#children of the corn the gathering

[confusedhomicidalrage]

[thornonthevine]

(this is a long list, take your time) Characters reacting too:

Someone pinching their cheeks

Someone playing with their hair

Someone playfully hitting them

Someone asking to date them

ONLY DOING THE KIDS CUZ I GOT LAZY

Pinching there cheek

Isaac: *he would smack your hand away and death glare at you*

Malachi: *he would move away from you and give you an angry confused look*

Micah: *he would blush and gently move your hand away*

Mordecai: *would smile and do it back*

Jeremiah: *he would chuckle and forget about it moments later*

Eli: *would squirm away and whine*

Joshua: *he would blush and hug you afterwards*

Josiah: *hes confused but found it a little bit comforting*

Ezekiel: *would basically do that same as Josiah*

Gabriel: *your dead*

Matt: *he would be confused and would gently do it back to you*

Abel: *he's gonna bite you.*

Playing with there hair

Isaac: *he hates it. He would squirm away and dramatically fix his hair*

Malachi: *doesn't mind it IF YOU ASK. He would let you make it last for a few seconds and that’s it*

Micah: *he would stand there and let it happen. He would give you a confused little cute look and waits for you to stop*

Mordecai: *he would look at you like this 🙂 and would wait for you to be done when you are he hugs you..good luck trying to get him to let go.*

Jeremiah: *hes a bit confused at first but finds it comforting after get used to it and would probably play with yours as well*

Eli: *hes very confused but gets use to it quickly and doesn’t really have a reaction when you do it after the 6th try*

Joshua: *HE LOVES THAT SO MUCH 😭😭 he’s like a dog when they get headpats he literally loves when anyone does anything with his hair*

Josiah: *hes confused…just confused*

Ezekiel: *kinda likes it and finds it nice*

Gabriel: *he just looks at you with a smug smirk while you do it*

Matt: *hes like joshua ngl he loves you sm*

Abel: *well…he likes it??…I think.*

Someone playfully hitting them

Isaac: *he would look at you in disgust and disbelief he would yell at you and tell you to never do that again.*

Malachi: *…he’s malachi what do you expect*

Micah: *hes confused and hurt. He would look at you and ask why you would do that when you tell him it was a playful hit hes still confused and just sits there in silent*

Mordecai: *he just looks at you and would tilt his head wondering why would you try to hurt him? When you realize he’s confused you ask him what’s wrong and he tells you that you tried to hurt him when you reassure him your just playing around he would giggle and playfully and gently hit you back*

Jeremiah: *he chuckles and playfully hits you back..it might just turn into a play fight*

Eli: *he would look at you with confused little eyes and would scoot away from you upset you hit him..when you tell him your joking he would lighten up a little bit and would scoot back next to you*

Joshua: *hes confused at first but gets the gist of it fast and would also playfully hit you back as well but he makes sure it’s gentle and would ask he he actually hurts you after*

Josiah: *he looks at you and would quietly ask why you would do that when you tell him it’s a joke he would just say “oh.” And would go back to whatever he’s doing*

Ezekiel; *lowkey does the same thing as josiah*

Gabriel; *your so funny for thinking your getting away with that!!!*

Matt: *hes confused..well more sad when confused he would ask why would you do that and when you explain it’s a joke he would still be confused..it would probably just go into a spiral of him asking questions*

Abel: *he would smile and would playfully bite you*

Them getting asked out on a date

Isaac: *he would look at you up and down and denies.*

Malachi: *he looks at you with confusion and he would shake his head no and would ignore you*

Miach: *he would probably ignore you*

Mordecai: *hes very confused. He would ask why you wanna date him and when you say your reasons he just looks at you and hugs you..his answer is yes*

Jeremiah: *he smiles and says “really?” He blushes and most likely says yes*

Eli: *your getting ignored*

Joshua: *he would say “I’ll think about it” and forgets about it*

Josiah: *no..that’s all your getting from him*

Ezekiel *he would try to date you. I don’t really think he likes all that dating stuff tho*

Gabriel: *this smug little flirty basterd. He would flirt with you for a few minutes and then would probably say yes*

Matt: *he would say yes but in a confused type way*

Abel: *no*

[mtg-talk]

Horror References in Duskmorn: Stephen King Edition

[horrororman]

🎃 Notable films that were released on October 8th...

#MrSardonicus (1961)(NYC, NY).

#KillBabyKill (1967)(US).

#DemolitionMan (1993).

#ChildrenoftheCornIVTheGathering (1996).

#ISpitonYourGrave (2010)(limited).

#MySoultoTake (2010).

#horror

[hellcifrogs]

Brazilian celebrations let's go!

Kakashi being generic, all the kids being adorable and Tenzou feeling silly.

Note: these are so popular and well known I drew them all from memory, but I was sure I missed or messed up details so here's some actual references for each:

For Sakura it's June festivities of São João, when the Quadrilhas happen. So many colors and lots of food made from corn (this is v important to me ok) - but honestly, unless you're actually part of the quadrilha groups, only children actually dress up nowadays (sadly, but still very very cute)

For Sasuke it's my region's carnaval style, in my state, the big music genre is Frevo, not Samba. And the dance is just on a level I simply don't have the knees and ankles for <3 the colorful parassols are an important detail I forgot to add ;-; shame on me

For Sai it's a big religious event, where milions of people gather to carry this statue of the Virgin Mary, Our Lady of Nazareth. Some children can be seen dressed up as angels during the processions. Not quite a party like the others, but still huge.

And Yamato has a Boi Bumba costume! This one is from a famous play that tells a story along with live music and participation from the audience. One big event related to it is the Paratins Festival where the play also turns into a sort of competition between these two Ox teams (in red and blue)

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 37

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: In the past few weeks, the weather had started to shift. So during the calm of your stay in Wakanda, you enjoy a night in the rain.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Fluff. Self Regulation Problems. Little bit of panic.

18+ blog, Minors Do Not Interact.

Authors Note: My broken laptop decided to work for me for a little!!! ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

The region you resided in had two seasons. Wet and dry. Always hot. You hadn’t been in Wakanda for long, but you were told the weather was currently in its shifting period from wet to dry.

The grass grew green and the air misted with dew. To prepare for the coming rain, you were taught that you needed to add extra straw lining to the roof of your hut. 

Bucky did almost all the labor without you asking. He carried a heavy barrel of straw as you walked the carved path back to your huts. You glanced up at the sky, at the gathering clouds. 

“Do you like the rain?”

Bucky shifted the thick dry straw under his arm. “It’s fine.”

You glanced at the man, his gaze sweeping over the valley around you. It had been a few days since you watched the sunset together, and since then, you were only more sure of how you felt. You were thankful for the peace of nature.

The peace of solitude, outside the city, outside the world. 

As a scientist born and raised in a big city, you never thought you would say that. But you meant it. You liked the simplicity of things. You liked the safety. 

“You haven’t seen much rain, have you?” You stepped over an overgrown tree root. 

“Nope,” Bucky rolled his neck, glancing at you. “Snow, yes. A lot of snow.”

You suppressed a smile and nodded. “Mm, snow. I doubt we’ll see much of that here.” 

“Perfect,” he muttered. “Add that to the list.”

“The list?” You squinted up at him.

“List of things I like about this place,” he looked a little abashed at the minor confession. You waited for him to continue, listening silently. “Like the quiet, and the food, and-” he shrugged. “It’s just nice.”

“I like the security.” You smiled, reaching down to itch where the tall grass tickled your leg. “It’s safe here. Safer than I think anywhere else on the planet.” You chuckled.

Bucky smiled to himself, agreeing beyond words. It was always hard for him to articulate himself, like words were lost on him, but he wanted to share his thoughts. He wanted to express how secure he found your little slice of the earth, hidden in a valley. 

He liked the solitude. Beside the children that visited from the nearest village homestead, and Shuri, you both were left alone. He liked it that way. 

He would never admit it, but he liked it.

He missed Steve, with every small notice from the outside world, but he didn’t feel the need to leave. He felt safe. He felt free, in a way he never had before. 

Wakanda was proving to be the place where Bucky felt most himself, and he was slowly beginning to accept that.

When you arrived back at your little home, Bucky set to work with relaying the dry straw. You watched him with a fond grin as he worked, that strong frown gracing his lips. 

By the second hour, a few of the village children came by with baskets of corn and paint. You sat on the rocks with them as they taught you how to paint their faces with earthy colors.

You hadn’t learned as much of the Wakandan language as Bucky, but you could tell they were teasing you.

You hadn’t noticed, but at some point Bucky finished his work, and was watching you. He chewed at his thumbnail and suppressed a smile when one of the children scolded you for using the wrong color. 

One of the boys looked over your shoulder and started shouting at Bucky, using the fond nickname they coined for him. He stiffened slightly, still not used to the comfortable way the children flocked around him.

You snickered at the wide eyed look he had when a young boy started hopping up into his space.

You never thought Bucky would be so good with children, with his aloof and distant nature. But he was always so kind to them, allowing them to poke at his metal arm and paint shapes and lines over the steel. You could see the way he marveled at their kind nature. 

How they weren’t afraid of him.

Rice popped in the smooth pan, sizzling as Bucky added tomato paste. The bonfire crackled against the stones holding it together, dry twigs reduced to ash as the flames raged. You glanced up at Bucky over the fire, the light casting him in a soft glow.

Over the past few days, you and Bucky joined each other by the pond in making dinner. It was nothing fancy, usually just simple proteins and rice, but it was delicious. While Bucky stirred the rice, you peeled the plantains, then tossed them in the pan. 

The soft vegetables turned a slight yellow color under the heat. Bucky picked a fallen leaf out of the pan of rice with his metal fingers. “How’s your treatment going?” 

Bucky stiffened, then forced himself to relax. “Shuri’s good at what she does.” He shook the pan, spreading the rice. “They have this room-” he cocked his jaw, picking his words carefully. “They’ve been hooking me up to all these wires and sitting me in there for hours. It’s like when I’m in there, nothing can get to me.”

Bucky spoke with gentle caution, picking through the darkest trials of his treatments.

You listened carefully, dishing out portions of food onto smooth wooden plates. 

“She used a combination of vibranium-based tech and biochemical blockers - something that dampens the synaptic response to the trigger words. Like…retraining my brain not to obey.” He took the plate from you, avoiding your kind gaze as he spoke. 

“Do you think it’s working?” You passed him utensils. 

He shrugged, mashing the plantains on his plate. “Not a damn clue.” He swallowed. “I hope it is.”

“You’re gonna have to test it eventually, right?” You pushed carefully.

He nodded, pushing the rice around on his place. “Yeah.”

“Do you think you’re ready for that?”

He looked up at you now, the flames flickering in the bright blue of his eyes. “I don’t know. But I don’t really have a choice.”

“Yeah,” You muttered, watching as he took his first bite. “Or you could just stay here forever, live off the land. Never worry about it again.” You joked, shoving a bite in your mouth.

Bucky lifted a brow as he chewed. “Great plan.” He muttered sarcastically.

You watched him clear his plate easily, then go back for a second. Usually you had fish with dinner, but after laying extra straw all afternoon, Bucky forgot to catch one.

You tried to imagine what that life would look like for Bucky. Disappearing from the world, staying hidden in the great expanse of nature. Bathing in the pond. Picking his own food. Learning beading techniques from the village children. 

Peaceful. Quiet. 

“You like it here,” your lips quirked in a smile. 

Bucky stirred his plate and nodded. “I do.” He shrugged. “Out here…there's no missions, no expectations, no threats. Just-” He turned his face away from the heat of the fire. He swallowed the words just us. “Just the goats.”

You scraped at your plate, listening quietly. “Just the bucks.”

He rolled his eyes at you, pointing his spoon in your direction. “Don’t start that.”

“You don’t want to talk about un-castrated goats?” You tilted your head.

He grimaced, setting his spoon on his plate. “Why do you even know that?”

“One of the wonders of being born in the past few decades is the internet. You haven’t used it much- and probably shouldn’t- but you can learn a lot on there.” You set your plate on the floor by your feet. 

“And you chose to look into goats?” He squinted at you. You shrugged. 

“You fall down rabbit holes.” You paused. “Maybe we should go into the city and you can get on a computer or something. Then you’ll get it.”

He cringed and shook his head. “I think I’m good on goat castration.”

“That’s not-” You choked on a laugh, slapping a hand over your face. “You can look into other things, Bucky.” 

But you doubted he wanted to. He didn’t want to go into the city. He wanted to stay right where he was, with you.

A sizzling sound fizzled by the fire as slow drops of water dripped into the pan between you. You turned your head to the sky, holding your hands out. A gentle breeze shook the trees. A ticklish cold drop stained your palm as rain began to descend from the sky. 

Bucky copied you and held his hands out, feeling the drops against his skin. As the minute stretched, the rain grew heavier, dampening the firepit until only wet smoke remained. You grinned and rose from the grass. 

Bucky’s instinct was to move into his hut and hide from the weather, but he stayed to watch you. Sitting with his legs crossed on the dirt, his gaze tracked you. 

The scattered droplets decorated the pond's surface with echoing ringlets. The sound had you closing your eyes to listen closer. The shoulders of your shirt began to stick to your skin as you stood there, feeling the water seep through your clothes. 

A shiver wracked your body as a gentle breeze blew through the valley. You nearly jumped when a warm hand swept down your spine. Your eyes snapped open to see Bucky at your side, his face tipped up towards the sky.

He usually moved with steady silence, but tonight the rain helped him surprise you. “We’ll get sick if we stay out, won’t we?” He asked, his voice low and quiet beneath the rhythmic pattern of the rain. 

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your lips as you looked at him, long dark hair sticking to his skin, eyes squinted narrowly against the water that gathered in his eyelashes. 

“No, we’re fine.” He glanced down at you. You tracked the drop of water that slid down the bridge of his nose. “Only if we stay out for long. Being cold lowers your immune system and makes you more vulnerable to sickness, but only if we’re out for long.” You rambled, your gaze stuck on the way Bucky wiped water from his lips.

“Ah,” he nodded, looking back up at the sky. You shivered again, and his hand pet your lower back slowly- like an instinct.

“I like the rain,” you raised your voice over the chatter of the droplets on the pond. “I think it’s pretty.”

“Yeah?” He let his eyes slide closed, the cold mist sprinkling his skin. 

“Yeah.” You stared at him in thought, fond memories and images of him burned into your mind. “Wanna try something?”

He glanced back at you, wiping a hand down his face. “Like what?”

“Wanna go for a swim?”

“That sounds exactly like it would lower your temperature.” Water dripped from his eyelashes. 

“You only live once.”

He stared at you for a long moment, under the flickering light of the sun as it disappeared between clouds and the horizon. He watched a drop of water gather in the corner of your lips, then slide down your chin. 

“Fine.”

You grinned and stepped out of his space, already tugging your shirt up. “Then c’mon.” 

You were in the water before Bucky could catch his breath, your pants sticking to the soil by his feet, where you threw them. You gasped when the cold water hit your waist, rising over the tender flesh of your stomach.

“Fuck- that’s much colder in the rain,” you laughed. 

There was a splash behind you, and then you felt the warmth radiating from his chest. “You’re supposed to be a scientist, remember.” 

You turned around, sending a splash his way. “Don’t get smart with me.” You tried to sound exasperated, but the tone died in your throat as you looked at him. 

The last rays of daylight washed over his naked skin like the first glow of a dying star. Rain dripped and slid down the column of his throat, gathering in the dips of muscle on the way down his chest. He raked his dark hair back, metal fingers contrasting sharply with the wet strands. 

“‘M not trying to,” he grinned. “But a scientist should know cold is cold.”

You sent another splash his way, making him shiver. A gentle breeze rustled through the damp grass, making your bare skin break out in goosebumps. Your bra clung to your skin like wet on water, now your only cover. 

You should have thought this plan through, you realize, as Bucky’s wandering gaze tracked your shiver. You took a few more steps back into the pond, until cool blue water tickled the underside of your breasts. 

“It’s not nice to be so snarky, you know,” you finally replied, dipping your head back to let the cold flush your hair.

Bucky pressed his lips together, smothering his light smile into something dopey. He watched the length of your hair spread out across the surface as you dipped your head under. He tracked your distorted form.

He hissed when you pinched the top of his foot, making him stumble back. You caught his foot and yanked, and then he was falling back. His large form made bubbles spread underwater from his impact. 

You popped your head up with a gasp, wiping your eyes- useless, as water rained from the sky. You snickered at Bucky’s dark head of hair, distorted by ripples. 

You let the cold rain seep into your bones, spreading and chilling you. You didn’t care. 

Bucky’s long limbs spread out beneath the surface, your brows pinched together. “What are you doing-?” You barely finished the sentence in time for a thick arm to slide around your waist. 

You yelped as you were pulled from the water weightlessly. “Buck-” He shifted you, tucking you under his arm- like you were another barrel of straw. 

You could barely scold him through wheezing laughter, squirming as his palm spread out across your stomach. “Stop moving,” Bucky snickered, carrying you back until the water reached his knees. You shivered as rain tickled your back. 

“Bucky, I swear-” You laughed. 

Bucky slid his arms around you, hauling you into the air. He promptly tossed you with measured strength. You shrieked as your body went airborne, wind and rain mixing until all you could feel was water. You landed with a heavy splash, several yards from the shore.

You finally broke the surface with a gasp. The first thing you heard was thick, unfiltered laughter. You blinked away drops until you could see him, hand smacked over his chest, as if he was trying to physically hold himself together. 

“Ass!” You laughed, kicking your feet gently to stay afloat. 

“That's a donkey, we only want goats, remember?” He shouted, swimming towards you. You rolled your eyes, turning to swim in the opposite direction. 

Bucky caught your ankle and dragged you back to him. He could still stand at that distance, you realized. Sometimes you forgot just how big the man was. 

“It rains once and now you’re full of jokes.” You panted, squinting at him through the rain.

Bucky held his metal arm out wordlessly, allowing you to use it to hold yourself up, so your legs didn’t grow tired. “Your ideas don’t always go the way you want.” He swallowed, his chest rising quickly as he caught his breath. 

“I’m never going swimming with you again,” you muttered, your voice almost too low to hear over the rain crashing against the pond. 

“Hm?” Bucky tilted his head, leaning close to hear you. 

Your breath hitched. Your lips brushed his ear. “I’m never taking you swimming again.” 

He chuckled quietly, his teeth chattering from the cold. “You made the first move,” he leaned back, his gaze dropping to your lips again, to track your words. “Can’t get mad when I play your game.”

“I didn’t throw you.”

“You couldn’t if you tried.” His teeth nipped at his lip, trying to suppress a smile. 

You tried to think of something quick-witted to say, but your words failed you. Reality dawned on you slowly as you met his gaze, his dark lashes sharp against soft blue. You knew where you were. How you both were dressed. 

You knew that your relationship was born out of fear and pain, but it bloomed into something all of your own efforts.

Something warm and safe and kind. 

Something beautiful. The kind that made it easy to strip to your underwear and go swimming in the rain. 

“Hey Buck?” You panted, glancing up at him. 

“Hm?” He tilted his head at you, his flesh hand sliding to your waist. He told himself it was to help you stay afloat. He knew it didn’t matter. He just wanted to feel you beneath his touch. 

“Have you ever done this before?” Your voice died on you, growing meek as you spoke. Droplets of rain slid down your nose, falling to the water between you. 

He heard you easily, close enough to feel your breath if you gasped deep enough. His throat bobbed as he swallowed your words, his mind working overtime to analyze your meaning. Truth was, it didn’t matter what you were referring to.

Nothing he did with you was familiar ground.

“No,” He spoke tenderly, blinking at you through mist. “I’ve-” He caught himself, his curious gaze scattering over your features. “Never.”

“Me neither,” you smiled, timid. You dipped your chin, catching your wavering reflection between you- before the heavy rain scattered the image. Bucky’s metal arm pulled from beneath the water. You caught yourself on his shoulders, fingers pressing to muscle for support. 

Cold steel slid across your cheek, dragging your gaze up to meet his. You swallowed heavily. 

His lips quirked in a nervous smile as he pushed soaking strands of hair from your face. “You only live once, right?” He echoed your words, his metal fingers sliding down the bend of your neck. 

You nodded, huffing out a choked laugh. A shiver trembled down your spine, making your teeth clatter together. 

Bucky frowned to himself, his thumb pressing into your stomach from where he held your waist. “We should go before you get sick,” he muttered. You stared up at him, instinctively leaning closer as he pulled away- even just a fraction. 

“I don’t want to go yet.” You felt breathless. Why were you so breathless?

His brows pinched together gently, in that familiar, thoughtful way. “Not yet,” he echoed your words, his gaze tracking your lips as they formed words. 

“Bucky,” you whispered. He wouldn’t hear it if he wasn’t watching. But he was, he was always watching you. 

Your name fell from his tongue like a prayer. You’d never heard him sound like that. But he said it again, his metal palm sliding heavily across the side of your head, pushing back hair as the rain made it slide free. 

Your foreheads knocked together. 

What were you doing? 

You could feel his eyelashes flutter shut against your eyebrow. You could feel how cold his skin was. Your face slid against his, your temples touching as you leaned into one another. His heated breath fanned against your cheek.

His strong nose dragged against your cheekbone as he turned into your face.

He repeated your name again, soft and weak.

“Bucky…” You didn’t know what you wanted to say. You didn’t know what you were doing.

You just knew you didn’t want to stop. 

His lips brushed the corner of your mouth.

A gasp trembled in your chest. Your fingers nearly slipped from his shoulder. 

His tongue grazed your skin as he licked his lips. 

Thunder rumbled in the sky, trembling and rocking the earth.

His eyes flew open, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. Metal fingers tugged gently at the hair on the base of your neck. You rocked your face into his, where his mouth dragged against your cheek. Rough stubble scratched your skin raw. 

A soft, broken noise hitched in his throat. 

You slid a hand up the back of his neck, pushing into his hair. You turned into him, pushing your forehead to his. You dragged your nails against his scalp. 

A trembling sigh fell against your lips. 

“Bucky,” you called, gently petting his skin. Lightning slashed in the sky, sharp and blinding. Like a trance broken, the bruising grip on your body released. He gasped wetly into the space between you. His arm slid around your waist, and then you weren’t holding yourself up at all. 

Bucky held your body against his, tremors wracking his muscles beneath the water. His head dropped to your shoulder as he sucked in a sharp breath.

Your dazed hand slipped down the nape of his neck as you caught your breath. 

“I-” Bucky’s voice crackled against your neck, quiet and careful. He shook his head. “I’m s-” He swallowed, droplets of water spilling over his lips. He swayed with the water, almost wishing he had something to lean on- something to hold his weight while he held yours.

“We should head back,” you whispered beneath the roar of the weather.

He dipped his chin to his chest, staring at his distorted reflection between you. He nodded helplessly. “Yeah.” He whispered, barely audible. 

Thunder rumbled again. A breeze shook leaves from the trees. You squeezed your eyes shut against the rain, trying desperately to catch your breath, from whatever that was.

You felt the need to run, to hide, to play pretend. 

But there was no hiding from Bucky. 

There was no lying to him, or smothering whatever this was that took up space in your chest. 

And as his touch trailed down your naked back, memorizing, you knew he understood the same thing. 

By the time you made it to shore, you were trembling so hard you could barely stand. But that didn’t matter, because Bucky was there to hold you up. He was silent the whole swim back, his steady hands the only evidence he was still there.

You gathered your clothes from where they stuck to mud, your fist shaking with your tight grip. Bucky’s hand slid down your naked waist, his brows pinched in concern as you trembled. Though, when you met his gaze, he almost recoiled. Embarrassment- vulnerability- flashed behind those familiar blue eyes. 

He tugged his lip between his teeth. His hand slid away from your waist. You followed his distant gaze as he glanced at his hut. You could imagine the escape he was working out in his head. 

But he couldn't run from you. Not really. “Buck,” you called his name. He almost didn’t hear it over the rain. “Bucky,” you called out, his gaze snapped to yours. Your heart thundered in your chest with the force of the sky, beating in time with the scattered rain. His throat bobbed visibly. 

Your soaking clothes slid from your hand. 

His cheek twitched with the frail restraint that held him together. That kept him in one piece.

But you didn’t want to see the mask. The shotty glue that kept his pieces slotted together in what resembled the man he should be. 

You didn’t want that Bucky.

You wanted your Bucky.

Your freezing hands slid up the expanse of his chest, your smooth palm cradling his jaw. His spine gave in as he leaned into you, heavy and barely breathing. 

“Fuck-” his voice trembled into the space between you as he collapsed into your body. You sucked in a sharp breath as he tugged you into him, his strong arms curling around you.

His calloused fingers slid into your hair and yanked you close. 

His lips dragged against your cheek. 

Through all the pain and loss you’d endured, you often thought nothing mattered. You thought you’d lost everything, and your life was doomed to fade into the shadows. 

You thought darkness had overtaken everything you ever cared about.

But now, standing in the rain, soaking wet, cradled by Bucky, you realized how wrong you were. 

As Bucky’s lips pressed to yours in a bruising kiss, you realized how worth it it all was.

You gasped into his mouth, his tongue filling the gap. His hand trembled against your jaw, where he cradled you close. He groaned softly, the sound spreading over your tongue as you tasted him.

A fiery, swelling longing spread through your chest, melting the ice that coated your flesh. You held the back of his head with barely there control, your nails dragging down his scalp. 

You could feel him whine against your lips, his metal arm winding around your back. He hiked you up against him, your toes barely grazing the floor.

You dragged your lips against his in a heated, tender kiss. Plush and bruising and wet. The words you both felt helpless to say burned into each other's skin with each touch. Your tongue dragged over his, soft and careful between brushes of lips. 

His teeth nipped at your lip, his body begging to bring you closer- closer than physically possible. 

Your feet left the ground as he straightened. His steel fingers slid over the curve of your ass, dragging your thigh up to wrap around him. You panted against his tongue, curling your body around him. You brushed his hair back from where it stuck to your cheeks. 

Bucky let out a choked off sound when your ankles locked around his hips. You swallowed the taste of him. 

You were moving, you realized, as he ducked below the short entry to his hut. The lack of rain hit you instantly, making you shiver against him. He dragged his scarred palm down your throat in a soothing touch. 

His stubble scraped your face raw as he pressed closer, begging to consume you. He groaned into your mouth as your hands wandered, your slick skin sliding together. 

The slow friction made him pant, warmth and tender touch tearing down his walls. His knees nearly buckled when your tongue stroked over his, your palm dragging over his Adam's apple. 

It was like a spell was cast over you both, or like one was broken. Like all the control and restraint and bottled emotions broke free. Like all the fear and care and longing was too much.

His skin felt raw and ablaze beneath your touch, shaken with tremors and terrified. 

Terrified, but oh so free. 

Bucky gently pressed your body into his mattress, his large body blanketing yours. You felt suffocated and safe all at once. Like the air around you was new and sacred, but fizzling thinner by the second. 

Bucky muttered your name against your lips, pressing and nipping and worshiping. You nearly sobbed when he gently sucked on your tongue. 

His palms dragged down your waist, pinning you steady. But it wasn’t you who was shaking, it was him.

It was him who was falling apart, piece by piece, wrecked and broken and whole all at once. The tender vulnerability he carried around you was cracked raw in a whole new way, and it was like that soft core inside of him was bleeding.

He was bleeding and he couldn’t breathe. He was falling and he couldn’t catch himself. With each drag of his tongue, and each plush press of his lips, he was breaking.

Breaking apart and open, never to be sealed again. 

He groaned into your mouth, pressing his weight onto you, smothering you with his overwhelming presence. You gasped, barely catching shallow breaths between his achingly raw kisses.

“B- Mm-” You sucked gently at his bottom lip, pulling a wrecked sound from his chest. He let out a noise- one so deeply close to a sob- against your tongue. 

You slid your cold hands along his jaw, thumbs swiping droplets of water from his cheeks. His heavy breath felt warm against your flesh. You stroked his cheek, petting him. 

“Bucky…” You whispered, your other hand pressing gently against his nape. “Bucky,” you called, allowing him to clumsily nip at your jaw. 

With each scattered breath, you stroked down his spine, chanting his name like a prayer. His body was wracked with tremors, emotions bubbling hot and high. 

You called his name again as his tongue swept over the hinge of your jaw. His breath hitched. His strong hands pressed into your hips. He swallowed hard, his nose tracing a line along your throat. He couldn’t catch his breath. 

“Breathe,” you whispered. You slowly wrapped your fingers around his scarred wrist, then dragged it to the narrow space between you. You slid his palm against your breastbone, pressing his touch over your heart. “Breathe.”

He swallowed, his body sagging further into yours. His lips pressed to your pulse point, feeling the steady beat. You felt the trembling puffs of breath against your skin. 

You slowly inhaled, your racing heart struggling to slow. You tried to pretend you were grounded, but god was it hard- with him, like this.

Bucky’s bionic arm made a clicking noise as plates shifted. His fingers gently released the bruising grip. 

You held him close, stroking his wet hair back as he pressed close. You didn’t want him to pull away. You didn’t want this to end. But he needed to catch his breath. 

He made a soft noise against your throat. You pressed a tender kiss to the crown of his head. He sighed against you. His cold metal palm dragged down the outside of your thigh in a comforting motion. 

Bucky’s fingers twitched against your chest, pressing closer. He took slow breaths in time with yours, his eyes closed as he listened. Rain crashed gently against the fresh straw of the hut, trailing off and pooling in the grass outside. 

You trailed a hand down Bucky’s back, petting his cold skin. He trembled, whether from the weather, or from his own panic, you didn’t know. You never really knew what was going on in his head.

And neither did he, as he pressed you into the mattress, cradling you close. He couldn’t make sense of himself. Of what you’d done. Of what he felt.

He knew he felt something. Something foreign and warm and achingly tender. Something reserved just for you. 

He knew when he saw you, he felt he could breathe easier. He knew the feeling of your touch trailing over his skin felt like electricity. He knew the sound of your voice made him feel safe. 

That you made him feel safe. In a way nothing ever had. 

He knew he didn’t want to lose you. He didn’t want to break you. Break this. 

He pressed his wet lips to your throat, his eyes squeezed shut against his racing mind. You shushed him quietly, pressing your cheek to the crown of his head. 

You wouldn’t let him retreat. You wouldn’t let him run. 

So he sank into you and sighed shakily against your skin. The tension rippling down his spine eased, just a fraction.

You swallowed your words and did what you knew how to do best; be there.

A/N: It happened!!!!! I hope you guys like how it worked out. I originally wasn't intending on having them kiss yet, but it just felt right. It felt safe, and ready. Comment your thoughts! 18+ MDNI

Wanna add again, that if you are a minor or have an empty/ageless bio, please no not interact. Thank you.

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[catladyoftheyr]

Emergency Contact (Gojo x reader)

A/N: I have a lot of smut in the drafts but I felt called to write something cute for my man tonight. Pg-13, brief mentions of intimacy. Something short and silly! Warnings for pregnancy, birth, children, broken nose

You often wondered how you’d ended up where you were in life. A loving husband and two young children, with a third on the way. Married to the legendary Jujutsu Sorcerer, Satoru Gojo.

One of the biggest draws to your husband was his silliness. On your wedding day he had removed your garter with his teeth and then promptly flung it at Nanami Kento. He was quick to crack jokes and never strayed away from playful banter with you.

You often found yourself being the one to take care of him on nights out, cradling a drunken Satoru while he cooed about how much he loved you. He’d come home and collapse onto the couch before you could coax him into bed. The strongest sorcerer couldn’t handle his liquor and you would laugh softly as you pulled a blanket over him and kissed him goodnight. In the mornings you’d find him rummaging through the kitchen, barefoot and disheveled, gathering the ingredients to what he swore would cure a hangover.

Satoru loved to show his passion in the bedroom, but was never able to stay serious for too long. He had a variety of novelty boxers, with patterns ranging from eggplants to cartoon characters. He loved to kiss down your stomach during foreplay and catch you off guard by blowing a raspberry on your navel. You had been lounging in bed in your skivvies before and he’d driven a hot wheels car down your back and over your rear end.

When pregnancy came into the equation, he tried every odd craving you had with glee. You’d watch him fight back a gag when you fed him peanut butter covered pickles and raw lemon slices. He came to every appointment and watched in awe as his children moved on the ultrasound screen. When your water had broken In a corn maze several weeks earlier than expected he’d practically barreled toward the exit to get to the car. When he’d watched his daughter crowning in the hospital room his face had gone sheet white and he’d nearly fainted.

Gojo claimed his title with pride when it came to being the fun dad. Your home became overrun with pillow forts and plus animals. Fits of laughter rang through the air as Satoru tickled his son and daughter, tiny voices screeching with glee. One afternoon Satoru had offered to take the kids to a trampoline park while you finished up some work in your office. You braced yourself for the worst when you saw your husband contact flash across your phone screen. When a tiny voice was on the other end of the line you had to fight back laughter as your eldest daughter explained “daddy broke his nose”. You arranged for Kento to take your children home while you drive Satoru to the emergency room.

You once again wondered how the man with an ice pack to his swollen nose sitting in the hospital waiting room had become your emergency contact.

[chimcess]

The Lost Boys || jjk

Chapter One: Welcome to Santa Carla Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre: Vampire!AU, Action, Horror, Suspense, Drama, Thriller, Comedy, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, ANGST, Fluff, Smut Other Tags: Human!Jungkook, Thrall!Jungkook, Thrall!Reader, Vampire!Jimin, Vampire!Taehyung, Vampire!Yoongi, Young!Namjoon, Young!Seokjin Word Count: 27.8k+ Summary: Teenage brothers Jungkook and Jung-Hyun relocate with their mother to a quiet town in Northern California. As Jung-Hyun bonds with two like-minded comic book enthusiasts, Namjoon and Seokjin, the more brooding Jungkook becomes captivated by Y/N. However, he soon discovers that Y/N is entangled with Jimin, the charismatic leader of a dangerous local vampire gang. Warnings: Death, Blood drinking, vampire attack, emotional manipulation, mind manipulation, mean vampires, vampires acting like vampires, star-crossed lovers, mates, teen angst, dubious consent, oral (f receiving), conspiracy theorist teenage boys, self-hatred, depression, crying, self-blame, Jimin is not a good person, none of them are, because they're all vampires, banter, running away, missing people, ignoring red flags, strong language, voyeurism A/N: I've been in my movie bag recently, and thought why not do one of my favorite movies of all time? The Lost Boys holds so much sentimental value for me. I remember watching it with my dad when I was little, and it's held a special place in my heart as an avid horror fan ever since. I hope I was able to convey that with this mini-series. Thanks so much for reading.

masterlist || next

The ocean stretched endlessly into the horizon, shimmering like diamonds beneath the pale, unblinking gaze of the moon. Each ripple on its restless surface danced with the ghost of starlight, alive and undulating with a rhythm as ancient as the earth itself. Waves rolled forward in a relentless ballet, their foamy crests glowing faintly in the moonlight before crashing against the shore with a soothing sound. Along the coastline, bonfires blazed fiercely, their flames licking the air as if trying to grasp the infinite night. Shadows played across the sand, flickering and elongating, casting a warm, golden hue on the faces of those who gathered around them. The air was heavy with salt and the tang of wood smoke, alive with laughter.

Just beyond the glow of the fires, the Santa Carla Boardwalk was packed. It was chaos and wonder wrapped together, a carnival of sound, light, and motion. Neon signs blinked in dizzying patterns, their colors reflecting off the ocean like shards of stained glass. The Ferris Wheel loomed large against the velvet sky, its glowing, lazy rotations casting halos of light onto the water below. The air was thick with the mingling scents of caramel corn, fried dough, and the faint metallic tang of machinery. Laughter and screams of delight collided with the booming bass of carnival music. Arcades buzzed and chimed, their flashing screens enticing would-be champions, while thrill rides screeched and spun, their passengers caught in a mix of terror and exhilaration. The boardwalk was alive—an unapologetic display of everything Santa Carla had to offer.

Near the center of the boardwalk stood the carousel house, its ornate structure glowing softly beneath strings of twinkling bulbs. Inside, the calliope wheezed out its hauntingly cheerful tune, a melody that felt slightly too jaunty against the restless energy the night carried. Painted horses and gilded benches spun in a slow circle, their colors worn but vibrant under the flickering lights. Children laughed as they climbed onto the carousel, while teenagers lounged carelessly, their voices loud and unrestrained. But the scene wasn’t all innocence. Looming at the edge of the carousel were the Swell Brigade, a pack of self-proclaimed kings of the beach, their arrogance as bold as the slogans stamped across their T-shirts: My Beach, My Wave. They moved as if they owned the boardwalk, laughing too loud, their swagger unmistakable.

Then, as if on cue, they appeared. Just outside of the lights and glamour, four teenage boys stood watching as people passed by.

The Lost Boys, a small rival group who did not seem intimidated by the Brigade as much as the others. The surfers all noticed when they arrived, as it was always at night, and the boys carried a strange, almost feral quality when they came to the Boardwalk.

Jimin was the first to step into the light, his tall, commanding presence impossible to ignore. He moved with a fluid confidence, a magnetism that turned heads instinctively. His smile was faint but piercing, and his hair was the color of freshly picked cotton. His pale skin matched the other three’s, and his eyes were black. They almost seemed hungry as he followed a particularly pretty girl as she passed by completely unaware of his presence.

 Behind him, Taeyang, Yoongi, and Taehyung followed, each of them striking in their own way. They didn’t walk so much as glide, their movements casual but calculated, each step perfectly synchronized. Taehyung and Taehyung both had dark, black hair with equally sharp and pale faces. Yoongi was the softest in the group, his eyes the only thing carrying edge, and his skin the palest of the four. He had dark bags under his eyes and seemed perpetually bored.

Greg, the self-proclaimed king of the Swell Brigade, lounged on a carousel bench, his arm slung tightly around Shelly as if she were a trophy rather than his girlfriend. His smirk was a challenge, cold and smug, his eyes fixed on the group lingering too close to his territory. He despised the Lost Boys. Always skulking around the boardwalk like they owned the place. Freaks.

But Shelly’s gaze had wandered. Her eyes lingered just a little too long on Jimin—curiosity flickering like the bonfire's glow in her pupils. Jimin caught her look and smiled, warm yet distant, like he knew something Greg didn’t.

Greg’s smirk faltered. His grip on Shelly’s arm tightened, his fingers digging into her skin. When Yoongi passed too close, Greg saw his opportunity. With deliberate carelessness, he stretched out his foot and caught Yoongi’s ankle.

Yoongi stumbled, nearly sprawling face-first into the sand before catching himself. He shot Greg a murderous glare, knuckles clenching at his sides.

"Watch where you're walking, asshole," Greg drawled, his grin wide and mean.

Yoongi took a step forward, eyes flashing, but Jimin appeared beside him, placing a calming hand on his arm. Jimin moved like smoke, his presence quiet yet undeniable. He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t need to. Just standing there was enough to still Yoongi’s brewing anger.

The Swell Brigade shifted uneasily. A few had started laughing, but now their chuckles faltered. The Lost Boys weren’t loud or showy, but there was something unsettling about them. Something sharp, like walking barefoot on glass and not knowing when you’d get cut.

“Do we have a problem?” Jimin asked, voice smooth yet sharp. His dark eyes locked onto Greg’s.

Greg sneered. "Yeah, we sure do."

“And what would that be, dickhead?” Taehyung cut in, stepping closer with a lopsided grin. His squared smile stretched too wide, and the exaggerated amusement in his face made Greg’s stomach twist. Taehyung always looked like he was halfway between a joke and something much worse.

Greg shook it off. "Eyes off my girl, Casper."

The Swell Brigade laughed, but when Yoongi and Taehyung joined in, their chuckles died awkwardly. Taehyung’s grin was far too pleased, and Yoongi’s smile looked predatory, sharp and glinting.

“Casper?” Jimin chuckled. “That’s a good one. How long did it take you to come up with that joke?”

Shelly stifled a giggle behind her hand. Taehyung’s eyes flicked to her, and he winked, smug and deliberate. Shelly’s cheeks flushed crimson as she turned her face away.

Greg’s face darkened. His grip on Shelly’s arm turned to a shove, pushing her away from him so roughly she stumbled.

“You’re making eyes at them now?” he barked, voice rising. “Are you kidding me? You’re into these pale freaks who smell like they’ve been rotting behind a dumpster?”

“I-I wasn’t—” Shelly stammered, her voice trembling. Her eyes were wide and wet, but Greg cut her off before the tears could spill.

“Leave the lady alone,” Jimin said, stepping forward. His voice was calm, but there was steel in it now.

Greg spun on him, face twisted with rage. “Stay out of this.”

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to respect women?” Jimin’s voice stayed cold and even, his eyes glinting like a knife's edge. "Especially the ones you claim to love."

Greg’s face turned blotchy with anger. His fists clenched, shoulders rising. For a moment, it seemed like he’d swing. The Lost Boys stiffened, ready to retaliate.

Then the security guard appeared, lumbering into view with a flashlight in hand.

He was massive, his uniform straining at the seams, and he carried his nightstick with the authority of someone who believed himself untouchable. He wasted no time, striding forward and jabbing the tip of the stick against Jimin’s throat.

“I thought I told you to stay off the boardwalk,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that silenced the scene.

For a moment, Jimin didn’t move. His dark eyes locked onto the guard’s, unwavering. It was a battle of wills, a moment stretched taut. Then, slowly, that same disarming smile appeared on Jimin’s face.

“Come on,” he said softly to his friends, his voice calm and unbothered. “Let’s go.”

The guard’s gaze followed them, a mix of relief and suspicion etched across his face. Then he turned to Greg and the Swell Brigade. “You too. Off the boardwalk. Now.”

Greg hesitated, his wounded pride flickering across his features. Someone called his name and grabbed his arm. Reluctantly, Greg and his crew shuffled away, their bravado deflated.

Jimin turned to Shelly, his voice softer now.

“You okay?”

Shelly nodded weakly, brushing her hair back from her face. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Thanks.”

Jimin gave her a small smile and turned away, disappearing into the dark with his strange little group. The wind picked up, stirring the bonfire’s flames higher. Shelly lingered a moment longer, still staring after him.

Taehyung threw a look at her over his shoulder, and Shelly couldn’t help but smile.

“Come find me,” he shouted, his smile dazzling and radiant.

“I see you now,” she countered.

Detaching himself from the other three, Taehyung made his way over. Shelly seemed hypnotized by his presence and did not hesitate to take his outstretched hand.

As they walked away together, Taehyung grinned over his shoulder at Jimin. "See you boys later."

Jimin shook his head, unimpressed. "Back before sunrise," he muttered.

"Always, boss," Taehyung shot back, beaming. “Hope you three are just as lucky.”

"We will be," Jimin deadpanned, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Taeyang already saw something he liked earlier. We’re going to help him find her.”

“I found mine,” Taehyung leaned into Shelly, sniffing her hair. The ginger sighed dreamily, clutching his hand even tighter. “And she looks delicious.”

Jimin’s smile sharpened. “Enjoy your snack,” he called. “We’re in the mood for something... a little more fattening.”

Laughing darkly, the three of them melted into the shadows, leaving the boardwalk behind.

The boardwalk emptied soon after, the carnival’s vibrant energy fading as the rides powered down one by one. The neon lights blinked out, plunging the scene into a hollow, eerie darkness. Even the calliope music stuttered and stopped, leaving only the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Somewhere in the distance, the ocean shimmered on, indifferent and eternal.

The vast, empty parking lot stretched out like a graveyard of concrete, illuminated by the cold, flickering glow of a single streetlamp. The security guard leaned against his car door, phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low and tired.

“Yeah, I’ll be home soon,” he muttered. His gaze swept the lot, scanning the shadows like he expected something to lunge from the dark. “I just had to deal with those weird kids again... Yeah, those ones. They’re always hanging around.”

He paused, fingers drumming anxiously on his car roof. “No, no. Don’t wait up. I’ll grab something on the way home.” His voice dropped even lower. “Yeah... love you too.”

The call ended with a soft beep. He exhaled sharply and stuffed the phone into his pocket. The strange tension that had clung to the air all night seemed to thicken. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it felt wrong. Heavy.

He fumbled for his keys, fingers trembling slightly. His nerves felt shot, frayed at the edges by too many unsettling encounters on the boardwalk. The sound of his own breathing felt too loud in the quiet.

Then came a gust of wind—a rush of air so sudden and sharp it felt like the night itself had exhaled. It swirled around him, stirring up loose papers and dust, and with it came a sound. A screech, high-pitched and unnatural, like nails dragged across glass. The sound dissolved almost instantly, replaced by something worse: whispers.

They were soft, maddeningly quick, and layered over each other in a chaotic symphony. Words melted into words, impossible to parse, like a language spoken by something that had only recently learned how to mimic human speech. The guard’s breath hitched, his instincts screaming at him to move, to run. But fear rooted him in place. His head snapped up as he turned in all directions, eyes darting wildly for the source of the noise.

The whispers stopped.

In that split second of silence, he caught movement—a flicker of something above him. His lips parted, ready to shout, but he never got the chance.

It happened so fast. One moment, he was standing there, and the next, he was gone. Yanked upward into the night with such force that his body blurred, a flash of dull blue uniform vanishing into the blackness above. His lunch pail hit the asphalt with a metallic clang, bouncing once, twice, before settling on its side.

The silence returned, but this time it was charged, alive with the aftermath of something unnatural. The lot was empty again, save for the lunch pail and the eerie hum of the streetlamp. The wind shifted toward the beach, where the waves lapped against the shore with quiet indifference, as if nothing at all had happened.

Then came the sound of impact.

A sickening thud echoed across the shoreline. The guard’s body landed in the wet sand, a lifeless heap. He was grotesque now, drained of all the vitality that had once defined him. His skin was ashen, his face sunken, his eyes wide open in a glassy stare of horror. Veins snaked darkly across his deflated form, as if the blood within him had been pulled out with vicious precision. He looked hollow, almost weightless, like a balloon someone had sucked the air from but left untied.

Jimin crouched over the body, his lips stained a deep crimson, his breath heavy with exhilaration. The predatory gleam in his eyes flickered like molten gold under the moonlight. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood further, and grinned—a grin that was equal parts satisfaction and hunger, because for Jimin, the kill was never just about feeding. It was about the thrill of the hunt, the raw power that coursed through him every time he took a life.

Behind him, the others emerged from the shadows, their figures half-illuminated by the moonlight. Taeyang walked with an easy swagger, dragging his fingers through his dark hair as his sharp, gleaming fangs caught the light. Yoongi stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes glinting with approval. Taehyung leaned casually against a nearby boulder, his lips curled into a smirk as he observed the scene.

“That was messy,” Taeyang remarked, his voice low and smooth, tinged with dark amusement.

Jimin tilted his head, the grin never leaving his face. “Messy’s more fun,” he replied, licking a smear of blood from his thumb.

“Not for him,” Taehyung quipped, gesturing to the deflated corpse on the sand. The four of them erupted into quiet laughter, the sound sharp and mocking, a stark contrast to the quiet, lifeless night.

“Careful, Jimin,” Yoongi said, his voice honeyed but laced with warning. “You’re going to draw too much attention. We don’t need another hunt interrupted by cops.” 

Jimin stood, brushing sand from his knees as he turned to face Yoongi.

“Let them come,” he said, his tone daring, almost eager. “They’ll end up just like him.” He jerked his chin toward the body without looking, as if it were nothing more than a discarded piece of trash. 

The group moved closer to the shore, the waves crashing softly at their feet as the horizon began to pale with the first hints of dawn. They weren’t afraid of the approaching light—Santa Carla’s rocky cliffs and endless network of caves provided all the cover they needed. But even as the stars began to fade, the night still felt alive, charged with the chaos they left in their wake.

"So," Jimin asked, casually wiping his mouth again and adjusting his jacket with practiced ease, "how did you boys fare tonight?" His tone was light, but there was something colder, sharper beneath it, a sense of curiosity laced with a silent challenge.

Taehyung flashed a wide grin, his teeth gleaming white in the dim light. "I had a sip from Shelly," he said, his voice smooth, a dark chuckle rising in his chest. "Just enough to keep her docile. She won’t remember a thing by morning. Poor thing. She thinks she's in love with me." He let out a low, sinister laugh. "Humans are so easy to manipulate."

Yoongi’s laugh joined in, a low, almost animalistic sound rumbling in his chest as he leaned against the hood of a nearby car, his eyes glowing faintly in the shadows. “Yang and I found a couple parked near the cliffside,” he said, his voice still smooth but with an edge of satisfaction. “You should’ve seen their faces when I knocked on the window. Priceless.”

Taehyung’s grin widened, amusement dancing in his eyes. “And you shared?”

Yoongi shrugged lazily, the movement almost feline in its grace. “Seemed fair enough. We were hungry.”

Taeyang, who had been standing off to the side, grinned, his sharp features illuminated by the fading moonlight. “They were pretty drunk,” he added, his voice light with amusement. “Hardly even struggled. They didn’t know what hit ‘em.”

“And the car?” Jimin asked, his smile turning sharper, more predatory as he turned his gaze toward Taeyang. His curiosity was evident, but there was also something darker, a hunger in his eyes.

Taeyang’s grin turned wicked, colder than before. "Off the cliff," he said, his words slow and deliberate. "Tomorrow morning, when they fish it out, they’ll think the brakes failed. An accident. No one will ask any questions. It’ll be perfect."

Jimin’s approval was evident in his low murmur, a satisfied smile curling on his lips. "Nice," he said, his voice smooth like silk, his eyes glinting with something dangerous.

Yoongi stretched lazily, his silhouette dark and sharp against the pale light of the dying moon. His expression was relaxed, and a light smile spread across his face when Taehyung made his way over and kissed his cheek. "We should go," he said, his voice calm. "The night’s over."

Jimin glanced back at the body one final time, his grin melting into something far colder, more deliberate. The playful tone faded from his eyes as they turned steely, calculating. “Not for him,” he murmured, the words slipping out like a promise as he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows.

The waves continued to crash rhythmically against the shore, sweeping away the traces of the night’s activities, erasing the evidence left in the sand. The parking lot was silent once again, as though the horrors that had taken place there had never occurred. And as the sun began to rise, casting the first pale light over Santa Carla, the town stirred to life, blissfully unaware of the monsters that roamed the night.

Morning arrived on the Pacific Coast as it always did—effortlessly golden, washing the world in a soft, honeyed glow. The sound of waves crashing against the shore blended with the distant cries of gulls circling overhead, painting the perfect picture of a summer day. Along the coastal highway, a beat-up Land Rover rumbled steadily, towing a tired-looking U-Haul trailer. The vehicle was laden with the weight of more than just luggage—it carried the heavy, complicated promise of a fresh start. A new beginning. Or so Wanda Jeon liked to tell herself.

The Land Rover hugged the curves of the road as the ocean sparkled to one side, its surface catching the morning light like scattered diamonds. On the other side, jagged cliffs jutted up toward the endless sky, rugged and untamed. Wanda Jeon gripped the wheel casually, her tanned arm resting out the window, her dark hair fluttering in the salt-tinged breeze. She liked the feel of the air on her skin, even if the wind whipped in too aggressively. It was better than the stale, oppressive stillness she had left behind in the Midwest. This was freedom—or as close to it as a single mother dragging her two sons across the country in a car on its last legs could get.

Her given name was Won-Young, but no one called her that anymore. Not since high school, when her family first moved to California and she’d chosen “Wanda” as a way to make herself fit into a world that didn’t seem to have space for her. Even now, years later, the name stuck. No one but her late mother had called her Won-Young in years, and even her father avoided it. Wanda exhaled, shaking off the weight of the thought.

In the passenger seat, Jung-Hyun, her eleven-year-old, sat slouched with his arms crossed, a scowl firmly etched onto his face. The boy had mastered the art of disdain early, and he wore it like a badge. Outside the car window, the Pacific stretched endlessly, blue and shimmering, but Jung-Hyun regarded it with the same irritation he reserved for vegetables. “What’s that smell?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

“That,” Wanda replied, inhaling deeply through her nose, “is the ocean. Salty, fresh, alive—nothing like it.”

“It smells like something died,” Jung-Hyun deadpanned, leaning further away from the window.

In the backseat, Jungkook, her seventeen-year-old, was no more cheerful. He lounged in sullen silence, his headphones firmly in place and his arms folded across his chest. Bam, his oversized Doberman, lay sprawled beside him, taking up more than his fair share of the seat. Bam’s massive head rested on Jungkook’s lap, the dog snoring softly, oblivious to the tension in the car.

Jungkook shifted slightly but didn’t bother removing his headphones. His dark eyes stared out the window, seeing everything but taking in nothing. Wanda glanced at him in the rearview mirror. He was a walking storm cloud, and no amount of sunshine from the Pacific Coast seemed capable of breaking through.

“We’re getting close,” Wanda said, her voice bright and hopeful.

“Great,” Jungkook muttered, though his tone suggested otherwise.

Jung-Hyun wrinkled his nose again and pointed out the window. “What’s with all the bikers?”

Wanda craned her neck and spotted a pack of motorcycles roaring past them, their riders clad in leather and denim, tattoos snaking up their arms. They disappeared into the distance, their engines growling like thunder.

“Welcome to California,” she said lightly, her attempt at humor falling flat.

The Land Rover crested a hill, and the town of Santa Carla came into view. It unfolded below them like a postcard, all charm and energy. The boardwalk stretched along the beach, dotted with colorful shops, carnival rides, and a steady stream of tourists and locals weaving through the crowd. Beyond it, the ocean sparkled invitingly, waves rolling toward the shore in endless rhythm. The town seemed alive, buzzing with the kind of vibrancy that only summer could bring.

Up ahead, a billboard loomed over the highway. Its cheerful, brightly painted letters read: Welcome to Santa Carla. Beneath it, the slogan promised endless fun: The Beach, The Boardwalk, The Perfect Summer. But as they passed the sign, Jungkook twisted in his seat, catching a glimpse of the back. Spray-painted in jagged black letters were the words: MURDER CAPITAL OF THE WORLD.

He stared at it for a long moment, his brows furrowing. But he didn’t say anything.

The car rolled into town, navigating the narrow streets lined with surf shops, diners, and street performers. Wanda pulled into a gas station near the boardwalk, its pumps weathered and faded but functional. She stepped out of the car, stretching her legs as she grabbed the nozzle to fill the tank.

Jung-Hyun practically bolted from the car, his earlier disdain forgotten as he caught sight of the boardwalk. “Mom! There’s an amusement park! Right on the beach!” he called, his voice tinged with rare excitement.

“That’s the boardwalk,” Wanda explained, smiling despite herself. “We’ll go later.”

Jung-Hyun groaned but didn’t argue, already craning his neck to take in the roller coasters and Ferris wheel in the distance.

Jungkook, meanwhile, had stepped out of the car, heading toward the trailer with a purpose. He yanked open the U-Haul and rolled out his motorbike, a sleek Honda with chipped paint that still managed to look impressive.

“I need to stretch my legs,” he said, his voice flat as he brushed past Wanda and wheeled the bike onto the pavement.

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t disappear. Your grandfather’s expecting us, and we’ve got unpacking to do.”

Jungkook shrugged, the engine roaring to life beneath him. “I’ll be back,” he said, his tone not unkind, but distant.

Wanda sighed, watching as he sped off down the street, Bam barking in protest from the backseat. She ruffled the dog’s ears through the window before handing a crumpled five-dollar bill to Jung-Hyun.

“See those kids by the dumpster?” she said, nodding toward two gaunt teenagers rummaging through a trash bin nearby. “Give this to them. Tell them to get something to eat.”

Jung-Hyun frowned. “I thought we were poor.”

“Not that poor,” Wanda replied, her tone firm but gentle.

He hesitated, then jogged over to deliver the money. The teens looked up, startled, their hollow eyes lighting up briefly as they mumbled their thanks. Wanda watched them carefully, her expression softening. Something about them felt familiar—too familiar.

But before she could dwell on it, the sound of a distant carnival ride bell rang out, blending with the hum of the boardwalk. Santa Carla was alive with possibility, its surface dazzling and bright. But beneath it, something darker stirred. Wanda couldn’t feel it yet, but Jungkook had. And it was only a matter of time before they all did.

“Use some of it to call home!” Wanda shouted after the teenagers, her voice carrying across the gas station as they disappeared into the chaos of Santa Carla’s streets. One of them turned and waved, his gaunt face splitting into a grin.

“Hey, thanks, lady!” he called, his voice already fading into the hum of passing cars and the distant crash of waves.

Wanda watched them go, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she climbed back into the Land Rover. For a moment, her fingers lingered on the steering wheel, her gaze drifting to where the teenagers had been. “Those kids look like me twenty years ago,” she murmured, half to herself, her tone heavy with a mixture of nostalgia and something harder to define.

Jung-Hyun perked up from the passenger seat, glancing at her with a raised brow. “You mean when you ran away from home? Hitchhiked all the way to Berkeley? Spent the night freezing in Golden Gate Park and begged for spare change the next morning?”

Wanda groaned, leaning her head against the back of her seat before shooting him a playful glare. “You’ve heard this story before?”

“Only about a million times. I’m starting to think it happened to me,” he said dryly, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.

Wanda shook her head with a laugh, starting the car and pulling back onto the road. As the boardwalk faded into the distance behind them, she glanced in the rearview mirror. Santa Carla stretched out ahead, its secrets shimmering just out of reach, waiting for them to discover—or stumble upon—them.

The long, winding road that led to their destination seemed like it had been forgotten by time. Trees loomed on either side, their shadows stretching across the cracked asphalt as if trying to pull the Land Rover and its weary passengers into their embrace. The house appeared at the end of the road like a mirage—rugged, weatherworn, and sprawling. Its wood was dark and peeling, the paint long faded to a patchwork of gray and green.

“It looks like something out of a horror movie,” Jung-Hyun muttered as the car rolled to a stop, his eyes narrowing at the sagging porch.

The yard was wild and unkempt, overgrown grass swaying in the breeze as though it were alive. And there, on the porch, a figure slumped in an ancient rocking chair. He—or rather, it—was still, too still, with a wide-brimmed hat tilted low over his face and one hand dangling lifelessly off the armrest.

Wanda stepped out of the car, her boots crunching against the gravel as she shaded her eyes against the afternoon sun.

“That’s him?” Jungkook asked from behind her, his voice as unimpressed as ever. He pulled off his helmet, shaking his hair out in a way that was just a little too perfect, even in the glaring sunlight.

“That’s Harabeoji,” Wanda said, but there was hesitation in her voice.

“He looks dead,” Jungkook remarked flatly, leaning his weight against his bike as though he was ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

Wanda’s jaw tightened as she climbed the creaking steps, every one of them groaning under her weight. She paused, staring at the unmoving figure in the chair. Her fingers hesitated in midair before she finally reached out, her voice trembling just slightly. “Dad?”

Jung-Hyun leaned out of the car window, his expression somewhere between concern and opportunity. “If he’s dead, can we move back to Phoenix?”

Wanda shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass, but before she could speak, the man in the chair suddenly came to life. His head shot up, revealing twinkling eyes and a grin wide enough to split his weathered face in two.

“Playin’ dead,” Min-chul Jeon declared with a raspy chuckle. “And from what I heard, doin’ a damn good job of it, too.”

Wanda let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, laughing despite herself as she threw her arms around him. “God, Dad, you scared me!”

Min-chul patted her back, his voice warm. “Well, consider it payback for scarin’ me for the first twenty years of your life.”

Behind them, Jungkook and Jung-Hyun exchanged a glance, equal parts confusion and discomfort.

The interior of the house was exactly as Wanda had remembered—or maybe worse. Dust clung to every surface, catching the sunlight in golden motes that floated lazily through the air. The furniture looked like it had been there since the dawn of time, upholstered in fabrics that had seen better decades. Every available surface was cluttered with trinkets and oddities—wooden carvings, jars filled with mysterious contents, and stacks upon stacks of books, their spines cracked and faded.

“Cool place,” Jungkook muttered, dragging his weights through the door. He paused long enough to do a few bicep curls, the veins in his arms bulging unnecessarily.

“Can’t even go five minutes without flexing,” Jung-Hyun quipped, carrying an armload of comic books that he promptly dumped onto the floor.

“Will you give Mom a break?” Jungkook shot back, leaning on the doorway with the ease of someone who knew he was stronger and taller.

Jung-Hyun rolled his eyes dramatically, flopping onto the couch with the kind of flair that only an eleven-year-old could muster. “Fine. But seriously, has anyone noticed? There’s no TV. No malls. No Wi-Fi. How am I supposed to live here? I won’t even have MTV!”

“Hey, we’re broke,” Jungkook reminded him, grabbing a box and hauling it toward the stairs.

“Even broke people have TVs,” Jung-Hyun grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Knock it off,” Wanda said from the porch, her voice cutting through their bickering like a whip.

Outside, Bam darted across the yard, barking excitedly as he explored every corner of his new domain. Wanda and Min-chul worked side by side, unloading the U-Haul with practiced efficiency.

“You know,” Min-chul said, lowering a heavy box to the ground, “most women I know improve their situation by getting divorced.”

Wanda let out a breathless laugh, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Yeah, well, a long court battle wouldn’t have helped anybody. It was time to move on.” She hesitated, glancing toward the house. “Thanks for letting us stay, Dad.”

Min-chul patted her shoulder, his grip firm but kind. “We’re family, kiddo. That’s what we do.”

From upstairs came the unmistakable sound of a scuffle, followed by Jung-Hyun’s indignant yell.

“This room’s mine!” Jungkook’s voice rang out, muffled but unmistakably smug.

“Over my dead body!”

A crash followed, and then the thundering of feet down the stairs as Jung-Hyun bolted for safety. He rounded the corner into the kitchen, his face red and his voice trailing behind him. “Help me, Mom! Help!”

From outside, Wanda’s voice floated back, dry and amused. “Soon.”

Jung-Hyun’s footsteps pounded against the wooden floor as he sprinted into the living room, his heart hammering in his chest. He could hear Jungkook’s heavy boots thudding just behind him, getting closer with each step. Desperation sharpened his instincts as he skidded to a stop in front of a pair of large sliding doors. Without thinking, he yanked them open, slipped inside, and slammed them shut behind him, pressing his back against the smooth wood.

For a moment, silence. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving, but he thought he might have gotten away. Relief began to wash over him—until he took a good look at his surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, which cast long, eerie shadows across the space. It was a grotesque museum of death. Mounted animal heads adorned every inch of the walls—deer, antelope, a bear, and even a wolf, its lips pulled back in a permanent snarl. Below them were rows of shelves cluttered with jars filled with glassy, disembodied eyes and scraps of fur. Boxes stacked high in the corners spilled over with tools and materials: wooden molds, needles, and what appeared to be half-finished animal bodies, their forms unsettlingly lifelike yet incomplete.

Jung-Hyun swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the macabre display. He felt like he’d stepped straight into a horror movie, the kind where the audience screams for the character to get out, but they never listen. His stomach churned. Were the eyes on the wolf following him? He took a shaky step back, only to trip over something solid and fleshy. An antelope’s severed head rolled across the floor, its lifeless glass eyes staring up at him.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, shuddering.

The moment shattered as the door behind him burst open. Jungkook strode in, his face a mixture of triumph and annoyance. His shadow loomed over the younger boy, cast long by the single bulb swaying above them.

“Gotcha,” Jungkook said, his voice low and smug.

Jung-Hyun scrambled backward, his foot catching on a discarded pelt. “This place is so freaking weird,” he muttered, his gaze darting to a raccoon frozen mid-snarl on the nearest shelf. “What is wrong with this house?”

Jungkook was about to fire back with one of his usual quips when a gruff voice cut through the tense silence.

“Rules!”

Both boys froze as Min-chul appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. He stood like a sentinel, his sharp gaze flicking between them. The room seemed to grow smaller under his presence.

“I told you to stay outta here,” Min-chul said, his voice carrying an edge that left no room for argument. “This room’s not for kids.”

Jung-Hyun and Jungkook glanced at each other, uneasy, but Min-chul didn’t linger. He jerked his head toward the hallway. “Come with me. Both of you.”

Reluctantly, they followed. Min-chul led them to the kitchen, where he threw open the refrigerator door with an exaggerated flourish. He pointed to the middle shelf, which was marked with a piece of cardboard and scrawled black marker: “Old Fart’s Shelf.”

“This here,” Min-chul declared, tapping the shelf with authority, “is mine. Root beer, double-thick Mint Oreos, and leftover brisket. Nobody touches this shelf. You hear me?”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow but nodded solemnly, while Jung-Hyun mumbled something that might have been agreement. Min-chul slammed the fridge shut, but the lecture wasn’t over. He pointed to the corner of the kitchen table, where an ancient, dog-eared copy of TV Guide sat.

“And when the mailman brings the TV Guide,” Min-chul continued, “sometimes the address label peels up on the corner. You’ll be tempted to pick at it. Don’t. You’ll ruin the cover.”

Jung-Hyun furrowed his brow. “You... still get the TV Guide?”

Min-chul shot him a look, his lips quirking upward in amusement. “I don’t have a TV. But if you read the TV Guide, you don’t need a TV.”

Jungkook bit his lip to keep from laughing, but Jung-Hyun’s jaw dropped in incredulity. Before either of them could comment, Min-chul gave a satisfied nod and disappeared back into the depths of the house, leaving the boys to exchange baffled looks.

“This guy is certifiable,” Jung-Hyun muttered.

“Certifiable,” Jungkook agreed, grinning.

As the evening stretched on, the house began to settle into its peculiar rhythm. The chaos of the day—the chasing, the strange rules, the taxidermy horrors—faded into the background, leaving a kind of quiet harmony in its place. In the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and running water filled the air as Wanda, Jungkook, and Jung-Hyun tackled the daunting mountain of post-dinner cleanup. The sink overflowed with suds, the counters were crowded with plates and pans, and Wanda’s trusty old radio sat perched on the windowsill, tuned to her favorite oldies station.

Jung-Hyun, elbow-deep in soap suds, worked at scrubbing a particularly stubborn baking dish. He scowled as he scraped at the caked-on residue, muttering under his breath. “What did you even cook in this, cement?”

Behind him, Jungkook smirked as he dried a stack of plates. “Maybe if you didn’t spend half of dinner whining about the vegetables, you’d know.”

“Whatever,” Jung-Hyun muttered, rolling his eyes.

Wanda, humming along to the music, seemed oblivious to the bickering. She had the cheerful energy of someone who genuinely enjoyed the mundane rituals of life, even doing dishes. Her voice rose and fell with the tunes on the radio, a little off-key but endearing all the same. Jung-Hyun had long ago complained that her station played nothing but “ancient songs no one under sixty cares about,” but Wanda had just laughed and cranked the volume.

And then, it happened.

The unmistakable opening notes of “Land of a Thousand Dances” crackled through the speakers, breaking through the background noise of running water and clinking dishes. Wanda froze mid-scrub, her eyes widening as if she’d just been struck by divine inspiration. Her face lit up, her expression transforming from tired to electric in an instant.

“Oh, you guys have no idea!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with glee. Without another word, she carefully set the dish she was holding down on the counter, wiped her hands on her apron, and spun around to face the boys. She clapped her hands in rhythm to the beat, her hips already swaying.

“This is the song,” she declared, her voice rising over the music. “Watch and learn.”

Before either of them could react, she launched into an energetic dance, clapping and twisting like she’d been transported back in time. Her movements were unselfconscious and full of joy, the kind of dancing that didn’t care if anyone was watching. She spun in place, kicking her feet and clapping above her head, all while grinning like a teenager at a school dance.

Jung-Hyun stared at her, wide-eyed. “What are you doing?” he asked, incredulous.

“This,” Wanda said, grabbing his hands before he could escape, “is pony time!”

With a tug, she pulled him away from the sink. At first, he stood stiff and mortified, his arms limp as she tried to swing them. “Mom, stop! This is so embarrassing!” he protested, glancing nervously at Jungkook, who was leaning casually against the counter, clearly enjoying the show.

But Wanda was relentless. She kicked her feet out in a ridiculous two-step, her laughter bubbling over as she swung her arms like she didn’t have a care in the world. “Come on, kiddo, loosen up!” she urged, spinning him in a clumsy circle.

Jung-Hyun’s mortification started to crack under the weight of her sheer joy. He caught her rhythm, stumbling at first but then tentatively swaying his hips to the beat. A grin began to creep onto his face, and he added a little bounce to his steps. Wanda cheered, clapping wildly, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

To his own surprise, Jung-Hyun let go. He mimicked Wanda’s moves, exaggerating them to ridiculous proportions—a wildly uncoordinated shimmy here, a dramatic spin there. Wanda doubled over laughing, nearly collapsing from the effort of keeping up.

“Jungkook!” Wanda called out, waving her arms to beckon him. “Come on, don’t be a party pooper!”

Jungkook shook his head, still holding a dish towel. “No way. You two look insane.”

“Don’t be lame,” Jung-Hyun said, his face flushed but grinning ear to ear. He threw in another exaggerated shimmy for good measure, making Wanda laugh so hard she had to clutch the counter to steady herself.

Wanda wasn’t about to give up. She danced closer to Jungkook, her hands on her hips. “You’re not too cool to dance with your family, are you?” she teased, her voice sing-song and playful.

Jungkook sighed dramatically, setting down the plate he’d been drying. “Fine,” he muttered, stepping forward. “But only so you’ll stop bugging me.”

At first, his movements were stiff and awkward. He shuffled his feet and swayed half-heartedly, his face betraying his discomfort. Wanda whooped, clapping her hands, while Jung-Hyun burst into laughter.

“Wow, you’ve got so much rhythm,” Jung-Hyun teased. “Maybe take it down a notch before you hurt yourself.”

Jungkook shot him a look, but gradually, his reluctance began to melt away. He copied Wanda’s spins and kicks, finding the beat in his own careful way. Slowly but surely, he began to loosen up, his lips twitching upward in spite of himself.

The three of them danced together, their laughter echoing through the kitchen. Wanda threw her arms up and clapped above her head, Jung-Hyun tried (and failed) to moonwalk across the tiles, and Jungkook broke into an exaggerated, awkward robot dance that sent Wanda into a fit of giggles.

Soap suds clung to their forearms, and their mismatched socks skidded across the wet floor, but none of them cared. The music blared, the dishes were forgotten, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the house was filled with pure, unrestrained joy.

By the time the song ended, all three of them were breathless, leaning against the counters and laughing so hard their sides hurt. The world outside, with all its weirdness and worries, felt miles away.

In that kitchen, with the radio still playing softly and the laughter lingering in the air, everything felt lighter.

The beach pulsed with life, alive with the energy of the night. Bonfires dotted the shore like beacons, their golden flames licking at the dark sky. The firelight danced on the waves, casting fleeting shadows that wove in and out of the frothy surf. The air was thick with the mingling scents of salt, smoke, and the faint tang of sunscreen lingering on sunburnt skin. Everywhere, people moved in chaotic clusters, talking too loud and laughing like the night would never end.

Jungkook and Jung-Hyun navigated the throng, weaving between groups sprawled on blankets or perched on coolers, dodging the occasional stray Frisbee. Jung-Hyun was preoccupied, fussing over his appearance with the nervous energy of someone painfully aware of how much they didn’t fit in. His shirt was crisp, the kind of brand-new that still carried faint fold lines, and he tugged at the sleeves like they didn’t belong to him. His hands repeatedly flew to his hair, smoothing it, ruffling it, then smoothing it again, as though he could bully the stubborn strands into submission.

“Stop fidgeting,” Jungkook said, his tone hovering somewhere between teasing and affectionate.

Jung-Hyun shot him a look, his lips pressed tight. “I can’t help it. My hair sucks. My clothes suck. I suck.”

Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re fine.”

“I want to change everything—my hair, my clothes, my face,” Jung-Hyun muttered, his voice muffled as he glared down at his sneakers.

Jungkook grinned, nudging him lightly. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply.

Jung-Hyun snorted, the words bouncing off him like rain on a windshield. But before he could argue, the music crashed over them, huge and consuming. They had reached the boardwalk steps, where a makeshift stage had been set up, and a rock band was tearing into a blistering set. The bass thrummed in the air, so heavy it felt like a second heartbeat.

The crowd here was different from the groups scattered on the beach. It wasn’t casual. It was raw, electric. People danced with abandon, their bodies moving like they were possessed by the rhythm. The energy was infectious, a kind of wild freedom that made Jung-Hyun falter for a moment, unsure if he wanted to dive in or retreat.

Jungkook, however, was unbothered. He guided them through the chaos, stepping over discarded cups and swerving around flailing arms as if he’d done it a hundred times before. The heat of the crowd, the press of bodies, the unrelenting noise—all of it blurred together into a haze of sound and motion.

And then, Jungkook saw her.

She was standing just outside the crowd, close enough to feel the pulse of the music but far enough to remain untouched by the frenzy. The first thing he noticed was how still she was, like the eye of a storm. Her hair fell in loose waves that caught the light of the stage, glowing like a halo against the darkness. She was tall, or maybe it was just the way she carried herself—self-assured in a way that made the world seem to tilt ever so slightly around her.

Her eyes were what stopped him.

Even from a distance, they drew him in, dark and deep and filled with something he couldn’t quite name. She wasn’t staring at the stage like everyone else; her gaze flicked across the crowd with a kind of detached curiosity, as if she were observing rather than participating. She didn’t look like she belonged to the chaos, but rather like she had been dropped into it by mistake.

She wasn’t alone. A boy stood beside her, younger than her, with a mop of dark hair and a face that seemed too perfect, too polished. He clung to her presence like a lifeline, but something about the way she stood—the slight angle of her body, the distance in her gaze—made it clear she wasn’t his. She wasn’t anyone’s.

Then, as if pulled by an invisible thread, her eyes lifted and met Jungkook’s.

In that moment, the world stopped.

The music faded to a dull hum, the crowd blurred into shadow, and it was just the two of them—two strangers suspended in a fleeting moment that felt more real than anything around them. Jungkook’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with something he couldn’t explain. He didn’t know her, but somehow, it didn’t feel like the first time he’d seen her. She wasn’t smiling, but there was something in her gaze that made the air between them hum.

A smile tugged at his lips, tentative and genuine. His heart thudded against his ribs, faster now, like it was trying to keep up with the energy of the moment.

She didn’t smile back.

Instead, her expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across her face. She turned away, reaching for the younger boy’s hand. Without a word, she slipped into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of moving bodies as quickly as she’d appeared.

Jungkook blinked, as if waking from a dream. The noise of the world rushed back in, sudden and overwhelming. He stood frozen for a moment, his pulse still racing, before grabbing Jung-Hyun by the arm.

“Come on,” he said, his voice sharp with urgency.

“What?” Jung-Hyun protested, stumbling to keep up as Jungkook pulled him toward the spot where she had vanished. “What’s going on? Where are we going?”

But Jungkook didn’t answer. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t put words to the pull he felt in his chest. All he knew was that he couldn’t just let her disappear. Not yet.

A few blocks away from the chaos of the beach, the pier was quieter, though it still buzzed with its own brand of energy. The sound of waves lapping against the pilings mixed with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. Wanda walked along the weathered wooden boards, her soft summer skirt twisting and snapping in the ocean breeze. Strings of fairy lights hung between the posts of waterfront restaurants, their reflections shimmering in the dark water below. The air smelled of fried food, saltwater, and the faint tang of gasoline drifting from nearby boat rental stands.

She passed a souvenir shop, its windows crammed with snow globes, gaudy seashell necklaces, and T-shirts printed with slogans like I Survived the Santa Carla Summer! Farther down, a man with wild gray hair and a tie-dye shirt stood atop a crate, gesturing wildly as he shouted into the night about peace, love, and some convoluted conspiracy involving UFOs and the local mayor. Wanda slowed her pace, amused by the spectacle.

Nearby, a tourist couple paused, watching the man with wide-eyed curiosity. Wanda stepped closer to them, her voice light and teasing as she said, “I think I dated that guy once.”

The couple laughed, startled, and Wanda smiled briefly before moving on. They melted into the crowd, swept away by the flow of people enjoying the warm summer evening.

Her smile faded as she approached a weathered kiosk plastered with layers of flyers. Most of them were the usual clutter—ads for fishing charters, yoga classes, and overpriced apartments—but it was the other flyers, the ones with grainy, faded photos of missing children, that gave her pause.

She stopped, her eyes scanning the rows of somber faces staring back at her. A woman was standing nearby, taping up a new flyer. Wanda glanced at it. This one wasn’t for a child. It was a man—a security guard, his round, friendly face frozen in a photograph that seemed too cheerful for the bold “MISSING” written above it.

Their eyes met briefly. Wanda gave the woman a small, understanding nod, her expression softening with shared sadness, before moving on. She barely glanced at the "HELP WANTED" sign taped to the window of a nearby restaurant before something else caught her attention—a boy, maybe six or seven years old, standing alone in the swirl of tourists.

His small figure stood out, still and unsure amid the constant motion of the crowd. Wanda hesitated, scanning the area for someone who might belong to him. No one came forward. Her heart squeezed as she approached him, crouching down to his level.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice gentle but steady. “Are you lost?”

The boy nodded, his eyes wide and glassy. His lip trembled, and Wanda could see the fear creeping up on him like a storm cloud.

“It’s okay,” she said, holding out her hand. “We’ll find whoever you’re looking for, I promise.”

The boy slipped his small hand into hers, and Wanda led him carefully through the throng of tourists. Her eyes darted from face to face, searching for someone who might be panicking, calling out a name, looking for this boy. But no one seemed to notice.

The glow of a neon sign caught her attention—a video store with the words REWIND PARADISE flashing in bright pink and blue. She pushed open the door, the buzzer overhead letting out a sharp metallic ding.

The store smelled faintly of dust and nostalgia. It was a strange mishmash of glossy VHS tapes, fading movie posters, and shelves of kitschy souvenirs. Dozens of small TVs mounted along the walls played a chaotic mix of cartoons, music videos, and movie trailers. Their colors bled together, turning the air into a kaleidoscope of light.

Behind the counter, Hoseok Jung looked up, his face breaking into a wide grin when he saw Wanda. Hoseok was younger than most business owners in town, with an easy smile and a perpetually relaxed demeanor.

“Wanda!” he greeted warmly, his hands resting on the counter. But before he could say more, the buzzer sounded again.

A group of boys sauntered in, their entrance marked by loud, cocky laughter. They moved with practiced swagger, dressed in leather jackets and ripped jeans, their energy brash and unapologetic. At the head of the group was Jimin, his sharp smile brimming with mischief.

Hoseok’s expression hardened instantly. “I told you not to come in here anymore,” he said, his voice firm but calm.

Jimin just smiled wider, unbothered. He led his crew deeper into the store, their boots scuffing loudly against the floor.

Wanda stepped forward, the little boy still clutching her hand. “This boy seems to be lost,” she said, her voice cutting cleanly through the tension.

Before Hoseok could respond, the door flew open again, and a young woman burst inside. Her face was flushed with panic, her eyes wild until they landed on the boy.

“Terry!” she cried, rushing forward to scoop him into her arms. Her relief was palpable as she hugged him tightly, tears streaming down her face. She turned to Wanda and Hoseok, thanking them over and over, her voice shaking.

Hoseok handed the boy a lollipop from a jar on the counter, giving him a kind smile before the two of them disappeared back into the night.

Then, with a playful flourish, he held another lollipop out to Wanda. “For you.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, thanks,” she said, smiling.

As she turned back to the door, the Lost Boys shuffled past, their presence leaving a faint charge in the air. Jimin lingered for a second, his sharp eyes flicking to Hoseok before he followed his crew outside.

“They’re just kids,” Wanda said, watching as the boys climbed onto their bikes, revving the engines before roaring off into the night.

“Wild kids,” Hoseok corrected, leaning casually against the counter.

Wanda’s lips curved into a wry smile. “We were wild once too. Only they dress better.”

Hoseok chuckled, his smile softening. “You’ve got a generous nature, Wanda. I like that in a person. My name’s Hoseok.”

“Wanda,” she replied, her tone light but sincere.

“So,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “what brings you into my fine establishment? Looking for a tape? I’ve got the best selection in Santa Carla.”

She shook her head. “Not looking for a tape.” She hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the counter. “What I need is—”

“A job,” Hoseok finished for her, his knowing grin widening.

Wanda sighed, half-laughing. “Do I look that desperate?”

“Desperate? Nah,” he said, waving a hand. “But you’ve got that look.”

Meanwhile, back on the boardwalk, Jungkook was still moving, weaving through the thick, lively crowd as though propelled by some invisible force. Jung-Hyun trailed behind him, his sneakers scuffing against the wooden planks in protest. The boardwalk was alive, bursting with sound and energy—music blared from arcades, vendors shouted about hot dogs and funnel cakes, and the occasional scream from a rollercoaster in the distance punctuated the cacophony.

“Where are we going?” Jung-Hyun demanded, his tone a mixture of irritation and confusion as he tried to match Jungkook’s pace.

“Nowhere,” Jungkook said distractedly, his eyes scanning every corner of the bustling boardwalk.

“Then why the rush?” Jung-Hyun huffed, throwing his arms up dramatically. He finally pieced it together, narrowing his eyes at Jungkook’s focused expression. “You’re chasing that girl, aren’t you? Just admit it! I’m at the mercy of your sex glands!”

Jungkook didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him. He simply picked up his pace, his head turning side to side as though he might spot her any second.

Jung-Hyun groaned, finally grinding to a halt. “You’re unbelievable. Chasing some random girl through a crowd like you’re in a bad romance movie. You know what? Forget it. I’ve got better things to do than play sidekick in your hormonal escapades.”

Jungkook barely acknowledged him, muttering, “Then go.” His attention was glued to the sea of faces ahead, his heart pounding as if she might be just around the next corner.

Rolling his eyes, Jung-Hyun turned on his heel and wandered toward a small, cluttered storefront that had caught his eye. Above the doorway hung a crooked sign that read Collector’s Den Comics and Oddities. The window display was crammed with stacks of faded comics, dusty action figures, and cardboard cutouts of superheroes whose colors had long since faded in the sun.

The inside of the shop was dimly lit and smelled like old paper and wood polish, the air heavy with nostalgia. The faint sound of a box fan hummed from somewhere in the back. Jung-Hyun stepped inside, the buzz of the boardwalk fading into a muffled background hum. He wandered the narrow aisles, his fingers grazing over the spines of comic books lined up in rows. Each one seemed to whisper a story, waiting to be uncovered.

As he turned a corner, he spotted two boys hunched over a large box of comics. They were lean, sharp-featured, and looked like they’d walked straight out of an action movie, all leather jackets and cocky attitudes. They moved with an air of self-importance, stacking comics on the shelves as though the task were life or death.

“You can’t put Superman DC #3400 with the #500s,” Jung-Hyun said casually, stopping in his tracks and pointing to the offending stack. “Different artist. Different era.”

The two boys froze, their heads snapping up to stare at him. It was as though he’d spoken some forbidden language. One of them, the taller of the two with sharp cheekbones and hair that flopped into his eyes, frowned and leaned closer to inspect the comics in question.

“He’s right,” Seokjin muttered, nudging the other boy, Namjoon.

Namjoon’s face twisted in annoyance. “Great. A critic,” he grumbled but began rearranging the stack begrudgingly.

Jung-Hyun smirked, stepping closer and glancing at the shelves around them. “And those Archies? Yeah, they don’t belong here. They go with the Richie Rich comics. Over there.” He pointed to the far corner of the store.

Namjoon shot him a look that could curdle milk. “Where the hell are you from, Krypton?”

“Phoenix, actually,” Jung-Hyun replied without missing a beat, clearly unbothered by the hostility. He reached out to pick up a nearby comic, flipping through the pages with practiced ease. “And no, I’m not just passing through. I’m a resident as of today. So yeah, you’ll probably be seeing a lot of me.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes and reached for a comic off the shelf. He thrust it into Jung-Hyun’s hands with a little too much force.

“If you’re gonna live here,” Namjoon said, his tone clipped, “you’ll need this.”

Jung-Hyun glanced down at the cover. Vampires Everywhere, the title screamed in bold red letters, the art depicting a grotesque vampire with sharp fangs and glowing red eyes.

“I don’t like horror comics,” Jung-Hyun said, holding it back out toward Namjoon.

Seokjin, who had been quietly watching the exchange, suddenly smirked. His expression was knowing, almost conspiratorial. “This one isn’t for fun,” he said, his voice low. “It’s for survival.”

Jung-Hyun raised an eyebrow, unsure if they were messing with him or if they were just that weird. Namjoon didn’t elaborate, just gave him a long, unreadable look before turning back to the box of comics.

“Okay,” Jung-Hyun said slowly, setting the comic down on a nearby stack. “Well, thanks for the… advice?”

Namjoon didn’t look up, but Seokjin gave him a sly smile. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Feeling more puzzled than ever, Jung-Hyun turned and made his way back toward the front of the store. The boardwalk’s noise greeted him as he stepped outside, but he couldn’t shake the strange, lingering tension he’d felt in the shop.

Out on the boardwalk, Jungkook was still nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, Jung-Hyun stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked right back inside. The comic shop boys’ cryptic words buzzed faintly in the back of his mind, but he shook them off. This town was already weird enough without adding cryptic warnings about horror comics into the mix.

The boardwalk came alive at night, a kaleidoscope of lights, noise, and energy that felt almost electric. It was a place where the ordinary became extraordinary—where the sea breeze carried not just the scent of salt and funnel cakes but the promise of something strange and fleeting, something that could only happen here. Jungkook moved through the crowd with a quiet determination, his pace steady but purposeful. His eyes swept over the faces, the swirl of colors, the dizzying spin of carnival rides in the distance, all of it blurring into a background that didn’t matter. He was looking for her.

The music spilling from the rides and arcades thumped faintly in his chest, the sound layered with the shouts of vendors, the laughter of teenagers, and the occasional crash of the ocean against the shore. The air tasted alive, charged, and Jungkook inhaled deeply, his heart hammering in sync with the chaotic rhythm around him.

It wasn’t hard to spot her. Even in the sea of people, she stood out, moving through the chaos like a ripple of calm in a storm. There was something about her—something in the way she walked, like she existed on the edges of the world, separate and untouchable, carrying a quiet grace that the noise couldn’t reach. Beside her, the boy stayed close, clutching her hand as if it were his anchor. His wide, nervous eyes darted around, not quite fitting in with the dazzling, almost surreal energy of the boardwalk.

Jungkook trailed behind them, keeping a careful distance. He told himself it wasn’t obvious—just a passing coincidence that he happened to be walking the same direction. But the truth was harder to deny with each step he took. His heart pounded, louder than the music, louder than the carnival barker shouting about ring toss prizes. He didn’t know what he was going to say if he caught up to her, or even if he should say anything at all. Yet the idea of letting her slip away, of losing her in this sea of strangers, felt unbearable.

She stopped suddenly, turning on her heel so sharply that Jungkook nearly stumbled. Her eyes locked onto his, cutting straight through the crowd, the noise, the distance. They were steady and unflinching, a quiet challenge that made his breath catch.

“Are you following me?” she asked, her voice clear and calm, slicing through the din like a blade.

Jungkook froze. For a moment, he was nothing but a deer caught in headlights, all his bravado crumbling in the face of her directness. “Well, I...” he began, his voice faltering as the words tangled in his throat.

Her head tilted slightly, her expression more curious than hostile. She wasn’t accusing him—she was asking. It gave him just enough courage to speak.

“Did you want to talk to me?” she prompted when he hesitated, her tone laced with faint amusement, like she was humoring him.

He swallowed hard, scrambling for something to say. “Yeah. Sure. I mean—yeah.”

Her eyebrows lifted expectantly, her gaze steady as she waited. “Okay. Talk.”

Jungkook’s mind went blank. He wanted to say something meaningful, something that would make her stay, something that would explain why he felt like the world had tilted when he first saw her. But all he could manage was, “I, uh... I just thought you looked... different.”

Her lips curved, just barely, into the faintest hint of a smile. It wasn’t mockery; it was curiosity. Before he could say anything else—before he could even begin to gather his thoughts—Jung-Hyun appeared at his side, panting and clutching a comic book like it was a prize he’d fought to win.

“Mom’s here,” Jung-Hyun announced, his voice cutting through the moment with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.

The girl’s gaze flicked to Jung-Hyun, then to the comic in his hands. The almost-smile returned, softer this time, and she looked back at Jungkook. “Nice talking to you,” she said, her voice teasing but not unkind. Then she turned, the boy beside her clinging to her hand as they melted back into the crowd.

Jungkook stood rooted to the spot, watching her disappear until the lights and movement swallowed her whole. He let out a slow breath, his chest tight, his heart still hammering as though he’d run a mile.

Later, Jungkook leaned against the family’s battered Rover, arguing with Wanda while Jung-Hyun climbed into the backseat, already thumbing through his newly acquired comic.

“It’s early,” Jungkook protested, crossing his arms. “Why do we have to leave already?”

Wanda raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Early? It’s past ten, Jungkook. Bring your own wheels tomorrow night, and you can stay as long as you want. Well—until eleven thirty. Maybe.”

“I’ll hitch,” Jungkook shot back, his tone challenging.

“Oh, no, you won’t,” Wanda retorted, her arms folding across her chest in a way that brooked no argument.

From inside the car, Jung-Hyun chimed in with a smirk, his voice light and teasing. “Mom, you hitched all the way to Berkeley once, remember?”

Jungkook seized the opening immediately. “Yeah, Mom!”

Wanda sighed, shaking her head but unable to hide the flicker of amusement on her face. “Five minutes,” she relented finally, pointing a finger at him for emphasis. “Five. And if you’re not back by then, I’m leaving without you.”

Jungkook didn’t wait for her to change her mind. He was already disappearing into the crowd, his heart racing as he retraced his steps.

From the backseat, Jung-Hyun leaned out the window, grinning knowingly. “He met a girl,” he said, his tone dripping with mischief.

Wanda rolled her eyes, pulling the driver’s door open and sliding into the seat. “I guess no one cares that I got a job today.”

Jung-Hyun didn’t miss a beat. “Can we get a TV now?” he asked, deadpan.

Wanda laughed despite herself, shaking her head as she started the car. “Priorities, I swear.”

Jungkook’s heart pounded in his chest as he stepped back onto the boardwalk, his eyes scanning the familiar yet chaotic scene. The noise and colors blurred around him, but his gaze was fixed on her, the girl who seemed to haunt his thoughts even when she wasn’t there. He’d caught glimpses of her throughout the night, like an elusive shadow dancing on the edge of his perception, but this time, he knew he was close. He could feel it in the way his pulse quickened, the way his steps moved a little faster, almost instinctively, as if his body knew exactly where he was headed.

And then, there she was again, standing near the edge of the boardwalk. But this time, she wasn’t alone.

A group of boys surrounded her, each one with a presence that seemed to carve out space in the world around them. Their laughter was loud, reckless, the kind that echoed off the boardwalk like a challenge thrown out to the universe. They wore leather jackets, the worn, well-loved kind that had seen a thousand nights under neon lights. Their motorcycles were parked haphazardly nearby, engines still warm from the ride, the chrome shining in the streetlights like predators waiting to pounce.

Jungkook’s stomach tightened, the familiar knot of unease twisting deeper inside him. He stopped in his tracks, just a few steps away from the group, watching her. She was standing with them, her hand resting lightly on Moon’s shoulder—his girl, it seemed—but there was something about her that didn’t quite fit. Something in the way she stood, the way her eyes lingered a little too long on the horizon, as though she were somewhere else, somewhere apart from the chaos that swirled around her. She didn’t belong to them, not entirely. Not the way they belonged to each other.

Jungkook’s presence didn’t go unnoticed. The boys all turned their eyes toward him, their stares cutting through the noise. Their expressions were unreadable, too cool to be bothered, yet there was something about the way they looked at him that made his skin crawl. It wasn’t hostility, not the kind he’d expected. It was worse. It was indifference. They didn’t see him as a threat. They didn’t see him as anything at all.

A man with bright blonde hair, sharp features that could have belonged to a movie star, swung a leg over one of the bikes. His movements were smooth, practiced, like he had done this a thousand times before. His eyes found Jungkook’s for a split second, a look that seemed to say everything and nothing all at once. Without a word, he revved the engine, the sound booming in the night air like a challenge to the world itself.

The girl, his girl, climbed onto the bike behind him. She slid her arms around his waist, and for a brief moment, Jungkook saw something flicker in her eyes—a glance, a fleeting connection that made his heart tighten, his breath catch. It was there, and then it was gone, replaced by the cool, disinterested mask she wore whenever she was surrounded by them. She glanced back at him just before they roared off, the sound of the engine growing louder, pulling them into the night. A flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips, something soft, almost wistful, before she disappeared into the dark expanse of the boardwalk.

Jungkook stood frozen in place, his heart still pounding in his chest. The sound of the motorcycles faded into the distance, but it felt like an eternity had passed. The bright lights of the boardwalk seemed to blur, the edges of his vision fading as the night swallowed everything around him. For a moment, he felt like the last person left on Earth. Like the world had moved on without him, leaving him behind to stand in the silence.

The laughter, the chatter, the music—everything that had once felt so alive now seemed distant, almost hollow. Jungkook's gaze remained fixed on the spot where they had disappeared, the empty space where she had just been. His mind raced, chasing the echoes of her smile, the way she had looked at him, and the way everything had slipped away just as quickly as it had appeared.

He didn’t know why he had followed her, why he couldn’t let her go. It wasn’t like him to get caught up in something so... fleeting. But now, standing alone in the middle of the boardwalk, he realized that what he had seen wasn’t just a fleeting moment. It was something deeper, something that had grabbed hold of him when he wasn’t looking. Something he couldn’t quite understand yet.

But as the lights flickered around him and the boardwalk buzzed with life, Jungkook knew one thing for sure: this wasn’t the last time he would see her. Somehow, he was certain of it.

The early morning air on the beach felt cool and crisp, the first light of dawn filtering through the haze of leftover smoke from the bonfires the night before. The sand was still warm in places, remnants of the heat that had radiated through the night, but now it was peaceful, with only the faint hum of the ocean and the occasional rustle of blankets from the few runaways still curled up on the dunes, trying to capture a few more hours of sleep.

Jungkook parked his bike near the surf rental shack, the familiar crunch of gravel beneath the tires a comforting sound. He glanced over his shoulder to see Jung-Hyun trailing behind him, dragging his surfboard in the sand like it was the heaviest thing he’d ever carried. His little brother wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here, but Jungkook had made sure to bring him along. They had always stuck together, no matter how much they teased or picked on each other. A day at the beach might’ve seemed like the last place a kid his age would want to be, but Jungkook wasn’t about to let that stop him.

Jung-Hyun sighed loudly, his voice a little more dramatic than necessary. “Do I have to do this? The ocean’s not going anywhere, you know.”

Jungkook shot him a grin, clearly enjoying the torment. “Come on, Jung-Hyun. You know, before there were malls, there was, like... the ocean,” he said, his tone almost as if he were describing some great unknown frontier, the kind of thing that would make any kid curious—if they could just get over how terrible the idea sounded at first.

Jung-Hyun didn’t seem convinced. He rolled his eyes dramatically, muttering something under his breath that Jungkook didn’t catch, but he could guess. With a sigh that was as deep as the ocean itself, Jung-Hyun reluctantly grabbed his wetsuit, pulling it on with a little too much effort, like he was preparing to enter battle.

Jungkook watched him for a second before shaking his head, unable to hold back a small laugh. “You know, if you actually wanted to be good at this, you’d have to stop complaining,” he teased, pulling his board out from the shack.

Jung-Hyun stuck his tongue out at him, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. Despite the teasing, despite the near-constant bickering, there wasn’t anyone Jungkook would rather have by his side. Even if the age gap between them was huge—Jungkook was 18, and Jung-Hyun was just 11—the bond between them was undeniable.

Jungkook led the way into the water, his athleticism taking over as he practically glided across the waves. Despite not being a surfing pro, he was fast, and his natural skill at almost anything he tried was evident as he carved through the waves with ease. For a few moments, as the saltwater sprayed his face and the waves rolled beneath his board, he forgot about everything—the mess of the town, the confusion he sometimes felt in this new place, and even the girl who seemed to slip through his thoughts every time he thought he had a grasp on her. For those brief, blissful moments, there was nothing but the water, the board, and the rush of freedom.

Jung-Hyun, on the other hand, was having a less graceful time. He tried—oh, how he tried—but after a few disastrous attempts, his board more often than not ended up nose-first in the sand, and he sat down on the shore, scowling but secretly amused at his own inability to catch a wave. His eyes never strayed too far from Jungkook, though. There was a mixture of admiration and envy on his face, his gaze flicking between his older brother and the sea, wishing that just once, he could do it too.

Even the seals on the rocks seemed more impressed with Jungkook’s natural ease, letting out loud barks that, to Jungkook’s ears, almost sounded like laughter.

Still, no matter how frustrated Jung-Hyun got, he never complained. He always stuck by Jungkook, no matter how much he might grumble about it. The teasing, the poking fun—it was all part of their relationship, the way they understood each other without even having to say a word. Jungkook might have been the older brother, but they were equals in their own way, and they had each other’s backs no matter what.

That was, until the local crew showed up.

The Swell Brigade—the so-called kings of the beach—rolled in, cutting through the waves like they owned the ocean. Greg, the leader, was the first to spot Jungkook. With his wild hair and too-wide grin, he didn’t waste any time making his presence known. “My beach, my wave, dude,” he called out, cutting directly in front of Jungkook with a smirk that could only be described as the type of arrogance that came with knowing exactly how to rattle someone.

Before Jungkook could even react, the wave he had been riding disappeared beneath him. He wiped out spectacularly, falling hard into the water, the surfboard slipping out from under him in a tangle of limbs. From the shore, the seals barked again, their noisy calls sounding like they were laughing at him as the cold water rushed over his body.

Jung-Hyun couldn’t help but laugh from the beach, watching as his brother struggled to get back on his feet. “Guess it’s not just the ocean you have to fight against, huh?” he teased, clearly enjoying the rare moment of seeing Jungkook falter.

Jungkook pushed himself up, wiping the saltwater out of his eyes with a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talking. I’ll get you next time,” he called back, unbothered by the teasing. He was more focused on getting back out there. But as he paddled back into the surf, he caught his brother’s gaze, and for a brief second, Jungkook saw the admiration and the unspoken bond between them in his younger sibling’s eyes. It was always the same, no matter how many times they picked on each other—at the end of the day, they were in it together.

As the golden light of dusk began to fade into evening, Wanda stood behind the counter of the video store, her first day on the job stretching on just a little longer. The familiar scent of popcorn, old films, and a faint hint of mildew clung to the air. The hum of the neon sign outside cast a soft glow over the aisles lined with dusty VHS tapes. Maria, the sharp-dressed cashier who had taken her under her wing, leaned casually against the counter beside her. Maria was effortlessly cool in a way that Wanda admired, with her smart blazer and confident air. She had a quick smile and a sharp tongue, the kind of person who could talk her way out of anything.

Maria was giving Wanda a crash course in customer service, showing her the register’s buttons, explaining the peculiarities of their outdated card reader, and sharing odd bits of advice about the regular customers.

“I’d be out on the street if it wasn’t for Hoseok,” Maria said, tapping a fingernail against the countertop absentmindedly. “Nobody would’ve given me a job the way I looked when I walked in here. But he doesn’t care about that. He saw something in me. And now… well, here I am. Making it work.”

Wanda nodded, genuinely impressed. “He sounds like a good guy.”

Maria smirked, eyes glinting. “You’ll find out for yourself. He’s got his quirks, but he’s loyal. If you work for him, you’re family.”

Wanda glanced around the store, her curiosity piqued. “I haven’t seen him all day. Is he coming by soon?”

Maria shrugged, one eyebrow raised. “He only comes in at night, usually. He’s busy opening another store in Los Gatos. It’s much bigger than this one.” She made a motion with her hands as if to indicate something grand, perhaps a new adventure in the making. “You know, he’s been working on that for months. I swear, if I had that much on my plate, I’d be pulling my hair out. But he seems to handle it all. Like, no sweat.”

Wanda let out a breath, both fascinated and exhausted just thinking about it. Running a business—especially more than one—had to be overwhelming. Still, something about the way Maria spoke about Hoseok made it clear that there was a respect, maybe even an affection, there.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle engine pulling up outside, its roar familiar. She turned her head, squinting through the window to see Jungkook and Jung-Hyun rolling up to the curb on Jungkook’s bike. The older of the two leaned against the handlebars as the engine sputtered to a stop.

“I’ll be right back,” Wanda muttered, glancing at Maria for a quick second. Maria just gave her a thumbs-up, then settled back against the counter.

Wanda stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against her skin. She took a few strides toward the boys, a smile already forming on her face as she saw Jung-Hyun hop off the bike with his usual energy, nearly tripping over the kickstand as he rushed to the sidewalk.

Jungkook, however, didn’t immediately get off. He kept the engine running, his face blank but his eyes scanning the area, as if he had somewhere else he needed to be.

“Hey!” Wanda greeted, hands on her hips as she tried to gauge his mood. “I get off in twenty minutes. I thought maybe we could all grab a bite together.”

Jungkook’s lips twitched in a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He shook his head without hesitation, voice flat as he said, “I’ll pass.”

Wanda opened her mouth to protest, but before she could string together an argument, Jungkook revved the engine, the loud rumble filling the air. Without another word, he peeled off into the night, tires screeching briefly before he was swallowed up by the darkness.

Wanda watched him go, the warm glow of the store lights behind her seeming to pulse in rhythm with the pang of disappointment in her chest. She exhaled slowly, trying not to feel rejected. After all, it wasn’t the first time he’d brushed her off.

Jung-Hyun, still standing at her side, turned to look at her, a faint grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “I guess we’re not eating together, huh?”

Wanda shot him a sidelong glance, trying to hide the sudden melancholy. “Looks like it,” she said, trying to make it sound casual, but she could feel the slight sting at the back of her throat.

Jung-Hyun’s grin widened, though, as he elbowed her gently, his usual energy filling the space between them. “Well, maybe you’re better off. I mean, who wants to eat with that guy anyway?” His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of concern there too. Even though he was younger, Jung-Hyun could always tell when things weren’t quite right, even when Wanda did her best to hide it.

Wanda laughed softly, her attention now fully on him. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re on my side. You’re probably just as bad as he is.”

Jung-Hyun gave her an exaggerated look of mock offense. “What? I’m the good brother,” he protested, raising his hands as though in surrender. “You can’t blame me for his bad attitude. I’m a perfectly good influence.”

Wanda rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She glanced back toward the video store, the lights from inside casting long shadows along the sidewalk. “Come on. Let’s head inside. I have to finish my shift.”

“Right,” Jung-Hyun said with a dramatic sigh, pulling at the collar of his jacket as he followed her inside. “Guess we’ll have to find someone else to eat with.”

Wanda watched him disappear inside the store, and as she followed, her thoughts lingered on Jungkook. She wasn’t sure why his rejection stung so much. Maybe it was because she had hoped, even if just for a moment, that he might have changed his mind about her. Or maybe she was just too tired of being alone in a place that still felt unfamiliar. Either way, for now, she had to focus on her job, on the small, familiar comfort of being needed.

She let out a breath, adjusting the collar of her work shirt. Tomorrow’s another day.

Jungkook adjusted the black leather jacket for the third time, tugging at the sleeves as he studied his reflection in the cracked mirror propped haphazardly against the wall of the punk shop. The leather was still stiff, the smell of newness mixed with a faint scent of the store itself. But when he looked at it—really looked—he felt something shift, like it was made just for him. The jacket fit perfectly, hugging his shoulders and waist in just the right way, like it was a part of him that he’d only just discovered.

He tested its weight by rolling his shoulders, checking how the leather moved with him, how it felt almost like a second skin. He liked it. He liked how it gave him a sense of rawness, a sense of belonging in this strange new town. The boys from the pier would wear something like this. It made him feel... dangerous, in a way that he didn’t mind at all.

After a final glance at himself, he stepped outside, the bustling energy of the boardwalk hitting him immediately. The bright lights, the laughter of strangers, the clink of coins being dropped into machines. The smell of fried dough and sunscreen hung thick in the warm evening air, mixing with the salty ocean breeze. The world felt alive around him, buzzing with an almost magnetic energy that was as much a part of him as the jacket he was wearing.

Jungkook adjusted his boots, feeling the familiar thrum of excitement that came with a night out on the pier. But something shifted as he walked, a quiet hum under his skin, like there was something else in the air. As his boots clicked against the wooden planks, his gaze flicked to a piercing stand nearby, a sharp glint catching his attention. He stopped for a moment, looking at the needle glistening under the lights.

A silver hoop, maybe. Or a stud. He imagined it in his ear, how it might change his look, give him something new.

“It’s a rip-off,” a voice interrupted his thoughts, cutting through the noise around him.

Jungkook turned, blinking in surprise. There, just behind him, was the girl. Y/N. She stood effortlessly in the glow of the boardwalk lights, her hair catching the neon hues, her lips pulled into a teasing smile. He felt a flicker of warmth in his chest at the sight of her.

“Hi,” he managed, his voice coming out a little softer, a little more breathless than he meant it to. It was a little too loud in contrast to how quiet the moment felt.

“If you want your ear pierced,” she said, as casual as if she were talking about the weather, “I’ll do it.”

Jungkook blinked, not sure if she was serious or just teasing him, but when she began walking, he didn’t hesitate for a second. He was already following her, a pull in his chest guiding him toward wherever she was going.

“What’s your name?” he asked, matching her pace, his curiosity about her growing with each step.

“Y/N,” she replied simply, glancing at him sideways, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “My mom called me Star, but that was a long time ago.”

“Oh,” Jungkook chuckled, a grin creeping up on his face. “Your folks, too, huh?”

Her eyes flicked over to him, the corner of her lips dropping just a bit in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly realizing how personal that was. “Ex-hippies,” he clarified with a shrug. “My mom was one. I came this close to being called Moon Child. Or Moon Beam. Or something like that.”

Y/N's lips quirked up in amusement, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “But you’re Jungkook?”

“Yeah,” he said, the grin widening on his face, not even trying to hide the joy of the moment. “But Y/N’s great. I like Y/N.”

Her smile softened, her eyes not leaving his as she spoke with a quiet warmth. “Me too.”

Jungkook felt something—he couldn’t quite place it—flutter in his chest, like he’d just taken a step closer to something real, something important. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt like they’d already crossed some invisible line, something that made him feel oddly at ease around her. More comfortable than he’d ever felt with someone he barely knew.

“I’m Jungkook,” he said, almost as if the words had slipped out without him thinking about them.

Y/N glanced at him again, her smile growing wider as she echoed his tone, mirroring his playful inflection. “Jungkook’s great. I like Jungkook.”

The simple words, said with such lightness, made Jungkook’s heart skip. She wasn’t trying to impress him or charm him—she was just being herself, and something about it felt effortless. Almost like he was meant to be here, walking beside her, sharing this strange, beautiful little moment.

They walked in silence for a moment, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, like they had known each other for years. He could feel the space between them closing with each step they took, and the more they walked, the more he realized just how easy it felt to be around her.

“I guess you’re new around here,” she said, breaking the silence, her voice as steady as ever.

“Sort of,” Jungkook replied, glancing over at her, feeling that tug of connection again. “We used to come here in the summers when I was a kid. Now we’re here... permanently.”

Y/N’s eyes softened a little, and Jungkook could almost feel the quiet happiness that flickered across her face. It was subtle, but there—like she was glad to hear it, glad to know he wasn’t just passing through.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, his nerves catching up to him for a second. But before he could second-guess himself, he added, “Wanna get something to eat?”

She tilted her head slightly, like she was considering it for a moment. Her gaze locked onto his with an intensity that almost made him forget how to breathe, but when she spoke, her voice was light, almost teasing. “Okay.”

The simple word—so casual, so effortless—made Jungkook’s chest tighten in a way he couldn’t quite explain. But he didn’t have to. All that mattered was that they were walking together, side by side, and in that moment, it felt like nothing else mattered.

They walked side by side, their footsteps falling into a rhythm that seemed too easy to be real. The boardwalk lights flickered above them, casting long shadows that stretched and swayed like ghosts across the weathered wood beneath their feet. But the flicker of the lights, the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees—they didn’t matter. Nothing around them seemed to matter. It was just the two of them, the distance between them narrowing with each step, each shared glance, each word.

Jungkook couldn’t quite place it, the feeling gnawing at him. It wasn’t bad, but it was strange. They’d only just met, yet already, it felt like he’d known her for years. There was something about Y/N that made him feel like he was coming home to something familiar—something he didn’t know he was missing. Maybe it was the way she was so effortlessly herself, so sure of her place in the world. She didn’t seem rushed, didn’t seem burdened by the small things that typically weighed him down. And that made him feel lighter somehow, as if it was okay to just exist in the same space without needing anything to be different.

He could feel the pull to be around her without even trying. And the way she teased him—it wasn’t mocking, but a game. A game he wasn’t quite sure how to play, but he wanted to learn.

"So," Jungkook said, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence. "You really think you can pierce my ear?"

Y/N’s lips curved into that mischievous smile, the one that always made his stomach do that little flip. She glanced over at him, her eyes sparkling with a challenge. "Why not? I’ve got a steady hand." She said it with such confidence that for a moment, he almost believed her. Almost.

"I’m pretty sure this is a bad idea," Jungkook said, his voice betraying a laugh that bubbled up before he could stop it. "What if you give me an infection or something?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the playful seriousness of her expression making it hard to tell whether she was joking or not. "Well, Jungkook, if you want to not look like a total badass, that’s on you. But if you want to wear a hoop like a rock star, you’ve gotta risk it."

Jungkook snorted, the joke wasn’t even that funny, but the way she delivered it—so deadpan and serious—made it hilarious. It wasn’t just a laugh; it was a real laugh. The kind that made his chest warm and his stomach hurt in the best possible way. He hadn’t realized how much he needed something like that until it happened.

The distance between them continued to shrink, their laughter and easy conversation weaving the space between them into something comfortable, something almost… familiar. She didn’t mind his jokes, or the fact that sometimes, he wasn’t as quick with the witty remarks as she was. Instead, she laughed, genuinely, because she liked the way he saw things. And with every word exchanged, every laugh shared, Jungkook felt it—a pull, something deeper than just curiosity. He wanted to know more, not just about her, but about her, the kind of knowing that didn’t come with explanations.

"So," Jungkook said, his voice softening, the playful tone gone as quickly as it came. "Tell me about yourself. What’s your story? I mean, we’re talking about my potential ear piercing, but I don’t even know where you’re from."

Y/N’s expression shifted, her eyes losing focus for a moment, as if she were thinking about what to say. She wasn’t a stranger to silence, to careful words. He could tell that much. And when she spoke, her voice was quieter, the words more measured, as though each one held some kind of weight.

"I’m from Portland," she said, as if it was nothing, as if it was something everyone knew, and maybe it was, in her world.

She shrugged a little, the motion easy, but Jungkook could feel the tension in it, the way it tugged at her—she wasn’t giving him the whole story. And that was fine. He wasn’t in a rush to have her spill everything all at once. He could wait.

"And your parents?" he asked, curiosity slipping out before he had a chance to stop it.

Y/N’s smile twisted into something wry, and for the first time, she looked like someone who was used to telling stories she didn’t quite want to share. "Eh," she said. "My mom’s a character. You’d probably get along with her—she’s all about living life on the edge, never sticking to the rules. But she’s also a bit of a hippie. She’s got this whole free spirit thing going on. Dad’s the opposite. My brother is… indifferent, for the most part. He was my only friend for a while."

Jungkook’s grin matched hers, the corners of his mouth pulling upward in a way that felt good. "Sounds like my kind of people."

Y/N’s eyes glinted with amusement. "I thought you might say that," she teased, her voice dropping into that same playful rhythm. "So, what about you? You’ve got the whole ‘tough guy in a leather jacket’ vibe going on. What’s your deal?"

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but the smile that tugged at his lips couldn’t be suppressed. "I’m not tough. You just haven’t seen me cry yet."

Y/N’s laugh was loud and unrestrained. The kind of laugh that didn’t just fill the space—it took over it. Jungkook felt a warmth spread through his chest, something real and unforced. It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t because she had to. It was because she wanted to. She threw her head back, the sound of her laugh making her seem so much more carefree, so much more alive. In that moment, she wasn’t trying to hide anything. She wasn’t holding back.

"Yeah, I can see that," she said, still laughing. "You’re definitely more ‘brooding tough guy’ than ‘vulnerable softie.’"

"I can be soft," Jungkook protested, laughing at himself. "You just haven’t seen it yet."

"I’ll take your word for it," she replied, her eyes sparkling with something deeper now, something that felt like understanding. Maybe even acceptance.

The conversation shifted back into something easy, something familiar. Neither of them seemed to be in a rush to get to the car. The walk, which should have been a mere ten minutes, felt like it stretched into hours. Every moment between them felt too significant to let go of too quickly. Every glance, every word, every shared silence was like a promise. And Jungkook realized, somewhere in the middle of all of it, how strange it was—how close he already felt to her.

It wasn’t just the jokes, or the teasing, or the stories they shared. It was something else. Something deeper. It was the way she understood him, without him having to explain it. The way she seemed to know when he was holding back and when he needed to laugh, even when the joke wasn’t all that funny. She just… got him. In a way that didn’t require any kind of explanation, and for the first time in a long time, Jungkook felt that same understanding reflected back at him.

"You really know how to make me laugh," he said, his voice low, the words slipping out before he had a chance to think them through.

Y/N glanced at him sideways, surprise flashing across her face, before a small, shy smile tugged at her lips. "I’m glad I’m good for something."

Jungkook stopped walking for a moment, turning to face her fully. His words came out before he had a chance to consider the weight of them. "You’re good for a lot more than that."

Y/N looked up at him then, her gaze steady, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped. The sounds around them faded, the air thickened, and it was just the two of them, standing on the boardwalk, looking at each other like they were seeing something more than just the surface.

They didn’t move, didn’t speak for a few moments. The soft hum of the boardwalk was the only sound that remained. The lights overhead flickered in time with their steps, their rhythm so naturally synced it felt like they’d been walking together for years.

"So, Oregon, huh?" Jungkook asked, breaking the silence, his voice quieter now, a little softer.

Y/N stiffened just a fraction, only for a second, before she shook it off, her lips pressing together, as if the mention of home held more than she was ready to share.

"Yeah," she said after a beat, her tone casual but guarded. "It’s beautiful there, you know? The forests, the coast. It’s like a different world."

Jungkook nodded, sensing the hesitation in her voice. He didn’t push it. "Sounds nice. I’ve always wanted to go, actually. Never had the chance."

Y/N’s gaze shifted ahead, her eyes becoming distant, and for a second, it felt like she was somewhere else entirely. Jungkook caught the faintest tension in her shoulders before she shrugged, as if shaking off whatever thoughts had clouded her mind. “It’s nice, yeah. But I mean, you know how it is. Home’s just a place, right?”

The way she said it made something inside him stir, like there was more she wasn’t saying. More she wasn’t ready to share. Jungkook’s instincts told him to be careful, but his curiosity pulled him closer, even if just for a moment. He took a half step toward her, trying not to crowd her space, but close enough to show he was genuinely interested. “Yeah,” he said slowly, not wanting to press too hard but feeling something pull at him. “So, what’s it like… leaving all that behind?”

She didn’t look at him right away. Her eyes stayed trained on the path ahead, and he could see her jaw tighten ever so slightly, like she was steeling herself against the question. But just as quickly, she relaxed, the tension in her posture easing. A half-laugh escaped her lips, and when she finally glanced at him, there was that playful spark in her eyes again. “You sound like an interview or something.”

Jungkook blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her tone. She grinned, and for a second, he was unsure whether to feel relieved or more confused. “It’s not that bad, really. People always think it’s this big dramatic thing. But it’s not. You just... leave, and then you figure things out.”

He didn’t press further. There was something in her voice that told him she wasn’t ready to unpack it all. Instead, he smiled and decided to pivot to safer ground. “So what about that piercing thing?” he asked, keeping his tone light. “You serious about giving me a piercing?”

Her smile widened, the teasing edge back in full force. “You really wanna know about my ear-piercing skills?” she asked with a playful challenge in her voice. “Okay, fine. I don’t have a license for it, but I promise I’m great with a needle. You trust me, right?”

Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t know, Y/N. I think I’ll pass on that one.”

They both chuckled, and the conversation flowed with that easy, back-and-forth rhythm that felt familiar despite the newness between them. It was like they were already comfortable with each other, as if they’d been doing this forever. But still, Jungkook couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more beneath the surface of her words. The way she’d brushed off Oregon. The way her tone had shifted just a little too quickly when he’d asked about it. It made him wonder what she was really running from.

"Anyway," Y/N said, almost as if sensing the change in his thoughts, her voice light but the shift unmistakable. "What about you? How’d you end up here?"

Jungkook felt the weight of the question, and though a part of him wanted to keep the door open for her, to ask her about her story, he decided to answer first. After all, they were still strangers, and maybe it was too soon to dig deep into the stuff they both seemed to be hiding. He could feel the subtle distance between them now, but he didn’t mind. Not yet.

“Well,” he said, falling back into the easy rhythm of their conversation, “we used to come here for summers when I was a kid. But this time... it’s permanent. My family moved here recently.”

“Permanent, huh?” Y/N mused, her voice low, thoughtful. She glanced sideways at him, her smile soft but knowing. “That’s a big deal.”

Jungkook caught the look in her eyes, something like recognition, something like a shared understanding. She didn’t press, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew more about what “permanent” really meant than she was letting on. Instead of pushing, he laughed lightly, keeping the tone playful. “Yeah, same sob story as everyone else. Divorce, mom kept the kids, dad left never to be seen again, and we moved for a fresh start.”

For a moment, the silence between them felt like the weight of their unspoken stories hanging in the air. The conversation drifted on after that, touching on trivial things—movies they liked, music they both hated, the weirdness of growing up in a place that never quite felt like home. But even in those small moments, Jungkook felt like they were already sharing something deeper, something unspoken that didn’t need to be said. Every word, every glance, pulled him closer to her, like they were orbiting each other in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

They were almost to his bike when the sound of motorcycles roared into the parking lot, their engines loud and confident in the still night. The Lost Boys appeared in a rush of leather and chrome, the air around them thick with their presence. Moon was perched behind Yoongi, small but wiry, full of restless energy. Jimin’s Triumph gleamed under the boardwalk lights, its polished chrome a stark contrast to the dust and grit of the surrounding night.

Jungkook felt a knot form in his stomach. He didn’t need to count the bikes to know he was outnumbered. Outclassed.

Jimin’s gaze locked onto them, and more specifically, onto Y/N. “Where you going?” he asked, his voice casual but edged with something sharper, like a challenge that wasn’t quite obvious yet.

“For a ride,” Y/N replied, her tone even, unfazed.

Jimin tilted his head, his lip curling into a smirk, half amusement, half something else. “With him?” he asked, gesturing toward Jungkook.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, and for a moment, her words hung in the air between them, defiant, a challenge in their own right.

Jimin revved his engine, the sound vibrating through Jungkook’s chest, making his pulse quicken. The other Lost Boys exchanged quick, unreadable glances. Jungkook could feel the air thicken, like something was about to happen, something that was only just starting to unravel.

“I’m Jimin,” he said, his tone friendly in the way a lion might introduce itself to a gazelle. He gestured lazily toward the others. “Yoongi. Taehyung. Taeyang.”

From the back of Yoongi’s bike, Moon piped up, his voice eager. “Hi, I’m Moon!”

Y/N turned to Jungkook then, nodding toward him. “This is Jungkook.”

A heavy silence hung over the group, thick with unspoken words. Jungkook shifted, feeling the tension between them like a live wire in the air.

“So,” he said, trying to break the silence, “we still going?”

Jimin’s eyes flicked to Jungkook’s bike, then back to him, calculating. “Honda 250, huh?”

“That’s right,” Jungkook said, his voice steady, even though his hands were itching to just leave. To make it stop, to get away from the pressure building in his chest.

Jimin smiled, that sharp, knowing smile that made Jungkook feel like he was being sized up. “C’mon, Y/N. Climb on.”

Jungkook’s chest tightened, his heart racing. “Y/N?”

For a moment, she hesitated, and Jungkook saw it—just a flicker of something soft in her eyes, a small moment where she seemed to reconsider. But then, with a smile that was almost apologetic, she stepped past him, her movements fluid as she swung onto Jimin’s bike, her arms wrapping around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched.

“Know where Hudson’s Bluff is?” Jimin asked, his voice rising over the rumble of the engine. “Overlooking the point?”

Jungkook didn’t answer, but he knew exactly what Jimin meant.

“You don’t have to beat me, Jungkook,” Jimin said, his smirk widening, “Just try to keep up.”

And with that, Jimin gunned the engine, the Triumph roaring to life. The others followed in a rush, their bikes kicking up gravel as they tore into the night. Y/N didn’t look back.

Jungkook climbed onto his Honda, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t have a Triumph, didn’t have the raw power Jimin’s bike had, but he had something else—grit. Enough to try to keep up, at least. The boardwalk lights were shrinking in his mirrors, but he didn’t slow down.

The motorcycles roared down the wooden steps of the boardwalk, each jolt vibrating through Jungkook's arms and legs. His grip tightened on the handlebars as the bikes bounced over the uneven ground, the sound of the engines mixing with the crash of waves against the shore. Behind him, the beach stretched out—empty save for the scattered, startled couples who shrank back as the Lost Boys ripped through the sand, leaving behind a trail of chaos and dust.

Jungkook didn’t know why he was still following. The sand kicked up behind his Honda, the wheels spinning out, but he wasn’t about to back down. Not with Y/N’s laughter floating back to him, the sound carried on the wind like a promise of something wild. Not with the Lost Boys ahead, their faces glowing with the kind of reckless joy that came with living on the edge.

They hit the surf, the tires skimming the water’s edge, sending up sprays of salty mist. Jungkook squinted through the chaos, trying to keep up, watching as the others didn’t even think about slowing down. Instead, they sped up, racing toward the distant pier. It loomed like a giant in the darkness, the pilings reaching up like jagged teeth ready to rip through the night.

He was already too close to turn back.

The sound of the engines became deafening as the Lost Boys shot between the wooden pilings, weaving in and out like they had done this a thousand times. Jungkook’s heart beat faster, and despite himself, he slowed. The gaps between the pilings seemed impossibly narrow now, the wood rising up like an obstacle course meant to break someone who dared try.

But they didn’t slow down. Not Jimin, not Yoongi, not anyone. They moved through the gaps like they were born for it.

Jungkook hesitated for a breath, his hands squeezing tighter on the grips of his bike, but then he followed. The roar of his Honda filled his ears as he threaded his way between the pilings, the sand-slick tires skidding once, then catching, sending him sliding just a fraction too far. He bit his lip, pushing himself harder, focusing on the road ahead.

By the time he broke free from the pier, the beach stretched out wide before him, empty and raw, but no less dangerous. The dunes rose in the distance, their edges aglow with the orange flicker of another bonfire. He could hear the roar of engines ahead of him, and even though his heart was pounding in his chest, a part of him could feel it too—this pull, this challenge to be a part of something that felt just as reckless as he was.

Jimin led the charge, his bike climbing a dune like it was nothing. The Lost Boys followed one by one, their motorcycles soaring into the air, silhouettes against the firelight before they landed back on the sand, riding effortlessly as if they had always known how to defy gravity.

Jungkook pulled back, his stomach a tight knot as he approached the base of the dune. His mind screamed at him to turn around, but the roar of the bikes and the pull of the moment pushed him forward. The fire’s heat slapped his face for a split second before he gunned the throttle, his bike launching into the air.

The world spun for a heartbeat, the flames from the bonfire flashing by in a dizzying blur, and then—he hit the sand. The bike wobbled violently beneath him, but he hung on, teeth clenched, fighting the instinct to let go. The bike’s tires found purchase, and he shot forward, breathless and wild-eyed.

On the other side of the fire, the Lost Boys were waiting for him, grinning like they had just won a race. Y/N turned back toward him, her hair wild from the wind, her smile something that could have been meant for anyone, but he knew—he felt it. It was for him.

Before he had time to catch his breath, they were off again. The bikes roared forward, and the sand gave way to harder ground as they raced toward a railroad trestle, its dark silhouette etched against the starry sky.

Jimin fell back, pulling alongside Jungkook, his bike roaring at full speed. Y/N’s hair streamed behind her like a banner, and for a moment, her hand reached out toward him. Her fingers brushed his, and the sensation of it lingered, a jolt of something unspoken. His heart skipped in his chest.

Jimin caught his gaze, his grin sharp and knowing. “Now we race!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the night like a challenge.

Without waiting for an answer, Jimin revved his Triumph and shot forward, the roar of the engine almost deafening. Jungkook pushed the throttle harder, chasing after him.

The trestle was gone in a blur of speed, and ahead of them loomed Hudson’s Bluff—a flat, wide stretch of land that seemed endless in the night. But Jungkook knew it wasn’t. The edge was coming, a sheer drop that would send him five hundred feet straight into the crash of waves below.

Jimin didn’t even hesitate. His bike sped toward the edge, dangerously close, too fast—and for a moment, Jungkook thought he wouldn’t stop.

He didn’t. His bike screamed ahead, and Jungkook’s hands tightened on the brakes. His Honda skidded, the tires biting into the dirt as he fought to control it, heart in his throat, eyes locked on the horizon.

Just before the edge, his bike jerked to a stop, sliding sideways on the loose earth. He barely caught himself, the terror still squeezing at his chest. When he looked up, Jimin was already there, his Triumph’s front tire hanging perilously over the abyss, the cool calm of the moment in stark contrast to the chaos of the race.

Jimin was still grinning when he straightened, his eyes flicking to Jungkook with a challenge in them.

Without thinking, Jungkook swung his fist, connecting with Jimin’s jaw. The impact snapped through the air, the sound ringing out over the quiet. Jimin staggered back, but when he regained his balance, his grin was wider than before, dangerous now.

“How far are you willing to go, Jungkook?” he asked, his voice low but loaded with something Jungkook couldn’t quite place.

Jungkook didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could.

Jimin motioned to the others, who fell in behind him, their bikes roaring back to life. They moved toward the stairs, the old wooden steps creaking under the weight of the group. Jungkook followed, his breath still unsteady, heart still racing. But he wasn’t turning back. Not now. Not with Y/N’s smile burning through him like a brand.

When they reached the cave, he stopped dead.

It wasn’t just a cave. It was a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.

A Victorian hotel lay sprawled beneath the rock, half-sunken into the earth, its broken lobby tilted like something out of a forgotten era. Wrought-iron elevators, crumbling but still standing, and a mural that stretched across the walls in shattered pieces. Moonlight poured through the cracks in the ceiling, casting sharp silver light over the ruins.

Jungkook stood frozen, unsure if he should turn around or take another step further into the madness. But then Y/N smiled at him again, and it was the kind of smile that dared him to keep going. So, he did. He took one more step into the dark.

The cave was thick with a damp chill that pressed against Jungkook’s skin, the kind of cold that gnawed at the bones. The air smelled of wet earth and something ancient, like the earth had been holding its breath for years. Shafts of moonlight sliced through jagged cracks in the ceiling, casting harsh, silver beams that illuminated the ruins in uneven light. A Victorian hotel lobby, frozen in time and buried deep within the rocks, lay sprawled out before him. The walls, cracked and crumbling, were covered in layers of dust, and the remnants of a forgotten era whispered through the shadows.

The wrought-iron elevator stood frozen, rusted, and tilting at an odd, awkward angle, as though it had been abandoned in a hurry. The front desk—once grand—was now just a shadow of itself, its wood warped and split from years of neglect. Behind it, the murals—vibrant at one point, perhaps—now only offered faded traces of scenes that told half-forgotten stories. The plaster walls, peeling and cracked, barely held onto the ghosts of their former self. The whole place felt wrong, like it had been swallowed by the earth in some moment of chaos, as if the land had taken back what was never meant to be there in the first place.

Jungkook couldn’t tear his eyes away from the eerie grandeur of it all, the surreal sight of the forgotten hotel, but Jimin’s voice cut through the weight of the silence.

“This was the hottest resort in Santa Carla about eighty years ago,” Jimin said, his voice casual, but laced with an authority that made it impossible to ignore. He leaned against a broken column, one hand sliding casually into his pocket, the other holding a smirk that seemed as much a part of him as the shadows around them. His eyes glinted in the dim light, filled with mischief. “Too bad they built it right on top of the San Andreas fault.”

Jungkook turned his head, tearing his gaze from the decaying remnants of the hotel and trying to mask his unease. Jimin paused for a moment, his eyes holding the weight of a story that Jungkook hadn’t yet heard. The silence stretched, the shadows creeping closer, as though the cave itself was listening, waiting.

“In 1906,” Jimin continued, his voice dropping lower as he leaned in slightly, like he was about to tell a ghost story, “when the big one hit San Francisco, the ground opened up.” He let the words hang in the air, his eyes dancing in the moonlight. “This place didn’t stand a chance. Took a header right into the crack. Swallowed it whole.”

Jungkook felt the chill in the air deepen. The remnants of the hotel suddenly felt more like a tomb than a place once filled with laughter and life. His eyes darted around the cave, trying to make sense of it, but the room seemed to be closing in, pressing in on him. He didn’t want to ask questions; didn’t want to know how it was possible, but the words echoed in his head, unshakable.

“Man, you wouldn’t believe the cool stuff we’ve found in here,” Yoongi’s voice broke through the tension, dry as the brittle beams above them. His tone was casual, but there was something else behind it—a quiet, eerie fascination.

Jungkook shifted uneasily on his feet. The air felt thick, as though the cave itself was alive, breathing, watching him, its walls pressing in like the eyes of something ancient and knowing. He could almost hear it—like the ground beneath them was pulsing, waiting for something. For what, he couldn’t say, but the feeling crawled down his spine, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

His gaze turned toward Y/N. He didn’t have to say anything—he just needed to see her, needed to feel like everything was still real. She caught his eye and smiled at him, soft but steady, her presence a quiet anchor amidst the creeping shadows. She reached for his hand, the warmth of her touch grounding him in the moment.

“C’mon, Jungkook,” she said, her voice gentle but firm, her fingers wrapping around his hand like a promise. “I want to go.”

He opened his mouth to reply, to offer something—an excuse, a reason to leave—but before he could speak, Jimin’s voice sliced through the air, cutting him off.

“No. Stick around,” Jimin said, his voice sharp, commanding, as if there was no room for argument.

Jungkook hesitated, caught between Y/N’s reassuring touch and the pressure of Jimin’s gaze. He opened his mouth, trying to deflect, to offer some sort of out. “We were gonna grab some food,” he mumbled, his voice trailing off like it didn’t belong in this place.

Jimin’s grin widened, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Good idea,” he said, his tone playful yet strangely firm. He turned slightly, calling over his shoulder, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. “Taeyang. We’re hungry.”

Taeyang, as silent as ever, nodded without a word and disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind only the faint sound of footsteps fading into the darkness.

Jimin lit a joint, the flicker of the lighter briefly illuminating his sharp features, casting them in an eerie glow. He took a slow drag, his eyes never leaving Jungkook’s face, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that curled lazily toward the cracked ceiling. “See?” Jimin said, holding the joint out toward Jungkook with an almost casual air. “All you gotta do is ask. How about an appetizer?”

Jungkook froze, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes in the cave fall on him. The joint hovered between them, suspended in the cool air, the dark shadows stretching long and deep. For a moment, time seemed to slow. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, like the entire cave was holding its breath.

Y/N shifted beside him, her expression troubled, but she said nothing. She didn’t pull away, didn’t step back—but he could feel the tension in her body, the subtle shift in her energy. She was waiting for him to make a choice, just as he was waiting for something to shift, for the right moment to step away.

But the longer he stood there, the more he felt the pull of something—something dark, something that felt just as much a part of this place as the broken walls and forgotten memories. The silence stretched on, heavy and thick with unspoken words. Finally, unable to stand the pressure, Jungkook reached out.

His fingers brushed the edge of the joint, and the moment he took it, the air seemed to thicken, the darkness around them pressing in even more. The cave felt darker now, the shadows deeper, more alive, as if the place was swallowing him whole. The weight of the eyes on him, the air heavy with the smell of smoke and damp earth, made it feel as though he had crossed some invisible line.

Y/N squeezed his hand tighter, her fingers wrapped around his like a lifeline, but even her presence couldn’t dispel the sense of wrongness that clung to the cave. Jungkook’s chest tightened, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the joint. The pull of the night, the others, it all felt too strong to ignore.

The cave waited. It watched. And Jungkook had just made his choice.

Across town, the atmosphere was quieter, yet the tension was no less palpable. The house, tucked away in a neighborhood that buzzed with the hum of distant traffic and the occasional bark of a dog, had a calm that felt almost unnatural in its stillness. Inside, Jung-Hyun lay sprawled on his bed, the soft rustle of pages filling the silence. His back was against the headboard, his legs bent at an awkward angle as he propped a comic book against his knees. Vampires Everywhere was emblazoned in bold, lurid letters across the cover, the artwork vibrant and chaotic, just the way he liked it. He flipped through the panels, his eyes darting back and forth, drinking in the fantastical scenes of bloodsuckers, supernatural creatures, and haunted cities. Each page seemed to draw him deeper, a temporary escape from the world beyond the paper.

He was so absorbed in the story that he didn’t even hear the soft footsteps approaching his room until the door creaked open, just a crack. Wanda, his mother, poked her head into the space, her figure briefly framed by the hallway light before it flickered out of sight. “Ten o’clock. Lights out,” she called out, her voice not unkind but firm, the way a parent’s voice often was when there was no room for argument. She tossed a sweater into the closet, not looking at him as she spoke.

Jung-Hyun barely acknowledged her, his gaze still glued to the page in front of him. “Mom,” he muttered, not looking up. His voice was laced with the exhaustion of adolescence—half rebellion, half resignation.

Wanda hesitated in the doorway for a moment, then let out a sigh. Her fingers curled around the doorknob, her eyes scanning the room like she was about to say something, but she didn’t seem to know how to frame it. “I can’t sleep with the closet door open, either,” she added after a long beat, the words lingering in the air. “Not even a crack.” There was a pause before she laughed softly, but the sound was hollow, as though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Your father didn’t mind, though. He could leave it wide open for all he cared. Actually…” She trailed off for a second, her voice dropping a bit. “I think one of the reasons I divorced him was because he never believed… in the horror of the closet monster.”

Jung-Hyun raised an eyebrow, momentarily distracted from the comic. “Closet monster?” His tone was dry, laced with curiosity but also amusement, like he was humoring her, but he didn’t expect any real explanation.

Just as Wanda opened her mouth to reply, a deep voice rumbled from behind them, sending both of them into a sudden jolt of surprise.

“Closet monster?” Min-chul’s voice boomed, rich with humor and mischief, coming from just behind them. Wanda and Jung-Hyun yelped in unison, as startled as if a ghost had materialized in the room. They spun around in tandem, both of them wide-eyed, only to find Min-chul leaning casually against the doorframe, his signature grin spread across his face, completely unphased by their shock.

“Dad!” Wanda scolded with a gasp, her heart still pounding in her chest. Her expression was a mix of exasperation and affection, but the edge of annoyance was clear in her voice. “Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

Min-chul raised a hand in mock surrender, his grin only growing wider. “It’s called the Indian walk,” he said proudly, his tone almost too pleased with himself. “Walking without making a sound.”

Jung-Hyun rolled his eyes, already used to his father’s antics. But before he could say anything, Min-chul stepped further into the room, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He was holding something behind his back, hiding it like it was some kind of secret treasure, but the way he was grinning, it was clear that whatever it was, it was meant to be a surprise.

Min-chul made a dramatic flourish, his free hand swooping outward as he revealed the object behind his back. “Brought you a little something to dress up your room, Jung-Hyun,” he said, his voice dripping with excitement.

Jung-Hyun blinked in disbelief as he looked at the grotesque thing in his father’s hands. It was a stuffed woodchuck, its fur matted and dirty with age, its teeth bared in a perpetual snarl, the glassy eyes wide and unblinking. The thing was so ugly, so unnervingly lifelike in its grotesque posture, that Jung-Hyun had to resist the urge to cringe. He forced a grateful smile, even though everything inside him recoiled. “Thanks, Harabeoji,” he said weakly, the words tasting foreign on his tongue.

Min-chul beamed with pride, placing the stuffed animal carefully on the dresser like it was the most precious thing in the world. His voice was warm, a deep affection in the way he spoke. “Lots more where he came from.”

Wanda shuddered, clearly not as thrilled with the gift as her husband was. She covered it with a polite nod, trying to mask the unease in her face. “Lights out, Jung-Hyun,” she said briskly, her voice now taking on that motherly authority. She took Min-chul by the arm and gently steered him toward the door, her movements a little quicker than usual, as though she was eager to get away from the unsettling addition to their son’s room.

Jung-Hyun sat there in silence, his eyes locked on the stuffed woodchuck, its glassy stare boring into him. The dim light from the bedside lamp made the creature’s teeth gleam eerily, as if it was alive, watching him with some hidden knowledge. The room suddenly felt colder, darker, the shadows stretching unnaturally around the strange gift. He shifted uncomfortably in his bed, trying to lose himself in the pages of his comic again, but it was impossible to ignore the grotesque figure sitting on the dresser.

Minutes passed, and Jung-Hyun found his gaze drifting back to the woodchuck. Its eyes seemed to follow him, every move he made—its sharp, bared teeth gleaming in the half-light. Something about it gnawed at him, as if it was waiting for him to do something, or perhaps waiting for something to happen. He couldn’t focus on his comic anymore. The words blurred in front of him, and the images lost their power. He could still hear the quiet, oppressive atmosphere of the room, the silence hanging heavy with an unsettling presence.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. With a frustrated grunt, he pushed himself off the bed, his feet hitting the cold floor with a soft thud. His heart was racing, his nerves frayed by the unsettling sensation creeping up his spine. Without thinking, he marched over to the dresser, grabbed the revolting stuffed woodchuck, and tossed it into the closet, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.

The closet door groaned in protest, but the room was suddenly quieter, almost calmer. Jung-Hyun let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his pulse still pounding in his ears. He stood there for a moment, staring at the closet door, the brief flash of fear slowly ebbing away. But even as he tried to calm himself, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the room wasn’t as empty as it seemed. The dark corners seemed to hold something, something that he couldn’t quite name.

Back in the cave, the atmosphere was undeniably shifting. The earlier tension that had filled the air was slowly melting away, like mist under the warmth of the sun. Music began to pulse through the cavernous space from a battered old boombox perched on a broken stone ledge. The bass reverberated off the jagged rock walls, a hypnotic beat that seemed to seep into the very bones of the cave. Taehyung, ever the free spirit, was in his element—gracefully gliding on his skateboard across the uneven stone floor. His movements were fluid, each turn, flip, and slide a perfect synchronization with the rhythm of the music. It was as if his body was made for the music, dancing in the air as much as it was skating along the ground. The others lounged around him, each of them in their own space, enjoying the break from earlier tension. Some sat casually on the rocks, legs dangling or stretched out lazily, while others leaned against the columns of stone or sprawled in the shadows. Laughter, casual chatter, and the steady thrum of the boombox formed a kind of strange harmony.

Jungkook, still feeling somewhat out of place and unnerved by the cave's overwhelming sense of otherness, was the one to break the spell. His voice cut through the music like a knife, his words awkward but genuine. “Where are you guys from?” he asked, his curiosity forcing the question out before he could think better of it.

Yoongi glanced at him from where he was lounging against a stone pillar, a lazy smirk stretching across his face. “We’re from right here,” he answered, his voice calm, almost like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Jungkook blinked in confusion. “No, I mean… where do you live?” His voice was hesitant, unsure if he was missing something, but his question felt too big to leave unasked.

The moment hung in the air for a second, and then Taehyung let out a sharp laugh—an almost mocking sound, but not unkind. It was as if Jungkook had just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. He spun his skateboard around, the wheels screeching against the stone, before leaning casually against a rock. “Right here,” Taehyung replied, gesturing widely around the cave as though the entire cavern was the answer. “This is where we live, Jungkook.”

The whole group chuckled at that, the tension from earlier dissolving completely as they fell back into their comfortable rhythm. But Jungkook, now even more bewildered than before, wasn’t letting it go that easily. “You live here? Your folks let you?” he asked, still incredulous. The question slipped out before he could stop it, and the group fell into a quiet pause.

Yoongi’s eyebrow arched, his expression both amused and mildly confused. “Is he talking parents?” he asked, looking at the others, as though Jungkook had just asked about some long-forgotten relic of the past.

Taehyung leaned back with a grin, his laugh bursting from him again. “What are they?” His voice dripped with playful sarcasm, and his smile only widened as the others joined in, their laughter echoing off the stone walls of the cave.

Jimin, who had been leaning lazily against a broken pillar near Jungkook, watched the whole exchange with a knowing gleam in his eyes. He sidled closer, his movements slow and deliberate. There was a strange glint in his eyes as he spoke, his voice low, seductive almost. “We do what we want, Jungkook,” he said, his words dripping with a kind of dangerous freedom. “We have complete freedom. No parents. No rules.” He tilted his head, his expression suddenly intense. “Hell, we’re as free as birds.”

The weight of Jimin’s words hung in the air like a promise, an invitation to something deeper, darker. But before Jungkook could process what he was hearing, a new presence appeared—Taeyang, emerging from the shadows, carrying cartons of takeout food. The sight of the food brought a strange sense of normalcy back, a grounding force amidst the bizarre and unsettling atmosphere. Jimin clapped him on the back in greeting, taking the containers from him with a flourish, as if he were presenting an offering.

“Chinese! Good choice,” Jimin said with an exaggerated smile, cracking open a carton of food and handing it to Jungkook with an almost ceremonial air. “Guests first,” he added, his voice laced with mock politeness.

Jungkook hesitated for a moment, eyeing the carton warily. The others watched him with barely contained amusement, their gazes flicking between him and the food. Jungkook’s stomach growled, betraying his discomfort. After a brief, tense moment, he took the carton from Jimin, feeling the weight of their gaze on him as if they were waiting for him to do something more than simply eat. Slowly, almost cautiously, he scooped a spoonful of rice into his mouth, trying to ignore the growing knot in his stomach.

Jimin, still watching him with an amused glint in his eyes, leaned in just a little closer, his voice lowering to a whisper of mock innocence. “So,” he said, “how do you like those maggots, Jungkook?”

Jungkook froze. His stomach dropped, and the world seemed to tilt. “What?” he asked, his voice tight with confusion and horror.

Jimin’s grin widened, dark and wicked. “You’re eating maggots,” he said, his voice full of glee. “How do they taste?”

Jungkook’s blood ran cold as he stared down at the carton in his hands. The rice, which had seemed so ordinary moments before, was no longer just rice. It was alive. He blinked in disbelief, but the writhing mass of maggots was unmistakable—thousands of tiny, squirming creatures crawling over one another, their translucent bodies glistening in the dim light. He gagged, his stomach lurching violently. Without thinking, he spit out the mouthful he had taken and threw the carton to the ground.

But when the carton spilled open, all that fell out was plain, harmless rice. No maggots. No worms. Just rice.

The entire cave erupted in laughter. It was loud, raucous, and the sound bounced off the stone walls, filling every corner of the space. Jungkook’s face burned with humiliation, his pulse racing with a mix of anger and confusion. He stood there, frozen, unsure of whether to laugh or to retreat.

Y/N, who had been sitting nearby, stood abruptly, her voice cutting through the chaos like a sharp blade. “That’s enough,” she said, her tone harsh, protective.

Jimin raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face. “Sorry, Jungkook,” he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. “No hard feelings, huh?” He offered him a new carton, this time filled with noodles. “Here. Try these noodles.”

Jungkook eyed the carton warily, his stomach still churning from the earlier shock. He opened it slowly, the feeling of dread tightening in his chest. But when he looked inside, his stomach flipped again. The noodles weren’t just noodles. They were alive—twisting, writhing, and slimy, the noodles moving in a grotesque dance of their own.

Jimin, unfazed, raised an eyebrow and echoed Jungkook’s horror. “Worms?” he asked with mock confusion, then tilted the carton back, letting the wriggling mass of noodles slide into his mouth. The sound of the noodles slithering over his lips and disappearing down his throat was obscene, a sickeningly satisfying slurp.

Jungkook couldn’t hold it in any longer. Panic surged through him, and he grabbed Jimin’s arm, his heart pounding in his chest. “Don’t! Stop!” he begged, his voice rising with fear.

Jimin simply grinned, swallowing the last of the noodles with ease. “Why? They’re only noodles,” he said casually, offering the carton back to Jungkook, as if the thing was completely normal. But this time, when Jungkook looked inside, the noodles were just… noodles. Harmless. Innocuous. No worms.

The boys around them howled with laughter again, their voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of amusement, as if they were all in on a joke that Jungkook didn’t understand. He felt a cold sweat break out along his spine, the ground beneath him seeming to shift and buckle. The sense of unreality clung to him, his grip on what was real loosening.

“That’s enough!” Y/N snapped again, her voice cutting through the ruckus like a whip. She stood tall, her eyes flashing with something protective, something fierce.

The music shifted again, the boombox crackling before a new song slammed into the space, deep and throbbing with a rhythm that vibrated through the entire cavern. The beat was alive, wrapping around the walls, seeping into the stones, flowing through every crack and crevice. The air hummed with it. It was so powerful, so immersive, that it seemed to pulse from the very walls themselves. Every note, every beat urged them all to move, to surrender to the music. It had a strange power—an irresistible pull that made the cave feel less like a place and more like a living thing, like it was breathing along with them.

Y/N, ever the force of nature, grabbed Jungkook’s hand without hesitation, pulling him towards the center of the room, toward the pulse of the music. Her grip was firm, but there was a lightness to her that made him want to follow her anywhere. She moved effortlessly, flowing like water, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. There was a kind of gravity to her, like she could make the whole world bend to her will without even trying. Jungkook felt himself moving along with her, his body reluctantly obeying her silent command. His laughter came out nervous, hesitant, as he tried to match her fluid movements, but his body was betraying him. The joint Jimin had handed him earlier was doing its work—his limbs felt heavy and loose, his movements sluggish, and his balance was slightly off. The world around him seemed to tilt, edges blurring, the lights flashing just a little too brightly, the music too loud, but somehow it was exhilarating. He felt caught in the undertow of it all, unable to fight the current.

Jimin, leaning against a crumbling pillar with a relaxed grin, watched them with a sly glint in his eyes. His posture was casual, almost lazy, but his eyes tracked them with predatory attention, as if he were amused by some private joke. Then, as if a thought had occurred to him, he reached behind him and pulled an old, dark bottle from a dusty shelf. It was a relic, something forgotten and weathered, the label too faded to read. He uncorked it with an exaggerated flick of his wrist, the sound sharp in the space, and poured its contents into a crinkled paper cup. The liquid inside was a dark, rich color—deep crimson, almost too thick to be liquid. He sauntered over to Jungkook, the smile on his face widening, and extended the cup toward him with a flourish, like it was a gift.

“Drink,” Jimin said smoothly, his voice as warm as honey, thick with something dangerous, something like temptation.

Jungkook hesitated, eyeing the cup with a mix of curiosity and caution. But before he could reach for it, Y/N's hand shot out, gripping his wrist with a surprising strength. Her fingers were cool against his skin, and her eyes were wide, urgent. Her face was close, close enough for him to catch the faint scent of her skin, the heat of her breath as she leaned in.

“Don’t, Jungkook. You don’t have to,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm, like a warning he didn’t know how to ignore. “It’s blood.”

Her words hit him like a punch, a sudden jolt of reality amidst the haze. For a second, everything paused. The world seemed to freeze around him. His eyes searched hers, trying to make sense of the words, but they didn’t make sense. Blood? He blinked slowly, his mind trying to process it, but all he could do was laugh, a low, amused chuckle escaping his lips.

“Blood. Right,” he said, as though he were indulging in some bizarre joke. He raised the cup to his lips, swirling the thick liquid inside, watching it glint in the dim light. “Good joke, Y/N.”

But before she could stop him again, Jungkook tipped the cup back and drank. The liquid was warm, thicker than any drink he’d ever tasted, and when it slid down his throat, it felt almost alive. The room seemed to hold its breath as everyone watched him. His skin prickled with the sensation of their eyes on him. The liquid slid over his tongue, and a strange taste bloomed in his mouth. It was iron—sharp and metallic—but there was something else, something deeper and darker, something that set his nerves alight. It was the taste of something ancient, something primal.

When the cup pulled away from his mouth, it left a streak of the liquid at the corner of his lips, the red stain a stark contrast against the paleness of his skin. For a moment, he just stared at the cup in his hand, a faint, bitter taste lingering in the back of his throat. But then, something inside him snapped. The edges of his vision blurred, the world tilting dangerously, like the ground had given way beneath him.

And then, it wasn’t just spinning—it was flying.

The sensation of weightlessness hit him all at once, like he was floating, like the air had turned to something thick and viscous. He felt himself rising, slowly, impossibly high, the room shrinking beneath him, the laughter, the music, the faces all blurring together into a kaleidoscope of sound and color. He drifted upward, weightless, his body a balloon on the wind. Everything around him began to feel distant, dreamlike—he could hear their voices, but they were muffled, like he was listening through a veil.

Jungkook’s head spun with the vertigo, the dizzying feeling of floating just above reality. He barely felt the impact as he stumbled, his body moving of its own accord, and fell forward, collapsing into Y/N’s lap.

The moment he made contact with her, everything shifted. Y/N went completely still beneath him, her body rigid with tension. He could feel it—her legs trembling with the effort to hold still, the tension in her muscles pulling tight like a string. It was strange against the loose, languid feeling that had taken over him, as if his own body were made of soft, flowing water. The contrast felt like a jolt, something electric running through him. The others, the Lost Boys, were still laughing behind him, their voices loud and jeering, but Jungkook didn’t care. He could hear the amusement in their voices, but it didn’t bother him. Not now. Not when Y/N smelled like everything he needed to breathe.

He buried his face into the soft folds of her skirt, his body relaxing further into the cushion of her lap. There was a heady, intoxicating scent wafting from her skin, something salty and sweet, mixed with the faint iron tang of blood. The smell was different from anyone else. It was a pulse, a steady rhythm that sent his senses spinning, tugging at something deep inside him. It was warm, and cold, all at once—a strange balance, woven together into something intoxicating. Something that made his head spin even harder, made him want to stay close, closer.

His hand moved almost of its own accord, lifting to gently rest on her knee, the warmth of her skin beneath his touch like fire against the coolness of his fingers. He looked up at her, his head heavy, his vision too soft, too slow. A smile curved across his lips.

“Give me a kiss, Y/N?” he asked, his voice thick with something else now. Something dreamlike, delirious.

Y/N froze. For a brief moment, she didn’t move, her gaze flicking to him like a darting bird. And then, almost too fast to follow, she turned her head away. The sudden shift in her energy was jarring, her tension radiating off her in waves. Jungkook’s heart stuttered in confusion.

Her voice trembled, laced with something darker than he could comprehend. “Jungkook, you’re covered in blood.”

Jungkook blinked, trying to process her words, before he twisted his body, lifting himself slightly to glance at his chest. His eyes followed the trail of crimson across his clothes, the deep red staining his hands, his lips. He raised a shaky hand to his mouth, wiping at the blood that had dripped down, and stared at his fingers. The blood was thick and sticky, the taste still heavy on his tongue.

“Whoops,” he murmured absently, the words coming out almost too lightly. He chuckled softly, a sound that felt both out of place and completely right.

It felt so absurd. So funny.

The realization hit him with a strange, almost unbearable humor. His mother would be so disappointed. She’d always told him not to play with his food.

The thought made him laugh, and it bubbled up from deep within him, a loud, infectious sound. The laughter echoed around him, mixing with the distant amusement of the others, the voices of the Lost Boys rising in a wave of shared mirth. The sound was light, fizzy, like champagne bubbles popping against his skin, in his veins. It warmed him from the inside, loosening everything left within him. Everything became soft, pliable, as if he were melting into the air itself.

He felt so good. So light. So... free.

But Y/N didn’t join in the laughter. In fact, the tension in her body seemed to heighten. She was shaking now, trembling beneath him. It was subtle, but it was there, and it immediately stopped the warm, drunken hum that had been surrounding him. Jungkook’s smile faltered as he turned to her, his hand reaching up to gently touch her cheek. He needed to understand why she wasn’t laughing, why she wasn’t joining him in this dizzying, euphoric feeling.

“Y/N?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer immediately, her body stiff beneath him, but when she turned to look at him, her eyes were burning with something he couldn’t place. They were full of something fierce—something accusing.

Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat. “Y/N?” he asked again, his voice more urgent now.

Her gaze flicked past him, up toward the curtain drawn around their alcove, her brow furrowing with anger. There was something in her look—something dark and knowing. She was staring at something behind him, beyond him, as if she could see into the heart of the cave.

Jungkook shifted slightly, his body sluggish, but he managed to raise himself on his elbows to follow her gaze.

And there, standing just outside the alcove, was Jimin.

His hands were tucked into the pockets of his overcoat, his stance relaxed, but there was a predatory edge to his smile, a cold, twisted satisfaction in the way his eyes flicked between them.

It takes two tries, his limbs all liquid and unfamiliar, but Jungkook manages to lever himself up onto his elbows. To put his mouth closer to Y/N’s ear. “Did he do something?”

A shudder races through Y/N’s whole body, a shudder that Jungkook, lying in her lap and pressed up close against her everywhere he can, can feel. It’s strangely fascinating. He wants to make her do it again.

There’s something almost like despair in her voice when Y/N says, “Jungkook…”

She says it, watching him, like he should know what she means. What’s going on. Why she’s so upset.

Jimin tucks his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and leans back against the wall, watching them both with a switchblade sliver of a smile.

For the first time, the dizzy haze of satisfied well-being that’s descended over Jungkook feels strangely uncomfortable. Like a soft, warm blanket that’s somehow got tangled over his face. Muffling. Smothering. Suffocating.

He flops himself over onto his side, resting his head against Y/N’s thigh, putting his back to Jimin and his eyes back on Y/N. “Ignore him,” Jungkook advises, and Y/N gives a choked little laugh in the back of her throat, pressing the heel of one hand against her mouth. “Y/N?”

“Jungkook -” Y/N starts, like she’s about to explain why it’s not that simple, and why Jungkook should be upset too, and a whole lot of other things that are going to ruin this moment of pure uncomplicated good that Jungkook’s already starting to realize isn’t going to last forever.

She stops, though, biting off whatever misery she has in mind, when Jungkook draws a finger up the inside of her leg.

He takes his time about it, tracing a lazy pattern around the jut of her anklebone and zigzagging back and forth up her calf to her knee. Y/N’s breath hitches, the hot pulse under her skin surging, as Jungkook doodles invisible circles around the hinge of her knee for a moment before spanning it with his hand and squeezing, digging his thumb into the soft place just above the joint. Her leg jerks, involuntarily Jungkook thinks, and she gives another of those fascinating shudders that he likes.

“Ignore him, Y/N,” Jungkook repeats, even though he can still feel Jimin’s laser-blue eyes boring into his back, Jimin’s attention brushing over him like the whisper of the lacy curtain drifting in the faintest swell of sea-breeze. He thinks of the ways Jimin had looked at him, when he had to watch Y/N walk away from him to climb onto the back of Jimin’s bike, and drags his grip a little higher, bunching up Y/N’s skirt to reveal the smooth expanse of her skin.

A little helpless whimper spills out of Y/N as Jungkook shifts away from his place against her thigh to settle between her legs.

Jungkook takes a moment to plant a gentle kiss to the inside of her knee where, a moment before, he’d dug his thumb in. The sob that catches on Y/N’s breath, heavy and harsh in their little bubble of lace-edged silence, cracks in half partway through.

Y/N smells amazing, and Jungkook can’t get enough. He kisses his way up the inside of her thigh, savoring the way her muscles quaver under his touch, and brushes his lips against the coarse dark curls spilling past the edges of her plain cotton panties as he buries his nose in the crook of her hip and inhales. She’s all sweet and salt together, like crackerjack, like cotton candy on the pier, with that iron rush just below the surface setting Jungkook’s back teeth buzzing and something wild clawing inside his chest. This close to the core of her, her animal musk, her heat, nearly drowns the sweetness out. And that moonlight-cold thing that Jungkook can’t describe slices through it all like vinegar dashed over the salty richness of fresh-from-the-fryer French fries, like the sting of sour candy in a penny-candy bag. She’s mouthwatering.

He wants to devour her.

He wants to make her feel better.

He thinks he can do two things at once.

Y/N lets out a hitching gasp as Jungkook presses a soft kiss to the tiny satin bow decorating the waistband of her panties, then directly over the damp patch of flimsy fabric that’s all that separates her from the world. He lingers there a moment, breathing her in, before he drags himself away to start ministering to the inside of her other thigh. He doesn’t have to. And he’s tempted not to draw this out, make them both suffer, any longer. Tempted just to plunge right in.

But he wants to make Y/N forget whatever it is that’s making her sad. Whatever it is that Jimin’s done that’s disappointed her.

Jungkook can – and he will – kiss it better.

Y/N’s shaking by the time he works his way back up, trembling with the effort, it seems like, of holding herself still. Jungkook can hear the fabric of her skirt shifting and shuffling as she bunches fistfuls of it up and squeezes, then carefully, slowly, releases.

He grins into the soft meat of her thigh, and then shifts over and licks a long stripe up the crotch of her panties.

Y/N jerks, her hips bucking up suddenly enough to catch Jungkook off his guard and bash her pelvic bone against his nose. He thinks he makes some muffled noise of protest, but if there’s pain, it’s gone again in the next thought, erased by the pure euphoria of finally, finally getting a taste of her. She’s soaked right through the thin fabric. Yet another piece of evidence to add to the growing pile that, no matter how she’s fighting for whatever reason not to show it, Y/N’s enjoying this.

Now that Jungkook’s had a taste, though, every thought he had about slowly teasing Y/N up to the edge flies right out of his head. Her restraint seems to crumble in tandem with Jungkook’s, if the way her fists are suddenly clawing into his hair instead of in her skirts is anything to judge by. She doesn’t sound like she’s even trying to bite back or disguise the ragged gasp and long, low, hungry moan that she lets out when he tears open the offending barrier between his lips and hers, when he breathes an almost rapturous sigh against her suddenly-bared flesh. The dark red gash that opens within her darker thatch of curls is as tantalizing, as irresistible, as the bottle of wine Jimin had opened in his face earlier tonight, and the last of Jungkook’s resistance melts as easily before it.

And the surrender is every bit as sweet.

Y/N’s fists tug at his hair as he buries his face into the wet heat of her, his scalp stinging in the pull of her directionless grip. Jungkook lets her yank him closer, force him deeper, as he tries to map out every crook and crevice of her with his tongue. The taste of her is as incredible as the smell of her was, but somehow just a thousand times more, and Jungkook enthusiastically hunts down every trace of ephemeral sweetness and bitter-bright acidity in the flood of hot slick juices smearing his face, coating his tongue.

And every needy sound he manages to wring out of Y/N, every twitch or buck or arch or quiver, sends a little thrill shivering through Jungkook. He’s half-hard in his jeans without even being touched. He might put a hand down to deal with that, if he weren’t so busy focusing on pinning Y/N’s hips down into the cushions, working a couple of fingers into her alongside his tongue.

There’s a prickling awareness that rises slowly up Jungkook’s spine that they’re still being watched, a sort of feeling of nakedness even though he’s still fully dressed in his bloodstained clothes. A feeling of being exposed, under Jimin’s cool, watchful attention.

Somehow, it doesn’t dampen the fire in Jungkook’s blood for this, for Y/N, for everything.

Actually, it’s very much the opposite.

Jungkook’s head is spinning, and for a moment, he’s entirely consumed by Y/N—by the heat and the softness of her, the way she feels against him, like she could melt him into the bed with a single breath. Her thighs tighten around his head, her body trembling, and he loses himself in her pulse, thundering loud enough to fill his ears. It’s a beautiful thing, that moment, when nothing else exists but the two of them—when he can’t remember how long it’s been since he’s felt so weightless, so free. He barely notices how time stretches, or how much of it passes, until her grip loosens, then tightens in his hair again, and her breath comes fast and shallow, full of tremors that ripple down to him.

And then it’s over. She collapses back against the cushions, her thighs falling away from his ears, and Jungkook watches as her chest rises and falls in time with her heart. She’s quiet now, peaceful in the aftermath, and the only sounds in the space between them are the unsteady rhythm of her breathing and the pulse in her throat.

Jungkook’s hands slide slowly from her body, the movement almost reluctant, but the heat between them is too much to ignore, and he can’t help himself. He lifts his torso off the bed, positioning himself on his elbows, wanting to look at her, to connect with her. The moment feels almost sacred, something shared between them that is impossible to put into words. He wants to see her face, to savor this, but when he opens his mouth to speak, he’s struck by the deafening silence that surrounds them. It’s thick, unsettling, almost suffocating.

“Now, how about… that… kiss...” His voice falters, the words hanging in the air like a fragile thread, but before he can finish, he stops himself. His eyes catch something that makes his blood run cold.

Her face is wet. The tears are rolling down her cheeks, leaving streaks through the mess of blood still marking her skin—marks from his hands. The realization hits him hard. She’s crying. His stomach tightens, and a wave of panic rises within him, threatening to overwhelm him. Why? Did he hurt her in some way? The thought grips him so intensely, his heart races and his breath catches in his throat. The weight of the unknown forces him into action.

He moves quickly, but his hands are clumsy, fumbling with her skirts, covering her with an urgency he doesn’t understand. His eyes scan her face, lingering on the tears, on the frown pulling at her features. His own heart skips a beat, and for a split second, he can’t breathe. "Y/N? What’s the matter?" he asks, his voice sounding raw, hollow in the wide gap between them.

For a moment, she doesn’t answer. The stillness stretches between them like an eternity. Her eyes don’t meet his; instead, they remain fixed on something unseen in the shadows, distant and unfocused. It unsettles him more than he’d like to admit. The silence is loud, deafening, and the chill in the air gnaws at his bones.

“No, Jungkook,” she says at last, her voice faint, almost lost in the stillness. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”

A rush of relief washes over him, the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding escaping his lips in a shaky sigh. The panic that had seized him begins to loosen its grip, but it doesn’t fully dissipate. There’s still something gnawing at him, a feeling he can’t shake. He shifts, sitting back against the alcove wall, pulling himself as far from her as the confined space allows. The dried blood on his shirt cracks with the motion, flaking off and falling in little pieces onto the soft sheets beneath them. It seems so insignificant now, a remnant of something that no longer matters.

“I never wanna hurt you, Y/N,” he mutters, mostly to himself, the words escaping in a quiet, almost desperate tone. His eyes drift to the empty space around them, the eerie stillness pressing in, and the distant sound of laughter from their friends outside feels like a memory from a lifetime ago. It doesn’t feel lighthearted anymore; it feels distant. Cold. His mind races as the weight of the silence becomes heavier.

Y/N remains still, her body slack against the bed, her eyes unfocused, lost in her own thoughts. Then, after what feels like an eternity, she exhales a deep, shuddering breath, the sound almost a release. The tension in the room seems to lighten, just a little, as if some unseen weight is lifted, but it’s not enough to ease Jungkook completely. “Come here,” she murmurs softly, her voice inviting him, pulling him toward her.

She shifts, making space for him, and Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He crawls up the bed, lying beside her, his head resting against her shoulder. The warmth of her body is a balm to the cold tension still hanging in the air. Her fingers begin to stroke through his hair, the movement so soft, so soothing, it almost feels unreal. His body relaxes at the sensation, his breathing slowing, becoming steadier, though something remains in the back of his mind, tugging at him, an unease that refuses to leave.

“You’ll need to leave before sunrise,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, as though speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment they’ve created. “The light can still make its way in here unless you go deeper.”

Jungkook hums softly in acknowledgment, but the urgency doesn’t sink in. He knows there’s time—there’s always time. The others won’t leave him to the sun. Whatever that meant. Jungkook was too tired to really think about it.

Yet, despite her warmth and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat under his ear, a quiet, unshakable dread lingers in his chest. It’s a feeling he can’t explain, a tug at the back of his mind, as if something is just out of reach, something he’s missing.

The sensation grows stronger as he drifts, a faint unease twisting in his gut. The last thing he’s aware of before sleep overtakes him is the sticky, uncomfortable feeling of dried blood on his skin, a reminder of everything that has happened—of everything yet to come.

Y/N lies still, her body feeling the comforting weight of Jungkook’s head against her shoulder, the soft, steady rhythm of his breath like a lullaby against her skin. She runs her fingers through his hair absently, the touch gentle, almost tender, but her mind is far from at ease. The afterglow of their intimacy lingers in her limbs, a warmth spreading through her chest, a comfortable ache that makes her smile even as it tugs at her muscles. It’s the kind of ache that signifies satisfaction, fulfillment. But even with that warmth, her thoughts keep pulling her away from the present moment.

The others.

She knows they heard. The sounds they made, the intimacy they shared—it wasn’t quiet. It was raw, too raw to be concealed. The thought makes her flush with embarrassment, heat crawling up her neck and into her cheeks. It’s not just that they heard—it’s that she couldn’t control herself. The way she gave in, the way she let go, her need overwhelming everything. She knows it wasn’t a mistake, that she enjoyed it, but the thought of the others knowing, of them hearing her give herself over to that craving—it makes her skin crawl with discomfort.

But it’s not about them. Not entirely. It’s Jimin.

Jimin, the one who has always been pulling the strings behind the scenes. She knows he orchestrated this, knows that he’s been playing her from the start. He knew how much she wanted Jungkook, how much she craved him, even when she didn’t fully admit it to herself. He’s been manipulating the situation, twisting her feelings, driving her toward the very thing she fears most.

Jimin wants her to drink from Jungkook. He wants her to cross the line, to take that final step into the darkness, to complete the transformation into what she’s meant to be—a vampire. And she can feel it now, deep within her veins. The craving. The hunger. The sharp, burning need that calls to her, a need she’s never been able to deny. It scares her.

Her hand tightens in Jungkook’s hair, her nails grazing his scalp lightly, and a shudder runs through her. It’s not his fault. She knows that. He’s just a pawn in Jimin’s game. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know that she’s being pushed, cornered, manipulated into something she’s not ready for. He doesn’t know that when he leaves, when the morning comes, he will forget all of this. But she knows she won’t.

The weight of that knowledge presses down on her chest, her heart quickening as the room grows darker and quieter. The others had heard, yes, but it’s not just them. It’s Jimin. He’s always known what was happening between them, what it would mean, what it could do to her.

And now he’s pushing her. Driving her toward something she’s doesn’t want to be.

Her breath hitches as she pulls Jungkook closer, holding him against her, as though clinging to something she can’t bear to lose. Her pulse quickens, the heat of his body against hers igniting a fire in her chest. But beneath it all, there’s fear. Fear of herself. Fear of the part of her that’s already too far gone.

But for now, she lets the fear slip away, allowing herself to sink into the comfort of the moment. Jimin may have his plans, but in this moment, all she wants is him—just him. She’ll deal with everything else in the morning.

The stillness of the room is broken only by the soft rhythm of Jungkook’s breathing, slow and steady against her shoulder. He’s asleep now, the weight of his body relaxed against hers, his warmth like a lifeline, grounding her in the chaos of her thoughts. The others are gone, their footsteps long faded from the halls, leaving her with nothing but the haunting silence of the night. She knows it’s late—too late, in fact, but the thoughts pressing in on her won’t let her rest. The shadows of her past are closing in, blurring with the present, and she can’t ignore them any longer.

Her fingers move absentmindedly through Jungkook’s hair, the strands soft beneath her touch. She should feel at peace, should let herself bask in the closeness between them. But there’s something gnawing at her, something she can’t shake, even with him right here, so close, his warmth seeping into her skin. She exhales slowly, allowing herself a moment of quiet reflection, a moment to think, to remember.

It feels like a lifetime ago, the first time she met Jimin.

She remembers how she had been drawn to him instantly, the magnetic pull of his presence undeniable. There had been something intoxicating about him, the way he spoke, the way he moved. He had an ease about him, a confidence that made everything else seem irrelevant. The first time their eyes met, something in her had shifted. It wasn’t love, not exactly—but it was something powerful, something she couldn’t ignore. At first, it was fascination, then admiration, then infatuation. He’d been so charming, so kind, so understanding. She hadn’t even known what she was getting herself into when she had started spending time with him, when he began to peel back the layers of her own desires, showing her things she didn’t even know she was hungry for.

He had taken her in, so carefully, so smoothly, and in a way, she had let herself be swept away by him. By the promises he’d whispered to her in the dark, by the way he had promised her strength, power, freedom. She had believed him then, believed in his every word, thinking that this—this life—was the answer. It was intoxicating, a beautiful lie wrapped in velvet words.

But now, as she lies in the dark, with Jungkook’s head resting on her shoulder, she wonders how much of her decisions were really her own. How much of what she’d felt for Jimin had been carefully orchestrated. Had he known all along? Had he planned this? Had he known she would be the one to cross the line, the one to fall so completely for Jungkook?

It’s been almost a year since her half-life began, and already, the edges of her human memories are beginning to blur, fading into nothingness. She’s forgetting things—small things, big things—the faces of her family, the warmth of the sun, the feeling of rain on her skin. It scares her more than she cares to admit.

The line between human and vampire is thin, too thin. She feels it every day, every minute, as if the very essence of who she was is being chipped away, leaving only fragments of the person she used to be.

She knows that vampires have mates, that there is something deeper, something unexplainable between them and the person they’re bound to. She’s seen it between Yoongi and Taehyung, how they’ve been together for almost twelve years. Yoongi was the first to be changed, by Jimin himself, and the moment he laid eyes on Taehyung, there was no question. Yoongi had wanted him. Needed him. It had been instinct, a magnetic pull that neither of them could resist.

And now, it’s her turn.

She feels it in her bones. The pull toward Jungkook is undeniable, powerful in ways she never expected. From the very first time they met, she had felt it, this bond that she couldn’t explain. The chemistry between them was electric, crackling with something deep, something primal. At first, she had been terrified. Terrified of how badly she wanted him, terrified of what that meant, terrified of what would happen to her, to him, if she gave into it.

But she couldn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop wanting him, needing him, and that terrified her even more. The pull to be with him was too strong to resist, too deep. It was like an ache that couldn’t be filled by anything else, a yearning that clawed at her chest with every breath she took. She can’t live without him, can’t imagine a future where he isn’t there by her side, where his hands aren’t tracing the lines of her skin, where his voice isn’t whispering in her ear.

But even as she craves him, even as she longs for him in a way that consumes her, there’s the undeniable truth that haunts her: it’s her fault that he’s here. It’s her fault that he drank Jimin’s blood, that his transformation has already begun. She had known, in that moment, that it was too late. That one decision had sealed his fate, tied him to her in ways she wasn’t sure he would be able to survive.

It was her fault.

Her fault that he had gotten pulled into the mess that is her life, that he had become a part of the twisted game Jimin had started. She knows that Jimin’s manipulations have played a part in this too, in pushing them both toward this inevitable conclusion. But still, it’s her fault. If she hadn’t been so reckless, so willing to give in, none of this would have happened.

Her fingers tighten around Jungkook’s hair, the pressure grounding her, but it does little to ease the ache in her chest. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know that, soon, he’ll be just like her. He doesn’t know that this bond they share will make it harder and harder for him to resist the pull of his own transformation. She wishes she could tell him, but she knows he would never understand. How could he? How could he understand that the very thing he’s wanted—wanted so badly—could destroy him?

A quiet sob rises in her throat, but she swallows it quickly, not wanting to disturb him. Her heart breaks for him. For them. For what they could have been, if only they hadn’t been swept into this dark, cruel reality.

She presses her face against the top of his head, inhaling the scent of him—of his skin, his warmth, his blood. It’s intoxicating, too much, and yet she can’t get enough. She feels herself unraveling at the thought of him changing, of what that will mean for both of them.

But no matter how much it terrifies her, there’s no going back. They’re tied together, bound in ways neither of them can fully comprehend. And as she lies there, with Jungkook in her arms, she realizes with a heavy heart that, no matter how much she wishes it weren’t true, she can’t live without him.

[dabiconcordia]

The Garden Year

January brings the snow, Makes our feet and fingers glow. February brings the rain, Thaws the frozen lake again. March brings breezes, loud and shrill, To stir the dancing daffodil. April brings the primrose sweet, Scatters daisies at our feet. May brings flocks of pretty lambs Skipping by their fleecy dams. June brings tulips, lilies, roses, Fills the children's hands with posies. Hot July brings cooling showers, Apricots, and gillyflowers. August brings the sheaves of corn, Then the harvest home is borne. Warm September brings the fruit; Sportsmen then begin to shoot. Fresh October brings the pheasant; Then to gather nuts is pleasant. Dull November brings the blast; Then the leaves are whirling fast. Chill December brings the sleet, Blazing fire, and Christmas treat. by Sara Coleridge

[creepy-ghosts]

Kremy celebrated Kwanzaa when he was little with his family because I like pushing my southern African American culture on my favorite character.

Yapping below, read at your own risk

I can imagine him and his brother lighting the candles with his mom. Two ears of corn that represents the children in the family. Gathering around the table as they discuss the principle of the day and maybe doing some activities for it.

On the equivalent of December 31st Kremy cooks black eyed peas with his Memaw for good luck into the next year.

After Kremy left he became distant with the celebration especially with it being not popular in Agwe as well as no family to celebrate with.

When Kremy became more comfortable with his past and considered the whole gang as family they started celebrating together. Kremy explained the 7 principles, placed an ear of corn to represent Hootsie, and he cooks black eyed peas for everyone to eat.

Is this anything at all?

[confusedhomicidalrage]

@brains4ne what if...

[thornonthevine]

uh oh...I accidentally broke one of Isaac's legs, he's now in crutches! What do the others do?

Malachi: *would help him with stuff trying not to laugh*

Micah: *would also help him get around with them and would basically act like his servant*

Mordecai: *same thing with micah*

Jeremiah: *is NOT helping him and is laughing at him failing to get around*

Eli: *also acts like his damn servant and would act like Isaac is on his damn deathbed*

Josiah: *doesn't care*

Ezekiel: *isn’t helping but finds the others laughing at him to be rude*

Gabriel: *THATS LITERALLY HIS SON. He helps him with everything and shit like that*

Matt: *is forced to do the same*

Abel: *if anon didn't break his leg he definitely did.*

[dreamin4smth]

Maria Robotnik VS Sonic 3

So I watched Sonic 3 last december and I can’t stop thinking abt it. Especially what they did with the Shadow and Maria story, so now Ive come here to speak my mind and go through just how GOOD of an adaption they are in the movie. Holy shit. That was wild.

Ill be comparing Game!Maria and Movie!Maria and how their characters work in the story. Im sure there are hundreds of analyzis out there of them that might be saying the same things I will. Idk I havent watched any, but these are my own thoughts Ive gathered from watching the movies and the games. So I hope they make as much sense to you as they do to me lmao.

Because, good lord, it must have been difficult for the writers to handle the question “how do you adapt the story of a hedgehog made by the blood of space alien colonizers all in favour of saving sick child from dying?“

What did the writers do? Well lets see.

To understand the difference between Movie!Maria and Game!Maria we need to understand what Maria as a character does to the story. So lets start there.

Game!Maria

Maria robotnik in the games serves a special roll that promotes her to something more than just a character. Game Maria is a symbol. Her story is set from the moment we learn of her, and her character is more there for plot reasons rather than being an independent veichle in her story. The Maria we meet is soft spoken, compassionate, a fanatic and an inspiration for Shadow. She’s dressed in blue with golden hair and with a leap in her step. There is little fault to be found in her because thats not what she’s ment to be. Maria is a representation of innocence.

She’s a sick child who wishes for everyone on earth to be happy, and all of this is ment to lead you to the horrors of her then being killed. But the point is, Maria in the games is stagnant. She represents the life that Shadow had on the ARK, but more importantly, she represents SHADOWS innocence. Maria as a character is not her own story but rather a subpart of Shadows, and that is where we find the biggest difference with the Games and the movie. Dont even get me started on the almost religious imagery that follows her around. I mean, her names MARIA. Her roll is to be the center of love in Shadow’s life. Shes a sister, a best friend and even motherly at times. And while Shadow generations definetly gives us more of a laid back version of her, we can still see her maintain that untouchable rightousness that makes her character almost age-less. In a sense. She’s a child to highlight her innocence, yet in all other terms she really isn’t. Game Maria is an idea.

So what does the movies do then?

Movie!Maria

Sonic 3 saw all this and decided to do smth a bit different. To introduce such a compex narrative in a movie for children would definetly have been... Difficult, so instead they tone down the version a bit and make it their own thing. Who does Maria become? She becomes a CHARACTER.

Movie Maria is a child who is going to be living at a base filled with adults and scientists. She walks into the first scene with caution and nervousness, and yet as she meets Shadow, she finds a kin. And who we meet is a Maria that is goofy, mischevous, gleeful and daring. She’s a child here. She builds blanket forts, throws pop-corn at her brother, makes him driver her around on roller-skates and plays the guitar. Movie Maria is not ment to represent more than what she is, and still, it works. Movie Maria is innocent but she’s not the definition of it. She’s a person that shadow lost rather than an idea that he lost. The Maria we meet in the movie is a moving character that was abruptly stopped by external forces. She was always ment to have a future and a story, and yet she lost that. Movie Maria’s tragedy lies in her lost potential while Game Maria’s tragedy lies in her inevitable outcome. This also creates a difference in what they do to Shadows own personal journey, which ill get into more later.

So before that one more thing I love that they do with Movie Maria is that they still let her keep that inspirational part. She’s the one to inteoduce the line “the light shines even though the star is gone“ to Shadow and unknowingly ends up helping Shadow in his grief. While Game Maria is activly trying to bring positive change to Shadow’s life, Movie Maria uninentionally does that simply by showing kindness and love. She is still Shadows sister who was always there for him and loved him, just in a different light. She is still his moral compass. Shadow can be a good person because of her impact on his life, and in my opinion, as long as she fits the afformentioned categories then Maria can be whatever the writers want her to be.

So last but not least, lets talk abt her sickness.

Maria’s Sickness

Game Maria is deathly sick. Her days are numbered until a cure can be found, and the only hope left for her is Shadow. This creates a dependency between the two because suddenly, Shadow’s life isnt his own. He is alive for and because of Maria. She’s a part of his identity, so what happens when he loses that part of himself? This internal conflict directly influences Shadow’s self worth. Shadow is as much angry for losing her as he’s angry for losing himself. The very reason to why he says “goodbye shadow the hedgehog“ in Shadow 05 is because he can no longer be the same person after losing Maria. His goals and his dreams are haltered when the ARK gets invaded, ans it all leads back to Maria’s sickness.

Which is why... Well... The fact that the movie removes this part of Maria sure is... A choice.

And while I understand that showing a sick child who is then killed by the military would probbaly raise a few eyebrows from adults, that still doesnt change the fact that a very unique and important part of Shadows story was removed.

Movie Maria is there more or less on her own ackord. She has a future ahead of her. Her and Shadows relationship isn’t built on mutual depenency but rather as a circumstantional one. Which still works, dont get me wrong, but it does make the story just a tad more generic. Shadow is no longer angry for losing such a big part of his identity, he’s just doing the former part now. Grieving the most important person in his life, as well as his home.

This hardly ruins the story ofc, its just a different take on the story that, in all fairness, fits the vibe of the movie better. Bringing in terminal illness and conversations around that would definetly be a tough one. And because of them making Maria more of a character now it still works. She’s already an innocent and tragic character. She’s not ment to be innocence and tragedy incarnate like she is in the games. You get the point.

All in all. Almost perfect adaption of Maria in my opinion. I love movie Maria and it was such a clever way to go with the character. She and Shadow will always have a special place in my heart.

Hope you liked my little thought essay. I can talk abt Sonic characters all damn day 🫶

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS: 🌾 DEMETER: Goddess of Agriculture and Fertility, of the Harvest & Sacred Law, of the Earth, of the Seasons, Nourishment & Bread 🌽

author's note: I had a sudden idea about writing some headcanons Camp Halfblood demigods being claimed and what it's like for each respective god and cabin, followed by a small blurb afterwards. Thank you for reading and please like and reblog! The order is not in order of the cabin numbers. [PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST]

When you get claimed, the ground beneath you bursts with vegetation. You look around you and notice that among the vegetation, it’s your favourites. Your favourite flowers, fruit, vegetable, and plants. It’s almost like Demeter had been keeping an eye on you this entire time and this was her bouquet for you. A wreath of corn and plants sit upon your crown.

Your siblings cheer and help you take the bouquet of vegetation, taking the roots of each plant to be planted later on, and the rest is gathered. You’re introduced to your cabin and siblings with a small impromptu picnic of said-bouquet as you all break bread together. As you sink your teeth into the nearest food, it fills you with energy you’re not sure how to place other than it’s good. 

There are plants everywhere in your cabin and the inside of the cabin is almost like a botanical garden that is also never uncomfortable to sleep in. You look around and you see plants hanging from above and/or rising above. Your bed smells like earth and flowers, and there are vines curling up around the frames. As soon you touch the bed, your bunk bed bursts into your favourite flowers and plants, providing you a little bit of comfort. 

The wreath you were given hangs above your head and it remains fresh. It’s like a soft reminder of Demeter’s presence.

You help with the camp’s business of growing and maintaining the strawberries they grow, and you find out you and your siblings all get a small portion of the profits. It’s almost like an allowance for doing your chores. 

Being a child of Demeter, you get along with the children of Dionysus and Mr. D. 

You also get along with the dryads at camp, being the child of Demeter. There’s a sense of love and respect directed towards you. If you don’t know, you’re later told by one of your siblings, the dryads, or Mr. D himself. 

Let’s just say, Demeter is very, very terrifying and you know when they say to never mess with Mother Nature. 

Do not mistaken for weakness and unimportance as a child of Demeter. Demeter herself is powerful, and hopefully no one earns her ire. 

People might not find your particularly threatening, but know that when the time comes, your hand that has handled the tools that till the earth, is just as practiced as a sword. 

Flower power to the max. You can sprout the plants beneath your feet, from the smallest of weeds that can tear apart stone through their cracks, to the network of tree roots beneath your feet that grow and grow. Fungi are also on the table and boy, there's no way more terrifying then razing down enemies with the power of fungi. You carry an assortment of seeds with you and let me tell you, a whip made out of Rose thorns go hard.

You looked at the miniature garden beneath your feet. You quickly take in the fact the plants around you are your favourites. Your favourite fruits, flowers, herbs, plants in general. You can’t tell if it is the pollen or dust, but you feel your eyes prickling at the fact that maybe, Demeter had been keeping an eye on you when her claim brought about your favourites. 

You felt the wreath of corn grow on top of your head, the vines and leaves moving and parting your hair behind your ear. It is soft, gentle, and deliberate, almost like a mother’s touch. 

You see a bunch of campers take out shovels, spades, and other gardening tools and begin working at your feet, gathering the plants. A girl steps forward and she had her hands on her hips, giving you a smile. 

“Don’t worry about the plants. Each new child of Demeter’s claim is different and their plants are a representation of them, so we like to gather the plants to celebrate. My name is Katie Gardner, child of Demeter and cabin leader. Welcome!” 

You introduced yourself before catching some of the children of Demeter talk excitedly about what to make with the produce they had gathered. “So what’s going on now?”

Katie gently guides you to the Demeter Cabin as she explains. “To welcome each new addition to our cabin, we also like to hold an impromptu picnic if its early or late enough before meal times, and we use the plants from their claim as the centrepiece. This also lets us get to know each other, a bit of an ice breaker if you get what I mean.”

“That’s actually pretty cool” you said as she led you to your bunk.

“It is, right? I know we may not seem as cool compared to the other gods, but trust me, being a child of Demeter is just as great as the others. We’re just…more down to earth.”

The reaction you gave to Katie as she let out a laugh. “Got you right there” she giggled. “Come on, there’s plenty to show you!”

[rhey-007]

*+:｡.｡ 𝕮𝖔𝖗𝖓 𝕸𝖆𝖟𝖊 ｡.｡:+*

FP Jones x reader | 18+ SMUT

Summary: after saving your brothers ass from serpents, you get a pleasant surprise from FP

Warnings: 18+, smut, masturbation (f receiving), slight age gap (reader is 20, FP in his late 20's), outdoors sex

Author's note: it's my first time writing smut 🫣 so I apologise in advance (just in case) 😅 enjoy!

It was 31st October 1995, Halloween.

Your first Halloween as an adult.

Your father was a farmer known for his halloween corn mazes so it was obvious that you would help him prepare it for halloween. You would go inside and place various decorations, starting from jack-o'-lanters through scarecrows, finishing at bedsheet ghosts. That was a standard, but this year you also decided to hire your friends to dress up as monsters, hide in the corn and scare people. Of course you weren't an exception either. You dressed up as a blood thirsty nun that greeted children, teens and adults by the entrance, and later joined your friends inside the maze, while your father sold the tickets dressed as a murderous clown.

You found scaring people fun, especially the kids. But your enjoyment came to an end later that evening when you had to come back to the reception and replace your father for a while. That's when a scarecrow like creature came running in your direction. Though it didn't take you long to figure out it was your older brother Ben, who must have gotten himself in some shit again, followed by a couple of furious serpents.

You didn't say a word, just shook your head disapprovingly and shoved Ben into the maze. As you later found out, your brother angried the serpents by stealing from them, it wasn't a lot but you knew each gram of heroin was worth the anger. Ben quickly left but managed to shout you a short thanks and sorry.

Now you just had to deal with the serpents...

When they made their way to you, you would finally see who it actually was, and of course it couldn't be anyone esle than Forsythe Pendleton Jones II with his two sidekicks. In that moment you knew you'll have a hard job to do. You didn't know FP personally, but you heard a lot about him, mostly bad things, and you started to worry you wouldn't be able to handle them.

''What do you want here FP''

You stood in front of the gateway and looked the man up and down, just as he did to you.

''Move. Kid.''

He hissed, but you just furrowed your brows and crossed your arms. No one's gonna call you a kid, especially not that douchebag. You stood there in silence for a while, neither of you planning on moving, so you finally spoke up.

''I don't care what he did, but I'm sure you're not pleased with that. But instead of chasing him and trying to beat his ass maybe you should try to think of a way to prevent more situations like that, huh? ... Oh wait! You can't, you're too dumb''

You smiled at him sweetly after your short speech. FP curled his hands into fists angrily, a vein about to pop on his forehead. He had enough of the bratty girl so he just shoved her to the ground and run into the maze. The girl took too much of their time already.

After getting up from the ground and dusting yourself off, you looked at your watch wondering how much time it would take the three to come back. In fact it didn't take them a lot as just after few turns they were lost. Good thing one of them memorised the way, so they came back the same way they went it. You smirked triumphally seeing three slumped figures leave the maze, you knew well they wouldn't make it far.

At night you sneaked into Ben's room to retrieve the stolen goods, you couldn't let him take it after all.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 🎃 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The next day was time to clean the maze and gather the corn. You and your best friend Ashley cleaned it from the early hours of the day and just by accident FP knew about it. In reality he met one of your friends he's seen you once with in the town and forced that information out of him. He came to the attraction early enough to already find you inside. The man sneaked in without Ashley noticing and found you quite qickly as you weren't far away.

''You already finished Ashley?''

You asked as you heard someone move behind you, but you couldn't care enought to turn around. Well... not until you heared his voice.

''It ain't her''

He said as he came closer to you. You gulped softly not expecting to see FP there.

''The attraction is closed, come back next year''

You huffed, trying to stay calm and not show the slight fear that boiled inside of you. Why you were so scared suddenly? Because you had nothing to defend yourself with and the look in his eyes made you feel uneasy. FP looked at you as a predator would look at his prey. He moved closer and closer until he had you squished in a corner.

''If the attracion is closed then why are you still here, sugar?''

The nickname made you feel sick, which you couldn't say about his cologne that weirdly calmed you down. FP put his hands on your hips and squeezed them gently.

''Not a lot of people stand up against me... Yet you...''

He licked his lips while looking down at you.

''You did it without a second thought just to defend your stupid brother. And you know what?... That turns me on''

FP didn't even give you a chance to say something before he smashed his lips on yours. You had to admit you were pleasantly surprised, which sounds weird considering the fact that you didn't even know him. But he was handsome... really handsome, and you always had a thing for him that you never admited out loud, even though he was older than you and it felt a little inappropriate. So when he kissed you, it just took you a few second to kiss him back, which surely satisfied and exctied the older man.

You pulled away when you felt breathless and looked down not wanting to make eye contact with FP, a dark blush appearing on your pale face.

„You've just kissed me as if your life depended on it and now you're all shy?"

The man mocked, his hand reaching up to capture your chin and lift it up so you would look back at him, a wicked smirk was painted on his face. It really suited him. Soon FP's hand wandered back to your hip to then grab your ass. You squeaked when he picked you up, your arms immediately wrapping around his neck. He put you down on hay bales stacked together then started his unholy ministrations on your neck, earning quiet moans from you every now and then. If that wasn't enough, one of his hands rubbed your thigh up and down, each time coming closer to your aching core, while the other creeped under your shirt, slowly making it's way to your breasts.

„Fp... „

You moaned out, your hands gripping his mucled arm and burgundy T-shirt. The man took it as a sing to proceed further, his hand slipped under your bra and started to massage your breast. Your palm slid down his clothed torso to meet his semi hard member and grip it gently. He groaned into your ear when you did that and bit it softly then captured your lips into another, more aggressive but still passionate kiss.

„God dammit sweetheart... „

FP couldn’t wait anymore, he unbuckled his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down then did the same to your shorts and panties. You looked down, your mouth in slight agape. He was huge, at least he seemed like it, you didn’t think you'd be able to take him all but you were wrong. With one swift thrust he was balls deep inside of you. A juicy moan escaped your lips which made FP slam his hand on top of them.

„Shh... We don't want anyone to find out, do we?"

He whispered and tilted his head softly. You just nodded obediently and let him fuck you. His hips moved with an agonizing yet sweetly pleasuring pace. You never thought sex could be that good, and it wasn't your first time.

„Shit... Ya feel so good... „

He groaned out. His palm moved from your lips to your neck to grip it softly, your own hand quickly following it signaling your worry about the act.

„Don't worry... Don't wanna loose such great pussy so quickly... "

The man breathed out between grunts. You decided to trust him so you moved your hands to his cheeks to pull his face down for a kiss. In meanwhile FP started to circle his thumb on your clit, giving you even more pleasure and almost immediately making you reach your orgasm. He groaned dissatisfied into your lips and mumbled.

„Thought you'll last longer... Now you gotta gimmie another one sugar...”

He sped up his movement both on your clit and inside of you.

„I... I-I can't take it... Anymore... "

You've managed to say between moans, but it didn't seem to affect the man in any way, he just kept fucking you relentlessly.

„You on the pill? „

He asked suddenly when he felt the two of you were about to finish. You just nodded and soon another wave of pleasure hit you alongside the warmth of FP's seed spilling out inside of you. You both breathed heavily, neither of you going to say anything, just indulging in pleasure and silence. Soon FP pulled his member out of you, his semen slowly spilling out.

„Look at you...”

The man smirked triumphantly after tucking himself back into his boxers and pulling his pants back up.

„Wouldn’t thought Ben's sister's pussy could be that good of a fuck”

You just rolled your eyes, you were kind of annoyed that you've let him fuck you but also really satisfied. You cleaned yourself with a tissue then put your underwear and shorts on.

"And I wanted to give you this back"

You said as you wiggled the bag of heroin in front of his face and shook your head with a smirk. FP smiled back at you and snatched the bag away to then hide it in the pocket of his jacket.

„When's next session? ”

You soon blurted out earning a little confused look from FP at first but his expression changed rather fast, as now he was smiling from ear to ear.

„I'll pick you up at 7. Now lemme help you get this maze cleaned”

After a some time, what seemed like a few quickies and fuck sessions turned into something more.

[mydaddywiki]

William Windom

Physique: Husky Build Height: 5'10½" (1.79 m)

William Windom (September 28, 1923 – August 16, 2012; aged 88) was an American actor. He was known as a character actor of the stage and screen. He was perhaps best known for his work on television, including the character of John Monroe on the sitcom My World and Welcome to It; as Commodore Matt Decker, commander of the doomed USS Constellation in the Star Trek episode “The Doomsday Machine” and perhaps the most common recurring character, Dr. Seth Hazlitt, on the CBS series Murder, She Wrote.

Chubby, gray hair, gentle features but with a hint grumpy grandpa added for good measure. And he had a hot, gruff voice that makes me I want to bang his ass all night long. He just looks like he would have been a filthy whore in bed and a talker. I can always get behind a talker in bed.

A man of all mediums, this veteran, Manhattan-born character actor was named after his great-grandfather, Lincolnesque Congressman William Windom. He attended Williams College and the University of Kentucky, among others, before serving in the Army during WWII. After the war, he studied at both Fordham and Columbia universities in New York City before settling on an acting career.

Windom died on August 16, 2012, at age 88 from congestive heart failure. A chess, tennis and sailing enthusiast, he is survived by four children. He was quite a colorful character and apparently loved the ladies, having wed five times. Seems like a man who likes to keep his dick in a hole at all times. I would have happily volunteered to keep his dick well lubricated anytime he needed. He just looks like he would be a filthy whore in bed. He also seems to sweat quite a bit, so the sex would be hot, wet and messy.

RECOMMENDATIONS: Children of the Corn: The Gathering (1996) Murder, She Wrote (1984 TV Series) Miracle on 34th Street (1994) Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman (1993)