Sometimes if you stand quietly enough, holding your breath and shutting your eyes, you can feel the rumble underneath your feet. The screams aren’t from your imagination, but echoing from the distance. And if you look, happen to squint your eyes at the horizons, you can see the explosions, the fire in the air and the smoke that always follows.
But it’s not often you can be left to your own devices to feel the battlefield come alive.
“What are you doing standing there?” You’re shoved from behind when you’re stagnant for too long. “Get a move on!”
A man is carried on a stretcher with his limbs detached. One is without an arm, the other is holding onto his left leg. There are moans and pleas not to die, for their Gods to save them, and nurses rushing about and crying out for someone to help them save a man they have laying in front of them.
The last camp was bombed. You didn’t die unfortunately. But now there was only you left.
You have no choice, but to rush ahead with them.
“Hand me the needle,” you say to the nurse. “We have to close up his wound, hurry before he bleeds out.”
“R-right. Here you go.”
“Bandages! Someone get me bandages!”
You’re betraying your nation by saving and healing the enemy. But they’ve kept you alive — not because they were merciful, rather your medical knowledge is a weapon. “Water, I need a basin of water!”
You seem to be the only one who they can force to be here to revive the dying.
A soldier’s voice suddenly booms, “Who’s the doctor here?!”
Several nurses turn in your direction, and his boots stomps on the ground, heavy, intimidating. He yanks your shoulder back. “You need to come with me!”
“Not until I finish with this patient,” you spit and tun back to the soldier that you’re suturing.
“Did you hear what I said?!” he shouts, loud enough to ring your eardrums. The soldier gets right up against your face in an act of intimidation, saliva spraying at your cheek. The nurse beside you is terrified and flinches, face scrunched, on the verge of sobbing. But you remain focused. “You dare to ignore my orders, soldier?!”
“I’m not a soldier,” you mutter, almost done as he tries to command you. You finish the last stitch, knotting it and putting your hand out to the nurse. She gives you the scissors after a moment of hesitation and you nod to her that it’s okay.
What you didn’t understand the most was why this war was happening. You were all people — all absolutely petrified internally. There wasn’t much difference. And you’ve never been able to see past that.
“There I’m done. What do you need me for?”
The soldier’s teeth are gritted at your defiance and he grabs a hold of your wrist, yanking you hard — as if your fingers weren’t already bruised, hands bandaged and peeling from working twenty hours a day.
You’re pulled across the room, past the curtain. And you find a man laying on the table, black hair, doe eyes barely blinking up at the ceiling. His face is covered in soot, opened scars and bruises that line his dry skin. Most importantly, his right hand is holding onto his chest, blood seeping past his clothing and in between his fingers.
He dry-heaves.
“What happened to him?”
“He got shot. Save him or die.” The soldier pushes you forward. There are two other nurses in the room, more than you’re used to, and the soldier stays to watch. You approach and everything clicks once you recognize the badges on his uniform.
He’s a corporal. An important figure. It makes sense as to why he has his own room, his own doctor.
The Corporal’s eyes flicker to you. He must recognize the symbols on your own clothes too as he stops you before you can reach down and open his shirt. His fingers curl into the aching parts of your wrist.
He’s still strong despite the dire state he’s in. “I…can’t trust you.”
“Well, you’re going to have to.”
But he still resists. The injured man doesn’t let go of his hand covering his wound. His jaw clenches. You glance at the two nurses, but they choose to stay out of it lest they obtain the responsibility of his condition, and the soldier merely stays silent as if he were wallpaper.
You lean down to the wounded man, speaking softly in his ear, “Listen here, Mr. Corporal, if I try to sabotage you, I’ll die. If you die, I’ll die.”
You lose either way — you can’t kill him even if you wanted to.
Slowly, the Corporal lifts his hand to reveal his chest and you analyze the condition he’s in. He stares at you and you mutter, “I’m a doctor first and foremost. I don’t care about anything else.”
You tell him you need to turn his body to see if there’s an exit point of the bullet. Only then does the nurses step in to help and you shout commands at them, flipping him over again, looking at the damage, beginning to work.
Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed, listening to your soothing voice before he’s knocked cold.
//
When he comes to, his vision is blurry and he finds the sunlight of the outside leaking through the fabric of the tent. It’s less chaotic than the night.
Jungkook hears clanging at the end of the room and finds you fiddling with materials. You must notice the heavy weight of his stare since you glance over at him, offering a polite smile. He blinks, and that smile is still there. It wasn’t just his imagination.
“Welcome back, Corporal Jeon. I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”
“Glad to be alive.”
“As am I.”
“Water,” he groans, voice cracking. You nod, quickly moving to grab the few bottles left with a hope the new shipment will arrive soon. He’s assisted in sitting up, feeling the ache in his chest and how he’s been bandaged around with his clothes replaced.
He sips the warm water and it quenches his cracking throat.
“Better?” you ask with a curious stare.
“Yes, very much so.” He hasn’t been taken care of in a very long time, and he’s relieved to wake up in a place where he doesn’t have to worry where the next direction of bullets will come from. Even if it’s just for a brief moment in time. “You saved me.”
“Yes, I did.” There’s a little smile on your features, cheeky as you tease, “At least that’s what it looks like.”
Jungkook muses that you’re pretty up close and in the light where he can see you clearly. He wonders what you look like without dirt smearing your cheeks, without your hair in disarray, without your lip split at the corner. He wonders who hurt you.
He wonders things he shouldn’t wonder for a person like him.
“I thought someone of your kind cou— never mind.”
“What?” You eye him carefully. “You thought someone of my kind couldn’t save you?”
“Why did you save me?”
“As I said, if I didn’t, I would die. I have no choice.” You shift away, looking into the cupboard of supplies with a sigh. You need more bandages. “I was trying to cross the border to find the rest of my family, but I was caught. They took me, but spared me because I was a doctor and they need…my kind. You guys don’t have many doctors willing to be on the front lines, do you?”
“Guess not,” Jungkook groans when he feels a sudden ache in his chest. “How much longer till I can go back?”
“To the field?” Your brows are raised. “There’s enough reason to send you home, corporal.”
“No.” He sighs and lays back down as you help him. “I can’t abandon my men.”
“How noble of you.” You have no reservation in unbuttoning his shirt to check his wound. He wonders if you’re used to seeing men’s bodies if you’re not at all flustered or embarrassed. “Two to three weeks and you can get back on your feet and maybe do heavy lifting.”
“And you’ll take care of me till then?” he inquires, genuinely interested — maybe it’s another thing he shouldn’t wonder.
The corner of your mouth tugs. “If that’s what you want.”
“Thank you for saving me.”
“I told you, I didn’t have a choice.”
“You told me that you’re a doctor first and foremost,” Jungkook says, recalling just last night and surprises himself that he has recollection of it. “What matters is that you saved me, and for that I owe you.”
Owe you?
“I’ve never heard that one before. Sometimes the grateful ones ask me out on a date or for dinner if they’re still alive by the end of the war. Is that what you want, Corporal Jeon?” You check his wound before butting up his shirt again.
And you decide to stay, linger, sitting on the stool for a moment of rest. Jungkook stares at you with his doe eyes. He has remarkably boyish looks if you can see past his injuries.
“If dinner is what you want, then I’ll try to stay alive for it,” he states earnestly, “But is there something you’d like?”
Your tongue rolls in your cheek, doubtful of how you should answer, doubtful of his intentions. But he gazes at you in an intense way that has your face warmer than it should. He doesn’t seem malicious or wary of you anymore. And you decide there’s no reason not to be truthful.
It’s not like he can kill you anyways — not when your hands and skill set saves you from slaughter.
“I…want to leave.”
“Okay,” Jungkook says simply, easily, catching you off guard. “I’ll promise to get you out.”
His hand suddenly lifts, pinky stretched out. It’s an innocent gesture, one that makes you laugh, and you wrap your pinky around his. The pad of your thumbs press together. He smiles softly and you match it. For once, there’s a glimmer of hope on the battlefield.
“I’m a man of my words,” he vows.
A rush of air leaves through your nose and you nod. “Then I’ll be waiting for you, Corporal Jeon.”
How about a story with Jimin or Namjoon where there's an enchanted mirror that connects to an alternate universe? The mc is able to see through the mirror and vise versa.
I took creative liberties with this one. I hope you don’t mind.
↳ The Mirrored Passageway
3.9k words || 50% Fluff, 50% Smut || Park Jimin
Warnings: Some religious themes and depiction of an all-girl christian school. Please do not read if you will be offended. Viewer discretion is advised
It’s a single file line.
You stay quiet, listening to the way everyone’s shoes tap in a single beat, each person making sure to walk down the hall in an orderly fashion. But your eyes stray away from the back of Lisa’s head to out the glass windows. It’s bright out today, the sunshine gleaming with clouds swirling the sky. You wish you could go outside to play — but then you’d get dirty and Sister Tam would be mad, and if mama hears, she’d never let you go home again.
“Suzy, close your legs!”
The nun leading the entire group barks at the older girl seated on the bench.
The student closes her legs, but she glares. Your eyes flicker to Sister Tam. She probably doesn’t like it. The last time Tiffany looked at her like that, she got hit. “Sit up and properly like a lady!”
“Sorry, Sister Tam.”
The nun leaves with a “hmph”. Lucky. Looks like Suzy’s not gonna get hit today.
Everyone continues walking down the hall towards the church. It’s afternoon mass for your grade and you find Sister Mae waiting at the doors. She opens them and welcomes each girl in. She’s much nicer than Sister Tam. “Come along children. Nice and quietly. Irene, go up to where Sister Kim is. Yes.”
She walks in, but the girl in front of you is stopped by Sister Tam. “Lisa, where are your knee high socks? Why are these black? Where are your white ones?”
“I…” The girl in front of you trembles. You feel bad, but there’s nothing you can do. “I got them dirty, Sister Tam, so I used these ones my mama got me.”
“Our dress code requires white knee high socks.” Her spit goes flying, and you flinch back. “And look at that — your skirt doesn’t go past your knees! Fix it.”
“S-sorry, Sister Tam.”
“If I catch you one more time not following the dress code, then you will be having detention with me and writing out the entire dress code by hand, young lady. Go along now.”
She nods and walks off. It’s your turn — you hope she’ll just let you in quietly, and with that wish, you shut your eyes. But you’re stopped with a firm hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, did you not brush your hair this morning, dear? It’s terribly sloppy.”
“S-sorry, Sister Tam.” Both your palms try to brush it down, but to no avail.
“Tie it if you must.” The nun dismisses you with a wave of her hand, and you shuffle to the front, sitting on the wooden bench and preparing to pray. At least she wasn’t so mean this time.
//
The moon is high in the sky in the middle of the night. It pierces the glass windows right onto your face, casted right on your eyes so that your entire form is bathing in the moonlight. You sigh, lashes fluttering, eyes still open even when it’s past midnight. All the kids around you are snoring away, rolling in their beds.
But you can’t sleep. You miss home.
You sit up in your bed, looking around. You really shouldn’t…..but you can’t go to bed. Maybe, just maybe, you can go outside for a little while. You’re sure the wind would be nice, and it’s been a long time since you’ve got to go and play.
It’s the thrill of an adventure that quells away the fear of being caught by a sister.
You hop down, toes tapping against the cold floor, white dress fluttering as you slip into the shadows, shuffling past your sleeping classmates. The corridors are dark at this time, kind of scary, but there’s no monster scarier than Sister Tam.
You’re alone in the hallways, walking through the twisted path when you suddenly hear footsteps behind you. They come closer and closer. Booming in the darkness. A single candle light seen from afar.
You spin around with a gasp.
“Did you hear that, Father Sam?”
The priest looks around. He shakes his head to the nun. “It must be the wind.”
“Right. I was saying, we need to be stricter on the children and enforce the rules before they run wild in our academy. Just today, I saw….” her voice fades off until you can’t hear it anymore.
You peek out from the adjacent hallway, right behind the stone pillar, and you take a sigh of relief, breathing again as they pass. But as you lean backwards, the wall doesn’t catch your fall.
You nearly shriek. The wall pushes back as if it were a curtain. You fall on your butt. And from the momentum, the door automatically swings shut again. The wall becoming whole once again. Sealed. As if it could never separate.
It’s silent and you turn around, eyes wide. You didn’t know there was a secret closet here. The square space is small enough to fit perhaps two people only, but there’s another door on the other side. You grab the knob and push it open, too enchanted by these hidden spaces.
“Woah.”
Your breath is stolen away from you. The dungeon is quiet enough to hear your accelerating heartbeat thundering in your ears. It’s empty, stone floors and walls, but there’s a mirror taking the entire space of the wall opposite to the door. You approach it.
It’s peculiar — you can’t see your reflection.
Instead, you see a brunette boy the same height as you, staring.
He has a round face, puffy cheeks and lips, brown eyes, short hair….
You haven’t seen a boy in years.
Your arm extends and you step up right to the mirror on the tips of your toes. Your finger is pointed and the stranger is as fascinated as you are. He brings out his own finger, tapping the pad of his index with yours. The touch startles you, and you fall forward. Instead of the silver surface catching you, you go right through it.
“Oof!”
You tumble, and when you come to, you’re sitting right on top of him, on his stomach, legs on either side. Automatically, your eyes look around, finding yourself in a small bedroom. There’s a single bed with bear bedsheets, a desk, bookshelves, toy trains, the window open with the white curtains flying in the wind.
“This isn’t the academy!” you shriek.
The boy’s eyes widen and he slaps his hand over your mouth. “Shh! My parents might come in. I’m supposed to be asleep.”
“Sorry,” you mumble against his palm. He sits up and you move off of him, turning around to find a full length mirror on his wall with a brown frame. “Where am I?”
“My room,” he says, still staring at you like he can’t believe it. He blinks. The moonlight illuminates the tiny space, casted on the profiles of your face. “Who are you?”
“I’m Y/N. I’m eight.” You show him on your fingers.
“I’m Jimin. I’m eight too,” he introduces himself, relaxing when he realizes you’re no monster. In fact, you’re just like him. “How’d you get here, Y/N?”
“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “I just found a room with a mirror and then I fell through and now I’m here. Gosh, I hope I can get back. I’m so gonna get in trouble with Sister Tam now.” You groan, imagining it already. You’re going to get the detention for the rest of your life for breaking the rules and especially for talking to a boy.
Jimin blinks. “Who’s Sister Tam?”
“The meanest nun in the world.” You pout, both of you still on Jimin’s floor in a disoriented mess. “She yells at us a lot and sometimes she hits us.”
Jimin comes closer and you realize he’s dressed in blue pajamas with koalas all over them. “Mom and dad says no one’s allowed to hit me. Why won’t you tell on her?”
“I can’t. I don’t get to talk to mom and dad a lot.” You shrug and your eyes catch something else. With a gasp, you hobble over. “This is such a cute teddy bear!”
You grab it from his desk and cuddle it to your chest. Jimin walks over and smiles. “You can have it if you want.”
“I can’t. We’re not allowed toys.” Your eyes stray and you find a bin of other toys. Opening up the lid, it’s as if you discovered a treasure chest. “You have so many!” You pull something out from the bin, struggling, and a plane accidentally comes crashing down onto the floor.
Jimin’s eyes are wide. “Oh my god. My mom and dad are gonna wake up!” he whispers harshly, but you point at him in shock. “What?”
“You just said the lord’s vain in name!”
“Is that bad?”
“Yes,” you emphasize. “You could get in trouble.”
“But mom says it all the time. She doesn’t get in trouble.”
It goes silent as you think. “Maybe cause she’s an adult.”
All of a sudden, the lights in the hallway flicker on. It leaks into Jimin’s room. Footsteps are heard coming down and the boy whirls his head around at you, eyes big. The door swings open. “Park Jimin! Are you playing—?”
The bed is a lump.
The woman’s voice tapers off into a sigh. You hold your breath, listening to the noise of the stranger cleaning up the toys that fell on the ground and placing the bear back on the desk. There are some footsteps and the door shuts quietly again.
Jimin and you are underneath the covers, faces right next to each other, legs tangled. “Do you think it’s safe?” you whisper.
“Yeah.” he murmurs back and throws the blanket off of you two.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s ‘kay. Just try to be quieter. I don’t wanna get in trouble,” he says and you nod. The two of you roll to face each other. “Where’d you come from, Y/N?”
“Oh, I go to an academy with a bunch of nuns who are my teachers. It’s called something like preparatory, all-girls, boarding, whatchamacallit. I don’t really remember. It’s a long name.”
“Is that why you don’t talk to your parents much?”
“Yeah. They live far away. I only see them sometimes on holiday.”
“Why’d they send you away?”
“They didn’t send me away.” You pout. “Dad died in the war and mama got married to someone else. I got a baby brother, and mama told me they needed my room for him. So now I’m going to school far away.”
“Oh.” Jimin frowns, lips lopsided. “Why didn’t they get you a new room?”
“I don’t know.” You never considered it. “My new dad’s house is big, but it’s scary at night. Maybe that’s why they brought me here. It’s not as scary.”
“Hmm…” He starts toying with the lace collar of your nightgown. He retracts his hand after he feels the soft material.
“Where do you go to school, Jimin?”
“I go to the one down the street. Yeonmi Elementary School. It’s fun. I get to play soccer during recess and draw after lunch.”
“That sounds fun,” you tell him. “I have to do maths.”
“Oh, we have to do maths too. I don’t like it much but dad tells me I gotta do it or I get no ice cream after dinner.”
You gasp, sitting up and hovering over him. “You get ice cream?!”
He cups your mouth when you realize how loud you’re being and you look at Jimin’s door. Luckily, his mom doesn’t come back. He grins. “You want some? I can get a stool and go get some for us.”
“No…” You pout. As much as you want to, you’ve been here kinda long. “I should go.”
The eight year old boy watches you climb off his bed. He sits up, messy hair flopping to one side and he pats the spot beside him. “You could sleep here if you want. My bed’s comfy.”
You really want to, but you’re not allowed. “I don’t wanna get you in trouble.”
“Will you come back then?” he asks frantically before you can leave, eyes rounded and imploring.
“Course.” You give a cheesy grin to him. “You’re my friend, Jimin. Right?”
“Yeah.” He returns your grin, giggling happily.
And for every other night following, you sneak out to see Jimin. You travel across the land in an instant to meet your new friend, and he lets you play with his toys. He steals ice-cream for you to eat, and you two even go outside where you get to feel the grass in between your toes.
You tell him about school, the nuns and priests, all the other girls and what they’re like. He tells you about his own school and classmates, playing soccer, how he fishes with his dad and helps his mom with baking and hangs out with his grandma. And you always listen in envy.
Sometimes, he even comes to the other side and walks around for the academy for a bit. But it’s your little secret — you don’t dare tell anyone else, not your friends, not the sisters, in case you get in trouble and never see him again.
The routine goes on for years. It’s fun to leave school, to talk to someone different, to hang out with your best friend. But a little down the line, things begin to change and alter.
He’s the only boy that you know and talk to — and you don’t understand why all the sisters in school tell you not to touch boys until marriage. Jimin doesn’t seem that dirty or bad. In fact, you like him a whole lot.
It’s this confusion that leads to curiosity. The denial and repression that makes you want to prove them wrong. You want to know what’s so different about him that makes everyone so scared of him. So you ask at age thirteen, and he lets you.
Over time, it escalates. Innocent peeks to touches to Jimin touching you, reciprocating actions and exchanging knowledge, underneath his covers in the middle of the night.
And at age seventeen…..you’re rubbing your thighs underneath your desk, tapping your fingers incessantly and waiting for the damn nun to shut the hell up.
After class, you race down the hall.
“Y/N!” Irene calls out, stopping you and making you spin around. “Are you not gonna join us for lunch?”
“I got some homework I gotta finish.” You hitch your thumb over your shoulder, unable to stop the excited smile on your face.
Your friend thinks it’s a friendly gesture and grins. “Oh, sucks. I’ll see you later then.”
You walk down the corridor, through the twisting hallways and slipping into the empty one. Once the coast is clear, you move behind the pillar and push a small part of the wall. The door is shoved open, shut, and you sprint through the mirror like it’s just air.
Arms catch you on the other side, bubbling giggles greeting you.
“Are you trying to run me over?”
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Your palms press against his cheek and you kiss him, mouths smacking on one another. He tilts his head to deepen it, pressing his body onto yours and pushing his tongue past the seam of your lips to swallow your whimper. When the pair of you part from one another, the string of saliva breaks. “God, Sister Tam would not shut up about the gospel. I thought I was going to die of boredom.”
He laughs, watching as you frantically peel off your uniform blazer and abandon it on his floor. “Eager, aren’t you?”
“Are you kidding me? I didn’t get to see you last night and ended up having to touch myself in the shower. I thought one of the sisters could hear me. God, it was so embarrassing.”
“What a dirty girl.” His eyes darken. “What were you thinking about?”
“That time I almost choked to death sucking your dick. C’mon, hurry up.” You tug on his wrist with a whine, falling back onto his small bed and letting your legs drape off the edge. You quickly shove your skirt up.
Jimin laughs and you pout at him, pulling him in by the collar of his shirt for yet another sloppy kiss. You taste his tongue, wrap your legs around him, getting your body hot before you pull away. “Are your parents home?”
“No. They’re at work.” Jimin pulls his sweatpants down in one swoop and drags your cotton panties down your legs. “I’m skipping class for this, you know.”
“Oh, poor you.” You bat your lashes. “How will I ever make it up to you?”
“Spread your legs wider,” he tells and grins at your automatic obedience. “You listen so well, hmm?” But Jimin still tests your patience in spite of your rush. His hand presses into the meat of your thigh and his other two fingers sink into you without warning.
Your back arches and he watches in interest, blatantly staring and making you more embarrassed. “How does it feel?”
“F-Fuck, so good.”
Jimin curls his knuckles into you, listening to your groan. It’s one of the few times you can be this loud and he doesn’t have to cup your mouth with his palm or watch you smother yourself with his pillow. So Jimin takes the time to relish in the way he calls your name so desperately.
“Tell me about your day.”
You open your eyes again. “Seriously?”
His fingers stop and his smile falls. “Do it.”
“Fine.” You sigh. “I had bible study first thing—” Jimin grabs his cock in his other hand and lines it up at your dripping entrance. “—and that bitch Lisa would not shut up. God, she’s probably fucking Father Sam, I swear—ah!” Jimin jerks his hips forward. Your cunt is warm and wet, and he loves it when your voice breaks the like that. “J-Jimin! Oh…my god.”
“Shouldn’t say the lord’s name in vain,” he teases.
“S-shut up.”
God, you’re so hot and cute. Jimin grabs a hold of your hips eagerly and begins to fuck you into his mattress, stretching out your tight hole. You’re right in your little school uniform, and he’s enjoying the fact that he’s ruining your innocent exterior.
Your eyes are watery, arms reaching out to him, whining his name as he defiles you. Before Jimin can finish in you, he leans in and keeps himself still deep inside you for a moment. He kisses you again, tilting his head and breathing in your scent. He missed you as much as you missed him. He wishes he could keep you here forever.
His plush lips trails off onto your neck and you automatically tilt to give him more room. He sucks at the sensitive spots and your cunt tightens around his cock. “Wait. Don’t leave marks, Jimin. Jimin!”
He makes a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat and moves to tug on the buttons of your white blouse. He sucks spots into your skin, leaving blotches of red right on top of your breasts. “No one’ll see if I leave them here.”
Jimin tugs your bra down, playing with your nipples as your arms wrap around the back of his neck. He remembers when he was thirteen and it was the first time his hand went up your nightgown and he felt you up — back when he didn’t know what he knows now.
“Jimin…”
He’s mesmerized, spellbound, and leans in close, bending your leg to your chest to get at a deeper angle. You throw your head back, shutting your eyes and he muses how pretty you are. Jimin thrusts his cock into you, watching how the sheets are wrinkled, how you’re making them smell like you and he’ll be able to get himself off tonight when he remembers this.
Jimin sweats at his hairline. “I-I’m gonna work hard. And get enough money to rescue you from that d-damn school.”
“Or you could just get me pregnant.” You open your eyes and he pins your down harder, swallowing. “They kicked Tiffany out when she came back from s-summer break pregnant.”
“Hmm, doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” He pounds into you and all conversations cease.
The bed creaks under your weight and Jimin’s greedy force. On any usual night, you’d both cringe at the noise and the way the headboard knocks against the wall for potentially bringing his parents into the room, but for now the sound is welcome with your laboured breathing and moans.
The two of you chase after the feeling, chest falling and rising, sobs of his name leaving your mouth. You jerk your own hips up to meet his pelvis, singing curses that would lead you both to damnation. And it’s a high pitched moan with a rub of your clit from the pad of his thumb that leads your toes to curl and pushes you off the edge.
You tighten around him and he presses his nose to your neck.
You have half a mind as you come down from your high. “Jimin, j-just cum inside.”
“A-are you sure?”
“If you stain my skirt, I’ll—”
He shoves himself deep into your pussy and cums. Jimin thrusts shallowly, ropes of white leaving his cock and he finishes inside of you. He collapses after he’s spent and used your pussy to his heart’s content and only rolls off of you after your soft whines of how heavy he is.
With the sunlight pouring into his childhood bedroom, he stares at you, your lashes, lips…and god, he’s so fucking in love with you, it hurts.
Without asking, he leans in and kisses you. You reciprocate lazily, feeling his soft lips that you daydream about often. The pair of you embrace each other for a second as cum runs down your thigh, but after a peek at his clock, you gasp and sit straight. “Oh my god! I’m going to be late for class!”
You wobble to your feet, pulling your skirt down, trying to pat down your hair, grabbing your blazer off his floor. Jimin eyes you and has a shit-eating grin. “Wait, shouldn’t you clean yourself off?”
You snag a tissue from off his desk, doing a haphazard job of rubbing your thigh. But you’re too frantic to notice that there’s still some of his cum dripping out of your sopping cunt. He won’t remind you that he still has your stained underwear. “I gotta go. If they give me detention again and me write out the entire Exodus chapter, I’m seriously going to kill someone.”
“Okay.” Jimin laughs, but he can’t resist you. His arm extends without him realizing and his hand encircles your wrist before you can run away. The boy pulls you back and gives a chaste peck on your lips.
You smile against it.
“You’ll come back soon?”
“I’ll come back soon,” you promise.
And just like that, you jump through his mirror.
Jimin watches your reflection running on the other side and another stupid smile plasters onto his face, irresistible. Seeing you is always better than looking at his own reflection.
mayhaps a friends to lovers jungkook fic where they’re total opposites and mayhaps some mutual pining? hakjdkf I hate how when requests are open I can never think of exactly what I wanna say lol 😩
Anonymous said: Request: “Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful.” “No. I hate you because you’re a bitch.”
smolchimchimhandz said: one of those “:0 sharing one bed!!!!!” fics but tae has a dream about a hamburger and bites the reader in his sleep
Anonymous said: I have a request! I always wanted to read a Nana( the anime/manga) inspired Au (If you haven’t seen it that’s okay) except I want the oc to be the punk rock badass girl who loves to sing and doesn’t take shit from anybody. Anyway I love your writing! I hope you continue to love what you do ❤️❤️
As decent as he could get with that handsome face of his and blessed package — but those things he was lucky enough to be born with. As far as actual skill goes, you had to do all the work. At least you could look at his face while you got yourself off. You weren’t too mad.
But the last straw is when you’re suddenly awoken in the early morning with his teeth sunk into your shoulder. What the f— “What the fuck!”
You slap his head, kick him as hard as you can in his abdomen and he wheezes, shoved off to the ground and shocked awake. The blonde man drags the soiled sheets with him as he falls. And then he blinks away his sleepiness, utterly confused while he scratches his scalp.
“You bit me!”
“Wh—…Oh. Sorry,” Tae…Tae-something, smiles sheepishly. You don’t remember his name. “I was having a dream about eating a hamburger.”
Was this guy serious?
“Are you serious?” You eye him in horror, wondering if his last two brain cells evaporated in the middle of the night. Taekwon grins and he shrugs. You’re wholly unimpressed, hitching your thumb to the door. “Get out.”
//
“You look like you had a rough night,” Hoseok comments, grinning once you enter the dressing room. You drop your guitar case with a sigh, flopping down onto the armchair and propping your feet up on the vanity.
As fun as it is to chase after fame and perform on stages across the country as a band, there came hardships and exhaustion — sometimes even outweighing the benefits. But Hoseok helps to keep the morale going, even in his playing. He has a knack for bringing more colour into the songs with his drumming skills.
It’s not to say that Yoongi’s composing is bleak and dark, but it’s bleak and dark. He’s the primary composer of the group, a keyboardist, and you sing what he gives you. Most of the time, it’s about agony and heartbreak — but you enjoy vocalizing his anger to the audience. His passion and rage is always tangible and similar to that of your own.
When you don’t see him in the room, you assume he’s off somewhere smoking a cigarette. It seems to be Yoongi’s routine before a show. Jungkook, on the other hand, is scrolling through his phone quietly. It doesn’t look like he’s warmed up with his bass for once. That thing is usually glued by his side.
“It wasn’t pleasant, I’ll give you that.”
Hoseok smirks. “Was Mr. Handsome not good? What was his name again?”
“Taemin, Taeyin, something like that.” You motion lazily and Hoseok laughs. “He bit me.”
“Kinky.”
“In the middle of my sleep. Woke me the fuck up. Said something about how he was dreaming of eating something.”
Hoseok bursts out laughing with tears in his eyes. It only pours more salt in your wounds with how he bends over, clutching your stomach, relishing in your disgust. He laughs for a full minute, stopping before exploding into even more laughter. A small part of you hopes he gets a heart attack from it and dies. “What did you do?”
“Kicked him to the curb.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t sleep with fans,” Jungkook pipes up, eyes flickering up from his screen, self-inviting himself into the conversation.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have a stick stuck up your ass.” Your mouth curls. “But you probably get off on it, don’t you, Jeon?”
Hoseok grins at the banter, borderlining argument. But this isn’t a rarity. “Guys, guys, don’t fight. It’s bad for the team environment. Try not to kill each other while I go grab Yoongi, please.”
It’s no secret you and Jungkook don’t exactly get along. You’re neutral at best to one another, trying to be civil on most days. But you’re just not compatible together. How can you be when he’s a righteous bastard who thinks he’s better than the rest of the band. You also can’t understand why he’s so strict and disciplined just to self-suffer. He’s rigid too, not at all spontaneous like you are.
It’s surprising a boring man like him would want a job like this that includes glitz and glam, attention and the spotlight.
“Did you listen to that recording I sent?”
“Nope.” You pop the ‘p’ with your lips, grabbing your electric guitar out of your case to begin warming up as Hoseok leaves to find Yoongi before all of you are late on stage again. “I was busy fucking myself on that Taejoon guy, remember?”
“When are you planning to listen to it?”
“I don’t know. When I have time.” You shrug, plucking some simple strumming patterns. Jungkook pockets his phone, jaw clenched and an annoyed look etches on his face, one you know well. Sometimes it’s good to get him riled up. It sets the mood for the angrier songs.
“Yoongi and Hoseok already heard it.”
“If Yoongi thinks it’s good, then it’s good,” you mutter. It’s as simple as that. Yoongi is the one who writes the songs. Sometimes Hoseok might help with coming up with the lyrics, but you don’t know why Jungkook is trying to write music too these days.
You’ve only written one song. But you don’t perform that one.
The silence is suddenly broken by Jungkook’s cold laugh. Your eyes flicker up to him, brow cocked, wondering if he finally lost it. “What?”
He’s condescending. “You seriously don’t care, do you?”
“I don’t need to prove anything to you,” you say shortly, looking away. “You’re not the only one who’s serious about music here, Jeon.”
“Really?” he questions. “Because it sure seems you’d rather get your pussy wet.”
“Can you not be so anal about what I do in my spare time?” You put down your guitar, unable to focus. “Last I checked, I got away from that bitch mother of mine.”
“I care if you’re neglecting your duties.”
Your mouth twists into a smile, and you loll your head to one side. “ Are you sure it’s not because you’re jealous?”
Jungkook scoffs. “Your ego is incomparable.”
“You hate me because I’m beautiful.”
“No, I hate you because you’re a bitch.”
“But you like it.” You lean towards him, elbow propped up on your knee, cheek rested in your hand. You stare and bat your lashes in an exaggerated manner. “You have a hard on for it, Jeon. You don’t need to keep it a secret. I see the way you look at me.”
“You shouldn’t project your own desires onto other people,” he says, challenging you. But Jungkook still diverts his vision elsewhere. And you see right through him.
“I mean I’ve thought about it.” You shrug, having no reason not to be honest. “I’ve thought about everyone in our group, including you.”
More than anything, you want Jungkook to admit it. So you coax him, getting to your feet, moving to hover above him, cornering him in. You lick your lips slowly. “I’m sure you have too, Jeon. You want me to suck your cock, right? Backstage, like I’ve done for our fans numerous times. You’ve seen me on my knees before.”
“You’re cocky because you’ve never been fucked well before. Everyone’s been so subpar that you think you’re the best. It’s a bit sad actually,” he says it like it’s a fact, unfazed by your attempts of seduction.
But you wonder if that’s a proposition. If he’s suggesting something else, and you try not to show your surprise too much. “Oh?”
Air rushes out of his nose. He smiles, the corners of his mouth curling. Somehow, arrogance is a good look on Jungkook — it makes you want to fuck him right now, right here, just to shut him up. “Too bad your personality is too ugly for me to waste my time on you.”
You’re taken aback by insult, standing straight with your arms crossed. He gets to his own feet, shuffling his belongings and opening his bass case. “You’re all talk and no action, Jeon.”
His voice drips of sarcasm. “Yeah, and that’s how I was able to hold onto a girlfriend for three years.”
You roll your tongue in your cheek. “Are you slut-shaming me or are you saying I could never do long-term?”
Jungkook smirks. He leans down to match your height, connecting your eyes together. Your faces are an inch away from one another. “I’m saying that you’re all talk and no action. You might be able to get people into your bed, but that doesn’t mean you can get them to stay and actually like you beyond a superficial level.”
You scoff, tipping your head. Your eyes flicker down to his mouth and that cute mole dotting below it. You swallow hard. “Really? That’s hypocritical of you, Jeon. I know you’re soft for me. Hoseok told me you were writing a love song. That’s not like you. Where’s the teenage angst about anger and death?”
“You’re such an annoying brat, you know that?”
His hand comes up to hold your jaw in place, but he isn’t rough. It’s a tender touch that you could easily shake off — but you don’t. Your lashes flutter and you catch him staring at your own lips. You lick them just to tease and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
“So you admit it?” You throw your arms around his shoulders, pushing him even closer to you until you can feel his hot breath against your skin. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you, Jeon?”
“You’ll have to figure that out for yourself when you sing my love song on stage.”
It’s intoxicating. You both lean closer to one another, no one giving in just yet, struggling to stay afloat. Jungkook whispers, his voice husky, “You’re missing out on what could be the best lay of your life.”
“Then show me.”
You lose. You give into the sexual tension that’s electrifying, practically tangible in the air. And the consequences are absolutely gratifying. You kiss him with a vigor and hastiness of being kept on edge, of long anticipation.
The pad of his fingers presses against your jaw in a silent command. Immediately, you open your mouth for him and his hot tongue intrudes, rendering you breathless. It’s overwhelming with his unforgiving force. Jungkook kisses you like he’s hungry for it, like he’s out to prove a point. You don’t know that his eyes are slightly open, taking in your pleasured expression.
You damn yourself when he draws a desperate, pathetic whimper out of you. When he smirks against your mouth. Someone with as much experience as you do shouldn’t be so flustered.
But the fucker knows what he’s doing. He’s making you hot and bothered, smearing your lipstick shamelessly. He’s more aggressive than you thought was possible. You make an attempt to try to regain control, pushing up against him, rolling your hips. But he grabs a hold of your waist.
Suddenly, Jungkook bites down on your lips. His teeth sink into the soft flesh.
You draw back with a hiss. “Ow! What was that for?”
You’re caught off guard, mouth swollen, eyes watery.
“I know you, Y/N.” Jungkook smirks, running a hand through his long black locks. He grabs his bass as normal. As if the kiss didn’t even begin to affect him. “It’s not fun for you anymore when you get what you want.”
You blink several times and when he notices your dazed expression, he barks, “Get yourself together! We have a performance!”
Jungkook leaves you with weakened knees.
It’s only then that you begin to realize just how severely you underestimate him.
I rarely see any hybrid aus where the reader is also a hybrid so can u maybe do one of those u can choose if u want it to be angsty or fluffy or both ASLONG AS THE ENDING IS A HAPPY ENDING !!! as for a member either hoseok or jungkook c: or if u think a different member would fit this type of au then u can choose. this was all over the place I'm so sorry oof
↳ NoBunny But You
1.2k words || 100% Fluff || Hybrid!AU || Jeon Jungkook
The Easter Bunny is insulting. What kind of rabbit goes around during the beginning of spring hiding chocolate eggs for human children to find?! It’s an absurd idea that boggles your mind. But it goes to show the city’s skewed views on the other half of you. Sure it’s harmless fun and annoying at best, but it’s the foundation of everything else wrong. It’s patronizing when people think they can just come up to you and pet you, comment on how you’re so cute and cuddly. Maybe you shouldn’t care so much. But you hate it. You hate being a hybrid. Neither fully human nor fully rabbit. It’s like your DNA makeup couldn’t decide on which one to be and ended up half-assing each of it. “Why are you thinking so hard?” Someone’s finger lightly pushes against your head, breaking you out your trance. But when you realize who it is, you jump up, eyes glimmering. “Jungkook!” “You were pouting.” He flops down on the couch and pulls on your arm so you collapse next to him, cuddled by his side. The brunette rabbit hybrid wraps his arm around your shoulders, doe eyes searching your expression. “What’s wrong now?” “I’m just annoyed,” you huff before it melts into a laugh as he nuzzles into your neck, hair brushing against your skin. “Jungkook, that tickles!” He hums a low note from his chest and goosebumps rise all over the back of your arms with his mouth right on your flesh, breath hot as he speaks. “What are you annoyed about? Did hat shopping go so badly?” “No….there were hats that were cute, but I knew it would get destroyed the minute I cut slits into them,” you sigh. Why didn’t hats in the city ever account for hybrids like you with long ears. It’s not like you can smother them underneath the hat. Your ears needed to pop out somewhere. It’s a terrible inconvenience. Especially with dresses and skirts that are instantly ruined once you bring scissors to them to cut a slit for your cotton ball tail. The sole person who seemed to understand your predicament was Jungkook. He was the only rabbit hybrid around you now. For a long time you wanted to move away from the farm to the city. Your parents didn’t let you until the minute they heard Jungkook was coming up here. Then they happily let you go, entrusting you to him, saying something about how reliable he was. It was fine by you. You liked being his roommate. He is your best friend after all. “I’m sure the hat still would’ve looked cute if you cut slits into them.” His finger raise to pet your ears and you snuggle into him. What a nice, friendly thing to do! He always knows how to comfort you. “Yeah, but it still sucks that we have to do that. I wish I was just full human.” “Why would you wish something like that, silly? “ “Well, doesn’t it bother you that we have to alter our clothes all the time?” “Not really.” That’s true — Jungkook seldom wears hats and he always dresses in loose gym shorts that never smother his tail. “What about when you run into predator hybrids?” The boy holds you closer, his eyes flickering to your mouth for a moment. You wonder if you left jam at the corners of it again. “They don’t bother me too much.” “How about our breeding season?” You blink at him, lashes fluttering. “How do you survive three quarters of the year?” “I...uh….” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. Jungkook’s eyes flicker down to the swell of your chest for a mere second. You wonder if there’s a stain on your pajamas again. “I get...by…” “But it’s still annoying.” You sigh once more. “At least cats and dogs go into heat, so they only experience once every so often. And apparently humans don’t feel as strong of an urge as we do. Our breeding season lasts nine months.” Jungkook swallows hard. “I know right….what a bother….mating every….single….day for nine months…..” “You know exactly how I feel!” You grin and your ears quirk when you hear his heartbeat suddenly pick up. He must really agree with you to have such a bodily reaction. “No one understands me as much as you do.” Jungkook boyishly smiles and leans in, nosing that spot on your neck again. You giggle, finding it ticklish and you playfully push his head away. His strength easily overpowers yours and it proves futile. “Why are you scenting me again?” “It’s a bonding activity,” he mutters. You hum. He was right. You do feel closer to Jungkook when you constantly smell like him. It’s a nice reminder that he has your back wherever you go. He’s always looking out for you. He’s the best best-friend in the world. “You’re so nice, Jungkook.” Once satisfied, he pulls away and stares into your eyes intensely. The two of you are so close that you foreheads can brush one another’s. “You don’t need to change anything about yourself, Y/N. You don’t need to be a full human or a full rabbit. I like you as you are now. Trust me.” You give the cheesiest grin as more giggles spill and bubble from your lips. Suddenly, you feel so much better about things. “You’re right! I should have a more positive attitude!” You contemplate, tapping your chin. “Maybe I’ll try going hat shopping with Jimin again.” “Wait.” Jungkook pauses. His eyes darken. His mouth pulls into a tight line. “You went with Jimin?” “Yeah! He so nice,” you emphasize, trying to explain just how much you meant it. “I thought going shopping with a human would be scary, and when he asked me to go, I wasn’t so sure. But he’s actually really kind. And smart. And he’s kind of cute.” You giggle again, feeling fluttery. “You should’ve introduced me to him sooner! He even wanted to invite me back to his dorm room, but it’s our movie night tonight, so I couldn’t.” There’s a held silence before he gives a long sigh. You wait expectantly. Jungkook smiles at you. “You know what? You should invite him over tomorrow for dinner.” “Really?” Your irises glimmer, eyes widening. “I think it would be...so much fun if all three of us could hang out. Play some games. Eat some food. Maybe watch a movie. I don’t think I’ve ever really sat down and talked to him….properly. He doesn’t know we live together, does he?” “I don’t think so.” You grin again. “But it sounds like a great idea. I’ll go text him right now!”
“Alright.” Jungkook smiles again and you wonder if he’s as excited as you are. “Make sure to tell him I’m looking...forward to it.” You get up, running to your room, but another thought pops into your mind and you pause on your heel, quickly hopping around. “Are you still getting nightmares? Want me to sleep in your room again?” Jungkook bobs his head. “If that’s okay with you.” “Sure. I don’t mind. I love sleeping in your bed!” And with that, you go humming and hopping away. You love Jungkook. You love his cuddles. Love his kisses. Love the way he holds you, understands you, listens to you. You would never trade him in for the entire world or even a lifetime worth of fresh carrots. He’s your bestest best friend.
hi would you maybe wanna write a period piece a la pride and prejudice? thanks so much for writing so many amazing stories 🌟
This was so fucking hard to do and I feel like it’s such a cheap version of Jane Austen but I actually had a lot of fun doing this request, so thanks!!
↳ Suspicion and Stipulation
2.3k words || 100% Fluff || Kim Seokjin || Pride and Prejudice!AU
Little is known of the intentions of a man when he attempts to court a lady in his own will without the persuasion of those most esteemed around him. If is often that love is brought about together through the opinion and influence of many — but for one man to enact in the complex thought of courtship by choice is a sight not much seen. One can only begin to question the curious nature of why a man of such fortune and admiration may subject himself to such distress.
“I have heard of the news from Francis,” said your eldest sister to you one morning while out in the field coming from town, “that Mr. Kim Seokjin had come to see you yesterday after dinner.”
“Yes, he had come to give me a book of poems I had spoken about recently.”
“He is highly educated, knows how to draw, how to play the piano.”
“You speak very highly of him, dear sister,” you replied; “if I did not know any better, I would have supposed you were his own mother primping him with praises to charm me into love.”
“I only speak of truths. Mr. Kim is a very gentlemanlike, pleasant young man. Do you not find him handsome?”
“I have yet to come to an understanding as to why so many in our village are enamoured and charmed with his being.”
“Well of course, it is not from his looks alone, but his character,” observed your sister through a half-whisper, “he is a respectable man, one of many amiable qualities.”
“Dearest sister, your words cause me to assume that you fancy Mr. Kim more than I ever could.”
“Of course I would fancy him, every girl in this place fancies Mr. Kim. But it is clear to me as it is to everyone that his affections are reserved only for you.”
“I am afraid that he is terribly arrogant and as such his affections do not interest me greatly.”
“His name has painted him an arrogant character, but I assure you he is of no such quality.”
“And how can you be so sure that he does not speak about himself until my ears would fall to their own demise?”
“I am more sure than you are unsure as judgment does not cloud my ideas,” said her to you with a scolding voice, “you ruin his reputation by your own presumptions.”
“Are you to say that I am unfairly weighing his character?”
“I am to say that you have given him no such chance to prove to you that he is a worthy candidate for your marriage.”
“I have thought of no such thing, sister,” said you as you looked away from her, “marriage is a subject serious in nature that shall not be played around with imaginations created by the mind.”
“Then why does Catherine tell me that Mr. Kim has made an engagement to you yesterday when he was visiting after dinner?”
“My goodness, Catherine was listening to the conversation?” you gasped with a frown, “Has she no regard for my private matters?”
“Only the whole family were listening in — father and mother too,” replied your sister with a laugh, “they are absolutely delighted that he came, I have not seen mother so overjoyed since Elizabeth had her wedding day. Oh, I should have been there as well, but I had to help with my aunt’s farm, how regrettable. I would have loved to hear Mr. Kim’s profession of love to you.”
“Mr. Kim’s profession was nothing to desire to hear. I am sure he has come to many homes and spoken the same words to many ladies, such a thought would not surprise me in the least bit.”
“He has made you an offer of marriage, Y/N. His sentiments are not to be trifled with. He is a straight-faced man who does not try to outwit others.”
“His large fortune is not enough to persuade me into an everlasting marriage,” you said, “I will not be so foolish as to be so easily swayed by things that do not last beyond death.”
“It amazes me how it is only you who finds excuses as to dirty his name,” your sister reprimanded; “if you do not wed soon, you will become a poor, old maid, and what is papa to do then?”
“I am sure he would rather assure my happiness than to lose a precious daughter of his. He is not one to be trifled with vain matters such as reputation.”
“But you must marry, dear sister. Marriage will bring much happiness to your life. There are matters in the world that do not provoke as much joy as a husband whom you share affections with,” she said to you, “do not tell me you fancy the company of that Mr. Fredrickson more than Mr. Kim. He is terribly short. I fear he would not be able to assist you if you need to reach objects on the highest shelf in the kitchen.”
You both laughed heartily at the idea of Mr. Fredrickson with his tight trousers trying to reach the upper cupboards of the kitchen with his little legs, and your sister added, “If you refuse a kind and pleasant man like Mr. Kim, I fear there may be no other man who would trouble themselves to romance you as your wishes in a husband are are no longer sensible.”
Before you could come up with a reply, your sister tapped you on the shoulder and briefly pointed to the distance. “Oh look there, dear sister, we have been speaking about him so much that he has come. He must have been waiting for you since the morning. What is that in which he holds — oh my, he has brought flowers.”
“Do not be so foolish as to refuse him so soon,” she said quickly before he arrived, “you ought to listen to hear what he has to say.”
It was an odd sight to see Mr. Kim walking through the field not so sure himself, for being such a tall person with handsome features. He was not at all the arrogant man you had made him to be in the rumours that have embodied themselves in your mind that you worried yourself with.
“How do you do?”
“I am fine, thank you,” you said to Mr. Kim, “this is my sister, Anne, whom I believe you have met once before while we were on our way to town.”
“Yes, I have met her. How do you do?”
“I am very well. I am glad that you have accompanied my younger sister plenty as I fear she often becomes alone — it eases my mind to know someone agreeable keeps her company during rather long mornings.”
“Oh, it is my greatest pleasure,” he said with a little smile, “I enjoy the company of your sister.”
“Yes, well, it appears as though I must come along and deliver these produce to my mother for the food will spoil if I happen to linger too long,” said your sister to Mr. Kim, and she added, “dear sister, stay to accompany Mr. Kim. The weather is pleasant and he has made it a long way to see you, it is not fair to be rude to guests.”
“Are you sure you do not need me to accompany you?” you asked of her, knowing full well of her intentions of leaving you alone with Mr. Kim, “I thought mother needed me to help her for tea?”
“Oh, I will help in place of you. Do not worry about such little matters as to tea time with mother — Go along now, do not mind me — Mr. Kim it was a pleasure to see you today, I hope you will take care of my sister.”
Mr. Kim bowed his head politely and bidded farewell. Your sister ran off without looking back, but your imagination found her with a grateful smile off to tell your other sisters of how Mr. Kim had come looking for you again.
“I trust your family is in good health?”
“Very much so, thank you,” you replied, “your own family is in good health as well?”
“Yes, they are,” he said and presented you with what he had in hand, “these daisies are for a gift to you. I…I bought them today in town for they reminded me of you greatly.”
You did not take the daisies, afraid of the consequences of accepting such flowers from a man you carry doubts against. “You are far too hasty, sir. Are you this frank with girls you deem to be worthy of your affections?”
“Alas, I must inform you that there has been no sort of woman who has heard these interests of mine,” he replied and lowered his hands, following after you closely when you walk off into the field with your fingers holding up the skirt of your dress, and he spoke quickly before you could run off as your sister had, “I only seek your attention and I am true and honest in these. Do not mistaken it for insincerities as it would harm me so.”
“I find it quite hard to believe that given your reputation.”
“And what reputation is that you speak of?”
“That you declare affections for any lady in this village if she were to give the feeling that she has an interest in you.”
“You have wronged my name, Miss. _____.”
You stopped and Mr. Kim came to stand in front of you. “I think it is no prevarication that I am very fond of you, Miss _____, and if you happen to find that warmheartedness repelling, then I do pray you say to me so as I do not wish to cause you discomfort in any sort of way,” said he, “it would be against my intentions if I were to do so.”
“I would not go so far as to find it is a discomfort or of inconvenience,” you replied, “rather, I find myself curious as to why I am the object of your affections when there are plenty of others who deem you handsome and desirable.”
Mr. Kim smiled as he said to you, “I am esteemed that you find me handsome, Miss _____, but I do wish you were more sure of yourself as any man with eyes would find you worthy of affections. I am quite fortunate that you have spared me your morning to entertain my presence.”
“You flatter me so, Mr. Kim. I do not know what to make of such your credit that you have given to me.”
He looks at you in a sort of wonderment that you cannot comprehend completely. “I do not like you for your beauty which is not to say I do not find you beautiful as you most certainly are. But I enjoy your company and find comfort in the words you give to me. Your open speech brings upon me courage no person has given me before and dismisses the fear of an uncertain present. I find myself inclined to desire a future with you, Miss _____. I fear you have have taken me in soul and heart.”
“Why do you fear so?”
“I fear your rejection would break my spirit,” he replied, “I wish to only marry you.”
“You are mad.”
“Then mad I am. I will be anything you want as long as you are happy,” said he, “I ask of you for a chance to bring you happiness for any promise you have as I am willing to give. I have come here, this morning, to profess that if you may look at me clearly, you would find that my heart is devoted to yours only. You must allow me to tell you, I have loved none but you, and I will love none but you if you do say your feelings for me are not of spite.”
You were astonished beyond expression, staring and finding that you could not be insensible to the professions he had handed to you, how he has open himself for refusal and for your criticism, and stay fearful of your answer. Your apprehension had been true, careful as to his intentions to perhaps cause you harm, but he had spoken with such honesty you cannot avoid. You cannot find yourself against the feelings nourished over mornings sharing poetry and walks to town, or do a dishonour to your heart and refuse the affections you have felt for him and tried to conceal through polite smiles.
“Mr. Kim,” replied you, “I would like to tell you that I prefer roses over daisies much so.”
He smiled and through a soft murmur as to not disrupt the delicate silence that had been held between you two in your contemplation, said, “I will make note of that.”
“Then if I my cold character has not forced your feelings away and if you may have me, then I must ask of you, if you would like to walk me home and come in for a cup of tea, and perhaps speak to my father whom should be in his study on the matters of my marriage.”
“It…it would be of my greatest pleasure.”
You both were full of joy and attention that was found difficult to repress, an eagerness that had your steps with a skip as you walked through the fields, tenderly hand-in-hand with smiles shy and faces holding warmth that could only come from shared love. You welcomed him into your home happily, your sisters giggling from the staircase and mother delighted to serve hot tea whilst Mr. Kim and you entered your father’s study where he was, perhaps to stay a little while.
I've been a silent reader for at least a couple of years!! Huge fan!! I always come back to your stories! 💜 As for ideas for stories, maybe an au set in joseon or goryeo eras, or maybe a e2l of some sort idk. Best of luck to you!! Hope you have an awesome day!
Anonymous said: feeling a yoongi royalty au? 👀
Anonymous said: *gasp* you’re doing request? 🥺 can I request an arranged marriage with jimin or yoongi? btw I love your student council series so much 💕
↳ A Fire Flower
3.4k words || 1% Fluff, 99% Angst || Min Yoongi || Historical!AU
Warnings: Murder and gruesome detailes
You run.
“Princess! Princess! Wait!” The servants behind you are shouting, grabbing their gowns in fistfuls, shuffling their feet forward. But they’re far too slow.
You glance behind you, laughing and sneaking off to the left and then the right. The whole line of your servants pass by your hiding spot and when it’s silent again, you slip into the East pavilion. You make your way past the gardens to the guards standing by the stables.
You approach with your spine straight and your chin high in the air. The guards automatically bow their heads. “Princess.”
“Give me your sword.” You motion to the left guard, but they exchange expression with one another. “Hurry!”
“But Princess—”
“You dare go against my order?! Do you know who I am?!” Your voice booms. “I am Emperor Yin and Queen Seo’s daughter. If you dare to go against my orders, you are going against the orders of my father!”
The lowly guards fall onto their knees. “We wouldn’t dare, princess.”
A smirk pulls on your lips. “Then hand me your sword now.”
Once it’s in your reach, you unsheathed it. The blade shines against the sunlight and metal hisses as you take it out fully, grasping at the handle tightly. You try to give it a swing and hum in satisfaction.
You point at the right guard. “You there. Fight me.”
“Spare me, princess!” He falls onto his knees again, this time with his head pressed to the dirt. You roll your eyes. “I would never dare to fight someone of noble blood. Your father would never forgive me.”
“Are you trying to make me angry?” You laugh mockingly, pulling up your long sleeve. “I’ve had training before. You won’t harm me so easily.”
“Princess…” The stupid guard is relentless as he is irritating.
“Princesses shouldn’t play with such sharp toys when they don’t know it’s a weapon,” a low voice speaks and you know that familiar timbre anywhere. You turn around to address a man with black hair. His eyes are narrow, reminiscent to that of a sly cat, his lips thin.
Min Yoongi, son of a minister and part of the Min clan — your betrothed.
“What are you doing here?”
“I should be asking you that.” He smiles and points to the blade you’re holding. “Don’t you think that’s dangerous?”
You stare down at it and for a moment you regard how sharp and intimidating it is. Your eyes look back up at him. “It’s not dangerous if I know how to use it.”
“Well, do you?”
“You can teach me.” Your eyes glisten. It sounds even better after you say it out loud. So you approach him with your arms behind your back, leaning down, lashes fluttering. “Please?”
Unfortunately, your coy and cute act doesn’t have much of an effect on him as it does on your father.
“Shouldn’t a girl like you be doing something else than sword fighting?” Yoongi sighs, but he still unsheathes his own sword.
You scoff, pointing the tip of the blade at him. “Say that again, and I won’t forgive you. I refuse to go flower viewing or practice calligraphy again.”
Yoongi wears that arrogant smile of his that you absolutely detest. “You’re confident, aren’t you, princess?”
“Of course I am. I don’t have any reason not to be.”
He nods. “Let’s play then — if you can wound me, I’ll convince my father to cancel our engagement.”
Your eyes are wide before a smile spreads into your face. “I will hold you accountable for your words.”
“Please, don’t hesitate, Princess.” He waves you over and you run forward, swinging your sword and attacking his neck. But he defends himself instantly with a clang of his sword.
Yoongi smirks and your own lips fall into a straight line.
“Ha!” You try another swing. There’s yet another clash of silver blades.
He’s acting as if he’s entertaining a child and it makes you angrier. With all the strength in your arms, you thrust out your sword. Yet, he deflects it with a simple flick of his wrist. You flash, lurch forward, swing. Yoongi uses one hand, doesn’t even blink, doesn’t even flinch.
“You will never win against me, princess.” Yoongi smirks. “When will you come to accept that?”
Your teeth grit. You raise your arms to try to hit him — but you’re interrupted by a roaring voice.
“What’s going on?!” The servant announces that the Emperor is here and you instantly drop the sword, grinning and running up to him.
“Father! I didn’t know that you’d be here.”
He tries not to show that he’s already giving in, that his strict facade is melting at your coos and the way you hug his arm. “I heard you ran away from your lessons again.”
“Only because they were boring.” Your nose scrunches in distaste.
“And so you’re out here causing trouble again?” He looks off and the guards fall onto their knees, heads downcasted, already begging for forgiveness. “Who gave her the sword?!”
You pout. “Father, I asked him to. It’s not their fault. And Yoongi was just teaching me.” “
Your majesty.” Your betrothed gathers his hands together, bowing his head to greet the King. “The princess seemed interested and I was teaching her how to defend herself.”
The Emperor sighs and nods. “I’m glad there’s someone to look after her.”
You stomp your foot in indignation. “He doesn’t look after me!”
“I made sure to go easy on her, your majesty,” Yoongi informs shortly and you gasp in offence, frowning at him. He ignores you, but you see that little smile on his face. You should’ve just skewed him when you had the chance — he’s so infuriating.
“There, there, don’t be upset.” Your father pats your back, already seeing the way your features were twisted, on the verge of throwing another one of your infamous tantrums. “We can’t always be good at everything.”
“If I had a proper teacher, I’d be better at it.”
Your father smiles softly. “Your mother would never allow it. If she knew you were here, she’d be angry. Let’s not make her that way.”
You pout again, fiddling with the fabric of your extravagant skirt. Yoongi smiles and puts his sword away. “If I may, your majesty, I must go speak to my father.”
“Of course.” He nods his head, dismissing the younger male and you watch him leave.
You end up walking with your father, the servants left behind as you stride up the bridge over the river, staring at the flowerbeds. “I see you’ve been close to him these days….” your father notes, giving a knowing smile.
You tear your eyes away from the flowers — something you never cared much for when there were much more exciting things. “He came out of nowhere to make me angry. We aren’t close!”
He laughs heartily, nodding his head with his arms behind his back. You brush his dragon robes, how majesty he looks in gold and red. But up close, you realize how old he’s gotten, strands of hair gray, wrinkles marring his expression. You sigh, looking at your own reflection in the water.
“Must I marry him, father?”
“Why? Do you not enjoy his company?”
“It’s not that….I just….I don’t want to be made to do something. I know I’m not allowed, but I want to be able to choose. If the princess of the kingdom cannot even choose her own partner, then who can?”
“Some things in life you cannot choose. Fighting will bring you more pain. You must only come to accept them,” he says, but you don’t understand what he exactly means. Your father meets your eyes and is firm. “You must. It’s important for us to have ties to the Min clan. Not just for you, but for our kingdom and our people. Sacrifice must be made sometimes.”
You huff, unable to comprehend why you must have ties with the Min clan. Your father is the Great Emperor — he shouldn’t need anything from anyone. “You only want me to wed to him because he’s the son of the finance minister.”
“He is also a kind, patient, and highly educated individual. You both have compatible fortunes as well. He will make a good husband and father. There is no one better than him.”
“You’re better.” You hug his arm and underneath his robes, you can feel his bones. It’s no longer like when you were a child and he could lift you without batting a lash. “Can’t I stay by your side forever? You, mother, Taeho, and I. I don’t have to go anywhere. I don’t have to join another family.”
Your father laughs joyfully. “You can’t be naive all the time, child. What will happen when I die? Would you really want to be alone with no one to keep you company?”
“You won’t die for a long time,” you reaffirm. “And I’m sure Taeho wouldn’t mind having me around.”
“Palace life is difficult, child. I only wish the best for you.”
“Then reconsider my marriage with Yoongi,” you coax. “Or at least…give me some time. I don’t want to wed him when we barely know each other.”
It’s silent until he finally makes a noise at the back of his throat. “You’ve been arranged to marry him for years now. Delaying such a promise back will not be an easy one.”
“It’s not like we’re breaking it,” you tell with a grin.
Your father nods. “I will reconsider.”
That’s enough for you to throw your hands in the air and giggle, pulling him in a tight squeeze that garners his chuckles. You might not win against Yoongi in terms of strength, but you have your own ways.
Little do you know just how dire the consequences are for your selfish wish.
//
It’s the middle of the night, a new moon that has the sky blanked in black, that you hear footsteps on the roof of your room. You’re brought out of your slumber, rising to stare at the shadow cast at your door, a mysterious silhouette that paint itself outside.
You shout, “Who’s there?”
You gather your blanket to hide your underclothes, screaming at the shadow until it moves. Until it opens the door. And a boy with blanked hair and cat-like eyes greets you. “Yoongi?”
“We need to go.” He approaches and his sword catches the light, blinding your eyes.
“What?”
“Hurry.” He pulls the blanket and grabs your wrist.
“What are you doing?!” You resist, but he yanks your hand to his chest and you lose your balance, until you’re caught by him, body pressed against his. His gaze is deep and boring into your eyes. The close proximity renders you speechless.
“There’s no time to explain.” He brings you out of your room, but you’re slowed when you see the orange flames, the smoke curling into the air.
But what takes your attention isn’t the fire. It’s the red on the walls and paper windows. Stained splotches of red that look like they’ve been sprayed. Blood.
“What’s going on?” you ask desperately, tears welling in your eyes, voice catching in your throat.
He hides behind a pillar, peeking you out while keeping you right by his side. “We’re being overthrown by the ministers.”
“What?” The syllable spills out harshly off your tongue. “How dare they? Where’s my father?!”
“He’s been captured.”
Your blood runs cold. Your heart stops beating. Your stomach drops. You feel sick, like you might throw up. But there’s no time for any sort of reaction like that, not when Yoongi pulls you along, running to the next hiding place.
You stumble on your feet. You’re too slow.
Someone calls out. “Sir!”
Yoongi halts. He hesitates. The stranger calls out to him again and there’s a rush of footsteps that follow, clanging of armour. They’re not the palace guards coming to save you. They’re rebels. “Sir?!”
Yoongi steps away from behind the wall. He drags your body out. He holds your arm up as if you were a prize that was meant to be caught. “I have her.”
You whirl your head to stare at him, knees trembling.
Yoongi swallows hard. “Bring her to my father.”
You’ve been betrayed by your betrothed. You scream his name in agony and rage, spitting it out at the top of your lungs. “Yoongi! Min Yoongi! You son of a bastard! God will damn you! Let me go! Let me go this instant! Do you know who I am?! I am the princess! You all will die! The minute my father gets his hands on you—!”
Your voice shrieks, tearing from your throat, bloodcurdling. But your defiance and resistance doesn’t last long. You’re pushed and shoved into the throne room, gasping when you see your father, mother, younger brother tied up. Each with a sword pressed to their necks.
“Y/N!” — “Sister!”
You sob, unable to run to them when you’re being held back, physically restrained.
The man standing beside your father turns around. He wears a smirk you find all too familiar, his eyes cat-like and narrowed into you. Yoongi’s father has his arms behind his back, proud that he was the minister who orchestrated this all.
“How dare you!”
“Y/N.” Your father is quiet and composed. “It’s okay.”
You’re shoved onto your knees. Yoongi’s father smiles, walking over slowly to hover above you. “Here’s a sight I’ve never seen before. The entire royal family bowing down to me….and his precious, little daughter so vulnerable.”
His finger brings up your chin, looking at your face in the dim candlelight. You flinch away to glare. “Heaven will never allow you to rule,” you curse him in spite. “You do not have the divine right—”
“And you think your father does?” he laughs, mockingly. “Your grandfather won the throne through blood and betrayal. I’m not doing anything different from what he has done. I am merely taking back what should’ve never been yours. For too long, I’ve waited and let this nation suffer. I thought my son could one day save it, but that was a wish too inconceivable. I will not wait anymore. It’s time for it to be brought into a new era of prosperity.”
“Prosperity?” your mother hisses. “Do not mask your greed for altruism.”
He scoffs and the corner of his mouth curls. “My greed is not the one to be spoken about, Sowon. You’ve killed and harmed countless girls to achieve the position that you have. Your list of crimes is too long to know.”
“Don’t speak to my mother that way!” you scream at him, “You are a traitor. You all are.” You face the ministers surrounding you, horrified that they’re content with allowing this to happen, that they merely divert their eyes and stay silent. “And you will pay for your crimes!”
He chuckles, lifting his hand and instantly, the guards press their swords tighter against your throats. The blade nearly breaks skin and draws blood.
The minister paces around your father. “Yin, you have been found to have committed treason against the country during your rule, acting against the nation’s interest in order to protect your family, and for this, you will pay with your life.”
He shuts his eyes as you shriek. Your father merely murmurs, “Protect the crown prince.”
Your family sobs, tears dripping onto the floor. The minister pulls out the Emperor’s own sword, but instead of decapitating your father’s head from his neck in a single swing, he tosses it on the ground, right in front of you. It clangs horrifically and you wince.
“Betray your father the same way he has betrayed the nation. Go against your filial duty and your mother and brother’s life will be spared. If not, they will die.”
A high-pitched shriek rings into your ear, horrified and pained — and it takes a moment until you realize it’s your own. The held blades begin to cut into your throat, into your mother’s and Taeho’s.
Your eyes widen, shocked, breaths staggering. You’re staring at the silver blade. You don’t notice Yoongi who has run to the entrance of the throne room, his shadow casted on the door.
“I….I….”
“No! Don’t!” Your mother shrieks, her hair falling in front of her face. Her honour is lost, name smeared with dirt.
Your father opens his eyes again, adorning a soft smile and he nods towards you. You know that look of his. “You must protect your brother.”
“I…” Tears shed down your cheeks. You’re forced to stand by the guards, held by the collar of your attire. The sword is shoved into your hands, the tip of another pointed at the small of your back. “I can’t…”
“You c-can.” Your father tells. “It’s okay.”
Your mother and brother wail, crying. Blood begins to drip to where the swords are held against their necks. You tremble, staggering forward, pushed and shoved. Your father shuts his eyes and you’re brought in front of him. “I….I can’t….”
Suddenly, your father reaches out. He grabs a hold of the blade tightly, sinking his hand into it and he throws himself forward. He runs the sword into his body. Blood spits from his mouth, spraying onto your cheek.
You drop the sword, staggering back. Broken sobs are caught in your throat. Your heart stops, hands shaking, and you collapse. Breaths pull out of your lungs — you can’t breathe no matter how much you gasp. Your father looks at you, nodding his head, and then he slumps over.
All at once, the other guards slash down at your mother and younger brother. Cruel and unsparing. The last of your family’s wails are cut short. “Sist—!” And they fall over.
Blood drips down from the sword in thick puddles. It trickles like summer rain. And it spreads, coating the golden floors of the throne room in the shade of carmine. Your hands become wet and warm with your family’s blood.
You can’t feel your body.
“Shall we kill her, your majesty?” the guard asks the minister, waiting for his signal.
Yoongi’s father smiles. He walks over the bodies, unsympathetic that his shoes are soaked in scarlet. He tilts your chin up with his index finger. “It would be a shame if such beauty went to waste.” He smiles and stands straight. “She will become my courtesan.”
“Yes, your majesty.” You’re dragged upwards by your arms, legs dangling like a doll.
“Prepare her and bring her to my room tonight.”
As you’re dragged out, you watch Yoongi’s father climbs the steps up to the throne.
You’re brought out into the darkness, carried by two guards. But suddenly, they whimper, falling onto their knees, slashed on their backs. They drop dead.
You barely manage to hold yourself up, but you feel yourself being shaken, a faraway voice raspy and speaking to you. You’re dizzy, world spinning around you, not sure if you’re dead or alive. But you find cat-like eyes that you detest to the core of your being in front of you.
You’re pushed forward by him, stumbling towards a horse by the stable. You know it’s your only escape, your only opportunity. It’s the only thing your numb mind can focus on, and with the rest of your strength, you climb up onto it.
You lay on the animal it and it cries out, hooved digging into the dirt as it sprints. You try to hold on with your blood stained hands.
But you glance behind you once more to the palace engulfed by fire.
Min Yoongi — you will kill him and his father. You will crush their limbs beneath your feet before beheading him slowly at the bottom steps of the throne. You will come back and you will slaughter every single one of them, the ministers, the rebels, the traitors. You will avenge your family and clear their names by hanging their heads out on display. It’s a vow you swear yourself by.
Your hands are already stained with blood — more of it wouldn’t matter now.
For a request, how about Tae and the reader where hs sweethearts and really loved each other, but then the reader had to move far away for some reason and they lost contact. Then years later when they’re both adults they meet again because they end up working at the same place. Maybe Tae wants to try things again because he really felt they were real but the reader is unsure and thinks they were too young before. You can decide the ending. It’s a story idea I’ve had for a while now 😅 Thanks! 💜
↳ Sixteen Over Thirty
1.5k words || 100% Fluff || Kim Taehyung
Everyone has a period of time in their life that they want to hide. For you and many others, that time is high school. When you were awkward and gawky, limbs suddenly longer than they’ve ever been before, acne cursing you as you tried to fit in the cesspool of superficial teenagers. You still cringe remembering just how unbearable you were. On your worst days, you’re reminded that you used to write lyrics of romance songs on the margins of your notes and that you wanted to someday get a tattoo of them. You wrote romantic poems, daydreamed scenes from chick flicks and thought it was your own life. Worse of all — you thought you found your soulmate. You used to scribble ‘Kim Y/N’ all over your journal, and you’re sure your teenage self would’ve gotten married had it been legal at sixteen. You would’ve said yes the second he popped the question. It’s a horrifying thought. “Why’s it horrifying?” A mirage of your teenage self confronts you with her arms crossed. She has that glare on — the one she thinks is scary, but comes off more as bratty. “You’re too young to get married.” “But I love him!” “You don’t love him,” you spit at her in distaste. “God, you don’t even know how to do taxes, don’t talk about love with me, you child.” “Ugh, you’re just like mom and dad!” She dramatically rolls her eyes. “What happened to you?!” “Life,” you tell her in disgust. Why she was wearing neon pink eyeshadow was beyond you. “I wish you’d become me sooner.” “You can’t tell me what to do!” She shouts at the top of her lungs. “I hate you!” The hallucination stomps off and slams the door shut, leaving you with a sigh. Everyone has a dark past of embarrassment and shame that makes you kick your blanket at night. But sometimes, it returns to truly haunt you, materializing right in front of you with no escape. And this time, it’s not a mirage of your past self formed from your active imagination. It’s someone real and tangible. “Y/N!” Your colleague waves you over in the lobby with a smile. “You got a lot of energy for a Monday morning.” “‘Course, I’m just showing the new recruit around. Kim Taehyung, this is L/N Y/N. She’s the senior director of the marketing department.” Your ears are ringing. It couldn’t be…. But the minute he steps aside, you come face to face with a tall individual with blonde hair. He has a bright smile, holding a curious stare, his brown eyes peering into yours. “Y/N…?” “T-Taehyung?” “Do you two know each other?” Your colleague looks between the both of you and your expressions of wonderment. “Yeah. We...went to high school together.” “Oh, really? Wow. What a small word!” It’s a small world indeed. It’s way too small. You should move to another fucking planet — NASA should make it to Mars faster so you can migrate. But alas, there’s no escape. Not today, not in the next few months. Taehyung works right in your department by your side. The pair of you see each other day in and day out, and he never hesitates to make small talk with you, catching up on the years you've missed of each other's life. Just like before, he places himself too close to you. Kim Taehyung is talented in how he worms his way into people’s lives and bring their guard down. And one night, you find yourself realizing this at a bar during happy hour with all your colleagues. You’ve taken your place alone at the counter on a stool, and he slides right up next to you. “Drink’s here are good.” “Yeah, I know.” You keep your speech polite, distant. “Not bad for the price.” He hits you with a memory. “We used to pass here all the time, remember? Always wanted to go in together when we were old enough.” Stiff laughter leaves your mouth and you click your drink with his beer bottle. “Guess we made it.” The man hums, his elbow propped on the counter. He rests his cheek in his hand and stares at you, a little too intensely, but you don’t comment. He shouldn’t look this good in a simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and fitted trousers. Damn him. “We had a lot of things we wanted to do when we became of age. Didn’t you want to get matching tattoos?” He snaps his fingers, eyes lighting up. “You even had drawings of them!” “Oh god.” You groan. “Don’t talk about it.” Taehyung gives a cheesy smile. “Why not?” “It’s embarrassing.” “I don’t think so,” he muses. “It’s cute.” “We were young.” “Still are,” he says and takes a long sip of his drink. The oncoming intoxication makes it easier to speak sober thoughts, and he must find it simpler too because he asks— “I heard you’re not seeing anyone. What’s up with that?” The bomb is dropped. You’re caught off guard. “What do you mean?” Taehyung shrugs. “I just thought you’d be married by now. You always talked about wanting to be married and having kids before turning twenty five.” “Well, I was a dumb teenager, Taehyung.” It’s nostalgic to sit next to him like this, to talk this quietly as if it’s just the both of you in this busy place, and you’re not sure if you welcome the feeling. “We all were.” “Do you ever think about how we could’ve been?” he asks, looking at you carefully. “I mean, if you never had to move away for college.” “I don’t know.” There’s a long silence as your mind travels. Maybe you would’ve gotten married to him by now, have kids, working mediocre jobs and coming home to the family. A white-picket fenced life. Then again, people don’t often end up with their high school sweethearts, not when their innocence sooner or later becomes ruined, when their immaturity sheds, when they realize the horizon’s so big…. Yet somehow, your teenage self would like to disagree with your cynical view. “Why’d you never call me when you came back?” “I didn’t know you were still here and I didn’t want to bother you. I thought you’d be married by now.” “Same here. Guess I just never found the person I wanted to marry.” Taehyung gaze is deep and imploring. “At least there was no one like you.” You laugh, lolling your head to one side. “Are you trying to flirt with me, Kim Taehyung?” “Is it working?” he chuckles, sipping on his drink as you roll your eyes playfully. “It’s inappropriate.” “Well we’re not at work,” he counters. “Everything’s fair game, right?” A noise comes from your mouth that he relishes in, a half-scoff and half-laugh. “Some things don’t change, do they, Taehyung?” “Some don’t.” The corners of his mouth draw upwards. “So you should let me take you on a date.” You blink hard, not sure if you misheard or not. “Pardon?” “I think….I might still be in love with you,” he admits over another tentative sip of his drink. Your face feels hot. Your stomach flutters as if you were still a teenager and not a grown woman. And your heart stutters against its will. Your composed exterior is vulnerable but you laugh it off. “Don’t be ridiculous, Taehyung. We were like five.” “We were sixteen,” he corrects. “Yeah, well, I’m thirty now and that feels like eons ago. I have to go get my cane.” He laughs noisily and it’s nice to see him be so unabashedly himself. “That’s not old. You’re not a grandma and even then there’s nothing wrong with that — I’d still want to take you out to dinner and a movie.” Your flustered, swallowing hard. “Sure. Good luck with that.” “Why, you don’t believe me?” Taehyung leans in closer, his breath skimming on your cheek and making you feel a kind of nervousness you haven’t felt since you were an adolescent. “Is it so crazy for you to believe that I like you?” “I think you’re hanging onto a fantasy.” “And what fantasy is that?” he asks. “I..I don’t know. The whole fantasy that we’d work out. That everything will be perfect. The whole seeing the world through rose-coloured lenses.” “I don’t think so.” Taehyung pouts and thinks about it. “I don’t think everything will be perfect. I don’t know if things will work out — we’ll have to see. And I’m pretty sure I see you how you actually are.” The distance has closed. He’s still smiling in that way that pisses you off, but makes your palms sweaty. God, he always knew how to soften you right up. You feel like melted butter. There’s a moment of quiet and you finish your drink, slamming it down on the counter. “Where would we have dinner?” The man has a shit-eating grin, one of delight, excitement and victory. “At that breakfast diner we used to go to.” “Walking down memory lane, aren’t we, Kim Taehyung?” You grab your purse quickly and muster a nonchalant shrug as you hop off the stool. “Fine, I like their pancakes anyways.” Kim Taehyung laughs, following closely behind. You embrace your teenage self instead of shaming her, and she stays right by your side, singing love songs already.
So cool that you’re opening up requests!! Could I pls request love struck Taehyung who just can’t help but get so flustered over the reader? Like anything that they do Taehyung just is: 💗👄💗
This sounds like the President’s Son lol, but here ya go, anon:
↳ The Library Losers
978 words || 100% Fluff || College!AU || Kim Taehyung
Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird.
Taehyung continues to chant the three words silently until the syllables begin to morph and sound strange to his own head. The ironic part was that despite his efforts of not being awkward, he was very much being so. “Can I borrow that highlighter?” Your sudden question has him breaking out of his own inner monologue and he whips his head up from his textbook. “Uhhhhhhh…..” It’s not his fault that his brain’s been reduced to half a cell. “I don’t have to.” “N-no, g-go ahead, please.” He motions over clumsily, accidentally knocking over your steel water bottle and it clatters over on the wooden table in the quiet library. The librarian lifts her head to look at the ruckus but by then he’s stumbling, putting it back upright. “S-sorry, my bad.” You nod slowly at Taehyung, taking his yellow highlighter and marking a line in your notebook. God. Jimin’s right. He’s an idiot. But he’s usually not like this — that’s right, he reminds himself. On a good day, Taehyung doesn’t have trouble with social interaction and has somewhat of a good sense of humour. Dare he say, he even has some charms that draw people into him. But there’s something about you that makes him so damn nervous. He can’t show his best self. You’re just some girl in his class that he’s sat beside, then again, you’re not just some girl. You’re at a whole other league - intelligent, pretty, funny. He really doesn’t want to mess this up for himself, but the sad part was the mere thought was inadvertently making him mess up. Damn, it was already a fucking miracle that he was able to ask you to study with him for the midterm. Then again, he doesn’t remember a single thing of that. He blacked out. “I’m not usually like this.” You look up from your notes. “What?” “Never mind.” “Alright then.” Your brows lift and you return to your textbook. Taehyung damns himself for being such a dork. He’s cursing himself until you interrupt with another question. “Hey, did you understand this section? The prof kind of went over it too quick in the lecture for me.” “Ooh, I have that.” The college boy flips vigorously through his notes and he pushes it over without realizing that he’s shoving your textbook over and off the table until it clatters to the ground. “S-sorry.” He ducks under the table to grab it at the same time you bend over. “I got it—” “No, it’s fine, I have it.” Your hands accidentally brush one another and goosebumps raise all over the back of Taehyung’s arms. He retracts it quickly as if your touch burns him and when he lifts his head to squirm away, but he accidentally bangs it against the underside of the table instead. His skull smashes against the hard surface. “Ow!” You gasp. “Are you okay?!” “I’m fine, I’m alright!” “Silence, please!” The librarian shouts passive aggressively. “This is supposed to be a quiet working space.” “Sorry.” “Sorry.” The pair of you get yourselves oriented again and Taehyung sighs, his cheeks on fire. He’s mortified, cringing to death. A part of him wants to roll out of his seat and start crawling on the floor until he makes it to his bed and he can pull the covers over his head to hide for the rest of his life. There’s silence as Taehyung fails to get a grip on himself, but he’s interrupted by your sudden question. “Taehyung, did I do something to upset you?” He’s shocked, caught off guard. “Why would you say that?” “Well, you keep looking at me like you’re upset,” you whisper across the table lest the grumpy librarian catches you talking and making noise and kicks you both out. “No, no, I’m not upset!” He expresses in exasperation. “It’s the opposite.” You frown, lips lopsided. “...You upset me?” “No!” He cringes and lowers the volume of his voice, trying to quickly clear the misunderstanding. “I’m sorry. I just really like you. Wait, I mean—I….” He sighs. “Oh.” You nod once, swallowing hard. “I’m glad the feeling’s mutual then.” He blinks several times, lashes fluttering at you. “You like me?” “Taehyung. I’m studying with you on a Saturday. At seven in the morning. If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t be here.” “Oh. Makes sense.” Huh. But despite his calm exterior, his brain still can’t quite process what’s occurring. “So you don’t hate me?” “No.” “You don’t think I’m awkward?” A laugh pulls from your chest, a glorious sound that has Taehyung’s ears tickling. “No, I don’t. I was really happy when you asked me out on a study date. But I’m just curious as to why'd you ask me out on at seven in the morning.” “I don’t know. Sorry. I kind of blacked out when I asked,” he admits sheepishly. You smile, tapping your pen nervously on your papers. “So you didn’t mean to?” “No, I wanted to go out!” He clears his throat and leans over, asking again to clarify and make sure he’s not dreaming. “So this is a date?” “If you want it to be.” You shrug, corners of your mouth tugging into your cheeks. “I would’ve preferred if you asked me out to a movie or dinner or a coffee date but studying’s fine too...even though our midterm is in four weeks.” The biggest grin plasters itself onto Taehyung’s face. He’s so happy he could explode, and at once, he slams his textbook shuts. At this point, he doesn’t care about the librarian glaring from her desk. “I didn’t know it was in four weeks. Let’s go watch a movie!” “I’d love to.” You laugh again, closing up your own notebook. You’re as smitten with him as he is with you.
