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novaursa · 2 months ago

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The Last Dragonslayer (The Lost Chapters)

- Summary: One last tale of the Dragon Queen and her Dragonslayer.

- Paring: female!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The conclusion of this story has been expanded by popular demand.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

Above the God's Eye

The wind howls above the God's Eye, where the skies churn with dark clouds. You can feel the heavy weight of your sword at your side, its hilt familiar in your grip, the legacy of your ancient order pulsing through the blade. Below you, the twisted expanse of Harrenhal rises, a testament to the folly of dragons and men. But your focus is not on the crumbled towers or the history beneath your feet. Your gaze locks onto the monstrous shadow circling in the distance—Vhagar. The largest, oldest dragon in all the Seven Kingdoms, her scales rippling like molten jade under the waning light.

Aemond Targaryen rides upon her back, his long silver hair streaming like a banner of defiance against the darkening sky. The patch over his eye gleams, a stark reminder of the hatred he harbors for you. You feel it as sharply as your own, a hatred forged in fire and blood. But there is something else beneath his fury—a fear he won’t admit, one that only you, of all people, can summon in him.

You stand tall on the back of your mount, the Banshee—a creature from the depths of the world, more beast than dragon, her long leathery wings blotting out the sun as she shrieks across the sky. It is a scream like no other, a sound that turns dragonfire cold, that sends a shiver of dread through creatures bred for conquest. Your Banshee is a nightmare made flesh, darker than the sky itself, larger than any dragon. Her glowing green eyes narrow with hunger, fangs bared in anticipation of the kill.

Aemond circles above you, tugging at Vhagar’s reins. His voice reaches you across the distance, carried on the wind like a taunt.

"Run while you still can, Y/N!" he bellows, his arrogance sharp. "You cannot hope to defeat the might of Vhagar. You will die like the rest of your kind—forgotten, a relic of Essos, your bones dust beneath dragon fire."

You say nothing in response, only urging the Banshee forward with the barest of commands. She roars, a chilling sound that cuts through the sky like a blade, and you feel the thrill of her power beneath you. A primal connection between rider and beast, honed through generations of bloodlines. Your people were not conquered by the Valyrians—they resisted, even as the Freehold rose in dominance. Dragons fell to your blades, your creatures hunted them to extinction in your homeland. The legacy lives through you, and today, it will be written in blood.

Vhagar turns, her massive wings unfurling as she prepares to attack. The ancient dragon’s roar echoes like a crack of thunder, but the Banshee is unphased. You’ve seen this dance before—dragons are always arrogant until they’re faced with something that terrifies them. Vhagar hesitates, her massive body trembling, but Aemond snarls and spurs her forward.

“Do it!” Aemond shouts. “Burn her alive!”

Vhagar releases a torrent of fire, but the Banshee dives beneath it with lethal speed, cutting through the air like a shadow. You’re already on the move, sword drawn, the ancient steel gleaming with deadly intent. The Banshee spins through the sky, her wings slashing at the air as she rises above Vhagar, letting loose another scream, one that rattles even your bones.

Vhagar falters. The sound is too much, too unnatural. She tries to retreat, her instincts urging her to flee, but Aemond yanks on her reins, refusing to give in to fear.

"Fight, you stupid beast!" Aemond’s voice is filled with desperation now, but you can see the fear in his remaining eye. He knows, even if he won’t admit it.

You push the Banshee into a dive, the wind screaming past you as you close the distance. Vhagar rears back, trying to snap at you with her massive jaws, but the Banshee is faster, more agile. She lashes out with her talons, sinking them deep into Vhagar's neck. Blood erupts from the wound, spraying the sky in a crimson mist. Vhagar roars in agony, thrashing wildly as she tries to shake the Banshee off.

Aemond’s curses are drowned out by the sound of his dragon’s suffering. He clings desperately to Vhagar’s saddle, struggling to maintain control as the Banshee rips into her flesh with relentless ferocity. Your sword flashes, and you bring it down in a deadly arc, slicing through the thick, leathery membrane of Vhagar’s wing. She howls, the injury throwing her off balance as she plummets toward the lake below.

But the Banshee is not done. She dives again, her jaws locking around Vhagar’s throat, and with a sickening crunch, she rips it open. Blood pours from the wound, a river of hot, steaming liquid that paints the sky red. Vhagar's struggles grow weaker, her mighty wings faltering as she begins to fall. But even as her life fades, the Banshee does not stop.

Her jaws clamp down on Vhagar’s still-beating heart, ripping it from the dragon’s chest. The wet, sickening sounds of flesh tearing and bones snapping fill the air as the Banshee devours it whole. You watch as she tears into the liver next, blood drenching the sky as she feasts on the dying dragon.

Aemond, thrown from the saddle by Vhagar’s final thrash, scrambles to his feet on a small outcrop of rock. His once-proud visage is now twisted in disbelief, covered in the blood of his dragon. He stares at you, fury and fear mixing in his violet eye.

"You—" he starts, but he doesn’t get to finish.

With one swift motion, the Banshee turns her gaze toward him. Her glowing eyes lock onto him, and she lets out a low, rumbling growl. You don’t need to give the command. She strikes like a predator who knows her prey, her jaws snapping around Aemond’s body. His scream is brief, cut off as the Banshee crushes him with a sickening crunch. Blood spills from her mouth as she devours him, piece by piece.

It’s over in moments.

The skies are quiet now, save for the distant echo of your Banshee’s final shriek as she consumes the last of Aemond’s body. You sit atop her back, your heart steady, your breathing calm. The blood of Targaryens, of dragons, stains the air, marking the end of one more chapter in this endless cycle of fire and blood.

You lean forward, resting a hand on the Banshee’s neck as she licks her blood-soaked jaws. "Let them remember this day," you whisper. "Let them remember what happens when dragons challenge those born to slay them."

The wind carries your words across the battlefield, to the ashes of a dragon that once ruled the skies, and to the man who thought himself invincible.

The Dragon Prince and the Dragonslayer

The courtyard of Dragonstone is alive with the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore, the wind carrying the salty tang of the Narrow Sea. You stand in the center of the courtyard, sword in hand, its weight an old, familiar comfort. The sword is unlike any in Westeros—its hilt and blade adorned with intricate designs that speak of its Essosi origin. Passed down through generations of your family, it is a weapon forged not just for battle, but for the ancient art of swordplay, a style lost to time.

Luke stands before you, eyes wide and eager, his own sword gripped tightly in his hands. The boy has always had a fire in him, a determination that you recognize, but today there’s something more—a request that he’s hesitant to voice.

“Are you sure, Lucerys?” you ask, your voice calm but firm. “This isn’t something you learn overnight. It’s not like the training you’ve had.”

Luke’s jaw tightens, but there’s a spark of excitement in his violet eyes as he nods. “I’m sure, Y/N. I want to learn. I’ve seen you fight. It’s different. It’s... graceful but deadly. I want to be able to protect my family, to fight for my mother. Please, teach me.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. He’s young, still growing into himself, but there’s no mistaking the resolve in his voice. This is more than just curiosity—this is about loyalty, about becoming someone his family can depend on in times of war.

“Very well,” you say, stepping back and motioning for him to take his stance. “We’ll start with the basics. Forget what you’ve learned with the knights and their heavy blades. This style isn’t about brute force. It’s about precision, timing, and reading your opponent.”

Luke’s brow furrows as he shifts into the stance he’s been taught, but it’s rigid, his grip too tight on the hilt. You circle him, the soft clink of your sword against your thigh the only sound between you.

“Relax,” you say, tapping his shoulder lightly. “Your sword isn’t a hammer. Loosen your grip. Feel the flow of the blade, not the weight.”

Luke adjusts, trying to mimic your posture, but it’s awkward, his movements still tied to the way he’s been taught to fight. You stop in front of him, reaching out to gently correct his grip, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as you guide him into position.

“Think of it like a dance,” you instruct. “You move with your sword, not against it. Watch.”

You take a step back, lifting your own sword. With a fluid movement, you swing the blade in a graceful arc, slicing through the air with precision and speed. It’s a dance, each movement flowing into the next, your feet shifting lightly on the stone floor. Luke watches, mesmerized by the ease with which you wield your sword.

“See?” you say, coming to a stop, the sword resting lightly at your side. “You let the blade guide you. Don’t fight it. Let’s try again.”

Luke nods, determination etched on his face. He takes a deep breath, mimicking your movements as best as he can, but there’s still hesitation in his swings. You step in close again, showing him how to shift his weight, how to flow through the movements instead of forcing them.

“You’ll get there,” you assure him, seeing the frustration flicker in his eyes. “This isn’t about being perfect right away. It’s about learning how to adapt, how to use your opponent’s strength against them.”

For the next hour, you guide him through the basics, correcting his stance, showing him how to strike with precision rather than power. There’s sweat on his brow, but he doesn’t complain. He listens, he watches, and slowly, you begin to see the change. His movements become less stiff, more fluid. There’s a natural grace in him that surprises even you.

"Like that?" he asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes after a particularly well-executed swing.

You nod, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Better. You’re learning quickly. But remember, this isn’t just about the sword. It’s about the mind. You have to stay calm, even when the battle rages around you.”

Luke nods, his expression serious. “I’ll keep practicing. Thank you, Y/N.”

You sheath your sword and place a hand on his shoulder, giving him an approving look. “You have the heart for it, Luke. That’s what matters most. But don’t forget to take your time. Don’t rush what you’re not ready for.”

As you speak, the familiar sound of footsteps catches your attention, and you turn to see Rhaenyra approaching from the far end of the courtyard. She’s draped in black and red, her long silver hair billowing slightly in the wind. Her eyes fall on you first, and then on Luke, her expression softening as she watches the two of you together.

"Mother," Luke greets, sheathing his sword and offering her a small smile.

Rhaenyra’s gaze lingers on him for a moment before she turns to you, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I see you’ve been giving Lucerys lessons. Did he beg, or did you volunteer?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “He asked, and I couldn’t say no. He’s determined. He wants to protect you.”

Rhaenyra moves closer, her gaze flicking between you and Luke. There’s pride in her eyes, but also a deep, unspoken worry. The war is heavy on her shoulders, and she knows what it means for her children. She steps closer to Luke, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

“You’ve made me proud, my son,” she says softly, her voice filled with warmth.

Luke looks up at her, the boyish smile returning to his face. “I’ll keep practicing, I promise.”

Rhaenyra kisses his forehead, then turns to you as Luke takes his leave, retreating to practice on his own. The courtyard feels quieter now, the air between you charged with a different kind of energy. Rhaenyra’s eyes meet yours, and there’s a softness there, a connection that has grown stronger with each passing day.

“You’re good with him,” she says, her voice quieter now, intimate. “He looks up to you.”

You step closer, close enough to feel the warmth of her body in the cool evening air. “He’s strong, Rhaenyra. He has your spirit.”

Her eyes search yours for a moment, and then, without hesitation, she closes the distance between you, her hand coming to rest on your arm, fingers trailing lightly over your skin. There’s a softness to her touch, but also a weight—a trust that goes beyond words.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “In this war, in this chaos… you’re my constant.”

You reach up, gently brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering there, caressing the soft curve of her jaw. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, your voice firm but tender. “I’ll fight for you. Always.”

Her lips curl into a soft smile, and then, slowly, she leans in, pressing her forehead to yours. There’s a peace in this moment, a stillness in the midst of the storm that rages beyond these walls. You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of her, feeling the warmth of her so close.

“You are my heart,” she whispers, her breath warm against your skin. “And I am yours.”

You don’t need to say anything in response. The bond between you is deeper than words, forged in fire and blood, stronger than any sword. You stay like this for a moment longer, lost in each other, before she pulls back slightly, her hand still resting against your cheek.

“I’ll see you tonight?” she asks softly, a playful glint in her eye.

You smile, your fingers brushing over her hand as you nod. “I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, she turns, the lightness in her step a stark contrast to the heavy world that surrounds her. You watch her go, the warmth of her touch still lingering on your skin, knowing that no matter what battles lie ahead, no matter what enemies rise to face you—you will always stand by her side.

The Past Lives

The winds howl across the dark, jagged cliffs of Dragonstone, but you barely feel the cold. Standing at the edge of the precipice, the sky overhead is filled with swirling clouds, dark and tumultuous. Your eyes, however, are not on the present, not on the sea crashing below or the distant lights flickering from the castle behind you. No, your thoughts are far from this place, far from this time.

You have lived many lives. Far too many.

The weight of it presses down on you now, like an invisible chain that has grown heavier with every passing century. There was a time when you had felt invincible, when the bond between you and your Banshee was something you had reveled in. Immortality was not something you had feared—then, it had felt like freedom. The blood ritual that had sealed your fate had been your choice. You had chosen to bind yourself to your Banshee, chosen the power and the bond that came with it.

But time changes everything. You had no idea, back then, what it truly meant. You couldn’t have.

Your mind drifts to the ancient ruins of Valyria, now long turned to ash, but once an empire of impossible might. You were there when the Freehold ruled the skies, when dragons cast shadows over cities, and sorcerers shaped the world with fire and blood. Your people, the Dragonslayers, had been the last stand, the ones who resisted the dominion of dragons. You remember the battles fought in the sky, the screams of dragons as they fell to your blades and the primal terror they felt at the sound of a Banshee's scream.

But your people are long gone now, consumed by the same fires that once forged them. You watched as the Doom swallowed Valyria, watched as your homeland crumbled under molten rock and fire. You fought, you survived, but the world you knew died that day. And with it, everyone you had once called kin.

Empires rose after that. You saw them all—the Free Cities, the Rhoynar, even the rise of Oldtown and the Reach. You fought in wars, watched as kings claimed thrones and lost them, as cities were built and then turned to rubble. And you never changed. The world around you shifted like the seasons, but you remained. Unaging, unyielding, bound to your Banshee, your soul entwined with hers.

At first, there had been others like you, remnants of your order who had survived the fall of Valyria. You remember them vividly, their faces, their voices, their laughter. You remember the brothers and sisters you had once fought beside, who had shared your bond. But even they could not withstand the toll of immortality. One by one, they had fallen—some to madness, some to the blade, and others to the slow decay of time. And you had been forced to watch it all.

You close your eyes, the weight of centuries pressing in on you. The names of those you loved haunt your thoughts. Faces flicker in your memory, faces of people long dead, faces you cannot forget. It is a terrible thing to love when you cannot die. To watch those you care for grow old, wither, and pass on while you remain. It is a curse as much as it is a blessing, this immortality.

A sigh escapes your lips, and you feel the presence of your Banshee nearby. Her glowing green eyes watch you from the shadows, her dark, leathery wings folded against her massive body. She is a part of you, and you of her. The bond between you runs deeper than blood, deeper than any love you have known. Yet even she cannot ease the pain of loss.

You think of the lovers you have had, the fleeting moments of happiness in an otherwise endless existence. There had been many over the centuries—strong, beautiful souls who had entered your life like flashes of light. But they were always temporary. Mortal. You had loved them fiercely, but they all left you in the end. Not by choice, but by the slow march of time. You remember holding their hands as their eyes dimmed, feeling the coldness creep into their skin as life slipped away. And you, left alone again, unchanged.

Until her.

Your thoughts drift to Rhaenyra. She is different, and yet she is the same. The moment you met her, you felt the familiar pull of love, the warmth that you had thought long gone. You had tried to resist it at first, tried to keep her at arm’s length, knowing the pain that would come. But Rhaenyra—stubborn, fierce, and full of fire—broke down your walls, just as others had before her. Now, you are bound to her, not by blood or ritual, but by something deeper.

But Rhaenyra is mortal. Like all the others. And you know, in your heart, what that means. You know how this will end.

A part of you wants to run, to leave her before the inevitable comes. You know that one day, you will have to watch her wither, to see the light leave her eyes as it has with so many others. You will have to endure the agony of her loss, just as you have with everyone else you’ve loved. The thought of it terrifies you, more than any battle, more than any dragon.

You hear the soft rustle of footsteps behind you, and you turn slowly, already knowing who it is. Rhaenyra stands at the edge of the courtyard, her silver hair catching the faint light of the moon. She looks at you, her eyes searching yours, as if she can sense the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind.

"Y/N," she says softly, her voice gentle, yet filled with concern. "What troubles you?"

You don’t answer immediately, instead letting your eyes trace her face, memorizing every detail—the curve of her lips, the strength in her gaze. You wonder how long you will have with her before time claims her as it has claimed so many others. How long before you are left standing alone once again, the cold shadow of immortality your only companion.

Rhaenyra steps closer, her hand reaching out to rest on your arm, her touch warm and grounding. "You’ve been distant," she whispers, her brow furrowing slightly. "Please, talk to me."

For a moment, you are tempted to pull away, to retreat back into the safety of solitude. But her eyes hold you, her presence a balm against the ache in your heart. You sigh, your voice low and rough when you finally speak.

"Do you ever fear time, Rhaenyra?" you ask, your gaze distant. "Do you ever fear the years slipping away, taking everything and everyone you love with them?"

Rhaenyra frowns, tilting her head slightly. "Of course I do. Time spares no one. But that is why we must live now, in the present. Why we must cherish what we have, for however long we are given."

You look at her, your heart heavy. "But what if time spares one of us, and not the other? What if I must watch you wither and fade, as I have watched others before you?"

Rhaenyra's hand tightens around your arm, her expression softening with understanding. "You have seen more than any of us can imagine," she says quietly. "But that is not our fate. Our fate is what we make of it, here and now. You have me, Y/N. And I have you. We cannot fear the future, not when we still have each other."

Her words are a comfort, but the ache remains. You close your eyes, leaning into her touch, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of her hand against your skin, the steady beat of her heart. For now, she is here. For now, she is yours.

But in the back of your mind, the shadow of time looms, reminding you of what is to come. Always watching. Always waiting.

And you, immortal and unchanging, will face it again.

The Rogue Prince

The sun hangs low over Dragonstone and the courtyard where you stand, gently tending to the Banshee. Her massive form is hunched, wings folded tight against her body as you move your hands over her dark leathery skin, inspecting every inch. The creature is quiet, save for the soft rumble of her breath, her green eyes glowing faintly as she watches you with an ancient understanding. There's a bond between you, one forged in blood and ritual, something deeper than words or time. A connection that goes beyond mere companionship.

But that connection, that understanding, is not one shared by anyone else. Especially not by those who feel the primal fear that the Banshee's presence invokes. She is a thing of nightmares, a creature bred to strike terror in the hearts of dragons and men alike.

You hear the soft crunch of boots on the stone behind you and know, without turning, who it is. Daemon Targaryen, always light on his feet, his presence unmistakable even when silent. He has an aura about him, a sense of command that fills any space he occupies. Still, you sense a hint of hesitation in his steps as he approaches the Banshee, something unusual for the Rogue Prince.

“You must have lost your nerve, Daemon,” you call over your shoulder, the faintest hint of amusement in your voice. “I never took you for a man who hesitated.”

Daemon’s voice, rich and low, carries a mocking edge as he replies, “I don’t hesitate, Y/N. I’m simply weighing whether or not I want to be torn apart by your little friend here.”

You laugh quietly, running a hand along the Banshee’s side, feeling the strength of her muscles under her skin. “She wouldn’t tear you apart—at least not if I told her not to.”

Daemon steps closer, his eyes fixed on the creature before him. Even for a man who rides Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, there’s a certain respect—or perhaps a deep-seated fear—in the way he regards the Banshee. Caraxes is terrifying, yes, but the Banshee is something different. Something older. Something darker.

“She looks like she crawled out of the Seven Hells,” he mutters, folding his arms as he studies the beast. “Is there any part of her that doesn’t scream death?”

You glance at him over your shoulder, a smirk playing on your lips. “She’s not so bad once you get used to her. A bit like you, I imagine.”

Daemon chuckles, moving even closer. He stops just a few paces away, the distance between him and the Banshee still deliberate. Her green eyes flicker toward him, a low rumble vibrating through her chest, but she doesn’t move. You can sense her wariness, her innate mistrust of anyone but you, but there’s no aggression in her stance. Not yet, at least.

Daemon’s eyes shift from the Banshee to you, his expression turning playful. “Does that thing even have a name? Or do you just call her ‘Beast’?”

You roll your eyes, returning to your task of checking the Banshee’s wings. “She has a name. But you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Wouldn’t I?”

“Not with that Valyrian tongue of yours,” you tease, glancing up at him. “It’s an old name, from my people’s language. Far older than any of your words.”

Daemon watches you for a moment, clearly intrigued. “Humor me. Let me hear it.”

You pause, running your hand along the edge of the Banshee’s massive wing. It’s a name that few have heard, fewer still have spoken aloud. A name passed down from generations of Dragonslayers, from a time when the world was different, when your people stood against the might of Valyria itself. You hesitate, knowing how the sound of it might unsettle even the most fearless of men. But then, Daemon is not most men.

You murmur the name softly, almost under your breath. It rolls off your tongue like a whisper of the wind, ancient and guttural, a sound not meant for human ears.

Daemon’s expression shifts as he hears it, his usual bravado tempered by something quieter, more thoughtful. “I see what you mean,” he says, his voice softer than usual. “I doubt I could manage that without a few drinks.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I told you. But she knows it, and that’s what matters.”

Daemon’s gaze drifts back to the Banshee, the massive creature still watching him with glowing eyes. He inches closer, almost imperceptibly, as if testing his own courage. He reaches a hand out, hovering just shy of the creature’s leathery skin, as if waiting for some signal from you—or perhaps from her—that it’s safe.

“She’s not like a dragon, is she?” he asks quietly, his voice no longer teasing.

You shake your head. “No. She’s older than dragons. The Banshee is a predator, made to hunt them. Her instincts are sharper, more calculating. But she’s loyal, in her way.”

Daemon lowers his hand slightly, his fingers brushing against the edge of the Banshee’s wing. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t move, accepting his touch with a kind of reluctant tolerance. You watch him carefully, knowing that this moment is not just about him facing the creature—it’s about him conquering the fear she inspires. And for a man like Daemon, fear is not something he allows himself often.

“You know,” Daemon says, his tone lighter again, “I’ve always thought dragons were the pinnacle of terror. Now, I’m starting to think there’s something worse.”

You smirk, folding your arms as you lean against the Banshee’s side. “Oh, trust me, Daemon, there are worse things in this world than dragons. Much worse.”

He glances at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Like you?”

You tilt your head, your eyes meeting his. “Perhaps.”

There’s a moment of silence between you, the air thick with unspoken understanding. Daemon is many things—arrogant, reckless, fierce—but he is also perceptive. He knows of your relationship with Rhaenyra, has seen the bond you share, and yet he does not object. Perhaps he respects the connection, perhaps he knows that you and Rhaenyra are tied by something deeper than even he could touch. Or perhaps it is simply that he, like you, understands the burden of being more than what the world expects.

“You’re a hard one to figure out,” Daemon says, stepping back from the Banshee and folding his arms again. “But I suppose that’s why Rhaenyra loves you.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “And you’re not?”

Daemon laughs, the sound rich and genuine, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, I’m an open book, Y/N. But you—you’re something else entirely.”

You shrug, turning back to the Banshee. “Maybe. Or maybe you just haven’t figured out how to read me yet.”

Daemon grins, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “Give me time.”

As he walks away, leaving you alone with your Banshee once more, you can’t help but smile to yourself. Daemon Targaryen may be many things, but fearful is not one of them. And perhaps, in some strange way, he understands you more than anyone else—because like you, he walks the line between power and fear, life and death.

And though the Banshee watches him with her glowing eyes, she too understands.

The Dragon Queen and her Dragonslayer

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was silent, save for the soft crackle of the torches lining the walls. The Iron Throne loomed before the gathered court, its jagged edges a testament to the power it represented. And seated upon it, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen—first of her name, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. She had worn the crown for years now, her reign hard-fought and blood-soaked. The weight of it showed in the lines that etched her once-youthful face, in the silver hair that had begun to streak with gray. But there was a strength in her still, the fierce fire of a Targaryen queen who had battled for her birthright.

Today, however, her thoughts were elsewhere. Far beyond the hall, beyond King’s Landing, beyond even the lands she ruled. They were with a memory—one that had haunted her for years. A memory of you.

The court was in session, lords and ladies arrayed before her, but she barely heard their voices. Her mind was with the last time she saw you, so many years ago now. You had saved her children, stopped the ships of the Free Cities at the Gullet, and then... vanished. You had promised to return, yet the days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, and still, you had not come back. Rhaenyra had waited, even when reason told her that you were lost. And still, somewhere deep inside, she had never stopped waiting. But now, so many years later, even the hope had begun to fade.

Until today.

“Your Grace,” a guard interrupted her thoughts, stepping forward with a slight bow. “There is a visitor at the gates. They claim to be a close friend of the Queen, though they come from distant lands.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed, her gaze sharpening as she regarded the guard. “A close friend? Who?”

“They would not give a name, Your Grace,” the guard replied. “But they were insistent. Said you would know them.”

Rhaenyra’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she felt the familiar pull of hope, a sensation she had long buried beneath the weight of her duties and losses. She composed herself quickly, her voice steady, though her pulse quickened.

“Bring them in,” she commanded, her tone betraying none of the sudden storm inside her.

The court murmured softly, curious at this unexpected arrival, but Rhaenyra paid them no mind. She sat taller on the Iron Throne, her hands gripping the arms of the seat, her breath catching in her chest. Could it be? After all these years?

The great doors swung open, and the guards entered, flanking a figure draped in the travel-worn garb of distant lands. Your steps were measured, slow, as you crossed the hall. The torches flickered as you passed, casting shadows on your face, but Rhaenyra’s eyes never wavered. She knew you. She had never forgotten.

It was you.

You looked exactly as you had the day you left her—unchanged, untouched by time, your features sharp and ageless. Your eyes, those eyes she had known so well, gleamed with the same strength and wisdom that had captivated her so long ago. Your movements were graceful, as they had always been, as if the weight of the world did not cling to you as it did to everyone else.

Rhaenyra’s breath caught in her throat as her world tilted, the very axis of her reality shifting with your presence. Her mind struggled to grasp what her heart already knew—that you had come back. You hadn’t aged a day, while she had grown older, while years of ruling, of loss, had worn her down. And yet, here you were, as if time itself had no claim over you.

You stopped before the Iron Throne, your gaze meeting hers, and for a moment, the years fell away. You bowed your head slightly in respect, but there was a knowing smile on your lips, a look that spoke of secrets shared, of a bond that had never truly been severed.

“Your Grace,” you said, your voice like a familiar song, one Rhaenyra hadn’t realized she had been longing to hear. “It has been a long time.”

Rhaenyra’s fingers tightened around the arms of the throne, her heart racing as she fought to find words. “You...” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, disbelief and something more—something raw and painful—tangling in her throat. “You’ve come back.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” you said softly, your eyes never leaving hers. “I always keep my promises, Rhaenyra.”

At the sound of her name on your lips, something inside her broke. She rose from the Iron Throne, descending the steps slowly, her eyes locked on yours as if afraid that if she looked away, you might vanish again. The courtiers, the guards—none of them mattered. In this moment, it was just you and her, and the years that had stretched between you dissolved like mist.

When she reached you, she hesitated for a brief second before raising a hand to your cheek, her touch tentative, as though testing if you were real. The warmth of your skin, unchanged, made her heart ache with a mixture of relief and pain. She had waited so long.

“You haven’t aged,” she murmured, her voice low and filled with awe. “Not a day. How...?”

“I told you, Rhaenyra,” you replied, gently taking her hand in yours. “The bond with the Banshee—it comes with a price. Time doesn’t touch me the way it does others.”

Her eyes searched yours, filled with emotions too tangled to name. “And yet... you left. You didn’t return.”

“I had to protect your children,” you said softly, regret flickering in your voice. “And then, I couldn’t come back. There were things I needed to see, places I needed to go. I didn’t want to drag you into the curse of my immortality.”

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched as she heard the pain in your words. She had lost so much—friends, lovers, even family. But you... You had been her constant, her anchor in the storm. And now, here you were, offering her a path she had never imagined.

Your fingers gently entwined with hers, your grip steady and warm. “Come with me,” you whispered, your voice filled with the weight of centuries, with the promise of something beyond the world she knew. “I’ve seen worlds beyond this one, Rhaenyra. Places that would take your breath away. Let me show you.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze dropped to where your hands met, and for a long moment, she was silent. She thought of the realm she ruled, the Iron Throne that had been her father’s, her birthright. The crown that weighed so heavily upon her head. But then she thought of the years that stretched ahead—of the loneliness, the losses yet to come. Of the children who had grown, who no longer needed her in the same way.

Slowly, deliberately, Rhaenyra reached up and removed the crown from her head. It felt heavier than it ever had before. Without a word, she dropped it at the base of the Iron Throne, the clatter of metal against stone echoing in the silent hall.

She turned back to you, her lips curving into a smile that was filled with a rare lightness, a freedom she hadn’t felt in years. “I’m ready.”

Without hesitation, you took her hand, your grip firm as you led her away from the throne, away from the court, away from the world that had bound her for so long.

And that was the last time anyone ever saw the Dragonslayer or the Dragon Queen. The court whispered of their disappearance, of how the crown was left behind, a symbol of the queen who chose love and freedom over the weight of a kingdom. Some said they went east, to lands beyond Essos, to realms where dragons and gods walked side by side. Others said they were never seen again because they left this world entirely, into places where neither time nor death held sway.

But in every corner of Westeros, in every whispered legend, one thing remained clear—Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, had found her heart once more. And she had followed it beyond the edge of the world.

#house of the dragon #hotd x female reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x you #rhaenyra x female reader

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jksarchives · 26 days ago

Text

THE SIX STAGES OF A BREAK-UP │06

➪ PAIRING; jungkook x reader

➪ GENRE; lovers to strangers, angst

➪ WC; 13.2k

✎ series masterlist

6. MOVING FORWARD

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

▍3 JANUARY 2022 — [four months before break-up]

It was 8 p.m., and the office was finally quiet. Jungkook sat back in his leather chair, rubbing his temples in an effort to ease the pounding headache that had been creeping in since noon. His eyes, bloodshot from staring at spreadsheets and contracts, drifted to the clock on the wall. He exhaled a heavy sigh — it had been another grueling day.

It had only been a little over a month since he’d taken over his father’s company, and yet every day felt like a battle.

His father had built the business from the ground up, pouring decades of his life into it, but age was catching up. The old man had wanted to rest, to finally enjoy the fruits of his labor, but Jungkook wasn’t ready just yet. He had always known the day would come, but nothing could have prepared him for the sheer magnitude of the role.

He anticipated the moment but it was all too sudden. He even expressed it to his father, that he needed more time to prepare for the future responsibilities, but his father said he was more than ready and that he trusted him.

Although his father now rested, free from the burdens of leadership, Jungkook felt anything but relaxed. The employees, the shareholders, his family — they all looked to him for leadership, for vision. And while he knew he must rise to the challenge, the exhaustion from weeks of non-stop work was starting to take its toll.

Jungkook’s stomach growled softly, reminding him of his hunger. He hadn’t eaten since a hasty breakfast that morning, too consumed by meetings, calls, and the endless sea of decisions he had to make. He ran a hand through his tousled hair as he sighed deeply, his body and mind exhausted.

Gathering the scattered papers into a semblance of order, he stood up and stretched his stiff body. He then shrugged into his tailored suit jacket that hung behind his chair and grabbed his briefcase. The once-pristine office, which now felt like a second home, was darkened except for the soft glow of his desk lamp. He lazily flipped it off and plunged the room into darkness.

Walking through the empty corridors, he passed the row of cubicles that would be full the next morning. But for now, the place felt like a ghost town, echoing only the sound of his footsteps on the polished floor. He moved quickly, eager to go home and bury himself in your embrace.

The underground parking lot greeted him with its cool, dim air. There, in his reserved spot, sat the gleaming Hyundai car — the latest model, fresh off the production line one. It was a gift from his father, presented on the day he’d officially handed over the reins of the company. A subtle reminder of the legacy he was expected to uphold.

He unlocked the car with a touch, and the sleek doors opened silently. With a tired grunt, he tossed his briefcase into the empty passenger seat.

He was about to circle around to the driver’s side when his phone began to ring, its insistent vibration coming from his pocket. Pausing, he fished for it, fingers fumbling for a moment before pulling it free.

The screen glowed with a picture of him as a child, smiling widely, while his father held him upside down. Jungkook groaned inwardly, contemplating ignoring the call. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, and he knew what his father wanted would likely add to his already full plate. But he couldn’t ignore it.

Sliding his thumb across the screen, he answered, pressing the phone to his ear as he walked toward the driver’s side door.

“Hey dad,” he said, trying to sound more energetic than he felt.

“Jungkook, son, did you just finish work?” he asked, his voice booming through the phone.

“Yeah, I have, why?” he asked back, pulling the door open and slipping into the driver's seat.

“I want you to come over for dinner tonight. There’s someone me and your mother want you to meet” he said, more like a command.

Jungkook grimaced, leaning his head back against the leather seat. His body ached for rest, and his thoughts immediately jumped to you, who was probably at home waiting for him. You both planned to spend the evening together, something he rarely got to do with you with his hectic schedule.

“Dad,” Jungkook started, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s been a long day. I’m exhausted, and Y/n is waiting for me at home. Can we please do this another night?” he requested.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, a pause that Jungkook recognised all too well. It was the silence before the storm, the moment his father weighed the pros and cons before insisting on getting his way.

“Jungkook,” his father said, his voice firm but not unkind.

“This is important, and your mother and I need you to be here” he told him. Jungkook closed his eyes and leaned his body forward, resting his head against the steering wheel for a moment.

He loved his father, respected him more than anyone, but the man had a way of disregarding boundaries, especially when it came to family matters. There was no room for negotiation when his father had his mind set on something. And if it was a family dinner, Jungkook knew there was no escaping it.

“I just…” Jungkook began, but he knew it was futile. His father wasn’t asking; he was telling him.

“Who is it that I’m supposed to meet?” he asked, his tone resigned.

“You’ll see when you get here. Now, don’t keep us waiting, we’re all here” his father replied cryptically.

Jungkook groaned softly, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t have the energy for this tonight, not after the day he’d had, but refusing his father was never really an option. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he thought about how to tell you about all this. You had been looking forward to a quiet night, just the two of you.

“Alright, I’ll be there,” Jungkook said, his voice heavy with reluctance.

“Good man. See you soon” his father said with a satisfied tone.

When the line went dead, Jungkook growled in frustration as he ran his fingers through his hair. Instead of starting the car, he dialed your number, and it rang twice before you picked up.

“Hey, babe,” your soft voice came through the line, a contrast to the blunt conversation he just had with his father. Your voice was the sound he’d been looking forward to hearing all day.

“Hi baby” he greeted, trying to match your tone.

“Listen,” he sighed.

“Dad just called, and he wants me to come over for dinner. There’s someone who he wants me to meet apparently” he said guiltily.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. He knew you were processing the disappointment. You had been looking forward to having him home, just as much as he had.

“Jungkook, you’ve been at the office all day. Can’t you just tell him no, just this once?” your voice was a little firmer now.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I tried. You know how he is. He insisted” he said.

You exhaled sharply, and Jungkook could picture you standing in the kitchen, staring out the window with that look of quiet frustration you often got when it came to his family.

“I’m sorry babe. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll try not to be long” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper.

You were silent for a moment before responding, your tone softer now.

“I get it Kook. I just miss you, that’s all. But go. Do what you need to do. I’ll see you when you get home” you said.

“Thank you,” he said, relieved but still feeling the weight of your disappointment.

“I love you, okay?” he then told you.

“I love you too,” you replied before the line went dead.

Jungkook sat in the empty car park for a long minute, staring at his phone. Then, he simply sighed and tossed his phone on the side of the empty passenger seat.

Soon he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. His father’s house wasn’t far, but each passing mile felt like a weight pressing down on him, pulling him further from the rest and peace he craved.

Who would’ve known the night was the starting point of the change in the trajectory of his life?

┄┄┄┄┄

When Jungkook finally pulled up to the large, stately house he grew up in, he hesitated for a moment. He had a spare key, one his parents insisted he keep even after moving out years ago, but the idea of using it felt strange tonight. He was too tired for surprises. Still, he took a deep breath and stepped out of the car.

The house was warm and inviting, just as it always had been. Without knocking, he slipped the key into the lock and let himself in, immediately hearing the sound of laughter coming from the dining room.

Jungkook frowned. It wasn’t just his parents — there were others there too. He could hear multiple voices, the clinking of plates and glasses, the unmistakable murmuring of conversation. His exhaustion deepened. All he wanted was to grab a quick bite and head home, not engage in pleasantries with strangers.

As he entered the dining room, he froze in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. His father sat at the head of the table, his mother next to him, both looking at ease and cheerful. But it was the three other figures at the table that made him pause. His eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of the situation.

The three guests turned their heads toward him, and in that instant, recognition flooded through him like a shockwave. The woman sitting closest to his father — her long dark hair, the familiar way she smiled — was Aera, with her parents.

His childhood friend. Aera, who he hadn’t seen in over a decade, since she had moved to London to study when they were just teenagers. And somehow she happened to settle there instead of coming back to Korea.

For a moment, Jungkook was silently frozen. The last time he had seen Aera was at a hurried farewell party. Though they were that close, only knowing each other through their fathers’ close friendship, the two of them promised to stay in touch. But deep down they know that their lives were headed in different directions.

Now, here she was, sitting at his parents’ dinner table, looking not much different from the girl he remembered, yet somehow more grown, more composed.

“Aera?” he finally managed to say as he walked further into the room.

Aera smiled warmly, standing up from her seat. “Jungkook!” she said, her voice cheerful and familiar, as if no time had passed at all.

“It’s been a long time, oh my god” she jumped up from her seat and pulled him into a crushing hug.

Jungkook blinked, his mind racing to catch up with the moment. But he hugged her back. The exhaustion that had weighed him down just minutes ago seemed to vanish, replaced by a strange mix of surprise and curiosity.

Why was Aera here, of all places? Why now, after all these years?

His father cleared his throat, standing up as well. “I thought it was time for a reunion” he said, a sly smile on his face.

Everything then onwards seemed to be a blur.

Jungkook knew the dinner wasn’t just a simple get-together. It was something more deliberate, something he could feel from the way his father’s comments circled subtly around the idea of him and Aera.

The conversation kept drifting back to Aera, as if the evening was meant to highlight her every accomplishment. His father spoke of her warmth, her intelligence, her success — traits Jungkook was all too aware his father admired.

And more than once, there was the faintest suggestion, not quite spoken aloud, but there nonetheless, that Jungkook and Aera were somehow meant to be. Completely disregarding you.

Jungkook would shoot his father a sidelong glance, but said nothing, biting back the urge to call out the subtle manipulation. He had always been close with his father, but this was crossing a line. The idea that his father might be trying to steer him towards Aera, despite knowing about his relationship with you, made him uneasy.

Jungkook’s father had always shown respect towards you even though it was clear that he would have preferred someone with more connections or influence.

Jungkook couldn’t help but feel irritated by it. His father knew how serious you both were, and he had always stayed out of his romantic life. That was one area Jungkook had always controlled, and his father had respected that boundary.

Until now, apparently.

━━━━━━━━━━

▌5 MARCH 2022 — [two months before break-up]

Jungkook stood frozen in front of his parents, his chest heaving as he tried to process the words that had just been spoken. His father's voice echoed in his head, replaying over and over again like a cruel joke he couldn't escape. Disbelief mingled with anger, knotting his stomach into tight coils.

His father sat across from him, arms crossed with a hardened expression, his jaw set in determination. There was no softness in his father's eyes, no understanding of the emotional storm he had just unleashed. It was as if his father had made up his mind, convinced that what he was asking — no, demanding — was the right course for his son.

“You’ll marry Aera and it’s final. It’s what’s best for the family, and our company” he declared, his voice firm, unwavering, as if it were the most reasonable decision in the world.

“Best for the family? The company?” Jungkook was seething with rage, “what about what’s best for me?” he raised his voice as he jabbed his index finger to his chest.

The years of respect he had for his son’s boundaries when it came to his love life and the respect he had for you went completely down the drain. Discarded and forgotten.

“And what about Y/n, huh?” he spat, his voice trembling with both rage.

“I’ve been with her for ten years, dad! Ten goddamn years! How could you and Mr Kim even think of something like this? How could you expect me to break my ten years worth of love with her so easily?” he raged.

For the ten years Jungkook’s parents had known you for, you both spent holidays together, shared dinners, and talked about the future like any normal couple.

His father had never been overly affectionate towards you, but he had always treated you with respect — like he respected Jungkook’s decision to be with you. Jungkook had always appreciated that, thinking his father might have had his doubts but, at least, he accepted your relationship.

Now, standing in the living room, the place where so many warm memories had been made, Jungkook felt like a stranger. His father had just shattered the illusion of acceptance. He couldn’t understand why now, after a decade of silence, his father was suddenly pushing him toward Aera, of all people.

Jungkook barely remembered beyond the fuzzy memories of childhood birthday parties and awkward adolescent gatherings. She moved out of the country over ten years ago and never remained in contact with him. Until now.

He then turned his gaze to his mother, hoping — praying — that she would say something, that she would step in and stop this madness. But she stood there, silent and passive, her eyes downcast, refusing to meet his gaze. His heart sank as he realized she wouldn’t fight for him, wouldn’t stand up to his father on his behalf.

“Mom,” Jungook’s voice cracked, pleading, as he took a step toward her, his hands shaking with desperation.

“Say something. Please” he begged.

But she didn’t. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to speak, but no words came. Her silence felt like a betrayal, a quiet acceptance of his father’s will.

Jungkook was expected to marry Aera, not out of love, but out of duty. Duty to the family. Duty to the company. Duty to some archaic notion of loyalty between two families that meant nothing to Jungkook.

But what about his duty to himself? To you? To the woman he loved more than anything in this world? How could they expect him to throw away a decade of love and commitment, to break your heart just because his father wanted an alliance with an old friend?

“Why now?” he then questioned, frowning. It was a question he couldn’t hold back from asking.

“Why wait all these years?” he asked. His father remained composed, though there was a tension in his shoulders that Jungkook had rarely seen before.

“I know you love Y/n. But Aera…Aera is family. Her father and I have always had a bond, and when she came back to Korea, it felt like an opportunity. She’s a good girl, Jungkook. She’s everything we’ve wanted for you — someone with your values, someone who understands where you come from” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Jungkook’s blood boiled. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Someone with your values, dad, not mine!” his voice rose, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“This isn’t about me. This is about you and what you want, not about what I want, or what I’ve already built with Y/n” he said.

His father exhaled sharply, his calm facade cracking slightly.

“Jungkook, listen to me, I’m saying that maybe this is a sign-” he tried to explain but was cut off.

“A sign of what?” Jungkook shot back, incredulous.

“A sign that you can try and control my life after a decade of staying out of it? A sign that you’re willing to throw away everything I’ve worked for because you think Aera is more suitable for me on paper?” he gritted his teeth.

The room felt suffocating. His mother, still silent, shifted slightly in her seat, her hands wringing together as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Jungkook wished she would speak up, say something to stop this madness, but deep down, he knew she wouldn’t.

“No,” Jungkook said, his voice firm, though it trembled with emotion.

“I’m not doing this. I love Y/n, and I’m not going to betray her just because you think it’s ‘what’s best for the family.’ This isn’t the middle ages, dad. I’m not some pawn in your game” he said.

Jungkook’s father’s face darkened, his brows knitting together as his jaw tightened even further. “You don’t understand — this is bigger than you” he told him.

“I don’t care!” Jungkook exploded, his voice rising, filled with a fury that shook the room.

“I’m not going to throw away my life, my happiness, for your old friendships or your ideas of what’s right. Y/n is my future, not Aera” he confirmed.

And having said that, he abruptly stood up and grabbed his car keys from the table before storming out of the house.

┄┄┄┄┄

The next day, Jungkook sat at his desk as he flipped through the pages of the latest quarterly report.

Suddenly, the door creaked open without a knock. Jungkook’s eyes darted up, narrowing when he saw who stood there.

Mr Kim, his father’s best friend, strolled in with a broad smile that barely masked the tension behind it. Walking closely beside him was a woman Jungkook recognised as Mr Kim’s assistant, holding a tablet in her hand, her posture stiff and professional.

“Jungkook, my boy,” Mr Kim greeted, his voice warm, almost too friendly.

Jungkook, still seated, forced his lips into a tight smile. His fingers clenched the report a little too firmly before he set it down on the desk.

“Mr Kim,” he said, his voice composed but cold beneath the surface.

“What a surprise”

Mr Kim took no time in making himself comfortable, lowering himself into one of the plush leather chairs opposite Jungkook’s desk. Jungkook’s fake smile remained frozen, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him. He didn't want to play host today, not to this man.

Mr Kim leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other casually as though he owned the place. “You know, Jungkook, we haven’t talked properly at dinner at your parents’ house. After everything with your father, I thought I should come by and—”

Jungkook cut him off before he could finish, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “What brings you here, Mr Kim?” he asked, his tone polite but edged with impatience.

He tried to sound as nice as possible, but his attempt at warmth felt hollow even to his own ears. He knew why Mr Kim was here, but he wanted to hear it straight from him.

Mr Kim’s smile faltered for a brief second, the casual pleasantries abandoned. His eyes darkened slightly as he shifted forward, elbows resting on the armrests, fingers tapping together in a steeple.

“I heard,” he began slowly, his voice now lacking the jovial tone from earlier, “that you rejected to marry my daughter”.

The room seemed to grow cold, and his assistant glanced nervously at her tablet, as if searching to occupy herself with. Mr Kim’s smile had disappeared entirely now, replaced by a hard, unreadable expression.

“You know,” his tone now low and almost threatening, “this decision of yours... it’s not something I’m happy about. Not at all” he said.

Jungkook met his gaze, refusing to back down. He knew this wouldn’t go over well, but he had made his choice long ago. He wasn’t about to be bullied into marrying someone he didn’t love, not even for the sake of the company.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Jungkook said, though his tone lacked any real sympathy. “But my answer is final”.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair as his fingers instinctively tapped the armrest, carefully choosing his next words. “I didn’t think it was the right decision — for either of us”.

Mr Kim’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes darkened with anger. “Not the right decision?” he repeated, his tone growing harder.

“Your father and I had plans, Jungkook. We always wanted this for our families. You and Aera…it was supposed to be the perfect union. Secure the future of both of our legacies” he tried to explain.

Jungkook’s stomach twisted in irritation. This was exactly why he had never been fond of his father’s friend. Everything with him was business, a transaction. Even marriage.

He could still remember his father’s long talks about alliances and the importance of keeping the company strong, of doing whatever it took to protect their name. But Jungkook had never wanted his life mapped out by others, especially not when it involved marrying someone he didn’t love, just for the sake of a merger.

“I understand that’s what you and my father wanted,” Jungkook said carefully, forcing himself to stay calm, “but I have to make my own choices now. I’m not going to marry your daughter just because it suits the company”.

Jungkook let out a frustrated sigh before continuing, “and besides, I have a girlfriend of ten years. And I don’t plan to marry anyone else but her. I hope you and my father could at least respect that” he told him.

The corner of Mr Kim’s lips twitched as he tried to contain his fury. “I see,” he muttered as he leaned back against the chair.

“You’re just like your father in some ways, but in others…you’re completely different” he said.

Jungkook said nothing. His face was masked with professionalism, but deep down, a part of him bristled at the comparison. He was not his father, and he never would be.

Mr Kim rose from his seat slowly, his assistant stepping forward to escort him out. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a warning. “This decision…it’s going to have consequences” he voiced out.

Jungkook’s face remained stoic, though his heart picked up its pace as the old man’s words. Was he threatening him?

“I’m prepared for them” he replied with a nod nevertheless. He knew there would be repercussions for defying Mr Kim, but he wasn’t about to back down.

Mr Kim raised his brow and a sly smirk curled at the corner of his mouth, while his eyes glinted with something dangerous.

“Really? Anything” he asked with his mocking tone. He paused for a moment, letting the word linger as if savoring it.

“Because I don’t think you fully understand what ‘anything’ entails” he said. Jungkook’s stomach tightened, but he remained silent, waiting for the inevitable threat.

“You see, Jungkook,” Mr Kim continued, his voice almost a whisper now as he sat back down on the chair.

“I have the power to ruin this company — your father’s legacy — and more than that…” he leaned forward, his eyes locking with Jungkook’s, the malice in his voice unmistakable.

“I can destroy your little girlfriend and her parents, too. They wouldn't survive the fallout if I decided to take action” he threatened.

“It would be such a shame, wouldn’t it? Watching them suffer” he played with his words.

Jungkook’s heart dropped into his stomach, and he felt his breath get stuck in his throat. Mr Kim had gone straight for the jugular. His eyes widened slightly, and despite himself, he felt panic rising in his chest.

His father’s company was one thing, and he could care less about it, but to drag the woman he loved — and your family — into this? That was a new low, even for someone like Mr Kim.

Mr Kim noticed Jungkook’s reaction, his smirk growing wider. “Oh, I see that it struck a nerve,” he said as his voice dripped with satisfaction.

“Yes, Jungkook. I know all about your little girlfriend. And her family. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to them, would you?” he tilted his head slightly.

Jungkook’s chest heaved with fury, and his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. The thought of him dragging the people he cared about into this made his blood boil. He glared at Mr Kim, and his breathing grew heavier with each passing second.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, his voice low and filled with venom.

Mr Kim’s smirk never wavered. If anything, it deepened as he watched Jungkook struggle to contain his rage. He had gotten under his skin, and he enjoyed every second of it. He leaned back in his chair, looking as if he had already won.

“Think about it, Jungkook,” he said, “you don’t want to make this harder than it needs to be” he suggested mockingly.

Jungkook’s fists slammed down on the desk with a loud thud, and the force of it shook the papers scattered around him. He stood abruptly and leaned over the desk, looming over the old man with fury blazing in his eyes.

“I said,” he growled through gritted teeth, “don’t you dare” he repeated.

Mr Kim leaned in to narrow the distance, his eyes never leaving the younger’s. “Then I suggest you reconsider the marriage if you want to keep them safe. Break up with your girlfriend, marry my daughter, and we can all avoid any...unpleasantness” he said.

Jungkook’s entire body was taut with tension. His chest heaved with the effort to control himself, but it was no use. He slammed his fists down on the desk one again, but there were no words coming out of him.

Mr Kim then stood slowly, brushing off his suit as though the conversation had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

“I’ll give you some time to think about it,” he said with a smug smile. “But don’t take too long. The clock is ticking” he said, mimicking the sound of a clock.

And with that, he turned and strolled out of the office, his assistant following silently behind. When the door clicked shut, Jungkook was left standing there, breathing hard, fists still clenched. His mind raced as he struggled to calm the storm of rage and fear boiling inside him.

For the first time in years, Jungkook felt powerless — and that scared him more than anything. He didn’t want to lose you. But at the same time, he couldn’t let anything happen to you or your family.

━━━━━━━━━━

▌31 MAY 2022 — [day of break-up]

Jungkook sat alone in his office, staring blankly at the paperwork piled on his desk, the ticking clock on the wall the only sound in the room. Over a month had passed since Mr Kim had walked in through that very door and flipped his world upside down.

Jungkook had tried to remain composed, but his mind had raced with questions. What kind of power did Mr Kim have? How could a man like him hold such leverage over people’s lives?

Jungkook hadn’t known, but the look in that old man’s eyes told him that he wasn’t bluffing. There was a malice behind his words, a promise that he could and would follow through on his threats if Jake didn’t comply.

Jungkook was terrified, and he had spent sleepless nights trying to figure out what to do. He tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy in the days following Mr Kim’s threat, but his efforts were in vain. He had grown distant, pulling away from you, retreating into himself.

He knew you noticed — of course, you had. You were too attuned to him not to see the change, the way he had stopped holding you as tightly at night, how his once carefree laughter had become forced and hollow.

Every time you tried to talk to him about the turmoil he was going through, he could do nothing but lie to your face.

The worst part was knowing that if he told you the truth, you wouldn’t back down. You would fight. You weren’t someone who ran from a challenge; you were strong, fierce when it came to protecting the people you loved.

Jungkook knew that if you found out what Mr Kim had threatened, you would confront him without hesitation, and that scared Jungkook more than anything. Because it would only make things worse.

Mr Kim wasn’t the kind of man you could outsmart or intimidate. Jungkook didn’t doubt that if you stood up to him, he would follow through on his threat, and your family would pay the price.

So, Jungkook said nothing. He kept his distance, convincing himself it was for your sake, for the sake of your parents, who had always treated him like a son.

But the silence was suffocating him. Every time he looked at you, his heart broke a little more. You didn’t deserve this. You deserved the truth, but Jungkook couldn’t give it to you, no matter how much it killed him to withhold it.

He had to keep you and your family safe. Even if it meant sacrificing the decade of love and memories you both created.

He had cried in silence more than once, tears of frustration and helplessness spilling out when he was alone. He would hide in the bathroom or stay late at work, waiting until the office was empty so no one could hear him. In those moments, he felt like he was coming apart at the seams, torn between his love for you and the fear that, if he stayed with you, he would be the reason your family was destroyed.

Jungkook didn’t know how to break up with you.

How do you destroy ten years of love, of memories, with a few words? How do you look someone in the eyes and tell them that everything you had together has to end, even when it’s the last thing you want?

He had rehearsed it in his mind a hundred times, but every time he imagined saying the words, they caught in his throat, too painful to speak aloud.

You deserved better than this shadow of a man he had become, a man trapped by fear and threats. But Jungkook didn’t know how to let you go without shattering both of your hearts in the process. The weight of it all — the lies, the distance, the inevitable heartbreak — was crushing him.

All he knew was that, sooner or later, he would have to make a choice. Either he would find the courage to tell you the truth and risk the consequences, or he would have to sever the bond between you, leaving behind the only person who had ever made him feel truly whole. And in either case, he feared that he would never be the same again.

His movements were slowly and sluggish as he picked himself up. Without tidying his desk, he simply turned off the desk lamp and grabbed his phone and briefcase before heading out of the office building.

As he drove home, his hands shook, and his heart raced as he prepared for what he had to say. He knew you, who trusted him so deeply, wouldn’t understand. You’d demand answers, try to fix whatever was wrong, but he had to stay strong. He couldn’t let you see the truth behind his decision.

Jungkook chose a brutal path that night. He fabricated lies, told you that he had fallen out of love with a woman he didn’t specify. And as expected, you were stunned and heartbroken. You tried to reason with him, to find some explanation for his sudden change. But Jungkook pushed you harder, saying things he didn’t mean.

“How can you just fall out of love Jungkook? We’ve been together for ten fucking years!” you spoke through your sobs. Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot, nose red and cheeks damp from the continuous tears.

‘I’m sorry baby, I didn't want any of this to happen’ he badly wanted to say. But he couldn’t.

Jungkook wanted to cry. He had wanted to scream, to take it all back and tell you the truth. He wanted to hold you, wipe away your tears, and tell you he loved you more than anything in the world. But he couldn’t.

Moving out of the house you both shared only plunged him deeper into hell.

In the days that followed, Jungkook found himself drowning in pain of heartbreak. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you — your smile, your touch, the way you used to make him feel whole.

But then it would quickly switch to your hysterically crying form, where he couldn’t comfort you for the first time. And it tore him.

The silence of his new apartment was unbearable, a constant reminder of what he had lost. His heart ached with a deep longing for your presence and your warmth. The nights were the worst. Without you beside him, and without your comforting embrace, sleep became impossible. The bed felt cold and foreign without you in it.

He missed everything about you. He missed the little things — the way you absentmindedly played with your hair when you were thinking, the sound of your voice when you called his name, the scent of your skin when you rested against him.

He had given all of that up to protect you, but in doing so, he had broken his own heart beyond repair.

He often found himself staring at his phone, wanting to call you, to tell you the truth, to explain why he had done what he did. But he knew he couldn’t. If he reached out, if he tried to bring you back into his life, Me Kim’s threats would become reality. You would suffer because of his selfishness, and that was something he could never allow.

Jungkook was trapped in a prison of his own making — one where the love of his life was just out of reach, and he was powerless to change it. Every day felt like a new kind of torture, and the more time passed, the more he wondered if he would ever be able to move on, or if he had doomed himself to a life of loneliness and regret.

┄┄┄┄┄

One thing Jungkook knew after everything that had happened was that his relationship with his parents was never the same.

He stopped visiting home, stopped answering their calls, and distanced himself from their world. He had been straying away from his family’s expectations for years, but this was the final break. Now, the only time he interacted with them was when public appearances made it unavoidable — dinners with influential families, charity events, or any occasion that required the “perfect family” facade.

As far as they were concerned, this was the life he was supposed to lead — marry the right woman, cement the right alliances, and protect the family’s legacy. Jungkook knew that in their eyes, his feelings didn’t matter. He was just a piece in a much larger game.

Anything and everything he did after the break-up was against his will, like the Instagram post of him and Aera posing her hands to announce their engagement.

Aera, meanwhile, was oblivious to the entire situation. She was sweet, and had always had a crush on Jungkook when they were young, but he never saw her that way. Mr Kim had made sure his daughter knew nothing about the threats or the manipulation. To Aera, it seemed like fate that Jungkook had suddenly developed feelings for her.

But Jungkook felt sick every time he had to pretend to care, to smile when she called or laugh at her jokes. But he had no choice. Her father was always watching, always making sure Jungkook played his part.

In public, Jungkook acted like the perfect partner, attending events with Aera, taking her out for dinners, and holding her hand when people were around. But behind closed doors, he was consumed with guilt and despair. Every time Aera smiled at him, it was like a reminder of the life he had thrown away, the love he had shattered to protect the woman he truly cared about. You.

He knew you were watching — the news, the wedding, everything — and he knew for a fact that it only added salt to your wounds. Knowing you for years, he knew you were probably locked away in your house crying your eyes and heart out. The thought of it all was killing him. He longed to run back and tell you the truth, to somehow find a way to stop Mr Kim, but he couldn’t.

It was all over. And he was helpless.

But the least he knew was that you and your family were going to be safe.

━━━━━━━━━━

▌PRESENT

Aera stood frozen with mouth hung open in shock, eyes wide and brimming with tears that threatened to spill over. Jungkook stared at her with emotions she couldn’t clearly read, but pain was one of the apparent.

“I never wanted this, Aera!” he yelled, his hands flailing in frustration. “Do you understand that? I never wanted to marry you!” his face flushed with anger, his voice raw and filled with venom.

“I was forced, Aera,” Jungkook continued.

“Your father threatened me. He threatened my girlfriend, threatened her family. He said he’d ruin their lives if I didn’t marry you” his voice then slowly started to break with the weight of the secret he had carried for so long.

“Ten years, Aera! Ten years of my life wasted! He ruined everything. I had to give up the woman I loved, destroy the relationship I had built, all to keep your father’s threats at bay!” Jungkook’s voice rose again, louder, more desperate.

Aera’s heart cracked at the sound of his anguish. She wanted to reach out to him, to hold him, but her body remained rooted to the spot, helpless and ashamed.

It was in this moment that everything clicked into place, the final piece of the puzzle snapping together with sickening clarity. The memory of a few hours ago rushed back, hitting her like a freight train. The look on Jungkook’s face when you collapsed, the panic and worry that had gripped him — it all made sense now.

He still loved you.

Jungkook was shaken to his core when you fainted in his arms. Aera saw it in his eyes but hadn't understood the depth of it at the time. He had stood there frozen, as if seeing a ghost from the past he had tried so hard to bury. Aera was confused, jealous even, but she didn’t press him on it.

Aera knew about it not too long ago, but she only knew you as a girlfriend Jungkook broke up with a long time ago. But now, it was clear — his concern wasn’t just for an ex-girlfriend he broke up with. It was for the woman he had once loved — still loved — the woman he had been forced to abandon.

Tears streamed down her face, but she barely noticed. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, her mind racing to catch up with everything Jake had revealed. “Jungkook,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t…I never-” she still tried to find her voice, and Jungkook’s bitter laugh cut her off.

“Of course you didn’t know. Your father made sure of that. He manipulated everything, every part of our lives, so you would never suspect a thing. I was trapped. I had no choice” he told her. The pain in his voice was raw, and Aera’s tears fell harder.

Jungkook turned away from her as he ran his finger through his already tousled hair, his eyes rapidly blinking as if he’s trying to control his tears.

“I didn’t want this to happen, but fuck! I didn’t want anything to happen to her or her family either” his voice trembled.

All these years, she had been completely in the dark, living in a carefully constructed lie. Her father. He had done this. He had used her as a pawn in his twisted game, manipulating Jungkook, ruining lives, all to maintain control. Aera’s body shook as the truth unraveled before her, too much to bear all at once.

Jungkook then whipped back around to face her, still yelling and pouring out his rage.

“Do you know what it feels like to look at you every day and be reminded of everything I lost? I’ve tried. I’ve tried so hard to make this work, to forget what he did, but I can’t! I can’t forgive him for taking away my choice. I can’t forgive you for being part of it, whether you knew it or not” he ranted.

Aera wanted to scream, to tell him she had no idea, and that she was as much a victim as he was. But the words stuck in her throat, choked by the overwhelming pain and confusion. Her hands came up to her face, covering her mouth, as if that could somehow contain the sobs that were building inside her. She loved Jungkook, she believed that their marriage, despite its challenges, had been real.

But it wasn’t real. It had never been real. Everything she thought they had shared was based on a lie, a lie orchestrated by her father’s greed and control. And Jungkook…he hated her for it. All this time, he had hated her.

The tears flowed freely now, unstoppable, and Aera’s knees finally buckled as she crumbled to the floor. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to find some semblance of comfort, but there was none. There was nothing left.

Jungkook’s voice softened as he looked down at her, his anger spent, replaced by exhaustion and sorrow. “I never wanted to hurt you, Aera. I never wanted any of this. But I can’t keep pretending. Not after today” he said.

Aera’s mind flashed back to the image of you, unconscious on the floor of the office, the blood staining your face. How long had Jungkook carried this guilt? How much had he sacrificed, all because of her father’s demands?

She wanted to ask him what would happen now, but the words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t even think about tomorrow, about what this meant for their future. All she could feel was the immense weight of betrayal pressing down on her, suffocating her, breaking her apart piece by piece.

Jungkook knew that finally telling Aera the truth wouldn’t make a difference to anything. Because he knew he lost everything the moment her father threatened you and your family in ways he still hadn’t figured out.

He knew that confronting Aera about her father wouldn’t change the fact that the ten years he had spent with you was now destroyed. He lost you when the first tear fell from your eyes, and he knew it especially when he fed you lies to make you hate him.

It was all over, and there was no going back. He lost you forever.

┄┄┄┄┄

ONE WEEK LATER

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

“I’M PREGNANT!” was the first thing your best friend screamed as the door to the bathroom slammed open.

You jerked in surprise, and the book you’ve been reading while laying down on your bed slipped from your hands and fell on your face. You groaned as you pushed the book aside, knowing you probably lost the page you were on.

You glanced over at Minhee, blinking slowly. You weren’t exactly surprised by the news. Minhee and her boyfriend were sexually active, and you only knew this because she somehow had to tell you every detail of her life and relationship.

“So...you’re pregnant,” you said flatly, raising an eyebrow. You sat up and folded your arms across your chest, offering your friend a half-smile.

“Should I act shocked?” you asked.

Minhee gaped at you, walking over and holding the test in front of you as if it were a rare artifact. “Yes! You should be shocked! I wasn’t expecting this!” she yelled.

But you were.

Minhee’s hands were shaking slightly as she looked at the pregnancy test. Her face portrayed conflicting emotions — mostly anxiety and disbelief. But there was a little bit of joy too.

This wasn't exactly part of Minhee’s grand plan for her twenties.

You knew your best friend had always been someone who valued freedom above all else — spontaneous road trips, parties, endless nights out dancing. She always said she wanted to enjoy her twenties, traveling, exploring, making memories with the people she loved, not tied down by anything or anyone. At least not yet. A baby had never been part of that plan. Not now.

“Hmm” you hummed.

“I’m happy for you though, you know?” you said sincerely, your face softening you sat up.

“I mean, you’ve got this, right?” you leaned forward and rested your elbows on your knees.

You were genuinely happy for her, despite everything. Even if Minhee wasn't exactly ready for a baby, you knew her well enough to believe that she had figured it out. She was in a good place mentally and financially, and with her boyfriend by her side, you knew nothing could go wrong. Minhee was resilient, after all. If anyone could take on the unexpected, it was her.

Minhee’s eyes danced as she sat down on your bed. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’m terrified. But...I think I’m happy too? It’s just…this crazy” she glanced at the test in her hand, her smile wavering slightly, as though the gravity of it all was beginning to sink in.

“Me and Sangmin were going to go to Greece next summer” she trailed off with a sigh. You understood how she was feeling, a baby was a big responsibility, and mentally preparing yourself given the suddenness wasn’t easy.

“Well, I guess Greece will have to wait. But I think you'll be an amazing mom” you reassured her as you pulled her into a hug.

“And hey, you’re not alone in this, okay?” you remind her.

Minhee clung to you, still feeling a little overwhelmed but grateful for the comfort she needed, especially by you. “Thank you” she murmured into your shoulder.

The room fell silent for a moment as you two hugged, but you soon broke it with a soft giggle. You gently grabbed her shoulders and pulled, a childish smile dancing on your lips.

“Wow, can’t wait for my little niece or nephew to join the chaos” you joked as you reached down to place your hand gently on her lower abdomen.

Minhee chucked at your comment and placed her hand over yours, feeling herself less tense than she was before. “Me too” she quietly responded, “mommy is still going to be a wild one either way” she added, earning a loud laugh from you.

“That’s one thing about you that’s never going to change”

Minhee glanced at the pregnancy test still in her hand. Life was about to change — for her and the people she knew. But for now, she just wanted to enjoy this strange, unexpected turn of events, knowing that whatever happened next, she would face it together with the people she loved. You, Sangmin and Mingyu.

┄┄┄┄┄

Later that day, you tagged along with Minhee and went over to Mingyu’s house to hang out, also with the intention of breaking the news to him. Both of you had the same scenario played out in your minds about how he was going to react.

And well…

“Does this mean I can finally teach someone my skills in scamming the system?”

“What the fuck? No! You’re not teaching my child shit” Minhee deadpanned, horrified at his suggestion.

“Ugh, what’s the point then? They need to know how to fuck over the system before the system fucks them” Mingyu rolled his eyes, folding his arms and leaning back against the couch.

“You’re not turning my child into a criminal Gyu” she glared.

“Whatever, but I’m going to be the godfather though, right?” his eyes then lit up as he leaned forward.

“Unfortunately” Minhee sighed.

“Hey what’s that supposed to mean?” he frowned.

You placed your now empty cup of hot chocolate on the coffee table and turned to your male friend. “And I’m the godmother” you barged into the conversation, diverting the attention to the main topic.

“Seriously though, when are you planning to tell Sangmin?” you turned to ask Minhee. Minhee shifted in her seat, not uncomfortably but rather unsure.

“I don’t know to be honest. I mean, his internship at the tech company is about to be over in a month and he’s working really hard paying attention to his work. I don’t really want the news to come in the way and distract him, so I think I’ll just wait until then” she answered.

You and Mingyu nodded understandably. You both knew how important this internship had been for Sangmin. It was a major stepping stone for his career, something he had worked incredibly hard for. The last thing Minhee wanted was to derail his focus, especially since you both knew he was the kind of person who would drop everything to be by her side if he knew.

“It makes sense, honestly. You don’t want to throw this at him when he’s in the middle of such a big opportunity” Mingyu said.

You, who had been listening quietly, nodded in agreement. “It’s smart. But when the time comes, he’s going to want to know everything. You know, like when he starts noticing your bump. And he’ll be there for you, Minhee. I’m sure of it” you assure her.

Minhee hummed in response. “I just…I don’t know how to handle this on my own for a month without telling him” she mumbled as she nibbled on his lip.

Mingyu leaned over and pulled his best friend into a quick, reassuring hug. “You’re never on your own, Min. We’ve got your back, always” he told her.

“I told you, we’re always here for you” you reminded her, joining the small group hug.

You, sitting beside them, smiled softly. It was moments like these that reminded you why your friendship had endured for so long. You were always there for each other, no matter what life threw your way.

“I love you guys” Minhee sighed in relief, relieved that she was surrounded by such supportive people.

For the next few hours, the three of you talked about everything from baby names to how Minhee planned to break the news to Sangmin when the time was right. Mingyu, true to his nature, kept the mood light, cracking jokes about being the coolest godfather in history and offering ridiculous parenting advice that had Minhee and you laughing uncontrollably.

━━━━━━━━━━

▌31 DECEMBER 2022 — [09:30 a.m.]

It was early winter morning, and the cold air was biting at your faces as you stood in the driveway. The sun, hidden behind thick grey clouds, gave a pale light that reflected off the snow-covered ground. You, Minhee, and Mingyu stood around the open trunk of Sangmin’s SUV, ready to load up for your trip to the forest resort.

The New Year’s celebration was something you had been planning for weeks, and now, after a fresh layer of snow blanketed the world around, the excitement was uncontainable.

You, wrapped tightly in a puffy coat and wool scarf, were adjusting your suitcase in the back of the car. You brushed some stray snowflakes from your hair, laughing as Mingyu tried to cram his duffel bag into the limited space left. He always packed like he was going away for a month, even if it was just a few days.

“Come on, Gyu, there’s no way that thing’s fitting unless you leave half of it behind,” you teased, shoving your own bag to make more room.

Mingyu gave you a dramatic eye roll. “I need options, Y/n. Who knows what the wilderness will throw at us,” he joked, pulling at his worn leather jacket and flashing his usual mischievous grin.

“You’re acting like we’re going out to live with the bears in the wild” you rolled your eyes back, folding your arms against your chest.

“Why? Does the idea of it scare you?” he smirked, raising his brow.

“Pfft, scare me? Why would it scare me?” you tried to come off as brave. Although in reality you knew you wouldn’t last a day in the wild.

“Aww, my Y/n-nie is actually scared” Mingyu pouted with his sickening baby voice as he cupped your cheeks with his surprisingly warm hands.

“Don’t worry, your Gyu will protect you” he pouted, taking the opportunity to squish your cheeks together.

“Ugh, whatever” you pushed his hands away.

Minhee stood nearby, watching you both with amusement with her hand resting on her small but noticeable baby bump.

At four months pregnant, she had begun to show, and although she was still glowing with excitement about the baby, there was an undeniable shift in the way she carried herself. Her energy was different — more careful, more thoughtful. She was wrapped in a long coat, her face glowing, framed by her brown curls that spilled out from beneath her beanie.

Despite the cold, Minhee’s cheeks were flushed with the same excitement that had been bubbling in her ever since you all decided to spend New Year’s Eve at a secluded resort in the forest. The snow only made the idea even more magical.

“Are we ready to go?” you asked whoever.

“I think so,” Mingyu shrugged.

You glanced over and noticed Minhee picking up and struggling to carry a smaller but noticeably overstuffed bag. It was filled with the extra things for the trip that Minhee insisted on bringing. Before you could step in to help, Sangmin appeared from the front of the house, his eyes immediately locking onto his struggling girlfriend.

“Minhee!” he called out, rushing over with a look of concern that you and Mingyu had grown used to over the past few months. He was protective of her, almost to a fault, ever since Minhee told him she was pregnant. He had always been caring, but now there was a new layer of vigilance in his every action.

Sangmin reached Minhee’s side in seconds, his hand gently but firmly pulling the bag from her grip. “What are you doing?” he scolded, his voice soft but stern. “You shouldn’t be carrying heavy things right now, remember?” he reminded her.

Minhee gave him a sheepish look, the kind that said she knew she was in trouble but hadn’t thought it was a big deal. “It’s just one more bag,” she replied lightly, but Sangmin was having none of it.

“One more bag is too many,” he said, shooting her a look that made her smile in a way that softened his concern. He dropped the bag into the trunk and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a protective hug.

“I’ve got it, okay? You don’t need to do anything but relax. I mean it, babe” he stared at her.

Minhee sighed but smiled up at him, her hand resting on his chest. “You worry too much,” she teased, though it was clear she appreciated his concern.

“Well, someone has to,” he replied, his tone lightening as he kissed the top of her head.

Minhee rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. She placed a hand on her boyfriend’s arm and squeezed it reassuringly. “I promise I’ll be careful. I just want to enjoy the holiday” she reassured him.

Sangmin sighed, still not fully convinced. He wasn’t thrilled about the trip, especially with the snow making everything more dangerous. The resort was nestled deep in the woods, and while it was supposed to be a winter wonderland, the snow could also be a hazard — slippery roads, icy paths, and the constant risk of Minhee falling and hurting herself. The thought made him uneasy.

But Minhee was firm about going even though you tried to make her reconsider. She planned the trip months ago before the baby and she wasn’t going to back out now.

Her determination had left Sangmin with little choice. She was excited, glowing even, and while he worried constantly, he also knew he couldn’t say no to her. It was their first trip together since finding out about the pregnancy, and despite his fears, he wanted to make it special for her.

You exchanged a glance with Mingyu, who was leaning against the car, smirking at the scene. “You two are like an old married couple already,” he teased.

Sangmin shot him a look. “You’d be the same way if your girlfriend was pregnant,” he muttered, his protective stance softening only slightly as he closed the trunk with a thud.

Mingyu smiled to himself as he thought of the possibility of you and him being together, and the way he knew he’d act exactly like Sangmin if you were carrying his baby.

He felt kind of sick for having such thoughts about his best friend, but he was so deeply in love with you and any thoughts he had were always about you and the life he could possibly have if you’d ever return his feelings.

Minhee bugged him for the longest to confess to you, to consider this trip as a perfect opportunity to do so. But for a muscular, six point one foot tall man, confessing to you was something that terrified him the most out of everything.

However, deep down Mingyu knew he couldn’t keep his feelings locked away forever. It was either he grew a pair of balls and confess to you in the most romantic way, or watch you fall in love with someone else. Though he could never let the latter happen.

“Okay, are we all ready?” Minhee asked, breaking him out of his trance.

“Yup” you all responded.

With everything finally secured, you all piled up into the car.

Sangmin got behind the wheel, and his protective nature settled into quiet focus as he checked the mirrors and adjusted the heater. Minhee sat beside him with her hand resting on her stomach in that absent-minded way she often did now. You and Mingyu climbed into the back, already laughing about the playlist for the drive.

As the SUV rolled out of the driveway, the excitement of your New Year’s trip settled over you like the falling snow outside — soft, quiet, and filled with the promise of creating a beautiful memory.

This trip felt like a new chapter for you — a chance to continue the healing you had started after months of heartache. It had been seven months since Jungkook broke up with you.

The break-up obviously blindsided you, and to this day the memory of the pain was still fresh within you.

But Mingyu and Minhee never left your side. Even during those days when you tried to push them away, they remained constant, showing up for you one way or another.

And slowly, with them around you, you started to pick up the pieces. They took you on hikes, dragged you out for movie nights, and sat with you through endless cups of coffee and conversations that ranged from trivial to profound.

Anything to get your mind away from Jungkook, or at least help you take little steps to moving forward. They were the ones who reminded you who you were when you forgot, and they were the ones who had encouraged you to come on this trip as a little getaway from reality.

┈┈┈┈┈

The drive to the forest resort was about five hours, but you didn’t mind — it gave you all time to unwind, catch up, and enjoy the winter scenery. Sangmin drove carefully, the tires crunching over the lightly snow-dusted roads.

Two hours into the drive, the snowfall started to thicken. Flurries turned into heavy, dense flakes, and soon the roads were coated with a thick layer of snow. The windshield wipers worked overtime, struggling to keep the glass clear. The chatter in the car faded as everyone turned their attention to the increasingly dangerous conditions outside.

Everyone except you, who was fast asleep on Mingyu’s shoulder

Sangmin’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. He could feel the car skidding slightly as the tires struggled for traction. “It’s getting worse out here,” he muttered.

Minhee looked over at him, her brow furrowed with concern. “Maybe we should stop for a bit. The last thing we need is an accident” she said.

Sangmin nodded in agreement. He’d already been thinking the same thing. The snowstorm was picking up quickly, and he didn’t want to risk driving through it. A small service station sign appeared ahead, offering a bit of relief.

“Let’s pull over here,” he said, guiding the car off the highway and into the lot. The small service station was dimly lit, but it looked warm inside.

“You okay, baby?” Sangmin asked Minhee for what seemed like the hundredth time since they had left the house.

Minhee chuckled softly, rolling her eyes in amusement. “Yes, I’m fine. I promise” she reached over and squeezed his hand.

Meanwhile in the back seat, you were still asleep. The soft from the radio combined with the warmth from the heater had lulled you into a deep, peaceful slumber. Mingyu, on the other hand, kept you close while staring out the window. He just hoped the storm died out soon.

As you all waited for the storm to calm, a sudden chill caused you to stir in your sleep. You nuzzled closer to Mingyu, unconsciously seeking warmth, and buried your face into his chest.

Mingyu felt his heart skip a beat as he looked down at you, your cheek squished against his firm chest. But soon, a soft smile curled up on his lips. Adjusting himself, he wrapped his arms around your small frame and pulled you in closer to his body.

You unconsciously readjusted yourself, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. He felt you relax again, your breathing softening once more as you fell back into a peaceful sleep. His heart raced, but he tried to calm himself, focusing on the steady rhythm of your breathing against him.

The snowstorm outside raged on, but inside the car, it felt quiet and still. Sangmin glanced into the rearview mirror and noticed you were asleep against Mingyu. He smirked to himself but said nothing. Minhee, too, saw the scene unfold and exchanged a knowing look with her boyfriend.

“You know, Mingyu,” she began, trying to keep her voice as quiet as possible, but still loud enough for Mingyu to hear. Mingyu hummed, raising his head to look at his best friend.

“I think you should confess to her during the countdown” she suggested.

Mingyu sighed, turning his attention down to you who was softly snoring against the crook of his neck. Minhee’s idea wasn’t bad, in fact, it was perfect. But Mingyu wasn't sure.

“I don’t know Minhee” he quietly mumbled.

“What if she rejects me? What if she only sees me as her best friend? I don’t think I’ll be able to handle her rejection” he answered as honestly as he could.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking. I know you think her heart’s still with Jungkook because they’ve loved each other for a decade” Minhee began.

“But can’t you see? Our efforts to help her heal are working. Yes a ten year relationship is something that’s going to take a while to move forwards from, but she’s getting there. Sure, she still needs time, but she needs to know that a better man is out there to love her and treat her better. And that man is you, Gyu” she told him.

Mingyu’s eyes started to gloss, his gaze still remained on you.

“Minhee is right,” Sangmin spoke up.

“She’ll only see you as a friend if you keep your feelings hidden. Confession is just a step to take things further, and though she might not feel so strongly at first, I know she’ll grow to love you the way you love her. I promise you that” he said.

There was a long pause, the only sound being the hum of the heater and Mingyu’s soft sniffles as stared at you with longing eyes. His hand unconsciously made its way up and brushed the few strands of hair away from your face.

“She trusts you, Gyu, a lot. She’s grateful for you and everything you’ve done for her. Confessing just means you’re promising her to always be there for her and love her no matter what” Minhee broke the silence.

Mingyu knew you were well unaware of the conversation happening in your presence, and he was glad it was that way. He couldn’t let you see him cry again. It was a side he rarely showed you, because crying made him look weak even though you told him it doesn’t.

“I’ll do it” he quietly said after a pause of silence.

Sangmin and Minhee smiled widely, feeling like they finally accomplished in convincing him. All they had to do now was wait and see, and for that, they were excited. Fingers crossed that everything would go well.

┈┈┈┈┈

[11:50 p.m.]

You stood by the large window of the luxurious forest resort, watching the snow fall gently over the evergreen trees. The storm had finally calmed, but the snow still continued to fall from the sky, covering everything in a soft white blanket. And inside, the warmth of the fire crackling in the stone hearth filled the air.

The resort house was the largest and most expensive one Sangmin could have chosen — an impressive log cabin, but with the charm of a homely, rustic retreat. All so he could make sure Minhee could be more secure and comfortable during the one week stay.

Its wooden beams, dark and polished, stretched across the high vaulted ceilings, while oversized windows offered a perfect view of the snow-covered forest surrounding them. The scent of pine wood mixed with a faint aroma of cedar filled the air, making the entire house feel warm and inviting. Plush leather sofas and fur-lined blankets were scattered across the open living area, where you all had been lounging after your arrival, soaking in the cozy atmosphere.

You stood at the resort’s large open field, surrounded by other guests who were also braving the cold, waiting for the New Year’s countdown and celebration to begin.

The scene was serene, almost magical. The trees that bordered the field were dusted with snow, their branches bending under the weight. The resort’s lights twinkled, emitting a warm glow on the snow-covered ground. Nearby, small groups of people huddled around fire pits, roasting marshmallows, making s’mores, and sipping hot chocolate. The crackle of the fires mixed with the murmur of conversation and laughter. It was the perfect setting for a peaceful night, the warmth of the fires balancing out the cold nip in the air.

Minhee stood beside you, looking content as she carefully sipped her hot chocolate. Sangmin was standing protectively by her side, an arm wrapped casually around her waist. They had been joking and talking about baby names earlier to fill the night with light-hearted conversation.

However, as you looked over at your friends, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. It could’ve been you, with Jungkook.

But this trip was supposed to be a fresh start, a break from the constant ache that seemed to follow you. You couldn’t let anything ruin this perfect atmosphere.

You looked around the field, trying to focus on the beauty of the moment. The snow. The warmth of the fires. The way everyone seemed so carefree.

Mingyu, however, wasn’t part of the lively conversations or the light banter about baby names. He stood just a few feet away, silent and pensive, holding a cup of hot chocolate that had long gone cold. His eyes kept drifting toward you, watching you carefully when he thought you weren’t looking.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, Mingyu felt his anxiety rise. It was 11:55 p.m., just five minutes left until the New Year.

He had made up his mind back in the car. He had rehearsed the words a thousand times in his head, but now, standing here in the cold, the words seemed harder to find. His mind raced.

What if you weren’t ready? What if you didn’t feel the same way? He couldn’t imagine losing you as a friend.

Sooner or later, you finally noticed Mingyu’s absence and his lack of interaction, or the way he stood a distance away. You walked over to where he stood and snapped your fingers at him, bringing him back to reality.

“Hey, you okay? You’ve been really quiet” you asked softly, your breath visible in the cold air.

Mingyu forced a smile, “yeah, just…thinking” he sighed. You raised an eyebrow, giving him that look that told him you weren’t buying it.

“About?” you questioned.

“About…you” the words slipped out before he could stop them, and he felt his heart race even faster.

You looked at him, confused, “me?” you tilted your head a little.

Mingyu took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly. He chucked his hot chocolate away and faced you fully. There was no turning back now. The countdown began.

“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…”

“Y/n, I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a while now” his voice was shaky, but he pushed through. He took a step forward, his tall body towering over yours, and took your hands in his.

“I know I shouldn’t be doing this, especially what you’re going through. But you’ve been through a lot, and I hate seeing you like this” he said.

“Mingyu, what are you trying to say?” your voice was low but soft. And your heart was pounding because you saw how his eyes were starting to pool with tears.

“Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight…”

“I…I love you Y/n. I love you more than just a friend” he finally dropped the bomb.

“I’ve loved you for a long time. Longer than I probably should’ve. But I’ve always been too scared to say anything. I just…I want to be there for you, not just as a friend, but as a lover. I want to love you better than Jungkook ever did” he confessed, his tears finally breaking free.

Your eyes widened. You stared at Mingyu, processing his words, your heart pounding faster and harder inside your chest.

“Ten, nine, eight…”

Your silence was killing him, and it made him want to dig himself a six feet deep hole and bury himself inside.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I understand. I just…I just want you to be happy” he sniffled, shaking his head as he let go of your hands and took a step back.

“Three, two…”

Before he could take another step back, you grabbed him by his collars and pulled him in, crashing your lips against his.

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The cheers of the guests, the crackle of the fire, the cold — it all faded into the background.

It was just you two.

The fireworks exploded in the sky, lighting up the night with brilliant colors. But all Mingyu could feel were the butterflies that had erupted in his chest. His hands reached to cup your face and kissed you back hard, his heart soaring, unable to believe what had just happened.

When you finally broke apart, your eyes were filled with a mixture of emotions. “I don’t know what this means and I don’t know what happens next,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the fireworks.

“But I think I want to find out…with you” you smiled as you wiped away his tears.

┈┈┈┈┈

Jungkook reclined against the plush cushions of his leather couch, sunk deep into the comfort of its embrace.

The large windows of his high rise penthouse framed the dark expanse of the night. It was illuminated by the bursts of fireworks that exploded across the sky, painting it with flashes of brilliant reds, blues, and golds. They celebrated the arrival of the new year — 2023.

In his hand, he loosely gripped a glass of wine, the deep red liquid swirling lazily with each tilt of his wrist. He stared into it now and again, but his attention wandered back to the windows. His eyes, bloodshot and tired, strained to track the vibrant explosions as they flared in the distance, but his mind seemed somewhere else, adrift in a haze of thought and alcohol. He blinked sluggishly, his eyelids heavy, barely managing to keep them open as he gazed out into the night.

His appearance reflected the complete mess he was. His hair was now disheveled, sticking up in wild tufts as though he'd run his fingers through it one too many times in frustration or exhaustion. The tailored suit he wore hung loosely, the jacket unbuttoned, his shirt wrinkled and partially untucked, its crispness long gone. A loosened tie dangled carelessly from his neck, as though he'd given up on pulling it off altogether.

He looked like someone who had fallen out of sync with the world around him, a man unmoored from the celebration echoing through the city streets below.

The television blared in the background, filling the room with the chaotic clamor of laughter, cheers, and the countdown of voices marking the final moments of the old year. News anchors smiled too brightly, their voices carrying through the penthouse, but the sound was muted, almost faint to his ears. Everything around him felt distant, like watching life play out behind a glass screen. The cheers, the fireworks, the spectacle — it all felt hollow.

His pale skin seemed to glow under the dim lighting of the room, his complexion drained of warmth, the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced than usual. He took a slow sip from the wine glass, his lips barely parting as the bitter taste touched his tongue. It was as though he drank not to enjoy, but merely to pass the time, to keep his hands occupied as his thoughts spiraled inward.

The alcohol coursed through him, dulling the edges of his awareness, but it couldn't mask the exhaustion and depression etched in his face. His bloodshot eyes, glassy and unfocused, lingered on the fireworks outside, though their beauty failed to stir him.

As the night deepened, the sky continued to erupt with color, each explosion a momentary flash of brilliance in the otherwise endless dark. But inside, Jungkook remained still, barely reacting to the bursts of sound or the vibrancy of the display. He was disconnected from the celebration, lost in his own reverie, his body present but his mind elsewhere, heavy with thoughts that weighed him down more than the wine could lift. The year had turned, but for him, the sense of renewal was nowhere to be found.

You were nowhere to be found.

Seven months. Seven months since everything fell apart.

He recalled the ten years he spent with you, filled with laughter, fights, forgiveness, and the kind of intimacy that made the rest of the world fade away.

But now, the only thing that was fading was the memory of your warmth. It was all unraveling, piece by piece, like his life had since the breakup. Your voice, once so lively, had grown dim in his mind. Your laughter, once the soundtrack of his happiest moments, had been replaced by the silence of an empty apartment.

He should be with you.

He could picture you now — your eyes lighting up as the fireworks exploded, your smile wide as you turned to him for that midnight kiss. He could almost feel the soft brush of your lips against his, the way your hand would find his in the moments after, fingers interlacing in a way that made everything else seem irrelevant.

But instead, he was here, alone, watching the world move on while he remained stuck in a place where time felt frozen. The distant sound of the fireworks continued to echo, but to him, it was nothing but background noise. An empty reminder that this was the first of many New Year's Eves he’d have to face without you.

Jungkook’s grip on the wine glass weakened, and he didn’t notice as it slipped from his hand. The glass hit the tiled floor with a sharp crack, shattering into pieces, the wine spilling out like blood.

A choked sob tore from his throat, the first sound he had made in hours. It was raw and broken, a release of the pain he had kept bottled up for too long. His shoulders shook as the sobs wracked his body, tears finally spilling from his eyes, running down his pale cheeks.

He was supposed to be celebrating with you. He was supposed to welcome a new beginning, with you. But he knew it was now impossible. That reaching you was impossible.

Jungkook wasn’t sure what kind of regrets he carried. But what he did know was that perhaps he should’ve fought for you harder.

But none of that mattered anymore. What he was going through, what he needed, and what he felt like, none of it mattered to anyone anymore.

Sacrifices are meant to hurt. Letting go was meant to hurt. Jungkook knew that, but he wasn’t prepared for the agonising pain it came with. But he knew. He knew this was the only way you could be safe.

But why? Why did it have to be the only way?

It was a question he’ll never get an answer to.

He didn’t know what life meant anymore, nor what it held for him ahead. He was just an empty shell walking without a destination.

Perhaps in another life.

#bts #bts jungkook #bts moodboard #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts smut #bts x reader #bts x fem!reader #jungkook fluff #bts jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook #svt mingyu #kim mingyu #mingyu

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kroosluvr · 3 months ago

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yay!!!!!!!

typo that im too lazy to fix: on the last page, "kasumi was one of the best gymnasts [in japan]"

edit: BRO I IDDNT REALIZE AKIRA ND SUMIRE WERE SHARING A SPOON TO EAT THE CURRY AM I INSANEEEEE <- She literally drew this image

1st 2 pics are genderbent akira+goro as well as sumire, 3rd pic is canon akira and sumire

in my head m!sumire is dedicated to rhythmic gymnastics, but the fact that it's not a popular sport somehow causes a mental block for him: kasumi was a trailblazer in men's rhythmic gymnastics. he was setting the course, but now he's gone. so does sumire live up to that? does he have to fill his brother's shoes? or can he just strive to be the best rhythmic gymnast he himself can be?

he was always solemn and driven growing up, but after the accident, he drove himself further into his practices and routines in an attempt to "recapture the spark" that kasumi had. of course, this is mostly in vain... chasing his shadow doesn't get him anywhere

he slowly develops the cognition of "sumire" being "kasumi's replacement." the younger brother that stepped up to the plate. to attend to his anxiety/depression he goes to dr. maruki (i'd say this takes longer than in canon, because he was always so busy with practice that he didn't really. comprehend 'oh perhaps i need counseling after my brother died' LMAO. and even then it's more "ok im gonna start competing internationally, so i need to make sure my mental is in tiptop shape"

he starts to reveal his insecurities to dr. maruki who. yknow. does all that. i don't think this sumire would specifically say "i wish i was kasumi" but more "i want to continue his legacy the way only he could have done it" which dr. maruki himself takes as "ok so u want to literally be kasumi"

i'd also say his "transformation" into "kasumi" is more jarring than in canon? canon "kasumi" is polite, eager, cheerful and sunny, but i imagine m!"kasumi" to be more boisterous, more outwardly outgoing/extroverted/outspoken, a little bit of a daredevil

on top of that, i think (perhaps) since men's rhythmic gymnastics isn't super popular, maybe not many ppl have heard of "kasumi yoshizawa" to begin with? so maybe ppl accept him as "kasumi" a little easier, which is. um. bad LOL

not sure if this helps his gymnastics at all. i thinkkk it does give him the confidence to execute more complicated routines that sumire himself didn't have the self-confidence to try before. but, of course, this doesn't affect anything in the rhythmic gymnastics world since. erm. everyone knows kasumi died. awkward!!!!

i think the shame would be all-encompassing when he breaks out of the delusion. he never wanted this.... all he wants is to keep competing with his brother, to keep supporting him into the limelight, and he'll never have that again. so i think, like canon, his arc is learning how to support and uplift Himself -- but more like, become more self-sufficient in terms of his own gymnastics instead of always seeing himself as second place to kasumi (and being okay with that)

it's different than canon as kasumi always told sumire they'd take the world stage... TOGETHER! ->

while i think for m!kasumi and m!sumire they worked in tandem, it was never really a dream. kasumi simply decided "i want to do this" and so did sumire. the thing is, kasumi's skills just far outweighed sumire's, and that much was painfully clear to him. kasumi was one who could bring men's rhythmic gymnastics into the international lens, and sumire has no idea if he could ever be strong enough to do that.

there's an interesting sort of dissonance here....... like. big fish small pond (genderbend au) or small fish big pond (canonverse.) i think its interesting.. okay enough rambles from me its 4am sdjsdjfh

edit: last thing i think. in canon it’s heavily implied that kasumi took the reins and pushed sumire to do stuff / pick out clothes for them both / kinda set the stage for both of them but i think in gb au sumire just follows kasumi as a result of kasumi being such a bright light. sumire has ambitions the same way kasumi does but he lacks the self-esteem to back it up…. it’s similar in canon but not 1:1 if that makes sense? i think in canon sumire is still questioning if it’s even her dream to compete in gymnastics so that’s the main diff

#idont have a caption sorry.#mostly shsm centered stuff thist ime...#shusumi #akira kurusu #sumire yoshizawa #i dont wanna tag goro hes barely here. (femkechi in 2nd slide btw)#persona 5 royal #cele draws #genderbend #cele comics #(sort of...??? it counts bc theres 3 ofthem. and thats a lot.)

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ectonurites · 3 months ago

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if you were given the reins to cassie sandsmark, what would u do 🎤

MAKE HER A LESBIAN!!!!! !!! !!!!!!!!

okay but to be more specific, i would want to explore like the concept of what being ‘Wonder Girl’ means to her, alongside just what being a GIRL means for her in general. how she has felt stepping into this legacy Donna gave to her where there is like… this amount of pressure to be a specific type of girl, to be a role model, to fit into the ideal of what The Wonder Woman’s sidekick should be… how that does and doesn’t mesh with who Cassie Sandsmark herself is. Exploring the ways she tried to change herself as she grew up to fit the idea of Wonder Girl and like, idk like. i would write a story of early 20’s Cassie trying to reclaim the messy rowdy un-girly teen-girlhood she denied herself once the Geoff Johns era hit. like. i’ve more eloquently elaborated on my Cassie thoughts in this post, but telling a story ABOUT her just letting herself… Exist like that. Letting herself say ‘fuck that’ to the ‘princess girl’ mask she put on. I’d need to be more sober to put into specific words what that story’s plot would be about, but like, I’m imagining her in a situation where she’s not surrounded by anyone who knows her already so she’s not dealing with these preconceived notions of who she is (maybe she's in space! maybe she's just undercover somewhere on earth! who knows!), and she just lets herself be more like that "'all elbows and knees' fourteen year old girl" (<- john byrne quote description of how he created her) she used to be and realizes that fuck she misses being able to just exist like that instead of… putting herself through a million filters and masks to be more presentable. and also she would kiss a girl during all of this (something something realizing that when she saw pretty girls like Cissie and it would make her feel conflicted and angry it wasn't jealousy about wanting to be like them, it was that 'GET OUT OF MY SCHOOL' crush mentality)

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letsgetbigger · 5 months ago

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A Big Team

Part one

The university was gearing up for the start of a new football season. Their team hadn’t had good results in recent years, and the administration decided it was time for a drastic change. So, they invited Samuel Reeve, their most outstanding former star, to take the reins as the new coach. Samuel, 38, accepted the offer, leaving behind his monotonous office job and the small apartment he had rented for the past few years.

At 330 pounds, well distributed on a robust frame, Samuel was an imposing man. Despite having a round and prominent belly, his musculature was evident, reminding everyone of his glory days on the field. His attractive face didn’t go unnoticed either: piercing eyes, a chiseled jaw, and a confident smile. However, he harbored a very personal secret. He got turned on by making other men gain weight. And with his new role as coach, he saw the perfect opportunity to fulfill his most intimate desires without raising suspicion.

One Saturday morning, Samuel woke up in his new apartment on campus and dressed in his coaching uniform. He briefly admired his reflection in the mirror. The tight shirt accentuated his figure, giving him an unquestionable air of authority. It was a new beginning, and he was determined to make it memorable.

He left the apartment and took a deep breath. Walking confidently toward the stadium, he enjoyed the familiar atmosphere. The red brick buildings and wide tree-lined avenues reminded him of his days as a student and player, but now he was back with a different mission.

He arrived at the stadium and headed to his new office. He took a moment to observe the space. The walls were decorated with trophies and photos from his playing days, a clear testament to his legacy. The desk, though simple, was tidy and ready for the tasks ahead. But best of all, a door led directly to the locker room from his office, and if left open, he could even see the showers. The view from his chair gave him a strategic advantage. He would be able to observe the players without them noticing. Samuel smiled to himself, imagining the future. He didn’t just want to win games; he wanted to make his boys grow in a very particular way. He was eager to meet them and start implementing his plan.

Finally, the players started arriving at the locker room to change. The noise of conversations and laughter filled the room. There was a lively atmosphere. From his office, Samuel watched every detail with growing interest. The players undressed naturally, stripping off shirts, pants, and underwear before putting on their uniforms. Some were chubbier, and others were slimmer. However, three players caught his attention because they looked like Greek gods carved in stone.

The first one was Axel, a beefy blond with a beard. His muscles were impressive, each of them perfectly defined and visible even under the locker room’s dim lights. His nipples were large and pink. He wore boxers that comfortably hugged his glutes, enhancing his figure. As he undressed, his arms and torso tensed and relaxed with natural grace.

The second player was Marco, a Latino with dark skin and dazzling eyes. His thighs were wide and powerful, a clear display of his strength. Although what really stood out was the size of his penis, which seemed even larger when he took off his tight briefs to put on a jockstrap. Marco had an innate confidence, and moved with an ease and charisma that attracted all eyes.

The third one was Jamal, a young Black man with a perky butt that immediately drove Samuel crazy. Jamal also wore briefs. These accentuated his firm, rounded glutes. His body was a work of art, with defined muscles and shiny skin that reflected the light. When he bent over to pick something up or simply turned, his butt swayed provocatively. And he had a contagious laugh.

Samuel couldn’t take his eyes off them. Axel, Marco, and Jamal were the embodiment of physical perfection. He decided it was time to introduce himself. He got up from his chair, adjusted his uniform, and stepped out of the office.

As he entered the locker room, the noise quieted down, and all eyes turned to him. Samuel smiled, ready to get to work.

“Good morning, guys,” he said firmly. “I’m Mr Reeve, your new coach. I’m here to lead this team to victory. You need to gain strength, clearly, and to do that, you’ll need to put on some weight.”

A murmur ran through the room. Some players exchanged worried looks, while others frowned.

“Listen up,” he said, raising a hand to silence them. “You’ve lost nearly every game in recent years. I’m convinced that gaining weight and building muscle mass will change everything. To achieve this, you’ll not only continue training hard on the field and in the gym, but also follow a strict plan of meals and protein shakes I’ve prepared for you.”

Samuel handed out a sheet with detailed instructions. The protests began immediately. Some players looked at the papers in disbelief, others with evident annoyance.

“It’s too much,” Marco said, looking up from his sheet. “With all this, I’m going to get fat.”

Samuel looked at him intently, challenging him with his dark eyes.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked seriously, his voice echoing in the locker room. “I’m the best player this team has ever had. You shouldn’t question me. If you follow my instructions, we’ll win.”

The room fell silent. Marco, quiet, slowly nodded, accepting Samuel’s superiority and experience. The other players, seeing the determination in their new coach, began to review the plan with less resistance.

“And now, off to the field. Let’s see what you’ve got to offer.”

They stood up and left the locker room. As Samuel followed them outside, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. This was just the beginning, and he was determined to see his fantasies come true, pound by pound.

Part two

After a month of rigorous training and a high-calorie diet, the young athletes showed undeniable changes in their bodies. Without exception, they had each gained around 20 pounds. Samuel watched them from his office as they showered.

Marco stood with his back to the stream of water. His previously defined abdomen now had a slight layer of fat that softened his muscles. Marco’s long penis contrasted with the growing roundness of his belly. His already wide thighs had become even more imposing. And his pecs had grown as well.

Axel, meanwhile, was slowly lathering himself. His muscular torso had a bulkier appearance. His large pink nipples stood out even more on his firm chest, now slightly covered by a new layer of fat. His belly had begun to round, burying the lines of his abs. As he rinsed off the soap, his muscles and the added fat under his skin moved in harmony, giving him a chunky appearance.

Jamal, standing under one of the showers, was in profile, offering Samuel a privileged view of his perky butt, which had grown in size over the last month. His glutes remained firm but rounder, with an extra softness. His hips had widened slightly, and the definition of his muscles overall had mixed with the new fat.

Samuel couldn’t stop staring. The transformation of those physiques, the result of his meticulous plan, was exactly what he had hoped for. His cock hardened, an uncontrollable reaction to the spectacle before him. Sitting at his desk, he observed every detail, every new curve, every pound gained.

That week, they played their first game and, to everyone’s delight, won. The atmosphere in the stadium was of pure joy, and the players were ecstatic about their victory. After the game, Samuel was called to the dean’s office to discuss the team’s impressive performance. Following a brief conversation filled with praise, he returned to his own office with satisfaction.

Upon opening the door, he found a scene of wild celebration in the locker room. The players, freshly showered and in their underwear, were singing and jumping. The accumulated fat on their bodies over the last month bounced in increasingly tight underwear. Suddenly, one of the players grabbed Marco’s large package.

“Your girlfriend’s gonna be happy, huh?” he said with a mischievous grin.

Marco slapped the hand away, laughing along with the rest of the team. Another player approached Axel and, pinching his nipples playfully, exclaimed:

“Look at the tits this one’s got now!”

The laughter grew louder as Axel blushed slightly. Then the guy next to him poked his now-rounded belly.

“And what a gut!” he added.

Axel, maintaining his composure, replied:

“If I weren’t this big, I wouldn’t have tackled that aggressive player from the other team.”

The others nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words.

“Besides, what’s grown the most isn’t my gut, it’s this.”

He approached a distracted Jamal and slapped his butt. Jamal’s cheeks, squeezed into too-small briefs, jiggled like jelly. More players started doing the same, seeing the opportunity. They laughed non-stop. One of them even pulled down Jamal’s briefs, revealing his huge cheeks. The shouts and whistles were immediate.

Samuel, watching the scene from his office, felt a wave of desire he couldn’t control. He discreetly closed the door, ensuring no one saw him. The sight of his fattened players, their rippling flesh, and their uninhibited camaraderie turned him on. His hand slid into his briefs. The vision of Jamal’s perfect, exposed glutes, quickly brought him to climax. He felt an explosion of pleasure as he came inside his underwear, filling it with hot jizz.

The victories continued as his boys’ bodies expanded. After another couple of months, the changes in their physiques were even more pronounced. In the locker room, after another exhausting practice and shower, the players dried off with towels, showing the results of their special diet.

Jamal dried off slowly. His butt, always large, was now impressive. Its fat jiggled with each step. He still wore the same briefs, which stretched to their limit to contain his fat cheeks, leaving his butt crack exposed, a sight Samuel found irresistible. The elastic waistband dug into his flesh, highlighting his volume even more.

Axel dried his blonde beard. His torso had gained a noticeable amount of fat, softening the muscles beneath. His belly had rounded significantly, and his pecs, once hard and defined, now looked like small mounds of fat with pointy nipples that wiggled with every movement. As he tried to pull up his boxers, they struggled to contain his new size. The elastic waistband dug into his waist, and his glutes, though not as bulging as Jamal’s, were also partially exposed.

Marco stood in front of his locker, dropping his towel. His body showed a thick layer of fat. His round belly hung slightly, and his wide thighs rubbed together with each movement. His briefs were so tight they squeezed his big cock. And every time he moved, his butt bounced.

Samuel, watching from his office, noticed Marco’s head was down, an expression of sadness on his face. He decided to approach him to see what was wrong.

“Marco, what’s going on?” he asked.

Marco sighed and grabbed his large belly with both hands, shaking it. His tits and genitals moved with the jerks, a sight that made Samuel gulped.

“My girlfriend left me because of this,” Marco said, his voice filled with disappointment.

Samuel tried to maintain his composure as his heart raced.

“Listen, Marco. If she can’t see beyond the surface, then she doesn’t deserve you. You’re more than your appearance, and everyone here knows it.”

Marco nodded, but the sadness in his eyes didn’t entirely disappear. Samuel, feeling his control slipping, quickly retreated to his office. He closed the door behind him and looked down, confirming that pre-cum had stained his shorts.

At the next practice, Samuel watched proudly as his players wore the new, larger uniforms tailored to their new bodies. During a break, Jamal approached with a look of discomfort on his face.

“Coach, I’ve got a pain in my shoulder,” he said, rubbing the affected area.

Samuel, always ready to take care of his players, offered a physical therapy massage in his office, where he had a treatment table prepared. Jamal accepted, and they agreed to meet that afternoon.

When Jamal arrived at the office, he wore a tight t-shirt that highlighted the curve of his belly and jeans that fit snugly around his hips and thighs. The clothes emphasized his bulk and evidenced his size. Samuel welcomed him with a professional smile, though his mind was full of lustful thoughts.

“Let’s work on those tense muscles, Jamal. Take off your clothes and lie on the table.”

Jamal nodded and began to undress. First, he took off his t-shirt, revealing his rounded abdomen and large pecs with firm, dark nipples. Then he unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down his sturdy legs, revealing thick, powerful thighs. He was left in a pair of newly purchased XL gray briefs that hugged his hips and butt provocatively.

He lay face down on the table, and Samuel got closer with a bottle of oil in hand. He poured some of the liquid into his palms and began massaging the tense shoulders, working with skill and firmness. As his hands moved, he couldn’t help but notice how Jamal’s enormous glutes swayed with the movement. Samuel’s eagerness intensified as he continued massaging. The sight of those big buttocks moving under the thin fabric of the underwear was overwhelming.

“I’m going to relieve the tension in your glutes too, Jamal. Relax.”

With a steady hand, he pulled the elastic waistband of Jamal’s briefs, lowering them with some difficulty. The smooth skin of his cheeks was exposed. It shone under the light with the oil Samuel applied directly from the bottle. Feeling the fat under his fingers for the first time was an incredible sensation. It provided a combination of firmness and softness he found very tempting. Jamal began uttering involuntary moans as he was being touched. They resonated in the room and in Samuel’s mind. Without stopping to fondle the sexiest player on the team, Samuel noticed his own excitement growing, his breathing becoming heavy. Jamal seemed increasingly affected by the physical contact. His moans grew louder and more intense until he finally let out a long shout and came, his body trembling with pleasure. Samuel stopped abruptly. Embarrassed and blushing, Jamal quickly got up, muttered a thank you while dressing hastily, and left the office.

Samuel remained in the room, contemplating what had happened. His mind revolved around one question: Was Jamal gay? And if he was, were there other players like him on the team? He was confident that, in time, he would discover the answer.

Part three

Christmas arrived and most of the team left campus. Axel and Jamal stayed. Axel, because he was an orphan, and Jamal, because his family had decided to take a trip and visit him.

One afternoon in late December, the coach took the opportunity to catch up on paperwork. He was in his office, with the door closed, when he heard noise coming from the locker room. He recognized the voices of Axel and Jamal. Intrigued, he turned off the light and cracked the door open just enough to remain unseen. From his position, he could see them. They had entered the shower. Axel was lathering himself up with slow, deliberate movements. His round, prominent belly shook slightly with each motion. Jamal, next to him, was also covered in soap. His large, full buttocks swayed gently as he scrubbed. Samuel noticed that both of them were semi-erect.

Suddenly, Axel and Jamal started touching themselves while looking at each other. Axel rubbed his pink nipples with his thumbs, opening his mouth with pleasure. Then he lifted and dropped his belly, making it bounce up and down with its weight. Jamal, with a lascivious smile, grabbed his breasts with his palms and fondled them. Then he turned around and slapped one buttock with a hand. The sound echoed in the space. With the other hand, he began to masturbate, his hard, shiny cock in his grasp. He slapped again. Axel seized his own cock and started masturbating as well, eyes fixed on Jamal. They panted and laughed, enjoying the moment. Finally, Axel and Jamal climaxed and ejaculated. The streams of jizz were lost down the drain.

Samuel couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. He stayed still, waiting to see what else they would do. The pair, still breathing heavily, got dressed while chatting casually.

"Dude, the coach is so hot," said Axel, adjusting his shirt over his belly.

"Totally," said Jamal, struggling to pull up his pants, his rounded buttocks protruding. "I would love to be as big as him."

Axel nodded. His eyes shone with a mixture of admiration and desire.

"Imagine what it must feel like to have that body. Strong, sexy, and with such an impressive belly. It would be awesome."

Jamal smiled, visibly excited by the idea.

"Yeah, man. Well, with what we've been eating lately, I think we're on the right track."

They laughed together, complicit in their fantasy.

"Do you feel like having some pizza?" Axel suggested.

"Perfect. We need to keep growing, right?" Jamal responded.

They put on their shoes and left the locker room, discussing how much pizza they were going to eat. Samuel, who had heard every word, formed an idea in his head.

The next day, he took his phone and sent a message to Axel and Jamal, inviting them to spend New Year’s Eve at his apartment. Both accepted immediately. Beaming with enthusiasm, Samuel went to the supermarket and bought an entire cart of food. He wanted to make sure the evening was memorable.

He spent hours cooking, filling his apartment with the delicious aromas of his preparations. When Axel and Jamal arrived, Samuel greeted them with a smile and offered them a beer.

"To help you relax a bit," he said, sensing they were somewhat intimidated.

They grabbed the beers and settled on the couch. The three of them chatted for a while, laughter and anecdotes flowing easily as the alcohol took effect. The atmosphere became more relaxed. Samuel found them incredibly attractive. Axel, with his blond beard and bulk, looked like a true Viking. Jamal, with his dark skin and curves, was like an irresistible chocolate treat.

"Well, guys. Let’s go to the table," Samuel announced when he thought it was time.

Axel and Jamal followed him. They sat down. The coach served the starter: a huge plate of pasta. On the side, he put another plate with bread and a generous slab of butter for each of them.

"I want you to eat it all," he ordered, taking a seat next to them.

They exchanged a knowing look and started eating obediently. The coach led by example, eating heartily as well. The pasta was delicious. The players ate quickly at first but soon began to slow down.

"Come on, you can’t leave anything," he insisted. "And spread all the butter on the bread."

After finishing the pasta and the rest, Samuel got up to serve the second course. The roast turkey arrived at the table surrounded by a bunch of golden, greasy potatoes. And he gave them more bread and more butter.

"Here you go," he said, inwardly enjoying their perplexed faces.

With each new bite, Axel and Jamal felt their stomachs filling up. After finishing the turkey and potatoes, they were all stuffed.

"Well, we’ll have dessert on the couch," Samuel announced.

"Dessert?" they protested.

They headed to the couch with difficulty, their bellies swollen and heavy after the feast. Samuel followed, carrying an enormous chocolate cake.

"Unbutton your pants and get comfortable," he told them.

They obeyed. Samuel watched as their bellies expanded once freed from the pressure of their clothes. The two young men felt a mix of anticipation and nervousness as Samuel placed the cake in front of them.

"Axel, I want you to take a piece of cake and give it to Jamal. Tell him how fat he's going to get."

Axel cut a large piece of cake. He held it out to Jamal and, in a provocative voice, said:

"Jamal, you're going to get so fat with this... Eat it."

Jamal, whose eyes gleamed with desire, opened his mouth and let Axel feed him the piece of cake. He chewed slowly, relishing both the food and Axel's words.

"Now you, Jamal," Samuel said. "Give Axel a piece and tell him how fat he's going to get."

Jamal cut a generous piece of cake and brought it to Axel. Looking at him, he said:

"Axel, you're going to get so fat today... Open up."

Axel took the piece of cake with a mix of lust and delight, savoring not only the dessert, but also Jamal's words.

"I'm going to step out to give you more privacy," Samuel said with a wink. "When I come back, I don't want to see a single crumb."

He put on his coat and exited the apartment, leaving them alone with the cake.

He walked around the campus, enjoying the fresh air and the tranquility of the night. His thoughts wandered to what Axel and Jamal might be doing in his absence. Fantasy sometimes turned him on more than reality. After an hour of walking, he returned to his apartment, eager to see the result.

When he opened the door, he found a scene that exceeded his expectations. Axel and Jamal were reclined on the couch, naked. Their bodies seemed even more bloated, with chocolate-stained mouths and bellies about to burst. What fascinated him the most was seeing jizz on their chests. They had fallen deeply asleep, exhausted from the excess of food and pleasure.

Final part

The season was coming to an end and the university football team, under Samuel's supervision, had undergone a radical transformation. All the players had gained weight dramatically, ranging between 270 and 330 pounds. For Samuel, watching them on the field was an endless source of pride. Their bodies had become imposing masses of muscle and fat.

Marco, with his now more robust build, dominated the center of the field. His jersey stretched over his belly, and his butt, tightly packed into his uniform pants, seemed almost to overflow. Every time he ran, Samuel could see how his fat oscillated with the movement and how his thighs rubbed together.

Axel, whose transformation was perhaps the most noticeable, played with renewed ferocity. His wider and heavier body gave him an advantage in body-to-body clashes. His pecs, turned into true masses of flesh, shook with every impact. His enormous, round belly moved hypnotically under his jersey. Every time Axel hit the ground, Samuel beheld how the fat in his abdomen flattened and spread, showing the weight he had gained with Jamal's help.

Jamal, with the roundest and most prominent buttocks Samuel had ever seen, was a sight to behold on the field. His butt, miraculously covered by the tight uniform, moved like an independent mass from his body with each step. His thighs combined muscle and fat. When Jamal ran, Samuel couldn't help but stare at how his buttocks swayed from side to side, a true spectacle. Axel had also done a good job of feeding him.

As the players moved on the field, Samuel felt a surge of excitement. Although victory was important, for him, the true satisfaction lay in witnessing how they had transformed. Seeing those previously athletic young men become powerful masses of obesity under his tutelage was the culmination of his deepest fantasies. The team, which previously lost almost every game, now played with renewed strength and determination.

The final whistle blew and the team erupted in joy. Samuel joined them on the field, his heart pounding. He knew he had achieved something extraordinary.

The celebration after the victory was something else. The players, full of adrenaline and euphoria, headed straight to the locker room, where the showers awaited them. The atmosphere was electric, with shouts of happiness and laughter echoing off the walls.

Samuel stood at the entrance, watching as the players stripped off their sweat-soaked uniforms. Their heavy, robust bodies moved with contagious energy. Axel was the first to get completely naked, revealing his impressive figure, with his round belly and prominent pecs. He headed to the showers, closely followed by Jamal, whose buttocks swayed sensually with each step. Marco, with his hanging belly and voluminous butt, wasn't far behind.

The shower started with streams of hot water and uproar. The players pushed and splashed each other. Samuel, from a corner, watched them quietly. However, his serenity didn’t last long. Axel, with a mischievous smile, approached him.

"Come on, coach, it's time to join the celebration," Axel said.

And before Samuel could protest, Axel and Marco grabbed him by the arms.

"Hey, guys, what are you doing?" Samuel exclaimed as he tried to resist in vain.

The players, still laughing, began to undress the coach. Samuel let himself be carried away by them. First, they removed his shirt, revealing his impressive torso. His large pecs and round belly were exposed, prompting jokes among the players.

"Look at those muscles, coach!" Marco said, laughing.

Then, they took off his pants, lowered his boxers, and pushed him under the hot water.

Being completely naked, the coach found himself surrounded by his players in the shower. The hot water cascaded over their bodies, creating an atmosphere charged with arousal. Axel and Jamal took turns touching Samuel's belly, their hands sliding over his wet skin. Samuel felt completely liberated. The obese bodies of the players moved around him, bumping and rubbing against each other in a choreography of flesh and desire under the water.

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