as that warmth settled, it vanished, replaced by a dull ache in your chest. because watching them—watching the ease in their dynamic, the way they played off each other so effortlessly—it only reminded you of one person.
your breath hitched, the tightening in your chest returning with full force. you forced a smile, pushing down the lump forming in your throat. “i should, um, check on the food,” you murmured, the words slipping from your lips before you could second-guess them.
soobin gave you a small nod, and beomgyu, thankfully, didn’t press further, only giving you a playful salute as you stepped away. with each step, your heart felt heavier, your resolve beginning to crumble once again.
you barely registered the laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses around you. all you could focus on was the overwhelming weight pressing against your ribs, the relentless pounding of your own thoughts. you shouldn't have come.
but then—
but then you saw him.
it was almost cruel how effortlessly your eyes found him, how no amount of dim lighting or the sea of masks could ever make him anything less than noticeable.
taehyun stood near the far side of the ballroom, a vision of effortless poise and sophistication. his suit was a deep shade of charcoal, tailored perfectly to his frame, accentuating the sharp lines of his shoulders and the lean definition of his form. the crisp white of his dress shirt contrasted against the dark fabric, and the black tie on his collar was neatly knotted, adding to the refined elegance of his appearance.
but it was his presence—the sheer gravity of him—that made your breath catch.
his mask, sleek and simple, framed his eyes in a way that only enhanced their depth, making them appear even more calculating. the dim lighting cast delicate shadows over his features, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips—lips that had once smiled so easily, so playfully, but now remained pressed into a thin, unreadable line.
you stopped in your tracks.
you watched taehyun, unable to look away, unable to tear your gaze from the way he stood—poised yet distant, present yet entirely unreachable. the ballroom carried on around you, the music swelling, distant conversations rippling through the air, but it all faded into nothing as your eyes remained fixed on him.
his posture was impeccable, as always, shoulders squared, chin lifted ever so slightly, an image of effortless control. but there was something different now, something restrained in the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides, in the way his weight shifted subtly from one foot to the other, as if he were caught between the instinct to move and the need to stay still.
and then, as if he could feel your gaze, as if some invisible thread had finally pulled tight between the two of you—
his eyes found yours.
and the moment they did, something in the air shifted, as if the world seemed to narrow, the sounds around you dulling into nothing more than a distant hum.
taehyun’s stare widened just slightly, the faintest flicker of surprise betraying his otherwise composed expression.
and god, was he taking you in.
taehyun was looking at you—truly looking at you. not like the stolen glances from before, not with the distance he carefully put between you these past few days. this was different. this was open, raw, something achingly vulnerable slipping through the cracks of his carefully built composure.
and the way he looked at you…
it was as if he had never seen you before.
as if he were discovering something entirely new, something he hadn’t realized until this very second. his gaze traced over you, taking in every detail, every curve of your form, every shimmering fold of your gown. his lips parted slightly, his breath hitching just the tiniest bit, and even with the mask covering half his face, even with the dim lighting softening his features, you could see it—the quiet, unspoken admiration that flickered across his face.
your heartbeat roared in your ears, your body frozen in place, unable to move, unable to breathe. neither of you stepped forward, neither of you dared to break the fragile silence that had settled between you, balancing on the edge of something terrifyingly real.
and then—
he blinked.
just once.
but when his eyes opened again, something was different. something had shifted.
taehyun’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. his hands twitched at his sides, his fingers curling inward like they ached to reach for something—for someone. you watched as a breath, deep and shaky, left his lips, his shoulders rising with the weight of it.
and then he turned away.
the moment shattered.
the spell broke.
before you could process it, before you could make sense of the way your chest constricted so violently at the loss, taehyun pivoted on his heel, his movements sharp, hurried. his polished shoes barely made a sound against the ballroom floor as he slipped past the sea of guests, weaving through the crowd with quick, purposeful steps.
he was leaving.your heart lurched, panic flaring in your veins, the shock of it slamming into your chest like a physical blow.
no.
your breath caught in your throat, the realization settling in all at once.
he was running away.
and before you could stop yourself, before the fear could paralyze you, before you could make the same mistake twice—
you ran after him.
you pushed through the crowd, rushing between the clusters of students lost in conversation, their voices nothing but a muffled blur against the frantic pounding of your heartbeat. your pulse roared in your ears, your breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts as you dodged flurries of students and pressed forward, not caring if you stumbled, not caring if you brushed too roughly against someone.
taehyun was running, and you couldn’t let him get away.
not again.
your fingers clenched at the fabric of your dress, lifting the hem just enough to keep yourself from tripping, but your feet barely felt the ground beneath you. all that mattered was him.
all that mattered was the sight of his retreating figure, slipping past the grand archway leading to the open night air, disappearing beyond the cascading ivy that framed the ballroom’s second entrance.
the cool night hit you like a breath of fresh air the moment you broke free from the suffocating warmth of the ballroom. the murmurs of the crowd dulled, replaced by the soft rustle of the wind through the trees, the distant hum of music fading behind you. but none of it registered, not the chill against your bare skin, not the way your lungs burned from exertion, because taehyun was still ahead, his silhouette cutting through the garden’s moonlit paths.
the silvery glow of the moon bathed everything in an ethereal light, casting long shadows along the pathway, painting the world in hushed shades of blue and silver. the neatly trimmed hedges and delicate blooms swayed gently with the breeze, their fragrance lingering in the crisp air.
your steps faltered as you sucked in a breath, throat dry, chest tight—but you couldn’t stop now. not when he was slipping away again.
so you did the only thing you could.
"kang taehyun!!"
your voice cut through the quiet, sharp and desperate, carrying through the still night air.
and just like that, he finally stopped.
taehyun’s steps slowed, hesitating, before finally coming to a full halt.
your fingers curled into the fabric of your gown, gripping tightly, as if grounding yourself, as if holding on to the last bit of courage you had left. you didn’t trust your voice—not when your heart was still hammering like crazy, not when the ache in your throat made it impossible to swallow. but still, you forced the words out, soft, almost fragile in the way they broke past your lips.
"please..."
the sound barely carried over the distance between you, but it reached him somehow. you knew it did.
but taehyun remained unmoving.
his back stayed rigid, his shoulders taut, rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. he didn’t turn, didn’t even so much as flinch, as if he was willing himself to stay still, as if he was caught in the same unbearable moment as you, yet refused to acknowledge it.
the silence between you stretched, thick and suffocating, heavy with the weight of all the words neither of you had spoken. it clung to the air, to the space that felt impossibly vast despite the few feet separating you.
and then, after what felt like an eternity—so slow it nearly made you dizzy—he turned around.
taehyun’s body tensed before he shifted, hesitant, deliberate, as if caught in a decision he hadn’t quite made yet. the motion was almost careful, painfully slow, as though he feared what he would see when he finally turned to face you.
taehyun’s gaze met yours instantly, locking onto you with an intensity that stole the breath straight from your lungs. the silver glow of the moon framed his silhouette, casting soft shadows over his face, over the smooth planes of his mask.
and his eyes… they held something unreadable. something you couldn’t name, something tangled between a dozen emotions, flickering too fast, too fleeting for you to grasp.
but he was looking at you.
yet for the first time, you didn’t know if that was a good thing.
taehyun’s gaze never wavered, never softened, not even for a second. it was sharp, cutting through the space between you like a blade, dissecting, waiting. and you, standing beneath the weight of it all, feeling it press into your skin, into the marrow of your bones, suddenly felt small. exposed. self-conscious.
your throat tightened, the sudden awareness of yourself creeping in, making you shift where you stood. your shoulders straightened, your hands fidgeting at your sides, as if fixing your posture would somehow anchor you, would somehow make you feel like you belonged in this moment instead of drowning in it. your tongue darted out, wetting your dry lips, yet the words—whatever words you were meant to say—refused to come.
it was silent.
painfully, deafeningly silent.
now that he was here, standing before you, now that you finally had him where you had been desperate to keep him—you didn’t know what to do. what to say.
"if you're not going to say anything, then i'm leaving."
taehyun’s voice cut through the stillness, low and cold, distant in a way that sent a sharp pang straight to your chest. it was piercing, impassive—so unlike him. where was the warmth? the teasing edge? where was the taehyun who never let a moment pass without a quip, a smirk, a knowing look? where was the taehyun who once made the air between you feel light, easy?
the thought hit you so hard that it sent you stumbling forward, hands moving on instinct, reaching—desperate. and before you could stop yourself, before hesitation could creep in and steal this moment away from you, your fingers closed around his wrist.
a sight too familiar.
but this time, you weren’t the one running.
this time, you were the one trying to stop him.
"wait," the word barely came out, breathless, trembling. you let go of taehyun’s wrist, and then—then, the floodgates broke.
"taehyun…"
his name wobbled on your lips, barely a breath, barely a sound, but it held every ounce of desperation clawing at your chest, every ounce of regret that weighed heavy on your shoulders. your throat tightened, a lump lodging itself deep within, suffocating, unrelenting, but you forced yourself to swallow it down. because if you didn’t speak now—if you let this moment slip through your fingers like sand—you knew you’d never forgive yourself.
"i’m sorry."
the words trembled, cracked, barely held together by the fragile threads of your unraveling composure. and yet, they still weren’t enough. nothing felt like enough—not for all the pain you had caused him, not for all the hurt you had left in your wake, not for the way you had looked into his eyes that night and still walked away.
"i’m so sorry, taehyun."
his name shattered from your lips this time, breaking somewhere between a sob and a plea.
"i was stupid. i was so, so stupid."
you inhaled sharply, hands curling into fists, nails biting into your palms in a desperate attempt to keep yourself from completely falling apart. but it was no use. everything was spilling over—emotions too big, too raw, too heavy to be contained anymore.
"i didn’t mean to push you away. i didn’t mean to hurt you. god, i never wanted to hurt you." your voice wavered, cracking under the weight of your own words, and you squeezed your eyes shut for a fleeting second, trying yet failing to steady yourself. "but i did."
you exhaled shakily, forcing yourself to meet his gaze even as your own blurred with unshed tears. "i hurt you, and i was too much of a coward to admit anything." your fingers twitched at your sides, aching to reach for him, aching to grasp onto something—anything—that could ground you in the midst of the storm raging inside you. "i was scared," you whispered, voice barely above a breath, the admission tasting bitter, like guilt and shame and every unsaid thing you had buried deep inside yourself for far too long.
"i was scared because i didn’t understand it," a hollow laugh escaped you, but there was no humor in it. only pain. "because i didn’t understand you." you exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if that could erase all the years of denial, all the wasted time, all the moments you had spent pretending.
"from the very start, taehyun, you made me feel things i had never felt before—things i didn’t know how to name, things that made my heart race and my hands shake and my mind spin and i—" your breath hitched, a sob catching in your throat, but you pushed through it, voice trembling. "i hated you for it. or at least... i thought i did."
you felt him stiffen, barely perceptible, but you noticed it. of course, you noticed it. your lips quivered, your hands clenched, and you forced yourself to take a step forward, closing even the slightest bit of distance between you. "but it wasn’t hate, was it? it never was," you whispered, voice softer now, gentler, but heavy with the weight of every unspoken word you had swallowed down over the years, every moment you had ignored, every glance you had forced yourself to look away from.
"it was fear."
you sucked in a shaky breath, blinking rapidly against the tears threatening to spill over. "you saw through me. you knew me—really knew me—even when i didn’t want you to," another step, another shaky breath. "and i hated that. i hated that no matter how much i tried to convince myself you were nothing more than a rival, a nuisance, an annoying presence in my life, i—" you exhaled sharply, voice breaking, barely holding yourself together, "i was wrong."
you were right in front of him now, so close, yet still, he hadn’t moved. he just stood there, staring at you, silent, unreadable, unflinching.
"i was wrong about everything," your voice wavered, barely above a whisper now, but the words carried the weight of everything—of every mistake, every regret. your fingers twitched at your sides before, finally, finally, you found the courage to reach out, grasping his wrists once more with trembling hands.
"i never should've left that night," you choked out, shaking your head, tears clinging to your lashes. "i should’ve turned back, should’ve looked at you, should’ve realized what was right in front of me." a single tear slipped down your cheek, warm against your skin, but you didn’t wipe it away. "i should’ve told you then," you hesitated, voice cracking, "i should’ve told you that it was always you."
the words shattered from your lips like glass, like something irreparable, something fragile and delicate and painfully, unbearably sincere. "it was always you, taehyun." your voice trembled, thick with emotion, thick with everything you had locked away for so long, and yet, for the first time, you weren’t afraid to say it. "and i’m so, so sorry it took me this long to see it."
you sniffled, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart, a weight lifting off your shoulders with every word that had finally, finally escaped your lips. yet, despite the relief that came with your admission, fear still gripped you, sinking its claws into your chest, twisting deep. because this—this was the part that terrified you the most. not the confession, not the rawness of your emotions spilling over, but his response. what he might say. how he might look at you now. how he might—
taehyun moved.
and for a split second, panic seized you as he pulled away from your grasp, slipping from your trembling hands. your breath hitched, your body tensed, and your mind raced with the worst possibilities, already bracing for the moment he’d turn his back on you. already dreading the sharp sting of rejection.
but he didn’t leave. he didn’t take a step back, didn’t let the silence stretch too long, didn’t let the space between you grow.
instead, taehyun lifted his hands, reaching for you, cupping your tear-streaked cheeks in the warmth of his palms, grounding you in the way only he ever could.
your lips parted, a sharp breath escaping as his thumbs brushed over your damp skin, gentle, deliberate, erasing the remnants of your sorrow with the softest touch. your eyes widened, searching his face, drinking in the features you had spent so long memorizing yet never truly allowing yourself to admire.
and then, without a word, taehyun reached for the ribbon of your mask, fingers curling around the delicate material before he carefully, slowly, undid the knot and lifted it away.
your breath caught, the cool night air brushing against your now-exposed skin, and before you could react, he let the mask slip from his fingers, the sound of it hitting the ground barely registering in your ears.
but taehyun wasn’t done.
with the same tenderness, the same certainty, he lifted one hand to his own mask, unfastening it, letting it fall to the earth beside yours. and for the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled.
not the small, hesitant smiles you had seen him give in passing, not the careful, guarded ones he wore when he was unsure, not the polite ones he had offered in fleeting moments. no. this was real. genuine. a smile that stretched across his face, lighting up his features, reaching his eyes in a way you had forgotten was possible.
"that’s it?"
his voice was warm, teasing, laced with something light and playful—something unmistakably him.
and the moment you heard it, the moment you saw that expression on his face, it was as if every last bit of fear, every last trace of doubt, melted away.
a breath of laughter left you, a mix of relief and disbelief, and before you could even think, before you could hesitate, before you could convince yourself otherwise, you surged forward—hands finding his face, fingers threading into his hair as you pulled him in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was everything.
the moment your lips crashed against his, it was as if something had burst open—years of pent-up emotions, unsaid words, restless nights, stolen glances, all unraveling in a single heartbeat. and taehyun kissed you back like he, too, had been waiting for this his entire life.
his hands, still cradling your face, tightened their grip, fingers digging into your skin as if he was terrified you might slip away again. but you weren’t going anywhere. not anymore. your hands slid up to his jaw, trembling, desperate, pulling him impossibly closer. the sheer warmth of him, the way he exhaled shakily against your lips—it was dizzying. intoxicating. you were drowning, and you never wanted to come up for air.
the kiss was frantic, a collision of breaths, sighs, and need. his lips moved against yours like he had something to prove, something to make up for, something he couldn’t put into words—but you understood. you understood in the way his hands fell from your face to your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress, gripping like he needed something to hold on to, something to anchor him.
you understood in the way he let out a shuddering breath when you tugged at his hair, when your fingers slipped into the strands, when your body pressed flush against his.
a sharp exhale left taehyun, something like a laugh, something breathless and wrecked, and then he was kissing you harder, deeper, like he wanted to consume you, like he wanted to make up for every second lost, every moment wasted. and you let him. you let him steal your breath, let him take everything you had to give, because god, you had been starving for this. for him.
his fingers traced up your spine, slow, deliberate, and you shivered at the feeling. it was overwhelming—the heat of him, the taste of him, the way he kissed you like he was afraid you would vanish if he stopped. your back hit the edge of the stone fountain behind you, but neither of you cared, too caught up in the way your mouths moved together, in the sheer desperation between you.
when you finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, gasping for air, taehyun’s grip on you never loosened. his fingers stayed at your waist, his breath fanning over your lips, and when you opened your eyes, his gaze was already on you—dark, burning, fond.
taehyun exhaled, a quiet, breathy sound that mingled with the space between you, and when he smiled—soft, real, yours—you felt something in you finally settle.
"so... you like me." he murmured, his fingers curling just a little tighter at your waist, as if he still didn’t quite trust that you were here, that this was real.
you blinked, still dazed, still trying to catch up to everything—everything you had just spilled, everything that had just happened, everything you had just done.
"kang."
"no, no, say it." taehyun grinned, the teasing lilt returning to his voice, but there was something softer beneath it, something almost in awe. "i need to hear you say it."
heat crept up your neck, the weight of his hands still lingering on your skin, his touch burned into your memory. "i just confessed my entire soul to you, what more do you want?"
"just three little words." his voice dropped slightly, his fingers brushing along your jaw, tilting your chin up ever so slightly. "for confirmation."
you groaned, tilting your head back, but the fondness in taehyun’s eyes, the warmth in his touch, the way he was looking at you like you were all he needed, it was unfair.
"i like you, taehyun." the words left you in a sigh, as if they had been waiting to escape all along.
"yeah?"
you rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed your feigned annoyance. "yeah."
taehyun hummed, looking entirely too pleased with himself before he leaned in again, murmuring against your lips, "about time."
“i like you too.”
(𝄢) as both equals and opposites, white swan and black swan, it is paramount that you and choi beomgyu do not touch. the curse of your natures did not even make exception for incidental brushes. that was never an issue for you—not until the day the prince took it upon himself to break every rule you’d ever known.
⸺ listen to the playlist
⸉⋆ ᧔ 🦢᧓ ･ 1O.3k 𝓟airings ˒ black swan prince!beomgyu 𝓍 white swan princess!reader
𝒢 ; smut ˒ fantasy ˒ forbidden romance 𝓦arnings ˒ smut, angst and longing, unprotected sex, lots of teasing, jealousy…, yearning and yearning, he cums on her, theyre both desperate, pathetically in love!beomgyu, shes all he wants, virgin!reader, loss of innocence, he talks her through it, he gets a little whiny… hmm i can’t remember if i’m missing anything. this is not proofread!! i’m gonna nap first.
✎୭ ashlynn's note @hmusunoo … baby you did your big one with this. i can not explain to you how excited i’ve been for this one. this is absolutely my favorite. it’s just so me, u know me so well and i think we should kiss. THANK U!
Around you, mist and delicate flurries sit over white, fluffy blankets. Where it sits over the lake, it turns the horizon of the lake’s expanse into an obscured uncertainty. If you hadn’t spent so much time right here, you might think that it goes on forever.
It’s a beautiful, clear winter’s morning. Sparkling air wraps you in sweet and crisp tendrils, every breath to your lungs almost bitingly fresh. But in all its lightness, your chest only feels heavier. You had hoped that coming here would be a little, momentary respite. The air is so free around you, though, the weight doesn’t float away with it—it just leaves nothing but the feeling for you to contend with. No skittish wildlife rustle the foliage, and a thin film holds the crystalline lake from lapping at the bank. It seems that not even the wind moves. Just you.
It’s not your tears that you hide here. Sadness is a soft, gentle thing; an acceptable thing for a Lady like yourself to indulge in. It’s what the people expect of their princess. The demure and always prim White Swan. Always correct, always just how you should be.
Your tears are more like scalding, molten licks of fire than the slow, darling tears that are expected of you, though. They’re angry. It clashes up against the walls you’ve built up within yourself, against the role you’ve assumed.
That’s why you’ve come here. Coarser emotions are unbecoming of you, and it’d be a shame to feel them in front of others. It’s a shame that you’re letting yourself feel it now, even. You summon a thin sigh, funneling up all the tangy bitterness on your tongue to let it fall out into the air before you.
It doesn’t do much for you, really. This—feeling like this, so beyond the reach of your usual ways to shove down ugliness—is unfamiliar. Your entire life has been this, why do you struggle with it now? In the center of you, mingling with that anger, it’s as though a blackness blooms. Like a wretched flowering of some invasive plume, or perhaps the floating of inky black feathers through your bloodstream, you feel painted dark and unpleasant.
Holding the dappled fur of your shawl closer, you decide to watch chunks of crystal white ice float on the water’s surface. Or maybe the on-and-off snowflakes that float down around you. Even tracing the lengths of barren branches, lined with white fluff so still and serene, with your eyes. Anything but delving into what that tainted tug inside is, or what it might mean about you.
Snow crunches, or maybe a branch shifting, beckons your attention. But the foliage isn’t too thick, and trees are sparse around the lake, and there is always some small winged creature fluttering between branches out here. So, you brush it off.
A tingling about your person, some sort of whispering premonition, whisps and tugs just around your form. You straighten up at another thick step crunching in the snow from behind you. This time, you can’t explain it away.
A figure greets you. Dark, raven strands of silken hair fallen over eyes of the same, his skin so stark against it, black shoulder cloak on his shoulder flowing like velvet water against his billowing sleeves all ruffled and enamoring. He glitters like the frost, twinkling silver threads and black crystals sewn in to catch the light and make a show of him. Standing there, looking at you, he doesn’t look caught or frozen.
But you are. Wholly still, all of you like a sculpture of frost, you gawk right at him. You’d never interacted with the prince, the black swan. Never even seen him. It was never in the cards. Fear like ice curls clawed fingers over your heart and grasps it.
All your life, grand warnings of terrible things of him and what might happen should the two of you ever touch fell from the mouths of those around you. It was the constitution of who the two of you are—born to be the balance to each other, never to touch. Just an incidental brushing of fingers meant turning the world’s balance over on its head. They told you that the world would begin to fray at the seams, reality would warp, and that it’d be all your fault. And they also told you plenty about who the prince was as a person, too. Not only do you fear him for the curse of your nature, but also for all the nasty things you’ve heard of him. This, meeting him, was a thing of your deepest-cutting nightmares.
And, there, he stands in front of you.
“What are you doing out here crying?” Beomgyu says, curious eyes darting over your face. Under his gaze, you’re not sure how to feel. But you feel every last bit of it, regardless.
You wipe at your cheek, where he must’ve seen the wet streaks glistening in the light. Summoning some poise up from where you keep it in handy, you say, “It’s no matter. I was just looking out on the snow.” You fix up your hair and your dress.
The prince frowns, studying your face once again. Utterly unconvinced by what he finds there, he gestures toward you. “You’ve been crying, princess,” he says. “I didn’t think that lying was in the cards for you.”
Lying? Not in the cards for you? Lying is all you do. You lie to yourself and to others more than you are honest. “Maybe, but I’m well,” you say, and then you lift the soft skirts of your dress to step without treading it in the snow. “Really, I ought to get home before the snowfall gets heavier. It was lovely seeing you.” You try and make sure to keep a good and proper distance from him as you make for where you arrived here from.
Beomgyu reaches out for you, only pulling back from grabbing your arm at a frighteningly slim realization. “Wait,” he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he realizes what he’d almost just done. “You don’t have to leave. Why is it that you cry?”
He’d almost touched you. That close—you’d come that close to tragedy in only the first moments of your meeting. Your heart pumps out sizzling, frantic energy that has you looking at him wide-eyed and shaken. “I think you and I both are the most aware why it’s best that I leave,” you tell him, keeping it curt. You hold your arms to you.
Strong brows knitting, he shakes his head and takes some big steps back. The snow, sat powdery and calf-high on the ground, creaks beneath them. “I’ll stay back here,” he says. “Just don’t go. Won’t you entertain me? It’s a gentleman’s duty to help a weeping Lady.”
You falter. The words might have you blushing and offering him a modest thank you, but the way he says it—it’s rather taunting. It’s taunting in a way that gets right up under your skin and ruffles your feathers. “And why does it bother you so?” you ask him, arching a dainty brow. You’re not even sure why he’s come out here in the first place. This is the one place that you ordain your own. It seems that not even here can you be totally alone. “They’ll have a fit if they know I was here with you.”
The prince, with his clear, ethereal features cracking into a wicked amusement that you’re not sure how to digest, says, “Perhaps they will.” He tilts his head at you, wispy strands of hair moving over his shadowed eyes with it. “But, princess, that’s the fun in it. That they will admonish you for it. Is that why you’re crying?”
Fun? Nothing about what your people, your parents, might do should they find that you’d not only been near but spoken to the black swan, is fun. You level him wary eyes. And, though sense tugs at your feet and asks you to get going, you do not. You do not know why.
“I think it is.” He’s got an obnoxious tilt to his lips. “I think that’s why you cry.”
A scoff, an abrasive and distasteful sound coming from you, falls out from your mouth. There’s that awful imprudence and temerity that you’ve heard of the black swan—everything you ought not to be. “You seem the type to know everything,” you say.
He laughs, delighted. “Is that snark?”
Pursing your lips as though confused, you spin spiced threads of patronization into your voice. “Not snark,” you say. “Just an observation.”
“Hmm.” Beomgyu slides his hands into his pockets to warm his hands. “Might I make an observation about you, princess?”
There’s interest written all over his face—you know he’s playing some sort of game. You also know that you shouldn’t indulge him in it. Still, you do. A slight raising of your brow, or maybe the interest twinkling in your eyes, too, tells him to go on.
“I think that you are too dutiful for your own good,” he says.
In a slight, testy step, he inches closer. Not so close that you worry, but the two of you are not even supposed to be in the same room. Anything is too close. You mirror it with a step back. “You don’t know me,” you say. Against your better judgement, though, your lips twitch into a soft smile. The kind of smile that is insistent, no matter how you refuse it. “So, I believe your wonderings to be entirely groundless.”
Hair blowing gently in the wisps of a winter wind and his nose and cheeks gone pink, he says, “Oh, princess. Hardly. I think we know a great deal about each other.”
Well, that’s true enough. All your life you heard of him and your curse. You’re sure it was no different for him, no matter your differences. “And what do you know about me?” you ask.
Beomgyu’s laugh falls out in a white puff of curling frost. “I know it’s been arranged that you’ll marry a superior Lord,” he says. He observes you. “Am I right?”
So fast, just with that, lightness falls from your face. You hadn’t wanted to be reminded. Your feet itch to be off, so that you can feel it elsewhere. Not here; not in front of him. Leveling yourself so that your voice doesn’t come out as stilted as you feel, you say, “Yeah. You are.”
With his eyes narrowing on you, he says, “You know, it’s weird. I’ve never seen a girl excited to be wedded look like that when it’s brought up.”
You reign in your face and shake your head. “I am perfectly excited. It’s a blessing to be married into such a family.” As much as you smooth over the furrowing of your brows, or make your expression pleasant, it’s not so easy to tame the picking of your fingers.
Anything other than excited, you might be. But absolutely not that. In fact, you are beyond yourself with anger, and you have nowhere to go with it. It bubbles hot just under your skin and demands a release that you cannot give.
Being who you are, it’s been a truth you’ve known your whole life. Someday, you were going to be offered like a shiny, silver pawn to the highest bidder. And you, as the world’s white swan, are quite the enticing thing to own. You thought you’d banished the hope for a union of love right where you’d left the sense of self behind: years ago. The time’s come now, but you aren’t as at peace with it as you should be. No matter how hard you try, you are more human than you’d like to be, and far too human to be what the world expects you to be.
If you’re going to be frank with yourself: you do not want to marry him. Living as something bought, expected to live forever as this mellowed out, poised version of yourself by the side of some man who you don’t even know or love... Of any fate you might be made to live, you think that this one is the worst.
Beomgyu begins working on taking off his jacket, a white and pretty thing with thick, winter fabric. He offers it to you. “You don’t have to lie to me about it. Maybe them, but not me.”
You look between him and his offering hand—his perfect features that are so elegant, and yet, there’s a wildness to him in those hard black eyes. If you didn’t already know so much about him, you might still be able to see the untamed in him. Who couldn’t? He wears it plainly; without remorse. You’re not sure how to interact with it, but, in a way, you envy him.
Reaching out, you accept the jacket from his hand. Tentatively, with great care so as to avoid touch, but you do.
It’s nice and soft against your frost-kissed shoulders. But it’s not enough to fix the bite against the skin on your face, so you trudge through the snow over to the sparse tree line, where the trunks might protect you better from it than the flat expanse of the lake’s surface. You press your back to a tree, and he mirrors it on the tree opposite to you. Looking over the great lake, so very serene. It twinkles with an ice film like sugar crystals atop its surface. “I guess I’m just... scared,” you say. The words come out soft and uncertain.
He nods. Listening. So, you continue. “I don’t even know him. I haven’t spoken to my betrothed once. Maybe I’ll get to know him, and maybe he won’t be bad, but...”
“But he’s not who you want,” Beomgyu says. “Not who you love.”
Licking your winter-chapped lips, you eye him for a moment. You nod slowly and say, “...Yeah. I suppose it’s selfish, but...”
Ignited, Beomgyu pushes off the tree to say, “Selfish? You give your whole life to being their saint. Maybe they think they do, but they don’t own you.”
You, not us. Frowning, you ask him, “Are you not set for some marriage of convenience?” Marrying is different as a woman, but you don’t doubt that the prince’s family intends to strengthen alliances by offering his marriage up to some optimistic, lesser family with a daughter to bargain the way yours has done with you. Every last girl and boy born as you two have been—destined to a life bigger than yourself, a force in the world as much as you are a person—have lived just the same. All of them. Each incarnation of the white swan, and you’re sure every black swan too. The people of this world paint you as embodiments of balance and life, but use you more like power plays. Even your own parents. You were born from your mother all the same as all your siblings, but as much as it aches to admit it, you are not their child. In the back of your throat, hurt and bare anger wells up thick.
He half laughs, half scoffs. “They could try. It doesn’t matter to me. They’d have to kill me before I do their bidding. Is it our fault that we were born this?” he says. “I’m going to live my life how I want, no matter what.”
You tuck your hands into your sides, where they warm between the jacket and your body heat. His words and how he looks at your lives, it’s everything you’re not. Sense of self and determination to live for more than just your predetermined role—while you’d surrendered it all, he lives thrashing and fighting against it. A product of your mirrored and opposite natures.
“Why?” you say, teeth chattering a bit under the cold’s caress. “You have a girl in mind?”
That sounds nice. Being so hopefully devoted to someone, and them to you, that you might war against destiny for it. The thought only nurses hurt somewhere deep in your chest, though. Not for you. Never for you. You could be the prettiest on this Earth, the kindest, the most disciplined, or the least even. Still, that would never be yours. You know that, so why does it taste so bitter?
A quick look, something new, passes over him. In his eyes, you see it. He looks at you for a long minute, the morning so quiet that nothing but tranquility hangs in the air for a moment, and then finally says, “Yeah. Something like that.”
Entirely intrigued, you ask, “Who? Is she a Lady?”
Beomgyu nods his head, that strange look lingering. “Of sorts,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest to lean back into the bark. “And your betrothed? Some well-off Lord?”
A smile ghosts over your mouth. “Probably. I haven’t a clue who it is; but I’m sure he’s got enough coin to spare, if my parents settled on him.”
The lines of his face gone playful, he says, “Not possibly more well-off than me.”
Your nose crinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say. A husband with money is nice. You can’t pretend that you don’t think of that, especially that none of your family’s wealth belongs to you, nor will it follow you into your marriage. Your heart revolts regardless.
Shrugging after a few beats of silent considering, he turns his attention on the lake. His face turned like that, you admire the straight slope of his nose and his eyelashes as they flutter with his heavy eyes. Like the rest of him, his side profile is a contradiction. Strong and noble, but elegant like hewn from marble. It’s perfect. With all the talk in your ears, you’d pictured something far off from the youthful, wry man stood before you. Why you’d come to imagine him brutish, you’re not sure; he’s as much swan as you. Different and mirrored all the same.
“I used to come here all the time,” he says.
“Here? To the lake?” You perk up. This had been your hideaway as a girl; where you’d come at times like this when you needed to bury something away. You thought it’d been just yours. “I wonder how we never ran into each other. I used to do the same. I guess, I still do.”
When his eyes fall back on you, they’re softer. More deep brown than black, but maybe it’s because you’re closer now. He says, “Well, I came here once or twice on my own, maybe when I was five. I didn’t really start coming back until I saw you. You were crying, all snotty, and throwing bread out for some ducks.”
Your face twists up, maybe at the memory or maybe with confusion. It seems like if he’d really come here so often, and had even seen you here, you’d have noticed. “You must have thought I was weird,” you say, the words coming out around a shiver.
“Maybe,” he says through a wry smile that’s cracked over his lips. “But mostly, I just wished I could talk to you.”
He’d watched you, because he couldn’t approach you? You were under the impression that the prince had never cared for the rules, not even one so paramount as that. But, it seems that his brashness came to him later. He stands in front of you now, doesn’t he? Maybe it was just that innocent trust that, as children, you levy out to those arounds you. Especially toward adults; and all of those had preached over moments like this. You imagine a young, curious Beomgyu, hiding himself away between bushes, itching to approach or play with you. But he never did; you hadn’t the slightest clue he’d even been there until now. Could you two have been friends, if not for the curse?
“You never came out,” you say. “Or introduced yourself?” It’s all you can really think.
His mouth twitches. “Would you have stayed?”
No. Then, you don’t think you would’ve. Even now, you’re stricken with the innate fear of touching him, no matter how surprised you are at how different he is. Different from what they said he’d be. You think you would’ve darted, should you have known who he was. For some reason, that makes your heart ache. A dark ebbing wave of ache that you are unfamiliar with.
A slight knowing smile danced over his features, eyes gone to sweet crescents that turn them, usually so dark, into something rounded. Not so abrasive. He tilts his head off to one side and says, “You’re freezing. How long have you been out here?”
Cheeks long been numb, you answer, “An hour. Maybe and a half?”
“I’ll walk you home.”
You grimace. Arriving with him by your side, the man you quite literally were not supposed to even speak with, is the very last thing you should do. An awful idea. “I wouldn’t bother you. It’s probably not the best idea to show up after disappearing, with a man by my side. Especially not as a to-be-married woman,” you say. “But, thank you. Really.”
He knows what you really mean, though. A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Alright,” he says. “I suppose we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
As he begins to turn, making for wherever he’d come here from, you call out to him. “Hey, wait. Your jacket.” You pull it off your shoulders and joust it out at him. Against your skin which it had warmed, the air is bitterly cold.
“Keep it, princess,” he says, giving you a parting nod. “Get home warm.”
Today, you are to give your hand to a man that you do not know.
In the air, the rich nuttiness of fire-toasted chestnuts dance and mingle with the roar of chatter. Hundreds of familiar and unfamiliar faces line long tables with runners decorated by platters of plump, sugar-dusted plums and fruit pies. They’ve all come in their winter’s best—whites and reds and luxurious furs lining thick, velvety fabrics or embroidered with sparkling threads and studded with crystals that twinkle in the low firelight. It’s warm and lovely and all just for you.
But, you don’t feel any of that. All you feel is a heavy belly. Each smile you tug over your mouth feels like dead weight. You’re familiar with this—putting on the act. Smiling in faces that you know will turn around and have something else to say about you, pretending like you don’t know that it’s all false sweetness. You’d been trained in noble propriety since you could walk and talk.
But, considering that they’ve all come here to shower you with gifts and lovely words for a marriage in which they could really not care about beyond how they make it a profit, it’s all a bit more sour.
You’ve met your promised. The man you’re supposed to wed and spend the entirety of your life beside. You spoke with him for... what, two minutes? Two very awkward, very awful minutes. What should you have to say to each other? You’re meeting for the first time today. At your engagement feast. It’s a real conscious effort to not take your lip into your mouth and gnaw, or to not fuss over your hair, or honestly anything that might show these people that you are anything but pleased.
So, you relent to their gaudy pleasantries. You listen to them tell you that it’s such a blessing to be married to a man of high society—and a wealthy one, too. They tell you that they knew your marriage would bring a great dowry; that all the white swans have. That they were watching and expecting it. All you hear is the dripping of greed; all you see is hungry eyes and fingers crossed behind backs.
You relent to it until your stomach is sick and wrought with it. And then, the older lady ahead of you singing praises of your beauty, of how she wishes her daughter might catch the eye of a husband as advantageous as yours, does something out of the ordinary. Her eyes drift behind you, her snooty, pinched features twisting up into something new. You follow her gaze.
Dark and beautiful and his eyes trained right on you, the black swan prince stands beside you. He’s lazed, a heavy cup of some thick, spiced and wintery drink in one hand, as he does. In the clear light of morning, he’d looked so out of place. But here, soft and hard planes of his face illustrated by the flickering orange firelight, he looks so right.
You blink. And then blink again. Never once had Beomgyu made any sort of appearance at any hosted thing by your family. You just stand in place for a moment, registering his presence.
“You look lovely, princess,” he says. His eyes fall up and down you. The way he says it—it’s liquid smooth, but it’s taunting in a way. “The perfect image of a bride-to-be.”
He can’t be here. He can’t be here at all. When you look to the side, the woman is already gone. You have no doubt in your mind that she’s whispering in somebody’s ear right now.
“Prince,” you say, gritting your teeth while also dipping into an elegant curtsy.
“Do you feel that way?” He raises his eyebrows at you, his gaze heavy with underlying tension. “A perfect bride? Happy?”
Making the conscious decision to not look around you, because you can already feel the burning interest of the eyes that you’ll find on you, you say, “I do. Isn’t this quite the feast?”
“I told you that you don’t have to lie to me, princess.”
You shouldn’t even be standing here talking to him. They’re all watching. Stepping back to cut conversation with something witty, you stop in the onslaught of a chorus of surrounding gasps.
Beomgyu had reached out to grab you, and only stopped himself short the same way he had the first time you met him. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he brings his hand down, curling the fingers as if to wash away the urge to reach out.
He’s closer now, too. His breath smells sickly sweet with the liqueur he drinks. A sarcastic grin over his lips, he says, “Did he pay for all this?”
You do a dance of give and take. You step back, and he meets it with a step toward you, all the way until you find yourselves in a quieter corner. “He did sponsor the feast, yes.”
“Well, isn’t that just great,” he says, voice carrying over the many layered sounds of the gathering. “And that makes you happy? You feel fulfilled by that? Is that the purpose of the lovely white swan?”
You’re not sure what he’s getting at, or why your marriage is any of his business. For some reason, though, despite those rational thoughts, some faraway memory whispers that it makes every bit of sense. “He is a lovely man.”
Barking a laugh, Beomgyu says, “Don’t make me laugh. You don’t believe that, no matter how many times you tell it to yourself.”
You curl your fingers into the obnoxious, glittering material of your dress. “Seriously, what makes you so sure?” you say. “What makes you so sure you know? This is good for me. This is the way things are supposed to go. Not everybody in this world can get away with serving only themselves and doing whatever they want. Maybe it works for you, but not for the rest of us. I’m glad your life is fun, though. Really.”
His face doesn’t sharpen into offence, though you brace for him to. You’ve never spoken to anybody like that. Ever. Shaking his head, raven locks glowing warm around the edges, he says, “Because I know. I know. Are you listening to me? You don’t have to lie to me.”
Balking at him, you don’t know how to answer. That was nowhere near the answer you were expecting from the prince, known and notorious for his chaos and fire.
“I am listening,” you say, keeping your voice measured. Thick emotion slips through the seams. “Honesty has never done me any good. This is going to happen; all honesty is going to do is hurt me. So, I’m sorry.”
His mouth opens to fire something back, but you don’t hear it. Somebody digs their fingers into your upper arm, dragging you without a word away from your conversation. You stumble, letting them take you without a fuss. This was to be expected. You shouldn’t look back. If today was already going to be the last day you ever see him, it certainly is now that you’ve been caught not only in touching distance to him, but making conversation with him.
Tossing a self-betraying glace over your shoulder, you find his figure. Hand in pocket and his lips turned down, he watches you go.
You wish you wouldn’t have. You have no explanation for the emptiness it casts into your chest.
Recently, you’ve been crying so much. You might believe that it’s because you’ve been letting yourself feel freely, but you don’t feel free.
Your palms are soaked against your cheeks, face fallen into them as you shudder with it. Their words pin and scrape in your head, forcing you to contend with them before bouncing off the walls and you hear them again and again until your stomach has gone sick. Your parents had given you an earful. That’s been your whole life; you can handle that. The moment you saw him there, intending to speak to you, you’d prepared for it. Instead, it was their contempt and sneering faces that bleed your heart like this.
In this life, you are alone. Totally, wholly alone. Who you are—your role in life—is not the blessing they claim it to be. Is it selfish to ask to be understood? For somebody to just understand, without your pleading or begging?
Maybe. It feels that way, anyway.
“Why is it that I always find you crying?”
His voice freezes you to where you sit sprawled on your floor. Spinning to him, you say, “What are you doing?”
Beomgyu shrugs, as though he hasn’t snuck his way into your room. “I felt bad for getting you dragged off. Wanted to come see how you’re doing.”
Maybe his insisting on being around you should be annoying, but right now… You think you appreciate the company, even from the forbidden likes of him. “You can’t be here,” you hiss. “How did you get in? They’ll… if they find you here…”
His boots squeak against the polished flooring as he approaches you, and then settles down on the floor with you. The fire flickering behind him, his back to it, casts an orange light around the edges of his figure. He looks terribly inviting, like this: strewn on the floor, no holier or better than you, his face not sickly sweet nor cold and devoid of love, and his eyes curious to know how you feel.
“I don’t care what they’ll do to me. I want to see you.” He tugs his jacket off, letting it fall on the dirty floor. Improper for a prince, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. That’s who he’s always been—that’s the one thing that was entirely true out of all the things you heard about him. “Who the hell cares about their approval? We don’t need it.”
You know what he means by they and we. Only a few days ago, you’d still believed that Beomgyu was other; that he was your total opposite, and that you should fear his darkness for all your lightness. All it’s taken is being around him the once or twice that you’ve been able to for you to realize the falsity that drips from that. When you’re around him, your soul, feathery and wispy in your chest and your veins and all the rest of you that constitutes you beyond what is physical, tugs. It’s impossible to ignore—it consumes you. Where your soul longs for him around the edges, like torn and searching for what’s been lost, you feel stuff that is beyond yourself.
Rather than your opposite, you think that Beomgyu is your other half. You think that they’ve gotten it all wrong.
“How do you do it?” you say, back up against a white, whorling table leg. “How do you not care? I don’t understand.”
Inky eyes shining, he says, “I did. When I was young, I believed everything they told me. It’s hard not to, when it’s all you hear. Them, telling us that our purpose is to surrender ourselves to be something Saint-like. But when you catch one lie, you begin to catch the others, too. I saw their excuses and reasonings peel. Princess, it’s all lies. Everything you know is lies.” He says it with such conviction. Each and every word reaches down into that part of yourself that is missing something. “We’re not their Saints. That’s never been our purpose. I hate that shit; I hate that they’ve made you think that this is all you’re for. Marrying him? Never doing anything, because you’re scared of what it’ll mean for you? It’s not fucking fair.” He pushes himself closer to you. Now, your criss crossed knees are so close that a stray move might mean the world’s end. This time, you don’t panic. There’s no room for that among the swarm of your other thoughts. “So, of course I don’t give a shit about what they tell me to do. I’m going to live this life the way that it’s supposed to be. I wish that you could join me.”
“This life?” you blurt. It’s the one thought that appears clear to you, so it’s what comes out. Frowning, you add, “What lies?”
Deadpanned and as though he’s not delivering something that changes the world’s fabric around you, Beomgyu says, “There is no curse. There’s never been a curse.”
Your room is silent for a few moments, and then you shake your head and laugh. “How would you know that?” you say, nose wrinkling. If you don’t laugh, you’ll begin to actually consider the possibility of that. Just the very surface of the notion makes you nauseous. You couldn’t handle exploring the thought deeper.
Beomgyu doesn’t laugh along with you. “The curse is a lie, and everything that comes with it. All of it is just excuses or justification for the hate for the other people. The whole reason that they ever decided on it was because of their hate. Maybe to the people alive now, it’s not a lie. But that’s what it started as.” His face, dark and soft as he reads your face, twists up. “Of course, we can touch. We are two halves of a whole. There is you in me, and I in you. Do you not feel it? The tug? That’s it. The black swan and the white swan were never meant to be apart and opposite. We are meant to be together. We’re meant to be the only ones that understand each other. It’s us against the world, princess.”
Your ears ring with the pierce of each word cascading out from his mouth. “Beomgyu, I don’t understand. That doesn’t… Make sense. How?” He can’t just make claims about that. Not something like this. It’s not fair.
“I know it’s hard to believe, princess. It’s all you’re ever made to believe. But you have to trust me. Do you trust me?”
Tongue darting out to wet your lips and your fingers stilling where you fuss at the fabric of your chemise, you take a good look at him. Roaming over his features, the contradiction in them and the strange familiarity that constitutes him no matter the fact that you’ve only just met, you consider it. Everything he says is absurd, and it does go against everything you’ve ever known. You should turn your nose up at him for even suggesting it; should suspect that he only has some sort of plan to coax you into bringing the world’s end.
But, you do. You trust him beyond explanation, as though intrinsically.
You nod slowly, holding his eyes in yours. “But I don’t understand,” you say. “How do you know?”
He smiles ruefully. “I saw something—had a dream when I was young. I saw us, in every last lifetime. We have lived again and again, as we are, in so many different ways. But the one thing that was always there was that they couldn’t keep us away from each other.”
The world does a few spins around you. Lightheaded, you try to stay up under the oppressive gravity of that. You want to stick your head in the ground and shake your head and yell no, but that deep tugging that has plagued you beginning the moment you’d met him, and all the emptiness before it, tells you yes.
How poetic is that? How tragic? You, two souls born to be one, made to live apart at the interests of the world around you. Made to do it across every lifetime, and yet, in each you meet. In each, the twinkling thread of fate prevails nevertheless.
“Do they all love?”
That soft smile still playing on his lips, his cheek to his knee as he looks at you with the veneration of somebody who might’ve loved you in a thousand lifetimes before, and perhaps in this one, too. “No. Some of us were secret lovers, but so many of those lived how you do for the entirety of their life. Halved,” he says. “And never did any of them touch.”
Heart fluttering with wings in your chest, you say, “So, how do you know that the curse is a lie? If it’s never been done before?”
“Let me show you,” he says. “That I can touch you.”
All the blood in your body pulls back. You trust him; you do. But is trust enough to risk a touch that could be the end of the world? Is trust enough to be so selfish to do so?
Seeing you blanch, Beomgyu’s eyes go glassy. “Please,” he says, voice breaking as if to touch you might mean more than just proving something to you. As if the weight of everything he’s ever wanted rests on the back of it working—that if this works, and the world does not fall apart around you, then he can love you how he does, and how he had so many times before. Inevitably. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“Beomgyu,” you say, looking between his eyes and the twitch of his hand as it itches to touch you. “I don’t… I’m scared.” Your voice drops to nothing more than a whisper.
“It’s okay,” he says, bringing that longing hand up. Your heart jumps when he raises up by your face. “You can be selfish this once. I want to see you do something because you want to, not because it’s what you think others might want.”
Your throat burns and tightens. Every last sparkling bit of your being longs to lean into his touch—to do what you two have wanted to do so many times before, and finally bring your souls back together. “What if it happens?” you ask, your eyes soft and true like an animal turning its soft underbelly to receive affection.
“Then let it,” he says. “At least we would have touched. Just this once.”
Gritting your teeth and swallowing hard, your belly does itself up into knots. You don’t answer him, but your quiet speaks enough. His hand hovers beside your face with the weight of the world in it.
The first touch of the white swan and the black swan happens in a gentle cupping of your cheek. And, the world does fall down around you. The walls melt, air leaves, and the seams of everything that’s even been good or true are ripped out and sewn with something new and beautiful. It’s as explosive and cosmic as you imagined it, but it is not terrifying. It’s lovely.
Your breaths shudder, your lungs trembling as you look into his eyes and realize what this means.
“Fuck,” is all Beomgyu breathes. It looks as though that it’s all he can manage. His touch grows more solid as the both of you realize that the both of you are still very much here, and so is the world. Thumb pad grazing over the softness of your cheek, his throat bobs with a swallow. You think that if you were to press your hand over his chest, you might feel it thudding there to the same thunderous rhythm that yours beats to.
So, you do. Because you can touch him. His heart sings beneath your palm, even through fabric and flesh. You can’t help the wobbling of your lip and the hot tears that spill out past your eyes and roll down your cheeks.
The second touching is the bringing together of your lips. His mouth is soft and hard against yours, contradictory as the rest of him. He brings his other hand up to hold your face into his kiss. It’s not sweet and slow—it’s as ground-rumbling as the kiss between intertwined souls coming together after an eternity of being away. Each nip and lick and clash of teeth are like the claps of thunder of the storm that will end the world, his hand sliding up the back of your neck to card his fingers through the hair at the back of your head like the claws of a beast sent to ensure its end.
And, maybe Beomgyu is the beast that has come to end the world. You wonder how he’d waited so long to bring the truth to you, or if he was torn about ever telling you. What changed things, after so many years of him watching you from afar? Your engagement? Perhaps that’s what that drink in his hand had been: a thing to forget with.
It hadn’t worked. As he kisses you for all the lifetimes in which you couldn’t, you know that he couldn’t have accepted that and moved on. Of all the black swans that have lived and passed, Beomgyu must be the most stubborn and strong-willed. That’s why, out of every single life, this is the first that you touch. He would take the world on, or play with the existence of it, for this. Just for you. All for you—you’d found somebody who will do something just for you. Curling your fingers into the front of his tunic just over his chest, you pour the fire of that revelation into your kiss.
He roams his hands all over you, mapping your shape. You kiss and kiss, lips tugging and twisting against each other, and still it isn’t enough. Bracing a splayed palm over your lower back, he does not stop kissing you even as he lays you back onto the ground. The flooring is cold against your burning body. He supports his weight on one hand beside your head and straddles your hips to do nothing but run his fingers through your hair and just kiss you.
Only when your lungs are too hungry to ignore does he free your mouth. His soft black hair dangles over his starry eyes as he looks down at you with them. Lips swollen and smeared with you, his chest heaves. Bringing his free hand up, he wipes your wet cheek.
“Oh my god,” you say, breathless. “Beomgyu.”
Pressing his forehead to yours, he laughs. “I like when you call me that. I think I want to make you scream it—scream it until they come breaking down your doors and see that we are each other's. Until your fiancé hears it.”
Body bursting at the seams at the prospect, you nod frantically and dip your face into his neck to dust starry kisses there, too. He shudders. “I want it so bad. Can you please?”
“Of course I can. I’m going to make love to you, okay?” He pushes off you, crawling back so that he’s sat squatted just before your knees as you pin them together. “Open your legs, princess. Show me how pretty you are—I’ve waited so long for it.” He pats on the outer side of your knee.
Thrill spiraling up from between your thighs like sparks, you oblige slowly. You let your legs fall open for him, and choke on your own heart as he begins to slowly work your dress up the expanse of your legs, and then your thighs, baring to him the plush and unseen skin there. He eats it up wildly, his eyes gone ravenous and even blacker.
“I’ve never done this before,” you say, voice trill and unsure. “I don’t know what to do.”
A wicked grin cracks over his features. “I know, princess.” The fabric bunches at your thighs, now. You tremble with the stifling anticipation. “I’m going to take care of you. It’s going to feel so good—I’m gonna make you feel so good. I have so many things I want to do to you. Lifetimes of things I want to make you feel.”
Doe-eyed and laying your trust in his hands, your thighs twitch and you nod. He reveals your cunt at last, finally catching the glistening sight of it for the very first time. And, he does not disappoint. The look that washes over his face—the twitching of his lips, the tightening of his jaw in a flickering muscle, and the fire razing your cunt in his eyes—is something so dreamlike, but lucid nonetheless.
“You just lay down and let me help you. Treat you how a princess should be treated.” He works on his pants, silver belt clinking and then loosening, and then he’s just as exposed as you when his length pops free. It’s hard already, tall and pretty like the rest of him, but pink and obscene at the tip. He leaks from the little slit at the top. “Look at you. You look like you want to taste it,” he says, laughing while collecting the liquid to pump himself a few times. “Next time, baby. I’d love to see the proper mouth of the world’s princess choking on my cock.”
The air is cold against the mess between your legs. It sends a chill up your spine—or maybe that was the crudeness of his words. You suppose you should’ve expected nothing less from him. When he goes to climb back over you and line himself up with you, your thighs twitch and try to snap shut.
He pins your hip to the floor. “Don’t be shy, baby. I wanna see that pretty pussy. It’s not fair to hide it from me.”
“Sorry,” you say, cheeks burning.
Taking that hand and sliding it up behind the back of one of your knees, pressing that thigh up to your torso, he laughs a teasing laugh down at you. “Don’t say sorry,” he says. He holds his length adjacent to your slit and then begins to slip up and down the length of it. “Just let me fuck you. I need it so bad.” He hisses in tandem with you. The drags of his length, harder than how you thought a cock might feel, is like undiluted liquor. “I can’t believe this… shit, princess. I’m about to fuck you. I thought I was going to have to sit here and watch you by his side.”
You take your lip into your teeth when he pushes in. It stretches. You bring your hand up to cup the back of his neck and the other to dig into his tunic, mewling softly.
“It’s okay, princess. Hold on to me, you can take it, right? You cunt was built for me. Everything about you was made for me. Your heart, your pretty hands for me to hold, your sex, all of it. Do you feel how I fit right into you? How I was made to?”
You do. When he finally is balls-deep, his cock nestles exactly where it should. Not an inch too deep or an inch too scarce. The two of you were sculpted by something holy, fit just for each other. “Yes,” you breathe.
He can’t even linger sitting still in you. He begins pulling himself out, all the way until the tip of him threatens to pop out lewdly, before shoving back in right up against that spot. He doesn’t even have to search for it. Head falling into your chest, he licks and bites. “The taste of you,” he says. Then, he presses his tall nose right over that spot in your neck where your heart’s gone wild. “The smell of you.” Wincing, he lays into you with more vigor, hips slapping against your skin. “The feel of you. You drive me up the fucking walls. How was I ever supposed to live without this?” he says. “I refuse.”
Your belly begins to tighten in a way that you’ve never known. Tears prick the corner of your ears, clinging to him as he fucks you into the floor like he’ll never have to opportunity to have you like this again. The wood cradles your back and the back of your hips, receiving each of his thrusts. You curl your toes and will back the lewd cries that threaten to spill over with each.
His voice is taut and wobbly. “Feels good, huh? I know. It feels… so good.” Dropping your thigh to cup your face, he says, “Cry. Cry for me. I said I wanted you to scream.”
Face burning and squirming against the hardwood behind you, you shake your head. “I can’t, gyu…”
“Yes you can,” he says, face twitching. “I want you to start letting it out, or I’m gonna stop. Do you want me to stop?”
Covering your face, with the back of a forearm, you grit your teeth through each punctual and yet sloppy grind up into you. Your bodies sweat and meld, and you’re sure that anybody walking by your quarters would know just by the hollow smacks of skin and grunts that you’re fucking a man. You, an engaged woman, are letting the prince turn your brain inside out.
But, there is nothing you want less than for him to stop. So, you let your mouth drop open and allow the sweet mewls to come with each rut.
“There we go. Louder.” He braces himself, digging his feet into the floor, and then he really starts driving into you. Sparks fly in your belly—each yellow and glowing and scalding. “Do I need to fuck you harder? C’mon, louder, princess.”
Thighs squeezing his hips so tight that they ache, you squirm. You struggle against your sounds—turning from sweet moans and mewls, you groan and gasp and your voice breaks. Each collision of your bodies breaks your sounds.
Curling your fingers into his silken hair, you grit out, “H—hoooh fuck, Beomgyu, Beomgyu, I feel… like…”
Bangs sticky and his eyes growing wilder, he knows something you don’t. The knowing, taunting grin on his mouth says enough. “Let it happen. Don’t fight it. Just stay—stay right there, and I’ll give it to you. No running from it; it’s gonna feel so good.” His muscles go taut, and he doubles down on his efforts, panting through his nose and his neck sheened. He drops his head into your chest. “Fuck. Fuckkkk, I love you so much, princess. Thank you—thank you, so much.”
You don’t know why he’s thanking you. You don’t have the cognitive function to worry about that. Your mind has gone to two things: the growls and whines that rumble and tear from his chest, and the frightening tightness that only goes more dangerous. Your chest tightens—it feels as though, if he feeds that hungry beast gnawing deep down in your belly with any more of what he’s doing now, it will snap and take you down in its wake. Warbled cries crawling up your throat, you arch your back up into his chest to try and dig your hips into the floor, away from the bliss and the power of it.
“No,” he says, cursing. “No—don’t run from it. Don’t… Baby, please take what I’m giving you. It’s gonna be alright.”
Pushing back on the dark throes of the tide as it creeps up over your shoulders and sends shocks through your body, the hair on the back of your neck rising with the effort, you choke. Beomgyu takes a hand down the seam of your bodies and rolls your aching clit. They’re succinct and intentional—pressure right on the sensitive underside, sending your belly rippling as he pairs it with a few more sharp, more meaningful thrusts.
You see white. It’s white and hot. You are the sun, beaming and writhing like stardust. You curve off the floor once more, raking nails down the lengths of his back. Are you even making sound? You don’t know; you can’t hear it past the ringing piercing sharp in your ears. You shake beneath him, cunt gripping him frantically with flutters of your walls.
He grunts, voice strained and shaking as he begins to follow his own release. “Holy shit—look at you. You’re so f-filthy. So pretty, cumming on me.”
You bare each brush of his cock against your still twisting walls, trembling as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your thighs jump and your toes curl, and it’s all too much, but not enough. He needs to come tumbling over the edge right along with you—if he comes with you, it doesn’t seem so hard. You chant his name, smooth voice gone hoarse.
Stilling inside you, he whines, “Shi—it.” A war wages behind his eyes for a long second before he slips his cock from you with a wet, squelching pop, strings of your release breaking as he lays his cock on your belly. His stomach goes tight, and with one last slide of his length, slick with your mess and staining your belly, his cock jumps. He shoots all over your skin, pretty glistening spurts like ribbons a milky white.
He sits back on his haunches, slowly rubbing himself off to give you some more and come down. Your room is quiet now, aside from your heaving chests and the buzz of something new in the air. Letting his head fall back, wet strands of spiky black hair dangle around his neck, a bead of sweat catching light as it rolls down it.
“Feel okay?” he says, looking down on you with softened eyes. He pulls cloth from his pocket, unfolding the fine fabric, and he wipes himself off your belly.
“I’m okay,” you tell him, leaning into the palm he cups your cheek with. “I’m okay.”
He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “The world didn’t explode, did it?” he says.
You share a stolen laugh with him, feeling every last honey wave receding from the spot between your thighs. The world hadn’t ended, and yet, in every way, it had. Savoring the abated rises and falls of his chest and the content sagging of his shoulders, your belly tightens anew.
What happens now, when everything else has been a lie? When you don’t believe that you can survive that lie for any longer?
So many hands work on you. One of your ladies in waiting laces you up in the back, and another works on your hair even while you stand, and one bounces a wintry, snow-kissed rouge over the plush of your cheeks.
Yesterday, your world changed. And today, you’re expected to go on living in it.
When Beomgyu slipped out from your room last night after hours of holding each other under the covers, indulging in your ability to touch, you let your heart crack in two. You shouldn’t have. Why had you let yourself think that it was going to end up anything other than like this? You, getting prettied up to be sent away with your expecting husband, and the dreams you’d let build up to the clouds in the prince’s arms all shattered on the floor at your feet.
What else can you do? Loving Beomgyu freely is out of the question. Your parents would laugh right in your face, or maybe lock you away and make even more sure that you never get to see him again.
You try to burn the image of his eyes into your memory. Black, big and round and cunning all the while. You commit the broadness of his shoulders, and the pretty straight line of his nose in profile, and the pink plushness of his lips, and the little freckles you’d discovered yesterday, and the sound of his voice in your ear, and the feel of his touch on your skin, too.
“We’ll leave you until it’s time to come collect you,” a Lady says, bowing at the waist to you as the others finish up, tying the fastening of your dress up quick and sprinkling their final touches over you before following her out.
Your room goes utterly quiet. More quiet than it’s ever felt.
Dragging your limbs over to your bed, you let yourself fall onto it despite all the care they’d taken to get your skirts right. Resting your cheek to your palm, you let your eyes fall closed as you memorize the feel of your own bed, too.
When you flutter them open, there’s something peeking out from the pillow across from you. You furrow your brows and reach for it.
The paper is folded up with haste, torn from the edge of somewhere else and scribbled on with a quick hand. How long has that been there, without you noticing? Pushing yourself up from the bed, careful to at least maintain the smoothness of your hair, you unfold it.
ℳ𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝓉 𝒮𝑤𝑎𝑛 ℒ𝑎𝑘𝑒.
Your soul comes back to life and seeps through your bloodstream. Sitting there for a few moments, idle at the largeness of what you’re about to do, you loose a breath.
And then, you curl your hand around it, shove yourself up in a flurry of white, crystalline skirts, and you go.
The curious faces of the palace hands you pass do not stop you, nor does the morning’s bite as you find your way outside, nor does the almost-slip over ice, and absolutely nothing else stops you as you run. Is he still going to be there when you make it?
God, please let him be there. Don’t let this be almost.
Fists full of the abrasive fabric of your skirts and darting by barren bushes and trees, you do not stop until you clear the little tree line and the lake stands vast and frosty ahead of you.
When Beomgyu spots you, and you spot his figure against the background of the lake crisp in the morning, the sweet cooing of the birds and the rest of the bustle falls away. None of it compares.
“You came,” he says, dragging his feet through the snow until he’s right in front of you, his features elegant once more in the clear morning haze. “I didn’t think you would.”
You reach up to dust away snowflakes resting on his hair. It’s an excuse to touch him—that’s all you find yourself wanting to do, now. Brows pinching, you say, “Why?”
“I don’t know. I just… was scared.”
“No, no, I came,” you say, feeling now the bare expanse of your arms. You run your hands up and down them. Heart in atrophy all the while feeling full just being here with him, you add, “Why did you want to meet here?”
The world is serene for a few long moments as he just looks at you, his gaze searching. “Don’t marry him. Don’t leave with him.”
You know where he’s going with this already. Letting your dress fall from your hands, the one they’d fashioned you in to do exactly that, you say, “And do what?”
“Be with me. Marry me. Be my wife,” he says, the lines of his face solemn. “Let’s elope and find a corner of the world that’s just ours, so that we will never have to hear another word from them again. Let’s just… be together. Finally.”
Chest swelling with something so hopeful that it’s painful, reality comes with its pin point and pops it. “Is that really what you want? You’ll take me, even though I’m promised to somebody else?”
His lip curls as though the thought were detestable. “What the fuck is a dowry to this? To the approval of the fates? The world could try snuff that fact out with whatever they’ll try, and a man could offer your parents a dowry of all its money, and still, you’d be mine. No matter what, our souls belong to each other.” His hand is frozen against your cheek. He’s been out here waiting for you for so long. “I’d take you, promised to another man. I’d take you no matter how you are; in a thousand different lives, I’d have you each time.”
That’s all you need to hear: that you are cherished for more than just your nature, but for yourself. That he loves you unendingly and undyingly, and all you have to do is leave by his side. You’ve already left it all behind—thrown any attachment to the wind, because truly, what is that to this? You don’t know where you’ll go, and you think Beomgyu hasn’t a clue either. But you’ll find that somewhere together.
Together, your half sings. His answers with a thrilling beat.
“This time,” he says, eyes blazing with conviction. You know he feels the tug, too. “We got it right.”
pairings faerie!taehyun x reader, faerie!yeonjun x reader
warnings violence, death, death of animals, smut (specific tags will be listed before each chapter), childhood trauma & mentions of abuse, jealousy, controlling & yandere relationship dynamics, unprotected sex, original characters but they only last for small amounts of time & act as story catalysts, fem! reader
˒ ˒ want a look into the world? here’s the pinterest board !! ༘⋆
mad psychiatrist 강태현 & fem r ･ (OTHER). dubcon, dddne, smut, bondage, injection drugging, psychological manipulation, classical conditioning, uses orgasms to manipulate her brain, dark themes, stockholm syndrome, mentions of mental illness, incorrect medical information and advice, use of toys f rec, super overstimulation f rec, counting orgasms, dacryphillia, sex dreams, major power imbalance, mentions of being ‘insane’, fake medical practices, kidnapping, panty thief, he’s turned on by scent, dark themes
ash: oh wow.. i like them insane thooo. this is definitely the darkest ive gone but it’s kinktober babes this is the time (＞＜) this is going up unedited so if you see a freakishly ugly sentence no u did not
You sit drumming your fingers on your knees in a rhythm that’s vaguely familiar but unnamable. The restlessness has to have somewhere to go that isn’t just itching beneath your skin. His home office is immaculate and imposing around you, with tall book shelves that boast old leather-bounds and the dark woodgrain desk in front of you. It’s sterile, though. Meticulous and probably not usually put to use like today.
It’s always like this. The crawling, the tightness in the very center of your chest that bullies your lungs into shallow breaths. It’s ironic that even as you sit in this office with the prospect of maybe finally getting to the very root of what all of it is, you’re still afflicted with your anxiety. It’s both something that was always there and something that just one day pulled up a chair and sat down inside of you. But he’ll know what to do with you. The thought sends another pang of it through you.
His nameplate reads Kang on the desk in cold silver. You’ve been tracing the letters’ engravings. Up and down. It uncoils whatever is so convoluted inside of you when you can get lost in it enough. It always comes back, though.
God, you shouldn’t be here. There isn’t anything so wrong with you that it constituted personal appointments. You aren’t crawling up the walls. But when he had suggested you come here with a grim slash to his mouth, you wavered and took the pen and wrote down your availability for him. And you don’t know exactly why beyond the knot in your tummy that you have wanted to reach in and unravel for too far, too long.
The door clicks shut behind you. His approach is a whisper of fabric and dress shoes on the floorboards and then he appears in front of you. The hair on his head hangs a colorless black and sharp in his even sharper eyes. A pair of wireframe glasses sit on a tall nose and they glint in the window’s light. Even though the professional cut of him is not changed, he’s out of uniform. He wears a white dress shirt instead. It doesn’t make him any less a presence.
Dipping his head, he gives you the distant smile of a medical professional and says, “You’re earlier than me. I didn’t mean to make you wait, excuse me for that. But it’s nice that you know how to keep your times in line, right?”
You straighten your posture out. That’s your fault; it felt wrong to be late when he was already making exceptions to get this appointment for you. It’s not something that happens too often, you’re sure. He’s not making money out of it. This is his personal time and his personal estate. Why he’s even doing it at all, you couldn’t imagine. Being on time seemed like the least you could do for the kindness. “Sorry, too early?” you say, wincing.
“No, not at all.” Taehyun sets a metal pen and a patient file down then takes a seat himself. He steers right away from that airy conversation that a doctor usually starts with and into the orders of business. “Get comfortable, I’ll take a look at your file and we can start to discuss what we did last time.” Clean and efficient as he was back in the clinic, only he doesn’t have any patients or other duties to attend to after this. Just you.
You wet your lips and try to breathe out the anxiety that comes. His sleeves are rolled up to mid-forearm as he flips open all the patient data and records that have landed you here, in his office. All of it. The first time a nurse practitioner had taken you out in the hallway to fulfill the private mental health and safety itinerary just for the pediatrician to later come in and discuss their concerns about your answers with your mom, no doubt. Then the years following that you spent lying every time they asked after that, because she had looked at you sideways on the way home. Because when she asked you, with no lack of jeering on her part, why you told them that you felt a level seven for nerves and a eight out of ten for recurring sad thoughts when you weren’t beaten or abused and never had to go without at home, you didn’t have an answer. It was like opening up and examining it all over again. Because what if you are that girl in the hallway of the doctor’s office begging for attention, now just become a girl that’s embellished the state of her mind so much so that she’s made a highly decorated psychiatrist take the time out of his day to treat her?
Eyes narrowed on the print, he finds whatever it was he was looking for in the section that tells about patient measurements. Weight and height and all that stuff, for dosages or whatever a doctor might need from it. He props his elbows on the desk and looks at you over his clasped fists. Those eyes are all-seeing. It sets you squirming in your seat. Just what does he see when he looks at you? What does a man that knows the mind from the inside out think of what you can’t even decipher yourself?
“Have you been feeling the anxiety recently? Do you feel like it’s gotten better or worse?” he starts with. The light coming in from the big, grand window behind him gilds his hair, but the black eats up any color there. Just black.
You think on that. It comes and goes for what seems like no reason at all, just like it always has. “Kinda,” you answer noncommittally.
“Kinda, which?”
Cringing, you settle your hands in your lap and say, “I’ve been feeling it.”
Taehyun nods, resting his chin on his laced fingers to better see you. “There we go. We won’t get anywhere if you aren’t honest with me, but we especially won’t if you hide things from yourself.” He lets that settle for a moment, which it does in a prickle over your skin, and then he continues. “So it’s been aggravated recently, then.”
That’s not exactly what you meant, but you swallow thickly and nod. This isn’t the doctor’s office and your mom isn’t here to be told what you say. He knows what to do. “I don’t know what causes it,” you say, voice coming out meek and embarrassing. It’s you sending out feelers, gauging exactly how much you can say. “Sometimes it’s really nothing. I could just be sitting there and then my chest… tightens up. And it makes it worse, because I can’t not think about it.”
The line of his mouth tightens and his eyes flash like he’s got a catch on the hook, but he nods a slow dip of his head like he’s digesting what you’ve said. Like that incisor brain of his hasn’t already picked your words apart and understood them more than you did when they came out of your mouth, for the part of them that was formed in the brain rather than the throat. He sees your mind for what it is: a machine that operates in systems and fundamental biology. It’s a relief. You’ve become so stuck in it that it has taken its own shape as this big, tangled, dark mass that shifts and bends uncomfortably behind your skull like it doesn’t know what to do with its arms or legs. Like a visitor that’s always there.
“It doesn’t have an exact source,” he says, elaborating on your thoughts for you. The slashing plane of his jawline is highlighted on one side where the light finds it. He’s quite young for a man so venerable in his profession, for the prestige of facility he works for and how the front desk lady had looked at you when you told her you had an appointment with Dr. Kang. Taking a long, measuring breath like he’s deliberating, he continues, “This is why I thought I’d bring you here. It’s hard to prescribe drugs for something that I can’t fully understand and just throw them at you when it’s not clear what, exactly, is the root of it. I’m not going to do that to you. Antidepressants aren’t something to be administered too loosely.”
Your stomach sinks a little bit, the old familiar dread of not being listened to settling in it. There was a hope when you came here that he’d write you out a prescription and it would be an end-all-be-all. It’d rip the problem right out. Does even he think you’re bolstering the problem? Does he think you’ve overdramatized it like everybody else has? He’s a psychiatrist, administering drugs is what he’s supposed to do. He was supposed to be the one who would fix it.
“Is the medication bad?’
“No,” he simply says. He regards you with cold, steel eyes like he’s finding a loose thread to pull, and you’re sure there are many. “There is a place for it. I’m not saying that. I just want to make sure I understand the full scope before anything. And I don’t.”
A silence hangs, too long and too empty for you. Your fingers start again. It’s some song that you must’ve heard on the way but didn’t really listen to.
“Your mind is fascinating.” The set of his face doesn’t communicate the notion, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man to fabricate words like that. “There are a lot of other professionals that might have just given you something to try out and sent you on your way, but I believe there’s still a lot to be seen about what’s going on. What’s behind it.”
An unease worms up your spine and it wiggles between the worries you had already walked in here gnawing over. “Something’s wrong with me?” you ask, but the real question lies in the tone. Can you help?
“I need to understand what sets you off,” he elaborates. It’s a careful, intentional choice of words. “And to see how your psychology reacts to stimuli. It’s the only way I can accurately treat it. Which brings me to why I wanted to see you here.” Leaning forward, the space between you shortens. He fills it. It keeps your mind from running off with the nerves that your racing heart is trying at. “There’s an advantage to inpatient treatment. It means that I get to see your behaviors closer up, without the pressure of examination making you too conscious of them.”
“Inpatient?” you echo, the numbness to your lips not sudden but an inevitability of the anxiety that’s been mounting the moment you woke up this morning and fought the urge to ghost the appointment. Because you knew that you might hear something like this, something that you would rather stick your head in the sand over. “Is it that bad?”
A grim, dry thing twitches on his mouth, like that was exactly the question he was expecting from you. It’s tinder to your burgeoning insecurity. Everything you do, he expects, and what does that say about you? “It’s something to be looked into.” He distinctly sidesteps your words like he’s placating somebody who can’t quite understand. Dread only solidifies more coldly in your stomach.
Those eyes pin you, the same way they had back in the clinic when he had suggested an out-of-office meeting. He’s looking at you and wondering what state you’re in, if the silence is the hand of your anxiety snatching away the logical answer and making you avoid pursuing treatment, which would be the answer that he believes i best for you. He’s looking at you and he’s seeing a girl whose mind is sabotaging her. It’s what made you sign that paper back then, but now it’s making you wish you were anywhere but here.
“When?” you ask. “I should probably go and pack up some stuff before... anything.” It’s an escapee’s answer that alludes to the idea that you have every intention of going through with it, but getting home would be the end of it. You’d not be coming back. Inpatient? It makes no sense. Inpatient sounds severe. Are you severe?
Once again, his clinical black eyes pierce you where it matters and then he’s right to the muscle of the issue. Like he, for all parts, sees your sham for what it is. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, closing your patient file and standing to his full height. “I’ll provide everything you need here.”
Like when you took your pen to the line and made your signature, you follow him down that hall you took, and then around a few corners. The silent weight of him makes you do it. The utter knowing. One moment you were arriving here, the next you were speaking with him so briefly it seemed like he knew what he was going to do with you from the start, and then you were trailing him down the halls with no big prerequisite. You don’t ask the questions you want to ask; they don’t feel welcome.
†
Taehyun doesn’t come to your room much. It’s not like you expected him to come hang out with you or anything; that’s not why you’re here. You’re not a guest, he is not a man you know. You are a patient that he dips in to check on. That’s nothing you can’t realize.
The walls are ornate and simple both. They’re all you have to look at. Your dinner comes to you on a filigree silver tray—a cup of water and pure nutrition. That’s all it took for you to know that the bathroom was connected to your room for a reason, and you weren’t supposed to be out walking those halls. You don’t intend to, either. This place isn’t a home, even if he lives in it. It’s quiet at all hours. The only other thing alive in it is him, the rest of its residents come in the form of the perennial leather chesterfield seat that faces your bed and fancy-footed side tables.
Strangely, you find yourself dreading his sparse appearances. The whole place makes you sick, and he comes with it. You miss home and the luxury of fighting down anxiety in your own bed. It hasn’t gone away, you just are forced to handle it in a place that is foreign and stale and lonelier. Why don’t you just tell him that? It’s up to you to call this quits any time.
When he pokes in, the words get caught up in your throat. It never happens. The thought of saying it the next time he does punches you right in the chest. You can’t name for yourself why you think he’ll be angry at you if you did.
The windowsill is cold and damp as you halfway sit on the ledge. It’s not particularly warm in here—in fact, it’s always the same temperature—but the air of chill that it emanates says that it’s warmer than it is out there. You take your fingers up and down the white frames, through the condensation. How long you’ve been here, you couldn’t tell. The first day you had a pretty good idea of the time, but it’s started to bleed. A while; that is pretty much all you could say.
“Are you feeling anxious today?” Taehyun says from behind you. His voice startles you. Your shoulders go rigid before you whip your head around to find him leaned back against the door with his arms crossed. The muscles of his forearms are corded and pale.
Your tummy whirls. “I don’t know.” Rooted in place, you at the very least straighten out your lean from the window sill. Something feels new about this time, and you don’t quite like new. Especially not here, where it surrounds you on all fronts. The walls. The smell of the bed.
He observes you a moment, then the line of his lips tenses in a way that suggests that the answer had told him more than you could know. Sighing, he says, “I told you about being truthful with me.” There’s no malice in the way he says it, but there’s a bluntness that feels like the cold steel that medical equipment is made out of.
Aren’t you? That’s the truth. You don’t know what to make of anything right now, and that especially includes him. But it’s not what he sees, so what does it matter?
“If you don’t speak to me, I can’t know what the problem is.” He unfurls his arms from his chest. Black gloves have been tugged over his hands, medical grade it looks like. That’s new. That’s different. “And you’re making this difficult for me, but it’s really in the end hurting you.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, eyeing those gloves.
Quick to see how you’ve pulled back, he tracks another way. “Take a seat,” he says, “I’ll be right back.”
That, coupled with this new energy, makes you want to do exactly anything but that. But the way he had looked at you a moment ago, with veiled disappointment, makes you do it. Like he looks at you and pities you.
The bedding is plush and made of fine fabrics, clearly never touched or used before yourself. The garish floral pattern belongs exactly in a place like this. He’s gone for only a minute before he returns back through the door and shuts it behind him with a resounding catch of the handle.
In his hands, he had a tray. It doesn’t hold a tasteless dinner of steak and potatoes, which you would pick at for an hour until you had finally gotten it all down. A syringe, a glass bottle holding a clear, thin liquid, and bandages sit in place of it. Stomach turning upside down and a cold front starting in your toes and making its way up through your spine, you flinch.
Besides the point of that needle, everything else blurs around you. Anything but a needle. The last time you had been poked, which you prayed for a long time until the next, you slumped over on the nurse. Acid climbs up your chest and you shake your head. You can’t wonder about why you would need to be injected with anything when a week ago he had said he didn’t want to medicate you, but the thought is there for the briefest moment before it’s overshadowed by ice sludge in your veins.
“It looks scary,” Taehyun says, setting them down on the bed in front of you as he takes a seat. “But it’s going to be good for you. Focus on that.”
In a subtle way, your body bends away from him. You don’t crawl away or kick or scream. This is bone-deep, the presence of him and that needle point so close. Too close. Closing in on you with the intention to stick you, claustrophobia comes with him. All you need is that thing away from you.
The blood’s drained from your face and he sees it. Taking the vial, he sticks the end of the needle through the cap and focuses on the milligram lines as he draws the liquid up. “You’re afraid of needles,” he observes, keen mind still at work even with another task at hand. He doesn’t elaborate or comfort any further. Satisfied, he sets the vial aside too fast for you to read the label. It’s not like you’d recognize any scientific drug names. Is that needle pinch the scariest thing going into your body?
“Wait,” you say, constricted lungs making the word tight and breathless and urgent, panic swelling as he flicks out the bubbles. In a way, it’s humiliating. This panicking. It’s an obstacle for him, another thing he has to deal with because of you. That simple embarrassment of being a grown up that wails and fights the doctor on a needle like a kid.
No trace of irritation appears on his face, though. He’s calm, purposeful resolve. Clinical like the needle he takes up after a quick alcohol wipe, freezing like the fingers he uses to push up the puffy shoulder sleeve plain, shapeless cotton shift he’s provided for you—each fresh one appearing folded at the foot of your bed when you came out of a steaming shower, which meant to some degree he keeps more of an eye on you than you would like to address—and the same ones he wraps around the meat of your upper arm.
“Just a pinch,” he preludes. It’s distant with the focus of getting this over with, and that’s what brings all that building terror to a point. A dizzying one.
The pressure gives way to the cold bite into your muscle. It’s uncomfortable, body locking up, but it’s also anti-climactic like it always is. You work it up bigger in your head. His fingers almost hurt more, holding you still like iron. The injection comes with a press of his thumb and then it’s out of your arm just like that.
For the briefest moment, he tilts your chin up and checks your eyes, your state. You stare dumbly up at him, still buzzing. The meeting of your eyes is oddly weighted and weightless. A necessity and something else that is impossible to read on him. He plasters a bandaid to the aching injection site, peels his gloves off with composure, gathers up the things, and says, “Take it easy for a while. I’ll be back in to check on you, but you’ll need some rest.” With that said, he disappears back through the door. Done. Whatever that was for, he was in then out and gone again.
Although the worst of it was indubitably over, the tangible fear of needles and pain, something else remained. Something in your body that seeped into places that it shouldn’t, and you think you felt it make its way through you. You think. Something tugs you under too quickly to fully concern yourself with it.
There was no seeing him that night. Not that you are aware of. The next fragile pieces of consciousness come to you too many days later, where the only way you could tell that so much time had passed was that the walls had whispered it to you.
†
The next time the needle comes, you know to fear it. Doses are good for you. It’s making you better. The shaking has stopped. But you hate the fog and the distance of your brain, how you couldn’t realize how far away you had gotten from yourself until it eventually was time for another. You hate it so much.
With your cheeks pink and your lashes heavy, you look up at Taehyun, who presides over your bedside. He sighs and brushes hair back out of your face. It makes your head more floaty, the image of him more clear and obscure both. He comes and he goes and it always seems like he’d only just left before he’s stepping into your rooms again.
“Are you feeling better today?” he asks. It’s a ratifying question, one that inevitably leads to his eyes going harrowed like your state is personally weighing on him. Like pity, the more you lie to him and the worse you get. He’s trying his best and you’re still falling apart in his hands. But you’re not too far to save. You swear you’re not. The image of him blurs around the edges before you blink it back to sharpness. Soon enough, the tired will come like it always has to, and you’ll fight it all the way until it’s won.
He knows that it’s hard for you to speak in this state; with the drug working its way through your system. The process has gotten slower, but it’s mostly unchanged. He says that it’s good you’re not building a tolerance to it as he wears that blankness that makes it hard to understand anything he really says when it’s been getting harder to fully grasp words. So he takes mercy on you and says, “Your dosage might need to be adjusted. It’s working through you right now, I can see it. But you’ve been doing worse between injections.”
The pad of his thumb, cold, always cold, over the curve of your cheek makes you shudder. When he touches you, the softness of your skin feels dirty. You want to scrub him off you, sometimes. Especially when he touches you with those awful leather gloves. Something passes over his eyes. Something that you’ve come to know through cloudy pieces of memories to be frustration. It’s there when you flinch away from the needle, and it’s here now as he knows with a certainty that you’ve begun associating those bad memories with him. Himself, his touch, the cold, his scent, all that exists between fading consciousness is him and the absence of him.
“If it’s not getting better by your next treatment, we’ll have to find something that’ll help, or we’ll have to up it.” He takes his hand off you and straightens up as he administers the bad news. There’s some part of you, the part that’s slowly going, that imagines that’s intentional. Taehyun is nothing but intentional. There’s no part of your mind that you can go to escape him in, because he already knows the way around and exactly how to pull it right open.
But you feel like you’re getting better. You do. Mouth like cotton, you speak. It comes out hoarse with misuse. “No,” you say, “I’m better.”
Pity. That’s what grates you from behind his glass lenses. “When you lie to me like that, it tells me what I need to know.” The thread of softness, or what sounds like it when his words otherwise come out flat and dead, is a suture knot. The words are exactly what you don’t want to hear. They make your skin crawl. But you lean into it. As fleeting as it is, it’s a gentle soothing hand over the frayed nerves that you are.
Dipping your head, you wish away a rolling wave of nausea. Hair obscures your face. You don’t want him upset with you.
“Look at me.”
The warping of the walls does not ebb, and neither does the slow simmer so hot beneath your skin. It takes everything you have. So he lifts your chin, manicured hand soft but still rougher by all measures than the skin there. You’re barely looking at him, pupils blown wide and the edges of him blurry, but his jaw flickers. “I’m not angry. But hiding things from me, it’s not going to happen anymore. I’ll be forced to intensify your treatment. The worse you’ve gotten, the more you’ve been lying. Do you understand why I’m telling you this?”
Nodding is all you can do. The warping is worse. Crawling around the edges of your vision like colors that are only there if you don’t look for them. It’s so hot.
“Would you like me to read for you?” he asks.
You would. Going dark and watching the pale walls weep is scary alone. He’s never stayed with you for it before. With your nod, he scours the shelves for a moment and takes a seat in the hard leather of the chair. It’s dark out, which is a strange comfort because he always looks less sharp without the cut of light over his skin. The spin cracks open to a random page out of hundreds.
What should be pretty words come out flat. He begins, and it’s like a methodical lack of allegory more than poetry. But it’s words that keep you grounded in reality, and for that they’re warm. They keep away the pull for longer.
Slow blinking comes as much as you don’t want it to. You shift against your pillow and insist on looking at him, only him. Not the perversions of reality that exist beyond his silhouette. The stuff that appears and reminds you why you’re here and that he has to treat you. That you’re sick.
You hang on to it for as long as you can. His speaking becomes a kindness, and your teeth ache for those. You take the silver of his voice and you solidify it in the center of you where a blue and yellow bruise exists. It’s something real, at bare minimum, as reality becomes something you can’t trust.
†
His mouth, his hands, they’re all over you. They cut and bite marks that go from red to a week-old brown too fast. But when his eyes come to yours for what begging words you wanted to say but couldn’t actually make, there’s not the heat of lust.
The words come from something that isn’t actually sound. It’s an amalgamation of the man that ruts in between your thighs, of all the things he is. You choke and you moan, knuckles white all twisted in his dress shirt. It’s not as it usually is, starched and immaculately ironed to the seam. The buttons are down, showing the pale brawn of his chest in a state of dishevelment that was distinctly not him. “Open your eyes,” he husks in your ear.
Your eyes open when you were sure they already were open, and then you’re seeing him on top of you from an outsider’s perspective. Looking down on the two of your rutting bodies. It looks like he could love you, the way that he’s shuddering and keeping himself together at the seams by staying right in your face. That tall nose, glasses slipping, brushes yours.
Here, it’s not a melt like the way things are after an injection. When you focus on something, it sharpens into a clarity before returning to fuzzy obscurity and you are tugged back to the scene of lust on the bed. It’s so obscene it seems wrong to be looking, even if it’s your body that writhes beneath his. “Please don’t go,” you say. The sound doesn’t actually happen, but Taehyun hears it.
“That better be the truth,” he says, a distortion of words that are blindingly familiar. But the you beneath him on the bed chases the sex without end. Your skin burns. “You better not be lying to me.”
†
As always, it’s time for the shot.
“Don’t touch me,” you say, a violent growl that comes from an animal backed into a corner. Taehyun pauses, the sterile scent of alcohol that both seemed to cling to his skin and also came up from the wipe he’s prepping your arm with. That spot is not so sore as has become customary; it’s been longer from your last dose than you usually go.
When he came in and set up and prepped that needle, you had not freaked out. You watched him. The dissonance has him narrowing his eyes at you. It’s a sudden outburst. Especially when you haven’t panicked over the needle in a long time. You can see the scientific mechanics working behind his eyes.
He asks, “Are you feeling bad today?”
You hate that question. You have come to hate it with the power of something in you that’s too big to try and understand. It’s bigger than you, who has become so small. “No,” you say, lip trembling. “You touched me. We… I remember it. Get away from me.” You want to scrub it all off until your skin goes red. More than that—you want to scrub off the fact that it’s something you had conjured. Or it wasn’t, and it was real. Both possibilities bounce off the walls of your skull. Maybe scrubbing yourself would reveal which, too.
There’s a break in the clouds. A moment where the sun is able to come through the heavy overcast, and you realize how different your voice sounds. Strangled and raw and brittle, yes. But also insane. You sound cracked open, exactly like somebody who needs intense, invasive treatment.
For the first time since you have known him, Taehyun looks genuinely taken aback. His brows shoot up over his frames. And then it hardens into concrete like it always does when he’s decided to capitalize on the tattered edges of you. The silence goes sterile like everything around you is. “We what?” he says. “You remember what?” They’re diagnostic questions.
There it is. That look he gets when he thinks your mental state is corroded. Pity, rather. It makes you so angry that your eyes burn with tears like a self-fulfilled prophecy. Everything you say and do just proves him right. Second guessing yourself, you speak less sure of yourself than you began. “In bed, this one. You..” Unable to finish that thought, you swallow it down. Because it sounds as crazy to your ears as it really is. “I saw it, I swear I did. You believe me, right?” The fight in your shoulders deflates. “Please. I’m not lying.”
Another moment stretches its ugly self out between you. It reflects your own words back at you and forces you to hear them. You cringe from inside your skin. And then he says, “This is worrying behavior.”
“No,” you say, fingers curling into the duvet so hard it aches. You have to let go to cover the sound that comes from your chest. “I’m not crazy. I’m telling you the truth. I think it was a dream.”
Something’s running wild behind the black of his eyes. It’s so perfectly shrouded that you wouldn’t be able to see it if he weren’t the only tether to reality you’ve had for so long. In a void, though, even a mote of dust is significant. “You’re dreaming of things and confusing them with reality, or it’s something you genuinely believe happened. Either way, distortion of reality is a symptom of a larger issue.” Like signing off his signature on a prescription document, his lips purse with a finality you know you can’t escape. Because he is the one who knows what’s wrong with you, and he has been right about it all the whole time. “I appreciate you being honest with me. We’re going to find a way to mitigate this, alright? I’ll be back later, I have a run to make to my office at the clinic. Get some rest until then.”
The dose, the one you spooked away by acting even crazier, doesn’t come by the usual time of midday, and then not even when night rolls in. You find yourself wishing it had.
†
The rest of Taehyun’s grand home is nothing like the basement. The basement is cold, dank, and it smells of stale mildew walls. The concrete is so cold, and you haven’t gone numb to it no matter how long you’ve been here. All it has done is go bone-deep.
More than anything, your wrists hurt. They ache so badly that as much as you want to move because your spine hurts or your hips do from sitting, you don’t. Any movement is four minutes of shaking as you try and stay absolutely still. Eventually, it goes away.
You should have never said anything. Shivering at the realization you’ve turned over a hundred times since he put you down here, you just wish you hadn’t. All it did was upset him and land you here. It’s a stone-cold truth almost as biting as the floor beneath your bare thighs. And you’ve only had time to think. The fuzz of the injection was not as bad as this. Will he ever let you back up into the room? You’ll take the needle. You’ll take the needle a thousand times.
Some clarity has returned to you with space away from your treatment. The memory of what you had said is a tight, queasy knot in your stomach. You told him that you had a haze-induced sex dream about him. You only get weirder and more grotesque with time. It’s dirty, what your mind made up. The look in his eyes, burned into the back of your eyelids, when you had said it…
A sound breaks you out of a trance that you’ve been in so long that it’s jarring. Infinitely loud. It’s been just the sound of your breathing for how long? The last time you heard the sound of that door was the last time you saw him. Each step of his oxfords down the staircase that leads down into the basement, you hang onto. Straightening up against the concrete wall, your heart jumps to life.
Taehyun catalogues your state briefly. “Are those bothering you?” he says. The sound of his voice settles in a film over you. A soothing balm for how frazzled you must visibly be. He doesn’t have to elaborate for you to know what he means.
“Yes,” you say, wetting chapped lips. “I’m so thirsty.”
Crouching down in front of you, he produces a tin from his pocket. A shudder rips through you. The tin opens to a pasty salve that reeks of bitumen ointment. It’s an ugly ochre, but comes off clear as he rubs it into his fingers. “I thought so. I’m sorry,” he says, working on the ropes with his free hand. “I brought this for you. It should help some, and we’ll get you some water.”
The coarse scrap of the rope coming away seizes your muscles, a fresh new wave of rawness shooting up your arms. Hissing, your head hits the concrete behind you. Now that the dank basement air is on the skin, it’s like they’re new. And the muscles of your shoulderblades twist, finally able to revolt against the position that your wrists bound behind you forced them into.
He curses. Taking your hands, he turns your hands over to see the extent of the irritation. Smoothing the ointment over your tender, rope-burned wrists is searing, but it’s a necessary evil. Even as your tummy twists up and you bite sounds down, you lean into the palm he checks your temperature with.
Croaking, you make sure to tell him what you’ve been sitting here wishing you could. “I feel better,” you say. “I think I’m ready for my treatment again. I didn’t have any dreams.”
A moment lasts too long in the wake of that, where he looks up from your wrists that he tends to search your face with diagnostic weight. There’s something there that makes your stomach flutter. He liked that. You want to tell him more things that make him look at you like that.
“That’s good.” He blows cool air over the coating of the salve the way somebody might wash a dish off before they use it. A creeping, hair-raising tremble wracks you. “I worry about bringing you back to a situation that was inflaming the issue when this one seems to be good for you.”
No. Being here has let you breathe, as damp and rusted as it is. But you couldn’t last another minute here. The thought makes you want to cry and grovel. That was what landed you here, though. So you rearrange your words, still wobbly but much more palatable. Something that he will also like. “I don’t like being down here. I just wanted you to come down, I feel better now that you’re here.”
Something flips in him. It’s not in the fact that you’re doing better, but that tidbit of information that he had been looking for. Searching your gaze for a moment, it seems as though he’s debating.
Your heart gives a painful throb, because that’s infinitely better than anything you’ve ever gotten from him. It’s not cold medical steel, it’s not hollow pity. It’s something else. You want to hoard it and also whatever it is that you did to yourself just so you can keep it always like this. And maybe if you did, you’d get better too.
“Let me go get you something to drink. Your lips are chapped.” He rakes his fingers through your scalp, tidying the mess that your hair has become. Closer than he’s ever been, there’s no noises to bounce off the concrete other than the drag of air he takes in. His nostrils flare like he’s caught a scent and a muscle feathering in the line of his impeccable jaw tells you that he has. A twitch to the corner of his lip and the creak of him clenching his fingers and then expelling it with a flex of them is how he shakes it off. “I’m proud of you,” he says, a veneer for something else he means. “Look at what happens when you’re not on your treatment. You don’t want it to happen again, right?”
I’m proud of you, he said. What a tender ache that it leaves you. You nod your head, trying to hang on to his eyes as he heads back up those stairs, and you pray that you haven’t lied to him this time. Because he will know, he will always know. Before even you. Better than you.
†
When you know what it is to be in that basement, what the strain of ropes around your wrists feels like, and the starvation of where the mind goes in a place like that, you come to appreciate what you have in a room. Where that place was necessary and spotted with rust, this place is where you want to be. Wrapped up in your blankets is where you want to stay, even if it’s a long, shapeless blur of days spent in bed and bird watching out the window. If you’ve gotten good once, then you can stay like this. You have to.
After Taehyun comes and gives you your shot, he checks on your wrists. The tenderness is still irritating when it brushes the sheets, but through the bandages he wrapped you in, it’s better. You are better, and the more space between you and the basement the better too. With some delicate cleaning by cotton swab and fresh wraps every day, the burn goes away. All that’s left is the ache.
He’s not home today. Outside of treating you, he is still a man with a demanding career and other patients to see to. None like you, though. And that’s a strange comfort. You wash yourself up, float around your room like a wraith, daydream in bed about things you want to tell him to please him but are too scared to commit to. The antique luxury of the room didn’t appeal to you before, but you at some point have come to know the shape of every flower in the comforter, the corners where the dust builds heavier, and all the books on the shelves. Especially the one he had read to you once. You relive it through his voice every time you pick it up and crack it open, sprawled out on your tummy.
Sitting with your knees drawn to your chest, you’ve exhausted all of those things. Sometimes you wonder if it’s all just stircraziness. Like a zoo animal that paces the lengths of its cage so much that it no longer sees the fake, plastic habitat around them. You’ve done plenty of that: pacing. Today you had made your bones tired with it. Each time you crossed back to the opposite side of the room, you turned over the words he had told you those days ago when you were getting your most recent dose. That you’re free to explore outside of your room if it pleases you.
You know he means it; you’ve proven to him that you’re in a state that you can. No matter what, though, you can’t trust it. Some part of you insists that he’ll be mad. Especially when you’ve gotten to a place where you’ve pleased him, surprised him. The depth of his trust seems too shallow and delicate to test.
Then so many hours pass and still, he hasn’t come home. Or at least he hasn’t dipped in to check you. A deeply unsettling thing worms through your brain. He’s never been so late. Should you go see if he’s okay? Or at least wander while he’s not here? You play with the notion until it makes you too sick to be still.
Opening the door yourself is what you start with. It feels big. Leaving this place at your own volition didn’t ever come up as a possibility. You haven’t considered it in a long, long time. Wandering down the halls with the cold floorboards at your feet and your fingers feeling the panelling of the pale walls as you pass, you believe in your gut at every step that this is wrong. You itch to go back to your room. But the long halls are harrowingly unfamiliar for a place you think you’ve spent so long residing inside the walls of. Taehyun is a simple man. The lack of decor doesn’t surprise you. Staleness in the air mingles with the utter lack of anything much at all speaks to what a home that a man who dedicates his life to nothing further than his science would look like. Forgotten. Lacking any true signs of life.
When the light of your room stops being able to illuminate the way for you, a voice startles you. It’s the only other living thing in these walls. Spinning on your heel, Taehyun watches you. “You’re up,” he observes.
A shallow nod is all you answer him with. That wrongness you had shoved down comes back with a vengeance. You’re braced for another trip to the basement.
“Is there something you need?” He’s still in his work clothes, his shirt askew with pulling off a tie and sleeves half-rolled the way he likes them.
You simply say, “You were gone, I…” Wanted to see where you were, it should go. The words tangle up and you can’t push them through.
Taehyun’s eyes cut from your silhouette to your mouth to your eyes. There’s a suffocating beat of silence in which you know for a fact he’s realizing what you meant. That the absence of his regularly scheduled visits bugged you, and that’s why you went out looking. Satisfaction washes over his features, made stark in the dim grey light. “There was a callout and I had to cover my colleague’s appointments for the day. How is your head feeling? Still feeling dizzy like you told me?”
Why does that send a twinge of panic through you? The thought of him treating anybody else. He doesn’t read to them, though. He doesn’t bring them to his home. “Not too much,” you tell him, “it’s started to go away.” The last dose was rough. It hit you just like the first one, so hard you woke up with an aching body with a brain fog in the same fashion and all. He had told you it’s because you lost your tolerance to it.
That tidbit reminds him of something. Rolling his sleeves up tighter, he says, “Head back to your room. I have something to grab. We’re going to run a few tests that I’ve been needing to do on you.”
A few tests… The last time you heard that, he came in and checked your eyes with a flashlight. He’s always got tests to run, but the way he says it this time. It’s different. It’s different in a way that forces you to fiddle with your fingers to fight down creeping anxiety as you do go wandering back. You don’t feel that anymore, the anxiety. You shouldn’t. He’d be upset if he knew. So you stave the nervous habit for fear that he might be watching you go and seeing it.
You wait on your bed, perfectly crisscrossed in a way that keeps your sleep dress proper on your thighs. Should you go get washed up? Should you count the seconds on your fingers? How long will he take?
He comes in carrying a tray of things like he always does. These things, though, that sit on the tray, freeze you and your ricocheting thoughts right over. Ropes. All you see are ropes. The panic surmounts you.
“What did I do?” you say, hands beginning to shake. Was it leaving your room? But he told you that you could? You don’t want to go back. The pink bracelets around your wrist have just faded so that all that’s left is the proof that it happened. And it’s proof enough for you.
Sighing, Taehyun sets it on the white oat desk beside the bed. “You haven’t done anything.” There’s rope and a softer strip of cotton fabric and then another thing beside them, too. A sleek wand vibrator with a fat rubber head. Your heart jumps up into your throat and chokes you. “I told you that there are some tests I need to run. There are some things that can only be observed when the brain is in a certain state. I need to see how you react under different stimuli,” he says. “Especially you. Especially considering how far you’ve come. You trust me?”
You take a moment to think about that. Do you trust him? It was so bad, for a while there. You existed in a state of bits of hazy consciousness. But he pulled you out of it, even if it hurt. If anything spoke to how well he knew what it took, it was that. “I do,” you breathe, skin clammy.
So much so that you mute your instincts as he unspools the rope that you still remember the dig of. Even as the hair on your arms stands at attention at the innate wrongness in the way he slides your panties down your legs, thumbing the fabric before it disappears into his pocket, and then secures your thighs open with the rope. It constricts you, cutting dents into the doughy fat there and keeping your calves sealed airtight to the backs of your thighs, where a loop around your ankles assures it. You wince when he binds your wrists to the heavy wood of the headboard, but the cotton isn’t like rope. Trying your wrists against it and the impossibility of the rope tie. It doesn’t budge. It won’t. A chill, innate and built into your DNA, explodes out from your center. Whatever Taehyun decides he is about to do to you, there’ll be no running from it.
“These ropes won’t hurt you.” He tugs a knot tighter, impossibly so, until it almost is just too tight. The air on your center, which you are painfully aware is exposed and no amount of trying to shy from it can you do when your thighs are wrapped in binds, is the start of a slow burn. He hasn’t even taken a glance yet and it sets you off kilter. “They’re there so I can get what I need from this. Do you understand?”
That clinical, doctor’s voice rears something in you. Because how can he be so clinical when you are so mortified? When the brush of his bare fingers, without the gloves that he insisted on touching you with otherwise, is enough to send static electricity up through your nervous system?
“You know better than to not answer me,” he says. The vibrator is a lewd thing in his sterile hands. You know he’ll find the answers in this. He’ll peel apart your brain and get to the center of it. Guilt gnaws at you for the way your hands tremble. He’s always found the answer, and you’ve doubted him before.
“Yes, I understand.” Your head cannot keep up with that train of thought. It lags and derails, so now all you are aware of is how, with that out of the way, Taehyun kicks on the tool of choice today.
It is not a syringe. It is not the walls of a basement. It’s the weight of your own mind and a device for pleasure that you could never have imagined watching him take up in his hand. It’s incongruent with the image of the man you’ve come to understand that he is; so disconnected from something like the basal thing that is sex that it’s almost the part that makes the nature of it so heart-stopping. Because he is a man that understands, better than any other man you think could, exactly where your mind will go when he puts that thing to you. What the mind wants and needs as he does it, too.
The first contact comes with a strike of lightning straight through you. It burns your nerves right up. Your entire body bends away from it, wrists raging against their cotton prison which only does it up tighter, back bowing off the bed before arcing the opposite way as you dig your spine back into it. Anything to get away from it—the too much.
There was no working you up with slow touches. Not with him. He watches as you scrabble and reel against your body and he knows that it’s a hard start. But that’s exactly what he needs from you. The way the world warps and rolls out like film around you, you know what it is beyond the vicious buzzing right up against your clit. This is another dose. This is breaking your mind down to its most basic pieces, inserting his presence when you are most simple, and then stitching it back up in a brand new shape that isn’t yours. It’s his. This is a man of psychiatry.
Sobbing hoarsely, your thighs jerk though they don’t have much else to go than against the nip of the rope. Your toes wiggle and it’s not enough to exorcise the knot in your tummy and the excess of the buzz that seizes everywhere else in you.
“It’s too much,” you choke. A new angle of that rubber head against your anatomy breaks the sentence. Right up into the very underside of your clit, where the vibrator’s wrath is even more terrible. You never get to the other words you want to say.
Taehyun echoes you, fascination gleaming in the light of his glasses. “Too much? You always say your treatment is too much.” He goes for loose circles, and you didn’t know the attention of that thing could get any more prevalent. The sound you make proves otherwise. “I could stop. We could come back later. Is that what you want?” Like everything, the questions come out clinical. It’s not different from the way he asks about your anxiety levels for the day, how the soreness in your bicep has progressed, if you have anything you need to tell him. As if your body is not writhing and bucking at the greed of his touch. As if you can even think to answer them.
With the deep tightening in your belly, there’s nothing more that you want than to make it go away. If it’s going to be by stopping it or working it out, you know, by the wild beating of your heart against your ribcage, which it’ll be. Tears burn a delicate path down your temples, into the mess of hair there, as you sob for him a definitive, “No.”
So he gets to work. His fingers are ice cold, the scent of him clean but understatedly male, as he presses a palm to the soft bit of body beneath your navel. And he holds you to it.
The first orgasm shakes the foundations of your frame. You can’t clamp your thighs around his wrist or dig crescents into it, but you try to. The ropes tighten sharply against your attempts, your nails biting into your own wrists. Everything closes up in white heat except for the point of contact where he keeps that tool pressed between your thighs and the snap deep in your belly.
“There,” he says. The muscle in his forearm strains as he pins you down into the mattress harder and he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even want you to breathe. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
No part of you wants to do that. No part of you has the strength to. But it’s the vivid memory of those words that you remember once in a dream, born of your sorry delusions, that lends you the strength to do it. Your eyes, sealed tight to fight the frantic realization that he’s not stopping down, pop open.
Two of his buttons are undone. On the expanse of chest that it droops and exposes, there’s a freckle right over his sternum where it begins to give way to his chest. That’s something that didn’t exist in the state of your dream, something that interrupts his pale, unmarred skin. It makes him human, makes this all the more haze-inducing. “Good,” he says, noting how the cotton digs into your wrists the more you tug and fail at grabbing him. “I have a lot I want to see in you. Do you like it like this?” Taking the wand for a trip down your cunt, he lets it reverberate through you. Only for a moment, though. Then it’s back on your swollen clit. You want to escape from your body, just to breathe, just for a moment. But Taehyun has plans of unmaking you. “Your body gets very wet. It’s an interesting look into what’s going on up there, isn’t it? It’s funny. I know exactly what’s going through your mind, all those chemicals…” Hair a mess with digging your skull back into the pillows, he reaches out and fixes it for you. A touch like that should be tender, but not with him. He just wants to see right through to your brain better.
This second orgasm tears right through you. It starts in your belly again, but it is so much bigger. It takes control of you, in your chest and your brain and all the way down your thighs to the curl of your toes. How you shake and the sounds that you make, you don’t know. They don’t reach you. All you know is feel; how the whimpers feel coming out of your throat, how the shakes feel as the buzz just never stops and it’s clear that one is not enough. Two is not enough. He is going to keep going. “Oh my god,” you sob, head on a wavelength apart. “Oh, god.”
Taking his hand, he cools the radiating under the soft skin of your cheek. Now more than ever it’s apparent just how cold he is. It’s something that at last, finally, cuts through the overwhelming sensation of hurtling toward another immense peak. Him. And that’s what he wants—to be, in a sea of nothing, the only thing that you notice. The only thing you can latch on to. There was nothing Taehyun ever did that was not with intention down to the very core.
“I like those sounds.” Another peak comes, quicker than the others. The feelings compound with each until now it seems like you’re already on to the next before this one is even over, tummy tightening. “Three,” he announces, eyes roving over the wreckage of you all dark and like steel. A tally, for what? Is he keeping track of how many times he can make you go over? Seeing where the boundaries of your mind sit? You fear that the truth of the matter will disappoint him. Those edges are so much closer now than he might think. The notion that he even intends to go for more sends cold dread twisting up with the carnage in your system. Your eyes burn hot, your lungs even more. You cannot get enough air to help the starvation of oxygen. “Did you know that the sounds you make are a social performance? It’s your brain, telling me not to stop. That you like what he’s doing and you want more of it. To encourage him,” Taehyun says, the scientific fascination behind his devouring gaze the only thing he wears on his face. It’s stone, otherwise. “But I don’t think that’s what this is. Because overwhelming stimuli does almost exactly the same.” A corner of his sharp mouth twitches.
You answer him with the same sounds he picks apart and lays out on the examination table as a trait of basic human biology. The part of you that is just an animal with one simple need. You don’t care what they are; only that you can’t keep them in your chest no matter how hard you try. And maybe he’s right in that—the fact that no part of this is performance.
Taehyun bends down in front of your face, which is thrown to one side as you try to examine every feature of the wallpaper as if you could ignore the forever buzzing against your poor clit. He doesn’t even move it anymore, he gets it right where he wants it and it’s going to stay there now. A few times he has to readjust it because you’re so slick that it slips, but it stays. Even that momentary respite is heaven and pearly gates. His fingers squish the roaring pink of your cheeks as he turns your blown eyes on him. “Four. Do you even understand how much is going on inside of you right now?” he says. His hand, wrapped around it, must be as numb from the insistent purr of the vibe as much as your cunt is. One sensation blurs into another. Refractory periods don’t exist. Pleasure and ache is constant and dulled but still, against all odds, all-consuming. “All those feel-good hormones your brain is pumping through your system right now. It’s the hallmark of the female brain. A wonder of biology. Made to bring you closer to me, to form bonds to the man that you can’t even realize are forming. Even my scent. My voice.”
Holding your swimming gaze, his face is blurred by tears. But you can see there that Taehyun will never be a normal man. It’s the wicked fascination that burns in it. “Look at that. Six.” The first sound that’s ever gotten close to a laugh comes out like a scalpel’s edge. Pressing a finger to the space between your eyebrows, he says, “It’s all happening in a place that you can’t reach. In the background. Right here.” His gaze flickers to your mouth, documenting the place you’ve broken the poor, soft skin there. “It’s not yours anymore. It’s mine.”
You wish you could metabolize the reality of what it is that he said. But he didn’t want you to, and that’s not why he said it. It’s why he’s shaved your mind down to this nothing. And nothing is what you are. You can’t handle another orgasm. The skin beneath the ropes and cotton have become red, your slick has drooled down your body and begun staining the bed with such mortifying excess, and your sounds are hoarse and breaking. “Please,” you say, a sweet rasp. Isn’t there irony in the fact that the only word you can manage is a plea? For what? For him to stop or to never stop? To come closer because you do itch to be near him, just like he said. You want the scarce presence of him to keep you afloat in this brackish water. You love him. You love him so much and so big that it competes with the tenderness between your thighs and makes it trivial when his approval is so much better and sweeter.
“I don’t think so,” he says, thumbing your nipple through the thin cotton of your chemise. It’s already tightened to a peak when he does, a prickle deeper than skin beginning in your breast and then spreading over the hair on your arms. “There’s so much in there that I still need to see.”
Tests, he had called this. This is your examination table, this bed. The cracking of the headboard, the droning of the tool he uses a medical tool in its own right. You’ll let him see it all even if it breaks you apart.
Taehyun files away each peak, each twisting of your muscles. How you react to them differently, how different stimuli and pressures such as brush here and a dig of his fingers there changes it all. Some he announces and some he doesn’t. Seven. Nine. Eleven. Everytime you think you will not survive the next, you do and it’s blinding. Your slick coats your inner thighs from when he pressed the head there. Your neck is sore, your cunt numb.
The absence of that buzz as he finally pulls the wand from you and clicks it off is impossible loud. Your thoughts are slow and you’re too lazy to enjoy the freedom of your limbs as he works the knots out and unfasted your binds. Whatever is running through your bloodstream, it’s more than bliss. It’s a drug. One not too different from another you know so well in your bones. They’re no doubt meant to do the same thing. He disappears from your periphery, leaving you slow-blinking until he returns to clean up your body. The touches of the warm rag are tender in the shadow of the unshaking sterility he just eroded your body down with. They make your brain happy. You lean into his touch as he fixes the bunching of your dress and maybe it feels a little less cold now than how you remember it.
“You did very good,” he says. That look on his face eats like black holes. “I knew I was right to bring you here.”
Lazy-boned, you lay in bed and those words oscillate and become something so irresistible in your slowed head. It’s your favorite thing to hear, so you spin it a few more times around. That he not only chose you, but he’s glad he did. That the rest of the people he sees ultimately disappoint him when he compares them to you.
When you go to slip on your panties, which you remember should be at the foot end of your bed, you find them missing and remember where they had gone. Out that door along with him, stuffed into the pocket of his impeccably straight dress pants.
What he intends with them, you can only tuck back into bed and drift off imagining. The memory of the flare of his nostrils, such a subtle thing but so impossible to miss on a face that doesn’t budge, in the basement when he had gotten closer than he ever had to you, does wonders in helping you. It paints a picture of something so lewd that you fall asleep pressing your thighs together and delighting in the soreness there. Because he had left it there.
†
Taehyun made the mistake of letting up on the doses. You can see everything so much clearer. It’s been so long since the last that you have finally, for the first time in so long, come to a point where you’re not in the throes of the drug nor the hazy in-between.
The thought of what all this means is something you don’t want to touch. This is the kind of stuff that happens to movie protagonists, all the stuff that’s scary because to some degree it’s rooted in reality. How could it ever have become yours, though? Some nights, the farther you get away from the last injection, you do slip down the slope of convincing yourself that everything was genuine medical practice. That you did go crazy. Whatever name that the great psychiatrist called your disorder, whatever he could create, that’s what you were.
Your tummy goes sick as you shake in bed. He’s not home. The window is closing, and you’re sitting here wasting time. It’s right now or it’s never, because you don’t know if the pinch of the needle will eventually come back. He could come tomorrow and send you back to that place. If you’re never in this position again… Your jaw aches from the tightness of your swallow. It’s too scary to think about.
It’s that time where daylight is a dark, gross grey giving into night that you get up even if your chest and legs protest. They’re too weak on you and you think you won’t make it, but you have to. If he’s not back by now, he will be. That’s an inevitability that you can’t let happen. Much like that first night, the hallways are lonely and unfamiliar with their paleness and it seems like they just don’t stop. If you keep going despite your weak legs, you’ll find a way. You have to. Chest tightening up to a point where it’s nauseating, breaths too shallow to properly feed your brain, you move faster. If you get out of here before the thoughts peeling around the edges can grip you, you’ll make it.
But he had just started to be happy with you. He trusted you so much he didn’t even think you needed the drug anymore.
The walls open up into a wide entryway. Above it the ceiling is tall, an iron-frame chandelier dim but enough lighting to reflect off the wood of the floors. You go stumbling for it, blood rising higher to the surface and roaring louder in your ears the closer you get until you think you might just fall over. Until you believe, with startling verity, that he’ll step out of the shadows and catch you. The ghost of what his voice would sound like if he did is enough to make your muscles jump. Goosebumps rise over your thighs and arms and it all reaches a head as you close your fist around the french handle and you throw the door open.
Taehyun doesn’t catch you. Because he isn’t here, but the chill of the air outside is. It wraps itself around you and you remember, finally, what it feels like. Did you ever think you would feel it again? Did you even know you were missing it? Tears prick your eyes. You run like hell.
The concrete and rocks tear at your bare feet. You have nothing, no more on than the same monotonous sleep shift that you want off. Even that is his. But you have the thrum in your blood and your mind, and that’s all you need. It’s come back to you. The pavement is cold, and you run straight up the road. Catching your foot on the ground, you go down hard. Your bones bark, your knees hiss, but you don’t have time to feel it. That place needs to be as far behind you as you can get it.
Headlights light up the road from behind you. You must look insane, a girl running wildly nowhere with wind-tangled hair and no shoes. But they’re people, and you have nowhere to go. The thudding of your heart against your ribcage finally catches up to you. You had managed to outrun it until now.
They pull up beside you. A middle aged man braces his arm along the passenger side window that he’s rolled down and he leans out toward you. The worry lines on his forehead crease as he says, with no lack of astonishment, “Where are you running like that to? You’re in the middle of the road, do you realize that?”
Your mouth is dry. Blinking at him, you can’t hear him well over the pulse in your throat.
He must see your gaunt face and gone eyes better up close, because his brow twitches and he straightens up. “Do you need help?” he asks, sharing a bewildered look with the man in the driver’s seat. “Are you alright? You look like hell, girl.”
You do. You do need help. Seeing the flicker of bare, real emotion on another human face tightens your throat.
“Can you not talk?” His voice becomes sharper in the way that an older person’s does when they’re deeply uncomfortable, but you don’t have to hear it to see it dawning on his face. For a moment he disappears through the window of the old beater truck and they talk. He gestures with his hand through it. “Hell, climb on in. Where do we need to take you? The police station’s a long way in the other direction. You got a boyfriend’s house?”
A long way. You can handle that. Closing the door behind you, the scent of old car isn’t something soothing anymore like the fresh air was. It becomes suffocating and it surrounds you. “The police station, please.” Your voice comes out all shaky.
They share another look and one looks over his shoulder at you, dragging his eyes up and down the state of you. “What’s going on with you, then?” he asks, with no particular delicacy.
He sounds so much like an uncle of yours that you just fall apart. A sob shudders through your chest. “Please take me there. I need to go. I need to get there soon, please.” Your shaking lips shape the words into something that must sound insane to them. Digging your fingers into your dress, your shoulders shake. “If he comes, then…”
Silence chokes the cab. There’s something in the driver’s eyes when they catch you in the rearview mirror that sends acid up from your stomach. It’s all pity. The familiar look wraps around your head like bandages and labels you what you will fight and scream against being. Crazy. A girl who’s lost it and is scary to the people around her. The same one was in his eyes once, which sears behind your eyelids. Less warm and human, but the same.
“I mean it!” you sob, pressing your back into the car door. You hadn’t even buckled in. “I’m not lying. You have to believe me. Please!”
Horror replaces pity. “We believe you,” says the one that drives.
The simplicity of that is a punch to the gut. These aren’t the man you have to plead with. They aren’t the man with the sharp mind that would, without a doubt in your mind, find you eventually. Even if you get to that police station, if you sang like a bird about what happened to you in that quiet estate in the nicer part of town and what kind of person lived behind those walls, he would.
And what would happen when he does? Guilt becomes heavy like lead in your stomach. He’s going to hate you. He’s going to take you apart harder. The burn of ropes echoes in the faded but still real marks on your wrists. Look what you went and did when he had finally started to trust you. He never will again, you’d taken a sledgehammer to something so fragile. Breaths begin to come too fast. The walls of the truck, even the windows which you can see the trees passing through, close in on you. You imagine him coming home to find you gone. How much that would upset him when you did so good making him pleased with you.
“Take me back,” you say. It’s a throaty, soft thing amid your sniffles. A dichotomy from what a flailing, cornered animal you were when you climbed in here.
The air stills and the driver looks at you through the mirror. “What did you say?”
Repeating it for him, more terrified but sure of the guilt’s claws in your chest this time than last time, you say, “I want to go back. Can you just please take me back? Or drop me off here, please.”
Pulling over onto the grass shoulder, he gives you a suspicious look. “Are you sure? We’re heading to the station right now.”
Throwing open the door, you wish you could stop. If only your blood didn’t turn to ice when he said that, and if only he had heard you and decided for you, anyway, that you needed to be taken somewhere safe. At least then it could be anybody but your own fault that you ran. But the only thing you did for yourself was the stupid thing. All you did was make it worse for yourself.
If you run, maybe you can make it there before Taehyun does. If you run like hell back. And then you could keep this deep in your chest, let it calcify in your bones, and you’d know better than to do it again.
†
The metal sound of Taehyun tapping his forceps against the water dish jolts you. You’re so jumpy, waiting for the explosion. It doesn’t come. He just narrows his eyes on the heel of your foot and tugs a shard of gravel from it. You bite down sounds with your head hung because anything might bring it—that sharp anger, a twisted downturn of his mouth. But that’s not who Taehyun is.
Silence is his punishment, this time. A tool he uses no different than a needle or a rope or the pleasure of sex. It’s suffocating. You want to break out into sobs and tell him that you didn’t really mean it. To offer yourself up to any other form of punishment just to make him happy that you’re accepting your treatment the way he was once. To pick up the pieces you had shattered and shove them back together because you are so, so scared of what deformation you’ve caused. Will he never be happy with you again?
Your feet ache now that liquid adrenaline’s solidified. All your limbs ache, and your lungs burn like they’ve been chapped with air. He takes meticulous care of the scrapes on your knees. The burn of disinfectant on your weeping, scraped knee burns and you can’t help the hiss it brings this time. He wraps bandages around them after dabbing antiseptics, holding your ankle with a distinct lack of pain or tightness that it’s almost more frightening.
Watching him with wet cheeks, you know now. What he meant when he told you that your brain isn’t yours anymore. Because it’s his in every way that counts. It may sit up in your head, but he had done something terrible. He’d taken his scalpel and opened your very system up to him. A man who understood that you are, horrifyingly, just a set of biological responses and conditionings that, with enough reshaping, could be undone. That the brain was not a rigid structure, but something malleable. He knew exactly where to position you so that his very scent, his very presence, worked in the background. Past the conscious mind, into the organ where he thrives best perverting upon. Like a dog whose mouth can’t help but water when the dinner bell rings, you lean into him still.
You had gotten away. Down the road, so far that you couldn’t even look back and see the silhouette of this place standing behind you. It had made you sick to your stomach. And then you came back. The walk was longer than the run. The cold of his face branded into your skull, clearer with every step you made back, and it wouldn’t stop.
Taehyun wipes his bloodied tool off and sets them down on the side table, the same bone white as the one you know so well beside your bed. His gaze falls on your face for the first time since you came limping in here with tears in your eyes. Curving his fingers beneath your chin, he looks right into your eyes. How could fire burn so cold? That’s what he is. He is angry. And his anger turns into this. “Do not,” he says, slowly for you, “ever run from me again.”
You worry with a twist to your gut that he’ll go get the needle. That he’ll go take up those ropes again. But why would he need to? They already did their jobs; you came walking right back into him. There was no getting away. Not from your head.
ash: i mean the most i can say is me next lets go ,, this one took my soul but that just means ur reading the stuff that comes from it :3 also yes this is pretty much my theme, but what a better way to start out the event??
he’s always there, watching — always watching while you dance and you never meant to fall into the devil’s trap but you did, rules broke, lips touched and somehow the broken part of you began to heal… until you ended up carrying his child and saw his true colors. he calls you his angel yet still keeps you locked like a bird in a cage and no matter what he does, you know you’ll never love the monster he is.
pairing — mafia dom!jungkook x stripper sub!femreader
genre — mafia & pregnancy au, dark romance, accidental pregnancy, slight agegap, enemies to lovers, stalking, one sided love, pining, slowburn, yandere!jungkook, obsessive!jungkook, badass confident!reader, devil x angel dynamic, love/hate relationship, power imbalance, toxic love, contrast of worlds, crime, smut, angst, fluff
warnings — 18+, explicit sex scenes, mature themes, dark content, graphic violence, kidnapping and captivity, smoking and alcohol consumption, mental health themes, trauma descriptions, miscommunication and argument, manipulation, heartbreak, healing and self-acceptance, fear of love, insecurities, love confessions and confrontation, pregnancy themes, parental struggles, each chapter contains their individual warnings (reader discretion is advised due to the dark and potentially triggering content)
a girls' night out with your friends didn't live up your expectations, you came back to your shared apartment, you need to get railed and you need it desperately. jungkook is still up when you come in, and soon enough he understand why exactly your night out left you unsatisfied and relentless. maybe he can help you out?
pairing roommate!jk × roommate!reader
warnings flirting, teasing, power imbalance, suggestive, provocative, adult language, mutual pinning, unrealised and thick tension, sub reader, hard dom jungkook, kissing, making out, sexual tension, dirty talk, cursing, slang, push-pull dynamics, fluff, slightly angst, messy, sloppy making out session, touching, groping, control play, subtle mind games, double meanings, slow burn, slow build up, heavy smut, hard kinks, choking, marking, hickeys, blowjob
Jungkook standing there like he owns the air itself, towel hanging off his hips, the faint glisten on his skin from the steam makes it worse — that slick, gold-tinged sheen of someone who knows he looks good and doesn’t care enough to hide it. “You’re early,” he murmurs, voice lazy and half-mocking, as he reaches for the bottle on the counter, the curve of his shoulder catching the kitchen light, “guess girls’ night wasn’t that good.”
Then he tilts his head, eyes flicking over you like he’s scanning for weak spots, for cracks he can make shine, “You didn’t pick up your phone,” he says, clipped, dangerous, and you swear the words scrape along your nerves like steel. Your chest stutters, your pulse trips over itself, and all you can do is swallow and hope he doesn’t notice how much of ‘you’ is betraying you already.
“I can handle myself,” you manage, fast, sharp, trying to claw back some dignity, “without your worrying.”
He doesn’t blink, doesn’t even grant you the mercy of pretending to believe it. He just takes a sip and lets his tongue drag slow across his bottom lip after, like punctuation. “Yeah,” he says finally, voice low and rough around the edges, “you’re a big girl. Too grown-up to pick up your fucking phone.”
You watch him tilt his head, that slow, deliberate angle that makes your chest tighten and your brain do somersaults, the way droplets of water cling to his skin like little dark jewels that shimmer against the dim bar lights, making you want to reach out, touch, trace, and burn yourself on him all at once.
His smirk stretches wider, sharper, the kind of smile that carries danger and challenge in equal measure, the kind that feels like a dare written across his lips and his eyes that flick between mocking amusement and something that smells like fire.
“What? I’m not angry, angel. Frustrated,” he repeats, and the word itself hangs heavy in the air, slick and sticky, settling instead in your chest, thick and suffocating.
He swings his leg over the stool rung, fingers brushing against the worn leather like he owns the world and the weight of it spills over you, and you hate how every instinct in you folds in on itself just to chase the heat of his presence, the tease, the absolute audacity of him existing and being impossible and somehow devastatingly perfect all at once.
“What does it even mean, Jungkook?” your voice comes out smaller than you intend, brittle around the edges, but your hands clench in your lap anyway, knuckles white, nails digging into palms, because you refuse to let him see how undone you are, how dangerously tangled in his gravity you've become, “spell it out for me.”
You can almost feel the thrum of his chest under that wet chest, the pulse like a countdown you didn’t agree to, and you swear if you reach out, if you let him pull you closer, you might just combust right there on the apartment floor.
He runs a hand through his coal-black hair like he’s trying to tame the storm that’s been brewing inside him, but it only makes it worse—because the motion pulls every line of his arm taut, every muscle flexing under the dim gold light that spills like old honey across the room.
His veins gleam like the veins in marble statues—those too-perfect, too-unreal ones sculpted by men who’d never actually seen a body like his. The kind that looks soft until it moves, and then it’s all tension and violence and beauty.
“Was worried,” he says, and it’s not gentle—never is—but there’s something in the way the words fall that sounds like the truth. His voice drags through the air, deep enough to bruise, his eyes sharp and black and maddeningly alive. They glitter with something between anger and panic, that dangerous intersection where care turns into possession, “fucking out of my mind,” he adds, quieter this time, but the quiet only makes it worse, like the volume doesn’t matter when the weight of it is already pressing against your ribs.
And you should just take it—let him scold, let him lecture—but the whiskey you drink before burns through your throat and makes you brave, or stupid, or both, “Why do you even care so much?” it bursts out of you, sharp-edged, reckless.
The club’s still roaring in your skull, bass echoing like a heartbeat that isn’t yours, and everything feels too bright, too close. Your voice cracks somewhere between exhaustion and defiance, and you grab the glass again like it’ll give you something to hold onto.
He watches you—of course he does—with that smug, lazy amusement that drives you insane. You can feel him looking, can feel his judgment crawling up your skin, his patience thinning by the second. “It’s just a night out,” you mutter, the words slurred but clear enough to stab, “nothing for you to worry about.”
And that’s when he laughs. Not the soft, boyish kind. No—he throws his head back and laughs, all throat and arrogance and sound, like your words are a punchline he’s been waiting for. He leans closer, his smile all teeth and danger, and the scent of smoke and musk hits you like a memory you shouldn’t have kept.
“You’re just too irresponsible,” he tells you, voice smooth, but his jaw ticks like he’s seconds away from saying something that’ll cut deeper. He talks slow, deliberate, like he’s choosing each word with the precision of someone who knows exactly how they’ll land, “What if something happens to you?” the question sounds rhetorical, but his tone isn’t. His whole body tightens when he says it—shoulders squared, arms tense, like he’s bracing for an answer he already hates.
You don’t give him one. you just stare at him, lips parted, pulse pounding so hard you can hear it, “I already told you,” you whisper, each word tasting like defiance and regret, “it’s not your problem.”
His stance shifts. Subtle, but deadly. His spine straightens, his chest rises, and both of his hands plant flat on the bar—broad palms, long fingers, the faintest ghost of veins running up to his forearms. He leans in, slow enough to make you swallow. It's not the kind of closeness that comforts; it’s the kind that demands. The kind that makes you forget you’re supposed to breathe.
And you know that look—you’ve seen it before, that flicker of irritation and fascination, like he’s torn between dragging you into his room and tearing you apart right there in record seconds. The air between you turns sharp, metallic, alive.
‘A challenge’ you think, watching him, unable to stop the smile that creeps up despite yourself. He doesn’t even need to say it out loud. It's already there—in the way his fingers flex against the wood, in the way his eyes pin you down, daring you to keep pretending you don’t care.
His voice folds low, smooth like poured velvet, but there’s an edge glinting beneath it, something serrated, something that hums. Cautious, yeah—but suspiciously soft, the kind of softness that hides teeth. Jungkook hasn’t stopped watching you since the moment you stepped through the door, his eyes tracing you like they’re memorizing a crime scene. He's lounging there—lazy, loose, too confident for someone who’s obviously burning alive inside.
The room smells like whiskey and some cologne that shouldn’t even be legal, and there’s a dangerous calm in the way he just sits and looks. When Taehyung told him you'd be renting the spare room, he probably pictured someone forgettable, someone plain, someone he wouldn’t have to think about twice. He didn’t picture—you. Didn’t picture the girl from his fantasies—the one he’s tried to scrub out of his head but keeps dreaming about anyway, the one who’d walk in and make his pulse skip like a record that suddenly caught fire.
He smirks then, because of course he does, his lips curling around the rim of his glass before he takes a slow sip. There's a streak of something cruelly beautiful about him when he drinks—his throat flexes, his lashes dip, his smirk lingers like a promise he won’t make but will absolutely keep.
“Not my problem, mmm?” he says it like a taunt, each syllable soaked in self-assurance, in the kind of authority that only makes you want to defy him just to see what happens next.
His eyes are searing now, all heat and dare, glinting beneath the dim light that spills from the kitchen. “Whose, then?” he murmurs, sarcastic, that smirk still hanging there, like he knows he’s already two steps ahead of you. His fingers tap against the glass—one, two, three—steady, rhythmic, like the ticking of a clock that counts down to the moment he’ll win.
“I feel like we’re arguing over nothing,” you breathe out, dragging your fingers through your hair, trying to shake the dizziness that comes not from the alcohol but from him. The air is too thick, too charged, his eyes too knowing, “and I don’t want to do that. Not with you, Jungkook,” the words feel too fragile the moment they leave your mouth, too raw to survive the weight of his gaze.
“Arguing?” he echoes, head tilting, that tone—fuck, that tone—is pure mockery and fascination in equal measure. He straightens a little, just enough to look like he’s about to move closer but doesn’t—yet. “I wasn't even trying,” and it’s the way he says it that ruins you, like everything he does is a test you keep failing. The words roll off his tongue lazily, unbothered, but they sting anyway.
Because he knows exactly what he’s doing—every glance, every pause, every dragged syllable designed to pull you closer until you forget what side of the line you were standing on.
And you hate that it works. You hate that you can’t stop watching the movement of his throat when he swallows, the play of his knuckles against the glass, the way his tongue briefly touches his bottom lip when he looks at you. You hate that your chest tightens every time he exhales, that your pulse skips when he smirks, that you can’t decide whether you want to slap him or kiss him. The worst part is he knows it. He's known it since the first second his eyes met yours.
Then he says something like it’s a dare, not a question, his tone dripping with that kind of low, reckless confidence that always manages to crawl right under your skin—“Do you want me bad, hmm?”—and the sound of it alone hits like a struck match.
He’s leaning forward, the veins in his forearms faintly visible under the dim light, eyes catching yours in a way that feels like being caught mid-crime. There's something wild and unguarded in his face for a heartbeat, a flash of emotion too raw to name, bright as lightning before it darkens again.
The shift is immediate, terrifying, intoxicating—the stars in his eyes swallowed whole by something darker, hungrier, the kind of darkness that doesn’t destroy, only consumes, “Want me to be angry with you?” he murmurs, and his voice isn’t soft anymore; it’s a slow pour of heat, dangerous and deliberate.
You laugh, short, breathless, too much air, not enough sense, and roll your eyes just to give your trembling something to do, “I didn’t say that,” you manage, though your voice betrays you—thin, too quick, laced with the exact tension you're trying to hide.
Your gaze skitters everywhere but him: the half-empty bottle on the counter, the flicker of neon light slipping through the blinds, the trembling outline of your own hand. Because if you look at him any longer, you'll give it away—that awful, delicious truth that you've been circling for weeks.
But he doesn’t hear you—or maybe he just doesn’t care to. Jungkook never argues; he rewrites. He speaks over your protests, voice slick and slow and criminally certain, “Want me mean and rough?”
He's smiling now, but it’s not the kind that ends in laughter. It's a slow, wicked curl of lips that knows exactly how much power it has. He's toying with the air between you, shaping it, filling it, making it his.
And the worst part is, he doesn’t need an answer. You could stand here in silence and he’d still know, because he’s watching you like you're a language only he’s fluent in—eyes flicking from the pulse in your neck to the way your chest rises a little too quick, to the faint tremor in your fingers you can’t disguise. He’s decoding you, line by line, until you're just ink bleeding on his tongue.
“I can see it in your eyes, y/n,” he says, and his voice drops lower, heavier, like the weight of your name in his mouth could crush the air right out of you.
“How do they look?” you ask, too fast, and instantly regret it. The question hangs between you, stupid and dangerous, and you can already see the smirk forming before the words even reach him.
He laughs, low and slow, the sound a scratch of velvet, “you ask me how they look?” he repeats, almost gently, but there’s something else hiding under that calm—something molten, something that sparks when your gazes lock again.
He leans against the bar like sin made flesh, elbows pressed into glass, the kind of posture that says ‘I don't need to ask permission to exist here'. The air between you hums, thick as a bruise.
His voice—low, rough, dripping with that lazy confidence that comes from knowing exactly what he does to people—cuts through it: “Like you want me,” and fuck, he says it like it’s a fact, not a question. Like he’s already found the answer written somewhere in the quiver of your pulse.
“You need to say something sharper—” you tell him, too fast, too breathy, fingers clutching at the hem of your dress under the table because your body’s betraying you, because the shiver in your voice feels like it’s got teeth, “—to sound funny. You know?” you try to coat it in sarcasm, but the sound of your voice doesn’t cooperate—it comes out cracked, too honest, like something peeled raw.
He sneers, and it’s not kind. It's slow, spaced out, like he wants you to count every beat of it, wants you to feel it sink into your skin. He's laughing at you, at how you flinch, how you tense up like you're wired to him, “Wasn’t joking,” he murmurs finally, and you swear even his veins on his forearms are taunting you—standing out, thick and alive under his skin, like they know you're looking. He leans closer, voice dipping just enough to make the world tilt: “they fucking shine every time you look at me.”
“You're imagining things,” you say, waving him off, but your hand moves too wide, too quick, and the room spins like it’s drunk on its own heat. You push up from the stool, pretend you're steadier than you are, that your knees aren’t remembering every time he’s looked at you like that. The dress is too tight, too deliberate; it clings to you like it’s got revenge on you, and suddenly you hate it for making you this aware of yourself.
He watches you like you're a riddle he already solved. To him, you're stumbling, off-balance, all blurred edges and swaying legs—each step a little dare to gravity. He stands fast, towel knotted low on his hips, eyes dragging slow, calculating, like he’s deciding whether to catch you or let you fall, “Did you drink?” he asks, voice caught somewhere between amusement and warning, a soft laugh curling around the edges. You shoot him a look, for asking something so oblivious, that should’ve burned, but it only earns you that half-smile of his, the one that tilts like temptation itself.
“Yeah,” he says, answering himself before you can, “cause you’re staggering,” and there’s something in the way he says it—too gentle to be scolding, too rough to be safe—that makes your breath snag. It's the kind of tone that makes you forget if he’s mocking you or undressing you with every word.
You tell yourself you're fine. Over and over again like a charm, like a curse, like a lie you've practiced so many times it’s starting to sound like the truth. You're fine, you're perfectly fucking fine. Sure, you emptied half the bar and let the mojitos melt down your throat like sugared poison, sure, the margaritas flow in your veins, but you're not drunk. You're not that girl. You can stand. You can think. You can survive the weight of his stare without folding into it. But shit, that look—sharp as a command, slow as honey—makes the ground sway even when you're trying to be still.
You open your mouth to argue, to spit something defensive and brittle, but his voice cuts through you first, low and rough like a matchstrike in a quiet room, “Yes, you do,” he says, not so much accusing as announcing, like he’s narrating your downfall in real time.
There’s a rasp under his words, exhaustion maybe, or restraint. The kind of tired that sounds dangerous—like it’s one heartbeat away from breaking into something else entirely, “and before I see your ass on the floor, you better sit.”
You blink, breath hitching, because it’s not even the words—it’s the way he says them. Like he’s already used to being obeyed. Like you've already agreed to belong. Then the single syllable—“Now”—he drops between you, heavy and dark and final, and something in you obeys before the rest of you can catch up. His voice lowers again, deeper, thicker, echoing off the walls until it feels like the whole room’s reverberating with him. You feel it in your chest, in your ribs, in the base of your spine.
He moves then, muscles coiling and unfurling with that unhurried precision of someone who knows exactly what power looks like on him. It's not even about helping—it’s about control, the way he closes the distance without really touching, the way the air itself bends toward him. And suddenly you forget everything—the pills you wanted, the reason you stood up, even your own resistance. Your body moves on instinct, not logic. You sat because he told you to. You sit because he made you want to.
Your knees hit the edge of the chair, and you realize too late that you've followed his voice like a siren’s call. The obedience embarrasses you, burns low in your stomach. You sink into the seat, blinking like you've just woken from a spell, half in awe, half in disbelief at how easily you let him win.
“Good girl,” he says, and it’s so quiet it almost doesn’t reach you, but the tone—fuck, that tone—undoes everything you were trying to hold together. It’s soft and heavy all at once, tired in that masculine way that sounds earned, worn, lived in. And the second the words hit, they ruin you. Heat blooms under your skin, sudden and disobedient, pulsing through every nerve that remembers how to want.
And for a moment, you can’t even speak. You just sit there, mouth half-open, breath catching on nothing, like language has decided to abandon you altogether. Your thoughts stumble, incoherent, circling the same impossible question: how the fuck did a two-word praise sound like that? How did it manage to feel like command, confession, and promise all at once?
He says it so casually it almost slips through you unnoticed, like a breeze that smells faintly of sin and something simmering, “Want dinner? I made pasta,” like it’s the most ordinary sentence in the world, like he isn’t standing there in nothing but a towel slung low enough to make the air thick and unreasonable.
He says it like he isn’t the main course, like you're supposed to focus on the food and not the flash of ink sprawled across his skin, the muscles shifting under the last remnants of bathwater, “Your favorite,” he adds, quiet but smug, and it’s cruel, because he knows exactly what that does to you—how easily he can lace innocence with danger and call it kindness.
You should say something clever, something that stings, but all you manage is, “You seem to be certain of that?” and even though your words come out steady, you can feel the tremor thrumming under your ribs, the way your heart trips just looking at him. It’s ridiculous—you’re drunk enough that everything glows, yet not drunk enough to mistake the sharpness in his smirk for tenderness. He's too composed, too aware of the way he affects you.
He laughs under his breath, that quiet, self-satisfied kind of laugh that makes your spine go rigid. He turns, collecting the bottles scattered across the counter, and you watch him move with the lazy grace of someone who knows they’re being watched, “You know I do,” he says, glancing at you over his shoulder, and the sound of the glass clinking together punctuates the space between you.
“You're always so self-assured,” you say, dragging the words out like a challenge, like maybe you can wound his ego with them. But when he rounds the bar and comes to stand beside you, the light catches on his watch—silver, heavy, deliberate—and you lose the thread of your own defiance. The towel’s still dripping in small glossy trails down his chest, his tattoos half-shadowed by the kitchen light, and you hate how effortlessly he exists.
“What’s so bad about me knowing that much, hm?” he asks, voice slow, smooth, teasing in that low way that should come with a warning label.
“N—Nothing,” you stammer, the word breaking against the edge of your tongue, and you could chew your fingernails to keep from shaking. His smirk widens just a little, as if he’s cataloguing every twitch, every failed attempt at composure.
He's learned you too well—your darting eyes, your restless hands, your small collapses—and he likes it, the power of recognition, the quiet proof that you can’t fake calm around him anymore.
Then he leans in, just a fraction closer, the metal of his watch hitting the counter with a sharp click, like punctuation at the end of a sentence you didn’t get to write, “Still mad at you, angel,” he says, and it’s not an accusation—it’s a confession, dressed up like a threat. His voice lowers, darker now, roughened by something too heavy to name, “you were making me lose my sanity.”
The words hang there between you, soft but scorching, and before you can breathe, he follows it up—too fast, too close, “Was two seconds away from taking my car looking for you,” the kind of honesty that doesn’t sound like him, that makes your stomach twist.
It hits like a bruise blooming under the skin, slow and deep. He could’ve stayed cold, smug, untouchable—but instead he says that, and it wrecks you. You swallow, guilt curling like smoke in your throat. “I—I’m sorry, Jungkook,” you manage, small and fragile and not nearly enough.
He hums, and the sound is low, noncommittal, the kind that doesn’t ask for forgiveness because it doesn’t need to. It's the sound of someone who’s already made peace with his anger, who knows he’s got the upper hand, “You sorry, hmm?” he repeats, and the smirk returns, lazy, dangerous, “don’t believe you.”
And you know he doesn’t—not because he’s cruel, but because he can see straight through you, because for all the words you own, none of them ever seem to work on him. He reads you the way most people breathe—effortless, instinctive, inevitable. And fuck, it’s infuriating how good he looks doing it.
He keeps pressing, the way only he can—steady, relentless, his voice low and knife-edged with certainty, “You were enjoying making me worried,” he says, not as a question but a verdict, his mouth curling into that maddening half-smirk that makes everything sound like foreplay.
And maybe he’s right, maybe you were. Maybe you liked knowing you could make him feel anything at all—because this Jungkook; never shows it, never cracks, never flinches, and suddenly here he is, looking at you like you just bruised his calm. But you can’t help it—the smirk crawls up your face before you can stop it, a small act of rebellion painted in pink gloss.
It’s pathetic, really, how much you adore the fact that he knows you this well. That the same Jungkook who spends half his life punching bags, who is usually only concerned only with his gym and ignoring texts somehow finds the time to worry about whether you made it home, whether you're still breathing. The thought sends a weird ache blooming in your chest, honey-sick and humiliating, “You can’t even hide your smile,” he mutters, his tone low and cutting, “know you too damn well to fool me.”
“That's why you’re drinking, mm?” you shoot back, your voice a little steadier than you feel, dragging your hand across the table, not touching him, just tracing the air close enough to make him follow it. And he does. His eyes flick down, glued to the ghost of your movement, and it’s electric—the tension thick enough to bite through. For a second, you forget everything else. The pasta. The clock. The fact that this is supposed to be harmless.
He doesn’t look at you, he devours you. Eyes dragging over every inch, greedy and unhurried, like he’s reading a secret written under your skin, “Don't remember you wearing that dress,” he murmurs, he had already moved on to another topic without even thinking about answering yours, voice husky, a little too genuine, and you feel it like a pulse somewhere low in your stomach.
“You're being nosey, Kook,” you snap before your brain could stop you, and the second the nickname leaves your mouth, his expression changes. A quick flash of something dark, hot, and dangerous lights up his eyes. He hates it—or pretends to—but shit, he loves it too. You can see it in the way his jaw flexes, the corner of his lip curling slow and knowing.
“What? Nosey?” he echoes, all mock surprise and quiet arrogance, “curious in your vocabulary means me being nosey, huh?” and it’s unfair how his voice sounds like that—rough around the edges, worn and grown, the kind of voice that feels like fingers brushing over bare skin. He’s not even trying, and still, every word drips with weight, with control, with that lazy-dangerous kind of dominance that makes you want to both hit him and melt.
“You're just my roommate,” you fire back, mostly to save yourself, to wound him, to do something before you fall apart completely. But he only leans in closer, broad and unbothered, the silver glint of his watch catching the dim light. And you can’t keep your composure—his presence is too much, too dense, too him.
He laughs, low and humorless, and when he speaks again it’s with that effortless, cutting tone that lives somewhere between mockery and sincerity, “Right,” he drawls, “just your roommate who had to call you five fucking times to make sure you weren’t passed out somewhere,” the words hit like a hand gripping the back of your neck—firm, grounding, impossible to ignore.
And then, softer, but sharper too, he adds, “For someone so ‘grown,’ you sure like making me feel like an idiot for caring,” and that’s the one that gets you. Because underneath the bite, there’s something raw in it—something that shouldn’t be there. It lands too deep, somewhere between guilt and longing, and you hate that you can’t tell which of you it hurts more.
He stands there, towel loose, eyes dark, waiting. You want to argue, you really do, but your throat’s dry, and all you can think is that he looks like trouble sculpted out of want—every line of his is too deliberate, too familiar. You want to say something that’ll claw back your dignity, but nothing comes out. Only the air between you, thick, trembling, heavy with everything neither of you is supposed to admit.
It starts small, stupid small, like the tick of a pulse behind your ribs — that twitching heat that starts at the throat and leaks into laughter before you can smother it. You try to keep straight, to act bored, but the smirking bubbles up anyway, thin and nervous, the kind that betrays everything you’re pretending not to feel.
“Can't stop smirking?” he murmurs, but it’s more of a weapon than a question. He says it like he’s peeling something open, like he knows exactly how much that smirk costs you.
He stays in that slow, dangerous character he built for himself — that lazy armor of his — shoulders all broad and unbothered, the kind of stillness that fills a room with tension instead of peace, “Now I feel I was right,” he doesn’t just say it — he owns it, like he’s tasted the truth and decided it belongs to him.
And you hate that he’s right, hate that he knows it, because admitting what’s burning between you would make it real, would turn the teasing into a confession neither of you is ready to survive.
And fuck, that voice. It's got this dark gravity to it, all grown-man patience with just enough bite to bruise, “You like making me angry with you,” your breath snags on the word ‘angry’ — like he pressed it against your neck, “What makes you angry with me?” you ask back, quieter than you mean to, voice trying to act brave while your pulse gives you away. Every syllable trembles like it’s made of glass.
He laughs, but it’s not soft; it’s rich, layered, like smoke catching light. It sounds like someone who’s tasted the world and came back spoiled by it. The kind of laugh that knows too much, that hums with old arrogance, “Are you actually asking me what makes me angry?” he hums, one eyebrow sharp, one corner of his mouth already curving.
You nod because you can’t trust your voice not to splinter. He tilts his head, thoughtful, cruel in a beautiful way, then drags his fingers across his jaw — slow, casual, devastating, “Besides your irresponsibility…” he lets the pause linger, watching the air between you grow dense and honey-heavy, “you being a stubborn brat.”
And that word — brat — it hits like a thrown match. You feel the burn spread before you can stop it, cheeks to chest, blooming ugly and red. “What is it?” he prods, eyes flicking up, catching your flinch like a hunter spots a heartbeat in the dark, “Hit a nerve?” his voice dips lower, lazily cruel, drawing it out, and it’s so him — to poke at the wound and call it curiosity.
You want to hate him for it, but he’s looking at you again, really looking, with those deep brown eyes that could talk entire paragraphs without opening his mouth.
“Why are you trembling, angel?” he breathes it like an accusation, like a discovery, and the word ‘angel’ drips off his tongue slow, reverent, wrong. Then, with a half-smile that kills, he adds, “Did I make you excited, hmm?”
And it’s insane, it’s chemical, how his voice makes something low in you pull tight — something you can’t name without burning alive. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He's been playing this game since forever, setting the air on fire and pretending he doesn’t smell the smoke.
“W—What?” it comes out tiny, ridiculous, like a mistake you can’t undo.
His hand rises, slow enough to make time ache, brushing the edge of your cheek with the kind of care that feels dangerous. He's never touched you like this before — never crossed the line from accident to intention. You've lived side by side for a year: shared walls, meals, silences, all of it loaded but harmless. Until now.
“Your voice,” he murmurs, thumb ghosting near your lip, “it gets higher when you lie. And your lips—” he studies them like he’s cataloguing proof, “they tremble,” the way he says it isn’t even a tease anymore — it’s a diagnosis, and you're the patient shivering under his gaze.
He leans closer, smile fading into something hungrier, “You’re getting a little too excited, angel.”
His hand finds your face like it’s meant to be there, heavy, warm, and so real it feels impossible. It smells like smoke and skin and something darker that curls at the edge of your breath, something that shouldn’t exist outside of a dream. “I—I know I shouldn't ask that,” you manage, your voice a thread pulled too tight, breaking in places, “It's wrong,” ‘wrong’ because the way he’s touching you burns holes through the thought itself, wrong because your lips part when his thumb hovers close enough to feel the ghost of your own exhale. Still, the question tears through you before you can kill it, “What do you d—do with brats?”
His mouth curves, dangerous, slow, a slice of arrogance sharp enough to taste, “You shouldn’t answer those questions?” he murmurs, and the sound of it is silk dragged over flame. His hand slides from your jaw to your throat, deliberate, as if mapping out the pulse there, and lingers— not to threaten, but to claim. His eyes stay on you; half-lidded, unreadable, hungry, “Want to know what I do with a brat like you?”
One finger hooks beneath your jaw, the others splayed across your cheek, forcing you to look straight at him— and fuck, he knows it, knows how the gaze itself wrecks you more than anything else could, “Better if I show you, baby,” he says, voice a low hum that drips straight through your chest.
The air thickens, heavy with everything unspoken, the space between you a live wire humming. I can't tell who’s going to break first, only that something’s about to snap— him, you, maybe the whole room. His breath skims your lips, so close you can taste him already, that electric charge of heat and lust and want, “I know you’re waiting for my move,” he whispers, eyes half-shut, all hunger. Then, slower, crueler, “You know I want it even more? I want to kiss you till you can’t feel your lips. Till they’re swollen and mine.”
His smile is feral. You don't think; you just move. Your hands find his hair, tug, pull him down to you, and when our mouths collide it’s all teeth and heat and ruin. He sneers into the kiss, a quiet, smug thing, before it dies under the sound of you— the wet rush of breath and tongue, the way his hands find your hips, fit around you like he’s known you forever. You can't breathe right; can’t think, can’t stop. His lips are soft but his hunger isn’t; it’s rough, greedy, unrelenting, the kind of kiss that leaves a mark somewhere no one can see.
The tension doesn’t break; it mutates, heavier, deeper, like you've both stepped into something you can’t back out of, “Why didn’t I do it earlier?” he asks between kisses, voice half wrecked, half wonder. And before you can answer, he’s on you again—devouring, claiming, his hands already learning the edges of you, waiting to pull you all the way under.
Then he takes you, his hands clamping on your hips with a deliberate, almost territorial grip that makes your pulse stutter and your stomach coil into itself, something primal in you obeying the weight and pull of him like gravity just switched sides, you eyes snapping to his; wide, dark, dilated pupils glinting like molten chocolate caught in shadows, “Come sit with me,” he murmurs, voice low, hushed, a velvet growl that wraps around your name, his hands engulfing yours entirely, fingers lacing and bending around yours like they were always meant to hold you captive, not leaving you a sliver of choice, “On the couch, baby,” he adds, gaze devouring you so thoroughly you swear you could combust just from existing under it.
As you move toward him, every step dragging like syrup, your eyes locked on his like magnets, your breath shallow and uneven, you can't stop drinking him in—the curve of his jaw, the slight glint of sweat catching the light, the way his shoulders slope just so, casual power in every line of his body, and then his voice drops again, the sound rumbling straight into your bones, “Isn't that dress too short for this season?” and just like that, the spell he had you under shatters, cold water slashing across your consciousness, your cheeks flare, but still you fight it, lift your chin, stubborn, defiant, “Not for you to decide that,” you declare, pride flaring in your chest like flames licking your ribs, because you can claim ownership of your choices just as much as he claims his.
He hums, a low vibration that resonates like it’s felt in the pit of your stomach, and then he nudges your hand with one finger, light but precise, as if he owns the couch, as if he owns this space, this moment, “Not for me to decide what you want to wear?” he repeats, slow, deliberate, as if questioning your defiance, testing it, tasting it, and then, a smirk threading through the words, “Sure, pretty thing. Tell yourself that,” his arrogance curling around your spine, pressing you down, suffocating you in the sweetest, sharpest way, leaving you with no choice but to endure, to play the game he’s already mastered.
And then, commanding, relentless, “Come sit,” a single order, no room for hesitation, no room for argument, and when your defiance flickers, he pushes it further, voice clipped, razor-sharp, “Sit. Now,” and like a marionette with strings too strong to resist, you sink into him, hips meeting lap, dress inching impossibly higher with every breath, every subtle shift, exposing flesh that burns under his stare, the brush of his toweled skin against your palm sending shivers, low moans trapped behind your teeth, “Want to get rid of that towel?” he asks, voice intimate, knowing, reading you like a secret, your panic and desire coiling in one hot mess of confusion and want.
He studies you, unwavering, belief in his gaze pressing into you, no pretense left, “Aren’t you the shy one, baby?” he teases, dark amusement in his eyes, tugging mercilessly at the thread of your restraint, adding, almost casually, “wasn’t even trying to hide that,” and it’s like he’s dissecting you, limb by limb, thought by thought, pleasure and mortification tangled so tight in your chest that you can barely breathe.
“I know you’re horny, baby. I know,” he continues, voice a velvet whip, each word coiling around you; binding you, feeding you desperation, pushing you further into the heat of yourself that you can’t contain, can’t control, and then, a stutter escapes your lips, a confession and a plea all at once, “C—can you…can you, p—please do…” your words tremble, your body on fire, hungry for him, raw and desperate and entirely exposed, and he knows it, feels it, revels in it, understanding without a single misstep the exact weight of your need.
And he teases, stretches it, pulls it taut like a rope ready to snap, “Oh, and you want me to do something about it?” and just like that, you are undone, every nerve alight, every thought twisting into want, because he knows you, knows the exact spots that ignite, the exact words that strip you bare, and you are entirely, helplessly, deliciously under his control; burning for him, trembling for him, waiting for him to decide exactly how far he’s going to take this, how deep into the fire he’s going to pull you, and you'd follow him anywhere, anywhere at all.
But he needs to feed you another lesson; if you want to be or appear smarter and sharper than him, you need to be more clever to play at the same league as he, and just like that, the words fall from his lips like knives wrapped in silk, sharp but smooth, teasing, daring, a challenge and a trap all at once, "Can't big girls do it on their own? Aren't they already too 'grown-up' for stuff like that?" his voice is clipped, precise, like he’s measuring the heat of the room against the pulse of your spine, and suddenly you’re acutely aware of the way your stomach twists, the way your thoughts fumble, your pride waging war against that pull he has on you, that effortless gravity that makes you want to argue and melt at the same time.
Your hip rocks back and forth, slow at first, testing the waters, feeling him beneath you, feeling the press of his hands on your waist that aren’t just there to hold you — no, they’re there to remind you, to command you, to make you painfully aware that every little flick, every tilt, every accidental brush of your skin against his is like lighting a fuse on a fire you can’t put out, because he’s hard in mere seconds, impossibly fast, and the heat of him against you, the way his body tenses under your movements, it’s a warning and a temptation all at once, and you can feel it in your chest, tight and fluttering, a rush of blood to your cheeks that makes your own words tremble when you murmur, “You’re being rude, Kook.”
It comes out clipped, sharp, a little defiant, a little breathless, and you know he hears it the way he hears everything — not just the words, but the undercurrent, the little shiver behind them, the tiny flicker of control i try to hold on to but he’s already dismantling with just his gaze, with just the curl of his smirk, the lazy, dangerous tilt of his head, like he knows exactly what you're thinking before you even think it, and fuck, it’s infuriating, maddening, and delicious all at once, making your mind spin even as your body betrays you, wanting, needing, and aching to give in but trying — oh, fuck, trying — to pretend you have a choice.
"I’m not rude, angel," he curses under his breath, low and rough, a vibration that drags straight through your chest, rattling your bones and heating your skin, and you can feel it in the curve of his shoulders, the flex of his jaw, the way his hands tighten just a fraction more on your waist as you push harder; against him, testing him, teasing him, seeing just how far you can make him react without shattering him entirely — but oh, fuck, he’s already reacting, already hard in ways that make your stomach coil and your thighs slick, and he exhales, slow, deliberate, a sound that is equal parts warning and claim, and you hear him: "Not rude for telling the truth," clipped, precise, sharp enough to cut through the haze of your spinning thoughts, and you know he’s losing patience, that thin thread of composure unraveling at the edges because you're still misbehaving, still moving, still rolling your hips against him like a challenge.
And it’s infuriating and thrilling and terrifying all at once, because he’s supposed to be in control, and yet you can feel the pull of him, the tension in his chest, the brush of his fingers that hold me just so, reminding you that even when you think you're wild and untouchable, you're entirely, completely, deliciously at his mercy, and that knowledge makes every nerve in your body ache and hum and want.
Your whole face is on fire, every inch of it blazing like you've swallowed the heat and it’s crawling under your skin, hot and electric and impossible to hide, because why bother hiding it when he’s already seen it all — every twitch, every tiny rebellion you thought you were sneaking past him, and it’s laughable, really, how completely useless your little attempts are, because he knows, oh, he knows you.
Better than you know yourself in these moments, knows the way your pulse spikes when his hands linger a little too long, the way your chest tightens when his gaze latches onto you like a predator that’s both amused and hungry, “Don’t blush now. Too late for that,” and it’s clipped, it’s hushed, but it’s soaked in the heat of him, of you, and you feel it thrum through your veins, that low, dangerous vibration in his voice that curls under your skin and makes you want to obey before you even know what you're obeying.
"Nah, angel. Don't reach your hand for my dick. You can't touch it without my permission," he argues with your movements, a slow, deliberate tug here, a pause there, his hands on your waist firm and unyielding like he’s mapping out exactly where you end and he begins.
Until he shifts them, sliding up over the curve of your hips with that casual, infuriating precision that makes your brain short-circuit, and suddenly you're trembling, fingertips grazing the heat of him through the thick towel that clings impossibly to the hard line of his shaft, teasing, hiding, daring you to want more than you have permission for, and you can feel it, the tension, the ridiculous, maddening thrill of touching him without touching him, and your mind is a delicious mess of want and guilt and sharp, gleeful defiance that has no chance of winning.
Before you can even draw a breath, he catches your wrist mid‑motion, his fingers circling it like a sentence he’s decided to rewrite, “No, no, baby. We're doing it on my terms,” the words slide out of him like smoke, slow and deliberate, the kind that stains.
“B—but…” it comes out more tremor than speech, the sort of small sound that betrays too much. He hears it; of course he does. It's the kind of thing he collects — the stumbles, the hesitations, the way your voice folds in on itself when his attention turns heavy.
He ‘tsks’, a soft punctuation that cuts sharper than a shout, and you still instantly, the air between you contracting into that charged silence that hums louder than noise, “No, angel. You don’t get to argue with that,” the words aren’t cruel, just carved — final in the way a line drawn through a page ends all debate.
He's smiling now, not kindly but beautifully, like someone who's already read the ending and is amused by your attempts to change it. It's that look that makes everything in you want to rebel and obey at once, "Yeah," he murmurs, tilting his head, voice a velvet threat, "you don't have a say in it."
He keeps talking, while his other hand comes to your ass to stroke your skin there, with his hands, with his calloused and much stronger hands, wrapped around there, "You were bad, remember? A brat doesn't deserve a cock in her cunt," he talks too explicitly, too dirty, but it makes it raw and needy, makes you heady and a bigger mess, a complete mess for him.
His voice is starting to sound soothing, more dominant than emotional, which keeps your eyes trained on him, on the way he talks and makes you feel his assertive nature, his more mature nature, "A bratty girl like you should earn it," he slaps your ass once to make a statement, then palms there as if apologizing for it.
"How can I do it?" your eyes dilated, and he knows the effect he has on you, but he keeps on pretending and pressing his dark and slightly possessive energy on you.
He asks you then, sounding genuinely interested, "Want me to tell you how?" but then he laughs, dry and manly, he builds from indifference and cold nature, so it comes easily to him, "Angel, let's not make it harder than it is. We both know the answer."
He makes a statement, clear and with no other meaning behind it, "On your knees," when he sees you become shy again, not too fast to comply he nearly growls, "- Now."
His voice is like a siren to you, all you need to do is to follow his commands like in a trance, your knees trembling when you came down on your knees, keeping eye contact with him, "Look at your legs. You're shaking, baby. Why's that, huh?" his eyes are glowing and it makes you wonder how much composure he has, before he loses it all.
When you sat, he only faced you, coming to you to put a hand around your throat to see your eyes close; to see them roll all the way back to your skull, to glance at what's behind them, "Weak at your knees?" he asked you then, awaiting your answer, that didn't come, "Tell me, baby."
You just gaze at the way his face looks rougher at the edges, more adult and mature than it was before, you're sure of that, you can't keep your eyes on him, so they fall to the ground, but his hand on your throat forces you to look at him again, "Did I stutter?"
"You're the reason," you whine, when he pushed his hand on your throat more properly, more securely.
He praises you instantly, with such an attitude from him, such a character that seems more like a challenge, "Atta girl," he continues then, with even more feeling, more thoughtful, "I know I'm the reason. Just want you to speak to me."
His hand comes to your hair and pushes it through your hair, making your eyes trained on him again, nobody but him, "On your knees. That's a place for bratty sluts who misbehaved."
You can't keep your hips from making friction with them, to see his face become more serious around the edges, "Already rolling your hips," he hummed, as if judging you for what you're doing, "Enjoying this a little too much, aren't you?"
He accepted your behavior to his advantage, pushing you to your limits, "You are closing your legs together, mhm," he makes you accept your actions, to make them known, to let you know that he can see them, can feel them as much as you, "Do you feel the heat between them?"
"Mhm" you only hummed, because your head is spinning, you're already losing your mind and you can accept your defiance to him.
He only laughed again, making you feel small and rough under his stare, "Look at you," his voice is dripping honey and venom, all at once, "Desperate and cockhungry."
He makes it obvious that even when you're not so much as talking, he still can hear you breaking and having a breakdown while he touches you like that, "Can hear your voice trembling, baby. Don't be nervous around me."
"Jungkook, don't you think it's weird? We're roommates," your voice is broken and small, while his is still assertive and rough as always.
He's talking dirty back, just to see you crumble, "You think it's weird to fuck your roommate?" he adds that to make a meaning behind his words, "Do you also think that it would be weird me fucking you good and filling you to the brim?"
You close and roll your eyes back, because he became uncontrollable and too much for you to stand, you whine around him, feeling his hot breath near yours, "There she is. Can already see you losing control," he's saying, as if his control is not as thin as yours.
"But I won't do anything tonight. Can't have you drunk. I'm not that fucked in the mind," his hand is on your face again, but you can see that's a half truth, you know he can do much more than that, but wouldn't change it for now, "Doesn't sound too hard, right baby?"
He glares first, like the air itself dared to breathe without his permission, then laughs—a sound that isn’t quite kind, isn’t quite cruel, just threaded with something that makes your pulse stumble, “You’re agreeing too fast, angel,” the word lands like a test, not a nickname. His voice roughens on the edges, gravel pulled through silk, and every syllable feels like it’s weighing you, judging if you even understand the game you just agreed to play.
You should say something clever, something that will cut clean through that tone and prove that you can stand your ground. But the words curl up and burn before they reach your tongue. His eyes flick down, up again, deliberate, the kind of look that reads more than you meant to write, “My smart girl,” he says, not praise but prophecy, like he’s already decided what kind of creature you’re going to become under the weight of his attention. Then quieter, a smirk twisting through his next breath, “My fucking favourite girl.”
He’d had enough of the stalemate, enough of the teasing distance between you, and when he finally sat back on the couch it was like the whole room bowed with him, the air itself shifting its allegiance, “Now,” he said, the word falling heavy and unhurried, “be obedient slut for me,” there was an authority in it that made your breath catch, something that demanded attention without needing to raise its voice. His hand found your hair again, the motion both a command and a warning, and you could feel the weight of his expectation before he even spoke another word.
You moved slow—deliberate—testing the edge of his patience, testing your own ability to stay composed while under that stare. Every second stretched like molten glass, soft and dangerous. He watched, saying nothing at first, just tilting his chin slightly, a nod that could mean go on or prove it, you couldn’t tell which. It wasn't even about the act itself anymore—it was about whether you’d follow through. about the quiet gravity he had when he wanted to see what you’d do next.
He leaned back, all lazy menace, the kind of posture that pretends to be eased but radiates command. One hand disappeared into yours hair, fingers tangling like he owned the gravity there, like he could tilt the whole room if he wanted. “Get rid of that towel. Go on,” he murmured, low and steady, more a challenge than an order.
And you did, slow on purpose. You wanted to see what restraint looked like on his face, if it cracked or held. His eyes tracked every motion like he was taking notes on the pulse beneath your skin. He didn’t hurry you; he didn’t have to. His silence did it for him—sharp, exact, all edges, “Yeah,” he said at last, almost a sigh, almost approval, “Keep going. Push it all the way down”
You looked at him then, eyes darting for any sign, searching for the brush of a hand, the shift of a gaze, the spark in a half-smile, the one that always made your chest flutter like a thousand trapped butterflies.
You tried to keep yourself steady, but the weight of his presence was impossible, broad and looming like a storm just before it breaks, and somehow, even in the silence, you felt every pulse, every quiet calculation he made, “Don’t look at me puppy eyes. Put your hand on my dick,” he said, clipped and sharp, the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, like he knew exactly what you were thinking, like he could see the chaos you tried to hide behind your own careful composure, and you realized, half in awe, half in dread, that he always could.
"Slowly up my thigh," your hands traveled up as he told you to, "Hmm…like that. Wrap your hand around it." He's much bigger than anyone you've touched, much broader and thicker. You think you're losing your mind just looking at it.
"Stroke it, hmm," his head arched back, and he moaned slightly. His hand was still on your hair, keeping you at his will. "Not too fast, baby," he whined when you started stroking him, trying with all your might to make him feel good.
His head snapped back toward your face when you stroked him much faster and stronger than he wanted you to, "What did I tell you? Not too fast," he scolded you roughly, before his head spun back onto the head of the couch, waiting for you to continue your actions.
Your hands tremble as they wrap around him, feeling the heat beneath your fingers, the rigid pulse of him throbbing against your palm, and every nerve ending in your body ignites, humming and buzzing and aching all at once, your knees digging into the soft carpet, legs shaking like a marionette’s strings pulled too hard, hips tilting and grinding without thought, instinct taking over entirely.
Your head tilting back and forth as you study the curve of his body, the way his chest rises and falls, broad shoulders catching the dim light, the towel now long forgotten, the scent of him thick in the air, musky and intoxicating, almost too sharp for you to breathe, and your tongue darts out, wet and eager, tasting the salty precum that escapes him, trembling at the power it has over you, a raw, magnetic pull that makes your stomach twist, makes your heart hammer against your ribs like a warning and a promise at once.
You lean closer, dragging your lips along the length of him, lips hot and slick, teeth grazing carefully, teasing, tasting every ridge and vein, feeling the hard pulse of him against the back of your throat, the way his hips twitch in response, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer, and you let yourself melt into it, swallowing and sucking, letting your mouth explore, greedy and reverent at the same time.
Each motion measured yet desperate, a dance of need and obedience, your tongue flicking, tasting, coaxing, as your hands keep him steady, anchoring him to you while the world narrows to the sound of his breathing, low grunts and sharp exhales, the warmth of his skin against your palms, grounding you even as you lose yourself completely, body and mind consumed by the friction and the heat and the raw, beautiful domination of the moment, a crescendo building in every muscle, in every nerve, in every sigh and whimper that escapes you, and you take him deeper, closer to that edge.
You feel him shiver and tremble under your lips, the way he presses down on your head, demanding, guiding, teaching you in the most primal way possible, until finally, when it all tips over, the tension snaps, a flood of release crashing through him and through you, his hands clutching your hair, yours gripping him like an anchor, swallowing and savoring.
The air thick and heavy with the aftermath, the sound of his pulse in your ears, the taste of him lingering, sharp and heady, and you finally let yourself lean back just a little, eyes glimmering with awe and heat, chest heaving, knees still weak, knowing you've given everything you can, knowing the moment will linger in the air long after your breaths slow and the world begins to right itself again.
you're stupid for him — you know it, hate it, wear it like a secret bruise under your ribs. jungkook’s the last person you should want, all smirk and sin, never stays long enough to mean anything. so you hide it. pretend you doesn’t care. you date other boys just to prove you can. but when they leave — they always leave — it’s his name that finds you, his voice that cuts through the noise. and every time, you swears it’s the last. every time, it isn’t
pairing fuckboy!jk × topstudent!reader
warnings slow burn, strong language, unresolved tension, heavy sexual tension, cursing, power imbalance, push-pull dynamics, blurred boundaries, mixed sexual signals, mutual yearning, inner monologue, mutual pining, jealousy, light angst, denial, possessive behavior, obsessive thoughts, teasing dynamics, flirtation, sassy jk, dirty talk, deep talking, mention of alcohol
You feel the table Jungkook and you are sitting at shaking slightly, and it starts to worry and irritate you a lot, because your concentration is completely dissipating, and it makes you screech loudly.
"Jungkook, you need to stop," your hand touches his shirt. You see how this gesture pulls him out of his bubble.
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away, just stares with that lazy dangerous boy-face, all soft around the edges but wicked where it counts, and his leg is still jerking under the desk like it belongs to some stranger he’s trying to disown.
He looks wrecked, completely undone in that way only math can ruin a person: jaw tight, shoulders knotted, pen chewed into an ugly little weapon between his teeth, the metal of his glasses smudged from how many times he’s shoved them up the bridge of his nose. Every part of him is betraying him — the brows pulled low, the tongue bulging his cheek like he’s hiding a secret curse in his mouth — and all you can think is he’s two seconds away from tearing the report into violent confetti.
And you're not sure whether you want to stop him or dare him, because the exhaustion in him is electric, and you can feel it crawling up your spine too.
"Why are you even nervous?" you ask. "You told me you've got it." you remember how he tried to prove to you how well he copes with errors; now you see that it was a complete and utter lie.
His movements still appear fluid, even though you can see his fatigue with your eyes closed. "Wasn't lying."
You imagine how difficult, challenging it was for him to admit from the very start that he had problems with anything, since it wasn't even him, but our mutual friend, Taehyung, who implored you to do something about his stubborn, rigid attitude, which did not allow him to agree that he might not fully grasp something. You remember how you reacted then; you know that you sensed a certain male ego in his character — he couldn't just bend it because of studies.
“Mhmm,” you're on the verge of acting out, perhaps foolishly. Provoking him right now isn't the smartest or most helpful move, but the chance is there. You murmur, leaning back, stretching like a cat who knows exactly what she’s doing. “I'm completely buying it.”
And fuck, you do it on purpose — the arch of your spine, the lazy slouch of your neck — because you know he’s watching even when he swears he isn’t. You know you look smaller next to him, like you could be eclipsed by the breadth of his shoulders, by the way he fills every inch of space without even trying. He lives at the gym, he’s said it a hundred times, in that voice that makes you picture him there, sweat dripping down his temples, his shirt clinging in all the right ways. You shouldn’t think about that, but you do. You always do.
He exhales, slow and deliberate, and when his eyes meet your again, they don’t stay still. They travel — down, to your mouth, and back up — and there’s this flicker in them, this small, dangerous spark that feels like being seen and undressed in the same breath. “You told me not to stare at you,” he says, and his voice drops, quiet, deep, meant only for you.
It rolls through you, that sound — low and velvety, dark enough to stain. And he smells like sin disguised as cologne: dark chocolate and musk and grapefruit, that expensive, adult kind of scent that doesn’t wash off easy. It's the kind that gets into your clothes, your hair, the back of your throat, until even air starts tasting like him. You'd forgotten it for a while, the way you forget pain until someone presses on the bruise — but now it’s back, blooming all over again, vivid and throbbing.
You've always been drawn, gravitating to his neck, where the scent is much stronger. You've always dreamed of burying your head there, but then you remember what kind of relationship you have, and that feeling remains just as raw and bleeding, but deep inside. He must never know about it.
You raise your eyes like it's weighted, peeking out from under your eyelashes, just to find him slouched into that lazy predator posture, head tilted the barest degree, hand braced under his chin in a way that feels rehearsed but isn’t, fingers half-curtaining his mouth. You know he’s hiding a smirk, you know it, because he thrives on this petty torment, on drawing out your unraveling until it stings.
"Because you can't concentrate on your assignment."
His mouth twitches again, but this time it’s more wolf than boy. “Yeah, you were right,” he says, and wipes his mouth with his palm, slow and deliberate. Then he leans back, his hands dragging down his thighs — and fuck, the motion is slow enough for you to notice everything, from the stretch of denim to the way muscle shifts under fabric, taut and ready to break. “You’re a big fucking distraction.”
You follow his hand movement with your gaze. You, too, lose concentration as easily as he does, especially when the object of distraction is him. He notices your hesitation; you see him lean slightly in your direction. You move further away, your pulse is a drum, every cell screaming at the danger of this moment, of his curled grin. Feeling like one of those girls he only has one-night stands with, with no strings attached afterward.
"This trick isn't working on me," your hands instinctively clutch the surface of the table to keep you from collapsing. Your eyes dart around, scrutinizing every detail of his face. You sigh sharply and anxiously, ogling him, breathing inches from my face. You smell mint and menthol when he exhales.
He shakes his head, as if disagreeing, almost laughing. You maintain until the very end that he trusted your statements, you believe. You try to convince yourself that your face doesn't betray the only emotion you can't hold back. "Is that so?"
You hear the rustle of clothing, his shirt shifting and sliding as he places his hand somewhat behind your hand on the table, close enough to you that the air collapses between you. His skin eats up the space until all you can see is him. He seeks you out with his eyes; they gleam and are slightly narrowed. You gulp, everything you're trying to convince yourself of, trying to prove that he has no effect on you. "Yeah, confident," you gaze into his eyes. He sneers wider; he enjoys it. "I'm not one of your girls.”
It causes you to knit your eyebrows and inquire, nearly insulted, "Worse?"
He is amused at your last phrase, evidenced by the way he somewhat inclines his head, baring his smile and all his teeth. "Never said you are," he runs his hand through your hair, and you almost succumb to his charms. Almost giving in. "You're worse.”
He seems to enjoy that you're falling for his flirting, there's no other way to put it; you feel the air getting thicker, feel it getting harder and intense to breathe; all you feel and inhale is his scent, the scent of his body, of his clothes, which also carry the smell of his cologne, and it magically draws you in even more: temptingly, seductively.
"Jungkook," you try, your voice doesn't rise and folds in on itself. You don't look at him this time. "We need to study." Your hand instinctively reaches for his chest, flattening against the hard plane of him, trying to shove him away from you. You know, you feel that you're not using all your strength, the push is hollow, that underneath you inwardly trying to do the exact opposite and an ache to grab fistfuls and anchor him closer.
"Mmm…They make it look so easy," he murmurs, his hand diving back through your hair, slower this time, deliberate, tucking strands behind your ear like he owns the right. your face burns traitorously, hues of rose bleeding into scarlet, and he sees it, of course he does, and his voice lands soft but cutting: "You…You make me work for it.”
But he's a big lump that's not so easy to move. His chest turns out to be very powerful, muscular, and broad; it seems deliberately unfair his lungs greedy enough to swallow twice the air you're allowed, ribcage like a fortress. You can feel it under your palm, the steady lift and fall as he breathes; compared to you, he breathes evenly and smoothly. He is sitting all this time in straight, light jeans, above the waist, and a white shirt that is open a few buttons down, showing only the outline of his chest and a small, miniature chain hanging from his neck, glinting like it knows exactly how reckless your eyes want to be.
He's older — two years older, a small number that feels enormous when you measure it in experience and arrogance, even though you cover different topics in the sessions, his subjects are twice as difficult as yours, but that doesn't mean that you can't cope with the task, especially since it seems to you that what he's going through doesn't sound and look as gloomy and gray as what you're studying. And it doesn't help that Jungkook just doesn't want to study.
What gnaws at you is him — the fact that you can see him trying, straining, but always slipping, always reckless, always reaching for distraction. You notice every lesson with him how he just struggles with himself to concentrate. You see, you know, that he's trying, but it doesn't help; he gets distracted.
"Yeah, study," all the warmth vanished in an instant, and he's already on his side of the table, looking like he's deliberately avoiding eye contact with you. "You're right, as always."
"I didn't ask you to babysit," you see how he looks more focused than ever, as if deliberately trying to push the buttons that might sting you. You bite your lip to avoid saying something extra.
"Oh, don't say it like that," now it's your turn to be difficult, because you've had enough of his attitude for one evening. “You make it sound like I'm the villain here.”
"It wasn't my idea,” you remind him, sharper than intended, “and you know it."
He just snorts in response, and you force yourself not to laugh at his tantrum, which he decides to inflate in importance and necessity. It's much quieter in the library than it has been this whole time; it's already late evening, and you almost yawn from everything that has happened today. Your shirt isn't in the best shape either, long, wrinkled, and unbuttoned in several places. You feel your head getting heavier from fatigue.
"You accepted it anyway," his head is only slightly tilted towards you, and you can't believe he's saying this out loud.
You're filled with the desire to wipe that emerging smirk off his face, but at the same time your fingers curl with a sense of lust for him, "Yeah, because I like helping people, even hopeless ones."
You added the last part with the intention of getting a reaction from him, and as if by magic, his face changes to a sarcastic one, "Wow. That was low. You wound me," he puts his hand on his heart, and you clench your lip even harder to not give in to him.
“Who said I was talking about you?”
You watch the muscles on his body shift, becoming more stiff and tight, still flowing smoothly, and you follow these gestures, unable to resist.
His tone of voice drops lower, curling like smoke and becomes impossible to keep out, more authoritative, much more masculine. "Admit it. You'd be bored to death without me."
The laugh that tears out of you is brittle, you flip the page — loud, careless, theatrical — as if the paper can drown out his voice, "Please. I was perfectly happy before you came along."
"Happy? Or lonely?" he throws the phrase out quicker than you can catch it, and there's something brutal in how he says it, fast and deep, like he already knows which answer belongs to you.
Your hands are itching to wipe that smirk off his face, to bruise the arrogance straight off his lips. He's the same as always, his conversational games bordering on flirtation, and sometimes you really try to get a sense of whether that's really his character. And now you don't know what you want more: to strike him to erase that pompousness, or to drag, pull him impossibly closer by that smug jaw.
"You're older, you're supposed to be setting an example."
"Don't need to throw it at me," he doesn't miss a beat; he wears language the way he wears black — effortless, sharpened, deadly.
You can't stand it, your eyes glue themselves to the page, but your head is occupied with something completely different. You can't make out anything you're pretending to read. The words blur, smear into nonsense, your brain refusing to follow the lines when his voice is so much louder. Your head only tilts just enough towards him to see that same smirk that undoes you.
"You're so full of yourself."
"Full of truth," he says, demanding and smug as ever. Rich and smug, pressing the weight of it onto you like his knee against your thigh.
"Full of shit," you correct.
He takes advantage of the opportunity, because you chose the place you always fancy, which has wordlessly become yours. It's almost hidden in the corner of the library; you have to make a left turn to find it, walking past many shelves to stumble upon it.
“It doesn't stop you before,” his body language has always been a mystery to you. He moves like everyone around owes him; as if the world owes him pace and space.
"We're supposed to be studying," you have to repeat yourself, more strictly and convincingly, but it has little effect on him. You see, you feel it, the ego that still sparkles from him.
“And yet you're still talking to me,” Jungkook counters, fluid and smooth as poured ink, not even looking down at the open book in front of him, as though its pages exist solely for decoration, “so maybe you don't want to study as badly as you say.”
“Don't twist my words,” you bite back, too quick, which only makes him tilt his head like he’s caught you in a trap you built yourself.
“Didn't twist anything,” he says, feigning innocence with those wide, faux-doe eyes that are absolutely lying, “You're the one who can't stop staring at me every three seconds. Oblivious, aren't you?”
You know how bad you're at lying—like, embarrassingly bad, the kind of bad that shows itself in the twitch of an eyelid, in the stumble of a tongue, in the betrayal of every nerve that lights up when he looks at you. And those eyes, god, those doe-dark, impossible eyes that see straight through you as if your bones are made of glass and your blood is nothing but a red confession spilling under your skin. But still you try, because your pride insists on theatre even when you know the curtain’s already half-burnt.
"Oh, please. I don't even notice you half the time."
"Mm," he hums, savoring the single syllable like wine, leaning back in his chair, stretching his body out like he's performing the idea of desire itself, that drags your attention whether you like it or not. "You've been staring at the same line of your notes for, what, ten minutes? Either you're in love with that equation, or — "
"Shut up," your face is on fire. You feel the same heat as from his body when you're close to him; his body is always hotter than yours.
"Make me," he doesn't miss an opportunity, like it's the easiest dare in the world, like he knows you'll choke on it before you can even form an answer.
You glare, blowing daggers at him, but instead, you only see that full-of-himself smirk, and then it stretches even wider, dangerous. "You are so childish."
"Two years older, remember?" he tosses it back at you, sneer widening, lazy and lethal, "which makes me wiser by default.”
“You’re wiser at being a pain in the ass.”
His voice becomes even more alluring and deep. You feel closer to him. "Funny, you don't sound that annoyed. In fact — " he leans forward, elbows on the table, chain glinting against his throat, " — you sound entertained."
"And you sound like someone who notices everything I do,” your eyes chase his burning gaze. His tongue is back behind his cheek. You feel his face grow more focused and centered at you, "Should I be flattered or creeped out?”
He laughs, lazy and wicked, “Flattered. Definitely flattered.”
Eventually, you start working on the project, but it also means that your eyes are betrayingly drawn to him at any opportunity, even if he doesn't notice. He mustn't, because if he finds out about your weakness for him, there will be no turning back. If he finds out that he has long been your biggest weakness and the perfect example of a man.
And yet, God, you can’t help it — every time you’ve seen him in sportswear after boxing, shirt clinging damp to his torso like it was painted on, you've catalogued every muscle, every live-wire vein snaking across his forearm, each pulse-point shouting louder than the algebra in front of you.
You've looked at those arms and thought of them looped around your neck, not tender but possessive, that kind of feral strength that says mine, and shame has never burned sweeter. His thighs, thick and obscene in their promise, are the kind you dream about climbing onto and never stepping down from, the kind you know would bruise your hips, leave you ruined and grinning and begging for more.
He must never know how you pine for him, because no matter how much you take yourself in hand, or him for that matter, you want to — you dream of becoming one of his girls, but you understand that you're not his type; you don't live as openly and to the fullest as those he hangs out with. You also understand that playboys like Jungkook just don't know how to be in relationships, but that doesn't stop you from licking your lips at him from afar every time.
You lost track of time when you noticed Jungkook had been staring at you blankly for a while, not even trying to hide it.
"You're starting," you didn't take your eyes off the textbook.
His voice is slightly hoarse, but he smirks even more sinisterly, "Hmm, you're beautiful like this."
"You can't say things like that, Jungkook," you gasp, trying not to look at him, but you can't help it.
Your head turns slightly in his direction, noticing how he leans back in the chair, his silhouette becoming even bigger and broader. You swallow, because in your head you could interpret it as an invitation, the way his thighs are spread apart, as if there's just enough room there. For you.
His smirk widens as he winks, wrapping his arms around his powerful chest, "Why? Can't forbid a man to tell the truth."
You roll your eyes, deliberately avoiding his gaze, "You're impossible."
"Want to do something about it?"
Your hand freezes, gripping the book cover tighter than necessary. Jungkook is counting on a dirty game in which he always wins, because you're always left as a mess afterward.
But this time he doesn't wait for your answer before his smooth voice echoes in your head, "You're always telling me how you can't stand me…" he emphasizes the last words, "Thought you wanted to change that," he shrugs, hinting at a double meaning.
“And what? Boost your male ego even more?” your whole body knots tight, every tendon taut, every breath shallow, like you're bracing for an impact you can’t quite see coming. You're aware of yourself too much—skin buzzing, heart hammering, nerves lit like little electric wires under your ribs.
You hate that he does this to you, that a glance alone could make you conscious of every inch you occupy.
He just raises an eyebrow in surprise, his head tips, but you don't see that sincerity in him; it seems to you, "So I'm right?" voice all smoke and grin, the kind that curls under your skin and itches there, makes you restless.
You swear you feel him before he moves—his body cutting into your space, a gravity that pulls without touching. Your brain supplies the image before it’s even real: his mouth crashing into yours, the greedy kind of kiss that would strip you down to nothing, lips swallowing every sound, every gasp, every shaky laugh. Eyes hot enough to sear, hands rough enough to cage. You know what he’d do because you've thought about it too often, too vividly.
But you don’t give him the satisfaction. You pushed yourself back, let the book take up all your field of vision like a shield. “Focus on the project,” you mutter, stabbing your pen down onto the page, onto the neat blue markings you'd made earlier, as if ink can anchor you. “Do the tasks I marked.” Your voice tries for cool, but the edge is fraying. You try not to look, but habit is a traitor, and your gaze betrays you, flicking back to him in tiny stolen seconds that you hope he doesn’t notice.
One no isn't enough for him, because as soon as he sees that you're continuing to work on the project, as you said, he just smirks harder, "Have you always been like that?"
This makes a grimace appear on your face. You feel like you want to answer him harshly and snap, because of course he won't know what you're really like. The words hit you harder than they should. You feel your face twist, grimace carving deep like he’s struck a nerve you didn’t want exposed. "If you'd been more curious, you'd know that.”
Jungkook was never a patient person, not in a way saints are. You realized that at the very beginning of your acquaintance, at the very moment he opened his mouth, that he is: careless, blunt, so goddamn arrogant. He was never careful; if he wanted or thought something, he would easily say it point-blank to your face, without hesitation and without needing to choose his words.
"And you want me to be curious?"
Your head tilts, your voice almost breaking on the dryness of your laugh. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.” His grin curves sharp, deliberate, that boyish mockery dressed up like sin. “Your body is my answer.”
You whip around before you can stop yourself, hating how the burn of his smirk crawls over your skin like heat rash, hating more that it’s him—him in those clothes that fit too well, cling too tight, molding themselves to every line you’d sworn not to memorize. But you did. God, why him? Why the boy who clearly wouldn’t even blink if you disappeared?
"If you're so good at reading bodies, maybe you should read mine screaming 'get lost’.” His eyes are burning, the same as yours. Your body is shaking; you're still nervous around him, and with trembling hands under the table, you fist the fabric of your skirt too hard, harder than necessary.
And the look he gives you—oh, it isn’t retreat, it isn’t shame. It's fire, finding gasoline."There she is." He murmurs, like you’ve just confirmed his favorite suspicion. Your tantrum didn't embarrass him at all; if anything, it only loosened him up, stretches him taller, coils him closer until your space is no longer yours. You see his body getting closer to you again.
You smell that cologne scent again; deep, heady, the one that demands to be remembered, which becomes even heavier and more expensive. You want to roll your eyes, if you weren’t secretly imagining how much better the gesture would be pressed against the hot span of his neck.
"You're always daring me to figure you out. Fine. Make it harder. Tell me something I couldn't guess, something that would surprise me." His accent is heard in his voice, his voice dips, slick like honey. Which slyly becomes even deeper.
"Why would I tell you that?"
"Because you want me to." His hand drags across, warm and unrelenting, covering yours like he owns the right. Your breath stumbles out traitorously in a gasp you can’t choke back. The difference in size is obscene—his palm dwarfing yours, heat rolling over your knuckles, too heavy to resist. "Because no one's ever asked the right way.”
For the first time you really look at him, searching, dissecting. It's the first thing he's said that actually shut you up, lodged hard enough in your throat you couldn’t force words past it, and he must know, because he doesn’t gloat. His eyes just watch, patient for once, as your hand darts to your hair, smoothing a strand back like it might give you something steady to hide behind. "What do you want to know?"
He peels away too fast, arms folding across his chest, hand gone, warmth gone, and you hate yourself for feeling the loss like withdrawal. He’s still too close, still towering with that quiet deliberation, his mouth twitching as if he’s chewing on words he already picked but refuses to let out. You know him. He isn’t thinking. He's stalling, stretching the pause just to grind on your nerves.
Voice dipped in that husky velvet tone that always sounds too practiced to be accidental. It's that familiar line he uses when he’s trying to pry you open without looking like he’s begging—lazy, confident, too sure of his own gravity. “Tell me something only I'll get to know,”
You smirk, shallow and sharp, the kind that doesn’t reach your eyes because you know he’s fishing, and you refuse to be the catch. “i know you’ll use whatever I say against me anyway,” you shoot back, sharp and sugar-sweet, but your smile falters when his face doesn’t move, when he doesn’t roll his eyes, doesn’t quirk his mouth into that usual fuckboy smirk that makes you want to both kiss and kill him.
Because this time, he looks impassive. terrifyingly so. Eyes unreadable, lips a still line, shoulders squared like he’s holding something back with both hands. The silence is heavy, thick, like something living between you, and you can’t shake the thought that maybe—just maybe—he isn’t lying when he whispers it back, low enough that you feel it in your chest instead of your ears.
"Never.”
“Bullshit.” It comes out too quick, too defensive, because what else do you do when someone like Jeon Jungkook says something that almost sounds sincere?
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Just looks at you with that steady, slow-burn kind of gaze that makes you forget where your skin ends. And his serious face—God, that face—makes you laugh, this ugly, startled thing that bursts out of you before you can stop it. Your hand flies to your chest, a nervous tell you hate, "I believed you for a second,” you manage, forcing the words through the thrum in your throat.
You don’t look at him after that. You can’t. You look away because you have to. The floor, the table, your fingers—anything to keep from drowning in the intensity of him. Your heart is still hammering in that stupid, traitorous way that makes you want to rip it out and toss it across the table. What the hell happened to him? When did he start saying things that sounded like they meant something? When did he learn how to stop being the boy who only ever played with the edges of your patience and start being the one who could fold you up without even touching you?
He leans back, but not in that lazy, I-don’t-care way he usually does. This time there’s something coiled about him, deliberate restraint. His jaw ticks. One leg stretches out beneath the table, muscle shifting under denim, posture suddenly tight in a way that makes your pulse misbehave. “I wasn’t joking,” he says, and it lands like a weight dropped between you, quiet but impossibly loud.
It leaves you speechless—an unfamiliar, unwelcome kind of silence for someone who always has something clever to throw back. Your brain scrambles for escape routes, for something, anything that’ll push this conversation back into safer territory, away from whatever strange gravity’s pulling at both of you. And God, you forgot about the project, the deadline, the fact that the entire reason you’re sitting here with him is academic and not personal. You forgot that you’re supposed to be immune by now.
But you’re not. You never were. His influence clings to you like smoke, seeping into your hair, your breath, your blood. No matter how hard you hide it, no matter how many walls you pretend you’ve built, it’s still there—him, bleeding into everything.
"I fear that I'm always not enough or too much." It slips out before you can leash it, before you even understand what vein you've just opened. Your voice sounds smaller than you meant it to, like a half-confession caught on the edge of a whisper, and you try to bury it, hide behind your hair, behind your hands, behind the quiet.
He freezes. Not dramatically, not like the boys in movies do when they finally notice the girl’s breaking—but in that microscopic way he always does when something actually lands. The tilt of his jaw sharpens, the restless twitch of his fingers goes still, and he’s just looking now. His eyes flick over you once, twice, calculating, irritated at something he can’t name. And then, softly but with that certain gravity only he knows how to wield, he says, “That’s a fucking lie and you know it.”
The way he says it almost makes you laugh. Almost. Like he’s scolding you for something stupid, like your insecurities are just another joke he refuses to let win. But the laugh doesn’t come; it just burns in your chest. “It’s true,” you murmur, staring at the floor because it’s safer there, because the floor doesn’t look at you like it’s trying to fix you. “every time someone leaves, it feels like I'm the problem.” The words empty you out. There's a small, stupid silence after that, the kind that stretches itself too thin. You can feel the air press heavy against your skin, that awful awareness of having said too much but still wanting to be understood.
He breathes out, slow, a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “You can’t be a problem at all,” he says, and it should sound kind, but it doesn’t. It sounds like disbelief, like the idea itself is impossible to him. He tilts his head a little, mouth curling around the edges of a grin that doesn’t fully arrive. “You’re the most innocent person I've known.”
His reaction makes the warmth crawl down your throat and pool deep in your stomach, all molten and merciless, like something ancient just woke up there, something you've never experienced before; your body tenses before your brain catches up, your breath hitching in that humiliatingly audible way, and you can practically hear your pulse roaring behind your ears when you say it — “do you want to hear me squirm, jungkook?”
He doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t need to. His voice comes out steady, quiet, that kind of masculine composure that shouldn’t be legal. “Depends on how honest you want to be tonight.” And God, it’s so unfair, the way his words come slow and deliberate, how every syllable feels like it’s been rolled across his tongue just to see if you'll flinch.
It's like what he says doesn't match what his body is showing.
His expression barely moves, but something behind it shifts — his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile, then pulls taut again, muscle locking down over bone. It’s maddening, the disconnect, the way his body looks carved from ease while his eyes burn with something that doesn’t feel casual at all.
You don’t even realize you're speaking until you hear your own voice, too soft and too raw. “Do you want me to be honest?” the words slip out like they’ve been waiting their whole lives to be spoken, and by the time you register them, it’s too late. You bite your tongue, hard. “Wait. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
He stretches like a cat in that chair, and you press your tongue between your teeth just to keep from devouring him, something heavy and unspoken thrums between you, thick enough to taste. You can’t name it, but you feel it in the air like static, in the small tremor of his breath that shouldn’t even be noticeable but somehow is. He knows what it is. You see it in the smug half-smile that cuts his face open, in the gleam of teeth that flashes just long enough to make your stomach drop.
"Don’t. Not your job to fix what they fucked up,” he shrugs, looking into your eyes without breaking eye contact, as if you're something he can't and absolutely mustn't take his eyes off of, but his eyes wander; they wander all over your face and stop on your lips before looking back into your eyes.
—
Jungkook is unbearable in the way that only beautiful, self-assured men can be — the kind who seem to orbit above consequence, too smug in the certainty that the world will always bend before they do. He walks like the night is his, like even the pavement is lucky to carry his weight, and somehow you're beside him, too aware of every step that syncs up with yours.
It’s late, the air caught between autumn chill and the smell of burnt streetlight dust, and we’re heading from campus toward your apartment even though you told him — explicitly told him — that you didn’t need an escort, that you could call Jimin or Taehyung or literally anyone else who isn’t a walking contradiction wrapped in leather and trouble. But Jungkook doesn’t hear “no,” not really. It’s just another word he translates into challenge.
He’s carrying your bag, because of course he is. Because according to him, your “tiny hands” shouldn’t be suffering under the weight of “these fucking bricks you call textbooks,” and because apparently chivalry isn’t dead — it just wears a black leather jacket and has a jawline sharp enough to slice an ego clean open.
The streetlight catches on his shoulders, the fabric pulling tight with every slow, deliberate step, and you swear the motion of muscle under cotton should come with a warning label. You hate that you notice. You hate even more that you keep noticing. His fingers curl around the strap like he’s strangling it for misbehaving, and you realize you're watching him with the kind of attention usually reserved for things you're not supposed to want.
You're almost at your building, and you can feel that invisible shift — the one that happens when you’re too close to saying goodbye and too unwilling to. You glance up at him again, because apparently you're addicted to punishment. The temperature’s dropped, and the wind bites at the hem of your skirt, skimming along ypur knees. You rub at your arms, wishing you had more layers, but pride keeps your mouth shut until it doesn’t. “You remember we still have that joint class this week?” you mutter, half for conversation, half just to distract yourself from the cold — and from him.
He doesn’t answer right away — of course he doesn’t. Silence has always been his favorite weapon, that infuriating calm before he decides whether to ruin the night or save it. His eyes stay ahead, unfocused, like he’s chewing on something sharp and bitter that he has no intention of sharing. The air between you is electric, humming with all the words you haven’t said yet. Then, like he’s spitting out a stone, he mutters, “Fuck, y/n.” a beat, his jaw flexing. “Is it this week?”
You stop walking, your body cutting through the dim gold of the streetlight like a punctuation mark that didn’t ask to be written. The night feels wet around the edges — too humid, too heavy, the kind of weather that sticks to your skin and makes you restless. “Yeah, genius. This week. I told you I only had time this week.” your tone lands sharper than you meant, but you don’t pull it back. You've learned that softness gets you nowhere with him. Softness gets swallowed.
He drags in a breath, low and guttural, like he’s trying to sand down the edges of his own words before they come out. “I can’t make it this week,” he says finally, voice rough in that way that makes you want to bite it just to see if it’d taste like regret.
For a second, the city forgets to breathe. The words sit between you — slow, cruel, deliberate — a quiet detonation that leaves ringing in your ears. you stop dead, right in the center of that pathetic little pool of yellow light, the glow hitting you like a spotlight on someone about to break character. “What the hell do you mean you can’t?”
He finally looks at you. Really looks. The kind of look that makes your spine feel too visible, like he’s peeling something off you without moving a muscle. His eyes catch the light the way oil catches fire — reflective, dangerous, refusing to be one color. “Means I can't make it this week,” he repeats, tone flat, too calm.
It's the kind of calm that drives you insane. The kind of calm that sounds like indifference but feels like punishment. You stare at him, chest tight, mouth parting like you’re about to argue but all that escapes is air. You moved everything — rescheduled, rearranged, re-bent your entire week into his shape — and now he’s standing there, unbothered, saying it like your time’s a toy he’s done playing with.
“You must be joking,” you whisper, though there’s nothing joking about it.
His jaw ticks. There's a pulse under his skin, violent and alive. “Obviously I don't,” he says, and there’s no teasing, no smirk, no escape route in his tone, “thought we were talking about a different date.”
His voice lands like a bruise — dark, spreading, deliberate. And you hate that it still sounds beautiful. That even when he’s disappointing you, you still want to lean closer just to catch it again. It's pathetic, the way your heart can’t tell the difference between hurt and hunger.
He notices the way you’re looking at him — because of course he does — and something flickers in his face, a warning. “Y/n, don’t fucking look at me like that.” his voice drops low, warning-smooth, almost soft if it weren’t for the way his hand drags down his jaw, the tendons flexing under his skin. “Puppy eyes don’t work on me.”
Your eyes, traitorous things, follow his movements. the way that hand — big, veined, rough-skinned — moves across his face like a threat. Your chest tightens. Your brain betrays you with the mental image of that same hand on you, the weight of it, the certainty. You blink it away, angry that you even went there. “You don’t understand, do you?” your voice is quiet, but your eyes are loud, demanding. “Why’d you do that, Jungkook?”
His eyes flash. His composure cracks just enough to let the heat show. “I fucked up, okay? I know I did.” he waves a hand, agitated, his voice threading between defensiveness and something dangerously close to sincerity. “What am I supposed to do now?”
The thing about him — he gets angry when he’s guilty. It's like watching a wildfire pretend it’s not burning the forest. “Why are you always like that?” you snap before you can stop yourself.
He groans, dragging a hand through his hair. “Don't sound so angry. It's not that serious.”
Your laugh comes out bitter, splintered at the edges. “Not that serious, huh?” your voice trembles, not from weakness but from pressure, the kind that builds before a dam breaks. “Me rescheduling my entire week for you, that’s just a favor, right? Some dumb inconvenience?”
Your fists curl at your sides. You can feel your pulse in your palms. The streetlight buzzes above you like it’s eavesdropping. He stares, unmoving, and for once, you think maybe he doesn’t know how to answer.
His voice is too smooth, too flat, the kind of calm that feels rehearsed. His hands adjust his leather jacket, that heavy, weather-worn second skin he wears like it’s the only armor he owns, the sound of the material shifting as low and he says it so casually it almost doesn’t sting — “Nothing that can’t be changed. Don’t sound so complicated.” — like the whole conversation isn’t sitting between you like an unlit match, like he doesn’t know you're one more careless word away from burning the entire night down.
His voice is too smooth, too flat, the kind of calm that feels rehearsed. His hands adjust his leather jacket, that heavy, weather-worn second skin he wears like it’s the only armor he owns, the sound of the material shifting as low and sharp as a breath held too long. His eyes don’t meet mine. They never do when he’s pretending not to care.
The street stretches out before you — narrow, glossed with rain, breathing that faint smell of asphalt and cold metal. The lamps hum above you, haloing the wet air in pale gold, and every few seconds a car passes, its headlights slicing through the dark like someone cutting the world open. You start walking again, your steps too in sync for people who claim to irritate each other.
He looks down at his feet — at his polished, criminally expensive shoes that flash when they catch the light — and you can’t tell if he’s thinking or just pretending to. You feel the chill in your bones now, the kind that creeps in slow, crawling up from the pavement like it knows exactly where to find you.
“Am I complicated?” the words leave your mouth before you can strangle them. You tilt your head toward him, watching his profile like it might tell you something his mouth won’t — the sharp angle of his jaw, the pulse that flickers when he’s about to lie, the way the corner of his mouth quirks before the rest of him follows. And there it is again — that slow, smug curl of a smirk that brings him back into orbit, the one that says he’s enjoying this too much.
He raises an eyebrow, slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans like he’s settling in. His voice drops, low and deliberate, a private register meant for me alone. “Yes, you are.” he pauses, lips curving around the next words like they’re meant to linger. “Don't need to argue with me on that.”
You clench your fists on both sides, the motion small but grounding. Inside your head it’s chaos — one half of you has already dragged him close, breath colliding, heat spilling, the taste of that smirk dissolving on your tongue; the other half wants to shove him back, warn him, remind him that you know exactly what kind of boy he is. The type who talks in circles, who knows exactly how close he can get before it stops being harmless.
His smirk widens, slow and knowing, like he’s reading every thought as it unfurls in you. “I see your hands clenched into fists,” he murmurs, tone hovering somewhere between amusement and hunger, “don’t get defensive at me.”
You bite back a smile, your teeth catching the edge of it before it can bloom. He always does this — dismantles you with a sentence, slips past walls you spent months perfecting, makes you forget you ever built them at all, “I do no such thing, Jungkook,” you say, too steady, too smooth, and we both hear the lie in it.
You're playing a game — the kind that has no rules, no start, no finish. The kind where you don’t realize you’ve already lost until he’s smiling like that, quiet and victorious. “You do,” he says simply, his tone soft but taunting, the kind of gentle that still cuts, “you always try to look bigger than you are.”
You stop just short of rolling your eyes, “Jungkook, don’t start. I'm not in the mood for your attitude,” but your voice betrays you, trembling at the edges with something that sounds suspiciously like laughter, or maybe want.
You turn a corner, and there it is — the row of dim restaurants, windows fogged with warmth, and just beyond them, the dull familiarity of your building. Home, or something pretending to be it. The distance between you shrinks and stretches with every step, elastic and electric, like a thread that refuses to snap.
He glances sideways at you, that half-smile still alive on his mouth, and you realize — God, you hate that you realize — that you don’t actually want him to stop talking.
He’s been sticking closer lately — that slow, deliberate kind of close that feels like a secret. His body nearly lingers against your thigh like it’s a habit he’s trying to make look accidental, steps syncing with yours until you're walking in the same breath. You can feel his eyes flicker sideways, measuring, always measuring, that quiet hunger tucked beneath his lashes.
You smile, small and sharp, because you know that look. You know the way he observes you, collects you, stores you like he’s trying to memorize a language he’s not supposed to speak. But then he says it, in that low, lazy tone that drags like smoke — “Yeah, you do it with your voice, too.”
You turn to him, a little startled, a little amused, trying to keep the upper hand. “And you seem to be the one noticing?” your voice tilts on purpose, soft mockery balanced on the edge of a grin. He catches it immediately — he always does — and his mouth curves up like he’s proud of himself for winning something invisible.
His whole body betrays him, though. You can see it — the way his posture loosens, his shoulders pull back like he’s subconsciously trying to look taller, more dangerous, like the kind of boy who belongs on the wrong side of your good intentions. “Always did,” he says, voice lazy but loaded, like he’s testing how much truth he can slip in before you call him out. “Everything about you.”
And you laugh — quick, defensive, the kind of laugh that buys you time to breathe before you drown. “Don't try to get on my good side, Jungkook,” your fingers rub against the fabric of your shirt, elbows bent tight as if the motion could generate warmth. The air’s damp, sticking to your skin, to your nerves.
He looks down, pretending to think, palm pressed against his mouth and jawline — tattoos catching the light like quiet punctuation marks. That kind of gesture that's supposed to hide a sinful smirk but never really does. “No, I'm not,” he murmurs, but it sounds like a lie he’s proud of. When he finally looks up, eyes dark and too steady, his sneer is almost shy in its arrogance. “No,” he repeats, slower, deeper, "I'm not trying to get on your good side.”
And you believe him just enough to know you shouldn’t.
You're sure he did it on purpose — because nothing about him ever feels accidental. Not the lazy drag of his words, not the way his gaze lingers like a fingerprint pressed right into your skin, not even the silence that follows. The last lesson might mean nothing to him, just another empty hour ticked off his clock, but it still haunts you, that casual wreckage he leaves behind when he decides something isn’t worth his attention anymore. And still, you can’t unlearn the way your pulse trips over itself every time he looks at you like that — like he knows.
"I know you did it intentionally," you tell him, and God, your voice betrays you — that stupid lilt of flirtation that you don’t even try to hide anymore. It just happens. It spills. It's the way your body knows his name better than your mouth does. It's how every word you throw at him sounds like an invitation, even when it’s supposed to be a wall. Sometimes you swear it’s not even your fault. Sometimes you think loving him is something wired into you, genetic, unfixable.
He raises a finger — that quiet, commanding little gesture that shuts up the entire world — and says, smooth as a sin, "Don’t. Already told you, didn’t do it on purpose."
Sure. And you didn’t spend the entire night imagining him saying that in every other context. It doesn't stop the sting though — the thought that he could just forget, like it’s that easy. Forget your plans. Forget you. That you could’ve waited all this time for something that meant everything to you and absolutely nothing to him.
He catches it, of course. He always does — your tells, your tremors, the smallest twitch of hurt behind your mouth. He collects them like trophies. And when he tilts his head, the streetlight slices across his cheekbone like it’s worshipping him, and he says, low and deliberate, "Let me make it up to you."
And maybe it’s the way his voice drops an octave, or maybe it’s the way he leans in just enough to taste the air you're exhaling, but your body stops knowing what to do. He smiles — that slow, lazy, devastating thing that looks like it could ruin lives and absolutely knows it can. "I’ll do anything, baby."
And that— that pet name— baby —lands like a match in your bloodstream. You freeze. The world folds in. Asphalt, air, everything blurs around his face. His lips are right there, soft-focus and close enough that you can see where his gloss has worn off, where the edge of his mouth catches light. And you look, God help you, you look, and he catches it — of course he catches it. He smirks, doesn’t say a word, but you can feel it vibrating in the air between you, that shared little secret that isn’t even a secret anymore.
He knows you could ask for anything right now and he’d do it — that’s what’s terrifying. That's what’s intoxicating. And when he says, "Yeah, sounds tempting, mm?" — it’s less a question, more a promise. One that tastes like danger and every other bad decision you've already decided you're going to make anyway.
You bite your lip—slow, deliberate—and watch his eyes drop like they’ve been tugged there for the show. It's ridiculous how easily he gives himself away; the way that tiny motion from you can tilt the whole world in his chest. The night’s cold enough to sting but there’s a pulse of heat that spills from him, crawling up through the air like invisible smoke. You swallow it, dizzy on it, and whisper, “So… what would it be?” You hate that he can sound like that — calm, deep, rough-edged — like the world’s too small for him and you're the only thing left to amuse him tonight.
You don’t want to give in, not yet— you want to stretch this thin line of tension until it hums. You want to make him wait, make him twitch, make him lose that careful, cocky control he wraps himself in like armor. It's the only time you feel him unguarded: those small, fragile seconds when he’s watching you like you're both the question and the answer.
He laughs then, that dark, quiet thing that feels like it lives in his throat. Shakes his head as if shaking off whatever trouble he’s already guessed you're brewing. “You’re thinking something way too dangerous,” he says, and God, the way he drags the word dangerous makes it sound like a dare. “I can feel it.”
“You don’t know me,” the words come out sharper than you mean them to. Maybe because you can feel the pavement anchoring you, keeping you from stepping closer even though that’s all you want—to erase the space, to test the electricity.
His eyes glint—lit like matches—and he shifts, the leather of his jacket creasing against itself, his hands deep in his pockets, like he’s holding back the world. “Wrong answer, baby,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that you can smell the heat of him, the faint metallic sweetness of cologne that always clings to your thoughts hours after he’s gone. “Your little sexy brain never stops, does it?”
And something in me snaps—some mixture of amusement and nerves and want—so you swing a lazy fist at his shoulder, more touch than hit, the gesture stupid and impulsive and entirely too soft. “My brain is not small,” you say, but it comes out more like a confession than a comeback.
He grins at that—wide, slow, dangerous—and the sound of it, the feel of it, the sight of it sits right behind your ribs and stays there, like a pulse you can’t get rid of.
“It is. Everything about you is little,” and he says it like it’s both a curse and a confession. The words roll from his mouth heavy, like smoke. Jungkook will never admit it, not even if you begged him to, but you can see it anyway: how the size of you makes something territorial rise in him, something primal and unspoken that hums right under his skin. You're small enough for him to want to guard, to stand in front of, to shadow entirely if you ever needed to disappear. You swear his body’s built like a barricade and his heart’s got sirens in it.
“In a bad way?” you ask, half-laughing because you already know he’ll twist it. iYou can see it flicker across his expression—the smirk that climbs up one corner of his mouth, the arrogance so perfectly threaded through his charm it’s practically an art form. He’s trying to look unbothered, superior even, like the world and you are both his to outsmart, and God, maybe he’s right. He's the kind of boy who finishes second only because he didn’t care to finish first.
He tilts his head, lips curling as he says, low enough that it slides straight down your spine, “In the best fucking way possible, sweetheart.”
And then his hand—huge, veined, steady—finds yours, folds it up inside his like it’s something fragile, like he’s testing how much pressure it can take before it breaks. The air goes too still, and suddenly you're hyperaware of how warm he is, how his touch feels like it’s branding you.
You can feel your pulse stutter in your throat as he starts tracing your fingers, one by one, his thumb dragging slow circles over your knuckles, over your skin. His gaze never leaves yours. When he lifts your joined hands, aligning them like a study in contrast—his, large and masculine, yours, impossibly small—it’s obscene how much meaning he fits into that single look.
“So fucking small,” he murmurs, voice rough as gravel, “could just bend you in half.”
Your brain blanks. The world fuzzes at the edges. You blink up at him, your voice catching somewhere between shock and something much worse. “What?”
The smirk comes back, lazy and knowing, spreading across his face like the first drop of ink in water. “Getting shy?” he asks, almost sings it, and he doesn’t need to add the rest because you can hear it anyway, that unspoken ‘I’m only getting started’ hovering in the air between you like static.
He catches your hand again before you can pull away, and his brow furrows when he feels it—cold, nearly numb. His expression shifts, softer now but still threaded with that same low intensity that makes you want to look anywhere but his eyes. “Fuck, your body’s freezing,” he mutters, rubbing warmth into your fingers with the rough pads of his thumbs, as if the act itself might save you. “why are you so cold?”
And you almost say because you keep taking all the heat out of you, but you don’t. You just watch the steam of your breath tangle in the night air and let him hold your hand like it’s the only thing he’s got left to anchor himself.
He’s touching you like you're made of something fragile, patting you down as if my skin might betray him, as if warmth could hide somewhere he hasn’t already claimed. His brows knit tight with irritation—because you're cold, because you're stubborn, because you're you—and in one motion that looks both heroic and entirely unnecessary, he shrugs out of his leather jacket, the sound of it cracking like thunder in the night air. “You’ll be getting ill faster than I can get you home in time,” he mutters, voice low, edged with that particular brand of annoyance that sounds suspiciously like care.
And you hate that you notice it. You hate that you notice everything. The way his muscles tighten under his shirt, the way the streetlight glances off the curve of his throat, the way his damn jacket—black, heavy, smelling like cedar and smoke and sin—suddenly feels like a confession. He doesn’t share. Not his things, not his attention, not his orbit. So when he holds it out, it’s not just fabric, it’s a symbol, and you can feel it clawing at your chest, tearing open that stupid part of you that still thinks he means what he doesn’t say. You shake your head, step back, lift a hand to stop him like it’ll save you from drowning in his scent.
“Fuck, you’re being a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, and then laughs when he catches the look on your face—half fury, half cracked open. “it’s impossible to take you like this.” and then, softer, almost too soft, “just take it, sweetheart.”
And you do, though not by choice. He slips it over your shoulders himself, careful in a way that doesn’t match his mouth. The jacket’s too big, the sleeves swallow your hands, the hem hits halfway down your thighs, and when he steps back to look at you, you swear the world stops spinning just to watch him watching you. “No big deal, right? just my jacket to keep you warm, darling?”
But his gaze betrays him. It drags down your body and lingers, dark and hungry. “Shit,” he says, almost to himself, “It’s too big on you.” his smirk turns sinful, black as a bruise. “So damn pretty. Can’t take my eyes off.”
And you freeze, because he’s never been this careful, never been this gentle, not with you, not with anyone. And suddenly you don’t know where to look. He’s every fantasy you've ever denied, standing too close, smelling like everything that ruins girls like you. And then his hand—broad, warm, unrelenting—finds your waist under the jacket, guiding you forward like he’s forgotten what distance means. “Better keep looking at me with those big doe eyes,” he says, tone shifting low and teasing. When you do, his grin widens. “Yeah, look at me.”
You do. Because you can’t not.
And maybe that’s why the next words slip out like a confession you didn’t mean to make. “Would you tell me the reason why you wouldn’t come?”
It’s not even about the event anymore. It’s about wanting to know if you still matter enough for an explanation.
He tilts his head, tongue pressed to his cheek, and you can tell he’s enjoying this, the power play, the interrogation. “You wanna know the reason I can’t make it this week?” he says slowly, drawing out every word like he’s tasting it. His smirk returns, lazy, deliberate. “There’s a party at Malcolm's penthouse.”
And you swear your stomach drops. Malcolm. You know that name like a wound you never let heal.
“Malcolm?” you ask, too fast. “The one that has a little sister Malcolm?"
His smirk deepens, and you hate that it does. “Yeah,” he says, watching you unravel, “The one that has a little sister. What about it?”
Oh, everything about it, actually. The fact that she’s older than him by a year, that she’s his ex, that everyone at the university whispers about them getting back together, about how they still get caught leaving the same parties, the same rooms. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t. But you do. And the jealousy that crawls up your throat feels alive, like it has teeth.
“Oh, nothing,” you say, too fast, too bright. Your eyes dart away, landing anywhere but on him. The lamplight, the concrete, the sky. Anywhere that doesn’t reflect how bad of a liar you are. You cringe at your own performance, at the way your voice betrays you, but he doesn’t call you out on it. He doesn’t need to. His smile says enough: he knows exactly how much you care, and he’s enjoying every second of it.
His hand tightens on your waist like he’s staking a claim, like the air between you hasn’t already surrendered to him long ago. You can feel the press of metal against your skin—his rings, his watch, the faint drag of cold steel that should’ve grounded you but only makes you hotter. “Nothing?” he murmurs, voice low enough to curl somewhere inside your ribs. “You sure?” you nod, lying like you always do when you want him to stop asking but not stop touching. His mouth crooks into something that could be a smirk if it weren’t so Goddamn certain. “Yeah, right.”
“You choose a party over a lesson,” you say, teeth grazing your lip, tongue biting the edge of restraint. You don’t add ‘over me’, because you're not that pathetic, not tonight. But the words sit there anyway, sharp and unswallowed, pulsing like they’re alive.
He laughs under his breath, that dark, lazy sound that’s all danger dressed up as humor. His fingers flex at your waist, pulling you closer until the world reduces itself to heat and breath. “Didn’t choose,” he says, eyes cutting through the dark. “Fucking told you I forgot.”
“Yeah, lie to me,” you say, even though you know he’s half-telling the truth and that’s worse. That's always worse.
His hand drags upward, thumb catching under the hem of your shirt before settling back where it was, like he’s reminding himself you're still human, still breakable. “You're impossible.”
“You did it dirty, that’s all,” you fire back, voice smaller than you wanted. “Could’ve just said you didn’t want to.” it’s easier to sound mad than admit you're melting, that every Goddamn move he makes feels engineered to make you come undone in increments.
He breathes out a laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No, darling,” and the way he says darling makes your pulse misbehave, “You wouldn’t wanna get on my bad side.”
And then his forehead finds your temple, casual like it’s muscle memory. His breath is mint and smoke and maybe sin. “Wouldn’t like to see me angry,” he whispers, and something in you twists, unfurls, blooms black. The thought of making him angry sparks a thrill so dangerous you nearly shiver with it.
You're already planning it. You’ll let your friend set you up on that blind date this week.You’ll let him find out. You want to see what fury looks like on his pretty mouth.
But not yet. Because right now, you're the one who’s supposed to be angry, and you won’t let him forget it. Not when he’s this close, not when arrogance drips off him like perfume. He can charm other girls into softness; you'll make him work for yours. You look at him and say, steady, “I should be the one mad here.”
He hums, his hand lowering, tracing the shape of your spine until you have to clench your jaw to stay upright. You can feel him smirking when your breath catches. His hand creeps to your lower back, and you almost moan from the sensation. God forbid you, because your back almost arches towards his touch, but you hold back with all your might. You know that it means nothing to him and means everything to you, “I know,” he murmurs. “You're the one who should be angry with me.” pause. then, quieter—realer—“I’m fucking sorry, sweetheart.”
His hand stays at your back, heavy and sure, thumb drawing small circles that you swear are meant to undo you. It's almost comical how he knows exactly where to touch, like your spine’s a switchboard wired straight to your lungs. You hate that your body reacts before your pride does—that every inch of you aches toward him, even when every rational thought you have is screaming that this is what he does, this is how he wins.
He says it like he’s narrating something he already knows by heart, that same slow, half-bored drawl that makes everything sound indecent even when it isn’t. “Can see it in your eyes. You’re angry with me.” and it’s not a question, it’s a fucking declaration, like your body language is a language he learned years ago and never forgot.
The way his voice drips through the air should be illegal—lazy, quiet, but too confident. Like every syllable is tugging on a thread between you, like he’s reeling you in just because he can. You hate that it works. You hate that it always works.
“You look even sexier, if that’s even possible,” he murmurs, and you swear the words land lower than they should, sticky and heavy against your skin. He says it the way other people breathe. You should roll your eyes, but your heart has already dropped somewhere it shouldn’t, and you're pretending not to notice it.
“What are you implying? Are you flirting, Jungkook?” the name leaves your mouth too fast, too sharp, and you push at his chest—barely, stupidly, like it’s an excuse to feel how solid he is under that black t-shirt. He doesn’t even move, just looks at me with that small, infuriating smirk that says ‘you think you’re in control, don’t you?’
“I’m not flirting,” he says, so casual it almost sounds believable. His eyes flicker to your mouth and back, and it’s the kind of look that has too much gravity, too much knowing. When you don’t react, when you just stare, daring him to finish the lie, he adds softer—rougher—“No, baby. You’d know if I were.”
The air feels thick after that, heavy enough to drown in. You try to look anywhere but his face, but he’s all over your line of sight—bare forearms, throat, that lazy posture that screams danger without even trying. You should hate how he looks like that, like sin dressed in muscle and leather, but you can’t. You just want him to put the jacket back on so you have something else to blame for the way you're staring.
And then he catches you doing it. “Can't stop smirking, you minx. You like that?” his voice dips—lower, slower—and you feel the words skim down your spine before you can come up with a single clever thing to say.
He doesn’t wait. His hand finds your waist, fingers deliberate, dragging you closer like we’re in orbit and you're the one losing gravity. You gasp—quiet, betraying—and his arms fold around you, his palms pressing against the small of your back until you have nowhere left to go. Your hands end up against his chest, like you've given up pretending to have a choice.
He leans in, breath against your hair, his words a low hum between you. “I know you like the way I call you baby. The way my arms always chase you. My voice—” he pauses, just enough to make you feel it— “deepens only for you.”
And you can feel it. Not just in the sound, but in the weight of it, how the word you lands like a promise and a threat at once.
He always knows where to press, like he’s got a map of you folded behind his eyelids—every nerve marked, every weak spot catalogued for pleasure or destruction. And when his voice drops, low and unhurried, it feels less like speech and more like a secret he’s feeding to you straight from his lungs. “Getting excited, mm?” it curls around you, that question—if you can even call it that—taunting, warm, dripping in that lazy confidence that could burn through walls if he willed it.
And then, suddenly, that switch. The one that lives in him like a second heartbeat, half-feral and half-saint, the flicker of awareness that reminds him he’s human, that you too, that maybe this heat has somewhere dangerous to go. His tone sharpens, a blade laced in regret. “You need to get home before I do something reckless.”
But you can’t help it. You tilt your chin up like defiance itself is a language you've spent years mastering, words shaped by the tremor of your pulse. “You’ve always been,” you murmur, your fingers clutching at the soft black fabric stretched across his chest. It’s not fair, how solid he feels beneath it, how the warmth of his skin bleeds through the cotton and straight into your bloodstream. He's this living contradiction—calm and catastrophic at once—and you swear you could write an entire dissertation about the way his muscles move when he breathes. “What kind of reckless?” you add, just to see him flinch, just to stir the flame you shouldn’t touch.
His mouth curves, slow and sharp, and there it is—the smirk that could end wars or start them. “Fuck, I would bet on it,” he says, eyes glinting like sin dressed in midnight. “Certainly would. And you would be the reason behind my recklessness.” His grip tightens, almost imperceptibly, like he’s afraid the air might steal ypu away if he loosens even an inch.
You both turn your heads and realize, absurdly, that you're already beneath your window. Home. The word feels too small for what’s happening here. Your surroundings blur like background noise, and it’s just him—the way his presence rewrites gravity, the way every molecule of air seems to bend toward him. “Get yourself home, sweetheart,” he says, but his hands linger on your waist, reluctant, like they’re memorizing. And you know—God, you know—that as soon as he walks away, all this heat will evaporate, leaving you hollow and too aware of the night.
Your lips part, maybe for a goodbye, maybe for something worse. You feel the pout before you realize it’s there, that soft, stupid giveaway of emotion, and his gaze catches on it like a hook. “And don’t you dare pout like that,” he warns, voice rough enough to scrape. “It drives me crazy.”
“You're lying,” you breathe, but it comes out fractured, the kind of sound that has no authority, just hope dressed in defiance. because the truth is standing right in front of you, in the way his pupils dilate, in the way his jaw twitches like he’s holding back a thousand things at once. And you know, in this swollen, dangerous silence between you, that every word he’s said tonight might be a lie—except for the ones his body can’t stop telling.
His hands are trouble. The kind of trouble that knows exactly what it’s doing — the kind that skims over your clothes like he’s mapping out sins, like fabric is a personal inconvenience. You imagine the weight of his fingers without the barrier, skin to skin, and something inside you hums, low and traitorous. You should stop thinking like this. You should, but you won’t. Because of the way he looks at you—God, he knows. Of course he does. Jungkook always knows. His gaze burns straight through the seams of your clothes, through every excuse you try to stitch together. “It does, and you know it,” he murmurs, voice all smoke and velvet, that half-smirk curling his lips like he’s about to ruin something. “I can see the way your face heats up, sweetheart.” he says it like a diagnosis, like he’s proud of what he’s caused.
“You keep noticing everything about me,” you try to hide the smile crawling up, bite your lip until it almost hurts.
“Just observing, darling. Your eyes—” he pauses, tilts his head like he’s studying a painting, “—they always give you away too fast.” his voice is the kind of deep that makes you dizzy. It scrapes at the air, fills it. He's been calling you ‘darling’ more often lately. You don’t know when that started, but you've started craving it like a secret drug. You want to believe he only talks like this to you. You want to believe you're the only one who drags out this softness in him, but that’s the dangerous part — thinking you’re special when you’re probably not.
And then, suddenly, his hands are gone. The absence is sharp, almost indecent. You feel the cold creep back in where his warmth used to be, and your body protests before you do. “Can't have you freezing,” he says, that casual masculinity coating every syllable, and you want to roll your eyes, want to kiss him, want to do a hundred stupid things at once.
“Your jacket,” you protest, halfway through peeling it off, but his hand catches your wrist, halting, warm, final.
“Keep it,” he says, buttoning it again himself, like it’s his choice, not yours. “Car’s close.” he grins when you pout, the bastard. Laughs under his breath, and then his hand lands heavy and easy on your head, ruffling like you're his favorite kind of chaos. “You keep acting up.”
“Jungkook, I want my wish,” you say it with arms crossed, chin up, pretending you're not melting under that stupid grin.
“No, baby,” he says, and the word baby hits harder than it should, rough and warm and entirely too easy for him. “I remember. I owe you one.” his fingers graze your hair again, tuck it behind your ear with this maddening gentleness, and you hate that it feels like a confession.
His hand drags from your crown to your cheek—barely a touch, just a promise—and you swear you stop breathing. “See you around, darling.” he turns, walks away, doesn’t even look back until the last second, just to flash that cocky smirk that’s been living rent-free in your head for weeks. “Might bring you something to keep you warm. Stay on the phone,” he calls over his shoulder, makes the ‘call me’ sign with his fingers, and disappears like he never existed at all.
Later, you're lying in bed, fresh from the shower, hair damp, the glow of the tv flickering against the walls. It's raining now, soft and relentless, and his jacket sits there on the chair like a memory that won’t behave. You stare at it like it personally wronged you, like it’s mocking you for how easily you let him get under your skin. You tell your best friend about it, about him, about how weirdly gentle he’s been lately—too good, too careful, too much—and she keeps trying to speak but you keep talking over her, the words spilling out like you're trying to drown the truth before it forms. Because you know something’s changed. You just don’t know what. All you know is that his jacket still smells like him, and it’s driving you insane.
pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader genre. knight!jungkook. queen!reader. a song of ice and fire au. 103 AC. smut.
your knight is completely devoted to you, and while it’s his duty, you can’t help but wonder if there’s something more behind his unwavering loyalty.
word count. 17.1k words (FUCK i am so sorry) warnings. this fic might be a bit confusing if you havent watched game of thrones or house of the dragon !!! misogyny. gender dynamics. seokjin and namjoon cameo hehe. forced / arranged marriage. over protective jungkook <3. cute convo between oc and her husband. violence. mentions of blood and murder. SO MUCH FUCKING TENSION. smut. two sex scenes !! dry humping. oral (male!receiving). unprotected sex (this universe takes place thousands of years ago and condoms didnt exist yet give me a break). bath sex. they almost get caught OOP. cheating (but both parties are consenting and they both openly do it to each other but they dont love each other romantically so its okay i guess) ???? jungkook literally worships her oh im sick i need him.
⟡₊ ⊹ PART OF THE BASED OFF FILM SERIES !
✶ heavily inspired by the series — HOUSE OF THE DRAGON.
ana's notes. this fic ended up being much longer than i anticipated but oh my gosh i literally could NOT STOP WRITING !!! this is the longest fic ive ever written hello. this is inspired by alicent and coles relationship in season 2. sorry i hate them but this trope ??? OUUU TOO GOOD. so you know i got inspired. anyways, i love this one so much, so please let me know your thoughts <3. as always, keep your comments positive or say nothing at all xx
You had always hated the idea of marrying someone you didn’t love, but you knew that marriage was not a choice — it was an obligation woven into the fabric of your destiny. Though reluctance filled you at first, you gradually came to terms with your duty, accepting the role thrust upon you with a measure of peace.
House Emberwyn ruled the Seven Kingdoms, making them the most powerful house of all. Your father had forged a deep bond with King Aelyx, the two men connected by the shared grief of losing their wives. Beyond their friendship, your father was adamant that uniting your houses through marriage was crucial. He envisioned a future where the intertwining of two powerful, wealthy legacies would forge an unbreakable realm.
Atticus, the son of King Aelyx, was only a year older than you — making him a suitable match. Like you, he was reluctant to marry, but he, too, understood the importance of duty. He wanted nothing more than to make his father proud, even if it meant sacrificing personal desire.
As the sole heirs of your respective houses, the pressure to produce children was immediate. The act of intimacy with Atticus was never one of passion or love; it was merely another duty. The first time was uncomfortable, almost unbearable, but over time, you learned to tolerate it. This was your life now, dictated by duty rather than desire.
Since your marriage, you have been blessed with three children. Ares, your eldest and only son, was conceived during your bedding ceremony. Now a boy of one and ten, he is wise beyond his years, his sharp mind driven by a deep love for books and knowledge. Celeste, your first daughter, is nine years old — a whirlwind of wild, unrestrained energy that seems impossible to contain. Already, she’s been eagerly awaiting the day she can take to the skies on dragonback, her spirit far older than her years. Then there is Luna, your youngest and newest addition to the family, a radiant little soul who brings warmth and light into every corner of your life. She is the calm of the storm, a small but powerful source of joy that never fails to lift your spirits, no matter how heavy the burdens of the day.
Atticus is a good father, never neglecting his children. He is present in their lives, providing for them with steadfast love and care. As a husband, he is kind and dutiful. Yet, despite all his virtues, he is not the love of your life.
The two of you had come to an agreement early in your marriage: you were free to seek pleasure where you wished, as long as heirs were made with each other. It was a compromise, one that allowed you both to navigate the confines of your duty while maintaining some semblance of personal freedom.
Tragedy struck shortly after Celeste’s birth when King Aelyx succumbed to an unknown illness. The crown passed to Atticus, and with it came the immense burden of ruling the Seven Kingdoms.
With Atticus as king, you became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, unlike your husband, you did not feel the same pressure. Your days were mostly spent within the confines of your chambers, where the laughter and antics of your children filled your life with light and purpose. Despite never having known your own mother — she had died giving birth to you — you felt as though motherhood had always been your calling.
While you wouldn’t trade your life for anything in the world, motherhood came with its challenges. Ares and Celeste were at the age where they bickered endlessly over the smallest of things — whether it was toys, attention, or simply to see who could get on your nerves first. Their constant squabbles were a source of frustration, and yet you knew it was a phase they would eventually outgrow. Luna, on the other hand, still so small and newly born, could not seem to stop crying. Her wails often filled the castle, and while the maids were always close by, ready to assist, you never allowed them to. You wanted your daughter to find comfort in your arms, not anyone else’s.
There were days when calming her down felt like a losing battle, the hours stretching into what felt like an eternity. But when you finally succeeded, when her cries quieted and her tiny form melted into sleep, it filled you with a sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory in a life full of larger, weightier battles.
Fortunately, today was one of the easier days. Luna wasn’t feeling particularly fussy, and after a few gentle rocks and soft pats on her back, she fell asleep in your arms without much protest. Relief washed over you as you gazed down at her peaceful face, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The soft warmth of her against you, the quiet of the room, made you feel like, for a moment, everything was right.
“Your Grace?”
A voice interrupted your quiet reverie, but you didn’t turn. Your eyes remained fixed on Luna, unwilling to break the fragile serenity of the moment. You hummed in response, acknowledging the speaker but unable to tear your gaze from your sleeping daughter.
“Your presence is wanted, though not required, Your Grace.”
The words draw you from your thoughts, and with a soft sigh, you finally turn to face the speaker. It’s the Lord Commander, standing tall and imposing, his armor catching the dim light filtering through the windows.
“What for?” you ask, your voice calm but laced with curiosity.
“The Kingsguard posting,” he replies, his tone formal, as always. “It’s been suggested that you select who will guard the Red Keep.”
You consider his words, your gaze drifting back to Luna, still fast asleep in your arms. The thought of placing your trust in someone else, of relying on others to protect what matters most, brings a weight to your chest. As a mother, your first instinct is always to shield your children. You would want nothing more than for them to roam the castle freely, knowing they were surrounded by those you trusted — those you handpicked.
“I suppose,” you murmur.
After carefully setting Luna in her crib, you linger for a moment, brushing a tender hand over her soft cheek. Ensuring the maids were nearby to watch over her, you quietly slip from the nursery and follow the Lord Commander through the castle's stone corridors. Your thoughts remain on Luna for a heartbeat longer before shifting to the matter at hand — choosing the knights who would guard your family, your children.
You arrive at the balcony overlooking the courtyard, where a line of knights stands at attention, their armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. The air is crisp, the tension palpable as each knight awaits his turn to be presented.
The Lord Commander steps forward, his voice ringing with authority. "Step forward, Ser Kim Namjoon."
The knight moves with a quiet confidence, offering you a small, almost shy smile. Dimples crease his cheeks, and despite the serious nature of the proceedings, you find yourself smiling back, charmed by the warmth in his expression.
"Ser Namjoon has proved strong and steady in both the tourney lists and in service beyond," the Lord Commander begins. "While traveling through the Kingswood on the way to King’s Landing, Ser Namjoon recently brought a would-be poacher to justice."
You listen carefully, considering the man before you. His loyalty and steadiness are clear, and his recent actions speak of a knight who serves with honor. Still, your mind drifts to a darker, more urgent thought — combat. The Red Keep, and more importantly, your children, needed knights who were not only honorable but battle hardened. In these uncertain times, loyalty alone would not be enough.
"Ser Namjoon," you say, your voice polite yet measured. "We thank you for your loyal service to the Crown."
He bows deeply before stepping back into line, and you offer him a nod in return, though your thoughts continue to circle around the same question — how many of these knights had seen true combat?
The next knight steps forward, and your gaze narrows as you take him in.
"Ser Kim Seokjin," the Lord Commander announces.
This knight is taller, leaner than Namjoon. He holds himself with a quiet grace, his expression serious, but there's a spark of something beneath the surface — determination perhaps, or ambition.
"Winner of the melee at Cider Hall," the Lord Commander continues. "He was the last mounted of three and twenty knights. Ser Seokjin was knighted at eight and ten."
You raise an eyebrow, impressed by his accomplishments. Yet, your thoughts linger on something more pressing, more crucial to the protection of your family.
"Do any of these knights have combat experience?" you ask, your tone sharper now. "Beyond capturing poachers and winning tourneys?"
The Lord Commander nods solemnly, signaling the next candidate.
“Ser Jeon Jungkook.”
As the name is called, a young knight steps forward, noticeably younger than the others who had come before him. Yet, despite his youth, he carries himself with an air of quiet confidence, his steps measured and purposeful. Strands of raven hair fall loosely across his forehead, framing a face that, while youthful, is sharp with focus. His dark eyes meet yours with a steady gaze, neither too bold nor deferent — he stands unshaken by the weight of the moment.
He looks about your age, perhaps even younger, and though he lacks the grizzled scars of a seasoned warrior, something about him immediately draws your attention. There's a natural grace in the way he moves, his armor fitting him perfectly as if he was born to wear it. He’s quite handsome, a fact you can’t help but notice as he stands before you, the light of the setting sun casting a faint glow over his features.
"Tell me, Ser Jungkook," you say, breaking the silence, "have you seen real combat?"
He doesn’t falter, his voice steady as he speaks. "I have, Your Grace. I fought for a year as a foot soldier against the Dornish incursions. I was knighted after we razed two of the watchtowers along the Boneway.”
There is no hesitation in his tone, no embellishment. The quiet intensity of his words, the weight of lived experience behind them, strikes you deeply. His demeanor isn't that of a man seeking glory but of one who has already faced the fire and come out stronger for it. In that moment, your decision feels clear.
“It’s settled.” Your lips curve into a smile, one of certainty and satisfaction. “I choose Ser Jungkook.”
The Lord Commander stiffens slightly, his jaw tensing as though weighing whether to speak. Before you can take a step back toward your chambers, his voice interrupts, filled with respectful hesitation. "Perhaps we shouldn’t be too hasty, Your Grace. There is no doubt Ser Jungkook is a fine warrior, but Ser Namjoon and Ser Seokjin are from houses that are important allies of the Crown."
You turn slowly, your expression cool but firm. The politicking of the court — alliances, the endless exchange of favors and titles — was something you understood all too well. Yet, this was not a matter of alliances. This was the safety of your family, the future of your children. And no amount of courtly maneuvering could change that.
“Those men are tourney knights,” you say, your voice laced with a sharp edge. “My children should be defended by a man who’s known real combat. Should they not?”
The Lord Commander pauses, his gaze flickering between the knights and your unwavering stance. He gives a short bow, conceding. “Of course, Your Grace.”
You nod once, satisfied. “Very well, then,” you say, a smile returning to your face, though this time with a sense of finality. “I expect you to plan Ser Jungkook’s investiture.”
There’s a flicker of something in the Lord Commander’s eyes — perhaps begrudging respect or recognition of your authority in this matter. He bows once more before stepping aside. “As you wish, Your Grace. I will see to it.”
As the days passed, it became clear that your decision to appoint Ser Jungkook was more than justified.
Jungkook proved himself an unwavering presence in the lives of your children. He guarded Ares and Celeste like a loyal hound, always at their side, his dark eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger. Wherever they went — whether it was the training yard where Ares spent hours practicing swordplay or the garden where Celeste attempted to name every flower — Jungkook followed, his sight never leaving them.
In the corridors of the Red Keep, you would often catch glimpses of him, stationed at the door to whatever chamber Ares and Celeste had wandered into, standing with that same quiet intensity that first caught your attention. He never intruded upon their activities, never interfered with their games, but his presence was felt all the same. He was a silent sentinel, ensuring that no one entered or exited a room without his knowledge.
Even the servants and court members began to take note, offering respectful nods as they passed him. There was a certain respect that began to build around Jungkook, not just as a knight, but as a protector of the royal family — of your family.
Before Ser Jungkook’s arrival, the Red Keep had always felt secure. Its towering walls and seasoned guards provided a fortress of safety, a place where danger rarely crossed your mind. Yet, somehow, with Jungkook’s arrival, there was a new, tangible sense of protection. His presence, quiet yet vigilant, added an extra layer of assurance, as if the very air had shifted, growing thicker with safety, steadier with his watchful eye. He didn’t need to speak or make grand gestures; just knowing he was there, standing mere feet away from you, made the castle feel more fortified than it ever had before.
In many ways, he made you feel like that too — protected, even in the smallest, unspoken ways.
The Small Council was always the most grueling part of your day. Despite your title as Queen, you found yourself constantly sidelined, your voice often drowned out by the men who dominated the discussions. You had grown accustomed to their subtle condescension — the way they’d nod and pretend to listen, only to carry on as if your words had never been spoken. You’d learned to expect it, but the sting of dismissal never faded entirely.
And today was no different.
As you took your seat, Jungkook stood nearby, ever the silent sentinel. He’d grown adept at reading you, his dark eyes keenly observing the smallest shift in your demeanor. He noticed how, at first, you entered the room with a composed grace, ready to engage in the matters at hand. But as the meeting dragged on, frustration began to creep in, visible in the slight tightening of your jaw each time a man at the table spoke over you or dismissed your suggestions with a polite but infuriating nod.
Jungkook’s eyes followed the subtle changes — the way your posture stiffened, the soft sigh you tried to suppress, and then, finally, the way boredom started to settle in as you reached for the small stone ball on the table, rolling it between your fingers absentmindedly. He knew you were doing your best to remain patient, but the disrespect weighed heavily in the room.
His hand instinctively twitched at his side, a protective instinct rising within him as he stood there watching. He was ready to intervene if the moment called for it, though he knew better than to step in unless absolutely necessary. Still, his silent support was palpable, a reassuring presence amidst the clamor of men who failed to see the strength in the woman before them.
“Perhaps we should discuss Driftmark, Your Grace,” the Maester began, his voice too casual for the gravity of the subject. He directed his attention toward your husband, but the mention of Driftmark instantly drew you in, pulling you from your growing boredom. You straightened in your seat, the defensiveness in your posture clear.
“What of it?” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, the raw emotion behind it hard to suppress. Driftmark wasn’t just a topic for idle conversation — it was family. Personal. The loss of the Lord of the Tides, your cousin’s husband, had been a blow that still lingered, and the aftermath of it weighed heavily on your heart.
He had been more than just family; he had adored your children as if they were his own, even naming your daughter, Celeste, as his heir. It was an honor, though one with its own set of complications. With Ares set to inherit the Iron Throne, Celeste was to inherit Driftmark. Your cousin, devastated by the loss of her husband and without heirs of her own, was to hold the seat in her stead until Celeste came of age.
The Maester’s eyes flickered between you and your husband, clearly aware of the tension in the room but too entrenched in his own position to approach the subject delicately. He cleared his throat, then spoke with a tone that bordered on patronizing. “It’s... a delicate matter, Your Grace. There are those who believe the succession should be reconsidered, given your daughter’s age. Furthermore, some question the wisdom of naming a girl as heir to such a powerful seat.”
Your stomach tightened, fury simmering beneath the surface. A girl. As if Celeste’s age or gender diminished her worth, her potential. You could feel the disdain, not just for your daughter, but for the very idea of a woman wielding such power.
You held the Maester’s gaze, your voice sharp with barely concealed fury. “And do you agree with them?”
The chamber seemed to freeze in that moment, the weight of your words pressing down on everyone in the room. All eyes flickered nervously between you and the Maester, the tension palpable as if even the air had thickened, making it harder to breathe. Everyone braced themselves for the confrontation that was surely coming.
The Maester, sensing the chance to finally reveal his true thoughts, straightened in his seat, his chest puffing out as arrogance replaced caution. He no longer glanced toward your husband for approval; instead, his focus was solely on you, his eyes glinting with condescension.
“A woman on the Driftwood Throne, Your Grace?” he repeated, his voice dripping with condescension. “Forgive my candor, but Driftmark is not some soft and delicate estate. It is a seat of warriors, sailors, men of the sea and battle. Its history is steeped in strength and tradition. To put a mere girl — no matter her bloodline — on that chair is folly, plain and simple. A woman’s place is in the home, tending to hearth and children, not commanding fleets or sitting in council chambers. The late Lord has a brother who would make a fine new Lord, more befitting the legacy.”
You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your hands tightening into fists. “His brother has no desire for rule!” you shot back, your temper dangerously close to boiling over. “Celeste is his rightful heir. It was his wish, and it will not be questioned!”
The Maester, unfazed, continues. “Your Grace… with all due respect, your daughter is but a child. A girl of her age should be concerned with dolls and dresses, not the governance of a seat as vital as Driftmark. There are many in the realm who would argue that Driftmark deserves a stronger hand. A male heir, one capable of steering the course of the future, as tradition demands. Perhaps it is time to reconsider your decision, before it’s too late. Before the realm begins to question not only Driftmark’s future, but the Queen’s judgment as well.”
The insult hung in the air like a storm cloud, casting a heavy, suffocating tension over the room. The audacity — the sheer gall of the Maester to question not only your daughter’s right but your authority as Queen. Fury simmered beneath your composed exterior, your hand twitching as though you might lash out.
But before you could muster a response, Jungkook was already moving.
“You will watch your tongue when speaking to the Queen, Maester,” Jungkook’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble, carrying the unmistakable weight of a threat. His usually calm demeanor was gone, replaced by something far more menacing. “Or it shall be taken from you.”
The room seemed to shrink around the Maester, all eyes now on him as the color drained from his face. His earlier arrogance dissolved in an instant, replaced with wide-eyed panic. The man who had dared to question your daughter’s birthright now looked as though he might faint from fear.
“I- I meant no offense, Ser Jungkook,” the Maester stammered, his words tumbling over themselves in a desperate attempt to backpedal. His gaze flickered nervously from you to Jungkook, searching for some kind of escape.
“You did,” Jungkook cut him off sharply, his tone like the edge of a blade. His gaze bore into the Maester, unyielding, unwavering. “And I will remind you once more: mind your tongue.”
The silence that followed was deafening, the threat hanging in the air like a blade, and no one doubted that Jungkook would make good on his promise if pushed further.
You turned your gaze to Jungkook, barely concealing your silent shock. The man who stood just feet away, usually so quiet and composed, always speaking only when spoken to, had stepped in to defend you — boldly, without hesitation. The gesture was unexpected, and for a moment, you were struck by the kindness and protectiveness it held.
It was not just the words he had spoken, but the intensity behind them, the clear signal that he would tolerate no disrespect toward you. In a room full of lords and courtiers who often dismissed your voice, Jungkook’s sudden defense felt like a rare and precious show of loyalty. Uncommon as it was, it left a warmth spreading in your chest, a silent but deeply felt appreciation.
Jungkook still hadn’t met your eyes, his intense gaze fixed on the Maester, the disapproval and disgust etched in his expression radiating an aura so fierce, it was almost frightening. He stood there like a wall of steel, silently daring anyone to challenge him again.
You turned your attention back to the Maester, who now squirmed under the weight of the moment. His once confident, condescending exterior had crumbled, now sitting timidly in his seat.
“Celeste is the rightful heir,” you stated, your voice even and composed, though laced with quiet authority. “She will rule Driftmark, and she will do so just as well as any man ever could. Anyone who questions that,” you paused, allowing the weight of your words to settle over the room, “will regret it.”
The Maester lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze, his earlier arrogance completely shattered. “Of course, Your Grace. Please, forgive my words.”
Jungkook didn’t move an inch, his focus still locked onto the Maester like a hawk waiting for the slightest wrong move. The room felt smaller, the tension almost suffocating as the Maester’s earlier confidence reduced to a pitiful murmur.
“See that you don’t forget that again,” you said, your tone final and cold, leaving no room for further argument.
With that, you stood up from your seat, the weight of the moment still hanging heavy in the air. Without another word, you turned on your heel and made your way out of the courtroom, every step deliberate, your posture unyielding. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as you moved, a quiet power radiating from you that demanded respect.
Jungkook, as ever, was by your side in an instant, but he kept a respectful distance, just enough to remain a silent protector, his presence still like a shield around you. His footsteps were measured, the sound of his boots echoing softly in the corridors, and yet there was an undeniable sense of security in the space between you two. No words were exchanged as you made your way to your chamber — there was no need for them. His silent solidarity was all you required.
Jungkook’s presence was reassuring, like the calm after a storm, and it made the weight of leadership — of being Queen — just a little easier to bear.
After the heat of earlier’s events, the last thing you wanted was to step foot back into the chaos of the court. The weight of the Maester’s words still lingered in the air, and you felt the need to retreat, to recharge in the only place that felt truly like yours. So, you didn’t leave your chambers for the rest of the day. You took the rare opportunity to unwind, the need for solitude outweighing any further obligations for the day.
Without a second thought, you changed into your nightgown well before the moon rose, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the tense weight of your court attire. You moved with practiced ease, the familiar ritual of shedding the day’s responsibilities easing the knots in your shoulders.
The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a warm glow that danced across the room. You sank into the couch, the cushions molding to your body as you settled in front of the flames. With a book in hand, you opened the pages, the words inviting you into another world — a world where you could forget, if only for a moment, the burdens of being Queen.
You lost yourself in the story, the flicker of the fire keeping time with the rhythm of your reading. Outside your window, the castle was quiet, the usual noise of the corridors muted by the sanctuary of your chamber. For the first time that day, you felt a sense of peace. The world outside could wait. Here, in the comfort of your own space, you could simply be.
But just as the fire’s soft, flickering glow began to lull you deeper into peace, a knock at the door broke the fragile silence, its sound sharp and intrusive. A flicker of annoyance stirred within you — someone daring to interrupt the quiet sanctuary of your evening. But then, a familiar voice, calm and steady, followed.
“Your Grace?”
It’s him.
You took a slow breath, the irritation melting away at the sound of his voice, and called softly, “Come in, Ser Jungkook.”
The door creaked open, but Jungkook didn’t immediately step inside. He stood just beyond the threshold, his tall frame framed by the dim light spilling from the hall, casting long shadows across the stone floor. There was something endearing in the way he paused there, as though uncertain, hesitating to cross the boundary of your private space without your explicit permission. His respect for the sanctity of your chambers was something rare, a simple act that made him stand out even more.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” he said, his voice smooth and steady, like the evening air itself. “I’ve just come to alert you that the children are abed.”
A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips.
What you didn’t know was that the children had been in bed for some time. Jungkook had only alerted you now because he was standing just outside your door, hesitating. He wasn’t sure if he should disturb your peace with the news. Still new to this role, he was uncertain of how to balance his duties with the delicate art of discretion.
“Thank you, Ser Jungkook,” you said, your tone warm with gratitude. “I would appreciate it if you informed me every night from now on.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Sleep well.” Jungkook gave a respectful nod, his voice as steady and sincere as ever, and he turned to leave.
“Ser Jungkook,” you called again, before he could close the door behind him.
He paused, hand resting lightly on the doorframe, his dark eyes meeting yours in the soft, flickering firelight. For a brief moment, the noise of the castle seemed to fall away, the crackling fire the only sound that filled the space between you. It was rare, these moments of true stillness, where it was just the two of you, no interruptions, no duties weighing on either of your shoulders. The warmth from the fire cast a soft glow over him, accentuating the quiet strength in his features.
For the first time, you found yourself truly looking at him — not just the protector of your children, not just the present knight, but Jungkook.
“I’ve yet to thank you for earlier — in the Small Council chamber,” you said softly, your voice quiet but earnest. “I appreciate your defense. Thank you.”
The words hung between you for a moment, carrying a weight that felt heavier than it should. It wasn’t just the defense itself, though that was significant; it was the quiet way he had stood up for you. Jungkook had always been the silent one, always just there, standing in the background. But today, he had been more. He had spoken when no one else had. His simple act of defending you meant more than you could say.
Jungkook’s posture softened at your words, though his expression remained composed, his usual stoic demeanor intact. Yet, as he held your gaze, his dark eyes seemed to linger a moment longer than usual, a subtle warmth settling in his look that wasn’t often there. It was as though the space between you both had shifted, the heavy tension of the day dissolving into something quieter, almost comforting.
“It was nothing, Your Grace. You need not thank me,” he replied, his voice low and measured, though there was something beneath it — something genuine, almost vulnerable, that made the words feel different from his usual calm, detached responses. His eyes remained steady on yours, and for a moment, the usual distance between you seemed to shrink, as though he was offering something unspoken, something more than just a knight’s duty. “You shouldn’t have to endure that kind of disrespect. It’s my duty to protect you, in all ways.”
You gave a soft nod, absorbing the weight of his words. Jungkook was a constant in your life — a silent guardian who stood watch over both your children and yourself. But hearing him speak of protecting you in such a way, so plainly and honestly, stirred something within you. It wasn’t just your children that mattered to him; it was you, as well.
“You do more than protect,” you said, your voice softer now, the weariness of the day gradually easing. “Your actions today… they meant more than you know.”
Jungkook’s lips twitched at the corners, acknowledging your words, but he didn’t respond right away. There was a brief silence between you both, the fire’s crackling embers filling the stillness as he shifted his weight, his stance still as rigid as ever, but now, a slight tension in his shoulders had eased.
“If there’s ever anything you need, Your Grace,” he said finally, his tone softer than it had been moments before, but with an underlying firmness that conveyed his commitment, “I am here.”
The sincerity in his voice wrapped around you like a quiet promise, steady and unwavering. The light of the fire caught on his features, casting soft shadows over his face, making his usually guarded expression seem less distant, more human. You felt a sense of peace settling into the space between you both, a momentary connection that felt more genuine than anything that had passed between you in the public eye.
“Thank you,” you replied softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, finding comfort in the rare, honest exchange.
Jungkook inclined his head once more, his expression softening in a way that was unusual for him — a small, but genuine smile curling his lips, the warmth of it making him seem more approachable, more... real.
“Goodnight, Your Grace,” he said quietly, voice full of respect, but also something else — something deeper.
“Goodnight, Ser Jungkook,” you murmured in return.
With that, he turned and moved to close the door behind him, the soft click of the latch signaling his departure. But as the door clicked shut, you realized that this time, you didn’t feel the usual solitude. There was something different. Something comforting. Something exciting that made the pit of your stomach feel funny, in knowing he was standing just outside your door.
Just the barrier of wood between you two.
The next day unfolded much more peacefully than the last.
You sat on the floor of your chamber, the luxurious fabric of your gown pooling around you like a soft sea of silk. The quiet of the room was comforting as you focused on the delicate task in front of you — embroidering a blanket for Luna. Each stitch was a calming motion, your mind momentarily free of the weight of royal duties.
You hadn’t seen Jungkook yet, but his presence lingered in your thoughts, like an unspoken promise. The anticipation of his arrival stirred a quiet excitement within you, though you had no idea when he might appear.
The silence was broken by your husband's voice, cutting through the peaceful air as he entered without knocking, his tone casual. “How are you feeling today?”
You glanced up briefly, meeting his eyes before returning to your work. “Better,” you answered, the edges of your lips curving into a faint smile.
“Good,” Atticus replied, smirking as he made his way over to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. “Do you think you’ll be attending the Small Council today?”
You hesitated, the thought of sitting through another long, tedious session filling you with a quiet reluctance. “No… if that’s alright?” you replied, your tone tentative, not wanting to seem too dismissive of his suggestion.
“Of course,” Atticus said, lifting the goblet to his lips. His eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief as he added, “But I’ll have you know, I’ve hired a new Maester.”
The words hit you like a spark, and without thinking, you put your needle down. The sudden shift in the conversation caught your attention fully. Your eyes locked onto him, eyebrows raised in surprise. The idea of a new Maester was unexpected — and it immediately piqued your curiosity.
"Are you upset about that?" you asked, your voice soft and laced with a hint of apology, eyes searching his face for any sign of how he truly felt.
Atticus paused, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. His lips curled into a knowing smirk, and he set the goblet down gently on the table. "I could never be upset with you for only standing up for yourself," he said, his voice steady, though there was an underlying heat to his words. "And someone as disrespectful as that will not continue to walk around in this castle."
His declaration was resolute, filled with a quiet determination. The confidence in his voice was not just from his position, but from a place of deep respect for you. It was as if he had taken the full weight of your frustration upon himself, and the fire behind his words showed that he would do whatever it took to ensure you never had to endure such treatment again.
You smile warmly at his words. "Thank you, Atticus."
He pauses, a small smile tugging at his lips, his fingers tapping idly on the edge of the table. "You know, as much as I’m not in love with you," he says slowly, his tone more thoughtful than usual, "I still love you."
The admission hangs in the air between you, the raw honesty in his voice bringing a quiet comfort. It wasn't the passionate declaration of romance you might have hoped for, but it was the kind of love that ran deep — steady, consistent, unshakable.
You meet his gaze, and your heart softens with understanding. "As do I," you reply, your voice gentle but genuine.
It wasn’t the kind of love that others might expect, filled with grand gestures and whispered sweet nothings. But in its own way, it was a love that had stood the test of time. It isn’t passionate, but there’s a respect and understanding between the two of you that runs deep.
“Now,” Atticus says, his voice low, teasing. “Can we talk about your knight in shining armor?”
You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smirk that tugs at your lips. “Oh Gods,” you say, the edge of amusement clear in your voice as you go back to your needlework.
“Oh, come on,” he whines, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “I let you pick, now you have to tell me all about him!”
You raise an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “It was you who suggested I pick?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I thought you’d feel more content choosing someone yourself.”
“I do,” you reply with a small smile, returning to your embroidery. “It was a wise suggestion.”
“Oh, don’t change the subject now!” He motions with a dramatic hand. “What was that about yesterday?”
“He was just defending me,” you say, hoping to dismiss the conversation, though you’re well aware it won’t be that easy.
Atticus lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes in dramatic fashion. “No knight is that devoted to duty, my dear wife.”
His words make you pause, but you try not to let it show. Still, a smile begins to creep onto your lips, unbidden. You hadn’t really allowed yourself to think about it that way. Jungkook had always been quiet, loyal, reliable — but devoted in the way Atticus is hinting? It’s a thought that stirs something unexpected in you.
“Well, believe it or not,” you say, unable to stop the small grin now, “we’ve spoken to each other only a few times.”
Atticus raises an eyebrow, leaning in slightly, clearly entertained. “Is that so? And yet, with little words between you, he’s ready to challenge a room full of lords for your honor. Fascinating.”
You roll your eyes, returning to your needlework in an attempt to focus, but your mind can’t help but drift back to Jungkook. The memory of his voice, steady and unyielding as he defended you, lingers. Maybe Atticus has a point, but admitting that would only fuel his relentless teasing.
“He’s just dutiful,” you insist, though even you can hear the uncertainty creeping into your voice.
Atticus catches it too, and his smirk widens as he takes a slow, deliberate sip from his goblet. “Dutiful because he loves his duty? Or because of you?”
Your cheeks flush instantly, the warmth creeping up your neck as you try to brush off the insinuation. “You’re reading into this too much,” you mumble, focusing on the embroidery in your lap, though your needlework suddenly seems less interesting.
“Am I?” Atticus drawls, stepping closer, his tone playful but probing. “Did you solely choose him because of his skills?”
You glance up at him briefly, trying to suppress a smile. “Are you implying something?”
He shrugs, the smirk on his lips widening. “Well, did you?”
“I did!” you exclaim, the words tumbling out a little too quickly, as if you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him. You glance up at Atticus, catching the amused gleam in his eyes. “He’s excellent with the children, and he strikes the perfect balance around here — intimidating enough to make it clear no one should challenge him, but not so much that the children are frightened. I trust him completely, and I’ve only known him a short while.”
Atticus hums, swirling the wine in his goblet with deliberate slowness before taking a sip, his skepticism apparent in the slight arch of his brow.
You shake your head, sighing lightly. “He’s proven his worth,” you say, trying to sound firm, though the soft smile that sneaks onto your lips betrays you. “It’s his abilities that matter.”
Atticus grins, thoroughly enjoying this exchange. “Of course, his abilities. And it’s just a coincidence that the knight you trust with our children’s safety also happens to be rather… easy on the eyes?”
You scoff, rolling your eyes, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrays your amusement. “His appearance has nothing to do with why I chose him,” you insist, though your tone has lost its edge, becoming playful and light. “He’s capable, loyal, and vigilant. His looks are irrelevant.”
Atticus raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening into a knowing grin. “Irrelevant, but not unnoticed?”
You shoot him a mock glare, though the smile tugging at your lips makes it hard to maintain any seriousness. “You’re impossible,” you say with a shake of your head. “I care about his skills and nothing more.”
Atticus chuckles softly, clearly entertained. “We shall see,” he teases, his voice lingering in the air as he begins to make his exit. His steps are slow, unhurried, as though he’s savoring the moment.
He walks out with a lightness in his stride, and the faint echo of his laughter trails behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts — and the quiet, unsettling realization that maybe, just maybe, his words weren’t entirely off the mark.
Returning to the Small Council felt different this time. The atmosphere had shifted. The men were more considerate, actually taking your opinions into account — a stark contrast to their usual dismissiveness. It seemed Atticus’ harsh punishment of the last Maester had sent a clear message: disrespect would no longer be tolerated. They were treading carefully now, not wanting to find themselves in a similar predicament.
You exhaled a long breath as you walked into your chamber, ready to unwind after the tense day. Removing your jewelry, you placed each piece delicately on the table, the soft clink of metal filling the otherwise quiet room. You went to bend down to slip off your shoes, eager for the relief of the cool floor beneath your feet.
But before you could, a sharp point suddenly pressed against your neck.
You froze.
Panic surged through you as the cold blade pressed harder against your skin, the world around you narrowing to the sound of your racing heartbeat.
“Don’t scream,” a low voice hissed in your ear, breath hot against your skin, “or you will die.”
Your breath hitched, the threat sinking in, terror flooding your veins. Tears welled in your eyes as helplessness gripped you. You had never felt so vulnerable, so utterly at the mercy of another.
The man spun you around with a jerk, and your gaze landed on another figure lurking in the shadows — both were dressed in the rough, dirt stained garb of rat catchers, but their eyes gleamed with intent far darker than pest control.
“We were paid to kill the little girl,” the man growled, his eyes boring into yours with malicious purpose. “The one who is set to inherit Driftmark. Where is she?”
Your heart stopped. They wanted Celeste. Your daughter.
Desperation clawed at your insides, but you forced yourself to remain calm, though your voice trembled as you spoke. “I have many things in here of great value,” you said, your mind racing to stall, to buy any time you could. “You can take whatever you want. Jewelry, gold…”
The man sneered, pressing the blade just a fraction closer, enough to make your skin prickle with fear. “We’re not here for trinkets,” he spat. “We’re here for the girl.”
The suffocating pressure eased as the man shoved you away, though he kept his dagger trained on you, its sharp point a constant threat.
“Lead us to her,” he snarled, “and you will live.”
Your pulse quickened, panic rising. But amid the terror, you clung to one thought: Jungkook was just outside, standing guard by the children’s room. He would protect Celeste.
Heart pounding, you forced your legs to move, stepping cautiously toward the door of your chamber. The rat catchers followed closely, one of them pressing the dagger against your back, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just inches away.
By the time you reached the door, your eyes caught a glimpse of movement. Jungkook — his back against the wood, waiting, ready. His gaze met yours, and in that brief moment, you felt a surge of relief, but it was fleeting.
Before you could react, Jungkook sprang into action. In a heartbeat, he grabbed your arm and yanked you behind him, shielding you with his body. You stumbled backward, watching in awe as he unsheathed his sword with deadly precision.
Jungkook wasted no time. His blade sank deep into the stomach of the first rat catcher, a sickening thud echoing in the hallway. The man gasped, blood spurting from the wound, and crumpled to the floor.
The second assailant, wild with desperation, swung his dagger wildly at Jungkook. But Jungkook moved with lethal grace, dodging each strike effortlessly. His movements were swift, controlled, each step calculated. In one fluid motion, he caught the man's wrist mid swing, twisting it with a force that made the man cry out in pain. Jungkook’s grip tightened, and with a brutal efficiency, he forced the attacker to plunge the dagger into his own abdomen.
The man’s eyes widened in shock, the weapon lodged deep within him, his strength faltering. Jungkook released him, and the second rat catcher staggered before collapsing to the ground beside his companion, both of them now lying in pools of their own blood.
In shock, you stood frozen, tears welling in your eyes as the reality of the moment crashed over you. Only a minute ago, you had feared for your life, for your family’s lives. And now, Jungkook had effortlessly put an end to the rat catchers, his blade on the ground still stained with their blood. It all felt too surreal, too close.
Before you could fully process what had happened, Jungkook rushed to you, his expression softening with concern. He cupped your face gently in his hands, his touch grounding you. “Your Grace? Are you hurt?” His voice was low but urgent, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury.
You shook your head, still unable to find your voice, too overwhelmed by everything. Your heart pounded, your throat tight as you struggled to keep yourself together.
“You’re alright now,” Jungkook whispered, his thumbs brushing tenderly across your cheeks. “Everything’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. The fear, the relief, the gratitude — they all hit you at once, overwhelming your senses. And before you knew it, your emotions spilled over. You erupted into sobs, throwing your arms around Jungkook’s neck, seeking the warmth and safety of his presence. You buried your face into his skin, your tears dripping onto his armor as you cried.
Jungkook didn’t hesitate for a second. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close to him, his strength and warmth offering the comfort you so desperately needed. One of his hands rubbed soothingly up and down your back while the other cradled your head, pressing you gently against his chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong, was the only thing keeping you grounded amidst the chaos of your emotions.
“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmured into your hair, his voice soft and calming. “You’re safe now.”
And in that moment, in his arms, you believed him.
After Atticus learned about the rat catchers’ attack, his fury was swift and intense, shaking the very walls of the Red Keep. His voice thundered from the Small Council chamber, echoing through the halls as he took command of the situation. His anger wasn’t just justified — it was terrifying. No one dared stand in his way as he set out to make sure something like this could never happen again.
You sat in your children’s room, seeking comfort in their innocent presence. Even as you tried to calm your racing heart, the distant roar of Atticus’s orders only heightened the gravity of what had nearly occurred. He wasted no time doubling the guard, placing knights at every vulnerable corner of the Keep. The added protection was meant to reassure, but for you, it only underscored the severity of the danger that had almost taken your daughter.
Atticus was relentless in his pursuit of justice. He immediately dispatched his men to find out who had hired the rat catchers. It wasn’t long before the truth came out — your former Maester hadn’t been acting alone. There were more, many more, who shared his poisonous view that Celeste, your little girl, had no right to inherit Driftmark. These men, clinging to their outdated belief that only a man should rule, had conspired to end her life before she could ever sit upon the Driftwood Throne.
Those who were caught speaking against Celeste’s claim were dealt with harshly. Atticus showed no mercy. He threw them in the dungeons without a second thought, ensuring that any who dared oppose your daughter’s future would be silenced. In this, he was steadfast, and you were grateful for his fierce protection of your family.
But even with the threat supposedly contained, the fear hadn’t left you. That night still clung to you like a dark shadow, creeping into your thoughts when you least expected it. The memory of those men — of their knives and their cruel threats — replayed in your mind every night, a loop you couldn’t break free from.
Sleep was becoming harder to find. You would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the attack pressing down on your chest. Even with Jungkook stationed just outside your door, standing as your silent guardian, the sense of unease never fully faded. You trusted him more than anyone now, knowing he had saved you without hesitation, but your mind couldn’t silence the what ifs. What if something happened to him? What if the guards missed something? What if they came back?
Tonight was no different. The room was quiet, your children safe in their beds, but your thoughts raced. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind outside felt like a reminder of how close you had come to losing everything. You sat up in bed, pulling your knees to your chest, trying to calm the storm within.
Jungkook was right outside the door — so close, and yet, the fear lingered. You knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but that night had changed everything. The vulnerability, the terror, had been too real, and you couldn’t just forget it. Even though the Red Keep was locked down, even though Atticus had done everything in his power to keep you safe, you were haunted by the thought that danger still lurked just out of sight.
You couldn’t sleep. The quiet room, the stillness, your own thoughts circling endlessly — it was too much. You knew that tonight, like so many others, you’d be awake until the sun rose. So, with a sigh, you slipped out of bed, crossed the room, and quietly opened the door.
And there he was.
Jungkook stood just outside, his back to you, ever vigilant. When the door creaked softly, he turned, eyes meeting yours. In the faint light of the moon, his features were softened, yet his gaze was alert, concerned. The gleam in his eyes caught the moonlight, and for just a moment, the comfort of his presence made the world feel a little less daunting.
“Your Grace?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “I thought you’d be abed by now.”
“I can’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice quiet but laden with the weight of sleepless nights and endless worry.
“You’re safe now,” he said gently, his tone firm yet soothing, as if trying to will your mind to find peace. “Allow yourself to rest.”
You managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You said you’d be here if I ever needed anything.”
His brows furrowed slightly as he nodded, understanding your unspoken request. “I did.”
You hesitated only briefly before speaking again, your voice softer now. “Can you come in?”
Jungkook’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and he straightened. “Your Grace, I hardly think that is appropriate,” he replied, though his tone was more uncertain than firm. His sense of duty and propriety clashed visibly with his desire to help you.
“It will comfort me,” you said, the vulnerability in your voice enough to make him falter.
He hesitated, clearly torn. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword as if it could ground him in the face of your request. His loyalty to you was absolute, but the boundaries of it were something he grappled with now.
Seeing his hesitation, you added, teasing softly, “Your Queen demands you.”
That earned you a small smile, one that softened the tension in the air. Jungkook shook his head, chuckling under his breath as he conceded. “Well, who am I to deny my Queen?” he said, stepping past the threshold.
As Jungkook entered the room, his mere presence brought with it a sense of security you hadn’t even realized you’d been yearning for. His eyes never left yours, filled with a mix of concern and quiet understanding, as you led him over to the couch by the fireplace.
You settled yourself on one side, pulling a blanket over your legs as you crossed them beneath its warmth. When you glanced up, you noticed he hadn’t joined you yet. Instead, he stood a little distance away, unsure, his posture stiff as if still on duty.
“Sit,” you gestured to the empty space beside you.
He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering to the door as if he still wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do. But your gentle command was enough to sway him. With a slight nod, he moved closer, his heavy footsteps softening as he reached the couch. Just as he was about to sit, you spoke again, your voice quiet but firm.
“Take off your armor.”
He froze, eyes wide as if caught off guard by your request. “Your Grace,” he said slowly, his tone almost a warning, a reminder of the boundary he believed needed to remain in place.
But you shook your head, your expression soft but insistent. “I don’t want you here as Ser Jungkook,” you explained, your voice carrying a vulnerability you hadn’t meant to reveal. “I want you here just as Jungkook.”
For a moment, he didn’t move, clearly torn between his sense of duty and the comfort you were asking for. But then, with a slow exhale, he began to unfasten the clasps of his armor, the metallic clinks filling the otherwise quiet room. Piece by piece, the weight of it fell away, and he set it aside, each movement careful and deliberate.
Jungkook looked at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he gestured to his cloak. "If you would," he said softly, his eyes warm but with a hint of playful mischief.
You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a bit lighter as you stood from the couch, the blanket slipping from your lap and pooling onto the floor. Your fingers brushed against his as you reached for the clasp of his cloak, feeling the cool metal as you carefully undid it. The fabric was thick and heavy, and as you pulled it off his shoulders, it seemed to take with it some of the invisible barrier he kept between you both.
The air between you felt different now, more intimate, as you set his cloak aside with the rest of his armor. When you turned back to face him, he was watching you closely, his expression softer than before, as if seeing you in a new light.
For a second, you just stood there, gazing at each other in the soft glow of the fire.
Now, without the weight of his armor, Jungkook looked more relaxed, his shoulders less tense, though there was still a quiet alertness in his posture. When you invited him to sit, he did so without hesitation this time, his expression softening as he settled next to you on the couch.
As the fire crackled gently beside you, casting a warm glow over the room, you found yourself seeing him differently. Here, sitting in your chambers, with the walls of duty momentarily lowered, Jungkook wasn’t just your knight anymore. He was a man — kind, steady, and unexpectedly gentle in his presence.
“I’ve not been able to sleep as of late,” you admitted, your voice quieter, more vulnerable than you intended. “But with you here... I feel safe.”
Jungkook’s smile was soft, a flicker of warmth that reached his eyes. “I’m happy to hear that,” he said, though his voice was still laced with the respectful formality he always carried. “Your Grace.”
You hesitated for a moment, then spoke your name, more firmly this time. “Use my name. The formalities can stay with your armor… Jungkook.”
The moment hung between you, quiet but significant. When he repeated your name, his voice was different, softer, almost intimate. It felt personal, as if you were the only thing that mattered in this room, in this moment.
Your heart fluttered hearing your name on his lips. The way he said it felt more intimate than you’d expected, and as the quiet settled around you both, you realized the walls between you were coming down even more.
“My mother died when I was four and ten,” Jungkook begins, his voice steady but carrying the weight of years of grief. “She was murdered right in front of me. I was weak, untrained... I couldn’t help her. I just stood there, frozen, and I couldn’t save her.” He pauses, his gaze distant, lost in the painful memory. “When I left the children’s chamber to go guard yours and I saw those rat catchers in there… I knew I couldn’t let you down like I did my mother. I couldn’t let that happen again.”
Your heart clenches and your brows knit in sorrow, completely torn by his story. His words hang heavy in the air, the realization of his past weighing on your chest. You feel both gratitude and guilt — glad that Jungkook trusts you enough to open up, yet heartbroken by the trauma he’s lived through.
It suddenly makes sense — why he’s always so guarded, so precise, so fiercely loyal. You understand now why he was trained in combat at such a young age, why he’s so vigilant, and why he holds himself to such a high standard. His devotion to you, his protection of your family, it all stems from a promise he made to himself long ago, a promise born from tragedy.
You reach out, placing a gentle hand on his arm resting on the back of the couch, your touch warm and comforting. Jungkook’s gaze flickers to where your hand rests on his arm, and then back to your face, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
“You’ve done well to uphold that promise,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. As your eyes meet his, you offer him a genuine smile, hoping it conveys the compassion you feel. “Your mother would love the man you’ve grown to be, Jungkook.”
For a brief moment, Jungkook’s eyes soften, his usual stoic expression breaking. He looks almost vulnerable, as if the weight he carries is shared, if only for a second.
“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice low and sincere. “I find myself very… protective over you.”
You tilt your head slightly, a teasing smile curling at the corners of your lips. The soft glow of the fire casts a warm light over your face, and your eyes seem to shimmer with curiosity. “Why is that?” you ask, a playful lilt to your tone as you watch him.
Jungkook hesitates for a beat, his dark eyes holding yours. He slowly pulls his arm away, the loss of contact leaving your skin colder than you expected. But before you can fully miss the warmth, you feel the feather light touch of his fingertips brushing down your arm. His touch is slow, deliberate, sending a tingling sensation across your skin, awakening something inside you.
Your breath catches as his fingers trail lower, the gentle path they take igniting a flutter in your chest. When his hand finally finds yours, his touch is warm and firm, his fingers lacing with yours like it was meant to be all along.
Jungkook looks down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing tenderly over the back of your hand as if testing the waters. “It’s more than duty now,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with something deeper. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability there, something raw and unguarded. “I can’t explain it fully, but… it’s like you’ve become more than just someone I’m sworn to protect.”
His gaze lingers on your face, searching for a reaction, and you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you — curiosity, anticipation, and something that feels dangerously close to longing.
Your lips part slightly, your heart hammering in your chest as the room feels smaller, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. “More than duty?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.
Jungkook’s fingers tighten just a little around yours, grounding you in the moment. His eyes soften, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yes… much more than duty,” he says, his voice tender yet filled with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.
The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls, but all you can focus on is him — on the warmth of his hand, the depth in his gaze, and the way the space between you seems to shrink with each passing second.
With his fingers still interlaced with yours, Jungkook gently pulls you closer. The sudden shift brings you nearer to him, and you let out a soft giggle, feeling your cheeks heat up as you blush under his gaze. The warmth of his body, the way his eyes are fixed on you — it sends a shiver of excitement down your spine.
As the distance between you vanishes, your breath catches when you realize his gaze is locked on your lips. It’s intense, and it makes your heart race. You watch, spellbound, as he lifts his other hand slowly. His thumb brushes tenderly across your bottom lip, the pad of his finger soft against your skin. The simple, teasing touch sends a wave of warmth washing over you.
He lingers there for a moment, rubbing your lip, and then his thumb presses just a little more insistently, grazing the slit of your mouth as though silently asking for permission. The unspoken question in his eyes makes your pulse quicken, and you instinctively part your lips in response. His thumb slips inside, and you close your mouth gently around it, letting him in.
Your eyes remain on him as his thumb rests against your tongue, the sensation both intimate and electrifying. The fire crackles in the background, but the world feels muted, like it’s just you and him in this moment. Your heart pounds, and the connection between you grows stronger as you suck lightly on his digit.
Jungkook’s breathing becomes slightly uneven as he watches you, his eyes darkening with something deeper, more primal. He gently withdraws his thumb, his fingers now tracing the curve of your jaw, his touch both firm and tender. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours.
The air between you is thick with anticipation, the moment heavy with the promise of what’s to come. His forehead rests against yours, and for a heartbeat, time seems to stop.
“We should stop before things go further,” Jungkook whispers, his voice low and husky, the warmth of his breath tickling your lips as he gives you the chance to pull away.
You pause, your heart racing in your chest. “We should,” you whisper back, the words lingering in the air between you both.
But neither of you move.
Instead, your gaze remains locked on his, and you can feel the heat radiating between you, the unspoken desire that lingers in the small space that still separates you.
And just like that, his lips are on yours.
The kiss is electric, his lips soft yet insistent as they press against yours. It’s slow at first, a tentative exploration, but the moment your mouths meet, everything else fades into the background.
As your lips remain locked with his, you straddle his lap, the movement seamless and natural, as if you’ve both been leading up to this moment for far too long. Your hands slide behind his head, fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair, tugging lightly as the kiss grows more heated, more desperate.
Jungkook’s hands find your waist, gripping you firmly, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine. You feel his muscles tense beneath your fingertips as you press yourself against him, your hips moving instinctively. A soft gasp escapes your lips when you feel the hardness beneath you, his cock straining against the fabric of his breeches, the friction making you yearn for more.
Your hips begin to buck slowly, grinding against him as you search for more contact, more release. The heat between you two is palpable now, your breath mingling with his as the kiss deepens, tongues tangling in a rhythm that matches the slow, steady roll of your hips. Every shift of your body sends a wave of pleasure through you, and you can feel his grip tighten on your waist, his breathing growing heavier.
Jungkook lets out a low groan against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, igniting something primal. You can feel the restraint he’s holding onto, the tension in his body as he struggles to keep control, but the way his hands grip your waist tells you he’s just as lost in the moment as you are.
The friction between you both builds, the heat intensifying, but the layers of fabric between you only heighten the desire, making you ache for more.
“Perhaps I should thank you,” you whisper against his lips, your breath hot and teasing as your hips roll against him, causing a deep groan to escape from Jungkook’s throat. You can feel him hardening beneath you, his body responding despite his attempts to maintain composure. “For your service…”
His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your sides just enough to make you feel how much he’s holding back. “It is only my mere duty,” he says, voice strained, each word laced with barely controlled desire.
You smile at his restraint, your lips moving to brush against the sharp line of his jaw. “You’ve done so much,” you murmur, your lips trailing lower, leaving a warm path down his neck, just beneath his jaw. His skin is soft and warm, and his pulse races beneath your touch. You hear his breath catch as you kiss along his collarbone, each word punctuated by a slow, deliberate press of your lips. “For me…” You move lower, your kisses more intentional, feeling his chest rise and fall more rapidly under your touch. “For my children…”
His hands twitch on your hips, torn between pulling you closer and letting you continue your slow, torturous descent. When you glance up at him, you see the way his dark eyes watch your every movement, clouded with need, a silent plea for more even as he struggles to keep himself grounded.
"I think you deserve a reward," you whisper, your voice sultry, teasing as your lips hover just above the edge of his tunic. Your fingers slowly, deliberately trace the hem, brushing against his heated skin as you make him wait, drawing out the anticipation.
Jungkook's head falls back, his lips parted as he releases a shaky breath, his control slipping with every passing second. His voice is a low growl, thick with longing. “You owe me nothing,”
You shake your head softly, your lips grazing the exposed skin of his chest. “I owe you everything,” you whisper back, your voice filled with sincerity and seduction, the intensity of the moment building as your hand moves lower, testing the boundaries of his restraint.
His body tenses beneath your touch, but his hands stay firm on your hips, holding you against him as if he’s afraid to let go. His eyes meet yours again, dark and full of raw emotion, his voice hushed, almost reverent. “I am yours,” he breathes, and in that moment, you know that he means every word.
With a soft smile playing on your lips, you slowly lift yourself off his lap, feeling the tension in the air as you lower yourself to the ground, kneeling between his legs. Jungkook watches you closely, his breathing uneven, eyes darkened with a mix of anticipation and restraint.
You place your hands gently on his thighs, feeling the heat radiating through the fabric of his breeches, his muscles tense beneath your touch. You start slow, allowing the moment to settle between you, your fingers tracing soft, deliberate circles along his thighs, teasing without rushing. Jungkook’s breath hitches slightly, his gaze locked on your every movement, as if entranced by the sight of you at his feet.
With a deliberate slowness, you begin to untie the laces of his breeches, savoring the quiet rustling of fabric as you pull them off completely, your fingertips brushing against his skin, making him shiver. You take your time, your eyes never leaving his, a playful gleam in your gaze as you watch his resolve crumble little by little.
His cock springs free, finally released from its tight confines. Jungkook lets out a low groan, the sudden release of tension sending a wave of relief through him. The sight of him, hard and ready, makes your breath catch, but you don’t rush. Instead, you rest your hands on his thighs again, grounding yourself in the warmth of his skin, feeling the subtle flex of his muscles beneath your palms.
You glance up at him, and the intensity in his gaze sends a thrill down your spine. His lips are parted, his breath heavy, and you can see the restraint in the way he grips the couch, knuckles white, fighting the urge to take control.
You spit into your hand before wrapping it around his cock, feeling its warmth and weight resting in your palm. You start slow, allowing him to adjust to the sensation, your fingers curling around him with a firm but careful grip. As your hand begins to move, sliding up and down in deliberate, teasing strokes, Jungkook's head falls back against the couch. A low, breathy moan escapes his parted lips, his chest rising and falling more heavily with each breath, betraying his struggle to hold onto his composure under your touch. His muscles tense, eyes fluttering shut, as the pleasure builds with each movement.
His reaction fuels you, and you keep your pace slow and sensual, your hand gliding smoothly along his length. Each movement draws another sound from him — whether it’s a quiet sigh, a deep groan, or the way his breathing catches for a split second. The power you hold in this moment, the way his body responds to your touch, makes the air between you feel electric, alive with tension.
Jungkook’s fingers dig into the cushions beside him, as if holding on for control, but you can see the way his restraint is unraveling, bit by bit. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parted in silent bliss, eyes closed as he surrenders to the sensation.
With a mischievous smile, you tighten your grip just a little, adding the slightest bit more pressure as you continue to stroke him, and his moan deepens, sending a shiver through you.
You lean in, teasingly slow, letting the anticipation build. Jungkook’s breath hitches as he watches you, his chest rising and falling faster, his hands tightening into fists. The moment your tongue makes contact with the tip of his cock, his body tenses. You start with soft, delicate kitten licks, testing his sensitivity, letting him feel every light flick of your tongue as you work.
A bead of precum gathers at the tip, and you lap it up, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. Jungkook’s groan is deep, almost guttural, his head tipping back against the couch once more as you tease him with your soft licks, never giving him more than just a taste of what’s to come.
The way he reacts, the way his body trembles under your touch, only spurs you on. You take your time, savoring the control you have over him, feeling the way his thighs tense beneath your hands.
You glance up at him through your lashes, enjoying the sight of Jungkook completely lost in the moment, his lips parted, breath heavy. His reaction fuels your desire to tease him more. Your tongue moves slowly, deliberately, swirling around his sensitive tip, while your hand continues its steady rhythm, pumping him with just enough pressure to keep him on edge.
He moans again, low and deep, his hips instinctively bucking up, searching for more of that friction you’re so teasingly withholding. You hum softly, the vibrations making his cock twitch against your tongue. You take him a little deeper, wrapping your lips around the head, sucking gently as you let your hand pump the base, building the tension.
Jungkook’s hands grip the couch tightly, fighting to stay still, his body betraying him with every small thrust of his hips. You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, your tongue working against the underside of his shaft as you slide him further into your mouth. His response is immediate — his body jerks, a strangled groan escapes him, and you feel his hands twitch as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and grab you.
You reach up and intertwine your fingers with his, and in that simple gesture, a new layer of intimacy blooms between you. His grip is firm, almost desperate, as if holding your hand is the one thing grounding him in the intensity of the moment. It's no longer just about desire; it's something deeper, more vulnerable, a connection that transcends the physical. His thumb gently brushes over your knuckles, a soft, tender contrast to the raw passion swirling around you. That small touch, full of unspoken emotion, speaks louder than words ever could, reminding you both that this is more than just a fleeting moment — it’s a quiet, shared promise.
Jungkook’s breathing becomes even more ragged as you continue to take him deeper, your lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to push him closer to the edge. You can feel his restraint, the way he’s holding back, trying to stay in control despite the pleasure coursing through him.
He groans, your name slipping from his lips in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. You hum softly in response, the vibrations causing another moan to escape his lips. The combination of his hand in yours, his soft gasps, and the warmth of his skin beneath your touch creates an almost overwhelming sense of connection.
You pull off him with a soft, wet pop, leaving his cock glistening in the firelight. Your lips curve into a teasing smile as you drag your tongue slowly along the length of his shaft, watching his reaction. Jungkook’s breath catches, his body tensing with anticipation. When you reach his base, you let your tongue dip lower, tracing a path to his balls. You take your time, licking and teasing the sensitive skin before gently sucking them into your mouth.
The reaction is immediate — his hips jerk up involuntarily, a deep moan escaping him as his head falls back against the couch. His knuckles are white as he grips the cushions, and his fingers tighten around yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment. You keep your eyes on him, enjoying the way his face contorts with pleasure, his lips parting with a shuddering breath.
“Fuck,” he groans, voice rough and strained, the sound vibrating through the air, sending a thrill through you. His chest rises and falls heavily as you continue to pump his cock in your hand, your strokes slow and deliberate, matching the rhythm of your mouth as you suck gently on his balls.
You can feel the tension building in him, his body trembling slightly under your touch. His muscles are taut, straining as he tries to hold himself back, but you know he’s close. The soft, breathless curses he murmurs between groans let you know just how much you're driving him to the edge.
Jungkook’s mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more intoxicating than the last. The feel of your mouth wrapped around his cock is overwhelming, your lips warm and slick as they glide over him, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. But what makes his pulse race even more is the sight of you — the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms — on your knees before him, your eyes dark with desire, lips wet and swollen as you take him deeper.
He can barely process it. A part of him feels like he’s lost in a dream, but the grip of your hand on his thigh, the soft, wet sounds filling the air, and the heat of your mouth around him all ground him in reality. His fingers tighten around yours, the intimacy of your entwined hands a stark contrast to the lust coursing through him.
He can’t stop thinking about how utterly beautiful you look, your regal composure gone, replaced by raw want. It’s sinful, how he can feel his cock throbbing in your mouth while your crown sits not too far away, a reminder of who you are — his Queen. And yet, here you are, on your knees, giving yourself to him so completely.
And then there’s the thought of what comes next. His cock twitches at the idea of getting you beneath him, of spreading your legs wide and burying himself in your warmth. He’s desperate to feel you around him, to watch your face twist with pleasure as he takes you, over and over again.
But even with all those thoughts swirling in his mind, one thing keeps echoing louder than the rest: the sheer power of this moment. The Queen, on her knees, sucking his cock like she’s wanted this as much as he has.
The thought sends another wave of heat through his body. He’s barely holding on, every moan, every stroke of your tongue pushing him closer to the edge. His breaths come faster, more ragged, his hips beginning to move on their own, thrusting gently into your mouth.
Before Jungkook can take control, you pull back, rising from the ground and denying him the release he craves with a teasing smile. His frustrated groan fuels your confidence as you straddle him again, your knees resting on either side of his hips. Your fingers intertwine with his, and you guide both of his hands behind his head, locking your arms around his neck. His arms cross behind him, muscles flexing as he fights to keep himself in check.
The intensity in his eyes is undeniable — burning with desire, frustration, and the raw need to touch you, yet restrained by the control you've taken. Every part of him is taut, his body tense beneath you, waiting, aching for your next move. His gaze never wavers, fixed on you with an almost desperate longing, as if the anticipation alone could undo him.
You lean in slowly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, then another on his cheek, your breath brushing his skin. His chest rises and falls against yours, the heat between you both building to a near unbearable height. Then, lips grazing his ear, you whisper in a low, sultry voice, “I want you to fuck me the way a Queen should be fucked.”
Your words send a shudder through him, his body reacting instantly to your challenge. The restraint he’s been holding onto falters, his breathing turning ragged, his grip tightening slightly on your hands. The dominance of your demand ignites something primal in him, the heat in his gaze searing into you.
"Your Grace..." Jungkook murmurs, his voice deep and breathless, the title slipping out before he can stop it, laced with a mix of reverence and raw, uncontained desire. The slip into formality catches him off guard, as if he’s forgotten to leave the titles behind along with his armor. His jaw clenches, the tension in his body palpable as his control begins to fray at the edges. His eyes burn into yours, dark and hungry, as if your very presence has set him ablaze, and now, all he can do is watch helplessly as the flames consume him.
You feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, and you smirk, rolling your hips against him, letting the friction drive him further into madness. “Are you going to make me wait, or must I command you again?”
That’s all it takes. His resolve snaps. With a low, feral growl, Jungkook releases your hands and grabs you by the thighs, lifting you effortlessly in one fluid motion. You let out a surprised giggle, heart racing at how easily he’s carrying you across the room. His strength, his commanding presence — it’s intoxicating, making your body heat with anticipation.
With a mischievous grin, he throws you down onto the bed, your body bouncing softly against the mattress. Jungkook is on you in an instant, crawling over you with a predatory grace, his body looming above yours, eyes dark and filled with intent. His hands press into the mattress on either side of you, caging you beneath him. The weight of him, the way his muscles ripple as he moves, has your breath catching in your throat.
His lips hover just inches from yours, teasing, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “I’ll show you exactly how my Queen should be fucked.”
There’s a rough edge to his voice now, one that sends shivers down your spine. His hands trail down your sides, fingers curling around the fabric of your dress, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you beneath him, his gaze smoldering as he drinks in every inch of your bare skin.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Jungkook’s lips descend to your neck, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your throat, your collarbone, and lower still, as his hands grip your hips, holding you firmly in place. His touch is everywhere — greedy, relentless — stoking the fire that’s been building between you all night.
As his mouth moves lower, a soft moan escapes your lips, your body arching instinctively toward him, craving more. And just when you think you can’t take any more teasing, he pulls back, hovering above you once more, eyes dark with lust and promise.
Jungkook pulls off his tunic, standing before you, fully bare. His gaze is unwavering, filled with awe and raw desire as he drinks in the sight of you, every inch of your body drawing him in with quiet reverence. The heat of his stare is palpable, his lips parting slightly as his eyes travel from your breasts down to your stomach, pausing at the faint stretch marks left behind by your children.
There’s no shame in his gaze, only admiration — those marks are a testament to your strength, the life you’ve brought into the world. His hand reaches out, hesitating for just a second before brushing over your skin, tracing the delicate lines with his fingertips, as if memorizing every detail. His touch is tender, contrasting the heat in his eyes, and the reverence in his expression makes your heart swell.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice hushed but filled with sincerity, almost as though he's speaking to himself. The way he looks at you makes your heart swell. There’s no hesitation in his gaze, no second thoughts — just pure admiration.
You can’t help but smile. Despite being nearly bare beneath him, you don’t feel vulnerable. You feel cherished, worshipped even, as if this wasn’t the first time he’s seen you like this. There’s a sense of ease between you, as if his presence was always meant to be like this — intimate and without fear.
Jungkook leans in closer, his lips trailing down to your hip bone, placing a soft, lingering kiss there. The sensation is both grounding and electrifying, sending a shiver through your body. You glance down, meeting his gaze — intense and burning with desire, the kind of look that makes your heart race and your breath falter. In that moment, you can feel the fire behind his eyes, as if the world has fallen away and you're the only thing that matters.
Without breaking the connection, he lowers himself further, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The kiss is soft, reverent, but full of promise, inching closer to the place where you crave his touch the most. Your breath catches in your throat, anticipation thick in the air, when he finally leans forward and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your pussy through your soaking wet underwear.
A sharp gasp escapes your lips at the sudden contact, and instinctively, you lift your leg, gently pressing your foot against his shoulder to stop him from going further. His eyes flash with surprise, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in them as he looks up at you, waiting for your command.
“Maybe another time,” you murmur, your voice breathless but firm. “I want your cock.”
Your words hang in the air, heavy with anticipation, and Jungkook’s expression shifts, darkening with pure lust. He gives a low growl of approval, his hands gripping your thighs a little tighter as he quickly moves back up your body.
Jungkook wastes no time, his hands quick but careful as he pulls off your last piece of clothing and positions himself between your legs. His cock, already hard and slick with anticipation, brushes against your entrance, the warmth of him sending a ripple of electricity through your body. You can feel the tension in his muscles, every inch of him taut with restraint as he fights the urge to simply take you. He wants this moment to be more than just a rush of desire.
With a slow, deliberate nudge of his hips, he presses the tip of his cock against your core, the sensation both tantalizing and overwhelming. Your body reacts immediately, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he teases your entrance, the heat between you intensifying. His eyes are locked on yours, as if he’s savoring every second before fully sinking into you.
Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer, urging him to give you exactly what you’ve been yearning for. His lips crash onto yours in a heated kiss, the moment charged with raw, unspoken passion as he finally pushes into you.
“Oh Gods,” you moan, your back arching off the bed as the sudden stretch overwhelms you. Jungkook fills you completely, every inch of him pressing into you, making your breath hitch as your body adjusts to the delicious pressure. His movements slow for a moment, letting you feel every bit of him, the weight of his body grounding you as the heat between your legs spreads throughout your entire body.
Jungkook’s forehead drops to yours, his breathing ragged as he holds himself still, giving you a moment to adjust. "You feel so perfect," he groans, his voice thick with restraint. His hands roam your body, gripping your hips as though he needs to hold onto something to keep himself from losing control completely.
Your fingers slide up his back, nails grazing his skin as you tug him closer, desperate for more. "Move," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I need you."
That’s all it takes.
With a low growl, Jungkook begins to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, the sensation sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. Each movement is deliberate, deep, and measured. Your moans mix with his breathless grunts, filling the room with the sounds of your shared desire.
Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper with every thrust. His pace quickens, and soon, he’s moving faster, harder, the rhythm building as the pleasure between you grows. Each thrust drives you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder, more desperate as you cling to him, completely lost in the moment.
Jungkook’s lips find your neck, peppering kisses along your skin between ragged breaths. “You feel so good… so fucking good,” he pants, his hips snapping against yours with growing urgency.
Your hands tangle in his hair, your body responding to his with a need that’s been simmering for so long, now finally unleashed. "Don’t stop," you moan, your voice shaky as the heat within you builds to a breaking point.
Jungkook’s thrusts become erratic, his breath hot against your ear. "Don’t think I can stop," he chuckles, his words sending a shiver through you just as the first waves of release begin to crash over you.
You kiss him eagerly, teeth grazing his bottom lip before tugging at it playfully. Jungkook groans into your mouth, his hips stuttering for a moment at the sensation. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more heated as your hands pull him closer, your nails digging into his back.
He responds in kind, his lips crashing back onto yours, the intensity of his kiss matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He bites gently on your bottom lip in return, making you gasp into his mouth, your bodies completely in sync as the pleasure mounts between you.
Your kiss is a frenzy of passion, tongues dancing, breaths mingling, as every movement pulls you closer to the edge. You tug harder at his lip, and he growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins.
Jungkook’s pace becomes relentless, his control slipping as he loses himself in you. “The day of the Kingsguard posting,” he starts breathlessly, his voice low and rough as he thrusts into you. “When you walked onto the balcony… I saw you. Thought you were so pretty. So, so pretty.”
His words, spoken between ragged breaths, send a shiver down your spine, making you arch closer into him. You gasp, your hands clutching onto his shoulders as his confession wraps around you like a heated secret. The intensity in his eyes as he speaks, as he moves inside you, is overwhelming — his vulnerability laid bare, a part of himself he’s never shared with anyone else.
“I shouldn’t have thought it,” he continues, his voice thick with desire and restraint as his pace quickens, “but I couldn’t help it. I wanted you from that moment.”
You feel your heart pound in your chest, not just from the pleasure but from his raw honesty. Your lips part, but no words come out, only breathless moans as he pushes you closer to the edge. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips brushing your ear.
“I never thought I’d have you like this,” he whispers, his voice rough with awe and hunger, each word laced with the weight of unspoken desire. “But now that I do… I’m never letting go.”
His confession wraps around you, sending a shiver through your body as his movements become more intense. The passion in his eyes, the way his body presses into yours, has you spiraling, lost in the heat between you.
You raise a trembling hand, gently brushing his hair back, your fingertips lingering against his skin. “I’m yours,” you breathe, the words slipping from your lips like a vow.
The way his eyes darken, the way his grip tightens on you, tells you he’s heard it loud and clear. And in this moment, you know he’ll hold onto that promise as tightly as he holds onto you.
He laughs out a moan at this. His pace quickens, his thrusts deeper, harder, each one sending you spiraling further. Your moans mix with his, filling the room, the sound of skin against skin only adding to the fire between you. His hands roam your body, memorizing every curve, every inch of you like it’s the last time.
“I’m so close,” he whispers, his voice strained, his body trembling as he fights for control. His forehead presses against yours again, his eyes searching yours, desperate, as if he’s asking for permission to lose himself in you.
You nod, your own release building, teetering on the edge. “Cum with me,” you breathe, your voice shaky, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please.”
With a few more deep, powerful thrusts, you feel Jungkook’s body tense as he releases into you, a low groan escaping his lips. The sensation triggers your own climax, waves of pleasure crashing through you as your body tightens around him. You gasp, arching against him, your hands clutching at his back as you ride out the overwhelming sensations together.
His name tumbles from your lips in a soft moan, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. For a moment, the world outside fades — it's just the two of you, tangled together, hearts pounding in sync, as you both come down from your highs.
He doesn’t move right away, his weight still pressed against you, his hands tracing slow, soothing circles on your hips as he catches his breath. You can feel his heart beating wildly against your chest, a silent reminder of the intensity you just shared.
Finally, Jungkook picks his head up from your chest, his dark eyes soft as they meet yours. He leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, just because he finally can. It feels different now, with no hesitation between you, just pure connection. After pulling away, he shifts to lay beside you, pulling you against his chest, your bodies fitting together perfectly.
You lie there in comfortable silence for a while, both of you catching your breaths, the calm after the storm. Jungkook’s fingers absentmindedly trace shapes on your back, lulling you into a peaceful haze. But then, he breaks the quiet with a teasing tone.
“Did I exceed your expectations, my Queen?” His voice is low and playful, a soft chuckle escaping him.
You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “Arrogant, are we?”
But you don’t let him respond. Instead, you sit up, straddling his waist once again, your grin mischievous as you lean down to kiss him, deeper this time, your lips lingering against his.
“Might need to go again to give you a wholehearted answer,” you say with a smirk, looking down at the man who looks far too comfortable in your bed — a man who, by all means, shouldn’t be here.
His eyes widen for a moment before a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, matching your energy. He chuckles, his hands gripping your waist firmly, his desire evident.
Jungkook knew that once the children were tucked safely into bed, these sneaky nights with you would be his favorite part of the day — full of far more excitement than he’d ever imagined.
The days stretched on like endless hourglasses, the sand moving far too slowly. Every moment of the daylight hours was consumed by anticipation, the constant pull of wanting the sun to sink and the moon to rise. It was during the night, when Jungkook would slip quietly into your chamber, that the world finally felt right.
Whether it was tangled sheets, quiet conversations, soft laughter, or simply lying in each other’s arms, those moments with him were the highlight of your days — only second to the joy of your children’s smiles, of course. But with Jungkook, time seemed to bend, each night feeling like a stolen treasure that you cherished more with every passing hour.
As much as you despised the act of walking past Jungkook during the day, pretending he wasn't your lover at night, the thrilling game of trying not to get caught was undeniably fun.
The secret, the tension of it, had its own special allure. Yet, there were moments when the near misses took a more terrifying turn.
Like that one time.
You'd been soaking in a bath, the water warm and fragrant with bubbles, the steam swirling around you like a blanket of comfort. But Jungkook, always unpredictable, had snuck in without a sound. Before you could even protest, he was stripping himself bare, sliding into the tub with you, the sudden shift in water making a small splash as he settled in.
Laughter filled the room as water overflowed, but that quickly faded into a mix of heavy breaths, wet skin, and the sound of sloppy kisses. Jungkook's hands gripped your waist as he leaned back, his head resting against the tub's edge, eyes locked on you. Your hips moved in sync, the sound of water splashing and your soft moans combining with his groans, creating a rhythm that made your heart race.
Then, just as the heat between you both reached its peak, a knock at the door shattered the moment. It was so sudden and unexpected that Jungkook's hand shot up, covering your mouth before you could release a gasp, freezing you in place. Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest.
"Your Grace, I have your warm towels," came a muffled voice from the other side of the door. The maid sounded so oblivious, so unaware of what was actually happening just beyond the wooden barrier.
Jungkook didn't move a muscle, still as stone, his hand resting over your lips as his eyes met yours with a mischievous glint. Slowly, he lifted his hand, urging you to speak.
"J- just leave them at the door," you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady, though your heartbeat betrayed your calm facade. "I’ll grab them once I'm finished."
Jungkook stifled a chuckle, clearly finding the entire situation amusing as though it was nothing more than a joke to him. But you knew better. This was dangerous, reckless, and could cost both of you far more than just embarrassment.
"Very well, Your Grace," came the maid's voice, before the sound of her footsteps faded into the distance.
The moment she was gone, you slapped Jungkook's chest, eyes narrowed in mock fury. "We could've been caught," you said, your voice laced with both exasperation and something else — something darker, more thrilling. But the smile that tugged at your lips betrayed your feigned seriousness.
Jungkook grinned, his chest rising and falling with a quiet chuckle, as he pulled you back toward him, the playful tension still lingering in the air.
Because nights with Jungkook were always too short, he made sure to steal as many kisses and playful winks during the day as possible. The fleeting moments shared between you were like stolen treasures, hidden in plain sight.
Whenever the children finished their lessons, Jungkook was quick to position himself in front of the door to the next room they’d move into, knowing you'd soon follow, eager to check on them and hear about what they’d learned. Each time, like clockwork, you’d approach, ready to step past him, only for him to block your way with a teasing grin.
“Let me in,” you’d whine softly, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.
He’d simply point to his cheek, signaling for a kiss as if he were making a royal decree. You’d roll your eyes but play along, leaning in. Just as your lips brushed his cheek, he’d turn his head swiftly, catching your kiss on his lips instead.
Your heart would race as you quickly pecked his lips once more, a mixture of thrill and worry filling you at the thought of someone walking down the corridor and catching you both. With a final flustered glance at him, you’d hurry into the chamber to join your children, trying to maintain your composure as you asked them about their day.
Meanwhile, Jungkook would stand tall outside the door, his expression serious, as though he was merely guarding the room. But the sparkle in his eyes and the lingering hint of a smile betrayed him, the playful mischief still present even as he forced himself to appear composed.
The only person who knew about your secret relationship with Jungkook was Atticus. You’d confided in him, and he had been overjoyed to learn he’d been right all along. He had always suspected something, but hearing it from you only fueled his excitement and pride at being in on the secret.
Jungkook’s devotion to you went far beyond his duty as a knight. On the surface, he played his role flawlessly, always by your side, always vigilant. To everyone else, he was simply your loyal protector, the ever watchful guard who would give his life without question. But beneath that armor, beneath the stern facade he wore in public, his loyalty ran much deeper.
He wasn’t just devoted to you as his Queen; he was devoted to you as the woman he loved, with a fierce, unshakable passion that transcended titles or obligations. Every time he stood by your side, it wasn’t just as your sworn knight but as the man who would do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant loving you in secret for the rest of his life.
In the quiet moments, when the world wasn’t watching, his love shone through. The way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his fingers lingered just a moment longer when they brushed against yours, or the way his lips would curl into a faint smile when he caught you stealing glances at him. It was in the way he held you at night, after everyone else had gone to bed, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke of a love so deep, words could never do it justice.
Jungkook didn’t need grand gestures or declarations of love. His devotion was in the small things, the quiet sacrifices, the way he protected you not just with his sword but with his heart. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word in the darkness was a testament to his unwavering loyalty — not to the crown, not to his duty, but to you.
And though the world might never see the depth of his devotion, you felt it every day. In the way he watched over you, in the way he shielded you from not only physical threats but from the weight of loneliness that sometimes crept in. He was your protector, not just in body but in spirit.
As the years passed, your secret love remained hidden, but his devotion never wavered. No matter the risks, no matter how many times you had to pretend in public that he was nothing more than a knight, Jungkook’s heart was yours, fully and completely.
In the end, it didn’t matter that the world would never know the truth. You knew. You saw the way he loved you, not just as a knight sworn to protect you but as a man devoted to your heart, forever bound to you in a way that went beyond duty or title.
And in that devotion, you found your peace. Because you knew, no matter what happened, Jungkook would always be by your side — not just as your protector but as your lover, your confidant, and the one person who truly understood the depths of your soul.
genre: attempted romcom (think the wedding planner meets something new) + slice of life + working adults!au + roommates!au + slowburn + smut (soft!dom jungkook...) + angst (hopefully some of you cry)
playlist here
synopsis: After one heartbreak too many, you’ve sworn off dating—well, sort of. Twenty-five dates this year, you told yourself. No expectations. No attachments. Just… data collection.
But somewhere between chaotic PR events, champagne-stained venues, and your pipe dream of launching your own wedding planning business, love stopped being cute—it became exhausting.
Then there’s Jeon Jungkook. Your tattooed, maddeningly considerate roommate who somehow manages to be both infuriatingly private and ridiculously easy to live with. He’s off-limits, obviously. Until your best friend’s husband sets you up on a blind date—and you walk into the diner to find him sitting there.
But here's the catch, neither of you leave.
TEASER OUT NOW
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you've tried, but you can't help yourself from crushing on your best friend's dad. hot, buff, tatted up and successful, mr. jeon is the starring actor in all of your wettest dreams. and as you wake up from one while sleeping over at his house after his daughter's birthday party, you don't expect all of them to suddenly come true. but they do.
⌗ repost. originally posted as OLDER. from the grande series.
pairing: dilf!jk x inexperienced!fem reader
genre: smut, angst, dilf au, best friend's father au
contents: porn with some lots of plot, age gap (oc 21 | jk 38), dom jk, sub reader, voyeurism, messy blow job, fingering, oral (f receiving), bit of tit play (small chested reader yayy), two (2) spanks, unprotected sex, cum eating, dirty talk, a bit of degradation, but also praise, pet names, ANGST :P, she falls first he falls harder??? but miscommunication sadly, forbidden love
word count: 17.4k
author’s note: wellll… hey people 🤭 guess who’s back! i don’t wanna make this long so i won’t say too much, we can take this to the inbox if u guys want 💋 for those who remember me, hello lovies!!! i’m thinking of reposting some of my old fics before giving you new content hehe ! special thanks to my day ones who fought hard and brought me here again even through my hesitation, you know who you are 🥰🩷 love u!!! enjoy!!!
In the backseat of his car, you stare forward at his hands gripping the steering wheel. There's something hypnotic about the way his fingers curl around the leather. You bite your lips, an attempt to suppress the heat easily pooling low in your belly, your thighs rubbing together to conceal the effects of your lewd thoughts.
One in particular stands out. It’s the one that puts a shameless, selfish smile on your face when you fixate on the fourth finger of his left hand lacking a gold band.
It's been a few months since that day — since Areum, your best friend, showed up at your door in a frantic state, her finger jabbing the bell over and over in a panicked rhythm that jolted you from your bed.
You had nearly tripped down the stairs in your rush to swing the entrance open, and when you did, you were instantly tackled by your friend collapsing into your arms, her tears soaking through your shirt.
Kicking the door shut, your hands busy embracing Areum with your eyes wide, you tried to steady both her and yourself. In between her uncontrollable sobs, shaking you to the core, she let her worries tumble out her mouth. Words came in a torrent, fast and breathless, barely giving you any time to fully process them as she buried her face in your neck.
It took a moment for the huge news to break through your thick, slowed down brain, but then it struck you, Areum chanting it repeatedly as if she couldn’t grasp her mind around it: her parents were splitting up. Divorce was imminent.
Your own disbelief mirrored hers, but for very different reasons. You felt it in the way your shock turned into excitement; indecorous, depraved exhilaration, with your heartbroken friend still in your arms.
Even as her sobs echoed, your mind latched onto one single thought, repeating like a mantra: he’s single. Mr. Jeon is single.
You felt terribly guilty when you sensed a smile that you couldn’t quite suppress stretching over your features, and the jittery sensation that came with it flowed your body and reached your hands, tightening harder around Areum to try and squeeze the shame out of yourself.
Since that day, you’ve lost count of how many afternoons you’ve spent at the Jeon’s house. You've been doing your best to be the friend Areum needs, to keep her company when what she fears the most is loneliness. You’ve been a constant presence, helping her through the mountain of neglected work she left piling up, distracting her with baking sessions, or mindlessly binge watching entire seasons of Friends on lazy evenings. Anything to keep her mind off the pain.
But each visit is an opportunity. A fleeting chance to see him. To study how he moves around the house with an intensity that still manages to feel like a calm, steady current filling every room.
You’ve memorized many of his mannerisms. The way his eyes soften when he looks at Areum; the way his mouth twitches into a faint smile when she tries to cheer him up; the way he nods at you in recognisment, silently letting you know he’s grateful for what you’re doing to help his daughter.
You wish you could help him too. In other ways. Ways you know you shouldn’t be thinking about.
You can’t avoid it, though. You've witnessed him come back home from work countless times now, watched the tension etched across his features as he steps through the door, wished you could be the one to ease it off his shoulders. Let your hand travel down his chest, reach his belt.
You feel disgusting unfailingly, but how can you not let your mind wander when he groans so deliciously every time he loosens the tie around his neck and kicks off his shoes?
You know exactly what his next move is, the imperceptible sigh melting the weariness off his face the moment he greets his daughter, a tender smile breaking through his exhaustion.
“Any requests for dinner tonight, girls?” He always asks, his gaze jumping between Areum and you on the living room couch, waiting for a response.
After your friend replies she likes whatever her daddy cooks, your stomach twists with nerves when his eyes meet yours to make sure there’s no complaints, and you quickly shake your head, biting your lips to keep from saying something foolish. Is your dick on the menu? Perhaps?
And the man can cook. Exceptionally well. He moves around the kitchen with purpose in his every movement, each dish you have the honor of tasting better than the last.
While you help setting the table, you catch yourself staring more times than you should. You can’t help but wonder if there’s anything he’s not good at. Fuck. Is there even a single flawed bone in this man’s body? With every day you spend at his house, you’re convinced there can’t be.
You want him to notice you, the same way you notice him. You tell yourself you’re just being a good friend to Areum, but you know there’s more behind your constant visits.
There’s definitely more behind the way your skirts get shorter, your tops tighter, your bras purposefully not worn.
You feel crazed when you convince yourself his gaze falls upon your exposed thighs when he puts a plate in front of you at dinner, or when his eyes seem to be caught, only for a fleeting second, by your hardened nipples, evident through your poor excuses of shirts.
Even when your interactions don’t go further than a brief exchange about college and Areum or quiet, polite smiles in passing, the mere thought of being around him sends a rush through your veins.
You’ve been seeking more and more of that after one particular night, your feet making their way down the stairs after Areum had fallen asleep and you had rathered take your leave. You found him stretched on the couch, a drink in his hand.
His eyes hazily followed your movements, voice low and slightly slurred, “Are you leaving already?”
Hearing him acknowledge you outside of the usual context of Areum’s presence made you stop dead in your tracks, your reddened cheeks turning to face him, the dark color spreading all over your features when you fully took him in.
He was cladded in a comfortable attire, one you almost never saw on him, black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt deliciously hugging his shoulders, the short sleeves revealing the intricate ink designs running all over his right arm.
You shook yourself out of your trance suddenly, stuttering, “Huh… yes. Didn’t wanna be a bother.”
He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, “Oh, you’re not. I wish all of my daughter’s friends were like you.”
His words hung in the air, filling it with sincerity and a sudden tension landing right on your chest. You quickly brushed it away with a laugh, a nervous, shaky sound escaping your lips, trying to mask the way your heart was racing with desperation for the gods to grace you with the depth of his tipsy voice all night.
To this day, you still think your horny and delusional prayer was heard when he nodded to the empty space beside him, lifting his glass slightly, “Care for a drink? You’re 21 now, right?”
You only nodded shyly, more out of reflex than actual thought, slowly making your way to sit beside him just as he had instructed. The proximity sent a wave of heat through your body, your insides melting with the lava, the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent replacing the burned ground with a trail of flowers.
You were willing to do whatever he wanted from you at that moment, even if it meant downing the harsh liquor he poured into a glass for you. You took a sip, struggling not to grimace at the burn that followed. He smiled.
It was probably the alcohol loosening his tongue, but that night, for the first time, you saw a side of Mr. Jeon that he kept carefully hidden away, his vulnerability a strong characteristic of it.
His words tumbled out in an almost confessional tone. He spoke about his marriage, about how he had always felt somewhat trapped. Still a teenager himself, he was only 17 when he found out his soon to be wife was pregnant with Areum; 23 when they decided to marry. Voice soft but tinged with sadness, he admitted he never felt like he got to live his youth to the fullest, certainly blessed with his perfect baby, but also chained down by responsibilities and a tightening pressure he shouldn’t have had to deal with at such a young age.
Then, with his eyes burning into your shiny and equally flaring ones, he paused just for a moment, and you felt he could see right through you, into the very core of your being. That he had you all figured out.
“When I look at you,” he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper, gaze traveling down your bare thighs, squished together on his couch, “I feel like I get a bit of that youth back. You're so full of life, so fresh, so… full of love for my daughter. I'm glad she has you. Glad we have you.”
As he found your orbs again, you noticed his had significantly darkened. You were sure your heart would have failed you if you had kept navigating in his gaze; instead, you looked down at your hands folded in your lap.
That night, he paid for your uber and insisted you sent him a text when you made it home. It was only read the morning after, and left unanswered.
Even now, you’re convinced that if it weren’t for the whisky, those words would have stayed locked away in his mind, never seeing the light of day. Not even if he were forced to speak them at gunpoint.
Still, you’re grateful for the magical effects of alcohol and how they’ve brought you a tiny bit closer to give a look into his complicated world. It has awakened something in you, which led you to the conclusion that you always want to be there for him. Help him through the doubts and regrets. Be the youth he missed. Take the weight off his shoulders. Let him use you on that couch.
That feral, undomesticated monster inside you is a hundred times hungrier when, exiting the library building with Areum by your side, babbling in your ear about today’s plans, you see his sleek Mercedes parked outside.
He honks, getting his daughter’s attention too, who excitedly walks over the car when she spots it. The sound works as a pavlovian trigger for you, it has your mouth salivating and your senses alert, catching up with your friend and getting in the backseat.
It has been a few weeks since you last saw him, both you and Areum too busy with assignments and outside activities, and his charming smile as he asks about the day cuts the breath from your lungs.
You’re silent as your friend fills him in, your ears struggling to pick up her speech as it only takes a few more seconds for your eyes to be caught by an interesting detail, one that has your world rocked: he finally took his wedding ring off.
The wedding ring that has stood as an unspoken boundary between you and your reckless fantasies is gone. The realization hits hard, and suddenly your mind veers into dangerous territory, conjuring visions that feel too real. You can almost feel his left hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you in, claiming you. And the images are so vivid, so consuming, that you don’t even notice when Areum nudges your shoulder.
You don’t register her calling your name until the sound finally cuts through, pulling you back to the present with a jolt. You blink a few times, trying to ground yourself, before turning to face her, Areum’s voice light but her expression amusedly curious, “Dad asked you a question.”
Your whole face drops, panic clear in your features, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks. You've been zoning out, lost in a daydream about the very man sitting in front of you, the one you literally just ignored, too busy thinking of him. The irony is almost too much.
Your eyes find his in the rearview mirror, and the slight smirk on his lips only makes you look even dumber, stuttering all throughout your explanation, “Sorry, Mr. Jeon. I— um. I was distracted.”
He simply chuckles, low and clearly not offended by your lapse in attention. His focus is back on the road, but as he speaks you keep yours on the words he’s directing at you this time, “It’s okay. And I always tell you, just Jeongguk is fine. I was asking about your day, you seem a little worn out.”
“Oh. I—it went well! I guess I'm just a bit tired,” the words feel clumsy as they leave your mouth, but you hope they sound convincing enough. You just can’t stop your eyes from falling on his left hand.
“Well, you can’t be!” It’s Areum’s excitement interrupting your furious imagination and bubbling over, “You need to help me set up for tonight. Then, we’re gonna do our makeup, our hair, and dress up. I'm so excited!”
Right. The reason why you could finally see Mr. Jeon after weeks and why you’re currently driving to his house is because it’s Areum’s birthday.
The day feels significant in so many ways. You're excited to witness your best friend turn a year older, especially with all the hardships she’s been faced with. Honored that you’re the one she’s chosen to help make this night perfect, ensure every detail is just how she’s pictured this moment to be like. And you can’t deny that you feel slightly nervous at the prospect of tonight, knowing there are going to be faces you’re not that well acquainted with. You'd say you’re a bit awkward with new people, but you’ll try to bear through it for the sake of Areum’s happiness.
But mostly, you feel guilty. Because no matter how much you try to focus on your friend, the thought that truly makes your insides all mushy with fuzziness is the fact that you’re going to be in the proximity of her dad, again.
You crave for the smallest moments. The brief second where you’ll catch his gaze. The way his cologne will subtly linger in the hallways of his home. Your eyes have a habit of drifting to his hands, those strong, veined, tattooed hands that move so smoothly whenever he speaks.
Even now, in his car, as you glance at his side profile, there’s a ridiculous and almost cosmic sense of gratitude. Like you’ve been chosen. Blessed by whatever God to exist on this planet at the same time as him, to simply witness his presence.
It should be enough. It really should. But you’re a sinner. You're greedy, wanting more. Always more.
That buzzing sensation sticks with you throughout the entire day, hours packed with anxious over-organization, both you and Areum moving as if every step had to be executed flawlessly. And with all the chaos, he’s there in the back of your mind. Mr. Jeon.
He helps for a while, joining you in the backyard as you set up for the evening, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the whirlwind around you. But then he disappears into his studio, into his own space, leaving you to your tasks, and you don’t see him until hours later.
Yet, you still feel him, as if he’s always near. His upstairs studio’s window faces the garden, and it’s enough to make you hyper-aware of your every gesture. You straighten your back, slow your steps. Because even though you don’t know if he’s really watching, it feels like he is.
Getting your makeup, hair and outfit ready with Areum does slightly ease that sensation off your chest. You love these moments with her. Shared girlhood when you do each other’s eyeliner, the flutter of excitement as you zip up dresses, as you rummage through her closet, searching for the perfect piece to complete your look.
But even then, you’re brought back to the man working just a few rooms down the hallway. It's astonishing how easily Areum has access to everything she wants. The power her dad holds, the kind of wealth that makes life feel effortless in ways you can’t help but envy. For her, money isn’t just something that buys things. It shapes her world. It’s as simple as snapping her fingers.
You don’t resent her for it, not really. But it makes you wonder what it would be like to live in a world where nothing is out of reach. Where everything, even the man who haunts your thoughts, could be yours with the right words or a simple gesture.
When you see him again, you’re standing in his kitchen. Areum is still upstairs, fixing the tiniest details to her makeup, but you decided to come down early, just in case the first guests arrive, wanting to be helpful, wanting to keep yourself busy.
You’re momentarily lost in the view outside the window, the backyard garden bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights, soft hues blending beautifully with the sage and pastel yellow decorations. It pulls a small smile to your face, knowing your hard work paid off.
The quiet peace is soon interrupted by the sound of a cupboard cracking open behind you, and you startle, your heart giving a quick jump.
You turn, following the noise, and there he is — Jeongguk, bent over as he retrieves a bottle of red wine from the lower cupboard. As he straightens up, bottle in hand, he finds your eyes already staring in his. He's uncharacteristically deliberate as he lets his gaze wander up and down your figure.
You’ve dressed carefully for tonight, choosing a flowy pink dress that flutters delicately against your thighs. The corset top hugs your waist in all the right ways, accentuating your shape. It’s the kind of dress that makes you feel just a little more confident, a little more seen.
But now, under his gaze, you feel rather exposed, as if he’s seeing more than just the fabric of your dress. His eyes linger, and when his orbs dip to your chest, it’s almost as if he hesitates, like he’s trying to tear his eyes away but can’t.
You’re not even sure if the engrossed look on his face is real or just the product of your own twisted fantasies.
Still, your body responds instinctively, your hand drifting up to play with your necklace, an unconscious gesture, while your other arm wraps around your waist, as if you’re trying to hold yourself together under the intensity of his stare.
When his eyes return to your wide ones, he gives a subtle nod towards your dress, and although the smile that curves his lips is warm you can’t decipher that something else it wants to communicate.
His voice is smooth, literal honey, sweet and rich, dripping out from his pillowy lips, “What a beauty. You look very pretty.”
Now, you weren’t expecting that. It steals the breath from your lungs. It's not just the words, or even the way he says them, velvet wrapping around your senses. It’s how he seems to drink you in, his refined wine nothing in comparison. Like you’re something to be savored just as carefully.
At this point, you’re seriously questioning if there was a stronger substance in the liquor you and Areum shared earlier, even if you hadn’t taken big quantities. But you figure it must have been enough to distort the current reality around you. Or maybe, Mr. Jeon is the inebriated one.
You don't know how you find the voice to speak, or if you even do, the word escaping your lips in an uncoordinated mess, almost imperceptible, “Thanks.”
He hums deeply in response, and it vibrates through the space between you. You let out a shaky exhale the moment his gaze finally shifts away. He resumes the task at hand, effortlessly opening the bottle of wine and turning his back to you as he reaches for a glass from the higher cabinet.
The muscles in his shoulders shift under his shirt, and for a split second, you’re unsure what to do. Whether to stay, add anything else, flee the room entirely. Make small conversation about Areum’s birthday. Comment on his look, too. Oh, you’d have a lot to say about it.
You can tell he just wrapped up his work-related tasks for today from the way the first three buttons of his white shirt are opened, revealing his deep cleavage. His hair slightly tousled, but in a way that looks perfectly intentional, unintentionally. His slacks hug him deliciously, rounding the curve of his ass and making you swallow hard.
Your eyes can’t resist trailing over him, but they quickly move up to stare at the ceiling, feigning deep thought when he turns back to face you and the counter.
Surprisingly, he’s the one to break the silence first, again. The rich sound fills the air as he pours his red wine, the motion so precise, so fluid, it feels like witnessing an authentic art form.
He doesn’t bother looking up at you as he asks, seemingly casual, but slightly amused, “Is there a boy you’re trying to impress tonight?”
The way he steers the conversation makes you less agitated, suddenly confident. Especially with the question thrown your way. Teasing, almost belittling. You can see he’s not even trying to hide his pretty smirk, his focus on the wine flowing into the glass.
The question lingers, and you twirl your necklace around your fingers, smoothing down your dress with your other hand, your eyes flitting to his naked left hand, “Mh… you could say so.”
Of course, you’re not thinking about a boy. Mr. Jeon is no boy — he’s a man. The kind women dream about but know they’ll never find. The kind that belongs on the big screen or in the pages of a novel, with his effortless charm, wealth, looks that stop you in your tracks.
But he’s in front of you. And he’s tall, muscular, with hands that could crush or caress, tattooed in a way that makes your mouth dry up and water all at once.
It’s him you want to impress. You want to affect him the way he affects you. You want to pull him in, make him look at you the way he makes your world tilt on its axis with just a glance.
You’re hypnotized as you witness him in one of his rich man activities, performing a ritual with the wine glass. He brings it to his nose, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the aroma. It’s sensual, the way he handles the glass, its liquid dancing with precision, as if even this simple act holds meaning. You can’t look away.
When he's satisfied, he finds you again, and your mouth is slightly open without you even realizing it. The moment he lifts the glass to his lips, you bite your own, almost harshly, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
His smile is soft. He must know exactly what he’s doing to you.
Jeongguk mutters into the glass, his words resounding even stronger, “Well, he’d be a fool not to fall for you.”
The implications of his comment make you swallow audibly, while he downs his first sip of the wine with fine ease, his Adam's apple bobbing with it. The whole time, his eyes never leave yours.
A thick silence stretches between you, and you wish you could break it but you don’t know how. Your mind spins with the unspoken tension, instead he seems entirely comfortable with it. He places the glass back on the counter, the soft clink of it slicing through the quiet. Smoothly, he nudges it in your direction, his movements slow, as if testing the waters.
His voice is inviting, even more than usual, “You want to try?”
”Is that wine?” You instantly cringe at the way you sound strained.
He hums, a low sound of affirmation, watching you carefully. You briefly glance at the glass, "I've never had it.”
”Have it, then.”
With a slow twist of his fingers around the base, he slides the glass toward you. As it moves across the marble surface, you notice how he rotates it imperceptibly, but purposefully, so that the side where his lips touched the rim is now facing you. The gesture is subtle, but the intent behind it is clear. At least to your deranged fantasies.
There’s a faint lip mark where his mouth had been, and the sight of it pulls you in, making your pulse pound in your ears. You look back up at him, finding his gaze still on you, expression unreadable.
Without a word you lift the glass, your fingers wrapping clumsily around its stem. You bring it to your lips, mouth closing over the spot his lips had just pressed on.
The wine hits your tongue — bitter, sharp, and unfamiliar. You gulp hard, the liquid burning slightly as it slides down your throat. Your face scrunches involuntarily; the richness of the flavor is too much for you, and you can’t help but grimace as the aftertaste lingers.
He watches, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. When you set the glass down, he effortlessly picks it back up and brushes his fingers across the rim.
His tone laced with amusement, he asks, “Love it?”
You shake your head quickly, trying to hide your discomfort.
His chuckle is low, a soft rumble that makes your stomach flip. Swirling the wine gently, he muses, "I heard there’s going to be alcohol tonight.”
You grumble lightly, slumping your shoulders, “Ugh, I know.”
The endearment rolls off his tongue like a secret meant just for you, his voice dipping into something softer, more intimate, “Make sure you don’t drink too much, pretty face. I'll be around.”
Just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your thoughts spinning. Pretty face?
What just happened? You're not so sure, but eyeing the glass left alone on the counter, you impulsively grab it and decide to gulp its remnants down, groaning immediately after. Taking wine as a shot might not have been the best idea, but you’re certainly going to need all the possible devices to shake this feeling off.
It’s hard to do so, even as the birthday party kicks off. The energy in the backyard shifts as more guests arrive. Lively voices and unfamiliar faces begin to fill the space. Areum’s laughter cuts through the hum, infectious and bright, drawing everyone in. With your best efforts, you start engaging with others, smiling as you talk to some classmates and mutual friends, but it’s all surface-level. Your mind is elsewhere.
It's only later, as the evening progresses and the party settles into a rhythm, that you begin to relax. Mainstream music plays in the background and it inevitably involves everybody, some classic party games becoming the main entertainment.
Long after the cake and the gift-opening, the group gathers into a loose circle, throwing each other Never Have I Ever questions. You can’t help the way you all are still too young, and how you still get foolishly excited whenever the topic turns hot and hints at anything that is sex related. Childish and immature, you know, but your ears still perk when the first probing question is tossed out.
“Never have I ever been fingered.”
Areum instantly shushes it, her eyes panickedly looking back to the house in hopes her dad isn’t around. laughter bubbles just as quickly, both because of the question and the girl’s reaction.
As expected, many reach for their drink, and you do too. The few present boys holler in a teasing manner, gaining some eye rolls.
Sheepishly, the plastic cup touches your lips and you take the smallest sip of your punch. You can’t appear unbothered like your other peers, your cheeks subtly flaming as the embarrassing memories rush to your mind.
It’s silent, the small plea you telepathically send to anyone that might be listening. You pray for the topic to shift to something else, something that won’t inevitably put you at the center of the attention. Something you can relate to.
But of course, God is not on your side. The questions only dig deeper, wandering in uncharted territory (at least for you), and you never reach for your glass again.
You can only sink further in your chair the more everybody else around you seems even more lively with the way the game has turned, sharing their experiences, giggling as they listen and refill their cups. Beside you Areum buzzes with energy, and every question is just something for her to drink to, nothing that shocks her or that she isn’t familiar with.
Never have I ever given head.
Never have I ever been ate out.
Never have I ever rode someone.
It’s undeniable, your skin heating up. With how you’ve been spending your whole day, fantasizing about the man who’s probably already asleep in his bedroom by now, your friends sharing their adventures only fuels your imagination. You feel dirty when you put yourself in those scenarios, and for every daring moment they relive, the figure that appears beside you is always Mr. Jeon.
If only you turned your head, just for a moment, and glanced toward the kitchen window that faces the backyard, you would have seen the same man dominating your thoughts, staring intently at the scene unfolding outside.
Jeongguk is swallowed wholly by the darkness of the house, every light turned off. Maybe that’s why neither you nor Areum notice him.
You don’t see him. For once, you don’t feel him. You’re too caught up in the moment, too consumed by your own desires, unaware that the man that put you in that same condition is standing so close, watching.
Jeongguk intently studies how your face dips down at every new question, how your smile seems just a little too tight, too forced when listening to the stories, the ones that make you shift uncomfortably in your chair.
If you don’t notice it, he does almost immediately — the moment the attention in the circle shifts toward you.
The glances thrown your way become layered with a subtle curiosity, laced with something that looks like concern. But then, in the eyes of a few, Jeongguk catches a faint trace of judgment. It’s there, in the tilt of their heads, in the exchanged fleeting looks with one another, as if they sense your uneaseness and interpret it as something lesser. Something they can pick apart.
His jaw tightens as he observes, that familiar protective instinct stirring within him. It makes his hands twitch by his side, but he stays rooted in place.
Eventually, the moment you clearly seem to dread the most (it doesn’t take a genius to know. It’s written on your face. Or maybe, he got so used to studying you. It comes easy to him. Knowing you,) follows.
It makes you want to vanish into the thin air caressing your legs, how you can sense that the question is put out with intent, an only pretending-to-be-careful tone wrapping it, all pairs of eyes instantly directed in your direction.
“Never have I ever… had sex.”
You feel trapped, a momentary panic bubbling in your chest as you reach for your cup, hesitant. The rim hovers near your lips and you try avoiding every expectant glance, taking the smallest sip you can manage.
A murmur ripples through the circle. You can’t decipher it, too busy feeling the heat spread across your face. It's only later that you realize no one else drank. The question had been crafted specifically for you, a test.
Lara exhales, a teasing smile playing on her lips, “Woah, I was getting worried for a second there, ___.”
You barely have time to react before Areum steps in, her voice sharp in your defense, “What’s wrong with never having had sex, either way?”
“Nothing, but—”
You’re not sure why you speak, and why you choose your speech that way specifically. You cut in before you even realize what you’re doing, driven by a sudden urge to explain yourself, an unshakable need to clarify forcing itself up your throat, "I only took a small sip, though.”
The group’s collective curiosity spikes, attention zeroed in on you like never before. You feel it — everyone waiting for you to continue, to reveal something you’ve kept to yourself until now. So, you give in, words tumbling out against your better judgment.
You clear your throat, straighten your back against the chair, your tone evasive, “I technically am not a virgin, but… When we— did it, he um… he got his tip in, but— God, this is embarrassing.”
“C’mon, tell us!”
You sigh, pressing forward with an explanation they do not deserve, “He came, like, two seconds after. So, I felt nothing.”
The laughter that erupts is immediate, your friends covering their mouths in shock and amusement. You can only chuckle nervously, shrinking in your seat with a deep, liberating exhale.
Yunjin pats your shoulder beside you, “That’s so sad, babe. We need to find you a real man.”
A strange sense of relief courses through you, the adrenaline from finally being acknowledged and validated by your friends swelling within. You don’t know why, but you keep talking, oversharing, feeding into the newfound attention, “Oh, I've been waiting for one in particular.”
You quickly become the center of attention for different reasons than the previous ones, now. Voices overlap, but you dismiss them all with a playful shake of your head, giggles bubbling up as you try to evade their questions.
But just as quickly as the moment came, it fades when you glance to the side, and your smile drops.
Jeongguk’s eyes meet yours immediately.
The intensity of the gaze knocks the breath from your lungs, and you immediately straighten in your seat.
He’s been watching the entire time, arms crossed, muscle in his jaw tensing as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. There’s an unusual frustration etched into his expression, a subtle irritation with your friends’ behavior. But it’s more than that.
Your confession had softly revealed your inexperience. Your innocence. The untarnished parts of you he’s only beginning to realize he wants to corrupt.
Truth is, he’s known for a long time. Longer than he’d like to admit, really. But he’s never let himself feel it fully until now. It wasn’t something that hit him all at once. No, it crept up on him slowly, over the months. He’s always known you were beautiful, in that distant, untouchable way. You’re his daughter’s best friend, after all.
But he couldn’t help his eyes from lingering on you a little too long when you’d come over to hang out with Areum, how he’d feel the tension of his work day melt when he’d let himself be coddled by the warmth of your helping actions, the way his muscles would instead tense when he’d catch sight of you lounging by the pool.
He’d been good at keeping it under bay. But you weren’t subtle, not even the slightest, and it all made it harder. Even more when you’ve been nothing but the proof that angels exist, and at some point he convinced himself you were sent on Earth to fill the void he felt his whole life, with your unconditional care towards his daughter and your pupils widening whenever they’d land on his.
Maybe it was seeing you tonight, all grown up and standing there in that dress, hugging your figure deliciously. How you carried yourself, confident yet unsure, mature yet untouched.
Hearing you talk about your inexperience, about that brief, awkward encounter with a boy who clearly didn’t know what he was doing. Watching you squirm under your friends’ teasing questions, witnessing how you tried to explain yourself.
It’s like it all clicks into place for him. And for the first time, he’s letting himself acknowledge it.
Jeongguk wants you.
He knows it’s wrong. So wrong. He's never felt this way about someone so much younger than him, and yet, the need to be the first one to truly touch you, to show you what it means to be wanted by a real man, makes his blood run hot.
Yet, he feels disgusting. Selfish, his stomach swirling with nerves. Dirty, his fingers twitching and begging to free his insides from such feelings.
There’s simply no ignoring it anymore, no pretending like you’re just Areum’s friend. That boundary he set in his mind is starting to blur. He's old enough to know better, but old enough to know exactly what he wants.
Your eyes widen with terror, meeting Jeongguk’s own hardened gaze. He wants to tell you, wants you to know, but the way your startled expression lingers in his narrowed eyes makes him hesitate.
The contact is abruptly interrupted when one of Areum’s friends, an older kid she’s met through her dad’s colleague, crashes into you from behind, draping his weight over your shoulders.
You struggle not to stumble forward, holding yourself on the arms of your chair while you look to the side, and immediately try to pull away when you realize the unwanted proximity.
But you’re weaker than the boy’s embrace, holding you still and wiggling his eyebrows, his tone playful as he ruffles your hair, “Is it me?”
The people around you laugh, but the way your body stiffens, the clear discomfort in your eyes — Jeongguk notices. And he also notices (reluctantly) the ugly feeling making space in his stomach the more that guy’s face moves closer to yours. His jaw twitches, the muscle at his temple ticking.
He can’t just stand there doing nothing anymore.
The sudden sound of the door to the garden opening catches everyone’s attention, and your gaze flies over in that direction.
Jeongguk steps out, presence commanding, and Areum’s eyes grow wide, instantly sensing something wrong in the way her father is looking at the scene. His eyes are too dark, too sharp, and if no one else detects it, you and his daughter surely do.
Still, the taller boy behind you moves up again, taking a step back from your seat, and Jeongguk seems to reserve him a look you find hard to decipher.
“Areum,” he calls, soft but firm. She’s quick to move toward him, and you can’t help but try to listen in on what he’s saying to her.
But the voices rise again, loud and boisterous, filling the space with chatter, drowning out any chance you had of overhearing. You sigh, returning to your slumped position on the chair. As you do, you can’t ignore how all the girls around you are sneaking glances at him, their giggles piercing through the air as they whisper among themselves.
Jeongguk has always had a certain effect on people, and tonight is no different. You hear some of their comments, but they don’t fully register in your mind. All you can focus on is the bitter feeling rising in your chest.
You bite the inside of your cheek, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. It sickens you, the way you have to share the image of him with everyone else. You wish only your eyes had been granted the gift of looking at him, of admiring the way his shirt stretches across his chest or how his hair falls perfectly, even when tousled. Instead, he’s a spectacle for everyone to enjoy, and you hate it.
When Areum returns, it’s with a slightly slumped posture and her energy deflated. Behind her, Mr. Jeon stands with his arms crossed, a small, condescending smile tugging at his lips.
Areum’s voice is low as she announces, “The party’s over, guys.”
The subtle groans of disappointment echo around you as your friends gather their things, saying their goodbyes and slowly trickling out, only after trying to argue about it, giving up when met with no possible negotiation. Once the last guest has left, it’s just the three of you, left to clean up the remnants of the night in the dimly lit garden.
The air is tense on your skin. You can feel it in every movement, every glance that passes between you and Jeongguk, though he barely looks at you now. His focus is elsewhere. On the mess, on Areum, on anything but you. It’s silent for a while as each one of you picks up their own task. Teamwork seems to be efficient, every area of the backyard slowly regaining its original aspect.
Until Areum yawns dramatically, stretching her arms above her head as she makes her way over to you and her father. She mumbles, blinking heavily. "’M so sleepy."
Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. He teases lightly, voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "Oh, really? You’re just gonna leave all this mess behind?"
For a moment, you and Areum both freeze, glancing at each other with wide eyes, unsure if he’s serious. However, you don’t seem to notice Jeongguk’s lips curling into a soft, knowing smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Just kidding,” he chuckles, tone warm now, the joke clear. “Go sleep, c’mon. It’s past your bedtime.”
Areum sighs with exaggerated relief, rolling her eyes before stepping forward to wrap her arms around her dad in a loose hug. She mumbles into his chest, “I’m not a kid anymore, dad. I don’t have a bedtime.”
He chuckles with a lightness foreign to you until that moment, and he leans down, pressing his lips gently to the top of her head, voice a low and tender whisper, “Whatever you say. Happy birthday, Reumie.”
It’s such a simple moment, nothing grand or elaborate. Still, you watch them with stars in your eyes, completely captivated by this rare portrayal of vulnerability from Mr. Jeon. You almost feel like an intruder, yet you keep contradicting yourself when you can’t help but want to be part of it, too. Want to bask in his love, the one he keeps hidden but the same one that shapes him whole. That fills him from head to toe, never spilling, always quiet. Makes him the brave man you only know through your best friend’s admiring eyes, never from his words.
He doesn’t like talking about himself, but you’d kill to know what truly goes through his mind, even for just a second. You’d gladly settle in a cramped house in his brain, pay rent and everything.
When Areum finally pulls away and turns to you, her expression sleepy but content, she asks, “You coming with me?”
You hesitate, glancing at the mess still surrounding you. You speak with a small, reassuring smile, only looking at your friend, “I'll be there in a minute. I wanna help clean up first.”
She just shrugs, too tired to argue, and heads inside. Jeongguk's eyes follow her briefly before flicking back to you.
His lips part as if he wants to say something. Maybe to insist that there’s no need to help, that you should join Areum inside and get a good night's sleep. But the words never come. Instead, he watches you silently for a second longer, before turning his attention back to the garden.
Now, it’s just the two of you.
The quiet between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. The subtle hum of the night seems louder now without the chatter of party guests, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze fills the air as you move around the small round tables, readjusting the chairs.
You’re trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind keeps drifting to other regions. In your distraction, you clumsily trip over your own feet, your breath catching as you stumble forward.
Before you can fall, though, a strong hand grips your arm, steadying you instantly.
“Oops. Careful, little one,” it’s Jeongguk’s deep voice murmuring close to your ear, the warmth of his touch grounding you.
Your face flushes immediately, heat spreading across your cheeks and down your neck. “Sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him through your lashes, feeling ridiculously small under his intense gaze.
“It’s okay,” he instantly replies, tone so gentle it almost makes your heart falter.
Silence falls again, but this time, it’s thicker, and maybe even uncomfortable. You both remain still for a moment, his hand loosely gripping your arm, and you feel yourself burn where his fingers rest. His thumb brushes your skin lightly, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, but it’s enough to make you gulp audibly.
Finally, he releases you, stepping back slightly, but his eyes never leave yours, "Thanks for making my daughter happy today. I really appreciate that. I appreciate you."
Your mind races, trying to find the right words to respond, but all you can manage is a stutter, “Oh. I—”
His voice is firmer when he gently cuts you off, “Go sleep now. I'll finish here.”
You want to protest, but the way he’s looking at you — dark eyes locking onto yours, holding you in place even with his hand now by his side — makes it impossible.
There’s something about the way he’s speaking, like he’s being careful with his words, almost spelling them out, making sure you’re paying attention to each one, “If you need anything, you know where to find me. Yeah?”
You swallow hard, nodding slowly. His gaze is unwavering, and it feels like he’s saying something more than just the words themselves, something you can’t quite grasp yet. You stammer, “Right. Yes. I—I’ll… goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
It’s not exactly a good night for you. In a sense, maybe it is. You always welcome dreams like these when they decide to visit. But right now, it feels more than a little awkward.
Worst timing ever. You’re lying next to Areum, the daughter of the very man who’s making you wet with just a few flashes of imagery dancing behind your closed eyelids.
At first, it’s soft, almost serene. You see a beach, engulfed in warm, blurry tones that blend together like watercolors left to bleed in the sun. The sea is flat, unmoving, and glimmers like pearls under the flaming light.
A weight presses down on your exposed thigh. The sensation feels so vivid that it pulls you deeper into the dream, and as you glance down, you instantly recognize the large, familiar hand resting there.
Jeongguk's hand. His left one. On the fourth finger, a gold ring.
When you lift your head, his face greets you with a wide, unusual smile. His hair is wet, slicked back as if he’s just come out of the water, droplets clinging to the tips. He bites his lip, and you see it. A double piercing sits on the side of his mouth, the silver studs gleaming as he plays with them using the tip of his tongue. Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t just see it there. On his eyebrow, a matching piercing catches the sunlight, giving him a rebellious edge.
You remember them from old pictures Areum showed you once. Jeongguk, in his younger days, rougher, wilder, and undeniably charming.
It must have left a deep impression on you because your subconscious has dug it up now, weaving it into this dream. Deep in your slumber, you unconsciously whine.
His hand kneads the soft skin of your leg, and his grin stretches wider, eyes crinkling into familiar crescents, but with an edge you’ve never seen on him before.
"You wanna take another bath?" His voice is husky in your ear, filled with suggestion. He's leaning in now, closer, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your skin. Before you can say anything, his hand slides higher, fingers grazing the hem of your swimsuit. "Come on. Just you and me."
Jeongguk’s hand is still playing with the laces of your bikini, and he’s slow and teasing as he pulls one of them. When he fully undoes it, you’re bare in front of him.
But he doesn’t look down just yet. He keeps staring in your eyes, his smile gone now, replaced with something more serious, more focused.
Jeongguk leans closer to your ear, pillowy lips brushing your lobe, and it feels way too real when he whispers, “Let me make you feel good.”
It’s with a jolt that you wake up, the low sound still echoing in the depths of your brain, and you struggle to take in your surroundings at first. On your right, Areum is sleeping soundly, even snoring softly. You'll tease her about it in the morning.
If the thought initially puts a smile on your face, it morphs into a frown when you register the reason why you’re now awake, and you brim with guilt. You have to get away from your best friend. Need to get away from your brain, if possible. Wash it all with a glass of cold water.
You make sure not to cause too much noise as you slowly sit up, the covers falling from your figure and the air welcoming you with goosebumps on your skin. Your naked feet tentatively touch the ground and you force yourself to stand on them, padding on the floor and exiting the room, gently closing the door behind your shoulders.
At first, you only hear it. Faint, muffled noises; fussing; heavy panting; groans.
You blink rapidly, convinced your hazy brain is still cozily wrapped around the blankets, finding it hard to let go of the images that had flashed behind your eyelids and adapt to the new state of consciousness.
But as you make your way to the stairs, the sounds get closer, and more vivid. It's not just your mind playing evil games anymore.
It’s shushed moans, and eager whines. And they seem awfully close to how you’d always imagined Mr. Jeon would sound like. In that situation.
Having lost control over your own brain a long time ago, it feels like you’re now being ordered around by it, no freedom of choice whatsoever.
Your feet move on their own, following the source of that delicious music, and you swear your eyes get teary with joy when you find that the door was left ajar.
You feel delirious. The small gap is more than enough to give you a view into what you never thought you’d have the honor of witnessing: the man of all your desires has his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing it, then dragging it up and down in slow movements that you just know are torturing him, from the way he harshly bites his lower lip, to the way his furrowed eyebrows almost meet at the bridge of his nose, eyes focused on his doings.
Nonetheless, he loves it. His mouth opens every time he brushes the tip of his thick dick with his palm, releasing small whines, followed by quiet moans when he uses his other hand to play with his balls.
He cusses repeatedly, then grips his base and halts his movements. Only to go over the punishing pattern again, bringing himself closer to the edge then retraining when he feels like stepping over it.
The sight of Mr. Jeon edging himself makes your knees weak. It takes over you physically, you genuinely have to find support in the wall beside you.
You need to be there with him. You need it to be your hand; need him to guide it just the way he likes it; need him to teach you how to please him. His groans make your head spin, and you need to get closer.
You’re not thinking when you instinctively take a step towards the slightly open door, but when you do, the floor cracks under you.
You’re paralysed. In the silence of the house, wrapped in night time, the otherwise small sound is amplified, and he stops his hand.
With the little power you still possess over your actions, you move your back to the wall beside the door. Your breaths are ragged, too overwhelmed with the mixture of fear and lust, and you think of running away to hide but a huge weight is chaining you down, and you find yourself unable to move.
You can only register fussing from the other side, the soft thump of his feet on the floor and the door opening alarmingly. When he looks to the side, he’s met with his expression mirrored on your small face, your eyes wide but willing themselves to keep looking in his.
If you were to look down, you’re not sure you could keep yourself composed, knowing his cock is hard and unattended in his pajama pants.
“____? What are you doing up?” His voice quickly takes on the calm that characterizes him so well, instilling some of it in your startled figure.
Still, you stutter all throughout your answer, making it clear what you just spied into with the way your face changes color, “I— Water. I wanted— There’s no, huh, water in the fridge.”
Mr. Jeon does a weak job at hiding the confused amusement on his features. Nonetheless, he nods, a small grin on his lips while he says nothing, just walks to the stairs and makes his way down them. You follow hastily, careful not to trip.
There's plenty of water in the fridge, but he doesn’t question it. He takes out a bottle and pours a glass for you, sliding it over the counter.
You take the smallest sip, afraid you might choke with the way he stands facing you, staring so intensely into your orbs.
When you put the still full glass down, he smirks. You see his hands gripping the edge of the table in front of him, “Nightmare?”
The depth of his voice translates into heat pooling right in your lower stomach and staining your shorts. You're a mess just from the blurred sight of him. You shake your head, “More like… a weird dream.”
He smiles taut, having to break the prolonged eye contact and look elsewhere, his grip getting tighter and his patience wearing thin.
He won’t be able to control himself much longer if he doesn’t get out of this kitchen, especially with the effects of your effortless charm flooding down his pleading dick.
You’re in front of him, eyes fond with a feeling that scares him, only the counter dividing your bodies, and you’re wearing the tiniest satin shorts paired with a white tank top that leaves little to the imagination, the cut dangerously low and your nipples evident through the material.
He’s a gone man.
His eyes no longer anchoring you, your gaze automatically travels to where you shouldn’t be looking, for your own sanity. The outline of his cock is so delicious, it makes your mouth water with want.
You’re not sure if it’s your own eyes deceiving you, but you swear you can see it throb, and at that moment you realize he’s not wearing any underwear. Just thin, loose pants covering his length.
You gulp, clenching around nothing. You feel him sigh, and the sound makes your head spin with greater force.
He looks back at you, but you’re too enthralled by your current view, the effects of it almost completely shutting out your hearing and your rational thinking, as you round the counter and leave his words hung in the air, "I'm sorry for… what you probably saw. Should’ve closed the door.”
Apology silently dismissed, or simply ignored (why would he even apologize for blessing you with such an unforgettable sight?) you now stand next to him. As he turns to you, you’re faced with his chest, and you have to bend your head upwards to meet his curious eyes.
Your body has long forgotten to trust the thin amount of rationality that could still be found in your brain, and that’s how you find yourself leading your hand to cup his cock through his pajamas.
His face is stoic, staring at you intensely. He doesn’t startle, doesn’t gasp, doesn’t move away. But you feel him. If the contact does something to him, he doesn’t show it. He keeps looking down at you, in your eyes.
Then, he speaks, his voice steady, “What are you doing.”
You’re suddenly aware of your actions, and you fall victim to them, feeling small because of his stern, composed gaze while you feel like melting under it.
Your voice is frail, barely a whisper, too weak to sound as convinced as you truly are, and your words come out slurred, “Wanna help you.”
He doesn’t break, doesn’t seem affected by your desperation, but his pupils are blown out, knuckles white from grasping the counter, “You already did enough.”
Your hand is still on his clothed dick, unmoving. No one dares break the moment, though. If anything, being this close to him, feeling him while you both search for something in each other’s eyes, is only spurring you further.
You get on your tip toes, your perky nipples brushing against his chest, your voice low while you tilt your head to the side, “What were you thinking of? I'll be that for you.”
Immediately, his hand flies over yours. He doesn’t move it, just holds it still. The look in his eyes is a lot darker, his eyelids droopy, his jaw clenched, “Stop this.”
The electrifying spark that buzzes you the moment you feel his skin travels from your hand to your whole body, and it significantly weakens you.
You don’t know if you fall to your knees because they genuinely give up on you, but it’s how you find yourself facing his hardness, your eyes never leaving his glossy ones, highlighted by the dim light shining through the curtains of his kitchen.
“___. Get up.” There’s a tremor in his voice, and the hand that was blocking yours now falls by his side, twitching.
You see it in his eyes. Sense it in the tension of his muscles. He's holding back. But you don’t want him to resist you.
“Please,” your beg is muffled and quiet, your nose brushing against his length and following a torturous path that makes him hiss.
He groans deliriously, willing himself to tear his orbs off your big, pleading ones staring up at him, but he doesn’t do anything to move you away.
“Fuck,” the chuckle that follows is feverish, his body on fire with the forbidden, but so wanted touch, “Don’t make me have to reject you, doll.”
“You don’t have to,” you’re unexpectedly quick in your answers, your conscience coming back to you but letting it be taken over by a dark feeling, the one that makes you kiss his tip through the thin material, and lick along his length, finding his eyes, "I want you.”
Jeongguk inhales, his lower lip bleeding with the harsh biting, and he swears his knees are shaking with the effort of keeping even the slightest, thinnest thread of sanity intact.
He wishes he could stop you. Knows he should. But he can't. He can only watch as your slim fingers hook under the hem of his light pants and lead them to pool down his ankles.
The way his cock springs free and brushes your smooth, pure face makes him huff out a deep exhale, his jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed as he takes in your eyes widening at the sight of his length.
Mr. Jeon is long. And thick. He's veiny, and perfectly shaved. It looks almost unrealistic, but he’s in front of you in all his glory and he throbs. Leaks pretty precum to coat his angry tip.
He doesn’t know how he manages to speak, especially when you look up at him through your droopy eyelids, pupils blown and tongue ready to take him.
His voice is rough, as if it wants to stay stuck in his throat, but he forces one last warning out, “___. Don’t do it.”
Any and all kinds of inhibitions are nonexistent the moment you attempt a kitten lip at his wet tip, and the simple action makes his head fall backwards, a way too loud growl escaping him. His breaths are heavy, broad chest moving with them as he looks down at you again, too tempted to look elsewhere.
He curses as soon as he does, his lust-filled orbs swimming in your equally craving ones, and he believes this view is crafted by the hands of a God, not slightly comparable to anything his mind came up with back in his room, not too long ago.
The reason why he’s gotten rock hard under his covers, it’s you. The yearning he couldn’t suppress anymore, the hunger making him salivate, the need to be consumed by your love, the desire to be touched by you, to be cured by your innocence, only to taint it.
He’s thirsty, wants to drink all of you in. Wants to finally have you, taste you, feel you. He's tired of fighting it.
Jeongguk doesn’t know how to decipher his heart doing literal flips in his chest when you fully take his cock in your mouth, and he lets out a sound he’s never heard his own self ever produce. It’s high-pitched, whiny, delirious, and it leads himself to subtly push himself forward, to bury his length in your throat.
You inevitably choke at the new sensation, your eyes fluttering shut to keep the tears welling up under your eyelids from spilling out, but you go relentlessly, just as hungry.
You tentatively bob your head up and down his length, messily taking him as best as you could, probably accidentally scraping him with your teeth a few times, and you try to make up for it with your swirling tongue, slurping thirstily.
He almost coos at your eagerness, and as badly as he wants to bask in the sensation, having to keep himself from pounding into your mouth, he holds your silky hair in a ponytail and gently pushes you away.
When you find him again, your eyes are glossy and your eyebrows drawn up with worry.
You don’t want this moment to end. You don’t want your insecurities to be proven right, don’t want him to ward you off, to still think of you as nothing more than a childish girl with an evident crush. You're on your knees for him to finally see you.
Jeongguk instantly reads your thoughts.
His voice is quick to sooth you, a sweet smile painting his face with an expression you rarely see on him. It's soft, just like his voice, “Come up here, angel.”
You want to listen to him, want to follow his every order. But you’re not sure how to when he’s regarding you with a care you’d never thought would be directed at you, one that empties you of any strength. When the pet name rolling off his tongue that easily seems so natural, you want to think it’s all he’s ever seen you as.
With a delicate tug at your hair, he leads you on your feet again. Still, you’re weak, your chin falling on his chest as you look at him through your lashes like he’s hung every single star in the sky.
His hand leaves your locks only to cup your face, promptly helping you stand straight to study your features.
If he didn’t know better, he’d say you’re high off the strongest substance you could find. Your pupils cover your orbs in a dark, wide circle, a lazy smile on your pink lips as you let yourself be handled by him, no control over your body, almost falling over his bigger one again before he steadies you by your hips.
He lets out an amused chuckle at the state you’re in because of him, and he hopes you know just how much you’re affecting him, too. He wants to swallow you, pill after pill, overdose on you.
When he’s sure you don’t need his help keeping you still anymore, leading your palms to rest on his wide shoulders, he takes your face in his big hands and forces you to swim in the intensity of his gaze.
His words are spoken slowly, a low whisper fanning over your lips, “If I kiss you now, I won't be able to control myself anymore.”
Your eyes jump relentlessly between his own orbs and his mouth, the latter winning the battle when you fixate on it, and speak just as weakly, “Please, kiss me.”
You barely manage to get the words out before Jeongguk is all over you. He devours you, pushing your lips open and finding your tongue, playing with it in a mess of slick and heavy breaths.
His fingers travel through every angle of your body they can find, pulling your face impossibly closer by your nape, leaving goosebumps along your bare arms wrapping around his neck, falling down your torso and squeezing harshly as they rest by your sides.
Your moan is inevitable when his palms reach down the curve of your ass and shove you against him. You feel his hardness meet the softness of your lower belly, his wet tip poking at it and making him hiss on your lips.
He does his best to swallow all your sounds, your muffled whines and whimpers his favorite meal as of now. It's a wince of slight pain that you let out as he positions you in between his body and the counter, the border pressing on your lower back.
When he moves from your kiss, even with your lungs being unable to breathe anymore and begging for a break, your head follows his movements to try and bring him back on you again.
The chuckle he lets out is almost belittling, the right side of your face being completely engulfed by his palm to put distance between your mouths, his other hand keeping you still by your waist, and his own hips push against you.
You quickly glance down to where your bodies meet, and you whimper when you take in the way his cock is just above your core, his balls brushing against your clit. You only need to lift yourself a little forward to fully feel him.
But it’s like he instantly knows what’s making your head spin, his grip tighter but still mindful not to hurt you. The sudden squeeze has your eyes finding his, feeling ridiculously smaller under the weight of his heavy gaze.
He makes sure you keep your whole focus on him, and as much as registering the way your orbs are glossy with anticipation and desire is making him almost regret his next words, he lets them out, steady but soft, in your face.
“You had your fun, baby. Now, you’re going to listen to me. Hm?”
This time, your reaction comes promptly following his request. You're hanging from his lips, tracing their every move and sound, immediately nodding at the order.
It’s not enough, and Jeongguk ensures to sound a bit firmer, ”Use your words.”
”Yes, Mr. Jeon.”
The way your response rolls off your tongue with seemingly no hesitation, your pupils still on his, the words you choose to say, make him let out an amused chuckle.
Your eyes widen, and he drinks in your state, cheeks flushed and lower lip trembling. You need to bite it in order for it to stop shaking when he narrows his eyes, his left palm rising from your hip and finding its way under your top, his remark making you startle, ”You’re such a bad girl. Aren’t you?”
Jeongguk makes up for the way more tears seem to well along your bottom lashes by cupping your small breast in his larger hand, swirling his thumb around your nipple, and you need to fight against the loud moan traveling its way up your throat, the choked sound getting stuck as your mouth hangs open, your eyebrows furrowed.
It only takes some more of his degrading tone for you to let out an unashamedly loud noise, his fingertips pinching your nipple, ”Calling me that only because it gets you off. Doesn’t it? You’re not so innocent after all, angel.”
He quickly swallows your sounds with his lips on yours, and both of you can’t help but hum lowly at the contact. Jeongguk thinks he could keep kissing you for hours on end. But he badly wants to feel every other inch of your body, too.
Unexpectedly, the kiss gets broken when he turns your body around with ease, your back now pressing against his front, and you steady your shaking figure by planting your hands on the counter.
The access to your ear comes effortlessly, he just needs to bend his head down to cover your height difference and make sure his whispered words meet you as close as possible, “I’ll give you what you want. But you need to be quiet and good for me, understood?”
You’re not sure if you should use your voice or stay silent, but your body doesn’t give you the chance to ponder over it before letting out a whiny Yes. You’re not exactly being quiet, but can he blame you?
The man you’d get to talk to for more than five minutes only in your dreams is now promising you he’s going to give you what you want. And his cock is perfectly nestled in between your ass cheeks. You're positive you’ll have to throw your shorts right in the bin after he’s done with you.
Though, the scoff resounding in your ear makes you regret not even trying to lower your volume. You really want to be good for him. Don’t want to disappoint him.
That’s why when he taps two fingers under your chin, without him having to express it for you, you part your lips open, tongue out. From the corner of your eye, you see the side of his face scrunched with a long dimple before he shoves the digits inside your wet mouth.
You instantly wrap yourself around his long fingers, coating them in your warm slick, and you can tell it’s affecting him with the way the hold on your hip tightens, and he shifts between your thighs.
With your tongue swirling around the two digits, your eyes search for his face. Looking up at him through your lashes, you clench around nothing when you take in the effortless way he towers over you, his body engulfing your whole smaller figure.
The sinful eye contact leads him to spur you on further, his voice rough with desire, “That’s right. Suck on them like you would my cock.”
You hum deeply at the encouragement, fluttering your eyelids shut as you energetically bob up and down along his fingers. You think you can still feel the taste of his precum lingering on your tongue, and you whine, wishing you could have him again.
The noise gets cut from your throat when he forces his digits out, the slicky sound lustful, and it makes him groan lowly.
With his other hand, he delicately pushes your head forward to bend you over the marble counter, the same one where hours ago he passed you his glass of wine to take a sip from.
The surface is cold against your cheek and he’s out of your vision as he stands straight. Not being able to see what he’s doing, the expression on his face as you lay folded for him, makes the anticipation flood even stronger in your veins.
You feel him pull your shorts down enough to reveal yourself to him, hear him hiss as he’s enthralled by the way your pussy glistens, all for his eyes to admire.
The curse that follows is instant, “Fuck. No panties?”
You’re embarrassed for your straightforward bareness, whimpering at his surprise with your fist tightening and your nails imprinting crescents in your palms, but you’re also so impatient to feel his touch.
Tentatively, you wiggle for him, hoping to brush against his length, but it’s to no effort as he instantly stills your movements with a hand on your lower back.
He scoffs incredulously, feeling your bare ass against his palm, “It’s like you knew this would happen. You dirty, naughty girl. Always giving me those eyes.”
It’s light, the spank that meets the side of your butt, but you gasp nonetheless. You need to bite your lower lip harshly in order to suppress the loud moan from escaping your throat, and you’re sure it bleeds when he strokes the spot he hit.
The hand soothing you now travels to your front, torturously putting pressure on your sensitive stomach and following a slow pattern, only to reach your wet core.
He finally touches you where you’ve been needing him the most, and you both groan when he uses his already soaked pointer and ring finger to spread your lips, his middle one tracing your slit.
You inhale deeply as he repeats the motion, and when you exhale you can’t help small whines from leaving you, the pleasure already too overwhelming.
You feel like passing out when his body weight presses on you again, his mouth directly on your lobe, the intention in his voice dripping on your skin, “You think I wouldn’t notice? You know how hard my cock gets everytime I see you in these tiny clothes of yours, huh? You’re quite literally the death of me, doll.”
Then, it’s like all your senses come back to you the moment he pushes his digit in, and he immediately reaches around you to put his other hand over your mouth the second he sees it opening, your eyes rolling up.
You cry in his palm, the sound muffled with his fingers tightening under your jaw, his body still leaning on yours. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear and stills his middle finger inside you, getting you used to his presence, “Shh, princess. Good baby, you’re doing perfect.”
The contrast to his earlier shaming tone only makes you whine more, your eyes squeezing closed to try and keep the noises in. You’re sure you bite his palm when he starts moving inside you, the finger curling tentatively and soon being joined by another one.
You shake your head weakly, feeling yourself reach delirium, and you manage to stammer out, “Can’t— can’t do this.”
“You can baby, c’mon. You wanna be a good girl f’me, don’t you?” His tone is still low, warm breath fanning over your nape, and you melt under the sudden change in attitude.
You nod, not because you believe you can actually get through this without your heart failing and the whole neighborhood hearing you in the process, but because you do want to be his good girl.
He hums, “That’s right. I need to stretch you out if you want to take my cock.”
You choke in his wrap, now looser around your face, surprised at his words, and you clench hard at the mention of his cock inside you. You throw your head backwards in search of more of his proximity, and you mumble nonsense, your brain completely melted, “Yes! Want your dick.”
“I know you do, little one,” with your head nestled between the crook of his neck, his hand now falls to your throat, and he holds you gently by it while his fingers pick up a faster pace.
He's ruthless as he moves them inside you, effortlessly finding your sweet spot with a curl of his long, tattooed digits, and you whimper at the foreign sensation, unable to moan like you really want to.
You feel like screaming the more he keeps going, the only possible reaction to what is happening to you. One moment ago you were dreaming of this, and now it’s your reality.
Mr. Jeon is fingering you and calling you his good girl. His large figure is behind your smaller one bent over the counter, his palm around your throat, his hard length pressing against your ass.
The moment he uses his thumb to flick at your clit, you arch your back into him and you hear him fight to suppress a surprised moan.
“Shit. You’re so impatient, sugar. Dripping around my fingers. Wanna taste your sweet juice, can I?” It’s a rhetorical question, hushed slurredly in your ear, because after he lets it out his fingers leave your hole, and find a new home on his warm tongue.
He purposefully moves your chin to make you a witness of his sinful action, humming deeply around the taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut, his digits popping out drenched.
Your mouth hangs, your tongue unconsciously peeking out as if asking to be made a participant, but Jeongguk only smirks and stands straight once again, his wet hand leaving another light spank on your ass cheek, “Turn around, sweets.”
You do as asked, making sure your palms are still steadying your weight on the counter now behind you, afraid your legs alone won’t be able to. You soon find out you won’t have to put much effort into that when Jeongguk lifts you with ease and sits you on the surface, your slickness meeting the cold marble.
You don’t have to lift your head to look at him anymore, your heights now the same. But finding yourself directly in front of his hardened gaze makes you feel even more intimidated.
Especially when he traces your inner thigh, his eyes never leaving yours, “Every time you stand up to leave after dinner, you always leave a puddle on my chairs. And I’m left to clean it up.”
You swallow audibly at the accusation, and you can feel your eyes water once again, biting your lips to conceal the shame.
He only grins amusedly at your state, the tip of his tongue coming out to play with his lower lip. The hand on your leg now forces it to move to the side, his face only getting closer to yours, his tone deeper, "I've thought about licking it up, you know? But then I always stopped myself, because I knew I'd get to taste your pretty, wet pussy.”
You gasp, a shaky moan leaving you uncontrollably, and your fingers hover over his figure, wanting to find support in him but unsure whether to touch him.
He finds your mouth in a short kiss, almost reassuring, but he’s back to spitting sins the moment he lowers his face between your spread legs, and the way he looks up at you is almost scandalous. He looks devilish, his orbs visible through his lashes, his tongue wetting his lips. He takes your uncertain hand and places it between his tousled hair, directing himself to you, instructing you how to use him.
He presses a peck above your clit, still drinking in your reactions, his smile wicked, “I knew you’d crumble soon. You little minx. Going after your best friend’s dad. So naughty.”
Your head is thrown backwards at his words, ones that only add to the pleasure that takes over you when he latches at your pussy, the wet sounds ungodly.
The shame and guilt mixing in the back of your mind generate a profane sense of bliss you’d never think you could reach, and even though deep down you feel dirty being confronted with the truth he sputtered out so easily, you can’t help getting off to it right now.
Jeongguk is ravenous as he finds your drenched lips, lapping furiously at them and drinking the juice that continuously drips out. He flicks the tip of his tongue up and down your swollen clit, and your hand that he himself put on top of his head now tugs at his curls, forcing him closer to you. He’s trapped, your legs squeezing around his head, his nose nuzzled in your slit, and he can’t stop the hand that reaches to stroke his pleading dick.
You think you hear him mumble something along the lines of taste so good as he teases your hole with his wet muscle, and you’re a gone woman the moment you look down, your eyes fluttering open.
His own are closed, brows furrowed in deep concentration, his nose relentlessly grinding against your sensitive nub, and the way he seems so affected by the act of pleasuring you breaks something inside you.
You feel it begin to crumble when his tattooed hand reaches up to lift your top just enough to expose your breasts, nipples hardening with the cold air and the stimulation, and you swear they hurt deliciously when he starts kneading at your boob, fondling it with care.
The deep hum generated from his throat vibrates against you, and the flick of his thumb around the center of your tit matched with the way your clit is being continuously abused unexpectedly leads you to your orgasm.
It’s fast, unannounced, and you find support in his hair, your body taking over your brain and relentlessly grinding against Jeongguk’s face, suffocated between you, unable to stop reaching for the heavenly, and so awaited high.
Your whines are frantically high pitched, but the moment he feels you cum all over his mouth everything around him disappears except you, and all he cares about is slurping you, drinking you as you let it all out because of him.
He pants, breathless, opening his eyes to witness your climax, to admire you breaking under his doings, chest swelling with pride and a primal sense of protectiveness.
When he hears you whimper the more he keeps sucking on your clit, your slim fingers pulling at his locks, he finally lifts himself up.
On the path he follows to come back up to meet your face, he finds your nipple with a sweet kiss, his tongue teasing your nub, and he smiles against it, teeth gently pinching it. When seeking with his eyes for your reaction he sees your own rolling back. Next, his mouth is on yours, smearing your wetness all over your lips and mixing it with his spit on your tongue, connecting in a frantic, hungry dance.
His forehead rests against yours when he breaks the kiss, breaths heavy, the lazy grin on his face the only thing you can focus on, hanging on his gentle words, “Did so good, babe. Came so hard all over me.”
Your eyes inevitably fall down to his cock, painfully hard against his stomach, the tip angry and slicked with precum.
You feel your core buzz, kissing him to conceal the unshameful desire building up so fast again, but still you can’t help from mumbling against him, “Wan’ you to fuck me.”
The hum of pleasure coming from his throat reverberates on your lips, and he smiles at your confession. Even chuckles, one hand resting at your hip and sliding you closer.
“That what you want, baby?” Your legs wrapping around him, he kisses along your neck and travels to your collarbones, leaving small bites to keep himself from marking you like he truly wants to.
He slips his palms under your thighs and lifts you up the counter effortlessly, your legs squeezing tighter around him in order to keep yourself balanced. The new position has his cock perfectly meeting your core, your slit brushing against his tip as he walks you two over the living room couch, his mouth promptly swallowing your whimpers.
When he lays you on the sofa, he straightens himself to fully admire you. You're sprawled for him, your hair framing your head like a halo, the sweat pearling your forehead adding to your angelic state.
Your hands are on either side of your face, fingers dainty and slender, and your tank top is lifted up enough to show him your small breasts, slightly spilling from the sides with the new position.
Your shorts still rest under your ass, and with a swift motion he fully takes them off you, giving him access to your center. But the attention is taken away from your wet cunt when he lets his eyes come back up to your face, your cheek resting on your shoulders, trying to hide your embarrassment at his ravenous observing.
He smiles, becoming impatient with the feeling that only grows inside him, and he walks out of his pants still pooled down his ankles, taking off his loose t-shirt and letting it fall on the ground.
Your eyes widen at his sculpted physique, now finally in front of you, his buff dimensions intimidating you, especially when your orbs follow his V line and put you face to face with his huge cock, so close to your watering hole. He teases it with his length, sliding it up and down your slit, then slapping it against your clit. You arch your back, groaning.
“Am I the real man you’ve been waiting for? You wanna be fucked by this big man, don’t you?” His sinful words only make you nod dumbly, becoming potty under his control.
At your eagerness, he wastes no time. Aligning himself with your hole, he enters you. The stretch is deliciously painful, his tip boldly splitting you open for him. He knows your wail is coming, so he lowers himself on you to block your sounds with his mouth. But, truly, he’s the one that needs to be silenced.
The moment he feels your tightness around his bare dick, he growls. His sounds grow more desperate as he sinks himself deeper, the grip on your waist enough to wreck you, and you’re expecting it to leave a mark
You hum roughly against his lips, your nails scratching along his shoulder blades in search of any kind of grounding you can find. It’s too much, his dimensions way oversized for what your hole can take, and the fact that you can’t help but grip him even tighter isn’t helping.
He reads you, your broken whines and the tear falling from your left eye, and the moment he bottoms out he stills himself, his face in the crook of your neck, his nose nuzzling the warm skin in a reassuring manner, “Shh, baby. I got you. Let me make you feel good.”
The whispered words are the same ones that jolted you from your sleep, the dream almost too real, and paired with his middle and ring finger circling your sensitive nub they cause you to emit a pleasured squeal, your chest arching into his.
At this point, you’re afraid you’re still trapped deep in your slumber. that none of this is actually real, it can’t be. You’re so convinced that it’s just too good to be true that you test it, scraping your nails harshly in his back, and when he bites the skin under your jaw in protest you gasp shakily.
It's definitely real. Jeongguk is fucking you. Almost. Not yet.
With the way your clit is being stimulated by his long fingers, the initial sharpness turns into more slick, and you impatiently groan, “Fuck me, please.”
One final kiss is left on your lips before he lifts his torso up, his hands roaming along your sides and grasping a hold of your tits. He teases you with a playful smirk on his face, your disappointed pout only resulting in a devilish chuckle from him as he massages your soft boobs. You can feel him throb inside you the more you swallow him in, and you know he’s just as impatient. You buck your hips up in search of friction, and the sudden motion makes the both of you moan.
He’s suddenly resolute as his palms fall to your waist and effortlessly holds it up as he begins fucking into you. With each stroke he picks up his pace, and he’s soon pounding your tight hole wrapping around him.
The both of you find out it’s impossible to be quiet. Your sounds are stuttered and pornographic, and it makes Jeongguk afraid he’s never going to be able to get them off his brain.
His own noises are heavenly, deep growls and surprised whines falling out his pillowed lips, slightly agape in bliss, brows drawn up.
Your eyes roll back and never come back, your vision patched, and you think you weren’t built to survive this kind of pleasure. It's almost deathly when he finds that one particular spot that makes you see stars.
Your skin slapping is louder than his hushed speech, but he makes sure the words reach you and translate into wetness coating his length even more, drenching it, making it soaked in your juices, “That’s how you need to be fucked. That’s how my girl needs to be fucked, hm?”
“Mhm, fuck, yes!” It’s breathless, but you want him to hear you. You feel yourself get closer just watching him smirk proudly at your state, his pupils blown out.
His palms are back to playing with your breast, kneading it harshly, and you enjoy the way he seems to be hypnotized by the vision, “Fuck. Love your tits. Fit just right in my hand. You were made for me, angel.”
Your head is thrown back between the cushions, your legs wrapping tighter around his ass and pushing him even deeper, the anticipated sensation building simultaneously in both of your trembling bodies.
“I'm not gonna last long, baby. This pussy’s too tight. Trappin’ me inside it,” Jeongguk’s voice is rough, the words leaving him slurredly and all his effort put into snapping his hips against yours, his eyes focused on the relentless in and out motion.
You wail, mumbling nonsense, but at the same time the most sincere words you’ve ever sputtered to him, “It’s yours, Jeongguk. F—fucking yours. Forever. Ah— fuck.”
He hums, feeling you contract around him the more he speaks to you, “That’s it. My pussy to fuck, baby. Mine to play with, mine to fill up.”
Your eyes widen at his territorial remarks, and when they meet his hazy ones they water with overwhelming ecstasy. The possibility of his cum filling you up is what does it for you, your nerves undoing once again and making you spasm around his throbbing dick. He talks you through your orgasm, praising you for cumming so good all over him, drinking in your blissful sounds and your hips rutting against his.
He’s just as close, and the realization that you came the moment he mentioned painting you in his seed makes him a crazed man, his motions stuttering sloppily, “Fuck. Aren’t you a naughty one, doll. You really want me to come inside you? You want it, huh? I bet you do.”
Your repeated nodding and the way your body is so pliant in his hold, letting it be completely handled by him with no functioning muscle, pervades his senses with a primal force that he puts into fucking your sensitive cunt.
He smirks wickedly, “You’d look so pretty. All stuffed. Want me to fill up this tight pussy? Want my mature cock in so deep you can’t breathe?”
You think you scream at his continuous suggestions, but you can’t be sure when all your senses are clouded, the oversensitivity turning you into a literal doll for him, no power over your actions. He looks just as fucked out, his lips parting as he basks in the feeling of being in control of you, eyes fighting to stay open and keep you in his vision.
When he feels you contracting around him in overstimulation, his breath stutters and he feels himself reach the peak, quickly pulling out of you to spill his cum over your naked skin. You gasp at the sudden emptiness and the warm liquid that keeps falling over your stomach, his cock being pumped in his fist and milked from all he can give you. You both pant in exhaustion, your legs loosening their grip around him as he dips his weak knees on either side of you on the couch.
He hums when he fully takes in your figure, marked by his cum, and he smiles when he sees your eyelids struggling to not fall. But you spasm once again when you feel his finger slide over your stomach, the wet liquid being collected, “Now, you gonna clean this up for me. Open your pretty mouth, baby.”
You don’t even ponder on the request, you just follow the order. Your brain is reduced to thoughts that are only related to him, and it automatically complies to anything that he orders from you. You engulf his digits promptly, swallowing his semen, looking up at him through your lashes and unashamedly clenching at his lazy smirk.
He makes sure every drop of his is collected and sucked by your hungry mouth, smiling when you don’t ever complain, “Mh, good girl. Get them neat.”
Only when he’s satisfied, he hovers over your face and finds your tongue in a sensual, slow kiss, both of you moaning at the exchange. With a sloppy sound, he parts from you only to disappear between your thighs, his eyes mischievous, “Gonna clean you up too.”
You gasp at the feeling of his mouth wrapping around your core once again, slurping your juice and lapping at your inner thighs, and you’re not sure how this is going to help in getting you clean. You only feel yourself becoming even wetter.
Leaving a kiss above your nub, he straightens up with a boyish smile softening his features, and with the fond way he’s looking at you, nobody could tell he just made you cum twice.
He moves your bangs from your forehead, closing the distance between you once again to leave small pecks over your still reddened face, “You did amazing, doll. Made me cum so hard.”
You hum contentedly, snuggling closer to him, your body unconsciously gravitating toward his warmth. Your hand lifts to thread through his hair, but before you can touch him, he shifts, pulling away.
The warmth he provided vanishes, replaced by the cold emptiness of the couch. Panic surges in your chest, washing away any remnants of fatigue. You prop yourself up on your forearms, eyes tracking his movements.
You don’t want him to leave you here alone, bare and vulnerable, maybe a bit confused and uncertain, and deep down deathly scared of whatever will come after this.
Your brows furrow, heart picking up a painful speed when you see he’s getting dressed — tossing on his shirt, pulling on his pants. And for a second, your pulsing organ clenches with dread. Is he leaving?
Then you notice him picking up your shorts from the floor, his expression softening as he walks back to you with that same gentle smile that had made your heart flutter earlier.
Relief washes over you.
He handles you delicately, as though you’re something fragile. His fingers brush your skin as he slips your shorts back on, pulling down your top before encircling your waist with his strong arms.
You squeal lightly when he pulls you onto his lap, settling back on the couch with you cradled against his chest. His hands never leave you, securing you to him. You settle into him easily, sighing in appreciation as the warmth of his body returns, your legs draped across his lap, arms circling his neck.
For a brief, fleeting moment, everything feels like it’s in its right place, like this is where you’ve always belonged. It feels so natural, so easy, being wrapped up in him. His deep, slow breaths lull you into a state of calm. His chin rests on the top of your head, hand rubbing soothing strokes along your spine.
You press even closer, breathing him in, feeling like you could get used to this, like you already have. Like you’ve always known this is where you should be. Your fingers trace absentminded patterns along his tattooed arm, the one holding you secure under your legs. You feel the need to look at him, to admire the man that marked you as his.
But when you glance up, you’re a bit startled when you notice the shift in his expression. His face is hardened, jaw clenched tight. He's not relaxed like he was just moments ago. His gaze is distant, staring intently at a spot across the room as if lost in thought. Yet his hands continue to cradle you, almost unconsciously, like holding you has become second nature to him.
Jeongguk’s mind is a whirlwind of emotions, and they only scatter all over the place as he feels you move closer, impossibly so. You seek warmth, care. Nuzzle your fragile body against his for protection, something more that he fears he can’t give you. Love.
He once thought he’d drained himself of it, had nothing left to offer. Now, with you in his arms, the smallest spark flickers to life, burning its way up his throat until it feels like it’s going to consume him.
He wants to give in. He wants to hold you tighter, trap you against him, keep you with him. Give you everything.
But he can’t do that to you. Can’t make you go through the same path that took everything from him. not without ruining you in the process.
He knows what comes next. What always comes next. Love turns into suffering, it’s inevitable. And could he survive seeing the look on Areum’s face when she finds out? How would she react if she knew the truth about what he’s done, about how he feels? About how he truly wants to act upon his feelings? The thought makes him feel sick, even as his heart beats steadily against yours, comforted by your presence.
Why doesn’t he feel disgusted? Why isn’t there shame gnawing at him, making him pull away? Instead, there’s only bliss. The sheer joy of having you this close, of holding you like this, makes him forget everything else.
He wishes he could be immature, for once. Wishes he was your age, and that nothing truly mattered. That he still could allow himself to make stupid decisions.
Maybe then, you’d be his, and reality wouldn’t catch up to him.
“Jeongguk? Are you okay?”
Your soft, honeyed voice pulls him from his spiral, and he startles slightly, caught off guard. His eyes meet yours, wide and filled with concern, searching his face for answers.
He tries to hide the storm brewing inside him, forcing a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Huh? Yeah. I'm okay.”
Of course, you don’t believe him. An ugly feeling makes space in your stomach, and the weight of everything begins to press down. You don’t want it to take over you just yet, want to be coddled by the moment a little more, want to try and believe there’s nothing to be afraid of.
You offer a tentative smile, hoping to ease whatever tension is growing between you. “You… you seem worried.”
“I'm not, baby. I'm just thinking.”
“About?”
“Stuff.” His voice is clipped, and the small wall he’s building between you becomes clearer.
The distance stings, and your heart sinks as you try to hold onto the moment that felt so perfect just a second ago. Desperate to reach him, you place your hands on his face, tilting his chin down to meet your gaze.
Your eyes glisten with emotion, but you manage a genuine, if small, smile. “You can tell me, you know. You can talk to me.”
One simple, small smile spreading across his lips makes you doubt all of your worries. It makes you want to believe that maybe, there’s truly no reason to be scared. That maybe, this can go well.
“I know,” it’s whispered on your face, his hand coming to play with the hair that frame your cheeks sweetly. “Let’s get you to bed now, hm?”
Before you can protest, he’s lifting you off the couch with ease, cradling you in his arms bridal style as if you weigh nothing at all. You clutch onto him.
You feel your insides fuzzy with the gesture, and you wiggle yourself closer in his embrace, looking up at him expectantly, “Your bed?”
It breaks his heart having to disappoint you, tone soft as he tries to make up for it with his thumb brushing your thigh, “No, baby. You gotta go back to Areum’s room.”
“But— but… I wanna sleep next to you,” you plead, your voice small and almost childlike as you pout up at him, hoping to sway him.
He looks away, focusing on the stairs as if looking at you would break his resolve. “We can’t, dove. You know we can’t.”
His words feel like a punch to the gut, and your eyes well up. “We can't?”
The silence that follows is louder than any answer he could have given, and it weighs heavy between you, suffocating. There's no actual explanation to it, and the realization leaves both of you uneasy.
At Areum’s door, he sets you down gently, making sure you’re steady on your feet. He's careful with you, like he always is, his voice low, “Go wash up. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“No…”
“C’mon, sweetheart. Don't make this harder.”
You frown in protest, keeping eye contact, but he doesn’t break. His gaze is steady, resolute.
You want to argue, want to push, but the exhaustion settles over you, and you slump, defeated. You still sway sweetly for him, your hands tied behind your back, “Okay… Can you kiss me?”
Your voice is small, muffled behind your pout as you seek for him with anticipation, a sheepish smile making its way on your lips.
When he doesn’t move closer, you get on your tippy toes and lean in his direction once again, your eyes almost fluttering shut before you hear him clear his throat, and take an awkward step back.
You’re back on your heels with a thump, the same one reverberating in your chest with your heart falling, your mouth hanging open with confusion written all over your expression.
You go to say something but he’s quicker, his voice solemn, “Goodnight, ___.”
Jeongguk smiles, but it’s nothing like the ones that took over his whole face just minutes ago on the couch, his eyes full of you. You're not even sure if you can define it as a smile. It’s polite, almost too polite, and it only results in feeling tremendously distant from him. Completely disconnected from you.
He retreats, long legs carrying him away, his back to you as he slips into his room. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound final, and it echoes in the hollow space.
You stand still, the weight of his absence pressing heavily on your chest. The spot where he left you feels like a grave, your feet sinking into the cold floor as if it’s pulling you under. The warmth he offered, the fleeting sense of safety, is gone, and you’re freezing. Your throat is tight with the effort to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. It's useless, though.
Your bare feet shuffle against the floor, but you can’t move forward. You can’t go back. You can’t do anything except stand there and feel the weight of it all crash down on you.
You’d been so afraid this would happen. How could you have been so foolish? Even in the midst of the sweetness, you knew it was too good to be true. A part of you always knew. And yet, you let yourself believe for a fleeting moment that something real could come from it. That you could be enough.
You’d have done anything to prove it to him. To show him your loyalty, your willingness to make it work. You still would. You'd give him every part of yourself, if he’d only take it. If he’d only look at you the way you want him to.
The full weight of your reality sinks in. In the end, none of it was truly real.
A sob breaks free from your chest, raw and painful. The sound echoes in the quiet hallway, bouncing off the walls that now feel oppressive, like they’re closing in on you. This house, every corner, it’s all stained now, tainted by the memory of what just happened, by the lie you let yourself fall into.
It’s not everyday that you get to single-handedly destroy the relationships you’ve worked so hard to build up. But, after one unexpected solo mission, and a whole lot of mishaps, it seems that you might have opened more doors than you closed. But hey, what the body wants, the body gets.
Soobin x reader (ft. a whole lot of flirting with others that I will not address !)
Genre: sci-fi, enemies to…. Whatever’s going on, smut, thriller, (maybe?) fluff….(questionable) and a sprinkle of angst maybe!
Word count: 22K
Warnings: Smuggling and many more illegal activities, mentions of food, discrimination against humans, human trafficking, freeze branding, mentions of sex work/ free use workers, brief scene of assault, mentions of needles, drugging, forced/ accidental bond, tentacles, aphrodisiacs, (I can not stress these two enough) possessiveness
Smut warnings: dom!sb, sub!mc, use of pet names, degrading and praise, tentacles……oral (f & m receiving??? Kinda?? You’ll see), mc is tied up, and used as a fucktoy basically, multiple orgasms, dumbification, dacryphilia, breeding kink, possessiveness, Soobin shifts into someone sweeter, exhibitioning, talk of fivesome, aftercare and cuddling because Soobin is a changed man
Notes: I have officially gone insane. This story was supposed to come out for Valentine’s Day— can you believe that?! Please make sure to read all the warnings, as this is a bit of a strange story.
Comments, feedback, and reblogs are very appreciated! I worked so hard for this, anything that lets me know that you enjoyed it is enough! I hope you guys enjoy!! <3
Waking up to heavy pounding on your room door wasn’t the most ideal way to wake up, in your opinion. No, there were many other methods you preferred honestly, such as waking up to the alarms you set on your own, or simply letting your body do it for you. Yet the incessant pounding persisted, setting your body ablaze with anger as you yelled at the culprit to stop.
It was currently five AM—or at least you thought it was, according to the time zone of the planet you just left.
“Just one successful mission after another, huh,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes tiredly as you slipped on some sweats before opening your room’s door— only to meet face to face with your persistent teammate who chose to wake you in such an abrupt manner.
“Yeonjun,” you yawned, carelessly stretching your arms, watching the way Yeonjun dodged your limbs as they neared his face, “Goodmorning.”
Hearing your statement, he frowned, giving you a once over before scoffing in amusement.
“It’s three in the afternoon,” he said, turning around and heading back to the main deck, briefly glancing back your way before adding, “Update your clock.”
Watching him leave, you withdrew from yelling at him for waking you up so rudely for no reason, choosing to gloss over his actions for once in order to process what he said.
“Three in the afternoon?” You echoed, quickly stalking back to your room as you pulled away the shades from the small window that was provided for your quarters— and sure enough, the boring, endless scenery of the void of space had been replaced by the familiar sight of hidden landing docks that were spread around every planet, the area bustling with people who came and went from inside their ships.
“Are you kidding me?” You groaned, exasperated and exhausted as you trudged back to the meeting deck, already feeling your mood wilt drastically as you pieced together what was happening— another mission.
“Yeonjun!,” you yelled out, watching the way the said man flinched in his seat, swiveling around in the chair that was reserved for the pilot, crossed arms and pointed glare already directed your way as he prepared for a scolding.
“That is no way to talk to your captain—“
“Yeah. Whatever, scoot,” you muttered, shoving him out of the chair as you made yourself comfortable, ignoring his angry protests as you shifted endlessly on the cushioned seat.
“How many times do I have to tell you guys to leave my chair alone,” the two of you froze as the sound of Taehyun’s voice made you stop your squabbling, looking up to see his cold stare directed at you.
“To be fair, this is my ship,” you countered, voice uncertain as you wondered if this excuse would even work on him anymore. Watching him carefully, you took in the way his cold stare didn’t even seem to waver, his patience beginning to wear thin as his fingers tapped at his crossed arms.
“To be fair,” he mocked, watching the way you flinched at the sound of his firm tone, “This ship wouldn’t even be running without me.”
Involuntarily, you raised a questioning brow, unable to hold yourself back as you began to quarrel with him instead.
“Well I wouldn’t necessarily say that to be true—“
“Get out of my chair.”
“Okay.”
Reluctantly you stood, watching with resentment as Taehyun sat in the pilot's chair, adjusting himself calmly as though he were sitting in the greatest chair in the solar system— which he was. You had stolen it on one of your earlier missions as a smuggler, and not a day went by after that where you didn’t regret giving it to Taehyun as a gift for taking such good care of your ship and your team.
Okay, maybe you were exaggerating.
Actually, no you weren’t. You should’ve gotten him a box of chocolates instead.
Having to sit in the old, worn down couches that your ship came with years ago didn’t help much either. You had never really gotten a chance to get better furniture for your ship, as you were always either getting yourself out of dangerous, life threatening situations, or getting yourself into them.
Well, you digress.
“Where’s Hyuka?” You mutter to yourself, picking at the old fabric of the couches to distract yourself from asking about the mission that Yeonjun obviously needed to talk about.
“Might be in the lab again,” Yeonjun says, eyes slightly peeking at you from where he laid, sprawled casually on one of the couches as though he hadn’t been talking about his image as the captain earlier— not that he actually was one.
Unsurprised, you scoffed, “that kid’s gonna blow a hole in this place one day, just watch,” you listened to the quiet chuckles of your crewmates before Hueningkai’s familiar whines of protest rang in your ears, the three of you glancing up to watch the youngest of the team walking in, hands endlessly tinkering with a mysterious device as usual.
“I’m over here fixing your guys’ earpieces and this is how you repay me?” He whined, carelessly falling into the space beside you as you groaned, trying to push the giant off of you as he continued to lean onto you, ignoring your cries and continuing to screw the last piece of the little device he had in his hand, proceeding to casually regard Yeonjun instead.
“What’s on the agenda today?” He said, listening eagerly as he continued to squash you ruthlessly, Yeonjun’s words reluctantly quieting your protests as you forced yourself to listen to the mission that was given to your crew.
“Tonight’s mission is a bit different than usual,” Yeonjun began, pulling up his tablet to display the assignment given to your team, the hologram lighting up the room. The three of you sat up, his words peaking your interest as you took in the image that was being displayed on the projection from his tablet.
“This time, we’re not smuggling anything— we’re stealing.” He paused to take in the mixed reactions that were pulled from you three, watching as you shared unsure glances and shifted expectantly in your seats.
“Is that what we’re supposed to be leaving with tonight?” You asked, jutting your chin at the image that caught your eye— a close up of a woman who seemed to be wearing an intricate necklace.
Yeonjun nodded, pulling up more files as he continued to explain your mission, “The person that reached out claims that the necklace was stolen from them; A prized possession passed down from generation to generation, said to be filled with priceless jewels and whatnot. While we don’t necessarily know if it’s all true,” He looked, a sly glint in his eye as a new projection took over that of the necklace— a projection with many, many zeros.
“We do know that they mean business.”
Barely trying to contain your surprise, you felt your eyes widen as a small yelp left you, leaning towards the projection of the transaction, as though taking your eyes off of it for a second would make it disappear.
“You’re fucking with us, jjun,” you gasped out, eyes only widening more as Yeonjun only shook his head in denial. “This can’t be legit— what if we get in deep trouble for accepting? What if it’s a setup?”
Yeonjun only scoffed at that, acting as though receiving the amount of money you did wasn’t something to be alarmed about at all.
“You act like what we do on the daily won’t get us in deep trouble.” You frowned at that, silently agreeing as you settled down, leaning back into the couch as you listened to what else he had to say. “Plus, you don’t need to worry about them being legit. I’ve contacted them already and have met with them, and I assure you it’s far from a setup. A petty feud, at most.”
“Great!” You said, clasping your hands together with relief, “So who are they?”
You watched as Yeonjun avoided your gaze, clearing his throat nervously as he avoided your question. Feeling anxiety beginning to pool into your system as well, you were ready to ask again when he opened his mouth once more.
“Actually, I can’t tell you.” He said, fingers twisting together as he switched to a tab with the mission description. Your eyes skimmed through the text briefly, dread pooling through your stomach as you realized what was going on.
“It would be better if you didn’t know much about this mission, actually.”
“I’m going to retrieve that thing on my own?” You gaped, glancing back at Taehyun and Hueningkai, only to see them frowning with uncertainty as well. Letting yourself read the profiles more carefully, you couldn’t help the way your mouth was left agape the more you read.
“The queen of the planet…” you read out, exasperated as you looked back at the picture.
“The necklace is in her possession, yes.” Yeonjun bit his lips as he took in your response, trying to gauge what you might say in regards to agreeing to the mission.
“This is ridiculous, Yeonjun,” your attention snapped to your team’s pilot, feeling relief that someone else was also voicing what you were thinking. “She can’t go in there by herself, that’s practically suicide.”
“Yeah,” Hueningkai said, the earpiece set aside long ago as his cheeks blushed with disbelief. “No one here has ever done a mission on our own. What we do is too dangerous for anything like that.”
“Look, I know it sounds insane. I do!” He said, reassuring the three of you as you shot him unsure looks, “But I promise that I wouldn’t agree to this if I didn’t think it would be safe,” Yeonjun shot you a small smile, leaning forward to reach out for your hand, “Or if I didn’t think you would be capable of handling it.”
You gulped, feeling the way Yeonjun clasped your hand tightly, waiting patiently for your answer as the rest of the crew listened expectantly. You looked into his eyes; Yeonjun— your childhood best friend, the one who got into this twisted business with you after finding out how exactly you were able to support your two siblings and still cover your mothers hospital bills with ease; Despite your desperate pleas for him to not join you and instead lead on a better life, he refused, saying that he would rather die than let you continue to risk your life on your own like that.
Nothing about the way he regarded you in this moment seemed to guilt trip or force you to go on the mission— declining a mission offer wasn’t an alien concept to your crew— and it wouldn’t be an exception now.
“I’ll do it,” you said, feeling the tense air in the room disappear as Yeonjun slumped back with a smile on his face, Hueningkai and Taehyun looking at each other with surprise.
“Great! I’ll contact the client and we’ll be making our way to the planet tonight— We’ll discuss further details of the plan on our way there.”
You let out a breathy chuckle at that, laying back on the couch as you began to become unsure of your decision— Solo missions were something that your team has never done. No matter the circumstance, you had always made sure that no one was alone during a mission. But if anyone had to do it, it would be you. You couldn’t begin to imagine sending off one of your teammates to do a solo mission, left aside to watch and hope for the best.
Your thoughts were put to the side as the sound of Yeonjun choking on his drink brought you out your stupor, sitting up in alarm as you looked over to see what was happening, the sight of him hunched over his computer while coughing weakly making you rise up from your seat to see what was happening.
“It’s— they just sent half of their payment to us, that’s all,” He said, coughs dying down as he cleared his throat, watching the way your eyes widened at the still impressive zeros that were splayed across the screen.
“That necklace better be worth something,” you breathed out, still in awe as Yeonjun started dictating the coordinates to Taehyun.
“Planet Nueves,” Taehyun said, double checking the coordinates as he prepared the ship to start up again, “Not as technologically advanced as other planets are these days, but they make up for it with their guards.”
“It’ll take us about fifteen hours from the station if we start now,” He announced, turning in his chair to look at you three, “Is there anything you guys need before we go?” The three of you remained silent for a moment before Hueningkai meekly cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as you all turned to look at him.
“Actually, I could kill for some of that pizza from the restaurant that’s just outside this station,” He flinched from the pointed look you gave him, gaze frantically flitting to his two other teammates to back him up.
“Hyuka, don’t you think that there are more important things than—“ Just as you were going to begin your little speech, you caught sight of Hueningkai’s pleading eyes; only to be backed up by Yeonjun as he clasped onto your arm, silently pleading you to agree.
“You’re kidding,” You said, only for Yeonjun to continue his silent plea. You sighed, closing your eyes as you tilted your head to the ceiling, officially defeated. “Taehyun?”
“Their pizza is pretty good,” He said without hesitation, not bothering to meet your gaze as he began to shut the ship back down.
This is what you get for making your teammates be all men— not that you did it on purpose.
Karma.
❂❂❂
“A maid.”
“Well don’t say it like that!” Yeonjun said, wiping his hands on a napkin as he reached for his drink, a frown on his face at your disappointed tone, “It’s the only way that we can sneak you in without others noticing. Humans on that planet are basically seen as—“
“Trash, a waste of space, replaceable working tools, yeah yeah,” you interrupted, uninterested in hearing his big speech for the upteenth time. “So what, we just sneak me into their human trafficking ship and call it a day? Hope that I can get access to the queen’s room in time?”
“Okay now you’re making me feel a bit stupid,” Yeonjun said, beginning to pout as he sat back on the soft cushioned back of the booth, “It’s not my fault that you’re always making the plans.”
“Yeah, well, you accepted the mission that put you in this position, so I’ll allow myself some criticism.” As much as you tried to not show it, the idea of going on this mission began to unsettle you, your racing mind constantly coming up with different ways this could all go wrong. Yet it seemed you couldn’t quite keep it in, as your teammates were quick to notice your ongoing nerves.
“Hey, it’ll be alright, promise,” Yeonjun said, reaching across the table to hold your hand. You gladly accepted it, the warm feeling on his hand on yours grounding you once more.
“We’ll be talking to you and watching with you the whole time, so you won’t truly be alone,” Taehyun piped up beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, the three watching as you sighed, calming yourself down enough to give them a small smile.
“Yeah, thank you guys.”
❂❂❂
The trip to planet Neuves had felt like nothing— which could partially be attributed to the huge “nap” that you took; a little food coma, if you will. The rest of your time had been spent preparing and restlessly going over the plan with Yeonjun until you could recite it off the top of your head. But with only 30 minutes left between you and a small city to the west of the capital, you couldn’t help but thank yourself that you took a moment to recharge and go over things. (Even if half of it was coming up with what to do in every possible situation you could think of.)
“Your earpiece works right? How about the camera? Turn to the side, I want to see if it’s noticeable—“
“Hyuka, for the last time, it’s fine,” You laughed, pushing him away as you fiddled with the small pendant necklace that contained the hidden camera. Your eyes caught on the time left before you would need to leave, the number going down once your ship made it through the planet's customs, showing a fake ID that had been provided by your client; which of course, had been triple checked by Hueningkai to be secure.
“Sorry, I just—“ He runs a hand through his hair, the striking blonde sticking up every which way, “We’re also stressed, you know?”
One look around the main deck and you would be able to see both Taehyun and Yeonjun feverently discussing all of the details of the plan together, racking their brains of anything that they might have missed. You’re not so sure why this slight change in your everyday missions had set everyone on edge, suddenly acting like it was their first time doing something illegal— you included.
“I know, Hyuka,” You said softly, reaching up to readjust his hair. The boy leaned into your touch, eyes closing as you began to take in the dark circles under his eyes and the slow slur of his every movement. Patting his head, he looked back up, eyes slowly opening before meeting yours, your reassuring gaze calming him down a bit.
“But I’m a pretty tough cookie,” You said, slapping his arm as you turned away, walking up to Yeonjun and Taehyun before clapping their shoulders, startling them as they turned to you, “I’ll be able to get through this, no worries! I’ll be in and out, and no one will even have a clue that it’s missing.” You squeezed their shoulders in reassurance, sending your teammates a smile as you finally caught sight of your landing deck— time for phase one.
“Beomgyu should be waiting for us down there,” Yeonjun said, grabbing his coat and putting on a mask to hide his face as Taehyun successfully landed your small ship. Human trafficking was already quite illegal, so convincing Beomgyu with a couple hundreds to sneak you on board with the rest had been quite easy; None of the other humans that would be going on board had were stripped from and documented identification, so if anything went wrong, a simple “I had no idea” would suffice for Beomgyu. If anything, Yeonjun told you that he was under the impression that you were just being sold off to him.
While the very thought gave you chills, you knew that none of this was real— for you, at least. The idea of looking into the human trafficking scene after you came back was suddenly itching at you.
“You ready?” Yeonjun said, the other two standing behind him as you nodded, bracing yourself for anything you might see— you knew better than to get yourself involved with things that didn’t pertain to you.
“Yeah,” you tried to not wince at the evident shakiness in your voice, opting to silently raise your wrists out to him.
He proceeded to wordlessly handcuff you; It was better if nothing else was said, the energy much too sentimental for you to open your mouth. Just as you were about to turn to lead the way to the exit, you felt yourself being pulled back and into Yeonjun’s embrace, your surprise being muffled as you went face first into his chest, his arms wrapping around your body tightly. You peeked over his shoulder as he nuzzled into you, sending Hueningkai and Taehyun a confused look, only for them to give you a shrug in return.
“Oh, fuck it,” Hueningkai sighed, rushing to join the two of you, only to be joined shortly by Taehyun.
The room was silent.
“Guys, I’m not dying.”
You couldn’t help but laugh as you pushed yourself from their embrace, ignoring their protests as you took a step back.
“Guys, it’s alright, really! You’re gonna jinx it if you keep acting like this,” You hoped that your carefree tone would relax them, and you felt triumph at the sight of the tension in their shoulders being released. “They’re waiting for us, come on Yeonjun.”
With a curt nod, he got a hold of your arm, opening the door as he led you through, allowing you a quick shout of goodbye before you were walking down the steps of your ship.
“Remember, you’re a prisoner,” Yeonjun murmured in your ear, his hold on your arm suddenly becoming rougher as his pace quickened, leaving you to stumble behind him at his intense pace. With one last glance at you, he mutters, “Sorry if I hurt you.” Before going completely silent.
The ground beneath you was pure sand, kicking up under your feet as you took in the desert area around you— a perfect area to transport victims. You finally spotted the ship ahead of you, along with a building that was escorting people out of it; you tried to ignore the nauseating feeling in your stomach that came up at the sight.
You were more than happy for a distraction as you heard a soft click, followed by a few seconds of static, before it finally broke off to reveal Hueningkai’s voice.
“Hello? Yeonjun? ___? Can you hear me?” You were caught off guard at the clearness of his voice, softly nodding your head before realizing stupidly that he couldn’t see you.
“Yeah, perfectly, actually,” you said, not bothering to hide the awe from your voice, recalling his message, you glanced at the boy in front of you. “Yeonjun has one on too?” To answer your question, he glanced back at that, managing to hear you despite the raging winds that were native to the planet, the strong gusts paired with the flying sand making it impossible for you to keep up with him— perfect for the act, actually.
“Just while he’s outside with you, after that he’ll be listening to a speaker with us. Can you say something as softly as possible? We want to see how much your mic will pick up.”
Humming in thought, you decided to just say something basic to test things out. “Hello?” The sound could barely be heard, even to yourself. And yet, Hueningkai’s triumphant cheer could be heard in your ear, causing you to wince at the loud sound invading your ear drum.
“I hear you just fine! Oh, this is perfect, I’m such a genius,” You rolled your eyes at his continuous self praise, shaking your head in amusement as the boy continued to ramble off in your ear.
“She just rolled her eyes at you,” Your head snapped up to meet Yeonjun’s eyes, growling with annoyance at the fact that he somehow managed to catch that. You tried to catch up to him in order to kick at the back of his knee, but you were stumped as he stepped out of the way, leaving you to stumble stupidly, Yeonjun being the only one who could stablize you.
“You motherfu—“ Your cursing was cut short as he suddenly pulled you up, bringing you close to him as you straightened up, all words dying on your tongue as you made eye contact with who you presumed to be Beomgyu, who was in the middle of escorting the group of people onto his ship.
“Is this the one you were talking about?” He said, voice carrying effortlessly through the winds that continued to blow through the planet; how could anyone live in this? Yeonjun nodded, giving you a slight push forward, bringing you right in front of Beomgyu. He had long hair that was pulled up into a ponytail, his round glasses not hiding the way he took in your features, his eyes running over your body just as shamelessly. Even with the mask that covered his face you could see the amusement in his eyes as he looked at you, taking a step closer as he hummed in satisfaction.
“A pretty one. If you don’t want her, I’m sure I could offer you some good money—“
“No.” Yeonjun practically snarled, pulling you to him as he glared down at the boy who simply took a step back in acknowledgement. He shrugged, seemingly unfazed by your teammates' behavior as he began digging in his pockets before pulling out a strange instrument.
“Fine. Don’t know why you’re giving her away if you’re reacting like that though,” His comment was clearly meant to bother Yeonjun, but he refused to bite the bait as he stood silently at your side, watching carefully as Beomgyu opened the strange instrument, revealing a stamp of some kind. Motioning for your arm, you slowly offered it to him, hands balled in fists as he carefully lined the stamp, before grabbing a hold of your arm with one hand and pressing the stamp down firmly to your skin with the other.
Flinching, you tried to not let out a groan of pain at the invasive feeling; it was freezing. You felt the pain sear through you as a sound came from the it, the stamp lighting up as it counted down the seconds. Instinctively, you tried to pull away, but Beomgyu’s grip on your arm made it nearly impossible, your legs beginning to shake from the pain as you watched his unmoving expression, his eyes trained on the timer of the stamp as his glasses slid down slightly.
Just when you thought that Yeonjun would finally give in and interfere, Beomgyu finally lifted the stamp from your arm, your stomach lurching as you saw what had been left behind.
Seared into the skin just under your wrist was a barcode, serving as a bleak reminder of just where you were going. You hear Yeonjun let out a small sound of protest, but before you can turn to him Beomgyu is grabbing you once more and forcing you into the ship, the sudden move forcing you to briefly glance back, hurriedly meeting his eyes as you mutter a quick goodbye.
“Be safe.”
With those being the last words you heard from him, you turn around, taking a deep breath as Beomgyu begins to lead you down the dim corridor of the ship and into a strange room. With a harsh push, you stumble inside to be met with five other girls who seem to be in the same state as you— shackled and unsure of what was coming next. Taking a seat on one of the benches, Beomgyu pulls you down next to him as you hear the ship begin to take off, the loud rumble taking up the deafening silence inside.
“As you know, you’re all here for a reason,” Beomgyu began, breaking the silence suddenly as you all turned to him, “Treason, murder, you get the idea,” you flinched as Beomgyu bumped your shoulder, sending you a teasing grin as if he knew more than he let on. (He didn’t, but he knew that you weren’t exactly being simply sold off like Yeonjun had informed him.)
“We’re currently headed to the kingdom, which will take about twenty minutes to do. There, you will be put to work for the queen, since she’s always running out of workers, somehow…” He trailed off at that, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he suggested that the worker’s disappearance truly wasn’t much of a mystery.
You felt yourself drifting away as he continued to explain the procedures that would happen once you arrived, your mind going over your plan instead. To be blunt, your plan relied purely on chance; Arrive at the kingdom, find an opening, and sneak off to the room that housed the target item. After going over the intricate floor plans of the kingdom, you were able to discover the secret room that the queen housed at the top floor— which would be impossible to get to without having a reason to go up.
If anything, the only reason you would be able to go by unnoticed was because of the big preparations for the planet’s annual ball. The doors would be open for anyone and everyone who was good enough to receive an invite, and the home would surely be packed with enough people to leave you with enough time to sneak around the palace— at least, you hoped so.
❂❂❂
Out of the many kingdoms you have encountered in your days as a smuggler, you have never seen one quite as intricate as this. The moment your group was able to land on the dock behind the palace, you were able to take in all of the small details that were added to the building. Fine jewels and large arcs were added to the palace, the many rooms and hallways shown to those outside from the large windows that decorate every wall bathing the interior with light.
“Holy shit,” The mutters of awe from your teammates rang out in your ear, your body flinching in surprise at the sudden sound. You were finally able to make it inside, the sounds of scrambling from your earpiece distracting you from the way the guards at the door scanned your code— officially registering you in their system.
“You should be in the back entrance in the main wing. Remember, you need to make your way to the west wing as quickly as possible once the party starts. But for now, remain as inconspicuous as you can and don’t draw attention to yourself. Try not to interact with any of the other staff, either.” You couldn’t help but nod at his words, even though you knew that he wouldn’t be able to see you.
You walked down the corridors, trying to memorize any detail that would help you get back to the main entrance. As far as you knew, you were being led to what was called the servants wing. From your research, the planet as a whole wasn’t too keen on the human species, and discrimination was quite normal.
So you couldn’t find it in yourself to be surprised at the decrepit room that you were met with, allowing yourself to be tossed in by Beomgyu as he bid you all goodbye and good luck. You shivered at the implications of his words.
Moments later you were given maps to the building and were swept away to change and be oriented on what to do, just as you expected from what Yeonjun had told you. It all seemed to be a standard cleaning job, though you weren’t much of a fan of the stereotypical maid outfit you were given, picking at the white ruffles in disdain as you adjusted the thigh high socks you were given— seriously, who’s idea was this?
It wasn’t until you were told to go to the west wing that you began to piece everything together— meaning, the hungry looks all the non-humans seemed to give you and the other workers.
“Yeonjun,” you growled, hurrying your stride as you got a particularly lingering look by one of the guards, “Remind me again what exactly the job description for this thing is?”
Judging by the nervous chuckles ringing out in your ear, you knew that you had caught on to something he forgot to mention. (Or just didn’t want to, judging by his hesitation.)
“Well, uhm,” you listened to him expectantly as your destination finally made its way into your view, unable to help yourself as you began to practically sprint to the door.
“You see, on planet Nueves, it’s not uncommon for people to enslave humans,” You clenched your jaw, biting back on calling him out for his stalling, “Cleaning, cooking, work, all of that.”
“What else, Yeonjun?”
“Well,” Yeonjun said, gulping as you reached to open the doors to your destination, “Humans are also used as sex workers. “
You practically bit through your tongue at that, immediately bowing your head down in pain as the protests and exclamations of your teammates rang loudly through your ear. Though you could hear Yeonjun try to justify his horrid decision, followed by his profuse apologies, you couldn’t help but drown him out, your mind much more focused on the strange man who seemed to be waiting for you, other workers silently standing by as well.
Breathing in slowly through your nose, you bowed to him as you kept your eyes cast down, the throbbing pain in your mouth serving as a nice distraction from all the chaos that was going on in your earpiece; from what you could hear, Yeonjun definitely got his karma.
And now, you couldn’t help but feel nerves break out inside you once you realized that this man was not human. From the looks of it, he seemed to be a higher up staff member, considering the way the other people seemed to wait for his command.
“The castle is currently under intense preparations for tonight’s ball,” His voice was clear and strong, cutting through the silence so sharply you couldn’t help but look up, noticing the way the other’s did the same as well. “But that doesn’t mean that our duties of maintaining the castle clean and dignified have disappeared.”
He began to assign tasks to each person, and you took this opportunity to take a look at the man as he described each task thoroughly. Well, just as you had expected, he was definitely not human. Maybe it was because of his astounding eyes, which seemed to swirl with flecks of scarlet, small shards of the same scarlet scattered beneath the corner of his eye, glowing softly in the room despite the fact that light poured through the windows, or maybe it was his stiff and robotic movements, his tone cold and intimidating as he easily towered over all of you.
Your eyes couldn’t help but catch on the coat he wore, tailored perfectly to his body and left with six horizontal cuts on his back, three perfectly lined on each side and so small that you would miss it if you didn’t look at him at the right angle.
“Did you hear what I said?”
Head snapping up, you couldn’t help but flush with embarrassment at the realization that you were the last one left in the room, the others leaving long ago to begin their duties they were assigned to. The man remained silent, turning to you instead as he took slow, deliberate steps in your direction.
“Play it cool, don’t say anything,” you heard Hueningkai say into your ear, but you could hardly pay attention to him as you watched the way the light caught on the man’s hair, bringing out the hidden red tone and forming a ring of unruly fire around his figure, the flames seemingly dancing around under your panicked gaze; no, you realize, it’s actually moving.
Slowly, as though under water, his hair moved, managing to both awe and terrify you further as you couldn’t help but stay still and hope for the best. His eyes seemed to swirl harshly as he stared down at you, quiet for a moment before he finally opened his mouth to speak.
“You are to clean the bottom floor in the East wing. If you have questions, ask those who were assigned the area with you.”
“The east wing? Oh, this isn’t good,” Hueningkai seemed to voice what you were all thinking, because as much as you would have loved to complain with him, you were currently trying to not show how distraught the news made you.
It seemed as though your prolonged silence seemed to bother the man, because he proceeded to take another step forward, bringing you out of your frozen state as you were forced to take a step back in retaliation. You looked up, meeting his gaze with a gulp of nervousness— man this guy was terrifying.
“Understood?”
“Understood.”
The very sound of your voice was able to give away how shaken you were, the man’s eyes narrowing at you before he turned, the air around you seemingly going down a few degrees the moment he left the room. Bracing against the wall, you shuddered, pressing your forehead against the cool marble wall in order to ground yourself.
“Fuck he’s terrifying,” you whispered, unsure of any surveillance that there might be in the room. You heard a couple of chuckles in your ear as a response,
“Tell me about it,” Taehyun said, checking the floor plans once more as he spoke, “I could practically hear your nervous breathing. The camera was so shaky we could barely see a thing.”
Scoffing at his words, you pushed yourself off the wall, brushing down your ridiculous dress as you readjusted your appearance. “Right,” you said, shaking your head as you heard laughter in your earpiece— for such a serious mission, they did seem to be enjoying themselves.
“Tell me, Yeonjun,” you began again, still not over the bomb of information that had been dropped so suddenly, “Tell me when exactly you were going to let me know about the sex worker thing? That is, you were going to tell me, right?”
It seemed to go silent on the other side, and you carefully cracked the door open as you checked for any non humans that would be around to ogle at you. Once you deemed it safe, you quickly made your escape, glancing down at your map once in a while to make sure you were going the right way. You didn’t really need it though, not after the grueling hours you took to memorize the building. You did, however, notice how inaccurate the map truly was; most of the personal rooms were left unlabeled on the map, and many of the hidden rooms were taken out of the map completely.
Makes sense, you thought, bowing your head down politely at the sight of another staff member who seemed to be higher ranked than you— well, then again, who wasn’t?
“I was going to tell you,” Yeonjun’s voice rang out sincerely in your ear, and you could tell that he was feeling guilty about his actions.
“It’s just, I didn’t know how to bring it up. But!” It’s almost as though he anticipated the insult you were about to send to him, as he quickly hurried his words so he could get his next statement out. “There is a way that you can put yourself off limits! I’m sure they were supposed to give these out already,” he said, trailing off softly at the end, “But you should be able to ask a higher up for a pin which will render you off limits— some science-y magic stuff, I don’t know.”
“Okay,” you gritted out, still not yet ready to forgive Yeonjun for his carelessness— As it turns out, you don’t quite enjoy being looked at like you’re a piece of delectable meat. “Who am I supposed to get it from?”
“Well, that would be your task manager; meaning, the man you just talked to.”
“You’re fucking with me,” you gasped, reaching the bottom of the staircase and already finding others who had already begun their cleaning. After hearing a “no” on the other end, you couldn’t help but go silent, choosing to look around the floor first in hopes to sight the man.
As it turns out, the pins were handed out; you just hadn’t arrived in time to get one. One look around the room showed you that basically everyone on this floor had a pin. As you began to search for anyone who could guide you to the man, you noticed the strange looks you were given by others— presumably because of your lack of protection.
After a good couple of minutes of you looking around uselessly, you were able to spot an older woman silently watching over everyone, her differing attire giving away that she was not here to clean like everyone else.
“Excuse me?” You began, approaching her meekly as she turned her attention to you. “Sorry, I just— I wasn’t able to get a pin, where is…?”
She turned to you, slowly scanning your attire before landing on her face, her eyes flashing in recognition— literally. The single action made you shudder, the sudden flash of white showing you that she wasn’t human herself, and if she wanted to, she could probably refuse you.
“You are to go to your task manager. He’s on the top floor of the east wing. I’ve notified him of your arrival.” She watched you carefully as you bowed in gratitude, her eyes following you as you made your way to the door.
“Don’t linger around,” She said, her voice loud and clear despite you being across the room now, turning around to see her rooted to her spot. “He’s a busy man. He won’t enjoy having his schedule interrupted.”
You nodded slowly, hand reaching for the knob behind you as you tried to avoid her intense eyes. Finally exiting the room, you sighed in relief, your eyes landing on the staircase you took to get down to the bottom floor.
“Woah,” you heard Hueningkai say in your ear, “Creepy. Did you hear how she said she already notified the guy? That’s crazy! Wonder if they communicate like that only…” You blurred out Hueningkai’s ramble of constant theories wondering how they communicate, focusing instead on making sure that there was no one in the hallways that could get in your way— luckily for you, the corridors around you seemed to be deserted.
“Weird. Why is this place so empty? You’d think this place would be filled with staff.” You mumbled, hand gripping onto the railing as you noticed how the spiral staircase beneath you was seemingly never ending. The ongoing discussion in your earpiece went quiet as you made the comment, no doubt bringing your observation to their attention for the first time.
“Actually, now that you mention it…” Yeonjun seemed to click away at the keyboard on the other side of your head piece, leaving you to wonder silently as you continued your trek up the endless stairs. “The ball should be going on by now.”
“Now?” You repeat, a newfound adrenaline coursing through you as your goal came into mind once more. “This could be it! Screw the pin, I should be able to sneak to the West wing now that no one is looking over me.”
“Actually, I’m not sure if that’s a great idea,” Yeonjun interrupted, trying to bring you back to your senses as you rushed up the stairs, finally spotting the end, “There might still be guards around you know, plus, what if the task manager sees you—?”
“I can say I got lost,” you whisper, scanning the hall as you made sure that it was completely empty, “Plus, why would there be guards around here? The real concern is downstairs with all the commoners.”
“You’re being reckless!” Yeonjun hissed, frantically scanning the area in the camera as well to make sure no one was around. “You do realize that without that pin, you’re risking yourself to potential threats—“
“Yeah, but then again you didn’t seem to have much of a problem mentioning that to me in the first place.” You say, still hurt about the fact that he left out such a dangerous detail. Your footsteps are light, just as you taught yourself, the only sound in the empty hall being the occasional whispers to your team back on the ship.
You may be taking a huge risk right now, but you weren’t stupid— all of the guards main concern was making sure that their queen was alright, and if anything, the places teeming with security right now would be the main entrances that would lead to the rest of the castle; their human servants would be too terrified for their lives to act out.
Which leads to this— empty corridors, empty wings, perfect for your mission.
And yet, you can’t predict everything.
“Well, isn’t this quite the sight?”
You feel yourself freeze up as the brush of breath passes your cheek, your body no longer listening to your command as two hands grab onto your biceps roughly. The gruff voice is too close, too sudden, and yet, you hadn’t noticed a thing.
Shit, you’re kidding!
The hands proceed to turn you around roughly, and before you know it, you're hovering off the ground and being pushed back into the wall, the impact causing the air to leave your lungs. Your eyes open slowly, your lungs stinging and the loud voices in your ear too much for you to be able to react properly. That, and the fact that this monster has rendered you powerless.
Seriously, this mission was a lesson learned.
“Just in time too, I almost thought that I would have to go to another kingdom to find a good servant.”
It was as if all the blood drained from your body, leaving you to gape in horror as you realized just what his intentions were. You could already hear Yeonjun’s rapid typing followed by unintelligible strings of “sorry’s” and “I can fix this”.
Yet none of that mattered as the man held you still, his rough grip no doubt leaving bruises as he eyed you with a heavy hunger in his eyes that made your skin crawl. As much as you fidgeted and moved, you found yourself stuck in place, his eyes commanding your attention, unable to look away as if they were pinned there.
“See, it’s so unfair that the kingdom allows their little humans to parade around in clothes like these, only to leave them off limits,” the man before you practically salvated as his hands traveled around your body, playing with the ruffles and frills of the dress, lingering at the hem of your skirt.
“I got it!” Yeonjun exclaimed, the sound shaking you out of your terror as you focused on his next words. “His eyes— that’s what’s keeping you immobilized. Whatever you do, don’t look into his eyes!”
It wasn’t as though that piece of advice was going to help you escape then and there, but as you closed your eyes, the amount of willpower to do so bringing a headache over you, you felt your limbs relax at once as you were finally allowed to kick and trash around in his grip. Your nails dig deep into his arm as your eyes remain screwed tight, bringing the skin to your mouth and biting down as hard as you could, finally feeling yourself dropped from his grip.
And though years of combat training had prepared you for this moment, you knew better than to give yourself away— if this monster knew that you had it in you to fight back, there would no doubt be guards coming to capture you before you could even get a glimpse of the queen’s bedroom.
So you did the second best thing you could— you ran.
You didn’t dare look back as the sound of the monster’s heavy footsteps thudded behind you, the heels that you wore bringing your speed down more than you would have liked. Yet, just as you saw the staircase at the end of the hall, your path was blocked with a new obstacle as someone exited one of the many bedrooms that lined the hall, spotting you immediately and assessing the situation before you could even say anything. And before you knew it, you were being pulled behind the figure, the monster that had been quickly gaining on you skidding to a halt as the sound of his protests began to fill the hall.
“Hey man, I already called dibs on that one, find your own,” the man said, glaring down from where you hid behind the man. You continued your act, flinching at his gaze and avoiding his eyes as you clung to the man that saved you just in time. Glancing up, you felt a wave of relief as you recognized the fiery hair and intimidating aura— your task manager.
“How repulsive,” the man spoke, his face grim as he took on a protective stance— man, if you weren’t at risk of putting the whole mission (and your life) in jeopardy, you might have taken the time to admire his physic a bit more.
“How you were able to get past the guards is truly a wonder,” you stiffened for a moment, before you realized once more that he was in fact, still talking to the man that had revealed himself as a trespasser. With one glance behind him, he locked eyes with you, the glowing red catching you off guard as he nodded to the door he had just come out of. “Go inside, I’ll take care of him. And don’t come out until I say so.”
Hesitantly, you nodded, and without another glance back, you ran to the room, just in time to hear the sounds of struggle ring out in the hallway; It sounds as though the monster was ready to break through the door at any moment. Sighing, you run a hand down your face, feeling your heartbeat slowly calm down from the adrenaline rush of it all.
“Fuck, this is getting ridiculous,” you sigh, leaning against the windowsill as you listen to the sounds of destruction slowly die down, “Yeonjun, where am I?”
“Just another storage room,” Yeonjun began, the sound of rustling paper no doubt indicating him checking the map, “Paintings, artifacts, and whatnot.” You heard incoherent mumbling on the other side as you heard Hueningkai’s voice chime in, discussing a hidden pathway that had suddenly caught their attention.
“Wait, this could work,” Yeonjun said, catching your attention once more as you retracted your hand from grabbing one of the intricate vases on the shelf. The fighting outside had disappeared completely, but you could still hear your task manager’s interrogating voice on the other side of the wall; you were running out of time.
“What is it, the guy might come in at any moment.” You said, beginning to observe the room around you for any signs of a secret pathway. No stereotypical bookshelves or gigantic paintings stood out to you, so you weren’t exactly sure what you would be looking for. The sounds of multiple footsteps closing just outside your door brought out a shot of adrenaline through your veins, taking matters into your own hands as you began to sort through the no doubt expensive artifacts.
“Uhh,” Hueningkai spoke, shuffling through papers and clicking away at the keyboard, noticing the hurried pace in your movements, “It’s the tile! Look for a tile just under the window, you should be able to pull it up and find a trapdoor; be careful though, it’s very fragile.”
At his instructions, your head snapped back to where the window was, inspecting the strange patterns of the tiles, trying to find one that you might be able to pull loose. You stilled, your eyes catching on the way that a tile seemed a bit too spaced from the others, the placement almost uneven.
“Found it,” you whispered, grinning triumphantly, reaching down to check your suspicions—
Only to shift at the last second as you pretended to fix your stockings, your heart racing once more as the door swung open, revealing the very one person you’d rather not see at the moment.
Turning around, you feigned a look of innocence, eyes wide and afraid as you watched the man that had chased you down be escorted by multiple guards, chained and muffled as he thrashed around in protest, only to be dragged around due to the sheer force of the guards.
“You were the one who was sent to see me, were you not?” The man said, cutting you off before you could ask about the man being escorted away. You nodded, watching as he closed the door behind him, shuffling side to side as you felt the floor underneath you shift with your movements; you were quite literally standing on the secret passageway, the tile shifting every time you shuffle your feet.
“Yes, I am,” you said, ducking your head meekly as you tried your best to seem as someone who would not pose a threat to him, “I was told that you would be on this floor, but I had trouble finding you, Mister—“
“Soobin,” he added in, reaching into his pocket as he pulled out the object of your desire— the demented pin that had put you in this situation in the first place. “Choi Soobin. Come here,” his voice was low as you slowly made your way to him, averting your gaze as he began to attach the pin to your clothing.
“Such embarrassment,” Soobin began, carefully pushing the needle through the thick layers of your outfit, “Other kingdoms may allow their servants to be free of use, but that is not how we do things here. Such lack of decorum, it’s revolting.”
Securing the needle back on, you smoothed over your dress, feeling the cool golden crest under your skin. It was nice to know that there were others that agreed that the idea of free use was sick. Looking back up, you noticed the deep fire in his eyes had cooled down, replaced with a muted color that almost gave him a bored look as he observed you.
“It contains a nulling spell,” he explained, beginning to adjust the parts of your outfit that had become askew due to the assaultant’s behavior, “In this planet, the scent of humans and their blood is like a drug— so much so that it isn’t uncommon for kingdoms to allow their workers to do whatever they’d like to the human indentured workers. Afterall, those that are here are sent as punishment,” he shot you a look on the mention of punishment, leaving you to look away sheepishly— it seems that you weren’t being totally undermined afterall.
Opening the door, he places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you outside and back toward the staircase you came from; back to square one.
“Is that why that man was after me?” You spoke, trying your best to stall in hopes that you would be able to find a way to escape. You were so close to your goal, who knows if you would be able to sneak off again!
It was almost subconscious, the way that Soobin automatically adjusted to the sudden slow of your footsteps, finding as much interest in the topic as you pretended to. His brows furrowed as he spoke, hands clasped behind him as he allowed himself to slow to a stop with you, seemingly unaware or simply unbothered that you had stopped walking.
“Well, yes. To put it short, he must have either smelled your scent or felt your heartbeat from far away, which led him to sneak past security. A possibly detrimental failure on their part, they most likely won’t live to see another day, whether that be inside the castle or not,” he said, casually glossing over the fact that this kingdom wasn’t past executing for any potential errors. You shivered at the implications, nodded along to his words as you encouraged him to continue.
“We have to do something, ___ will be taken back to the bottom floor if we don’t get her to sneak away soon. Who knows when she’ll have the next excuse to be so unsupervised,” Hueningkai said, taking this chance to try to come up with a distraction, “Okay, what if we were to—“
You flinched as Soobin’s eyes flashed white, his body stiff as he froze, eyes going back to normal once more before he spoke. “I must go,” he said, nodding at you before turning around, heading to the stairs of the west wing before he turned, “Go back to your task, I have notified them that you will arrive soon. We will know if you aren’t there by a certain time, and there will be repercussions.”
Nodding eagerly at that, you turned around, heading back to your stairway as you listened to the sound of his footsteps fade away.
Good thing you don’t even work here.
Taking one last look behind you, you slipped off your heels as you made your way back to the room, barely making noise as you slipped back inside.
“Where does this passageway lead,” you muttered, headed straight to the tile that stood out, grunting with effort as you slowly picked it up off the floor— you grinned as the trapdoor to the pathway opened. Looking down at the entrance, you were met with pitch black darkness.
“It should lead to a series of tunnels, I’ll guide you once you make your way down,” Yeonjun explained, leaving you to gather your courage and make your way down the ladder, heels still in hand as you tried to make it look like you were never there. Closing the door above you, you shivered as you were left alone in the darkness, left to rely on your other senses as you slowly made your way down.
“Once you’re at the bottom, there should be a light that you can carry with you,” Yeonjun added.
“How do you know this?” You asked, stiffening as your foot met the cold floor beneath you, the said light stashed away in a hole in the wall— it was a regular human flashlight. Flipping the switch, you were pleasantly surprised to see that it still worked. You moved it around, observing the dusty environment around you; Yeah, maybe you’ll put your heels back on.
“Everything has a price,” Hueningkai snickered, observing the tunnel through your camera, “you’d be surprised how quick people are to turn on their kingdom.”
“Interesting,” you mumbled, noticing the many other joint tunnels that no doubt led to the secret doors you had observed in your map, “What would tunnels like these be used for in the first place?”
“Well, long before the king died, it was said that he was having an affair with the queen,” Taehyun explained, his never ending knowledge of planets coming into light,
“The tunnels were built from the very start, though. They were mainly used to transport valuable items from room to room without any potential moles knowing. But, as time went on and their security got more dense, the king would simply use them to sneak women through without the knowledge of the queen or its people. It was a very dull marriage, the people say,” Taehyun sighed, giving you instructions on where to go.
“So, what you’re saying is, the queen doesn’t know about these tunnels,” you said, wondering if the queen ever discovered what the king had been doing behind her back. It has been years since the queen has become a widow, there’s no way she hasn’t learned about the castle’s secrets, right?
“Well, when we spoke to the person who gave us this map, they said there might be a chance that the queen still hasn’t found the secret passageways,” Yeonjun said, thinking back to the call he held with the anonymous person, “Since she never really cared about him anyways. Or the kingdom, really.”
“It was an arranged marriage,” you concluded, hearing their sounds of approval as you were finally face to face with a ladder.
“This should be the trapdoor that leads to the queen's bedroom. Be careful, and make sure there isn’t anyone inside. Remember, the room that houses all her jewels should be in the closet.”
You nodded, not caring if they could see you or not. Turning the flashlight back off, you laid it down beside you as you were left in the darkness once more. Slowly, you climbed the ladder, practically holding your breath as you tried to not make a single sound that might give you away. Once you were at the top, you pressed your ear against the tile, listening carefully for any surrounding voices or footsteps.
“Clear,” you muttered, hearing the relieved sighs of your teammates on the other end.
“Great, the trapdoor should be just under the window, identical to the other room.”
Slowly, you pushed the door open, checking one last time for signs of life once you were able to crack it open. The adrenaline coursing through you seemed to calm down a bit once you saw no one inside, taking this chance to run to the door and bolt it immediately. You then proceeded to barricade it to the best of your ability, only resting once you knew that no one would be able to push in immediately.
The sight of a closet has never brought this much joy to you, already feeling the excitement running through you as you opened the doors, making your way inside the humongous walk-in closet, immediately knowing where to find the entrance to her secret room.
“Holy shit,” you muttered, eyeing the insane amount of jewelry and gems that surrounded you. “This room’s no joke,” taking a moment, you stopped inside the center, aweing at the way the many priceless gems glinted back at you, almost begging you to sneak one or two back with you.
“Don’t, ___,” Yeonjun warned, already perceiving your plan as he watched the screen, “We’re only here for the necklace, nothing else. We don’t want to risk anything.”
Gulping, you nodded at his words, scolding yourself for becoming so greedy at the sight of the room; the real treasure was within the locked display case in the center of the room, the necklace dangling beautifully on a velvet mannequin bust.
“Finally,” you sighed, reaching to your head to pull off the Bobby pins that you had stuck inside for this moment. Pausing, you patted your head as you tried to look for the other pin, only to freeze with dread as you realized you only had the one. Looking around the room, you tried to look for something that might be able to help, stopping once your hand brushed over the crest on your chest.
“Perfect,” you whispered, taking it off as you began to pick at the lock. You frowned, focusing only on opening the lock as quickly as you could, your surroundings and the voices of your friends not registering in your head as they spoke.
“You might want to hurry, ___. Remember, they might come looking for you soon. We’re on our way now, try to make your way out of the castle as quickly as you can once you have it. We’ll guide you if anything happens,” It was almost as if Taehyun were talking to himself at the end, the sounds of the engine humming in your ear bringing a bit of peace to your racing heart.
Hearing the final click, you felt a wave of relief wash over you like cool water on a hot summer’s day. The glass door opened, as you carefully took the necklace out of the bust, shoving it the only place you could at the moment— in your boobs.
“Ok, interesting,” You heard Hueningkai say, and you could almost see his scrunched nose and judgy eyes, “we’ll have to clean that once we get it back.”
Scoffing, you rolled your eyes at his jabbing remark. “Shut it, I’m the reason we won’t be doing missions for a whi—“
You froze, the world around you turned into a haze, your ears ringing and your legs bucking beneath you as the faint call of your name was heard, followed by the piercing realization that there was a needle in your neck.
❂❂❂
“Affirmative. No, she was just found trying to escape. Yes, I’ll make sure to execute proper protocol.”
The moment you came to, you felt as though a bunch of needles were being pushed into your brain, a pounding headache and incessant ringing in your ears pulling a groan of pain from your lips, the sound catching the attention of the figure that loomed over you.
“Jesus fuck what did you put in me,” you groaned, feeling a wave of nausea run over your figure, ducking your head as you concentrated on not puking your guts out. Upon your discovery, you were currently tied down to a chair, your wrist tied together behind you, the skin around the roped itching from every move you made. Your frilly costume remained, and from the feel of it, the necklace hidden snugly between your breasts did too.
“Poison,” your head snapped up at his words, flinching at the bright light that shone above you. You tried your best to adjust as quickly as you could, but the stinging pain became too much for you, leaving you to look down in defeat.
“Even if I can’t get some answers out of you, you’ll be dead soon anyways.”
Your heart sank. Dead? You can’t die yet! You were supposed to succeed, go back to your friends and celebrate another job well done! You were supposed to settle down for a bit, to spend some time living as normal people once more, to let Taehyun and Hueningkai spend some time living out the childhood they never got, the image of finding them alone on a dead planet running though your head once more.
“Poison—?!” You sputtered, wincing at the way even the usage of your own vocal cords seemed to hurt you, “what… what poison?”
“Lilac blood,” the man said, stepping into the light and revealing himself as your task manager, Soobin, “my personal specialty.”
Lilac blood… You thought, trying to wrack your mind for a possible explanation of what it might be, or where it might come from, “But that’s….” You muttered, finally putting two and two together, looking up in horror, “that’s only native to…”
“The hexen species.” He said, a spark of amusement lighting in his eyes— that’s when you saw it.
His hair, moving freely once more, was now accompanied by a set of tentacles that floated behind him, his glaring eyes glowing rouge as he looked down at you, appreciating the fear that rolled off of you in waves.
“Now, onto more important matters,” he said, pushing a bit of hair out of his eyes as he approached you. In a flash, a tentacle shot at you, wrapping tightly around your neck as he leaned down, face to face as he whispered, “Who sent you?”
“No one!” You gasped, attempting weakly to thrash around in his grip, but much too affected by the poison to be able to do anything. “I was sold off, I was just trying to escape!”
The grip on your neck loosened, allowing you to gasp for breath as it remained there in warning. He straightened up, reaching into his pocket before offering his hand to you, the items he held making the blood drain from your face.
“Servants are not allowed personal belongings,” he said coldly, closing his fist and crushing the hidden earpiece and necklace in his fist, the crackling noises not bothering him in the slightest as he watched your panicked face with indifference.
“Now that we are truly alone,” he said, voice low in warning, “Who. Sent you.”
Your mouth remained shut. The last thing you were going to do was rat out your crew— you’d rather die. But he remained silent, not caring about the poison that could kill you at any moment, leaving him without any answers.
“Not going to talk, hmm?” He said, clasping his hands behind his back, pacing around the room, deep in thought. “Well, rest assured that by the end of tonight you will have regretted…”
As much as you wanted to pay attention to his no-doubt threatening speech, your brain suddenly wouldn’t allow you to. Your brain, apparently, was currently much more into the way his lips moved as he spoke, the flesh much more plump and pouty than you remembered. He was still threatening, but for some reason, the same feeling of fear wasn’t really there anymore. It was instead replaced with a sudden discomfort.
“What is wrong with you,” Soobin said, not spoken like a question, as he meant to. He froze in his place as he regarded you, taking in the way that your scent and heartbeat was quickly changing. This wasn’t the sound of death. In fact, why weren’t you crumbling in pain right this moment?
Something wasn’t right.
“God, it’s kind of hot in here, don’t you think?” You whispered, all regard for your situation thrown out the window. Man was this uniform awful! You could feel every ruffle, every fold that brushed up against your body, and you did not like it. Not one bit.
Your mind was muddled, and you felt oddly feverish. Soobin felt it too as he pressed his palm against your forehead, and he couldn’t help but recoil in disgust as you leaned into his touch fondly.
“This is not what is supposed to happen,” he muttered, a wave of dread pooling inside him as he realized that he, in fact, was also starting to feel feverish as well.
“What have I done—?”
Yet his personal query was cut short as smoke filled the room, affecting him before he could react, his whole system shutting down and leaving him defenseless;
He’s screwed.
❂❂❂
“Yeonjun you bastard I’m killing you once we get back on the ship!”
Just another ordinary day for Yeonjun.
Except this time he was dragging your unconscious body out of a smoke filled room, his eyes catching on the only other person who knew your identity.
They had to take him too.
“Well, unless you want to leave him here and have the whole kingdom chase after us, then be my guest!” Yeonjun was seething under the gas mask as he hissed his words at Taehyun. He was angry. At the person who sent the mission, at the stupid task manager, and at himself— Mostly at himself.
“I think it’s too late for that—!” Hueningkai gasped, flinching at the violent way the guards outside pounded at the door, the wood caving in slowly to their command. “Go! There will be time to kill each other later!”
Maybe it was because of the way they broke through the window to save you, or maybe it was the fact that you and Soobin had been missing for way too long, but Yeonjun was pretty sure that the whole palace was surrounded by now.
With one last grunt of effort, Taehyun and Hueningkai tossed the unconscious man onto the ship, climbing on board as the three raced to their tasks; Yeonjun placed you gently on the couch before going to help Hueningkai with Soobin, and Taehyun was racing out of the planet’s atmosphere at before the other ships could catch up to him.
“Brace yourselves, we’re going lightspeed,” Taehyun announced, frowning at the sight of other ships appearing on his radar. At his command, Yeonjun and Hueningkai rushed to finish binding the man, sealing the binds with a seal that would disable any strength he had in him— being a smuggler truly had its perks.
With the final seal placed, Yeonjun ran to buckle your unconscious body into your usual seat, a pang of guilt tugging at him as he took in your sickly state. Pushing it aside, Yeonjun shook his head, rushing to his seat as he buckled himself in.
At the sound of the belt’s “click!” Taehyun began inputting commands for his next destination, not bothering to glance back as he asked, “You did buckle up the big guy, right?”
Yeonjun and Hueningkai shared a look.
Irritated by the silence and what it meant, Taehyun scoffed, much more worried about the ships that were currently firing at him than the safety of their special guest.
“Just leave it!” He yelled, and before either boys could apologize, the ship was being put into lightspeed, the pressure of it all silencing them immediately, their bodies glued to the seats as they shot off into the unknown; the sudden bang that rang out through the ship making the blood of all three men ice cold.
Soobin left a dent in the wall.
Oh, you were gonna be pissed.
❂❂❂
It was currently three in the afternoon, according to the planet that you were currently on, and you had bigger issues than being pissed at a dent in the wall. (For now.) Yeonjun was at your side, checking your temperature for the upteenth time that hour, sitting patiently by your side and waiting for the moment you would come to. While Hueningkai went off to secure a room for the stranger, making sure that there would be no way he could break out or fight back, Taehyun had gone off to find fuel for the ship.
And though the other two didn’t show it as much, the tense air in the ship was enough to give away that they were all extremely worried— extremely anxious, waiting for you to return to consciousness, acting like lost puppies without you being there to take the lead.
“Still feverish?” Taehyun asked, his voice startling Yeonjun as he looked up from his task of changing the cool towel he placed on your head. He had brought back a couple bags of groceries, going to drop them off at the kitchen counter before returning back to the couch where you lay.
“She’s been stirring all night— all day,” Yeonjun muttered, flinching as you winced once more, brows furrowing and incoherent mumbles coming out of your lips.
“We need to take a blood sample at this point,” Taehyun suggested, sitting at your feet as he observed you intently, frowning at the fact that you haven’t been changed yet. “And we should probably change her clothes too.”
Yeonjun nodded at that, wondering how you managed to shove yourself into such an uncomfortable uniform for so long. The guilt of it all started to creep up on him once more, but before he could say anything, he was interrupted by the sight of your opening eyes.
“Ugh, fuck,” you groaned, rolling to your side as you faced the couch, the lights above you much too bright for you to bear. God, were you hungover or something?
“You’re awake!” Yeonjun gasped, apologizing immediately as you flinched at his volume, “Oh, thank god, you’re awake!” With careful hands, he sat you up, giving you a tight hug as he let himself relax after all the stress he had been burdened with.
Yeonjun’s embrace was very much welcomed, surprisingly. You would have thought that moving would have been unbearable for you, but the moment you were able to be engulfed by Yeonjun’s arms, enclosed by his warm scent, you couldn’t help but relax in his hold, nuzzling into his shoulder as you let out a whine.
That… that’s not supposed to happen.
Pulling away, Yeonjun held your shoulders, oblivious to your flustered state as he scanned your body for any other issues. “Are you alright? Do you feel sick? Do you think we should take you to the hospital?”
You shook your head, your body involuntarily leaning to the next target you could find, the need to be coddled and held suddenly as prominent as the feverish heat in your body.
“Woah, easy there,” Taehyun said, gently supporting your body as you leaned into his chest, trying your best to get a whiff of the cologne he always used— it had always secretly been your favorite. “We need to run some blood tests, find out what happened.”
The need to protest festered inside you, only to come out as small groans as he picked you up, walking towards the infirmary that connected to Hueningkai’s lab. And, look, you’d swear on your life that you had never really thought of your friends this way, but man was Taehyun’s chest sturdy. You knew that out of everyone, he was the one that hogged the weights in your training room the most, but this was ridiculous. And it seems that your thoughts were simply too hard to hold in, because next thing you know, Taehyun is shooting you a strange look.
“Ridiculous? What is?”
You remained silent, choosing instead to pat his chest in appreciation.
“You’re rock hard man,” you muttered, your filter long gone as the two men were caught off guard by your words, exchanging horrified looks as you continued to feel around— or rather, pat his arms, shoulders, and chest fondly. “All that gym time has really paid off.”
Laying you down on the bed, Hueningkai approached you, ready to take a blood sample as he held back a laugh. You allowed him to, flinching at the invasive feeling as you distracted yourself by looking over Hueningkai’s face instead. And, like the two other times before, a strange feeling overtook you, and suddenly, Hueningkai wasn’t really Hueningkai anymore. Suddenly, you noticed, he looked very attractive when he concentrated hard on something, and suddenly, he had very nice hands, and, well, your thoughts began to run astray—
“What’s wrong with me!” You exclaimed, repulsed by your thoughts as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying not to make a sound as Yeonjun began to comfort you, his cooing voice and praise becoming too much to handle.
“Someone isolate me,” you begged, keeping your eyes shut as you avoided seeing the looks of concern spread over your shockingly attractive freind’s faces. “Please, I’m not messing around. Take me to my room please.”
“I’ll run the blood tests, someone take her to her room,”Hueningkai said, turning away as he took the blood samples with him, “and keep the physical contact to a minimum.”
Oh fuck, you thought, absolutley humiliated as your cheeks blazed with heat, he knows, doesn’t he.
And yet, something about him knowing about your situation, yet acting so indifferent about it, sent a strange feeling throughout your body— it was like a secret only the two of you knew.
“Taehyun, you take her,” Yeonjun said, watching as Taehyun proceeded to help you up, neither of them failing to catch on to the way you leaned closer to him, eyes still screwed shut tightly, “I’m going to check up on our… guest, to see if he knows anything.” Taehyun nodded, going in the direction of your room as Yeonjun went the opposite way, towards the headquarters where Hueningkai locked Soobin up.
He hoped to get some answers from him.
Yet, all he found as he opened the door was an equally affected Soobin, cheeks flushed and calm demeanor shattered, his chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm. At the sound of the door opening, Soobin’s head shot up, eyes narrowing and blazing hair sticking to his forehead as he growled,
“Bring her to me.”
Shocked by his sudden statement, Yeonjun froze at the doorway, remaining quiet as he assessed the situation.
“What did you do to her,” Yeonjun asked, slowly approaching the man that was bound powerless by the many seals that Hueningkai had made sure to slap on him. “You infected her with something.”
Irritated, Soobin scoffed at the others words, struggling to break out of his binds as he spoke, “I poisoned her, that’s what I did. Now bring her to me or I’ll make sure she never wakes up again.”
Expecting these words, Yeonjun scoffed, unaffected by his threats as he took in the shattered facade that was the calm indifferent man that they had met back at the palace.
“ I doubt that,” Yeonjun said, exiting the room without another word, making his way down to your room instead, the words of Soobin running through his head. He may have come across as uncaring, but the thought of you truly being infected with deadly poison horrified him— he just hoped that it wasn’t too late.
❂❂❂
Well, this was awkward.
As you lay on your bed, Taehyun just outside your door, the realization of what this feeling was dawned on you.
Man, you were horny.
And it wasn’t as if this discovery was absolutely galaxy shattering— no, this was normal. But what wasn’t normal, was the way your whole body seemed to shut down on you, not able to think straight at the need tugged at you incessantly, to the point where you were almost in pain.
“This can’t be happening,” you gasped, thighs rubbing together helplessly as you ran your hands up and down your body, helpless to control your own actions, the need to take off this stupid frilly dress overtaking you.
And you could, but then you’re not sure if you could control your need after that.
The embarrassment of it all hadn’t been lost on you either, Taehyun’s concerned expression stuck in your mind as you begged for him to leave the room; you’re sure he caught on to what you were feeling at that moment.
“At least I’m alone,” you mused, your hand twitching as you brushed against your thighs. You were alone… you processed the thought, glancing back at the door as you considered the thought. Maybe you should go lock it—
“___, how’re you feeling?”
The door opened as your hands immediately retracted from their position, sitting up and looking at them innocently as if you weren’t thinking of giving in to your body’s needs seconds ago.
“Okay, I guess,” you said, trying your best to give them your most reassuring smile; it didn’t work.
How could it work? Not when Hueningkai stood there, watching the way you grimace every time your body shifted, knowing exactly what it was that you were going through at the moment. Feeling his intense gaze on you, you looked to him, frowning as you asked him, “What did you find?”
The attention was then turned to Hueningkai, thankfully, as the three of you waited patiently to hear what it was that Hueningkai had found. Well, it was mostly Taehyun and Yeonjun waiting patiently, because suddenly, another wave of heat washed over you, leaving you to double over in pain.
“Nothing deadly, thankfully,” Hueningkai rushed to say, the words bringing out inexplicable relief to Yeonjun and Taehyun as they rushed to your side to make sure you were alright. (It really wasn’t helping in this situation. The feeling of their hands on your body was too much, your skin suddenly lit on fire wherever they touched. God, if only you could let yourself give in, let yourself feel their touch elsewhere…)
Your lips were red and swollen from how much you had bitten on them, struggling the urge to let out any incriminating noises as their scents wafted to your nose, the smell so comforting and welcome that it had you fighting the urge to jump on them.
“What is it then? What’s happening to her?” Yeonjun said, taking in your flushed state as he went to hold your hand, feeling as you gripped onto him tightly and let out a small, involuntary whimper; this was humiliating.
“It’s— there was traces of lilac blood found in her system,” Hueningkai began, cheeks redening as he watched your cool, calm and collected persona shatter before his eyes, replaced by someone he didn’t recognize— you were so needy, so unbelievably clingy that it was getting harder for Hueningkai to look away; this new side of you was so fascinating to him.
“Lilac blood?” Taehyun said, looking back at you in panic, “But isn’t that extremely poisonous?”
Hueningkai gulped at that, trying to gather the courage to explain the severity of the situation. “Well, yes,” he began, biting his lips nervously as he watched the way you melted in the two’s hold, your thighs squeezing together helplessly— he could tell it was getting worse.
“It’s extremely poisonous, deadly even, when in contact with extraterrestrials,” Hueningkai said, breath hitching as your eyes met his; he could almost hear your pleas to be freed from this strange feeling.
“But, when in contact with humans, it acts as an—“
His words were interrupted as another wave of pure, unadultarated, horniness washed over you, the feeling ten times stronger than usual as you let out a moan— from the sheer pain or need, you couldn’t tell. The room went silent, Hueningkai’s cheeks unbelievably red as the two men beside you froze, eyes locking as the realization dawned on them.
“An aphrodisiac,” Hueningkai sighed out, clipboard hugged tightly to his chest as he waited for anyone to say something, anything, to cut through the heavy tension that was built up in this room.
“God, this is so humiliating,” you whined, trying to pry yourself from the touch of the two men, wanting nothing more than to be left alone so you could melt in a pile of shame.
“You might… you might want to move away from her,” Hueningkai muttered, watching as the two looked at you, moving away once you nodded frantically in agreement; you might just do something insane if they continued to coddle you the way they were.
“We’ll, uhm, be right back, ___,” Hueningkai stuttered, turning around and exiting the room as Yeonjun and Taehyun trailed after him, sparing you a worried glance as they left.
And you were left alone, the need inside you festering to the point where you could no longer take it anymore.
Maybe you should lock the door.
❂❂❂
“What are we gonna do?”
Yeonjun was the first to speak, still flustered over the information that had been dumped on him. First it was having to imprison a guard from the castle, now this?
“Well, we can wait for it to wear out,” Taehyun said, glancing back at your bedroom door.
“Which usually takes twenty-four hours,” Hueningkai said, running a hand through his hair as he looked back down at the results on the clipboard, “and the pain will only get worse as time goes on.”
“Well, what else can we do?” Yeonjun sighed, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall— he knew what the answer to the question would be, he just wasn’t ready to face it yet.
“We can….” Hueningkai said, biting at his lip as he spoke, quiet and unsure of his words, “We can help her.”
The hall was silent as they each thought over the proposition, hearts racing at what helping you would entail. Just as one of them opened their mouth to speak, a sudden bang interrupted their conversation.
“It’s coming from the prisoner’s room,” Yeonjun said, running towards the direction of the sound as the two followed close behind. The banging consisted, growing louder and louder as they neared the room, only to be met with the sight of the door fighting the brute force of the man on the other side.
Wasting no time, Yeonjun opened the door, watching as Soobin stumbled through, unaware of the men on the other side. Before he can react, he’s pinned to the wall, Yeonjun’s hand grabbing a fistful of the man’s red hair as he snarls,“You did this to her.”
Yet all Soobin can do is laugh, eyes dilated as he remains silent, chest heaving up and down as he listens to the sounds of your heart beating, your scent turning him into the depraved monster he used to be before he joined the castle’s guard.
“She needs me,” Soobin says, struggling against the binds all over his body as he spoke, “You motherfuckers know what’s wrong with her, no need to be surprised.”
Soobin grunts in disdain as Yeonjun pulls his head back, scalp stinging as his hair is still held tightly in his grip, “What do you want with her, you monster.”
Soobin finds this situation fascinating, almost, as he cracks a smile, eyes meeting with Yeonjun as he taunts him.
“You know what I want,” Soobin says, the distant sound of your whimpers tugging at his mind, “Don’t act stupid. Bring me to her.”
For a moment, Yeonjun’s eyes meet with his friend’s as he contemplates what he should do next, before shaking his head and throwing Soobin back inside the isolated room. He watches as Soobin stumbled inside, looking back at them with an expression that screamed I’ve already won.
“She’s not going to go back to normal,” Soobin seethes, watching the way his words affected the three, “She’ll need me to fuck her good if you want your teammate back.”
Like clockwork, he watched the expressions of rage fall onto the men, the door slamming against his face as he’s left alone, listening to your cries from the other side of the ship.
If he can’t escape, the least he can do is cut the head off the body.
❂❂❂
“Shit, what’re we gonna do,” Yeonjun sighed, pacing around the room as the words of the monster ran through his head. “What if he’s telling the truth?”
“There’s no way,” Hueningkai quickly butted in, going back and forth repeatedly between his findings and continuing his research on the effects of lilac blood, “We have about five hours until this effect is worn off. Until then, all we can do is find any ways we can help her.”
They paused for a moment, before Taehyun stood up, heading to your room.
“I’ll go check on her.”
❂❂❂
You were a mess.
A panting, sweaty, needy mess as you laid on your back, the necklace placed safely on your desk as you tried to rid yourself of the feeling as best you could. But, four surprisingly easy to achieve orgasms later, and all you could feel was the neediness sinking into your skin even worse.
Your hand was beginning to cramp.
You couldn’t even have bothered yourself to strip, and you couldn’t have thanked yourself more for that as a knock rang out in your room, making you want to start crying for having been interrupted just as that coil was forming in your stomach.
“___?”
But you couldn’t stop.
“___? Are you awake?”
You were so close, and you needed this, your fingers plunging in and out faster, your breath shaky as your other hand worked at your clit just the way you liked it, your legs tightening around your hand as you tried your best to stifle your noises.
Taehyun had a nice voice.
Taehyun also knew that you were awake.
He felt as though his heart was about to beat out of his chest, taking a step back as he heard what was going on in your room.
You knew this.
Yet you couldn’t truly bring yourself to care as you closed your eyes, your mind involuntarily wandering to a place you hadn’t expected.
It was Soobin.
You could almost see him on top of you, could almost feel his wandering hands, and hell, it felt like you could truly hear him as he whispered into your ear, his breath practically fanning on your cheek as he spoke,
“Come to me, my dear. I’m the only one who can fix this, and you know it. Be a good girl and come to where I am. You don’t want to be stuck feeling like this, do you?”
Shaking your head, you felt tears brim your eyes from the overwhelming feeling. “No…” you whispered, not sure if you were rejecting his offer or denouncing the thought of being stuck like this.
“No? No what, bunny?”
The sudden use of the pet name brought out a wave of shock in you, clamping down hard on your hand as you gasped, slowing your ministrations as you rode out what was left of your orgasm, whimpering pathetically as you spoke.
“No…. Don’t…. Don’t wanna feel like this…” you cried out, because just as you felt as though things were going back to normal, you felt a stronger wave of need come back to you, leaving you to crumple on the bed in a mess of tears and overstimulation; you were exhausted.
“I’m here, bunny, come find me and I’ll give you what you need.”
Silence.
Taehyun’s hand remained frozen mid-knock, unsure if he should try to talk to you again.
Instead of having to make the decision himself though, he was met with your teary eyes and flushed face, a sheer coat of sweat coating your body as you supported yourself against the doorway, looking up at him as you spoke.
“Where is… I need Soobin,” you gasped out, not caring how you came across as Taehyun’s eyes swept over your crumpled clothes, his eyes widening as he processed your request.
“No, there’s no way. Too dangerous,” he stuttered out, stepping back as you practically tripped over your own feet, leaning against him and pinning him against the wall as he spoke, his hands flying to your waist to steady you. He could feel your body heat rushing to him in waves, gulping nervously as he tried to ignore the way you were all over him. “Is there— is there anything we can do? Sleeping medications, anything? You just have five hours before it goes away, I’m sure you’ll be alright…”
The words died on his tongue as you mouthed at his neck, the sensation of your mouth foreign and pleasant as he took in the feeling of your body on his.
“Five hours…?” You practically whined in his ear, hands gripping onto his shirt as you pressed yourself harder to his body, “I can’t…. I can’t take it. Please, can’t you… help out?”
Taehyun almost shut down at your request, the feeling of your thigh trying to pry his legs open too much for him to handle, your trailing lips and panting breaths almost making him give in.
“No,” he said firmly, planting his hands on your shoulders and pushing you away, holding you there as you cried in protest, “You’re not in your right mind, ___. This isn’t what you want.”
Taehyun almost thought that you were going to start crying at that, but it seemed as though his words managed to sober you up, your glazed eyes looking up at him as you quietly spoke, “Please, bring me some sleeping pills.”
Taehyun nodded, sending you back inside your room as he rushed to fulfill your request.
Hopefully the sleeping pills will help you through these last five hours.
❂❂❂
The sleeping pills worked like a charm.
Six hours later, and the three men were at your bedside, observing your calm, peaceful figure as they waited for you to wake up, the white noise of the news channel on your laptop filling the room.
“The necklace is right here,” Hueningkai said, sealing it in a container as he grimaced at the crumpled outfit you had changed out of, “And we should probably burn that thing when we get the chance.”
“Agreed,” Yeonjun said, glancing at Taehyun for what seemed to be the upteenth time, “Taehyun, you never told us what happened back there. You seemed hella freaked out once you came back— did something happen to ___?”
Taehyun shook his head, cheeks dusted with pink as he spoke, “No, it’s just…. She kept asking for Soobin.”
At the mention of the man, the room went silent, the three of them remembering how Soobin had calmed down once you had fallen asleep. It was strange, almost as if he could feel what you were feeling.
Hueningkai shook his head, dismissing the thought as he noticed you finally shifting awake. What a ridiculous thought.
The three men stood by, ready to coddle you once more and make sure you were alright, when you doubled over in pain once more.
Oh dear.
“Damn it…” you breathed out, eyes shut tight and brows furrowing and you scooted away from the two that sat along your bed, “Soo…. Soobin…. Where is…”
And, just like clockwork, the destruction on the other side of the ship ensued.
“No, ___, this can’t be happening,” Yeonjun said, standing up as he heard the pleas of the man’s name fall from your mouth, “It’s too dangerous, there’s no way that we can…”
“Please…” you said, voice firm and eyes steeled as you looked up at him— you were done worrying your crew, your friends, done endangering their lives just because you didn’t want to step up and take charge, “Let me see him.”
It wasn’t a question this time.
And though they considered denying you, they realized that this was not really a request from a friend, but an order from a captain.
Slowly, they trailed after you as you made your way to the prisoner’s room, steadying yourself along the walls and refusing any assistance from your friends; the last thing you needed was more physical touch to set you off.
“Careful ___, he might be waiting right at the—“
You couldn’t seem to care less about the warning as you opened the door, immediately being pulled in by a set of arms that the boys swear they binded.
“___!”
Rushing inside, they paused as they took in the sight of you being entrapped by Soobin, his arms wrapped tightly around your torso as he whispered into your ear, a tentacle wrapped around your neck in warning, his eyes unmoving as he watched the boys.
“You came to me, bunny,” he whispered, lips brushing alongside your skin as he pressed you tighter to him, the feeling of his body against yours bringing about an irresistible heat over your skin, your brain muddled as you tried to keep your thoughts coherent.
“You have nowhere to go,” you said, your head tilting up as the hold on your neck tightened; you could hear the click of the loaded guns coming from where your friends stood, no doubt pointing them at Soobin in warning.
“Everyone thinks you’re an accomplice. A well trained guard disappearing so easily after years of serving the kingdom? And with the queen’s invaluable necklace, no doubt— which, of course, was hidden in a room only he knew of.”
Soobin stiffened at your words, not saying a thing as he eyed the exit that the three men blocked.
“Think about it— if the palace, or any form of security sees you, you’ll be shot dead on sight. You’re a fugitive now,” you said, looking up to see that Soobin was already looking at you.
“Just like us.”
“I’m nothing like you,” Soobin hisses, grip tightening as he takes a step back, “Plus, you need me. Look at you,” he says, the hand that was pressing on your stomach pushing you back, the feeling of him behind you making you gasp, “All needy and desperate for me.”
“What’re you playing at, Soobin,” you warned, shutting your eyes once more as you tried to ignore the sickening heat that rushed to your body, a strong restlessness forming at your stomach.
“Take me back to the kingdom and turn yourselves in,” Soobin said, stubborn as another tentacle wrapped around your stomach, pulling you back and gluing you to Soobin’s body as you were made into a shield; you tried to stifle a whimper as you realized that he was being affected too.
“Or I’ll snap her neck faster than your finger can pull the trigger.”
“Soobin, listen—“
“Don’t speak as though you know me,” he snarled, lips brushing against your ear as he quietly added, “this connection we share means nothing.”
Connection.
Is that what this was?
“You don’t understand, do you?” You quietly tried again, slowly reaching up to place your hands on his forearm— he tightened his grip on your neck, but you stood your ground, hands remaining there as the others watched, searching frantically for an opening to get you away.
“The report has spread everywhere— there’s no media outlet that hasn’t covered your escape,” you softly explained, thinking back to the bounty that was sent out in exchange for your heads, “you have nowhere to go.”
“___, what’re you trying to say—“
“I’m saying,” you interrupted, meeting eyes with your friends as the horrible realization of your words dawned on them, “That you should join our team.”
Not a word was said, but you could basically hear the unanimous words of every person in the room:
Are you insane?
Yeah, maybe you were, but there was this awful, nagging feeling that you just couldn’t leave Soobin on his own. Strangely, you couldn't imagine going forth with your life without the man that was currently threatening your life, and a sinking feeling puddled in your stomach as the realization dawned on you that he felt the same.
Soobin was an insanely strong alien that was currently pitted against three humans and their guns; with ease, he could take them on and overthrow the ship— and he knew that. But instead, he chose to cling to you as he listened to your words, his grip on you morphing long ago from something threatening to something possessive.
Soobin didn’t want to leave.
And, as you met his eyes, the same thought seemed to strike him as well.
“You’re nothing without me,” you whispered, testing your limits as you tilted your head towards him; you weren’t dead yet, so you think you can handle a bit more. “Join us. What other options do you have?”
“I could kill you all and take this ship as my own.”
“But you won’t.”
The look you shared was impossible to break, and you could almost hear his thoughts the longer you waited for his answer.
“Don’t think you’ve won yet.”
The tension in the room seemed to falter as Soobin released you, allowing you to catch your breath as you stumbled to your friends, the three placing you behind them as they aimed their weapons at Soobin in threat.
“Oh please, those won’t do a thing,” Soobin said, rolling his eyes as he began to regain his composure, the extra limbs disappearing behind him with ease, “be thankful that that one’s in charge.” He said, jutting his chin as your direction as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“But don’t think that everything is back to normal now.”
They scoffed at his words, closing the door and locking it once more as they guided you back to your room, their gazes constantly falling back on you and the fact that no, you weren’t back to normal.
“Please, leave me alone for a bit,” you begged quietly, ignoring their protests as you shut the door on them, locking it without another word, the three men left outside as a feeling of dread pooled inside them.
It’ll take a while for things to go back to “normal”.
❂❂❂
You won’t eat.
A few days have passed and your appetite has drastically lowered, the food that they have left outside your room only disappearing once in a while, if they’re lucky. The amount of times they had to bring back cold, uneaten and untouched food was extremely concerning for them.
Coincidentally, Soobin hasn’t eaten anything either. Yeah, the fool actually remained on the ship, and has yet to kill them in their sleep— the three would take turns keeping an eye on Soobin through the sevaliance room that was connected to the wall adjacent the prisoner’s bed; what looked like a simple wall to them was actually a one way glass.
The necklace had been exchanged long ago for the other half of their payment, the sheer luck of it all leaving their names and faces off the news, Soobin’s fading away as time went on as well. And as much as you begged them through the groupchat to take a break and go somewhere nice with the money, they absolutely refused to do so without you.
“Please, ___, you have to eat something,” Hueningkai begged, camping outside your door as he held your meal in his hands. You refused again, leaving the boy to frown at your words, refusing to leave until he saw your face.
“You haven’t come out of your room yet, let me see you,” he whined, ears straining to listen to any sound of life that may be going on inside the room. His heart jumped as he listened to the approaching footsteps, waiting in anticipation to see you again.
The door opened, and out you came, the very sight of you bringing out a motherly instinct inside Hueningkai.
“Oh, look at you,” He said, placing the food down and running to you, cupping your face in his hands as he inspected you closely, your weak state allowing him to do so without much protest.
“Have you slept at all?” He muttered, taking in the sickly look on your face, flinching at the heat of your skin, “Is— are you still feeling…?”
Wordlessly, you nodded, leaning against him as you tried to block out the thoughts of the one person who circled your mind— Soobin.
It was involuntary, the way your mind kept tugging back to the red haired man. While you ate, while you worked, while you slept. It was driving you insane, just like the permeating heat in your body did. No matter how much you tried to distract yourself from the feeling, you would soon find yourself back on the bed again, trying to rid yourself of the discomfort, only to find in dismay that you couldn’t. It was degrading.
You could almost hear him calling out for you sometimes.
“Hyuka, I can’t do this anymore…” you sighed out, pulling away from him as you leaned against the wall, the cool metal soothing against your back, “I need to speak with Soobin.”
“Are— are you sure?” Hueningkai asked, not ready to let you see him again; not after what he pulled the last time. “There isn’t anything else we can do to….?”
You narrowed your eyes at his words, tired of being denied seeing him as you said, “Oh? What’re you implying…” you took a step towards him, your hands steadying themselves on his chest as you leaned on him, his hands awkwardly floating in the air as he looked down at you, easy to fluster as ever.
“You like seeing me like this, don’t you Kai?” It was just cruel teasing at this point, but you were getting tired of being treated like a porcelain doll at this point. So you and Soobin might have to fuck to get you back to normal— so what? It’s not like sex is a mind breaking discovery.
“I, uh, uhm…” the poor guy could say nothing in defense as he practically short circuited at your low, whispery voice, the words running in his head faster than he could say them.
Pushing off of him, you tried to ignore the way your hands were itching to explore more of his body, rushing instead to get to Soobin’s room, a nervous Hueningkai stumbling after you.
“___, what’re you gonna…”
“I’m gonna talk to him, obviously,” you said, raising a brow as you opened the door, unsurprised to find Soobin already waiting for you. “What else did you think?”
And, like always, he took the bait with ease, cheeks flushing and ears turning red as he stuttered, “no, I— I wasn’t thinking anything….”
You smiled, amused at his flustered self as you went to close the door, eyes meeting his one last time as you spoke.
“Good.”
And the door was shut.
❂❂❂
“Oh bunny, how predictable,” Soobin was on you in a matter of seconds, your newfound bravery turning into nothing but a facade as he pinned you against the wall, hands steadying themselves on your waist, “It’s like you want to get yourself killed.”
“You want me just as bad,” you taunted, your leg going to wrap itself around his waist, pulling him in as you spoke— you could feel him begin to get hard already. “Don’t act like you haven’t been begging me to come pay you a visit.”
All Soobin could do was chuckle, his hips rolling against yours as he seized your wrists with one hand, pulling your arms above your head. “And yet, you’re helpless against me.”
Your resistance practically melted once you felt his touch, a newfound relief settling inside you as the feeling of his body against yours felt so natural, so right. Soobin was quick to notice, as always, his lips roaming around your neck as he continued his taunts.
“How pathetic. You manage to get me on your ship and suddenly think you have control over me,” he seethes, biting on the flesh and inflicting a gasp out of you, “this connection we share, it is nothing but a misfortune.”
“You keep…. You keep talking about this connection of yours— ours,” you pant, a sigh leaving you as he gave a particularly harsh thrust against you, “what exactly are you going on about?”
“You poor thing, you mean to tell me you don’t know?” He asked, condescending in his tone as he hovered over you, your eyes involuntarily flickering to his lips as he spoke.
Shaking your head, you whimpered, feeling the effects of the aphrodisiac come onto you in heavier waves the longer Soobin held onto you; you don’t think you can even think straight anymore.
“Bunny, you’re connected to me,” he said, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he took in the shock in your eyes, unable to keep himself from stimulating you more. “The blood inside you, it has bonded us,”
“And unless you kill me, you’re not getting rid of me.”
The lips that crashed onto yours felt like a cool drink in the desert, your body alight as Soobin finally allowed himself to touch you, hands roaming around your body as if he were trying to memorize every part of you.
There was no love in the kiss. All you felt as he pressed himself against you, hands sliding under your shirt teasingly, was hot, primal, lust. Soobin was hungry, and he was done waiting for someone to give him what he needed.
And luckily for him, you were more than willing to give.
“Please,” you whimper, the heated pain of need overtaking you once more, nails digging into your palm as you chase any pleasure given to you, “please, I need, I need…”
“More?” Soobin mused, pushing you around like a ragdoll as you felt yourself come in contact with the bed, “Beg for it, bunny.”
It was a matter of seconds before you were stripped bare before Soobin’s gaze, his eyes never leaving your body as he waited for you to cave into his request; only for you to keep your mouth shut— you still had some pride left within you.
“For someone who has relinquished all control to me, you sure do act like a brat,” Soobin sighs in dismay, his hands trailing along your thigh before stopping just where you needed him most, his fingers teasing you as he felt around. “Come on, I know you can be good,” he said, leaning over you as you shook your head, a frown overtaking his features as he raised his brows.
“No?” He asked, slowly pushing you legs apart as you shook your head again, shutting your eyes the moment you felt Soobin tease against your folds, slowly rubbing his fingers up and down. He hummed at that, the sound of him taking off his coat making you open your eyes slowly as he spoke,
“Then I guess you won’t get what you want.”
The feeling of Soobin’s tentacles wrapping around your thighs was definitely new. The long appendages were cool, yet not as slimy and sticky as one would think. And while two of them encircled each of your thighs, pulling them open and leaving you defenseless against Soobin, another one was quick to reach up and trap your wrists above your head.
“Poor slut, so wet for me yet has too much pride to beg for more,” Soobin tsked, cold eyes staring down at you as he listened to the sound of your heartbeat become erratic, your small whimpers more than enough to keep him satisfied, “Such a shame you don’t want this pretty pussy to cum.”
It was almost overwhelming, the way you felt Soobin lower himself to your level, the sight of his head between your legs making you whine shamelessly, hips bucking in the air as you practically fell apart from the single action. Your mind quickly became a foggy and incomprehensible hurricane of thoughts, the familiar feeling of being empty coming in once more as you felt yourself become impatient.
“Easy, bunny,” Soobin mutters, lips trailing kisses along your thighs, “Dripping for me already and yet, I haven’t done a thing to you.”
“Soobin,” you pant, back arching against the bed as you felt him get close, so close, yet pull away last second, “Soobin, don’t be such a—!” Your words were quickly cut off as an appendage of his was shoved into your mouth, the sheer size of it taking away any remaining thoughts in your brain— any want to rebel against Soobin quickly disappeared.
“You seem to really like the sound of my name,” Soobin mused, teasing you once again as you whined at the feeling of his breath against your pussy, “Say it again.”
“Soobin—!” The tentacle that had been taken away from your mouth quickly made its way back in once you gasped out his name, your sudden obedience more than enough to make Soobin decide to please you.
“Good girl,” he muttered, lips attaching themselves to your clit as he listened to the sound of your surprised squeal. Your mind was reeling at the fact that you were finally being touched by someone that wasn’t you, thighs trembling pathetically as you shut your eyes, mouth agape as you let the tentacle that had been shoved inside roam around your mouth.
As if you hadn’t been overwhelmed with enough stimulation, the sudden feeling of two more of Soobin’s tentacles encircling your breast and touching curiously along your nipples brought a new wave of pleasure over you, Soobin’s sudden harshness against your clit making the coil in your stomach finally snap, a surprised moan leaving you as you rode out the shocks of the remaining pleasure, Soobin’s ministrations not stopping for a second as he ruthlessly carried you into another orgasm, your body tightening and your mind begging for a break as you ignored the exhaustion, loud cries flowing from your mouth as you rolled your hips onto Soobin’s face.
Slowly, the wriggling appendage in your mouth slowly made its way out, still covered in your spit as you whined, hips bucking against Soobin’s face as you spoke.
“Soobin,” you began, waiting for the overstimulation to take over; but all you felt was an incessant need for more build up inside you, a raging storm that just wouldn’t quit as you gasped, “I need more….!”
“Again?” Soobin mused, eyes meeting yours as the sight of his bruised lips practically made you melt. You nodded frantically as you noticed the way the tentacle that was previously inside your mouth slowly wandered down your body, finding its place at your entrance as he sighed out,
“If you insist.”
You were practically drooling at the way the strange appendage felt inside you, moving around inside as if it had a mind of its own, The two tentacles that were previously stimulating your breasts moving to wrap around your waist, bringing your hips up, off the bed as you were left to be practically used by Soobin. The constant string of noises was incomprehensible at best, tears brimming your eyes as your body finally began to realize that it was finally getting what it had been craving for so long. With it’s ridges rubbing against your walls, it wasn’t long before you were seizing up, your eyes rolling back as your body allowed you to ride out another orgasm, still as strong as the previous ones you’ve had— if not, even stronger.
“What a lovely sight,” Soobin commented, looking down at you as he took in the way you let yourself be helplessly fucked by him, “Do you think you can take more, bunny?”
Your body seemed to jolt awake at the sound of more, the tears that had been building up at the corners of your eyes finally spilling as you nodded uselessly, not quite sure if you really knew if you would be able to handle it. But that didn’t really matter, not with the way you suddenly felt Soobin’s cock prodding at your entrance, the movements of the other appendage never seizing for a second.
It was too much. That was all that your brain screamed at you, but as you felt Soobin finally enter inside you, your body couldn’t seem to care less about that comment, another orgasm washing over you as you came on his cock, the loud whines that spilled out of you enough to leave you embarrassed for the next upcoming weeks.
“Fuck— so tight, shit,” Soobin hissed, the feeling of your warm walls squeezing him catching him off guard as he groaned, his hands wandering all over your body as they ran across your skin, squeezing lightly whenever they landed on your thighs. Looking back at you, Soobin could only laugh cruelly as he noticed the way you never truly calmed down from your high, hips bucking desperately as you cried out for more.
“My poor fucktoy wants more?” Soobin mocked, amused by the way that you were too fucked dumb to care about your pride, incoherent mummbles stringing out of your mouth as you begged to be fucked by him. And, well, Soobin aimed to please.
There was nothing sweet about the way Soobin fucked you. With hips that moved like water, you were left to do nothing but cry and beg as he thrusted into you brutally, the strange tentacle that had been inside you never leaving for a second, still prodding around as though looking for something.
“Soobin— fuck—!” You cried out, his name like a prayer on your lips as you felt the tentacle hit a particular spot that had you seeing stars. And, cruelly, it proceeded to aim only there while Soobin fucked you ruthlessly.
Just when you thought that you couldn’t become more overwhelmed, you felt the tentacle that had been flicking at your nipples snake down your stomach, stopping once it found your clit, only to rub at it just the way you liked it.
If the others hadn’t heard you already, they sure had now.
Because as you clamped down on Soobin’s cock, tears falling from your eyes rapidly, you couldn’t find a single ounce of shame inside you, the only thing you could find being a hungry, insatiable need for more.
“Soobin…” you began, hiccuping as you continued to sob, not an ounce of overstimulation washing over you as you let yourself continue to be used by Soobin, “What’s happening to me, why won’t it— why won’t it go away?”
“Oh, my sweet angel,” Soobin cooed, your muddled brain unsure if he said this to mock you or not, “your body is only after one thing— me. And unless you don’t get filled with my cum, your body won’t be able to ask for anything else.”
At the realization of what that meant, you began to involuntarily clench around him, your sounds turned into nothing but weak pleas as you felt the exhaustion threaten to seep into you.
“Hmm? What’s this?” Soobin mused, slowing his ministrations until all you felt was the way his hips ground against yours, all stimulation you felt immediately slowed to match his pace. At the lack of pleasure, you felt yourself become irritated, the demanding need surfacing once more as you begged for him to fuck you properly.
“Does my angel like the sound of me filling her up?” He asked, the words bringing out a tugging in your stomach as you could do nothing but nod, far too gone to care about how desperate you might sound.
“Yeah? Want me to fill you? Make you mine?” You weren’t sure if he simply said these words because he was lost in the moment, but you couldn’t deny the odd way that it affected you, a soft whine leaving your throat as you softly begged him to do so.
“Yes, want… want your cum,” you whined, hands itching to be freed so you could feel him, entangle your hands in his hair, something. “Please, Binnie…wanna touch you.”
The new nickname came as a surprise to the both of you, and, if you had any shame left in you, you probably would’ve left the room right now. But, was there anything to be embarrased about, when you lay in the bed of the prisoner with both his cock and strange tentacles fucking you in such a dizzying way? You don’t think so.
“Binnie?” He hummed, releasing your hands as he watched the way you immediately reached out to him, the need to be even closer overtaking you, “Is that your nickname for me princess?”
You’re not sure when the sudden shift started in Soobin, but personally, you were more concerned with the way you found yourself both enjoying it and wanting to cling to him even more.
“Come here,” he whispered, the tentacles leaving your waist and supporting your body as you sat up, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you slid your hands under his shirt.
“Why am I the only one that’s naked here?” You whined, somewhat annoyed that you’re the only one that has been indecent the whole time.
“You want me to take this off?” Soobin asked, raising a brow at your strange tactics, “Now?”
You nodded, already beginning the process as you added, “Everything. Now.”
The sudden change in the attitude and chemistry was left unspoken between the two of you, your heart thumping hard against your chest as you wondered if this was the effects of the blood bonding coming into play.
Now, as Soobin stood before you, bare like you, you allowed yourself to become more curious with your movements, hands caressing his skin as you mused over all the different scars on his body. Cautiously, you leaned up, a satisfied smile tugging at your lips as Soobin allowed you to kiss him, the feeling much more different that the first time.
Yet, as your hands continued to wander, you knew that something shifted in Soobin as your hands grazed the part of his back where the appendages protruded, your sudden touch bringing about a soft hiss from Soobin.
“Not there, angel,” Soobin warned, hips moving once more as you were reminded of the bothersome heat inside you, your lips chasing after his uselessly as he pulled away.
“Look at you, pathetic baby,” Soobin sighed out, the degrading words making you shut your eyes as you leaned on his chest, hands finding purchase on his shoulders as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer as you rutted against him mindlessly.
“Fucked stupid by my cock. I bet you’re begging to cum again, hmm?”
And like the many times before, you agreed, your mouth trailing kisses along the expanse of his neck as you said, “please, Binnie— I want to feel you cum with me, wanna be filled.”
Wordlessly, Soobin tugged your head back, getting a fistful of your hair as he whispered in your ear, the wicked smile evident in his voice as he spoke.
“Then you better give them a show, bunny.”
His brutal pace was set before you could say anything else, your eyes glossing over from the way that Soobin seemed to know just how to please you. Any words that you might’ve had died in your brain and melted on your tongue, left as nothing but sweet sounds that only seemed to encourage Soobin more.
The two of you were loud. Soobin knew that. He knew that you were aware too. But, as you clenched on his cock once more, your body shaking and your whimpers turning sweeter, he had to make sure that you became aware of the heartbeats that had suddenly appeared.
“Aren’t you ashamed, bunny?” Soobin said, not bothering to keep his voice down as he spoke. Knowing that you became confused by his words, he continued.
“Your teammates must be so jealous right now. This pussy’s too good to not want to fuck, hmm? I bet they’re dying to be in my place right now. But all they can do is watch helplessly.”
Soobin felt the moment you caught on to his words. How couldn’t he? Not with the way you were currently falling apart before his eyes, your lips bitten and swollen as he pulled you in for another kiss, pulling you in tight as if to make a point; you’ve lost her, she’s mine, look at how nicely she behaves for me.
Pulling away, Soobin laughed harshly, cupping your cheek as he looked at your tired face, your dazed eyes slowly meeting his.
“You still need more, don’t you bunny?” You were beyond destroyed by now, your body ready to shut down at any second now, but the burning need still as strong as ever as you slowly nodded, the words he spoke seemingly taking ages to process in your mind.
Without any warning, you were suddenly being pulled up, the only thing that allowed you to stand being the support that the tentacles provided, along with Soobin’s arms that immediately encircled your torso, your chest being pulled flush against his.
You were a mess of tears, sweat, and cum as you faced the wall, Soobin’s lips attaching themselves to you neck as he slowly began fucking into you once more, the new angle providing new stimulation for you.
“They’re starting to enjoy this, you know,” Soobin whispers, the images of your shocked friends standing in the control room, watching you with dazed eyes, simply brought out a feeling of lust within you, the strange feeling of being desired making you feel dizzy.
“Can you imagine, bunny? Imagine what they would do if they gave in, if they wanted to fuck you too. I bet you would take it, hmm? Take their cocks like the good girl you are?” The way Soobin was fucking you was outright delicious, and your mind couldn’t even begin to imagine the scenarios Soobin was currently feeding you.
“They love watching you. Love watching the way your pretty pussy takes me in. I bet they’d love to watch you be filled by me too, hmm?” You nodded, feeling the way Soobin’s pace had faltered, the rhythm starting to break the more you squeezed around him, his breathy moans and whispers of what could be bringing the both of you to a new peak.
“But they’ll just have to accept that you’re mine now,” Soobin said, the words loud and clear as he tightened his grip on you.
“Soobin,” you pant, hands wrapping around his forearms as you feel yourself getting closer.
“Say it again.”
“Soobin.”
“Louder, angel.”
“Soobin—!”
Full. You feel so, oh so full. So satisfied, and so incredibly tired as you finally feel the way Soobin’s hot cum spurts inside you, seemingly unending as you come down with him, the violent waves of pleasure washing over you as all you can do is listen to the way Soobin quietly breathes out praises in your ear, not stopping until suddenly, he’s fucking his cum back into you, the feeling suddenly way, way too much for you.
“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay angel. You did so good, so good for me, taking everything I gave you.” He whispered, slowing his pace down until it was nothing more, the hot liquids slowly seeping out from in between your thighs.
“Rest, angel, I got you,” he softly spoke into your ear, and though you had no reason to, you knew that you could trust his words.
So, after a week of nothing but physical and mental torture, you finally allowed yourself to rest, a heavy weight taken off your shoulders as you allowed yourself to collapse, allowed yourself to be caught by Soobin as he slowly laid you down, adjusting your body until you were covered by the thin covers that he was given.
Soobin took his time to dress himself, not bothering to button up his shirt as he looked at the wall adjacent to his bed, his voice monotone as he spoke.
“If you have any shame left, bring me some towels so I can clean your friend up,” he said, stressing the last part as he listened to the faint sound of scampering on the other side, glancing back at your sleeping form as he ran a hand through his hair.
Their friend. His mate.
❂❂❂
One would think nothing else but the fact that you just had the wildest, horniest, most shameful wet dream that put all other wet dreams to shame.
But, as you woke in your comfortable bed, you sat up to find multiple clues that said no, it was not all just a dream.
That is, if the complete change of clothes, deathly ache of your body, and the whole other person who clung to you said anything.
“You’re awake,” Soobin said, voice gruff as he pulled you in closer, “how do you feel?”
“Like death,” you wheezed out, choosing to skip over the awkward talk of “what the hell are you doing in my bed?”
Afterall, after he gave you the fucking of your life, the least you could do was allow him a good night’s sleep— he was part of the team now, technically.
“Could you tell your friends that you’re alright,” Soobin huffed, angry from even mentioning your friends, “They’ve been surveilling us all night. It’s strange.”
He proceeded to motion to the very obvious camera and the mic that was now added to your room. You shot the man a questioning glance, but all he could do was shrug.
“Couldn’t be bothered to get up, honestly.”
“I’ll be back,” you muttered, unsure why exactly you were reassuring the man when you felt yourself being pushed back into Soobin’s chest, his hold tightening on you.
“No, just tell them you’re alright here,” Soobin grumbled, breathing in your scent as he fully expected you to give in.
“No, I’m gonna go see them,” you protested, pulling yourself from his grip as you finally felt yourself become freed, only to get pulled right back in by Soobin.
“Why? So they can see the aftermath of all I did to you?” He said, his voice dropping octaves as he made you recall the events that happened the night before. “They still think about you, you know. I can sense it. It’s a wonder how they kept to themselves for all this time.”
“Soobin!” You exclaimed, cheeks heating up as he let you go, watching with amusement as you tried to show the way you definitely weren’t having difficulties walking.
“Need assistance?” Soobin mused, and before he could react, you were tossing one of your fallen pillows at him.
Making your way back to the deck (slowly…) you tried to not think about how you just single-handedly fucked up the remaining balance you had on this ship. Not only was your relationship with Soobin extremely weird, but you had also managed to come on to two of your friends and practically begged them to help you out. How awful. The closer you got to the deck, the heavier you could feel the tension in the air, your hands growing clammy as you finally came face to face with them.
To put it frankly, a part of you had been hoping that Soobin’s whole “let’s give them a show” thing had simply been a strange fantasy, but as you take in the way that absolutely no one can hold eye contact with you, you’re realizing with a heavy dread that it was not, in fact, a strange fantasy.
It was very real.
“I’m… feeling better…” you said, trying to cut through the silence, only to get a couple of nods and nothing else.
“That’s good,” Hueningkai said, and damn it did his ears just turn red from simply making eye contact with you?
This ship, you realize with dismay, was beyond saving. So you did the best you could to distract yourself from the situation, choosing instead to look around the windows to see where you might be. Yet, just as you were about to piece together what planet you might be on, your eyes caught on something peculiar, a sudden wave of rage taking over your essence.
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