BTS IS BACK

Everything was happening much too fast.

The man whom you’ve been diligently serving for the past few years was requesting your consent to touch you intimately so suddenly that you felt as though you were dreaming.

It’s not like you haven’t imagined it before—hell, look at him! Everyone in the Fire Nation has indulged in a fantasy or two, it’d be strange if they didn’t. Especially if they were in your shoes, being so close to him at nearly every waking hour and getting to know him on levels beyond regolness.

So when his lordship humbly requested that you sit yourself on his throne and let him give you a nice feel of what your purpose is to him, it was only natural that you succumbed to the years of not-so-hidden need that has been weighing itself on your shoulders.

Heart pounding in your chest, none of your imaginations of the past could ever quite compare to the real thing of watching the fire lord lower himself down to his knees, bring his hands to your legs, and steadily part them open whilst constantly whispering gentle confessions in hopes of insuring you're entirely comfortable with this.

Truth be told, he'd always had a bit of a crush on you—having taken quite the liking to you from the day he'd chose you to be his royal advisor.

It was an odd sensation for you to find yourself seated where Zuko typically commands the nation, especially with the way he'd loomed before you with a hint of delectable saliva building up at the corners of his mouth. You barely caught on to the way he'd asked you to undress yourself before him—to bare your body for his greedy eyes to take in—before his hands were virtually everywhere.

There was a sense of heat felt from his faintly shaking palms, as if this were the most nerve-wracking act he'd ever participated in. You were steady in your undressing, considering you needed some sort of moment to prepare yourself for what was to come.

By the time you found yourself naked—regal, advisory robes splayed out against his throne as your body sat all prettily perched upon it—Zuko was all but drooling. You'd seen his lordship make many expressions over the years but this—this was unlike anything you'd ever seen before.

And it was all for you.

In the next instance, Zuko was gripping onto your knees, letting his fingers touch with a certain firmness as he spread your legs apart. Your limbs felt mushy under his skin and you already felt your lungs struggling to maintain a steady flow of oxygen. You had an arm coming up to hide your flushing face before he'd even gotten anywhere with you and he couldn't help but crack a cheeky smile at the display.

Who knew his dutiful advisor—who'd just threatened to leave him mere moments ago, mind you—could make such cute expressions from the slightest of touches?

"Relax," Zuko cooed gently, leaning forward to lightly kiss at your inner thigh, "I'm only trying to help you understand your purpose."

Breath hitching, "My lord, I really don't think-"

His tongue rolls out along the inside of your leg and you flinch as if you'd never been touched before. This was the Fire Lord, after all. Having him like this-, watching him do something so obscene...

"You don't need to think," He hushes out to you, the curve in his lips felt right against your tensed skin, "Not now, anyway. Just feel. Can you do that for me?" It took you a few seconds but, eventually, you nodded your head. To which he cracks a smile, "Atta' girl."

Then his head traveled further up and you held eye contact with him whilst his mouth slipped over to cup the soaking lips of your cunt. Those same fiery amber-shaded eyes of his roll back almost instantaneously, a rumbling groan pouring out from deep within the pit of his stomach in reaction to the taste of you on his tongue.

And you expected him to let this go? As if.

You clasped your lip tightly in between your teeth, your hands moving out to grip onto the arms of the throne as you braced yourself, hips jerking forwards ever so slightly to meet the feel of Zuko's hot tongue. A sloppy trail of saliva is left in the wake of every flick from his oral muscle, the hum he lets out against you enough to have your legs squirming around under his touch.

There's a smooth sound of schliiiick that rings out though the throne room, the noise surely loud enough for someone beyond its large walls to hear. Not that you or him seem to care, though.

Whines 'n moans are easily pulled from somewhere in your throat as his mouth maneuvers suavely to capture the entirety of your saccharine taste onto the center of his tongue.

Your back soon slumps against the throne, leaving you to stare in awe at the starving lord of a man who's cravings could only be satisfied through the taste of your sloppy cunt. There's a feeling of paranoia haunting you from somewhere within your gut that at any moment now a person could knock on the throne room doors or simply burst right in with an urgent matter but, ask Zuko if he cares!

Spoiler alert: he doesn't.

The tips of his tongue dive and dip all around the very ends 'n ins of your pussy, lapping out the most provocative of gushes form deep within you. You're a blissed-out mess of moans before he even thinks to pull himself up for a moment to breathe. And by then, your hands have buried themself into his long lushes locks of hair, tugging and pulling at his head as your teeth tatter against themself in an honest attempt at maintaining even the slightest fracture of your composure.

Then Zuko's body shifts forward and suddenly his tongue his snaking its looong self past your folds, wetly spreading you open on it. Your back arches almost immediately and you think your eyes cross just as your fingers scrape over his scalp.

Zuko's head tilts ever so slightly to lick at your insides at a circularly different angle, tongue plucking itself in and out of your gushy entrance simply to have your arousal leaking all down the expanse of his jawline.

When the man tugs himself away to gasp, he's only diving back in half a second later to kiss over your clit and then smear the tip of his tongue around it—showcasing to you that his skills go beyond mere fire bending and that his tongue has learned how to bend the feel of a new element to you.

Something raw jumps out of your throat and you pant out his name whilst he shakes his head into you and then proceeds to respond to your calls by spelling his name out around your clit.

Then come his fingers—and fuck if they aren't farrr thicker than you were prepared for, initially prodding at your drooling hole, and then carefully pushing into you after a mere tease to that clingy ring of resistance he's met with.

Your lower lip pushes out and you moan just past it, earning his attention for the first time in a while as his eyes come up to find your lewdly-set expression.

"Ah," Using a free hand to wipe some of the slick from his mouth, Zuko moves up towards you and keeps his fingers working your insides, "Don't pout. You can take this much," He encourages, a second digit carefully slipping into you. "See? Two of my fingers, buried so deep inside you like that..." His words earn a particularly filthy squelch. "Shit, you should feel honored by this, sweetheart."

You manage a huff at that, nails chafing into the arm of the throne again, "Y-You and that damn-, ngh, honor..."

He snickers, his thumb poking forward to plumply round your clit, "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you don't feel honored to have me this devoted to you."

"Zuko," You moan instead of answering correctly.

Letting it slide due to his soft spot for you, he merely sighs. "Please understand that this is your purpose to me, not abandoning me to go whisper in the ears of Earth Kingdom fools." Zuko explains to you, voice coming out in warm waves against the crown of your ear, "Understood?"

You nod, "Y-Yes, Zuko."

His head cocks to the side, fingers jolting up against your slicked walls to curl, "You address me so formally any other time but now..." He pulls away a few inches to cast his eyes over your expression, fully appreciating how gorgeously you fall apart on just two of his fingers.

He can only begin to imagine how satisfying it would be to see you do the same on his cock. Fuck, you probably wouldn't even be able to handle that, would you?

No, but you'd damn sure try if he let you...

Meeting his gaze, "Yes, my lord." You correct in a short whisper.

For the first time ever, Zuko realizes the title doesn't sound so bad coming from you.

At least, not in this context since his cock promptly hardens through his robes in reaction to that sweet, sweet tone of yours.

He would've spelt his name out into your cunt and split you open on his fingers a long time ago if he knew this would be the result!

A smirk splays out across his wet mouth and he leans in, his breath mingling with your own, "Cum for me, my advisor. Show me where your loyalties lie."

That quickly sends you right over the edge, your cunt clenching and twitching all around his fingers as one of your hands move out to clutch onto his royal clothing.

Breathlessly puffing, "F-Fuuck.."

Zuko watches you closely the entire time, loving the way your thighs quiver, and how good your pussy feels releasing onto his hand.

Only leaning away as you're done to murmur, "See? Now, tell me again about leaving?"

(not proofread, GULP) || banner art by Rororogi Mogera || tags:

@stardewplz @muddiedlove @rain-market @mayashoee @kayxox123 @yoshinorecommends @whimsynojai @blcknebula @sukubusss @iiakithegoat 

@1ana22 @miss-f0rtun3 @helloxkittylo @p-plenitude @bunbun812 @cuffiescariche @ily24 @neoroneo88 @taemfvante @gracewinston

Your phone burned in your pocket like a live coal.

The last text you’d sent him still glowed behind your eyelids every time you blinked.

You: We need to end this. I’m sorry. Don’t call me. Don’t look for me. It’s over.

Sent at 3:17 AM while he was somewhere in the middle of the European leg of the tour. You hadn’t even given him the decency of a call. Just cold, brutal words on a screen while he was probably exhausted, smiling for fans, carrying the weight of thirteen on his shoulders like always.

You could still hear the way his voice had cracked the last time you spoke, days before that text.

“Baby, I miss you so much it hurts. Tour’s killing me, but thinking about coming home to you… that’s what keeps me going.”

You had cried silently into your pillow after hanging up.

Hybe’s conference room had been sterile and merciless. Suits and sharp eyes.

A folder slid across the polished table with photos—candid shots of you and Cheol in disguises that clearly hadn’t been enough. Late-night drives. Hotel hallways. One blurry image of his hand on your waist in a parking garage.

“You’re both rising too fast,” one executive had said, voice flat. “A dating scandal right now would derail Seventeen’s momentum. The boys have years of contracts ahead. Military service looming. Do you want to be the reason their careers stall? The reason the group fractures?”

They hadn’t yelled.

They hadn’t needed to.

The threat was surgical: leaks, rumors planted, “anonymous sources,” sudden scheduling conflicts that would isolate you until you disappeared from the industry.

And worse—subtle pressure on Pledis, on Cheol, on the members who had become like brothers to you in secret.

You could survive losing your own spotlight. You’d built your solo career from the ground up, clawing through trainee years and endless rejection. But Cheol?

Seungcheol, who had fought tooth and nail for every win. Who carried the guilt of every member’s exhaustion like it was his own. Who whispered to you at 4 AM about how terrified he was of letting them down.

You couldn’t be the storm that wrecked them.

So you ended it.

The text had been sent, and you’d blocked his number. Then you’d thrown your phone across the room and screamed into the silence until your throat hurt.

Now, weeks later, the pain hadn’t dulled—it had calcified, sharp and heavy in your lungs.

Your manager tapped your shoulder. “Two minutes.”

You nodded, forcing the mask on.

The idol smile.

The one that sold out arenas and broke records. The one that hid the girl who was currently shattering.

The stage intro hit. Lights exploded. You walked out to screams that should have felt like victory.

But all you could think about was him.

Somewhere across the world, Seungcheol was probably checking his phone between stages, rereading that message for the hundredth time. You imagined his face—those sharp eyes going wide, then dark with confusion, then crumbling into something worse. Hurt. Betrayal. The way his jaw would clench as he tried to be strong for the members, swallowing the devastation so they wouldn’t see.

You had done that to him.

The music started. Your voice came out steady, practiced, perfect. But inside, every lyric tasted like ash.

“I’ll be fine,” you sang, the chorus you’d written months ago about enduring distance for love.

Now it was a knife twisting in your own gut.

Backstage after the performance, your legs nearly gave out. You collapsed onto the couch in your dressing room, burying your face in your hands. The tears came hot and silent, shoulders shaking.

Your phone—new number, new everything—stayed dark. No way for him to reach you. That was the point.

But you could still see the notifications from before you blocked him. Missed calls. Voicemails. Texts that started soft and confused:

Baby? What’s going on? Did something happen?

Talk to me. Please. I’m scared.

If I did something wrong, tell me. We can fix it.

I love you. Don’t do this.

Then they stopped. You didn’t know if that was worse.

You pictured him on stage tonight, leader mode engaged, smiling that dimpled smile for CARATs while his heart was in pieces.

Would Jeonghan notice the way his eyes went distant? Would the members pull him aside later, worried, not knowing it was you who had ripped the rug out from under him?

You had protected them. Protected him.

But God, it felt like dying.

Your manager knocked. “Car’s ready. You okay?”

You wiped your face, stood on unsteady legs, and nodded.

No. You weren’t okay.

You weren’t sure you’d ever be okay again.

Because somewhere out there, the man who had held your hand through every fear, who had promised you the future in hushed whispers between tours and schedules, was now carrying a wound you had inflicted.

And you couldn’t even tell him why.

You stepped into the cool night air, the city lights blurring through fresh tears.

“I’m sorry, Cheol,” you whispered to no one. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The car door closed behind you like a coffin lid.

Two years of love, reduced to a single text.

And the worst part?

You still loved him more than anything.

Even as you walked away to save him.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The tour finally ended after their last show in Korea.

While the members celebrated the successful close of the tour—hugs, tears, exhausted laughter in the green room—he was already slipping away.

His phone had been a dead weight in his pocket for weeks, that final text from you burned into his memory like a scar.

No explanations.

No goodbye.

Just silence after two years of being each other’s anchor.

He didn’t go home. He didn’t rest.

He went straight to your studio—the one tucked away in a quiet building in Gangnam that only a handful of people knew about. The place where you’d written half your songs with his hoodie draped over your shoulders, where he’d fallen asleep on the couch listening to your voice through the glass.

It was late. Past midnight. The hallway lights were dim when he pushed open the door with the spare key you’d never asked for back.

You were alone, hunched over the mixing board in oversized sweats, headphones half-on, eyes red-rimmed from another night of forcing melodies through the numbness.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Your head snapped up. Panic flooded your veins like ice water. You shot to your feet so fast the swivel chair rolled back and hit the wall with a clatter.

“Cheol—” Your voice cracked. “What are you… you’re not supposed to be here.”

He looked wrecked. Travel-worn, dark circles under his eyes, hair messy from the flight, but those sharp eyes were locked on you with a desperation that made your stomach twist.

He crossed the small studio in three strides, stopping just short of touching you.

“Why?” His voice was soft. So painfully soft. Not angry, not demanding—just raw, searching, like he was still trying to solve the puzzle you’d shattered without warning.

“Baby, why did you do that? A text? After everything? I kept rereading it on every flight, every hotel room… I couldn’t believe it. I still don’t.”

You backed up until your hips hit the edge of the console. Your hands came up instinctively, pressing against his chest—not hard, but enough to create distance.

“It’s for the best, okay? We… we can’t do this anymore. Please, just go. You have the boys, the comeback schedule, everything. Don’t make this harder.”

He didn’t budge. His gaze searched your face, reading every tremble in your lips, every flicker of your eyes.

“I know you. Two years, and you think I can’t tell when you’re lying?” His voice stayed gentle, but there was steel underneath—the leader who refused to let cracks form in what mattered. “Tell me the truth. What happened?”

You shook your head, pushing weakly again. “It’s better this way. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but you need to leave. For your career. For Seventeen.”

He caught your wrists gently, not forcing, just holding.

Then he stepped closer, caging you against the console with his body—broad shoulders and steady warmth that used to feel like safety, now felt like the edge of a cliff. His forehead nearly touched yours. You could smell the faint airplane scent on his clothes, feel the exhaustion radiating off him.

“Look me in the eyes,” he whispered, voice low and rough with emotion, “and tell me you don’t love me anymore. Tell me you don’t want us anymore. Say it clearly, right now, and I’ll walk out that door for good. I won’t fight you. I’ll let you go.”

Your throat closed. You opened your mouth, trying to force the words out—the lie that would set him free.

“I… I—”

Nothing. No sound followed. Your vision blurred as hot tears spilled over, tracking down your cheeks in silent rivers. Your lips trembled, but the declaration wouldn’t come.

You couldn’t do it.

Not when his eyes were so close, so full of love and hurt and hope all at once.

Seungcheol’s expression crumpled. The tension in his shoulders melted. One hand released your wrist to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear with heartbreaking tenderness.

“Tell me what happened, baby,” he murmured, voice breaking softly. “Please. Let me in.”

The dam shattered.

You crumpled forward into his chest, sobs tearing out of you as weeks of buried terror and guilt poured free.

“Hybe… they called me in. Showed pictures. They said—they threatened to leak everything, to ruin your momentum, the group’s contracts, the boys’ futures. Military service, everything. They said I’d be the reason Seventeen fractures. I couldn’t… I couldn’t risk you. Any of you. I’d give up my career in a heartbeat, but not yours. Not theirs. So I ended it. Through text because I knew if I heard your voice I’d break”

Your words dissolved into heaving cries, fists clutching his shirt like he might vanish.

“I’m sorry, Cheol. I’m so, so sorry. I never stopped loving you. I thought I was protecting you—”

Seungcheol wrapped his arms around you instantly, pulling you flush against him.

One hand cradled the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles down your spine. He held you like you were fragile glass, chin resting on your hair as his own eyes glistened.

“Shh… hey, hey. I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice thick. “You’re okay now. We’re okay. God, baby, you carried all that alone? For me? For us?” He pressed a kiss to your temple, then another to your wet cheek.

“You idiot. My brave, stupid, beautiful idiot. You don’t have to protect me by destroying yourself. That’s not how this works.”

He rocked you gently, letting you cry it all out against his chest. “Hybe doesn’t get to decide this. Pledis, the company—none of them. We’ll figure it out together. I’ll talk to them, to management. We’ve faced worse. But I’m not losing you over threats and shadows. Not after two years of choosing each other every single day.”

Your sobs quieted into hiccups, but you still clung to him. “I hurt you so much… the text… while you were on tour…”

“And I survived it because I know you. Deep down, I knew something was wrong.” He pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up, meeting your swollen eyes with the softest smile—the one that always made your heart flip. The dimples peeked through despite everything.

“I love you. That didn’t stop for a second. Not on stage, not on flights, not when I was dying inside. You’re my home. The boys love you too—they’ll understand. We’ll make it safe. No more hiding. No more running.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re not alone anymore. Never again. I’ve got you, baby. Always.”

You nodded weakly, fresh tears slipping free—but these felt different. Lighter. His arms tightened around you, warm and solid, grounding you in the studio that had witnessed too many lonely nights.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I missed you more,” he breathed, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your lips—slow, reverent, full of every unsaid promise.

“We’re going to be okay”

For the first time in weeks, the weight on your chest began to lift. In his arms, with his quiet reassurances wrapping around you like a blanket, the future didn’t feel impossible anymore.

It felt like yours.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You and Seungcheol stayed cocooned in your studio that night, then eventually made it back to his apartment when the members were still out celebrating the tour wrap.

He didn’t let you go for long—his hand always finding yours, his arm slung around your waist, pulling you into his chest every time the guilt tried to creep back in. He whispered reassurances against your hair until you fell asleep to the steady beat of his heart, the first real rest you’d had since sending that text.

“I’m here,” he’d murmur whenever you stirred with fresh apologies on your lips. “We’re fixing this. Together. No more carrying it alone.”

You believed him. In the quiet safety of his arms, it was easy to.

What you didn’t know—what he deliberately kept from you in those soft, healing hours—was that the very next morning, while you were still curled up in his bed wearing one of his oversized shirts, Seungcheol had slipped out early.

He went straight to HYBE.

No appointment. No manager smoothing the way. Just the leader of Seventeen walking into the towering building with quiet, unshakeable resolve burning in his eyes.

The same executives who had sat across from you weeks earlier looked up in surprise when he entered the conference room, jaw set, shoulders squared the way he did before a crucial stage or a difficult leader meeting.

After a long conversation and argument between them, the head executive gave a curt nod. “We’ll… discuss internally.”

Seungcheol’s gaze didn’t waver. “Discuss fast. Because if she cries one more tear because of this building, I won’t be this polite next time.”

He left without waiting for more.

You never knew the details of that meeting. Not then.

All you knew was that when Seungcheol returned that afternoon, he looked lighter.

He crawled back into bed with you, pulling you into his lap despite your sleepy protests, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone until you giggled through the lingering sadness.

“Everything okay?” you mumbled against his neck, still half-asleep, fingers tracing the familiar lines of his shoulders.

He hummed, nuzzling into your hair. “Better than okay, baby. I just took care of some things. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

You didn’t push. In his arms, with the way he held you like you were the most precious thing in his world, it was easy to let the questions fade.

“I love you. I’m so proud of how strong you were. But you don’t have to be strong alone now.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

As the sun dipped low and painted the apartment in golden light, you were both on the couch—your head in his lap, his fingers carding gently through your hair.

You looked up at him, heart full and aching in the best way. “Thank you… for coming after me. For not believing that stupid text.”

Seungcheol leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted like home and second chances. When he pulled back, his eyes were soft, dimples showing in that way that made your chest flutter.

“I’d cross every ocean and every stupid company rule for you,” he murmured, thumb brushing your lower lip. “You’re stuck with me now. No more running. No more hiding. Just us.”

You smiled through misty eyes, pulling him down for another kiss.

What you didn’t know—yet—was that behind the scenes, the threats had quietly dissolved. HYBE had backed off, the photos buried deeper, the pressure redirected into careful corporate silence. Seungcheol had made sure of it, protecting you the same way you had tried to protect him.

Because that’s what you did for each other.

And for the first time in weeks, the future felt wide open—scary, yes, but bright with the promise of facing it hand in hand.

No more secrets. No more sacrifices in the dark.