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vantewanderlust · 7 months ago

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shattered reverie | KTH & OC

In the dim, chaotic shadows of a Parisian bar, Yuna and Taehyung share a wild, impetuous encounter in a cramped bathroom, where desire and detachment blur together. Once it’s over, he walks away, leaving her to slip into the night, determined to erase the fleeting, anonymous moment from her memory.

Taehyung and Jungkook’s argument erupts into a storm of accusations. Neither man is willing to back down, nor are they willing to forget the heartache they’ve caused each other. After all, a breakup is never a pretty picture.

And one day Jimin’s phone buzzes with an unexpected call from his sister. She excitedly mentions a talented artist, whom she believes could be perfect for the group's creative projects.

They meet again.

And this is, unfortunately for everyone involved, not a cliché.

“What?” He scoffed, the mocking edge in his voice making her body tense. “Do you honestly think I’d remember you fondly? That fucking you meant anything to me? That I’d be going crazy, searching for you everywhere? I barely even came, for fuck’s sake. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you better end it now and leave me and the others alone. I couldn’t care less about trash like you.”

✧.* Pairing: Kim Taehyung x OC/Reader; Kim Taehyung x Jeon Jungkook

✧.* Warnings: +18; dark themes; explicit language; smut; taehyung is bissexual; jungkook is bissexual; idol au; former relationship; one night stands; enemies to friends to lovers; a very huge mess at all times.

✧.* Theme song: House of Cards by BTS.

"Inside a house made of cards we are Though we see the end, though we know that it’ll soon collapse A house made of cards- we, like fools, Though it’s an empty hope, stay like this a little more."

Prologue.

The bathroom space was small, stifling, the kind of place where time didn't seem to exist.

Faint bass notes from the music outside thudded against the walls, muffled yet persistent, like a pulse anchoring the chaos beyond the door.

Yuna leaned against the sink, her pulse quickening as she stared at herself in the cracked mirror, breath shallow.

The chaos of the night felt distant, like it belonged to someone else, until he walked in, the door shutting behind him with a soft thud.

She turned around and his eyes locked on hers instantly, a mixture of calm indifference and an intensity that made her heart race.

There was no greeting, no preamble—just the raw energy between them, electric and undeniable.

She knew what he wanted the moment he offered her a drink.

It wasn’t a look of flirtation—it was sharper, hungrier, a silent challenge that sent a thrill down her spine.

She hadn’t planned on acting on it, not until he pressed the drink into her hand, his fingers brushing hers, and she realised her body was already betraying her thoughts.

He knew what she wanted the moment she accepted it, signalling him to follow her a few minutes later.

He moved toward her without a word, his presence suffocating and magnetic. Before she could fully process it, his lips were on hers—hard and consuming, urgent and unapologetic.

His hands slid up her sides, finding the curve of her waist, then the nape of her neck. She kissed him back with equal fervour, her fingers fumbling with his shirt.

There was no hesitation, no awkwardness—just the heat of the moment swallowing them both whole.

His lips trailed down her neck, the sharp scrape of his teeth sending shivers down her spine.

Her breath hitched as his hands moved lower, tugging at the waistband of her skirt, his fingers grazing it. She gasped, pulling him closer, her hands automatically slipping beneath his waistband, craving more of him.

He didn’t falter, his movements practiced yet charged with urgency. His fingers gripped the fabric of her skirt, pulling it up slowly, methodically, but with a barely restrained impatience, as if time was slipping away.

Yuna let out a soft moan as his hands explored, his breath shallow against her exposed skin. She wanted more, needed it, and the longing in her intensified as his lips found her neck pulse point and his fingers traced patterns on her skin.

This wasn’t her—it had never been her—but tonight was different.

The stranger was compelling in a way she couldn’t explain, like a magnetic force she couldn’t resist. And yet, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, there was a flicker of recognition, an unshakable feeling that she’d seen him before, though she couldn’t place where.

It only made her reckless desire burn hotter, fuelled by the maddening pull of his presence and the need to lose herself in something—anything—that made her feel alive.

The man’s hands were steady as he turned Yuna around to face the mirror and the sink. She could see his gaze in the mirror that was dark, almost predatory, but there was something underneath it—something vulnerable, raw.

There was a dissonance between the desire they shared and the empty detachment that lingered in the air between them.

It was in the way he moved, the way he touched her.

She arched into him, urging him closer as their bodies collided in a rhythm that felt too desperate to be anything other than fleeting while they brushed their clothed parts against each other, her panties showing since the moment he had completely pushed her skirt up before he had turned her back to his front.

His fingers slid on her tights, tugging at her panties with a deliberate slowness that felt like a challenge, as if testing how far she could be pushed before she broke. Her legs parted in silent invitation, her nails digging into the sink as she lowered herself on it.

He finally lowered his pants and removed her panties and in a few seconds he was already slamming his cock into her. The first thrust drew a sharp gasp from her, and she bit her lip, her head falling down. He was rough.

He didn’t pause, didn’t give her a moment to catch her breath, his movements purposeful and unrelenting.

The rhythm was primal, desperate, each collision of their bodies pulling her further under his spell.

She could feel him—every inch, every pulse of him—moving with a rhythm that made her dizzy.

And she could see him.

The mirror offered her a hazy glimpse of him—the tension in his jaw, the way his hands gripped her hips like he couldn’t bear to let go. She felt his presence everywhere, the heat of his skin, the weight of his body pressing her down, the intoxicating scent of him filling her senses.

Black hair with sweat, the way he observed her back and ass, the slaps he left that echoed in the bathroom of the bar she probably wouldn’t go back ever again.

She arched her back, let her head fall once again and moaned a bit louder than she should have but it was incredible.

He was quite incredible.

But when she observed his expression in the mirror once again, she saw it.

The pained look.

He was hurting, like a wounded animal.

Someone had broken his heart.

He raised his gaze to the mirror, and their eyes locked.

The look in his eyes shifted—darker now, almost tortured. For a fleeting moment, she saw it again: the raw ache he couldn’t hide, the brokenness lurking beneath his hunger. It was there in the way his grip tightened, his pace quickened, like he was chasing something he couldn’t name.

She felt him harder, harsher, and tried to suppress her moans.

The sensation was overwhelming, her body trembling as he drove her higher and higher, his movements almost punishing her in their intensity. Her back arched once again as the heat between them reached its breaking point, her moans spilling freely now, mixing with his shallow, laboured breaths.

The release hit like a tidal wave, washing over them both in a rush of white-hot pleasure. Her body shuddered against his as she came.

And then it was over.

The bathroom was too quiet, the air cold against her flushed skin.

He pulled away first, his movements slow and measured, like someone piecing himself back together.

She stayed where she was, holding on to the sink, catching her breath as he adjusted his clothes, his face carefully blank once more.

In the mirror, their reflections met one last time. His gaze lingered, heavy with something she couldn’t quite place, before he turned and left, the door clicking softly behind him.

She stayed there a moment longer, the silence pressing in, the emptiness settling.

There were no introductions, no acknowledgment of what had just happened. Just the slow, deliberate movement of him walking out, leaving her to piece herself back together in the silence.

Yuna would never see him again.

And if she were being completely honest, that was perfectly fine.

After all, it’s dangerous to play with wounded animals.

Extremely dangerous.

And yet, some part of her couldn’t ignore the truth.

The most dangerous part of all wasn’t him—it was the way she’d let herself get pulled in.

(…)

Taehyung pushed open the door to his room, the soft click of the lock echoing in the otherwise quiet hallway.

The faint glow of the Eiffel Tower lit up the Paris skyline outside his window, but he barely glanced at it as he stepped inside, exhaustion tugging at his muscles.

The room wasn’t empty.

Jungkook was sitting on the edge of the bed, his posture stiff, his dark eyes flicking to him the moment he entered.

The tension in the air was instant, thick enough to choke on.

“You reek of sex.” Jungkook said bluntly, his voice low but cutting.

Taehyung froze, his jaw tightening before he turned to drop his jacket on the chair near the door. “What do you want?” His tone was sharp, almost weary. “If you’re here to lecture me, don’t bother.”

The younger one stood, his arms crossing over his chest. “Joon’s pissed. He thinks you’re trying to start a scandal. Do you even care about what you’re doing?”

The older one scoffed, running a hand through his messy, sweat-dampened hair. “Tell our beloved leader to mind his own business. And while you’re at it, you can leave too.”

Jungkook didn’t move.

“Do you think you can just screw around in public like that and no one will notice? You’re not a nobody.”

“Leave.”

“No.”

Taehyung’s gaze snapped to Jungkook, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “I said, leave.”

Jungkook took a step closer, his tone turning venomous.

“You’re such a bastard, you know that? You couldn’t even wait a day before running off to fuck someone, could you?”

Taehyung’s lips curled into a bitter smile, his laugh dry and humourless. “What I do is none of your business anymore, kookie.”

The words hit Jungkook like a punch. He tilted his head, his expression twisting with anger. “Fuck you.”

Taehyung chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll fuck—and fuck well. You don’t need to concern yourself with it.”

Jungkook’s face hardened, his fists clenching at his sides. “To go and screw someone the same day we broke up? You’re unbelievable.”

Taehyung’s eyes flashed, the sarcasm in his tone cutting deeper than any insult. “I wasn’t the one who wanted to break up. Or did you forget that little detail?”

They stood there, their faces inches apart, the tension between them crackling like a live wire.

Jungkook’s jaw worked as if he wanted to say something more, but instead, he turned on his heel, heading for the door. He paused for half a second, his shoulders rigid, before walking out and slamming the door behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Taehyung sank onto the bed, his head dropping into his hands.

The ache in his chest was unbearable, a fresh wave of pain washing over him.

He’d thought his heart had already broken earlier that day, but now, it felt like it was shattering all over again.

He was wounded for life.