“I didn't ask him to do it…” you trailed off with a wave, lightly slapping her hand so she’d let go of the purple panties she seemed adamant in checking out. “That's not why I called you up here.”

“Okay.” your friend laughed, sitting on the edge of your bed as you closed the door almost all the way, laughs and squeals that you could tell belonged to Hobi were muffled. “What’s up?”

“What are they doing downstairs?” you asked her instead, still standing up, but resting your back against the dresser. 

“Kook-ah is doing laundry, I think Taehyungie and Hoseok are going live.” she told you with a fond smile as she added: “Seok wants to show off his new haircut.”

“Did he get a buzz cut already?” your eyes flickered to the door, curiosity getting the best of you. “Oh, I wanna see him–”

“After our talk.” Yuna used her ‘don’t even try to argue’ voice, reaching out for you to drag you to sit with her. “Come on, I can see you're stressing about something.”

“Kook asked me to go to Los Angeles with him.” 

You said it all at once, as there would be no point in stalling. Jungkook was about to travel to Los Angeles, where he’d spend the next two weeks working on some of his solo projects, seeing friends and he even had plans to go to Coachella on one of the weekends it’d be happening.

“Really? That's awesome, babe, you always wanted to go to L.A.!” she chirped happily, like you knew she would. Yuna was always happy for you, no matter what. “Why aren’t you packing–”

“I didn't say yes yet.” you groaned, focusing on a piece of lint on top of your comforter to avoid her squinted eyes. 

“Now why the hell not?”

“Because. I have never traveled abroad with a client before.” you justified, but the argument sounded stronger in your head. “Or with a friend, for that matter.’

“Uh huh. And?” she pushed.

“Don't make me say it.” you whined, whole face scrunching as if it physically hurt you.

“Oh, I will make you say it, because you know how I feel about it, so go on.” Yuna knew why you hadn’t said yes to Jungkook yet and she wouldn’t make it any easier on you. 

“Hajoon will be upset. You know he doesn't like it when I have to–”

“He doesn't like it when can't control you.” she interrupted you and even though you knew her words were slightly right, and it was her job to look after her best friend, it still stung.

“It’s not like that.” you grumbled, eyes still downcast.

“Is it really not?” Yuna sighed, as if she was tired of having these conversations with you. “Babe... this is a great opportunity for you. Think of all the fun things you'll get to experience. Better yet, think of all the things you have missed out on because of Hajoon. Didn't Kai want to take you to Thailand and you said no because Hajoon didn't let you?”

“He gets separation anxiety sometimes…”

“Didn't he go to Paris with Jennie?” she scoffed and you cringed. 

“Well, yes, but–”

“His anxiety seems really selective if you ask me.” Yuna deadpanned.

Again, you understood that she only had your best interest in mind and that if the tables were reversed, you’d give her shit for settling for less than what she deserved. But your relationship with Hajoon was a little more complicated than that. 

He was your first boyfriend, and every couple went through ups and downs, right? 

“Unnie.”

“No, I'm not going to let this slide. He always does what he wants, you always do what you have to do and that's not fair.” your friend was very passionate about this and you appreciated her a lot. 

“I know.” you merely agreed.

“What do you want to do?” 

You bit back a chuckle as everyone kept asking you that. Your answer was a simple:

“I don't want to upset anybody.” 

“Nope, none of that, no thinking about others.” Yuna dismissed it as soon as it was out of your mouth, poking you in the middle of your forehead as she repeated: “What do you want?”

What do I want? You asked yourself for what felt like the seventh time in such a short span of time. 

And all you could think about was Jungkook’s sweet, boyish giggles and his excitement over the little things, the way his eyes had puffy little bags under them when he smiled, how his teeth reminded you of a bunny. 

All you could think about was how soft his lips felt against yours and how his fingers traced paths on your skin, burning himself on you. 

“I think I need to go home, unnie.” 

When you walked into your apartment, your mind was a mess. You expected to find it dark and empty, to have some time to think without Yuna’s words bouncing inside your brain, or to have Jungkook’s sweet words of ‘see you tomorrow, doll’ making your heart clench. You weren’t counting on hearing the calm voice of your boyfriend as he spoke to someone on the phone. 

“Yeah, we can go– wait, I think Yn is here.” Hajoon was on the couch of your shared apartment, the TV was on, but it was muted. ‘I’ll call you back. Mhm, you too.”

“Hi, yeobo.” you greeted the man, dropping the duffle bag with some of the clothes you brought from Jungkook’s home; new ones and your regular pieces. “I’m surprised to see you’re here.”

“Jennie had to go see her family, I was just on the phone with her, though.” the man explained why he was home on a Friday, as he got up from the seat to make his way to you. Hajoon was many heads taller than you, cradling your face to make you look up so he could kiss your lips. “I didn’t think you’d come home tonight, either. Won't Jungkook-ssi not travel until tomorrow?”

“No, no that’s right, he leaves tomorrow.” you smiled softly at the fact that he remembered you saying your client would be gone for the next two weeks, leaving for America on Saturday morning. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here, because there’s something I want to talk to you about.” 

“Sure, baby, what’s up?” your boyfriend walked past you to reach the small kitchen of the apartment, offering: “Do you want me to heat up some dinner for you?”

“No, I already ate, thank you.” you kicked your shoes off and walked to the couch he had been previously lounging on. “Come sit, please?”

“Ohh, this talk sounds serious now.” Hajoon chuckled, closing the fridge and giving up on his dinner for now. 

The man’s long legs brought him to you fast, sitting beside you, legs toward you to show he was giving you his full attention. Hajoon was a very handsome man, which was what caught your attention in the first place. His face was perfectly symmetrical, not a single blemish on his skin; strong bone structure, jaw so sharp you were scared it might cut if you touched it. He also knew how to dress, his hair was always styled, nails perfectly trimmed. 

Hajoon was a very popular playmate, his looks making him seem like an idol himself.  

“Stop.” you chuckled, trying to reassure him that it wasn’t all that serious. Ignoring the small churn of your stomach, you told him: “Jungkook-ssi invited me to go along with him for this trip.”

“Did he now?” Hajoon mulled it over as he rested an arm against the back of the couch. 

“Yeah, I think it would be a great opportunity, too.” you continued, trying to keep your eyes leveled with his.

“You said yes already?”

“Well, I said maybe. You know I wouldn’t say yes without talking to you about it first.” you told him, which made him nod and smile. 

“Such a sweet girl you are.” Hajoon crooned, touching the side of your face, dragging his thumb on your cheek. “Maybe you should tell him you can’t leave the country for now, blame it on paperwork because it’s such short notice. That will hurt him less.”

“Wait, Hajoon, I’m not asking for your permission–”

“I know, baby, I know.” he cut you off with little taps to your cheek. “We’re talking about it.”

“No, I told you something and you said to tell him I’m not going.” you wheezed lightly as his hand dropped from your face and the man shifted on the couch to face the TV, elbows on his knees. “That’s not talking about it.”

“Alright, what do you want me to say, then?” his eyes were on the television, but he wasn’t watching it. Merely avoiding looking at you, and you knew what was coming. 

The sulking, the flipping things around to make you feel bad about something just because it made him uncomfortable.

“I would like you to say you understand this is a great opportunity for me and that you’re happy for me.” you told him in a small voice, reaching for his arm to carefully squeeze. In an attempt to alleviate the heavy mood starting to install itself, you added: “Maybe ask for a souvenir or something.”

“Baby.” he sighed. 

“You know I always wanted to go to Los Angeles…”

“And you know we were supposed to go together.” he countered, looking at you from over his shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you I’d take you?”

“Yes, two years ago.” you deflated, twirling the ring on your middle finger. “We haven’t yet.”

“We’ve both been busy, you know it’s not my fault.” Hajoon stood up and walked to the TV, dragging his finger over the small touch-sensitive button on its side to turn it off. In a way you were grateful for it, as if lessening the distractions would make him focus solely on you. 

“I do.” you could agree with that, in part. “And you also told me we’d go to Paris together, but you still went with Jennie at the end of last year.”

A little snort left your boyfriend, making you frown. “You know I only went because that was part of my job.”

“And this is my job.” you pointed out to him, which he clearly didn’t see. “There’s nothing different about it.”

“Is it?” he challenged, height even more obvious now that he was standing and you were sitting down. 

“What?”

“Just your job.” he repeated. “Jungkook seemed awfully comfortable to show up to your private apartment on a Saturday. How did he get up here, by the way, without needing to be buzzed in?”

“I didn’t ask him about it–” 

In fact, how Jungkook made it to your doorstep was the last of your worries. You were much more concerned with the fact that he found out you were in a relationship, that you lived with your boyfriend when you weren’t at Jungkook’s house and never told him any of that. 

“I’m just saying, I don’t think he’s just a client to you.” Hajoon crossed his arms, muscles bulging against his white shirt. It was confusing to you how that would have affected you greatly a while ago but now you just thought he might look cool with a few tattoos. 

“Of course he’s not, I consider him a friend.” you defended, trying to control your voice as it grew high pitched. 

“I see.” the man nodded slowly, taking a turn around the TV unit to walk up the narrow flight of stairs that would lead to the bedroom area of your studio apartment. 

“What?” you groaned, getting up to follow after him. “Hajoon, don’t walk away from me, let’s talk about this.”

You had to rush up the stairs to keep up with the man, almost slipping in your hurry because of your baby-blue socks. Your boyfriend’s head almost touched the ceiling, from how low it was. He had his back to you, hands on his hips, face hanging down, and said:

“I just think your friend sees you as a little more than that.” Hajoon said and your heart seized in your chest. “Which, to me, just sounds disrespectful that he’d even ask you on this trip when he knows you have a boyfriend.”

“He’s not disrespectful–”

“Did he stop?” the man turned around as he interrupted you. 

“What?” the word sounded like a hiss, but you were losing patience. 

“Did he stop asking you for sex?” Hajoon specified and you just stared at him. “Didn’t think so.”

“You’re being unreasonable right now.” you stated the obvious, crossing your arms as you didn’t run from his inquisitive eyes, not this time. 

“I’m just worried about you, that’s all.” the man softened, taking your face in both of his hands, but instead of being comforting, his touch was foreign to you. “I would hate for what happened with Doyoung to repeat itself.”

“Kook is nothing like Doyoung.” you insisted. 

“Kook.” he repeated with disdain, hold tightening just a smidge. “And you sound awfully defensive for someone who sees your client as just a friend.”

Hearing Hajoon talk about Doyoung unbalanced you a little, caught you by surprise and put you in a sour mood. He had the terrible ability of using what happened against you, knowing it triggered fears and feelings from your past. You also knew your boyfriend had the stamina for discussions like this, able to keep it up for hours on end, tiring you out, when you already hated confrontation in the first place. 

You were just so fucking tired of this, of this push and pull, that most of the time you just gave up and let him have his way. It was so much easier to just agree with whatever Hajoon wanted, just for the sake of your own piece of mind. 

It would be a lot easier to just agree that maybe going to another country with a client you haven’t worked with for that long might be too much. It would be even easier to agree that you sometimes got the impression that Jungkook really did have feelings for you. 

But you wouldn’t be complacent about this, not this time. 

He licks into your mouth and you groan quietly, wanting more, more of him, more of his mouth, more of his hands, just more. He responds to your sound with a pleased grunt of his own, and he slides one large hand around your waist, pressing against your lower back, pressing your hips harder against his own.

You slide your tongue against his and he brings his hand up your back and wrap his hand firmly around the back of your neck to keep you close. You let out a tiny whine, letting your hands wander up his chest over the thin cloth of the shirt he wears. You pass your hands over his shoulders, down his back, holding tight as your head spins - from the kiss, or from the events (and blood loss) of last night, you aren’t sure.

You murmur his name when the kiss breaks, and he responds by capturing your lips again, sweetly, then pulling back to look down at you.

“What is it?” he murmurs, voice as deep as the ocean.

You strain upwards, trying to find his mouth again, your right hand gathering the material of his shirt’s hem and bunching it in your fist. You slide your other hand into the gap you’ve made, practically gasping with delight as your palm slides along his cool, bare skin for the first time. He shivers beneath your touch, then reaches between his shoulder blades to grab the neck of his shirt. You let go of the hem, allowing him to tug it off and over his head before he bends to kiss you more.

Pleased, you press your mouth to his gladly, letting your hands explore up and down his ribs, over his pecs, down his stomach, around to his back, feeling him move and respond beneath each touch. You can feel him beneath you, responding to each kiss and every caress, and you tighten the grip of your thighs on either side of his own, as if holding on tighter can urge him even closer.

“So warm,” he murmurs against your mouth, letting out a quick sigh as one of your hands works to memorize the slope of his jaw.

You still want more. You use both hands and card your fingers through his hair, curling them to hold his roots, and pull lightly. He moans into your open mouth, the sound so pretty it makes your toes curl. You do it again, pressing your hips against his as you do, trying to egg him on.

He’s behaving too much, keeping his hands on your waist, your hair, not daring to toe the line even as you leap over it. You don’t want him to behave.

“I want to feel you,” you breathe, pressing your forehead to his as you both take a second to catch your breath. “Please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice; he finds the hem of your shirt and pulls. You lift your arms so he can slide it over your head. His eyes follow the path of newly bared skin - up over your stomach, your chest, your face, up to your arms.

You reach back to unclasp your bra, tossing it away, but Taehyung isn’t watching. His eyes have instead caught on the scabby marks on your upper arm, and then on the inside of each wrist. He reaches for your right arm, pulls it closer, examining the place where his very first bite had pierced you.

“Did it hurt?” he asks sorrowfully, brushing a thumb lightly over the reddened skin around the bite.

“No,” you say, but it isn’t quite true, so you try again. “I mean, yes, but after a few seconds it was…”

“What?” he whispers, even as he pulls your wrist towards his mouth, brushes the healing bite with his lips. Your breath stills in your throat, but he only kisses the spot, waiting for your answer.

“Once the venom hit,” you admit, a little embarrassed, “it felt… kind of good, actually. Like being a little drunk.”

He lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “That’s how it feels when we drink,” he tells you. “The want, the thirst, it’s lessened… but it also gives a sort of high. It’s addicting - you’re addicting.”

He punctuates this thought by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the fang-marks on your wrist, as you think that he must be mistaken - between the two of you, it’s him that’s addicting: powerful and beautiful, thrilling and dangerous.

He moves to kiss you again, licking against your lips until you open for him again, hands skimming along your now-bare sides, thumbs coming dangerously close to your chest before sliding back down. You shiver, grinding down into him, making an encouraging sound low in your throat.

He finally slides a hand where you want it, caressing and gently kneading your breast, letting his thumb circle the sensitive nipple before flicking over the top of it as it hardens beneath his touch. You keen, the sensations tingling and magical, pressing harder into his touch.

He abandons your chest and slides his hand down your arm, still kissing you languidly, deeply. His fingers rest against your wrist, and the wound starts to tingle. You recognize the sensation and realize he’s healing you as he kisses you, fixing each broken spot he finds, undoing the damage he’d wreaked on your body the night before.

He does the same to the wounds on your upper arm and the opposite wrist, then goes back to exploring what sounds he can pull from you as he lowers his mouth to your breast. He hums happily as he kisses, licks, and nips his way around the full bottom of one before making his way back up to your nipple, taking it between his lips and flicking his tongue against it repeatedly. You feel your eyes roll back, your core clenching in response to the feeling of him.

“God, Taehyung, please,” you beg. You don’t even know what you’re begging for - more, just more.

At your plea, he pulls himself back up and kisses you so hard that your head spins. He slides a hand, behaving no more, down your stomach and around your waist, gripping you tightly as he pulls you tight against his trapped cock, which is solid beneath you, begging for attention. You gasp, hips jerking with the sudden friction, breaking the kiss.

He releases your waist and his hands travel around to grab full handfuls of your ass, fingers tightening there as his lips work their way down your jaw and towards your throat. You groan in pleasure and excitement, feeling yourself getting wetter at an alarming rate.

“Smell fucking amazing,” he murmurs, lips against your throat, and you feel your whole body heat at the words. He holds you, mouth pressed to the flushed skin of your throat, pressing closed-mouth kisses to it as his fingers slip beneath your waistband, sliding down the bare skin of your ass and seeking the heat and wetness between your legs.

He toys with you, teasing your hole from behind, sliding easily through the slickness waiting for him. He doesn’t enter you, as you’re still pressed too tightly against him, rocking against his clothed length. Even still, you whine at the sensation of his fingers exploring what parts of you they can.

He growls, and you shiver. He lifts you in one easy motion, pulling his hand from inside your leggings to settle you down onto your back. He presses his long body alongside yours and slips his hand beneath your waistband - properly, from the front this time. He runs his fingers through the arousal he finds only once before plunging two fingers into you just as his mouth finds the tender place his fangs had pierced into your neck the night before. You moan so loudly it echoes through the room, the sound long and tortured as your body adjusts to the stretch of his digits and as the tender wound on your neck tingles at the pressure of his lips and tongue as he kisses and licks over the healing punctures.

“God,” you breathe, rocking against his fingers, trying to work them deeper. You can hear them squelching, and that should be embarrassing, but you can’t care. Not when he’s pulling his sticky fingers out of your leggings and rolling back over top of you, pressing his still-clothed length against your mound, his mouth firmly attached to the marks on your neck, tongue caressing the spots as if he could convince just a bit more blood out of them.

He ruts against you mindlessly, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it, seeming to be fully focused on your neck, like he’s forgotten about relieving his aching cock when faced with the promise of your fresh blood. His hands are splayed and pressing into the mattress on either side of you, holding himself up just above you.

He slides his mouth from the wound to the unblemished skin just slightly to the left, sucking deeply, no doubt pulling more blood to gather below the surface of your skin. A growl reverberates through him, but you feel no fear; he’s not the beast now, he’s yours - yours. You know he won’t hurt you.

He brings up a hand to caress your jaw. “Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, barely removing his lips from your neck enough to enunciate.

You close your eyes, sighing, letting every sensation wash over you. I want to be yours, you think, just the same as you are mine.

“You,” you say, only part of the truth.

His mouth finds yours again, his taste slightly coppery, and then he’s pulling at your waistband. You hurry to assist, lifting your hips up and using both hands to push the material over your ass and down your legs, kicking both leggings and underwear to the side as quickly as you can.

“You, too,” you say petulantly, and he smiles against your lips.

He lifts up to untie his own trousers. When he’s free of them, you expect him to settle himself back as he was, but he surprises you by scooting down the bed and gripping your thighs firmly, pressing them apart, opening you reverently. You shiver as the room’s cool air, and his hungry gaze, find your exposed core.

“Taehyung,” you keen, not sure if you’re urging him on or questioning him away.

He tears his eyes away from your glistening pussy, gaze rising to find yours, hungry. His pupils are so blown out that for a second you jolt with alarm, thinking you’re seeing the black Infracti eyes of the beast.

“Can I?” he asks, and you’re reminded of last night, the way he asked before each bite, the way that despite instinct and thirst driving him to bring his mouth to each spot, he still waited for permission.

“Yes,” you breathe, head falling back against the mattress, as if you’re physically incapable of watching as he grips your thighs again and pulls himself closer, burying his face in your heat and licking his first stripe from bottom to top.

You let your breath out between gritted teeth as he does this again and again, tongue dipping in, stretching your entrance for only a second before sliding up to pass firmly over your clit before retracting altogether. It’s a slow, dizzying torture, and you find yourself shaking slightly each time he repeats the series of motions.

Eyes screwed shut, fingers digging into the blankets beneath you, you suck in a breath and try to relax, try to open your legs wider for him, even as the tremors roll through your lower body gently, building up to something fiery and explosive.

He stops his repetitive torture, flattening his tongue and rubbing firmly over and around your clit, the onslaught so intense that your hips jerk and twitch away until he reaches up and holds them still with firm fingertips. You whine and moan as he works you, powerless to shift away from the onslaught of his tongue and lips. He groans when you do, his dulcet voice weaving with your own wordless pleas, his hips undulating slowly against the bed beneath him as he feasts.

You breathe his name, needing reprieve, needing more, needing to unclench and inhale, the sound morphing into a low moan. He seems to hear your unarticulated request, pulling off and moving to press kisses to the insides of your thighs, the juncture, your spasming entrance as you gasp for breath.

Then, his mouth moves, tongue slipping along your outer lips. The sensation changes, alarm bells sounding in your head several beats before your buzzy brain can process why. It’s sharp, and your breath rattles to a stop, muscles tensing in anticipation, as Taehyung slides the tip of his left fang up one side of you, pressing it just hard enough against you that you can feel the sting even when he’s moved on to a higher place.

“T-Tae,” you gulp, pulse thudding even harder than it was before, desperately aware of how close he is to biting you. He growls again, then licks over where his fang had trailed, soothing, before moving to the other side. Gently, slowly, he lets the tip of his sharp tooth press against you, and weaves a line from bottom to top with it. Your breaths come shallow - you’re afraid to move, lest you accidentally pierce yourself on him.

“You’re so, so good,” he groans, and you don’t know if he means for staying still, for letting him play, or if he’s talking about your taste, not your behavior. You whimper, still nervous - but the fear is exciting. He centers his mouth and places a chaste kiss over your clit, causing you to jerk under his hands again.

“Taehyung,” you whine, a plea and a complaint all at once. “Please.”

He heeds your tone, releasing you after one more kiss to the spot he’d been torturing. “Please what?” he asks, teasing, starting to climb back up your body, mouth working its way up the plane of your stomach, past your ribs, over your breasts, up your throat, and then kissing you again, heady and impassioned.

You’re shaky from the adrenaline released by his toying with you; you pull him close, his chest flush against yours, trying to find comfort in his solidness, hands clinging to his biceps as they flex above you. You can feel his cock, hard and heavy, brushing your inner thigh, and you shift, trying to get it closer to where you want it.

He growls when he feels himself slide easily up your slit, grinding frantically against you until he’s slicked up, too, then letting his head snag on your entrance.

His eyes find yours, asking the question that he doesn’t vocalize.

You answer wordlessly, too, lifting up to take the first inch of him, letting out a strangled sound as he follows your lead and pushes through your heat until his hips are flush with yours again.

You stay locked like this for just a moment, and you look up at him with adoration as your body adjusts, stretching to accommodate him.

“God,” he breathes above you, starting to move minutely, just barely shifting. “You’re so -.”

He doesn’t finish the thought, dipping his head down to kiss you again. He shelters you between his arms, his black hair swinging above you, casting his face in shadow, and he begins fucking into you in earnest.

You move with him, hands roaming his arms and back, hooking one leg around the backs of his thighs to draw him even closer. He feels amazing dragging away from your walls and slamming back in, feels amazing kissing you so deeply you could drown in it, feels amazing stroking your face with gentle hands that promise to honor you.

As you move together, each delicious slide causing your core to tighten and grip at him, it builds - fuller and more powerful until it’s crashing over you: the need to tell him.

“I love you,” you breathe. “I should have said it before.”

He rolls you easily in response to this, one arm tight around your back as he maneuvers you so you sit astride him, his cock managing to sink even deeper into you from this angle. You moan, eyes slipping closed, missing it as he reaches for your upper body, trying to pull you down into some semblance of an embrace, even as he fucks you steadily, not faltering for a second.

He kisses you sloppily, arms locking you against his chest, cock sliding in and out of you at a steady pace. One of his hands slides up your back and rests across your throat; you shiver at the contact, and then you feel the familiar tingling. He’s healing your neck, where he drank from you last night.

When he releases you, hands settling on your hips and helping to lift you up and pull you down, you sit back up, looking down at him. He looks so good spread out beneath you that it makes your core clench, which makes his hands on your hips tighten and a low grumble reverberate from his chest.

He squirms and sits upright, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss as soon as he’s close enough, huffing against your mouth happily when he gets what he wants. He tugs you down on his cock and you keen, whining deep in your throat as his tip kisses your cervix until he lets up.

“Fuck,” you manage, gasping for a new breath as the pain-pleasure ebbs. You’re close, you realize, as he kisses his way down the column of your throat, teeth grazing in places and then tongue soothing the scrapes. You rock against him, your hard nipples brushing his chest, your hands finding his hair again, and you know exactly what you want to push you over the edge.

“Taehyung,” you say, lips so close to his ear that you can see him shudder from the tickle, “I want…”

He spears you particularly hard, grunting, and you lose the thought for a second, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder.

“Want what?” he asks, breathless, fingers splayed over your waist. He watches the place where your bodies meet, distracted by the sight of his cock emerging from within you, shiny and sticky.

“Drink from me,” you beg, not lifting your head, not wanting to see his reaction.

“No,” he says, not looking up, not stopping his fluid strokes into your tight heat. “It’s too dangerous, especially like this - I might not be able to stop.”

“If you can control yourself through the curse, you can control yourself now,” you argue, swiveling against him a little, relishing the feel of how deeply he’s touching you. “Please. It wasn’t you last night - I want it to be you.”

It’s not quite the whole of what you mean; if you weren’t split open by his cock right now maybe you could explain better than it felt like you’d been intimate with him without his presence, that you wanted a chance to share that intimacy with him, now, now that you’d told him how you feel about him.

But he seems to understand. His strokes slow but don’t stop as he tips your head up with the knuckle of his pointer finger, looking deep into your eyes as if looking for the right answer within them.

“Please,” you say, and you watch him break.

He pushes himself deep within you, then presses his face to the side of your neck he hadn’t touched yet. You rock against him, feeling his hard length push against each sensitive spot, colors exploding behind your eyelids as you move.

“Please,” you whimper again, because the anticipation is worse than the pain will be, and you want him.

He can’t resist, not with you begging, and he presses his fangs to your sweaty skin, then pierces you swiftly. The pain overtakes you, worse than you remember from the night before. You cry out loudly, eyes squeezing shut, fingernails raking down his shoulder blades, your whole body squirming and fighting instinctually to get away. He holds you tightly, and all your squirming does is push him deeper inside you, all those spots lighting up behind your eyelids again, causing your cry of pain to trail into a loud moan.

The venom hits you as Taehyung starts pounding into you faster than he has this whole time, his arms tight around your back, fangs still lodged in your throat, a growl ripping through him as your blood hits his tongue and your body tightens and twitches around his length.

The floating high hits you as your body reacts to his new, breakneck pace and you let out a mindless wail as you pulse and squeeze around him in rhythmic waves. It lasts and lasts, and you think you might trip straight into a second orgasm as he holds you even tighter, removes his mouth from your neck long enough to gasp your name as he pumps his release deep inside you.

After, he holds you still, hands petting your hair, smoothing down your back, until your heartbeat calms under his hands. Then, he lowers you to lay down side by side.

You float, aware of only snippets of sensation - the pulsing between your legs taking ages to settle, aftershocks causing the muscles in your legs to tense and release. Your heartbeat slows. The well of blood to the wound in your neck, Taehyung’s gentle tongue still pressed to the spot, taking what your body willingly gives but not pulling from it.

Slowly, you come back to yourself.

“How do you feel?” he asks, perhaps a bit apprehensively.

“I need to eat, shower, and sleep, in that order,” you murmur, eyelids heavy. “But otherwise… I can’t complain.”

In the end, his guards keep the corridors clear as he carries you back to his rooms. It’s a bit embarrassing, you think, but you’re way too weak to walk there, so there’s no arguing the point. He orders a full breakfast spread from the kitchens, sends Satuel to your rooms to get you something comfortable to wear, and runs a hot bath in a tub so deep you’d honestly call it a small swimming pool.

When your stomach is full and your body clean, you burrow under the blankets in his ridiculously opulent bed, body thrumming with happiness and oxytocin and all those other happy chemicals that come after good sex and good food.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Taehyung murmurs as his fingers trace patterns over your shoulder. He lays beside you, on top of the blankets, waiting for you to be claimed by sleep. “I got a whole night of sleep last night. My first in months.”

You hum, stretching, halfway to sleep already. “I think you have other things to thank me for,” you tease, the words falling heavily from your lips as you’re pulled under.

You feel his hand, gentle on your throat, drawing near the bite mark he’d made this morning, the one he’d made as himself, at your request.

“No,” you say strongly, suddenly awake. “Don’t heal that one.”

He balks. “People will know.”

“Good,” you say firmly. “Let them know I’m yours.”

Let them know you’re mine, you think, and then you only know sleep.

—

Taehyung watches you sleep for longer than he’d admit to anyone. He watches your face, calm and smooth in sleep. He thinks of how he has to bite back smiles when you get fired up about something, your eyes narrowing and mouth tightening.

He thinks of the look of quiet determination you get when you’re casting, when you’re working with the magic that naturally lives within you.

For all of history, Infracti and venefici have lived together, helped each other. Long ago, the heir to Infracticus’s throne would be purposely matched with the venefici’s strongest magician - the Highest. Venefici would leave their homes, live and practice with the other magic-wielders, train and compete to be the best, to be given the honored title. It’s been hundreds of thousands of years since the days of those arranged unions, but Taehyung’s had that custom in his head for weeks now.

It makes him feel fated, like you were brought to him on purpose, his natural other half. The Highest to his hunter. The Priestess to his Blood-letter. His venefici, his witch, his bringer of humanity, his to protect.

Like in another lifetime, it would have always been you and him. 

Loathe as he is to admit his father could be right about anything… he was right about you. You’re powerful, beautiful. You’re brave, surprisingly funny. Taehyung sees a lot of himself in you - in your bravado, in the way your words don’t always seem to match what you want to say, in the way you only find peace when you’re faced with the sea.

He loves you. He loves you, and he thinks you could be amazing here - thinks you’d be an amazing queen, thinks you could be happy in his palace by the ocean’s side.

But you had a whole life before, that you’d left on hold to come here and fix him. If he loves you, he thinks, then the right thing to do is to let you go back to that life. It isn’t right to keep you here, away from your family, away from your studies and your job, just because he wants you to. It isn’t fair to ask you to give up what you worked so hard for.

It is with these thoughts in mind that he presses a feather light kiss to your unfurrowed brow and makes his way out of his bedchamber into his main rooms, closing the door quietly behind him to let you sleep.

—

When you wake, you’re alone. You worry for a split second, then you hear his voice floating from further in his wing, and you relax.

You rouse yourself slowly, savoring the chance to take your time, to be alone with your thoughts in the comfiest bed you’ve ever experienced. A quick look around the room alights your attention on a bundle at the end of the bed; someone left clothes for you.

You do your best to make yourself presentable, and then follow the sound of voices and laughter into Taehyung’s main rooms.

You’re greeted with a sight you’ve never seen before: the group of young Infracti men seem to be having fun, just hanging out. Taehyung is lounging on one of the couches, ankles crossed and arms folded behind his head. Jimin is perched on the arm of the couch, currently doubled over in laughter so strong that he wheezes and clutches at Taehyung’s shin desperately. You also recognize the round-eyed Infracti who had attended the strategy meeting in the pub not that long ago - Jungkook. The other two you’ve never seen before, but they appraise you with interest as you step into the room.

Taehyung lights up like a Christmas tree when he spots you, sitting up so abruptly that he almost knocks Jimin from the couch.

He crows your name, and then calls to you, “Come! Make merry with me!”

You step forward with trepidation, looking around at the others for an explanation.

“His Majesty has been imbibing,” Jimin explains, straightening himself up. “But, yes, you should join us. Your time here has been very serious, and we’re determined to have a pleasant night now that the business is handled.”

“Business?” you echo, still making your way into the room by degrees. It does not escape you that if these Infracti are drunk, it may put you in a bit more danger than normal.

“You just missed Seokjin,” Taehyung explains, the words a bit loose. He waves a hand towards the door as if to indicate which way Seokjin left. “We were discussing matters of state.”

“While drunk?” you can’t help but ask.

Taehyung lets out one cold laugh, and then holds up an arm, making a space for your body to fill. As you make your way over, he muses, “Yes, it makes it less painful to stare the cold, hard future in the face that way.”

“That’s a bit grim,” Jimin remarks from behind you as you settle next to Taehyung’s torso, seated on the edge of the couch’s cushion.

“Justice is grim,” Taehyung declares dramatically, and you press your lips together, trying not to giggle. Then, he adds, “Especially when it’s coming for your own family. Or yourself.”

He flops back against the arm of the couch, reaches around you for his goblet. You can smell the wine as it passes by you.

“Do you want some?” Jimin has the presence of mind to ask, but you shake your head.

“Better not,” you say. “Is it even safe for me to be here right now, while he’s…?”

Taehyung sputters loudly in indignation. “What,” he demands, “you think I can control myself while I’m cursed but not when I’m inebra - ineba - ineeny - drunk?”

Your eyes widen in mirth, and you hiss at Jimin, “What did you do to him?”

Jimin laughs, shaking his head. “His Majesty did this to himself, I’m afraid. I think he’s been stressed.”

“Come on, little witch,” Jungkook says, playfully taunting, black eyes glinting. “Are you afraid? I thought you put people through walls.”

You eye him flatly. “I don’t want to mess up Maiesti’s pretty face,” you deadpan.

This gets a smile out of the others in the room. Beside you, Taehyung pats at his face thoughtfully but says nothing.

“You should all go,” he finally says, the words slow and lazy, head lolling back on the arm of the couch. “Come, now, begone.” He literally waves a hand at them as if they’re nothing but gnats.

“He’s brattier when you’re around,” Jimin tells you petulantly, as he rises. You start to follow, but Taehyung’s inhuman grip finds your wrist and tugs you back.

“Not you,” he murmurs, and there’s a hint of growl to it. A shudder rolls through you.

The others make their way past you, saying their goodbyes, and Taehyung tugs you by the wrist so that you fall over top of him, chest to chest. You think he’s going to pick up where you’d left off this morning, but instead he wraps his arms around your back and buries his face somewhere near your clavicle, eyes closed.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs.

You smile, feeling a rush of affection. “You’re cute,” you counter.

You feel his lips pout against your skin. “I’m not cute. ’M scary.”

“Sometimes you’re scary,” you agree lightly. “But not right now.”

He lets out an unhappy hum. “You’re scary sometimes,” he muses. He unburies himself, lets his head flop back to the arm of the couch. His eyes are still closed. “You’d be the best queen because everyone would be scared shitless of you.”

He’s let slip similar thoughts before, but never in a setting where you could sit with the words, consider the weight of them.

“I can’t tell if you mean that,” you admit, “or if you’re just…” Getting ahead of yourself, you finish the thought silently.

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?” he argues. He lets his arm drop over his face, his eyes hiding in the crook of his elbow. “I agreed when my father told me to court you, didn’t I? Wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t think…”

He mumbles the rest of this sentence into his arm, and you don’t try to catch it. You’re stunned, knocked breathless.

“Wait,” you say, the word dropping from you like a stone. “What?”

“Mm,” he says, like this is an answer, nodding his head minutely. “My parents were intrigued by your magical quotient. I, on the other hand, was intrigued by your-”

You’re barely hearing him. “Wait,” you interrupt, the word the only one you can grasp. “You… they asked you to court me because of my magic? And you… you… agreed?”

“Well, yes,” Taehyung huffs, frustrated. “I had to, or he wouldn’t have -”

“So,” you interrupt again, head spinning, “how much of it was… for his sake?”

Taehyung removes his arm from his face and looks at you in confusion, brows furrowing, lips pouting.

“Were you faking it?” you demand, feeling yourself spiraling but unable to stop it. “Was I just… a means to an end? An asset for the bloodline?”

He winces, which is enough of an answer for you. You push away from him, and he’s too slow in his drunken state to catch you in time. You stand, backing away.

“I have to go,” you say hollowly, already looking at the door.

“No,” he says, desperately, sitting up and reaching a hand towards you. Your heart breaks another degree; part of you wants to go back to his embrace and tell him never mind, you aren’t fighting, everything is okay. You force yourself to back away, making your way around the couch.

He watches you go, mouth turned down and a hand following your path. “My love,” he breathes, “please don’t.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head, half to yourself, half to remind yourself not to give in. “No, I need to. I need to think. You should… drink some water and get some sleep… or whatever it is your people do to avoid a hangover.”

You open the door and slip through, but you’re weak. You’re weak, and you look back over your shoulder, and so as the door closes you get one last view of Prince Taehyung, watching you go, his eyes now a deep, fathomless black.

—

You move in a daze. Namjoon is closed in his own room when you reach your rooms, so there’s no one to stop you as you toss a few essentials into a small bag, no one to witness it when you tell Satuel that if she doesn’t take you to the Ostium then you’ll walk there yourself.

“His Majesty will be very displeased,” she points out as you walk.

“His Majesty has a long, long life ahead of him during which he can get over it,” you bite back.

The Infracti working the Ostiums - both the one in Infracticus and the one above, in your city - nod politely at you as you pass through, checking your identification, but don’t say much.

In fact, no one speaks to you again until after you’ve climbed a familiar, worn set of stairs, pushed open a squeaky office door.

Dr. Kim stares at you like you’re a ghost, an apparition drifting up through his carpeting.

“You,” he says, eyes wide with disbelief, “are not supposed to be here.”

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