A/N: I wrote this for Pride and posted on AO3 for Yoongi Freedom Day~ As a note, I use a mix of traditionally masc and fem language to describe Yoongi. OG readers might recognize this fic as a rewrite~
Taehyung sits on the edge of Yoongi’s bed with his legs spread wide enough for Yoongi to stand between them. His hands rest on his knees, occasionally reaching out so his long fingers can trace patterns into the exposed skin of Yoongi’s thighs. Despite the gentleness of Taehyung’s movements, Yoongi can tell that he’s nervous by the way he avoids his gaze. Although Taehyung knows prolonged direct eye contact bothers Yoongi sometimes, this isn’t one of those moments of him being considerate.
Yoongi doesn’t believe in dating people to “fix” them, but there are certain aspects of Taehyung that he wants to help him with—Taehyung’s confidence being a top priority.
“I’m not sure this will turn out any good,” Taehyung murmurs, eyes darting toward the floor as Yoongi lifts his chin towards him.
“Do you think I won’t do a good job?” Yoongi asks with a small pout, a bit hurt over Taehyung’s lack of faith in him, though he’s sure Taehyung doesn’t mean it like that. “I think my skills are pretty fantastic. Now close your eyes, please.”
Taehyung complies immediately, but Yoongi hesitates.
Taehyung’s skin is so tan and smooth, and it sparkles from the glittery pink blush Yoongi has dusted across on his cheeks. Yoongi has already applied the lightest of pink lipstick on Taehyung’s pouty lips to match, and now he’s preparing to add purple eyeliner to his soft look. Taehyung has never worn makeup before, which was unsurprising for Yoongi to discover. It took a bit of convincing (lots of pouting and threatening) to get him to cooperate. Now, Yoongi has the honor of taking in the softness of his face beneath makeup that accentuates his beautiful features rather than masks them.
Taehyung’s eyes flutter slightly beneath his eyelids and he cocks his head to one side after he realizes Yoongi still hasn’t done anything.
“Hyung?”
“You’re so pretty…” Yoongi admits softly. He has overused the compliment, but he earns a boxy smile from his boyfriend every time he gives it.
“Not as pretty as you.”
“Shhh,” Yoongi hushes him. He adds the finishing touches to Taehyung’s makeup and takes a step back to admire his work. “Jagi, get up so I can look at your outfit.”
Taehyung stands with straight limbs and a stern frown that pulls his pouty lips down. Yes, the outfit Yoongi put him in is… different from his usual aesthetic, but as he’d explained a million times, Pride is Taehyung’s opportunity to experiment in an environment that won’t make him stand out. Yoongi would know; the idea of standing out is usually his worst nightmare.
“It seems like a lot of… skin.” Taehyung pulls at the rainbow tie-dye muscle shirt he’s wearing and gestures to his hot pink shorts.
“Tae, it’s so hot outside. You cannot go to Pride Fest wearing an over-sized hoodie and thick, baggy jeans.” Yoongi crosses his arms against his chest and gives Taehyung a once-over. “At least I didn’t make you wear the mesh crop top, right?”
Taehyung visibly shudders. “Right.”
Yoongi swallows a smile as he watches Taehyung continue to mess with his outfit. It has taken Yoongi a long time to become comfortable with his gender expression; hell, sometimes he feels like he’s having a gender identity crisis daily. But overall, he feels comfortable being whoever he wants to be in the moment, even if it changes from day to day.
Now, being able to help Taehyung figure things out is a new adventure Yoongi is eager to begin.
The adventure starts on the train to downtown, where the Pride festival takes place. Yoongi sits with his fingers interlaced with Taehyung’s, their hands resting in Taehyung’s lap. Typical train rides into the city consist of quiet small talk between the two. But today is different. Taehyung’s eyes are wide, fixed on the passengers boarding and getting off of the train.
One group of train riders in particular steals Taehyung’s attention. Yoongi follows his gaze to see a group of scantily clad men. Most of them wear tight leather shorts or jockstraps, and leather harnesses or mesh crop tops like the one Yoongi tried to push on Taehyung. The men are all muscles and obvious dick prints.
Yoongi watches Taehyung’s eyes devour the men, searching every inch of their outfits and physiques.
“Tae.”
Taehyung blinks, ripping his eyes from the men to look at Yoongi. Even though his cheeks are already pink from makeup, Yoongi can see a bit more color spread across his face. His eyes widened like a little kid who’s been caught doing something bad.
“Yeah?”
“What are you thinking?” Yoongi gives him a sly smile, raising his eyebrows and ever so slightly nodding toward the group.
“Is that how I’m supposed to dress?”
“No,”—Yoongi’s gummy smile slowly fades into a slight frown—“the only thing you’re supposed to do is have fun. There’s no gay dress code or something. What I said early about how you dress was about the weather, not any kind of unspoken rules.”
Taehyung nods, his eyes slowly returning to the group of men. Two of them are making out, their bodies pressed together. Lots of tongue. Perhaps a dick grab or two. Taehyung fidgets in his seat, but he doesn’t look away.
Maybe it should bother Yoongi that his boyfriend is ogling other people, especially in such a sexual context, but it only makes him more excited about the day.
He leans into Taehyung’s ear, speaking low enough that only they can hear each other over the train’s rumbling.
“But you’d look really hot in a leather harness and a jockstrap.” Yoongi pulls away with a wink and a smug smirk, knowing he’s flustering Taehyung beyond belief. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that lately Taehyung works out more often. It isn’t a coincidence that Yoongi chose a muscle tank shirt for his outfit.
Taehyung’s breath hitches, a quiet puff of air escaping his lips before Yoongi grabs his hand, pulling him along. “This is our stop!”
Yoongi’s favorite gay bar is understandably packed, but its outdoor patio provides more breathing room and space to spread out. It’s on the corner of the street, which means it has the perfect view of the Pride parade that will march through the street soon.
Yoongi sits across from Taehyung at the patio table closest to the sidewalk, sipping on a fruity cocktail he let Taehyung order for him. He hisses at the sweetness of the drink. Getting Yoongi to accept a fruit drink probably felt as challenging as persuading Taehyung to wear revealing clothing.
“Whiskey is not a Pride drink, hyung,” Taehyung insists, slapping his hand down on the table. He’s being silly, mocking. He has no idea what he’s talking about. Yoongi finds it adorable.
“Why not? I think it should be.”
The waiter stands at their table with an amused look on his face as he watches the two bicker over alcohol. He, like most of the waiters, wears a leather harness that makes his muscular pecs pop, and his ass nearly busts out of the tiniest metallic silver booty shorts Yoongi has ever seen in his life.
Taehyung does a terrible job of hiding the way his eyes immediately shoot down to look at the very clear bulge in the guy’s shorts.
If that interaction hasn’t completely rocked Taehyung’s world, Yoongi tries hard not to laugh at how Taehyung’s eyes bug out of his head when the shots girl comes around to their table. She’s wearing nothing on top except for sparkly, heart-shaped pasties to cover her nipples, and she’s carrying a handful of plastic penises—one of which she offers to Taehyung.
“Want a shot? They’re five bucks and you get to keep the dick,” she says with a wink.
Taehyung’s mouth falls open, his head slowly turning to face Yoongi with a question in his eyes.
“It’s like a water gun. You push the pump on the bottom and the alcohol comes out of the tip.” Yoongi presses the butt of his palm against his mouth to stop from laughing. How can Taehyung be so naïve? Yoongi already knew he’d had relationships with men in the past, so why is he acting brand new?
Never did Yoongi have to live “in the closet”. It’s been hard for him to imagine what being in a queer relationship is like without having the freedom to engage in all the fun that comes with being part of the queer community.
“We’ll take one,” Yoongi finally says, passing the shot girl the money. He picks out a bright purple plastic penis, admiring the fairly realistic veins and curve of the head. “Do you think it’s cute?” Yoongi waggles the dick in front of Taehyung’s face.
“You are so immature.” Taehyung returns to sipping on his fruity drink, nose scrunched. “I don’t have the patience for your childish delinquency.”
“Is that really how you feel?” Yoongi quirks an eyebrow at him before lifting the plastic dick to his mouth. He sticks his tongue out and slowly rolls it around the head. Locking eyes with Taehyung, he inches the plastic dick further into his mouth, pressing the head against the inside of his cheek to create a bulge.
Taehyung’s lips part slightly and he looks like a dumb little baby with his mouth hanging open as he watches Yoongi slowly squirt the vodka. Yoongi tightens his lips around the head to make sure he sucks up all the alcohol, a bit of the vodka dribbling down his chin.
“Oops,”—Yoongi giggles, wiping his face—“you know how messy I can get, right, jagi?”
By this point, Taehyung leans forward, crossing his arms on the table. Yoongi leans in as well, making the gap between the two of them smaller. Now that Taehyung’s closer, Yoongi can see the perspiration accumulating on his forehead beneath his fluffy, blue bangs. It’s definitely hot outside and there’s little shade on the bar patio. But Yoongi highly doubts the mid-June sun is the only reason Taehyung’s sweating.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” Taehyung’s voice drops low, and the tightness of his tone says more than any words can.
“What are you gonna do about it, jagi? Punish me?”
They both know Yoongi is the one who hands out punishments in this relationship. There’s nothing prettier than having Taehyung grovel at his feet. That he would try to dominate Yoongi is laughable.
Taehyung sucks the rest of his drink down, his sharp eyes flicking up to find a waiter, clearly avoiding Yoongi’s gaze. “Maybe.”
“Oh, I think you need some more alcohol in you,”—Yoongi speaks with a gummy smile, knowing it will annoy Taehyung further—“before you start talking crazy like that.”
Taehyung ignores Yoongi, instead focusing his attention on ordering another round of drinks for them. Taehyung is already one drink and one shot in. Considering Taehyung doesn’t drink often, Yoongi is sure that he’s feeling the alcohol by now.
The heat only makes it worse. When their drinks arrive, Taehyung presses the cool glass against his cheek.
“How are you so annoying, yet so cute?” Yoongi muses aloud.
“You love my annoying ass.” A tongue stuck out in his direction.
“That I do.”
Though Yoongi loves Taehyung’s boxy smile, there’s something particularly attractive about the small smiles he gives him, the toothless ones that still meet his eyes and make his cheeks go puffy. It’s absolutely adorable.
Interrupting Yoongi’s soft thoughts about Taehyung, loud music blasts from the patio speakers. It’s easy to get lost in the little world he and Taehyung have created for each other, completely oblivious to everything else.
“What’s happening?” Taehyung asks with raised eyebrows.
As if to answer Taehyung’s question personally, a bar employee appears near the patio entrance with a microphone.
“I hope you queers are having a fan-fucking-tastic Pride! I’m Georgie, your resident DJ and bubble butt extraordinaire, and I’m sooo excited to be MCing our fourth annual Pride Fest Drag Show!”
The crowd of bar customers cheer at their respective tables, including a few hoots as the employee wiggles his butt to the music.
“I’ve never seen a drag show before,” Taehyung mumbles around his straw. Yoongi, however, has been to countless drag shows. He even performed in an amateur one just for fun with a few of his friends when he was in college.
“So please get ready to sweat and make it rain for our first queen,” Georgie continues, “the one and only, Miss Mochi!”
As Georgie disappears, the music switches to an upbeat pop song. Possibly the most gorgeous drag queen Yoongi has ever seen takes position in the center of the patio. Her long blonde hair and dramatic yet soft makeup automatically makes her features stand out. She twirls for the crowd, showing off extravagant lingerie, complete with white angel wings and fake tits that look even better than Yoongi’s when they aren’t bound tight to his chest.
“Oh shit, I know her,” Yoongi remarks casually, his gaze shifting between Miss Mochi’s dancing and Taehyung, who is entranced by the queen. Yoongi can’t blame him; Miss Mochi is known locally for having the most seductive dance routines. While other drag queens are often goofy, Miss Mochi has the technical skills and fluidity of a true dancer.
“Miss Mochi?” Taehyung’s eyes follow the queen as she makes her way around the patio, every body roll and shake of her firm ass only pulling him in further.
“Her real name is Jimin,” Yoongi says, speaking just above the music. “We went to college together. Probably doesn’t remember me, though.”
Eventually, Miss Mochi ends up at a table near theirs, stopping to run her manicured fingers down the length of a seated man’s jaw as he slips a twenty-dollar bill under the thin band of her thong.
Taehyung gives Yoongi a sideways look. “Are drag shows always like this?”
Done with teasing the man to the left, Miss Mochi dances her way along the patio until she reaches their table. Now that she’s closer, Yoongi notices the men’s tie in her hand, which she uses as a dance prop as the soundtrack transitions to another classic, “S&M” by Rihanna.
“Well hello, daddy,” Miss Mochi purrs, looping the tie around Taehyung’s neck in one swift motion.
Yoongi has to hide his laughter with the back of his hand, desperately trying to stop himself from cackling at the look on Taehyung’s face as Miss Mochi addresses him. He’s got those wide eyes once again, his pouty lips falling open.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Miss Mochi flips her hair to the side and body rolls herself into Taehyung’s lap, grinding her ass directly onto his crotch.
With pure panic on his face, Taehyung looks over at Yoongi. But Yoongi is of no help. No, he’s full-on giggling now, unable to hide the tears welling in his eyes.
The entire patio hollers with excitement as Miss Mochi puts in work on Taehyung. There’s no denying it; the whole thing is hot. Miss Mochi clutches holds onto Taehyung’s thighs as she rolls her hips, grinding circles against him, and all he can do is sit back and watch. Yoongi feels a spark of heat shoot down to his core when Taehyung’s tongue slips out to wet his bottom lip.
Though the lap dance only lasts a moment, it’s enough to leave Taehyung shy. He runs his hand along the back of his neck and ducks his head, cheeks puffy with the weird, lipped smile he wears when he’s embarrassed, as Miss Mochi finally lifts herself from his lap.
“Don’t worry, babe, it happens to everyone,” Miss Mochi coos, probably realizing how nervous Taehyung is. “Might want to get someone to help you out with that, though.” She flashes Taehyung a wink as she moves past their table, but not before Yoongi hands her a tip.
The audience quickly follows Miss Mochi, but Yoongi’s attention locks onto Taehyung. “Help you with what?”
Taehyung opens his mouth and then closes it again.
“Help you with what?”
“I…” Taehyung’s eyes drop to his lap.
Although Yoongi can’t see anything because the table blocks his view, Taehyung’s inability to speak and his subtle body language gives him an idea.
“Ohhh, Taehyung.” Yoongi’s gummy smile returns. He grips the edge of the table to steady himself. “Are you hard right now?”
The bluntness of his question takes Taehyung by surprise.
“It’s fine,” he says after a moment, scooting closer to the table to prevent anyone from seeing his crotch. But that’s not what Yoongi wants to hear.
“Is it, though?” Yoongi reaches under the table to grab Taehyung’s knee, causing him to jump slightly. “You have to spend the rest of the day out here, surrounded by so many new, exciting surprises. Do you really want to be uncomfortable? I know you’re uncomfortable.”
Taehyung chews on his bottom lip, his eyes heavy and glossy from drinking. Yoongi isn’t sure how much convincing it may take to get Taehyung to let him suck him off in public, but the throbbing in his body is enough to make him try.
“Come on, daddy,” Yoongi repeats the pet name Miss Mochi had given Taehyung. The way Taehyung hollows his cheeks and glowers tells Yoongi that he’s got him right where he wants him. Taehyung always looks so stern when he gets horny.
“I told you to stop teasing me like that,” Taehyung mutters.
“Is it teasing if I’m gonna give you what you want?”
There’s that pouty frown again, like the baby he is.
With a grin, Yoongi stands, squeezing Taehyung’s hand as he pulls him up, too. “Oh, wow.” He stares down at Taehyung’s crotch, the outline of his hard cock stark in the tight little shorts he dressed him in.
Taehyung glances at Yoongi with a familiar look of horror. It’s cute how he can so easily flip from being sensual to panicking.
Yoongi quickly drags him inside the bar and weaves through the crowd until they make it to the restrooms. “Fuck me,” he grumbles, yanking down on both door handles to find them locked.
Ignoring whatever babbling Taehyung is doing, trying to tell Yoongi to let it go and that he’ll be fine, Yoongi’s eyes fall on a door marked for employees only. Checking over his shoulder, he swings the door open and shoves Taehyung inside, quickly locking it behind them.
“We are not supposed to be in here,” Taehyung whispers, untangling his arms from a bunch of mops and brooms propped in what is apparently a janitor’s closet. His protests are weak, and he watches with bated breath as Yoongi drops to his knees.
Yoongi’s nimble fingers quickly tug Taehyung’s shorts down, finally setting his cock free from the torturous confines he’d placed it in. Yoongi has to admit, the shorts are cute, but they’re definitely tight.
“It’s Pride Month. We can do whatever the fuck we want.” It’s funny; Yoongi is normally the rule-follower. Pride changes something in him.
Mimicking what he’d done to the plastic dick, Yoongi swirls his tongue around the head, flicking lightly over Taehyung’s slit to taste the precum already leaking from him. He runs the tip of his tongue along the length of his cock, tracing each prominent vein.
Taehyung lets out a shuddered breath, his hands quickly gripping Yoongi’s head, but he knows not to force him even when Yoongi continues to tease him with his tongue.
“Please,” Taehyung begs, perspiration accumulating on his forehead once again despite being in the air conditioning. “I’m so hard it hurts, please, hyung.”
Yoongi sits back for a moment to look up at Taehyung, admiring the way desperation twists his mouth and makes his jaw set tight. “I thought you said you were fine?”
“I lied, okay? I lied. Just, please, stop teasing me.”
God, Yoongi loves it when Taehyung whines.
“Only because you said please.” Yoongi smiles, gummy and smug, before taking Taehyung completely into his mouth.
Taehyung’s strangled moan rumbles through the closet, and Yoongi struggles to stop himself from gagging as a funny thought enters his head: here they are, two queers, having sex in a closet. During Pride Month, no less!
Getting past that minor mental disruption, Yoongi easily falls into a consistent rhythm of bobbing his head, humming every time he feels Taehyung’s cock hit the back of his throat.
Taehyung strokes Yoongi’s hair as he swallows him down, gathering the long strands into a ponytail to hold on to. Legs shaking. Trying not to go weak in the knees when Yoongi’s nose presses against his abdomen.
“Fuck…” Taehyung hisses. Looking down, he notices Yoongi’s hand disappear into his shorts, middle finger extended to rub light circles against his clit. If Taehyung is going to have fun, Yoongi is, too.
Taehyung draws his bottom lip between his teeth and slowly pulls away, taking a half-step back. “Hyung, let me fuck you.”
This time it’s Yoongi’s turn to be surprised. “Here? Now?”
Taehyung wanting to fuck Yoongi in an unfamiliar public place? Who the hell was he?
He motions for Yoongi to stand up, and Yoongi’s knees appreciate no longer having to dig into the concrete floor. Taehyung kisses him hard, swirling his tongue around the inside of his mouth as though he’s gathering up the taste of himself. Then he roughly turns Yoongi around to press his chest against Yoongi’s back.
“I didn’t realize men in drag was going to have you feeling some type of way,” Yoongi breathes, watching Taehyung’s hands shimmy his shorts down his thighs until his pussy is exposed. The feeling of Taehyung’s fingers swiping through Yoongi’s wet folds from behind sends his head reeling.
“Me either,” Taehyung admits with a soft laugh that’s more deceitful than it is cute, because at that moment he thrusts two long fingers inside of Yoongi. “How can you make fun of me when you’re already so wet?”
“Are you really compl—” Yoongi inhales sharply as Taehyung massages his g-spot. “Are you really complaining about me wanting to have sex with you?”
Taehyung rolls his hips against Yoongi as he thrusts his fingers, his cock slicking up as it slides against his pussy. The movement pushes Yoongi forward, and Yoongi presses his hands into the wall in front of him to hold himself up. They’re truly making it work in such a cramped space.
“I’m not complaining.” Taehyung nuzzles Yoongi’s neck, giving him a gentle kiss as he drags his fingers out of him. Wet with Yoongi’s arousal, Taehyung brings his fingers to Yoongi’s lips. “I’m very appreciative of you.”
“You’re supposed to be the adventurous one, captain.” Yoongi opens his mouth to suck Taehyung’s fingers clean.
“Just learning new things from my hyung,” Taehyung murmurs with his fingers still hooked in the corner of Yoongi’s cheek. “People would be shocked to know how dirty you are.”
Smooth and slow, Taehyung lines up with Yoongi’s hole, gradually sinking his cock inside of him. Both of them being half-clothed makes their movements awkward, but Taehyung still manages a slow, sensual stroke that makes Yoongi’s legs shake and his heart launch into his throat.
They’re lucky Taehyung’s fingers are still occupying Yoongi’s mouth to muffle the moan that would’ve been loud enough to get them caught. What comes out instead is a low groan, and a garbled attempt at saying Taehyung’s name. None of it matters, though. Yoongi’s brain is hazy. Not a single thought passes through his mind except for Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung…
“I’m sorry I didn’t suck you off,” Taehyung whispers into Yoongi’s ear. He slides his free hand forward to squeeze in between Yoongi’s thighs and stroke circles against his clit as he continues fucking him. “I know better than to leave my hyung’s cock neglected.”
How badly does Yoongi have Taehyung wrapped around his finger that he’s apologizing for that?
“But I’ll do it all night when we get home.”
Yoongi lets out a small whimper, and Taehyung finally removes his fingers from his mouth.
“What the fuck, Taehyung,” Yoongi exhales, pressing further into the wall. He tries to turn to look back as Taehyung pounds into him, jiggling his head around so his line of sight is blurred. Yoongi doesn’t even attempt to keep his head up; the alcohol, paired with the heat of Taehyung sliding in and out of him, is further turning his brain into a scrambled mess.
“What?”
Taehyung presses his hand against Yoongi’s waist to hold him in place as he continues to play with Yoongi’s cock. From how his thighs tense, trapping Taehyung’s hand between them, they both know that means he’s getting close. At this point in their relationship, Taehyung is a pro at working Yoongi’s body. He’s a master at quickies, not because he can’t last long, but because he knows how to efficiently get Yoongi to where he needs to be.
All because Yoongi trained him well, of course.
Yoongi shakes his head, letting it hang as he holds onto the wall for dear life once that sweet, hot spring in him finally snaps. He struggles to keep quiet while Taehyung fucks him through his orgasm, his walls spasming and legs quaking.
“You’re… you’re…” Yoongi doesn’t know where his thoughts are going, a train barreling off course. Just closes his eyes and falls back against Taehyung’s chest.
“I’m so lucky to have you, hyung.”
Taehyung holds Yoongi up as he chases his own high, murmuring sweet sounds into his ear until he’s coming, too. It’s sticky and sweaty, how they hold on to each other as Yoongi calms his breathing, but neither of them cares.
“You know what I was thinking earlier?” Yoongi watches Taehyung struggle to pull his tight shorts back over his ass once they’ve both cooled down. “I was thinking that we just fucked in a closet during Pride Month.”
Taehyung pauses his movements to look at Yoongi, the tiniest of smirks lifting the corner of his mouth. “That’s so problematic of us.”
“Just means we have to be extra gay to make up for it.” Yoongi wiggles his eyebrows at Taehyung’s confusion. “Let me peg you?”
“Really?” Those wide eyes are back.
Suddenly, the door handle to the closet jiggles. Yoongi and Taehyung exchange a quick, worried glance as the door bursts open, bright light stabbing at their eyes. The employee on the other side of the doorway lets out a high-pitched shriek, startled by the unexpected sight of people inside the locked closet.
“Happy Pride!” Taehyung shouts as they slip out of the closet, throwing the employee a peace sign.
Laughing, Yoongi links arms with Taehyung. He appreciates the adrenaline pumping through him; it’s just enough to mask the horror he’s going to feel later, when he’s back home and the introverted side of him reflects on the day.
“Let’s get out of here,” Yoongi says as he checks over his shoulder to see if the employee has run after them. “I think that sex store off Sheridan is calling our names. Get strapped up, right, jagi?”
AUTHOR'S ENTRY: Welcome, dear readers! I have finally returned HAHA. I understand this fanfic is overdue BUT, in my defense, this was hard to revise AND continue. I will be posting this first part because the fanfic is nearly 20K words total. This first half has been finished since early December 2025, I was just hoping I could finish the second half by January. Alas, I underestimated how difficult it would be to build off scenes from other established authors, who are far more superior in their writing than I am. I must also note that the smut scenes were EXTREMELY difficult to write because a lot of the kinks in this fanfic, especially the threesome plot, are kinks I have yet to experiment on with my partner. In particular, I had to do a lot of cross referencing and research to help my description of the scenes so that the smut scene was perceived as enjoyable than merely sensual. This fanfic is heavily inspired by the plot of @borathae's Cold Gun plot and a reimagination of @explicit-tae's Ain’t No Fun. Please give these authors their well-deserved flowers for the masterpieces they write and publish regularly. Considering the difficulty I am experiencing as a new writer, the fact that these three authors have created a space for themselves in the fanfic community is a feat I praise even more now. With that said, I hope you enjoy part one and remain patient for part two. I will be publishing part two shortly after this. Thank you!
Nowwww, please sit back and enjoy! - Lula💜
PS. Will add a header image later, I am having some difficulty putting the one I’d like together lol.
Time Started: July 05, 2025 (When I started writing the draft)
Time Finished: March 2026
Date Published: March 04, 2026
Estimated Word Count: 20K words
Plot: Hoseok x Reader (Female) x Namjoon
DISCLAIMER: Every scene in this work is a form of fiction, and ONLY RESERVED FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES. I do not, in anyway shape or form, sexualize the BTS members (or any idol) outside the fictional context. I will also not tolerate any form of sexualization of the members and other idols done outside of the fictional context. This specific work is NSFW and RESERVED FOR AUDIENCES ABOVE THE AGE OF 18. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (The "mature" function is attached for a reason.) Kindly keep any negative thoughts about kinks to yourself, no kink-shaming here!
WARNINGS: Angst, Porn with plot, HEAVY BDSM Themes, Dom/Sub dynamic, Arranged Marriage au, mafialeader!Hoseok, mafialeader!Namjoon, chaebol!Reader, dom/switch!Hoseok, sadist!Hoseok, dom/switch!Namjoon, rough/softdom!Namjoon, sub!reader, (slightly)masochist!reader, threesome - MMF, NamjoonxHoseok, HoseokxReader, NamjoonxReader, NamjoonxReaderxHoseok, Sexism/Misogyny, Implied discrimination of LGBTQIA+, Mentions of violence and guns, Mentions of safewords and safety signals, Subspace episodes and implications, Aftercare (huge scene) Open ending(?) (but a happy ending)
List of Kinks Involved:
Master kink, Cuckholding, Gagging, Sex devices, Gun play (idk if this counts tho), Slight knife play (used @mrsvante's Kinktober Jhope fanfic as a reference), Humiliation, Degradation, Name-calling (slut, whore, etc), Toys, Hair pulling, Choking, Manhandling, Cock-sucking, Whipping/Slapping, Dacryphillia, Biting, Aftercare is hot af
I'm sure yall get it now, very BDSM-based and raunchy, but that's what the aftercare is for! But yes, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
A BULLET THROUGH THE HEAD: PART ONE
You inhale and exhale shaky breaths as you keep your eyes closed. You flinch and bite your lips to stop a hiss from coming out. I apologize, Madam., the nurse says with an apologetic expression as he places the blood-soaked cotton ball on the metal tray.. He picks up a mirror from the medical cart and hands it over to you, I hope you are alright with this, Mrs. Kim-Jung. I did my best to assure that the wound will not leave a dark scar. You give the nurse a gentle smile as you take the mirror from his sweaty palms. You raise the mirror to see the damage done by the bullet that grazed your cheek, the door swings open with a loud bang and your husbands walk into the clinic. Namjoon’s eyes land on you and the fury is present and alive. Behind him, your other husband, Hoseok, has on a stern face that was less ferocious than that of his brother. When Namjoon eyes you, he is already taking long strides to confront you. Hoseok sees where this might go so he quickly follows his brother to put out any fire that might arise. The nurse scurries away when Namjoon is standing right in front of you. He was seething, and you were definitely fucked. Before he could act, Hoseok placed a hand on his chest and said, Calm yourself, Joon. The least we can do is allow her to explain. Namjoon looked over at Hoseok and let out an exasperated breath. When he turned to you, you kept your head down, fearing what anger lingered in their gazes. A hand grabbed your chin firmly, though not roughly, to make you face them. Namjoon glared and turned your face over to the side so your bandaged cheek would face them. Does it hurt? What did the medic say?, Namjoon growled out. You gulped down a shaky breath to say, It won’t scar. It’s n-nothing, at that Hoseok scoffs. Good, Namjoon stated coldly before letting your chin go.
Mind explaining how the fuck we ended up nearly losing half of our empire to our rivals? Why the fuck were you even seen with Kai?, your taller husband interrogates with a venomous look that could kill. Or were you, in fact, conniving with them this whole damn time?!, his voice raises and you could clearly see his blood was boiling. You catch him putting his hand behind him, which meant he was grabbing his gun. As you trembled for what could come next, Hoseok steps in for you. Joon. Enough with the accusations. It was said with Hoseok holding onto your other husband's hand to prevent him from even grabbing the weapon. At that, Namjoon swallows his fury and puts both his hands into his pockets, preferring Hoseok to take the lead for this. Hoseok nods and faces you, his face no less cold than Namjoon's but at least his head is in the right place.. for now. Why were you seen with Kai last Tuesday?, there was accusation underneath his tone, but you had to hold yourself high. You would never betray them, no matter how loveless this arrangement may be. You swallowed the lump in your throat before sitting up straight. I was trying to gain intel on what they were planning. I made him believe I was giving him your strategies to set us a few steps ahead of them. (you hear Namjoon scoff at that) But, that clearly did not work out too well. Hoseok chuckles, Damn right it didn't. What the fuck were you even thinking acting on your own like that. We had everything under control! He was scolding you. You felt like a little child receiving a lecture for lying. What were you thinking that time? Perhaps because she believes she can do something in this arrangement. The only purpose of her presence here is for an alliance, nothing else. Namjoon bluntly states, and it stings. Maybe because it was slightly true. Your eyes tear up from the sting as you reminisce why exactly you were here.
Your family's business was falling apart when your older brother found out about the Jung-Kim brother's search for a wife. The business was responsible for the construction of nearly half of the trade routes of the northern regions, the exact regions the brothers needed to oust their rivals. From the outside, the business was doing well, expanding the trade routes farther. However, internally, it was the opposite. Your uncle, the company's COO, brother of the company founder, AKA your father, had embezzled nearly 50 billion KRW. This made your company's budget plans plummet, nearly destroying the stocks and scaring away investors. Your brother, who was the current CEO, was nearly desperate and would have gone bankrupt if it wasn't for your husbands. The offer was simple, they needed an alliance that would help them conquer the north, and your family needed a way to salvage the damages done by your uncle. When your brother proposed to have you marry into their family in exchange of them funding the business and gaining reigns over the trade routes, they were more than amenable. Part of the agreement was that you had to be accustomed to their lifestyle, which was difficult but nothing you were not made aware of prior. Another part of the agreement was that you would be provided for thoroughly and included in matters concerning your family's business and theirs. While they agreed to the former, they refused to allow you involvement in their affairs. Well, obviously, they could not just let you into their business simply since you were their wife, you had to have some sort of experience first. Aside from this, there was no mishap in the arrangement that repulsed you. If anything, you were never too fond of your family for their disdain towards gender equality. At least with your husbands, they were willing to acknowledge your efforts in business. They had no need for children, at least not yet and you were amenable to that as well. Sex was not even required of you. If anything this arrangement was a win-win for your family and or the brothers.
That is to say, there were certainly marriage troubles. You were usually alone in the mansion. Though you did not mind the solitude, it bothered you to know you and your husbands would never really be involved in each other’s lives aside from business. Though you gradually grew familiar with the sounds of gunshots and sight of blood, the first few incidents rocked your very core. Upon the first month of your marriage, commotion struck you out of slumber when you heard the agonizing groans and shouts of Namjoon. When you rushed to the living room, the scene horrified you. Namjoon had a towel stuffed into his mouth to muffle his screams (futile though) with several of his men holding him down as the medic pried at his gunshot wound. Hoseok was pacing, blood smeared all over his hands and forearms. Some even splattered on his face as he grimaced at his brother’s suffering. The wound was raw and bloody, located on Namjoon’s right shoulder. The sight of it all made your blood boil at the same time as drain from your body. Hoseok caught a glimpse of your figure that was frozen in fear. He moved swiftly and quickly to your side causing you to flinch. Whatever words he was saying faded into nothingness that day as you slowly lost consciousness. By the time you woke up, your husbands had no blood in sight and Hoseok simply told you to “get used to this”. And you did, you slowly made yourself immune to the mafia world, - you were only there for business. And it had been like that for four years now. Now, I know what yall are thinking.. “What about sexy times??” When it came to sex, both brothers relieved themselves in a way where they would not need you nor rely on you. Though they permitted you the same privilege, you never did. You were no virgin, but also not a whore, especially while married. The thing about the chaebol world is that people love a scandal, and you being entangled with someone other than your husbands would definitely lead to that. Do not jump to conclusions, your husbands did not go hoeing around with other women. For some reason, at least for you, they never seemed interested in finding other women to relieve them.. just as much as they didn’t find you for such relief. Did you know how they relieved themselves? No. Do you have theories? Yeah. Either way, if in your family, your role was often diminished, with your husbands, it was near forgotten. They only ever struck conversation with you about your family’s business and what you could do, but there wasn’t much of anything else. However, there were small times, tiny moments, that made your heart race around them. These moments would leave you questioning your own feelings and doubting their intentions.
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Flashback
Three years ago, you climbed the kitchen counter to grab some seasonings from the uppermost shelf. You lost your footing and nearly slipped off and hit the hard-marble floors, you should have ended up with a broken arm or twisted knee. Instead, Hoseok had caught you. When he put you down, the terrifying mask your mafia husband wears regularly had dissolved into an expression of care and worry. Why would you even do this to yourself, baby?, Hoseok asked you, but all you could focus on was the tone of his voice and the title he gave you. None of your husbands had ever spoken to you with such concern and kindness until that point in your marriage. You were stuck on the high of it that Hoseok had to force you back into reality. Y/N! Are you even listening to me?, he asked with a more stern tone. While you flinched at that, you still saw the same soft expression on his face. Oh, how you wish that moment never ended.. But, it had to. That was your first ever “soft” encounter you shared with your husbands by that point. That event also made you grow more familiar with Hoseok over time, even though the softness you experienced that day rarely (or never) returned.
Two years ago, on the other hand, you experienced similar with Namjoon, just a little bit more odd than the encounter with Hoseok. You stupidly got caught in a crossfire, out in public. It was Thursday and you walked into your favorite flower shop to purchase a bouquet of orchids like you always do on Thursdays. What you didn’t know, however, was that your husband’s enemies had intercepted your arrival. They ambushed the shop, held you hostage. Luckily, before they could take you in to exchange you for ransom, Namjoon had tracked your location the minute he received intel that their rivals were following you. Shots fired, blood splattered, glass windows broken, it was utter chaos once your husband arrived. But, the goal was to get you and keep you safe. You kept your head ducked down and crawled away from where the enemy was standing, until he grabbed your ankle. Your sharp shrill reverberated throughout the chaos as you were dragged back. The motion made the glass shards scrape against your arms with you flailing them to grab onto anything. You’re coming with me, you fucking bitch!, the enemy growled out as he pinned you onto the ground. You kicked and screamed, but you felt that your husband would not hear you from all the noise. You were, however, proven wrong when the enemy was suddenly stunned into silence by a bullet through the headl. You scream as his limp body landed right on top of you. You were gasping for air amid your shrieks, sobs building up when Namjoon appear in your vision. Are you alright?!, your husband asked in a yell. You hyperventilated from everything that just unfolded (and still unfolding). Sobs were ready to erupt when Namjoon sweeps you into his arms. He has never once held you, not even touched you, and yet, here he was. His arms wrap around your trembling frame as he looked at your nerve-wrecked expression. His face screamed worry and pity as his eyes cascaded your body. Y/N, focus on me. I’m right here., he nudged you, and it was enough to push the tears pooling in your eyes. Namjoon held you as you cried, and, next thing you know, he picks you up bridal style and rushes you out the shop. Through the chaos of yelling and gunshots, your husband was swift in his maneuvers to shield you from further harm. Once you were in the safety of the armored car, your husband wrapped his coat around you, his voice fading slowly as you lost consciousness from the harsh events you just endured. When you woke up (as usual, to an empty bed), two red roses, each having a hand-written note, from both of your husbands lay on the bedside table:
Get well soon, baby.
Hoseok
I’m sorry, dear.
Namjoon
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Present
Ever since, you have craved for said softness and concern to return from your husbands. However, your patience has proven futile, especially in your current position. Perhaps because she believes she can do something in this arrangement. The only purpose of her presence here is for an alliance, nothing else, Namjoon’s words echo. Hoseok begins to retort when you already say, I’m sorry. Both men look in your direction as you begin to speak up, I’m sorry that I compromised your plans. I should have never tried to enter your lives like that. The brothers are seething, their faces unreadable. I would never betray you both, never in my life even if you took it right now. (The silence that follows from that statement is eerie but you keep your eyes straight ahead so as to avoid your husbands’ gaze) I am sorry again. You’re right, I’m only here for our alliance and nothing else, husbands. The tone of your voice was neutral but that last part was so sharp, it cut the silence. Before any of your husbands could say anything about your words, you slip off the clinic bed and walk out, rushing to your bedroom. You hear the door behind you creak open and close and Hoseok yells, Y/N, wait!. But, you have already shut your bedroom door. You slide down the doorframe as the tremors of your anxiety hit you. I am such an idiot, the thought repeats in your head and tears begin to fill your vision. What had you done to deserve this? Was a family unwilling to acknowledge that their daughter was important beyond marriage not enough? Now, you had two husbands who never see you as their wife, but merely a benefactor and bargain. Did you love your husbands? No (or at least, that is what you prefer to think), but you did wish your husbands would allow you the comfort of connection. You don’t even need them to hold you if they do not wish, - all you desire is more kindness from them. Though really, what were you expecting? These men are born and raised in a world where kindness is weakness. Perhaps, that explains your decision to carry a sub-mission by yourself, - you wanted them to welcome you into their world to feel more connected to them. Well, guess you just aren’t fit to be their wife at all. The thought makes you drag your feet towards your bed, and you fall into the sheets for slumber.
~~~~~~~
Time Lapse
Your eyes open up to near-complete darkness. You turn over to the large-span window and see that the day has faded into night, your only source of light being the busy city across your home. As you push yourself off the bed, you search for your phone for the time. 8:23 PM your phone screen presents. Wow, I must have been exhausted.. Who wouldn’t be? You were nearly ambushed when you went to what you thought would be a trap for your husbands’ rivals. Unfortunately, the trap had been for you, and you would have never gotten out of it alive if your husbands had not discovered your stupid plan and intercepted events soon enough. You pick your legs off the bed and stretch your arms as you stand. You turn on the lamps and mood lights to contrast the darkness that engulfed the space. The lights make your full length mirror more apparent to you, and you see your reflection. Your eyes land on your bandaged cheek and the image of the events that lead to the injury make you wince. Thus, you strip yourself of all your clothes and walk straight into your shower. When you see yourself more closely in your bathroom mirror though, you find that the wounds from your futile escape earlier has left bruises and marks of red and purple. Damn, I didn’t know they did so much damage.., you think to yourself before you turn away and slide your glass shower door open. Once the warm water hits your skin, it stings the scars and wounds , making you change the temperature to the cool setting. As the water runs, your mind thinks everything over again.
For the years you have spent on this earth, you have always felt so isolated. As a young girl, your only circle were other chaebol sons and daughters, none of which ever stuck around to enjoy an actual childhood. You were homeschooled, bred into learning etiquette to a T and providing business bargains for your future husband and family. You and your brother were raised very differently - there was almost no presence of sibling love there, rare were the times you and him actually spoke outside of business and family. When the time came that you turned 20, you were at marriageable age. Every date set up for you to find a husband failed as your parents never really liked the candidates, none of them were wealthy enough for their daughter, - more like, for their business. When the scandal about your uncle and the business’ closeness to bankruptcy came to light, candidates for your hand slimmed down. This event gave you a small window of freedom, - a window where your role was more than just a chaebol lady ready for marriage. It remained a lonely life, but at least you could actually step out of your confinement. You painted, danced, even escaped your bodyguards. For about a year, you weren’t imprisoned in a life planned out for you, - you could actually live for yourself for once. Sadly, duty remained a prominent demand for you, and that came in the form of your husbands. They were in search of a wife to add to their alliances as they knew the presence of a woman would present as much gain as risk. They needed a wife from connections that they would value for a lifetime, a wife who can give them exactly what they need to expand. And that wife was you. You had always heard about Jung-Kim Corporate, and you also knew they were one of the country’s most feared mafia. Of course, only the elite knew about them being mafias, and nobody dared to ever expose them to the masses… The last one who tried was never seen again, nor was his wife and two kids. You were bred for a life of riches and luxury, but not gore or blood. But then… knowing the fate they could subject you to, you preferred (at the time) to just serve your purpose to them and your family. You did not hesitate to escape the prison of your own life, only to wind up in a new, more dangerous cage. You finish scrubbing your body and reach for your towel when you begin to think back on the days leading up to your wedding.
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Flashback
As your maid finishes your hair, you let out a shaky exhale. You have always heard about the dangerous Jung-Kim brothers. Nobody knows how they became brothers to begin with. Was it a simple business title? Were they, perhaps, step-brothers or half-brothers? Some have even speculated that it was a way of hiding the fact they may be intimately involved with one another. Either way, you weren’t there to ask questions, you were there to marry and serve your purpose. Your butler walks into your room to announce, Madam, the brothers are here for you now. You give him a small nod and your maid steps back to pull your chair out. As you walk towards the staircase to head down into the living room where you will be presented to your soon-to-be-husbands. You shudder quietly as you begin to think about what kind of husbands these brothers might be. You knew only one of them were the biological but illegitimate son of Kim Sa-eon, one of the largest business sharks in East Asia, and the other had been adopted from one of his greatest allies after their death. You also knew that they both inherited his legacy of being a business shark and mafia leader. You do not really recall ever hearing much else about these men other than their victories (in both worlds). Well, at least my duty to this family is done, you think to yourself once you reach the bottom of the stairs.
You keep your eyes down to avoid eye contact with your family that is ready to sell you off into the arms of the richest yet most dangerous men in all of South Korea. It doesn’t really matter what the brothers have in store for you - marriage is what you were trained for. That doesn’t erase the fear of what you could face in the hands of these two men. Your thoughts are interrupted by your brother’s arrogance. There’s the princess! Took you long enough. (your brother doesn’t make his sarcasm anywhere near undetectable) Quite rude to make your husbands wait so long - scoffs-. You want to retort.. but that won’t save you from your fate. That’s enough, Jungkook, your mother scolds. She turns to address you now, Y/N, come now, meet Jung Hoseok and Kim Namjoon. Your head still down, you slowly inhale before you exhale while lifting your head. You see one tall man, perhaps slightly over six feet, with buff arms and a broad chest. His chiseled jawline accentuated his sharp face structure alongside his unreadable but stoic demeanor. The suit hugged whatever needed to be hugged perfectly, certainly did his physique justice. Meanwhile, the other man of slightly smaller stature is no less sharp and put-together. However, his heart shaped lips create a softer aura in spite of his odd reaction to seeing your face. His body was certainly as glorious as the other’s, his waist being snatched and legs and torso lean while dressed in a crisp white button-up sort of untucked from his smooth suit pants. His blazer hangs loosely over his shoulders, as if that made him look like a chill guy. Good evening, Sirs. My name is Jeon Y/N, you greet with a low bow. You can’t help but think about how attractive these men were, - they were a dream if you’ve ever read fiction. Both men acknowledge you with a curt nod, the shorter speaking up, My name is Jung Hoseok, and this -points to the taller- is Kim Namjoon. You honor the man’s introduction with a polite smile and tight nod. You catch a glimpse of Jungkook’s facial expression behind Namjoon, his brows rising to signal you. Releasing a sigh, you suggest to the brothers, Would either of you like to accompany me to a more private location? Perhaps so you may personally discuss your concerns with me. Your father enthusiastically chimes in, Oh a splendid idea, shall we have the study readied for your comfort, Mr. Jung and Mr. Kim?
Now in the study, you sit on the chaise lounge chair with your ankles crossed , your butler by the corner assigned to chaperone you. Both brothers are sitting across you on the chaise sofa, each man taking up space in their own way. It had been over five minutes of silence before a stoic, resigned voice breaks it. Ms. Jeon, I am sure your parents and brother have briefed you on the terms and conditions my brother and I have required of you, correct? (You nod) Good. Then we will simply sum it up for you, just to ensure you are on board with what we require of you. -signals to Hoseok-. Hoseok opens his cellphone, In summery, Ms. Jeon Y/N will be married into the Jung-Kim corporation in exchange for financial security and company funding for Jeon Corp’s trade routes and collaboration -Hoseok glances up at you before proceeding- You, Jeon Y/N, are required to attend every meeting and transaction required as representative of your family and business. In exchange, we, Kim Namjoon and Jung Hoseok, are tasked with providing you food, clothing, and shelter of the best kind, along with a 25 million KRW monthly allowance from each brother, amounting to 50 million KRW per month. With said money, you are entitled to spending, saving, and investing with it as you please, with the exception that any business related finance concerns shall be discussed with us and resolution is conjugal. You are in no way required to provide me or my brother emotional, psychological, or sexual relief, in so far as neither party initiates. Though children are currently unprecedented, should the need arise, both we as your husbands and you as our wife are entitled to proper communication and we shall provide you with proper care and security in the event of pregnancy and birth. DIscussions on this shall proceed further at another time. All the conditions, despite their simplified description, felt dehumanizing. Wow, I really am property exchange, you thought to yourself. Perhaps, maybe, the arrangement looked ideal.. But that was the problem, the arrangement was perfect. Call it rich people problems, but that doesn’t dismiss what this arrangement was, - the perfect bargain. A wife with connections, husbands with wealth stretching generations, nothing less and nothing more. You were cut off from your thoughts by Namjoon’s harsh tone. Ms. Jeon, answer my brother. Are you amenable to all the conditions?
You suck in a breath you involuntarily held in and replied curtly, I agree with all the conditions. Did you really? Your nervousness and unease were hopeful subtle, - a hope crushed with a single question. Ms. Y/N, are you absolutely certain? If you have any clarifications or objections, speak now. The question came from Hoseok, it was a resigned tone yet rather gentle. It somehow gave you more confidence to ask, What about my liberties?. It was a question that came out sour and naive, as if revealing your fears, fury, and frustration towards this arrangement. The brothers look at each other, words spoken through the eyes and whatever telepathic connection these two may have. Namjoon sighs, not dramatically, but it was enough to make you worry if you’ve upset them. We only require you to live with us, under our roof, and follow protocols for your safety. -he looks over at you- Whatever you wish to do in your free time, we shall not meddle with.Your allowance also isn’t limited to the amount we have assigned; should you need or want more, simply ask from either of us, Namjoon had answered, his voice reserved but docile.And if you are concerned with the need for children, we will not force you until such time you are ready. We will require an heir eventually, but we won’t require you to say yes when sex is demanded. You will still need to fulfill your role to carry an heir, but you will get a say as to when., Hoseok states. AN: As if there aren’t any misogynistic notes in that. Nevertheless, you find comfort in the very tight and miniscule control you will have once this arrangement is settled. What could possibly go wrong?
~~~~~~~
Time Lapse
A week after the first meeting, your family was busy preparing for the wedding. It will take place a month from now, Jungkook announced last week. The whole house was in panic now. Your mother rushed to the best designers for the wedding dress, your father negotiating the menu and catering, your brother caught up with the brothers, and you are, as usual, left by yourself. All you had to do was sit still, look pretty. You come in from the garden, your maid rushing to prepare a bath for you seeing you state. You loved gardening, a hobby nobody in your family found interesting enough. Your mother would make backhanded comments about how your ability to tend to plants should reflect your ability to care for your future children. Oftentimes, your brother talks down on the hobby as a ‘chore for servants’. How typical of your family; whatever reflected small joys was renounced to be irrelevant. That was just the life of a chaebol family, especially one so desperate to remain a chaebol family. While you wait to be called for a bath, you take yourself to the kitchen through the back entrance. As you wash away the residual dirt left from gardening, you hear the hushed conversation your brother is having with.. The brothers? You dry your hands and step quietly towards the entrance through the dining area and there they are, your brother speaking with Kim Namjoon and Jung Hoseok. Were they supposed to come over today? Why didn’t anyone tell me?, you overthink. Your visit is definitely unexpected, Mr. Jung. Had we known, we would have prepped your bride for you!, Jungkook chortles. An unexpected visit? Oh god, I need to get changed immediately. You panic and gasp as you rush to leave the kitchen.. until your curiosity takes over. But why are they here today? Why show up randomly?? You eavesdrop even more into the conversation, only to hear your brother say, My sister is quite a brat, honestly. I certainly.. care for the thing, however, she is an oddball. Okay, fuck you, Jeon Jungkook, you cuss in your head. I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t even want to see her right this instant, she is probably gardening. She looks like a witch when she does. Your brother’s words shouldn’t hurt you, he says these to your face frequently. However, the mere audacity he has to say these about you to your future husbands sort of reflects how he has always seen you, an object. God, the misogyny here… What does surprise you, however, is your husband’s response. Whatever oddities you see, whatever flaws she has, we agreed to take her and care for her for a bargain. If her ‘witchiness’ bothers you so, we are more than happy to take her sooner than later., Namjoon’s tone is dull of life - rather than reserved sharpness, there is subtle distaste. If anything, our garden needs tending to. The gardener we had last time resigned and we haven’t been satisfied with the gardening services of other gardeners, Hoseok explains, but your mind remains stuck on the fact that both brothers were willing to marry into your ‘peculiarities’. They did not see your hobby as a burden, it won’t make them hesitate. Your heart thumps against your ribs, a small grin twitches on your lips, your mind went from overthinking to going blank.
~~~~~~~
A week before the wedding
You are called on by your mother, her voice frantic and demeanor disarray. Once you enter the drawing room, she notes your presence. You called, Mother?, you ask as you walk over to her. She pats the space beside her to signal that you sit. Y/N, I understand how uncommon this is for you and I.., your mother starts. She stares at you, into you, before offering a small smile - a smile that you have never seen her present. Listen to me very closely, child. -she takes your hand into her slightly shaky ones- I want you to know that, while this arrangement is rather.. fixed. But, I want you to know, my dear, that this arrangement is as safe and secure as we could make it so for you. You process her words, yet your expressions remain morose and blue. She sees this and immediately states, We.. I have not been the kindest to you. Our family depends on these arrangements -she chuckles, it makes your heart race slightly- But, we arranged this in a way that you remain secured and protected. You feel the pressure weigh on you, and before you know it, What protection have you given me if you’ve just thrown me into the lion’s den? It was not meant to come out so harshly, nor so brutally, however your mother noted it immediately. You felt like you needed to prepare yourself for her anger, that she may belittle you or hit you. Instead, she surprises you… with her tears. You look up at her and witness her cry silently, as if her emotions have finally cracked through the surface. She closes her eyes and releases a shaky sigh, then she nods. I deserve this attitude from you. I am quite shocked it is just now you spoke to me so harshly -she looks at you- I thought you’d crack before or rebel or run away. And if you did I- (she pauses and gulps) I thought you’d end us. The silence between you both encompassed the entirety of the room. You could practically hear her heart thump against her ribs.. Or perhaps that was your own. You close your eyes, as if everything slowed down, you breathe in. The sound of your sigh seemed to run chills down your mother’s spine. You look at her again, and like all emotion was drained from you, you say, I know what I must do for this family, Mother. I know how much our family needs this. I was made for this, wasn’t I? Your mother’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, her lips falling open to retort when you interrupt. Don’t worry, Mother. I will be happy enough with my two husbands. The contract protects me well enough and secures our family too. If marrying such dangerous men will be better for all our futures, then so be it.
~~~~~~~
Day of the wedding
The cathedral bells chime behind you, the sun from the window lighting the bouquet of peonies in your hands, your hair perfectly fallen, and your face beautifully veiled by the draped thin lace. You were ready to marry, to fulfill duty. Your mother walks into the dressing room, her face tense yet unreadable. You both hadn’t spoken to each other since the day in the drawing room. She wasn’t angry, but she also wasn’t happy after the conversation. You had left her speechless, for the first time in years, the woman who raised you with stoic words and blunt opinions, had been left speechless by you. Was she expecting resistance? Or rebellion? If she was, that was always going to be a futile feat. Were you seriously ready to give up your inheritance, lifestyle, and (well) MONEY all for ONE missing thing? Fuck no. Stories like that only end well in fantasy novels. You enjoyed the little amount of freedom you had, even if it was borrowed time. Now, you are about to be wed. What an amazing event this will be! You practice your smile in the mirror, not too happy or too depressed. Your mother’s eyes remain dull but the tiny grimace her lips form when she sees your attempts to become the perfect bride. You take the time to study your mother’s body language through the large mirror. Your eyes scan to her hands, though well-manicured for the day, there are tremors and veins so blue more profound than before. Her nostrils do not flare out like they do when she stands her ground or when her confidence is through the heavens. She is blinking too much too, her gaze averting away from you only to return. Why does she seem more worried than she let on last time?, before your mind can jump to conclusions, your mouth beats you to it.
Mother, why do you look like that?, it is of genuine confusion. But your mother’s reply is one that breaks your heart. Was this truly easy for you to accept? Are you truly ready? You are now dumbfounded. This was always in the cards for you so why is she bothered now? Mother (you say as your brows crease and arms grow goosebumps) is there something you are not telling me about my husbands?, - that makes your mother turn frigid. You fully turn to her now and take careful steps towards her. The first one makes her flinch, the next few make her tremble, - you realize, My mother knows something I don’t. You stand face to face with your mother now, she is still averting her gaze. You feel the need to implore for her to address whatever it is that has both your spines shivering. You begin to speak again, Mother-. Your mother’s shaky cries stifle your words as she brings tremblings hands to clasp your arms. Y/N, why are you not afraid? Why have you not attempted to flee? These men (her eyes look to you, - an emotion of bewilderment, terror, and frustration brewing behind them.) they can hurt you, I do not care about the business anymore! I just…, her breathing is ragged, her arms still shaking. You still don’t get it though. You know just how dangerous this marriage is, but this is the life of a chaebol daughter. The sons carry the name and business, the daughters secure ties and continue the line. It was always meant to be. Though your mother seems to disagree. Y/N, I know, I know just how terrible of a mother I have been but.. Please tell me that my harshness has not made you succumb to this. That you are truly willing to marry two men and enter the most cruel parts of this world just for this family. Are you absolutely sure you do not wish to run away?!, she yells at you. It is here you can see your mother, while disagreeing of your interests and preferences, was never ready to marry you off to the brothers. She was hoping you’d make your life different.
You watch as her resolve completely crumbles and she walks over to one of the lounge chairs on the opposite side of the room. You watch as she cries into the abyss of the window’s view, as if reminiscing a time she was never a part of. You follow her and sit on the chair across from her. She looks at you, it is one with longing and.. sadness. She looks back at the window and begins, I was once put up to marry. I, too, was ready to fulfill my duty (her tears come back silently) I was always ready to fulfill my duty. And I did. I had one son and one daughter, the perfect wife for the perfect role., she begins crying more now, and you begin to pity her. You reach your hand out to hold her frail ones and she looks at you with her tears running down her temples. But it was so taxing, Y/N. It is so taxing to succumb to THIS duty and i -. She takes a breath, she takes one good look at you, and then she pulls back. She gulps down a sob and wipes away her tears as she looks back at the window before she continues. I wanted to run away so many times, but I could not. And having a daughter, it brought me back to my childhood several times. But, I had to fulfill my duty… I was just hoping you would have found a way out, an escape. (she sobs) I was hoping you would not succumb the way I did because you found a way out once. You begin to understand now, where she is coming from. You once made a life for yourself outside of duty, responsibility, and wealth. You broke free once so why come back when you were called for duty? You don’t even know yourself, but perhaps it is just that you are used to duty. Perhaps, you succumbed to your fate long before and accepted that your moment of freedom would remain what it is - a moment. You gulp as you turn your head to the window. The cathedral in your view with multiple black SUV’s pulling up to the gates. This is it, it’s time. You sigh before telling your mother, I apologize if I have disappointed you, Mother, again. … But (she looks over at you) I know my freedom will come at a cost - a cost I despise to pay. You are both looking at each other now, words somehow doing less than the silence. Mother, I will fulfill my duty, because I choose to. That was all that needed to be said.
~~~~~~~
You walk down the long, carpeted aisle as your veil drags behind you. Your steps deliberate and your face stoic. You see the silhouettes of your husbands at the ends through the lace veil and your breath shakes. Soon enough, you are at the altar waiting for the instructions of the priest (paid for his silence). He instructs the two men, Mr. Jung, Mr. Kim, please lift the veil of your bride so you may bear witness to her beauty. The two men follow suit, Namjoon on your left and Hoseok on your right, as your veil is lifted from your face and laid atop its back end. The three of you now take a good look at one another. Your white gown, embroidered with lace-trim flowers on the bodice and a train slightly shorter than your veil makes for an elegant look with enough detail to hint at unique taste. Namjoon’s suit is fully black, with only the suit’s blazer designed with black accents to add texture. Hoseok’s suit is nearly similar, except for the white button up shirt underneath instead of black like his brother’s. As time passes, before it is time to officiate this marriage, the vows are dictated. Namjoon goes first, I, Kim Namjoon, son of Kim Sa-eon, take you, Jeon Y/N, to be my lawfully wedded wife. I vow to protect you from harm’s way and to never endanger you myself. My loyalty, protection and.. care.. is yours so long as this union prevails. The words sounded more sincere than what you used to hearing from Kim Namjoon. His pause on caring for you, however, does bring you some form of confusion. The next is Hoseok who says, I, Jung Hoseok, adopted son of Kim Sa-eon and son to the late Jung JIhoon, take you, Jeon Y/N, to be my lawfully wedded wife. Whom I shall cherish, secure, and aid, who shall have no entity corrupt you. For so long as this union stands, I shall treasure you. The vows now have your head spinning. Where was all this sincerity coming from?, you ask yourself. This was not part of the rehearsals, their vows weren’t the same scripted ones you practiced. This has your tongue going dry and the words in your head are suddenly blocked.. until the priest says, Ms. Y/N, your vows? You are now hyper-aware that you are being watched. Your breathing quivers as you gaze upon your husbands. Their faces scream anticipation and worry, worry for what - you do not know. You then scream in your mind, MAKE SOMETHING UP ALREADY!!. I, Jeon Y/N, daughter of Jeon Jae-woo and Jeon Iseul, take Jung Hoseok and Kim Namjoon (you look to both men) to be my lawfully wedded husbands. I vow to cherish and care for your and support you at your worst. (AN: Damn, quick improv huh, Y/N?? LOL) You gulp and take a deep breath as you look towards the priest and say, I promise to care for my husbands and fulfill my wifely duties for the betterment of our union. Finally, the wedding comes to a close with, Mr. Jung and Mr. Kim, you may now kiss your bride. As Namjoon approaches you, cups your face in both his hands, Hoseok taking away the bouquet from yours, he leans in and kisses you deeply. The kiss is given to you with intense fervor that your hands clasp his shoulders before the crowd cheers and you both pull away. When Hoseok switches positions with Namjoon, he grabs your waist and you grab his forearms and you share a kiss of intense gentleness. Whatever was happening, you weren’t complaining because now, you had done your duty.
==========
Present
What good was duty when you can not fulfill it in your own home. As you fulfilled your duty to your family, you now have a new one, to be their wife. And yet.. the brothers have never demanded you to do so. Never asking for an heir, for your aid, for your care, for your sex. Only taking what was bargained for, never more. You want to belong, it your duty to belong… but duty turns into misery when it is the only thing that drives you. Perhaps you should have taken your mother’s advice that day. You should have run away and left freely, where duty would not consume you and rid you of what else life could offer. So now, you felt empty, because your husbands made it clear - your duty is done and you are currently useless. Why can’t you keep to yourself and simply enjoy not being demanded of anything. What was so hard to accept? That you are not yet needed or wanted? You are left to yourself, never being stopped from gardening or shopping or cooking or whatever the fuck. So why, why must you feel the need to be needed by your husbands? Well, you guess it has something to do with the fact that you are getting up from your dresser, in your flimsy nightgown, tossing your hairbrush wherever, and walking straight out your bedroom door. The centralized air conditioning makes your skin chill and everything perks up, your nipples especially. But, you don’t care. No, you are finding your husbands right this instant. Do you know why? No. Do you predict their reaction? Possibly. Will there be anything stopping you from your determination to do whatever motivated you to be determined for? Fuck no. Now, back to the issue at hand, where the hell are your husbands! You walk downstairs to the kitchen, the gardens, throughout the living room, the drawing rooms, and nothing turns up. You are ready to walk out in your nightgown and interrogate the guards when you hear a loud sound, a crack. It echoes throughout the west hallway and it repeats again, now louder. What the actual fuck., you think that, but you are possessed to go investigate where it came from. And when you follow the echoed cracks, they get louder as you approach a room you have never been curious enough to explore. It is a two-door room, painted with dark violet to complement the fact that it is in the darkest corners of the hallway. However, suddenly, the cracks stop. They stop but you are sure they came from behind those doors. You reach for the door knob and twist it, it is unlocked. SLowly, you crack the door ajar and witness what you least expected.
Right there in the dimly lit room, a bed surrounded by racks and tables full of rope like instruments. Wait - no…those are whips. And on that bed lay the brothers, both shirtless, both entangled, both clawing at each other and their lips consume the other. You can see from the lighting which silhouette is which brother. Namjoon, the larger and broader man, is seated atop the mattress. Hoseok, his leaner frame, is nestled on Namjoon’s lap. Their noises languid and actions sinful - kissing like they don’t share a wife. It all clicks now, They don’t look to you for relief or comfort because.. they have each other. The thought cracks your heart a bit, like a piece that you did not realize you kept hold of for them had now been lost. Why do I feel heartbroken?... I never even loved them., yet here you watch them with tears in your eyes. But when you pay attention to the room, you realize what the crack sounds were. Did they use the whips on each other? Your curiosity will definitely kill you, and you know to run off and forget this. You are aware this could be grounds for divorce, could be your way out, could be the official end to your duty. But, you are stuck, watching your husbands act as each other’s lover. Some form of arousal overwhelms you watching the way their hands clutch and drag over their bodies with so much adoration. The way their kiss is full of passion and longing, like they have been waiting for one another, makes your legs squeeze closed. But then, they pull away.
Namjoon and Hoseok have turned off the world now. They stare into each others’ eyes the way they always have, with love and pain. Love for each other and pain because there are limits to that love. Namjoon cups Hoseok’s face in his hands as they place their foreheads against each other. Hoseok then sighs and says, I feel bad.. Namjoon raises a brow at that, For what?.. Hoseok pulls away from Namjoon holding him by the shoulders and saying, I feel bad for Y/N. We have completely neglected her.. especially after what you said. Namjoon sighs and nods before saying, I should not have said that to her. I know. I just (He looks away and pushes Hoseok off his lap) I just hate that it was our duty. I care about her in some way. If anything, she is amazing but she reminds me of the fact that our roles are set in stone. That you and I can’t walk out there just hand in hand. Like it is impossible for us to love each other because our love is not normal… Hoseok takes Namjoon’s face and kisses him. They know how to keep the other level-headed, comfortable, and happy. When they pull away, a salivary string continues to keep them connected. If you, to some degree, accepted the framing of your role and your duty, your husbands were on the opposite. Both trained in a world where love and affection was stripped from them, there was no room for kindness if you wanted to stay on top. Namjoon lost his mother when he was but two years of age, mostly remembering her singing to him in his sleep. And a few months before that, Hoseok’s parents were killed in an assination attempt against Hoseok’s father, the most trusted ally and friend of Namjoon’s father. Thus, they were raised to stand together as brothers, to protect the legacies of both their fathers, and kill any form of kindness and optimism. However, somewhere down the line, the brothers began seeing the other as more than brothers. Whether it was pure curiosity for affection or yearning for gentle respite, it didn’t matter to the brothers. Because somehow, in some way, they found a place of comfort, care, gentleness, kindness, and maybe even love, - all the things they were prohibited from having.
Hoseok breaks the precious silence, Our duty.. It’s not Y/N’s fault, Namu. We just have to fulfill it. There was a tinge of bitterness in Hoseok’s words, like he too hated the trap of duty. But, Y/N is also fulfilling her duty, more so than we have (that makes Namjoon raise a brow) She attempted to engage into our world! Even if she.. Welp, she certainly did terrible (Y/N: Okay, fuck you Jung Hoseok. At least I tried) But, she tried anyway, the fact she even got close enough to convince the enemy long enough to trust her was a feat in itself. You gotta give her that. Namjoon smiles at that and begins to chuckle. They both share a laugh, realizing that your futile efforts were not quite futile after all. Well, I got my well-deserved punishment, didn’t I?, Namjoon says looking over at the whip Hoseok had just used on him not too long ago. Hey, you deserved it! I have never seen Y/N on the verge of tears., Hoseok retorts making Namjoon giggle. Though, honestly, do you ever think of what it would be like to share a bed with.. A woman?, this wasn’t the first time Hoseok ever brought up the idea of sleeping with the opposite sex, specifically their wife. The thought crosses Namjoon’s mind just as much as it does his brother’s. No doubt, you were a beautiful woman. Your body curved in all the right places, not to big, not too toned, not too slim, as if your were sculpted and lean. Then your face, your hazel eyes when it catches the light shine through every so often, and your lips remain moist and plush, they would make any man, no matter the sexuality, stop to wonder what they would taste like. Then your natural grace and demeanor, oh great heavens. You were snappy at the right times, enough to humor any man as much as annoy them. But, even with attitude, there was tenderness that naturally peaked through in your regular daily behavior. That was what was vexing about you, most especially to Namjoon. Your presence perpetuated the fact that their current dynamic is unacceptable, that it was only relevant when they took home a woman. What irritated him even more was that, for some deprived cause, was that he was curious of what it would be like to bed you, hug you, hold you, kiss you.. what it would be like to be with you. Hoseok, as per usual, was more expressive and verbal about his curiosity over the years, and that ticked Namjoon off, making him reject the idea of you being their wife AND lover. But, over the years of your marriage, it became harder to ignore how you piqued his and Hoseok’s interest. Of course, Hoseok noticed it quickly as his partner of many years, and it became a gradual but quiet discussion between them. Namjoon looked Hoseok in the eye and conceded, I do not know what she would like.. I don’t even know if she will even stay, Hope. Hoseok nods at that, You are right.. but maybe, if we spoke to her like ACTUALLY spoke to her, we could reach a compromise? One that isn’t just fulfilled by duty, but also with enough kindness to ease all of us. Namjoon always likes it when Hoseok exemplifies his emotional wisdom, such a relief from the regular ‘emotions off’ mode they uphold in public. The taller brings the smaller back onto his lap for a passionate make out session. They pull away with giggles and chuckles, like teenagers with puppy love. Namjoon suddenly says, You know, Hope, I do wander what it would be like to punish Y/N. Hoseok was appalled by that, quirking a brow upward, and Namjoon continues, Hey, you wonder what it would be like to fuck her, right? Imagine how much better it would be to.. dominate her. The thought turns both men on, their cocks hardening underneath their pants. Hoseok slightly grinds his groin against his lover’s and Namjoon kisses along the other’s collarbone. What they didn’t know, however, was that they weren’t the only ones turned on by the thought. What if I did want you both two punish me, what if I like the idea too?, the familiar, unexpected voice has both men pulling away and turning towards the door they forgot to lock. Standing by the door frame, you make your way inside.
your ex-ex husband taehyung is the kind of man who makes remarriage feel like finally growing into the life you were always meant to have together. taehyung loves you through every moment like he still can’t believe he was lucky enough to find his way back to you. and even in the middle of loud mornings, interrupted kisses, and chaotic children climbing into your bed most nights, he still looks at you like loving you is the easiest thing he’s ever done.
your ex-ex husband taehyung acts smug about the fact that the two of you somehow ended up remarried after your divorce. he calls you my wife constantly just because he likes the look you give him every single time. the twins have started copying him too, so now whenever you and taehyung bicker one of them always sighs dramatically and says, “daddy, be nice to your wife.”
your ex-ex husband taehyung can never finish kissing you without one of the twins materializing as if they sensed it through the walls, it genuinely feels supernatural at this point. every time he finally gets you alone, in the kitchen or pressed against your vanity in the bathroom, tiny footsteps come running down the hallway. once you were interrupted by your daughter because she forgot how to spell purple. another time your son walked into your bedroom at midnight just before taehyung could get your nightgown off, holding a single chicken tender he’d saved from dinner “in case daddy gets hungry later.” you laugh so hard taehyung threatened to move out.
your ex-ex husband taehyung once got up at three in the morning because the twins came sneaking into your room holding hands and dragging their blankets behind them. your daughter whispered that there were monsters under their beds. you gently reminded them that you were practicing independence now that they were older, and both twins immediately started whining. your son pointed at taehyung and said, “but daddy is bigger than us, so he should be independent first.” you and your husband almost burst out laughing and have to hide your faces in the pillows while the twins climb into bed anyway.
your ex-ex husband taehyung has been trying very hard to get the twins comfortable sleeping in their own room again, but the twins are absolutely against it. bedtime immediately turns into negotiations these days. they suddenly need water, another bedtime story, five more hugs, different pajamas, and a full discussion about whether sharks could survive in space. taehyung tries to be strict at first, arms crossed while reminding them they’re big kids now, but the second they start pouting at him with those glassy little eyes, he folds instantly and you have to be the tough one instead.
your ex-ex husband taehyung becomes disgustingly soft doing ordinary family things. saturday mornings usually mean music playing through the house while he dances around the kitchen making pancakes with your daughter standing on his feet and your son hanging off his back. grocery shopping turns into a full family outing because he lets the twins ‘help’ push the cart even though they almost crash into shelves every five minutes. you catch yourself staring at him sometimes because he looks happiest when he’s just being your husband and their father.
your ex-ex husband taehyung turns into a totally different person during parent teacher conferences. he tries to maintain his composed persona when walking into the classroom beside you, but the second the teacher starts complimenting the twins, he melts. he’ll sit there nodding proudly while squeezing your hand under the table. afterward he spends the entire drive home talking about how smart they are like he personally handcrafted their brains himself. when the teacher mentions the twin stubbornness, he immediately says, “they got that from you,” even though they absolutely inherited it from him.
your ex-ex husband taehyung practically short circuits the first time you casually hint at maybe wanting another baby soon. it comes up one night after finally getting the twins to sleep in their own room, your head on his chest while you mumble something about how the house has plenty of room for more babies. he goes completely still before slowly lifting his head to stare at you like you just told him he won the lottery. after that he becomes ridiculous, suddenly lingering in baby aisles at stores, sending you pictures of tiny shoes, and smiling to himself whenever he watches you with the twins.
your ex-ex husband taehyung sits beside you on the bathroom floor after you secretly buy pregnancy tests while picking the twins up from school. later that night after bedtime stories and multiple negotiations about sleeping in their own room, he keeps trying to distract you while you wait for the results. he talks nonsense just to keep you from staring at the timer, brushing kisses against your knuckles every few seconds because he can feel how nervous you are. when the first test comes back negative, disappointment quietly settles over you. after the second and third negatives, it starts hurting more than you expected. taehyung immediately pulls you into his lap and whispers against your hair, “hey… if it’s just us and the twins forever, i’m still the luckiest man alive.”
your ex-ex husband taehyung spontaneously announces a vacation because he can tell the disappointment is eating at you, no matter how much you try hiding it. the trip to tokyo disneyland feels almost healing. tae spends the entire trip acting like an overgrown child with the twins. he wears matching character hats with them, carries your daughter on his shoulders through the crowds, and insists on holding your hand during every ride. for the first time in weeks, he manages to make you laugh without you forcing it.
your ex-ex husband taehyung notices you getting sick not far into the trip. you stay at the hotel one evening with the twins asleep beside you, so he runs to a convenience store for medicine, snacks for the twins, and also buys a pregnancy test. no comments needed. after the twins are passed out, the two of you stand together in front of the massive hotel windows overlooking tokyo while waiting for the results. taehyung holds you tucked in his arms, whispering about the first time you met after your marriage had been arranged all those years ago. he admits he thought you looked too beautiful, and too smart to ever love him, and you laugh quietly through your nerves.
your ex-ex husband taehyung is the one you force to check the test because your hands are shaking too badly to do it yourself. he walks into the bathroom while you stay frozen near the windows. seconds pass, then some more. your stomach drops when he doesn’t say anything immediately. but instead of speaking, he sets the test down and walks toward you with tears already clouding his eyes. he cups your face before kissing you so softly it makes your breath catch in your throat. then he sinks to his knees in front of you and starts kissing your stomach over and over and over again while laughing breathlessly against you like he can’t believe this is real. you fold over him crying happily, fingers tangled in his hair while the soon to be big brother and sister sleep happily just a few feet away.
masterlist
a word from our sponsors 💁🏽♀️: so i feel asleep last night reading this random CUTE ass headcanon about you and your man. not bts related, not taehyung related, but of course my mind immediately went to him and the twins. not to mention i saw this adorable video and had to add it in somehow. anyways, hope you enjoyedddd 😁😁😁
HELLO??? I JUST SAW THAT ONE OF MY FAVORITE AUTHORS OF ALL TIME, LEGIT THE AUTHOR WHO INSPIRED ME TO EVEN POST MY DRAFTED FICS (Don't ask abt the Part 2 of the Namseok fic ok, I want accuracy and proper research cuz Ive never had a threesome), JUST FOLLOWED MEEEE??? LIKE THE @mrsvante FOLLOWED LITTLE OLD ME??
O m g, this is a milestone for me😭💜
Thank you so VERY much @mrsvante and I do hope you know how much I love all of your works (I have just been more on cat Tumblr these days huhu). The extensions of A Gentle Kind of Forever definitely inspired me to revise my drafted Yoongi fic. Either way, I thank you so much for always supporting me and for pushing me to.simply just post my fics regardless of what people may think of them. I love you so much boo!! AND THE LONG GAME GOT ME LONGING FOR NAMJOON!!!!
PS. Pls why is writing threesomes so hard, it feels like smthn you have to experience to be able to write of it😭💜
summary: every time he comes back to you bruised, bloodied, and alive, it’s a stolen miracle. in the hush of a rain soaked morning, without words, jungkook finally shows you what his silence has always meant.
Three soft raps against the door. The same pattern every time, a code you never spoke aloud but both understood.
It slices clean through the heavy stillness of your little house, setting your heart hammering against your ribs.
You swing your legs off the bed and move through the darkened cottage, a little faster than usual. When you open the door, the night air rushes in, cold and damp, and smelling of distant rain.
And there he is. Your ghost.
Only tonight, he’s crumbling in front of you.
Blood mats his hair to his forehead, a nasty gash carving a line through his brow. His black shirt is torn, sticky with blood where his hand clutches his side. His breathing is shallow, ragged. One eye is nearly swollen shut.
But his gaze, when it finds yours, is the same.
Soft.
Relaxed.
Like he’s relieved just to see you one more time. Your throat tightens.
“Jungkook,” you breathe, voice cracking.
He doesn’t speak. Just sways, a silent warning to his waning durability.
You catch him as he folds forward, your arms wrapping instinctively around his weight. He’s heavier than you remember. Or maybe you’re just not strong enough to carry everything he’s trying to hide anymore. It takes everything you have to guide him inside, kicking the door shut behind you with your heel.
The wood thuds back into place, locking the world out.
You steer him toward the kitchen, toward the battered table where you’ve patched him up more times than you care to remember.
But never like this.
He collapses into the chair with a grunt, grimacing as pain ripples through his body. Still, he tries to smile for you—a fleeting, broken thing that only makes your heart splinter further.
“I’m fine,” he rasps.
Liar.
You don’t bother answering. You don’t need to. The language between you has always been more hands than words. You move quickly, pulling the worn wooden box from beneath the sink that’s stocked with bandages, antibiotics, a needle and thread.
Because of him.
Because of this life he was born into, and the one you chose when you chose him.
Kneeling in front of him, you start on the shirt first. Your fingers tremble as you slice through the fabric with scissors, revealing angry bruises blooming across his ribs and a wound you know needs stitching.
He hisses when you press a damp cloth to the cut.
You murmur an apology, but he shakes his head, eyes slipping shut for a moment. As if your touch soothes more than it hurts.
You work silently, the rain beginning to fall harder outside, the world shrinking down to the flicker of the stove light and the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Every careful wipe. Every gentle pull of the thread through his skin. Every soft exhale against your hair as you lean close.
It all stitches something between you too. Something you don’t name.
By the time you finish, your hands are sticky with his blood, your knees aching from kneeling. But you don’t move. Not until he shifts, his hand fumbling for yours, catching it clumsily in his larger, rougher grasp. His fingers curl around yours, not tightly, but enough. Enough to anchor you both.
“Come on,” you whisper. “Let’s get you to bed.”
It’s not easy he’s heavy, and you’re exhausted, but between the two of you, you manage. One agonizing step at a time down the narrow hallway.
You don’t turn on any more lights.
You don’t need them.
You know this house by heart. Every creaky floorboard, every soft corner, every memory woven into the fabric of this tiny life you’ve built waiting for him to come back.
When you reach the bed, he lets you guide him down, muscles trembling with effort. You ease the covers back and sit him on the edge. Without thinking, you reach for the hem of what’s left of his shirt and peel it off him.
He winces but lets you.
Lets you see him.
All the bruises, all the scars—old and new—that you know better than your own reflection. You run a cloth gently over his skin, cleaning the worst of the blood away.
Your hands move slowly, like you’re trying to memorize him again.
He doesn’t say a word. Just watches you. Watches you like he’s afraid he won’t get to see you again. When you’re done, you pull the blanket over his battered frame, smoothing it up over his shoulders.
You hesitate.
You should give him space.
He needs rest.
You shouldn’t be selfish.
Before you can decide his hand slides from under the blanket and reaches for yours again.
Finds it.
Tugs.
The same silent plea.
The same fragile thread stretched between you, waiting to snap or to be pulled closer. You swallow the lump in your throat and crawl carefully onto the bed, mindful of his injuries.
You lie on your side facing him, close but not crowding, your hand resting lightly on his chest where his heart beats strong beneath your palm.
He lets out a long breath.
Like he’s finally safe.
You watch his face soften in the dim light. The tight lines of pain easing as his lashes flutter closed. But even as he drifts, his hand finds your wrist under the covers, holding onto you like a lifeline.
You close your eyes too, breathing him in. Salt and blood and pine and something achingly familiar. The night wraps around you both, soft and heavy and full of all the things you’ll never say.
And for once, you let yourself believe that here, in this bed, in this forgotten corner of the world, you and Jungkook are the only ones left alive. And that’s enough.
You drift somewhere between sleep and waking. Weightless and warm. Anchored only by the pulse of another heart against yours.
The world feels too soft to be real. Too fragile. As if breathing too hard might shatter it. Until you feel the brush of lips against your mouth.
Feather light. Barely there. A trembling whisper of a kiss. You stir, a soft sound escaping you, and his mouth follows you.
Another kiss.
And another.
Trailing across your lips, the bridge of your nose, the curve of your cheek. You blink your eyes open, still hazy with sleep. And find him there.
Propped on one elbow despite the faint tremor you see flicker through his muscles, despite the pain you know must still gnaw at his body. His injuries don’t matter to him now.
Only you do.
The look on his face nearly undoes your resolve. Open. Bare and so fragile in a way he’s never let himself be before. You part your lips to scold him, remind him he should be resting. But the words die in your throat when he leans down again, brushing your jaw, your throat, your collarbone with slow, reverent kisses.
He kisses you like he’s starved for it.
Like he’s been drowning in a world full of blood and violence, and you are the first breath of air he’s had in years.
Your fingers find his shoulder in the light of dawn, skimming over the bandages with trembling care. “Jungkook…” you whisper, the plea thick in your throat. “You’re hurt—”
He slowly shakes his head once, stubborn.
A hand slides up your side, following the curve of your ribs with aching tenderness.
Silent.
Unwavering.
He isn’t asking. He’s telling you—in the only language he knows.
That he needs this. Needs you.
You surrender with a soft gasp as he peels your shirt away, lifting it up over your head with and baring you to the cool kiss of the morning air.
You tremble beneath him just from the way he looks at you. Like you’re salvation. Like you’re the only thing left in the world that’s clean and worth keeping. His hands are worshipping as they roam your skin, relearning you inch by precious inch.
Callused fingertips tracing your hips, your waist, the dip of your spine.
Every touch light is enough to make you ache for more.
He’s careful, so careful, and yet there’s a silent desperation threading through his movements. A barely restrained need hovering just under the surface. You reach for him in turn, running your palms over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath the thin layers of gauze and bruised flesh.
He shudders under your touch, eyes fluttering closed for half a second as if your hands alone could undo him.
You want to tell him to stop.
To rest.
To heal.
But when he presses his forehead against yours, when he breathes you in like he’s memorizing the very essence of you…
You can’t.
You won’t.
Your body answers his without any hesitation, arching into him, welcoming him in ways words never could.
With infinite patience, he eases the last barriers of clothing between you away, until you are naked together under the pale morning light, nothing between you but breath and skin and racing hearts.
When he finally enters you, it’s so slow—so achingly slow—you feel everything, every pulse, every breathless beat of your own heart.
Gasping at the stretch, you clutch at his shoulders as he buries himself deeper, sinking until there’s no part of you he isn’t touching, no part of you that doesn’t belong to him.
He moves inside you with a rhythm that is less about pleasure and more about worship.
Slow. Measured. Tender.
Every thrust a conscious affirmation.
His mouth finds yours again. Connecting with messy kisses, desperate and deep, tasting you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. You whimper against his lips, the sound torn from some never before explored, hidden place inside you.
Jungkook answers with a shudder, his hips stuttering against yours before he steadies again, grinding at a glacial pace, dragging out the ache until it builds into something unbearable.
Something exquisitely torturous.
He presses kisses along your throat, down your collarbone, across your breasts—trailing teeth and tongue behind them everywhere he can reach without pulling away.
A hand cradles your face, your hip, your heart. As if he’s terrified you might slip through his fingers if he lets go.
The dawn of morning light paints him in gold and shadow, tracing every line of his battered body, every scar, every violent battle he’s fought. You want to cry at the sight of him.
At the miracle of him choosing you again and again and again.
Your nails scrape down his back, and he groans low in his throat, the sound rumbling through both of you. Your legs fall open wider, welcoming him closer, deeper, and he takes it—takes you without hesitation.
When your release comes, it’s not explosive.
It’s not earth shattering.
It blooms slow and sweet, washing over you in waves, pulling a soft, broken cry from your lips.
Jungkook follows you moments later, pressing his forehead against your collarbone as he spills into you with a tremor that wracks his whole body.
A prayer breathed into your skin.
A homecoming.
He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t move. He just holds you, breathing you in. Tethering himself to you as the world outside your tiny room falls away.
You run your fingers through his hair, feeling the dampness there. Sweat, maybe tears, you don’t know, but you whisper soothing nonsense against his temple. He shifts only enough to look at you, his hand rising slowly, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead.
The light catches his eyes then, so full of unspoken things it hurts. And then, softly, wrecked, like a man confessing the only truth he’s ever known—
“I’ll never leave you.” I love you.
The tears come without permission, slipping down your cheeks in slow, silent rivers. But Jungkook only kisses them away, one by one. Like he has all the time in the world.