collection of paradoxes

you sigh deeply, peering at him over the edge of the blanket which you’ve tucked right up to your chin. “i was just thinking.”

“was it hard?” he coos sympathetically, snickering when you lightly shove him away, offended.

“you’re being mean.”

jeonghan cups your cheeks, still smiling as he kisses your forehead apologetically. “okay, i’m sorry, my love,” he soothes. “go on. i’m listening.”

your arms stretch out a little, waving them above your curled up figures as you speak, all drawn-out — “i was just thinking…”

“mm.” he can tell you’re getting to a stage of tiredness nearing delirium. it’s cute, how hard you’re trying to force your eyes open and not slur your words.

“do you even like me?”

whatever jeonghan was expecting, it sure as hell wasn’t that. the question throws him for a loop, and he sits up in bed to look down at you properly, trying to understand if you’re serious. “there’s no way,” he says finally, “that you’re actually thinking about this.”

“i just meant — ”

“the tiredness has gone to your head.”

you’re smiling suddenly, because that’s all the answer you really needed. you feel silly for asking the question in the first place — a momentary lapse in judgement.

jeonghan, however, is still reeling. “do you even like me,” he repeats to himself, scoffing. “weren’t you there?”

“where?”

“at our wedding. where i married you.”

“kind of, but — ”

“i didn’t kind of marry you!”

“okay, okay, i’m sorry!” you explode, giggling at his expression of absolute increduloty.

he lies back down, finally. muttering again — “do i like you. what a fucking question. i’m literally in love with you.”

“i’m sorry,” you say, wrapping your arms around him with a smile, “i was being stupid. i just wanted to hear it!”

“i told you, like, ten times today!”

“one more. pleease.”

jeonghan sighs and smooths a hand against your forehead, softening against you. “i love you and like you and everything. just go to sleep now.”

satisfied, you curl against him. “i love and like and everything you too. goodnight, baby.”

an / just a very small very terrible thing because i can’t sleep 😨 one day i will write something better today is not that day

2. “What is it?” he asked. “Want me to make you feel good?” No, you wanted to say. No, just want you to make me feel.

wc: 6900 || read more posting: May 24

3. wanna be a cicada with me? vernon what the fuck its a serious question

wc: 5100 || read more posting: May 31

4. “Don’t go home. Stay. Jagi, stay here.” And, he had to give you credit - you at least told him the truth. “I can’t.”

wc: 6600 || read more posting: June 7

5. “What about now?” he asks. “What?” “You said not back then,” he explains. “You said back then you couldn’t give me what I wanted. What about now?”

When Satuel brings your lunch, you beg to go to the turret library. You don’t even need a book, you just need to walk. 

“You coming?” you ask Namjoon.

“I guess so,” he sighs.

Time crawls even from the turret. You’re bored, restless, anxious knowing you’re wasting time. You need the prince to agree to the ritual; it’s the only way to move forward.

“Can we head back?” Namjoon asks after a few hours, startling you from your reverie as you stare out the turret windows over the landscape below. 

“Do we have to?” you ask absently. This is better than your rooms, in your opinion. At least here there’s a window. 

“I have to pee,” he says flatly. 

You sigh. “Go with Satuel,” you whine. “I’m fine here, you’ll only be gone a minute. Ask her. I don’t want to leave.”

You know you’re being petulant and you can’t seem to stop. He frowns at you, not liking the idea. 

“It’s fine,” you insist. 

Namjoon makes his way to the stairs, and you wait to see if he’ll come back to tell you that Satuel refused to take only him. It’s the reaction you expect. Instead, the minutes tick by, and no Namjoon.

Then, you hear movement on the stairs and you sigh. “Alright,” you say, rising, “I knew it was a long-shot. I’m coming.”

You turn, and find the doorway filled with the Infracti man who’d cornered you on your first night.

In the light of day, with the light from the window streaming through, he seems even more frightening; you can see the hatred etched clearly on his face. Your throat tightens and your pulse quickens. You stare at him, frozen, as if he might not see you if you don’t move.

“You made a lot of trouble for me, morsel,” he says, low, stepping closer. 

Fury races through you, so quickly it’s like being engulfed in flames. Last time, you’d been a scared little human. It’s been less than a week, but you have more to your name this time. You won’t forget what you are.

Maybe your mortal body can’t match his inhuman one, but you’ve got more than your fists to fight with.

“Call me morsel one more time,” you growl, starting to call up magic even as you speak, “and you’ll never eat again.”

He laughs at this, throwing his head back, and you take the opportunity to strike. The spell you’d used to slam your bathroom door pops into your head and you shout it, throwing your hands towards him as forcefully as you can.

He flies backwards, hitting the stone wall with a sickening crunch. You move quickly, putting the library’s heavy wooden table between you and widening your stance, ready to go again. 

He rises slowly, not laughing now. His eyes swirl with fury and he openly bares his fangs, his stance hunched and animalistic. He moves lightning quick - almost too quick for your mostly-human eyes - and you panic, shouting the same spell and throwing your hands towards the floor around you. 

You don’t know what you were hoping for - a shield, maybe, or for a hole to open up and drop him down to the turret’s bottom. You’re too new to this, too sloppy, too desperate. Instead of any of those things, the stone floor around you crumbles and jumps, large chunks flying up into the air before dropping all around you, like an earthquake surrounding you in a perfect circle.

It wasn’t what you intended, but it works. As he zips towards you, nearly invisible, he’s caught by the chunks of stone, knocking him off his feet. You take advantage of the opportunity and toss him again, more cleanly this time, throwing him forcefully into the wall a second time, much of the rubble going with him.

His furious gaze finds yours as you stand over him, heart pounding. “Little witch,” he hisses. “You’ll regret that.”

You don’t wait to find out - you run down the spiral stairs so fast that you can’t believe you don’t miss one. You’re almost at the bottom when you can hear him behind you, in close pursuit. 

You face him again in the hallway below, wishing desperately you had something besides slam the door in your magical arsenal. Your chest heaves as you pant against both exertion and terror. 

He stalks closer, normal speed, and you try the spell again, but it does nothing - you’ve missed, or you’ve misspoken the incantation, or you’re just out of juice. 

“I’ll never eat again?” he mocks your earlier words as he crowds you towards the wall behind you. “I might eat right now. Maybe I’ll take you with me and make you my new favorite meal. Maybe I’ll bleed you dry. Maybe I’ll make you a snack that lasts.”

He’s close enough that you can see your panicked reflection in the whorl of his black eyes, can see the wetness clinging to his bared fangs, can see the unnatural sharpness of his fingernails that more resemble claws. 

There’s a shout, and you both turn. Dansoo comes out of nowhere, and behind him you can see Satuel take off in the opposite direction at a sprint. In the time it took you to glance in Satuel’s direction, Dansoo has put himself between you and the monster. 

Dansoo is one of the monsters too. You can’t seem to forget that, even as he pushes the Infracti back. 

“You dishonor your house,” Dansoo growls. “You dishonor the Guard. That is a guest of the royal family, and you’ve threatened her life twice this week.”

“Move, Dansoo,” the beast bites back, batting his hands away, his eyes on his prey, focused. He’s engaged in a hunt, and there will be no snapping him out of it. Dansoo grunts as he pushes back against the monster’s assault. 

You press yourself against the wall, the fury and power you’d felt upstairs leaking away from you as you watch the monsters grapple with each other. You feel cold and detached, even as you consider that if Dansoo makes one misstep you might both die. 

Reinforcements arrive quicker than you expect, led by Satuel, and three of them take the offender by the arms and pull him away from Dansoo, who’s managed to hold him in place, at least. You don’t relax, you feel no relief. You’re still surrounded by them, outnumbered by them. 

You don’t know where Namjoon is. You don’t know if he’s okay. 

Then, Prince Taehyung stalks up the corridor, radiating fury, brows scrunched and fists tight. His mouth pushes together making a line so thin it’s barely there.

Relief courses through you, the tension melting from your body. It is the first moment that you think you might survive.

“Take him to my father,” he orders, as soon as he’s close enough. “I’ll be there soon.”

He pauses by Dansoo, who nods at him, breathing heavily, indicating that he’s alright. 

The prince reaches you, stops before you, scanning you with wide eyes. His hands skim along your arms as if checking for wounds. “We were in time?” he asks. “You’re not harmed?”

“No,” you say hollowly, your voice echoing in the corridor. You still feel out of your body, out of your mind, like someone else is speaking, the words coming from within you without any of your mental facilities checking in. You’re not even answering the question he asked as you babble, “No, I can’t do this, I can’t stay here -” 

His eyes widen further, and you realize you’re sobbing as you answer. You can’t care, you don’t have enough left in you to care. Your knees give and he moves with you, hands on your elbows, as you sink to a crouch, still crying.

“I dreamed of this place,” you cry, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes, as if you can staunch the flow. “I studied it and learned about it and dreamed of it, how magical and amazing it would be. And now I’m here and everyone wants to hurt me - you, the Queen, even the other human -”

You know you aren’t making sense; Namjoon hasn’t hurt you, though his doubt in you has hurt at times. You can’t stop yourself, and Prince Taehyung just listens as you cry, pretty mouth turned into a frown. “I want to go home. I want to leave Infracticus. It’s not worth it, none of this is worth it! Fuck the curse, I don’t care if you sleep! I don’t care if you kill! It’s not worth it!”

You’re screaming this last part, one hand pushing uselessly at him, uncaring about the prince’s secret or your own safety; you have no control over your mouth, no control over your tears, no control over the way your entire body shakes hard enough that it hurts when your knees knock together. 

When it’s clear you’re done screaming, words giving way to broken sobs alone, Prince Taehyung rubs his thumbs along your shoulders, where his hands came to rest after helping you down.

He says your name quietly, but you can’t stop crying. 

“Where’s Namjoon?” you manage through shuddering gasps.

“He’s back at your rooms,” the prince says quietly. “Satuel got him to safety.”

This calms you just enough that you manage one deep breath. You hold it, lungs spasming, then let it out slowly, tears still leaking down your cheeks, unfettered.

Prince Taehyung says your name again, then asks gently, “Can I take you somewhere? Away from here? Do you trust me?”

You try another breath, trying desperately to get ahold of yourself, but it rips out of you in a fracturing exhale as you fail to hold it. 

“Yes,” you gasp, wiping at your eyes, each breath shuddering and messy. Somehow, despite all of this, you do. 

More than Satuel. More than Namjoon. 

If anyone here wants you alive, you know it’s the prince. 

–

He doesn’t speak to you as he leads you through the palace, nor when you get outside. It’s still light out, and you recognize the way to the stable. You’ve never come here while it’s light, and you’re able to make it down the steps without his help. 

The sky has been beautiful at night when you’ve come here, but the sight of the rolling ocean calms your spirit. You breathe in time with the sound of waves as you follow the prince to the stables, and by the time you arrive, you’ve stopped shaking. 

“Saddle her,” Prince Taehyung tells the guards, and you look at him sharply. 

The look he gives you is understanding, affectionate.

“Still trust me?” he asks. 

You nod, mute. Your body has stopped trembling, but you feel weak and shaken, like just existing now requires more energy than you have left.

The guards lead Potato out, fitted with a strange saddle and bridle. Prince Taehyung takes the lead and the guard steps away. 

“You’ll sit in front,” he tells you softly. “The idea is to put your foot in the stirrup -” he points, “and swing your other leg over. Can you do that?”

“Probably,” you answer, eyeing Potato warily. She tosses her mane, paws at the sand. You turn to the prince. “Are we going… underwater?”

He smiles, shakes his head. “Only your legs will get wet. Do you want to leave your shoes here?”

Several minutes later, you do as the prince suggested, stepping into the stirrup and throwing your other leg over Potato’s back, settling into the saddle. Potato shifts beneath you and you cling to her mane, sure you’ll fall. 

But Prince Taehyung is right behind you, wrapping an arm around your stomach and pulling you tight against his front. It’s comforting, somehow, and you fight the urge to relax back against him; you aren’t sure how he’d react if you did - probably, it would be weird.

He leans forward to speak close to your ear. “It’s going to feel strange,” he advises. “You aren’t used to an amarisca’s gait. Trust me - trust that if I’m not frightened, you don’t need to be. You hold her mane, and I’ll hold you. Squeeze your legs on the saddle and try not to fight the motion.”

“That’s a lot of directions to follow,” you say. The attack at the palace looms in your mind, trying to poke into your conscious thought even as you try to allow yourself to be distracted, and the adrenaline in your system hasn’t died all the way down. It thrums through your body, making you feel half-delirious. You aren’t entirely sure this isn’t a dream. You still feel a little floaty and out-of-body from what happened inside.

The first few steps into the ocean are fine - no different from riding a horse, which you’ve done once or twice in your life. But once the amarisca can swim, the motion changes entirely. You gasp, and Prince Taehyung pulls you back tightly again, his chest solid and unmoving behind you.

The galloping motion is more like a dive, like the animal is diving into each wave as her powerful front legs tread through the water, her fish’s tail undulating behind you. Prince Taehyung’s arm holds you against him, his grip unwavering, as he steers with his free hand. 

“Don’t fight it,” he repeats, close to your ear. You shudder, and you know he can feel it, as tightly as you’re pressed together. You hope he’ll chalk it up to the cold of the sea, not his lips near your neck, his hand splayed on your stomach. “When she dives, lean into it a little.”

You try to follow his directions, following Potato’s rocking motion through the water, trying to ignore how cold your legs are, how loud the wind is, how Prince Taehyung’s hand is gripping your middle tightly to hold you against him, how much you like it.

A particularly big wave rocks over your thighs, and you scream once, startled more than anything.

He chuckles behind you. “We’re fine,” he assures you, loud enough to be heard over the roar of the sea and the wind. The water is up to your thighs and it’s freezing. The prince’s Infracti body offers you no warmth. But at least it doesn’t let you fall off.

You’re not sure how long you ride; long enough that your legs go numb to the ocean’s temperature, long enough that you start to get concerned about it. 

That’s when the prince points ahead, and you squint. Sure enough, you can see a pocket of trees ahead, seeming to rise out of the water. But as Potato brings you closer, you can see that there’s a tiny island here. 

It’s a bit rocky - no pun intended - when Potato switches from swimming to walking on the pebbled shore, but you hang on tight, and Prince Taehyung doesn’t let you fall. He halts Potato once she’s solidly on dry land, and hops down behind you.

You want to sink into the dirt when the prince helps you down, relieved to be back on something solid, but you stand, swaying a bit. You still feel like you’re in a dream. Above you, the sky is cloudy, but no rain falls. It’s grey in every direction - even the dark ocean water seems to melt into grey at the horizon, as if there’s no real line between sea and sky. You can’t see the palace from here; you could be back in the human world - there’s nothing here indicating that you aren’t.

This calms you more than you’d like to admit.  

“I have to tie her up,” he tells you. “Stay here.”

As if you could go anywhere. You look around instead; the trees you saw from further out are some kind of conifer, grouped together just off-center of the island. The shore is rocky - it’s mostly packed dirt where Potato landed, but most of the rest of the island’s edges are jagged rock.

You feel better, so far from the palace that it’s not even visible over the horizon. With nothing around you but ocean, you feel truly safe for the first time since you arrived. No one can get to you here. No one knows you’re even here except Prince Taehyung, and he won’t hurt you unless you’re here after midnight. Your heartbeat begins to settle down, your breathing evens. 

When he returns, Prince Taehyung plops unceremoniously into the dirt.

“Join me,” he jokes.

“I’ll get my pants dirty,” you object. After everything that’s happened in the last two hours, you can’t believe you care. 

“Who are you trying to impress?” he asks easily, like it’s a big joke.

You arch an eyebrow at him. 

“Me?” He laughs. In spite of everything that just happened, the sound is lovely, deep and musical and welcome. “My pants are muddy already.”

This is true. So you do as he asks, delicately sitting next to him, curling up and hugging your knees.

You like this version of him, outside the palace walls - quick to smile, oddly funny. Of course, a tiny part of you likes the quiet, reserved version of him you get when he’s inside, too.

You sit in silence for a few minutes, watching the waves crash on the island’s beach. 

Finally getting serious, he speaks. “I’ve been alive a long time,” he says, slowly and seriously. “I’ve been very angry before, too. I’ve been very scared before. I have felt, like you, desperately alone.”

He waits for a second, eyes still on the ocean. From where she’s tied to a tree trunk, you can hear Potato snort.

“I always felt better here,” he tells you. “It feels kind of like leaving, doesn’t it?”

You nod. “It does,” you say. “The problem is, eventually I have to go back.”

“I’m sorry we’ve failed you so badly,” he says mournfully. “I promised you that you’re safe here, and you’ve experienced the opposite. That never should have happened - the first time, or this time.”

“Yes, great protector, won’t let anything happen to his venefici,” you mutter.

He visibly flinches when you say the word.

“And I’m sorry,” he says slowly, “for saying that to you. I… was not dealing well with the lack of sleep, or my own feelings regarding… well, that’s besides the point. Sleeping well was very helpful. I feel much better now, and I have you to thank.”

“Don’t thank me until I break the curse,” you say, kicking at the dirt. 

“If you’ll stay,” he ventures, “if you’ll keep trying… I promise to keep you safe. I know we said that from the beginning, but I’ll do better.”

“It’s not a promise you can keep,” you mutter. 

He looks at you, sideways. “I can,” he says. “I underestimated how much work it would be, but I can.”

You don’t believe him, so you change the subject. “You shouldn’t even be out here with me,” you grouse. “You should be sleeping, while you have the chance. You need to rest.”

“I can’t,” he asserts, whining a little. “I struggle to fall asleep, and then when I do - I wake up quickly. I dream about - that night.”

You think about this, think about what he’s really telling you. “That’s a problem that won’t be solved by the countercurse,” you point out. 

“I know,” Prince Taehyung admits, meeting your gaze. “But one thing at a time, right?” He leans back, eyes the heavy clouds above you, then adds, “I think I’d like to give their families something - for the humans I… attacked. You can’t put a price on a life, of course, but… wouldn’t it be right? To give them something for their loss?”

He looks at you openly, as if he desperately needs someone to answer this for him.

“Why don’t you?” you ask. It seems like a fair question.

The prince shakes his head. “Our people have already covered our tracks - erased memories, expunged documents. Made it like they didn’t exist. To ensure that my image goes untainted. To make sure they can’t try me, put my case before a judge. I can’t apologize for killing someone who never existed.”

Your stomach churns. “That’s illegal,” you say darkly. 

Prince Taehyung inclines his head. “I don’t condone it,” he promises. “It was done without my consent. I should be tried. I should stand trial. I know that.”

“But you can’t,” you say slowly, understanding dawning over you. “Not without exposing your parents for the cover-up.”

“And what about the one who lived?” he asks, looking up at you plaintively. “They told me she won’t remember it happening… but isn’t that worse? To have all the fear the trauma brought, but to not know why?”

You look at him, seeing something new in him - again. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I don’t know what’s worse. I’m not sure either option is worse.”

He shakes his head, rubbing a hand along his forehead. “It is too much to carry,” he whispers, and you’re not sure he’s even talking to you.

“No one is going to forgive you,” you say, and his head snaps up, eyes wide. You continue, choosing your words carefully. “They can’t, their families can’t. You can’t undo what happened. All you can do is take steps to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Help me end the curse, and work on forgiving yourself.”

He takes this in silently, and you wait him out. 

“And you?” he says finally, looking up at you through his dark curls that hang over his eyes. “Will you be working on forgiving yourself?”

You bristle. “For what?”

He cocks his head, like he’s surprised that you don’t know. “For not being human,” he says softly, as if it’s obvious. 

You look away. 

“We should both rest,” he says finally. “I want you to know… the man who came after you today will be dealt with - he won’t be in the palace. He’ll be gone already by the time we get back. And I’m adding extra bodies to your personal guard - it won’t just be Satuel and Dansoo anymore.”

You look at him, afraid to voice what’s in your head - that he’s promising to protect you from monsters by giving you more monsters. 

But Dansoo had fought to protect you, today. And Satuel had run for the prince, for more guards, had gotten Namjoon to safety. 

“Okay,” you whisper, because it’s better than admitting that you don’t feel any safer. That you’re sure you’ll be plagued with nightmares tonight. That you still want nothing more than to solve the curse, and go back to your old life - as quickly as possible. 

Even if, in your old life, you didn’t get to ride amarisca into the sea.

“Do you feel better?” he asks you, and there’s something earnest in it. Hopeful, maybe. Like he really hopes he helped.

Better, you think. “Better than I was,” you allow. Not better better. You won’t feel better until you’re home again. Maybe not even then. You might always see swirling black eyes, whenever the lights get dim.

“Let’s do the ritual in the morning,” the prince suggests, looking over at you openly. 

“Okay,” you agree. Because you want to go home. “Let’s do that.”

–

Prince Taehyung brings you back to your rooms. You’re painfully aware of the dirt on your ass, the way the legs of your trousers cling to your calves, still damp from ocean water, as you make your way through the palace. But you pass no one but the royal family’s guards, and they remain impassive.

You’re sure they’re curious. Maybe it’s normal for the prince to traipse about the palace covered in mud and sea salt, but not with a human in tow. 

If they even see you as human. The Infracti who’d attacked you had called you little witch. Perhaps they all know what you really are. 

He stops in front of your doors, looks at his feet for a second. Dansoo and Satuel are in place, and you notice with a guilty sinking in your stomach that Dansoo sports a scrape across one cheekbone, the wound clearly fresh. 

“So…” the prince says, looking up at you through his lashes. “Do you think you’ll stay?”

The question surprises you so much that your brain goes a bit empty. You blink at him, taking ages to catch up. 

“Do I… do I really have a choice?” you ask finally, voice hushed. Dansoo and Satuel stare straight ahead, pretending not to listen.

The prince flinches, like he’s hurt by this question. “Of course you do,” he says firmly. “That’s why I took you - I was - this was my attempt at convincing you to stay. But the choice is yours.”

You want to leave. But not as badly as you want to end the prince’s curse. 

“I’m going to see this through,” you say, determination winning the shoving contest with your fear. “Even if I die trying, apparently.”

The look he gives you is rueful. “I think you’re braver than me,” he says quietly. And then, all business, “I’ll send for you in the morning. For the ritual. We’ll conduct it in my rooms.”

“Okay.” You turn to enter your rooms, but you pause and bow to your guards. “Thank you for… earlier.” You rise, eyeing the scrape on Dansoo’s face. “I’m sorry you were hurt.”

“Our orders are to keep you from harm,” Dansoo says stiffly. Satuel says nothing, just gives you a tight nod. 

You try not to let this response sting. You let yourself inside. 

Namjoon jumps to his feet and you both blurt, “Are you okay?”

“Where did you go?” you ask, rushing forward. You have the urge to hug him, you’re so relieved to find him unharmed, but you’ve only known him a week and you’re not sure it would be appropriate. Instead, you hover just outside his personal bubble, hands raised like you’re going to scan him for wounds.

“Where did I go?” he echoes. “Where did you go? One second, there were literally vampires fighting over you in the corridor, and then everyone was gone. All Satuel would tell me was that you were with the prince!”

You sink onto the couch. You’re half tempted to send for a stiff drink; you’ve never wanted one so badly in your life. 

“That Infracti…” you explain, “He found me the first night. When I… went out, when I shouldn’t have.” 

Namjoon’s eyes narrow, and you wonder if you imagine the flicker of protectiveness you think you see. 

“The Prince found us, luckily, and also luckily didn’t send me packing,” you admit. “But I guess that guy felt like he had a score to settle or something. I shouldn’t have sent Satuel away. I should have gone with you.”

Namjoon sits too, begins to fill in his side of the story. “We were in the corridor when he went up,” he explains. “She got another guard and, like, threw us into a nearby room and then went running to get help. By the time I got back to the hallway, you were gone. But she took me back up to get my papers I’d left on the table and the floor is all fucked up.”

He looks at you quizzically. “Did you do that?”

You fiddle with your fingers, embarrassed. “I was just trying to keep him away from me.”

Namjoon lets out a disbelieving breath. “I can’t believe you fought off a hunting Infracti without any magical training,” he says. 

“I didn’t do a very good job,” you mutter quietly. “Hence the hole in the floor. That’s not what I was trying to do.”

“You got away,” he points out.

“Only because of Dansoo and Satuel,” you argue. “If they hadn’t been in the corridor, I was done.”

It feels strange to say it so casually, when it’s so true, and so nearly came to pass.

“Anyway,” you say, clearing your throat. “I kind of freaked out. Prince Taehyung took me somewhere quiet, away from the palace, so I could calm down.”

He looks you over, clearly seeing the mud on your damp pants.

You give him a sheepish look. “It may have involved riding an amarisca. In the ocean.”

He laughs a little. “I guess that’s one way to distract you,” he says. “He knew what he was doing.”

“He agreed to try the ritual,” you say, suddenly remembering. “He said he’ll send someone for me in the morning. Will you join us?”

Namjoon looks surprised - over the Prince agreeing or your invitation, you’re not sure. “I thought you didn’t want my energy getting mixed in?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, chagrined. “No, it’ll be fine if you’re there - you just have to stand far enough away once we start.”

“O-kay,” he says slowly. “Then, yes, I’d like to be there. Wake me when they come to get you? I’ll leave my door unlocked.”

“Sure,” you agree. 

You both stand there awkwardly. It occurs to you that you may both be considering the ways you’ve been unfair to each other. 

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt today,” you say quietly, unable to look at him. “And if I haven’t made it clear… I’m glad to have you here. I’m glad to have someone…”

“Human?” he laughs.

You smile. “I was going to say on my side, but yeah. That, too.”

He softens. “I’m glad you’re okay, too,” he says. “And if I haven’t made it clear… I trust your decisions. My grandfather set you as the case lead for a reason. Even if I don’t always act like it.”

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, after a minute of shifting from foot to foot. “Okay… I’m going to go to bed. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

You can’t sleep. Swirling black eyes rise in your vision every time your eyes close. After nearly an hour of trying, you give up. You turn on your lamp and pull out the spellbook. You search the index for something that looks defensive, and you practice it again, and again, and again.

<;- Prev | Next ->

we're back!!! thanks for reading!!!

Your face heats as soon as you’ve said the words; you hope they both know that you mean with Potato, that it’s not a reference to your illogical, absurd, and frankly embarrassing crush on the beautiful, otherworldly prince. Luckily, it seems both men are oblivious to your near misstep.

“You’re welcome to come, too,” the prince offers, turning to Namjoon. “I was just going to walk to my private stables and give her - Potato - some treats. I thought…” he trails off, eyes on your face, like he’s gauging your reaction. “I thought maybe Y/N might benefit from the walk and the fresh air. But of course you’re welcome, too.”

Namjoon’s face goes funny, like he’s doing those puzzle pieces again. “Thank you,” he says slowly, looking at you, not the prince. “But I’ll stay here. I can finish up writing what we were discussing. I agree, the walk will do you good.”

You want to snap at both of them, you don’t know what’s good for me, but you know they don’t deserve it. And you do want to see the amarisca again. 

“Let me get shoes,” you murmur, and head for your room. You return with sneakers in hand and in a thicker sweatshirt; the sun has been down for some time and you know the sea air will be chilly. 

Prince Taehyung leads you the same way he had the previous night, both in cloaks that you hadn’t noticed him holding until he handed one to you. You clock that Sateul trails you at a respectable distance - close enough to see you, too far to hear you, if she was human. Probably, since she’s not, she can hear every word. 

“This feels like a pity walk,” you admit a bit sourly.

Prince Taehyung gives you an indulgent smile. “I feel like you got hit twice today,” he says. “First, my mother frightens you, and then… it can’t have been easy to find out… what you did. That, combined with your little accident the other night… I honestly can’t believe you haven’t packed up to leave already.”

“I thought about it,” you say dryly. But the truth is, you want to work on the curse. You want to see more of the palace, of Infracticus. You want to spend more time with the prince.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he says quietly. 

You wonder if it’s only because he needs you to break his curse. A foolish thought, one that has no place amidst everything else swirling around your head. But still, the thought persists. 

Outside, the fresh air soothes you immediately, the temperature is just right, and you can hear the waves and the gulls in the distance. You do feel better, just walking silently side by side. The tension melts from your shoulders, tiny bits at a time.

“This is nice.”

“I’m not such terrible company after all?” he teases, a mischievous smile growing sideways across his face.

You scowl at him playfully. “It wasn’t about you. Today… really sucked. Sorry. But, I think I wanted to just retreat to my space and sulk for a while.”

He takes this in silently for a few strides and then offers, quietly, “I’m sorry again about my mother. I know my promises can’t mean much to you at this point, but her intentions weren’t to hurt you. She felt your magical signature - we all can - and was just curious. She wanted to know how strong it was. She’s… used to just taking what she wants, as I’m sure you can imagine. It didn’t occur to her that it might be frightening or unpleasant to you. I know that’s no excuse, but I hope you’ll forgive us.”

You listen seriously. You’ll forgive him, you think, if only because he is so damn earnest, and his skin looks pretty in the moonlight. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, which isn’t an answer, but he lets it slide. Your magical signature. You hadn’t even known you’d had that. You still don’t know what exactly it means.

You walk together a little further, your footsteps joining the shrill gull calls.

Eventually, Taehyung’s stride slows, and he leans his elbows against the stone balustrade, looking wistfully up at the deep purple sky. The periwinkles and violets of the early afternoon have faded to a deep mottled purple, the color of a third-day bruise. You can see that you’re very close to the staircase he’d helped you down the previous night, the ones that lead down to the sand.

The stars literally take your breath away. Taehyung turns to you, grinning.

“Better than above, right?” he asks, pride evident in his tone. 

“There are so many,” you whisper, eyes scanning the sky above you. It seems like every time you look away from a spot and then back to it, the number of stars doubles.

You stand side by side in silence, both leaning on the stone wall, eyes on the stars far above you. Finally, Prince Taehyung turns to look at you, frowning just slightly.

“May I ask you something?” he ventures. “I don’t want to upset you… but I’m curious.”

You smile a little wryly at the irony of this admission. You see the pattern from the Queen earlier to the prince now - admitting he may upset you, but entitled to the answer anyway. At least he has the decency to ask first.

“Go ahead,” you tell him. You’re feeling less on edge out here under the stars, with the cool breeze and ocean’s song. Whatever it is, you’ll face it.

“You really didn’t know?” There’s clear disbelief in his voice. Then, he clarifies, “About your magic.”

You shake your head, a stone skipping and sinking heavy in your stomach. “Had no idea,” you say with a sigh. “I really thought… I really thought I earned being good at breaking curses. I thought it was hard work, grit, that kind of thing.”

Understanding dawns on the prince’s face. “Ah,” he says, and then says nothing else.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Ah, what?”

He gives you a guilty smile. “I didn’t understand why you were upset. I imagined any human would be excited to learn that they were… more, that they had more.”

You eye him stonily. “Being human,” you say evenly, “is enough. It isn’t less.”

His eyes widen comically. “No,” he says quickly, waving his hands between you. “I didn’t mean that. It came out wrong. I just meant -”

“I know what you meant,” you mutter. “No, I wasn’t excited to learn that I’m… I don’t even know what to call myself now.”

He presses his lips together and regards you silently. Then, he says tentatively, “Your accomplishments are not erased by this, you know.”

You look sideways at him, listening. 

“Having a natural magical ability doesn’t mean you didn’t work hard. Your magic is inherent in you the same way your strong will is, your natural intelligence. They are facets of what makes up who you are. How you wield these things - that’s how you earn your accomplishments. You should not discount it.”

“I guess,” you mutter, but secretly, you consider this. “It’s just going to take some getting used to, I think.”

The prince seems to sense that there’s nothing more to gain from pursuing this topic. He starts towards the steps, helping you down as he had the night before. 

At the stable, he places a carrot in your outstretched hand, smiles wide when you let Potato eat it from your flat fingers, her lips tickling your palm. When you press your other hand gently to her snout, her fur soft and warm under your hand, it doesn’t feel like losing a dream, as you’d feared. It feels like stepping into it. Prince Taehyung watches you, eyes twinkling the whole time. 

After, you stand at the fence that creates a paddock in the sea, meant to let Potato swim but not too far. The waves crash just feet from you, and you worry absently about your shoes. 

Prince Taehyung leans his elbows on the fence next to you. “How was it going, before I interrupted? I could see that you were working.”

You shrug. “I feel like we’re near the end of what we can do with the information we have. Unless you let me observe you while the curse is working -”

He glowers. “I gave you my answer about that already,” he says tightly.

“- or unless I run some rituals with you… there’s not more to find. We’ve got all we can from the texts we brought, too.”

This makes him look at you, something sharp in his gaze. “Do you need to research more?” he asks, tone lightening, like he’s excited to help. “We have a dozen libraries in the palace - I never spend much time there, but I’m sure you’d find something helpful.”

This makes you smile a little. “I can’t imagine being alive for hundreds of years and not using it to read everything I could get my hands on.”

He laughs at this, nose wrinkling as he says defensively, “I have other interests!” As his chuckles die away again he adds, “Reading puts me to sleep. I never get past the first page.”

“What do you do instead?” you ask, genuinely curious. 

His grin turns a bit self-deprecating. “Eat, drink, and make merry,” he jokes. 

“Seriously!” you scold.

“I mostly am being serious,” he admits. “I socialize. I dance. I’m fond of music - I play many instruments. Sometimes I look at art, sometimes I try to make my own. I have duties as Prince, of course, but generally I find them interesting. I spend my time quite happily.” His expression turns a bit darker and he adds, “Or, I did. Until this.”

You look at him carefully for the first time since you’d first arrived. You’ve only known this version of him - tight-shouldered, a bit serious. You wonder if he was different before the curse - freer, lighter, happier. You imagine he must have been.

“We’ll fix it,” you promise, though you have no guarantee you’ll keep it. Going back to his original question, you add, “I’d like to see the libraries, if we could. A lot of curse-breaking is looking at precedents, seeing what’s worked before.”

“What exactly are you looking for?” he asks. “I don’t know much about the process, to be honest.”

You grimace. “I probably should have explained it to you better from the start. Like I said yesterday - my first step is to uncover each thread of intention in the original curse. Then when you’ve identified every thread, it’s kind of a game of finding the simplest, shortest amount of steps to counter them. Then, of course, actually casting it correctly can be challenging, too.” 

He’s quiet for a long time, and after a bit of silence - broken only by the crash of waves - you reach out and gingerly rest your fingertips atop his forearm. Like yesterday, when he’d held your hand down the steps, you thrill at the touch.

“They called me for a reason,” you tell him seriously. “I’ve never failed. Sometimes it takes me a while, and sometimes I have to try more than once - but I’ve never not been able to work it out, eventually.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you watch his throat work as he keeps his eyes on the distant horizon. 

“We’ll fix it,” you say again, more determination in your voice this time. “I’ll fix it. Okay?”

Eventually, he sighs and places his other hand on yours, covering it completely. “I have faith in you,” he says, something open in his voice. Like you’ve struggled through the underbrush in the woods and stumbled across a path, the way forward suddenly clear. “I trust you.”

You stay like that a bit longer, acutely aware of his hand on yours, until he sighs and withdraws it, casting a baleful look at the palace above and behind you. “It’s nearing midnight,” he says sadly. “I’d better get to where I belong.”

“Can someone walk me back to my quarters?” you ask, a little embarrassed. “I don’t know the way.”

He furrows his brow at you and reaches for your hand. “Someone?” he repeats, as if offended. “I’m walking you back.”

As if you should have known. As if there were any other option he’d accept.

You aren’t sure what’s happening here. You aren’t sure the purpose of it, the sense of it. But his wavy hair hangs over his browline, his deep eyes are on your face, and that hint of a smile flirts in the corner of his mouth as he waits for you. So you put your hand in his and let him lead you home.

—

In the morning, when Sateul comes to collect the dishes from breakfast, she informs you, “Prince Taehyung has asked me to accompany you to one of the private libraries today.”

You get ready quickly, though Satuel waits patiently outside your doors, at attention. The walk to the libraries is longer than the ones you’ve been accustomed to, and you notice you’re mostly headed up. In fact, the journey ends with a spiral staircase that almost gives you vertigo; you hold the wall gingerly as you take each step carefully. 

This particular library must be at the top of a turret. The view from the windows, peeking between bookshelves, is so phenomenal that you almost forget about your research. 

“I’ll be at the bottom of this staircase,” Satuel tells you. “Please call if you need something.”

“I need an ice bath,” you grumble, massaging your aching calves. Beside you, Namjoon shoots you a sympathetic smile. 

You spend the whole day there, perusing the bookshelves, pulling out tomes that might prove useful. Satuel brings you lunch at midday, and shortly after the three of you trek halfway across the palace to the nearest bathroom, just to go right back up those same damn stairs when you’re done.

But it’s worth it; it takes all three of you to carry back the books you and Namjoon select, about an hour before dinner will be served.

When you drop the books gently onto the low table in your quarters, Satuel heads back to her post in the corridor, and you and Namjoon look down at your haul.

“Not bad,” you muse. 

You settle in, picking up books at random and flipping through to find parts that might be relevant, scanning indexes. When dinner time rolls around, you both put in your order, stopping to eat when the food comes, and then getting right back to work. 

Somehow, you aren’t surprised when the prince arrives at your doors, even though he hadn’t promised to come by, not like yesterday. 

“I was going to ask if you made it to the libraries,” he says, smiling wryly, “but I can see that you have.”

You can’t help it - you beam. “I want to live up there.”

His smile turns into something playful. “That’s what you said about the seaside, too.”

You consider this. “I would like my seaside home to have a turret library,” you finally declare. 

“I’ll work on it,” he teases. Behind you, Namjoon quietly closes the book he was looking through. 

“Anyway,” Prince Taehyung says, clearing his throat a little. “Was it fruitful? Are they helpful?”

“I think so,” you say, looking at Namjoon for confirmation. “We’re working through the books we found, writing down the parts that are useful. It’ll take a while, though. We found a lot.”

“Good,” he says, nodding. “Good. I’m glad you’re making progress.”

You think of his silence by the ocean last night, how you’d felt the need to protect him, to reassure him. 

“We are,” you say solidly. 

He looks at you, tilts his head just slightly. “Can you afford to take a break? I was going to the stable. Namjoon, as always, you are more than welcome. You haven’t seen the amarisca up close, have you?”

“I haven’t,” Namjoon admits. “But I hate to say, I’m not as drawn to magical creatures as Y/N clearly is.”

You press your lips together, wondering if he’s including the prince in that list of magical creatures. 

“I’d like to go,” you venture timidly. 

You feel a little guilty - this isn’t part of the job, it’s adding nothing to your research, you’re leaving Namjoon behind and he’s looking at you with that knowing gleam in his eyes. 

But when you get outside the palace and look at the stars and smell the ocean, and Prince Taehyung holds your hand tightly as you make your way down sea-worn, stone steps… it makes all the bad parts quieter. The fear, the uncertainty, the homesickness, the grief you’ve experienced over the last few days… they don’t seem to cut as deeply when his brown eyes find yours. 

And as long as you don’t let yourself think too much about how pointless that is, how he’s crown prince of a land that’s not your home and you’re a nobody from a tiny university town… as long as you don’t think about that… the distraction is nice. 

This time, when he leads you down the stairs, his hand feels familiar and right as it closes around yours. 

You press a hand gently to the amarisca’s muscly, teal neck, stroking the soft fur there. Prince Taehyung puts his hand atop yours, guiding it down her neck and to the top again, his body pressed close behind yours. You look over your shoulder at him in wonder, and the smile he gives you seems tinged with a sadness that you don’t understand at all.

This time, on the way back, you stop and stare at the stars, and he leans close, close enough that your arms touch as you both look skyward. 

This time, as he leads you back up the damp stairs towards the palace, you tug on his hand.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask. Something in you aches to know the truth. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know. I learned my lesson the first day.”

“I told you,” he says, brow furrowing, “I’m invested in your well-being. If you’re unhappy enough to leave, then I’ll never get better.”

You don’t know if you believe him. You wish you would believe him. The alternative is just sad - you’re not stupid enough to think a six hundred year old Infracti with a crown on his head would be interested in a nothing human.

Focus, you think. Focus on why you’re here. 

When you return to your rooms, Namjoon looks half-asleep on the couch, the lights low.

“How was your field trip?” he asks, stretching and starting to rise. You realize he’d waited up for you. You’re not sure how you feel about this.

“I feel like I’m spinning in circles,” you admit. “Like I can’t remember what I’m really here for.”

“He’s charming,” Namjoon says carefully, pausing on his path to his bedroom.

You choose not to answer that. “We’ll get to work in the morning,” you say finally. “We’ll see what we can come up with, and we’ll work on getting home.”

You wait until Namjoon’s behind his bedroom door, and you bend down to rifle through the books you’d brought from the library until you find the one you’d hidden in with the others.

Beginner Spells and Magical Theory, something you’d never really studied. Something you’d never thought you needed. Something you hadn’t known was a part of you.

You take the book into your bedroom and sit on the edge of your bed holding it, but you don’t crack it open. Eventually, you slide it under your bed and head for the bathroom.

You’re not ready. Tonight is not the night.

-

Then, like a switch flipped, the prince stops coming to check on you. You don’t see Prince Taehyung - or any of the royal family - for the next two days. You and Namjoon stay in your rooms, books spread across the floor, papers on every surface. On the second day, Satuel takes you to the turret library, saying she has the prince’s permission to let you go there for a change of scenery. But he doesn’t come check in either night.

It’s the morning of the third day of solitude (well, solitude with Namjoon) when you roll dramatically over onto your back, the stone floor cool and solid beneath you, and bemoan to the wooden ceiling, “I think my brain is soup.”

“Soup sounds good,” Namjoon says from his spot about six feet away. Books are open in a full circle around him; he has no path out. It seems like an apt metaphor, you think.

“I’m going to be honest about something,” you say, eyes still on the ceiling. 

“When are you ever not?” he quips, but pushes the book he was reading a few inches away and turns to look at you, ready for whatever you’re going to drop on him.

“I think we have everything we’re going to have at this point,” you say, and then struggle to sit up so you can see his reaction. 

He frowns at you. “Why does that not sound the same as I think we’re ready?”

You sigh. “I don’t think we’re ready. I don’t think we have everything. But as far as asking the prince questions and researching what we have… I think this is it. We aren’t getting any further.”

Namjoon looks around the books nearest him, still frowning. “What do you suggest?”

You shrug, even though you do have a few ideas. “I think we should try with what we have,” you say. “I can usually get a read from the first attempt - I can tell if we’re on the right track, going in the right direction. I get a good feel for if we need to remove anything, and sometimes I can press for more.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows shoot up. “You want to try a counter-curse? Already? Do you think that’s safe?”

You tap your feet against the stone floor, thinking. “It’s not unsafe,” you say. “It just might not… seem very productive. But, to me, it’ll help. I just need everyone’s trust, I guess.”

He shakes his head. “I trust you… I’m not so sure about the King and Queen. You can’t just cast on the crown prince willy-nilly and hope something comes of it.”

“Willy-nilly,” you repeat with a scoff. “Very academic of you.”

He tosses a pen at you and you let it clatter to the floor after it bounces off your kneecap. 

“It’s not willy-nilly,” you defend. “The benefits outweigh the risks, Namjoon. I need some direction, and the magic will point me. What are we going to do otherwise, keep spinning our wheels down here while life carries on without us back home?”

He frowns more deeply, but drops your gaze. Finally he asks, “How confident are you that it won’t hurt him? Or, worse, put you out of commission? You know I can’t do this by myself.”

You ignore this last part. “I’m very confident that at worst one or both of us will need to rest for a day or two. Nothing worse than that.”

You stare at each other in silence, both doing calculations in your heads - risks, benefits, all of it.

“My grandfather put you in charge,” he says finally, and you know a victory when you see one. “If you think that’s the best step, I’ll support you.”

Hours later, after you’ve picked up all the books from the floor, after you’ve compiled all the paper you’d scribbled on and made just one cohesive list of counter-threads, after you’ve showered and changed into something presentable, you stand in a mostly empty room of the palace.

The King and Queen are seated. Namjoon stands just behind your left shoulder, ready to help if things go very wrong. Prince Taehyung stands across from you, looking drawn and nervous. 

He can’t be more nervous than you are, you think. Under the King and Queen’s gazes, you feel like a spectacle. 

“I would like to reiterate,” you say, holding up a finger, “that I very much do not expect this to actually break the curse today. However, it should cause no serious harm to try, and I expect that when we are done I’ll know if we’ve miscalculated anything, and a direction on what might still be missing.”

“No serious harm,” Prince Taehyung mutters, and you can’t help but smile across at him.

“You’ll be okay,” you promise. “It just might not be… pleasant.”

He grimaces, but remains quiet this time.

You glance at the paper on the small podium to your right, recounting the steps, mouthing the incantations to yourself as if you’re rehearsing. 

“Okay,” you say finally, holding up a palm for the prince. “I’m ready when you are.”

He seems to need to collect himself, then presses his palm up to yours and waits, anxious eyes on your face, pretty mouth turned down into a frown.

You begin reciting the opening incantations, the ones that call up your magic - the magic you used to think you pulled from the world around you, that you’re now learning comes from deep within you. 

You know when it works, you always do; the feeling is electrifying, thrilling, a euphoria you’ve never felt from anything else. Magic running through your veins like blood makes you feel alive in ways you didn’t know you could before you’d started practicing counter-curses. Now, the electricity runs stronger, as if the magic is magnified by the Infracti touching you. 

It occurs to you that this might be exactly the case. 

You move onto the next counter-threads, speaking slowly and clearly as you try to untangle the pain, the confusion, the suppression of self that Prince Taehyung experiences each night. 

You concentrate on the incantation, but you close your eyes and let yourself feel -  little flickering flame-fingers of magic reaching out and tentatively poking at the mess of magic inside the prince, trying to locate each single thread, ready to tug each one and - ideally - unravel the whole ball. 

You know it’s doing something when he flinches, then carefully presses his palm more firmly against yours, like he’s afraid he’s broken the connection. 

The tendrils of your magic report back - you can feel where each thread of your countercurse connects to a thread of the curse, ready to pull them out. You can feel just how much is left unconnected. 

There’s so much there that your magic hasn’t touched. 

The magic sings to you: not enough, it’s not enough, it isn’t enough, it’s not -

The connection breaks as Prince Taehyung’s eyes flash to fathomless black and there’s a split second where you’re afraid you did the opposite of what you intended, called forth the beast. But then his knees buckle and he starts to drop. 

The Queen shouts and stands, but your reflexes are fast, too. You have the prince by the elbows and you sink to the ground with him, gently. You feel rather than see Namjoon move closer, ready to help. 

By the time you’ve lowered you both to your knees, still clutching his elbows and using all of your core strength to try and hold him upright, he’s back - blinking human-looking eyes at you, fingers twitching and then clutching your arms back.

“That,” he mumbles, “did not feel nice.”

“I know,” you whisper, just for him. “I’m sorry. It’s over now.”

Namjoon makes it to you first, having been standing the closest, and he helps both of you clamber unsteadily to your feet. The King and Queen approach, and you gingerly let go of the prince’s elbows, watching to make sure he’s staying on his feet.

“I suppose it didn’t work,” the King says drolly. 

“I’ve got a pretty good idea where to go from here,” you say, and you do. But the prince is unsteady on his feet, fighting to keep his eyes open and alert. To him, you say, “It’s my professional opinion that you need to rest. You aren’t sleeping at night, and your body needs to recover from what happened here.”

“Then I expect an update tomorrow,” the Queen says coolly, and helps Prince Taehyung to the door, where he finally succeeds at waving her off and heads down the hallway, alone. 

The King follows his wife to the door and they depart as well, without a look back, let alone a goodbye. 

You turn to Namjoon, who is shaking his head at you. “That went well,” he says sarcastically.

“We’re missing threads,” you tell him, certain. “There’s a lot we haven’t uncovered yet. What we have is good - but there’s a lot more. I felt it.”

“So how do we figure that out?” he asks, voice a little rough with frustration. 

You miss Dr. Kim. Namjoon has certainly held his own down here, but you and Dr. Kim had a partnership, mutual trust. His expertise outweighed yours - he would have at least had a suggestion at a time like this, not scorn. 

“There’s a ritual I can try,” you say, thinking out loud. “If he’ll let me.”

“Considering you just tried to knock him out,” Namjoon says dryly, “I don’t think he’s going to be very agreeable.”

“I’m going to try to convince him anyway,” you say decisively. “And I think I should go by myself.”

“Of course you do,” Namjoon says easily, and your temper flares.

“Another person’s energy will affect the reading,” you snap. “I’ll get your energy instead of his. I don’t care what you think - I know this will work, so I’m going. I’ll see you later, at home.”

You leave abruptly, pissed off, not even registering that you’d called your little rooms home. 

Dansoo and Satuel are thankfully just in the corridor, as always, and you request to be taken to the prince’s wing. Satuel brings you, walking in silence ahead of you. When you reach the prince’s doors, she waits with you while one of his personal guards slips inside to ask if he’ll see you.

You’re honestly surprised when she returns and invites you in.

You find Prince Taehyung on the same couches you’d sat on your first night here, after Jimin had brought you to these rooms. 

“I knew you wouldn’t rest,” you say, and he turns to look at you. His face is unreadable, blank - even his humanlike eyes give nothing away. 

“This is resting,” he says evenly. 

You shake your head. “You should try and sleep.”

He turns away again, a defeated slump to his shoulders. “I can’t seem to,” he admits.

You frown, watching him carefully. “May I sit?” you ask. He holds out a hand towards the empty couch opposite him but doesn’t look at you.

You sit gingerly. “I’m sorry for what just happened,” you tell him seriously. “I know it was unpleasant.”

“It was,” he agrees, his voice tight and measured. 

“What did it feel like?” you ask. 

His shoulders tighten. “Like I could feel you poking around behind my ribs,” he says shortly. “And then it hurt.”

“I’m sorry it hurt you,” you murmur. You want to reach out and touch his arm, as you had a few nights ago next to the sea and under the stars, but something stops you. “I want you to know that it wasn’t my doing. The curse… protects itself, let’s say.”

This makes him turn to look at you. “The curse caused that,” he paraphrases, clearly unconvinced.

You nod. “I could feel my counter-threads connecting, and I could feel the threads we hadn’t made connection to yet,” you explain slowly. “But magic knows to protect itself. When I started trying to feel for those unconnected pieces of the curse, it - sort of kicked me out?”

He frowns. “Was it a waste of time, then?”

“Not at all,” you say quickly, encouraged. “What we just did confirmed which threads we identified correctly, and that there are some more to uncover.”

He takes this in silently for a few minutes. Then, he asks, “And, can we uncover the rest?”

“That’s why I came,” you admit. “There’s a ritual I’ve done… its purpose is to identify what’s in there.”

He scowls. “Why didn’t we do that from the beginning?”

You purse your lips, then try to explain. “Rituals like this… are always inherently risky. It’s better to figure out what you can with logic and magical theory before resorting to this.”

“Risky,” he echoes flatly. “Is it going to hurt again?”

You grimace. “It hurt a lot, huh?”

His jaw juts, just a bit. “Enough that I’m not eager to experience it twice in one day,” he says, a bit of haughtiness coming into his voice. He’s his mother’s son, indeed. 

“It won’t hurt you,” you say quietly. “But there does need to be a level of trust - of allowing my magic to poke around, as you put it.”

He doesn’t answer this. He seems to wobble where he sits. Then, he lifts his tired eyes to you. For a moment, he lets you see the exhaustion, the fear, the hopelessness. He looks desolate, nearly frail.

Then, something closer to anger slides onto his face, replacing the vulnerability you were sure you were seeing. “I haven’t slept in many days,” he says, not answering your question at all. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “You should try. You need to rest.”

He blinks heavily, shoulders sagging. When he opens his eyes to look at you again, they’re wet and black, no longer magicked to seem human. Something hard takes over his voice, and he asks, “Can you help me? Can you make me sleep, venefici?”

“Yes,” you whisper, rising. “I can at least try.”

He closes those black eyes again, leans sideways until he’s laying down, knees bent.

You place your hands on his elbow and close your own eyes, feeling the magic rise up to you. Small spells like this were not your area of study, but you think you can manage. You at least know what to do.

It takes no time at all - less than a minute. His breathing deepens, his fingers twitch once. He is so beautiful like this, it’s hard to look at him. You remove your hand carefully and step away.

Prince Taehyung just called you witch.

–

Namjoon is waiting for you when you return. 

“How’d it go?” he asks, sounding like he means it, even though you’d sort of argued before you left. 

“I told him about the ritual,” you say, sinking onto the couch and dropping your head into your hands, emotionally spent. “He’s considering it.”

He looks at you appraisingly. “You don’t sound very happy about it,” he observes.

You sigh. “He’s just… not feeling great, from earlier. It’s fine.”

You sit there for another minute, your eyes on the ground, while he watches you, as if he might get more information out of you if he just waits it out. Finally you mutter, “I’m gonna get ready for bed,” and you slink off to your private rooms. 

It’s ironic. After using your magic to help the prince find sleep for the first time since his curse began, you lay awake, unable to help yourself at all.

<;- Prev | Next ->

hi there! thanks for reading!

On the paper beside yours, you’ve begun listing options to counter each of these threads. There’s always more than one way. The key to a countercurse is to first determine each thread that must be countered, and then find the exact correct counter for each one. 

It isn’t even a matter of countering each individual strand - there are elements of finding the least-common-denominator, in a way: you need the best thing that will counter as many as possible at once. 

One thread might be best countered by a certain incantation, but if a different one will counter three threads, then it’s the better choice. 

Once you know what incantations and magical elements you need to include in the counter, you can begin to decide how best to weave them together and cast them effectively into a countercurse. 

“We counter the infliction of pain with healing,” you mutter, tapping your pen against the paper. You look at Namjoon, thinking hard. “Do you think we could tap into the prince’s healing abilities for that?”

Namjoon’s eyes widen and he scrambles for his own pen, starting to write quickly before he can lose the train of thought. “Yes,” he answers you as he writes. “Yes, that’s brilliant. Instead of weaving in our own healing spell, we can pull his ability to the surface - it’s much cleaner that way.”

“I was also thinking about this…” you muse, glancing up to see that Namjoon is following. “I know this might sound silly, but… I was thinking about the creation myth? The Hunter and the Highest, do you know it?”

He looks confused, but nods. “Who doesn’t?”

“The myth serves as an explanatory tale,” you say, accidentally slipping into professor-mode, “regarding how the Infracti changed from just monster.”

“They were traded humanity,” Namjoon says, trying to remember the story.

“Traded, gifted - yeah. The magic-wielders gave them humanity. So, I’m wondering… if that’s what we’re meant to do now, with the countercurse. Return his humanity.”

Namjoon thinks on this. “That’ll be a hell of a thread for us to create,” he muses, and you have to agree.

You’re interrupted by a knock on the door, and Dansoo approaches, looking down at where you and Namjoon are seated on the floor. You look up at him expectantly, your hand frozen mid-air, still clutching your pen.

“Her Majesty the Queen has requested your company,” the Infracti says to you, tone cold. He’s probably still pissed that you escaped the other night. 

You look down at yourself - you’re in sweatpants and a t-shirt, feet in fuzzy socks. 

“Can I, uh… get changed first?” you ask, gulping.

The Infracti man looks over you, lip curling just a touch. “I would recommend that, yes,” he says flatly. 

“Okay,” you say, nodding. “Please wait for me outside. I’ll come out when I’m ready.”

“Do be quick,” he says, casting you a sharp side-eye as he turns to return to the corridor. 

Namjoon looks up at you. “Do you think she wants both of us?”

You let out a wild laugh, anxiety already starting to worm its way through your system. “I don’t care if she doesn’t,” you say. “Please come with me. She scares me.”

Namjoon smiles at this. “I’d be honored,” he jokes, and heads to his room to - you assume - get more presentable as well.

You hurry to change, choosing something that you hope toes the correct side of the fancy-or-professional line. Once you’re done, you meet Namjoon back in the main room. 

“Ready?” he asks, and you nod. He lets you lead the way into the hall, and Dansoo leads you both deep into the palace into a wing you haven’t seen before. 

You notice something you haven’t seen before in your time in Infracticus - as you get further and further down this particular corridor… it gets brighter, sunlight filtering through stained-glass windows on the doors at the end of the hall. 

“Are we going outside?” you ask, peering over the Infracti’s shoulder, trying to peek through the more opaque pieces of glass. 

You’ve read about the physical characteristics of Infracticus, written papers about them, given lectures about them. But nothing prepares you for the momentarily blinding brightness of unfiltered sunshine, or the sudden melody of birdsong as you step out of the palace into Infracticus proper. 

Your trip to the ocean’s edge last night doesn’t count; it was too dark to see a thing. Now, in bright sunlight, you’re breathless, taking in the beauty around you.

You must have come out the opposite side of the palace, because the ocean isn’t visible, nor does it even smell particularly salty here. Instead, a mountain looms to your left, the summit cut off from view by sandstone palace walls. Trees line a distant stream that runs nearly black, like ink. And the sky - the sky ranges from periwinkle to deep violet. 

A light laugh breaks you from your reverie and you feel your face heat in embarrassment. The stone pathway you stand on ends before you with a roofed gazebo that seems to jut out over the valley below. Seated at the table, the Queen has been watching you stand in frozen wonder, staring in awe at the sky she has known for over a thousand years. 

“God,” Namjoon mutters beside you, and you know he’s feeling the same thing you are.

It’s beautiful, you mean to say. Instead, you utter, “It’s purple.”

“I remember my first time going above,” she tells you, as you remember your feet and make your way closer. You can’t keep your eyes off the sky for more than a second. You feel like you’re inside a painting. “I felt the same way about the blue.”

“I read so much about it,” you tell her. “But nothing could describe this.”

“It pleases me that you find beauty in Infracticus,” she says. 

“It’d be impossible not to find beauty here,” you breathe, turning further still to try and see more. “Could I go out there? With the prince, maybe? Do you think he’d take me, if I asked?”

The Queen purses her lips and says, “I imagine after you break the curse for him, the prince would do nearly anything you asked of him.”

This reminder of your purpose here sobers you. You find yourself forgetting, yet again, that you aren’t here just to experience Infracticus.  

“Please join me, both of you,” the Queen says, opening a hand towards the empty chair across from her. There are a variety of pastries and fruits on the table, and you can tell that a small section of them aren’t bloodfood, but human food. There’s also a set of some sort of chess-like board game, the pieces intricately carved like tiny works of careful art. “My son said you were eager to see more of Infracticus. I thought it might help ease your restlessness to come outside. These are my private quarters, so no one will stumble upon us here.”

Prince Taehyung had said he wouldn’t tell on you; he must have mentioned that you were wanting to look around. Hopefully he left out that you’d tried, and been caught.

“Have you played before?” she asks, watching as you delicately take the seat she’d offered and pick up a piece to examine it. 

Namjoon shakes his head, peering closer. “It’s not chess?” he asks, eyeing the different pieces for differences.

“I’ve played, but only with humans,” you tell her, turning the piece over in your hands. “It’s similar to chess, but the pieces and their movements are different.”

“Would you join me for a game?” she asks lightly. 

You look at her over the top of the piece in your hand. If you’re right, and you aren’t completely sure, the piece is called the Seer. Behind it, the Queen watches you. Her eyes are inhuman, all black, and you find them hard to read. Her mouth quirks like she’s considering a smile, but you can’t discern if there is any true warmth behind it. 

She’s beautiful. She’s frightening. 

“Yes, of course,” you answer. “But you may need to help remind me of the rules.”

She gives a slightly bigger smile and begins to set the board up, and you replace the Seer where you think it goes. She gives you a pleased nod.

“I know it’s only been a day, but I wanted to inquire about your progress,” she tells you as she places the last piece, the single Bloodletter, on its spot. 

She moves her first piece and sits back, waiting for your answer to both her question and her movement. 

“We’ve identified many strands of the original curse,” you tell her, turning your shoulders to indicate inclusion of Namjoon, who sits in the chair beside you, watching the game board intently. It wouldn’t surprise you if he knew the rules by heart at the end of one game. “But certainly not all of them.”

You move a Mason piece, and then add, “There’s more we need to investigate. I need to spend more time with the prince, and perhaps run a few rituals to suss out what we can’t find through questioning.” 

The Queen accepts this, nodding, and the game continues, pieces beginning to fill the middle space of the board. She asks a few follow-up questions about the threads you’ve determined, about what might help you discover the rest.

You don’t want to go over the prince’s head to his mother, even though you firmly believe that seeing him while the curse is active will be paramount to your work. You’d rather change his mind yourself, rather than risk making him upset with you. 

You eye the board as you answer, weighing your options. You could move a Mortal, which would be a very safe movement and wouldn’t earn you much. You could let your Mason take a hit, which would open a path for your Seer. Or, you could take on the Bloodletter with your Priestess - which would give you a clear and unblockable shot at taking the Queen’s Thief. 

Do you dare actually take one of her pieces, before she’s taken one of yours? It wouldn’t win you the game, but it would certainly make this an actual competition. 

“I see the move you see,” she says evenly, her voice cool and still. “If I wanted to win without a challenge, I’d simply play against my staff.”

You smile at this, caught. “As you wish,” you tell her, and the Priestess takes the Bloodletter, the piece being placed to the side of the board, belonging to both and neither of you. On your next turn, as you’d arranged, you reach to take her Thief. 

The piece burns your fingers and nearly slips from your grasp as you jolt with surprise and pain; you sit forward in your seat and use both hands to catch the piece before it can hit the board and scatter the others. 

Cradled between your hands, the Thief glows - brighter and brighter, the color starting out orange and shifting quickly to yellow and then blue. It no longer burns where it touches you, but you set it down gently anyway, your hands starting to shake. 

The fingers that were burnt seem to pulse, the pain stabbing and unrelenting. You hold up the hand that stings, eyeing your injured fingertips, looking for evidence of the burn. There is none, but the smarting continues, keeping time with your quickened heartbeat. The blue light fades from the Thief as it lays still and unassuming, sideways on the tabletop. 

You do not reach for it again.

Behind you, Namjoon whispers your name. You don’t turn, instead locking your eyes on the Queen, whose face stays as impassive and unreadable as ever. 

“I would really like,” you say, your voice low and trembling, an animal caught in a trap for the second time in as many days, “to know what just happened to me.”

The Queen lazily lifts her hand and an Infracti woman appears at her side. “Fetch my son, would you?” she says, and then reaches to move one of her Mortals as if nothing had happened. 

When you don’t take your turn, she looks at you with those fathomless black eyes. “Does it still hurt?” she asks innocently. 

It does, but less than at first. Mostly, you’re suddenly terrified, hands still shaking so badly you don’t think you could grasp another game piece without dropping it. You’re reminded that you are alone here - that you cannot and should not completely trust a single Infracti, that every single one of them sees you as dinner to be toyed with before eating.

You should have known the game was more than a game. You should have known a request for your company was anything but.

“That was a magical reaction,” you say bluntly, feeling something harden behind your ribcage, armor sliding into place and latches snapping shut. “I’m very curious as to the specifics.”

Beside you, Namjoon has shifted into your line of sight, in your periphery. You can’t afford to turn and meet his eyes right now. You can’t afford to look frightened. 

The Queen is spared from answering you as Prince Taehyung strides up the walkway, brow furrowed. 

He takes in the scene in seconds - Namjoon’s hand hovering near you, alarmed like a mother hen; the Queen’s expression gone defensively haughty; and you - clutching your burned fingers, trying to fight against the frightened tears that threaten to give away your terror. 

He lets out an exasperated growl. “Mother,” he scolds, and then drops to kneel beside your seat. “May I heal that?” he asks you, expression open and apologetic. Your stupid heart dares to flutter - weakly, but there. The little ways he cares for you are enough to make you forget that he’s royalty - plus, inhuman.

It’s easier to forget when he’s made his eyes look human again today, as he had yesterday and the day before.

You nod mutely, letting him take your hand in his. He passes his thumb over the pad of each burned fingertip, and you feel the sting of the burn slip away, as you had imagined the whole thing.

“Thank you,” you whisper, keeping your eyes on him. His presence tethers you, is the only thing that allows you to feel safe. You want to hide behind him, make him stand between you and every scary thing here.

He stands again, but keeps your hand lightly in his own. He faces his mother, frowning again. “Well?” he demands. “Did you get the answer you wanted?”

The Queen sets her jaw in response.

Prince Taehyung scoffs and continues. “Do remember, Mother, that our guest could decide she doesn’t want to be here anymore. She could go right back to the human world and never look back. I certainly don’t want that - do you?”

You know he means for the sake of breaking the curse, but you can’t help but feel a rush of… something - gratitude? pleasure? - at his words.

“Come,” he says to you, giving your hand a light tug. “Mother’s played enough games for the day.”

You follow immediately, hearing the heavy steps behind you to indicate that Namjoon isn’t far behind. As Prince Taehyung nears the doors that lead back inside the palace, the Queen calls after him.

“It turned blue, Taehyung,” the Queen’s voice calls. “Almost instantly.”

Prince Taehyung doesn’t indicate that he’s heard, doesn’t even turn his head. He simply leads you inside without looking back.

In the safety of the palace, you feel yourself calming, no longer feeling like the Queen is simply playing with her food - with you. 

Prince Taehyung doesn’t speak to you until he’s led you both in your own main room, latching the door shut behind Namjoon, who takes up the rear.

He sighs apologetically, his head hanging a little. “I cannot seem to keep you out of trouble,” he laments.

“Was I supposed to refuse her request?” you say hotly, feeling suddenly defensive.

“Of course not,” he soothes. “I’m sorry my mother tried to scare you half to death. Is the pain gone? Are you better?”

“I feel better,” you tell him. “But… what did she do? What does that mean, it turned blue?”

He shakes his head, frustrated. “That’s an indicator of your magical quotient,” he explains. He’s frowning deeply, and your mind is whirring fast trying to fit pieces of information together. “She was… measuring your ability. Blue is… well, it’s quite high.”

Beside you, Namjoon makes a strangled noise, like he’s choked on his own breath.

He’s done the math faster than you.

“My magical quotient?” you repeat. “But I’m human. My magical quotient is zero, unless I’m casting - and that’s borrowed magic.”

“A human,” Namjoon murmurs to you, shifting protectively closer, “would have held nothing but a wooden game piece. There would have been no glow at all.”

Your eyes dart around the room for answers that aren’t there. Your head spins. You can’t even begin to process this - that you may be inherently magical - because still pressing is the question:

“Why did she want to know that?” you ask, your voice a bit like a gasp. Both men in the room are looking at you carefully. You’re a wild animal in a trap again. Again. 

You want to go home, you want it to stop. You want to feel safe, and you haven’t since the Infracti two days ago had cornered you at the top of the stairs. 

“I don’t know,” the prince admits, twisting his mouth to the side. “But I assure you, I know my mother well. Her intentions would not be to hurt you, or to frighten you. Even though it seems she did both.”

You shake your head, overwhelmed. “My parents were human,” you whisper. “What does this mean? Am I a -?”

You can’t make yourself say witch. This is too much. It’s too much.

Prince Taehyung reaches out a hand like he wants to comfort you, but thinks better of it and lets it rest at his own side again. “It happens that way sometimes,” he says gently. “You really didn’t know?”

You turn and look at Namjoon a little wildly. 

“Don’t look at me,” he laughs, holding up his hands. “I just met you.”

“Dr. Kim?” you press. “He never -?”

“If he had suspicions, he never told me,” Namjoon tells you seriously. “Though it does explain your… aptitude.” 

Something inside you feels like it’s sinking. “I thought I was just… well-studied,” you admit to no one. You feel weirdly like you’re grieving - like you’ve lost something instead of gained it.

You feel wilder still, less calm by the second. You need to get away from them both - their gazes too heavy. 

The prince shifts his weight uneasily. “I have to leave you now,” he says, and he sounds regretful. “But I’ll come check on you - rather, on your progress - after the court families leave this evening.”

He waits; you don’t reply. You’re reeling too fast - you can’t fake normalcy, not right now.

“That’s fine,” Namjoon says, looking sideways at you cautiously, like he’s waiting for you to explode. “We’ll try to get some work done this afternoon.”

Prince Taehyung nods in thanks and heads for the door. Before pulling it shut, he pauses, and somehow his eyes meet yours. The look he gives you borders on pitying, but stops shy of it. Instead, you read something understanding and sorrowful, like he’d rather stay. You wish he would.

“I’ll check on you later,” he repeats softly, just for you. 

You manage to nod. The door closes.

Namjoon looks from the door to you and then back again, like he’s starting to put pieces together of a puzzle you didn’t know you were part of.

“I think I need to be by myself for a little bit,” you manage to say, your voice flat and hollow even to your own ears. You close yourself in your own bedroom, change robotically into sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, climb onto your bed and roll to face the wall.

You’re feeling so much - too much, all contradictory and all overpowering and none of it mixing well together. You’re been foolish here, and you’re embarrassed. You feel unsafe. You feel afraid. You feel angry. You feel doubtful about the curse. You feel doubtful about your partnership with Namjoon. You still, despite everything that’s happened, feel eagerness to experience more of this place. You feel excitement at spending more time with Prince Taehyung, which is the stupidest part of all of this. You feel idiotic that you hadn’t known you have your own magic for almost thirty years. You feel bereft that what you’d thought was grit and hard work was actually unearned, inherent ability. You feel grief at losing your humanity.

It’s too much, and you’re a simple creature. It all furrows into one thought, and you repeat it to yourself over and over as your blue-grey walls blur before you: I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home.

You repeat it until, eyes puffy and nose stuffy, you drop helplessly into sleep.

—

When Taehyung enters the dining room, where his parents are already seated, it is with the energy of a stormcloud descending on a picnic. His father seems downright jolly, bristling with good cheer as Taehyung stalks his way towards them, scowling.

“Whatever are you so worked up about?” The Queen asks, peering carefully at him, as if she herself hadn’t just tried to scare away his best chance of a cure.

“The stunt you pulled this afternoon,” Taehyung says honestly, leaning his long legs against the sturdy wooden table and eyeing them both, arms crossed over his chest. He addresses his father, asking, “Did she tell you? That she tried to send the curse-breaker running? What would the plan be, if she left? I’d stay like this forever?”

They both ignore most of this outburst, exchanging a mildly amused look. Taehyung’s irritation digs its teeth in a little harder, pushes him closer to snapping.

“Well?” he demands.

“Your mother told me she tested the girl’s magical quotient,” the King admits, still smiling slyly at his wife. “Did she tell you? It glowed blue?”

“Who cares?” Taehyung bites out. “Beyond that she can use her innate magical abilities to cure me, which is all I care about.”

“That’s just the problem,” the Queen says with a sigh. “You’re failing to see the bigger picture, as usual, my dear.”

Taehyung grits his teeth. Six hundred years of their bullshit have been too many. “Enlighten me then,” he growls. 

The King raises an eyebrow, looks at him appraisingly. “Do you think I forgot about our little deal?”

Our little deal. As if it was just a laugh, to him. 

Taehyung finds himself scowling again. “Of course not. But I did think we could afford to shift our focus just a bit until the curse is broken.”

Their little deal, to Taehyung, was anything but little. And his side of the bargain, his price to pay, was to start meeting suitors, and to give them a fair shot. 

And he had - suitor after suitor, some human but most Infracti, some common but most from court, some clever or funny but most just… lacking. 

“You promised to give her a chance,” the King had complained when Taehyung had refused to meet one particular Infracti for a second date. 

“I am,” Taehyung had groused, aggravated but trapped. “Pick a better selection, that’s all I can tell you.”

“You need to think more like a prince and less like a -” 

Well, Taehyung doesn’t need to remember the rest of that sentence. It wasn’t very kingly. 

“What exactly does that mean?” Taehyung had challenged. It was a dangerous game, pushing back against his father. If their agreement crumbled, there was an awful lot at stake. He’s got to remember that this game affects more than himself and his pride.

“Think more about what she can do for the bloodline and less about if she gives you butterflies,” the King had snapped, eyes narrowed. Taehyung had slammed the door on his way out that day. 

“I believe we were shifting focus,” the Queen says, something softer in her tone, finally. “But I saw you two together, and wondered…”

Taehyung bristles, feeling weirdly protective of the little witch (apparently) who’d been brought here to fix him. “You saw us together and wondered what else you could get from her?”

The King laughs. “What are you angry for? We were curious about her - couldn’t you feel her magic?”

Taehyung grimaces. At first, he couldn’t. For your entire first meeting, he hadn’t felt a thing. 

He’d felt it, finally, when he’d found you in danger. You hadn’t thought to use it, but your magic had been screaming, so loudly that Taehyung had heard it before he could hear your heart beating. In your distress, your magical signature had risen to the surface, singing just under your skin, summoned by and answering the magic that was inherent in him, in all Infracti. They knew each other, these two magics, and they called like-to-like.

He’d known it was strong. He hadn’t known what to do with it, so he’d ignored it, had put the information away for another time.

It hadn’t occurred to him that others - his parents especially - might notice, might have their own questions they wanted answers to.

“I felt it,” he admits, voice low and defensive. 

“She has the potential to be quite powerful, if she learned. Imagine adding that kind of raw ability to our bloodline,” the King says, serious for the first time. 

Taehyung doesn’t answer. He’s busy remembering his deal with his father, his agreement to marry - for the sake of the bloodline. 

He’s thinking about all the suitors he hadn’t cared about at all. 

He’s thinking of waking up morning after morning exhausted, his muscles weak from hours of throwing his poor, battered body against the door, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep, his throat raw from growling like the animal he is, deep down. 

He’s thinking about the look of relief you’d sent him when you spotted him behind your attacker, and again when he’d appeared at the veranda this afternoon. Like you trust him, like you knew even if everyone else was a danger, he wasn’t. Like you believed in him, and no one else, to be more than a monster. Lately, he’s felt like the monster is winning, and being seen as more feels… as necessary as oxygen. 

“Of course we want her to end the curse above all else,” the Queen says gently, watching her son’s eyes go unfocused as he loses himself in his thoughts. “But when that’s done… maybe her time in Infracticus doesn’t need to be. Consider it.”

“I’m considering,” Taehyung concedes, moving to take his seat. The King beams, but Taehyung talks over him. “But you two need to watch your step with her. If you scare her away, she won’t end the curse - and then no one will marry me.”

<;- Prev || Next ->

Morsel. 

You try to peek around him, to see if anyone might come to your rescue. There’s no one there. You aren't supposed to be here, you’re supposed to be in your rooms, guarded, kept safe. And this is why.

He can’t just kill you right here, you think wildly. We’re in the palace, for god’s sake.

Well, something in your mind counters, he can. There just might be consequences after. 

You didn’t even make it twenty-four hours without blowing your cover. Not even twenty-four hours before fucking up the assignment, putting yourself in danger. 

This is why you shouldn’t be in charge of the cases.

“I was invited,” you say, and your voice shakes. 

He smiles, or something like it, sliding somehow closer. You press harder against the statue, your body trying to create space that isn’t there. Your legs tremble, and you clutch your hands into fists to hide how they shake.

“Oh,” he says, tilting his head even further, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Don’t be frightened. I wouldn’t kill you. Only -”

“Only what?” a cold voice interjects.

The Infracti man has backed away from you and bowed deeply at the waist before you can even process his movement. Infracti move unnaturally fast when they choose to, and you feel like your mind is working through molasses in the wake of your adrenaline rush. 

Relief makes your shaking knees almost give way. The prince stands before you, a sandy-haired Infracti man behind him, both of them frowning deeply. 

You push yourself off the statue, fear sharpening, shifting into a stance that might allow you to run, if you need to.

“Your highness,” the Infracti, still bowing, says. “I -”

Prince Taehyung turns to the man behind him. “Take her to my rooms,” he murmurs, just quietly enough that you struggle to hear him. “I need to handle this, here.”

You freeze, trying to decide if you should bolt (as if you could outrun any of them), or if you should go where you’re told. The word morsel swims through your mind again.

Prince Taehyung must see it on your face - fear, wild and roiling - because he pauses. Then he speaks again, even more quietly, just to you.

“I trust Jimin with my own life,” he tells you. “You can trust him with yours. Go to my rooms. I’ll come right after you.”

The sandy-haired Infracti - Jimin, apparently - holds out his arm to you, as if he’s your date, ready to escort you through the court gathering below. You step forward on shaky legs and are surprised when he supports you easily. 

You shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve got to stop underestimating the monsters you’re surrounded with. 

He leads you away silently, but once you’re around a few corners he slows his gait considerably and releases your arm so you can walk on your own. You’re grateful; he wasn’t the one who scared you, but you want as much personal space as you can get, right now. 

“Almost there,” he promises you. “The prince’s wing is just up those stairs ahead.”

You count your breaths as you follow him, trying - and failing - to still the tremors that still rock your limbs. You reach the stairs quickly and follow Jimin up. At the top, you’re greeted with a gorgeously decorated corridor with thick carpeting and glittering chandeliers replacing wall sconces. Guards stand at attention on both sides of the corridor, backs straight and black eyes forward. 

The closest one turns when you approach, but her shoulders relax when she spots Jimin. Her eyes catch on you, and she frowns quizzically.

“The Prince asked me to bring her here,” Jimin explains. 

“For what purpose?”

“I didn’t ask,” Jimin says coolly. “You can ask him, he should be right behind me.”

The guard’s expression tells you that she does not want to do that, and she slides back into place, inclining her head towards the guards that flank his tall, golden doors, indicating that you should be allowed through.

Inside, Jimin gestures for you to sit on one of the plush couches in the first room. You sit on the edge, terrified. You’re pretty sure no one is going to actually kill you at this point, but the fear from earlier clings to you, reluctant to leave. Not to mention, you’re sure you’re in trouble for getting yourself in that situation in the first place, for going against your directions. 

The only thing the royal family had asked of you was secrecy. 

Jimin keeps his distance, turning and watching the fire dance in the fireplace, leaving you to panic in silence. As promised, it is only minutes before the doors open again, and Prince Taehyung pushes his way through, jaw set and brows furrowed. Jimin turns to face him, and you rise. 

He stalks towards you, stopping a few feet in front of you. His eyes, made to look human, find yours.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, a bit breathlessly. 

“No,” you tell him, but he seems to look you up and down anyway. His gaze catches on your shaking hands. His face softens, some of the anger ebbing away.

“Don’t be scared,” he says, a touch more gently. “You’re safe now.”

You nod, feeling no better for his reassurances. Are you safe? 

He backs off a step, shares a look with Jimin, then laughs darkly, shaking his head. He walks away from you, rubbing his forehead.

“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of genius,” he shoots over his shoulder at you. You flinch. “What kind of idiot human walks around Infracticus alone?”

Jimin speaks up, saving you from having to respond. “Did you deal with -?”

Prince Taehyung nods, expression grim. “It’s under control.”

“In that case, we should rejoin dinner,” Jimin ventures. “I’m sure our absence has been noted.”

Prince Taehyung brushes past him and reaches for a crystal decanter, pouring a dark liquid into a glass. He lifts the decanter towards Jimin, who shakes his head, then at you.

You eye the deep red liquid, stomach jolting.

“It’s wine,” he says flatly, correctly reading your reaction. “Ordinary wine. A pinot noir, I believe.”

“No thank you,” you whisper.

Taehyung makes a face like suit yourself and drains his glass. Then, to Jimin, he says, “Will you go back? If anyone inquires… something came up.”

Jimin nods mutely, giving him a quick bow and heading for the door. He pauses as he passes the prince, muttering something quietly to him that you can’t catch. But, as he does, his eyes are on you, and the prince turns minutely to look at you as well. 

You feel a shudder travel down your spine. 

Jimin shoots one last glance at you and slips out the door. Prince Taehyung heaves a sigh and moves to refill his goblet.

“What did he say?” you demand. You’re so frightened that it makes you aggressive; you’re a cornered animal, no control over lashing out. And it’s clear to you that whatever was said, it was about you. 

Prince Taehyung gives you a wry kind of smile, one that you don’t understand. 

“He told me to remember that I’m scary, too,” he says dryly. “As if I could ever forget. Especially these days.”

When you don’t answer, he turns, fiddling with the crystal decanter again.

“Are you sure you don’t want wine?” he offers again, not turning to look at you. “It would calm your nerves.”

“I’d rather keep a clear head,” you say, your voice starting to sound firmer, more solid now that your heart isn’t galloping anymore. In your head, you see the swirl of black eyes, and you push the image away. 

“Smart,” he says, and comes to sit on the couch opposite you. He opens a hand, indicating that you should sit as well. You do, stiffly. You’re pretty sure you’re about to be fired. 

You guess that’s better than being slaughtered.

Still sucks, though.

“That was Jimin,” he says suddenly, like his manners have just occurred to him. “He’s my best friend, for some reason. Has been for… centuries. I should have properly introduced you.”

“It’s okay,” you say, sheepish. “You were focusing on… other things.”

He rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m not going to tell my parents what happened tonight,” he says, removing his hand and looking up at you. His wavy hair swings a little, and a detached part of your brain gets the errant urge to brush it back into place.

“You’re not?” you echo hollowly. 

He shakes his head. “They’d send your team back immediately.”

You swallow thickly, feeling like you’re being handed a gift you absolutely don’t deserve. “They’d be right to,” you whisper, shame crawling up your arms.

He makes a face like he agrees, a little bit. “I have faith in your curse-breaking abilities,” he tells you. “If not your ability to follow directions.”

Your face heats up. “I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “And not just because someone found me - I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“So why did you?” he asks, brow furrowing. “I can’t understand. Were we somehow unclear? The other families can’t know we hired a curse-breaker. Humans don’t come here - questions will be asked. And even if you chose not to care about my secret… you put yourself in great danger.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I wasn’t… I didn’t not care about keeping your secret. I just… didn’t think anyone would notice me.”

You’re sure the prince rolls his eyes at this, lightning quick. “My people may be civilized,” he says slowly, nearly in a drawl, “but that doesn’t change the fact that you are a walking buffet table with flashing neon signs. They can smell you before they can see you. They can hear your heartbeat from rooms away. They are inherently built to find you even when you don’t want to be found.”

He stares at you a bit incredulously, as if he can’t believe he needs to explain this to you at all. “I thought you were a scholar on my people,” he adds finally, putting voice to what you’d seen on his face. 

“I was,” you croak. “I am. I just… underestimated the situation. I thought I could stay undetected. I just wanted to… look around. I spent so many years studying your people and your culture, it’s torture to sit in one room, so close, but unable to experience any of it.”

The prince sits back at this, looking at you suddenly with an expression that you can’t decipher at all.

“What?” you ask, nervous. Has your explanation offended him? 

You start trying to think of how to explain further, when he gives a tiny half-smile and says, “I didn’t expect you to be… curious. About us. About my home.”

You sit back, too. This conversation is not going where you expected it to, and you feel a bit thrown. 

“Curious is an understatement,” you admit tentatively. “I want to see everything. I read so much… I never dreamed of seeing any of it in person. It was never a possibility, not even as a wild fantasy. And now I’m here.”

The prince’s tiny smile grows sideways, just a little. “Very well,” he says, putting his hands on his knees, businesslike. “I’ll make time to let you experience Infracticus - safely. With me.” 

You look at him, wide-eyed. You’d entered this room thinking you were going to be sent home, and instead it seems like the crown prince is offering to take you sight-seeing. 

“Really?” you ask. “You’ll do that?” You try not to ask why, but it’s clear in your voice anyway.

He nods once, still quite serious. “You’re not here as a prisoner,” he says, suddenly not looking at you. “I don’t want you to feel like one. You’ve given up quite a lot and put yourself in a dangerous situation to help me with my problem. It seems fair that you should get some enjoyment out of being here.”

Your brow furrows. “I’m here to do a job for you,” you say seriously. “I don’t want you to think that I’m just… vacationing.”

He nods, his expression clearing, like you’ve said something that alleviates a worry. “Perhaps,” he suggests, “I could escort you safely around the palace grounds so you don’t feel so cooped up, and we could discuss the curse as we walk. That way we can consider our time spent productively.”

You nod. “That sounds reasonable.”

He gives a tight, agreeable smile. “Well then,” he says, “anything you’d particularly like to see?”

Tentatively, you venture, “Well… I’d like… could we… could I see the amarisca up close?”

A smile does cross his face, now, full and genuine, the first one you’ve seen on him. It changes him entirely, takes him from something cold and frightening to boyish and sweet. “That’s an excellent choice,” he says, still smiling. “We can go to my private stable. I’m afraid that tonight I’ve got to show my face back with the court families… but, tomorrow?”

You nod, hardly believing this turn of events. He rises, setting his goblet back where it came from, and you follow him to his doors.

With four of his guards flanking you, he walks you back to your rooms. As you try to keep pace with him up one of the long, stone corridors, he asks you, “From our conversation this morning… do you have any thoughts about…?”

He trails off, clearly not wanting to say the curse out loud now that you’re back inside and surrounded by other Infracti, even if they are his own staff. 

“Nothing very substantial,” you answer automatically, sliding easily into professional mode. “The first step is to identify all the threads - then, we can begin to work out the most effective way to unravel them.”

He goes quiet for the length of time it takes you to climb two staircases. Then, at the top, he says quietly, “That sounds impossible. How can you identify things you can’t even see?”

“There are ways,” you say, trying to sound confident - competent. “Magic always talks - you just have to know what to listen for.”

He doesn’t respond to this, but you watch his jaw tighten. Nervously, you follow him in silence. 

He stops you around the corner from your quarters. “How did you get past Dansoo and Satuel in the first place?” he asks curiously. “It’s not like either of them to get distracted.”

You avoid his gaze, suddenly fascinated with a decorative vase to your right. He says your name again, and you cringe, wishing you could disappear on the spot.

“I… sort of used magic to distract them,” you admit, unable to make yourself look up at him.

The prince doesn’t respond to this, just watches you out of the corner of his eyes, expression flat. 

You wonder if it was a mistake to admit that, a mistake to show your hand - that you had a decent grasp of magic, that you could use it against them if you needed to.

You should have used magic with the Infracti earlier, you think belatedly. You’d been too panicked to think clearly. It wasn’t instinct to you - your fight or flight hadn’t considered it an option. But it may have worked.

“I have to ask you to please not let this happen again,” he says quietly. “I understand what lured you out - but it’s too unsafe. For both of us. If you want to go somewhere, or you need a change of scenery… have Satuel get me. I’ll do my best to accommodate.”

You look at your feet. “I’m sorry I risked your secret,” you say to your shoes. “I really wasn’t trying to. I really thought no one would notice me.”

“Now you know differently,” he says, and you shiver at the cold edge that’s returned to his voice. “Promise me it won’t happen again.”

You can’t look up from your feet. “Yes, Maiesti,” you promise. 

He sighs. “Come on,” he says, and leads you around the final corner.

The looks on Dansoo and Satuel’s faces when they recognize you would be funny if you didn’t feel so bad about it. You hope they aren’t in trouble.

“A little tip,” the prince says to them, and you swear there’s humor in his tone. “This one uses magic quite well.”

He wishes you goodbye and you slip inside, closing and locking the door behind you.

Inside, Namjoon looks up from the couch, where he’s lounging sideways, scribbling in a tiny notebook. Upon seeing you, he frowns, closing the book and sitting up.

“Where did you go?” he asks, and there’s definitely an edge of annoyance in his tone. “I woke up and you were gone - I didn’t know if we’d been summoned and I’d slept through it, or if something bad happened…”

You feel yourself go cold with shame for the second time that evening. “I thought I’d be back before you were up,” you say quietly. “I wanted to walk a little. I wanted to explore the palace.”

His eyes flash. “Do you have any idea the danger -?”

“Of course I do,” you shoot back hotly. “I was only going for a minute.” And I got found in that minute, you think, but you’re not sure if he knows this and you don’t want to rat on yourself.

“Let me ask you this,” Namjoon says, tone stony. “When you were in the rainforest with my grandfather, did you go exploring there? Alone?”

Of course you hadn’t. He knows the answer already.

“So how is this different?” he challenges. “What’s the difference?”

I hadn’t spent ten years studying the rainforest. I wasn’t half in love with the trees before I got there. 

Again, you fail to put words to what’s in your heart: your life has revolved around studying this place of fantasy, never dreaming you could put your hand on it someday. Now that you’re here, you want to experience it, every bit of it. You want to be part of it so badly it aches.

“Fewer poison frogs here,” you mumble. 

Namjoon softens. “Fewer blood-sucking monsters there,” he points out. 

You press your lips together. You have no good retort for that. After a minute, you release a quick breath. “Let’s order our dinner,” you say. “Then I’d like to work on our list of threads for a little longer.”

He nods silently, but you can tell by his face that he has plenty more he thinks he could say and is choosing not to.

“Sure,” he says. “Let’s get dinner.”

Later, when your meal winds down and you start stacking dishes, you nudge him with your elbow, lightly.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “It was a mistake to go.”

He nudges you back with a little smile, then rises and gathers some plates. It seems, for now, that you’re forgiven. 

-

Taehyung misses the meal, but it’s no matter - he can order bloodfood to his own chambers. He’d prefer that, anyway. 

In his own chambers, he doesn’t have to force himself awake and attentive. Truthfully, he’s been so tired he can hardly stand it, using salves to hide the bags under his eyes. 

Under the curse, he doesn’t sleep from midnight to dawn, his body instead spending those hours launching into overdrive, trying fruitlessly to escape his confines, to get out, to hunt. He wakes sore and spent each sunrise, his limbs begging for reprieve, and tries to rest for a few hours before his day begins. 

Sleep never comes, no matter how exhausted he is. Or, if it comes, it doesn’t last, not long enough to matter.

As the nights continue in this way, he feels like he has less and less strength to fake it during the day. He feels like he’s existing on spite and bitterness alone, brittle and seconds from crumbling into jagged, splintery pieces. 

By the time he reaches the hall where the court families take dinner, most of the crowd has dispersed. It seems his mother has led most of the women outside, where they gather near the edge of the wide balcony and look together at the skies. There must be celestial movement, he figures, something happening with the planets that’s warranted their attention. 

He makes his way towards his father, knowing he needs to be seen here. His father quirks an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask the question Taehyung knows he wants to ask.

“Had to handle something,” Taehyung murmurs quietly. “My apologies.”

His father looks at him steadily for a minute, the conversation flowing around them. There’s been a lot between the two of them lately, and most of it ugly. But, for just a minute, Taehyung feels small again, like his father could - and might want to - solve his problems, offer him comfort. 

And the King surprises him. 

“You should go rest,” he says firmly, and Taehyung looks up at him, shocked. “There’s nothing pressing happening tonight. Rest while you can. You missed the meal, anyway - you ought to eat. You need your strength.”

Taehyung inclines his head, so grateful that he’s almost choked up about it. On his way from the room, he catches Jimin’s eye, and his best friend hurries to come keep stride with him.

“Ooh, am I excused, too?” Jimin asks, mock excitedly. 

“I say you are,” Taehyung smiles sideways. “So you are. Make sure I don’t faint on my way to my rooms. At least where there are witnesses.”

After ordering what food he wants brought to him, Taehyung flops on the couch and groans loud and long. 

Jimin flops into a chair near Taehyung’s feet. “Has your father started in about her yet?”

Taehyung is so puzzled that he lifts his head to peer curiously at the other man. “What?”

“The curse-breaker,” Jimin clarifies. “I saw how you were with her.”

Taehyung scowls. “I wasn’t like anything with her. I can have you removed, you know.”

“You can, but you won’t,” Jimin grins like the cheshire cat. “So? He hasn’t?”

“What makes you think he’d care about her?” Taehyung grouses.

Jimin shrugs. “Your father’s been throwing suitors at you for at least a month,” he observes. “Now you got this skilled curse-breaker right under your nose. She’s pretty. Seems to like you alright. I just figured it was only a matter of time before he started scheming.”

Taehyung groans again, dropping his head back to the couch. “He hasn’t started yet. Maybe I’m safe.”

Jimin makes a hum like he very much doubts it. “Consider my surprise when you were kind to her.”

“Consider,” Taehyung shoots back, eyes narrowed, “what a pain in my ass you are. I was never unkind to father’s… the suitors he picked.”

“Perhaps not,” Jimin muses. “But you weren’t warm, either. You seemed quite worried about her after her little incident.”

“Shut up,” Taehyung grumbles. “If you’re just here to push my buttons, you can leave. I’d rather get some sleep than listen to your nonsense.”

Jimin glances at the marble and gold clock on the mantle. “You could get in a few hours,” he points out. “Do you want to sleep? I’ll wake you before midnight.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “Thank you, but no,” he says. “I’m too… I’ve got too much energy right now.”

It’s true; he feels keyed up, has since he accidentally stumbled upon you pressed against that statue, eyes wide and heart hammering. He’d heard it from around the corner, knew something was wrong, had willed himself to stay calm and steady. 

He’d almost gained his salvation and lost it, all in the same day. 

—

The prince shows up the next night after you’ve finished dinner, having sent word to your guards that you should be ready. When Satuel opens the door and announces him, you’re expecting him. You’re not expecting to find him draped in a hooded black cloak, exactly like the ones you and Namjoon had been asked to wear the night you’d arrived. Prince Taehyung holds one out to you, and you don’t argue.

You’d explained to Namjoon what the prince had offered you, and extended an invitation, but he’d declined. As you leave, he watches you carefully, sharp eyes watching the door close behind you.

Prince Taehyung leads you silently down corridors and staircases; you can’t really tell where in the palace you are, but you are definitely going down. As you travel, you notice fewer furnishings - paintings on the walls become fewer and farther between, the lighting on the walls become more plain, you stop passing little console tables decked with flowers and vases. 

A lone guard stands at the beginning of the final corridor - you can see closed doors at the end of the hall that must lead outside - and he bows deeply upon seeing Prince Taehyung. 

“We should be returning within the hour,” the prince tells him, and the guard nods in understanding. The prince leads you to the doors, pushing through them and holding one open as you follow him out into the night air. 

You know in theory that although the human world is considered above and Infracticus is considered below they are not physically so. A more accurate picture, if it was possible to make one, would have the worlds hovering side by side. They link pinkies, never drifting too far from each other. 

Right now, that sky is dark and littered with flickering stars - more than you ever saw in the human world, more than you thought could be possible in a finite amount of space.

Prince Taehyung pushes off his hood as soon as the night air envelopes you. You can see lights from a small building down below, and he points to them.

“We’re heading there,” he says. “There are stairs - I’ll help you. I know you can’t see that well in the dark.”

Unlike him. 

“I get the cloak for me,” you say, as he leads you to the edge of the stone walkway where the stairs must begin. “But why for you?”

He shrugs. “Just in case. The guards need to know where I am, of course, but no one else needs to. The court families tend to be quite… nosy. Gossip tends to spread.”

This makes you smile. Then, the smell hits you - salt. Specifically, sea spray. 

“Are we near the ocean?” you ask, delighted. You wish it wasn’t dark out so you could see. You wonder if you could ask him to bring you during the day.

He makes an affirmative noise low in his throat. “The stables all back up to the sea,” he tells you. “So the amarisca can have access to the water.”

“Smart,” you observe. 

Prince Taehyung pauses on the first step, then turns and holds out a hand to you.

You hesitate. It seems wrong, somehow - like it shouldn’t be allowed. 

“They’re slippery,” he tells you. “Let me help you so you don’t get hurt.”

You nod, swallowing, and hesitantly place your hand in his. It’s ridiculous the way it makes your heart race to touch his hand. You hope, swallowing back embarrassment, that he can’t hear it. You’re sure he can. Still, he holds your hand firmly and guides you carefully down one step at a time, glancing up at you frequently to gauge how you're faring. 

He waits at the bottom as you take the final step; your feet sink into loose, dry sand. The rhythmic crash of breaking waves greets you, closer than you expect, and you breathe in the sea air happily.

“I wish my rooms were here,” you say without thinking, and the prince looks at you thoughtfully. 

“If you are here for longer than - rather, if the curse takes very long to break,” he says seriously, “then perhaps we’ll arrange that.”

You go quiet as he leads you up the beach, the lights from the stable growing brighter as they get closer. 

“I feel like you’re being nicer to me than I deserve,” you admit, the darkness making you bolder. “I know that I really messed up yesterday.”

He shakes his head, halting and turning to look at you through the dark. You can barely make out his features, here away from the glow of the palace’s many lights, surrounded by the crash of ocean waves and the calls of gulls. “You’re a guest here. And we’re asking a lot of you. I should have offered you the chance to look around in the first place.”

You go quiet, focusing on the sound of the ocean, the smell of the salt air. “I’m still sorry,” you murmur.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he tells you seriously. “I need you. My life has been… absolutely destroyed by this curse. I’ll do whatever I can to make your time here better. Your well-being is the most worthwhile investment I’ve had in six hundred years.”

There are two Infracti at the stable, and they leap to attention when they see the prince. 

“Do you want her saddled?” one of them asks.

“No,” Prince Taehyung says, holding out a staying hand. “I’m not taking her out to ride tonight.”

He asks them to be at ease and leads you inside. The smell of hay and feed mixes with the smells of the ocean, and it takes you a moment to adjust. 

“There’s a larger stable on the other side of this hill,” Prince Taehyung tells you, stepping up to the single stall door. “That’s where the rest of the amarisca are kept, and the court families can use those stalls when they come and go. But this stable is just for me.”

The amarisca in the stall greets him by pressing her dark teal snout affectionately into his open palm. 

He smiles unfettered, cheeks rising, and something in your chest moves as you watch them. 

“This is Potato,” he tells you, and you laugh out loud, surprised. 

“You named your amarisca Potato?” you ask, still laughing.

He grins. “Her official name is Regency’s Sweet Potato, but she won’t answer to that.”

“She’s so beautiful,” you breathe, inching closer. “I never dreamed I’d see one up close. I never dreamed I’d see one in person at all.” 

Again, Prince Taehyung looks at you sideways, but doesn’t interrupt. He shifts sideways so you can draw a little closer. 

“Do you want to pet her?” he asks.

You think about it, then shake your head. “Not yet.”

He looks at you quizzically.

How to explain - that you don’t feel like you deserve this dream coming true, after what a fool you were yesterday? That something deep within you feels the need to keep the dream just a dream, that if you touch her it’ll be real and it’ll be over and you can’t dream about it anymore? 

“You read about all these things,” you try to explain, eyes on the animal’s beautiful coat, “but never see them - it starts to feel like they’re mythical, make-believe. Seeing them in person… my brain still wants to believe they aren’t real. Like this must be some trick.”

It’s not a full explanation, it doesn’t really answer the question he didn’t ask, but you do feel like you’re telling him something.

“Us, too?” he asks curiously. “Do Infracti seem made-up, too, until you’re standing with them?”

You consider this. “Standing with them,” you finally answer quietly, very aware that you are standing with him, alone, “doesn’t make me feel like I’m seeing something my mind didn’t believe in. My mind just…accepts you as human. Usually.”

“That’s been your biggest mistake since you got here,” he says, and his voice is suddenly much darker. “And it’s the mistake that will get you killed, if you don’t stop making it. Infracti are not human. And they are not all as scared of the protection laws as you might want them to be.”

Goosebumps fly up your arms as the image of the Infracti who’d cornered you in the palace rises in your mind.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’m starting to get that.”

A bit later, he says, “Let’s go back. I have some business to attend to tonight before I… before midnight.”

You step back reluctantly from Potato’s stall, and he seems to clock this.

“Next time I’ll bring something for you to feed her,” he suggests, and you can’t help but give him a small smile.

Next time? Is he planning on walking alone with you around the palace grounds on a regular basis? 

You’re afraid to ask. You’re afraid he’ll say yes, make you feel even guiltier for all the kindness he’s affording you. 

<;- Prev | Next ->

You feel yourself frown. “That’s news? There have always been Infracti that break the laws… just like there will always be some humans who break laws.”

“It isn’t just random hunters,” someone else tells you, pulling out their own phone to, you assume, pull up the article. “It seems like actual, orchestrated attacks - groups of Infracti at a time, and they leave survivors. They aren’t hunting, just killing. There’s footage.”

“It seems like a pattern,” someone else jumps in, turning their screen towards you. A video plays, but you’re too far away to see much on the dark, grainy video. “The news outlets are reporting there’s reason to believe the Scores are behind it.”

You press your lips together. It’s not the first time in your life you’ve seen a scare like this. Any time the general human public seems to remember that Infracti might hunt them - laws be damned - the news stations fan the flames of a little widespread panic. 

“It’s much more likely that one little group of Infracti have forgotten their manners,” you say, trying to sound mild. “They’ll be arrested. Infracticus doesn’t want trouble with us, I assure you. Or with the ruling family. They were at war for centuries - none of them want to return to that.”

The college kids look at their phones again, clearly unconvinced.

“Remember the unit we did last month?” you remind them, starting to head around your desk to pass out the handout you’d located in the depths of your bag. “When the last war between the Scorns and Ruins ended - when the protection laws were put in place - both houses were barely left standing.”

“I don’t know, Professor,” the first girl says, shaking her head. “If we’ve learned anything, it’s that Infracti history is nothing but wars for power and control of the kingdom. These moments of peace, they don’t last.”

“There were never treaties and laws in place,” you point out. “The human world was never a player in the game. Things are different now.”

She shakes her head again. “History repeats itself,” she intones.

You start to call everyone’s attention, ready to move on and into the planned lecture. But even as you speak, your stomach swirls, unsettled. Namjoon’s words in Dr. Kim’s office playback through your head: we may be walking into the start of Infracti civil war.

“Alright, so, today we’re going to be looking at some Infracti mythology,” you tell the class, as the last few stragglers find empty desks near the sides of the room. It’s a relatively small classroom, not a full lecture hall, for which you’re grateful. “You’re all familiar with the story The Hunter and the Highest?”

Most of the class nods, though a few look uncertain.

“Whether you know it by name or not,” you explain, pacing the front of the room slowly, “you know the story. It’s classic - done and redone through the history of pop culture. Can anyone give us a quick summary?”

“A vampire and a witch fall in love, and all their problems go away,” someone in the third row calls dryly.

You can’t help but laugh a little. “Okay, a little less quickly than that, maybe.”

Someone near the front raises his hand. “Isn’t it a fairy tale? Like, for kids?”

You waggle your head around. “It’s certainly been adapted in that way. But the original text predates all of those adaptations by centuries.”

“It’s about how the Infracti became civilized,” someone else offers.

“That’s closer,” you agree, pointing at them appreciatively. “In the story, Infracti were simply monsters called hunters. A magic-wielder, hunted herself by humans, finds an Infracti and gifts him with humanity. So, it is a tale meant to explain how Infracti changed from the beasts of old to the magical being we recognize today.”

You start passing out texts and give directions. “There are three versions of the myth in this packet,” you explain. “I want you to look through and find the differences, and from there we’ll discuss why those changes may have been made in the retelling.”

The college kids read in silence for a few minutes before the girl with the cell phone videos earlier raises her hand. “The second version calls the magic-wielder priestess,” she provides.

You write this on the whiteboard. “Great find. You’ll notice that the magic-wielders are given a few different names. Priestess is one. Highest is most common, which refers to a high priestess. In that version of the myth, the priestess who found the hunter was the leader, the strongest.”

“The last version calls her witch,” someone adds.

You smile, happy that they cottoned on. “And what do you notice about the chronology of that?”

They look at each other, and then at their pages. You wait.

“Witch is more recent?” someone suggests.

“You got it,” you affirm. “As time went on, as the stories got closer to now, the terminology shifted away from the respectful priestess and into a feared witch. Great observation. What else do you notice?”

“They only fall in love in the newest one,” someone points out. “In both of the early versions the priestess offers a trade.”

“That’s right,” you nod, adding this to the whiteboard. “The older versions of the myth show the magic-wielder trading humanity to the hunter in exchange for his protection against the humans who cast her out. Only in the more recent renditions is it simplified into a love story.”

You slide into the history part of the lesson - the truths that led to the folktale. It’s impossible for anyone to really know what happened in these ancient times - how the Infracti and the magic-wielders really came together for the first time. Regardless, it’s indisputable that from some point in history the two beings had a natural alliance, a symbiotic relationship. The Infracti formed the great houses, established the monarchy, and allowed the magic-wielders to live and practice safely on their land.

Of course, as your students know, the monarchy was only peaceful for a short time. It wasn’t long before the newly civilized Infracti did what civilizations always do: let greed lead them to war. 

–

You sleepwalk through your last two classes, texting Namjoon as promised as soon as you’re finished and solidifying plans to meet for a meal near campus. 

He’s there before you, standing absently on the sidewalk, scrolling on his phone with one hand in his jeans pocket.

“Hi,” you say, approaching. He looks up, clicking the screen on his phone off and sliding it into his pocket before reaching out to shake your hand. “I wanted to introduce myself a little better. I’m -”

“I know who you are,” he says with a smile. “You have a bit of a reputation. Your jaunts around the world with my grandfather are well-documented for the curse-breaking community.”

“Your grandfather?” you echo, and then realize you should have connected those dots. You’d read his business card - Kim Namjoon. “Ah, I should have realized. So, you’re continuing the family business?”

He laughs at this, leading you inside and asking the seating hostess to place you at one of the tables outside. 

You each order a drink and settle in before he finally answers you. “In a way, yes,” he admits. “I was just always around that stuff growing up. I thought it was interesting. Following that interest into college seemed natural, and the fact that it pleased Grandfather so much to have me follow in his footsteps… that was a bonus, of course.”

“That must be nice,” you muse, not really meaning to reveal so much as you add, “My family thinks I have a death wish. They don’t think anything I study has real value.”

Namjoon considers this as the waiter places his beer in front of him, the glass covered in heavy condensation. “That’s sad,” he says finally. “Curse-breaking literally saves lives.”

You shrug. “They don’t see it that way. Neither do I, really. Curse-breaking is just… calculations.” 

He smiles wryly. “I like to think of it as following a recipe.”

You laugh a little. “Without the wiggle room. Imagine following steps like a pinch when working a counter-curse? We’d blow ourselves up.”

He laughs too. “Okay, so it’s not cooking, it’s baking. The measurements matter.” 

You lapse into companionable silence, sipping your drinks, watching the late afternoon slip into evening bit by bit. 

“I need to admit,” he says finally, speaking out into the twilight instead of at you, “I’m really not sure about this.”

You nod. “It’s a lot.”

“Grandfather said you have a lot of knowledge on the Infracti,” Namjoon says thoughtfully.

You nod. “I do. But studying something in books and theory is not the same as walking among them. And the stakes are high.” You sigh. “He’s right… it’s dangerous.”

“Great payout though,” Namjoon mutters, as if he didn’t necessarily mean for you to hear it. And he’s right. The living members of the royal family have been around for centuries. You don’t live that long without amassing a fortune. Whatever reward the King of Ruin has promised, you feel sure you’d never have to work again.

Though you know you still would. 

“That’s true,” you agree quietly. But you’re thinking about the prince, and the curse. Of course the pay-out speaks to you - you have bills to pay, after all. And you’re only human. But the thing about what you do is… well, you love it. 

You love curse-breaking. You love the puzzle, the pieces clicking together just right as you uncover the components of the original curse one at a time. You love the thrill of building your own magic to push back with, love the sizzle of power beneath your undeserving, human fingertips as you cast something meant to strip away someone else’s hatred and leave calm in its place. 

You love having something you’re good at, something you can claim as yours, something to enter a room before you do and demand a sliver of respect you’d never experienced before.

Not to mention… you’ve studied the Infracti and their history and culture for your entire adult life. To get to go there and see it all in person, with the promise of protection, is something beyond your wildest dreams. Infracti can come here if they go through the proper channels - for business or for pleasure, as long as that pleasure isn’t hunting.

But humans typically don’t go to Infracticus. It’s simply too dangerous - statistically, there’s bound to be some rule-breakers, and you’d be walking into their home. This is an opportunity that has never come before, for anyone you’ve ever known in the field.

You think again of your conversation in Dr. Kim’s office earlier. You’d been chosen not for your talent as much as your anonymity. Success on this case would bring you prestige among the curse-breaking community. You’d make a name for yourself, by yourself - not attached to Dr. Kim, overshadowed and forgotten.

“I think I want to do it,” you murmur, and when Namjoon whips around to look at you, wide-eyed, you realize you’ve spoken out loud. 

“You should sleep on it,” he says, repeating his grandfather’s words from earlier. “Y/N, you could be walking to your death.”

“That’s the case every time,” you point out. “Besides, the royal family obviously wants us to succeed - they want the prince to be healed. I’m sure they’ll use their wealth and power to keep us safe. If anything happens to us, he’s screwed, right?”

Namjoon shakes his head, runs his hand down his face. “This is insane,” he intones. “This is insane. We can’t just waltz into Infracticus and pretend we belong there -”

“Again,” you say, more firmly this time, more and more sure of your decision by the second. “They want our success. They’re going to do everything they can to mitigate the risk of our cover being blown, right? They have more to gain from our success than we do. Seriously, think about it.”

“Oh, I’m thinking,” Namjoon mutters.

“I’m going to tell him yes,” you say decisively. “No pressure. Make the decision that’s best for you.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon mutters, swirling the last dregs of his beer around the bottom of his glass, voice glum. “Yeah. I’m… I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

–

Your first class the next day is early; you clutch a travel mug of coffee and watch the city pass by outside your window with barely-open eyes. You’re even earlier than normal, because you want to stop by Dr. Kim’s office on your way and give him your answer.

His door is open when you arrive, and you knock, though normally you’d just stroll in.

He looks up, startled by the noise, then softens when he sees it’s you. You feel a rush of affection for the old man; over the last ten years of your life, he’s been more of a father to you than your own family. 

“I want to go,” you tell him, proud when your voice comes out sure and steady, when inside you feel uncertain and wobbly. 

Dr. Kim takes off his glasses and places them on the desk before him, rubs at his eyes, and replaces them. “I don’t know how to feel,” he finally admits with a chuckle. “I both want you to accept, and don’t. On one hand, I know you’ll handle the situation, and I’ll be so proud… but the danger…”

“I trust the royal family,” you say evenly. “If they say they’ll give us protection, I’ve got to trust that. I can’t not help - not if I’m their best shot at success.”

Dr. Kim shakes his head, looking out his window at the rising sun to the east. “I suppose I trust the royal family, too,” he muses, “or I wouldn’t have even told you about the case.” He turns to look at you again, seems to brace himself, snap into business-mode. “Very well. When do your classes end today? We have many things to debrief before you leave.”

–

You spend almost six hours in Dr. Kim’s office after giving your last lecture of the day - so long, in fact, that he orders delivery and you sneak bites of dinner between textbook pages as he helps you prepare for the trip as best he can. 

You review Infracti niceties - greetings, things that are considered polite, habits, mannerisms. You also get a crash course in current affairs, learning everything the human public knows about the current royal family. 

“Prince Taehyung was born Infracti, not turned from human,” Dr. Kim explains. “His bloodline - the bloodline of the royal family, of the Ruins - goes back… beyond written history. His powers will be strong, and so will his influence.”

“Did they tell you any details about the curse? What symptoms he’s exhibiting?” you ask curiously, flipping the page of the book you have open on the table.

Dr. Kim nods slowly, thinking as he speaks. “It appears he loses his sense of self between midnight and dawn each day,” he explains. “Becomes… the basest of his kind. They’ve been keeping him quite literally locked up each night to stop him from harming others.”

You ponder this, unable to get Namjoon’s words from yesterday out of your head. “I suppose if you wanted to dethrone a prince… turning him into a murderer might be one way.”

“Our job isn’t to solve who caused it,” Dr. Kim reminds you gently. “Just to cure him.”

You spend the rest of the night poring over brittle texts, taking pages and pages of notes on similar cases, curses that only show up in the afflicted at certain times, curses that cause violence or the desire to do harm, curses that make you lose sight of who you are. You write down the causes, the layers that may be present. You write down how they’ve been busted in the past, tactics that have proven successful.

You write down a list of everything you may need to pack. 

It’s nearing nine p.m. when you’re startled by a light knock on the office door. You look up from where you’re scrawling shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, bar soap, to find Namjoon standing in the doorway.

He greets his grandfather warmly and gives you a polite nod hello.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to tell me you want to stay home,” Dr. Kim says dryly, and Namjoon gives him a sheepish smile.

“No,” he admits. “I’m going to go.”

Dr. Kim sighs, nodding like he expected this all along. “Very well,” he says, waving a hand at the papers you have spread across the table. “Come take a picture of the packing list. I’ll escort you two to the Ostium tomorrow morning, before sunrise.”

The Ostium is a temple built from sand-colored stone, guarded by carved stone lions, fangs bared in a roar. You’ve been inside twice before, for your studies. You’ve never seen it in action. Right now it’s too dark to see the statues clearly - it’s hours before dawn. You napped more than slept, and it was fitful at best. 

You pull a wheeled carry-on size piece of black luggage, and you see a bulging duffle bag hanging across Namjoon’s back. Dr. Kim comes empty-handed and long-faced. You’re surprised that someone is there, now, when it is technically the middle of the night. But, then again, your arrival was scheduled - you are invited, expected. 

The woman who stands before the altar at the rear of the small room is obviously an Infracti. She doesn’t hide behind mortal eyes, as she could if she chose to. Instead of whites, her eyes are fathomless pools of black, swimming and shifting like inky ocean depths. There’s an unearthly quickness to the movements her body makes, as if she has to remind herself to move slowly and forgets each time a move is instinctual instead of deliberate. 

“Welcome,” she says. There’s a heaviness to her accent, a give-away that whoever she is, she’s old enough to have spoken the Infracti’s original language. “What business?”

“Good morning,” Dr. Kim says, and all three of you give a quick nod hello. “I am Dr. Kim from the university.”

“Yes,” she says, nodding in recognition. “We were expecting you. Welcome. You’ve come with the curse-breakers?”

Dr. Kim opens his hand, indicating both you and Namjoon. He introduces you both by name and she inclines her head in greeting. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says to you both. “Do you know how to cross?” 

Your pulse sings; you don’t think you’ve ever been this nervous about anything in your life. 

“In theory,” you tell her.

She gives you a tight half-smile. “It’s quite straight-forward. In that case, you can say goodbye here and I’ll escort you through.”

You’re surprised when Dr. Kim wraps you in a hug. “Please be careful,” he begs as he releases you and turns his attention to his grandson. “Don’t let your guard down. Do the job, and leave. Watch each other’s backs. Don’t get tangled up in anything besides breaking the curse.”

You exchange an uneasy look with Namjoon over Dr. Kim’s shoulders. In over ten years of your professional relationship, you’ve never seen a display of emotion from him. Not even when you and he were in the thick of the rainforest, faced with a nearly impossible puzzle and never-ending, bone-chilling rain.

The Infracti woman opens a door to the left of the altar, sliding a slab of stone sideways with just the wave of her hand. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was simply a sensor. You step through, Namjoon behind you, and she pauses in the doorway. The door slides shut behind you, leaving you alone. 

A smaller altar, made of the same sand-colored stone, sits unassuming in the center of the tiny room. A curved blade, no longer than your own hand, with a bejeweled hilt sits atop the stone. 

You give Namjoon a grim, sideway look. “You know what to do?” you ask him.

He nods, letting out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” he says.

“It’s archaic,” you grumble.

“They didn’t want humans landing there by accident.”

“I get it,” you admit. “But still.”

He lets out a second slow breath between his teeth, shaking his hands a little as if to rid them of nerves. You feel yourself slide into your professional self.

“You want me to do it?” you offer. 

He considers this, then nods. You each stand on one side of the altar, and you lift the blade. No sense in delaying it, you slice through the palm of your hand quickly, hissing between your teeth as you do. Namjoon is ready, palm extended.

“Sorry,” you mutter in advance, and then imitate the cut across his large palm. He makes no noise, but clenches his jaw as you set the blade back where it came from.

“Right to left, not left to right,” you remind him quietly. “At the same time. You ready?”

He nods, curt, and then in one motion you each wipe your bloody palms across the stone - the red smears creating parallel arcs, a cave painting, an ancient expression of your will.

To your left, there is no sound or sign of motion. But the stone wall that closed you in is no longer there.

Now you’re the one battling nerves. You feel your hands shake at your sides, and you fumble for the handle of your luggage. Namjoon comes up beside you and places a gentle hand at the top of your back.

“We’ve got this,” he assures you. 

You nod, looking up over your shoulder to meet his gaze. “Yeah,” you say, though you’re not sure if it’s a lie. “Okay. Let’s go.”

–

You did not go down, and yet you pass through the door and stand in an Ostium close to the grand palace of Infracticus, the underworld inhabited by all of the Infracti - the Ruins, the Scorns, the Leaves, and all the families whose names didn’t earn a spot in history books, but who have been here all along regardless.

You step into the tiny atrium, pulling your little suitcase behind you. An Infracti man greets you, asking to see identification. As if the wrong person could accidentally slice their hand and magically enter. 

“There’s transportation waiting just outside,” the Infracti tells you after he verifies that you are indeed the humans he was waiting for. “We ask that you wear these to conceal your identities.” He hands you each a hooded cloak. You bite back a joke that it’s the vampires who are supposed to wear these, not the humans, but the tiny smile plays across your face unchecked. 

The Infracti must understand your expression, because he leans in a little and lowers his voice. “Please understand that we were charged with keeping your presence an absolute secret. This is why we’ve scheduled your arrival for the middle of the night, why we are trying to hide your faces from anyone who may be out and about at odd hours. This is for your own safety as much as anything.”

You wonder at the truth of this. What is the priority - protecting you, as a human? Or protecting the prince’s secret? 

Outside, as promised, you’re greeted with the sight of a carriage, like it’s dropped straight out of a historical drama. It’s hard to see, as dark as it is, but you glimpse swirling gold patterns along the trim. Two Infracti men jump down from the front and take the luggage right from your hands. Wordlessly, then move around to the back of the carriage and begin placing your bag and Namjoon’s into thick trunks with ornate carvings that seem to match the carriage’s.

“Have we gone back in time?” Namjoon asks you, barely audible.

Of course the Infracti can hear him. One of them turns, black eyes narrowing. “There is no need for your technology here,” he says flatly. “Our command of magic does more than your electricity and internet ever will.”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Namjoon says, a little stilted. The Infracti doesn’t reply, face blank and unreadable, and shakes the trunks once to make sure they’re latched properly before walking back towards the front of the carriage. You shoot Namjoon a sympathetic look.

Most humans back home can go their whole lives without really interacting with magic or magical people. Of course it’s there, but people with no relationship to magic tend to not notice - their minds explain away the magical. If you hadn’t been interested in Infracticus, you wouldn’t have learned about their magical abilities, wouldn’t have followed that interest into introductory courses on curses and curse-breaking that would end up shaping your life. 

It’s a shame, though. Like you, non-magical people can still use and manipulate the universe’s magic if they learn how. The skill is called borrowing - and while there’s theory and procedure behind it, anyone should be able to borrow once they know how. You’ve never understood why so many of your kind turn away from this possibility. It wasn’t easy for you to learn, necessarily, but it wasn’t impossible either. 

“We’ll be at the palace in about twenty minutes,” the remaining Infracti, the shorter of the two, tells you. “You’ll be entering through a lower-level entrance - not the main doors. From there, we’ll take you directly to your chambers.”

“Okay,” you say. “We understand. Then once we’re there - then what? Will we be meeting with the prince?”

“You’ll have some time to unpack and sleep more, if you wish,” he says, tilting his head as he considers this. “I was told that you have an audience with the royal family before the midday meal. You will be escorted there by your guards.”

You and Namjoon both murmur your understanding, and the Infracti reaches to open the carriage’s side door, indicating that you should enter. 

As you step closer, you find yourself freezing in place, eyes going wide as you notice what’s pulling the carriage. The hooves of their front two legs paw at the ground restlessly, as they toss their cerulean manes. Their eyes swirl black like the Infracti who domesticated them. Their muscular bodies taper to powerful, curled fishtails that float about a foot above the ground, held aloft by their own magic. 

“Are they… sea-goats?” Namjoon asks next to you, inching closer to get a better look.

“They’re called amarisca,” you whisper, so awed you can barely speak. Something else you’d only read about in books, something else that had felt like fairy tales, myths, not something that would ever appear in front of you, so close that you can smell their animal musk, the unpleasant tang of their saliva as they chomp at their bits. “They’re not half goat, they’re half horse - look at the faces.”

You’re mesmerized, eyes scanning the beautiful animals, examining their wild eyes, the hues of blue in their fur, the tough scales of their rippling tails. The Infracti holding the door open clears his throat impatiently. 

“Sorry,” you say, and Namjoon moves to the carriage. You stay one more second, entranced, before hurrying to follow him into the carriage. The Infracti closes the door behind you and moments later the carriage jerks into motion, carrying you towards the palace of Infracticus. 

–

You don’t speak in the carriage; you’re exhausted, you’re terrified, you’re exhilarated. It’s all too much, and none of it meshes well together. You don’t think you could carry on a rational conversation with Namjoon if your life depended on it. Luckily, he closes his eyes and leans his head back. You don’t know if he sleeps, but by the time the carriage finally comes to a stop, you haven’t spoken at all. 

The door is opened by the same man who closed it, and he holds out a hand to help you down, which strikes you as nice. 

“Thank you,” you murmur. It’s still very dark, and the taller Infracti hurries you through an opened stone door. The other Infracti follows, carrying the trunk holding yours and Namjoon’s belongings as if it weighs nothing.

To him, it must not. 

The two men lead you deeper into the palace, wordlessly stalking down corridors, around corners, down nondescript, stone stairways. 

After you’ve walked for what feels like quite a while - long enough that you are thoroughly lost - they stop before two decorated doors. The doors go from floor to ceiling, ornate patterns carved into the thick wood. The golden handles gleam in the low lighting. 

Two more Infracti - one a woman, one a man - stand guard, flanking the doorway, their backs ramrod straight, their black eyes fathomless. 

“You’ll have security at your doors at all times,” the shorter Infracti tells the two of you quietly. “This is Satuel and Dansoo.” He indicates the woman, then the man respectively as he says their names. “As well as keeping you safe in your quarters, they’ll also be your point of contact should you have any requests.”

“The concierge,” you joke, and you’re cowed into silence when four sets of emotionless black eyes turn to you, silently. Beside you, Namjoon shifts just slightly away, as if to distance himself from the embarrassment. Traitor. 

Satuel and Dansoo move to pull the doors open, and you enter, letting them fall closed behind Namjoon, who takes up the rear. The guards stay in the corridor, keeping the monsters out. Or, at least, the bad ones. 

You look around the main room. Everything drips in deep jewel tones and gold plating. Even the furniture seems too expensive to be real, too expensive to touch. Two couches and a wingback chair circle a low table, all of which sit beside a large heath with a roaring fire. Behind the couches is a high table with two wooden chairs - an eating area, you think. The far wall sports a water feature - water trickling down the wall and ending in a peaceful fountain, rich with floating plants.

You come back to yourself when Namjoon nudges your elbow, shooting you an apologetic look that seems to say, sorry, but I had to. 

“Your personal rooms are this way,” the Infracti is saying, in a tone like perhaps he is repeating himself. “You’ll find space for sleeping and bathing, as well as a small study.”

“Thank you,” you say, looking around. “This is beautiful.”

He bows his head at this, pleased. “If there’s anything you need, just inform one of your guards - they’ll see it done. For meals, if you have any particular preferences, you can tell the staff and it will be prepared for you, going forward.” 

This is wild, you think. This must be a fucking dream. It feels like you’re on a once-in-a-lifetime vacation, the kind you would never be able to afford in real life. The only catch is that everyone at this destination has the ability and natural instinct to want to eat you. 

“Thank you, that’s very considerate,” Namjoon says to your right, and once again you’re flooded with relief that he’s here with you, that one of you can be normal.

The two Infracti start to make their way towards the doors, prepared to leave you alone. “Someone will fetch you before your audience with the royal family,” the spokesperson tells you. He indicates what time you should be ready, and they slip from the doors, leaving you and Namjoon alone. 

Your wounded hand drips onto the floor. You’d forgotten about it - in the Ostium, in the carriage, in your new rooms. But now, in the quiet, you remember that you’d paid in blood to enter this dream.

“Do you think it’s hard for them?” Namjoon asks, eyeing his own bloody palm. “To resist?”

You leave your suitcase in the middle of the open room and start poking around for a bathroom. “It might not be hard,” you call over your shoulder to him. “If they’ve followed the protection laws, then they may have never hunted a human in their entire lives. But I’m sure they notice. I think it’d be like walking past a bakery and being like, damn, those rolls smell good, but you don’t break the window and murder the rolls, you know?”

Namjoon laughs. “I guess that’s true. If you want one bad enough, you go in and buy it.”

“Exactly,” you say, a bit of triumph in your voice as you find a bathroom. You wash your hand, letting the blood rinse down the drain, and then return to the main room, kicking over your suitcase and unzipping it, rummaging for a t-shirt you can use as a bandage. 

“Go wash that,” you instruct. “I’ll rip this and we can share it.”

“My hero,” he says dryly, and disappears into what you assume is a mirror-image of your own bedroom and bathroom. 

The Infracti who’d brought you here had recommended that you get some more sleep, and you know it’s a good idea after the barely-three-hours you’d logged last night. But you’re too anxious and keyed up to even hold still, let alone rest. Instead, you spend some time unpacking - putting your clothing and toiletries away, and then setting up books and paper in the small office. By the time it occurs to you that you might want to clean yourself up before being presented to the royal family, it’s too late. 

This time, your guards escort you. You walk in silence, full of nerves. You want to try to chat with the guards, pepper them with questions, but you get the idea that they aren’t meant to be too friendly with you. 

When you reach the throne room, the guards that are already in place move over, making room for yours. They stand, straight-backed and stoic, and the woman - Satuel - lifts a hand to show that you should enter. 

You take a shuddering breath and look sideways at Namjoon. His face has gone a funny color, and his jaw juts slightly as he clenches it.

“We’ll be fine,” you tell him quietly. “Shake off the nerves. Let’s go be professionals.”

He looks at you like you’re a little crazy. Maybe you are. “No one’s ever done this,” he says a bit hollowly. “You know that, right?”

“Which part?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow.

He laughs under his breath and starts to move forward through the decorated doorway and into the empty, echoing throne room. 

<- Prev | Next ->

There was virtually not a single person left on the entire fourth floor of the company building, despite it being a Monday afternoon. Normally, two other managers worked in offices adjacent to yours, so the noise in the hallways never settled below a pleasant hum: producers, promoters, and publicists – the three cursed Ps – shuffled in and out, heels clicking urgently against the marble floor.

This funeral silence was unusual, but you knew it was only a calm before the storm.

Rated Riot were going on their first-ever European tour in two days to promote their sophomore album – named aptly, “ready, set, RIOT” – and today was the final day of meetings. Evidently, the executives at Jett Records assumed that the band deserved to have a whole floor to themselves, so everyone else got a half-day, leaving you and the Floor Administrator, Rue, all by yourselves until the band got here.

This unsettling silence was exactly why you heard them arrive as soon as the door of the building opened four floors below. Rated Riot lived up to their name by making themselves heard before they were seen.

As soon as the sharp ding! of the elevator reached you in your office—your door was always open on meeting days, because the four members of one of the most promising rock bands in the world at the moment lacked any sense of direction—you could immediately feel the atmosphere lighten, the previous silence long gone.

“Rue! The apple of my eye!” Hoseok, the drummer and the de facto mood setter of Rated Riot, exclaimed as you listened to the familiar sounds of the band as they exited the elevator and, based on the repeated clicking of shoes in the lobby, momentarily got disoriented.

“Always looking good, Rue!” Jungkook, the vocalist, as well as the new Golden Boy of Jett Records followed after.

“Good to see you again,” Taehyung, the always well-mannered bassist, said. Silence followed and you assumed he shook Rue’s hand.

“Hello,” Yoongi, who was, technically, the guitarist of the band, but, really, played any instrument he could get his hands on, was the last to speak. He’d always been very well-spoken in songwriting, but quieter and more careful in most everyday conversations.

“Welcome, guys,” Rue greeted them. You couldn’t see any of them from where your office was located, but you’ve been in a similar situation countless times before and you could imagine what was happening without needing to witness it first-hand.

Rue would stand up from her seat and point her right hand down the hallway, reminding them—yet again—that they needed to walk down the hall and take a right turn. The members of Rated Riot, in turn, would walk down the hall. At least one of the four of them would turn left instead, causing a pause as the group gathered back together, exchanging confused glances. Then, they would turn back to Rue—who would still be standing there, her right hand extended like a helpful Statue of Liberty. They’d laugh at themselves, nod at Rue, and take the correct turn.

If things were going well, they’d find your office on first try—they’d just need to find the open door and peer inside; your desk was right in front. More often than not, however, they stumbled around, knocking and chuckling to themselves as they continuously interrupted the offices of everyone else, but you.

They were special. Not just because they looked like loose ducklings, separated from the Mother Duck, whenever they entered the company building, but also because, in spite of their own lack of coordination, they still managed to get things done.

And they brightened the day of everyone they came across. Which was almost ironic—as you realized by watching the four of them enter your office—considering the effortless rockstar aura that surrounded them.

Jungkook walked in first. That was typical because he usually did: sometimes because he was the only one who remembered where your office was, but usually because the other members offered him as a sacrificial lamb when they went knocking around every office on the floor in search of yours.

He was dressed in all-black—always—adorned with silver chains and necklaces that often gave you a start when you looked up, because he had a very specific way of entering the room: he seemed to make sure to position himself in just a way that the light, coming in from the window behind you, always reflected off his jewellery and momentarily blinded you.

Sure enough, you blinked, cringing into yourself as the brightness hit your eyes, and when you opened them again, he was already grinning.

“Hi,” he said and the rest of the members followed in after him—a brighter palette of colours.

Even Yoongi, who was the only one who could have given Jungkook a run for his money if you had to count which one had more black items of clothing in their closet, was wearing a beige, loosely buttoned shirt.

Despite that, however, you could tell they were rock artists as soon as you looked at them—all tattoos, piercings, intense eye make-up behind sunglasses, and old band tees—and you stood up, excited to let them know that, finally, every last loose thread had been found and tightened. They’d get to introduce their artistry on a different continent, and you’d make sure it’d go smoothly.

“We’re leaving for Prague tomorrow morning,” you told them once the five of you settled down at the round table in the back of your office. “So, if you were planning a going away party, I strongly advise against it.”

“We weren’t,” Yoongi said, lifting his glass of lemon water—there was a jug on the table—and giving you a reassuring look. “This is the strongest drink I’m having tonight.”

“Thanks,” you said paradoxically enough, but being grateful when the members of the band you managed didn’t get drunk before an important day was part of the job. “I’d also appreciate it if—”

“Hold on a second, though,” Jungkook interrupted—you’d been anticipating it. “I’m going to a gig tonight, Reconnaissance are in town again. And there’s obviously an after-party—”

Despite Reconnaissance being, arguably, one of the most popular rock bands in the world right now, you were definite when you cut him off, “No.”

“—so, I—wait. No?” he paused. “I never miss their shows, you know that. And I don’t get drunk easily. You know that, too.”

“That’s why you drink so much,” you rebutted. The rest of the band members got their phones out, knowing well enough at this point that this would take a while. “And then I have to come get you out of trouble.”

“You absolutely do not have to do that,” Jungkook insisted. “We’ve been through this.”

“Have we?” you argued. “Because I keep telling you it’s my job to keep you from passing out in a dirty bar bathroom, but you don’t care enough to hear me.”

“Well, you’re not very convincing. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll wake up again.”

You were used to having this conversation with him—you’ve argued about this way before he became a singer and you ended up as his manager. And yet, the lax way he said this made you clench your fists.

Despite being mostly introverted, Jungkook did enjoy getting drinks with friends: even if said friends enjoyed his celebrity status more than they enjoyed the drinks.

“And if you don’t?” you threatened. “Rated Riot’s vocalist gets his stomach pumped. A catchy headline.”

“Yeah, man,” Hoseok interjected, putting his phone screen down on the table and crossing his arms. “Doesn’t go well with the vibe we’re going for. Don’t get your stomach pumped.”

“Fine, I—”

“What he meant was, don’t drink so much that you’d need your stomach pumped,” you clarified because Jungkook moonlighted as a Loophole Finder.

“I never have!” he insisted. “Seriously, you treat me like I’m still nineteen. Have some faith.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the other members of the group look up from their phones. The band had only formed a few years ago, so you were the only person in this room who knew what Jungkook was like when he was nineteen. You never spoke about it – that was likely why everyone was so curious.

In any case, Jungkook was wrong. You did have faith—that’s why you spent so many of your off-duty nights driving down deserted streets to pick him up after his asshole friends convinced him it was a good idea to try the biker bar on the outskirts of town, and he’d gotten in an altercation with a burly redneck that was twice his size.

There was no time for that now, not when he was supposed to be on stage in Prague in three days.

“Well,” Taehyung spoke up. “I was thinking of going to the show as well. Not so much the after-party, I have better plans. But, uh, I could come, after all.”

You appreciated the offer, but you knew that these better plans involved him spending time with his girlfriend, Luna, who was going to join him for a few weeks of the European tour, but after that, the two of them were going to be apart for several months.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you said, not trying very much to hide the hopeful undertones in your voice. Jungkook’s friends felt intimidated by all the members of Rated Riot; they’d be on their best behaviour if Taehyung was there.

“No, I think it might be fun,” Taehyung said. You exhaled quietly and he could sense your gratitude without words. He turned to his younger bandmate. “Should we go together?”

Jungkook groaned and mumbled under his breath, “not if I have to third-wheel again.”

“When have you ever third-wheeled anyone?” you asked rhetorically, but he was already opening his mouth to reply. Quickly, you added, “be careful, is what I’m saying, okay? I am complaining about having to pick you up from all kinds of holes, but if you need me to bring NDAs, I will bring them. So, ask.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but chose to stay quiet. He knew better now – the one time he did not make anyone sign a non-disclosure agreement after an impromptu, drunken busking session in New York, pictures of him, half-dressed and giving a lap dance to a random, equally as drunk, groupie, were on every rock page on Instagram. Accompanied with detailed retellings of how it came to happen, of course; all of them more ridiculous than the next. Your personal favourite story was that he was recruiting members for a sex cult.

“We’ll call you,” Taehyung gave you a nod, “if we have to.”

“Perfect,” you said, glancing at Jungkook again, even though expecting him to confirm that he, too, would call you if he had to, was wishful thinking.

Every time you reminded him how he needed to start going out with a less destructive crowd, he’d treat his phone like a poisonous snake – and he’d been doing that even before you became his manager. His friends seemed to get their pleasure fix from watching you arrive and rip him a new one, so they were the ones who called you most of the time, always laughing into their phones like true accomplices.

It was funny how Jungkook was the only one who passed out or got so wasted, he ended up on a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. His friends always walked away unscathed and, usually, only called you by the time they were back in their bedrooms – “when we left, he was ordering mint and honey daiquiris, you should probably go over there and check up on him.”

It was like they loved pushing him into danger and purposefully bringing the two of you together again, and Jungkook either didn’t realize or didn’t care anymore. It’s been a while, after all.

You and Jungkook had been broken up for two years when you got the unbelievable offer to manage an up-and-coming rock band. This was two years ago now and you were only twenty-four back then. Up until that point, you had worked as an assistant manager for various indie artists, so that offer was massive.

You figured the downside that your ex-boyfriend happened to be in this particular band was worth it, considering the huge leap in your career you’d make by accepting this job.

And, for the most part (excluding the first two months that were pure chaos of repressed feelings), you and Jungkook both made this work, drawing a strict line between your relationship before Rated Riot (back when he still had your phone number saved as “❌”) and after he met you again as Rated Riot’s new manager (ironically, now your name on his phone was “❌❌❌”).

You’ve managed Rated Riot for almost exactly two years now, and if you’d asked the band – which you wouldn’t, partially out of humbleness, but also because you were scared – you’d know that they loved working with you as much as you loved working with them. So, in the end, it all really had been worth it.

“Check your emails for the descriptive itineraries,” you continued smoothly enough. The guys at the table put their phones down and returned their attention to you. “Now, who else is coming with us?”

Technically, the band wasn’t supposed to bring anyone – the label was explicitly clear about that. They wanted the first European tour to go “without a hitch” (meaning, without distractions), but you held a more liberal view here.

You didn’t think loved ones coming on the road were a distraction; if anything, they were a firm support mechanism that made touring easier for the artists.

“I know Luna’s staying until the Barcelona show, yeah?” you asked, double-checking the notes on your laptop.

Taehyung nodded, a small smile on his lips at the mention of the girl. “She flies out the next day, yeah.”

“Okay. Who else?”

“Well, Sid and Jude are coming,” Jungkook spoke up and, after seeing your eyes roll back, added, quieter, “and Minjun isn’t sure.”

The three musketeer-wannabes – Sid, Jude, and Minjun – were on speed dial on your work and personal phones, because if Rated Riot had a performance and the vocalist wasn’t there, it was likely those three who were to blame. They were the only ones who knew Jungkook longer than you did, and they seemed to take pride in the fact that they had successfully been causing you headaches for seven years now.

“Sid and Jude,” you repeated, “aren’t worried they’ll lose their jobs if they travel to Europe abruptly?”

“No, they’re cool,” Jungkook shrugged, not catching the mockery in your voice. “I’ll text Minjun right now. Maybe he’ll come when we’re in Poland…”

“I needed confirmation by last week,” you reminded him. “At the latest.”

He glanced at you from his phone and then went back to texting. “So, why’d you ask now?”

“To double-check,” you said. “They’re going to have to book the hotels themselves. Or sleep on the street. Honestly, I don’t really—”

“So, uh,” Yoongi interrupted before another argument could begin, “how many hotels this time?”

“Prague, Amsterdam, and Paris. And, depending on flight time, maybe two nights in London,” you said with an apologetic smile. “Bring your favourite blankets. We’re living on buses for the next three months.”

None of them minded – if anything, you could see a little glitter in their eyes as they listened to you. Being on the road and having to sleep on the tour bus every night was an experience they’d missed. They hadn’t gone on an actual tour in almost a year – as someone who thrived on live performances, they had obviously missed this.

Really, you’ve missed it, too. Rated Riot may have been a riot to look after as their manager – pun fully intended – especially on tour, but they were your riot to deal with.

You liked your job and the challenges that came with it, because, in the end, you overcame most of them: starting with your previous relationship with Jungkook (no one in the band had a problem with it, and the label miraculously seemed not to know about it) and ending with your relatively young age (Jungkook was the only one who had a problem with you being his age, but he had a problem with almost everything).

Hopefully, one day you’d manage to overcome the challenge that was getting Jungkook to open his eyes and realize that the people he surrounded himself with were more groupies than his friends. But all in due time.

“If you have questions,” you said as the meeting approached its’ conclusion, “go right ahead.”

“Wake-up calls,” Yoongi said. “Any possibility of arranging those?”

You smiled – this had been traditional practice ever since you started to work with them.

“I’ll call,” you said and then remembered a particularly frustrating way in which this had backfired. You added, “and keep you on the phone until you’re out of bed.”

Back when you were an assistant manager to a different band, this had been your main task. And, you supposed, if Rated Riot had assistant managers, they’d be the ones making wake-up calls, too – however, the band had only started to live up to their potential now. Before you booked the European tour for them, Jett Records thought they barely needed one manager to begin with.

You’ve made it this far. If the tour went well, maybe you’d get to expand your team as the band gained popularity.

Jungkook felt giddy the whole night. The Reconnaissance show with Taehyung and Luna was a lot of fun, as expected—he’d seen the band five times before tonight, and they never failed to let him down.

When he arrived at the after-party, he was nearly vibrating with excitement—on top of everything, he was going on tour tomorrow and he knew he might lose his mind over it—and this was usually the time when he tended to get reckless.

He did drink a little too much to retain a completely sober mind, but he stayed true to his word and did not wander anywhere or caused any—serious—trouble. You would have said that’s because Sid and Jude weren’t with him, but Jungkook was convinced it was because he simply had great self-control when he put his mind to it.

The only place he went to after the party was his family’s house, so he could say goodbye to his grandma. She probably wouldn’t even hear him—and if she would, then she probably wouldn’t recognize him—but he couldn’t leave to Europe without saying goodbye to her.

He thought he’d take his Katana to the house, but then remembered immediately the last time he got on his motorcycle drunk – his grandma had, literally, smacked him on the back with a rolling pin, yelling about how careless he was. She didn’t say that she hit him out of concern for his safety—that was obvious—and, instead, she focused on how hard he’d worked on restoring the bike after he’d bought it; his first purchase with the money that he made off Rated Riot’s music.

“Don’t you want it to last?” she had said then. She’d been the only person who believed he could bring the bike to life, despite it not having a single properly functioning part, least of all the engine. “You worked so hard on it. Do you want to wreck it in one night?”

Tonight, however, everyone in the house was asleep when he arrived. It was quiet, so he tried to be silent as he went up the stairs to her room—and then knocked over a picture frame after his feet fumbled on the carpet in the hallway. But no one went out to check who was making the noise—which was dangerous, he realized for a brief, semi-sober second; but the house had security, so he figured they were safe from outsiders—and he gently lowered the handle on his grandma’s door, peering inside.

The room was painted in blue hues from the night light next to the bed where his grandma was sleeping. He approached—really trying to be quiet this time—and carefully pulled her comforter up, so she wouldn’t get cold, even though the room felt warm.

It was always warm here and Jungkook had to bite his lip when he realized how much he missed sitting here as a child while dozens of his cousins ran around the house and wreaked loud, childish havoc. How much he missed his grandma reading him books—never children’s stories, he always insisted she read him the thickest, most boring books he could find on her shelves, just so he could stay in her room longer, listening to her soothing voice and feeling her comforting warmth.

Sniffling quietly, he leaned closer to her and brushed a strand of white hair from her face, listening to her soft breathing as she slept, unaware of his presence.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised in a whisper as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She didn’t wake. “We will talk again then.”

He knew he’d keep this promise even if she didn’t hear it, even if she didn’t remember. But leaving her room felt painful and he was far less excited now. The alcohol had begun to wear off and heaviness settled in his chest instead. This happened sometimes when he was left alone with his thoughts, especially after he visited his grandma.

He'd come back, he knew he would. But as he glanced at his grandma’s sleeping frame one more time—remembering how she hadn’t called him by his name in months; not one glint of recognition in her eyes when she’d see him—he wondered if he’d have anyone to come back to.

Surprising exactly no one, Jungkook was the only one who did not answer your wake-up call the next morning. Having foreseen this, you’d already called Hoseok, Yoongi and Taehyung – in that order, because the first two took the longest to wake up, and by that time, Taehyung was already awake on his own – and only then attempted to reach the one remaining member.

Fifteen minutes later, you were already dressed and ready to drive over to his house and personally wake him up with an icy bath in bed. And just then, your phone rang – his name as the caller’s ID.

“Look who—”

“Okay, okay,” Jungkook’s groggy voice cut you off before you could greet him with the appropriate sarcastic remark. “I’m awake. Halfway in the shower.”

“I don’t hear running water.”

He responded with a groan first, then shuffling. You waited patiently, balancing the phone on your shoulder as you unlocked the door of your apartment. Finally, you could hear the water start running on the other end of the call.

“Happy?” Jungkook asked, always the brightest of all rays of sunshine in the morning.

“Ecstatic,” you replied, equally as enthusiastically. “Sending a car to pick you up in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

“I can drive myself—”

“No driving when you’re hungover,” you said, not for the first time. “In fact, don’t even go near your Katana.”

He considered several ways to respond to you; first and foremost, defending his beloved, navy-coloured Suzuki Katana with a matte coating, custom-made leather seat covers, golden rims, purring engine, and—anyway. He ended up choosing to respond with a question, “how do you know I’m hungover?”

“I’ve known you for almost ten years,” you replied. “If you go out drinking the night before, you’ll wake up hungover.”

“Well, how do you know I drank that much last ni—?”

“Listen,” you cut him off, hoisting your suitcases over the threshold of your front door. You fixed your phone against your cheek and continued, “how about you take that shower, and we’ll resume this nice little Q&A at the airport?”

“No,” he replied and, in a purposefully exaggerated breathy voice said, “I simply can’t stop talking to you.”

“Hanging up now.”

Jungkook laughed as he listened to the beep, indicating the end of the call. Putting his phone on the side of the sink, he took his shirt off and was about to continue undressing when his phone vibrated and nearly fell off the sink.

Scrambling to catch it, he smacked it against the cupboard and exhaled in relief when he saw that the screen hadn’t cracked. He was expecting a text from you – a threat, in case he’d go back to bed – but it was actually Sid, asking for the time of his flight.

His friends were taking a separate flight out to Prague – they weren’t happy about it and neither was he, but at least they’d get to hang out in Europe eventually – and, obviously, they wanted to know what time they’d meet up and where.

He double-checked the itinerary you’d emailed him, got confused about the time zone difference and texted Sid back.

“Gonna be there the day before the show,” his text said, “jetlag. Sleep. Maybe beer? Catch u there.”

Sid was, of course, delighted to hear the mention of beer and Jungkook snickered to himself before he resumed undressing for his shower—knowing from experience that you wouldn’t be above shipping him to Prague in the cargo section on the plane if he was late to the airport.

As it turned out, for the first time in his life, Jungkook was so terribly jet-lagged, that he did not feel like doing anything – not even drinking with friends – but sleeping.

He slept through the whole layover in Paris – and, consequently, through Taehyung and Luna’s stories about the 5 minutes they got to spend in front of the Eiffel Tower before rushing back to the airport (never mind that it was about 2 AM) – as well as the flight to Prague.

He only woke up on the bus ride to the hotel when he felt something nudging his lips and opened his eyes to find an open bottle of Coca-Cola in your hands as you held it by his face.

“Did you just—” he started to say, but his voice sounded brittle, more a croak than a voice, really. He cleared his throat and tried again, “did you just wake me up by making me sniff soda?”

“It worked,” you replied, nudging the bottle at him again. “Drink. You need sugar. You didn’t eat anything on the plane here.”

“I had that bagel on the flight to Paris,” he mumbled, but sat up properly and took the bottle from you.

“That was a croissant,” you clarified. It was almost cute to see him barely awake. “And I warned you about flying with a hangover. You did this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he replied after taking a big gulp of coke. “Not sure which day it is, but other than that, I’m perfect. Do you have anything for headaches?”

Snickering, you nodded. “Yeah, give me a second.”

You went to fetch your carry-on bag and returned with ibuprofen, which allowed him to go back to sleep until you arrived at the hotel. The other members were also in and out of slumber, but that was their own fault. You and the other girls on this tour, which, really, only meant Luna— Taehyung’s girlfriend—and Maggie—the tour photographer—had planned ahead and taken sleeping pills as soon as the plane took off. Meanwhile, every man on this trip thought too much of himself.

By the time you arrived to the hotel and checked in, it was already lunchtime. If this had been your first time travelling with Rated Riot, you would have been beyond surprised to see what effect food had on them: they looked like they'd just returned from the most refreshing vacation in the Caribbean. Lively conversation and cheerful laughter echoed around the table – no one would have guessed that they’d just spent over 13 hours on airplanes. Their recovery was nearly always miraculous.

And, naturally, since they were feeling better, they wanted to do something as soon as the first rehearsal was over. You had far too many things to do before the show tomorrow, so you couldn’t babysit them – again, an assistant manager would have been life-saving – but you knew you’d still have to keep an eye on them.

Taehyung and Luna went sightseeing, but they were the sort who kept you updated on their adventures through pictures, which you were endlessly grateful for. There was never a reason to worry here; if you were a teacher who had to pretend not to have a favourite student, Taehyung would be the student you were pretending about.

Yoongi and Hoseok, initially, went to a record store together, but then split up – one of them returned to the hotel for a nap, and the other one went café-hopping. Those two were also fine – they usually took some members of the crew with them anyway, so you knew that in the worst-case scenario, you’d still have several people you could call to reach them.

Now Jungkook was going to meet up with Sid and Jude, both of whom had, most unfortunately, successfully landed in Prague. The Diabolical Duo would take him out drinking, you had no doubt about it – and this was where you’d have to step in with another warning. You weren’t the angry mother, dragging her children by their ears, but you felt it necessary to remind Jungkook of what was at stake if he allowed his friends to be their usual, obnoxious selves tonight.

However, you didn’t want to ask, so you had to figure out where to find them yourself. You didn’t even have to use the seven years that you’ve known them to deduce two logical, universal-for-all-assholes things: one, Jungkook’s friends wouldn’t be nearly tired enough not to want to drink. Two, they’d be too jet-lagged to look for their usual hole-in-the-wall spot that sold drinks. Therefore, they’d have to settle for the bar of the hotel.

And when you exited the elevator on the ground floor later that night, your assumption was confirmed – you could hear their laughter from where you were standing in the lobby.

You’d texted Jungkook as you arrived, hoping he’d leave his friends and come see you at the back of the bar for a minute, but unfortunately, Sid and Jude noticed you and waved you over with loud cheers.

Embarrassed as the people in booths around you began to turn to look, you swallowed and walked towards the front where Jungkook and his friends were sitting by the bar.

“Wow, it’s been so long!” Jude exclaimed as you approached. In your opinion, it wasn’t nearly long enough, but you only lifted the corners of your lips and did not comment.

“Jungkook, a moment?” you said instead.

“Let’s get you a drink!” Sid suggested as though you hadn’t spoken and extended a hand, clicking his fingers to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey! Can we get some Margaritas here?”

You cringed watching this, but, again, restrained yourself. They could behave like pricks all they wanted; it wasn’t their reputation that you had to protect. Someone else would, hopefully, teach them a lesson.

“Sure,” Jungkook said to you, sliding off the stool. He seemed sober enough to walk without any sort of waddling or stand without swaying, but you could tell by the relaxation behind his eyes, that he was already tipsy.

His friends patted him on the back and whistled as he followed you to a quieter spot in the back of the bar. He shook his head at them—but had a grin on his face, and for that alone you wanted to punch him.

“Can I count on you to take it easy?” you asked, once the two of you were out of earshot. “Not because you’ll make my job much harder if you don’t, but because you have a rehearsal tomorrow at eight, and that’s hard with the jet lag alone, but add a hangover into the mix, and—”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, but you’ve heard this song many times before. It was one of his top hits. “I’m actually tired, so I might have a few and then go straight to bed.”

“Okay,” you said, choosing to believe him, because that was easier than making him sign a contract, swearing not to wake up in a dumpster. “Can you text me when you’re back in your room? So I know you’re not lost somewhere in Prague with Dumb and Dumber.”

His lip twitched in an almost-smile at the nickname, but he resisted – a loyal friend, even if they didn’t deserve it – and gave you a nod.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll text you. And I won’t get lost.”

“Okay—” you started to say and then squinted your eyes at him, realizing. “I meant don’t go wandering the city streets while drunk.”

He snorted and placed a hand on your left shoulder. Gazing into your eyes, he enunciated very dramatically, “I will not get into trouble. Promise.”

You pursed your lips. “You’d better not.”

“I realize what that would mean, believe it or not,” he said, straightening. “Tomorrow is an important day. I’d never do anything to ruin it.”

“I know,” you said. “I trust you to make smart choices. I don’t trust them.”

You pointed at the twosome by the bar – both of them watching you like you were the entertainment of the night – and Jungkook turned to look. Sid and Jude both immediately waved at him. Jungkook waved back and, when he looked at you again, he was smiling softly.

Clearly, he genuinely enjoyed hanging out with those two. You’d never believe that there was anything about them that was bearable—let alone enjoyable—so Jungkook’s weird attachment to them had to come from some sort of weird destructive force inside of him.

“I’ll keep them in check,” he said and then, possibly prompted by the skeptical frown on your face, he felt the need to explain, “they help me relax. If it weren’t for them, I’d probably be shaking from anxiety all the time. Kind of like you are.”

He winked as he said that last part, grinning at his own wit, but you rolled your eyes in response.

“Goodnight,” you said then. “Don’t forget to text me.”

“Are you going to stay up late waiting for my text?” his tone was humorous and it stopped you from leaving.

“Hopefully not,” you said, ignoring the flirty comment that was obviously meant to rattle your composure. “But it’d do you well to remember that I can make life very difficult for you if you disobey me.”

He lifted his eyebrows at this, but did not lose the grin. “Oh? Will I get punished if I—”

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” you said again—louder—and turned away.

You glanced over your shoulder when you reached the archway leading to the lobby and caught him watching you leave—he was still beaming, but he composed himself and nodded when he caught your eye. You nodded back.

Maybe he really would be fine tonight.

And, truly, Jungkook had meant what he’d said – he couldn’t wait for tomorrow and there was nothing he’d do to ruin that. Not even if the smirking faces of his friends prompted him to laugh as soon as he returned to his seat by the bar.

“What do you want, assholes?” he asked, punching Jude on the shoulder as he walked past his friends. As soon as he sat down, leaving Sid in the middle, he took a big gulp of the beer he’d left waiting; only his third one tonight.

“We don’t want anything,” Jude said, still smirking. “What did she want? Another moral how you’re not being a good boy?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “No—”

“I was always curious,” Sid interrupted. “Was she like that when you dated, too? You know, always in charge?”

Even before you and Jungkook had settled into a steady enough rhythm of working with each other, neither of you spoke to others about your relationship. Not while you were dating, and not after you broke up. So, all your friends—real friends and whoever the hell Sid and Jude were—essentially knew nothing of your relationship.

And there was nothing he’d tell them now.

It’s been four years since you broke up—plenty of time to move on. Not to mention, you were both (trying to be) professionals. There was no point to bring back the past; there never had been.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jungkook teased, managing to keep the banter going without revealing how the question irked something inside him.

“I would. That’s why I asked,” Sid replied, laughing haughtily. A few heads turned his way. Sid sounded very much like an entitled heir—or an elephant high on helium—when he laughed, especially when there was nothing funny going on. “I mean, you never talked about her to us. Was it getting rid of her that made you who you are today?”

Jude snorted, slapping Sid on the back in a half-supportive, half-warning manner. Jungkook knew that the level of your patience for his friends ranged from Sid (no patience) to Jude (case-by-case), to Minjun (bearable)—and he could see why.

“I didn’t get rid of her,” he said, an edge to his voice. “We broke up and moved on. Did you hear from Minjun?”

Sid laughed again—even louder than before; the glasses behind the bar seemed to clatter.

“Look at him, trying to change the topic!” he wheezed, looking at Jude over his shoulder.

“Leave him be, man,” Jude said and nodded at Jungkook. “So many girls around us and this dumbass is still hung up on your ex, huh?”

Jungkook finished his beer and held the liquid behind his cheeks for a second before swallowing. He caught the bartender’s eye and lifted his empty glass, indicating a refill.

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s hung up,” Sid said with a very knowing look in his eye.

Jungkook looked at him and raised his eyebrows—surprised and momentarily distracted from his drink. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you come to her as soon as she calls, like a puppy,” Sid replied. “So, you tell me.”

“I have to come when she calls,” Jungkook defended. “She’s my manager.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Jude said, slapping Sid on the back of the head this time. “She’s his manager.”

Jungkook suddenly found himself smiling when he realized that you’d probably consider this the reason why Sid acted the way he did sometimes – permanent brain damage from Jude’s incessant slaps.

“Well, then someone,” Sid said, angrily accentuating the word—the anger was clearly directed at Jude, but the pronoun at Jungkook, “has a fucking crush on their manager.”

“I don’t have a crush—”

Sid spoke over him, “I bet you could never get her to go out with you again.”

Jungkook saw the bartender approach to pour him a drink and he heard Jude scoffing, but he could only blink, taken aback by what sounded like an accusation.  “Why—why would I even—why—”

“Oh, see, see?!” Sid screeched, turning to Jude with a triumphant expression. Jude gave him a pitiful look—and looked about ready to give him a black eye, too. “He knows I’m right, it’s why he’s stuttering!”

“Dude,” Jude said slowly. “You are yelling.”

Jungkook cleared his throat, nodding at the bartender as a thank-you and then bringing his refilled glass to his lips. “And I’m not stuttering.”

“You so are, my man,” Sid taunted, patting Jungkook on the shoulder with so much force, the beer nearly spilled from the glass and from his mouth. “Your ass is so whipped, you’re going to be singing at her wedding to some random producer.”

Suddenly hyper-aware that there were several producers on tour with them right now, Jungkook put his drink down and straightened in his seat.

“I’m not fucking singing at weddings,” he said.

“Not yet,” Sid pointed out, grinning. He knew he'd gotten under his skin.

“Okay, come on now,” Jude interjected, leaning back in his seat to be able to see Jungkook. “You promised you’d sing at my wedding.”

“As if anyone would ever marry you,” came Sid’s snide.

“You shut the fuck up,” Jude snarled, but there was no malice behind his bark. “I have more chances of marrying someone than he has of marrying his manager.”

“He—oh, fuck!” Sid was about to argue, but then burst into laughter—so loud and thunderous again, that the bartender was forced to glance over at the security guards by the entrance to the bar. “That’s good! You’re so right!”

“Both of you are fucking idiots,” Jungkook spoke. The edges of his vision were red. “I could get her to go out with me again if I wanted to.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Sid nodded, wiping invisible tears from his eyes. “Big talk.”

“Jungkook, no offense, my dude,” Jude said, leaning forwards this time. “Let him have this one. Sid may be dumber than box of rocks, but he’s got a point here. Forget about her.”

Another insinuation that had Jungkook throwing his head back in frustration.

“There’s nothing to forget!” he groaned. “What the fuck are you even talking about? I just fucking told you I moved on.”

“So why are you getting all riled up, then?” Sid smirked, more and more satisfied with each curse that he provoked out of him.

Jungkook felt even angrier, because he was getting riled up, but he had a good reason for it. He enjoyed banter as much as the next person, but he did not enjoy mockery at his own expense—especially not the kind that involved you.

He snapped back, “because you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

His friends snickered at this – convinced that his irritation only proved the point they were both making – and Jungkook clenched his jaw, annoyed.

“If anything,” he added sharply as he picked his beer up—as if that could somehow distance him from this conversation, “it’s her who’s still hung up on me.”

That was a cheap, childish defence, and everyone by the bar knew it.

“Yeah, right!” Sid cried out, but resisted from laughing again. “We’ve heard her yell at you more times than we can count. You fucking wish she was still hung up on you.”

“Okay, to be fair, Sid can probably only count to five,” Jude added—Sid finally punched him on the shoulder—as he toyed with the paper umbrella on his fourth cocktail; the Margaritas they’d ordered were long gone. “But he’s right, you know? You’d never get her to go out with you again.”

There was pity in Jude’s voice—as if he felt sorry that Jungkook lived in denial, chasing after you and convincing himself that it was only a matter of time before you’d come back to him.

This made Jungkook’s temper vile, his face red, hot, and angry. He slammed his beer back on the table, forcing some of it to spill. “Yes, I fucking would!”

Sid was hiccupping as he laughed.

“Okay, okay, listen—let’s make a proper bet,” he managed. He picked up a napkin from the bar top, then looked around for something to write on it with—not finding anything, he stood up from his seat and leaned over the bar, grabbing a pen before the bartender could notice. “$1000 says you can’t get her to go on a date with you again.”

He glanced at Jude for approval—Jude shrugged.

“I’d suggest $500,” he said. “We don’t want to rob him blind.”

Jungkook’s face remained stoic, prideful.

“Fine with me. But you have no idea what you’re getting yourselves into,” he bit.

“Oh, that’s right, he’s been awfully cocky about the whole thing, hasn’t he?” Sid spoke, addressing his rhetorical question at the bar. He wrote something on the napkin and then lifted it to show the number “4000” to Jungkook. “How about this: Jude and I each pay you $2000 if you win. But if you lose, you give us your Katana.”

Jungkook lifted his eyebrows, the sudden mention of his bike catching him off-guard. Sid came from old money, he could afford fifteen brand-new motorcycles with the change he found in his suitcase, probably.

“How is that fair?” he asked. “Do you even know how much a Suzuki costs these days? It’s not $4000, I can tell you that much.”

“Why should you care?” Sid asked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You were so confident about winning the bet just a second ago. Scared you’ll lose after all?”

In his defence, Jungkook did hesitate for half a moment. But there was a shit-eating grin on Sid’s mouth that he wanted to wipe off more than anything else, and he downed the rest of his beer in one big gulp—a showcase of his determination.

“Not at all,” he said then. He wasn’t sure if he was lying as he said this, but he had no time to figure that out. He extended his hand at Sid. “Get your money ready.”

Here, he was putting up a front – this wasn’t about the money at all. It was more a thing of pride; they were teasing him, purposefully making fun of him—and he wanted to prove them wrong, regardless if they were actually wrong.

Smirking, Sid shook his hand—cementing the bet between all three of them, as Jude was busy finishing off his cocktail—and was about to say something when Jungkook jumped off his stool.

“Have to go now,” he said, always a show-off with his overly creative comebacks when he was tipsy. “My horoscope predicts a date and a big fortune in my near future. Got to prepare.”

chapter title credits: sleep token, “rain”

special shout-out & thank you to @eleni-cherie who delivered the much-appreciated kicks in the ass, so that i would keep writing. the odds were really against me, so if it weren't for you & our in-depth fanfic discussions, i definitely wouldn't even be writing this note right now, let alone finally starting this story 💜

You sigh, slumping on the couch. "I appreciate it, Kook, but I'm just…" You stretch out, pressing your toes into his thigh. "Tired."

The week has gone by in a blur of tears and sleep. You'd taken the rest of the week off, thankful both that you had been carefully banking your PTO in case of an emergency and also for having a manager that prioritizes empathy and mental health. When you'd practically had a breakdown explaining your situation over the phone, she'd quickly granted you the time off—no questions asked—and told you to take care of yourself.

It's been mostly your friends taking care of you, however. After the night you came back from the beach house, you'd been whisked away to the guys' apartment to stay with them, camping out on their pull-out couch, which they’d insisted you could have for as long as you want (Taehyung had pushed you to take his bed, offering to stay in the living room, but you'd begged him not to make you feel worse by displacing him, and he'd eventually acquiesced). Maya and Taehyung had then gone back late the next day to pack you a bag with no Jace encounters.

He'd only texted you once—to provide a weak apology and to let you know he'd clear out of the apartment.

Still, your plan is to stay with the guys for a while; you don't think you could bear to be in your apartment alone right now, especially knowing that Jace has been with someone else in your bed. It's like the image is seared behind your eyelids, tormenting you every time you blink and pushing your mental fortitude to its absolute limit. You haven’t made it a single day without a breakdown, feeling as though you’re constantly trying to walk an emotional tightrope.

Except the tightrope isn’t pulled taut and is also on fire.

That being said, you welcome the distraction of having your friends around. Between Jimin working days, Jungkook working nights, and Taehyung having a flexible schedule with the museum and his photography gigs, someone is always around to spend time with you. Maya’s also taken it upon herself to pop in almost every night with wine, chocolate, or some other variation of breakup food and hang out for a while. You'd feel bad about their attentiveness (you feel sometimes like they're babysitting you), if not for the fact that it's the only thing keeping you remotely sane as you fluctuate between sobs and an overwhelming numbness.

This Sunday afternoon, it's Jungkook's turn to babysit; Taehyung left to run some errands an hour ago, while Jimin slept in late and is currently taking a shower. Jungkook's reclined on the sofa next to you, longs legs stretched out in front of him with his fingers laced behind his head. You'd thrown on a TV movie—some bullshit about a woman who goes through trials of love, only to realize that her perfect man was hidden in plain sight the entire time.

If only life were that fucking easy.

"Do you want an ice cream sundae?" Jungkook suggests as the credits roll. "I can make you an ice cream sundae."

"Are you just suggesting things that make your twelve-year-old brain happy?"

His lower lip pushes out in thought. "No, if I was going to suggest things that cheer me up when I'm sad, I'd offer to go down on you—"

"What the fuck, Kook."

"Which I'm game if you are, but I didn't think you liked me like that."

"Yeah, I think I'll pass."

"Suit yourself."

"Leave her alone, idiot. She's fragile." Jimin steps into the living room from the hall, fully dressed but still towel drying his hair. He takes in your relaxed forms on the couch—you, halfway burrowed under multiple blankets—and frowns. "You're not dressed yet?"

You blink slowly at him. "Should I be?"

"Yeah, Kook and I are taking you somewhere." He looks over at the man sitting beside you. "You didn't tell her?"

Jungkook's mouth stretches into a wide grin. "Surprise!"

You're still processing what the hell is happening—your plans for today were to park yourself in this spot and not leave—when Jimin strides over and yanks the blankets off of your body.

"Chim!"

"C'mon, get dressed. We have an appointment," he says. "And wear something comfortable. You're gonna love it, I promise."

A half hour later and you’re sitting in the back of Jungkook’s black Mercedes, watching the city pass by outside your window. Now that you’re up, it does feel nice to be out of the apartment instead of wallowing inside on the couch with a tissue box in your lap (which had been the general trend of the past week). Even listening to Jungkook and Jimin bickering about navigation up front helps to distract you from the dread that lingers like a blanket draped over your shoulders. All-in-all, you feel like you’re managing the fallout of your relationship as best as one can—at least when they find their almost-fiancé in bed with another woman. But grieving the loss still means that you’ve barely eaten, barely slept, and it’s not long before you’re dozing off in the backseat, dreaming of college—of sandy brown hair and green eyes.

You wake to Jimin’s hand on your shoulder gently shaking you out of your nap.

“Hey, we’re here.”

You’re on the outskirts of the city, it seems, in front of a squat, gray building that looks almost like a tiny warehouse. Peering up at the neon sign, you read, “Smash City Rage Room?”

“Cool, right?” Jungkook says, leaning against the side of the car.

You can physically feel the lines stretching across your forehead. “I don’t get it. We’re going to…?”

“Break stuff!” He takes your hand to pull you along. “Let’s go!”

You're led into a small, unassuming lobby—flat gray like the outside. Jimin gets you checked in with a burly-looking man behind a desk, who (after you’ve all signed some suspicious-looking release forms) promptly brings the three of you to a back room where you're fitted with protective jumpsuits, helmets, and goggles and instructed to "choose a weapon" from a rack filled with baseball bats and sledgehammers. At this point, Jungkook is practically bouncing out of his skin, the absolute picture of a golden retriever waiting for a ball to be thrown.

"You guys are really trying to distract me by taking me to Kook's version of Disneyland, huh?"

"That depends, is it working?" he says, grasping one of the hammers and weighing it in his hands.

"I'm skeptical but open-minded."

"Perfect!"

He hands you a bat, and your brawny host leads you to your final room—a wide, concrete space with a sturdy table in the middle and piles and piles of objects. Wine glasses, dinner plates, a computer monitor, and even a flat screen TV sit in heaps along the walls amongst some broken shards from previous visitors.

"You're free to smash anything in the room," the muscle man says in a gruff voice, "just no intentional damage to the building's structure. If you need something, you can flag us down through the camera up there," he points to the device in one of the ceiling's corners, "and someone will come check on you. Otherwise, just be safe and have fun. We'll come get you after an hour." Then he's swinging the door shut behind him.

You look blankly at the two men in front of you. "Now what?"

"We smash!" Jungkook says happily, already dragging the flat-screen onto the table. Then, before you can even respond: "Not like that, Y/N. Get your mind out of the gutter." He swings the sledgehammer down onto the TV screen, and it caves in on itself as Jungkook giggles maniacally.

"We thought this might help to let off steam," Jimin says, cracking a smile as he slams his bat into a propped up picture frame. "Try it!"

The two of them watch with wide, expectant eyes as you gingerly pick up a small drinking glass and place it delicately on the table.

"So now I just…?" You halfway lift the baseball bat, peering down at the poor, unassuming glass in front of you.

Jungkook leans forward, eyes eager, gesturing with the hammer in a light swinging motion he's clearly wanting you to mimic.

So you swing, bringing the bat down onto the lip of the glass with a moderate amount of force. It shatters, pieces flying outwards like little slivers of shrapnel.

It feels good.

The guys cheer, and Jimin reaches down to grab a champagne glass, setting it in front of you.

"Now pretend this one is that asshole's balls."

You hesitate, the mention of Jace causing the fist that's been around your heart to squeeze. You're angry with him, sure, fury simmering in your belly even now. But your biggest struggle and the source of all of your pain this week has been wrangling with your lingering feelings. Four years of loving someone are not so easily erased.

But you wish you could wipe it all from your mind.

You wish you could hate him.

"Let it out," Jimin murmurs, as you continue to stare, your hands gripping the bat. "This is the place."

You visualize Jace's face in your mind. His bright green eyes, his crooked smile, the tiny scar on his forehead from when he fell off his bike when he was nine. You can practically hear his voice whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

And then you see him in bed a week ago, his lips pressed to another woman's neck.

The champagne glass explodes like a small bomb into a million tiny crystals.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jungkook yells, and it’s then that you realize that you were the one who swung the bat.

Your body is a live wire, pumping with adrenaline and a newfound rage. Before you know it, you don’t even have the patience to pick up the objects and place them on the table. Instead, you’re spinning around in a whirlwind, destroying plates and glasses and small kitchen appliances indiscriminately.

“This is for all of the lies about late nights!”

BOOM.

“This is for the fact that I’ve barely been able to breathe this past week!”

CRASH.

“This is for that dumb-ass crooked smile like he thinks he’s the star of some shitty movie!”

WHAM.

“And this is for that stupid, fucking green jacket.”

You channel all of your anger through the bat—every tear, every minute of lost sleep turned into shards of glass and debris. The tears come at some point, but you barely feel them as you scream out your frustrations, Jimin and Jungkook cheering you on the whole time.

It’s not a magical cure-all by any means, but you do feel a tiny bit of relief ease itself into your shoulders.

An hour later, you embrace both men in the parking lot. “Thank you,” you say, “for everything you guys have been doing for me. I needed this.”

Jimin shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Hey, I owed you for that time when I got passed over for promotion, and you brought me to Bar 613 and paid for all my drinks.”

“I just wanted to smash stuff,” Jungkook teases with a grin, but he rubs playfully at your upper back to let you know he’s kidding.

Jimin’s phone chirps with a notification, and he pulls it out of his pocket, squinting at the screen before muttering, “Hmm, Tae’s not ready yet.”

“Ready for what?” you ask, a feeling creeping in that your day of surprise distractions isn’t quite over.

“You’ll see soon enough.” Jimin’s knowing smile twinkles with mischief. “In the meantime, what do you say we get some ice cream?”

“What do you mean you’re not coming?”

You’d returned from your rage room and ice cream outing only for Jungkook to swing his car into the “No Parking” zone outside the apartment and promptly kick you out to the curb, a pair of impish smiles flashing at you from the front seats.

“We have strict instructions to stay clear of the apartment for the next several hours,” Jimin chimes. “So we’re going to entertain ourselves for a while.”

You narrow your eyes at them, knowing they’re not going to spill but making a feeble attempt anyway. “What did he do?”

“Go find out!” Jimin says, just as Jungkook shouts, “Bye!” and rolls up the window right in your face.

You enter the building with a sigh, swinging the plastic bag from your wrist that holds the takeout container of rocky road that you’d gotten for Taehyung. A part of you wants to be whiny about your friends making such a fuss for you, working so hard to cheer you up, but at the end of the day, you just feel loved. Tomorrow, you may wake up with a hollow chest, your heart scraped out in the middle of the night as it has been for every day the past week, but for now, you let a little flame of happiness warm your insides.

You do hope, though, that Taehyung didn’t go through too much trouble for whatever he has planned for tonight. He’s already spent a majority of the past week hovering, holding you when you cry, and otherwise keeping a close watch on your moods. And in spite of him trying to be subtle, you’ve noticed how he doesn’t close his bedroom door all the way at night so he can listen for you.

He’s a great friend, the best, but the fact that you care about him, too, means that you don’t necessarily want to burden him, don’t want to be the source of his worry.

It sucks that you’re doing a shit job of it.

Probably just a movie night, you think during the elevator ride up. Like we’d do in college.

But when you slip the key into the lock and slide the door open, your heart immediately leaps into your throat, the bag of ice cream almost slipping from your fingers.

The apartment has been positively upended, furniture rearranged, flipped, stacked, and draped with blankets to create a massive pillow fort in the middle of the living room. It has to be almost eight feet tall, and you wonder what the rest of the rooms look like as you spy all three of the guys’ desk chairs incorporated into the structure—clearly, the entire apartment was raided to create this behemoth. Around the dining room and kitchen, dozens of candles have been placed and lit to give the open space an ambient glow, accentuated by the lowering sun dipping down outside the massive windows.

When the door swings itself to latch shut with a soft click, there’s a rustling sound before Taehyung’s head pops out of the fort, and he beams as he comes to stand in front of you.

“What do you think?” he hums as you continue to stare incredulously at the scene behind him. You try to say something, you should say something, but tears begin to flow over your cheeks instead, causing the room to blur and Taehyung to pull you into a hug. “Okay, I have to admit this is the opposite of what I was going for.”

You press a watery chuckle into his chest. “This is incredible,” you gasp, shifting back to look at him.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says. “And that’s not even all. Come look.”

He guides you to the kitchen, where you now notice the counters are littered with all of your favorite comfort foods alongside the snacks you used to share growing up: sugar cookies and popcorn, potato chips and pretzels, brownies and bite-sized chocolates.

“Just like old times. And—“ He lifts the lid off a pot on the stove, and you’re quickly enveloped in the soothing scent of tomatoes and basil. “Spaghetti for dinner.”

It was the first meal you ever made together. In retrospect, the lumpy, acidic sauce you concocted in your parents’ kitchen that day was far from perfect. But at the time, you’d called it the best meal you’d ever eaten, and Taehyung has spent the subsequent years perfecting his own recipe. He doesn’t make it often, but when he does, it’s the perfect blend of nostalgia and warmth.

“And to think, all I brought you was this,” you say sadly, dangling the bag limply from your hand. But Taehyung snatches it from you in a flash, digging in like it’s a Christmas present. When he pulls out the papery white container, he grins like it’s much more than just half-melted ice cream.

“Rocky road?” he asks, smiling even more widely when you nod. “This is amazing, Y/N. Thank you.”

You study him quietly as he puts the ice cream away in the freezer—just to soak in this beautiful, home-shaped human being—and he raises his eyebrows at you when he turns back around.

“What?” he asks, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to hide yet another smile.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you glance away. “Nothing.”

But the truth is, standing here in his kitchen, observing his tender movements as he carefully rearranges the snacks on the counter top—it’s the first time in a week that you’ve been able to breathe. And maybe it’s just because it’s been days of suffocating pressure around your chest, but the air pushing through your lungs now feels sweeter, richer as he looks up to capture your gaze again and gently takes your hand in his.

“Come see the inside.”

He pulls you to the mass of furniture and blankets, sweeping back an opening in the fabric to usher you in, and you gasp as he reveals the pillow fort of your childhood dreams.

It’s massive, tall enough for you to stand comfortably in, with wide walls and a tented ceiling that seems to suggest Taehyung has somehow tethered it to the apartment’s actual ceiling. The floor is absolutely packed with pillows, cushions, and heaps of additional blankets, and if you aren’t mistaken, there’s a literal mattress (maybe two?) buried underneath it all.

But the part that has your throat constricting on a sob, tears streaming once again, is the tiny side table he’s placed to the side, your star lamp glowing on top.

“How did—“ you choke, still taking it all in. The fort, the snacks, the lamp. “How did you—?”

“Found the lamp in your closet when we went to get you that bag of clothes.”

“And,” you wave a weak hand at the scene around you, “all of this?”

“Chugged a couple energy drinks,” he chuckles. “And Maya came by for a bit earlier to lend a hand.”

“Tae,” you say, wiping at your cheeks.

“Y/N.”

“This is…” Beautiful. Magical. Extraordinary. No single word seems adequate enough to describe what you’re feeling, his recreation of your childhood tradition to the nth degree tipping you into a state of practical euphoria after the hell of a week you’ve just had. You’d swear you feel like you’re about to combust with the amount of relief that’s flooding through your body in this moment, anger and grief giving way to joy and an overwhelming sense of fondness for the man in front of you.

You never complete your sentence, but Taehyung still seems to grasp your meaning, reaching out to squeeze your fingers one last time in a gesture of acknowledgment and understanding before he simply says, “Let’s eat.”

The two of you gather yourselves heaping bowls of pasta before burrowing into your pillow fortress, backs pressed up against the couch, which is being used to support one side of it.

“How was the rage room?” Taehyung asks, tomato sauce staining his lips.

“Surprisingly cathartic. But…”

“But?”

You rub at your temple before letting your hand fall in a huff. “Temporary. It all is. Every time I think I’m getting a moment to catch my breath, I feel like I’m being punched in the chest a second later.”

“It’s only been a week,” he says. “You’re grieving. It’s going to take time.”

“I don’t want it to though,” you snap, immediately regretting your tone, even though Taehyung looks unfazed. “I just want to turn it off. He did this terrible thing, and I should hate him for it. I want to hate him for it.”

“But you don’t,” Taehyung says, jaw clenching.

Throat swelling, you choke on the words as they find their way out. “I thought I was going to marry him.” The all-too-familiar pressure in your chest rears its head again, suffocating you from the inside. “We had all these plans.” Your breaths turn shallow, coming out in short, rough pants quickly joined by tears that Taehyung rushes to wipe away.

You’ve never known love could hurt like this until now, and for all intents and purposes, Jace was your first real love. You’d had a smattering of boyfriends in high school, but never anything long term until him—nothing that ever made your heart feel like it was going through a shredder, a blender, and a hurricane all at once when it ended. And it’s not just your idea of him or your relationship that you’re mourning, but also the future that you thought you’d have together. The dreams you had dared to dream when you’d traded ideas of rings and children and white picket fences while tangled together in bed.

Sensing an imminent panic attack, Taehyung pulls you into his lap and loops his arms around you, coasting his hands up and down your back in long strokes. He’s done this every time you’ve broken down around him over the past several days, the physical sensation giving you something else to focus on when the thoughts and memories of your now-ex come flooding through the mental barriers you’ve been trying and failing to construct.

You concentrate instead on the ministrations of Taehyung’s hands, the warmth of his large palms resting over your shirt, the glide of his fingers tracing your spine over and over. His fingertips trail up to your neck (inhale) and back down to your sacrum (exhale) on a loop as you clutch the soft fabric of his own shirt. And as the dread looming under your skin begins to ebb away, you notice how your breathing has synced up, pressed chest to chest like you’re two halves of one whole. It’s calming, the light press of his ribcage expanding against yours, and it serves as enough of a distraction to get yourself under control, your feelings stuffed back into their box for the time being.

When you lean back to look at him, his dark brown eyes map your face, steady as ever.

“Better?”

“Better.” You nod weakly. “But life would still be so much easier if love worked like a switch.”

His brow tilts downward a fraction, a touch of melancholy passing over his face. “If only.”

“That makes me an idiot though, right?” you ask. “To still feel for him even after that.”

“No, it makes you human,” Taehyung says, before his expression suddenly turns grave. “Has he contacted you?”

You sniffle, rubbing at your nose. “Nothing besides that one text saying he would clear out of the apartment.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “Listen, I think everything you’re feeling is normal, and you shouldn’t put any pressure on yourself to process it any particular way.” A pink tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “But please, Y/N. Please promise me you’ll never take him back if he asks.”

Truth be told, the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind until now—imagining a teary Jace on your doorstep, begging you to give him just one more chance. In spite of your lingering feelings for him, the image only stirs up a dull rage, disgust burning like acid in your stomach.

“Not a chance,” you say, twining your pinky around his for a brief moment, and he visibly relaxes, leaning back against the couch. “I don’t think I ever want to see him again. But it…it hurts.”

You struggle to pull in a breath that doesn’t want to come, chin dipping down to your chest before Taehyung begins to move. Long fingers reach out to squeeze your hips before nimbly dancing down to your ankles bracketing his legs, where they give you another squeeze. He works his way up your body from there, moving his hands to your knees. Squeeze. Your ribs. Squeeze. Your shoulders. Squeeze. Elbows. Squeeze. Wrists. Squeeze.

He’s pinching each joint of your fingers between the pads of his own when you finally ask, “Tae? What are you doing?”

He doesn’t even look up, zoned in on his task. “Putting you back together.”

“Is that how it works?”

“Yeah, Hobi and Joon have been giving me lessons.”

You snort, and it appears to be the reaction he was hoping for because he beams up at you as you keen forward with laughter until you’re practically sharing breath, faces mere inches apart.

Time freezes; something in the universe shifts.

Your eyes wander over his face, tracing the paths between details that you subconsciously know are there but which you’re not sure you’ve ever truly looked at: the deep brown of his eyes, the mole on the tip of his nose, the plush curve of his lower lip.

He’s beautiful. It’s something you’ve always been aware of—an obvious fact of life in the same way the sky is blue—but you’re also lucky enough to know that his beauty goes beyond a handsome face. It’s also in the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs with his whole body, the way he always carries crackers in his bag for photo shoots at the park so he can toss some to the ducks.

The way he’ll upend his entire apartment to help heal your broken heart.

Artificial stars dance around the fabric walls like fireflies as you become hyperaware of how his hands have drifted back to your hips, barely there but warm. It’s soothing, you think, to be held between the boundaries of his palms, as if nothing and no one can touch you here. But it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? He’s always been your primary source of comfort, your north star at every turn, propping you up within the safety of your own little world like he does now.

His warmth is a siren’s song that has you shifting closer, your hands sliding from his chest to his shoulders, when his grip on your hips suddenly tightens as he breathes out your name.

“Mmm?”

“We have snacks to get to.”

The bubble pops as Taehyung shifts you off his lap, darting away to the kitchen. You, however, stay firmly rooted to your spot in the blanket fort; your mind whirs, an unfamiliar tingling sensation gently working its way through your nerve endings and making your stomach dip. It’s not at all unpleasant, but you don’t know what to make of it, thoughts turning without reaching any kind of foregone conclusion until Taehyung ducks back under the blanket and into your space, arms overflowing with snack bags.

He smiles at you and your stomach dips again.

But your mind quiets.

He’s your person, you think. Undoubtedly now more than ever as he settles back down next to you like the rock he’s always been.

“Story time?” he murmurs, the light passing across his face as he hands you a bag of your favorite chips. You gently place it in your lap without opening it, still jittery from the way he held you only seconds ago. Watching you with hooded eyes, he frowns at your lack of movement, the way your fingers have stilled on the plastic. “Something wrong?”

“No,” you say, sitting up straighter so he doesn’t feel like you’re ignoring him. “Wouldn’t be a blanket fort without a story, right?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the light on the walls is now radiating from Taehyung himself as he launches into a clearly premeditated narrative about a princess and her devoted, best friend of a knight. After being betrayed by a prince from a neighboring realm, the two embark on an epic journey to restore their own kingdom, traversing mountains and crossing oceans together to retrieve the enchanted crown jewel that the thieving prince had stolen away. Another handsome and charming prince captures the princess’s heart during their adventure, and, once her power is restored, the two marry in the most beautiful and romantic ceremony the kingdom has ever seen.

“And they live happily ever after,” Taehyung says with a flourish. He reaches over to steal a handful of potato chips before slipping a hand behind his head and settling deeper into the mattress. You frown down at him.

“But what about the knight?”

He slides a potato chip between his lips, lifting a dark eyebrow in confusion. “What about him?”

“Where’s his happily ever after?” you ask, almost annoyed on the fictional character’s behalf. “He climbed a mountain and fought a dragon for her. What did the prince do? Just stand there and look hot?”

His expression changes, eyes widening in subtle surprise. “It’s not his story.”

“But—“

“It’s not his story, Y/N.”

He says it with finality, so you drop it, left to grumble internally about what you feel was an unjust ending for the caring and loyal knight.

It was a sweet tale, but you can’t help but think that you would’ve written it differently.

The return to work isn't as bad as you anticipated. Your boss, Jia, noticing your frayed nerves, has been easing you back in slowly with a handful of softball projects just to get you going again. As much as you think you needed that week to cry and wallow, it feels good to get back to some form of normalcy and have work to focus on and keep your mind off of things as much as you can.

The shadows linger though, anxiety grabbing hold of your chest every time you remember you'll be going home to a different apartment that night instead of the one you shared with Jace.

Jimin's been joining you for lunch every day, hanging around outside the office cafeteria before you get there like he's staking you out. You call him out for it on Thursday, and he looks sheepishly down at the table with a nervous chuckle.

"I kinda promised Tae I'd make sure you eat."

"Of course," you sigh. Taehyung's been getting up early every morning to cook both of you breakfast, insisting that it's part of his normal routine.

He forgets that you used to live together, and you know he's more of a granola bar guy in the morning, eager to get himself out the door and moving as soon as possible.

"You're all doing too much for me," you murmur. "You shouldn't have to babysit me like—"

"We don't have to do anything," Jimin says forcefully. "We want to be there for you. We do these things because we care about you."

"I know, but I just…" You swallow hard. "I don't want you all to see me as this broken thing that you need to protect."

Jimin's whole demeanor softens, and he reaches across the table to take your hand. You'd be worried about how this looks—two coworkers holding hands at lunch—if you didn't feel the tears welling up again, the urge to cry sticking itself in your throat like molasses as you try to choke it down.

"Y/N, that's not what we think," he says softly. "You're our friend. And you're hurting. And after the trauma you went through, it's perfectly understandable for you to need a little more attention and care than usual. Honestly, if anything, I'm worried that you seem to be taking things better than expected, and I think that's because you're trying to put a brave face on for us sometimes."

He’s not off-base. Especially after your Distraction Day, you've been doing your best these past few days to bottle everything down so your friends don't worry as much, taking your time to cry in the shower or quietly at night when everyone else is asleep.

"All I'm saying is that you can lean on us. That's what we're here for. And if your tough face can't fool me, you're definitely not fooling Tae. Let him help before he goes crazy with worry.”

Honestly, relying on Tae has been the least of your problems, even though you’re a little concerned about how he’s been waking up earlier than usual for you. That man has been your rock for years, and receiving comfort from him is almost second-nature at this point. It’s how the two of you operate. Everyone else, however…

“I’m fine with Tae,” you tell him. “But I’ve never felt this…vulnerable around the rest of you. It used to just be Tae and I, hiding away from our problems in my room, and now—“

“You have us!” He beams. “That’s a beautiful thing, Y/N, can’t you see? You’re not alone anymore. Not you, not Tae. You have us. All of us. We’re going to get you through this. And if you need a silver lining, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Jungkook and Maya this united against a common enemy before. I could’ve sworn I heard them the other night trying to figure out the best way to slash Jace’s tires without getting caught.”

“Don’t make me cry at work,” you say, blinking furiously to try and clear the sudden moisture from your eyes. “I think Jia is already prepared to send me home if I don’t stop sounding like I’m learning how to breathe for the first time.”

He laughs gently, giving your hand a squeeze before relinquishing it. “It’s going to get better, Y/N. I know I just called you our friend, but really, we’re family.”

The summer presses on in a haze as you focus on just getting through one day, one step at a time: get out of bed, go to work, come home, shower, try to get a few hours of fitful sleep, eat somewhere in between all of that. And before you know it, an entire month has passed.

Taehyung continues to make you breakfast every morning and insists on taking you to your favorite ramen place at least twice a week for dinner, watching you with concerned eyes from across the table. You’d give him shit for it if his worry didn’t feel so justified. If he wasn’t so persistent in making sure your base needs were being met, you’re not entirely sure you can say you wouldn’t be starving yourself in grief. And you know it makes him feel better to see you eating—how happy it makes him to care for others—so you don’t resist when he pushes an extra pancake onto your plate or orders you a second helping of noodles to go.

It’s one of your scheduled ramen nights when you get back from work a little later, a particularly emotional day preventing you from getting your tasks done on time. You drop your bag in the living room with a sigh, thankful that no one is around to ask you how your day was—you’re really not in the mood. Taehyung had sent you a text letting you know that he wanted to take a shower before you head out, needing one after a long day of photographing clients in the baking July heat. You can hear water running in the bathroom, so you assume he must still be in there.

The living room makes you feel vulnerable with its vaulted ceiling and tall windows, like you’re laid bare for the whole world to see. Because of this, you decide to wait for Taehyung in his bedroom, hopeful that you might be able to find some reprieve in his tucked-away space.

You’ve been in Taehyung’s room before, of course, but you’re not sure that you’ve ever taken the time to really peruse. Unlike Jace, Taehyung’s space is neatly organized, and you’re first drawn to the large bookcase that dominates the wall adjacent to the door. He’s stuffed it full of art anthologies: Van Gogh, Renoir, Monet, and Pollock giving way to old photography textbooks on the bottom shelves. About halfway down, you spot the bound collection of his own work that you’d had made for him as a college graduation gift (you got one for yourself too, and he’d blushed beautifully when you asked him to sign it).

Across the room, his bed is carefully made, dark bedding tucked cleanly under the mattress. In place of a nightstand and opposite the dresser, he’s set up a series of box shelves for his photography equipment—you spot lenses and tripods placed alongside gadgets you would have no idea how to use. His desk sits to the left, an impressive PC setup backed by a large cork-board brimming with post-it notes, business cards, and a photograph that has you stopping in your tracks.

The first photograph Taehyung ever took.

It’d been the spring right after you both turned sixteen, and Taehyung had finally saved up enough money from his newspaper job to buy his first camera at the secondhand shop. You’d gone along, bouncing up and down with excitement for him so vigorously that the shopkeeper kept giving you strange looks over the counter.

New toy in hand, Taehyung pulled you to the park, where the cherry blossoms were in full bloom—clusters of pastel pink contrasting wonderfully against the bright blue sky. You bought yourselves some kkwabaegi at a nearby food stall as Taehyung sat on a bench figuring out how to operate the camera. Distracted by the numerous dials and buttons, he didn’t even realize you had returned until you dusted his cheek with a bit of cinnamon sugar, teasing that his cheeks were just as fluffy as the donut you subsequently handed him with a smile.

Snacks finished, you strolled along the petal covered path, chatting about everything and nothing as Taehyung continued to fiddle with the controls.

“Are you going to be able to figure it out?” you asked, skipping ahead to pluck a wildflower out of the grass after several minutes had passed without him taking a single photo.

“Actually, I think I’ve just got it.”

“Really?” you said, turning around to face him and freezing at the sound of a click and the sight of the camera held at the ready in front of his face. His grin was full of mischief as he dropped his arms at your stunned look, and you rushed back to his side to give him a joking shove. “I wasn’t ready, you jerk. I’m going to look like an idiot.”

But Taehyung was still smiling widely, already striding down the path to line up his next shot. “Don’t worry. You looked perfect.”

You’d forgotten about the photograph after that day, as Taehyung never actually showed it to you. You figured that it probably didn’t turn out right, a blurry candid, and was scrapped. Now, looking at it, it’s not his best work, but it’s not nearly as bad as you’d pictured in the moment.

It’s you, backdropped by the pink of the blossoms, with delicate petals dancing around your form. Your eyes are bright and eager as you turn to face him, the corners of your lips upturned in the beginnings of a smile and the small purple flower raised halfway to your chest.

In spite of the struggles you know you were dealing with at home, you look content. Happy.

“Oh, you’re home.”

You jump, spinning around to face where Taehyung suddenly stands just inside the doorway, and you feel something flip low in your belly.

It’s not that you’ve never seen him shirtless—years of going to the beach house together have taken care of that—but here, in the low, intimate light of his bedroom, the sight of his mostly naked body strikes you in a way that it never has before. The veins in his arms and hands pop from the heat of the shower, skin tanned by his time spent outdoors. His dark hair is still wet and, as if on cue, a drop of water falls off the end of a ringlet, your eyes following as it rolls over sharp collarbones, down a toned chest and smooth stomach, and into the towel sitting low on his hips.

Taehyung clears his throat, and one look at his flushed face tells you that your perusal of his torso hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Why are you even looking?

“I—uh—sorry,” you mumble, snapping out of your trance also flustered, words spilling out in a jumble of unexpected nerves. “I had a rough day and just felt so exposed in the living room, and if Jimin or Kook showed up and asked me how I was, I was going to lose it so I came in here as a distraction, and I promise I wasn’t trying to snoop or anything—“

“Y/N, hey.” He crosses the room to where you stand, smiling gently down at you. “I don’t mind.”

You swallow, still looking for something to distract from the fact that you were very obviously just checking him out. “You still have this?” You point at the photo of yourself, and he looks at it, expression overcome with sentimentality.

“Yeah.”

“A reminder of how far you’ve come with your work?”

He turns his eyes back to yours, slow and warm as they settle on you. “A reminder of a perfect day,” he says, voice low, before creases form at his brow. “But your day wasn’t so good?”

Your gaze drops to the floor, and you suck your lips between your teeth in a gesture that is answer enough for him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He doesn’t push; never pushes. If you told him no, you know that’d be the end of it, and he’d spend the rest of your night together coming up with different threads of conversation to divert your attention. And perhaps it’s this awareness—his consistent and mindful respect of your boundaries—that makes you so willing to open up.

“I just can’t stop asking myself if I missed signs. If I could’ve done something different. Something better.”

“Y/N—“

“We were together four years, Tae. Four fucking years.” You pull in a breath, fighting off the stinging of tears in your eyes. “And in the end, I meant next to nothing to him.”

It’s the part you’ve been struggling with the most, how you gave him years of your life—nearly half of your twenties—and let him dig his fingers into your heart only to pull it apart like clay.

Revealed bits of yourself to him that you’ve only ever showed one other person.

That man stands in front of you now, gently scrutinizing your face as he considers your words. His hands drift your way as if of their own accord, hovering into your space without ever truly touching.

“Would you want to though?” he finally asks.

“What?”

“If you could’ve done something differently. Knowing what you know now.” A pink tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Would you?”

It’s a fair question, and you know what the right answer is supposed to be. You’re supposed to say that no, that son of a bitch can burn in hell for what he did. He’s trash, you can do better—all of the empty platitudes that are supposed to be expressed when a betrayal like this takes place.

But his actions don’t erase the years you spent together. Don’t mean that what you yourself felt wasn’t real.

And you loved him. You really did.

“I don’t know.”

Taehyung doesn’t exactly seem thrilled by that but nods nonetheless, his fingers wandering back to his sides to fidget with the edges of his towel. “You must know that none of it was your fault, though.”

“But if it was?” you question. “If I could’ve been a better girlfriend, a better partner—“

“It still wouldn’t have justified what he did.” There’s an edge to his voice now, a hint of anger. “Don’t you dare let that asshole make you feel like you deserved it.”

“But—“

“No. No buts,” he says roughly, hands shooting up to grip you around the elbows. “What he did is inexcusable. There’s no making sense of it, and there’s no one to blame but him.”

You know in your heart that what he says is true, but your newfound insecurities have had you questioning your sense of self—that maybe you had a part to play in what happened. A relationship is two people after all, maybe he wouldn’t have cheated if you had—

“You did nothing wrong,” Taehyung continues, reading your mind. “He made an active choice to sleep with someone else. If he had an issue with your relationship, he had a hundred other ways to approach it. He chose to do what he did.” His hands slide up to your shoulders, appraising. “You are kind and thoughtful. Fiercely loyal. Always want what’s best for those around you. You still get breathless for the first snowfall each winter and make the most delicious triple chocolate cake.” Fingers give you a gentle squeeze. “And you never take shit from anyone. Especially people who don’t give you the respect you deserve.”

His words are a balm sinking deep into your skin, but his voice sets something alight in your core, your veins thrumming at the spots where he holds you.

What in the world is this?

“Don’t let him convince you you’re anything less than the incredible person you are,” Taehyung continues, oblivious to your perplexed state. “And if he couldn’t value that, someone else will. Lots of other fish in the sea.”

He holds your stare, gaze boring into you like he can telepathically eliminate every doubt and insecurity rattling around your skull, and a stray voice at the back of your mind thinks that whichever woman eventually gets to wake up to those eyes every morning is going to be so damn lucky.

He frowns, licking his lips again as he finally notices that you’re not altogether with him. “Are you okay?”

Y/N, what the hell?

You give yourself a little shake, playing back what he just said. “I don’t know about that.”

“You’re not okay?”

“No,” you say, taking a step back so you can loosen his grip and clear your head. “About the whole fish thing. I kind of get it now.”

He’s clearly not following. “Get what?”

“Your break from dating,” you say. “Why you wanted to stop for a while.”

He raises a long finger to rub at his bottom lip. “That’s…not quite the same.”

“Why not?”

“There were…” He tilts his head as he considers his word choice, and another drop of water slides down his chest. “Underlying circumstances.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means it’s a story for another time when you’re not trying to deflect by turning this around on me.”

“I’m not deflecting,” you argue. “I’m just saying I understand where you’re coming from now. Dating sucks. People suck.”

He chews at the inside of his lip, studying you. “That wasn’t my intention when I told you that.”

“Yeah, well when you told me that, we didn’t know that my boyfriend was fucking another woman,” you scoff.

He sighs at your crude reminder. “There is a third option, you know.”

“What’s that?”

“Just let yourself be,” he says. “You don’t need to rush into anything either way. If something happens, it happens. If not, then no pressure to look for it. But maybe don’t close yourself off from opportunities entirely just because one bastard made a terrible decision.”

“Tae,” you begin with an exhausted, rattling breath. But he cuts you off, already anticipating your protest.

“I just know you, and I know you’ve always believed in love. Dreamed of finding ‘the one’ and settling down.” He wrinkles his nose. “Made that whole wedding mood board after Haneul kissed you for the first time when we were fifteen.”

That makes you laugh. “Hey, you helped me cut out the pictures.”

“I did.”

You look at each other for an instant, twin smiles reflected on your faces before yours falls. “I just don’t know.”

“And that’s fine,” he says kindly, gently. “It’s okay to need time, and it’s okay to want to step away from dating for a while. It would just be awful if he ruined that part of you, you know?” His voice lowers even further. “It’s a wonderful part of you.”

You feel warm all over, like the comfiest, fluffiest blanket has been draped around your shoulders.

Honestly, what would you even do without this man?

“You’re a great guy, Tae. Do you know that?”

He blushes, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and a tingle runs down your spine before he finally looks away.

“We should get going,” he tells you. “Namjoon and Hobi said they’d meet us.”

You dip your head, the moment gone. “Okay, but I’d recommend putting on some pants first.”

His face turns a deeper shade of red.

“Over here!”

Hoseok waves you down from a table at the back of the restaurant, pulling you in for a hug once you get there, just as he has every time he’s seen you since the incident with Jace. You’re then passed along to Namjoon, who embraces you with almost bone-crushing pressure.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, swaying you side-to-side. You just nod into his chest, giving him a tight squeeze before he releases you so you can slide into the seat next to Taehyung.

Aside from the hugs and the fact that the entire dinner is a ploy by Taehyung to get you to eat, the night feels relatively normal, and you’re grateful for it. Hoseok and Namjoon dramatically complain about the perils of medical school, regaling the two of you with stories about catastrophic anatomy labs and exam mishaps to your and Taehyung’s delight. The first blip comes when Hoseok absent-mindedly mentions an all-nighter of studying for boards while simultaneously working on seating arrangements before he immediately cuts himself off, throwing you a remorseful look.

“It’s fine, Hobi,” you say. “The world doesn’t just stop because my relationship did. And I’m still excited for you and Sunny.”

He nods but still looks apologetic, causing Namjoon to hop in with a change of subject. “Oh, by the way, I have my roommate situation settled.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh, I’m moving in with my friend Yoongi at the end of the summer.”

“Your childhood friend?” Taehyung asks.

“That’s the one,” Namjoon confirms with a nod. “We’re planning on having a little housewarming party once we’re settled if you’ll be up for it.”

“Sounds fun,” you say. “And I’d like to meet him.”

“He’s a great guy. Musician. He’s moving into the city for work.”

“Well if you vouch for him, I’m sure he’s wonderful.”

You don’t notice it, but Namjoon gets a glint in his eye. Sipping on his water, he glances between you and Taehyung before saying, “Speaking of great guys, I’d also like to introduce you to someone.”

Taehyung stills beside you; you freeze in equally stunned silence.

Hoseok’s eyes nervously dart to Taehyung then you as he says, “Ah, Namjoon, I don’t think—“

“If you’re up for it, of course.” Namjoon looks only at you, his tone casual as if he doesn’t notice the sudden tension. “He also just got out of a long-term relationship and is kind of a mess about it. I’m thinking it might do both of you good to get back out there in a low pressure situation, especially with someone who understands.”

“I…” You don’t know what to say. You’d meant what you said to Taehyung about taking a break from dating, but you also trust Namjoon. He wouldn’t set you up with a creep, and maybe he does have a point about a low pressure date to at least take that first step.

But isn’t it too soon? You and Jace were together for years, and it’s only been a little over a month. Are you supposed to take more time? Or should you just get that first date over with? It hits you suddenly that you don’t even know how to meet people now that you’re out of school. How do capital-A Adults even find dates? Maybe it would be better to meet up with someone that’s already been vetted by one of your friends instead of some random on a dating app.

Namjoon speaks up again as your mind spins. “It’s entirely up to you. I can give you his number, and if you decide to reach out, great. If not, no harm, no foul.”

Still undecided, you turn for a second opinion. “Tae, what do you think?”

But he’s staring intently at Namjoon, expression indecipherable. Namjoon finally shifts his attention from you to engage in an intense staring contest with Taehyung across the table, the two of them clearly having some kind of silent conversation while Hoseok looks on in obvious discomfort.

You’re sitting there—just trying to figure out what the hell is going on—when Taehyung abruptly faces you, slipping a hand over your knee.

“I think you should go for it.”

His eyes are sincere, his hand hot where it rests on your skin.

“Other fish in the sea, right?”

You blink at him. Well, that’s that then. If there’s anything in the world you have complete faith in, it’s that Taehyung would never lead you astray.

Turning back to Namjoon, you shift so Taehyung’s fingers fall away. “What’s his name?”

Namjoon smiles.

“Seokjin.”

a/n: the next two parts are my favorite, and part 4 is already around 85% written so i'll be looking to get that out asap! in the meantime, please consider leaving a like, reblog, or feedback!

taglist is open!

You have always been able to expect the antics of your best friends. Though you can never predict what they’ll do next, it’s never a surprise as everything is just par for the course at this point. Except for this.

Your jaw lay strewn about the floor alongside the last of their brain cells apparently, your sanity shattering with one question.

“Would you be willing to fuck both of us?“ the question came from a shameless Jungkook, who is known for saying out of pocket shit without context. But this goes beyond anything you’ve experienced before. He says this like it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if he were asking to borrow your phone charger or if you wanted to play video games with them. Jimin chimes in to explain and you hope it’s to say that they were just joking. 

“We need someone to judge who’s better at sex and you’re the only neutral party we know.” He also says this candidly, though he has the sense to look at least a little sheepish about it, and you can only stare blankly at the two men, looking between them both with your mouth open. You’re still waiting for someone to laugh.

“You serious?” You finally speak up when the silence becomes too dense, your voice hoarse with disbelief. They nod. It’s not that you wouldn’t fuck them— they were both strikingly attractive— but they’re your best friends. You’re sure this would break every rule about friendship with the opposite sex that there’s ever been. How would you ever be able to hang out with them normally again after knowing what their dicks look like, what they taste like, how it feels to have their hands all over you? 

But there’s a large part of you that’s tempted to say yes. 

“You can always say no, there’s no pressure,” Jungkook chirps, “but it would really help us settle this argument.” You don’t even want to ask how this started. “Plus! It’ll be good for you too because you haven’t gotten dick in a while. You get your needs met and we get to settle our argument, it’s a win-win!” 

“The fuck? Who says I haven’t gotten dick in a while?!” You defend, mouth hanging open for a different reason now.

“You!” Both men respond in unison, forcing you to slouch back into the sofa. 

“We can tell you’ve been horny by the way you’ve been eye fucking every man that walks by, don’t try to deny it. You should know we know you better than that by now.” Crossing his arms, Jimin calls you out and you can’t even say anything because he’s right. Dammit, they do know you well.

“It’s not my fault Baekhyun is out of town for the month.” You mutter under your breath, referencing your friend with benefits that they hear about often. “Fine, you caught me. I’m horny as fuck-“

“Great, so it’s settled! You’ll fuck us?” Jungkook cuts in.

“I never said that. I’m horny as fuck but I’m not that horny to throw away our friendship over a stupid argument between you idiots.” It sounds like you want to say more so they wait, but when nothing follows Jimin speaks up.

“Well can you at least think about it? It won’t change anything on our end, we promise.”

“Sure I’ll think about it, but don’t be surprised if the answer is still no.” They both nod, accepting that answer for now, and you call them over to the couch to play Mario Kart to take your mind off things.

A few hours later, however, you find out just how weak you are. 

You were absolutely wrong. You are that horny. You’ve been wet ever since they proposed the idea to you and it’s only getting worse. They sandwich you between their bodies on your small loveseat, their body heat engulfing you in flames that you can’t escape no matter how much you shift around. They don’t try to persuade you any more than their initial proposition, at least not intentionally. You keep catching glimpses of them shifting their legs, the gray and black sweatpants Jungkook and Jimin sport, respectively, not helping your situation as you keep seeing the outlines of their dicks through the thin material. Everywhere they touch you is burning hot, your elbows, your thighs, your shoulders, and you begin breaking into a sweat. The grunts and sighs that come from Jungkook when he makes a mistake or falls behind in the game make your heart skip, your brain going into overdrive imagining the sounds he would make for you if he were to have his way with you. Jimin isn’t much better, letting his hand drape across your thigh when you throw a leg over his to try to cool down a bit. He’s not doing anything that he wouldn’t usually do, this is common for the three of you, but now you can’t stop thinking about how it would feel if he moved his hand just a bit higher, slipping them under your shorts…

“Yes!!” You shout as you manage to win the last race by some miracle. You come in second overall, an NPC getting the first slot, but you’re better than both of them at Mario Cart and that’s all that matters. Jungkook comes third and has a pout on his lips, upset that he had been winning the entire time but was caught by 3 shells in the last race which took his ranking down below yours. You hop up from the couch, fidgety and flustered, claiming that you need to go to the bathroom, and when you return, you find both men manspreading on the coach looking down at their phones. Your eyes immediately shoot to their crotches, nearly drooling at the ache that forms in your core.

“Need something?” Jimin asks, catching you redhanded with a smirk. He’s so fucking cocky you want to scream, but more prominent is the urge to get down on your knees in front of him and choke yourself on his cock like this view is choking you now. You can hardly breathe, let alone come up with a response. 

“I- I-“

“Take your time.” He goads, getting the proper reaction from you as you feel your skin start to prick with heat and annoyance. Jungkook joins in by spreading his legs just a little wider, a shit eating grin on his lips as well.

“You guys are the worst,” Finally you spit out a sentence and plop down between them, head in hands. “So why am I seriously considering this?” You mumble out, voice muffled by your hands but they hear it all the same. 

“Really?!” They perk up at this, dark brown hair atop their heads flopping over their eyes, and when Jungkook shakes his head to flip it off of his forehead you nearly wet yourself. Jimin chooses to brush his hair away with his fingers and that snaps the last of your reservations. 

You decide to ask one more time for good measure, though you couldn’t care less at this point. “Are you sure this won’t change anything between us?” 

The two men think for a moment, looking at each other for certainty before reassuring you that it wouldn’t. 

“Plus, we already know you basically sold your pussy to Baekhyun by now, we don’t have a chance in hell to do this again once he gets back.” You know what Jungkook means, but he makes you sound like a prostitute when he says it like that.  

“Ew don’t say it like that! And he doesn’t own me, I can do whatever and whoever I want.” Crossing your arms in defiance, you try your hardest to make it seem convincing, but they clearly don’t believe you. Although, Baekhyun’s spot might be threatened once you go through with this. 

“Yeah right.” Jimin quips, rolling his eyes, and Jungkook chuckles at that. Then the two of them close in on you.

“So are we doing this?” The younger one asks, imploring with innocently wide eyes as if he were asking for a cup of juice and not a threesome with his best friends. You turn away from his stare out of embarrassment, only to be met with Jimin’s equally innocent eyes, so you divert your own gaze to the floor to keep the remnants of your sanity intact. 

“I guess we are,” you mutter out, but that isn’t good enough for them.

“Nuh uh, we need a clear ‘yes’ from you if you want this.” A hand reaches out to grab your chin, and you’re suddenly faced with Jimin again, his dark eyes no longer innocent. It steals the breath from your lungs and you have to swallow the nervous lump in your throat to get your answer out.

“Y-yes, I want this.” You say this as loudly as your voice would allow (which isn’t very loud) and a satisfied grin plasters itself on your best friend’s angelic face. 

Without replying, Jimin leans forward and kisses your cheek, measuring your reaction with eyes that search your face for any sign of discomfort. But instead he finds that you are more than willing to go through with this, your eyes begging for his lips, so he happily obliges. Claiming your mouth as his own, Jimin kisses you senseless, taking the lead by sucking your bottom lip between his own, and you moan at the action. It’s sloppy and passionate in a way that makes it feel like he’s been waiting to kiss you like this forever, and you find yourself losing your breath rapidly. Hands find your midsection and you suddenly remember Jungkook on the other side of you, leaning forward to leave a trail of kisses on your upper back and shoulders, pulling at the spaghetti straps of your tank top.

Jimin finally pulls back to breathe, allowing you to turn to face the younger man, and immediately you can see the urgency in his eyes once you’re facing him. His hands are creeping up your shirt, exploring your soft abdomen, and the ticklish feeling has you smiling a goofy smile. He smiles back, taking the material of your shirt into his hands and lifting, and your shirt hits the floor in no time flat. That’s when both boys realize that 1. you’ve forgone a bra and 2. You have the most beautiful breasts they have ever seen. The cool air of your living room causes your nipples to harden and you shiver, not only from the cold but from their hungry stares as they devour you with their eyes.

“Holy shit,” Jungkook whispers, hand already reaching to hold one of your breasts in his tattooed hand.

“You have the prettiest tits ever.” Jimin compliments, taking the other in his hand as well. The men adjust themselves to get a better view of you as they push you further back into your seat, nodding once to each other before diving in to leave kisses and bruises all over your chest. Jimin goes for your nipple immediately, licking over the bud with a gentle tongue before using his teeth to scrap over the sensitive skin, the contrast making you moan out loud in honest for the first time. He does it again, then again, adding in bites and sucks until your core is throbbing with anticipation for what he’ll do once he gets between your legs.

Jungkook focuses on every area around your nipple, avoiding the area entirely with his mouth and making you ache to feel him on the bud. He sucks loudly on your skin, marking you with teeth and tongue, making slobbery trails of saliva that cool and send goosebumps in their wake once he pulls back. He uses the tip of his tongue to trace circles around your areola, the heat of his breath around your nipple making your eyes squeeze shut in hopes that he’ll take mercy on you and close his lips around the bundle of nerves, giving it the same treatment that Jimin is showing you on the other side. Mind hazy and pussy fluttering, you’re startled when Jimin pulls back to remind you what they’re doing this for.

“Remember (Y/n), you’re supposed to be judging us on who does a better job.” He chides, noticing you lost in pleasure and not thinking about a single thing. 

“Oh, sorry, let me just stop enjoying myself and take notes on a notepad instead.” You quip back at him, irritated that he’s stopped his ministrations on your chest. Jungkook snorts at this, still teasing you. There’s absolutely no way for you to be clinical about this, that much is apparent by how good it feels to have two men attending to you at the same time, your mind already blank and they haven’t even moved past your tits yet. 

“I’m just saying, keep that in mind.” Jimin snickers, licking a path from nipple to collarbone to neck, ending with a mind numbing suckle to your pulse point, and just when you thought it couldn’t get much better, Jungkook finally closes his mouth on your nipple, sucking in varying intensities all while flicking his tongue around the bead. You gasp, unsure of who is doing the better job, and you feel like you’re about to explode. But all too soon, as if they can sense you enjoying yourself a bit too much, the men pull away and leave you cold and shaking, topless and exposed on your own couch.

“So, who gets the first point?” Kookie asks, smirking as if he’s already won. 

“Point? I didn’t know we were doing a points system?” Gathering your thoughts, you clear your throat and try to bring yourself back to reality. They wanted you to score them? This was going to be tough.

“Yeah, how else would we figure out who’s better? The one with the most points at the end wins and gets bragging rights.” Jimin explains smartly, making you roll your eyes at the sassiness you sense from him. 

“So?” They say in unison, looking at you intently. Your hands reach up to cup your chest in response to the coolness they left there as you frown in thought.

“Umm, I really liked Jimin’s technique, but Jungkook wins this round.” You state after some thought, resolving not to think about it too hard so they would hurry up and continue pleasuring you. “I liked how he teased me, it made me want him to touch me so badly that when it actually happened, I nearly creamed my shorts.” He smiles triumphantly at your praise, Jimin nodding his head in acceptance while mentally noting that you like to be teased. Then it’s on to the next round.

The next round takes place in the bedroom, Jimin having announced this loudly while Jungkook swooped down to throw you over his shoulder like a rag doll and carried you to your bed. Now you lay in the center of your queen sized mattress, shorts and panties missing from your body while both men stand with raging erections as they examine you from the foot of the bed. Licking his lips, Jungkook asks who gets to eat you out first and you feel your clit throb. Wordlessly, they both look at each other before each putting out a fist and playing Rock Paper Scissors without hesitation.

“Be so fucking serious right now.” You say in disbelief, unable to believe how you were convinced to have sex with these two dorks. You must have been really horny because looking at them now you’re broken out of the haze of lust and can see that they’re still your goofy best friends, the only people you know who would play Rock Paper Scissors in front of a girl they were about to fuck while she literally lay naked and waiting for them. Jungkook wins the game and does a little dance at his victory, hopping onto the bed suddenly and pushing your legs open. You let out a bit of a yelp at his quick movements, Jimin being much more graceful on his way to take a seat next to your head, moving you so that your head rests on his muscular thigh. 

Unlike how he treated your nipple, Jungkook wastes no time attacking your core, using his entire tongue to spread you open, parting your folds and drinking down your leaking essence. He groans at the taste, dipping back down for more, and you shudder at the sensation of his wet muscle circling your entrance. Though the young man is good at everything, you aren’t incredibly impressed by his performance, unfortunately. The whole time he spent down there was wasted on him licking your folds, sucking at your lips and completely missing your clit. The time he did spend on your clit was rushed even though you reacted dramatically when his tongue did brush the bud, and in the end you had to tell him to do what he did on your nipple to your clit for him to catch on that that’s what you wanted. When he did get to what you wanted, however, your legs shook from how good it felt. Jungkook has a very dexterous tongue you’ve discovered, very impressed with its flicking and circling speeds as he finally paid special attention to your most sensitive areas. He adds a finger, then two, pumping them in a out quickly in pace with his tongue, and you let out a loud moan when he gives you a nice suck to your clit, the finale to his show. He pulls back with a sigh, face wet and red and you are left craving, wanting more than he gave you. From the looks of it, he enjoyed the experience marginally more than you did, the large protrusion and wet spot in the front of his sweats giving you the idea that he wanted to eat you out more for his sake than yours. Then Jimin swoops in to the rescue.

He must have seen the slightly annoyed look on your face because when he moves to change spots with Jungkook he gives you a quick peck on the cheek to smooth your frown and chuckles in a way that tells you not to worry. You’re excited this time, looking up at the older man with pleading eyes that are swimming with lust. You lock eyes and the look he gives you is a promise that not only will he make you feel good, but that you’ll cum. You raise an eyebrow as a challenge and he just smirks down at you in response.

“You think you can beat that?” Kookie asks in cocky fashion, clearly feeling good about himself despite his very average performance. Jimin begins his descent down your body, kissing every plane and crevice from your neck down.

“I know I can do better.” He mumbles against your skin, looking incredibly focused on making you feel good.

“I doubt you can make her shake the way I just did, but I’d like to see you try.” Since winning the first round clearly has gone to his head, Jimin resolves to knock him down a peg and let him see what true skill looks like. It’s been over a full minute and he’s still kissing around your thighs, biting on sensitive skin so close to your lips and soothing it with his tongue, kissing the edge of your outer lips and blowing air on your core in a way that makes your thighs tremble around his head. Jimin looks up at his friend when you shake for him as if checking to see if he were watching, using his eyes to say that he made you shake without even touching you. “Whatever,” the younger male says with a roll of his eyes. “She’s only shaking because I got her wound up.”

“Kookie, shut the fuck up.” Your last word comes out as a groan as Jimin finally gives you what you wanted, taking your clit into his mouth and licking around it in a torturously slow oval. The way you moan has both men humming, Jimin grinding his bulge into the edge of the bed. Beside you, Jungkook has his hands down his pants, presumably gripping the now painful erection he sports with his lip locked between his teeth as he watches you get eaten out by his best friend. 

Returning your attention to Jimin, you look down to see him watching you, drawing more circles around your bud just to watch you tremble, your hips grinding into him when he refuses to speed up. Occasionally his tongue dips down to taste you, dragging your wetness up from your entrance to your bud, just for it to drip back down again and slide between your ass onto the sheets below. He uses his lips alongside his tongue, dragging the plush pillows against your nub, kissing and sucking between long strokes of his tongue. Then, two of his fingers enter you and you see stars. He curls the fingers expertly into the spongy spot a couple inches into your opening, rubbing against the area repeatedly in time with his mouth and you feel your toes flex and curl. Your voice breaks and you let out another surprisingly loud moan, eyes rolling in your head and Jimin speeds up against your clit. When you continue to moan, he comes up with an idea. 

“Kook, can you quiet her down a little?” He asks, and you would be offended by the phrasing if it didn’t feel so good to have him rubbing right into that spot inside you. You’re cursing now, legs lifted higher than before to give Jimin more access, not paying attention to the man beside you who inches closer and raises to his knees. Something hard and fleshy taps you on your cheek, and you open your closed eyes to see Jungkook has slipped his pants down and is kneeling with his cock just inches from your face. Your eyes focus in on his member, both thick and long, and you’re sure Jimin can feel how you clench around his fingers at the sight. His balls are tight and pink, just begging to be sucked, and you find your mouth watering at the prospect. 

“Open.” Jungkook instructs, gruff voice prompting you to action. You open your mouth and immediately he slips inside, salty and musky taste invading your tongue in he best way possible. Jimin picks up speed with his fingers, pumping in and out while hooked on that one spot and you can’t help but moan around Jungkook’s cock, barely sucking because of how good Jimin is making you feel. His mouth is relentless and you try to match his pace by bobbing your head to his rhythm, earning a groan from Jungkook. His dick twitches in your mouth when you go deeper, sucking in your cheeks on your way up, and fuck you’ve never felt this good before. Not only is Jimin’s consistent attack on your clit building you up to a great orgasm, but Jungkook is making those wonderful sounds you thought of hearing earlier and it’s music to your ears. “God, your mouth feels so good.” He praises, a hand on the back of your head to guide you when you start to fall out of rhythm as your praise kink kicks into overdrive.

Pushing yourself to your limits, you try deep throating his dick, pressing your face into his pubic bone until his head slips past your gag reflex and he lets out a moan that rivals your own in volume, just as Jimin suctions his lips around your clit. You choke, Jungkook pulling back to allow you to breathe, and he can see the way your eyelids flutter and cross as Jimin works you with his fingers and mouth, no longer pumping in and out but now curling back and forth against that spongy area as he flicks as fast as he can against your bud. The stimulation is close to what your vibrator feels like and suddenly your breaths become labored, panting and moaning, squeezing around his fingers as he builds you up higher and higher. You’re riding his face now at this point, grinding into him messily until you can’t take it anymore.

You hold your breath for the climax and it comes crashing into you.

Hot waves of lava seem to flow through your veins as your orgasm seizes your body, taking control and making you shake and squirm in their hold. Jungkook’s hands roam your upper body, fingertips spreading the fire along your skin with every touch. Jimin stills his fingers to give you broad licks, savoring the way that each stroke causes your legs to jerk and twitch. Fingers find your nipples and give them a gentle twist and you aren’t sure whose hands they are but the way they massage the pebbles has your walls clenching in another wave of pleasure. Taking a few deep breaths, you try to compose yourself, eyes closed and watering, skin hot to the touch. When you open your eyes, you find both men staring at you.

“That was so fucking hot.” Jungkook gapes. You close your eyes again and place a hand on your chest, trying to slow your breathing. 

“She’s such a good girl, isn’t she? Cumming for us like that.” Jimin teases, kissing up your thighs and hips. You clench at his praise, the fingers still inside you feeling the contractions. “Oh- I felt that.” Devilish smirk slithering its way onto his lips, Jimin retracts his fingers from you to climb his way up your body. “Does our sweet baby girl have a praise kink?”

“M-Maybe,” you mumble, averting your eyes. Jimin presents his cum soaked fingers to you and places them on your lips, pulling your attention back to him as you open your mouth to suck in the digits. 

“I swear you get hotter by the second,” Kookie chimes, looking at you with twinkling eyes.

As soon as his fingers are clean, Jimin pops them out of your mouth and swoops down for a kiss, shoving his tongue against yours to taste the cream you’ve accumulated there, and you feel yourself drip even more down your ass. When he pulls back you watch him lick his lips, savoring the taste.

“So,” Jimin starts, already sporting a shit eating grin. “Care to tell us who won the second round?”

“You.” You say without hesitation. “You did. Fuck, you made me cum so hard.” You whine, rubbing your thighs together as you sit up to be eye level with the two. They look back at you, anticipation filling their blown pupils. “Now, will somebody please fuck me?” 

“Sure, who do you want first?” Jimin asks, stripping from his sweats and shirt, and your mouth waters at the sight of him in only his boxers. You find your eyes locked on his body, anticipating the moment when his cock is revealed to you as he puts on a little strip tease, pushing down the waistband as slowly as humanly possible. But once his member pops out of its confines you let out a groan, beholding the most beautiful dick you’ve ever seen. It’s flushed a pretty peach color with the perfect mushroom head on top. The thick shaft tapers slightly toward the head and its skin looks so smooth and velvety that you’re tempted to rub him right between your folds just to feel how soft it is. 

“I’m giving Jimin a point for having a pretty dick.” You blurt, unable to tear your eyes away from him. His grin grows into a full blown smile and you hear Jungkook’s sounds of protest beside you before he’s stealing your attention back.

“Oh yeah? Well how about this?” He stands, pants pulled up to their original position you notice, and you wonder what he’s got up his sleeve. Your mouth runs dry when you see what he has planned: a full strip tease show.

Starting with his top, he raises the bottom of his shirt inch by inch so you can appreciate each and every one of his flexed ab muscles, the lines between each one making him look like a chocolate bar that you can’t wait to devour. Next to be exposed are his pecs, the hard muscles there tensing as he crosses his arms above head, pulling the shirt off fully and throwing it to the ground. His nipples stand pebbled into beads on his chest and all you can think about is taking one between your teeth just to see him squirm, knowing just how sensitive they are on him. As if to demonstrate this point, Jungkook uses his fingers to pinch at the buds, and you see the jump of his erection in the confines of his pants when he does. He rolls his neck, showing off the delicate skin there that you wish you could litter with marks but all you can do at the moment is sit there and stare while licking your lips like a hungry cat. When his hands finally skim down his washboard abs to his bulged sweatpants you’re panting like a dog, eager for him to reveal himself to you again and let you feast your eyes on him in all his glory, despite already having had him in your mouth today. But you didn’t get a chance to fully admire him at that time with Jimin’s head between your thighs, so you feel validated in wanted to see him again so badly. He runs his hands over the clear protrusion in his pants, squeezing himself to make the outline of his dick pop out to you, and you find yourself gulping like a fish out of water. Jimin fakes a gag out of the corner of your eye but you choose to ignore him. 

“Should I take these off?” Jungkook purrs in a sultry voice, causing you to gush all down your thighs at the way his baritone vibrates through your body. You can only nod.

“Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!” Jimin chants, now seated beside you to watch the show just to mock his junior, and just for the fun of it you join in, cheering like you’re at a strip club when Jungkook’s fingers finally hook in the waistband of his Calvin Klein’s. He pulls them down quickly, his bottom half exposed so fast that it causes his cock to bounce and you nearly bark at how feral the sight makes you.

“Another point to Kookie for the strip tease,” you announce, now hot and bothered from all the teasing. The scores are now tied again. “Now will somebody, anybody please stick their dick in me before I combust? A girl can only wait so long.”

“Getting desperate are we?” Chuckles Jimin, dark and mischievous. 

“Yes, I’m so wet right now that I feel like I’m going to drown if I’m not fucked within the next minute.” You pout, making your best friends laugh. 

Jungkook still stands at the foot of the bed, languidly pumping his length up and down and your eyes catch on his slick tip, leaking enough to let you know that he’s getting impatient too. A glance down at Jimin’s member reveals the same thing, a stream of precum dribbling down his twitching length that sits prettily between his thick thighs. He cranes his neck forward to kiss you on your pouted lips, and you sink into the bed, pulling him on top of you. He catches himself with his arms, staring down at your wanting figure.

“You get to fuck me first since Kookie got to eat me out first.” A groan comes from said man, his head thrown back in frustration, hand speeding up on his shaft yet intentionally avoiding the head. “Don’t complain, you’ll get your chance.” You assure him, returning your attention to Jimin to kiss him again. His tongue slips into your mouth and clashes with your own, exploring your mouth and leaving you breathless. You have no idea how long you spend kissing him, but you’ll have to remember to give him a point for being a good kisser when you can finally pull away. Before you can pull yourself away from him, however, you feel his tip at your entrance rubbing back and forth, slicking himself before pushing in slowly, his pillowy lips muffling the long moan you let out.

He breaks away to pant, “You’re still on birth control, right?” And you let out a huff.

“It’s a little late to ask, idiot.” Jungkook points out, positioned so he can get the perfect view of your pussy being stretched around Jimin’s thick cock. 

“Yeah I am, don’t worry about it.” You breathe, bucking your hips up to tell him you want him to move. He starts up a pace that has you gasping, surprised by how easily he hits your sensitive spots with his girth, and he has you moaning your pleasure in no time. You’re sure he can feel how wet you are, the sounds of wetness and slapping getting louder as he fucks the slick out of you with every harsh thrust, making his shaft so slippery that you’re sure he’s going to slip out every time he pulls back. But he stays inside, hips skillful and practiced as he drives into your tight entrance. You don’t think you’ve had anyone as thick as him before and the thought of him stretching you out around himself makes you squeeze even tighter, causing him to groan out. 

“Don’t squeeze like that, I’m already close.” Jimin’s voice comes out strained as his balls slap against your ass, his face saying that he’s telling the truth, and you hear a laugh.

“Already?! Seriously, hyung?” The youngest gapes, though you suspect he’s probably glad that his turn is coming sooner than expected. He’s stopped touching himself and his cock is now half soft, though it still jumps every now and again as he watches Jimin fuck you even harder.

“Shut up, I almost blew my load when she came on my tongue so I’m lucky we even got this far.” Jimin grunts, pounding into you. He pauses to lift one of your legs onto his shoulder, working a pillow under your hips and the new angle makes you mewl. Static electricity flows through your veins every time he pushes into you, aiming right at that spot and you feel your clit swelling with pressure from how good it feels.

“C-can I touch myself?” You ask softly, though you’re not sure exactly where that came from. But now you’ve reignited the dominant side of Jimin and he changes right before your eyes.

“Mm, aren’t you such a good girl, asking permission.” He moans, hips picking up speed. “Should I let her, Jungkook?”

The younger man shifts in his position to get a better view before answering. “Yeah, I bet she’d look so good doing it.” He groans, eyes locked on you. He’s devouring you with his gaze, taking in everything from your facial expression and your bouncing breasts to the way your slick covers Jimin’s shaft every time he pulls out. It makes you hot being watched like this and you never thought you’d enjoy it so much. Having a spectator makes you feel sexy in a way you didn’t think possible.

“You heard him, baby. Touch yourself.” Leaning back so you have access to your swollen clit, Jimin slows his pace just slightly as you reach down and touch yourself. At first contact you shiver, still sensitive from the previous orgasm you had. The first circle you press into the bud has you clenching down on him again, and this time he has to stop and grip onto your hips to keep control. Immediately you pull your hand back, not wanting him to cum so soon, but he shakes his head at you.

“I didn’t tell you to stop. Keep going.” He pants, both men now staring down at you with predatory gazes. Humming, you continue, slicking your fingers with the mess around his base and rubbing it into your clit at a satisfying speed. To be watched while you masturbate awakens a new kink of yours and you bask in the way your boys practically water at the mouth while looking at you. Jimin starts moving again and each drag of his cock sends sparks up your nerves like live wire, the movements making you that much more sensitive beneath your fingertips. Your eyes start to roll as he times his hips with your flicking. He switches to grinding motions and you moan, loving how you can feel his leaking tip massaging deep within you. “Fuck, I’m going to cum.” Jimin gasps, snapping into you with renewed vigor.

“I want you to cum inside me!” You whine, feeling him harden even more inside you. Your other leg finds its way up on his shoulder and you allow him to pound into you with all his strength, his ab muscles flexing as he works himself in and out of you.

“Yeah, you want it?” He asks, looping his arms around both of your legs. All you can do is nod before he’s fucking into you ferociously, his grunts and groans of pleasure mixing with yours until you can’t tell who is louder. Fingers leaving your core, you hold onto his muscular thighs for dear life as he delivers devastating thrust after devastating thrust, jolting your entire body up the bed at a stuttering rhythm. Then, you feel him still briefly and gasp, his balls on your ass tightening and pulsing as he shoots into you, filling you to the brim with his hot cum. His hips jerk as he soars through his orgasm, spurred on by the way you clench your walls and moan his name because you just love seeing him lost in pleasure like this. It makes you even wetter, and combined with his overflowing semen, you’re a leaking mess. 

Jimin gives you a sloppy kiss as the vestiges of his high leave him, pulling himself free from your gripping core to look down at his masterpiece. Jungkook peers over his shoulder to have a look and you take this opportunity to give them a show, bearing down on your pelvic muscles to push out the white substance Jimin so carefully planted inside you. It oozes out of you, mixing with the cream smeared around your lips and you feel it begin to drip down your ass as you continue to push. The sight nearly knocks both men off their feet, the older of the two visibly drooling at the visual of his cum leaking from your tight pussy, evidence of how good you made him feel and the amazing orgasm you gave him. It’s almost enough to get him hard again. 

The younger of the men is also enthralled by the sight, mouth agape and eyes wide, leaning in ever closer to get a better look at your drooling lips. Jungkook never thought he’d be one to take another man’s sloppy seconds, but when it’s you and Jimin he feels differently about the situation. And that feeling surprises him because in this moment he wants nothing more than to stick his dick in you and use Jimin’s sperm as lube to help you both reach your highs. So that’s exactly what he does. Nearly pushing Jimin out of the way, Jungkook flips you without warning, pressing your face into the pillows and guiding your hips up into position, manhandling you in a way that makes him even sexier. You never had a strength kink before, but when Jungkook throws you around like this you can’t help but ache between your thighs for him. You’re discovering a lot about yourself tonight. 

“Gonna fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” He promises in a mumble, lining himself up with your glistening hole. The first thing he notices is how slippery it is when he pushes in, Jimin’s cum coating his cock and making it easy to slip inside your walls. He bottoms out effortlessly despite how tight you are, hips flush against your ass and fingers dimpling your skin from how hard he grips your ass. Jungkook swears he could cum right this second, but he’s too determined to fuck you into oblivion to have it end so soon so he holds off. But he has to admit, being inside you is an experience he never thought he’d get to have, so his mind is in a daze as his hips start to move. 

You’re not fairing much better, thoughts cloudy from his long cock reaching so far into you at this angle that you think you can feel him in your throat. He smacks into your cervix every time he slams into you, but the slight pain only adds to the pleasure after the first few strokes. The arch in your back gradually lessens as Jungkook fucks the living shit out of you, your ass slapping against his hips so loudly that you’re sure your neighbors will be filing a noise complaint, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when you feel his large palms at the small of your back, pushing down to deepen that curve and open you up for him. Ungodly nosies are coming from you as he fucks you at a relentless pace, taut muscles rippling behind you as he uses his strength to wreck you.

“Mm, look at how she’s gripping the sheets, Kookie. I think you might break her.” Jimin comments with a chuckle, spent and a relaxing on the bed next to you.

“Nah she can take it. Isn’t that right (Y/n)?” Jungkook asks, not slowing his pace a bit to give you a second to breathe. You struggle to answer, gasping and moaning as he fucks you dumb on your bed, your toes curling being your only response. When he doesn’t get a verbal answer, the man behind you lands a harsh smack to your ass then grips it in his hands, spreading your pussy lips apart with his thumbs to watch himself go in and out, in and out. “Answer me.”

“Yes, I can take it!” You squeal, stuffing your face in a pillow to contain the sounds escaping you.

“Good girl.” The growl that releases from deep in his throat has your legs shaking, your walls contracting as the vibrations from the sound travel up your insides. “I love feeling you squeeze around me. I could fuck this cunt all day long.” Moaning, he closes his eyes, throwing his head back in bliss.

The grip on your hips tightens painfully before it vanishes completely, and you only have a split second to wonder what happened before another hard slap rings out, this time both of his hands landing on your ass. Both men watch as your cheeks jiggle, still rippling with the impact of his hips, and you faintly hear them groan in unison with your high pitched squeak. After a series of several more untamed thrusts, however, Jungkook pulls out, leaving you cold and empty.

“Turn around.” He orders sharply, barely getting through the haze of your mind. “Let me see that pretty face.” 

This snaps you out of your fog and you follow his order shakily, plopping down on your back only to be snatched to the edge of the bed by your legs. You let out a short scream, surprised by the sudden display of his monstrous strength as he positions your legs how he wants, pushing them back against your chest and inserting himself in one long stroke. Your eyes roll before peering up at him, innocent and wanting, and he throbs inside of you at the image, praising you just how you deserve.

“There she is,” he smiles, languidly moving his hips in slow thrusts just so you feel every inch of him. “Look at how sexy she is, hyung. Looking at me with those beautiful eyes while she’s taking my cock. You think she deserves another orgasm?”

“I think she does.” Jimin consents, scooting closer to massage your breasts. His nimble fingers squeeze at your nipple, causing you to mewl as Jungkook picks up the pace. “Let’s see if you have what it takes to make her cum again.” The older of the two challenges, grinning when he sees the tick of Jungkook’s jaw at his doubt.

“Watch and fucking learn, hyung.” Is all he has to say before the competitive man is ramming into you again, fucking you up the bed. He looks down at the mess between your thighs, a frothy mixture of your wetness, Jimin’s cum, and his precum, and just seeing you all sloppy for him has his balls tightening. That mess is the perfect lube, keeping you slick even though he’s practically rubbing you raw with how fast he’s going, the wetness saving your battered pussy from harm. 

You already look fucked out. You’re sure your hair is a mess and the little bit of eyeliner you had on is smeared down your face with the tears that collect and fall from your tightly shut eyes. But Jungkook only continues to praise you, going on and on about how pretty you are and how well you take his cock. Your eyes remain shut so you don’t see him reach down to rub his thumb in fast circles around your clit, the stimulation shocking you into opening your eyes to look right at him as he fucks you even harder.

“That’s right, look at me.” He grunts, a look of concentration taking over his handsome face as he focuses on moving his thumb and hips in time with each other. You’ve only seen this look on his face when he’s playing video games and you have to admit seeing him make that face in this context is extremely sexy. It’s like he’s using every cheat code he knows to push all your buttons the right way to win this stupid little game with Jimin, and it’s working. Everything he does pushes you closer to that edge and your mind is going blank with pleasure,

“Did Jimin fuck you this well?” He asks out of the blue, his competitive edge coming out.

“N-no.” You admit sheepishly, breaking eye contact with him to skim your gaze down his body. He looks like a piece of artwork, a living statue of a Greek god with his muscles and veins on full display, highlighted by the sweat that now drips down his skin. He’s definitely racking up bonus points for looking this good, despite you already giving him an extra point for his strip tease earlier. But how can you not be enamored when he looks this damn good. And when he acts so fucking cocky.

“Does Baekhyun fuck you like this?” Comes his next question, hips snapping into you with just a little more finesse. He adds a bit of rotation and you gasp, legs vibrating now from the circles both inside you and on your clit.

“No! No one fucks me like you do—“ you hiccup, clinging to the sheets for dear life. 

Hot. That’s all you can think about and feel. It feels like you’re in an oven set to 1000 degrees and your skin is on fire. Sweat pours from every crevice of your body: behind your knees, the folds of your tummy, your elbows, everywhere is damp and dripping. Above you Jungkook isn’t fairing much better, dripping onto you from his chin, but it’s hot when he does it. Warmth spreads throughout your body like a virus.

“God, Kook I’m gonna cum!”

“Yeah?” He asks, out of breath and absolutely shining with arrogance. His thumb presses down on your clit just a tiny bit harder and the added pressure is enough to have you teetering on the edge. “Cum for me. Cum all over this cock, (Y/n). Let me see how good I make you feel.” 

As he growls this, Jimin, who has been twirling your nipples, bends down to capture one of the buds in his mouth to tease it with his teeth and tongue. He bites down roughly on the pert peak and that’s all it takes for you to fall into the precipice of your high. It knocks the air out of your lungs, makes you gasp like a fish out of water as you quiver beneath the men, tremors of pleasure traveling up and down your body as Jungkook glares at Jimin for aiding in giving you the high that he selfishly wanted for himself. The oldest grins as you quake, nursing your sore nipple with his tongue as both men ride out your high with their hands all over your body, soothing the tingles that begin to take over from overstimulation. Having both of your boys give you an orgasm with their combined efforts has you floating on cloud nine, and as Jungkook continues to fuck you, you can’t think of anything you want more than to feel him fill you up with his cum to complete the night.

“I’m close.” You hear him whisper, biting down on his lips to stop the moans building in his throat to no avail. 

“Please give it to me. Wanna feel it.” You can barely complete your sentences, exhaustion taking over you but still flowing with residual lust. 

Jungkook thrusts faster at your words, pushing himself past the limits of fatigue to give you what you want, and one tight squeeze of your walls is what finally sends him over the edge. His fingers dig into your thighs as his hips stutter, slowing his pace but never stopping even though he nearly screams out a moan when he cums. Seeing the veins in his neck bulge as he finds his highest pleasure makes you horny all over again, but your body can’t take any more, thoroughly worn and used by your two best friends. 

“Thank him for giving you his cum, sweet girl.” Jimin mumbles against your lips, stealing a peck as Jungkook rides out the last of his orgasm. 

“T-thank you for giving me your cum.” You find yourself whining, dazed. 

“And for letting you cum.” He adds, kissing you again.

“Thank you for letting me cum, Kookie. It felt soo good.” You smile, closing your eyes as Jimin leans in to make out with you. Though, you all know that Jimin had a hand in both giving you permission to cum and helping you reach your orgasm.

“You were a good girl, you deserved it.” Kookie says as he finally stops moving, collapsing on top of you with his face in your titties. 

When Jimin finally pulls away from your lips, there’s a strange look on his face that you can’t quite put your finger on. Somewhere between anticipatory and cocky. Then he speaks and you remember why. “So. Who won?”

You had forgotten about their stupid little game entirely and now you’re going to have to use your fried brain to come up with a winner even though you truly don’t know who you enjoyed the most.

“Well first and foremost,” you begin, “I have to give out the last points.” Jungkook lifts his head to look at you as you glance between the men. “The next point goes to Jungkook.” He fucked you better than you’ve ever been fucked before, but you’d sooner eat glass than to tell him that. Though, you have a feeling he already knows. He gives you a smile and places his head back down where he was comfortable.

“So who wins overall?” Jimin presses, excited to hear the winner. It’s clear he thinks he won but it’s also clear that Jungkook thinks the same. 

“I got the most points, it’s me!” He declares, but you hold up a hand to silence him. 

“I still haven’t decided who wins the big one: the overall performance point.”

“What!? That’s just something you made up just now to fuck with me. I got the most points so I should be the winner.” Kookie pouts, removing himself from you and watching his cum splatter against your floor as it rushes out of you. You all readjust so that you’re sitting on the bed so you can continue your argument.

“If it was so obvious that you won she wouldn’t need to come up with a whole other point, now would she?” Jimin brings up like a child. “I say the last point is ‘winner takes all’ and whoever she chooses wins the game.”

“If we did that then there wouldn’t be a point to the point system. You can’t just make the points irrelevant now!” Jungkook argues back, your ears hurting from being in the middle of their bickering. You should just flip a coin to end this because it’s embarrassing how seriously they’re taking this. 

“I’d say winner takes all is a good idea.” You finally say, still not sure who you’re going to choose. “The points were just there to help me decide who wins overall. Jimin was clearly the winner at foreplay to me, but Jungkook blew my back out, which counts for a lot. That’s not to say that Jimin didn’t wreck my shit with that pretty dick of his or that Jungkook didn’t get me going with his strip tease. And you both gave me an orgasm each so… Gosh, I don’t knowww, you both did so well I can’t decide!” 

“Well then just tell us one thing and we’ll let it go,” Jungkook starts, looking over to Jimin and seemingly talking telepathically. Jimin continues the question without missing a beat, which makes you think they really do have telepathy. 

“Was fucking us better than fucking Baekhyun?”

You’re shocked by the question, then embarrassed as you realize the answer. 

“…Yes.” Both of them individually were better than your friend with benefits, and combined was just an otherworldly experience. 

“Good shit, that’s all I needed to know.” Kook says, hopping up from the bed. 

“Let’s call this one a draw.” Jimin reaches his hand out and shakes hands with his friend like they weren’t just arguing, then he too jumps from the bed, walking toward the bathroom. 

“Wait, you really don’t want to know who won?” You call after them.

“Nope, we’ve got something else to brag about.” Jungkook responds, sending you a wink from the doorway. Realizing that they intend to tell the rest of their friends and potentially Baekhyun about tonight’s escapades, you leap to your feet shakily and shuffle after them, frowning at the way they laugh at your inability to walk.

“I’ll never look back and think maybe I didn’t love her.”

That’s what Taehyung had told you, months ago, before everything fell apart.

And he stands by it, even on the days he’s sure he hates you.

He was sure he hated you when your silence had let him down, was sure of it when he blocked you on insta, was sure of it when he saw you on campus and felt acid roil behind his bellybutton.

He was sure of it when you’d flirted with that idiot right in front of him, was sure of it when he’d called you a coward, was sure of it when you’d lied straight to his face and claimed you didn’t want him.

He hated you. He hates you.

He’s just waiting for time to do its thing and take the sting from it, the same way time slowly took the intensity from his flashbacks and nightmares.

He does what he can to distract himself, in the meantime. That’s what he’s doing on St. Patrick’s Day weekend – distracting himself, one shotglass at a time.

He’s never understood why his hyungs go so big for an Irish holiday – for Yoongi, he thinks it’s a bit ironic, just for a laugh. But Taehyung thinks Jin actually really likes the holiday for whatever reason, and so he finds himself in his packed living room sometime after midnight, awash in green lighting, noticing an ass in a tight green dress.

He knows that ass.

He knows that ass well.

(He misses that ass. But that might be tequila talking.)

He stands at the edge of the dancefloor, hovering between the kitchen and the stairs, and watches you dance with Bridget.

For a second, he doesn’t hate you. For a second, the slanted funhouse he’s lived in since he walked away from you rights itself, and he stands on even footing.

Then the beat changes up and your eyes meet his across the dancefloor, going wide with recognition. He clutches his sweating beer bottle tightly and watches as something hard slides over your face. You down your drink, sending the bottom of the red plastic cup skyward, and turn your back to him.

Move, Taehyung thinks to himself, move before she turns around and you’re still standing here like a fucking clown.

His feet obey, and he makes his way to the basement. He feels like it’s a good idea to be on a different floor of the house than you, if only for self-preservation.

He knows himself well enough to know that his mood is written all over his face. Seeing you unleashed all of it, as it always does. It leaves him as spinning and shattered as the sedan he’d steered into hell over a year ago.

It’s how he knows he loved you, loves you, though. Because when he sees you – whether it’s across campus or across his crowded house – the hating you gets quieter.

Everything else – the stuff he’s been distracting himself from, trying to drown out the sound of – gets louder. Like the fact that you look miserable, even when you’re laughing at something Bridget says. Like the fact that when your eyes catch his, there’s always a flash of something before you seem to shove it down. Like the fact that his heart leaps when he hears your voice, even when he knows it’s stupid. Like the fact that he loves you, loves you, even now – would do anything for you, would climb any mountain if you just said the word.

He's a world-class fool. But the heart wants what it wants, or something.

He expects it to be Jimin who clocks his mood and heads over, but somehow he finds himself standing near the pong tables and it’s Jungkook who sidles up.

“What’s wrong?” the younger man asks, and Taehyung looks at him, surprised. They’d argued less than two hours ago; Jungkook had slammed his bedroom door in Taehyung’s face.

It reminds Taehyung that their friendship existed before, and there’s hope for it still.

“She’s upstairs,” he says flatly. He knows that’s enough.

Jungkook grimaces. “You gonna talk to her? Or you gonna hide down here?”

“I’m not hiding,” Taehyung snaps, but he is and they both know it.

Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. He sips at his beer, scans the room. Taehyung waits. He’s known Jungkook long enough to know he should wait.

“You think she’s sorry?” he asks finally, and the question surprises Taehyung so much that he drops the bravado and fully turns to face his friend, eyes wide.

“Sorry about what?” he manages. He really means, sorry about which part, but he thinks Jungkook understands.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whatever happened first. If you can forgive the first transgression… the rest falls into place.”

Vocab, Taehyung thinks. Out loud, he scoffs. “Transgression. It wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t that clear cut.”

His words aren’t working right.

You’d know what he meant.

Jungkook shrugs again, lazy. “I’m just saying. Maybe she’s sorry and doesn’t know how to say so.”

You had apologized, Taehyung remembers, sipping at his own drink. He’d been too mad to hear it, at the time. And then you’d gone radio silent, like he wasn’t even worth fighting for. Had looked him dead in the eyes and said, “I don’t want you.”

Were you sorry – about any of it?

The part of him that loves you whispers, of course she is.

The part of him that hates you whispers, she threw you away.

And the part of him that treads water somewhere in the middle wonders if any of it even fucking matters.

“I need some air,” he mutters, and heads for the stairs.

He wishes he could go back in time and never trip over you on these fucking stairs. Then maybe his heart wouldn’t be cracked and splintered, maybe his head wouldn’t be spinning in confused circles.

He hates you, he hates you, he hates you.

He heads for the kitchen, ducking around bodies and drinks held aloft, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

He freezes halfway across the kitchen, his gaze snagging on the window above the sink. You’re out back, alone, leaning against the railing, your head hanging towards the plastic cup you’re dangling over the railing.

He hates you, but his heart tugs.

It’s how he knows he loves you, even when he hates you. Because he can tell by your fucking shoulders that you’re not okay. Because noticing that makes his stomach hurt, makes his hands itch, makes his ribs tight.

He slips outside, closing the door gently and making his way over to you. He leans his elbow on the wood, mirroring you.

He hates you, but he loves you, so he has to check on you. He doesn’t have a choice.

“You okay?” he asks. It’s a dumb question. Neither of you are. You’re both casualties of each other.

“The fuck do you care?” you snap, and Taehyung breaks. He clutches the railing with one hand, turning to face you, every muscle quivering in his fight against his instincts, which scream hold her, hold her, hold her!

Because that? The hatred, the anger? That’s not you, and he knows it. Like looking in a mirror, Taehyung sees it for what it is: a façade, hiding the hurt. It makes him both ache for you, and furious with you.

How dare you make him want to make it better?

He doesn’t touch you, but he does say your name, just once, quietly.

He watches you take a breath, watches as you struggle to get it together. “Go inside,” you say finally. “Go have fun. I’m fine. I just wanted to cool down.”

Liar.

He steps back towards the house, and your body follows, turning so you can keep watching him. He loves you and he hates you, and they are at war inside him, and he had probably three too many shots earlier, and that dress is a sin on you and –

“I know this sucks,” he says, surprising himself. His mouth took over while his head spiraled. But he presses on. “It’s hard for me, too, you know.”

You laugh, and that’s the moment Taehyung knows how this is going to go. There’s something in your stance, in that sarcastic ha, that feels like a challenge. Like you’re daring him to cross a line, and he’s ready to leap.

“I know it’s hard for you, Taehyung,” you say, voice dripping with attitude. “I get it. I’m the bitch that broke your heart. You don’t have to remind me.”

He stares at you and wonders if anyone had let you grieve, when it ended. He wonders if there’s anyone you let inside your walls, where he used to be, to see that you aren’t fine.

He wonders if you’d let him kiss you, if he tried.                                

That dress is fucking with him.

“Don’t do that,” he says.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t try to make me feel bad for you when I’m angry with you.”

“Be mad then,” you snap, like you’re over it, exasperated. “Go for it. If you want to hate me, hate me.”

He does.

He could never.

He steps closer.

“That’s not what I want,” he admits, voice low.

He loves you. He’ll prove it.

Your body language shifts; he knows the green light when he sees it, he was with you long enough. “What do you want, then?” You demand it like you already know the answer.

You probably do.

He won’t look back and wonder if he loved you. He knows he does. He’s sure of it when he presses you against the deck railing and kisses you again, stomach swooping with joy. He’s sure of it when you follow him upstairs, when you cling to him and breathe his name in the dark. He’s sure of it when he falls asleep with his face buried in your neck, his arm around your waist.

And though his heart breaks impossibly, new cracks forming right beside the old, he’s sure of it even when he wakes up to find you gone, his sheets cold, the room silent and still.

It wouldn’t hurt this bad if he didn’t.

“There he is,” Tara had hissed, pointing to a tall man across the room, dark curls bouncing on his brow, long fingers curled around a wine glass, and an intense look on his face.  

Moving further into the room, it had then been revealed that the target of his gaze was another woman and, despite your friend’s best attempts, Taehyung was not interested. She had dragged you to the toilets where she cried, real, huge tears. 

“It’s just been a couple of weeks, hasn’t it? Did you say you were exclusive?” you had asked, trying to be sensitive but shocked at the display of emotion. She wasn’t usually like this. 

“I’m not crying because I’m in love with him or something!” she had replied, her voice thick with tears. “I’m crying because he’s never going to sleep with me again!” 

“What?” 

“If he’s done with me, then that’s it. I’m done for. I’m done with sex.”  

She had fixed you with a wet, shining stare. 

“No one is as good in bed as Taehyung.” Her voice was hushed, awed. “He... You just don’t know if you haven’t slept with him, ok? He has ruined me. I can never sleep with anyone else, not knowing that he’s out there somewhere, not sleeping with me. No on-” 

“No one is that good at sex. Come on; it’s not like he’s got a magic dick or so-” 

“Yes, he has! He absolutely has. But it’s not just his dick – it's his everything. I’m telling you, y/n-” she had sniffled for dramatic effect, her tears were mostly dried- “he’s the best I’ve ever had or will ever have and, honestly, if he ever shows any interest in you, take it.” 

“I have a boyfriend.” 

“I don’t care.” 

Your mouth dropped open in shock; she knew your boyfriend; you had thought they got along well; but she interrupted you before you could argue. 

“I’m serious, y/n. This is a hall pass situation. Do not turn Taehyung down.” 

“So I can end up like you, crying over his dick in a toilet?” 

She had fixed you with a death glare but could not exactly say you were wrong.  

* * *  

That was months ago now. And, somehow, Taehyung kept popping up in your life. At the pub, at bars, at a party where you weren’t even sure he knew anyone – he just happened to be there. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him because you didn’t even know him, but you certainly had no interest in getting to know him. Men like him were ten a penny and, despite what you had been told about him, you were not convinced he was all that in the sack, because men like him never are. 

He was certainly handsome; you wouldn’t deny that. But attractive? No one that smug, that arrogant, could ever be attractive to you. Someone who thinks the world is at their feet, that everyone should fall to their knees for them, that other people exist only for their delectation... That was disgusting, not sexy. Even if you hadn’t had a boyfriend, you knew there was no way his ‘charm’ could work on you. All bluster and machismo and that quirked eyebrow and little smirk? No, thank you. 

“You know, I’ve been seeing you around a lot, but I don’t think we’ve ever spoken.”  

The voice came from behind you and you knew, without having to look, who it would be. You replied not even bothering to turn around. 

“No need. I know who you are.” 

“Oh? And who am I?” 

He was next to you then, leaning against the wall, your arms touching. 

“You’re Taehyung with the magical dick.” 

“Oh, is that what they call me?” 

“Well, I don’t-” 

“You just did.” 

“I don’t but rumour has it... Of course, I don’t believe a word.” 

“There are rumours going around that I have a magical dick and you don’t believe them... You know there’s one way to know for sure?” 

You turned to him, then, stared into his eyes – wide, innocent, as if he wasn’t just asking you to fuck him without even knowing your name – and scoffed. 

“No, thanks. I have a boyfriend.” 

“And does he have a magical dick?” 

You didn’t hesitate, not really, not for more than half a second, but it was enough. 

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s a real shame. You want my number so you can pass it on to him? Maybe I could give him some tips?” 

“Ugh, goodbye, Taehyung.” 

You pushed yourself off the wall and made your way through the room, but he followed after you. 

“Or,” he continued. “You could just take my number and not pass it on, maybe keep it for yourself. In case of an emergency or-” 

“Emergency? What emergency might I possibly ever have that I would require your assistance?” 

He leant down, so close that you could smell his shampoo and his drink on his breath. His cheek barely brushed yours as he brought his lips to your ear. 

“Maybe your boyfriend with the disappointing dick can’t get you off and you’re so on edge that you think, god I’d do anything, anything, to come right now, but you can’t. Then you’re lying there, hot and bothered and unsatisfied, yearning for something, someone, to come and sort you out, to show you the kind of pleasure you’ve not even ever dreamt of. And you think of me, and my magical dick, and you think, oh how I wish I’d taken his number; if I had his number, I’d call him right no-” 

You put a hand against his chest and pushed him back.  

“I’m not taking your number and I’m not going to call you. This-” you gestured broadly to him “this doesn’t work on me. You’re a fuckboy and I don’t fuck with fuckboys. Goodbye.” 

As you walked away from him for the second time, he didn’t follow and you had to stop yourself turning around to see if he was still looking at you. It didn’t matter if he was or not, but you liked the idea of denying the undeniable man, of being one person he couldn’t charm, couldn’t win over. You didn’t care if his dick really was magic or not because you knew you would never be finding out.  

* * *  

The next time you saw him was a few weeks later, at a party. He was on the sofa, slouching low, an empty glass held slack in his hand, dangling at the end of his wrist. He wasn’t talking to anyone, not making moves or scanning for prey; just sitting, staring into space. You turned away from him; you didn’t want to think about a sex god right now; you didn’t want to think about sex full-stop. You ideally wanted to not think at all. You left the room. 

Later that night, when you went back inside, you saw him again. He was still sitting on the sofa, empty glass (the same one?) in hand, still staring into space. You briefly wondered if he was on drugs and, if he were, whether that was deliberate or he’d had his drink spiked. Most people seemed to be ignoring him, or they hadn’t noticed him at all. You sat down next to him. 

“No conquest tonight?” 

“Nope.” 

“What? Not even one? You can’t be telling me your magical dick would miss an opportunity like this: all these people, drinks flowing, inhibitio-” 

“I said no.” 

He tipped his head over the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. 

“Are you ok?” 

“Yep.” 

“Are you lying?” 

“Yep.” 

You had to stifle a giggle and take a pause before you continued. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve had your heartbroken. Mr Magical Dick, Mr Fuck Anything That Moves, Mr Don’t Keep Anyone Around For More Than Two Weeks has had his little heart broken?” 

You could see his jaw work as he tongued at the inside of his cheek, as if deliberating whether or not he would confide in you. 

“In a manner of speaking.” 

The way you gasped was uncharitable, and on a different night, you might have been less callous, but misery loves company and you were delighted to find out that someone else – Kim Taehyung at that – was having relationship problems. You were just fixing on your best retort, tidying it up on the tip of your tongue when he spoke again. 

“Before you say whatever clever remark you’re currently labouring over, my fucking grandmother died, ok? So save it.” 

“Oh.” Surprised didn’t even come close. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

He stood and walked away but you followed him, up the stairs and into an empty bedroom where he collapsed on the bed. You followed him in and shut the door behind you, but stayed next to it, unsure what to say or do. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ventured. 

“No.” 

“Do you want to drink about it?” 

He lifted the empty glass in his hand as if he were about to take a sip and then held it out to you. 

“Sure.” 

“Ok, uh, stay here then and I’ll be back.” 

When you returned to the bedroom (bottle of unfortunately cheap vodka in hand), you thought he must have left: the bed was empty. Then you saw his feet poking out from the other side and found him lying on the floor. You took his glass, poured him a drink, and watched him as he knocked it back. He grimaced and looked at you. 

“This is horrible.” 

“Yeah, I know, but I figured it wouldn’t be missed. Sorry.” 

He held his glass up for more. 

You sat, drinking in silence. You didn’t know what to say to him and he was obviously not interested in conversation so part of you wanted to leave him alone, but he hadn’t told you to leave, and he was still holding his glass out for more, and you didn’t really feel like he should’ve been alone. So, you stayed. It was nice, actually. You hadn’t really been in the mood for a party – you had just wanted to get out – so you were enjoying the quiet. You were enjoying the way the vodka was making you warm, edges all fuzzy and soft, the noise far away.  

“She basically raised me.” 

His voice was quiet and thick; you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or just talking.  

“Yeah?”  

“She-” 

He looked at you then, his eyes not quite focusing, and stopped talking. 

“You can tell me about her, if you want.” 

He shook his head with a groan and drew his knees up to his chest, dropping his head between them.  

“I’m going to go home,” he said after another short while had passed. 

“You sure?” 

He nodded. 

“Can you get home ok? Did you need me to get you a taxi or call someone?” 

He shook his head and fished his phone out of his pocket, waving it at you, unlocking it to order a car. You almost didn’t reach out for it, but you knew you would feel responsible if something happened, so you took his phone and entered your number into it. 

“Please let me know when you have got home safe, ok?” 

He looks at you, suspicious, and then playful as that all-too-familiar smirk returns to his lips. 

“It was all a ruse, huh? Get me drunk and give me your number under the pretence of concern for me, huh? I knew you wanted me.” 

“What I want, Taehyung, is to not be the last person to see you alive and the subsequent subject of a murder investigation.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever you say. You’re the one who calls me magic dick...” 

He winked at you and then turned, waving a hand in your direction, stumbling down the stairs. You figured you might as well call it a night yourself.  

You were back in your apartment, washed and undressed, tapping impatiently at the side of your phone, not sure if you should wait to hear from Taehyung or assume that he’d forgotten and just go to sleep yourself. Then a message came in from an unknown number. 

A head shot, but with enough of his shoulders displayed to make it clear he was topless, his black hair splayed on the pillow behind his head. He had his eyes closed, his fingers in a V over his mouth. 

???: Didn’t die. 

???: Unlike my grandma 🙁 

You choked on surprised laughter. 

y/n: Glad you got home ok. Sorry about your gma 🙁 

* * *  

Your phone rang the next evening while you were making tea and you answered without looking who was calling. 

“Hello?” 

“What the fuck is this I hear about you and Kim Taehyung?” 

It was your boyfriend. 

“Uh, I don’t know; what did you hear?” 

“Apparently, you’re fucking.” 

“WHAT?!”  

“Apparently, when you were out last night, you and Taehyung went into a bedroom for a very long time and he came out looking very pleased with himself.” 

“Ok and? That means we’re fucking, does it?” 

“I don’t know; I’m asking you.” 

“Ok, well, no, we didn’t. We didn’t really do anything. We just sat and drank.” 

“What do you mean you just sat and drank? What even is that?” 

“I mean we literally sat and drank. I wasn’t in a good mood and neither was he, so I nicked a bottle of vodka from the kitchen and we sat in the dark, in silence, drinking it. That’s it.” 

There was an aggrieved sigh from the other end of the phone. 

“So, it’s my fault, is it? Is that what this is about? You trying to make me jealous or some sh-” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m supposed to believe it’s just a coincidence that, almost immediately after we have an argument about me not going down on you, you end up at a party with the most notorious fuckboy in the fucking country?” 

You could feel anger swelling within you, sweat pricking on your back and in your palms. 

“Believe what you want. I’m telling you nothing happened.” 

You hung up. You were not about to be accused of cheating by a guy who, frankly, already owed you an apology. As if you would’ve done that. Even if you had been single, you wouldn’t have slept with Taehyung – not ever, but certainly not last night. You had a little more decency than that. Hell, even Taehyung had more decency than that. You tried to push it from your mind; if you had been your boyfriend, maybe you would’ve thought it, too, or at least, felt insecure about it or unsure. You could admit that it didn’t necessarily look great – you were very aware of Taehyung’s reputation and maybe you should have considered that before shutting yourself in a room with him. But you also knew you hadn’t done anything wrong. So you were prepared to let it blow over.  

* * *  

Taehyung: You coming tonight? 

y/n: Coming where? 

Taehyung: Jimin’s party? 

y/n: 🤷‍♀️ not invited 

Taehyung: Ok, I’m inviting you. 

Taehyung: So you coming? 

y/n: Can’t. Have a date 

Taehyung: You dumped disappointing dick??!!! 😄😄😄 

y/n: No. 

y/n: He’s still my boyfriend. My date is with him. 

Taehyung: Boo 😒 let me know when you finally leave him 

y/n: Fuck off, taehyung 

* * *  

You didn’t see him for a few weeks after that, until you found yourself actually searching for him, peeking into dark corners in clubs and bars to see if he was there. You weren’t sure why you did; you weren’t friends and you certainly weren’t interested in him. But you were intrigued. You always assumed people like him were shallow – truly of the no thoughts, head empty kind. You hadn’t really considered that he might be a real person under there somewhere. Albeit a smug, arrogant, charmless, shameless person. Who may or may not have had a magic dick. 

You thought about what your friend had said, the first time you met Taehyung. How she had cried, not because she liked him, not because he broke her heart, but because she would never get to sleep with him again. You couldn’t imagine it, sex that good. Not that the sex you had was bad (it wasn’t), it was good, even, but you couldn’t imagine it being so good, so much better than now that it would inspire such a reaction.  

You began to think about it more and more as things with your boyfriend went from bad to worse.  

The club was hot and loud and you were happy to be drunk and dancing. Happy, that is, until you weren’t. Your phone buzzed once, twice, three times, four times. You knew it was your boyfriend and you knew it was because you were out without him. Which was kind of the whole point; you didn’t want to speak to him. 

You wandered outside to the smoking area, for some air, to scan your eyes over your boyfriend’s messages and see if there was anything worth replying to. And there was Taehyung. He hadn’t seen you yet and you knew you had only a few seconds before he turned around and noticed you. You realised, with what might have been clarity or might have been too much gin, that of all the people in all the world that you might speak to about your problems, Taehyung was probably the best: experienced, not your friend, you didn’t care about his opinion of you, and he didn’t think much of your boyfriend. 

“Hey, Taehyung,” you called as you approached.  

He turned and his smug, little smirk turned into a genuine smile when he saw you. 

“Y/n! It’s been a while. Still being disappointed in the bedroom?” 

You almost changed your mind. 

“Shut up, Taehyung. I have to ask you something.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“You have a lot of sex, right? Like, a lot of sex with a lot of different wome-... people? Right?” 

He shrugged. 

“Some, sure. Maybe a lot. Depends who’s asking.” 

“Whatever, you know what I mean. When you have sex with someone with a... with uh, a vulva, do you go down on them?” 

He looked at you as if you had suddenly grown another head and, when he answered, he spoke slowly, as if you were an idiot. 

“Yes, if they have a pussy, I go down on them.” 

“Always? Like, every time?” 

“Well, I guess probably not 100% of the time, but... I don’t know, 95?” 

This was not the answer you had been hoping for.  

“Why are you a-” He cut himself off with a gasp and looked at you, shock and glee in equal measure on his face. “Does Disappointing Dick not go down on you?” 

You blushed furiously, your face hot, and stomped your foot, shushing him viciously. 

“No,” you admitted, through gritted teeth. “No, he doesn’t. Not ever.” 

“Not ever?” 

“Not ever.” 

“Like, not even a little?” 

“I said not ever! What do you not understand about those words?” 

“Why?” 

“You mean why doesn’t he?” You shrugged, trying to appear more unbothered than you were. “He says he doesn’t like it.” 

“Doesn’t like it? Is he gay?” 

You rolled your eyes and turned away with a groan, intending to drop it, but he grabbed your arm and turned you back. 

“I’m being serious. If he’s not going down on you, he can’t be that into pussy. Is it just you or was he the same with previous partners?” 

“He says it’s everyone, not just me. He says he just doesn’t like it.” 

“Has he tried? With you, I mean?” 

You grimaced at the memory. 

“Once.” 

“And how was it?” 

“Awful. I couldn’t relax because all I could think about was how much he didn’t want to do it and he was so awkward and tentative and then he got annoyed because I wasn’t enjoying-” 

“He got annoyed?” 

“Yeah.” 

Taehyung’s brows came over his eyes and his lips pouted forward. He looked at you, thinking carefully. 

“Do you go down on him?” 

“Well, yeah, but I like doing it so it’s not an issue.” 

“But him not going down on you is an issue?” 

“Yes. I know I shouldn’t make it a big deal and maybe it’s not and I’m just being selfis-” 

He held up a hand to cut you off before you could even finish the word. 

“You’ve done things you aren’t that keen on in bed, right?” 

“Uh, wh- what do you mean? No one’s ever forced me to do-” 

“No, I don’t mean that. I just mean... There are some positions you like more than others, yeah? Or maybe he likes to fuck in the shower but you prefer not to or he likes morning sex and you don’t really, but you sometimes do it anyway, even though it’s not your favourite thing?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“So why do you do them?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well if they’re not really top of your list, why do you do them at all? Why not just say no and only do it how you want?” 

“Because it’s not just about me. It’s about them, too, and I want them to have a good time. And, ok, maybe we do it that way this time, and next time, we’ll do it my way.” 

“Exactly.” 

“I don’t see your point.” 

“My point is that, even if eating your pussy isn’t his favourite thing to do, he should still do it because it’s something that you like and that makes you feel good and he should care about that.” 

“You care, do you? About all the people you have sex with?” 

“Yes, I do.” His eyes were sharp, his lips almost sneering. He seemed annoyed but you couldn’t work out why. “Why are you asking me about this anyway? Want me to give you what you’re missing?” 

You punched him in the arm, a little harder than you’d intended, and he scowled, giving the area a rub. 

“No. Why would you ask me that? Of course, I fucking don’t. I have a boyfriend.” 

“Yeah. And maybe you shouldn’t.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

He lifts an eyebrow at you, disbelief and impatience clear on his face. 

“You know what I mean. And you know I’m always here for you.” 

For one second, you really thought he was being nice and thoughtful; you thought he might be treating you like a friend. And then reality came back to you and you realised precisely what he meant. You punched him in the arm again.  

“Fuck off, Taehyung. I’m not fucking you.” 

“That’s not what I offered. Come on, sweetheart-” 

“Don’t fucking call me that!”  

“Y/n, seriously.”  

He cradled your cheek with his hand and looked closely at you. His brown eyes were so warm, inviting, so wide and open and sweet that you couldn’t believe what came out of his mouth next.  

“What’s a little oral between friends? Let me show you your pretty little pussy’s worth wanting.” 

“Ugh!” 

You ripped your face away from his hand and stalked off, even as he called after you. The juxtaposition of that cute, teddy-bear face and his fucking depravity would give you whiplash. You told yourself that’s what it was; that he was confusing and you didn’t know how to take him, didn’t know if you could trust him. That’s why you could feel a cold stone of anxiety sinking in your stomach; you were discombobulated, that’s all. You were drunk. He had knocked you off kilter.  

You were fine. 

The next day, Taehyung messaged you. 

Taehyung: I’m sorry for overstepping, ok?  

You didn’t have time to read the rest before he was video-calling you. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

“You haven’t even given me three seconds to read your messages yet.” 

“I know, but it said you read them so I knew you were looking at your phone and I wanted to speak to you.” 

“I don’t know if that’s smart or creepy.” 

You could tell he shrugged by the jolt of the camera. 

“What do you want, then? You’ve already apologised.” 

“I don’t want to apologise. Not really... Well, I do if I made you uncomfortable. I am sorry if I did but I’m not going to apologise for anything else. Not even this... 

“No partner should ever make you feel weird or self-conscious or bad or insecure or anything like that. If you are putting your trust in someone, if you’re literally putting your body in their hands, they had better make damn fucking sure that they’re treating it right, that they’re taking care of you, that you feel good, that you feel better being with them than you do on your own. That’s all non-negotiable. It doesn’t sound like Dickless is doing that.” 

“What happened to Disappointing Dick?” 

“I demoted him. He doesn’t deserve a dick.” 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

“I’m fucking serious. You deserve better.” 

You hung up on him. You didn’t want to hear it because you didn’t want to admit that it did make you feel bad; that you were self-conscious now; that something bad was definitely happening inside your brain and you didn’t, somehow, feel like you had the right to blame your boyfriend. 

Taehyung, persistent as ever, sent a text. 

Taehyung: I’m sorry if you’re upset but I’m also not sorry. You deserve better. You deserve to be feel like your body is perfect because it is. Your body is a site of worship and if he’s not praying to you, sacrificing to you, he’s blaspheming. You deserve to be fucked by someone who will recognise what you are, will recognise how lucky they are to be with you, will make sure they let you know just how desirable and sexy and fucking perfect you are. That's all. 

Y/n: You mean someone like you? 

Taehyung: 🙄🙄🙄 

Taehyung: NO. I’m not trying to fuck you; you’ve made your feelings on that abundantly clear. This is not about me at all. How many times do I have to say I’m serious about this? Your boyfriend is a sack of shit.  

You did not reply. 

* * *  

It was a Monday morning, hardly the highlight of anyone’s week, when you next ran into Taehyung. As you entered the café, you could see him, waiting for his coffee at the other end of the bar. You ignored him and placed your order, hoping he would be gone before you had finished.  

No such luck. Worse still, he immediately started talking to you. 

“I just have one question; will you let me ask one question?” 

“What?” 

“Are you prepared to go the rest of your life with no one going down on you?” 

“What?” 

You could feel your face heat and you glanced nervously around, hoping no one else had heard him. You were furious with him for bringing it up here, in public, first thing in the morning, but you were also not prepared for that question and a cold feeling of dread slipped through your veins like ice. 

“You’re in a relationship with this guy; at some point, eventually, you’ll get married, right? And that’s it, then; you’re staring down the barrel of what, 70 years without it? You’ve already had your last time. Do you remember it? Was it even good?” 

You knew it wasn’t because the last time anyone did it was the first – and only – time your boyfriend had and that had been an unmitigated disaster.  

“We’re not that serious, Taehyung. We’re not getting married.” 

“Maybe not now, but if you don’t break up, that’s where you’re headed, isn’t it? Is it really something you’re willing to give up forever? For him?”  

Your coffee had arrived and you had hoped you could take it and run, but Taehyung picked up your cup with his spare hand and wandered towards a spare table.  

“I don’t even know why you care so much,” you hissed as you sat opposite him at the table. 

“I don’t know why you don’t. You asked me for a reason and you are apparently completely unwilling to listen to anything. Is what I’m saying so radical? What do your other friends say?” 

You couldn’t answer that question because you hadn’t told anyone else. It was too embarrassing.  

“Have you even told anyone else?” 

“No.” 

“Then why me? Because I’m just some disgusting, shallow fuckboy whose opinion you don’t care about except when it might benefit you? Because you expected me to say that I don’t go down on the women I sleep with? Expected me to make some crude joke or cruel comment about them? Because you think that, just because I sleep with a lot of people, I must not respect them enough to treat them right? All of the above?” 

The silence between the two of you was thick, untouched by the noise and bustle of the café around you. You couldn’t deny that basically everything he had said was true, but hearing him say it made you feel thoroughly shamed. 

“I’m not offended,” he continued. “Because I know that none of that is true, as does everyone who actually knows me. You haven’t bothered to get to know me-” 

“Yeah because all you do is try to get in my pants!” 

“How is that true? Did I not just tell you that I’m not trying to fuck you? That this isn’t about me? Contrary to your beliefs, you are actually not some kind of irresistible siren whom I will make it my life mission to bed. I can live without fucking you, thank you very much. And you think I’m arrogant.” 

“I don’t think I’m irresistible,” you protested weakly.  

“I’m not interested in arguing with you. I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He paused to give you a dramatic, over the top, sexy wink and you couldn’t stop yourself rolling your eyes. “But, for the millionth time, I am serious about this. And you need to get serious about it. Here, enjoy your coffee, sweetheart.” 

He slid your cup towards you, stood, and left before you could tell him off for calling you that again. You were rattled and frustrated and couldn’t stop thinking about the rest of your life.  

You couldn’t stop thinking about it that day or that week or even into the next week. You saw your boyfriend three times and had sex that you couldn’t enjoy because you couldn’t stop thinking about it.  

It was the last time, with him pounding away inside you, that he finally noticed. 

“Hey, y/n.”  

He slowed, but didn’t stop.  

“Where have you gone? I feel like you’re not there.” 

You dragged your eyes back into focus, onto him. 

“Do you think you’ll ever like it?” 

He frowned, confused, and came to a stop, resting his weight on you a little. 

“Like what? What are you talking about?” 

“Oral.”  

He groaned and you knew, even though you couldn’t see his face as he rested his forehead on your clavicle, that he was rolling his eyes. 

“Do we have to talk about this again? I feel like this is all we ever talk about and I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“I want you to give me a reason! Tell me why you won’t do it!” 

He rolled away, slipping out of you, and sat up and you pushed yourself upright next to him. He had never really given you an answer, other than that he ‘just doesn’t like it’ and you thought this little pause might be him finally deciding to tell you. 

“Tell me why it matters so much!” he countered and your hope deflated. “I get you off, don’t I? It’s not like I’m selfish. Why do you need me to do it so badly?” 

“Because I like it! Because I do things for you! Because... Because it makes me feel bad that you don’t.” 

“Oh I make you feel bad? All this time I spend trying to make you feel good-” 

“I don’t! I don’t feel good! I don’t feel good because you make me feel like there must be something wrong with me! No one else has ever had a problem with it-” 

“Now who’s making who feel bad? If everyone else you’ve fucked likes it so much, why don’t you just go and ask them to do it?” 

“What?” 

“Well, if they all love doing it so much and you need it so fucking desperately, why not ask them?” 

“Are you serious right now?” 

His jaw dropped as if you’d just hit him. 

“Of course I’m not fucking serious! Are you joking? You’re my fucking girlfriend! As if I would let you do that! I don’t understand why you can’t just be happy with what we have.” 

He was standing and putting his feet back into his boxers and trousers. You didn’t want him to leave. Because you wanted him to stay and change his mind. You wanted him to suddenly turn around and say, actually, I was wrong, please allow me to go down on you for hours and hours... You knew he wouldn’t. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed and took your hand. 

“Do you love me?” 

At that moment, no, you truly didn’t. It took all your strength to look him in the eye and answer. 

“Yes, of course.” 

He kissed you and told you the same and then he told you to get some rest and sleep on it and that things would look better in the morning.  

You had had this argument enough times to know that it wouldn’t. Things would look the same in the morning. In actual fact, they looked worse.  

You still couldn’t get Taehyung’s words out of your mind, any of them. The idea of anyone worshipping you was faintly absurd, a rhetorical flourish you’re sure he didn’t mean literally, but he seemed so sincere and, well, they didn’t say he had a magical dick for nothing.  

You called Tara.  

“Ok, I need you to be really real with me and also to not ever tell anyone I asked you this.” 

“Oh my god, the intrigue... Go on.” 

“Just exactly how good is Taehyung in bed?” 

She cackled loudly down the phone and then sighed, suddenly wistful. 

“Still, by far, the best I have ever had. I still miss him.” 

“Ok, but I don’t know how good the other people you’ve slept with are. I need like, some objective measure-” 

“Why? Are you planning to sleep with him?” 

“No! God no! I just don’t believe that what people say about him can be true, so I’m … I don’t know... checking...” 

Her responding hum sounded unconvinced. 

“Well, he once made me come for like, two straight minutes. I thought I was going to die and I could barely walk the next day; every muscle in my body was sore.” 

“Is that... good?” 

“YES! I meant it when I said you shouldn’t turn him down if he ever offers. I have never had as many orgasms in one night as when I was with him. He just... He fucking loves it and he loves you when he’s fucking you. He kind of takes it almost weirdly seriously? But like, in a good way. I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. I may have been drunk at the bar that time, but I honestly could still cry about how much I miss fucking him.”  

“Jesus.” 

“Not even he can help me, y/n.”  

“Ok, well, thanks. I guess.” 

“Did that help? I seriously think you should fuck him; I promise I won’t even be jealous because it is truly something I think everyone should get to experience at least once.”  

“I am not sure that’s a normal thing to say about someone.” 

“Taehyung is not normal.”  

* * *  

Two days. It was two days before you snapped. You took a deep breath, pressed call, and held the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Do you want to eat me out?” 

You could hear choking at the other end and a muffled ‘hold on’. You held on. 

“Sorry, what the fuck did you just ask me?”  

“I said, do you want to eat me out?” 

“Is this a hypothetical question? Because you know I have already made the offer.”  

“So you do want to eat me out?” 

“Again, is this hypothetical or are you asking me over right now?” 

Another deep breath. 

“I’m asking you over right now.” 

“Give me your address.” 

You paced up and down your living room, anxious, impatient. The sheets on the bed were clean; you’d showered and then done it again for no real reason other than an irrational fear of him thinking you were dirty; you hesitated over whether or not to light candles – it felt like too much, too romantic but would also mean you could turn out the lights, keep it dark... You were just about to find the matches again when there was a knock at the door.  

“Hi.” 

“Hello.” 

His grin was wide as he stepped over the threshold but it did nothing to put you at ease.  

“Do you want a drink or something?” you asked as you made your way to the kitchen. 

“Whatever you want. I am at your service.” 

He bowed, thrusting an arm elaborately to the side, his head dipping low as he bent deeply from the hips.  

“Please don’t be weird. Don’t make this weird.” 

“What’s weird about it? Like I said, what’s a little oral between friends? Platonic pussy eating, that’s all it is.” 

“I said don’t be weird! Why do you have to put it like that?” 

“Well, what is it if not that? I assume you don’t suddenly want to date me.” 

“God, no-” 

He raised his eyebrows at you, questioning, demanding. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry.” 

He shrugged. 

“It’s alright. I know you still think we’re not friends, but, just so you know, I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.” 

“Oh, wouldn’t you?” 

“No, I wouldn’t.” 

He was suddenly close to you, a little too close. He looked down at you, and you expected to look up and see that arrogant smirk, the quirked eyebrow that he thought was so sexy, but he’s just smiling, sweet, cute.  

“I’m glad you called, though. Glad you’ve finally seen the light and ditched Dickless-” 

“I haven’t. We’re still together.” 

His eyebrows shot up, his mouth a little ‘o’ of surprise. 

“You haven’t? And yet here I am... I thought you were a good girl.” 

“Shut up, Taehyung. Stop trying to flirt with me.”  

You moved away from him, towards the fridge, and got out a bottle of wine, more for something to do than anything else. You poured two glasses and held one out to him.  

“How do you expect me to go down on you if you won’t even let me flirt with you a little?” 

“You don’t have to flirt with me if I’ve already agreed to it. There’s no need.” 

“That’s what you think flirting is? Just a way to get into somebody’s bed? That is not what flirting is for – well, not the only thing.” 

He considered you carefully over his wine glass and you could feel yourself blushing all over; he kept his gaze steady, his face betraying nothing, and then he held his hand out to you. You didn’t take it but you moved closer to him, just close enough that he could reach out and grab you by the waist, pulling you up against him.  

“Just so we’re clear,” he began, his voice low, his eyes pointedly fixed on yours. “If we do this and you don’t break up with Dickless, I will consider it a failure.” 

You didn’t know what you felt. What would make this a success? What would make it a failure? Did you want it to be good? So good you ended your relationship? Or did you want it to be disappointing, maybe literally anticlimactic, so that you could stay with him and not feel like you were missing out? You had absolutely no idea. You didn’t even really know why you were doing it. Was it a good idea? What had possessed you? All you knew was that it had to be done. Now or never. For once and for all.  

He placed his wine glass on the counter and slipped his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt, his fingers just lightly grazing your skin. Your stomach twisted and you squirmed out of his grasp. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, trying to stop your heart racing.  

“What are you doing? Did you or did you not invite me over so I could go down on you?” 

“Well, yes, I did, but that doesn’t mean all of... All of that.” 

You heard him chuckle behind you and you turned slightly, just enough that you could see him run his hands through his hair and roll his eyes, the boxy grin back on his face.  

“Y’know, I’m starting to think that maybe you are the problem. At least a little bit.” 

When you didn’t move and didn’t respond, he sighed again, lightly exasperated. 

“Come here,” he commanded softly, holding his hands out to you. When you didn’t move, he walked towards you instead. He took your face in his hands and made you look at him. “Do you trust me?” 

When you didn’t answer, he shook your head lightly side to side.  

“I don’t mean like, trust me with your family secrets, trust me to take care of your pets while you’re on holiday. I mean... Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” 

You shook your head and he moved his face even closer.  

“Do you think I’m going to do something you don’t want?” 

You shook your head and he lightly pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Do you think I’m going to make you do something you don’t want?” 

You shook your head and he kissed your other cheek. 

“So, do you trust me?” 

You nodded, dumb with anticipation and tension, shocked at the way your body was responding to this, just this: he hadn’t even kissed you on the mouth but you were trembling, warm, wet.  

“Ok, then,” he whispered and he moved his hands down your body, then back up on the inside of your clothes. His hands were cold and you shivered against him, closing your eyes. 

“Look at me.”  

Your eyes flicked back to him and he kissed your lips, just barely, still looking you in the eye, and a whimper caught in your throat. He closed his eyes and pulled you closer, his lips pressing against yours now. He removed a hand from your waist and gently pressed his thumb against your chin, opening your mouth to allow his tongue inside. His kiss was warm and sweet with wine; his tongue was soft against yours, slow as he licked into your mouth and retreated. You chased after his mouth when his lips left yours and you could feel him smile as he let you close the distance and kiss him again. He ran his tongue along your bottom lip and sucked it gently, a barely perceptible pressure that made your knees tremble. 

You could feel all the heat rushing through your blood, flowering on the surface of your skin in warm blooms as you let yourself relax. All the tension you were holding melted away, evaporating on your skin, leaving you soft and pliant. A deep, dark want blossomed in you, its petals unfurling in your core, arousal first like dew drops, then like a sudden summer downpour buffeting the pale heads of roses. You had thought this would be quick, frantic with need, with guilt, with anxiety, but all of that was held at bay by the gentle way that Taehyung ran his tongue over yours, ran his hands over your body, held you just close enough that you could feel him against you but not so close you felt trapped.  

He moved from your mouth and placed kisses on your temple, your ear, your jaw. As he sucked kisses down your neck, you were so distracted that you didn’t notice him unclasp your bra, only aware when he rubbed his thumbs over your nipples, already hard. He moaned against your skin, his teeth sinking into your flesh as he pulled your hips against his. You gasped, both at the bite, and at the feeling of him, stiffening, growing against you. He ran his tongue over the indentations in your neck and you shivered.  

“Can I take your clothes off?”  

His voice was raspy and low in your ear as he tugged at the bottom of your shirt. You sighed a yes and looked into his eyes as his fingers worked on the buttons of your blouse. His eyes were soft, liquid, the light glinting off them in gold and honey. He took his time, each button slow, his eyes never leaving yours. He nudged your nose with his, licked your bottom lip, sank his teeth into it, sucked it into his mouth.  

He pushed your shirt off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor, then he pulled the straps of your bra down and it fell, too. He finally dropped his gaze and took in the sight of your naked torso, nipples taut, goosebumps spreading over the swell of your breasts as he gently took them in his hands, massaging, squeezing your nipples between his fingers. He hummed quietly.  

“Shall we go to the bedroom now?” 

You couldn’t speak, only nodded, and walked backwards until your legs hit your bed, then you let him lay you down. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked again, holding the edge of your skirt. Again, you nodded and he pulled gently, the fabric almost burning against your legs as it dragged. He kissed your feet and you squirmed. 

“Ticklish?” He grinned and licked the sole of your left foot from heel to toe with the tip of his tongue as you squealed.  

“Yes, I am!” you gasped. He chuckled and relented, trailing soft, wet kisses up your legs. You held your breath as he licked at your inner thighs, anticipating him at your core.  

But he wasn’t there. He slipped his hands underneath at the hips and lifted the fabric so he could lick the crease of your leg and then pulled it down so he could kiss across the waistband from hip bone to hip bone, but he didn’t touch you. Your heart was racing in your chest now; what was he waiting for?  

He hummed against your skin and moved above you, his hands on either side of your chest. He looked at you, almost quizzical for a second, and then that look faded into a smile that – had it been anyone else – you might’ve called adoring. He lowered his face to yours and kissed you. 

“Relax, y/n. I can feel your heart beating from here.”  

Resting his full weight on one hand, he placed the other between your breasts, atop your sternum, your heart pushing back, thumping against your ribs.  

“But aren’t you gonna...?”  

He kissed you again, forceful this time, leaving you breathless as he pulled away. 

“Yes, I am. But we’re doing it my way, ok? Just relax; I’m going to take good care of you.” 

He shuffled downwards, lips everywhere on his path down your neck, across your chest. You whined when he took your nipple in his mouth, your back arching into him as he sealed his teeth around it, his tongue lapping at your tightened bud. 

Everything was so slow. You felt like a frog in a pan; you hadn’t really noticed it building, this huge, hungry desire, but now you were drowning in it, burning, melting. It enveloped you, held you, suspended, cushioned in its warmth but needled by its intensity. It sent its buds out from your centre to your extremities, your fingers and toes tingling, your body trembling, your breath catching in your throat. Flowers of want blooming all over you, petals falling from Taehyung’s lips, soft and sweet and warm.  

You let out a long, shaky whine when he finally locked his fingers around your underwear and tugged them down, his hands sliding against your legs as he pulled them all the way off.  

“Taehyung,” you whispered as he pushed your legs apart, crawling back towards you.  

“Yes?” 

You didn’t know what to say. You knew there was something, something inside you that you wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t find the words. Everything was obscured by the veil of your greed, your craven yearning for him. You wanted his mouth on you so badly, wanted to be wanted. You remembered what he said about worship and a sudden panic sliced through you with painful clarity. 

“I-… What if it is me? What if there’s something wrong with me?”  

He pressed a soft kiss against your inner thigh and then loomed over you.  

“It’s not you, I promise.”  

He rested his forehead against yours, your noses pressed together, his hand on your cheek. 

“You’re perfect. Perfect, you hear me? If you’ve changed your mind about this, that’s ok-” 

“No, god no,” you answered quickly, immediately, absolutely sure that you wanted this, your nails digging into his arms. “Please...” 

He kissed you, slow, even slower than before, and he lowered his body down on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. It’s only then that you realised he was still fully dressed. And you were completely naked beneath him, so exposed and so vulnerable. You pushed him back, a light palm against his chest, and he looked at you, frowning. 

“What’s wrong?”  

You looked at his eyes, somehow both shining and dark at the same time; his pouty mouth just barely open; his hips pressing into yours; his erection hot and hard against you, almost exactly where it needed to be, so you could just tip your hips and rub yourself on him, feel the friction you were desperate for. He looked at you so openly and it wasn’t like you expected it to be at all. None of it was. You thought he would be arrogant, cocksure, swaggering; you thought he would be rough, wild, frenetic; you thought it was all bluster and machismo, that he’d keep calling you ‘baby’ and asking how you liked it and trying to make you scream. You hadn’t even really believed that he would get you there. Whether due to you or to him, you had thought it probably wouldn’t happen. Your boyfriend had made you too self-conscious; Taehyung wouldn’t put the effort in or wouldn’t know what to do.  

But it wasn’t like that at all. He looked at you questioningly, searchingly, like he actually cared. And he had moved so slowly, so patiently; he was rock-hard against you, but hadn’t even mentioned it. He hadn’t even taken his clothes off. This was the first time he’d even really pressed his hips against you so you could feel him. You closed your eyes and tried to control your breathing, tried to feel yourself in your body. You could feel the ghost of his breath over your face, his hand curled around your shoulder, fingers dancing lightly over your skin. There was the weight of his body, the warmth of it. You wanted to feel his skin in yours. 

“Take your clothes off,” you whispered, opening your eyes to look at him.  

He grinned and sat back on his knees, unbuttoning his shirt. You reached out to unzip his trousers but he batted your hand away. He unzipped them himself and stood to step out of them.  

“Better?” he asked, already making his way back to you, but shook your head. 

“No. Everything.”  

His eyebrows raised just a hair and he paused, considering you. 

“You know this is not about me, right?” 

“I know. I just want to see you.”  

He nodded slowly and hooked his thumbs into boxers, sliding them down and stepping out. His dick was wet with pre-cum and you couldn’t believe he could be so hard when you hadn’t even touched him, when he had barely touched you. He knelt at the end of the bed and grabbed your ankles, slowly pulling you down, down, down, until you were just barely still lying on it, your feet touching the floor until he spread your thighs to the side, as wide as they could go.  

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” he asked, his words muffled as he kissed your thigh. 

“Yes, fuck. Yes, Taehyung. Please.”  

He was still slow. Slow as he pressed kisses against your lips, on your mound, back out to the crease of your hip, your thighs. You whined when he ran his fingers through your folds, hearing the slick of your arousal as he dragged up to your clit and down again, as he opened you up. He pressed a kiss to your clit and you jumped, swallowing hard, trying to catch your breath as he opened his lips and sucked. He laved over your clit with the soft, flat pad of his tongue and you sighed, having forgotten this feeling. 

“Talk to me,” he said softly, sprinkling kisses across your legs, your mound, your lips. “Tell me what works for you, what doesn’t.”  

But you couldn’t speak. You moaned and mewled and whimpered, but no words would come. You were swept away on a wave of pleasure, not in the room anymore, but somewhere else, somewhere nothing else existed – just you and Taehyung and this bed. You wanted to tell him yes, like that, more, yes, please, please, please, but the air was tight in your lungs, stuck in your throat, whipped away as it left your mouth in a strangled whine. 

He moaned loudly as he licked over your slit, drinking you in.  

“Y/n.” 

His breath was warm, brushing against your flushed skin. 

“You taste so good, y/n. I fucking knew you would.”  

He moved his mouth away again, biting down on the soft flesh of your inner thigh as he slipped first one and then two fingers into your wet heat. You whined, greedy, needy, grinding your hips, trying to feel some friction back on your clit. Taehyung hummed against your skin and you felt his lips stretch into a smile.  

“Don’t hold back, y/n. I love the way you sound.”  

And you didn’t. You let yourself go, let yourself fall into it, abandoned yourself to him. With his fingers still inside you and his mouth back, sealed against your clit, his tongue alternately flicking hard circles around it, then licking softly over it, you felt your body shuddering to its climax. You expected him to stop as your walls clenched hard on his fingers, to stop when your legs clamped over his ears, to stop when you writhed beneath him, fully overwhelmed as wave after wave swamped you with pleasure.  

But he didn’t. He thrummed his fingers hard against your front wall, not letting you squeeze them out. He kept his mouth on you, your slick and his spit mixing as you came, gushing around him. When you finally cried out, cursing him, calling his name, he slowed, but he still didn’t stop, and you felt your whole body convulse under him. With a flash of clarity, you remembered what Tara had said, and you couldn’t believe it, knew you couldn’t take it, knew this would kill you if it went on any longer.  

But it did. And you didn’t die. You felt yourself floating, your limbs weightless, your head dizzy as you climbed to your second peak, your, soft, weak body tightening, pulling in all directions at once, your skin burning, your heart like a hummingbird’s, blood roaring in your ears like the waves of the ocean. Your hands twisted in the bedsheets as you came, the noises you were making nothing short of animal.  

When you flopped, spent, melting into the mattress, you pushed your fingers through Taehyung’s hair and tugged, your body screaming with over-stimulation, your bed and thighs soaked. You could hardly see; nothing but flashing lights in front of you, stars shining and twinkling on your ceiling, swirling, disappearing and reappearing like a kaleidoscope.  

“Taehyung,” you panted, weak and quiet. “Stop.” 

He was immediately still, those wide, open eyes looking up at you. You whimpered as he pulled his fingers from you and you fell, slithering like a slinky from the bed and into his arms. He held you tight, pushed your hair from your face and kissed your forehead. 

“You ok?” 

You looked up at him, blinking hard to stop your vision swimming. He was shiny and sticky all around his mouth, all over his chin. Those deep, autumn eyes all dark now, swirling black, glazed and penetrating. You summoned what strength you could and crashed your lips against him. You could taste yourself on him and you knew he was right. You weren’t the problem. It wasn’t you. And it certainly wasn’t this.  

“Fuck me, please,” you asked, taking his face between your palms. “Please, Taehyung.”  

He started shaking his head, his lip bitten between his teeth. 

“That’s not what- you don’t have to- we don’t have to do that.” 

“I want to. I want to. Please.” 

You twisted in his lap so you were straddling him, his cock leaking against you between your bodies.  

“If you want to,” you added. “I... Only if you want to.” 

He laughed, deep-throated and rich – you could feel it rumble in his chest.  

“Oh I absolutely want to but this is... Are you sure you want to? I mean... You are still with Dickless and this-” 

“Don’t fucking talk about him. I don’t want to think about him. Please, Taehyung.” You pressed another kiss against his lips, insistent, urgent. “I want you. I just want you.”  

He moaned against your mouth, his arms encircling your waist, his tongue encroaching. Then he rolled and lay you down, the carpet surprisingly soft against your skin.  

“I just,” he said, his mouth wandering all over you, slowly making his way down. “I just want one more taste. Please.”  

He looked at you, waiting. He licked his lips and held the bottom one tight in his teeth. You could see him swallow hard, his breathing deep and heavy. You nodded and dropped your head back, keening as he licked through your folds, humming against your clit, smacking his lips as he raised himself back on his hands and knees.  

“I told you you were fucking perfect.”  

You moved backwards, out from underneath his arms and gave yourself carpet burn on your knees as you shuffled to the bedside table, rifling for the box of condoms you kept there. You grabbed the whole thing, crawled back to Taehyung and emptied it onto the floor. He laughed again. 

“Sweetheart, even for me, that is truly ambitious.” 

“Shut up.” 

You fell back, your chest still heaving, your limbs still trembling, as he tore one open and rolled it down his length. He paused, his dick in his hand, held at your waiting entrance and he looked at you. 

“For god’s sake, Taehyung, don’t ask me if I’m sure. Please just please just fuckin- ahh...” 

He didn’t wait for you to finish. He plunged into your soft, wet cunt and moaned. 

“Fuck. Please tell me that feels good.” 

“It feels fucking incredible.”  

He grabbed at the backs of your thighs and lifted, pushing them up and out, keeping hold of them as he began to move. Smooth and fluid, his hips rolled. Your cunt, wet and soft and sweet, held him tight, moulded to his cock, your walls fluttering around him. Heat radiated from your centre, a fire burning there, flames licking up your body. You were so sensitive, close again almost immediately, whimpering with every thrust.  

You grabbed at him, pulling him down, your hand around his neck to bring him closer and closer ’til you could kiss him. Your tongues tangled and the adjusted angle made you moan straight into his mouth. You could still taste the wine, still taste yourself on him and with a shock of remembrance, you whined. This was what you loved; this was what you had been missing. The proof of the pudding: your arousal all over his face made you hot with a sudden rush. Your boyfriend could never be enough. Because it wasn’t just about you and your desire; it was about his, too. And he didn’t have it, not like this. Not like Taehyung. The strangled moans and gutteral groans escaping his throat, the rumble in his chest as he breathed ragged and uneven made you shaky with feeling. Feeling wanted in your entirety. Wanted in your animal mess. Wanted from head to toe. Inside and out. No holds barred. 

“Taehyung.” 

“Fuck, y/n, yeah? Tell me- tell me...”  

He kissed your lips and your cheek, his hand skirting your body and grabbing at your thigh, pushing further, holding tighter, his thrusts faster now, harder, his pelvis tantalisingly close to your clit. You put a hand down between you, circling slowly, your third orgasm bubbling through your veins.  

“You feel so good,” you breathed. “Fuck, so, so-… ah... shit.”  

Already there, your toes curling, Taehyung hissing, cursing as you squeezed him tight inside you, pleasure blazed through you like a forest fire, every inch of you alight and burning, sparking, fireworks bursting all over you, inside you, filling your vision with dizzying colour. Taehyung was gasping, stuttering, his fingers digging into you, his teeth biting hard. 

“Come, Taehyung,” you whispered to him, your voice wobbling, shaking like the rest of you.  

“I w-wanna-” he stammered. “I wa- wan-” 

“No, just come. For me.” 

You brought your mouth to his, pulling his bottom lip with your teeth, sucking gently. 

“Oh, fuck.”  

He juddered, thrusting hard as he let himself go, gave himself to you, gave in. He let himself flop against you for a moment, just a moment, and then he pushed himself up on his hands, looking down at where you bodies met, still together. He rolled his hips one last time and you mewled, over-sensitive, overwraught. He grinned and pulled back, turning away from you as he took off and disposed of the condom.  

He crawled back to you and pulled you onto your side so you were facing each other. He knocked a leg between yours and traced the curve of your body; you shivered, even his hands feeling like fire against you. He kissed you, once, and then again, and then a third time.  

“You’re perfect,” he said, barely moving his mouth far enough from yours to speak, his words mumbled, muffled. “You’re fucking perfect. You understand?”  

You couldn’t look him in the eye, suddenly self-conscious, suddenly so embarrassed at what you had done. Embarrassed that you had needed this, needed him to tell you that, needed him to show you that you could be wanted how you wanted to be wanted, desired in the way you wanted, fucked like you wanted. You felt small and silly and stupid. That you had cheated on your boyfriend with the most promiscuous man on the planet just because you felt insecure. You shivered, but it wasn’t pleasure this time. You were suddenly cold and tired. Exhausted. Choked with emotions you didn’t want to admit.  

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” he said, softly, his lips against your hair now. “You ok?”  

“I don’t know.” 

Your voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, hardly audible beneath the thumping of your heart. 

“Talk to me...” 

“I feel so stupid.” 

“Why?”  

You had to think it through, carefully, how to say it, how to express it. 

“Because... I needed this. I didn’t know that I-… I-” 

You crumbled, dissolved into tears, embarrassing you further. You wanted to be swallowed whole, to sink into the ground, to dessicate and turn to dust. You couldn’t speak, shame dousing you, drowning you, your hitching, heaving breath barely enough. He let you cry and you were grateful for his patience... again. 

“You w-want me,” you said eventually, your voice thick, choked.  

“Yeah.” 

“You want me and h-he doesn’t. And I- I want to be w-wanted. I'm so... Am I undesirable?” 

“Categorically, demonstrably, absolutely not.” 

“Then why doesn’t he want me?” 

Taehyung held you tighter, pulled you closer, kissed the top of your head and stroked your back.  

“This is why I’ve been telling you to leave him, love. You shouldn’t feel like this. I’m sure he does want you, but if he can’t want you in the way that you want, in a way that makes you feel good, feel desirable, and cherished, and loved, then he shouldn’t have you.”  

He pulled back, holding your face to his, wiping your tears with his thumbs.  

“I want you. Believe me, I want you. I’ve just had you and I want you all over again. You should believe that; you deserve that. Don’t let him break you down. Don’t let him do this to you.”  

Your bottom lip wobbled as your eyes filled with tears again and he placed his thumb over it and his lips over that. He swiped his thumb across your mouth and kissed you as slowly as he had the very first time, his lips so soft, his mouth so sweet.  

“If you don’t believe me,” he said, his lips just ghosting over yours, his breath washing over your face. “I will happily show you again and again and again just how desirable you are. Just how perfect you are. It’s not hyperbole; you’re fucking perfect to me. I’ll show you.”  

And he did. 

Not just that night or the one after that or the one after that. He showed you repeatedly again and again until you started to believe it. Until you realised that you didn’t need him to show you anymore, just wanted him to. Just wanted him.  

You broke up with your boyfriend two weeks later. It was horrible and he was surprisingly vicious and you were surprisingly upset. But you knew you were right to do it and wished you had just done it earlier.  

y/n: I broke up with him. 

Taehyung: FINALLY 

Taehyung: Guess this means you don’t need me anymore... 

y/n: I didn’t say that. 

y/n: Come over?