TAE Hyung Fan fics!

The phone was ringing before he even realized he had pressed the call button.

"Hi, Tete," you beamed.

"Darling," he felt his shoulders drop at the sound of your voice. "Hi."

"I thought you were going MIA all day today," You laughed. "How's demo recording going?"

"It's...we're not...I'm just not getting it where I want it to be."

The tone in his voice was enough: you could already picture the sad, frustrated look in his eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry," you cooed. "Is there anything I can do for you? Send you dinner? You can call me on your way home?"

Taehyung thought for a moment before he replied.

"Come over later?" Taehyung's eyes danced around the room, waiting for your response.

"Isn't this whole album camp supposed to be isolated?"

Taehyung's mouth quirked into a half smile.

"Well, it's a big house."

You scoffed.

"You want to sneak me in? Like a college dorm?"

Taehyung laughed, his first real, easy laugh all day.

"Please, I promise you won't get in trouble. I've had a long week."

"Tete, I'm still going to be out for another few hours, and I have to go home and shower—"

"Just text me what time to send the car to come get you."

A moment of silence took over on the other end, but Taehyung was already grinning. He knew how to make it hard for you to say no.

"I can leave the house by eight thirty."

"Done."

Taehyung crinkled his nose as he fought his grin.

"I have to head back in there. I'll see you tonight?"

"Mhm. Have a good rest of your day, I love you," you hummed.

"Love you, darling, bye."

Taehyung opened the studio door, a small smile on his face for the rest of his day.

── .✦

"May I get let off here, please?"

9:18pm.

The car had picked you up promptly, and here you were, pulling into the driveway of the giant, secluded house in the hills, where your boyfriend and his group members had been living for the past few weeks. You followed Taehyung's instructions, making sure to exit the car a little further down the driveway to avoid drawing attention. It was a fun little secret mission: you knew that Taehyung would never put you in a position to ever get in trouble with his members, but you also knew he'd get teased endlessly for being needy enough to sneak his girlfriend in.

A few seconds later, a familiar figure hopped down the porch stairs, his slippers smacking against the gravel path.

"Hi you," he beamed at the sight of you. "Come, here, let me."

He collected your bag from your shoulder before waving at the driver and closing the door.

"Hi Tae—"

You were cut off by a sweet kiss, his hands cupping both of your cheeks. His thumb stroked your cheek as he pulled away to nuzzle his nose gently against yours, his smile wide and eyes pulled into little crescent moons.

"I missed you so much," he spoke lowly. "Come, come."

He carried your bag on his one shoulder as he pulled you along, his large hand holding yours.

"Everyone else is having dinner on the other end of the house," he whispered as he guided you up the stairs. "My room is down the hall—"

Jungkook suddenly stepped out of the bathroom, toothbrush in mouth. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he stifled a laugh.

His brow raised at the sight of Taehyung frozen, caught, with you standing behind him, equally as amused as Jungkook was.

"Hi, Y/N."

"Hi, Koo. Doing well?"

Jungkook shrugged and chuckled.

"This week has been a bit annoying, but I'm sure Taehyung here has whined to you all about that."

You laughed.

"That's why I'm here."

"Figures."

Taehyung fluffed the back of his hair, his face pulled into his signature awkward boxy smile.

"Please don't tell anyone." Taehyung's eyes were pleading with his friend.

"I don't care, but Yoongi-hyung would never let you hear the end of it." Jungkook laughed as he headed down the stairs.

"I owe you one," Taehyung called out after his friend.

"Yah," Jungkook replied, before disappearing downstairs.

Taehyung turned to look back at you.

"See? Nothing to worry about." He smiled and opened his bedroom door.

He dropped your bag down on the bench by the window before turning back to face you, a smile wide on his face.

"Hi," he repeated, softer this time, now that you were alone, safely tucked away in his room. "Missed you so much."

"I missed you, too," you said with a smile, letting him wrap his arms around you.

"How was your dinner?" he mumbled as he peppered the side of your face and neck with kisses.

"Dinner was good," you sighed, tilting your head to the side to give your boyfriend more access. He hummed as he pressed his face deeper into the crook of your neck, breathing you in, imprinting your body into his.

"Mm, that's good," he murmured as he lifted his head off your collarbone to kiss you.

Taehyung kissed you tenderly, every press of his lips against yours as earnest as the last. His bangs tickled your forehead as he used every breath as an excuse to get a little closer to you, to press his lips a little firmer against yours.

He tilted his head, dipping his head lower towards you to deepen the kiss. You exhaled at the tightening of his arms around your waist, one hand splayed across your back, like he was holding you down, against him.

"Mm, Tae," you whined at his grip.

"Thanks for coming, angel," he purred, his tongue dragging against your lower lip, before being granted access to explore the inside of your mouth. His tongue fought with yours for a moment before you let him lead, and you felt him smile into the kiss.

You two stood there intertwined, tasting each other, headphones still wrapped around Taehyung's neck, before he turned to sit on the edge of his bed, pulling you in closer. His hands came around to grip your bum, his lips grazing over your breast, peppering soft kisses over your shirt.

"Take this off for me?" He murmured as he nibbled on the material of your shirt, biting and pulling playfully as he looked up at you. You smiled down at him and tugged the hem of your shirt upwards, removing the shirt that separated him from the warmth of your bare skin.

Taehyung's eyes danced across your body as your shirt got tossed on the floor, his tongue poking out to lick his lip.

"My pretty girl." His grip on your bum tightened, pulling you in closer again as you dropped your bra to the floor, too. He cocked his head to one side, admiring your naked body, before wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, humming as he suckled on your skin. Your head dropped back at the sensation, his hands exploring you as he held your breast in his mouth. His eyes were looking up at you, studying your reactions, and he hummed at the view of your pleasure. He suckled a little extra hard on your skin, studying your face for a reaction, and when he got one, he smiled and licked over the sensitive spot.

"Pretty, pretty girl," he murmured as he closed his eyes, allowing himself to get lost in the taste of your skin.

You lowered yourself down to his eye level and tilted his head back to kiss him again. You remained there for a moment before you lowered yourself further, down to your knees, worshipping Taehyung before you. His eyes widened a little as you kissed gently over his trousers, his cock already hard and imprinted in his tailored black pants.

"Mm," Taehyung let out a grovelly exhale at the sensation. He watched you intently as you gently unbuckled his pants, unwrapping him from the fabric of his clothing.

You looked up at him through your full lashes, pouting a little as you held his twitching cock in your hands.

"You've had such a long week," you cooed, twirling your tongue around the flushed head of his hard-on.

Taehyung's brows knitted together, a small whimper escaping his lips.

"Yeah, I did."

"You poor thing."

You dipped your head lower, wrapping your lips and tongue around the first few inches of him, forcing a moan out of him as you looked up at him innocently.

"You called your girlfriend over to make you feel better?"

Taehyung exhaled sharply and leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows as he watched you tease him.

"Mh—mhm." He sighed. "Needed to feel you to feel better."

He placed his hand on the back of your head, pushing you down a little more around him. You let out a small moan and granted him his wish, sinking your mouth deeper, the tip of his cock grazing against the roof of your mouth.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You're so good."

You smiled as you bobbed your head up and down, the slick of your mouth coating him as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat with every bounce. Taehyung threw his head back, staring up at the ceiling to relish the feeling of your pretty mouth taking him completely.

"God," he hissed as he bucked his hips up, hitting the back of your throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, brows furrowed in a pout as his hand came up to hold your head, guiding you down on his cock again. His fingers tangled in your hair, gathering your hair together in a ponytail for you.

"Just like that, baby," he groaned. "Fuck—it's been so long, almost forgot how nasty you are with your pretty mouth."

You felt your wetness pool in your sweatpants at the sight of him above you in pleasure: there was nothing hotter to you than blowing your idol boyfriend.

Taehyung's abdomen was flexed, his abs prominent under his white tank top. His eyes were shut, his lower lip pinched between his teeth as his breathing became more hitched and irregular. You smirked up at him as you maintained pace; you could tell he was close.

"Mm. Wait," Taehyung suddenly stopped you, lifting your head up off him with a messy pop. "I didn't drive you out here just to not fuck you properly."

He stood up and spun you around, letting you fall backwards onto the mattress. You giggled as he tugged his clothing fully off, before looping his fingers in the waistband of your sweatpants, pulling them off in one clean motion. You were already so wet, and Taehyung slid a finger along your slick folds, collecting your arousal on his finger. He looked down at you, his eyes dark and focused as he popped his finger in his mouth, tasting you on his skin.

"So sweet," he murmured. "So wet already."

Taehyung dropped down to his knees in front of you, giving you a few firm, erotic licks up your drenched pussy, eyes closed, humming as he tasted you. You whined at the sensation of his tongue against your heat; he was tasting you for his own pleasure.

He let you squirm at his tongue before he came back up and positioned himself at your entrance, watching your face crinkle in anticipation. His eyes looked at you with so much hunger, desire, and he licked his lower lip.

"God, my week is about to get a whole lot better." He gave you a wink before he pressed his cock into you, his first few inches stretching you out as he tested the waters.

"Oh, Tae," you whimpered at the feeling of fullness.

"Need more, hm, angel?" His tongue was poking in his cheek as he smirked down at you, cocky as ever. You nodded up at him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"More, more, please."

He dipped his head down to kiss you as he entered you fully, both of you moaning at the closeness. He stayed still for a moment for you to adjust before he started rocking his hips into yours.

You threw your head back into the mattress, the sensation of his cock filling you entirely making your legs tense up.

It had been way too long.

"God, fuck," you whimpered. "Taehyung, this...you feel so good."

Taehyung smiled as he rolled his hips into yours, his abdomen and V-line on full display for you.

"Yeah, baby? You like the way I please you?"

You nodded as you bit your lip, your head lifting off the pillow to watch your own pussy get fucked. Taehyung smirked at you before lifting your one hand and bringing it down towards your heat.

"Play with yourself, baby." He looked down at you, tongue poking out of his mouth cockily. "Wanna watch my girlfriend touch herself as I fuck her."

You obeyed his request, two fingers coming down to rub soft circles on your clit, the additional sensation making your legs quiver. You tensed around him, the clench around Taehyung's cock making him curse under his breath.

"Love the way you're milking me, baby." Taehyung cooed, and he pressed a chaste kiss on your forehead.

You continued pleasuring yourself as your boyfriend rocked his hips against yours, the tip of his cock knocking feverishly into your cervix, every hit making you see stars.

"Taehyung, I'm—I'm close," you stuttered.

"Not so fast," he tutted as he hooked both of his arms under your knees, folding you practically in half as he held himself up. You whimpered at the angle change, his size feeling even more intense now.

"You can cum as I pin you down like this," he growled, his tempo resuming. "Taking my cock so well."

You yelped at the intensity, your eyes fluttering as he knocked the breath out of you with every thrust. A hand came up to cover your mouth.

"Shh, shh, baby." He spoke lowly, stroking your chin with his thumb as he muffled your cries. Your eyes widened at how hot he looked, silencing and soothing you so sweetly with his one hand as he tortured you with his cock. "The rest of the guys are still downstairs, remember?"

You cried into his hand, every sound getting silenced into Taehyung's palm as he fucked you like a pornstar.

"Mhm," he groaned as he dropped his head down, wincing at his own pleasure. "Be a good girl for me and take it."

You felt the knot in your stomach get more intense, and you could tell Taehyung was close as well. Your knees were bouncing against your chest as he held your thighs down, pinning you open as he fucked you closer and closer to your climax.

"Tae—hyung—I'm," you stuttered, your eyes rolling back as you felt the fire in your core engulf you. "I'm—close—"

"Yeah, baby, I'm—fuck," Taehyung was faltering a little now, his weight pinning your legs down a little further. "I'm going to cum—in this pretty pussy too."

You slapped a hand over your mouth as your orgasm overtook you, the intensity pulsing through your entire body. Your back arched, the electricity making your whole body flex as Taehyung continued fucking you through your high. It wasn't long until your boyfriend came undone on top of you, too. Taehyung let out a low, pornographic moan as he met you at your high, his own climax taking over him as well. The two of you gazed desperately at each other, feeling each other's orgasm as the room was filled with only muffled, pathetic attempts at keeping quiet.

Taehyung collapsed on top of you, his body draping over yours like a protective blanket. He kissed you desperately, pressing his lips against your mouth and cheeks like you were about to disappear.

"Love—love you so much," he mumbled, his breathing jagged and heavy. He peeled himself up off of you, sitting up to look at you properly now. He grinned at you and pressed a kiss against your leg.

"I can't even remember why I was having a bad day anymore." He leaned over towards the nightstand, plucking a few tissues from the box.

You let out a breathy laugh as Taehyung gently pulled himself out of you, wiping any residual mess up before tossing everything in the trash. You lifted the covers and climbed underneath, the cool sheets soothing against your flushed and warm body. Taehyung slid in beside you, clicking the lights off before his arm came around you, holding you as his little spoon.

"There's a lot of food downstairs," Taehyung mumbled into your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your skin. "Grab whatever you want tomorrow morning, I'll be out of the house pretty early."

You nodded, shuffling your body a little closer to him.

The two of you lay there in the dark in silence, listening to each other's breathing as sleep began to take over. A few moments later, Taehyung spoke up, his voice a little softer and rough around the edges now.

"Want to hear some stuff from this week?"

You turned to look at him, eyes twinkling.

"Yes, please."

He chuckled before clicking his phone on, the little light from his screen illuminating his pretty face as he scrolled through his files. A few moments later, an instrumental started playing through his phone speaker, grainy and low quality, as if Taehyung had snuck the recording out of the studio.

"Sleep well, darling," he murmured as he wrapped his arm around you, holding you close to his warm, naked body. "You make everything better. I love you."

"I love you," you whispered, letting the music and the sound of your boyfriend's raw vocals lull you to sleep.

Nobody knows me, honey

No one like you

If you want to go there

I'm ready to be with you

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

imagine taehyung sneaking the into the sun demo onto his phone just so he could play it for you bc he's so proud of the song he wrote while thinking about you am i crazy???

Taehyung was the furthest thing from a clubgoer; he hated crowds, he hated the music that thumped in his chest but felt awkward to bounce to, and he didn’t like that everyone tends to get a little more stupid. He also wasn’t good at saying no. His university friend was getting married, and as one of the groomsmen, it was pretty integral for him to show up to the bachelor party tonight. 

Taehyung was fresh out of the shower: hair damp, moisturized, clean-shaven. He popped the last spoonful of his dinner into his mouth as he rinsed the last of his dishes. Quiet R&B sang through the apartment as he tidied up—he liked a clean apartment to come home to. Or maybe he was procrastinating getting ready. He didn’t even know what to wear tonight. A nice shirt, a turtleneck? Jeans? 

The blow dryer deafened him as he dried his hair. He thought about what he was going to say and who he was going to talk to. He wanted to set a strategy for his night so that he could strike a balance between seeming enthusiastic and getting to go home. What if the music was terrible and he looked bored? It will be too loud to talk. What if he comes off as rude? He puffed air out of his cheeks nervously as he got ready. Not only did he not want to go to a club, but he also didn’t know how. 

His toothbrush dangled out of his mouth as he finished styling his hair. His glasses slid down his nose bridge as he tilted his head forward to assess his hair in the mirror. He scooped out a dime-sized glob of pomade and ran it through his hair before giving it a fluff. He aimed to arrive early at ten, so he could find an excuse to leave early before his friends inevitably got wasted and stupid. He groaned at the thought of staying up so late. Ten was usually when he went to sleep. 

On top of supporting his friend tonight, he was being set up with a new girl tonight. Well, sort of. Min-woo and his fiancée, Nina, were celebrating together tonight, and both of them recommended that Taehyung meet an old classmate of theirs. His friends insisted that he needed more excitement in his life. Although he sometimes protested, he agreed: being single at thirty was not his plan. 

Taehyung had a good job in IT, a sector that he was good at, paid well, and let him work alone for most of his time. His job earned him this gorgeous high-rise two-bedroom condo that he lived in alone. His building had a well-maintained gym that he went to almost every day at six in the morning, before he would shower, eat breakfast and be out the door by 8:15. He had enough friends who kept him company when he needed it, and otherwise he liked to keep to himself. His dinner time was 7:30pm without fail, and he was happy with his “little hamster wheel of a life”, according to his friends. 

After years of being teased and worrying his parents for being chronically single, he caved and agreed to meet this friend-of-a-friend. 

She’s a nice girl who works at Kookmin Bank. Her family lives in Cheongdam-dong, and she’s from good money. Perfectly suitable as a wife, if you ask me. 

Maybe it was his introversion, or the fact that he had to abandon his bedtime tonight, but he was moving more slowly tonight. Forgive his lack of enthusiasm, but Taehyung had tried his hand with a small handful of women, and all of them would satisfy his parents, but ultimately, he felt like there was nothing there. Enough romance movies and endless hours listening to ballads wrote him out to be a serial romantic, and unfortunately, he’s only met women who were a little too polite, overly performative with their status and equally as uninteresting as him. Every woman he met was gentle and respectful to him, not in a way that made him feel appreciated, but made him feel like they pitied him. Every new introduction to another investment banker made him reel in his lack of a love life. 

“Aishh,” he mumbled to himself as he struggled to button the last cuff of his shirt. 

He looked in the mirror and adjusted his sleeves. He couldn’t figure out what to wear, so he settled on his go-to for any sort of dressy event: a crispy white dress shirt tucked into his favourite black tailored pants and a black tie. He skipped the blazer; he already looked enough like he was attending a wedding. 

Taehyung’s car arrived within ten minutes, and he took one last look in his mirror by the door and licked his lower lip. Here goes nothing.

────୨ৎ────

The club was packed, dark, and dirtier than Taehyung was comfortable with. The bouncer had IDed him, which embarrassed him. Why the fuck did he think he was younger than nineteen? Bodies bumped past him as he squeezed through the crowd, trying to find his people. The room smelled of cigarettes, spilled drinks, and sweat. The music was loud, very loud, and he thought about how his vinyl player at home always played at the perfect pace and volume for his delicate ears.

Just an hour or so, then I can head home.

“There he is!” Taehyung’s friend wrapped his arms around him and gave him a pat on the back. “I’m glad you made it out tonight. I know it isn’t your thing.” 

Min-woo was Taehyung’s classmate from university. Despite being a little older than him, the two had many classes together, and Taehyung helped Min-woo finally graduate. Gap years are crucial to finding yourself in your twenties, Taehyung-ssi. 

“Hi, Min-woo hyung,” he said with a polite smile. He shoved his hands in his pockets, letting Min-woo introduce him to a handful of other attendees. Taehyung rounded the circle with bows, handshakes, and tight-lipped smiles. Everyone else was drinking or drunk and had come with plus ones. Figures.

“Oh, and this is Soo-min,” Min-woo gestured to a petite girl standing next to him. She gave you a polite bow, and Taehyung returned the gesture. 

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” she spoke softly under the loud music. 

Soo-min was a pretty, innocent-looking girl with light brown hair that fell to her collarbones. She wore light makeup and contact lenses that made her eyes look bigger. Her skin was very fair, and she was very thin. Her smile was symmetrical and perfectly white. Gangnam dentist, for sure. She was in a pretty dress that flowed down to below her knees, and to be honest, she looked exactly the type of girl Taehyung’s parents wanted him to marry. She also looked like she shouldn’t be here. She practically looked like him.

“Soo-min, Taehyungie here is in IT.” 

“Oh, that’s so interesting,” she said with a perfectly constructed smile.

No, it wasn’t. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Taehyung replied shyly, and he awkwardly nodded along to the beat of the music and looked around the room.

“So, you earn quite a lot then.” She continued with a small nod.

“Uh, I put a mortgage down on my condo a year ago, so,” he trailed off, fluffing the back of his hair. This felt painful. 

The music drowned out most of the conversation, but it bled on with lots of polite yeses and nos, and lots of direct questions that Taehyung felt awkward answering. What was your GPA? How big is your apartment? Where do your parents live now? 

Min-woo appeared beside him, clearly a little more inebriated than before. 

“Taehyung-ssi,” he mumbled in his ear, his breath smelling of a mix of various drinks. “She’s nice, right? Soo-min went to school with Nina; she can be a little snobbish, but hey, Gangnam money gets you a long way, huh?” He chuckled. 

Taehyung nodded before excusing himself to go to the bar and get a drink. He didn’t even drink that much; he just wanted to escape the job interview he was being subjected to with his playdate back there. 

Was it too early to try to go home? 

He made a few ignored attempts at flagging the bartender down before giving up and just standing there, lightly bobbing his head to the beat of the music.

This night was going to feel like forever.

“Hi, Tae.”

A chill went down his spine at the sound of your voice. Fuck.

He turned around to meet your eyes, and they almost immediately fell to scan your body unintentionally. You looked as beautiful as ever. It was like you knew every single little detail he liked about you and multiplied it. 

Your long dark hair cascaded off your shoulders and danced across your back, swirling and bouncing around the pretty ornaments inked into your shoulders, arms and collarbone. The glitter in your lip gloss danced under the lights as you spoke, and your lashes were full and spiky like a doll.

You wore a black top that left your tattoos and round breasts in perfect display, fuck me, Taehyung thought. Your legs looked so long in your tiny black skirt and wrapped in sheer black pantyhose, and your eyeliner wrapped your eye in a way that made you look like a cat. Like a siren. 

You smiled up at him and turned your head back towards the bar. Taehyung swallowed and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. 

You two had met last year at a mutual friend’s housewarming party, and ever since that day, you had completely knocked the wind out of Tae’s lungs. Against everyone’s–and his own expectations, and despite his attempts to keep it under control, you were exactly what he dreamed of. The perfect opposite of him, you were confident, carefree, so unapologetically seductive. The way you commanded a room so easily when Taehyung was barely acknowledged made his stomach flip. And it flipped even more when he knew that you liked seeing him.

You two had slept together for the first time several months ago, a secluded conversation at a party became roaming hands and the type of kissing that made his glasses fog up. That day was the beginning of Taehyung’s psychological torment. He knew that you didn’t do relationships, and that any attempt at getting to know you was futile. According to all factors, you were bad for him, but it didn’t stop his addiction. At any given point on any day, he would drop anything if you asked for it. And he was so ashamed to admit that he was wrapped right around your manicured finger. 

“Hello, Y/N. It’s…it’s good to see you.” He stammered. His tie suddenly felt too tight.

You didn’t even look at him, but a small smile spread on your lips, like you were saying I know. He didn’t take any offence—he felt unworthy of your gaze. You leaned over the bar and waved the bartender down with ease, the large-framed man showing up in just a few moments. 

“Anything to drink, Tete?” You swirled a tendril of hair around your finger. He blinked and turned to the bartender. 

“Uh, I’ll have a glass of white wine?” 

You giggled, and he let out an awkward laugh. God, he felt like such a loser.

“And a gin and tonic, please,” you nodded at the bartender, and he whisked away. 

“Long time no see,” you said, still watching the bar. From your peripheral vision, you knew Taehyung was staring directly at you; he could never help it. “I would never expect to see you at a club.”

“Err, I’m here for Min-woo. He asked me to be his groomsman for the wedding.”

“How sweet,” you hummed, “You’re not over there with the group?”

“No, there’s a–” Taehyung was about to tell you about Soo-min, but he held his tongue. “Just needed some space.”

You smirked. “Party not good over there?” 

Taehyung laughed a little. “It’s okay. Just a lot of people I don’t know.” 

“Nina told me she was setting you up tonight.” You turned to face him, an innocent smile splayed across your face. 

“Uh,” Taehyung faltered for a moment. “Sort of. I just met her, she’s…nice.” 

You cocked your head slightly, not convinced.

“...Nice. That’s cute. She seems like a sweet girl. I hope she’s good for you.” 

Taehyung felt a burn in his chest at your approval of his play date. He didn’t want your blessing: he wanted you.

A few moments later, the bartender returned with the two drinks. Taehyung pulled his wallet out, eager to buy you a drink. But before he could even try to pay, the bartender interrupted.

“It’s on me,” the bartender spoke directly to you, his eyes twinkling with charm. “Beautiful girls like you shouldn’t have to pay.” 

“Oh, that’s sweet, thank you,” you cooed, leaning in to take a sip of your drink, not breaking eye contact with the tall man on the other side of the bar. Your tongue flicked out to lick your straw innocently before feeding it into your mouth. Taehyung felt his stomach drop.

The bartender turned the card machine to Taehyung, the total only including his own drink. He awkwardly shoved his credit card in the slot while the bartender and you were basically eye fucking. 

“What’s your name?” The bartender continued. 

“Y/N,” you said with a smile. You tilted your head to one side, letting your hair fall over your back and reveal the bare skin of your shoulder.

“I’m San.” The man leaned a little closer to you, his biceps flexing in his fitted black T-shirt with the cuffs rolled up. “Pleasure.” 

“Nice to meet you,” you said, tilting your glass in your hands. 

“You come here alone tonight, Y/N?” San leaned in, almost whispering in your ear over the loud music. 

“I’m here with friends,” you continued, not backing down from the close distance. 

“And yet, you’re here at the bar by yourself,” San continued, smirking at you.

And I’m invisible, apparently, Taehyung thought to himself. 

“Just taking a breather,” you replied with a coy smile. 

Taehyung knew that you were a flirt, but it made his skin crawl all the same, being subjected to watching you charm someone else. He took a large swig of his wine, letting the dryness wash down his throat.

You and the bartender chatted for a few moments as the music thumped on, and Taehyung felt his chest get tight with jealousy. Over what? You barely saw each other. The last time he even spoke to you was at New Year's, when you two ended up doing a little more than talking. You weren’t his to claim.

He finished the last of his wine with a gulp and set the glass down behind him.

“Anyway, I have to go. Nice meeting you,” you turned and gave Taehyung’s tie a gentle but commanding tug. “Let’s go, Tete.” 

Taehyung’s eyebrows raised as he helplessly obeyed you like a puppy. As you pulled him through the crowd by the tie, he turned back quickly to see San looking dumbfounded. Taehyung felt a small amount of triumph that you had chosen to abandon the hot bartender for an IT guy who drinks wine at a nightclub. 

Your hand gently guided him through the crowd by his tie, and he followed you like a dog on a leash. You released your hold on him in the center of the dance floor, away from the rest of your friends.

The crowd enveloped you two, and you turned to face Taehyung, draping your arms around his neck. 

“Dance with me,” you murmured into Taehyung’s ear. He nervously looked around the room before looking down at you, your eyes glimmering with a presiding playfulness. 

How could he possibly refuse?

He quickly swiped his already sweating palms on the back of his trousers before wrapping them around your waist, swaying a little to the beat of your body, the two of you moving against each other inconspicuously. 

“So, you’re attending the wedding,” he began, his tongue darting out to lick his lower lip nervously.

You hummed, dipping your head over to one side to enjoy the music. 

“Yes, I went to check out the venue with Nina last week,” you said, tilting your head back and letting the colourful lights dance across your face.

In the dim lights, your lips glistened as you spoke, and he felt like he was being hypnotized. 

You were not the type of woman his parents would necessarily approve of, but he stared at you like you were Aphrodite herself. 

“Are you…going alone?” 

You were unfazed by his question and kept swaying your head and waist with him slowly.

“Mm, probably. I don’t think it’s appropriate to go to a wedding with a guy I’m just sleeping with, do you?” 

A guy you were sleeping with. Of course, there were probably others.

He wanted to walk away; he knew it was so much better for him to fight this. Every time you saw each other, Taehyung went home with a hole in his chest. But you were intoxicating, an oasis to a dying man, an opiate to an addict, and he cursed himself for falling under your spell. 

The music transitioned into something slower, warmer, more intimate. You smiled up at Taehyung innocently and dropped your hands from his neck and turned around, your bum grazing gently against his pants as you continued moving your hips.

“This okay?” you tutted, pressing your back against his chest and moving his hands back over your hips and upper thigh.

“Fuck—“ Taehyung blinked hard, shaking his head, muttering under his breath. “Fuck me.”

“If that’s what you really want,” you purred, your hips still rolling and swaying against his pants, letting his hands park themselves on your hips, guiding you as you rocked your hips against his. 

You’re dancing on him so torturously and purposefully that Taehyung felt like he should have paid for it. He looks up at the ceiling momentarily and makes a face like he was asking God for forgiveness, before dropping his head back down to watch you with his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Y/N, what are you doing to me?” 

He had done so well for the last few weeks. He woke up early, went to the gym, slept on time, and has been very productive at work. He kept himself on a tight routine because he believed that maintaining order in his life would give him the discipline to have a good life. And the strength to stay away from you. To not crave you as he does so wildly and intensely when he’s too ashamed to admit it.

“You don’t like dancing with me, Tete?” You cooed, your arms coming up over your head to gently touch Taehyung’s shoulders behind you. 

Taehyung couldn’t respond right away. The friction of you rubbing up against his pants drove him crazy, and your hair gently brushing against his chest as you moved made his heart race. He could feel himself getting stiff in his boxers, and his eyelids got heavier as his grip around your waist moved lower ever so slightly, down to your hips. He knew that you could feel him hardening beneath you as well, and you turned your head to look back at him, flashing him a torturously innocent smile.

“Why do you do this to me?” Taehyung mumbled, speaking as softly as possible to not offend you because, even though he protested, he would die if you stopped looking at him like that.

“Because,” you let your lips graze his cheek, “you’re such a pretty, good boy.”

A breathy groan escaped his lips before he shut his mouth, trying his best to hold it together. You two remained glued to each other, his hands slowly moving lower, and lower, a little firmer. 

The song ended, and you turned around, giving him a gentle pat on the cheek. 

“I’m heading to the bathroom,” you spoke sweetly into his face, inches from his mouth. 

And with that, you whisked away and disappeared into the crowd.

Taehyung ran his fingers through his hair and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He glanced around the crowded room, checking if anyone saw him. He was now almost entirely hard in his trousers, the material of his pants rough against his crotch and making him falter at any friction. 

He puffed air out of his cheeks. As quickly as you had appeared, you had left him here, frustrated, flushed, and wanting.

“Oh, there you are.” 

Taehyung turned around to see Soo-min, with a soft smile on her face. 

“Soo-min, hi.” 

He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to hide the tent in his pants. 

“We were wondering where you had wandered off to,” she said with a small laugh. 

Taehyung let out an awkward laugh.

“Just needed some air,” he blurted, shrugging his shoulders with feigned innocence.

“...In the middle of the dance floor?” 

“Ah–” he faltered. He was crumbling a little.

“Anyway, it’s getting late for me, I’m going to head out,” he continued, bowing slightly to Soo-min. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Already? It’s not even midnig–”

“Tete.” 

Taehyung turned immediately at the sound of your voice like a reflex. You were already smirking at him when he turned around, and he knew that he had been caught. By Soo-min, by you. No matter what he protested, no matter what he told others, you owned him. He wanted to hold his ground so badly, but his movements betrayed him, and he knew that no matter what he told himself, his body was yours. The way you said his nickname like a command, he fantasized about being at your beck and call all day. 

“Sorry, excuse me,” Taehyung murmured to Soo-min, before following closely behind you like your pet.

Although your back was to him, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you heard his footsteps behind you. Just the type of man you wanted.

The city sounds drowned out the music behind him as Taehyung stepped back out onto the pavement. The cool wind hit his face like a splash of cold water, sobering him up from the heavy spell he was under inside. 

You flicked your lighter and leaned in to light your cigarette, the orange light of the flame illuminating all the jewelry hanging from your ears. Your eyes glowed with the light, like a jaguar looking at its prey. You exhaled your smoke and took a step closer to him.

“Bring me home,” you said with a smile, draping your arms over his neck. His heart skipped a beat at your request, but he pushed those thoughts down. 

“Let me call you a car,” he offered, his hand gently holding you at your lower back, his other hand reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. He was using all of his might not to look into your eyes. “To make sure you get home safely.”

You watched while he pulled up his rideshare app on his phone. A finger came up to lower his screen, forcing him to look at you. Those eyes. Your gaze skewered him through the throat, holding any of his words hostage. 

“Gentlemen bring their women all the way home,” you cooed, pushing his phone back down. 

Tae looked at you. He was fighting an internal war against your temptation. He knew you didn’t love him. He knew that the past year was just you having fun and him being caught up in his own serial romanticism. You weren’t evil; you had made your intentions very clear, from the first time you let him fuck you in the walk-in closet at a friend’s condo during a house party. He was stronger than that now. He finished his military service, and he strengthened his mind, his body, his discipline. 

Which meant he felt even more helpless when he lost all control when you looked up at him with those eyes, smelling like vanilla and black coffee. 

Fuck it.

And just like that, the car was a few minutes away, routed back to his condo.

────୨ৎ────

The key fumbled a little in his hands as Taehyung unlocked his door. The room was dark and smelled faintly of sandalwood, the candle that he had been burning earlier. Thank god he had cleaned the kitchen before leaving. Your heels clicked on his hardwood floors behind him, and he swallowed. He couldn’t believe that this time, you were inside his own home, standing in his living room. Like you were his.

Taehyung hadn’t even gotten to turn any of the lights on before you had backed him towards his own couch, letting his legs hit the seat and fall gently onto the cushions. The glowing city view illuminated the two of you in shadows and low exposure. You straddled his lap and licked a wet line tracing his neck and jawline, causing a small whimper to escape his lips. 

You lingered over his lips for a painfully long time, testing the waters of how badly he wanted this. He shuffled under you; the weight of you against his trousers made his hard-on painfully apparent. But that was the least of his concerns with you in his lap, your foreheads pressed together.

“You look so pretty under me, angel,” you cooed against his mouth. “Kiss me?” 

Taehyung moaned against your mouth and tilted his head upwards so that your lips finally connected. 

He kissed you desperately, needy, pathetic. His lips smashed into yours like he was in a hurry. 

He pulled away and opened his eyes to look at you for a quick moment, making sure to lock eyes with you before leaning in and kissing you again. 

This wasn’t a brash decision, he was desperate for you to know. He was kissing you with intention; he wanted you with his whole body, and he needed you to know he wasn’t a compulsive man despite your lips hitting him like a drug.

He wanted you to know that when he whimpered and whined for you, he did it earnestly and without hesitation. 

And that’s the kind of attitude that got you so fucking wet. 

You let your bum grind down on his crotch, and he let out a groan into your mouth.

“Please don’t do this to me,” Taehyung begged, bucking his hips slightly up towards you. You smiled down at him mischievously and lowered yourself to the ground, now sitting between his legs on the floor.

You let him watch you intently as you unbuckled his belt, undid the clasp of his trousers, and pulled down his zipper. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” 

You let his cock spring free, long and thick and slightly curved. Your mouth watered at the sight, and behind it, Taehyung was red in the face. He covered his face with one hand, shyness washing over him all over again, as you grazed your lips against his dick, blowing air gently over his sensitive red tip that was already leaking precum. 

“So hard already, baby,” you cooed. “Did I do something to you?” Taehyung rolled his head back, tossing his head in protest as you held his legs open with your hands, continuing to tease him.

“What a pretty cock just for me, hm?” Little praises fell from your lips as you gripped him softly, your thumb swiping up the glistening fluid dribbling from his tip. “You needed this badly, didn’t you?”

Taehyung looked at you with half-lidded eyes and a pout; his glasses had slid a little lower down his nose bridge; he looked so needy and desperate. 

“Please, Y/N. I’ll be—“ he cried. “I’m a good boy.” 

You smiled up at him before finally parting your lips and wrapping them warmly around the tip of his flushed, needy cock. Taehyung’s hips bucked up a little at the touch, and he hissed and dropped his head back. His reaction sparked something low and deep in your abdomen. You loved seeing what you did to him. Your tongue poked out, twisting and licking him like a sweet candy.

“Mmph,” he whined, his brows knitting together and his mouth forming an O. “Just like that, please, please.” 

You granted his wish, sinking your mouth deeper down on his twitching cock, the heat from your mouth enveloping him in a way that made him feel dizzy. His head was leaned back on his couch, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to memorize the way your mouth felt on him.

His hips unintentionally thrust towards your mouth harder, his cock dipping deeper towards the back of your throat. 

Ring. Ring.

Taehyung’s eyes snapped open at the sound of his phone ringing. He leaned over and fumbled for his phone on the couch before seeing who the caller was. Min-woo. 

He rushed to silence his phone, pressing urgently on the volume button. You raised your brow before sliding your mouth off of his dick with a messy wet pop. He let out an involuntary whine at the loss of contact. 

“It’s okay. Answer it.” 

“I—uh…okay,” he stammered, before reaching for his phone again. His thumb slid the answer button across the screen. 

“Ne, Min-woo Hyung,” he cleared his throat, fumbling with the buckle of his belt that hung open below his hips now. 

Taehyungie! You left already?

“Ah, yeah, I'm sorry, early morning for me tomorrow.” He looked at you apologetically as he spoke; you were straddling the floor with your skirt riding up your thigh. Tae swallowed the lump in his throat. 

Ahh, shame I didn’t get to say bye. Did you have fun? 

“Yeah, it was fun,” he mumbled. He ran his hand through his hair awkwardly, desperate to keep the conversation short. 

You flipped your hair over your shoulder and looked up at him with an evil smile, before picking up his still twitching cock again and flicking your tongue mercilessly over his flushed tip. 

Taehyung’s eyes went wider than ever as he realized what you were doing. You took him back into your mouth and swallowed the tip, engorging him in your saliva. Your one hand came up to take care of the rest of his length, pumping slowly and firmly as you milked him into your mouth. His mouth fell open as he watched you. You were a witch.

Anyway, how was Soo-min! Did you get a chance to introduce yourself? 

You heard the mention of her name through the receiver and smirked. Your tongue twisted itself around the shaft of his cock, licking a fat, wet stripe up the base. 

Taehyung stifled a groan and pulled his phone away from his face to try to hide his noises. His brows furrowed together in protest as you pulled your tongue away from his cock. A rope of saliva draped between your lips and the tip of his dick, before breaking. Your lips were flushed and wet, and you blinked innocently at him. 

“Don’t let me distract you,” you cooed sweetly, before dipping your head back down into him and continuing to swallow him whole. 

“Oh—fuck,” Taehyung whined, still holding his phone at arm's distance away.

Hello? Tae?

He snapped his phone back to his ear and cleared his throat again.

“Soo-min! Yes, she’s a nice girl.” 

She might be interested in seeing you again. You know, maybe not at a club next time. Min-woo laughed on the other end. 

But Taehyung wasn’t listening. He was watching you torture his cock with your lips and tongue, your pretty eyes staring up at him all innocently through your long, thick lashes. 

“Y—yeah. Maybe I’ll reach out to her.” 

No pressure, she says she didn’t really get to talk to you much tonight. It was probably my fault for trying to set this up at a club. 

Taehyung might as well have been deaf.

“No-no, I—appreciate your help, thank you.”

As long as I know you’re not feeling so lonely and that you’re doing okay, that’s all that matters to me. Right? 

You hummed sweetly at Min-woo’s brotherly love through the phone while you tormented his dongsaeng on his own couch. Taehyung’s eyes were absolutely glued to you, and he didn’t even process what Min-woo had just said to him. You cocked your head to the side sweetly as you dribbled all over his cock. Your hand kept pumping him at a painfully slow pace, and you nodded at him, motioning for him to keep talking. 

“Ye-yes. Hyung. I’m good,” Taehyung spluttered.

You okay? You sound strained. 

Taehyung’s heart raced with embarrassment, and it only fueled you more. You gave him a final lick on the tip of his cock before standing up. 

“Hmm, yes, I’m okay. I’m just…tired,” Taehyung managed, letting his eyes look anywhere else in the room for a moment to escape your spell for a moment. He was barely able to form coherent sentences with the view that he was watching. 

Maybe your job takes too much out of you, Taehyung-ssi. 

“I’m okay, thank you,” Taehyung murmured, his eyes closed now. He knew he wasn’t really making sense, but he didn’t care.

You weren’t done yet. You pushed Taehyung’s arm back a little to allow space for you to straddle him. His eyes pleaded with you as you lifted your skirt just enough to expose your soaked pussy to him. Of course, you were fucking commando. 

Taehyung felt like he could cry. He watched you with desperate eyes as you leaned back and propped yourself up with your hands behind you on his knees, and slowly started grinding yourself down against Taehyung’s bare cock. He twitched under you at the warmth of your wet pussy sliding up and down his length, his cock trapped between your heat and his own abdomen. Taehyung dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling and held his phone away from himself again, quiet whines falling helplessly from his lips. 

I’m just looking out for you, that’s all. 

The phone returned to his ear so that he could garble a reply.

“Thank you, Hyung,” he repeated, unable to think of anything else. 

You smiled down at him as you expertly rolled your hips forward, continuing to coat the underside of his cock with your warm, wet arousal. Taehyung’s mouth hung open with short pants as he watched the head of his own cock peek in and out from between your folds, milking pre cum out of his tip. Taehyung felt like screaming.

“I have to go,” Taehyung blurted out into the receiver. “Thank you, good night.” 

Okay, good n–

He had already hung up, his phone slipping out of his hands and hitting the ground. 

“So cute,” you cooed, continuing your motion. “You have your friend worried for you. Such a sweet boy.”

Taehyung nodded at your words, eyes still locked with what you were doing to him. 

You stood up and took his hand, and he stood up quickly, eager to do whatever you wanted him to do.

“Bring me to your bedroom, angel,” you said, the request sending Tae’s heart soaring. 

He walked with your hand in his, guiding you gently to his bedroom door. The door swung open, and he immediately got onto the large king bed, draped neatly in dark gray sheets and a little mountain of pillows.

Taehyung laid patiently on his back at the end of his bed as he watched you tug your top up over your shoulders and toss it to the ground. You looked so perfect in just your skirt, your sheer thigh-high pantyhose, and your bra. 

“Take those off,” you instructed, taking a step towards the bed. 

Taehyung quickly loosened his tie from his neck and unbuttoned his shirt all the way to the bottom before tossing them both to the floor. His trousers slid off a moment later, crumpling down to the ground. His cock sprang free, smacking himself in the abdomen with vigor.

You hummed to yourself at the view of his naked body. Of all the qualities that made him pathetic, his body definitely wasn’t one of them. 

You straddled him now, sliding further up his torso, your legs now on either side of his neck and sitting gently on his chest, pinching him between your thighs. 

“Let’s take these off too, hmm?” Your fingers reached for his glasses that now sat a little too low on his nose. 

He nodded, and you removed his glasses from his sweet little face. Except, in place of where his puppy eyes usually were, pitch-black pupils pierced through you with burning desire. Taehyung was typically calm and controlled, but his eyes were so blown out with lust that he looked like he had transformed into something else entirely. He looked like a starved dog—he might as well have been drooling. 

He was too far gone to feel ashamed now. In the everyday world, he was a quiet, polite, boring man who, other than sometimes getting hit on by the barista, lived his life completely under the radar. His friends and family treated him like he was fragile, like he couldn’t handle a thing. A ghost, a Clark Kent. 

That’s why he was addicted to you. Because while other people spoke up to him as to not hurt his feelings, and against all his wishes to keep his secret down, you knew he was a pathetic, desperately horny submissive man who needed to be bossed around and would let you step on him if you wanted to. Taehyung wasn’t a particularly exciting man, but you brought out all of his deepest desires every time you saw him, whether he liked it or not. 

You smiled and licked your lips at the sight of him. This was the man you loved fucking. Not the 5’10” nerd who spoke cautiously to everyone and apologized way too much, you knew how to unlock the man inside that ate your pussy until you tapped out and literally begged to fuck you over a balcony at the last New Year’s Eve party. 

Taehyung’s hands came up to give your bum a careful squeeze, coaxing you to lower yourself onto his mouth. 

“Baby, I’m going to make a mess of your pretty bedsheets,” you said with a small laugh. 

“Please,” he murmured, nudging you to straddle his face. “Ruin anything you want. Just let me taste you.” 

You scooted a little closer, and he lifted his head off the pillow to close the distance himself, so desperate. You let out a sharp exhale as he connects his mouth with your soaked pussy on his own. 

Taehyung ate pussy like it was his last meal. He had been practically itching for this all night, and when given the chance, he was going to cherish the taste of you.

You let out a breathy moan at the contact, his tongue lapping up your arousal in firm, long licks. His jaw closed and opened against the rhythm of your hips, drinking you up with such determination. Your fingers flew to his hair, gripping firmly enough to use as leverage as you ground your hips down against his mouth, earning a muffled moan from the man below you. 

Taehyung’s eyes were shut, and his jaw flexed as he continued to consume you, alternating between tongue-fucking you and lapping against your clit like a lollipop. Your moans fell uncontrollably from your mouth, gasoline to his fire. He pressed his nose against your folds, your symphony of sounds like praise to his humble ears. He felt like he could drown in your wetness, but he’d rather die than stop now. He was going to burrow his face so deep into your pussy that he’d taste you for the rest of the week. In this moment, he was all yours and he wanted you to absolutely use him.

His lips closed in around your clit, and he sucked gently on your clit in soft, quick pulses, making you arch your back and falter on your hips. The change in sensation made your knees buckle slightly, and your weight pinned Taehyung down into his mattress a little further, earning another moan from him into your pussy.

His hands came up to hold your hips and bum, holding you firmly against him as he continued to serve you. He held you tilted against his mouth like he was drinking out of you like a bowl, the sweetest thing he has ever been honoured to enjoy.

You felt a familiar knot form in your lower stomach, but you weren’t ready to give him the satisfaction of cumming on his face just yet.

You propped yourself up on your knees, giving him some air. He didn’t want it. He lifted his head again, trying to delve his tongue back into you, but you gently rocked your hips back to give yourself more separation. 

Taehyung looked up at you with his pitch-dark, puppy eyes, pinned underneath your legs. His hair was sticking up in odd directions, and his lips were swollen and pink. His entire chin was dripping.

“More,” he pleads. “Please let me have more.” 

“You look so pretty for me,” you praised him, and he licked his lower lip, awaiting for you to give him something more. 

Your thumb slid down to his chin, giving it a lazy wipe, before planting a firm open-mouthed kiss on his lips. Your tongue danced against his, muffling his moans with your own. You pressed down on his chin to guide him to open up his mouth. 

“Open up for me, darling,” you whispered, and he obeyed, his mouth open for you, his tongue ever so slightly peeking out. 

You leaned down towards him and brought your face so close to his, and let a warm pool of saliva drip off your tongue and land into his mouth. You spit gently into his mouth, and Taehyung whimpered at the sensation, swallowing your saliva with a soft groan. 

“Mm, Y/N,” he groaned, shaking his head in pure torment. “You’re so fucking hot.” 

He tilted his chin up towards you, silently begging for another kiss. You smiled and leaned back down, swiping your tongue along his lower lip and letting him whine against your lips. You let another pool of saliva drip into his mouth, and Taehyung drank it off your tongue. He was a puddle underneath you.

“Please let me keep going,” he begged quietly. “Let me taste you.”

“Such a good boy, hmm? Let’s not hurt your neck, baby. Get on the floor.” You lifted your leg over his face to free him from your straddle. 

Taehyung obeyed immediately, getting up off the covers and kneeling down at the foot of his own bed. The cold hardwood floor pressed against his knees, but he couldn’t notice a thing other than the way you undressed yourself in front of him, on his own bed. First, your bra unhooked, then your skirt slid down, until you were in nothing but your sheer thigh highs. His cock throbbed against his abdomen, bouncing gently against his toned stomach as he twitched at the sight of your naked body. 

You took a moment to look at him. The only light came from the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the soft light emphasized every line and crevasse of his toned, built body. His hair was now dampened with sweat, his bangs stuck messily against his forehead. His eyes were wide and begging, and still dark as ever. He was on his knees with his hands behind his back, patiently waiting for you to let him please you. 

“You look so beautiful, Y/N,” he said softly, and you smiled and scooted closer to him. He gave you a soft kiss on your leg, trying to coax you to let him touch you.

“You’re going to eat my pussy from the back like a good boy, hm?” You turned around on your knees and bent forward with your bum in the air, teasing him with the view of you spread open in doggy-style in front of him.

“Yes, fuck—yes Y/N,” he spoke like he was going to cry. 

“And you’re going to touch yourself while you do it, hm? Let me hear how much I turn you on,” you almost smiled at your own torture.

“Yes–yes.” 

You smirked at him before letting him crawl up to you on his knees, and he closed his eyes as he let his tongue drag a slow, firm stripe up your fold from your clit to your opening. 

You let out a breathy moan, earning a whine from the shy, muscular man kneeling like a beggar behind you.

Taehyung was an obedient man. He kept his hands to himself as he licked you out, one hand slowly pumping himself as he felt you clench around his tongue. He groaned into your heat, the vibrations sending a chill up your spine. You moaned into the duvet as he continued to devour you, the change in angle making all the difference. Your clit was more sensitive now, and every flick of his tongue drew a whimper from your mouth. 

His hand was moving faster on himself now, and you could feel the rhythm of his hand rocking against the bed. His moans were muffled as he pushed his face in deeper, his mouth reaching every inch of your trembling pussy from top to bottom. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his breath hitching as he jerked himself off to the taste of you. “So–so sweet. So good. Let me make you cum, please. Please, baby. Please–fuck–let me spoil your pretty pussy.” 

Contrary to his everyday personality, Taehyung was awfully vocal with you. He was too shy to even use nicknames with you, but behind closed doors, he was just as dirty as you. As he neared his orgasm, his words got filthier, and he became more vocal about exactly what he wanted to do for you. 

The bed rocked a little harder at the pace that Taehyung was pumping himself, his moans spilling out clumsily. You could tell he was close.

“Your cunt is so good to me–fuck–so pretty. Cum on my tongue, please, baby. Fuck–let me–let me have it.” Taehyung was about to explode.

You took that as your cue to back off from his tongue. He let out a whimper in protest, leaning forward to try to get one last kiss in as you crawled further up the bed. 

“Come here,” you said breathily, the command in your voice growing weaker and more urgent. “Lie on your back.” 

He practically leaped up onto the bed, lying down against his own pillow in the centre of the bed. You climbed over him again, this time straddling his waist. His eyes looked at you wide and desperate, like a puppy begging for a treat. Taehyung wasn’t too convincing with his words at times, but his eyes did everything for you.  

“I’m going to ride you nice and slow, baby.” You leaned up onto your knees, sliding your dripping wet pussy up the length of his cock pressed against his abdomen one more time. “Just how you like it, hm?”

“God, yes.” 

“But you’re not going to touch me. Okay, angel?” 

Taehyung looked at you in disbelief. You were towering over him, naked and perfectly dewy with sweat and your body oil. Your hair was slightly messy but still fell around your face in a way that made his cock twitch, and your eyeliner was still perfect as ever.

How the fuck was he not supposed to touch you?

You sank down onto him, bottoming out as the tip of his cock rammed into your g-spot. You both moaned in unison before you propped yourself onto your arms and started slowly rolling your hips up and down his length.

“God, your pussy is so perfect,” Taehyung cursed under his breath, eyes dropping down to watch you slide down on his dick once more. All the shyness in him had dissolved the moment his cock delved into the warmth of your wet heat.

You gently picked up the speed, reaching a pace that matched the whimpers that were spilling out of the mouth of the closed-eyed man under you. 

“I need more,” he whined. “Please, I want–please. Need you to fuck me like I’m a good boy.” 

You smirked and lifted onto your knees before forcing yourself back down onto him, the tip of his cock ramming into you with a force that made him recoil upwards. 

“That’s it, baby. Oh my god,” he murmured, his lips pink and swollen as he bit down onto them between moans.

Taehyung let out a cry, and his hands came up to hold you by the waist, helping himself to more. You were so lost in the rhythm of riding him that you didn’t notice the rule break right away. He pushed your hips down harder against his, letting the tip of his dick knock feverishly against your g-spot. So fucking good.

You realized what he was doing a moment later, and immediately, you grabbed his wrists. His eyes cracked open, and you could tell that he didn’t feel so bad about disobeying you.

“What did I just say, Tete?” That nickname made his cock twitch inside of you. He loved the way his name rolled off your tongue. “You’re not very good at following instructions tonight, are you?”

He shook his head, cheeks flushed and only half listening. He was drunk off your pussy, rutting his hips up into yours continually, trying to feel that sensation of you milking his needy cock again. But you weren’t going to let it slide. 

You leaned over the bed and reached for the tie that he had loosened and cast off to the side earlier, the knot still tied loosely. 

“Hands,” you ordered. 

Taehyung felt his heart race in anticipation. Like a good boy, he held his wrists out to you, letting you wrap his tie around them, before you pulled the knot tighter again. The restraint of his hands made his head spin; he was so vulnerable under you, and he loved it. You could do anything to him, and he’d take it eagerly. 

“Since you can’t fucking control yourself,” you whispered, and Taehyung’s expression was a mix of guilt and a hint of cockiness. You knew he loved this.

The knot felt tight but secure around his wrists, and you took his two bound hands and pinned them up above his head. His arms flexed as he let you held him down, the tendons of his forearms protruding in a way that made you want to bite them. 

You continued rolling your hips against his, picking up the pace again, and his orchestra of whimpers and moans continued. Taehyung was, obviously, much stronger than you. But his arms stayed put anyway, the weight of your arm forcing them down just enough to drive him over the edge. 

The room was quiet, and the only thing that could be heard was the sound of wet skin on skin, the erotic sounds coming from Taehyung’s lips against the accompaniment of the city sounds down below. 

Taehyung’s head knocked against his pillow helplessly as he fought against the restraint of the tie around his wrists, wanting to touch you, but also loving the sensation of being held down. He bucked his hips upwards like a dog in heat, matching your tempo as your ass smacked against his thighs.

“Yeah, angel? Are you enjoying being held down? Such a naughty boy,” you hummed sweetly. “You like this?”

“Love this, love–you,” he groaned, eyes still completely shut, his jaw clenched. Your breath hitched for a moment at the sudden sweet words, but you maintained pace.

Taehyung was too pussy drunk to think straight, just an endless stream of praise and sweet talking fell from his lips as you milked him closer to his demise. The knot in his stomach grew tighter, and his abdomen was fully flexed, his V-line prominent and hauntingly beautiful in the dim light.

“May I–please–may I cum inside your pretty pussy, baby,” he breathed. “Let me cum inside your perfect pussy?” His eyes were open again now, and they bore into you, pleading with you. 

How could you say no to those pretty eyes?

You leaned down towards him, letting his hips rut upwards and fuck you from below. 

“Go ahead, baby. Take what you need,” you whispered into his ear. The coil in his stomach snapped.

Taehyung’s orgasm crashed over him like a wave, and his vision blanked out for a moment as all he felt was euphoric bliss.

“Fuuuck,” he cried out, his arms still pinned under your hands. “God–Y/N, I’m–cumming.”

You rolled your hips against his, letting him ride out his orgasm underneath you. His skin glistened with sweat, his brows knitted together as he chased his climax.

“Y/N, I’m so–fuck–” he spluttered, your name falling from his lips over and over again like it was a prayer. 

He thrust his hips upwards a few more times before he slowed his pace and held his hands up towards you, silently begging you to remove the tie. You smiled and loosened the knot before giving him a sweet kiss on his wrists. 

“Good boy,” you whispered. “You did so well.” 

Something in his demeanour had changed. His desperation had turned to insistence, authority.

“We’re not done, though, are we, baby?” He growled beneath you before helping you up off his hips. You let out a laugh as he picked you up and moved you to the end of his bed, letting you bend over on your hands and knees.

If there was one thing Taehyung couldn’t get enough of more than going down on you, it was bending you over.

He towered over you now, his cock still hard as ever. He slid his cock right back inside you so easily, the different angle hitting your g-spot in a way that made you yelp. 

“I need to feel you cum on this cock, sweet girl,” he murmured. “I need it.” 

You were worn out, and your knees felt weak, but your pussy clenched around him feverently. Both of you moaned in chorus at the feeling of fullness inside of you. He picked up the pace again, punching the air out of your lungs with the strength of his thrusts against your backside.

“God, fuck, Tae!” you cried out, your face buried into his duvet. He loved seeing you like this for him, bent over and taking him. This view kept him crawling back to you over and over again. 

His whimpers grew more pathetic and high-pitched; he was combating his own overstimulation to please you. Your pussy milked him tightly as he felt you near your orgasm, and the intensity made him want to cry. His head fell forward, his face in a grimace, teeth clenched, and brows furrowed. Despite the hisses that escaped his mouth, his hips continued at a torturous pace, rocking you nearer and nearer to your bliss. 

His fingers came down to caress your clit, rubbing quick circles and pressing with just enough pressure to make your legs tense up. 

“God, don’t stop, Tae,” you begged. “Keep fucking me, just like this.” 

“Anything you want, baby,” he cooed, his other hand holding you around your waist, pinning your body against his tighter. 

Taehyung winced as he fucked you deeper, his cock begging for the friction to stop, but his mind was sharpened, only knowing the goal of making you finish all over him. He dug his teeth hard into his lower lip as he pushed through his own sensitivity, determined to please the beautiful vixen spread across his bed. 

Your vision was going blurry now; you couldn’t even think straight. The fire in your core burned hotter, and you felt your orgasm about to tip you over the edge.

“I’m–I’m cumming,” you cried out, as the electricity flooded your body. Every part of you shook, your legs tensed as Taehyung railed you through your climax.

“God, fuck! Taehyung,” you were drunk off his cock, letting him split you open as you felt your body turn to jelly. He rocked his hips against yours a few more times before he slowed his pace and collapsed down onto the bed together with you. 

The two of you were sprawled across his bed, his body on top of yours, and your chests rose and fell heavily in tandem, both panting in the aftermath. Taehyung’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close to him for comfort as he came down from his high. He stayed inside of you, a comfort you allowed and appreciated while your head spun. 

“Here, baby, let me.” Taehyung planted a kiss on your shoulder before he gently pulled himself out, a spill of your fluids mixed, dripping out of you slowly and trickling down your leg.

“Mm, that’s hot,” he murmured to himself, eyeing his own climax dripping out of you like icing off a cinnamon bun.

He slid two fingers gently between your folds, collecting the sticky white fluid up on his fingers, before opening his mouth and wrapping his lips around his digits. He let out a soft moan at the taste of you and him, a cocktail that he was addicted to. You watched in awe as he licked his fingers clean, before rounding your shoulder and lifting your chin towards his, planting a long, sweet kiss on your lips. 

When he pulled away, you looked a little shocked. This was the type of man he really was, and he only ever wanted to show you this side of him. He gave you a small smirk. Was that cockiness behind those eyes? 

“Don’t move,” Taehyung whispered, and disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, leaving you collapsed and messy on his bedsheets. Your eyes slowly blinked as you took in the silence that lured you into slumber. The room was…strangely familiar. Safe. The softness of the duvet against your cheek comforted you as you came back to reality. The sheets smelled like him, a mix of his scent and the bodywash he had in his shower. 

When he returned, he had changed into a pair of light gray sweatpants and a T-shirt that fit him way too nicely for you to ignore. He held a warm, wet washcloth and lowered himself to his knees again to clean you up. He was gentle, careful not to stimulate you again, and he wiped you clean, your stomach, your bum, your back, and you felt a little flutter in your chest. 

You two had only ever hooked up in inconvenient places. Here, you were safe and warm on his bed, and he was taking such good care of you: something he was never able to do for you before. 

Your original top and skirt were tossed to the ground, and Taehyung collected them for you. The late night had grown colder, and Taehyung had brought you one of his own hoodies. 

“You didn’t come with a jacket,” he mumbled as he held the sweater towards you. “Please, take it. I don’t want you to be cold.” 

You would have turned it down, but you knew that you had ruined your skirt tonight, and you did not want to climb back into your uncomfortable corset again. Against your own typical independence, you lazily threw your arms towards him with a pout, welcoming him to drape the hoodie over your naked body for you. His eyes lit up a little, but he remained calm and quiet. He draped the large hoodie over your body, and its warmth enveloped you like a blanket, like an embrace. The familiar scent of his deodorant tickled your senses.

“This is okay?” he murmured as he guided the hoodie down your body until you were fully covered. You nodded and got up off his bed before heading over to the door of his balcony. 

The city was quieter at this hour, and the cool air felt good against your cheeks and your bare legs. Taehyung appeared a few moments later, in a cardigan and his glasses again and holding a small glass ashtray, placing it on the ledge for you. The two of you stood next to each other, staring out at the large city that stretched below you, listening to the cars and hum of the urban sprawl together.

Taehyung was sipping a glass of water, and he handed it to you, urging you to take a sip. You accepted.

“Great job tonight,” you said to him with a small breathless laugh, handing his glass of water back to him. A smile spread across his face as he took back his drink.

“You too,” he said with a smug laugh. His cockiness only really ever came out around you when you two were alone. You liked that he felt comfortable enough around you to be himself.

A silence fell between you two, comfortable and easy. 

“Can I take you to dinner?” 

“For what?” 

“I…I want to see you again.” 

“That’s sweet,” you began. “But you don’t want to take that Soo-min girl to dinner?”

He shook his head ferverently. 

“No,” he said with an awkward smile. “I only want to see you.”

You looked up at him with sympathy in your eyes. He looked at you with pure, unfiltered honesty; it almost made you feel bad for him.

“Tae,” you drawled. “We’ve talked about this before.” 

Your words were only a dull pain in his chest—he knew this already. He knew you didn’t love him when you flirted with him, when you spent your night with him, when you let him bend you over your friend’s balcony. A younger him would have let the ache bother him, but it only fueled him more now. 

You turned to step back inside to grab your bag. Taehyung was one step ahead of you: he pulled out a pack of his own cigarettes before you could find yours, and slid one in between your lips. He didn’t smoke, but he knew the brand you enjoyed and had kept the pack from ages ago when he bought it for you. The small gesture made you smile.

“I know. I’m not the man for you.”

“Mhm.”

“But, what if you’re the woman for me?” 

You laughed, letting him light the end of your cigarette for you as you took your initial drag. 

“There’s not another girl in your life, Tete? Someone who loves you and treats you sweetly?”

He shoved his hand in his pocket and fluffed the back of his hair. 

His silence was your answer: he avoided other women because he was only ever thinking about you.

“Or do you only chase the one who only lets you see her after dark and uses your body like a toy?” 

Tae felt his cheeks get warm, and he adjusted his glasses. 

“I only…want you,” he spoke towards the ground. 

A silence hung in the air as you looked over the balcony at the city below you, nursing the cigarette between your fingers. There was a shift in your expression, like a hint of pity, or something else. Taehyung watched you intently.

“I’m free on Thursday evening. You can pick me up at 8.” 

His eyes widened at your words. You have never said yes to him a day in his life for the whole time you’ve known him. Taehyung’s heart soared at your approval, but he knew better than to scare you off. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Okay.” 

You continued to finish your cigarette and Taehyung leaned over the balcony ledge with you, both of you enjoying each other’s presence and the quiet night. 

“Stay the night?” Taehyung managed to ask, all his shame and pride washed down the drain. 

You turned to look at him, cigarette smoke floating prettily around your face as you flicked some ash off the end. 

“I can run you a bath, and I have some pyjamas I can lend you, they’re comfortable, I promise—“

“Taehyung.” 

God, his whole chest ached at the way you said his name, like it was a command. 

“I’ll see you later,” you smiled sweetly at him as you ashed your cigarette out into the little glass tray he had set out for you. 

Taehyung walked you to his door and helped you back into your heels before handing you your purse. You pulled the hood of his sweater up over your hair, cocooning you in its warmth. 

You hadn’t even left yet, and he felt his chest draining.

You unlocked his front door before turning back towards him, giving him a sweet pat on the cheek. Taehyung’s eyes danced desperately all over your face, memorizing the image of you in his hoodie, comfy, messy-haired, and leaving his apartment. His heart thumped in his chest like he was going to die: it was like his withdrawals began immediately. 

“Try not to miss me too much, Tete. I’ll see you in a few days. Have a good night,” you gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek before opening and disappearing out his door.

It was far too late for that. You were embedded into his skin, his tongue, his consciousness. He wasn’t going to sleep until after he saw you again. 

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

God nerdy Tete is so hot and pathetic it’s perfect

Forty‑eight hours. He’s counted.

Forty‑eight hours since the bench and the music box and your mouth on his, your tongue tasting his tears like they were something sweet instead of something spoiled. Since your fingers curled around his wrist like he was something that could hold you, not just hold itself away.

Forty‑eight hours and his body has started to list all the absences like side effects.

Dry mouth.

Racing heart.

Restlessness.

Now there’s only rain.

The umbrella shakes in his hand as he forces it open outside L’Heure Bleue, the cheap metal joints protesting with that brittle little click they always make when he’s sure this is the time they’ll finally snap. Water hammers the fabric above his head—too loud, too everywhere, drumming like a hundred fingers tapping at once.

He hates rain.

Water in pipes, in tubs, in clean glasses—that’s different. There are edges. Boundaries. A beginning and an end.

You in that blue leotard moving like water, choreography poured into a narrow channel—that’s different too.

But this? Sky water, coming from everywhere at once, no wall, no rim, no tap to shut?

His lungs don’t like it.

(keep the umbrella up)

(don’t look up)

(don’t let it touch don’t let it in)

He lowers his head, bunches his shoulders, and walks.

The pavements of the 19ᵉ gleam under the sodium streetlights, every puddle a warped mirror trying to catch him. Neon from the kebab place near the corner, red and green and sickly yellow sliding over each other, too bright in the muddy water. Cars hiss past, tyres pushing through shallow sheeted puddles, fine spray fanning out and kissing the side of his jeans.

Mostly deflected. Not entirely.

A stray splash finds the bare skin just above his sock. Cold needle. He flinches, shortens his stride, tucks himself tighter against the buildings. The umbrella’s edge scrapes the crumbling stucco of a pharmacy wall with a little chalky shudder.

His thoughts are a loop now. A skipping record.

You on the bench, knees almost touching his.

Your hand closing around the music box when he finally found enough coward’s courage to give it.

Your lips on his thumb, soft pressure, your tongue chasing his scent.

«What if I want to be contaminated?»

He’s been sick on those words for two days.

No measurable fever. No infection. Just a quiet, miserable awareness that his body is no longer something he can pretend lives elsewhere. That his mouth remembers the exact shape of yours. That his thumb—he hasn’t washed it—still tingles.

He hasn’t seen you since.

Not in the mirror. Not near the canal footbridge. Not slipping into L’Heure Bleue for cotton pads and tests and quiet confessions at his counter, for the way his name sounds like it might matter when you say it.

You’re busy. He knows that. Rehearsals swallow everything. You have a life that moves in circles he isn’t supposed to enter; people say your name out loud in rooms he’ll never see. A world that doesn’t revolve around the boy who counts in the dark and clings to doorframes.

(you shouldn’t want him to be your orbit)

(he wants)

The walk from the store to his building usually takes fifteen minutes if he keeps the same pace, if the light at the major crossing is green by the time he reaches it. Tonight it stretches. Rain slows everything; his steps shorten, his attention keeps snagging on each slick patch of stone, each treacherous glisten that might be a puddle hiding a deeper dip.

When he finally turns onto his street, the muscles between his shoulder blades loosen by a few millimetres. The buildings here lean in on each other like tired old men huddled out of the wind, balconies rusting, windows gummed with tape. Familiar decay. His decay.

His door waits at the end of the narrow passage: chipped blue paint, tarnished brass knob, small canopy above that catches only half the rain.

Sanctuary.

He steps under the shallow overhang and the rain’s drum becomes a muted patter, a little less like being surrounded and a little more like being outside of something.

The umbrella is now more enemy than shield—wet, dripping, edges threatening to smear more dirty water onto the already-compromised door.

He closes it carefully. One hand tight on the handle, the other folding the metal ribs in on themselves.

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven.

Seven little clicks as each segment locks into the next, a tiny skeleton snapping itself shut.

He shakes it out once, twice, wrist restrained, aiming the spray at the doormat already darkened with damp. Droplets spatter his shoes, his trouser cuffs. His eyes track each small darkening patch automatically.

His key ring is cold through the damp latex of his glove when he fishes it out. The metal carries that winter bite that numbs the pads of his fingers, makes them clumsy. He stands still for half a heartbeat, catching his breath in the relative quiet of the doorway, lungs trying to decide if they believe in air again.

Home.

He lifts the key toward the lock—

“You really weren’t going to say hello?”

The voice slides in behind him, low and amused, soft as a finger over the surface of still water.

Every muscle in his body seizes.

The key misses the keyhole by a good few centimetres, scraping a useless little crescent into the peeling paint.

His hand jerks back like the metal burned him.

He doesn’t turn. Can’t. For a few seconds he just stands pinned there, facing his own chipped door, back a solid wall of stunned meat.

No.

Yes.

No, it can’t—

(yes it’s you it is you he knows you from your voice alone)

Slowly, very slowly, like someone adjusting a painting that isn’t quite straight, he looks over his shoulder.

You’re there.

Umbrella in your hand, just now lowering, thin rivulets of water still escaping the tips and pattering onto the concrete.

You don’t match this backdrop of cracked concrete and graffiti and damp. You look like you’ve been cut out of another frame and pasted on top. A bright error the alley isn’t worthy of.

His heart forgets its rhythm, lunges once, then stutters in a new pattern it doesn’t recognise.

“Hi, Moss.”

You say it like you just ran into him in aisle three. Like this is the most ordinary thing in the world—to be standing at the entrance to his building with an umbrella in your hand and no glass between you.

His jaw moves once. Twice.

Sound does not come.

(you followed him)

(you followed him home)

Reversal.

He’s the one who memorises routes, who lingers two hundred metres back, who fuses with doorways when you turn your head. That’s the order. That’s how the universe has been allowed to remain intact. He observes; you exist.

Now you are in his doorway.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands.

He turns around fully, because not turning would be worse, would feel like hiding, and his back is already against the door. The wood is a flat plane at his spine, cold through his coat. He can feel every tiny ridge of the grain pressing into his shoulder blades, each imperfection.

“You—you shouldn’t—this is—”

The words come out like shards. Useless fragments of a sentence that, if whole, might mean ’please don’t look at the place where I live; it will contaminate you by sight alone’.

You take one small step closer.

It’s not much. It’s enough.

The space between you tightens to a thin band of overused air, smelling of wet stone and cheap detergent from someone else’s laundry, underscored by the dying echo of rain. Your umbrella clicks shut in a neat little motion, folding in to rest at your side.

He can smell you now.

Rose macarons, undercut by the salt of skin that’s worked all day, threaded through with the keen cold note of outside.

It’s the scent his brain has treacherously filed under safe.

“You weren’t going to invite me up?” you ask, tipping your head a little, tone light.

Invite you up.

Invite you in.

Inside his apartment—the one he hasn’t even let his parents into in years unless he had no excuse, the one with the hidden shrine that has your face without ever having your face, the one with the notebooks open to pages of your rehearsals like secret calendars.

The thought makes his skin feel too tight.

“I—” He almost drops the keys. “It’s not—it’s very—dirty.”

True and not true at the same time.

The surfaces are scrubbed. The dishes are washed the second they’re used. The floors are bleached until his wrists ache.

But the building itself is a long history of other people—stains from old leaks, hairline cracks, damp that seeps back no matter how often he paints over it.

And there’s him, the ugliest stain of all.

You step closer again.

His spine is flat against the door now; there’s literally nowhere left to go. You’re near enough that he can see the tiny beads of water on the fine hairs at your temple, one droplet making a long, slow journey down the side of your face to the corner of your jaw and hanging there, indecisive.

“That’s not really your call, is it?” you murmur.

His breath catches.

His gaze drops to your mouth by reflex (not reflex, desire), then jerks away, then slides back again.

Your lips are darker than usual from the cold, parted just enough to show teeth occasionally when you talk. His body remembers, with humiliating clarity, the give of them under his, the way your tongue tasted like roasted chestnuts and river wind and him.

A flare of heat punches through his chest and lower.

(he cannot he cannot he cannot think about licking your mouth now)

(you are at his front door he has his gloves on he is a doormat not a man)

But the image forms anyway: leaning down just those few centimetres, running the tip of his tongue along the curve of your lower lip, tasting sugar and day and whatever else touched you that he doesn’t deserve to know.

He swallows, hard enough that his throat clicks.

You notice exactly where he’s looking. The corner of your mouth curves, slow, like you’ve just been handed the ending to a story you were already pretty sure you knew.

“What’s wrong, Taehyung?” you ask, voice a shade lower. “Cat got your tongue?”

He shakes his head too fast. Drops his focus to your collarbone, then lower, then back up.

There is no safe point to rest it.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat, tries again. “You… you shouldn’t be here. It’s late. You have—rehearsal. Tomorrow.”

“I have you,” you say, like it’s a simple correction.

The rain at the edge of the overhang has softened to more of a mist now, a quiet grey curtain instead of a hard wall. Drops still gather and fall from the canopy with their own slow logic. Farther down the street, a window slams shut, the sound dull in the damp air.

You don’t step away.

He can’t breathe right.

The air is thick. His lungs are small. The key cuts a fresh little half-moon into his palm where he’s still clutching it too hard.

He needs a wall. Any wall. Preferably one with a lock on his side.

“I should—” he mumbles, vowels sticking to his tongue. “The lock—”

He fumbles behind his back, fingers finding the keyhole by years of repetition. It takes two attempts. His hands are shaking, the metal scraping at the edge before finally setting home. On the second try, the key slides in with a small, almost indecent sigh.

He twists his wrist.

The old cylinder gives. Somewhere deep inside, the bolt withdraws from the strike plate.

He doesn’t invite you. He doesn’t step aside with any kind of grace. He just stumbles a small half-step away from the doorframe, too flustered to orchestrate anything more calibrated.

You step in like the threshold recognises you.

Of course it does. Everything else of his already does.

For a second, the doorway frames you: dark coat, damp hair, umbrella still dripping at your side, the alley’s grey behind you and his small, over-bright room ahead.

Then you’re inside, bringing the outside with you in the form of wet fabric and cold air and the smell of your skin.

Taehyung swallows so hard his throat aches.

“L‑let me,” he blurts, too fast, words tumbling out of some old script that has service written all over it.

Your coat first.

He reaches for it with both hands, careful to avoid you. The fabric is cool and damp on the outside, holding a faint chill, but the inner lining is still warm from your body.

He ignores the buttons at your throat, keeps his eyes pinned to plastic slipping through thread, terrified of touching your skin, more terrified of wanting to.

(too close too close your neck is right there he must not breathe)

You shrug your shoulders free of the sleeves, a small, contained movement, but it sends another little cloud of your scent into his face nonetheless.

He turns away quickly, coat clutched to his chest like it is contraband.

Might be.

The single hook by the door already holds his own jacket—cheap navy with bleach splatters. He unhooks it with an awkward elbow, refusing to let your coat brush it, and drapes his over the back of the lone chair instead.

His fabric can soak in this room’s damage. Yours shouldn’t have to.

Your coat goes on the hook alone.

Umbrellas next.

His is still in his hand, ribs slick with rain. He nudges the small wicker umbrella basket closer with his foot, flips his umbrella upside down and fits it in, making sure it doesn’t drip directly on the parquet.

He turns back for yours.

“Please,” he mumbles, reaching for your umbrella with both hands. “I’ll—I’ll put it here. So it… doesn’t…”

Your fingers graze the latex of his glove, the faintest brush, nothing, everything. It shoots hot and frightening up his arm.

He tucks it in beside his own, angle adjusted so the two handles don’t touch.

(serve you right serve you always)

Only when the small entryway ritual is complete—coats sorted, umbrellas at attention—does his chest loosen enough to allow a full breath.

He turns toward the room to steer you away from the door.

And sees them.

The macarons.

The box sits brazenly on the small nightstand beside his unmade bed, pink and cheerful and damning, the ribbon half untied from the last time he’d taken it out. He meant to throw it away. He definitely meant to hide it before he left for his shift. But the last two days have been static and river noise.

His stomach drops like the building’s foundation has just given way.

No.

His body moves ahead of thought. One second he’s by the door, the next he’s stumbling forward, almost catching his foot on the rug in his haste.

He dashes to the nightstand, snatches the box, fingers digging crescents into the pink cardboard.

He doesn’t look at you. He can’t.

(too late you saw you saw you saw he is stupid stupid filthy)

The nightstand drawer—habit tells his hand to yank it open and shove the box inside, but another part of his brain screams ’no not there that’s where the notebook is that’s worse’, so his trajectory jerks upward instead.

The pillow.

He flips it up with a clumsy movement and shoves the box under it, dropping the pillow flat again like a child hiding something under a blanket, as if you don’t have eyes.

The bed complains with a small groan as his knee hits the edge; he collapses down half onto the mattress, ending up in an awkward sit, hands braced on either side of his thighs.

His lungs drag at the air. The room has shrunk by several metres. There is no space that isn’t saturated with the fact that you are here.

You haven’t said anything.

That’s worse than anything you might have said.

You’re still just inside the door, hands folded loosely behind your back, that small undefinable smile sitting in one corner of your mouth. Not kind. Not cruel. Interested. Like you’re marking down notes during a run-through.

You start to walk.

Slow, hands still tucked behind you, like a director inspecting a set she didn’t design but has to stage something on anyway.

The apartment is one big main room and a bathroom, hardly a tour, but you move as if there are wings and backstage corridors, giving each object more weight than it was ever built to bear. The kitchenette strip—two burners, sink, single pot. The bookshelf made of concrete blocks and planks, packed with cheap paperback spines broken in the centre. The chair with his coat. The line of shoes arranged too neatly along the wall.

Then the nightstand.

Your hands emerge from behind your back as you reach it. You don’t touch right away; you let your fingers hover a few centimetres above the surface, passing over the lamp, the folded tissue he missed in his panic, the edge of the drawer.

You’re close now. Closer than you were at the door.

Right in front of him.

His knees are slightly apart for balance from his messy landing on the mattress; he realizes this a second too late, way too close to yours.

He closes his legs, but heat rushes down regardless, the kind of insistent blood that refuses to listen to reason.

(he cannot he cannot he must not dare be hard while you are standing in front of his bed)

Bile pricks at the back of his throat. Shame burns under his skin.

He digs his fingertips into the blanket, the cheap fabric scratching his palms through the gloves, using the discomfort as a thin barrier between himself and the urge to yank his sweater down and make it look suspicious.

Your fingers trace the line of the nightstand’s edge now.

“Nice place,” you murmur, tone making it clear you know it’s not but you’re willing to suspend disbelief. “Very… you.”

He wants the floorboards to split and swallow him whole. He wants the damp in the walls to finally finish its job and bring the ceiling down.

He drags his gaze from your hand to your face. Mistake. Huge. You’re looking down at him, that same small smile curling tighter, eyes bright.

He curls his fingers tighter into the blanket, knuckles whitening.

Your attention slides to the drawer handle.

No.

His breath hitches. His chest wraps itself in invisible wire.

You hook one finger under the metal.

The tiny movement feels like the start of an avalanche.

“No—” The protest rips out of him, but his body is three seconds behind his voice.

He lurches up from the bed, almost crashing into you, world tilting as his blood scrambles between his head and his lap.

Your hand is already inside the drawer. There isn’t much—some crumpled receipts, the old notebook with its worn elastic, and—

The thread.

The strip of navy ribbon.

It lies coiled where he leaves it when he’s too tired to redo the ritual of crossing it over his wrist and tucking it under his watchband.

A thin, innocent piece of fabric to anyone else.

A relic to him.

Your fingers slide under it and lift.

The dark line dangles from your hand, swinging between you, catching the light in small blue flashes.

His heart seizes.

His lungs forget how to perform.

He stares at the ribbon, then at you, then back at the ribbon again, like if he looks enough times it will reveal a different shape.

Words disintegrate before they reach his teeth. All he can hear is the roaring in his own ears, like seawater crashing in a narrow cove.

He snatches.

Reflex. Animal. Both hands fly out, closing too hard around the ribbon, nearly yanking your hand with it. The force of it spins him half sideways, his shoulders rounding, body curling around the small strip of fabric like he’s shielding it from you instead of the other way around.

He clutches it against his chest.

Right over his frantic heart.

(yours yours yours)

(he stole it he licked it he hid it he is so disgusting)

His breathing goes ragged, sharp little pulls of air that don’t fill him properly. Heat floods his face from throat to hairline; he can feel how red he must be, the shame blooming over his ears and down the back of his neck.

He doesn’t look at you.

He cannot.

If he looks he’ll see the exact second your expression shifts from curiosity to understanding to disgust. He’ll see you see him. Not the convenient store clerk or the quiet shadow in the studio back room.

The thing under the floorboards.

He fixes his eyes on a nick in the wood near the skirting board, shaped almost like a crescent moon, and counts the tiny chips in the paint around it.

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven.

Again.

His other hand yanks at the hem of his green sweater. He drags the knit down hard over his hips, trying to flatten it over his crotch, like that might hide the obscene curve there.

You make a small sound.

“Oh.”

Just that.

Oh.

He doesn’t know how to decode it. Surprise, amusement, horror, intrigue—it could be all of them. His brain cycles through tones at dizzying speed, layering readings on top of each other until nothing is legible.

Silence stretches for one, two, three heartbeats.

Then, softer, something like wonder woven through your voice:

“Oh, Taehyung…”

His name lands different this time.

There’s something thicker in it, something warm and sharp at once. Not pity. Not quite mockery. Something he doesn’t have a word for, because words like that don’t usually belong to him.

Reluctantly, like someone peeling off a scab, he drags his gaze upward.

You’re closer than he realized. He can see the flecks in your irises, the edge of your lashes, the faint smudge of eyeliner at the outer corner that the rain didn’t quite erase.

“Is that mine?” you ask, almost gentle, like asking about a misplaced hair clip.

His jaw trembles.

“It’s—” His voice is thin. “I—”

“So you keep little things. That have touched me."

‘Pervert’ hangs invisible but heavy after the sentence.

He hears it anyway.

“I—I’m—” His tongue trips over its own weight. “I’m not—I didn’t—”

His fingers tighten around the strip until the edges cut into his palm even through the glove. He can feel the old softness of the fabric; he remembers the way it felt against his tongue that night he completely lost his mind and—

You step into his space.

Your hand comes at his chest. Just a steady, quiet push forward, but the backs of his knees meet the mattress again. Gravity does the rest.

He goes down.

Back onto the bed, in a clumsy half-sprawl.

One hand still clamped around the ribbon at his chest, the other splayed on the mattress to catch himself. His legs fall open with the impact before he can stop them.

Your gaze drops, inevitably, to his lap.

The bulge is obscene. That’s the only word. The green sweater pulled tight over the ridge of his cock, denim stretched under it. There’s no clever positioning that can disguise it from this distance.

Heat detonates behind his eyes. He wants to vanish, to become damp air. He wants the wood to dunk him in whatever moldy water lies underneath.

You don’t look away.

Your gaze drags like a slow tide from his crotch up his torso, over his chest, over his throat where the pulse beats too fast, to his face.

There’s hunger there.

Not the kind that wants macarons. The kind he’s seen in himself by accident, reflected in the smudged glass of the back room when you arch at the barre and he forgets to blink.

You lick your upper lip. The tiny, pink tip of your tongue traces the curve once, leaving your lip shiny. It doesn’t look nervous. It looks like prelude.

Like you’re standing at the glass counter and choosing what to break into.

His breath stutters.

He feels both huge and very, very small under your eyes. Every inch of him is magnified and reduced at once—flaws lit up, sins tagged, the pathetic curve of his cock under denim suddenly a thing with weight.

He swallows.

The ribbon digs into his sternum.

His hands shake so hard the tiny navy strip trembles with them.

You don’t step back. You don’t call him disgusting. You don’t walk out.

You go down.

Slow, graceful, like a phrase in a variation he’s seen you rehearse a hundred times, but translated into something else.

Your knees touch his floor.

His floor. The one he scrubs on hands and knees until the grout feels familiar under his knuckles. The one that has seen him kneel alone in the dark, forehead to the boards, whispering apologies to the silence.

For a second, everything inside him goes perfectly still.

Then it hits.

(what are you doing what are you doing what are you doing on the ground before him)

A strangled noise claws out of his throat, too high to be anything but panic. He doesn’t even know what word it wanted to be. It sounds like please without the vowels.

You kneel between his legs.

Your hands—those hands that held his jaw, that wiped his tears by the canal—settle lightly on his thighs.

He jerks.

The touch is barely there through denim, but his nerves are stripped down to bare wire. The heat of your palms seeps through cloth and skin and straight into the muscle.

His cock throbs hard enough that he feels it in his lower back.

“P‑please,” he stammers, voice trembling violently. “You—you shouldn’t—”

You tip your head up, eyes meeting his from just above his knees.

The angle ruins him.

Your eyes are beautiful from here, pupils opaque and swallowing the entirety of your irises like hunger is an acquainted fellow. Your mouth is parted, lips wet where your tongue just was. A softness adorns your cheeks, something he can’t quite name as fondness or cruelty, or simply both braided together.

You drag the edge of your tongue over one canine.

A slow, idle tasting of your own teeth.

His body locks like someone pulled a cable taut under his skin.

Your attention drops back to his lap.

“You get to eat macarons,” you murmur, voice syrup-thick, “and I don’t get to feed?”

His stomach flips over itself.

“N‑no, I—it’s not—I didn’t—”

“Not fair, Taehyung.” Your fingers flex against his thighs, a slight squeeze that leaves heat behind. “I’m hungry.”

The word pools low in him, dark and unmoving.

*(hungry hungry hungry)

For a second he genuinely glances at his pillow, as if the box might somehow have wriggled out from under it, as if sugar might interpose itself between you and the thing in his jeans.

All he sees is crumpled fabric.

You. Knees. Hands. Jeans.

His vision blurs at the edges.

“Please,” he whispers, not even knowing anymore what he’s pleading for.

Stop. Don’t. Don’t stop.

You reach for his belt.

The movement is unhurried, terrifyingly confident. Like you’re straightening a costume backstage, like this is a composition you know and he’s the only one who doesn’t.

Leather shifts under your fingers. The soft chime of metal as you find the buckle. His breath turns to static.

“W‑wait,” he manages, words tripping over each other. “What are you—what are you doing, you can’t, you can’t—”

You look up from under your lashes.

“Shh.” Just that, but it feels like a hand over his mouth and over whatever passes for his soul. “I’m just unwrapping my present.”

His stomach drops and soars at once.

Present.

He is not a present. He is the damp you try to wipe away and that always comes back. He’s rust bleeding through new paint. He’s the sticky rings on the counter if no one cleans them.

And still you’re kneeling, still you’re calling him that.

You slide the metal tongue free.

The belt loosens with a soft, surrendered sound, an intimate exhale of something that had been holding on.

His hips twitch.

He tries to hold himself perfectly still, to be a statue, an effigy, anything but an animal reacting, but his muscles jolt under your hands like they’ve never been under orders before. His fingers clutch the blanket harder, the ribbon biting his palm.

(he is letting you undress him)

(your knees on his floor your hands on his belt this is blasphemy)

(blasphemy blasphemy blasphemyblasphemyblasph—)

Your fingers go to the button of his jeans and his cock strains relentlessly upward, trapped and furious, pressing into your knuckles.

“Pearl, no, no, I’m—” The words tumble out, broken, useless. “I’ll c‑contaminate you, I’ll—I’m filthy, I—”

“You’re hard,” you say mildly, like discussing the weather. “For me.”

Heat explodes in his chest.

Shame so bright it’s almost light. Want so dark it feels like deep water.

A raw, small sound escapes him.

“You’re so cute,” you murmur, amusement limning your words. “As if I don’t know exactly what I’m touching.”

You pop the button, and his breath just—stops.

The slide of metal through a frayed hole, the tiny jump as the waistband lets go of its grip on his stomach—it’s nothing and it’s the end of the world.

Then, you hook your fingers into the zipper.

“W‑wait,” he gasps, one last weak protest. “Please, I—I’ll get you dirty, I’ll ruin—”

You pull the zipper down.

The sound is small, but in his eyes, it may as well be a thunderclap. Tiny teeth opening one by one to make space for his sin.

His cock surges against the fresher space, pressing now only against the damp cotton of his underwear, wet patch already spreading more obviously.

You pause, looking.

Taking stock.

His lungs burn.

“Look at that,” you breathe, something like satisfaction coloring your tone. “You really are starving, aren’t you?”

*(starving starving starving)

He wants to fold in on himself.

He wants to open up further.

His body is a contradiction he can’t solve.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, the words shaking. “I’m so sorry, I can’t—I don’t—it’s wrong, you’re—you’re—”

Your finger trails down his clothed length and he sucks in a breath so sharp his chest hurts. His thighs tremble.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is softer now, but there’s steel threaded through it. “Do you really think I’d kneel here for anyone else?”

He doesn’t know what to do with that sentence.

Of course not. Of course yes. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t deserve yes; he doesn’t believe no. His thoughts tangle, knot, drag him under.

His heart pounds against the ribbon under his hand.

(one-two-three-four-five-six-seven)

(you on your knees you in his room you with his name in your mouth)

You tug his jeans down.

The denim clings for a moment to the curve of his ass, then surrenders. Cool air floods over the tops of his thighs, raising goosebumps.

You work the fabric down to mid-thigh, efficient, not making a show of it, which somehow makes it worse.

As if this is routine. As if his bare legs in front of you are a thing that can exist in the same world as your rehearsals and your mirrored walls.

His underwear stays.

For now.

Plain white cotton, unremarkable, now with a clear, damp patch over the head of his cock where he’s been slowly leaking. The outline is thick and straining, the ridge of the head pressed upward.

You inhale.

He hears it.

A tiny, sharp intake, like the first mouthful of something sweeter than you expected.

Your tongue wets your lower lip.

“Pretty,” you say quietly. That one word is worse than any filthy thing you could have called him. “Can I see you, Moss?”

His lungs seize.

No one has ever asked to see him. No one has asked for anything from him that wasn’t work or quiet or disappearance.

You say it like he has something to give.

“I—I’m not—it’s not—I don’t know how, I’ve never—”

You smile, small, pleased, a little cruel.

“I know,” you murmur. “That’s why I’m here.”

Your fingers find the waistband of his underwear.

He feels the elastic stretch over the curve of his hip, your knuckles indenting the skin. Every nerve below his waist lights up, buzzing. His cock jumps under your touch, trapped and eager and terrified.

“You can say stop,” you add, almost absently. “If you really mean it.”

He opens his mouth.

Stop would be mercy. Stop would be sanity. Stop would be going back to watching you through glass, to bleeding his hands into the sink while he whispers apologies to a reflection that never answers back.

Stop would be throwing away the music box. Stop would be sleeping without your sugar in his pillow, without your taste on his thumb, without your voice in his bones.

No sound comes out.

You wait one heartbeat. Two.

Then you pull.

The elastic drags over the slick, swollen head of his cock and his whole body jolts.

The friction is barely anything—simply cotton skimming oversensitive skin—but it rips a full‑body shudder out of him. His hips buck up on reflex, chasing more contact he definitely shouldn’t want. A thin, high sound leaves his throat without his consent.

His underwear clears the head, his shaft, and snaps down to join the bunched denim at mid‑thigh.

He’s bare.

His cock springs free into the cool apartment air, heavy and flushed—soft golden‑tan skin now gone deep, almost coral, blood thick under the surface. Pre‑cum beads at the tip, then spills, a small glistening trail sliding down the underside.

For a beat he can’t even look.

He knows what you’re seeing. Knows the way the veins stand out, faint raised lines under the stretched skin; the blunt head, glossy and too-obvious; the pale thatch of ashy‑blonde hair at the base that has always felt wrong on him, wrong on his face, wrong everywhere.

(too visible, too memorable, he stands out, people look)

He hears you exhale, and the sound punches right into his gut.

“Taehyung,” you say, and this time his name sounds like you’re pondering.

He’s going to be sick. He’s going to come. He’s going to dissolve into salt. All three stack on top of one another.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, voice breaking clean in the middle. “I’m so sorry, I—I didn’t mean to, it just—it’s because you’re—you’re so—”

“Sshhh.”

Your hand closes around the base of his cock.

Bare skin. No glove. No cloth. Your palm hot and solid, your fingers circling him, thumb pressing softly into the side where one of the veins runs.

His world splits.

White roars behind his eyes.

A raw, animal sound claws up his throat—a half‑sob, half‑moan that he doesn’t have time to strangle.

His left hand—the one strangling the ribbon against his chest—tightens until his knuckles blanch.

Your fingers flex once. A hum, low and pleased.

“Don’t be sorry, Moss,” you say, almost chiding.

Your thumb slides up, slow, smearing the wet at the tip around the underside of his crown in a lazy circle.

“Be thankful.”

He can’t.

He is.

Both truths crash into each other.

His eyes drag down, helplessly, to where your hand meets his body. To the sight of his cock—his private, shameful, never‑to‑be‑seen cock—thick and flushed and shining in your grip. Your fingers look majestic around him, tendons shifting under your skin as you test a fraction tighter.

A broken sound leaks out between his teeth.

Salt hits his tongue.

He’s bitten the inside of his cheek this time, hard enough to taste iron, a small, bitter communion.

(he is defiling you he is making you touch this)

(he is dragging you down to his level he is a stain a stain a stain)

(he is being offered up to the sea goddess and he is saying yes)

You look up at him through your lashes, hand still loose at his base.

“I told you,” you murmur, reminding him, “I was hungry.”

Then you lean in.

His whole body goes rigid, like someone pulled a wire tight inside him.

Your mouth is suddenly close enough that he can feel the warmth of your breath against the slick, swollen head. It ghosts over him, humid, making his cock twitch helplessly in your fist.

“N‑no—you can’t—” The protest staggers out of him on pure reflex, emptied of any real stop behind it.

You don’t bother answering with words.

You just open your mouth.

The first thing he feels is your tongue.

It drags from the base of his cock up to the tip in one, impossibly slow stroke. Hot. Wet. Torturous. You flatten it as you go, pressing into every ridge, every vein, every neglected inch.

His vision blanks.

“Ah—” The sound wrenches free of him, high, destroyed.

His hips jolt forward, chasing the sensation; his shoulders slam back, then slip, the cheap mattress dragging under his spine.

For a second he tries to hold himself upright, abs clenching, neck straining.

Then his body just… gives.

He tips.

His torso slides down and back with a helpless, graceless drop, shoulder blades collapsing flat onto the thin mattress. The world tilts; the flickering ceiling takes the place of his field of vision.

His knees stay bent, thighs spread around you where you’re knelt between them, but his back molds into the sagging bed, ribs lifting and falling too fast.

Instinct slams something else into place.

Both arms fly up.

In the next breath he’s got both forearms crossed over his face, one stacked over the other, shielding his eyes, his mouth, his cheeks.

He hides.

Like a man warding off sunlight. Like a sinner ducking under the altar.

Only his jaw is visible from beneath the crooked line of bone and tendon, the long column of his throat exposed, bobbing with every ragged swallow.

(too much too much too bright)

(don’t look at him don’t see this don’t see him like this)

(he is unclean and you have your mouth on him he should be on his knees apologizing not like this not like this)

Your tongue reaches the underside of his head and you give a tiny, focused flick right where the skin is thinnest, just under the crown.

His thighs spasm.

They shake violently under your hands, muscles seizing and trembling, half trying to close around you, half trying to get closer. His feet flex on his shoes, toes digging into his socks.

“P‑Pearl—” he gasps from behind the barricade of his arms, voice muffled, breath hot and damp against his own skin. “Please, I—it’s filthy, I’m filthy, I’ll—”

You catch the bead of pre‑cum gathered at the slit, circling it with your tongue once, then lapping it into your mouth. You hum around the taste, low, satisfied.

The vibration shivers up the shaft.

His moan comes out strangled, smothered by his own flesh. His forearms press harder over his face, fingers clenching in nothing, as if he can crush the sound back.

His body is feverish.

Skin too hot, sweat starting to slick the hollows at his collarbones, dampen the ashy-blonde curls plastered to his temples. His chest rises in harsh, shallow pulls that rock his shoulders against the thin mattress.

(he is burning up you are burning him clean or burning him alive both are valid)

(he should move you off him stop this stop stop stop)

(he won’t he can’t he can’t can’t can’t feels good good good so good)

(disgusting disgusting disgusting monster monster monster)

“Taehyung,” you murmur against his wet skin, lips brushing the swollen head, heat licking at him with every word. “You’re shaking.”

He is. Everywhere.

His legs. His hands. His breath.

“I—I’m s‑sorry,” he stammers into the darkness under his arms, words tripping over each other. “I c‑can’t—it’s—I don’t—”

You seal your mouth around the head of his cock.

Everything goes.

Heat, wet, pressure. Your lips soft but firm, your tongue flattening again under the crown as you hollow your cheeks and suck.

“Ah—ahh—” His sounds spill into the crook of his elbows, broken and trapped.

His hips twitch but you’re already braced, one hand wrapped snug around the base of his shaft, the other planted on his thigh to steady him.

Your hands, now that he’s fallen back, have more room. You can really hold him in place, feel the wild surge of his muscles under your palm as he fights his own instinct to wiggle.

You slide down a little more.

The wet heat of your mouth creeps along his length inch by impossible inch. Past the head. Past the ridge. Your lips stretch, your jaw hinges wider, and all of him—what parts of his brain haven’t melted—register you swallowing more of him like you’re taking inventory.

His cock trembles inside you, magnified by the tight heat.

Somewhere behind his forearms, his eyes roll back. He sees nothing but a smear of grey and white, the shapes of his own bones. Feels only the wet pull of your mouth, the rough rasp of fabric under his shoulder blades, the mattress whining beneath his weight.

The thin line of thought he has left snaps to numbers.

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven.

Again.

One-two-three-four-fi—

Your nose brushes the soft, sparse ashy‑blonde hair at his pelvis. Your throat works around the tip of him as you take him as deeply as you can.

The count explodes into static.

His cock feels like it’s lodged in holy fire.

Your throat spasms once, twice, adjusting. He feels it as small, squeezing waves around the head, like your body is learning him.

His wrists twist faintly, fingers curling around his biceps, gripping tight as the sensation consumes him.

You pull back with a wet, obscene slrk.

The slick, tacky sound seems to fill the tiny room.

His whole body jolts on the mattress.

“Hnnh—n‑no, I’ll—I’ll desecrate—” The sentence dissolves into another moan as you sink back down, lips stretching around him, tongue pressing, throat swallowing.

You set a rhythm. Up, down, in, out. Each downward slide a new circle of hell, each upward glide a reprieve that isn’t one because it just means he has something to miss.

He feels his shaft dragging against your lips, feels how your cheeks hollow around him, the faint scrape of your teeth when you’re greedy for every millimetre.

“Pearl, I—” His voice is shredded. “I c‑can’t, I can’t—s‑stop, please, I’m—ahhh—”

You hum, long and low.

The vibration wraps him in buzzing heat, trapped against your tongue and palate, echoing up the length of him.

His forearms still cage his face, but his elbows have slipped wider, opening a thin triangle where his flushed cheeks show and he can glimpse at you.

Your palm on his thigh tightens when his muscles try to slam his knees together, tamping down his panicked flinch.

“Shhh,” you breathe, lips moving against his wet skin as you slide halfway off and then down again, taking him deeper. “You’re fine. Let me have you.”

“Y‑you’ll choke, I’ll—I’ll pollute—”

“That’s the point,” you say lightly, like a correction, breath ghosting over the slick head as you speak. “Let me swallow your filth. Maybe it’ll make you clean.”

He hiccups, an actual sharp, pathetic catch of breath into the warm cave of his own arms.

A tear breaks free from the corner of his right eye and disappears into his hairline. Then another. He blinks but they keep building.

“Pearl, please,” he sobs, the word catching on his own spit. “I’m so—I’m going to—I c‑can’t hold—”

“Then don’t, yeah?”

You sink down on him, deeper than before.

Your lips meet the edge of your fist at his base this time. He feels the wet heat of your mouth swallow as much of him as it can, feels your throat clutch around the tip of his cock, struggling and then finding a way.

You stay there, breathe around him for a few seconds and swallow again, tiny rhythmic squeezes that drag a strangled, high noise out of him.

His toes curl so hard the bones trapped in his shoes hurt. His stomach tightens; every line in his torso pulls taut.

“O-oh—g-god—ngh—”

The pressure in his spine coalesces into something hot and white at the base.

Static skitters over the underside of his skin. His ears ring. He’s beyond choosing now; his body has picked for him.

“Please—I’m—I’m going to—Pearl, I’m—” His voice breaks open. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

You draw back just enough to get your lips around the head and suck.

Hard.

While the rest of your fist does the motion for your mouth.

“Ngh—!”

The knot in his lower back snaps. Everything inside him rushes forward so fast he can’t even breathe through it. He cries out—loud, wrecked, the sound torn straight out of his chest despite the barrier of his arms as his cock starts to spurt.

Heat.

Thick, forceful heat.

He feels the first pulse slam up his shaft and into your mouth—one bright, blinding spasm that makes his whole body jerk against the mattress. His abdomen crunches, his thighs lock, his heels drag a few centimetres.

You moan around him.

You swallow.

Your throat works in greedy, milking his release. He feels each convulsion of your muscles around the flushed head, the way they close and drag as you force every shot down.

“Mmph—!”

He sobs.

Ugly, open sobs now, his chest heaving off the bed with every one. Tears spill from the corner of both eyes, running sideways toward his temples, dampening the curls clinging there. His forearms clamp tighter over his face like he can hide from the noise coming out of him.

“Aaah—I’m—ngh—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—ah—I didn’t mean—”

You don’t stop until you’ve wrung it all out.

Only then do you let your lips slide off him, slow, leaving his shaft with a last, wet pop. His cock drools the final thin strings of cum onto your tongue; you catch them, licking the slit clean with a quick swipe.

Your hand, still wrapped around his base, moves in slow squeezing strokes, coaxing out the last weak spurts. Each tiny afterpulse snatches another soft groan out of him, his body twitching against the mattress.

He feels skinned.

Every inch of him is too much. Too bare. Too seen, despite the makeshift blindfold of his own limbs.

You sit back on your heels slightly, rearranging your balance, and tilt your head as you swallow one more time. A little line of white that had clung to the corner of your lip vanishes with the motion of your tongue.

“Sorry for what?” you ask, voice roughened, almost hoarse.

His forearms finally loosen a fraction, sliding up just enough to expose his face. He drags in a breath like he’s been underwater. His eyes stay hidden.

He whimpers, breath hitching.

He doesn’t have an answer.

Sorry for existing like this in front of you.

Sorry for making your holy mouth do something so disgusting.

Sorry for liking the way your throat moved when you drank him.

His ears are full of his own pulse. His ribs ache.

And then awareness slams in.

Your hand is still on him.

His cock, instead of melting down into nothing, is still thick in your fist. Still flushed a deep salmon‑coral, veins standing out. The head glossy and overstimulated but… not going down the way it should. It twitches weakly against your palm.

“Oh?” you murmur, lashes low. “It’s all flushed peachy still.”

Your thumb brushes over the angry coral head, right across the slit.

His entire body seizes.

A broken, high keening tears out of him, too raw to be a word. His stomach muscles jump like he’s been shocked.

“You want more, don’t you?” you say.

A simple reading of the way his cock jerks in your fist, a fresh string of clear slick spilling and painting your knuckles.

His mind whirls.

(no no no too much too filthy too wrong)

(yes yes yes please please take it take all of it make it worth something)

You don’t give him time to finish the thought, much less structure the guilt.

Your fingers tighten.

Your wrist starts moving again.

Not gentle this time.

Firm, sure strokes from the soaked base to just under the swollen crown. Your grip slides easy on the sheen of spit and cum, each upward glide twisting just a little, knuckles dragging along the sensitive underside.

The wet, obscene sound returns instantly—the slap of your palm against his groin at the end of each downstroke.

His whole body convulses like you just plugged him into the mains.

“Ah—! N‑no, no, wait, I can’t—I can’t—it’s too—t‑too much—” His voice cracks, a sharp, desperate edge. “It hurts, it—it’s—ngh—oh—it’s—”

His cock screams messages at his brain. Overload and want stacked on top of each other until he can’t tell them apart.

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask lightly.

Your hand does not slow even a fraction.

He tries to say yes.

His lips part. His tongue readies the consonant.

A moan falls out instead, long and wrecked, echoing against the inside of his own arms.

Fresh tears gather in his unseen eyes, spill down to the tender skin of his temples. His fingers curl on his forearms, nails biting shallow crescents into his own flesh.

You grin.

Of course you do.

“You’re—ahh—I’m—g-gonna—b‑break—,” he gasps, but the plea is thin, breathless. “Please, I can’t—I’m—I’m going to—”

“Mhm.” You hum, pleased. “Good.”

You clutch him like you intend to wring him dry. Like he’s a tube of something sugary you’re not willing to waste a drop of.

Heat builds again fast—too fast, terrifying. There’s no slow climb this time, just a steep, sick lurch back up the curve.

He never really came down.

A low, helpless moan oozes out of him, long, shaped around your name without him meaning to. His arms, which had been a rigid shield, start to shake; they slip, forearms sliding up enough that his eyes flash into view for a second—glassy, blown, then disappear again as he drags them back down.

“Aah—ah! P-pearl w-wait—hgmh—I’m—I’m going to, I can’t already, I—”

You see it happen in his body.

The way his belly clamps up again, tight and hard. The way his cock swells another fraction in your grasp, heavy and urgent. The way his mouth opens around a sound and nothing comes out at first.

Maybe you didn’t expect how quickly it would hit him again, but the knowledge seems to delight you.

The second orgasm slams into him like someone closing a door on his spine.

His hips snap up, driving his cock through the tight circle of your fingers. The first spurt shoots out with wild force, hot and thick, a pale streak painting your cheekbone and splattering your lashes before you can blink.

He sobs out a broken sigh.

“Woah—“ You laugh once under your breath, surprised and absolutely not displeased.

You keep jerking him.

The second burst follows, less distance but just as messy, smearing over your knuckles, dripping down between your fingers. A third pulse, weaker, paints the back of your hand, starts a slow descent towards your wrist.

“Haah—aah-haah—ahh,” he barely manages to breathe.

His cock jumps in your hold, jerking with each milking squeeze of your fist. His forearms finally slacken, dropping away from his face to land heavy on the mattress beside his head, palms open, fingers trembling.

You exhale through your nose, amused, and finally begin to ease your speed, your grip softening as his release peters out into small, sticky afterdrips.

Your strokes turn into slow, lazy pumps, from base to midshaft, coaxing out the last milky strings until all that’s left is a pearled drop at the tip that slides down over the swollen head.

His whole body shakes.

Little aftershocks twitch through his thighs, his calves, his stomach. His toes curl, flatten, curl again. His chest heaves, dragging air in past the taste of salt and iron and whatever else this is.

His feverish eyes crack open just enough to see.

You lift your hand away from his cock, hold it up in front of your face.

His cum gleams over your skin, thick and white, stretched in viscous lines between two fingers where you subconsciously spread them, then drooping in fat strings. One thicker rope clings to the heel of your palm and slowly creeps toward your wrist.

You meet his gaze.

And, without looking away, you raise your slick fingers to your mouth.

Your tongue comes out first, soft and pink against the pearly stain on your index finger. You drag the drop into your mouth, lips closing around the digit.

You suck.

Gentle at first, then a little deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you clean the length.

His cock twitches weakly against his lower belly.

Another shudder rips through him.

“Oh.” It’s not a word, just noise threaded with disbelief and fresh, painful want even through the ache.

You slide your finger out with a faint pop, then turn your attention to the mess on the rest of your hand.

Knuckles, the web between fingers, the curve of your palm—you lick them all. Slow. Thorough. Gathering every smear, every line, chasing one streak near the base of your thumb with a little spiral of your tongue until your skin shines again.

You’re not being coy. You’re not doing it for show.

You’re tasting him like you meant what you said.

Hungry.

He watches, wrecked, ribbon is still clenched in his left hand, crushed between his fingers. His right arm lies outstretched, palm open, fingers twitching.

His cock—angry, overstimulated—rests against the bare plane of his lower belly now, thick and flushed, still glistening with spit and a thin sheen of remaining cum. It twitches once, a small, helpless jump as you lap the last bit from the curve of your index finger.

He doesn’t know whether to apologize again or slide off the bed and put his forehead to the floor in front of you and say ’thank you’ or ‘sorry’ until his voice gives out.

All that squeaks past his raw throat is a hoarse, broken whine.

“See?” you say lightly, voice dipped low. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

He can’t answer.

He’s a shaking, hiccuping ruin—two orgasms in quick succession, cock still too hard for comfort, cheeks wet, throat scraped raw from crying and gasping. His body feels too big for the room, too big for his skin.

You smile.

And, because wreckage isn’t enough for either of you, you lean back in, tongue catching a stray, cooling streak from along the curve of his length and licking him clean.

Like he’s sugar spilled on your palm.

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© jungkoode 2025 | dividers by dailynnt

His tongue flicks her clit. His finger traces a slow circle around her entrance.

She sobs.

Not crying—not exactly—just this wrenched, involuntary sound that comes from somewhere behind her sternum, her body trying to process two points of contact at once and failing spectacularly.

“Nnh—V—please—”

He hums against her, finger circling, tracing the rim of her entrance through the lace in that slow, maddening orbit, and his tongue keeps working, and—

He pulls his mouth away.

The sound she makes is humiliating.

A thin, high, desperate thing that she would absolutely deny making later under any circumstance.

The cold air rushes against her clit where his mouth had been—wet, exposed, throbbing—and she jerks.

V lifts his head from between her thighs, lower lip glistening. Looks at her face. Then at his fingers, still resting against her entrance.

“Bunny,” he says, conversational. “You’re drenched.”

She wants to disintegrate.

His finger presses—just slightly—against the lace over her entrance, and the fabric gives. Sinks inward.

The wet cotton molds into her opening around his fingertip without actually letting him inside, and the tease of it—almost-in, not-quite-in, the stretch that isn’t a stretch—makes her thighs spasm.

“Bet I could fuck you through the lace,” he muses.

His tone. God, his tone.

Like he’s considering a logistics problem. Like this is an engineering question and not his finger pressing wet pink lace into her pussy while she shakes apart on a forest floor holding a knife above her own head.

He pushes slightly harder. The fabric dips deeper, his fingertip dragging the fabric into her entrance.

“Ah—” Her voice breaks. “That’s—you can’t just—”

He can. Apparently. He does.

He looked momentarily caught off guard, eyes flicking over you in that split second of silence that stretched a little too long—your unfinished makeup, the casual clothes, the way you’d clearly been mid-routine. Then that familiar, slow smile tugged at his lips, amused and unreadable all at once.

“Oh—hey,” you said, suddenly very aware of everything you hadn’t finished.

“Hey,” he said. “Jimin home?”

“Yeah,” you replied, stepping aside. “He’s upstairs. He’ll be down in a second.”

You turned to close the door, catching the brief flick of his eyes before he looked away again. It wasn’t obvious, barely a beat too long, but you felt it. The chill from outside lingered in the entryway and the thin fabric of your tank top was doing you no favors. You glanced down just long enough to realize your nipples were clearly outlined, unmistakable once you noticed. Heat crept up your neck before you could stop it. You crossed your arms loosely, more habit than embarrassment, and led him inside. 

“Sorry,” you added with a small laugh. “I’m kind of mid–getting ready.”

Taehyung glanced around the entryway like he was taking inventory of a place he already knew by heart. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said easily. “I’m the one who keeps barging into your guys’ place. Might as well start paying rent.”

You snorted. “You’d owe us millions at this point.” 

“Well Jimin hasn’t kicked me out yet, so I’m calling it a win,” he admitted without shame, kicking his shoes off.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs a moment later, cutting off the awkward silence before it could form. 

“Hyung!” Jimin called. “You’re early.”

Taehyung grinned. “Finished up work earlier than I expected, so I thought I’d swing by.” He stretched his arms above his head, letting out a satisfied breath.

“Well, you know what time it is then,” Jimin said, dropping onto the couch with a devious smirk, controller in hand. Taehyung followed, settling in beside him, his eyes flicking toward Jimin with a grin of his own.

You started back up the stairs, shaking your head at the boys and their ridiculous antics.

You’d known Taehyung for as long as you could remember. You all grew up together—same neighborhood, same schools, the kind of closeness that came from constant overlap. He was always around when you were younger, stretched out on the living room floor with your brother, stealing snacks, teasing both of you endlessly.

You’d had a crush on him once.

A small one.

He was older, cooler in that effortless way, and completely unreachable back then. Somewhere along the line, it faded, replaced by familiarity. But you had to admit that the butterflies did resurface at times. He was attractive, and no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you couldn’t deny it.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you paused for half a second before the doorbell rang again, and you hurried to answer it. Rei was standing there, grinning, bag slung over her shoulder.

“Y/N!” she exclaimed, practically running inside. She threw her arms around you in a quick, enthusiastic hug. You laughed, taking her bag as the two of you scurried further inside. 

You both passed the living room where the guys were gaming, yelling, shoving each other playfully, and leaning way too close to the screens like the stakes were life or death. There'd be controllers slammed, voices cracked with laughter and fake anger, and every so often someone would leap up to argue a point, sending cushions flying.

Upstairs, your room felt like a retreat. Rei flopped onto your bed and propped herself up on her elbows, looking at you with a mischievous grin.

“So,” she said, her voice dropping playfully, “your brother and his best friend? Honestly… I think they’re so attractive.”

You nearly choked on your snack. “Ew. My brother?”

“Yes!” Rei exclaimed. “And his friend too! I mean… wow. You’re lucky you get to see them all the time.”

You hesitated, cheeks warming. “…I mean… he’s pretty attractive,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But he’s definitely my brother’s best friend and it’s probably best that it stayed that way.” 

“See! You do find him attractive!” Rei’s grin widened. “You should totally shoot your shot.”

“No way. Absolutely not.” You slapped her arm, laughing. 

She laughed too, leaning back against the pillows. “I’m just saying… if I were you, I’d take advantage of the situation.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” You shook your head, reaching for snacks as you turned on the movie you two planned to watch. 

The rest of the night passed easily. Rei kicked off her shoes and immediately made herself comfortable, grabbing the popcorn and commenting on the movie like she was hosting her own commentary track. You half-watched, half-laughed, pausing now and then when she got too loud or insisted on rewinding a scene she missed while talking.

Somewhere along the way, the snacks disappeared, the movie turned into background noise, and the conversation drifted. Topics ranged from random updates, to inside jokes, to things that absolutely didn’t matter. You sprawled on opposite ends of the bed, scrolling on your phones at the same time while still talking, the way only close friends could.

Eventually, Rei groaned upon receiving a message from her mother. “Ugh, I should get going. If I stay any longer, my mom’s going to kill me.” 

“Already?” you asked, surprised at how late it felt.

“Yep. I’ll survive… barely,” she said, standing. You walked her to the door and gave her a quick hug before she'd finally left.

Once she was gone, the house felt quieter than before, the darkness of the night seeping in through the windows. You headed back upstairs before slipping into your usual evening routine without much thought. Pajamas laid out on the bed. Phone tossed aside. You just wanted something warm to wash the day off before curling up and doing absolutely nothing.

You padded down the hall toward the bathroom, already half on autopilot, when you noticed the soft glow seeping from beneath the door.

Occupied.

You sighed quietly. Of course.

Jimin had a habit of treating showers like spa retreats—long, unnecessary, and borderline criminal. You leaned down just enough to confirm the light was on, then straightened with a shake of your head.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath.

Rather than deal with it immediately, you wandered back to your room and flopped onto your bed, grabbing your phone. A few minutes turned into more than a few. Scrolling aimlessly. Letting time pass. Waiting for the sound of the water to shut off.

It didn’t.

By the time you checked the clock again, irritation had crept in. He’d been in there forever.

You groaned, pushing yourself up from the bed and heading back down the hallway, but this time with determination. As you reached the bathroom door, you knocked, firm but familiar.

“Jimin,” you called through the wood, already bracing yourself. “Hurry up. You’ve been in there for—”

The door swung open mid-sentence.

And there stood your brother’s best friend, Taehyung, yet again. 

You froze.

Your brain stalled, scrambling to catch up to what your eyes were suddenly processing. He was shirtless, his bare chest still damp, water droplets tracing lazy paths down his skin, dark hair wet and pushed back messily from his forehead. A towel hung low around his waist, secured just enough to be decent… barely.

And very much not Jimin.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it.

“Oh—” you blurted, instinctively stepping back, heat rushing straight to your face. “I— I thought you left.”

Taehyung blinked, clearly just as surprised to see you standing there, then glanced down at himself like he was only now realizing the situation.

“No, it’s—” he started, then stopped himself, clearing his throat. “I’m done. It’s all yours.”

You nodded too fast, heart hammering as you slipped past him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you a little harder than necessary.

Only once you were alone did you let out the breath you’d been holding.

Great.

Just great.

And now you had to shower with the image of Taehyung. Unexpected, shirtless, and very much not gone, but perhaps burned into your mind. You let the water run hot, hoping it would wash the thoughts away along with the day, steam fogging up the mirror as you tried to reset your head.

By the time you stepped out of the shower and changed into something soft and oversized, you'd finally gotten around to plopping into bed for some of your usual doom-scrolling. This often went on for longer than you'd like to admit, but hours in bed also meant hours without food.

That was when it hit you.

Not loud hunger, just a slow, creeping craving. The kind that settled in your stomach and refused to be ignored. You sighed softly, already knowing you wouldn’t fall asleep like this. 

You slipped out of your room quietly, phone in hand, flashlight on low as you tiptoed downstairs. The house was dark, quiet enough that every step felt louder than it actually was.

You kept the lights off, opening cabinets carefully until you found what you wanted, cereal, and saw it shoved all the way on the top shelf like it always was.

Of course.

You rose onto your tiptoes, stretching your arm, fingers grazing the edge of the box but not quite catching it. You tried again, leaning forward, balance tipping just slightly as you reached higher.

Then—

A presence.

A shadow moved close behind you.

Before you could react, an arm reached past you and effortlessly grabbed the box from the shelf.

You screamed.

Or yelped. Or something in between, but your feet slipped as you jumped back in pure panic.

Strong hands caught you instantly, steadying you before you could fall.

“Hey—hey—!”

Your heart was hammering as you looked up to see Taehyung again. Was he just following you at this point? 

Shirtless, again. Hair dry, slightly messy like he’d just rolled out of bed. Bare skin, warm and solid where his hands still held your arms.

Your eyes flicked, unwanted but automatically, to his forearms, veins faintly visible beneath your fingers where you were gripping him without realizing it.

“Oh my god,” you blurted. “I thought you were— I thought no one was—”

“Sorry,” he said quickly, easing back once you were steady. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing down here?” you asked, still trying to get your pulse under control.

'Water." He lifted the glass in his hand slightly. " I could ask you the same, though.”

“Snack,” you said, shaking the box once. “Obviously.”

“Fair,” he said. “Didn’t expect to end up being a horror movie villain in the kitchen.”

You huffed. “You succeeded.”

He laughed quietly, leaning back against the counter. 

“Well,” he said, nodding toward the cereal, “at least the mission was successful.”

You hugged the box to your chest. “Next time, announce yourself.”

“I’ll try,” he said, amused.

He shifted the glass in his hand, pushing off the counter. “Uh… sorry. For earlier too. With the bathroom.”

Your face warmed immediately.

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “If anything, I’m sorry. I thought you were my brother—I wouldn’t have rushed you like that otherwise.”

That earned a small laugh from him. “Guess I should take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t,” you said, but you were smiling.

He lifted his glass in a lazy little salute. “I’ll let you enjoy your very dramatic late-night snack.”

“Try not to haunt the kitchen again,” you shot back.

“No promises,” he said lightly, turning toward the stairs. “Night.”

“Night.”

You waited until his footsteps faded before letting out the breath you’d been holding, clutching the cereal like it was evidence of a crime.

After your midnight snack escapade, you'd finally made it back to your room. You dropped back onto your bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as you cracked open the cereal box and ate straight from it, handful after handful. You were halfway through chewing when your phone buzzed against the sheets beside you with a message from Rei, the sudden vibration pulling your attention away.

“Camping tomorrow!”

“Since when??” your eyes widened as you typed back.

“Since you told me you were free this weekend.” You rolled your eyes at the thought but and immediately dialed Rei's number.

“Hey! You saw my message?” she asked, laughing.

“Yeah… so, camping tomorrow?” you questioned, still doubtful about the whole thing.

“Yep! Everyone’s coming. It'll be so much fun!” Rei's energy made it hard for you to not want to go. So you ultimately gave in, despite the last minute nature of the plans.

After exchanging the specific details of the trip over the phone, two call between the two of you had finally come to an end. You noticed you’d been added to a group chat minutes after your conversation with Rei, titled, Camping Trip Squad. 

You opened it, scanning through the names as they loaded in. Friends you’d known for years, your brother, and a few familiar faces from his side too. Somewhere along the way, your circles had blended together, so seeing everyone in one place didn’t feel strange.

Yoongi, Seol, Hoseok, Namjoon, Yoona, Seokjin, Yuri, Rei, Jimin...

and...

Your thumb slowed when you spotted Taehyung’s name.

You paused for half a second, then kept scrolling. He was friends with Jimin, of course he’d be there. Simple as that.

You smiled to yourself, nervous and excited, and finally locked your phone and set it down. Not long after, you drifted off to sleep.

Tomorrow was going to be… something.

By mid-morning, you’d packed everything you thought you’d need: clothes, toiletries, a hoodie, snacks. You pulled your bag over your shoulder, hurrying outside to meet the others. Outside, two cars were already parked in the driveway, everyone bustling around loading luggage, folding sleeping bags, and juggling coolers. The air was full of chatter and the faint scent of coffee drifting from a thermos someone had brought.

You made your way over to the car you’d be in. Jimin was already in the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and humming along to a song playing on the radio. Taehyung lounged in the front passenger seat, sunglasses pushed up on his head, casually scrolling on his phone.

Sliding into the back, you found yourself wedged between Rei and Seol, one of Jimin's close friends.

Jimin glanced at the three of you through the rearview mirror. “Everyone good back there?”

You shifted in your seat, adjusting your bag on your lap. “A little cramped,” you admitted, but tried to reassure him. “But not too bad.”

Taehyung turned around, raising an eyebrow to you. “If you want, you can switch seats with me,” he offered casually.

Before you could answer, Seol piped up, eyes bright. “I’ll take it!” she said, shooting a playful look toward Jimin, who grinned. You let her have it—Seol and Jimin sort of had a thing going on and it wasn’t really worth arguing. 

So there you were, in the middle seat between Rei and now, Taehyung. The space was tight, but fine. You tried to settle in, adjusting your bag on your lap to create more space.

The car pulled onto the road, and soon the chatter from the front quieted into music playing softly from the car radio.

Exhaustion hit you halfway through the drive. You shifted slightly to get more comfortable, and before you realized it, your head had drifted sideways onto Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Ah—sorry,” you whispered, snapping upright, cheeks heating.

He gave a small, warm smile and gently patted his shoulder. “I don’t mind,” he said softly, his voice low, carrying just the faintest teasing note, enough to make you flustered but not embarrassed.

You tried to sit normally, but after a minute, your head slowly drifted back against him again. Each time it happened, you flinched upright, heart racing. Each time, he just offered the same soft smile and light pat, like a silent, comforting nudge that you could relax.

Finally, you let yourself take him up on his unspoken offer. You leaned lightly against him, and he rested his head against the window, eyes half-closed. The two of you drifted into a quiet rhythm, dozing side by side.

The hum of the road and the occasional conversation from the front seat faded around you. By the time the trees thickened and the smell of pine filled the air, the ride had settled into a calm ride with a gentle warmth lingering between the two of you.

After a few hours of driving, the car finally rolled up to the campsite, and the first thing that hit you was the scent of pine and damp earth, mixed with the faint smoke of distant campfires. Sunlight streamed through the trees, dappling the ground with golden patches. The air was crisp, with a slight chill hinting at the evening to come.

Everyone spilled out of the cars, stretching limbs, hauling bags, and joking loudly. The space was bigger than you’d expected. It was an open clearing surrounded by tall pines, with a small creek gurgling nearby.

You grabbed your bag and followed the group toward the designated camping area. You spotted Taehyung and Jimin unloading supplies together, moving with that easy coordination that only longtime friends seemed to have.

“Looks like a lot of tents are going up,” Rei murmured beside you, scanning the clearing.

“Yeah,” you said, taking a deep breath. “It’s actually quite perfect.” 

While everyone started setting up, you found yourself helping lay out sleeping bags and stakes. Taehyung was nearby, hammering tent poles into the ground, and every so often your hands brushed against his as you handed him something. You tried to pretend it didn’t make your chest flutter.

Finally, the tent assignments were sorted. You and Rei were sharing one, Seol and a couple others had theirs, and the rest of the group fanned out among the remaining spaces. 

As you rolled out your sleeping bag inside your tent, the soft rustle of canvas around you and the faint laughter from the others outside made everything feel cozy. 

A few moments later, you emerged to help secure the last stakes, and Taehyung caught your eye as he finished hammering one. “Need a hand?” he asked casually, offering a small smile.

“Thanks,” you replied, brushing your hair back. “I’ve got it.”

He leaned against the tent, relaxed, watching you for a beat longer than necessary. You felt that subtle heat again, the same one from the car ride, but kept yourself busy, pretending to focus entirely on the task at hand. And not your very hot brother’s best friend who was examining your every move. 

By the time the tents were all up and the group had gathered to admire their handiwork, the sun had started to dip. The air had grown slightly cooler, and you pulled your hoodie tighter. 

Not long after, Yoona suggested a game. Then another voice chimed in, louder, more excited. A race through the spring in teams of two, one person piggy-backing the other. Groans and cheers mixed together as the idea took shape, competitiveness sparking almost instantly.

People paired off quickly, like it had all been silently decided beforehand. Rei was already laughing with Hoseok. Jimin and Jungkook arguing about rules that didn’t exist yet. You lingered near the edge, pretending to fix your sleeve until you realized there was only one person left doing the same.

Taehyung glanced over at you, eyes flicking down briefly before meeting yours again with a soft smile.

“Looks like it’s us.”

You changed into your swimsuit along everyone else, deciding on a floral two piece you'd brought. When you came back out, Taehyung was already there in tropical swim trunks, shirt nowhere to be seen.

“Hop on,” he said easily, ducking lower for you to easily mount yourself on.

You hesitated for half a second before stepping closer. His hands found your thighs as you climbed onto his back, fingers firm, grounding. The contact sent a quiet jolt through you, heat against bare skin, his grip confident like he’d done this before. Your arms looped around his shoulders, closer than you meant to be.

“You good?” he asked, voice lower now, almost amused.

“Yeah,” you replied, trying to sound steady. “Just, don’t drop me.”

He laughed, adjusting his hold slightly, pulling you in. “Lean back too much and we’re both going down,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, but leaned closer anyway, your cheek near his shoulder.

“Try not to show off,” you muttered.

“No promises.”

Namjoon shouted for everyone to get into position. The chatter grew louder, tension building as feet splashed into the shallow spring. Taehyung shifted beneath you, muscles tightening, ready.

And then—

“Go!”

The race exploded into motion.

The race was chaos from the start. You had to sprint through the shallow spring, dodging rocks and roots, all while trying to keep your balance on Taehyung’s back. He grinned, clearly enjoying the challenge as he led you by shouting out specific directions.

You were amazed by his agility and speed, and couldn’t help but take in the view of his broad shoulders your hands were wrapped around.

At some point, a sharp sting flared along your leg, probably from a hidden rock or something, but you ignored it. Nothing could slow you down, not now. 

You could hear Rei and Hoseok laughing as they splashed through the water, Seol and Jimin not far behind, and even Yoongi and Yuri making grunting, exaggerated faces as they struggled to keep pace.

Finally, the finish line, a flat patch of grass by the water’s edge, came into view. Taehyung surged forward with a final push, and you crossed it, panting, laughing, and soaked from head to toe. He slowed to a stop, gently lowering you to the bank.

You stepped off, feeling the sting in your leg more clearly now. Taehyung’s eyes flicked down instantly.

“Hey, wait. Sit down,” he said, crouching in front of you, concern breaking through his easygoing tone. He held your leg gently, inspecting the scrape. “Uh… this is deeper than I thought.”

You winced, realizing it really was more than just a scratch. “It’s fine, trust me,” you murmured, but he wasn’t having it.

“Yeah, fine isn’t what this looks like,” he said, voice soft but firm. “Stay still, okay?”

You let him help you sit on a nearby rock, careful not to lean too much on your injured leg. Before you could say anything else, hurried footsteps splashed through the water.

“What happened?” Jimin asked, already crouching beside you, eyes flicking between your leg and Taehyung. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. “Just scraped it on a rock.” 

Jimin squinted at the wound, then slowly looked at Taehyung. “You had one job.” 

Taehyung lifted his hands in surrender, a guilty smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, I didn’t push her into the river.” 

“Debatable,” Jimin muttered, though the edge of a grin gave him away. “If she ends up limping all weekend, I’m blaming you.”

Rei hovered nearby, frowning. “It looks like it stings.”

“Only a teeny bit,” you admitted, then waved them off. “But really, I’m okay.”

Taehyung focused again, cleaning the scrape with careful fingers, his touch gentler than you expected. “Still,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on your leg. “I’m sorry.”

You met his gaze and shrugged lightly, a small smile forming despite yourself. “Occupational hazard of agreeing to a race like that.”

He stayed crouched in front of you, focused on your leg as he worked, shoulders rolling subtly each time he shifted. Shirtless, still damp from the spring, 

Your gaze dropped without permission, tracing the lines of his stomach, the way his abs tensed when he leaned closer. You stared a second too long. Long enough to feel the heat crawl back up your neck, long enough to forget where you were, who else was around.

He adjusted his grip, thumb steadying your leg, and you became acutely aware of how close he was, how his hands felt grounding and dangerous all at once.

You forced your eyes away, suddenly very interested in literally anything else.

Too late.

He glanced up, catching the way you froze, the way your attention snapped back to your face just a beat too slow. One corner of his mouth tugged upward, amusement flickering through his eyes.

“At least someone’s distracted,” he said lightly, tone playful, almost teasing.

Your heart stuttered.

“Focus,” you shot back, trying for casual and landing somewhere shaky instead.

He chuckled softly and returned his attention to your leg, but the air had shifted. The atmosphere between you started feeling far heavier, every small movement louder than it should’ve been. And even with his eyes down, you had the distinct, unnerving feeling that he was very aware of exactly what he’d just done to you.

And worse — that he liked it.

By the time the bandage was secured, your leg throbbed but the pain was manageable. You stood carefully, testing it. “All good,” you said, more to reassure yourself than anyone else.

“Good,” he said, standing as well, brushing off his hands. “And no more random rock attacks from me, promise.”

You smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Alright, alright,” Jimin called out, stepping between the two of you. “First aid is done. You can stop flirting with my sister now.” Taehyung rolled his eyes at the comment, arms crossed.

You couldn’t help but grin at the exchange, shaking your head. The scrape went forgotten for the moment and the playful energy between everyone made the campsite feel lighter again.

The fire had burned down to a steady glow by the time everyone finally settled into a loose circle, marshmallows skewered on sticks, jackets shrugged on against the night chill. The forest felt quieter now, no whistles, no shouts, just crackling wood and low laughter.

Blankets were spread unevenly in the dirt, some people sitting cross-legged, others stretched out on logs or leaning back on their hands. Someone passed around a small cooler, beer bottles clinking quietly as drinks were handed out, nothing fancy, just enough to warm everyone from the inside. The smell of smoke clung to clothes and hair, mixing with the smell of toasted sugar from half-melted marshmallows.

You noticed Taehyung sat across the fire, one knee pulled up, drink resting loosely in his hand. Seokjin and Yoona were close enough to share a blanket, murmuring to each other. Hoseok sprawled comfortably near the firelight, already grinning like he knew trouble was coming. Jimin dropped down beside you with a dramatic sigh, nudging your knee with his own as he reached for his drink.

It was then that Namjoon, who had somehow become the unofficial leader of your friend group over the years, shifted where he sat and stood up, lifting his bottle to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, everyone! It’s time for some truth or dare.” He tipped the bottle slightly as a chorus of reactions followed. “No truth? You drink. You back out of a dare?” He shrugged. “Also drink. And yes, people are allowed to be evil, but not that evil.”

Hoseok perked up instantly. “So chaos. But, like, safe chaos.”

“Exactly,” Namjoon said, lowering himself back down to place a bottle near the center of everyone. “Alright. Who’s starting?”

With the flick of Namjoon’s hand, the bottle spun, glass catching firelight as it circled, before landing on Yoona. 

“Okay, truth or dare,” He announced, fidgeting with the empty bottle in the dirt. 

She groaned, already smiling. “Dare. I’m not emotionally strong enough for truth right now.”

Light laughter rippled around the circle.

Namjoon leaned back on his hands, eyes glinting. “Okay,” he said thoughtfully, like he was choosing a dessert. “I dare you to kiss someone who you think is the hottest person here.” 

A beat of silence.

Yoona blinked. “That’s evil.”

“Thank you,” Namjoon replied, proud.

Her gaze flicked around the circle once, quick, almost shy, before landing on Seokjin. His brows lifted in surprise just as she scooted closer, closing the distance with a confidence that made a few people whistle.

Her lips met his in a quick, teasing brush at first, soft and deliberate, making Seokjin blink in mild shock. Everyone was leaning forward, eyes wide, whispering and nudging each other, clearly thrilled to witness the bold moment.

You glanced over at Taehyung who was watching it all quietly from across the fire, the glow reflecting in his eyes. He looked relaxed, but his attention drifted, lingering on you longer than necessary before glancing away again.

The game continued innocently enough. Hoseok dared Seol to feed Jimin a marshmallow using only her mouth. Yoongi dared Yuri to sing a cheesy love song in a dramatic voice, prompting giggles and mock groans. Hoseok ended up kissing Rei on a dare, while Namjoon and Yuri shared a quick, teasing peck. Laughter rippled around the circle as the dares grew bolder and more playful, the firelight glinting off flushed cheeks.

When it was your turn, Seol’s eyes sparkled as she leaned forward. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you said cautiously.

“Hmm…” Seol said, grinning. “Have you ever had a crush on anyone here?”

You froze internally, heart hammering. Everyone was watching, a few teasing smirks catching your eye. You hesitated, just a fraction too long.

“Looks like someone’s drinking!” Hoseok piped up, pointing at you. You sighed, taking the shot quickly, cheeks burning, muttering under your breath. You could feel Taehyung’s eyes on you but quickly glanced past him, though you immediately knocked yourself over how suspicious it looked. 

A few more turns passed, each dare playful and flirty. Until the bottle spun again, slower this time, shaking around before finally stopping.

Pointing straight at Taehyung.

The reaction was immediate, low whistles, laughter, someone muttering, “Oh, this should be good.”

Taehyung glanced down at the bottle, then up at Yuri, who was already amused upon the selection of her victim. “Truth or dare.” 

Taehyung didn’t even pretend to think. “Dare.”

Yuri leaned forward, elbows on her knees, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Okay,” she said. “Ten-second makeout session. Your choice, with one of the girls here.”

The fire cracked loudly, embers flaring as the words settled over the circle.

Taehyung’s facial expression has a subtle sense of surprise, but he stood anyway.

His gaze swept the group once, unhurried, almost thoughtful. And then it landed on you, and stayed there.

Your stomach dropped.

He didn’t say your name. He just walked toward you, calm, deliberate, like the decision had been obvious all along.

Jimin sputtered. “I can’t watch this.”

Before he could do anything dramatic, Yoongi reached over and covered Jimin’s eyes with one hand. “For your own health,” he said dryly.

“HEY—” Jimin protested blindly.

Taehyung stopped right in front of you. Up close, the light caught in his eyes, warm and steady. He hesitated just a second, long enough to be sure, before lifting one hand to your cheek, thumb brushing lightly along your jaw. The gesture pushed your hair back, feeling just the warmth of his hand along your face and nothing else. 

The touch alone made your breaths feel heavy.

His other hand settled at your waist, firm but careful, anchoring you as he leaned in.

When his lips met yours, it wasn’t rushed.

It was slow and confident, his mouth warm against yours, the kiss deepening almost immediately. You could feel the heat of him everywhere, the hand at your waist pulling you closer, the way his thumb pressed gently at your cheek as if he didn’t want to let go.

Someone started counting.

“One… two… three…”

You barely heard it.

The kiss grew more intense, unhurried and sure. When you shifted closer without thinking, he adjusted easily, fingers tightening just slightly at your waist.

“…eight… nine… ten—”

“Time!” Hoseok called.

Taehyung didn’t pull away.

Not right away.

The count stretched. Laughter rose, someone shouting, “HEY—THAT’S PAST TEN.”

Only then did Taehyung finally break the kiss, forehead resting briefly against yours as he breathed out a quiet laugh. His hands lingered, one last squeeze at your waist, one last brush of his thumb along your cheek, before he stepped back, licking his lips. 

Your lips were tingling. Your heart was racing.

The circle erupted.

“FIFTEEN SECONDS,” one of the boys yelled, yet you couldn’t tell who. 

“Easily twenty,” Yoona added.

Yoongi uncovered Jimin’s eyes.

Jimin blinked, looked between you and Taehyung, then groaned. “I leave you alone for five minutes.”

Taehyung ran a hand through his hair, suddenly flustered now that the moment was over, ears faintly pink. “Hey, it was just a dare,” he said again, but this time it sounded less convincing.

The looks around the fire said everything.

And when Taehyung finally met your eyes again, his smile was softer, still teasing, still warm, but unmistakably real.

Many drinks later, the game slowly dissolved into something looser and less structured. The bottle was forgotten somewhere in the dirt, abandoned in favor of laughter that came too easily and conversations that drifted wherever they wanted.

Someone had pulled out skewers of meat and vegetables, passing them around the fire. Pieces of marinated beef sizzled over the flames, the smell rich and smoky, making everyone groan with hunger all over again. Grease crackled as it dripped into the fire, sparks jumping and drawing half-drunken cheers.

People sat closer now without realizing it—shoulders touching, knees brushing, blankets shared without question. Seokjin insisted on “supervising” the cooking, dramatically flipping skewers like he was running a restaurant, while Yoona leaned against him, laughing every time he overdid it. Hoseok was animated as ever, retelling some story with exaggerated gestures, nearly knocking over his drink in the process. Yoongi sat back with Yuri, quietly amused, offering commentary only when it counted.

You, slightly tipsy yourself, noticed Rei wobbling as she tried to stand, clearly far too drunk to manage it on her own. “Here,” you murmured, sliding an arm around her back and using your own weight to steady her. “Let’s get you back to the tent.”

“Alright, alright,” Taehyung said from the side, smirking. “You’re not carrying her all the way to the tent on your own, are you?”

“Don’t worry, I–I’ve got her,” you slurred, arms flailing and hair falling into your face as you tried to assert control. “You u–underestimate… my abilities.” 

“Sure,” he said, tilting his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “The one who’d probably tumble flat on the ground if I so much as poked you.”

Without thinking, you pressed a finger to his lips as if to shush him. Just one, soft, almost instinctive. The moment you felt the warmth of his lips against your finger, your chest tightened a little. Your hand froze, the small, steady pressure of him there making you instinctively relax against him. His eyes followed your finger, calm and amused, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

“Fine,” you exhaled slowly, letting your arms drop a fraction, shoulders loosening, letting him guide both you and Rei without protest. You didn’t resist when he subtly steadied you, his presence pressing close in the quiet night.

With a faint chuckle, he stepped closer, supporting both you and Rei as you made your way back to your tents. The night was quiet except for your careful steps and Rei’s occasional mumbles. Once inside your tent, you tucked Rei in, making sure she was settled before pulling the sheets around yourself.

“Thanks… for the, uh, v–very unneeded help,” you said, voice soft but teasing, curling up under the warmth of the sheets.

Part of you wanted to bring up the kiss from earlier, but you turned just in time to see Rei stirring, half-awake and mumbling incoherently. You decided against it, letting the thought slide.

Taehyung gave a small grin, ruffling your hair gently. “Goodnight,” he said, before stepping out of the tent, leaving you to your warmth and thoughts.

You snuggled deeper under the sheets, the warmth of the tent wrapping around you as your thoughts drifted. Taehyung’s presence lingered, from the way he’d teased you earlier to the way he’d silently supported both you and Rei back to the tent. Every brush of his hands against yours, every casual touch, felt amplified now in the quiet of your room.

It was reckless, maybe a little dangerous to let yourself dwell on it, but the memory of his easy grin and the warmth of his presence made it impossible not to.

Your heart thumped a little faster, and you buried your face in your pillow, exhaling softly. He had this way of getting under your skin without even trying, and tonight, with all the closeness and teasing, the feeling was stronger than ever. You couldn’t deny it, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to savor it before falling toward sleep.

The next day, the morning sun filtered softly through the tall trees, painting the campsite in golden streaks that woke you up. The fire from last night had burned down to embers and the faint smell of smoke was still lingering in the crisp air.

You yawned, stretching, and rubbed your eyes as Rei bounced up beside you, bright-eyed and slightly mischievous. “We have to talk,” she whispered, tugging at your arm.

“About what?” you asked groggily, trying to keep your voice calm.

“That kiss, duh,” she said bluntly, rolling her eyes. “Last night. Come on—you can’t just brush it off.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “It was just a dare. He’s confident; that’s just how he is.”

Rei smirked, leaning closer conspiratorially. “Yeah, a kiss with your brother’s hot best friend. What did I tell you? This is your chance.”

You shook your head, laughing softly, though your cheeks heated. “Rei, you’re terrible.”

“Terrible? I’m giving you solid advice,” she teased, nudging you. “Don’t blow it!”

You rolled your eyes, still chuckling, but couldn’t help stealing a glance toward where Taehyung and Jimin were doing a quick check of their gear. He caught your eye for a second, giving a small, almost imperceptible smirk before focusing on Jimin again. You felt your heart skip just a beat.

Rei, clearly satisfied she’d made her point, let you go and bounced off to grab a coffee from the cooler. You shook your head, sipping your own, still feeling a little flustered, and tried to focus on breakfast preparations.

The group gathered near the remnants of last night’s fire, blankets and logs rearranged into makeshift seating. Breakfast smelled like toast and sizzling bacon, with mugs of coffee and hot chocolate steaming in the cool morning air.

You sat beside Rei, still catching glimpses of Taehyung across the way. Somehow, even while casually eating, his presence made you feel something. He caught your glance and offered a subtle nod, which made your stomach twist into knots.

Jimin leaned in, nudging your shoulder. “Feeling better this morning?” he asked, voice teasing but kind.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, brushing it off. Rei snickered beside you.

“You’re so not fine,” she whispered quietly to you. “And yes, he’s making you blush already.”

You shot her a look but couldn’t hide your grin. The moment was interrupted as you heard Namjoon’s voice in the distance. 

After calling everyone together, he stood tall holding a laminated list of items. “Alright, teams!” he announced. “Scavenger hunt time. Each team collects these items from all around the camp and nearby forest. Bonus points for speed and creativity. The first team back with everything wins.”

Everyone groaned and laughed at the thought of racing around in the woods.

Rei grabbed your hand playfully. “Come on, let’s crush them,” she said, already leading the way toward the first checkpoint.

The rest of the hunt was filled with the rustling of leaves and playful competition. You and Rei darted across shallow streams, clambered over rocks, and bent to gather pinecones, twigs, and other items on the checklist.

After a long morning of searching, running, and scrambling over rocks and roots, you and Rei finally reached the final checkpoint, breathless and laughing. You looked around, realizing you were the first to arrive.

“We made it!” Rei cheered, throwing her arms up in triumph. You mirrored her excitement, grinning widely as the thrill of winning washed over you. A victorious high-five connected, and the forest seemed to echo with your laughter, the mix of exhaustion and exhilaration buzzing through your veins.

By the time the rest of the teams trickled back, the sun had fully set, leaving the clearing bathed in the dusky glow of twilight. The others were already snacking, some chatting and laughing as they settled in for the evening. A few of the boys had started a fire, but the pile of logs was sparse, and the flames barely reached high enough to warm everyone.

Jimin called out, his voice carrying over the chatter. “We need more sticks!”

Without hesitation, you raised your hand. “I can go get some.” 

“Hey, don’t go out there alone, it’s getting pretty dark already.” Jimin warned, glancing toward the darkening trees.

Yoongi, sitting nearby, nudged Taehyung lightly with his elbow. “Go with her, man.” Taehyung obliged with a nod before strolling over to your side. 

You hesitated, suddenly aware of the situation, but the unspoken tension made it feel impossible to back out. “Uh… yeah, sure,” you muttered, trying to sound casual, and followed him toward the tree line, your steps crunching on the fallen leaves.

The forest seemed quieter now, the sounds of the camp fading behind you. Your heart raced slightly, part from the exertion and part from the awareness of walking beside him in the dim light.

“About last night…” he started. “Sorry if I went too far with the dare.”

You turned, brushing your hair back, smiling lightly. “No problem. You were… very committed, I’ll give you that.”

Taehyung’s eyes softened, and he stepped a fraction closer. “You didn’t seem like you hated it.”

“I didn’t,” you admitted, quietly, but shyly. You could tell he was seeking your gaze, but you didn’t have it in you to meet his. 

“Good… wasn’t sure if you’d go along with it,” he teased.

“You’re lucky I’m… compliant,” you quipped, letting the words slip out with a playful edge.

“Compliant, huh? That sounds suspicious,” he said, stepping closer, closing the gap just enough to make your skin tingle.

You both paused, setting the sticks carefully against a nearby tree, taking a moment to catch your breath after bending and lifting. The quiet of the forest suddenly felt louder and you could almost hear the sound of your heartbeat in your chest. He shifted slightly, brushing lightly against your side as he guided you toward a sturdier tree. “I’m curious,” he murmured, low and teasing, “just how compliant you really are.”

You tilted your head, lips quirking, letting the pause stretch. “Depends…” you drawled, letting the words hang in the air, “…on how convincing you can be.” The playful tone in your voice couldn’t mask the heat that pooled between your legs.

His smirk deepened, eyes darkening slightly as he stepped closer, closing the distance entirely. “Oh? Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe it is,” you whispered, leaning back lightly against the tree, daring him to come closer.

His hand drifted along your waist, firm but teasing, and your pulse spiked at the contact. He leaned in slowly, and this time, hesitation melted away. When his lips met yours, it was soft at first, deliberate, teasing, the kind of kiss that made the world narrow down to just the two of you. His other hand shifted slightly, fingers brushing along your back as if he was memorizing your every curve.

Your hands went instinctively to his shoulders, holding on as the kiss deepened. His lips parted slightly, and when your lips parted in response, his tongue teased at yours, slipping in a little, testing. Your knees weakened, chest tightening as the heat between you flared, your thoughts melting into the sensation.

Time seemed to stretch. Your heartbeat continued drumming in your ears, the cool night air forgotten. You hadn’t even noticed how long you’d been pressed together until a voice called out suddenly from the clearing:

“Oh! I think that’s Taehyung! They’re back!”

You both jolted apart, eyes wide, fumbling for composure.

A few of the others, who’d wandered over from the fire, appeared. “It’s freezing out without the firewood,” Yuri said cheerfully. “Thought you guys might’ve gotten lost or something.” 

You quickly shoved your hair back, trying to appear casual. Taehyung nodded at you, his smirk playful but restrained. He stepped back slightly, brushing ash from his hands. Then, smoothly, he turned to help Jimin with the fire, giving you a brief, teasing glance as if to say this isn’t over.

You exhaled, joining Rei and some of the other girls, laughing and chatting just enough to mask the way your heart was still racing. Taehyung settled beside Jimin near the fire, the two of them working together like nothing had happened at all. Still, the spark from earlier stayed present, warm and insistent in your chest.

As the night settled in, the group drifted into their own little pockets. Some people were focused on making s’mores, arguing over who’d burned theirs and who hadn’t. Others were deep in conversation while a few disappeared toward their tents entirely. The fire crackled steadily, casting a soft light over everything.

You stayed where you were, legs tucked in, simply soaking it all in. The warmth of the fire, the murmur of voices, the quiet hum of the forest around you. For a moment, it was easy to forget everything else.

A gentle tap on your shoulder pulled you out of your thoughts.

You turned, and there he was.

“Hey,” Taehyung said quietly, thumb hooking into his pocket like he wasn’t entirely sure how casual he wanted to be. “Can I steal you for a second?”

Your pulse skipped. “Steal me?” you echoed, eyebrow lifting.

“Borrow, then,” he corrected with a faint smile. “Promise I’ll bring you back.”

You hesitated only a second before nodding, standing and following him as he led you away from the firelight. His tent wasn’t far, tucked just enough out of view to feel private without being suspicious. He ducked inside first, holding the flap open for you.

Inside, it was dim and close, the air warmer somehow. You both sat, knees nearly touching, the quiet suddenly louder than the laughter outside.

“So,” you said softly, trying to sound unaffected. “This is where you tell me why I was stolen?”

He leaned back on one arm, studying you like he was taking his time. “I just… wanted to talk. Without an audience.”

“Dangerous,” you murmured, somewhat playful, though you knew there was some truth to your words. “You and me alone.”

His lips curved. “You didn’t seem too scared earlier.”

You shrugged lightly, eyes flicking to his mouth before you could stop yourself. “Maybe I like danger.”

That earned a low chuckle. He leaned forward just slightly, close enough now that you could really feel the warmth of him, his voice dropping awfully low. “You have no idea how hard you make it to behave.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Then don’t.”

The word lingered between you, soft but deliberate. His smile shifted, something slower and more intent as his gaze flicked to your lips and back.

“Careful,” he murmured. “When you say things like that…”

The space between you shrank, not all at once, but inch by inch. His hand brushed yours, not quite holding it, just enough to make your skin buzz.

“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly, eyes searching yours.

You didn’t.

Instead, you leaned in the rest of the way.

His lips met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, unhurried, like he was savoring the moment. It deepened naturally, warmth building as you shifted closer, hands finding familiar places without thinking. 

“You taste so good,” he whispered against your lips, his voice husky with desire. 

Before you could respond, he was tugging your top upward, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head. The cool tent air hit your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as his eyes roamed over you, taking in the lacy bra that barely contained your breasts.

"Fuck," he breathed, his thumbs brushing along the underside of your breasts. "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

He lowered his head, pressing soft kisses along your stomach, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. Each touch sent sparks through your body, making you arch against him. When his lips reached the edge of your bra, he paused, looking up at you with dark, hungry eyes.

But he didn't remove it. Instead, a wicked, knowing smirk played on his lips as he deliberately traced the lacy edge with his tongue, a slow, agonizing circle that had you squirming. He was intentionally teasing you, kissing all around the fabric, along the sensitive skin of your cleavage and the curve of your breast, pointedly avoiding where you needed him most. He knew exactly how badly you wanted him to just suck your tits, and he was savoring your desperation.

"Taehyung," you whimpered, your hands tangling in his hair, trying to guide him to your aching nipple. "Please..."

"Please what?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your skin. He nipped gently at the swell of your breast, his breath hot through the lace. "Tell me what you want."

"You know what I want," you breathed, your hips rocking against him in frustration.

"I want to hear you say it," he insisted, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss right beside your straining nipple, so close yet so far away. "I want to hear how badly you need it."

The deliberate torture was unbearable. Every fiber of your being was screaming for his mouth on you. "I want you to suck my tits," you finally gasped, the words torn from your throat. "God, Taehyung, please, just suck them." Your hands moved to your back to unclasp your bra but he swatted your hands away, his fingers expertly undoing the clasp himself. 

"Good girl," he praised as he tossed the bra aside before taking your nipple into his mouth.

As his mouth continued its course on your breasts, his hand slid down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. You were already wet, your body ready for him, and he groaned when his fingers brushed against your slick folds.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "All this from a few kisses?"

You could only moan in response, arching your back and pushing your hips up to meet his hand. He rubbed slow circles around your clit, teasing you until you were squirming beneath him. He grinned widely at the sight, biting his lips. 

Taehyung’s fingers slid into your wetness with intentional slowness, his touch both teasing and possessive. His thumb pressed against your clit, circling it in slow, maddening motions that made you pant at the mere feeling. His other hand cupped your breast, his fingers pinching your nipple just hard enough to send a strike of pleasure straight to your core. 

At once, his fingers slipped out of you and right back up to his mouth where his tongue licked off the coat of your wetness from them. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice rough. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

Your breath hitched.

Imagined.

That single word sent a shiver through you. Because Taehyung—your brother’s best friend, the guy who’d been in and out of your house since you were a kid, the one you’d stolen glances at when you thought no one was looking—had imagined this. Had thought about you.

And now here he was, shirtless, his cock straining against his pants, his fingers still glistening with you.

You’d had a crush on him for years. Ever since you were old enough to know what attraction was. The way he’d laugh with Jimin, the way his hands moved when he talked, the way he’d ruffle your hair like you were still a kid even when you weren’t. You’d buried it, ignored it, told yourself it was stupid.

But now?

Now he was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

And you wanted him to.

Taehyung didn’t give you time to overthink it. In one smooth motion, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and shoved them down, along with his pants.  His kicked them aside as his cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already glistening.

Your mouth went dry.

He was big. Bigger than you’d expected. Bigger than you’d ever seen up close.

And he was looking at you like he knew exactly what he was about to do to you.

“Take those off,” he ordered, nodding at your shorts.

You obeyed without hesitation, shimmying out of them and your panties in one go. The cool air hit your wetness, making you gasp, but Taehyung didn’t give you time to feel exposed. He grabbed your hips and pulled you onto his lap, your bare thighs straddling his.

“Ride my thigh,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Show me how bad you want it.”

You hesitated for only a second before pressing your hips down, your slick heat dragging against the hard muscle of his thigh. The friction was incredible, sending feelings of immense pleasure straight to your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Taehyung groaned, his hands tightening on your hips. “That’s it,” he growled. “Grind on me. Show me how wet you are.”

You obeyed, rocking your hips in slow, desperate circles, your clit dragging against his skin with every movement. The sensation was overwhelming—the way his thigh flexed beneath you and the way his cock twitched against your stomach.

“Taehyung,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as you felt yourself getting close, but not close enough. You wanted more. “I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he purred, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re doing so good. Look at you, riding my leg like a good girl.”

His words sent a fresh wave of satisfaction through you. You weren’t used to the name. You’d never been looked at like this, like you were something to be consumed, but you basked in the feeling.  

You increased your pace, your hips rolling faster, your breath coming in sharp gasps. Taehyung’s hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, his mouth finding your neck. He kissed you there, slow and open-mouthed, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver.

“God, you’re so fucking cute,” he groaned against your throat. “Soaking my thigh. Is this what you’ve been thinking about? Me touching you like this?”

“Y-yes,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

“Say it,” he demanded, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”

You swallowed hard, your face burning. “I—I’ve thought about this,” you confessed. “About you. About you touching me. About—about this.”

Though you felt embarrassed to admit it, you definitely have. Only ever in fleeting thoughts, ones you tried your hardest to brush off, but you couldn’t deny that you did. 

His mouth crashed onto yours as if to respond, his kiss hungry and desperate. You moaned into it, your hips still rolling against his thigh, your body trembling with need.

But it still wasn’t enough.

You broke the kiss, your breath coming in sharp gasps. “Taehyung,” you begged, your voice trembling. “I—I need your cock in me already. Please.”

His eyes darkened, his grip on your hips tightening. “You sure?” he murmured, his voice rough. 

You nodded frantically. “I’m sure. Please, Taehyung. Fuck me.

Taehyung didn’t need to be told twice.

In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, his body covering yours. His cock pressed against your entrance, the tip sliding through your wetness, teasing you.

“Please,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his back.

He groaned, his forehead resting against yours. “Fuck, you’re killing me,” he growled.

Then, with one hard thrust, he buried himself inside you.

You cried out, your back arching off the tent floor as he filled you completely. He was big, stretching you in ways you’d never felt before, and for a second, you couldn’t breathe.

Taehyung stilled, his breath coming in sharp gasps. “You okay?” he murmured, his voice strained.

You nodded, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Y-yes,” you gasped. “Just—just move.”

He groaned, his hips pulling back before slamming into you again. The sensation was overwhelming, the way his cock hit just the right spot inside you.

You moaned, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. “Taehyung,” you gasped. “Harder. Please, harder.”

He obeyed, his hips snapping against yours with a force that left you breathless. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto his cock with every thrust, his body slamming into yours with a roughness that sent you spiraling.

You were close. So close. Your body was trembling, your breath coming out sharply.

“Taehyung,” you whimpered. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Come on my cock.”

The mere command sent you over the edge.

You moaned out, your body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him, pulling him deeper.

Taehyung groaned, his own release following close behind. He thrusted into you one final time, his cock pulsing as he came, filling you with his warmth.

You both collapsed onto the tent floor, your bodies slick with sweat, your breaths being let out as ragged gasps. Taehyung pulled you into his arms, his lips pressing against your forehead in a soft, tender kiss.

“That was incredible,” he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction.

You smiled, snuggling closer to him. “It was,” you agreed, your voice soft.

You lay there for a while, enjoying the afterglow, the sound of your breathing slowly returning to normal. Taehyung's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, his touch gentle and soothing.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by voices outside.

"Where's Y/N and Taehyung?" someone called out, the sound getting closer.

Your eyes met his in panic. Without a word, you both scrambled for your clothes, dressing as quickly as possible. You smoothed your hair down with trembling fingers.

You slipped out, trying to appear casual as you rejoined the group.

"There you are!" Jimin exclaimed. "We were wondering where you two disappeared to."

You chuckled, keeping your voice light. "Just needed some fresh air."

Taehyung appeared moments later, looking frustratingly composed despite what had just happened between you.

"And what about you?" Seokjin asked him with a raised eyebrow.

"Same," Taehyung said with a shrug, but his eyes found yours across the room, a secret smile playing on his lips.

As the group resumed their conversation, Rei sidled up beside you.

"So... fresh air, huh?" she whispered, nudging your side gently.

You couldn't help the blush that crept up your cheeks. "Something like that."

She studied your face for a moment before her eyes widened in realization. "Oh my god," she whispered, a delighted smile spreading across her face. "Finally!"

Later, as the group dispersed into smaller conversations, Taehyung managed to pass by you. His fingers gently brushed against yours, a touch so brief anyone else would have missed it.

"We should get lost together more often." he joked. His eyes met yours, warm and tender with just a hint of mischief. "Next time, I want to take my time with you. No interruptions, okay?"

You felt your lips curve into a smile that mirrored his own, a silent agreement passing between you.

a/n: yay you made it! lmk what you think of this one and check out my other stuff <3

Taehyung told himself he was just surprised. He’d heard, obviously. Everyone had. You and your boyfriend were done. A clean break, no details, just enough information to make it real. Still, seeing you there, dancing like nothing had cracked open in your life… it did something ugly to his thoughts. Something eager.

He was watching you for too long. He knew he did, knew it was wrong in about six different ways— same friend group, bad timing, worse intentions. You’ve never given him the time of day. Not really. Polite smiles, quick hellos, conversations that died before they even warmed up— it was never meant to work. He’d flirted before, light, joking, half-serious… and you’d always slid right past it, like you didn’t even notice or care.

Which was almost worse than rejection.

But Taehyung kept finding you anyway. In every room, every corner. His eyes tracked you without permission. You laughed with someone else and he wondered who got to hear that laugh up close now. You swayed to the music and he thought about how your ex must’ve had it easy, must’ve taken things for granted. He hated that thought, hated how personal it felt.

He hated how you wouldn’t look at his way. Hated how he knew that night it would be the same as always, you wouldn’t care about him and his poor attempts of flirting.

That’s why Taehyung hated how all night you didn’t look at him, not even once.

Same old story.

By the time the night blurred at the edges— too loud, too warm, too many bodies pressed together— he was convincing himself of two things: that whatever he was thinking was a terrible idea, and that he was already in too deep to stop thinking about it.

Ten minutes too many he found you again.

When he found you again, you were dancing with a man he didn’t recognize. Tall, broad shoulders, hands moving just a little too close to your ass. The music was loud enough to rattled the windows, bass heavy, filthy, and you moved like you knew exactly what you were doing. Not trying to impress, not trying at all.

That was what made it unbearable for him.

You rolled your shoulders, laugh when the guy leaned in to say something stupid in your ear. Your body followed the beat effortlessly, like it belonged there, like it had been waiting all night to be seen. Taehyung felt something hot and sharp crawl up his spine, watching the man’s hands, watching where they didn’t touch. He wondered if you’d let him do better, wondered if you’d notice the difference.

He knew he could be better, so much better.

Stronger grip, slower movements, he wouldn’t rush it like that idiot was clearly trying to. He wouldn’t crowd you, wouldn’t beg for attention with cheap lines and beer-breath confidence. He’d make you look at him. Make you lose control and make you choose. He would make you want it, crave it, he would build it for you, make you beg for it.

The thought turned dark fast. He imagined your back against the wall instead of the dancefloor. Imagined the way your smile would change if it was meant just for him, smaller, sharper, dangerous. He hated how badly he wanted it. Hated that he had wanted it for a long time, even when you barely spared him a glance.

Especially then.

Taehyung teared his eyes away before getting worse, retreating to the kitchen with the rest of the group, forcing himself into conversation he didn’t want to hear. Forced to get you out of his mind and socialize. He hated it. But he had to.

And some minutes later he thought he was doing better. Someone gave him a drink, a girl he vaguely recognized. She was cute, loud, she was leaning too close. She laughed at something he didn’t say. She touched his arm. He wasn’t feeling it, and he hated it.

His attention kept snapping back to the living room, to the way you move, the way that man kept trying to keep up with you and failing. Taehyung told himself it shouldn’t matter, he told himself you were freshly broken up, off-limits, bad timing wrapped in a bad idea, bad decision. If you hadn’t chose him before you were definitely not going to choose him now. He had been trying to convinced himself for years about it, after you had been introduced to the group, after you choose to date one of his closest friends, after you choose another man that wasn’t him.

And lately he had been trying, he had been doing better. Trying not to flirt with you, trying to stay away from you, barely seeing you, specially when you were with your boyfriend. The last four months he had decided to just get over it. There was a thousand more girls around he could sleep with, he didn’t need to obsess over someone who didn’t want him and who was dating one of his friends.

But, of course, you had broken up.

And he found you in this party.

And he was losing his mind.

You appeared in the kitchen, like you felt him thinking about you. You slipped into the room with a grin that looked like trouble, eyes bright, a little flushed, hair messy from dancing. You scanned the room once, then lifted your voice just enough to cut through the noise.

“Who wants to take shots with me?”

There was a pause, a collective hesitation.

Taehyung had his answer before he could even think about it. “I do.”

It came out solid, certain.

But it didn’t surprise him. Because he had never doubt for a second of doing anything related to you.

You looked at him then. And something flickered in your expression. Surprise, maybe… or interest. Or maybe you were just drunk enough to make reckless decisions.

“Okay,” you said, like you’ve already decided. “Let’s go.”

The girl at his side opened her mouth, clearly expecting an invitation. She didn’t get one.

Taehyung didn’t even look back as he followed you through the crowd, shoulder to shoulder, close enough that he could smell your perfume and could feel the heat of your body. Warm, sweet, dangerous.

The improvised counter— which some friends had paid for the cheap bartender to have any drink they wanted— next to the stairs was sticky and loud and packed, but somehow it felt like the two of you carved out your own space.

You leaned over the counter. “Four shots of tequila.”

“Two,” Taehyung corrected, low and calm.

You glanced at him. “Scared?”

He smirked. “Don’t get crazy. We have all night.”

That earned him a laugh, short and sharp. You liked that kind of exchange, he could tell.

The bartender slid the glasses over. You grabbed yours immediately, clinking it against his.

“To having all night,” you said.

Taehyung held your gaze. “To take our time.”

You took the shot without breaking eye contact. It burned but you didn’t flinch.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then glanced at him sideways. “So, how’ve you been?.”

“Good,” he answered. Not really interested in making small talk. “I heard about your breakup.”

“Um,” You hummed, already looking past it. “Everyone did.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say?” you replied lightly. “It ended. Now I’m here dancing.”

There was something deliberate in the way you dismissed it, like you refused to give it weight. Taehyung respected that, and he wanted to push anyway. But he didn’t, not yet. He asked for more tequila.

“Now you’re taking shots.”

You tiltled your head, studying him now. “Who was that girl you were with?”

He blinked. “What girl?”

“The one desperately touching your arm like it might save her life.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No idea.”

“Liar. And rude for not inviting her to take shots with us.” You shook your head. “She looked mad.”

“Honestly,” he said, voice dropping, “I wasn’t paying attention.” For the first time, your eyes lingered on him a second longer than necessary. Taehyung tried not to look so impressed. “And the guy you were dancing with?” he asked casually. “Your date? He seemed… eager.”

You smiled, slow and unimpressed. “He was fine.” You didn’t confirm if he was your date which he knew it was on purpose to leave him guessing.

“Fine,” Taehyung repeated. Then, provokingly said: “Not good?”

You leaned closer, elbows on the counter, invading his space on purpose now. “Why? You’re going to tell Jungkook?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Should I?”

Your lips twitched. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“If I end up fucking him tonight.”

The air between you tightened. The music faded into background noise. Taehyung didn’t like the way you would do anything to get Jungkook’s attention, your ex boyfriend. He leaned in just enough that only you could hear him.

“Why don’t you find someone who can do a better job?”

“You don’t know—”

“He looked pathetic.”

Your eyes narrowed. Your lips moved to his ear, you were playing something he hadn’t see in you before. Not with him. “And who could a better job?.”

Taehyung was aware you knew what he would answer. You were daring him, provoking him. And he was never one to back down.

“I know I could.”

Your smile sharpened, in a mean, interested way. “Big words,” you said. “From someone I’ve barely noticed.”

“That is your mistake,” he replied.

You laughed again, but this time it was quieter. A little out of it.

You grabbed the second shots and slid it toward him. “Careful,” you murmured. “I’m drinking too much and you’re starting to look like your best friend who dumped me.”

He picked up the glass, ignoring your mean words. “You asked for shots.”

You clinked glasses again. When you purred down, neither of you looked away.

The shots kept coming.

You ordered them like it was muscle memory, like the night wasn’t already tilting slightly off its axis. Taehyung didn’t stop you. If anything, he encouraged it, slid the glasses closer, nudged your elbow with his, leaned in so his voice landed warm against your ear.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured after two more shots, smiling like it was a compliment.

“You say that like it’s new information,” you replied, already lifting the glass.

The tequila burned less this time. Or maybe you were just numb to it. You laughed when it hit, head tipping back slightly, throat exposed for half a second too long.

Taehyung’s eyes track the movement without shame. And he thought how his hand would look around it, how he would squeeze it enough to make you let out a sweet noise for him. His eyes narrowed, he licked his lips, watching your lower lip get wet with alcohol. He wanted to licked you clean, taste your mouth. He could just leaned in and kiss you, devour you. It could be so simple if he just…

“You always look like this when you drink?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“Like someone I want to ruin.”

You snorted, not really feeling it. “You’re embarrassing.”

“I’m honest,” he corrected.

His hand brushed your lower back, not lingering, not innocent either. Just enough to make a point. He wanted you, badly. You didn’t move away, and that alone felt like permission.

Then you tilted your head, eyes sharp despite the alcohol. “You remember I just broke up with one of your best friends, right?”

There it was.

The line in the sand.

Taehyung didn’t even pretend to think about it. He smiled, slow and unapologetic.

“When has that ever stopped me?”

The words settled between you two, heavy and wrong and charged.

He knew exactly what he was in that moment. A bad friend, a worse idea. The kind of man people warn you about after the fact. He should feel guilt clawing at his chest, loyalty screaming louder than want. Instead, all he felt was hunger. It was stupid how badly he wanted you. Embarrassing, really. Like a craving that had been denied for so long it had turned feral. He wanted you quietly, patiently, from a distance, he had watched you choose someone else, watched his friend fumbled you like he didn’t know what he had.

If he were smarter, he’d have known.

Taehyung knew, he knew the moment Jungkook left you out of his claws for a second any man would try to have his hands on you— including him. And the worst thing was, Taehyung knew something so sad. He knew his best friend was probably in bed now, thinking about you, about how to get you back, about how bad he got it for screwing things with you. Taehyung didn’t need to heart it, didn’t need to know. If he did maybe a tiny drop of guilt could have formed in his stomach. But he preferred to play blind. If his friend never told him he missed you, how he screwed up… then Taehyung couldn’t feel guilty about wanting to have you.

And he knew he could do better. He knew Jungkook could brag about you, about how good he was at everything. In sports, in music, in dancing… in touching you. In making you feel good. Taehyung hated that thought, he didn’t like it at all. Because if he knew one thing about you, is that he could make you feel better than anyone. He knew he’d worship you in all the ways his friend never thought of.

The thought made something dark and possessive curled in his stomach.

And you just laughed, not nervous, not impressed. Just amused.

“You’re evil, Taehyung.” You said, shaking your head. “Truly.”

And the way you said his name. God, the world was just being so unfair to him.

“Maybe,” he replied softly, “but you haven’t left yet.”

You didn’t argue.

More shots came. The party grew louder, messier, bodies packed tight, sweat and bass and spilled alcohol everywhere. Taehyung felt untouchable, dangerous, like the world had narrowed down to the curve of your mouth and the way you kept leaning into him without realizing it.

Eventually, you sighed and push off the bar. “I need the bathroom.”

“I’ll wait.”

He watched you walk away. Every step. The sway of your hips, the confidence in your body, the way heads turned as you passed. His thoughts spiralled fast and ugly. He imagined you alone in the mirror, fixing your lipstick, steadying yourself. He imagined himself going behind you and pushing that little skirt you were wearing to your waist, his fingers touching you in your sweetest places, the places you liked. He imagined the way your lips would part and the noises you would make…

His train of dirty thoughts stopped.

The man who you were dancing early passed by his side, walking to the bathroom you entered. Taehyung watched him hesitate for half a second before opening the door and close it behind him.

Something snapped in him, something deep and violent.

And he was moving before logic caught up.

The bathroom door swung open and the scene was almost painfully normal. You were at the sink, leaning forward slightly, fixing your hair. The man stood too close, saying something in your ear you clearly didn’t care about. But he had his hands on your waist, and Taehyung didn’t like that at all.

Who the fuck did he think he was to touch you like that?

Taehyung grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back out into the hall without ceremony. “Get out.”

“What the—”

“Bye.”

The door slammed shut in his face, Taehyung locked the door before turning to you.

You whirled around. “What the hell are you doing?”

Your voice echoed off the tiles, sharp and incredulous. You didn’t look scared or furious, but slightly annoyed at him for the scene. Your eyes narrowed, you were drunk. And so was he.

Taehyung breathed hard, chest rising and falling. “You really wanna fuck that?”

Your eyes flashed. “And if I did? That’s not your problem.”

The words hit him like a slap. He stepped closer. “You can do better.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I already have,” he shrugged. “Or do you want me to bring him back inside so he can give you a lame fuck?.”

You scoffed, pushing past him slightly, chin lifted in challenge. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you asked. “Can you stop pretending you’re something of mine?.”

“Can you stop pretending you don’t want this to happen?.” he snapped, gesturing between you two. “We both know you’re now just full of shit.”

You laughed in his face, sharp. “You don’t know anything about me if you think I wanna fuck you.”

“Please, you didn’t leave my side all night. You had been waiting for me to make a move.”

Taehyung knew he was playing a dangerous game. But he liked his odd. He liked to play with you. And he knew one thing: It had been the first time you had entertained him after all his attempts of trying to get you.

So he had to be right. He wanted to be right.

Your jaw tightened. “If I wanted to fuck you, I would have done it a long time ago.” You got closer to him. Your nose almost inches from touching his face. You looked up to him. You were so close he could feel your breath. “Why do you think I went for Jungkook and not you?.”

Your words landed, heavy and deliberate, and for a second the only sound in the bathroom was the muffled music bleeding through the walls, the buzz of voices outside, the drip of a leaky faucet.

Taehyung didn’t move, didn’t back away. He looked down at you like he was trying to memorize your face.

“Because you like playing safe,” he said finally, voice low and deep, almost calm. Too calm. “Easy choice. Someone you didn’t have to think about too much.”

You scoffed, but you didn’t pull back. “And you think you’re what? Complicated?”

“I think,” he started, leaning in just enough that your lips almost brush when he spoke, “you didn’t want to want me. Because we both know, once I’m done with you, you won’t stop thinking about it.”

That did it.

Something shifted in your expression, annoyance giving way to something sharper, more dangerous. You tilted your head, smirk slow and cruel.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you murmured. “You’re not special. You just have a deep voice and recently got jacked.”

Taehyung huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. His hand came up, bracing against the sink beside you, boxing you in without touching you. The proximity was intentional, claimed.

“Funny,” he said. “For someone who doesn’t want me, you’re not trying very hard to leave.”

You glanced down, then back up at him through your lashes. “Maybe I just like watching you make a pathetic man of yourself.”

He hummed. “Or maybe, maybe you like when I look at you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve been waiting all night to get you alone.”

Taehyung can see the way your eyes quickly moved to his mouth against your will. And he knew you hated that he noticed it.

“You’re obsessed,” you muttered, trying to get some control.

“Yeah,” he said easily. “With you.”

The word hung there, unashamed and unapologetic.

You swallowed, jaw tightening again. “You’re a terrible friend.”

“I know,” Taehyung replied, eyes never leaving yours. “And I still want you.”

You tried to step back but your lower back hit the sink. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt without permission, like your body betrayed you before your mouth could keep up. And you tried to blame it on the way you destabilized yourself when you tried to step back. You realized too late Taehyung was already enjoying the motion.

His gaze dropped to your hand and then back to your eyes.

“There,” he murmured. “That.”

You tried to pull your hand back. He didn’t let you, not grabbing, just stepping closer so there was nowhere for it to go. Your legs were squeezing together. His jeans rasping your bare legs. His torso brushing your chest, heat radiating, tension coiled tight between you.

“Say it again,” he said softly.

“Say what?”

“That you don’t want me.”

You opened your mouth.

And this time nothing came out.

Taehyung exhaled, slow and controlled, like he was reached the edge of his restraint. His hand lifted, grabbing your chin in his fingers without delicacy and tilting your face up.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

You did.

And when he kissed you, it was brutal.

It wasn’t soft or careful. Taehyung’s mouth crashed into yours like he was done pretending he had any restraint, like every thought he had swallowed all night finally snapped. It was messy, hungry, teeth knocking just slightly before it settled into something deeper and slow. His mouth tasting every place of yours, trying to memorize every single part of your mouth.

His hands were everywhere over your body at first, brushing them over your face and waist before one gripped your jaw, thumb pressing just enough to make you gasp into his mouth, the sound swallowed instantly. The other slid down your waist, firm, claiming and possessive, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’ll disappear if he let go. He crowded you back against the sink, body heat pinning you there, not gentle about it.

You made a sound, low, surprised, mad. Like you had woken up from the enchanted of the kiss. You bit his lower lip, trying to push him away. Taehyung groaned against your lips like it was exactly what he wanted.

“Fuck,” he muttered, barely pulling back, forehead resting against yours. His breath was hot, uneven. “You feel this and still wanna lie to me?”

Before you could answer, he kissed you again.

Deeper and slower this time. Like he had decided to savor it. His mouth moved with intent, like he knew exactly how to pull a reaction out of you, how to make your hands fist in his shirt, how to make your knees go weak even while you were trying to stay mad.

Your fingers slid up his neck, nails scraping just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. His grip tightened in response, hand slipping up your back, flattening you to him. There was no space left, no room to think.

The bathroom felt too small, it buzzed from the music outside. The mirror caught the movement, your bodies pressed together, his head tilted down, yours tipped back slightly, lips swollen, breath ruined.

Taehyung pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, blown out, jaw tight like he was holding himself back from doing something much worse. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow, possessive.

“Okay. Now tell me to stop if you really want me to.”

You wanted to say something sharp, something mean.

Instead, you grabbed him again and kissed him back, harder and needy. And Taehyung let out a sound that was pure satisfaction as he kissed you like he had been waiting his whole life to finally have you, like he had been starving and you were the only thing that could ever fix it.

The fact that now you wanted him too made his heart beat like it was about to jump out of his chest.

Taehyung wanted to take it slow. Show you how good he could be for you, even though you had been so mean to him. But he couldn’t wait. He didn’t want to wait for you to change your mind. And as much as he wanted to have your mouth over his till the end of times, it took everything in him to pushed back enough to look at you in the eyes. His hands roaming all over your body before they settled in your waist.

God, he wanted to ruin you so bad.

You looked so good for him. Your hair messy, your lips swollen and red, your cheeks blushed, your eyes dark and lustful. For him, only for him. You were practically begging him to act up, looking like that. You were sinful.

“What are you doing?,” you asked breathily when he didn’t move.

Taehyung looked at you. “I want you to say it.”

“Say what?.”

“Say you want me.”

You titled your head, confused. You had finally accepted him and he was trying to make you say it out loud?. You didn’t know if you should’ve been mad or horny.

“Are you serious?.

“Say it,” he said. His voice deeper, firmer. “Say it and I’ll take care of you.”

You went silent, just for a second before looking at him prettily. “I want you.”

“Say it correctly.”

“I want you, Taehyung.”

You weren’t ashamed, you didn’t look shy or regretful. It was like it caused you satisfaction to say those words. Maybe because you knew the effect that you had on him.

And the way you said his name, the way your voice went so sweet, almost pouty... needy. Taehyung was only a man after all. And you had a way to make his head spin in the wrong ways. You gave him a smile that seemed like you were just begging him to ruin you. Taehyung didn’t think of him as a strong willed man. He could see you looking at him like that and it was game over for him.

With a hand on your chin, he leaned in to give you a sweet kiss. He thought of all the ways that he would ruin you that night. The way you finally wanted him like that too. He wanted to burn his taste inside your mouth. He wanted you to be full of him in every way you could be. Just him, nobody else, not your ex boyfriend, not that man you were dancing with him. His, only his. And he knew that once he was done with you… you would come back for him, for more.

God, he was going insane.

His lips moved to your jaw, kissing down to your neck with desire, sucking hard and not caring whether or not it bruised. He imagined for a second how Jungkook would react to it. If tomorrow he showed up to your house, asking you to take him back only to find you covered in Taehyung’s marks. The thought made him rolled his eyes back, pleasure building in his stomach, making him rock hard. He wanted you more than words could let you know. He turned to marking you to show you just how bad he craved you, how much you were now his.

His right hand hovered over your body, slowly making his way between your thighs. You were so sweet for him, slowly opening your legs to give him better access. To invite him to touch you. He kissed your mouth as a reward, you were so obedient. Taehyung liked it, like the way you would do whatever you wanted to have your pleasure, to get off. He liked the way you choose him tonight, only him, to trust him with it.

He wasn’t going to disappoint you.

Taehyung ran his index finger through your folds over the cloth. He moaned into your neck, eyes rolling back at the feeling of your soaked panties. God, you were going to kill him. Have you been wet all night? or did he make you feel like this just now?. He couldn’t wait to put his mouth there between your legs. It was so soaked through that he could feel the outline of your pussy perfectly. He pushed his index finger just barely into your hole, feeling your panties scrunch up into it.

He pulled away to catch his breath, eyes full of lust as he watched your face contort with pleasure from his touch.

“You like that?,” Taehyung whispered in your mouth. His voice deeper, it made you clenched into nothing. “I’m going to touch you, okay?. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

His eyes were dark and blown out. He pulled your panties down just barely, letting them sit below your hip bones while he kissed your chin. He was agonizingly slow as he pulled further and further, not daring to reveal your cunt until you were desperate enough to say it out loud.

“Tae—”

“Yeah,” he nodded at you. “I like how you say my name like that, so pretty.” He kissed your mouth, hard, sweetly. “You’re so pretty. So, so pretty for me.”

His fingers found your clit. You melted into the feeling, sighing in relief. Your hips twitched closer to his hand, making sure he won’t leave so soon.

“Yes, please.”

He stopped, making you whined.

Taehyung swallowed the noise, his cock twitching in his pants. Then he kissed you hard, tongue sliding in your mouth to prove how much he wanted you, messy, dirty. It felt perverted how much he wanted to have your mouth in his all the time. But he had a mission.

“Fuck, fuck.” He gave you a last peck before slowly kneeling. “Say please again.” You groaned and his fingers circled your clit again, this time with more intention. You bit your lip as he watched you trying to contain your pretty sounds. “Say it. Ask nicely, baby. And don’t bite your lips, I wanna hear you.”

You let a breathy moan, opening your legs wider while looking at him. “Please, Tae.”

“Please what, baby?.”

“Please touch me.”

“So sweet,” he kissed and bit your inner thighs. “So, so sweet for me. God, you’re so hot, baby. Gonna make you feel good. Wanna hear you, okay?. Make me hear you.”

Taehyung was so desperate, he felt feral. He almost was sure he could cry of joy. He had waited for so long, so patiently. You’ve finally broken, you finally wanted him back. You were finally spreading your pretty legs for him to touch you, to make you feel better. His cock was straining against his pants, he could feel his pre cum leaking profusely from his tip, but he ignored it completely to focus on you.

His hands quickly moved your skirt higher, leaving him a good sight of your cunt. He tried not to lose control, sliding your panties to the ground and taking them off before saving them in his pocket. He could moan from the sight. Your glistening cunt, so sweet and waiting for him.

Taehyung rubbed your slit and gathered your arousal on his fingers. You gasped as he glided his fingers across your clit, playing with the swollen bud for a minute, wanting to get you soaking before he stretched you out, before he could taste you. He circled his finger around your entrance, teasingly applying pressure just to watch you squirmed. He felt good, having you like that.

Even if he was on his knees he felt like he had the power. He was going to make sure you would come crying back to him every night asking for his touch, desperate, needy for him and no one else.

He dipped a finger into your hole, stopping once he was knuckle-deep. He fucked his long finger into you slowly, and you sighed at the relief. He watched his finger sink into you, humming in pleasure when he saw how it collected your wetness. Taehyung didn’t ask before he was inserting another one, already feeling your walls clenching at him for dear life. His fingers were so long, so mean, stuffing you so deep and full. He couldn’t wait to have his cock burry inside you. The stretch would feel like heaven, and he knew you were craving to be stuffed by him.

Taehyung increased his pace a little more, curling his fingers up. It took him a minute to find what he was looking for, but he knew he got it when you whined and your leg kicked out helplessly. It didn’t take you too long to put it around his shoulder, Taehyung hold it steady, gripping your fat thigh. You held yourself for dear life to the sink behind you. He kept pressing into that spot, curling his fingers up to hit it every time, relishing in the garbled moans that spill out of your mouth.

You arched your back and yelp at the sensation of him pressing against the spongy part inside of you roughly. He grinned and kept thrusting against that spot, watching your reactions with amused eyes. His head moved down between your thighs, biting and sucking at all the flesh his mouth could find.

And then he wrapped his lips around your clit once he grew tired of marking you.

“Tae— Ngh… shit.”

Taehyung could come from just your taste and your sweet sounds. He was sure of it.

His eyes almost rolled back at how much you were clamping down on him, his wet fingers making dirty noises of how hard he was fucking them inside you, wet sounds filling the buzz in the room. But that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to taste you correctly.

With a final hard suck on your clit, he took his fingers out of your entrance before eating you out properly. Taehyung thought you were such a dream when you were mewling and panting like that, eager for him. He licked you like you were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. At first very slow, dragging his tongue flat and firm to savour you and memorize you with his tongue. And then focusing in on your clit with a rhythmic flick that had your whole body jerking. He knew how to make you jump in pleasure now, and he loved knowing it.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft dark strands as you moaned shamelessly. He liked you like that, shameless, breakable.

His tongue moved down to your fluttering entrance, and his stomach clenched when he realized how empty you must feel for him. Taehyung couldn’t wait to fuck you, have you stuffed of him. But first, he stuffed his tongue inside you, making sure his nose stayed pressed against your clit. He moaned at your juices dripping on his taste buds and the way you tried to tighten around his tongue. He licked and rubbed at you as much as he could, determined to get his fill of your arousal.

Taehyung could swear he could cum untouched if he hadn’t waited so long for you to finally gave in. He swore he could die between your legs, his mouth on your cunt, sucking and lapping, moaning into your heat like he had found water after being thirsty. He was making the most unholiest, nasty dirty noises like it was a fucking heaven for him. And it was, it was a dream.

Taehyung was going insane.

Everything faded into a lofty state of bliss while he hungrily ate you out without taking a break, consumed with the urge to swallow you whole. He relished in the way you grabbed onto his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he barely pulled back for air all while he devoured you. The way you were squirming and rubbing yourself in his tongue and nose was a sight to behold, one that caused him to chase the friction that he earned when his aching, neglected cock rubbed in his pants, almost humping the air like a dog in heat.

You moaned, pulling him back by the hair. His mouth, nose and chin covered in your juices, he looked crazy drunk of you. He was crazy drunk of you.

“Tae—”

“Want you to cum on my mouth,” he tried to go back in but you pulled his hair harder.

“Taehyung fuck me already, please.”

Taehyung was sure you were a witch.

His cock jumped in his pants. In less than two seconds he was already standing up, badly cleaning his face with his shirt before stamping his lips into yours and kissing you hard. You moaned at your own taste. His kiss was messy, he wanted to show you how much he wanted you. How dirty and perverted he was for you.

You jolted when you felt his teeth on your jaw and neck, biting down and sucking hard. It made your hips push forward, and he moaned against you. His hard on poking at your thigh angrily, he start rubbing himself on you. Taehyung started to suck at your neck. the pressure was light, but enough to leave some marks. You played with his fluffy hair, letting out a noise between a sigh and a moan.

Taehyung pushed you harder to the sink, unbuckling his jeans and shoving them down with his underwear to the ground. His cock jumped out. His tip was red and angry, leaking pre cum. Taehyung was big, and veiny. He saw the way your eyes narrowed down, as if you wanted to kneel and put it in your mouth.

Before he could stop you, you were already wrapping your hand around him. Your thumb brushed his tip, collecting the pre cum before passing it around his length. He groaned, closing his eyes and his head dropping to your shoulder while you started pumping his cock so sweet and softly. Like you were taking your time to make him suffer.

“You’re so big.” You said so sweetly, like you weren’t doing the nastiest shit ever. As if you didn’t make him have the dirtiest thoughts about you. “Your cock is so pretty, Tae.”

Your fingers could barely wrapped around his cock, your hand was hot and felt so good around him. Your long nails looked so pretty around him, so feminine, so in place. Shit, Taehyung knew wasn’t going to last much. You felt too good, You were so good for him, touching him like that. So sweet making him lost in pleasure. Your soft hands making him feel so—

Taehyung snapped open his eyes.

No, you weren’t the one that was supposed to have control. He promised he was going to make you feel good.

He took your hand out, softly, to not make you angry. He wrapped it around his cock and moved to give him space between your legs.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he whispered in your ear. “I want you to take it, okay?. Gonna take what I give you.” The head of his cock brushed your clit and it made your thighs jolt. “I’m gonna fuck you the way I want. Got it?” You quickly nodded. He grabbed your jaw with hardness, his gripped in your thigh around his waist was leaving a bruise. “Say it.”

“Yes,” you breathed out.

“Yes, what?” he gathered your arousal on his cock as he waited for your answer, sliding his tip through your folds, your juices coating all his length. And then his tip hit your clit angrily, so good it made you rolled your eyes for a second.

Your head was spinning, and you knew you shouldn’t let it happen, but fuck, you need it too. So badly. “Yes, yes. I’ll take it. Everything.” You whined. “Just fuck me already,” you caved, arching your back invitingly.

“Say please,” he teased.

“Taehyung—”

“Say it.”

“Mmm. Please, please, please…”

Taehyung gripped your thigh and slammed into you, hips snapping forward with a force that punched the air from your lungs. Your back arched, toes curling as the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. You felt so good, Taehyung hissed and dropped his forehead to your shoulder, pushing forward and brutally the last bit that wasn’t able to fit. It was rough, almost a little painful. He tried to held your legs open so he could try to press his hips flush against yours. You both groaned at the feeling, needing a minute to adjust.

Taehyung felt like heaven. He tried to think about the music outside, the buzz, the dirty bathroom and all the germs, the terrible dancers, the disgusting shots… he wanted to think other that wasn’t your cunt choking his cock so needing. No, he couldn’t. You were burning. You were wrapped around him so warm, so delicious. He could feel his thighs tensing, his grip in your skin tightened. You were so good, so perfect, your walls were swallowing him whole.

“Shit, so good. You— you feel so good.” Taehyung stuttered. He pulled out just a couple inches and rammed himself back in. You cried in his ear, feeling so deliciously full, it was almost overwhelming. “Yes, yes. Shit, you sound so sweet, baby. Tell me, tell me how much you like it.”

“S-so good. You feel so good.”

Oh. He was going to make a mess out of you.

Taehyung slammed his hips into yours harder, meaner. His tip touching the spongy spot it made you almost whimpered. His hand pressed hard in your lower tummy, making you squeeze him harder. Making you feel him completely inside you.

“Gonna fuck you so fucking good, you’re gonna keep coming back for more.” You could barely breathe, barely think. His cock was hitting every sensitive spot inside you, your clit throbbing from how hard he was diving into you. “Gonna make you beg for it, just how you made me do it for years.”

He reached down, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing fast circles that made your whole body spasmed under him.

“Wait, w-wait, s’too much…” You stuttered, jaw dropping open with a gasp as he pounded into you without a care.

He gripped your hair, pulling your head back, your lips meeting in a hot, messy kiss. You were practically drooling with the way his cock was abusing your cunt. He was meaner, he was trying to prove something.

Your head fell back as he continued fucking you angrily. His mouth bit your already bruised throat, marking your skin as his.

“I told you, you’ll take what I give you.” He growled, his voice rough, wrecked. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be stretched, filled— fucked properly?” You shook your head, teeth biting down into your bottom lip roughly to suppress your moans. He chuckled dryly, moving his hips a little faster as he fucked you. “You were gonna choose a lame guy to what? Seek attention from your loser ex? You’re so pathetic, baby.” Taehyung felt on cloud nine, he couldn’t stop taking, couldn’t stop fucking you. “But it’s okay now. I’ll take care of it. Gonna make you dumb, huh? Gonna make you so dumb you won’t be thinking about him anymore.”

“Mhm, don’t stop,” you whined, pulling his hair.

“Did he touch you better than this?” He slammed his hips harder into you. “I’ll make you forget about him. This greedy cunt is mine now. Got it? He’ll probably be back begging for you to take him back,” his grip on you were bruising now. His thrusts came fast, filthy, brutal, skin slapping, breath ragged. “But you’ll be dripping and covered in me. Only me, baby— Only me. Won’t let you— won’t let you go one day without my cum, okay?. That fucking loser won’t have you, huh? He doesn’t deserve you… tell me you won’t take him back.”

You shook your head, “I won’t.”

“Say my name. Promise me you won’t take him back.”

“I won’t— I won’t take him back,” you whined, too drunk of him. “I promise, I promise, Tae.”

Taehyung was sure you didn’t know what you were saying, what he was making you say. Too drunk on him, too of a whore for his cock hitting the right places.

He rubbed your puffy clit faster. “That’s right. Y-you are gonna be crawling back to me, pretty. And I’ll fuck you like this. I’m the only— I’m the only one that can make you feel this good. Mm, shit— s’good. I should’ve been pumping this pretty cunt with cum every single day…”

Taehyung was already pounding you dizzy. And he felt his lower stomach tightened.

He knew he shouldn’t be so reckless. He should sprayed his cum on your thighs or in his hand. He knew that, but your cunt was sucking him in so tightly and so delicious that the only thing he could think of was his cum rushing deep inside of you. Consequences be damned, he thought. He’ll cum inside of you if he fucking wanted to.

You were his now, you looked so gorgeous only for him. He continued thrusting into you hard, never pulling out more than halfway, letting you take him deep inside your cunt. “oh my god, don’t stop,” you urged, nails digging into his neck and shoulders.

You were close. Taehyung felt your walls squeezing him harder. He moaned in your neck, you were sucking him so hard it was too much. He rubbed your clit desperately, helping you find your release. It didn’t take you too long to do so. Your high hit you like a truck, your nails scrapped his shoulder, your mouth parting to moan loudly. You closed your eyes, walls closing so hard and your juices coating his cock. Your vision went blurry, your breathing uneven.

Taehyung’s cock twitched inside you. His eyes rolled back, his hands gripping your skin as he heard your whimper. That hit his final straw, his forehead hit your shoulder as he felt succumbing to the sweet release. He didn’t even as he came undone, ropes and ropes of hot cum filling up your sloppy cunt and spurting down onto your thighs.

He was unrelenting, keeping you within the throes of orgasmic bliss with his cock plunging inside of you over and over again. You tried to push him away, whining overstimulated, but he didn’t let you. He needed it so bad, and so much more he kept slowly rutting into you, his cock softening inside you as he allowed himself to keep going. The overstimulation was getting to him, teeth sinking back into his lip as he tried to contain his whiny moans until his legs twitched, his eyes fill with tears and his cock ached asking him to stop, even if he didn’t want to.

It took you both a couple of minutes to catch your breath and come back to reality. The buzz of the music and noise outside hitting you back to reality. Taehyung felt you trying to push him away again, maybe to clean yourselves and go back outside. Finishing whatever had happened there.

But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want it to the end just yet.

Taehyung pulled apart, giving you a soft kiss before sliding out of you. You let a breathy moan, feeling your cunt expelling his cum and pulsating hard, very sensitive. He didn’t give you time to react before he was kneeling again, opening your legs apart to watch your pussy clenching at the tingling sensation of his cum dripping down.

His mouth was salivating at the sight. And he thought it was perfect. That is perfect. He wanted to see you covered in him. Your cunt puffy and swollen, overstimulated and asking for mercy. He wanted to give you all he had to offer to you. He wanted you to take it all, even if you couldn’t not more.

“What are you doing?” You asked him, voice raspy and dragging it. He looked at you, dark gaze and starry eyes. “Don’t do— Mmhg, Tae, fuck!.”

His mouth was on you in an instant, tongue lapping up the mess he had uncovered like he didn’t care about anything else. His eyes rolled back at the taste, eating his own cum from your cunt. The first swipe was slow, tasting every bit of the slick coating your folds. He thought it was the perfect taste, the perfect meal. Both of you dripping from your hole.

The next one was rougher, hungrier, tongue pressing deeper as he groaned into your heat. He wanted nothing more than that.

“Wait, wait. too much, s’too much, please…” You cried out.

You tried to pushed him away, you were too sensitive, he could tell. Your lips were swollen and your clit was so puffy and red. You were so cute, so sensitive, so weak. But Taehyung liked it, you couldn’t do anything than just take it. He gripped at you stronger, making you wrapped your leg around his shoulder and holding you in place as he licked you clean, every part of you dirty heat getting clean with his mean tongue.

Your back arched and he was sure that was the best view. Watching you break apart, legs open, back arched, trembling and moaning for him, in his tongue. Accepting your fate. Not being able to push him away, too week to fight. You just had to take it and enjoy it.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to have you like that again. Stuffed by him, lying in his bed, in his sofa. Against his walls, in his kitchen counter. Taehyung was sure that wouldn’t be the last time. There was no way he could spent more than a week not tasting you, not feeling your heat in his face. Not being deep inside you. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. He wouldn’t have it that way.

Taehyung got sloppy with it, getting more into it. He didn’t care about how messy he got, lips and chin completely covered of your juices but he loved it. He practically drowned himself between your thighs, gripping them so tightly as if he was afraid you’ll slip away. But you weren’t, you really couldn’t. He was holding you open for him.

He pressed your thighs harder and pulled slightly apart. Your head quickly moved to look at him, exasperated, you looked troubled. Maybe trying to stop him, maybe looking for your next release. You were so pretty. Taehyung looked up at you and his cock twitched in his pants, dying to get hard again for you. You were a mess, tears spilling down your cheeks, your face red and your lips pouty. You were so cute, so overstimulated, so sensitive. Taehyung could come from that sight. He was so drunk of you, chin full of your juices and swollen lips. He thought you were the prettiest like that, ruined by him.

He dived back, his head back into your cunt, his eyes still glued to yours as he sucked on your clit, hard and mad. And it didn’t take you too much to come undone. He didn’t look away, not even when you sobbed and rubbed into his mouth desperate. He didn’t look away when he drank all your juices, and he didn’t look away when he cleaned you up like a starved man.

“S-stop! Please, please, Taehyung, stop—”

You tried to pull him away from you by his hair, your grip so weak he could just push your hands away and dive back into you. But he didn’t, he wasn’t that mean. Not when you look so pretty fucked up, begging for mercy.

God, you were so fucked. So ruined by him. He loved it. He loved it so much. You were a piece of art he had made.

You were still catching your breath, thighs trembling, almost sobbing and tears falling down your cheeks when Taehyung kissed you again, deep and dirty, like he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue. It was sloppy, messy. He thrusted his tongue into your mouth so he could make you taste everything. Him, you.

He wanted to engraved himself into you forever.

Taehyung pulled apart, and held you softly between his arms, letting you come back to reality. It took a couple of minutes, voices barging outside to hurry up because someone wanted to use the bathroom. He barely cared about it. His hands grabbing your face to watch you, cleaning your dry tears with his thumb and making you look at his eyes with your now dumb gaze.

“You’re okay, baby?” He brushed your cheek sweetly. “I’m gonna clean you up now, okay? Just talk to me.”

“Uhm,” you nodded weakly. “Just need a second.”

Taehyung chuckled, watching you try to act tough. “It’s okay, take all the time you need.”

When you were able to stood by yourself, Taehyung cleaned himself quickly before grabbing some paper to start cleaning your thighs with delicacy, softly.

There was a silence. Taehyung was stretching the time cleaning you. Like he didn’t want to break the bubble you were both in. Because he didn’t. He didn’t want you to leave him. He didn’t want you to let go yet. It felt too soon. I felt wrong. He just wanted to take you back home, put you in his bed so you could rest and then fuck you again and again the next day. And the day after that, and the day after that too…

You hummed, trying to get his attention. “Tae,” you called. He watched you from below, gaze softer. Your eyes weren’t so bright now. Now a little more grounder and sober than before. “We can’t tell Jungkook about this.”

Taehyung stopped breathing for a second. It felt like the little bubble you were both in had exploded. His blood burned hot all over his body. Why were you even thinking about him now? It pissed him off. A minute ago you were shaking and crying for him and now you were thinking about Jungkook?.

He wanted to fuck you stupid again. Make you beg and cry for making him mad. Make you ask for forgiveness. Make you suffer a little for him…

His phone buzzed in his pants pocket.

Taehyung took it, almost too aggressively, to find a lot of missing calls and messages.

Jungkook: arrived at the party

Jungkook: where are you?

Jungkook: do you know if she’s here?

idk what’s wrong with me and these nasty ass one shots but everytime i smoke is like i can’t write more angst but only porn 😓😓

this was nasty ashellll i’m so sorry. i feel like i have to confess my sins to god or something

permanent taglist:

——————-

You first heard the word betrothed when you were eleven. Your mother whispered it like it was a blessing, brushing your hair while humming something soft. “To someone good. To someone who already loves you,” she’d said, like that was supposed to make it better. You still remember the sinking feeling in your chest when she said the name: Kim Taehyung.

Taller than you, smarter, louder—and terrifyingly possessive. Even back then.

You and Kim Taehyung were born into parallel worlds.

Two empires—his in steel, yours in land and luxury real estate—entwined by proximity, wealth, and old loyalty. Your parents met his at a fundraiser when you were still in the womb, and from that night on, it was settled.

You and Kim Taehyung grew up in the same world—glass towers, private jets, weekend galas, and houses too big to feel real. Your father owns half the city’s skyline; his family built the bridges that connect it. Wealth like that makes people greedy, paranoid. But not your families. Not with each other.

Your parents love the Kims. The Kims love your parents. It’s always been that way.

You spent holidays at each other’s estates, vacations abroad in private resorts, and birthdays where the guest lists looked like Forbes. Every major life milestone, he was there. You remember matching tuxedos and dresses as kids at some gala, dancing in front of the flash of cameras while your mothers clapped.

Not that they said it out loud—at least not at first.

At first, it was just shared vacations, joint birthday parties, his mother calling you her sweet girl while fixing your hair with diamond pins. Your father always bragged about Taehyung like he was his own son—his charm, his grades, his golf swing. “He’s a real man,” he’d say, when Taehyung stood up for you against some brat at a banquet. “You’re lucky, darling. Not every girl gets someone like him.”

And his parents? His mother spoiled you. Every birthday, she gave you something handpicked and impossibly expensive—a sapphire bracelet when you turned thirteen, a limited-edition designer bag at sixteen. She always said the same thing with a knowing smile: “What’s mine is yours, sweetheart.” His father called you Taehyung’s girl before you were even old enough to understand what that meant.

Your lives were mirrors, but his was always louder.

Where you were taught grace and diplomacy, he was taught to command. Taehyung filled a room. He was the type of boy whose name was always on someone’s lips—at school, at functions, on whispered calls behind closed doors. He was untouchable, untamed, and completely uninterested in anyone that wasn’t you.

From childhood, he acted like you belonged to him. Not in a dramatic way—but in small, possessive habits. He never liked you walking alone, even inside gated estates. He sat beside you at every dinner, always a little too close. He ignored other girls and memorized your schedule. When he got into fights, it was always over you.

You knew about the betrothal since you were eleven. The contract was a quiet thing signed between your fathers in the office with cigars and prideful grins. When you found out, your mother said it softly, like it was a fairytale. “You’ll be safe with him. His love will be your armor.”

But you didn’t want armor. You wanted choice.

And Taehyung? He never once asked if you agreed. He smiled like he already had you.

Taehyung would walk you home from school without asking. He’d pull your backpack onto his shoulder and call you mine in that calm, self-satisfied voice of his. When boys gave you notes, they ended up wet or shredded. When girls tried to befriend you, they’d back off with nervous glances—because Taehyung watched everyone. Watched them like he had the right.

And maybe he did. Because your families had already decided everything.

By the time you turned eighteen, you were tired of hearing the words “he only does it because he cares.” Your parents had given you a future without asking. A future with him.

He never even asked either.

He acted like it was already done. Like your hand already had his name etched on the bone. He said it with his eyes, with the way he smirked when you glared at him, with the way he’d lower his voice when you got angry—so low and slow it made your stomach twist.

“You’re going to marry me anyway,” he’d said once. “Might as well stop pretending you don’t want me.”

You’d thrown a book at his face.

You didn’t want him. Not like that. Not with this kind of control. But it didn’t matter what you said, not when the engagement was to be formalized on your twentieth birthday.

And worst of all—he’s not cruel. He’s kind. Terrifyingly patient.

Like a boy who’s waited his whole life, knowing eventually, you’d stop fighting.

Your lives were separate in a hundred ways. Different schools. Different social circles. You went to a rigorous prep academy focused on academics and pedigree. Taehyung was across the city, where the emphasis was on networking and legacy. His name alone could clear a hallway. And you were glad, in a way, to have your space. You liked who you were when he wasn’t watching.

Taehyung was the boy who carried your bags even when you didn’t ask. Who stepped between you and barking paparazzi. Who tore up love notes from other boys before you even read them. It used to annoy you. But over time, you got used to it.

That’s the problem now.

You’re too used to Taehyung doing things for you. Used to the way he orders your drink without asking, the way he presses a hand to your lower back when crowds get too close, the way he answers questions on your behalf like he’s doing you a favor.

But there used to be distance—separate schools, separate routines. You could breathe without him in the room.

But that all changed senior year.

When he transferred.

There was no warning. No announcement. One day, you walked into class and he was already sitting in the back row—arms crossed, legs long, looking like the school belonged to him already. Which it sort of did. One call from his father and he’d been placed in all your advanced courses, your clubs, even your student council.

And just like that, the air around you changed.

He didn’t need to say anything. He just looked at you, smirked faintly, and nodded like of course. Of course he’s here now. Of course he’ll sit by you at lunch. Of course your friends are already fawning over him. Of course you don’t need space.

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay with it.

He never has.

But he treats you like glass, only he’s the only one allowed to touch it. You feel it in the way he walks you to class now, the way he puts his hand low on your back when people are around. The way he says your name like it’s already his. And maybe it is. Maybe it always has been.

_____

You walked into your advanced econ class, and he was already seated in the back row, legs sprawled, uniform perfect, eyes locked on you like he was waiting. And from that moment, everything tilted. He joined every one of your classes, your student council, your morning study hall. No one questioned it—who would, with his last name?

The girls lost their minds.

Kim Taehyung was tall, devastatingly handsome, absurdly rich—and unattainable. The way he dressed, the way he carried himself, the lazy curl of his smirk when someone tried to flirt—he made them feel like he was a dream they had to earn.

Too bad he didn’t look at any of them. Just you.

And he made it obvious. He sat with you at lunch. Walked you to every class. Ignored every girl who tried to get his attention. And the moment that really sent your friends reeling?

Lunch.

He cut your chicken for you. With the same ease someone might pour water or pass a napkin. Your fork had barely touched the plate when his hand slid it away, and with slow, effortless precision, he sliced it into bite-sized pieces.

“Here,” he said, nudging the plate back toward you, eyes already drifting lazily across the room as if it were nothing.

Your friends stared.

You blinked. “What?”

“Did he just—?” Mina whispered.

“Cut her food?” Jia muttered. “Like she’s five?”

You looked at them, genuinely confused. “He always does that.”

Jia looked like she was about to pass out.

Taehyung, of course, just smiled. A little smug. A little possessive. Like he wanted them to know that this wasn’t new—that you’d always been his, in ways they wouldn’t understand.

And maybe you didn’t either.

——

It doesn’t stop during your lunch with your friends.

Taehyung moves through your day like he’s been doing this his whole life—because he has. The only difference now is that your friends see it.

“Here,” he says one morning, plucking your heavy textbook stack from your arms without asking. He slings your backpack over his shoulder, smooth and casual, and starts walking beside you like this is how it’s always been. Because it has.

Your friends trail behind, slack-jawed.

“Wait, does he carry your backpack to class?” Mina hisses, jogging to catch up.

“Yeah,” you say, brushing hair from your face. “Sometimes he gets annoyed if I try to carry things myself.”

They stare at you.

You stare back. “What?”

Jia lowers her voice like she’s explaining something to a toddler. “That’s… not normal.”

You blink, confused. “It’s just Taehyung.”

They exchange looks like that explains nothing. Because to them, he’s not just Taehyung. He’s the devastating new senior transfer with power stitched into every breath. But to you, he’s always been the same—bossy, patient, annoying. Familiar.

Later, you’re walking to your afternoon class when one of your shoelaces comes undone. Before you even notice, Taehyung’s already crouched, long fingers tugging the strings neatly together.

“There,” he murmurs, double-knotting it. “Don’t trip.”

You hum distractedly, checking your phone. “Thanks.”

When you glance up, three girls from your AP Literature class are staring at you with open mouths.

One even drops her pen.

Taehyung doesn’t react. He stands, dusts off his slacks, and picks up your backpack again. “Let’s go.”

You don’t question it. You never do. Because this is just how it’s always been. From the moment he was old enough to reach the laces on your shoes, Taehyung has done these things. And not once have your parents told him to stop. Not once has he asked if it’s too much. He just does.

You sit through your next class with your friends whispering at your side.

“Do you even like him like that?” Jia asks under her breath.

“He’s just…” You trail off. How do you explain something so ingrained it doesn’t feel like a choice? “He’s always been like this. It’s not a big deal.”

Jia looks at you, sharp-eyed. “That’s what makes it a big deal.”

You frown. But you don’t reply. Because what would you even say? That it’s comfortable? That it’s easier to let him do things than fight him? That sometimes it’s nice, the way he hovers just close enough to make you feel safe without saying why?

The truth is, you don’t fully understand it either.

But Taehyung does.

He watches all of it—your confusion, their judgment, his own slow integration into your life—with the calm patience of someone who’s planned for this moment for years.

He doesn’t mind that they’re starting to notice.

In fact, he wants them to.

Because the more they see what he does for you, the more they’ll understand what he already knows:

You belong to him. Even if you haven’t realized it yet.

————-

Taehyung walks you to every class, even if it means being late to his. He adjusts your uniform jacket when it’s off-center, handles things like vending machines, library fines, and event sign-ups without you ever lifting a finger.

You’re used to it.

Your friends are not.

“He really just… does that?” Mina asks one morning, after he hands you your favorite iced drink before first period without being told.

“Yeah,” you say, not looking up from your phone. “He’s always done it.”

“Like he just… carries your bag? Signs you in?”

You blink. “I mean.. Yeah.”

They don’t get it. And you’re too used to this life to explain it.

Later that week, your group has a class project due that requires bringing in heavy poster boards and prop pieces. You’re standing near the front gate, holding the lightest bag of supplies while the large foam trifold board with the rest of the massive main presentation model sit on the bench beside you—untouched.

Taehyung is supposed to carry it, place it, organize it. He always does. But he’s late.

Just a few minutes late.

Still, you check the clock. Tap your foot. Your arms are folded, and your expression is increasingly pouty.

Your friends watch you in confusion.

“Are you… waiting for something?” Jia asks.

“Taehyung,” you say simply, like that should be obvious.

Mina frowns. “You could start taking the stuff in, though.”

You look at the heavy trifold, the model board, the stack of notes under a paperweight. Then back at her. “Why would I?”

Dead silence.

Jia stares at you. “You do know it’s your project too, right?”

You shrug, genuinely confused by their confusion. “He’s carried worse.”

They’re still trying to process that when Taehyung finally appears, his blazer slightly rumpled, tie loose, hair perfectly windblown. He doesn’t speak—just walks over, takes the project supplies in one hand and your bag in the other.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says softly. “Did you wait long?”

You huff. “Yeah, I was waiting here for like… seven minutes. I even thought about carrying it in myself.”

His lips curl in a small, knowing smile. “Tragic.”

Your friends are stunned. Again.

He walks you in like he owns the building—and maybe he does. Half the girls in school watch him with hearts in their eyes, whispering about his wealth, his looks, his voice, his hands. But he doesn’t look at them.

He only looks at you.

And he does it with a kind of quiet, practiced patience that says he’s done this forever—and will do it for the rest of your life, whether you ask or not.

Because you’re used to him handling everything.

And that’s exactly how he wants it.

_________________________

That day you have a seat change in class.

Your professor, in a moment of what must’ve been cosmic cruelty, decides to “shake things up” for your literature seminar and randomly assigns new partners for the semester-long project. You don’t think much of it—until you’re paired with Raejun, a boy from the debate team. Smart. Well-dressed. Confident in a way that doesn’t scream arrogance.

You’ve never talked to him before. But when he smiles at you, something about it feels… normal. Refreshing. Like he’s not seeing you as a last name or a future heiress. Just you.

Taehyung watches the whole thing from across the room, seated beside Mina now, his expression unreadable. But you feel the weight of his gaze pressing between your shoulder blades.

“Hey,” Raejun says, offering his hand when class ends. “Want to go to the café after school? We can plan out our research outline.”

You hesitate. Not because of him—but because of the tension that immediately shifts in the room.

Before you can answer, there’s a sound behind you—metal scraping lightly as Taehyung stands. He doesn’t say a word. Just walks over, calm and unhurried, and places a hand lightly on your shoulder.

“She won’t be going,” he says to Raejun, voice polite, but firm.

You blink. “Taehyung—”

“She’s busy,” he continues, gaze never leaving Raejun’s. “With me.”

Raejun raises a brow. “I mean, it’s just a school project. I wasn’t—”

Taehyung’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you weren’t. But you are mistaken.”

There’s something quiet but unmistakably final in his tone. Raejun looks between the two of you, then steps back with a short nod.

“No problem,” he says carefully, then walks away.

The moment he’s gone, you round on Taehyung.

“What was that?”

He looks down at you. Still smiling. Still calm. “I handled it.”

“You scared him off!”

“Good.” His fingers curl a little tighter on your shoulder. “He was looking at you like you were available.”

You laugh, bitter and breathless. “Well, I am available, Taehyung. You don’t own me.”

His jaw flexes. “You keep saying that like it’s true.”

That stuns you into silence.

You don’t know what to say. You’ve known him all your life. But this is the first time he’s said something that feels like a threat—not in volume, but in certainty.

He leans in, voice lower. “You can flirt. You can pretend. But don’t forget who’s always been here. Who does everything for you. Who knows how to take care of you—because I’ve been doing it since before you could spell my name.”

His hand slides from your shoulder to your waist, and he steps closer.

“You belong with me. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

Your heart stutters.

Then he pulls back—expression smoothing over like nothing happened. “Let’s go. I already scheduled your ride.”

You don’t move at first. Just stand there, a little breathless, a little shaken.

Your friends don’t say a word. But Mina gives you a look. A knowing one. Like she’s starting to piece it together.

And deep down… maybe you are too.

———-

A week later Taehyung hasn’t brought it up again, the incident with Raejun—not with words. But his actions have only intensified. He walks you to every class now, even ones you told him not to. Waits outside the girls’ restroom like it’s normal. Texts you when you’re five minutes late to lunch with a where are you, princess?

It’s become routine again. Familiar.

Comfortable, in a way you hate admitting.

You’re in the middle of a bad day when it happens. Your student ID card—linked to your school account, your snack money, your library access—decides to stop working. You’ve tried tapping it three times. Nothing. The vending machine blinks red. You’re hungry. Irritated. And slightly flustered because you forgot to charge your phone and left your wallet in the science lab.

So naturally, you go looking for Taehyung.

You spot him near the main stairwell, talking to someone. You recognize the girl—her name is Yena. She’s on the dance team and widely known for being beautiful, graceful, and allegedly crushing hard on Taehyung since the day he transferred.

She’s standing too close.

Her hands are clasped nervously, cheeks a little flushed. She’s mid-sentence, eyes big and hopeful.

And you don’t even register it.

“Taehyung,” you call, marching up. “My card isn’t working and I’m starving. Give me yours.”

He turns immediately, hand already sliding into his blazer pocket. “What?”

You hold out your hand expectantly. “I tried mine three times.”

He steps toward you without hesitation. “You didn’t eat breakfast again, did you?”

“No, and I’m gonna pass out.”

Yena clears her throat behind you. “Um—excuse me? We’re in the middle of something—”

You turn, surprised. “Oh. Sorry.” Then pause. “Wait, were you guys talking?”

Yena blinks, incredulous. “Obviously.”

You stare at her blankly. “Right. Well, I’m just borrowing his card.”

Her mouth opens. Then closes.

Taehyung doesn’t even look at her.

He presses his card into your palm and rests a hand lightly on the back of your neck. “Go buy something warm. I’ll meet you outside in five.”

“Kay,” you mumble, already halfway to the vending kiosk. You barely notice Yena’s expression—or the way Taehyung doesn’t so much as glance at her when she starts trying to talk again.

When you’re gone, Yena stares at him, red-cheeked and humiliated.

“Seriously?” she mutters. “I was trying to tell you I like you.”

Taehyung tilts his head slightly. “I know.”

She blinks. “Then—?”

He smiles. Not kindly.

“I don’t really care.”

And then he walks away.

By the time you’ve bought your snack, he’s already waiting by the courtyard steps, hand outstretched to carry your bag. Like always. Like it’s nothing.

You toss him his card back. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t take it.

“You should keep it.”

You blink. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You’ll need it again.”

You slip it into your pocket without thinking. Because you probably will.

And behind you, somewhere in the distance, a girl walks away with tears in her eyes—learning the same thing everyone else eventually does:

You weren’t just someone Taehyung liked.

You were the reason no one else ever stood a chance.

___________

It all builds up to Friday lunch.

You’re eating at your usual table, Taehyung sitting beside you with one hand on your chair and the other lazily flipping through your notebook. Your untouched tray is half-eaten—because he made you a custom plate and brought it over himself. Your backpack is off your shoulders, tucked beneath his seat. And your phone? Charging in his blazer pocket because you forgot again.

You’re not even thinking about it. But your friends are.

The moment he steps away to take a call, Mina turns to you, dead serious.

“Do you even realize how dependent you are on him?”

You pause mid-chew. “Excuse me?”

Jia chimes in. “Like—do you know how to do anything without him? Register for classes? Go to the bank? Cut your own food?”

You blink, chewing slowly. “I mean… not really?”

Mina looks horrified. “You’re not even ashamed!”

You lift your juice with a shrug. “Why would I be?”

They stare. You smile. You’re not even being ironic.

“I do well in school, I handle my business, I’m just not…” You wave a hand vaguely. “Manual.”

“Manual?” Jia echoes, deadpan. “Girl, you couldn’t even refill your Metro card without him.”

“Because he does it better,” you say breezily. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Mina says carefully, “is that if he ever left, you wouldn’t know how to function.”

That gives you pause.

Not because she’s wrong. But because… yeah. She’s kind of right.

You’re smart. Brilliant, even. You get top marks, lead committees, kill it in academic competitions. But when it comes to real-life things—life life—Taehyung or your parents have always stepped in.

Need to open an account? Someone handled it. Need to pay your phone bill? Auto-paid. Hair appointments? Booked. Dry cleaning? Delivered. Anything that involved interaction, planning, lifting, sweating—Taehyung did it.

Because he wanted to. Because you let him.

And deep down, you know you could learn. You could grow. Be self-sufficient.

But… you don’t want to.

You sip your drink. “You make it sound like a tragedy. It’s not. He likes doing things for me.”

“That’s not the point,” Jia says, softer now. “Don’t you ever feel like he’s building your whole world around himself? Like, if he pulled back even once, the floor would fall out?”

You glance at Taehyung across the courtyard. He’s standing in the sun, one hand in his pocket, phone pressed to his ear, eyes flicking toward you even while he talks.

He doesn’t pull back. That’s the thing.

He never has.

And if you’re honest with yourself… it is a little terrifying how much you rely on him. How many things you don’t know. How often you look for him without realizing.

But you’ve never felt safer.

You look back at your friends and shrug. “I like not having to handle everything. I don’t think that makes me spoiled, and I don’t want to change.”

They fall quiet.

And then Taehyung returns, slipping his phone away and leaning in to brush a crumb off your cheek. He doesn’t ask what you were talking about. He doesn’t need to.

You lean into his hand like it’s instinct.

Because it is.

—————-

You bring it up later.

Not because you want to fight—but because the silence your friends left behind won’t leave your head.

The sun is setting outside the library, soft gold bleeding through the windows as you both sit on the lounge couch. Taehyung has your laptop on his lap—sorting through your inbox without being asked, muttering about unsubscribing you from spam. He’s calm. Comfortable. In his element.

Which makes it feel even riskier to ask.

You shift a little. “Taehyung?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t look up. His fingers are already clicking away—cleaning up your digital clutter like it’s his own.

You pause. Then: “Do you think I’m too… dependent on you?”

That gets his attention.

He freezes for half a second. Not long. But you notice.

His eyes flick up slowly, dark and unreadable. “Who told you that?”

You fidget. “Just… my friends. They said I wouldn’t know how to function without you.”

His jaw tics—just slightly. “And do you believe that?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Maybe a little. But… is that bad?”

He sets your laptop down. Gently. Like he’s afraid of cracking it. Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at you with something slower, heavier.

“No,” he says quietly. “It’s not bad.”

Then his voice changes—darker, silkier.

“Why wouldn’t you depend on me?”

Your heart flutters. Not in a good way. In the way prey animals might flinch when the air goes still.

“You shouldn’t have to worry about things like money, scheduling, errands. You’re too good for that. Too soft. I want to take care of everything. Isn’t it nice? Isn’t it easy?”

You swallow. “Yeah, but—”

“But what?” he murmurs. “You want to start struggling? You want to learn how to carry heavy things, make calls, deal with strangers who talk to you like they don’t know who you belong to?”

His voice is still soft—but the tone underneath is sharp. Glittering.

“I’ve done everything so you wouldn’t have to.”

There’s a silence between you now, thick with something you can’t quite name. And then, with a faint smile, he lifts a hand to your cheek.

“You’re not dependent on me,” he says, stroking your skin with his thumb. “You’re just mine.”

The words hit something in your chest.

He leans in, nose brushing yours, voice lowered to a whisper.

“And I’ll never let you forget that.”

You say nothing.

You don’t push him away.

Because somewhere, deep down… a part of you always knew that, while circumstantial— and like the moon to the earth—, you would always be tethered to Kim Taehyung.

(tbh idk if this proper grammar)

__________

You almost forgot about the engagement.

Not really forgot—how could you? It’s been hanging in the background of your life like an old painting, too familiar to notice anymore. But with school, exams, Taehyung transferring, and your friends whispering about how “weirdly close” he is… it’s been easy not to think about.

Until he brings it up.

You’re at his place—which is bigger than most hotels. Normally unheard for a student his age. He’d picked you up after school because your driver was late, and you didn’t want to wait. It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon. Just homework and coffee and the same way-too-large couch you always half-sink into.

But now you’re sitting at the edge of his bed, watching as he flips through a thick leather folder on his desk.

“You know,” he says casually, not even looking at you. “You’ll be twenty in about nine months.”

You blink, suspicious. “And?”

He smiles to himself, then holds up the folder—cream-colored paper, gold-stamped headers.

You recognize the logo: your family’s law firm.

Your stomach tightens. “What is that?”

“Preliminary prep,” he says simply. “Your dad and mine have been reviewing timelines.”

Your breath hitches. “Timelines for what?”

He looks at you then—straight on, with no attempt to soften the blow.

“For our engagement.”

You stare at him. “I thought that wasn’t until after I’m twenty.”

He shrugs, too relaxed. “It won’t be formal until then, no. But the structure’s being built. Joint accounts. Combined assets. Travel permits. You’ll be included in our family trust sooner than expected.”

You blink hard. “I didn’t agree to that.”

Taehyung tilts his head. “You didn’t have to.”

You shoot to your feet. “That’s not how this works, Tae. Just because our families—just because they planned something doesn’t mean—”

“It’s not just them,” he cuts in, voice cool. “I’ve always known I’d marry you.”

You go still.

He rises slowly, walking over until you’re nearly chest to chest.

“This isn’t a plan to me,” he says, voice low. “It’s a truth. Something I’ve been building around for years. Every school I chose. Every step I took. Every decision I made with your name in mind.”

You swallow. “That’s—obsessive.”

He smiles faintly. “No. It’s devotion.”

Then he leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.

“Do you really think I transferred to your school just because I missed you?”

You shiver.

He pulls back, eyes locked on yours, and speaks with quiet finality:

“You’re not going to walk away from this. Even if you try. Because no one else will ever be good enough for you. And because I already made sure—long, long ago—that I’d be the only one waiting at the altar.”

You don’t move. Don’t speak.

And in the silence, he leans forward, kisses your temple gently, then murmurs:

“Nine months isn’t that long, sweetheart. You’ve already belonged to me your whole life.”

_______

The invitation came in a gold-trimmed envelope sealed with wax.

Your parents had smiled when they handed it to you—said it was just a family dinner. Just a small celebration to honor a “new stage of unity.” But the tone in their voices said more. Final. Proud. Like they were presenting a trophy they’d spent years polishing.

You knew before you even opened it that this wouldn’t be casual.

By the time you arrive at the Kim estate, everything is already perfect. A private ballroom dressed in candlelight and crystal. Velvet napkins. A custom menu. Your mother kisses Mrs. Kim’s cheek like they’re sisters. Your father clinks whiskey glasses with Taehyung’s dad like the deal is done.

And in the center of it all—Taehyung, standing beside the head of the table, waiting for you.

He pulls out your chair before you can reach for it. Adjusts the hem of your sleeve when you sit. He leans in, murmurs, “You look beautiful tonight,” and doesn’t blink when your hand flinches slightly in your lap.

Dinner begins with toasts.

Your father raises his glass first. “To two families who’ve built a future together—and to the children who’ll carry it forward.”

Mrs. Kim beams. “We’ve waited so long for this to become official.”

You press your lips into a polite smile, trying not to fidget with your silverware.

Everyone’s watching. Everyone’s so happy.

Except you.

Except Taehyung—who doesn’t look happy. He looks calm. Focused. Like he’s measuring how long the speech is so he can steer the next move.

Halfway through the meal, he touches your hand lightly under the table. When you look at him, he’s already watching you, gaze unreadable.

“They’re going to propose a wedding date,” he says quietly.

Your heart lurches. “What?”

“Not officially. Not yet. But they’ll test it. Mention something this spring. Smile like it’s hypothetical.”

You glance at your parents, laughing with his.

“And you’re just fine with that?”

He turns fully to you. “I already picked my date three years ago.”

Your breath catches.

“Why spring?” you whisper.

He smiles faintly. “Because you look prettiest in white under cherry blossoms.”

You want to be angry. You want to pull your hand away.

But you can’t.

Because he’s looking at you like he’s already seen it all. Like he’s watched you walk down the aisle a thousand times in his head. Like he’s not hoping for a yes—just waiting for the moment it becomes impossible to say no.

And the scariest part?

No one here sees anything wrong.

To them, it’s romantic. Powerful. Perfect.

And Taehyung knows it.

He squeezes your hand just once and murmurs,

“You were born to sit at my side. Why fight it now?”

________

Things at school are… different.

Not in a huge way. Not loud. But in glances. In whispers. In the shift of attention every time Taehyung enters a room with you at his side.

The dinner last weekend hadn’t been public, but people talk. Especially when powerful families start moving in sync. And when Taehyung returned to school on Monday in a tailored blazer with your family’s crest embroidered beside his own, the rumors practically lit themselves on fire.

No one dares ask him directly. But they do ask you.

“Hey,” says Hana, a girl from your physics class, catching you at your locker during break. “Sorry if this is weird, but… are you and Taehyung, like… together?”

You blink. “What?”

“Dating. Officially. Because I know a lot of girls who, like… would want to confess to him, but they’re not sure if he’s off-limits or not.”

You stare at her like she just asked whether the sky is blue.

“No,” you say. “We’re not dating.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Really?”

You nod. “It’s complicated.”

She leans in, curious now. “How complicated?”

You shrug. “We’ve just… known each other forever. Our families are close.”

Hana tilts her head. “Close like how?”

You say it without thinking, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “We’ve been arranged to be married since we were kids.”

She freezes.

You don’t notice right away.

You just keep rummaging through your locker, tugging out a notebook like you said we’ve got a quiz today, not I’m engaged to a future CEO because our parents decided when I still had braces.

When you turn back to her, she’s blinking slowly.

“I—sorry, what?”

You blink back. “Oh. Yeah. It’s a family thing. I think the formal engagement is in two years, but it’s basically done.”

She stares at you like you’ve grown another head.

And you genuinely don’t understand the reaction.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“You’re not dating,” she says slowly, “but you’re arranged to marry?”

You nod again. “Yeah.”

“But that’s, like… that’s insane.”

You frown. “It’s kinda… normal to me, I guess.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that.

And neither do you.

Because it is normal to you. Normal for Taehyung to walk you to class. Normal for him to sign your forms. Normal for him to know your routines better than you do. You never had a moment to decide whether you wanted him or not—he’s just always been there.

The only strange thing is that anyone else finds it strange.

From across the hallway, you catch his gaze. He’s leaning against the wall, surrounded by people, but watching only you.

You offer him a small nod.

And he smiles like he already knows what you just said.

Like he expected it.

Like you’re already doing exactly what you were raised for.

————

Some days, you forget how weird your life looks from the outside.

Like Tuesday morning, when you’re walking to homeroom and Taehyung intercepts you in the hall, already holding your planner open.

“You have a meeting with the student council after lunch,” he says. “Moved your group project review to Thursday, and your mom texted me—she’s sending the driver to pick you up at five instead of six.”

You blink at him, still chewing a bite of your granola bar. “Oh. Okay.”

Your friends behind you—Mina, Jia, and Sujin—are just watching. Speechless. Again.

“You didn’t even check your schedule,” Mina mutters.

“I don’t need to,” you say around your granola. “Taehyung does it for me.”

“You do realize how insane that sounds, right?”

You shrug. “He’s good at it.”

It’s not a joke. You genuinely don’t remember the last time you scheduled your own appointment, submitted a form on time, or even remembered a test day without Taehyung sending you a text reminder in the morning.

He keeps your life straight. Always has.

It’s just… efficient.

Later, during a speed and strength class, an elective class, it’s even more obvious.

You’re supposed to be doing light activity—shooting hoops for cardio. Most people are in pairs. The gym is loud, sweaty, chaotic.

And then there’s you.

You’re barely jogging around. Mostly standing in one place while tossing basketballs half-heartedly at the hoop. It wouldn’t work, except—

Taehyung is there.

He’s not even in your class, technically, but he’s here anyway. He’s standing just off the court in his white PE shirt and black sweatpants, hair pushed back, sleeves rolled up. Every time your ball rolls away—even two feet—he sprints after it.

He brings it back. Hands it to you.

Every. Single. Time.

You don’t even have to look.

At one point, you miss and the ball hits the wall, bouncing off toward the opposite bleachers. You sigh and glance at him.

He’s already gone after it.

You and your friends decide to sit on the bleachers nearby. They had their water bottles in hand, slack-jawed.

“Do you ever get your own ball?” Sujin finally asks.

You look at her, confused. “You mean before Taehyung transferred? I guess so.”

Mina groans. “This is actually insane.”

You’re about to respond when the bell rings. You head to step off the bleachers, but hesitate when you realize your foot’s already sore from earlier in the week—you’d twisted it during rehearsal. The bleachers are high. Your knee wobbles a little when you try to step down.

And without missing a beat, Taehyung’s there.

He reaches up, lifts you off the bleacher like you weigh nothing, and sets you down gently on the gym floor. Hands warm at your waist. Careful. Casual.

“There,” he murmurs. “Don’t strain yourself.”

You barely react. “Thanks.”

Your friends? Dead silent.

“You don’t see anything wrong with this?” Mina hisses under her breath as you walk out together.

You shrug. “He takes care of me.”

Sujin laughs weakly. “He’s like a full-time handler.”

“He likes it.”

They exchange looks, unsure whether to feel jealous or horrified.

But all you feel is calm.

Because this is how it’s always been.

And Taehyung? He’s already waiting outside the locker rooms, holding your bag like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Because to both of you—

It is.

——————

Dinner with your two families were always long, quiet, and expensive.

The kind of dinner where every fork gleams, every glass sings when touched. Where the napkins are folded like fans, and the staff appears and disappears so seamlessly it feels like magic. But the real performance is happening at the table.

Between the parents.

Your parents. His parents. And the two of you—sitting side by side at the center, like royalty in waiting.

“So,” your father says warmly, lifting his glass, “Taehyung tells us he’s already closed his first real estate acquisition under the family trust. At his age. That’s no small feat.”

Your mother beams. “It’s truly impressive. We always knew he’d rise early. The Kim family reputation precedes itself, but still—it takes discipline to live up to it.”

Taehyung’s father smiles. “He’s always been diligent. Obsessively so. When he locks onto a goal, it’s already his.”

You feel Taehyung shift slightly beside you, his arm resting along the back of your chair. His fingers graze your shoulder, casual—claiming.

“We’re just grateful,” your mother continues, “that our daughter will be cared for by someone so driven. We couldn’t ask for a better future son-in-law.”

“I’m not just going to care for her,” Taehyung says then, smiling softly but speaking with that quiet gravity only you recognize. “I’ll make sure she never has to lift a finger unless she chooses to.”

Your father chuckles. “You spoil her already.”

Taehyung’s hand slides lower, palm lightly brushing the top of your arm.

“She was raised to be spoiled,” he says simply.

Everyone laughs.

But then his mother turns to you, face warm and proud. “And you, my dear, are every bit the young lady we always hoped for. That voice of yours—the singing, the languages, the way you float across a piano… You don’t just have talent. You have grace.”

“I always said she has presence,” your mother chimes in. “Even when she was little. The way she speaks, the way she carries herself—”

“She was born with the feminine arts in her bones,” his father adds. “She’s cultivated. Refined.”

Taehyung looks at you with a slow smile.

“You’ve become exactly what I always pictured you would be,” he says softly. “Beautiful. Sharp. Still mine.”

You freeze.

The table laughs again. As if it were romantic. A compliment.

But his hand tightens slightly at your side. Just for a second.

You force a small laugh, trying to breathe past the weight in your chest.

Because this isn’t just admiration.

It’s assessment.

Praise for becoming the perfect investment. The perfect possession. The perfect bride.

And you realize, in this moment, that the dinner isn’t a celebration.

It’s a ceremony.

You’re being spoken about like something rare and precious.

And Taehyung is the only one at the table who looks at you like he already owns it.

————————

It’s framed as a gift.

A weekend trip to a private vacation estate in the hills—courtesy of both families, as a “reward” for your academic success and Taehyung’s flawless integration into your school.

Your parents gush about it. “You two deserve a little time away,” your mother says, smiling as she adjusts your suitcase. “Something quiet. Private. It’ll help you get more comfortable.”

“With what?” you ask, even though you know.

“With your future,” your father answers simply.

Taehyung picks you up Saturday morning in his family’s private car. The driver handles the bags. He opens the door for you. The moment you sit, he drapes a soft cashmere blanket over your lap, already warmed. The cabin smells like white tea and something faintly floral—your favorite.

It’s only a two-hour drive. Quiet. Scenic.

And Taehyung holds your hand the entire way.

When you arrive, the villa is already stocked. A breathtaking two-story home nestled into the hillside with an infinity pool, glass walls, and a view that stretches all the way to the sea. The staff greet you like they know you—like they were prepped not just on your allergies but your mood swings.

You’re led upstairs to the bedroom.

Singular.

And your breath hitches the moment you step inside.

It’s enormous. Warm-toned. Candlelit. The windows are half-open, the curtains blowing in a soft breeze. There’s music playing faintly from somewhere—classical, soothing.

But the most obvious detail?

There’s only one bed.

You turn slowly. “Taehyung.”

He’s already removing his blazer, rolling up his sleeves.

You stare. “There’s only one bed.”

He glances at it. Then at you.

“So?”

You narrow your eyes. “We’re not even engaged yet.”

He steps toward you, calm. Certain.

“No,” he murmurs. “But we’re promised. That’s more than enough.”

You cross your arms. “They said this was to bond. Not to pretend we’re already married.”

He smiles at that. A slow, dangerous kind of smile.

“Do you think they don’t already see it that way?”

You blink.

He steps closer. “We share a future. This is just a preview.”

You back up until your legs hit the bed frame. “This isn’t what I agreed to.”

He leans down, bracing one hand beside your hip on the mattress.

“But it’s what you were raised for.”

You go still.

His voice softens, brushing the shell of your ear. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to. You know that. I’m not rushing anything.”

Then he pulls back slightly—just enough to look you in the eye.

“But you should get used to waking up next to me.”

There’s a terrifying truth to his words—not because he’s being cruel, but because he’s not lying.

He’s being honest.

And worse, part of you doesn’t hate it.

________________

You’re lying on your side, facing the window. The sheets are cool. The lights are off. Taehyung’s arm is slung loosely over your hips, his chest pressed to your back. Barely touching, but enough to feel the heat of him through the thin silk of your sleepwear.

And then—he shifts.

His thigh brushes between yours. His palm slips slightly lower. And you feel it. All of him. The slow, steady thrum of heat and muscle behind you.

You freeze.

You’re hyper-aware now.

Of the way his arm tightens a little. Of the soft exhale he lets out against your neck. Of the fact that his hand is so big. His forearm alone spans your waist. And when you glance down—

When did he get that built?

You’d never really looked before. Not like that. But now you can’t stop noticing—the broadness of his shoulders, the quiet bulk of his biceps when he tightens them, the way his veins drag across his hands when he adjusts the blanket for you like it’s instinct.

Has he always been this… big?

You shift slightly. Not away—just enough to think.

Your breath catches when his fingers brush against your stomach. You’re not even sure it was on purpose.

You’re warm now. Embarrassingly warm.

And worst of all?

You don’t hate it.

Taehyung stirs behind you. You think he’s asleep—but then his voice slips into the dark, low and calm.

“Are you nervous?”

You swallow. “No.”

“Liar.”

You shut your eyes. “I was just thinking.”

He hums. “About me?”

You don’t answer.

He doesn’t need you to.

His hand presses a little flatter against your stomach. Still chaste. Still polite. But there’s weight in it now. Possession. Heat.

“I’ve always been here,” he murmurs, voice right at your ear now. “It’s not my fault you’re just now seeing me.”

You inhale sharply.

And he chuckles—deep and satisfied.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “You’ll get used to that, too.”

————

The weekend unfolds like a dream you didn’t choose.

The estate is too quiet. The staff is too trained. Everything is tailored to your comfort—your favorite teas, your preferred temperature, your brand of lotion already stocked in the bathroom. It should be soothing.

But it isn’t.

Because nothing about this place feels like yours.

It feels like his.

Taehyung hasn’t raised his voice once. He hasn’t touched you without care. But everything he does drips with intention. Every dinner is timed. Every walk through the garden is silent and slow, his hand resting low on your back like a claim. Every decision is already made before you think to ask.

And the worst part?

He treats you like you’re cherished.

Not a prisoner. Not a guest.

A wife.

On the second night, you wake to soft breathing behind you. You’d fallen asleep on the far side of the bed, but now his arm is heavy around your waist. His legs tangled with yours. His breath brushing your neck.

He’s hard against your lower back.

You freeze.

And then you feel his voice against your skin.

“Still awake?”

You swallow. “Taehyung—”

“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” he says, and he means it.

But he doesn’t move away.

He just lets his hand skim your stomach. Not lower. Just enough.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Just this. You, in my bed. Where you’re supposed to be.”

You close your eyes. His hand flexes slightly over your stomach.

“I could take it slow,” he whispers. “Kiss you until you forget why you ever hesitated.”

You let out a shaky breath.

He nudges your hair aside and presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck. Then another. Then one just beneath your ear.

“You’d be so sweet under me,” he murmurs. “Soft. Shaking.”

His hips shift—barely. But enough for you to feel just how badly he wants you.

You don’t push him away.

You should.

But you don’t.

And he knows.

“You’re already mine,” he whispers. “Your body just hasn’t caught up yet.”

He grinds against you slightly—just enough for you to feel the full weight of his desire. You shudder.

His breath is warm at your nape. “Do you feel how hard I am for you? Every night I lie here and ache, knowing you’re finally where you belong, and I’m still being good.”

His fingers skim the underside of your breast, then retreat.

“I’m patient,” he says, kissing the back of your shoulder now. “But don’t mistake that for weakness.”

You feel his grip tighten at your waist again. “One day, you’ll beg me to take you apart. You’ll ask for it. And when you do…”

He presses one last kiss to your jaw—possessive, lingering.

“I won’t hold back.”

And then, just like that, he pulls you tighter into his chest. Like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just whispered a slow unraveling into your ear.

Sleep doesn’t come after that.

But you don’t move.

And neither does he.

Another kiss. Lower. Smoother.

“This body—this future—it already belongs to me.”

His fingers trail up your ribs, then stop.

He lets you breathe.

Because he’s patient.

And patience, with Taehyung, is never kindness. It’s calculation.

———

You try to sleep.

You curl up beneath the sheets, facing away from him, breathing slow and shallow, mind racing from everything he said—everything he almost did.

You never stood a chance.

The words echo like a curse, like a promise.

Eventually, exhaustion pulls you under.

But your sleep is shallow, twisted. And then it starts.

The dream.

You don’t even realize it at first—only that you feel warm, breathless, weightless. A hand on your hip. A mouth on your throat. The sound of someone groaning low against your skin. Fingers pushing your thighs apart, a familiar scent, lips brushing your jaw.

And his voice—low, velvet.

“Mine.”

You arch in your sleep. Whimper.

In the dream, he’s inside you. Deep. Slow. So gentle it’s cruel.

You moan.

“Taehyung…”

The name slips from your lips before your body even registers it.

In real life, your back arches. Your thighs clench. Your lips part on another helpless little sound.

You don’t see him sit up behind you.

Don’t feel the shift in the bed as he leans in.

But you do feel his fingers graze the inside of your thigh—real, not dream-soft

And you wake.

Eyes fly open.

Your body is still humming. Still aching. And when you move—

You freeze.

There’s wetness between your thighs. Sticky. Obvious.

Your cheeks flush red hot.

You turn slowly to find him kneeling beside you on the bed, sheets pooled around his waist, chest bare, hair tousled. He’s staring at you with something dangerous in his eyes.

You don’t speak. Can’t.

He hums low. “You said my name.”

You try to look away.

He reaches out, hand brushing lightly along your inner thigh.

You flinch.

He doesn’t stop.

“You were moaning for me in your sleep,” he says calmly.

Your heart pounds.

“Did you like it?” he asks, voice a whisper now. “The dream?”

You can’t breathe.

He leans in, mouth brushing your ear. “Was I fucking you slow or hard?”

You choke on a gasp.

He smiles, soft and smug. “You don’t have to be scared of this anymore.” He murmurs. “I wonder if your body will tell me what you won’t.”

Then his fingers slip under the hem of your shorts—just once.

Just enough to feel the truth for himself.

You grab his wrist—too late.

His eyes darken.

“Look at that,” he whispers. “Soaked.”

And then, maddeningly, he pulls away. Slowly. Like he’s tasted you without swallowing.

He lays back down on the bed, eyes never leaving you, voice steady.

“Sleep well, sweetheart.”

The wait for the test felt eternal, and yet somehow too soon. Adriana texted me almost every day, reminding me to drink water, to rest, and to think positively. She asked how I was feeling, whether I’d been sleeping, and whether I needed anything. It was her way of caring. Or maybe it was her way of controlling what little control she still had. Either way, I answered her every time with a smiley face or a "doing fine!" and hated myself for it.

I hadn’t talked to my therapist about it. How could I? What would I even say? That I slept with my sister’s husband to help them have a baby—and now I can’t stop thinking about him? That I want him in ways I’m not supposed to? That I wanted him as a teenager, even though she didn't know he existed? That I feel alone in a way I’ve never known before?

Tae and I used to be able to talk about anything. Back when I pretended he was just a brother to me. Back when we were a trio, a tight-knit little family. Now, I couldn't look at him without feeling my entire body flush with guilt and longing.

I missed Adriana, too. Not just her chirpy texts or her overwhelming optimism. I missed how we used to be. Before all this. Before everything changed. But that part of us, that intimacy, that bond felt lost, somehow broken. I hated that I was the one who broke it.

And now, the day was here. The official test day. The day Adriana and Tae would come over, and we’d do the test together like we always had. That was their ritual. All three of us. No one gets to know before the others. We are in this together. That’s what Adriana always said.

Which is exactly why I took the test the night before. The myth that we were all in this together for overwhelming. 

It was my quiet rebellion. My hidden middle finger to the process. To the expectation. To the shame. To my fear. 

I had woken up in the middle of the night with a strange feeling. Not nausea. Not cramping. Just… different. Like my body was no longer mine alone. Like something inside me was new, sacred, and terrifying.

I went into the bathroom and peed on the stick.I sat on the edge of the tub, the pregnancy test in my hand, watching the seconds count down like a bomb about to explode. My heart thudded so hard I could feel it in my throat. And then, There it was.

Two lines.

I slid to the cold bathroom floor, the test trembling in my hand.

Pregnant.

Tears rolled down my cheeks—silent, steady, unsure whether they came from joy, fear, or devastation. I had done it. We had done it. The deal was sealed between me, Tae, and Adriana.

I was carrying their baby. His baby. My baby, our baby. 

And now I had to sit across from them and pretend I didn’t already know.

I chose a different chair today. Not the spot I usually took, squeezed beside Adriana like we were still two halves of the same soul. Today I sat apart. Distant. Detached. It made me feel safer.

Adriana and Tae sat side by side on the couch—her practically glued to him. Her hand rested on his thigh, and she kept glancing at him like she was reading the room and choosing to ignore it.

Tae sat stiff beside her.

His posture was too perfect, too still. His jaw clenched ever so slightly, and his leg bounced restlessly until Adriana gently pressed her hand on it. He stopped but didn’t look at her.

He looked at me. I couldn’t meet his eyes.

The tension between us was thick, sharp like glass. My skin tingled with awareness. My breath felt shallow. His presence affected me like a magnet, pulling, tugging, but I couldn’t let myself lean into it.

Adriana was here.

She was always here.

She acted like nothing was wrong. Not a single thing. She was cheerful and chatty and way too upbeat for a woman who orchestrated her sister sleeping with her husband four times. It was unnatural. It made me sick. And yet, she was the glue holding us in this awkward trio, pretending none of us were falling apart.

The pregnancy test sat on the coffee table between us, white and sterile and ominous. The timer was already ticking down the seconds. Adriana had insisted on setting it. Of course she did.

I watched the numbers slowly disappear. My heart thudded.

Tae rubbed his palms on his jeans. His eyes darted between the timer and the floor. He still hadn’t said a word.

And then the timer buzzed.

Adriana let out a squeal and snatched the test like a child opening a birthday card.

“Oh my god!”

Her voice cracked, already tearing up. “You guys! It’s positive! We’re pregnant!”

She turned to Tae, throwing her arms around him. He smiled, a small, distant curve of his lips—and hugged her back.

But his eyes found mine.

And in that moment, everything inside me crumbled.

Because his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Because his gaze held something else—something I recognized too well.

Ache. Guilt. Maybe a sliver of something could be longing?

I looked away, tears already threatening to rise.

She reached for me next, pulling me into the embrace, her arms wrapping around both of us, all three of us locked in a circle.

I didn’t know how to move. My body was frozen.

I felt Tae’s hand brush lightly against my back in the hug, and the contact sent a jolt through my entire body.

My heart began to pound—loud, fast, painful.

And then it hit me.

I was pregnant.

With my twin sister’s husband’s baby.

A man I had secretly loved years ago. A man I was never supposed to want. A man I had tried to forget. A man who now haunted my every thought, my every breath.

This wasn’t just some fantasy anymore. This wasn’t a fleeting moment in the dark.

This was real.

I felt the floodgates inside me crack open. All the years of silence, of pretending, of denial, I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I didn’t know how.

The truth was screaming through my veins, louder than the heartbeat in my ears.

I loved him.

I had always loved him.

And now I was carrying his child.

The room began to sway. My knees buckled. My vision blurred as Adriana’s voice became a distant echo.

A warm hand gripped my arm—Tae’s.

“Amelia?”

But it was too late.

Everything spun.

Taglist (open, don't hesitate to ask me): @calmyourtitts7

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

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You’d think that falling off a balcony and nearly shattering every bone in your body would earn you at least a little sympathy.

Well you’d be wrong —at least if you happen to be talking about a crown prince.

The first few days went smoothly enough. Yoongi stayed by my bedside, escorted me on my first outings —which, according to him, happened far too soon, but I couldn’t take lying in bed all day any longer— and, overall, everything seemed designed to spare me any strain. Which, I’ll admit, annoyed me.

As kind as they were, the way the servants spoke to me, helped me with even the most insignificant task —insisting, for heaven’s sake, on feeding me themselves— drove me up the wall. I can’t stand being treated like some fragile porcelain doll that might shatter at the slightest misstep. I trained with the special guard, surrounded by men who, more often than not, are twice my height and twice as broad, taking the exact same treatment they did —it’s going to take more than a little fall to put me down for good.

Even if, judging by the ache in my ribs, you might think otherwise.

Still, it seems the prince caught wind of my inner outrage —because while the first few days after my return to Ebonwick were spent making sure I didn’t so much as lift a finger, barely a week later I was right back where I’d been before leaving for the Princess’s manor in the south.

Which is to say: planted in the middle of the ring, fists up, doing my best to dodge the blows of the heir to the throne.

You might assume that, given my injuries from barely a week ago, he’d at least have the decency to go easy on me.

Well you’d be wrong again. He’s not even pretending —he’s here to win. He’s been aiming for my ribs since the start of training, to the point where even the sight of his knuckles swinging dangerously close to my jaw feels like a relief compared to the lightning pain he’s been driving into my stomach for the past hour.

The blows keep coming —some dodged, others landing squarely. Normally, I’d be ashamed of how I’m doing little more than keeping my guard up and evading instead of striking back, but I’m not exactly in the mood to play cocky right now. At least, not until he does.

He takes a sudden breath, muscles in his arms tightening, a nerve twitching in his jaw as he lines up a strike aimed straight for my face. But while all his attention is on his upper body and the force behind his punch, mine shifts to something much lower. His legs.

His legs, hanging loose, badly positioned —just there to keep him upright, when all it would take is listening to my advice for once to make his footwork a lot sharper.

My own leg moves faster than his arm, shooting up and hooking around his before I slam my heel down behind his knee.

It buckles instantly, like a stick giving way, and he crashes forward with a grunt of pain that’s half snarl. I barely have time to step back —I know all too well how he plays dirty when he starts losing— my hand pressed to my ribs and my breath coming in ragged bursts, when sudden laughter and clapping echo through the basement.

From his stone bench below the ring, Prince Jimin is doubled over, eyes crinkled into two little half-moons.

“Again! Again!” he sings out, clearly delighted to watch his childhood friend lose.

Still on the floor, fists and teeth clenched, Taehyung spits out a string of curses, far less amused. “Shut it,” he growls at the blond, shooting him a murderous look.

Which only makes Jimin laugh harder. The tension running through Taehyung’s whole body says it all —like a predator about to pounce— and I know perfectly well that if he’s this worked up, I’ll be the one to pay for it. Because for all his taunting from the sidelines, I’d like to see Jimin take on Taehyung’s monstrous arms and fists himself. Just because I take the hits without flinching doesn’t mean they don’t hurt, for fuck’s sake.

I force a small smile. “Your Highness, it’s getting late.”

Jimin turns to me, eyes sparkling with mischief, completely unaware of the effort it takes to keep my voice from shaking under the pain. “Tomorrow will be a long day —you should get some rest.”

“And miss this show? Not a chance,” he grins.

“I insist, Your Highness.” And when he opens his mouth to argue, I add, “Yoongi and I will give you all the spectacle you could wish for tomorrow.”

I arch a brow in challenge, and Jimin mirrors it with a crooked smile, suddenly intrigued. From the shadowed corner by the basement entrance, Yoongi’s sigh reaches our ears easily —the thick stone walls carry every sound.

For all it sounds weary, he knows as well as I do it’s inevitable: tomorrow will be filled with fights far nastier than the one currently taking place between the prince and me, and he, our men, and I will be the main actors.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that while Prince Jimin doesn’t care much for fighting himself, he loves to watch —especially when it’s his side that wins.

His eyes crinkle again with that same mischievous light, glinting in the dimness. “You’d better not disappoint me, Harin!” he teases, chuckling, before throwing me a wink and a little wave toward Taehyung. Then he gets to his feet and heads out, Yoongi on his heels.

It’s only once the heavy door shuts behind them that I let out a shaky breath.

Stupid mistake.

Because the second that door closes, a hand clamps around my left ankle and yanks, dragging me to the floor with a strangled cry of surprise.

The back of my head nearly bounces off the boards, my breath knocked out of me. I want to slap myself. I’d been so focused on Jimin —and on dreading tomorrow’s fight— that I forgot all about Taehyung and his fondness for cheap shots.

Running purely on reflex, the pain too sharp for me to think of any real strategy, I roll to the side the moment his grip releases my ankle. I immediately regret it —my face twists as all my weight shifts to my aching ribs— and before I can recover, Taehyung’s on me again, one knee digging into my stomach, one hand pinning my wrist to the cold floorboards.

His free arm lifts high, muscles flexing as he aims —and again, I raise my own arm to shield my face, bracing for the blow I’m sure will come.

It doesn’t.

Silence falls over the platform, broken only by our ragged breathing —mine sharper, each inhale stabbing— but he doesn’t strike.

His fist hovers in the air, his face so close to mine that I can see every bead of sweat on his brow, the dark strands of hair plastered there.

Our gazes lock —freeze, really— and for a moment the only sound between us is our breathing. His face is so close I can count every one of his lashes and spot precisely the little mole on his nose. I don’t move —he doesn’t either. Not until his eyes flicker downward for a split second and he suddenly looks away.

His fist drops to his side.

“That’s enough for today,” he mutters, voice rough as he straightens up, releasing me. Not quickly enough to hide the way his ears have flushed red.

For once, my frown isn’t from pain but pure confusion.

That’s new.

I push myself up as well, but he’s already stepped off the platform, too busy wiping sweat from his forehead with a cloth to wait for me. I try to ignore my limp as I make my way toward the railing, gripping it so hard my knuckles turn white. Everything hurts —but it doesn’t stop the thin smile pulling at my lips.

“What, afraid you might lose?” I call out, tilting my head. He looks up, follows the movement as I approach, and my smile seems to distract him from the fact that I’m practically hobbling. I only stop when I’m close enough that our chests almost brush. At this distance, he has to look down to meet my eyes —makes it impossible not to notice his ears are still bright red. “Or do I make you nervous?”

A few days ago, I wouldn’t have dared say that. But something shifted between us, even if I can’t name it. He’s still infuriating, still throwing those insufferable little jabs every chance he gets, but… it’s different.

I’m not blind. I see how he keeps glancing over his shoulder to make sure I’m right behind him. How he’s always the first to remind me about my daily appointment with the doctor —whom he insists on bringing in from the capital, no less.

And, well… I did almost die. I’m allowed a little indulgence.

He doesn’t answer at first. Just stares, stunned, mouth slightly open —then he snorts, right after swallowing hard, before tossing a cloth just like his straight into my face. “I’m more worried about making you lose a bone. I need those bones intact tomorrow.”

He raises an eyebrow with the words, like he’s daring me to push him into continuing training. Something tells me it wouldn’t be difficult.

I nod, pressing my lips together to hide my smile, but stay silent —only making him twitch in impatience.

“Something to say, Min?”

He leans in as he speaks, close enough that his nose is only a few centimeters from mine. My turn to swallow —more discreetly than he did, at least— before I shake my head.

“No,” I murmur. His expression shifts into something smug and he’s about to step away when I add, “Keep pretending you don’t care. It suits you.”

He freezes mid-step, not even moving as I walk past him, still smiling, and grab a cloth to wipe my forehead. I hear him grumble something behind me, and when I look back, his ears are a deep shade of crimson. Good enough answer.

“We should go up and sleep. We won’t stay upright tomorrow otherwise,” he mutters as he walks past me, ruffling his hair and carefully avoiding my eyes.

I smile softly. Him and that ridiculous pride of his.

I close my eyes for a moment at the mention of tomorrow —of that long, silent journey to Ironshell, all hush-hush and hidden, and then the plan we spent months building finally being set in motion.

Just thinking about it feels exhausting already.

Not a word passes between us as we make our way back upstairs, the quiet and darkness of night wrapping around us like a cocoon. Only when we reach my door —just a few steps from his— does he pause, glancing over his shoulder.

“Make sure you’re in better shape tomorrow, or I know someone who’ll be disappointed.” I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back a sharp retort at the mention of my sorry state.

I manage it —for a few seconds. His smug look tips the balance. “You didn’t seem disappointed when you were the one on the floor. Missed it, did you?”

The smirk drops, replaced by a dark glare. “Shut up, hmm?” he mutters, clearly not fond of having his same old mistake thrown back at him.

“Rest up and keep your knees ready for tomorrow?” I add, twisting the knife. The words fall somewhere between a question and a challenge, the faint smile on my lips not helping my case —but he just exhales, like he can’t believe my nerve.

He stares me down for a beat, then shakes his head. “Out of my sight, vermin.”

It’s almost funny, the way his voice has softened, even if his words are still as sharp as they were months ago. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Taehyung’s rough edges are starting to wear down with me.

My hand is on the doorknob, my mouth ready with one more quip —when nothing comes. Just the sudden certainty that I don’t want to go into that room.

Here, in the stillness of the torchlit hallway, it feels so easy. Easy to just let it slip out.

It would take only a sentence, a few words, to tell him. To say how my nightmares seem to come alive whenever I’m alone, how many times tears have burned my eyes at the mere thought of what happened, the mere thought of these monstrous purple shadows —with the stupid hope that he might understand.

To tell him I don’t want him to leave. That I can’t hold myself together when he’s not there to pick apart my weaknesses.

He raises a brow, waiting for a comeback —but I give him none. I just nod, lips pressed tight, offering a quick salute before unlocking my door and slipping inside.

Only when I hear him enter his suite and close his own door do I allow myself a sharp hiss of pain, my hand pressed to my side.

Damn ribs.

And in the silence of my room, I close my eyes —afraid of watching the shadows move.

Rest never lasts long in this house.

I barely had time to think about getting into bed after a quick wash when there’s a knock at my door —short, hurried raps. I sigh, but it’s not like I have the luxury to complain.

A servant waits behind the door, looking terrified, her clothes rumpled and her hair a mess as if she’d been running. She’s so panicked she jumps when I open the door. “Miss Min!” she blurts out, far too loud for the silent hallway in the middle of the night. “Y-you have to… A man came all the way from the Capital, he demands to see someone, he—”

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” She doesn’t need to be told twice, barely waiting to be sure I’m following before disappearing down the corridor. I almost have to run to catch up, and unsurprisingly, she heads toward the third sitting room.

Other servants wait in front of the door, just as panicked as she is. As soon as I reach them, a flood of hurried whispers assaults me —some trying to explain what’s going on, others complaining about the late hour, and some just rambling between panic and exhaustion.

On either side of the door stand two of my men, dressed in their usual black uniforms, but they just shrug and shake their heads when I shoot them a questioning glance.

“Should we wake His Majesty?” one of the servants asks nervously as I reach for the door and prepare to enter the sitting room.

I shake my head before I even think about it. “And have you slaughtered on the spot for disturbing him at this hour?” She pales, immediately catching the implication. The Prince hates being disturbed —always, but it’s ten times worse at night— and if he’s woken because of a messenger from the King… I can already feel his fury.

“I’ll handle it, don’t worry. I’ll call you if I need anything,” I add to reassure them, and they all nod.

The sitting room greets me with a blinding brightness compared to the hallway’s darkness. To receive the unexpected visitor, the chandelier on the ceiling has been lit up entirely —and though this room is only the third and smallest sitting room in the house, that single chandelier is enough to light the space like broad daylight, all made of crystal, of course. The Royal family and their ever-present wealth…

By the large window, staring outside, stands a man of average height wearing the Royal Guard uniform. He turns toward me at the sound of the door closing, and his simple disheveled hair is enough to tell me he’s ridden all the way here on horseback from the Capital. Only the cold northern wind hitting your face like that can ruin the perfect coiffures of the Capital.

Though I wasn’t expecting much, I can’t help but be surprised when the man’s face —clearly much older than me— darkens the moment he sees me, showing what seems to be disappointment, if not outright annoyance.

“You are?” he asks bluntly, sizing me up from head to toe.

I don’t hesitate to return the favor, one eyebrow slightly raised. His uniform is plain, no insignia or decorations suggesting a high rank, and he holds a glass in his hands —the servants must have given it to him to keep him waiting.

So, Mister gets served a drink, and he doesn’t even have the decency to be polite.

“Min Harin, Lieutenant of the Special Guard and personal bodyguard to His Majesty Prince Taehyung.” His face falls a bit more with each word I say, until he actually pales under the warm chandelier light when he notices my black attire. “And you?”

I admit, I love scaring new arrogant arrivals.

“I didn’t know there were women in the Special Guard,” he mutters after a few seconds, as if too stunned to say anything else. I hold back from commenting, jaw clenched, eyes as dark as my clothes.

“Glad to enlighten you —how can I help?”

My sharp tone echoes in the room, and he straightens up quickly, clearing his throat.

“I am a messenger sent directly by the King to deliver a message to the Prince. I would ask you to—”

“Perfect. Give it to me, I’ll pass it on.”

Without moving closer to him, I hold out my hand for him to deposit the message —probably just another letter that the Prince and his father occasionally exchange. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to deliver one —though it’s certainly the first time one arrives at such an hour, and with a soldier delivering it instead of a palace bird.

He doesn’t move, his hands closing reflexively as he frowns.

“Well, thing is… it’s an oral message.” he finally mutters, looking at me as if I’m an idiot.

Though I’m tempted to furrow my brow his way, I keep a neutral expression, mentally wondering. An oral message? That’s rather unusual.

What is the King up to now?

“So?” I answer simply, too exhausted to deal with his games. “What are you waiting for?” I just want him to speak his message and be done with it.

This time, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Has no one told him his thoughts show on his face with all those expressions? “The… The King specifically said it must only be delivered to the Prince himself…” He stammers, but I quickly realize from the look he shoots me that he’s just flustered by my reaction —as if he expected me to obey his every command immediately.

Yeah, you wish. As if I’m crazy enough to wake the Prince in the middle of the night. He may dislike me less than he did a few months ago, but I have no doubt about how he’d react —and I’m not exactly eager to die tonight.

“So what? I’m supposed to wake His Highness up in the middle of the night?” I say, barely believing my ears, a shadow of sarcasm creeping onto my lips. But the words he utters next wipe it away fast.

“Those are the King’s orders.”

His tone is final, cold almost, as he stares at me again, trying to gauge my reaction. If I weren’t so tired, I’d probably be irritated by the way he spoke to me —as if I were just a lackey here to obey him.

My eyes drop again, once more, to the front of his jacket, bare of any insignia. Not a single badge, decoration, nothing. A regular soldier, picked at random to deliver a message.

Because of its nature, well, special, the Special Guard rarely comes into contact with the rest of the Royal army, and it doesn’t even operate the same way. There aren’t really ranks in the Special Guard —just two members, usually the strongest, chosen by the others to receive orders from the Kings. Originally, that’s all it is: two guards who, when the Kings have orders, go see them to hear instructions, then pass them on to the rest of the team. By habit, they’re called Lieutenants, but it’s more a nickname than anything else —they don’t really have power over the other guards. In truth, I like to say we’re all equals in the guard —though when Yoongi or I give orders, in either squad, everyone obeys immediately.

Still, since we’re the direct link between the Kings and literally an overtrained army, if you translated that into Royal army “jargon,” Yoongi and I would be at least Generals.

I take no arrogance from that pseudo-title —I just have a hard time tolerating a lowly soldier talking to me like that.

“Well, sorry, but you’re going to have to wait until morning.” My tone is even sharper than his, the barely hidden challenge in my voice. I’m tired enough —if he annoys me, I can end this myself, King’s message or not. “But please, make yourself comfortable —or did the King also order someone to give you a room?”

Sarcasm drips from my voice as I almost politely indicate the leather chairs, and if my eyes weren’t throwing so many daggers, you’d swear I look friendly.

The insolence in my tone —usually reserved for the Prince— doesn’t seem to sit well with him. “I must see the Prince. Do as I say and go fetch him!”

His voice echoes in the room, and the mere thought of some idiot out of nowhere yelling orders at me makes my blood boil.

“And I’m telling you, that’s not going to happen.”

“Isn’t the Special Guard supposed to obey His Highness’s every command?” he suddenly snaps, stepping forward to face me, his expression threatening. His eyes narrow into slits, his fake polite tone not hiding the irritation in his voice. “Or do you simply consider yourself above the others?”

“And does a mere soldier really have the right to answer a lieutenant like that? Or are you just suicidal?”

Ironically, the man and I freeze at the same moment —him because he didn’t hear someone enter, me because I would recognize that voice anywhere.

That damned deep, smooth voice with that barely concealed threat in its tone.

The soldier suddenly recoils as if struck by lightning, and glancing over my shoulder, my eyes inevitably fall on the Prince’s form, leaning casually against the doorframe, shooting the man a look even darker than mine a few moments ago —even darker than the one he usually gives me.

He’s furious —and I’m too tired to tell whether it’s directed at me, as usual, or at the intruder.

Behind him, the servants huddle close together, and I spot one of my squad members. I bet that upon hearing our annoyed voices, one of them went to wake the Prince. Or Did he hear us all the way from his chambers?

“Tell me, peasant, is my dear Father so desperate for me that he can’t even bother writing letters anymore? Does he have to send the disturbance in person?”

If my tone was biting earlier, his is downright chilling. The soldier drains of all color, and I’m not exactly feeling brave myself. He’s angrier than I expected, it seems. Yet judging by his neat uniform and perfectly arranged hair, you’d swear he was warned hours in advance about the messenger’s arrival —not rudely woken up in the middle of the night. Did he even bother to sleep?

“Guards,” he suddenly thunders, his voice loud and absolute, echoing through the walls. “Show this charming visitor the door; his presence is unbearable.”

He barely glances at the soldier, his look full of contempt and disdain, as he gestures to the two guards by the door.

“Y-Your Highness, wait…” the soldier stammers as the two guards move, grabbing him by the arms to pull him out of the room. “I have a message from the King, please allow—”

“No, thank you.” Taehyung cuts him off, throwing another contemptuous glance his way. “I’ve heard enough; the words I exchanged with him before leaving the Capital will suffice for the next ten years. If he wants to speak to someone who cares, he can go to his court.”

And just like that, with those last words snapping through the air like whip cracks, the soldier is dragged outside, and after quick curtseys, the servants disappear down the halls, leaving us alone in silence.

The Prince’s gaze remains fixed on the door where my men and the soldier vanished, his eyes narrowed as he shoots it a death glare, before an annoyed sigh escapes him.

“Honestly, Min, if I were you, I’d be ashamed to have wasted my time like this.”

Of course. It was too much to hope he wouldn’t say at least one snide thing.

Surprised, I raise an eyebrow, chin up to face him. “What was I supposed to do? Go fetch you as soon as he asked me?”

Again, his gaze hardens, and the shadow of a grimace crosses his face. “Not doing that is the only thing you can be proud of here.” He grumbles, clearly irritated at the mere thought that I might have done it. “Next time one of my Father’s messengers shows up, order that they be chased off. And burn every letter he sends me in the future too, if you would be so kind.”

With one hand, he taps my shoulder distractedly before stepping toward the hallway, ending the discussion as if he’d just tossed off a casual remark.

“Excuse me?” I blurt out, stunned, and he turns back to me with a raised eyebrow. “You can’t just ignore the King like that…”

“Oh? Didn’t you just see me do exactly that? Should I tell them to bring back the other idiot so I can show you again?”

“Seriously, I don’t think I have the right to do that,” I mutter, shaking my head slightly.

A dark smile curls on his lips. The kind of smile that’s anything but reassuring, especially on the Prince’s face. “Of course you do. I’m authorizing you. I’m ordering you to, actually,” he points a finger at me, proud of himself.

I shake my head and sigh, unable to believe my ears. Did that brat just order me to ignore the ruler of the Kingdom, really?

His predatory smile widens at my incredulous expression, and he gestures for me to follow as he starts back toward his chambers. “Next time, try not to trouble yourself for so little,” he says one last time, as if to make sure the order sinks in. His voice, however, softens almost tenderly in the words that follow. “Go back to sleep; tomorrow will be a long day and you need your rest.”

An amused smile creeps onto my lips without my will when he repeats my own words from a few hours ago, and I tilt my head, too quickly to notice that the five-step distance etiquette demands is far from respected.

My eyes settle on his perfectly chiseled profile, tracing his straight nose before dropping to his lips, where a lazy, soft smile lingers —the kind of easy smile that seems like it’s always been there.

“That sounds like a phrase I should be saying,” I murmur softly, and his smile mirrors mine as he turns his head to lock his dark eyes with mine.

“Maybe, but I’m the one who gives the orders.” Then, stopping in front of my door for the second time that night, he adds, and I swear his eyes get softer, “Go to sleep. You have wounds to heal, my dear.”

I don’t have the strength to whisper back that some wounds never close.

Yesterday, the doctor monitoring my wounds told me at least seven times that embarking on a full day’s horseback journey with the possibility of a battle waiting at the end was the worst idea I could have had.

Yesterday, before we parted ways to sleep, Yoongi threatened to tie me to my bed so I wouldn’t try to hit the road with them the next day —that stubborn was I.

This morning, at dawn, Jimin gently let slip the possibility that I might stay behind in Ebonwick. He felt so sorry for me and how annoyed I was about the whole thing that he casually mentioned I could serve as a distraction if a messenger from the Capital happened to find the house empty.

Then, right before we left, the subject came back up: and Taehyung, ever the great poet, declared that I could come if I wanted —and that he’d even be delighted to see me fall in battle, but that I better not kick the bucket before the plan was over.

So I came. And I was optimistic enough to think Yoongi would leave me alone —except he’s just as stubborn as me, and spent the entire journey right beside me, behind Taehyung and Jimin, grumbling with a pout that I’m reckless while I glanced at him from the corner of my eye with a fond smile.

My idiot big brother who will never change.

After hours of riding, as the afternoon fades and the sky slowly turns orange, the thick forest finally begins to give way to meadows, until the small town of Dewell appears in the distance. Almost immediately, Yoongi’s squad splits from the rest of the group and scatters, turning into stealthy shadows veering through the fields heading south. Towards Ironshell.

Sitting upright in the saddle, Yoongi turns to me, looking torn. His little pout hasn’t disappeared, and I can tell he’s worried as he starts biting the inside of his cheek.

I sigh, mostly for show since I can’t hide my smile. “Come on, hurry up. You’re going to mess up the plan if we’re late.”

He immediately darkens. “Take care of yourself.” He mutters simply, but his eyes narrow when he says it, lending the words a threatening edge. I roll my eyes, amused, and he turns to the two Princes, who are discreetly watching us. “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you both.”

If Jimin really looks scared by his bodyguard’s promise, nodding furiously with wide eyes, Taehyung doesn’t even pretend to be impressed, raising an eyebrow with a smug look as if daring Yoongi to follow through on his threat.

My brother turns back to me, his gaze softening when his eyes meet mine. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it almost immediately, his gaze flicking between me and the two Princes. Only when I catch the little flicker trembling in his black eyes do I understand.

Yoongi is worried.

The conversation we had in the Capital’s infirmary comes back to me, and I find myself swallowing before I even have time to think about it. With what we know now, and the weight resting on our shoulders, it’s no surprise Yoongi doesn’t want to leave me alone —especially not in my current state.

But it’s not like we have a choice.

He finally closes his mouth, simply nodding in understanding —and that’s enough to convey our thoughts.

Take care of yourself.

Ironically, I remember the few words that used to follow it.

At the first sign of trouble, run.

A light tap of his heel, and Yoongi leaves us, following the rest of his men and blending into the landscape. I watch him go for a few seconds, then when I force myself to refocus on the town ahead, I catch the two Princes watching me. Jimin, eyes wide with that curious look that seems to make his eyes bigger. Taehyung, with something deeper in his gaze, but it’s so well hidden behind his usual mask of indifference that I can’t guess what’s going on in his head.

For the second time, I swallow. Focus, Harin.

Spurring Lexi on —ignoring the sharp pain blooming in my tailbone and traveling up my spine— I position myself level with them, on Taehyung’s left. His indescribable gaze never leaves my face for a second.

“You know how you’re going to handle it?” I ask after a few seconds, nodding toward the town in the distance.

It’s stupid, really, but even when several seconds pass without either of them answering, I refuse to turn my head to look at them —even though I can feel their scrutinizing eyes on me.

One of them finally clicks his tongue, then Taehyung sighs. “It won’t be complicated. The Duke of Dewell is an old friend, and convincing him to help us will be easy. The Lieutenant has the thankless task.”

Slowly, I nod. With how tired I am, just thinking about the plan gives me a headache, and I’m almost grateful not to have a major role. It feels almost unfair —considering I practically put this plan together, you’d think I gave myself the easy part, but honestly, it was just more practical that way.

Yoongi and his squad are heading to Ironshell to meet the Lord while me and the two Princes, with my squad, are going to Dewell to see the Duke. That’s the first part of the plan: each group has to convince their target to help. Yoongi, by offering the Lord of Ironshell a chance to finish off a longtime enemy. Taehyung and Jimin, by laying out their plan in Dewell. A delicate but necessary step for what comes next.

“He’ll manage without trouble,” Jimin says, totally convinced. “That bastard Springers won’t hesitate for a second,” he grumbles, making a face at the mention of the Lord of Ironshell.

“Even without that, he’s always been good at persuading people.”

I murmur the words absentmindedly, barely realizing it, and the two turn to me with raised eyebrows and wide eyes of surprise.

I look back and forth at them, confused. “What?” Then, seeing their disappointed looks and the small smile threatening to bloom on Jimin’s lips, I frown. “You don’t believe me?”

“Of course we do. I totally imagine the Lieutenant charming people with his pretty scar and absolutely adorable grimace,” Taehyung says with an arched brow, making Jimin snort with laughter. I roll my eyes, refusing to play along. Okay, Yoongi doesn’t always seem very friendly at first glance, but I stand by what I said.

“Don’t take it personally, Harin, it’s just that… usually, that’s said about me,” Jimin gently slips in with a smile.

“He doesn’t do it like you, but he manages just as well,” I grumble.

“Oooh, so he just beats people up until they listen? That makes way more sense,” Taehyung nods like a kid being explained something, and while Jimin bursts out laughing, I narrow my eyes, making a huge effort not to tell him to shut up.

Of course, he sees my internal struggle: the next second, his usual smirk appears, and he raises his eyebrows provocatively just to annoy me even more.

I sigh, a shadow of a smile escaping me.

It’s going to be a long evening.

The duchy of Dewell is a small fortified town, surrounded by vineyards so vast they could cast shadows over the great fields of Hestidia (according to Jimin, that’s utterly ridiculous, but having seen those Hestidian fields myself, I know what I’m talking about).

When we reach the main gate, we find about ten guards posted there, and since Taehyung isn’t wearing his usual gray fur or even his crown, he doesn’t get the reception he expected.

In fact, the guards don’t recognize him at all.

His portraits might be plastered all over the Capital, but out here in the countryside, no one really knows the heir’s name —let alone what he looks like…

Still, it’s a blow to the Prince’s ego.

“I’m telling you, I’m the heir!” he growls, getting increasingly annoyed atop his mare, who stamps impatiently. “Open the gates! I demand entry!”

Jimin, staying at my side, a few steps behind him to enjoy the show, leans in softly to whisper: “If they don’t let us in, the plan’s toast, right?”

I exhale through my nose to hide a small laugh. “Slightly, yes.”

His grin widens as he watches his friend getting worked up at the guards. “Should we help him?”

I purse my lips in a small frown, pretending to think, eyes fixed on the Prince waving his arms wildly on horseback. “... Do we have to?” I murmur, and Jimin bursts out laughing.

“I’m a friend of the Duke, he’s going to be very displeased when he finds out you didn’t even let me in...”

“Sorry, I haven’t received any orders indicating the Duke was expecting friends,” the guard snaps back without hesitation, and I see the Prince grit his teeth from where I stand.

“Taehyung,” Jimin interrupts, a fond sigh escaping him as the dark-haired Prince turns to him, still flushed with anger. “Your seal.”

He says no more, and Taehyung stares at him, confused for a moment before his scowl fades as he realizes. Clearing his throat, his eyes flick briefly to me, looking almost embarrassed. Turning back to the guard, he yanks a ring off his finger and, with a quick flick, tosses it at the man’s face —nearly hitting his eye if the guard hadn’t reflexively caught it.

I don’t need to see the ring myself to know what’s engraved on it —a bear, etched in gold, the seal of the Irinian crown. To Taehyung’s delight, the guard pales, immediately bowing and stammering apologies, quickly followed by the others.

“M-My deepest apologies, Your Highness…” he stammers. Taehyung barely glances at him, snatching the ring back, and within a minute the great gates swing open. Our small group enters the streets of Dewell, one guard scouting ahead to warn the Duke of our arrival.

While the soldiers in my squad stay quietly behind, the two Princes stride confidently forward, as if they know exactly where they’re headed. During one of those mornings spent in the library, Jimin had casually mentioned that they’d both come here many times when they were younger; indeed, as we make our way toward the heart of the city, where the Duke’s residence stands, the two marvel at the changes Dewell has undergone since their last visit.

On those mornings, they’d also briefly told me about the Duke —an old man, kind, who, according to them, loved everything except his neighbors. I’d expected a decrepit old man, perhaps unfriendly and sharp-tongued, letting my imagination fill in the few details they’d given me.

I certainly wasn’t expecting to meet a giant man, towering and broad, with fiery red hair and beard reaching his stomach, smiling ear to ear.

“My friends!” he booms when we reach the great hall where a guard leads us. He opens his arms wide to the two Princes, laughing heartily. “What a joy to see you again within these walls!”

Taehyung shoots a dark look at the guard, as if to say ‘see? We’re friends!’ before imitating Jimin, who steps forward to embrace the Duke.

“I can’t believe it; how long has it been since your last visit?”

“Seven years, I think. Eight, almost. I missed you, Duke,” Jimin replies, his smile as wide as the old Duke’s.

“And so did I!” the elder laughs, one hand resting on his belly, quickly echoed by the two Princes. Only when his laughter dies down do his small eyes settle on me, noticing me for the first time. “And who is this lovely young woman with you?”

Suddenly, their three pairs of eyes turn to me, and I feel my face flush, unprepared for such sudden attention. Jimin opens his mouth to answer, but Taehyung cuts him off, clearing his throat.

“She’s my bodyguard. Min, Duke of Dewell…” he waves distractedly between me and the Duke, as if making introductions.

The Duke smiles at me, his gaze suddenly shining with a little spark, and I quickly bow my head in greeting —not as low as I do for Princes, but he’s still a Duke, and even a Lieutenant must show respect.

“Duke, it’s an honor to meet you,” I say, straightening up, adhering strictly to etiquette. Just because the Princes seem comfortable with me doesn’t mean I lose my manners.

The old Duke’s smile widens. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Min.”

Before I can move or say anything else, the Duke steps forward, takes my hand, and gently leans down to kiss it.

I freeze, stunned —and judging by the sudden silence from the two Princes, they’re just as shocked.

What is it with nobles and this habit of kissing every woman’s hand they meet?!

I’m so taken aback I barely notice how Prince Taehyung suddenly tenses beside me, until, while the Duke still holds my hand, the Prince’s hand slowly rests on my shoulder, gentle.

A light pressure from his fingers. Then, just as delicately, he firmly grabs my shoulder and pulls me sharply back until I’m behind him, my wrist slipping from the Duke’s grip in the movement.

Taehyung doesn’t let go of my shoulder as he shoots the surprised Duke an unreadable look before casually saying, “Jimin and I have come to make you an offer, Duke.” His voice has lost its former cheer, now sounding falsely neutral —but harder, too.

He keeps his grip on my shoulder as the Duke’s eyes flick back and forth between him, me, and the hand still holding me. The old man’s smile slowly grows wider, and I swear I feel the Prince’s fingers tighten around my shoulder, even if just a little.

“Oh? And a good one, I hope?” he drawls in his rich voice, turning slightly to Jimin, who’s already watching Taehyung with a small smile.

“Let’s just say our little enterprise from last time might well have a sequel starting tomorrow,” Jimin explains calmly, sparking the Duke’s curiosity.

The Duke shoots me one last enigmatic glance, then refocuses on the two Princes as if nothing happened, leaving me alone with the heat rising in my cheeks and my pounding heart.

“Well then, you’ll have to tell me all about it, boys! And afterwards, we’ll throw a little party in your honor!” he announces, opening his arms wide before motioning for us to follow.

Taehyung only releases my shoulder as we enter the Duke’s office.

And as he turns to shoot me a quick glance, his eyes hold that same veil that always makes it impossible to guess what he’s thinking —but there’s that rare glint of softness in his gaze, and a clear message: From now on, you stay behind me

If there’s one thing the Duke knows how to do perfectly, it’s throwing parties.

Then again, I get it: if my lands produced a wine as good as his, I’d seize every chance to drink it too. Jimin says no drink will ever match Hestidian liquor —the truth is, he hasn’t had a drop of Hestidian wine in months, and he’d be willing to drink just about anything if it reminded him of home.

Which probably explains his current state.

I wouldn’t go as far as to say he’s drunk —it’s not the first time he’s had a drink, and he knows as well as I do how badly he handles alcohol. He knows his limits: the right word to describe him now would be cheerful.

Enough to not care about anything, not enough to regret it tomorrow. Because tomorrow’s schedule leaves no room for a hangover.

He’s already on his fourth dance —and the steps here are a far cry from the stiff ones they do in the Capital. But judging by the dazzling smile that hasn’t left his lips all evening, I’d say he wouldn’t trade this for anything.

A plan B was prepared in case the Duke refused to help. The two Lieutenants were adamant that we needed a plan B, and a plan C, and a D, and far too many other letters after that.

They were quickly forgotten.

Jimin and I had barely finished explaining the plan when the Duke agreed and ordered his sergeants to gather the troops. An hour later —the time needed to explain the details and make sure everyone knew the plan by heart— the musicians started playing, food and drinks were served, and everyone was dancing in the village square.

Let’s just hope no soldier calls in sick tomorrow.

Slowly, I bring the bottle’s neck to my lips, drinking the last drops before setting it down beside me. From where I sit, I see only skirts and shirts swirling in every direction, the music and laughter ringing out. Not a single black uniform in sight.

Yet, I know Min’s men aren’t far, hidden somewhere watching the scene. I doubt the special guard soldiers would ditch their dark outfits to join the party —especially when our presence here is meant to remain secret. If a word of this reached Ironshell, it would all fall apart.

I sigh and close my eyes, running a hand through my hair. From where I sit, the music from the town center comes to me muffled, just a soft background noise ringing in my ear. But despite myself, the irritation pulses in my skull, and I find myself hoping I’m far enough away not to hear it at all.

Jimin sees parties as a way to escape; I see them as a bitter reminder of the past. I suppose I can comfort myself with the thought that tomorrow, it’ll all be over, and I can return to Ebonwick, far from these Capital rats, to wait for my father to die and the throne to come to me. But even that feels like a poor consolation.

“Is it really worthy of a Prince to hide in a corner rather than join the festivities?”

The clear, soft voice suddenly sounds to my right, pulling me from my thoughts. I turn my head quickly to find the source —fully knowing who spoke the moment I hear the words. I’d recognize this voice anywhere.

I stay still, frozen for several seconds, as in the darkness my eyes land on Min. For once, she’s dropped the formal uniform routine and rolled her sleeves up to her elbows, revealing pale, slender forearms. The first buttons are undone at her collarbone, and she’s let her hair fall freely over her shoulders like she usually does during training. At first glance, she looks relaxed —yet I can see the handle of a knife sticking out of her boot, and I know her well enough by now to understand she’s ready to strike if needed.

Her hazel eyes look at me gently, shining with a golden gleam in the dim light.

“Because you think it’s more dignified of you to come look for me here?” I finally answer, raising an eyebrow.

She exhales through her nose —the closest thing to a laugh she’s ever offered me.

“Except I didn’t come looking for you. I knew I’d find you in some corner, lamenting.”

“Do I look like I’m lamenting?”

She tilts her head, as if thinking it over. “Should I say no so I don’t get punched?”

I study her for a moment before shaking my head, amused. Madame’s getting confident, I see. A few months ago, I would’ve probably tried to strangle her for such insolence

Now, I find it oddly entertaining.

I’m softening.

But I struggle to find a single reason to want to change that.

“Don’t answer,” I grumble, and she smiles, moving closer.

I raise an eyebrow as she pretends to sit next to me, and in response, she hands me a still corked bottle. The only light comes from the village square where the party is just a few meters away, faintly illuminating the dark corner we occupy, enough for me to see the amber liquid through the glass.

Whiskey.

Min barely has time to settle her legs comfortably before I yank the cork free with a sharp pull —and it’s only when the long swallow travels down my throat that I hand the bottle back to her.

She takes it silently but doesn’t drink. I doubt Min ever drinks, really.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep at this hour?”

She turns her head to me, surprised by the calm, quiet tone of my voice. It’s rare that I talk to her —yet strangely, among all these people, she’s the only one I want to speak to.

There’s something intoxicating about the way we almost whisper, as if afraid to be heard despite the loud music playing just meters away.

“I’m no longer a child, Your Highness, I decide when I go to bed.” When I open my mouth to protest, to mutter that in her condition her priority should be resting, especially with what she’ll have to do tomorrow, she beats me to it. “Besides, I’m not really allowed to sleep until you do. I’m still supposed to protect you, you know.”

You’re the one who should be protected, I bite back the retort.

I’m no fool: I saw during the journey all the grimaces she tried to hide as the horse’s movements awakened her pain. Even the look Cat’s Eye gave her before leaving us, as if afraid she’d break if he lost sight of her.

She acts like everything’s fine so we won’t worry, but she shouldn’t be here in her state. I let her come because I knew she wouldn’t give up, but also, I admit, out of selfishness. After what happened at my sister’s birthday, there’s no way I’m parting from her again —last time I did, she almost died.

I turn my head just enough to catch a glimpse of her profile. In the silence broken only by the party’s music, I watch the wild strands of her hair, the curve of her nose —the way her eyes sparkle in the lantern light. Her gaze drifts to the dancers a few meters away, and a faint smile curves her lips, her cheek softly bouncing with the movement.

Without looking away from the party, she hands me the bottle again, and I gladly take it.

“Jimin was looking for you,” she says flatly, the kind of tone that doesn’t expect an answer.

A chuckle escapes me. “And what did you tell him?”

She shrugs. “That you were probably sitting in some corner. That seemed as logical to him as it did to me, though I don’t understand why.”

This time, her voice softens at the end. Less light, as if she’s afraid to really ask and chooses to do so more disguised. I could choose not to answer, if I felt like it. She certainly wouldn’t question it.

Bottle to my lips, I take another sip. “My family has always loved music and parties. Very royal, apparently.”

She turns her head, her hair fluttering as her hazel eyes meet mine.

“You don’t?”

“No, I’ve always tended to despise what my family loves.”

Her head tilts slightly to the side, barely a few centimeters. “By choice?”

Smiling, I pretend to think it over. I could list one by one all the things I hate simply because of my family. “Depends.”

She nods without replying, as if my not-so-clear answer is enough for her. Or as if she can sense that my family is the last thing I want to talk about. But as silence falls between us, she doesn’t look away, watching me quietly —for the first time, it seems, without judgment or ulterior motives.

“Why are you doing this?” She finally asks, her voice sounding in my ear a thousand times softer than just seconds before. I look at her without speaking, my fingers idly playing with the bottle’s neck, making my rings glint in the dark. When I don’t answer, she adds, no louder than a whisper: “You and Jimin. This whole plan around Ironshell. Why?”

There’s something dangerously pleasant in the way she says Jimin, ignoring his title. As if, in the shadows, between two whispers, there was no Kingdom, no heir, nothing. Just two people quietly talking.

Oh, yes, I’m softening.

“You never asked,” I answer, more a remark to myself than anything else.

“To be honest, I thought it was just another idea to piss off your father,” she almost whispers immediately, bringing a smile to my lips —because it is, in a way. “But… I don’t know, there’s something, the way you both talk about Ironshell… It seems like more than that.”

She lets silence fall again, her mouth slightly open as she watches me, patiently. Terribly patient, as always, while I lose myself in her hazel eyes —hypnotized by their glow. I’ve never seen eyes shine so brightly in the dark.

After several seconds without a response, she raises a hand to fix her hair, as if to hide. “I wouldn’t want to cross the line, though. I’m only your bodyguard, afte—”

“It’s a long story.” I cut her off mid-sentence without even thinking. That word, that tiny little word —bodyguard— enough to make the hairs on my arms stand up.

I don’t want her to be just my bodyguard.

Gods, I’m getting way too soft.

Slowly, her eyes shining with curiosity, she tilts her head again. “How long?”

“The kind of long story that means you’ll have to drink with me if you want to hear it.”

She watches me, weighing the pros and cons. Her eyebrows twitch slightly as she thinks, making a little crease on her forehead where the faint light settles. Her eyes flicker between mine and the bottle I’m still holding before she finally replies softly, “I don’t drink while on duty.”

Of course, it would’ve been too easy. “Not even if I order you to?” I ask, one eyebrow raised.

The shadow of a smile appears on her lips, but she shakes her head. Now it’s my turn to weigh the pros and cons. “In that case, just think of it as a glass with a friend.”

Friend. Even to me, the word sounds strange —like I can’t quite decide if it fits or not. I guess it does, in a way, because it makes her smile grow. “I don’t have friends, Your Highness.”

“Hey, no need to say it like it’s my fault,” I mumble, squinting at her in mock offense, making her chuckle softly.

And when I hand her the bottle, she takes it without a word, taking the shortest sip I’ve ever seen while looking at me expectantly.

How the hell can her damn eyes shine like that?

My gaze drifts again to the scene a few meters away, eyes roaming from face to face, smiles returning as I recognize some of them.

Jimin is currently laughing with a group of men who seem to have decided to teach him a jig, his eyes forever twisted into crescent moons as his smile refuses to leave his lips, and a few steps behind, the Duke dances with several courtesans. He’s wearing one of those ridiculous outfits he’s always been fond of —today’s made of violet lace and organdy.

Without even realizing it, I smile at the sight, satisfied just watching them have fun. Something that never happened during those formal parties at the Capital.

“When we were younger, Jimin and I lived here,” I say softly after a deep breath. But Min doesn’t let me go on, cutting me off with a surprised whisper.

“Here?” she repeats, clearly showing she had no idea.

I just nod, eyes fixed on Jimin, who nearly falls trying a dance step and is caught just in time by one of his new friends. “Not here, here. We were housed further east, in a manor surrounded by fields. It’s customary for the heir to the Kingdom to spend his adolescence away from the Capital: supposed to help the heir become a well-educated man, free from the Capital’s vices, that kind of crap…” I mumble, and out of the corner of my eye, I see my annoyed grimace makes her smile. I don’t even bother hiding it anymore: by now she knows exactly how much I hate these stiff noble customs.

“Since we’re heirs to the two Allied Kingdoms, destined to rule hand in hand, they sent us there together. Irinian’s countryside is known to be safer than Hestidia’s, so they must have figured two kids who’ve known each other since birth would be safe there.”

Absentmindedly, I take the bottle she hands back and take a sip. She copies me when I return it, eyes locked on me.

“As far as I remember, it was pretty ordinary. Same as the Capital, just in the countryside.”

I’m surprised by how little I remember from that time. Actually, I barely recall what the manor looked like. We didn’t spend much time there —the too many governors they’d saddled us with were enemy number one for Jimin and me, and most of our time was spent outside, pulling our first stupid pranks.

“We often went to nearby towns. Our weapons masters lived in Dewell, and that’s where all our training took place. My old instructor is probably stuffing himself over there now, if you want to give him a piece of your mind about my lousy fighting positions…”

She chuckles softly at my sudden comment but doesn’t move, doesn’t even glance the way I indicated; she just watches me silently and attentively.

“Have you ever been to Ironshell?” I ask quietly, my voice suddenly calmer, and I only continue when she shakes her head. “It’s nothing like it used to be. It was kind of like Dewell, in a way. Picturesque, but family-oriented. They don’t live off their wine, but from wheat crops —although from what I know, those were never very successful, so they’re poorer. And Ironshell isn’t fortified, which makes entry easier. If we had to choose, we went there more often: it was quicker, and… nicer, too.”

My gaze drifts over the party again, and my mind wanders through memories. Everything would be so much simpler if I didn’t have all these happy memories haunting me.

“Springers hasn’t always been Lord of Ironshell,” I continue, not giving her time to comment on my almost morose tone, though I know she wouldn’t. “Actually, he’s only held the title for a few years. Before that, the lordship belonged to the same family, passed down from generation to generation. Like kings with their thrones, in a way.”

Far away, my eyes settle on the Duke, who laughs heartily.

“The previous Lord was a friend of the Duke —a good man, the only neighbor he didn’t hate. He cared for his people, always smiling and giving good advice… His only flaw was probably the number of women and kids he had,” Min smiles again when I grimace, and we pass the bottle between us, each taking a sip.

Silence has plenty of time to wrap around us before I speak again.

“It wasn’t just Jimin and me back then,” I finally mumble, almost nervous to bring it up.

Waves of repressed memories and voices come to mind —a part of my memory I’ve long tried to erase, selfishly, when the pain got too much. Jimin learned to live with it, keeping those memories branded into a corner of his mind as a good reason for revenge. Me, I usually let anger control me, and those memories were a bitter reminder of everything anger couldn’t fix.

“He was three years younger than us. He was the son of the current Lord —one of his sons. One of the youngest. In other words, the one who got the least attention.”

Unconsciously, I don’t hand the bottle back to Min after taking a sip this time. I hold it against my chest, fingers tight around it, as if holding it close would keep the pain away.

I can still see his big black eyes. His wild mop of hair, always messy, jet black with a few brown strands standing out. I remember his excitement whenever he discovered something new, and his endless sadness whenever one of us came back hurt from training.

I can still hear his joyous cries every time he saw us arrive.

“The boy had… deformities. That’s what they called it, because no one really knew what was wrong with him. The slightest effort exhausted him, and generally… he was slower than the others, I guess. He couldn’t do any activity with his brothers and sisters, and the servants barely cared for him, so he still had the mind of a child. They used to mock him. Called him slow. And he just smiled because seeing people laugh made him happy, even when they were laughing at him.”

I can still see his smile. A simple smile that showed his teeth and lit up the whole room, almost forcing everyone around to smile back.

I can still see him bouncing with joy when we took him along on adventures —even if it was just buying bread at the bakery or feeding ducks.

“What was his name?” Min’s voice breaks the silence in a whisper so faint, so soft, I worry for a moment I imagined it.

“Yeontan,” I answer quietly, heart tightening. A single, tiny word I haven’t said in years. A word I forbade myself to say, or else I’d have gone straight to burn Ironshell down.

Yeontan. Jimin joked, saying he was a little ball of happiness on legs, but deep down, he was like our little brother.

“Where is he now?” Min’s voice comes again, barely audible.

A joyless smile slowly stretches across my lips. A bitter smile. Slowly, my eyes find hers, get lost in them, and a knot forms in my stomach at the simple realization that I wouldn’t even be able to tell her exactly where.

“He’s dead.”

The three words leave my throat much easier than all the ones before. Because those words —that simple reality— hit me so long ago, it’s no longer painful. Just bitter in my mouth.

Min stands frozen, speechless. Her hazel eyes —honey-colored when they shine— reveal all the horror those words caused inside her, but she says nothing. Lets me finish, silent —and her eyes show no pity as she waits for more. She just watches me, doing nothing to rush me.

As if she knows that with memories like this, it’s better to get it all out in one go. Like ripping off a bandage fast to hurt once, then no more.

“There was a revolution in Ironshell,” I resume after clearing my throat, blinking away the dust that suddenly blurs my vision. “Nothing much, really —happens often, they say. A man gathered some friends and armed himself with pitchforks to take the Lord’s house. His name is Hymphrey Springers — a charming fellow, you’ll see.”

She makes no comment on the sarcasm and contempt in my voice.

“A lordship title is easy to steal — it’s just a piece of paper signed with the King’s seal. In one short night, Ironshell had a new lord, and the family of the previous one was wiped from memory.”

Silence. I don’t even bother taking a sip of whiskey to avoid talking, don’t pretend to watch the partygoers in the distance to avoid her gaze. At that moment, I don’t even hear the music in the background that used to annoy me so much.

“Wiped?”

She allows herself only one word, then silence returns. As if she knows perfectly well what I need to gently push me to continue. As if she knows what that kind of loss gives birth to in pain, and how to deal with it.

I nod. “Wiped. Oh, I’m sure someone in Ironshell will remember the celebrations that night —because they were undoubtedly unforgettable.”

Another pause, my lips pressing into a thin line as images flood back.

The red sky from the fires. The instruments playing, louder and louder. People laughing on one side —children crying on the other. Springers, among all those corrupted revelers; and in the middle of it all, Yeontan.

I can still see his terrified face.

“They partied. Celebrated their victory. Made the old lord out to be a monster he wasn’t, and appointed themselves the righteous judges of his punishment.”

Slowly, I take a sip. “First, they burned his house down. The flames climbed so high that Jimin and I saw them from our manor, and we slipped out without telling anyone just to go see.”

I lift the bottle to my lips and let the warm alcohol slide down my throat.

“Then, they beheaded the old Lord —they had a lot of fun playing with his head afterward. And once even that stopped making them laugh, they turned to his family.”

If I weren’t so focused on the burn of the liquor against my throat, maybe I’d notice how Min suddenly tenses beside me. Or the subtler way she pretends to scratch her cheek, then presses a hand over her mouth.

“As I said, the old man’s only fault was the number of women and kids he had.”

I learned it the hard way. The fewer people you love, the less you can be hurt.

It’s stronger than me. No matter how I try, the images flood back —years-old images that the alcohol doesn’t help me shake off.

Images of blood splattering, bodies flying, screams —some of pain, some of joy.

And in the middle of it all, Yeontan.

Suddenly, I find myself wishing those images would just go away. Fast.

Jimin would use them for his purpose: a reminder of why he does all this.

But I’m not Jimin.

“He died right before our eyes. Actually, I’d bet Jimin and I were the last things he saw.” Again, I blink hard to stop my vision from blurring, but it’s useless. So I keep talking, again and again, because it feels like the only thing stopping me from breaking.

“The next day, we came here, to Dewell, begging the Duke to do something. He sent us back to the manor, promising he’d do what he could, and a few hours later, Jimin and I were sent back —me to the Capital, him to his palace in Hestidia.”

“We did everything to make Springers pay, but no one wanted to listen. My father told me to stop bothering the whole Kingdom over a worthless kid, and my mother tried to comfort me, saying it wasn’t so bad, after all, I had another little brother.”

At that memory, I let out a bitter laugh. As if Taehui had anything in common with Yeontan.

“When that didn’t work, she tried something else. I didn’t think my mother saw me as a spoiled child who should get everything he asks for, but apparently she did —because nine months later, she gave birth to a baby. Too bad it was a girl and not a boy —she still named her Taeyeon, to honor me.”

I barely realize I’m downing the bottle in a few gulps when I bring it back to my lips again. I don’t even feel the sharp taste of the alcohol in my throat anymore.

My voice suddenly hoarse, I sniff. “The worst part is, if you forget the spoiled brat side, she’s so much like him.”

Only silence answers my lament.

There’s not even music anymore —that awful music Taeyeon loves so much— no villagers and Dukes dancing, nothing left. Just silence, and a face I should have forgotten.

I sniff miserably, running my hand frantically through my hair as if it would push those memories deep into the back of my mind. In vain.

People often think I’m stronger than Jimin —but nothing could be more wrong. Jimin manages to live with that pain; I pray every day to forget it.

Seconds stretch into long, endless minutes. I almost start hoping someone will suddenly appear and see me like this, something to slap me awake from this daze.

But nothing happens.

Until, silently, Min begins to move, slowly straightening to her feet.

I lift my eyes to her, finding her hazel gaze already lowered toward me. I can’t believe I’m whining like a baby in front of her.

I expect her to comment on my ridiculous state any second. I can already hear her insolent little tone once the words leave her perfect lips —and the worst is, in this state, I’d be ready to take any mockery without flinching.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she gently holds out her right hand —the one the Duke grabbed earlier tonight and kissed softly.

I stare at her hand stretched toward me, my gaze empty. I can still feel how tightly my fists and jaw clenched when he did that. The disconcerting speed with which I pulled her toward me, without hesitation.

Slowly, my eyes climb back up to hers. A silent question hangs there, in both our gazes. Then, delicately, her lips part.

“Dance with me.”

Three small words, as simple as they are forbidden. Whispered in the cool night air, like a secret between the two of us, her eyes locked in mine, my eyes lost in hers.

As ridiculous as it is inappropriate; as sweet as it is natural.

And when she gently waves her hand, signaling me to take it, I do so.

I let her pull me to my feet, let her lead me as she steps back a few paces. I don’t move to put distance between our bodies as etiquette would demand. I just stand there, head bowed to look at her, holding her hand as if it’s the only thing anchoring me here.

Anchoring me away from my torment.

“Don’t you dare step on my feet…” she whispers softly, a hint of threat in her voice as she lifts our joined hands, her other hand resting on my shoulder.

I don’t comment on the illogic of her remark —I’m a prince, I’ve known how to dance since I could walk, after all. Nor do I comment on the fact she can dance, when that’s hardly what you expect from a bodyguard.

I just place my own hand on her waist, and follow her movement as she steps forward, her hazel eyes never leaving mine.

She doesn’t follow any music, no melody: she just takes one step after another, methodically, spinning us silently so effortlessly it’s like second nature. Like during our training nights, she makes us dance —and she’s the one leading.

She’s the first to look away —not to avoid my gaze, but to gently rest her forehead against my chest.

And it’s at that moment, when she’s suddenly so close to me, that I understand. She’s not dancing to any random rhythm, just because she feels like it. She’s dancing to the gentle beat of my heart.

“I don’t remember ever having a friend this dear,” she murmurs against my shirt, her voice deliciously resonating through my ribcage. “But I know what it feels like to lose what’s most precious.”

My vision blurs before I can do anything, and I don’t have the strength to answer when my chin starts trembling on its own.

She must surely feel my chest shake, or my breath quicken —but it’s not like I care anymore.

Please, let Jimin be right, I want to scream as my hand tightens around her waist, squeezing so hard it must hurt her. Please don’t be my father’s spy.

But at that moment, even I don’t believe it myself anymore. I don’t want to believe it anymore.

Because I know no spy of my father would ever bother to hold me like this, even under the guise of a dance step.

It’s a disaster —I’m melting for her.

My shoulders slump, my head aches, and before I realize it, my nose is buried in her hair.

“Does the pain get any easier?”

My whisper breaks, barely louder than the pounding in my ears. She still hears it.“Not really. But I know for sure it feels better to be weak together.”

A/N : Happy early birthday Yeontan, we'll love you always ! I love this precious baby too much not to include him in this fic, yet I can't help but feel sorry at the same time :')

You'll see in part 2 if Jimin and Tae succeed and avenge him !

Thanks for reading ! Don't hesitate to reblog, like or comment ! I always love to hear 'bout what you guys thought of the chap :) Also don't hesitate to ask if you wanna be tagged !