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read-time-fanfic · 13 days ago

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Darkest Day

Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi doesn't like pokemon, doesn't want one, doesn't care to be around them. What happens when he finds an abandoned pokemon during one of the hardest weeks of his year? Can you help him through it? Genre: Pokemon Trainer AU, fluff, angst Word Count: 8,549 Rating: T Warnings: None

Notes: This is for The BTS Writers' Club October prompt, Spooky.

Thanks to @eatjeanjin and @moon-write for reading over this for me, to @aroseforyoongi for helping me plan this out literally months ago, and to @foxbroart for the crazy awesome banner.

You called it Yoongi’s Darkest Day, but it was more like a week.

He’d hide himself away from the world. He wouldn’t call. He wouldn’t text. If he left his house, it was always entirely alone. He’d made it clear a long time ago that he didn’t want you around for that week. He wanted to be alone, to go through it alone, to feel his feelings and process his emotions and come out of it on the other side alone.

And you hated it, but you understood. He knew you were there if he needed you. And part of you, every year, hoped he would call you, hoped that he would admit that going through it alone was unhealthy. You hoped he would finally let you be there for him in the way you knew he wanted but was too stubborn and hurt to recognize. But you never pushed. You let him hide away for as long as he needed.

You didn’t even really know what prompted the Darkest Day. You’d heard rumors. People talked about how anti-social Yoongi was, how he was rude, and cold, and stoic. They said that his disappearance every year was nefarious, or that it was him going off to be a part of some murder cult, or that he had some secret family somewhere far away. But you didn’t believe them. You knew Yoongi--the real Yoongi. You knew that he was just quiet and preferred to listen. You knew that he cared a lot, but that he had no patience for mean-spirited people. So you knew he had to have a good reason to disappear for a week at a time.

He just wasn’t ready to tell you. Maybe he’d never be ready to tell you. But you were determined to be there if and when he was ready to talk.

So it was startling when your phone rang two days into the Darkest Day. And yeah, you were a little nervous because what if something terrible had happened? But you answered your phone anyway, not expecting to be sneaking around the weird alley of the train station with him not even 20 minutes after his call.

But how could you say no to him? You’d been waiting for literal years for him to ask you for help, and here it was, unconventional though it may be.

Yoongi carried the paper bag of pokemon food he’d asked you to bring. You were confused, but you followed him anyway.

“What are we looking for?” you asked softly, following him closely down the alley.

The buildings were close together, the alley barely wide enough for four people to pass through comfortably. It was surprisingly dark in the alley, despite the fact that it was mid-afternoon and the sky was a clear blue. You didn’t like the feeling the alley gave you, so you stayed close to Yoongi.

He shushed you. “He should be around here somewhere.”

“Yoongi.” You stopped walking, annoyed, and grabbed his arm. “Who?”

He sighed, pushing his box-dyed grey hair off his forehead. He looked exhausted, and you could see an unknown emotion swirling in his eyes. “I was here yesterday and I saw this Gengar sitting outside on the steps by itself. I asked around, and the guy at the cafe across the street said that it used to come here with its trainer, but he said he hasn’t seen the trainer in weeks. I guess the Gengar keeps coming back to wait for its trainer.” Yoongi frowned. “It drifted over to the cafe this morning when I was over there. It looked hungry. But it got scared by a truck and floated off.”

You hummed. Weird. Normally, Yoongi hated pokemon. Hate was maybe a strong word for it, but he had a general dislike of them. He never tried to catch a pokemon of his own, and actively went out of his way to avoid the wild monsters that wandered through the city. He didn’t even like your Nickit, despite the fact that the fox pokemon was sweet, if not a little sassy.

So it was a little strange--okay, a lot strange--that he was going to such an effort to find this random, trainerless Gengar.

He took your hand as you continued to walk, your fingers loose in his grip. His eyes silently searched the alley for any signs of the abandoned Gengar--a too-dark shadow, unexplained movement, a trash can with eyes.

“Guess it’s not here,” Yoongi said after you’d searched the length of the alley twice. You couldn’t believe it, but he actually sounded sad.

“Maybe it went home.” You doubted your own words, but you were trying to stay positive for his sake.

“Maybe.” He sounded sad and dejected. He squeezed your fingertips lightly. You hadn’t realized that he was still holding your hand.

You took a few steps out of the alley, your free hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sudden sun, when you heard a hiss and a clatter from behind you. Yoongi spun around, his hand dropping yours. When you looked, it seemed as though the wall of the train station had some sort of bulge, a large shadow growing and emerging from the bricks.

Beside you, Yoongi scoffed. “There you are,” he chided. His tone was gentle, caring even. Who was this man and what had he done to your best friend?

Yoongi approached the shadow as it fully emerged, a large purple blob plopping unceremoniously onto the ground. It watched Yoongi, its sharp red eyes focused on his movements. But when Yoongi was within a foot of where it sat, the Gengar dissolved into the shadows on the pavement below.

Sighing, Yoongi sat on the ground, opening up the paper bag and pulling out the container of food you had brought. You weren’t sure if ghost types had a preference, but your Nickit liked it, so you figured it couldn’t be too bad. When he opened the container, Yoongi sniffed and almost gagged.

“Yum,” he said dryly, placing the food on the ground and cautiously sliding it toward the shadow on the pavement. “Here. Eat.”

Always so graceful with his words.

You sat beside him, trying not to think of how many people have thrown up in the alley. Yoongi shifted, his knee touching yours. Despite the calm front he was putting up, you could sense the tension in how he was sitting, how he held his shoulders, how he unconsciously chewed the skin on the side of his thumb. You reached over and gently tugged his hand away from his mouth, interlocking your fingers with his to prevent him from continuing to bite his cuticles.

Silence enveloped you as you sat there, waiting for the Gengar to come out of hiding again. Thankfully, you had no plans for the rest of the day, although if you did, you would have gladly cancelled them. Yoongi’s appearance worried you--the dark circles and disheveled hair and rumpled, baggy clothes--and though he was hyper-focused on the Gengar, you wanted to be there for him. So you sat there in complete silence, your thumb rubbing small circles into the soft skin of Yoongi’s hand.

You weren’t sure how long it took, but eventually, the shadow in front of you started to swirl and bulge, two dark spikes beginning to emerge from the ground. When the Gengar was fully emerged, it eyed the container of food warily.

“Go ahead,” Yoongi coaxed, gesturing to the food. He offered the pokemon a soft smile, his catlike eyes crinkling with the action.

The Gengar watched Yoongi carefully, its red eyes following every subtle movement. Now that it was sitting in front of you, fully emerged, you were able to really look at the pokemon. It was small--smaller than normal--and Yoongi was right. It was less round than a Gengar normally should be. You wondered if it had been eating at all since its trainer disappeared.

Finally, the pokemon reached forward, eyes never leaving you and Yoongi. But it grabbed a piece of the pokemon food out of the container, slowly bringing it up to its mouth. It watched you as it chewed, slowly but surely eating through the food you had brought.

For the rest of Yoongi’s Darkest Day and a few days after, it became part of your routine to meet Yoongi at the train station. You would bring a container of pokemon food--after the second day, you made it a point to actually buy something specifically for ghost and poison types--and you and Yoongi would walk around in an attempt to find the Gengar.

It took a few days of searching for it, but eventually, the Gengar would be sitting on the steps of the train station waiting for the two of you to show up. It would hide in the shadows of the steps, waiting and watching but still scared of the strangers hurrying about their days. But it would emerge as soon as it saw Yoongi, its red eyes following his movements almost exclusively. It didn’t seem to care that you were there. It trusted you enough to not hide from you, sure, but it seemed to latch onto Yoongi exclusively.

Perhaps it sensed your Nickit.

And it was very cute seeing how the Gengar looked at Yoongi like he was some sort of celebrity.

The days after the Darkest Day turned into weeks turned into a month, and you were still visiting the train station. And you had started to notice something interesting. When you left the station, after the pokemon had eaten and you’d spent some time with it, it would follow you and Yoongi. Not for long. A block or two at most. But the purple ghost would toddle along beside Yoongi, its short legs and round frame causing it to almost waddle. Then, when it got too far from the station, it would look back almost sadly, and it would stop.

“I wish there was a way to explain that its trainer wasn’t coming back,” Yoongi groaned, hiding his eyes in the crook of his elbow.

He was laying on the floor of your living room, a blanket stolen from the back of your couch balled up under his head as a pillow. His soaked t-shirt clung to him in odd places--parts of his sleeve stuck to his bicep, you could see the light definition of his abdomen through the fabric hugging his tummy. Outside, rain pattered against your window, the dark sky rolling with rumbles of thunder. Your apartment was closer to the train station. You had run when the deluge started, the fat, cold drops spurring you on faster. You hadn’t missed the sadness in the Gengar’s eyes when you left.

Apparently, neither had Yoongi.

You had your arms shoved in a hoodie--Yoongi’s hoodie--to stave off the chill of the outside. Curious and slightly amused, you watched him from your position on the couch. Your Nickit laid at your side, its broom-like tail curling around its body and covering its little nose as it napped. You stroked its soft fur gently, frowning slightly as Yoongi huffed. You knew he was still thinking about the Gengar and how hurt the shadow pokemon had looked when the two of you started to run away.

A clap of thunder shook the walls of your apartment, causing Yoongi to jump slightly. Seconds later, his phone rang, just once. A text message. He read it and swore.

“Jin says the power’s out in our building.”

“Stay here,” you told him softly.

He nodded once, and that was that. You hadn’t really expected an argument. This was nothing new. Yoongi stayed over often enough that he had clothes in a drawer in your dresser. You kept a stock of his favorite coffee brand because he complained when you offered him anything else. You even bought toothbrushes in packs of two. Not because it was economical--though it certainly was--but because Yoongi needed a way to keep up with personal hygiene, too.

You knew that none of this arrangement was normal for people who were only close friends, but you refused to let yourself consider the alternative. That would make it real, and you weren’t particularly ready to face the implications of any of it yet.

“You should adopt the Gengar,” he said suddenly. When you looked at him, he was staring at you. His dark eyes were intense, and you could see something in them--some kind of emotion--but you couldn’t tell what.

You laughed, the sudden noise jolting your Nickit awake. It scurried off the couch and away--probably to your bedroom. “That Gengar wants nothing to do with me.”

Yoongi scoffed. “It likes you.”

“It likes you.” You slid off the couch and onto the floor, scooting closer to him. He lifted his head from his blanket-pillow, adjusting how he was laying so he could plop his head against your thigh. “It likes me because it associates me with you.”

He hummed, but didn’t say anything. His brow furrowed and he frowned, refusing to look at you even as your hand found his hair, your fingers carding through the unnaturally ashen strands.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned softly, pushing his bangs off his forehead. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing. I know that face.”

“You know I don’t want to do the whole trainer thing.” Yoongi sighed, rubbing at his eyes in frustration. His long fingers dug into his eye sockets, and for a second, you were concerned that it was painful. But then he let one of his hands drop, his other rubbing down his face tiredly. “I can barely take care of myself half the time.”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

He snorted derisively, rolling his eyes. “I disappear for a week every year because I get sad. Can’t really do that when something else relies on you.”

You frowned. You’d never been sure if the Darkest Day was intentional or not. You hadn’t wanted to ask him. It seemed too personal, and despite how close the two of you were, it seemed like a line that, once crossed, you couldn’t go back from. But knowing that he knew what he was doing--that his isolation was planned and purposeful--you hated to admit that it hurt a little bit. Yoongi was your best friend. You wanted him to feel like he could rely on you and trust you with the heavy stuff.

“It’s okay to be sad sometimes, Yoongi.” You kept your voice soft and gentle as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Everyone gets sad. It’s human.”

“Not like this.”

“What do you mean?”

For a while, Yoongi was silent. He sat up, scooting backwards so that his back rested against the couch, his knees tucked up close to his chest. You let him go, let him retreat into himself, let him stay quiet. You figured you had waited for him to come to you during the Darkest Day, you could wait for him to want to talk to you.

He didn’t say much for the rest of the night. You fell asleep with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, like you were standing on some sort of precipice, unsure of whether to back off or take the leap.

Something woke you up. You weren’t sure what it was. Maybe it was the rain that was still pelting against the window. Or maybe a sudden flash of lightning. Or maybe it was Yoongi shifting beside you. He was curled up in front of you, one hand tucked between his knees. You had wrapped yourself around him in your sleep, your body curled close to his, your arms encircling his waist. The hand that wasn’t tucked between his knees clutched your hand, his fingers laced loosely with yours.

He shifted again, and you heard him inhale shakily. You could feel him trembling slightly and you pressed ever closer, moulding yourself against him in hopes that, if he was cold--Yoongi was almost always a little cold--the extra body heat would help. But he continued to shiver and after a second of silence, he let go of your hand to wipe at his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned, unsure if he could hear you over the rain.

Yoongi shook his head and you hummed, pressing your cheek against his shoulder blade.

You laid there for a while, listening to him breathe and feeling his body move with each breath. You sighed. “I know you know this,” you told him quietly, half-mumbling into his t-shirt. “At least, I hope you know this. But I’m here for you. Whatever it is, I’ll listen.”

His hand found yours again, and he squeezed your fingers in acknowledgement.

Silence fell upon you again, even the thunder dying down to just leave the rain pattering against your window. For a moment, you thought Yoongi had fallen asleep, but his breathing wasn’t even enough, wasn’t shallow enough. So you laid there quietly, mentally luxuriating in the softness of his shirt against your cheek but refusing to go back to sleep before you knew he was okay.

Yoongi took a deep breath. “When I was a kid, my parents both had pokemon.”

You knew that. You’d met both of Yoongi’s parents. His dad’s Crobat was surprisingly kind, and his mother’s Swellow had the softest feathers you’d ever seen. You had always wondered how Yoongi could have grown up surrounded by pokemon and not come out of it with a love of the creatures.

“They got me a Litten for my eighth birthday.”

He readjusted then, rolling onto his back so that he could stare up at the ceiling. You gave him a bit of space, one of your arms coming up to support your head so that you could look at him properly. Yoongi kept a hold on your other hand, clinging to you loosely. You let him rest your joined hands against his stomach.

“I loved that cat,” he said softly, his thumb absently rubbing against your hand. “Back then, I had no idea what was wrong with it. I just knew that it couldn’t use its fire moves and that it had trouble walking. Mom and Dad said it was sick, but I didn’t care. I’d come home from school every day and I’d play with it and carry it around the neighborhood on walks. But it just kept getting sicker and sicker.”

He cleared his throat, rubbing at his eye with his free hand. You waited silently, patiently, giving him time to collect himself. Yoongi was in touch with his emotions more than most, but that didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed crying.

“When I got older, I did some research.” His dark eyes met yours briefly before darting to the side toward the window. “Hip dysplasia, respiratory issues, epilepsy, and heart disease. It never stood a chance.” Yoongi sighed, loosening his grip on your hand so that he could play with your fingers. You could see the tracks of his tears in the low light of your bedroom. “When Litten died, I had barely turned nine. I was devastated.”

The Darkest Day. Every year, like clockwork, the Darkest Day happened seven weeks after Yoongi’s birthday.

He swallowed thickly before continuing. “They got it at a breeder mill. They never said it, but how else does a pokemon get all those problems? Either poor Litten lost the genetic lottery purely by chance, or the jackass breeder didn’t know what the hell they were doing.” The shadows on Yoongi’s brow darkened when he frowned, and you could sense more than see the tension in his jaw. “Either way, Litten didn’t deserve it. My parents tried to get me a new pokemon a few months after... “ His voice caught slightly and he cleared his throat again. “A Poochyena. But I couldn’t bring myself to love it. It hurt too much.”

“I’m so sorry.” You pushed his hair off his forehead gently.

“It’s....” He shrugged, dark eyes finally meeting yours. “It’ll just never be the same, you know? I don’t want to replace Litten. It wasn’t his fault he…”

He trailed off and silence enveloped you once again. You stroked his hair once more before going back to leaning on your hand, watching him. His eyes slid closed and he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Outside, the rain was finally beginning to die down.

“You wouldn’t be replacing him,” you told him softly, testing the waters. “You can still love Litten and care about another pokemon. Of course they won’t compare. But I think that’s a good thing.”

He hummed. A soft rumble of thunder sounded outside, the last vestige of the storm. “Do you think Gengar’s okay?”

You couldn’t answer that. If Yoongi’s information was correct, the ghost pokemon had been abandoned by its trainer. This had been the first major storm since Yoongi had found the Gengar. You had no idea how it had weathered the storm, if it had been scared of the thunder, if it had been able to get out of the rain.

“Do you want to go check on it?”

Yoongi shook his head. But then, he paused. “Yeah. I kind of do.”

And that was how you found yourself at the train station at two o’clock in the morning, searching the alley for the plump purple shadow. It was cold, the chill of the storm still clung to the air and the soggy ground did nothing to help your freezing feet. Neither of you had bothered to put on actual clothes--you had pulled on a pair of old sweatpants and the hoodie Yoongi had bought two sizes too big specifically so you could share it.

Yoongi clutched your hand tightly as you searched, and for a moment, you were transported back to the Darkest Day, when he had first called you to help him feed the Gengar. How much and yet how little had changed since then.

Eventually, you found the Gengar. It was sitting under an overhang on the steps at the side entrance of the station, staring at its feet gloomily. As soon as it heard your footsteps approaching, it started to dissolve into the pavement.

“It’s us!” Yoongi called, trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible. The train station closed at midnight, and while the city was busy enough that it wasn’t entirely suspicious that you were out so late, it certainly wouldn’t be great if you managed to disturb all of the neighbors.

The Gengar froze, the lower half of its body hidden in the shadows of the steps. Its red eyes watched the two of you warily. It didn’t look particularly happy.

Carefully, Yoongi took a few steps closer. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, crouching down in front of the pokemon. “I was worried about you in the storm.” The Gengar huffed and looked away. “It’s chilly out. Are you cold?” Yoongi attempted, his tone placating.

From a few steps away, you watched as the ghost pokemon slowly let its guard down. Its red eyes softened, and it frowned ever so slightly.

Yoongi sighed. “I’m sorry we left you out here. We shouldn’t have done that.” Quickly, he corrected himself. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He looked over at you then, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly before darting away. He stared at the logo on your hoodie--his hoodie--for what felt like an eternity. Then, he took a deep breath and turned back to the Gengar.

“Did you… Do you want to come home with us?” You could hear the nerves in his tone, the slight wobble in his voice.

The Gengar sat silently, staring at Yoongi. It didn’t move. It didn’t pull itself from the shadows. It just stared.

“I know you have a trainer,” Yoongi said quickly, attempting to smooth over the situation. “So it wouldn’t even need to be a permanent thing. I just… feel bad that you’re out here all alone.”

Eons passed. Your toes froze in your sneakers. But still, you stood there, slightly behind Yoongi as he crouched in front of the purple ghost. If you hadn’t been sure of it before, you were convinced of it now: Yoongi could probably convince you to jump off a bridge. He never would do that, because he was a good person and a kind and benevolent being, but looking back over your years of friendship, standing outside of a train station at two in the morning wasn’t even the weirdest situation he had managed to drag you into.

So yeah, you were pretty sure if he asked, you would jump off a bridge.

Eventually, though, the Gengar slithered the lower half of its body out of the shadows, its little legs phasing into existence in a transparent gradient. It reached forward and Yoongi grabbed its little hand. Gengar smiled at that, its eyes falling closed and a wide, toothy grin spreading across its face.

Yoongi stood then, the Gengar’s hand still in his own, and turned to you. “Do you uh… mind if we still crash at your place?”

You laughed and nodded. He grabbed your hand as he passed you, leading you and Gengar back towards your apartment for the night.

The power outage at Yoongi’s apartment complex had been more significant than anyone had initially realized. Apparently, during the storm, a bolt of lightning had hit something electrical on the roof of one of the buildings and sent a surge through the complex, shorting circuits and frying wires all through the system. Some parts of the building needed to be rewired, and then the city had to inspect everything to make sure it was safe.

Two weeks later, Yoongi was still crashing at your place.

You didn’t mind. Honestly, you didn’t. Yoongi was far from the worst roommate in the world--he cleaned up after himself, and he was quiet, and he was a kickass cook. And Gengar wasn’t too bad, either. It seemed to get along with Nickit, but it mostly kept to itself, seemingly entertained by phasing in and out of walls.

It was just… for two weeks, you’d barely gotten any sleep.

You weren’t quite sure why, either. All you knew was that you would wake up exhausted, as if you had just spent eight hours running a marathon instead of resting. Some days, you would wake up with a pounding headache that couldn’t be touched by over-the-counter medication. Other days, you would wake up and your whole body would hurt, like you had spent all night with muscle cramps.

The lack of sleep was starting to get to you. You could feel your fuse getting shorter and shorter, and you were almost always grumpy, even with Yoongi. So when he plopped himself down on your couch after work one evening, you fought the urge to explode.

“Jin says the landlord thinks it’s going to be another week at least,” Yoongi reported, tucking his phone into his back pocket.

He didn’t deserve your frustrations, you tried to remind yourself. He was just doing his best.

“Great,” you said dryly. You could hear the snap in your voice, and when you saw the corners of his mouth turn down, you knew he had heard it, too. “I’m sorry,” you said immediately, sighing and running a hand through your hair. “I just… haven’t been sleeping well.”

He hummed in understanding. Normally, you loved how level and even tempered he was, how understanding he could be. Yoongi never judged you too harshly, giving you the benefit of the doubt, even when you probably didn’t deserve it. Even his kindness was starting to annoy you.

“Do you want to try to take a nap?” he asked softly, turning slightly so that he was better facing you. “I can put something boring on tv, and you can get comfortable?”

For a moment, you wanted to snap at him again, to tell him that no, you didn’t want to take a nap. It was six in the evening, and there was no way you would sleep at night if you took a nap now. But the smile he gave you was so soft, and his arms looked inviting, and really, who cared if you couldn’t sleep that night? It wasn’t like you could get rest anyway. So you nodded, just once, and he pulled you into his chest.

You’d always been amazed at how natural cuddling with Yoongi felt. Your bodies fit together well. His torso and legs were the perfect length for you to curl around when you were laying down, his shoulders were the perfect height for you to lean against. You knew most people were confused by your relationship.

Lying there on the couch with him, your head against his shoulder, his arms wrapped around you, you felt yourself begin to drift. Yoongi was warm and soft, despite the fact that he had been hitting the gym more frequently. And he had put on one of those Behind the Music documentaries where the narrator was just dronelike enough that it was soothing to listen to on a low volume.

You were asleep in no time.

It was dark, darker than you’d ever experienced before. At first, you thought maybe the power had gone out. But no, that wasn’t right. This darkness felt foreboding, ominous, almost primordial. And it went on forever. You weren’t sure how you knew that, but as soon as the thought entered your mind, you knew it was true. The inky blackness had no end, no beginning. It just was.

And it was thick. Like heavy fog in the mountains on a midsummer morning. You could feel it in your lungs, how the air was saturated and oppressive, could feel how it weighed your body down as you moved. Every breath you took was a little difficult, as if you were taking in barely enough oxygen.

A flash of light off to your left drew your attention, and you made your way to it, moving carefully. As you got closer, a pit started to form in your stomach--a strange, nauseating dropping sensation, as if you were in perpetual freefall.

The light was blinding. You had no idea how you were moving closer to it--your legs and arms felt like lead. Closing your eyes didn’t help, the flashing shined through your eyelids in bright hues of reds and oranges. The brightness hurt, and as you squeezed your eyes tight against it, your ears started to ring.

One last flash, brighter than the others, and then it all stopped.

When the spots cleared from your eyes, you could see a figure in front of you. He wasn’t facing you, but you would recognize the box-dyed blue-grey hair anywhere.

“What are you doing?”

His voice was cold, his tone even. For a moment, you didn’t think he was talking to you. But then his dark eyes met yours, and you could see the annoyance in them. Of course he was talking to you. Who else would he be talking to? Your stomach dropped.

“Why do you have to cling to me all the time? Do you know how annoying it is to always have you hanging off me?” He scoffed. “I don’t like people touching me. Don’t you know that? Or are you too stuck in your own world to care?”

The pit in your stomach solidified into something akin to dread, and you could feel your heart start to race. This was a dream. Your brain was just creating lies. Yoongi had been your closest friend for a long time. He would have told you if anything you did made him uncomfortable. Right?

You shook your head, trying to clear your mind, but it only brought the ringing in your ears back.

“You need to stop.” Yoongi’s voice, firm this time, sounded further off, like he was speaking to you from underwater. “It’s not nice.”

You were confused, but the Yoongi in front of you spoke again. “God, sometimes I just… I need you to leave me alone. I need my space. Just because I’m staying with you doesn’t mean we have to hang out every second of every day. You can be so annoying sometimes.”

When you opened your mouth to respond, you couldn’t speak.

Underwater Yoongi spoke again. “Gengar. I know you understand me. Stop.”

It was like a fog lifted from your mind. The Gengar. Was it causing this? In front of you, Yoongi turned, his mouth contorted into a wide, toothy grin, his eyes glowing a bright red. And then he was gone.

A few seconds later, you woke up, feeling very much like a deep sea diver surfacing after a particularly long dive. For a moment, you were disoriented, the Behind the Music documentary still quietly playing on the tv confused you. It felt like you had been asleep for hours. But in reality, it had apparently only been forty-five minutes. The pressure around your body felt wrong, and immediately, you sat up, pulling away quickly. Your sudden movement scared Yoongi, and he jumped, his hands flying up to shoulder-height in an expression of submission and innocence.

You rubbed your forehead. The pressure around you had been his arms. He had been holding you. You sighed. Your head hurt.

Yoongi looked at you, concerned. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

When he reached out to grab your hand, you pulled away, your brain screaming at you.

Do you know how annoying it is to always have you hanging off me?

Confusion flashed in Yoongi’s dark eyes, his brow furrowing slightly. He whispered your name, his hands falling helplessly into his lap. “You had a nightmare?” You nodded, and his eyes fell closed. “I was afraid of that.”

“What do you mean?” It was strange to hear your own voice. It was hoarse, like you had spent the past hour yelling.

He scratched behind his ear with his index finger, refusing to make eye contact with you. “Gengar is… well, I had to scold it.” You said nothing, still too out of it from your dream to question him. “I think it’s the reason you’ve been sleeping so badly.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure exactly. I think it might be jealous. You did say it liked me more than you.”

You nodded. You knew that you should be angry, or at the very least, upset with the fact that Yoongi’s Gengar was eating your dreams and giving you nightmares. And maybe eventually, you would be. But in that moment, you were kind of relieved. It was Gengar that had made the Yoongi of your nightmares say those things. It wasn’t your fault that you were so sleep deprived.

“I told it that it had to stop or this wasn’t going to work,” Yoongi said softly. “I want Gengar to be happy with me as its trainer, but I won’t let it attack you. That’s not happening.”

“I appreciate that.” You let him take your hand then. “I would like to not have a dream like that again.”

Yoongi nodded, and you could tell he wanted to ask more. But he didn’t, choosing instead to lean back against the couch and turn his attention back to the documentary.

“Gengar’s sulking right now,” he said softly. “But I want it to apologize to you.”

You hummed. You appreciated his desire to make it better, at least.

You thought he had dropped the subject of your nightmare. But then you went to bed for the night. You were still shaken by the dream, but you hadn’t realized just how much it had affected you until you laid down.

Normally, you would have automatically curled yourself around Yoongi, your legs curving to fit behind his, an arm draped lazily around his waist. But you hesitated. Deciding not to risk anything, you faced away from him, burying yourself in your blankets.

You weren’t sure how long it took, but eventually, you heard him sigh, and he rolled over. He tossed and turned for a while, grunting in dissatisfaction every time he moved. It took a long time for him to lie still and stay silent, and you thought that perhaps he had fallen asleep.

“Are you okay?”

Perhaps he hadn’t.

“What do you mean?”

You rolled to your other side, readjusting so you were looking at him. In the darkness of your bedroom, you could tell he was upset. His brow was furrowed, the corners of his mouth downturned in a half-frown. It was quiet except for the sounds of Nickit and Gengar playing somewhere in the apartment.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi repeated, his voice husky with sleep. He was clearly tired, and you felt bad that he was still awake.

“I’m fine,” you told him, not meeting his eyes. “Why?”

“Then why…?” He sighed and then yawned, struggling to open his eyes back up again. “I don’t mind the cuddling. You should know that by now.”

You shrugged. “I wasn’t sure.”

“What was your dream about?” His sharp eyes were on you, then, still tired, but attentive and worried. “What’s got you so in your head?”

You chewed your lip, unsure if you wanted to tell him. But Yoongi was your best friend, and what was the point of that if you couldn’t tell him everything?

“You called me clingy,” you said softly, picking at your thumbnail. “And said that I was annoying.”

He swore under his breath, letting out a heavy sigh. He grabbed for your hand, bringing it up to rest against his chest, his fingers loosely intertwining with yours. For a while, he was quiet, his thumb thoughtfully ghosting against your skin in small circles. When he spoke next, he wasn’t looking at you.

“I have never once thought you were clingy or annoying,” Yoongi said quietly. “Trust me, I live with Jin. I swear to god, if you Google ‘annoying,’ his picture would be the first result.”

You laughed in spite of yourself. Yoongi loved Jin like a brother, no matter what he said. But he was right--Jin’s demeanor certainly wasn’t for everyone.

Yoongi smiled, squeezing your hand gently. “I don’t think you're clingy. And I don’t think you’re annoying. I like hanging out with you. I…” He paused, and for a moment, he looked like he was scolding himself. “I like how affectionate you are. It makes me feel appreciated.”

When you finally fell asleep that night, it was with an arm hooked over Yoongi’s waist, your face pressed between his shoulder blades.

‘Do you want to grab dinner tonight?’

You’d been staring at the message in your notifications for ten minutes. You felt bad ignoring him. You’d never outright ignored Yoongi before. But you had spent the past week avoiding his calls and not reading his texts.

You hadn’t seen him since he’d gone back to his apartment, the electricity finally fixed. Not necessarily because you didn’t want to see him--you missed him desperately--but you needed space. You still weren’t comfortable being around Gengar, even if you mostly understood why it had attacked you.

It had lashed out because it was jealous. Yoongi was its trainer, you knew it had gotten attached to him quickly. In a way, you had come in between them. Your closeness with Yoongi kept him from hanging out entirely with Gengar. Thus, the frustration and the attack.

But understanding why didn’t really make you any more comfortable.

You locked your phone, the screen turning off immediately. Sighing, you leaned back against the back of your couch and ran a hand through your hair. You couldn’t keep ignoring him. You didn’t want to ruin your relationship with Yoongi.

You should have dinner with him.

You unlocked your phone and tapped into your message app. You typed out a quick reply, agreeing to get dinner and hang out. And you sat. And waited.

The minutes dragged as you waited for him to respond. Normally, he was good about texting you back. Even if he was busy, he was attentive to his notifications, especially when they were from you. You started to get nervous. What if he was upset with you?

You started to type out an apology for the late response when you heard a hiss from the corner of the room. When the shadows behind your television started to darken and shift, you yelped in surprise. But then the shadow started to solidify, and two purple horns started to emerge from the wall. When the red eyes and the big, toothy grin appeared in the shadows, you groaned.

“How did you get here?” you asked the shadow.

It cackled and emerged fully, tumbling out of the wall and landing on the floor with a soft ‘thud.’ Gengar laughed, a gleeful look on its face. When it saw you weren’t smiling, its grin faded. Slowly, it waddled over to you, its little feet silent against the floor. It touched your knee, patting it gently, a look of remorse on its face.

You sighed. You wanted to stay mad at the pokemon. You wanted to hold a grudge. But you couldn’t. The poor thing had been abandoned at the train station, left to the elements. Attacking you had been the wrong decision, but you couldn’t fault it for panicking when it thought Yoongi was spending more time with you.

“Does Yoongi know you’re here?” you questioned softly, rubbing the tufts of shadow on top of its head. That was when you noticed it was clutching something in one of its hands. “What do you have there?”

Gengar made a proud noise, perking up slightly as it handed you the object. A cell phone. You were about to ask whose it was when the lock screen lit up from the movement, answering your question.

Your own face grinned up at you from the screen, your chin tucked over Yoongi’s shoulder. He had taken the selfie at the carnival when it was in town. You had thought the lights by the carousel had been pretty--all blues and greens and purples--and had insisted that he pose for a photo with you. He’d made a dumb joke just before snapping the pic, and had managed to catch you both mid-laugh.

Your heart swelled at the memory, but at the same time, it ached. Partly because you felt guilty for ghosting him for a week. But mostly because you missed him.

“You shouldn’t take people’s things,” you chided, gently but firmly. “It’s not nice. Yoongi’s probably wondering where his phone is.”

Then you realized, Yoongi was probably wondering where Gengar was.

So you walked it home. You trekked ten blocks to his apartment, walking slowly so the ghost pokemon could keep up, its little hand clutched in yours the whole way. Gengar chattered away beside you the whole time, cooing when it saw a bird pokemon or pointing up at the clouds when it saw something interesting. It felt almost like you were taking a five foot tall toddler for a walk.

You knocked on the apartment door, standing on the steps and leaning against the banister. You were nervous. Why were you nervous? It was Yoongi. You’d been to his apartment hundreds of times. You and Jin were always on the same team when your friend group got together for game night. You shouldn’t be nervous.

And yet your stomach gave an uneasy flop, and you picked at your nails, unsure.

Beside you, Gengar looked around, waiting patiently at your side, its hand still clutched in yours. It got distracted by a Mothim flapping by, its orange and yellow wings hypnotizing the ghost pokemon for a brief moment.

But then the door opened, and both your and Gengar’s attention snapped to the man on the other side. Jin was tall and broad, and if you believed him, he was so handsome that women stopped him constantly asking to date him.

“Yah, there you are,” Jin groaned, swatting at Gengar to get it to enter the apartment. “You can’t just disappear like that, you know.” He sighed, leaning heavily against the door. “Thank you for returning our little Houdini. We’re still trying to teach manners.”

“I noticed,” you laughed, holding up Yoongi’s phone. “Seems it swiped this on its way out.”

Jin rolled his eyes and stepped back, motioning for you to come in. You kicked off your shoes, nodding when he told you Yoongi was in the living room. Gengar stood in the entry waiting for you, and you ushered it into the living room.

Yoongi sat on the plush chair, head in his hands, his hair a mess from running his hands through it. You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell he was upset. His back was tense, and he had made himself as small as possible.

“Hey,” you said softly, attempting not to scare him. “Brought your runaway back.”

His head snapped to you, dark eyes darting from your face to Gengar in front of you. Gengar, for its part, looked apologetic, its mouth turned down in a frown. Yoongi stood, moving to meet you. His hands fell on Gengar’s head, examining its round face for signs of distress. When he saw none, he looked at you, eyes meeting yours briefly before he looked away.

You handed him his phone. “It brought me this, too.”

Yoongi nodded. “Thanks.” His voice was soft, unsure, like he didn’t know how to talk to you.

It hurt, hearing him like that. In the years you had been friends, Yoongi had never been anything but straightforward with you, had never been anything but confident. Even when he was feeling shy or nervous or broken, his unease was never directed toward you.

You waited for him to say something else. He looked like he wanted to, but he stood there, his hand stroking Gengar’s head gently, unspeaking. It was awkward, and you hated it. When nothing came, you sighed.

“Okay, well, I uh…” you stuttered, rubbing your hands together nervously. “I guess I’ll go.”

You took a few awkward steps toward the door, but stopped when Yoongi spoke again.

“So that’s it?”

“What?” you turned, immediately taking a step back. He was standing in front of you, his body barely inches from yours.

“That’s it? You’re just going to leave?” He seemed frustrated. “We haven’t talked for a week. Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” you said quietly, looking at your feet. “No, I-”

“Is it Gengar?”

“No.” It was the truth. You weren’t mad at Gengar. Not anymore.

“Then what?”

“I needed time. I didn’t want to be around Gengar at first. But…” You sighed, leaning against the wall beside you. “It got hard to reach out. I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“I wanted to hear from you,” Yoongi said softly. “I always want to hear from you. You’re...” He trailed off, a strange look in his eyes.

He stayed silent, you could see him struggling with what to say next.

Best friends tell each other everything, you thought to yourself. Even when it’s hard.

So you told him the truth.

“I missed you,” you admitted, reaching out and grabbing his hand. You could feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach as he intertwined your fingers. You were nervous. Why were you nervous? “Did you still want to get dinner?”

Yoongi smiled and nodded. “Of course.” There was something about the softness in his voice that warmed your heart.

You knew you should turn, lead him to the door to go get takeout or to the couch to scroll through a delivery app. But for some reason, you couldn’t move. You were rooted to the spot, stuck there staring at Yoongi’s wide, genuine smile and his deep brown eyes. His head cocked to the side, his eyebrow raised in confusion. For the briefest of moments, you thought you saw his eyes dart down and then back up to meet your eyes.

It wasn’t clear who leaned in first, or when. Only that it happened and that Yoongi’s lips brushed yours gently. Your body felt like he had lit you on fire, every nerve ending simultaneously telling your brain something different. You were suddenly hyper-aware of your hand clutched in Yoongi’s, and the way his hand rested on your hip. When did that get there?

“Was that… was that okay?” his voice was soft, his cheeks flushed the brightest shade of pink. He was still standing so close, his breath fanning against your skin.

You nodded, your brain unable to form coherent thoughts beyond the obvious. You had kissed Yoongi. Or Yoongi had kissed you. You still weren’t clear on the specifics. But his lips had been soft and warm and moulded perfectly to your own. You had to admit that while you had never particularly thought about kissing Yoongi before, now that it had happened…

You very much wanted to do it again.

Thankfully, Yoongi seemed to have a similar thought, because he leaned in again. Your hand slid up his chest, gently knotting in the hair at the base of his neck. Somehow, in that one action, he managed to answer all the questions swirling in your brain and some you didn’t even know you had.

Why did he treat you differently than his other friends?

Why didn’t he seem to care that neither of you had personal boundaries around each other?

What were you?

A raspy giggle behind you jolted you apart. Gengar’s head poked through the wall, it’s red eyes closed as it laughed gleefully.

Yoongi let out a dry chuckle, his hand connecting with the Gengar’s forehead. “Get out of here, you creep,” he scolded playfully. “I’m still mad at you for running away.”

Gengar let out a happy cackle but disappeared into the wall. A second later, Jin screamed in the kitchen, apparently the victim of the ghost pokemon’s mischief. You laughed loudly, Yoongi’s shoulders shaking as he attempted to mask his laughter by burying his face in your shoulder.

“Yah! Don’t laugh at me,” Jin yelled back, appearing in the kitchen doorway. His shirt was completely soaked. He must have been doing dishes when Gengar scared him.

“We’re going out,” Yoongi managed between laughs, squeezing your hand gently. “Watch the little criminal while I’m gone?”

Jin grumbled and waved you away, returning to the kitchen. “Guess it’s just you and me tonight, kid,” you heard him mumble. Gengar cackled in response.

Yoongi kissed you once more, quickly, catching you off-guard. But then he tugged you down the hallway, his hands only separating from you so he could put his shoes on.

“Where to?” he asked softly, eyes meeting yours as you both stood back up.

You walked out of his apartment hand-in-hand. Eventually, you would have to talk about it, but for now, you were content with the new, unexpected development in your relationship.

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read-time-fanfic · 26 days ago

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Fic recs Yoongi

Some fics I read this week, and I need to make people read them too lol I'll probably do it with the other members too.

Interlude | MYG | Series Masterlist @yoongiofmine (Idol!Yoongi X Deaf!Reader)

Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.

– This is simply the most beautiful Yoongi series I've ever read.

——

The Consequences of Fucking Up @borathae

“Your break up was messy and painful. All you want to do is to forget about him. His friends, who ever since you ended it with Yoongi see you as their bullying target, make sure that the memory of him stays fresh in your mind however, haunting you day by fucking day. While Yoongi makes it seem as if he gives no fuck about your situation. Until one night he is in front of your door. Drunk and fucking regretful.”

– You won't regret reading it, trust me.

——

his entire world | min yoongi x f!reader | a serendipitous life series @serendipitous-seven

summary: you and yoongi are trying to enjoy your friends' wedding with a very fussy baby

– THIS WAS ONE OF THE SOFTEST THINGS I'VE EVER READ 😭💞

——

F*ck Tradition | Yoongi @dancinglikebutterflywings ( Min Yoongi x Fiancee!Reader)

- Synopsis: Y/N takes Yoongi with her to go wedding dress shopping because her fiancées opinion is the only one that matters.

– I feel like this story and this writer deserves much more recognition, MY GOD IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL.

—

you're okay | myg (m) @taegularities

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

– This here comforted my heart in a way 😭😭💞💞

—

ex-things - m.yg. @namfinessed

summary: over the years, everything you've owned has belonged to yoongi and everything yoongi's owned has belonged to you but when you break up, everything is your's and everything is his but none of it belongs to the two of you anymore and both of you can't stand it.

– That was adorable and made me smile like a fool.

—

impression | yg @namjoonchronicles

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

– This is so cute, I love the husband!Yoongi

—

The Final - Day 02 | MYG | ONESHOT @yoongiofmine

Summary: You've been Yoongi's go-to companion for the past few years, well aware that's all you were going to be. Despite your very real, growing feelings for the rapper, you took what you could get every time. Now, you're backstage at day two of the final leg of his tour when another member takes an interest in you. Will it be enough to make Yoongi realize he's got competition?

– it made me wild and crazy

—

dissertation | yg @namjoonchronicles

↳ summary many people doubted your union, how exactly an artist with as much influence as yoongi be a husband to a wife that is still studying.

– Yoon being the person we all need, This writer is wonderful, please give him a chance. (I'm telling you this writer is amazing)

—

Shy - Yoongi X Reader @7ndipity

Summary: You’re desperately craving your boyfriend's attention, but are too shy to ask for it outright. Luckily, Yoongi knows what you want anyway.

– This is something cute and warm.

—

YES, I WILL DO MORE BECAUSE WE HAVE MANY TALENTED WRITERS.

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read-time-fanfic · 1 month ago

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prison boyfriend!jk cw, he's in prison, obviously. rough making out, tit groping, yearner!jungkook.

prison boyfriend jungkook who makes calls to you as soon as he has as much as a cent to spare, hunched over the phone box as he grips the device in his tattooed knuckle — "when will you come see me? I miss you."

supervised conversations taking place between a plastic barrier, his breath fogging up what little view you have of him as he presses impossibly close — itching to reach through and touch you.

and when you're finally allowed one-on-one visits, its no talk. his hands are all over you, roughed up from the months spent behind bars as he does wood work day in and day out. kisses are delivered to your lips, the side of your face, your neck, anywhere he can access.

pressed up against the cold concrete wall, your shirt hiked up as he gropes at your tits like he'd never seen a pair before. lots of miss you's passed between his breathy kisses. "can't wait 'til I get out, gonna fuck you so good when I do" and you know he will.

you wait patiently for him, hanging around your phone like you had nothing better to do — longing for his call, to hear the sound of his slightly raspy voice as he pours his heart out to you.

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read-time-fanfic · 1 month ago

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ CHARITABLE CAUSES Ꮺ myg

request: Hi!! Im just discovered your blog and your writing is genuinely moving it's so beautiful 🥹 with that being said I would love to request a yoongi x reader fic maybe idol yoongi with actress reader. Maybe they're at a charity event or something and they meet and it's basically love I dunno. Potentially Smutty 👀👀👀

Anyway continue your absolutely beautiful writing pookie <3

pairing: idol!yoongi x actress!fem!reader

genre: strangers to lovers, slow burn, social event tension, emotional isolation, suggestive/flirty atmosphere

warnings: mature themes, strong sexual tension, making out in semi-public setting, suggestive language, swearing, mutual thirst with a side of pining, power plays in eye contact form

word count: 5.6 k

summary: yoongi doesn’t want to be at the charity gala — not when he is the only one doing the promotions, not when all he’s expected to do is smile and survive conversations that mean nothing. but then she walks in: the actress with sharp eyes, a reputation for blunt honesty, and a look that makes him forget how to breathe. what starts as a few shared glances turns into something neither of them can deny — tension thick enough to choke on, every moment charged, quiet, dangerous. and when she dares him to follow her, he doesn't hesitate.

lu's note: hi!! instead of making this one-shot smutty, i decided to make it charged with sexual tension between these two (it definitely has potential for a part two with smut if you guys are interested 👀). alsooo my requests are open atm if you want to send something in!! i think that was all i had to say lmao, thanks for reading

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀masterlist⠀ | ⠀taglist⠀ | ⠀more to read

Yoongi didn’t want to be here.

He was already itching under the collar of his suit, his tie too tight no matter how many times he subtly tugged at it. He shifted his weight, hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored slacks as his manager chatted with some executive he didn’t recognize — or care to. The lights were too soft, the music too polished, and everyone around him wore the same polite smile that screamed networking opportunity rather than actual interest.

He’d done the red carpet, posed for photos with the sponsors, nodded through two glassy interviews, and now he was trying to disappear into a dark corner of the ballroom with a half-glass of something amber and sharp. It wasn’t bad. Just... not enough.

This was what his life looked like now — solo appearances, solo press runs, solo dinners. The other members had gone off to fulfill their service, and though they kept in touch, the silence in the dorms had started to feel louder than any crowd.

He could hear Jin’s voice in his head: just show face, say thank you, and get the hell out before someone asks for karaoke.

Yoongi almost smiled.

And then —

She walked in.

He noticed her before the crowd did. Or maybe they did too, but didn’t quite react the same way.

She wasn’t flashy, not in the usual way actresses made entrances. She wasn’t dripping in jewels or batting her lashes at the cameras. But there was a quiet kind of magnetism to her, like the kind of song that doesn’t hit you until the third listen — and then it won’t leave you alone.

Her dress hugged her body just enough to command attention, but it was the way she moved — unhurried, confident — that made Yoongi straighten subtly, gaze tracking her as she crossed the room like she’d rehearsed it in heels and hardwood a thousand times.

She didn’t look at him.

He told himself he was only watching because she looked vaguely familiar. An actress. He’d probably seen her in something, but he couldn’t place it. And still — he watched.

His manager leaned in. “That’s the girl presenting the grant award later. She’s the face of that new indie film with the Venice buzz. She’s kind of everywhere right now.”

Yoongi just hummed, eyes still on her. She laughed at something someone said — a real laugh, the kind that crinkled her nose and tipped her head back slightly. She had no idea he was staring.

But god, she was pretty.

And Yoongi, who had been perfectly content with fading into the wallpaper tonight, suddenly didn’t feel like hiding anymore.

The first time her eyes met his, it was an accident. Probably.

She was in conversation with someone — a producer or a director by the looks of it — her hand delicately holding the stem of a wine glass, one shoulder tilted back in that practiced red carpet way, when her gaze skimmed the room and snagged on his.

Yoongi felt it like a pinprick. Just a flick of her eyes, a pass-through. Except... she didn’t keep moving.

She held it.

Not long. A second, maybe two. Enough for him to feel the soft, subtle shift in the air around him — the moment going still. She didn’t smile, didn’t look away immediately, and Yoongi? He didn’t either.

Her eyes glinted — there was no better word for it — something playful or curious or maybe even amused. Like she knew exactly who he was and wasn’t all that impressed. Like she’d been watching him first.

And then, as if remembering herself, she blinked and turned her attention back to her glass, laughing at something the man beside her said. Not a hair out of place.

But Yoongi stood there, unmoving, with a ghost of heat still crawling up the back of his neck.

He told himself not to look again.

He looked again.

She didn’t glance his way this time — not that he caught — but she shifted in her stance, exposing more of her neck, brushing her fingers along her collarbone. Deliberate or not, it made his mouth go dry.

Yoongi exhaled slowly, bringing his drink to his lips like it might hide the way his jaw had subtly tightened. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention. Or maybe he was, once — when the seven of them would work a room with a mix of chaos and charm — but this? This slow burn stare across a sea of designer suits and string quartets? This wasn’t his usual arena.

And yet...

He couldn’t bring himself to look away for too long.

She caught him watching again twenty minutes later.

This time, she did smile. Brief. Coy. Not even directed at him, not technically — but her lips curled just as her eyes passed over his, like a secret shared under breathless silence.

He swore she was enjoying it.

And still — neither of them moved. Not toward each other. Not yet.

He wondered if she was waiting for him to crack first.

He wondered how long he could stand this game.

The third time he glanced in her direction, it hit him.

Not all at once — more like a slow bleed. A flicker of her profile, the curve of her smirk as she nodded through a compliment, the way her hands moved when she talked — expressive, graceful, like someone used to taking up space on camera — and something in his brain clicked.

He’d seen her before.

Not just here. Not just tonight.

A clip.

Yoongi blinked, tilted his head just slightly, trying to chase it down.

It wasn’t anything dramatic — no scene-stealing performance, no scandal. Just a moment from some variety show that’d passed through his feed a year or two back. She was in a sleek black dress, hair shorter than it was now, legs crossed confidently as a flustered host asked her the million-won question: what’s your ideal type?

She didn’t name anyone. Played coy, the way they all did when management told them to avoid specifics.

But the way she said, “i like quiet people. mysterious. the kind who don’t need to be the loudest in the room to pull attention,” had lit the internet on fire for a hot second.

Fans clipped the moment to death, pairing it with every idol imaginable. But the top comments had mostly been the same:

“girl just described min yoongi and dipped.”

He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Just another clip. Another game. And he didn’t watch those kinds of shows unless someone forced him to.

But now? Standing here, watching her command the room with none of the desperation he was so used to seeing at these things, it landed different. It lingered.

She hadn’t approached him.

Neither had he.

And maybe that made it worse.

Because now he knew she knew who he was. Or at least… he suspected. And there was something in her eyes that told him she’d seen the clip too — or heard about it. Something about the way she’d looked at him. Measured. Steady. A slow blink, not surprised — prepared.

He didn’t know much else about her.

Her name, yeah. He’d seen it on posters for a coming-of-age high school drama, the kind stylized in soft lighting and pink overlays. He remembered the interviews after — her deadpan delivery as she confessed she only took the role because her agent guilt-tripped her into it, how she hated how they styled her hair, how she cringed at her own delivery of the “i like you, oppa” line.

He’d chuckled at that interview. She’d been honest. Blunt. Something about that had stuck with him, too.

And now, here she was. Real. Tall. Quietly devastating. And watching him like she knew something he didn’t.

Yoongi finished his drink.

Maybe it was time to stop playing polite.

Or maybe it was time to let her come to him.

Either way, something was happening — slow and certain — and he wasn’t sure he wanted to stop it.

Yoongi slipped away without much thought, half-finished drink abandoned on some linen-covered table, the chatter of the ballroom dissolving behind him like steam off hot glass. His manager didn’t notice — or pretended not to — which he appreciated. One less question to shrug off.

He followed the curve of the corridor, deeper into the venue, where the light dimmed and the press of bodies thinned out. A hall lined with mirrors and floral arrangements led to the back terrace — not quite hidden, but quiet enough to breathe.

He stepped outside.

It was colder than he expected, the Seoul night curling cool fingers into the stiff collar of his shirt. He exhaled hard, hands bracing on the stone railing, the silence settling like a weight in his chest — heavy, but better than all that polite conversation.

This wasn’t his thing.

Never had been.

The constant smiling. The small talk with people who only knew him in keywords. The way the music never really drowned out the static in his head.

It was like being trapped in a room where the walls were made of glass — everyone looking in, and no one ever seeing past the reflection.

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching at the base of his neck where sweat had started to cling. He needed ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Just to be alone.

And then—

He heard it. The soft, unhurried click of heels.

He didn’t turn. Not right away. But he stilled.

The sound grew closer — not close enough to be bold, but deliberate. Slow. Intentional. When he finally looked, she was there.

Not right beside him. Not even within touching distance.

A few paces away, arms loosely crossed, the wind tugging playfully at the fabric of her dress. She stood there like she’d been looking for him — or maybe not. Maybe this was her spot, too.

Her gaze met his. Not shy. Not smug either.

Just... level.

Like they were picking up a conversation they hadn’t started yet.

Neither of them spoke.

She stepped a little closer, not closing the space entirely, just enough to share the moment without asking for anything. Her perfume reached him before her voice did — soft jasmine, something warm beneath it. He didn’t recognize it, but somehow it made his stomach tighten.

Finally, she said, “it’s loud in there.”

Yoongi’s lips curled at the edge.

That was the understatement of the year.

“you don’t seem the type to hate the spotlight,” he murmured, low.

“i don’t,” she replied, coolly. “but sometimes it feels like it’s hating me.”

That surprised a small breath of laughter out of him. Quiet. Real.

She tilted her head. “you always this elusive, or is it just tonight?”

Yoongi finally turned to face her fully, elbow still braced on the railing.

“depends,” he said. “you always this direct?”

She smirked. “depends.”

That hung there between them — easy, almost lazy — and yet the air was taut, like a string drawn back and waiting to snap.

They didn’t move.

They didn’t need to.

Something had shifted. Just enough.

Yoongi wasn’t tired anymore.

The conversation slipped in the same way she had — smooth, unannounced, strangely welcome.

They talked about nothing at first.

Weather. The view. The brand of wine being passed around inside — neither of them liked it, which felt like a strange kind of agreement. She mentioned the ridiculous sponsor gift bags, and Yoongi snorted when she admitted she’d already lost hers somewhere between the coat check and the champagne tower.

He found himself answering her without thinking. Letting his shoulders drop. Saying more than he usually would.

It wasn’t the way she spoke — though she was eloquent, wry, and more clever than most. It was the way she listened. How she let silence hang without rushing to fill it. How her eyes tracked his like she wanted to hear what he thought — not because of who he was, but because of how he said it.

And somewhere along the way, the lines between idle banter and flirtation started to blur.

When he said something dry and slightly cynical about award shows, she grinned and said, “careful, people might mistake you for charming.”

He raised a brow. “you mistaking me for charming?”

She hummed, tilting her head like she was weighing it. “maybe.”

Later, when he told her he didn’t remember the last time he willingly stayed at one of these things longer than he had to, she leaned a little closer and said, “guess I should feel special then.”

And maybe it was the moonlight catching on her skin. Or maybe it was the faint flush of wine on her cheeks. But Yoongi found himself looking at her differently — not just as the girl from the clip or the actress with the sharp tongue, but as someone he wanted to keep talking to.

Someone who surprised him.

Because this wasn’t him.

He wasn’t the type to flirt casually. To linger on someone’s lips when they weren’t speaking. To trace a fingertip over the condensation on the railing just because she had done the same a moment earlier. He didn’t do this.

And yet, here he was.

“I should go back in,” she said eventually, her voice soft, almost reluctant.

Yoongi nodded, suddenly a little too aware of how long they’d been standing out here.

She didn’t move right away. Her eyes held his for a beat longer — unreadable, steady — then she stepped back.

No fanfare. No goodbye.

Just: “don’t disappear completely.”

Then she turned and walked back through the glass doors, her silhouette catching the light for one last flicker before slipping out of sight.

Yoongi stayed where he was, heart beating a little harder than it should’ve been.

He didn’t disappear.

But he didn’t follow either.

Not yet.

Yoongi reentered the ballroom ten minutes later.

He wasn’t even sure what he expected — maybe the same static atmosphere he’d left behind. But things had shifted. Or he had.

She wasn’t looking at him when he stepped back in. She was standing near a circular table, deep in conversation with someone he vaguely recognized from a recent Netflix project. She was laughing, but her posture was loose now, less stiff than earlier. Like the edge had worn down.

He moved toward a small group clustered near the far end — an artist he'd collaborated with once, an old producer, someone from a fashion house — and for the first time all evening, Yoongi stayed in the conversation.

Not fully. Not with his whole attention.

But enough to nod, add in a comment here and there, even offer a small smile.

Because every few minutes, he’d catch her watching him.

Not obviously. Not in a way anyone else would notice.

But her eyes would drift — over a glass rim, past someone’s shoulder — and settle on him. For a second. Two. Long enough for him to feel it.

And when she caught him looking back, she didn’t look away like before.

She held it.

Once, when they crossed paths between clusters of mingling guests, her fingers brushed against his — just barely — like a ripple in silk. He could’ve sworn it wasn’t an accident.

Another time, she leaned in while passing behind him and whispered, “i swear, if one more man over fifty tells me he loved me in that high school drama, i’m gonna fake a fainting spell.”

Her breath skimmed his ear. He had to bite back a laugh.

“do it,” he murmured, without turning his head. “i’ll catch you.”

That made her pause. Just slightly. Enough to send a spark up both their spines.

Later, she found herself standing beside him again. Close enough to smell the warm cedar of his cologne. Not close enough to touch — but the kind of closeness that crackles.

“you’re smiling more,” she said, casually.

“you’re imagining things,” he replied.

She tilted her head. “sure i am.”

And then she did something he didn’t expect.

She leaned in again — not to whisper something snarky, not to tease — just to look at him fully. To see him.

“you look like someone who’s finally letting themselves enjoy the night,” she said, softer this time.

Yoongi didn’t respond right away.

But something shifted behind his eyes. Something open. Bare.

“maybe i am.”

The lights dimmed slightly as the final round of speeches began — polite applause, practiced smiles, a rotation of figures taking the stage one by one. Yoongi had tucked himself toward the side of the room again, half-listening, swirling the remnants of his drink, mostly watching her.

She hadn’t looked at him in a while.

Not directly.

But he felt her everywhere — in the way his pulse tripped every time she laughed, in the ghost of her perfume still lingering near his collar, in the phantom brush of her hand across his an hour ago that he hadn’t stopped thinking about since.

He didn’t expect much when her name was called.

Just the usual — a poised thank you, something light about the cause, maybe a rehearsed joke about the indie film industry. But then she stepped up to the mic in a fitted satin gown that caught the stage lights like molten silver, and Yoongi forgot to breathe.

She was magnetic.

Poised, sure. But loose in her skin. Her smile curved with intention. Her voice rang out, rich and playful, dancing between sincerity and charm so naturally that the whole room leaned in.

She opened with a quip about actor egos. The crowd laughed.

She thanked the organizers, cracked a joke about one of the directors being too handsome to trust with funding decisions, made a subtle nod to the importance of art in lonely times. Yoongi caught her saying something like “art is how we look at each other without saying it out loud.”

That one hit a little too close.

And still — still — she looked at him.

Not every second. But enough.

Between lines. Between pauses. Her eyes would wander the room, always land on him like they’d just remembered where they wanted to be. Like he was the safe place in a room full of pretty strangers.

She wasn’t hiding it anymore.

Not the lingering glance. Not the barely-there smirk when she said something cheeky. Not the way her fingers curled just slightly around the microphone when her gaze dropped to his mouth for half a second too long.

Yoongi leaned back in his seat, elbow resting on the table, and let her look.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch.

But his eyes burned right back.

If anyone was watching closely, they’d see it — the kind of tension that wasn’t meant to be public but had no choice anymore. Like the room had melted away and there were only two people left, pretending to keep their distance while undressing each other with their eyes.

She wrapped her speech with a coy, “thank you for letting me steal your attention, even if just for a little while.”

The applause was thunderous.

But Yoongi didn’t clap.

He was too busy watching her step down, composure intact, but her eyes flicking to him one last time — and that was the moment he knew.

This wasn’t just harmless flirting anymore.

This was a spark waiting to be set on fire.

She excused herself somewhere between the end of a speech and the announcement of dessert, murmured something to the person beside her and slipped from the circle with the same effortless grace she’d had all night. Yoongi didn’t watch her go — not directly. But he saw the way her fingers ghosted along the curve of her clutch, the way her heels tapped against the marble, the way she passed by his side without a word and let her hand — barely — brush the bend of his elbow.

It wasn’t an accident.

Not after the look she gave him — not bold, not obvious — but expectant. Daring. As if to say, you coming, or are we pretending we’re done?

She didn’t look back once.

Yoongi waited two full minutes. Long enough to not make it obvious. Long enough to convince himself he wasn’t being impulsive. And then he stood up, excused himself with a nod, and slipped into the hallway like a shadow.

The corridors were quieter now — muted laughter and the clatter of glassware bleeding faintly from the ballroom behind him. He walked slowly at first, fingers adjusting his jacket sleeve, eyes scanning for her.

He caught a glimpse of her at the end of the corridor — a swish of silver, a turn of her head just before she disappeared right around the corner. Definitely not toward the bathrooms.

Yoongi’s mouth curved slightly, the weight in his chest heavier now — not stress, not exhaustion, but curiosity. Want.

He followed.

She led him through one turn, then another. Past the staff doors, past a roped-off staircase, deeper into the quiet hum of the hotel’s back corridors. They didn’t speak. Didn’t call each other’s names. There was no need. Every step she took was permission.

By the time she stopped, they were somewhere off the map. A tucked-away lounge maybe, or a service hallway that hadn’t seen a crowd in hours. Soft golden light spilled from a wall sconce, bathing her skin in something too tender for a woman who’d spent the whole evening mastering poise. Here, alone, her edges softened. Her back remained to him for a moment longer than necessary, like she was catching her breath.

She turned around just as he reached her.

Neither of them spoke.

They stood there, only feet apart but thick with everything that hadn’t been said. She watched him like she’d been waiting for this — not impatient, just ready.

Yoongi’s gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then back up to her eyes.

And then he exhaled — a dry laugh, quiet and a little self-conscious — and said, “you sure do know how to make a simple guy feel like the main character.”

Her lips curled, slow and knowing, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t a smile meant for a camera or a room full of people.

It was for him.

She took a step closer, the heels silent now against the carpet, and tilted her head just enough for the light to catch in her eyes.

“there’s nothing simple about you,” she said, voice low.

And Yoongi believed her.

Because right now, with the quiet pressing in around them, with her looking at him like he was the answer to a question she hadn’t known how to ask — he didn’t feel tired. Or distant. Or guarded.

He felt seen.

And if he leaned in now, just slightly — if her hand brushed his chest in return — they both knew exactly what would happen next.

Yoongi didn’t move at first.

He just stood there, still held in her gaze, like some invisible string had been pulled tight between them. But then she took another step. A quiet one. Not enough to close the distance, but enough to change it — the kind of step that said, your turn.

And he answered without a word.

One step.

Then another.

Her eyes never left his. Neither of them smiled, not really, but there was something dangerously close curled at the corner of her mouth — playful, knowing, like she was already writing the next five seconds in her head and daring him to catch up.

“you always this good at slipping away from crowds?” she murmured, voice softer now, just for him.

“you make it easier,” he replied, a little rougher, each word grazing the space between them like a touch.

Another step.

Close enough now that the soft scent of her perfume found him again — jasmine and warm skin and something deeper beneath it that made his breath catch low in his throat.

“i wasn’t sure you’d follow,” she said, eyes flicking briefly to his lips, then back to his eyes like she wanted him to notice.

“you touched me,” he said simply, like that explained everything. and it kind of did.

Her laugh was breathy now, barely a sound. “bold of me.”

“stupid, really,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly — teasing, sharp.

“i’m an actress,” she whispered, voice like silk sliding over stone. “i do stupid things for tension.”

And fuck, that pulled a real grin from him — crooked and short-lived, but there.

Their steps slowed. They were barely a breath apart now.

Yoongi leaned in just slightly, his head tilted like he was listening for something she hadn’t said yet.

“you flirting?” he asked, low.

“what gave it away?” she breathed.

“the way you looked at me like you already had a scene in mind.”

Her breath hitched, just a little, the space between them crackling.

“and what do you think happens in that scene, yoongi?”

His hand brushed the wall beside her — not touching, just close. His voice dipped.

“depends on how long we keep pretending we’re not already in it.”

She didn’t answer him right away.

Her gaze flicked between his eyes and his mouth, lashes low, lips parted just barely — like she was already tasting what would come next. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t awkward, wasn’t hesitant. It pulsed. It breathed. The kind of silence that thrums with every unsaid thing they’d been building toward since the first glance across the ballroom.

And then, she reached for him.

Not dramatically — no sharp grab or desperate lunge. Just her fingers curling softly into the lapel of his blazer, tugging him forward with a quiet surety that made his pulse jackknife in his throat. Her other hand came up to ghost over the line of his jaw, her touch featherlight, like she needed to confirm he was real. Yoongi didn’t resist. He leaned in, his breath brushing hers now, every part of him humming with how close she was.

“You gonna keep talking,” she whispered, voice low and velvet-wrapped, “or are you finally gonna shut up and kiss me?”

Yoongi didn’t smile, but something shifted in his expression — a flicker of surrender, of heat curling behind his eyes like a storm finally breaking. She’d won. But it wasn’t a victory. It was a truce, a mutual unraveling. And when he moved, it was like a thread snapping loose from both of them.

He kissed her like they were already in the middle of something — no hesitation, no testing the waters. Just lips colliding like a secret finally exhaled. Her mouth was soft but insistent, tasting like wine and want, and Yoongi lost track of his breath instantly. She tilted her head to deepen it, fingers twisting tighter in his jacket as her body arched toward his, like they’d been waiting to fit together like this all night.

He groaned — quiet, buried — and his hand finally found her waist, pulling her in flush. No one was around to see. No cameras, no curious glances. Just them, hidden behind a dozen turns and a door left slightly ajar, lost in a kiss that had been begging to happen since she first caught him staring.

Her lips broke from his just enough to breathe, but they didn’t pull apart.

“so,” she murmured, breath skimming his lips, “still think you’re just a simple guy?”

Yoongi chuckled, low and rough and completely undone. His thumb brushed along the small of her back, anchoring her there.

“no,” he whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth like he couldn’t help it, “not when you look at me like that.”

She didn’t give him time to say anything more after that — didn’t need to. Her mouth was already claiming his in a way that left nothing open to interpretation. This wasn’t a kiss built on curiosity anymore. It was hunger. Permission. Weeks, maybe months, of imagining what it would be like to let go with someone who could match them.

Yoongi melted into it, no — gave into it, let her guide him backwards with one hand curled tightly in his jacket and the other sliding into his hair like she’d been aching to touch it all night. His spine met the wall with a dull thud, but he didn’t care. Her body followed, pressing flush against his, and he made a sound into her mouth that was far too low, far too honest for someone usually so composed.

He wasn’t composed now.

Her lips were hot and eager, tongue teasing at his in a way that had his hands roaming on instinct. One gripped her waist, pulling her closer, while the other flattened against the back of her neck, fingers spread wide like he needed to anchor himself to her or risk falling through the floor. She kissed him deeper — not gentler, not sweeter — just more. Like she wanted to know how far he’d let this go before breaking.

Spoiler: not far. He was already halfway there.

When her teeth tugged on his bottom lip, Yoongi swore under his breath — a low, bitten-off curse — and surged forward, spinning her gently but firmly so she was the one pressed against the wall now. His mouth didn’t leave hers. If anything, it got rougher — not careless, just real. All tongue and heat and breath caught between gritted teeth. She moaned softly, and the sound went straight to his gut, coiling low and tight.

Their bodies moved together like they’d done this before in a dream they’d both forgotten. Her fingers were in his hair, tugging just enough to make his jaw clench. His hands were sliding down her back, settling at the curve of her ass with a grip that was possessive in a way neither of them were ready to name out loud. She gasped when he ground against her — fully, deliberately — and her head tipped back just enough for him to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck.

"fuck," she breathed, barely more than a sound.

He smiled against her throat. "yeah," he murmured, voice rough and uneven. "that makes two of us."

Her hand slid under the lapel of his jacket, nails dragging lightly along the crisp shirt beneath, and he could feel her trembling — not from nerves, but restraint. It was mutual. They were both right on the edge, poised in that dangerous place where want turns into need, and everything rational starts to fade beneath the weight of it.

She pulled him back in with a hand on his tie, lips crashing into his again — messier now, swollen, open, desperate. Their breaths tangled, their hips pressed, and time stopped existing. All Yoongi could feel was her. All she could think about was him.

And god, if someone didn’t walk down this hallway soon...

They were going to do something they wouldn’t be able to walk away from.

Yoongi’s hand had just slipped beneath the open side of her dress — palm skating the bare skin of her waist, hungry for more — when his phone vibrated sharply in his pocket. The sound was muffled, but the moment they both stilled, it may as well have been a siren.

He didn’t move at first. His forehead rested against hers, both of them catching their breath, their lips kiss-swollen and parted, panting into each other’s silence.

“don’t,” she whispered, fingers fisting gently in the fabric of his shirt. “just let it ring.”

He almost listened.

God, he wanted to.

But reality creeped in like a cold breeze — a reminder of where they were, what this was, who he was. The text buzzed again. Reluctantly, Yoongi eased back a few inches and dug into his pocket, checking the screen with a muttered curse under his breath.

[manager] yoongi-ssi, they’re asking for you. where did you go?

He didn’t respond. Just stared at the message like it had yanked him out of something he wasn’t ready to leave behind.

“I have to go back,” he said, the words landing heavy. Apologetic.

She didn’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, her hand smoothed over the lapel of his blazer, brushing down the fabric until it slipped into the inside pocket. When her fingers withdrew, there was a small folded piece of paper tucked neatly where only he would find it later. Her eyes never left his.

And then she was kissing him again.

Hard. Decisive. Like she was stamping her name into his memory before letting him go. Her mouth moved against his like she’d never doubted they’d meet again — tongue slipping past his lips with one last claim, hands curling in the collar of his jacket to hold him there, to brand him.

When she pulled away, it wasn’t clean. Her mouth lingered, brushing over his one last time, slower now, like she was memorizing the shape of it.

Then she leaned in, her lips grazing the shell of his ear, her nose brushing along his jaw in a featherlight stroke that made him shudder.

“to be continued?” she whispered.

It wasn’t a question.

Not really.

She stepped back before he could answer — before he could do anything. Her eyes glittered with something wicked and unfinished, her mouth swollen, hair slightly mussed, and she still looked like she owned the room even from a dark hallway no one was supposed to see.

By the time Yoongi made it back inside, cheeks still flushed, heart still pounding, the weight of her number pressed against his chest like a loaded gun... he knew exactly how this story was going to continue.

And he couldn’t wait to turn the page.

quietly always, cigarettesuga.

326 notes · View notes

read-time-fanfic · 2 months ago

Text

Forget-me-not - Min Yoongi / Suga

Prompt: “Treat me like yours again for a week before you let me go.”

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Angst (happy ending), drama, idol Yoongi, engaged au, lots of hurtful pinning

Pairing: Yoongi x she/her reader

Word count: 7.6k

a/n: I've been really down the past couple of days and it turns out it inspire me to finish this story (I've been keeping it on my drafts for months T_T) Also, did you catch that ot7 live??? cus I'm still crying 😭😭😭

“You’re calling it off? Just like that?!”

The taste of the apple that you just bit was suddenly bitter in your mouth. It was a quiet Monday night when you were enjoying your alone time, eating fruits and reading e-books through your tablet. You knew your fiancé was going to come home around this hour. You just did not expect the news he brought along with him.

It had been a little under a year since both of you decided to live together. You moved soon right after he proposed to you, but his schedule being so full, he was barely even home.

It was just a blessing and a curse at the same time, him being an idol. While the group activities had slowed down recently, with the other members focusing on solo projects outside of BTS, Yoongi had only gotten busier. Just a few months after your engagement he got to finally establish his own record label. Of course you couldn’t be more happier for him, but higher position also came with higher responsibilities.

The investor meetings, press conferences, artist assessments, and your man being Suga from BTS himself, still had some idol duties on the sides.

But you were used to it. You were used to him being booked and busy. You had loved him for the longest time to understand that as much as you hated being far apart from him, you equally loved seeing him in his element, making music, putting smiles on millions of people’s faces. Because Yoongi’s happiness was yours too after all.

So it was a shocking, humiliating even, for him to just come and said the vile statement he just said to you. He just got back from two weeks of his abroad job, and he chose to bring this news to you as a present.

“I just think with how things are, I don’t have time for you. This is clearly hurting both of us so it’s better this way.” He said, expression blank and it was hard to read.

“Yoongi, I’ve dated you for three years before getting engaged to you. I know your schedules and I’m used to it.”

“It’ll be different when we are married.”

“It won’t.” You argued.

“It will.” He sighed. “It will only get worse when we get married.”

“You do realize you get breaks and day offs, right? I can wait.”

“I own a company now.”

You looked at him to see his expression. It was still blank as he stood in front of you. Sometimes you hated how stoic he could be, especially when he wanted to. It was breaking you, but you chose to remain collected.

“If that’s your priority, then I get it.”

You stood up from your seat with a big sigh. You saw his pupil moved in a frantic way for a second, before going back to normal.

“I’ll move, you can have the—“

“One week.” You said, looking at him straight in the eye.

He looked at you, stopping his sentence.

“Treat me like yours again for a week before you let me go.” You folded your arms. “After that you can leave and we’ll be on our separate ways.”

Yoongi’s mouth opened, before it quickly closed to a stretched straight line. He looked like he was about to say something but he chose not to. He nodded his head at you, sighing.

“Okay.” Was all he said to you.

You took one last look at him before walking away, heading to the bedroom. You wondered if you could catch any sleep that night.

When moonlight came Yoongi chose to sleep next to you, after all, that was what you had asked him to do. To treat you like his again, even just for the week. You had some hours alone with your mind, you had some thoughts of how you would act when he slip into the covers with you, but when it happened you really didn’t know what to say. For some time he only laid there, unmoved, and you started to wonder if he just fell asleep like that.

You knew you had told him to do so, but it still didn’t hide the pain you were feeling when he slowly moved closer and hugged you from behind. He knew you were not asleep, of course he did. He always did. He didn’t say anything, just resting his forehead on your head, one hand over your waist to hold you close. You could feel his heartbeat and without knowing, the tears just started flowing on its own. You bit your lips, in hope that he wouldn’t notice, but then his thumb started to draw circles on your forearm. Maybe he noticed, maybe he did not. He chose to not comment about it though, which you were glad. That was why you chose not to say anything either when you felt your shoulder damp, some water droplets fell on your hair and onto your skin.

DAY 1

The next morning you were awaken by noises coming from the kitchen. You thought he would be up in his studio at this hour, him being a light sleeper and all, but it seemed like he was cooking something at eight in the morning, judging by the delicious smell. You quickly brushed your teeth and head out to check on him.

“Are you cooking?” You asked, slowly approaching him in the kitchen.

“Yeah.” He said as he stir the rice on the wok.

You looked at him, giving him a funny look.

“What?” He raised one of his eyebrows before turning up the stove’s heat, adding some minced meat on what seemed to be fried rice.

“Nothing, it’s just that you don’t usually cook so early in the morning.” You said, retreating back and took a seat on the dining chair. You sighed, figuring it was just his acts for the week.

“I haven’t cooked for you in a while.” He said, still string the food. “I also thought you would be up a little later.“

“I smelt the food, plus it was odd to find you in the kitchen at this hour instead of in your studio.”

“You could, you know… sleep some more. If you want to.” He said with his back facing you as he cooked.

“I’d rather watch you cook.” You smiled, even though he couldn’t see.

Soon he came to the dining table with two plates in his hands, one that he placed in front of you, and one for himself. The smell of the food filled the room and you started to salivate. It was just a simple dish but knowing who cooked for you made it different. Yoongi went back to grab two glasses of water for both of you, before finally sitting down across of you.

You were a tad bit anxious seeing the piercing look on his eyes, waiting for you to take a bite. And when you did, he immediately wanted a feedback.

“So?”

“I like it. Has the right amount of spiciness.” You said with food still in your mouth. “You should cook this more often.”

Your expression dropped when you realized that your request was soon about to be impossible, given the situation. Quickly, you looked down, choosing to focus on eating instead.

“Glad you like it.”

You ate in silence after that, the kind of quiet that wasn’t as sharp as before. There was still pain between you, but it had been placed in the corner for now, like a box no one wanted to open just yet.

When he stood to rinse his plate, you said without looking up, “Do you remember the first time we made breakfast together?”

He paused at the sink. “You tried to make pancakes but used salt instead of sugar.”

“And you still ate them like an idiot.”

“I was trying to impress you.”

“By eating salted cement?” You asked with an amused smile.

He grinned too. For a moment, the version of Yoongi you missed most stood there in front of you. Not the artist with the world on his shoulders. Just a man who once came to your apartment with multiple packets of different sizes of pads because he got too shy to ask which would be the appropriate one.

You watched him dry his hands, eyes focused on the towel. Something in his jaw tightened.

“Right.” You bit your inner cheek, trying to compose yourself. “How’s Namjoon by the way? I miss his little kid.” You started another topic, to drift away.

“His son is doing fine and so is he.” He said and started eating as well. “I think his wife is expecting another…”

“Really?! Wow, look at him… And to think he told us he didn’t want any children before…” You chuckled. “That guy is whipped. I’m happy for him.”

Yoongi looked at you and smiled. “Yeah.”

You and Yoongi had never mentioned anything about wanting kids in your life. The topic just somehow never came up. You used to want children in your family, but lately with how things with your work and Yoongi’s schedules, you figured it would be too much. Plus, you always had fear of change, and the idea of pregnancy scared you just a bit. But you had never heard anything from Yoongi if he wanted any or not. It would be too late to ask anyway.

“Have you ever thought of having kids?”

You almost choked on clear water. “I’m sorry?”

“We never really talked about it before…” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Do you?” You shot the question back at him.

“I never really thought about it but, I’ve always thought that I want whatever you want.”

Clearly not. You thought to yourself. “I… I used to want it. But seeing how busy both of us can be sometimes, I don’t think it’s possible. There’s enough people in this world anyway, we don’t need any mini me around.” You giggled.

“A mini you sounds adorable.” His smile quickly faded when he seemed to realize his words.

“I don’t think so. Kinda not possible with how we are now after all…” You gave a sad smile.

“I—”

“No, let’s not talk about it.” You heaved a sigh and gave him another smile, even though you started to feel your eyes getting teary.

The rest of the day was spent with the two of you just watching your old favorite movies together. You didn’t cuddle, but both of you rested your heads on each other and it was enough comfort for you.

DAY 2

This time when you woke up, Yoongi was still asleep. Movie marathoning was fun until it was four in the morning and both of you overslept on the couch. You found Yoongi sleeping, head resting on your lap, and the urge to run your finger through his hair was high, but you didn’t want to risk waking him up in the process. He looked so calm, and you missed just seeing him like this. He always looked like a cat, especially when he was asleep. He would even sometimes let out noises that sounded like a purr.

You let yourself sleep more, maybe another ten minutes.

The sound of the phone ringing could be heard from the table, Yoongi’s ringing and vibrating on it. He took the call and sounded like he was never asleep. Sometimes you wonder how he could behave so inhumane like that.

He looked up when he noticed you staring. “What is it?”

You hesitated. “Let’s go out after your call.”

“Out? Don’t you have meeting today?”

“I’ve taken the week off.” You simply said.

Yoongi hesitated for a moment, before speaking. “Where to?”

“The bookstore cafe. The one near the station. Remember? That place… we haven’t been there in a while.” You fidgeted with your fingers. “We used to go all the time.”

He didn’t answer right away, and you wondered if he’d say no. Maybe the week you asked for was already too heavy for him. But he just nodded.

“Yeah. Okay. After the call.”

The cafe was exactly the same. It smelled like spiced tea and old pages, the lighting was still dim in that warm, cozy way, and the bookstore shelves remained haphazard and charmingly messy. There was a new girl behind the counter, but the man who used to run the place, Mr. Han, was still stood in his usual spot by the register, glasses perched halfway down his nose.

“Well, well! Look who crawled back from the dead…” Mr. Han said with a teasing smile.

You laughed. “Don’t say that, you’ll scare the tourists.”

Yoongi offered a polite smile, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. “Sorry we disappeared.”

“You two were the royalty of table six.” Mr. Han said, nodding toward the back. “You left a hole when you stopped coming.”

That made Yoongi pause. You tugged him by the sleeve toward your old booth before he could slip into guilt.

The booth was still tucked into the corner, the cushions worn and soft from years of use. It had seen a lot. Your first real conversation after weeks of quiet flirting, being in all masks and hoodies, your first fight over miscommunication and missed texts, Yoongi’s confession on an evening when he looked terrified and brave all at once, to when you could finally date in normal attire after deciding to publicize your relationship.

You slid into the seat and glanced across at him. “Do you remember that night you asked me if I’d be your emergency contact?”

He snorted. “I remember the shock in your face.”

“You asked me if I want to be the first one to get called if you die… with the straightest face.” You argued.

“You still said yes.”

You shrugged, smiling as you looked to the ceiling. “I was so in love with you.”

He flinched. It wasn’t visible, not really. But you knew Yoongi too well. You knew how his eyes darted slightly when something hit too close, how his fingers tightened a fraction against the cup of coffee he had in his grasp. You didn’t push.

You looked out the window and said, “We had some good memories here.”

“Yeah.” Was all he replied back.

You spent two hours there, talking mostly about books you never had time to read and music he’d been working on. You showed him a ridiculous meme on your phone, and he actually laughed. He laughed like he used to. The wall between you cracked just slightly.

When it was time to go, you thanked Mr. Han and waved goodbye. Outside, the wind bit at your cheeks, and you tucked your hands into your coat pockets. Yoongi hesitated beside you.

“You looked really happy in there.” He said, his voice soft.

“Because I was.”

He glanced over. “It’s been a while since I saw you like that.”

You met his eyes. “That’s what happens when you disappear into work.”

He didn’t defend himself and just nodded quietly. But he didn’t walk away either. He walked with you to the car, his shoulder brushing yours the entire way.

At night before you head to bed, he pulled you gently and placed the lightest kiss on your temple. It could be just you but you saw a glimmer of hope in him. Or it could be the agreement playing the part.

DAY 3

You were awoken by Yoongi’s eyes staring at you. He greeted you with a warm smile, uttering a good morning to you. You smiled back, scooting closer in his embrace, salivating the moment.

This was how a normal morning goes for you, at least when he was home. Sure you would always miss him when he went away for his concerts, tour, or any other job that required him to be not home, but every time he came back, the feelings would always just reset. It was so easy, so effortless, to forget when you see his face and feeling him close to you again. He made it easy.

“Any plans today?” He asked, resting his chin on top of your head, embracing you still.

“This,” You smiled with your eyes closed. “This is the plan.”

“As much as I’d love that, we gotta eat something.” He chuckled.

“Nope.” You giggled.

You ended up snuggling and sleeping in for the next two hours and a half, until you heard your own stomach rumbled.

The day was supposed to be a slow day with little to no work to do. Yoongi had some songs that needed quick revision, but nothing he couldn’t do at the comfort of his home studio.

You decided to bring him some coffee to his studio. There he was leaning back on his chair with his headphones on, bopping his head a few times to the beat that was unheard.

“Yoongi?” You called upon entering the room. He didn’t seem to notice you until you placed the cup of coffee on his table.

“Oh, thanks.” He said after removing his left earpiece and took a sip of the beverage. “Just a few tuning and I’ll be done.”

“Take your time.” You said, taking a chair next to him. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“Never.” He said without meeting your gaze as his eyes went back to the monitor screen.

You gulped, suddenly feeling a bit tensed and leaned against the seat.

“Do you wanna listen?”

“Oh?” You were taken aback. “It’s done already?”

“It’s just the instrumental. Jungkook will sing the song.” He said after clicking some buttons.

“What’s the title?” You rested your hand on top of the table.

“Haven’t really decided on it but…” He stopped and removed his earphones entirely. “Here, let me show you the lyrics.” He handed you his notebook.

You skimmed through the lyrics and wondered to yourself. Since when did Yoongi learn to write corny and cheesy love song? And the more you read through it, the description, the tiny mentioned details, it sounded like he was so smitten that he had to pour his entire feelings out on this song. Mind you this was the same guy who wrote and performed Daechwita.

“You’re telling me you wrote this?!” You said while still re-reading the lyrics.

“What’s with the judgmental look?” He looked at you in disbelief.

“It’s just— Yah, have you ever even fell in love like this?! This doesn’t sound like you.” You frowned.

“I wrote this years ago.” He smiled, taking another sip of the coffee you made him. “This was way before we were even a thing.”

Your expression turned sour. “So it’s about an ex?”

“Silly, it’s about you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “It’s about me?!”

He puffed a breath and smiled, showing his gummy grin. “It clearly said, you looked through me beyond the glamour.” He pointed at the notebook that was still in your hands. “You were quite literally our makeup artist’s assistant for two years.”

It was true. You used to work under Big Hit for a while until you decided to resign. You and your friends took a huge risk and decided to start your own private brand, and so you needed to step back from the company.

The job was how you met Yoongi and the rest of the boys. Somehow you would often get assigned to do his makeup. Yoongi was rather quiet the first few gigs, but judging by the cold exterior you thought he’d be rude, but he ended up being the sweetest man you had ever known. Second to Jimin of course because that man’s an angel.

It was that one time you accidentally dropped a bottle of foundation on the floor. You just started the job, barely four weeks into it, and you already did something so fatal. You arrived early and there wasn’t anyone in the room, but the sound of the breaking glass was loud enough. The door soon opened and you were expecting it to be the head makeup artist, but much to your surprise, it was Yoongi who peeked through the door, asking about your well being.

You were lost for words as your vision only went back and forth from your hands to the shattered glasses and the complexion colored mess on the floor. Seeing your shocked state, Yoongi calmly called the cleaners and told you to take a seat. There were multiple apologies and thank yous came out from your mouth before he just took out his phone from his pocket. He tapped on the screen and browsed through his apps before handing the phone to you, shocking you even more.

“Here, just order the same one, the instant delivery is quite fast.”

You were begging to pay him back, but Yoongi was a man of his words, so he kept resisting. One day you just showed up at the set and got him iced americano to show your gratitude, even though you knew the price tag wasn’t equal. And the rest was history.

“Didn’t know you were into me like that.” Even though you were rolling your eyes, your cheeks couldn’t hide the pinkish glow.

“I thought I told you that I basically had a huge crush on you when we first met.” He snickered.

“You did, I just didn’t expect the romantic song…” You tried to avoid his gaze.

“Come on, you genuinely think I would just buy you a bottle of overpriced makeup if I don’t have any ulterior motive?! Money was tight at that time, you know!” He laughed.

You couldn’t help but to laugh as well. “To think that I fell for the sweet guy who helped me. Turns out he had malicious intent.”

“In my defense I would still help you nonetheless. I’d probably cover for you and makeup some bullshit. But the whole buying a new bottle was a smart way to get our connection going.” He proudly smirked.

“We were so dumb back then, huh?”

“I guess so.” He shook his head and smiled.

“But I don’t regret a thing.”

You said without thinking. You watched as the sparkle on Yoongi’s eyes went off and he quickly turned back to his computer screen.

You spent that night looking at his back facing you, wondering if he ever regretted meeting you.

DAY 4

You woke up with your bed empty. It wasn’t something that was new to you, in fact, you knew exactly where he was.

This time when you found him in his studio, a low tune was playing. He turned his chair to your direction instantly upon hearing the door creaking open.

You peeked with a tea in hand. “Were you up all night?”

“Only been here since five.”

You carefully took a seat next to him, studying his facial features. He seemed distressed, you could clearly see the creases forming on his forehead.

“What’s bothering you?” You asked.

“You said we’d treat each other like before, right?”

Your eyes widened, but you remained calm. “Yeah?”

“Then let’s play music and just sit with me.”

At first you didn’t think too much about the song choices he made. Sure you had listened to them but so what, you were aware that both of you had similar taste in music. But by the time the third song played, your heart clenched. It was your playlist. The one he’d made for your third anniversary.

When “free love” by HONNE started playing, you knew it was over for you. You could recall exactly when the song started playing, and Yoongi had a bouquet of peonies in his hands, walking sheepishly to you in your old apartment. He had never gotten you any flowers before. You just couldn’t see the appeal in buying impractical things when there were many more ways to show love. Everyone who had ever dated you were made aware of that. But one day you randomly mentioned that you sometimes wondered how would it feel to receive flowers romantically. Hence, why he did it.

You remembered how it was awkward at first, both of you bursted into laughter for a good minute, before you took the flowers from his hands, and took his lips in yours.

You turned to look at him, surprised. “Is this our…”

His eyes stayed on the screen. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you still had it.”

“I never deleted it.” He leaned back on his seat. “It’s a nice playlist to come back to when I’m stressed.”

You didn’t know what to say to that so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you stood up and moved to the center of the studio room. Yoongi watched you with confusion in his eyes.

Then you held your hand out. “Dance with me.”

“Are you serious?!”

“Very.”

He raised an eyebrow. A small smirk appeared on his lips. “You know you suck at dancing.”

“You see women who dance well all the time, I’m seasoned differently.” You giggled.

That made him laugh. A real one. The kind that showed his gums a little, made his eyes crease at the corners. You hadn’t seen that laugh in months.

He did take your hand.

You danced barefoot in the studio, swaying slowly across the carpet as if time hadn’t moved at all. Your fingers curled in his shirt. His hand rested on your lower back, warm and familiar. It wasn’t romantic, not fully. But it was close. Too close.

I can't get you all that stuff

But I can give you all my love

Free love

Are the simple things enough?

I got to give you all my love

Free love

When the song ended, neither of you let go right away. And when you looked up at him, he was already looking down at you.

“Do you ever miss us?” You asked without giving further thought.

His breath caught. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something. Like the words were right there, sitting behind his teeth, waiting to be let go.

“Let’s not talk about missing things today.”

You nodded slowly, expression turning cold. “Okay.”

You stepped back, but your fingers lingered on his. He let them go last.

Soon he went back to his chair, eyes glued back to the multiple screens in front of him. You sat there in silence, not wanting to bother him but reluctant to leave. Your tea halfway empty, now cold, sitting on the desk.

There was an opened notebook on the far left corner of his table. With some torn pages stuck in the middle, some looked crumpled and had torn edges. Some crossed-out lines, lyrics with arrows leading to new ones, some even scratched out entirely.

Your eyes fell on a section dated not many weeks ago.

Daydreams don’t have deadlines. But love does, doesn’t it? How long can she wait before she stops?

Your whole body froze after you read the words.

“I wasn’t going to use those lyrics.” He suddenly said, noticing where your attention was.

“Is this about… us?” You asked with a cracked voice.

Yoongi heaved a big sigh. “I didn’t know how to let you see me break.”

“You thought I can’t handle it?” You asked, feeling offended.

“I couldn’t handle you seeing it.”

“That’s selfish.”

“I know.”

A beat passed.

“Did you write that song for me? Or for you?”

“Both.” He simply said.

Out of the blue, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You got a text from Namjoon’s wife, Jieun, asking if you were free for the day.

Retreating from your seat, you told Yoongi about it and left him be in his studio. After giving her a call you found out that she wanted you to join her picking some baby clothes with her. Said because this time she was having a girl, maybe she needed help from you, with your background in stylist and all. Most importantly, she just wanted to catch up with you.

“Do you think we got too much pink items for her?” Jieun said as she picked another pink baby dress.

“There’s no such thing as too much pink.” You said, humoring the lady.

“It’s a bit stereotype-y though…” The mother frowned.

“We could get some purple stuff too, her daddy is a Bangtan member after all…” You giggled.

“With that logic, if you and Yoongi ever decide to have one, you should buy purple clothes for them as well.” She laughed.

Your expression dropped gradually as you heard her words. You laughed away in hope she wouldn’t notice, but it seemed that it was already too late.

“I’m sorry, was that a sensitive topic?” She asked with a worried look.

“No, don’t worry.” You smiled, assuring her.

“Your expression dropped when I mentioned that.” She walked closer to you. “Is everything alright? You could always tell me.”

You shook your head, sighing. “Things aren’t doing well between me and Yoongi…” You said as you took a seat on a random bench at the mall.

Jieun gasped, immediately taking the seat next to you. “What happened?”

“He wants to call off our engagement. It was just so… sudden??? He literally just came back from being away for weeks, and he came back just to tell me that?” The tone of your voice hitched. “Even told me that he’s gonna move out from our house… I… I don’t understand…” You looked down, tears started to form in your eyes.

Jieun rubbed your shoulder, feeling herself getting teary as well. She hugged you. “Have you guys talk through it?”

“We have, and his only reason was because he thinks he’s too busy and it’s just gonna hurt both of us in the long run.” You sighed. “I told him that I’m already used to him being busy. I think I’ve told you before that even though I miss him, it’s always worth it the second I get to see his face again.” You bit your lips, trying to muffle a cry. “All he said was that he got a company now, which I can’t argue. So, I ended up agreeing…”

“Goodness… So that’s it? He’s just gonna leave???”

“I told him I want him to treat me normally and toss our problems aside for a week before leaving me.” You shrugged, mustering a grin even though you had tears rolling down your cheeks. “It’s what I came up impulsively…”

“I can’t believe Yoongi just decided it like that. I thought he was a rational person… You guys have been together for years, for heavens sake!” She said with anger. “When is he leaving?”

“I don’t know exactly, we haven’t really talked about it but our agreement’s supposed to end in three days…”

“You should definitely try to talk to him about this again. It doesn’t sound like him to just decide things recklessly like that.”

“I don’t know… he seems pretty content with his choice and I don’t think I can change his mind.”

“You have to at least try, but if he still won’t budge, screw him. He doesn’t deserve you then.” She then gave you a hug again, caressing your back.

You let a few more tears flee as you hugged her back.

On your way home you got a call from Yoongi, telling you there was an urgent meeting he had to attend.

You spent the night alone again.

DAY 5

By the time you woke up Yoongi was already up eating a toast with a coffee on his hand. You didn’t know when he got back or if he even slept in the night before, but you weren’t opposed to see him nonetheless.

He fixed you a tea, added the right amount of honey, and asked if you wanted the same toast like he had.

He seemed… calm.

“What do you have on your schedule today?” You asked.

He glanced at his phone, then shrugged. “Nothing urgent. I’ve moved some things.”

That surprised you. He never moved things. Not for anyone. Not unless it was extremely crucial.

You stared. “Why?”

“You asked me for the week.” Yoongi looked up, brow furrowed. “What do you want to do today?”

You swallowed a big lump. “I want to spend today with you.”

You ended up in the park. It was the one near your old apartment before you moved into the bigger penthouse. Before tour dates. Before investors and board meetings and five day vanishing acts. Just the park with the willow tree you liked to sit under. The one where you had your first big fight but shared a kiss right after.

You brought boba tea. He brought a notebook. You sat beneath the willow and slurped the drink in silence, watching as Yoongi occasionally scribbled something down in that same black notebook from the studio.

“I thought you said you’ve moved things, but you’re writing lyrics?” You asked as you leaned closer to sneak a peek.

“It’s nothing, I’m just scared that I’ll forget this…” He said, turning another page. “And I don’t want to.”

The wind rustled the tree above you, and you watched the way sunlight flickered between the leaves, golden and soft. Your heartbeat raced.

“Well, I wouldn’t.” You said with a smile. The wind blew to your hair and you closed your eyes, feeling the breeze.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t forget things that mattered.”

And once again, Yoongi quietly nodded without a word. But he did put down the pen and stopped writing.

You followed your heart and rested your head against his side, hugging his arm as you did. He still turned tense every single time you did something touchy in public. You knew it came with the job. He probably had it embedded in his mind that he had to do the least physical contact with the opposite gender, knowing eyes and cameras were everywhere. Even after you went public, it took him months to get comfortable going out without the coverups.

You figured the habit would had stopped by now, but apparently not.

“I’m sorry.” He suddenly voiced out.

“If you’re sorry then don’t give up on us.”

“I don’t want to continue hurting you.”

“Yet you’re doing it right now.”

He didn’t answer.

But you didn’t move away when his fingers slipped in between yours.

That night, you lay in bed beside him. You didn’t talk. You just curled toward each other, the space between you finally gone. And when Yoongi reached for you in the dark, tentative, slow, afraid. You let him. You let him hold you the way he used to.

Because tonight, for the first time in a long time, you felt like he truly meant it.

DAY 6

You woke up to the sound of rain.

It wasn’t the light, soothing kind. It was heavy pounding against the windows, tapping hard against the glass like the sky had something urgent to say. You rolled over instinctively and found Yoongi still asleep beside you, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. He was still holding you. He looked peaceful.

For a long time, you didn’t move. You just watched him breathe, watched the way his lashes flickered slightly like he was dreaming. His features, usually so sharp with exhaustion, looked softer in the morning light. Younger. Like the version of him from the early days, before the CEO titles, before the international press, before he started measuring time in missed calls and delays.

He stirred, opened his mouth without opening his eyes. “You’re awake.”

“You’re sleeping in.” You commented.

“It’s raining.”

You stayed in bed most of the morning. No alarms. No calls. No meetings. It was the first time in… God, months that there wasn’t something else tearing him away. And maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was the way his hand found yours under the blankets, but something about it felt different. Softer. Realer.

Eventually, you wandered into the kitchen together, sleep heavy and still in your pajamas.

Yoongi made pancakes. He burned the first batch and cursed under his breath, and you laughed so hard you had to sit down. He pretended to pout, but there was color in his cheeks that hadn’t been there in weeks.

Yoongi turned off the stove and came to sit across from you at the small dining table. He carefully placed the two plates on the table, with as he bit his inner cheeks, admiring his artwork. You ate in comfortable silence.

You were washing the dishes when he suddenly asked from where he was seating.

“Do you still believe in us?”

You didn’t answer right away. You were done with the dishes but you still had your back facing him, as you busied yourself wiping the plates just to avoid looking at his face.

Part of you did. Part of you still saw the man who made you laugh with flour on his nose, who kissed your forehead when you couldn’t sleep, who wrote a love song in a spiral notebook just to keep from forgetting.

But there was another part. Smaller, quieter, but louder in recent months, that had grown weak and tired. Tired of holding everything up alone. Tired of waiting for your fiancé to look up and see you again.

So you told him the truth.

“I want to.” You sighed. “But I don’t want to keep holding onto something that you can easily decide to let go.”

“Don’t say easy.” He quickly defended. “It was never an easy decision.”

You finally turned and met his eyes. They looked slightly red and both of his hands were balled into fists.

“I was tired.” He said softly. “I can bear the work but I can’t stand listening to you on the phone being all happy but then catching you cry yourself to sleep.” He looked down, feeling ashamed. “And I know you keep saying that you don’t mind, but I do… I mind it. I don’t want you suffering like that.”

“Honest to God, I don’t care how many times I have to cry.” You snapped. “I cry because I’m a human being with emotions. But it pays off. It always pays off seeing you come home to me. Because I love you, damnit. I fucking love you and I hate you for giving up.” Your voice shook, a single tear fell down from your right eye.

Yoongi’s face crumpled like he had been slapped.

“I can’t give you a normal life…” His voice sounded so helpless and it broke you. “And I can’t just leave the responsibilities of the dream I’ve built in years.”

“I understand.”

Of course you did. You could never make him choose. You wouldn’t even dare. That wasn’t even logical.

“I have my closure.” You said as you harshly wiped your tears. Forcing a smile, you took a deep breath. “We still have today and I don’t wanna waste it.”

The rain continued into the afternoon, thick and steady. You stayed indoors, the two of you moving through the house like a memory you both wanted to relive. Watching old dramas with your legs tangled on the couch. Sharing a blanket and a single bowl of popcorn. Pausing the show to argue about plot twists like you used to. You played the old board game that had been sitting on the rack for so long that it sprayed comically thick dust when you grabbed it.

He kept reaching for you. Little things. A hand on your knee. His pinky curled around yours. Resting his chin on your shoulder when you went to get more snacks.

And you let him. Because unlike what you said to him, you too were afraid of forgetting this.

You ordered pizza and had Korean bbq for dinner. It seemed improper, impersonal. But both of you loved just sitting down and indulge in random what ifs, while sticking some beef and alcohol down your throats.

You missed seeing his gummy smile. You missed him being a smartass and hearing his random philosophical thought about the whole society. You missed… him.

If you knew it was going to be like this, maybe you shouldn’t had asked for the week. It would had been gentler for your heart.

And when he climbed in beside you that night, he finally reached in and kissed you. You kissed him back. His fingers moved slowly across your body, like he was afraid you’d break just by a mere touch. His lips moved from your mouth, your cheek, down to your neck. By the time he reached your chest, your tears had fallen freely.

It didn’t take him long to substitute the small hiccups to loud moanings of his name.

DAY 7

The sound of items being stuffed and moved woke you up. Zipper dragged loudly, your mind immediately picked up on the situation.

He was packing.

It was the final day. Of course you didn’t expect him to stay much longer but it still felt so surreal seeing him packing his clothes and knowing the real intention behind it.

You got up with your body still bare nude, you pulled the bedcover slightly over your chest. Your eyes met for a second, but he still kept going. You wanted to ask. Hell, you wanted to scream, cry, beg him to stay, but nothing came out from your mouth.

“I ordered lunch.” He said, still busy with the packing.

You didn’t realize that it was already noon. You quietly nodded and went to quickly shower yourself. You convinced yourself that you had accepted it all during the shower thinking session.

You were about to get up and wash the dishes when he suddenly asked you.

“Dance with me?”

You looked at him like he had gone insane. “There’s no beat.”

“I don’t care.”

So you stood and you danced. No rhythm. No real steps. Just swaying and vulnerable, his forehead pressed to yours. And even now, no tears. Maybe it had all been dried up at this point. Maybe you really had finally came to terms with everything.

“Do you remember when we danced like this in my old apartment?”

“In your old kitchen. I tripped on the rug and took you down with me.”

He chuckled lightly. “You kissed me afterwards.”

“You looked beautiful in that moment. Like someone real.” You confessed.

“I think I forgot how to be real for a while.”

You looked up and were surprised to meet his glassy eyes.

And here when you thought you had accepted everything, he cupped your cheeks and your walls broke down again.

“Give me a chance.”

“Wha— Yoongi, I thought you were leaving today.”

You panicked, cupping back his face so now both of you just grabbing each other faces like a couple of idiots.

“Give me a chance,” He repeated. “But not out of obligation. Not because of what we had. Because I know we still can be.”

Your heart thumped painfully.

“I’ll find someone to train and take over my day to day. It’ll be a long process but if you’re willing to wait, I will have time for you…” A single tear quickly fell down and a desperate smile appeared on his lips. “I can’t promise you anything really, I hate myself for that. And I hate myself even more because I know you deserve better. Even though I know you deserve someone who would never make you feel neglected… I still can't think I can live without you.”

His voice finally broke as he sobbed. It was the very first time in years and years of knowing him. Sure you had seen him cry once or twice, whether from a good movie, to actual sadness. But never like this.

Funnily enough, still, both of you were holding each other faces. You started breaking into tears too, finally after being in state of shock.

“You don’t get to say all these things now and expect me to forget what it felt like when you asked to give up on us last week as if I meant nothing to you.”

“I don’t expect that,” He said. “I just want a chance to earn your trust again, and a chance to be strong for myself.”

“If I say yes,” You shuddered. “I don’t want it to be a restart. I want a repair. You have to rebuild from the cracks, not erase them.”

“I know.” He nodded, sniffing.

“I need time.”

“You have the rest of my life.”

Your breath hitched. “I need you to stop thinking I’m weak because I can take it.” Finally, a smile appeared on your lips despite the tears raining down. “Because I can’t imagine living without you too.”

Yoongi exhaled, shoulders sagging with relief. But he didn’t reach for you right away. His hands were shaking, you felt it against your skin. He finally dropped his hands from your face. He waited.

You didn’t though. Instead leaned forward and pulled him in. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. He held you back like someone who knew exactly what he had almost lost. He then kissed you like you were oxygen he desperately needed to survive.

There was so much to learn, so much to fix. But you were sure you could face anything as long as you got him by your side.

Thank you for reading! 💍

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read-time-fanfic · 2 months ago

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Hellow! Hoseok one shot. Husband wife trope. Age gap..maybe.. and.. idk rich hoseok (no idol pls) whose wife runs a book/flower shop which loses 50k every month?🤭

Devoted Care

warnings - age gap (reader 25, Hoseok is mid thirties),Hoseok loves her so much, sickly inlove, couple still in the honeymoon phase, Hoseok uses his money to help reader without her knowing, alluded to smut/intimacy,reader is not financially smart, reader loses alot of money

The streets of Gangnam were empty in the early hours into the night, the streetlights beginning to creep out its shades. Hoseok's hand was wrapped tightly around the wheel, his lap spread in a layed back manner. The sleek car rushes down the sleek streets, his eyes focused ahead with only one destination in mind. You. He knows you had been having a hard time with the shop, the shop you had just opened almost a year ago. He remembers the twinkle in your eyes when you were being shown around it by the agent. He rhink about that look on your face regularly.

Of how beautiful you looked.

It makes him reminisce about how you guys met. How your parents were planning on selling dome land to him, and there you were. Tucked away in the corner, with his interest piqued he had later questioned about you. That's how he learned of you coming home from college on holiday, to find your parents selling land that had been in your generations, and for the life of you, you couldn't just understand why. Although you gave him the cold shoulder in a matter of one year, you had a heavy rock on your ring finger. And on tour wedding day he promised to take care of you and he meant that.

Truly

Even if that meant going through hundreds of apartments to find the one you truly loved, he was right behind you with his black card ready. Or buying you a shop in the middle of the city once he saw you were getting bored around the house. He remembered you once telling him about your passion of gardening, but most important flowers. And how you loved to plant them and watched them grow into something beautiful, knowing you did that. So once he had bought that new shop and surprised you ln you anniversary, it was safe to say you were ecstatic. If the look on your face didn't show that, what you did to him all night surely did.

But you were never really a sales woman. The passion was there but the technique of selling, definitely wasn't. And that's how he had arrived to pick you up after you were supposed to have closed up. Instead he saw the lights still on amd you slumped over the front desk crying. His eyebrows hunched forward in both clncern and curiosity, what had happened? He gently knocked on the glass to get your attention, you face rose tear soaked cheeks and red eyes. You slowly went to open it and once he was inside and locked it behind him.

He attacked you with questions but gently, with him pulling your head on his shoulder.

"Were you robbed?"

"Was it a rude customer?"

"Were you tired?"

The questions were bouncing off inside your head, overwhelmed you shook your head and pushed a piece of paper into his hand. With the other one still around you, he took it and read it, it looked like your financial statement for the business. He immediately assumed it was happy tears, had you finally seen how good your business was? How the small problem at the start of sales was only temporary? That was until he was the negative cash flow. Of worth $50,000. His eyes widened un shock, he knew there was some problems, but gosh. He didn't even know you could spend that much money on spending flowers.

But quickly recovering from the shock knowing you were watching him, he looked up to be met with such sad eyes. "Baby its okay, every business starts out slow" he knew ge was lying that no business should be losing that much. That fast. But this was about comforting you. But you saw right through it, you shook your head "but that much? And with the lack of sales each day, maybe I should quit while I see the signs." Ypu say as you wipe your cheeks, but Hoseok was having none of that.

"No, no, no. You love flowers, you love running this shop. And what do I say about running a business," your face now in his hands as he stares at you. "It always works out if you enjoy it" you recite, as Hoseok sniles back at you and puts your head back into his chest, as he soothes you. That night he took care of you running you a bath, spending in bed with you and watching your favourite movie as you fell asleep in each others arms. He knew that statement had upset you, and he knew just the thing to do.

Hoseok was hunched over his desk as ge looked through files, the sunlight from the tall windows seep into the room. He knock kn the door snaps him put of it he looks up to see his secretary. "Mrs Jung is here to see you Sir" he nods giving the greenlight for you to be sent up. A few moments pass until he hears the excited clicking of heels coming straight to his office, the door swings open and a smile is already on his face. You skip over to him and settle on his lap, as his arms envelope you in an warm embrace. "Guess what" you voice light with flirtation "What?" He plays along.

"I just was 3 major companies want to order from the store to use for their latest campaigns in their stores. Nationwide!" your voice drips with excitement, and Hoseok has the biggest smile on his face. Showing his beautiful heart hspaed smile you love so much, "see didn't I day it would get better" he lightly teases. You laugh slightly before gently kissing him. He kisses you back in an instant showing the joy he had for you in that moment.

His eyes slightly open into the kiss as he looks to his desk, a stack of papers sitting there. The papers detailing how he had negotiated with the biggest companies to use a flower shop he highly recommended, in exchange of his investment and advertisements. He knew this was caused by him, but why ruin your big moment? He discreetly flips it over and under another pile, before gently swiveling his chair to the other side. All that matters is that you were happy and didn't feel like a failure anymore right? Atleast that's what he tells himself as he tries to mask his guilt with your soft lips.

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read-time-fanfic · 2 months ago

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An ofal post???? In 2025??? BUT OFAL MC

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read-time-fanfic · 2 months ago

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Stick Shift II

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: street racing au, rivals to lovers, slow burn

summary: they call you ghost. you call him sunshine. you're gasoline and gold. he's grit and fire. you meet where engines snarl and neon flickers, where flirting tastes like violence and victory smells like smoke. no one really wins here. not without bleeding for it. but god, you both keep trying.

warnings: street racing, competition kink, jealousy, fighting, bloodly knuckles, a little toxic, a lot feral, they hate how bad they want each other, rough sex, public sex, backseat sex, oral f!recieving, fingering, light choking, impact play, possessive/ obsessive behavior, overstimulation, creampie, masturbation m & f, mentions of marijuana

word count: 8,124

The snow isn’t heavy, but it hasn’t stopped falling in days.

Fat, lazy flakes drift through the air like ash, slow and quiet, clinging to rooftops and resting in tire tracks, melting only when the exhaust or adrenaline burns hot enough. The whole city’s taken on that grayish tint winter always brings. Streetlights glow dull gold through the cold. Everyone’s breath curls like smoke.

It’s not racing weather.

Not really.

The roads are too slick. The air is too sharp. But that doesn’t stop them. The desperate ones. The restless ones. The ones who crave the thrill more than they fear the risk. That tightrope feeling. That moment when the car might slip, might spin, might kiss a guardrail or flip on a turn. Those are the ones who show up now.

And tonight, you’re one of them.

So is Hoseok.

You spot him before he sees you. He’s leaning against a rust colored SUV near the edge of the lot, black hoodie pulled up beneath his leather jacket, gloved hands tucked into his pockets, jaw sharp in profile as he watches the course through snow-streaked lashes. His breath fogs in front of him.

You could say he’s been avoiding you.

But you’d be lying.

You’ve been the one dodging him.

Three months since the almost kiss. Three months of ghosting meets where he might be. Three months of showing up late and leaving early. You’ve kept your distance. Thought time and space would let the heat die down.

It hasn’t.

And now, here he is.

And here you are.

Neither of you were planning to race tonight. The track’s a death wish. Half snow, half black ice, barely lit. No one smart’s running it. But the energy’s still thick with tension and breath and the low growl of modified engines testing grip.

You end up beside him almost on accident. Someone moves. You shift. And suddenly you’re there, standing at the same angle, watching a gutted Subaru slide sideways across a hairpin turn.

Hoseok glances over.

You nod once, a tight lipped smile.

He nods back.

And to your surprise, the silence between you doesn’t stay sharp. It stretches, then softens, and melts.

“Guy’s got no weight in the back,” he murmurs, chin angling toward the car on the course. “Should’ve known better.”

“He’s trying to impress someone,” you reply, shrugging. “Or die trying.”

A beat.

Then he huffs a laugh, low and surprised.

“Sounds like half the guys out here.”

You grin. “Exactly.”

Conversation flows easier than you expect.

You talk about how you got into racing. He tells you about his older cousins owning a mechanic shop, busted knuckles, the need to make something move when nothing in life felt fast enough. You tell him your cheesy story about seeing Too Fast, Too Furious: Tokyo Drift and becoming obsessed. About your neighbor who taught you how to change a tire before you were twelve, and the first time you outran a cop on a road with no headlights.

The snow continues to fall, dusting your shoulders, the tips of his lashes.

You shiver once, just barely. But he notices.

He shifts behind you, warm body angled just right. Without a word, he reaches out and gently tugs your arm until you’re standing in front of him. His chest is at your back. His jacket brushes yours. His breath grazes your temple.

“You’ll warm up faster like this,” he says casually, as if it’s nothing.

But your heartbeat kicks.

His voice is right against your ear, low and calm. His hand stays at your hip, just resting there, easy and unassuming, but you feel every inch of it.

You scramble for something to say, something safe.

“Looks like the next guy’s running a GTR. Dumb choice in this weather.”

“Way too heavy,” he murmurs, still close. “Front’ll pull. Watch.”

And it does.

You both laugh.

Then someone steps in front of you, holding out a pre-roll. The man nods once, offering it without words.

You shrug. Why not?

You take it.

Then pause, glancing over your shoulder at Hoseok.

He raises a brow.

You lift the blunt to your lips.

“Got a light?”

He exhales a quiet laugh, somewhere between amused and exasperated. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a Zippo, flicking it open with one smooth motion.

The flame dances.

He lights it for you, fingers grazing yours as he steadies the blunt between your lips.

As you inhale, he leans back with a small smirk.

“Guess that makes me one of the sorry bastards Jin warned me about.”

You blow the smoke out slowly, the burn smooth against your throat, heat pooling low.

“Poor you.”

You pass it to him.

He takes it.

You both stand there like that. Shoulders brushing, watching headlights cut through snow and steam, passing the blunt back and forth like it’s always been this easy.

But it hasn’t.

And you feel it now.

The weight of every second that’s passed since that night.

The silence between you grows heavier. His hand brushes yours when you pass it again.

Your breath hitches.

And before you can say something to break the tension, to push him away like you always do, he moves.

He grabs your wrist, guiding you through the crowd, past a half dead heater buzzing beside a crate stack, and back toward his car. You don’t fight it.

He presses you against the passenger side door, the cold biting into your spine, and then his mouth is on yours.

Finally.

And you don’t hesitate.

Your hands fist in his jacket, dragging him closer, mouths colliding like punishment. His tongue flicks against yours, rough and warm. You bite his bottom lip. He groans into your mouth, palms braced against the car door on either side of you, body heat caging you in.

You’re ravenous. Filthy. Desperate.

You press your hand between his thighs.

Find him hard already.

You palm him through his jeans, slow and firm, and he stumbles forward slightly, lips pulling from yours with a gasp that makes your thighs clench.

But before your hands can undo his belt—

He pulls back.

Just barely.

“Not—” he pants, “not out here.”

You blink up at him, lips swollen, breath ragged.

He opens the passenger side door behind you, gesturing inside. “I’m not gonna fuck you against a freezing car in front of half the lot.”

You grin, teeth gleaming in the dark.

“Aww,” you coo, teasing, “such a gentleman.”

He huffs a sharp laugh, guiding you into the car with one hand at the back of your neck.

“Far from it.”

Then he shuts the door.

And follows you inside.

—

The city unspools behind you in streaks of gold and white.

Snow sweeps the windshield in soft, relentless waves as Hoseok drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting firm and warm on your thigh. You’re still catching your breath, your lips tingling, every part of you overheated in the silence between kisses. The Mazda handles like it’s part of him, cutting down slick backroads and winding turns without hesitation.

You keep watching him.

The way his jaw clenches when you shift in your seat. The way his fingers tap against your leg in rhythm with the music humming low through the speakers. The way his eyes burn through the windshield like they’ve never stopped seeing you.

By the time he pulls into the underground garage of his apartment complex, the cold is long forgotten.

Snow still falls outside, but here, beneath fluorescent lights and concrete beams, the air is still and quiet. Thick with anticipation.

He shifts the gear into park.

And you don’t wait.

You’re on him the second the engine hums to a stop, climbing across the center console, straddling him in the driver’s seat, mouths crashing together like magnets too long denied. Your fingers curl into the collar of his jacket. His hands grab your hips with a groan that’s half warning, half surrender.

You grind down against him, hips rolling in steady, relentless circles. His cock is hard beneath you, trapped behind denim. You drag your tongue along the seam of his mouth. He opens for you, lets you taste him, lets you press close until the windows begin to fog from your breath alone.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your lips, hands flexing against your ass. “You don’t stop, do you?”

Your teeth catch his bottom lip. “Not when I know what I want.”

You grind again, firmer this time, and he bites back a curse. Head tipping back briefly against the headrest.

His mouth finds your neck, then heads lower.

Wet, open kisses along your throat. Slow drags of tongue along the dip where your pulse hammers. But when he noses at the collar of your coat, he growls in frustration.

“How many fucking layers are you wearing?”

You laugh, breathless. “It’s January.”

His fingers slip beneath your jacket anyway, tugging at zippers and cotton and whatever else is in his way. “Yeah, and you decided to show up wrapped like a fortress when I haven’t had my mouth on you once.”

Your grin deepens, smug. “Gotta stay warm out there.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“I’ve got a better way.”

Your breath catches.

And then his hand is moving.

Down your front, swift and sure, finding your belt and popping it open with practiced ease. The button on your jeans is next. The zipper follows with a slow, taunting drag.

He slides his hand inside.

Past denim.

Past the waistband of your panties.

And groans.

“Fuck,” he hisses, voice rough. “You’re dripping.”

His fingers slide through your folds, stroking through the slick heat with slow, maddening precision. He teases everywhere but where you need him most.

You squirm in his lap, hips rocking, chasing the pressure that never lands.

“Hoseok…”

But he doesn’t budge.

He brings his other hand to your waist, steadying you, holding you still.

You whimper softly, frustration blooming.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“You had your fun,” he murmurs. “Making me watch you flirt with every sorry bastard in a fifty foot radius. Riling me up till I almost broke that guy’s face. Thought you could play me, baby? Thought I wouldn’t come back for mine?”

You try to move again, desperate now, but his grip tightens.

“Nah,” he growls, “my turn.”

His thumb drags just below your clit, close enough to make your thighs twitch, but never enough.

“I’m gonna work your body harder than a stick shift, sweetheart.”

You’re soaked around his fingers, your thighs slick and trembling as he works you in slow, punishing circles.

Still seated in the driver’s seat, you’re straddling him with your pants undone, your body melting into his hands, your forehead pressed to his shoulder as your mouth parts in half formed pleas. His fingers are finally buried inside you now, two deep, twisting just enough to make your hips jerk, and his thumb, fuck, his thumb doesn’t stop working your clit.

You can barely breathe.

“Fuck,” you pant, rocking down harder, chasing your high like it’s the last stretch of a street you’ve raced a thousand times. “Hoseok—”

“I know,” he whispers against your temple, voice wrecked. “Give it to me.”

The pressure crests and breaks before you can hold it back.

Your body jolts, legs tightening around his waist, and you cum hard, grinding down against his hand, lips parted, breath fogging against the side of his throat. You whimper as your body shakes, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering open and closed as he slows the rhythm just enough to let you ride it out.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “So fucking pretty like this.”

He kisses your cheek.

Then, gently his hand slips from your jeans. He sucks your cum off his fingers before wiping them on his jeans. Then he cradles the back of your head as he unlocks and opens the driver door, brushing your hair away from your face.

Your thighs are still twitching when he locks his arms firmly around you, lifts you in one smooth movement, and slides out of the driver’s seat with you wrapped around him.

You’re still dazed. Still glowing.

Completely forgetting your jeans are unzipped.

The cold air of the garage hits your skin, but you don’t flinch. You cling to him instinctively, your cheek pressed to his neck, breathing him in like warmth. He walks like you weigh nothing, like he’s carried you a hundred times before. His boots echo off the cement floor as he strides across the garage, cutting toward the elevator.

Inside, it’s empty. Thank fuck.

You stir as the doors close behind him.

“I can walk,” you mumble, voice drowsy but smug. “I’m fine.”

His grip doesn’t shift.

“I know,” he says, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “But not for long.”

—

He doesn’t say a word as he keys in the door code, pushes it open, and kicks it shut with the heel of his boot.

His apartment is surprisingly warm.

Dark wood, dim lighting, a single candle still burning on the windowsill. The city flickers beyond the floor to ceiling glass windows like a galaxy.

You blink slowly, legs still wrapped around his waist, arms still clinging.

He doesn’t go to the bedroom.

He takes you straight to the kitchen island.

The hard surface meets your back as he lays you out across it with care. Your spine arching, jacket riding up, the bare skin of your stomach peeking out from where your jeans are half undone.

He steps back just long enough to yank off your boots, letting them thud to the floor one by one.

Then your jeans.

He peels them down your legs slowly, eyes on your face the whole time, lips parted. You lift your hips just enough to help.

He drops them to the ground.

Then he sits on a bar stool still fully clothed, and pushes your thighs open with steady hands. Pressing a kiss just above your knee.

Then another. And another.

You watch him from above, breath caught, fingers clenching the edge of the counter as he makes his way up your thigh.

But he doesn’t touch you yet.

Not really.

Not where you want him.

“Waiting for permission?”

He doesn’t answer, instead, he presses his mouth to the damp heat of your panties, humming low at the taste of you even through the fabric. His hands grip your thighs to hold you still as his tongue drags a slow, lazy stroke over the soaked cotton.

You gasp, hips lifting off the counter.

He chuckles low in his throat. Then the fabric gives way with a sharp, ripping sound, brutal and effortless in his grip. Your ruined panties flutter to the floor like a white flag, but you don’t get the chance to surrender.

Because he’s already on you.

His mouth crashes into your core with an open mouthed hunger that steals the breath from your lungs. His tongue is greedy as it slithers through your folds, licking up everything you’ve given him and demanding more.

You jolt with a cry, your spine bowing off the counter, hands scrabbling for purchase as his lips seal around your clit and suck.

A sob bursts from your throat, high and trembling. “Hoseok—”

But he’s not listening.

His name is just noise to him now, a background hum beneath the obscene sounds of his mouth on your pussy. His hands tighten on your thighs, anchoring them wide apart as he buries himself deeper between them like a man possessed.

Two fingers slide back into you like they belong there. Thick, practiced strokes curling just right and finding that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. Then there’s a third, stretching you wide, dragging a gasp from your chest that turns into a moan.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he mutters into you, words muffled by your slick. “And so wet for me. Look at you.”

You can’t.

Your eyes are already rolling back, legs trembling where they’re propped over his shoulders, heels pressing into the defined muscle of his back like you’re trying to hold onto something—anything—but there’s nothing left.

Nothing but him.

And he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t let you catch your breath. Doesn’t let you come down. Doesn’t let you run.

He just eats. You. Alive.

Every lick is rougher, sloppier, wetter than the last. His tongue flicks against your clit like he’s teasing you toward madness. Then he flattens it and drags it slowly until you’re keening, thighs clenching around his head.

But even then, he doesn’t ease up.

You feel the smile against your cunt when you cry out again. Feel it when he growls low and filthy, vibrating through your core like a shockwave. He’s drenched in you now, chin slick, lips shiny, fingers knuckle deep and fucking you like he’s not planning on ever letting go.

And when you finally start to come undone, babbling his name like a prayer and a warning, Hoseok just tightens his hold, locks you in place, and drags every last trembling wave from your body.

You don’t remember how long he licks into you on that cold marble slab, but it’s long enough for your thighs to start trembling again, long enough for your voice to crack when you beg him to stop teasing, and long enough for him to lift his mouth with a shine on his lips and a wicked grin stretching across his face like he already knows you’re ruined.

He kisses your inner thigh and rests his cheek there like he’s smugly catching his breath.

“Still wearing all these layers,” he mutters, voice muffled against your skin.

You snort, chest rising. “You haven’t exactly given me a chance to take them off.”

“Oh?” His brows lift as he straightens to full height, looming over you, licking his bottom lip. “You’re saying this is my fault?”

You raise a brow, eyes flashing. “I’m saying if you wanted me naked, you could’ve said something twenty minutes ago.”

He lets out a laugh and grabs the hem of your coat without warning. “Fine. Come here.”

You sit up, your core still pulsing, your thighs still shaking faintly.

He helps you up with steady hands, easing your coat down your arms like he’s unwrapping something precious. It falls to the kitchen floor with a soft thud.

Your sweater’s next.

Thick. Oversized. Cozy enough to hide everything.

He grips the hem and pulls it up.

You lift your arms.

The sweater goes over your head…and Hoseok stops.

Stares.

Your nipples tighten in the cool air, and his gaze drops, eyes going wide as he realizes what’s not underneath.

“Fuck me,” he breathes.

You smirk. “I’m starting to think that’s the idea.”

His jaw flexes. “No bra?”

“Nope.”

He takes a step back, just to get the full picture.

Your curves. The way you sit naked on his kitchen island like a dream, hair messy, lips swollen. Your breasts heaving with every breath. And smiling at him like you know exactly what you’re doing.

He exhales, sharply. “I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind.”

“Then fuck me before you do.”

That’s it.

He moves.

Fast.

Without a word, he scoops you up and carries you down the hall like he’s on fire, like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t get you somewhere now.

Your arms wrap around his neck as your head tips forward to nuzzle his jaw. “God, you’re obsessed with carrying me.”

“Of course. You won’t stay still long enough for me to keep you.”

Your heart stutters and you cover it up with a scoff, “you’re lucky I haven’t taken control, sunshine.”

He chuckles darkly as his bedroom door swings open with a shoulder bump. “Oh, baby. You’ll get your turn.”

The room is warm, dimly lit. Golden slats of light from the street slicing across the comforter. You barely register the space before he’s laying you out on the bed, like you’re something he’s waited his whole life to touch.

Your back hits the sheets.

He looks at you like he’s starving.

Then he’s climbing over you and his hands are everywhere.

One spreads over your thigh, coaxing your legs apart again while the other kneads your breast like he’s been dreaming about this exact weight in his palm. His mouth is lower, dragging down your chest with slow, wet kisses that leave trails of heat behind. He sucks at the skin just below your collarbone first, then lower, tongue curling around your nipple before he pulls it into his mouth and groans.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice hoarse, still mouthing at your tits like he can’t get enough. “You’re unreal.”

You arch beneath him, gasping as the wet heat of his mouth sends sparks licking through you. One hand slides up into his hair, tugging, and he moans again as if you’ve flipped a switch inside him.

His fingers are there again, slipping between your thighs.

His thumb circles your clit with practiced ease, while two fingers dip lower, teasing your entrance before easing back inside. You cry out, hips bucking instinctively, and Hoseok lifts his head just enough to watch your face.

“Sounds so pretty,” he mutters, voice rough and ragged with want.

His fingers pump slowly, curling just right. You swear he’s reading your body like a manual—knowing when to go slow, when to press deeper, when to still everything just to hear you whimper his name.

Your back arches again when he presses a third finger in, thumb never leaving your clit.

“Hoseok—fuck—”

He grins, messy and wild.

“I’m gonna fuck you like I’ve been dying to.”

And when he says it, it’s against your chest—his breath hot over the nipple he just sucked raw, the words vibrating against your skin like a promise.

Your head tips back.

Your hips roll up to meet his hand.

“Do it, then,” you whisper, broken and breathless.

He kisses your chest once more and pulls his fingers from your pussy, wet and gleaming. He sits back on his heels between your thighs, breathing hard. Watching you. His eyes rake over your flushed, wrecked body, your chest still glistening from his mouth, your thighs slick and trembling from his fingers.

Then, without a word, he reaches for the hem of his shirt.

And pulls it over his head.

Your breath catches.

His skin is golden and taut, glowing in the low light. His body lean but strong, every inch of him cut from tension and fire. Defined shoulders, rippling abs, sharp lines that narrow into a perfect V. There’s a sheen of sweat on his chest, clinging to the dip between his pecs, the slope of his collarbone.

You’ve imagined it before, maybe once or twice. But you never imagined this.

You drag your eyes up to his face.

He smirks, just a little.

“You gonna stare all night?”

You don’t even blink. “Yeah. I might.”

The smirk grows, cocky and crooked, before he reaches down, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his jeans. He stands as he pushes them down, stripping slowly, teasing. His briefs go next, and then he’s bare.

Your mouth parts.

He’s… big.

Beautiful.

Thick and hard and glistening, the flushed head twitching slightly as the cool air hits him. Your gaze trails the vein running down the side, the perfect curve of him, the way he fits perfectly in his own palm as he strokes once, twice. Just enough to watch your thighs twitch in response.

“You want it that bad?” he teases softly, voice dipping, cock dragging through your folds in a slow, deliberate glide that makes you jolt.

Your answer comes in the form of a whimper, hips bucking. “Hoseok—please—”

He shushes you with a kiss to your knee, then lines himself up.

The first press of him inside is slow.

Measured.

He groans low in his throat, gripping your thighs to keep himself steady. You’re soaked and still tight around him, your walls fluttering in anticipation, clinging to every inch as he pushes deeper.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You feel… better than I imagined.”

You can’t even form words. Just sharp little gasps as he stretches you, filling you to the hilt with maddening patience. He stills when he’s fully inside, letting you adjust, letting you feel it.

Your body trembles.

You’ve never been this full.

He leans over you again, planting a kiss against your jaw as he starts to move. Deep, unhurried thrusts that drag against your g-spot with each pull and push. He doesn’t speed up. Doesn’t lose the rhythm. He just fucks you like he’s savoring every second, eyes locked on yours like he’s memorizing your face the moment you break.

And then it happens.

He rolls his hips a little deeper, a little firmer and your body locks up.

The orgasm takes you by surprise, pussy tightening around him like a velvet vice until it shatters through you. Your legs tense, then quake, and you cry out. Gripping his arms, his shoulders, anything to stay grounded.

Your cunt spasms around his cock, and he growls. A raw sound ripped straight from his chest.

“Shit,” he hisses. “You’re squeezing me—fuck—”

Whatever control he had crumbles.

He pulls out almost all the way just to slam back in again, harder, hips slapping against you, his hands sliding beneath your ass to anchor you exactly where he wants you.

He loses himself.

The second your walls clamp down and your hips jerk, he stops pretending to be gentle. All that patience, all that teasing, all the smirks and steady restraint he wore like armor shatter in a breath.

Now he’s snarling against your neck, one hand gripping the back of your thigh as he pistons into you, fast and deep, his rhythm brutal with need.

“You feel that?” he growls. “Feel how good you take me?”

You nod, gasping, fingers clawing at his back, your body already starting to tremble again from the overstimulation. But he doesn’t let up. If anything, he fucks you harder.

“You could’ve had this so much sooner,” he grits out, hips slamming into yours with obscene wet sounds. “We could’ve been doing this—I could’ve been doing this to you—every fucking night.”

Your head tips back against the pillows, tears pricking your lashes from how deep it all feels. The stretch, the pressure, the truth in his voice.

“But no,” he growls, dropping his head to bite gently at your collarbone. “You wanted to play. Act like you didn’t want me. Act like you didn’t need me.”

You whimper, a choked little sob escaping before you can stop it. It only makes him groan louder.

“That’s it,” he mutters. “Cry for it. Cry on my cock. Should’ve let me ruin you a long time ago, sweetheart.”

His hand slips between your bodies, finding your clit again, rubbing it in hard, punishing circles. You jerk under him, wailing now, overwhelmed, desperate, wrecked.

He’s everywhere—inside you, on you, in your head.

“You’d rather cry on this cock than admit you wanted it?” he pants, voice rough. “You’d rather sit across from me at every meet pretending you didn’t dream of this?”

You sob out his name, hips rising helplessly to meet each thrust. Another toe curling orgasm rips through you sharp and violent, making your whole body seize.

And still—he doesn’t stop.

“Fuck, that’s it—give it to me again, baby. Let me feel you fucking break on me.”

He slows just enough to roll his hips deep, dragging the tip of his cock along your walls until he’s grinding into that sweet spot again and again, coaxing every last tremble from you.

You can’t even speak anymore.

Too wrecked.

All you can do is hold onto him while he fucks you like he’s been starved of you for months.

And maybe he has.

Because when he speaks next, his voice is barely a whisper.

“I could’ve been loving you like this the whole time.”

And then he slams into you, groaning as his own orgasm finally hits, spilling deep inside you with one last hard thrust. His body shaking, his hand clutching yours, forehead pressed to your shoulder.

You barely have time to breathe.

You’re still trembling, still soaked in the aftermath of your orgasm and his, when Hoseok grabs your hips and flips you over like you weigh nothing.

“On your knees.”

His voice is sharp. Gravel wrapped. It sends a shiver ripping through you as you scramble to obey, arms giving out slightly when he presses your back down with a firm hand between your shoulders.

Your ass is in the air.

Your thighs sticky.

And he’s behind you again, already hard—already leaking against your thigh like the first round didn’t satisfy him one bit.

“Look at this pussy,” he groans, thumbing through your folds, watching you drip. “Fucked dumb and still so greedy for me.”

You whimper, clenching around nothing. But then he’s there.

Sliding in again, one thrust, full force.

You scream.

The stretch hits different from this angle. Deeper, more dangerous, and he knows it. Hoseok hisses as your walls suck him back in, his fingers bruising on your hips as he sets a punishing rhythm right away.

Slap.

His hand comes down on your ass, sharp and loud.

Slap.

Again, the other side this time.

“Bounce for me,” he growls, grabbing a handful of your ass and watching the jiggle as your body rocks forward with every thrust. “That’s right, baby. Take it. Take every inch.”

You try. You do. But he’s relentless, forcing you back on his cock, controlling your pace with fists full of your hips, his moans turning guttural as he watches you arch for him, cry for him, melt for him.

“Fuck, you were never gonna get away from me,” he breathes. “Not like them.”

Your arms shake beneath you, but his hand is curling around your throat before you collapse. He drags you upright, your back flush to his chest now, his cock still buried inside you as his other hand reaches between your thighs to tease your clit again.

“Did they fuck you like this?” he murmurs into your ear, teeth grazing the shell. “Did they make you scream for it?”

You can’t answer.

You can’t think.

His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make your head spin, your body hypersensitive, nerve endings screaming in pleasure as he keeps pounding into you from behind.

“I know they didn’t,” he snarls, dragging his teeth along your shoulder. “They didn’t fuck you like you were theirs. Didn’t wreck you so bad you’d still feel it the next day. Didn’t make you cry for it.”

You’re sobbing now. Your head thrown back, body shaking, completely undone.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, so soft and filthy it sounds like sin. “Say it.”

You choke on the words at first, but they come out.

“Y-Yours.”

“Louder.”

“Yours, Hoseok—’m yours—fuck, I’m yours—”

And that’s when he snaps.

He slams up into you so deep you swear your lungs forget how to work. His hand never leaves your throat as he arches your back further, the angle so perfect it sends stars dancing behind your eyes.

You’re unraveling again. Already right there. Right on the edge.

And he knows it.

“Come on,” he groans, burying himself to the hilt. “Show me. Show me who you belong to.”

And when you cum, it’s shattering.

Mind blowing.

A scream caught in your throat, eyes rolled back, body clenching so tight around his cock he curses against your neck and comes with you. Grinding so deep inside you it feels like he’s marking you from the inside out.

He collapses on top of you with a grunt, body trembling, still buried inside you. His chest presses into your back, damp and heaving, lips dragging across your shoulder in a dazed, open mouthed kiss.

Neither of you speak.

You’re both too wrecked, too spent, but fuck, it feels good.

You don’t remember the last time someone made you feel this full.

Eventually, his breath evens just enough that he gently pulls out, a shaky groan catching in his throat at the loss. He rolls onto his back, dragging you with him until you’re sprawled across his chest, your cheek against the slick warmth of his skin, your legs tangled together.

He strokes your spine lazily, all hazy and sated. And that’s exactly why you strike.

You press a kiss to his collarbone, then another, lower and slower, before pushing yourself upright, your palms flattening on his chest as you rise to your knees. Hoseok blinks up at you, still dazed.

“What… what are you—”

“I’m not finished,” you purr, voice like satin soaked in sin.

Before he can ask another question, you reach between your thighs, wrap your fingers around his cock. Already twitching back to life as you stroke him, and guide it right where you want it.

And you sink down.

Hoseok gasps. His head thrown back onto the bed, hands flying to your hips as your walls wrap around him, still fluttering from everything he just did to you.

“Fuck—are you trying to kill me?” he groans, voice already breaking.

You roll your hips once, deliberately slow.

“No,” you murmur, dragging your nails across his chest, “just trying to show you that you’re not the only one who knows how to make someone cry while they cum.”

You clench around him hard, rhythmically, and purposefully.

His whole body twitches.

“Oh my God—what the fuck was that?”

You smile, tilting your hips again, dragging his cock against every sensitive inch inside you. “Kegels,” you whisper against his jaw. “I do them in the car. At work. All the time.”

Another squeeze.

He moans.

You start to ride him properly now. Grinding slowly, rolling your hips with precision, making sure he feels everything. Your hands brace on his chest, your tits bouncing just enough to make his eyes roll back.

His hands are everywhere.

Gripping your ass, your waist, your thighs and then sliding up to your tits again, mouth latching on like he’s starving. He sucks and groans and worships, licking across your nipples while you bounce in his lap.

“Fuck, you feel unreal,” he gasps, kissing the swell of your chest. “Baby—baby, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

You pull off him instantly.

Hoseok shouts.

His cock twitches, angry and wet and pulsing in the air, but you grip the base and lock eyes with him.

“No. Be a good boy. Hold it.”

He groans, dragging both hands over his face. “You’re fucking evil.”

You lean down, licking a stripe up his throat before biting his earlobe. “You love it.”

And then you do it again.

And again.

You ride him to the edge, only to pull off the moment his face twists in ecstasy, only to whisper, Not yet.

He’s a mess.

Sweaty, flushed, jaw slack with his fists curled in the sheets, hips bucking into nothing, his cock leaking so much it’s smeared between both of your thighs.

“You gonna cry for it?” you coo, stroking him slow.

He chokes out something that might be a yes. Or a prayer. You can’t tell.

But you’re close now too. Your thighs are shaking, your own walls clenching hard around nothing. The power high is melting into want. Into need.

And when you see him bite his lip to keep from begging, you give in.

You slide back down with a gasp, clenching him deep, your nails raking across his chest as you ride him hard. This time with no mercy, no teasing, just pure fucking want.

It’s frantic now.

Louder.

Wetter.

More.

His hands slam down on your hips, thrusting up to meet you with ragged moans.

You both fall apart at the same time.

You sob his name, head thrown back as your climax rips through you. He follows instantly, shouting your name as he empties inside you again, body jerking beneath yours.

You collapse forward, both of you boneless and covered in sweat, lips brushing, hearts hammering.

He’s still twitching inside you.

Still panting.

And all he can say—over and over, in a ragged whisper—is your name.

—

You don’t know how long you lie there. Your bodies tangled, skin sticking from sweat, the air heavy with sex and silence.

But eventually, Hoseok shifts beneath you with a groan, his arms tightening as if he’s not quite ready to let go.

“Come on,” he mumbles, voice scratchy. “Let me take care of you.”

You nod, too tired to speak, letting him lift you in his arms. He carries you to the bathroom without saying another word, flicks on the light and the shower with practiced ease, and sets you down gently on the closed toilet seat while the water warms.

He steps in first, then reaches for you again.

“Up,” he whispers, offering his hand like you haven’t already given him everything.

You take it.

The water hits your skin in a warm cascade. Hoseok keeps one arm around your waist, the other moving gently across your body. He doesn’t speak.

Just lets his touch say everything his mouth can’t quite form yet.

He washes you with care. His fingers skimming down your arms, your thighs, over the marks he left. He kisses your shoulder as he rinses you clean, then does the same to himself.

When he finally shuts the water off, he wraps you in a towel first. Then himself. Then dries you piece by piece. His hands pause at your knees, his lips brushing your skin.

Then he carries you back to bed.

Not because you can’t walk.

But because he doesn’t want you to.

You end up curled against him, bare under the sheets, your cheek on his chest again. His heartbeat is slower now. Steady. But you can feel it skip every time your fingers drag lazily across his ribs.

Outside, the sky is starting to shift, inky black fading into lavender gray. The first birdsong breaks through the stillness.

And that’s when he finally speaks.

“I thought about you all the time,” he murmurs into your hair. “Even when I told myself I shouldn’t.”

You blink, slow. “When?”

His hand strokes your back. “Every time you walked away. Every time you laughed at someone else’s jokes. Every time you looked at me like I wasn’t the one you were dying to touch.”

You smile softly. “Maybe I was waiting for you to do something about it.”

He laughs under his breath. “You mean like throw you in my front seat and wreck your life?”

“Or like finally admit you wanted me?” you counter, chin tipping up.

His eyes find yours and he leans in, brushing a kiss across your forehead. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Silence falls again.

His arms wrap tighter around you, like he’s trying to shield you from the coming sun. Like this moment is the only thing that matters.

“Don’t disappear on me,” he says quietly. “Not now. Not after this.”

You nuzzle closer. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

His lips curve against your temple. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go.”

And then there’s nothing left to say.

Just his fingers in your hair.

Your leg slung over his hip.

The sheets tangled around your calves.

And the light rising slow, like a promise you finally stopped running from.

Spring arrived fast and loud.

The lot was already packed when you pulled in, your tires crunching over the gravel before gliding to a stop near the starting line. Smells of burnt rubber and someone’s cheap peach vape drifted through the air, mingling with the rumble of engines and the thump of music blasting from somebody’s open trunk.

Hoseok was already there.

Of course he was.

Leaning against his blacked out ride like he hadn’t just blown your back out that morning with his head buried between your thighs and your knees over his shoulders. Like he wasn’t the reason your legs were still a little shaky as you stepped out of your car.

He turned at the sound of your door.

And smirked.

That cocky, half lidded look like he already knew something you didn’t.

You rolled your eyes and popped the trunk.

“Back for more?” he called out, voice lazy.

You didn’t dignify that with an answer.

You just pulled off your jacket, tied it around your waist, and stretched your arms overhead, very aware of his eyes dragging down your body. Very aware of the little twitch in his jaw before he sucked in his cheek and turned back to his car like it didn’t affect him.

It always did.

You lined up side by side on the strip, tension buzzing like static between your cars. The sun was warm on your thighs through the window, but it was the memory of his tongue inside you that made your pulse thrum like this. That made your grip on the wheel tighten. That made your core ache.

The starter stepped into position.

Fingers lifted. Lights dropped.

You took off.

Tires screaming.

Engines snarling.

You were neck and neck from the jump—each of you surging forward, weaving past the curve of the first makeshift checkpoint, your cars dancing across the asphalt like twin predators on the hunt.

He stayed on your left, close enough to feel like gravity, and when the tight curve ahead loomed, you both drifted into it in perfect sync.

That’s when it happened.

Your eyes locked through the driver’s side windows.

He bit his lip.

Let his gaze drag down your body.

Like he could see through the steel frame and tinted glass. Like he was looking right into your lap and remembering how you came for him that morning, panting and helpless in the dim light of his bedroom.

Your stomach dropped.

Your thighs clenched.

And that split second of distraction was all he needed.

He pulled ahead.

By the time you were past the final checkpoint, it was over.

He beat you by less than half a second, but the grin on his face as he stepped out of his car was full wattage.

You stalked up to him, chest still heaving, hair wild around your face. And slapped his chest with the back of your hand.

“You cheated, asshole.”

He blinked. “Cheated how?”

Jin and Namjoon were already approaching, grinning wide. Jin held up a phone like he’d been filming the whole thing.

“You saw that, right?” you snapped at them.

“Saw you lose, yeah,” Jin said brightly.

Namjoon laughed. “Sore loser energy is crazy today.”

You turned back to Hoseok, who was leaning casually against the hood of his car again like he hadn’t just thrown off your entire rhythm with one look.

“I asked how,” he repeated, lips twitching. “How’d I cheat?”

You opened your mouth.

And then closed it.

Because how do you explain that his face was the problem? That one bite of his lip and a phantom pulse in your pussy was all it took to throw you off course?

You were dickmatized. That was the only explanation. And there was no way in hell you were saying that out loud.

So instead, you huffed. “You’re not funny.”

And walked off.

Hoseok watched you go, the line of your legs disappearing into the crowd, and tried to play it cool. But Jin elbowed him in the ribs, smug as hell. “You are so down bad.”

Namjoon crossed his arms. “I mean, do you hear yourself? That whole race was foreplay.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Hoseok muttered, but the grin he was fighting was already curling at the edges of his mouth.

And then he was following you.

He jogged a few steps, caught up, and matched your pace without saying anything for a second. Just walked beside you. Close enough that your pinkies brushed.

“I wasn’t cheating,” he said quietly, voice softer than before. “You just looked… fuckin’ stunning behind the wheel.”

You swallowed.

Didn’t say anything.

He bumped your shoulder gently.

“Still mad, baby?”

You shot him a sidelong look. “Maybe.”

He stopped you with a hand around your wrist and spun you to face him.

His other hand slid to your waist.

“How about I make it up to you,” he whispered, smirking now. “I’ll do anything.”

Your breath caught. Your thighs clenched. Again.

You shoved his chest lightly, but this time you didn’t walk away.

Not yet.

Not when he was looking at you like that.

Not when the night was still young.

And you both knew the real race was just getting started.

—

The inside of Hoseok’s blacked out Mazda smells like sex and sweat and danger.

You’re on top of him again, straddling his lap in the backseat, your hands braced on his shoulders, your thighs spread wide over his hips as you sink down on his cock with a moan.

The car rocks softly beneath you, suspension putting in overtime as you roll your hips, slow and deep, grinding down on him like this is the apology he owes you.

“Say it,” you pant, dragging your nails across his chest. “Say you cheated.”

Hoseok leans back, head tipping against the seat as his hands find your waist. His jaw tightens, like he’s debating it. And then he gives you that grin. Wicked, lazy, and very aware he’s already inside you.

“I cheated.”

You arch a brow. “And?”

“I’m sorry,” he groans, lifting his hips just enough to meet your next thrust. “Sorry for being too good.”

You slap his chest again but he loves it. His fingers dig into your waist as you bounce a little faster, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that’s maddeningly perfect.

“Not funny,” you hiss.

“It kinda is,” he grins, eyes half lidded. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

You ride him harder, angling your hips to make him gasp, to make him lose control for once. Your tits bounce with every movement, sweat beading at your temples, the air thick and hot and fogging the windows.

His head drops forward, lips dragging across your chest, tongue flicking over a nipple as you grind down on him.

“You’re the one who got distracted,” he murmurs. “I just took the win.”

You clamp down around him in retaliation, and he chokes on a groan, eyes fluttering shut.

But then—without warning—he moves.

He grabs you and flips you off of him in one fast motion, and before you can even blink, you’re flat on your back across the backseat, your legs flung over his shoulders as he drives back into you in one hard, brutal thrust.

You scream. Your eyes rolling, hands scrambling for anything to hold onto, but he doesn’t stop.

He fucks you hard. His grip on your thighs is iron tight, his body crashing into yours with every thrust, like he’s reclaiming you all over again.

“You think your little tantrum was gonna get you what you want?” he snarls, voice ragged and low. “You think riding me was gonna settle the score?”

You can’t answer.

You’re too busy sobbing his name, your body shuddering beneath him, your walls fluttering around his cock like you’re about to lose it.

“Fuck—Hoseok—please—”

His lips curl into a smirk, sweat dripping from his temples.

“You don’t get to cum until you apologize.”

You shake your head, whining, until he shifts his angle and hits that spot that makes your toes curl.

You crack.

“I’m sorry—fuck, Hoseok, I’m sorry— I’m such a sore loser—just—please—let me—”

That’s all it takes.

You explode around him. Pussy tight and clenching, body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you like lightning. And he growls, dropping your legs to wrap his arms around your waist as he slams into you one last time.

He comes hard, his whole body jerking as he buries his face in your neck, moaning your name like it’s the only word he knows.

You’re both panting, limbs tangled, sweat cooling on your skin as the windows drip condensation.

And then, he starts laughing.

“God, you’re such a sore loser.”

You’re too blissed out to even glare. Your walls clench around his softening cock, still buried inside you, and you let out a low hum.

“Yeah,” you murmur, lazy and smug. “I’m definitely sore.”

He snorts, kisses your jaw, and collapses next to you on the seat, pulling you on top of him like you’re the prize he always wanted.

And maybe you are.

Because under the starlight filtering through the moon roof, with your leg draped over his and your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest, there’s no need to pretend anymore.

You’ve both already lost.

To each other.

And neither of you would take it back.

one | masterlist

dividers courtesy of @uzmacchiato

155 notes · View notes

read-time-fanfic · 2 months ago

Text

Stick Shift

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: street racing au, rivals to lovers, slow burn

summary: they call you ghost. you call him sunshine. you’re gasoline and gold. he’s grit and fire. you meet where engines snarl and neon flickers, where flirting tastes like violence and victory smells like smoke. no one really wins here. not without bleeding for it. but god, you both keep trying.

warnings: street racing, competition kink, jealousy, fighting, bloodly knuckles, a little toxic, a lot feral, they hate how bad they want each other, rough sex, public sex, backseat sex, oral f!recieving, fingering, light choking, impact play, possessive/obsessive behavior, overstimulation, creampie, masturbation m & f, mentions of marijuana

word count: 7,708

The first time Hoseok sees you, it’s from across the lot. Hip cocked against your matte black Nissan Silvia like the car’s just another extension of your body. You’re licking sugar off your thumb from a ring pop someone must’ve handed you, but your eyes are scanning.

It’s just past midnight, and the air is thick with the smell of gasoline, rubber, cigarette smoke, and basslines that bleed through every inch of the abandoned lot. Overhead, floodlights cast uneven pools of white across cracked concrete and slick car hoods.

The low thrum of engines pulses like a heartbeat beneath it all.

You’re parked under the far end of a rusted awning, half in shadow, half caught in the neon pink light of a food truck sign blinking behind you. It flickers once, twice, and then steadies, framing you in electric haze like something out of a dream.

Or a warning.

Your eyes trail from hood to hood, driver to driver, pausing for no one. He can tell you’re not looking to be seen. You’re looking for a challenge.

But you’re not racing tonight.

You’re just watching.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

You’re not burning rubber or taking corners. Not running the line or coasting the edge. You’re simply there, standing still, and somehow more dangerous than anyone strapped behind a wheel.

He drags his gaze away with effort and exhales through his nose. He palms a lighter from his pocket and flicks it once, twice, like muscle memory, but doesn’t light the cigarette already tucked behind his ear. His other hand slides across the warm metal of his hood.

“Who’s she?” he murmurs without turning, voice low and rough, seeking answers from the man beside him.

Jin’s half buried in the guts of his RX-7, elbows deep in a cluster of wires, his headset crackling with ghost voices from the other side of the lot. He doesn’t look up—just keeps tightening something near the throttle body with slow, methodical precision.

“New,” Jin replies evenly. “Name’s still floatin’. Crewless. Roams around. Races once in a while, just enough to stay myth. Keeps her win ratio clean, though. Never seen her lose.”

Hoseok hums, eyes drifting back to you. Your ring pop’s gone now, sucked down to the stem, and you’re wiping your fingers on the hem of your shirt. The way your mouth curves has an edge to it, like you’re already in on the joke before the punchline lands.

“Her real name?”

“No one knows,” Jin replies. “She’s got half the lot calling her Ghost.”

“Ghost…why?”

At that, Jin straightens. Rolls his neck until it pops, then finally looks up, glancing past Hoseok toward the spot you’ve claimed as your own.

His mouth curls into a knowing smirk.

“’Cause she’ll flirt. She’ll touch. She’ll smile—and then she’s gone.” He shrugs, wiping his hands on a rag before slinging it over his shoulder. “Leaves behind smoke, tire marks, and half a dozen sorry bastards wondering what the fuck just happened.”

Hoseok scoffs under his breath but doesn’t deny how easily the image forms in his mind. You in the rearview, tail lights blinking once before disappearing completely. The Sylvia’s engine roaring like thunder as it kisses the apex.

“She’s bad news. Which means—” Jin glances sideways, arching a brow, “—you’re probably already interested.”

Hoseok doesn’t answer.

Because right then, you glance over.

You don’t soften, don’t blink, don’t tilt your head like the others do when they want to be noticed. You just look, like you’ve already seen everything you need to know.

And then you smile.

It’s the kind of smile that unravels men. The kind that makes you feel like you’re already too late.

Something behind Hoseok’s ribs shifts.

You hold his gaze for three long seconds. Then you turn away and vanish into the swell of bodies and smoke like you were never there.

Like a ghost.

Weeks pass.

And He tells himself he doesn’t care.

He tells himself this while tuning his suspension, while torching the city streets at 3AM just to burn off the static under his skin. He tells himself this while tightening the gloves around his fingers and sliding behind the wheel like he has something to prove.

You only show up when you want to.

No rhythm, no schedule.

Some nights you’re nowhere, just whispers trailing in your place. Other nights, you materialize out of the shadows like you’d never left, sliding between crews and chaos with that same unreadable calm.

He tells himself it doesn’t bother him. That he doesn’t scan the crowd every time he pulls up. That he doesn’t hold his breath when an engine too slick, too smooth, too you rumbles in the distance.

He tells himself you’re a ghost, and ghosts don’t matter.

But ghosts don’t win.

And you never lose.

Even when you’re behind—especially when you’re behind.

You race like you’re chasing something only you can see. Like speed isn’t a tool, it’s a language. Like you were born to bend gravity and defy timing. You don’t race to prove something.

You race to remind people.

And that engine of yours? It sounds like a war cry. Hoseok hears it before he sees you. A guttural snarl that splits the night like thunder and leaves people craning their necks to see who’s behind the wheel.

It’s always you.

And you always make it look easy.

Your car floats through corners like it’s skimming the edge of a dream. Hoseok’s seen seasoned racers white knuckled and breathless trying to keep up with you. And when you finally do step out of the car, there’s always a smirk playing at the edge of your mouth. Like the win was nothing more than a flex of your fingers.

Your nails are always painted metallic gold.

That’s something he noticed early, before he let himself admit he was noticing anything at all. It’s not even a shade people wear, but you wear it like it’s tradition. Like trophies dipped in lacquer. Like each coat is another body you’ve buried beneath your tires.

You’re not touchy. Not soft. You never let a man get close, never long enough for it to mean anything. If someone’s lucky, they might get to light your blunt. If they’re brave, they might try a joke, a brush of fingers, a lean too close.

They never get far.

You laugh it off. You twist out of it. You vanish.

And your laugh, fuck, your laugh. It drips from your lips like honey over broken glass. The kind of laugh that makes men want to try harder just to hear it again.

He’s only heard it a handful of times, always from a distance, but it lingers in his head longer than the echo of his engine.

Longer than any finish line. Longer than any cheer.

Some nights, it follows him home. He’ll be washing grease off his hands in his kitchen sink or leaning against his balcony railing while the city drones below, and it hits him.

He doesn’t even know what your mouth tastes like.

He tells himself he doesn’t care.

He says it every time your name drips out of someone else’s mouth. Every time a rookie asks who the hell you are, and the older heads just shake their heads and say, Ghost.

But Hoseok’s a liar.

And you?

You’re not just a ghost.

You’re his ghost.

The kind that leaves fingerprints on his steering wheel. The kind that curls in the smoke of his exhaust. The kind that lingers in his chest long after the streets have emptied and the night has gone quiet.

It isn’t until a rainy night in late August that you finally race each other.

Not at some overhyped city lot with drones overhead and influencers angling for footage. Not under the floodlights of a downtown grid or with half of Seoul screaming bets over each other.

No, this is quieter.

A hush hush meet tucked under the rusted bones of Magnolia Bridge. The kind of race whispered about only hours before it happens, organized through burner phones and back channels.

The sky is dark and overcast, fat clouds bleeding rain into cracked asphalt. Every car there is idling low and hungry, headlights glowing through the curtain of rain like wolves watching from the dark.

Hoseok’s already there.

His Mazda purrs like a beast held on a leash, idling at the line with steam rising in tendrils from the hood, engine heat kissing the cool rain. His gloved hands rest firm on the wheel, jaw tight as he eyes the empty lane beside him.

Then the thunder of your engine rolls in, low and seductive.

The crowd parts like smoke.

Your Silvia appears in full matte black glory, drops of rain crawling over its surface like they’re afraid to linger. It prowls up beside him, slowing to a stop so smooth it’s more like a whisper than a halt. The windows are tinted darker than sin.

Yours is cracked though, just enough for him to see your smirk.

A curl of smoke escapes the gap, twisting like a ribbon from your lips. You’re leaned back, one hand lazily gripping the wheel, the other holding a half lit blunt between ringed fingers. Hair slicked from the humidity. Mouth glossed from whatever glosses a mouth like yours.

You don’t speak at first.

Just look over. Hold him there with nothing more than a glance, like you’re already bored of the game you’re about to win.

“Took you long enough.” he calls across, voice low but clear enough to carry through the rain.

A slow exhale.

You blow another puff of smoke out the gap and tilt your head slightly.

“You were the one hiding from me, sunshine.”

His knuckles tighten on the wheel. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod. Doesn’t return the flirt.

Instead, he presses his foot down gently—just enough to make the Mazda growl.

It’s the only response you get.

The starter steps between you both, eyes flicking from one car to the other. Hands raised. Engine growls swell across the lot like thunder layered under thunder.

Hoseok hears your car shifting, feels the power coiled behind you like something alive.

His heart thuds once.

Twice.

The flag drops.

And then…

Violence.

Pure, distilled chaos.

Rubber screams as you launch into the street like a shot of lightning. Your cars tear through the course, tires skimming puddles, splashing grit into the air. Water blasts in every direction as engines roar and bodies whip around turns like physics are nothing more than polite suggestions.

You’re fast.

You’re so fast.

Hoseok’s used to being the ghost other people chase. Used to being the one who carves the wind and leaves the rest in smoke. But you? You match him. You match him and pull ahead. Not with brute force, but with precision, with grace. Like your car isn’t made of metal but instinct.

At the second bend, your back tire skids just a little too far.

He gains on you.

You recover in a heartbeat, drift so tight you graze the edge of the barricade and leave sparks in your wake.

You’re toying with him.

The rain slicks the road to glass. Streetlights blur. Wind claws through half open windows. Hoseok’s jaw is clenched so tight it aches, his breath short, heart slamming as he fights to stay level, to take the inside lane, to find one weakness in your rhythm.

But there isn’t one.

Not until the last turn.

It’s sharp. Dirty. Already carved from the last heat—patchy pavement, oil sheen glinting through the downpour.

You both slide.

Your bumpers kiss, just for a heartbeat.

Metal against metal.

The crowd roars behind you, swallowed by the wind.

And then…you cross the finish.

Less than a quarter inch ahead.

The silence inside Hoseok’s car when he slams the brakes is deafening. His chest is heaving. Palms slick with sweat and rain. Eyes locked ahead, processing.

You beat him.

By a whisper.

He should be pissed.

Should be punching the steering wheel.

But he’s staring at you instead.

Your door swings open. You swing your legs out, slow and sharp, the gleam of someone’s headlights slicing across the wet gloss of your thighs. You’re not even breathing hard. Not even flushed. You toss your keys without looking, some friend catching them midair as you shoulder through the crowd like a queen through her court.

No victory lap.

No bow.

No backward glance.

But Hoseok watches.

Watches the way your jacket clings to your waist, water making it shine like latex. Watches the way you reach for someone’s blunt and take a slow drag without asking. Watches the way your laugh pierces through the heavy bass rolling out of someone’s trunk.

You’re untouchable.

Unbothered.

And Hoseok?

Still behind the wheel.

Still watching.

Still burning.

That’s when it starts.

The game.

It isn’t spoken aloud. No rules exchanged. No challenge issued. Just the unspoken knowledge that something’s been set in motion between you and Hoseok. Something winding, coiled, and taut with tension.

You race three more times. Each one faster, riskier, more electric than the last. Each one with more money on the line. Bigger crowds. Hungrier eyes.

Each one where Hoseok comes close.

So close.

But never close enough.

Your finishes are razor thin, sometimes only the width of a finger between you. Your engines scream in sync. Your cars dance along the line like twin wolves trying to outrun each other’s teeth. And every time, Hoseok thinks maybe. Maybe this time. Maybe you’ll stumble, maybe you’ll look back, maybe he’ll catch the ghost.

But you never do.

You vanish after each win.

Always.

Sometimes it’s right after you park, keys still in hand, walking off before the crowd finishes roaring. Sometimes you linger just long enough to collect your cash, snag someone’s cup or blunt or phone charger, then disappear into the neon lit sprawl of the lot.

Each time, Hoseok watches you leave.

Each time, something in his chest coils tighter.

You haunt the space you abandon.

And he keeps chasing.

Keeps telling himself it’s just competition. Just pride. Just unfinished business. Keeps pretending the way his hands shake after each race is about adrenaline, not obsession. Not the weight of your laugh. Not the gleam of your lip gloss caught in his headlights. Not the gold of your nails tapping against the car roof as you wait for the flag to drop.

He lies.

Again.

Because by the third race, it’s not just about the win anymore. It’s about you.

It’s always been about you.

—

The crowd’s thick that night. It’s the biggest race yet. Half the regulars are already drunk. A few local legends showed up, tossing cash and lighting blunts, crowding the starting line for a better view. The air’s sticky with liquor, smoke, and sweat. Hoseok can barely hear his thoughts over the music pounding out of a modded Civic’s trunk.

You beat him by a nose.

Again.

He doesn’t even fight it this time, doesn’t slam his fist into the wheel or bark at his crew. He just steps out, jaw locked, heart hammering, gaze locked onto the path you’ve taken through the sea of bodies.

You’re laughing with someone. A stranger. Tall, flashy. Drenched in designer gear that screams money, not muscle.

You’ve got one hand curled around a drink, body turned halfway toward the conversation, hips cocked at that lazy angle you always fall into when you’re bored. Half listening, half looking for an excuse to ghost out early.

Then he does it.

The guy.

His hand snakes around your waist.

Too rough. Too sure of itself.

And then lower.

He cups your ass. Firm, greedy, like he owns it.

You flinch.

Try to play it cool, your eyes darting sideways as you shift your weight and casually start to slide out of his grip, already queuing up the usual disappearing act. Smile, slip, vanish.

But he tightens his hold.

Yanks you back.

His breath is hot at your ear. “Where you goin’, pretty girl?”

You freeze.

And that’s when Hoseok sees it.

His jaw goes slack for half a second, stunned still.

Then it’s like a fuse snaps.

No warning. No words.

Just movement.

Hoseok doesn’t think.

Doesn’t blink.

He just moves.

The crowd doesn’t even register what’s happening until the first punch lands.

He lunges.

The first punch cracks through the noise like a gunshot. Clean, brutal, knuckle to cheekbone. The guy reels, stumbling into the side of a parked car, blood already smearing his lips.

But Hoseok doesn’t stop.

He hits him again.

And again and again.

Teeth go skittering across asphalt like loose change. The guy screams or maybe that’s someone else. A girl gasps. Someone yells for someone to do something. People scatter.

But Hoseok’s still swinging.

Still snarling like something feral and gone.

By the time Jin and Namjoon crash through the chaos, he’s shaking from the force of his own fury, fists dripping, chest heaving.

“Hoseok!” Jin grabs his shoulders, trying to pry him off.

“Bro—fuckin’ stop!” Namjoon snarls, yanking him back by the collar of his jacket.

The guy is curled up now, whimpering, nose crushed and leaking. His designer chain lies twisted in the dirt, snapped clean in half, glittering like it was never worth a damn in the first place.

But Hoseok doesn’t hear them.

Doesn’t see them.

All he sees is you.

And the hand that had no right.

All he hears is the pulse in his ears. All he sees is the way you’re standing there, calm as ever, eyes locked on him.

You haven’t moved.

You haven’t spoken.

Not a single word.

But your gaze slices cleaner than any shout.

You’re not wide eyed. Not grateful. Not flustered.

You’re unreadable.

And it cuts deeper than anything else.

Because that look?

That tilt of your chin, the bare arch of one brow, the way your lips part—not in shock, not in awe, but with cool calculation?

That look says everything.

You didn’t do it for me. You did it for you.

And you’re not wrong.

You turn away before Jin finishes yelling. Walk off without waiting to see if Hoseok follows.

You don’t thank him.

You don’t touch him.

You don’t even pause.

Just vanish, again. Your shoulders straight, jacket slung halfway down one arm, leaving nothing behind but smoke and silence and the ragged shape of Hoseok’s breathing.

That’s the night he realizes you’re more dangerous than he thought.

Because you don’t need anyone to save you.

Because you don’t owe anyone your softness.

Because he didn’t get under your skin.

You got under his.

The steering wheel still smells like blood.

Or maybe that’s just in his head.

Hoseok drives with one hand loose on the wheel, the other draped over the gearshift, knuckles bruised and raw beneath the leather gloves he hasn’t bothered to take off. The Mazda rumbles beneath him—lowered, tuned, familiar. The engine purrs like it’s trying to soothe him, but his pulse stays sharp.

The city hums around him.

It’s late.

Later than late.

The kind of hour where most of the streets are empty and the stoplights flicker on timers, running red to no one. Neon halos paint the asphalt, and rain from earlier clings to the gutters, reflecting pink and blue and gold like broken glass.

His jaw aches. He hasn’t said a word since he and Jin parted ways with a heavy silence and a heavier stare.

You didn’t even flinch.

You didn’t thank him.

Didn’t call him off.

Didn’t look away when he split the guy’s lip open and dragged him through the gravel like trash.

You just stood there.

Like you were watching the weather.

Like none of it mattered.

He presses the gas a little harder than necessary, engine revving as he slips through a yellow light with no one else in sight. No destination in mind. Just movement. Just distance. Just a desperate attempt to shake you from the corners of his skull.

But you’re still there.

In the rearview. In the hum of his tires. In the sticky drag of memory replaying that look on your face like a glitch he can’t fix.

You didn’t do it for me. You did it for you.

And fuck, maybe he did.

Maybe he’d do it again.

He turns onto a quieter road, the city giving way to a neighborhood of 24 hour diners and flickering signage. A convenience store glows ahead. The front windows fogged from the cooler air inside.

The light turns red.

He slows.

And there you are.

You slip out from between two aisles and drift toward the counter like you’ve done it a hundred times. Still dressed down in the aftermath of the race. Your jacket hanging loose off one shoulder, gold polish catching the fluorescent light as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You’re smiling.

Not the sharp, knowing smile you use on the lot.

Not the slow, dangerous one you toss Hoseok like a warning.

This one’s real.

You’re talking to the cashier. An older woman with kind eyes and a tired smile. You lean over the counter, laughing softly at something she says.

Like you’ve done this before.

Like this place means something to you.

You reach across the counter, arms looped loosely around her shoulders, and pull her in for a gentle hug. Your cheek presses to her hair. You kiss the crown of her head without a second thought.

The light turns green.

Hoseok doesn’t linger.

Doesn’t tap the brake. Doesn’t twist for another look.

He just eases forward with the rest of the night, like he didn’t see a thing.

Like he didn’t feel something twist inside his ribs.

Like he didn’t just witness the most intimate thing you’ve done since the day you showed up on the scene.

—

You don’t remember the drive home.

The city passed in streaks, headlights bleeding like wounds across the windshield. Your hands stayed steady on the wheel, but your mind was nowhere near the lane markers. It was still back there.

Still locked in that moment.

Still with him.

Hosaeok.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t even feel this much. But the sound of bone cracking against skin—the pure, violent music of it—still echoes in your ears. His voice, ragged and rough, splitting through the chaos. His eyes, wild and hot, right before Jin yanked him away. That was the look of a man who didn’t just want to fight.

He wanted to destroy.

And the fucked up thing?

It wasn’t fear that settled in your belly after.

It was fire.

Because the guy who grabbed you? The one who tried to claim your body like it was something he paid for?

Already forgotten.

But Hoseok?

Hoseok scorched you.

—

The apartment is dark when you walk in. You lock the door behind you without thinking, flicking the bolt with the same muscle memory you use to lie. I’m fine. It’s nothing.

But tonight?

Nothing about this is fine.

You shrug off your jacket. Dump your keys. Your skin prickles from the inside out. You move through your routine on autopilot, shower, wash your face, brush your teeth, avoid your reflection. You don’t want to see how flushed you still are, how restless.

Your bed swallows you whole when you crawl in. The sheets feel cold. Too cold. You breathe in deep and exhale slow, but your lungs still feel tight. You close your eyes. Try to force your mind somewhere else.

But it doesn’t listen.

You see his hands first. Gloved, and still streaked with someone else’s blood. You imagine those same hands gripping your hips, tugging you to the edge of a mattress, shoving your knees apart with no intention of being gentle.

You exhale a soft moan and lift your tank top to your ribs.

But that’s not enough.

You sit up just long enough to peel it off and toss it to the side, bare skin meeting cool air, nipples tightening instantly. You cup your breasts with both hands, fingers teasing the sensitive peaks, gasping when your own touch makes your back arch.

“Hoseok,” you whisper into the stillness. “Fuck…”

You slide your other hand beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts, past the cotton, past the heat, to the ache that’s been throbbing since the second he threw that first punch. You’re already soaked. It’s ridiculous. You don’t even care.

You moan again, louder this time, head rolling back into the pillow as your fingertips find your clit, circling slow.

You picture his mouth next. That barely leashed fury poured into every bite, every kiss. The kind of mouth that would kiss you just to shut you up, then ruin you because you didn’t stay quiet.

Your breath catches.

You pinch one nipple, a needy whimper breaking in your throat.

He wouldn’t ask for permission. He wouldn’t need to. Not with the way you’d be trembling under him, slick and begging and already his.

“Ah fuck—please,” you pant, grinding against your own hand now, chasing the shape of him in your mind. “Please…”

You think about how he’d sound, whispering in your ear while he fucked you open.

“Look at you. So wet for me. You like that, don’t you? Being mine.”

Your legs start to shake.

You tease your pussy, slipping two fingers inside, groaning at the stretch. Your other hand is still on your breast, twisting, playing, desperate for more sensation.

You imagine his weight pinning you down. His hips pressed hard into yours. The rhythm of him, deep and ruthless.

You moan again, sharp and broken.

The pressure builds fast. Too fast.

Your thighs tremble. Your breath stutters.

The orgasm crashes over you like a wave made of flame. Spine bowing, mouth open in a cry, your body jerking with the force of it. Your fingers fuck you through it, curling, coaxing, milking every last tremor.

When it’s over, you collapse.

Chest heaving. Hand still between your legs. The room smells like sweat and skin and sex, like something he should’ve been here to witness. To cause.

You drag your fingers out slowly, absently wipe them on the sheets, eyes half lidded.

He doesn’t even know what he did to you.

The party’s too loud.

Too many bodies, too much smoke, too much bass rattling the floor beneath his boots. Hoseok leans against the bar, a half-empty glass of whiskey sweating between his fingers, his jaw tight. He’s buzzed but not gone. Not yet. Just riding that edge of fucked up where everything feels hazy except for you.

Always you.

He hasn’t seen you since the fight.

He told himself to forget, to move the fuck on, but every time he closes his eyes, he sees your face. The way your body arched when the guy grabbed you. The way your eyes found his through the crowd like you knew exactly what he’d do next, and didn’t try to stop him.

You didn’t run from it.

You welcomed it.

You liked it.

“Hobi.”

He doesn’t turn at first. Not until the voice sounds again, sweeter this time.

“Hobi…?”

He looks up.

And blinks.

She’s pretty. Hair similar to yours. Lips painted in the same shade you always wear. She even smells like you—a little too much cherry though.

But it’s not you.

Still… he’s drunk.

Lonely.

And hard.

And she’s looking at him like she wants to be used.

So he lets her.

—

The door barely clicks shut behind them before he’s on her. Her laugh is breathy and high-pitched as he pins her to the wall, mouth crashing over hers with too much tongue, too much desperation. She tastes wrong, sweeter than you, less sharp, less sure. Her hands tug at his shirt like she’s trying to find something inside him worth keeping.

But Hoseok doesn’t want to be kept.

He wants to forget.

He flips her onto the bed and drags her jeans down her thighs. His movements are rough, impersonal. She gasps like she thinks it’s passion, but it isn’t.

It’s just need.

The room is dim. The only light comes from a cracked window and the streetlamp beyond. He can barely see her face.

Good.

He closes his eyes.

And imagines you.

The way you’d arch for him. The way your breath would stutter when he licks a stripe up your neck. The way you’d grab his hair and drag his mouth where you want it.

He mouths down her chest and pretends her skin is yours—soft and sweat slick, quivering under his tongue. When she moans, he pictures your voice—low, strained, that little gasp you let out when you want more but won’t say it.

He slips on a condom and pushes inside her biting down a groan.

Not because it feels good, but because it doesn’t.

She’s too wet, too open, too eager.

You’d fight him first.

You’d make him earn it.

His hips stutter.

Your name nearly slips out.

He bites his lip until he tastes blood.

The girl whines beneath him. Moans some name he doesn’t hear. She scratches his back like she’s trying to leave proof.

But the only thing Hoseok wants carved into him is you.

He fucks her like he’s punishing you for not being here. Like maybe if he moves fast enough, hard enough, deep enough, he can outrun the fact that he knows…

Knows this isn’t what he wants.

Knows it’s not even close.

Knows he could make you cum with just a look. Just a whisper. Just his fingers in your hair and his mouth at your ear, saying things he’s only ever dreamed of telling you.

He groans.

Buries his face in the crook of her neck and pretends it smells like you.

The orgasm that hits him is ugly. Fast. Hollow.

A curse under his breath. A fist in the sheets.

And then, emptiness.

Nothing but sweat and silence and the sick twist of regret in his gut.

His cock’s gone soft, his skin still humming, and all he can think is…she’s not you.

She never was.

And he hates himself for pretending.

—

He doesn’t stay long.

The girl falls asleep fast. Her head tucked against his shoulder like she belongs there, and Hoseok barely resists the urge to peel her off like a too warm blanket. The moment her breathing evens out, he slips from the bed, pulls on his jeans, grabs his jacket, and leaves.

His boots echo on the stairwell. The night outside is cold enough to bite, but he doesn’t light a cigarette, doesn’t call a car. Just walks.

He tells himself the fresh air will clear his head.

It doesn’t.

Because your face is still there.

Like a watermark behind his eyes.

The way you looked that night, cheeks flushed, mouth parted, chest rising and falling like you were seconds from saying his name.

He imagines you now.

Imagines you bent over the hood of his car, dress shoved up, panties forgotten. One hand braced on the windshield, the other tangled in his hair while he eats you from behind like he’s starving.

His jaw flexes.

Or maybe you’d be laid out on his bed. Thighs parted, eyes glassy, whispering his name with that breathy lilt that ruins him. Maybe you’d beg. Or maybe you’d just look at him like you own him, and that’d be enough.

By the time he’s home, he’s hard again.

—

The apartment is silent. Moonlight spills across the floor through the half open blinds. Hoseok drops his keys on the counter and doesn’t even bother turning on a light. He shrugs off his jacket, kicks off his boots, and heads straight to the bathroom.

The girl from earlier is already a fading smear in his mind. Her voice, her hands, her skin, none of it stuck. None of it felt like you.

He turns on the shower.

Steam rolls up from the tile like breath from a beast. He steps inside and lets the heat scald the tension out of his shoulders, but it doesn’t help. He’s still aching and half hard. Imagining the scratch of your nails against his ribs, the press of your tits against his chest, the way you’d look riding him slow, lazy, like you had all night to ruin him.

His hand drifts down.

Wraps around his cock—hard now, painfully so—and he hisses through his teeth at the contact.

He strokes slow at first.

Leans back against the cool tile and closes his eyes.

You’re there again. Smirking. Kneeling between his legs with your fingers tugging his waistband down, your mouth slick and greedy as you sink onto him, no hesitation.

“Fuck,” he mutters, biting his lip. His hand moves faster now, tight and wet with the slick of soap and water. His hips jerk into the motion.

He pictures your mouth, lips red and tongue teasing, your gaze locked on his like you dare him to cum without permission.

He pumps harder.

Now you’re on all fours, back arched, begging for more in a voice he’s never heard but knows instinctively. His other hand braces on the wall, knuckles white.

“Say my name,” he groans, head tipping back. “Say it. Let me hear you fucking say it, baby—”

In his head, you do.

Over and over.

Hoseok. Hoseok. Hoseok.

Your moans echo in the space between his ribs, tightening the coil in his gut until it’s unbearable.

He comes with a guttural sound. Half curse, half prayer, thrusting into his hand like he can bury himself inside the illusion of you.

His knees nearly give out.

Ropes of cum streaks the shower wall. Water pelts his skin. His heart thunders against his chest.

And still.

Still.

He’s not satisfied.

Because you weren’t really there.

And now that he’s spent, shaking and raw, the ache has only deepened.

You haunt him worse than any ghost ever could.

After that, the tension changes.

It’s subtle at first.

A glance that lasts a breath too long. A half smile traded across a crowded lot. The way Hoseok’s hand hovers just slightly behind you when you pass each other in a tight space, like he’s always almost touching you. Like he’s daring himself not to.

Every encounter becomes a dare.

One of you always pushes.

The other always pulls away.

You show up to a race in heels once. Actual stilettos, five inches, patent leather, the kind that click like gunfire against the concrete when you walk. No one expects you to drive in them. Some of the guys laugh. One of them bets double against you, loud and cocky, claiming you’re more style than speed.

Hoseok doesn’t laugh.

He doesn’t say a word.

He just watches.

Watches as you slide into your Silvia like the car was made to wrap around you. Watches the way your hands rest easy on the wheel, your fingers tapping against the leather in rhythm with the music still bleeding out of someone’s speakers nearby.

And then he watches you destroy the track.

You eat the course alive.

You pass four men like they’re standing still, heels never coming off, eyes never flinching. Your engine roars through the night like it’s feeding on ego. You drift so close to the barricades it makes even the seasoned ones flinch. And when you hit the finish, it’s not even close.

You don’t brake hard. You don’t screech to a stop.

You glide. Like speed is your natural state and stillness is the illusion.

The crowd goes wild.

But your eyes?

They’re already locked on him.

You step out of the car and the second you spot Hoseok leaning against his Mazda across the lot, you smile.

Like you’ve been looking for him all night.

You cross the distance without hesitation. He straightens before he can stop himself, shoulders tensing, cock stirring behind his jeans. You come close, too close,and reach out, your fingers just barely brushing the chain that sits against the hollow of his throat.

“Cute shirt, sunshine,” you murmur, tugging lightly on the necklace instead, voice low enough only he can hear.

You don’t wait for a reaction.

You just turn away, the click of your heels swallowed by the cheers behind you.

And then you’re gone again, melting into the sea of bodies, laughing at something a girl in red leather whispers in your ear. You steal a sip from her bottle. Tug on her belt loop. Dance in the glow of a streetlight like no one else exists.

You don’t look at him again.

Not once.

But Hoseok doesn’t stop watching.

Not for a second.

That night, when he finally gets home, shirt still damp with sweat, knuckles still tight from how hard he’d been gripping the wheel, he can still feel the ghost of your fingers brushing his collarbone.

He falls asleep to the sound of your voice echoing in his head.

—

The next race is different.

The kind they only run once every couple months. Just outside the city, through the backroads and hills, no lights, no rails, barely enough road to hold the speed.

It’s an open call, but only the real ones show up.

Too dangerous for ego. Too long for luck.

By the halfway point, the pretenders are gone.

And only you and Hoseok are left at the front, locked side by side, engines snarling, exhaust spewing into the mist like breath from beasts.

He keeps trying to edge you out. You keep taking the inside turns. There’s something almost rhythmic about the way your cars fight. Like a dance neither of you planned, but both of you know by instinct.

He’s about to cut in—tight curve, hairpin bend, one he’s memorized from late night test runs with Jin and Joon—when it happens.

Someone behind you loses control.

A rookie in a borrowed car, too fast, too nervous, tires too bald for this kind of speed.

They skid out.

Overcorrect.

Chain reaction.

Metal shrieks.

Lights flash.

Something crashes behind him—he doesn’t even look.

He swerves.

Instinct.

But your car is right there.

He clips your rear quarter, hard.

And time—time breaks.

Your tail spins out, just a hair.

Your grip falters.

Your body jerks.

He sees you, really sees you, for half a second. Your hands white knuckled on the wheel, mouth drawn tight in concentration, a flicker of fear in your eyes.

You catch it.

Snapping the car back like magic. Hoseok barely manages to regain his own line, tires fighting for grip, gravel screaming beneath his chassis.

Neither of you win.

Neither of you care about the loss.

—

Afterward, the lot buzzes with aftermath.

No sirens. No medics. Just exhaust thick in the air and the sound of someone revving too loud in the distance like they’re trying to fill the silence with something that isn’t shame or blood or adrenaline.

Hoseok doesn’t give a shit about the winner.

Didn’t even look.

Because the second his car skidded past the final turn, tires screaming and heart in his throat, you weren��t where you were supposed to be.

Not near your car.

Not with the crowd.

Not with the firelight licking up your legs like it always does when you stand too close, smirking like you were born to be envied.

You’d vanished.

And that’s all that matters.

His boots crunch over gravel as he cuts through the maze of old storage units and loading crates stacked like a half built kingdom. People thin out here. Lights don’t quite reach. But he finds you anyway.

He always does.

You’re leaning against a crate like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Boot braced behind you, one arm crossed tight over your stomach, the other hanging loose with a blunt still burning down between your fingers. Your lip is split. There’s a slice just below your temple, blood already drying in a line that carves down the curve of your cheek.

And your face?

Unbothered.

If anything, annoyed.

“Damn,” he mutters, stopping a few feet from you. “You look like shit.”

You flick ash to the side. “That’s rich coming from a guy who just tried to turn someone’s skull inside out.”

He exhales hard. “You didn’t like him touching you.”

“It’s not the first time someone got a little too excited.”

“Don’t joke.”

“Don’t worry.”

The silence is sharp. Not comfortable. Just tolerable because neither of you knows what to do with softness when it’s real.

He drags a hand through his hair, eyes raking over you. “You could’ve been hurt.”

You snort. “You’re the one out there driving like you’ve got a death wish.”

“At least I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, right. Mr. Precision.” You push off the crate with a wince you try to hide. “Tell me—was it part of the plan to run me off the road or lose your shit and nearly beat a man to death in front of everyone?”

“That was an accident, and he touched you.”

“So?” you throw back. “It’s not like you’ve never seen it happen before.”

“Yeah,” he growls, stepping forward, “but it’s the first time I wanted to kill someone for it.”

That stops you.

You blink—once, slow. Like your brain has to buffer just to process it. But then you scoff again, less sure this time. You try to move past him, but he shifts to block you, his body a wall, jaw tight.

Your voice dips. “Don’t make this a thing.”

“It’s already a thing,” he snaps. “You think I do this shit for fun? You think I walk around with bruised knuckles and a goddamn temper because I don’t care?”

“You don’t know what you care about,” you fire back. “You just get off on feeling needed.”

His mouth twitches—something caught between a laugh and a snarl. “You think that’s what this is? Some fucked up savior complex?”

You shrug, but there’s a tremble in it. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

He’s on you before you can look away.

Not touching. Just there.

So close you feel the heat radiating off his chest. His breath fans across your cheek. His eyes search yours like he’s looking for proof of something he’s too afraid to ask for out loud.

“I don’t want to save you,” he says, voice low. “I want to keep you.”

The words land heavy.

And for a second, you don’t say anything.

“That’s worse.”

You don’t mean it.

He knows you don’t.

But neither of you can handle what comes next, so you sidestep it the only way you know how.

He pulls a bandana from his back pocket and lifts it toward your face. You tense at first, but he doesn’t back off. Just presses the cloth gently to the cut on your temple.

“You always this gentle with girls you threaten to kill for?”

He exhales through his nose, unamused. “You always this mouthy when you’re concussed?”

You snort. “Takes more than a few knocks to the head to keep me quiet.”

“God help me.”

“Please. You’d be bored if I was sweet.”

His fingers twitch. Not from the blood. From you.

“I’m already losing my mind.”

You go quiet again.

Not because you’re scared.

Because it’s too loud inside you now.

Because you know what this is.

And you’re not ready.

Neither is he.

So you let him press the cloth to your skin.

Let him breathe you in like a man who’s drowning.

And when you finally speak, your voice is softer.

Still sharp. But slower. Almost sad.

“You’ve got a thing for me, sunshine?”

He doesn’t flinch.

Just says, “It’s a secret.”

You huff a laugh.

Then fall quiet again.

His hand lingers at your cheek. Your eyes don’t move. And the moment stretches. Like if either of you shifted an inch, the whole world would tilt.

Your breath mingles with his now—hot, shallow and close.

The bandana slips from Hoseok’s fingers entirely, but neither of you notice. It falls between your boots like it doesn’t matter, like nothing matters except this quiet war crackling in the air between you.

His hand doesn’t drop.

It moves barely.

Fingertips trail from your temple down to the curve of your jaw, slow enough to make your pulse stutter. He’s watching you like he’s afraid to blink, like he’ll miss the moment if he does. His thumb ghosts across your cheekbone, catching a bead of blood before it can fall.

You let him.

For the first time since this whole thing started, since your first glance, your first race, your first win, you let him see you. No smirk. No armor. No game.

Just you.

And maybe that’s what makes him lean in, slowly, like he’s giving you time to move. To stop him.

Time to change your mind.

But you don’t.

You tilt your chin up just slightly, mouth parting, lashes lowering as your eyes flick to his lips. His hand rises to your waist, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt.

Your lips just barely graze each others, so light you think you might’ve imagined it.

“Yo, Hobi—!”

You both jerk back, snapped out of it like a broken spell. Hoseok turns his head toward the noise, jaw clenched tight, expression sharp with something that isn’t quite anger but definitely isn’t patience.

It’s Jungwoo, wide eyed, standing halfway across the gravel, waving like he doesn’t realize what he’s just interrupted.

“Jin said to tell you your rear axle’s bent and the tie rods are gonna need to be realigned before you drive that thing anywhere again. Wants you to take a look.”

Hoseok doesn’t respond.

Just stands there, exhaling through his nose, eyes still locked on the space where your body used to be. You’ve already shifted your weight, straightened up, pulled your jacket back into place.

The mask slides back on.

“That your cue?” you murmur, dry.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look at Jungwoo. Just looks at you.

“I’ll come find you after.”

You raise a brow. “No, you won’t.”

And then you’re gone again. Slipping into the shadows like you were never there, leaving him standing alone under the floodlight with blood on his hands and your phantom kiss burning on his lips.

two | masterlist

dividers courtesy of @uzmacchiato

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read-time-fanfic · 2 months ago

Text

driftwater

yoonminkook time travel au + modern au time traveler!yoongi + established!jikook hurt/comfort, injury recovery, mentions of depression 31k, rated T, complete It's raining and Yoongi can't go home.

Yoongi sits in the alley for a long time after, for whatever measure of long, for whatever meaning of time. The rain eases to a sulky grey fuzz, pearling in his hair and drawing long, shivery fingers down the back of his neck. When he tips his head back he can see the runoff spill down the gutters, over the fire escape. It’s nearly beautiful, droplets fractal and glittering in the buzzing light.

[read on ao3]

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read-time-fanfic · 3 months ago

Text

Then/Now | JJK & KTH

Summary: Taehyung finally finds you again after years of searching, and all he needs to do is kiss you to return the memories of your past life together. The only problem is you're already in a relationship, and with the very person who executed you in the first place.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Reincarnation/Past Lives AU, Royalty AU, Friends to Lovers, Ex-Friends to Lovers, Affair, Angst, Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 28.5k+

Warnings: major character death(s) (in the past, they get reincarnated), execution/death, suicide, blood, swords, wound from a blade, crying, screaming, arguing, cheating, lying, heartbreak, mentions of war, death of loved ones, the fifteenth century, horses, fear of heights, pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, being restrained, migraines, hallucinations/seeing visions, flashbacks, corsets, gowns, basketball, cheerleading, loud crowds, gymnasiums, passing out, needles, being sedated, vomiting, drinking, cursing, depression, mention of graves, crypts, children, chapel, wedding, priest, sacraments, kings, queens, knights, armor and shields, pet names (baby, love, darling), beer pong, darts, loss of friendship, nonconsensual kissing, mention of sorcery/sorceress, spells, reincarnation. SMUT: big dick tae and jk 🤪, loss of virginity, missionary, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, pull-out method, mention of masturbation (f), jacking off/hand job, dick riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, forced exhibitionism (idk how to explain it properly but someone listens outside the door as they have sex), cum eating, coming on skin, cream pie, making out in public, alright I think that's everything but lmk if I missed something.

Author’s Note: jungkook villain era?? haha jk... unless 👀, ok anyway, happy festa everyone! for this fic we got BOAF ‘EM, baby! So excited to have my biases front and center in this monster of a fic lmao. I didn’t even know this many words were capable of coming from my brain but here they are. I really hope you guys love it even though some of our characters be making some major blunders. please don't judge OC too harshly, ok? she's doing her best. also I'll formally apologize to tae for constantly putting him in these situations at a later date. I'm very proud of how this turned out, so, as always, please lmk your thoughts and I hope you enjoyyyy :)

Taehyung kneels across from you, devoid of the armor and shield which make up his regular attire. They’ve been stripped from him, leaving him in just his frock and riding pants. Two of his fellow knights hold his arms out, turning him into the image of the cross before your eyes. You don’t repent, since God is not the one you need to beg for forgiveness.

Your nails scratch harshly against the wood below you as you listen to the footsteps of the King circling around before they halt behind your back. His footsteps which are so familiar and were once the sound you stayed up waiting to hear come down the corridor.

Time moves like the cogs of an ungreased wheel, each click of its turns bringing you closer to the fate which awaits you.

Taehyung glares at the King and thrashes against his restraints, even though every soul in the room, including him, knows it’s useless. His insubordination goes ignored.

“Any last words, your Highness?”

Eyes snapping shut, your emotions betray you as a sob escapes from your chest and tears fall from your eyes onto the floor below. An unalterable grief overtakes you. You look into Taehyung’s chocolate eyes one last time before returning your gaze to the floor.

“I love you,” you whisper across an exhale, most likely your last. “I am so sorry.”

A single poignant moment passes before the sharp blade slices across the delicate skin of your neck.

You gasp and grab at your throat, but the sound becomes a gurgle as blood pours from your neck, staining the wood and your gown below you. The deep red liquid flows around your fingers and stains your skin with its potency. Your vision is already gone, and your hearing follows only seconds after. Your body meets the floor with a thump as the light in your eyes flickers out.

Blood continues to spill from your wound and run through the knots in the wood like a river around stones, creating a halo of it around your body.

“No, no, no, Y/N!” Taehyung cries as he pulls against the knights again, trying to reach you even though you’re already gone. The beautiful eyes he adores stare lifelessly back at him. “You monster,” he sneers.

The King doesn’t say another word, and doesn’t offer Taehyung the same grace he did to you. He just slowly makes his way across the room before repeating the action across his former first knight’s neck.

His body falls next to yours, his blood fanning out around him and combining with yours into a pool of thick, dark liquid that leaks through the cracks in the wood. Your clothing absorbs the fluid and paints you both red.

A final thump follows shortly after.

PRESENT DAY

Taehyung doesn’t know where he’s going, but he thinks it must be the right direction because he can hear cheers from the building coming into view. It’s massive compared to the rest of the school's architecture, but he’s not surprised by that. Most universities nowadays put more emphasis on sports than anything else.

The cheers only grow as he approaches, a loud buzzer triggering the eruption of sound each time. When he enters the gym, the bounce of the basketball and swoosh of it falling into the net joins the mixture of noises coming from inside. He hands his ticket to the woman at the entrance before heading towards the basketball court.

It’s uncomfortably warm in the gym. All the bodies stacked in the bleachers and the sweat from the players creates a thick air around the whole scene. The combination of the temperature and loud noises only perpetuates the distortion of his senses, as if he isn’t anxious enough already. Taehyung’s eyes scan the space as he stands in the doorway, off to the side to avoid disturbing the patrons who come and go.

It only takes him a few seconds to find you.

You’re standing courtside, among the first row of cheerleaders who stand with their pom poms behind their back. Hair down and in curls, with a piece of it tucked behind one ear, and glitter all over your eyelids and cheeks. You look nothing like the last time he saw you and yet somehow you’re exactly the same.

Every few minutes you rub the plastic poms together to cheer on the team, sometimes shouting for them, too. It’s so mundane and yet it takes Taehyung’s breath away. It’s only natural, given that this is his first time seeing you in… well, since his last life.

He never moves from his spot in the doorway, he just stands and admires your every movement and gesture.

His eyes trace across your familiar visage. Your eyes still sparkle, your skin is soft and dewy, and your lips steal his attention instantaneously. The faint blush across your cheeks reminds him of his childhood and of home. It’s been so long, but seeing you now makes him feel like it was only yesterday.

The only thing out of place is seeing you in this attire. Your cheerleader uniform consists of a miniskirt and tight top which only just meets the top of your skirt. Every time you stretch or move your hips, a sliver of your stomach shows and Taehyung is holding his breath. It’s enough to send his mind into a frenzy. In his last life, he never saw so much as your ankle until the first time he made love to you.

All too soon, the game ends with a final buzzer. Your team must have won, because you join the rest of the cheerleaders in a chant with the spectators behind you before congratulating the team one by one.

Once the celebrations are through, you begin packing your things in a duffel matching the university's colors. One of the basketball players walks over and talks to you as you swap out your shoes for something more comfortable and bring a sweatshirt down over your head. Taehyung’s in a love-filled daze as he watches you pull your hair out from where it’s trapped under the neckline and smile at your conversation partner. Every little thing you do is pure magic in his eyes.

Suddenly, you’re waving goodbye to the athlete and walking towards the very exit where Taehyung stands. He’s nervous, more nervous than he’s ever been in his entire life. This one, at least. His heartbeat slows in time with your steps as you grow closer and closer.

“Hi!” Taehyung catches your attention.

You look confused as to where the voice is coming from, your eyes flitting around the room to find the answer, but then you spot Taehyung in front of you and smile.

“Hi,” you respond.

“You — you were great out there,” Taehyung compliments.

Your head tilts to the right and your nose scrunches as you smile. There’s an ache in Taehyung’s chest at the familiar movement. Even your mannerisms are the same.

“Was I? Thank you,” you say. “I didn’t do much.”

“Maybe not, but it’s obvious why you’re front and center,” Taehyung continues.

“That’s what I get for being cheer captain,” you sing-song. Taehyung opens his mouth to say something else, but you continue before he can. “I’m so sorry, my boyfriend is sick so I’m trying to get back to him as fast as I can.”

“Oh.” Boyfriend? “That’s alright, I’ll leave you be. I’m Taehyung, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you reply with a miniature curtsy. You have no memories of ever being a royal, but it must still be in your blood somewhere. “Well, see you later.”

“Yeah, later,” Taehyung concurs.

Taehyung should be elated about having his first conversation with you after an over twenty-year-long hunt, but he didn’t account for everything before traveling across the country to find you. The possibility of you already being in a relationship when he found you never once crossed his mind.

How is he supposed to kiss you and return your memories if you’re already taken?

Taehyung sits in his new dorm for the next couple days and paces around the small room as he thinks of a plan. Eventually, he decides to befriend you, which should be easy since an introduction has already been made, and make you fall in love with him the same way he did in your last lives together.

He stole you from someone once before and all he has to do is do it again.

The next time he sees you is in the library. You’re sitting at a table near the wall of windows that overlooks the large plane of grass marking the center of campus. You have big pink headphones on and are moving your head slowly back and forth to whatever music is coming from them. There are two books and a laptop in front of you and you’re writing diligently in a notebook which rests on your lap.

Taehyung approaches you slowly, checking his surroundings for any mysterious boyfriends who may come to join you.

When he reaches you without any interruptions, he taps the desk with his knuckles to grab your attention. You smile when you see him and remove your headphones.

“Hey, Taehyung,” you greet him.

His heart soars over you remembering his name.

“Hi, mind if I join you?”

“No, of course not,” you respond. Gesturing to the empty seat across from you with your hand, you smile again as Taehyung takes his backpack off and sits down. “So, you’re new around here. Transfer student?”

“Yup,” Taehyung says as he pulls his laptop out.

“Are you a senior, too?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a majority of my credits, but because of the transfer nonsense there are some things I’ll need to retake,” he explains.

“Bummer,” you reply. Your hand fishes in your backpack before pulling out a piece of candy and popping it in your mouth. “Do you play any sports?”

Before Taehyung answers, you offer him a piece of your sweets, but he declines with a wave.

“Just fencing and horseback riding, if you count those,” he answers.

“Um, woah. Yes, I count those,” you laugh. “That’s way cooler than contact sports.”

Talking to you is as easy as breathing and it sets Taehyung’s heart alight in his chest. It makes him remember all of your long conversations about everything and nothing. Your presence is so warm, welcoming, and familiar that it’s easy for him to forget this is only your second conversation.

“How’s your boyfriend?”

“Oh, he’s doing a lot better. Thanks for asking,” you say. “Normally, he’s at the games with me, since he’s the captain of the team, but he caught a nasty cold last week and couldn’t play.”

“So he’s a basketball player?” You nod and bite your candy in half. You’re adorably vicious with the chewy treat. “And how long have you known each other or been together or whatever.”

“Two years,” you say nonchalantly.

Two years?

Taehyung definitely has his work cut out for him. You’re not just in any relationship, you’re in a serious, long standing relationship. He needs to learn more about him so he can better understand who he’s up against. Hopefully, as your friendship grows, you’ll offer to introduce the two of them.

“Wow, that’s awesome,” he says even though it tastes bitter in his mouth.

“Yeah, we met freshman year and were just friends for a long time, but the heart wants what the heart wants, ya know?”

Yes, he certainly knows all too well.

You end up studying together for a couple hours before you leave for cheer practice. After that, you form a routine of meeting up to work on assignments and study, which perfectly aligns with Taehyung’s plans.

The study “dates” always happen at the library on Tuesdays and Thursdays, usually after lunch. It works well for you both because the silent moments are comfortable and the conversation is easy. Your study sessions are the only time Taehyung sees you for a couple months, and he’s yet to meet your boyfriend.

That changes one Thursday when you invite him to the basketball game the following night. Apparently, it’s against the university’s main rival and you’re giddy about the competition and hopefully seeing the team win. Taehyung graciously accepts and tells you he’ll see you then when you say goodbye.

Taehyung is wearing a hoodie with the university logo on it that he picked up from the school store earlier today. He blends in seamlessly with the crowd of students all wearing the same colors to support the team. After handing his ticket over, he makes his way into the gym and finds one of the few empty spots on the bleachers.

The court is currently empty since there’s still some time before the game starts. The other students on the bleachers are conversing with each other and eating their concessions, but Taehyung is mentally preparing himself to finally see his competitor for your heart.

Taehyung isn’t one to brag, but he’s been told he’s pretty handsome, and he likes to think he’s got a good personality. He’s just worrying himself sick over whether those attributes will be enough to make you end a two year long partnership. All he can hope for is that you walk into the gym with someone of below average looks and a shitty personality.

His leg bounces incessantly as the minutes tick by and the start time of the game nears. He watches other cheerleaders and basketball players filter in through the doors, every single one making his heart stop until he realizes it isn’t you. When it finally is you, Taehyung finds himself moving to the edge of his seat, his lip catching between his teeth.

You walk into the gym through the large metal doors first, but Taehyung can see a hand laced with yours. His eyes trace from where your hands are connected up the tattooed arm of your companion until he’s able to see the stranger’s face.

No amount of mental preparation could’ve prepared him for this sight.

As if his prior life is flashing before his very eyes, he watches in horror as you reach up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to your boyfriend’s lips. Your boyfriend smiles against your mouth in return, chasing your lips with his own before pulling back and moving your hair away from your face.

There is no mistaking the familiar features Taehyung is seeing. Besides maybe the length of his hair and the tattoo sleeve occupying his right arm, everything is identical.

Taehyung scores through his memories for an answer, any explanation for the disturbing scene he's watching. It doesn’t make any sense. The reincarnation spell should’ve only applied to you two. So why are you walking hand-in-hand across the basketball court with the King?

What the fuck is Jungkook doing here?

1422

The spring rainfall gave life to more blooms this season than last, creating a beautiful vision of purple and white in the valley near your home. They’re only wildflowers, but they still spread a sweet fragrance through the air. The sight of the flowers billowing in the wind is picturesque and something you look forward to at the conclusion of every winter.

On the road parallel to the valley, two figures on horseback come into view ahead of the slow-sinking sun. You wave to greet your regular visitors, laughing when you notice one of them speeding up and leaving the other in the dust.

The horse galloping towards you is a familiar sight, and you trust the rider enough to know he’ll stop with plenty of time before he reaches you.

“Jungkook, that was not very nice,” you scold him playfully once he’s close enough to hear you.

Taehyung follows the same path to you on his own steed, a frown evident on his features as he approaches.

“He is never nice!”

“I am always nice,” Jungkook corrects him.

They both dismount gracefully, and you follow your usual routine of walking over to Jungkook’s horse, Bam, and petting him on his forehead. Your fingers gently move down the horse’s face as you coo at him. Bam nudges his muzzle into your hand, making a noise of appreciation at the attention you’re providing him.

Jungkook watches the scene affectionately, his starry eyes following the movement of your hand and the smile that grows on your lips the more you interact with his beloved horse. You don’t see the way his eyes trace over your profile with a smile of his own.

“You can ride him, if you would like,” Jungkook offers.

“What?” You ask, but before he can answer you, Jungkook’s hands are on either side of your waist and he’s lifting you onto the saddle. “Oh, wait, wait!”

Your hands grab onto the saddle to steady yourself, your eyes wide as you look down from the great height.

“Uh, Jungkook —”

“Do not worry, I am holding you. You are not going to fall,” Jungkook states.

You feel his palm on your lower back, and his other hand is petting Bam to keep him calm. It’s unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, feeling the heat of his hand on you, but you don’t want him to see the blush appearing on your cheeks.

“Oh… okay,” you mumble.

Eyes glancing down again, you shut them instantly when you see how high off the ground you are.

“I believe she would still like to get down, Jungkook,” Taehyung comments.

You look down at Jungkook with fearful eyes to confirm Taehyung’s statement. His lips quirk downward in a frown before he grabs you by the waist again and brings your feet safely to the ground.

“I am sorry,” Jungkook tells you, his hands still on your waist. “I did not mean to scare you.”

“You did not scare me,” you say, stepping back so his hands fall away from you. “Bam scares me. Well, not Bam, because he is so sweet, but Bam’s height.”

Jungkook smiles at your explanation, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and it makes you mirror his expression.

“Yeontan would like some attention, too, m’lady,” Taehyung says as walks towards you both, his horse following him by the reins.

“I will be there in a moment,” you say. You pet Bam’s forehead once more before moving to Taehyung’s horse to give him the same affection. “What was the subject of your royal lessons today?”

“Battle strategy,” Jungkook says as he ties Bam to your stable. Taehyung follows suit with Yeontan once you’re done petting him.

Your heartbeat comes to a screeching halt at his answer, and a wave of fear washes over you at the dramatic change of topic for their lessons. Yesterday, they were learning about the proper way to eat soup and which fork should be used first.

Jungkook notices your worried expression and walks towards you. His eyes search yours for the reason you look so frightened as his hand slowly rises to hold your own. You allow him to take it, and you know he can feel the way it shakes in his grasp.

“That is not because you will be heading to battle anytime soon, is it?” You ask him.

The Kingdom is at war with a neighboring country and has been for nearly three years. Despite how long the men have been fighting, there is still no end in sight. It’s been devastating for the Kingdom as men leave their homes and families never to return again. Almost every child in your town is without a father and their mothers are left alone to care for their land and houses.

“No,” Jungkook answers, his hand squeezing your own before letting it go. Relief spreads across your chest and dispels the anxiety pooling in your gut. “Two heirs cannot go to battle at the same time.”

Your friend Jungkook is actually Prince Jungkook, but it’s easy to forget that when he’s teasing you or rolling around in the valley. He’s the younger of two sons, and his brother Junghyun is fighting alongside his father in the war. Since Jungkook isn’t next in line for the throne, he lives life at a slower pace and is more carefree. You appreciate that about him and enjoy taking part in his boyish antics.

Taehyung comes from a long line of knights who have served the crown for generations. Knights begin training at a very young age, and depending on their lineage, their future role is decided long before they complete their training. Taehyung has known he’d eventually be Jungkook’s first knight since childhood. The pair have known each other since they were toddlers and are as close as brothers.

You grew up with both of them because your parents work at the castle and you lived in the staff quarters until you began working yourself. Jungkook’s mother, the Queen, absolutely adores children and believes education is essential to living a good life. As such, she hires tutors to teach the children of all the staff as well as the young knights and royal family. It was during these lessons that you first met Jungkook and Taehyung. The three of you bonded over folktales and your love of animals and quickly became close friends.

Since you no longer live at the castle since becoming a midwife, the two boys come to visit you nearly every day between their daily lessons. The time is usually spent talking about what they learned or which books they’re reading. Sometimes, often in the summertime, the three of you play childhood games in the valley or take a short walk to the river where you can sink your feet into the cool water.

A new anxiety emerges when you remember that the rules which dictate Jungkook’s life are not the same for Taehyung.

“That does not apply to Taehyung, does it?” You question as he comes to stand beside you, too.

“No,” Taehyung says with a grimace. “I could be called upon at any time, but I am not fully trained. I do not believe that will occur unless there are no other options.”

Taehyung spoke too soon, because within a month’s time, he’s visiting you to tell you he has to leave for the battlefront in a fortnight.

Something in you knows as soon as you see him what news he’ll be sharing, but your heart shatters all the same when the words leave his mouth. You cry into your hands as he sits across from you at your kitchen table. He’s your best friend and you know there is a chance you will never see him again once he departs. The fear and sorrow coursing through you are enough to drown you. There is nothing that terrifies you more than losing him or Jungkook.

Taehyung reaches across the table and removes your hands from your face to hold them instead.

“I promise I will come back, Y/N, and when I do… I will take care of you. If you will have me,” he states.

“What?”

“I love you, and I want to marry you,” he confesses.

The thought doesn’t make sense within your mind. Taehyung’s noble status gives him the right to have the pick of the litter in terms of a wife. You don’t even have a dowry you can offer him.

“I do not understand how you could love me,” you respond.

“How could I not?”

He kisses the back of your hands and then rests his cheek against them.

You’re unsure how to respond to his proposal, or if you even should. He’s saying this now because he’s leaving, and you can’t give him an answer when there’s a chance he’ll never return. The reveal of his feelings for you frazels your mind and makes you question everything. So, you decide his proposal is something you’ll organize your thoughts about once he returns, if he returns.

The fortnight passes by both agonizingly slow and too quickly. The anxiety eating away at your nervous system turns the days into long threads of time with no end, but simultaneously, the calendar seems to be skippping ahead multiple days at a time.

When time lands on the third day from his departure, the whispers of a tragedy spread across the land like wildfire.

You hear it first from one of your patients, an expecting mother who you’re checking up on after she fell ill. When she whispers the news to you, your blood runs cold. You don’t believe her initially, but then, as you leave her home, you hear it repeating all around you in the voices of your neighbors.

King Jeon and Prince Junghyun are dead. The father and son perished in a bloody battle which took more than half of your men’s lives.

Whispers in bars and conversations across fields about how the King’s death will affect farming and trade are all you hear in the days following the announcement, but all you can think about is whether or not Jungkook is alright.

Unsurprisingly, you have no visitors until the morning Taehyung is supposed to leave. You watch from your kitchen window as the sunrise breaks over the valley. As the sky goes from deep blue to orange, you hear the familiar sound of horses galloping down the road.

Exiting your house in a flash, you wait for your friends to reach you and dismount before approaching them. You go straight to Jungkook, taking his hands in your own and rubbing over his knuckles with your thumbs.

“I am so, so sorry, Jungkook,” you tell him.

He squeezes your hands in return and a small smile appears on his lips, except it doesn't reach his eyes the way it normally does.

“I am alright,” he assures you. “I will miss them dearly, but it is my mother I truly worry about.”

“If there is anything I can do, please tell me,” you reply. His only response is a nod as Taehyung comes from behind the horses after tying them up. “When do you leave?”

“I am not leaving anymore,” he states. “I have to stay to protect the King.”

“The King?” The dead King?

“Yes, the King,” he parrots, gesturing to Jungkook.

You feel so foolish for forgetting what the consequences of Junghyun’s death really are. Jungkook will now have to take up the mantle of King without anyone ahead of him to guide him into the role.

You gaze at your childhood friend, attempting to imagine him in a crown. A smile appears on your face when you think about how handsome he will look with it sitting atop his pretty black hair. Jungkook is prudent, kind, and compassionate and you know he will make a wonderful ruler.

“Oh,” you say, letting his hands go as you take a step back. It’s one thing to be affectionate with a Prince, it’s another entirely to do so with a King. “Well, I suppose I will be seeing a lot less of you then.”

Jungkook frowns deeply and shakes his head.

“I do not want that,” he responds. “You are important to me and I will make time to visit you regardless.”

You’re sure Jungkook means what he’s saying, and believes it himself, but the odds of it being true are slim to none. A King has to bear the weight of the world and his new role will certainly keep him and Taehyung from visiting you as often.

It feels like goodbye as you wave at them and watch their figures disappear down the road. Your head falls forward and tears fall from your eyes onto the grass. The world is changing too fast for you to keep up.

Despite your worries, Jungkook comes to visit you the next day carrying a bouquet of white roses.

You’ve never been in a carriage before, let alone in one which is currently on its way to the castle. It’s been years since you were last at the monumental estate which houses both your parents and best friends.

As you approach, you notice the familiar grounds where you once played as a child. You see visions of you, Jungkook, and Taehyung running around in circles as they chase you and all at once the memories of your time here come flooding back. The memory of when Jungkook accidentally sent you both flying into one of the fountains brings a smile to your face. You’ll never forget the look on his mother’s face when she saw you both soaked and dripping on the castle floor. And the one of Taehyung picking flowers for you only for them to blow away when a strong wind flew in. He pouted for hours afterwards.

The feeling of returning home brings you comfort amongst all the chaos surrounding you.

The carriage stops in front of the entrance to the castle and you see the massive stone doors which separate the outside world from the home of the royal family. Your parents are already waiting for you along with some fellow staff, their faces giddy with excitement about seeing you. The driver offers you his hand to help you down the steps and once your feet hit the ground, you run straight into your mother’s embrace.

“Oh, honey, we missed you,” she tells you.

“I missed you, too,” you sigh.

A lurching sound indicates the doors are opening and Jungkook and his mother emerge from behind them. Jungkook takes two steps at a time, skipping down the limestone to reach you faster. His mother sighs knowingly at his behavior, a warm smile present on her lips.

“I am happy to see you arrived safely,” he says as he offers you his hand.

You curtsy to his mother, the Queen, who you haven’t seen since in many years now. She’s just as beautiful as you remember, even though her eyes carry a new sadness in them.

“Your Majesty, I am so very sorry about your husband and son,” you say to her.

“I appreciate it, my dear. I am so happy to see you,” she replies. “Let us go inside and I can show you around.”

She hooks her arm around yours and you almost recoil away from her in shock. The Queen is escorting you like an old friend and it defies all the logic in your brain. Even though you grew up here, you have always been well aware of your place in the world.

Your mother and father wave goodbye to the three of you as they report back to their duties. A pair of matching smiles on their faces as they watch you enter the castle.

Once inside, your eyes sweep around the grand entrance and the corridors which splinter away from the room. You notice all the beautiful artwork and intricate architecture of the castle that you didn’t take the time to admire as a child. You were too busy playing and soaking up all the knowledge you could from your tutors.

“I apologize, I have a meeting to attend, if you will excuse me,” Jungkook tells you.

Then, much to your surprise, he takes the back of his hand and runs it along your cheekbone, the softest of smiles present on his face as he does so. Your eyes open in wonder at the gesture, but once he’s turning and walking away from you, a matching smile appears on your lips.

Your skin feels warm where his fingers were, and you avert your eyes from his disappearing figure to try and stop the blush from continuing to spread. When you turn to your left towards the Queen, that knowing, motherly look is back. She just shrugs before turning in the opposite direction to lead you further into the castle.

When Jungkook enters the room the sound of chairs scraping against the stone floor permeates the air. All of the staff, parliamentarians, advisors, and knights stand at attention in the presence of their future King. The knights place their arms across their chest out of respect, including Taehyung, who is sitting to the left of the throne. Not yet being acclimated to the sight, Jungkook gestures for everyone to sit with a wave of his hand before taking his seat next to Taehyung.

The throne to the right of Jungkook, which is reserved for his future Queen, remains empty.

“How is the planning coming along?” Jungkook asks the royal coordinator. He is effectively the head of staff who oversees everything that goes on inside the castle.

“Wonderfully, your Highness. The wedding and coronations will occur subsequently in the chapel three days from now. The Priest is already preparing the sacraments,” the man replies.

“Wedding? Whose wedding?” Taehyung asks as he looks over at Jungkook.

Jungkook doesn’t get the chance to answer him before a parliamentarian joins the conversation.

“Have you not heard? She is supposed to be arriving today, is that right, your Majesty?”

“Yes.” Jungkook clears his throat before continuing. “Y/N arrived only moments ago and is currently touring the castle with my mother.”

“Y/N?” Taehyung snaps. His whole body turns towards Jungkook, the shock and disbelief distorting his features. Jungkook doesn’t explain or answer, he merely glances at him in warning before continuing the meeting.

When the meeting concludes, the entire room stands at attention again as Jungkook exits. Taehyung follows closely behind and catches up to match Jungkook’s pace.

“You are marrying Y/N?” Taehyung asks incredulously. “When did this happen?”

“Yes, I am,” Jungkook responds flatly. “She will be your Queen soon. You should refrain from calling her by name.”

“What is wrong with you?” Taehyung stops Jungkook with his arm. “I have known you my whole life, you would never do something like this to me.”

“Do to you?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Taehyung says sarcastically. “You know how I feel about her.”

“Things change, Taehyung. Half of my family is dead. I have a role to play that I am nowhere near prepared for. I am sorry if this hurts you, but I have different priorities now; different responsibilities.”

“What do those responsibilities have to do with Y/N?”

Jungkook stops walking again and turns to face his friend, his wall of regality dropping to allow his true emotions to surface.

“Because there is no else I would rather have by my side when I face them,” he answers whole-heartedly. Jungkook doesn’t wait for Taehyung to reply before he continues down the corridor.

When you wake up on the morning of your wedding, you momentarily forget where you are until you see the dazzling wedding dress hanging from the wardrobe. The gown is almost too beautiful to wear, and it stares at you from across the room as if to ask “are you ready for this?” You aren’t sure of the answer.

The sound of knocking steals you away from your thoughts. Assuming it’s the maids coming to help you get ready, you tell them to come in and rise from your bed.

It’s shocking how efficiently the group of women work to turn you into a living, breathing doll. One of them brushes and styles your hair, another puts makeup on you for the first time in your life, and two of them work to get you into your dress.

The dress takes longer to put on you than both the hair and makeup combined. It’s a massive pool of fabric and you can barely tell which end is the top and which is the bottom. You stand with your hands gripping the dresser as both women tug at the strings of the corset and lock you into place. When they finish, you clutch your stomach and attempt to inhale a deep breath. They smile assuredly at you and encourage you to walk around so you can get used to being in such a gown.

Later in the day, you’re alone with one of the maids while she finishes your hair by placing pins in it. A sudden knock interrupts her and she goes to answer it. You aren’t sure who it is until you see her stepping back with wide eyes. Jungkook enters with a slight bow of his head and she immediately curtsies and then proceeds to stand at attention.

Jungkook chuckles nervously, still acclimating himself with everyone’s new behavior towards him.

“Can we have a minute?” He asks her and she obeys with a curt nod before exiting the room.

“Hi,” you greet him.

“You look beautiful,” Jungkook tells you.

“It is none of my doing,” you say. “The maids are amazing at making me look like something I am not.”

“That is not true,” Jungkook argues. “You have always been beautiful, Y/N.” Tilting your head to the right, your nose scrunches and you smile at his compliment. “I wanted to make sure I came to see you before… I know it has been a few days and I apologize, it has been so hectic lately.”

You haven’t seen him since arriving at the castle and he’s certainly a sight for sore eyes. Rising from your seat, you walk to him and take his hands.

“You do not have to worry about me,” you affirm. “I know you have a lot of responsibilities.”

“Yes,” he smiles. “And unfortunately, soon you will, too.”

“Right,” you laugh. “Being the Queen and all.”

The idea is still so foreign to you that it feels unnatural leaving your lips.

“I… I cannot thank you enough for doing this for me, Y/N. I know it is a huge commitment and I am so grateful.”

“Jungkook.” You grip his hands a little tighter and he reciprocates the action. “Why are you acting like I am the one doing you a favor? You asked me to be your Queen, to rule a Kingdom by your side. I should be thanking you.”

Jungkook sighs, his gaze dropping to your connected hands. His thumbs massage over your knuckles absentmindedly.

“I just know this was not the life you envisioned for yourself,” he eventually responds.

“It is not,” you concur. Jungkook frowns and you continue before he gets the wrong idea. “I would say it is better. I loved being a midwife and bringing children into the world, but I grew up here and now I get to spend the rest of my days here.” You squeeze his hands one more time before speaking again. “I am here because I wish to be, Jungkook. Nothing more.”

Jungkook smiles at you and lifts your hands to his lips to kiss them before letting you go and heading for the door.

“I will see you at the altar, my Queen.”

Your dress weighs down on you like a pile of bricks. It’s your first time wearing a gown, and you didn’t anticipate it being this hard to move. Despite the uncomfortability, the lace and fabric cover you beautifully and it’s easy to feel like a Queen when you look down at its design.

When you first enter the chapel, Jungkook’s eyes go wide and his lips part before his expression slowly softens into one of admiration and awe. He saw you only moments ago, but the vision of you coming towards him surrounded by flowers and soft candlelight takes his breath away.

When you see him, you’re equally as stunned. His hair is pushed back away from his forehead, leaving his pretty features as the main focal point. The style makes him look regal and elegant. His wedding attire compliments him in all the right places and the white color accentuates his honey skin. When he visited you before he was still in his normal clothes, so the sight is truly something to behold.

Once you reach the altar, Jungkook stands to the right of you as his left hand holds yours. You’re thankful because if he wasn’t holding your hand the entire room would be able to see it shaking. You know he can feel the movement in his grasp, because every so often he squeezes your fingers. Sometimes he does it twice or three times in a row, and it reminds you of the secret messages you would send to each other across the library during lessons.

In the back corner behind the altar, just on the other side of Jungkook, stands Taehyung, dawning his armor for the first time. It makes you so proud to see him living up to his family’s legacy.

Although, his new uniform isn’t what catches your attention, it’s the deep scowl painting his features into something you’ve never seen before. It makes you look over at him with a face of concern, silently questioning what’s wrong, although, you believe you know the answer already.

Taehyung has every right to be angry with you. He told you he loves you and wants to marry you, and then you accepted a proposal from his best friend. To make matters worse, you weren’t able to tell him about the marriage yourself since you didn’t see him before traveling to the castle. You want to tell him everything, explain your feelings and why you’re standing next to Jungkook today and not him, but the conversation will have to wait.

The wedding ceremony ends with a final prayer before the Priest immediately begins the prayers and readings for the coronation. You and Jungkook turn around to face the crowd and it only heightens your nerves. Jungkook notices the shift in your body language and soothingly runs his thumb up and down your pointer finger. Taking a deep breath, you squeeze his hand in return to communicate to him that you’re alright.

At the instruction of the Priest, the two of you kneel down together and wait patiently for the crowns to be placed on your heads.

Jungkook goes first, and you watch in awe as the Priest places a large gold crown onto his head. When he does, a lock of shiny black hair falls onto Jungkook’s forehead. You can’t help but smile, noticing how it somehow makes him look even more handsome. Your best friend is a King now and you have to blink a couple times to stop tears from forming in your eyes.

Only a moment later, the cool metal of a tiara is resting on your hair, the edges of it sinking between your strands to keep it secure. It simply doesn’t feel real and you’re terrified of waking up from this dream come true.

You stand up as one and the entire chapel erupts with cheers and hollers. You and Jungkook make eye contact and both have to suppress a laugh. His eyes are shining with the light of the whole galaxy, and it brings you more happiness than you can put into words.

The celebratory feast commemorating your marriage begins as soon as you leave the chapel. The transition happens so quickly you don’t even get to speak with Jungkook privately before you’re entering the grand ballroom. The large space is ornately decorated and every corner has a giant table of food and wine.

Jungkook never once lets go of your hand.

There is a constant stream of guests greeting and congratulating you, and his touch and presence beside you is the only thing keeping you calm. Jungkook is used to this, and he handles every single encounter with grace. You mostly stumble about and nod as people regale you with kind words and affection.

Taehyung is on your mind the entire night, and your eyes are constantly scanning the massive crowd of people for his familiar head of hair. You want to speak with him as soon as possible to clear the air between you. He’s so important to you and it kills you knowing how much you hurt him. You never find him, and the evening comes to a close before you have a chance to reconcile.

Before you know it, you and Jungkook are traveling in a lavish carriage to begin your honeymoon. The war prevents you from traveling to another country for the occasion, but you’ll still be spending a month at the family’s countryside estate before returning to your regular duties at the castle.

Even though it’s the middle of the night when you arrive, there are staff outside the entrance waiting to greet you and take your luggage.

The head parliamentarian escorts you and Jungkook to the King’s suite. Your hands are shaking again as reality kicks in, but you curl your fingers into your palm to keep anyone from noticing.

The parliamentarian must escort you as well as stand outside your door tonight so he can report back that the marriage has been consummated. The thought of a stranger listening in on your first night with your husband makes your skin crawl, but this is how things are done when you’re royalty.

The man opens the door to the suite so you and Jungkook can enter before shutting it behind you with a slam. Silence overtakes the room as your eyes roam over the walls and windows, the sachet in the corner, and the large bed in the center of the back wall.

You take a shaky breath, itching at your sleeve where the unfamiliar material rubs against you uncomfortably.

Jungkook gets your attention with a call of your name. He points at the artwork on one of the walls, a large painting with a gaudy gold frame encapsulating it.

“What was the artist thinking when they made this one?” He asks through a laugh.

You hum as you study the painting. It’s rather unpleasant to look at, and you can’t even fully make out all the shapes and colors.

“We will have to call upon him to ask,” you respond. “I do not think one could guess if they tried.”

Jungkook laughs and the familiar sound eases your mind and calms your nerves a little. You keep reminding yourself that it’s just him, someone you’ve known all your life, but your brain still persists with its overthinking.

You mosey around the room and peruse more of the artwork and decor before falling onto the bed with a plop. Despite your best efforts, your gown is too heavy and large to sit down normally. You’re half laying-half sitting on the mattress as your feet dangle over the edge. The fabric pools all around you and threatens to drown you in white lace.

Jungkook joins you on the bed, but leaves a decent amount of space between you.

“I am unsure if I know how to get this monstrosity off of me,” you admit with a scoff.

Reaching over your shoulder, you tug at the ribbon caging you into the gown. When you aren’t able to loosen it yourself, Jungkook clears his throat, raising his eyebrows and gesturing towards you to ask permission. You let your hands fall back onto your lap before answering him with a nod of your head.

Jungkook kneels behind you on the bed so he can begin loosening the ties of the corset. You jump when you first feel his hands brush against you. He moves slowly, his touch as light as a feather as he unties the knot and begins to weave the ribbon back and forth to remove it. Once he’s about halfway done, the tension releases from around your waist and you take your first unimpeached breath of the day.

“Oh, thank you,” you sigh. You watch curiously as Jungkook stands to face you and reaches his hands out for you to take. “What?”

“Stand up and I will help you out of it,” he replies.

You obey quickly, standing up while holding the fabric to your chest so it doesn’t fall away. Jungkook laughs when he notices the action.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I cannot get you out of it if you are holding it up, my darling.”

The deep timbre of his voice as he uses the pet name is enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“Right,” you reply and let go.

Maybe Jungkook isn’t as nervous as you, or maybe he just hides it well. As a woman, you are completely untouched, your own hand being your only source of pleasure so far. But the rules are different for men and Jungkook may not be as shy about these things as you are.

The dress falls into a heap on the floor and Jungkook takes your hands to hold you steady as you step out of the large skirt one foot at a time. Even with your body still covered by your underdress, this is the most exposed you’ve ever been to another person. The raw vulnerability causes your hands to start shaking again, but you let go of Jungkook before he can notice.

“Feel better?”

“Yes, thank you so much,” you respond.

Jungkook grabs the expansive amount of fabric and places it gently over one of the dressers. You return to your spot on the bed and he follows suit, this time sitting a bit closer to you.

A weighted tension creeps into the room like fog across the morning air. It beckons a silence between you that leaves only your breathing as background noise. There’s a feeling of anticipation floating around as well, like the whole atmosphere is on edge and waiting to see what happens next.

“How do you feel now that everything is done?” Jungkook asks.

“Hmm, I am happy, but also nervous,” you admit.

“Me, too,” he replies.

“You are? I figured you would be used to this.”

“It is not the royal aspect I am nervous about.”

“What are you nervous about then?”

Jungkook chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, ruining the style and bringing his black locks down onto his forehead. It makes him look boyish and charming.

“Not only did I go from being a Prince to a King in a matter of days, but I am a husband now, too. Your husband,” he explains. He looks down and sighs, his eyes closing momentarily. “I want to do right by you, Y/N.”

“You have always done right by me, Jungkook, I do not see that changing anytime soon,” you reassure him.

There’s a lull in the conversation, but the tension is slowly dissipating and morphing into a comforting aura instead.

“Hmm, I am so glad it is you. I cannot imagine how anxious I would be if it was anyone else,” Jungkook states.

“Is that why you asked me?” You probe him. “Because I am familiar to you?”

“No,” he says with a shake of his head. You raise your eyebrows at him when he doesn’t add anything else to his answer. He chuckles and licks his lips. “I asked because I wanted to marry you. Simple as that.”

His eyes meet yours and the ever-present stars and sincerity in them make you feel like you’re the only person in the world.

“Why?” You whisper. You fear if you speak too loud it will ruin the moment.

Jungkook tilts his head and tongues his cheek.

“You know I am not good with my words,” he says. “Can I show you instead?”

“Show me?”

Jungkook nods as his hand twists around your forearm, gently pulling you towards him. You stand to better adjust your position, but then he pulls you into his lap, holding you by the backs of your thighs so he can place them on either side of his own. The sudden movement makes you gasp and hold onto his shoulders for support.

Being this close to him is startling, but feeling him beneath you is as comforting as a warm bath after a long day of work. You wonder how you ever went this long without touching him like this in the first place.

Jungkook’s hand caresses your jaw as he looks into your eyes. You can see the cogs turning in his mind as he assesses whether or not you’re comfortable with his touch.

His hand is bigger than your entire cheek and the feeling of his skin on yours makes your eyes shut in pleasure. You feel his thumb gently moving back and forth across your cheekbone and you sigh happily.

“Jungkook,” you murmur. “That feels so nice.”

“It does?” You nod your head with your eyes still closed. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook’s chuckle forces your eyes open. There are crinkles around his eyes as his gazes at you from mere inches away. He looks so pretty up close.

“We have to appease the man outside at some point tonight, so I am asking you if you would like me to keep making you feel nice,” he explains.

Your mouth snaps shut as the overwhelming anxiety from earlier begins to burrow inside you again. There is no doubt your body wants your husband, wants Jungkook, as you can feel a tightness in your thighs you’ve only experienced during self exploration before, but it’s all so nerve wracking that you can’t bring yourself to answer him.

“I… I have never, I —”

“I know, my darling,” he responds. His thumb moves across your cheek again before he leans in and presses a kiss to the other one. He lets his lips linger there for a moment before coming back to face you. “Was that alright?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Alright, how about I keep going and you tell me if you want me to stop,” he suggests.

You only nod in response, not trusting your own voice to get your thoughts across clearly.

Jungkook leans in and kisses the same spot before moving down your face, pressing his lips to every inch of skin he comes in contact with. When he reaches your jaw, he lets his tongue drag across you and it pulls a gasp from your throat. He kisses you even harder when he gets to your neck, his lips and tongue moving slowly against your delicate skin before sucking over your pulse point.

“Oh,” you gasp at the unfamiliar sensation. “Oh, Jungkook,” you moan. You don’t recognize the tone of your own voice.

“Still feel nice, my Queen?” His words dance across the wet spot he’s left on your neck.

“Yes, my King,” you answer breathlessly.

He continues to kiss across your neck and the exposed area on your shoulder while his hand moves away from your face to caress your body. Starting at your shoulder, he traces your outline slowly until he reaches your hip, where his other hand already resides on the opposite side.

His lips leave your neck and a whimper escapes you involuntarily. Jungkook smiles and rests his forehead against yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

You giggle at him being chivalrous enough to ask when he was just painting your neck in his saliva.

“Yes, of course.”

Jungkook kisses you tentatively, so gentle with the pressure of his lips that you almost don’t feel it. You can tell he’s hesitant and doesn’t want to scare you, but when you feel his lips on yours for the first time, your own hesitation melts away.

Your hands leave his shoulders to wrap around his neck as he moves his lips in a slow rhythm against your own. It sends sparks throughout your entire body and makes the feeling in your thighs even more distracting. Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him so your chests touch. His hands flex against your back as he moves them up and down to feel you.

You begin kissing him back as you get the hang of things, mirroring his movements and turning your head to gain better access. Jungkook’s hand sinks into your hair and you moan into his mouth when you feel his fingers on your scalp. The kiss is slow and sensual and you already feel more in your loins than you ever have when pleasuring yourself.

“Jungkook,” you speak when you come up for air. “I need more.”

Jungkook smiles adoringly at you and kisses you once more before lifting you off his lap and standing up. He takes his first layers of clothing off without ever breaking eye contact with you. It has your thighs rubbing together as you watch his fingers pop open buttons and untie laces.

Once he matches you in his state of undress, he gestures to you to come closer with his pointer finger. You obey instantly, not wanting to wait another moment to feel him against you again.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” He asks once you’re standing inches from him. You nod. “Good.”

“Have you… done this before?” Jungkook frowns at your question, and you know he doesn’t want to disappoint you with his reply. “I will not be upset, I promise.”

“I have,” he answers.

“Will you show me, then? I want to make you feel nice, too,” you ask quietly.

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth quirks up and he nods in affirmation. His hands reach out to caress your waist before he turns you around so your back is pressed against his chest. The movement has you gasping, but it morphs into a moan when his lips return to your neck.

He sits again, bringing you with him. He spreads your legs overtop his own which completely opens you up for him. It makes your heart race and your nerves come alive, but you push the anxiety away to continue enjoying his touch.

His hand catches the bottom hem of your underdress and slowly moves it up until your undergarments are exposed to the air. You gasp and grip Jungkook’s forearm when his palm comes to rest over your center. He isn’t touching you yet, necessarily, but you can still feel your core pulsing in anticipation.

“Do you trust me?” He whispers directly into your ear.

“Always,” you reply without missing a beat.

Jungkook hooks his fingers in your undergarment and you lift your hips just enough for him to remove it from your body. The cool air against your wetness sends shivers down your spine.

The initial feeling of Jungkook gently tracing your folds makes you jump in his arms. He shushes you quietly before continuing his ministrations, adding more pressure as his fingers spread your essence around. His hand moves upwards until he’s touching your swollen nub and a loud moan escapes from your mouth.

Your hand covers your mouth in response, your eyes wide in shock of a noise like that coming from you. Jungkook chuckles warmly from behind you.

“No, no,” he says, removing your hand from your face. “They are supposed to hear us, anyway. Do not muffle your noises. I want to hear everything, my Queen.”

Jungkook presses down on your clit and your moan again without restraint. He uses the wetness he collects on his fingers to massage you in your most sensitive spot and it makes your head spin. You’re certain if he wasn’t holding you, your knees would give out. They’re the same motions you use on yourself and yet his fingers make it feel so much more intense. It’s incomparable to anything you’ve ever experienced before in your life.

He retreats back into your folds to spreads them apart before pushing his middle finger into your hole. You gasp again, your nails digging into his skin where you’re still holding onto his arm.

“Is this okay?”

You nod repeatedly in response. It is more than okay. It feels so heavenly you wonder if you’re about to meet God himself.

Jungkook’s finger moves in and out of your hole slowly, a squelching sound accompanying each slide of his appendage. Before long, he adds his ring finger and fucks you with them both, stretching your hole open for the first time.

“Oh, God,” you moan as your head falls to his shoulder. “That… that is amazing, my King.”

Jungkook presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving his lips there as he continues to fuck you slowly with his fingers. He presses his palm down so it meets your clit as his hand moves against you. Your moans are short and high pitched, happening in quick succession now as your orgasm nears.

Your husband picks up the pace, moving his fingers faster and sending them deeper into your pussy. Every time he enters you he reaches a spongy spot inside your walls that has you reeling from the pleasure.

Not only are you focusing on your own ecstasy, but you can feel him hardening beneath you and it makes you want him even more. There is a deep, instinctual need inside you to provide him the same pleasure he is giving you.

“I want you to come for me, my darling,” Jungkook whispers before kissing your neck again. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Jungkook, I am so close,” you respond.

The words have barely left your lips when you feel your orgasm crashing over you like a wave with a high pitched scream that barely sounds like yourself. Jungkook continues to pump his fingers into you as you shake in his arms and your pussy convulses around him.

It’s the most euphoric thing you’ve ever felt and it’s almost too overwhelming to bear. Your thighs are still shaking even once he removes his fingers. You watch with wide eyes as he slips them into his mouth to suck your juices off.

“Jung — mmhf.”

He cuts you off with a kiss, gripping your jaw to keep your face where it is. You moan into each other’s mouths as you devour one another passionately. Jungkook leans you both back, the two of you crashing to the bed with him above you. Leaving your lips for only a moment, Jungkook reaches down to grab the hem of your dress and pull it over your head.

It leaves you completely bare before him and on instinct you go to cover your chest and stomach. Jungkook smiles affectionately at your shyness, but he doesn’t scold you, just laces his fingers with yours and moves your hands away from your body.

“I want to see you, too,” you say as you look into his deep brown eyes.

Jungkook obliges you silently, stretching up and removing his top before kneeling to remove his pants, leaving him with only a single garment covering his manhood.

“Better?”

You nod and reach up to bring his face to yours again. He lovingly traces over your figure beneath him, moving his hands over your waist, hips, shoulders, and arms. It feels as though he is trying to map you in your entirety. His big hands complete their exploration by grabbing both of your breasts and massaging them. You moan, your head falling back against the bed and opening your neck up for him to kiss again.

He doesn’t stay there long before moving lower and kissing across your tits as he squeezes them. His lips latch onto your nipple and you gasp, you hand gripping his black hair in response. He sucks and licks over the nub of your left breast before moving to the right. The sensation has you going mad and it makes your hips buck up against his own.

When you do, you feel how hard his cock has become. Your hand sneaks down and you grab him over his garment, pushing your palm gently against his bulge.

“Oh, darling,” he gasps. You laugh happily at his reaction, feeling accomplished that you’re pleasuring him as well.

“Is this alright?” You ask as you bat your eyelashes.

“It is… so much more than alright. Please do not stop,” he begs you.

You continue the same movement, applying more pressure as Jungkook’s head falls to your shoulder, pressing soft kisses on your skin as he moans.

Feeling more confident now, you stop your movements to remove his undergarment. He stares at your hands as they reveal his body to you. A shuddering breath pushes past your lips when you see your husband’s cock for the first time.

“Oh,” you say as your voice drops an octave.

Jungkook is what you can only assume is large. It’s certainly bigger than the penises you’ve seen in art and statues, but you have no real life comparison. He’s long and thick, with large veins running down his shaft. You don’t think your fingers will touch if you wrap your hand around him.

Jungkook chuckles and raises your head to meet his eyes.

“Do not worry. I will make sure you are ready before you take me,” he assures you.

“How will you do that?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond verbally, he simply maneuvers you both to the center of the bed before sinking down so his face is in front of your cunt. He leans down to kiss and bite along the supple skin of your thighs as he makes his way to where you’re leaking for him already.

His eyes bore into yours when he finally reaches your center and his tongue leaves his mouth for a tentative lick along your folds. You break his eye contact with a loud and deep moan as your head tips back and hits the pillows beneath you.

“Oh, my King,” you sigh in ecstasy.

Your husband wastes not a single second more, his tongue flattening against your hole and licking up the essence that’s collected there. Your legs shake where they rest next to his head and your nails dig into the sheets, twisting them in your grasp.

Jungkook is relentless, despite your body already showing signs of oversensitivity. His tongue slides through your folds as he kisses your cunt and moans into you. Then he moves to lick your clit and suck it into his mouth, before returning again to fuck his tongue into you. While his mouth is abusing your hole he uses his nose to create friction on your swollen nub. Everything he does sends shockwaves through your entire being and you feel like your consciousness is no longer on the earth.

You come again faster than you can even register, your thighs locking around Jungkook’s head as you whole body spasms. Jungkook doesn’t stop, though, even once your breathing begins to return to normal. He continues on as if you didn’t reach a climax at all. It sends your body into overdrive and you gasp at the painful pleasure that shoots through your core.

Hands finding his hair, you tug on the strands as your hips move to meet his mouth. He groans against you, nodding as if to tell you to keep going. You do, your pussy rubbing against his face while he licks your cum away.

Everything about it is downright filthy and yet it creates the most wonderful feeling to ever course through your veins.

Jungkook’s mouth moves against you like he knows your body better than you do. His tongue only laps at you a couple more times before another orgasm hits you, and it causes you to gasp and moan pathetically as your hips gyrate against him. He finally comes up for air once he feels your body still, his head resting on your thigh as he kisses it softly.

“Did that feel good, my darling?” Jungkook asks with a smile. His pink lips are swollen and shiny with your essence.

“You have no idea,” you pant, each word coming out across an exhale.

Jungkook’s smile grows exponentially and he comes up to meet you at your lips again. You can taste yourself on him and it makes you moan into his kiss.

“Are you ready, my Queen?”

His eyes peer into your own when he asks and you can tell he wants to see you so he knows whether you truly are or not.

“Well, what about you?”

“You do not need to worry about me,” he tells you.

“But I want to,” you argue. “I want to pleasure you, my King. I want to give you everything.”

Jungkook pauses your conversation as his eyes search yours for something.

“Are you saying that because you think it is your duty?”

“No.”

“Then —”

“I am saying it because it is how I feel about you, Jungkook. It has nothing to do with duty.”

Jungkook sighs and kisses the tip of your nose. You can’t help but blush, the gentle affection warming your heart and making you smile up at him.

“I would love nothing more, my darling,” he tells you. “But I think we should save that for another day. Truthfully, I need to be inside you or I will go mad.”

His words spread heat throughout your entire body.

“Is that so?”

The smirk currently occupying your lips isn’t there for long because Jungkook kisses it away. A dreamy sigh comes from you as your tongues meet for a lazy dance inside your mouth. You could kiss him forever if given the chance. The taste of his lips and the feel of them against your own has you completely hypnotized.

Jungkook uses the distraction of his kiss to line himself up with your core, gently running the tip of his cock through your folds and then spreading your cum down his shaft to lubricate his skin. Your pussy reacts immediately, clenching around nothing and leaking more cum onto your thighs. When he’s ready, he nuzzles his nose against yours and kisses your cheek.

“This may hurt,” he warns you.

“I know,” you smile reassuringly. “I will be alright.”

“You will tell me if you are uncomfortable at all, yes?”

“Yes, darling,” you reply in a mock-tone of his deep voice. He beams at you, his eyes disappearing for a moment before giving you one final peck.

Jungkook enters you slowly, letting just his head push past your tight circle of nerves before waiting to make sure you’re alright. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders as your pussy stretches to accommodate him. It isn’t as painful as you expected, more so a tight pressure within your walls. You nod reassuringly at him once you’ve adjusted and he continues gently until his hips meet yours and his cock is nestled up against your cervix.

You gasp at the full intrusion, your lips kissing his shoulder and biting down on the muscle to relieve the foreign ache.

“Try to relax, darling, it will help,” he coos in your ear.

Taking multiple deep breaths, you close your eyes and wait for the pressure to subside. Once it does, you’re mesmerized by the pleasure. Jungkook’s cock throbs inside you and he’s so thick that you can feel every ridge and vein pressing against your walls.

“Okay,” you say, looking into Jungkook’s eyes and brushing his hair away from his face. He still looks hesitant, raising his eyebrows at you confirm you’re truly ready. You answer him with a kiss and he smiles against your mouth.

Jungkook rears back slowly, never once looking away from you to ensure you’re alright, and then sinks back in. You moan when he enters you again, this time feeling nothing but pleasure and euphoria. His tip repeatedly hits the same spot inside you and it makes you see stars as your eyes roll back.

His body hovers over yours, his forearms holding him steady. Your hands are in his hair and around his neck, tugging on the strands in time with his movements. He grabs your leg to bring it higher around his hip and thrusts into you even deeper. Your moans tangle together in the air between you along with the wet sound of his cock entering you over and over. Jungkook is fucking you like his life depends on it, like is whole life has lead to this very moment. He kisses your shoulder and neck and sucks on your earlobe before finally coming back to your lips to ravish your mouth.

Consummation of marriage doesn’t seem like the right term for this act anymore, it’s too exquisite to be described in such a mundane way.

You gaze up at Jungkook as he watches his cock come out of you and go back in again. He groans at the sight, throwing his head back, and you run your hand down his sharp jaw to grab his attention.

“I love you,” you tell him, despite how terrified you are for him to finally know the truth. His eyes go wide, his mouth opening and shutting again when he can’t find the right words to reply. You smile at his reaction, finding it utterly adorable how you’ve stunned him into silence. “I love you, my King, my husband… my Jungkook.”

Jungkook blinks repeatedly and you can see tears pricking at the corners of his starry eyes, which only makes yours do the same. He maps your face with his eyes as he relishes in your confession. His head shakes in disbelief, but then he smiles and breathes out a laugh.

“I love you, Y/N,” he finally responds. “My Queen, you have no idea how long I have loved you.”

He kisses you again, this time so ardently it steals your breath right from your lungs. His thrusts speed up while your mouths chase each other, the emotions swirling inside you both making you even needier. Your nails rake down his back in red streaks as he pistons into you and grinds against your hips.

“M’close, my love,” he tells you with a kiss to your neck.

“Give me a child, Jungkook,” you reply. “Fill up my womb, please.”

Jungkook groans extensively into the skin of your neck as his pushes your hips deeper into the bed so he can fuck you harder. One his hands sneaks between your bodies to massage your clit, making sure you are on the same precipice as he is.

You come together, loud moans filling the air as your pussy spasms and squeezes Jungkook’s cock inside your walls. Warmth spreads through you as his cum fills you up and he fucks it deeper into you. Gasping at how utterly full you feel, you go to move until Jungkook stops you with a squeeze to your hip.

“Not yet,” he whispers. “I do not want you to lose a single drop.”

The thought of Jungkook’s seed sitting deep inside your womb and him refusing to pull out to keep it there has you moaning all over again.

You whine at the feeling of emptiness that overtakes you when he does finally leave the warmth of your cunt. You’re in delirium from all the climaxes and pleasure your husband gave to you and you can barely keep your eyes open.

Jungkook cleans away any excess fluid from between your legs with a rag before tucking you in and joining you in the bed. He kisses you goodnight with a peck to your lips and forehead before telling you he loves you again. You are already halfway asleep, but make an attempt to tell him the same nonetheless.

The honeymoon gets extended to three months, simply because Jungkook refuses to share you with anyone else; completely content with having you all to himself for just a while longer. Now that the feelings you were both hiding for so long are out in the open, you want to enjoy your time together without reality sneaking its way in.

When you do finally return, you’re very much pregnant. Initially, you and Jungkook decide to keep it a secret, but then his mother notices the small bump over your womb and practically shouts the news from the rooftop of the castle. Your mother and father are absolutely elated and everytime they even glance at you tears of joy well up in their eyes.

Your pregnancy is celebrated all throughout the Kingdom with festivals and parades, but there’s one person you never hear congratulations from. In fact, you barely see him around the many halls and rooms which surround you, as if he’s merely a myth your mind conjured up.

Once you do see Taehyung, it’s a far cry from the reunion you were hoping for. All he does is bow to you before continuing on down the corridor. His eyes don’t even meet yours and his expression is stone cold and empty. Your heart absolutely shatters in two and you find solace in the library to cry the ache away.

Jungkook finds you before anyone else does, his eyes going wide when he sees you slumped over with your head in your hands.

“Darling?” He crouches down before you and pulls your head up by your chin. “My love, what is wrong? Is it something with the baby?”

“No,” you cry and shake your head. “Taehyung… he will not even look at me.”

Jungkook frowns and tucks some of your hair behind your ear.

“Just give him some time,” he tells you.

You shake your head again.

“No, I need to speak to him. I have to tell him why I accepted your proposal and not his,” you explain.

“Taehyung proposed to you?” Jungkook asks, shock evident in his tone.

“Yes, when he came to tell me he was leaving for the war,” you state. “He told me he would come back and marry me, but I did not give him an answer.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have only ever loved you, Jungkook.”

Just as you feared, time does nothing to bridge the gap between you and your best friend.

The war ends six months into your pregnancy, and even as all the residents of the castle gather in the ballroom for a celebratory feast, he utters not a single word to you. When you give birth a few months later, your relationship is still not mended and you fear it never will be.

PRESENT DAY

Taehyung thinks he’s going to throw up. His hands are sweaty and shaking, his internal temperature is dropping, and his leg won’t stop bouncing against the bleachers. Despite all that, he can’t bring himself to peel his eyes away from you and Jungkook as you enter the gym together.

Jungkook’s fingers are laced with yours as you walk just ahead of him. Your smile is so bright when you glance back at him momentarily and all Taehyung can think is that you don’t know. You have no idea you’re holding hands with your own killer.

Once you reach the other cheerleaders you wrap your arms around Jungkook’s neck and hug him. He smiles at your embrace and nuzzles his head in the junction of your neck and shoulder, pecking your cheek before letting you go. You mouth “I love you” to him and his smile grows as he repeats the phrase back to you. As if it could get worse, Jungkook taps your ass before walking towards the locker room. You don’t even turn around to scold him, just playfully slap his hand as he laughs and leaves you with your teammates.

Bile threatens to scratch Taehyung's esophagus as he watches Jungkook stroll away from you and disappear into the locker room. He hopes no one notices his staring problem, but it’s impossible for him to look away from the reincarnation of his former best friend.

This shouldn’t be possible and yet he can’t deny what’s right in front of his own eyes.

A buzzer pulls Taehyung from his thoughts and the game begins with introductions of both teams. You’re standing courtside in your usual spot at the center of the formation. You cheer as they announce all the players and you yell even louder when they announce Jungkook, after which he winks at you and returns to his position on the court.

The irony of a former King and Queen being reincarnated as the captain of the cheerleading squad and the captain of the basketball team doesn’t escape Taehyung. Because what else would they be?

Taehyung would love nothing more than to enjoy the game and cheer along with the rest of the crowd, but his mind is slowly spiraling into madness.

He needs to find out if Jungkook remembers his past life or not.

If Jungkook does have his memories, that means he’s dating you when he knows what he did and you don’t. Taehyung’s face scrunches in disgust at the thought. He would have to be getting off on it if that’s the case, of knowing he has you back in his clutches while you’re clueless.

On the other hand, if Jungkook doesn’t remember his last life, then you two are clearly drawn together by some other force of nature that Taehyung isn’t aware of. Perhaps this is just the way your fates are always meant to align, with you and Jungkook together while Taehyung has to come in and save you from him. At least this time Jungkook doesn’t have the authority to murder you.

The biggest question of the night is still how.

Sometime before you and Taehyung were killed, he sought out a sorceress to cast a protection spell. The spell was simple, but it could only be cast on one of you, so Taehyung made the decision to cast it on you instead of himself. It read:

The person you love will follow you into the next life, and with a kiss, your memories will be returned to you.

Taehyung chose the spell because he wanted you and him to get a do-over in case something bad happens to you. The only requirement of the spell is that you have to die together, or at least in quick succession to one another. Since that prerequisite was met, you were reincarnated and he has knowledge of his past life.

Jungkook being here adds a wrench of astronomical proportions to his plans and makes him wonder if Jungkook cast a spell of his own before he killed you. Maybe he got wind of what Taehyung had done and decided to add himself into the mix.

He may never find out, especially if Jungkook is truly clueless to who he was before.

When the game ends, Taehyung watches with a clenched jaw as Jungkook scoops you into his arms and lifts you off the ground. You giggle as he does it and the sound is so beautiful it almost brings tears to Taehyung’s eyes. He can practically feel the happiness radiating from you as Jungkook kisses you before setting you back down on the floor.

It feels like the past is haunting him and laughing in his face. The image of you two before him is so familiar he can almost picture you in your wedding gown instead of your uniform.

You and Jungkook hold hands again as you converse with all the students coming over to congratulate the team on their big win. Taehyung knows it’s now or never and makes his way down to greet you two.

“Taehyung!” You wave at him with your free hand.

Jungkook looks up to follow your line of sight. He doesn’t look stunned by the sound of Taehyung’s name and his eyes don’t go wide when he spots him amongst the crowd, so that must be a good sign.

“Hey,” Taehyung says as he steps in front of you.

“Taehyung, this is Jungkook and Jungkook, this is Taehyung,” you introduce the two boys.

Taehyung could laugh out loud at the irony of it.

“Hey man, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Jungkook says as he shakes Taehyung’s hand. “Y/N has told me all about you. I’m glad she finally has someone to study with who doesn’t distract her.”

“You mean yourself?” You say, turning to him with a smirk.

He teasingly blows a kiss at you and your head tilts to the right, accompanied by your usual nose scrunch and smile combo.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Taehyung says with a forced smile. If he could go a hundred lives without ever meeting Jungkook again, he would. “She talks about you a lot, as well. The mysterious boyfriend.”

“Yeah, I wish we could’ve met sooner. This one says we would get along great,” Jungkook explains.

He moves behind you to rest his arms over your shoulders, his chin meeting your hair. Your fingers absentmindedly trace his tattoos where his arms hang over your chest. Taehyung’s eyes follow every movement and he has to fight not to lose his mind at the displays of affection.

“You think so?” Taehyung asks you and you nod repeatedly.

“Oh, yeah,” you answer. “I don’t know what it is, I can just tell you’d be like two peas in a pod.”

“Well, we should all hang out sometime and see if she’s right,” Taehyung suggests.

He only does so because he needs to know for sure about Jungkook’s memories. If he can find ways to test him and possibly trip him up, he will.

“I’m always right,” you argue.

“Mmhm, sure you are, my love,” Jungkook says as he kisses your shoulder before standing back up to his full height and taking your hand.

Taehyung almost visibly recoils at the sound of one of Jungkook’s old pet names for you.

“We have to get going to the team’s celebration dinner, but I’ll text you and maybe we can plan something with the three of us?” You propose.

You go to grab your bag but Jungkook is already slinging it over his shoulder. When you notice, you smile and slap his arm playfully.

“Yeah, sounds great,” Taehyung responds.

Jungkook waves goodbye and you follow suit before you’re both turning around and heading for the door. You lay your head on Jungkook’s bicep as you walk and he bends over to kiss the top of your head.

Taehyung throws his head back with a groan. He’s waited hundreds of years and spent the last 20 or so looking for you only to find you in Jungkook’s arms yet again. He wants to have a word with the universe so he can really speak his mind on the matter.

You text him a couple days later inviting him to a party with some athletes at an off-campus house. It isn’t ideal, but he needs to get as close to you as possible if this is ever going to work.

The familiar stench of cheap beer and marijuana is already infiltrating Taehyung’s nostrils as he enters. In fact, he walks right through someone’s puff cloud and coughs his whole way into the house. Once inside, he grabs a strong drink from the kitchen and starts searching for you.

When he finds you, you’re facing his direction while closing one eye to better aim your ping pong ball. Jungkook is opposite you, his back to Taehyung, as everyone waits with bated breath for the outcome of your shot.

You toss the ping pong ball with precision and it bounces once on the table before sinking right in the center cup. Throwing your hands up to cheer, your proud eyes find Jungkook’s to validate your accomplishment even though he’s on the opposing team.

“Ha! Take that, Kook,” you tease.

“Alright, alright, I’ll give you that one,” Jungkook responds as he grabs the ball from the cup and downs the drink. “But it’s the last one you’re going to get, baby.”

Jungkook is much quicker than you with his aim and sinks his ball into the matching cup on your side of the table. He puts his arms out and shrugs when you pout in his direction. Rolling your eyes, you chug the beer before setting the cup to the side.

Taehyung stands to the side to watch the rest of the beer pong tournament and unfortunately for you, Jungkook was right, and you never land a ball in one of his cups again.

When the game ends you sulk your way over to Jungkook, making a show of crossing your arms over your chest and pouting at him. Taehyung has to look away when he notices Jungkook bending down to kiss the pout away. By the time he looks back, Jungkook has his arm around your shoulders and yours is around his waist.

“Oh, Tae, hi!” You shout when you notice him. “Oh wait, can I call you that?”

“Of course,” Taehyung replies with a smile. “Hey Jungkook.”

“Hey, what’s up? Glad you could make it,” Jungkook says.

“You know I think the rules of boyfriendship say you’re supposed to let your girlfriend win at these things,” Taehyung points out.

“See! What did I say?”

You look up at Jungkook, the pout returning with a vengeance.

Jungkook squishes your cheeks between his fingers and coos at you mockingly. You giggle and your eyes squeeze shut before pushing him away with a gentle shove to his chest.

“I never let anyone win,” Jungkook states.

I am fully aware.

“It’s true, he’s stupid competitive, but he’s also magically good at fucking everything, so it kinda works in his favor,” you explain.

“I bet I could beat you at something,” Taehyung says casually.

Jungkook’s eyebrows move up his forehead, a big toothy grin appearing on his face.

“Am I finally about to face a worthy opponent?” He asks rhetorically, his voice pitching up with eagerness. “What’s your game, Taetae?”

Taetae?

Taehyung is almost tempted to ask Jungkook to slice his neck open again. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to feign nicety when all he wants to do is punch the guy. Whether he has his memories or not, he’s still the only obstacle left standing in Taehyung’s path to you.

“Um,” Taehyung scopes out the landscape of the house. “Darts?”

Jungkook nods, pursing his lips as he thinks and gazes at the dart board.

“I can do darts,” he replies.

You leave to grab more drinks while they stroll over to the empty corner where the dart board is hanging. Jungkook pulls the darts from the board and tosses some to Taehyung before stepping back behind the duck tape marking the floor. He gestures with his hands for Taehyung to go first.

“So, I don’t want to make anything awkward, but I feel like I have to give you the obligatory ‘don’t try anything with my girl’ speech,” Jungkook says after Taehyung has thrown his first dart. “Not to say you guys can’t hang out because I’m not like that. She can do whatever she wants. I just like to let guys know that I mean business, ya know?”

“What do you mean?” Taehyung asks.

“I mean that I’m head over heels in love and would do just about anything to keep her next to me,” Jungkook states. He aims quickly and throws his first dart. “As long as she wants me, of course.”

“And if she didn’t… want you, I mean, would you fight for her?” Taehyung continues before taking his next throw.

“Of course I would,” Jungkook responds with a shrug, as if it’s the easiest answer in the world. “She means everything to me.”

Taehyung can hear the sincerity in Jungkook’s voice and it reflects in his eyes, too, even in the dim lighting.

“I hear you, Jungkook. Loud and clear,” Taehyung says before gesturing for Jungkook to take his next shot. “How did you guys meet anyway?”

Jungkook takes a sip from his cup before throwing his next dart, the guy barely has to look at the board and he still hits a bullseye. Some things never change.

“The weekend before freshman orientation all the athletes move in early and have this big mixer,” Jungkook explains. “She took my fucking breath away from across the room, but we were actually friends for a long time before we started dating.”

“Why is that?” Taehyung throws his last dart and then leans against the nearby railing.

“Well, honestly, I wanted to try out the whole ‘soil your oats’ thing when I first got to college, but then the more time I spent with her, the more I couldn’t get her off my mind. I never even touched another girl the whole year, even before we got together.”

“Baby, I brought drinks!” Your sweet voice rings out before they can continue their conversation.

Jungkook turns around at the sound of it, a huge smile on his face even though you’ve only been gone a couple minutes.

“Oh, thanks, Princess.”

He greets you with a kiss as he takes the beer bottle from your hand.

Taehyung has to hide the way his teeth grind together at the nickname. He hates how ironic it is given that you were never a Princess, only a Queen, because you were shoved into a role you never asked for by your so-called best friend.

His inner monologue is interrupted when you hand him a beer bottle as well. He thanks you with a bow of his head before turning back to the game. Jungkook throws his last dart and then leans forward to count up the points.

“Oh, you guys are tied,” you say with a smile. “Looks like someone’s giving you a run for your money, Kook.”

“It appears so,” he responds. “I think you were right about me and Taetae, we’re gonna be great friends.”

Taehyung’s head tilts at the tiny lick of sarcasm in Jungkook’s voice. He doesn’t think you notice it, though, since you’re still smiling at your boyfriend like he hung the stars in the sky.

There isn’t a second round because you tug on Jungkook’s hand and ask him to dance with you instead. He obliges your request without hesitation, already moving towards the other room while you wave goodbye to Taehyung. Once you’re gone, Taehyung runs his fingers through his hair and looks at the dart board with matching scores. Figures.

He doesn’t see you again until much later after he’s had a little too much to drink. When he does, he immediately regrets coming to look for you.

Jungkook is pinning you against the wall as he kisses you slowly, his mouth moving against yours like he has all the time in the world. His knee is between your thighs and he’s caressing your waist beneath your shirt. You make out hungrily, his tongue slipping into your mouth while you bite on his lower lip. Jungkook grips your jaw and kisses your neck, sucking on your skin and making you whimper. Your hands run up his back and grip tightly onto his jacket.

“Kook,” you moan. “Upstairs.”

Jungkook nods at your command from where his face is still against your neck. Without missing a beat, he takes your hand and leads you around the corner to the back stairwell. Taehyung can hear your giggles as you two run up the stairs together.

Taehyung actually does get sick this time. It’s a mixture of the alcohol and his mind agonizing over the thought of you two in a bedroom alone together. His knuckles turn white as he grips the edge of the toilet bowl he’s currently bent over.

Jungkook shouldn’t get to touch you like that, shouldn’t get to hold you or kiss you after what he did.

Taehyung’s eyes snap shut as the memory of you clutching your bleeding neck flashes in his mind. He presses his knuckles to his eyelids to try and get the image to go away. It never does. Taehyung is constantly haunted by the look of terror in your eyes as you fall over and bleed out right in front of him.

He presses his forehead against the cabinet next to him as he tries to catch his breath. He still isn’t sure if Jungkook has his memories or not, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You deserve to know exactly who you’re dating.

A few days later, you’re sitting across from him with half a gummy worm hanging from your mouth while you read something on your laptop. Every so often you start typing and your brow creases in concentration. Taehyung can’t keep his eyes off you for a second. You’re undeniably endearing and it’s taking everything in him not to reach across the table and kiss you right now.

“Jungkook says he really likes you,” you say without looking up.

“Really? I honestly couldn’t tell,” Taehyung replies.

“Oh yeah, no, he talked about you a lot after the party. Said he finally met his match,” you continue.

“Hmm, he wasn’t jealous at all?”

You look up with confusion written on your face.

“No,” you stretch out the syllable. “Should he be?”

“No, no! I just know him and I talked about it a bit and —”

“Talked about what?”

“Well, about you being his and that I should respect that,” Taehyung explains.

“Oh, yeah, he does that,” you say with a wave of your hand. “In his eyes, I’m the most beautiful girl in the world, so everyone must want me, ya know?”

“You are,” Taehyung accidentally says before biting his lip aggressively. Your eyes bulge as you stare at him in shock across the table. “I… I didn’t mean it like that.”

You nod, your lip held captive between your teeth while you look everywhere but at Taehyung.

“Um —”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” Taehyung interrupts. “I promise, I’m not trying to make a move on you or steal you away from Jungkook. You just… I mean, objectively, you are beautiful, and truth be told you remind me of someone I used to know, so I just… oh I don’t know.”

“It’s alright,” you say with a gentle smile. “Let’s just forget about it, yeah?”

You end up missing your study session with him on Thursday, shooting him a text an hour after you normally arrive that you got caught up with something else and you’ll see him next time.

Taehyung already knows next time is never going to come. You’ll subtly ghost him after making excuses for a few weeks, and he doesn’t blame you. He crossed a line and you’re trying to set some boundaries in return. But he refuses to leave you in the dark any longer, and if his plan is failing, he’ll need to come up with another one.

There’s a home basketball game tonight, so Taehyung buys a ticket at the entrance before heading into the gym. You’re already there with the other cheerleaders, but Jungkook is nowhere in sight. Taehyung knows he has to be quick about this and doesn’t hesitate to approach you courtside.

“Hey,” he greets you.

“Oh, hi,” you respond with your usual smile. Maybe you really were busy yesterday or maybe you’re just good at hiding your true emotions.

“Can we talk for a minute?”

Your body tenses at his question, and your eyes flit to the other side of the room, but you eventually nod and the two of you leave and stand in an unoccupied area behind the gym doors.

“What’s up?” You ask as you cross your arms.

“I just wanted to make sure everything is still good between us,” he admits.

You nod slowly and chew on your lip as you debate over your answer.

“Honestly? No,” you confess. “You’re really fun to hang out with and I’ve enjoyed our study time together, but what you said the other day… it’s obvious that this is more than a friendship for you and I’m not comfortable continuing to hang out one-on-one knowing that.”

Taehyung’s hands begin to shake as he digests your words. He knows what he has to do and yet he can’t bring himself to do it.

“Look, I do like you as more than a friend, and I think you should give me a shot because Jungkook isn’t who you think he is.”

“Excuse me?” You gawk at him. “You’ve met him twice, Tae! How dare you?”

“No, Y/N, you don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand, huh?”

“That… you don’t have all the information, but I can give it to you,” Taehyung offers.

“Information? What are you even talking about?” There’s a momentary pause until you shake your head and put your hands up in surrender. “You know what, no, I don’t even wanna know. I trust my boyfriend more than a guy I’ve known for barely three months.”

You start to walk away, moving swiftly past Taehyung, but he catches your wrist.

“Wait!”

“Taehyung, let go of me.”

“I’m sorry about this.”

Taehyung uses his grip on your wrist to pull you into him and presses his lips to yours. He never wanted to do it this way, never without your consent, but he’s losing you again and he can’t risk that.

It only lasts two seconds before you’re shoving him off of you, but it’s enough. This kiss is the final puzzle piece to returning your memories so you can be together again.

“What the hell, Tae?” You shout before running back towards the gym.

The words have barely passed your lips when the first wave hits you. It stops you in your tracks, your hands bracing themselves on the cold metal doors as images flood your mind.

Ball gowns, children playing, a grassy field with wildflowers, two horses galloping towards you, blood pooling on the floor. You gasp and your hand instinctively grabs at your neck. The mirage stops and you shake your head, thinking it’s just some bizarre daydream brought on by the stress of Taehyung’s actions.

You return to your courtside formation just in time to see Jungkook entering the gym from the locker room. As soon as your eyes land on his silhouette, more images appear.

A large bed in a dark room, a gold crown, white roses, a baby cradle, his hand pulling a dress up your thigh, him spinning you in the air, and finally, his eyes, sharp and cold, looking at you in disgust.

You trip over nothing at all, accidentally bumping into your teammate behind you. She asks if you’re alright, but you're too frazzled to verbally answer her and nod instead.

Jungkook notices your abnormal behavior from across the room and pivots to walk towards you. When he does, the Jungkook you know seemingly blinks out of existence and is replaced by a version of him in medieval attire with a crown on his head. You blink rapidly to eradicate the hallucination, but it only lasts for a split second before you see him in his basketball uniform again.

Lifting your hands to stop him from coming any closer, you avoid his eyes and turn around to take a sip of water. Your head is pounding as unfamiliar scenes infiltrate your mind one at a time. Nothing makes sense and you wonder if you somehow fell asleep and are dreaming all of this. You pinch your forearm and flinch when your nails dig in and send a sharp pain through your skin.

You try to steady your breathing, but the images are unyielding and overwhelming. Looking up into the bleachers, you see Taehyung, and just like before, he phases into a version of himself wearing knight’s armor and a shield.

Grasping the side of your head and massaging your temple, you turn back towards the game just as the buzzer sounds.

The roar of the crowd and the players yelling commands at each other only serves to make matters worse. You brace your head between your hands and bend over, willing the kaleidoscope of visions to cease. Squeezing your eyes shut, you count your inhales and exhales in a feeble attempt to self soothe.

Another cheerleader rubs your back and asks if you’re feeling okay, but her voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. All you can see, hear, and feel are the vivid daydreams of you, Taehyung, and Jungkook in medieval clothes as you stroll around a huge stone castle. The last thing you see is Taehyung held taut by two knights. A deep, foreboding aura seeps into your bones and then you feel a sharp blade slice across your jugular.

Everything fades to black as you pass out.

“Oh, my God, Y/N,” the cheerleader behind you gasps as you fall into her.

All movement on the court comes to a screeching halt, and Jungkook is throwing the ball out of his hands before running over to you.

“What happened?” He asks as he bends down. His fingers gently move your hair away from your face and he presses the back of his hand to your forehead to check your temperature.

“I don’t know, she looked like she was having a migraine and then she was just out,” someone explains.

Taehyung starts moving through the stands to reach you, but before he can, your eyes begin to blink open. He stands still as a statue as he watches you take in your surroundings. When you see Jungkook leaning over you, you gasp and move away.

“No… no,” you whimper.

“Baby?”

“No, don’t touch me,” you yell when his hand goes to caress your arm.

“Y/N, it’s me.”

“No, no, no,” you cry as you cradle your head in your hands. “Make it stop, please make it stop.”

Jungkook looks at the girl still holding you in horror, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

The first-aid team runs in and heads towards the commotion. One of them tries to move you, but you only wail louder and coil into yourself, preventing them from doing anything to help.

“We’re gonna need to sedate her,” one of them says.

“What?” Jungkook asks with wide eyes. “What do you mean?”

The paramedic doesn’t answer him, they just stick a small needle in your arm and push the medicine into your vein. Your cries subside into whimpers almost immediately, and then you’re out cold again.

The gym is completely silent as everyone watches with concern for you and your wellbeing.

The paramedics move you to a stretcher and roll you out of the gym. Jungkook stands to follow them, but not before turning over his shoulder and meeting eyes with Taehyung.

“You, with me, now,” he orders.

And that’s the moment Taehyung finally knows for sure. Jungkook has his memories. He knows exactly who he was in his past life, and more importantly, what he did.

1430

You’re clutching your dress between the fingers of your left hand as you take quick steps down the hall, attempting to catch up to the tiny figure ahead of you. The five year old is far too quick for your liking, and she’s mischievous in nature which only makes it worse.

“Sooyoung,” you call when you finally catch up to her, scooping her into your arms when you’re close enough. “What did mommy say about running in the corridors? There are big, pointy objects all around and you could run into one.”

“Sorry, mommy,” she giggles, tucking herself into your chest.

You rub her back and place a kiss in her hair. Just then, you hear the sound of a door opening and Jungkook steps out, running his hands through his hair methodically.

“Daddy!” Sooyoung shouts and wiggles herself away from you.

Putting her down, you watch as her little feet carry her to his side. Jungkook stops in his tracks, his eyes bright with affection and a large toothy grin on his face. When she finally reaches him, he lifts her up by her waist, bringing her over his head as she giggles endlessly before resting her against his hip.

“How is my beautiful Princess doing?”

“Good, I learned the alphabet this morning,” she tells him.

“You did? Baby, that is wonderful,” he praises her. She smiles and leans over to plant a wet smooch on his cheek. Jungkook laughs and returns the favor to her, kissing her multiple times until she tells him to stop with a giggle. When Jungkook reaches you he leans down to kiss your lips. “Hi, my love.”

“Hello, my King,” you say as he passes Sooyoung over to you. You put her down and let her roam in the room just off to the left where some of her toys are. “Are you joining us for lunch?”

“No, my darling, I cannot,” he says with a frown. You mirror his expression and he tucks some of your hair behind your ear. “I am sorry, my Queen. You know I would if it were up to me.”

“I know,” you reply.

Even though the war which took the lives of Jungkook’s brother and father ended shortly before you gave birth to your first son, another one broke out three months ago. Thankfully, since his heirs are too young to rule in his stead, there was a mutual agreement that Jungkook wouldn’t go away to fight because of what happened during the last war. But even though he’s here with you, moments like this are some of the only ones you get to spend together.

Other than these brief encounters when you happen to cross paths, the only time you see him is when he comes to bed for the night. During the first month of the war, you would stay up for him, waiting in eager anticipation for the sound of his footsteps coming down the corridor. When he did finally arrive, he would sweep you up into his arms and make love to you before tucking you into bed and falling asleep with you in his hold. Over time, his entrances into your bedroom came later and later, and you would fall asleep while waiting for him. Now, he simply presses a kiss to your forehead in your sleep before pulling you into his arms. When you wake up, he’s usually already gone.

Everytime you get so much as a glimpse of him, it soothes the melancholy feeling in your heart and brings a smile to your face. Even if all you see is a familiar head of black hair and broad shoulders turning around a corner.

Time moves torturously slow without him beside you and you feel the ache of missing him all the way down to your bones. The loneliness is becoming unbearable, especially since your two eldest children, Sooyoung, who is almost five, and Junghyun, named after his late uncle, who is seven, are busy with their tutor most of the day. That leaves you with your identical twin boys, Minho and Wonshik, who are two. They’re quite entertaining, but nothing can fill the void of not having your beloved husband around.

“Perhaps I will see you tonight?” You ask.

“I hope so,” Jungkook says as he caresses your cheek. He bends down to kiss you again, for longer this time now that your daughter is out of the way. “I love you, my Queen, so very much.”

“I love you more,” you reply with a final peck.

Jungkook raises his eyebrow to silently challenge your statement before waving goodbye to you and your daughter as he continues down the corridor.

Sighing in exasperation, you call for your daughter and take her hand as you walk towards the dining hall to eat lunch with your other children.

Some days later you’re walking through the large gardens behind the castle while the twins nap inside. Early afternoons are the only time of day when you’re able to take a break from motherhood and be alone with your thoughts. Although, you’re certainly not lacking in alone time at the moment.

As you pass by the hedges on your way back inside, you spot Taehyung speaking with some fellow knights. You no longer attempt to make eye contact with him and neither does he. It’s been nearly eight years since you last spoke besides obligatory greetings or discussions involving his duties. The idea of you two ever being close again is a pipe dream you stopped hoping for long ago. You miss him dearly, and you always will, but it’s useless driving yourself mad over an impossibility.

After lunch, you hear a knock at the nursery door where you’re playing with Minho and Wonshik. When you see Taehyung enter after allowing the visitor entry, you’re taken aback. He’s usually only ever with Jungkook or completely a task on his behalf.

“Sir Taehyung, can I help you?” You ask him.

“I am assigned to be here, your Majesty,” he answers you flatly.

“Pardon?”

“The King has assigned me to be your personal guard.”

“Why would I need a personal guard?” You question, pulling Minho closer to your chest. There’s never been a reason or need for you to be under supervision before and you don’t like the sound of it.

“The battlefront has moved closer to the Eastern border and as such, King Jungkook wants you and the children to each be guarded day and night in the event that the enemy breaks down our defenses or sneaks into the Kingdom,” he explains.

You nod as you digest the news, looking down at your two-year old who gazes back with familiar big, brown eyes. Putting him back on the ground to play with his twin, you stand and walk towards Taehyung.

“If that is the case I believe we should have a conversation, Sir Taehyung.”

“I do not believe that is necessary, my Queen.”

“I think it is,” you argue. “If you are going to be with me around the clock I do not want it to be awkward.”

Taehyung grimaces and chews on his bottom lip as he thinks about his following words. You cross your arms over your chest for good measure, even though you look nowhere near intimidating.

“I do not wish to speak about the past, but I will attempt to be cordial with you for the sake of the arrangement,” he proposes. “Is that alright with you, your Highness?”

You mull it over in your mind for a minute before nodding curtly and turning back towards your children.

His assignment of guarding you is considerably more boring compared to his usual duties. All he does is walk behind you at a reasonable distance while you traverse the gardens, stand behind your seat at meal times, guard the door while you read in the library, and sit in the nursery with you as you play with the children.

Despite Taehyung assuring you otherwise, the first days of his assignment are extremely awkward. He hardly speaks to you and when he does, it’s clipped and cold. But time seems to massage the tension away and slowly, but surely, he warms up to you.

The first time you see him smile is when Wonshik decides to come towards you for a hug and falls flat on his face. Your whole body tenses in shock when you hear the nostalgic sound of Taehyung chuckling behind you. It brings a huge smile to your face even as you’re trying to calm Wonshik down from his accident.

Eventually, the quiet moments turn into real conversations.

You often stop to enjoy nature during your garden walks and there’s a large bench near the creek you like sitting on. One day, your hand taps against the stone and you look over your shoulder at Taehyung. He raises his eyebrows, silently asking if you mean for him to sit there. When you nod, he waits a few moments before moving towards you and sitting down on the other end of the bench.

“Is this not the most beautiful view?” You ask as you gaze out across the creek.

“It is one of them, for sure,” Taehyung answers.

It’s the first time he’s said anything of substance to you in close to a decade, and you almost begin to cry at the thought.

“The valley by my house was beautiful, too, but I believe I prefer this,” you state. Taehyung only hums in response. “Do you have any special spots around the castle you think are particularly nice?”

“I do, actually,” Taehyung says. “There is a corridor just off the maid’s quarters where they store the new and old artwork as they cycle through them. I go there sometimes and look at the art up close. Not many people know about it, so it is always peaceful.”

You admire his profile as he speaks, and a smile appears on your lips involuntarily. Even with the passage of time, his features are identical to the boy you once knew. Losing his friendship has always been your biggest heartbreak, and you can feel your soul slowly healing whenever you’re with him.

That encounter becomes the starting point for your new relationship with Taehyung. It becomes a routine to stop and chat during your daily walks, and you look forward to it everyday. As time goes on your conversations grow longer and dive deeper. You never touch on the past, but you don’t need to. The friendship picks up where it left off as if no time has passed at all.

A few months into Taehyung’s assignment as your personal guard, you’re walking through the garden when Jungkook comes out from the castle.

“Darling?” You call out to him when you see him. “What are you doing out here?”

“I came to say goodbye, my love. I have to leave to speak to some allies in a neighboring town,” he tells you.

You frown and your shoulders drop. When Jungkook reaches you he takes your hands in his and kisses them.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Three days.”

“That is Sooyoung’s birthday.”

“Well, then I will make it two days,” he responds without missing a beat.

“Are you sure?”

Jungkook smiles and tucks your hair behind your ear.

“I would not miss it for the world, my love,” he assures you. You acknowledge his promise with a nod before wrapping your arms around his neck to hug him goodbye. He returns the gesture in kind, lifting your heels off the ground as he embraces you tightly. “I love you, I will see you soon.”

He kisses you for a lingering moment before nodding towards Taehyung and leaving to meet the parliamentarians in the entryway of the castle.

You bite down hard on your lip to stop the bubbling sorrow within you from spilling over to the surface, but it does so anyway. Hands coming up to hide your face, a sob breaks from your chest as your palms collect your tears.

“Your Majesty? Is everything alright?” Taehyung asks, his surprise at your reaction evident in his tone. He moves to stand in front of you.

“I am sorry, I do not mean to be emotional,” you say as you lift your head and wipe the tears away.

“That is nothing to apologize for,” he states. “Can I do anything?”

“No, no,” you respond. “Unless you know how to end this Godforsaken war.”

“Is it the war that is upsetting you, my Queen?”

“Yes, because it is the war that is keeping my husband from me.”

“What do you mean, your Highness?”

“I have not had a real conversation with Jungkook in nearly half a year, Sir Taehyung,” you tell him. “Moments like these are all I get. He is too busy with battle strategies and trade routes to spend any time with me or the children.”

“Your Highness, I am so sorry to hear that. I was not aware,” he replies.

“I should not be telling you this, I apologize,” you say. “Please forget I mentioned anything.”

“Your Highness, if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know,” Taehyung offers.

The conversation ends there and you finish your stroll before returning inside to your children for dinner. When you tell them about Jungkook being gone, they all cry the same as you, not used to their father being gone even though he’s around less these days. The sentiment is shared amongst all five of you. You feel Jungkook’s absence from the castle everywhere you turn even if you wouldn’t normally see him anyway.

Exiting your room the next day, you find Taehyung outside your door as usual, but he has something hidden in his left hand. Before you have the opportunity to question him about it, he pulls a bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back.

“I wanted to cheer you up, your Majesty, I hope I am not overstepping.” The flowers are purple and white, same as the ones which grew outside your home. You gasp in delight, your hands coming up to cover your mouth.

“Oh, Taehyung, they are so beautiful,” you tell him as he hands them to you. “Thank you so very much.”

You don’t realize your slip of the tongue, the honorific noticeably absent when you say his name, and it brings a smile to your companion’s face.

“I am glad you like them, my Queen,” he says with a deep bow.

You smile at him, your head tilting to the right as your nose scrunches, before putting your nose to the bouquet to smell the flower’s sweet scent. It reminds you of home and fills you with a deep, comforting warmth.

Over the next two days you and Taehyung begin to speak even more, conversing as you walk the halls and making jokes while playing with the children. Taehyung even joins you on the floor and playfully teases the twins with a game of peek-a-boo. It’s the happiest you’ve been in months. You still miss Jungkook dearly, but the loneliness that’s made a home inside your heart goes away on a brief vacation.

By the morning of Sooyoung’s birthday Jungkook has yet to return, but you still have hope he’ll make it back before the end of the day.

You’re arranging some of her presents sent from family members and citizens alike when Taehyung enters with some more that were just dropped off. As you’re moving one of the larger gifts, your hair falls into your face and you attempt to push it away by blowing air out of your mouth since your hands are full.

Suddenly, you feel a fingertip against your cheek, and you look over to see Taehyung moving the strand out of the way for you. He’s close enough that you can see the deep chocolate color of his irises.

An unfamiliar tension threads itself between you both as you stand in silence only inches apart. Taehyung opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by a voice coming from outside the room.

“Where is my beautiful wife?”

Your eyes light up at the sound of Jungkook’s voice, breaking the moment between you and Taehyung in an instant. Rushing towards the door, you throw it open and look for the source of your husband’s voice.

Jungkook spots you from down the hall and he sighs in relief, an adoring smile growing on his lips. Running towards him without another thought, you laugh cheerfully as he opens his arms to welcome you into his chest.

Instead of hugging you, though, he grabs you by the waist and lifts you above his head as he often does with your daughter. You make a sound somewhere between a laugh and a squeal before wrapping your arms around his neck as he brings you down into his embrace.

“Oh, I missed you, my darling,” he whispers into your hair.

“I missed you so much, Jungkook,” you respond and bury your face into his shoulder. “You made it back in time.”

“I promised you I would, did I not?” You look up and nod, fresh tears evident in your eyes. He frowns when he notices them and reaches up to wipe the tears away. “What is wrong, my love?”

“I just missed you, that is all,” you answer.

Jungkook nods in agreement before bending down to kiss you. Your mouths move together in a practiced rhythm, his hand holding the back of your head to keep you against him. Your fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt as he tilts his head to kiss you with more fervor. He swallows the noise you make when his tongue traces your bottom lip and sinks into your mouth. It’s a passionate dance you haven’t experienced in months, and it almost makes you start crying again.

You reluctantly pull away, the breath missing from your lungs, as your hands tighten around the collar of his shirt.

“I am sorry it has been so long since I have done that,” Jungkook pants as he caresses your face. “I hope you know I think about it all the time. I am always thinking of you, my Y/N.”

You nod as another tear rolls down your cheek. Jungkook kisses it away before letting you go so he can greet the children.

Your strange moment with Taehyung is forgotten, and weeks go by with your friendship continuing to blossom as it did over those two days.

Jungkook leaves again, this time for a week, to visit with the ruler of a neighboring Kingdom who can possibly help end the war. It breaks your heart all over again, even though you know a week isn’t that long. The distance between you has just grown so wide, that seeing him between meetings and feeling his arms around you at night is the only thing keeping you sane.

You haven’t had sex since the first month of the war, and it feels like you’re being slowly drawn and quartered. Before, sex was almost a nightly occurrence, sometimes even twice a day if the children were with their grandparents. Jungkook spoiled you with pleasure, and now the torture of being without his touch is downright unbearable.

Sometimes you pleasure yourself, just to take the edge off, but it’s nothing compared to Jungkook. He knows your body better than you do, and your hands don’t even come close to doing him justice.

Last night you cried yourself to sleep from the pain of missing him and the need pulsating in your thighs. You’d do anything, even take up a sword yourself, to end this war so you can have him back. Whenever he’s gone, it feels like the weight of the entire castle is sitting on your chest.

Your emotions from the night before are still evident on your face this morning, and Taehyung notices.

“Are you alright, your Majesty?” He asks after greeting you in the library. “Your eyes look swollen, did you have a negative reaction to something you ate?”

“No,” you say with a shake of your head.

“Then, what is it, my Queen?” Taehyung probes with a look of concern.

“It is nothing, Sir Taehyung,” you answer. “I was merely missing my husband again.”

Taehyung frowns and takes a step closer to you. You notice the movement, but don’t step back as you normally would.

“Is there anything I can do? Anyway I can help you, your Majesty?”

Taehyung’s gaze is piercing and it makes your face and neck flush with a pink hue. Without warning, an undeniable heat begins to spread across your abdomen and simmer in your gut. You know the sensation all too well, but you’ve never felt something like this for Taehyung, even before you were married. Forcing your eyes shut, you will the temptation to disappear. But it’s been so long since you’ve been touched, and Taehyung is the one constant in your life at the moment.

“I… am not sure,” you admit.

“Is it just him that you miss or something else as well?” Taehyung asks cautiously. “I cannot do anything about your husband not being here, but I can help in other ways.”

Biting your lip hard enough to draw blood, you avoid his stare and beg your feet to move away from him. All you need is to take a single step back and the tension will break.

“Taehyung,” you speak softly.

“Y/N,” he replies, his eyes sharpening. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice speak your name since before you got married, before you became Queen.

“Will you help me… please?”

Taehyung moves like lightning, as if he’s been waiting an eternity for you to say those words. His warm hands engulf your waist so he can push you back until your thighs hit the large desk behind you. He lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the edge of the wood without ever breaking eye contact. Descending to his knees before you, his hands trace the curve of your legs over your dress.

Your brain is screaming at you to stop now before you’re past the point of no return. But there is nothing you can do, your body is overriding the commands which normally control your movements. It’s aching to be touched, and it no longer cares who’s doing it.

Taehyung’s hands disappear beneath your gown, caressing your ankles and calves before he’s pulling up the fabric so it rests above your knees. His head leaves your line of sight, and then you feel a featherlight touch to your covered sex.

You gasp, clapping your hand over your mouth when you do. Taehyung’s fingers trace your folds through your undergarment, and you can feel his warm breath on your inner thighs. Then, you feel him pull the fabric aside and he touches you for the first time. You moan into your palm as he dips his fingers into your essence and carries it up to your clit. He gently circles the sensitive nub before pressing down hard and rubbing. Head tipping back in euphoria, you use your elbows to keep yourself somewhat upright.

He plays with your pussy for a while, exploring the unfamiliar territory of your body, before finally sinking his fingers into your hole. Your desperate whimper is muffled by your flesh when he inserts two fingers into you and begins pumping them in and out. The wet squelch of him fucking his fingers into is almost foreign, since it’s been so long since you’ve heard it.

A shockwave of pleasure devours you whole when he kisses your clit and then flattens his tongue to lick you repeatedly. He matches the pace of his fingers and the dual sensation has you biting down on your hand to stop yourself from screaming. You feel yourself drowning in the hellish desire that’s slowly overtaking your soul.

Taehyung moans against you, removing his hand from your pussy to grip you by the thighs and pull you closer to his face. Once he’s hands-free, he begins devouring your cunt like he hasn’t eaten for days. He licks all the way up your slit before circling your clit with his tongue. Then he goes back down and kisses you as he drinks the juices leaking out of your hole. Your mind is paralyzed by the pleasure and it isn’t long before you feel your orgasm nearing.

Your hand grips his hair, tugging on the dark strands and making him grunt. He licks you harder in response, fucking his tongue into your hole and using his nose to keep friction on your clit. You come with a cry, sinking your teeth into the skin of your hand to keep yourself quiet.

It’s only then you realize you’re crying, but they aren’t tears of pleasure. The emotional response is from the unfathomable guilt and self-hatred over what you’ve just done. An act you can never take back and must live with for the rest of your life.

Taehyung licks you a few more times, slurping up your cum and moaning at the taste before rising to stand in front of you. Your chest is red and heaving as you come down from your high. He looks smug and proud of what he’s done to you, and it makes you sick.

You gag into the hand still covering your mouth before leaping off of the table and finding the nearest basin. The contents of your stomach force their way up your throat as you vomit into the receptacle. Your fingers shake and you grip the metal edge to hold yourself upright. Bile burns your esophagus as tears roll down and collect on your chin.

When your stomach is completely empty, and only mucus drips from your mouth, you fall over onto the floor. Your hands cover your face as you scream and cry. The harsh, deep sobs making you gasp for air and cough repeatedly.

“What have I done?” You wail into your hands and shake your head back and forth, as if the movement could somehow turn back time. The faces of your children and husband flash across your mind and make more tears fall. You think of Jungkook, hundreds of miles away, probably wondering how you’re doing, and your soul tears itself to shreds. “Oh, God, what have I done?”

Taehyung crouches down next to you and moves his hand along your spine to soothe you as best he can. You’re undeserving of his affection, the only thing you deserve now is damnation.

Jungkook comes home three days later. You get sick again as soon as you hear his voice filtering in from down the hall.

A month goes by without you or Taehyung mentioning the incident. You push forward and pretend like nothing happened, or least you do. It’s uncertain how Taehyung feels, but frankly, you don’t care to know. The only thing that matters is that it can never happen again. You’ve loved Jungkook since you were a child, and the putrid thought of betraying him again is enough to send you to your grave.

But it’s hard, it's so very hard. Because he isn’t here beside you to hold you and kiss you and remind you that everything’s going to be alright. You only hear his voice every few days, if that; only feel his touch once every other week if you happen to wake up in the night and feel his arm around you. The loneliness is suffocating you from the inside and you feel it choking you to death more and more everyday.

You cry for hours on end most days. The self-hatred, guilt, sorrow, and despair mix together to create a cacophony of emotions you have no way of controlling. Taehyung just waits outside your door and listens to your sobs with no power to do anything about them.

Your children are the only joy in your life at the moment, but even spending time with them is difficult because all four of them share a pair of eyes with their father. Everywhere you look you see pieces of Jungkook, whether in the children or in the desolate halls of the castle, but you never see the man himself.

At least strolling through the gardens and speaking with Taehyung while you sit near the creek brings you peace. It reminds you so much of old times and you’re relieved to finally have your best friend back after reconnecting over these many months.

He makes you laugh and listens intently when you tell him about the books you’re reading and what the children are learning about in their lessons. In return, he talks about knighthood and whatever silliness the men got up to in their freetime. Without him, you don’t think you would be surviving this endless solitude.

“Your Majesty, if I may?” Taehyung says from beside you on the bench. You gesture with your hand for him to continue. “Forgive me for my forwardness, but your mental state is only getting worse. I do not know how much longer you can go on like this.”

Eyes glancing down, you pick at the fabric of your dress and pull at the threads with your fingers.

“I will be fine. I just have to wait until the war is over,” you state.

“Your Highness, the last war went on for close to four years, and it has not even been one yet,” he points out. “You cannot go on like this.”

“What would you have me do?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“No,” you snap at him.

“Y/N —”

“No, do not even think of speaking it out loud,” you order him sternly. “That was the biggest regret of my life and I will not give into it again.”

“There is no reason you should be alone, Y/N!” Taehyung stands and faces you as he speaks. “Jungkook asked you to marry him and now he leaves you alone and untouched and it is killing you.”

Tears prick at your eyes as Taehyung’s words force reality close enough until you can no longer hide from it. Jungkook’s love for you is unquestionable, and you know the war is the sole reason he isn’t beside you, but the war is still ongoing, and he has no control over its end.

“Taehyung, I cannot betray him again,” you whisper, more so to yourself than to him.

“It does not have to be like that,” Taehyung argues. “It is just pleasure. A body to touch and hold you so you are no longer lonely and isolated. Nothing can take away from the love you and him share. But this situation is unfair to you, and you know it is.”

“What is in it for you, Taehyung?” You ask him. “Why are you so set on being the body which helps me with that endeavor?”

“You already know why, my Queen. My feelings have never changed, even after all this time.”

The day Taehyung confessed his feelings for you was so long ago it almost feels like another lifetime. You never responded, because you didn’t share those same feelings for him. But these months together have meant more to you than you can even articulate, and you aren’t sure if that’s still the case.

What you feel for Taehyung is very different from what you feel for Jungkook.

Jungkook is, without a shadow of a doubt, the love of your life. Your love for him burns deep within your heart like an ever-glowing hearth. It’s solid and foundational to your very being. He's your best friend, husband, and father of your children, and there’s nothing in this world that could make you love him less.

Taehyung is more like a candle, something that only burns you if you reach out and touch the flame. It’s warm and inviting during a time where your whole world feels dark. The love feels familiar because the seed was planted long ago and nourished throughout your years of friendship, but now it’s blooming.

“You still love me?”

“With every part of me.”

You pause and compartmentalize your thoughts before continuing.

“I never meant to hurt you, all those years ago,” you tell him. “I am sorry for doing so.”

“It is alright, my Queen,” he responds, taking his seat beside you again. “I know you did not have much choice in the matter.”

You assume he means the speed at which everything happened, and don’t correct him.

“I care about you very much, Taehyung.” You inhale and close your eyes, counting to four before releasing the air from your lungs. “I do love you. It… it is not like my love for my husband, but it is there. I cannot deny that.”

“Then will you let me do this for you?” Taehyung asks. When you look at him, his eyes are glossy, no doubt from the confession of your newfound feelings. “I am not asking for anything in return, your Majesty. I only want to help you.”

Your thoughts trample over one another as they all scramble for the top position on the dog pile. But you truly believe the only way you’ll survive this war is if you shut your mind off, turn out the lights and let your body puppeteer you.

Taehyung is right that your depression and isolation are slowly killing you. There’s no energy left for you to play with your children, you can barely eat or sleep, and your hair has even begun to fall out.

So, you follow him to his quarters in the Eastern wing of the castle.

You jump at the sound of the door shutting behind you and locking into place. It’s strange being inside his bedroom, but the trinkets and items scattered around the room feel familiar to you because they’re his.

Taehyung is quick to capture your lips with his and it sends a shock through your nervous system. You’ve never kissed anyone but Jungkook, and he kisses you so differently than your husband does. If Jungkook is water, Taehyung is fire. The kiss scorches you and burns across your insides until it lights a fire inside your stomach. You allow yourself to return his affection, let your lips move against his as he walks you backwards towards the bed.

The two of you fall together onto the mattress with a soft bounce. Taehyung’s hands find your own and pull them over your head, imprisoning them against the bed. He begins to kiss down your face and neck, sucking gently and licking over your skin. You moan and tilt your head to give him more access to you. It’s been so long since you’ve felt ravished and worshipped, and your body welcomes it on impulse.

He moves slowly from your neck to your chest, his lips and tongue caressing the tops of your breasts and softly biting down on the fatty flesh.

You nudge him with your knee to make him sit up before reaching around to untie your corset. Taking the hint, Taehyung begins undressing as well. His armor meets the floor with a loud metallic clap as you step out of your clothes and return to his bed.

He moves you up the mattress by your waist, all the while still kissing you and exploring your mouth with his tongue. Taehyung takes a moment to admire your bare chest before him, his hands coming up to caress your breasts and then kiss them. His tongue circles your nipple before sucking on it, turning it hard and sensitive between his teeth. You gasp and moan as your hands grab onto his hair.

Continuing down your body, Taehyung removes the undergarment hiding your pussy from him and kisses your folds. Your head falls back against the pillows as your chest rises with ragged breaths. He eats you out like it will be his last meal, and if the two of you are ever caught, it will be. His tongue fucks into your hole and the sloppy sound of your essence and his salvia mixing into one fills the room. He moves to your clit and lets his teeth scrape over the flesh. You whine as he sucks and licks on your sensitive nerve endings.

His two middle fingers enter you with a wet squelch and he starts curling them so they press against your spongy walls. You moan freely, knowing the first knight’s quarters are completely secluded. He pumps his fingers in and out of you as he devours your clit with his mouth. Your head is spinning in ecstasy. Your pussy greedily sucks his digits in and leaks essence all over his hand.

It doesn’t take long for you to come with a strained gasp, your legs shaking and clenching around his head.

Taehyung removes his fingers slowly before licking them clean and kissing along your thighs. When he kisses you again you can taste yourself on him. It’s been so long now that the flavor is almost foreign.

You push forward without reprieve, wrapping your legs around Taehyung’s thighs to flip him over. He matches your eagerness and starts pulling his undergarment off so you can pump his cock with your hand. The sound of spit has Taehyung’s eyes rolling back as you coat his length in your saliva and begin sliding your fingers up and down his shaft. He moans from deep within his chest. His eyes close as he relishes in the feeling of you jacking him off. His cock is big and thick, and your mouth waters instinctively as you think about him filling you up.

Once he’s hard and leaking precum all over your hand, you position yourself over him and sink down into his lap. The intrusion hurts at first, since your hole isn’t used to stretching open anymore, but then your pussy adjusts to the shape of him and pleasure rolls over you in waves.

Taehyung’s hands grasp desperately at your hips, his fingertips making divots in your flesh. He leans in to kiss and suck on your breasts again and you hold his head to you to continue enjoying the feeling. Hips rising until only his tip is left inside, you slam down against him and proceed to bounce on his dick at a steadfast pace. Identical moans breach the air and Taehyung sits up to kiss at your exposed throat when your head tips back. He licks across your jugular and bites into the skin below your ear. Need and desire course through you like lava as the veins of his cock rub against your velvet walls.

You force your mind into submission, refusing to allow the feelings of guilt and despair to take a single breath. This is something your body has been craving for months and now isn’t the time for your incessant thoughts to bury you in agony. For the first time in a long while, your mind is completely silent.

Tears of pleasure fall as Taehyung guides you by the hips to bounce on him harder, sending his cock deeper into your cunt until you can feel him in your stomach. When your bodies meet, you grind against his pelvis to create friction on your clit.

“You cannot come inside me,” you say through a groan. “You will have to pull out and come on my skin instead.”

Taehyung nods responsively before grabbing you by the hair to kiss you feverishly. His tongue sinks into your mouth and tangles with your own and you moan around the wet muscle. Your teeth drag his bottom lip away before letting it snap back into place. You hear him growl beneath you.

“Does it feel good, my Queen?”

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly before pushing him back onto the bed and gripping his chest to support your body.

Your nails scratch at his pecks as you fuck yourself on his hardness, leaning down to kiss his collarbones and shoulder. Taehyung takes the opportunity the new position grants him to plant his feet on the bed and thrust up into you. You scream, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the sound as he abuses your pussy. You feel his balls slapping against your ass as he fucks into you relentlessly, not slowing his pace for a single moment.

“I am going to come,” you pant into his ear.

“Please, my Queen, let me feel you finish,” he responds.

Your orgasm builds from embers into a slow-burning fire as Taehyung’s final thrusts send you over the edge. When your cunt pulses and soaks Taehyung’s length in cum he moans and rolls you over in one fluid motion. His cock leaves you empty and he fucks his hand before painting your stomach in his seed.

You gasp at the novel feeling of cum splashing onto your flesh. It’s hot and sticky, but you feel prideful over the physical manifestation of Taehyung’s pleasure on your body.

Taehyung gets up from the bed while you’re still trying to catch your breath. The feeling of a wet cloth greets you as he wipes away his cum from your skin and then throws the cloth onto a dresser.

“Did it help, your Highness?”

You can only nod in return, too fucked-out and delirious from the pleasure and adrenaline.

It does help. The two of you continue to sneak away to his quarters two to three times a week so you can use his body to relieve the ache of loneliness. Soon enough your energy returns, allowing you to play with your children again. You lovingly watch their smiles and hear their laughter as they run around the grass. Your appetite returns and your health improves, both physically and mentally. The guilt still eats at you like a famished predator, especially anytime you see Jungkook around the castle or feel him pull you into him at night, but your mind has reached its limit and it can no longer carry the weight of the world.

Neither of you speak of the feelings you shared in the garden before this all started. Taehyung knows how fragile and vulnerable your mental state is and he doesn’t want to pressure you into making this anything more than what it is; just the pleasures of the flesh, only desire, and not love.

The anniversary of the war comes and goes as if it’s just another day, and you and Taehyung continue your affair unbridled. Your entanglements don’t last much longer than that, though.

On the last day of your life, you and Taehyung are in his quarters getting dressed after sleeping together. He leans down to kiss you goodbye when the sound of his door hinges breaking forces you apart.

Four knights barge in, followed by Jungkook.

Your husband’s eyes are unrecognizable, cold and harsh, with no light in them. Reality grips you tight and your hands clasp over your mouth when you realize what must happen now. Jungkook doesn’t say a word, just gestures towards you with his head to command the knights to grab you.

“No! Wait!” You shout as they take each of your arms and restrain you between their bodies. They do the same to Taehyung and he thrashes against their hold. “Wait, Jungkook, please let me explain.” He’s turned away from you now, but you see his hands shake before clenching into fists. The membrane around your heart closes in on the beating muscle. “Jungkook, please just let me see the children,” you beg. “Let me say goodbye to them. Please, my King.”

There’s a heavy moment of silence, the only sound coming from the tears already rolling down your cheeks.

“Take her to the nursery before bringing her to me,” he instructs the knights before exiting. The knights holding Taehyung force him out of the room to follow Jungkook while they bring you in the opposite direction.

The knights hold you taut between them as you walk to where your children are with their nanny, but there is no need. You won’t fight the inevitable.

When you reach the nursery, they let go of you with a glare of warning before allowing you to go inside. The tears begin to fall again as soon as you see your children playing with their toys and books on the ground.

“Mommy!” The four of them shout in unison before running over to you, the young twins stumbling over their little legs to get to you.

You bend down and open your arms for all of them to embrace you at once. Your hands comb over their hair as you kiss their heads. The tears never once cease as you gaze at their beautiful faces.

“Why are you crying, Mommy?” Junghyun asks as he wipes at a tear on your cheek. He’s practically a mini Jungkook, his big eyes and black hair identical to his father’s.

“I have to go away for a while, and I am going to miss you so very much,” you tell him as you caress his cheek.

“Where are you going?” Sooyoung asks with tears in her own eyes.

“It does not matter, my Princess, all that matters is that I love you, and I will miss you all so, so much,” you explain as your voice breaks. “Daddy is going to take good care of you, alright? You know mommy and daddy love you more than anything, yes?”

All four of their little heads nod at you. It makes you smile through the streaks of tears coming down.

“I love you, mommy, and we will miss you, too,” Junghyun says.

He wraps his arms around your neck and you have to bite your lip to suppress a sob. Minho and Wonshik coo and make grabby hands at you for attention. You pick them up one at a time and kiss their cheeks as they tell you they “wuv you foo.”

Sooyoung, your brave little girl, wipes her own tears away before hugging you and kissing your cheek. You return the affection and brush her hair from her eyes.

“Alright. Goodbye, my loves,” you say as evenly as you can.

You don’t glance back at them as you leave. If you see them even once more, you know you will not be able to walk down the long corridor to the fate that awaits you. The knights take your arms again once you’re out of sight of the children. The tears finally cease, and you walk with your back straight and head up.

There’s no reason to cower from what lies ahead, you made your bed and now you must lay in it.

PRESENT DAY

The first-aid team brings you to the nurse’s office in the adjoining building to the gym. The nurse briefly checks your vitals before letting you sleep off the medicine in the back room. It’s supposed to last about an hour, so she places two chairs inside for Taehyung and Jungkook to sit while they wait.

Jungkook storms in first, barely allowing Taehyung to shut the door behind him before he’s facing him with rage burning in his irises.

“Really great fucking timing, Taehyung, truly,” he snaps.

Taehyung has to refrain from physically attacking Jungkook. He clenches his hands into fists until his nails make crescents in his palms.

“You disgusting piece of shit, you fucking monster!” Taehyung shouts. “How dare you hold and kiss her and let her love you when you know what you did and she’s clueless!”

“How dare I?” Jungkook mirrors his tone. “How dare you! You transferred to our fucking school and became friends with her just to try and steal her from me again.”

“I am trying to save her from you!” Taehyung says through gritted teeth.

“Save her? What am I going to do to her, Taehyung? I’m not a King anymore, I’m a fucking college basketball player.”

“You murdered her and she deserves to know.”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath and releasing the pressure from his neck with a turn of his head.

“Executed.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I executed her, Taehyung, not murdered. And I did it because it was my fucking job as King!” Jungkook yells as he closes in on his former friend.

“She was your wife, the mother of your fucking children and —”

“YOU LEFT ME NO CHOICE!” Jungkook screams at him before stepping back again. He runs his hands down his face and pushes his hair back before continuing, calmer this time. “What did you want me to do, huh? What should I have done when my Queen and first knight betrayed me? Should I have made you sleep in the stables and called it good? That would’ve done an amazing job at showing the entire Kingdom and all our enemies how much of a coward I am.” Jungkook laughs incredulously. “No, no, you do not get to make me the villain, Taehyung. I may have held the blade in my hand but you are the reason she died.”

Taehyung doesn’t respond to his statements, just shakes his head and asks him what he really wants to know.

“How are you even here, Jungkook? I had a sorceress put a spell on Y/N to reincarnate us. You were never supposed to be a part of it,” Taehyung explains.

“I don’t know, Taehyung, what did the spell say?”

“That the person she loves will meet her in the next life and return her memories.”

Jungkook stares him down with his eyebrows raised.

“I’m sorry, you’re confused why a spell like that would bring me, her husband, here, too? You can’t see why that would include me?” Jungkook scoffs and turns away. “Do you think I forced her to marry me, Taehyung? Forced her to be with me and bear my children? Who the fuck do you think I am?” He turns back towards Taehyung again with more fire in his eyes. “She loved me. We loved each other and your little affair did nothing to change that.”

“That’s not what I mean. There was a catch, Jungkook. We had to die together for the spell to work. One right after the other.” Jungkook goes quiet after he hears Taehyung’s words, his eyes tilting towards the floor as his jaw ticks. “Wait…”

“I hadn’t even cleaned your blood off my sword yet.”

Taehyung takes a step back, his eyes opening in shock. He shakes his head, pushing his hair from his eyes as he does so.

“You aren’t seriously saying —”

“I didn’t plan to do it,” Jungkook admits quietly. “But when I looked down at you two, I just…” He glances at your sleeping form, his eyes following the way your chest rises and falls. “I couldn’t live without her. Couldn’t live without either of you, truthfully.”

Silence is all Taehyung can respond with as the true answer of how the three of you are all together again breaks his resolve of confronting Jungkook. The two don’t speak again, they just take the seats at opposite ends of the room and wait for you to wake up.

When you do, it’s with a groan. Your hand comes to rest against your temple as you slowly sit up. Once you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, your eyes finally open and land on Jungkook across from you. They widen for a moment, but then soften as tears well up in them.

“Jungkook,” you cry, your arms opening for him.

He gets to you in a millisecond, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around. You sob against him as your hands grip the edges of his uniform. He shushes you comfortingly, combing through your hair with his fingers and pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

“S’okay, baby, I’m right here,” he whispers to you.

You stay like that for a while, your cries filling the room and breaking both their hearts in the process.

“Do you know?” You ask without looking up. “Do you have your memories, too?”

“Yeah, my love, I do,” he answers you.

You look up at him with glassy eyes. It’s overwhelming now that your memories are back. He’s here in front of you as you know him, but just underneath the surface there is a shimmer of the King you once knew.

“And you still wanted to be with me after we met?” You ask through a hiccup. “Even knowing what I did?”

Jungkook grabs your face with both hands, pushing your hair out of the way so he can see you properly.

“Are you kidding?” He smiles at the memory of your reunion. “When I found you again it was the happiest day of my life.” A watery chuckle comes from your lips. “I don’t care about any of that, Y/N. I have loved you in all of my lifetimes and I will continue to do so in however many more the universe grants me.”

“I love you so much,” you tell him. “And I am so, so sorry.”

He shakes his head, his thumb moving across your cheekbone lovingly.

“It was a long time ago, my darling. All is forgiven.”

“It doesn’t feel that way, it feels like it was only yesterday.”

“That’s only because you just got your memories back,” he reassures you. “After a while, they’ll feel more like an old dream.”

You nod to acknowledge his words before crashing back into him, letting your arms snake around his neck as he pulls you into his lap. It only takes you another minute to fall asleep again in Jungkook’s arms, a side effect the nurse warned them about earlier.

Taehyung doesn’t stay much longer. Truthfully, he needs to gather his own thoughts, and he knows you’ll be in no condition to talk with him when you wake up.

You text him once the weekend passes and ask to meet by the lake behind the university. When he arrives, you’re already sitting on the wooden bench with your legs crossed and a notebook open in your lap. He doesn’t approach you right away, instead he just takes in the sight of you tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and bending over to write in your notebook.

“Hi,” Taehyung greets you as he rounds the bench.

“Hi,” you reply quietly and gesture for him to sit beside you.

“I didn’t see you around campus at all this weekend,” Taehyung notes.

You sigh and meet his eyes with a soft smile.

“Yeah, um, Jungkook and I decided to take the train to the museum they built out of our castle. We saw our family crypt, too, where we, our children, and grandchildren are buried,” you explain.

“Oh, wow,” Taehyung replies.

“There was this history book they were selling at the gift shop with our entire family tree in it. We sat where the library used to be and read it together. It talked about what happened to the children and had the names and titles of all your grandchildren,” you tell him. “It was really nice.”

“So, what happened with your children?”

“The royal advisor ruled in Junghyun’s stead since he was too young to be King when Jungkook died. The war ended after about five years, and then when Junghyun turned sixteen he was able to rule on his own. Sooyoung married a Prince in a neighboring Kingdom and ruled there as Queen, which is exactly what she always wanted. Minho and Wonshik married a Duchess and Viscountess and they actually became royal tutors. You know, like the ones you and Jungkook had growing up, who taught you sword fighting and horseback riding and all that?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I’m so happy knowing they all grew up well and started their own families. Jungkook and I have ten grandchildren.”

“Ten? Wow,” Taehyung laughs. You proudly nod your head and gaze out again at the water. “I’m glad you were able to learn all about them.”

“Yeah… I just wish I had been there to see it,” you whisper. “Wish we both had.” A moment later you snap your fingers when you remember something else. “Actually, we saw your grave, too. It’s in the knight’s crypt not far from our own.”

“Knight’s crypt? I shouldn’t have been buried there. I was stripped of my knighthood when we… well, you know,” he replies.

“I thought the same thing, but Jungkook told me he ordered you to be buried there anyway before the execution,” you respond.

Taehyung is completely dumbfounded by what you’re telling him. It doesn’t compute in his brain why Jungkook would allow him to be buried among the other knights. Before he can question you further, you turn towards him, crossing one leg under your knee so you can face him directly.

“Look, I never got to explain everything to you about what happened leading up to Jungkook and I getting married, and I would like to, if you’ll let me.”

Taehyung nods encouragingly for you to continue, gesturing with his hands that you have the floor to speak your mind. You thank him with a calm smile before sitting up straight so you can finally say what you need to after all this time.

“When you first told me you were leaving for the war, and said you loved me and wanted to marry me, I didn’t reply because, one, I was shocked, and two, because I didn’t feel the same way about you. Growing up, I only ever had feelings for Jungkook. My feelings for you were definitely strong, because you were my best friend, but they were platonic. I honestly put your proposal in the back of my mind because you were leaving, and I didn’t even know if you would survive the war or not. Then when Jungkook had to become King and you were no longer leaving, I didn’t know what that meant in regards to your proposal. You were about to become first knight and have a lot more responsibility, so I figured I would wait for you to talk to me about it and I would tell you my answer at that point.”

“But then Jungkook came to see me the next day and asked me to marry him, and that… that was my dream, Tae. I had loved him for almost my entire life. I wanted to speak to you before the wedding or even before arriving at the castle, but there was no time. I wanted to explain my feelings so you knew I wasn’t just ignoring your confession and doing whatever I wanted. But obviously, I never got the chance and you stopped speaking to me altogether.”

“Then, when the war broke out, and we grew close again, I did end up developing feelings for you. You were there for me when no one else was and it was easy to fall for you when we would spend day in and day out together. But, Taehyung, that was the first time I ever felt anything romantic for you. I know you think Jungkook stole me from you or forced me into becoming Queen, but that’s not the case. My heart has always belonged to Jungkook from the very beginning, and even when I did grow to love you, my feelings for him never waned.”

“All this to say, I am so grateful you had a spell cast on me so we all get a second chance at this, but the memories you returned to me are just that… memories. The life I’m currently living, the one where I was born to two pediatricians, went to ballet school, and became a cheerleader, that’s my life, not the one where I was a midwife and a Queen. Even if you and I had been these star-crossed lovers who never got the chance to be together, it doesn’t change the life I’ve lived so far. It doesn’t change that I fell in love with Jungkook. Not the Prince or King, but the computer science major who plays basketball and is competitive, funny, spontaneous, and kind. I love him for who he is today, memories or not.”

Taehyung takes several moments to absorb everything you’re telling him, and truthfully, he’s confused. His entire life he’s always believed you felt the same way for him, and when you told him you loved him in the gardens he thought you meant you always had.

“But, before you were executed, your last words… you told me you loved me, Y/N,” Taehyung argues.

Your eyes widen and a sympathetic frown appears on your face.

“Taehyung, my last words...” You sigh. “I wasn’t saying that to you. I was saying it to Jungkook.”

The truth forces a sob out of Taehyung as tears escape from his waterline. He goes to wipe them away, but your finger is already grazing his cheek and doing so yourself.

“This was supposed to be our second chance, Y/N. For you and me to finally be together,” he cries.

“It still can be, Taehyung. Romantic love is not the only kind there is. You are and forever will be my best friend, and this can be our second chance to have the friendship we were always supposed to have. For all three of us to be together the way we once were,” you propose.

“No, I could never forgive Jungkook for what he did,” he snaps.

“Forgive him?” You respond harshly. “Tae, we stabbed him in the fucking back. I vowed to love and cherish him and then I fucked his best friend and first knight. The one person he was supposed to trust more than anyone in the world. Then we forced a sword in his hand and made him kill the two people he loved the most. We knew when we started sleeping together what would happen if we got caught and we did it anyway. He didn’t kill us, Taehyung, we killed him.”

You exhale and tuck your hair behind your ear, chewing on your lip as you calm down and think of your next words.

“I love you, Taehyung. I will always love you, and I want you in my life. Jungkook wants you in his life,” you state. “But you have to be willing to move on from the past and accept what happened. Take accountability for the things we did and let it all go.”

Once you leave, Taehyung sits in silence as he stares out across the lake, sorrowful tears staining his skin. He knows you’re right about the past. It’s time to move on and start living the life he has now, but it isn’t easy when he’s spent so long just waiting for you to start your lives together.

The sun disappears from the sky before Taehyung comes to the realization he can still have that, just as you said, because being together doesn’t have to mean romantically. And truth be told, he needs his friends more than anything else.

He finds you and Jungkook at a picnic table outside the library about a week later.

Your arms are pushing at Jungkook’s shoulders to keep him from grabbing the candy bag between your legs. He’s sporting a mischievous toothy grin as he tries to maneuver around your hold to successfully steal your treat. You laugh loudly when Jungkook bites at the air in a feeble attempt to use his teeth as a method of thievery. It distracts you enough, though, and Jungkook uses the opportunity to snatch the bag from you before stealing a kiss, too.

“Nooo,” you whine as he laughs and eats your candy uninterrupted.

Taehyung clears his throat, and you both stop in your tracks, the candy bag falling from Jungkook’s hands onto the table with a soft plop.

“Hey,” Taehyung says through a chuckle. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for… well, there’s a lot, isn’t there?” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m just sorry, and if you guys would be interested, maybe we can all hang out sometime.”

For the first time, he looks at Jungkook instead of you, and watches the way his expression morphs from surprise to delight. In an instant, Jungkook is standing and rounding the table to bring Taehyung into a crippling embrace. Taehyung chuckles awkwardly, hesitant to show any affection in return, but then Jungkook rests his chin on Taehyung’s shoulder, and the bittersweet nostalgia makes him wrap his arms around him.

“I missed you,” Jungkook confesses.

Taehyung sighs and tightens his grip.

“Missed you, too… your Highness.”

“Don’t even joke, man.”

You squeal behind them, your feet tapping against the ground while you do a miniature victory dance from your seat. They both turn to look at you with completely endeared twin smiles, and you smile right back, head tilting to the right as your nose scrunches up.

The smell of wildflowers wafts through the air, despite there being none around, as if the universe is congratulating the three of you on finally making it back home to each other.

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