#bts fantasy

Despite sharing a wall with the exam room, you leave the door to the break room ajar to better catch any important sounds, and then you set the first of your twenty-minute alarms. The couch you stretch out on has to be one of your all-time favorites; fortunate when you and your colleagues often need quick rest. Therefore, it's not long after you've propped your head on your pillow and pulled your blue blanket over your body that you drift off. Unsurprisingly, you dream of those dark eyes.

"So, nothing else that I should know?"

"No," you say, muffling a yawn with the back of your hand as Yoongi watches. "Good vitals, should start waking up soon. I haven't taken him for a potty break yet, so he might need to go soon. That's it. I've updated the chart."

"Mhm. Okay," Yoongi says. He hasn't even bothered with scrubs, showing up in gray sweatpants and a black hoodie, pushing the most minimalist-looking glasses you've ever seen higher on his nose.

"Okay. See you."

With a parting smile, you turn. But before you can head to the locker room to get changed, a call of your name has you pausing, looking back to see what else Yoongi wants.

"Maybe I should walk you to your car?"

"It's twenty meters from the entrance," you point out.

"I know. Still."

Your slight smile grows warmer. "I appreciate it, but I'll be fine."

He gives you a short nod. "Be careful."

You return the gesture.

Only a few months ago, you'd often end your day shift with a thirty-minute walk home. Headphones at the bottom of your bag, it would be just you and your thoughts. Borderline insane in this day and age, sure, but you find that you need to process your work before you fall asleep or you won't fall asleep. Especially if the day blessed you with delightful moments such as putting someone's best friend to sleep.

These days, however, you always take the car. Especially to and from night shifts. The few minutes behind the wheel—even if spent in silence—aren't nearly enough to decompress from a whole workday, but you try.

The air is cold as you step outside the clinic, but the shiver that runs down your spine isn't a result of the temperature. Tonight, walking out of the clinic and locking the door behind you feels more like stepping out on stage, lights already on and harshly focused on you. You try to dismiss it, but you can't shake the eerie feeling of being watched. Inconspicuously, you scan the quiet area as you quickly head toward your car, but there's no one around. Either way, you hurry, locking the doors around you the moment you get behind the wheel and driving off as soon as you can.

The short drive through the sleepy town is fortunately uneventful, and you feel the exhaustion creep up on you too; it takes you three tries to unlock your apartment door. But then you remember something, sleepiness momentarily washed away.

Fishing the phone from your pocket, you begin a new text, but then you pause, thumb hovering over the digital keyboard. Was he really serious about wanting you to message him in the middle of the night like this?

Fuck it. You're too tired to overthink it: not the concept of sending a text nor the words themselves.

You: I'm home safe now :)

Pressing send, you place your phone on the bathroom sink as you reach for the face wash, beginning the process of cleansing your skin from makeup and whatever other fun things cling to it from an entire day of handling sick animals. You'll shower and change the sheets tomorrow.

Something between a minute and two passes before your phone vibrates, and you lean your dripping face over the screen to read the notification.

Jeon Jeongguk: 😀👍🏼

Staring at the odd reply until the screen goes dark again, you're not sure what you expected. A cryptic message of some kind? Maybe even something… flirty considering his last words and the way he held your hand and twirled you back inside the clinic?

You grab a towel, dabbing your face dry, and then your lips pull into a dumb smile. It's kinda cute, though.

"Hey, slept well?" Nayeon grins when you step inside the main exam room at ten p.m. the following night. You slept until three and then spent the next few hours cleaning your apartment and doing a well-needed load of laundry before you drove out to the clinic.

"Yeah, was super tired. Any plans for the night?"

Leaning back in the chair, Nayeon stretches her arms high over her head, her blue scrub shirt lifting slightly at the waist. "If I do. Carbs and TV, baby. I'm having the worst noodle cravings. Funny how I never eat noodles except when I'm like… day four into my period."

You laugh. "Yeah, I've never heard anyone period-crave noodles. I was just craving chocolate or something super salty."

"Hm. You know, I'm thinking about getting a new IUD but the last insertion was…" she trails of, grimacing. "Yours was alright?"

You shake your head, mirroring her pained expression. "Passed out."

"Fuck. Honestly, the people that claim it's not painful, I think they're just bullshitting."

"Definitely. I dread getting mine out, but it's reaching the end of its life," you answer, turning your focus to the patient before the painful memories have you hurling. "Anyway, anything I need to know?"

Nayeon rises from her seat and comes to stand beside you, her eyes following yours and landing on one of the largest dogs the clinic's probably ever seen, currently snoring in the lowest of the wall-built kennels. It's a male Broholmer; a danish mastiff type of dog with short brown fur.

"No, not really. We puked him, and I explained that the amount of chocolate isn't really dangerous for this type of dog. More specifically, this size of dog and the type of chocolate."

"Milk?"

"Yeah. Like 50 grams. Well, they weren't sure, but most likely."

You nod. "Not enough theobromine either way."

"Yeah, but they wanted us to keep him overnight regardless. He peed like… an hour ago."

"Alright. Well, I'm here to relieve you of your duty, so you're free to go."

"Thanks!" she claps her hands once before letting her quick feet take her in the direction of the locker room. "Tell Yoongi that I ate his chips."

Your eyes widen. "Wait! No, Nayeon! Oh my God."

Her laughter echoes down the hall, and you sigh. You love the woman, but she has a talent for putting you in mildly inconvenient situations. "Send a text when you're home, at least!" you call after her.

"Of course!"

Shaking your head, you sink down onto the black swivel chair she just occupied, pulling up your phone to scroll all of your social media apps. The uneventful shifts are the longest, and while you honestly wish a certain mythical creature would stop by, you haven't planned anything. You'd text him, but God, you need to preserve at least a little bit of what dignity remains, right?

However, twenty minutes into a Youtube video—an hour and a half after Nayeon left—a notification drops from the top of your screen.

Jeon Jeongguk: Knock knock

It's almost scary how your heart skips a beat and you feel your mood lift beyond what's probably good for you. Standing, you push your phone into your scrub pocket as you leave the exam room and head toward the dimly lit entrance.

Despite your previous dignity-related concern, not even embarrassment can stop your face from lighting up when you spot him outside the door. You hadn't noticed, but it looks like it's raining? Quite a bit at that.

Unlocking the door, you can't help but smile as you meet his dark eyes through the glass.

You push the heavy door open, greeting him through the first sliver. "Hi."

"Hey," he smiles confidently. "I'm here for my daily dose of attention."

You gasp, pulling the door shut before Jeongguk's even made the slightest of efforts at entering.

Though he could very well grab the door and pull it open by force, he doesn't. He just stands there, in the rain, looking down at you through the glass with a curious smile and a tilt of his head. As if patiently wondering when—or even if—you're gonna let him in.

It's such a dangerous mix; his very, very slight teasing, blended thoroughly with how gentle he is. Of course, you only take one deep breath, and then you're opening the door again.

"Don't be mean," you warn as you let him through. It doesn't help that he's wearing a black leather jacket and dark jeans, and there's a few drops of water rolling down the leather and others threatening to fall from his hair.

"Mean?"

"Yeah, teasing me for being interested in you."

He chuckles, running his hand through that dark, slightly wet hair. "Wasn't my intention. I was merely referring to myself as… what do you youngins call it these days? An attention… whore, is it?"

"Okay, grandpa."

"See, now that's mean."

You laugh, cheeks still a bit warm but the unintentional offense already forgotten.

Jeongguk's heavy boots thud against the linoleum floor as he follows you past the dark reception and back into the main exam room, reclaiming his spot on the exam table. But as he starts to remove his jacket—and you see how much rain he's actually collected—you back up toward the doorway.

"I'll be back in a second."

With a nod of his, you head toward the locker room, quickly grabbing one of two towels folded on the top shelf of your locker.

Jeongguk is waiting patiently when you return. But as you do, rounding the corner to enter the room, for a brief second, it looks like he's… scenting the air. Very subtly and reminding you of a dog; just a slightly lifted head, short inhales, and an analyzing but unfocused gaze.

It hits you that you haven't asked him about his sense of smell, and he might very well be smelling… Nayeon? God, you've never been so relieved not to have a period. It's not something you should be embarrassed about, but your cheeks heat a little either way; you wouldn't want anyone to know your cycle without your consent. You'll definitely ask about his sense of smell. …Another time.

"The clinic towels—although washed—always seem to have just a bit of fur stuck to them. This is mine," you say, throwing the towel at him and watching him catch it effortlessly. "Also clean, of course," you're quick to add.

He doesn't comment on it, just bows his head in casual gratitude, and begins to dab his hair dry. Already forgetting about him potentially smelling period blood, you watch him, particularly mesmerized by his thick, bulging bicep, generously exposed by the black t-shirt he wears. At least the rain didn't soak him to the bone.

"Who's that?" he asks, gesturing toward the massive, brown dog.

"Mo. He ate some chocolate and is staying the night for observation."

"Mo?" Jeongguk questions, brows furrowing slightly.

Having just woken up, Mo looks at you and Jeongguk before he drops his head back down and lets out a sigh so big his jowls bubble in the wind.

"Short for 'Thermostat.' Apparently, he's a splendid bed-warmer. He'll be fine."

"So… fluids?" you start—hand on the back of the swivel chair—before Jeongguk can comment on your patient's unusual name, unable to contain your curiosity any longer. "You can't possibly mean that you don't have to consume fluids at all? You mean besides the blood, right?" you ask, eyes so focused on him, you almost miss the chair when you go to sit down.

He's grinning happily, surely amused by your almost-accident. You scratch the back of your neck, feeling the heat rise once again.

"No, I do mean that I don't really need to consume them. Technically, sure, certain circumstances could force me to drink even water, but normally, no."

You feel the confusion grow, and you blink rapidly, trying desperately to understand. "Huh?"

What on earth does that mean? Normally…. no? But… other times?

What?

"Okay, so we need a certain amount of fluids in our bodies, right? For our own blood and venom and whatnot."

You nod, showing that you're following along, at least so far. It would definitely be easier if his thick arms weren't on display, big hands gripping the edge of the table.

"But normally, we don't lose fluids," he continues. "We're really, really efficient at extracting all the nutrients, so it doesn't really leave any waste that needs to be flushed out. We don't really sweat either, as overheating isn't usually a problem for us. So, we don't lose a lot of fluids. In general."

Subconsciously, you lean in. "What's the exception?"

"Just because we don't usually sweat doesn't mean we can't. My body is a lot less heat sensitive than yours. I'm fine until around 44-45 degrees Celsius, after which I start to slow down."

"As in your metabolism stalls? To prevent overheating?"

He nods, and when a strand of his black, almost entirely dry hair falls into his face, he runs one veiny hand through it. "Yeah. Basically all of me slows down. I get a little sluggish, you know, my body tells me to take it easy. And then I start to sweat; It's a bit like a last resort."

"So you can die from overheating?"

"Yeah, but it's very uncommon."

You pat your pockets, realizing that you should be taking notes. "But sweating means you lose fluid."

"Right. We can lose more than a human can without it being close to severe, but if we sweat profusely, or… get injured and lose a lot of blood, we do need to replenish it. The best way is through consuming blood."

"If you don't have access to any, though?"

"It depends on how much we need. A bit, we can pull from our venom, saliva, skin… all that. If it's bad, and there's no blood, even water will do. Or anything liquid, really."

The letters you rush to put down on paper are messy to say the least, and you hide your gaze in them as you formulate your next question. "Is there a… rage element to it? Getting fluids no matter what?"

He licks his lips, looking a little… unwilling to share when you finally look up again. "I mean… it can be. But it's rare. In this day and age especially. Water or something else is practically always available; having to feed from a human just to get fluids is uncommon."

You nod. "And when you feed, you replenish whatever you might need. The rest, you pee out?"

"Exactly. So normally, there's nothing to replenish, and just… all water is peed out."

"And that means you could also consume powdered blood," you conclude, consumed by just how amazing that is. "For a long time, just powder. No liquids at all. Everything is just circulated."

"Yeah."

"That is so interesting," you speak without really thinking, pen hot against the paper.

"Thank you."

You think even your ears heat up this time. "I gotta stop," you mumble, glancing at him.

Jeongguk chuckles, leaning back on his arms. "Don't stop, please. I never get to feel special like this."

God. For a quick moment, you let yourself drink in the vision of his thick forearms, inner sides exposed and veins out for you to admire, thinking to yourself that you never in a million years would've imagined a vampire both exist and somehow be this… masculine, intimidating, and endearing.

But also…. he never gets to feel special? As if this isn't the most head-turning man you've ever seen? The inhabitants of your boring little town all practically getting whiplash as they turn to get a second look at him? You have absolutely no doubt that the effect is the same regardless of city size.

You meet his eyes, hoping he doesn't notice just how much you like to simply… look at him. "You also said something about… super strength, was it?"

"Mhm."

"So… how strong are you?"

Humming, he looks around the room, clearly in search of something. And so do you, following his gaze curiously.

"Don't really know how to show you, doesn't seem to be anything heavy in here."

You guess he's right. While you'd struggle immensely to lift the table he's perched on, you'd imagine it's not actually that heavy. The heaviest thing inside the room that isn't bolted to the floor or wall is probably you or Mo, and you're not about to ask him to toss either of you around. While you're sure the huge ultrasound machine sits unused in the next room over, a crack in that would lead to your demise.

What your eyes instead land on is a recently opened bag of dog food, slumped against the wall. 10kg / 22lbs is printed toward the bottom. You consider it, but then you look away.

"You think that's too heavy for me?"

Your eyes shift back to his inquiring ones, and you smile. "No, even I can carry that. But it's too difficult for the… test I'd like to do."

"Huh? Why would it be too difficult?"

"'Cause—" you start, but instead of explaining it to him, you decide to just let him try. It might still provide a glimpse into his physical capabilities.

"Look," you say, approaching the bag. Using both hands, you grab it at the top, swinging it forward barely above the floor as you return to him. You could hoist it into your arms, but for such a short distance, you don't bother. "I'd like you to do an isometric hold, which is already extremely difficult with something this heavy. But this bag doesn't even have any handles or anything."

The kibble settles when you lower the bag down to the floor. Jeongguk stands from the table, listening to your explanation and watching you talk with your hands.

"So you can try grabbing it at the top here and then lift it, keeping your arm straight and parallel to the floor, but it's not really a failure if you can't. You'd have to have an extreme grip strength to do it, and that's not even what the test is supposed to—"

Like it's an apple in a plastic bag, Jeongguk grabs the top of the bag you just let go off and lifts, the kibble inside shifting audibly.

"—test… Uh… Humans… aren't built to do that," you mumble, watching with wide eyes. The fact that he can even lift it off the floor with one hand is a feat in your book, and you rush to gather your thoughts.

"…Especially not for a long time, and that is a very heavy weight to attempt it with. No matter how strong, a human man's arm will start to tremble pretty soon, like way before a minute—I think—and he'll have to drop it."

"A minute?" Jeongguk asks in mild disbelief, something you find almost unreasonably attractive.

"Yeah. For a lot lighter weights. Something like a few-kilo dumbbell. Or at least I think so; humans aren't my area of expertise. But still, believe it or not, we're better at it than say, apes and gorillas, who in general are a lot stronger."

"Why is that?" he asks, unbothered, like he's not currently accomplishing a feat deserving of an Olympic medal.

You're definitely blaming biology because the showcased strength—so much worse when you're up close and can see his body working—undoubtedly has you feeling things. Either his body heat is warming you, or it's that flexed strength and those dark eyes, watching you intently.

"Humans have longer—slower, I guess—muscle fibers that make us good at endurance strength. Apes and gorillas have shorter, faster muscle fibers. They're a lot more explosive, which generally generates more 'pure' strength. But those faster fibers also burn out quicker."

"Hmm. Interesting."

You nod, glancing back at the clock on the wall. 50 seconds. Wow.

"Can I?" you ask, meeting his eyes while reaching for his wrist.

Already watching your face, Jeongguk nods. But just as you take an additional step closer, you think you hear him inhale a breath slightly stronger than before. Not like he suddenly needed more oxygen but more like… as if he was smelling the air again.

Being so close, you don't feel embarrassed. If he has a good enough sense of smell to know that someone—who was in the room more than an hour earlier—was on their period, he should for sure be able to tell that it isn't you.

But if it had been you? For a brief second, you consider what bleeding around him could lead to. Period blood is much more than just pure blood, but still… blood is blood, right? What did he say last time? When you revealed that you were still a bit nervous around him and his urges?

“I feel it. I can always smell a human this close. But… I mean, do you want to eat everything you pass at the grocery store? Or just the fresh store-grilled chicken?”

“Depends?”

“On?”

“If I’m the bruised apple or the fresh store-grilled chicken?” you answer, smiling just a tad nervously.

“Well,” he says, and you don’t miss how he very briefly looks you up and down. “You smell very nice, but you wouldn’t be the grilled chicken unless I was hungry and you were actively bleeding in front of me.”

Surely, he must come across menstruating human women all the time? But what if being alone with one happens to be the one irresistible temptation? What would've happened if Nayeon was still around when he arrived? Or… well… if it had been you?

Pushing those thoughts away, you press your fingers softly to his wrist, feeling for the radial pulse. It's slow, and while you didn't expect it to go ham from exhaustion considering Jeongguk's unaffected face and the remarkable lack of tremors, it amazes you.

With your eyes on the clock, you count the beats of his pulse while putting your other hand gently on his forearm. Doing your best not to affect his performance—not that he needs it—you softly run that other hand up his warm, naked arm.

There's no extra heat generated from what you can tell, but you definitely feel how his muscles are working. All the way from his thick forearm to his honestly huge, rock-hard bicep and then the impressive deltoid in the shoulder; they're all taut and firm under your light touch.

You feel the prominent veins spanning his arm, curious to see if there's an added palpable pressure anywhere, but there's not. Nothing that snitches on his muscles' added oxygen requirements or his blood supply straining to provide it. His skin isn't flushed red with effort, either.

"42 beats per minute," you conclude, lowering your hands and taking a small step back.

"What does that tell you?" he asks, peering down at you curiously.

"That you're insane?" you chuckle. "Your resting heart rate last time was 36 beats per minute, so—disregarding fluctuations—your muscles are working. It's just not a lot of added effort, it seems. No extra heat, no tremors, no added pressure to your veins. At least nothing noticeable."

"So you can tell that I'm strong?" He grins.

You nod. "Yeah. And it's been well over a minute, so you can put it down."

"No."

"No? How long are you gonna hold it for?"

"I don't know?"

You laugh, honestly a little speechless. Should you check the ceiling for hidden wires? Or hidden cameras?

"Okay? Do you wanna hold it while I write some notes down then?"

Jeongguk nods, and you go to retrieve your notebook and pen, but right at that moment, there's the sound of plastic ripping and then kibble meeting the floor.

"Shit," you exclaim, seeing Jeongguk already lowering the bag to prevent more of its contents from spilling out.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry, it's not your fault," you say, kneeling to assess the damage to the bag. The hole is around ten centimeters long and toward the bottom on one side.

Fortunately, only a kilo or so has made it out onto the floor, and so you stand up, locating the trashcan and its spare bags, one of which you then kneel down to scoop the spillage into. Jeongguk tries to help, collecting and dropping a handful of kibble into the bag.

"Can you see if there's duct tape somewhere in there?" You gesture toward the white-painted cupboards that line the wall to your left.

He nods, rising to his feet, and you hear cupboard after cupboard open. Then, he's crouching in front of you again, a roll of gray duct tape offered from his large hand.

"You're really gonna throw that away? Surely it's not bad just because it was on the floor for a minute; dogs eat literal shit outside all the time, right?"

You laugh quietly. "Yeah, while our floors are kept as clean as possible, unfortunately, it's a liability. Things like these happen sometimes, but Namjoon usually brings it home with him; his sister has like… I think it's five dogs at this point. So it's not wasted."

"Okay, that's good. I was feeling guilty."

You look up at him, endeared by his admittance. The feelings your poor heart is made to feel around him are giving you a metaphorical whiplash. "Wouldn't have been your fault either way."

You tape up the tear best you can, cursing quietly when you realize that, to make it truly secure, you should wrap the tape also around the bag. It's going to be difficult since the bag is still mostly full and thus super heavy to move even without a large hole.

However…

You glance at Jeongguk, your… friend, who conveniently (or not: it was the very feat the bag was used to test) comes equipped with super strength.

"Could you… lift this for me?"

He nods, and the only hesitance he shows as he picks the bag up horizontally instead of vertically is whether the tape is sticking. It is, and Jeongguk holds the bag away from his body, giving you enough space to wrap the tape around it, your hands grazing his chest now and again as you work.

When you deem it secure enough, you lean in, biting the tape from the roll with your teeth. And then you stand, pointing to a table further into the room. "Would you mind placing it there?"

Without a word, he obeys, and you don't miss how he handles the bag with care. When it's delivered to its designated spot, he turns back to you, appearing almost like he's waiting for more assignments.

"Thank you. Clearly, you're very strong," you smile, your ears heating just a tiny bit. "Makes me wonder what your muscle fibers look like. You evidently do great at endurance type strength, but how good are you at explosiveness?"

You don't miss how his eyes light up. "Want to see?" he asks, scanning the room again.

"Definitely," you answer, trying to think of ways to test it. "You know what, why don't we start with your reflexes?"

"Sure, what do you have in mind?"

Spotting a pair of heavy bandage scissors lying on a counter, you grab them. With your other hand, you gesture toward the exam table. "Sit? Relax your legs; just let them hang," you instruct, turning the scissors around so that you're holding them by the blades.

Jeongguk takes a seat, watching as you step into his space and gently prod the space just below his kneecap until you find the right spot. As soon as you tap the heavy metal handle to his patellar tendon, his leg kicks out. Almost as if he kicked it out before you even made contact.

"That tickles."

You smile, trying to stay focused. "Close your eyes?"

Looking up at his face to make sure he obeys, you feel your heart stutter the way it so often does when you watch him.

God, he's handsome, even more so up close. You want to say that his nose—so masculine yet almost elegant—is your favorite of his facial features, but that would mean pitting it against his dark eyes or… his cheekbones—currently kissed by his black, rather straight lashes—or even his brow bone and eyebrows. And that's without even mentioning his pink lips or the sculpted area around them, including that dimple that only pops out with specific expressions.

To not raise suspicion, you force yourself to focus. Your gaze—lingering on that glabella of his, partly hidden by his black hair—drops to your hands, and you repeat the motion you did only a few seconds ago.

The effect is undoubtedly the same, and he's just as quick to kick his leg out, but he's definitely also intentionally lessening the impact of it. Maybe he's worried about kicking you?

"You have good reflexes. Very quick, even when you try to resist," you conclude, taking a step back. Being close to him is very… intense, after all. "You can look."

It's like you can feel the moment he opens his eyes, his gaze heavy and warm on your face. When you peer up at him again, he smiles. "And now?"

You dig out a paperclip from your breast pocket, stepping closer once more and holding the small item in the air between you, roughly at eye-height.

"I drop this. You try to catch it."

At the challenge, you notice how he gains a certain kind of focus you haven't really seen before. He's quick to place his fingers just below your hand, intently watching the paperclip pinched between your fingers.

"This is allowed?" he asks, referring to the small space between your hands. Is his voice suddenly… deeper?

"Yes."

As you wait for the golden moment, trying to catch him off guard, it doesn't even look like he's breathing. He's entirely still, eyes frozen on the paperclip. You don't even think he blinks.

When you drop it, he simply pinches his fingers together, catching the bottom of the clip between them, meaning… he was faster than required.

Seeing that he succeeded, he breaks out into a wide grin, holding the paperclip victoriously.

"Again?" he asks, practically beaming.

Nodding with a smile of your own—he's honestly adorable—you take the paperclip from him, returning to your previous position. This time, you wait longer.

Hyper focused, Jeongguk only opens his mouth when something like a whole minute has passed.

"Are you gonna—"

Mid-sentence, you drop it.

"You're gonna have to try harder than that," he chuckles, holding the paperclip up for you to see.

"Fine." You take it from him once more.

This time, you opt for another tactic.

After you've held it above his awaiting fingers for twenty or so seconds, you pinch your own fingers together, trying to see if you can trigger him to close his without you actually dropping the paperclip.

And you can because he does. You hurry, actually releasing the paperclip the moment you see him put his fingers together, hoping he won't be quick enough to reset and try again before it falls to the floor. But he's fast—a human would've already failed—and you laugh, seeing him fumble the paperclip. It bounces off his fingers as he tries to catch it.

"Got it," he declares a second later, finally having gotten a good grip on it.

"Barely," you comment, knowing full well you would not have achieved anything close to that.

You sit down on your chair, notebook in your lap.

"What are you writing?" he asks, approaching where you sit. "I still caught it, if you write that I didn't, you're lying."

You can't stop giggling as he tries to peek at the words you write down, still maintaining a respectable distance. More than you've given him, but you guess he's more worried about intimidating you than the other way around.

"Don't worry, I'm noting that you have above average reflexes."

"A—above average?" he repeats, blinking in playful offense. "Not 'incredible?'"

"Fine, 'possibly supernatural?'"

"'Possibly?'"

"Yeah, three times is not nearly enough to draw an indisputable conclusion. Besides, you almost didn't catch it that last time."

"I'm offended."

Smiling widely, you keep writing. "No, but honestly? Your reflexes are very impressive, especially your focus. But there's a surprising amount of… humanity? to you. And by that I mean that while you're very clearly superhuman, you're not a machine."

"Hmm," he says. "I guess I can accept that."

"Good," you agree, putting the pen and paper down on the table next to you. "It's not meant to be negative."

"Do you want to see what else I can do?"

"Sure?"

It's so effortless, the way he leans down, putting his hands flat to the floor while simultaneously kicking his legs into the air. He tucks one of his arms uselessly behind his back and then lowers himself.

Despite not being a gym girl, you're wholeheartedly impressed. Surprisingly often, your social media algorithms put gym content on your feeds, and so you watch women and (mostly) men perform absolutely insane stunts.

But you've never seen anyone do one arm handstand pushups.

At least not unassisted and this… effortlessly. The muscles of his arm are bulging, and while he doesn't look too strained, it's definitely a bit of a challenge, even for him. His entire body works, not only to carry all of his weight but to keep his form and balance. Because you're clearly not suffering enough, gravity causes his black t-shirt to slide down, exposing the lower half of his abdomen.

"Oh, wow," you mumble, eyes wide, before you even realize. To be fair, it's mostly a reaction to his performance and not his defined obliques and abs. You're more nerd than you're thirsty.

You hear him chuckle as he repeats the motion, doing at least five more pushups before he straightens up again, only a very, very slight flush to his face. Now, there's also an attractive fluff to his black hair.

"Can all vampires do that?"

He shakes his head. "No. Almost all vampires could do it if they only practiced a little, though. It's not only about strength but balance and body control as well."

"That's so cool. I noticed you used your right hand, is that your dominant hand and arm? Can you do them using your left?"

Happy to take on yet another challenge, he gets down again, repeating the motion using his left arm. You don't notice any kind of struggle, and he's practically beaming when he straightens up, even more so when he sees how truly amazed you are.

"Do you have a dominant arm and hand? Or are you ambidextrous?"

"Uh… " he looks at his hands. "I use mostly my right hand, but my left isn't necessarily worse? Maybe it's mostly out of habit?"

"Hmm. Interesting. Close your eyes for me?"

Without a word, he shuts his eyes. His willingness to follow instructions makes your skin heat and your heart skip yet another beat, and you're certainly not wasting the opportunity to admire his face again.

"Put your arms out to the sides. Good. Now, without opening your eyes, touch your nose. One hand at a time."

You watch, seeing him find the tip of his nose quickly and without the slightest bit of hesitation.

"Good."

He opens his eyes, looking down at you with amusement brimming in his black eyes. He's clearly in a good mood today. "Are you impressed?"

You laugh. "That last one isn't all that hard if you're sober and have at least normal coordination. Watch."

To demonstrate, you close your eyes and reach your arms out. Then, you touch your nose, one index finger at a time. "I can do it too."

As you open your eyes—just about to say something about hand-eye coordination—you hear something down the hall.

Rushed footsteps. A frantic call of your name.

You turn, focus shifting to the doorway and whatever situation will appear in a few seconds. "…Momo?!"

"Where are you?! Luci can't breathe; please help!"

"Main!" you call, hands already searching for the stethoscope when you suddenly remember the conundrum you've put yourself in. You have a vampire in the clinic.

"Jeongg—"

But as you turn back to where he was just a moment ago, he's gone. Your confused eyes search the room; there's nowhere for a being his size to hide.

Only an hour and a half later—as you lean back in the rolling chair with a deep exhale—do you remember your vampire. Exhausted and emotional, Momo sits on the exam room floor with her beloved cat in front of her on a blanket, holding an oxygen mask to his face. You pull out your phone.

You: Where did you go? And HOW?

You put the phone back in your pocket. "Yoongi should be here soon. Do you want me to stay as well?"

Momo looks at you, tired yet relieved that you managed to get Luci stable. "No, it's okay. Thank you, though."

"Of course."

In your pocket, you feel your phone buzz against your leg. Momo has returned her attention to Luci, gently petting his white fur. The phone vibrates once more as you pull it out.

Despite the heaviness in the room, the words on the screen bring a small smile your way.

Jeon Jeongguk: I ran out the room, you just didn't see me because I'm so fat

Jeon Jeongguk: *fast

The bubble pops up, indicating another incoming message.

Jeon Jeongguk: 🧛🏻

While the vampire emoji is a fun touch, you're mostly stuck on the implication that he also possesses super speed. Like, The Flash kind of speed.

You: Are you saying you're so fast you're invisible?? Can't be true??

Your logic-wired brain tries to find a scientific explanation as to how he could possibly move faster than you'd be able to see. You watched the doorway, the only doorway. He'd have to be able to move quicker than light? You might have accepted that he's a bloodsucking, fang-having vampire, but faster than light?

Jeon Jeongguk: Okay, you got me. I left through the window. I couldn't lock it from the outside though so remember to do that. I hope the cat is okay.

You roll your eyes. Still, your chest is just a little warmer, even if the warm-blooded vampire isn't physically close anymore, and a small part of you wonders whether that's a good thing. A larger part ignores it.

Also… possessing the speed and agility to leave through the window without you noticing still requires him to be something definitely superhuman.

"Okay. Well, besides the flu outbreak, it's great that your work is… great."

You take a bite of your Caesar salad; your favorite out of the town's five restaurants and their versions.

"Mhm," you agree. "I like my work."

"Yes, and that's lovely. Have you met a man yet?"

You cough. While it's not a surprising question from your mother; she always manages to catch you off guard. Hand reaching for the glass of water, you take a generous gulp.

"I'm not really dating right now."

"I know, but if it happens, it happens, right? I'm sure there are many animal owners coming through? Aren't there any nice men?"

You look at her with slightly tired eyes. And then you actually look at her. Golden heart pendant hanging from her neck and hair dyed dark even though it's been graying since her thirties, she looks like she always does. And you bet you look like you always do. And you talk like always. Not about the same things necessarily, but about the same things.

You don't like discussing your love life with her, finding her optimism often a little too much, and as she's looking off into the distance, at a new patron entering the restaurant, you can tell she doesn't expect you to actually share anything because you never do. But is it her fault that she married her high school sweetheart and it worked out?

"Actually," you say, pressing your fork into a square piece of grilled chicken. "There's this… man. He found a stray cat who had kittens."

Your mother's eyes widen, and your heart fills with a certain sense of relief but also guilt.

"I've helped him take care of them."

Does it matter if it's unreasonable and entirely out of the realm of possibilities? Your mom wanted to know if you're interested in anyone, and you definitely are.

"Oh? Is he nice? What's his name?"

"He's really nice. His name is Jeongguk, but you can't tell anyone, okay?"

Of course, your mother isn't going to spill your secret; at least not in any way that counts. She doesn't live in town anymore and is merely visiting her only child. What would it matter if she told her neighbor Patricia? It's not like Jeongguk would find out and tease you for it.

"And you like him?"

You nod, gaze falling casually to your plate. "I do, but it's kinda… complicated, so even if he likes me—which I'm not sure he does; he might just be a friendly guy—it's not… it wouldn't work out."

From the corner of your eye, you see how your mother tilts her head. "Why not? Your brain is so complex that sometimes you make things unnecessarily hard. Does it have to be so complicated?"

You roll your eyes subtly as you move some croutons around with the fork. Maybe you shouldn't have told her. "He's not staying in town."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"And you are not movable?"

You sigh. You know she's not suggesting you ask a guy who you just said might not even like you if you could please follow him across the world or wherever he's moving. She's… inquiring gently whether you'd compromise for love.

"Mom. What I have here… I have a great job that I love. I don't go too bed dreading Mondays. I have such good friends that I love, and I have an apartment that I feel at home in. It would be foolish to give that up for a guy. Maybe if it's someone I've dated for years and years or already married."

"I'm just saying. I know you love your job, but this is a very small town, and I don't want you to miss out on something. There are veterinary clinics in all cities."

"I know. I'm staying here though, at least for the time being."

Seeing that she's not entirely satisfied, still worried about you, you offer her a soft smile and something resembling an olive branch. "The perfect man might come find me first, though, right?"

The texts exchanged after Luci's emergency—that he luckily recovered from—remain the latest communication between you and Jeongguk, and you don't think much of it, even two days later. Of course, your thoughts still drift to him every other undisturbed moment; any other claim would be a lie. And while you're mostly busy cooking up purely scientific theories that fit both known biology and his peculiar anatomy, you have a hard time tuning out the butterflies that always accompany.

The flying critters are even present as you steer your car into the grocery store's parking lot, the conversation between you and your mother still occupying your thoughts.

You raise an eyebrow. There are surprisingly many cars already parked outside the store considering it's almost ten p.m. on a Thursday.

No, wait.

You reach for your phone, thrown onto the passenger seat. Shit, it's Friday; that's why it's packed. You guess not working a typical nine-to-five, Monday-to-Friday sometimes messes with your perception of time (and days).

There aren't that many spots out of the parking lot open to choose from, and so you don't think much of the one you glide into. Not until you realize that the car in front of you, parked with its nose toward you, is too far ahead, and you'll have to leave the butt of yours sticking out just a tad more than you'd like. Whatever, you'll be in and out.

Should you have moved to another spot? You definitely would have, if you knew that the car belonged to your former classmates, but you don't learn that until you're stepping out of yours. Coincidentally, it's also then that you realize just how much of a lousy parker whoever parked their car is because not only is the vehicle too far into the spot, its back left wheel is entirely inside an adjoining one.

Either way, it's too late to move.

"Oh, hey!"

You curse to yourself. They're approaching the back of their car, fittingly standing between you and the store. Whatever, you'll just be polite.

"Hi," you answer, briefly taking in the sight of the three men loaded with supplies.

"How's it going?" Mingyu asks, looking surprisingly genuine.

"It's fine. You're having a party?" you nod toward the stacked pastry boxes in DK's hands that you recognize as the store-baked ones. There must be six of them, almost more than he can carry.

The biggest party clue, however, is probably the alcohol; all men carry multiple plastic bags that sound suspiciously much like glass bottles clinking against each other.

Joshua even carries an additional case of beer, grinning smugly at you. "Just a small one to celebrate the anniversary and DK's published paper."

Considering the amount of supplies, it's not that small. It's probably just you they haven't invited.

"What about you? Gotten anything published? Any… exciting discoveries? Like a… werewolf or something?"

The snickers that follow has you feeling like you're in elementary school. Not even your own—because even the nine year old kids there were nicer than this—but the stereotypical elementary school in movies.

But what can you do? Telling them about Jeongguk, even if you had his permission, which you don't, is out of the question. It wouldn't help; If anything, it would make it worse. So all you do is roll your eyes, wishing they'd either get inside their car so you could squeeze past, or just shut up so you're socially allowed to round the cars next to you and leave that way.

But even before their teasing laughter dies down, you hear a sound. It's very distinct; something heavy being dragged against asphalt.

"Having a hard time parking within the lines?"

It's Jeongguk's voice, and as your eyes find him behind the guys, at the back of their car, you also see that he's the source of the sound.

Or rather, their car is, as he's picked up the back of it with one hand to adjust within the parking space, the locked front tires dragging against the ground as he pulls it back and slightly to the right.

Your classmates turn to look too, but just as they've quieted down to take in the scene in front of them, it's over; the car casually dropped to bounce on its tires.

You're about just as stunned, but before anyone can say anything—and like he didn't just do… that—Jeongguk calls your name.

"You're going inside?"

You nod, squeezing past the speechless men, their gazes warm on your face and then your back as you reach Jeongguk's side.

The mere thirty or so meters to the store's entrance, you spend most of in silence. Only when the guys are truly out of earshot do you voice your thoughts.

"Thank you," you begin by saying, a small, surprised smile playing on your lips. Do you think your lovely friends would've hurt you? No, but seeing them anywhere is the opposite of a fun situation. "Are you… supposed to do that, though?"

"Not really. But who are they supposed to tell?" he answers with a smile of his own, his voice low as you enter the store. "They've made damn sure no one's believing anything of the kind, right?"

"That's true," you agree. It then hits you just what actually happened, and you let out a snicker. "I can't even imagine what they're thinking right now."

You glance at the wall that separates you from the parking lot. Are they still standing there or have they gotten into the car? Are they quiet? Pretending like nothing happened? Or are they desperately trying to explain among themselves what the hell they just saw? They're scientists just like you; they know what Jeongguk did isn't humanly possible. It surprised you too—you had no idea he was that strong—but you at least knew something superhuman existed in town.

Jeongguk chuckles too. "I'd imagine they at least think twice before harassing you again."

"I wouldn't call it harassing…" you argue quietly, following him mindlessly inside the store. "So many people go through worse things."

"I would. Three grown men taunting a lone woman in a parking lot? You don't do that."

You don't say anything to that because, yeah, he's right. At the least, they're assholes.

Despite cat food being like… the main thing Jeongguk would need from a grocery store, you're almost surprised when that's where he leads you. You're entirely in your thoughts, your eyes taking him in, top to bottom, as he stops at a specific shelf, grabbing container after container of wet food.

He's wearing that leather jacket again, paired with blue jeans on the looser side, and when he reaches for the last container, somehow stuck at the back of the shelf, his jacket and shirt ride up.

Although you've never considered vampires' underwear habits, it's still a bit of surprise to see the Calvin Klein letters on the gray waistband that peeks out.

He's just a man. The most attractive man you've ever seen, who undeniably draws you in like you've never felt before. But… he's not actually a man, at least a human man. Your eyes glide over his arms, carrying what must be ten containers of wet food for cats.

"I wish they'd make these containers bigger, so I don't have to buy them so often," he mumbles, balancing them in his arms. "Or at least so many."

"Would you… let me run some more tests on you?" you ask quietly. "Cause… I mean I knew you were strong, but… lifting a car?" Your voice turns to a whisper. "With one hand? I didn't know you were that strong?"

He looks at you, a slight smile on his face. "What kind of tests? It's hard to demonstrate unless you have something heavy. Car-heavy."

"Oh, no, I meant tests as in ultrasounds and maybe… taking your blood? If you're okay with that?"

He licks his lips, considering. "Are you going to show anyone?"

You shake your head earnestly.

"Okay. At the clinic then, I assume?"

"Yeah. You don't happen to be free tomorrow night?"

"Sure. Ten p.m.?"

You nod, already excited.

Jeongguk smiles at you again, dark eyes so warm against your face. "This is all I'm gonna get, but I'll wait in my car if they haven't left yet."

The heat spreads to your chest. "Thank you."

"No worries, I'll see you tomorrow."

You watch his back until he's out of view, and then you're just a woman in a grocery store, no cart and no memory of what you were even supposed to be buying. Just in case they haven't left, and Jeongguk is just waiting in his car for you to finish, you grab a seemingly abandoned cart, hoping it wasn't occupied, and try to remember what it was that you needed.

Ten minutes later, you're finished, carrying some groceries and the laundry detergent you were out of out into the parking lot. The spot in front of your car is empty, and as you look around, you don't see the black SUV you assume Jeongguk drove there either.

<previous | next>

Clearing his throat, Hoseok carefully takes another sheet. His shoulders are stiff, there is an ache in his lower back, and he craves the kick of caffeine so badly he starts to hallucinate it on the tip of his tongue. His eyes scan over the paper, double-checking the paragraphs on it as he reaches for a binder, neatly placing the document into a plastic wallet before rolling his chair towards a shelf, stashing the papers away, and rolling back to his desk.

“If only they brought her in sooner, we could’ve actually done something more—”

“It’s not your fault, Doctor,” Hoseok rasps out, “She’s lucky enough to have been sent here at all.”

His thoughts repeatedly drift to their newest patient. He feels the guilt building up in his chest, he feels the sorrow tugging at his heart and he has to rapidly blink the tears away before they can blur his vision again. Scars piled upon scars, bruises decorated her from head to toe, her hair knotted into clumps where blood had dried. He’d seen many awful cases in his two short years at the clinic, but this—this was entirely different.

Absentmindedly, he rubs over the scratch on his arm, hissing at the slight burn of it.

It took hours just to get her to calm down before they could sedate her and treat her injuries.

Shaking his head, his gaze lands on the doctor, who for what was probably the fifteenth time in the span of twenty minutes, sighs again. He watches his mentor, noticing how his face seems to have aged a couple of years as the lights dull his features, dragging shadows across tired skin.

Dr Jones sighs, again, and begins to reach for his bag.

“Where are you going?” Hoseok’s voice carries a note of suspicion as he watches the man pack his belongings.

His mentor simply nods towards the clock, before focusing on stuffing his laptop into an already half full bag.

“Oh-” Hoseok blinks, twirling a pen in his hand. “I didn’t realise it was this late already.”

Dr Jones’ eyebrows scrunch together as his lips stretch into a thin line, “We’ve had a busy day – you should get going too, Jeong.”

“I suppose you’re right, sir.” He sighs out, reaching for his own belongings. Not that he had many in the first place – a crappy government-issued laptop and three pens, to be exact.

Like clockwork, Hoseok slung his bag over his shoulders, stepped out and watched as Dr Jones busily switched the irritating lights off and closed the office door. A short but melodic beep sounded out, indicating that the door wouldn’t open without their keycards. But more importantly, indicating the end of another long and gruelling day.

“What are your plans for tonight then?” He asked as they began walking down the hall, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched.

Dr Jones shrugged, groaning as he rolled his head back. “I think I’m gonna finish up the paperwork, then annoy the missus a bit. You?”

The hybrid copied his mentor’s action, hissing at the stiffness in his joints. “Not sure. I’ll probably finish watching my show.”

“You still haven’t finished it?”

He shook his head with a smile.

“Seriously?” Dr Jones laughed, “I guess you’ll have to binge it tonight then. I don’t want you doing any more work tonight, Hoseok.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. After today, I feel like I need a week to recover.”

As the two approached the ward, Hoseok slowed his steps. Even now, the fox hybrid was on his mind.

“You’re thinking again,” Dr Jones points out.

Shaking his head, Hoseok tries to rid his mind of her, if even at least for a moment. It’ll take time for her to wake up, let alone recover – going to check up on her would be pointless. Yet the memory of her scars and bruises keeps flooding his mind, like a poison that won’t go away no matter how many antidotes he takes.

“It’s nothing.” He finally mutters.

The doctor continues to watch his student, the two stood in the middle of the hallway. He briefly glances at the long stretch of windows behind him, eyes immediately finding the resting fox. Tight straps keep her bound to the crappy hospital bed, clearly intended to prevent anymore accidents.

It has only been a couple of hours since she’d arrived, but Hoseok already seemed to be deeply affected by her.

“You know,” He starts, “You can always go in and sit beside her, talk to her.” Hoseok opens his mouth, a retort dying on his tongue, “Maybe familiarising yourself with her will… Help.”

The two stand in a tense silence, their sights hovering on the unconscious, bruised hybrid.

The whir of machinery and soft murmurs of background conversations fill the space between them. In the moment, it’s hard to differentiate between all the different sounds, as each footstep, each huff and breath, each beat of the heart monitor seems to attack Hoseok’s senses.

The golden retriever briefly glances at his mentor, ignoring the concerned look in his eye, and clears his throat, “Fine, fine, I’ll go to her. See if anything’s changed since last time.”

Dr Jones says nothing, simply nodding, waiting for the hybrid to take the first step.

When he does no such thing, the man rolls his eyes.

“A’ight. I’ll see you tomorrow. I expect an update on that show of yours – what was it called again?”

“Dexter.” Hoseok muses.

“Yeah, that. Binge it, relax, and update me on it tomorrow.” The doctor pats Hoseok’s shoulder, his hand heavy with a comforting warmth. “And get home safe, ‘kay?”

“Yessir.” Hoseok does a mock salute, watching Dr Jones’ figure until it disappears behind the front doors, becoming one with the darkness outside. His smile fades as he turns back towards the glass, towards the girl. A small scowl grows on his face. For two years now, he’s been treating abused and abandoned hybrids. For two years, he’s felt this hole in his chest slowly grow, day by day, patient after patient. Were all humans truly this cruel? Was Dr Jones just a one off?

He shakes his head, as if doing so would remove his thoughts entirely, but he knows better. And so, he begins a slow pace towards the front door, secretly looking forward to his binging session and the tub of chocolate ice cream that eagerly awaits him at home. But one thought lingers in his mind…

She’s just like any other patient.

--------

“Come on Taehyung! Let Hobi-hyung do his job!” Jimin’s voice called out as he pulled on the tiger hybrid’s waist, using every ounce of strength within him to pull the younger male through the door.

“But what if something happens?!” Taehyung breathes out through his struggle, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the doorframe tightens. There was no way he was leaving – not now, not ever. He grunted as he pulled himself further into the room, the bed where the human rested just a couple of steps away.

Hoseok had been working diligently on keeping the human warm and comfortable, fiddling with a suture kit as the younger hybrids argued, but even he — the epitome of patience — was growing weary. A small furrow crackled between his brows, watching as her skin grew paler and her breaths shallower with every minute. His concern and discomfort grew and tugged at his chest the longer he sat around, suture kit spun uselessly in his hands.

“She’ll be fine! Hobi-hyung is taking care of her!” Jimin exclaimed, voice strained and muscles working overtime as Taehyung continued resisting. It was only a matter of time before the tiger would slip out of his grasp, rushing back over to that damned human—

As the two continued their struggle against one another, a shadow slowly grew over their faces. Accompanied by faint steps, the room grew silent.

It was when Taehyung had finally wrought his way out of Jimin’s hold that he noticed it. His blood burned against the confines of his veins, pumping dizzyingly fast until there was only one thing and one thing only which he could focus on – which was now fully blocked off by a solid wall of flesh and clothes.

Jimin gulped harshly, his grip on Taehyung easing as his eyes settled on the view before him. To see Hoseok annoyed was rare, but to see him pissed off? Now that was cause for concern. Taking a step back, the fox hybrid hoped to avoid the irritated gaze of his hyung.

“You need to go, Taehyung. I need to treat her arm,” His voice was strained as he loomed over the two, “And quite frankly, you grumbling and growling in my ear prevents me from being able to do just that.” He continued, jabbing a finger at Taehyung’s forehead.

Stepping away, Hoseok knew neither of the two would dare move another step. Slipping a pair of gloves on, his brows pulled taut, the latex smacking harshly against his skin as if to emphasise his point.

“B- But hyung—”

“No ifs, buts or maybes. Go sort yourself out. Take a shower. Change your clothes – you stink,” He added pointedly, scrunching his face in disgust, “Eat something. She’ll be all patched up by the time you’re back and then you can have her all to yourself.”

Hoseok continued to keep an eye on the younger hybrid, watching as the gears turned behind his eyes.

“He’s right, Tae,” Jimin nodded, leaning over his friend’s shoulder. “You could risk infecting her with whatever germs you picked up in the woods. Hyung needs a calm, sterile environment.”

Taehyung remained motionless, his pupils blown wide in the dimly lit room. He knew they were right, and yet something kept telling him – no, insisting – to stay. It was a feeling. A feeling that burrowed deep in his chest, gradually clawing its way out, setting his impulses free and clouding his better judgement.

But his thinking was rational – surely – he had every right to want to watch the process, to be by her side, to make sure she’s okay. It was his fault that she got hurt in the first place. So wouldn’t it be cruel for him to leave her alone? Wouldn’t it be cruel to leave her vulnerable?  

Everyone knew of Hoseok’s aversion to humans. He never bothered to hide it. What if he… Did something to her? What if he decided he would hurt her? As some sort of revenge against humanity?

“She’s perfectly safe here, Tae. Hobi-hyung knows what he’s doing—"

“As a matter of fact, it isn’t safe. He hates humans.” He spat out.  

The retriever hybrid took a step back, as if the words themselves had a physical impact on him.

“Everyone knows this. He’s never bothered to hide it, so how can I be sure she’s safe?” Taehyung continued, sounding stern, his voice growing deeper with every word.

An old, familiar warmth ran through Hoseok’s veins. His heartbeat grew louder, pounding mercilessly against his eardrums, but having little effect against the tiger’s words.

“What does he do when he sees or even hears the mention of humans? He throws a face and walks off.” Taehyung was right. He had a valid reason for wanting to stay, surely his hyung couldn’t argue against that— “He snarls like they’re the dirt under his shoe, like they have personally hurt him. Killed his loved ones—"

“Taehyung!”

“Don’t talk so confidently on shit you’ve got no idea about.” Hoseok spat out. Something ugly coiled in his gut as he stared at his gloved hands, brows pulled taut. “Just because I don’t bend over backwards for her, it doesn’t mean I’ll fucking hurt her—” He paused, sucking in a deep, harsh breath through his teeth, “I’m a doctor, for fucks sake. I took an oath.” I promised him. “Whether she’s a hybrid or a human or a sea snail, I’ll treat her to the best of my ability. So now, get the hell out or I swear I’ll drag you by the—”

“W- We get it, hyung. C- Come on Tae—”

The tiger hybrid seemed almost pliant under Jimin’s hands as they dragged him out. Whatever fight there was that’d burned in his body, it had all been snuffed out by Hoseok’s momentary cold-snap. Neither of the hybrids had even heard him speak like this before, yet alone swear—

As the door swung open, Taehyung took one last glance at the human, majority of her figure hidden by an angry golden retriever of a hybrid. Jimin’s hands eagerly dragged him out, desperate to escape whatever wrath the tiger had unwrapped.

“H- Hey, what are you—” Jimin’s voice fell short as he looked at his friend.

“Hyung, let me stay with her when you’re done,” Taehyung spoke, his pupils blown wide as he pleaded with his elder. “I want to make sure she’ll be okay—"

The door shut with a earache-inducing slam. On one side, Hoseok stood motionless, chest rapidly heaving up and down as he listened to the tigers’ pleas from the other side.

“You can come back when I’m done.”

As the pairs of footsteps grew distant, he was left to stew in his scalding state.

Hoseok had known the tiger for years – much longer than he knew Dr Jones – yet the man had never managed to hit a nerve in him like this before. Sure, he avoided any mention of humans like the plague – but to accuse him of intending to hurt one?

Taehyung had crossed a line, and all three of them knew it.

The two would have to talk things out, but as of the current state of things, Hoseok had to school his expression, shove his fermenting frustrations deep down, and focus.

His expression soured as he turned to look at her – asleep, blissfully unaware of the turmoil brewing in his home.

He’d rather be anywhere but here, in such close proximity.

Even after all these years, the stench of human blood made him sick.

--------

The ward was silent. Not the kind of peaceful silence you find in an office or the blissful quiet of a sunny afternoon paired with an iced coffee. It was the kind of quiet that had your stomach knotting in different spots, it was the kind of quiet where others around you could hear even the brief swallowing of pooling spit in your mouth, the kind of quiet that made you want to be swallowed up by the panelled floor beneath your feet.

Hoseok had barely stepped foot into the room, but his patient was already all over him – wide eyed, a big grin stretching across her face the moment his reddish-brown hair broke the reigning white of the room.

“You came back!” She exclaimed, earning irritated glances from multiple other occupants. As usual, she ignored them, opting to silently wait for Hoseok to approach her side whilst her tail swished back and forth.

The smile he wanted to return barely made a crack across his face. He could feel the muscles twitch in exertion, and for a moment he wanted to simply stop. To not respond. To walk right out of that room and never return. But he had to. He promised.

“Of course I’m back. Where else would I go?” He asked, feigning amused annoyance as he rounded her bed, checking her vitals.

The fox gave a small shrug of her shoulders, eyes narrowing as she observed his every move. “Where were you last night?”

Hoseok gritted his teeth. Not in anger, but in silent prevention.

“Oh, I had the evening off.”

“What did you do?”

Prepared for a funeral. “Just the usual – made dinner, watched Dexter. I also went through some documents.” He didn’t want to go in depth. He feared that his true emotions would come to the surface, at which point he’d have little control over anything that would happen there on after.

The fox girl – fuck, he needed to stop calling her that – Rita nodded, though he could tell she didn’t believe a single word that came out of his mouth. After all, she didn’t survive up ‘till now on honesty and naivety. Still, Rita remained silent, observing.

“What about you?” Hoseok finally asked, bringing a chair towards the side of her bed – the side on which her bandaged and stitched arm rested.

“Oh, just the usual,” She was mocking him. He could tell by that playful look in her eye – too bad he wasn’t in a joking mood. “Took a short walk around the clinic, ate shitty hospital food, watched the news.”

The retriever hummed, indicating that he was listening, even as he worked on silently unwrapping her arm.

“And how’s the arm been? Any soreness or pain?”

“Not more than the typical dose.” Again, he hummed.

Did he feel like a complete asshole over the fact that he wanted nothing more than to just get up and leave? Totally. Rita trusted him. She relied on him to help make her feel better again. And he could see that she was getting better every day – slowly but surely. But he had bigger problems on his mind now.

“When will Dr Jones come to see me? He’s been gone since I’ve arrived.”

He knew this question would come eventually. It did so every day since Rita woke up. He should’ve been prepared.

“I- I don’t know.” He tried to keep it short, simple, normal. That’s what his mentor would’ve wanted.

Rita continued to observe how he worked. Her eyes held many questions, but she knew better than to bombard her doctor with questions. Hoseok would’ve probably run away the moment she said that she knew.

That she knew Dr Jones was dead.

“Well, tell him I’ll be waiting.”

“Y- Yeah, I will.”

-----

With practiced ease, he wiped down her arm, removing lingering blood before he turned to his suture kit, finally propping it open.

She’s just like any other patient, Hoseok.

Gripping the needle with his forceps, the remaining hybrid felt his throat tighten.

He brought it through the skin, a frown settling on his face as he noticed her expression shifting. Pulling the needle through, he lifted it, using the forceps to lift the skin on the opposite side before reinserting the tiny blade.

Bleeds just like any other patient.

Carefully, he twisted his wrist, bringing the needle through more skin until it resurfaced.

See? Her skin is the same as a hybrid’s. It rips and it bleeds, and you stitch it back together. Just like anybody else’s.

He then stretched the thread out, before twisting it around the holder and then, finally, created a knot.

The surgeon continued to work in silence, focused on the way the sharp instrument cut through the first layer of skin before tethering the separated flesh.

Just like anybody else’s.

Repeating the process, he eventually eased into its familiarity, his breathing evening out until there was nothing but his body and mind working in fluid cooperation.

In the short time they knew each other, Hoseok had learned more under Dr Jones’ watchful eye than he did in the five years he’d spent at university. He couldn’t say that the doctor impressed a young, bright and hopeful Hoseok at first, but as time went on, he began to appreciate his mentor a little more.

“There’s still so much left for you to learn”, Dr Jones had said back then, the smoke from his cigarette wafting directly into his face. He scrunched his nose, fanning at the air until the grey cloud dispersed.

To be honest, during that first meeting he doubted Dr Jones was even a doctor. Why was he out in the back, smoking when so many hybrids were waiting for him to help?

The needle seemed to become a part of him, flowing through skin with practiced ease until inch by inch, the wound began to disappear.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dr Jones’ voice rung out in the small ward. Every eye in the room snapped in his direction – that is, apart from Hoseok’s. The intern cursed under his shaky breath, the needle in his hand only inches from stabbing into the patient’s arm.

“With how you’re shaking, your patient is gonna bleed out on the hospital floor before you’ve even tied the first knot,” His voice echoed, stern and unimpressed as Hoseok struggled to grip the needle, sweat beading at his temple as his patient winced and groaned.

“Take a deep breath, you’ve done this before haven’t you?”

“Only on fake skin, s- sir.” His voice came out quiet, embarrassed as the doctor stood, watching.

“Keep going.”

Hoseok’s head snapped in the direction behind him, eyes wide and startled.

“B- But—"

“No but’s. You’ve started this, so you have to finish it,” He paused, smiling reassuringly at the young patient. “Take a deep breath. You’ve done this before.”

The door clicked open as he finished tying the final knot.

Words struggled to escape his throat as Taehyung entered, so he opted to remain silent. He watched as the lines around her eyes began to fade, he watched the colour return to her face. Something akin to relief bloomed in his chest – he hated it.

Working to distract himself, Hoseok tied a gauze around her bicep. He ignored the tiger hybrid as he rounded the bed, hesitantly taking the human’s hand into his own.

A flicker of a grimace before Hoseok sighs, moving away to pack his tools. He could finally get away from her. From her scent. From her helplessness. From her calm. His nose twitched in disgust the deeper he inhaled. His heart rattled harder. The storm in his mind only grew in chaos.

He couldn’t wait to go and finally relax after a long day of working his ass off. He couldn’t wait to go and forget, for at least a couple of hours.

“So… You’ve fixed her arm?” Taehyung’s voice came out nonchalantly. It was almost too much and the retriever knew his friend was feigning it.

Hoseok nodded, organising his kit. He worked hard to keep his focus on the task at hand, refusing to acknowledge the soft relaxed breaths that had her chest rising and falling  

“You’re not staying here the whole night, are you?” He asked, voice strained, his usual hearty smile pulled taut into a fine line. Crows’ feet tugged at the corners of his eyes, which expertly averted the sleeping woman before him. 

The tiger glanced up at him, strands of wet hair curling across his forehead.

“I need to make sure she’s okay.”

“You’re saying you don’t trust my medical skills?” He asked, attempting a joke even as something ugly, something spiteful and sour coiled in his gut. He almost couldn’t believe that the tiger had the gall to doubt his abilities.

Of course the human’s fine. She’s sleeping and breathing perfectly fine. Can’t he tell?

“No, hyung, I just—” Taehyung paused, his head drooping low, finally showing a smidge of the tigers’ real emotions, “It’s my fault she’s in this state. I— I just want her to be okay.”

“She’s fine,” He started, “Her arm should heal relatively quick, so long as she doesn’t move it erratically.”

Taehyung nodded quickly. Relief washed over him, and he thanked his lucky stars to have Hoseok around. It was rare that his hyung had to use his skills outside of his work, to the point that Taehyung almost forgot how sharp his skillset was.  

“Wake me up if anything happens.” The hybrid muttered, deciding that he’d had enough of it. Of everything. He headed groggily towards the door, fist clenched tight around the handle of the suture kit.

“H- Hyung?”

“Yeah?” Hoseok asks, one hand resting on the doorknob, the other just barely tightening around his toolkit.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispers, fingers toying with the human’s limp ones. “For what I said earlier. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“It’s fine.”

Neither hybrid spoke another word. They let the air between them relax, allowed the words to sink in, allowed the small reconciliation to take place.

“Goodnight hyung.” Taehyung finally mutters, watching as his hyungs’ shoulders grew relaxed.

“Yeah, goodnight.”

As he closed the door, Hoseok’s shoulders drooped lower. Having a human so close after so many years had brought back unexpected memories, ones he had unknowingly suppressed.

Heading downstairs, the murmurs of a distant conversation caught his attention. It continued, even as his steps grew louder, closer.

“She can’t stay here,” Namjoon’s voice was sturdy, confident even as he was met with resistance. “You clearly didn’t think this through, you didn’t think about what would happen to you, to us, if you brought her here.”

The kitchen was illuminated by a warm, orange glow. His ears pressed flat against his hair, the lightbulb above casting shadows down his face as the polar bear stared down the youngest hybrid. Jeongguk chewed at his lower lip, resembling more of a prey animal in the presence of their so-called ‘leader’.

“Hyung, i- it’s not like that—”

“It isn’t? Because so far, you still haven’t considered the consequences. I know you’ve met her before, but that’s in the past. That meeting? It took place in an entirely different world.” He paused, rubbing his face, a deep sigh escaping through his nostrils. “Do you have any idea of what happens to hybrids that harbour a human?”

Jeongguk paused, his gaze locked onto Namjoon’s. His bottom lip grew puffy. Hoseok winced as in a split second the younger hybrid bit down hard, drawing blood.

“They’re arrested, and the human is killed. Or worse, sent into one of those facilities.” Yoongi chimed in from his spot on the sofa, his voice soft, barely distinguishable from the noise coming from the tv.

Namjoon allowed the words to seep in, his gaze finally switching to Hoseok, who’d stalked over to the sink. The dog hybrid said nothing, pulling out the needle he’d used earlier. He was going to wash it, hoping to conceal some of the stench the human left behind before he threw the needle away.

“H- How is she?” Jeongguk cautiously looked up, watching as his hyung turned the tap on.

He shrugged his shoulders, scrubbing at the metal. “She’s all stitched up. Just needs to rest up.” The last thing he wanted was to talk about her.

“And how’s Taehyung?”

The elder paused. He hadn’t expected that. He resumed his scrubbing, biting at the inside of his cheek. Should I tell them?

“He’s fine. Tired but clean.”

Jeongguk hummed in response, before turning back to Namjoon.

“Hyung, I know we can’t keep her, but I can’t let her go back. At least, not there. The entire police force is looking for her.”

He watched as the leader sighed, shaking his head.

“I’m sure if we drop her off in the middle of nowhere, she’ll do just fine. I mean, she survived out in the wild somehow.” Hoseok spoke, bringing the needle to his nose. Her scent seemed to have disappeared.

“W- What? No. We can’t do that either—” Jeongguk exclaimed, before Hoseok interrupted him, holding the needle close to his own nose.

“Sniff it.”

Jeongguk complied, scrunching his eyebrows. “What are you doing, hyung?”

“Can you smell anything?”

“No?”

“Yoongi-hyung, sniff this.” Hoseok walked away, ignoring the youngest’s question.

“No, I can’t smell the human on the needle.” Yoongi confirmed before the hybrid could even reach him.

Namjoon cleared his throat.

“Let’s talk about this when she’s awake,” He paused, watching as Hoseok walked back to the suture kit. His sight moved back over to the panther, who was nervously licking at the fresh cut on his lip, “Let her decide.”

-------

As the night grew colder, the rain had eased into a gentle pitter-patter against the window. Taehyung shifted and turned, his ears twitching at your every soft sigh.

The blankets Jin had brought earlier were too warm and too heavy.

Deep down, hidden somewhere in the pits of his stomach, a dizzying feeling bubbled. He hadn’t put a name to it yet – he didn’t want to. This feeling, this emotion, it lurked like a shadow. Peered over his shoulder, snuck into the darkness of his subconscious through cracks of exhaustion and bewilderment. Like a disease. It was slowly taking control, and he knew it wouldn’t take long until his brain would turn into a befuddled puddle.

He fought to resist it. He wanted to resist it.

But he couldn’t help but falter, as with every breath she took, an unfamiliar — yet comfortable — warmth spread through his chest. It buzzed through his blood, leaving tingling trails of pure, hot excitement all over his body. He wanted to give in so bad.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not because of Jeongguk, or even his hyungs.

It just wasn’t right.

Hybrids and humans did not mix. That hatred for humans, the electrifying need for them to be punished, eradicated, it was the unspoken law. It didn’t pass as presidential speeches or flyers proudly presented everywhere. It didn’t even have a name in daily conversation. Small talk. It had no place in schools or at work or at social gatherings, no. It sat, unseen and unheard, yet always lurking in the darkest corners of everyone’s minds. Like the steady ticking of a clock. It was persistent, yet silent, fading into the back of his mind until his entire body flowed in rhythm with it.

Humans were supposed to be gone.

So, what the hell was he doing, resisting his most raw, most dangerous instincts as this human slept blissfully unaware beside him?

tags <3

The last Borani woman was born over four generations ago. Their race was once balanced. Now, it isn’t. For decades, Borani males have been forced to travel beyond their own world in hopes of finding compatible mates. And eventually, science caught up.

After many years of failed experiments and talks with other species, Borani scientists found that human women from Earth were the best match for their kind since their bodies could handle the size and shape of Borani male biology.

You were recruited two years ago under a diplomatic initiative, a carefully curated program that invited healthy, willing, human women to live in Zorelia. The goal was to preserve the Borani race through cultural exchange and potential mating bonds. 

It wasn’t framed as an interspecies breeding program, though everyone knew that was part of the long-term plan. For now, your job was to live among them. To teach them about human customs, intimacy, and emotions. And to be observed in return.

You now live in the capital, deep in the heart of the royal city. Your quarters are located within the royal palace itself.

Your current assignment is your most prestigious one yet: Crown Prince Taehyung. Fifth of seven royal sons, all born of different diplomatic unions with non-Borani women. Each brother carries the unmistakable features of their father, the King.

Taehyung isn’t the heir. That title belongs to his older brother, Seokjin. But his role is just as vital. As a prince, he is required to serve the royal court. His duty now is to study Earth, and eventually travel there to help convince more human women to join the diplomatic program. But before he can do that… he needs to understand your kind. That’s where you come in.

You’ve spent nearly seven months under his personal protection, leading daily “cultural briefings”, which is a very formal name for what are essentially long, open-ended conversations about Earth.

You’ve tried to keep things professional. Really, you have. But with Taehyung, it’s almost impossible. He’s tall, graceful, with pale violet skin that glows faintly and dark hair that always falls into his eyes. His voice is deep and that boxy smile of his is way too cute for your own good.

He teases you all the time. A hand brushing yours when you correct his pronunciation, the sly look he gives when you mention human affection, the way he draws out your name like it’s special. But it’s not just flirting. He really wants to understand your people, your world. You.

What started as a small crush has grown into something you can’t brush off. Late nights on the palace cushions, trading stories, laughing until you’re breathless. Him letting you see pieces of his life he doesn’t show anyone else. You opening up in ways you didn’t expect.

So far you’ve taught him your language, history, art, and music. He’s particularly obsessed with jazz, always asking you to play old Earth recordings during your sessions. Today's topic is the one you’ve been putting off for a while: human reproduction and sexuality.

You’re both seated on the floor of the private study salon, deep in the royal wing. The space is warm, the floor layered with thick carpets that cushion your knees. Piles of oversized cushions are scattered around you like a nest. 

Taehyung sits across from you with his legs folded and one hand resting on his knee. He’s dressed in palace robes made of deep green silk with gold stitching on the cuffs and collar. The smooth fabric hangs loose on his tall body and gathers around his hips, showing part of his chest. The robe is tied low at his waist and slips easily over his broad shoulders. There’s nothing underneath. No shirt, no pants, no underwear. It 's tradition.

You’re wearing a simple version of the traditional Borani robes. There’s no real female style anymore since there haven’t been Borani women for generations, so this is just a softer, adjusted version of the men’s robes, made to fit your human body.

You could’ve worn your Earth clothes, you brought them with you. But here in the palace, you wanted to show respect and to fit in, so you picked this. It’s light and breathable, and in some places, almost see-through. And just like Taehyung, nothing underneath. 

In front of you, a hologram of a female body floats. It’s from a basic human biology database. You already covered the male body earlier, it was quick because their biology is pretty close to humans, just smaller. Now, it’s time to learn about the female form.

You point at the figure’s chest. “These,” you say, “are the mammary glands. On human females, they develop larger and are used to feed newborns.”

Taehyung leans in, brow furrowed, his eyes flicking from the sketch to your face. “You use this part of your body to… nourish your young?”

You nod. “Exactly, Your Highness.”

Taehyung chuckles softly. “Kitten. I’ve told you a hundred times. Just call me Taehyung. Or Tae.” That nickname again, kitten.  When you were teaching Taehyung about Earth animals, he really liked the small ones, especially kittens. After you showed him a video of a kitten playing with a ball of yarn, he smiled and said, “You’re like a kitten. Small and cute, but fierce.”

From then on, ‘Kitten’ became his favorite way to address you. You let out a soft laugh. “Exactly, Tae.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying the diagram. “Do all humans experience sensation here?” he asks, pointing to the chest. 

You clear your throat, a little caught off guard by his tone. “Right. The nipples, specifically. They’re… sensitive for many people. They can be part of, uh… foreplay. During sex.”

He blinks slowly. “Foreplay.” The way he repeats it, like he’s tasting the word, makes your skin feel warmer. “And this sensitivity… is it the same for every human female?”

“No,” you say. “It varies.”

He shifts on the cushion, one hand resting lazily on his knee. “I’m more of a hands-on learner,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours with a teasing sparkle. “It’s a pity we only have a hologram.”

You feel your pulse skip at the way he says it, the subtle tease hanging in the air between you. Screw it. If he wants a visual lesson, you’ll give him one. Your fingers tug at the knot at your waist, and with one slow pull, your tunic loosens and slips down your shoulders. The fabric pools around your hips before you push it aside completely. The air feels cooler against your skin, but it’s the look on Taehyung’s face that sends heat crawling up your neck.

You’ve always been proud to represent the big titty committee, and by Earth standards your breasts are big.

“Do all females on your planet have... breasts this size?” he asks, nodding toward your chest.

You smile and you rest your hands on your thighs. “No. Some are smaller, some bigger. There’s no ‘right’ size. But yeah… back home my tits are considered pretty large.”

Taehyung looks at you, confused. “Tits?”

You laugh softly. “It’s just a vulgar way of saying breasts. People use it when they want to be casual… or a little dirty.”

Humming softly, almost to himself, he looks up at you again. “You said the nipples are sensitive. That they’re used in foreplay.”

“Yeah. Some people really enjoy it. Touching, licking, sucking…” You pause, a slow smile creeping onto your lips as you meet his gaze. “There are a lot of ways it can feel good.”

Taehyung remains quiet for a few seconds, and asks softly, “are you one of those who feels pleasure? If someone did what you just said… would you enjoy it?”

Gently, you guide his hand to your breast, touching it softly, inviting him without words. “Why don’t you see for yourself?” you whisper.

He reaches out slowly, his big fingers brushing your breast before cupping it fully. The heat of his hand makes you breathe out, and when he gently pinches your nipple between two fingers, a shiver runs through you.

“Mmhm,” you hum, nodding softly. “A little more pressure.”

He adjusts. Firmer this time, giving a small tug. You moan softly, your back arching into his hand. He watches closely, leaning in.  “Tell me more,” he whispers.

“Mmm… try rolling it between your fingers,” you say, guiding him. He does it again. And again. You close your eyes for a moment as the slow, deep pleasure builds in your belly.

When you look at him again, he’s staring at you. “Yeah… just like that,” you breathe. “You can use your mouth too, if you want.”

Taehyung leans in and sucks your right nipple into his mouth, his warm tongue against your skin. At first, he’s gentle, but as your moans grow louder, he gets bolder. His hand moves to your other breast, fingers spreading wide as he squeezes and rolls the soft flesh, making you shiver. Your fingers slip into his hair, and a needy sound escapes you.

“You can suck a little harder,” you whisper, your voice shaking with pleasure. A soft moan slips out. “Try using your tongue in circles.” He follows your instructions immediately, eager to learn, and desperate to please you.

He pulls back from your nipple and looks up at you. “Am I doing good? Does it feel good?” You nod. He smiles and dives back in, his tongue moving in slow, teasing circles like before.

“That feels really good, Tae,” you breathe, your hips shifting slightly where you sit. “You’re doing perfect. So good.”

He hums softly against your skin, you’re not sure if he’s proud or just loving the praise. Maybe both. You move his head a bit, letting him switch sides. When he takes your other nipple in his mouth, the wet heat makes your whole body jump.

After a few minutes ,maybe more, of him sucking and touching your breasts, a hot feeling builds inside you. His soft mouth and gentle touch are more than you expected, but you push yourself to say, “We should– fuck! We should keep going with the lesson.”

Taehyung lets go of your breasts with a quiet whine. “Do we really have to?”

Moving closer, he pulls you so you’re practically straddling him. His hard length presses against your core. His right hand cups your left breast, pinching your nipple and tugging at it gently, while his left hand slides around your back, pulling you even closer. At the same time, his mouth finds your right nipple again, and you feel his tongue flicking against it. You can’t help but let out a high moan.

Taehyung looks up, a cocky smile playing on his lips. “I assume you like it when I do that?”

You smirk, eyes gleaming. “Yeah, I do… but if you keep sucking on my tits like that, I might not be able to show you what comes next.”

He grins but doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans in closer, hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts. His thumbs rub over your nipples, making them hard again and push your breasts together and press his mouth between them.

You gasp as his lips move from one nipple to the other, kissing and licking slowly. One hand squeezes your breast while his thumb circles the other nipple, pulling a soft whimper from you.

Then he sucks both nipples into his mouth at once, tongue flicking between them while he holds your breasts tight. The hot, wet feeling rushes through you, making your thighs twitch around him.

He pauses and his lips are still on your skin. Then he pulls back, licking his lips with a satisfied smile.

“Mmm,” he hums. “As much as I want to stay here all day…” He runs his thumb over your wet breast, giving it one last squeeze. “You’re the teacher.”

You take a shaky breath and sit back a little, spreading your legs. You pull off the rest of your tunic and lean back on your elbows, fully bare.

“So...” you say, breathing a bit shaky, “this part on the outside is called the vulva. But the most sensitive spot, this right here” you part your folds with your fingers, showing your swollen clit and wet entrance, “most people just call it the pussy.”

Taehyung’s eyes darken, locked on you.

“Pussy,” he repeats softly, tasting the word like it’s special. His lips curl into a curious smile.

“That’s the clitoris. It’s… very sensitive. Kind of like the tip of the male sex organ. Except it’s not for reproduction. It’s just for pleasure.”

He blinks. “Just for pleasure?”

You nod and his hand slowly moves between your legs. He looks up for permission, and you give it with a small nod. His fingers slide in and brush lightly over your clit.  You gasp, and his hand flinches back.

“No, it’s okay,” you reassure him quickly, reaching down to guide him back. “Just keep it gentle at first.”

He watches you closely and follows your instructions. His touch is featherlight, a little awkward at first, but he’s a fast learner. It doesn’t take long before your breathing grows heavier.

“I want to feel inside,” he murmurs in a low voice. “Will you show me what it’s like?”

Your cheeks flush, but you nod. “You can use your fingers. One first.”

He does. Slowly, carefully, he slides a long finger inside you. You feel the stretch, and it makes you groan softly, and your hips lift to meet his digit.

“You’re… wet,” he murmurs, lips parted. “Is this normal? Did I – did I hurt you?”

You shake your head quickly as your hips roll toward his hand. “No, Tae,” you say. “Human females get wet when we’re turned on. It means I want you.”

“So tight…” he breathes. His eyes are fixed on the place where his hand disappears between your thighs.

“Add another,” you whisper. “You won’t hurt me.”

He does. Two fingers now, thick and long, stretching you wide as he sinks them in slowly. Your walls clench around the intrusion, and he groans, fascinated by the way your body pulls him in.

“Curl them,” you pant. Reaching down, you wrap your hand over his wrist, guiding him. “Toward the front.” He follows your lead, curling his fingers. “There,” you breathe, throwing back your head with pleasure. “God. Right there. Keep doing that. It feels so good.”

You spread your thighs wider. Your knees are bent and your heels dig into the soft carpet. His other hand holds your inner thigh, opening you so he can watch his thick fingers slide deep into your wet cunt again and again.

His fingers stretch you like a human cock would. Your pussy twitches, hungry for more, and every time his knuckles brush your entrance, you whine.

Your hands grip the cushions as you lift yourself, hips grinding against his palm. Taehyung stares, completely lost watching your pussy stretched around his fingers. He moves lower between your legs and leans in. You feel his warm breath before your folds. “Can I taste you? Would that feel good?” He asks with a curious tone, looking at you.

Nodding, you open your legs more for him. “Y-yes, Taehyung. You can,” you murmur. Your body is already tightening in anticipation.

He moves between your legs, one hand spreading them open while the other stays resting at your entrance. His mouth stays close, and his warm breath on your skin makes you shiver.

His tongue moves from your wet entrance up to your clit. A smile tugs at your lips. “Keep doing that. Use your tongue like that again. It 's good.”

Diving back in, his tongue moves over your folds. He gets bolder, before settling on your clit. “That’s it,” you moan. “Stay right there. Mmmh.” He takes you into his mouth gently, then moves his tongue slowly over the sensitive spot. Your fingers hold his hair, pulling a little as your thighs press against his shoulders. “You’re doing so good, Tae. It feels amazing.”

He moans against you. The sound vibrates through your clit, and your whole body jerks. The praise clearly gets to him, his fingers tighten on your thigh, and his tongue speeds up.

“Fuck, Tae. Yes, yes, just like that!”

He hears it in your tone, feels the way your body tenses. His tongue never stops moving, his lips locking around your clit tighter, sucking harder. 

You guide him softly, “Put your fingers back inside me… keep licking while you do it.”

As his fingers slide in, you shiver from the feeling and push your hips harder against his mouth. The wet, messy sounds of his tongue move over you, driving you closer and closer, until you break, shaking and crying out as you come.

Your thighs shake around his head, but he doesn’t stop until your loud moans turn into soft whimpers. He only pulls away when your body sinks back against the cushions. His mouth and chin shine with your wetness.. “Did I do good? Did you like it?” he asks as he licks his lips.

You blink, still trying to catch your breath. “You did so good, Tae. Fuck. You made me cum so hard.”

He grins. “I like making you sound like that. It sounds… what was the word in your language again? Sexy?”

“Y-yeah… something like that.”

Before your breathing has even settled, Taehyung reaches for you. His big and strong arms pull you back into his lap, like you weigh nothing. And for someone his size, you don't. Your legs are still a bit shaky from your orgasm, but you don’t resist, and let him move you. 

Your thighs slide around his waist again, settling over his hips. He’s still dressed, the smooth fabric of his palace robe cool beneath your bare skin. You can feel the hard press of him under you, thick and pulsing through the layers between you.

He looks at you as if you were his whole universe. Then he smirks and buries his face right back in your breasts.

“Again?” you laugh, breathless as he wraps his lips around one nipple.

Reaching up, you tilt his chin toward you. You lean in, pressing your lips to his. Taehyung stiffens, surprised, but follows your lead. His lips move awkwardly at first… then, slowly, he kisses you back. His hands grip your waist, pulling you close. You pull back just a little, whispering against his lips.

“That,” you say as you look directly into his eyes. “It's called a kiss. Humans do it when they’re close. When they care about someone…when they’re in love.”

He blinks at you, brow furrowing just slightly. “So you… you kissed me because you're in love? With me?”

You freeze for a second and your heart thumps hard in your chest. “I…” You swallow. You weren’t planning to say it like this. Maybe you weren’t planning to say it at all. But it’s true.

Shifting slightly in his lap, your hands slide down to rest on his chest. “I think I’ve felt it for a while now,” you murmur. “I just… didn’t want to say it out loud. I mean…You’re the prince. I wasn’t sure if I even had the right to feel that way about you.”

Taehyung stares at you for a long moment. Then he cups your face in both hands, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“I thought maybe it was wrong,” he says. “You were sent here to teach me. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every day and night. The way you laugh. The way you treat me like I’m a normal person, like I’m more than just a prince.” He pauses, his thumb brushing your jaw. “I think I fell for you the moment I saw you.”

“I wanted to tell you,” you whisper. “So many times. But I thought about your father…”

“My father already knows,” Taehyung says softly. “He sees how I look at you and how I protect you. He asked me if it was love, and I said yes.” You blink, surprised.

A rush of feeling hits you so hard you almost lose yourself. You lean in, pressing your forehead against his. “I do love you,” you whisper softly. “I was just scared before.”

He closes his eyes. “I love you too, kitten.” he says as he leans forward and presses his lips to yours. His hands are on your thighs, holding you gently in place, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You move slightly in his lap, shifting your weight. Your hips start to grind against him without you thinking. You can feel the thick, hard length of his cock pressed right against your wet pussy, with only the thin, damp silk of his robe between you. You kiss him again, then pull back just a little. “I want you inside me, Tae.”

Taehyung blinks, looking dazed.  You smirk and roll your hips again, dragging your folds over the thick shape beneath the silk. He swallows hard as his eyes drop to where your bodies press together, then rising to meet yours again. “I want it too,” he says with a smirk. “But I’ve seen the human diagrams,” he says. His voice comes up almost hesitant. “I know what your males look like. I’m... not the same. Not in proportion.”

You raise an eyebrow and roll your hips forward again, slower this time. Your clit rubs against the thick ridge of his cock through the fabric. Bitting your lip, you watch him closely as his hands tighten on your hips. “Not the same,” you echo. “As in… way bigger?I know it.”

He groans softly, clearly struggling to hold back. “You don’t understand. It’s not just bigger. It’s… thicker. Longer. Even for my kind, I’m big.” He swallows hard and his eyes flick to where you’re grinding against him. “And you,” his hands reach out, grabbing your waist “,you’re so tiny compared to me.”

You look him in the eye and smile, a mischievous glint playing on your lips. “You’d be surprised what I can take.” Reaching between you, your hand slides over his hardness through the fabric. Taehyung shudders at the contact and moves closer to your hand.

“I want you, Tae,” you say as your hands slide down, gathering the folds of his robe at his waist, your fingers brushing where the fabric tents over his cock. “Let me see. Please.” You lean forward, kiss his lips once. “I don’t care how big you are. I’ll take it.” You move in his lap again. Your hands reach down to the tie on his robe as your fingers play with the knot.  “Lay back for me,” you whisper.

Taehyung blinks, a little surprised, but does what you ask, leaning back on his elbows, spreading his legs a bit under you. You slide off his lap and kneel between his thighs, hands on the soft carpet to steady yourself. Your fingers find the knot at his waist, and slowly, you pull it loose.

The robe falls open. Your mouth parts slightly. “Oh… wow.”

His cock is already rock-hard, and it’s… massive. Fucking huge. Long, thick, almost intimidating, making your thighs press together instinctively.

Taehyung looks nervous. “Is it too much?”

You shake your head, eyes locked on him. “No. It’s perfect.”

You reach out, running your fingers down the length of it. He groans softly, his thighs tensing on either side of you.

“You’re so big,” you murmur. “No wonder you thought you wouldn’t fit.”

You wrap your hand around the base, not even able to close your fingers fully, and stroke him slowly, marveling at the way his cock twitches in your grip. Taehyung leans back more, spreading his legs wider. 

You slide forward on your knees until you’re snug between his thighs, your breasts brushing against his legs as you lean in. Your hand strokes slowly up the length of his cock again, and your mouth waters just looking at it.

“You have no idea,” you murmur with your eyes fixed on his, “how badly I want this dick inside me.”

His cock twitches hard in your grip, and his head falls back, a deep growl rumbling low in his throat. His eyes snap down to you, “You’re not scared?”

You smirk, licking your lips. “No. But I might need you to go slow.”

His breath hitches again, cock twitching in your hand. “I’ll do anything you want,” he says, voice thick with need. “Just tell me what to do.”

You shift, sliding back until your shoulders sink into the cushions. He helps you ease your legs up, pulling them close to your chest. Your knees are bent, your calves rest on his broad shoulders as your ankles frame his neck. The angle pulls you wide open, the soft heat between your thighs exposed.

Taehyung is above you now, he leans down just enough to bring the head of that enormous cock to your slit. The tip drags slowly, a teasing glide along your wetness. He slaps it hard against you a few times, making you gasp and grind against him.

Swallowing hard, his eyes move from your face down to where his cock rests against you. “You’re so small,” he says, quiet, sounding worried. “I don’t know if I can… if I’ll hurt you. I’m–”

“Too big?” you finish for him, a little breathless. You shift your hips, just enough to feel the blunt head of him nudge at your entrance, heat curling low in your belly. “Yeah. I know.  I want all of that big, fat cock stretching me. Making me scream your name until everyone in this palace knows how good you fucked me.”

His thumb brushes over the soft skin of your hips, and as he leans in, the top presses into your entrance.

The first push makes you gasp. Not from pain, but from the intense stretch, the feeling of being so full it almost doesn’t seem possible. He stays still, watching your face, waiting for you to be okay.

“Tell me,” he whispers. “If it’s too much. If you need… a break.”

You close your eyes for a second. “No. No. I like it. Keep going.”

He slides the head of him in another fraction and he pauses, letting you adjust, letting your body accept him. His hands tighten slightly on your hips.

You’re wide open for him now. He’s still careful, afraid he might hurt you. But your hungry, lust-filled eyes pull him closer, making him push more of himself inside you.

“For the love of the two suns,” he breathes, feeling your pussy clench around him. “You’re so tight.”

“Deeper, Tae…,” you breathe. Taehyung adjusts his hold. His cock’s only halfway in, already stretching you so much your body trembles, and there’s still more of him to go. You bite your lip, arching beneath him. “More,” you whisper. “I want all of you.”

He swallows and moves his body to go deeper. The stretch feels strong as your pussy tightens and loosens around him. His cock rubs inside you while he sinks deeper than you ever imagined.

“Ah!” you gasp as your hand rushes to your belly. There's a bulge, right below your navel, a clear outline, where the thickest part of him presses from inside.

“Oh my god. You’re so deep,Tae. So deep inside me. I can feel you, here,” you whimper, staring down at it, your fingers brushing over the firm swell.

He groans, voice trembling. “I can see it,” he whispers, eyes locked on the bulge.

He slides all the way in. All the way. Until you feel the heavy press of his balls against your ass. Your legs shake where they’re hooked over his shoulders, and you breathe hard, the deep, hot pleasure nearly overwhelming you. You’re full of him.

“I feel like I’m gonna break, but I like it so fucking much.” you breathe, smiling as you say it, because you don’t want him to stop. “You’re so deep.”

Leaning forward, Taehyung rests his weight over you. His chest touches yours, and he stares into your eyes, unable to believe this is real. His eyes stay on the bulge in your belly, his cock pulsing deep inside you. 

You smile at him with sleepy eyes and move your hips a little, rubbing against the base of his cock like you want him to go deeper. He’s fully inside you, buried to the base, and he still hasn’t moved. You can feel the tension in his arms as he hovers above you.

“Move,” you whisper, shifting your hips beneath him. “I can take it.”

“You’re so tight, so small,” he breathes. “I’m scared I’ll hurt you.”

Your nails dig into his forearms, pulling him closer. “I don’t care if it hurts,” you pant. “I want it to hurt. I want to feel you splitting me open. Fuck me. Hard, your Highness.”

He groans, and pulls back, just a few inches, before sinking in again. The first thrust is careful, slow the stretch making your toes curl. Another thrust. Then another. You wrap your arms around the back of your thighs, pulling them up higher until he slips his hands under your calves and lifts, guiding your ankles to rest on his shoulders again.

Your breasts bounce with each impact of his hips against yours, the soft slap of skin echoing between your moans. His eyes drop to your chest, fascinated. You smirk.

“You like that?” you pant. “You like how my tits bounce every time you fuck me with that huge cock? With that big, fat dick?” His thrusts stop for a beat and slams back in, harder than before. The force rocks you up the cushion making you giggle.

“Oh, you really like it,” you tease, dragging your nails down your belly, right to where he’s still visibly stretching you from the inside. Your other hand slides up, cupping one breast, squeezing until your nipple hardens between your fingers. You give it a slow pinch, and your eyes never leave his, loving his facial expressions.  His hands slide lower, gripping your thighs now, as he drives forward again.

Your eyes roll back as his cock drags along your walls. You feel full, stuffed, the thick weight of him pressing against all of the nerves inside your cunt. Compared to Taehyung, every dick you’d had back on Earth feels like nothing. He’s ruined you for good.

“God,” you gasp. “You’re deep, Tae…”

“You’re taking my dick so well,” he pants as he rocks into you again. “So perfect. I can feel you squeezing me every time I move.”

“Because you’re so big. I can’t help it. It’s too much, but I love it.”

He growls quietly, lowering his head between your legs as your thighs come up and your bodies touch, chest to chest. You’re ridiculously flexible, and he’s more than aware, because this position lets him drive even deeper. When he thrusts again, you scream. A desperate cry, the pleasure exploding through you like fireworks. “Oh fuck, fuck! Right there, Tae.”

His mouth is on yours. His lips crash into yours as he fucks you through your moans. You wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him, as if you need to anchor yourself to reality. The kiss is messy, and you bite his bottom lip, making him groan.  

He loves it. Loves how you whine into his mouth, how your legs move around him.

“I love when you scream for me,” he groans against your lips. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m close,” you gasp. “Tae, I'm gonna come.”

 “You are?” he breathes. “Give it to me, kitten. I wanna make you feel good”

His thrusts change, sharper, deeper. Just the way he now knows you like them. He’s figured it out what your body needs, and now he’s giving it to you. “You’re so full with my cock,” he whispers, more in awe than lust. “You feel so good. I wanna feel you cum. Please, let me feel you.”

You are overwhelmed by how deep he is, how good he is, how much he wants this for you. “Don’t stop,” you choke out. “Oh my God!”

Your body locks around him, clenching hard, and he gasps at the sudden tightness. Your orgasm runs through you like a wave.

“Kitten– ” he pants as his voice is close to breaking. “You’re squeezing me. Your pussy is so tight it's driving me insane.”

You shake as your arms wrapped around his neck. He presses his forehead to yours, lips brushing against your cheek, your mouth, your neck.  “Did I do good?,” he whispers in a soft voice.

Nodding, you kiss him. “So good,” you breathe.

Taehyung stares, completely fixated on your breasts. The way they rise and fall with each breath has him mesmerized. He leans back just a little, licking his lips. “Your breasts…” he murmurs as he tugs one nipple between his fingers. “If I got you pregnant… would they get bigger?” His voice drops lower. “Would they be filled with milk?”

“Yes… They’d swell, Tae. Get heavy. My belly would grow too, round and tight with your baby.”

His cock twitches, and you feel the thickness drag against your walls as he pulls out just a bit, only to slam back in harder.

“I want that,” he whispers. “I want to see you round with your belly full of my baby. Your tits leaking, just for me.”

“Yeah? You’d want that?” Your fingers slide down to your belly, pressing lightly where he’s stretching you deep and you feel the outline of his cock.

He pulls out nearly all the way before pushing back in, and you let out a choked moan. “I’d hold them in my hands all the time,” he pants, leaning down to mouth your breast. “Suck the milk out of you until you couldn’t take it anymore.”

You whimper, clenching around him. His cock twitches inside you, and the tension in his shoulders tightens as he pushes in again, harder now.

“You like thinking about me getting you pregnant? About putting a baby inside you?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you sob. “More, tell me more.”

A flash of hunger crosses his face. He adjusts his grip on your hips, angles higher, and drives in so deep you swear you see stars.

“I’d rub your belly when it starts to show.” he breathes, one hand sliding down to your belly, almost in a possessive way, as if he was already picturing you big, swollen with his child. “Rub it while I fuck you. Watch you get heavier, because of me.”

You arch into him, nearly crying from how good he feels. He shifts again, pinning your legs high, bending you nearly in half. You feel that sweet, perfect pressure on your g-spot, sending sparks up your spine.

“I’d bend you over,” he groans. “Tug your nipples until they drip all over the sheets, then fuck you deep. I wouldn’t stop. I’d keep going until you were crying from how full you are.” Taehyung grips your thighs tighter, adjusting the angle to go deeper inside you. “I’d suck your tits until your milk is leaking down my chin. Drink from you while I breed you again.” he mutters against your skin, and you feel his hot breath against your nipple.

Capturing your nipple in his mouth, he sucks hard. Your body jerks beneath him, overstimulated. “You’d fuck me while I’m leaking?” you whisper, panting. “Even when I’m so full with your cum that I’m dripping all over your cock?”

“Yes,” he growls against your breast, teeth grazing sensitive skin as he thrusts harder. “I’d keep fucking you even when you beg me to stop. Watch your tits bounce while I use your body. Would you like that?”

You moan, nearly sobbing. “Yes! I’d beg for more. I’d ride your cock with your baby in me and ask for another. I want to feel you lose control in me. Keep me stuffed with your cum and fuck it back in.”

Taehyung snarls as hips slam deeper against your pussy. “Gods,” he groans. “You take my dick so well. I’d breed you again before the last load even finished dripping out of you.” His hand slips under your thigh, holding you in place as he ruts into you, sweat sliding down his spine. “You’d walk around dripping with my seed. Everyone would know. I did that. That I bred you. That you’re mine.”

“And I’d let you,” you pant, legs trembling, walls clamping tight around his cock with each thrust. “I’d let you fill me every day, just to feel full again.”

He shoves in hard, the tip grinding deep as his cock twitches violently. Leaning in, almost breathless, Taehyung cups your cheek with one trembling hand. “Y/N… are you sure?” His voice is low, almost fragile. “If I finish like this…I’ll knot. My kind... we don’t – we can’t – pull out. Once I come, I’ll swell and stay inside. You’ll be stuck with me.”

You’ve heard about it. When male Borani orgasm, their cock swells at the base. It locks them deep inside their partner, making sure they stay close while all their cum stays in. It’s part of their body, part of their nature. Once it happens, they’re stuck together until the swelling goes down.

You see the worry in his eyes, how much this means to him. But you also see the love. You want him, all of him.

Taehyung’s entire body trembles. His cock twitches again. “Tell me,” he whispers, like he needs to hear it from your lips to believe it. “Tell me to do it. Tell me to put a baby inside you. To make you full with my seed.”

You reach up, cupping his face with both hands.  “I want your cum inside me, Taehyung,” you say as you caress him. “Tie me to you. Knot me so deep I can’t move. Fill me until I’m leaking. I want you to breed me. I want your baby”

He’s so close, you can feel it. Each tremor in his thighs, every erratic snap of his hips. Taehyung’s breath stutters and his pace becomes uneven, desperate, almost.

“Stars above,” he groans, “I can’t, Y/N. I’m gonna –”

You slide your hands up his back, and you whisper near his ear. “It’s okay, Tae… Let go for me. You feel so good. So deep.” You can barely take him, stretched to the edge, but it’s perfect. He's so big, so thick. He was made to fill you up and ruin you for anyone else. “Your cock’s so big, Tae. It’s too much, but I love it. I need it.” He moans and you tighten your legs around him. “Come in me, Tae. Fill me.”

That sends him over the edge and a deep sound tears from his throat, and he slams into you one final time ,deep, so deep, before he shudders violently. 

“Take it, kitten,” he growls. “Take all of my cum. Gods, you’re gonna be so full.”

You feel the heat of his seed filling you up. His cum floods you, hotter than anything human, thicker too.  You gasp, arching into him. Your nails dig into his shoulders. “Oh my god, Tae! It's so much! So hot –”

“I keep coming! I can’t help it,” he pants as he presses his forehead to yours. You feel his cum still spilling into you, hot, thick. “You feel too good, my love. Your pussy’s milking me.”

You feel it happening. The knot, the swelling. You cry out as his cock grows at the base, locking him deep inside you. “Tae!” you sob. Your legs are trembling. “I can feel it! Your knot, fuck, I can feel it swelling.”

“I know,” he breathes with a shaky voice. “It’s okay, kitten. I’ve got you.” He shifts, finally lowering your legs from where they’d been pinned high, letting them rest around his hips. His body presses fully against yours now, skin-to-skin.

His arms wrap around you. You feel his cock still pulsing inside you, his knot keeping you plugged with his seed. You pant against his mouth, your lips brushing his. “You’re still cumming inside me. I’m so full with your cum,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

He moans low, kissing you softly. “Good. I want you dripping with my seed.”

You press your forehead to his. “I love you,” you whisper.

He kisses you again, slower this time. “I love you more.”

Without pulling out of you, Taehyung shifts and his arms wrap under your thighs as he lifts you effortlessly, still knotted inside you. You gasp softly at the shift, your walls tightening around his knot with the change in angle. It draws another low moan from him as he settles back into the pillows with you straddling his lap.

“It really doesn’t go down right away, huh?” you whisper with a little breathless laugh.

“No. Not for a while.” His hands roam up your back and rest at your waist. “You’re not uncomfortable, are you?”

You shake your head. “No. I like it. I feel… full. Like you’re part of me.” Your body pulses softly around him.

He kisses you. “You are,” he whispers. “You’re mine now.”

Your whole body trembles as you collapse against him. Taehyung doesn’t move right away. Instead just holds you, one big hand stroking slowly down your back, the other cradling your hip. His cock is still buried deep inside you, heavy and hot, but instead of thrusting, he stays still, letting you melt against him. “I love you,” he murmurs finally, so soft you almost miss it. His thumb rubs gentle circles over your skin.

Your fingers trace over his shoulders, then his chest. His skin is still damp with sweat. “So what happens next?” you ask softly, “what happens after all this? After tonight?”

“I want you here. With me,” he says as his hand gently brushes your cheek. “But not just as my teacher. I want you beside me, as my partner. My mate.” He stops, looking deep into your eyes. “If that’s what you want.”

Your heart stutters, a different kind of warmth blooming beneath your skin. “I do,” you say. “I want everything. You, this planet, this life… us.”

“We’ll make it ours. Together.” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “I’ll speak to my father tomorrow. Request the rites for the mating ceremony. If we’re doing this… I want to make it real. Official. The way our kind does.”

He pauses, eyes soft, and adds quietly, “And if you want a human wedding too, we can have that as well.”

He smiles and rests his forehead against yours. In that moment, you both know this is just the start of your life together.

m.list ☆ taehyung m.list☆ join my taglist?

It's a rather dark night, you think, as the flickering lights of street lamps barely illuminate your path. You and some of your friends have decided to spend Halloween night roaming the more desolate streets of your small town, rather than attend the party of the school's homecoming queen, the most popular and at the same time most hated girl ever by you and your friends, a common ground that has certainly welded your friendship.

You are reminded of the afternoon you spent at Glenn's house deciding how you would spend Halloween night; Glenn's initiative had been rather unique, since he was not a fan of that holiday.

“It will be fun, everything is so scary at night, we might even meet a real vampire! I mean, not like Edward Cullen, I mean one who doesn't sparkle-” but Glenn's excited monologue had been badly interrupted by his girlfriend, Claire, who had hit him over the head with a book, and who knows why, said book was actually titled Twilight. You remember giggling, willingly accepting that idea, but now...

“We were simply supposed to go for a walk, Glenn,” you mutter ruefully, looking around, “Do you want to tell me where you're taking us?”

The red-haired boy snorts again, settling into his vampire costume bought at a thrift store stall, “Come on Y/N, what would life be without a little thrill?”

Claire, for her part, nods in turn with a euphoric smile, as if she knows something you don't, prancing merrily dressed as a red devil among black lace decorations and lace.

“Life would be as it has always been, wonderful,” you blurt out nervously, freezing suddenly.

The asphalt has run out and the streetlights have stopped dimly illuminating the entire street, you are at the edge of the most talked about lands in your town. When and how exactly did you get there?

“Here we are, my girls,” you hear Glenn say, satisfied with his feat.

“What are we doing here?” you swallow, far from cheerful.

Answering you is Claire, “It's an abandoned castle and this is Halloween night, what do you say?”

You grit your teeth, shaking your head, “You're crazy, I'm not going in there!” you take a step back, your heart stirring, but Glenn stops you in a single moment.

“Where do you think you're going? I promised your brother I'd keep an eye on you,” he tells you sternly, and you know he's right, you can't just leave on your own, the streets are empty but it would still be dangerous.

“Don't you want to see what it's really like inside, aren't you the least bit curious?”

Short answer? No.

More articulate answer? Fuck no.

“Come on, don't be a wimp now!”

You snort, casting a glance at the castle in question.

It is as large as it is gloomy; the older inhabitants of the town have always spoken of the presence of various monsters within it, which is why the lands surrounding the castle are so large, preventing the actual growth of the otherwise large and well-populated town. Some of the land had been ceded to keep the monsters quiet.

That's some bullshit. And you're certainly not a wimp.

What will you find in there, maybe overgrown spiders? You shake your head, certainly nothing up to the Acromantulae seen in Harry Potter.

“I'm not afraid,” you limit yourself to saying, Glenn and Claire seem satisfied with your answer as they begin to step over half of the downed iron bars surrounding the gates of the immense building. It bothers you that they haven't bothered beyond you, but it's Halloween night; you can't really spoil their fun.

You hold on tightly to one of the rusty old iron bars, lift one leg trying not to fall off because of the bulky skirt of your witch costume, and end up straight on the ground covered with dry mud and grass, thank the heavens that it hasn't rained in the last few days, otherwise goodbye costume, although more like an elegant medieval dress and nothing more than that.

“Guys, wait for me!” you exclaim as you turn toward them, but you find yourself rolling your eyes.

The darkness is almost completely pitch black, only the moon high in the sky gives you some brightness in that open space surrounded by green trees and uncultivated grass. Your friends are not there.

“Please tell me this is a joke, please,” you growl, turning only a few seconds to climb over the railing, “Glenn? Claire?”

A shiver of unease snakes down your spine, as if someone - or something - is watching you. But you immediately banish the absurd thought. The Halloween atmosphere always makes everything quite scary; your friends chose that place for that very reason.

Imagining that you simply find them in front of the castle's entrance, you also wander down the path that actually looks like anything else by now. You will meet each other there.

The wind blows without worrying about your bare shoulders because of the dress's boat neckline; the cape had long since been taken away along the way. You bought it in an antique store and the elderly man seemed quite eager to get rid of it. He even gave you a discount.

The sound of falling leaves under the force of the draught is quite terrifying, especially now that you've discovered you can't use your cell phone. There is absolutely no service there, and isn't that how the best horror movies begin?

A frustrated groan leaves your throat, you don't have to think about it.

“Glenn?” you try to call out once more, but along the path echoes the hoots of an owl that is probably scrutinizing you with condescension, wondering why a silly girl like you is wandering around in such a desolate, godforsaken place.

When you arrive at the gates of the castle, you find yourself admiring the extraordinary Gothic architecture of the huge, ancient building made of stone and marble. The fact that it has survived over the centuries without any kind of restoration is a testament to the good materials that were used.

One by one, you walk down the stone steps, sudden thunder jolts you violently, and with fear in your veins you throw yourself toward the immense reinforced door, finding it ajar, a sign that Glenn and Claire must have already entered. You ignore the hint of annoyance, since they could at least wait for you, you must escape the sudden storm.

Wordlessly you notice the large, thick black clouds enveloping the sky, obscuring even the immense full moon.

You carefully close the ancient gateway, looking around the thick-walled atrium decorated with paintings that are surely worth more than your current home, not to mention the carpet you are walking on, though a bit worn, is definitely from the time of the castle's founding. You wonder which lord lived there and whether it can be traced in the history books.

“Claire?” you whisper, afraid of disturbing someone, but who exactly?

Sighing wearily, you really have no time or inclination to play along with your friends, you rest your hand on the wrought-iron railing of the staircase, beginning to climb so that you can find those two idiots as soon as possible and get home safely.

They say 'God makes them and then matches them up,' right? You mentally growl, well, you would’ve just wiped them out instead.

Between corridors that are not real corridors but dead ends, some narrow and some exaggeratedly large, you finally find the wing reserved for rooms, hating the enormity of that place.

“Hey, you ... are you here?” you ask, slowly opening a bedroom door with one eye closed and one only slightly open, fearing to find the two lovebirds doing strange things in the leto of an abandoned castle, because they would be perfectly capable of it.

But what you find is just a lavishly decorated bedroom absolutely empty of any other life forms but you.

“This is definitely a joke,” you chuckle mirthlessly, clutch your arms to your chest, and continue that unwelcome tour of yours, continuing to open rooms at random, with no more expectation of finding anyone in them, until you come to a rather large bedroom.

Quite different from the others, which up to that point had been yes, beautiful, but empty, lacking a soul.

This one was immense just like the castle itself, yet warm, thanks to the burning fireplace. The four-poster bed was adorned with red silk sheets, as were the velvet curtains tied to the solid wooden columns, on the walls finely decorated with gold paint were hung medieval tapestries, depicting hunting parties, running horses and wolves, wolves everywhere. One that particularly strikes you depicts two wolves and a woman in the center, they seem ready to bite her fiercely, you notice with discomfort.

High glass windows with curtains left open allow lightning to illuminate the entire room, followed by a terrible, howl-like rumble.

That horrible noise seems to awaken you from the sort of trance you fell into while admiring the surely master bedroom, and you finally take serious note of the burning fire. Why a working fireplace in a castle uninhabited for years?

“To many the night brings counsel, to me it has brought a lovely maiden, I see...” you gasp surprised and terrified, turning toward the silky, warm, yet slightly hoarse, almost growling voice.

A relatively young man watches you with his shoulder resting against one of the stained glass windows. You had not seen him. No. He was not there before, you are absolutely sure.

His dark, shiny hair has been grown down to his neck, some curling around his sharp, elegant jaw, the neck left bare by his unbuttoned, white shirt is a set of sinuous, sharp, powerful lines. The soft black pants do nothing to hide the wonderful figure of his long legs, his feet are bare, you notice. He feels perfectly comfortable, as if... as if that were his home.

“I-I... I'm sorry, it's Halloween and some friends of mine thought...” you try to explain with your hands clasped to the skirt of your dress, but you are immediately interrupted by the man's sophisticated, sassy giggle.

“They thought it was a brilliant idea to violate my property?” you pale at his question.

“We... the whole town believes the castle is uninhabited,” you reply with a shy breath, trying to justify them.

The young man breaks away from the glass window, slowly approaching you, you take steps back, inadvertently bumping into one of the pillars of the bed.

“And does it look uninhabited to you, little girl?”

Little girl? By the look of him, he wouldn't seem that much older than you, in fact.

Now that he has moved closer, standing only a foot away from you, you notice details of his face that you did not catch a few moments earlier.

He has high, pronounced cheekbones, and his lips seem so plump and soft that you blush at the thought of kissing them, his nose is well-proportioned and straight, while the peculiar shape of his eyes gives him a rather sweet and angelic air, although the fun written in them is anything but angelic.

“I didn't know, I'm really sorry, sir,” and it's true, the last thing you want is to be a nuisance to someone you don't even know, “I'll get my friends back and we'll leave right away, I promise.”

Dark eyes rimmed with long eyelashes watch you closely, before dropping to the rest of your body. Suddenly you remember the deep cleavage of your witch's dress, your skin burning under his watchful gaze.

“Right now there is no one else in the castle, except you and me,” he approaches again, you can feel his warm breath meet your neck, you shiver as the man clasps one hand above your head, around the pillar of the bed, doing the same with the other. This makes it clear how statuesque his physique is, compared to your more petite one, you also catch a subtle citrus fragrance, light and not cloying, is that him?

With a huge effort, you process his words, widening your eyes. No one else?

“But how-”

“In my opinion you made it all up, little girl,” he sneers, "Just admit that it was your curiosity that drove you here," but you shake your head, vehemently denying it.

“I really came here with friends!” you fret, you've never been good at handling pressure and this guy is not helping you at all.

“Oh, really?” a devilish smile makes its way across his soft, smooth cheeks, "So it's just a coincidence that you're wearing this dress?" you don't know how to answer the question, you can't, not when he lowers a hand over you, brushes the outline of your face with a finger, trailing down the delicate line of your neck to your cleavage, your rippling, shivering skin longs to receive his touch once more, you struggle to recover.

“Th-this dress?” you stammer in shame, his finger is still grazing your chest and you are doing nothing to push it away.

“Mh-mh,” he nods, pushing your cleavage down a few millimeters, enough to make you squeak with red cheeks, “How much do you know about this castle and its owners, little girl?”

Nothing, you'd like to answer, but your eyes already communicate your answer as he pulls back, finally letting you breathe. His scent still hovers around you, though.

“Year 1479, the people of the town of Howl enter into an agreement with the seven lords of Midnight, ceding a part of their lands to these noble lords and agreeing to send a virgin once every ten years, on the so-called Halloween Night,” he narrates, leaving you speechless, “In return, none of the townspeople would be hunted down and killed, does that ring a bell?”

“L-Listen to me, I really don't know what you're talking about, I definitely have to go now,” you nod at your own words, but the door slams shut along with a new and terrible rumble, an anguished cry involuntarily leaving your throat.

“The dress you're wearing is soaked in poison, little girl” the imperious tone terrifies you, automatically your body closes in on itself, as a kind of protection.

“This must definitely be a joke, it is Halloween after all,” you whisper to yourself with tears in your eyes.

“It's a security, for us. It ensures that the girls don't run away, because we are the only ones who can neutralize that poison” you don't know why the man started speaking in plural, you just know that you have to leave, even though something inside you is screaming at you not to. Because it could end very badly.

“You'd better take it off, your body might absorb more poison than is really necessary, the sooner we start the better,” he sighs, beginning to take off his white shirt, showing off a well-built, smooth chest and abs studded with thin scars lighter than his skin, swallowing without any more salivation, following long lines of black ink that weave across his pecs, forming some kind of mark, perhaps related to some cult.

“What are you doing!”

The man tilts his head, his soft hair following the movement meekly, and grasps the edge of his pants, running his forefinger and thumb over it defiantly as he watches you, “I'm taking what was given to me, little girl,” he sneers again, not at all impressed by your shock.

It was not uncommon for him and his brothers to be served girls who were totally unaware of their own destiny, they were tiresome at times, they would not stop shaking and crying, praying not to be deprived of their purity, but you smell so delicious that it might make him go beyond your dullness.

The fabric of his excellent quality pants slowly flows over the flawless skin of his toned legs, the blood rushes straight to your cheeks, and your heart misses a beat with a strangled “iiih” as you realize that the stranger has not only freely undressed in front of you, but is not wearing any underwear.

You've certainly never seen a naked man in person, but based on your anatomy books, that is definitely not a normal penis.

With a strange feeling of dizziness and no little embarrassment, you realize that even at rest, it is definitely big, with a swollen base almost as big as perfectly round testicles and such obvious purplish veins that you wonder if it is actually already hard, in its own way. Could that vibrant pink be an indicator? God, what the hell are you thinking?!

After a little dizziness your eyes fly to the closed door, you have to leave, run.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks you, smiling with a hint of danger in his eyes, “Do you want to run? Run away from me? Know that this will only excite me more.”

You try to look away from his cock, with extreme difficulty, as he spoke, his cock had moved slightly, as if agreeing with the man's words. You ignore the slight jolt between your legs.

“If I can get through the gates of your property, will you let me go?” you propose almost shyly, staring into his sly eyes.

“Um... if I let you go, you'd die from the poison, but if that's what you want...” he shrugs, making you frown. The story of the poisoned dress might be bullshit to convince you to let him fuck you, but what if it's not?

You shake your head, it's all just a bluff. This man is clearly a pervert, maybe he gets off on fucking on such nights with stranger women.

“That's what I want.” you assure with a note of panic in your voice, the desire to escape is so urgent you can hardly think, “Open the door.”

But the man shakes his head, “Strip and I will leave you free to roam my lands until I find you.”

“I don't-!” the words die between your lips, his singsong expression gone, giving way to a sternness that clashes with his regal features, the difference making that contrast frightening.

“I like to play, little girl ... but I don't tolerate whining, don't make me angry, because I might decide to take you now, we have a bed available right here and now,” he hisses, clenching his fist against the polished wooden backboard of the four-poster bed. The more he looks at you, the more his balls throb fiercely; he's trying to control his desire; if his cock hardens, that's the end.

You're the first woman he's seen in 60 years, finally his turn has come, and there's no way he'll let you go. Do you want to play? He'll let you, but eventually you'll give in to his desires. The scent of your sweet virgin pussy makes his wolf growl, eager to get out to meet you.

Perhaps you sense something strange, because with trembling fingers you go to unbutton the side opening of your dress, a little sorry to him, the plunging neckline raises and shapes your breasts invitingly, though the stench of the poison with which it is imbued leaves him disgusted. An idea of humans to persuade chosen women not to flee, his eyes scroll over the ancient clock hanging above the door, the hands turn and you have just four hours to go before the poison takes effect, killing you. He would be sorry to see you die without having had a chance to taste you first.

“Tic-Tac, the clock is ticking, little girl... the slower you are, the more likely you are to die,” he informs you with a smile, your fear written all over his face igniting his loins; he has to restrain himself so he doesn't jump on you, and you're aware of that now, too.

Your eyes study his shoulders, they have stiffened noticeably, and with embarrassing speed you unfasten the last side button, letting the soft black fabric of your dress slip off like a veil, leaving you in your bra and panties. You start up under his eyes, which move to observe every nook and cranny of your body, from the soft breasts enclosed in the cups of the purple lace bra, going lower and lower, past the delicious curve of your hips to the tightly clasped mount of Venus covered by more purple lace. You yourself realize that for a man who wants to possess you, that kind of lingerie might make you look like a neatly wrapped gift in his eyes.

“Don't stop,” he tells you hoarsely, his eyes veiled with glowing lust.

The blood leaves your veins; if he were to take you, you would already be ready to receive him. As your fingers move to get rid of your bra as well, you realize you don't find it such a disturbing idea after all, even when you finally pull down the light fabric of your panties, showing off something no boy has ever had the honor of looking at, his nostrils flaring as if to inhale something in the air, you are aroused.

“You'd better start running, little girl, I'm going to give you exactly twenty seconds head start,” his voice comes out as a guttural sound, making you widen your eyes and really run, when the door suddenly opens wide.

You don't even wonder what strange contraption he used to close or open the door without having to physically do it, you just know you are definitely in danger.

Every nook and cranny of the castle is an unknown, he owns it, he may know passages unknown to you; therefore, you always try to wander the corridors with no visible openings. A tense, animalistic roar makes you scream in terror, with spirited eyes you look down the stairs, you are close to the stairs to the hall, the door has not been locked, you just need more time, you can make it.

You sling yourself barefoot down, almost tumbling from your haste and throw yourself out, skipping the stone steps and then to the wild path, short of breath and fear dictating your decisions, you remember it took you a good twenty minutes to get to the castle, but walking the whole path is out of the question, it would be too obvious and easy, you necessarily have to lengthen the path and consequently put in more time to get away from that terrifying place.

With horror you realize that you don't know where Glenn and Claire might be at all, would he hurt them if he found them?

Of course he would.

You don't know the man, but you have noticed all too well the bestial aura around him; he is someone capable of harm, and he will harm you if you cannot escape him.

Your feet step on scattered branches on the ground and you whimper trying to ignore the pain, another roar - or maybe it's a howl? - rips through the air, mingling with the howls of the rushing wind, and you stifle an anguished cry.

Scratches open along your body, trees ravaged by bad weather and never tended seem to want to block your way in every way possible, and the darkness certainly doesn't help.

Like a wounded animal you limp aimlessly, not imagining the hunger of the ravenous beast that sneers at the scent of your blood.

You feel tired, sluggish at times, your peripheral vision somewhat obscured, an excruciating doubt makes its way into your mind. Could it be that the story of the poisoned dress was true?

But why sell it to you, how could the seller have known that your friends would take you to that castle on Halloween night?

You begin to stagger, a sharp twinge in your head stops you, it is so painful that you collapse on the icy, muddy ground.

You realize you are screwed in every sense of the word when a weight suddenly crushes you to the ground, you scream in terror and wide-eyed, trying to shake it off.

Jimin doesn't think twice about clasping you in his vigorous arms, burying his nose on your neck damp with cold sweat, the accelerated beat of your heart rumbling in his own chest, driving him to moan with need. He presses himself against your soft curves, basking in your feverish warmth despite the stormy, icy night.

“Don't hurt me,” you shake your head with your eyes closed, trying to fight the unusual fatigue to plead with him, "Please, I was wrong, forgive me...I won't come back here again, I swear," the boy snorts against your flustered skin.

He reluctantly lifts himself up to allow you to turn toward him, you find some strength to open your eyelids wide, being invested by his sometimes divine appearance. His eyes, no longer as black as you thought they were, are tinged with an extraordinary shade of gold, he watches you from receptive pupils as you notice the grin on his mouth, a mouth larger than you remembered. There is something strange, not human, about him now. And despite the run he must have made to keep up with you, he doesn't have the slightest hint of fatigue in his breath, he's as fucking fresh as a newly bloomed rose.

“You're dying, little girl,” he hums, shaking some hair off your forehead, you lose a beat at the sight of long claws where once there were short, well-manicured nails.

The claw grazes your skin unhurriedly, you feel it scratch without hurting, you anxiously lick your lips closing your eyes, you are so sleepy that you even willingly accept your fate, Jimin snorts through his nose, almost laughing, before lowering himself onto your jugular.

It would be really easy for him to sink his canines into your flesh and bite your throat to rip it out, but fortunately for you he is not a vampire. All he wants is to sink his cock into your pussy and make you cum repeatedly, but if you died it would be hard to put his plan into action. He wants you alive and receptive.

He licks a long streak of saliva onto your delicate neck, heedless of the dirt that has stuck to your skin, before gently biting you. Your reaction is immediate, you start sobbing like a puppy at the feel of his fangs penetrating your flesh, you cling to his shoulders trying to move him weakly from you, and you kick awkwardly with your legs, legs that are locked in a vice grip by his. That way it is easy to feel something hard and heavy pressing against your belly, you try not to think about it as the man seems inebriated by the taste of your blood flowing straight down his throat.

The bitter taste of the poison is revolting, but fortunately your blood has such sweet notes that it counterbalances that horrendous taste in a balanced way, here, now he just has to lick your wound thoroughly. He collects the last rivulets of your blood with his tongue, before dripping his saliva into the tiny holes created by his sharp canines, little holes that begin to close with light smoke, cauterizing the wound and partly removing the poison toxins from your blood.

With no longer a grip on your throat, your head falls limply back to the ground, you gasp trying to fight off the shock of such an experience.

“Mpf!” his tongue invades your mouth treacherously, the taste of your blood making you squeal on his lips, so unfairly soft and pleasant to the touch. The hot and unusually long muscle pushes into your oral cavity eagerly, saving your life has as if awakened the more primal side of Jimin, one of the seven lords who unleashed hell in Howl's town. And the mating ritual has begun, but you cannot know this.

You break free by gasping for air, “W-why?” you stutter breathlessly, “You don't even know me!” you cry as you drive your nails into his forearms, triggering in return a reaction of possession in him, prompting him to grab your thighs and lift them onto his shoulders to your profound horror, he is so wild as he spreads your legs wide open to sink his face in between them that you can't utter a single breath.

As he runs his tongue along your pulsing, hot folds, Jimin realizes with nastiness that during your escape you got wet for him, he had smelled your arousal as he pursued you, on some people the quickened heartbeat has that effect, but the sweet and slightly salty taste of your juices are now a definitive proof for him. And you can't deny it, you love how he teases you by slowly sliding around your swollen clit, plays with it by holding it between his lips and then releasing it after sucking hard, almost biting it. He tortures it by pricking it quickly with the tip of his tongue and then returns to lapping your thick juices from the soft slit, which seems to melt every time that devilish tongue penetrates it, managing to lick and stimulate walls that a normal tongue could never reach.

You shyly move your pelvis against his face, your thighs stained with your arousal tremble against his cheeks, and a terrible heat makes you pant desperately. The man abandons your slit to push himself again against your unbearably sensitive folds, they are so moist that you can hear the noise they make every time that cursed tongue stimulates them to push a few millimeters toward your clitoris, never reaching to touch it.

“God!” you curse, suddenly reaching out an arm to grab his hair, not recognizing yourself when you desperately push him against your pussy, longing for the pleasure he was spoiling you with at first.

His arousal makes him grunt like a wounded animal as he sinks into your core with languid, sensual movements, rewraps your desperate clit with his lips and tongue before continuing with more direct, zigzagging movements, crushing it at times with the flat part of his tongue and then flicking it with the tip soon after. He would never stop kissing and licking you like that, his tensed cock vibrating each time he eats you up a little more, delightedly swallowing your juices, enjoying retrieving them each time they flow between your wide-open, rosy thighs. A clearer, liquid substance squirts slightly out of your slit, causing you to shake around his head, you clench your lower lip between your teeth with tears sliding down your flushed cheeks, you are instigating Jimin to pleasurably hurt you, and the funniest thing is that you don't even notice.

Finishing licking some of that shiny, transparent substance from your inner thigh, the boy moves up your body, biting slowly at the flesh of your belly and then higher and higher to the softness of your breasts, titillating a turgid nipple before pulling it between his lips.

“W-What are you doing to me?” you gasp, wishing he would never stop adoring and cuddling your body, why? Just moments before you were running from his clutches, why are you lifting your pelvis now, inviting him to take you as if you've been waiting for this all your life?

“Are you just...” he murmurs, before kissing your chin with his devilish lips, "Responding to your desire" he kisses your mouth again, an electric sensation forcing you to comply, chasing his tongue with yours, collapsing to the spicy taste that is now all over his mouth, your taste.

With half-closed eyes you realize that the dark lines of ink are moving, taking the shape of a wolf watching you, you have no way to comprehend the unsettling sensation that invades you. The man, with one hand pressed against your bare back, forces you to turn away without you having any say in the matter, you find yourself with your face to the ground and the wind blowing down your back, shivering under his fiery, golden eyes, your legs trembling from the effort to keep you on your hands and knees, fighting the sweet pain pulsing in your naked pussy.

“Now hold still, little girl,” he murmurs in your ear in a husky voice, sensuously pumping his cock with one hand, swollen veins pushing against his palm, which squeezes along the entire shaft to the base, then back to the thick tip from which he is already dripping his thick cum, "I need to get all the venom out of your pretty little body, am I right?" he sneers, positioning himself at your entrance.

You open your eyes wide, panic stifled by arousal, but it's still there nonetheless, clenching your fingers between the grass and damp earth, rubbing your knees against pebbles that make you moan in pain. The length of his cock begins to push against your slit, forcing it open for him, a choked cry leaves your throat, feeling your walls that, despite their wetness, struggle to let him in.

“You're still so tight,” hisses the man unfamiliar to you, "I must spoil you some more, huh?" he chuckles, sliding his hand between your legs, using his index finger to stimulate your throbbing bud, you gasp arching your back and raising your buttocks toward the man, who takes the opportunity to plunge his cock another inch into your entrance, which throbs and squeezes him rhythmically, almost making him lose control of the situation.

The sensation of the claw grazing your folds each time he presses and massages your swollen clitoris brings you almost to the edge, you feel a wild sexual desire, something you never experienced even during your teenage years, a crucial period of sexual development.

“Go ahead, please!” you exclaim breathlessly, pressing your forehead against the ground, every single millimeter that moves inside you without really penetrating you is like torture, your index finger moving languidly, and you're going fucking crazy.

“Are you really begging?” he teases you, you grit your teeth until it hurts, but finally you give in.

“Please... fill me, take me!”

“Do you want it?” he asks again, pulling the tip almost completely out, the only part he had managed to get in, you clench your legs desperately trying to recover what your intimacy has lost.

“Yes! I want it! I want your cock, I want it to fill me all the way, and I want it now!” you growl with an anger that burns under your skin, looking at him from behind, his face is an emotionless mask, but his eyes...oh, those never lie, you read the fire of desire in them, he's suffering that anticipation as much as you are. Bastard.

“You begged for it so well, little girl... I'll just have to satisfy you,” the cavernous tone clashes with his appearance, but it anticipates what happens next and leaves you breathless, abandoning your contracted clitoris he grips your hips tightly, almost penetrating your delicate flesh with his claws, pushing himself into you with a vigorous thrust, instantly breaking the thin membrane at your entrance, effortlessly. The burning that follows makes your eyes water, your body instinctively trying to escape the man's savage assault, suddenly realizing that you have lost your virginity that way, out in the open, sweaty and dirty, just like an animal.

The man on top of you hisses and makes strange deep sounds, inebriated by the sensation of his throbbing cock finally and completely squeezed between your trembling walls, trying to adjust to the abnormal size. You gasp whimpering, moving your pelvis trying to disentangle yourself from the overgrip, his claws are hurting you, but he doesn't seem to want to let go, not now that he is buried so deep.

With a grunt he thrusts out slightly, watching as your pussy instinctively clings to him, as your thick juices and virginal blood wet his entire length, lubricating him. Leaning toward you, he lets a long trickle of saliva fall back between your buttocks, slipping between them reaches the point where you are joined. He thrusts back into you forcefully, striking deeper and deeper, and you feel every detail of his cock penetrating you and thrusting higher and higher, touching points so delicate and sensitive that you howl meekly, like a she-wolf offering her whole self to her mate, the pain has been replaced by the need to be possessed, you move against his pubes with urgency, the thread of pleasure is getting thinner and thinner, you feel incredibly wet, practically soaked, and the sounds of your union are so obscene that you are shamefully aroused. Your walls flutter drunkenly with pleasure, at one point with the thick, red tip he manages to hit the entrance to your cervix with precision, you stiffen whimpering breathlessly, and Jimin collapses on top of you, continuing to move his hips tirelessly and with spellbinding sinuosity.

You take it so well that it is impossible for him not to want to have you again and again, throwing back his head to be hit by the moonlight that increases his desire, his pupils widen and he feels his testicles clench with urgency as the base of his cock swells, making him shake all over. Without a second thought, he begins to enter you with deeper and longer thrusts so that his whole cock sinks into you without any more constriction, he hears you panting and crying and this only causes him joy, you are completely abandoned to him and your sensations.

You're about to come, you're not so ignorant that you don't know what's happening to your body, you've even heard of intense orgasms, but this... god, this is going to be devastating, you know very well. It's nothing like the ones you had with masturbation, this one is deeper, snaking through your lower belly and you feel it in your uterus. You stiffen all over, trying to block the erection that keeps pinning you down between hard, sensual thrusts, every time it touches your cervix you risk going crazy.

“Don't stop me, little girl... It's here, isn't it?” he gasps at you, slamming into you once more, high up between the entrance of your uterus and another sensitive area that makes your clitoris and walls tear with intense pleasure, your toes curl and you can't help but nod desperately, "Alright, love," he replies without even realizing it, kissing your bare, sweaty shoulder, his knot is almost complete, but he wants you to come before he gives you his cum.

He teases a sensitive, turgid nipple with the tip of a claw as he reaches the point of your union, massaging your folds to help you come, though with a hint of naughtiness he doesn't dare touch your clitoris, he wants you to orgasm on your own, knowing that the intensity then will be greater and you will collapse weak and distraught in his arms.

“Oh, fuck-!” you widen your eyes, being hit by a pressing and beautiful sensation of jouissance, sucking him furiously into you amid tremors and searing waves of pleasure, the same clear liquid as before leaks from your slit, this time in a greater quantity, causing Jimin to grunt as he is run over by your jet, slamming into you almost brutally, streams of his cum fiercely fill your core, as if to mark you for life, and finally his knot swells completely, locking him inside you.

Although immobilized, he cannot stop coming, his testicles quivering violently, and only one thing could quell his aching desire. With his eyes now almost completely encompassed by the black pupil, he pushes your hair away from your neck, exposing your previously tortured skin.

“Why does this go on?” you ask feverishly, confused by the enormous weight widening your walls and locking his big cock into you.

“Sssh” he rubs the tip of his nose against you, making you shudder, "Just wait a little longer" his words are followed by an excruciating twinge, his grown canines penetrating like blades into your skin and sinking into your flesh amidst your shocked and submissive screams, your body surrendering to his force, instinctively submitting and waiting for him to finish marking.

Jimin loves blood, your blood, it pleasantly bathes his tongue with its density and sweetness, he moans with need as he loses himself in your scent, instinct commands him to move his hips once more, even though you are both locked together, with a weak moan you take in the last strings of his cum, resting possessively in your belly, you feel heavy and unbearably full, but at least he seems to be finished, you feel him relax as he once again licks the holes left by his teeth, healing them. He looks like a wolf cleaning up after his mate after mating.

“What are you?” you ask wearily, by now surrendering to the idea that the man cannot be a mere human, that probably everything he has told you, from the poison-soaked dress to the deal with the town, is real.

“Jimin” you hear him grunt at such a low frequency that if you hadn't been alone, you probably wouldn't have heard him. You snort weakly.

“I asked you what you are, not your name,” you murmur, the strange, heavy weight preventing you from moving, hissing as Jimin moves awkwardly between your legs, putting you in a more comfortable situation, letting you rest against his chest lethargically, occasionally kissing the back of your neck and licking your neck, or behind your ear.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't like all that attention; you feel a delicious bite around your heart as you cling to his embrace, protected from the evening chill.

You don't know exactly how long you spend like this, maybe forty minutes, maybe an hour, the fact is that finally that thing between your legs seems to melt away, making you sigh almost strangely.

Jimin gently untangles himself from you, leaving your warm shelter slowly and with a feeling of emptiness that stuns you, your legs finally relax and you try to move them to regain some mobility, you feel his cum pushing to come out and two of his fingers enter you, plugging your entrance. No claws, you notice as he slowly turns you around.

You hiss at the burning, your knees are completely ruined, but Jimin begins to sprinkle them with kisses and saliva, the man is back between your thighs again, you can see his long, wild hair shining as he licks and sucks your skin from time to time, all the way to his fingers, he moves them slowly inside you and you twitch involuntarily, closing your eyes at the warmth of his tongue licking a thick streak of cum and juices dripping roughly from you, pushing it down to your hypersensitive clitoris and you moaning in pain.

“Don't do it,” you gasp, closing your legs tightly, but he doesn't give up, grabbing your chin between two fingers and forcing your mouth wide open, your heart faltering with a strange emotion, you let him spit all his creamy load into your mouth, running along your tongue with a surprised cry.

“Swallow,” he orders with a gleam of interest in his eyes.

You do as he tells you, wanting to please him in every way possible, accepting him back into your mouth for a slow, intimate kiss. It is also dominant and sweet, intense.

“I'm Jimin, a werewolf and also one of the masters of the castle,” he explains pushing you against his bare chest, you hug him back as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be there, clasped to him on a bed of dry leaves, "You are my mate, it's no accident that you were chosen ... being a virgin at your age is unusual for humans, but not for us wolves, you waited for me," he emphasizes with fire in his eyes.

“But ... my friends?” you can't help but ask, which makes him chuckle.

“My people have learned to be among humans, they recognized you by scent and led you to me at the right time, they are fine,” he informs you with a caress, “In fact, you should worry about yourself,” he says with a note of reproach.

“H-How?” fear advances again.

“I've waited too many years for your birth, little girl... it's time to repay the wait,” he hums as something hot and hard returns against your belly.

“Jimin, wai-!” too late, the tip of his cock captures your entrance again, this time with more ease and the next thrust has you writhing against him with tears in your eyes, “Oh, shit!”

Your fingers tighten around the phone, a lifeline in a sea of memories. Namjoon. The golden boy of The Seoul Main Hospital, renowned neurosurgeon with hands so steady they could perform miracles. You remember those late-night coffees in the residents' lounge, the way you both argued playfully over patient charts as fatigue gnawed at your resolve. You would swap tired smiles at dawn after long, demanding surgeries, a bond forged in the fires of shared exhaustion. Once, he was a friend, a confidant. But that was two years ago— a different hospital, a different time, and a version of you that feels as distant as a fading photograph.

“Namjoon?” you echo, tasting his name, trying to ground yourself. “Why are you calling me?”

"I—" His voice falters, hesitant, each word seemingly laced with nervousness. He exhales sharply; the sound weighted with the kind of gravity that instantly raises the hairs on your arms. "I didn’t know if I should call you, but I figured you needed to hear it from me." a cold dread settled in your stomach. 

"Hear what?"

There’s a pause, heavy and deliberate

Namjoon's sigh feels like it carries the weight of the world with it. You can almost visualize him, pinching the bridge of his nose in that familiar gesture, a sign that something terrible is about to be revealed. "It’s Jimin. He was in an accident tonight."

Your heart stumbles, a lead weight dropping into the pit of your chest. Jimin's name lands like a devastating blow, stirring emotions you thought were long buried. It’s been a long time since you allowed his name to pass your lips, longer since you permitted yourself to dwell on it. The world outside blurs and tips sideways. You force yourself upright, fingers digging into the fabric of your scrubs as if that might anchor you.

“A bad one,” he continues, his voice taking on a softer tone, laden with what feels too much like sympathy. “Blunt force trauma to the head. He woke up... but he doesn’t remember the last five years.”

Five years.

Your mind races, scrambling to connect the dots, counting back through the years. Five years ago, you were still at Seoul Main Hospital, lost in the chaos of residency. Five years ago, you were still signing your name as Park Y/N—still tethered to him, still his wife. Five years ago, he still loved you with a fierceness that colored every moment you shared.

Your grip on the phone intensifies to the point where your knuckles whitening from the pressure. “What do you mean he doesn’t remember?”

It takes all in you not to cringe from the simplicity of the question, after all you are a doctor yourself, a surgeon nevertheless so you knew what memory loss meant but in such situation, you let the mundane side of you speak.

“He thinks it’s 2021.” Namjoon’s voice is careful, each word measured. “In his mind, you two just got married. He doesn’t remember the divorce. Doesn’t remember you leaving. The hospital, his friends— even himself, to some extent— are all fragments he’s struggling to piece together. But there’s one thing he’s certain about.”

You already know the answer before he says it, and still your chest tightens painfully when he does.

“You.”

A sharp breath escapes you, shaky and uneven. Your free hand rises, pressing against your forehead as if that might stop the flood of memories rushing in. The late-night drives with music too loud, the stolen kisses during shifts, the whispered promises that turned brittle and broke. The fights. The silence. The emptiness. You had buried it all— stitched yourself back together with time and distance.

But now?

Now, Jimin is waiting for you. Calling your name in a hospital room you swore you’d never set foot in again, a place that feels like a ghost haunting from the past.

Namjoon speaks again, his voice softer this time, as if to cushion the weight of his words. “I know this is a lot. I wouldn’t bring it up if it wasn’t necessary. But he’s struggling, Y/N. And right now, the only person who can make sense of this for him is you.”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see you. “I don’t—” Your voice catches on the rawness in your throat. “I don’t know if I can do this, Namjoon.”

There’s a moment of silence and when he finally speaks, his tone is imbued with a gentleness that makes your chest ache all the more. “I get it. But I also know you. You’d never turn your back on someone who needs you, no matter how hard it is to face the past. And like it or not, Jimin needs you.” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, but it does nothing to stop the burning behind them.

The call ends, but the silence left behind is deafening. The weight of Namjoon’s words settles into your bones, unraveling years of carefully built distance. Pulling you back to a time and place you swore you’d never return to.

Jimin doesn’t remember.

To him, you are still his wife.

You press the heels of your palms against your forehead, willing yourself to breathe, to think. But how can you, when the past has just clawed its way back into your life without warning? You should say no. You should stay here, in this hospital where no one calls you Miss Park. Where no one looks at you and sees only the action that led to your downfall. 

But Jimin needs you. And despite everything, despite the years and the pain and the reasons you left, you don’t know how to turn your back on him.

It takes a long time to come to terms with it, long enough that dawn begins to creep into the night, washing the world in pale blue light. You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, the decision forming in the spaces between your breath.  Before you can change your mind, you grab your coat and keys, pushing the sane part of your brain as you make your way to the parking lot.

The drive to hospital is painfully familiar. Each turn, each street, each stoplight carries the ghosts of a life you abandoned. The café where you used to meet Jimin between shifts. The intersection where you once argued about something so trivial you can’t even remember it now, but you remember the way he pulled you close afterward, murmuring an apology against your temple.

With every mile, the ache grows heavier. By the time the hospital comes into view, it feels like it’s sitting in your throat, impossible to swallow. Seoul Main Hospital looms just as it always has—tall, pristine, a monument to both miracles and tragedies. You sit in the car for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady yourself. But there’s no preparing for this, no way to brace against the flood of memories pressing in from all sides. Then, before you can convince yourself to turn around, you step out and walk through the entrance.

The scent of lavender hits you first—so achingly familiar it almost knocks the breath out of you. The same nurses at the front desk, the same hum of machines, the same too-bright fluorescent lights. Time has moved forward, but Seoul Main hasn’t changed. And neither have the people.

You don’t make it far before you nearly collide with someone rounding the corner. Strong hands catch your arms, steadying you before you can stumble, and then—

“Y/N?”

Your heart drops.

Taemin.

Of all the people to run into, it had to be him.

His dark eyes widen, surprise flickering across his face before something softer takes its place. His mouth parts as he takes you in, two years apart condensed into a single-breathless moment. He looks almost the same. Sharp lines, composed stance, but there’s weariness there now, a carefulness in the way he regards you. 

You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat. Because Taemin isn’t just an old friend. He isn’t just your former coworker.

He was there.

He was with you that night, standing there as the world came undone. He saw it all. The moment you hesitated, the precise second the weight of it all crashed down on you. The moment you lost not only the battle, but your husband. Your career. The life you had built from the ground up.

And now, standing in front of him again, it feels like no time has passed at all.

“Y/N,” Taemin says again, softer this time. “You came.”

You swallow hard, barely nodding. “I… I heard about Jimin.”

His expression shifts to sympathy. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It’s… complicated.”

You huff out a bitter laugh. “It always is, isn’t it?”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The hospital buzzes around you, doctors and nurses moving past, conversations blending into background noise. But between you and Taemin, the past stretches, heavy and unspoken.

Then, finally, he sighs. “Come on,” he says, tilting his head toward the elevators. “He’s been asking for you.”

And just like that, there’s no turning back.

The elevator ride to the third floor is silent, but the weight of it is deafening. Taemin stands beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his white coat, his gaze forward, unreadable. You don’t ask questions, not yet. You’re still trying to steady yourself, still trying to make sense of the fact that you’re here at all.

The doors slide open with a soft chime, revealing a hallway much quieter than the rest of the hospital. You immediately notice the difference, no nurses rushing between rooms, no patients wheeling IV stands across the linoleum floors. It’s eerily still. Private. Of course it is. Jimin’s parents wouldn’t allow anything less.

As Taemin leads you forward, your eyes land on the small group gathered just outside a room. Namjoon stands among them, his voice low and tense, a worry etched deeply across his brow. Beside him, Mr. and Mrs. Park cling to each other, their faces drawn and weary, shadows of concern weighing heavily on their features. Yet it’s the woman slightly apart from them that causes your breath to catch in your throat.

She’s around your age, long blond hair, dressed in a simple blouse and skirt, her hands wrung tightly in front of her. There’s an unmistakable sadness in her posture, the way her shoulders shake just slightly as Namjoon speaks. Taemin slows his steps, as if sensing the exact moment, you realize who she is.

 He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, before saying, carefully, “That’s Rose. Jimin’s girlfriend.”

The name hits harder than it should.

Rose.

Your fingers tighten around the straps of your bang, a thousand emotions colliding all at once. It’s not jealousy—no, it’s something messier, something you can’t quite name. You’re trying to understand her, this woman who loves the same man you do, the woman who is grieving him in a similar manner you had two years ago. She has every right to be here. More than you do, even. And yet, the moment your eyes settle on the way she wipes at her tears, the way Namjoon’s expression remains firm but gentle, something uneasy knots in your chest.

“He doesn’t remember her,” Taemin says quietly, as if reading your mind. “He only remembers you.”

You don’t know what to do with that.

Before you can even process it, Namjoon looks up and sees you. His lips part slightly, relief flickering across his face. Mr. and Mrs. Park turn next, their expressions unreadable, a mix of emotions so tangled you can’t decipher them. Then Rose looks up and everything stills.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, staring at each other across the distance, across the years neither of you shared but are now inexplicably tied to. Her eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, widen ever so slightly at the sight of you. Yet, there is no animosity in her gaze. No fury lies beneath the surface. Instead, you find an unexpected understanding, aa quiet sorrow.

She knows who you are. 

Of course she does.

And yet, none of them say anything at first. The air between you all is thick with grief, resentment, and lastly relief. His parents stand rigid and unreadable, their gazes flickering between you and the closed door. His mother’s lips are pressed together, her hands clutched in front of her as if she doesn’t know whether to reach for you or recoil. His father, ever the composed figure, only nods stiffly in acknowledgment.

It has been years since you last laid eyes on them since that fateful night when you signed the divorce papers, convinced that walking away was the antidote for both you and Jimin. You had hoped, perhaps naively, that he would find his path to happiness without you. Yet, here you stand, summoned back into a life you both loved and hated.

Finally, Namjoon sighs and glances toward the door. “We had to sedate him. When we tried to explain what happened these past five years, the divorce and all. He just wouldn’t accept it and completely lost it. We had no choice.”

You understood but you couldn’t help but feel sadness and pity for how it all went down. You prayed, as you drove to the hospital, that in a far lighter scenario he would just accept the current situation.  You steal a glance at his parents, searching for something—blame, sorrow, anger. But all you find is exhaustion, their shoulders drooping under the weight of the current events. Jimin’s mother finally speaks, her voice quiet but raw. “He keeps asking for you.”

There’s no accusation in her tone only an invitation, laced with the heartache of a mother witnessing her child suffer. Your love fell apart. Harsh words were spoken, one that tore the matrimony you once swore by. However, in the fractured corners of his mind, you are still the person he reaches for.

A sharp ache stabs at your chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. The hallway feels smaller, the walls pressing in. The past and present fold into each other, tangled and inescapable. A long time ago you had so much to tell them, beg for their forgiveness but now it all felt empty. Stretched and overdue. 

Finally, you exhale, forcing down the turmoil clawing at your ribs. “Take me to him.”

Just as Namjoon reaches for the door handle, a soft voice cuts through the tension. “Y/N.”

You freeze.

Jimin’s mother steps forward, her face carrying years of quiet strength, but now, it’s lined sorrw. A sorrow that is not just for her son, but for you too. Her lips tremble slightly as she looks at you, and when she reaches out, her fingers barely graze your arm, hesitant, unsure if she still has the right.

“Thank you for coming,” she says, “I know this isn’t easy for you. And I know… I know how things ended between you and Jimin. But you were my daughter once. And I never stopped—” She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together, shaking her head as if willing herself not to say more.

You stand there, awash in her words, unsure how to respond. Each syllable settles in your chest like stones, weighing you down into a part of yourself that had once ached to hear such affirmation. You had lost so much more than a husband; you had lost a family, a sense of belonging. You try to speak, but nothing comes out.

And then there’s Jimin’s father.

He hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t even properly looked at you except when you arrived. But you can feel it in the way his gaze remains fixed somewhere beyond you, as if acknowledging this whole charade would be too much. But he doesn’t leave. He doesn’t dismiss you. And that, in itself, is enough to tell you that despite everything, despite the past, despite the divorce, he is grateful. Even if he will never say it.

You swallow against the lump in your throat and give Jimin’s mother a small nod before turning back to Namjoon. “Let’s go in.”

The door opens with a quiet creak, and the moment you step inside, the air shifts.

The room is dim, the soft glow of the heart monitor casting faint shadows against the white walls. It’s quiet, save for the steady rhythm of beeping machines and the slow, measured breaths of the man lying in the hospital bed.

Jimin.

For a moment, all you can do is stare.

He’s changed.

The last time you saw him, he had been drowning in anger, exhaustion present on his face, coldness in his eyes cutting you in half. Certain bitterness laced in every word he threw your way just to break you apart. He had been a man hardened by betrayal, by the weight of something that neither of you had been able to fix. His once short black hair has grown out, falling just past his ears, dyed a striking silver. The very color you had once told him would suit him. You don’t know if it’s a cruel coincidence or some distant echo of your past influence, but the sight of it makes something in your chest tighten.

He’s thinner, but not in the way that suggests neglect. His features are more refined, more mature, as if the years have shaped him into someone softer, calmer. He looks—

Healthy.

Happier.

Or at least, he had been. The thought makes your stomach twist. As you step closer, the slight movement stirs him. His brows knit together for a moment, and then, slowly, his eyelids flutter open. You barely have time to brace yourself before his gaze lands on you. And just like that, time stops. For a single breath, neither one of you move. You expect confusion. Uncertainty. Maybe even the remnants of sedation dulling his awareness but instead, what you see makes the air leave your lungs.

Love.

It’s clear, as bright as day, as if the last five years never happened. As if the last time he looked at you wasn’t with coldness and hate, but with the warmth of a man still deeply, undeniably in love with his wife. And it’s that, more than anything, makes your chest ache for the contrast is too much. The last picture of Jimin that nested itself in your mind, was of him turning his back and walking away with a lawyer hot at his tail, not even sparing you a second glance.

But now?

Now, he’s looking at you like you’re his world. Like he still belongs to you, and you to him.

Your hands tremble at your sides.

And all you can think is—

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

The moment Jimin’s gaze fully registers you, his entire face lights up, and a breathless, disbelieving laugh escapes him. His eyes sparkle as he laughs again, wet and shaky, before turning to Namjoon with something akin to relief, as if he had been drowning and was finally coming up for air.

“You see? You see, Namjoon?” His voice is hoarse, thick with tears that haven’t yet fallen. “I told you; you were crazy. You were all crazy! How could you even suggest that Y/N and I divorced? Look at her—” He turns back to you, drinking you in like a man who had been lost in the dark for years and had finally found his light. “She’s here. Standing right in front of me. Like an angel.”

The way he says it, with so much conviction, so much certainty, grows buds of sadness in your chest.  Jimin doesn’t know. 

Jimin doesn’t remember. 

You try to remind yourself when he blinks suddenly, as if something just occurred to him, his brows furrowing slightly. “But… why aren’t you wearing scrubs?” His fingers brush against the fabric of your coat, as if checking to see if his eyes are deceiving him. 

“Did you come from home? No, wait, that doesn’t make sense. You work late night shifts. Why would you? Wouldn’t you visit me soo—”

And before you can stop him, before you can pull away, he takes your hands in his, pressing them firmly between his palms as if to ground himself. The warmth of his skin sears through you, and then—

A kiss.

Soft. Reverent. Planted right on the top of your embraced hands.

You nearly recoil, but you can’t. You can’t.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Jimin murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, his lips still lingering against your skin. “I missed you.”

The storm inside you rages, but you force yourself to smile, to swallow down the nausea creeping up your throat. Because this isn’t about you. This is about him.

He rambles, his words tumbling out one after another, unstoppable, like a dam breaking. His love is overwhelming, suffocating, because it doesn’t belong here, not now, not anymore.

And then—

“How’s your residency going?”

The question slams into you like a freight train.

Residency.

Your mind reels, trying to piece together the timeline, trying to remember who you were five years ago, who you were when Jimin still loved you, when he still saw you as his wife. Because the truth is, you’re not a resident anymore. You’re a fellow now. But if you tell him that, if you let him realize how much time has passed, how much has changed, how much more will he break? So, you lie.

Or at least, you shape the truth. “The job is… going well,” you say carefully, forcing a small smile. 

Jimin hums in agreement, nodding sleepily, his grip on your hand loosening. “Yeah… I know. You’ll get through it, though. You’re brilliant. You always were.” His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he forces them open again, his body betraying his exhaustion. “I feel a little… out of it.”

You exhale, instinctively reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead. “That’s normal. You just had surgery. Sleep it off. You’ll feel better after some rest.”

Jimin sighs, content, as his eyes finally slip closed. And then, just as he’s teetering on the edge of unconsciousness—

“I love you.”

You stop breathing.

It takes everything in you not to yank your hand away, not to rip yourself from the room and run. You feel sick. You feel trapped. You feel wrong because Jimin isn’t saying those words to you, not really. He’s saying them to the ghost of who you were, the woman he still thinks you are.

You don’t say it back.

Instead, you wait until his breathing evens out, until the slow, steady beeping of the monitor tells you that he’s truly asleep, and then without a word you step away and leave the room.

The moment the door closes behind you, the weight of everything crashes into you all at once. The air is too thick, your chest too tight, and suddenly, you can’t breathe.

“What the hell am I doing?” The words spill out in a choked whisper before you even realize you’re speaking. You stagger back against the wall with your hands trembling and your heart hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. “This… this was a mistake.”

Namjoon steps forward cautiously, his eyes laced with concern. “Y/N—”

“No.” You shake your head frantically, the panic rising and the nausea clawing its way up your throat. “What’s the point of this? What do you want from me? Am I supposed to just—just lie to him until he recovers? And then what? Watch as his entire world crumbles all over again?”

“Y/N—”

“And—and how the hell are we supposed to tell him about that night?” The memory is a gut punch, slicing through the panic with something even worse grief. “He doesn’t even know that, Namjoon. He thinks we’re still married. If he knew the truth—” Your voice catches, and you shake your head, pressing your knuckles hard against your lips to keep yourself from sobbing.

Namjoon looks like he wants to say something, but for once, he doesn’t have an answer. Because there is no answer. There is no right way to fix this.

Taemin, silent until now, finally steps in, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Come with us,” he says, his voice calm but unyielding. “You need to sit down.”

You let them guide you away. Your legs are unsteady beneath you while your mind still spinning, still screaming at you to leave before you get sucked in too deep. Behind you, in the hallway, Jimin’s parents remain rooted in place. Mrs. Park clutches at her husband’s sleeve, her heavy breaths of worry, while Mr. Park stares at the floor, unmoving. Rose stands just beside them, her eyes red and puffy, but fixed firmly on you.

Because they all know. They all know that the only thing holding Jimin together right now, his only anchor in this storm is you.

And if you break…

He will too.

The walk to Namjoon’s office is silent, the weight of everything pressing down on you like a boulder strapped to your chest. Each step feels heavier than the last, your mind occupied with everything that just happened. Tlook in Jimin’s eyes, the way he said I love you, the way you couldn’t even breathe in that moment. You feel sick, hollow, like a stranger in your own body, but you keep walking, following Namjoon and Taemin as if on autopilot.

Once inside, Namjoon moves with practiced ease, filling the electric kettle on his desk and preparing tea. The office smells faintly of man’s cologne and old books, the same as it always did back when you worked here. It’s strange how nothing about this place has changed, yet everything about you has.

“Here,” Namjoon says softly, pressing a warm mug into your hands. He sits on the chair opposite of you, hands rummaging through a stack of papers on the desk between you. He fishes out a smaller bundle of papers, pushing the rest aside. Your eyes catch Jimin’s name, and it doesn’t take long for you to connect the dots. He was looking for his chart. You divert your stare to the tea as he begins to explain. 

“Jimin was out drinking,” he starts, running a tired hand through his hair. “It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but he was… out of it that night. More than usual. He got behind the wheel and crashed into a pole. Luckily no one else was hurt, but he hit the steering wheel hard enough to blank out on the spot.” He exhales, shaking his head. “He needed surgery, his lungs bruised; his pelvis broken but we thought his head was fine. The CT scans didn’t show any major trauma. So, when he woke up with amnesia… it was a shock. A huge one. What puzzles me is the way the amnesia presents itself.”

Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture of his growing confusion as he tried to sort through the complexities of Jimin's amnesia. 

“It’s strange,” he said, glancing between you and Taemin, his brow furrowed in deep thought. “In most cases I’ve dealt with amnesia presents itself in similar pattern—patients either lose all their memories or they can’t recall the details surrounding the accident, or sometimes they struggle to store new memories entirely. But Jimin... it’s like he’s stuck in this limbo where just these five years are just... faded, while others remain.”

You skim the chart from afar. “You’re saying you don’t know if he’ll ever recover his memories?”

He shook his head, frustration bubbling under the surface. “It’s not typical retrograde amnesia. It’s…” He sighs. “I was going to explain, but I forgot—cardio surgeon or not, you’ve been under my supervision before. You probably already know.”

You nod slowly. You remember those long, exhausting nights during your residency, when you rotated under Namjoon’s department, learning about neurological cases even though your heart was always set on cardiothoracic surgery. You remember studying memory loss, trauma-induced dissociation, the way the mind protects itself in moments of deep distress.

“I know,” you murmur.

For a moment, Namjoon smiles, almost nostalgic. “Right. Back then, you used to be stuck to my side like glue. And then Kwon stole you.”

You let out a soft, breathless chuckle, the memory of your old mentor pulling you away from neurosurgery flashing in your mind. But it’s fleeting, disappearing the second Taemin shifts beside you.

“We should focus on Jimin,” he reminds.

Namjoon’s expression sobers as he nods. “Right. The best path to recovery—for now—is to let him live in the past. Physically, he needs time to heal, and mentally… we must be careful. If we overwhelm him, it could do more harm than good.”

Your stomach churns. “So, we just…. lie?”

Namjoon exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it sounds awful, but think about it, Y/N. Jimin values stability. If we tell him everything now about the divorce, about the past five years. I fear he’s going to spiral. He’s already been sedated once today because he couldn’t handle the truth. Do you really want to put him through that again?”

You don’t have an answer.

Because of course you don’t want to see Jimin suffer but this doesn’t feel right either.

Jimin has always valued honesty, even in the worst possible moments. He never liked sugarcoated words or half-truths. He would rather face the brutal reality than be protected by a lie. If he knew what the three of you were deciding right now… would he ever forgive you?

“I don’t think this is the right choice,” you say finally, voice quiet but firm. “Lying won’t get us anywhere. It’ll only hurt him more in the end.”

Taemin, who has been mostly silent, suddenly shakes his head. “I disagree.”

You turn to him, surprised. “Why?”

But he doesn’t answer. Not fully. He just looks at you, something unreadable flickering across his face, before glancing away. Namjoon watches the exchange, then sighs. “For now, let’s just focus on what we can do. We need to make sure Jimin’s body recovers first. His memories… that’s something we’ll deal with later.”

You nod, even though unease lingers in your chest. This felt like a slippery slope, one mistake could create a domino effect that might of a greater scale than you three anticipated. You thought two years could easily be filled but now you struggle with one simple question that slips out. 

“Where is he staying?”

Namjoon hesitates, and it’s Taemin who answers.

“His apartment.”

Your throat tightens. “Our apartment?”

Taemin looks away. “No. He moved out. Last year.”

You stare at him, pulse pounding. “Then—”

“He moved in with Rose.”

The words hit you like a slap. For a moment, you can’t breathe. He really moved on. You saw it a few minutes ago, or rather you saw her.  You knew that, had accepted it immediately or at least, you thought you had. But hearing it now, in this context, after the way he had looked at you just minutes ago, makes something inside of break.

Taemin shifts uncomfortably, as if realizing how much his words hurt you. “He… he was planning to sell the apartment. He told me he would. But I don’t know if he actually did.”

You barely know what to do with this information. It seems like it was Taemin’s mission for tonight to leave you speechless. 

Namjoon watches you carefully. “Y/N… can you do this?”

You don’t know but the worst part is, you don’t think you have a choice. You were a goner the moment he his lips laid a kiss on your touch starved body. You never even knew how much you’ve missed his gentle touch until you felt it, and now you were eager to prologue it. Like an addict. 

You take a deep breath and forces herself to come to terms with the situation. There is no other way. You already came, he saw you, the decision was already made, and you must see it through. As much as it twists your insides, lying to Jimin is the only way to ensure his recovery. Namjoon and Taemin stand beside you, unwavering in their support, and for a moment you feel a sliver of comfort in knowing you are not alone in this.

Together, the three of you return to Jimin’s parents. The tension still lingering in the air like an unspoken burden. Taemin brings up the apartment, cautiously testing the waters, and before anyone else can speak, Jimin’s father interjects.

“His old apartment?” Jimin's father frowned, his brow furrowed.

“Are you sure this is the right choice?” Jimin's mother asked, concern etched on her face. “What if it brings up things he isn’t ready to face?” Taemin locked eyes with her, resolute. “I promise we’ll take it slowly. We won’t push him past what he can handle. But I believe he needs this familiarity to help guide him back.”

Namjoon butts in adding a blanket of security to the sudden decision. “The familiarity of the old place could trigger something in him, jolt his memories.”

You notice Rose take a deep breath before she interjects. “About the apartment…” she said, her voice steady but soft, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “I know Jimin hasn't sold it.” 

Jimin's mother looked at her, surprise flickering in her eyes. “He didn’t sell it? Why would he hold onto it after everything?”

Rose shrugged before continuing, her voice laced with mutual confusion. “Jimin had a change of heart at the last minute. He was supposed to tell me why that night… before the accident.”

Her words settle heavily between you all. It’s clear that even she is struggling to comprehend everything unfolding before her. She recognizes the silence as an offer to continue so she does giving more information. “He told me he gave the keys to Hoseok. I’ll ask him.”

The mention of Hoseok jolts something inside of you. The last time she saw him was at the funeral. He had stood beside you, quiet but present, offering you words of comfort that you never truly understood. You did the right thing, he had said. Your friendship had always been a strange one—good, but distant. 

“I’ll reach out to him,” you say, surprising even yourself.

Rose blinks clearly caught off guard. For a moment, there is nothing but silence between you before Rose simply nods. Namjoon feeling the tension growing with each question, suggests that Jimin’s parents and Rose head home for the night. They have been here all day, exhausted and overwhelmed. Reluctantly, they agree and begin making their way out, though you can sense their hesitation.

Once they leave, you turn to Namjoon. “I’ll talk to Hoseok in the morning. Right now, I need to go home and pack. If we’re going to do this, I need my things there.”

Taemin offers to help, but you decline, needing space to process everything alone. Namjoon, understanding, gently takes you hand, his touch warm and steady. “Thank you,” he murmurs, echoing the gratitude of Jimin’s parents.

As you step outside, ready to leave, you are startled to find Jimin’s father waiting by your car. You hesitate, expecting coldness or arrogance, but instead, he awkwardly thanks you. The words are strained but sincere. “I’ll call Chief Leeteuk tomorrow and arrange for your transfer back to Seoul Main Hospital,” he adds. “Until Jimin recovers.”

The weight of his words crashes over you. Only now do you fully grasp the scale of this situation, the immense disruption not just to your life but to the lives of so many others.

You shake your head. “I’ll figure something out. Maybe take time off work—”

“That won’t be necessary,” he cuts in. “You know this hospital inside and out. You can continue your work here.”

You want to argue, but you see the resolution in his eyes. Eventually, you sigh, nodding. “I’ll think about it.”

He hands you his business card. “Call this number when you decide.”

With that, they part ways, and you drive home with a mind drowned in thoughts.

When you reach the apartment, you pull out three large suitcases and begin to pack. There was no point in postponing the inevitable. The simple act of folding clothes and placing them into bags feels mechanical, almost numbing. At some point, you open a bottle of red wine, pouring yourself a glass to steady your nerves. Then, it dawns on you that you never informed her hospital of the sudden departure.

Grabbing your phone, you dial your best friend’s number.

“Y/N! What the hell happened? You just disappeared!”

“Something came up. A family matter. I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow.” It’s not a lie, not entirely, and explaining further requires energy you don’t have.

Wendy hums, suspicious but doesn’t press. “Well, good thing Yoongi covered for you. Took in your cases without a second thought.”

That catches you off guard. “He… did?”

It wasn’t surprising that Yoongi stepped in occasionally but for him to do on his own accord without refusal at first was strange. He seemed stand offish at times, opting to keep to himself for dealing with others was too much for him so he rarely took on other’s shifts or cases.

“Yeah. Honestly, I don’t know why you two never explored the waters.”, Wendy teases. “He’s totally your knight in shining armor.”

You sputter, face heating up. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, please.”

You and he shared an undeniable chemistry that others noticed right from the start of your fellowship. While you both excelled in different fields, you worked exceptionally well together when cases required collaboration, often finishing each other's sentences and actions. The two of you were described as a "twisted duo," a description you felt fit Yoongi far better than it fit you. However, Wendy insisted that you were unaware of how spookily well the telepathy between you and him worked. Hence the twisted duo name.

As Wendy continues to tease, you suddenly feel overwhelmed, thoughts spiraling back to Jimin. The contrast between past and present is suffocating. You offer her a poor excuse and hurriedly end the call, gulping down the rest of the wine.

You continue packing until your hands brush against a familiar box. You catch your breath, knowing exactly what’s inside before you even open it. Old photographs stare back at you. There’s Jimin smiling on your first date, pulling you close during your trip to Rome. There’s a picture of him at Hoseok’s wedding, so drunk that you barely managed to get him into the car afterward. That memory is one of your favorites; despite his intoxicated state, he was utterly smitten with you and the way you looked in that dress. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself all night, making you feel embarrassed when an elderly couple shot you a disapproving look. But all of that faded in comparison to his love confession when you helped him into the seat and buckled him up. At first, you ignored it, thinking it was just the alcohol talking, but he repeated it over and over, even going so far as to open the window and shout to the car next to you just how much in love he was.

Memories flood you all at once, raw and unbearable. You trace the images, fingers trembling. And then—you break.

Tears spill freely, chest heaving with sobs. Now when you are face with all of mess, with the cruel irony of Jimin’s memory loss, you realize just how deep the wounds still run.

As you cry and cry until you have no tears left to shed.

-

When morning comes, you wake up and immediately spring into action. Searching through your phone, you scan for Hoseok’s number. One of many you rarely dialed after the split. When your fingers land on his name, you press the call button, heart pounding as you wait. A few seconds later, a familiar voice answers, your name spoken in disbelief.

You greet him, albeit awkwardly. Two years have passed since you last spoke but there’s no point in skirting around the issue. “Have you heard about Jimin?” you ask.

Hoseok sighs. “I heard about the accident. Last time I checked with his parents, he was still in surgery. I wanted to call again, but…” he trails off before explaining that his twins have been sick, keeping him and his wife occupied. “I was planning to check in this morning.”

You pause at the mention of his children. Memories of Hoseok and his wife’s struggle to become parents resurface, and for a moment you forget why you even called. Regaining your focus, you congratulate him before quickly summarizing the situation.

Hoseok listens in silence before finally speaking. “And what’s the plan?”

You hesitate but tell him the truth about making Jimin live in the past until he fully recovers. To your surprise, Hoseok much like Taemin, agrees with the idea of you taking care of Jimin.

“You’re the only one who can do this,” he says simply. “I’ll leave the key at the front desk at hospital after I visit Jimin.”

You thank him, and the call ends. With a deep breath, you load your suitcases into the trunk of your car and then dial the number Jimin’s father gave you. He picks up in mere seconds.

“I’ll take the transfer,” you tell him, knowing there’s no point in resisting. Working at another hospital wouldn’t make sense under these circumstances.

His father sounds relieved. “I’ll handle all the paperwork and reach out to your chief.”

After thanking him, you drive to your hospital, needing to wrap up loose ends. As you pull up to the entrance, you spot Yoongi outside, cigarette in hand. He smirks at you and wordlessly offers a cigarette despite knowing you don’t smoke. It was a going on joke between you two. A mockery of your statement that “The fault in our stars” wasn’t as corny as Yoongi describes it. After that he never lets you live down the quote about the cigarette. 

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile. Yoongi still doesn’t ask why you weren’t there last night, instead giving you space to explain on your own terms. And so, taking a deep breath, you do. You tell him about Jimin’s accident, the amnesia, and the transfer. You half expect him to be upset, but he only nods in understanding.

Your relationship with Yoongi has been… complicated. It started a year ago, the result of one too many drinks after celebrating a successful surgery. Since then, you’ve kept things casual, just two people filling each other’s lonely nights. There were no expectations, no strings. However, when he agrees with Taemin and Namjoon, supporting this decision, you feel an unexpected pang of something you can’t quite place.

As you both step inside, Yoongi teases, “Maybe this is exactly what you need.”

You frown, trying to decipher his words but there’s no time to dwell. Almost immediately, nurse Layla rush toward you, handing you charts. Your mentee, San trails behind, listing off patients and conditions until you stop him.

“There’s been a change of plans,” you say, glancing at him. “I’m being transferred to Seoul Main for a while.”

San’s face falls. “But…. but I want to keep learning under you.”

You sigh, touched but resolute. “I’ll be back.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but there’s nothing more you can do. Handing him the charts, you instruct him to wait for Dr. Schuber’s call before heading toward the chief’s office. When you step into his office, Leeteuk’s on the phone, his usual stern features softened with amusement. His laughter echoes lightly before his tone shifts into something more serious. "I understand," he says into the receiver. "I’ll help as much as I can." His eyes lift to yours as he gestures for you to take a seat. You settle in waiting for him to finish.

When he finally hangs up, he leans back in his chair, eyes filled with something akin to sympathy. "I spoke with Mr. Park," he begins, "I heard what happened. I’m truly sorry about Jimin." He doesn’t linger on the subject, respecting the weight of it, and instead moves on, pulling out a piece of paper and scribbling something down. "The official reason for your transfer is the lack of fellows at Seoul Main. They’re understaffed, while here we have three people under each mentor. It makes sense."

You exhale, nodding. "Thank you, Chief. I won’t let you down. I’ll do my best at Seoul Main."

Leeteuk’s lips curl into a proud smile. "I expect nothing less."

A warm sensation spreads in your chest as you leave his office. The bittersweet feeling of leaving, of change, settles over you.

You make your way to the surgeons’ rest lounge, where you spot Wendy sprawled on one of the beds, her scrubs wrinkled from exhaustion as she focuses on a post-op chart. "General surgery is a pain in the ass," she groans the moment she spots you. "Should’ve been a dermatologist."

You chuckle, taking a seat beside her. "Rough night?"

"Try night from hell. Some teenager came in with severe abdominal pain. His parents were a nightmare, demanding every test possible. Turns out, the kid had something shoved up his ass but was too ashamed to admit it. Can you believe that?" She rubs her temple in frustration. "Yoongi tried to warn him that after surgery his parents would know – I mean who wouldn’t notice their child can’t sit on their ass – but the kid begged us to come up with a cover story."

You wince in secondhand embarrassment. "And this is exactly why I chose cardio."

Wendy snorts. "Please, like you don’t have weird cases. Didn’t you start in neuro before switching?"

You shrug. "At least no one’s shoving things into their brain or heart."

Wendy grins. "Tell that to the kid who inhaled a whole ass ball and had to have it surgically removed from his nasal cavity."

You shake your head with a laugh. "Still better than a sex toy in their ass." You pause, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Not gonna lie, trauma surgeons are saints. I could never stand there, get a CT done and see an object, clearly intended for pleasure, inserted where it shouldn’t be. And keep a straight face.”

You wanted to explain to Wendy that unlike other surgeons, any topic related to sex only made her laugh her ass off – pun fully intended. If you had to list any flaw of hers on the resume, that would be the top one, laughing during awkward moments. You could start listing of all the times that go her in trouble but then you’d be staying here until the next year.

Then, shifting gears, you exhale and tell her about your transfer, detailing everything that happened last night. Much like with Yoongi, you recount how Namjoon called, the accident, and then the part that makes you hesitate, Jimin has a girlfriend. 

“Y/N,” Wendy said, leaning in closer. “It’s understandable but you know it’s been two years, right? Life keeps going, even when we’re not ready for it. It’s only natural that he would have moved on.”

 “Yeah, I get that,” you replied, voice thick with frustration. 

Wendy studies you, a thoughtful expression on her face. “And what about you, Y/N? You’ve been hanging out with Yoongi a lot. I know you I turn a blind eye often, but you’re sleeping together. ” 

You roll your eyes knowing well enough how the situation between you two was vastly different. For starters no labels were used and heck you didn’t even know where Yoongi lived, most of the time you hung out at your apartment. “It’s not like that with Yoongi. We’ve just found comfort in each other’s company, nothing more.”  

 “Come on, don’t tell me knowing his dick size and meeting his brother is just keeping each other company” Wendy teased, attempting to lighten the mood. 

Okay so you knew the ins and outs of Doctor Yoongi, and perhaps you had the chance to meet his brother but, in your defense, it was a total coincidence. His brother had a mild heart attack and Yoongi ever so praising of your skills directed him to you so in conclusion you knew his brother as Mr. Min, your patient not as Yoongi’s older brother Yeon. 

“It’s just messy. Here I am, dealing with Jimin’s memories and feelings, and I can’t just ignore that. It feels wrong.”

 “Life is messy, sweetie,” Wendy said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “But you’re strong enough to figure it out. You just need time.”

 “I know I need time,” you sigh, staring down at the bed. “I’m just sorry for leaving my shift. I didn’t mean to abandon you.”

Wendy shrugged, a playful twinkle in her eye. “Please, don’t worry about it. Yoongi and I have your back. Trust me, we covered for you. Just take things easy, okay? You have enough on your plate without stressing about work.” 

“Thanks, Wendy,” you said, a small smile breaking through your worry. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Just as you were about to yap a bit more about the situation your phone buzzes. Namjoon’s name flashes on the screen. Jimin is waking up. You should be here. A wave of nerves rolls through you. You quickly type out a response, telling him you’re on your way.

Wendy watches you carefully. "So, are we postponing girls’ night?"

You nod. "Until this whole mess settles."

She smirks. "Figures. Just promise me you won’t take any shit from anyone at Seoul Main. You know how male-dominated the field surgery is."

You chuckle. "I was expecting a speech about Jimin."

Wendy shrugs. "Honestly I feel like my emotional capacity is reaching its limits. That little sucker used most of it and you got like 20%. Anyway, don’t forget about us while you’re there."

A lump forms in your throat at the thought of leaving again, of facing Jimin again. Wendy nudges you toward the door. "Go. I need sleep before I start hallucinating."

As you were about to leave the room you heart Wendy half-whisper. “If you see any hot dudes, be sure to send me their pictures.”

You chuckle, steeling yourself before heading out. 

When you arrive, Namjoon is waiting at the front desk standing beside a man you don’t recognize. As you approach, Namjoon greets you with a small smile. "Y/N, this is Dr. Kyungsoo, neurosurgeon. I asked him to consult on Jimin’s case."

Kyungsoo stands by your side, noticeably a head shorter than Namjoon. His short black hair frames his face neatly, and his plump lips give him a slightly prominent and inviting look. His big doe-like brown eyes seem to take in everything with a serious intensity, giving him a contemplative aura. However, as he greets you, a big smile breaks across his face, instantly softening his demeanor and making him appear much younger than the serious expression that lingered just moments before. 

You shake hands with him before Namjoon hands you a pager and a key card. "This will give you access to the third floor, where Jimin is, as well as the surgeons’ lounges. Only a handful of nurses know about Jimin’s condition." He hesitates for a second. "You’ll be happy to know that Jisoo is one of them."

A strange feeling twists in your gut. It reminds you too much of seeing Taemin again, Jisoo had been there that night. You school your features and nod, absorbing the information. Namjoon starts explaining the layout of the hospital, but you cut him off with a teasing grin. "I left two years ago, not twelve."

He chuckles. "Feels like twelve."

The three of you step into the elevator. As it ascends, Kyungsoo and Namjoon discuss the possible causes of Jimin’s amnesia. You listen but focus on steadying your nerves. When the doors open, a rush of déjà vu washes over you. Jimin’s parents are there, his father on the phone, his mother sitting beside Rose, their hands clasped tightly.

You greet them, but your gaze barely lingers on Rose. There’s an unspoken tension between you, a mutual uncertainty on how to act around each other. Namjoon introduces Kyungsoo to Jimin’s parents, giving you the perfect excuse to slip past them and into the room.

Jimin is standing by the window, watching the sky shift outside, the colors melding like the emotions swirling in his heart. There’s no television, no phone. Namjoon thought too much information at once might overwhelm him, but Jimin has one focus: you. When he turns and sees you, his face illuminates with an almost otherworldly smile, as if your presence alone brings warmth to a cold room. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, are now filled with deep adoration, crinkling at the edges as he stretches his arms out, eager to embrace you. 

Your heart clenches, a mix of longing and fear tightening within your chest. You step forward, surrendering to his pull into a hug that feels like home. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, a low sigh escaping his lips. "I could never get tired of your scent," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. 

You freeze for just a second.  If he notices your stillness, he doesn’t say anything; instead, he tightens his hold on you, as if afraid you might slip away. 

His breath mingles with yours, creating an intimate rhythm that seems to soothe the chaos within. "I was scared when I woke up and you weren’t here," he confesses, his voice trembling, vulnerable. 

You silently wish you could promise him everything would be okay. "It felt like my world was falling apart when Namjoon told me it’s 2026, not 2021. That we’re—" his voice breaks, fragile as his eyes shimmer, "divorced. That you left Seoul Main Hospital."

The words pierce through the vulnerability of the moment, leaving you breathless. Warm tears soak into your skin as Jimin pulls back slightly, his puffy red eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes you feel as if he is looking straight into your soul. 

"Y/N, I—I don’t know how to do this without you," he says, each word laced with desperation and love that binds your heart in a vice. His weakness shatters something deep within you, the weight of it heavy and consuming. Logic tells you that the truth would be kinder in the long run, but looking into his tear-streaked face, filled with fear and longing, you realize in that moment you can’t tell him. Not yet. The love reflected in his gaze is a tether that keeps you from breaking apart entirely, and for now, you choose to hold onto the fragile warmth of this bittersweet reunion.

You and Jimin don't notice between your emotional exchange that the doors have opened and that Jimin's parents and Rose have entered the room, accompanied by Namjoon. The soft click of the door closing barely registers in your mind, too caught up in the warmth of Jimin’s embrace; in the way his body fits against yours like a puzzle piece that was never meant to be separated. It isn't until Namjoon clears his throat, a deliberate interruption, that your awareness sharpens. 

Your gaze flickers to Rose, who stands frozen near the door. Her expression is an unreadable mix of hurt and anger. You see the way she blinks rapidly, as if trying to hold back tears that threaten to spill. Guilt twists like a knife in your stomach. You shift, instinctively trying to create space between yourself and Jimin, but his fingers tighten around yours. The weight of his touch is grounding, but in this moment, it feels suffocating.

Jimin frowns at your movement. "Where are you going?" he asks, his voice laced with confusion. You hesitate, casting a glance at Namjoon before answering, "I just thought I’d stand with Namjoon and the others." The words sound weak even to your own ears.

Jimin’s frown deepens. "Why? You're my wife. You're supposed to be here, with me." His words land heavily in the room, unchallenged yet piercing. Rose stiffens before she abruptly turns on her heel and rushes out. The sound of her hurried steps echoes down the hallway. Jimin’s mother exhales softly, her gaze darting between her son and the door Rose just exited through. For a moment, she seems to contemplate following her, but then she looks at Jimin, at the desperation in his eyes as he holds onto you and stays.

Namjoon, sensing the growing tension in the room speaks up shifting the focus on him. "Jimin, we’re keeping you here for three more days before discharging you. After that, Y/N will take care of you at home." His words are measured, calm as if carefully weaving a delicate bridge between reality and the illusion Jimin still holds onto. Then he subtly nods at you, a silent prompt for you to begin adjusting Jimin to the truth of your present.

Jimin’s grip on your hand is unrelenting, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that should be comforting, but all you can focus on is the fire creeping up your spine, the overwhelming pressure of his expectations.

You gently take Jimin’s hand, placing a small mirror in his hands. As he gazes into it, a look of confusion flickers across his face, then deepens into disbelief as he sees his reflection. The familiar shape of his face remains, but the long, silver hair cascading down his shoulders is a stark reminder of the years that have slipped by. “Since… since when did I dye my hair?” he murmurs, running his fingers through the silken strands, as if trying to grasp the time that has passed.

You can see the wheels turning in his mind, the realization dawning on him. “Five years did pass by, Jimin. Namjoon was right, it’s 2026 now,” you explain, your voice tender. The mirror reflects more than just physical changes; it mirrors the essence of the man he was and the man he has become.  Jimin stirs his gaze to you staring at you intently, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to latch onto something solid amidst the whirlwind of news. 

"The president now is Yuk Seongu. I completed my residency a year ago," you continue, carefully choosing details that might make the reality easier to digest after the sudden shock.

For the short amount of time you were under Namjoon’s mentorship he highlighted the importance of stating the current president when assessing a patient for amnesia. Back then, and even now, you felt as if that question was misplaced. In midst of an emotional breakdown and coming to terms with years being stolen from you why would anyone care about politics?

Jimin processes your words, his brow furrowing. He hurriedly places the mirror onto the nightstand as if it burned him. "Is that why you weren’t wearing scrubs yesterday?" 

His question catches you off guard, but you recover quickly, nodding. "Yes, I’m currently a fellow under..." You trail off, glancing at Namjoon for help, and he promptly supplies, "Doctor Junseo."

You repeat the name, your gaze returning to Jimin, who seems lost in thought, his lips parted slightly as he tries to absorb everything. Everyone in the room expects him to ask something logical, something about the time gap, about his medical condition or about what happened. But when he finally speaks, his question catches you totally off guard.

"Where’s your ring?" His eyes drop to your bare fingers, the absence of the silver band suddenly feeling like an accusation. "Even when you were busy in your residency, you always wore it. You only ever took it off during surgery."

Silence falls over the room. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding so loudly you wonder if everyone else can hear it. How do you even begin to answer that?

You try to recover from the question, but the words stick to the back of your throat. It had never occurred to you that Jimin would notice the absence of the ring and honestly it had never even occurred to you to put it on.

Jimin proposed to you on your fourth anniversary. At the time, you were only twenty-four, young and ambitious. Initially, you felt hesitant about marriage because your career required many sacrifices, and you worried that you would only hold him back. However, Jimin believed that everything was perfectly aligned, especially since you were doing your residency at his parents' hospital, where he worked in the finance department. 

You remember the excitement and joy you felt at the thought of calling him your fiancé, and eventually husband. Despite the challenges you faced and the uncertainties ahead, you accepted his proposal. You can still picture the moment he lifted you into the air, twirling you with pure happiness as you held his face in your hands. In that instant, time seemed to stop, marking one of your many victories.

The ring had been a family heirloom, passed down through generations of Park men. It was always given to the eldest son to propose to his prospective wife. Jimin hadn’t needed to plead for it; his grandmother had a soft spot for you. She admired your unwavering commitment to two things: your career and Jimin.

When your marriage fell apart and you both reached the heartbreaking conclusion that divorce was your only option, the ring became a painful reminder of everything you had lost. You had wanted to return it and give it back to him, but Jimin refused. His voice was filled with bitterness as he declared that the ring was tainted with misery, and he couldn’t bear to return it to his grandmother after failing her. You understood his anger, you had always understood Jimin. Deep down, however, you wished he could have set aside his pride just once to understand you in return.

Unfortunately, the weight of hatred and hurt was too great to overcome. So, you took the ring and locked it away at your family home, putting as much distance between you and it as possible. 

Standing before Jimin as he awaits an answer, you wonder how to explain all of that in just a few words. After a moment of silence, you explain, "I lost it once during a complicated surgery. I had to change into fresh scrubs after getting soaked with a patient’s blood, and I was rushed into another procedure immediately afterward. By the time the cleaning crew came through, it was misplaced. When we finally found it, I decided to leave it at home as a precaution." 

Jimin studies you carefully for a long moment before finally nodding. Then, in a gesture that feels achingly familiar, he lifts your hand and presses a lingering kiss to your palm. The warmth of his lips sends a wave of comfort through you.. He then asks, "Can we have some time alone?" 

Jimin’s father shifts uncomfortably, his posture rigid afraid that you might slip. Before he can voice any objections, Jimin’s mother intercedes, her voice soft yet firm. "Of course." With that, she gently ushers her husband out the door, with Namjoon trailing behind them. Once alone, Jimin watches you intently for a long moment before reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "What more did I miss?" he asks.

You hesitate. "What do you mean?" 

"Your hair is longer and darker. You used to wear glasses during residency, but now you don’t. Did you switch to contacts or? Did you finally learn to parallel park?” His voice is light and teasing, but there's genuine curiosity beneath it. 

You exhale, adjusting to the way his touch still feels like second nature. "Mochi passed away four years ago. She lived with us towards the end of her life, and her favorite pastime was knocking glasses off the counter. You had to clean up way more than you liked." 

Jimin chuckles, a sad yet fond sound. "And your career?" 

"I tried neurosurgery, but..." You sigh. 

He smirks knowingly. "You never had the patience for it." 

You swat his arm playfully. "I could have if I had Namjoon’s mind of steel,” you smirk before softening, "I went into cardiothoracic instead." 

Jimin grins. "Good choice. You stole my heart; you better learn on how to take care of it." 

You groan, hiding your face behind your hands, laughter bubbling up despite yourself. With him, it was always easy. Then, Jimin’s faces becomes letting you know that whatever he’s about to say has been bothering him for a while. "Namjoon told me I lost control of the car and hit a pole. He didn’t want to tell me, but Taemin let it slip that I was intoxicated. What happened that night?” 

You feel at loss for words. You don’t know the reasoning yourself and the only person who could cast some light on the situation probably would rather punch you in the face than help you. “I wish I could help you, but I am unsure myself.”

Jimin frowns looking to the side, silently playing with your fingers. Something he started doing absentmindedly whenever he was stressed. He stops for a second, still not looking at you as he speaks. “I was relieved that nobody was hurt but I can’t help but feel confused by my own actions. I know I would never drink and drive. It just doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem like me.”

He looks at you, his eyes a mirror to his emotions. He was fighting an internal battle which he kept to himself more so to not overwhelm you, sensing that you were already on the edge. 

Instead of further grilling for information he smiles and quickly changes the topic. "At least get me a TV. I’ll die of boredom." 

You felt like you can breathe again so you chuckle trying to mask the fear that lingered. "I’ll talk to Namjoon." 

A nurse knocks on the door. "Time for some tests." 

The nurse walked to Jimin's side, offering him a reassuring smile as she gently lifted his arm. You positioned yourself on the opposite side, carefully sliding your hands beneath him to provide additional support. Together, you lifted him into the wheelchair, ensuring he was comfortable before she starts wheeling him out.

As they were about to exit, he asks "Will I see you later?" 

You nod. "Of course."

You watch Jimin disappear down the hallway, a strange hollowness settles in your chest. This is going to be harder than you anticipated. Jimin has lost two years of which you know nothing about. As much as you want to help, you feel just as much an outsider to that time as he does. 

You wanted to dwell more on it but, the sharp beep of your pager shatters the silence. Front desk. You don’t waste a second, opting for the stairs over the elevator, your heart pounding from more than just exertion. The hospital is a world of cold, sterile air, and yet, as you rush through it, you feel like you’re suffocating.

At the front desk, a familiar figure stands. Jung Hoseok is dressed in a neatly pressed suit, though his tired eyes and slightly disheveled hair tell a different story. He looks older and worn out, as if the weight of sleepless nights has carved itself into his face. You notice how his hair is shorter than you remember, and how tiredness clings to him like a shadow, no doubt a result of his children’s relentless energy. 

He waves at you, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Y/N," he greets, his voice tinged with fatigue as he hands you a set of keys. "How's the situation?" 

"The same," you reply, catching your breath, "We’ll see if he’ll remember more once we get to the apartment and visit some places." 

Hoseok nods, but then his expression turns serious. "Do you plan on telling him about you know?" His voice is quiet and cautious, as if saying the name might shatter something fragile in the air. 

A shiver runs down your spine as you shake your head. "No, there was no right moment. Honestly, I don’t know if there ever will be. It would just reopen old wounds. And right now… isn’t the time." 

Hoseok studies you for a moment before exhaling slowly. "Yeah, I get that. Is there anything I can do?"

You bite your lip, contemplating. "If you have time, could you help me fill in the gaps? I don’t know much about Jimin’s job after the divorce. It’s hard to navigate conversations when I have no idea what changed."

He agrees immediately. "Of course. I’ll drop by again tomorrow or the day after. I just need to check my schedule. I only saw him for a minute or two, the clients are ruthless. They keep pestering me as if I was the well of all information about the stock market."

His words offer some relief, but then he says something that throws you off balance. "I haven’t seen the apartment since Jimin gave me the keys. That was two months after the divorce." 

Your brows knit together in confusion. "I thought he moved in with Rose?"

Hoseok’s expression shifts when he realizes what you’re thinking. "Yes and no, he and Rose only started dating last year. He left the apartment because there was too much sadness there. He said he needed a change, so he rented a place near the company instead. He gave me the keys because Dae and I wanted to expand our family, but… I couldn’t live there. It was too tragic. Therefore, I never used it."

Rose’s words echo in your mind and before you can stop yourself you say it out loud, wanting to be certain. "He was planning on selling it, right?" 

Hoseok nods. "Yeah. He even found a buyer, but… they backed out." 

"Did he say why?" you ask, but he shakes his head. "No. He just said to keep the keys. No new owner, no reason to bring them back to the company." 

"Do you know what happened the night of the accident?" 

"No, no one does. His family doesn’t even know." Before you can explain further, movement catches your attention. 

You turn and freeze. 

Seonghwa.

The young resident stands a few feet away, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. The papers he was carrying slip from his grasp, fluttering to the floor in a scattered mess. You watch as realization dawns on him as he continues staring at you as though he is seeing a ghost.

Hoseok turns at the commotion, narrowing his gaze as he studies the younger man. There is something familiar in Seonghwa’s features, and you see the moment recognition flickers in Hoseok’s tired eyes. But before he can say anything, you are already moving, kneeling beside Seonghwa to gather the fallen papers with quiet urgency.

Although he stutters, he manages to greet you and Hoseok. Once the papers are collected, he looks at you and attempts to start a conversation, awkwardly asking how you have been. Like Seonghwa, you find yourself at a loss for how to navigate the moment, so you settle for small talk, giving him a polite smile. "I’m well. I hope you are too."

Hoseok, who has been observing quietly, suddenly pieces it together, the young resident from the that night. Recognition flashes in his eyes, but he says nothing, only checking his watch before turning to you. "We’ll talk later, Y/N. I’m already late for work.

You nod, clutching the keys in her hand. "Thanks again."

As he walks away, Seonghwa exhales slowly and shifts on his feet. "Namjoon told me I would be working under someone new," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just… didn’t think it would be you." 

You blink at him, slightly taken aback. "Namjoon never mentioned this to me." 

Seonghwa nods, as if that makes perfect sense. You take a deep breath, adjusting to the reality of your new professional dynamic. "Well," you say, straightening up, "there are a few patients we need to check on. Let’s get to work." 

Sensing the awkward atmosphere lingering between you, you quickly assign him a task. "Check on each patient and inform me when you're done. I still need to change into my uniform and greet the chief." 

Seonghwa furrows his brows. "Greet the chief? Why?" 

You tilt your head. "It’s common courtesy to greet your boss." 

His lips twitch slightly. "You’ve already seen Namjoon." 

You stare at him, processing his words. "Wait… what?" 

"Namjoon became the chief just a little over a month ago."

Although perplexed at information that Namjoon decided to keep from you, you can’t help but feel a bit proud. “Then I guess we immediately go to work.”

Seonghwa smiles as he begins to scan through the list of patients. He explains their conditions, the procedures that were performed, and the potential checkups. As the two of you walk, you’re reminded of the old times when he used to trail behind you. However, instead of the nervous first-year resident who once cowered under your stern gaze, you now see a confident future cardiothoracic surgeon completing his final year of residency.

After a long day in the operating room, you find yourself transitioning from the upbeat environment of the hospital to the familiar weight of anticipation as you make your way to the car. The drive through the bustling streets of Seoul reflects your mixed emotions. 

As you step into the apartment you once shared with Jimin, the soft glow of the overhead lights illuminates the elegant surroundings. Located in an upscale neighborhood, the entrance welcomes you with its polished wooden floors and high ceilings that make the space feel both expansive and intimate.  

In the air lingers a faint floral scent, suggesting that someone has taken great care to maintain the place. You glance around, noticing the carefully arranged furniture that echoes memories of laughter and shared moments. The black sofa, draped with a soft throw blanket, still stands at its familiar angle, as if waiting for you to sink into it once more. 

You can’t help but smile. The same sofa has once sparked a playful disagreement between you and Jimin, who thought its color was too dark for a room designed to catch the morning sun. The large windows allow ample light to flood the space, creating a striking contrast with the sofa.

Setting down the three suitcases, you stroll through the living space, taking in the memories. It’s as if time has stood still; nothing has changed. A wave of nostalgia washes over you, mingling with an unsettling sense of estrangement, as the apartment feels like a memory frozen in time. What truly catches your eye are the photos of you and Jimin, still proudly hanging on the walls of the living room.

Taking an en route to the photos, you catch the lingering feeling of confusion wash over you slowly then all at once as you come near. The photos are in pristine condition, a contrast to what you last remember seeing them. The vision of Jimin lingers as he yells smashing each frame against floor. Shards of glass spread all over the floor. He stomps over it, further crumpling the photos. You trace the wooden frame, fingers stopping at your carved initials. 

Why did he put them back? The question floats in the air, and suddenly you feel like you’ll choke if continue searching for the answer. Instead, you proceed into the bedroom and the sight that greets you is a comforting one.

The bed is neatly made, and not much has changed. But as you stand there, you feel an overwhelming urge to explore further, to delve into the past. Yet, given the emotional roller coaster of the past two days, you pause feeling that venturing too deep might stir up memories best left undisturbed. Instead, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen hoping to find some semblance of normalcy in a cup of coffee. 

You recall that Jimin always kept basics stocked, and you hope he didn’t throw all out. As you reach for the cabinet above the sink where you used to keep the coffee, your movements feel almost instinctual, as if you haven’t lived in another apartment for two years. To your surprise, nestled beside the bag of coffee is a package of white tea, one of your favorites.

But it’s not just the tea that catches your eye. The cabinet seems to be a curated collection of your favorites. It is stocked up on all the items you once adored, from the German chocolate Riesen—Jimin would always tease you about your peculiar liking for them—to your beloved brand of coffee, and even the soy sauce you preferred for your ramen noodles. It’s as if the cabinet had become a small shrine to your favorite things.

As you stand there, staring at the familiar items placed in the cabinet, you feel a new wave of confusion washes over you.  You’re left wondering why he hadn’t removed them entirely. Was he holding onto these memories, or had he simply pushed them aside to avoid the hurt they might bring? The realization that living in this once-shared space might be too much for him sinks in, leaving you conflicted. Part of you wants to cherish these tokens of your past, while another part grapples with the understanding that he likely sought to create distance from reminders of you, leaving you uncertain about what to do with the unraveling emotions swirling inside.

Pushing the emotions aside, you decide to take a quick shower, hoping the warm water will wash away some of the tension that has built up throughout the day. Afterward, you sit down to make a list of things you need to buy for the apartment in order to transform it into a space in which you and Jimin had been supposedly living for the past five years. 

You jot down groceries, hygiene such as shampoos, razors and all the trivial essentials that make a home feel complete. But then you pause, a wave of realization washing over you. All Jimin’s clothes are at his apartment with Rose. You feel your emotional limit approaching as you wrestle with the idea of having to call her and ask for his things. It feels like too much, especially considering your last encounter. Though Jimin may currently see you as his wife due to his amnesia, you are painfully aware that you are, in reality, his ex-wife. 

You started to feel lost and uncertain about what to do next. It was ironic that as a surgeon, you often must make decisions so quickly that you rarely have time to think them through. Yet now, you were struggling to make even the simplest choice. In a moment of clarity, you decided it might be better to ask Hoseok or Namjoon to handle the situation, letting them do the heavy lifting while you figure out the rest.

You decide that tomorrow is a fresh start, hoping things might feel a little better. As you turn off the lights in the living room, the quiet envelops you, and it dawns on you just how tired you are. Climbing upstairs, you hesitate in front of the doors of the bedroom. It feels too soon to sleep there, so you opt for the guest room instead. 

As you settle onto the unfamiliar sheets, just as you feel yourself drifting off, your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen to see a message from an unfamiliar number. 

Sweet dreams—don't let the bugs eat you and think of me. 

P.S. Namjoon finally gave my phone back. 

You stare at the ceiling for a while, the words piercing through the cozy haze of sleepiness. You know it's Jimin, yet confusion washes over you. Why would Namjoon hand Jimin his phone back? Did he go through it? Did he erase the photos of Jimin and Rose? The thought leaves you feeling unsettled, and frustration bubbles beneath the surface.