#Jagged Terrain

[jinx-xxed]

Silver Chains

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A/N; I’ve already watched Sinners 4 times and became obsessed so I fear it’s necessary for me to write a fic for Remmick at least once 🤕 this is my first time writing vampires and blood like this so please forgive me if it sucks 🙏 also if I’ve written anything in relation to the movie incorrectly please tell me so I can fix it! I have some other ideas brewing that I might write as well so I hope you enjoy :P!

Summary; A hunt gone awry leaves you caught by vampire hunters with the threat of the sun looming over you.

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, vampire reader, vampirism, vampire hunters, blood and injury, death, feral behavior, you almost die, protective/possessive Remmick, very dependent relationship, bloodsucking, blood eating as kink, a lot of drool, he comes with it what can I say, feeding off Remmick, putting those claws and teeth to good use, eating out, fingering, piv sex, multiple orgasms, little bit of aftercare, soft Remmick

Wc; 7.2k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

The stench of blood assaults your nose.

It’s not the tantalizing, mouth-watering scent of someone else’s, no, it’s your own. It smells all sorts of wrong, impure and old with decay only to a thing like you.

Your blood runs down your skin in rivulets, staining it a deep, shiny red. Droplets fling from your body as you thrash and jerk against the heavy, silver chains that bind you to a thick and sturdy tree. The pain of the bark digging into your back is nothing compared to the agony of the chains burning your flesh away, steam rising from your injuries like you’d been placed on burning coals. It makes you wild, desperate to get away but with nowhere to go.

There’s no chance of you escaping the chains that sit against your neck, arms, waist, and legs in sets of two, even despite your struggling and the way you try to launch yourself from the tree with the slight leeway you have with your feet. Your unnerving eyes gleam in the moonlight, wide and frantic with fear, your bloodstained, jagged teeth showing in your open mouth. You feel as far from human as you possibly could be, snarling like an animal and chained just like one too.

The men watching you seem to think the same thing.

There’s five of them, two sit on their horses while the other three steadily pace the small clearing they have you in. God damn vampire hunters, armed to the teeth with everything they need to kill the likes of you. Silver bullets, silver chains, garlic and holy water, wooden stakes on their belts. It’s like they��re surrounded by a bubble of protection that you can’t penetrate, that’ll hurt you if they get too close—which isn’t that far off.

You curse yourself over and over. You and Remmick made damn sure to stay away from Choctaw land and yet here you are, caught and beaten. This is a new type of hunter, one you’d never had the misfortune of coming across before. They hunt in the dead of night, they enjoy watching you thrash and suffer, and their methods are cruel, meant to draw out your punishment.

You’ve never heard or seen a lick of them prior to tonight when you’d been ambushed and chased through the woods.

A gunshot had pierced your shoulder, one that brought more pain than your typical lead bullet. It had left you stumbling with a choked yell, steam rising from the hole in your shoulder blade. Then you’d heard the rustling in the underbrush, the hoots and hollers of men with a different kind of bloodlust than what you’re used to. Oh you’d ran, you’d ran as fast as your legs could carry you through the rough terrain of the forest, clearing fallen logs and scraping your bare arms on branches and thorns.

They’d caught you with another bullet to your thigh and a rope around your legs, pulling snug as soon as you tried to take another step and sending you thudding onto the hard ground. They’d wrapped you in silver soon after, seemingly experts on how to maneuver around you to avoid your snapping teeth and deadly nails. The first touch of the silver made your skin bubble and burn, a scream tearing out of your throat against your will. They’d dragged you crying for you don’t know how long behind their horses, all the way to the edge of the forest that overlooks a field that’s flat for as far as the eye can see.

You don’t know where they came from, they’re clearly unrelated to any other group or tribe of hunters, instead being just a gaggle of men who have dedicated their lives to eradicating yours. The history of your kind isn’t widely known, isn’t readily available to the public, so in your pain-addled brain you still wonder where they heard your tales, still wonder what else you might have to worry about if the knowledge is growing.

Your head thumps back, your breath coming ragged through your lungs. You shut your eyes tight for just a moment, trying to force away any more tears and clear your head. You haven’t felt pain like this in a long, long time, especially because Remmick has always been there to keep an eye on you, to keep you out of harms way. But not this time, not when you strayed too far and got too distracted to be vigilant about your surroundings. You’d been stupid and you know that, so part of you thinks you deserve this.

“Just stake me and be done.” You groan, ultimately defeated as the silver chains bite through your skin to the bone. It’s not like you want to die necessarily, you just want to be released from your own agony. You hate the way they’re toying with you, watching like wolves as you writhe and bleed.

One man shakes his head, his face shadowed by the cowboy hat he wears. “Nah, we like to watch y’all burn.” He looks to his watch and then up at the sky. “Ain’t gon’ be much longer now.”

You can’t help looking as well, your eyes finding the ever lightening night sky. The stars have been chased away, the moon laying itself to rest on the other side of the earth. You can feel the threat of the sun as the air steadily warms, as time tick, tick, ticks away. If you had to guess, you have about thirty minutes left at most before yellow rays peak over the horizon line.

You force a swallow down your torn throat, your breathing stutters as panic kicks up in your chest. You figure seeing the sun in your final moments won’t be the worst thing, it has been seven years after all, but nobody wants to be burned alive. You don’t want to feel your skin cook and be engulfed by flames, you don’t want your last memory to be pain. Tears fall down your bloodstained cheeks without you realizing, dripping to the forest floor as your head hangs.

Then there’s a rustle in the trees beyond that makes your attention snap back up. That’s when you sense it, when the tiny hairs on the back of your neck rise. It’s like a blanket of eerie quiet was laid over the clearing, quieting any crickets or frogs or birds and leaving just the whispers of an old wind through the trees. There’s a flash of red, the familiar smell of ancient blood and earth hitting your nostrils. It’s an instant comfort.

Your own reaction has caused the hunters to become alert, clutching their guns a little tighter and looking into the trees. They don’t even realize what’s happening before the screams start.

The first man goes down—the first is always the easiest. The horses startle in turn, rearing up with loud, shrill whinnies that make the men on their backs shout. One falls off his beast while the other gets dragged from the saddle with a yell. The horses shake their heads and shriek before crashing into the forest, leaving their riders behind to get their throats torn open.

You could sob in relief at seeing Remmick, his claws extended and his fangs bared. He looks feral, his hair wild and his eyes wide and gleaming bright red. Blood coats his chin and his neck, staining the collar of his button up as he rips into his victims as messily as he pleases. The two men left got enough of their senses to try and fire their guns, to use the weapons they so carefully prepared. One wields a wooden stake and runs at Remmick who grabs the man’s wrists to prevent the stake from being buried into his heart.

They grapple briefly before the man is being slammed onto the ground with a terrifying ease, something within his body cracking. Claws are raked across his neck in a quick slash, urgency spurred by the cock of a gun, the sound of the shot being fired making you flinch as it rings through the clearing. It misses its target by just a hair and it’s unable to reload fast enough to prevent Remmick from jumping on the final hunter. The man goes down with a choked scream and you hear the familiar sounds of flesh being devoured and blood being drained. There’s only a sickly silence that follows.

All of the spilled blood has thick strings of drool dripping from the corners of your mouth, your hunger flaring up from the lack of food you’d gotten tonight and the exhaustion of struggling against the hunters. You lean forward instinctively, desperate for a taste, before the silver chains binding your body remind you of where you are. You jolt back with a whimper, pain biting into you tenfold.

Remmick’s head snaps up, those sinister red eyes finding you as the bloodlust and blind rage fades, as he seems to remember you. He’s up in an instant, hurrying over and flinching away with a snarl when he realizes what’s wrapped around your body. “Shit.” He spits angrily, doing it again when he looks to the horizon and sees the slow infiltration of the oranges and yellows of morning into the purples and blues of night. Ten minutes left.

“Rem- Remmick- please, please get me out- it hurts, Remmick, please.” You beg, your babbling words warbling with pain and emotion. You don’t want to be left behind, not again, not by him. It’d hurt more than the searing kiss of the sun.

“I ain’t leavin’ you, darlin’.” He says with finality through gritted teeth, even as every instinctual thing inside him whispers to leave you here to die, to save himself and let you be engulfed in the flames of your mistake. He circles behind you, taking a deep breath before beginning to tug at the chains, hissing as they burn the calloused skin on his hands. Despite the pain, they steadily come undone, dropping to the ground around you so you can finally take in a gasping breath.

“I told you to stay with me, didn’t I? Would it kill ya to listen for once?” Remmick snaps as he undoes the last of the chains around your legs, leaving you to stumble forward. You’re charred and covered in wounds, but now your body can finally begin to regenerate. You look a mess and you feel like one too, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you struggle just to stay standing.

Before you can even get out an apology, he’s grabbing your wrist and tugging you with him. His own blood smears on your skin, the smell threatening to cloud your mind. “C’mon, or else we’ll both be fried.” His tone is low and angry and focused, telling you to save whatever you need to say for later.

You eagerly follow him, doing your best to keep up as you both run to outrace the rising warmth of morning. Panic hangs heavy around you, knowing how quickly those final minutes tick by, feeling the heat licking at your heels. Your skin threatens to begin sizzling again, sweat gleaming on your forms.

But by the grace of some cursed god, it turns out the hunters had dragged you not too far from where you and Remmick have made your home in a tiny little house hidden in the trees. It’s temporary, of course, and you’ll no doubt be moving again after tonight, but in the moment it’s like finding a blessed sanctuary in the midst of damnation. You both fly up the porch steps and burst into your home just as the sun clears the horizon line, its beams filtering through the trees while you slam the door in its face.

You fall to your knees instantly, panting and heaving like a dog as your deep injuries throb and ooze. Your whole body is shaking, weak from a pain and hunger you haven’t experienced before. You can feel the ache in your teeth, the drool that still runs down your chin despite how many times you’ve wiped it away.

Remmick is less fazed, simply shrugging off his sweat and blood soaked button up and tossing it aside, his suspenders falling loose around his hips and leaving him in his once white tank. The thin gold chain around his neck glints in the dim lighting, a twin to the gold band on his ring finger. He’s cut it close enough times in his long past that he’s familiar with the sensation of the sun at his back, but he’s been more careful with you. He makes sure to have you both fed and back with time to spare, but everything seemed to go wrong tonight. Though, he supposes the scare was probably good for you. Teach you not to wander off again.

He looks idly at his hands, at the blisters that are already beginning to fade. He’s always healed pretty fast, while you on the other hand aren’t as fortunate. The scent of your blood fills his nose, fills the room of the house. You’re both lucky his hunger was satiated earlier, otherwise he’d be on you like a leech. Even after he turned you, your blood stayed just as mouthwatering, just as delicious to something twisted inside of him. It proved to him that you were something different, something he’d been searching for without really knowing it.

“Are you upset with me?” You sniffle, quite pathetic really. But it’s been a long while since you’ve felt this much shame and embarrassment, and your body doesn’t quite know what to do with it besides force it out through tears.

Remmick stands in silence with his thoughts for a moment more before he sighs, defeated. “I ain’t angry with ya, sugar. Just worried, is all.” He turns, his steps marked by the too-soft thud of boots against hardwood. You see the toes of his shoes in your vision, but you still can’t make yourself lift your head, to look at him—so he does it for you. He crouches down, taking your face in his hand, making you meet his eyes. “Fuck, darlin’, they almost killed you.”

You can see the concern etched onto his eternally young face, the memory of seeing you chained in silver and presented like a sacrifice to the morning sun. You can’t even begin to understand the fear he’d felt; hearing all the commotion far off in the woods, hearing your screams and hoping he ran fast enough to reach you. He could smell the way your blood poured from your body, the way it burned under your confines. He’d sensed your terror too, your emotions sitting just behind his own like a second pair, locked together by a bond too ancient to be understood. You’d called out to him without your voice and he answered without a second thought.

Oh, how he’d raged seeing you against that tree, begging your captors for a quick death. Your face was covered in tears and blood, you’d looked to the horizon with a mixture of acceptance and panic, something he’s seen plenty of times before. He never should have let it happen, should have known to keep you closer, should have known you were still too young into this and got too excited over fresh meat. Hell, he didn’t even know how you managed to sneak off but he’d looked away for one damn minute and then you were gone. He’d been a fool to trust that you’d come back before a gunshot rang through the forest.

Killing those men was one of the easier things he’s done. Remmick barely even registered their deaths, the only thought in his mind being eliminating any threats to you and getting some food out of it as well. Their wards and stakes and silver bullets did nothing to deter him, they were weak and weightless—the opposite of the other hunters he’s come across, the ones with real strength. No, those men were new and ultimately inexperienced, and yet still stupidly dangerous.

He’d worry about them later. They’re dead and gone while you’re still bleeding and sniffling in front of him.

You lean into his touch like a cat, desperate for comfort. “Yer starvin’, ain’t ‘cha?” He murmurs, running his thumb along your cheek. He can see it clear as day in your gleaming eyes, the drool that won’t stop, and the way your wounds are refusing to close because you don’t have enough sustenance. You nod sadly, your head bowed while tears of frustration burn behind your eyelids. Remmick is quick to wipe them away. “Shh, don’t cry, sugar. You’ll be alright. You got food right here.”

You look at him with confusion before seeing the way he’s presented his thick forearm to you, underside up. Your eyes widen and you almost jump immediately at the opportunity, your teeth aching painfully and hunger howling within you. He nods his head towards his arm. “Go on, darlin’. You know I wouldn’t let ya go hungry.”

You sit up, acting on autopilot as you grip his arm in both of your hands, your drool dripping onto his skin before your teeth sink in. Blood immediately comes to the surface of the puncture wounds, and you take every drop you’re offered. The iron-sweet tang on your tongue instantly brings out your hunger tenfold, your fangs digging even deeper into the soft skin. Remmick makes a low noise, something between a groan and a grunt, watching with satisfaction as you take from him.

It’s rare when he lets you do this. Typically there’s enough food for the both of you, enough to keep you happily satiated until the next time that primordial hunger comes knocking. But sometimes there’s nights when the hunt fails, nights like tonight when the need to feast is bad enough to kill you if it’s left too long, when you need to rely on your last resort. However, no matter what, Remmick will never let his lady go hungry.

The age of Remmick’s blood blooms in your mouth, rich with an aftertaste of ancient iron and old, hidden stories. Only people like you would know how much you can learn from someone’s blood, from the life force of their body. The whispers of the lives they led running along your tongue as you feast, the emotions they held within hopes and dreams. It’s fascinating, and it was something Remmick was eager to show you when you were first turned, teaching you the crimson stained wonders of being what he is.

You relish the feeling of his blood flowing through you, working to heal the wounds littering your body. His other hand rests firmly on the back of your neck, his fingers occasionally squeezing and letting you feel the pricks of his claws that have begun to slide from their sheaths. He keeps you there, encouraging you to take and take and take.

You eventually pull back, twisting out of his hold on you and releasing his bloody arm with a pop. Your breath comes as pants through your open mouth, blood staining your lips and teeth, the gleam having returned to your eyes. Your bites have always been cleaner than Remmick’s, less gruesome and destructive, leaving his forearm with tiny wounds that will heal quickly. The sight of red beading from them still makes you salivate but it’s easier to reel yourself in now, dragging your hunger back by a leash around its neck to keep it from going rabid. It allows your fangs and claws to be more willing to retract, your mind no longer running in restless, desperate circles around the concept of food.

You notice the way Remmick has been looking at you, full of some type of reverence mixed with relief, you think. Relief at the fact you’re not a sniveling, bleeding mess on the floor anymore, your usual shine quickly coming back. Your wounds have stitched themselves back together, bone no longer showing and just the outermost layers still being torn and burnt. It makes you feel like you can breathe again, every movement free of the horrible agony.

“C’mere.” Remmick says, voice dropping a few levels as he continues staring at your blood stained mouth. He pulls you in before you even have the chance to sit up properly, your lips meeting in a clash of tongues and teeth. He groans when he tastes his own blood on you, practically taking it from you with the way he licks you. You gasp against him as he fully invades your space, your back hitting the wooden door so that there’s nowhere else to go, his body effectively caging you in. His hands easily roam over your form, knowing every inch and detail with the precision of a man who’s explored them a hundred times before.

Hands come to rest on your waist and before you know it, you’re being hoisted up with a startled noise that Remmick quickly swallows with a kiss. His muscled biceps flex as he easily holds you against him, your legs coming to wrap around his hips and your hands gripping at his shoulders for purchase. You’re carried upstairs with a newfound urgency, Remmick kicking open the bedroom door and roughly laying you onto the soft sheets of a bed that used to belong to somebody else—before you two took over, of course.

Blood, sweat, and dirt immediately stain the covers beneath you, smearing across the fabric as you move. It’s nothing new, this happens just about every time you return from an exhilarating hunt. You both barely ever have the foresight to wash off first before climbing into bed together. Remmick follows after you, your hands resting on either side of his face to draw him in, never wanting to be apart for too long. His fingers pull at the shirt that was tucked into your pants that are too big on you, the ones you always wear on a hunt that are now ruined by the burn marks of silver chains.

His touch is always just on the side of too cold, a consequence of being undead, the same one that you suffer from. It’s something you were quick to grow used to, along with the way his temperature fluctuates depending on how much fresh blood he has coursing through him. His ring bites like ice beneath your shirt as he eases it up and over your body, tossing it somewhere into a corner to be picked up later.

“Mm, Remmick..” you mumble, your hands coming up to run through his short black hair, his bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat. His bloody chain dangles from his sternum, hanging just above you like a taunt.

“I know, sugar.” He responds, feeling the way your legs rub together beneath him, your body quivering with anticipation. His kisses trail from your lips to your jaw, then to your neck, past the spot where he bit you all those years ago. He licks away stains of the dried blood remaining from your sealed injuries, groaning like an animal at the taste that leaves him drooling.

Saliva smears across your skin on his way down your body, stopping briefly at your breasts. He takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling it against his tongue and teasing it between his thankfully normal teeth as you arch into him, little breathy moans and gasps tumbling out of you. He envelops the other breast in his calloused hand, squeezing and rolling the soft flesh between his fingers. “So beautiful… so good fer me, sugar.” He murmurs against you, his nose nudging at the space between your breasts where more blood has dried. It doesn’t take long for him to clean it off.

He makes quick work of your pants, undoing the buttons deftly and lifting your hips to tug them free. His hands run along your thighs lovingly, goosebumps rising in his wake. He straightens, red eyes roving over your now exposed body with appreciation. Drool beads at the corners of his lips, steadily building and running down his chin while you smile at him.

“Pretty thing, all fer me.” Remmick says it like a confirmation and a vow, even though he needs none. There’s nothing that could separate you two besides a stake through the heart or the sun’s warmth. You gave yourself to him completely the day you let him bite you, let him take your life and forge it into something new, something unholy and damned.

“All yours.” You agree, stretching your arms above your head like a cat. You give him a sly grin. “Now stop teasing.”

His eyebrows shoot up, a deep chuckle leaving him, even as he hooks his fingers beneath your underwear and tugs it off. “Always impatient, huh?”

You hum as he kneels, his strong arms coming up to wrap around your thighs and settle them nicely on his wide shoulders. “I just know how good you feel. Can’t a girl be excited?”

Remmick smirks, huffing a laugh. “Shoot, I don’t see why not.”

His breath fans across your cunt, already wet and glistening with your arousal. The red in his eyes smolders like coals, burning brighter with his desire as he looks at you like you’re his next meal. He leans in, that first connection acting like lightning shooting through you, your body arching and mouth falling open. His tongue licks between your folds, collecting your slick and dragging it up to your clit where he toys with the bud, circling it with little flicks and pecks while you moan above him.

Remmick sucks your clit into his mouth, the rest of you immediately responding in turn as you jolt from the pleasure. He knows how to play you like his banjo, how to keep you easy and pliant while he works you to climax. He knows your body like it’s his own, the bond you share allowing him to hold a presence within you, to tell your emotions and thoughts. Most of all, he knows how you like to be licked, his tongue dipping into your hole as your noises raise a pitch.

“Remmick.. fuck-“ You moan, hands coming down to run through his hair, tugging after a particularly harsh kiss to your clit. He groans into your pussy, the sound reverberating through you as he swallows down your arousal with an eagerness he doesn’t even display during feedings. His drool makes your cunt shine, mixing with your slick to the point you don’t know where he ends and you begin.

He practically buries himself into your cunt, licking and kissing and taking whatever you have to offer. His hands are like vices on your thighs, the unmistakable tips of his claws occasionally pricking your skin as they again slide from their nail beds with his excitement. You can feel the way pleasure courses through you, tightening your muscles and creating a familiar knot in your lower abdomen that will steadily build until it’s ready to come loose. It won’t be long with the way Remmick eats you like he hasn’t had a meal in years.

His nose nudges at your clit, his tongue circling your hole before slipping inside, collecting the wetness you continually drip for him. You whine loudly, pulling harder at the black strands of his hair, your thighs attempting to clench around his head. “Shit- feels so good Rem, fuck-“ You curse, falling back against the pillows, chest heaving.

You writhe under his ministrations, his hands having to move up to your hips just to keep you still, his biceps flexing against your legs. He knows how close you are so he ramps it up, licking from your center to your clit and drawing it into his mouth, his brows furrowed in concentration. Your moans and whimpers are music to his ears, listening to the way you call his name with a breathy gasp as he makes you cum.

It crashes over you like a wave, that knot coming undone and pleasure wracking your body. Remmick drinks it all, not letting a single drop of it go to waste as his eyes burn red. He’s quick to slip a hand between your legs, two fingers sinking into the plush heat of your pussy, his claws sheathed just for now. He pumps them in and out while you ride through your orgasm, scissoring your gummy walls to stretch you even further. He doesn’t let up, even as you grab at him to try and get him off, the attention bordering on overstimulation. He continues to kiss at your clit all the while, his fingers and his mouth bringing you straight into another orgasm that has you seeing white.

Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, overly sensitive and leaving your legs twitching. Remmick licks you clean with as much care and diligence a man like him can muster, his fanged teeth occasionally scraping against you and making you shudder. His fingers slip out of your warmth covered in your cum, your walls fluttering and aching at the emptiness that you know won’t last long.

He finally releases your thighs, letting them fall from his shoulders as he lifts himself from between your legs. The lower half of his face is covered in a shiny mixture of drool, cum, and blood, making him look all sorts of a mess. You couldn’t care less, knowing that no matter what he does, it’s going to be a little messy—and you love that about him.

He slowly makes his way back up your body, kissing from your clavicle to your ribs, to your breasts, and then up the column of your neck before at last reaching your lips. You’re eager to kiss him, hands tugging at his shoulders to pull him in, keeping him as close as possible. You taste yourself on his tongue, along with a familiar iron tang that has your hunger flaring again. You pull away only to lick along his chin, eagerly collecting the bloody mixture until there’s none left. Your fangs released without you even realizing.

“Yer still hungry.” He says it as a statement rather than a question, seeing the blatant craving in your dazed eyes, feeling it within himself as if it was his own. You’ve tried to subdue it all this time, not wanting to take more than you’re allowed, but it still makes your stomach clench, your teeth ache. Your body is too weak to resist the pangs, still too busy patching up whatever damage can’t be seen externally. Remmick coos at you, “c’mon, s’okay. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

You begin to protest, your more human sensibility allowing guilt to take charge. “You already gave me-“

He shakes his head, silencing you. “Sugar, ya won’t last long if yer starvin’. I think I ate enough for the both of us anyhow.” You think back to all those dead hunters in that clearing, their bodies strewn along the forest floor and their blood splattered on the grass like paint. You can still smell their foreign iron-laced scents on Remmick, and it only serves to make you crave more. Drool falls down your chin, and he just smiles knowingly. His head tilts, the skin on his neck becoming taut as he bares it to you. “C’mon now.”

There’s a singular moment of hesitation, where you look into those red gleaming eyes of his for a type of confirmation, and all you find is that he’s just watching you expectantly. Well, if a meal’s going to be served to you on a silver platter like this, you’d do good to take it.

Your jaw goes slack, your teeth sharp and ready, before your body lunges up to latch onto his neck. As the first drops hit your tongue, he grunts, his form falling over yours while he wraps an arm swiftly around your waist so you can both fall back onto the bed. His other hand slams down next to your head while his blood fills your mouth and you gulp it down like there won’t be a tomorrow.

Being fed on is always jarring for Remmick, his body still not used to it after the centuries of him being the only one to feast. His neck is so much different than his arm, he realizes, something dangerous being set off within him this time as a result. But it turns out he’d do just about anything for you, so he makes himself ease into the sensation, even as his claws dig into the bedsheets and his fanged teeth grind together hard enough to shatter, the primal part of him fearing that, for once, he’s being preyed on.

“That’s it, sugar.” He says with a husky laugh. “Shit.”

Past the initial shock, it’s easy for the pain to shift into pleasure. It is quite erotic, really, the way he can feel his own blood coursing through your body. The little noises you make while you feed on him, the trickles of blood mixing with spit on your chin, your strength returning all because of him. It fills him with a twisted sense of pride, knowing that he’s the one satiating that bone deep hunger, knowing his blood is mixing with yours and becoming one inside you. “Take it all, darlin’, suck me dry.” He groans, the tips of his claws making little pinpricks in your sides as he holds onto you.

It’s almost involuntary, the way his hips rut against you, his cock straining in his pants and demanding attention. It has his hands fumbling between your bodies, eager to undo the thick buckle of his belt with a clink, the buttons of his trousers following after. You nearly choke on his blood when you feel his shaft rubbing between your folds, coating himself in the mixture of your cum and his drool. He does a few slow, experimental thrusts, not sinking in just yet but simply feeling you instead. It has you groaning against his neck, your teeth digging in deeper and greedily drinking at the ambrosia that is Remmick’s blood while he pants above you.

You release him with a sharp gasp when the head of his cock catches your entrance, at last pressing in with slippery ease. His moan is throaty and guttural, a shiver running through him at the way your walls draw him in, enveloping him in plush warmth. He sheathes himself completely and he stays with his hips flush to yours for just a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the initial pleasure. It amazes you how he never gets tired of it, even after his centuries of being alive and his years of fucking you.

You pull him back down with hands on either side of his face, encouraging him to kiss you. He does, of course, his mouth enveloping yours just as he begins to thrust, drawing almost completely from your cunt before slamming back in. His tongue roves over yours, licking away any remnants of his blood and swallowing down your moans. He pulls away with his chest heaving, a sharp groan falling from his open mouth, fangs on full display just beneath his lips.

There’s a sudden wetness against your collarbones that makes you jolt, looking down to see blood from Remmick’s neck splattered along your skin. The wound you’d bitten into him is still bleeding, droplets coming loose with his thrusts and the way he’s bent over you. He smirks, lifting two fingers and drawing them over the bite marks, collecting the blood smeared there. “Clean up yer mess, sugar.” He tells you between breathy pants, bringing his fingers to your mouth.

You take them eagerly, swirling the pads against your tongue, licking off every bit of blood and enjoying the earthly, metal taste. He watches you in awe, his eyes burning bright red in the dim lighting, full of adoration and reverence and desire. Your spit coats his fingers generously, leaving them shiny when you let go with a wet smack. He buries his head into the side of your neck with a disbelieving chuckle that quickly morphs into a moan, his hot breath fanning across your skin as your hands clutch at his bloodied white tank.

You use the opportunity to mouth at the bite on his throat like an animal, like a cat grooming its mate. You whine suddenly when he hits that spot at the top of your core, the one that has you keening and pleasure sparking like lightning beneath your skin. “Fu-fuck, Remmick-“ You mewl, claws digging into the expanse of his back, even through the tank. He growls appreciatively at the pain, at the red, angry lines undoubtedly rising along his skin and beading with blood.

Remmick nips hungrily at your neck, his hands digging harshly into your sides. He’s practically laid over top of you while he thrusts his cock deep into your throbbing pussy, keeping you as close as possible. There’s something possessive and raw about it, about the way he breathes you in, clutching at you desperately, biting you as if to prove you’re there.

“Ain’t never lettin’ you out of my sight again. Nearly fuckin’ lost ya.” He snarls with a groan, his claws digging in a little deeper at the memories of what happened just hours prior. Though your body no longer holds proof of it, he won’t forget anytime soon. He’ll chain you to him if he has to, just to make sure you’re safe.

“I- I know- I’m sorry-“ You say, moans stuttering with the way his hips slam into you, fueled by his declaration and the feral desires that howl a constant song within him. It’s not often that Remmick reveals any kind of vulnerability to you, instead letting you guess at it based on what you can gather from the bond you share. But it seems the very real idea of you bound in silver and burning brought it out of him, even if only a little.

You’re both nearing release, the pleasure burning in your core while his movements grow choppy and uneven. The noises he makes change, becoming breathy at the edges as his brows furrow, his nose nudging at your jaw. “Rem- Remmick- shit-“ You whine, feeling the way you’re so close to tumbling off the edge.

“I got ‘cha, sugar.” He says, voice rumbling right next to your ear. One hand comes between you, his calloused fingers finding your clit and swirling it in hurried circles, your mouth falling open and your eyes pinching shut as your muscles tense. His response is near instant, his free hand pinching your chin like a reminder, “nuh-uh, look at me, darlin’.”

You have no choice but to oblige him, meeting his gaze through tear stained lashes. You learned quickly how obsessed he is with seeing your face, seeing your eyes. No matter what position you’re in, he’ll make sure he can still see you or else you’ll find yourself flipped around to rectify it. You think he does it as a way to ground himself, a near impossible feat in an immortal body that’s hundreds of years old. You let him use you as an anchor, keeping him tethered here with you, two lonely souls finding company in one another.

It feels like all the breath gets knocked from your lungs as your third orgasm overtakes you. You whimper and whine and moan Remmick’s name, your hands scrabbling at him desperately. The way your cunt spasms around him makes him quick to follow after you with a loud curse, his cum hot as it paints your walls white, filling you to the brim with him. He rides out his high, emptying every last drop into you with small jerks of his hips and soft words, encouraging you to take it all.

“Fuck, sugar, yer somethin’ else.” Remmick pants, muscled chest heaving, straightening just a little to look at you in your fucked-out state. Hair wild, skin flushed, looking almost human if it weren’t for the unholy gleam in your eyes. There’s sticky trails of blood and spit all along your forms, remnants of both the hunt and your copulation. It’s made a further mess of the sheets below you, but quite frankly, you’re too tired to care.

He slowly pulls out with a groan, cum dribbling from your abused hole with his cock no longer there to keep you plugged full. You wince at the feeling, your energy spent and your body rightfully exhausted. As much as Remmick would love to keep you ruined with the reminders of what he did to you, he knows how you hate sleeping while sticky—and he needs you to be able to rest. He gently pries himself from you, even as you continuously try to wrap your arms around him again. “I’ll be right back, darlin’.” He promises, finally getting free despite your grumbling.

He gets a washcloth from the bathroom, wetting it with warm water before returning. Your arms are open for him, welcoming him back into your embrace so you can feel him against you, so you can feel complete. He holds you like something precious, cleans you like you’re made of delicate glass. He wipes the blood off with no issue, his appetite blissfully satiated for now, and he’s gentle between your legs, this routine so familiar that he could do it with his eyes closed. You go limp from his touch, your body pliant beneath him. He kisses you more than once, unable to help himself when you bask so nicely in the afterglow.

When he’s finished, Remmick tosses the cloth absently into a corner somewhere, followed by his bloody tank that joins his button up on the floor to be washed later. He then settles into a non-soiled part of the bed, sitting back against the headboard and easily pulling you on top of him. You simply follow wherever his hands want you to go, more than happy to relax in his lap with your head pressed to his bare chest and his thick arms enveloping you. His scent floods your nose—sweat, iron, dirt, and old leather, making you hum appreciatively.

“My sweet girl,” Remmick murmurs against your hair, his hand running along your back in soothing lines. He pulls one of the spare quilts free and wraps it around you and you nestle into its comfort, the heavy material soft against your bare skin. You nuzzle against Remmick, too tired to resist fully giving in to those base desires for warmth and safety, knowing he’ll give you exactly that. There’s a kiss pressed to your forehead. “Rest. Y’need it.”

“You’ll still be here?” You mumble, barely able to muster a sentence, eyes already beginning to shut. Sometimes there’s days when you need that extra confirmation, his promise that he won’t leave you behind, that he’ll still be waiting for you by the time you wake up. You feel his grip on you tighten, just for a moment.

“‘Course I will, sugar. I ain’t ever leavin’.”

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

Tags; @vesnaragast

[deepspacenova]

Covetous

She stepped out into the moonlight, allowing the glow to illuminate her silhouette. His massive form shifted, but he didn’t move to hide. No, he continued to lay upon his perch insolently, as if daring her to try something. A few moments of silent stalemate, then, a long-suffering sigh. “Again, little one?”

read on ao3

➻➻ ABOUT | 4500 words. sylus x fem!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | dragon!sylus. banter. sexual tension. porn with some plot. shameless smut. explicit.

NOTE: Basically written based on headcanons and vibes (before Beyond Cloudfall was released, so no spoilers). Because no, I am not okay about this myth card. Let’s all be not okay together xx

The icy air prickled on her skin as she scrambled her way through the rocky terrain that led down to the cavern system. 

She couldn’t help but feel a thrum of adrenaline-infused excitement as she crept into the darkness, the fissures in the rock overhead illuminating the tunnel with speckled moonlight as she slipped through the silent shadows. 

She paused for a moment, her breath curling into silver mist in front of her. The stars were high, and the cave ahead was quiet and blissfully unaware of her presence; she had time for a moment of indulgence. She took a deep breath, the intense chill of the night air revitalizing her. 

She had certainly seen worse.

Once upon a time she’d loathed heights, but she’d experienced far worse things over the years than being a few extra metres from the ground. After the war she’d thought it would be easy to fall back into her life, thought it would feel like being back on solid ground, but she’d been wrong, so caught up in changing the world that she didn’t even realise that she had changed too. Now…

Now she had to get back to work.

She hugged the jagged rock walls, her boots crunching softly against the gritty floor of the cave as she crept deeper into the shadows. Overhead, the roof of the cavern became higher and darker, glittering with faint streaks of quartz that caught the dim light filtering through unseen cracks above. 

What would her younger self think of this? Sneaking into a monster’s lair to pilfer his treasure? She imagined that naive girl, horrified beyond belief, clinging to ideals about honor and fairness. But those ideals didn’t pay for food, for shelter. The truth was simple: wealth changed the world. And if she had to steal it from the claws of a monster, then so be it. 

The path curved sharply, and just ahead, the faintest glint of gold sparkled in the dim light. Her heart skipped, her pulse quickening. 

Something was wrong. 

The chamber’s massive iron door, usually sealed tight, was cracked open, its hinges groaning faintly as a draft stirred the cavern air.

Damn it. She’d been so close. So close she could taste it. But now—

The faintest sound reached her ears—a low scrape, like claws dragging across stone. It was so subtle she almost missed it over the hammering of her heart as she gripped the dagger at her side.

Carefully, she tilted her head to peek around the corner.

The chamber opened into a vast expanse of shimmering treasure. Gold coins, goblets, gems, and gilded weapons spilled across the cavern floor in glittering piles. But her attention wasn’t on the wealth — it was on the hulking figure sprawled atop the stone mound.

The dragon. 

His massive form was sprawled on the pedestal, onyx scales glinting in the faint light like shards of obsidian. Smoke curled lazily around him as he rested its head on a palm, like a domesticated creature in repose.

Her stomach twisted. She’d expected him to be there, of course, but seeing him in the flesh was another thing entirely. The beast was impossibly large, his spiked wings resting behind him like folds of a midnight curtain. His tail swished idly, the tip flicking lazily as it held his prize, her prize. The Thread of Celestia, the sparkling necklace she’d set out to retrieve.

The very sight of him irked her. The sheer arrogance of him. No disguise, no armor, no clothing, he wasn’t even sticking to the shadows, the cocky, brutish– 

“Your stealth skills could use some work.” He called, his voice low and resonant, cutting through the quiet night like a blade through silk.

She rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck and gripped her dagger. 

She stepped out into the moonlight, allowing the glow to illuminate her silhouette. His massive form shifted, but he didn’t move to hide. No, he continued to lay upon his perch insolently, as if daring her to try something. His gaze narrowed as he took in her figure fully. 

A few moments of silent stalemate, then, a long-suffering sigh.

“Again, little one?”

“Apparently.”

“How have we ended up here again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who sent you this time? I doubt we move in the same circles,” he said with a pretentious little sniff.

“No one hired me, Sylus.”

“Oh?” he inquired, eyes glittering like rubies. “Just for the fun of it then?”

“This isn’t for fun.” She lied. It wasn’t just for fun anyway… “Just because you don’t care about anything but yourself–”

“You know that’s not true,” he said, sitting up. The Thread of Celestia disappeared somewhere on his person with a smoothness that made her wonder just how many secrets his body held. 

Sylus continued, “I don’t believe for a second that you don’t have a little giggle to yourself thinking of the look on your master’s face when he realises his favorite… toy is being played with.” His gaze sluiced like warm water over her body and she knew he didn’t mean the necklace. She took another step toward him, palm tensing around the dagger behind her back. “And before you start waxing poetic about causes, I’ll remind you that last time we were in this position, you told me that cretins like him get what they deserve.”

“They do,” she said lightly, taking a few more steps forward.

“If you’re waiting for me to fall prey to the dagger behind your back, little one, you’re going to be disappointed.”

She shrugged, using the action to subtly shift her stance.

“I’m always disappointed in you.”

“Careful, sweetie, you’ll make me cry,” he drawled, his lip curling. “Shall we get on with it, then?”

She stopped less than a foot away from him. “I think we should.”

“Then, we don’t have all night.”

“No we don’t.”

There was a moment of perfect stillness, perfect silence. Then the tension snapped.

She sprung forward like an arrow from a bow, lunging towards him through the thin gap between them, and at the very same instant he leapt off the ledge, conjuring a cloud of thick smoke that swamped her vision. She expelled it with a slash of her arm and as the fog cleared she tried to glimpse him to no avail. He’d disappeared.

She may well have changed a great deal over the years, but she still hated losing.

She prowled around the cavern, her lungs burning as she fought to catch her breath each time she felt a claw poke her back, a tail stagger her step, or his melodic chuckle reverberate through her chest. She was fast but so was he, and in terms of size, strength, and supernatural ability he had her beat tenfold. 

He was almost close enough to grab now, but still an elusive flash of body parts her blasted human eyes could barely make out. It was now or never, though. With a grimace and a grunt of exertion, whipped around, hands outstretched–

And caught nothing but air.

She heard the soft thump of his tail behind the gold pile next to her and, not one to be easily deterred, she followed. 

This wasn’t over until she said it was over.

But she felt his heartbeat too late, alarmingly close, and she didn’t even have time to turn around before the tip of his claw was denting into the delicate flesh at the side of her neck.

“Found me,” he whispered into her ear as his arm came around her. He chuckled under his breath as she shuddered involuntarily against his front. “I forgot we’d added ear-whispering to the list of dirty tricks. I know how much it… affects you.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, cursing her treacherous body.

“Really? Here?” he said, and she could practically hear the arrogance in his grin.

Well. One dirty trick begets another.

Angling her hips just so, she pushed her arse backward until she heard the sharp intake of breath she knew so well. Then she snapped her head back, and heard a satisfying grunt as it connected with his face.

She spun around as his tail replaced his arm when the tip of his middle finger brush a small drop of blood from the corner of his lip — ideally, she’d have aimed for his nose, but he was at least a head taller than her so she’d take what she could reach — and drew her fist back.

“Oh no you don’t,” Sylus growled, grabbing her fist in his hand and twisting her arm toward the small of her back. “Don’t you dare give me another black eye, little one.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered, drawing her dagger with her unrestrained hand and aiming it at his face.

Sylus released her fist from his grip, then used her moment of unbalance to tighten his tail around the back of her knees, but she was still fast and trained. She dropped her entire weight onto his tail and tackled him to the ground while he was still regaining his balance.

“If you don’t want a black eye, then you should be faster,” she panted, wriggling on top of him as she attempted to pin his arms to his sides with her knees. “Now where is it?”

“You don’t already know?” he asked silkily, with an utterly shameless grin and a roll of his hips. And yes, of course she could feel the effect the friction was having on him, of course, she knew she was squeezing him with her thighs so it was hardly an unexpected outcome, of course, his ridiculous leather ensemble really did leave very little to the imagination, but–

“I’m not interested in that,” she said coolly. “Where’s the necklace? And don’t you dare tell me to search for it.”

“Why should I tell you anything, sweetie? I’m rather enjoying myself if I’m honest.” She felt his erection twitch beneath her as if it was agreeing with him.

“So help me, Sylus, I will search for it, and depending on which crevice you’ve stashed it in, that could be quite uncomfortable for you.”

“Why are you so damn insistent anyway?” he asked blandly. “This thing is a novelty at best.”

“An expensive novelty,”

“Well obviously, but surely a rock that supposedly prevents hangovers is beneath your exalted notice?”

“It just means I’m selling something harmless,” she said with a shrug, “Now where-”

A loud crack of thunder above them split the quiet of the night, startling her.

Sylus immediately bucked his hips up, destabilizing her just enough that he could pull his hands up from where she’d been pinning them. He grabbed the back of her thighs and flipped them over, managing to catch one hand but she was too quick for him to catch the one that mattered, and then they were still again.

Her dagger under his chin, his claw digging into the space above her heart, tail pinning her in place, their chests heaving.

“Now why do we always have to solve our problems with violence, little one?” he purred, his voice barely more than a wisp of air. “Can’t we act civilized for once?”

“Maybe.”

“Fancy moving your little blade then?” he murmured, leaning forward a touch so she could feel the soft vibration of his voice humming through the length of her weapon into her hand.

“No,” she said stubbornly, “Why don’t you move your- your talon?”

“Because if I move mine you’ll cut my cheek, take the jewelry, and leave me,” he bit out, scowling, “Like last time.”

“Last time was different.”

“I wouldn’t have cared, you know,” he whispered, moving a fraction closer. She kept her blade against his throat, and he pressed his a little harder into her ribs. “I would have let you take that amethyst too, but waking empty handed and alone? That did sting a bit, sweetie.”

“So sorry,” she muttered sarcastically.

“No you’re not,” Sylus growled.

“No,” she said, almost breathless now, “I’m not.”

He let out a huff of exasperation, and they surged together. The kiss was hot and hard and vicious, and it stole the air from her lungs. She could taste the blood on his lips, and resisted the urge to bite it harder, oddly proud she was the one who’d put the mark there, who made the great beast bleed in the first place. He had no such qualms, and he nipped sharply at her lower lip, grunting in satisfaction when he felt her shudder beneath him.

“We can’t,” she gasped as he turned his attention to her neck. 

“If you want to leave then move your damn knife out of my face,” he rumbled into her jaw, and she realised that she had instinctually kept her weapon stuck firmly under his chin. His claws had moved to wrap around her throat. 

“Fine.” The sound of metal hitting metal echoed around them as the blade landed into a small pile of gold. 

They lay there, their faces a hair’s breadth apart for several seconds before she yanked the silvery-white hair at his nape and kissed him as if she wasn’t expected to be back in the city soon. 

Sylus didn’t complain. On the contrary, he growled into her mouth and his tail constricted harder around her hips, keeping her flush against him. Gods, she really did wish he wasn’t quite so attractive. She could feel every muscle through her clothes, smell the comforting scent of smoke on his warm breath, see every piece of white and black that covered this man who lived in the grey. 

“Every time,” she murmured as he kissed and nipped his way down her chest. “Every time I say it's the last time.”

“You did last time.” He hummed. 

She flicked her tongue against the pulse point she’d wanted to press her dagger into a few moments ago, “That’s why I left.”

He roughly shoved his thigh between hers and smirking at the way she gasped and tightened her grip on his shoulders, she could feel every wrinkle of fabric brush against her sensitive skin. “I’m sure that’s why,” he whispered in her ear sardonically.

“Dirty tricks,” she managed to pant out.

“Have I missed something, little one?” Sylus asked, pushing his thigh harder into her so she was practically rocking on his leg, “I thought we were well into the list? My lip’s still healing by the way.” 

“I need to get out of here, you beast,” she said, uncomfortably aware of how thin and unconvincing her voice sounded. “You can have all the dirty tricks you want once I–”

“That a promise?” he asked with a wolfish grin. 

She couldn’t help but smile back, even as she felt her cheeks heat. “Just a few hundred metres to the exit of the cave”

“Hm, winner keeps the necklace?”

“Wait, that’s not–”

He silenced her with a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth, then pulled away with an unbearably arrogant smirk, getting up and vanishing from her sight.

“Sylus!” She shouted in frustration before sprinting after him.

That confusing, adrenaline-fueled joy was back as they chased each other around the cave. 

She had no clue if she was really gaining on him, or if he was letting her for the fun of it, but in that moment she didn’t care a bit. When she spotted his tail from the corner of her eye she leapt forward and this time she caught more than air. She barreled into his chest like a warrior. Her light build was mitigated by the sheer momentum and together they tumbled onto the stone-cold floor.

They tussled clumsily for a few moments, rolling over and over without either one getting the upper hand. 

She saw a tantalising glint in her peripheral vision.

He was dangling the Thread of Celestia over her head from his tail — she didn’t even want to know which unholy nook or cranny he’d produced it from — and even in a gilded room it glittered, almost as if it was producing its own light. 

Then she realised that while she had been staring at the jewel, Sylus was staring at her, eyelids lowered, gaze soft. He cocked his head, questioning, and she couldn’t help but smile.

She reached out and gently closed her hand over the necklace, removed it from his tail, and flung it away from them.

“The usual rules?” Sylus murmured.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t wake me last time.”

“Last time we’d already agreed on the course of action.”

“You mean you’d agreed on the course of action,”

“Don’t pout, dragon. It’s not my fault all your attention had rushed south.”

“You were half-naked, sweetie.”

“So were you. That’s how I know where all your attention was.”

“Just… promise you won’t do it again,” he said, more serious than she’d heard him tonight.

“Fine,” she sighed. “I promise.”

“I’ll make you pay if you break this one,” Sylus rumbled, his voice low and dangerous.

She opened her mouth to retort, but he surged forwards with a low moan, their lips met, and her brain went blank for several wonderful seconds.

They were panting when they broke apart, but there was only a split second of stillness before they were back at each other, fingers and claws tearing at their garments between kisses. Eventually the clothing battle was won, and Sylus pressed his naked torso to hers as he brushed her hair over her shoulder with one sharp finger.

She ran her hands indulgently down the length of his back and he shuddered under her fingertips, sinking his teeth into the soft skin between her shoulder and neck.

She gasped and he chuckled. “Tit for tat,” he murmured into the crook of her neck, running his hands down the outside of her arms all the way down to her hips, where he hooked his thumbs inside her underwear. 

She tore them down her legs, the tease of real touch not nearly enough.

“So impatient,” he tutted, his lips brushing her jaw with every syllable.

In answer she slid her hand back up to palm him and grinning smugly to herself when she felt him shudder.

“You are always so-” he pulled one bra-strap down off her shoulder, “-demanding-” he slipped the other strap down, dragging his tongue over her collarbone, “-and greedy.”

“Tease,” she managed, trying and failing to disguise the growing desperation in her voice.

He pulled back and smiled slowly, the dusting of pink on his cheekbones and the soft grinding into her palm the only signs he might be as overwrought as she was. 

He dragged a fingertip across her lips, just barely grazing her tongue for the smallest second, and then it was too late to stop herself. She sucked it into her mouth, and for that moment every shred of composure vanished from his expression.

Apparently all his patience vanished too, because he let out a hoarse groan and grabbed her, flipping her around so her front was pressed against the gold-splattered floor. She longed to feel his heated skin against hers, so when he flicked open her bra she scrambled to shrug it off, gasping when her nipples brushed the cold metal of his treasures.

“You know how I know you like me here?” he growled into her ear, running his sharp finger down her spine. 

“How?” she panted, and he laughed quietly, a soft vibration against her neck.

“Because, little one,” he purred, “You’ve already headbutted me once this evening. I don’t believe for a second you wouldn’t do it again if you wanted to,” he nuzzled the nape of her neck, an oddly tender action given the way he was gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, “So logically I have to conclude that you’re letting me do this… but why is that, sweetie?”

He trailed off and his tail lowered around her thighs, leaving her exposed but still constrained. He swept his hand down her arse and the inside of her thigh, and then back up again to dip one finger into her. She tried to arch into his touch, but he’d already pulled away, and she huffed in frustration.

“Tell me why you’re letting me do this,” he commanded softly.

She bit her lip to stop herself from moaning. How was he so good at this?

The first time it happened it had been a fight from start to finish, brutal and frantic and without the smallest trace of softness, and she’d screamed so loud they’d had very nearly brought the cave down. The second time was more of a negotiation. He’d trapped her here for a few days, and after the first time had been so successful, it seemed like there were certainly worse ways to pass the time.

Every time they both agreed it was the last. Sometimes she told him to shut up, wrestled him to the floor, and made him shut up. Sometimes it was the other way around. But every time it became just a little harder to convince herself that this time really was the last.

“Tell me, little one,” he breathed, grinding each ridge of his cock slowly against her backside.

And every time, they would get to this point, the point where her resistance would evaporate, she’d say fuck it.

“Because I love it,” she gasped.

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning forward again to reach between her legs, cupping her but not pushing inside. She groaned and arched into him again, and the arrogant bastard laughed. The worst thing was that his brazenness only riled her even more. “Now, are you going to be good for me, sweetie?”

“Don’t push it,” she snapped, and he laughed again.

“As you wish,” he said smoothly, and as much as she was enjoying this, his hand between her legs and his warm weight pressing her bare front against the floor, it didn’t do to let his ego run amok.

She moved to turn around, and surprisingly he didn’t try to stop her, just pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. For once there was no fight for dominance, no semblance of a struggle, just a frenzy of movement as they both scrambled to devour each other.

She traced his scales with her tongue. He stamped hot, open mouthed kisses on the bruises that were beginning to bloom from their escapades. Skin to skin, it was like a moment out of time, a bubble where nothing outside this underground cavern existed.

A sigh of satisfaction vibrated from his chest, when he slid a finger inside her and choked on a gasp of pleasure. His tongue swirled around her nipple and his thumb found her clitoris, and suddenly what she’d thought would be a marathon became a sprint.

“Sylus, I- I’m-”

He withdrew his hand and she groaned in disappointment, but her thighs were already cradling him and his cock was already teasing at her entrance. She ground down, desperate for friction, but he tightened his tail around her and before she could even blink he had flipped her over again. She had wanted to watch him unravel above her but now he was pushing her knees apart, and pushing further and further into her and- well, actually, this was fine too.

The moment the tip of his cock bottomed out she arched up into him as if she’d been electrocuted. Even so, it wasn’t enough. She squirmed for more.

“So demanding,” he purred, his hot breath torturous against the curve of her cheek.

“Stop stopping!” she growled, grabbing his hair to push his face into her neck and pushing back into him.

He chuckled against her and flexed his hips once, just once, and she was so close she felt like a live wire, her skin buzzing with the anticipation of it. Without warning he punched her clit and she screamed into the top of her own hand.

Sylus caught her wrist and pinned it to the ground.

“Don’t you dare,” he grunted, pushing in further, “I want- fuck- I want to hear every single sound.”

She moaned loudly. Much as she hated to admit it, she really did love his voice like this.

“Just like that,” he groaned, and she clenched around him involuntarily as he began to move. “Oh fuck- I fucking love-”

“Gods, I’m going to-”

“Yes, come on my cock,” he snarled, thrusting harder and tightening his grip on her wrist.

Her other hand fisted around his nape, her whole body clenched, and her awareness narrowed past this room, even past him, and all she could do was hold on for dear life as her orgasm claimed her.

In the fuzzy edges of her perception she heard her name, his voice low and rough, almost reverential, and finally he came with a wordless moan, his body shuddering against her. As the waves of pleasure began to recede, she thought distantly how strange it was that this was so good. It didn’t make any sense at all. They didn’t make any sense. This couldn’t ever work.

But there was something profoundly, sinfully delightful about taking something you were never meant to have. And in that moment, she thought she understood this dragon more than she ever had.

There weren’t any more words. This part was always oddly quiet for how much they both loved to talk. They just silently curled their exhausted bodies around each other. There wasn’t anything left to say, they both knew that, all too quickly, dawn would arrive, and reality would catch up with them once again.

As the tendrils of sleep coiled around her mind, the last thought in her head was that maybe she would quite like to do this one day without any of the usual shit. Maybe they could fall asleep together and wake up together. Maybe they would… maybe……

When she awoke, she felt unusually comfortable. She hummed in contentment and stretched, and let out a little sigh of disappointment when she realised that she was alone. Then the context caught up with her, and all the sleepy indulgence evaporated.

She bolted upright, ignoring the twinges of protest from her limbs and the rush of lightheadedness at getting up so quickly. She’d half expected him to be lounging there next to her, waiting for her with the necklace dangling from his tail like an insolent bastard, but no. The cave was as empty as the silks she’d been lain on, and her heart sank.

She should have known this would happen, especially since she’d done it to him last time. She shook her head in exasperation at herself. This couldn’t keep happening, it was-

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a small package on the bedside table, a leather pouch with a folded note propped up in front. She reached for the pouch, undoing the drawstring and peering inside.

And there it was. The necklace. The very thing that had brought her to him in the first place.

She pulled the drawstring tight, as if looking at it too long might make it disappear, and reached blindly for the note. It was just a few scrawled words.

Just this once, sweetie. I have a monstrous reputation to maintain. -S

➻➻ MASTERLIST

[sh4nksslvt]

A Place in a Giant’s World

After a grueling journey, you find solace in the curve of Loki's massive horn, discovering a softer side to the enigmatic giant.

yall when i tell u ds man is sooo damnn fineee~

loki x gn!reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, size difference, loki being a little shit, wholesome, ooc(?) a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff cringe, and akward © dollywons for divider word count: 2.2k

masterlist | ko-fi

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden haze over the jagged cliffs of Elbaf. The island’s terrain was as unforgiving as its reputation, with rocky paths winding through towering forests and steep inclines that seemed to mock your stamina. At just over five feet tall, you felt like an ant trudging through a world built for giants. Your legs ached, your boots were caked in mud, and every step sent a dull throb through your calves. Hours of walking had left you teetering on the edge of collapse, and the weight of your pack seemed to grow heavier with every passing minute.

Ahead of you loomed Loki, the infamous giant prince of Elbaf, his colossal frame dominating the landscape. At sixty-seven meters tall, he was a walking mountain, his presence both awe-inspiring and intimidating. His long, magenta hair swayed in the breeze, the twin braids framing his face neatly while the rest spilled messily down his back. Bandages wrapped tightly over his eyes, giving him an air of mystery, though you’d learned by now that he didn’t need sight to navigate the world with unnerving precision. His massive steps shook the ground, yet he moved with a grace that belied his size, each stride deliberate, almost performative.

Loki’s personality was as towering as his stature. Arrogance dripped from his every word, his sharp tongue weaving taunts and clever quips with ease. He reveled in trickery, delighting in outsmarting anyone who dared cross his path. There was a cruelty to him, too—a penchant for toying with others, pushing their limits just to see how far they’d bend before breaking. Yet, in the weeks you’d traveled with him, you’d glimpsed something else beneath the surface: a flicker of compassion, rare and fleeting, like a star obscured by storm clouds.

“Keep up, little mouse,” Loki called, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. He didn’t turn to look at you, but you could hear the smirk in his tone. “Or do you plan to collapse and make me carry you like some fragile trinket?”

You gritted your teeth, forcing your legs to keep moving. “I’m fine,” you huffed, though your voice betrayed your exhaustion. “And I’m not that small.”

Loki chuckled, a low, resonant sound that vibrated through the air. “Oh, but you are. A speck, really. I could flick you into the next island with a twitch of my finger.”

You rolled your eyes, too tired to muster a proper retort. The banter was familiar by now, a strange rhythm you’d fallen into during your journey. You weren’t entirely sure why Loki had agreed to let you tag along—or why you’d chosen to follow a giant with a reputation for chaos. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the way his rare moments of kindness caught you off guard, like finding a warm ember in a pile of ash.

The path steepened, and you stumbled over a loose rock, catching yourself just before you faceplanted. A frustrated groan escaped your lips. Loki’s steps slowed, and for a moment, you thought he might turn back, but he only tilted his head slightly, as if listening to your struggle.

“Pathetic,” he drawled, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Do humans tire so easily? Or is it just you?”

You glared at the back of his massive head. “I’ve been walking for hours, Loki. Not all of us have legs the size of trees.”

He snorted, a sound that sent a flock of birds scattering from a nearby tree. “Excuses, excuses. Perhaps I should leave you here to become bird food. They’d probably find you tastier than you look.”

Despite your exhaustion, you managed a weak laugh. “You’d miss me too much.”

Loki’s steps faltered, just for a fraction of a second, and you wondered if you’d imagined it. He didn’t respond, which was unusual. Normally, he’d fire back with some biting remark, but this time, he just kept walking, his massive hands swinging casually at his sides.

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The air grew cooler, and your energy was fading fast. You’d been traveling since dawn, searching for a rumored artifact said to be hidden deep in Elbaf’s mountains. Loki had his own reasons for seeking it—something about proving his cunning to the other giants—but you suspected he was also chasing the thrill of the hunt. For you, it was a chance to see more of the world, to step out of your small life and into something grander.

But right now, grandeur was the last thing on your mind. All you wanted was to stop moving.

“Loki...” you called, your voice weaker than you’d intended. “Can we… rest? Just for a bit?”

He stopped abruptly, and you nearly collided with the back of his massive boot. He turned his head slightly, the bandages over his eyes making it impossible to read his expression. “Rest?” he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. “You’ve barely made it halfway up this pathetic hill.”

You gestured at the steep incline ahead. “That’s not a hill. It’s a mountain, and I’m not built for this.”

Loki’s lips twitched, and you could tell he was fighting a smile. “Weak,” he muttered, but there was no real venom in it. He crouched down, the ground shaking as his knees hit the earth. Even crouched, he towered over you, his face level with the treetops. “Fine. Five minutes. Don’t expect me to coddle you.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue. Dropping your pack, you sank to the ground, leaning against a boulder. The cool stone felt like heaven against your aching back. You closed your eyes, letting out a long sigh. The sound of Loki shifting nearby was like the creaking of a ship, his massive form settling onto the ground with a low rumble.

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the distant cry of some unknown creature. You peeked one eye open, watching Loki as he sat cross-legged, his hands resting on his knees. His head was tilted slightly, as if he were listening to the world around him. The bandages over his eyes gave him an almost serene appearance, though you knew better than to trust that illusion.

“You’re staring,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence.

You flushed, quickly looking away. “I’m not.”

“Liar.” He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “What’s so fascinating, hmm? My stunning good looks? My overwhelming charm?”

You snorted, despite yourself. “More like your overwhelming ego.”

He laughed, a genuine sound that made your chest feel oddly warm. “You wound me, little mouse. And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

“Friends?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve threatened to flick me into the sea at least three times today.”

“Details,” he said, waving a massive hand dismissively. “I threaten everyone. It’s part of my charm.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. Despite his arrogance, there was something about Loki that made it hard to stay mad at him. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to know when you were struggling, even if he hid his concern behind a barrage of insults.

Your eyelids grew heavy, and you stifled a yawn. The boulder was comfortable enough, but the thought of lying down somewhere softer was tempting. Your gaze drifted to Loki’s massive form, specifically to the curved horns protruding from his head. They were enormous, each one thicker than your entire body, curling gracefully like the branches of an ancient tree. An idea sparked in your mind, born of exhaustion and a touch of delirium.

“Loki,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can I… try something?”

He tilted his head, the movement sending his braids swaying. “Try what? Don’t tell me you’re planning to climb me like some ambitious squirrel.”

You laughed weakly. “Not exactly. Just… trust me?”

He raised an eyebrow—or at least, you assumed he did beneath the bandages. “Trust you? That’s a bold request, coming from someone who can barely walk straight.”

“Please?” you pressed, giving him your best pleading look.

He sighed dramatically, the sound like a gust of wind. “Fine. But if you fall and break something, don’t expect me to play nursemaid.”

You stood, wobbling slightly, and approached his massive form. Up close, he was even more intimidating, his presence overwhelming in a way that made your heart race. You reached out, placing a hand on the smooth surface of his horn. It was cool to the touch, polished by years of wind and weather. The curve was gentle, almost inviting, like a natural hammock.

With a deep breath, you began to climb. It wasn’t easy—your arms trembled with fatigue, and the horn’s surface was slicker than you’d expected—but determination kept you going. Loki remained still, though you could feel his curiosity radiating like heat. After a few precarious moments, you reached the curve of his horn and settled into it, your body fitting snugly against the smooth, cool surface. It was surprisingly comfortable, the gentle slope cradling you like a bed.

“Well,” Loki said, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You grinned, letting your head rest against the horn. “It’s perfect. Like a giant hammock.”

He huffed, but there was no malice in it. “A hammock. You’ve reduced the mighty Loki, prince of Elbaf, to furniture.”

“Comfy furniture,” you corrected, closing your eyes. The exhaustion was catching up to you, and the gentle sway of Loki’s horn as he adjusted his position was oddly soothing.

For a moment, he was silent. Then, you felt a subtle change in his breathing. It slowed, becoming deep and measured, the rise and fall of his chest like the tide. You realized he was doing it on purpose, keeping his movements steady to avoid jostling you. The thought made your heart skip a beat.

“Loki?” you murmured, your voice heavy with sleep.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks”

He didn’t respond right away, and you thought he might ignore you. But then, softly, he said, “...Don’t get used to it.”

You smiled, letting the warmth of his words wrap around you like a blanket. The world faded, and you drifted into a peaceful sleep, cradled in the curve of a giant’s horn.

When you woke, the sky was dark, speckled with stars. The air was crisp, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of pine and earth. You blinked, disoriented, until you remembered where you were. Loki’s horn was still beneath you, steady and unmoving. You shifted slightly, peering over the edge to see his face.

He was awake, his head tilted slightly as if listening to the night. The bandages over his eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, giving him an ethereal quality. His expression was unreadable, but there was a softness to it, a quiet contemplation you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice low. “I was beginning to think you’d sleep through the entire journey.”

You yawned, stretching carefully to avoid slipping. “How long was I out?”

“Long enough,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You drool, by the way.”

“I do not!” you protested, though you wiped your mouth just to be sure.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through his horn and sending a pleasant vibration through you. “Whatever you say, little mouse.”

You sat up, hugging your knees as you looked out at the starlit landscape. The mountains of Elbaf stretched endlessly before you, their peaks shrouded in mist. It was beautiful, in a wild, untamed way, and for a moment, you felt small but not insignificant. Loki’s presence grounded you, his massive form a reminder that even the smallest things could find a place in a world of giants.

“...Why do you let me stick around?” you asked suddenly, the question slipping out before you could stop it. “I’m just… me. I’m not a warrior or a genius. I slow you down.”

Loki was quiet for a long time, long enough that you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, he spoke, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “You’re… persistent. Annoyingly so. And you see things others don’t.”

You frowned, unsure what he meant. “Like what?”

He tilted his head, as if choosing his words carefully. “You see me...Not the prince, not the trickster. Just… me.”

The admission caught you off guard, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. For all his arrogance and cruelty, Loki was letting you glimpse something real, something vulnerable. It was a gift, one you didn’t take lightly.

“I think you’re more than just a trickster,” you said quietly. “You’re… complicated. And maybe a little kind, when you want to be.”

He snorted, but there was no edge to it. “Careful, little mouse. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. For a moment, the world felt perfect—just you, Loki, and the stars. You leaned back against his horn, content to stay there a little longer, and he didn’t protest. His breathing slowed again, steady and calm, lulling you into a sense of peace.

The artifact could wait until morning. For now, you were exactly where you wanted to be.

[sunni-stuff]

Three days had passed since Jellybean, your rescued stray, vanished. Though an outdoor enthusiast at heart, she'd never missed a meal. Now, your phone tracker beeped, signaling proximity. The crafty runt had escaped, but you were closing in. Jellybean's street-smart ways usually brought her home, yet this time felt different. As you followed the signal, hope and worry battled within.

You traveled alone as none of the townspeople were brave enough to help with your search. The mere mention of the North Woods shook them to the core, earning your request swift declines and slammed doors in your face. Whispers and rumors follow you with every interaction 

Secluded and untraceable, his cabin lies tucked away, invisible to prying eyes.

Rumors swirl of his territorial fury. Trespassers beware—this hunter stalks from afar. His domain is unforgiving, and his presence is a constant threat. The lucky ones spot the warning sign; others never see him coming.

Even the butcher, renowned for his toughness, said no, unwilling to even hear you out.

“There’s a man in the woods,” he said, voice unwavering. “You’d be smart to forget the idea.”

The boom of the door closing makes you flinch, jumping back a bit. A man in the woods? Surely not.

Even more absurd than some creep in the woods was the thought that the big, bad butcher was scared of him. This was a man who walked you home at night, who sneered at men and pulled you close to his side when you became uncomfortable. You knew him for a long time and you’d never seen him so much as flinch, but suddenly he was all squinted eyes and hushed tones at the thought of even stepping a foot off the beaten path. It couldn't be true, right?

Well, there was only one way to prove him wrong, and it was the only way you were gonna get Jellybean back. You’re going in that forest, urban myth or not.

Shadows lengthen as you exit your truck. The door closes with a hollow thud. The townsfolk's warnings replay in your mind, urging caution. You scan the area, heart racing. Drooping leaves cast an ominous veil over the forest. The murky depths seem to whisper, both alluring and forbidding.

Anxiety grips you as you take a step further. "Bean?" You whisper, voice trembling.

Silence answers. Twigs crack underfoot, and each snap creates an ominous echo. You cringe, the sounds amplifying your unease. Yet you press on, searching the quiet forest.

Minutes stretch like hours as you quietly call Bean's name, doing your best not to attract any unwanted attention, as the woods loom, hiding unknown dangers. Glancing down, your phone shows her location, unchanged, since she first wandered off. Jellybean's absence at this late hour is unsettling. She never stayed out of the house this long, and not so still, either. You can't help but think the worst, deciding to hurry closer to her, praying to find her safe.

Venturing deeper, the terrain grew wilder. Massive leaves parted, revealing fallen trunks and tilted trees. The more you looked around, the more it became clear that the uncharted wilderness wasn't made for humans.

There was no possible way.

The forest gave little leeway to those travelings through its domain. Predators strayed barely out of sight, lurking in hopes you'd be their next meal. A howl in the distance has you on edge, skin crawling, the feeling of being watched running anxious edges.

"Just keep walking. It'll be okay. The tracker says she's near." You reassured yourself under quite murmurs, trying to will your heart calm.

Then it appeared without warning.

A wolf lurches from the woodland gloom, baring his jagged canines, poised and ready to pounce. He circles you in a slow, menacing loop, foam pooling from his parted jaws. His eyes blaze with a frenzied gleam, wild and driven by something beyond hunger. Some dark, unseen force propels him, and you feel it tightening around you.

You turn and run.

Run as fast as your legs can carry you, tearing through the thick underbrush. Foliage slaps your arms and face, and the weeds clutch at your ankles like skeletal fingers desperate to drag you down. You ignore the stinging scratches, the pounding in your chest. If you fall, if you falter for even a second—you know it’s over.

Run.

The untamed beast snaps its jaws inches behind you, hot breath searing your calves, each bite narrowly missing as he hounds you with ruthless, single-minded determination. You crash through a thicket, branches clawing at your arms, tearing through your clothes, until you stumble onto a barely visible trail where weak shafts of light seep through gaps in the trees.

There’s no time to think. No time to process the sting of cuts or the burn in your lungs, nothing beyond the raw, primal instinct to get the hell away from the rabid creature on your heels.

Then you see it.

A cabin.

Really, a dilapidated shack, its sagging roof overrun with twisting vines, looms before you, barely held together by rotting beams and splintered boards. The whole structure looks one hard gust away from collapse, yet it’s the only shelter in sight. You don’t hesitate, heart hammering in your chest, and charge toward the door.

In your frantic rush, you miss the glint of watching eyes, shining like dark coals from the shadows behind, tracking your every move.

You burst inside, slamming the door shut with a desperate shove, then lean your back against it. Your chest heaves, each ragged breath scraping your lungs as you struggle to catch your breath, the weight of dread pressing down on you even harder than the beast’s pursuit.

The aroma of simmering soup wafted through the air, warmth enveloping you. A cozy scene unfolded: a bubbling pot atop a wooden stove, a modest desk tucked away, and a solitary lantern casting a soft glow. The space exuded an unexpected warmth, soft light pooling over worn furniture and the faint scent of old wood calming your frayed nerves. Your pulse slowed as the familiar coziness settled around you. Then, a gentle brush against your leg pulled you from the haze of adrenaline.

You glanced down—and there she was. Jellybean, her eyes wide and radiant, a few telltale crumbs clinging to her brown fur from some long-forgotten snack.

A rush of tenderness overtook the fading remnants of panic. You reached down, catching the elusive little troublemaker as she gave an indignant squirm. “You little—” The half-hearted scold fizzled, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming need to hold her close. “How—How did you end up here, huh?”

Holding Jellybean close, you feel the weight of your situation settling over you—a stranger in a cabin far from familiar ground, with the last of the sunlight slipping away, trapping you inside until dawn. Outside was darkness thick and impenetrable, the forest itself a living maze you dared not attempt at night.

“Shit,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper as if speaking too loudly might stir something in the shadows.

Slowly, you move deeper into the space, eyes sweeping over the bare walls and spartan furniture. There’s something unnervingly sterile about the place—no photos, no knickknacks. Not a trace of personality or life. Who would live here? The rumors of some reclusive figure haunting these woods flash through your mind.

No. You shake your head, brushing off the thought. This was probably just some hunter’s shack. Or a place someone from town stayed now and then, just a shelter, nothing more.

Your foot presses down on a loose floorboard, and a loud creak echoes through the stillness. You freeze, heartbeat stuttering. Jellybean’s ears twitch, but she remains calm. Before you can step back, a low groan seeps from somewhere within the cabin, rolling through the floorboards, shivering up your spine.

Your grip tightens on Jellybean, and you hold your breath, listening.

“I-Is anyone there…?” Your voice barely steady. The words hover in the silence, as though the shadows themselves are holding their breath, waiting.

Then, clear as day, you hear it.

“Help… me…”

The voice is thin and broken, barely more than a whisper. Instinct screams at you to ignore it, to sit tight until morning. But something tugs at you. The sound is weak, desperate—human. The cabin feels suddenly smaller, its walls pressing in, urging you to run.

“Please… someone help me…"

A shiver races down your spine. Curse your altruism. You clutch Jellybean tighter, swallowing back the fear rising in your throat.

“U-uh, where…?” The question slips out before you can think, shaky and uncertain.

Silence stretches taut, pressing against your ears. Then, faint and low, a whining sound rises from beneath the floorboards, almost like a wounded animal. Every instinct screams at you to turn back, to stay safe. But you find yourself edging closer to the noise, heart hammering against your ribs.

Your gaze lands on a small, almost-hidden door near the far wall—the entrance to a cellar.

The pleas are louder here, wavering but persistent, each whisper curling up from the depths. “Help… please…”

You should walk away. This is a bad idea. A terrible idea. But, against every sliver of common sense, your hand reaches out, fingers trembling as they brush over the handle.

It turns with a rusty groan, and you pull the door open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into shadow. At the bottom, you catch the flicker of ember light, glowing faintly as if from a dying fire.

The cellar stretches out before you, a vast, dimly lit space far larger than should exist beneath such a modest shack. Shadows cling to the walls, the only light casting a faint, sickly orange glow that barely cuts through the murk. You step cautiously, heart-pounding, but then you glance to your right—and freeze.

The scene hits you with a nauseating force. Men hang suspended from thick meat hooks, bodies bruised and broken, some barely clinging to life, others unmoving, their faces blank and eyes empty. Their battered forms twist slightly in the air, like grotesque puppets left to dangle and rot. You swallow hard, stomach twisting as bile rises in your throat.

But then the horror deepens—recognition dawns. One face after another, familiar, each one seared into memory. The delivery driver who refused to take no for an answer, the lawyer from the pub whose relentless advances wore you down, the pizza guy who loitered outside your job, watching, waiting. All here. Hung like slabs of meat in this nightmarish cellar.

Your mind spins, the details piecing together in a sickening realization. The butcher. He’d warned them off, told you they wouldn’t bother you anymore. But this? This was something beyond any threat, beyond any punishment you’d ever imagined.

How? How had they ended up here? How did any of this exist beneath an unassuming cabin in the middle of the woods?

You weren’t supposed to see this. This was something that should have remained buried, hidden in the depths where secrets go to rot. The enormity of it presses down on you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

But then, one of them stirs. The pizza guy, his head lolling weakly to the side, lifts his face. His eyes, clouded and bloodshot, light up with recognition—a desperate spark of life in his hollow gaze. “Help! Please, before he comes back!” he rasps, voice cracking.

He.

The word rings in your mind, cold and jagged. He? Who could do this? Who would do this?

Your voice trembles as the question slips out, a thin whisper in the oppressive silence. “W—who… who are you talking about?”

The cellar door slams shut behind you, the echo reverberating off the cold stone walls, trapping you in the silence that follows. Heavy, methodical footsteps descend the rotting stairs, each step creaking beneath his weight. His breathing is deep, ragged, each inhale and exhale marking his slow, purposeful approach.

Don’t turn around.

Your body locks up, instinct screaming to flee, but your legs refuse to move. You clutch Jellybean tightly to your chest, but suddenly, she squirms, thrashing in your arms in a way she never has before. Confusion twists through your terror—Jellybean has always clung to you, never trying to escape. What was she doing?

With a leap, she slips from your grasp, landing soundlessly on the floor. She pads past you, moving behind you, and the silence is filled with soft, delighted purring.

You don’t want to look. You hold still, desperately hoping that if you don’t move, you’ll disappear, fade into the shadows. But you can feel him standing just behind you, the weight of his presence pressing down like a storm cloud.

And then, a voice. Familiar. Deep, smooth, and thick with a British lilt, edged with something that both chills and soothes you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, a note of affection clear in his tone as he addresses Jellybean.

Recognition strikes you like a blow. That voice—you’ve heard it a thousand times. The same voice that always offered a warm “good evening” when he walked you home at night. The same voice that laughed as he handed Jellybean her treats at the butcher shop. The same voice that warned you, with a peculiar intensity, to avoid these woods.

The butcher.

---

A/N: I don't usually do long writing stuff... but I've had this one in the drafts for too long and wanted it out. I kind of like how it turned out but I can def improve!

[celestemona]

⋆˙⟡ — CONSTANT AS A RIVER, PERPETUAL AS MOUNTAINS

cw: no pronouns mentioned. just pure cuteness.

High above the forest floor, Kinich perched silently in the upper branches of a towering tree, his body still and balanced like a natural extension of the canopy. Below him, the landscape unfolded into a maze of thick trees, jagged rock faces, and the distant, thunderous roar of the waterfall cascading down the mountain. The air was thick with the scent of damp leaves and fresh water, the humidity clinging onto everything.

From this height, Kinich had a clear view of the world below—a vantage point that made him feel at home, with the winds sweeping through the treetops and the sway of the branches beneath him. His tribe had long since adapted to this unforgiving landscape, where cliffs loomed, trees stretched endlessly into the sky, and the terrain was as treacherous as it was beautiful. To outsiders, this place was inhospitable. To Kinich, it was perfect.

His sharp eyes followed you, who was on the floor far below, walking with a carefree grace that stood in stark contrast to the harshness of the environment around you. You moved with ease, your steps light as if you danced along the path, humming softly to yourself. Your hair fluttered in the breeze, and every so often, you’d pause to marvel at the way the light filtered through the trees' forms above, casting intricate patterns of shadow and light across your skin.

A small smile tugged at Kinich’s lips as he watched you, hidden from view. There was something magnetic about your presence—how you could bring warmth and life to even the most untamed of places. He admired your resilience and fearlessness, your ability to thrive in a land most would shy away from. Even now, you didn’t seem at all fazed by the singular nature that surrounded you.

From above, he could see how your eyes lit up every time you discovered something new—a strange flower, the movement of a saurian group nearby, or the iridescent glitter of sunlight against the waterfall in the distance. There was a joy to the way you moved, an uninhibited energy that drew him in and made him want to stay and watch you forever.

You suddenly stopped and tilted your head upward, squinting at the towering branches as if you could feel his gaze. “Kinich?” you called out, your voice slightly playful. “I know you’re up there somewhere.”

Kinich smirked, though he didn’t move or answer right away. He stayed hidden, knowing you’d keep searching, your instincts sharp enough to sense when he was near.

Your eyes scanned the treetops, and then your smile grew wider. “Come on. Don’t make me climb all the way up there just to find you,” you complained, putting a hand on your hip. “You know I will.”

That was enough to stir Kinich into action. With the quiet grace of a true Scion of the Canopy, he leaped from the branch he was perched on, landing silently on a lower one before dropping to the ground with barely a sound. Your face lit up when you saw him, eyes sparkling with delight.

“Took you long enough,” you said, closing the distance. Your hands immediately reached for him, fingers curling around his arm as you pulled him close. “Were you watching me the whole time?”

Kinich nodded, his expression calm but the warmth in his eyes gave him away. “You’re hard to miss,” he replied, his voice low. “Especially when you’re singing all the way.”

You giggled, your hand slipping down to entwine with his. “Well, I had a feeling you’d be up there, hiding away like some elusive yumkasaurus. But you know I’ll always find you.”

Kinich tilted his head slightly, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand. “I wasn’t hiding,” he said, though there was a subtle playfulness in his tone. “I was... observing.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer until you were right in front of him, bodies almost touching. “Observing, huh?” you murmured, your voice dropping to a whisper. “And did you like what you saw?”

Kinich’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world around him seemed to fade away—the trees, the running river, the steep cliffs. All that mattered was the warmth of your hand in his and how you looked at him, so full of life and love.

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a slow and steady kiss, much like him. You responded immediately, your arms wrapping around his neck as you deepened it, your fingers gently tangling in his hair.

When you finally pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his, your breath coming in soft, warm puffs against his skin. “You don’t always have to watch from afar, you know,” you whispered, your voice laced with affection. “You can come closer.”

Kinich smiled, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face. “I’m here now,” he said softly, his voice steady as always, but with a tenderness that only you ever got to see. “I’ll always come closer when it’s you.”

.

.

a/n: oh well. i didn't intend to write to him soon but i wanted to gift myself since my birthday is coming and i've been checking his tag for updates more times i should to. come on, my fella writers, where are you?

[writeriguess]

Katsuki x f reader one bed trope??? PLEASE????

Frozen Flames

Snow crunched beneath your boots as you trudged up the steep, frost-bitten slope, the icy wind biting at any exposed skin. The mission brief had been clear—track down and neutralize the villain terrorizing the nearby village. But of course, luck had thrown Katsuki Bakugo into your path, turning an already difficult mission into a nightmare.

“You’re too slow,” Katsuki sneered, his voice barely carrying over the howling wind. “At this rate, the villain will be sipping hot cocoa before you even show up.”

You shot him a glare, cheeks stinging from the cold and his biting words. “Not all of us need to blow everything up to get the job done, Bakugo.”

“Maybe if you actually did something useful, I wouldn’t have to.”

You bit back a retort, focusing on the task at hand. Katsuki had always been a thorn in your side since UA. Every mission, every training session was a battleground, not just against the enemies but against each other. You both had climbed the ranks quickly, proving your worth as heroes, but your rivalry never simmered down. If anything, it had only intensified.

The villain’s hideout was nestled in a cavern halfway up the mountain, obscured by snowdrifts and jagged rocks. The ambush happened fast—a blur of motion, cold wind, and ice shards hurtling toward you. Katsuki’s explosions countered them, the blasts lighting up the twilight sky.

Your quirk surged to life, heating the air around you and melting the snow at your feet as you redirected the villain's attacks. But the terrain was unforgiving, and your focus slipped for just a second.

A sharp pain tore through your side as a shard of ice embedded itself into your flesh, your blood seeping out in a vivid contrast against the pure white snow.

“Idiot!” Katsuki roared, his eyes wide with a mixture of fury and—was that worry?—as he blasted the villain backward. “Can’t you do anything right?”

You grit your teeth against the pain, forcing yourself to stand straighter. “I don’t need your help.”

“Clearly, you do.”

With one last explosion, Katsuki subdued the villain, snow and debris settling around the both of you. His chest heaved, crimson eyes blazing as they darted to your wound.

“Let me see,” he demanded, stepping closer.

“I said, I’m fine.”

“And I said let me see!” His voice was harsh, but his touch was surprisingly gentle as he peeled back the torn fabric to inspect the injury. The cold was quickly numbing your senses, making the pain less sharp but more dangerous.

Katsuki’s jaw clenched. “There’s a cabin a few minutes from here. Can you walk?”

You nodded, though your legs felt like they were made of lead. “Just...don’t blow anything up on the way.”

The trek to the cabin was brutal.

The wind howled like a wounded beast, whipping the snow in furious spirals that made it almost impossible to see beyond a few feet. Your boots crunched against the icy ground, each step sending a dull ache through your body. The wound in your side burned and throbbed, the cold numbing the pain but stealing the strength from your limbs.

And then there was him.

Katsuki Bakugo walked beside you, his presence an irritating combination of warmth and hostility. His hand, firm and unyielding, had latched onto your arm the second your knees threatened to buckle, and he hadn't let go since.

“Stop dragging me, Bakugo,” you snapped, your breath coming out in visible puffs of air.

He scoffed but didn’t loosen his grip. “Oh, excuse me, princess, for stopping you from eating shit face-first into the snow.”

“Maybe I want to eat shit. Did you ever think of that?”

His eye twitched. “You’re so damn annoying.”

You shoved at his shoulder with what little strength you had left. He barely budged, the heat from his body stark against the bone-chilling cold. “Then leave me alone.”

“You’d freeze in ten minutes. Not my fault you’re built like a damn icicle.”

Your retort died in your throat when the cabin finally came into view. It was a squat, wooden thing, nestled between the jagged ridges of the mountains, almost buried beneath thick layers of snow. Smoke no longer curled from the chimney, which meant it hadn't been used in a while—but at least it was shelter.

You barely had the strength to stumble through the door before Katsuki kicked it shut behind you, shaking the snow off his arms with an annoyed grunt.

The interior was barebones—worse than you’d hoped. A single wooden table, a few cabinets that might hold emergency supplies, a fireplace, and…

Your stomach dropped.

One. Single. Bed.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Katsuki followed your gaze, blinking at the pitiful excuse for a sleeping arrangement before a slow, smug smirk crept across his face. “What’s wrong? Scared to share a bed with me?”

Your face burned hotter than it had any right to in subzero temperatures. “I’d rather sleep outside.”

“Be my guest.” He shrugged off his heavy coat, tossing it aside before crouching by the fireplace. With a few well-aimed sparks from his fingertips, flames roared to life, casting flickering shadows against the log walls. The warmth was immediate, seeping into your frozen bones.

Reluctantly, you shuffled closer to the fire, rubbing your hands together.

Katsuki glanced at you, then at your still-shivering form, and let out a long, suffering sigh. “You’re still cold?”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re useless like this. Get in the damn bed.”

Your stomach flipped. “Excuse me?”

“You’re freezing, dumbass,” he grumbled, standing to his full height and stripping off his gloves. “You’re losing heat too fast. Either we do this the hard way, where you pass out and I have to warm you up anyway, or you stop being stubborn and get your ass under the covers.”

You hated that he made sense. You hated even more that he was always warm—like a walking furnace, his body heat already making the space around him feel unfairly comfortable.

But the alternative was actually freezing, and you were really starting to lose feeling in your toes.

“…Fine,” you muttered through gritted teeth, standing on shaky legs. “But if you try anything, I’ll—”

“Yeah, yeah, stab me in my sleep, blah blah. Just get in.”

The bed creaked under your combined weight as you clambered in first, bundling yourself under the rough, thin blanket. The moment Katsuki slid in beside you, the whole mattress dipped, pressing you closer together. Your entire body locked up.

And then—

Heat.

The contrast was almost shocking. His warmth radiated, sinking into your frozen limbs, your aching muscles, the marrow of your bones. You exhaled a shaky breath as relief flooded through you, but that relief was immediately overshadowed by the realization that you were spooning.

Spooning. With Bakugo.

“Relax,” Katsuki grunted from behind you, his arm firm around your waist to keep you close. “You’re shivering like crazy.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore how solid he felt, how the slow rise and fall of his chest against your back was weirdly steadying. “I hate this.”

“You think I’m enjoying this?” His breath was hot against the back of your neck, making you worse. “Tch. You’re ice-cold, it’s like hugging a damn corpse.”

You elbowed him weakly. “Then let go.”

He didn’t.

Silence stretched between you, save for the occasional pop of the firewood. The exhaustion from the fight, from the cold, from everything, started creeping in, turning your limbs heavy.

“…Thanks,” you murmured reluctantly.

“For what?”

You swallowed. “Dragging my ass up here. And, y’know. Not letting me freeze to death.”

Katsuki huffed. “Damn right you should be thanking me.” But then, quieter, almost like he didn’t want you to hear it:

“…Just don’t die on me, idiot.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. The warmth, the exhaustion, him—it was all too much.

For once, you didn’t argue.

[arixella]

Unyielding Protection

╰┈➤ pairing: Luffy x female! reader

a/n: : hey guys ik its been a minute, Ive been doing a lot of school and extracurriculars so ive had no time to write, plus I also just got sick sooo yeah but im trying to become active again!

Summary: In the midst of a fierce battle, you fight beside Luffy, only to be gravely injured. As Luffy's rage and guilt consume him, he confesses his love for you, and with the crew’s help, you are stabilized, promising that he will never let you go.

wc: 1.0k

contains: Intense battle scene, injury and vulnerability, emotional confession of love, protective and caring dynamics between characters, healing and comfort moments

The battlefield was chaos. The crew was scattered, fighting off waves of enemies with relentless determination. The island’s terrain was uneven and treacherous, with jagged rocks and dense vegetation that seemed to trip you up at every turn. You stood alongside Luffy, dodging blows and striking back with everything you had.

"Luffy, behind you!" you shouted, barely deflecting an incoming attack aimed at his blind spot.

He turned, grinning confidently. "Thanks, (Y/N)!"

You couldn’t help but smile at his unwavering enthusiasm. Even in the heat of battle, he was a beacon of hope, his confidence contagious. But there was no time to bask in his energy. Another wave of enemies surged forward, and you jumped back into the fray.

You fought valiantly, taking down as many foes as you could, but exhaustion was setting in. You weren’t as durable as Luffy or as strong as Zoro. Your body ached, your movements slowed, and you didn’t notice the enemy creeping up behind you until it was too late.

A sharp pain exploded in your side, and you gasped as a blade slashed deep into your flesh. Blood seeped through your fingers as you clutched the wound, stumbling backward.

"(Y/N)!" Luffy’s voice rang out, sharp and panicked.

Your knees buckled, and you collapsed to the ground. The world around you blurred, the sounds of battle fading into a dull roar. You tried to stand, but the pain was overwhelming.

"(Y/N)!" Luffy’s shadow loomed over you, and you barely registered the fury in his voice. "You hurt her," he growled, his tone low and dangerous.

Luffy’s usual carefree demeanor was gone, replaced by a rage so intense it was palpable. His body stretched as he launched himself at your attackers, his fists flying with brutal precision.

The battlefield became a whirlwind of Luffy’s attacks. His punches landed with bone-crushing force, and his movements were faster and more aggressive than you’d ever seen. The enemies stood no chance against him, their numbers dwindling rapidly as the rest of the crew joined the fray.

Zoro cut down anyone who got too close, his swords flashing in the dim light. Sanji kicked his way through the crowd with practiced ease, and Nami’s lightning strikes cleared entire sections of the battlefield.

But Luffy was a force of nature. His focus was unyielding, his rage boiling over as he fought to protect you.

When the last of the enemies fell, Luffy sprinted back to your side, dropping to his knees. His hands hovered over you, unsure where to touch without hurting you further.

"(Y/N)," he said, his voice trembling. "You’re bleeding... You’re hurt..."

You forced a weak smile, though the pain made it difficult. "I’m okay... I’ll be fine..."

"No, you’re not!" he snapped, his voice cracking. "Don’t say that! You’re not okay!"

His hands found yours, clutching them tightly as if holding on to you physically would keep you from slipping away. His straw hat, hanging by its string, swung lightly with the movement.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice raw with guilt. "I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I should’ve been faster. I should’ve protected you better."

"Luffy..."

"I love you," he blurted out, his eyes wide and filled with panic. "I love you so much, and I— I can’t lose you. You hear me? You’re not allowed to leave me!"

You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek. "Luffy, I’m not going anywhere," you murmured, your voice as steady as you could manage.

His eyes softened, but the fear lingered. "You promise?"

"Promise," you whispered, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite the pain.

Chopper appeared, his face set with determination as he opened his medical bag. "Luffy, I need space!" the reindeer said urgently, gently pushing the captain aside.

Reluctantly, Luffy moved back, but he didn’t go far. He sat close enough to hold your hand, his grip firm and unwavering. His eyes never left your face, watching every wince and flinch as Chopper worked to stabilize you.

As the pain dulled under Chopper’s care, you managed to smile faintly at Luffy. "I love you too, you know," you said softly.

He blinked, his expression softening further. A small, relieved smile broke through the worry on his face. "You’d better," he said, his tone teasing but still laced with concern.

After Chopper bandaged your wound, he declared that you’d be fine with some rest and proper care. Luffy’s shoulders sagged with relief, but his eyes didn’t lose their intensity.

He leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I’m sorry," he said again, his voice low and earnest. "I won’t let this happen again. I’ll protect you, no matter what."

You squeezed his hand, your heart swelling despite the exhaustion. "I know you will."

As the crew began preparing to return to the Sunny, Luffy stayed at your side, refusing to leave you even for a moment. His whispered apologies and affirmations of love were a constant reminder of how much you meant to him—and how much he meant to you.

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

[the-odd-shu]

I would recognise you in another lifetime, entirely in different bodies.

A scenario from the illustrator!Reader universe.

Pairing: Jayce/Viktor/Reader (polycule)

Masterlist:

Previous -> Next

SEASON 2 SPOILERSSSS!!

Gender Neutral Reader with they/them pronouns.

Summary: Reader who is still wandering around in the ruined dimension because they panic scribbled runes onto their forehead which essentially 'repels' Mage!Viktor's magic. It was sheer luck that gave them the correct rune combination, having stolen one of Viktor's research journals and began copying in a blind panic. The runes also allow them to wander the world, beneath Viktor's radar, essentially invisible to his magic as well as untainted by his influence.

"Jayce." A voice in the darkness whispers, sending goosebumps up the man's forearms, as he twisted his broken body round at the call of his name.

The ravine echoed his panicked movements. The whisper of his filthy clothes sliding against each other. The scrap of skin against jagged stone. His leg protests any movement, but his panic is all consuming and rabid.

"Who-who's there?" He demands, his voice coming out cracked and uneven.

The shuffle of shoes on stone have his head snapping back round and up, and his entire body freezes as he sees a humanoid figure perched on a ledge above where he lays. Back lit by the surface, far, far above, the figure is crouched, knees bent with hands flat against the stone they're perched upon.

"Impossible." The thing whispers to itself, which is a testament to just how silent the ravine is that Jayce can hear it. Then the thing begins to climb down, TOWARDS him.

He panics. Unable to tear his eyes off of it, as it moves fluidly, easily, in the uneven terrain, like some sort of uncanny mountain goat. Clearly, it has been navigating this habitat for a long time.

It has several eyes, Jayce realises with horror. Two in the normal places that humans have eyes, that glow subtly in the poor lighting. And then five points on its forehead, that flow with an unnatural, inner light. If Jayce were not so terrified, he may have thought they were arranged like a crown.

The thing's booted feet slam into the ground, and it straightens up like a man. Jayce makes out ruined clothes, worn shoes, and scraggly, unkempt hair. It approaches him fearlessly.

Jayce scrambles away as best as his ruined leg will allow. "S-stay away!" He demands, the fear obvious in his voice.

It pauses. "Oh. Oh my Love." The thing whispers, "what has he let happen to you?" It lowers itself closer to his level, knees hitting stone, before shuffling closer, clearly trying and failing to be unthreatening. "I'll throttle that bastard the next time I lay eyes on him." It hisses to itself, "allowing you to suffer in the name of learning. As if you haven't had a rough several days already."

It continues to mutter to itself, and Jayce realises with a snag that he recognises the voice. And he hadn't before because of how rough it sounds, like the creature hasn't had use of words for years.

He watches with wide eyes as it aims for his leg, rather than his head and anything vital. It tuts under its breath as it crouches above the injury. "Definitely broken." They mutter.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Jayce asks. In truth, he already knows, but he also doesn't. This person is foreign to him. They move differently to who he is expecting.

"Oh." They say again, voice creaking. "You do not recognise me."

"Step into the light." He says instead.

And the figure tilts their head, those unnatural, glowing eyes sending shivers up and down his back. No, wait, now that they're so close, he realises that the ones further up its face, are in fact runes. Runes that glow with a similar light to the Hexcore. To the magic that had been infused in Viktor's limbs when he had reawakened and stumbled his way across the lab.

At his request, the figure rises once more to their feet, and steps over him towards a beam of light filtering in from far above. The light banishes the uncertainty from Jayce's mind as he gazes upon a face he knows intimately, and yet looks alien to him now.

He was right at least, the upper glowing points on their face were not eyes, but were indeed runes. Runes that looked like they had been carved into the flesh of their forehead.

"What happened to you?" He asks.

"I could ask you the same thing, Love." They return easily, eyes dropping to his leg. "You look like you've been through the ringer." There is a deep, heavy sadness to their voice. A grief that startles Jayce.

Reader lingers by Jayce in the days that follow.

Keeping him company, and indulging his NEED to scribble on the walls. Runes and equations, and any possible ways back home.

They hunt down small creatures to feed him. Sparing his leg the agony of doing it himself, and allowing him to rest.

They venture deeper into the depths of the ravine in search of burnable things for a fire. And help him to the water for a drink.

They do not offer up suggestions of how to escape. Saying obscurer things like, "he's testing you', and 'he won't allow me to remain here if I make this too easy for you'. They always refer to some nameless 'him' but refuse to actually name 'him'. Muttering how if 'he' wanted Jayce to know 'him' yet, than 'he' would have already shown himself.

It gets cold in the ravine at night, so the pair huddle together for warmth. Reader's head on Jayce's shoulder, hands knotted into his ruined clothes as if he'll slip away at a moment's notice.

Sometimes, their rune riddled forehead touches the skin of Jayce's throat. And sometimes the magic residing within offer glimpses of events that Jayce has never experienced himself.

He sees snapshots of the lab, how it was after Viktor woke up from his coma. He sees books upon books of notes open, runes scrawled in both his and Viktor's handwriting, spread out across several desks. He feels the weight of a marker pen in his dominant hand, and sees someone else's terrified face staring back at him in the reflection of a mirror as they scribbled runes across their forehead.

He feels a deep seated terror closing his airways, as he hears the lab door open behind him. As he hears the familiar gait of Viktor's footsteps, tinged with a metallic after note. He feels sweat break on his forehead as his eyes dart from Viktor's approaching form in the mirror, to the useless ink marks standing out on their skin.

Viktor's voice is heavy with his accent as he calls out a greeting, an unnatural, unsettling undertone altering his voice ever so slightly. If Jayce did not know the man as intimately as he did, he would never have noticed the difference.

In the dream - no, the memory - the body that Jayce is hijacking, turns to meet Viktor as he approaches with slow, terrifying footsteps.

"Join me." He coaxes, a mockery of the sweet words he used to utter when inviting one or both of his lovers into bed after a long day spent in the lab.

His urging is denied. Viktor does not listen, and he takes by force. His hand coming down on Jayce's forehead and forces his submission.

By some miracle, the useless runes etched across his forehead ignite. The moment Viktor's hexcore enhanced fingertips touch the writing and he tries to forge a connection, the energy is abruptly converting into a power source for the runes which immediately burst to life. It send a sharp, siring warmth across Jayce's skin, and causes Viktor to recoil with a shout, ripping his hand away.

There is a weird, iridescent light in Jayce's peripheral vision, as Viktor's form stumbles back.

Jayce's head snaps down, and his eyes connect with little mirror on the desk, and he realises with a start that the simple pen marks had sunk down under his skin; having carved a permanent presence into the flesh.

"You- you shut me out." Viktor whispered, his voice oozing with hurt.

The words that shoot forth from Jayce's mouth are not his own as anger and betrayal coats them thickly. "You tried to erase me!" The body he is in snarls, "you tried to turn me into one of your mindless puppets!"

"Not erase, no! I would never erase you." Viktor tries to reassure, "I just wanted to help you see-" but the dream slips away before Jayce can be convinced.

Reader has helped Jayce to the water, where he drinks before tending to his wounded leg. He is dunking a rag into the water to clean his injuries, only to startle when he looks up and finds the white cloaked figure that led him here, looming on the other side of the water. He lets out a startled gasp. Hears Reader step up behind him.

"Oi!" They bellow, voice carrying effortlessly across the pond, to the figure, who turns their hooded head towards them. "Fuck off!"

Jayce blinks, and the figure is gone.

"Nosy bastard." Reader angrily mutters to themselves, bending down to help Jayce with his leg. "Keeping fucking tabs on me."

When Jayce finally claws his way out of the ravine and ends up on the highest point in the world, he discovers that the 'he' was in fact the Viktor of this world. And he realises almost immedaitely, that there is a heavy tension hanging between Reader and Mage Viktor. A mistrust that clearly upsets the mage, who calmly keeps his expressions smooth and his head turned away from the human. Whilst Reader gives him sad, uncomfortable looks whenever he is near.

The dormant statue of Jayce's alternative self drives a clear wedge between them.

When Jayce and Reader had first gotten up here, the latter had wasted no time in collecting some flowers and striding straight up to the statue, whilst Jayce came to realise that the marble figure looked unnervingly similar to him.

They had knelt beside it, and pressed a warm kiss to its temple, whispering a gentle, "good morning, Love," that sent Jayce's head reeling.

And then the hooded mage had appeared.

"Send him back." Reader commanded Mage!Viktor, expression frosty. "It is only fair."

"I was always going to." Mage Viktor argues back, to which they give him a sharp look.

Jayce is reeling from the hostility between the two. The worst fight he'd ever witnessed between the pair was when Reader misplaced one of Viktor's notebooks, and he'd lost his shit. But this, this was clearly an argument that had festered for far too long.

It was a shame Jayce couldn't afford to stick around to help them figure things out.

Viktor was raising his hand, the runes etched into his fingers beginning to glow a soft blue. Reader stood off to the side, arms crossed and their expression sad as they watched the spell begin to take hold.

It was a stray thought slamming into Jayce that had him grasping the borrowed hammer tighter, and throwing out a panicked, "wait!" Viktor's hand froze mid-cast, the spell freezing. Jayce licked his lips, and turned his attention to Reader. "Can you give me the runes that will help my Y/n?"

This dimension's Reader and Mage!Viktor exchange a tense look. "I could, but it will not help you." Reader tells Jayce, who feels a spike of panic. "You see, that interaction between them and The Herald happens whilst you're in this universe. It is down to them and luck if they manage to find the correct rune combination to remain separate from the hivemind."

"So there is nothing I can do."

Mage!Viktor shakes his head. And Reader gives him a look of sympathy. "Sometimes we're lucky, but most of the time, we fall to The Herald like everyone else he cures."

Mage!Viktor and Reader remaining in their ruined dimension. Reader made it a pastime to draw runes on statue!Jayce's forehead to try and revive him. Viktor tells them tiredly that what he has done to their lover is permanent and cannot be reversed. They tell him to go shove his pessimism up his cosmic ass.

They continue to try out different rune combinations day after day. And Viktor lingers nearby, watching them quietly and regretting everything that led them to this place. To these years spent without Jayce'.

He hates that the runes on Reader's forehead prevent him from offering them a glimpse into his thoughts. Prevent him from plainly showing them how remorseful he is. Prevent him from showing them truthfully just how many times he has tried to reverse his mistakes. How many times his tried and failed to bring Jayce back to them. But alas, the runes on their forehead keep him out, and give them enough peace of mind to exist near him, which is more than he truthfully deserves.

"Hand." Reader demands, pulling back their charcoal from Jayce's cracked, marble-like forehead. Viktor offers his hand as he does whenever they finish a combination, and they gently grab his wrist to touch his fingers to the marks. They're always gentle with him, regardless of how furious they are about him ending the world. And somehow the gentleness just makes everything that much worse.

"Though your determination is admirable, have you not grown bored yet?" He asks, as he asks everyday.

"No."

"This isn't working."

"It will."

"There are hundreds of thousands of possibilities. Endless possible combinations. There is no way you will be able to try them all."

"Jayce wouldn't give up." Reader snarks back, effectively shutting Viktor up. "If our roles were reversed, he wouldn't give up on us. Or did that Jayce's determination mean nothing to you." They add, motioning to the place the other Jayce had been stood just this morning. Freshly prepared for the hell he would have to deal with upon returning home.

Viktor lapses into silence. Eyes distant as he glances from his blank faced companion to the meadow of flowers he has cultivated for his late love.

"Hand." Reader demands of him a few moments later, and like clockwork, Viktor gives it to them. Their grasp on his wrist remains careful, but firm. His fingertips smudge the charcoal, and he reaches for that thread within Jayce's dormant subconsciousness. Fishing for a wall that will stop his probing touch, as it had within the individual sat beside him. But as it always seems to, Jayce's mind opens up to Viktor and his fingers sink in. Jayce's memories and emotions swirl beneath his fingertips, and Viktor offers a parting burst of love and adoration before withdrawing. Jayce slumbers on, if not a little easier with the magical nudge.

There is a huff beside him as he withdraws his hand back to his staff. Viktor glances in his peripheral vision at Reader, who tenderly reaches up with a damp, charcoal smudged rag to wipe the old runes away, before they take up their charcoal stick and draw new ones on.

There is a set to Reader's brow this time, a slight wobble in their lower lip that makes Viktor's stomach twist with guilt and longing. He wants to reach out and gather them to him, but he knows from experience that he will just end up getting shoved away, and they'll run from him. Use their runes to their advantage to conceal themselves from him before they inevitably come back for Jayce.

"I miss him." Reader whispers under their breath, and Viktor's eyes close tightly against the sheer pain in their tone.

"As do I." He reassured them, and they smiled tightly at him.

Wordlessly, they reached out for Viktor's hand, and he readily gave it to them. What stuns him however, is how instead of simply placing his fingers for him, they first bring his hand to their lips and press a kiss to the back of it. Their eyes shine when he stares at them in shock, the affection so deeply missed, that for a moment, he is rendered speechless.

"I am still mad at you." They clarify wetly, "but I miss you too."

And Viktor wants to reassure them that he is still here. He has been here the entire time, despite being a little different. Despite having changed. Deep down, he is still their Viktor, and no amount of magic or external influence could truly take him from them.

But he ends up voicing none of that, because they turn away, and lift his offered hand to Jayce's forehead. Viktor's fingertips make contact, and with a jolt, he feels the runes drawn there flare to life.

He lets out a cry, as his magic is snagged from his grasp, and turned to repel him. Reader feels it too, and their grip tightens on Viktor's wrist to yank his hand away.

Jayce's statue body makes a horrible cracking noise as his hands, still outstretched for his hammer, suddenly drop to his sides.

Viktor is on his feet in moments. He grabs Reader by the armpits and hauls them back, his staff raised defensively between them and the statue.

The statue that has begun to flake and twist. Sheets of marble white matter flake off of its ribcage, as its chest begins to rise and fall. It falls off the thing's face, revealing closed eyes and flaring nostrils. Then, the marble around the blown out portion of its head, begins to grow and round out into the shape of a skull, before it cracks like an egg and hair flops out. Familiar, deep brown locks.

With a gasp, Jayce comes back to life. The runes stand out like a crown across his forehead as his eyes fly open and dart all over. His hands pat at his bearded cheeks, along his nose, under his chin. Then he glances down to his body, clad in the very same outfit he had worn on the day Viktor absorbed him into the hivemind.

"I'm alive." He says breathlessly. And there is bewilderment in his voice. And relief. So much relief.

In Viktor's arms, Reader is practically vibrating out of their skin. "I told you." They whisper joyously. "I TOLD YOU!" They exclaim, turning in Viktor's grip to bless him with the widest, most excited smile he has ever seen them muster.

And then they're scrambling out of his arms and flinging themselves at a bewildered Jayce, who barely recovers quickly enough to grab them back. The pair mould together perfectly, as they always had. And the sight makes Viktor's heart ache. He lowers his staff, and takes a hesitant step forward, a private, relieved smile tugging at his own lips.

"V, get over here." Jayce encourages, one arm still around Reader, and the other outstretched to Viktor who hesitates.

"After everything I have done-" Viktor begins in astonishment, feeling like he doesn't deserve such easy forgiveness.

"I'm not asking." Jayce warns, "I'm telling you, V. Get over here."

And with a huff, Viktor lets Jayce take his extended hand and drag him down into a hug. And by the gods, has he missed the warm touch of this man.

There is still so much left unsaid between them. Apologies that need to be offered, and mistakes that need to be talked out. But for now, this was enough.

[milksnake-tea]

━━ to walk amongst the living .

Jade's last words continue to haunt Sunday as he is cast from the heaven of Penacony and goes from a Family Head to a mere traveler. On his journey to fully understand the struggles of mortals, he ends up becoming companions with you, a fellow wanderer.

sunday x gn!reader

contains: post 2.3, written before 2.7, sunday is hinted to have asthma, sunday is trying his best but bro hasn't touched grass in years so he's struggling, hardcore yearning from sunday

word count: 3.1k

a/n: SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL BARKSI RIYGHGUGHU if hyv doesnt give us any crumbs on what he was doing before he runs into us again. EXPLODES

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo , @moineauz

“Achoo!“

The cold was starting to get annoying.

Sunday sighed, biting back his frustration as he wiped his nose with a handkerchief and tugged his scarf to better shield his face. It was a good thing he’d decided to bundle up before leaving Penacony; otherwise, he would’ve already died of pneumonia.

The Planet of Dreams and Festivities was the very definition of a paradise. Everything, from the colors, the sounds, and the temperature was carefully maintained to never be too much or too little.

Sunday did not have such privileges here.

He didn’t remember when the last time he saw snow was. Back home, the closest he’d seen to a natural landscape was the Moment of Oasis, where tourists lounged about on the spectacular beaches - and even then, Sunday hadn’t exactly had time to indulge in such luxuries.

His nose was no doubt red from the cold, and his thighs burned from the long hike he’d decided to torture himself with. Wind battered his hood against his face, occasionally blocking his vision or smacking him. Sunday’s wings instinctively shielded him from the incoming snow that somehow made its way past his hood. He grimaced at the feeling of the ice catching and melting on his feathers, already dreading having to clean them out.

Upon reaching a somewhat flat piece of terrain, he gave himself mercy and allowed himself to stop for a break. His halo, his main weapon against frostbite, glowed gently with a heat not unlike a fireplace as he surveyed just how far he’d traveled.

Mountains upon mountains greeted his gaze, all jagged and covered with the same multi-colored snow that was the staple of this planet. He stood among fallen aurora, and down below, he spied a cluster of bright, warm lights that stood apart from the greens, blues, and purples of the snow: the cities, where he’d first arrived here.

Zastrugi was a planet infamous for its harsh conditions, rivaled only by the recently reintroduced Jarilo-VI. Even so, the people here prided themselves on their resilience, and gladly welcomed those seeking a challenge or a death-defying thrill.

In other words, it was a cemetery of the arrogant and the ambitious, and a perfect fit for Sunday’s current goals. After all, what better way to live a mortal’s life than to endure their struggles?

Sunday looked down at himself. His legs were weak, shaking and trembling from the hike, and no doubt were only kept standing due to adrenaline. His chest burned from haggard breaths, cut again and again from each frosty inhale. His head felt light. He wanted to die.

If this wasn’t suffering, he didn’t know what was.

It was invigorating.

Never before had he felt more alive, with the frost biting at his cheeks and the pain that ransacked his body. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, fighting yet strong and resilient and surviving. A soft smile graced his pale lips as his breath fogged in the air.

How strange, he mused. To find such joy in his own suffering… Was he always this twisted?

“I was wondering when you’d catch up.”

Sunday turned to see you sitting on a rock nearby, snow brushed off of stone so that you could sit without wetting your pants. One of your legs is propped up as you look out at the view, your bored expression proof enough that you’d been sitting there for a while.

You were a fellow traveler he’d met sometime on his travels. Sunday still groaned whenever he remembered your first encounter; he’d gotten swept up in a sudden storm and remembered too late that 1.) he didn’t know how to swim and 2.) his wings were not waterproof. Had you not dove into the raging tide and pulled him out, he would’ve drowned for sure.

Ever since then, you’d accompanied him on his travels - or, rather, he accompanied you on yours. Sunday, with what little he knew of the world outside of Penacony, knew not what his destination was, nor where he should head off to. Your goal was a little more simple - you wanted to see all that was beautiful in the universe.

Even if that meant climbing to the tops of unreasonably steep mountains or camping out in unbearingly hot deserts.

Thankfully, you weren’t opposed to his offer (begging) to join you - on the contrary, you were thankful that he had been the one to say it because in your words, you didn’t know if he would survive if you left him alone by his lonesome.

He still didn’t know what to make of that. For his own pride, he chose to ignore it for the time being.

“Were you waiting long?” he asked, gloved fingers holding the edge of his hood as to keep both it and the snow out of his face. You shook your head, your own hooded cloak flapping in the wind as you looked back out at the view.

“Not as long as I might’ve in the past,” you joked lightly. Sunday breathed a laugh.

Back when he’d first walked alongside you, he’d fought a long and hard battle with his own stamina. It was embarrassing when he thought back on it, how many times he’d have to ask you to stop for a break or even had to be carried by you to the nearest rest stop. Sometimes he wondered why you kept him around, but of course, he never asked.

But he’d grown stronger and more resilient since then, at least, he hoped he did - if not for you, then for his pride.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Your voice was rather wistful as you spoke, a little breathless and hushed, yet clear in the crisp, scarce air. “What do you think? Was it worth it?”

“I’m not so sure,” Sunday tried for a joke of his own - although, he wasn’t all joking. No matter how much he traveled, he could never get used to the feeling of his own breath scraping against his lungs as he heaved for air.

You, intuitive as ever, sighed knowingly. “Sit down. You look as if you’re going to pass out.”

Brushing aside some snow on the rock, you shifted over to make room for him. Gratefully, Sunday fought demons in order to stop his trembling legs from collapsing in from under him as he lowered himself onto the rock. That would’ve been mortifying.

His breath fogged in the air as he sighed, thankful for some rest. Around him, the snowfall was gentle and slow, and as the moonlight from Zastrugi’s two moons caught on each individual flake, ribbons of light came and passed like wisps of smoke.

An echoing click of metal caught his attention. He looked to his side and was greeted with a cloud of steam warming his face. In your hand was a small metal thermos that held what he assumed is either tea or hot water. You gestured for him to take it.

“Drink; you need to warm up before we continue. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you died of hypothermia.”

Sunday breathed his gratitude as he took the thermos. Your fingers brushed slightly, but with the cold, he registered it only after it was gone, and by then it was too late to respond. Still, his heart skipped regardless, and he turned away before he dwaddled too long, thankful for the cold that had already reddened his cheeks.

He blew gently on the liquid within, and took small, careful sips as to not burn his tongue (it’d happened before, and it was humiliating). He was delightfully surprised with the subtle floral tastes of white tea, his favorite. It was obvious that it had been sweetened, and the honey added was just enough so that it satisfied his cravings.

But, as Sunday drank away, the tea warming him from the inside, he thought to himself - he never told you he liked white tea specifically, nor did he ever tell you how much sugar he preferred. How did you know?

Had you, every time you’d taken him to a local cafe or restaurant, watched and observed? Had you remembered, from the few times you’d seen him order or make a drink for himself?

His hold on the thermos faltered as fire rushed to his cheeks. In his chest, under all those layers of cloth and cloaks, a dance unfolded, his heart tip-tapping away, a steady rhythm that was both nerve-wrecking and comforting.

Sunday inhaled deeply, wings fluttering ever-so slightly, and pushed his thoughts away to focus on the tea, nearly burning his tongue in the process. You only raised a brow before returning your sight to the distant city. A comfortable silence enveloped the two of you.

As Sunday gazed down upon the scene, a sharp ache in his sides and a stiffness in his legs, he wondered - was this how Robin felt, when she performed from that grand stage of hers. Sure, the aurora couldn’t compare to the lightshow that accompanied his sister’s concerts, but still - there must be some similarities. Here, at the top of this world, he felt light, as if nothing could ever touch him.

“O chosen one, who dared to exceed his bounds. Sever your wings, descend to the mortal realm, and walk their lands. See what this world is truly like.”

Lady Bonajade’s words rang in his head. Instantly a scowl twisted his features.

He’d never liked the IPC, and he wasn’t going to start now - especially not with a snake like her. He could still hear her taunting voice, that indifferent condescention presented as good-natured pity dampening his mood. There wasn’t much that could truly anger him, but it only seemed natural that it was yet another IPC Stoneheart that managed the feat.

But still, she had been right… much to his chagrin. As much as he hated to admit it, he had flown too high from the people he wished to protect. Even the Astral Express - whom he respected far more than Jade - had made it clear: Know your people before you decide what was right for them.

“What’s on your mind?”

Sunday flinched. You peered at him from behind your hood, face gentle yet your brows were furrowed ever so slightly.

“Ah, I apologize.” He lowered the thermos to his lap. “I was… thinking.”

“I know,” you replied. Shifting slightly so that you could lean back on your hands, you stretched your legs out into the snow. “You do that a lot.”

With a kick, you sent the snow flying into an arch off the cliffside, creating another ripple in the aurora.

“Thinking too much in a place like this… seems like a waste, doesn’t it? Try and take a break from your brain, and just- see. Look at where you are.”

Sunday raised an abdominal wing to block the multi-colored snow from falling into his thermos. Shaking the snow off the twilight feathers, he sighed, staring into what remains of the tea.

You clicked your tongue. Snow crunched, and cloth shuffled, before the cap of the thermos blocked his view. Screwing it closed, you took the thermos from him, a twinge of annoyance tugging at Sunday as he mourned the last bits of tea still left in there.

Before Sunday could complain, however, you beat him to it.

“Don’t give me that look,” you teased lightly. “We’re almost to the top - you can finish your tea there.”

The beginnings of a pout tugged his lip, but with a reluctant sigh, Sunday abided. Pushing off of his knees, he brushed himself off.

“Very well,” he relented, but not without fixing you with a flat stare first. If you saw it, you didn’t say anything, for you had already begun your trek to the mountain’s peak.

The higher you climbed, the harsher the snow became. No matter how beautiful something was, Sunday found that he didn’t care if it was pelting him in the face with as much punch as a bullet. His hood became his shield, and he hurried to keep in pace with you.

Because unlike him, who specialized in Imaginary and Quantum manipulation, you were a master of fire. Your footprints lasted longer than his for the mere fact that you seemed to melt through the snow, and as long as Sunday kept close to you, he wouldn’t be at risk into becoming a popsicle.

But that was easier said than done. Again, you were far more traveled than he was, and as such you moved at a much faster pace despite the melting snow’s attempts at slowing you down. Sunday was already dreading the next morning - he’d have to do a full-body stretch for at least half an hour after this was all done if he wanted his legs to be functionable tomorrow.

Every now and then, you would glance back at him, as if making sure he hadn’t been swept up in an avalanche - which, if it weren’t unfortunately a valid concern, would’ve damaged his already ruined ego. And each time, Sunday would meet your gaze, and offer the tiniest of smiles before returning to his suffering.

By the time you had reached the summit, Sunday was well about to pass out. The air was thinner up here, making it hard to breathe, and his exhaustion did not make things easier. But he had done it, and surprisingly, he had kept in pace with you.

He breathed as much as he could, swallowing what little oxygen he could grasp from the top of the world. A wheeze or two ripped through his lungs. Wordlessly, you pressed his inhaler into his hand, a pat on his back to congratulate him. Sunday nodded his thanks.

Once his medication had done its magic and he no longer had to focus on the struggles of breathing properly, he realized that the world had gone silent. Snow no longer pelted at his face, and the aurora had gone dark.

And then he swept his gaze, and saw the clouds below him. Somehow, without noticing, he’d passed through them, and entered an entirely different plane of Zastrugi. Here, there was nothing but sky, and the stars - real, actual stars, not the false ones created by the snow, danced in nebulae above him.

And there was you, your cloak flapping in the wind as you gazed up at the cosmos. With so little light, he could only see your silhouette, but he has the impression that your back is turned towards him.

You are silent, as you always are when you see new sights. In moments like these, it was as if your breath had been stolen, and it is all you could do to absorb the picturesque scene before you, engraving it into your mind to store for all eternity.

Once, Sunday had expected you to take photos of your journeys, as a memento. But you never did. No, rather, you would stand there, memorizing every little detail, and then return to your temporary home to paint it instead.

And he swore, those paintings were almost always more magnificent than the places they were based on.

Sunday took one last look towards the everlasting cosmos before coming up to your side. Rather than the sky, the image he drank in was you. Your expression was soft, yet awe-struck, much like a child seeing the world for the first time. There was always a sort of melancholy in your eyes, but also a love for everything that he could drown in if you allowed him to.

You loved the world, and it was that love that he adored.

You turned to him, noticing his gaze, and for a moment, it was if time itself had stopped. His breath caught in his throat, and words died on his tongue. All he could do was look into your star-speckled gaze, all the colors of the universe casting their light onto the two of you.

What expression was he wearing, he wondered? A smile, or perhaps… something else?

But then you raised your hand, brushing it against his cheek ever so slightly, and all of those thoughts disappeared.

A smile wove onto your lips. “You had some snow left on you.”

Sunday tried not to miss your hand as it left him. His fingers trace what you had left, his gaze becoming lidded.

“Ah,” he breathed.

The corner of yours eyes crinkle, and you turned to the cliffside. Leaning over slightly, you peered over the edge, the clouds obscuring the true height of the fall. Sunday blinked.

“What are you planning…” he sighed, crossing his arms. You chuckled, turning slightly to meet his eyes.

“One way or another, we have to get down,” you pointed out. Sunday’s expression fell flat.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Your feet toed the edge, sending rocks and snow tumbling down. “You said you wanted to experience life as a mortal to the fullest, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t aware that included throwing oneself off a mountain.”

You shook your head, a grin surfacing. “You’re no fun, Sunday. Don’t you have those wings of yours? What do you have to worry about?”

Sunday’s answer was immediate. “You.”

“How sweet of you,” you commented as he came to besides you. “Well, then, you’ll just have to catch me, won’t you?”

Sunday squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. “[Name], I swear upon all that is good in this world-”

He opened his eyes. You were already gone.

Sunday swore.

Midnight unfolded behind his back, clashing with his white cloak. Without so much as a second thought, he dove into the clouds headfirst, shooting through the sky like a meteor as he searched for you.

The second the fog of the clouds leave, however, he was thrust into a world of color. He fell alongside the snow, and unlike when he was on the mountain itself, he became a part of the aurora. The colors nearly blinded him, if not for the fact that he had his sights set on one thing - your falling figure, so close yet so far.

He tucked his wings as to fall faster. The second he reached you, he grabbed you, arms locking around your waist and pulling you into him, where it was safe.

“You’re a fool,” he scolded as your chest met his. You laughed, throwing your head back to return to the aurora.

“And yet, you saved me all the less.”

Sunday rolled his eyes as your legs wrapped around his waist. His wings returned to their full wingspan, catching the wind and ensuring that your fall didn’t end in a tragedy. He swerved and turned and glided, dodging peaks and keeping his sights on the city.

And all the same, you laughed, nothing short of pure glee in your voice.

And he sighed, fondness squeezing him regardless.

Yes, you were a fool.

But you were a fool he couldn’t help but love.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[earthlybeam]

Hii, if your requests are open may I please request something a bit bittersweet but with a good ending? Sort of?? With Legolas , Thranduil and Haldir (and/or anyone else you'd prefer more!)Something like them and the reader being separated in war/battle and them thinking the other is gone but then they reunite after a long time and it's tears and happiness and all that soft stuff. Bonus points if the reader is also mortal/human

A bittersweet tale with a heartwarming ending—featuring Legolas, Thranduil, Haldir and bonus character Elrond love him too much. 🫶❤️‍🩹

So Imagine the reader you a mortal (gender is up to you as non state) , and the elves being separated during a fierce battle or war. Both sides believe the other is lost, the grief of separation weighing heavy on them. Yet, after an agonizingly long time, fate intervenes. Against all odds, they reunite in a moment filled with overwhelming relief, tears, and joy. It’s a tender celebration of love enduring through loss, hardship, and the passage of time. 🫶🥹❤️‍🩹

If anyone else has any requests feel free to ask 🫶

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

𐂂 The Battle of the Five Armies had come and gone, leaving behind scars that no time could ever truly heal. For Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, the toll of loss weighed heavily on his heart. Amidst the chaos—the relentless clash of swords, the anguished cries of the fallen, and the suffocating haze of smoke—he had searched for you. His human love. His heart. His beloved starlight. He had fought against the tide of battle, his mind only on you, but in the confusion and chaos, you had been swept away, lost to the carnage.

In the days that followed, Thranduil himself took to the battlefield, disregarding the pleas of his soldiers to return to safety. His silver armor, once gleaming, was now dulled with blood and ash, his movements precise yet desperate as he turned over fallen bodies, scanned the shattered terrain, and searched through shadowed crevices. When the wind carried no trace of your scent, his heart constricted. When he found only a scrap of your bloodied cloak caught on the jagged rocks of a cliffside, he knew despair.

𐂂 Thranduil did not cry out. Kings did not weep in the presence of their people. He held the torn fabric tightly, the blood staining his palm as he returned to his soldiers with an expression that betrayed nothing. His orders were delivered with icy precision: count the dead, tend to the wounded, prepare for the long journey home. The Woodland Realm must endure, for he was their king, and they needed him to remain steadfast.

𐂂 But that night, in the solitude of his chambers, Thranduil crumbled. He sat on the edge of his ornate bed, your bloodied cloak still clutched in his hand. The walls of his chamber, once grand and filled with life, now seemed to press in around him, cold and suffocating. The emptiness in his chest felt like a wound that would never heal, and his grief clawed at him like a living thing. The silence mocked him, for he knew the sound of your laughter would never fill these halls again.

𐂂 Thranduil had lived for centuries, enduring losses that few could understand. He had stood on the battlefield when his father, Oropher, fell during the War of the Last Alliance, his grief then a sharp and sudden wound. He had watched his beloved wife fade away, claimed by the creeping darkness that plagued the woods. That grief had been a slow, relentless ache. But this? This was different. Your absence was not a wound or an ache—it was an emptiness, a hollow void that had been carved into his very being.

𐂂 He missed you in ways that made his chest tighten and his breath catch. He missed the sound of your voice, so soft and full of warmth, the way it caressed his name when you spoke it. He missed the human lilt in your Sindarin words, a melody that was uniquely yours. He missed the way your laughter would echo through the halls, bright and carefree, a sharp contrast to the somber atmosphere of the palace.

𐂂 He longed for the nights you spent together, tangled in one another’s arms beneath the moonlight. He could still feel the press of your lips against his, kisses so full of passion and fire that they left him breathless. A kiss from you had the power to undo him, to strip away his crown and his burdens until he was not a king but simply a man who adored you. He missed the small, human things you brought into his immortal life. The way you would coax him out of his solemnity with your mischievous smiles and playful demands. One rainy evening, you had dragged him into the gardens, insisting that he join you to dance in the storm. At first, he had resisted, scolding you for risking your health, but when your fingers entwined with his and your laughter rose above the thunder, he had relented. Together, you had spun and swayed beneath the deluge, your hair plastered to your face and your clothes clinging to your skin. In that moment, he had felt something he had not felt in centuries—freedom.

𐂂 Thranduil’s grief was sharpest in the quiet moments, when the absence of your presence was most keenly felt. He missed waking up before the sun just to hold you a little longer, your body warm and soft against his. He missed how your fingers would trace the elegant lines of his face, your touch reverent, as if you were committing him to memory. He missed the ritual of dressing together each morning, your hands brushing as he fastened the clasps of your gown/robe or adjusted the delicate circlet you wore.

𐂂 Evenings in the library were the hardest to endure. The two of you would sit close, a fire crackling softly in the hearth as you read to one another. Your voice, clear and melodic, would weave through the ancient stories, and he would pause every now and then to press a kiss to your temple or trace a finger along your jawline. You had a way of making even the longest nights feel too short. Without you, those evenings felt endless and empty.

𐂂 There were nights when you’d set the books aside, pouring glasses of deep red wine and lingering over its warmth. He’d sit on the floor between your knees, his broad back leaning into your lap, while your fingers deftly braided his hair, weaving intricate patterns as you talked. You’d trade stories, share secrets, laugh until your sides hurt, and unravel the mysteries of one another until the fire burned low.

𐂂 Eventually, you’d settle together on the chaise, his arms wrapped around you, his head tucked into the curve of your neck. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat would lull you into a sense of peace, and you’d wonder how hours could slip by so quickly when they were spent in his arms. Without you, those evenings felt endless and empty—a hollow echo of what they once were.

𐂂 He missed your presence at his side during council meetings, your steady gaze meeting his when the weight of his crown became too heavy. Though you were mortal, you had a wisdom that he cherished, and he often leaned over to murmur in your ear, seeking your insight on matters of politics or war.

𐂂 He missed the sound of your voice. How it could rise in fierce defiance, matching his intensity when you challenged him, or soften into a gentle melody when you spoke of your dreams. You had a way of looking at him that unnerved him at first, piercing through the layers of his arrogance and pride, as if you saw the man beneath the crown. And he had let you see him—a rare gift, one he now regretted giving so freely, for it left him feeling more exposed in your absence.

𐂂 Thranduil carried himself as a king should, his grief hidden behind an unyielding mask. But when he was alone, the cracks in his composure showed. He wandered the halls of his palace late at night, his silver cloak trailing behind him like a shroud. He imagined he could hear your footsteps, the soft echo of your voice calling his name.

𐂂 The gardens, once a place of solace, now only deepened his sorrow. He would kneel by the flowers you had tended, his fingers brushing over their leaves as though he could touch a piece of you. He remembered how you had once knelt beside him, your hands dirtied from planting new blossoms, and how you had laughed when he teased you about your lack of grace.

𐂂 He would sit beneath the ancient trees, staring up at the stars, and wonder if you could see them too, wherever you were. His fingers would stray to the ring he had meant to give you, the one he had carried in his pocket for months, waiting for the perfect moment. That moment would never come.

𐂂 Thranduil’s grief was a testament to the depth of his love. He had lived for centuries, but you had taught him what it truly meant to live. Your absence was a void that no amount of time could fill, and though he remained every inch a thin the walls of his heart, he was simply a man mourning the you who had been his world.

𐂂 Three years had passed in the lonely corridors of his palace, years marked by an unrelenting stillness that clung to the Woodland Realm like a shroud. The celebrations of the victory at the Battle of the Five Armies had long faded into memory, their songs and triumphs reduced to whispers of the past. For Thranduil, there was no solace in victory, no joy in the enduring peace. His thoughts, no matter how he tried to quell them, always wandered back to you.

𐂂 He thought of your laughter, so bright it seemed to illuminate the shadowed halls of his realm. He thought of your touch—soft, grounding, and warm, a balm to his weary spirit. He thought of the way your eyes shone, even in the darkest moments, like stars breaking through a storm-laden sky. But these thoughts were no comfort. They were daggers, sharp and cruel, reminding him of the emptiness that had taken your place.

𐂂 The elves whispered of their king, pitying him. Thranduil, who had endured centuries of loss and seen his kingdom thrive despite it, now seemed diminished. His grief was a weight that bent him in ways his people had never seen. Once proud and untouchable, he had become a man lost in memories, a king trapped in mourning.

The return:

𐂂 Three (or more up to you) years had passed since fate last smiled upon Thranduil. Three years of silence, of searching, of despair. The Woodland Realm had recovered from its battles, but its king had not. His people spoke in hushed tones of his sorrow, how he spent long hours gazing toward the edges of his forest, as though willing you to emerge from the shadows. Yet the forest, which once seemed endless and alive, had remained achingly empty.

𐂂 Then, on an autumn evening when the air was thick with the scent of fallen leaves and the golden hues of the forest began to fade into dusk, hope returned. A scout came to the palace, his face grave but his icy blue eyes bright with news. A figure—a lone, weary traveler—had been seen wandering the edges of the forest. The description matched you.

𐂂 Thranduil needed no further confirmation. Without so much as a word, he swept from the council chambers, the echo of his departure leaving the room stunned in silence. Mounting his great elk, he rode out into the deepening twilight, his silver armor catching the last remnants of the sun. The colors of autumn blurred around him as the wind tore at his hair, but he paid no mind to anything except the direction the scout had pointed.

𐂂 He pushed his elk harder than he ever had before, the urgency in his heart an unfamiliar but undeniable ache. As the shadows lengthened and the forest grew darker, Thranduil urged his mount deeper into the woods. The only sounds were the rhythmic beat of hooves against the forest floor and the faint rustle of leaves. It was then, when all seemed still and silent, that he heard it. A voice. Faint, carried by the wind like a song drifting through the trees. It was fragile, almost unreal, but it was unmistakably yours. “Thranduil.”

𐂂 His hands tightened on the reins, his heart stuttering in his chest. Could it be? The voice that had haunted his dreams, the name spoken in a way only you could, both familiar and utterly sacred? Fear warred with hope. What if it was a trick? An echo of his grief? Yet deep in his heart, he knew it could only be you. Urging his elk onward, Thranduil rode toward the sound, his sharp eyes scanning the darkening forest. The trees seemed to bend and shift as though guiding him forward, and at last, the forest opened into a small clearing bathed in the soft glow of twilight.

𐂂 And there you stood. The Sight of You. The world seemed to stop. Time itself held its breath as Thranduil dismounted, his cloak swirling around him in a cascade of silver and forest green. He moved forward slowly, his steps hesitant, as though afraid that the vision of you might dissolve into mist. But you were real. Time had touched you, softening the youthful glow of your face, marking you with lines that spoke of trials endured and years spent apart. Yet you were unmistakably, gloriously you.

𐂂 You turned at the sound of his approach, your eyes widening with shock and disbelief. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then, as though the earth itself shifted beneath your feet, you ran to him. Thranduil caught you in his arms, lifting you from the ground as though to anchor you to him, to banish the years of emptiness that had carved their mark into his soul. His grip was unrelenting, his hands clutching at you, trembling as they mapped the reality of your form.

𐂂 “Thranduil, my love,” you whispered, your voice breaking as your hands framed his face, tracing the sharp angles of his cheeks, the curve of his jaw. Your touch was desperate, needing to confirm that he was real, that this was not another cruel dream.

𐂂 “You… you are here,” he murmured, his voice cracking with disbelief. His icy-blue eyes brimmed with emotion as his hands rose to cradle your face, his long fingers trembling against your skin. “Alive.” He traced the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw, as though committing every inch of you to memory. A shuddering breath escaped him, and his composure—the centuries of restraint he had so carefully mastered—crumbled in the wake of your presence.

𐂂 Then, unable to hold back any longer, he kissed you. It was a kiss that spoke of years lost and love enduring. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that bordered on desperation, as though he could pour every ounce of his grief, his longing, his unyielding devotion into that single moment. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. For the first time in centuries, Thranduil wept.

𐂂 Tears slid silently down his pale cheeks, unchecked and unashamed, as he rested his forehead against yours. His breath came in uneven bursts, and his voice was thick with emotion as he whispered, “I thought I had lost you. I searched every shadow, every corner of this forest. I found nothing. I thought…” His voice faltered. “I thought you were gone.”

𐂂 Your hands tightened on his cloak, clutching at the rich fabric as though to anchor him to you. “I told you, my king,” you said, your voice trembling but steady with conviction. “It would take more than a war to keep me from you.” Your words broke the last of his resolve. He let out a sound—half a laugh, half a sob—and pulled you closer. “You never stopped hoping,” he murmured, his tone one of wonder. “I never stopped,” you confirmed, tears shimmering in your eyes.

𐂂 For a long moment, there were no more words, only the silence of the forest and the quiet communion of two souls reunited. The weight of the years, the pain of your separation, melted away, leaving only the undeniable truth of your love.

𐂂 When Thranduil finally led you back to the Woodland Realm, his people watched in awe. Their king, who for centuries had been distant and untouchable, now radiated a warmth they had never seen before. It was as though you had brought life back to him, restoring a light that had been long extinguished. Though the years apart had changed you both, your love endured—fragile in its mortality, yet unyielding in its depth. And for Thranduil, who had carried the weight of loss for so long, you were his salvation.

Aftermath:

𐂂 Thranduil had always known what it meant to love a mortal. He had known it from the moment his heart first stirred for you, from the way your smile softened the edges of his carefully guarded world. He had known it when you walked beside him through the gardens of the Woodland Realm, your steps so light yet leaving an indelible mark upon his soul. And he had known it when he held you for the first time after your return, the warmth of your presence a bittersweet reminder of how fleeting your time together would be.

𐂂 He no longer let the weight of his duties keep him from your side if you needed him he try get their as fast as he can. Every stolen moment was precious, every shared glance and quiet word a treasure. He found himself lingering in the small, human routines of life that he had once dismissed. He would rise before dawn to watch you sleep, the soft rise and fall of your chest a melody that soothed his ancient heart. He would sit beside you in the evenings, reading to you in the lilting tones of Sindarin, the stories of old taking on a new significance with you nestled against him.

𐂂 Yet, beneath the surface of his newfound joy, a shadow lingered. He could not ignore the truth of your mortality. It was a quiet ache that never left him, a silent countdown that ticked away in the back of his mind. He knew there would come a day when your hand would no longer be there to hold, when your laughter would no longer fill the halls of his palace. And though he was no stranger to loss, the thought of losing you—his love, his heart—was a wound he could not bear to dwell upon.

𐂂 On days when your mortal strength faltered—when the weariness of your journey or the limitations of your human frame caught up to you—he would lift you into his arms without hesitation. His steps remained graceful and unhurried, as though carrying you was the most natural thing in the world. You protested at first, laughing softly at the indignity of being treated like a child, but his calm, unwavering expression silenced you. “You are mine to protect,” he would say simply, his voice gentle but firm. “Let me carry you.” And so you would rest against him, your head on his shoulder, as he bore you through the forest. The warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his steps became a comfort you cherished deeply.

𐂂 The evenings were your favorite time. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars emerged one by one, you and Thranduil would retreat to the quiet solace of his private gardens. The air was rich with the scent of blooming flowers and the hum of life, a testament to the harmony he had nurtured in his realm.

𐂂 You would sit together beneath the spreading branches of an ancient oak, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating the space around you. Thranduil often brought a delicate glass of Dorwinion wine for himself and a fragrant tea for you, brewed with herbs from the forest.

𐂂 “I have lived so long,” he said one night, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “Too long, perhaps. And yet, in all that time, I have never felt as I do now.” He turned to you then, his blue eyes bright with a vulnerability few had ever seen. “You have given me something I thought lost to me forever: hope.” You reached for him, your fingers brushing his cheek in a gesture of comfort and devotion. “I’ll stay with you as long as I can,” you promised, your voice soft but resolute.

𐂂 His hand covered yours, his thumb caressing the back of your fingers. “I know your time here is fleeting,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But I will not waste the gift of your presence. Every moment with you is a treasure, meleth nín, and I will cherish it until the end of my days.”

𐂂 Though the inevitability of your mortality weighed heavily on him, Thranduil chose to focus on the present. He insisted on celebrating the small joys of life: the laughter you shared over a quiet meal, the way your eyes lit up when he presented you with a token of his affection—a delicate circlet of silver leaves or a rare flower from the depths of the forest.

𐂂 He became fiercely protective of you, ensuring that no harm would ever come near. His guards were instructed to keep watch over you whenever he could not, though he was rarely far from your side. Even Legolas, upon returning to Mirkwood, marveled at the bond between you.

𐂂 “You have done what I thought impossible,” Legolas said to you one day, his tone both teasing and sincere. “You have softened my father’s heart.”“I didn’t do anything,” you replied with a smile. “He was always this way. He just needed a reason to show it.” In the years that followed, Thranduil made good on his vow. He loved you with an intensity that belied his normally reserved nature, his devotion to you a constant in a world ever shifting. And though he knew your time together was but a blink in the span of his immortal life, he found peace in the knowledge that you had returned to him.

Bonus part :

𐂂 Thranduil had planned to propose before the Battle of the Five Armies had changed everything. He had commissioned a ring crafted from mithril and set with a stone as clear as starlight, a design as enduring and timeless as the love he felt for you. It had been hidden away, waiting for the perfect moment. He remembered vividly the day he intended to ask. The two of you had walked through the forest, the world quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of life around you. You had smiled at him, teasing him about his pensive mood, unaware of the question he carried in his heart. But then the drums of war had sounded, and everything had unraveled.

𐂂 After your loss in the chaos of the battle, he had buried the ring deep within the treasure vaults of his palace, unable to look at it without feeling the sharp sting of grief. But now, with you back at his side, the thought of that ring returned to him, a quiet but insistent reminder of what he had almost lost. One evening, as the stars glimmered above and the forest glowed with the soft light of fireflies, Thranduil led you to the same clearing where he had found you again. The air was cool, carrying the scent of autumn and woodsmoke, and the world seemed to hold its breath as he turned to face you.

𐂂 “I meant to do this long ago,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with emotion. From the folds of his cloak, he drew out the ring, the mithril catching the faint starlight. “Before the battle… before everything, I wished to ask you something.” You looked up at him, your eyes wide with wonder and tears glistening at their corners. He took your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he knelt before you, his regal composure melting into something infinitely tender.

𐂂 “I know that our time together is fleeting,” he began, his voice low and reverent. “But that is what makes it precious. You have given me a joy I thought I would never feel again, a love that has restored the parts of me I thought lost to the shadows of the past. Will you, for as many days as we are given, be my star, my light, my heart?” When you nodded, tears spilling over as you whispered your answer, he slipped the ring onto your finger and rose, pulling you into an embrace that spoke of a love too vast for words.

From that night onward, Thranduil treated every moment with you as a gift. He ensured that your days together were filled with joy, laughter, and the quiet, unshakable intimacy that defined your bond. The two of you traveled to the farthest reaches of the Woodland Realm, exploring hidden glades and ancient groves. He showed you the secrets of his kingdom, sharing stories that only the trees had witnessed.

𐂂 Yet he also prepared himself for the inevitable. Thranduil, who had faced countless wars and losses, steeled his heart for the day when you would no longer walk beside him. But he made you a promise: when that day came, he would not let his grief consume him. Instead, he would carry your memory like a flame, a guiding light in the endless expanse of his immortal life.

𐂂 And when the time came—years later, in the gentle embrace of a quiet spring—Thranduil held you close as your mortal body surrendered to time. He did not fight the tears that fell, nor the ache that gripped his soul. Instead, he whispered words of love and gratitude, promising that he would find you again, in whatever form the world allowed.

𐂂 For Thranduil, your love was a paradox fragile in its mortality, yet unyielding in its depth. It was a love that defied the constraints of time, enduring not in the years you shared but in the eternal mark it left on his heart. And though he lived on, an immortal king bound to the world, he carried you with him always—a love that transcended even the bounds of eternity.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

𖧧 The battle had been chaos—a maelstrom of blood, steel, and fire. You had been separated in the thick of it, pulled away from Legolas by the tides of war. He had seen you fall, your mortal body collapsing beneath the weight of the enemy’s blows. He had screamed your name, but the battle’s cacophony swallowed his voice. Despite his best efforts to reach you, the press of the enemy and the demands of leadership had dragged him away, forcing him to retreat with his people.

𖧧 Days after the battle, Legolas returned to the site, his heart heavy with dread and hope. The battlefield, once a scene of turmoil, was now eerily silent, save for the whispers of the wind. He searched desperately among the broken bodies and shattered weapons, his eyes scanning every corner, praying to find you—alive or at least at peace.

𖧧 But all that remained was the tattered remnants of your cloak, caught on a jagged stone. His fingers brushed the fabric, trembling with a mixture of grief and disbelief. No sign of your body. He fell to his knees, the weight of the loss sinking deeper than the cold earth beneath him. The battle had taken so much, and now, even your remains seemed to have vanished into the void.

𖧧 Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and yet the memory of your last moments haunted him. He could not forgive himself for failing to save you. Every arrow he loosed, every step he took in the forests of Mirkwood, felt hollow. For an elf who could live forever, the weight of eternity without you loomed unbearably large.

𖧧 The Fellowship, though sympathetic, could only do so much. Aragorn offered quiet support, Gimli shared in the mourning in his own gruff way, and even the hobbits, who knew loss all too well, tried to cheer him with stories. But nothing could ease the ache in Legolas’s heart.

𖧧 Five years passed, and the world around Legolas moved forward, but he remained stuck in the past, as though caught in a never-ending cycle of mourning. The war was over, the Ring destroyed, and Middle-earth had begun to rebuild. Yet, every step Legolas took in the woods of Mirkwood felt hollow. His heart, once full of the song of the trees, had become a silent, aching void. He no longer found joy in the endless beauty of the forests. The trees, once his closest friends, now whispered their sorrow to him as much as they did their solace.

𖧧 He had watched, for centuries, as the seasons changed, but he had never truly understood how fleeting they were until now. The impermanence of life had never struck him so deeply. He had lived through countless ages, witnessed kingdoms rise and fall, seen friends come and go, but none of it had ever hurt like this. The thought of you—the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the way you held his hand in yours—was a constant presence in his mind. He longed for you in the quiet moments, in the stillness of the forest, when the noise of the world faded away.

𖧧 The ache was a part of him now, a permanent scar that could not be healed. Legolas missed you more than he ever thought possible. He missed the way you would hum soft songs to him when you thought he wasn’t listening, the way you would laugh at his awkward attempts to fit in with the others, and the way your eyes would light up when you spoke of something that brought you joy. He missed the way you would lay beside him on quiet nights, your head resting on his chest, listening to the heartbeat that was steady and sure while your own was more fleeting, yet so full of life.

𖧧 He missed the softness of your touch, the warmth of your hand in his, the way you would hold him close when the world outside seemed too dark. He missed the feeling of you nestled beside him in the evenings, when the world grew still, and the air was thick with the scent of the forest, the fragrance of pine and earth that he had always loved. You were so different from him, so mortal, and yet so full of life. You had a way of seeing the world with fresh eyes, finding wonder in the simplest things. It was that wonder, that joy you radiated, that had drawn him to you.

𖧧 But now, the world felt empty. The laughter that had once filled the air now echoed hollowly in his memory. The wind, which used to carry the melodies of the forest, now whispered your name in his ear, a constant reminder of what he had lost. Legolas would often wander deep into the heart of Mirkwood, lost in thought, searching for some kind of peace, but he could never find it. He would find solace in the quiet rhythm of the world, in the stillness of the ancient trees, but it was never enough. The trees had always been his companions, but now they felt distant, like they too mourned your absence.

𖧧 His nights were the hardest. Legolas had always been a creature of the day, a warrior and protector, but it was in the quiet of the night that his grief truly took hold. He could not sleep for the thoughts that churned in his mind. He would find himself sitting at the edge of the forest, staring out at the stars, the ones you had once pointed out to him, tracing constellations with your fingers as you shared stories of ancient times. Those memories would bring him some comfort, but they also deepened the ache in his chest. It was as if the stars themselves were now distant, removed from the world that had once been shared by both of you.

𖧧 In the years since the war, Legolas had done everything he could to honor your memory. He had planted trees in your name, hoping they would grow strong and tall, just as you had. He had given himself to the land, using his hands to heal the scars left by battle, to restore what had been lost. But even this work, which once brought him peace, no longer satisfied him. The trees, the rivers, the creatures of the forest—they all reminded him of what he had lost, of the life he could never have with you again.

𖧧 He longed to hear your voice again, to feel the warmth of your hand in his. He wished for nothing more than to see your face once more, to run his fingers through your hair, to kiss you as he had done so many times before. But you were gone, and all that was left was the echo of your presence, lingering in the spaces between his breaths.

𖧧 The grief had become a part of him, woven into the fabric of his existence. And though the passage of time had dulled its sharpness, it had never truly faded. The elves, ever perceptive, could see the change in him. They knew something was missing, though they never spoke of it directly. Even Thranduil, who rarely showed emotion, could not deny the shift in his son. But no one could truly understand the depth of Legolas’s loss. None but him could feel the weight of eternity without you.

𖧧 And yet, amid all the pain, there was a quiet hope, a longing that refused to die. It lived in the quiet moments when Legolas would catch himself smiling at a memory of you, or when he would find a token—perhaps a flower or a small stone—that reminded him of you. It lived in the whispers of the trees, in the soft rustling of leaves that felt like a whisper from your soul. It was the hope that, somehow, one day, fate might be kind enough to return you to him. But until that day came, he would continue his lonely path, living in a world where time moved on, but his heart remained still.

Your return:

𖧧 It was in the quiet solitude of the grove, the sunlight filtering through the new leaves of the saplings that had sprung to life in the wake of war, that Legolas first heard it—a voice that seemed to tear through the thick fog of his sorrow. It was so familiar, so dear, that it sent a chill down his spine.

𖧧 “Legolas?” For a moment, everything around him ceased to exist. His heart stopped in his chest, and the world seemed to tilt. The voice was unmistakable. It was yours. He whirled around, his elven senses alert, searching the trees, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings with frantic intensity. And there you were. Standing among the trees, as if time had folded itself, and all the years between that fateful battle and now were nothing but a fleeting dream.

𖧧 You were alive. You were real. His breath caught in his throat. Your form, though unmistakably yours, bore marks of hardship—scars that told stories of the pain you had endured, the battles you had fought, and the life you had fought to cling to. But it was you. The same warmth in your eyes, the same gentle smile that had once lit up his world.

𖧧 For what felt like an eternity, neither of you moved. You stood, frozen in place taking in the sight of one another. Legolas’s heart hammered in his chest, each beat louder than the last, as if it, too, was trying to catch up with the reality unfolding before him.

𖧧 Then, without thinking, without hesitation, he moved. In a single, fluid motion, his legs carried him to you, his arms reaching out and enveloping you in a fierce embrace. His strength was overwhelming, as though he feared that if he loosened his hold, you might slip away again, like some fragile dream. His breath came in ragged gasps, his face buried in your hair, as if he could breathe you back into existence, pulling you close, unwilling to let go.

𖧧 “I thought you were gone,” he whispered, his voice strained and thick with emotion, the words almost strangled by grief and relief. His chest tightened painfully as he spoke, the weight of the years he had spent mourning you pressing on him, only to now find you before him, alive and real. “I saw you fall. I mourned you.” The sound of your voice, trembling but steady, broke through the tension. “I thought I was gone too,” you whispered against his chest, your voice cracking. “I was taken, Legolas. Injured, captured… but I survived. I kept hoping I’d see you again.”

𖧧 Your words were a balm to his soul, though they only deepened the ache in his heart. He could not imagine the pain you must have suffered, the darkness you had endured, separated from him for so long. And yet here you were, standing before him, alive and whole, despite everything.

𖧧 He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. His fingers traced the familiar features he had longed for—your jawline, the curve of your lips, the eyes that had haunted his dreams for years. His touch was soft, reverent, as though he feared he might be dreaming again, that this was a fantasy that would vanish as soon as he blinked. His voice, barely a whisper, cracked with emotion.

𖧧 “Meleth nîn, you are here. You are alive.” His gaze locked with yours, his blue eyes swimming with unshed tears. It was rare for him to show such vulnerability, but this was different. You were back. The emptiness in his chest had been filled, but now the overwhelming flood of emotion threatened to break him. “I should have searched harder. I should never have given up—” Before he could speak another word, you gently pressed your fingers to his lips, silencing him. You felt the weight of his guilt, his self-blame, but you needed him to know—truly know—that none of it was his fault.

𖧧 “You didn’t give up,” you said, your voice soft but firm, your hands covering his. Your touch was a grounding force, reminding him that this moment was real, that you were truly here. “You thought I was gone, as anyone would had. But now… now we have this.” You said the words with such certainty, such warmth, that it eased the last of his lingering doubts. There was no room for regret in this moment. Only the overwhelming joy of being reunited with the one person he had feared he had lost forever.

𖧧 Legolas leaned in then, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that began gentle, almost tentative, as if he were testing the reality of the moment. His lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant, as though the very touch might dissolve. But then, the floodgates opened, and the years of longing, of pain, of separation poured into the kiss. It deepened, and the gentle touch became an urgent, desperate need to feel you close, to make sure that this moment—this precious moment—was real.

𖧧 His hands moved to your back, pulling you against him, his heart hammering in his chest as if trying to convince him that you were truly there, that this was not a dream. He kissed you as though he could shield you from time itself, as though he could protect you from everything that had kept you apart. He wanted to erase the years of pain and loss, to replace them with the warmth of your embrace and the sweetness of your love. For a long time, neither of you spoke. There were no words necessary. The kiss said it all—the years of grief, the lost time, the quiet hope that had never faded. It was all there, in that one kiss, that one embrace. And in that moment, Legolas felt whole again, as if the missing part of him had finally returned.

𖧧 He pulled away just enough to look into your eyes once more, his chest rising and falling with each breath. There was still so much he wanted to say, but for now, words were unnecessary. Instead, he smiled, a smile that was both bittersweet and full of hope, as though he were daring to believe that this time, you were truly here to stay.

Aftermath:

𖧧 The elves of Mirkwood were overjoyed to see their prince returned to them, though many of them struggled to understand the depth of the emotions that had taken hold of him. Legolas had always been composed, the epitome of grace and quiet strength, but since your disappearance, a shadow had clouded his spirit. The change in him was not subtle. The elves, who had witnessed centuries of sorrow and joy alike, understood the weight of grief, but even they had never seen such a profound transformation in their prince.

𖧧 It was not just his grief that marked him; it was the overwhelming joy that followed your return. There was a light in his eyes now, a light that had long been missing, and it was this light that brightened the entire Woodland Realm. His once-distant gaze had softened, the sorrow that had bound him now replaced by a quiet, hopeful contentment. The elves were accustomed to the stoic nature of their kind, but Legolas’s transformation was like a beacon of hope, one that spread through the woods like the first light of dawn after a long, dark night. Even the leaves seemed to shimmer more brightly in his presence, as though reflecting his renewed spirit.

𖧧 Though many of the elves had long accepted the sadness of time’s passing, and the inevitable cycle of life and death, there were still those who found themselves cautious about attachment to mortals. They had seen how fleeting the lives of men and women were, how quickly the ones they loved could be lost. The idea that an elf—immortal and bound to the land—might form a bond with someone so transient had always been a subject of quiet discomfort. Yet, they could not deny the bond that had been rekindled between Legolas and you. The joy he now radiated was something none of them had seen in centuries. It was a testament to the power of love, and the elves, for all their wisdom, could not ignore the beauty of such a rare and pure thing.

𖧧 Even Thranduil, the king of Mirkwood, who had always been reserved and cautious with his emotions, could not hide the soft pride in his eyes when he spoke of your return. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the realm in twilight, he sat with Legolas and you beneath the towering trees. His expression, though still composed, betrayed a warmth that few ever saw from the elven king. “My son has been… unrecognizable without you,” Thranduil admitted, his voice low, his gaze resting on Legolas with an unspoken understanding. “Your return is a gift, one I did not dare hope for. In your absence, I feared he would never recover. I see now that I was wrong.” His eyes met yours for a brief moment, a silent acknowledgment of the role you had played in bringing the prince back from the edge of despair.

𖧧 Legolas, ever the devoted partner, became almost protective in the days following your reunion. His presence was constant, his devotion unwavering. He rarely let you out of his sight, his gaze always seeking you out, even in a room full of others. His fingers often brushed against yours in passing, a small but deliberate gesture, like an anchor in the ever-shifting tides of life. His touch was a quiet reassurance, a constant reminder that you were still there, that you had returned to him, and he to you.

𖧧 Though the weight of mortality still hung over you like a shadow, it only made the time you spent together more precious. Each moment with you felt like a rare treasure, something he could never take for granted. Legolas began to show you the parts of the forest that he cherished most—hidden glades where the trees seemed to hum with ancient wisdom, sparkling streams that wound through the land like veins of life. He shared with you the quiet, sacred places where he had once wandered alone, his heart heavy with grief, and now filled with love. His heart ached with the knowledge that, as much as he longed to share eternity with you, time was never on his side.

𖧧 Still, despite the knowledge of your eventual passing, he held fast to every second. He cherished each touch, each laugh, and the fleeting moments of joy that seemed to glow more brightly in the presence of the inevitable darkness of mortality. When you walked together beneath the trees, your fingers entwined, he would often smile softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and sorrow, knowing that each passing day was one closer to the end of your time together.

𖧧 One night, as the two of you lay together beneath the canopy of stars, the world around you seemed to fade into a dreamlike quiet. The only sounds were the soft rustle of the leaves and the rhythmic pulse of the earth beneath you. Legolas’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, as though he could shield you from the inevitable, protect you from the fragility of your mortal form. He pressed his lips to your forehead, his voice a soft whisper against the cool night air.

𖧧 “I will love you until the end of my days, meleth nîn,” he murmured, his words laced with the depth of his emotion, “and far beyond that.” His voice trembled slightly, as if he, too, feared the passage of time, but in the same breath, he expressed his unwavering resolve to love you for as long as he could. “Even when the days of your life are gone, my love for you will endure, woven into the fabric of time itself.”

𖧧 For an elf like Legolas, eternity had always been a distant horizon—unchanging, inevitable, and timeless. He had always lived with the knowledge that his existence stretched on, forever unmarred by death. But with you by his side, the brevity of your mortal life gave him a new understanding of eternity. Even as the seasons changed and the world around them shifted, the love they shared became a constant. It was as if, in your fleeting moments together, you had given him a glimpse of the infinite. And for Legolas, that was enough.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

➳ The Battle of Helm’s Deep had come to a grueling end. After hours of fighting, the once serene valley had turned into a chaos of cries, clashing steel, and the smell of smoke. Amid the victory, there was sorrow. Haldir had led the Elven warriors with unmatched skill, but the cost was heavy. The loss of comrades, of friends—he had witnessed it all. But there was one more wound, one that cut deeper than the others: the sudden absence of you, his love, the one who had fought at his side.

➳ When the battle raged, Haldir had seen you fall. In the chaotic madness, there had been no time to reach you. The desperate hope that you had merely been knocked unconscious had been the only thing that kept him from succumbing to despair. He had searched the battlefield, and when the fighting ended, he had found no trace of you just the promise ring they both have. (That promise ring haldir had picked up and wore it on a necklace around his neck after that day), The hope had died then, buried with the fallen warriors.

➳ Days passed, and the darkness of grief settled upon him. The laughter of his brothers, the joy of their victory, felt distant to him. He withdrew into himself, ever vigilant, though there was no enemy left to face. The world around him had grown quiet, and the shadows of the past kept whispering in his mind, haunting his every waking moment.

➳ Haldir never spoke of it. Not to Aragorn, not to Legolas, nor even to Galadriel in his thoughts. How could he? To show weakness, to admit that his heart had shattered would have been a betrayal of his duty, of the pride of Lothlórien. So, he carried on, but it was harder now, each day a battle against the emptiness within.

➳ Not even year had done little to ease the ache in Haldir’s chest. The Battle of Helm’s Deep, a triumph for the free peoples of Middle-earth, had left him with a deep, unspoken sorrow, one that haunted his every step. The absence of you, his love, had carved an irreparable wound in him. At first, he had fought to hold on to the belief that you had survived, that perhaps the chaos of the battle had merely swept you away, leaving you battered and bruised but alive. But as the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, that hope began to slip through his fingers, like the softest of sands in the wind.

➳ The ring you had given him (promise ring), the one he had promised to wear until the end of his days, had been the only tangible connection he had left to you. That promise had felt like a lifeline in those early days after the battle, as if by keeping it close to his heart, he could somehow keep you with him, even in your absence. But when the cold reality set in and the ring was the only thing he had left to hold on to, it became both a comfort and a torment. He wore it on a chain around his neck, hidden beneath the folds of his tunic, never once letting it out of his sight. It was the last piece of you, the last reminder of the life he had once dreamed of sharing with you. And it ached, pulling at his heart in ways he could not bear to voice.

➳ Each time he touched the necklace, a memory of you would flood his thoughts—the sound of your laughter, the way your eyes would light up when you spoke of dreams and hopes for the future, the way your hand felt in his, warm and steady. He missed the little things, the quiet moments that had meant the most. The way you had always known what he needed without words. How, even in the midst of battle, you had found a way to offer him comfort with a mere glance or a soft touch.

➳ Haldir had always been someone who took pride in his stoic demeanor, in the discipline and duty that had shaped his life. But you had changed him in ways he could never explain. You had brought softness to his heart, a tenderness he had not known he was capable of. And with you gone, that tenderness had hardened into an unyielding shell, keeping the world at arm’s length.

➳ He missed the warmth of your presence, the way you would sit beside him in silence, content just to be in each other’s company. He missed the way your voice would soften when you spoke his name, how your touch would linger in the small gestures—a brush of your fingers across his hand, a fleeting kiss on his cheek. There was a quiet intimacy in those moments that had grounded him, reminding him that no matter how distant or aloof he appeared to others, there was someone who truly understood him, who saw the person behind the warrior. And now, in your absence, the silence felt deafening.

➳ He often found himself standing at the borders of Lothlórien, staring into the vast expanse of the forest that had once felt so alive, so full of purpose. The trees whispered in the wind, their leaves rustling with secrets, but none of those secrets brought him peace. He longed for the sound of your voice in the trees, for the echo of your laughter in the quiet of the forest. The land that had once been a sanctuary now felt like a cage, a place where he could not escape the memories of you.

➳ As he went about his duties, he felt the weight of the years pressing down on him. He had remained steadfast in his commitment to Lothlórien, never faltering, never straying from the path of duty. But deep inside, he wondered what it all meant now. Without you, what was he protecting? Without you by his side, the endless vigilance, the watchful eyes that never let anything slip by, seemed almost pointless. His people, his homeland, they deserved his protection, but so did you. And in failing to protect you, he had lost a part of himself.

➳ His younger brothers—Rúmil and Orophin—had noticed the change in him. They had watched him withdraw, bury his grief beneath a mask of duty and honor. They had seen the way his eyes grew distant, how the fire that once burned so brightly in him now seemed dulled. But they knew him too well to press him, too well to ask what was on his mind. They had seen the way he would glance at the empty places where you used to stand, and the way he would pause, as if listening for your voice in the wind. And in those moments, they said nothing, offering him the silence he so desperately craved.

➳ Six years had passed, and in that time, Haldir had hardened further, the memories of you still fresh in his mind but buried beneath the weight of his responsibilities. The world had moved on, but Haldir had remained rooted in the past. He had not forgotten you—not once. And yet, he had convinced himself that you were gone, that the hope of ever finding you again was a dream too far gone to reach.

The return:

➳ Then, one fateful day, the summons came. The familiar call to return to the borders of Lothlórien, to watch over his people once more. The weight of his memories pressed heavier as he made his way to the edge of the forest. And there, among the trees that had witnessed so much of his pain, he prepared himself for what he thought would be another lonely journey. But fate had other plans.

➳ Haldir would never forget the moment his eyes fell upon you once more. It was as if the world had stopped turning. The forest stood still, the breeze held its breath. And there you were, standing before him, as real and as alive as the day he had lost you. His heart stuttered in his chest, and for the briefest of moments, he thought he might collapse from the weight of the emotions flooding through him. He had never stopped loving you, never stopped longing for this moment.

➳ For the first time in six long years, Haldir felt his heart beat again—not with the cold, unrelenting rhythm of duty, but with the warmth of hope. It was a warmth that had been absent from his life for far too long. It was like waking from a dream he had resigned himself to, the world around him suddenly sharp, vivid, full of possibility. The years of grief, of self-imposed solitude, had worn away at his spirit, leaving him hardened, distant, a shell of the Elven warrior he once was. But now, in that single breath, that fleeting moment when he first saw you, all of that shifted.

➳ His pulse quickened as he stood frozen, eyes locked on you as if you might vanish in an instant. His mind struggled to make sense of the impossible. You were here. Alive. Standing before him. Every ounce of restraint he had built up over the years crumbled in that instant. There had been no signal, no warning—just the quiet approach of your footsteps, the sound that shattered the numb silence of his existence.

➳ He took a step forward, but his legs felt weak. The elation, the disbelief, the agony of the years spent apart—they all surged through him, overwhelming him in a torrent of emotion. His breath caught in his throat. “Y/N…” His voice was barely a whisper, a sound so fragile it could break the very moment in which you both stood. The years of pain seemed to melt away with that single word. It was as though the years of separation, the endless nights of wondering, the grief of not knowing if he would ever see you again, all came rushing back to him in a heartbeat.

➳ Then, as if on instinct, he moved. He didn’t even think. He simply acted, crossing the distance between you in a few swift strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close with a desperation that had not been part of him in years. His body trembled with the force of his emotions, his hands clutching you with such intensity that it almost hurt—but you didn’t mind. You, too, had lived with this ache, the gnawing emptiness that came with the loss of the one you loved. And now, in this instant, that loss was erased.

➳ Tears welled in his eyes, and though he fought them back, they came anyway—silent, betrayed by the depth of his relief. He let them fall, uncaring for once, for this moment was far more important than any of the self-control he had once so fiercely held on to. The warrior within him, so composed, so unshakeable, had melted into the man who had loved you more than anything. “I thought… I thought I had lost you forever,” he whispered, his voice breaking, as if speaking the truth aloud made it all real in the most painful way.

➳ His arms tightened around you, his hands trembling slightly as they moved to stroke your back, as if grounding himself in the reality that you were truly here. He buried his face in your hair, taking in the scent of you, a scent he had never truly forgotten, even as the years had dragged on. In your arms, he was whole again. “I thought I would never see you again,” he murmured against your skin. “I thought… I thought I was alone in this world.” His words were desperate, a quiet confession of how much he had fallen apart in your absence.

➳ “I’m here, Haldir,” you whispered, your own voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I thought I had lost you too.” You felt the trembling in his body, his silent sobs that shook him to his core, and you pressed yourself closer to him, letting him know that you were real, that you were here, that he was not alone anymore.

➳ He pulled back slightly, enough to look into your eyes, his gaze searching yours for some sign that this wasn’t a dream, that it wasn’t some cruel trick of the mind. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the outline of your face, as if he had to remind himself that you were really there. He knew you were real; the warmth of your body in his arms, the steady rhythm of your breath, it all confirmed it—but still, the disbelief lingered in his eyes. “How?” The word came out in a breathless whisper, barely audible, but it held all the confusion, all the questions that had plagued him in the years since your disappearance.

➳ You shook your head softly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I… I don’t know how. But I survived, Haldir. I survived for you. For this moment.” You took his hand, holding it to your chest, where his heart had always belonged. “And now… now we’re together again. That’s all that matters.” He blinked, his eyes welling up again, and this time he didn’t fight it. The tears spilled freely, tracking down his cheeks, a testament to the weight of his heart’s release. He let you see him—truly see him—unmasked in his vulnerability. The man who had carried the world on his shoulders, the warrior who had fought countless battles, was no longer untouchable. He was simply a man who loved and had nearly lost everything.

➳ His lips trembled as he spoke again, the words thick with emotion. “I feared I would never see you again,” he said, his voice quiet and raw. “You were my heart, Y/N. I feared I had lost you to this war. I feared that the one thing worth fighting for would be taken from me.” His hands cupped your face gently, as though he could keep you with him by sheer force of will. “But here you are. Alive. And I—” His words faltered, breaking under the weight of everything he felt. “I never want to let you go again.”

➳ “I will never leave you, Haldir,” you whispered softly, your voice breaking as you rested your forehead against his. The words felt like a promise, one that neither time nor distance could take away. “Let me heal you now,” you murmured, your hands brushing his cheek gently, wiping away the tears. “Let me be here for you. Let me show you that we can find peace again, together.” For a long moment, the two of you simply stood there, your bodies entwined, hearts beating in unison. The war was over, but in its place, there was a new battle—one of healing, of rebuilding what had been broken. But with each breath, each soft word exchanged between you, the weight of the past began to lift, and the love that had never faded began to blossom once again.

➳ When Haldir finally pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a smile full of quiet promise. “I will never let you go again, meleth nín,” he murmured, his voice steady once more, but with a tenderness that had been missing for so long.

➳ And in that moment, the world outside seemed to fade into nothing. There was no war, no grief, no loss—only the warmth of your presence, the unwavering connection that bound you together, a love that had withstood the tests of time and distance. No matter what came next, Haldir knew he had found you again—and this time, he would never let go. Together, you would face whatever came, knowing that your hearts had finally found their way back to each other.

Aftermath:

➳ In the days that followed, the world for Haldir felt both new and familiar. The reunion with you, the love of his life, had been everything he could have dreamed of and more. Yet, as the days slipped into weeks, there remained a shadow that followed him—a shadow not of war or grief, but of time itself. The realization gnawed at him, a quiet ache in the deepest part of his heart. He had lived for countless ages, seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, watched the world change in ways that few could comprehend. His existence had stretched into eternity, a timeless rhythm, a slow and steady beat of life that allowed him to witness the birth and death of the seasons, the turning of the world on its axis.

➳ But you—his beloved—were different. Time would not wait for you. You would age, you would grow frail, and one day, far too soon, you would slip from this world as quickly as you had come into it. Haldir could no longer ignore this, though he tried. It lingered in the back of his mind as he held you at night, as he kissed you in the early mornings, as he laughed with you over meals. Every moment with you, every touch, every word felt precious. But the love he had for you was colored by an undercurrent of sorrow, one that grew more pronounced with each passing day.

➳ He would not be able to protect you from time. There was no shield against it, no sword to fight it, no battle to win. Time would take you, as it had taken so many before you, and no amount of Elven strength or magic could prevent it. At first, he tried to bury his fears, to hold on to the joy of having you in his arms, of sharing this time together. The two of you found moments of peace amidst the tension that clung to him—walking through the forests of Lothlórien, whispering sweet words to each other as the stars flickered above, listening to the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. You brought color back into his life, warmth where there had only been the cold emptiness of mourning.

➳ But time continued its inexorable march, and with each passing season, Haldir’s heart grew heavier. He could see the subtle changes in you—the faint lines beginning to form at the corners of your eyes, the softening of your youthful skin, the occasional weariness that would settle over you, even when you tried to hide it. He noticed how you moved, no longer as quick and unburdened as you once were, how you laughed less freely, as though each moment of joy was now a little more fragile.

➳ And it was in these moments—when the years seemed to press against his heart—that he would withdraw. He couldn’t help it. The pain of knowing that the love they had shared would someday be cut short by the passage of time was too much to bear. He would wander the forest alone, seeking solace among the trees that had stood for millennia, the ancient trunks whispering secrets of a time long past.

➳ The memory of his brothers, the other Elves of Lothlórien, came to him in quiet moments. He had lived so long with them, shared their experiences, their pain, their joy. But he knew none of them could understand the weight of his loss. They did not have to face the crushing knowledge that one day, the light of his life would fade as the seasons turned. His kin were eternal, as was he, but you—his beloved human—were not. The thought of losing you, of watching you grow old and fade from the world, was a constant ache that he could not escape.

➳ One evening, as the sun dipped behind the distant mountains, casting a soft glow over the forest, he found himself staring at you, lost in thought. You were standing near the water, the light catching your hair as it blew gently in the wind, your back to him. He could see the way you held yourself, strong yet weary, and the thought of someday losing you was unbearable. He stepped forward, quietly, until he stood beside you. You didn’t turn to look at him, but you could feel his presence beside you, the weight of his gaze upon you. Slowly, you reached out, taking his hand in yours, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. Words felt unnecessary; the quiet understanding between you both was enough.

➳ “You’re thinking of it again, aren’t you?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Haldir didn’t answer at first. He didn’t need to. You knew him too well, had seen the way his gaze would wander, the way he would pull away in moments of silence. He had never spoken of his fears, not aloud. But you knew. “I can’t help it,” he murmured finally, his voice thick with the weight of emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “Time is not kind to you, meleth nín. I—”

➳ “I know,” you interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. “I know, Haldir. But don’t let fear steal what we have now.” You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his, filled with both understanding and sorrow. “We can’t stop time. We can’t change what’s to come. But we have this moment. We have today. Let me love you in this moment, and tomorrow, and every day that follows.” Haldir’s heart clenched at your words, the rawness of them cutting through his carefully built defenses. He wanted to hold on to you, to keep you here forever, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Still, your love was the greatest gift he had ever received, and he would not let fear overshadow that gift.

➳ “I will love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Every moment, every heartbeat, I will love you.” And for a while, the fear that had gripped him so tightly began to loosen. He couldn’t change what was to come, but he could choose to live fully in the time they had together. Even as the years slipped away, he would cherish every day with you, every touch, every word, every shared silence. In the end, that was all any of them could do—love as fiercely and fully as they could, until the time they had together ran out. And Haldir, for all his pain, was determined to make every moment with you count.

Bonus as I’m a smitten for Elrond god love the man (love older version Hugo.) 🫶🥰❤️‍🔥

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

✶ The winds of war had long been howling across Middle-earth, and Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell, found his heart weighed down with an unbearable burden. Years had passed since you had left to join the free peoples in their fight for survival. Your mortal life called you to the front lines, while Elrond remained behind, bound to his responsibilities in Rivendell—offering counsel, wisdom, and healing to those who sought it. But despite his centuries of knowledge and the depth of his experience, Elrond could not escape the gnawing fear that something terrible would happen to you. Every day that passed brought him closer to the heart-wrenching reality that, sooner or later, he might never see you again.

✶ The day had come when Elrond, alone in his study, When the news came—the dreaded news that your battalion had been lost, that you were presumed dead—he could not have prepared himself for the devastation that followed. The feeling of his heart sinking, of his entire world unraveling, was something Elrond, despite his countless years of wisdom, had never experienced before. He had always prided himself on his ability to remain composed, but in that moment, he felt as though everything within him had shattered. In the silence of Rivendell’s halls, the place that had once been full of life and laughter, now stood cold and empty to him. The absence of your presence left an unbearable void in the very air he breathed. His beloved—his heart—gone forever…Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, felt a heaviness settle deep within his heart. He could no longer ignore the gnawing fear that had consumed him for years—the fear of losing you. The love of his life, his heart, his soul—lost in a war that he could not protect you from.

✶ Every report from the front lines brought a fresh wave of dread, though he clung to the hope that you would return, even as the weight of time pressed down upon him. He had known of your courage, your strength, but no amount of wisdom could prepare him for the moment when the news arrived—your battalion had been lost, the battle you fought in was disastrous, and you were presumed dead. The world seemed to collapse around him as he stood in the silence of Rivendell’s great halls, a place once filled with hope and life, now haunted by the absence of your laughter and love.

✶ He searched for you, though he knew, deep down, that the chances of finding you were slim. He traveled to the battlefield where your battalion had fallen, desperate to find any trace of you, hoping against hope that you had survived, that you might be out there, somewhere. But when he arrived, all he found was your brooch—the one you had stolen from him in jest, a gift he had given you years ago, which you had always worn. Now it was stained by the dirt and blood of the battlefield, and Elrond knew, in that moment, that he had lost you forever. His heart ached with a sorrow so deep it seemed to permeate every fiber of his being. The brooch felt like the final testament to the love they had shared—a love that seemed to have been ripped away from him by fate.

✶ In the three years that followed, though Rivendell remained a haven untouched by the horrors of the outside world, Elrond could not escape the weight of his grief. He threw himself into his duties—leading, guiding, offering counsel to those in need—but nothing could ease the longing that had taken root in his heart. There were moments when he would sit by the river in Rivendell, the waters glistening beneath the stars, and he would think of you. He would remember the way you would sit by his side during the evenings, talking about the future, discussing everything and nothing, always with the same warmth and laughter that had drawn him to you all those years ago.

✶ Elrond never let on how much he missed you, but you had always had an uncanny ability to see through his stoic exterior. You knew when something was wrong—knew when the weight of the world had become too much for him to bear. And you always knew just how to lift his spirits. The best way to cheer Elrond up, you had learned, was to talk to him about the future you both dreamed of. A future together, one free from the pain and loss of the present. He would listen, his face softening as he imagined the life the two of you would share: growing old, discovering new wonders, finding peace in each other’s company. The thought of those days yet to come always made him smile. He would hold your hand, his fingers warm against yours, and for a moment, the burdens of the world would fade away.

✶ When you were sad, Elrond was always there for you, offering his unwavering support. He would make sure you had everything you needed—food, warmth, anything that might ease your discomfort. He would never leave your side until he saw that familiar smile return to your face. You, too, had your own moments of melancholy, but Elrond’s presence, his devotion to you, always helped chase the shadows away.

There were those quiet evenings when Elrond would retreat to his books to escape the stresses of his world. He would sit, absorbed in the words of ancient texts, letting the pages carry him far from the weight of responsibility.

✶ You would leave him to his solitude, knowing that he needed the time to rest his mind. Yet, it was never long before he would beckon you over, silently passing you a book of his own. “Your presence calms me,” he would say, his voice barely above a whisper, though his lips often curled into the smallest of smirks as you would look up, embarrassed by the attention. Those quiet, shared moments were the moments he cherished the most.

✶ Elrond missed those times. He missed the way you could always make him laugh, even on his darkest days. He missed the way your presence could fill the air with warmth and light. But most of all, he missed the simple, quiet comfort of knowing that you were there, just beside him, in a world that seemed to keep shifting and changing.

✶ He missed you with a depth that words could scarcely convey. He missed the sound of your voice, so full of laughter and light, even in the darkest of times. He missed the way you’d always manage to draw him out of himself, coaxing him from the shadows of his responsibilities to enjoy the simple joys of life. There was a day, early in your time together, when you had convinced him to go out into the gardens, despite the pouring rain. At first, he had been reluctant—Elrond, ever the reserved and composed half-elven, did not see the appeal of dancing in the rain. But your eyes, bright with mischief and love, had won him over. “Just one dance, Elrond. I promise, you won’t regret it,” you had said, your voice warm and full of promise. And so, he had relented, allowing you to lead him into the rain-soaked garden, the droplets falling all around you both.

✶ You laughed as you twirled him in the wet grass, and though he had protested at first, soon enough, Elrond had found himself laughing too, lost in the joy of the moment. Of course, you both ended up drenched, shivering from the cold, and neither of you could stop giggling as you tried to dry off afterward. It had been one of those rare, carefree moments in his long life, the kind he cherished the most. But as the days wore on, Elrond found that those simple, shared moments with you became more precious than ever before.

✶ Afterward, he had caught a cold, something that had been all too rare for an elf of his stature. You took great pleasure in teasing him for it, even as you carefully nursed him back to health. You insisted on bringing him hot tea, wrapping him in blankets, and refusing to let him leave his chambers until he had fully recovered. The memory of your gentle care, your laughter as you made him rest, was something Elrond held close to his heart when the darkness of the war began to weigh too heavily on him.

The return:

✶ Then, one evening, as the twilight bathed Rivendell in its soft, golden glow, Elrond found himself walking alone along the banks of the river. The waters of Imladris flowed serenely, a timeless current that had witnessed the rise and fall of ages. The air was cool, fragrant with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the land around him seemed still, as though holding its breath in the presence of the moment. His mind was heavy, filled with the weight of years gone by, years in which you had been absent, lost to the war that ravaged the world. He had spent countless hours contemplating the future, wondering what would become of his people, of his family, and of himself. But more than anything, he had wondered about you.

✶ And yet, every day the gnawing emptiness in his chest seemed to grow deeper. How many times had he walked these very halls, the memories of you so vivid in his mind? How many times had he sat by the hearth, imagining what your voice might sound like in the quiet evenings, the firelight dancing across your face as you spoke of your dreams, your hopes, your future?

✶ Elrond’s footsteps were almost soundless on the stone path, his cloak trailing lightly behind him. He was lost in thought, his gaze fixed on the river that had been a constant companion throughout his long life, when, from the corner of his ear, he heard it. A faint sound, barely perceptible, a soft footfall on the earth. At first, he thought it was the wind—after all, Rivendell had a way of carrying the wind’s whispers through its woods, the rustling of leaves and branches almost sounding like distant voices. But then, it came again. A sound so delicate, yet unmistakable—a footfall, the lightest of steps, as though someone was walking toward him through the quiet dusk.

✶ His heart stuttered in his chest, an unfamiliar jolt of hope coursing through him. “Meleth nín.” The words slipped from his lips before he even realized he had spoken them, a breathless whisper full of longing and disbelief. He had not allowed himself to hope in so long, but now, in the depth of his soul, he knew—he felt—something had changed.

✶ He turned, and there you were. You stood in the soft light of the evening, your form outlined by the fading glow of the sun, the last rays of the day catching the delicate strands of your hair, which seemed to glow like starlight itself. For a long moment, Elrond could only stare, his breath caught in his throat, his entire world shrinking to the vision of you before him. His heart beat in his chest, each pulse like thunder in his ears, a sound that seemed louder than the river itself. There you were, alive, your eyes meeting his with the same warmth, the same strength that had once made him feel as though nothing could touch him. The agony of loss, the years of uncertainty and grief, all of it seemed to vanish in an instant, swept away by the overwhelming flood of joy and disbelief.

✶ His legs nearly gave out beneath him, as if the sheer weight of your return had drained all the strength from him. Without thinking, he crossed the distance between you in a few swift strides, his hands reaching out as though to touch you, to make sure that you were truly there, truly real. He clasped your hands in his, pressing them gently against his chest, as though to prove to himself that the ache in his heart, the longing that had consumed him for so long, was finally coming to an end.

✶ And without a word, Elrond sank to his knees before you, pulling you down to him as if he could not bear the distance between you for a moment longer. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, his face buried in the soft fabric of your clothing, your warmth the balm to a wound that had festered for far too long. His tears, long held back, shimmered in his eyes but did not fall. It was as though the weight of all those years, the grief, the fear, the longing—everything—had been too much for him to bear, and now that you were here, it was as though he could not bring himself to release the sorrow, even though he felt a profound relief flood his being.

✶ “My heart…” Elrond’s voice was thick, raw with emotion, trembling with the weight of the years that had passed. His words were soft, barely above a whisper, yet they carried the grief of lifetimes. “I thought I had lost you forever. The ache within me… it has been unbearable.” He shook his head slightly, as though the thought of a world without you in it was simply too much to fathom. “I… I could not bear the thought of losing you. Not again.”

✶ You cupped his face in your hands, your fingers brushing against the dampness on his cheek. His eyes were filled with a sorrow so deep, but they held something else now too: the flicker of hope, the tenderness that had never truly left, no matter how many years had passed. “I am here, Elrond,” you whispered, your voice low and steady, yet filled with a strength that only he could hear. “I’m here, my love. I never stopped thinking of you. I never stopped longing to return to you. The war may have stolen so much, but it never took my heart. It always belonged to you.”

✶ Elrond’s heart swelled at your words, and without thinking, he pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with everything he had longed to say, everything he had carried with him for all the years of uncertainty and pain. The kiss was full of tenderness, the kind that only time and separation could breed. It was the kiss of a love that had endured the test of time, a love that had never truly faded, no matter the distance or the years apart. He kissed you as though he feared that if he did not hold on tightly enough, you would slip away again.

✶ When the kiss finally broke, Elrond rested his forehead against yours, his breath shallow, his heart racing in his chest. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, as if it too were taking a breath, giving you both this precious, fleeting moment. His voice was firm, yet filled with all the tenderness in the world. “Together,” he whispered, his eyes closed as if to hold on to the moment. “Always together, my love. No more distance between us. I will never let you go again.”

✶ And though the world beyond Rivendell still carried its burdens, though the shadows of war still loomed over Middle-earth, Elrond knew that with you by his side, he could face anything. The love between you had not been lost, not even by the ravages of time and battle. It had only grown stronger, deeper, and as the stars began to glisten overhead, you both knew that your hearts would forever remain united—no matter the storms that might come. The world might change, but your love would endure. Always.

✶ In that quiet, timeless moment, as the stars twinkled above and the river flowed gently at your feet, Elrond felt as though the world had finally returned to balance. The pain of the past, the loss, the war—it was all still there, but it no longer had the power to tear them apart. With you, his heart was whole again. And together, you would face whatever the future held, side by side, forever.

Aftermath:

✶ The days after your reunion were a haze of joy and sorrow, a bittersweet blend of love and inevitability. Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, had lived countless ages, seen kingdoms rise and fall, and had endured the loss of many dear to him. Yet none of it, none of the weight of time and fate, could have prepared him for the agony that would come with the knowledge that your time with him—your mortal life—was limited.

✶ Even now, as he walked through the halls of Rivendell with you by his side, his heart could not fully rid itself of the weight of that truth. The joy of your return, of having you here with him again, was overwhelming, but it was marred by the shadow that always lingered in his thoughts—the shadow of time slipping away. It was always there, lurking, like a dark cloud on the horizon, and despite his efforts to remain present in each moment, it tugged at him, reminding him of the fragility of your existence in a way that no mere mortal could ever understand.

✶ He had known this truth long before you had returned to him. The years had always been numbered for you. He had watched countless mortals come and go, each one touched by the brevity of their lives, and though he had lived with that knowledge, knowing you would one day fade away had never been a burden he had been willing to bear. Your love had been worth the sacrifice, and he had cherished every moment, every second, as if it might be his last with you. But now, as he held you in his arms, that knowledge had become more than just an abstract thought. It was a constant presence, a weight pressing on his chest, that your time was slipping away, and he could not stop it.

✶ The passage of time had always been something Elrond had managed to bear. He was an Elf, and he had known loss and grief before, but to love a mortal—you, the love of his life—was a different kind of agony. It was a cycle of beauty and pain, joy and inevitable sorrow. He would not force you to endure the years of his existence; his love for you was too great to watch you grow old, your body changing, while he remained the same. And yet, to see you face the years that slipped away so swiftly… it tore at him in a way that even the countless wars and losses he had endured had never done.

✶ There were mornings when he would wake beside you, watching the sunlight play across your face, feeling the warmth of your breath against his chest. In those moments, his heart would swell with joy, and he would hold you tighter, as though afraid the very light of dawn might fade before he could hold you in his arms again. But in the quiet moments that followed, in the spaces between, his thoughts would inevitably turn to the future—your future. He knew he could not stop the inevitable. Your time was finite. In the stillness of the night, as you slept beside him, Elrond would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind lost in the torrent of his emotions, knowing that each day with you was one day less.

✶ He had never wished for immortality in the way his brethren had. He had not desired to outlast the world, nor to be untouched by time. But now, as he watched you—his beloved, his heart—grow more tired, more fragile with each passing day, he longed for something he could never have. He wished, more than anything, that he could turn back time, that he could change the rules of fate, and grant you the same immortality that he had been blessed with. But he knew this was impossible. He had known from the start, from the moment he had fallen in love with you, that this was the price he would pay. And yet, knowing it did nothing to ease the ache within him now.

✶ As the years wore on, Elrond tried to focus on the moments, on the love you shared. He lived for the quiet evenings by the fire, the shared laughter, the moments when you would walk together through the gardens, your hand in his, your voice filling the spaces between the rustling leaves. He cherished the mundane, the small, beautiful things that often went unnoticed. He would often find himself gazing at you as you spoke, your voice soothing his restless heart. He would listen to you tell him of your hopes, your dreams, the little things that made up your mortal life, and he would hold onto each word as though it were a treasure.

✶ In the quiet moments when the two of you would sit together, reading, or in deep conversation, Elrond would push the future aside, focusing solely on the present. You spoke of the life you had lived, and of the life you still hoped to live, and you shared your stories of the world, of the beauty you had seen. These moments were everything to him—his heart was full in these precious intervals of time, and he would give anything to stretch those moments, to keep you by his side for just a little longer.

✶ But the inevitable truth would always return, creeping in like a shadow in the corner of his mind. There would be a moment when he would see you—your face pale, your movements slower, your strength fading—and the ache would return, sharp and relentless. It was then that Elrond’s heart would break all over again, as he realized that no matter how much love and care he poured into every moment with you, there would come a day when the passing of time would take you from him.

✶ And yet, despite the pain, despite the grief that clung to every passing day, Elrond never let go of you. He refused to. He held onto you, fiercely and without reservation, because he knew that this love—your love—was worth every moment of suffering that might come. The years might take you, but they could not take away the love you had shared, the memories that had been forged in fire and warmth, and the quiet promise that no matter what, he would always carry a part of you with him.

✶ When the time came—and it would come, as it always did—Elrond would be ready. Not because he had accepted it, but because he loved you, and that love would remain even when the world had moved on. He would hold onto you, always, knowing that every moment spent with you had been worth more than all the centuries he had lived.

✶ And so, he would cherish the time left, every second, every heartbeat, until the inevitable came. Even in his sorrow, he would find peace in the knowledge that he had loved you truly, deeply, without regret. In the end, the love that had bound you together was the truest, most eternal thing in a world full of fleeting moments.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

My hand aches from all the writing I’ve done, but it was completely worth it. It was so deep tears streamed down my face when I was writing like this, so honest and profound, feels like diving into the core of my soul. It’s painful yet beautiful goddamm wish it wasn’t fictional characters love to he their in middle earth. 🫶🥹❤️‍🔥

But enjoy my dearies. 🙏

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[sirfrogsworth]

sirfrogsworth please i am begging to know your boomer uncle’s thought process when he installed all those spam search bars what on earth was he TRUING to do

This was my Uncle Larry. He died in 2014 from a lifetime of smoking.

But while he was alive, he was what my grandma would refer to as "a character."

I feel like seeing his photo gives a partial explanation of the toolbar fiasco.

He was a man stuck in the 1960s but extremely curious about new things.

It was the early 2000s and I was trying to make some extra money. So when he was interested in getting a computer I offered to build him one from scratch.

What I didn't consider about this arrangement was that I was basically signing up to be my uncle's IT person. If something went wrong, it could possibly be due to a mistake I made.

He called me up complaining he couldn't see his websites and that the computer was running slower than normal.

I boot up his system and it takes 10 minutes to get to Windows. The desktop was filled with random programs he installed. And when I opened his web browser I was immediately greeted with a dozen pop up advertisements. Once I nuked them all, all of the different search toolbars were revealed. There was maybe a few inches of space for viewing websites and he had just been looking at photos a segment at a time for weeks before wondering if maybe it wasn't supposed to work like that.

I asked him why he installed all of this crap and he told me he didn't realize he had a choice. He just thought you had to say yes to everything that popped up on the screen. He also opened every spam email he received.

To make matters even worse, when he was searching for lewd pictures of Catherine Bell (aka the "JAG lady" with nice cans), he ended up on various softcore porn sites containing ever more dangerous pop up ads. And he clicked on all of those as well.

He loved the internet. It was a wonderland for such a curious person. He loved typing in random things and just reading and looking at pictures for hours. Aside from Maxim photos of TV celebrities, his searches were pretty innocent. He looked at old cars he used to own and lawnmowers he wanted to buy. He read old war stories and found websites helping him learn how to whittle walking sticks.

But he had no sense of danger. He had a Leroy Jenkins approach to life. He just sort of jumped into whatever without any fear or caution. Which is probably why my parents were so pissed at him when he offered 8 year-old me a ride on his new motorcycle. He immediately took me off-road and up a steep hill without a helmet or telling me to hold on. And it was a Harley, so not really meant for that terrain.

I tried a virus scan and it just said "You have every virus." So I had to nuke his Windows install from orbit. I then gave him computer lessons, which he paid me for, so that sort of worked out despite how frustrating it was to keep him from clicking on random things.

Uncle Larry taught me an important lesson.

Never tell your family you know about computers.

[seroopygoopy]

☆.「 Jotun x GN! Reader 」.☆

As I was doom scrolling through TikTok, I came across a video on seals. Specifically the silly little sounds they make. Then a headcannon bloomed. Yautja’s making the same barks, huffs, and growls as these furry tubs of lard 🥹.

Like imagine just hanging out with your yautja, y’all are just doing some everyday chores or training and all you hear is this 👇

Coming from this absolute unit 😭

Like what?!!? Does anyone else find their clicking cute or is it just me? They’re menacing under scary situations but outside of those circumstances their little trills and clicks are so unique and adorable to me.

Deadass I have a whole YouTube playlist I use to lock in just on yautja ASMR’s 😋!

Brief summary: You live with Jotun (Idk if thats his canon name) and in this scenario y’all share some fruit!

Notes: There’s literally zero dialogue and it’s all fluff!! Also please excuse my grammar. English wasn’t my first language, Spanish is 🙌🏻! Also if you have any questions then feel free to ask. If you have any constructive criticism or tips on how to improve my writing, please let me know! I’m always open to new suggestions.

It’s been exactly three years since you were snatched up from earth and dropped onto the unfamiliar terrain known as Yautja Prime. A desert landscape of vast, arid expanse where the heat is top of the chain. The land is filled with shades of ochre, rust and pale sand. Jagged rock formations sculpted by centuries of wind erosion. Sparse vegetation clings to survival by a thread. The alien biology resembled earth’s own flora but these had a more volatile twist to them. More spikey, bigger and had stronger defense mechanism. No wonder the yautja were so deadly, everything was out to kill them. They HAD to be deadly to survive such a hostile world. Everything was larger and more ferocious just like the natives here.

Honestly you were shocked you were even alive but here you were currently strolling through the village with Jotun. That wasn’t his actual name of course but it was the nickname you picked out for the rotund beast. It just fit him better.

Using both your hands you carried a large basket of fruit, your limbs struggling just slightly to support it’s weight. Arms covered in scratches from retrieving these juicy treats. Defiantly worth it! these were especially sweet this time of year when the sun was practically cooking you alive. Jotun helped you with most of it since the skin of his hands were naturally more thick and suitable for the hostile vegetation.

He walked slowly in front of you carrying two baskets, each woven vessel containing diffrent fruits. You haven’t tried either yet actually. The massive yautja before you walked with a hint of excitement and anticipation in his stride. He took great delight in watching you react to new things. Like a curious puppy he’d sit beside you and just watch. Eager mandible clicks and funny seal-like sounds coming from his chest filled the air after you responded. It always shocked you to hear the various sounds yautja made.

As of now, your feet padded against the scorching sand, even wearing protective feet pads you could still feel the sting. Not as intense but it was most definitely there. Jotun and yourself were currently heading back to his home. A place you shared with him through out all three years.

Upon arrival, the three woven baskets were placed neatly on the wooden counter. You and Jotun immediately got to work with the fruit. Meticulously scrubbing away the dust from the fruit’s thick skin, Jotun separated those ready to be eaten from the ones better suited for storage. The ripest he placed carefully aside, while the rest were tucked into a makeshift cooler lined with scavenged insulation and chilled stones.

Yautja were primarily carnivorous, their culture steeped in the thrill of the hunt and the taste of fresh kill, but they weren’t above drawing sustenance from other energy sources when the opportunity presented itself.

Jotun’s favorite was a watermelon sized fruit—red skin, green frills and white flesh, it bore an uncanny resemblance to a rambutan. Only this one was freakishly large.

He sank a claw into the rind, splitting it into half with a satisfying crack. He held the other piece with one hand and waited for you to transfer it over to yours. His mandibles clicked, a purr rumbled from his chest and with that you knew he was happy.

Jotun bit down on his half, clear juice dripped down his tusks as another purr erupted from within. You couldn’t help but giggle at his purring. It reminded you of a seal but only deeper and coming from a mountain of a man. He turned his gaze to you, slightly lowered himself and gently pushed the fruit you held up to your face. His scaly hand dwarfing your own.

Puppy dog eyes, glowing with a beautiful red hue, gazed up at you with a mix of fondness and curiosity. A soft chuckle slipped from your lips, unable to resist the innocent plea in that look. You couldn’t keep him waiting, How could you with a look like that?

Your teeth sank into the tender white flesh, the sugary fluid flooded your tastebuds. A soft moan surged from your chest as you chewed on the fruit. The texture was tender, almost melting, and the subtle coolness contrasted with the warmth of the air around you. He watched intently, anticipation shining in his eyes, as if sharing in every bite. Water-like juice ran down your chin similar to when jotun bit into his own.

Then a completely new sound filled your ears. Almost like a purr, but different—rougher, deeper, with a strange rhythm to it. You bared your teeth in a wide grin as laughter bubbled up uncontrollably. The sound was quirky, no doubt, but so unbelievably precious, especially coming from muscle man over here, whose usual demeanor could be carved from stone.

Jotun turned his head to the side like a confused pup, his brows knitted together, face shifting in that slow, deliberate way he always moved. Analyzing, observing, puzzling it out. What was so funny? Had the fruit triggered some odd chemical reaction in your brain? Some euphoric side effect he’d overlooked?

Then it dawned on him.

The realization hit him with a slow-burning certainty. Jotun’s eyes narrowed while his mandibles pressed back into place. A low rumble filled with annoyance mixed with your laughter. That noise he made—a gentle trill, part rumble, part something new was his people’s way of showing they were very happy.

Yet without doubt here you were laughing. Not at him just at the silly noise he made. There was no mock, no malice, nothing that deemed your laughter as teasing. It was just laugh of pure joy.

His grumble of irritation shifted to deep laugh. A moment of vulnerability between two souls from diffrent origins, cultures, and most notably—diffrent planets. To one, the other was alien and to the other, the same.

Two beings sat on soft furs while enjoying simple, mundane fruit. No words were ever exchanged. No shared tongue was needed to find comfort in each other's presence. Only shared laughter.

[ruewrote]

𝑠𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒.

PAIRING: josh washington x fem!reader WARNINGS: reunion, no use of y/n GENRE: angsty fluff SONG INSPIRATION: little bit by lykke li WORD COUNT: 1.4k REQUESTED: yes

navigation | ask | josh washington masterlist

the mountain had changed you.

the person you were a year ago, carefree and full of warmth, had died alongside hannah on that cold, snowy night. but instead of a clean death, you’d been forced to keep breathing, keep fighting, as the mountain swallowed you whole. the stranger had found you in the woods, broken and lost, but not beyond repair.

he patched you up, told you the truth about the wendigos, about the curse that haunted these mountains. 

then he taught you to fight. 

at first, you resisted. the idea of hunting those monsters, the creatures who had once been human, sickened you. but soon, survival became everything. you had no choice. so, you learned how to track them, how to trap them, how to kill them. you learned how to handle the heavy flamethrower, how to stay calm even when your heart wanted to race out of control. the wendigos were fast, stronger than anything you had ever faced, but you became stronger too. the stranger showed you where to strike, how to stay one step ahead, how to use the terrain to your advantage. 

the first time you killed one, it shook you to your core. but over time, you grew harder. the terror became familiar, and the blood on your hands just another part of who you were now.

the scars you bore told the story of every battle. your skin was littered with them—long, jagged ones where claws had grazed you, puckered burns from close encounters with the fire. your muscles had grown lean and tough, your reflexes sharper than they’d ever been. the girl you once were was long gone, replaced by someone stronger, someone who could face the horrors of the mountain and live to tell the tale. but even after all that, there was one thing you hadn’t faced.

josh.

that’s why you were here now, standing at the edge of the tree line, watching the lodge from the shadows. the firelight flickered through the windows, casting warmth over the faces of people you once called friends. they laughed, talked, acted like everything was normal. sam, chris, mike—none of them knew the truth about the mountain. none of them understood what they had unleashed when they pranked hannah that night. but you did.

and then, you saw him.

he stood apart from the others, staring blankly into the fire, his face gaunt and his eyes hollow. the sight of him made your chest tighten with a strange mix of longing and dread. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. you’d imagined this moment a thousand times over the past year, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality of it. 

you didn’t mean to make a sound, but the branch snapped underfoot, loud in the quiet night.

josh’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours through the dark. his brow furrowed, confusion clouding his features as he squinted into the trees. “who’s there?”

your heart pounded in your chest, your breath freezing in your lungs. this was it. there was no turning back now. 

you stepped out from the shadows, your body tense with a mixture of fear and hope. “josh…”

his body went rigid, disbelief flashing across his face. “no,” he breathed, his voice barely audible. “no, you… you’re not real.”

you took a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “i’m real, josh. i’m right here.”

he stumbled forward, his eyes wide with shock as he closed the distance between you. his hands trembled as they reached out to touch you, as if he was afraid you would vanish into thin air. when his fingers brushed against your skin, the dam broke. josh pulled you into his arms with a desperate force, his body shaking as he clung to you like a lifeline.

“i thought you were dead,” he whispered, his voice ragged with emotion. “i thought i lost you.”

you wrapped your arms around him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours for the first time in what felt like an eternity. “i thought i lost you too.”

for a long moment, you stayed like that, holding each other in the cold. but even in his embrace, you couldn’t shake the heaviness pressing down on you. the past year had changed both of you, twisted you into different versions of the people you used to be. you’d fought monsters, bled, and survived things no one should have to survive. and he… you could see the darkness in his eyes, the madness gnawing at him from the inside.

you pulled back slightly, searching his face. “why are you here, josh? what are you doing?”

josh met your eyes, his face twisted with grief and anger. “they left them. they left hannah and beth to die out there. we both know it.”

you bit your lip, the words caught in your throat. he didn’t know. he didn’t understand what had really happened to the twins. what had happened to you. he wasn’t just angry, he was drowning in his own guilt, and he was blind to the truth.

“josh… there’s something i need to tell you,” you said softly, stepping back, reaching for the sleeve of your jacket.

his brow furrowed in confusion, but he watched as you tug the fabric up, revealing the long, jagged scars that ran along your arm. his breath caught in his throat as his eyes moved over the raised lines of flesh, the burns and cuts that told the story of your survival.

“what… what is this?” his voice was barely a whisper, his fingers ghosting over the marks on your skin.

“these are from the things that live up here, josh,” you said, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth you were about to share. “they’re not just legends. there’s something on this mountain, something old, something hungry. they’re called wendigos.”

his face paled, and he took a shaky step back. “wendigos? what are you talking about?”

you took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “hannah didn’t just die, josh. after the fall… she turned into one. i’ve been hunting them with a stranger i've met here. we’ve been fighting to stop them, but the wendigos… they’re relentless. they’re what’s out there, in the woods. they’re why i survived.”

josh stared at you, his eyes wide with disbelief. “no… no, that’s not possible. that can’t be…”

“it is, josh. i know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.” you lifted your other sleeve, revealing more scars, more proof of the battles you had fought. “this is what happened to me while i was out there. i didn’t just survive, i fought. i killed them. i’ve been living with this nightmare for the past year.”

his hands shook as he ran them through his hair, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “hannah… became one of them?” his voice cracked, the words almost too much for him to say.

you nodded, tears stinging at your eyes. “she didn’t mean to. it’s the curse, josh. the mountain… it’s cursed. when you resort to cannibalism, you turn. that’s what happened to her. she tried to survive, just like i did, but it… changed her.”

for a moment, he was silent, the weight of the truth crashing down on him. you watched as the pain twisted his face, as the horror of it all settled deep in his bones.

“i brought them here… to punish them,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “but it was never them, was it? it was the mountain.”

“it’s the wendigos,” you said softly, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. “but that doesn’t mean you have to go through with this. we can stop it, josh. together.”

he looked up at you, his eyes filled with anguish. “i didn’t know. i didn’t know any of this.”

“i know,” you whispered, gently squeezing his arm. “but now you do. and we can fix this. we can fight back. you don’t have to carry this burden alone anymore.”

for the first time in what felt like forever, josh’s body seemed to relax. the tension in his shoulders eased, and the wild look in his eyes began to fade. he didn’t have all the answers, and neither did you. but in that moment, standing together on the cursed mountain that had torn your lives apart, you knew one thing for certain.

you weren’t alone anymore.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

© ruewrote 2024.

@writing-fanics changed the ending hope this was okay :)

[sebmindbreak]

For whoever that send the yan azuretime x Yan reader THANK YOUUUUUUUUU I LOVE YOUUUUU

Also for req can we have maybe headcannons or one shot after they all got forsakened. Messed up polycule in hell what would probably go wrong.

(also did you you know that the Evil one that possessed Azure is the spectre through his hat? Use this info for what you will cause ik these guy will not let that slide)

TIME TO COOK :sparkles (i dont have emojis...)

ANYWYAS I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! <3<3333

I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!

i made the hat talked for funsies <3

EHHEHHEE

TITLE : finding ourselfves again

the sky split open above you, dragging your body through the void and slamming you into a twisted, unfamiliar map.

A haze of red mist clung to the ground, distorting the surroundings rusted structures, broken ritual sigils, and distant, echoing screams.

You felt your heart race not from fear, no, but from excitement. This was new. This was chaos.

Somewhere far off, a bell chimed. The killer had spawned.

You didn’t know it yet, but it was Azure.

Two Time’s boots skidded across the cracked terrain as they stumbled into existence with a sharp gasp.

Their purple eyes scanned everything with a wild intensity. “Where are they?” they hissed, voice laced with impatience and something violent. “Where’s my sweet little thing...?”

And then they saw you.

Relief washed over their face, followed swiftly by something much darker.

They marched toward you without hesitation, arms open, pulling you in with a possessive grip.

“Oh no, no, no. Look at you just dropped in the middle of a map with strangers everywhere... Do you know how dangerous that is?”

tone was sweet, sing-song, but their eyes flicked over every shadow with a simmering rage.

“There are others here. Survivors. People who don’t know you like I do. People who’ll try to touch what’s mine.”

Their fingers tightened around you. “We’re finding him. Now.”

It didn’t take long. Just as Two Time pulled you into a dim hiding spot near the corrupted altar, something surged from the shadows.

A blur of dark coat, writhing tentacles and eyes glowing from beneath a tattered hat with sharp purple eyes and a jagged maw.

Azure.

His steps were slow, but the fury in his gaze was unmistakable. His hat snarled, voice dripping venom: “You’re wasting time. They should be with you, not them. Let’s kill and go.”

But Azure didn’t answer the hat.

Instead, his hand snapped up, yanking it off with a firm tug. “Shut up,” he growled.

The hat squealed as the tip of it was pulled down. His sharp gaze pinned Two Time.

“You kept them from me,” he hissed. “You hid them.”

Two Time’s smirk returned, taunting and sly. “Of course I did. I know how needy you get when we’re all together. Can’t risk you stealing kisses before I get mine.”

“Oh? And what were you doing? Smothering them like a leash?” Azure’s voice curled low, bitter. “They belong to both of us.”

Two Time didn’t argue.

They just pulled you tighter, nearly burying your face in their shoulder.

“I’m not letting anyone take them,” they whispered, voice trembling beneath the calm mask. “Not the survivors. Not the killers. Not even you.”

Azure’s eyes narrowed but instead of lunging, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around both of you.

“You think I’ll let them have a piece of what’s mine?” His tentacles slid around your waist, around Two Time’s back, pulling you both in with trembling fury. “No. Never.”

The tension broke not in a fight, but in an embrace.

All three of you tangled together on the ground, limbs overlapping, hearts thundering.

You felt Two Time’s cheek press against yours, soft breaths brushing your skin. “We’ll keep you safe,” they muttered. “Even if it means burning the map to ash.”

Azure leaned in closer, resting his forehead against yours, voice dropping to a low, shaking whisper.

“We’ll kill them all. Every last one. No one gets to look at you.”

The cursed hat groaned weakly from the side. “You’re wasting time…”

But neither of them responded.

Not anymore.

Because as your three bodies pressed tightly together, entwined with love and madness, the rest of the round didn’t matter.

The chaos offaded into silence. There were no survivors. No threats. No enemies.

Just obsession.

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!

[novaursa]

The Blood of the Dragon

- Summery: After you reject Daemon, the dragon chases after what he believes is his.

- Pairing: reader!niece/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred as Y/N and is bonded with dragon Grey Ghost. For the full list of my works done in chronological order visit my blog, it's pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 1 984

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The wind howls in your ears as Grey Ghost soars above the Crownlands, the dense forest below a green blur. You urge him higher, relishing the freedom and exhilaration of flight. The sky is yours, a vast expanse of azure that stretches endlessly in every direction. For a moment, you forget your troubles, losing yourself in the pure joy of riding the skies.

But that joy is short-lived.

A dark shape appears on the horizon, growing larger with alarming speed. Your heart skips a beat as you recognize the red-hued scales and unmistakable silhouette of Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm. Daemon. Panic grips you as you realize he is coming straight for you, his dragon's wings cutting through the air with terrifying swiftness.

"Grey Ghost, we need to move!" you shout, your voice nearly drowned out by the wind.

Grey Ghost responds immediately, his massive wings flapping harder as he veers sharply to the left. The sudden maneuver almost throws you from the saddle, and you cling desperately to the reins, your knuckles white with the effort. You glance over your shoulder, hoping Daemon might break off his pursuit. But no such luck. Caraxes is right on your tail, his feral eyes locked onto you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Daemon, stop!" you scream, though you know he won't hear you over the roar of the wind and the beating of dragon wings.

You lean closer to Grey Ghost, urging him to go faster. The ground blurs beneath you as he dives, weaving between clouds in a desperate attempt to shake off his pursuer. Your mind races, trying to understand why Daemon is chasing you. You recall the wedding, Rhaenyra and Laenor's joyous union marred by Daemon's advances. You had rejected your uncle, firmly and publicly, hoping he would get the message.

It seems he hadn't.

"Y/N, there's no escaping me!" Daemon's voice rings out, carried by the wind, sounding almost amused.

You grit your teeth, anger flaring alongside your fear. "I told you no, Daemon!"

Your words are lost to the wind as Caraxes closes the distance, his fiery breath scorching the air just behind you. Grey Ghost dodges the flames, but you can feel the heat, a stark reminder of the danger you're in. You can't keep this up forever; Caraxes is faster and more agile. You need a plan.

"Grey Ghost, head for the cliffs!" you command, hoping the rocky terrain might give you an edge.

Your dragon responds with a powerful thrust of his wings, speeding towards the craggy cliffs that rise sharply from the coastline. You hold on tight, praying this desperate gamble will work. The cliffs loom closer, jagged and unyielding, and you guide Grey Ghost into a narrow crevice, barely wide enough for his wingspan.

Caraxes follows, his larger frame struggling to navigate the tight space. For a moment, you think you might have escaped, but Daemon is relentless. He forces Caraxes through the crevice, rock and debris raining down as his dragon's wings scrape against the stone.

"Why are you doing this?" you shout, glancing back at Daemon.

His eyes meet yours, fierce and determined. "Because you belong to me, Y/N. And I always get what I want."

His words send a chill down your spine. This isn't just a chase; it's a hunt. And you're the prey. Grey Ghost bursts from the crevice, diving towards the sea. The salt spray hits your face as you skim just above the waves, the sea a blur beneath you. Caraxes is right behind, unrelenting.

"Y/N, don't make this harder than it needs to be!" Daemon's voice is closer now, the thrill of the chase evident.

Your heart pounds in your chest, fear and anger warring within you. "I will never be yours, Daemon!"

You steer Grey Ghost towards a series of sea stacks, hoping to use the rocky pillars to your advantage. The dragon weaves through the formations with practiced ease, but Caraxes follows, smashing through one of the smaller stacks in his pursuit. The sound of shattering rock echoes in your ears, and you know you can't keep this up much longer.

Grey Ghost's wings are tiring, each beat growing more labored. You can feel his exhaustion through the bond you share, and it breaks your heart to push him further. But you have no choice. You can't let Daemon catch you.

"Just a little longer, my friend," you whisper, patting his neck.

The coastline stretches before you, the cliffs giving way to open fields. There's nowhere left to hide. Daemon is gaining, and you can see the determination in his eyes. He won't stop until he has you.

"Grey Ghost, we're almost there," you murmur, though you don't know where "there" is. All you know is you have to keep flying, keep evading, keep hoping for a miracle.

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the land, Daemon and Caraxes remain relentless. The chase continues, the outcome uncertain. Your only hope is that somehow, some way, you can outlast him. 

But for now, the hunt is on, and Daemon Targaryen is not a man who gives up easily.

Grey Ghost’s wings beat heavily beneath you, the strain evident in his every movement. Caraxes remains relentless, his larger form casting a long shadow over you as he inches closer with every passing second. Just when you think you might gain some distance, a sudden gust of wind throws Grey Ghost off balance. In that moment of vulnerability, Caraxes strikes.

The collision is violent and sudden. Caraxes crashes into Grey Ghost with brutal force, their massive bodies tangling as they plummet towards an ancient, abandoned tower below. You cling desperately to the saddle as Grey Ghost tries to regain control, but it’s too late. The ground rushes up to meet you, and the impact is catastrophic.

The tower shatters under the combined weight of the two dragons, stone and timber exploding in all directions. Grey Ghost roars in pain, his claws scrabbling for purchase as Caraxes pins him down, their scales scraping and clashing with a deafening screech. You barely manage to stay mounted, your world a blur of chaos and destruction.

"Hold on, Grey Ghost!" you cry, though you know it’s futile.

Caraxes is relentless, his jaws snapping dangerously close to Grey Ghost’s throat. You can feel your dragon’s suffering and pain through your bond, and it tears at your heart. You need to do something, anything, to save him.

"Daemon, stop this madness!" you shout, but your words are drowned out by the roar of the dragons.

With a desperate decision, you unfasten the straps of your saddle and leap from Grey Ghost’s back just as Caraxes lunges forward. You hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of your lungs in a painful rush. For a moment, you can’t move, your vision dark and your body aching. The sounds of the dragon fight fade into the background as you struggle to breathe, each gasp a sharp pain in your chest.

Slowly, your vision clears, and you see Grey Ghost pinned beneath Caraxes, his once-mighty form now battered and immobile. The sight sends a wave of despair through you. Your faithful dragon is defeated, and there’s nothing you can do to help him.

A shadow falls over you, and you look up to see Daemon dismounting Caraxes. His movements are graceful, almost casual, as if this were just another game to him. He walks towards you with a smirk on his face, his eyes gleaming with a mix of triumph and admiration.

"You put up quite the chase, Y/N," he says, his voice laced with amusement. "I must admit, I enjoyed it more than I expected."

You sigh, defeated. You know how this game is played, especially among those with dragon blood. Daemon has won, and there’s no denying the surge of conflicting emotions within you – fear, frustration, and a reluctant spark of excitement. There’s a strange satisfaction in knowing you fought well, even if the outcome was inevitable.

Daemon kneels beside you, his hands gentle as he cups your cheeks. His touch is surprisingly tender, and you feel a shiver run through you as his forehead rests against yours. His breath mingles with yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you.

"You are mine, Y/N," he declares softly, his voice filled with a possessive intensity that sends a thrill down your spine. "And I always take what is mine."

The words resonate deep within you, stirring something primal and undeniable. You close your eyes, accepting the truth of his claim. There’s no escaping Daemon Targaryen, no denying the bond that ties you together. The chase is over, and Daemon has won.

Daemon's eyes bore into yours, a smoldering fire that matches the heat coursing through your veins. His hands slide from your cheeks to the back of your neck, drawing you closer. Without hesitation, he captures your lips with his, the kiss searing and demanding. You resist for a fleeting moment, your mind battling your heart, but the intensity of his desire sweeps you away.

You surrender, kissing him back with equal fervor. The world around you fades, the dragons, the ruins, everything dissolves into the background as you become lost in the sensation of his lips on yours. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping tightly as if he’s your anchor in a storm.

His hands move with purpose, deftly unfastening your riding gear. You follow suit, your fingers fumbling with the clasps of his armor, the urgency of the moment making you both impatient. Fabric and leather fall away, leaving you both exposed to the cool air and each other’s heated touch.

Under the watchful gaze of Grey Ghost and Caraxes, you and Daemon come together with a fervent intensity, your bodies moving in a primal rhythm. Every touch, every kiss is charged with a desperate need, as if the world might end and this might be your last chance to claim each other.

Daemon's hands explore every inch of you, his touch both possessive and reverent. You respond in kind, your fingers tracing the hard lines of his body, memorizing the feel of him. You move together, lost in a dance as old as time, chasing the high that only comes from complete and utter surrender.

The climax is shattering, a moment of pure ecstasy that leaves you both breathless and trembling. You collapse against him, your heart racing, the aftermath of your union leaving you both spent and exhilarated.

Daemon is the first to move, his touch now gentle as he helps you dress. There's a new tenderness in his eyes, a softening of his usual fierce demeanor.

"Get dressed," he murmurs, his voice husky. "We’re going to Dragonstone. Our union must be cemented, made known to all."

You nod, still catching your breath, and begin to pull on your clothes. Daemon's gaze never leaves you, his eyes filled with a possessive pride. Once you're both dressed, he extends a hand to help you to your feet. You take it, the strength of his grip reassuring.

As you mount Grey Ghost, you feel a mixture of emotions—trepidation, excitement, and an undeniable connection to the man beside you. Daemon swings onto Caraxes with practiced ease, his gaze still locked on you.

"Follow me," he commands, his voice carrying the authority that comes so naturally to him.

You nod again, and with a powerful beat of Grey Ghost’s wings, you take to the skies. Caraxes follows, and together, you fly towards Dragonstone, the future uncertain but the bond between you and Daemon now unbreakable.

As the dragons soar through the twilight sky, the ruins of the tower fade into the distance, leaving behind the memory of a chase that ended not in defeat, but in an irrevocable union.

[chimcess]

⮞ Chapter Three: Not For Me Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ft. Taehyung x Reader, Jungkook x OC) Other Tags: Convict!Jungkook, Escaped Prisoner!Jungkook, Piolet!Reader, Captain!Reader, Holyman!Namjoon Genre: Sci-Fi, Action, Adventure, Thriller, Suspense, Strangers to Enemies to ???, Slow Burn, LOTS of Angst, Light Fluff, Eventual Smut, Third Person POV, 18+ Only Word Count: 22.4k+ Summary: When a deep space transporter crash-lands on a barren planet illuminated by three relentless suns, survival becomes the only priority for the stranded passengers, including resourceful pilot Y/N Y/L/N, mystic Namjoon Kim, lawman Taemin Lee, and enigmatic convict Jungkook Jeon. As they scour the hostile terrain for supplies and a way to escape, Y/N uncovers a terrifying truth: every 22 years, the planet is plunged into total darkness during an eclipse, awakening swarms of ravenous, flesh-eating creatures. Forced into a fragile alliance, the survivors must face not only the deadly predators but also their own mistrust and secrets. For Y/N, the growing tension with Jungkook—both a threat and a reluctant ally—raises the stakes even higher, as the battle to escape becomes one for survival against the darkness both around them and within themselves. Warnings: Strong Language, Side Character Death, Main Character Death, Aliens, Vicious Carnivorous Aliens, Violence, Blood, Jungkook is a huge prick, Cocky too, Talks About Past Characters Dying, Trauma Bonding, Bickering, Arguing, If Kook is a prick then Lee is a dick, Child Death, Graphic Death Scenes, Sexual Tension, Y/N is just trying her best, Jaded Characters, Religious Themes (I mean no harm and do not want to offend anyone), Bad Character Choices, Peter is Iconic (and a dumb ass), Surviving, Alcohol Consumption, Aliens killing A LOT of people, SUSPENSE, ANGST, Lee is genuinely the WORST person here, and he's in competition with a murderer so, I love how much of a jerk JK is, In Namjoon we trust, This is all angst and action and that's pretty much it, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Be prepared... there's a lot of deaths. Proceed with caution. Thanks for reading!

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At first, it looked like smoke, curling up from the jagged hills, coiling in long tendrils that slithered through the night. It moved strangely, as if it had a will of its own, twisting unnaturally against the wind. The survivors stood in uneasy silence, their breath held tight in their throats, until realization hit them all at once. This was not smoke. It was something else entirely.

The sound that followed was unlike anything they had ever heard—an eerie symphony of clicks, shrieks, and chittering wails that slashed through the air like a serrated blade. Then came the wings. Sharp, sleek, cutting through the encroaching dark with a deadly precision. They poured from the craggy spires in relentless waves, an unholy swarm shrieking with the sheer exhilaration of nightfall. The sky churned as they spread out, blotting out what little light remained, turning the world into a writhing, living storm.

Lee’s voice broke through the rising panic, hoarse and disbelieving. “Jesus… how many of them can there be?”

More poured forth, a tide of grotesque bodies, their numbers beyond comprehension. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as if the creatures might pass them by, seeking prey elsewhere, but the illusion shattered in an instant. As if guided by some unseen intelligence, a portion of the swarm peeled away, shifting course, heading straight for them.

Peter’s voice wavered, his panic barely contained. “Uh… just a thought, but maybe we should flee?”

Y/N’s voice cut through the tension, sharp, commanding. “Cargo hold! Everyone, move! Now!”

Her words ignited action. The ground trembled under their pounding footsteps as they sprinted toward the hold, the swarm closing in behind them. Y/N reached it first, spinning just inside the hatch, her heart lurching when she saw Jungkook and Bindi still outside, running full tilt toward safety. Against the backdrop of the roiling sky, they were little more than silhouettes, illuminated by the sickly glow of the creatures’ bioluminescent wings.

Then, the swarm descended.

It was a storm of wings and talons, a living maelstrom slicing through the air with horrifying speed. The shrieking mass swept over them like a black tide, the force of it nearly knocking them from their feet. Jungkook and Bindi hit the ground in unison, flattening themselves against the earth as the creatures surged overhead, their razor-edged wings slicing the air just inches above them.

Bindi lay frozen, her chest rising and falling in shallow gasps, her fingers clawing into the dirt as if trying to anchor herself against the chaos. Jungkook, in contrast, was eerily still. His face was unreadable as he watched the creatures swirl above them, something akin to fascination gleaming in his dark eyes. Slowly, he lifted a crude bone-shiv, holding it aloft like an offering. Then, with the detached curiosity of a scientist, he thrust it into the heart of the storm.

The blade vanished in an instant, shredded into nothingness by the relentless flurry of wings. Jungkook tilted his head slightly, as if calculating the swarm’s efficiency, as if filing away every piece of information with eerie precision.

“Bindi!” Leo’s voice rang out from the cargo hold, frantic. “Stay down! Don’t move!”

Bindi’s gaze snapped toward the sound, a flicker of hope breaking through her terror. She began to crawl, inching forward, her elbows digging into the dirt. Every movement felt like an eternity, the world narrowing to the frantic pounding of her heart. The swarm churned above, shrieking and shifting, and for a moment, it seemed as though she might make it.

Then, the hatchlings turned.

With horrifying speed, the swarm adjusted course, locking onto her like a pack of starving wolves. The noise rose into a deafening crescendo, a thousand clicking jaws converging all at once.

“No.” Y/N’s voice was barely more than a whisper, thick with dread. “No, no, no, no—”

The creatures struck like a living flood. One second, Bindi was crawling toward salvation; the next, she was engulfed. Her scream barely made it past her lips before it was swallowed by the storm. The hatchlings twisted around her, a vortex of writhing bodies lifting her into the air. For a split second, they could still see her, limbs flailing, before she was pulled higher, vanishing into the swirling mass above.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Inside the cargo hold, the survivors stood frozen, their faces pale, their breath caught in their throats. They had seen it. They had watched as she was taken, as if the night itself had devoured her. The creatures carried her upward, over the horizon, until there was nothing left but the empty void.

Jungkook remained where he was, motionless amid the settling dust. His gaze never left the darkened sky, tracking the last remnants of the swarm as they disappeared. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet. He dusted the dirt from his hands, his movements methodical, unhurried. He turned toward the cargo hold, walking with deliberate steps, as if nothing had changed.

Inside, the others still hadn’t moved. Fear clung to them, thick as smoke, suffocating. Y/N opened her mouth, her mind scrambling for something—anything—to say, when a new sound began to rise.

Click. Click. Click.

At first, it was faint, distant, like stones tapping together. But it grew louder, sharper, echoing through the heavy air. The space around them seemed to shift, the very atmosphere thickening with something unseen, something waiting.

Y/N felt it then. A cold knot tightening in her gut. She knew that sound.

Jungkook…” Her voice was barely a whisper, a tremor of fear lacing her words. “What’s happening?”

Jungkook paused just outside the cargo hold, his gaze fixed on the crumbling spires in the distance. The faint light reflected off his goggles as he pulled them off, revealing eyes that gleamed unnervingly in the dim glow. His expression was unreadable, his attention locked on the distant, dying spires, as if the answers were written in the ruins.

The hills were collapsing, their jagged peaks groaning under the weight of their own destruction. The ground trembled, as if the very earth itself was giving way. From the crumbling cliffs, massive shapes began to emerge, each one deliberate and purposeful. Unlike the hatchlings that had surged forth with chaotic energy, these creatures moved with cold calculation. Their hammer-shaped heads swayed as they stepped into the open, each movement slow but precise, every click of their joints sharp and rhythmic, reverberating against the surrounding cliffs. Their bodies were unnervingly mammalian, slick, sinewy flesh that gleamed faintly under the dim light, an unsettling reminder that something monstrous had been waiting just beneath the surface.

“What is it? What do you see?” Y/N’s voice trembled, a raw edge creeping in as she fought to contain her rising panic.

Jungkook’s voice broke through the heavy silence, his tone low, almost amused. “The grown-ups,” he murmured, a dark smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Told you... ain’t me you gotta worry about.”

Above them, the twin suns were eclipsed by the planet’s rim, plunging the world into an unnatural darkness. The stars were hidden, swallowed by a storm of predators that surged forth from the shattered hills. The atmosphere felt thick, oppressive, as if the very air was charged with impending doom.

Inside the cargo hold, Y/N slammed her hand against the control panel. The thick, vault-like doors hissed and groaned as they slid shut, sealing the survivors inside. The sound of the lock engaging echoed in the chamber, sharp and final.

The space inside the hold was unbearably small, the air heavy with tension and fear. Bodies crowded the room, their presence amplifying every creak and groan of the metal hull. Flashlights flickered to life, casting long, jittery shadows on the walls. Every scrape of metal, every distant noise felt amplified, as though the creatures outside were testing the strength of their temporary sanctuary.

Y/N leaned against the cold metal wall, her heart hammering as she tried to make sense of the chaos that had unfolded so suddenly. Around her, the others stood motionless, their faces pale, drawn, and tight with fear. Each person was lost in their own private terror, the silence between them thickening with every passing second.

But even in the stillness, the clicking persisted, growing louder, closer. It was relentless, a sound that crawled under their skin, twisting the air with its chilling rhythm.

Leo sat hunched against the cold wall, his knees pulled to his chest, his voice barely audible. “What if... what if she’s still out there? Still alive?” His eyes darted from one face to the next, searching for a glimmer of hope in their expressions.

Lee, leaning casually against the opposite wall, snorted dryly, a humorless sound that cut through the tension like a blade. His voice was colder than the night pressing against the hull. “Look, I don’t wanna be the guy to burst your bubble, but you remember that boneyard we passed? These might be the charming assholes that wiped out every other living thing on this rock. So unless Bindi’s got superpowers, her knocking on that door anytime soon? That’s about zero squared, buddy.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the memory of the skeletal remains flashing in her mind. She closed her eyes against it, but it wouldn’t go away. “I saw the cut marks on the bones,” she said quietly. “That wasn’t natural. Something butchered them.”

“Quiet, please,” Namjoon’s voice interrupted, cutting through the rising tension. He held up a hand, pressing his ear against the thick cargo door, his face drawn tight with concentration. His senses were tuned to the smallest of details, every sound scrutinized for meaning.

The others fell silent, breaths shallow and synchronized, as they strained to hear past the metal barrier. The clicking continued, a distant storm of noise that swept past outside, growing louder, then fading away again into the night.

Leo’s voice broke the silence, laced with fear. “What do they even do that for? Why do they make that sound?”

Namjoon’s brow furrowed, his calm voice betraying a quiet tension. “It may be the way they see... using sound to create a picture of the world.”

“Echo-location,” Y/N murmured, the realization clicking into place. “Like bats. That’s what it is.”

Before anyone could respond, a sharp new clicking sound rang out from behind them. Instantly, their flashlights whipped around, beams of light cutting through the oppressive darkness. The hold seemed to expand, its shadows deepening, stretching outward as if the space itself was becoming more alive.

“Where’s it coming from?” Leo’s voice quivered, his fear seeping into every word.

The lights landed on the darkened gap of an open container halfway down the long, tunnel-like hold. The door swung slightly, nudged by an unseen force.

“How the hell could one of them get in here?” someone muttered, their voice barely above a breath.

Y/N’s voice was sharp, urgent. “Breach in the hull,” she said quickly. “Or maybe the vents. I don’t know.”

The group turned, eyes locking onto Lee, whose expression had soured. He sighed heavily, the weight of their expectations settling on him as they all turned their gaze toward him.

“Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath, reaching for his shotgun. “I’d rather piss glass.”

Jungkook, leaning casually against the wall, smirked faintly. “You’ve got the big gauge, old man. Time to earn your keep.”

Lee shot him a venomous glare, his grip tightening around the shotgun. “Wanna rag your fat mouth a little louder, golden boy? Or you wanna take point?”

The clicking grew louder, now joined by a sharp crash from deeper in the hold. Something heavy had toppled, the sound reverberating off the walls, sending a chill down their spines.

“Big beads,” Jungkook quipped, his smirk widening as the tension mounted.

Lee shook his head, sucking on his breather before stepping forward. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath.

He moved cautiously toward the open container, shotgun raised, his flashlight cutting a narrow beam through the dark. The clicking echoed all around them, distorted and impossible to pinpoint, as though it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. The air in the hold was thick with the weight of it, the darkness pressing closer with every step.

When Lee reached the container, he paused, his breath shallow, and then fired a blind shot into the shadows. The deafening boom of the shotgun echoed through the cramped space, a violent punctuation to the tension that had been mounting since the first hint of danger. The sharp, pained squeal that followed was short-lived, fading quickly into the silence, leaving behind an eerie stillness.

Easing around the edge of the container, Lee aimed his flashlight inside, the beam slicing through the dark. It landed on a cluster of hatchlings—tiny, malformed bodies, their twitching limbs tangled in pulpy, bloodied heaps. He exhaled slowly, the tension that had been coiled tight in his shoulders easing as he took in the scene.

“Okay,” he called back to the others, his voice steady now. “We’re okay. Just some small ones that must’ve snuck in. Nothing to—”

He never finished the sentence.

From the darkness, something swung out like a scythe. The force of it struck Lee’s shotgun with brutal precision, sending it clattering to the floor with a deafening clang. The weapon discharged, its blast ricocheting off the ceiling in a brief, blinding flash. In that instant, Lee saw it—it.

An adult predator loomed in the shadows, its massive, hammer-like head tilting toward him. The clicking echoed through the tight space, sharp and unsettling, as the creature remained unnervingly still, yet coiled with latent energy, like a spring about to snap. Its skin gleamed sickeningly in the dim light, a sinewy texture that seemed to absorb the glow, swallowing any trace of warmth.

“Shit,” Lee whispered, his voice barely audible, more a prayer than a statement.

Peter shoved past him, face pale, sweat glistening on his brow as his hand flew to the door lever. His voice cracked with panic. “Not staying in here another second—”

Y/N lunged forward, grabbing his arm with a desperate grip, her nails digging into his sleeve. “Christ, Peter, you don’t know what’s out there!” Her voice was sharp, but there was a tremor beneath the words, a raw edge of fear that betrayed her calm façade.

“I know what’s in here!” Peter snapped back, his eyes darting around the darkened space, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. “I know what’s in here, and I’m not waiting for it to tear me apart.”

Namjoon stepped forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. His voice cut through the rising panic, calm yet urgent. “Everybody, this way. We’ll be safer deeper in. Hurry, please...” His words were a lifeline, a thread of reason in the madness that threatened to swallow them all.

The air inside the container felt suffocating, thick with the sour tang of sweat and the mechanical hiss of breathers struggling to pull in precious oxygen. No one dared speak as they followed Namjoon, their footsteps hurried and uneven, the metal floor groaning under their collective weight.

Then the sound began—a faint scratching at first, distant and almost imperceptible, like fingernails dragging across steel. But it grew steadily louder, a slow, deliberate scraping that clawed its way through the silence, twisting the air, wrapping around their nerves like a vice.

Lee muttered a curse under his breath, fumbling for the cutting torch strapped to his belt. His hands were slick with sweat, trembling as he finally sparked it to life. The burst of orange light filled the container, illuminating the faces of the survivors, pale and drawn, the shadows dancing wildly on the walls. He adjusted the gas, coaxing the flame to burn brighter, casting an eerie glow across the space.

“Stay back,” he said, his voice tight with tension, as he moved toward the far wall. The glow from the torch cast a sickly halo around the door, pulling every eye toward it, a silent warning of the danger that was closing in.

The scratching escalated into something heavier, more deliberate. Scythe-like claws scraped and probed at the door’s joints, testing its strength, forcing the metal to groan under the pressure. The air thickened with the sound, the reality of the threat inching closer with every scraping, every moment of silence that followed.

Then came the blows. Heavy, calculated strikes that reverberated through the container, sending a shockwave of terror through the survivors. Each strike seemed designed to break them, to force them back into the corner where they had nowhere left to go. The noise was overwhelming, each blow making the metal shudder, forcing them to shrink away.

Jungkook’s voice cut through the tense silence, sharp and irritated. “Can you do something else with that?” He gestured to the cutting torch. “Besides holding it in my fucking face?”

Lee shot him a glare, but didn’t answer. Instead, he turned, focusing once again on the wall in front of him, the torch biting into the metal with a steady, rhythmic crackling. Each spark was like the ticking of a grim countdown.

The scratching outside turned to tearing, a sound of steel being ripped apart, and the blows came faster now—more insistent, more brutal. Each strike shook the container like a drum, and the survivors were pushed further into the corner, their minds racing for any possible escape.

Y/N’s voice was a low, trembling whisper. “Hurry, Lee. Please.”

Lee didn’t respond. His focus was absolute, his eyes locked on the glowing line he was carving into the wall. Behind him, the door groaned again, the metal bowing inward under the relentless assault, bending toward them like an inevitable, crushing force.

Finally, the makeshift escape hatch was open, and Leo scrambled through first, his movements frantic, uncoordinated as he darted for freedom. “Come on!” he hissed, waving his hand wildly for the others to follow.

Behind them, the door gave way. The sound of metal shredding filled the air, a deafening, grinding scream that drowned out every other noise.

The predators came through fast—massive, sleek creatures with hammer-shaped heads and serrated claws, moving with terrifying precision. Their clicking filled the air, a chorus of broken gears grinding together, echoing off the metal walls as they poured into the space. They moved with an unnerving fluidity, sweeping through the container like hunters unleashed. Their echo-location guided them, and their movements were as deliberate as they were deadly, each step an instinctive calculation.

“Go, go, go!” Y/N shouted, her voice raw with urgency as she shoved Peter toward the hole.

The survivors scrambled through the escape hatch, their breaths ragged, hearts pounding. On the other side, Lee wasted no time. He slammed his torch against the edges of the opening, welding the thin sheet of metal shut behind them. The predators thudded against the barrier almost immediately, their claws scraping against the fresh welds with bone-chilling speed.

“Move!” Namjoon barked, his voice slicing through the chaos, compelling them forward.

They sprinted through the adjoining container, but the darkness that met them was suffocating, and the relentless clicking followed them like a shadow. It was a haunting reminder that they weren’t out of danger yet. Lee lit the torch again, its dim glow barely cutting through the thick blackness. He began carving another escape route, each movement swift, but steady. Meanwhile, Y/N and Peter worked feverishly to barricade the entrance, using whatever they could find—crates, loose pipes, their own bodies pressed against the door. But it was never enough.

The predators were relentless. They tore through each makeshift barrier with terrifying speed, each new attack a savage reminder of the creatures’ lethal precision. Every time the survivors scrambled into the next container, the beasts were already at their heels, claws raking through the walls, the clicking growing louder, more frenzied.

In the fifth container, Y/N and Peter hurled their bodies against the barricade, sweat streaming down their faces as they pushed crates, pipes, and loose cargo into place. The screeches and tearing sounds from the predators beyond grew louder, closer, hammering against their fraying nerves. Jungkook stood beside them, bracing his hands against the wall, adding his strength to the effort. But then, he froze.

Something caught his eye—marks on the cargo. At first, they seemed like scratches or grooves, but they were too deliberate, too clean. They were precise cuts, like those made by a predator’s blade. His gaze tracked the marks, following them down to the floor, where faint, glistening smears trailed into the darker recesses of the container.

Jungkook didn’t say a word. Quiet as a shadow, he slipped away from the group, his footsteps muffled against the cold metal floor.

Peter turned his head, his voice trembling with rising panic. “Hello? Jungkook? Where the hell are you going?”

But Jungkook didn’t answer. He moved toward the far end of the container, where the dim glow of Lee’s cutting torch didn’t reach. His boots squelched against something wet, and his pace slowed. He slipped off his goggles, squinting into the deep shadows.

The scene that emerged in the faint light made him stop. Dead hatchlings littered the floor, their twisted bodies scattered like discarded toys. Blood and viscera smeared the metal, the sharp coppery tang filling the air.

Jungkook felt it before he saw it. A ripple in the air, a sense of something alive—watching.

There, perched atop a stack of cargo, was an adolescent predator. Its sinewy body moved with unnerving grace as it tore into the carcass of a hatchling. The creature’s head was crowned with a heavy, bone-like blade that gleamed faintly in the low light. It paused mid-feed, clicking softly as it tilted its head, its scythe-like forelimbs sweeping the air, feeling for vibrations, searching for prey.

Behind him, the group forced open another escape hatch. Leo scrambled through first, followed by Y/N and Lee. Namjoon and Kai lingered, their faces tense as they glanced back toward the darkened depths of the container.

“Where’s Jungkook?” Namjoon’s voice was hushed, tight with concern.

The answer came too late.

Kai turned the corner, his steps faltering as his gaze snapped upward. The adolescent predator loomed above him, its blade descending like a guillotine.

“Don’t. Move.”

Jungkook’s voice cut through the moment, calm and commanding. He emerged from the shadows, every muscle taut, coiled with tension. His gaze locked onto the predator, steady and unblinking.

Kai froze. The creature’s blade grazed his cheek, a shallow cut that welled with blood. The predator clicked, testing, its movements almost clinical, surgical.

Then, another shape loomed behind the first. A second predator, larger, its blade gleaming in the low light as it tested the air.

From the other end of the container, Y/N’s voice echoed, sharp and urgent. “Jungkook? Namjoon? What’s going on?”

Kai’s breath hitched, his eyes darting between the creatures and the open hatch. Panic surged through him, a cold wave of terror. Without thinking, he bolted.

“No—” Jungkook’s warning came too late.

The predators moved as one, a blur of lethal grace. Their blades flashed in the dark, and Kai’s scream tore through the container, high and sharp, before it was abruptly silenced.

Jungkook’s body snapped into motion. He ducked behind a stack of cargo, moving with the predator’s instinct, every step measured and calculated. He darted for the open hatch just as Y/N’s flashlight beam sliced through the darkness.

The light hit him square in the face, and he stumbled, his hand flying up instinctively to shield his eyes. “Turn that off!” he barked.

But the beam moved past him, landing on the predator that had been closing in on his heels. The creature recoiled instantly, letting out a guttural howl. It thrashed wildly, its movements erratic, disoriented, as though the light had burned it.

Y/N froze, her hand trembling as the flashlight shook in her grip. Her mind raced. Did… did that just stop it?

The silence shattered with the deafening blast of Lee’s shotgun, the echo reverberating through the metal walls. He fired blindly into the dark, his face locked in a rictus of adrenaline and fear.

“Stop it! Stop it, STOP IT!” Y/N screamed, shoving Lee hard enough to make him stumble.

“It’s okay,” Lee muttered, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hands trembling as he barely kept a grip on the shotgun. “I killed it.”

Disbelief rippled through the group. Before anyone could speak, a sickening thud resonated through the space. A carcass slammed to the floor, twitching weakly, steam rising from the still-warm body.

“Christ,” Peter whispered, his voice barely audible. “He did kill one.”

Y/N swept her flashlight over the creature’s grotesque form. Its charred, sinewy flesh seemed to shrink and crackle under the beam, sizzling as though doused in acid.

“There,” Y/N said quietly, the weight of realization settling in her voice, heavy and unyielding.

Peter leaned closer, his face twisting into an expression that was part disgust, part curiosity. “It’s like the light is scalding it.”

“It hurts them,” Y/N replied, her voice sharpening, taking on an edge of cold certainty. “Light actually hurts them.”

From somewhere in the oppressive shadows beyond the container, the guttural sounds of predators squabbling over a fresh kill reached their ears. The noises were wet, feral, and horribly familiar, a sound they all knew too well.

Namjoon’s face tightened, grief flickering across his usually composed features. He looked at Jungkook, his voice a near whisper. “Is that... Kai?”

Jungkook nodded once, grim and silent, his eyes dark with unspoken thoughts.

The air inside the container grew heavier, thick with the weight of tension that settled in their chests like stones. The cargo piled against the doors and walls—a makeshift barricade no one truly believed would hold for long—felt as fragile as the fleeting hope that had once driven them. Y/N’s handlight was their only source of illumination, its faint glow a fragile lifeline in the vast, suffocating darkness pressing in from every side.

Leo sat huddled against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Normally sharp-tongued and defiant, she looked like a frightened child now, her wide eyes darting nervously to every shifting shadow. Y/N glanced at her, a pang of something deep and bitter twisting in her chest, but she forced herself to focus. Focus on survival.

Y/N’s voice cut through the dark, steady and firm. “Let’s take stock. One cutting torch, one handlight here. Two more flashlights in the cabin, and maybe two after that.”

Peter’s voice, lighter than the situation warranted, held a flicker of tension. “Spirits. Anything over forty-five proof burns well.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “How many bottles?”

Peter shrugged, a ghost of a grin playing at his lips. “Ten? Give or take.”

“What about the umbrellas?” Y/N’s mind was moving at breakneck speed. “The ones that mist. Could they burn?”

Peter raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Possibly. If you’ve got a receipt and some kerosene handy.”

“Good,” Y/N nodded, her mind already assembling a plan. “Maybe we’ll have enough light to get through this.”

“Enough for what?” Lee’s voice cut in, sharp with skepticism.

“To get the cells back to the skiff,” Y/N answered evenly, her gaze unwavering, daring him to argue.

Lee let out a humorless laugh, leaning back against the wall. “Oh, lady,” he said, voice thick with disbelief. “If you’re in your right mind, I pray you go insane.”

Y/N ignored him, focusing on the group. “We stick to the plan. If we can get four cells back to the skiff, we’re off this rock.”

Peter snorted, shaking his head. “Hate to ruin your beautiful theory with an ugly fact, but that sand-cat won’t run at night.”

“Then we carry the cells,” Y/N’s voice was cold, final. “Drag them. Whatever it takes.”

The floor light flickered, its glow dimming with every passing moment. Y/N glanced at it, jaw tightening, willing it to hold.

“You mean… tonight?” Leo’s voice trembled, fear threading through her words. “With all those things still out there?”

Peter feigned mock cheerfulness, though his voice cracked slightly. “Oh, absolutely. Sounds like a hoot.”

“How long can this last?” Lee’s voice cut through the banter, sharper now, the skepticism replaced with grim reality. “A few minutes? A couple of hours?”

Namjoon spoke softly, reluctant, as if the words carried weight. “The planets are locked together in orbit. There will be lasting darkness.”

Lee’s face twisted in frustration. “The suns have to come back eventually. If these things are scared of light, we wait them out.”

“I’m sure that’s what someone else said. Locked inside that coring room.” Y/N shook her head, her voice like steel. “It’ll last three days. That’s how long it lasted when the other crew was here.”

The implication landed like a hammer, the coring room now a mass grave. The weight of it settled over them all.

Lee exhaled sharply, his voice softer now, almost reasonable. “Look, we have to think about everyone. Especially the kid. How scared is she gonna be out there?”

Y/N’s eyes snapped to him, ice-cold. “Don’t you dare use her as a smokescreen for your own fear.”

Lee straightened, eyes hard, a flash of anger sparking in his gaze. “Hey, why don’t you rag your hole for two seconds and let someone else come up with a plan that doesn’t involve mass suicide?”

A taut silence passed before Y/N’s voice cut through it, calm and deadly, like a blade. “How much do you weigh, Lee?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “What the hell does that matter?”

“How much?” Y/N pressed, unwavering.

“Seventy-nine kilos,” he snapped.

Y/N’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because you’re seventy-nine kilos of gutless white meat. That’s why you can’t come up with a better plan.”

Lee lunged at her, fury distorting his features, but Jungkook moved between them with practiced ease. The barrel of Lee’s shotgun bumped lightly under Jungkook’s chin, the air between them humming with tension.

The dim light above cast restless shadows, the space between them vibrating with unspoken animosity.

“Think about that reward, Lee,” Jungkook’s voice was low, almost playful, but the edge in his tone was undeniable.

Lee didn’t flinch. His jaw clenched. “I’m willing to take a cut in pay.”

Jungkook’s smile widened, humorless. “How about a cut in your gut?”

He stepped closer, smooth, predatory, a shiv gleaming faintly in his hand. Small, wickedly sharp, poised with deadly precision, inches from Lee’s stomach.

“Oh, Trash Baby,” Lee growled, his voice carrying a promise of retribution. “You’re gonna regret this.”

The group stiffened, the already suffocating atmosphere thickening, the weight of their situation pressing down like a vice.

“Please,” Namjoon interjected, his voice soft yet firm, as he stepped forward with his hands raised in a calming gesture. He moved with quiet authority, his tone a thin thread of reason trying to weave its way through the tension that hung like a storm in the air. “This solves nothing. Please, both of you.”

For a moment, no one moved. The silence between them was thick, punctuated only by the faint hum of the flashlight and the distant clicking of predators moving through the dark, their movements just out of sight but always felt. It was a silence that pressed against their chests, making the air feel heavier, more oppressive.

It was Lee who relented first. His shoulders tensed as if ready to spring, his fury barely contained beneath the surface. He stepped back, the fire in his eyes not extinguished but held in check, a silent promise of retribution smoldering in the depths of his glare as he turned his attention away from Jungkook.

The light flickered again, a brief, fleeting stutter that caught everyone's attention. The shadows seemed to shift, drawing a little closer, as if daring to swallow the fragile haven the flashlight provided.

“They’re afraid of our light,” Y/N said softly, her voice breaking the silence with a quiet certainty. She crouched down near Leo, her tone calm and measured as she locked eyes with the young girl, who was trembling in the corner. “That means we don’t have to be so afraid of them.”

Leo nodded slowly, her gaze still wide with fear, her trembling hands betraying the unease that clung to her like a second skin.

Namjoon, ever the voice of reason, turned toward Y/N. His brow furrowed in concern, the lines of worry etched across his face. “And you’re certain you can find the way back?”

Y/N hesitated, the weight of his question pressing into her, making the confidence she'd been clinging to waver for the first time. Her eyes flickered briefly to Jungkook, who stood a few paces away, his posture relaxed despite the tension that was so thick in the air. He held the shiv loosely at his side, the blade glinting faintly in the dim light, his expression unreadable, a mask of cool indifference.

“No,” Y/N admitted, her voice steady despite the admission. “I’m not. But he can.”

All eyes turned to Jungkook.

He met their stares without flinching, his lips curling into the faintest of smirks, as if this were all just another game. The calmness in his demeanor was almost unsettling, a stark contrast to the chaos and fear that seemed to infect everyone else like a disease.

“You’re putting your faith in him?” Lee spat, his anger rising again, the edges of his words sharp like broken glass. “The guy who just pulled a blade on me?”

Jungkook tilted his head, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. His dark eyes narrowed just slightly, sizing up Lee with an effortless cool. “Would you rather wander around in the dark and hope for the best? Because you're welcome to try.”

Lee opened his mouth to retort, but Namjoon cut him off, raising a hand to silence the argument before it could flare into something worse.

“Enough,” Namjoon said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of authority. His gaze shifted to Jungkook, his expression unreadable, the tension in his shoulders settling into something closer to resolve. “Can you lead us back? Truly?”

Jungkook’s smirk faded, the playful mask slipping away, revealing something more serious behind his eyes. His shoulders squared slightly, and for a brief moment, the casualness of his demeanor cracked, replaced by a rare sincerity. “I can,” he said simply, his voice low but sure. “But it won’t be easy.”

“Nothing about this is easy,” Y/N said, her voice cutting through the moment like a knife. She stood, brushing dust from her hands, the gesture sharp and decisive. “But it’s a hell of a lot better than staying here and waiting to die.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of the decision settling over them, thick and oppressive. There was no easy way out, no guarantee of survival, but at least this offered a chance.

“Fine,” Lee muttered finally, his voice bitter, the words dragging like nails against stone. “But if this goes sideways, don’t expect me to save your ass, Trash Baby.”

Jungkook’s grin returned, albeit colder, tinged with a humorless edge. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied smoothly, pushing off the wall with a fluid motion.

He moved toward the center of the group, slipping the shiv back into his belt with a practiced ease. The light flickered again, but this time, no one remarked on it. They were all too focused on the fragile thread of hope they were about to chase.

“Let’s move,” Y/N said, her voice steady, cutting through the silence like a command.

Jungkook led the way, his steps measured, deliberate, seeing the path that no one else could. The rest of the group fell in behind him, their breaths shallow and their hands clutching their makeshift weapons.

The eclipsing planet dominated half the sky, a silent behemoth that radiated a sense of overwhelming insignificance. Its massive shadow swept across the landscape, blanketing it in an unnatural twilight. Only the faint, golden corona of the sun peeked out from the edges of the eclipse, casting an eerie glow over the terrain. Under this dim light, storm clouds began to gather, their bloated forms heavy with rain or worse.

The crash ship loomed ahead, a jagged silhouette against the horizon. Its hull was scorched and battered, barely standing upright. The survivors worked quickly to pry open the cargo doors, the cutting torch hissing and sparking as it sliced through warped metal. The fiery glow cast fleeting, flickering light over their faces, highlighting the grim determination etched into each one.

Y/N stood just behind the torchbearer, her posture sharp and commanding. The light danced across her face, her eyes focused and unwavering. She scanned the blackened expanse beyond the group, her ears straining against the unsettling symphony of primal sounds that echoed through the encroaching darkness. Deep, guttural growls. Sharp, rhythmic clicks. The occasional high-pitched screech that sent shivers down her spine.

The group moved cautiously, their formation tight like hostages being herded by an unseen captor. The torch led the way, its light a fragile bubble of safety. Each step across the open ground felt agonizingly slow, every crunch of debris underfoot a deafening reminder of how exposed they were.

At last, they reached the crash ship’s main cabin. It loomed before them like a darkened maw, its interior shrouded in shadow. The air was colder here, as if the darkness carried its own chill.

Y/N stopped at the threshold, her instincts prickling with unease. She turned toward Jungkook, who stood at the rear of the group, his goggles pushed up onto his forehead. The faint torchlight caught the sharp glint in his eyes, feline and calculating.

“Jungkook,” she said, her voice quiet but firm, cutting through the tense silence.

He stepped forward, his movements deliberate and fluid, like a predator surveying its territory. He tilted his head slightly, listening, then let his gaze sweep across the cabin’s darkened interior.

After a long pause, he spoke. “It looks clear.”

Lee snorted, muttering something under his breath, and pushed past Jungkook without waiting for further confirmation. He climbed up into the cabin, his boots clanging against the metal floor.

No sooner had he straightened to full height than a sharp, whooshing noise sliced through the air above him. Something small and fast bolted from the shadows, its leathery wings brushing the top of his head as it shot out of the cabin and disappeared into the night.

“Fuck me!” Lee cursed, ducking instinctively. His hand shot to his head, checking for injury as his eyes darted wildly around the cabin. “You said it was clear!”

Jungkook didn’t flinch. He remained at the edge of the cabin, his calm demeanor unshaken. “Said looks clear,” he replied evenly, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Lee’s glare could have melted steel. “What’s it look like now?”

Jungkook took another deliberate step forward, peering into the cabin again with an almost languid precision. “Still looks clear.”

Y/N bit back a sigh and climbed into the cabin behind them. “Just get the goddamn lights on,” she muttered, her tone sharp but resigned.

Jungkook let out a soft tongue-click as he followed her inside, a subtle sound of amusement that seemed aimed squarely at Lee. It wasn’t loud, but it carried enough weight to make Lee bristle. The older man turned to shoot him a glare, but Jungkook was already scanning the cabin, his focus elsewhere.

The cabin’s interior was a chaotic mess. Wires hung from the ceiling like vines, swaying slightly in the cool breeze that seeped in through unseen cracks. Broken screens flickered weakly on the control panels, their dying lights casting ghostly flashes across the walls. The faint smell of burnt electronics and charred fabric lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of spilled coolant.

“Peter, help me with the console,” Y/N called, gesturing toward the largest control panel.

Peter scrambled inside, his hands fumbling for the tools in his belt. “On it.”

“Anything moving?” Y/N asked, not looking up from the panel.

“Not yet,” Jungkook replied, his tone casual but vigilant. He lingered near the doorway, his eyes flitting toward every shadow that seemed too deep, every crevice that might conceal a threat.

Behind him, the others filed into the cabin, their nerves fraying as the light from the torch began to sputter and fade.

“Better hurry,” Leo said, her voice trembling as she huddled near the far wall.

Peter muttered a string of curses under his breath as he fiddled with the console. Sparks flew, and for a heart-stopping moment, the cabin plunged into near-total darkness. Then, with a stuttering hum, dim overhead lights flickered on, bathing the cabin in a pale, sickly glow.

“Got it!” Peter exclaimed, a note of relief in his voice.

The group collectively exhaled, but the momentary reprieve was short-lived. Outside, the clicking sounds grew louder, echoing like malevolent whispers carried on the wind.

“They know we’re here,” Jungkook said, his voice quiet but certain.

Y/N’s grip on her weapon tightened. “Then we better not waste any more time.”

Inside the cabin, the survivors moved with the frantic efficiency of people who knew time was their enemy. The dim, flickering cabin lights were no comfort, but they were enough to illuminate their task. Every second spent here felt stolen, borrowed against a debt they weren’t sure they could repay.

Peter crouched by the battery bay, his hands blackened with grease as he yanked out power cells one by one. The hollow clang of metal on metal reverberated through the cabin as he handed each cell off to Namjoon, who threaded nylon cords through the handles with a practiced, almost mechanical motion. Y/N stood nearby, filling the reservoirs of misting umbrellas with high-octane liquor they’d salvaged earlier. The sickly-sweet scent of the alcohol clung to the air, sharp and volatile.

Oxygen canisters clattered as they were swapped out, fresh ones locked into place with sharp clicks. These were preparations that carried an edge of desperation, a mix of hope and the quiet dread that they might not matter in the end.

Lee sat off to the side, reloading his shotgun. His fingers, once steady, now trembled as he slid each shell into the chamber. The shaking had grown worse over the past hour, and it wasn’t just from exhaustion. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small red morphine shell, its glossy surface catching the weak light. For a moment, he stared at it like it was both a curse and a promise, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white.

“Ready, Lee,” Y/N called, her voice cutting through the cabin’s muted chaos.

Lee’s head snapped up, his expression hardening as he quickly palmed the shell and shoved it back into his pocket. Rising to his feet, he slung the shotgun over his shoulder and muttered, “He’ll lead you over the first cliff, you know that, don’t you?”

Y/N paused, turning toward him with a calm but cutting look. “We’re just burning light here.”

“You give him the cells, give him the ship, and he’ll leave you,” Lee said, his voice low and acidic. “He’ll leave you all out there to die.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, studying him like a puzzle she had no interest in solving. “I don’t get it, Lee. What’s so goddamn valuable in your life that you’re worried about losing? Huh? Is there anything at all? Besides your next hit?”

He didn’t answer.

Her tone softened, though it lost none of its edge. “You’ve got no right to be this scared. Neither one of us does.”

The words lingered for a moment before the cabin lights flickered, sputtered, and died completely, plunging them into darkness.

Outside, a torch flared to life with a deafening roar, its fiery plume casting jagged shadows that danced across the surrounding landscape. Two misting umbrellas, their fabric already burned away, became impromptu flamethrowers, belching fireballs into the encroaching night. The sudden brightness illuminated the survivors in stark relief: Namjoon chained into the first harness of the drag-sled, his broad shoulders braced for the weight. Lee fumbled with the second harness, his trembling hands betraying his frustration.

Jungkook stood nearby, observing the scene with a faint smirk that barely touched his eyes. He leaned down to help Lee with the harness, the irony of the act not lost on either of them—the prisoner aiding his captor.

“Keep the light going,” Y/N called out, her voice sharp and steady over the crackle of flames. “That’s all we have to do to live through this. Just keep your light burning.”

Jungkook slipped a handlight over his neck, adjusting it so the beam cast a halo of illumination down his back. “I’ll be running about ten paces ahead,” he said to Y/N, his tone calm but commanding. “I want light on my back, not in my eyes. And check your cuts. These things know our blood now.”

At his words, Leo froze, her face draining of color. She clutched her torch tighter, as though it alone could keep the fear at bay.

Y/N stepped closer to Jungkook, her hesitation visible in the way her fingers fidgeted against her side. “Jungkook,” she began, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I was thinking we should make some kind of deal. Just in case… you know, this actually works.”

He shook his head, cutting her off. “Had it with deals.”

“But I just wanted to say—”

“Nobody’s gonna turn a murderer loose,” he said flatly, though there was a bitter edge to his tone. “I fucking knew better.”

The words hung in the air like a warning, or perhaps an admission.

Y/N searched his face, her unease deepening. If he didn’t expect to go free, what was he planning?

“It’s been a long time since anyone trusted me,” Jungkook added, almost as an afterthought. “That’s something right there.”

“Can we, though?” Y/N asked softly, her voice trembling despite herself. “Trust you?”

Jungkook hesitated, his expression unreadable. Then, with surprising candor, he replied, “Actually… that’s what I’ve been asking myself.”

Without another word, he turned and walked away, his shadow stretching long and dark in the firelight.

Y/N watched him go, her chest tightening with a terrible, nagging thought: What if this was all a mistake?

The drag-sled groaned as it creaked into motion, a makeshift lifeline against the oppressive night. Jungkook took point, his goggles off, his sharp, gleaming eyes scanning the darkness ahead. The light strapped to his back swung rhythmically with his movements, a beacon that guided the rest of the group.

Namjoon and Lee strained against their harnesses, pulling the sled like beasts of burden. Their breath came in labored puffs, visible in the cold night air. Fireball torches flared intermittently at the edges of their procession—one held by Leo, the other by Y/N—casting brief but vital light into the shadows.

At the rear, Peter stumbled along, wielding the cutter like a shield, sweeping it in wide arcs that betrayed his growing paranoia. They moved as a fragile train of light, a living thread that barely held the encroaching darkness at bay.

On the sled sat four power cells and eight bottles of booze, the last remnants of their hope lashed precariously with fraying cords. The sled creaked with every step, a sound that seemed deafening in the eerie silence of the night. Y/N walked with one hand on the strap of her torch, her eyes scanning the ground as her boots crunched over loose gravel and sand. Her breath hitched when she spotted the faint outline of sand-cat tracks—a reminder of their fleeting connection to anything natural or familiar in this alien wasteland.

But then, as they trudged forward, the tracks vanished, swallowed by the shifting ground. Y/N’s gaze lingered on the empty path ahead, a heavy unease curling in her chest.

“So, you saw it too?” Lee muttered, his voice low and dripping with suspicion.

Before she could answer, Y/N lifted her head, her voice cutting through the rasp of their breathers. “Jungkook,” she called sharply, her tone demanding answers.

The group instinctively slowed, clustering tighter together under the protective glow of their torches. The faint hum of distant movement made the shadows seem alive.

“Where are the sand-cat tracks?” Y/N pressed, stepping closer to Jungkook. Her words came fast and clipped. “Why aren’t we still following them?”

Jungkook didn’t break stride, his gait smooth and deliberate, as if he didn’t feel the tension rising around him. “Saw something I didn’t like,” he said casually, his voice betraying no urgency.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Such as?”

He shrugged, an almost flippant gesture that felt maddening in the circumstances. “Hard to tell sometimes… even for me. Looked like a bunch of those big boys chewing each other’s gonads off. Thought we’d swing wide. Okay by you?”

The group exchanged uneasy glances, Peter visibly paling. He turned his head, his eyes darting to the darkness behind them. “We went around what?” he asked, his voice cracking under the strain.

The sound of clicking filled the air—soft, distant, but unmistakable.

“Let’s move,” Y/N ordered, her voice cutting through their hesitation. She placed a steadying hand on Leo’s shoulder, urging her forward. “Just a detour. He’ll get us there.”

Peter hesitated, his nerves clearly fraying. “Can we switch?”

Y/N frowned. “Switch what?”

“My position,” Peter said quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I think I twisted my ankle running backward like that, and I’m not sure I can—” He faltered under the weight of their collective glares. “Okay, that’s a lie. I just don’t want to be alone back there anymore. If you could just give me a few minutes up front—”

“She’s the pilot,” Lee snapped. “She should stay close to the cells.”

Peter threw up his hands, exasperated. “Oh, so I’m disposable now?”

Y/N didn’t have the patience for the argument. “I’ll switch!” she barked, her frustration boiling over. “Christ, just get this train moving!”

The group shuffled awkwardly as Y/N moved to the rear guard. Peter exhaled in relief, gripping his torch tighter as he joined the side guard. But the clicking never stopped. It seemed to echo in their ears, sharper and closer with every step, like the rhythm of a predator's heartbeat.

A sputtering sound drew their attention. Peter’s torch flickered weakly, its fireball dimming to a dangerous glow. He glanced down, panic flashing across his face. “Light, please, need light here!”

Namjoon and Lee swung their beams toward him, but their movements left gaps in the group’s circle of illumination. In that brief moment, Leo drifted too far from the light.

The clicking shifted—sharp, high-pitched, and urgent.

“Leo!” Namjoon lunged forward, tackling her to the ground just as a scythe-like claw slashed through the air, skimming the chains of his harness with a metallic screech.

Lee spun, his shotgun snapping up instinctively. He fired into the darkness, the muzzle flash cutting through the shadows like lightning. The sound echoed, deafening in the stillness, but the predator had already vanished.

“Am I cut?” Namjoon’s voice trembled as he helped Leo to her feet. His hands fumbled for his light, flipping the switch over and over, but it remained stubbornly dark.

Behind them, Peter stumbled into the darkness. A sharp cry escaped him as something slashed across his back, tearing through fabric and flesh with sickening precision.

“Oh, sweet Jesus…” Peter’s voice was panicked, raw with fear. Blood dripped down his side, staining the ground in dark streaks. “Will you GET ME SOME LIGHT OVER HERE!”

The group turned, their torches sweeping wildly, but it was too late. A blur of motion darted from the shadows, dragging Peter into the abyss.

Jungkook stood still, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He didn’t chase after Peter; there was no point. Instead, he watched as the predators tore into him with terrifying efficiency, their movements frenzied and primal. A female predator arrived late to the feast, a youngling clinging to her back. Unable to find space among the others, she whipped the youngling off and devoured it instead.

Y/N stared, horrified, as the predators began turning on each other, ripping into flesh and bone with no semblance of order.

“They’re fighting,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t respond. His jaguar-like eyes tracked two of the creatures that had broken away from the carnage. Their heads tilted in unison, their sharp, angular features glinting faintly in the coronal light.

They were looking at Leo.

“What do you see?” Y/N asked, though she already feared the answer.

“Hunger,” Jungkook murmured, his voice low and weighted. “I see sixty years of hunger.”

Jungkook didn’t reply. The wind was picking up, carrying with it the ominous sound of distant thunder. It wasn’t a storm. It was the howl of predators closing in.

“Move!” Y/N shouted, her voice slicing through the rising tension.

Leo gripped Peter’s torch tightly, the flame spitting weak fireballs that barely lit the path ahead. Each step she took was uneven, but determination kept her moving forward. The torch was her lifeline, its faint light the only thing keeping the encroaching darkness at bay.

Y/N followed at the rear, her cutter sputtering in her hand before dying completely. She cursed under her breath and hurled it to the ground in frustration, her hand darting toward Leo’s torch.

“Bottle count,” she demanded, her voice sharp, urgency snapping like a whip.

Leo hesitated, glancing down at the flickering reservoir in her hand. “Four fulls. One half.” She hesitated, her voice dipping into a faint, hopeful question. “Does that mean we’re halfway there?”

Y/N didn’t answer. None of them really knew. The canyon was their destination, but it felt more like an endless nightmare with every step. Their only guide was the faint gleam of light reflecting off Jungkook’s back, his unshakable stride the closest thing they had to a compass.

“Can we pick up the pace?” Y/N urged, her tone cutting through the oppressive silence.

Lee, trudging just ahead of her, muttered something under his breath, too low to hear. His voice rose just enough as he threw a glance over his shoulder. “If you think you can do better…” His words trailed off, his breath catching as he suddenly thrust an arm across Namjoon’s chest.

Namjoon stumbled to a halt. “What is it?” he hissed, his own fear bubbling just below the surface.

Lee pointed ahead with his flashlight, the beam catching faint sled tracks etched into the sand. But something about them felt off—wrong in a way none of them could articulate.

Y/N barely had time to process what she was seeing when a metallic click shattered the fragile quiet. She whirled around, her beam landing on Lee as he stood free of his harness chains, his shotgun pressed firmly to the back of Jungkook’s neck.

“We aren’t that stupid,” Lee growled, his voice low and venomous.

“Stay in the light!” Y/N yelled, her voice strained with panic. “Everybody! Stay in the fucking—”

“We crossed our own tracks,” Namjoon interrupted, his voice tight and brittle.

“Look at them!” Lee barked, gesturing wildly to the marks in the sand. His eyes darted, pupils blown wide with barely-contained hysteria. “He’s running us in circles! Look for yourself!”

“Jungkook!” Y/N snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. She turned her full attention to the man at the front, her pulse pounding in her ears. “What the hell are you doing?”

Jungkook didn’t flinch, even with the barrel of Lee’s shotgun against his neck. His voice was calm, deliberate. “Listen,” he said simply.

The sound came first—low, sharp, and relentless. It was an ominous clicking, growing louder with each passing moment, like a chorus of a hundred Geiger counters riding the wind.

“Canyon ahead,” Jungkook said, his tone even as if he wasn’t standing at gunpoint. “I circled once to buy time to think.”

“Think about what?” Y/N demanded, stepping closer, her heart hammering in her chest.

Jungkook turned his gaze to Leo, his expression unreadable. “About the girl,” he said evenly.

Y/N froze. The chill in his tone was enough to stop her breath. “Girl?”

“She’s bleeding,” Jungkook said, his words deliberate, each one heavy with meaning. “And they’ve been tracking her since we left the ship.”

Lee scoffed, his shotgun pressing harder against Jungkook’s neck. “Bullshit. Leo’s not cut—”

“No,” Jungkook agreed, his calm gaze still on Leo. “She wasn’t.”

Y/N turned to Leo, the realization hitting her like a physical blow. “Leo,” she whispered, dread clawing at her throat. “Is this true?”

Leo’s face crumpled, tears brimming in her eyes. Her voice was small, trembling with guilt. “I didn’t want you to leave me there… back at the ship. I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Oh, God,” Y/N murmured, stepping closer. Her voice softened, cracking with a mix of anger and pity. “Honey, you should’ve told me. You should’ve—”

Lee groaned loudly, cutting her off. “This is such bullshit. You’re telling me we’ve been hauling her bleeding ass across this death trap and didn’t know it?”

“They go off blood,” Jungkook said, his tone cold and devoid of sympathy. “They’ve had a scent since we started.”

“We keep her close,” Namjoon said firmly, his hand brushing Leo’s shoulder in reassurance. “She’ll be safe with us. We—”

“There is no safe,” Jungkook interrupted, his voice a grim, unshakable fact. His eyes swept across the group, lingering briefly on Y/N.

The wind gusted, carrying with it the sound of distant canyon walls and the growing cacophony of clicking. The predators were closing in, their hunt relentless.

Y/N’s voice wavered, her desperation plain. “It’s not gonna work. We’ve gotta go back.”

Lee barked a harsh laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “Go back? Are you out of your damn mind?” His grip tightened on the shotgun as he sneered. “You dragged me out here, and now you want me to crawl back to that hellhole of a ship?”

“I was wrong!” Y/N snapped, her voice rising. “I made a bad call, okay? Now let’s just turn around before—”

“Before what?” Lee cut her off, stepping closer, his frustration spilling over into rage. “Before they find us? They’re already here, Captain. You think going back’s gonna fix that?”

“She’s the captain,” Namjoon said, his voice steady despite the rising tension. “We should listen to her.”

Lee turned on him, his shotgun shaking in his grip. “This captain nearly blew us to hell during the crash!”

“Lee!” Y/N shouted, her voice raw with anger and shame. “This isn’t helping!”

He ignored her, his gaze drilling into Leo. “She tried to kill us. All of us.”

Leo’s wide eyes flicked between them, her lip trembling. “What does he mean?”

“Enough!” Y/N roared, stepping between them. But Lee was already backing toward the sled, his light swaying wildly in the darkness.

“The light moves forward,” Lee said with mock finality, his voice dripping with disdain.

They moved through the boneyard like restless spirits, their progress deliberate and painstaking. Every step seemed to echo with the weight of desperation, their dwindling strength preserved for the canyon ahead. The barren expanse stretched endlessly in every direction, littered with twisted remnants of the past—bones, rusted scraps, and shadows that felt too alive.

At the back, Y/N lagged, her shoulders slumped and movements sluggish, like a rudder barely keeping a ship from capsizing. She kept her eyes on the ground, the grit and debris underfoot a welcome distraction from the oppressive silence. Up front, Yeonjun and Namjoon strained against the sled, their breaths coming in sharp, labored gasps as they dragged its cumbersome load. Each step forward felt like pulling against the earth itself.

Jungkook led the group with an eerie composure, his figure cutting through the haze with unnerving confidence. Beside him, Lee matched his pace, his shotgun resting casually over one shoulder. His presence was a heavy weight, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried an edge that sliced through the stillness.

“Ain’t all of us gonna make it,” he said, his tone almost conversational, as though delivering a fact rather than a death sentence.

Jungkook didn’t look at him. His response was as sharp as a blade. “Just realized that, huh?”

A clicking sound interrupted the tense quiet. It was distant at first, faint and fragmented, but it grew louder with each beat, quick and insistent like a predator honing in on its prey. The sound skittered through the night air, prickling along their spines and setting every nerve on edge.

Lee reacted first, spinning on his heel as the shotgun roared, the explosion of sound ripping through the silence. The muzzle flash flared bright, casting jagged shadows before plunging the group back into darkness. Whatever had made the sound darted away, leaving nothing but the acrid tang of gunpowder and the echo of the shot lingering in their ears.

The group halted, startled and shaken by the violence of the moment. Lee cocked the shotgun with a practiced motion, the click almost casual. His faint smirk, barely visible in the dim light, radiated smug satisfaction.

“Six of us left,” Lee said, his voice smooth, laced with an edge that made the words cut deeper. “If we get through that canyon and lose just one, I’d call that a miracle. A damn good one, too.”

“Not if I’m the one,” Jungkook replied, finally meeting Lee’s gaze. His tone was dry, dark humor threading through his words.

Lee tilted his head, the faint glint in his eyes turning sharp. “What if you’re one of five?”

Jungkook’s expression didn’t shift, but the subtle narrowing of his eyes spoke volumes. He said nothing, and in his silence, the weight of his consideration hung heavy.

Farther back, Leo squinted at the wavering light ahead. “What’re they doing up there?” she asked, her voice hushed but nervous.

Namjoon walked beside her, his movements tight with tension despite his attempt at a casual tone. “Talking about the canyon,” he said, though the uncertainty in his voice was obvious. “Figuring out how to get us through, probably.”

Behind them, Y/N’s gaze was locked on the silhouettes of Jungkook and Lee. Their movements were synchronized in a way that made her stomach churn—two wolves prowling side by side, a partnership forged in shared ruthlessness. The sight sent a chill creeping down her spine.

Ahead, Lee leaned toward Jungkook, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s nasty business,” he said. “But it’s no worse than what a battlefield doc does. They call it triage.”

Jungkook’s reply was as cold as the steel glint in his eyes. “Funny. They called it murder when I did it.”

Lee waved a dismissive hand, brushing the comment aside like a bothersome insect. “Call it what you want,” he said. “It’s something you can wrap your head around.”

Jungkook didn’t respond, his expression an unreadable mask, but the silence between them was an invitation for Lee to continue.

“We make a sacrifice play,” Lee explained, his voice turning disturbingly conversational. “One body at the canyon’s entrance. Call it chum in the water.”

Jungkook tilted his head, his dark amusement flickering faintly. “You’d drag it behind us with the sled cable,” he guessed, his tone dry and detached.

“Exactly,” Lee said, nodding. “Just enough to keep those land sharks off our scent. We don’t feed ‘em—we just distract ‘em.”

Jungkook’s gaze shifted back to the group, lingering on each face for a moment too long. When he spoke, his words were deliberate, carefully chosen. “So,” he said softly, “which one caught your eye?”

Lee muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed ahead, as though refusing to meet Jungkook’s eyes absolved him. “Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look,” he mumbled, the words barely audible.

From the rear, Y/N caught the exchange, the way Lee averted his gaze and the way Jungkook’s lingered. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot of unease. “Namjoon,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” Namjoon turned to her, his brows furrowed.

“Slow down,” Y/N hissed, her urgency cutting through his hesitation. “Don’t stop—just slow down. Put some distance between us and them.”

Namjoon hesitated, torn between instinct and her pleading tone. “We should stay together—”

“Just do it,” she said, desperation sharpening her words. “Please.”

Ahead, Jungkook’s voice broke the fragile silence. “What’s her name, anyway?”

Lee shot him a sharp look, defensive. “What do you care?”

Jungkook shrugged, his lips twitching into a humorless smile. “I don’t.”

“Then don’t name the turkey,” Lee muttered. “Keep it simple. You still got a shiv, right?”

Jungkook’s smirk widened, but his eyes remained devoid of humor. “You expect me to do it?”

Lee’s tone turned mocking, disdain dripping from every word. “What’s one more? You think this is the one that punches your ticket to hell?”

“Oh, you’re a masterpiece, Lee,” Jungkook replied, his voice calm but steeped in contempt. “They should hang you in a museum. Or just hang you.”

The group behind them slowed further, the gap between them growing wider. Y/N kept her focus on the pair ahead, dread pooling in her gut as she watched the silent exchange.

“All right,” Lee said after a moment, his tone sharpening. “You do the girl. I’ll keep the others off your back.”

Jungkook stopped abruptly, turning his head to study Lee with unsettling curiosity.

“Don’t tell me you’re growin’ a conscience,” Lee sneered, exasperation edging his voice.

Jungkook shook his head slowly, his expression unreadable. “Just thinking,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “What if we need a bigger piece of chum?”

Lee froze, his shoulders stiffening as the meaning behind the words settled over him. “Like who, Mr. Chrislam?” he snapped.

The night pressed in around them, the flickering torchlight offering little solace. From the rear, Y/N gripped Leo’s torch tightly, the flames sputtering like a dying star. The weight of their reality bore down on her, and as the group moved in uneasy silence, the dread gnawed at her relentlessly.

“Bottle count,” Y/N demanded, her voice sharp, taut as a drawn wire.

Leo hesitated, her eyes flicking nervously to the dwindling torchlight. “Four fulls, one half. Does that mean we’re halfway there? I hope?”

Y/N didn’t respond, her focus fixed on the light bobbing on Jungkook’s back, a ghostly beacon in the suffocating gloom. His silent, purposeful stride cut through the night like a blade. She tightened her grip on the torch, the heat a meager comfort against the growing dread. “Can we pick up the pace?”

Ahead, Lee trudged with the slow, unrelenting gait of a beast bearing too much weight. He muttered under his breath, “If you think you can do better...” The words faded as he suddenly threw an arm out, halting Namjoon. His gaze dropped to the ground. Tracks. Their own tracks, forming a circle.

The ominous click of a shotgun being cocked shattered the air like a gunshot itself. Y/N whirled just in time to see Lee, unchained and unhinged, pressing the barrel against the back of Jungkook’s neck. His grin was a predator’s snarl, all teeth and venom. “We aren’t completely stupid,” he growled.

“Stay in the light!” Y/N barked, her voice rising above the chaos. “Everybody! Stay in the fucking light!”

Namjoon’s voice trembled. “We’ve crossed our own tracks.”

Jungkook didn’t flinch, his calm defying the shotgun at his nape. “Listen,” he said, his voice like iron against the storm.

Then came the sound—a metallic hum riding the wind, sharp and insistent, like a hundred Geiger counters ticking in unison. It crawled under their skin, making their bones itch.

“Canyon ahead,” Jungkook explained, his tone unnervingly steady. “I circled once to buy time to think.”

“Think about what?” Y/N demanded, her voice like a whip crack.

“About how to kill us and still get those cells to the skiff,” Lee snarled, his anger boiling over. “We’re just the mules for this bastard!”

The accusation hit Y/N like a hammer blow, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her mind reeled, dread coiling tight in her stomach.

Lee moved before she could process it. The shotgun swung wide, and the world exploded into chaos.

“Bring the light!” Y/N shouted, her voice cutting through the panic. “Leave the sled! Move, now!”

The torchlight hit the ground, casting a harsh, flickering circle around them. Jungkook and Lee collided, a feral clash of bodies and brute force. They grappled like wild animals, their movements raw and savage, the shotgun skittering away into the darkness.

Jungkook moved with a predator’s grace, his shiv glinting faintly in the dying light as he sidestepped Lee’s first clumsy swing. His movements were measured, precise—each step deliberate, like a hunter toying with wounded prey.

“Gotta stay in the light, Lee,” Jungkook taunted, his voice low and cutting, sharp enough to bite through the heavy tension in the air. “That’s the only rule.”

Lee’s breath came in harsh, ragged bursts as he circled, his boots grinding against the brittle bones scattered beneath their feet. His eyes darted nervously between the dim circle of light and Jungkook, who seemed almost to dissolve into the encroaching darkness, reappearing only when he moved closer to strike.

With a growl of frustration, Lee lunged, swinging wildly. Jungkook ducked under the blow with a fluid ease that was almost nonchalant, his shiv flashing upward in a shallow slice across Lee’s forearm. Blood welled immediately, dripping onto the ground.

“Damn you,” Lee hissed, clutching his arm as he stumbled back.

“Not yet,” Jungkook replied, his voice cold, mocking. “You’ll know when it happens.”

Lee’s hand scrabbled desperately across the ground until it found purchase on a jagged rib-bone. He swung it upward with both hands, aiming for Jungkook’s head, but the blow never landed.

Jungkook sidestepped again, faster this time, and slammed his boot into Lee’s ribs. The force of the kick sent Lee staggering backward, his grip on the makeshift club faltering. The bone clattered to the ground as Jungkook closed the distance, his shiv darting forward like a striking serpent.

“Should’ve kept the chains on, Lee,” Jungkook murmured as the blade nicked Lee’s shoulder. His tone was conversational, dripping with disdain. “You had guts back then. Now look at you—Billy Bad-Ass, all bark and no bite.”

Lee lunged again, his movements growing more desperate with each passing second. He managed to shove Jungkook off-balance, sending them both sprawling into the circle of light.

Lee rolled first, scrambling toward the fallen shotgun. His fingers brushed the barrel just as Jungkook grabbed his ankle, yanking him backward with such force that he slammed face-first into the ground. Blood smeared across the dirt as Lee spat a curse, twisting to kick at Jungkook.

Jungkook didn’t flinch. He caught Lee’s boot mid-kick and twisted, eliciting a sharp crack from Lee’s ankle. Lee howled in pain, collapsing onto his back.

“You’re making this too easy,” Jungkook said, his voice dripping with disappointment as he rose to his feet. He stepped deliberately into the narrow cone of light cast by the discarded torch, his expression cold and unreadable.

Lee clawed at the ground, dragging himself toward the shotgun with trembling hands. He reached it, curling his fingers around the stock, and turned with a feral grin.

“Still Billy Bad-Ass,” Lee rasped, blood staining his teeth as he swung the weapon upward.

But then the light flickered, stuttering like a dying heartbeat. Shadows surged forward, thick and consuming, swallowing the edges of the circle.

Lee froze, his grin faltering. The clicking returned—closer now, sharp and insistent, a metallic cacophony that prickled along their spines.

Jungkook stepped back, his dark eyes glinting as he watched Lee’s panic mount.

“You feel that?” Jungkook asked, his voice soft, almost curious. “That’s what real fear feels like, Lee. No shotgun’s gonna save you now.”

The darkness swallowed the last remnants of light, leaving only the sound—the deafening CLICKING—and Lee’s ragged, terrified breaths.

The predator struck like a living shadow, silent and sudden. It lifted Lee effortlessly, its massive form outlined only by faint starlight. For a moment, it seemed almost curious, its blade-like appendage tracing along Lee’s body with a grotesque sort of delicacy.

Lee’s screams shattered the silence, high-pitched and guttural. The predator paused, as if savoring the sound, before driving its blade home with a sickening crunch.

Jungkook stood motionless, his silhouette blending into the shadows as the predator retreated, dragging Lee’s limp body into the void. The clicking faded, leaving only silence.

When Y/N, Namjoon, and Leo caught up, Jungkook stood motionless in the shadows, his figure outlined by the faint glow of their approaching torches. His goggles glinted like the eyes of a predator at rest, his posture deceptively calm.

“Where’s Mr. Lee?” Namjoon asked, his voice trembling, the question catching in his throat.

Jungkook tilted his head, his tone almost casual, though his words cut like glass. “Which half?”

Leo froze, her face crumpling under the weight of the answer. “Gonna lose everybody out here,” she whispered, her voice breaking like brittle glass. Her grip on the bottle she held faltered, and it slipped slightly before she caught it.

For a moment, something unspoken passed through Jungkook’s gaze—a fleeting softness, gone as quickly as it appeared. “He died fast,” he said quietly, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “And if we have any choice, that’s how we should all go out.”

He crouched to Leo’s level, his presence commanding but his tone almost tender. “Don’t cry for Lee,” Jungkook said firmly, his dark eyes boring into hers. “Don’t you dare. Tears out here are a waste.”

Above them, the canyon roared with noise—clicking, snapping, the grotesque wet sounds of rending flesh and the unmistakable crunch of bone. It was a symphony of death, the air heavy with dread and the acrid smell of decay.

The small group stood on the edge of the boneyard, their torches casting trembling halos of light into the encroaching darkness. The skeletal remains scattered across the ground seemed to mock their efforts, whispering the inevitability of their fate.

“How many do you see?” Y/N asked, forcing her voice to steady despite the knot of fear in her chest.

Jungkook’s head turned slightly, his goggles reflecting the faint light like the eyes of some nocturnal beast. “One. Maybe two.”

Y/N glanced toward Leo. “What do we have left?”

Leo’s hand trembled as she checked their remaining supply. “Three full bottles. But it’s almost time to refill.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Y/N cursed under her breath. “Doesn’t sound like enough to double back.”

Jungkook shrugged, a grim smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Doesn’t matter. Only one way now.”

“What way?” Namjoon asked cautiously.

Jungkook gestured toward the sled. “Turn it over, drag it like a shield. Keep the girl down low. Light everything we’ve got—and run through like dogs on fire.”

Namjoon frowned, his voice hesitant. “The sled... as a shield?”

“It’ll buy us seconds,” Jungkook replied, his voice steady and too calm.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “And the cells?”

Jungkook’s smirk widened slightly. “I’ll take those.”

Her gaze bore into him, sharp and unyielding. “We’re just here to carry your light, aren’t we? Just the torch-bearers.”

Jungkook met her stare without flinching. “Let’s drop back and boot up.”

They set to work among the skeletal ruins, their movements urgent but controlled. Jungkook lashed the cells together with strips of fabric, fashioning a crude harness as Namjoon stood close by, murmuring softly under his breath.

Jungkook glanced at him, his hands tightening the knots. “What’re you mumbling about?”

Namjoon hesitated, then answered, “Blessing you. Like the others.”

Jungkook huffed a humorless laugh. “Waste of breath.”

“It’s not,” Namjoon said softly, his voice unwavering. “Even if you don’t believe in God, that doesn’t mean He won’t—”

Jungkook cut him off, his voice low and sharp. “Oh, I believe in God. You don’t spend half your life locked up with a horse-bit in your mouth and not believe. You don’t start out in a liquor store trash bin with an umbilical cord wrapped around your neck and not believe.” His gaze turned icy, his tone colder still. “I believe in Him. And I hate the fucker.”

Namjoon swallowed hard but said nothing.

Jungkook adjusted the harness with practiced efficiency, his voice softening slightly. “Save your blessings for the girl. She’ll need a spare.”

When they reached the start of the gauntlet, their torches burned brighter than ever, every flame stoked to its limit. Y/N and Namjoon strapped themselves to the overturned sled, their breathers hissing in sync. Leo crawled beneath the sled, curling into its shadow, her trembling hands clutching the last remaining bottles. Yeonjun clung to his handlight, his knuckles white with strain.

Jungkook stood apart, his goggles in place, his expression unreadable as he shouldered the harnessed cells. “As fast as you can,” he said to Y/N, his tone leaving no room for debate.

“You sure you can—” she started, but he cut her off with a sharp glare.

“As fast as you can,” he repeated, his voice final.

The group surged forward.

The sled scraped and jolted as Y/N and Namjoon pulled with everything they had, their muscles straining under the weight. Leo kept low, her breaths audible and panicked, while Yeonjun stumbled alongside, his light bobbing erratically.

Behind them, Jungkook moved like a machine, the harness digging into his shoulders as he dragged the cells through the boneyard. The torches painted wild, flickering patterns on the canyon walls, creating a fragile wall of light that barely held back the encroaching shadows.

Above, predators launched from the canyon rim, their shadows stretching like monstrous wings against the jagged rock faces. Their cries, sharp and guttural, echoed through the narrow pass, amplifying the chaos. The first wave of hatchlings swarmed toward the torchlight, their sleek, scaled bodies darting like arrows. At the last second, they veered away, repelled by the searing flames.

“Don’t look!” Jungkook’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding over the cacophony.

Thin streaks of glowing blue liquid splattered down from above, hissing as they hit the hot, rocky ground. Y/N instinctively glanced upward, a decision she regretted instantly. The sky above was alive with writhing forms—predators slashing and tearing at one another in a frenzy of hunger and rage. Wings and limbs tangled, snapping bones and spilling glowing blood as they collided mid-air. The sheer size and ferocity of the beasts made her breath catch in her throat.

“Do not look up!” Jungkook barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Eyes on the ground! Keep going, keep going, keep going!”

Y/N forced her gaze downward, her heart hammering as she quickened her pace. The ground was slick with the iridescent, metallic-smelling blood of the creatures, and the sickening thuds of entrails raining from above filled the air. It was like running through a storm of gore.

Namjoon’s voice rose above the chaos, calm and unwavering despite the madness. “So dark the clouds around my way, I cannot see. But through the darkness, I believe God leadeth me...” His words, steady and rhythmic, cut through the noise like a fragile lifeline.

The rain of bodies intensified. Broken predators slammed into the ground with bone-shaking force, their corpses twisting grotesquely as they landed. One crashed dangerously close to Yeonjun, its razor-edged blade slicing across his leg. He staggered, biting down a cry of pain, and kept moving, his face pale but determined.

Ahead, the canyon loomed like the gaping maw of some ancient beast, its jagged walls narrowing to form a sinister throat. Every sound seemed magnified, the clicking, snapping, and howling bouncing off the rock, trapping them in a symphony of terror.

Y/N’s torchlight revealed the choke-point first: a grotesque barricade of predator corpses piled high across the path, steaming and glistening with fresh blood. The tangled mass of bodies looked like the aftermath of a brutal battle, their twisted forms creating a barrier that blocked the way forward. Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat.

“Jungkook?” she called, her voice edged with panic. “JUNGKOOK?”

Jungkook stopped just ahead of the group, his silhouette stark against the flickering torchlight. He turned his head slightly, his tone flat and grim. “It’s a fucking staircase,” he said, his voice cold. “Go over it. GO OVER IT!”

Leo was the first to move, her torch quivering in her hands as she crouched down, using the corpses as handholds to climb. The stench of death clung to her, the heat rising from the pile making her gag. Her foot slipped on the slick surface of a predator’s shredded wing, and she choked back a cry.

Then one of the “dead” predators moved.

Its head snapped toward her, razor-sharp teeth gnashing as it lunged. Leo screamed, jerking back, and lost her footing completely. She tumbled down the mound of bodies, landing hard at the base, exposed in the flickering light.

“Leo!” Y/N shouted, already scrambling down after her.

Leo barely had time to roll to her side before a massive predator slammed onto the sled-shield she had been crawling beneath. Bone-blades pierced through the metal with a deafening screech, missing her by mere inches. The creature howled, thrashing violently as it tried to free itself from the shield. Its fury was palpable, steam rising from its heaving body as the torchlight illuminated its jagged, serrated form.

Jungkook was a blur of movement.

He stepped to the edge of the light, his posture eerily calm, his muscles coiled like a predator himself. The creature turned to face him, its clicking intensifying into a furious crescendo. It lunged, its scythe-like blades slicing through the air with deadly precision.

Jungkook dodged, his movements impossibly fast and fluid. He slid under the predator’s chest, his shiv flashing as it carved deep into its vulnerable underbelly. Blue blood sprayed, hissing as it hit the ground.

The predator screamed, a sound so piercing it made Y/N’s ears ring. It reared back, swiping wildly, but Jungkook was relentless. He moved like a shadow, every step calculated, every strike precise. The creature lunged again, its massive jaws snapping shut where Jungkook had been just a second before.

“Stay down, Leo!” Y/N yelled, dragging the girl back toward the shield as the battle raged.

Jungkook ducked under another swipe, his shiv slicing through the creature’s tendon. It stumbled, one of its legs collapsing beneath it. He didn’t hesitate. In a single fluid motion, he vaulted onto its back, driving his blade into the base of its skull. The predator convulsed violently, its death throes shaking the ground.

Jungkook leapt clear just as the creature collapsed, its massive form slamming into the pile of corpses with a sickening crunch.

For a moment, there was silence, save for the labored breathing of the group. Jungkook turned, his face streaked with blue blood, his eyes unreadable behind his goggles.

“Get up,” he said to Leo, his voice steady but firm. “We’re not stopping here.”

He gestured toward the pile. “Over it. Now.”

Y/N helped Leo to her feet, her own legs trembling as she nodded. They climbed the barricade, the others following close behind. The sound of clicking returned, growing louder, the darkness behind them shifting as more predators closed in.

Jungkook glanced back once, his expression grim. “Move faster. Or you’ll find out how fast I can’t save you.”

A piercing, shrieking click cut through the air, reverberating off the canyon walls. Jungkook spun instinctively, his movements sharp and precise. Above them, a monstrous shape unfurled, its hammer-shaped head swaying like a deadly pendulum. The creature’s pale, segmented body shimmered grotesquely in the faint light, its sinewy muscles rippling as it prepared to strike.

Hot, rancid breath washed over them, thick and suffocating. The predator loomed closer, every inch of it screaming lethal intent. Y/N felt her limbs lock in place, her instincts fighting against the primal urge to run.

Jungkook, however, was already moving. His hand darted to his belt, and with a metallic whisper, he unsheathed his shiv. The blade caught the faint flicker of torchlight, gleaming like a sliver of salvation.

The beast lunged, its hammerhead smashing down toward Jungkook with a force that cracked the earth beneath it. But Jungkook had already sidestepped, the ground where he’d stood exploding into shards of stone and dust.

“Back up!” he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip.

Y/N and Namjoon obeyed immediately, stumbling backward as they dragged Leo and the sled-shield with them. The predator rose again, its massive frame casting long, twisting shadows. It released a guttural howl, its hammerhead shifting slightly to reveal serrated mandibles that snapped together with terrifying precision.

Jungkook didn’t falter. His expression remained cold and unyielding, his eyes locked on the beast. He moved with the calculated grace of a predator himself, circling the creature, his shiv gripped tightly in his hand.

The creature lunged a second time, faster and more deliberate. Its head whipped through the air with a sound like a breaking whip, aiming to crush him. But Jungkook dropped low, sliding forward beneath its torso with lethal precision.

In a single, fluid motion, he drove his blade upward. The shiv’s edge found the soft, pale flesh of the beast’s underbelly, slicing through with sickening ease. Blue, viscous blood sprayed out in a violent arc, steaming as it hit the cold rocks.

The creature let out a bone-rattling shriek, a sound so loud and alien it felt like it might tear the sky apart. Its segmented legs spasmed wildly, gouging the ground as it staggered. Blue blood poured from the gash Jungkook had made, its innards spilling out in a grotesque heap of steaming flesh.

Jungkook rolled clear as the beast crumpled, its body convulsing once before collapsing in a heap. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning gore.

He rose to his feet, his movements steady and controlled. Without a second thought, he wiped the blade clean on the predator’s hide, blue streaks staining his fingers. His breathing was calm, almost unnervingly so, as if slaying such a monstrous foe was routine.

Turning back to the group, Jungkook’s face was unreadable beneath the streaks of blue ichor smeared across his skin. His eyes, however, burned with a glint of something dangerous and unyielding.

Y/N and Namjoon stared at him, frozen in shock, their breaths ragged and shallow. Even Leo, half-hidden beneath the sled, peeked out with wide, horrified eyes.

“Didn’t know who he was fuckin’ with,” Jungkook muttered, his tone flat but laced with a quiet venom.

There was no time to linger. The distant clicking and howling of more predators echoed from deeper in the canyon, the sound growing louder. Jungkook turned away from the beast’s steaming corpse, his focus already shifting to the next threat.

Namjoon’s voice broke the silence, panicked and raw. “Yeonjun! Where’s Yeonjun?”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t stop moving. He gestured sharply toward the sled. “Get the girl back under. Keep going,” he ordered.

“YEONJUN!” Namjoon shouted again, his voice cracking with desperation.

Jungkook’s tone turned lethal, a growl that cut through the canyon air. “KEEP GOING OR I WILL!”

Before they could argue, Yeonjun reappeared—but not in the way they’d hoped. He was thrown into the flickering light by some unseen force, his body a broken, jerking silhouette. Blood streamed from jagged wounds, his limbs twitching feebly as he reached out, his eyes wide with terror.

“Yeonjun!” Namjoon surged forward, but before he could reach him, the boy was yanked back into the darkness by a pair of glistening mandibles. His scream was cut short, swallowed by the clicking and howling of the predators.

Jungkook didn’t look back. “Move!” he barked. “Now!”

The group stumbled forward, dragging the sled-shield and their trembling bodies into the widening canyon. The worst of the sounds began to fall behind them, the predators momentarily distracted by their own frenzied feeding. Y/N dared to hope—just for a second—that they might survive.

But then the torches sputtered.

Leo froze beneath the sled, staring at the shield above her as faint pattering sounds hit the metal. At first, it was soft, almost like mist. Then it grew heavier, louder.

“What’s that?” she whispered.

Y/N extended her hand past the edge of the sled, catching the liquid on her palm. Her stomach churned as she realized it wasn’t blood.

“Rain,” Namjoon murmured, his voice hollow.

The downpour came fast and relentless, extinguishing one torch after another. The flames hissed and sputtered, fighting for survival before dying entirely. They were plunged into near-total darkness, the air heavy with the metallic scent of wet rock and desperation.

Jungkook ripped off his goggles, his eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. He stared up at the black void above, his lips curling into a snarl. “So where the hell’s God now, huh?” he growled, his voice bitter and venomous. “I’ll tell you where! He’s up there, PISSING ON ME!”

“Jungkook!” Y/N’s voice was sharp, cutting through his anger. “How close?”

He squinted into the darkness, his face giving nothing away.

“Tell me the settlement is right there!” she pleaded, her voice cracking with desperation. “JUNGKOOK, PLEASE!”

His answer gutted her. “We can’t make it.”

The sound behind them swelled, the predators closing in. Jungkook’s gaze darted to the canyon wall, spotting a narrow fissure in the rock. He pointed sharply. “Here. Hide here.”

They scrambled toward the crevice, Leo crawling beneath the sled as Y/N and Namjoon wedged themselves into the narrow space. The last torch flickered and died, leaving them in utter darkness.

Y/N hesitated, watching as Jungkook moved to lift the sled-shield, sliding it over the opening like a makeshift barrier.

“Why’s he still out there?” Leo whispered, her voice trembling.

Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t know. Was he protecting them? Or leaving them to fend for themselves?

Jungkook’s silhouette lingered outside for a moment, his shiv gleaming faintly as he faced the growing darkness. The sounds of clicking and snapping grew louder, closing in. He rolled his shoulders, adjusting his grip on the blade.

“I’ll buy you time,” he said quietly, more to himself than to them. “Stay hidden. Don’t move.”

Then he stepped away from the crevice, swallowed by the shadows.

Outside, the storm raged with relentless fury, rain pouring down in sheets that turned the rocky ground into a slick, treacherous incline. Jungkook planted his boots firmly in the mud, every step a battle as he hauled the cells up the slope. The harness straps bit into his shoulders, the weight of the cells dragging him backward with every movement. His muscles burned, veins bulging as he gritted his teeth against the strain.

The wind howled, carrying with it the faint, distant echoes of predators’ clicks and howls, a haunting reminder that the danger was far from over. But Jungkook didn’t waver. He bent his body into the climb, his breath coming in harsh bursts, the sound swallowed by the cacophony of the storm.

Finally, his boots found purchase on the uneven ground near the top of the rise. With one last, herculean effort, he heaved the cells over the edge, collapsing to his knees in the mud for a fleeting moment. Rain lashed at his face, plastering his hair to his forehead and running in rivulets down his sharp features. He ignored it, his chest heaving as he forced himself upright.

And then he saw it.

The settlement.

Faintly illuminated by the glow of the skiff’s engines, it lay in the distance, a flickering beacon of hope against the oppressive darkness. Its lights shimmered through the rain, blurred by the sheets of water cascading from the heavens, but it was there. Real. A sanctuary within reach.

Jungkook’s gaze lingered on the sight, his jaw tightening. Relief tried to claw its way into his chest, but he shoved it down. There was no room for celebration, not yet. Not until the others were here. Not until they were all safe.

He gripped the harness straps again, his fingers slipping briefly on the rain-soaked leather. A grim determination settled over him, his expression hardening like stone. He adjusted the weight of the cells, bending slightly to center it, and began moving again.

Each step was deliberate, methodical, as he dragged the cells through the thickening mud. The rain intensified, hammering down with almost punishing force, but he didn’t falter. His boots slipped occasionally, sending jolts through his body as he corrected his balance, but he kept his focus forward, his eyes locked on the faint glow ahead.

The storm seemed to rise against him, as if the world itself were trying to keep him from reaching that distant light. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the canyon walls behind him in stark flashes, revealing shapes that moved too fast to be human. He didn’t look back.

The weight of the cells bore down on him, the straps digging deeper into his shoulders, his back screaming in protest. But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

With a final push, he crested the incline, dragging the cells fully onto the flat ground beyond. For a moment, he paused, his silhouette stark against the storm-lit backdrop. Rain plastered his shirt to his frame, water dripping from his lashes as he gazed out at the settlement.

Without looking back, he adjusted the straps once more.

The crevice was cold and damp, the muffled sounds of the storm outside a constant reminder of the chaos just beyond their fragile sanctuary. Leo huddled closer to Y/N, her small frame trembling as much from fear as from the chill. Her voice was barely above a whisper, strained and fragile, as though speaking louder might shatter the fragile silence. “He’s not coming back, is he?”

Y/N’s heart twisted at the question. She tightened her grip on the girl, pulling her closer, though her own thoughts churned with doubt and dread. Her gaze shifted to Namjoon, who sat hunched against the wall, his face shadowed and unreadable. “Did Jungkook say anything to you?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Namjoon’s head lifted slightly, and he shook it, his expression neutral but weighted with unspoken thoughts. “No,” he said simply, his tone calm but offering no comfort.

Y/N opened her mouth to press further, but something stopped her. She squinted at Namjoon, her brow furrowing. It wasn’t his face—no, it was the fact that she could see it. The dim, suffocating darkness that had surrounded them since they entered the crevice was no longer absolute. A faint light illuminated the space, soft and bluish, like a distant star.

“There’s light in here,” she said, her voice tinged with confusion and a flicker of hope.

Namjoon noticed it too. He pushed himself up, his eyes scanning the rocky walls of the crevice. Slowly, he climbed higher, his hands brushing along the slick surface until they found the source. “It’s here,” he murmured, plucking at something clinging to the stone.

He descended carefully, holding his hand out to Y/N and Leo. In his palm were faintly glowing shapes, tiny and delicate, their soft blue-white light pulsing faintly like the beat of a distant heart.

“Larva,” Namjoon said, his voice hushed as though he feared disturbing the fragile creatures.

Leo leaned in closer, her wide eyes reflecting the glow. “Glow worms,” she whispered, awe mingling with exhaustion.

Y/N stared at the glimmering larvae, her mind snapping into motion like a gear clicking into place. The light was faint, but it was light. It had potential. “How many bottles do we have?” she asked suddenly, her voice taking on an urgent edge. “Empty ones?”

Namjoon frowned, the question catching him off guard. “Maybe two, three?” he guessed, glancing toward the sled.

“Check,” Y/N ordered, her voice brisk now. She shifted Leo off her lap gently but firmly, her mind already piecing together a plan.

Namjoon nodded, crawling over to the sled where the group’s supplies had been hastily stowed. He rummaged through the bags, pulling out three empty glass bottles, their surfaces slick with condensation.

Y/N examined the larvae still glowing in Namjoon’s palm, then the faint traces on the wall above them. They were scattered, but there were enough to work with. Carefully, she reached out to one of the glowing clusters on the wall. It stuck to her fingers, its glow intensifying slightly as she transferred it into an empty bottle.

“We can use this,” she said, her mind racing. “If we can gather enough, we can make light. Not like the torches, but enough to see—enough to move.”

“But won’t the predators see it too?” Leo asked hesitantly, her fear still overriding her budding hope.

Y/N nodded. “That’s the goal. Light keeps those fuckers away.”

Namjoon passed her another bottle, and Y/N worked quickly, carefully gathering more of the bioluminescent larvae from the walls. Leo watched her hands move, her awe slowly returning. “They’re...beautiful,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Namjoon stood back, watching the bottles begin to glow brighter as they filled with the pulsing larvae. His expression softened for the first time since they’d entered the crevice. “It’s something,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

“It’s a start,” Y/N corrected, holding up the glowing bottle like a fragile beacon. “Now we just have to survive long enough for it to matter.”

The rain hammered down relentlessly, turning the settlement into a glistening, muddy expanse. Every surface gleamed under the rhythmic assault, and the air buzzed with the sharp tang of ozone and wet metal. Jungkook stood in the skiff’s cockpit, his face illuminated by the dim glow of its dormant control panel. He wiped his soaked brow with the back of his hand, his fingers trembling—not from fear, but from the bone-deep exhaustion that clawed at him.

The skiff was old. Its metal frame bore the scars of countless missions: scratches, scorch marks, and hastily patched-over dents. Inside, wires dangled from an open panel beneath the dashboard, sparking faintly as rainwater dripped onto them. Jungkook muttered a curse under his breath, dropping to one knee to get to work.

He yanked his toolkit from a side compartment, flipping it open with a snap. Tools clattered inside—a tangled mess of spanners, screwdrivers, and salvaged parts that looked as battered as the skiff itself. Grabbing a pair of pliers and a wire cutter, Jungkook leaned into the open panel, his eyes narrowing as he examined the mess of frayed wires and corroded circuits.

The primary ignition system was fried. The storm’s earlier surge must’ve shorted it out. Jungkook’s jaw tightened as he traced the damage, his fingers working methodically to strip away the melted insulation and reveal the intact copper beneath.

“Come on,” he growled, his voice low, almost a prayer to the skiff’s battered machinery. “You’ve been through worse. Don’t die on me now.”

He cut and reconnected wires, twisting them tightly together before sealing the joins with a strip of adhesive tape he’d salvaged from the settlement’s dwindling supplies. Sparks flew as he tested the connection, but the hum of power returning to the system sent a flicker of hope through him.

Jungkook shoved himself out from under the dashboard and slammed the panel closed. Standing, he reached for the control lever, his knuckles white as he pulled it. The skiff groaned in protest, the engines sputtering weakly before falling silent again.

“Damn it!” he spat, slamming his fist against the console.

The rain continued its relentless assault, pooling around his boots as he climbed out of the cockpit. He scrambled onto the rear deck, where the exposed engine compartment loomed like the heart of a dying beast. Peeling back the protective cover, Jungkook grimaced at the sight of water pooling in the housing.

Grabbing a hand pump, he worked quickly to siphon the rainwater out, his muscles burning with the effort. His breath came in short bursts, misting in the cold air as he worked, his focus unwavering.

Once the water was cleared, Jungkook leaned over the engine, inspecting the fuel cells he’d hauled up from the canyon earlier. One of them was cracked, the faint smell of leaking fuel mixing with the rain-soaked air. He switched it out with a spare, his hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him.

“Almost there,” he muttered to himself, tightening the last connection.

Back in the cockpit, Jungkook wiped his hands on his damp pants and gripped the controls. He hit the ignition switch again, his heart pounding. The skiff sputtered, choked, and then roared to life, its twin engines glowing with a fierce, amber light that cut through the storm. The hum deepened, steadying into a powerful thrum that reverberated through the ground beneath him.

Outside, the light from the engines spilled across the settlement, illuminating the rain-soaked landscape with an otherworldly glow. The mud glistened like molten metal, and the structures of the settlement cast jagged shadows that danced in the downpour.

Jungkook allowed himself a brief smile, his chest rising and falling with relief. He adjusted the controls, testing the throttle as the skiff responded, its frame vibrating beneath him like a creature eager to move.

But his work wasn’t finished. He checked the fuel levels, ensuring the cells were stable. He grabbed a handful of rope and tied down the loose cargo, his mind running through every possible failure point. The skiff might have been operational now, but it was far from invincible.

As the engines settled into a steady hum, Jungkook climbed back into the cockpit and stared out at the stormy horizon. The glow of the engines reflected in his eyes, fierce and determined.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her breaths ragged as she scrambled out of the crevice. The faint glow of the worms clinging to the rocks illuminated her path, their eerie light casting trembling shadows on the canyon walls. Behind her, Leo whispered a frantic protest, but Y/N didn’t stop to listen. She couldn’t.

Her boots slipped on the rain-slicked rock as she clambered up the incline, the roar of the storm masking the sound of her hurried movements. Above, the dark sky churned with ominous clouds, lightning splitting the heavens in jagged streaks. Her gaze locked on the faint glimmer in the distance—the settlement.

It stood like a lone beacon in the night, faintly illuminated by the glow of the skiff’s engines. The sight filled her with equal parts relief and fury. Jungkook was there, preparing to leave, and he was about to do it without them.

Her mind raced, her thoughts a whirlwind of desperation and anger. How could he? After everything they’d been through together, after the sacrifices and bloodshed, how could he even think about abandoning them?

Her lungs burned, her legs screaming in protest as she pushed herself harder. The mud sucked at her boots, threatening to slow her, but she fought against it. She slipped once, landing hard on her hands and knees, but the pain barely registered. She was back on her feet in an instant, her resolve unshaken.

Ahead, the settlement’s crude perimeter loomed closer. The skeletal remains of makeshift barricades stood silhouetted against the glow of the skiff. She could hear the faint hum of its engines now, the sound growing louder with each step.

Leo and Namjoon huddled close around the faint glow of their makeshift light—a repurposed bottle filled with wriggling glow-worms. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had, their only barrier against the consuming darkness. The dim bioluminescence painted the walls of the narrow crevice in ghostly blue light, casting long, trembling shadows that danced with each movement of the worms.

Namjoon’s hands trembled as he clutched the bottle, the light shifting faintly with his every shudder. His knuckles were white, his grip desperate, as though he believed the fragile container of light was the only thing keeping them tethered to hope. Leo sat pressed against his side, her knees drawn up to her chest, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

The air was stifling, heavy with the smell of damp earth and the acrid tang of fear. Every sound seemed amplified in the tight space—the drip of water from the rocks above, the ragged breaths of their small group, and, worst of all, the relentless scrabbling from outside.

The claws had started again, raking against the shield that Jungkook had shoved over the crevice to keep them hidden. The metal groaned under the strain, the scraping sound grating against their nerves like nails on glass.

Namjoon leaned forward, his jaw clenched as he squinted through a small hole in the makeshift barrier. His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling quickly, the bottle trembling in his grasp.

“What do you see?” Leo whispered, her voice barely audible.

Namjoon didn’t answer right away. His eyes strained to make out shapes beyond the faint glow, but the storm outside was relentless, rain pounding against the shield, masking the shapes of their predators.

And then it happened.

A blade shot through the hole without warning, slicing through the air where Namjoon’s face had been a split second earlier. The metallic edge glinted in the faint light, a deadly flash of silver that disappeared as quickly as it came.

Namjoon yelped, his body jerking back violently. He clutched the bottle of glow-worms to his chest like a talisman, the light within casting wild, chaotic shadows on the walls as it shook in his hands.

“Namjoon!” Leo gasped, her hands darting out to steady him. Her voice quavered, teetering on the edge of panic.

“I’m fine,” Namjoon panted, though his voice betrayed his terror. He glanced at the barrier, his eyes wide and unblinking, the image of the blade burned into his mind. The light from the glow-worms reflected in his gaze, making him look almost as ghostly as the creatures they were hiding from.

The scratching sounds didn’t stop. If anything, they grew louder, more insistent, as if the predators were testing the limits of the shield. The scraping of claws against metal was interspersed with sharp clicking noises—communication, perhaps, or the prelude to an attack.

Namjoon shifted closer to Leo, his free hand gripping her arm tightly. The pressure of his fingers was almost painful, but she didn’t pull away. She welcomed the contact, grounding herself in the reality of his presence.

“We can’t just sit here,” Leo whispered, her voice shaking.

“We don’t have a choice,” Namjoon replied, his voice hoarse. He held the glow-worms higher, angling the faint light toward the hole. The bioluminescence seemed to hold the creatures at bay for now, the clicking and scraping faltering whenever the glow intensified.

“They’re scared of the light,” Leo murmured, her voice filled with a fragile hope.

“Not scared enough,” Namjoon muttered grimly. He glanced down at the bottle in his hands, watching the tiny worms squirm inside. It was a fragile thing, their makeshift light, and he didn’t know how long it would last.

A sudden thud against the shield made both of them jump, their heads snapping toward the source of the sound. The metal barrier bowed inward slightly, the force behind it unmistakable.

“They’re getting bolder,” Leo said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Namjoon swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the glow-worms. “We have to hold out,” he said, his tone wavering but determined. “Jungkook will come back. He has to.”

But even as he said the words, doubt crept into his voice. They had no way of knowing if Jungkook was still alive, if he’d managed to make it to the settlement—or if he’d abandoned them entirely.

Leo glanced at Namjoon, her fear mirrored in his face. They both knew the truth: they were running out of time.

The rain drummed incessantly on the skiff’s hull as Jungkook sat in the cockpit, his fingers dancing over the controls. The interior lights dimmed to a soft glow while the external beams pierced the downpour, illuminating the barren, desolate landscape. He exhaled sharply, leaning back in the chair, his eyes scanning the monitors for any threats. Then something outside caught his attention—a figure standing defiantly in the headbeams.

Y/N.

Rain streamed down her face, her hair plastered against her skin, but her expression burned with intensity. She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t stepping aside. If anything, she seemed ready to throw herself under the skiff to stop it from taking off. Her silhouette, stark against the rain and light, was both fragile and unyielding. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, neither moved.

Jungkook sighed heavily and flipped a switch. The hatch hissed open, the sound barely audible over the pounding rain. He didn’t say a word as Y/N climbed aboard, water dripping from her clothes in rivulets that pooled on the floor. She paused midway down the gangway, the faint interior glow casting harsh shadows on her face. Despite her soaked appearance, the light seemed to carve her features sharper, her resolve unshakable.

“You’re not leaving,” she said, her voice firm, each word deliberate. “Not until we go back for the others.”

Jungkook leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unbothered. He let out a low, humorless laugh, the sound more dismissive than amused.

“I promised them,” Y/N pressed, taking a step closer. “I said we’d go back with more light. That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

“You’ve mistaken me for someone who gives a shit,” Jungkook replied, his tone cold, his gaze steady.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “What’s the matter, Jungkook? Afraid?”

At that, he raised an eyebrow. “You’re confusing me with Lee,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “Fear was his monkey. Me? I deal in life and death. All that stuff in between? Shades of gray my eyes don’t see.”

Y/N’s anger flared. “I trusted you. I thought maybe—just maybe—some part of you wanted to be human again.”

Jungkook pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them in a deliberate, slow stride. “Truthfully?” he said with a faint shrug. “I wouldn’t even know how.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her determination faltering for just a moment. “Then wait for me,” she said, her voice shaking but determined. “I’ll go back myself. Just give me the light.”

Jungkook smirked and tossed her a light. It clattered to the floor at her feet, broken and useless. Y/N glared at him, her fists clenching at her sides. “You bastard,” she hissed. “Just come with me.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “You come with me.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. She stared at him, incredulous.

“They’re already dead,” he said bluntly, his eyes scanning her face for a reaction. “Get on board.”

“You’re messing with me,” she said, her voice cracking. “I know you are.”

“Of course I am,” Jungkook admitted with infuriating calm. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t leave you here. If you believe anything about me, believe that.”

Y/N’s voice rose, trembling with desperation. “I promised them. I have to go. I have to…”

Jungkook reached out, his movements deliberate and slow. “Step aboard, Y/N.”

“I can’t…” Her voice wavered, her confidence slipping.

“Here,” he said, extending his hand. “Make it easy on yourself.”

“Don’t do this to me,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“Just give me your hand.”

“They could still be…” Her voice was barely audible now, choked with emotion.

“No one’s going to blame you,” he said softly, his tone almost kind. “Take my hand and save yourself.”

Y/N stared at his hand, her thoughts a whirlwind of guilt and defiance. Then, in a burst of motion, she grabbed it—but instead of stepping aboard, she yanked him down the gangway. They tumbled into the mud, the rain soaking them both instantly. Jungkook tried to rise, but Y/N was faster. She planted a knee on his neck, pinning him down with surprising strength.

“I will not give up on them!” she snarled, her voice raw with emotion. “I will not leave anyone on this rock with those things!”

Jungkook moved in a blur, rolling them over until he was on top, pinning her arms with his hands. The sharp tip of his shiv pressed lightly against her neck, but his face wasn’t angry. His expression was calm, curious even. His voice, when he spoke, was soft. “You’d die for them?”

“I would try for them,” Y/N spat back, her eyes blazing up at him.

“You barely know them,” he countered, his tone almost detached.

“I’m human,” she replied, her voice trembling but fierce. “I know you think that’s a weakness, but I feel fear—mine and theirs. Goddammit, Jungkook, yes. I would die for them.”

For a long moment, Jungkook didn’t move. Rain dripped from his hair onto her face, mingling with her tears. Finally, he sighed and eased back, the shiv disappearing into its sheath.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Let’s fucking move before they get eaten and we’ve wasted our time.”

The scrabbling at the shield grew louder, each scratch like a countdown to disaster. Namjoon tensed, his fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of his blade. His breath came fast and shallow as he fixed his eyes on the vibrating metal, ready to strike at whatever horror broke through.

Suddenly, the shield shifted. It heaved to one side, and for a split second, Namjoon thought the worst. Then, with a grunt of effort, Y/N appeared, her arms trembling as she dragged the barrier aside. Her soaked face was flushed with determination, streaked with mud and rain.

Behind her, looming like a shadow, was Jungkook. His dark eyes scanned the interior with an intensity that sent a chill through the air. “You came for us,” Leo whispered, her voice shaky, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jungkook muttered, brushing past her without a second glance. “We’re all fucking amazed. Anyone not ready for this?”

They wasted no time. Y/N and Namjoon moved to gather the last of their makeshift lights—bottles filled with dimly glowing worms. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had. Outside, the rain poured harder, drenching them as they emerged from the crevice. The ground had turned to slick mud, making every step treacherous.

“Tighter,” Jungkook barked, his voice cutting through the downpour. “Stay tight and stay quiet.”

They moved in a huddled cluster, their breaths hitching with every distant screech or skittering sound. The faint glow of their lights barely illuminated the space in front of them, leaving the surrounding darkness heavy and oppressive. Jungkook led the way, his steps sure, his eyes constantly scanning for movement.

At the top of a muddy rise, Jungkook stopped abruptly, throwing up a hand. The group froze behind him, their breaths suspended.

“What is it?” Namjoon whispered, straining to see.

“I don’t hear—” Y/N started, but Jungkook’s hand shot out, clamping over her mouth. He didn’t speak, just tilted his head toward the base of the rise.

In the dim glow of the worms, the scene below slowly came into focus. A predator crouched by a pool of water, its elongated limbs gleaming with rain. It moved with a predatory grace, lapping at the water in sharp, mechanical motions. A second one appeared, then a third. Soon, the pool became a grotesque gathering, the creatures landing silently, their guttural clicks blending with the patter of the rain.

“Get behind me,” Jungkook whispered, his voice barely audible but commanding.

Y/N and the others moved closer together, gripping one another tightly. The predators shifted, revealing a slim gap in their formation. A path.

“When I go, we go,” Jungkook murmured, his tone steady as steel. “Full-throttle. No stopping, no looking back.”

The group nodded, their hands trembling as they prepared to run. The rain seemed to fall even harder, each drop a drumbeat against the tense silence.

The gap widened. Jungkook tensed, his muscles coiled like a spring. “Ready... ready…”

Then he bolted.

The group followed in a chaotic, stumbling chain, their glow-worm lights bobbing wildly. The predators scattered at the sudden intrusion, their clicks turning to screeches as they scrambled out of the way. The sound was deafening, a cacophony of rage and hunger. Water splashed up in arcs as they charged through the pool and up the rise.

Leo slipped, her foot catching on a root hidden in the mud. She screamed as she slid backward, her legs plunging into the water. The predators snapped their heads toward her, their movements too fast to track.

“Leo!” Y/N screamed, but Jungkook was already moving. He spun on his heel, skidding through the mud to reach her just as the first predator lunged. With a growl of effort, he caught her arm and hauled her upward, throwing her over the top of the rise with a strength that defied belief.

“Go!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “You know the way!”

Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second, torn between running and staying. Then Namjoon grabbed her arm, dragging her forward. Together, they helped Leo to her feet, and the three of them scrambled down the other side of the rise.

The settlement was a faint silhouette in the distance, its jagged structures barely visible through the rain and darkness. The glow-worm light flickered as they ran, the mud sucking at their boots with every step. Y/N’s lungs burned, her legs screaming for rest, but she forced herself onward. She couldn’t stop. Not now.

Behind them, the night came alive with sound. The screeches of the predators grew louder, accompanied by the sharp clang of metal against claws. Y/N risked a glance back, her heart plummeting.

Jungkook wasn’t there.

Her feet faltered, panic surging through her. “Jungkook!” she shouted into the night, her voice hoarse. Namjoon grabbed her arm, pulling her forward.

“Keep moving!” he yelled. “He’ll catch up!”

A sound cut through the rain—heavy, wet breathing, like some monstrous engine laboring in the dark. Then, out of the shadows, movement. Jungkook appeared, his figure a blur of mud and blood, his steps unrelenting.

But he wasn’t alone.

A predator lunged out of the darkness, its jagged limbs slicing through the air. Jungkook skidded to a halt, his boots digging into the mud. Another predator perched above, crouched like a nightmare on the edge of a building, its clicking reverberating in the night.

Jungkook’s hands moved in a flash, twin shivs appearing in his grip. The faint light caught the blades, illuminating his face—a mask of focus and feral determination. His breathing steadied, his body lowering into a stance that spoke of countless battles.

Behind him, the creatures circled, their movements deliberate, their clicks crescendoing into a symphony of death.

Y/N froze at the settlement’s edge, her heart pounding. “Jungkook!” she screamed again, her voice breaking.

He didn’t look back. Instead, he bared his teeth in a sharp grin, his eyes glinting with something primal. “Keep running!” he roared, the sound cutting through the rain like a war cry.

Then he charged.

Back at the skiff, Namjoon and Leo staggered up the gangway, their soaked bodies leaning heavily on one another. The warm glow of the headlamps engulfed them, offering a fleeting sense of safety, but the fear in their eyes remained.

Y/N stood just outside, her body trembling, every muscle screaming at her to board. Her hand gripped the metal railing so tightly her knuckles shone white against the rain-slick surface. The storm pelted her relentlessly, its cold bite barely registering against the heat of her adrenaline.

“Captain,” Namjoon called softly, urgency threading through his tone. “Come aboard. Please.”

But Y/N didn’t move. Her eyes scanned the ink-black night, searching for any sign of life—or death. She couldn’t abandon him. Not like this.

Then it came: a sound that turned her blood to ice. A terrible, gut-wrenching cacophony of screams—human and beast, interwoven into a symphony of violence.

Jungkook.

Her instincts overtook her. Without hesitation, she yanked the glow-worm bottle from Namjoon’s neck and plunged into the darkness, ignoring his frantic shouts behind her.

“Y/N! Don’t! Frenchie!”

The glow-worms threw shaky halos of light as Y/N sprinted through the downpour, breath tearing from her lungs in ragged bursts. Rain sheeted down, soaking her to the bone, blurring her vision until the trees became shadows and shadows became monsters. But she didn’t stop. She didn’t slow. She couldn’t. Somewhere ahead, someone was screaming. Screaming like they were being ripped apart.

Her boots hit the mud with heavy slaps, slipping and catching, slipping again. Her heartbeat was a thunderclap in her ears, almost drowning out the storm. Almost. Because the sounds ahead were louder now—sharp, inhuman, brutal. Screeches. Something tearing. Something dying.

She burst into the clearing like a bullet through fog, and the scene hit her like a punch to the gut.

The glow-worms gave off just enough light to illuminate the horror: a chaos of blood and shadow and steel.

Jungkook was on his knees, soaked and wild-eyed, his chest rising and falling like he’d been running for days. He was swinging something—a metal bar, maybe? A broken pipe? —at the circling predators that slithered in and out of the gloom, slick limbs glinting with rain and blood. They were fast, terrifyingly coordinated, like some nightmarish ballet. Shadows slicing through shadows, all limbs and blades and hunger.

Blood streaked his face. Some of it his. Some of it not. He looked like something carved from war.

One of the things—taller than the rest, limbs bending wrong—peeled off from the pack and lunged at her.

Y/N barely had time to register it. Just instinct. She dropped like a stone, hitting the ground hard as the creature’s blade of a limb whistled past her skull, close enough to feel the wind of it. She hit the mud face-first, the impact jarring, cold and wet and full of blood.

Her own, maybe. She didn’t care.

“It’s me! It’s me!” she screamed, scrambling forward on hands and knees. “Jungkook, it’s me!”

He turned toward her like he’d been yanked on a string, and for a second—a single, gut-twisting second—his eyes didn’t recognize her. They were wide, haunted, raw.

Not scared of the monsters. Jungkook had never been afraid to die.

No, this was something else.

This was the look of a man afraid he was about to lose everything.

The second they were close enough, Y/N threw herself into his arms. No plan. No hesitation. She just collapsed into him, wrapped her arms tight around his sides and buried her face in his chest.

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. All the strength she’d been clutching onto shattered.

She sobbed like something inside her had cracked open. Big, shaking, gasping sobs. The kind you don’t come back from right away.

She cried for Bindi and Daku. For Peter and Namjoon’s boys.

For Leo. For Namjoon.

Even for Lee. Poor, broken, strung-out Lee, who’d never stood a chance.

And she cried—for Shields.

Shields, who she hated. Who had died screaming. Shields, who’d put himself between the crew and death anyway.

“It’s not fair,” she moaned against Jungkook’s chest, her voice raw and small and lost.

He didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t know what to say.

This wasn’t exactly the kind of thing he was good at. Women didn’t throw themselves at him—not like this. Not with tears and shaking hands. Not with trust.

But he didn’t push her away.

Instead, slowly, he dropped his hands from where they’d hovered, unsure, and pulled her close. Wrapped those strong arms around her like they were made for this.

There were no chains this time.

Oh, Y/N.

She fit.

That was the weirdest part. She fit. Her body curved into his like it belonged there. Her head rested right beneath his chin, snug and natural. He wasn’t thinking about anything stupid—he wasn’t even thinking. He was just there, holding her.

And maybe that was enough.

Y/N’s sobs faded into quiet crying, just small sniffles now, her breath still hiccupping as she tried to pull herself back together.

She didn’t want to look at him.

Didn’t want him to see how far she’d fallen apart.

Didn’t want to see what he saw when he looked at her.

But she remembered—how safe she’d felt back on the skiff, when he’d held her waist to help her up. It hadn’t made sense then, but it hadn’t needed to. That pull toward him had been strange and terrifyingly familiar.

There was something about Jungkook. Always had been.

Now, in the dim glow from the bottle between them, the light from the glow-worms casting strange shadows on their faces, she let herself feel it.

The rain was still pouring, thick and relentless.

The planet was still dead.

But for a moment, it didn’t feel like it.

They pulled away at the same time, like something unspoken had passed between them. Just a few seconds of an embrace—but it had stretched out, slow and meaningful.

Y/N wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, sniffling hard, avoiding his eyes. The embarrassment kicked in like a reflex. God, what was she doing breaking down like that?

But Jungkook didn’t mock her. Didn’t smirk. He was just watching her, face soft in a way she hadn’t seen before.

“Where’s the kid?” he asked, voice hoarse. “The holy man?”

And then his knees buckled.

Y/N barely caught him.

For the first time since the crash, Jungkook had fallen—and not because of anything trying to kill him. Just because his body had finally had enough.

She bent down, her hands fumbling, trembling. Found the bottle she’d dropped earlier and cradled it like it held the last light in the universe.

“The skiff,” she said, sliding to her knees next to him. She looped the bottle around his neck, the soft glow painting shadows across his bloodied skin. “Come on.”

Her voice cracked. But she kept going.

“We’re not dying here. Not today.”

Jungkook swayed, eyes fluttering like he was on the edge of giving up. For a second, she really thought he was going to. That his body had finally surrendered.

But then his jaw clenched. He gritted his teeth. Forced himself up, inch by inch, like a man rising from a grave.

She threw his arm around her shoulders, and they leaned on each other like two halves of something broken trying to walk in one piece.

“Just keep moving,” Y/N whispered, dragging in air like glass. “Ten steps. That’s all we need. Ten steps, Jungkook. We can do this.”

Maybe the words were for him. Maybe they were for her.

Didn’t matter. She needed them said.

“Nine steps. Almost there. Eight. Don’t look back. Don’t stop.”

The predators were screaming again behind them. Clicking, snarling, hunting. That terrible, guttural chorus rising like a stormcloud chasing them down.

Y/N’s legs felt like they were full of molten lead. Her back ached, her lungs felt carved out, her vision was doing that scary fuzzy thing at the edges—but she didn’t stop.

Jungkook was heavy. But he was moving.

They kept going, leaning hard into each other.

And then it happened.

That sound.

Sharp and wet and awful—like the world itself had split open. It sliced through the thick, rain-heavy air, and it didn’t belong. It wasn’t natural, didn’t come from the wind or the storm or the things hunting in the dark. It was something wrong.

And then came the impact.

A brutal hit, all force and chaos, like a freight hauler slamming into their backs. One second they were standing, barely upright, the next they were airborne—flung apart like rag dolls. Y/N hit the ground first, and it hurt.

Hard.

The breath exploded out of her lungs in a raw, useless gasp. Her spine jarred. Her head snapped back. Everything inside her rattled like she’d cracked open. The glow-worm bottle slipped from her hand, rolled into the muck, and kept rolling, casting a dim, sickly light across the slick, churning dirt.

Then the silence came.

That eerie, wrong silence. Like the world had hit pause. The rain kept falling, but she couldn’t hear it. The creatures in the distance—silent. Her own heartbeat—gone, or maybe just buried too deep beneath the throb of pain. It was a silence that swallowed sound, and breath, and hope.

Y/N blinked hard, tried to push herself up, but her body didn’t want to move. Her hands trembled as they sank into the cold, wet earth. She felt hollow, like something vital had been scooped out of her while she wasn’t looking.

Something was wrong.

Something terribly wrong.

And then the pain bloomed.

It didn’t creep in. It ripped through her.

A white-hot bolt of agony erupted in her side, sharp and blinding, and her scream caught in her throat like it didn’t know how to get out. Her eyes shot down, and for a moment—just one split second—she didn’t understand what she was seeing.

Then her mind caught up.

Something was inside her.

A grotesque, jagged limb jutted out from her side—bone, but not. It looked like bone filtered through a nightmare. Shiny and twisted, flecked with blood, slick with her own warmth.

It had punched through her.

Panic surged, all cold and frantic. Her thoughts fractured, scattered like broken glass. She tried to scream but managed only a strangled sob. Her body trembled beneath the weight of shock.

"Not for me," Jungkook’s voice cut through the haze. Hoarse. Raw. He was there suddenly, hands grabbing her, pulling her in.

His grip was strong, but his voice—there was something behind it. Something thin and cracking.

Fear.

Not for himself. For her.

She clung to him with what little strength she had left, her fingers clawing at his shirt, trying to hold on to something real. Her vision swam, dark at the edges, and everything was slipping. Her breath rattled in her chest like it didn’t belong to her anymore.

She wanted to fight. She wanted to. But it was too fast. Too much.

The light faded from her eyes as she collapsed against him. No scream. No last word. Just gone.

Y/N disappeared into the quiet.

The stillness was complete.

For one breath, two, maybe three, the entire world seemed to hold itself still. Then came the scream—not hers, but his.

Jungkook’s voice tore into the silence like a blade, raw and violent and desperate. It echoed off the trees, off the dirt, into the stars.

He laid her down like something sacred, but his hands were shaking. He didn’t know what he was doing. He wasn’t built for this—this kind of loss. Not her.

Never her.

Then the creatures were on him.

The snarl of a hunter cut through the silence behind him, and without thinking, he spun. Rage rose, unfiltered and unchecked. The first one lunged—fast, too fast—but Jungkook was faster.

His hand gripped the jagged metal pipe he’d dropped earlier, and he swung hard, driving it straight into the creature’s throat. There was a sickening crunch, a gurgling shriek, and it collapsed.

Another came from the side—he ducked low, rolled through the mud, came up swinging. The edge of the pipe caught the creature across the head, split it open with a wet crack.

They came fast after that.

Three more. Maybe four. Didn’t matter.

Jungkook moved like a storm, all fury and instinct. The pipe became an extension of his rage—jabbing, swinging, breaking bones, snapping limbs. He didn’t stop. Didn’t feel. Not the blood on his hands or the pain in his muscles or the ache blooming in his ribs.

One of them got close enough to rake a claw across his back. He roared, spun, drove the pipe through its chest so hard it got stuck. He let it go and pulled a blade from the body of another, used that instead.

When the last one fell, the clearing went still again.

Bodies twitched and bled into the mud.

Jungkook stood there for a long second, soaked in rain and blood, panting like a wild animal. The bodies of the creatures lay broken around him, steam rising from their carcasses in the cold night air. His chest heaved, every breath like fire in his throat. His hands—still clenched, still ready to kill—dripped red.

Then he turned.

And everything inside him stopped.

Y/N was gone.

The spot where she'd fallen, where he'd held her, where her blood had soaked into the earth—empty. No body. No trace. Just the flickering glow-worm bottle, cracked and sputtering out in the mud, casting its weak light over churned dirt and drag marks vanishing into the trees.

“No...” The word came out hoarse, broken. His eyes darted wildly into the shadows, scanning the treeline, searching for any movement, any sound—anything that might tell him this wasn’t real. That she wasn’t really gone. That maybe he’d just turned away for too long.

But he knew better. He felt it.

They had taken her.

He let out a sound—somewhere between a growl and a sob—and took off.

Back toward the skiff. Back through the dark.

The storm screamed around him, but he didn’t slow. His boots pounded the ground in a wild rhythm, slipping in the mud, crashing through low-hanging branches. He could still feel the warmth of her blood on his arms, still see her eyes fading into that terrible stillness.

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel. There was only forward.

The skiff. That was all that mattered now.

The rain blurred everything—trees, ground, sky—it all became one frantic smear of motion and noise. He didn’t know if he was screaming or just breathing too loud. Didn’t care.

When the ship finally broke through the clouds, it looked like both salvation and ruin.

The hull groaned under the strain of re-entry, its scorched wings catching fire as it tore through the atmosphere—like dying stars burning out in silence. It wasn’t built for this kind of flight. The skiff was a fragile thing, pieced together with desperation and whatever scraps were left behind. But it was all he had. It was all that remained.

Jungkook dropped into the pilot’s seat, muscles barely cooperating, every breath heavy with exhaustion. Blood slid down his back where one of the creatures had caught him—he didn’t remember when. Time had blurred into one long moment of loss and survival.

His hands found the controls automatically, guided by muscle memory. But they felt wrong. As if they belonged to someone else now. Someone untouched by grief. Someone who hadn’t just watched the last good thing in their life vanish into darkness.

His fingers drifted across the console, leaving a streak of blood. Not his.

Hers.

He didn’t wipe it away.

Instead, he stared at it—longer than he should have—jaw locked so tight it sent pain shooting up to his temples.

The nav screen flickered to life: Sol-Track 17B. The route was plotted. The destination didn’t matter. Not anymore. What mattered was the hollow space inside his chest. That aching, consuming absence.

Beside him, Leo sat motionless. A shadow of herself. Her eyes fixed on the stars like she was trying to fall into them, or maybe disappear altogether. The silence between them was unbearable. Heavy. Too real.

Jungkook was the one who finally broke it.

“You can talk to me now,” he said, voice cracked and raw, scraped from somewhere deep inside.

Leo didn’t respond right away. She stayed quiet, gaze lost in the black. When she finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know where to go,” she said. The words landed with weight, not just confusion but something deeper. “I was just running when this all started. Running from everything.”

She paused, fingers fidgeting against the worn edge of her seat. Then, softer, “Where are you going?”

Jungkook didn’t answer at first. Because he didn’t know. Maybe he never had.

“Nowhere,” he said finally, barely audible above the low hum of the engines. “I was just… running too.”

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t even an answer. But it was true. And in that moment, it was enough. Two people drifting, directionless, bound only by shared loss and silence. And somewhere in the middle of that quiet, they seemed to understand each other.

Neither had answers. Neither had safety. Only this—this ship, this moment, this space between everything they’d lost and whatever came next.

The skiff shifted course slightly, engines humming steady. Outside, the stars seemed to move with them, like the universe was shifting, realigning itself. A single bright star emerged in the darkness, clear and sharp.

Jungkook stared at it, something tightening in his chest.

“Might be worth seeing,” he said under his breath. He didn’t mean to say it aloud. It just… slipped out.

From the back, Namjoon stepped into view. Quiet. Grounded. The kind of calm that didn’t ask questions. His gaze landed on the same star, and something passed over his face—something soft, reverent.

“New Mecca,” he said, almost a whisper. As if the name itself held meaning. As if it carried hope.

Jungkook turned to look at him, unreadable. But when he spoke again, his voice held something between skepticism and longing.

“Think a soul could get lost there?” he asked. “In a place like that? Surrounded by people chasing something they’ll never catch?”

Namjoon didn’t blink. “It’s more the kind of place where souls are found,” he said simply. “Not lost.”

Jungkook said nothing, eyes drifting back to the star. He didn’t know if he believed it. He wasn’t sure if he could believe anything anymore.

The silence held, stretched taut over the hum of the skiff.

Leo shifted in her seat. Still staring at the void, but her voice cut through it.

“What do we tell them?” she asked. “When we land. About you.”

Jungkook didn’t turn. He kept his eyes forward, face unreadable.

“Tell ’em I died on that rock.”

Leo looked over at him, brow drawn. “You serious?”

He finally glanced her way—just a flicker of a look. Cold. Tired. Certain.

“Yeah.”

She didn’t push it. Just nodded, slowly. “Alright.”

Namjoon stood in the back, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like he’d been listening the whole time. His voice came low.

“Cleanest lie we’ve got.”

Jungkook’s mouth curved—barely. Not a smile. Not even close. But something like it.

“Let the dead man take the blame,” he said. “Might keep you all safer.”

No one argued.

Leo settled back into her seat, letting the weight of everything sink into her bones. Namjoon moved to the co-pilot’s chair and keyed in the final approach vector. The skiff adjusted, smooth and quiet.

They didn’t speak again.

The light from the nearby star started to spill across the dash, casting long shadows inside the cockpit. The scorched metal of the skiff caught the glow, gleaming faintly—wreckage limping its way toward something that might, on a generous day, be called hope.

Jungkook leaned into his seat, staring at that one bright point in the dark. A place with temples and pilgrims. A place where people went to be saved.

Didn’t matter.

He’d done what he had to. Got them off that planet. Got them through.

That was enough.

Behind him, the planet shrank into nothing—just another dead world in a galaxy full of them.

And in front of him, New Mecca waited.

Not for him.

Just for the story of him.

Let them believe the killer died down there. Let them believe the monster went down with the dark.

It was better that way.

The skiff surged forward, engines low and steady. And somewhere behind the silence, behind the metal, behind the blood and ash and fire...

A man who wasn’t supposed to survive lived on anyway.

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