Summary: After graduating university you fulfilled your dreams and became a published author. Your book did well, so well in fact, your team and fans want a sequel. The only problem is they want it to be a little more smutty and spicy and you have no idea how to accomplish that. Enter Kim Taehyung the cocky fuckboy from your past who is willing to lend a hand to a friend in need
Word Count: 4.5K
Rating: 18+ Minors Do Not Interact!
Tags: A/U, friends with benefits, teasing, flirting, Taehyung is a menace, artist Taehyung, not many tags for chapter one but they will change each chapter
Authors Note: sooooo hi again. I'm back with this fic because it's just too good (imo) to be wiped from tumblr forever. If you read it previously you might notice sliiiight changes (not to the story just the wording of some things)
Thanks for reading Likes and Reblogs are appreciated
Also don't be scared to talk about it in the tags!
“Hi, welcome to The Oasis. What can I get…you?”
Your voice trails off as you see the couple standing in the doorway, taking in the small café with its warm brown tones and earthy greens.
Your eyes fall on the man with the dark, ruffled hair, and you recognize him immediately.
Your stomach drops, hands curl into fists at your side, blunt nails digging into the skin as you wish you could evaporate on the spot.
Cocky fuckboy, past captain of the soccer team, Kim Taehyung, and his flavour-of-the-week girlfriend just stepped foot into your workplace, and you had no choice but to serve them because you promised to take over for Morena, who needed to take an important phone call.
This must have been a cruel twist of fate, a punishment for something, because normally, you didn’t work the front counter.
You were much more comfortable in the back, rolling out dough and singing along to songs from the small old-school radio Mi-Suk graciously provided to give you something to listen to while you worked.
Every once in a while, you would choose to listen to music on your phone, opting for songs from your high school and university years that would throw you into a comforting wave of nostalgia.
The man in front of you was a very unwelcome wave of nostalgia, and when his dark eyes finally connected with yours from across the store, they widened in shock for only a brief moment before he was sliding up to the counter with a cocky smile on his face and his girl in tow.
You had not seen him in almost three years, but he still looked the same. Fluffy brown hair that was always a little messy in an endearing way, deep brown eyes, a small freckle on his nose, a wide, boxy smile, and pouty lips that got him out of a lot of trouble.
People tended to bend over backwards for Kim Taehyung, and it infuriated you to no end.
He was just a guy. Sure, he was handsome, but that didn’t give him superpowers or make him important.
But throughout your university years, you watched countless girls fall over themselves just at the mere presence of him walking around.
It was annoying.
“Well, hello. I didn’t know you still worked here.” He said in a smooth baritone voice that reminded you of old jazz music and a warm cup of coffee.
“Yeah, I do, though usually I work in the back. So what can I get you?” You ask, trying to get this interaction over as quickly as possible.
Taehyung’s eyes sparkle with mischief, and you know he isn’t going to let that happen.
Lovely.
“Come on, Baby Blue, work with me here. I haven’t seen you in ages and that’s all you give me?” He croons with a pout on his lips that makes you roll your eyes.
In the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t roll your eyes at customers, but you figured someone as infuriating as Taehyung was the exception.
“Don’t call me that ridiculous name, Taehyung.” You bite out as he grins at the furious look on your face.
You thought he would have grown up in the years since you graduated, but it seemed he was still the same pain in the ass as he was back then.
“Oh, sorry Baby Blue, I didn’t know you hated that name. My bad.” He teased in a sarcastically sweet tone as his eyes flicked down to your chest.
That nickname was all his fault anyway.
Taehyung was drunk at a house party and tried to peel you from your very comfortable spot leaning against the wall to dance with him, only to accidentally wobble on his feet and spill his drink all over your favourite baby blue cropped shirt.
Which, unfortunately, was very thin and very see-through, meaning in a matter of minutes, everyone in your vicinity could see your nipples poking through the damp fabric.
Taehyung never once apologized; instead, he said, “Oops,” with a boxy grin, and you had to leave the party early before the stain could set in.
While everyone moved on, Taehyung adopted the nickname Baby Blue for you to commemorate that night.
“You know I hate it, Captain.” You shot back as his eyes widened in surprise, but a grin was still plastered on his lips.
You knew you wouldn’t wound him with that name.
Especially since he was the one to come up with that himself.
“Um, do you two have a history or something?” The girl next to him asks as you finally tear your gaze away from his dark eyes and focus on her.
She is shorter than Taehyung, with long curly hair and full lips, which are frowning as she looks between the two of you.
You look at Taehyung to explain, but he seems to be enjoying the chaos as he leans against the counter and doesn’t bother answering her.
What a great guy.
“Yeah, we went to university together a couple of years back. Took the same program. Had the same classes.” You explain.
Her eyes narrow, and you can practically see the gears in her head turning.
“Nothing happened between us, believe me. We just ran in the same circles, unfortunately.” You continue.
The only reason you were stuck with Taehyung as long as you were was that your best friend Mira, had to go and fall in love with Taehyung’s friend Hoseok, which made you all a big happy group.
You couldn’t hate Mira for it though; she found the love of her life, and Hoseok was a great guy. He popped the question last year, and Mira accepted. They were getting married in four months, which felt crazy to you because you still remember her as the small girl with braids in her hair who offered you half of her snacks at recess one day.
“You mean, fortunately. I’m a delight to have around.” He boasts as the girl next to him giggles and loops her arm around him, snuggling into his shoulder, pleased that you were not an ex-girlfriend.
“I wouldn’t call it that. But sure.” You respond.
“Ouch, you wound me. And here I was thinking we were friends. Besties even.” He croons with an exaggerated wink, and you can’t help it as your eyes roll up to the ceiling once more.
“We aren’t besties; you just pretended we were so you could cheat off me in class.” You reminded him.
“And yet you never once let me cheat. So rude you know. It’s always nice to help a friend in need.” He shoots back, enjoying this.
“We were never friends, Taehyung; we just ran in the same circles.”
He frowns.
“Is this because of the Baby Blue incident? I said I was sorry.”
You scoff.
“No Taehyung, you never did apologize for that one.”
His eyes widen.
“Well, you did look hot in that shirt. So hot, I just wanted to cool you down.” He recovers quickly, shooting you a playful smile.
The girl next to him huffs, and you cross your arms over your chest.
“Kinda gross to be talking to me like that when your girlfriend is right next to you.” You point out as he finally looks down at her and back at you, like he forgot she was even there.
“Oh, she’s not my girlfriend. We just fuck. A lot.”
She playfully smacks his arm and scolds him, as you feel heat rise to your cheeks.
“Anyway, what can I get you?” You say falsely bright, trying to change the subject, as you press the screen in front of you to get it to wake up.
“Can I get a latte macchiato with extra foam?” She says as you smile and punch it into the computer.
“And you?” You ask Taehyung, who is still blatantly staring at you.
“What is good here?” He asks, drumming his long fingers against the counter, seemingly more than okay with wasting your time.
“Everything. Now please, just order.” You almost pleaded.
“You never answered my question.” He quips as you fight the urge to strangle him.
Why can’t he just make your life easy and order something so you can move on and hopefully not see him again?
Or at least not see him until Mira’s wedding.
“You never answered mine either. What. Can. I. Get. You.”
Taehyung finally seems to accept you won’t give him any more information as he straightens up and finally takes a peek at the menu.
About freaking time.
“I’ll take a green tea and whatever dessert you think is best.” He orders with a smile.
“All desserts are the best; I’d know; I make them.” You respond before punching in his order.
His eyebrows shoot up.
“Impressive, Baby Blue,” he teases as his eyes scan the desert case to the right.
You don’t bother to answer him; instead, you turn your back and begin to make the drinks, focusing on deep breaths and not letting him get to you. He won’t ruin today. You won’t let him.
However, it seems the girl next to him isn’t having it, as the second you turn around, she begins to argue with him under her breath.
“What the fuck was that Taehyung?” She hisses as you work on the drinks and try your best to focus on the soft music overhead and not their conversation.
“What do you mean babe?” He asks as you see out of the corner of your eye, her slipping out of his embrace and crossing her arms.
“You were flirting with her. Openly flirting with her in front of me.” She hisses under her breath.
“Baby, I was not. That’s just how she and I talk. We banter,” he explains as you finish making her drink and decide to leave it on the back counter while you work on his. You don’t want to be in the middle of this.
“Calling her some stupid nickname? Calling her hot? Openly eyeing her up and down. You just fucked me half an hour ago, and you already have sights on another girl. What is wrong with you?!” She says, unable to keep her voice down, so you hear everything.
“Baby, all you and I do is fuck. That’s the point of fuck buddies. I wasn’t flirting with her, but I’m also a free man.” He defends putting his hands up.
She promptly loses it, and honestly, you don’t blame her.
“You are disgusting, Kim Taehyung! I thought you would grow up and mature, and want to settle down. And here you are drooling over some minimum wage-making barista.” She shouts as her gaze whips over to you.
“Syd, I already told you when this started, I wasn’t looking for anything serious. We went over this, and you were okay with the arrangement.” He reminds her.
You are caught between them like a deer in the headlights as you turn around and watch it all go down right in front of you.
“You are twenty-seven for fuck's sake, and you don’t act a day over seventeen! There clearly is some unresolved chemistry or some shit going on between the two of you, and I deserve better than to be tied up in it. Have a nice life Tae. Don’t bother calling me for pussy when you get bored with her.” She snaps as she turns on her heel and storms out of the café, slamming the door on the way out, making the wall décor shake.
The silence that follows is so loud you almost wonder if Taehyung could hear your heart beating under your shirt and apron.
“Are you going to…go after her?” You ask meekly as he turns away from the door and once again leans up against the counter, putting on his cool-guy persona.
“Nah, I don’t chase after women. I laid it out very clearly for her, and she thought she could change me. Don’t need to be running after that.” He responds as he runs a hand through his fluffy hair.
“I don’t know what to say here. Sorry? I guess?” You stammer as Taehyung shoots you a grin.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. The last week or so, she had been getting clingy, and I was going to talk to her about it anyway. She saved me from an awkward conversation, so that’s good.”
“Um, okay. So the drinks. Uh….” You trail off, not knowing what to say.
“You never answered my question from before, you know.” He reminded, and all the tension in the room seemed to evaporate as he put on his charming smile and fluttered his eyelashes at you.
“Which one? You asked so many I lost track.” You asked him as you brought both drinks to the front counter.
“The one about you working here. You were top of our class, the smartest person I know, and yet you work here. Nothing against people who do. I have high respect for retail and food workers. I just… Don’t get it.” He explains as you push his drink towards him and pick out a chocolate chip muffin from the case.
“When I graduated, I knew I wanted to be an author, but those things take time. So I asked the owner, Mi-Suk, if I could work full-time while I write. Well, it’s been years, and I have a book published now, but I like working here. I like baking, so I decided to keep it as my main source of income while I write.” You say to him as you place the muffin in a small brown box and close the lid to keep it fresh.
You weren’t sure why you were telling Taehyung all this. Maybe you felt bad that he had just gotten broken up with. Maybe you knew telling him the truth would finally get him to shut up.
All you knew was this was one of the first times you actually had a conversation with him, a real one without teasing and being at each other’s throats, and it was…well. Nice
“You wrote a book? What’s it called?” He asked, clearly impressed, as you wiped your hands on your apron.
“Why? You want to leave me a bad review. Payback for not helping you in university?” You tease as he grins and runs a hand through his hair once more.
“Nah, I want to know what genre you ended up picking. You were undecided back then.”
You are taken by surprise that he even remembers that. You weren’t necessarily close in university. He spent all his time trying to mooch answers off you, and you spent most of your time trying to pretend he didn’t exist.
“Uh, it’s called The Tangled Web of Love and Friendship… I ended up going with romance.” You say nervously.
Before Taehyung can respond, Morena bursts through the office door and immediately apologizes for how the doctor's call was not supposed to take that long and how they lost her files, so they had to put her on hold for an extra ten minutes to find them.
She is talking so fast and in such a hurry that she doesn’t notice Taehyung standing there.
Until she does.
“Oh. Um. Hi.” She says, her demeanour immediately changing as she smooths a hand down her apron and tucks her long hair behind her ears in a shy kind of way.
“Hi. How much do I owe?” He asks, turning back to you as Morena is staring at him in the way most women stare at Taehyung.
Starstruck.
“I’ll pay for both drinks; don’t worry about it.” He says as you ring him through.
He takes both drinks and his muffin and shoots Morena a small, polite smile before turning to you.
“Good to see you again, Baby Blue. And, uh, sorry about the shirt.” He says with a wink before turning around and exiting the cafe.
You watch him go and aren’t sure how to feel. Sure, he was still incredibly cocky and arrogant, but that small civil talk you had was…nice.
“Okay, tell me everything. That man is so hot, I just about melted to the floor. How do you know him?” Morena squeals as she jogs behind the counter to stand next to you, eyes full of excitement.
“It’s just Taehyung. We went to school together.” You say, moving behind her to let her take her spot at cash.
“Is he single? He’s so hot. Wait, are you interested? I don’t want to overstep if you are.” She chirps excitedly.
“I’m not interested; believe me. He’s all yours.” You say as you start to head back to the kitchen, already putting the interaction with Taehyung behind you.
-------
Taehyung stretched his arms over his head and groaned when he felt a pop in his back.
He knew he should have painted at his easel in his spare room, but the light in here was too perfect to miss out on, so he shoved his blankets off his bed and set down a towel before sitting cross-legged and getting to work on painting the dazzling sunset in front of him.
Painting was a way for him to calm down after a long day or to silence all of the thoughts that were buzzing around his head, and he was forever grateful that his mother introduced him to it at a young age.
While his father was all about working hard and being a rough and tough man, his mother let him explore his softer side through photography and painting.
Taehyung found a healthy balance between them, though his softer side often pulled more ladies.
What lady can resist a soft, kind, artistic soul?
Taehyung fumbled around for his phone and saw he had sixteen unread messages in his group chat with his friends, so he stood up, collected his things, and cleaned his room.
He knew if he opened the chat, he would get lost in it for hours, so he took a quick shower before even touching his phone.
The hot spray felt great against his skin, and he tilted his head back and let the warm water trickle down his scalp as he lathered his shampoo.
Taehyung took his time, letting his fingers dance along his tanned skin and letting the water relax his tense muscles from being hunched over a canvas for the last two hours.
Once he stepped out of the shower, he completed his skincare fully naked to let his body air dry, then he pulled on a pair of soft grey sweatpants; he didn’t bother with a shirt because half the time he slept only in boxers or completely naked anyway.
He turned off most of the lights around his home and settled into the warmth of his bed, pulling the covers back on and scooping up his phone to see what he missed in chat.
Jungkook and Jimin were sending pictures and raving about the getaway they just came back from.
They went to a cabin in the woods for five days, and even though they kept sending pictures of the wildlife, Taehyung knew they got away to fuck like rabbits in a secluded cabin where no one could hear them.
Those two were some of the horniest men Taehyung had ever met.
Jimin and Taehyung grew up together and became instant best friends. While everyone thought Taehyung was Jimin’s platonic soulmate, there was no doubt that Jungkook was Jimin’s romantic soulmate.
They met on the first day of university and have been inseparable ever since.
Hoseok rounded out the group chat.
Smiley, Funny, Sunshine in human form. Hoseok, whom Taehyung met through Jimin, got along so well with everyone that he became a permanent fixture in their group.
He was a year older and often seen as the go-to person for advice, as he was always open and ready to listen.
Hoseok met Mira near the end of their first year and started dating her.
Mira had it all. She was tall and smart and honestly made Hoseok so happy.
With all these couples around, you would think Taehyung would want to settle down and find his own forever person, but he liked being single.
He liked the freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted, with whom he wanted. Sydney’s little outburst today reminded him once again why he didn’t date. It was just too much work.
Taehyung was snapped from his thoughts when another message came through, and he figured he should answer instead of staring off into space holding his phone.
Taetae: Looks like fun guys! Glad you made it back safe!
Kookie: Whoa, he lives!!!
Hoba: We thought we would have to call someone to check on you.
Jiminie: Where have you been Tae?
Taehyung leaned back against his headboard and let his legs sprawl out as he typed.
Taetae: Had a busy day then came back here and painted.
Hoba: Painted?
Jiminie: What happened?
Taetae: Nothing. Why?
Kookie: Nothing? Yeah, except you only paint when something has happened or you need to get out of your head.
Taetae: Australia and I broke up. Not why I painted though. The sunset was just pretty.
A rule of thumb for Taehyung was that he never gave out his hookup’s real name. He knew his friends well enough to know they would go on a cyberstalking spree, so everyone got codenames so they couldn’t be found.
Jiminie: What happened?
Hoba: Oh no.
Taetae: Nothing major. She wanted us to be more. I didn’t and she caused a public scene. She stormed out and I let her go.
Kookie: You told her you just wanted a hookup though… right?
Taetae: I always do.
Hoba: A public scene. Where were you? I thought you guys only fucked.
Jiminie: Are you okay, Taetae?
Taetae: I’m okay Jimin. I was going to talk to her anyway because she was getting clingy so it worked out for the best.
Taetae: Yes, we fucked Hoba but we both got hungry so I took her to a café like the gentleman I am.
Taehyung trailed a hand down his bare torso as he thought back to the incident at the café. He didn’t mean to bring his friends with benefits into your café specifically… It was just the one that had the best reviews.
And he could see why. The muffin you gave him was phenomenal.
Jiminie: I'm sorry that happened.
Kookie: And in public? Please tell me it wasn’t busy.
Taetae: She got mad because she thought I was flirting with the barista.
Hoba: Were you flirting with the barista?
Taehyung barked out a laugh. His friends knew him well.
Taetae: For once no. But Hoba you have been withholding information, you know.
Jiminie: Wait, what? What info?
Hoba: Huh?
Taetae: You didn’t tell me Baby Blue still worked at The Oasis. Imagine my surprise when I see her behind the counter.
Kookie: Oh shiiiiit.
Hoba: What did you do Taehyung? She is my fiancé's best friend. Please, for the love of God, leave her alone. Mira is stressed enough from wedding planning.
Taetae: Nothing! We just talked then Australia flew off the handle
Kookie: So you were flirting then?
Jiminie: I think you can’t help but flirt when you are around her Tae. You’ve been like that for years.
Hoba: Please tell me you didn’t call her that stupid nickname to her face. You know she hates it.
TaeTae: Oops.
Hoba: Oh my God Taehyung.
Taetae: What? She called me Captain right back! And it was not flirting you two! So stop it! We do not flirt.
Jiminie: Yes but you appointed yourself the “Captain Taehyung” title in university because you thought it would get you more women.
Kookie: Did that ever actually work?
Taetae: I’ll have you know I got laid plenty of times because of that name thank you very much!
Hoba: So you flirted with her and your girl stormed out. Classy.
Taetae: We did not flirt. It was playful banter besides, Australia knew she and I were never going to be serious.
Kookie: I agree with Jimin. I think you can’t help but flirt with her. She doesn’t fall for your charms and it makes you mad
Taehyung sat back and bit his lip. He wasn’t flirting with you. He didn’t like you like that. He just liked the flustered look on your face when he teased you. It was…adorable. Plus, you were one of the only girls who didn’t immediately fall at his feet, and something about that always made him want to work harder around you. It kept him on his game because he took pride in the fact that everyone seemed to adore him.
Everyone except you.
Hoba: Please just leave her alone Tae. I’m serious! With the wedding coming up I don’t need you two at each other’s throats.
Taetae: Believe me, I was just as surprised to see her as she was to see me. Did you guys know she is a published author?
Kookie: ...Yeah?
Jiminie: Duh.
Hoba: Yes.
Taehyung frowned.
Taetae: Hoba you don’t count because you are marrying her best friend. Jimin? Kook? How did you know?
Jiminie: Because we ask about our friends we went to school with. We don’t spend our time trying to get under their skin.
Kookie: Jimin and I bought her book. I could loan it to you if you want.
Taetae: I do not spend my time trying to get under her skin. She’s just very easy to rile up.
Hoba: Oh god.
Jiminie: You mean flirt with?
Taetae: Nope. Good try though. And yes Koo I will take a look at her book. Can I come to pick it up after work tomorrow?
Kookie: Sounds good.
Taehyung dropped his phone on his chest and stared up at the ceiling. He felt weirdly proud that you did something with your degree instead of him, who ended up working an office job for his father.
Taehyung quickly pulled up his search engine and searched for your book.
His eyes widened when he saw that it was number fifteen on trending and received a lot of praise. He kept scrolling, reading review after review of people saying it was one of the best love stories they had read in a long time.
Taehyung was pleasantly surprised, as he knew you only dated one guy in university named Simon, who was an absolute pompous dickhead.
When he found out what went down between you and Simon, Jimin had to lock him in the dorm so he didn’t storm down the hall and punch Simon right in his ugly ass mouth.
He was just… protective of one of Mira’s friends, that’s all.
Taehyung set his alarm and turned out the light. He shucked off his sweatpants and pulled the covers over his naked frame.
However, sleep wouldn’t come because all he could think of
your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. yet beneath his coldness, jungkook’s unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. your life together starts—an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing and a chance at love
pairing — dom!jungkook x sub!femreader
genre — arranged marriage au, forced marriage, marriage of convenience, age gap, reader is of age, forbidden love, forced proximity, enemies to friends to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, rich ceo!jungkook, shy!reader, virgin!reader, poor!reader, obsession and possessive love, pining, slow burn, contrast of worlds, romance, drama, lots of angst, smut, fluff
warnings — 18+, explicit sex scenes, mature themes, forced marriage, emotional abuse and trauma, dark aspects, daddy issues, domestic violence references, mental health themes and struggles, smoking and drinking, grief and loss, each chapter contains their individual warnings (reader discretion is advised due to the intense, dark and potentially triggering content)
status — ongoing
taglist — [open]
「 MASTERLIST | READ ON WATTPAD 」
INDEX
⤷ 01 : a deal for her hand » 6.8k
“you’re getting married. in a week. to jeon jungkook.”
⤷ 02 : forced to say 'i do' » 5.2k
“you’re a monster just like him! i’ll never forgive you or think this is okay. you—you bought me and i'll hate you for it every day for the rest of my life!”
⤷ 03 : strangers under the same roof » 12.3k
“you’ve been through a lot, y/n. i see it in your eyes, but you're still here, still fighting… that’s not weakness. that’s a strength most people don’t have.”
⤷ 04 : an agreement between us » 8.9k
“i married you, y/n because i wanted you, because you made me feel something for the first time in years. i wanted to protect you, to give you everything and now i'm the one paying for your father's lies.”
⤷ 05 : unspoken truths and comfort » 7.2k
“until i saw you that day at your house, when your father brought you to me and you were so… alive, so sweet, even with all the sadness in your eyes. i wanted you.. not just to have you but to make you happy, to give you everything i never had.”
⤷ 06 : healing in his hold » 11.2k
“touch my wife again and you won’t live long enough to regret it. she’s my woman… and you know exactly how possessive i get when someone dares to lay a hand on what’s mine.”
⤷ 07 : soft edges of us » 9.3k
“you’ve been through enough. you don’t have to hide your pain, not from me. if you're hurting or if you need something—tell me. i’m here, i want to be here.”
⤷ 08 : losing ourselves in maldives » 10k
“you’re such a dirty little thing, aren’t you? sitting there watching me jerk off? you wish that i was fucking your pussy instead huh?”
⤷ 09 : another day in paradise » 14.6k
“i’ve never wanted a woman like this never begged on my knees for anyone but you, fuck… i’ve wanted you since the day i saw you.”
⤷ 10 : is it the end of us? » 12.6k
“you’re everything to me, y/n. i’d never hurt you, i’d rather die than do that. just let me explain once just hear me out—”
⤷ 11 : maybe it's really a sad ending » 5.4k
“you don't get to say anything about her or tell me to let her go. she's my everything you don't know what it's like to love her so much that it hurts, only for it to lose it all in a day.”
⤷ 12 : us against the world » 21.5k
“i’d chase you to the ends of the earth baby, no matter what it takes.”
⤷ 13 : sex & love » 26k
“tell me angel, do you want me to watch you being such a naughty girl? want me to see how wet you get thinking about me fucking you raw right there, bending you over and filling you up?”
⤷ 13.5 : our first time » 21k
“i want you to fuck me like you hate me. like you’ve wanted to break me for weeks.”
⤷ 14 : afterglow and filthy desires » 41.6k
“you promise you will fuck my ass one day?”
⤷ 14.5 : switchin' the positions for you » 14k
“that's it koo… eat my pussy like a good boy.”
⤷ 15 : [ to be released. ]
EXTRAS
⤷ Q&A with bbv!characters
⤷ teaser
⤷ bbv!jungkook
⤷ moodboard/aesthetic created by some of my lovely readers
[01] ⤷ play with meᴹ • Giving piano lessons to Kim Taehyung brings about a new meaning to the play experience…
[02] ⤷ late night releaseᴹ • Kim Taehyung alleviates your loneliness with a surprise late night call…
[03] ⤷ white shirt, red ribbonᴹ • Wearing Kim Taehyung’s white shirt lands you in a steamy situation one evening…
[04] ⤷ sweet surrenderᴹ • Having a father who works for Kim Taehyung’s record company has its perks, but nothing prepares you for the memorable encounter you have with the man himself...
[05] ⤷ back to youᴹ • After completion of his military service, Kim Taehyung returns to you in Paris for an unforgettable reunion...
[06] ⤷ beautiful • He’s so beautiful, you can’t help but watch Kim Taehyung sleep…
[07] ⤷ releaseᴹ • Not quite ready to go all the way yet, when Kim Taehyung seeks release, you decide to please him in another way…
[08] ⤷ favours • Your designs for an album cover have been selected by Kim Taehyung, who insists on meeting with you personally. Your life will never be the same again…
[09] ⤷ soft whispers • Amidst the barrage of endless public scrutiny and backlash that follow him daily, Kim Taehyung seeks comfort with you…
[10] ⤷ satisfactionᴹ • Kim Taehyung wants you to satisfy him...
[11] ⤷ in your love • Moments of being in love with Kim Taehyung...
[12] ⤷ bad behaviourᴹ • You. Kim Taehyung. One elevator. Jealousy...
[13] ⤷ when you least expect it • A chance encounter with your new neighbour, Kim Taehyung, turns into a friendship filled with sweet moments, and the promise of something beautiful.
[14] ⤷ after hoursᴹ • One night whilst working late, you encounter Kim Taehyung, the very hot janitor who has you wanting to break every professional rule in the book for him.
[15] ⤷ miss me?ᴹ • Coming face to face for the first time in months with Kim Taehyung, it becomes impossible to deny the heated attraction between you…
[16] ⤷ velvet hour • ( drabble )
[17] ⤷ proximity • When you are paired with Kim Taehyung for a Cartier cover, the brief is simple −intimacy without narrative. What unfolds across three days of shooting blurs the line between performance and attraction, and what begins in front of the camera slowly forgets where it ends…
[18] ⤷ kissing you • Kissing Kim Taehyung...
[19] ⤷ recklessᴹ • An unexpected reunion with ex Kim Taehyung, refined by distance and desire, proves that you have never stopped being his…
[20] ⤷ feverᴹ • Kim Taehyung. You. The VIP lounge. Intense, irresistible attraction that leads to an unforgettable night...
[21] ⤷ run, rabbit, run • Taehyung’s jealousy causes you to reach breaking point in your relationship, but can you really escape him…
[22] ⤷ rain against your skin • Meeting Taehyung in the rain...
[23] ⤷ searching • A year ago, you met Kim Taehyung and sparks flew, but work commitments prevented those sparks from turning into flames. Unexpectedly, in the least likely place, you bump into him again…
[24] ⤷ cherry cola kisses • Cherry Cola and kisses with Kim Taehyung.
[01] ⤷ in the shadows of your eyesᴹ ( in progress ) •
( chapters ) one | two | three | four | five |
It started off like something straight out of a clichéd drama −an ordinary bargirl and an idol− a meeting scripted by fate, mutual attraction and the lingering flicker of a potential romance against all odds. But as things progress, you start to discover that behind the handsome, innocent exterior of the man beloved by millions lies something darker −obsessive− that both frightens and exhilarates you…
❛ ──bts main masterlist ( ❛ p a r t • o n e ❜ ) | ( ❛ p a r t • t w o ❜ )❜
Welcome back to my second taehyung fanfic list! The last time I updated the list with Taehyung was in 2024… it took me a long time, didn't it? But I hope to make up for the wait. I asked for it, and the universe delivered only the best and most refined pieces of literature!
It also took a while because, no joke, I went through my likes all the way back to March to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything (it was a long two and a half days 😮💨)
But here we are! And this time I wanted to show that graphic design is my passion, so I made this banner which I think turned out particularly beautiful. Just saying 💅 (I was happy to have achieved a result that pleased me)
And last but not least: I would like to thank and acknowledge every fanfic on this list. Thank you to each author for bringing these works into the world. Show them some love.
with love,
your tangie <3
don’t forget to check my masterlist if you liked this one!
🌟Mascot by @matchastwb | pairing: taehyung x reader | genre: high school au, fluff, mutual pining, humor | completed
summary: when you're somehow roped into being the school's temporary mascot for a basketball game, star player kim taehyung (aka the guy you've had a massive crush on for the past two years) mistakes you for his friend and reveals a secret you'd never be able to guess.
🌟Day by day by @hueseok | pairing: taehyung x reader | genre: fluff | smut | strangers to lovers au | a dash of supposed one-night stand au | eventual established relationship au | completed
summary: as surprising as it sounds, you and taehyung didn’t just meet after a considerable amount of drinks, shameless dance floor grinding, and a one-night stand turned legit relationship—because as it turns out, you two have met each other approximately three more instances in the past, every encounter building up until finally, the universe decided it was time.
🌟Your husband really wants a baby! by @cookieebutter | tangie note: This isn't specifically about Taehyung, but I took artistic liberties and made it so | genre: smut | completed
🌟Under All That Shy by @mrsvante | pairing: taehyung x reader | genre: office au, coworkers to lovers, fluffy and filthy | two parts completed
summary: introducing the softest man alive who’s been in love with you since the day you offered him half your highlighter pack and smiled like it meant something. he fixes the printer without being asked. brings you the wrong coffee order on purpose and blushes every time you say thank you.
for years, he’s loved you quietly. from a respectful distance. never daring to hope you might look at him the way he’s always looked at you—like you hung the moon. But now? there’s a chance. And taehyung, who has never been bold, never been reckless, decides this time… he has to be. because some things are worth the risk. and you’ve always been one of them.
🌟The chapter that got away by @vesipha | pairing: ex!taehyung x reader | genre: angst + fluff | completed
summary: you said you were done with your ex, kim taehyung. that was before the strawberry soju, the fire-lit arguments, and the kiss you didn’t see coming.
🌟All I Want for Christmas (Is You) by @mytaegiheart | pairing: taehyung x reader | genre: fluff | completed
summary: Jin’s annual ugly Christmas sweater party is supposed to be all laughter, chaos, and questionable fashion choices. But when Taehyung sneaks you away from the googly‑eye disaster in the living room, the night turns into something far more unforgettable. Three years of love, laughter, and late‑night ramen lead to one velvet box wrapped in Charlie Brown paper—and a proposal that makes even the ugliest sweater look beautiful.
🌟Maybe i do by @chateautae | pairing : ceo!taehyung x reader | genre: arranged marriage!au, ceo!tae, s2l!au, eventual smut, fluff, angst | completed
summary: maybe you love each other, maybe you don’t. when a deal between your fathers leaves you forcefully wedding kim taehyung, arguably seoul’s most powerful CEO, you’re prepared for a loveless marriage of eternal regret and unhappiness. but maybe, it doesn’t turn out that way after all.
🌟Marshmallows and Report Cards by @untaemedqueen | pairing: Single Dad!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader | genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Fluff, Smut | completed
🌟Under the sun by @yourfavtangerine | pairing: Surfer!Taehyung x reader | genre: Strangers to lovers to strangers, one night stand, smut | completed
summary: You came at the beach to relax and take a break from your tiring work. Your plan? Spending the day doing nothing. But it changes when you meet him, a sexy surfer named Taehyung.
🌟Ex-husband taehyung head canons by @mrsvante | pairing: ex husband!taehyung x reader | genre: angst | completed
summary: our ex-husband is and was always in love, he just couldn’t properly expresss it. it comes to him too late, and he respects your wishes and agrees to the divorce; then you tell him you’re pregnant.
🌟Pretty little mess by @cigarettesuga | pairing: taehyung x reader + ot7 examples | genre: smut | completed
summary: in which you ride their thigh and they watch you come undone
🌟Too Long; Didn’t Read by @fortunexkookie | pairing: taehyung x reader | genre: AU: College + Enemies to Lovers AU, Comedy, smut, Fluff | completed
summary: This is the story of how you trolled your way into Taehyung’s heart.
🌟Boyfriend Taehyung by @cheeseceli | pairing: taehyung x reader | genre: fluff, headcanons | completed
summary: "can you write dating taehyung headcanons?"
🌟LINES CROSSED by @chimcake | pairing: fuckboy!taehyung x reader | genre: enemies to lovers, smut | completed
summary: desperate for a roommate and drowning in rent, you make the worst possible choice—kim taehyung, the campus fuckboy who hasn’t stopped bothering you since you rejected him.
🌟“Why do we keep pretending we don’t want to kiss each other?” by @belleeebelleee | pairing: taehyung x reader | genre: fluff | completed
🌟After midnight arrangements by @yourfavtangerine | pairing: older man!taehyung x young!reader | genre: smut, age gap, friends with benefits/fuck buddies trope | completed
summary: "Can you make Taehyung smutshot with Age gap and breeding kink"
Tangie note: sub!taehyung agenda below - I LOVE THIS FANFICS SO SO MUCH
🌟TO MY OFFICE, MR.KIM! by @seokbite | pairing: office sex nerdy!taehyung x boss!reader | genre: smut | completed
🌟Like a Reflex by @layover-mp7 | pairing: nerdy salary man sub!tae x dom fem!reader | genre: smut | completed
summary: Taehyung was every mother's dream son-in-law. He worked hard at his high-paying IT job; he woke up early to go to the gym, ate dinner at the exact same time, and went to bed early. You, on the other hand, are not one to settle down; you are young, gorgeous, smart, and independent. He’s disciplined in all areas of his life, except when you’re around. When he runs into you again on a night out with his friends, he knows that he’s about to be a puddle in your hand: you're the only one who can bring out the type of man he really is.
don’t forget to check my masterlist if you liked this one!
So… are your bellies full? Did I feed you well? I hope so 😏
wave— your weekly anonymous psychoanalysis on cute boys with broad shoulders and pretty girls in tiny skirts. make sure to not miss any updates from campus’ favorite emotionally invasive blog!
jeon jungkook is a notorious lady pleaser with a weak spot for pretty girls with big vocabularies. so when he unexpectedly meets you, a journalism major who happens to be the prettiest girl he has ever seen, he terribly, miserably folds.
PAIRING: fuckboy!jk x journalist!reader
GENRE: college au, fluff, smut, angst
WC: 12.5k (for part 1)
WARNINGS/DETAILS: fem!reader, ie major!jk, secret identity reader, jk thinks she’s soo pretty :( forced proximity?, reader’s kinda selfish sometimes, jk’s so horny the entire time, jk briefly kisses another girl, very cheesy college vibes, jealousy, alcohol consumption, smut wise: titty sucking, he hits it from the back, cowgirl, fingering, big d jk always
NOTES: okay you see, i write everything with the entirety of my heart and soul but this one carries details that are a bit too special to me compared to anything i’ve shared with you before. of course it’s just another silly little fanfiction but i got a bit absorbed into the characters and world building. also it feels like i’ve been working on this for ages so i wanted to share it in two parts bcs i was gonna lose my mind if i didn’t post at least parts of it soon enough. i hope you guys feel and enjoy this the same way i did while writing <3
𑣲 banner by 𑣲 divider by
There's a specific kind of loneliness that exists exclusively in university boys who project their fear of intimacy onto women and ruin their perceptions of love solely to keep their fragile egos away from slipping through their fingertips and breaking down like blades of glass.
Not because they're incapable of being loved. I'd say the situation is quite the opposite, actually. People like them are usually loved too loudly, too quickly. They become socially unavoidable before they become emotionally available— having mastered the art of making people feel personally seen while remaining uniquely difficult to access in return.
And maybe, that's where the actual problem begins.
Charm is easier to preform than vulnerability, attention is more addicting when you've never experienced a form of raw intimacy, and a real conversation probably feels worse than a pair of red, glossy lips.
Every generation repackages the same socially gifted boy with commitment issues and calls him different names, swearing this one is different than the last.
But surprise, it's not.
This year's version just happens to wear leather jackets and lip rings to nine a.m lectures while also somehow possessing actual analytical skills in addition to social ones— perhaps the most alarming thing about Jeon Jungkook is that he isn't a business major.
Because boys like Jeon Jungkook learn early that if they remain entertaining enough, nobody will notice how carefully they avoid stillness; as though silence might physically harm them. Does an engineering major make him interesting? Maybe. But does it fuel his hedonistic lifestyle? Not exactly.
The bass is thudding loud enough to make the kitchen cabinets tremble with every beat, pulsing through the frat house in uneven waves that settle through your body like a second heartbeat. Alcohol that's cheap enough to poison you on an empty stomach spills over sticky counter tops, and the room reeks with the smell of warm beer mixed with something disgustingly similar to your ex boyfriend's cologne— you're going to throw up.
But you don't. Because, well, you can't.
So you keep holding a cup of cranberry vodka in your hand despite accommodating a strong dislike for the drink, you keep your smile warm and flirty even though deeply missing the comfort of your bed and wanting nothing more than to rewatch Mamma Mia for the third time this month. And you keep bobbing your head along to the music even though you swear any house beat without proper lyrics would be enough to kill a fly.
You keep your chin high and your posture straight because you need this. You need something tangible. A reaction, anything capable of sitting inside your palm until you can carry it home and pour into words later. Because you've already wasted at least three hours of your precious friday night here and you are not leaving unless you find something worth pocketing.
Luckily for you, said Jeon Jungkook is standing at the center of it all.
His back is pressed against the kitchen counter as a girl keeps on kissing him as if the birth and death of her universe lies somewhere between his lips. Her fists are tangled in the collar of his leather jacket, tugging his body closer and closer into her smaller frame like distance is completely unnecessary, like she needs his body to melt and mold with hers to embody the entirety of proximity itself.
A familiar voice shouts his name from the living room, but Jungkook doesn't budge until someone else reaches over to steal the drink straight out of his hand, laughing into her mouth unapologetically.
He pulls away just enough to see whoever it is that's calling him, hands firming up on the girl's waist to stabilize himself. "Give me thirty seconds!" He shouts back casually.
The response is immediate. "You said that twenty minutes ago!"
"Then clearly I'm busy."
The girl in front of him rolls her eyes, hands loosening on his collar before dropping down to his chest. "You're an asshole."
"Mhm, you think?" He asks with a smirk playing on his lips, looking down at her.
"Do you ever take a break or is your case of over sexuality a medical condition?" Mingyu complains, drinking the beer he has just taken from Jungkook's hand as their shoulders bump into each other.
Jungkook finally pulls away fully, shifting closer to Mingyu. "You're obsessed with me."
Mingyu scoffs. "Unfortunate for Seoul's female population."
"Guys," Yugyeom interrupts, looking up from his phone with a sudden delight on his face, as if the light from his phone's screen has traveled and bloomed again behind his pupils. "Wave posted."
The reaction arrives in less than a second, because Wave had long stopped being just another anonymous campus blog sometime during sophomore year. It became something students enthusiastically refreshed during lectures, sent feverish screenshots to group chats at ungodly hours. Because everyone somehow grew to love Wave— until they became the subject of it.
Jungkook closes his eyes briefly, sparing a fraction of a second to recollect the exasperation in his heartbeat, inhaling slowly. "I swear if this psychopath wrote about me again—"
Yugyeom's grin widens. "Bad news, superstar."
"For fuck's sake." Jungkook mutters, snatching the phone away from Yugyeom's hand while Mingyu's laugh echos loudly from besides.
The familiar layout of wave flashes straight into his eyes, light blue and dreamy and so fucking pretty for a blog this cruel. Well, cruel would be an exaggeration, if you weren't Jeon Jungkook.
"Oh my god." Mingyu gasps. "Second paragraph is crazy."
"Crazy accurate." Jaehyun corrects, reaching over Jungkook's shoulder to keep reading.
"This person needs psychiatric help." He says flatly.
"Mhm." Jaehyun hums, taking a sip of his drink. "You say that because you secretly agree with everything."
Okay, you see, that's the problem with Wave.
The issue had never really been the concept itself, because Wave has always been undeniably good. Jungkook can survive a day or two of public embarrassment. God knows he has spent the last two years of university building an almost concerning amount of immunity to people's uncalled opinions. The problem is that whoever it is that's sitting behind that stupid light blue website is unsettlingly gifted at noticing things they absolutely shouldn't. The tiny, quiet things people lock somewhere safe beneath their hearts and reveal only when they trust someone with their lives.
It suffocates him sometimes, not that he'd ever say it like that.
"I'd rather die than agree with this hypocrite." He says instead.
Jaehyun nods dismissively. "Right."
The girl beside Jungkook leans over his shoulder, eyes laced with curiosity. "Wait, keep reading."
"Use your damn phone." He shuts her off immediately, handing the phone back to Yugyeom.
Yugyeom grabs his phone in one hand while he shakes Jungkook's shoulder dramatically with the other. "Did you do something to this writer we don't know of?"
"Why are you acting like i personally asked to be publicly humiliated?"
Mingyu shrugs. "Because you clearly enjoy it a little.
"I actually don't." Jungkook argues.
Majority of the people around him dissolve slowly, disappearing into the crowd to find their own group of friends to gossip on the article that just got posted, leaving Jungkook with his own group of friends who unfortunately do not make up the IQ of a normal person even when merged together.
"Hey," Jungkook says like he suddenly remembered something so crucial, angling his body towards Jaehyun. "Have you seen Mark?"
Jaehyun's brows pull together. "Thought he was coming later."
"He texted me like an hour ago."
"Your secret little rendezvous?" Yugyeom asks knowingly, wiggling his eyebrows.
Jungkook scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes. "Shut the fuck up."
Mingyu gasps dramatically. "You're cheating on us with the music major?"
"None of you are funny." Jungkook says, shaking his head once before letting his gaze drift around the kitchen while Mingyu and Yugyeom start arguing about something else entirely.
Then he spots you.
Oh.
Jungkook knows you. Okay, he doesn't exactly know you, but he knows of you. Through Mark, through Yugyeom, through this and through that but never truly by heart.
You, with a face carefully designed by gods, standing there mindlessly as if you aren't the textbook definition of beauty itself. You, who'd without a doubt get his cock rock solid in mere seconds by rolling your eyes and laughing at how dumb he is. You, who'd pretend to not be fazed by him while very obviously blessing him with flirty smiles and inviting eyes.
You would be…mildly inconvenient for him.
"Why are you staring at her like that?" Jaehyun asks from besides him.
Jungkook tears his eyes away immediately. "You're seeing things."
Mingyu laughs loudly, chiming in a beat later. "You literally are."
"Shut up."
"You don't even know her like that." Yugyeom adds, grinning.
"I know enough."
Jaehyun lifts his brows accusingly. "That is?"
Jungkook opens his mouth, but closes it again in no time. Because somehow saying prettiest girl on campus who'd drop him to his knees by casually using words he has to mentally spell twice feels a little excessive for a girl he's never had a proper conversation with in his life.
"Mark's friends with her, right?" He asks instead.
Jaehyun nods slowly, a little suspicious. "Yeah."
"Cool." Jungkook replies. And before any of his friends can say another word, he's pushing himself away from the counter and walking towards you.
Mingyu gasps dramatically behind him. "Oh my god, he's approaching."
"Act natural!" Yugyeom shouts over the music.
Jungkook scoffs in exasperation, but he doesn't turn around, walking towards you as he flips them off by waving a hand behind.
You notice him coming over almost immediately. Because Jeon Jungkook isn't exactly one to go unnoticed by many, and that sadly seems to cover you too. There is something annoyingly conspicuous about him, visible even in places that are so crowded you lose your friend within the bare minute of getting there.
Maybe it's the broad shoulders, maybe it's the tattoos and the lip rings that usually wink at you before even he gets the chance to, or maybe it's the fact that everybody seems to orbit around him with a push and pull so heavy it feels like he's the center of gravity itself.
It's probably the shoulders.
Miyeon, your gorgeous best friend, notices him too as his steps get closer and closer to where you are standing. Her lips twitch knowingly around the rim of her cup. "Well," She murmurs into her drink. "This should be interesting."
Jungkook stops right in front of you before you can reply to your friend. "Hey." He greets easily. And annoyingly enough, his voice sounds exactly the way the rest of him looks.
You tilt your head slightly, half empty cup swaying between your fingers. "Hey yourself."
Jungkook blinks once before letting out a breathy laugh. "Oh, this is already going badly for me."
Miyeon snorts into her drink, but you quickly nudge her arm before she says something she shouldn't. "I'm looking for Mark." Jungkook continues, gaze shifting back towards you. "Have you seen him?"
"You're looking for Mark?" You repeat, cocking a brow.
And for some reason, Jungkook's smile widens. "We were supposed to meet."
The answer catches you a little off-guard. Not because Jungkook knowing Mark is strange. It's not, everybody knows Mark. But because there is something in the way he says it. He's saying it seriously, with intention. Like whatever they're meeting about actually matters to him and that's not something you can coherently place somewhere solid in your head.
"You sound committed to that." You say before you can stop yourself.
Jungkook squints his eyes. "I can commit to things."
You take a sip of your drink, taking your time with the action as your brows raise with something laced with accusation. "You sure?"
Jungkook's eyes widen just slightly as Miyeon turns away, trying to hide her laughter. But she cackles anyway. "That's crazy." He says, a loose grin forming on his face. "You know absolutely nothing about me."
"You don't exactly strike me as somebody mysterious."
"Yeah?" He breathes. "What do i strike you as?"
You roll your eyes, poking the inside of your cheek with your tongue. And whatever that happens in Jungkook's chest— it's deeply unfortunate.
This is exactly his type, horrifically so. Pretty has never been an issue for Jungkook, he has been surrounded with pretty all his life. Pretty and mean, on the other hand, is apparently where the problem in his pants begin.
But before either of you can continue, Jungkook's name is yelled from across the room. "There you are!" Mingyu shouts, throwing an arm around Jungkook's shoulders after he makes his way towards you. "Some girl is throwing up on Jaehyun's shoes because you disappeared."
Jungkook closes eyes briefly, inhaling a long breath. "See? What's commitment if not that?"
You laugh despite yourself, loud and real and so fucking pretty Jungkook thinks he might've forgotten how to breathe properly.
"I'll tell Mark you were looking for him." You say.
"Appreciate it." He says before stepping backward towards the kitchen, then pauses suddenly. "By the way," He starts, causing you to raise a brow. "You're prettier than your articles sound."
Your expression freezes for a beat, lips parted and head still tilted. A lazy smirk dances on Jungkook's features before disappearing back into the crowd behind Mingyu, leaving you standing there with your drink still halfway raised.
Miyeon slowly turns towards you. "What the fuck was that about?"
Your eyes linger on the hallway Jungkook disappeared into, gaze floating like you've just wandered into an ocean with no trace of the start and end. Because no, you don't have an idea on whatever the fuck that was either.
Your phone buzzes before your thoughts can swallow you up any further.
namjoon: still awake?
Your eyes flick between the small digital clock on the corner and the text in the middle of your screen before your fingers move over the keyboard.
you: i'm at yugyeom's party
namjoon: you posted during a frat party?
You roll your eyes even though he can't see you, though you're sure he feels it behind the screen.
you: it was queued
namjoon: ah
namjoon: coffee at mine?
namjoon: you can sleep over
You lift your head at something Miyeon says, nodding your head without really listening to what she's talking about. You tuck your bottom lip into your teeth, weighting your options before deciding to give in.
you: wow, the honor
you: on my way
The city feels different after midnight.
Maybe not quieter, because noise never really dies down on friday nights. People like to laugh, dance, live. Because modern time doesn't really allow love anymore. Because people spare friday nights for themselves and keep it tucked somewhere they know it belongs. Because people yearn to belong and time doesn't like to stretch and bend around desire. It just moves.
The city feels softer, as if somebody reached over and mellowed the space so that everyone could find a place for themselves. At least, that's exactly the way you feel when your uber drops you off outside of Namjoon's apartment building twenty minutes after you leave Yugyeom's place. The clock is ticking past two in the morning, and by the time you make your way upstairs, your feet are aching and your social battery has officially ran out.
When the door opens, Namjoon greets you with that same old warmth you've had memorized for nearly four years— almost the entirety of your college years. He gives you a hug before disappearing back into the hallway, informing you of how the coffee is almost done.
His place is dim except for the kitchen, where a warm light spills in and drapes over the entire apartment in a yellow hue. It always smells the same here. Not in a weird way, not at all. Just very…specific. It smells like books that have already been read at least twice and expensive coffee beans that are too niche for you to have any understanding of— because to the normal person, they all just taste the same.
Definitely not to Namjoon.
You slip your heels off by the door, following him into the kitchen after dropping your purse somewhere on the couch. "Do you want to lose all the sleep left in your system?" You ask, gaze dragging over the empty coffee mugs on the counter.
Namjoon stands in the kitchen with his back turned to you, dressed comfortably in some gray sweatpants and a dark colored hoodie. His glasses sit low on his nose, hair falling onto his forehead in messy strands. "I'm writing something." He says, a soft smile forming on his face as he pours in the hot liquid carefully. "How was the party?"
You climb onto the counter, plopping your body onto the marble as your legs dangle above the height. You unashamedly stare at him for a moment, taking in the sweats and the glasses and the fact that he somehow still looks put together despite the hour. Because Namjoon looks a little unfair like this— annoyingly intelligent and completely at home.
"It was loud."
Namjoon hums, handing you the mug. "The alcohol was terrible, i spent the whole night trying to keep Miyeon away from Yugyeom, and someone cried in the bathroom after throwing up on the floor."
"Sounds typical to me."
You take a sip of the coffee, then groan immediately because it's still too hot to drink, before setting it down with exaggerated annoyance dancing on your face. You trail behind him into the living room, pulling your legs beneath yourself as you sink into the couch while he settles right next to you with his laptop balanced over one knee.
"You're actually writing." You say, eyeing him over the rim of your mug.
"I told you." Namjoon says, giving you a brief glance before he turns his attention back onto the screen.
Your eyes absentmindedly drift towards the screen of his laptop, floating over the margins that are filled with notes, sections that are highlighted, pages filled with comments and edits that are all very Namjoon. And for a second, for the entirety of a thousand milliseconds that feel way longer than it actually is, your own laptop sitting abandoned inside the void of your apartment suddenly feels eccentrically heavier.
"My advisor hates me."
Namjoon doesn't look up. "Did he say that?"
You sink lower into the couch, sipping your coffee slowly without forgetting to blow onto it. You can not burn your mouth again, not a chance. "No, but he looked disappointed."
Namjoon sighs. "I know it sucks and you want to strangle him to the depths of death, but he just has high expectations from you."
You groan dramatically. "It's so annoying."
Namjoon hums, nodding along as his eyes scan through the screen. "How's the thesis going?"
That's when you gift him the pleasure of absolute silence. Because unfortunately, deeply unfortunately, somewhere along the way, your thesis and Wave started bleeding a little too much into each other and now everything feels way too personal and disgustingly intimate.
Not entirely, of course. Wave is still just a tool for you to learn and observe without tracing everything back to yourself. But lately, it has started to feel a little less objective and a little more on the edge.
You didn't lose the hang of it, not really. You're still the same girl writing with the same devotion for the same purpose. Just…there has been small slips here and there, noticeable only to people who know you well enough to search for them.
You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. "It's progressing."
Namjoon's eyes drift towards you, and your gaze lifts until it catches his own in the air. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You ask when he stares at you for a second too long.
"You don't sound too truthful."
You scoff, then roll your eyes before grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it in his face. But being the man he is, Namjoon catches it without looking. Damn him.
"You write about Jungkook a lot." He says suddenly.
You shrug. "He's easy material."
"You've written about him four times by now."
You pause, squinting your eyes as every piece of writing you've ever published in the last two years flashes through your eyes. Because there is no fucking way you've written about that tattooed excuse of sex on legs for four entire times. "Four?"
"Four." He repeats.
You drop your shoulders in defeat. "You're very unlikeable tonight."
"I'm just providing you with my opinions." He says, typing while speaking. "You can't ask for help if you aren't going to take my advice."
You pull your knees closer against your chest. "I don't ask for your opinions."
"You called me crying over an econ elective last year."
You sit up immediately, placing the mug onto the coffee table. "Okay, first of all, it wasn't entirely like that—"
"I distinctly remember you saying, and i quote, what do i do now, Joon, my future is over." He states dramatically, voice disgustingly sweet and high pitched as he mocks you.
You stare at him, frozen and absolutely horrified. "I was vulnerable."
Namjoon hums, and you let yourself fall backwards dramatically against the couch cushions, throwing an arm over your face as if that's enough to physically protect yourself from embarrassment and humiliation.
It doesn't, of course. Because nothing ever really preserves you from embarrassment when it's Kim Namjoon you're talking about.
A comfortable silence settles into the living room, allowing you drown yourself inside the small indicators of life around you. You can hear his keyboard clicking softly as he keeps working on something you have no idea about, the occasional scratch of the ceramic mug against the wood table, the faint jazz pieces playing from the speakers hidden somewhere further inside the apartment. And just as you were about to part your lips and make a comment on how his furniture is so outdated, he beats you to it.
"Oh."
Your arm slowly lowers from your face, eyes squinting and peaking above it. "What?"
"Are you still helping Mark with that project?"
Oh yourself.
Everything in you physically stills, slowly and painfully, like dread is begging to be felt properly until your bones ache and sizzle with the weight of it. Because you— catastrophically, miserably, terribly; had forgotten all about it. Not in a small, oops, i should probably text him back way either. No, you had forgotten in a way that bordered on a severe case of friendship betrayal and negligence.
You close your eyes, inhaling a long breath. "Hypothetically speaking…"
You did, and of course he notices. Because if Kim Namjoon has spent four years studying journalism, he has spent six studying you.
Namjoon had become one of those people that had entered your life quietly yet stayed just as loudly, making himself impossible to imagine a life without in absolutely no time. Just like wine or Wave or the concerning amount of mediocre sex you've been having since your last boyfriend.
You had met him during the first few weeks of your freshman year when he was already a junior and head editor of the university journal. Back then, he existed in your head less as a person and more as a terrifying academic urban legend you'd never admit looking up to. But you didn't have to admit it out loud, because even the older students spoke about him with an obnoxious amount of respect.
You hated him.
But obviously, that didn't last long. As you kept sharing nights filled with stories, words and worlds no one knew existed besides the two of you, he started to matter. He'd remembered your exam dates, bought you coffee during finals, edited your essays at three in the morning. He'd answer your phone calls involving emotional breakdowns over electives and boys and broken sink pipes, then solve whatever crisis you were having in little to no time.
So naturally, somewhere along the way, your editor had turned into an older brother and became annoyingly good at reading you— so much that you're sure he keeps a version of you that's all bare and vulnerable somewhere hidden in his furthest drawers.
Because he knows you. Good enough to notice the tiny moments where Wave feels a little too personal. To notice the way that sometimes, your thesis blurs into the rest of your life and you get caught up in the gravity of it all, so much that the project you'd promised to help with weeks ago somehow slips away from your mind despite Mark being one of your dearest friends.
Because Namjoon doesn't forget, and Mark will definitely kill you if you don't show up at his studio with breakfast and two cups coffee by tomorrow morning.
Musicians who are brave enough to lay their souls open between rhymes and harmonies have always felt intimate.
Music is vulnerable, always has been. Everyone knows that. But there is something utterly naked and personal beyond the in reach vulnerability of it all.
It's the little things.
The version of them that existed on a random Tuesday in October, the argument they never really recovered from yet still shaped them into whoever they are today. The person they almost loved, the one they did love…They leave pieces of themselves behind between late nights and early mornings, and it never matters whether it's accidental or not. Because everything they touch transitions into something that carries their traces and that's enough to feel their souls on top of your own.
And, i think, that truly sums up Mark Lee as a person.
Because Mark has always felt like someone composed of the little things. He'd attach songs to memories you won't realize matters until months later, respond to texts even if it wakes him up from his sweetest dreams. He'd turn feelings into poems and records then archive them in anything that's permanent.
In college, people tend to think popularity belongs to the loudest person in the room. But despite being loved through the depths of the ocean until the very end of Milky Way, Mark Lee has never really been loud.
Just unforgettable.
Three days later, you find yourself standing outside of Mark's studio with two iced coffees in one hand and a kind of resentment that's loud yet entirely unserious in the other. Because Mark has spent the last forty eight hours guilt tripping you through frantic phone calls and dramatic text messages. And you, for some reason, can not for the life of you bring yourself accept the fact that you've forgotten your promise and properly apologize.
At least you got the coffees.
You push the studio door open without knocking, because Mark has never once respected your privacy and therefore doesn't exactly deserve it in return. As the door falls unleashed and sunlight spills until it drapes over you in a golden glow, there are a few things you expect. A Justin Bieber song Justin Bieber himself has probably forgotten about, unfinished coffees and half empty beer bottles scattered around the room, maybe even his ex girlfriend lounging somewhere in the corner because you're almost entirely certain Mark would slip straight back into her heart if she ever left it even slightly open.
But Jeon Jungkook is not one of them.
He's sitting besides the mixing desk, leaned back comfortably in his chair wearing a black hoodie with headphones hanging around his neck, one leg bouncing lazily beneath the table while he scrolls through something on his phone.
He looks up from the screen when the weight of your presence becomes impossible to ignore. He blinks once, twice, then smiles.
Shit, he has dimples.
"Well," Jungkook says slowly, leaning back further into the chair as he drags his eyes over you. "This just got better than i expected."
Your reply comes immediately. "No."
Jungkook blinks, eyes widening just slightly. "I…didn't even say anything."
"You thought of it."
He cocks a brow. "Thought of what?"
You roll your eyes, dropping your purse onto the table before leaning your hip against it. "You know what." You say, and he silently stares at you for a second longer before the corner of his mouth starts twitching.
This doesn't make sense. Not at all.
Because certain people feel attached to certain places long before they step into them. Mark belongs in studios and beneath the stars and somewhere right in the middle of your heart. Namjoon belongs beneath the warmth of yellow kitchen lights and homes that silence everything else until it's quieter than the rest of the world. Miyeon belongs anywhere between flowers and pretty cafes that somehow never match up to her beauty.
And Jungkook…Jungkook belongs beneath flashing lights that paint his features in colors that would look good on nobody but him. He belongs in crowded spaces and with girls who lean in a little too close whenever he speaks. He belongs anywhere loud and alive.
Just not here. Because music feels too intimate for him somehow.
"You know." He says after a moment, still smiling. "I thought there was a chance i imagined you."
You let out a low chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest after placing the coffees onto the table. "That's a little dramatic."
"I'm being dead serious."
"Well, you approached me." You say, tilting your head slightly, letting your eyes drift over him before they return back to his face. "And you don't seem to have that strong of an imagination."
"You're mean."
You groan playfully, leaning your hip against the armrest of his chair. "That's so not true."
A small smirk plays out on his lips. "Good thing i like my girls with a little attitude."
Pardon? Your girls?
"You're being very brave today."
Jungkook stares at you for a second, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek in a way that's not rude, just playful enough to carry traces of something cocky beneath it. He lets the silence melt and sit right in the middle of your bodies for a beat too long, then speaks.
"You're flirting with me right now."
Your head snaps towards him immediately, and you almost choke on your own saliva. Not because you're shocked. How can you be when he has built a whole persona on candied words and pretty girls and an ego that's definitely bigger than what's between his legs. It's because he says it so easily, and you hate that.
So no, absolutely not. You, flirting with Jungkook? No way in hell.
You narrow your eyes. "No, I'm not."
"Mhm." He hums, swinging left and right in his seat with a growing grin on his face.
Okay, no. That's enough. You're not doing this any longer. You don't want Jeon fucking Jungkook to think he has a chance at having you naked and open and wide on his stupid iron man mattress. You don't want to demonstrate the size of his cock with your hands when Miyeon asks on girls night, and you most definitely don't want Mark walking in on you bickering like two horny teenagers with the self control of fucking rabbits in heat.
So you change the subject.
"You sing?" Brilliant.
And peculiarly, his smile softens a little at your question. Not drastically, not enough for the entire room to shift and bend around him until it's his breath only you're drowning inside. But it's enough. Enough for you to notice the way something gentler briefly peeks through before hiding again. And you, for some reason, find yourself reaching over and folding it carefully to hide somewhere safe amongst all the other precious details people accidentally leave behind. Somewhere only you carry the map of and know how to find again.
Jungkook glances up. "Sometimes."
Sometimes.
It's funny how he says it, like it matters too much that his tongue can not carry the weight of it, so he just shrugs it off like it's anything. Sometimes, he says. As if Mark would ever involve someone who does it just whenever. As if Mark would ever reach for something that's sitting right in middle of his soul and hand out a piece of it to just anyone.
"You look judgemental." He adds.
You shrug. "I'm just surprised."
Jungkook's eyebrows lift at your answer, like he knows there is another thought sitting beneath it, quietly waiting for the permission to exit. But before he can get the chance to ask about it further, the studio door suddenly swings open.
Mark walks into the room with an amount of rush that should be concerning for this time of the morning. His hair is messy, bag is tucked beneath his arm and an iced americano is trying to balance clumsily between his fingers as he tries finding a place to squeeze himself in.
"Okay, first of all. Traffic should be considered the worse case of masochism the human kind has done to itself." Mark rambles, barely waiting for the door to close behind him before speaking, words tumbling out of his mouth in consecutive complaints.
"And you," He kicks the door shut with his foot before continuing, pointing a finger at you. "After forty eight hours of emotional neglect, show up with iced lattes? I don't drink lattes. That's for pussies who don't understand coffee."
You roll your eyes. "I do something nice and you still complain."
"You completely forgot me and brought coffee out of guilt."
You pause, looking down at the table before speaking again. "It's still coffee."
Jungkook laughs quietly besides you before Mark cuts in again. "Okay, so basically," He breathes, gesturing around the room. "This is my senior project, the one I told you about three weeks ago and you forgot because you apparently don't care about me anymore. It's a short film of my album with a narrative concept." He turns to Jungkook. "He's singing."
Your eyes drift around in silence, taking in the headphones and the sheets filled with lyrics and the fucking sometimes he threw at you as if it meant nothing.
"And you," Mark angles his body towards you. "Are helping with the writing."
"Mark," You argue, because what can you possibly be writing? Music? You don't do music. You write people, you write anything between stories and analysis but not music.
"Don't Mark me right now. You agreed to this weeks ago." He says as he rolls his eyes, chugging down his coffee. "The story. You're writing the narrative and the emotional structure, obviously."
Oh. Right.
Because of course Mark wouldn't just make music. No, he has always been incapable of touching one art form without dragging five others to it. Because Mark Lee is a man of passion and he won't do anything without making it entirely his.
"Apparently you said music without context feels lonely to Yoongi's trap arrangement last week." Jungkook says without really looking at you, swinging mindlessly in his chair.
Your head snaps towards him. "How do you know that?"
Jungkook blinks once, like he hadn't expected to say that out loud yet did anyway. His eyes flicker between you and Mark before he collects himself back together and shrugs casually. "Mark talks about you."
That's…annoyingly sweet of him.
"You talk about me?" You coo with a voice disgustingly candied, head tilted as you reach for Mark's arm.
"Oh my god." Mark groans dramatically, but he doesn't pull his arm away. "No, because Jungkook, don't let her fool you. She acts all nice and sweet then suddenly you're buying her food and driving her to places."
You open your mouth immediately, ready to defend yourself. You turn towards Jungkook, response already on the tip of your tongue, ready to be spilled— only to stop.
Because Jungkook is already looking at you. Not in a weird way, not in the way boys usually look at pretty girls when they think nobody is noticing. Just…gentle. His smile is still there, only now it has grown and molded into something smaller. The kind that doesn't really ask for attention, the kind that simply stays there because it wants to. His eyes feel softer too, like's he's really listening, sitting through the spaces of your presence until he feels it permanently engraved into his mind.
It feels a little precarious.
And perhaps the most annoying thing about Jungkook is that the disappointment never really arrives.
Because eventually, the conversation shifts and folds itself until time starts passing in a kind of haziness where it melts into something thinner. Mark disappears into one of his passionate spirals regarding symbolism and the basics of music theory and you somehow find a way to contribute just as passionately despite not exactly having the qualifications to do so.
That's normal. That doesn't surprise you, it has happened enough times to not be the slightest of a deal. But Jungkook, Jungkook surprises you.
Maybe not dramatically, maybe not in ways worth writing Wave articles about. It's the little things, tiny things that somehow fill in the entire space and make their way into the dearest corners of your heart.
Like how he listens with his entire body, the way he turns towards whoever it is that's speaking and stays there, like he genuinely thinks people deserve to be heard all the way through. The way he never interrupts Mark despite the fact that Mark tends to over explain things as if he himself personally invented art and human emotion. The way he nods along quietly, asks questions at exactly the right moments without ever interjecting anyone and reaches over to hand you your drink when you start looking for it.
And somewhere in the middle of the complexity of it all, Jungkook sings.
Mark points towards the recording booth in the middle of his nth rant today, and Jungkook pushes himself up from the couch besides you with a small sigh before disappearing behind the glass doors of the booth. And for some reason, your eyes follow him through each passing second, because simply standing behind a microphone with overhead headphones should not look this different on somebody.
Because suddenly, he's stripped out of everything you've subconsciously built for him. And for some stupid, sick, twisted reason, Jungkook looks ridiculously hot like this.
He adjusts the headphones over his ears before leaning towards the microphone slightly, eyes lowering as Mark presses something on the screen.
His voice happens a beat of two after the music starts, and it happens big. Like waves crashing into rocks, like starts falling down the sky, like spring melting into summer and summer clashing against fall.
It's stupid.
He's not bad, god, you wish he was bad. No, not at all. Because Jungkook sings exactly the way the listens. Softly, fully, like he throws himself into it before realizing he's doing it. Like somewhere in the middle of every rhyme and every note and every breath, there are pieces of him patiently waiting to be discovered.
You understand why Mark chose him.
Jungkook drops beside you onto the couch with a tired groan after Mark decides he's poured enough of his soul for today, and you find your eyes grazing over him as he scrolls through something on his phone.
"You're staring." Jungkook says, not even looking up from his phone.
You blink. Fuck. "Excuse me?"
He hums, lips twitching beyond his control. "Mhm."
You angle your body a little more towards him. "I literally wasn't."
He nods, still not looking at you, but he's still smiling.
You stare at his profile for a little longer as Mark works over the keyboard in silence, then find the words escaping your mouth before you can hold them in. "You sound different when you sing." You say quietly.
Jungkook stills a little. Just a tiny, little falter that happens in his body. His eyes lift slowly from the screen, then catch yours before speaking. "Different?" He asks.
You shrug immediately, trying to fold the conversation into something drastically more casual. "Just less annoying."
You roll your eyes immediately. "Don't let it get to your head."
"You know," He says after letting a beat pass, and you turn your head back towards him. "You say very mean things for someone who can't seem to stop staring."
Your brows lift in offense. "I do not stare."
He blinks. "You do."
You scoff. "You're delusional."
Jungkook hums softly. "Earlier, when Mark was talking—"
You don't let him speak. At least, you try. "No."
"And then when i was recording—"
"Jeon."
He's fully smiling now, like he's getting the most ridiculous amount enjoyment he possibly can get from this. You stare at him in silence, lips parted and expression faltered. Jungkook stares right back at you, that stupid smile never really leaving from his lips. And for some sick and twisted reason, your stomach does a tiny little flip that irritates you through the entirety of your skin and bones.
Then, as if god has finally acknowledged the depths of your suffering, Mark cuts in exactly at the right time. "Oh my god." He gasps.
Jungkook blinks from next to you, gaze drifting onto him. "What?"
Mark doesn't respond for a moment, and that's deeply concerning for a man who'd speak even at the verge of death.
You slowly sit up. "Mark?"
His frozen state continues for a beat longer before he suddenly springs up from his chair. "No no no."
"What's wrong?" Jungkook asks as his brows pull together, leaning onto his knees.
"I," Mark starts, looking down at his feet before he slowly, dreadfully searches for your eyes. "I'm late."
Jungkook scrunches his nose. "You're late for what?"
Your eyes widen when the realization slowly stretches then breaks through you. "Oh my god." You breathe dramatically.
"Stop saying oh my god!" Jungkook snaps, thoroughly lost.
Mark closes his eyes, taking in a long, guilty breath. "I'm supposed to be meeting up with Yerin."
Jungkook's phone falls onto the couch. "You're meeting your ex?"
"You're late to meeting your ex." You correct. "And you're wearing that?"
Mark looks down, eyes taking in the gray sweatpants and the black hoodie he has worn so much it's practically another color now. "Oh my god."
He quickly gathers up his belongings, then slings his bag over his shoulder before making his way to the door. He's able to take approximately three steps before he suddenly stops, and slowly, very slowly, turns to you.
"Can i take your car?"
You blink a few times before responding. "Absolutely not."
"Please," He begs, bending above his knees with impatience. "Please, I'll do anything. Imagine if she thinks i stood her up. She's going to leave me for good this time and I'll be left to crumble and die in my own sorrow."
After two or five separate sequences of long inhales and deep consideration, you give in. "If you scratch it, I'll kill you."
He runs over to you fast. "Thank you, thank you. Oh my god, i love you."
"Okay, okay. Stop." Before you even get the chance to return his hug, he's already grabbing your keys and shoving it into his bag. Jungkook stares from besides you silently until the very last second of Mark's departure, then bursts into laughter the moment the door closes shut.
"Stop."
"I'm trying." Jungkook says between fractions of laughter.
You sigh. "No you're not."
"I'm literally trying my hardest."
Liar.
Because now, he's laughing properly and somehow it's the prettiest thing you've heard all week, minus his singing— which is a whole another problem of its own— and you feel yourself physically falter at the sound of it.
You stare at him for a minute longer before eventually drifting your eyes towards the studio doors instead. It's irritating how you're now painfully aware of everything else all over again. Spring air brushing softly against your skin through the window, the distant sound of laughter and conversation somewhere across campus, the way Jungkook is seated close enough that if you shift half an inch closer your shoulders would probably brush.
"So," Jungkook has finally, and thankfully, stopped laughing. Though the smile is still sitting there loosely. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys, swinging them around his finger. "Guess I'm driving you home."
You were about to mindlessly give into defeat when suddenly, you remember one, tiny little detail.
Jungkook doesn't have a car.
You breathe slowly. "You ride that stupid motorcycle."
His brows lift immediately. "That stupid motorcycle?"
Your lips part, then close again when he cuts you off, lips twitching cockily. "You remember."
You scoff loudly. "You spent like twenty minutes talking about it."
"Mhm."
"And your personality is unfortunately very loud."
"Mhm." He hums, tucking his phone into the back pocket of his jeans as he mindlessly collects his things. "You remember." He repeats with a growing grin.
"Stop saying that." You complain, following him behind through the door.
And ten minutes later, you hate yourself.
Genuinely.
Because now, you're standing outside beneath spring air and bright streetlights while Jungkook straddles his motorcycle like this isn't singlehandedly the worst thing that has ever happened to you.
Because suddenly you're surrounded by things you've never considered before. Like leather jackets and silver rings and tattooed biceps you want to suffocate and die inside.
You don't tell him that, of course.
He glances at you over his shoulder before slipping on his helmet. "You coming?"
There is a moment where he is met with a complete, utter silence. Because, first of all, you've never been on a motorcycle before. And second of all, there is a very physical, very obvious problem with motorcycles.
Where the fuck are your hands supposed to go?
Jungkook watches the way something between conflict and irritation flashes across your features, expression faltering slowly. He pauses along with you, then smiles knowingly. "You've never been on one."
And the way he says it is absolutely stupid. Because he doesn't ask, it's not a question. He has somehow read you devastatingly well and has made a statement about it. One that is entirely correct.
"I have not."
"And you're scared."
Excuse you?
You blink. "Scared?"
Jungkook says nothing, then places both of his legs on the sides of the vehicle as he patiently waits for you. You stare at him for long enough, then with the amount of dignity one can preserve in situations involving pussy clenching tattoos and massive biceps, you walk over.
"Need help?" Jungkook asks as you struggle deciding how to position yourself.
You shake your head immediately. "No."
Lies.
Because an entire thirty seconds later, you're still trying to figure out how people get on these things without publicly humiliating themselves.
"You know," He starts carefully, voice softer now." "I can help."
You look up slowly. "How?"
"Come here."
Your eyebrows pull together. "What kind of instruction is that?"
He sighs softly, calling your name. And for some stupid reason, the way your name rolls and falls out of his mouth does something irritating to your nervous system.
You hate that.
Because suddenly, the air feels warmer than it did thirty minutes ago. Because suddenly, he is patiently looking at you with those pretty brown eyes of his and the space between you feels so small that the lack of distance physically blows your breath away.
He holds a hand out towards you. "Come here." He repeats.
You stare at his hand, then at him, then back at his hand. And for reasons you will absolutely be denying later, you place your hand in his.
Jungkook's fingers close around yours immediately. Warm, firm and unreasonably effortless, as if he doesn't even think about the action twice.
He gently guides you forward and suddenly you're standing between his arms for one devastating second too long as he explains something about where to place your foot and how to balance and honestly—
Honestly, you don't hear a single fucking word.
Because Jungkook is standing too close. Because his voice is low and his presence is warm. Because somewhere above you, he quietly lets out that sweet laugh again and you think that's the exact moment you realize this might be becoming a bigger problem than you ever thought.
"You listening?" He asks.
No, you're not. Not even a little.
Some men are just plain irritating.
The kind of men who make you think you're special after two dates. The kind of men who act as if their love and desire for you is past the lethal dose, long sitting far away from what's acceptable after taking you out for one drink.
They start remembering your birthday, then your coffee order, and then the stories you tell absentmindedly. They pay attention in all the ways that matter until suddenly, they don't.
They start disappearing slowly. Late responses transition into cancelled dates and cancelled dates drag over white lies and empty promises. And before you know it— they're gone.
Some people become memories and some people insist on staying as habits. Unfortunately for Kim Yugyeom, habits are significantly harder to quit.
Campus looks a little prettier at night, with string lights tangled carelessly around trees to soften the sharp corners of concrete sidewalks and buildings that usually look painfully monotone and disgustingly gray beneath daylight. Music that's floating around blends into laughter and conversations until everything feels like it's dipped into something warmer, casting the green scenery in a dimly golden hue.
People become prettier at night too. Like darkness reaches over to soften and hide all the sharp edges daylight stubbornly insists on exposing. You think it has something to do with poor lighting and the desire to dress each other up in a way that's aligned with our own fucked up fantasies, but that doesn't change the fact that you'd much rather time stops at nine in the evening instead of morning.
Miyeon walks beside you with a cup of vodka and something fruity in her hand, complaining passionately about one of her professors as if he has something personal against her and is failing her out of spite. When, in reality, she has been way too caught up in toxic ex boyfriend drama and seasonal depression.
Anyone who says spring depression is not real is lying. Because your best friend has been going through one for the entirety of march and april and may and you're not sure if it'll pass by july.
But it's fine. You love her and Mark loves her and you're sure she will be fine. Yeah, maybe Yugyeom is six feet tall with a face carefully structured by the higher powers above us. But he's utterly stupid and completely undeserving of the crazy stupid love provided by your gorgeous best friend.
"No because explain to me why participation counts in my grade." Miyeon complains beside you, taking another sip of her drink as if she has the attendance and exam results to cover up the mess caused by her miserable participation grade.
You blink. "Because participating matters?"
Miyeon stops walking like you've offended her beyond all measure, then turns to you very slowly. "The institution has corrupted you."
You let out a laugh immediately, shoulder bumping against hers as the crowd thickens around you. "Maybe your GPA is a little important and passing isn't always enough." You add with a playful smile.
"You've changed."
"Okay." You drag out the word until she physically can not hear anything after the o.
"Namjoon did this to you. You were fun and sexy until junior year and now you're a disgusting hard copy of that man."
You scoff. "Leave Namjoon out of this."
Instead of responding to you, Miyeon narrows her eyes through the crowd before you can properly defend both yourself and Namjoon's imaginary honor. Your eyes follow her line of sight without thinking too much of it, and you still just a second after Miyeon does.
Because standing near one of the food trucks with drinks sat carelessly in their hands are Mingyu and Jaehyun. But that's not the point, Mingyu and Jaehyun are fine, you've actually shared that infamous econ elective with Jaehyun during junior year and he surprisingly turned out to be sweet and worth a couple hours of your precious time.
Jungkook, on the other hand, is not ideal. But not ideal is also fine, you can bear with non ideal to an extent. What's thoroughly, completely, utterly impossible, is Yugyeom.
God truly does not love you.
Miyeon physically freezes besides you. And, I repeat, she doesn't subtly falter. She stills.
Then, Jungkook looks up at exactly the wrong moment, finding your eyes and catching them in air before anyone else gets the chance to steal them away. His eyebrows lift slightly in amusement before a smile slowly spreads across his face, and it feels a little concerning the way he does it. Because Jungkook smiles like he means it. Like the smile happens to him before he can realize and reconsider.
His line of sight is followed before any of you can do anything about it. It starts with Mingyu, then Jaehyun. Which is fine, because we've already established that Mingyu and Jaehyun are harmless.
But Yugyeom? Not even close.
"Oh no." Mingyu says the moment he spots you. And honestly? Very fair reaction.
Because unfortunately, Kim Yugyeom has always had an exceptional talent for creating versions of Miyeon you hate.
Jaehyun lifts his drink awkwardly. "Hi?" Very brave of him. Very brave.
Miyeon smiles immediately, too animated and too polite, before you can even think of interfering and softening the impact of it all.
"Hi Jaehyun." She says, tone too normal despite the situation.
"Miyeon," Yugyeom greets, voice casual and light like her name belongs naturally inside his mouth. Fucking hypocrite.
"You cut your hair."
No.
No, you're not doing this right now. Absolutely not. Because, okay, first of all, what kind of thing is that to say to your ex girlfriend of two whole years? And the worse part of it all? Miyeon cut her hair three months ago. Three, entire, months.
Yugyeom blinks one whole minute after the words leave his mouth when no one responds to him, like the sentence leaves his mouth and arrives back to him sixty seconds later. But it's already late for realization. Too fucking late.
A long silence passes, and you feel it physically sizzle and slice right through the surface of your skin. "Right." Miyeon mutters a beat later, and you close your eyes with a long, suffering inhale.
Somewhere in the middle of the discomfort settling over everybody like a layer of second skin, you catch movement from the corner of your eye as if the situation isn't terrible enough.
Jungkook, of course, is already looking at you. Because he seems to have made it into a habit.
Miyeon laughs beside you. "Three months, by the way."
Yugyeom falters. "What?"
"My hair," She starts, letting her eyes drag over him. "I cut it three months ago."
It's a little funny now. You know, the entirety of the situation. You do everything in your power to not stare at the two of them, gaze drifting around your surroundings instead. And it turns out that you, as of right now, are not the smartest person in the room. Because across from you, Mingyu suddenly becomes deeply interested in the swirl of his drink, and Jaehyun seems to be counting the birds in the sky. Jungkook? That, you don't know. Because you're sure he's still looking at you and that's the second thing your eyes are trying to avoid.
"Right." Yugyeom says again, like saying right enough times might eventually make the situation right, even though it won't. Because none of you are stupid— well, except for Yugyeom himself, it seems.
Then, Mingyu suddenly claps his hands once, and the sound echoes so much louder than he intended it to. "Okay!" He exclaims with an amount of enthusiasm that should genuinely award him an Emmy. "Amazing! Love this energy. It's so deeply casual."
Miyeon laughs again, a little softer than the one she let escape minutes ago. It's not enough to bounce and spill and take over the atmosphere the way it usually does. But for now, it's enough to let you breathe.
"Sorry," She says through another laugh, shaking her head. "No because, you're unbelievable."
Yugyeom squints. "What did i even do?"
You scoff. Obviously, that's not surprising. Kim Yugyeom deserves a hundred more of those. But Mingyu and Jaehyun scoff along with you. And, oh, Jungkook too.
Maybe society has hope after all.
That's when you stop keeping up with their conversation, because their steps slowly get closer and closer to each other and farther and farther away from you until the volume of their voices lower down enough and exist only for the two of them.
Not that you're complaining. Not at all. You're thoroughly relieved and you do not want to hear another word of this pointless conversation.
Mingyu leans over and lowers his height next to you. "How traumatized are we?"
You laugh, relaxing a little. "A solid eight out of ten."
He places a hand over his chest dramatically. "Thank god." He exhales. "For a second i thought i was alone in this."
You laugh again, and peculiarly, somewhere in the middle of cheap drinks and Mingyu defending his dignity like his life depends on it, your shoulders begin dropping one by one.
Everything softens after that.
Mingyu gets distracted after spotting somebody from one of his classes and suddenly starts passionately discussing basketball statistics with Jaehyun. Miyeon and Yugyeom slowly become figurines in your peripheral vision— still there, still existing, but further now. And somehow, Jungkook ends up right besides you.
Maybe not intentionally, maybe not obviously— but he does. It happens in that natural way he seems to be very adamant on keeping recently.
You become aware of him in pieces. The warmth of his shoulder besides yours, the sound of his laugh whenever Mingyu says something ridiculous, the traces of alcohol and masculine cologne in his scent whenever wind shifts in your direction…Tiny, stupid things people leave behind accidentally.
And unfortunately, you've spent your entire life collecting them.
"You're less guarded tonight."
You blink, then turn around slowly, eyes locking with Jungkook who is looking at you over the rim of his drink, a smile sitting loosely against his mouth.
"I'm always like this."
Jungkook lets something between a breathy laugh and a scoff through his lips. "Liar."
You roll your eyes. "You think you've got me all figured out."
He shrugs. "I just pay attention to you sometimes."
Fucking flirt.
You're only half listening to Mingyu's latest spiral on getting cheated on with a girl when Jungkook's phone vibrates against the grass. Jungkook glances down, picks the phone up, then groans when he reads whatever text that has been sent to him.
"What?" You ask.
"Mark,"
Your brows pull together in confusion. "What did he do?"
Jungkook lets his head fall back slightly. "He forgot the hard drive at the studio."
Jungkook stares at his phone for a beat longer, exhales, then turns towards you. "Come with me."
And he is met with silence. Because for a moment, for a long, dreadful sixty seconds, silence surrounds you too. Music still continues behind you but it feels distant now. People laugh, lights glow, but all of it feels very far away. Solely because of the way he says it.
Because Jungkook doesn't ask. No do you want to come? No you can if you want. He just tells you to come with him as if he already knows the answer.
You narrow your eyes, trying to play it off. "Is that confidence i'm seizing?"
"No." He says, smile growing into something gentler. "I think it's hope."
Oh.
Jungkook pushes himself up from the grass, then extends his hand towards you. Not dramatically, not enough to create a whole deal out of it, but enough for your eyes to drop down to it automatically then back to him as if a hundred different scenarios have just flashed across your mind.
You take his hand.
By the time you reach the studio, you're a little warm. Not because of walking, not because of the weather, but because of something you absolutely can not say out loud.
Jungkook pushes the door open, then lets you walk in first. Warm light spills through the room and reaches straight into your pupils the moment you step in, and you physically have to tap your thigh twice to recollect yourself back together.
Space feels a little different when it's just the two of you.
Jungkook walks ahead towards the mixing desk, still looking through his phone. "Mark said he left his hard drive somewhere."
You hum, eyes drifting around. But it all feels absent, a little pointless. Because you're painfully aware of the tiny things all over again. Jungkook pushing his sleeves up, the way strands of hair falls into his eyes, how the sound of his voice fills in the empty room…
Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's exhaustion, or maybe it's the way spring nights make people a little delirious. Stupid pollens.
You let a quiet breath escape and turn away before your brain decides to become any more humiliating than it already has tonight. "How does a music major forget a hard drive?" You ask, voice bouncing a little too loudly through the empty studio.
Jungkook shrugs. "It's Mark."
Fair.
You snort quietly and drift towards the couch instead, letting yourself drop against the cushions while Jungkook continues opening drawers and moving papers around an unnecessary amount of concentration.
For a minute, for the short time being, neither of you says anything. And maybe that's your first mistake. Because lately, silence with Jungkook has become as dangerous as vodka on an empty stomach.
Your eyes lift before you can stop them. That's definitely your second mistake.
Because Jungkook had pushed his sleeves higher at some point and now his forearms are exposed beneath the dim lights of the studio and you miserably need those long, tattooed fingers curling inside your pussy.
He crouches beside the desk, pushing his hair back before another strand immediately falls over his forehead again. "Found it." He says, and your head snaps back up.
Jungkook, unfortunately, is already looking at you. Not at the hard drive, not at the desk, just you. And for a second, neither of you says anything. Because maybe this is one of those moments where silence becomes too delicate for words. Moments that sit so carefully between people that speaking feels like touching glass with bare hands.
Your stomach tightens embarrassingly beneath your ribs as Jungkook's eyes drag all over you before they settle and stay on your face. He takes a step closer, then another, and then speaks softly. "What?"
Your brows pull together despite yourself. "What what?"
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You keep staring." He says, voice lower now.
"And you don't?" You reply, voice barely above a whisper as you rise up to your feet.
"I do." Jungkook replies. There is barely an inch between your bodies now, his breath hot and heavy on your skin. "But i don't lie about it, pretty girl."
Your entire body stiffens at that. But it's not the pretty girl, not at all. It's the way he says it. Because Jungkook doesn't rush you, he never does. He doesn't smirk, doesn't tease. Just stays there looking and waiting. Like he is giving you room, like stepping away is still an option.
And the worst part is, you don't want to step away.
Silence stretches and stretches until it begins feeling alive. His eyes drop down to your lips, then lifts back up. For one devastating second, Jungkook looks at you like he is trying to memorize something. Like he's collecting little things too.
His hand lifts, thumb softly tracing over the line of your jaw. "I've been patient for so long." He speaks over your lips. "And i know you feel it too. But i need to hear your words if you really want this to happen."
Your breath catches and flips over halfway through your throat, chest rising and falling in a slow, heavy rhythm. "Jungkook,"
"Tell me," He starts, thumb stopping by the bottom of your lip. "If you want me as bad as i want you. Because— fuck, I've been good, i've been patient but i'm terribly desperate and i need to know if you are too."
"Please," You try, but you've already stopped thinking altogether.
"Please what, baby? I need you to use your words."
"Kiss me." You fit the entire weight of those words in a tiny little breath and Jungkook's lips are on yours in an instant.
The kiss starts out slow, his lips moving against yours gently as if he is savoring every ounce of its taste on the farthest corners of his tongue. Your hands find the nape of his neck, pulling and pressing him closer until distance can't bear existing anymore.
Jungkook's hands drop down to your waist, tugging you closer so that your hips clash against his. You whimper into his mouth, and he swallows it without wasting a single second.
Because Jungkook has been waiting.
This isn't what the does, not at all. Jungkook has never been a patient man. Not with desire, not with girls. He takes and gets taken in blinks and fractions and seconds— easy, casual, weightless.
But you, you've turned into something devastatingly different. Because for weeks now Jungkook has been wanting without touching, looking without taking— ever since you laughed and rolled your eyes prettily at Yugyeom's party that night. He has spent nights thinking about your lips, mornings replaying the sound of your laugh and entire conversations searching for traces of hidden meanings beneath your words like a man slowly losing his goddamn mind.
Jungkook doesn't wait. He doesn't ache over girls. He doesn't sit awake late at night remembering the way they looked at him beneath dim studio lights or think about the possibility of their hands touching his. But with you— fuck.
With you, he has become unbearably aware of himself. You've made him patient in the cruelest way possible. Because now he notices everything and god, the pretending has been killing him.
And now you're kissing him back as if you've been just as gone. And that thought alone is enough to fold and mold his brain into something disgustingly mushy and achingly dizzy.
"More," You moan between kisses, body practically begging for his touch.
Jungkook's stomach flips upside down. "Yeah? Want more, pretty? Want me to touch you?" He squeezes the plump meat of your ass through your jeans, and your hips jerk into his with the feeling.
His hands roam all over your body before stopping right at the hem of your top. His fingers fiddle with the fabric before he pulls away to look at you properly, and you give him your consent dressed up as a weak nod.
Jungkook pulls your tank top over your head, eyes stuck on the way your boobs bounce beneath the lace of your bra with the movement. He physically, loudly, groans at the sight before plastering wet, open mouthed kisses on the soft skin. Your head falls back in pleasure, hands tangling in his soft locks. Jungkook pushes his head further into your tits before he reaches over your back and unclasps your bra in one swift motion.
Your ass hits the armrest of the leather couch when he lowers himself to take a nipple into his mouth, fingers toying with the other. You moan in short, consecutive whimpers as his tongue laps and flickers over the hardened nub, the wetness in your panties growing and growing.
His cups your pussy over the your jeans, fingers pressing into your core over the fabric. The pressure is utterly mind blowing because the course denim stretches and digs into you further, causing you to cry out in pleasure.
"Touch me properly, Jungkook." You force out, desperate to feel him on your bare skin.
Jungkook scoffs between kisses. "Greedy, aren't you?"
He unbuttons your jeans, fondling with the zipper for a beat too long before he can unzip and get you out of it.
He pushes your panties aside with two fingers before sliding them into you. Your cunt sucks him in immediately, already way too wet and way too impatient for any form of foreplay.
Jungkook tilts his head to look at the way his fingers are slipping in and out of you. "Shit, pretty. Look at that. You're gripping me."
"Jungkook," You cry out, hands curling around his biceps for support. "Need— need your cock, please."
He lifts his eyes up to look at your face properly, then sketches and carves every line of your expression onto the deepest corners of his heart.
He slowly pulls out his fingers, then draws circles on your swollen clit before pulling away to take off his own clothes. His shirt flies away first, and you can't help but gawk at the bare sight of his chest. Arms, shoulders, abs— you're lucky if you don't cum right then and there.
He gives you a small, knowing chuckle before unbuckling his belt, tossing the jeans somewhere across the room along with his boxers. Your lips are parted beyond your knowledge, eyes stuck on the hardened sight of his length.
You've never seen a cock as pretty as that.
You're not sure if you'd ever even thought a cock was pretty— because usually, to you, they're far from that. But Jungkook, god, Jungkook is so fucking pretty with a tip so pink you think you want to suckle on it like a lollipop and a length so massive you desperately want it to choke you.
You wouldn't be mad if your cause of death had suffocated on cock written on it all uppercase in bold letters.
And Jungkook just laughs. He fucking laughs.
"Don't worry, pretty. It's all yours." He says, kissing your lips once more before motioning to turn over. "Now turn around and bend over for me." He adds, pushing your back lightly so that you're completely bent over with both hands gripping on the armrest of the couch.
Jungkook drags his tip across your folds, spreading your slick all over your cunt before he slowly pushes it in. You feel his tip first, letting you adjust to the stretch as he sucks in a sharp breath at the warmth of your walls. You moan loudly when he presses half of his cock into you, fingers firming around the cushion.
"Oh god," You breathe, uncontrollably pushing your ass higher into the air. He slams in the rest of his length at your movement, and your back arches even deeper. "Fuck, Jungkook. You're so— so big. I can't."
"You can, princess. I know you can. You'll take every inch like a good girl. Gonna make me proud, aren't you?"
He completely slides out out slowly, and before you can whine at the emptiness Jungkook slams himself back in. You moan loudly, head empty and thoroughly dizzy.
Jungkook starts fucking into you, one had gripping firmly onto your waist as the other toys with your nipple from the back. He is filling you up so good you're going to lose your goddamn mind. You feel so full, stretched and stuffed to the fucking brim. Your walls suck him in desperately, walls clenching and tightening around his fat cock as he pounds into you recklessly.
"Yes, fuck. Wanna be good for you." You mutter messily as his thrusts get deeper and deeper, cock twitching inside your wetness.
"I'm close." You breathe.
"I've got you." He says, and you hate how assuring the words sound.
You let yourself go just as he starts playing with your clit from behind, stimulating you as you milk your juices around his cock. He helps you ride out your high, chest pressing onto your back as he plasters small, reassuring kisses on your shoulder.
You feel physically nauseous at the domesticity.
"Switch with me." You say after coming down from your orgasm, straightening as his cock slides out of you.
Jungkook's body falters, brows pulling together. "What?"
You roll your eyes, pulling away. "Sit, Jungkook."
Jungkook somehow obeys without another word, dropping his body onto the couch beneath you. You hold his shoulders from above, placing your legs at both sides of his hips before reaching for his cock.
Jungkook's breath stutters when you take him into your hand, pumping him a few times before aligning him with your entrance. You slowly sink down onto his length, and you both moan simultaneously when you take every inch of his dick into your pussy.
"Shit," He moans, your name dancing prettily on his tongue. "You're so hot."
His fingertips dig into the soft skin of your hips, head thrown back lazily as he moans through parted lips. You bounce on his dick with every ounce of energy that's left in you, thighs aching as he twitches inside your walls.
Jungkook lifts his head a little to properly take in the sight of your bouncing tits, nearing his high.
"Where do you want me?" He asks, voice low and breathy. Your stomach churns at the question, nails scratching his broad shoulders.
"You can cum inside."
He's going to die. He is going to fucking die but at least he'll die a proud man with his cum stuffed inside you.
And just as Jungkook was about to close his eyes and release inside you, your phone rings.
His lips part to say something, but you beat him to it. "Just shut it off."
Jungkook's hand weakly finds your phone, pressing the close button twice without looking at it. Of course he doesn't look, he'd be insane to drift his eyes away from the way your soft, perky tits are bouncing up and down in his own hold. But the ecstasy lasts so long as fifteen seconds until your phone rings again.
Jungkook flips it over this time. The name on your phone's screen flashes right through his eyes and he feels his heart stumble and drop straight into the rock bottom of his stomach
In which you come to Seoul for a summer law internship already drowning in the pressure of qualifying as a solicitor, only for your carefully planned life to become ten times harder when you keep crossing paths with an annoyingly attractive stranger named Jungkook. You don’t know he’s South Korea’s most beloved star, and he doesn’t know why the only person unimpressed by him is suddenly the one he can’t stay away from.
Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Law student!reader
Genre: Forced proximity | Romance | Slice of life | Slow burn | Fluff | Enemies to lovers | Comedy
Warnings/content: Jungkook x Reader, Law Student Reader, Summer Internship, Study Abroad, Hidden Identity, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Celebrity Romance, Secret Relationship, Opposites Attract, Tension, Flirting, Late Night Talks, Protective Jungkook, Jealousy, Emotional Slow Burn, Kisses, Mutual Pining, Seoul Summer, Career Pressure, Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Drama, Happy Ending
Word Count: 9.3k
A/N: This was such a fun one to write because as a law student myself the idea of spending a summer studying abroad has always sounded like a dream to me, so creating this story felt like living that fantasy a little. There’s just something about putting two stubborn people together and watching the tension build that makes me obsessed already, and i honestly loved writing a reader who has her own ambitions and goals outside of romance too. Sooo if you liked it, please drop me a like and repost, and let me know in the comments if you want a part 2 ;))
The second the sliding doors of Incheon International Airport opened, a wave of warm air hit your face, thick with summer heat and the unfamiliar scent of somewhere new.
You barely registered any of it.
Your suitcase bumped uselessly behind you while your eyes stayed locked on your phone, thumb scrolling through your emails before switching back to LinkedIn for the hundredth time that day. Empty inbox. No updates. No responses. No signs of life from any of the firms you’d applied to.
Then suddenly—your phone was gone.
“Oi—” You looked up sharply. “Are you insane?”
Hikari held your phone above her head with one hand, sunglasses slipping down her nose. “Are you insane? Babe, we just landed in South Korea and the first thing you do is open LinkedIn.”
“I was checking something.”
“You were checking unemployment.”
“I was checking my future.”
She barked out a laugh. “Your future can wait five minutes. There are men walking around built like final bosses and you’re reading rejection emails that haven’t even arrived yet.”
“No because that’s the issue,” you groaned, reaching for your phone and missing. “There aren’t even rejection emails. It’s been weeks since I sent like a hundred applications and not one firm has replied. At least tell me no so I can heal and move on.”
Hikari clutched her chest. “That is cruel. That is emotionally abusive.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s workplace harassment before you’ve even got the job.”
“Exactly!”
She handed your phone back at last. “You need serious help.”
“I need a training contract.”
“You need a man.”
You stopped dead in the middle of the pavement. “I need you to shut up.”
“I’m being so serious.” She hooked her arm through yours and dragged you toward the taxi rank. “You’re twenty-one, smart, mildly attractive on a good day—”
“Mildly?”
“Focus on the compliment. You literally know Korean. Utilise it.”
You stared at her in disbelief. “You know damn well I had no choice but to learn Korean for my poly-language course. I didn’t do it to hunt men.”
“Missed opportunity.”
“I did it to escape the trenches of public law.”
The two of you fell silent for a moment before physically shuddering in sync.
Hikari grimaced. “Don’t say that subject name around me again.”
“Judicial review,” you muttered.
She gagged dramatically. “You are vile.”
“Delegated legislation.”
“Stop talking.”
You laughed despite yourself, the tension in your chest loosening for the first time in weeks. Around you, taxis lined the curb, neon signs glowed in the distance, and the city hummed with energy that made your pulse quicken.
Maybe this was exactly what you needed. A few months away from deadlines, applications, and the constant fear of failing before you’d even begun.
Hikari squeezed your arm. “Calling it now. By the end of this summer, you’re either getting a job offer or getting railed.”
You nearly tripped over your suitcase. “Hikari!”
She shrugged. “I’m just manifesting options.”
You shook your head, muttering something about needing new friends as the two of you joined the taxi queue outside the airport. Around you, people moved in quick, purposeful streams—families reuniting, business travellers already on calls, tourists dragging suitcases twice their size. Everything felt fast, polished, awake.
You, on the other hand, were one inconvenience away from lying down on the pavement.
Hikari raised a hand the second a black taxi pulled forward. “See?” she said smugly. “The universe provides.”
“The universe is a licensed driver.”
“It’s still on my side.”
The driver stepped out to help with your luggage, and before you could stop her, Hikari cheerfully gestured to you. “Go on. Use your Korean.”
You blinked at her. “Why am I suddenly customer service?”
“Because I’m pretty and useless.”
“At least you’re self-aware.”
Suppressing a laugh, you greeted the driver in Korean and confirmed the hotel address. He nodded politely and loaded your suitcases into the boot while Hikari watched you like a proud stage mother.
“That,” she said as you climbed into the back seat, “was deeply attractive.”
“I said hello.”
“You said it internationally.”
The taxi pulled away from the terminal, merging into a stream of traffic as the airport lights gave way to long stretches of road and, eventually, the first hints of the city skyline. Tower blocks glimmered in the distance, neon signs flashing between darkened streets, everything looking cinematic in a way that felt almost unreal after months of grey lecture halls and library fluorescent lighting.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
Then Hikari leaned over dramatically. “Do you think this driver knows any rich men?”
You closed your eyes. “I need silence.”
“You need networking.”
“I need eight consecutive hours of unconsciousness.”
She gasped. “You’re so negative.”
“I’m jet-lagged.”
“You’re spiritually jet-lagged.”
You turned to look at her. “What does that even mean?”
“It means your aura needs moisturising.”
“You make me tired.”
She patted your knee sympathetically. “That’s because I challenge you.”
The driver’s shoulders shook slightly, like he was trying not to laugh.
“Oh my God,” you whispered. “He understands English.”
Hikari straightened immediately. “Sir, if you know any successful single men under thirty, please let me know. My friend is in crisis.”
You lunged across the seat. “Ignore her!”
The driver finally laughed outright, and humiliation burned hot across your face while Hikari looked delighted with herself.
“This is why no firm emails me back,” you muttered. “Bad karma.”
“No,” Hikari said, checking her reflection in the window. “It’s because they fear powerful women.”
“They don’t know me.”
“They sense it.”
The hotel came into view twenty minutes later—glass-fronted, modern, far nicer than anything you’d expected when booking on a student budget. You sat up straighter immediately.
“Oh,” you said. “Wait. This is nice.”
Hikari smirked. “Obviously. Did you think I’d let us stay somewhere tragic?”
“I thought we were staying somewhere affordable.”
“Same thing if you’re strategic.”
“That sentence means nothing.”
Once inside, the lobby was all marble floors, soft gold lighting, and the kind of expensive scent that made you suddenly conscious of how creased your clothes were. Staff moved around with impossible elegance while you dragged your suitcase behind you like a goblin.
Hikari, meanwhile, somehow looked refreshed.
“How do you still look normal?” you asked while she approached reception.
“Discipline.”
“You have mascara under one eye.”
“Fashion.”
Check-in was smooth, and the second you were handed the room key card, relief nearly made you emotional.
The lift ride up was quiet except for Hikari taking selfies in the mirrored walls while you stared blankly at your own reflection.
“I look like I’ve seen war,” you said.
“You look travelled.”
“I look damp.”
The room itself was compact but gorgeous—two neatly made beds, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, crisp white sheets, and air conditioning cold enough to heal trauma.
You dropped your bag by the door, kicked off your shoes, and threw yourself face-first onto the nearest bed.
The mattress accepted you instantly.
“This,” you mumbled into the duvet, “is where I live now.”
“Like hell you are.”
You felt the mattress dip as Hikari launched herself onto the opposite bed, then immediately bounced back up with renewed purpose. “We, my friend, are going to explore the city. Starting with what it has to offer my stomach.”
You didn’t move. “Tell your stomach I said congratulations.”
“It says thank you and get up.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, physically I’m past that point. My body has clocked out.”
She stood over you with her hands on her hips. “You are being dramatic.”
“I am being realistic.”
“You’re horizontal in jeans.”
“That’s how serious this is.”
Hikari grabbed one of the pillows and smacked you with it.
You lifted your head just enough to glare at her. “Violence. In a foreign country.”
“Get dressed.”
“I am dressed.”
“You look like you lost a custody battle.”
You groaned and rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. “Can we please just order room service and rot in peace?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because we did not come all the way to Seoul for you to fuse with hotel linen.”
“I came here for an internship.”
“You came here for character development.”
“I came here because every firm in London decided to collectively ignore me.”
The joke landed flatter than usual.
Hikari’s expression softened a little. She sat down at the edge of your bed and nudged your ankle. “Hey.”
You looked away toward the window. “I know it sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does. We literally just got here and I’m sulking over emails.”
“You’re stressed,” she said simply. “There’s a difference.”
You exhaled slowly.
“It’s just…” You rubbed a hand over your face. “Everyone keeps acting like if I don’t get everything sorted now, I’m behind already. Vacation schemes, training contracts, applications, networking, grades. It never stops.”
Hikari was quiet for a second, then flicked your forehead.
“Ow.”
“Firstly, dramatic. Secondly, you are the smartest person I know.”
“That’s terrifying for society.”
“I’m serious.” She pointed at you sternly. “You work harder than anyone, you somehow survive on iced coffee and panic, and you’re going to qualify one day whether those firms reply this week or next year.”
“Next year would be suboptimal.”
“My point,” she said louder, “is don’t let silence from a few dusty firms convince you you’re failing.”
You snorted despite yourself. “Dusty firms?”
“Yes. Dusty, musty, probably using microsoft word 2007. They don’t deserve your tears.”
“I wasn’t crying.”
“You were spiritually close.”
You smiled into the pillow.
“Even smart people need breaks,” she continued. “Even future solicitors need to eat dumplings and touch grass.”
“I hate when you’re right.”
“I know. It’s my burden.”
She sprang up suddenly and clapped once. “Now get up.”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t test me.”
“I have nothing left to lose.”
That was apparently the wrong answer, because she seized your wrist and began dragging you across the mattress.
You immediately went limp.
“Oh my God,” she snapped. “Did you just dead-weight me?”
“Yes.”
“You’re evil.”
“You’re stronger than you look.”
“You’re heavier than you look.”
“That was personal.”
With a heroic grunt, she managed to yank you upright until you were sitting on the edge of the bed looking deeply offended.
“There,” she said, panting slightly. “Vertical. We’re making progress.”
“I’ll remember this betrayal.”
“You can journal about it over dinner.”
Ten minutes later, after Hikari physically handing you a cleaner top and threatening to leave without you, the two of you were back in the lift heading downstairs.
You leaned against the mirrored wall. “If I collapse in public, tell people I died pursuing culture.”
“I’ll tell them you died being stubborn.”
The city hit differently at street level. Warm air, bright signs, traffic humming, groups of friends laughing outside convenience stores, music drifting from somewhere unseen. Everything felt alive.
You tucked your hands into your pockets as Hikari looked around like she’d personally built the place.
“Where are we even going?” you asked.
“Somewhere with food.”
“That narrows it down.”
“Somewhere cute with food.”
“Still broad.”
“Somewhere with food and potential husbands.”
“There it is.”
She linked arms with you and began steering you down the pavement. “You joke now, but one good bowl of noodles and one handsome stranger later, your whole attitude could change.”
“My attitude is grounded in reason.”
“Your attitude is grounded in fear.”
“My attitude is grounded in case law.”
Both of you shuddered.
“Disgusting,” she muttered.
“Public law,” you whispered back.
She recoiled. “Don’t ruin the evening.”
For the first time in weeks, your chest felt lighter. The emails, the deadlines, the pressure—they were still there, waiting somewhere beyond this trip. But right now there was only the city, your ridiculous best friend, and the smell of food drifting through the street.
Maybe that was enough for one night.
The streets were quieter than they’d looked from the hotel window, the late hour thinning the crowds to scattered groups of students, delivery drivers, and people who looked far too awake for two in the morning. Most shopfronts were dark, shutters pulled down, chairs stacked on tables behind glass.
You yawned as Hikari dragged you past another closed café. “So your brilliant plan,” you said, “was to search for food at two a.m. in a city we don’t know.”
“My brilliant plan,” she corrected, “was to trust destiny.”
“Destiny appears to be shut.”
She ignored you, peering dramatically left and right like a detective on a case. “There has to be something open. This city loves me too much to let me starve.”
“This city doesn’t know you.”
“It can feel my presence.”
You pulled your phone from your pocket, instinctively opening your inbox. Still nothing. Then Outlook. Still nothing there either.
Before you could refresh for the third time, Hikari snatched the phone clean out of your hand.
“You absolute menace—”
“No.” She held it away from you. “We are not doing corporate self-harm in the middle of the pavement.”
“I was just checking.”
“You checked six minutes ago.”
“A lot can happen in six minutes.”
“Not in graduate recruitment.”
You reached for it. She dodged you with offensive agility.
“Give it back.”
“When you stop acting like outlook is your situationship.”
“It’s not a situationship.”
“It leaves you on delivered and ruins your mood. That’s textbook.”
You hated how accurate that was.
Hikari tucked your phone into her bag for safekeeping and looped her arm through yours before you could protest. “There. Free at last.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m necessary.”
You wandered another block, passing a convenience store glowing fluorescent white and a group of lads laughing outside a karaoke bar. Somewhere in the distance, music thumped through a wall. The city felt softer now—less like a postcard, more like something alive and still moving long after it should’ve slept.
Then Hikari stopped so abruptly you nearly walked into her.
“There,” she breathed.
Across the street, tucked between a closed stationery shop and a laundrette, was a tiny restaurant lit entirely in pink and blue neon. Steam fogged the windows, and a handwritten sign in Korean hung crookedly by the door.
Hikari clutched your arm. “That one is calling my name.”
“You’re insane.”
“Don’t you hear it?” She tilted her head. “It’s literally whispering… Hikari…”
“It’s probably the fridge humming.”
“No. It wants me.”
“It wants paying customers.”
She gasped. “Why do you always reduce magic to economics?”
“Because I study law.”
“That explains so much.”
Before you could say another word, she tugged you across the road.
“You know,” she said casually, “places like this are where life-changing things happen.”
“You mean food poisoning?”
“I mean meet-cutes.”
“I rebuke that energy.”
“You’re too closed off.”
“I’m realistic.”
“You’re twenty-one and allergic to whimsy.”
“I’m allergic to men who say ‘what do you bring to the table?’”
She shuddered. “Fair.”
You reached the door, and she paused to inspect your face. “Actually, maybe tonight’s the night.”
“For what?”
“You meet someone mysterious. Brooding. Beautiful. Emotionally available but with edge.”
“You’ve just described a fictional man.”
“They exist.”
“Name one.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. “That is not the point.”
You smirked. “Exactly.”
Hikari pushed the door open anyway, warm air and the smell of grilled meat rushing out to meet you. “Come on,” she declared. “Worst case scenario, no husband. Best case scenario, noodles and character development.”
You stepped inside after her. “Why is everything to you either romance or personal growth?”
She grinned over her shoulder. “Because both look good on you.”
The restaurant was small but warm, the kind of place that felt lived in. A few tables were occupied by night-shift workers and students hunched over steaming bowls, low conversation humming beneath the clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Neon light from outside painted the windows pink and blue.
Hikari slid into the booth first and immediately grabbed a menu.
“Oh my God,” she whispered reverently. “Look at this.”
You sat opposite her, shrugging off your jacket. “It’s a menu.”
“It’s an opportunity.”
“It’s laminated.”
She ignored you, eyes scanning wildly. “They have dumplings. They have fried chicken. They have noodles. They have rice bowls. They have desserts.”
“That tends to be how restaurants work.”
“I want everything.”
“You physically cannot have everything.”
“Watch me.”
“Hikari.”
“No, because imagine limiting yourself when life is this short.”
“Slow down before the waiter comes over and you embarrass us both.”
She gasped. “I have never embarrassed anyone in my life.”
You stared at her.
“Okay,” she amended, “not intentionally.”
A server approached with a polite smile and notepad in hand. Hikari instantly shoved her menu toward you.
“Your time to shine,” she whispered.
“You are shameless.”
“I am adaptive.”
You ordered in Korean, asking for two portions of dumplings, spicy noodles, fried chicken to share, and drinks. The server nodded, repeated the order back, then left with a small smile.
Hikari looked at you like you’d just levitated.
“Excuse me?” she said. “Since when was your Korean that good?”
You blinked. “What?”
“That was smooth. You sounded like you belong here.”
“I literally asked for food.”
“In another language.”
“Thank you.”
“No, seriously.” She pointed at you accusingly. “Why do you act like being impressive is casual?”
You laughed. “I learnt it for my degree, remember? International studies required a language component. I picked Korean.”
“And then just became fluent in secret?”
“I’m not fluent.”
“You just ordered chicken with confidence. That’s fluency.”
“That is hunger.”
She leaned back in her seat dramatically. “Brains, beauty, employable, bilingual. It’s honestly sickening.”
“Please stop trying to auction me off.”
“I’m just saying, if the law thing fails, marry rich.”
“The law thing is not failing.”
“It was a joke.”
“It wasn’t funny.”
“It was a little funny.”
You tried not to smile. “Maybe a little.”
She smirked. “There she is.”
The drinks arrived first, and the two of you immediately reached for the same one.
“Hands off,” she said.
“You ordered the wrong thing.”
“I ordered adventure.”
“You ordered peach soda.”
“Exactly.”
You laughed and took your own glass instead.
“So,” she said, stirring her drink, “how do you think your final assignment went?”
You groaned instantly. “Don’t bring academia into my safe space.”
“It’s a genuine question.”
“I think contract law went well.”
“Show off.”
“I said I think.”
“You say ‘I think’ when you know you ate.”
“I did not eat.”
“You devoured.”
You rolled your eyes. “Public law was rough.”
Both of you visibly recoiled.
“Vile subject,” Hikari muttered.
“Deeply unnecessary,” you agreed.
“Professor Bennett ruined constitutional theory for me.”
You frowned. “Bennett’s a man.”
“I know. I’m warming up.” She pointed a finger. “Dr Patel though? That woman hates me personally.”
You burst out laughing. “She does not know you.”
“She does. Every seminar she looks directly at me before asking the one reading I didn’t do.”
“That’s because you sit in the front row wearing sunglasses.”
“It’s confidence.”
“It’s insolence.”
Hikari clutched her chest. “Last month she asked me to define parliamentary sovereignty and when I paused she sighed like I’d killed her family.”
You were laughing too hard to respond.
“I’m serious,” Hikari insisted. “That woman has beef with me.”
“She has standards.”
“She has jealousy.”
“Of what?”
“My aura.”
You nearly choked on your drink.
At that exact moment, the food arrived in a wave of steam and glorious smell, cutting off your laughter. Dumplings, glossy noodles, crispy chicken piled high.
Hikari looked down at the table with tears in her eyes.
“See?” she whispered. “This city loves me.”
You looked down at the spread, then back at her. “This city tolerates you at best.”
“It nourishes me,” Hikari corrected, already reaching for a dumpling. “There’s a difference.”
“Can you at least wait two seconds?”
“No. Survival instincts.”
She bit into one immediately, then closed her eyes like she’d ascended.
“Oh wow.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“This is a religious experience.”
You picked up your chopsticks and tried the noodles, heat and spice hitting almost instantly. Your eyes widened.
“Okay,” you admitted. “That’s incredible.”
Hikari pointed triumphantly with half a dumpling in hand. “Exactly. Trust me more.”
“I trust you selectively.”
“You wound me.”
“I protect myself.”
The next few minutes were spent in near silence apart from the occasional hum of appreciation and Hikari trying to steal from your plate every time you looked away.
“Why are you touching my food?” you asked, catching her hand mid-reach.
“Because yours looks better.”
“It’s the same dish.”
“It tastes different when it’s yours.”
“That sentence was nonsense.”
“It was intuition.”
You pushed the chicken farther from her. “Have boundaries.”
“Boundaries are western.”
“That is not true.”
She laughed and leaned back in her seat, satisfied for all of ten seconds before speaking again. “So... what’s the actual plan for the internship?”
You wiped your hands on a napkin. “Orientation Monday. Then I’m placed with their comparative constitutional team for six weeks.”
Her mouth dropped open. “That sounds sexy.”
“It sounds like unpaid labour.”
“It sounds impressive.”
“It sounds like I’ll be formatting documents until my hands cramp.”
She shrugged. “Still. International law girl summer.”
You snorted. “That is not a thing.”
“It is now.”
You looked down at your drink, tracing the condensation on the glass. “I just hope I’m good enough.”
Hikari’s expression changed immediately. Softer. Sharper. The nonsense dialed down.
“You are.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I literally do.”
“It’s different there. Everyone else applying probably has better grades, better experience, better everything.”
“Wrong.”
“That’s not an argument.”
“It’s enough from me.” She leaned forward. “You do this thing where you decide everyone else is more qualified before they’ve even opened their mouths.”
You said nothing.
“And meanwhile,” she continued, “you’re clever, hardworking, bilingual, doing a summer placement abroad, and somehow still convinced you’re behind.”
“I’m not convinced. I’m observing.”
“You’re spiralling.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“You’re being annoying.”
That pulled a laugh out of you. “There she is.”
“I never left.” She reached over and tapped your wrist with her chopsticks. “Listen to me. Some random firms not replying does not define your future.”
“They’re not random.”
“They are to me.”
“I hate when you simplify my problems.”
“I hate when you inflate them.”
You smiled despite yourself.
She smiled back. “Good. Better.”
Then, without warning, she reached into her bag and pulled out your phone.
You sat up. “Why do you still have that?”
“Because you can’t be trusted.”
She glanced at the screen and gasped theatrically. “Oh my God, she’s opening Outlook at the table.”
“I was not!”
“You absolutely were in your spirit.”
“Give it back.”
“No.” She tucked it under her thigh. “Phone jail until dessert.”
“There is no dessert.”
“Then sunrise.”
“Hikari.”
“Eat your noodles.”
“You’re a tyrant.”
“I’m a visionary.”
You glared at her for another second before taking another bite.
“Also,” she added casually, “if you do become a big-shot solicitor one day, I expect compensation for emotional support rendered.”
“You’ve caused most of my emotional distress.”
“Exactly. Full-circle healing.”
You laughed so suddenly you nearly inhaled a chilli flake.
She grinned, pleased with herself. “There it is again. That noise. Keep making it this summer.”
Something warm settled in your chest that had nothing to do with the food.
Hikari was mid-laugh—head thrown back, chopsticks still in hand—when someone bumped into her hard enough to knock her slightly sideways.
“Hey—what the hell?” she blurted, steadying herself on the table.
You looked up instantly.
A girl had just rushed past your booth without even apologising, phone clutched tight in her hand, eyes wide with something between panic and excitement.
Then another followed. And another.
Within seconds, the calm hum of the restaurant shifted. Chairs scraped. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. People started standing.
And then—movement outside.
A sudden wave of footsteps. Fast. Coordinated. Almost like a stampede.
“What is happening?” you said slowly, putting your chopsticks down.
Hikari leaned toward the window, squinting. “Why does it look like Black Friday but emotional?”
Another group of girls rushed past the glass, pressing close to the street outside. Some were filming. Some were running. All of them were heading in the same direction.
The staff inside the restaurant started glancing toward the door too, murmuring to each other in quick Korean.
You and Hikari exchanged a look.
“…We’ve been in the country for like three hours,” you said.
“And already there’s a cult forming outside,” she replied.
“That’s not what that is.”
“It might be.”
A loud wave of screaming erupted from somewhere down the street—sharp, excited, overlapping voices that made the hairs on your arms rise slightly.
Hikari slowly set her chopsticks down.
“Okay,” she said. “That is not normal food enthusiasm.”
You shifted in your seat, craning your neck toward the window. “Is there like… a sale?”
“At 2 a.m.?”
“Midnight capitalism?”
Before Hikari could respond, another burst of screaming cut through the air—closer this time—followed by a sudden surge of movement outside the restaurant windows.
People were running past now. Not walking. Running.
Phones up. Voices high.
Your stomach dropped a little.
“…Okay,” Hikari said slowly, turning fully toward the window now. “Something is definitely happening.”
You stood up slightly, peering through the glass. “Why does it look like everyone is chasing the same person?”
“Or running from the same person,” she muttered.
A beat of silence.
Then you both looked at each other at the exact same time.
“No,” you said immediately.
Hikari pointed at the window. “Don’t say no like that didn’t cross your mind.”
“It did not cross my mind.”
“It sprinted across mine.”
You grabbed your phone off the table instinctively, then stopped yourself mid-motion.
Hikari noticed immediately. “Don’t you dare open Outlook in a crisis.”
“I wasn’t!”
“You were spiritually logging in again.”
Outside, the crowd thickened—more voices, more flashing screens, the street suddenly packed in a way that didn’t match the quiet, sleepy vibe from earlier.
A chair somewhere inside the restaurant scraped loudly as another customer stood to look.
Hikari leaned closer to the glass, narrowing her eyes.
“…Okay,” she said again, slower this time. “Either someone very important just walked past…”
She trailed off.
You leaned in beside her. “Or what?”
Hikari swallowed. “Or we’re about to find out what this city is actually like at 2 a.m.”
And for the first time since you’d arrived, neither of you had a joke ready.
The flashes hit first.
Not inside the restaurant—but outside.
Bright, rapid, almost violent bursts of white light strobed through the windows like lightning trapped in glass. Conversations inside the restaurant faltered. Someone near the counter let out a confused laugh. A chair scraped back.
Hikari squinted. “Okay… why does it look like we’re being photographed by angry lightning bugs?”
You were already standing again, instinctively edging closer to the window. “That’s not normal.”
Another wave of screams rolled down the street—closer now, louder, more concentrated. The kind of sound that didn’t belong to confusion anymore, but certainty. Like everyone out there knew exactly who they were chasing.
And then the door of the restaurant opened.
A sharp rush of cold night air swept in.
First came a man dressed completely in black—cap pulled low, face covered with a black mask, moving with the kind of controlled urgency that made the entire room shift its attention without thinking. Behind him, a blonde-haired boy followed quickly, equally guarded, glancing back toward the door like he was used to this kind of chaos. Two security guards entered after them, scanning the room instantly.
The atmosphere changed.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… tense.
Like everyone suddenly remembered how to breathe quietly.
Hikari, however, was not part of that collective silence.
“Oh.”
You turned your head slowly. “Oh what.”
She was staring straight at the blonde boy like she’d just discovered oxygen. “Oh mama likey.”
You slapped her hand immediately. “No.”
“What?” she hissed, not looking away. “I’m appreciating art.”
“That’s a human being.”
“A very aesthetically curated human being.”
One of the security guards spoke briefly to the staff in quick Korean, and the staff immediately nodded, flustered, motioning toward a table further inside the restaurant.
The masked man didn’t sit yet. He paused near the entrance, scanning the room once—slowly, carefully.
For a second, the noise outside felt very far away.
Hikari leaned closer to you, whispering loudly, “Okay but blonde one? That’s my type.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“I know enough.”
“You know hair.”
“I know potential.”
You nudged her again as she tried to lean forward for a better look. “Stop objectifying strangers.”
“You’ve created an entire personality from three seconds of walking.”
“I’m efficient.”
The blonde boy glanced briefly in your direction while being guided to sit, then looked away again, slightly overwhelmed but polite. Hikari actually sighed.
“I’m in love,” she declared.
“You are insane.”
“Do you think they’re famous or something?” you murmured, eyes still fixed on the masked man as he finally stepped further inside.
Hikari didn’t even hesitate. “Either famous or running from a crime scene.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“It’s realistic.”
Outside, more screams erupted, louder again, like the crowd had just shifted direction. Phones pressed against the glass from the street, silhouettes clustering tightly outside the restaurant now.
One of the security guards stepped toward the door and shut it firmly, blocking the view of the chaos outside.
Inside, everything felt suddenly too quiet.
Hikari leaned back slowly. “Okay,” she said. “So we’re either in a restaurant…”
She paused.
“Or we’re in the opening scene of something very expensive.”
You swallowed slightly, still watching the masked man as he finally lowered himself into a seat deeper inside the restaurant, posture calm despite everything happening outside.
“…I don’t like this kind of quiet,” you admitted.
Hikari hummed. “Me neither.”
Then, softer—just for a second—she added, “But at least dinner got interesting.”
The two of them settled into the booth behind you almost silently—like they were trying not to disturb the air itself.
You felt it more than saw it at first. The shift. The presence.
Hikari, on the other hand, saw everything.
The second they sat down, she leaned forward slightly, eyes wide, trying to peek past your shoulder without being obvious about it—except she was absolutely failing at being subtle.
“Stop moving,” you muttered under your breath.
“I’m not moving.”
“You are vibrating.”
“I’m observing.”
“You’re staring.”
She pressed her lips together like that would somehow make her less obvious, but her attention kept flicking behind you every two seconds.
“Okay,” she whispered, voice barely contained. “The blonde one just sat down and I feel like I’ve been chosen by the universe personally.”
You tilted your head slightly, blocking her view with your shoulder on purpose. “We just got here. Please allow yourself to breathe before you start planning a wedding.”
“I’m not planning a wedding.”
“You said ‘chosen by the universe.’ That’s basically engagement.”
Hikari slapped your arm lightly. “Move. You’re tall, use it for good.”
“I am using it for good. I’m shielding the public from you.”
She tried to lean again, and you gently pushed her back into her seat.
“Behave.”
“I am behaving.”
“You are absolutely not.”
Hikari opened her mouth to argue, but then—mid-sentence—she stopped.
Completely froze.
Her expression changed so fast you almost laughed.
“…Okay,” she whispered. “Wait.”
“What?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared. Over your shoulder. Focused. Still.
You followed her gaze this time, turning slightly.
The blonde boy had stood up.
And now, without the mask, he was walking toward the counter at the front of the restaurant.
Up close, he was… unfair.
Not just attractive in a generic way—there was something almost unreal about how put together he looked even in a loose, late-night outfit. Blonde hair slightly messy, falling just enough into his eyes like it had been styled and then abandoned halfway through the night. He wore thin-framed glasses that made his features sharper somehow, more defined.
And as he turned slightly, you caught it—
A tattoo just behind his ear. Small. Clean. Intentional. Like it meant something.
He moved with quiet confidence, but not arrogance. More like someone used to being aware of every room he entered without needing to acknowledge it.
Hikari exhaled sharply.
“Oh,” she said.
You glanced at her. “Oh what.”
She didn’t look away. “Girl… I got a date with destiny.”
You blinked. “You don’t even know his name.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Yes you do.”
“No I don’t. The city already told me.”
“What city—?”
She grabbed your wrist briefly, eyes still locked forward like she was witnessing prophecy unfold. “I told you. This city loves me.”
“You’re delusional.”
“I’m intuitive.”
The blonde reached the counter, speaking quietly to the staff. Polite. Controlled. Nothing about him matched the chaos outside anymore. Like he’d stepped into a different world entirely.
Hikari leaned forward again, completely ignoring your attempts to physically contain her.
“Okay,” she whispered urgently, “if I don’t talk to him, I will regret it for the rest of my life.”
“You will regret it for five minutes and then forget.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is absolutely true.”
She finally tore her gaze away just long enough to look at you. “Do you think he likes confidence?”
“I think he likes peace.”
“Perfect. I’m peaceful.”
“You are currently plotting a romantic takeover.”
She sat back dramatically. “I’m not plotting. I’m aligning.”
You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “We came here for food.”
“And I am getting food,” she said proudly. “And possibly destiny.”
The blonde laughed softly at something the staff said, the sound faint but noticeable even from across the room. Hikari immediately clutched your sleeve.
“Oh my God. He has a nice laugh too.”
“You’ve known him for twelve seconds.”
“And I already respect him.”
You sighed, leaning back. “Please just don’t embarrass me.”
Hikari gasped. “I would never embarrass you.”
A beat.
“…In public.”
You closed your eyes. “That is not reassuring.”
She leaned closer again, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper.
“If I go over there and come back with his number, you owe me silence for a week.”
“You will not go over there.”
“I might.”
“You will not.”
“I’m feeling brave.”
“You’re feeling hungry.”
“I’m feeling fated.”
You opened your eyes slowly. “Hikari.”
She grinned. “Relax. I’m just saying hello.”
“You never just say hello.”
Behind you, the blonde finished at the counter and turned slightly, as if preparing to return to his table.
Hikari straightened immediately, energy switching like a light bulb flicking on.
“Okay,” she whispered, gripping the edge of the table. “If I survive this, I want it noted I died doing what I loved.”
“You are not dying.”
“I might be socially.”
And before you could stop her again, she stood up.
The blonde had barely settled back into his seat when Hikari made her move.
You saw it happen in real time—no hesitation, no internal debate, just pure Hikari instinct kicking in like a switch had flipped. She wiped her hands on a napkin, straightened her posture like she was about to walk into a job interview, and stood up.
“Hikari—no,” you hissed, already halfway out of your seat. “Absolutely not.”
She didn’t even look back.
“Relax,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m just saying hi.”
“That is how horror stories start!”
But she was already walking.
At the table behind you, the blonde looked up first—mid-conversation with the man beside him—expression shifting from neutral to slightly surprised, then politely attentive. The man in black reacted instantly, body tightening, shoulders squaring as Hikari stopped directly in front of them like she belonged there.
“Hi,” she said brightly, clasping her hands together. “I’m Hikari.”
There was a beat of silence.
The man in black didn’t move for a second. Then slowly, he lifted his cap just enough to see better, and tugged his mask down so his voice came through clearer.
His eyes were sharp. Focused. The kind of look that didn’t miss details—it analysed them.
“If you’re a sasaeng,” he said flatly in Korean, “you need to stop following people like this. It’s an invasion of privacy.”
The temperature at the table dropped instantly.
Hikari blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“…I’m sorry?” she said, still polite, but now visibly confused.
The blonde immediately reacted—reaching out and lightly smacking the man’s arm.
“Bro,” he said, switching effortlessly into English, tone more amused than hostile. “That’s not nice.”
Then he looked at Hikari and softened immediately, offering a quick, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about him. Be nice to the pretty lady. She’s clearly not from here.”
That did it.
Hikari visibly short-circuited for half a second at “pretty lady,” like her brain had paused buffering.
Then she recovered instantly, posture resetting.
The blonde tilted his head slightly, still smiling. “Hi, I’m Park Jimin.”
Before Hikari could even react properly, the man in black let out a quiet scoff and turned sharply toward him.
“Are you serious?” he said, switching into English now, voice lower but edged with irritation.
Jimin blinked. “What?”
“You know damn well there are foreign sasaengs too,” the man in black continued, tone controlled but sharp. “They act clueless like they don’t know us, and next thing you know they’re trying to break into your house, telling security they’re your friends.”
Hikari went completely still.
You could see it—she didn’t understand every word, but she understood enough. The tone. The accusation. The assumption sitting under it like a weight.
Her expression shifted immediately from excitement to offence.
And something in your chest snapped into focus.
You were already standing.
“Hikari,” you said quickly under your breath, but she didn’t hear you.
Or didn’t register it.
So you walked.
Not rushed. Not aggressive. Just firm—cutting cleanly through the space between tables until you were directly in front of her.
You positioned yourself without thinking, shoulder slightly angled to shield her.
Then you looked at the man in black.
Up close, the intensity was worse. Not threatening—but guarded. Like someone who had learned to assume danger first and apologise later. Cap low, dark clothing, jaw set in a way that suggested he was already regretting having to deal with this situation.
You spoke in Korean, calm but firm.
“My friend is not a stalker,” you said clearly. “And she would never break into anyone’s house. We don’t even know who you are. So maybe don’t assume the worst of people and—” your eyes narrowed slightly “—pipe down on the ego a bit.”
Silence.
The blonde—Jimin—snorted softly under his breath, leaning back in his chair like he’d just witnessed something mildly entertaining.
“Okay,” he muttered, half-laughing. “She got you there.”
The man in black blinked once, caught slightly off guard—not by the words, but by how directly they landed. His gaze flicked briefly between you and Hikari like he was recalculating the entire situation.
Jimin tilted his head, still amused. “You really needed that.”
Hikari, still behind you, whispered urgently, “Wait—am I in trouble or did I just get defended?”
“Both,” you muttered without looking back.
The air at the table shifted. Less sharp now. Less hostile. More… uncertain.
Not resolved. Just recalibrated.
You exhaled slowly through your nose, then reached back and grabbed Hikari’s wrist.
“Come on,” you said firmly. “We’re done. Sit down. Finish eating. We’re leaving.”
“I didn’t even get to introduce my personality properly,” she protested as you tugged her back.
“You introduced enough.”
She stumbled slightly as you guided her back into the booth, still twisting her head over her shoulder like she was trying to process the entire encounter in real time.
“Okay,” she said slowly once seated. “That was… not on my bingo card.”
“Yes,” you replied flatly.
She picked up her chopsticks again like nothing had happened. “But also… I think I just got called pretty by Park Jimin.”
“You got accused of breaking into someone’s house.”
“Details.”
You stared at her. “That’s not details. That’s the main issue.”
Hikari leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice like this was suddenly a private conversation again.
“I don’t think he meant it,” she said gently. “He was just… defensive.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“I know.” She reached across the table and covered your hand with hers, grounding. “But I’m fine.”
You frowned slightly. “I don’t like people speaking to you like that.”
Hikari squeezed your hand once. “I know.”
A pause.
The noise of the restaurant slowly filled the space again—the clatter of plates, low conversation, the faint hiss from the kitchen. The world moving on like nothing had just shifted.
Then Hikari nudged your foot under the table.
“Also,” she said lightly, “you fully just told off a man in Korean like it was a court cross-examination. That was kind of terrifying in a hot way.”
You let out a short, reluctant laugh despite yourself. “Don’t start.”
“Oh I’m starting a campaign,” she said immediately. “Future solicitor energy. Ten out of ten intimidation factor.”
“I want to leave the country.”
“After dessert.”
You were still staring at the table when Hikari nudged your foot again, gently this time.
“Okay,” she said, voice lighter, deliberately pulling the air back up. “We are not spiralling. We are resetting.”
“I’m not spiralling.”
“You’re doing the silent angry chewing thing. That’s spiralling.”
You paused. Slowly swallowed. “It’s just… unbelievable.”
“I know,” she said immediately, softer. “But it’s done. Gone. Out of our timeline.”
“That’s not how time works.”
“It is in my system.”
You let out a breath through your nose, finally picking up your chopsticks again. The food was still warm, untouched chaos on the table between you.
Hikari leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “So. Internship.”
You looked at her. “What about it.”
“This is me redirecting your brain before it turns into legal rage soup.”
“I don’t have legal rage soup.”
“You absolutely do. It’s simmering.”
You huffed a laugh despite yourself. “I’m in comparative constitutional law for six weeks. It’s going to be reading, note-taking, and pretending I understand twenty-page judgments in one sitting.”
“That sounds sexy,” she said instantly.
“It sounds like suffering.”
“It sounds like future lawyer main character arc.”
You shook your head, finally relaxing back into the booth. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m supportive.”
“You’re delusional.”
“I’m optimistic.”
There was a pause, then Hikari tilted her head. “Okay but imagine. You walk into the firm, everyone’s stressed, everything’s formal, and then you walk in like—” she straightened her posture dramatically, voice dropping “—‘Good morning, I understand constitutional frameworks and I will ruin your ego in litigation.’”
You snorted. “That is not what I sound like.”
“It is in my dreams.”
“That’s terrifying.”
She grinned. “You’re going to be fine, though. You always are.”
You picked at your noodles. “I hope so.”
“You will be.” She said it more firmly this time. “You’re not the type to not figure things out.”
You glanced up at her. “That’s a lot of faith in someone who almost died emotionally over no internship replies.”
“I said almost.”
You rolled your eyes, but your shoulders had loosened now. “What about you, then? What’s your plan for this trip? Besides traumatising strangers in restaurants.”
“I don’t traumatise—”
“You absolutely do.”
“Fine,” she conceded. “Besides enriching the local economy and being culturally immersive.”
“You mean flirting.”
“I mean networking.”
“Same thing in your vocabulary.”
Hikari smiled, unbothered. “I’m going to find you a nice Korean man.”
You froze mid-bite. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Did you miss the entire last ten minutes of my life?”
“That man was one experience,” she said, waving a hand. “We don’t judge an entire population on one emotionally constipated individual.”
“I am judging him specifically.”
“Fair. He was rude.”
“He called you a stalker.”
“He assumed incorrectly,” she corrected. “But still. We move.”
You stared at her. “We are not ‘moving’ into me finding a man.”
“Why are you so against it?”
“Because I didn’t come to Seoul for romance. I came for law. And peace. And maybe slightly less academic burnout.”
Hikari leaned in again, smiling mischievously. “And yet somehow you still got emotionally adopted by chaos in under three hours.”
“That was not adoption.”
“That was destiny.”
You pointed at her with your chopsticks. “Do not start that again.”
She raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. No destiny. Just vibes.”
“Better.”
“But I am serious about one thing,” she added, softer now. “You need to stop letting one rude guy in a restaurant ruin your whole night.”
You exhaled. “He didn’t ruin my night.”
“You were two seconds away from prosecuting him in public.”
“He deserved it.”
“He might have been stressed too.”
“That’s not my problem.”
Hikari smiled gently. “Exactly. It’s not your problem.”
You looked at her properly then, tension slowly fading again. “You’re trying to distract me.”
“Yes.”
“It’s working a little.”
“I know.” She tapped her glass lightly against yours. “Now eat your food before I decide your next emotional crisis is dessert-based.”
You laughed under your breath. “That’s not a thing.”
“It can be.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“And yet,” she said proudly, “you love me.”
You shook your head, finally picking up another dumpling. “Unfortunately.”
“Good,” she said brightly. “Because tomorrow, we’re exploring properly. No phones, no LinkedIn spirals, no existential dread.”
“I don’t spiral.”
“You spiralled in the airport.”
“That was research.”
“That was despair.”
You were still halfway turned toward Hikari when you muttered, “I’m going to go pay before you decide dessert is a personality trait.”
Hikari didn’t even look up, just casually twirled her chopsticks like she had all the time in the world. “Too late. It already is.”
You shot her a look. “You’re actually impossible.”
“And yet,” she said, finally glancing up at you with a completely unbothered smile, “you’re still sitting here.”
“That’s not a choice. That’s survival.”
She laughed under her breath and waved you off. “Go. Before I order something dramatic.”
“You already did.”
“I can always escalate.”
You shook your head and walked to the counter.
The front of the restaurant was quieter—warmer somehow, like the noise from your table hadn’t fully reached here. The staff were moving slowly, cleaning up between orders. The woman at the register looked up with a polite, practiced smile.
You spoke in Korean, softer but clear. “Hi, can I get the bill for table—”
She glanced at the screen, then back at you.
“It has already been paid for,” she said gently.
For a second, you just stood there, trying to make that sentence fit into any version of reality that made sense.
“…That’s not possible,” you said slowly. “We literally just finished eating.”
“Excuse me.”
The voice came from just behind you.
Not loud. Not aggressive.
Just close enough that it cut cleanly through your thoughts.
You turned your head first—then fully turned.
And there he was.
The black-haired man from earlier.
But now, without the mask, without the cap, without the barrier of distance or chaos, he looked different in a way your brain didn’t appreciate.
Up close, his features were sharper—defined jaw, straight nose, lips that had a silver ring through the lower one that caught the restaurant lighting every time he moved. A small eyebrow piercing sat above one eye, subtle but impossible to ignore now that you’d seen it. His hair was dark, slightly messy, falling forward in a way that looked unintentional but somehow suited him too well.
His jacket was off, hanging loosely from one hand, revealing more of his frame and the full sleeve of tattoos running down his arm—intricate patterns layered like they meant something personal rather than decorative.
And his eyes—calmer now. Less defensive than earlier, but still alert, like he didn’t fully trust how this conversation was about to go.
He cleared his throat once, a small, controlled sound that made the space feel like it had shifted slightly toward him.
“I paid,” he said, voice steady but a little careful, like he was choosing every word. “For your table.”
You blinked once.
Then slowly turned your head toward the counter again like there was a second explanation hiding somewhere behind the register.
“…You paid…” you repeated flatly.
“Yes.”
You blinked.
Then immediately scoffed. “Why?”
His brows lifted slightly. “Because I wanted to apologise.”
You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “No. That’s not an apology. That’s you trying to outsource accountability with noodles and guilt money.”
Behind him, the blonde at the table leaned back like he was watching the best free entertainment of the night.
The black-haired man exhaled through his nose. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It’s exactly what it looks like,” you shot back. “You don’t get to call my friend a stalker, embarrass her in public, and then think you can just… pay your way out of it.”
“I didn’t say I was buying forgiveness,” he replied, sharper now.
“You didn’t have to,” you snapped. “You did it anyway.”
A beat.
Then he tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “You always like this? I’m starting to think you fight people for a living. You secretly in the special services or what?”
Then you stepped forward slightly, expression completely flat.
“Even worse,” you said.
He blinked.
You held his gaze dead steady.
“Law student.”
Silence.
Even the blonde stopped laughing for a second.
The black-haired man stared at you like he was recalibrating everything he thought he knew about the last five minutes.
“You’re a law student,” he repeated slowly.
“Yes,” you said. “So when I tell you you can’t just assume things about people and fix it with money, I’m not being difficult. I’m explaining reality to you.”
A faint exhale left him—half laugh, half disbelief.
“Oh,” he said. “That explains the attitude.”
Your eyes narrowed immediately. “Attitude?”
“Yeah,” he said, a small smirk forming now despite himself. “The whole ‘I will cross-examine you in public over noodles’ energy.”
“I’m holding you accountable,” you corrected.
“Same thing.”
“It is not the same thing.”
“It feels like the same thing.”
You stepped closer. “It feels like that because you’re wrong.”
He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly. “You’re actually unbelievable.”
“And you’re actually insufferable,” you shot back.
Behind him, the blonde leaned forward again, clearly enjoying how quickly this had escalated again.
The black-haired man didn’t look back this time. His focus stayed on you.
“You really think you can just lecture strangers like that?” he asked.
“I think I can correct disrespect when I see it,” you said immediately.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It’s called having standards.”
“It’s called entitlement.”
That landed sharper.
You pointed at him. “Entitlement? From you? You accused my friend of something serious, and then tried to erase it with a restaurant bill.”
“I already told you that wasn’t the point.”
“It doesn’t matter what your point was,” you snapped. “It’s still wrong.”
A pause.
He nodded slowly. “You’d be terrifying in court.”
“I know,” you said immediately.
That actually made him pause.
Then, almost like he was testing you now, he added, “You plus that ugly wig would honestly be lethal.”
Your expression went very still.
“Oh my God,” you said slowly. “First of all, those wigs are for barristers, not solicitors.”
He smirked, clearly amused that he’d touched a nerve.
You pointed at him. “Don’t get smug.”
“You were loud.”
“I was accurate.”
“You were rude.”
“I was cautious.”
“You were wrong.”
“I apologised.”
“That’s not enough.”
“What do you want then?” he asked, voice edging a little sharper again. “A formal apology? A written statement? A whole courtroom drama?”
You leaned in slightly. “Don’t tempt me.”
That made him pause.
Then he let out a short laugh. “You actually would enjoy that.”
“I would enjoy you understanding consequences.”
He looked at you for a second longer, then exhaled slowly like he’d decided this conversation was never going to end peacefully.
“You’re very intense,” he said, not as an insult this time, more like an observation he couldn’t ignore.
You scoffed immediately. “And you’re very comfortable insulting strangers you don’t know.”
“I didn’t insult—”
“You did,” you cut in. “You assumed intent without knowing anything about the situation.”
His lips pressed together briefly, then he nodded once. “Yeah. I did.”
That answer threw you off for half a second.
Not the denial you expected.
But you didn’t soften.
“Right,” you said instead. “So we agree on that part.”
A pause hung between you.
Then he spoke again, slightly lighter but still careful. “I’m Jeon Jungkook.”
He said it like it mattered.
Like it was supposed to land in a certain way.
You looked at him for a second, expression unchanged.
“Okay,” you said simply.
That clearly wasn’t the reaction he expected.
His brow lifted slightly. “That’s it?”
You shrugged faintly. “Should there be more?”
“I told you my name.”
“And I didn’t ask for it,” you replied evenly.
That made something in his expression twitch—half disbelief, half amusement trying to surface.
He leaned slightly on his heel, eyes still on you. “So you’re just not going to tell me yours?”
You tilted your head. “Why would I?”
A faint smirk appeared on his face now, like he was starting to enjoy this despite himself.
“Seems fair,” he said, voice a little lighter. “But still.”
You crossed your arms. “Still what?”
“You’re just going to leave me with nothing?”
You gave him a look. “You’re a stranger I argued with for ten minutes. I think you’ll recover.”
That made him actually huff a quiet laugh.
From behind him, the blonde leaned back further in his chair, clearly entertained now.
Jungkook glanced over briefly, then back at you, the smirk still there but softer at the edges.
“You don’t usually introduce yourself?” he asked.
“Not when I’ve just been accused of being in a hostage situation at dinner, no.”
His expression flickered—like he was reminded of earlier.
“…That wasn’t what I meant,” he said.
“It’s what you said,” you replied instantly.
Another pause.
Then he exhaled slowly. “You really don’t let things go, do you?”
You stepped slightly closer to the counter, grabbing your bag from where it rested. “I don’t let disrespect slide, no.”
He watched you for a second, then tilted his head slightly again.
“So what, I’m just supposed to accept being wrong and move on?”
“Yes,” you said simply.
“I apologised.”
“That was avoidance.”
He stepped slightly closer now, not aggressively, just enough that the conversation tightened again.
“You’re loud,” he said again, like he was revisiting the earlier conclusion.
“I’m clear,” you corrected immediately.
“That’s just loud with structure.”
“I’m going to ignore that sentence.”
“You can’t just ignore it.”
“I just did.”
He smiled slightly wider now. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still standing here arguing with me,” you shot back.
Then he said, quieter but amused, “So are you.”
That landed in a different way.
You stared at him for a second longer, then shifted your bag onto your shoulder.
Hikari had already gotten up behind you, hovering like she had no idea whether to be impressed or terrified.
You grabbed her wrist without looking away from him.
“Come on,” you said flatly.
“Wait—my food—” she started.
“You’ll survive.”
“I was in the middle of—”
“I don’t care.”
You finally looked away from him, just slightly, as you started walking.
No goodbye.
No closure.
Just the sound of your steps and Hikari stumbling slightly behind you.
Behind you, you could hear him still.
Not following.
Just watching.
And, just before the door, his voice cut through once more—lighter now, almost amused.
“You still didn’t tell me your name.”
You didn’t turn around.
“Pity.” you said instead before smashing the door closed behind you.
SUMMARY. Jeon Jungkook, world-renowned video game streamer, has locked down the princess of OnlyFans (in his words, precisely). Their life together could never be anything but absolute and utter chaos.
pairing. gamer!jungkook x onlyfans!reader
warnings/genre. established relationship, smut, fluff, angst
note. ask and you shall receive. no update schedule for this one! it’ll just be when i feel like it/when inspo strikes. feel free to send in your requests for them here
banner creds.
⌗ the before
⤷ the one where jungkook stumbles across your onlyfans for the first time
⤷ the one where you and jungkook have sex for the first time
⤷ the one where you meet his friends
⤷ the one where jungkook makes you cum on camera
⤷ the one where he asks you to be his girlfriend
⌗ the during
⤷ the one where you ride him in his gaming chair
⤷ the one where jungkook is drunk and needs help getting off
⤷ the one where you and him get in your first fight
⤷ the one where jungkook sends you a dick video
⤷ the one where jungkook proposes
⌗ the after
⤷ the one where you’re pregnant and needy
⤷ the one where jungkook just wants a taste
⤷ the one where jungkook can’t say no to his little girl
hey sooo i figured i’d make a separate post for all the jungkook fics i’ve been absolutely obsessed with lately bc the list just keeps getting longer with how much i’ve been reading. so yeah, here it is!
warning: not all but MOST recs are 18+ — not safe, not soft, and definitely not for kids. minors, do not interact.
disclaimer: i do not own any of the fics i rec. all credit goes to the original writers. if i ever miss a tag or you want your work removed, just lmk. this blog exists to scream about good writing, nothing else.
enjoy ! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
➡️ MASTERLIST
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
──★ dilf jk series by @venusiangguk
pairing: dilf!jungkook x grocery store clerk!reader
word count: —
status: on-going
──★ still don’t know my name by @dollfaceksj
pairing: neighbor!jungkook x reader
word count: 29k
status: completed
──★ lowkey by @xpeachesncream
paring: nerd!jungkook x popular!reader
word count: 64k
status: completed
──★ the hit list by @whoretan
pairing: fuckboi!jungkook x introvert!reader
word count: —
status: on-going
──★ taste of a poison paradise by @dollfaceksj
pairing: fuckboi!jungkook x reader
word count: 91k
status: completed
──★ throttle by @alphabetboyluvr
pairing: racer!jungkook x gasoline station cashier!reader
word count: 160k
status: completed
──★ beast of busan by @trivia-yandere
pairing: serial killer!jungkook x reader
word count: 18k
status: completed
──★ milf by @trivia-yandere
pairing: son’s best friend!jungkook x milf!reader
word count: —
status: on-going
──★ sibling rivalry by @trivia-yandere
pairing: step brother!jungkook x step sister!reader
word count: 13k
status: completed
──★ starstruck by @trivia-yandere
pairing: actor!jungkook x newbie actress!reader
word count: —
status: on-going
──★ between takes by @jeonstudios
pairing: porn star!jungkook x fluffer!reader
word count: 30k
status: completed
──★ daddy kookie by @jkwrites-m
pairing: idol!jungkook x reader
word count: —
status: on-going
──★ ungodly hour by @explicit-tae
pairing: college!jungkook x reader
word count: 42k
status: completed
──★ pull over by @jkwrites-m
pairing: police officer!jungkook x reader
word count: 50k
status: completed
──★ bitchin’ by @kinktae
pairing: 80s fratboy!jungkook x nerd!reader
word count: 46k
status: completed
──★ cradle robbers by @wintrbears
pairing: best friend!jungkook x reader
word count: 71k
status: completed
──★ gameboy by @dreamersparacosm
pairing: gamer!jungkook x onlyfans cutie!reader
word count: —
status: on-going
──★ under the checkered flags by @dreamersparacosm
pairing: racer!jungkook x corporate worker!reader
word count: —
status: completed
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
thank you ~ ☆
this post might actually go on forever so stick around! i really hope you guys end up loving these fics as much as i do. all the love + props to the amazing writers behind them!
MAENGDOK (맹독) ━━ jeon jungkook & kim taehyung (zero).
━━━ (맹독) MAENGDOK ━━━ VENOM
pairing: fem! reader x gang! member jk x mafia! member kth
summary: You built a quiet life because nothing ever happens there. A quiet neighborhood, a steady job, and most importantly a peaceful home… Until a dying man from the underworld collapses at your feet and drags his life and the past closer with him. Because some things can’t stay quiet. Or buried.
genre (warning!): the whole story contains: dark romance. love triangle-ish. — mafia/gang activities. abuse of drugs and alcohol. abuse of authority. abuse of power. explicit sex scenes and talk. drug trafficking. illicit enrichment. kidnapping. very explicit descriptions of death and murder. murder. money laundering. terrorism. contract killing. narco-terrorism. organized crime. smuggling. political corruption. extortion and arms trafficking. misogyny. use of guns/knifes. mental health issues (depression. anxiety. ptsd. trauma. etc). and a lot more.
Not because of nightmares, not because of nerves— those were old habits— but because your body had learned to have a routine. A routine that helped you had a good state of mind, a healthy life. A routine that took a long of time to get used to. Morning light seeped through the thin curtains, pale and quiet, brushing the ceiling of a house that still didn’t feel like it belonged to you, but didn’t reject you either.
You lay there for a moment, listening.
Nothing.
No music. No shouting. No distant thud of something going wrong. No someone giving you bad news or new problems.
You choose that place because of that. A small house in a quiet neighborhood where nothing ever happened. Where people mind their business and went to bed early. Where the loudest sound at night was the wind rattling leaves down the street. You had learned to liked that too, the stillness, the quietness. The peace.
Eventually, you got up.
The shower water was a little too hot, steam filling the small bathroom until the mirror fogged completely. You liked it that way. You washed your hair slowly, methodically, letting the heat loosen your muscles. You didn’t rush. No one was waiting for you in a way that demanded urgency.
You dry off, pull on some old jeans and a soft T-shirt, tug a hoodie over it. Practical. Comfortable. Your hair stayed damp when you tied it back, loose strands clinging to your neck.
The kitchen was clean. Not spotless, lived-in, but tidy. You made coffee and stood by the counter while it brews, staring out the window at the empty street. A woman walked her dog past your house at the same time every morning. You knew everything about her, even if you had never talked directly. But you liked it that way. Not too friendly neighbours, just a real place that didn’t demand you to participate in things you didn’t like.
Your breakfast was toast and eggs. You hummed softly while you cooked, flipping the eggs with care, sitting down at the small table to eat properly instead of rushing out the door. You’ve learned that you liked food. That you liked cooking. That you liked the simple pleasure of eating something warm and homemade and yours.
It feels like proof of something. You weren’t sure of what yet.
You washed your plate, grabbed your keys, and head out to work.
It wasn’t so far. Your place of work was almost fifteen minutes in car. Ten if there wasn’t a lot of traffic and you were in a hurry. You made it in twelve. A little too fast for someone who was already early like always. The mechanic shop was already awake when you arrived. The metal garage doors were half open, the familiar smell of oil and rubber wrapping around you the moment you stepped inside.
You had worked there for more than a year already. After almost going broke and having no one to asked for help, the old man who run the place gave you a job. A hand that you desperately needed at the time. You had a debt with him. Even if he didn’t know. You always felt like you owned him a lot. He had giving you a reason to wake up every morning. A work to go to. Money to eat. In those days, that was more than enough for you.
Chan— the boss and the old man who gave you the job— was bent over an engine, sleeves rolled up, glasses sliding down his nose. He looked older those days.
“You’re early,” he said without looking at you.
You smiled. “I’m on time.”
“No, you’re always early.”
“If you know I’m always early then why do you complain every time?.”
“I’m not paying you extra,” he ignored your comment.
He didn’t even pay you by hour.
“Never asked you to.”
You laughed softly, grabbing your gloves from your locker. Your coworker, Jihyon, popped up from under a car, hair sticking up, face smudged with grease.
He was three years younger than you. He had been working there before you got the job. Part time in his free days while he finished his studies. Jihyon was smart and very nice. Even if you both didn’t have too much in common he always tried to made you feel included in everything. He was just a good guy.
“Ah! Thank god you’re here. Tell him the noise isn’t the transmission.”
You leaned over, listening as the engine idles. You tilted your head, thoughtful.
“It’s the belt,” you said after a moment. “Hear that whine? Too high-pitched.”
Jihyon groaned. “I knew it.”
“No, you didn’t.” Chan straightened slowly, watching you with quiet pride. “She’s right. Again.”
You shrugged, a little embarrassed. “It’s obvious.”
“Clearly not to everyone,” Chan muttered, handing you a rag and ignoring his other employee whining. “You eat today?”
“Yes,” you said immediately.
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t answer too fast when you lie. It’s obvious.”
“I didn’t lie.” You snorted before adding: “I had eggs and toast”
He nodded, satisfied. “Okay. Good.”
The morning passed by in a rhythm you loved. You worked on cars, talked to customers, explained repairs in simple language. You joked. You smiled. You didn’t think about anything beyond what was in front of you.
At lunch, Chan insisted on sitting with you, even though he pretended not to care what you were up to.
“You work too much,” he said suddenly, chewing slowly. “One day you’ll realize life is more than fixing other people’s messes.”
You glanced at him. “You own a mechanic shop.”
“That’s different. I’m old.”
You chuckled. “I like this job.”
“Nobody likes this job,” he shook his head. Stubborn as always.
“I do,” you insisted.
“You need to get a life outside this.” He told you, like he was giving you a lecture instead of an advice you didn’t ask for. “Get a boyfriend, or a girlfriend. I don’t know. Do you at least have any friends?.”
“Of course I do!,” you said defensively.
“Besides Jihyon and the lady from the convience store around your corner?.” He raised an eyebrow. “Which is not your friend. She talks to you because is her job.”
“We hangout outside the store like four times.”
“You’ve know her for more than a year.”
“Whatever,” you huffed. “Do you have any friends?.”
“I have a wife. Two grown kids.” Chan pointed at you. “You should do the same. Start a family, you’re getting old.”
“Let me pay my bills and get a real friend first.”
You laughed, and for a moment it felt easy. Like that was what life was supposed to be. Small conversations. Familiar faces. A place where your name was said kindly. A world where your only problem was trying to make friends, pay your bills, make laundry, cook food for the next day.
Peaceful. There was something so beautiful in choosing to worry about money and connections after being in a dark place for so long. You had chosen that life. It made you proud you had the courage and the determination to make it that way. To finally have some peace. To finally get a chance to be human.
When the day finally ended, your hands ached pleasantly. You said goodbye, promised Chan you’ll rest, and head home as the sky darkened.
At home, you changed into comfortable clothes and started cooking almost immediately. It was one of your favorite parts of the day. You chopped vegetables carefully, moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. The radio hummed quietly in the background, a new pop song you didn’t know but you liked enough to keep listening to.
You later ate at the table, not the couch. You liked the ritual of it. You liked that this all the place was yours. That you had a routine of choosing where to eat and where to rest.
Afterward, you curled up on the couch with a mindless TV show you had been binging on, a zombie apocalypse that had too many season but you loved it. It was something light and forgettable. It was entertaining. You let yourself laugh at the wrong moments, let your body sink into the cushions and enjoy the moment of immersing into a world of fiction that wasn’t your reality.
That was peace, you thought.
Or something close enough to it.
When the fourth episode ended and was already too late you decided to continue the next day. You stretched, grabbed the trash from under the sink that you had been avoiding to look at it for a couple of days to the point it got too full to ignored. You put on your shoes. You didn’t lock the door. There was no need. That neighbourhood was safe. You choose it because nothing ever happened there.
And it wasn’t like the trash deposits were far. They were practically in front of your house.
The street was quiet, streetlights glowing softly. You walked toward the bins at the end of the road, plastic rustling in your hand before you threw it lazily inside of the correct spot. You tried to turn around to go back to your house…
But that’s when you saw him.
At first, you thought it was your imagination. A shadow where there shouldn’t be one. A figure at the far end of the street, hunched and swaying. You slowed, stepping back slowly. The figure moved closer, stumbling. There was a sound. It was low and broken. A groan. Almost like a cry for help. Your stomach tightened and you froze for a second, heart picking up just enough to make you alert.
Then he stepped into the low light that the pole street was facing.
A man. He was a man. Blood stained his clothes, dark and wet, dripping onto the pavement. One hand clutched his side, fingers slick and shaking. He was dragging one feet. His long hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead. He looked like he had been in a horror film. A tortured place. His face was pale, sweaty, bloody and drawn tight with pain.
He looked like he was dying.
“Holy shit,” you whispered in shook.
His eyes snapped up, sharp despite everything, and he staggered forward while looking at you. He braced himself against a parked car, blood staining the metal, his breath tearing out of him.
“Please,” he said. “Help me.”
“Oh my god,” your hand was already moving for your phone. “I’m calling an ambulance. Don’t worry…”
“No, no.” Panic flashed across his face immediately. He tried to get closer to you, groaning in pain. “Don’t— Don’t call anyone.”
“What do you mean? You’re bleeding—”
“Please!,” he interrupted, voice hoarse. “No police, no ambulance. I can’t— I just… please.” He took another step. His breathing went ragged. “If you call— If you call…” he said desperately, “I’m dead anyway.”
His knees buckled.
He collapsed almost at your feet, body hitting the pavement hard. He pleaded again. His eyes fluttered once, twice— then closed.
The street went silent again.
You kneeled in front of him, already panicking. You looked around to see if someone was there to help you. Not a single soul. Your heart was beating fast, your breathing was already uneven, your nerves were about to give you a stroke. Your fingers looked for his bloody neck, immediately feeling the weak heartbeat.
He was still alive.
You stared down at the unconscious, bleeding man, and thought— Why the hell did he have to choose my street?
And because of him, just like that, the quiet life you had worked so hard to build fractured open.
so excited for this one!!! jwjfidjsjs you guys have no idea what’s about to come hehe lmk if u want me to do a taglist >_< and who do u think the bleeding man is?? jk or tae???
I read a lot of stuff here so I thought why not make a fic rec list hehe 🤭 This is just part 1 will be making more lists !! ( for yoongi and jungkook too)
ALL of these works are genuinely so so good and worth the read 🙂↕️💗!!! So thank you to all the writers, everyone check out their blogs and give them all the love🥰!
One Shots
Paper Cranes @aquaminwrites
Genre: Fluff, smut, angst. Non idol AU. College AU. Best friends to lovers. Slice of life.
Summary: It is said that if someone folds 1000 paper cranes, they will receive one wish. Kim Taehyung has been folding you paper cranes since he was six years old. He won’t tell you what he’s going to wish for once he reaches his goal, but even into your twenties, all you know is that he’s been wishing for the same thing every time
Get You The Moon @bymoonchild
Genre: Fluff, smut, angst / College!AU, enemies to lovers!AU, football!AU, jock!Taehyung x student reporter!OC
Summary: Life has its ways of fucking with you, but you know you’ve hit 50 feet below rock bottom after being tasked to do a profile feature on Kim Taehyung, the varsity football captain, for your school newspaper. Pure torment awaits you, but this is alongside glassy eyes, pink cheeks and conflicted feelings that you’ve never dared to imagine with the likes of the devil incarnate.
Trip @daechwitatamic
Genre: f2l, fluff, camping!au
Summary: Your gigantic crush on Kim Taehyung is so bad that you drop whatever you’re holding every time he speaks to you. Your dirty liar of a best friend SWORE to you he wouldn’t be on this camping trip, but he is. Luckily, the trip gives Taehyung the chance to see you in a new light, admittedly with some help from his best friend (and definitely hired spy) Park Jimin.
Summary; He plucks your heart strings with soulful symphonies, but professional obligations weight heavier than emotional desires. Your friends agree; why can’t he?
Summary: All your life you wanted only one thing- for Kim Taehyung to like you. You did everything you could to make this happen, from picking up his hobbies and rejecting anything feminine. But who do you start to become when you stop trying to impress him?
Summary: When your roommate drops out right before the end of the semester and leaves you high and dry for next month’s rent, you’re forced to turn to craigslist to find an absolute stranger to save you from financial ruin. The shy Korean exchange student you find to replace her seems nice enough despite the language barrier, but what will happen when the heat cuts off one fateful evening, and you’re forced to turn to each other for warmth?
Summary: You are in love with Taehyung, your Alpha. But he just sees you as the Omega bitch that helps him relieve stress by letting him use her body however he likes. And you’ve come to be okay with that, because you know you are no good for him. But now with your heat coming up and the pressure on Taehyung to find a Queen increasing exponentially, will your ties with him severe forever? Or will they bloom into something else?
Definition Of Love @taegularities
Genre: college!au, romance, e2f2l, angst, a lot of fluff, smut
Summary: “Burn yourself into my memory until I can’t escape you.”
When the gorgeous student from your literature class starts showing interest in you, you discover that there's much more to him than his know-it-all facade. But is this realization enough to get through your insecurities and secrets?
A Dash Of Love @btsmosphere
Genre: hallmark au, restaurant au, chef au, friends to lovers, fluff, angst
Summary: your whole life, you’ve hoped to get a job at your idol’s restaurant. It finally comes, with the added bonus of the executive chef and your new best friend, Taehyung (who you definitely don’t have a crush on), but what if it’s all too good to be true? You and Taehyung try new things.
Saudade @chateautae
Genre : angst, smut, fluff (the holy trinity), idol!au, established relationship!au
Summary : a demanding idol lifestyle was something taehyung and yourself were all too familiar with. it wasn’t so hard when considering your unconditional love for one another, but lately, taehyung wasn’t the same anymore; and you decide it's time to find out why.
Rejection @petersasteria
Genre: college au, non idol au, angst , fluff
Summary: he rejects you once and you (unknowingly) reject him thrice
Waterloo @kinktae
Genre: FLUFF, angst, light tasteful smut, art prodigy!taehyung x art student!reader
Summary: Taehyung is a famous but pessimistic art prodigy who doesn't believe in love. You are an art student studying in Paris, who sees the world through rose-colored lens and is a certified cheesy romance film enthusiast. And this is your love story.
Or, “Well, it is the city of love. Maybe you just need to fall in love."
Always The Bridesmaid @kookingtae
Genre: enemies to lovers, smut, angst, fluff, holiday/christmas, writer taehyung x reader (ft. seokjin)
Summary: When you first meet Kim Taehyung, you’re determined to find every reason you can to hate him—or maybe he’s just looking for ways to get on your last nerve. But when a turn of events has the two of you working the wedding of the man you’re hopelessly in love with, you’re too late to realize the real reason to hate Kim Taehyung is because of the latest column he’s secretly writing: “Always the Bridesmaid, Never the Bride”, and it’s all about you.
Rent-a-Boyfriend™ @jimlingss
Genre: Extreme fluff
Summary: Are YOU lonely? Need someone to cuddle at night? Do you want love? If you said ‘yes’ to any of the questions previously mentioned then we have a service for you!Don’t be alone for this Valentine’s Day! Come Rent a Boyfriend!™ (terms and conditions may apply. we are not responsible for any emotional or sentimental damages. please take caution with rent-a-boyfriend).
New Tricks @geniuslab
Genre: Fluff, Smut, Dog Trainer AU, friends to lovers
Summary: When your newly adopted puppy turns out to be a lot more work than you expected, a cute dog trainer comes to the rescue. You soon become friends, but you begin to realize friendship might not be all you want.
Summary : maybe you love each other, maybe you don’t. when a deal between your fathers leaves you forcefully wedding kim taehyung, arguably seoul’s most powerful CEO, you’re prepared for a loveless marriage of eternal regret and unhappiness. but maybe, it doesn’t turn out that way after all.
With A Brush Of Fate @yoongiofmine
Genre: Fluff, angst, smut, idol au, strangers to lovers.
Summary: Your roommate was sure she found you the perfect man. Her boyfriend believed he found Taehyung's soulmate. The only problem was that you never wanted to date an idol and he never wanted to drag you into this life. Taehyung didn't even know what he wanted anymore and was tired of being criticized for simply growing up. You just wanted to finish university and do something for yourself. What started out with the meddling of your friends became something neither of you expected. Could the two of you be what the other is missing? Or would things just fall apart?
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 AU, Royalty AU, Friends to Lovers, Ex-Friends to Lovers, Angst, Fluff, Smut
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 playfully scold him once he’s close enough to hear you.
Taehyung follows the same path to you on his own steed, a clearly exaggerated frown evident on his features as he approaches.
“He is never nice!” He jokes.
“I am always nice,” Jungkook corrects him.
They both gracefully dismount and nudge each other while 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 pushes his muzzle into your hand, making a noise of appreciation at the attention you’re providing him.
Jungkook affectionately watches the scene, 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 notice the way his eyes trace over your profile as he wears 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 sing-songs while walking towards you both, his horse following him by the reins.
“I will be there in a moment.” 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 concerned 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 assures you, 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.
Your worried eyes meet his and you squeeze his forearm while awaiting a response.
“No,” Taehyung answers 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 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 he 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 you 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, your 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 your 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 to 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 he pushes your hips deeper into the bed so he can fuck you harder. One of 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 completing 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 you 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 of 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.
"Your boyfriend is wimpish, toothsome when he needs to be, self-sacrificing and you would've liked a hero to spend a breezy simple life with but it turns out he's not everything he claims to be, turns out that he's selling you down the river. His boss, meanwhile, is none of these things but worse, in a compelling-compelling way."
➵ PAIRING Idol!Taehyung x fem!reader
➵ GENRE Idol au, enemies to lovers (?), boy obssesed, smut
➵ W.C 50k (this was supposed to be pure porn sigh..)
➵ WARNINGS kim taehyung or he who shall not be named (yes he's a warning), loser boyfriend, neglecting, oc gets stood up multiple times, consuming alcohol, lots of it, loser boyfriend is taehyung’s manager, oc hates his ass, like unadulterated loathing,murder fantasies,he's chill and smug like that, also obssesed,mature language, chaotic girl group, jk pulls a jackson wang, the whole gang is here, fangirling, yoongi is short :p,mentions of throwing up, mentions of cheating, crying, slow build up, sexual tension, banter, obsessed! taehyung, smoking, sharing a cigarette, buff! tae, flirting, tae speaks french, props to his duolingo membership <3, revenge scheme, oc is out to get, explicit content, dirty talking, brat oc, brat tamer tae ayee, lil spanking here and there, praise kink, size difference, fingering,cum tasting, finger sucking, edging, oral (f! Receiving), face riding, multiple orgasms, dom!tae, mirror sex, he likes to make her watch, big dick! Tae, penetrative sex, protected sex, and that's a wrap I think :D
➵ A/N: SORRY SO SORRY i promise it wasnt in my plans to ghost you!! I was going to release this one shot on the day tae and joon got back AHAHSJAHS but I got a little shy about this fic and I still kinda am. Now about this fic, I didn’t used to a big fan of idol aus, maybe because I thought there wasn't much artistic freedom in that universe but guess what? There's free fucking will and I used it to make this big self indulgent baby 😼😼 probably should have added that as a warning because it's self gratifying as it gets girls 😔🙏 writing some parts of it made me really think twice about posting it or not because it's certainly not the work I could be proud off or something that reaches up to a caliber I have set up in my self loathing mind but it also made me giggle OH did it 🤭😜 like trust me when I say I had to take a minute to myself whenever it came to writing Taehyung’s dialouge or his mannerisms. That's a man OBSSESED and it may not come across in big neon letters because I love me some subtle infatuation and I really really hope I did the trope justice. Speaking of tropes, I know I tagged this as enemies to lovers but it's mostly one sided hatred so don't come at me for that and please don't take it too seriously haha <3 the last section is unedited becuz i'd literally jump of a clif if I have to edit any more 😓💗 love you, have a good time reading and pls tell me what did you think of it?? Should I be making more of this vibe? Feedback is always always appreciated!!
| MASTERLIST | WATTPAD | AO3 |
Wax is made of organic compounds you wouldn't be able to name with a gun to your head but what you would tell was that, it also contained your wearing patience that made a mocking sound with every drip: the candle had burned halfway down, and he still wasn’t there.
You didn’t need to check the shining silver wrapped around your wrist. Your wineglass had already gathered precipitation twice over, the bottom of the flute damp with waiting. The feiriness of the flame casted shadows against the wineglass, all rippled red and wet. It almost looks romantic. If someone were sitting across from you. If he were sitting across from you. The waiter had stopped pretending not to notice and now gave you the kind of pitiful glances reserved for women with romantic delusions or no sense of time.
But you had time. That was the whole point of tonight.
The above-named waiter had smiled like he was in on something private when he lit the match and said, “Celebrating?” And you’d smiled back, a little flustered, and said, Yeah. I guess I am.
You don’t feel like celebrating now.
You swirl the warm wine in your hands that you don't even like anyway, but you make a face that looks like you’re on the verge of tasting something rich, something worth all this waiting, when in truth it’s a defense mechanism of some sort. Something to do with your hands that should have been held and kissed. Too dry. You judge ruefully. You only picked it because he likes it.
Even when it's supposed to be about you. Tonight is about you. A rare, like rare-rare personal triumph that came in the form of an offer letter with your name printed in ink that precieved graver than it should. It will the inception of a title bump. A salary hike that would finally fill the remaining fifteen percent of a jar you had named: trip to greece. A right set of circumstances you had earned after weeks of late nights, caffeine abuse, and grinding until your bones felt hollow. You’d spent the whole morning grinning into your toothbrush, rehearsing the announcement. The breed of joy you can’t help but choreograph when it was about a milestone as big as that after you’d finally closed that deal. Got your name attached to something worth bragging about. He said you’d celebrate. Said he’d be there to toast to your achievement with the same kind of urgency he reserved for phone calls from idols. Even picked the place — God, he picked the place.
But now you’re sitting in it alone, dodging glances and wondering if you should’ve worn something less “I’m someone’s girlfriend” and more “I’m the whole fucking meal.”
Because while you may feel like a whole meal most of the times. It's a very casual number of times you feel like a girlfriend. What isn't a casual number is when you check your phone and it flashes right back at you. 8:37 PM.
He was forty minutes late.
And you could swear you had checked your phone fifty times in that length, even had memorized what you saw in the fifty times, you did: one new email with zero new messages. No calls. Your phone’s screen is a galaxy of just unanswered calls. Four, five, six if you count the one that went straight to voicemail.
You don’t, but you remember the sound. The robotic please try again later feels more honest than he’s been in days.
You try again because someone has to do the trying after all.
Calling: Hajoonie 🩷🩷
Ring. Ring. It drones again and again and again.. You tap on the angry red button with force more than needed because if you'd have to hear to that sound any more, you'd spare yourself of the theatrics and just smash it on the ground of this expensive restaurant.
You focus on what's in front of you, rather than what's not. Check the menu even though you’ve already ordered, the way people do when they’re trying not to look lonely. You fiddle with the edge of your napkin, press the clean one over your phone screen, a random thing, really, but that's what dolorous people do when they are trying not to look dolorous.
Theres a twinkle of panic when you start to run out of them, after counting the petals of the rose flower, situated in a vase, as expensive as the nails you got done. Should you do a re-over? Maybe you will get a different number than thirty two this time. Maybe you didn’t got it right the first time? You're just about to, when your phone buzzes, once.
Finally. You were two minutes away from someone tearing up over how pathetic you look.
You hold it in your hands, gentler this time, with more care, and when you read the caller id, your heart jolts, thought it's not in the way when he first said said the l word to you, or when he got you the purse you've been eyeing with hopeless eyes from his first paycheck. Not in the least, actually, it's
not any kind of relief- recognition, mayhap. Comes after a stable three year love affair. More like the way you feel when your foot misses a step but your brain already knew it would.
You snap it up. “Where the hell are you, Joon?”
"Y/N, I— God, I’m so sorry," he exhaled, the background noise already too loud, a obtuse, chaotic bustle you knew too well. "Something came up with the boys— with Taehyung. I swear I tried to get out of it, but it's really important, I—"
Your perfectly manicured red nails dig into the soft fabric of the napkin. “What?”
"He—uh, it’s kind of urgent. I have to be there.”
Your eyes shut slowly, lashes trembling. “Are you serious right now?” you whispered, voice razor-sharp despite the volume. “You promised. You looked me in the eye this morning and promised you’d be here.”
“I know, I did, and I meant it,” he babbled. “But I—I’m so fucking sorry, babe, they really need me. It’s not a normal night. there’s a situation with the sound tech, and he’s panicking, and— It's a whole thing."
A whole thing.
You want to laugh. You almost do. But it comes out as a sharp exhale instead, as you open your eyes and look around the restaurant. You view as a paranoia mode of a camera would: The couples toasting. The waiter avoiding your table. The candle welling wax made up of your ended endurance, putting up the act of as if it’s weeping for you.
You lean back in the chair, press your fingers to your temple. “Of course. Of fucking course it is.”
“Babe, please don’t be like that. I wanted to be there. You know I did.”
You’re about to bite back, when exactly did you stop being a priority and start being a placeholder, even if you know the answer, the exact date, heavens, when you hear what is the most aggravating sound.
"Joon-sshi."
That voice. That empty headed, unwitting, greatly vexing voice.
Deep as if a hollow well would be when you say something ridiculous for it to echo back. Leveled enough that it could iron a wrinkled shirt, hot and fast. Fucking smug because it has ever right to (or so he thinks). His voice, slicing through the call like a machete that is unapologetic about whatever comes in it's way. The vocal equivalent of an expensive whiskey poured over a fire nobody asked to be set.
It pearls casual bidding, cushioned but sharp, sharp enough that it doesn’t ask for diligence. It assumes it like a ceo expecting standing ovation just because he entered the room. You hear it in variety shows, in fan compilations, in your hallway on rushed mornings when you’re trying to get a goodbye kiss and he’s halfway down the stairs already while you were busy tying your shoes and praying for a civil goodbye.
You knew it so well that you didn’t even need to see his face to imagine the annoyance etched into it. The burnished voice that was built to be beautiful and custom made just to madden you in the same breath belonged to one man and one man only, Kim Stupid Taehyung. A name that boiled your blood. A man that spiked your nerves as if you had swallowed down a live wire.
“Seriously? I told you I need that list now. We’re behind.”
And just like that, your boyfriend’s voice is smaller. Scrambled, submissive in that way he only ever got around him. “Shit—he’s calling. I’ll text you later, okay? I’m so sorry—please don’t be mad.”
Something bitter amplified in your mouth. And it's not the wine anymore. It has never been the wine.
You don’t get the chance to say anything. You couldn’t if you wanted to. If you would have opened your mouth, you would have screamed. Something like "You and your Kim Taehyung can go choke on his tech list!"
Heat crawled up your throat, all the way to your temples. People around you blurred as your thoughts tunneled into a familiar black hole.
Kim Taehyung.
Of course.
It was always Kim Taehyung.
You hate Kim Taehyung.
There’s no real logic to it, not when you’re being honest with yourself. But there it is, this raw little wound that carried a little infection with and turned it into something worse.You don’t hate him because he’s famous.You don’t hate him because he’s talented, or loud or has enough money to make it up for it and more.
You don’t know him enough for that, not really, never seen him person or had his gnawing charisma touch you through a distance even, you only know his voice; that empty headed, unwitting, greatly vexing voice. Prechance his schedule too for godsake. How he needed too many people to straighten his tie, hold his venti iced caramel macchiato, but made with oat milk instead of regular milk, added an extra shot of espresso for that kick and drizzle some extra caramel on top. And not to forget, a pump of vanilla syrup blended in with ice held down to keep it from getting too watered down. He probably needed your boyfriend for that too. He needed him for many things, always at his beck and call because that’s what this job is about, isn't it? Passionate art requires finding the vibe and running after it, at even four in the morning apparently. The endless excuses gone round and round his name like satellites. Passionate art, your ass. You hate him with the kind of bitterness that has layers: resentment stacked on frustration stacked on exhaustion. You hate the way he takes up space in your life without ever having to be in the room.
He had this way of swallowing Hajoon’s time like it belonged to him. Ever since your boyfriend became Kim Taehyung’s manager, you'd been in a three-person relationship, except the third wheel was a global superstar with a schedule more sacred than God’s while you're just another fleeting name in the schedule that gets crossed out in red ink.
This wasn’t the first time that had happened. Not even the tenth (you're keeping count). It was just the latest and every single number that adds up, also adds to your loathing.
You could still remember last spring, standing outside a theatre in the rain, makeup running and heels killing you, only to get a last-minute text: “Taehyung’s rehearsal ran late. So sorry. Tomorrow?”
Or the time he’d invited your boyfriend on a “quick trip” to Jeju for a shoot that turned into a five-day disappearance — radio silent that included no texts, no calls of even informing you whether he's dead or alive. And when they’d finally returned, he said that Taehyung had said that time flies when you're working. You’ve listened to him make excuses in every register of apology, from bashful to exhausted to just plain numb.
And now, here you are. Sitting alone in a restaurant with his favorite wine and cold fries.
You close your eyes. You breathe once, twice. Your phone is still in your hand, thumb ghosting over the last call.You don’t even consider reasoning or finishing the fries, only lift a hand to signal for the check.
Because you’re done.
You’re done letting this job, this man, this life play second fiddle to someone else’s. Especially his. Not tonight. Fuck that.
As the waiter walks off, polite and wordless, you pull your phone back up and open the group chat: Witches Who Wine, a name born in blood pact and bottomless mimosas. You’d earlier declined. The one that’s been buzzing with drunken selfies and glitter emojis since seven.
Earlier, you sent a regretful “Raincheck, girls. Girlfriend duties.”
It had felt responsible at the time. Sweet, even. Embracing that you were choosing stability over chaos, embracing you were the kind of woman who got celebrated over dinner and candlelight by a man who couldn’t stop looking at her.
Now, you typed:
“Hajoon bailed. Plans back on. Where are we drinking, ladies??"
The replies came fast like an avalanche.
[LARA]: WHAT?! HE BAILED?
[JIA]: noooooo. again???
[SAFIYA]: girl drop his ass we have shots lined up and glitter everywhere
[LARA]: WHERE IS HE I JUST WANNA TALK. with my fists.
[JIA]: You told him it was your celebration night, right?? You reminded him??
You blink at that last one, because, yes. Of course you did. You reminded him last night, this morning, this afternoon when he sent you a thumbs-up emoji and a “Can’t wait, babe.”
He could at least have the decency to cancel for himself. But no.
He let the one that wears silk shirts and smirks like he knows he has a leash around your boyfriend while he watches him obey do the honors.
[JIA]: just come over. we’re already tipsy. safiya just tried to kiss the bartender.
[SAFIYA]: he flinched.
[LARA]: so did we.
Your friends, for all their dramatics, mean well. But they’ve got the wrong villain.
Your boyfriend isn’t the real problem. Well he is technically. But he’s also predictable. Spineless. Hiding his light under a bushel and sugar-mouthed and easily tugged in whatever direction the golden boy points.
[LARA]: Don’t think, just get here. We already ordered that ugly sangria you love.
[JIA]: You owe us shots too. Plural. We saved you a booth and a sparkly crown.
[LARA]: Also your tits look amazing in that brown top you were gonna wear tonight. You're wearing it, right?
[JIA]: Wait i thought it was green
[SAFIYA]: No it’s brown she wore it to my birthday and made my cousin stutter
[LARA]: EXACTLY.
You tip the last of the wine into your mouth, it still tastes like disappointment, but the buzz that follows is warm and insistent. Insistent that you go and have the time of your life.
You type:
"Yes. Yes I got the brown top on which made safiya's cousin sutter. Lipstick’s still perfect too. Be there in ten 💋"
You have friends. You have heels. You have a face that looks fantastic under bar lights. You’ll go out. You’ll drink. You’ll laugh too loudly. You’ll just dance until your muscles ache and your chest is lighter.
You are not an afterthought.
The club smells like citrus and hidrosis and possibility.
A little dictatorial perhaps, granted you smell it the moment you step in. Temperature bandaging around your knees, bass thudding in your ribs like someone knocking to be let in. Altaria is packed, bodies glittering under pulsing lights, and your friends are already halfway drunk, half-sticky with sangria and stubborn lip gloss, wedged into a booth that should only seat four.
They scream when they see you.
A harmony of “Girl!” and “Oh my god!” and “Look at you!” rings out across the booth like gospel.
Lara practically climbs over Safiya to hug you, arms flung tight around your shoulders, perfume and tequila catching in your nose. “Oh the audacity of that man-” she gasps, pulling back to stare at you like you've just announced a felony. “You look like that and he bailed?”
“Please let me key his car,” Jia adds, sliding a pink drink across the table toward you. “I’m serious. I’ll even Google how to spell something dramatic.”
Safiya wiggles a tiny plastic crown between her fingers, slipping it onto your head. “To your promotion. Raise your glass.”
You do. You have to. They clink theirs against yours, and the moment presses in, frames you in and the joint giggling, the element, the tiny sting behind your eyes that you refuse to let spill out. You don’t wanna come off as pitiful on the night where you should be anything but, when you're surrounded by glitter and noise and people who love you so loudly.It burns like validation.
And for a while, it works.
It fades and fades and fades until it works.
Pulls you into their chaos, that's just compulsory for sisterhood. And you should be unable to picture the word without mentioning the thousand attempts at blurry phone selfies just to get one aesthetic one, the dancing to decade-old pop hits, the game where you all list your worst kiss and Jia wins when she describes a guy who meowed mid-makeout. You laugh at lara’s drunken flirting with the server (he is flustered and trembling and clearly gay, not catching on the hint that she's for the girls too, which makes it even funnier).
You drink too much too fast. You’re halfway between giddy and feral, clutching a fourth drink and a fifth reason to forget.
Lara’s on your left, knee pressed against yours. She smells like oranges and expensive perfume and she’s too beautiful to be comforting but she tries anyway. Her glitter eyeliner is slightly smudged and it suits her. Jia is across from you, chewing the straw in her sangria like it personally offended her. Safiya is already halfway gone, resuming her story about how she almost hooked up with a bartender but forgot she was still wearing her Invisalign.
You tip your head back and knock back another shot. The ice clinks against your teeth like a tiny applause.
"God," you mutter, licking lime from the side of your hand, "I should’ve just come out with you from the start."
“Should’ve dumped that man two months ago,” lara says, her voice equal parts affectionate and judgmental. “Seriously. He’s like rice cakes, bland and barely functional.”
“You know,” Jia starts, leaning in like she’s revealing state secrets, “you really could just… break up with him.”
The table becomes deathly still. The music doesn't. It's some pounding club remix of a song you once loved but now just feels like a headache with a bassline.
You blink. And then something clicks loose in your jaw. It's not like it has never been suggested or your boyfriend’s name hasn't been paired with a loads of "You should leave him" but it has been a while since you had so much to drink.
“Oh my god,” you say, and it sounds like a laugh, except it’s not. “You guys don’t get it. It’s not just Joon.”
Lara raises a brow. “Please don’t say ‘it’s me.’ We know that's far from the truth and we’re not letting you do this drama tonight or ever."
You slam your shot glass down a little too hard. “It’s him." The way you say him is a snarl adorned in lipstick. "Kim stupid Taehyung."
“Ohhh,” Safiya says like she’s watching a fuse light.
Lara points up a finger like a child asking permission to speak. "I take back what I said about your boyfriend." Your brows shoot up. "That he's boring. I think him working under south Korea's pride and honor is really interesting."
Jia leans back. "Really interesting. His boss is really interesting."
Safiya stirs the ice in her glass with the straw. "Shame Hajoon never lets us meet him. Or the hotter one with dimples."
You throw your napkin at her. "His boss is cockblocking our relationship. Ending it, if anything, actually. He’s in everything. I swear he’s got some kind of sixth sense. Any time I have plans with Joon? Suddenly it’s, ‘Tae needs this, Tae’s freaking out, Tae forgot his fucking sunglasses and now we’re all gonna die.’ And Hajoon just goes like some errand boy."
“You know what it’s like?” you say, gesturing with your hands, already a little wild. “Its embarrasing. So embarrassing. It’s like dating a guy who’s secretly married to someone else. But the other person is tall, hot, famous. And so, so self important. I swear to god, he thinks the sun rises and sets on his profile.”
Jia whistles. “I mean… it is Taehyung.”
You whirl on her. “Don’t.”
She lifts her hands, placating. “Sorry. Go off.”
And oh, you do. Glass clutched like a lifeline, tiara threatening to fall off your head. Grandeur already on the floor so there's nothing left to loose.
“Everyone loves him, right? He’s so talented, he’s so artistic, he has depth, blah blah blah. Well guess what? He also has no fucking respect for boundaries. He doesn't give a shit that he has my boyfriend enslaved or maybe hypnotized. I don't know."
“He is kind of hypnotic,” lara mutters into her drink.
You turn to her sharply. You don't care that he's carved from marble and dipped in Versace. He has ruined everything. “Lara. You're supposed to be on my side."
“I am,” she grins, clinking your glass. “I just also have eyes.”
You groan, slouching down in your seat. “God. I hate him. I hate that he’s in every conversation. I hate that I know his voice better than my boyfriend’s now. I hate his stupid face and how it's everywhere and his stupid, stupid…”
You trail off, realizing your mouth is still open, mid-sentence. The girls are watching you. Smiling like they know something you don’t. Which is insulting, really. You are the wronged party here. You are the woman left alone in a restaurant with a melting candle and cold fries. You are the girlfriend with lipstick wasted on an empty seat. You are-
“…I hate him,” you finish weakly.
“Sure you do,” lara says softly, dragging a finger through the salt on the rim of her margarita. “So much that you’re obsessed.”
Your head snaps toward her. “No—what? No. No, no, no.”
Jia’s already snorting into her glass, Safiya is ducking like she’s dodging a flying object.
You glare at all of them. “It’s not that. I’m not obsessed.”
Jia leans forward on her elbows. “You said his name like twenty-three times in the last five minutes, though. I counted.”
You sputter. “It’s not—it’s not like that. I don’t want him. I want my boyfriend back. Like he was before he started working for he who I shall not name. We were good. Normal. He remembered birthdays. He texted back. We had sex that didn’t get rescheduled for a backup dancer rehearsal!”
"Your boyfriend who's only interesting because of who he works for. That’s cute,” lara says, deadpan. “But also… lies. There's no way you both are not thinking about Mr cheekbones in the bedroom. Hajoon is not enough to spice it up."
You gape. “Excuse me?"
“Just hypothetically,” Safiya chirps.
"You guys are disgusting."
“And you’re in denial,” lara says, raising her glass.
You huff, cheeks burning. It’s the alcohol, probably. Or the lights. Or the fact that there are times when you think about him. You don't count how many. It doesn't matter if you've hated him the whole time, right?
"Fine. It's more of a murder fantasy." You mutter.
"Where he has you pinned down?" Jia asks innocently. "Beause same."
You gasp, mortified. “NO. Stop it.”
They erupt in laughter, the whole booth shaking with it, and you cover your face with your hands.
This is a mistake. Coming out. Drinking. Talking about him. Because it brings your dignity to an end and to a conclusion that you don't wanna give the benefit of doubt. That Maybe they’re right. Maybe there’s a line between hate and something else, and maybe you’ve been tap dancing across it for months.
But you don’t want to think about that.
So you think about smothering him with one of his own stupid silk scarves.
And since you'd let these sadistic thoughts in, in the first place. You let them go a little wild too. Imaginably, in public too.
Smashing a pie in his face.
Yes. A cream pie. Banana, maybe. A flavor he’d probably have strong opinions about. Somewhat humiliating. A lot whole sticky. Maybe he’s in the middle of giving a Very Serious Interview, saying something about creative control or the burden of artistry or whatever poetic bullshit he spills like he invented suffering, and then BAM! Pie ik his full face.
He would blink slow with his mouth open. Meringue on his perfect lashes.
You’d stand there, triumphant, arms crossed. Maybe you’d say something cool like “This is for every fucking dinner you’ve stolen from me, you time-sucking peacock.” then walk away while never breaking eye contact because you'd want him to see and acknowledge.
Or — okay — maybe it’s more violent sometimes.
Like pushing him into a koi pond.
You don’t even know where the koi pond came from, but it’s there. Lush garden surrounds and the tranquil museum courtyard envelops. And he’s wearing something expensive — linen, probably. Designer as you and everyone else would except yet it would be something that makes everyone turn and stare, and just as he says something snide and smug, you grab him by that overpriced lapel and shove.
Right in.
He flails with a loud splash for special effects.
You feel so good in this vision. Calm. Peaceful. Like a war general watching her final enemy fall.
You desire.
It’s laundry day.
Which is to say, it’s a day off. Your day offs come in a diversity. Last Sunday...fuck you can't remember. This sunday, howbeit, smells of detergent and damp cotton and a little bit like lemon because you spilled your candle while reaching for a sock behind the couch. It's a type of array where the floor is scattered with warm, wrinkled heaps of your own productivity and you’ve convinced yourself that folding things is a spiritual exercise.
Your playlist is somewhere between defiant and nostalgic. Beyoncé yelling about self-respect, then Norah Jones gently reminding you that you are, in fact, lonely. It’s a whiplash thing.
You’re cross-legged on the floor,in your baggy home shorts, knees to chest, tugging a fitted sheet into some approximation of a square. It’s a long weekend. Or a short one. You’re not sure anymore. They all blur together.
So well that you don't even notice when the door creaks open. Or you just pretend you don’t. That you don't see him.
Hajoon. The absentee boyfriend. Today’s featured guest star in: Please Forgive Me, Baby.
He has come to embody the role, he has come prepared with flowers. Of course he has flowers. They’re not even the cheap kind this time. Tulips, you think. Or maybe he googled “I fucked up” and picked the first bouquet suggestion.
You don't get up, neither do you look up. You keep folding. Badly.
“Hey,” he says.
You hum in reply. Not a mean hum. But not a friendly one either. Something between I acknowledge your existence and say another word and I’ll cut the sleeves of your shirts in a criss-cross way.
He hovers. Shifts his weight like a nervous intern. “I’m really, really sorry,” he starts. “I know I messed up. I was an idiot. I should’ve been there.”
“But you weren’t.”
“No.”
You fold a towel like it owes you money.He comes over, kneels across from you, places a careful hand on your ankle. And you think that only if he had thought of this carefulness before, he'd here with flowers just because. But your thoughts and you, sometimes don't align, so you don’t move either.
“I should’ve picked you over—” he catches himself, clears his throat. “Over work. I just… I got caught up again. I didn’t mean to bail. Especially not that night. I know how much it meant.”
"Did you?"
He winces like it physically hurt. “Okay. You're furious. I deserved that.”
You look back at the dryer. The silence stretches like gum. He sighs.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me right now,” Hajoon says. “Just let me make it up to you.”
"And how are you gonna do that? What if it comes between your errands?"
He flinches. That’s new. Usually, he deflects. Laughs a little. This time, he just takes it.
"I'm sorry, Y/N. Please just listen to me."
You raise an eyebrow but don’t reply.
“There’s… there’s an event this weekend.” He shifts, awkward, like he’s not sure if this is the right time to mention it. “It’s a listening party. For the new album. Jungkook’s, you know him? The youngest one? He's hosting it at the studio loft, but it’s like..fully catered, private, some press, but mostly just close circle people. And I was invited.”
You blink at him. “Okay?”
He swallows. “With a plus one.”
You look at him, one brow raised yet again. “And you want me to be your arm candy?”
“I want you to come with me,” he says. “To celebrate something with me for once. I want to show you off. Properly.” He traces circles on your calf. "Will you let me do that, babe? Let me make up?"
Your first instinct is to say no. Out of spite. Out of principle. Because this entire idol-shaped job has eaten half your relationship and still wants dessert.
But…
You’ve never been to one of their parties before. Hell not even to his workplace. So this whole showing off thing feels flat to you. You turn this over in your head like a coin. Glint. Weight. Intent. But the rumors you've heard are tempting. Oh, they are Glamorous. Lavish. Free champagne. Rooftop views. Gold-plated hors d’oeuvres that you pretend to understand. You’re not a fan of the world — but you do like a little spectacle. You do like heels and dresses and glittering places where people look at you like you matter.
And because you’ve spent so long hearing about this world from the sidelines that part of you wants to see if it’s really as ridiculous as it sounds. Maybe sip something from a crystal glass and pretend you don’t know what it cost.
Still, you have to play it cool.
“Can my friends come?”
He blinks. “What?”
“My friends,” you repeat, looking him dead in the eye. “Lara, Jia, Safiya. I’m not going in without my pack. And they like the group. It’d be a big deal for them.”
He hesitates, like he’s not sure he has that power to pull that, but then nods. “Uh—yeah. I mean, yeah. If they’re okay with signing NDAs.”
You bite back a grin. He said yes. Of course he said yes. Guilty people, and your boyfriend was one hell of a guilty man, would scrape dirty off a three thousand square feet lawn with a spoon if the desire to purify themselves of that is strong enough.
You'd like to belive that for him, it is too when you finally look up at him, arching a brow.
“I’ll think about it.”
He sags like you just handed him oxygen.
“Still mad,” you say. But your voice is softer now. Less ice, more mossy.
“I know.”
You glance back at him, tilt your head.
“But you’re making up for it.”
His whole face brightens, like a kid who just found out the punishment’s being lifted. He doesn’t move to touch you.
“Don’t fuck it up,” you say, and toss him a clean shirt from the basket.
He catches it with a grin. You let him lean in and kiss your temple. You let it feel a little like forgiveness.
You have habitually, always been on to prefer night time over mornings. Early mornings are nice too because they closely similar to the segregation of the dark sky, where sun and moon blink at each other. Doesn’t beats the former though.
It's a flurry of neon flash, on Saturdays. Colorful star-like-lights taking over the whole of the city, on the rest of weekdays.
Tonight, it's too much. You knew it would be. You just didn’t know how much.
The elevator doors part like a curtain and you step into a room that looks less like an event and more like a fever dream manifested by someone with too much money and too little sense of restraint.
The ceiling’s strung with Edison bulbs shaped like teardrops. They flicker warm, flattering light across every sleek surface and high cheekbone. The floor’s a herringbone wood polished to a shine that threatens to reflect your thoughts if you look down too long. Exposed brick walls, brutalist furniture, and vinyl booths arranged like museum exhibits. You espy that it's a look of modern minimalism that only the rich can afford to make look careless.
It smells like vanilla, white musk, and champagne mist. If the words: luxury and aloofness and contracts had a smell, it would be this. And something underneath it all. Cologne, sweat, the heat of nerves just under the skin.
There’s no red carpet, but there may as well be.
Everyone’s dressed like they knew they’d be photographed, magical silhouettes and glittering details, statement pieces skimmed over delectable nonchalance. Too many people are wearing sunglasses indoors. There’s ambient bass threading through the room, sultry and self-assured, just like the man whose music it celebrates.
You don’t know Jungkook, but you get him from this space. From the custom scent diffusers, the soft glow of film cameras on tripods, the tray-passed hors d’oeuvres so tiny they feel like a joke.
You’re in a black slip dress that hugs just enough and what it doesn’t is draped in the denim jacket you grabbed at the last second. Your friends flank you like bodyguards, looking like different kind of unaware.
Lara’s in a blood-red two-piece with her hair slicked back, a look she went for when she was trying to get laid. Safiya’s practically see-through in a mesh blouse and sequined pants, halfway to an afterparty already. Jia’s in glitter boots and capturing every moment like she’s the official documentarian of your reckoning.
And Hajoon, dressed in a tailored jacket and that rare sheepish smile, keeps glancing at you like he’s waiting to see if this counts as absoulation or just probation.
You haven’t decided yet.
He’s been clinging to your side all night. Part guilt. Part presumption. Like he wants the whole room to see you and know you're with him. And you let him because a small, treacherous part of you likes being a prize sometimes. Especially in rooms where the stakes are stupid high and nothing is real except the flash of a camera and the clink of ice in a glass.
“Come on,” he says, fingers brushing your lower back. “Let me introduce you.”
You nod once, you'd like to meet the people who are a group of what'd you just made up in your head; sold their souls to stand in the shadow of multiple stars, (no harm meant) you can pretend. You can be charming. Just long enough.
He leads you through a maze of press assistants and studio people. A woman in chunky boots talks to a man with purple eyebrows about lighting design. Someone else passes with a tray of glasses shaped like perfume bottles.
You pass a silky curtain you’re pretty sure is hiding a private recording booth, a whole lighting rig hanging above it like a halo.
The first people you meet are benign.
“This is Chul,” he says, gesturing toward a guy in a sweater vest with half a headset tucked under his jaw. “Props coordinator. Always bailing me out when I forget which box the custom mic sleeves are in.”
Chul offers a friendly wave, eyes darting between you and the champagne like he’s calculating the weight of the room.
“And that’s Seojin,” Hajoon continues. “She handles most of the press logistics.”
Seojin is tall, thin, glossy. Her smile is tight but not unfriendly. She appraises your outfit once and seems satisfied. She doesn’t comment on your presence — merely nods at Hajoon’s introduction only becausw it's a formality. As if she already expected someone like you would appear eventually.
She turns away before you can thank her.
Next is a short man with a clipboard and hair dyed a pale green. Hajoon barely gets to say his name, Sangwoo, you think , before he’s muttering something about timing and the rental van arriving without the riser extensions.
It’s strange. The people here don’t talk the way your coworkers talk. There’s no chatter about lunch or traffic or the weekend. Everyone looks at everyone like they owe each other something, everyone talks with everyone; coded. Shorthand for a world you’re not quite part of.
Your boyfriend, though levitates like a local and you'd expect nothing else. He's a man here who knows which hands to shake and which not to, whose shoulder to touch and who to call sunbae. It’s like watching him speak another language. One he never teaches you.
There’s Minae, who runs digital content, and who immediately compliments your dress before asking if you’re single in front of your boyfriend. She’s clearly three drinks in already, her lashes tipping dangerously close to her cheeks every time she blinks. When she says that you're too pretty for this one, lara with her all too overwhelming charm slides in with an: "am I pretty too?" The rest of you resist the urge to facepalm. Minae on the other and very contrary hand, chuckles a breathless chuckle. All her focus on the brunette with stars in her eyes.
Though all of this, you too focus. On how somehow, somewhat, this isn't all too bad.
It’s flashy. Frenetic. A little unhinged in a way you kind of like. There’s too much perfume and everyone talks like they’re mid-episode on a show you haven’t watched, but you’re starting to get the monotony of it.
A little like clockwork, a sound of tick-tick you didn’t have a liking to but tolerated for the sake of peppiness of it all, spoke to you on the first date, alone. Might you add, that you had left a little bit of impression too. He couldn't speak a full coherent sentence when you saw the first time, had him stopped in his tracks and all.
So it's a suprise when hajoon does that thing again. Literally halts. Dead in his tracks.
In front of a woman whos tall- statuesque, really. That low-key brand of Gorgeous, you don't mind admitting to yourself. Sharp collarbones, sharper eyeliner, a pantsuit tailored within an inch of its life, it could've been stitched to her bones. Her lanyard reads “logistics,” but it may as well say “don’t fuck with me.” in big bold letters. Maybe it's your habit of trying to put people in a drawer that squares them in limited or weirdly specific characters (you know it's a bad one) but she has the air of a girl who once stole your charger in college and never gave it back, but made you feel like the asshole for asking. Jesus. You've got stop.
“Y/N, this is Bora." Hajoon says, voice going smooth at the edges, that press-conference tone he saves for moments when he’s trying to impress. "She runs most of our on-site coordination. Couldn’t function without her.”
Bora turns.
She smiles. With full teeth. All of them perfect. Friendly enough to pass inspection, but you’ve seen that smile before. It’s the version that lives on corporate brochures and social media bios. The smile worn by girls who never lose their temper, because they’re too busy winning and taking what they want, when they want. Her eyes catch on yours and hold.
She steps forward. Extends her hand. Her nails are immaculate — almond-shaped and the color of blush wine. You shake it out of reflex.
"Bora, this is Y/N. My girlfriend."
“Oh,” she says with a laugh, low and sugar-sweet. “So this is the girl who finally gets him to show up on time.”
Hajoon chuckles. “That’s her.” Her tone is warm and she doesn't bother laughing at her own joke. Was that a joke? Okay. Okay.
You nod, lips parting into a smile that feels functional. You don’t trust her. You don’t know why, but you don’t.
Her? You? You think it over and over again but heart flicks only once. And it tells you that it’s nothing. Hearts are trusting.
She lingers a second too long. Her eyes slide over you, not , but curiously. Like she’s trying to find the catch. The why. The how.
You know girls like her. They remember everything. And she’s definitely remembering you. Her eyes flick over your shoulder, over your friends, back to Hajoon. The corner of her mouth lifts, just scantily. You can't pinpoint if she’s thinking something you wouldn’t like or break into tears over.
She gives you the time and benefit of dount when she lingers too long. She laughs when she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t touch Hajoon, but she doesn’t need to. It’s in the way she angles her body, the way he doesn’t quite meet your eyes when she jokes again, calling him “sir” sarcastically. The way he chuckles and mutters, “You’re the one who runs the place, not me.”
She waves him off like it’s an old joke. Something only they get.
And then, because maybe she knows you’re watching too closely, she looks at you. Her smile softens. Reveals pity. Some people just arrive with a sense of prelude.
You hate that most of all.
Before you can pin down the nauseating twist in your gut, Hajoon’s already guiding you away. His fingers skim the small of your back again like punctuation.
“She’s just intense,” he whispers. “Work mode. Don’t worry.”
Which is the worst thing to say if you want someone not to worry.
And something about the curve of her mouth does bothers you. You don't know why. Just that you clock it. Quietly. Internally. The way you clock exits and weak wine.
The girls show up just in time to interrupt.
Lara practically materializes at your elbow. “This is what you’ve been hiding?” she whispers. “Christ. It’s like Versailles had a baby with Spotify.”
Jia appears next. “I think I just saw a marble ice sculpture of Jungkook’s face.”
“It’s real,” Safiya confirms. “I licked it.”
You bury a laugh in your glass.
A commotion near the back of the room makes a sound.
Having said that, a commotion is not the right word to describe when it debuts, they don’t enter like a movie cast all at once, no spotlight and chorus as you would have expected.
You spot the man of the hour halfway across the room, posted near a soundboard station with one hand around a glass and the other curled into a pocket. Black shirt, unbuttoned just enough, loose on the shoulders, as if he got dressed by thinking about air. The tattoos swirl out from under his sleeves like ink in water. He’s listening to someone speak but his gaze is darting.
Hoseok's mid-laugh when you see him, sunglasses on top of his head, leaning sideways into someone else’s story. He moves like he’s music itself, like tempo runs under his skin.
Jimin’s close behind, ghosting between clusters of people. He’s silver and silk, all fluidity and elegance, nodding to guests with a smile just shy of wicked. He’s so beautiful that makes your brain short-circuit for a second, he's what you’ve just seen something your nervous system wasn’t designed for.
Namjoon takes the longest to notice. Or maybe he’s just the most subtle. He’s in conversation with someone in a crisp gray blazer, gesturing with one hand, thoughtful and deliberate. He laughs at something, rubs the back of his neck, and then turns. You catch his face fully for the first time.
They’re not together in a pack like you'd have expected. They extent to a limitless, shimmering sky.
And then Hajoon is pulling you forward
“The boys are over here,” he says before you can even turn. “I can bring you guys over.”
Your friends, already half-buzzed and vibrating with filtered excitement, light up because for them, they’ve just been offered a VIP pass to heaven.
“No way,” Jia hisses.
“You’re joking,” lara breathes.
Safiya grabs your wrist like it’s a lifeline while mouthing oh my god oh my god as if prayer might help, and Jia is trying to fix her hair mid-step.
They hover behind you as Hajoon brings you over. The boys are — unfortunately —stupidly attractive in real life. Now when you get a clear look of Namjoon, he looks like he walked out of a cologne ad that rivals the oldest's version. Hoseok’s already grinning like he knows a secret. Yoongi barely nods but it feels like a bow.
They greet you like you’re someone, which is probably part of the charm. Idol magic.
“This is my girlfriend, Y/N,” Hajoon says. “And these are her friends- lara, Jia.." He pauses, glances at you awkwardly for a brief second like he's asking for help or bracing for the impact of some kind of punishment from you because there's no way he forgot your friend's name. Best friend's name. Idiot.
"Safiya." You jump in before her face can fall. "He's terrible with names."
The girls mumble variations of hi and holy shit and we’re fine, thank you, so fine.
Namjoon asks how you’re enjoying the night. Hoseok compliments Mina’s outfit. Jungkook flushes a hint of pink when a collective congratulations for his album is spoken out loud and safiya looks like she might actually combust.
And you smile, gracious and composed. Atleast you try. You can see the faint shimmer of Jungkook’s under-eye highlight. You can smell Jimin’s cologne.
It’s a lot. But you manage.
"Hajoon-sshi, never shuts up about you.”
You smile again, because what else do you do when one of the most famous men in the country is shaking your hand with dimples that could murder with, double- barreled friendliness that makes you want to tell him your secrets. “I’m sure he exaggerates.”
Jimin tilts his head. “Definitely not. You're the one who made him cry when he forgot your anniversary, right?"
“Jimin-sshi.” Hajoon groans, face red.
You blink. “He told you that?”
Hoseok laughs. “We heard it. He was inconsolable.”
You catch Hajoon’s eye. He smiles, sheepish.
And just like that, something inside you thaws. Invaraibly by a degree.
“It’s really nice to meet you all,” you say, because it’s the right thing to say, and you are currently functioning entirely on instinct and adrenaline.
"Really nice." One of the girls add.
Seokjin beams. “You too. Hajoon’s one of our favorites, by the way. He’s a total lifesaver."
“He also has terrible snack taste,” Yoongi says. “But we’ve forgiven him.”
Laughter rises up, light and easy. For a moment, you almost forget your nerves. Because they’re funny. And not the over the board funny, It comes off easy to them, kindness comes off easy.
Jia is flushed. “Congratulations, by the way,” she blurts to Jungkook. “On the album. It’s insane."
He blushes. Blushes. “Thank you. Please enjoy yourself."
Safiya looks ready to melt through the floor.
Eventually, the moment fades. Doesn’t last long. Nothing golden does.The boys wander off in pairs, pulled away by studioheads and stylists and producers. The girls flock back to your side, still breathless.
“Did you see Seokjin's outfit?” Jia hisses. "I saw nothing else but that."
“I didn’t even blink,” Safiya says. “I’m too stunned.”
Lara sips her drink. “Yoongi is shorter than I thought, but it’s working for him. It’s all working for him.”
You’re still processing.
The wine’s working too, and the lights are low, and there’s a strange feeling in your ribs like you’ve walked into someone else’s movie. Feels as if you’re not just in the room, you’re part of the pixels that make up the ambience.
It's overwhelming. You're not sure how one can make a living out of this, of being tbis marshallsd, of being this seen, this on all the time. . How one can breathe, even. You can barely maintain eye contact with the barista when your name’s misspelled on a cup; how do they manage this?
You couldn't have been here for a more than a hour and you already feel floaty. Flaccid, that isn’t entirely unpleasant, but definitely not normal either. As if your limbs are operating on a delay, still trying to recalibrate from being in the blast radius of status, beauty, and whatever volatile charge comes from standing too close to a reality that was never meant to include you. Your brain fumbles, rewinding the scene with all the clumsy finesse of a dropped tape recorder, replaying glances, tones, shifts in posture that must’ve meant more than they let on.
You let out a breath but even that feels too loud so lean your weight against the cocktail table. It's draped in something black and ravishingly silk.
You sip your drink. Smile to yourself when you catch lara around the corner hanging off around the content manager you met just minutes ago. She’s high on proximity, her pupils blown wide with it. Safiya’s comparing the shade of Jungkook’s lip tint to a fruit that doesn’t grow in your hemisphere. Jia looks like she just lost her religion and found it again.
This is good. You're having a pleasant time. Your friends are having a pleasant time.
Until something twitches at the edge of your memory. Was it memory? was it an observation?
That creeping thought finally pierces through the buzz. Wait.
Six.
There were six.
You count again, lips moving. An uncanny whisper of movement. You don’t know how you missed it.
Except... maybe you do.
Maybe you didn’t miss it at all. Maybe you muted it. Maybe you folded it into the background noise the second it reached your ears. Much like static. Very much like self-preservation. Developed selecting hearing for a moment there because there was a name too.
There was a name.
Something one of them said. Something just under the music, a passing remark folded into a compliment meant for Hajoon. You try to scrape it back. Rewind the moment. Seokjin had been speaking, something about Hajoon being essential. Someone else chimed in. You think it was Namjoon, or maybe Jungkook, saying:
“Good pick on Taehyung's part. He's got a good eye.”
That’s it.
And it registers now, belated and prickly. You’d tuned it out. Of course you did. It’s laughable, really. The way your body chose to keep the peace when the moment someone says his name, your brain switches off. You name it muscle memory. But it could also be survival instinct. And the primal knowledge that a name can curdle a whole night if you let it. While your mind filed away the omission.
The face you’ve been dreading. The one you’ve cursed in your sleep. The reason you almost didn’t show up tonight at all.
And he wasn’t here. And all the stars were alligned. And all was right in the universe.
You look around for confirmation.
He wasn’t in the group you met. He wasn’t hovering nearby. You were secure in your belief that a collection gasps of he just walked in would have followed too. You would’ve felt it; that particular flavor of atmospheric change he brings with him, whetted and exact. You’d have known, the shift in barometric pressure, the interference that clings to your neurons and doesn’t let go. The voice you know too well, molten steel with knive sharpened. The name that tastes of vinegar every time you say it, and you say it often. So you'd know.
He really wasn’t here. Which tracks. Of course, he’d skip his own friend’s party. Or maybe he’s late. Maybe he’s allergic to punctuality like he is to personal boundaries. For people like him time bends differently since they clearly don't have respect of it. Or maybe he’s already come and gone, and the universe just spared you the fallout.
You exhale, long. Unpacking a suitcase full of tension you didn’t know you were carrying. Somewhere deep in your chest, a locked muscle unclenches and thanks you for the mercy.
Hajoon slides in beside you again, glass of champagne hovering near his mouth, eyes all sparkle and hope, gets him one inch closer back into your good graces through this whole ordeal that is a grand, glittery olive branch.
You lean into his side, casual. "Didn’t see...your tae yet?" You ask, because you can’t not. It comes out breezy. Offhand.
He glances down, surprised by the question before he looks around, like he half-expected to find him behind a ficus.
“Taehyung?” he echoes.
You nod. Yes, he who shall not be named.
“Off-duty tonight, apparently. Said he wasn’t sure if he’d make it. Probably laying low.” He says. "You know how he is."
You hum. You don’t. Not really. But you’ve spent enough time seething in his shadow to make up your own conclusions.
Off duty. Right. Still, your eyes scan the room one more time, just in case. A surprisingly wise decision on his part. He only spared himself from the embarrasment in his own bandmates party. So you plan to keep your peace and your boyfriend tonight too.
Alas, you can only have it all before someone — some twenty-something in black denim and a lanyard swinging like a pendulum — approaches with a slightly panicked look and Hajoon’s name half-formed on his lips.
“Hyung,” the kid pants, half-doubled over with his hands on his thighs, hair damp and sticking to his temples. “Sorry—sound crew’s losing their shit over the back-lounge mic feed. Something about the press audio not syncing right. They said they tried to ping you—five times, I think."
The words fall out in a rush, tripping over each other, frantic and full of a bad conscience. He says five, but you can tell by the way he won’t meet Hajoon’s eyes that it’s probably more. Potentially ten. Potentially enough to take your boyfriend away.
Hajoon exhales through his nose. The sound is barely audible, but it echoes anyway, through the bones of the moment, through the space you occupy beside him. You don’t need to look up to know he’s already halfway annoyed. Guilty? His irritation blooms in the shift of his weight, in the flex of his knuckles behind your back, as though weighing whether to pull away entirely or hold ground. Feasibly both.
“Right now?” he asks, like there might be another option. Asks it like the rhetorical density of someone already calculating the cost of interruption.
The runner hesitates, eyes darting toward the corridor behind him where shadows of movement flicker and vanish. “They’re melting down.”
Hajoon hesitates. It almost seems like it's for dramatic effect. You can feel it on him, the feigned reluctance. Feel him preparing the apology, not the words themselves, but the posture of them. It hovers at the corners of his mouth, teeth pressing into thought, mouth pulled thin. There’s no remorse in it, nonethless, the apology is curling at the corners of his mouth before it’s fully formed.
“I can come right back,” he says. “Fifteen minutes. Maybe less.”
You almost roll your eyes. Not because you think he's lying but because fifteen minutes turns into forty. Forty turns into never mind, just go home without me.
And maybe a few days ago, you would’ve folded your arms and dared him to choose. Another moment to keep score. You don’t do that tonight. You don’t call him out. You give him a soft shrug. A little smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “It’s fine. Go.”
He leans in, brushes a kiss against your temple, a flutter thing, gone before you can even decide how you feel about it. “I owe you.”
You hum. “Mhm. Keep the tab open.”
And then he’s gone, flesh peeled from the frame of the moment. Grooved into the mass of bodies, ingested whole by noise and colored light. One blink too slow and his back is already someone else's, indistinct and moving. The crowd does not opposes him, shoulders belonging to glittering bodies and bad decisions open for him without hesitation. His absence walks away before you get the chance to apperceive it properly. Before it earns its configuration.
He moves through crowds with that easy-breath peridiocity that suggests he belongs more to movement than to restfulness. More to them than to you.
And just like that, you’re solo again.
Empty-handed and bare-shouldered- Unattached.
Empty-handed and bare-shouldered- Unsupervised.
Everything around you surges forward, and you remain perfectly still, there’s nothing in your throat but salt and silence.You edge toward the periphery, toes brushing the spill line of the room. Where the light flickers but doesn’t touch. Where the music swells and bruises the walls but doesn’t crawl into your skin. You imagine what you must look like from above, drifting toward the rim, toward the places where no one dares to notice anything too tenous. While your group of girls (havoc I sequins) are scattered like confetti.
Jia is dancing now — on the actual dance floor, in a sea of glitter and swaying silhouettes. Her boots flash under the lights. She throws her head back laughing, some guy in a turtleneck and too much confidence attempting to keep up with her steps.
Safiya is talking to someone near the catering section — maybe flirting, maybe arguing. It’s hard to tell with her. One hand’s on her hip and the other is spearing a cherry tomato off a toothpick like it insulted her mother.
Lara, as always, is missing. You scan the crowd for a glimpse of red but instead catch her exiting a side hallway, shoulder-to-shoulder with Minae, the digital content manager from earlier. They’re laughing, low and conspiratorial, and Mina’s got that subtle half-smirk she wears when she’s decided to keep something to herself. You let her be.
There’s something freeing about the anonymity here. The lights are low, and the music is louder now, bass thudding like a second heartbeat in your chest. You drift along the perimeter, your heels clicking a slow rhythm over polished tile. You accept another drink from a server. It bumps up fizzy. It turns up pink. Something you don’t have to name. You don’t ask what’s in it. That’s part of the fun. Not knowing. Not caring. (Some of the time, it is. And you say that with all precautions took care of.)
Eventually, your path leads you to the lounge side of the floor. Past the floral arch near the DJ. Past the velvet ropes draped over low-lit staircases. Past a corner where someone famous is pretending not to be famous while arguing about streaming rights. It’s less crowded here. The velvet couches are sunken and soft, little groups curled into them like petals around a flame.
The crowd thins out here. The sound mellows.
It’s cooler, too. A reduced amount of throat-choking cologne, fewer elbows in your side. The air smells feebly of melting ice and broken promises, probably vodka, possibly floor cleaner. You cradle your glass against your lips and take a sip. Sweet, cold, suspicious. The taste clings to the roof of your mouth in that way syrups do when they’ve got pharmaceutical derangement of power lust. You swallow anyway. At this point, hydration is hydration.
You have no plans to dance, you're not feeling it. There’s a part of you that still hasn’t forgiven your shoes for existing, and the beat impressions an accusation rather than an invitation. You're satisfied with it nestling somewhere inside your thorax, warming you the way wine does, gradually, dishonestly.
You stare ahead, trying to look occupied but vaguely important. It's a difficult balance, one most people fumble by the first hour. Your eyebrows lift occasionally, your mouth hovers near a smile. You even nod once at no one. Masterclass. Topper, you could've been, if someone didn't turn up in your sideways and made you want to run in circles until the loss of face wore off.
“You’re not with the label, are you?”
You turn, eyes adjusting to the source. He stands there, taller than expected, with that soft-focus face they breed in casting rooms. Brushed-back hair, that only exists in idol genetics or drama leads undone tie, an earring catching the light like it’s been waiting all night to be noticed. A smile so polite it might actually be genuine. Friendly within reason that isn’t threatening, yet somehow still feels practiced. For all you know, he came with the furniture. For all you know, he’s been here the whole time, waiting for a line.
You're a woman with theories waiting to spill out but you're also a woman with many talents so you oversee them all at once while also managing to utter out. “Sorry?”
He chuckles, mouth tugging upwards. “Sorry. That came out weird. I just meant—I haven’t seen you before.”
“It did,” you agree, but your tone is light. You’re not mad. You’re just surprised. No one’s talked to you tonight that wasn’t paid to or pretending not to know your boyfriend. A bold choice. A choice you're thinking you admire.
“I just meant,” he says, still smiling, “I haven’t seen you before.”
You angle your head, enough to let your earrings swing forward. Small weights on delicate hinges. “Do you make it a habit to keep track of everyone?”
He laughs again. This time, less apologetic. “No. Just the interesting ones.”
You raise a brow. “Is that a line?”
He shrugs with a grin so flashy, it could classify as something you would note aside and overanalyze till you've reached to one reoccurring culmination that you need better hobies than overthinking. A heathly one, most preferably. “Only if it’s working.”
You sip your drink. It’s not. But it’s a valiant effort, and in this economy, effort counts for something.
He pretends to look wounded. One hand on his heart, the other cradling his glass like it’s the only constant in his life. Winces. “Harsh.”
You allow the moment to hang, loose and golden, like fairy lights that haven’t short-circuited yet. “Y/N.”
He sticks out his hand. “Sangmin.”
You shake it, out of politeness, out of boredom, out of habit. His grip is good. Palm is warm and fingers are steady. No limpness, no clamminess. The bar’s low, and he clears it.
He smiles. “Nice to meet you, Y/N-who’s-not-with-the-label.”
You glance sideways, scanning for cameras or people pretending not to eavesdrop. “And you are?”
“Former trainee. Now an occasional singer. Sometimes dancer. Full-time mascot, depending on who you ask.” he says as if narrating a bed-time story.
That draws a laugh out of you before you can stop it. “That’s oddly honest.”
He leans against the railing beside you, drink in hand. “Honesty’s underrated.”
You nod. "True, that."
The conversation drifts into easy banter. He asks how you’re liking the party. You say it’s beautiful. He agrees. You say it’s loud. He says it’s always loud. He tells you a story about tripping on a camera wire during a rehearsal and breaking someone’s ankle. You raise your brows. “Their ankle?” He winces. “Yeah. Not my finest hour.”
And the truth of it is; it’s nice. He’s nice. Funny, even. Bothersomely so. The ease of it, of his voice that has a soft-spoken allure that slips out between sips of whatever he’s drinking, the way his sentences land on the floor between you like coins: unsubstanial, eye-catching and never heavy enought to bruise. A clever theif would take great advantage of that because his smile doesn’t ask anything of you. His eyes don’t crawl. And that should be comforting, but in some twisted, tired corner of your chest, it feels worse. Because this could be something. He could be something and that sounds inviting, when you give regard to the attention he gives you, where you don’t have to earn by vanishing parts of yourself.
It would take almost nothing to tilt this into flirtation. You would work a little on your smile and reshape your unit of speech just right, take a sip longer than imperative. Could sink into the clearance he’s offering without ramification, owing to the fact that men like him never ask, they come with tidy intentions and open palms. They don't come with an entourage or an aftertaste.
But your blood doesn’t reach for him, so you don’t. Because you’re not here for that.
Because your boyfriend, who hasn't looked at you properly in days, is still somewhere inside this building, elbows in cables, lungs full of static, cursing at machinery with the conviction of a prophet. The air around him probably smells like copper and stubbornness. You can picture his shoulders already, hunched and wired, chasing perfection with shaking hands and a deadline no one asked him to meet. He’s the reason you’ve spent the last hour smiling politely at people who might never know your name properly and won’t say it. And even if he deserves to be punished for it, for dozens of things, for all of it, you won’t be the knife. You won’t be the thing that you are inherently not.
So you smile. But you dull it with your eyes. You sip your drink, but only because your hands need something to do. You let Sangmin speak — witty, harmless, charming Sangmin — and you nod at the appropriate beats, but your solidity stays pressed into your heels.
You stay where you are.
You say. “My boyfriend,” without flinching. “He works with the group.” When he leans a little closer, elbows resting on the edge of the lounge railing. “So if you’re not with the label, and you’re not a reporter, and you’re not secretly here to pitch a demo... who are you here with?”
You’re not the type to go looking for trouble.
Even if it’s standing beside you in a perfect shirt, making you laugh like nothing matters.
You crave for a distraction from that and it comes in the fashion of a text message.
Your phone buzzes with a little tremor in your hand, screen lighting up like a jolt against the warm, dim haze of the lounge.
You glance down with the mildest sigh, thumb swiping across the screen with practiced detachment, only to freeze at the message lighting it up. Shit. That wasn't the distraction you meant.
[safiya:] emergency. jia’s throwing up in the bathroom. she drank something w dairy i think. help?
The screen lights up in your hand, and at first, the words don’t register. They stall for a second, indefinite at the corners, stubborn in the glow of your phone screen, smearing into background noise. Blame it on the cocktail fogging your bloodstream, or the hundred moving pieces around you: tinsels catching in fake candlelight, voices climbing on top of each other, the sound of a laugh that isn’t yours clamorously too close to your ear. Ends when, reality seizes, Glitter loses its glint. Music overlays inward. The dalliance hanging between you and Sangmin deflates mid-air. Safiya’s words, your friend’s, aren’t long, but they’re enough to lance through whatever artificial calm the evening had built around your shoulders.
You barely finish reading when you mutter, “Shit.” It escapes before you can pack it down.
Sangmin straightens slightly beside you. “Everything okay?” He’s attentive now. Alert even when there's no need him to be. His voice has edged out of flirty and into rigorous.
You force a smile that doesn’t reach anywhere. “Friend emergency.Like a real one.”
“You want help finding them?” His expression shifts, subtle but immediate. He offers help without posturing.
“No,” you say quickly, already stepping back. “Thanks, though. You’ve been… really sweet.”
“Anytime,” he says. A tilt of his glass like a farewell salute. Jeez. You’d laugh if your pulse wasn’t in your throat.
You murmur something like a goodbye, barely audible over the bass, before ducking through the crowd with narrowed eyes and a racing heart. Body tense and forward-leaning, pace picking up without warning. Your heels slap the floor, too fast for elegance, too slow for panic, caught somewhere in that in-between speed people only use when they’re chasing clarity. You’re dodging limbs and cocktail glasses, highlighter-streaked shoulders and half-spilled secrets, all of it flexuring away from you in waves. It’s a cartoon version of what it was ten minutes ago, voices rubbery, lights too sharp, music melting at the confines.
The hallway feels longer now. Louder. The clicks come faster. The party’s music muffles and distorts as you turn a corner and push through a crowd, moving like someone with a mission,which you are. You pass a stylist laughing too loud, a guy adjusting his bowtie in a mirror, someone accidentally spilling champagne that smells too floral. All of it, noise.
All of you, instinct. Blisters when your phone buzzes again. This is messier. This is what did she say? and how bad is it? and god, how far did she get before she texted?
[safiya:] we’re in the second-floor bathroom. back hallway. jia’s on the floor.
Of course it had to be dairy. Jia’s lactose intolerance is the stuff of group lore. And of course she’d think the mousse was vegan just because it was “foamier.”
You find the stairwell, a close-mouthed back corridor lit by cooler lights. As soon as the party noise dulls behind the wall, your adrenaline kicks in sharper.
The second-floor bathroom isn’t hard to find. The door is cracked, music muffled behind layers of expensive soundproofing. You knock once and slip inside.
“Hey,” you call, already tugging your jacket off.
Safiya’s crouched by the sink, holding Jia’s hair back. Jia herself is hunched over the toilet, looking pale and miserable, makeup streaked and dignity somewhere down the drain.
“Oh, babe,” you say softly, dropping beside them. “You okay?”
Jia mumbles something that might’ve been, “Never eating dessert again.”
“She’s burning up,” Safiya says, brows furrowed. “And I can’t get lara to pick up. Her phone’s on DND.”
“She left with that content manager woman,” you mutter, digging into your bag for a napkin or some tissues. “Minae? The one with the bob and the designer clipboard?”
“God, I knew it,” Safiya huffs. "It's like she gets off being reckless."
You dab gently at Jia’s forehead. She’s sweating now, shaky and miserable but not in danger. Not thus far. Her breath’s steady. Her eyes flutter.
“Think she just needs to get it all out,” Safiya murmurs. “But I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“I’ll kill whoever made that mousse,” you mutter, brushing a hand down Jia’s back. “Or at least file a passive-aggressive complaint.”
You glance around, noting the neatly folded hand towels, the stack of fancy soaps, the porcelain sink that looks like it cost more than your rent. The absurdity of handling real shit in such an unreal place; it grates and comforts at the same time.
“Okay,” you murmur, trying to steady your own voice. “Stay with her a sec. I’ll go get water or ginger ale if they have any.”
"O-okay." She nods, shoulders relaxing.
You slip out of the bathroom like you’re walking through water.
The passage feels dissolvent now, air dense with all the words you didn’t say. You push a palm over your forehead, feel the warmth building under your skin, and wonder if it’s sympathy sickness or just frustration curling low in your gut. The worst part is you can’t blame Jia. Not really. She’s the soft one and you say that with documented proof of that one time when cried at a commercial and she still believes in horoscopes.
Your heels echo through the corridor as you walk towards the hallway spits you into another corner of the venue, this one unfamiliar, all wood-paneled doors and golden sconce lighting, like the architectural equivalent of whispering. Everything feels a little inarticulate here. Like you’ve slipped behind the curtain of the night and crashed in its quiet, unsupervised heart.
The party tucks beneath you now, flattened into a low, quaking throb that doesn’t so much speak as it vibrates, deep in the hollow between bone and breath. The music no longer reaches your ears in any clean, decipherable way. It’s washed-out, guttural, absorbed by walls and fabric and distance, reduced to a genesis that hitches itself to your chest and rides every exhale, as if a secret.
You don’t know where the catering crew disappeared to. Whether they’ve set up shop in a closet-sized prep station behind some satin curtain or if there’s a staff kitchen buried somewhere in the maze of corridors, guarded by stress and stainless steel. You don’t know if there’s a vending machine kinetic in it's opertion, in a forgotten corner, stocked with warm soda and crackers designed to outlive civilization. You don’t know, and at this point, you don’t really care. steady hands, firm jaw, no time for collapse. The crisis manager, the de facto medic, the girl who always knows what to grab when someone’s bleeding metaphorically or otherwise, is here now, and she’s got the wheel in a death grip.The part of you that runs crisis control has surfaced in and refuses to log out.
You spot someone near the elevator, clipboard in hand, wearing the haunted eyes of someone paid too little to care too much, and you slide into their eyeline before they can disappear into usefulness. “Sorry,” you say, swallowing the rest of your breath before it breaks apart. “Do you know where I can find bottled water? Or soda? It’s for someone upstairs.”
They blink at you, startled, as if you’ve spoken a spell in a language reserved for emergencies. They were expecting a headset, maybe. Most definitely from an official. Instead they got a girl in heels and unfinished mascara, looking halfway between guest and ghost. “Uh—check the prep station near the west corner? Just past the photo booth. There’s always extra stuff stored back there.”
You thank them before they can ask who you are. Your heels resume their mindless candace. Though defining it mindless would be a contradiction on it's own.
Because the longer you’re away from the bathroom, the more you start thinking. You don’t want to- this is supposed to be simple but your thoughts mutate away from the simple task of fetching a drink. Keep a friend alive, make sure she’s breathing through whatever hell clawed its way up her throat. Return. The distance from the bathroom grows, and with it, the space for your mind to spiral. Your brain won’t shut up, now. Won’t let you have that peace cause its so inconveniently wired for emotional noise, keeps dragging you somewhere else.
Hajoon still hasn’t followed up. You’d texted him, told him where you were. You told him emergency triage, and if that wasn’t enough to get his feet moving, what is?
You turn the next corner, pass a cluster of interns half-hunched over a light panel, then veer off toward a hallway marked “STAFF ONLY.” The rope is halfway slipped already, forgotten or ignored. You lift it with one hand and step through, no hesitation. There’s a kind of freedom in crossing boundaries that no one’s watching.
The floor changes under your shoes, softer now, something ductile or carpeted, dulled at the edges.
The hallway branches once. Then again. Everything here smells faintly of cleaning supplies and flowers that died too expensive. You keep left. You pass a storage room door half-cracked open.
There’s a linen cart parked haphazardly against the wall, as though someone meant to wheel it somewhere and then simply forgot how to follow through. Its wheels are crooked, one half-swallowed by the seam in the tile. Cloth napkins spill from the top shelf, un creased in places, crumpled in others, some folded with care, others balled up like someone gave up mid-shift. The cart smells unclearly of starch and lemon polish, though the scent is old now, faded. It shouldn’t register as anything important. It’s background, set dressing. But your steps hesitate all the same. Something in your gut makes you pause- it's not dread that mimics one of the many classic horror, not instinct either. It's marginally a pause. What it is, is one of those micro-moments when your brain forgets what the next step is supposed to feel like, and in that blank space, everything else happens.
You wouldn't have noticed, except you hear it. It's suprising that you hear it at all. Not at first obviously. Even-handedly a sound that feels like it shouldn’t be there, the sound being the slightest rustle of movement. You're still taken aback from the fact that you heard it before you even sum up what's in front.
There’s a door ahead of you, it’s half-open. Few and far between to be an invitation, but enough to make you wonder whether it was meant to be closed at all. Light spills through the narrow gap and pools on the floor in a long diagonal, slicing the hallway in half. It has that fluorescent, salubrious tint that makes everything beneath it look more exhausted than it already is. It paints a harsh stripe across the tile, across the napkins that have spilled out and frozen mid-collapse.
It should be nothing.
Keyword: Should be.
But your stomach twists because it not nothing. You hear it before your eyes have caught up to the chassis of it, voice seeping through the thin air, delicate in tone but heavy in intention, that unnervingly lacquered pitch women use when they want to sound wounded while making do with the peaked ends. Too close to a whine to be professional and too retiring to be a whisper held between teeth.You know that voice. From an hour ago and a handshake held too long.
“—don’t know why you brought her.”
You stiffen calcifies, muscles wrapped in an invisible brace of knowing before thought has the chance to intervene. Notwithstanding as it dawns upon you. There is no alarm in your blood, only a slow, curling recoil, a heatless burn under the structure of your bones, only happens when your body recognizes a truth faster than your brain allows. And in that second, divulgence feasts on it, on this limited space which inhabits, too much light and too many truths.
Inside, there’s a shuffle of feet. You assume Hajoon’s feet because his voice is right behind. Tired it sounds.You know the articulation of Hajoon’s steps by heart. You’ve counted them. On staircases. Sidewalks. Your apartment floor. It’s him. It’s absolutely him. And this is definitely a moment you were never meant to witness, unlike those ones.
“Bora, come on.”
You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.
The thought spirals like a siren in your head, acute and shrill, but your limbs won’t respond. Your name—well, her edited version of it—still floats between the syllables like a ghost. It hovers in the stale air, waiting to be dissected. Examined. Embalmed. It follows that, Hajoon is right there, sufficiently beyond the narrow slit of the door, sufficiently close enough to see if you lean another inch. The thought loops inside you, blinking red, warning you off like a flashing exit sign in a building that’s about to go under.
You shouldn’t stand on the edge of a threshold holding your breath like a child in a horror film. But your feet carry you the last few steps anyway. You stop at the edge of the door. Your body does what it always does: disobeys in the ways that matter. You drift those last few steps forward, against reason, against self-respect, against your own better judgment, which has never won a single fight with your curiosity. You stop before the door, which is, predictably, ajar. Drawn by a magnetism you hate yourself for responding to, step into the slice of light spilling out, allowing you permission. You lean, carefully, slowly, not with intent to spy, but because gravity is a cruel thing when verity is involved.
But you can’t not hear. Some truths calcify on impact.
“You knew I had to,” Hajoon’s voice replies.There’s strain there, but no outrage. “You knew she was coming.”
“No, I knew you invited her. That’s different.”
Something inside you hollows, it's not a feeling of being stabbed but more like a scoop. It happens when someone’s hand just reaches in and takes a part of your stomach out. The distinct sensation of absence, of a piece of yourself being removed so gently you might’ve missed.
And then she replies, and her tone slips even further into something sugary and rehearsed, a voice performing vulnerability without ever being touched by it. “Is she really worth this whole scene? You don’t even look at me anymore.”
Your breath catches in your throat as Bora’s shadow moves. Her heels click lazily against the tile; catlike, the gait of someone who knows they won’t be interrupted. She enters the sliver of your view, the sleek line of her calf, the shimmering hem of her dress, the glint of earrings swinging arrogantly near her throat. You hear the brush of her hand against fabric and you know exactly what part of him she’s touching. You imagine the press of her palm over his chest, the lean of her body into his. It all happens in your boyfriend’s silence. And in that silence, a occurence too hefty to explain.
Your heartbeat rises in your ears. Hajoon doesn’t say anything. That’s what terrifies you. Guts you. The relevation that this isn’t new. This isn’t some messy misunderstanding begotten in champagne and ambient lighting. This isn’t just some bad timing and worse boundaries.
She knows how close she can stand. He knows not to push her away. Her encroachment and his compliance is perfection.
You don’t realize when your hand finds the doorframe, only that it’s there now, clutching the edge with a grip so tight your knuckles pale, fingers curled in as though the wood might be the only thing keeping you upright the floor. Your weight has shifted forward, barely perceptible, but enough to feel how precarious your body has become. There’s a dizziness curling at the corners of your vision, the faint, reeling you until, the floor doesn’t just spin outright but diagonals the whole hallway, sluggish and silent, until every step forward feels steeped of jeopardy.
Her voice floats closer, closer than it should be, caramel-coated and too aware of itself, dripping with old secrets cladded up as affection. “You never used to hesitate,”Bora says, purring the words confidently. Comes from years of being let terribly close, terribly often. “Remember that night in Jeju?”
Your stomach turns with such violence that your throat tightens to contain it, not quite because of the place but because of the specificity. You hate how specific it is. How casually it falls from her mouth like it was theirs, like it still is. And you’re the stranger here, the interloper. Your mind flinches against the image, desperate to resist its outline, but it sculpts itself out anyway. Sand underfoot, spending nights which rewrote everything you had spent years wasting your ink on.
“I remember, baby.” Hajoon murmurs. Three words form bruises under your skin, one by one, swelling inward, He never called you baby in years of your relationship. In that soft voice, to be exact, immensly soft to belong to anything except regret or concede, and yet there’s no regret in the accentuation.
You want to laugh. Hardly because it’s funny, nothing about this is funny, but because the absurdity of the pain has reached a point of detachment, the way your mind sometimes offers humor when the body is close to collapse. You want to cry, too.And part of you wants to throw the door wide open, break the performance into pieces, shove the truth into the light and force him to look you in the face while it burns. But your body refuses to do any of it. You remain exactly where you are, stuck in a moment too excruciating to interrupt, a bystander in your own devastation. You’re the frame that flickers on screen before the plot pivots.
You press your knuckles against your mouth, the skin there soft from earlier, now dented under pressure. The contact is painful on purpose, in the best interest of you because you need the grounding. You need the reminder that you’re real. That this moment, for all its cruelty, is happening, and you are standing inside it.
Inside, Bora sighs, and the sound is so pleased with itself you almost swerve. “You shouldn’t have brought her if you didn’t want me to do this.”
There’s no reply. And the silence, this time, is deafening. Deeply, fatally familiar.
You hear a shuffle, drag of fabric, potentially a foot dragging closer to another, following the sound of movement you don’t want to identify, a insufflation exhaled that sounds mightly satisfied, getting intimate, too sure of its position and of this delicious game. You don’t want to imagine what’s happening in that pause. You don’t want to wonder how the bated breath you hold hostage anyways, speaks like your brain, atrocious in its survival instincts, paints the picture anyway, and your body responds with a sickened tightness that has nowhere to go.
Your breath catches so sharply in your throat you think it might scratch you from the inside. You feel stupid. You feel stupid.
You told yourself this was just you overthinking, that Hajoon was tired all of the time and started to perpare for the older times when you will be older too and he'll get worse but you'll be there. Distracted, mayhaps. Pulled a hundred directions by this event. You gave him excuses. You always did — so eager, so stupidly loyal — gave him that room.
And the part that stings the most, makes you want to claw his betraying heart out, is that he let you, let you build that little myth Took advanted of the room of uncertainty you gave him. Gods, gave him so much room to disappoint you. Over and over. Until all he had to do to keep you was nothing.
Padded every missed text with understanding. Gulped down every late night, every unexplained absence with that stupid stupid smile. You rationalized his silences, handed them over with thought too. Made up for them in your head. Built a cushion out of benefit-of-the-doubt and laid down in it, eyes closed, telling yourself it wasn’t what it looked like, because you loved him. Because you chose him. Because love, as you were told, is supposed to be work.
From both fucking sides. It didn't function so when you alone did the work and never asked if he was doing it too.
And now you’re here. In this hallway. Listening to the soft undoing of your entire relationship through a half-open door and the giggle of a woman who never saw you as a threat.
The humiliation feels cinematic,doesn’t come all at once, but ponderous; seeping, viscous, with the heft of something that’s been waiting a long time to be acknowledged. It rivulets into you with the same progression as dread, thick and sticky as honey spilled across cold tile, where every inch it spreads becomes harder to scrub clean. Fills your ribs, then slips deeper, into the squishy discomfort of your sternum, and you know without needing to be told that this is a hurt that's gonna stay, will make a home.
Your body already knows what your mouth isn’t brave enough to say. You were so oblivious.
You think back to every red flag you plucked from the air and re-dyed white, into a color you could live with. The nights he came home later than he said he would, the smell on his collar (not yours, never yours) smelling faintly of something exceedingly floral to be your detergent. The half-sentence that rarely ended with an i love you, even when you had made it very clear on the early on stages of your relationship that you liked being told that you were loved, that too often. You think about all the things you chalked up to stress, to work. Every thing everyone around told you to reconsider, tried to warn you in gentle silences and wary glances, their voices cautious with pity, never saying the thing outright but circling it like buzzards. Because they knew probably. They knew.
You were the only one who refused to sit with the pattern of it. You just didn’t want to listen. Because to listen, to truly listen, would’ve meant accepting what you’ve always suspected in the nooks and crooks of your gut. Because if you listened, you’d have to admit it.That maybe it wasn’t just his job or a global popstar keeping Hajoon from you. Maybe Hajoon wanted to be kept.
You feel sick.
And suddenly your body revolts against the thought, stomach tightening as odium coils innermore and flourishes beneath your abdomen. Your mouth goes dry, the taste in it metallic and sour, and you swallow down the spasm, in hopes that it might buy you a few more seconds of composure. Your molars ache, clenched so tightly together that your jaw begins to pulse. You suddenly remember the first night he told you he loved you, how his voice cracked as if the words startled him too, you didn't even dare think about, or how that maybe he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Was that a lie too?
Or did he mean it then?
Does it even matter now?
But those questions come with their own claws. So you don’t answer them. You don’t try, press the heel of your hand to your eye before the tears can fall, as if you could shove the tears back into their ducts through sheer will alone, refusing to let them fall here. You will not cry in this hallway. You will not give this place that power. So you don’t cry. You don’t let your anger catch fire and drive you through the door with fists full of questions.
But you think about it.
Lords, do you think about it.
You think about how it would feel to crack the illusion open, to make them both look at you, really look. You picture it in flashes- your fingers curled in Bora’s silken collar, dragging her back two steps just to see if her voice stays as sweet when it trembles. You imagine staring Hajoon dead in the eye and asking him if this is worth it, if she’s worth it, if it was all just a game to see how far he could bend your bones before they snapped.
You want to interrupt. You want to step inside that room and let the breath you’ve been holding slice through the air like glass.
You want it to be loud. Messy. Unforgettable. But your body won’t let you, again.
You’re still standing in the same spot, though you aren’t entirely sure how. Breath shallow, limbs made of rust, you feel distant from your own being,every joint stiff and unreliable, as though they were never made for movement. Your fingers are locked around the thin strap of your clutch, knuckles aching from the strain, but still, you can’t let go. Your knees buzz with a numbness that teeters too close to collapse, and you know, without testing it, that if you tried to walk away too quickly, you’d falter, legs would fold in on themselves, dragging your self-esteem down with you.
As if it hasn't already fallen so far, in the narrowest depths, probably making it's way to the seventh circle of hell, every time your mind plays it on a loop. The select few parts run on and on, and the implications that came with when Hajoon didn’t refute her. While you were left in the hallway, on the other side of the door, invisible.
And it’s in that invisibility that you forget yourself entirely. Forget why you’re here, what you’re holding, what you promised. The scene overtakes you, pushes you out of your own context. You are not the friend on a mission to fetch water for her shaking best friend anymore. You are not the responsible one, the stable one, the friend who had her life sorted out, the moment she was out of college with a fixtures on her side, all the time and not one who's witnessing the slow infidelity of your relationship in a quiet, candlelit corridor. Except the reminder comes. Sounds like ting. And reads like urgency and concern all at once.
Your phone buzzes against your thigh, a single jolt. But it ricochets through you like thunder, breaks away the trance.
You blink hard, pull yourself out of the daze like yanking the string of a broken marionette. Your fingers fumble against the screen.You don’t know how long you’ve been gone, only that it’s been long enough for concern to find you.
[safiya: everything okay? what's taking so long??]
The words feel like someone cracking a window open in a burning house.
And in that small, merciful moment, you remember the things that matter, try not to waste away at people who shouldn't have in the first place. If you would have, it wouldn't have taken you so long to remember who you are.
You swallow hard. The lump in your throat feels alive, not figurative, a snarling beast with claws scraping against your insides, trying to claw its way out through the thinnest part of your chest. The taste of it is sharp, astringent, nauseating and it's as overwhelming as a broken heart.
You shift and move.
It’s a small step- barely a shuffle- but the sound paraphrases in the tight space.
Inside, everything falls placid.
Like prey sensing danger.
You hear the soft scrape of a heel. A breath catching follows up that results in the slow, cautious creak of movement. They heard you. It's the only answer that makes sense in a moment that has your mind in pieces. They heard you, and for the first time, you’re no longer invisible.
Panic rises like heat in your throat, replacing the cluster. Your body kicks into survival mode, muscle memory taking the wheel with foot on the pedal, before they can come out. Before they can see your face. The car kicks into ignition and it turns. So do you. Fast.
You move like a current, wind-slipped and sharp. Your heels barely touch the tile. One foot, then the next, then the next. You duck around the corner just as the storage door creaks open behind you.
You don’t look back.
You can’t afford to.
Because if you see them now- if you see him- you’re not sure what will survive the encounter.Your pride, your restraint, the tight seal you’ve managed to hold around your devastation, all of it would shatter. And you are not ready to fall vulnerable in front of them.
Your pulse races like it’s sprinting ahead of you, trying to outrun the shame.Your heart races, anything but in beats, but in gallops, hurrying and zooming, trying to put as much distance as it can between you and what you heard, what you saw, what you now have to carry.
You press one hand flat to the wall, desperate for contact with something unmoving, presumably cool, the tiles are cool. You lean into them with the full weight of your trembling shoulders and try to slow the shaking in your chest. You don’t know how long you stay like that, listening, waiting, cursing the damn universe, back to the corner, ears straining for footsteps that never come.
But no footsteps follow. No voices chase you.
Maybe they think it was nothing.
Or worse, maybe they know exactly what it was.
You straighten, finally. Shake out your shoulders like you’re resetting them on your frame. Willing the bones to don’t feel foreign inside your skin. You glance down at your phone again. Safiya’s message blinks back at you like a lighthouse in fog.
You type back:
[omw.]
It’s all you can manage.
You don’t even realize you’re crying until the first tear hits the corner of your lip, warm and sharp like betrayal distilled.
You scrub the tear away with the back of your hand, rough and rushed, by its nature friction alone could erase what you saw, as though maybe if you wiped hard enough, the memory would peel with it, lift off the surface of your mind and dissolve somewhere into the air behind you. The sting lingers, anyway, heartbreak nests where it should. And somewhere down the corridor, from a place your feet no longer remember how to reach, laughter drifts upwards. It wafts through cause it has every right to, unaffected and unbothered, the fluky soundtrack of people who haven’t had their insides rearranged by the sound of someone else's name spoken too tenderly. The absurdity of it settles in your chest like lead, that the world is still turning.
You push open a random door at the end of the lobby and exhale like you’ve been holding it for a year. A folding table sits near the back wall, crowded with plastic water bottles and packets of mints, and behind it, a server looks up, startled but not alarmed, the way people do when they’ve seen enough parties to know when to mind their business.
You blink. “Water, please?” you say. Your voice doesn’t sound like yours.
He hands one over without question. You nod in return, a stiff, graceless gesture meant to approximate gratitude, and clutch the bottle so tightly that the plastic creaks in your grip.
You feel the crispy cold of the bottle in your hand. It sweats against your palm, a sharp contrast to the flush still radiating from your face. You feel the chill of it in your bones, grateful for the shock. Pain, at least, is something you know how to hold.The world around you feels loud again, even though you’re moving through a quieter section of the venue. The dull thud of bass somewhere beneath your feet. The muffled laughter of strangers who proude the sound of the clink of glassware. Every sound scratches.
Your feet start moving before your brain catches up.
First one foot, then the other, and then your body begins to catch on, muscles remembering the purpose even if your mind hasn’t fully returned to it. Left. Then right. Then forward again.
Back to the place where your friends are waiting. Where your absence must be starting to bloom into concern. Back to the bathroom, where Jia is still hunched over porcelain and Safiya is probably pacing, biting her lip, thinking you’ve gotten lost in this maze of flashing lights and secrets.
The steps are small. Practiced. But your body is still off-kilter, like the force field has shifted slightly out of sync. The party’s glow pulses in the walls around you, muffled and amber hues, but you feel none of it. Each step feels disconnected from the last, like your legs are acting on instruction rather than instinct.You are aware, in the strangest way, that you are walking. That you are moving through space. That you are passing through light and shadow. You feel everything and nothing. You could be gliding. You could be drowning. You’re not sure which would be more forbearing.
Nonethles, you try to hold onto the task. Just give them the water. That’s all you have to do. Just get to the bathroom. Just—
But the walk is long. And your mind won’t cooperate. It's franternizing in a way that plays everything that happened back there again and again. That sing-song tone that was viscous, tunes in and out, how it still manages to cut through the unbearable, monstrous silence.
You were good.
You’d always prided yourself on being composed. Reasonable. You weren’t the jealous type. You weren’t the skeptical possessive girlfriend. You’d never demanded keys or passwords or explanations. Love, in your definition, if was true, it needed no surveillance. Needed not to feel like a rope wrapped around a neck, except it did now.
And the person who held the end of it was the one you told yourself to trust. Told yourself it was the job. That the industry was brutal, demanding, parasitic. That he was a victim of it too, just trying to survive in its current. You gave him space, understanding, flexibility. You let him treat you like an supplementary information because you believed it would pay off. That this, tonight, was the beginning of him showing you off.
And he was infact. Just not to the right audience. God knows not to the right audience. The abashment of sits high in your throat, making it feel lodged yet again. The discomfort of it (or so you'd like to belive) manifests itself in a new wave of tears. They’re not falling gracefully now, they sting, angry and sudden, pooling along your lashes before you can wipe them. Still you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand again.
When you do, you become aware of how your eyes are rimmed with betrayal and your hands are shaking and your entire face feels cracked like porcelain that’s been dropped once, twice, too many times.
You round the corner to the hallway where the second-floor restroom is. You can hear feeble voices inside that start to come off as not so softened. Makes you pause just outside the frame. Look at yourself in the polished reflection of the fire extinguisher box in case your own hand failed you but that has been one of the many things that has not. Eyes glassy. Nose red. Lipstick worn off at the corners. You look like someone who’s unraveling. Methodically, even.
You can’t walk in like this.
Jia is in the feels, Safiya is perceptive. One look and they’ll know something’s wrong. And once that happens, the dam will break and you’ll start crying in front of them. And you'll cry ugly.
And right now, you can’t. You just- can’t.
Just as you're about to turn away, a woman in a slate-blue dress steps up beside you. Mid-thirties, elegant. One of the guests, you assumed. She gives you a polite smile, one hand reaching for the door.
You step in front of her before you’ve even decided to speak.
“Sorry—excuse me.”
She stops, brows raised in mild surprise.
You hold the water out, trying to steady your voice. “Could you… would you mind giving this to the two girls in there?One’s in a pink dress. One’s holding her hair back. They’re my friends—I just need to step outside for some air.”
The woman blinks once, then nods, smile softening into understanding.
“Of course.”
You hand her the bottle and add, “Please tell them I’ll be right back. I just—yeah. I’ll be back.”
She gives you a look. The kin of one where women give each other a type of laconic solidarity when they recognize something. Two words starting with the same letter. The thin line in between. Then she disappears inside, and you’re left alone again in the corridor. Alone again, the hallway exhales with you. Shallow, breathy, reluctant to hold what it’s just seen. The silence afterward is dense, thick with ghosts of hands and things not taken back. And you-still holding yourself like glass, too fine for touch-let it all soak in.
Your body wants quiet. Soundlessness is subjective, seclusion is primary. Somewhere you can let your face drop out of its composure, somewhere you can drop the mask of the girl who’s just fine.
You think about going home. But the apartment that basically gives off the odour of a once lasted relationship with a shoe rack that holds heels and loafers despite how it was shaped just for boots, a kitchen that never for once stopped smelling like raspberry jelly will make you all the more disordered. Speaking of ill, you also just can't leave your friends with no explanation at all. Disappearing for an hour or so is one thing, leaving entirely is another.
So you extract the idea from your mind whole. And since intuition has been the reason behind some very important unveiling, you chose to follow it once again. This time you distinguish it as a palace of carved panels and red rope that seems increasingly untethered from the celebration it’s supposed to contain. You follow the curl of tawny sconces as they dim behind you. You don’t have a direction, not by any means. Merely this straight urge to be elsewhere. Away from mirrors and pity and the way your voice will shatter if anyone dares to ask what happened.
The air changes again- the assuage of walkway giving way to the softer allay of space. You blink, slow, and find yourself facing tall double doors cracked just enough to tease a sliver of moonlight. You follow it like a moth and press a hand to the cool wood and ease it open when you've reached.
The balcony is mostly empty (or so you think). It's mostly meant for people who duck into here when their dates say too much, or when the music says too little. You don’t belong here for those reasons. But for a second, you let yourself pretend you do. Pretend is all that you can do, after all. Pretend is all one can do when no place reaches out like it's own.
You step out into the night.
The breeze is soft, carrying the perfume of late-blooming things that represent the late of march and early on days of may. There’s a railing with ornate curls, and a small potted tree beside it. You lean against the edge like a ghost at a masquerade, hidden in plain sight. Far from a invisible ghost, righteously misplaced.
The skyline shimmers in the distance. City lights doing their best impression of stars. Because the sky is unkind tonight. Clear and full of stars. One of those nights that dares you to feel small.
You close your eyes.
It should hurt less than it does. You should be angry, you think. Fury has a vibration, a tempo, that is not entirely senseless, that you could move to. But all you have is this ache. This underdone, expanding bruise of disbelief. That Hajoon, your Hajoon, the one who texted you goodnight from studio floors and once cried during the middle of your anniversary dinner because you surprised him with a scrapbook - that Hajoon had someone else’s lipgloss on his cheek.
And he let you walk into that party wearing your best, heart in hand, eyes wide and bright like you weren’t already being laughed at. The fact alone that he could ever be this savage measures up higher than the mere word spurning. Your fingers tighten around the railing.
You breathe. In. Out. In again.
He cheated on you.
You say it in your head, then again. Try it out. Grant it to parrot.
He. Cheated. On you.
How long? you think. It can’t have started tonight. The intimacy you saw take place takes time. That comfort is and that silence intertwines complexly.The way he let her talk over you like you weren’t even there. It takes a history. You sniff, furious.You want to rip out whatever pages it's sanctioned in. You want to punch someon-
— and the scuff of a footfall to your left startles you mid-thought, cracking clean through the violence of it. You breathe in too sharply and choke on the tail end of it, a hiccup caught mid-throat. The sound escapes before you can swallow it back, a soft, broken thing that snags in the night air.
You flinch, just barely, but it’s enough to pull you upright, palms peeling away from the ornate railing. The sound was soft; softer than it should be for how it lands in your chest. Impalpable, but undeniable. The categorical gospel is not the wind, nor is the sway of branches or the groan of old fixtures. It's plainly in a presence. A presence that exples in a dramatic, public way.
You turn your head.
In the first instance, it’s just a silhouette. Broad shoulders caught in a slant of moonlight, leaned casually against the far railing where the wall curves into the night. You hadn’t seen him when you first stepped out- he’s tucked into the darkness like he belongs there. You blame the sleek sweep of a jacket that gleams ink-black where the light touches and vanishes where it doesn’t. Depthless black, that's the kind of shade it is. He’s fidgetless against the opposite end of the balcony, arms folded, head tilted just enough that you know he’s looking out — not at you, seasonably. The night swallows him in patches, makes him blur into the dark, view as a conundrum, lets him melt into the obscurity. Only the gleam of a metal clasp or maybe the faint shimmer of a watch betrays the shape of him at all.
Your breath halts for a different reason now. This time in mortification. How long has he been there? How much did he hear of your inner voice that would sometimes refuse to stay just inside?
You should have known. Of course someone else would be here. This party is a haven for the overexposed, the adored and overworked — balconies are harbours, and privacy is a drug. You suppose you’re not the only one tonight with a reason to step away from too much attention.
You clear your throat, subtly, and swipe at your cheeks once more with the back of your hand, hoping whatever disaster your makeup has become is at least concealable under the night’s forgiving ink. You press yourself a little more into the corner, make yourself smaller.
“I’m so sorry,” you blurt, voice cracked and low-pitched but unmistakably sheepish. “I didn’t mean to… disturb you. I didn’t know someone was here.” you gesture vaguely toward the door as if it explains your presence, your unraveling, your trespass.
You’re already turning, embarrassment washing over you, warm and prickly, when you hear that voice. That empty headed, unwitting, greatly-
Oh come on!
Dwindling deep. Familiar in that unmistakable way, because it's the voice that’s been replayed in the background of your vehemence for months. Velour worn sharp.
“It's alright.”
There’s a haitus his mouth decides upon, and so does the surroundings with him like even the night is startled into inaction.
Your breath catches, shallow. Your backbone straightens, sharp.
He turns as if on cue.
It does not take place pointedly. An appropriate response that would be startled. No, not even that. But slow, like the metanoia of a thought that’s been brewing for too long. His face is in shadow, but the movement reveals the slope of his jaw, the lazy fall of dark hair over his brow. You can’t see the details, not in this light. But something about his presence is sharp in your periphery, like recognition trying to claw its way forward but tripping on the haze.
You retreat a step. Not far away, but enough.
"Stay." He adds, a beat slower that turns the night warm around him than it was a second ago.
He says it like it’s not a big deal, offering courtesy. But the sound of his voice reaches somewhere in you that you didn’t know was flammable. It scrapes gruffly, like a match. He hasn’t moved from his spot. Still standing there, half-shrouded. Watching, maybe. Or not. You can’t tell. But the certainty in his tone, unbothered, solid, undoes you in a different way.
You know that voice.
You don’t want to know that voice. But you do.
He who shall not be named. Of all people. Of all fucking anyone.
You don’t turn yet. You stare ahead, blinking hard, gathering yourself. That name has been the thread you tugged every time you felt distance growing between you and Hajoon before the awakening dropped upon you that he was actually not.
And now he’s here. On the balcony. With you.
Your throat bobs awkwardly, unsure what to say. Maybe you misheard. Maybe you’re imagining things because he was not supposed to be here. Your brain is playing cruel little games because tonight’s already stitched together from surreal fabric.
If it was any other time, hell had it been any minute before the past half hour, you'd have applauded the timing. Would have marched over to Kim Taehyung and said everything you wanted to.
Would have looked him square in the eye and asked if it felt good, demanding Hajoon’s time, his energy, his apologies, until there was none left for you. Would have told him, with teeth bared behind a smile, that he was the reason you ate cold fries alone on your own celebratory dinner.
You would have let it out. All of it. The slow rot of resentment you watered like a houseplant. The tantrum you tucked neatly beneath your tongue every time Hajoon said “Taehyung needs me.” You would have unspooled every sentence you rehearsed in the dark, every imagined confrontation sharpened over sleepless nights.
But this isn’t then.
This is now. And now you know the truth.
He didn’t bend Hajoon’s lynchpin until he broke. He didn’t whisper temptation or rearrange the tiles of loyalty under Hajoon’s feet. He didn’t need to because Hajoon walked willingly.
And you were too busy blaming the him to see it.
Now, stripped of that blame, that convenient villainy, you’re left with nothing but the naked awkwardness of this moment. The rage you’d once felt toward him feels foolish now. Juvenile. Like screaming at the moon for letting the tide pull you under. It doesn’t quite hold the shape it used to. You don’t know what to do with it. And so you stand there, stiff in the corner of the balcony, unable to move toward him, but unable to leave.
He hasn’t said another word. Hasn’t even looked at you again. He just exhales again. Smoke blooming from between his lips like it’s part of the night.
That’s when you notice the cigarette. You hadn’t clocked it before, but now you see the faint cherry glow at his side, the way it illuminates the curl of his fingers, the slow draw of breath. It looks romantic on him, of course it does. Doubles some tragic French film character leaning against the edge of ruin, too well-dressed to decipher publicly.
And as much you loved to make joke of comments under candid clips of this man that raved about some aura of his, you found yourself then just barely, just quick enough to pass as you scoot under the luminescence, catch a better glimpse of him.
His jaw is too sharp for comfort. His hair, mussed just enough to seem accidental, shimmers like ink under the silvered light. His lips (you don’t even know why you notice) are plush and parted. And his eyes, when they finally flick toward you, are darker than the night behind him. Flippant. Sleepy. Unfathomable.
He doesn’t speak. But he doesn’t look away either.
You want to look away. You do. But it’s magnetic, the stupid made up ambience around him. Easy in a way that demands nothing and everything. He’s not performing. He’s not even curious. Seems diserepctful but at the same time it makes you understand how someone like Hajoon could crumble under it. Why people orbit men like this and call it the law of nature. You’d scoffed at it before. Scoffed every time Hajoon said he just gets so intense sometimes, you know? like Taehyung was weather instead of a man.
Yet, you're not sure how understanding the possibility of it makes any difference to you. Makes any sense.
But how the hell do you share space with someone who’s been mythologized in your mind for so long?
Because now you’re sure. You know it’s him. You could draw the line of his nose from memory. The corner of his lip. You’ve seen this face on billboards, in moving gifs, in phone screens where your ex-boyfriend kept scrolling even during dinner.
Except now he’s real. Not flattened into pixels. Breathing the same air as you. You blink hard. Try to focus. To reroute your brain back into safer waters. But all it gives you is a memory.
Because this isn’t the first time you’ve spoken to him, is it?
It comes uninvited. Like most things do.
Back when Hajoon had just started as his manager. Everything was new then. Boundaries blurry. You still thought the industry was glamorous, not exhausting. You remember being home, hair wrapped in a towel, half a sheet mask on your face when your phone that was running a tutorial video paused on a frame. You'd have turned it back on if it wasn't for the name popping up on your screen at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday. You had picked up without hesitation.
Except it wasn’t Hajoon.
"Good evening. This is Taehyung. Can you send a picture of the contract folder on Hajoon-sshi's desk? He forgot it."
You blinked at the screen, furrowed your brow.
"Sure, Taehyung. 😂 Joon your impersonation game is trash and that's tough considering you're trying to speak like the man you work for. At least commit to the bit."
The message pinged back too quick for someone pretending to be a important, busy man.
"It's actually me. Taehyung. Hajoon-sshi's busy with some stuff."
You laughed. Alone in your bathroom. Holding a spoonful of some face oil and scrolling up and down the chat.
"And I'm the CEO of Mars. Let me know if you need a crater named after you."
You had awaited hajoon finally breaking out whatever character's in.
"You're funny. Send the photo."
This wasn’t the tone a boyfriend of sixteen months should be talking in, you had thought. Unaware as ever. If only you had learned how that unawareness will end for you.
"If it’s really you, Kim Taehyung, send a selfie holding a spoon."
You hadn’t expected a reply.
But a few minutes later there it was. There it came.
A dimly lit photo that was non debatable who it captured. Grainy in a way that none of his chronicled, edited ones were. Sleepy-eyed. Hair in disarray. Wearing a black hoodie and holding a spoon between his fingers with the most unimpressed expression you’d ever seen.
You stared at the image longer than you’d admit. Tried not to cringe too much at the cataloged annoyance. And then you sent the damn contract.
"Told you. I commit."
You didn’t respond. You told yourself he was probably just weird. Probably forgot all about you two minutes later. He never brought it up again. Neither did you. But sometimes, the memory flickered. A weird little moment stitched into your timeline, half-unreal.
And maybe he doesn’t remember you. Maybe that moment was just a Tuesday to him. You'd love to take advantage of that before it gets any more lumbering here. You tuck your arms around yourself and inhale the smoke-laced air stretched thin across the span of a few meters and commodity that has you topid. Hovering at a cautious distance, two steps too far to be friendly and one step too close to be indifferent.
You didn't realize acting indifferent was something that Kim Taehyung had a copyright on until he moves again. Abundantly. A loosening of limbs, the slow unfurling of someone at ease in their own myth.
“I don’t bite,” he says, voice low, drowsy. Just on the edge of humor, like he’s saying it more for himself than for you. His head tips toward you, not quite looking. Still, he flicks the ash from his cigarette with a lazy hand, like he’s bored of his own invitation.
You swear it’s the wind at first. The words fold into the air too smoothly.
You know you should just offer a polite smile. A nod. Some kind of noncommittal noise that maintains distance. But your mouth, as always, has other plans.“Mm,” you murmur, under your breath, not even meaning for him to hear, “I doubt that.”
You don’t think he’s listening. But he is.
You catch it - just fairly - in the slight turn of his head, the way one corner of his mouth curves, slow and serpentine. twitch of lip, more ghost than grin. The kind of smile you don’t see so much as sense. Felt more in your knees than your chest.
Great. Now you’re giving him lines.
Then - like it’s a casual thing, like it costs him nothing - he speaks again. Doesn’t even glance at you this time. Tilts his head, exhales another cloud of smoke, and lets it wander up into the sky.
“Come closer.”
Um hello? What did he just say to you? Did he actually demand of you?
Though the words are simple; not barked; not begged, they still alter an insolence capillary of yours. You hesitate, the word itself making a heat rise under your collarbones. A place it had no buisness eliciting a reaction in.
Your body moves before your brain signs off. Not by a great deal, but enough to close the distance between polite and probing. The necessary for the chill in the night to fade from your arms. Proportionality to fall under the scent of his cigarette, sharp and spicy and soaked in something faintly herbal, like bergamot and smoke and warm resin.
But you catch yourself before you go further. Straighten your spine. Scupper your voice.
“I’m not doing what you tell me,” you say, and the words are sharp, snapped like a twig underfoot. “Just so we’re clear.”
That almost-smile on his mouth doesn’t move, but it changes. And to your horror, it even deepens. Grows snobbish in a way that’s unapparent but impossible to miss. It’s pompous. Infuriatingly so. That elusive tilt of his lips that makes you want to shove him and ask what’s so funny and maybe push him off the damn balcony just to see if the smirk stays midair.
He leans a little more into the curve of shadow, gaze flicking sideways. Meticulously near enough to make your pulse skitter. “I didn’t think you would,” he says, and the amusement in his voice is unmistakable now. “You don’t strike me as particularly obedient.”
You stare. You hate that your throat goes dry. Because that's a totally normal thing to say to a stranger when you've got a face like that, isn't it? "Excuse me?"
He takes another drag from the cigarette, watching the embers burn down like a timer. The tip glows in his fingers — elegant fingers, of course they are, long and unhurried in how they cradle the smoke. The ash hovers before fluttering down like snow against the stone.
“What do I strike you as, then?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
It’s too much of a question. It slips past your lips like a dare that has been sent rolling on a slippery path you didn’t mean to voice. But it’s out there now, and you can’t take it back. Idiot.
Taehyung doesn't answer right away. He just exhales smoke and thought at the same time, head tilted still back toward the sky as if the answer might be hidden between the tapestry of the stars. You find he’s giving the question the time it doesn’t deserve. It’s flamboyant. It’s aggravating. And, worse, it’s effective.
Your arms remain crossed, body drawn in like a bow pulled taut. You don't regret handing your denim to Jia but you wish the night was colder so the goosebumps could be blamed on temperature, not tension. But the breeze is tepid now. Brushed in his voice, his perfume, his stupid legendary presence that has no right smelling as expensive and ancient and fucking grounded as it does.
Finally, his gaze shifts.
And this time, he does look at you. Fully. Directly.
A slow turn of his head, the sweep of his eyes over your face with the exasperation of how he would read the fine print of something he’s already decided on. “What do you strike me as?” he repeats, softly. Then clicks his tongue once, like he’s disappointed with you for even asking. "Are you sure you wanna know?"
The words are quiet. But his voice darkens at the question. Your stomach twists, and you don’t know if it’s indignation or intrigue. You’re fairly certain it’s both. And before it permeates into a shabbier feeling that'll have you clutching your torso, you put out your blundering silence as a response that he takes willingly, haughtily so.
His mouth twitches again. Not quite a smile this time. Closer to mischief. He shrugs one shoulder, loose and languid, eyes still trailing somewhere over the skyline, this conversation’s just a side project evidently.
Whatever. If the unnerving diagonal beside you can go back to doing what he painfully seems most interested in, so can you.
The railing is back beneath your palms, familiar now, some dumb metaphor made real — edges cold, aloof chill biting. The edge of your heel nudges against a loose leaf caught in the wind. It flutters once, twice, then gives up and sinks to the floor. You almost envy it. The city is still sprawled in the distance, impersonal to your cognizing. Behind you, the door stays shut. Back there, you envisage, is too bright, too loud, too full of people who might ask what’s wrong and not wait for the right silence before answering for you. Out here, you only share oxygen with a man who has ruined half your calendar and all your curated patience.
Unbothered, broad-shouldered, draped in the kind of serenity that only belongs to cats and men who’ve never been told no. Taehyung’s jacket gleams where it catches the low light- some brand you’ll never afford and he probably didn’t pay for. His posture is too facile.
The rubescent of his cigarette hisses as he draws in again — as if every drag is advised, intented, abrasive. That mouth was made for sin or sermons. Hard to tell which one he’d preach first.
You glance over once. Quickly. Then regret it instantly.
He’s watching you. In a way he did after you threw your sharpest tone at him, just stood there — barefaced and unflinchinb —like he’d seen this particular performance from you before. Maybe in another life. Maybe in a dream.
The silence between you drones with electricity. It's not awkward, exactly. It’s too thick to be awkward. Too charged. Like the aftermath of lightning — you don’t know if the flash already hit or if it’s coming, if this is clement or consequence.
Then, casually, the cigarette hand lifts again. He turns it between his fingers once, then holds it out across the space between you, his gaze flat and unreadable, offered to you with the same ease most people use to pass napkins.
"You smoke?"
The question cuts through the quiet like it’s been waiting there the whole time.
You scoff. "I don't smoke." Neither do you pick up addictions from strange men who talk like their only motive is to distress the already distressed women they corner in alone balconies.
“That’s a shame,” he says, still not retracting the offer. "You look like you need it."
You arch a brow. "I look like I need a way to a slow, tragic death?"
He exhales through his nose — amused. "No. You look like you need a distraction." Takes a pause before adding. "Do you not?"
You glance at the cigarette. Then at his mouth.
Unfortunate, really. That his lips have the audacity to look generous. He holds your gaze too easily for someone who’s done nothing but irritate you with a single smirk and a face blessed by nepotism from the gods. Your jaw ticks and to the degree that you'd like to believe it's from that or the persistence offer, you're sorely knowing of that's its a reaction that is spawned from how tempting it is, the silence that falls after his question. Not the offer itself — smoke never tasted good, no matter how poetic the film girls made it look — but the inaction. His inaction, in particular, that abrades against the raw wall of your morale. You hate that you’re thinking about it. Thinking about it too hard, the same way you think about late-night texts that go unanswered, or how many people have probably touched the door handle before you in a public restroom.
You turn your gaze back to the city. Your hand curls around the railing again. It digs in, sharper this time. Enough that the metal edge presses a whisper of hurt into your palm. Nothing lasts long against the pressure of being watched the way he watches — quietly, without ego, as if he’s already understood what you’re going to do.
Do you need a distraction?
Yes. Obviously.
But admitting is a type of yielding. Humans are never actually normal with such a thing, let alone letting yourself yeild in front of him — this man hewed out of tailored arrogance is a threat to your vanity. You’ve already had one of those tonight, and it ended with you biting down tears in a hallway, handing water bottles to strangers so your friends wouldn’t see your hands shake.
This, withal, would be an indulgence. A petty little rebellion. The kind of thing someone else would do in a story you’d never admit reading. Smoking with Kim Taehyung on a balcony where your relationship ended a quiet death only an hour ago. You want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. You want to laugh so hard your ribs bruise from the inside.
But coversely, you stand there. Wound up. Too mindful.
And the longer you don’t move, the more you feel him waiting.
You steal a glance again. His arm hasn’t wavered, cigarette still extended, ember glowing low. There’s no impatience in him, and you only ever see that kind in people who already know the outcome. Kim Taehyung is a man who waits, who already lives in your answer and is just killing time in the silence before you catch up. Curious. Present. Patient in a way that suggests he’s memorizing the shape of your hesitation just to store it somewhere for later.
You sigh. A long, tight sound dragged up from the soles of your feet.
You take two steps toward him. The space closes, distance evaporating between you like heat on pavement. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t gloat — decently watches, that same unreadable interest rolling low behind his lashes.
You stop just shy of arm’s reach. With a single curl of your fingers, you take the cigarette from his hand.
His fingers brush yours for half a breath. Warm, dry, real and your dorsum locks up at the contact, pitter patter quick behind your teeth. You pretend it didn’t happen. You pretend very hard. The cigarette tastes bitter at the filter when you lift it to your lips. Not that you care. You’re not here for the flavor. You’re here because the world is ending and strikes as being only your world ending.
You inhale. Lightly.
It’s awful. Burnt and earthy. Makes your throat feel like someone wrung it out like a sponge. You cough once, quietly, turn your head away in ignominy, try to act like it was atmospheric and not your body rebelling against poor choices.
You make out the smile before you see it. It bobs up on the side of your face like a shadow. Bastard.
You exhale through your nose, eyes narrowed. "You're so charming. Does it always lets get you away from this habit of yours?"
"Mhm. What habit?"
He’s watching you, still. Closer now. Still tall, still shrouded in that stupid expensive shiny material. But something’s mutated. He looks less carved from figment and more human in the face — detail where there was once only silhouette. The curve of his mouth. The sleep in his eyes. The line of his jaw you could draw with a knife.
"Of having things your way. Is that not a habit? Do you not always get what you want?" You take another drag.
And maybe you’re imagining it — probably you are — but for once there's not a single trace of beguilement on his face or in his poorly lit stare that simmers. Drops to your mouth where your lips are wrapped around the cancer stick. He sees.
"Not always."
The filter burns a little hotter than it should between your fingers, but you don’t drop it. That would make a sound. You keep it pressed neatly against the edge of your breath and lean into the railing again. This time you don’t grip it. You let your arms rest there, loose, voluntary. It’s easier this way, to gather yourself in the flicker of things you cannot control.
“Not always?” you echo, casually, but it punches from your chest more bitter than intended. “Color me shocked.”
His hum lands soft against the back of your neck, something dulled and sun-warmed, but it still finds a grit. Tilts his chin toward the night like he’s listening to something in the silence that you can’t hear. Not a man in thought; no, that would be too benevolent. A man in leisure.
There’s no wasted effort, no shuffle or twitch. You’ve known performers, fidgeters, people who need to fill silences with breath or comment just to feel present. Taehyung is none of those. You swallow once. Your voice is back in your mouth, restless. He doesn’t match the versions of him that live in tabloids, in the pruned PR clips, in the way Hajoon used to talk about him with the slight awe of someone who’d just walked past a lion that winked. There’s nothing lofty about him. Not even in his smile, the rimple of the skin strecting around his eyes when they drift toward the line where the sky dominates over the buildings, The city’s to offer stars, and you can tell he’s still searching for them. He tilts his face up to the night, slow and unhurried, jaw catching a flicker of sallow from the railing light. There’s no revelation in his expression about what exactly he is looking for.
“It’s a lovely night,” he says finally, in that impromptu manner men do when they’re either lying or about to advance into nonsense. "Clear enough to see the Pleiades, if you know where to look.” his voice summoned.
The what?
You can't deny that there's a keeness he awakes in you, when he says that, speaking a language of his own. But you also can't deny that you have no interest enabling that, some things (Some men) require the right headspace and yours is certainly far from right. You're not some child, and you can do just fine without knowing about astronomical facts, so you don’t even nod along, as though you know what he's talking about and you've already found a pattern in the sky.
At the lack of your reaction, he does what wouldn't have predicted, because what even is your attention worth to a star (that he looks up) like him. He could sent a message to a group chat of people living and dying to keep him happy: hey who's up for some solar system facts? And atleast, four people would turn and listen with their head on their folded hands, whilst looking at him at like he had made the excellent geometries of the sky. You really wouldn't have seen him pressing from a long mile.
"Humor me and ask me what is that."
You are left with two options, one being add up another reason of fuming internally over this highfaluating wanna-be, assuming that you actually don't know what this is, while he does. Okay, he's not wrong on that but where's the graciousness when's it's needed? To save yourself for being any more miserable, you go with the second, suction smoke into your lungs and ask. "What is that?"
He lifts up a finger and starts to move it around randomly, until you notice he's not, he's actually following a cluster of stars with the tip of his index finger. “The Seven Sisters. Stars, technically. They don't always show, so we're lucky we are under the brightest star." You look up too and indeed, it shines bright. You're not sure about the lucky part. "Old story says they only appear on nights where something coffined comes to surface.”
You glance at him sidelong, cigarette perched neatly between your lips. You doubt if thats one of his fanclub astrology facts or he read that off a matchbox.
“It’s just superstition,” he says as if had the ability to read your thoughts. All the holy things above and beyond, you hope not. "When you need a direction on those nights. You can always look up."
The delivery is suspiciously straight-faced. You can’t tell if it’s sincerity dressed up as a joke or the other way around, but it sits in the air between you like something well-planned.
You exhale, slow through your nose. The filter tastes a little more bitter than before, or maybe your mouth does. “Are you fucking with me?”
His eyes don’t move from the sky, but the border of his expression ameliorates with amusement. The skin that was wrinkled, now crinkles up, and that's all. You’re puzzled, left in mystery if his motive was to annoy you. Confused over the decision of whether you should elbow in response too, twist the moment until it gives. But you don’t. Because the truth is, whatever it was, whether it was a myth or a dig or a gentle offering, you understood it. Quite possibly, needed it too. Either way, you don’t ask him to explain.
You resort to the secret third option of saying something you don’t mean to say. Your mouth opens before your sense of judgment can lace its shoes and declare your words thinly veiled as cavalier.
“I know an old superstition too,” you start, flicking ash off the edge of your cigarette, “that if two people share a smoke, they have to share a secret too.”
You don’t know where it comes from. Probably not a saying at all.Maybe something you read on a forum in college or saw scrawled on a dirty napkin in a bar bathroom. Probably from a place full of bullshit. God you are full of bullshit. But it slips out with the careless elegance of someone who isn’t bracing for repercussion.
Taehyung turns his body this time. Slow, one shoulder first, the leather of his jacket catching the light in a blink. His brows lift, just barely. He’s interested, but not performatively so. The barest cock of his head that's sharpened with intrigue makes you doubt. Wonder. You’re not sure why your heart climbs two rungs higher in your throat.
“A secret,” he repeats, as if trying the word on his tongue. “Do people actually do that? Are you fucking with me?" The wind presses his jacket against the lines of his ribs. His fingers tap once, twice, against the railing, deliberate. He smells like silk and smoke and the kind of cologne that’s expensive enough not to brag about itself.
You upraise your head, eyes fixed on a point in the city that doesn’t matter. "Apparently."
You puff out your cheeks and let the smoke linger there a second too long before exhaling through your nose. "And I'm not fucking with you." You say the terminal with an discomposing defensiveness.
The architecture of interest wraps around silence. You wait, not because you're impatient, but because you want to see what silence does to him.
He exhales, long and easy. “Alright,” he says, flicking the slag from his nail like he’s dusting off a layer of thought. “Go ahead.”
You glance over. “What?”
“Share yours.”
Your throat tightens around nothing. “That’s not how it works.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No,” you say, a little firmer. “The person who offers the cigarette doesn’t get to demand first blood.”
He grins. Oh this real bastard. “Mm. You should’ve thought of that before you lied about the saying.”
“I didn’t lie. I… embellished it up a little.”
His tongue presses briefly into his cheek. “Same thing, my darling."
The term lands heavier than it should. Unrehearsed. Wrong accent for condescension. You don’t bother correcting him. If anything, you portray as if you didn’t even hear him.
He tilts his head again, finally turning to look at you in full now. His expression is maddeningly unreadable. Eyebrows slightly lifted, but not mocking. Just open. He waits in a way that says: I have all night. Go on. Impress me. Surprise me. Burn me, if you want.
You scowl, faintly. The smoke makes your next breath hitch as it burns at the edges.A secret, he said. You shouldn’t have offered the opening. You thought you’d like the power in it, holding something sharp and choosing not to use it. But it only leaves your mouth dry and your head stupidly full.
Your mind claws through options.
Your secret would be too easy, yet too big at the same time. It sits on your tongue, hot and twitching. It thrashes to be named; this ugly thing. You could spit it out between your teeth and watch the whole balcony tilt with it. Splinter the mood and makes everyone start looking for an exit, even if their feet don’t move. It’s a secret with teeth and a jawline. It smells like cheap floral perfume and sounds like a whimper through a half-open storage door.
You could say it. You could torch the air between you both with it. My boyfriend cheated on me tonight. In the storage room. With someone I shook hands with. Maybe even while you were living in a delusion, or shaking hands with people who thought they mattered. And you don’t even know if he'll even care. If none of this would matter to him and it’s just your heart doing its pathetic little dance in a one-woman tragedy.
You could lie. God knows you’ve gotten good at that lately. You could say you hate cucumbers or that you still sleep with the bathroom light on.
But standing next to him, lying feels too pedestrian. You glance over at him, hoping his sufferance will start to look smug enough to punch. But no. He’s too relaxed for that. One wrist draped over the edge of the railing, the other hanging low beside his thigh, fingers marked with the last memory of the cigarette you just burned through together. He’s not even close enough to touch, but you swear if you breathed wrong, he’d hear it shift in your ribs.
Unfair. Unrelenting. Utterly exhausting.
You rake your teeth over your bottom lip and break the silence with something that tastes harmless. It isn’t, really, but it plays that way.
“I’m not your fan.”
His eyes flinch. Like a tick behind his lashes he forgot to tame.
You glance sidelong, watching his profile for the reaction, any reaction. The way someone checks the rearview after running a red light. “That’s my secret. Or one of them. I guess.” It’s barely louder than a whisper, but it lands with the weight of a bottle uncorked too fast. Immediate relief followed by a slow fizz of regret.
The pause that follows is the longest one yet.
You regret it. You don’t. You regret it again.
“I know.”
Huh.
The words are smooth. Soft, but pointed. As if you’ve confirmed something he’s always known but was waiting to see if you’d admit. You don’t know if you were excepting a bite to them, a sleek reveal of a bruised ego but what you were not was that slow, coiled calm that has no business feeling sexy in someone’s mouth.
Was it that obvious? Were you that obvious? You wait for elaboration on that but nothing comes.You watch his profile, the ridiculous slope of his nose, the glint of metal at his ear, you bracket for the assured curve of his lips but then again: nothing. He doesn’t clarify, doesn’t call you out, doesn’t accuse.
You can’t tell if he’s messing with you or if he means it — if he remembered your voice from a year-old phone call, if he recognized your silence tonight, if he sighted your stare in the reflection of the goddamn glass doors.
That sounds unreasonable so you don’t entertain the idea any more. "I'm not saying I hate you or anything." You add after a respite, withstanding, out of sheer principle. "In case you start thinking I'm some undercover journalist who's out to get you by making you slip up some horrible secret and ruin your career." You falter and your pupils dilate in some sort of enlightenment.
"Wait.. that does sound legitimate.." You breathe and he chuckles, chasmic. Straight from the core of his chest. Pretty.
You flush, hand tightening around the cigarette. "What I mean to say is that I mean no offense."
"None taken." That's all he gives you.
Another non-answer that sounds just close enough to a hum to pass for approval. It makes your eye twitch. The bluster in it is staggering. Like he’s heard every variation of insult and adoration and now catalogues them by scent.
“So you’re not bothered?” you ask.
“No.” For a second, the look in his eyes could melt paint from a canvas. “Should I be?”
You hesitate. You don’t know why you hesitate.
"No." You nearly choke on how dishonest it isn’t. You don’t want him to be bothered. You don’t want him to care.
And yet — there’s a morbid thrill in seeing if he will.
You angle yourself slightly toward him, careful not to break whatever tension is braided in the space between your bodies. The heat of him remains, even with a whole arm’s length untouched. You need the tilt of something else. So you pivot, words tumbling faster than thought.
“So,” you say, voice stripped bare. “Your turn.”
His brows lift, slow and unsurprised.
“For the secret,” you add, not giving him the chance to weasel out.
He considers. You can see it — the slight furrow at the edge of his brow, the twitch of his jaw, the progression of thought moving unhurried behind his eyes. The line of his mouth doesn’t change, but the solidity of it shifts.
“I need time,” he says at last, tapping the back of his fingers against the railing like it’s a piano.
“No time,” you counter, before he can wax poetic or poeticize wax or whatever the hell he’s about to do. “Actually, I’ll help. I’ll guess.”
“You’ll guess my secret.”
“Exactly. To speed things up.”
He sighs. Appealed, again, in that maddeningly low-key way that reads more indulgence than exasperation.
You straighten slightly, clear your throat. “You’ve got six toes on one foot.”
Taehyung shifts, and you hear the soft rustle of his jacket as he moves. One hand disappears into his pocket.You wonder if anything he does is ever clumsy. You want to see it. But to all appearances, no.
"You talk to plants. You whisper to them, atleast for the sake of dignity. Apologize when you forget to water them. You have at least one fiddle leaf fig in your apartment that’s seen you cry in a silk robe.”
He says nothing, which is infuriating in its own right. So, to punish him, you keep talking.
You tap your chin. “You cry when you're watching a Pixar movie."
As if to egg you on, he remains mum.
"You secretly hate the fame."
Oof.
“Okay..you’re secretly married to an heiress in Monaco but only out of obligation because her father saved your family from a blood feud—wait, is this why you smoke? To cope?”
You chance a glance at him then.
He’s still quiet, one brow slightly lifted, his mouth doing that thing again — where it thinks about smiling but chooses restraint instead. He hasn’t said a word. Just stands there, gaze unwavering, letting you dig your own grave with a shovel he probably forged.
"That's a hell lot of gusses. Are you sure you're not a fan?" He finally says. Dragged through just enough baritone to sound stuffy without needing help.
Not even close. But you lapse anyway, roll your eyes and resist the urge to melt into the railing beside you. You’ve been standing here too long, you think. Under this particular constellation of stars and scrutiny. Talking too much. Giving too much. Your mouth, again, has outpaced your sense.
"I'll pace myself." You mutter under your breath. His laugh is soft and bothersomely warm that sits like a pat on the head you didn’t ask for.
"Well?” you prompt, arms crossed now. Your cigarette’s been flicked away into the night, but the heat of it lingers at your fingertips. “Are you going to give me a real on--"
He cuts you off and offers. “I’ve been learning French.”
You blink.
That’s it? That’s the secret? You nearly threw your soul onto the balcony floor, and he came back with learning a forigen langauge?
You don’t hide your disbelief. You don’t even try. “That’s your big, mysterious secret?”
He shrugs. One-shoulder, elegant, unconcerned. “You wanted one.”
“French?” you repeat, deadpan. “Oh fuck off. That’s what you went with? That’s what you’re hiding from the world?”
His lip twitches and he whispers in a exaggerated manner. "You're the only one who knows."
Your face torsions into a grimace.
"See? That's why I didn't told anyone." The hand from his pocket slips out and he runs it over his jaw. There’s a ardency in his voice now, stretched and prearranged. “Because of that face you’re making.”
“What face?”
“The one that says I’m pretentious.”
“That’s because you are pretentious,” you say, eyes narrowed. “Learning French for fun?”
“Not for fun,” he corrects. "It's work. For Paris. I’ve got a event there next month.”
You groan in the quiet that returns,balmy and teeming.The metropolis hums below, ignorant of your little corner modeled out of smoke and shared breath.
You glance at him, brows pinched. “Say something in French, then.”
His head tilts, just slightly. “Huh?”
You square your stance, chin lifting, voice dipped in faux detachment. “Prove it, I mean.”
He blinks, slow. “Prove what.”
“That you’re not full of shit, Jesus."
His gaze slides across the space between you. Perhaps he was offened that you asked him to believe his nonsense. And you don’t believe that was anything but. A made up lie about how he has a hairless cat named Nietzsche and that would have charmed you more ‘I’ve been Duolingo-ing French in the dark.’
Then again, he had no reason to say something that would have entertained you. Why would he? You're no one. Not even his dedicated enthusiast that he feels bound to in some way. So, you beyond a shadow a doubt, don't expect him to even attempt.
“Je pense à toi plus souvent que je ne le devrais.”
Let alone say that many of words. They sky in ample, partly because of the tone, the tempo. Partly for the way it leaves his mouth already inflamed with meaning. The vowels roll soft in the back of his throat, mutilated just a little and for a brief, stupid moment, you forget you’ve just spent the last two hours being publicly, privately humiliated.
You blink, slow. “Wow. Okay. You're not lying but..?"
“But what?”
“What did that mean?”
The current tightens. Scarcely from the wind, in no manner from cold, but with pause. A single moment suspended by silence, thick and humming. You expect him to laugh, to shrug it off, to hand you back your question with a lopsided grin and a conveniently vague answer. You excepted a big headed translation of what he said, probably praised how beautiful his sternum is in the language of the romancers.
But the expectation that arrives is staining the moment. It thickens between you like honey slow-dripped over the edge of a knife. Definitely not the kind you can breathe through. You count five seconds. Then seven. Then forget to keep counting because definitely not when he eventunally moves. One slow step forward, a flux that cuts the space between your bodies down to a corruption.
Simply folds himself into your periphery. Doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t need to. The heat of him arrives before the shadow does. You can feel the slope of his body, the broadness of it, the made to measure frame of someone who was never taught to shrink. It sure does makes you do so.
You stand there with your neck craned, still leaning against the railing, still biting the inside of your cheek, still trying to remember what the fuck he just said. You told him to prove it. You hadn’t told him to make a meal out of it. But here you are, jaw locked and throat dry.
You lock eyes with him, by a nose. He’s taller up close — of course he is.He leans in a touch, eyes cutting toward the stub of a cigarette still between your fingers. Or what’s left of it. The lipstick ring, half-smudged, stares back up at you in a little flash of chagrin.
Before you can toss it — he reaches.
Two fingers, unhurried, brushing yours again as he plucks it from your hand. His skin grazes yours and you swear your breath stutters like a faulty wire. It’s warm. Calloused in the way expensive hands aren’t supposed to be.
He lifts the cigarette and turns it slowly, inspecting the end. The smear of your lipstick, the last traces of you still on it.He twirls it once between thumb and forefinger, then glances at you. “You said I have a habit,” he says. His voice is calm, low, threaded with that warm rust he never bothers polishing.
You say nothing. Your throat has turned treacherous.
He tucks it between his lips. Listlessly. Takes his time. Drags in smoke, hollow and full. Then he exhales through his nose.
“I’m starting to think you have one too.”
You narrow your eyes, jaw tight. “What.”
His next words come darker. A commodity less said than laid down in front of you.
“A habit of asking questions you don’t want answers to.”
Your breath hits you crooked. You press your lips together, try to will sensation back into your legs. The silence stretches between you again, full of heat and that despicable prescience that he hasn’t broken it, because he doesn’t need to.Your mouth stays shut. It's not used to being without an opinion. He’s taken that from you too, somehow. The only sound you make is a shaky exhale, quiet enough to be mistaken for wind.
Your gaze follows his to his wrist, where his watch glints faintly beneath the low light, that watch you’d mocked internally for being too shiny, too sumptuous-looking, too aware of its own importance. You don’t know what he reads in the time, but he makes a soft sound, a breath, maybe a sigh, latterly he shrugs. The shoulders of his jacket shift, roll, and then, before your body can react, he’s pulling his arms free.
That black, unbothered thing of a jacket, the one that smelled like amber and ash and subtle conceit. He holds it for a second in his hands, then swings it gently, stupidly, over your shoulders.
Your first instinct is to shove it off, slap his hand away, say something defensive that hides how everything in you is currently rioting.
“What are you doing?” you ask, voice splintered at the ends.
You don’t know what’s more disorienting. The unexpected gesture or the sheer weight of it. The jacket is heavy, still warm from his body, lined with something smooth that smells criminally luxurious, smoke and vetiver and a note you can’t name but feel in your knees. It swallows you instantly, hangs too wide over your frame, sleeves grazing knuckles you didn’t realize were clenched.
You stiffen, hands raised as if the fabric might detonate.
“No—no, I’m fine,” you protest, reaching to return it, but his hand catches your wrist, gently. Not holding you there, just… halting the motion. His fingers barely curve around your skin.
"I'm trying to be a gentleman." he says, eyes soft but voice gravel-edged. "I am a gentleman, actually."
You almost snort, but your throat tightens too fast for it to come out fully. Good thing, you decide. Otherwise, you would’nt have trusted yourself not to speak up on the think pieces, The fan-written fever dreams about how Taehyung held a door open once and that made him the reincarnation of chivalry itself.
Kim Taehyung, the article said, is a gentleman — he's out to get your poor heart because Kim Taehyung is the refined man of our modern times who asks before he touches, and never forgets a name.
You’d rolled your eyes so hard they clicked. You’d said aloud, to no one in particular, yeah, I bet. And yet here you are. Swaddled in the evidence.
Before you can launch into your next indignation, he speaks again — this time with a glint, a grin that blooms crooked at the edges and threatens to bring down whatever composure you’ve reassembled prior to disappearing away back to the glow.
“It was nice finally meeting you, ceo of Mars."
A/N: it does not end here!! tumblrs just shit and got me with its word limit but I will not be stopped and you can keep reading from here <3
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Black Swan, an up-and-coming alternative metal rock band, is going on its first official tour. Jungkook looks forward to proving himself in a cutthroat industry, and Taehyung looks forward to the groupies. Neither expects to find the comfort their hearts truly desire in one another.
you can play pretend ♡ 6k | bodyguard au | model au | pwp
Very few people know much about fashion model Kim Taehyung aside from the rumors that circulate in the media. Even his new bodyguard, Jungkook, hasn’t learned not to judge a book by its cover.
ultra thin & extra sensitive ♡ 4k | fwbs | mutual pining | fluff | porn with feelings
It takes an impromptu trip to buy condoms for Jungkook to finally confess his feelings to Taehyung.
Warnings: This is definitely not historically accurate so don't take this as a history lesson lmao, ptsd & wounds from battle, finding comfort where you least expect it. But also a lot of sexual tension & sexually explicit scenes. The trauma is not sexualised however. We are all adults here so if anything is triggering to you or simply not your taste, be mature and just keep scrolling. This is a work of fiction.
Worcount: 96.146 | Minors DNI you will be blocked & reported
a/n: i tried myself at poetry for the introduction fjasdfja i found it fitting for the story. which is funny because a lot of it is just yummy smut JFADJF but yall know me, smut can be romantic and poetic, after all sex is nothing less than souls connecting and sharing energies and this is highly romantic in my eyes ❤ also! i hope you don't mind that i added my own spice to it, your idea inspired me so fucking hard and my mind totally wandered as i worked on it <3 ps: happy birthday tete, i hope you still have a lovely life ahead of you ❤
#01 - Returned Differently
#02 - Comfort
#03 - For The People
#04 - Indiscretion
#05 - Bittersweet Temptation
#06 - One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
#07 - It Has To Get Worse Before It Can Get Better
“Kim Taehyung. That name makes your skin crawl. Kim Taehyung is your handsome, arrogant co-worker at HAUTE COUTURE, the hottest fashion magazine of today, who seems to get everything you want without as much as having to blink his cute eyes. He took your dream position of head of fashion, he seems to be loved by everyone and he thinks it is okay to shamelessly flirt with you (or anyone else in the office for that matter). When your boss tells the two of you to work together on the Special One-Hundredth Edition of HAUTE COUTURE your biggest nightmare becomes reality.”
Pairing: Taehyung x f.Reader
Genre: e2l!AU, Coworkers!AU, Smut, Angsty Romance
Warnings: This story contains sexually explicit scenes, morally grey characters and sexism in the workplace. If you are sensitive to such topics, I advice you read with care.
synopsis: A servant to the state since birth, forced to work for the royal family until you die. These are the conditions that have granted you life, yet are they are the same ones that can take everything away. He can take everything away. But he would never, for you are his future, his eternity.
❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: content: soft yandere!prince!taehyung, maid!reader, power imbalance, talks about death/violence, blood, slight predator/prey dynamics, manipulation, misunderstandings, dom!tae, tae calls reader lamb, oral (f.receiving), marriage related dirty talk, virginity kink/loss of virginity, size kink, praise, reader is fucked dumb, implied kissing reader while she sleeps, implied offscreen somno, implied stalking, ownership, tae is rlly sweet and adorable
❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: notes: hello!!! this was meant to be a drabble but as you can see it spiralled out of control lmao. i got a little hyper fixated (and grew a really bad crush on this taehyung) so it ended up being way longer than i initially thought! regardless, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did writing it!!
18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni
The Kim Empire.
Your home, your family, your livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.
They practically brandish your mind, have been since you were no more than a babe. Stuck in the clutches of everything Kim since you were born. Your mother a maid, your father gone from the face of the earth. At least as far as you are concerned he is, anyway.
He is better off dead. The alternative of him living scott free in some far off land, meanwhile you have to serve the hand and foot of the king sets no more than the bitter taste of coffee beans against your gums.
Bedding your mother, no more than a fresh-faced maid at the time. Outcasting her the second after when he had to have known the rules of the palace. The demise it would cost both her and her future daughter. Perhaps every generation that followed as well– if there were to be any, that is.
Housestaff are not meant to have relationships. They are meant to serve the king and his bountiful family. How are you meant to do anything else with a child bouncing at your hip, a husband grabbing at your ass.
You’ve heard the speech plenty of times. The words ingrained in your skull just as the brand you received when you were far too young to remember the pain of it. Evidence that you are bound to the palace by blood until the very moment you take your last breath.
The punishment for becoming pregnant within the walls of the palace are simple: your child belongs to them. For anything within the Kim Estate is their rightful property, given to them by the grace of god.
You, a gift from god to serve the empire. You would snort at the notion if training from a young age prohibited it. You are just a result of your mothers kindness, her naivety.
You could never find it within your heart to blame her. She was just a girl who thought she was in love. Fired for her love. Had her daughter taken from her to serve for her love.
Love is something you will never be granted the property of.
You will be granted an allowance to send home to your mother to keep her afloat. You will be granted a room to sleep in, clothes to wear, food to eat. A secure job in which you can never be fired– well. That is a lie. Though, your termination would come at the end of an axe, rather than a piece of paper.
You used to muse at the thought– when you were a young girl, no more than 11 or 12. Going through your melancholy years, hating the rest of the world for simply existing. For putting you in a position where you could not change your fate, instead had to endure your present. Feeling like a girl trapped in a tower just like the bedtime stories had always prescribed.
One time you had caused such a ruckus in front of the oldest Kim son you really did think you were going to get the axe. Hell, you were even prepared for it. Locked away in a cell for two nights, brought before the executor.
Right before the swing was meant to be brought down against your neck the head maid ran into the room, gave some sort of letter to the man. She apologised profusely, gripping your ear and dragging you away from the scene.
You hadn’t acted ary since then. It taught you your place. Made you realise the need to survive buried deep within your bones. In the innate way some sort of wildcat would lash out until it was bloodied and on its last breath.
You would not die at the end of a knife. You’d live your life, acting a maid until you could die peacefully of old age. Even if it meant surrendering yourself to servitude for the most annoying brat you’ve ever laid eyes on.
A quiet sigh slips past your lips at the mere thought of him. The sound would get you punished if anyone were to hear, especially in respect to the coveted crown prince of the kingdom. Few share the same opinion as you of him– but then again most that work here aren’t forced.
It is only when the stars are strung high in the sky that you allow yourself to feel such things. When you stay awake past the beginning of rest hours, most of the staff (save for the night shift) falling to sleep hours prior. Only then when you’re out in the gardens do you allow indignation to satiate your brain.
For the few hours of freedom you may hold dear until the next morning begins and you are forced to live the same day once more. Over and over again until the end of time.
Your fingertips reach out as you walk, bruised from the scrubbing of floors, to find purchase against the walls of flowers rimming the maze. Rough fingertips dance against the gentle petals of roses, lulling in the feeling. Picking themselves against the thorns without much of a thought, not withdrawing. Only pausing feet to observe.
How can something so delicate and beautiful wish to cause harm? It does not. It simply desires a way to survive. You could never fault it for that.
“Pretty, are they not?” A dark, husky voice sends cold down your spine. Hairs become on edge, back straightens taught, ears perk just as if you are an obedient dog. Fear flashing through your entire being.
You do not wish to turn around. Do not have any want to face the man that has caught the air in your lungs. The one catching you in the garden without any proper attire in place. Though you must. You must bow, grovel at his feet for forgiveness for allowing him to see you in your nightgown. For not being in bed as you should.
Prince Kim has never been known for being kind.
Your body acts for you while your mind sets on pause– taking several steps forward, bending your body at the hips to give a proper 90 degree bow. Your hands clasp before you, hair coming down in front of your face.
“Prince Kim–” You rush, suddenly out of breath, “Please forgive my insolence. I-I am not of right attire or mind to be standing in front of his excellency right now. Nor should I be excused for touching the property of the palace. I have no proper excuse and any punishment you decide will be deserving. Please forgive me.” The words recite from your lips like a bible– instruction of them being heard time and time again.
Cold night air whips at your ankles, fluttering the gown around your ankles. The chill only adding to the cold sweat you’ve discovered has perspired. Making your hair dance around your shoulders.
You expect something, anything really. A slap, a single word. Though there is only silence in response. Silence that extends far too long and feels far too pungent for your taste. If he was going to do something, you rather he just get it over with.
After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear the baritone of his voice once more.
“Pretty, are they not?” He asks again, repeating the same sentiments as before. Confusion bristles through as a kite in the summer air. Why is he asking you this? Is he not annoyed he caught a maid in such a level of disrobement? What is he trying to gain? What does he want?
All the questions you do not have any hope to answer rush through you causing you to feel confused and incomposed. Every boring lesson you were forced to sit through never taught you how to deal with this exact situation. You aren’t sure what he wants, nor your place in the garden. The thought scares you.
Against your better judgement, you allow your chin to tilt up only slightly. Only enough to look at the man– to try and read the expression on his face so you can better analyse your next action.
The shock you feel when you find his face is only inches from your own, frame bent down to make his eyes level with yours is something you cannot explain in words alone.
You would prefer to scream and run, however that is not an option at this moment, or so it appears. Instead, your eyes only widen in shock, in trepidation. Your mouth opens into a small ‘o’ as you stare.
Never before have you made eye contact with a member of the family. Never before have you had the luxury to view one so close. In any other circumstance, you suppose, you would surely be punished for such a thing. Someone lower should never view a future king in such a way.
You wish you could say he was a heinous, ugly beast for hatred of the palace alone. Yet you can’t, for he isn’t. He is beautiful.
Sure, you knew that already. Paintings of him are plastered across the walls– his face is everywhere eyes are able to reach. Yet this close, at this angle, you can’t stop the way your heart skips a beat. Can’t help but admire every facet of his complexion before being thrown in front of the lion again.
A gorgeous, blinding smile wipes across his face the moment you face him. Lips forming into an adorable box after he finally has your attention fully drawn on him. You’re startled back once again, sending your brain into a further whirlwind than before.
He desires an answer.
“I um… Yes. I suppose they are.” You nod slowly in response, following in his footsteps as he returns to full height.
You must follow his lead– it is how you will survive.
You usher a stray lock of hair over your shoulder, trying to stop it from hitting your face. The air starts to become stale again, feeling empty in the lack of his reply. It is awkward, and the way he stares at you, eyes darting around your face– your figure, has you feeling in some sort of girlish, embarrassed way.
You think you dislike the feeling.
“Are you a fan of roses?” His arms are pulled behind him, wrapped together as he bounces on his toes in something that looks like… boyish delight? The muddle of your brain can't help to understand a single thing. He is making no sense, trying to make conversation with you. Trying to find a morsel of companionship in someone who is meant to bow to him like he is the true god of your mortal plain.
You will have to oblige until he allows you to depart.
“I suppose so.”
He frowns. Try again.
“I adore them, the palace always has the most gorgeous petals all year round.” You smile at him, hoping it masks any discomfort you feel.
The smile returns to his own lips as he begins to walk. Tilting his head to you as a cue to join him. You try to keep your paces a few behind his own, a maid should never walk beside a member of the family. Though he only slows in response, matching your gate even though it is obvious he hates having to slow down.
Why is he behaving in this manner? It makes no sense to you.
“The flower of devotion.” He nods, breaking the silence once more and keeping his eyes straight ahead.
You almost want to admire his profile– the gentle curve of his nose, yet you refrain. Training your eyes ahead, keeping your fingers laced in front of you. Trying to look as put together as possible at this moment.
“Is it?” You quiz, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind it. Unbothered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his loose, flowing sleep pants.
“Of many other things, as well.” He nods, sending a slight smile at you.
“I don’t know much about the language of flowers.” Though it feels wrong to be talking with Prince Kim so casually, you try your best. The more you give in, mayhaps the sooner he’ll bore and the faster you will be able to run from the cage.
“Tell me your favourite, maybe I can tell you its meaning.” He pauses and you find yourself at the foot of the gazebo. He reaches out his hand, offering to help you up the small stairs of it.
All over again you find yourself taken aback. The prince is requesting that you touch him, not for his service, but your own. He desires to help you. Is for some reason treating you like a lady.
You don’t understand it, yet with great hesitation you oblige. You place your hand on his much larger one, allowing it to encase it. Help you up the stairs.
“I don’t know many…” You hope he cannot hear the hesitation in your tone, “Though I’ve always been fond of lilies.” You tell him, attempting to pull your hand away from his own as you reach the top.
He doesn’t allow it, keeping your small palm tight in his own. Fear trickles in once more, circling around your heart, constricting it.
You knew you shouldn’t have trusted him in the slightest. It is here where you shall face punishment for all the previous misdemeanours committed. White stone shall be painted with red and you will be left to your own devices to clean up the mess.
Your lungs start to take in more air, though of course you try to disguise it. Turning around to face him, to discover why he has kept you held firm, air is leaving your lungs for another reason entirely.
He holds your hand close, examining your fingers. Tilting it back and forth, smoothing his thumb over the back of your skin. If he takes note of the little dots of red, he doesn’t make comment of it. He only curls his fingers upwards, hooking against your own. Bringing your hand up to his lips as if it was the most delicate thing on earth. Staring at them with a passion you doubt you’ve ever seen before.
“Rebirth.” His breath fans across your knuckles, slowly lowering to place a gentle kiss against the skin. His lips are soft, so gentle against your weary flesh. So full of safety, so full of song.
When he retracts, he pulls away no more than a millimeter, though his grip tightens.
“Purity.”
Your first meeting with the prince had left you with a flurry of emotions, none of which you could hope to syphon through. For hours he kept you in the gazebo, sitting with you. Talking until it appeared the sun was cresting over the horizon.
He refused to release your hand the entire time. His fingers playing with your own, perhaps obsessed with the feeling of your tiny hand laced with his own pristine skin. Did not pay any attention the several times you tried to excuse yourself, only changing the subject of conversation to try and keep you in place.
It was strange. Confusing. You did not understand the reasoning or cause behind any of his actions.
Well, at least until the next morning while you were scrubbing the floors. Your friend Annabell cleaning right by your side. Catching up, gossiping about the new recruits found in the manner. It is only times like these when you actually get the chance to talk, to giggle with someone meant to be your equal in both age and house status.
The only chance you’re truly able to forget about the fact she is able to leave once her contract expires. But it does not matter– any small amount of spite you hold is slashed away by her kind smile. The understanding in her eyes as she treats you like just another maid set to work for the king instead of a captive.
It is only after the 7th yawn of the morning she asks about the poorly covered bags under your eyes. You had gone to bed with the rest of the girls, there is no reason you should be so tired. You never appear to be, at least it is not shown around others.
You struggle with yourself for a moment, trying to decide whether the night before was meant to be kept as a closely guarded secret to your chest. Yet one look at your closest confidant had you spilling everything.
The entire night– the stars, the flowers, the way he prattled on. How tight he gripped your dirty, calloused hand against his pristine soft ones.
You feel strange speaking of it, remembering it in any way. It causes your cheeks to heat and a fury to settle below your ribs.
It is a strange feeling, yet not an entirely unwanted one.
Your eyes train to the floor as you spill your soul, unable to keep it in once it starts pouring out. You try to keep your tone as neutral as possible– to tell her about the night as if it was a simple news story you heard from a guard. Though, you’re unsure of your success in the matter.
A poised laugh leaves the lips of your counter, her eyes cresting into half-moons.
“You cannot be serious right? You tell stories.” She giggles, shaking her head before continuing her assault on the floor.
You simply shake your own.
“It happened, I was as shocked in the moment as you seem to be now.” She lets out a small bellow of giggles once again.
“No, no. I believe it happened entirely. I’m only talking about the fluster of your face.” She giggles, lifting her rag and shaking it for dramatic effect. You roll your eyes, cracking a small smile.
“There is no such thing.” You laugh knowing that there is.
“Oh my heavens. Y/n, you cannot tell me you’ve grown fond of the Prince, have you?” Her words are hushed now, much more so than before. As if someone may be listening to the conversation.
You tense in reply, unsure of the answer yourself. The closest you’ve ever felt to fondness of another man was a stable boy a few years back. Only 17 at the time, head wrapped in romance novels that you didn’t entirely understand. He was handsome and he was kind. However just as you were starting to become closer to him, he was sent away to work at another palace.
You had not been optimistic since then.
She takes your silence as an answer in itself. Moving towards you, gripping your shoulders and hauling you to sit on your haunches. Forcing you to look at her face as she speaks.
“You cannot be serious.” She repeats again, hoping for any sign of doubt. All she receives is bewilderment in reply, “Y/n. You can never trust Prince Kim.”
You sigh, “I know, Anne, I–” You’re cut off with her own voice again.
“No, not in the way you’re imagining.” She sighs, letting her hands drop from your shoulders to continue scrubbing at the floor. Making work of herself as she speaks, “The other maids don’t tell you of much, do they?”
You can’t deny it. Your seclusion within the castle walls is only partly of your own design.
Other maids do not feel as though they can trust you, seeing as you are full property of the crown. In their eyes, you hold not a crumb of loyalty to your own kind. Few maids speak to you like Annabell does for fear the second they say anything wrong you are going to tell the world.
You would never, though your word is worth its weight in feathers to them.
“They don’t care for me as you do… no…” You admit, continuing to clean as well. She already knew the answer, letting out an exhale before she speaks.
“Prince Kim has a pension for… debauchery… I shall say,” She flinches at her own words, yet doesn’t know a better way to put it, “The variety in which he uses pretty words to seduce young ladies to bed with him. Royalty from other lands, general’s daughters, maids. It matters not. He likes them for the night then pretends they shall never exist again.”
Each word she speaks sends another stab into your gut. A dull pain blooming from the same places which a swirling was forming before.
Ah. It all makes sense now.
“Oh.”
“He has a particular fondness for the other maids, you know. Bedding them without a second thought.” A grimace forms on your friend's lips, scrubbing harder into the already shining floors, “There is no reason to form any sort of affection for that man. It will only end with his seed inside your core and a knife in your heart.”
Yes, everything she is saying makes perfect sense. You feel almost stupid to not see it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it– want to think about it in any sort of fashion. But this makes much more sense than the crown prince wanting to speak to you for any other purpose. Explains why he was acting as a true gentleman to someone so much lower than him.
However, you find that it does not take away the cavernous pit that has formed in your gut.
“I see, I have no desire for either.” You nod your head in understanding, not sure of what else to say. “I don’t understand why he’s taken an interest in me, though.”
She gawks, “I don’t understand why it has taken him so long to in the first place.” She shakes her head.
“Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. Y/n, you must promise me. You will not fall for him, nor give any part of yourself to him. He is not someone that will care for you like you deserve.” She states, blue eyes piercing icicles into your own. She is determined and will not relent until you agree.
“I do not wish to. Not after hearing all of…” You make some sort of motion with your hand, “that. Anyone would be a fool to like him.”
You nod your head while Annabell smiles in agreement.
“Good.”
Those are the last words you exchange with anyone for hours. The rest of the day passed by with lightning, an endless turnstile of things to take care of. A ball was to be held soon meaning the castle would be a wreck for the next few days. Too much planning, cleaning, sewing, coordination had to take place before anyone could rest.
Honestly, you were grateful for it. A break from thinking was much needed. As is a good night’s rest.
You sigh, already imagining how lovely it would feel to pull off your shoes for the day. Peel the cotton off your body and replace your dress with something more comfortable.
Oo! Hopefully enough warm water will be left for a quick bath. That would be just wonderful, your muscles would be able to unfurl. The perfect thing to lull you into a glorious sleep.
Your arms stretch over your head as you finish descending the staircase into the maid hallways. Bones in your back pop from the pressure, causing a sigh to make its way from your lungs. Your nimble fingers make their way to the ribbon holding your hair in place, untying it and allowing the tresses to fall.
Soon you would be in the maid resting quarters– your appearance would matter not there anyway.
You send small smiles to other staff members passing you, those that have either just woken for the night or those who still have work to do. Yet in return, each one of them just stares at you with an incredulous look. Turning and whispering to their friends as if you were not still in front of them.
You can’t help to understand why. Those around you may not have considered you a friend, but they were never rude. Always polite when need be. It has you feeling strange, some type of nervousness as you get closer and closer to the hallway extending to the maids personal rooms.
Rounding the corner, you discover exactly why.
His frame looks entirely out of place standing there. A perfect, pristine picture in a hallway of drab, illuminated only by the lanterns hanging on the wall. Royal blue tunic draped on his shoulders only emphasising his status.
He looks as though he was never meant to be here. Like a mistake was made along the cobblestone walls. No, he looks as though he is meant to be among the living. Not in your dreary, windowless life. Nothing could change that.
You stand there frozen, a deer caught in the lanturn of a hunting party. A pounding of your heart, as well as the dark swell of your gut coming back to life. Why is he here? Why the hell does he have a bouquet of flowers?!
You wish to scream, but you don’t. You have already been caught.
His eyes look up from where he created a small pile of dirt on the floor. His face coming alight in an instant, pushing himself to full stature from where he once leaned against the wall. Long legs making their way towards you while he suddenly has the decency to hide the bouquet behind his back.
Annabell certainly did not mention this method of Prince Kim’s seduction. You had never seen him down here before.
“Hi.” Is all he says once he is finally face to face with you. His face bright and youthful. Excited.
It seems all formalities have been dropped in his mind, though you refuse the notion.
“Prince Kim.” You simply reply, lowering yourself in a curtsy.
He pays no mind, almost pretending you never did it in the first place. Instead, he simply rocks back and forth on his heels, bouncing slightly in delight. Wanting something, unable to voice it.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, hoping to end the encounter swiftly to stop all of the prying eyes leering into your being.
“I brought you something.” His eyes do not break contact with yours once and you can see his hand twitch by his side as if it wants to reach out for something. You're glad he has the decency to hold back, so you shall do the same by pretending you never saw the flowers in the first place.
You choose not to ask yourself why he brought you a present. It must just be a trick of seduction.
“I am honoured to accept such a thing.” You send a small smile his way, something between real and fake. It seems to make him beam.
His arm comes out from behind, holding the flowers between both of your bodies. You look down at them, shock written across your features.
Sure, you had noted them as flowers before. But you think these may be the prettiest ones you’ve seen in your whole life. Petals of orange, white, and purple cloud in your eyes. Stomatas filled with the sweet pollen.
Lilies. All different kinds– ones you’ve never seen before.
They’re out of season, at least you think they are. How did he get these? Why is he giving them to you? Why is he trying to get the butterflies to return? Why is he trying to make your heart explode?
“Prince Kim…” You’re not sure what to say– instead gently reaching out to feel the velvet of a petal. Staring intently at their colours, unable to pull your eyes away.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” His voice is a husk of a whisper, as if you’re the only two in the hallway. As if other maids are not passing, as if they are not staring at the two of you.
“Yes… I… I’m not sure what to say.” It is all so hypnotic.
“Thank you would be a good beginning, no?” His smile is soft, a light chuckle present in the tone.
You pause, tilting your head to look up at him fully– a large, real smile donning your lips.
“Yes. Thank you.”
You feel as if you are floating, just as you would when reading those romance books in your late teen years. Like the world has stopped moving save for the prince in front of you slowly passing the flowers into your arms.
Your hands brush against each other and you feel his fingers twitch, tightening ever so slight. Wishing to grab onto your hand just as he had done the night before. Wishing to insect every line that traces over your fresh once more.
However, he refrains. Allowing his ringed fingers to sink themselves into his pockets.
“I was just going to have them delivered. I’m not really meant to be down here, you know,” His smile is shy, “But I didn’t know your room. That, and I wanted to see you again.”
You look down, unable to keep the eye contact he presses you for. Prince Kim is too much for you. You don’t understand how he couldn’t be too much for anyone.
“Oh…” You’re a flush, “Thank you for saying that.”
“It is nothing to thank me for.” He chuckles, bangs dimming the hues of his eyes, “I’m sure I bored you with all of my ramblings.”
He did, partly, but that was more discombobulation for the situation and a sense of tiredness creeping into your bones. You shake your head quickly.
“Of course not. I had.. Fun.” Mayhaps fun isn’t the right term, yet there is no word that exactly describes your emotions of last night, nor the ones of today.
“As did I.” His lips are tight in a smile again, feet bouncing on their heels once more. He’s nervous, wants to say something again but isn’t sure how.
You’re not sure how to feel about learning what that habit means. Not sure how to feel about what any of this means. You have not had a moment alone to truly dissect what all of it is.
“I would love to spend the night talking to you again, if you would allow me.” You don’t think you would love anything more, yet you know you would not be able to function. Would probably make a fool of yourself, too.
“I-I think it would be best if I were to get some rest… I had not even an hour before I had to start working last night.”
He frowns, “That’s not good for your health…” He pauses, searching your face for any signs of distress, “Then let's talk in your room. I will only stay until you sleep.”
You pause, air drifting back into your lungs.
Ah. Right.
The words of your friend sink in once again, breaking you out of whatever trance he had put you under. Whatever spell he laced through both of your ears to have you singing songs of praises for him and the crown.
He wants you as a notch in a bedpost. Nothing more. It is clear as day and you are a fool to think anything other than that. This is all just a cleverly rehearsed show. You will not fall victim like your mother.
All royalty is the same. Use use use. Beat a dead horse until it stops coughing up any sort of reprise.
Your posture is suddenly tense, fist gripping the flowers so tight your knuckles appear white.
How dare he think so low of you. How dare he think he might be able to fuck you for nothing.
“Men are not allowed in the women's private quarters.” Your voice is staunch, though it is not as if he can tell nor cares.
If he does, he doesn’t show it.
“Ah,” The lilt is still evident in his tone, the cat playing with the mouse, “But I am not any man, am I?” His body leans a bit closer, pulling his face parallel to your own. Smirk playing on his lips.
Beauty is a deceptive thing, isn’t it?
“When I am king I’ll make it so I can see you whenever we both desire.” Something heats in your gut at those words, yet anger quells it just as fast.
“It is a shame that you are not King yet, then.” You nod politely in his direction, trying to excuse yourself. Yet your words only seem to excite something in his eyes, lighting a fire behind them.
“My, I didn’t know you felt that way.” He smiles coy. A flustered sensation overcomes you as you realise the double meaning behind your words. You had made it sound like you wanted him in that way when that could not be farther from the truth.
“I do not.” You state, your voice ice. Though once again, it seems that it does not pierce him.
“There is no reason to be so cold, Y/n.” He sing songs, tapping one of his long fingers against the side of his head.
“I am not being cold! You are just not listening.” You sigh in exasperation. Exhaustion and annoyance make you forget yourself, causing your volume to rise just as his own does. This only seems to excite him more.
“I have heard enough.” He giggles, boyish and what others would describe as cute. Right before you’re able to argue back once again, he cuts in with his own voice once more.
“I will leave you for now. Find a pretty place for the flowers.”
He smiles generously at you, beginning to walk away, “Have a good night. I’ll see you soon.”
In your shamble of a disposition, you’re left stuck there. Staring at his back as he retreats down the hallway.
The shock of everything that had just transpired coming over you all at once. How poorly you had behaved. How you spoke to him. He could have you killed for any one of those things however instead he left you with a bouquet of flowers and a promise for another night.
You scramble to find yourself, to move yourself from out of the eyeline of every other maid. To make your way to your room, your one sanctuary as quickly as possible.
It is only when you’re in those walls, hard oak door shut firmly beside you that you have to remind yourself of your promise to your best friend. Remember that the prince fights his battles with words and emotions.
Your second meeting with the man had left you even more confused than the first. Thousands of questions and emotions real through your bones at a pace your brain can’t manage to understand. Leaves you fuming, trying to form a single coherent thought as you analyse the last two nights with a ferocity unimagined.
In your state, however, you neglect to think of the one question that should be dancing before you, held on a string just out of reach.
Why did he know your name?
It is apparent that since that night, Prince Kim has located which room you find habitance in.
This morning, another letter has found itself slipped under the base of your door. They have become commonplace now– letters detailing apologies for why he was unable to visit, what he had gone about on his day, his regrets that he has not heard back from you in what feels like ages.
He’s tried to speak to you a few times in the palace when you work. His eyes always trained on you with something you’re unable to describe when you clean nearby.
You wish you could say it was perverse in manner, but it was nothing of the sort.
Every once and awhile you would catch a lily pinned to his breast pocket. He would send you a secret smile whenever it caught your attention. As if it was a tale meant for only the two of you to know. As if he wanted to carry a portion of you with him.
You may be naive in saying so, nor do you have much experience in the matter, but these do not feel like the actions of a man who simply wishes to find home under your dress. These feel more personal. More extravagant than anything else.
Nevertheless, you ignore every single advance. Annabell made you promise, and it was a promise you were intent on keeping until your dying breath.
Put the letters away in a box, never to be responded to. Avoided looking at him whenever he was near. Rushed out of rooms when it appeared he was intent on making his war for you.
Icing out the prince is what is best. Whatever lilies he will wilt and die and you will be able to continue on with your hatred of the Kim family as well as your blood pact with the throne.
You only wish it was that easy.
“Y/n!! Miss Y/n!!” There is a scramble outside of the door, voices hailing for your presence. You don’t know why– you’re on wash duty. Anyone, unless they’re extraordinarily new, would know that.
The voice grows more erratic, more panicked. As if their life depends on finding you in that very moment. The other maids in the quarters send their glaces to you, urging you to go yet not one opens their mouths.
At least one bonus of endenturing your entire life to the palace is that you have grown in rank. More than 10 years has granted you a decent position.
A hushed sigh slips past your lips and your hands find themselves forcing the pile of sheets into the washing tub. Your hands quickly wipe away at your apron, ridding them of any moisture before pushing open the door.
Stepping into the hallway lined with stone you notice only a single girl. Her entire form shaking as she paces the hall– panicked. Blonde curls bouncing with every step, cheeks a fluster.
A new recruit, indeed. Celley is the name she wears.
She had just entered with the last batch of new maids, starting at the palace no more than 2 months ago. She was a recruit you were unsure of– not having a lick of grace or balance, nor any experience with serving. But you suppose there are many reasons maids are chosen.
You do not like to think of them.
Her feet are suddenly clamouring over to you, noticing your presence for the first time since you’ve stepped in the hallway. Her small, shaking hands grip your shoulders, holding you with all the will she seems to possess.
“Excuse me have you seen–” She stops herself, tiny pants pausing as her eyes go wide, “Oh my days! Miss Y/n! You must hurry!” She rushes, hand gripping your wrist as she tries to pull you away.
Though your face twists in confusion, your feet remain firm.
“What’s the matter?” You ask, both sympathy and concern entering your frame. You can admonish her later for her lack of manners, however now, the girl seems truly frightened. Her large steel eyes looking back at you, pleading.
“The crown prince! He’s!” She’s out of breath once again, continuing to try and urge you on.
This time, the second the word prince is muttered, you begin to follow her pace, “He’s lost his mind! He’s going on a firing spree! Locking up anyone who tries to calm him!”
“What? Why is that? Did something happen?” You ask hushed, urging the girl to keep her voice down. Though you both are similar in age, it is apparent who has experienced this type of thing before.
“He got into some kind of spat with his father. His instructor was fired when he tried to continue on with their lesson.” It seems she understood your message, continuing to hurry you down the halls.
“And what am I meant to do?”
“I-I don’t know!” She lets out a quiet yelp, pulling you closer as you exit the maid hallways and enter the palace ones, “His personal maid is away visiting family. She said to leave everything to you if something were to happen! I-I didn’t know what else to do!”
Damn Eleanor and everything she stands for. Why the hell did she have to bring your name into this?! Shouldn’t the head maid be called in times like this?! Not you, someone who wants nothing to do with any member of the royal family. Especially the crown prince himself. Sure, there must be rumours spreading around but you had managed nearly three weeks without speaking to him!
You let out a sigh, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident, more put together. You will do this, and you will come out victorious. Every battle before has left you victor. What is one more?
“I understand. It will be dealt with.”
The least you can gain is the idyllic picture of the prince to be shattered forever. That would be the most ideal outcome, something to truly force him out of your heart for good. You will not fall prey to him and his earthly desires. He will not win your heart.
At least that is what you hope.
The throne room's doors stand before you, delicate lacings of gold worth more than your entire being etched into its surface. A glittering picture for what is sure to be a bloodbath behind its contents.
A deep inhale of warm air fills your lungs, hand pressing against the door as you force it open. Face someone you have not wanted to see nor extinguish the flames of in nearly a month.
He stands before you, 20 paces ahead. A broken bottle in his hand as he heaves, shoulders rising and falling with the passion of ten thousand suns. The look of murder in his eyes as he stares down at a maid, her form on the ground. Bowing with as much might as she can possess, looking for any exit possible. Few other maids stand around the room, keeping their heads low, avoiding any eye contact possible.
Though he looks like a mad man– mayhaps a god of war himself, not a single hair is out of place on his head. He is still the picture of sovereignty. And though your breath spikes, you find that you are not afraid.
What a strange feeling it is.
The creak of the door sends single to him, has him whipping his head to face you. Anger etched into his features, a new target befalling his sight.
You stand tall, moving towards him. You will rise to the position given to you, even if it shall mean your inevitable downfall. As long as the new staff are safe.
Only, when he looks to you, no wrath is found. No anger or deceit. The second his eyes meet your own, his expression drops along with the bottle in his hands. More glass littering the floor in its wake.
His eyes soften, his lips turning from a sneer into a gentle frown. His shoulders automatically lower, and suddenly it appears that there is no one else in the room. His legs move automatically, carrying themselves to you with such a hurried pace you would have thought he had seen a long lost friend.
Oddly, this scares you more than when he was angered.
You start into a bow, “Prince Kim, I’ve come in place of–”
His arms wrap themselves around you before you can speak another word. Pulling you in, wrapping you into his scent as you're pressed against his sturdy chest. Strong arms keep you in place as he tries to make his body become one with your own.
His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, one hand raising to tie itself in your hair. It forces you to stay in place, stay attached to him just the way he wants you to be. Allows him to inhale, breathing in all of you. Finally delving into the scent that he has been craving.
Your eyes only widen, hands staying firm at your side in shock. Heart beginning to race, head becoming lost in the soaps that only a member of a family could possibly own.
You’re not sure what to do. How to behave. As far as you are concerned or aware, this is something that no other has had happen before. At least not so openly. Not so brazenly in front of a myriad of other people.
But, it seems to calm him. To placate him in a way you’re not sure anyone could explain.
You try to make a small twisting motion with your hand, try to urge everyone else to leave while they have the chance.
They seem to take it, exiting the room as fast as possible.
You’re sure word of this will spread throughout the castle quickly. You hope the consequences will not be dire.
“Prince Kim–” You begin to speak after everyone has cleared out, after he holds you for what feels like a lifetime. You can’t find it in you to want him to pull away, no matter how embarrassing this seems.
“Shh,” He quickly silences you with a gentle press of his lips to your pulse, “Let me stay like this for a moment.”
You are unable to move. Unable to breathe after he kisses you. War could begin in that very moment and you’re not sure you would have noticed in the slightest. You are stunned into obeying his whim as he simply inhales and exhales.
The umber in his voice only comes after a millennia, after his shoulders have completely sagged. After all the tension is removed from his body.
“You didn’t respond to my letters.” He still doesn’t pull away, his grip on your hair tightening a fraction.
You pause.
“I…I didn’t know where to send them.” You lie and his hand loosens. The correct answer.
“My study. Put them under the door to my study.” He instructs like a king would.
You’re not sure why the tone of his voice sends shocks to your gut. Pooling into something you only find in your dreams.
“But if someone were to see them–”
“Let them.” Mumbles in your ear to you and you alone, a growl practically spiking through his voice, “I want them to know.”
Oh. This is new. This is definitely new. This is not the same way you felt with the stable boy years ago. This has become something entirely alienating. A completely different beast. You know that now as his baritone voice sends waves straight through your gut.
You simply nod in reply, your mouth unwilling to say anything back. The arm around your lower back grows more firm.
“Tell me where you will put your replies.” He commands into your ear.
“Under the door to your study.” Your reply is automatic, years of answering to the kingdom evident in your tone.
He sighs, unfurling his fingers from your locks to gently pet the top of your head, “Good girl.”
He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft as he touches you.
“Good lamb.”
You sigh, fingers deftly searching through your wardrobe for just a single pair of underwear. But once again, you turn up empty. It seems like every day that passes, another pair disappears without your knowledge.
Perhaps one of the new girls is causing a fuss, messing up the laundry for everyone else.
That is the only logical solution, at least.
But logic doesn’t seem to make much sense at all anymore. You couldn’t hope to understand why few of your other belongings have come up indignant as well.
Your favourite perfume, one of your stuffed animals, even your toothbrush! All have magically vanished from thin air over the course of the last week.
It is too bad that you haven’t had the time to think about it, either. Preparations for the ball have been raging throughout the palace. Everyone has been on their toes, unwilling to face the wrath of the planners as they try to make everything perfect.
You have had not one moment alone to think, either swept up in cleaning, decorating, or well… recently you and the prince have been going on walks through the garden at night. Though that doesn’t matter much. It doesn’t mean anything– just another thing he made you promise to. Claiming he wishes to spend as much time with you as he can.
His recent fixation is trying to get you to call him by his true name.
You would never dare, nothing is more inappropriate than such a title. It is something only his most beloved is meant to call him, and that person is certainly not you.
You try to force any thoughts of him out of your head, though it is clearly a fruitless endeavour. Especially with the dream you had the night prior.
His hands finding themselves between your legs, touching you in a way no other has.
You flush, quickly shaking all thoughts of the night away.
The tea! Your tea, yes. A prescription from the doctor for this very thing.
More often than not, you wake to find a mess between your thighs. Sticky arousal between them in a perverse fashion. The region sensitive and overstimulated combined with a mess of dreams. More sexual in nature than ever before.
Embarrassed, you had turned to the only person you could trust. The palace staff’s doctor.
She had told you it was normal– that you were simply having what she described as ‘wet-dreams’. The title alone made you feel embarrassed.
Nevertheless, she prescribed you a tea to help calm your nerves. It was meant to be passifying in nature, calming any lush desires you may have beginning to form.
You were not sure how it functioned, however you trusted her. Found that it quelled whatever fire burned inside of your heart for the time being.
Perhaps just a new oddity to add to your reality, you suppose.
Finally, you find a proper set of undergarments to pull over your legs. Letting out a breath in relief now that you finally have them.
Today is going to be busier than the last month combined– the ball is tonight. You know for a fact you will be rushed around the palace all day, fixing everything into an acute sense of perfection that only the Kim family is known for.
You reach to spray your second favourite perfume across your skin, only to find that the bottle has gone missing as well.
Your hairs stand on edge, a dark pit forming in your stomach.
It is all too strange for you to want to understand.
Okay, now you’re sure Annabell must be wrong. She has to be, right? There is no other conclusion possible.
The thoughts run through your head as you pace the small confines of your room. Thumb between your lips, biting the skin feverishly. Contemplating what it is exactly that you should do. A heavy box sitting on your bed, a letter laying next to it along with a single lily.
A month ago, you met Prince Kim in the gardens. A month ago you spoke to him all night long. A month ago he brought you flowers. He has been leaving you letters ever since. Three weeks ago he held you in his arms, made you promise to write him back. Made you promise to meet him in the gardens as many nights as you can.
But this, you could not accept. You could not possibly think this is real. Why has he gifted you something like this?
A dress lays on your bed. The most gorgeous dress you have ever seen, in fact. Lined with crystals and gems, many layers of tulle poof from the underskirt. It must’ve cost a fortune, but it was not meant for you. It is a dress meant for a princess, not a simple maid of the palace. Not… Not someone the prince simply wanted to bed.
So why did it lie here, along with a lace mask and a pair of shoes. Why did it come with a note from the Prince, telling you to put it on for tonight's events? Is this why the head maid dismissed you so early?
No. You could not. You will not make a fool of yourself. You do not belong up there, dressed as a princess when you are far from the thing. That is your decision. It will be the one you stick to.
Even as hours tick past on the clock, even as you can hear the night in full swing, you stay locked in your room. Feeling the same as you did when you were a girl locked in the dungeon all those years ago. Helpless, indignant, stubborn.
Lost in your thoughts as you try to piece together a puzzle that has several spaces missing. Feelings for the stable boy– life with him, it would have been easier than this. You’re sure of it.
You allow yourself to imagine what life could have been like if he stayed. It would have been a cosy, peaceful. A straightforward one that didn’t leave so many questions in your head. Jungkook was always like that, spoke his mind without leaving anything to be guessed. You adored it, wished you could revel in it now. Wish you could kiss him under the cherry tree once more.
A pounding wakes you from the dream you were just beginning to weave. Loud, angry knuckles against the firm oak of your door startling you to your feet in an instant. Chills running down your spine as if your body already knew who was behind it.
You wait too long to reply, another series of rapts following in quick succession. You’re in trouble. You’ve angered the prince in a way you’re not sure you’ll be able to find your way out of, but you have no choice. He knows your inside. You know you must face him. You must be brave.
Right before another series of knocks can echo against the walls, you finally pull the door open.
There stands the man you knew would be there all along, sculpted like the lord had made him himself. You wish you could behold him properly, to stare at his beauty in the suit specially prepared for this night. One he asked your opinion of several times during its construction.
But you are unable to, not when his shoulders heave like a bull planning its charge. Not when his eyes are narrowed into a glare that enters your soul without consequence. Never before had you felt his anger directed at you.
The future king would be a fearsome thing.
“It appears you are not dead.” He states, cold and detached in a way you have never heard before. It makes you feel small, feel weak. Though by now, you know he wants an answer. He will not accept the lack of one from you anymore.
You shift uncomfortably on your feet, “I suppose not…”
“Then what do you suppose.” You flinch. You’re not sure.
“I– Prince Kim…”
“Taehyung.” He interjects, though you ignore him. Only his future wife is meant to call him by that name.
“Prince Kim, I could not possibly accept this gift. You have to understand.” The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink. To appear as small as possible to placate the lion you’ve wondered into the den of.
“I do not. You are to accept any gift I am to give you.” He is stern as if lecturing the ground beneath him. He looks massive in your tiny room, taking up much more space than you wish to grant him.
You begin to grow frustrated, annoyed. Does he have no sanity? Does he really think it is okay to play with the hearts of women so carelessly? It is disgusting. Repulsive even! You do not deserve anything like this. You begin to grow tense, grow firm like a wolf cornered. Ready to lash out with no remorse.
That is what you are, anyway. A cornered animal with no hope to escape.
“I won’t.” You raise your shoulders, stand taller and stare him straight in the eyes. If this will have you sent to the axe then so be it.
He grows just as tense in reply, his lips forming a sneer as he takes a step closer towards you.
Never before has Prince Kim been opposed like this before, you’re sure of it. The way his irises become darker is proof.
“And why is that, lamb?” He mocks, and the fire inside of you only begins to glow brighter Of course, you’re just the lamb that's wandered into the lion's den. The lamb being prepared for meal.
Steam clouds around your head, jaw becoming tense as you try to hold back your rage. Rage for your mother, rage for the life she was taunted into the same way the prince is trying to do to you now.
“I will not become another woman you bed and then lay waste to!” You practically shout, unable to hold back your emotions anymore.
His nostrils flare, “Excuse me?”
“You heard my words.” You state back, indignant, “I will not be an idiot. I will not become another woman who you use for your own pleasures!”
You hear him scoff, head turning away from you for the first time as he looks around your room.
“You think that little of me?” His eyes make their way back to you, his face having the expression of somewhat… hurt?
Suddenly, you’re unsure. You feel stupid all over again though you’re not entirely conscious as to why. You hurt him? How could you possibly hurt the most powerful person in the country?
You falter in your stance, and it is obvious that he takes notice. Uses it to his advantage as he takes another step closer, makes his hand find your own. His thumb brushing soothingly over the knuckle. His hands are always so soft.
“What else am I meant to think? I’ve heard the stories, Prince Kim.” Where once was fire lays blistering coals. Hot to the touch yet unyielding in their passion. The air in the room has changed in much the same way.
“Tell me of them.” He asks you, his voice now gentle, soft.
It is strange, the complete change he’s had since first entering your room. Has your brain going a little haywire. Especially with the way he stares at your hands. Like they could be locked forever.
“I…” You feel flush, embarrassed to mutter the words in front of the prince, “I’ve heard you seduce women… princesses, noblemen’s daughters, maids… the lot. Then you abandon them the next morning with your seed in their core and a knife in their heart.”
You keep your eyes to your feet, face feeling hot by repeating the words of your friend. You refuse to look at him, you cannot take the embarrassment.
A light chuckle leaves his lips, a hand coming up to attempt to muffle them, “Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. You’re baring your soul to him! How dare he laugh!
He coughs to muffle the rest of the sound, returning to the moment, “I apologise. I just had the realisation. You’re jealous of them, aren’t you lamb?”
A mess of flutters takes up your stomach, your shoulders raising in alarm. Your lips open to try and form words, to try and deny the allegations made your way, yet you are entirely unable.
Especially with the way he moves closer, crowds your space with such ease. Leads close to you, whispers words in your ear, voice lower than before.
“You wish it to just be you I lay with, is that so?” You can practically hear the smile in his voice as another, more erotic chill finds its way down your spine.
“Th-That isn’t–” You try to speak, but your voice sounds as light as air. He moves closer, arm carrying itself around your back, pulling you flush against him as he speaks sinful words. Words only for you.
“Ah…” He sighs in relief, lips practically touching your ear once you’re finally connected to him, “You don’t like it when I go fuck your friends then come to spend my nights talking to you… writing to you… touching myself to the thought of you.”
You cannot take it. You cannot take this, take him. Your head is spinning, clouding with the drug known as Prince Kim. Your knees feel weak, your limbs feel all too heavy. How can someone so pretty say such sinful words without a second thought. It’s too much. Far more than your poor little heart can take.
Your arms come up, press as firm as they can against his chest despite how weak they feel.
“Mmm…?” He asks in response, pulling back to look down on your face. Mock confusion spread across his features. He takes a step back, pretending to look you up and down. Like he is just playing a game of poker while all of your tells are as clear as day.
“Or is that not what you wish?” He asks, head tilted to the side like a confused puppy, “You would like things to remain the same?” He smiles, drawing conclusions all on his own.
He pauses, waits for you to say something, anything before continuing. But you do not, so he will keep playing this game by himself.
“Then I shall go find someone to keep me company for the night. Mmm..” He taps his chin in contemplation, turning on his heels, meanwhile panic and dread fills every facet of your being, “What were those ones you’re friends with again? Celley? That pretty blonde? Oh, or maybe Annabell. I’m sure she would be prepared to go for a second round.”
What? What? No, No! What is he talking about? Why is he starting to walk away?! Wait, Annabell, second time?! She has before?!
Oh heavens, oh gods.
“Anyway, I'll be sure to write to you after. Have a good night, dream of me.”
You begin to hyperventilate as he takes one step out the door. No, he can’t leave. You don’t want him to. You don’t want him to be with anybody else. You can’t let it happen. You can’t afford such a thing! Ever! That is not where he is meant to be!
Your body carries you before your mind does. Hand slipping out, gripping onto the back of his coat with all of the strength you can muster. Feet planted firm in your room, doing everything in your power to not let him leave.
It is really too bad you do not see the sick smile that forms on his lips. Maybe then the pieces of the puzzle would have finally clicked in place.
Instead he only tilts his head backwards, painting a complexion of boredom.
“N-No! I don’t want that!” You finally manage to stutter out, knuckles turning white with the strength you hold onto him. Afraid if you let go in the slightest he will pull away and disappear forever. “I don’t want you to be with other women!”
The silence that follows your confession feels a mile long.
“Then go put on the dress.” Out of any response there could be, that certainly was not the one you were anticipating.
“What…?”
His chin tilts in the direction of it, urging you on, “If that is the truth, then go put on the dress.”
“I…” You hesitate for only a moment, but scramble to motion once the prince turns to leave once again.
You make quick paces to your bed, keeping your back to him. You feel his eyes on your back, intent on giving you no privacy to ensure you follow through on his order.
In fact, all he does is close the door behind you. Making sure no one will be able to see in. No one will be able to watch you save for him.
You slowly peel off the cotton of your nightgown, trying to appear brave even though his eyes are trained on your form. Even if your slip still remains on, you have never been this uncovered in front of a man before. You feel entirely bare.
You do not look at him as you finally find your way through the tool, slipping the garment over your head with struggle, yet his face is practically predatory.
You don’t know his plans, or what he wishes to gain. You never do.
As the fabric settles over your hips, half of you wants to question how the size is perfect, but you refrain. Too embarrassed by everything else to even consider it an option. Your hands reach behind you to attempt to lace up the back on your own, yet another pair are already present in their place.
When did he get so close? How did he get so close without you hearing a thing? Your heartbeat must be the only sound in your ears, that must be it.
His fingers work down your spine, tightening the dress so it fits you perfectly. Tying it off with skill you did not know he had. You feel his breath on the back of your neck. A fire begins to grow in your core.
“I was going to present you to my father tonight.” He admits, placing a gentle kiss to the base of your neck, “The ball was meant to find my bride.”
“Oh.” Those are the only words you can say when he is so close, arms enclosing around your waist. Pulling your back flush with his chest.
Only words you can manage at the revelation.
“Imagine his disappointment, more so my own when the girl I had been speaking to him about did not show.” He grunts, almost as if it hurt him. Guiding your body to stand in front of the full mirror in your room. Asking– telling you to look at yourself.
The sight is strange, yet incredible. The crown prince of the entire nation standing in your bedroom, in the maids quarters. Surrounded by squalor and chaos. Arms wrapped around a maid dressed as if she could be a queen.
You look up at him to the best of your ability, regret plastered across your features, “Prince Kim–”
“Taehyung.”
“--I’m so sorry.” He does not look you in the eyes. They stay trained ahead, not straying once from the mirror. One hand rubbing small circles into the fabric covering your stomach, the other sliding to your waist.
He touches you without care, without reason. Feeling you against him for all that it is worth.
“Actions have consequences, that is all. They can come later.” He states plainly, “For now I just wish to indulge in you.”
He brings his face down, placing it right next to yours. His hand rises, making your chin face the mirror as well.
He forces you to make eye contact with him through it, forces you to understand each of his words clearly.
“You’ll let me do that, won’t you?”
You take a deep breath, gulping down all the air you can manage. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more.
With no more than a nod, his lips are on yours.
Spinning you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands cupping your cheeks with such intensity you fear they may become etched into your skin forever. Keeping your lips closed against his own.
His body cages you in, pressing entirely against you. Forming against you in perfect harmony, feeling two souls become one. Feeling each other fully for the first time– no pretence or public eye in the way to stop it.
His teeth nip at your lower lip, biting in a way that has you opening them in pain. He takes the opportunity to lick his way inside, somehow pushing even closer to your body.
Something hard presses against you and the discovery has your knees wishing to collapse.
The prince can’t possibly be this big. He simply can’t.
The kiss has you reeling, unsure of anything. Unsure of what to do at all. It is nothing like your first kiss under the cherry tree with Jungkook. That was soft and sweet, docile as two people discover something new.
This, this is nothing of the sort. It is hungry. It is a beast that has been starved, finally getting its first meal. It is intoxicating. It is needy and desperate in a way that has your fingers trying to press themselves even deeper into the glass. It has your breath being robbed. Your lifeforce wilts away to satisfy only the prince.
The groan he lets out as you finally give into him, finally allow him to take control of the kiss as arousal pools in your gut. It is one of the most deadly siren’s calls you think you’ve ever heard. One that would have any woman throwing themselves overboard for just a taste.
“Finally,” He grunts, pulling no more than a millilitre away from your lips, wetness still connecting them, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for you.” He mumbles, hungrily connecting his mouth back to your own.
Before you know it, you’re lost in the man once again. Allowing him to move you, to guide you to your bed without withdrawing from you once. Tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to make sure he doesn’t pull away. Making you drunk off of his taste, off of him.
When he kisses you like this, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to live without him.
Your knees hit the frame of your bed and all of a sudden you're falling backwards onto its plush lining. Panting, trying to regain some of the air he stole from you.
For the first time you’re able to look up at him, to discover the mess that he has become. Cheeks red, lips swollen. Eyes dark and twisted with lust. Hair ruffled messily from where your fingers laid. Shoulders rising and falling with effort as he catches his breath as well.
He looks gorgeous and you can’t help yourself hoping this will be only a sight for you forever.
He leans down, pecking your lips once more, “I couldn’t stop myself from imagining this. Since the moment I placed an order for your dress.”
He huffs, dropping to his knees in front of you. You sit up on your elbows, face twisted into confusion as you look down at him.
God. It is too dangerous to look at him right now. You know that as another wave of heat runs straight to your core.
“Pushing up the future queen's skirt.” He groans, hands gaining purchase on your hips, pulling you down so your waist sits at the edge of the bed, “Letting myself have a taste of her while everyone else at the party danced.”
O-Oh. Oh. He sees you as, oh god.
His fingers bunch in the material of your skirt, drawing in a shaky inhale as he holds onto any drop of sanity left.
When he sees no hesitation from you, he slowly begins to push the material up your legs. Eyes trained on your own, looking to you for any sign of discomfort.
“Have her come undone on my tongue while no else was the wiser.” He groans as he finally comes face to face with your panty covered core.
Your brain moves at a snail's pace, trying to keep up with every tiny movement the prince makes. Trying to process his words while your head becomes fuzzy with your own arousal.
You feel like mush, so pliable in his grip.
His large hands slowly begin to part your thighs, to look at what he has been craving for so long when your brain catches up with you, embarrassment overcoming your being.
“Y-You can’t! I-it is dirty to do such a thing.” At least, that is what you had been taught. Though, the look in his eyes and the growl from his throat tells you the opposite.
“You could never be dirty. No part of you could ever be.” The sound he lets out is more akin to an animal than anything else, and suddenly you feel like a schoolgirl. Flustered and embarrassed beyond anything else.
The muscles of your thighs untense, the look on your face blushed and biting.
“You will let me?” He asks again, and despite your embarrassment, you nod. He is going to be king… his word is rule afterall. He wishes it, so it will happen. You could not be more pleased to oblige.
His grip on your thighs is more firm than before, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he pries your legs apart. He lets a groan resonate from the back of his throat at the sight. Panties sticking to your center, wetness pooling just behind causing the material to almost become transparent before him.
You did not know it was possible for a man to have such an effect on you.
Without a second thought, he pushes the material down your thighs. His tongue licking a long stripe up your cunt, savouring the flavour for every cent it is worth.
He moans at the taste, not wasting a second before he dives back in. Lapping against you like it is his last meal.
A mewl leaves your lips, too many feelings crossing you at once for any of them to be worth anything.
Embarrassment, shame, fear all vanish the moment his lips wrap around your clit, sucking against the small bundle of nerves in a manner that has your back arching against the bed. Fingertips digging into the sheets to find a second lease on life.
You try to look down at him, to find him between all of your small pants of pleasure, however he is gone. Disappearing until the layers of fabric while he brings you sensations you never thought were possible.
His tongue moves like it is made to pleasure only you. Taking turns flicking your clit to lowering into your center. Licking up any bit of arousal he can make out. Trailing up once again to press flat against the bundle of nerves.
All of it has your legs kicking, your breath melting.
He is not quiet either, letting you know exactly how much he adores this. Adores the feeling of your thighs wrapped tight around his head. Adores every little sound and reaction you have to give him. Adores the taste of you on his tongue. It was only meant for him.
It feels like he has been wishing to do this far longer than you would ever know. Consuming you whole from the inside out. Causing you to become addicted, to desire him just as much as he carnally craves you.
His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs as your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking out every ounce of pleasure that he is willing to give you. Your adorable mewls and whines grow louder, peaking every time he sucks on your clit.
A coil has begun to form in your gut, feeling as though it could snap at any second. You wish you could see him, to look at his face and see the crazed gleam in his eyes. Observe the exact look on his face as he licks your cunt.
You try to picture it. Try to imagine the way he would look up at you from between your legs. The dark umber his eyes would become, the gentle circles he would rub into your thigh as you finally make eye contact.
Your walls clench around his tongue, sending a new waves of whines out of your mouth. He somehow moves faster, more precisely with every movement. Like he is able to hone in on the exact things that have your thighs quivering.
His tongue moves up, takes your small, worn clit into his mouth. Alternating between sucking against it, flicking at it, and pressing against it firm with the flat of his tongue.
Without warning, nor any reprise, one of his thick fingers is thrust into your wet heat. Filling you in a way you have never been able to do to yourself. Stretching you. And all of a sudden, you’re flying off the edge of a precipice.
“Prince Kim!” Your back arches off of the bed, head thrown back against the mattress as you let out a moan. Your hips jolt, cunt squeezing around his fingers, heels digging into the floor as you come undone before him.
He works you through it with ease and grace, finger slowly thrusting in and out. Tongue firmly planted against your clit to ride you through your high.
It would not be your last of the night. He must be gentle.
Slowly, you relax against the bed, chest heaving from exertion. He pulls away from you, standing to full height before leaning over your shaking form.
Your arousal coats his face, a sheen from his lips and chin evident against the soft yellow glow of the room. He looks down at you, concern and adoration written across his features. Though in his eyes, it appears that the beast has yet to be quelled.
He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You taste yourself against them.
“You are delicious. I wish to eat you every night until I die.” He mumbles against your lips, his knee sliding between your legs. Muscle pressing against your swollen cunt.
You try to flinch away, yet the hand on your hip keeps you in place.
He will not have you running away.
Not now.
Your cheeks flush at his words, wide eyes looking up at him like he is all that matters.
He is.
He presses his knee further against your pussy while his lips trail down the column of your neck. Urging you towards the headboard with no words spoken until your head is against the pillows.
Your arms wind their way around his neck, keeping him in place, “I-if we were married, I would let you.” You manage to speak, your voice shaky.
He only smiles in reply. Fingers digging deeper into your waist as if he is holding himself back.
“Then we shall call this practice for our wedding night.” He smiles, sitting back on his heels.
Marriage, wedding night. You allow the thought to ghost through your mind, willing it to be reality.
He smiles down at you, taking note in the way you seem to gleam at the idea. A small chuckle leaves his lips, you really are too cute for your own good.
His voice is no more than a whisper, forcing you to stay enrapt, “You will let me, right?” He asks, eyes glancing down to where his pants strain against his hips, “I wish to make love to my future wife.”
Your mouth practically waters at the sight, his hard cock pressed taught against the expensive material. You swear there may even be a wet spot where his cum has leaked through.
Your pussy clenches, wanting nothing more for him to find his way inside. For him to claim you for himself. Destroy you so no other man can have you in the same way.
You struggle against yourself for no more than a moment, but the way his hand reaches down, grips at his cock. Brushes his thumb over the surface has you moaning in want.
“Please.”
He smiles, the motion following swift. All at once his hands unbutton his pants, pushing the material down his thighs just enough for his cock to spring free. He groans at the feeling, thick length hitting his stomach. Pretty pre-cum dripping down the side.
Your eyes go wide. If you imagined him to be large before, seeing it now looked impossible. He is thick, long. Far too big to ever hope to fit inside of you.
But the desperate groan in his voice, the hungry look in his eyes only has you spreading your legs. Wishing nothing more than for him to destroy you.
One hand wraps around the base as he moves closer, the other forcing the skirt of your dress as high as it will allow. He makes space for himself in between your thighs, slotting himself in. Ready to do what he has been waiting years for.
Not yet.
He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the worry. So he leans down, planting a gentle, soothing kiss to your lips. One filled with years of time behind it.
He knows he must be careful with you. Knows all of his patience will have been worth it when he is finally able to take your virginity.
“Will it hurt?” You as quietly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. You find comfort in him. Find a sense of safety within his eyes.
He nods in response, “Only for a little while, I promise.” He mumbles against your lips, placing a soft kiss against them once more.
He slowly rubs the fat head between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your hips buck slightly in response, and he can’t help but smirk.
So sensitive. So ready for him.
As much as he wants to be rough, he can’t. He can’t scare you away just yet.
He looks into your eyes once more, “Ready?” He asks, giving you one final chance to back out. You only nod your head, pulling him close, hiding your face in his neck.
His head catches on your opening with the final drag of his length through your lips. His hands practically shake in excitement, as he guides himself inside. Letting go only once the tip is buried within your walls.
He feels your teeth sink into his coat, your body burning with the stretch of him. He only has the first inch inside, yet you think it is more than you could possibly take.
A choked cry leaves your lips as he continues to slowly thrust inside. Your arms cling to him as tight as possible. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as he fills you, forming your entire body just around him. Just around his cock.
He pauses only once half of his cock is buried in your needy cunt. You feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, to bring you back down to reality from the pain you feel digging at your core. Trying to bring you some sense of comfort.
You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eyes, expecting to see them soft. Filled with concern. Though there is nothing of the sort there.
Behind his bangs is only the look of pure insanity.
Though he tries to be compassionate, he really does.
“Are you doing okay?” His voice is strangled, coming out in only desperate cracks. He shakes, wanting nothing more than to fuck himself inside. Fuck himself deeper and deeper, until your cunt is shaped for his cock alone.
But he holds restraint. Just enough.
The way he looks at you, the way he speaks has a wave of pleasure rushing through your skin. Your walls clamp around him, tightening even more.
He is falling apart before you, because of you.
He has gone mad because of you.
The feeling only makes you want to urge him on. See just how far the prince can fall.
You nod your head, looking at him with all the affections in the world, “Don’t stop.”
He groans at your words, mind losing itself as he snaps his hips forward, forcing his cock inside until his hips are firm against your own. Teeth digging into the fragile skin of your neck.
You cry out in pain, your walls squeezing around him in shock. Pain coursing through your entire system as you are filled to the brim. Walls stretched as wide as humanly possible. The head of cock so deep inside you swear you can feel it in your lungs.
“Shit.” He groans, mouth falling open, “This pretty thing is wrapped around me so tight, lamb. So fucking tight I can’t think.”
He slowly tries to move his hips, though you only shout in response. Your legs wrap around his back, doing their utmost to keep him in place.
“Hurts!” You whine, shaking your head quickly.
Fucking hell. What is the point of a pussy as sweet as your own if he can’t use it properly?
His hand moves between your legs, growl of impatience slipping past his lips as his fingers find your clit. They work with urgency, with need. Rubbing tight circles into it, trying to get you to feel the same pleasure he does.
You whine, overstimulated. Shots fired in all directions leaving you messy and confused.
With every circle, a mewl sounds from your throat. Slowly your legs behind him loosen, the pain from before mixing with pleasure to become something wonderful. Something that has you whimpering for him to not stop.
“See?” He grunts, slowly slipping out of your heat until only the tip remains, “We were made for each other.”
He forces his cock back inside, fucking you open just for him. Only ever for him.
Your nails dig into his back, heels digging into the mattress as you moan for him. As your cunt becomes addicted to the feeling of him filling you so perfectly. Addicted to everything he has to offer.
He moves too fast, too hard for you to even hope to keep up with. Hips pistoning into you, forcing you to take everything he has to give and more. Forcing you to be the perfect little doll for him, give him all the pleasure he can want and more. White mixing with red around the base of his cock.
Your back arches off the mattress to try and get closer to him, to try and keep up with him in any hope of the sentiment. Hips trying their best to keep him as close and as deep as possible, knowing they crave one thing and one thing alone.
“Prince Kim!” You moan, yet he growls in response. A sharp slap to your thigh sounds throughout the room as his hips pause, fingers removing themselves from your clit.
“That isn’t my name to you anymore.” His voice is low, menacing in your ear. One more poke of the bear and you will be punished. “Tae–Hyung.”
He emphasises the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, one that brushes against the bundle inside of you. One that leaves you crying out for him. Clinging on to him.
“Say it.” He grunts, animalistic and desperate. Yet you’re too lost in yourself to realise how debauched he’s become. Looking less and less like a man, more like a demon come to lay waste to your soul.
That is close enough to the truth, anyway.
“Say it until it becomes the only word you know. Every question I ask, every time I fuck myself into this sweet little cunt. Your only reply should be my name.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at him.
Your fucked out little features as you bob your head in compliance.
“I-I” You swallow, trying to understand his words as he pounds away at your core, “I understand!”
He smiles, almost proud of the work he has done today.
His hips only move impossibly faster, impossibly harder in a way that has that knot in your gut tightening once more.
“We’ll start simple then. What is my name?” He asks, angling his hips to press against your sweet spot with ever slight movement. Breathe panting, his mind falling deeper and deeper into the thralls of your body.
“P-Prin–” You stop yourself, a pinch coming down on your skin, “Taehyung!”
He groans, almost coming undone as he hears your name fall from your lips for the very first time. The pretty sound your voice makes with every letter.
It could be the only thing he hears for the rest of his life.
“Who are you going to marry?”
You whine, your head thrashing around slightly. He smiles. You must really enjoy the idea of that, huh?
“T-Taehyung!” You manage to stutter out again, feeling your release coming closer and closer as the seconds pass by.
“Who is the man you have fallen for?” The answer to the question is easy, especially when he is fucking into you like you’re the only woman that matters. Nothing matters except for him.
“Taehyung!” Your brain is too fuzzy to process anything else. Anything other than the way his cock fills you. Anything other than the one word he told you is your gospel.
“Who is the boy that kissed you under the cherry tree?” You don’t even know anymore.
Does any man exist beside Taehyung anyway? You doubt it.
“Taehyung!” He smiles into your neck.
“Who was the boy that was going to have you killed? That saved your life?” His words don’t process through your ears, yet you know what you are meant to say anyway.
“Taehyung!” He groans, his hips stuttering, losing their pace ever so slightly.
“Who do you belong to?”
“Taehyung!” You whine, your thighs shaking. The coil so tight you think you may just die if it doesn’t come undone in this very moment.
His breath is quiet, only a rough whisper in your ear, “Cum.”
Just as your king commands, you fall apart around him. White dots in the corner of your eyes as you clamp down around him, your legs pulling him close. A cry of his name leaving your lungs as if it is the very air you breathe.
You feel him paint the inside of your walls white, his hips stuttering– fucking himself as deep into you as he could possibly manage. If you had any sense left in your little head you would have told him to pull out, yet your brain is so high. Filled with pleasure that only Taehyung can provide.
Waves of arousal crash around you as he slows his hips, ensuring that you ride out your orgasm to its fullest before pulling away. You wish he could stay buried inside of you, just like that. Yet you doubt that would be very wise.
“Was that good for you, little lamb?” He asks, slowly helping you into a sit. You’re not sure how to properly answer– mouth feeling dry. Your head has not yet come crashing back down, though that is probably a good thing.
Facing reality is too scary right now. Especially when Taehyung is so warm. So caring as he removes your dress. Slips your nightgown back over your soiled body.
“Very…” You nod, unable to take your eyes off of him as he moves around the bed. Tucking himself back into his pants, removing his shirt and dress-coat. Placing them over the back of a chair. Neatly hanging the dress on a hook, taking care that it is not damaged in any way.
Your arms find themselves reaching out to him, trying to pull him closer to you. He smiles once he takes notice.
“Would you like me to stay the night?” It is clear he was already planning on it, but hearing the words make you smile oh-so bright.
“Yes, please.” You nod quickly, eyes already feeling tired. You did not know how he had so much energy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Right now he is meant to be in your bed, arms around you. In fact, you become annoyed that he isn’t already.
“Alright.” He smiles, slipping next to your form. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.
You feel so safe. So warm with him. So protected that you can’t stop yourself from falling asleep.
“Goodnight my lamb.”
The Kim Empire.
His home, his family, his livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.
Yet, the only thoughts that seem to brandish his mind since the young age of 15 are about you.
When you first stumbled in front of him, carrying a tray of tea. Spilling it all over his shoes. That quick curse that left your lips before looking up at him. The wide, doelike vision you had once recognition had set in. One the realisation of error set into your bones.
He will never forget the way his heart began to race in that very moment. The way he felt a cloth of sickness overcome his whole body at the mere sight of you. Looking so serendipitous below him.
At first he thought it was hate, how silly he had been back then. Ah, the way he sent you to be killed was just funny to him now. He is grateful he talked to his mother before your execution date. Spilling his soul to her, detailing how he could not seem to remove you from his brain.
Ah, he was lucky he managed to get the letter to the executioner in time. What a pity that would be if he couldn’t. Then he wouldn’t have been able to lay next to you now. Wouldn’t be able to play with your hair, caress you like he pleases.
It is truly too bad that was not his only trial on the road towards you. It was really a pity he had to send Jungkook away. Taehyung quite liked the kid. He was fun to play with and wouldn’t shy away from his games.
But he just had to try and seduce you. Poor thing. You really were too innocent at the time. More than eager to kiss him for no reason. To give him even a peace of your heart that was meant for Taehyung alone.
He remembers as clear as day, the rage he felt as he watched your soft lips press against another mans. How terribly he wanted to go out and strike Jungkook with a sword. Of course he didn’t though, that would have scared you away. He would have hated that.
He thanks god every day he was really your first kiss, even if you didn’t know it.
Patiences was the hardest battle of all, and he will admit, he has faltered a few times over the years. Kisses stolen while you sleep, a few of your belongings robbed to keep him satiated. Mayhaps a few trips to your room in the night.
But who could blame him? He was a man in love. There was nothing that could stop him when he was so hungry for you.
Ah, and then of course his father. He wanted to separate your love as well. A maid could never possibly be suited to be queen, blah blah. He doesn’t care. And at least that fight allowed him to hug you for the first time.
God. You felt so perfect in his arms, then and now. You have always been meant for this. Meant for him.
If his father plans to keep standing in the way, he will simply have to remove him from the equation. His bonds to the man are as thick as water. He cares more for you than he possibly could anyone else.
You’ve belonged to him since you were born, anyway. If a maid becomes pregnant while working for the castle, her child becomes property of the state. Of the crown. Of him.
It only makes sense that you are meant to be with him until death. It is the path lined for you. Your fate since birth.
He knows it as his delicate fingers trace over the small patches of blood dirtying the sheets. Evidence of the hours before, of your virginity robbed. Of your promises to him.
even more tae recs for y’all to read! so much love for all these authors who wrote these masterpieces, y’all should definitely check their pages and other works too💗💗!!
ONESHOTS
Peeling Mandarins @yoongiofmine
genre: best friends to lovers
summary: Your bi-weekly movie nights with Taehyung had always been the safest part of your life, until the night a forgotten promise dragged you both to a housewarming party instead. What should have been just another evening between best friends slowly unravels when a single mandarin and one honest confession shift the air between you. After so many years of pretending nothing has changed, one night might be all it takes to finally peel back the layers.
operation bang voyage pt2 @svenotes
genre: college roommates au
summary: rooming with a fuck boy is a recipe for disaster, but with an eviction notice tying your hands, your standards drop incredibly low. what started as the solution to all your problems has spiraled into a tense game of cat and mouse—hands, mouth, and orgasms included. no problem though, a week away at your friend's beach house is exactly the kind of break you both need, right? wrong. the sun’s out, the drinks are strong, and your self-control forgot to pack a bag. if you thought being confined to the four walls of your apartment was hard, just wait 'til the heat kicks in.
along the boardwalk @cupofteaguk
genre: skater boy au, college au
summary: they always said Kim Taehyung had a you-shaped hole in his heart.
Bibliotheque @joonbird
genre: college au, college rivals au, librarian!tae
summary: “You are at the very top of your college cohort, an A grade student on the fast track to a life of success. You know the answers to everything, or at least you think you do. That is until you meet quirky genius Kim Taehyung.”
Crowds Around Us @taegularities
genre: s2f2l
summary: No matter how crowded or busy the world around you gets, your thoughts keep drifting back to him until they begin longing for more than just his virtual presence – and when you finally do meet him, he erases all of your thoughts entirely.
PG @orchidyoonkook
genre: Older Brother's Best Friend, Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Slice of Life
summary: You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up. But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually.
Of Lace and Lust @hobidreams
genre: college au, roommate au, childhood best friends to lovers
summary: friendship rule number one: don’t imagine how amazing your best friend’s cock would feel inside you. except that’s all you can think about after accidentally discovering taehyung’s kink for panties. specifically, the lacy ones you’re so fond of wearing.
who’s your bias? @gimmethatagustd
genre: idol!au, Established Relationship
summary: Everyone says idols shouldn’t date their fans. Little did you know the crazy sasaengs aren’t the ones who might ruin your relationship. It might just be your boyfriend’s best friends.
Falling, Falling, Gone @johobi
genre: footballer tae
summary: Taehyung. Captain of the soccer team. Master of your heart. You'll never tell him for fear of rejection. So why the fuck are you about to do it in front of dozens of his peers?
Dichotomy @kpopfanfictrash
genre: Arranged Marriage!AU
summary: You hate him. He hates you. It’s a fine line though, isn’t it – between love and hate?
Debugging Love @kittenan2
genre: IT Engineer!Taehyung x Baker!Reader, Romantic Comedy, Domestic Bliss
Ain’t No Sunshine @whimsical-ness
genre: Notting Hill! AU, Actor! Tae
summary: The last thing you’d ever expected was for world famous actor Kim Taehyung to walk into your tiny, unassuming bookshop. But when he does, it unravels a charming yet complicated series of events that change your life forever.
SERIES
Belong @v-hope
genre: artist!kim taehyung x heiress!reader, SMAU + written
summary: one year to prove you can fend for yourself. one year to keep your parents from making the most important life decision for you. one year to still carry the perfect life for the media whilst carrying a simpler one for yourself... and way less than one year for you to realise you belong in the latter, with that cynical new roommate of yours.
4:23 am (pt1) , 2:43am (last part) @satnin-darling
genre: idol!au, fwb2lovers
summary: Unrequited love, the end of a long-term relationship, they all hurt the same. So you and Taehyung find yourself in this arrangement, sometimes casual, sometimes not. But things couldn’t go on like that forever and you had to face reality, take care of unfinished business so to speak. As time went on, things settled in the dust. Finally, you and Taehyung find each other again, you talk about what happened and it’s like things can begin anew.
the online tbr @internettbr - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
