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alessiamalfoyzabini · 5 months ago

Text

Howl at Midnight

Pairing | werewolf!Jimin x human!Reader

Word Count | 7.5k

Warnings | +18, angst, smut, halloween theme, an apparently abandoned castle (don't trespass on other people's property 🤧), mentions of a pact made with the city's residents, poison, MC doesn't really have much choice 💀, forced nudity, dark themes and also yandere (?), underneath MC finds the situation exciting, bites and marks, sink the canines and drink blood, PWP, oral sex, pussy worship, dubcon, begging, virginity loss, unprotected sex (use protection!), vaginal sex, big dick, knotting, MC abandons herself to her fate (I think Jimin's supernatural nature contributes in MC's choices), eat cum, this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | You always thought you lived in a quiet, small town. You never imagined that the locals would be able to keep such a secret for centuries, you fell into their trap… But it doesn't seem so bad.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys!!! 🥹

My best friend and I challenged each other to write a Halloween-themed story using the following keywords: werewolf - halloween - virginity - castle - poison.

I don't know why I came up with such a story, it was supposed to be something simple but my dark side took over WAY too much 💀

Anyway my best friend liked the story and suggested that I publish it, so here it is, I already apologize for any mistakes and for the plot which is not who knows what 🥺

Howl at Midnight was written for recreation, but I still hope you enjoy it ❤️

PS: I really didn't know how to classify this story, when in doubt I put the warning “yandere,” since there are behaviors that go a little beyond 😵‍💫

Permanent Taglist | @katherine-kookie, @btsuga-d, @reallygenerouskoala, @takemeaway5402, @velvet-stardust2002, @jimincrystal, @ke1k029, @kylafox09, @pantara, @themwordsblog, @angelicsmilesworld

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Short answer? No.

More articulate answer? Fuck no.

“Come on, don't be a wimp now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But how-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he would.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please... fill me, take me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“H-How?” fear advances again.

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

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

615 notes · View notes

minxmut-cafe · 27 days ago

Text

PLAY BOY BUNNY

Pairing : Bunny Hybrid Jungkook x Jaguar Hybrid Reader

Word count : 13 k

Warning : heat, smut, fluff, angst, cunnilingus, penetration, mentions of mating position, animalistic behaviour (no I'm not a furry BACK. OFF), sex, overstimulation and more...

Authors note : AAHHRHRHR IM FINALLY DONE WITH MY EXAMS YASSS!!!! MORE FICS COMING SOOON YOU ALL!! NEW PARTS FOR BEAR WITH ME, HEXED HEARTS AND A NEW YOONGI FIC IS ON THE WAY!!

I hope y'all have fun reading this fic. I'm planning on writing Hybrid aus for all the members so if you have any fun hybrid couple ideas COMMENT THEM OR SEND IN AN ASK!!!

Synopsis :

"What happens when it's the prey chasing the predator"

01 | 02 | 03

Y/N didn’t expect much when she moved into her new apartment. It was a decent place—close to campus, not entirely falling apart, and best of all, it had thick walls. Meaning she wouldn’t have to deal with noisy neighbors.

Or so she thought.

Because the first thing she noticed, before she even finished unpacking, was the sound of her next-door neighbor’s door unlocking. She turned just in time to see him step into the hallway—a big, broad-shouldered guy with sleeves of tattoos curling up his arms and a silver lip ring catching the light when he yawned.

Y/N stopped. Blinked.

A bunny hybrid.

She could tell from the ears twitching atop his head, the faintest scrunch of his nose as he rubbed a hand over his face. But the rest of him? The messy black hair, the piercings, the leather jacket slung over his arm? If she hadn’t smelled the hybrid part of him, she would’ve assumed he was just some intimidating bad boy.

Interesting.

He yawned again, stretching his arms over his head, completely unaware of her shameless staring. His muscles tensed, the tattoos along his forearms shifting with the movement, and Y/N found herself tilting her head.

A big, buff, tatted-up bunny hybrid?

That was new.

And, naturally, she had to say something.

"Didn’t know bunnies came in ‘bad boy.’"

Jungkook froze.

Finally noticing her, he dropped his arms and turned his head, blinking down at her like he hadn’t registered a single word she just said.

Y/N arched a brow, arms crossing as her tail flicked lazily behind her. "What, cat got your tongue?"

His nose twitched. "You’re a jaguar."

She grinned. "And you’re a bunny."

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. And?"

"And... you look like you beat people up for a living."

"I don’t," he deadpanned.

"Shame. Would’ve been a good side hustle."

She expected him to scoff, maybe roll his eyes and brush her off like most hybrids did when they realized she was a jaguar. Predators weren’t exactly known for their warm, welcoming energy. But Jungkook just stared at her, blinking in that slow, absent way of prey hybrids.

Then, with a final shake of his head, he muttered, "Whatever," and turned to leave.

Y/N wasn’t sure why that amused her so much, but it did.

This is going to be fun.

The first time Y/N saw a girl leave Jungkook’s apartment, she thought huh.

The second time, she thought oh.

The third time? She whistled.

Leaning against her doorframe, she tilted her head as yet another woman stepped out of his place, fixing her hair and adjusting her dress before hurrying down the hallway. Y/N waited until Jungkook appeared in the doorway, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low, ears twitching as he rubbed sleep from his eyes.

Oh, this is too easy.

"Morning, Playboy Bunny."

Jungkook flinched so hard his ears shot straight up. "What?"

She smirked. "I said, morning. Busy night?"

His nose scrunched. "Don’t—"

"Don’t what? Call you Playboy Bunny?" She tapped a finger against her chin. "Because it suits you, y'know. All that stamina, all those partners… you are a bunny, after all."

Jungkook groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "What is wrong with you?"

"What isn’t?"

That was the beginning of their tradition.

Every time she caught a girl leaving his apartment, she greeted him the same way. Morning, Playboy Bunny. And every time, Jungkook suffered. His ears drooped, his nose twitched, and he either avoided eye contact or grumbled something under his breath before slamming his door shut.

It was delightful.

But nothing—nothing—was as good as the day she introduced The Carrot.

It happened after class. She spotted him in the library, hunched over his laptop with his glasses slipping down his nose, concentrating hard on whatever he was working on.

So, naturally, she strolled up, dropped a huge carrot onto his desk, and said, “Thought you might need a snack, Bunny.”

Jungkook stared at it. Then at her. Then back at the carrot.

A vein in his forehead popped. "Y/N."

"Yes?"

"I will throw this at you."

She grinned. "You’d be wasting food, Playboy."

That was it. That was the moment she won. Because from that day forward, Jungkook called her Carrot like it was a curse.

"Move, Carrot."

"Shut up, Carrot."

"Oh my God, Carrot, go away."

She lived for it.

But somewhere along the way, things… shifted.

The teasing didn’t stop. But the way Jungkook looked at her did.

And that changed everything.

The first time she noticed it, it was small. Barely anything.

Jungkook had his head down, scrolling through his phone, one hand resting absently on his knee. She was perched on the balcony railing, playing with the bottle cap from her beer, the night air cool against her skin.

Then, something made him laugh—one of those quiet, breathy chuckles, the kind that wasn’t really meant for anyone else.

And his nose scrunched.

She blinked.

Huh.

Weird.

She shook it off, turning her attention back to the street below. But after that, she started catching things she never noticed before.

Like how his ears twitched when he was nervous.

Or how he chewed his lip when he was thinking.

Or how he had this habit of rolling his shoulders, easing the tension in them when he got out of the gym, sweat still clinging to his skin—

Nope. Not thinking about that.

"Carrot."

Jungkook’s voice snapped her out of it. She turned, schooling her features into a smirk. "What, Bun?"

His brows furrowed slightly, like he was debating something, before he huffed, reaching into the fridge. "You eating or not?"

This was new.

Usually, their interactions consisted of warfare. Snarky remarks. Petty revenge. Nothing serious. Nothing normal. But lately, Jungkook had been doing things like… inviting her over for dinner. Bringing her leftovers when he cooked too much. Showing up with her favorite iced coffee, claiming he “accidentally got the wrong order.”

Lies.

She knew because Jungkook was terrifyingly specific about his coffee.

And it wasn’t just him.

She had started lingering in his apartment more. Sitting on his counter while he cooked. Casually stealing his hoodies, pretending it was just to piss him off—when really, they were just… comfortable.

She should have seen the shift happening, but it crept up on her.

And then, one night, she really noticed.

Because suddenly—

The women were gone.

No more late-night departures. No more lipstick stains on his collar. No more muffled moans behind his door.

It took her a while to realize. At first, she figured he was just slowing down. Maybe taking a break. But then weeks passed, and—nothing.

The Playboy Bunny had retired.

And for some fucking reason, that unsettled her.

Not because she cared. No, absolutely not. She was just… confused.

So she casually brought it up.

"So." She lounged across his couch, flipping through channels. "You lose your touch, Bun? Or did you finally run out of girls dumb enough to fall for those stupid Bambi eyes?"

Jungkook didn’t even glance up from his laptop. "Jealous, Carrot?"

She scoffed. "You wish."

He just smirked, but then—

"No."

That was it.

No snarky comeback. No teasing remark. Just… no.

And that’s when it hit her.

This wasn’t a coincidence.

Jungkook had stopped because—because something had changed.

Because they had changed.

And suddenly, she wasn’t as comfortable on that couch anymore.

She tried to ignore it.

She really, really did.

But once the thought took root in her mind, it was everywhere. The lack of women. The way Jungkook’s ears twitched when she spoke. The way his gaze lingered when he thought she wasn’t looking.

And worst of all?

The way she started noticing him.

Like, yeah, okay—he was hot. She had eyes. She knew that. But before, it was easy to shove that knowledge aside because he was also annoying and a pain in her ass. But now?

Now it was distracting.

Like when he worked out in the building’s shared gym and came back sweaty, muscles tight beneath his hoodie, hair damp. Or when he stretched after a long day, ears flicking, abs flexing under his oversized shirt, and she—

No. Nope. Not thinking about it.

And yet, her stupid jaguar instincts weren’t listening.

She caught herself staring way too long at his hands—his big, veiny hands—while he chopped vegetables. Caught herself tracking his scent when he walked by. And the worst was when he stood too close.

Because suddenly, Jungkook was always close.

Like now.

She was in his apartment, perched on the counter as he cooked, pretending she wasn’t hyper-aware of how easily he could step between her legs if he wanted to.

"You spacing out, Carrot?" Jungkook’s voice snapped her back. He was smirking. "Didn’t know you liked watching me that much."

Her face heated instantly. She scowled, grabbing a baby carrot from the counter and throwing it at his stupid, smug Playboy Bunny face.

"Please, Bun. I’m just trying to figure out how a man with the personality of a wet napkin managed to pull so many girls."

Jungkook caught the carrot mid-air, popping it into his mouth. "Beats me. Maybe they just have bad taste."

And then—

His gaze flicked to hers.

Something intentional about it.

Something that made her stomach flip.

Fuck. Fuck.

She scrambled for another insult, but the moment was already gone. Jungkook turned back to his pan, effortlessly flipping something over, and she exhaled, trying to steady her pulse.

This was getting dangerous.

She needed to leave before she did something stupid, like keep looking at him.

"Alright, Bun. I’m heading—"

But then he spoke.

"Stay."

It wasn’t a question.

It wasn’t even a request.

It was instinct.

And she?

She stayed.

It was late.

Too late for her to be here, lounging on his couch like she lived there.

Too late for her to be sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the cushions, pretending she wasn’t hyper-aware of every movement he made.

The TV flickered, casting shifting shadows across the room. Some random documentary droned on in the background—something about deep-sea creatures. Normally, she’d be fascinated, but right now, the only predator she could focus on was the damn bunny behind her.

"You’re quiet tonight."

Jungkook’s voice was low, smooth—too calm.

She scoffed, reaching for her drink. "Maybe I just don’t have anything to say, Bun."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"That’d be a first."

She turned to glare at him, only to find him already looking at her. And not in the usual, I’m about to say something annoying way.

No, this was different.

This was heavy. Deliberate.

Her fingers tightened around her glass.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just Jungkook lounging on her couch. It wasn’t just them bickering over nothing.

It was him, looking at her like he wanted her.

And her, struggling to breathe under the weight of it.

Her instincts screamed at her to move, to joke, to deflect, but her body was frozen, waiting for something she didn’t want to name.

Then—he shifted.

Moved closer.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as his scent—warm, familiar, Jungkook—wrapped around her. She didn’t stop him. Didn’t move away.

She should have.

"carrot."

The way he said it—low, almost affectionate—made her stomach flip.

She licked her lips. He tracked the movement.

Fuck.

And then—he leaned in.

It was slow, measured, like he was giving her a chance to stop him. Like he was testing her, waiting to see if she’d bolt.

She should have.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she sat there, wide-eyed, heartbeat hammering, as Jungkook—the same Jungkook she’d been teasing for months, the same Jungkook she’d tormented over his playboy ways—tilted his head and broke her world apart.

"What are you doing?" she asked, voice too soft, too breathless.

Jungkook’s fingers brushed against hers, tracing the curve of her knuckles.

"Something I should’ve done a long time ago."

Panic.

Feral panic.

Her brain short-circuited, instincts slamming into her like a freight train. Because this wasn’t banter. This wasn’t a game.

This was real.

He was real.

And she couldn’t—couldn’t—

So she did what she did best.

She lashed out.

"Oh." Her laugh was sharp, brittle. "What, trying to add me to your list now, Bun?"

Jungkook froze.

Something in his expression cracked—something she hadn’t meant to touch.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Then, slowly, he pulled away.

Sat back.

Nodded.

"I see."

And that was it.

No argument. No snarky retort. Just those two words.

Two words that felt like a knife to the gut.

Then Jungkook stood, grabbed his hoodie, and left.

And the second the door clicked shut behind him—

She realized she had fucked up.

The silence was unbearable.

Jaguar hybrids weren’t built for stillness. They thrived in motion, in chaos, in doing. But now, she just sat there, staring at the door like it might suddenly swing open and undo what had just happened.

"I see."

Those words echoed in her skull, clawing at her like sharp teeth.

She hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant to make that face appear on him.

Jungkook didn’t crack. He was always easygoing, always smirking, always rolling with whatever punches she threw.

But that? That had hurt him.

And now—he was gone.

She groaned, dropping her head into her hands. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

What the hell had she just done?

She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her hand, the way his voice had dipped, the way he’d looked at her.

And she had ruined it.

Her tail lashed against the couch in frustration. Her instincts screamed at her to fix it, to go to him, but her body stayed rooted to the spot, frozen in some stupid, self-imposed limbo.

Because if she did go after him… what then?

Would she have to face the truth? That she wanted him? That the idea of being ‘just another girl’ on his list had made her jealous?

The thought made her ears flatten against her skull.

She wasn’t ready for that.

So she did the only thing she could do.

She avoided him.

She thought she could ignore it. Thought things would just… reset.

They did not.

Because Jungkook?

He ignored her right back.

And it sucked.

At first, she convinced herself it was fine. She didn’t need to talk to him anyway. It wasn’t like they lived together.

Except—

The silence stretched.

No more late-night hangouts. No more teasing. No more him dropping by unannounced, stealing her food, making her life chaotic.

He didn’t even look at her.

When they crossed paths in the hallway, he didn’t smirk. Didn’t call her ‘Carrot.’ Didn’t even acknowledge her existence beyond a curt nod before walking away.

And it drove her insane.

Worse, it made her aware of him in ways she had never been before.

The way his ears twitched toward her before he forced them back. The way his shoulders tensed when she was near, like he was holding himself back.

The way she missed him.

It was humiliating.

She wasn’t supposed to care this much.

But she did.

And the breaking point came three days later.

The building’s gym was mostly empty this late, just how she liked it. Or—normally, she would.

Tonight?

Not so much.

Because Jungkook was here.

And he still wasn’t looking at her.

She was on the treadmill, pretending not to stare, but fuck, it was impossible. He was lifting weights in front of the mirror, sleeveless hoodie dark with sweat, tattoos on full display.

Normally, she’d have made a comment. Something obnoxious, something to piss him off.

But now?

Now, she just watched, unable to ignore the coil of frustration twisting inside her.

Then—

He caught her staring.

For one, brief second, their eyes met in the mirror.

And then—he looked away.

Like she was nothing.

Something snapped.

She was off the treadmill before she could think twice, stalking toward him with all the pent-up frustration of the past few days clawing at her ribs.

Jungkook didn’t stop his reps, didn’t even acknowledge her, and that only pissed her off more.

"Okay, what the fuck?"

He didn’t respond.

She stepped closer, tail lashing behind her. "Jungkook."

Nothing.

Not even a twitch.

Oh, so this was how it was?

"You’re really ignoring me? Over that?" she snapped.

Finally, finally, he put the weights down. Turned to face her.

His expression was unreadable, but his ears—his ears were stiff, tense, pissed.

"Over what, exactly?" His voice was calm. Too calm.

Her stomach flipped.

"Oh, don’t play dumb," she hissed. "You know exactly what I mean."

Jungkook crossed his arms, muscles flexing. "Enlighten me, Carrot."

Oh.

Oh, he was mad mad.

She hesitated. Just for a second. But it was enough for him to scoff and turn away again, reaching for his water bottle.

Something in her snapped.

"Are you serious? What, you’re mad because I didn’t immediately fall into your lap like the rest of them?"

She regretted it instantly.

Because the way he stilled?

Yeah, that wasn’t good.

When he turned back to her, his jaw was tight, eyes dark.

"Right." His voice was flat. "Got it."

Then—he grabbed his stuff.

And walked away.

And this time—

She knew he wasn’t coming back.

Thump.

Moan.

Her ears twitched.

Her entire body went rigid.

No.

No, there was no way.

She lifted her head from where she’d been slamming it into her pillow, ears flicking as she strained to listen.

And then—

Another moan.

Her stomach dropped.

Oh.

Oh, of course.

She wasn’t special.

Just a dumb jaguar with self-sabotaging tendencies and a big, fat, gaping ego wound.

Of course he had moved on.

Why wouldn’t he?

Jungkook was a Playboy Bunny. Hadn’t she been calling him that from the start? Hadn’t she spent months teasing him about the revolving door of women leaving his apartment all satisfied and wrecked?

So why did she feel like she was about to explode?

Her claws sank into the mattress, tail lashing behind her in sharp, agitated swipes.

The thumping got louder. The bedframe next door rattled.

She felt sick.

Not because of the noise—no, she could handle that. She had handled that. But because—

Because for a split second, she had let herself believe it could have been her.

That she could have been the reason he stopped bringing women home.

That the way he looked at her—touched her—had meant something.

And then she’d thrown it in his face.

Now?

Now, he was making damn sure she got the message.

The next moan was louder, high-pitched, exaggerated, like it was meant to be heard.

Her fur bristled.

Her entire body tensed, muscles coiling with rage—

And before she could even think—

She was out of bed, storming toward the wall, ears pinned flat, teeth bared—

And then—

She heard it.

"Ahhh—hah—ugh, fuck, Carrot—"

She froze.

Air punched out of her lungs.

Her vision went white.

Did he—

Did he just—

Did he just moan her fucking nickname?!

Her tail puffed up so fast it nearly sent her off balance.

What the fuck?!

Her brain short-circuited.

She stood there, stunned, her entire existence collapsing in on itself.

And then—

She heard another thump.

A grunt.

And suddenly—

The noises stopped.

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

And then—

A single, horrified whisper from the other side of the wall—

"Oh… fuck."

Oh.

Oh, this bitch.

Her eye twitched.

Because now, now she understood.

There was no one in that room.

No woman.

No late-night visitor.

Just a stupid, self-righteous bunny who had been faking it—

And moaning her fucking nickname while jerking himself off like a little bitch.

She saw red.

A second later, she kicked the wall—hard enough to shake the entire apartment.

"You absolute fucking menace! she snarled. “You were faking that?!"

A long pause.

Then—

A very, very guilty—

"... No?"

She lunged for the door.

Oh, he was dead.

Jungkook was a dead man.

A dead fucking man.

She knew it the second she slammed her fist against his door, claws extended, rage boiling under her skin.

"Open the fucking door, Bunny."

Silence.

Too much silence.

Oh, that bastard was debating it.

She could feel it.

Her tail lashed, her body coiled, instincts screaming.

And then—

She heard it.

A shuffle.

A click.

The sound of feet moving away from the door.

Oh, so he was gonna run?

Big fucking mistake.

Without thinking, she did what any self-respecting, unhinged jaguar hybrid would do—

She kicked the door in.

The wood cracked, the lock gave way, and the door slammed open so hard it nearly rebounded.

And there he was.

Jungkook, standing in the middle of his living room—shirtless, sweatpants hanging low, very obviously freshly post-nut—staring at her like she was a demon straight out of hell.

His ears shot straight up.

"Oh, shit."

He bolted.

Oh, he fucking ran.

This dumbass.

This absolute coward.

She launched after him with a snarl, narrowly missing his tail as he vaulted over the back of his couch.

"You faked an entire fucking orgy just to piss me off?!" she shouted mid-chase.

Jungkook laughed—the audacity—dodging her swipe as he scrambled toward his bedroom.

"It worked, didn’t it?!"

Oh, he was so fucking dead.

She chased him through his own damn apartment, knocking over furniture, nearly slamming him into a wall when she grabbed his hoodie, but he twisted out of it like a snake.

His damn bunny speed was the only thing saving his lying ass.

But then—

He miscalculated.

Because instead of diving onto the bed like he intended—

His foot caught on the rug.

And suddenly, his big, buff, tatted-up bunny ass was crashing face-first into the mattress.

She was on him instantly.

Pouncing, straddling his back, pinning him down as she snarled into his ear.

"Say that shit again, Playboy," she hissed, yanking his ear for emphasis.

Jungkook groaned, face still buried in the sheets. "Ow—fuck, okay, okay—"

"Okay what? Okay, you’re a fucking menace? Okay, you’re a little bitch who can’t just talk about his feelings like a normal person?!"

He groaned again, ears twitching against her grip. "Okay, fuck, I get it! I’m sorry!"

She huffed, claws flexing against his shoulders. "You should be."

Then—

His back tensed under her hands.

Slowly—very slowly—he turned his head just enough to look at her over his shoulder.

And then—

That fucking smirk appeared.

"Damn, Carrot," he murmured, voice deep, teasing, dangerous. "If you wanted to be on top of me that bad, you could’ve just said so."

Her brain shut down.

Her entire body betrayed her.

Because fuck, he was warm under her. Solid. Muscles hard beneath her hands. And suddenly, she was the one panicking, heart slamming against her ribs, tail puffed up again like some stupid house cat.

Jungkook knew it.

He felt it.

His grin widened.

And that was the moment she realized—

She had lost.

Completely.

Utterly.

Hopelessly.

Because she wasn’t mad about the faked sex noises.

She wasn’t mad about the avoidance.

She was mad because—

She wanted him.

She wanted him so fucking badly it made her insane.

Her instincts knew it.

Her body knew it.

And judging by the way Jungkook’s ears were twitching, his pupils blown wide—

He knew it, too.

Her breath hitched.

A second. Just a single second too long.

That’s all it took.

Jungkook moved.

Fast.

Before she could react, before she could run, he flipped her.

One second, she was straddling him.

The next, she was on her back, trapped under him, wrists pinned beside her head, his entire massive body caging her in.

His nose twitched.

His ears lowered.

And then—

He leaned in.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Testing.

"You gonna run, carrot?" he murmured, voice husky, lips inches from hers.

CONTINUED—

212 notes · View notes

mochii0park · 1 month ago

Text

Don't speak; pjm - Amnesia; 01

Title: Don't speak

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: angst I fluff

Pairing: doctor!reader x businessman!jimin

Warning: So far none but second part will contain smut

Word count: 13.8k

Taglist: @haru-jimiin @maruuchann @graydolan12 @fancypeacepersona @jiminismine4ever @talgiminmin @ukndtwme @purplebeebs @wobblewobble822 @jjkluver7 @polnaraffsrack @santhimariyanbu @bangtan4lifetypeshit @lanyia

(for some reason some tag work some seem to not work?)

Songs to listen to: Wildflower (Billie Eilish), Number one girl (Rose), No sad song for my broken heart (K. Will), Love wins all (IU), My all (Mariah Carey), Hate you (Jungkook), Cindy lou who (Sabrina Carpenter)

Chapter list: ONE - TWO - THREE

Masterlist

The hospital at night transforms into a realm all its own; hushed yet vibrantly alive. The rhythmic beeping of monitors punctuates the air while the soft murmurs of nurses fill the dimly lit corridors. In the on-call room, you lie on the narrow bed, your body spread out but unable to find a comfortable position. Staring at the stained ceiling, sleep feels like a distant luxury, fleeting and just beyond your grasp.

The ghost of the surgery you performed just hours earlier looms heavy in your mind—the intricate dance of sutures held taut, the charged atmosphere as you clamped a vessel, narrowly averting disaster at the last moment. You can still recall the fleeting panic when the patient’s heartbeat faltered, an alarming silence before the reassuring thrum of stabilization coursed back through the monitors. Even now, the phantom weight of the scalpel rests in your hand, the memory of urgent voices from the operating room echoing in your ears like a haunting lullaby.

You turn onto your side, then back again, as the stiff pillow offers little relief from the weight pressing against your chest. The air is a mix of antiseptic and dirty socks, while exhaustion clings to your bones with an intensity that feels overwhelming. Despite your body's weariness, your mind races in relentless circles. In the operating room, there was a moment—a flicker of hesitation—when you thought of him, an unwelcome intrusion into your focus.

Just as you begin to sink into sleep, your phone vibrates against the bedside table, shattering the silence of the night. Heart racing, you reach for it instinctively, glancing at the unknown number that flashes on the screen. “Dr. Y/L speaking,” you manage to say, your voice thick with fatigue yet clinging to a thread of professionalism. A pause stretches on the line, heavy with unspoken words.

Then, a voice cuts through—deep, familiar. “It’s me, Y/N. Namjoon.”

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

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

"I—" His voice falters, hesitant, each word seemingly laced with nervousness. He exhales sharply; the sound weighted with the kind of gravity that instantly raises the hairs on your arms. "I didn’t know if I should call you, but I figured you needed to hear it from me." a cold dread settled in your stomach.

"Hear what?"

There’s a pause, heavy and deliberate

Namjoon's sigh feels like it carries the weight of the world with it. You can almost visualize him, pinching the bridge of his nose in that familiar gesture, a sign that something terrible is about to be revealed. "It’s Jimin. He was in an accident tonight."

Your heart stumbles, a lead weight dropping into the pit of your chest. Jimin's name lands like a devastating blow, stirring emotions you thought were long buried. It’s been a long time since you allowed his name to pass your lips, longer since you permitted yourself to dwell on it. The world outside blurs and tips sideways. You force yourself upright, fingers digging into the fabric of your scrubs as if that might anchor you.

“A bad one,” he continues, his voice taking on a softer tone, laden with what feels too much like sympathy. “Blunt force trauma to the head. He woke up... but he doesn’t remember the last five years.”

Five years.

Your mind races, scrambling to connect the dots, counting back through the years. Five years ago, you were still at Seoul Main Hospital, lost in the chaos of residency. Five years ago, you were still signing your name as Park Y/N—still tethered to him, still his wife. Five years ago, he still loved you with a fierceness that colored every moment you shared.

Your grip on the phone intensifies to the point where your knuckles whitening from the pressure. “What do you mean he doesn’t remember?”

It takes all in you not to cringe from the simplicity of the question, after all you are a doctor yourself, a surgeon nevertheless so you knew what memory loss meant but in such situation, you let the mundane side of you speak.

“He thinks it’s 2021.” Namjoon’s voice is careful, each word measured. “In his mind, you two just got married. He doesn’t remember the divorce. Doesn’t remember you leaving. The hospital, his friends— even himself, to some extent— are all fragments he’s struggling to piece together. But there’s one thing he’s certain about.”

You already know the answer before he says it, and still your chest tightens painfully when he does.

“You.”

A sharp breath escapes you, shaky and uneven. Your free hand rises, pressing against your forehead as if that might stop the flood of memories rushing in. The late-night drives with music too loud, the stolen kisses during shifts, the whispered promises that turned brittle and broke. The fights. The silence. The emptiness. You had buried it all— stitched yourself back together with time and distance.

But now?

Now, Jimin is waiting for you. Calling your name in a hospital room you swore you’d never set foot in again, a place that feels like a ghost haunting from the past.

Namjoon speaks again, his voice softer this time, as if to cushion the weight of his words. “I know this is a lot. I wouldn’t bring it up if it wasn’t necessary. But he’s struggling, Y/N. And right now, the only person who can make sense of this for him is you.”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see you. “I don’t—” Your voice catches on the rawness in your throat. “I don’t know if I can do this, Namjoon.”

There’s a moment of silence and when he finally speaks, his tone is imbued with a gentleness that makes your chest ache all the more. “I get it. But I also know you. You’d never turn your back on someone who needs you, no matter how hard it is to face the past. And like it or not, Jimin needs you.”

Your eyes squeeze shut, but it does nothing to stop the burning behind them.

The call ends, but the silence left behind is deafening. The weight of Namjoon’s words settles into your bones, unraveling years of carefully built distance. Pulling you back to a time and place you swore you’d never return to.

Jimin doesn’t remember.

To him, you are still his wife.

You press the heels of your palms against your forehead, willing yourself to breathe, to think. But how can you, when the past has just clawed its way back into your life without warning? You should say no. You should stay here, in this hospital where no one calls you Miss Park. Where no one looks at you and sees only the action that led to your downfall.

But Jimin needs you. And despite everything, despite the years and the pain and the reasons you left, you don’t know how to turn your back on him.

It takes a long time to come to terms with it, long enough that dawn begins to creep into the night, washing the world in pale blue light. You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, the decision forming in the spaces between your breath. Before you can change your mind, you grab your coat and keys, pushing the sane part of your brain as you make your way to the parking lot.

The drive to hospital is painfully familiar. Each turn, each street, each stoplight carries the ghosts of a life you abandoned. The café where you used to meet Jimin between shifts. The intersection where you once argued about something so trivial you can’t even remember it now, but you remember the way he pulled you close afterward, murmuring an apology against your temple.

With every mile, the ache grows heavier. By the time the hospital comes into view, it feels like it’s sitting in your throat, impossible to swallow. Seoul Main Hospital looms just as it always has—tall, pristine, a monument to both miracles and tragedies. You sit in the car for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady yourself. But there’s no preparing for this, no way to brace against the flood of memories pressing in from all sides. Then, before you can convince yourself to turn around, you step out and walk through the entrance.

The scent of lavender hits you first—so achingly familiar it almost knocks the breath out of you. The same nurses at the front desk, the same hum of machines, the same too-bright fluorescent lights. Time has moved forward, but Seoul Main hasn’t changed. And neither have the people.

You don’t make it far before you nearly collide with someone rounding the corner. Strong hands catch your arms, steadying you before you can stumble, and then—

“Y/N?”

Your heart drops.

Taemin.

Of all the people to run into, it had to be him.

His dark eyes widen, surprise flickering across his face before something softer takes its place. His mouth parts as he takes you in, two years apart condensed into a single-breathless moment. He looks almost the same. Sharp lines, composed stance, but there’s weariness there now, a carefulness in the way he regards you.

You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat. Because Taemin isn’t just an old friend. He isn’t just your former coworker.

He was there.

He was with you that night, standing there as the world came undone. He saw it all. The moment you hesitated, the precise second the weight of it all crashed down on you. The moment you lost not only the battle, but your husband. Your career. The life you had built from the ground up.

And now, standing in front of him again, it feels like no time has passed at all.

“Y/N,” Taemin says again, softer this time. “You came.”

You swallow hard, barely nodding. “I… I heard about Jimin.”

His expression shifts to sympathy. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It’s… complicated.”

You huff out a bitter laugh. “It always is, isn’t it?”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The hospital buzzes around you, doctors and nurses moving past, conversations blending into background noise. But between you and Taemin, the past stretches, heavy and unspoken.

Then, finally, he sighs. “Come on,” he says, tilting his head toward the elevators. “He’s been asking for you.”

And just like that, there’s no turning back.

The elevator ride to the third floor is silent, but the weight of it is deafening. Taemin stands beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his white coat, his gaze forward, unreadable. You don’t ask questions, not yet. You’re still trying to steady yourself, still trying to make sense of the fact that you’re here at all.

The doors slide open with a soft chime, revealing a hallway much quieter than the rest of the hospital. You immediately notice the difference, no nurses rushing between rooms, no patients wheeling IV stands across the linoleum floors. It’s eerily still. Private. Of course it is. Jimin’s parents wouldn’t allow anything less.

As Taemin leads you forward, your eyes land on the small group gathered just outside a room. Namjoon stands among them, his voice low and tense, a worry etched deeply across his brow. Beside him, Mr. and Mrs. Park cling to each other, their faces drawn and weary, shadows of concern weighing heavily on their features. Yet it’s the woman slightly apart from them that causes your breath to catch in your throat.

She’s around your age, long blond hair, dressed in a simple blouse and skirt, her hands wrung tightly in front of her. There’s an unmistakable sadness in her posture, the way her shoulders shake just slightly as Namjoon speaks. Taemin slows his steps, as if sensing the exact moment, you realize who she is.

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, before saying, carefully, “That’s Rose. Jimin’s girlfriend.”

The name hits harder than it should.

Rose.

Your fingers tighten around the straps of your bang, a thousand emotions colliding all at once. It’s not jealousy—no, it’s something messier, something you can’t quite name. You’re trying to understand her, this woman who loves the same man you do, the woman who is grieving him in a similar manner you had two years ago. She has every right to be here. More than you do, even. And yet, the moment your eyes settle on the way she wipes at her tears, the way Namjoon’s expression remains firm but gentle, something uneasy knots in your chest.

“He doesn’t remember her,” Taemin says quietly, as if reading your mind. “He only remembers you.”

You don’t know what to do with that.

Before you can even process it, Namjoon looks up and sees you. His lips part slightly, relief flickering across his face. Mr. and Mrs. Park turn next, their expressions unreadable, a mix of emotions so tangled you can’t decipher them. Then Rose looks up and everything stills.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, staring at each other across the distance, across the years neither of you shared but are now inexplicably tied to. Her eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, widen ever so slightly at the sight of you. Yet, there is no animosity in her gaze. No fury lies beneath the surface. Instead, you find an unexpected understanding, aa quiet sorrow.

She knows who you are.

Of course she does.

And yet, none of them say anything at first. The air between you all is thick with grief, resentment, and lastly relief. His parents stand rigid and unreadable, their gazes flickering between you and the closed door. His mother’s lips are pressed together, her hands clutched in front of her as if she doesn’t know whether to reach for you or recoil. His father, ever the composed figure, only nods stiffly in acknowledgment.

It has been years since you last laid eyes on them since that fateful night when you signed the divorce papers, convinced that walking away was the antidote for both you and Jimin. You had hoped, perhaps naively, that he would find his path to happiness without you. Yet, here you stand, summoned back into a life you both loved and hated.

Finally, Namjoon sighs and glances toward the door. “We had to sedate him. When we tried to explain what happened these past five years, the divorce and all. He just wouldn’t accept it and completely lost it. We had no choice.”

You understood but you couldn’t help but feel sadness and pity for how it all went down. You prayed, as you drove to the hospital, that in a far lighter scenario he would just accept the current situation. You steal a glance at his parents, searching for something—blame, sorrow, anger. But all you find is exhaustion, their shoulders drooping under the weight of the current events. Jimin’s mother finally speaks, her voice quiet but raw. “He keeps asking for you.”

There’s no accusation in her tone only an invitation, laced with the heartache of a mother witnessing her child suffer. Your love fell apart. Harsh words were spoken, one that tore the matrimony you once swore by. However, in the fractured corners of his mind, you are still the person he reaches for.

A sharp ache stabs at your chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. The hallway feels smaller, the walls pressing in. The past and present fold into each other, tangled and inescapable. A long time ago you had so much to tell them, beg for their forgiveness but now it all felt empty. Stretched and overdue.

Finally, you exhale, forcing down the turmoil clawing at your ribs. “Take me to him.”

Just as Namjoon reaches for the door handle, a soft voice cuts through the tension. “Y/N.”

You freeze.

Jimin’s mother steps forward, her face carrying years of quiet strength, but now, it’s lined sorrw. A sorrow that is not just for her son, but for you too. Her lips tremble slightly as she looks at you, and when she reaches out, her fingers barely graze your arm, hesitant, unsure if she still has the right.

“Thank you for coming,” she says, “I know this isn’t easy for you. And I know… I know how things ended between you and Jimin. But you were my daughter once. And I never stopped—” She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together, shaking her head as if willing herself not to say more.

You stand there, awash in her words, unsure how to respond. Each syllable settles in your chest like stones, weighing you down into a part of yourself that had once ached to hear such affirmation. You had lost so much more than a husband; you had lost a family, a sense of belonging. You try to speak, but nothing comes out.

And then there’s Jimin’s father.

He hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t even properly looked at you except when you arrived. But you can feel it in the way his gaze remains fixed somewhere beyond you, as if acknowledging this whole charade would be too much. But he doesn’t leave. He doesn’t dismiss you. And that, in itself, is enough to tell you that despite everything, despite the past, despite the divorce, he is grateful. Even if he will never say it.

You swallow against the lump in your throat and give Jimin’s mother a small nod before turning back to Namjoon. “Let’s go in.”

The door opens with a quiet creak, and the moment you step inside, the air shifts.

The room is dim, the soft glow of the heart monitor casting faint shadows against the white walls. It’s quiet, save for the steady rhythm of beeping machines and the slow, measured breaths of the man lying in the hospital bed.

Jimin.

For a moment, all you can do is stare.

He’s changed.

The last time you saw him, he had been drowning in anger, exhaustion present on his face, coldness in his eyes cutting you in half. Certain bitterness laced in every word he threw your way just to break you apart. He had been a man hardened by betrayal, by the weight of something that neither of you had been able to fix. His once short black hair has grown out, falling just past his ears, dyed a striking silver. The very color you had once told him would suit him. You don’t know if it’s a cruel coincidence or some distant echo of your past influence, but the sight of it makes something in your chest tighten.

He’s thinner, but not in the way that suggests neglect. His features are more refined, more mature, as if the years have shaped him into someone softer, calmer. He looks—

Healthy.

Happier.

Or at least, he had been. The thought makes your stomach twist. As you step closer, the slight movement stirs him. His brows knit together for a moment, and then, slowly, his eyelids flutter open. You barely have time to brace yourself before his gaze lands on you. And just like that, time stops. For a single breath, neither one of you move. You expect confusion. Uncertainty. Maybe even the remnants of sedation dulling his awareness but instead, what you see makes the air leave your lungs.

Love.

It’s clear, as bright as day, as if the last five years never happened. As if the last time he looked at you wasn’t with coldness and hate, but with the warmth of a man still deeply, undeniably in love with his wife. And it’s that, more than anything, makes your chest ache for the contrast is too much. The last picture of Jimin that nested itself in your mind, was of him turning his back and walking away with a lawyer hot at his tail, not even sparing you a second glance.

But now?

Now, he’s looking at you like you’re his world. Like he still belongs to you, and you to him.

Your hands tremble at your sides.

And all you can think is—

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

The moment Jimin’s gaze fully registers you, his entire face lights up, and a breathless, disbelieving laugh escapes him. His eyes sparkle as he laughs again, wet and shaky, before turning to Namjoon with something akin to relief, as if he had been drowning and was finally coming up for air.

“You see? You see, Namjoon?” His voice is hoarse, thick with tears that haven’t yet fallen. “I told you; you were crazy. You were all crazy! How could you even suggest that Y/N and I divorced? Look at her—” He turns back to you, drinking you in like a man who had been lost in the dark for years and had finally found his light. “She’s here. Standing right in front of me. Like an angel.”

The way he says it, with so much conviction, so much certainty, grows buds of sadness in your chest. Jimin doesn’t know.

Jimin doesn’t remember.

You try to remind yourself when he blinks suddenly, as if something just occurred to him, his brows furrowing slightly. “But… why aren’t you wearing scrubs?” His fingers brush against the fabric of your coat, as if checking to see if his eyes are deceiving him.

“Did you come from home? No, wait, that doesn’t make sense. You work late night shifts. Why would you? Wouldn’t you visit me soo—”

And before you can stop him, before you can pull away, he takes your hands in his, pressing them firmly between his palms as if to ground himself. The warmth of his skin sears through you, and then—

A kiss.

Soft. Reverent. Planted right on the top of your embraced hands.

You nearly recoil, but you can’t. You can’t.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Jimin murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, his lips still lingering against your skin. “I missed you.”

The storm inside you rages, but you force yourself to smile, to swallow down the nausea creeping up your throat. Because this isn’t about you. This is about him.

He rambles, his words tumbling out one after another, unstoppable, like a dam breaking. His love is overwhelming, suffocating, because it doesn’t belong here, not now, not anymore.

And then—

“How’s your residency going?”

The question slams into you like a freight train.

Residency.

Your mind reels, trying to piece together the timeline, trying to remember who you were five years ago, who you were when Jimin still loved you, when he still saw you as his wife. Because the truth is, you’re not a resident anymore. You’re a fellow now. But if you tell him that, if you let him realize how much time has passed, how much has changed, how much more will he break? So, you lie.

Or at least, you shape the truth. “The job is… going well,” you say carefully, forcing a small smile.

Jimin hums in agreement, nodding sleepily, his grip on your hand loosening. “Yeah… I know. You’ll get through it, though. You’re brilliant. You always were.” His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he forces them open again, his body betraying his exhaustion. “I feel a little… out of it.”

You exhale, instinctively reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead. “That’s normal. You just had surgery. Sleep it off. You’ll feel better after some rest.”

Jimin sighs, content, as his eyes finally slip closed. And then, just as he’s teetering on the edge of unconsciousness—

“I love you.”

You stop breathing.

It takes everything in you not to yank your hand away, not to rip yourself from the room and run. You feel sick. You feel trapped. You feel wrong because Jimin isn’t saying those words to you, not really. He’s saying them to the ghost of who you were, the woman he still thinks you are.

You don’t say it back.

Instead, you wait until his breathing evens out, until the slow, steady beeping of the monitor tells you that he’s truly asleep, and then without a word you step away and leave the room.

The moment the door closes behind you, the weight of everything crashes into you all at once. The air is too thick, your chest too tight, and suddenly, you can’t breathe.

“What the hell am I doing?” The words spill out in a choked whisper before you even realize you’re speaking. You stagger back against the wall with your hands trembling and your heart hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. “This… this was a mistake.”

Namjoon steps forward cautiously, his eyes laced with concern. “Y/N—”

“No.” You shake your head frantically, the panic rising and the nausea clawing its way up your throat. “What’s the point of this? What do you want from me? Am I supposed to just—just lie to him until he recovers? And then what? Watch as his entire world crumbles all over again?”

“Y/N—”

“And—and how the hell are we supposed to tell him about that night?” The memory is a gut punch, slicing through the panic with something even worse grief. “He doesn’t even know that, Namjoon. He thinks we’re still married. If he knew the truth—” Your voice catches, and you shake your head, pressing your knuckles hard against your lips to keep yourself from sobbing.

Namjoon looks like he wants to say something, but for once, he doesn’t have an answer. Because there is no answer. There is no right way to fix this.

Taemin, silent until now, finally steps in, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Come with us,” he says, his voice calm but unyielding. “You need to sit down.”

You let them guide you away. Your legs are unsteady beneath you while your mind still spinning, still screaming at you to leave before you get sucked in too deep. Behind you, in the hallway, Jimin’s parents remain rooted in place. Mrs. Park clutches at her husband’s sleeve, her heavy breaths of worry, while Mr. Park stares at the floor, unmoving. Rose stands just beside them, her eyes red and puffy, but fixed firmly on you.

Because they all know. They all know that the only thing holding Jimin together right now, his only anchor in this storm is you.

And if you break…

He will too.

The walk to Namjoon’s office is silent, the weight of everything pressing down on you like a boulder strapped to your chest. Each step feels heavier than the last, your mind occupied with everything that just happened. Tlook in Jimin’s eyes, the way he said I love you, the way you couldn’t even breathe in that moment. You feel sick, hollow, like a stranger in your own body, but you keep walking, following Namjoon and Taemin as if on autopilot.

Once inside, Namjoon moves with practiced ease, filling the electric kettle on his desk and preparing tea. The office smells faintly of man’s cologne and old books, the same as it always did back when you worked here. It’s strange how nothing about this place has changed, yet everything about you has.

“Here,” Namjoon says softly, pressing a warm mug into your hands. He sits on the chair opposite of you, hands rummaging through a stack of papers on the desk between you. He fishes out a smaller bundle of papers, pushing the rest aside. Your eyes catch Jimin’s name, and it doesn’t take long for you to connect the dots. He was looking for his chart. You divert your stare to the tea as he begins to explain.

“Jimin was out drinking,” he starts, running a tired hand through his hair. “It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but he was… out of it that night. More than usual. He got behind the wheel and crashed into a pole. Luckily no one else was hurt, but he hit the steering wheel hard enough to blank out on the spot.” He exhales, shaking his head. “He needed surgery, his lungs bruised; his pelvis broken but we thought his head was fine. The CT scans didn’t show any major trauma. So, when he woke up with amnesia… it was a shock. A huge one. What puzzles me is the way the amnesia presents itself.”

Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture of his growing confusion as he tried to sort through the complexities of Jimin's amnesia.

“It’s strange,” he said, glancing between you and Taemin, his brow furrowed in deep thought. “In most cases I’ve dealt with amnesia presents itself in similar pattern—patients either lose all their memories or they can’t recall the details surrounding the accident, or sometimes they struggle to store new memories entirely. But Jimin... it’s like he’s stuck in this limbo where just these five years are just... faded, while others remain.”

You skim the chart from afar. “You’re saying you don’t know if he’ll ever recover his memories?”

He shook his head, frustration bubbling under the surface. “It’s not typical retrograde amnesia. It’s…” He sighs. “I was going to explain, but I forgot—cardio surgeon or not, you’ve been under my supervision before. You probably already know.”

You nod slowly. You remember those long, exhausting nights during your residency, when you rotated under Namjoon’s department, learning about neurological cases even though your heart was always set on cardiothoracic surgery. You remember studying memory loss, trauma-induced dissociation, the way the mind protects itself in moments of deep distress.

“I know,” you murmur.

For a moment, Namjoon smiles, almost nostalgic. “Right. Back then, you used to be stuck to my side like glue. And then Kwon stole you.”

You let out a soft, breathless chuckle, the memory of your old mentor pulling you away from neurosurgery flashing in your mind. But it’s fleeting, disappearing the second Taemin shifts beside you.

“We should focus on Jimin,” he reminds.

Namjoon’s expression sobers as he nods. “Right. The best path to recovery—for now—is to let him live in the past. Physically, he needs time to heal, and mentally… we must be careful. If we overwhelm him, it could do more harm than good.”

Your stomach churns. “So, we just…. lie?”

Namjoon exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it sounds awful, but think about it, Y/N. Jimin values stability. If we tell him everything now about the divorce, about the past five years. I fear he’s going to spiral. He’s already been sedated once today because he couldn’t handle the truth. Do you really want to put him through that again?”

You don’t have an answer.

Because of course you don’t want to see Jimin suffer but this doesn’t feel right either.

Jimin has always valued honesty, even in the worst possible moments. He never liked sugarcoated words or half-truths. He would rather face the brutal reality than be protected by a lie. If he knew what the three of you were deciding right now… would he ever forgive you?

“I don’t think this is the right choice,” you say finally, voice quiet but firm. “Lying won’t get us anywhere. It’ll only hurt him more in the end.”

Taemin, who has been mostly silent, suddenly shakes his head. “I disagree.”

You turn to him, surprised. “Why?”

But he doesn’t answer. Not fully. He just looks at you, something unreadable flickering across his face, before glancing away. Namjoon watches the exchange, then sighs. “For now, let’s just focus on what we can do. We need to make sure Jimin’s body recovers first. His memories… that’s something we’ll deal with later.”

You nod, even though unease lingers in your chest. This felt like a slippery slope, one mistake could create a domino effect that might of a greater scale than you three anticipated. You thought two years could easily be filled but now you struggle with one simple question that slips out.

“Where is he staying?”

Namjoon hesitates, and it’s Taemin who answers.

“His apartment.”

Your throat tightens. “Our apartment?”

Taemin looks away. “No. He moved out. Last year.”

You stare at him, pulse pounding. “Then—”

“He moved in with Rose.”

The words hit you like a slap. For a moment, you can’t breathe. He really moved on. You saw it a few minutes ago, or rather you saw her. You knew that, had accepted it immediately or at least, you thought you had. But hearing it now, in this context, after the way he had looked at you just minutes ago, makes something inside of break.

Taemin shifts uncomfortably, as if realizing how much his words hurt you. “He… he was planning to sell the apartment. He told me he would. But I don’t know if he actually did.”

You barely know what to do with this information. It seems like it was Taemin’s mission for tonight to leave you speechless.

Namjoon watches you carefully. “Y/N… can you do this?”

You don’t know but the worst part is, you don’t think you have a choice. You were a goner the moment he his lips laid a kiss on your touch starved body. You never even knew how much you’ve missed his gentle touch until you felt it, and now you were eager to prologue it. Like an addict.

You take a deep breath and forces herself to come to terms with the situation. There is no other way. You already came, he saw you, the decision was already made, and you must see it through. As much as it twists your insides, lying to Jimin is the only way to ensure his recovery. Namjoon and Taemin stand beside you, unwavering in their support, and for a moment you feel a sliver of comfort in knowing you are not alone in this.

Together, the three of you return to Jimin’s parents. The tension still lingering in the air like an unspoken burden. Taemin brings up the apartment, cautiously testing the waters, and before anyone else can speak, Jimin’s father interjects.

“His old apartment?” Jimin's father frowned, his brow furrowed.

“Are you sure this is the right choice?” Jimin's mother asked, concern etched on her face. “What if it brings up things he isn’t ready to face?” Taemin locked eyes with her, resolute. “I promise we’ll take it slowly. We won’t push him past what he can handle. But I believe he needs this familiarity to help guide him back.”

Namjoon butts in adding a blanket of security to the sudden decision. “The familiarity of the old place could trigger something in him, jolt his memories.”

You notice Rose take a deep breath before she interjects. “About the apartment…” she said, her voice steady but soft, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “I know Jimin hasn't sold it.”

Jimin's mother looked at her, surprise flickering in her eyes. “He didn’t sell it? Why would he hold onto it after everything?”

Rose shrugged before continuing, her voice laced with mutual confusion. “Jimin had a change of heart at the last minute. He was supposed to tell me why that night… before the accident.”

Her words settle heavily between you all. It’s clear that even she is struggling to comprehend everything unfolding before her. She recognizes the silence as an offer to continue so she does giving more information. “He told me he gave the keys to Hoseok. I’ll ask him.”

The mention of Hoseok jolts something inside of you. The last time she saw him was at the funeral. He had stood beside you, quiet but present, offering you words of comfort that you never truly understood. You did the right thing, he had said. Your friendship had always been a strange one—good, but distant.

“I’ll reach out to him,” you say, surprising even yourself.

Rose blinks clearly caught off guard. For a moment, there is nothing but silence between you before Rose simply nods. Namjoon feeling the tension growing with each question, suggests that Jimin’s parents and Rose head home for the night. They have been here all day, exhausted and overwhelmed. Reluctantly, they agree and begin making their way out, though you can sense their hesitation.

Once they leave, you turn to Namjoon. “I’ll talk to Hoseok in the morning. Right now, I need to go home and pack. If we’re going to do this, I need my things there.”

Taemin offers to help, but you decline, needing space to process everything alone. Namjoon, understanding, gently takes you hand, his touch warm and steady. “Thank you,” he murmurs, echoing the gratitude of Jimin’s parents.

As you step outside, ready to leave, you are startled to find Jimin’s father waiting by your car. You hesitate, expecting coldness or arrogance, but instead, he awkwardly thanks you. The words are strained but sincere. “I’ll call Chief Leeteuk tomorrow and arrange for your transfer back to Seoul Main Hospital,” he adds. “Until Jimin recovers.”

The weight of his words crashes over you. Only now do you fully grasp the scale of this situation, the immense disruption not just to your life but to the lives of so many others.

You shake your head. “I’ll figure something out. Maybe take time off work—”

“That won’t be necessary,” he cuts in. “You know this hospital inside and out. You can continue your work here.”

You want to argue, but you see the resolution in his eyes. Eventually, you sigh, nodding. “I’ll think about it.”

He hands you his business card. “Call this number when you decide.”

With that, they part ways, and you drive home with a mind drowned in thoughts.

When you reach the apartment, you pull out three large suitcases and begin to pack. There was no point in postponing the inevitable. The simple act of folding clothes and placing them into bags feels mechanical, almost numbing. At some point, you open a bottle of red wine, pouring yourself a glass to steady your nerves. Then, it dawns on you that you never informed her hospital of the sudden departure.

Grabbing your phone, you dial your best friend’s number.

“Y/N! What the hell happened? You just disappeared!”

“Something came up. A family matter. I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow.” It’s not a lie, not entirely, and explaining further requires energy you don’t have.

Wendy hums, suspicious but doesn’t press. “Well, good thing Yoongi covered for you. Took in your cases without a second thought.”

That catches you off guard. “He… did?”

It wasn’t surprising that Yoongi stepped in occasionally but for him to do on his own accord without refusal at first was strange. He seemed stand offish at times, opting to keep to himself for dealing with others was too much for him so he rarely took on other’s shifts or cases.

“Yeah. Honestly, I don’t know why you two never explored the waters.”, Wendy teases. “He’s totally your knight in shining armor.”

You sputter, face heating up. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, please.”

You and he shared an undeniable chemistry that others noticed right from the start of your fellowship. While you both excelled in different fields, you worked exceptionally well together when cases required collaboration, often finishing each other's sentences and actions. The two of you were described as a "twisted duo," a description you felt fit Yoongi far better than it fit you. However, Wendy insisted that you were unaware of how spookily well the telepathy between you and him worked. Hence the twisted duo name.

As Wendy continues to tease, you suddenly feel overwhelmed, thoughts spiraling back to Jimin. The contrast between past and present is suffocating. You offer her a poor excuse and hurriedly end the call, gulping down the rest of the wine.

You continue packing until your hands brush against a familiar box. You catch your breath, knowing exactly what’s inside before you even open it. Old photographs stare back at you. There’s Jimin smiling on your first date, pulling you close during your trip to Rome. There’s a picture of him at Hoseok’s wedding, so drunk that you barely managed to get him into the car afterward. That memory is one of your favorites; despite his intoxicated state, he was utterly smitten with you and the way you looked in that dress. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself all night, making you feel embarrassed when an elderly couple shot you a disapproving look. But all of that faded in comparison to his love confession when you helped him into the seat and buckled him up. At first, you ignored it, thinking it was just the alcohol talking, but he repeated it over and over, even going so far as to open the window and shout to the car next to you just how much in love he was.

Memories flood you all at once, raw and unbearable. You trace the images, fingers trembling. And then—you break.

Tears spill freely, chest heaving with sobs. Now when you are face with all of mess, with the cruel irony of Jimin’s memory loss, you realize just how deep the wounds still run.

As you cry and cry until you have no tears left to shed.

When morning comes, you wake up and immediately spring into action. Searching through your phone, you scan for Hoseok’s number. One of many you rarely dialed after the split. When your fingers land on his name, you press the call button, heart pounding as you wait. A few seconds later, a familiar voice answers, your name spoken in disbelief.

You greet him, albeit awkwardly. Two years have passed since you last spoke but there’s no point in skirting around the issue. “Have you heard about Jimin?” you ask.

Hoseok sighs. “I heard about the accident. Last time I checked with his parents, he was still in surgery. I wanted to call again, but…” he trails off before explaining that his twins have been sick, keeping him and his wife occupied. “I was planning to check in this morning.”

You pause at the mention of his children. Memories of Hoseok and his wife’s struggle to become parents resurface, and for a moment you forget why you even called. Regaining your focus, you congratulate him before quickly summarizing the situation.

Hoseok listens in silence before finally speaking. “And what’s the plan?”

You hesitate but tell him the truth about making Jimin live in the past until he fully recovers. To your surprise, Hoseok much like Taemin, agrees with the idea of you taking care of Jimin.

“You’re the only one who can do this,” he says simply. “I’ll leave the key at the front desk at hospital after I visit Jimin.”

You thank him, and the call ends. With a deep breath, you load your suitcases into the trunk of your car and then dial the number Jimin’s father gave you. He picks up in mere seconds.

“I’ll take the transfer,” you tell him, knowing there’s no point in resisting. Working at another hospital wouldn’t make sense under these circumstances.

His father sounds relieved. “I’ll handle all the paperwork and reach out to your chief.”

After thanking him, you drive to your hospital, needing to wrap up loose ends. As you pull up to the entrance, you spot Yoongi outside, cigarette in hand. He smirks at you and wordlessly offers a cigarette despite knowing you don’t smoke. It was a going on joke between you two. A mockery of your statement that “The fault in our stars” wasn’t as corny as Yoongi describes it. After that he never lets you live down the quote about the cigarette.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile. Yoongi still doesn’t ask why you weren’t there last night, instead giving you space to explain on your own terms. And so, taking a deep breath, you do. You tell him about Jimin’s accident, the amnesia, and the transfer. You half expect him to be upset, but he only nods in understanding.

Your relationship with Yoongi has been… complicated. It started a year ago, the result of one too many drinks after celebrating a successful surgery. Since then, you’ve kept things casual, just two people filling each other’s lonely nights. There were no expectations, no strings. However, when he agrees with Taemin and Namjoon, supporting this decision, you feel an unexpected pang of something you can’t quite place.

As you both step inside, Yoongi teases, “Maybe this is exactly what you need.”

You frown, trying to decipher his words but there’s no time to dwell. Almost immediately, nurse Layla rush toward you, handing you charts. Your mentee, San trails behind, listing off patients and conditions until you stop him.

“There’s been a change of plans,” you say, glancing at him. “I’m being transferred to Seoul Main for a while.”

San’s face falls. “But…. but I want to keep learning under you.”

You sigh, touched but resolute. “I’ll be back.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but there’s nothing more you can do. Handing him the charts, you instruct him to wait for Dr. Schuber’s call before heading toward the chief’s office. When you step into his office, Leeteuk’s on the phone, his usual stern features softened with amusement. His laughter echoes lightly before his tone shifts into something more serious. "I understand," he says into the receiver. "I’ll help as much as I can." His eyes lift to yours as he gestures for you to take a seat. You settle in waiting for him to finish.

When he finally hangs up, he leans back in his chair, eyes filled with something akin to sympathy. "I spoke with Mr. Park," he begins, "I heard what happened. I’m truly sorry about Jimin." He doesn’t linger on the subject, respecting the weight of it, and instead moves on, pulling out a piece of paper and scribbling something down. "The official reason for your transfer is the lack of fellows at Seoul Main. They’re understaffed, while here we have three people under each mentor. It makes sense."

You exhale, nodding. "Thank you, Chief. I won’t let you down. I’ll do my best at Seoul Main."

Leeteuk’s lips curl into a proud smile. "I expect nothing less."

A warm sensation spreads in your chest as you leave his office. The bittersweet feeling of leaving, of change, settles over you.

You make your way to the surgeons’ rest lounge, where you spot Wendy sprawled on one of the beds, her scrubs wrinkled from exhaustion as she focuses on a post-op chart. "General surgery is a pain in the ass," she groans the moment she spots you. "Should’ve been a dermatologist."

You chuckle, taking a seat beside her. "Rough night?"

"Try night from hell. Some teenager came in with severe abdominal pain. His parents were a nightmare, demanding every test possible. Turns out, the kid had something shoved up his ass but was too ashamed to admit it. Can you believe that?" She rubs her temple in frustration. "Yoongi tried to warn him that after surgery his parents would know – I mean who wouldn’t notice their child can’t sit on their ass – but the kid begged us to come up with a cover story."

You wince in secondhand embarrassment. "And this is exactly why I chose cardio."

Wendy snorts. "Please, like you don’t have weird cases. Didn’t you start in neuro before switching?"

You shrug. "At least no one’s shoving things into their brain or heart."

Wendy grins. "Tell that to the kid who inhaled a whole ass ball and had to have it surgically removed from his nasal cavity."

You shake your head with a laugh. "Still better than a sex toy in their ass." You pause, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Not gonna lie, trauma surgeons are saints. I could never stand there, get a CT done and see an object, clearly intended for pleasure, inserted where it shouldn’t be. And keep a straight face.”

You wanted to explain to Wendy that unlike other surgeons, any topic related to sex only made her laugh her ass off – pun fully intended. If you had to list any flaw of hers on the resume, that would be the top one, laughing during awkward moments. You could start listing of all the times that go her in trouble but then you’d be staying here until the next year.

Then, shifting gears, you exhale and tell her about your transfer, detailing everything that happened last night. Much like with Yoongi, you recount how Namjoon called, the accident, and then the part that makes you hesitate, Jimin has a girlfriend.

“Y/N,” Wendy said, leaning in closer. “It’s understandable but you know it’s been two years, right? Life keeps going, even when we’re not ready for it. It’s only natural that he would have moved on.”

“Yeah, I get that,” you replied, voice thick with frustration.

Wendy studies you, a thoughtful expression on her face. “And what about you, Y/N? You’ve been hanging out with Yoongi a lot. I know you I turn a blind eye often, but you’re sleeping together. ”

You roll your eyes knowing well enough how the situation between you two was vastly different. For starters no labels were used and heck you didn’t even know where Yoongi lived, most of the time you hung out at your apartment. “It’s not like that with Yoongi. We’ve just found comfort in each other’s company, nothing more.”

“Come on, don’t tell me knowing his dick size and meeting his brother is just keeping each other company” Wendy teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

Okay so you knew the ins and outs of Doctor Yoongi, and perhaps you had the chance to meet his brother but, in your defense, it was a total coincidence. His brother had a mild heart attack and Yoongi ever so praising of your skills directed him to you so in conclusion you knew his brother as Mr. Min, your patient not as Yoongi’s older brother Yeon.

“It’s just messy. Here I am, dealing with Jimin’s memories and feelings, and I can’t just ignore that. It feels wrong.”

“Life is messy, sweetie,” Wendy said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “But you’re strong enough to figure it out. You just need time.”

“I know I need time,” you sigh, staring down at the bed. “I’m just sorry for leaving my shift. I didn’t mean to abandon you.”

Wendy shrugged, a playful twinkle in her eye. “Please, don’t worry about it. Yoongi and I have your back. Trust me, we covered for you. Just take things easy, okay? You have enough on your plate without stressing about work.”

“Thanks, Wendy,” you said, a small smile breaking through your worry. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Just as you were about to yap a bit more about the situation your phone buzzes. Namjoon’s name flashes on the screen. Jimin is waking up. You should be here. A wave of nerves rolls through you. You quickly type out a response, telling him you’re on your way.

Wendy watches you carefully. "So, are we postponing girls’ night?"

You nod. "Until this whole mess settles."

She smirks. "Figures. Just promise me you won’t take any shit from anyone at Seoul Main. You know how male-dominated the field surgery is."

You chuckle. "I was expecting a speech about Jimin."

Wendy shrugs. "Honestly I feel like my emotional capacity is reaching its limits. That little sucker used most of it and you got like 20%. Anyway, don’t forget about us while you’re there."

A lump forms in your throat at the thought of leaving again, of facing Jimin again. Wendy nudges you toward the door. "Go. I need sleep before I start hallucinating."

As you were about to leave the room you heart Wendy half-whisper. “If you see any hot dudes, be sure to send me their pictures.”

You chuckle, steeling yourself before heading out.

When you arrive, Namjoon is waiting at the front desk standing beside a man you don’t recognize. As you approach, Namjoon greets you with a small smile. "Y/N, this is Dr. Kyungsoo, neurosurgeon. I asked him to consult on Jimin’s case."

Kyungsoo stands by your side, noticeably a head shorter than Namjoon. His short black hair frames his face neatly, and his plump lips give him a slightly prominent and inviting look. His big doe-like brown eyes seem to take in everything with a serious intensity, giving him a contemplative aura. However, as he greets you, a big smile breaks across his face, instantly softening his demeanor and making him appear much younger than the serious expression that lingered just moments before.

You shake hands with him before Namjoon hands you a pager and a key card. "This will give you access to the third floor, where Jimin is, as well as the surgeons’ lounges. Only a handful of nurses know about Jimin’s condition." He hesitates for a second. "You’ll be happy to know that Jisoo is one of them."

A strange feeling twists in your gut. It reminds you too much of seeing Taemin again, Jisoo had been there that night. You school your features and nod, absorbing the information. Namjoon starts explaining the layout of the hospital, but you cut him off with a teasing grin. "I left two years ago, not twelve."

He chuckles. "Feels like twelve."

The three of you step into the elevator. As it ascends, Kyungsoo and Namjoon discuss the possible causes of Jimin’s amnesia. You listen but focus on steadying your nerves. When the doors open, a rush of déjà vu washes over you. Jimin’s parents are there, his father on the phone, his mother sitting beside Rose, their hands clasped tightly.

You greet them, but your gaze barely lingers on Rose. There’s an unspoken tension between you, a mutual uncertainty on how to act around each other. Namjoon introduces Kyungsoo to Jimin’s parents, giving you the perfect excuse to slip past them and into the room.

Jimin is standing by the window, watching the sky shift outside, the colors melding like the emotions swirling in his heart. There’s no television, no phone. Namjoon thought too much information at once might overwhelm him, but Jimin has one focus: you. When he turns and sees you, his face illuminates with an almost otherworldly smile, as if your presence alone brings warmth to a cold room. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, are now filled with deep adoration, crinkling at the edges as he stretches his arms out, eager to embrace you.

Your heart clenches, a mix of longing and fear tightening within your chest. You step forward, surrendering to his pull into a hug that feels like home. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, a low sigh escaping his lips. "I could never get tired of your scent," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

You freeze for just a second. If he notices your stillness, he doesn’t say anything; instead, he tightens his hold on you, as if afraid you might slip away.

His breath mingles with yours, creating an intimate rhythm that seems to soothe the chaos within. "I was scared when I woke up and you weren’t here," he confesses, his voice trembling, vulnerable.

You silently wish you could promise him everything would be okay. "It felt like my world was falling apart when Namjoon told me it’s 2026, not 2021. That we’re—" his voice breaks, fragile as his eyes shimmer, "divorced. That you left Seoul Main Hospital."

The words pierce through the vulnerability of the moment, leaving you breathless. Warm tears soak into your skin as Jimin pulls back slightly, his puffy red eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes you feel as if he is looking straight into your soul.

"Y/N, I—I don’t know how to do this without you," he says, each word laced with desperation and love that binds your heart in a vice. His weakness shatters something deep within you, the weight of it heavy and consuming. Logic tells you that the truth would be kinder in the long run, but looking into his tear-streaked face, filled with fear and longing, you realize in that moment you can’t tell him. Not yet. The love reflected in his gaze is a tether that keeps you from breaking apart entirely, and for now, you choose to hold onto the fragile warmth of this bittersweet reunion.

You and Jimin don't notice between your emotional exchange that the doors have opened and that Jimin's parents and Rose have entered the room, accompanied by Namjoon. The soft click of the door closing barely registers in your mind, too caught up in the warmth of Jimin’s embrace; in the way his body fits against yours like a puzzle piece that was never meant to be separated. It isn't until Namjoon clears his throat, a deliberate interruption, that your awareness sharpens.

Your gaze flickers to Rose, who stands frozen near the door. Her expression is an unreadable mix of hurt and anger. You see the way she blinks rapidly, as if trying to hold back tears that threaten to spill. Guilt twists like a knife in your stomach. You shift, instinctively trying to create space between yourself and Jimin, but his fingers tighten around yours. The weight of his touch is grounding, but in this moment, it feels suffocating.

Jimin frowns at your movement. "Where are you going?" he asks, his voice laced with confusion. You hesitate, casting a glance at Namjoon before answering, "I just thought I’d stand with Namjoon and the others." The words sound weak even to your own ears.

Jimin’s frown deepens. "Why? You're my wife. You're supposed to be here, with me." His words land heavily in the room, unchallenged yet piercing. Rose stiffens before she abruptly turns on her heel and rushes out. The sound of her hurried steps echoes down the hallway. Jimin’s mother exhales softly, her gaze darting between her son and the door Rose just exited through. For a moment, she seems to contemplate following her, but then she looks at Jimin, at the desperation in his eyes as he holds onto you and stays.

Namjoon, sensing the growing tension in the room speaks up shifting the focus on him. "Jimin, we’re keeping you here for three more days before discharging you. After that, Y/N will take care of you at home." His words are measured, calm as if carefully weaving a delicate bridge between reality and the illusion Jimin still holds onto. Then he subtly nods at you, a silent prompt for you to begin adjusting Jimin to the truth of your present.

Jimin’s grip on your hand is unrelenting, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that should be comforting, but all you can focus on is the fire creeping up your spine, the overwhelming pressure of his expectations.

You gently take Jimin’s hand, placing a small mirror in his hands. As he gazes into it, a look of confusion flickers across his face, then deepens into disbelief as he sees his reflection. The familiar shape of his face remains, but the long, silver hair cascading down his shoulders is a stark reminder of the years that have slipped by. “Since… since when did I dye my hair?” he murmurs, running his fingers through the silken strands, as if trying to grasp the time that has passed.

You can see the wheels turning in his mind, the realization dawning on him. “Five years did pass by, Jimin. Namjoon was right, it’s 2026 now,” you explain, your voice tender. The mirror reflects more than just physical changes; it mirrors the essence of the man he was and the man he has become. Jimin stirs his gaze to you staring at you intently, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to latch onto something solid amidst the whirlwind of news.

"The president now is Yuk Seongu. I completed my residency a year ago," you continue, carefully choosing details that might make the reality easier to digest after the sudden shock.

For the short amount of time you were under Namjoon’s mentorship he highlighted the importance of stating the current president when assessing a patient for amnesia. Back then, and even now, you felt as if that question was misplaced. In midst of an emotional breakdown and coming to terms with years being stolen from you why would anyone care about politics?

Jimin processes your words, his brow furrowing. He hurriedly places the mirror onto the nightstand as if it burned him. "Is that why you weren’t wearing scrubs yesterday?"

His question catches you off guard, but you recover quickly, nodding. "Yes, I’m currently a fellow under..." You trail off, glancing at Namjoon for help, and he promptly supplies, "Doctor Junseo."

You repeat the name, your gaze returning to Jimin, who seems lost in thought, his lips parted slightly as he tries to absorb everything. Everyone in the room expects him to ask something logical, something about the time gap, about his medical condition or about what happened. But when he finally speaks, his question catches you totally off guard.

"Where’s your ring?" His eyes drop to your bare fingers, the absence of the silver band suddenly feeling like an accusation. "Even when you were busy in your residency, you always wore it. You only ever took it off during surgery."

Silence falls over the room. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding so loudly you wonder if everyone else can hear it. How do you even begin to answer that?

You try to recover from the question, but the words stick to the back of your throat. It had never occurred to you that Jimin would notice the absence of the ring and honestly it had never even occurred to you to put it on.

Jimin proposed to you on your fourth anniversary. At the time, you were only twenty-four, young and ambitious. Initially, you felt hesitant about marriage because your career required many sacrifices, and you worried that you would only hold him back. However, Jimin believed that everything was perfectly aligned, especially since you were doing your residency at his parents' hospital, where he worked in the finance department.

You remember the excitement and joy you felt at the thought of calling him your fiancé, and eventually husband. Despite the challenges you faced and the uncertainties ahead, you accepted his proposal. You can still picture the moment he lifted you into the air, twirling you with pure happiness as you held his face in your hands. In that instant, time seemed to stop, marking one of your many victories.

The ring had been a family heirloom, passed down through generations of Park men. It was always given to the eldest son to propose to his prospective wife. Jimin hadn’t needed to plead for it; his grandmother had a soft spot for you. She admired your unwavering commitment to two things: your career and Jimin.

When your marriage fell apart and you both reached the heartbreaking conclusion that divorce was your only option, the ring became a painful reminder of everything you had lost. You had wanted to return it and give it back to him, but Jimin refused. His voice was filled with bitterness as he declared that the ring was tainted with misery, and he couldn’t bear to return it to his grandmother after failing her. You understood his anger, you had always understood Jimin. Deep down, however, you wished he could have set aside his pride just once to understand you in return.

Unfortunately, the weight of hatred and hurt was too great to overcome. So, you took the ring and locked it away at your family home, putting as much distance between you and it as possible.

Standing before Jimin as he awaits an answer, you wonder how to explain all of that in just a few words. After a moment of silence, you explain, "I lost it once during a complicated surgery. I had to change into fresh scrubs after getting soaked with a patient’s blood, and I was rushed into another procedure immediately afterward. By the time the cleaning crew came through, it was misplaced. When we finally found it, I decided to leave it at home as a precaution."

Jimin studies you carefully for a long moment before finally nodding. Then, in a gesture that feels achingly familiar, he lifts your hand and presses a lingering kiss to your palm. The warmth of his lips sends a wave of comfort through you.. He then asks, "Can we have some time alone?"

Jimin’s father shifts uncomfortably, his posture rigid afraid that you might slip. Before he can voice any objections, Jimin’s mother intercedes, her voice soft yet firm. "Of course." With that, she gently ushers her husband out the door, with Namjoon trailing behind them. Once alone, Jimin watches you intently for a long moment before reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "What more did I miss?" he asks.

You hesitate. "What do you mean?"

"Your hair is longer and darker. You used to wear glasses during residency, but now you don’t. Did you switch to contacts or? Did you finally learn to parallel park?” His voice is light and teasing, but there's genuine curiosity beneath it.

You exhale, adjusting to the way his touch still feels like second nature. "Mochi passed away four years ago. She lived with us towards the end of her life, and her favorite pastime was knocking glasses off the counter. You had to clean up way more than you liked."

Jimin chuckles, a sad yet fond sound. "And your career?"

"I tried neurosurgery, but..." You sigh.

He smirks knowingly. "You never had the patience for it."

You swat his arm playfully. "I could have if I had Namjoon’s mind of steel,” you smirk before softening, "I went into cardiothoracic instead."

Jimin grins. "Good choice. You stole my heart; you better learn on how to take care of it."

You groan, hiding your face behind your hands, laughter bubbling up despite yourself. With him, it was always easy. Then, Jimin’s faces becomes letting you know that whatever he’s about to say has been bothering him for a while. "Namjoon told me I lost control of the car and hit a pole. He didn’t want to tell me, but Taemin let it slip that I was intoxicated. What happened that night?”

You feel at loss for words. You don’t know the reasoning yourself and the only person who could cast some light on the situation probably would rather punch you in the face than help you. “I wish I could help you, but I am unsure myself.”

Jimin frowns looking to the side, silently playing with your fingers. Something he started doing absentmindedly whenever he was stressed. He stops for a second, still not looking at you as he speaks. “I was relieved that nobody was hurt but I can’t help but feel confused by my own actions. I know I would never drink and drive. It just doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem like me.”

He looks at you, his eyes a mirror to his emotions. He was fighting an internal battle which he kept to himself more so to not overwhelm you, sensing that you were already on the edge.

Instead of further grilling for information he smiles and quickly changes the topic. "At least get me a TV. I’ll die of boredom."

You felt like you can breathe again so you chuckle trying to mask the fear that lingered. "I’ll talk to Namjoon."

A nurse knocks on the door. "Time for some tests."

The nurse walked to Jimin's side, offering him a reassuring smile as she gently lifted his arm. You positioned yourself on the opposite side, carefully sliding your hands beneath him to provide additional support. Together, you lifted him into the wheelchair, ensuring he was comfortable before she starts wheeling him out.

As they were about to exit, he asks "Will I see you later?"

You nod. "Of course."

You watch Jimin disappear down the hallway, a strange hollowness settles in your chest. This is going to be harder than you anticipated. Jimin has lost two years of which you know nothing about. As much as you want to help, you feel just as much an outsider to that time as he does.

You wanted to dwell more on it but, the sharp beep of your pager shatters the silence. Front desk. You don’t waste a second, opting for the stairs over the elevator, your heart pounding from more than just exertion. The hospital is a world of cold, sterile air, and yet, as you rush through it, you feel like you’re suffocating.

At the front desk, a familiar figure stands. Jung Hoseok is dressed in a neatly pressed suit, though his tired eyes and slightly disheveled hair tell a different story. He looks older and worn out, as if the weight of sleepless nights has carved itself into his face. You notice how his hair is shorter than you remember, and how tiredness clings to him like a shadow, no doubt a result of his children’s relentless energy.

He waves at you, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Y/N," he greets, his voice tinged with fatigue as he hands you a set of keys. "How's the situation?"

"The same," you reply, catching your breath, "We’ll see if he’ll remember more once we get to the apartment and visit some places."

Hoseok nods, but then his expression turns serious. "Do you plan on telling him about you know?" His voice is quiet and cautious, as if saying the name might shatter something fragile in the air.

A shiver runs down your spine as you shake your head. "No, there was no right moment. Honestly, I don’t know if there ever will be. It would just reopen old wounds. And right now… isn’t the time."

Hoseok studies you for a moment before exhaling slowly. "Yeah, I get that. Is there anything I can do?"

You bite your lip, contemplating. "If you have time, could you help me fill in the gaps? I don’t know much about Jimin’s job after the divorce. It’s hard to navigate conversations when I have no idea what changed."

He agrees immediately. "Of course. I’ll drop by again tomorrow or the day after. I just need to check my schedule. I only saw him for a minute or two, the clients are ruthless. They keep pestering me as if I was the well of all information about the stock market."

His words offer some relief, but then he says something that throws you off balance. "I haven’t seen the apartment since Jimin gave me the keys. That was two months after the divorce."

Your brows knit together in confusion. "I thought he moved in with Rose?"

Hoseok’s expression shifts when he realizes what you’re thinking. "Yes and no, he and Rose only started dating last year. He left the apartment because there was too much sadness there. He said he needed a change, so he rented a place near the company instead. He gave me the keys because Dae and I wanted to expand our family, but… I couldn’t live there. It was too tragic. Therefore, I never used it."

Rose’s words echo in your mind and before you can stop yourself you say it out loud, wanting to be certain. "He was planning on selling it, right?"

Hoseok nods. "Yeah. He even found a buyer, but… they backed out."

"Did he say why?" you ask, but he shakes his head. "No. He just said to keep the keys. No new owner, no reason to bring them back to the company."

"Do you know what happened the night of the accident?"

"No, no one does. His family doesn’t even know." Before you can explain further, movement catches your attention.

You turn and freeze.

Seonghwa.

The young resident stands a few feet away, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. The papers he was carrying slip from his grasp, fluttering to the floor in a scattered mess. You watch as realization dawns on him as he continues staring at you as though he is seeing a ghost.

Hoseok turns at the commotion, narrowing his gaze as he studies the younger man. There is something familiar in Seonghwa’s features, and you see the moment recognition flickers in Hoseok’s tired eyes. But before he can say anything, you are already moving, kneeling beside Seonghwa to gather the fallen papers with quiet urgency.

Although he stutters, he manages to greet you and Hoseok. Once the papers are collected, he looks at you and attempts to start a conversation, awkwardly asking how you have been. Like Seonghwa, you find yourself at a loss for how to navigate the moment, so you settle for small talk, giving him a polite smile. "I’m well. I hope you are too."

Hoseok, who has been observing quietly, suddenly pieces it together, the young resident from the that night. Recognition flashes in his eyes, but he says nothing, only checking his watch before turning to you. "We’ll talk later, Y/N. I’m already late for work.

You nod, clutching the keys in her hand. "Thanks again."

As he walks away, Seonghwa exhales slowly and shifts on his feet. "Namjoon told me I would be working under someone new," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just… didn’t think it would be you."

You blink at him, slightly taken aback. "Namjoon never mentioned this to me."

Seonghwa nods, as if that makes perfect sense. You take a deep breath, adjusting to the reality of your new professional dynamic. "Well," you say, straightening up, "there are a few patients we need to check on. Let’s get to work."

Sensing the awkward atmosphere lingering between you, you quickly assign him a task. "Check on each patient and inform me when you're done. I still need to change into my uniform and greet the chief."

Seonghwa furrows his brows. "Greet the chief? Why?"

You tilt your head. "It’s common courtesy to greet your boss."

His lips twitch slightly. "You’ve already seen Namjoon."

You stare at him, processing his words. "Wait… what?"

"Namjoon became the chief just a little over a month ago."

Although perplexed at information that Namjoon decided to keep from you, you can’t help but feel a bit proud. “Then I guess we immediately go to work.”

Seonghwa smiles as he begins to scan through the list of patients. He explains their conditions, the procedures that were performed, and the potential checkups. As the two of you walk, you’re reminded of the old times when he used to trail behind you. However, instead of the nervous first-year resident who once cowered under your stern gaze, you now see a confident future cardiothoracic surgeon completing his final year of residency.

After a long day in the operating room, you find yourself transitioning from the upbeat environment of the hospital to the familiar weight of anticipation as you make your way to the car. The drive through the bustling streets of Seoul reflects your mixed emotions.

As you step into the apartment you once shared with Jimin, the soft glow of the overhead lights illuminates the elegant surroundings. Located in an upscale neighborhood, the entrance welcomes you with its polished wooden floors and high ceilings that make the space feel both expansive and intimate.

In the air lingers a faint floral scent, suggesting that someone has taken great care to maintain the place. You glance around, noticing the carefully arranged furniture that echoes memories of laughter and shared moments. The black sofa, draped with a soft throw blanket, still stands at its familiar angle, as if waiting for you to sink into it once more.

You can’t help but smile. The same sofa has once sparked a playful disagreement between you and Jimin, who thought its color was too dark for a room designed to catch the morning sun. The large windows allow ample light to flood the space, creating a striking contrast with the sofa.

Setting down the three suitcases, you stroll through the living space, taking in the memories. It’s as if time has stood still; nothing has changed. A wave of nostalgia washes over you, mingling with an unsettling sense of estrangement, as the apartment feels like a memory frozen in time. What truly catches your eye are the photos of you and Jimin, still proudly hanging on the walls of the living room.

Taking an en route to the photos, you catch the lingering feeling of confusion wash over you slowly then all at once as you come near. The photos are in pristine condition, a contrast to what you last remember seeing them. The vision of Jimin lingers as he yells smashing each frame against floor. Shards of glass spread all over the floor. He stomps over it, further crumpling the photos. You trace the wooden frame, fingers stopping at your carved initials.

Why did he put them back? The question floats in the air, and suddenly you feel like you’ll choke if continue searching for the answer. Instead, you proceed into the bedroom and the sight that greets you is a comforting one.

The bed is neatly made, and not much has changed. But as you stand there, you feel an overwhelming urge to explore further, to delve into the past. Yet, given the emotional roller coaster of the past two days, you pause feeling that venturing too deep might stir up memories best left undisturbed. Instead, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen hoping to find some semblance of normalcy in a cup of coffee.

You recall that Jimin always kept basics stocked, and you hope he didn’t throw all out. As you reach for the cabinet above the sink where you used to keep the coffee, your movements feel almost instinctual, as if you haven’t lived in another apartment for two years. To your surprise, nestled beside the bag of coffee is a package of white tea, one of your favorites.

But it’s not just the tea that catches your eye. The cabinet seems to be a curated collection of your favorites. It is stocked up on all the items you once adored, from the German chocolate Riesen—Jimin would always tease you about your peculiar liking for them—to your beloved brand of coffee, and even the soy sauce you preferred for your ramen noodles. It’s as if the cabinet had become a small shrine to your favorite things.

As you stand there, staring at the familiar items placed in the cabinet, you feel a new wave of confusion washes over you. You’re left wondering why he hadn’t removed them entirely. Was he holding onto these memories, or had he simply pushed them aside to avoid the hurt they might bring? The realization that living in this once-shared space might be too much for him sinks in, leaving you conflicted. Part of you wants to cherish these tokens of your past, while another part grapples with the understanding that he likely sought to create distance from reminders of you, leaving you uncertain about what to do with the unraveling emotions swirling inside.

Pushing the emotions aside, you decide to take a quick shower, hoping the warm water will wash away some of the tension that has built up throughout the day. Afterward, you sit down to make a list of things you need to buy for the apartment in order to transform it into a space in which you and Jimin had been supposedly living for the past five years.

You jot down groceries, hygiene such as shampoos, razors and all the trivial essentials that make a home feel complete. But then you pause, a wave of realization washing over you. All Jimin’s clothes are at his apartment with Rose. You feel your emotional limit approaching as you wrestle with the idea of having to call her and ask for his things. It feels like too much, especially considering your last encounter. Though Jimin may currently see you as his wife due to his amnesia, you are painfully aware that you are, in reality, his ex-wife.

You started to feel lost and uncertain about what to do next. It was ironic that as a surgeon, you often must make decisions so quickly that you rarely have time to think them through. Yet now, you were struggling to make even the simplest choice. In a moment of clarity, you decided it might be better to ask Hoseok or Namjoon to handle the situation, letting them do the heavy lifting while you figure out the rest.

You decide that tomorrow is a fresh start, hoping things might feel a little better. As you turn off the lights in the living room, the quiet envelops you, and it dawns on you just how tired you are. Climbing upstairs, you hesitate in front of the doors of the bedroom. It feels too soon to sleep there, so you opt for the guest room instead.

As you settle onto the unfamiliar sheets, just as you feel yourself drifting off, your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen to see a message from an unfamiliar number.

Sweet dreams—don't let the bugs eat you and think of me.

P.S. Namjoon finally gave my phone back.

You stare at the ceiling for a while, the words piercing through the cozy haze of sleepiness. You know it's Jimin, yet confusion washes over you. Why would Namjoon hand Jimin his phone back? Did he go through it? Did he erase the photos of Jimin and Rose? The thought leaves you feeling unsettled, and frustration bubbles beneath the surface.

It seems like everything is a tangled web of emotions, and you can't seem to catch a break. With a sigh, you grip your phone and type back, "Sweet dreams too," tacking on a heart emoji before switching off the screen entirely. Resting your head against the pillow, you let the silence absorb your thoughts, hoping for clarity in whatever tomorrow might bring.

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chimcess · 2 months ago

Text

Pitch Black || jjk (1)

⮞ Chapter One: The Crash Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other Tags: Convict!Jungkook, Escaped Prisoner!Jungkook, Piolet!Reader, Captain!Reader, Holyman!Namjoon, Genre: Sci-Fi, Action, Adventure, Thriller, Suspense, Strangers to Enemies to ???, Slow Burn, LOTS of Angst, Light Fluff, Eventual Smut, Third Person POV, 18+ Only Word Count: 27.7k+ Summary: Stranded on a barren planet lit by three suns, a group of survivors struggle to survive after their transporter crash-lands. Their situation grows dire when pilot Y/N discovers that every 22 years, an eclipse plunges the planet into darkness, unleashing swarms of flesh-eating creatures. Facing both external threats and internal tensions, the group forms a fragile alliance. As mistrust and secrets surface, Y/N's complicated dynamic with convict and murderer Jungkook intensifies, making the fight for survival against the darkness and the creatures even more perilous. Warnings: Strong Language, Side Character Death, Main Character Death, Aliens, Vicious Carnivorous Aliens, Violence, Blood, Jungkook is a huge prick, Cocky too, Talks About Past Characters Dying, Trauma Bonding, Bickering, Arguing, If Kook is a prick then Lee is a dick, Child Death, Graphic Death Scenes, Sexual Tension, Y/N is just trying her best, Jaded Characters, Religious Themes (I mean no harm and do not want to offend anyone), Bad Character Choices, Peter is Iconic (and a dumb ass), Surviving, Alcohol Consumption A/N: First chapter means it's time for the fun to begin. Or in this case, the catastrophe. Thanks for reading!

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The steady hum of the Hunter-Gratzner was like a heartbeat—a constant, low thrum that seeped through Y/N’s boots and kept her anchored in the here and now. It was so familiar she hardly noticed it anymore—until it suddenly stopped. And that silence wasn’t peaceful. It was suffocating, the kind that squeezes the air out of your lungs and makes your skin crawl. Not something you ever want to hear in deep space.

Today, though, the hum was going strong, a comforting reminder that the Hunter-Gratzner was doing exactly what it was built to do. Y/N’s fingers moved across the console with quick, confident precision, like they’d been doing this forever. In a way, they had. After so many hours in the pilot’s seat, it felt less like she was guiding the ship and more like she was part of it—a living extension of its circuits and steel.

A burst of static from the Kordis 12 radio broke her concentration. Flight control’s clipped voice cut through the hiss. “Hunter-Gratzner here,” she answered. “Cleared the last planetary marker.” “Copy that, Hunter-Gratzner,” came the calm reply. “You’re in the primary shipping lanes and cleared for main engine burn. Have a good sleep, H-G. Silas, out.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. Her hand tightened on the lever, then she eased it forward. The reactor’s purr deepened into a low, resonant rumble that pulsed through the ship like some ancient predator settling in for a nap. The ride was smooth—remarkably so, given the sketchy charts of the Tangiers System. No stray debris, no glitches, no pirates lurking in the dark.

Her gaze flicked to the console, scanning the numbers until they leveled off. She did a quick mental calculation of her cut: half a percent. Not much, but enough. Every run, every ton of cargo, chipped away at her debts and nudged her further from the past she was trying to outrun. Out here, in the cold black of space, it was all about survival.

Twenty-eight weeks to New Mecca. That was a long, lonely stretch—but Y/N liked it that way. The emptiness suited her. When the rest of the crew went into stasis, it left her with time to think... or not think. To forget. Forget the faces, the regrets, the ghosts.

She leaned back, fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic of her synth coffee mug. The bitter taste brought her back down to earth—figuratively speaking. Moments like this, with the ship’s hum in her bones and the console lights glowing softly, made the universe feel almost small and manageable. But even then, those nagging questions crept in.

Is this enough? Enough to change her life? To change her?

She pushed the doubts aside, focusing on the faint pinpricks of light scattered across the viewport. This was why she chose this path. Not many women signed up for these long-haul routes—months of isolation, heavy responsibility, and even heavier risks. Most took safer roles: cooking, medical, logistics. But not her. She wanted the pilot’s seat, the chance to earn her crew’s trust while hurtling them through the void.

And she’d done it. Earned it the hard way. Respect wasn’t handed out; you had to wrestle it into submission with grit and skill. She remembered the sneers at the academy, the snide comments. They only fueled her determination. By the time she graduated from Helion Prime’s technical college, she wasn’t just “that dock rat.” She was Y/N Y/L/N, Docking Pilot.

Her uncle had been the first to call her that, pride shining in his eyes even as he teased her. “Docking Pilot,” he’d say, guiding her hands over the controls of his beat-up transport. “You’ll go places, kid. Farther than I ever did.”

Back then, Helion Prime had felt like the whole world—shimmering dunes, scorching heat, and so much promise. She’d started in botany, thinking maybe helping things grow would heal something inside her. But the cockpit’s call was louder. Flight school swept her up, derailing her neat little plan.

That’s when she met Jimin Park. His grin could slice through any tension, but it was his quiet steadiness that really grounded her. Like her, he understood loss. They clicked right away—two orphans forging a bond without needing words. He was practically family, so much so that her uncle took to calling him “nephew” without hesitation.

When NOSA balked at hiring a “Helion Five girl,” Jimin used his connections. His voice carried weight on Aguerra, a place where religion was considered outdated and logic reigned. Helion Prime’s faith clashed with that worldview, but Jimin made them see beyond prejudices. He landed her an interview with Director Min, and Yoongi—sharp-eyed and no-nonsense—saw her raw talent for what it was: resourceful, adaptable, unbreakable under pressure.

Joining the Starfire crew felt like coming home. She still missed them all—Jimin’s steady humor, Armin’s wild Earth stories, Hoseok and Val’s constant flirting. They were a real team, which was a rare thing in the vacuum of space. But then came the promotion offer.

Co-pilot. Better pay. Easier hours. The catch? Leaving the Starfire.

It had seemed like the practical move. But practicality doesn’t fill the aching void left by Jimin’s laugh or Armin’s tall tales. It doesn’t replace that sense of belonging you’ve finally found and then walked away from.

Now the reactor’s low rumble hummed in her bones as she stared into the endless night. Choices. They always caught up with her in the dark, when everything was still except the glow of the console and the distant stars. Had she chosen right? Or had she traded too much for the hum of this ship and the lonely stretches of black it carried?

She thought of Koah, how he could turn even the most routine haul into a story worth hearing—always full of humor and heart. He made every shared meal feel like an adventure. They’d built something special, too—trust forged in danger and laughter, in moments where they looked out for each other no matter what.

And now? Now she was stuck with Greg fucking Shields.

Shields wasn’t just a bad fit—he was the kind of guy who turned the atmosphere sour the second he walked in. Even the simplest tasks became ordeals under his watch, every word dripping with smugness and spite. Koah had been the glue that held them all together, but Shields felt more like a dead weight dragging them down.

“Passengers are tucked in,” he announced, swaggering onto the bridge with that grating, self-satisfied tone. “All set for the long night.”

Y/N didn’t look up, her fingers gliding over the console with practiced ease. “Coordinates locked?” she asked, voice clipped and all business.

“Getting to it,” he drawled, dragging out the words just enough to poke at her nerves.

She refused to take the bait, though her patience was already thinning. Shields finally tapped in the last sequence, and the console beeped its confirmation.

“Don’t rush me, Fry,” he sneered, throwing out the nickname like an insult, smirking as if daring her to react. “You want me to fly us into a black hole?”

Her jaw tightened, her hands pausing on the controls. Fry. Once upon a time, that name brought warm memories—Uncle Sean calling her from the docks with pride in his voice. But Shields had a knack for twisting it into something ugly.

Then he muttered, “bitch,” just loud enough for her to hear. It was the last straw.

“You’ve got your coordinates,” she said, her voice low and controlled, like the calm before a storm. “Lock them in and get off my bridge.”

Shields opened his mouth, ready to spew more venom, but a gravelly voice cut him off.

“Greg.”

Captain Marshall’s tone carried an authority that left no room for argument. It was deep, steady, and edged with enough menace to make Shields recoil.

“Take a walk. Now.”

Shields hesitated, clearly tempted to protest. But one look at Marshall’s face made him think better of it. With stiff shoulders, he muttered something under his breath and stomped off, the hatch hissing shut behind him.

Marshall turned to Y/N, the corners of his beard twitching in a half-smile. “You good, Frenchie?” he asked, using the nickname she actually liked.

She exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. “I’m fine, Cap. Thanks.”

He nodded, studying her for a moment before leaning against the console. “Shields is a pain in the ass,” he said, his voice dropping to a more casual tone. “Don’t let him get under your skin. If he keeps this up, he’ll be shown the airlock soon enough.”

She let out a dry laugh. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Believe it,” Marshall said with a growing grin. “But don’t think you’re off the hook, Frenchie. I need you sharp. And because I’m feeling generous, I’ll spare you the disco tonight.”

She groaned theatrically, rolling her eyes. “Finally! Your music tastes are borderline criminal, Cap.”

“It’s a cultural treasure,” he protested, feigning offense.

Their shared laughter cut through the tension, if only for a moment. It reminded Y/N of easier days—back on the Starfire, before hard decisions and new regrets made everything more complicated.

22 Weeks Later

The ship’s hum had always felt like part of her—it was in her bones. Most of the time, she forgot it was there. You only noticed it when it vanished, and that’s usually when panic kicked in and you started praying. But for Y/N, there wasn’t any warning. She didn’t even get a chance to register the silence before the chaos hit.

Her cryo-locker hissed open and spat her onto the deck as if the ship itself was rejecting her. The air felt like a slap—icy, metallic, and stinking of burnt circuits. Alarms shrieked, overlapping and piercing, and her muscles, still useless from cryo-sleep, gave out beneath her. She landed hard, arms barely stopping her face from hitting the cold metal floor.

The Hunter-Gratzner groaned, a deep, agonized sound like the big beast it was had finally given up. Gravity shouldn’t have been working, but it yanked her sideways anyway. Flickering lights threw erratic shadows across the twisted wreckage of the corridor—jagged metal, ruptured walls, and beyond the cracked viewport, a faint orange glow flickered like a distant fire.

Y/N forced herself up, hands shaking so badly she could barely grip the frost-encrusted console. She was cold, nauseous, and terrified, but a single thought pounded in her head:

Get up. Get up.

She wobbled onto unsteady feet, nearly gagging on the hot, chemical stink clinging to the air. Fighting the urge to panic, she staggered toward the nearest cryo-locker. Inside, the plexiglass was smashed, shards clinging to the frame. Blood streaked the interior in frozen arcs, and the body inside—someone she might’ve known—was crumpled and horribly bent. She tore her eyes away, throat burning with bile.

There had to be survivors. There had to be.

Movement flickered in the next locker. Heart hammering, she rushed over and wiped the frost from the glass. Inside, the Captain was stirring, breathing shallowly but alive. Relief hit her like a jolt of adrenaline.

She slammed her hand against the intercom. “Cap’n, can you hear me? The hull’s compromised—it’s holding, but barely. Thank God you’re alive. Hold on, I’m gonna pop your E-release. Red handle—pull it once I clear it, got it?” Her voice came out fast, shaky. “I’ll try to get the warm-ups running—”

Then she heard it: a sharp, staccato crack. Phat-phat-phat. Thin contrails streaked through the air. A heartbeat later, the Captain’s chest exploded, spraying blood across the cryo-glass. Shards of plexiglass and metal blew outward, embedding in the walls. He jerked once, twice, then slumped, his eyes going dark as sparks shot from the ruined console.

Y/N reeled back, hand over her mouth. She’d been staring right at him—and now he was—

A sudden hiss behind her made her spin around, heart hammering. Another cryo-locker flew open, and a man tumbled out, crashing into her. They both hit the deck in a heap, limbs flailing.

“Why the hell did I just fall on you?” he wheezed, scrambling to get off her. He was clearly still half out of it from cryo-sleep.

“The Captain’s dead,” she blurted, voice rasping. “I was looking right at him when—” She stopped, fighting off the horrific images. “The hull’s shot. Shields are gone. We’re—”

“Wait!” His voice jumped an octave, eyes darting around. “Not Shields! No, no, that can’t—” He stared at her, then pointed to himself in confusion. “I’m Shields, right?”

For a moment, she just stared. Then a short, bitter laugh escaped her. “Cryo-sleep,” she muttered. “Fries your brain. Every damn time.”

Shields nodded, looking shell-shocked. “Sure does.” Then his eyes slid over her shoulder, and he went pale.

Y/N didn’t have to turn around to know something was there. The air felt different—colder, heavier, and alive with a presence that made her skin crawl. Fear twisted in her gut, relentless.

“Get dressed,” she snapped, snatching a warm-up suit from a storage compartment and thrusting it at him. Her voice shook, but her hands were already flying over the console, checking readings.

“Fifteen-fifty millibars,” she muttered. “Dropping twenty a minute. Dammit, we’re bleeding air. Something nailed us, and it wasn’t gentle.”

Shields clutched the suit like it was the only thing keeping him alive, his hands trembling. “Tell me we’re still in the shipping lane,” he begged. “Tell me it’s just stars out there—endless stars.”

Static crackled on the display as Y/N keyed in commands, her heart pounding. When the screen finally cleared, her stomach twisted. Not stars. Not the vast, empty black she’d hoped for. Instead, a planet loomed—huge, angry, its atmosphere swirling with bruised shades of purple and gray, like a living storm ready to devour them.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed, the words dropping from her lips like lead.

Then the ship lurched, starting its fall. It began with a savage, grinding howl as the Hunter-Gratzner tried and failed to fight gravity. Metal tore, supports snapped, and the deck tilted under her feet. She lurched forward, scraping her hands on the jagged edge of a console. Smoke stung her eyes, the acrid stench of burning wires filling her lungs.

Through the viewport, the planet’s churning atmosphere rushed up to meet them, a hungry predator closing in. Too close. Too fast. She forced herself to move despite the slanting corridors and the crushing pull of gravity.

Her headset crackled: Shields’ panicked voice cut through the screech of alarms. “They taught you this in training, right? Frenchie? Please tell me you remember the drills!”

She couldn’t answer. She could hardly think. Her surroundings blurred—frost-coated walls, blood smears, cables sparking overhead as she staggered through. By the time she reached the flight deck, she half-collapsed into the pilot’s seat, vision spinning.

Sweat slicked her fingers as she fumbled with the harness. She muttered curses under her breath until, finally, the clasps locked. Slamming her fist against the console, she prayed the failing systems would cooperate one last time. Damaged panels flickered, crash shutters groaning open to reveal the storm outside.

It was like staring into a swirling cauldron—red and gray clouds boiling in pure rage. They weren’t just falling; they were plunging, yanked down by forces well beyond her control. Her hands moved on instinct, flipping switches and twisting knobs in a frantic attempt to steer them out of this dive.

“Crisis program…” Shields’ voice came again, high-pitched and unsteady. “We’ve still got oxygen—fifteen hundred millibars. Surface pressure… oh, God.” He paused, his words faltering. “Maybe the ship’s in a good mood? For once?”

She pictured him cowering at his station, knuckles white, fear bleeding through every syllable. It spiked her own terror.

“Shields,” she croaked, her throat raw. “Focus.”

The stick suddenly jerked in her hands, fighting her attempts to level out. A faint hiss sounded, followed by a dull, bone-rattling thunk that echoed through the cabin like doom itself.

“Frenchie?” Shields’ voice cracked. “What the hell are you doing?”

The jettison doors were sliding shut. Her hand moved almost of its own accord, toggling latches with icy precision. Her thumb hovered over the switch that would shift the ship’s center of gravity—along with its passengers. She trembled, staring at the storm outside. She could practically feel Shields’ stare burning into her.

“Too much weight,” she said, voice taut as a wire about to snap. “I can’t keep the nose up. If I don’t—”

“You mean the passengers,” Shields interrupted, his breath hitching. “Forty people, Frenchie.”

Her jaw locked. “So we both go down? Out of some noble gesture?”

The silence that followed was worse than any alarm. It pressed in on her, suffocating, while outside, the storm raged. Her thumb quivered on the switch, a cold piece of metal that felt like an executioner’s blade.

She could practically feel the planet’s pull, like a weight on her chest. She imagined the look on Shields’ face—disbelief, maybe betrayal. She couldn’t bring herself to look back.

The ship’s hum, once so comforting, was gone—replaced by the wail of stressed metal and piercing sirens.

“Don’t,” Shields whispered, his tone stripped bare. It wasn’t a command or a plea. It was the broken voice of someone who already knew how this could end.

Her head dropped, a ragged sob or curse catching in her throat—she couldn’t tell which. The planet was swallowing them whole, the shaking and roaring all around an echo of the turmoil inside her. Forty lives weighed on her, crushing her soul.

With a sudden cry, she pounded her fist on the console, rattling loose screws and broken panels. The switch remained untouched.

The cryo-lockers hissed open in unison, a sound too serpentine, too alive. Frost curled over the plexiglass, twisting into vaporous tendrils that slithered toward the dim lights overhead. The ship shuddered. The deck groaned beneath the weight of its own failing systems.

Lee stirred inside his locker, fingers sluggish as they wiped at the frost. His thoughts felt submerged, murky, as if he were rising from a deep-sea dive. The overhead fluorescents flickered erratically, throwing jagged shadows across the metal walls. Something was wrong.

Across the aisle, Jungkook moved—slow, deliberate. The black goggles strapped over his eyes made him unreadable, but the sharp glint of metal between his teeth turned his grin into something feral. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The tension in his frame said everything.

Lee’s gaze snapped to the digital display blinking outside his locker. LOCK-OUT PROTOCOL IN EFFECT. ABSOLUTELY NO EARLY RELEASE. His stomach clenched.

Farther up the cabin, Y/N’s hands gripped the controls so tightly her knuckles blanched. The fractured monitors cast sickly light over her face, her breath coming fast and sharp. Behind her, Shields paced in tight, frantic circles, like a caged animal sensing a coming storm.

“Frenchie,” he barked, voice ragged with barely leashed panic. “NOSA—”

Y/N spun, eyes flashing. “NOSA isn’t here.” Her words cut like a scalpel, slicing clean through the rising chaos.

Shields froze, his lips pressing into a hard line. “The captain’s dead,” he said. No ceremony, no buffer. Just the truth. “That makes you in charge.”

Her laugh was bitter, jagged. “In charge?” Her fist slammed against the console, the impact like a gunshot. “You think a few hundred hours in a simulator prepped me for this?”

Shields unbuckled his harness, rising slow. Deliberate. “Don’t touch that switch,” he warned. His voice was even. Dangerous.

Y/N’s thumb hovered over it, sweat slicking her skin. The ship lurched. A shriek of metal tore through the cabin. Sparks rained down like dying stars. Her pulse hammered. And then—she slammed the switch.

“I’m not dying for them,” she muttered.

The Hunter-Gratzner bucked hard, carving a fiery scar across the sky as it plummeted. The hull shrieked. The jettison system hissed—then fell silent.

Nothing happened. The cryo-lockers remained sealed. Y/N’s breath caught. The switch was flipped, the call made. But the ship had refused her. Forty lives still frozen in limbo.

Shields cursed, hands a frantic blur over the interface. “Seventy seconds! You’ve got seventy seconds to level this beast out, Frenchie!”

She didn’t answer. Her focus tunneled in, every move muscle memory now. Switches flipped. Levers yanked. The ship groaned in protest, but she forced it to obey, wrenching it into some semblance of control.

Through the fractured windshield, the planet’s surface loomed—a maze of jagged rock, waiting to devour them whole. A metallic screech—louder than anything before—split the air as an airbrake tore loose, slamming into the windshield. The impact spiderwebbed the glass, splintering light into chaotic shards. The ship spasmed.

“What the hell was that?!” Shields’ voice was barely a breath through the comm.

Y/N didn’t answer. Her eyes flicked to the ground-mapping display—fractured, glitching, but still her only hope.

Sixty meters.

The cockpit rattled. The frame howled. Her hands were cramping, locked in a death grip on the controls.

Thirty.

The cryo-lockers exhaled in unison, a chorus of ghosts awakening. Lee blinked against the mist, lungs burning.

Ten.

The ship screamed. And then—impact.

The world didn’t just break. It detonated. The windscreen imploded, glass bursting inward like a thousand tiny daggers. The shockwave slammed Y/N back against her seat, her harness biting into her ribs. The cockpit filled with dust and debris, a choking maelstrom that turned every breath into a struggle.

In the passenger bay, Lee’s cryo-locker ejected with a violent hiss, spitting him onto the wreckage-strewn floor. His lungs seized as he gasped for air, mind reeling. Sparks flickered, casting eerie, broken light over the twisted remains of the ship.

His gaze caught on a massive crack splitting the hull—a wound too deep, too final.

Then—the groan. Deep, reverberating. A death knell. And the tearing.

A whole section of the ship peeled away, sliding free like dead skin. Rows of cryo-lockers went with it, vanishing into the swirling dust outside. Forty lockers. Forty people. Gone.

Shields’ voice crackled in Lee’s ear, raw, shaking. “We’re still breathing,” he rasped. “Oxygen’s holding at fifteen hundred millibars. Surface pressure… survivable.”

The word sounded like a joke. Lee pushed himself upright, legs shaking, ears ringing. The air was thick with the stench of scorched metal, blood, death. Around him, cries of pain cut through the chaos—some sharp and frantic, others weak, fading.

Jungkook’s cryo-locker was open. Empty. A slow, insidious chill climbed up Lee’s spine. His fingers darted to his hip, searching for his holster—gone. The unease slithered deeper, turning his gut into a leaden knot. He raised his flashlight, the beam cutting jagged arcs through the dust-choked air.

Then—a sound. Metal on metal. Rhythmic. Deliberate. Chains. The hairs on Lee’s neck stood on end. His breath shallowed. Slowly, unwillingly, he turned toward the noise. Two feet lowered into view from the shadows above—bare, bound in chains that whispered with each measured step.

His descent was too smooth, too unnatural. The black goggles strapped over his eyes caught the flickering light, cold and alien. The bit clamped between his teeth forced his mouth into something almost feral—not quite human.

Lee barely had time to react. The chain lashed toward him, a whip of coiled steel snapping tight around his throat. He staggered, hands clawing at the cold metal cutting off his air. Jungkook moved with silent precision, tightening the chain with a slow, measured pull. The darkness swayed. Lee’s vision blurred at the edges.

No. Not like this.

His fingers fumbled for the baton at his side. A flick—snap—and it extended, steel glinting in the fractured light.

Swing.

The first strike glanced off Jungkook’s ribs. No reaction. The second hit harder, enough to make the chain slacken just a fraction—enough to breathe. Lee’s instincts took over. He drove the baton up, hard, straight into Jungkook’s throat.

The force sent them both crashing to the floor. The impact rattled the remnants of the ship around them, a chorus of groaning metal and falling debris. Lee pinned Jungkook down, pressing his forearm hard against his throat. His breath was ragged, raw.

“One chance,” he growled, voice rough with fury. “You blew it.”

The dust began to settle. The ship around them was barely holding together—a skeletal ruin of scorched steel and shattered glass. Then, Lee’s flashlight caught a flicker of movement—a woman. He recognized her from when they boarded. The co-pilot. Her name was lost on him. Blood streaked her face, hair matted to her forehead, breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. But she was breathing.

“Over here,” she rasped. Steady. Unbreakable.

Lee stumbled toward her, boots crunching over shattered wreckage. He crouched, hands moving instinctively, shoving aside the debris pinning her down. The ship groaned with each piece he wrenched free, as if it resented his efforts.

And then—her legs were free. He hauled her up, her weight solid against him, but she barely found her footing before the reality of their situation slammed into her. Not just broken. Annihilated.

Her knees buckled. She sank, hands clawing at the scattered wreckage as if she could piece it all back together. Her lips parted. “Shields.” A whisper.

Then, frantic movement. She shoved aside jagged fragments of steel, shattered screens, the torn remains of the captain’s chair—anything, everything standing between her and what she already knew she’d find.

And then—she did. Strapped to his chair. A metal rod—long, jagged—pierced straight through his chest, impaling him like some grotesque marionette. Blood seeped in slow, dark rivers, pooling beneath him.

His eyes flew open. Wide. Wild. Panic-stricken. “OUT!” His scream ripped through the air. “GET IT OUT OF ME!”

Y/N jerked back, breath hitching. Around her, the others stumbled into the nav-bay, voices colliding in chaotic bursts.

“Pull it out!”

“No, leave it! You’ll kill him!”

“We don’t have a choice—just do it!”

The noise. The suffocating stench of blood and scorched wiring. It all pressed in, a heavy, cloying thing clawing at her senses. Her eyes flicked to the wall—where the med-locker should have been. Gone. Nothing left. Her pulse spiked. No anestaphine. No painkillers. Nothing. But she knew that already. She knew.

Her mind snapped into triage mode, training she hadn’t used since she’d first boarded the Starfire. The H-G had small med kits—scattered across compartments, emergency supplies meant for minor injuries, burns, fractures. Enough for patchwork. Not for this.

A quick scan of the room told her where they were—one in the overhead hatch, another tucked beneath the paneling by the nav station. She didn’t move. Didn’t go for them. Because she knew. Shields was going to die.

It didn’t matter if she used the last of their coagulants, their sterile dressings, their dwindling supply of stim injectors. The rod had pierced deep—a lung, maybe his aorta. If they pulled it, he’d bleed out in seconds. If they left it, he’d drown in his own blood.

There was no saving him. Silence crashed over them. Shields’ breathing was slowing, each rasping gasp a grim countdown. Y/N straightened. Her voice dropped—low, steady. Cold.

“Everyone. Back.”

The others froze, hesitated—then stepped away, shuffling like ghosts. Only Lee lingered. His gaze flicked to Jungkook’s bound form in the corner. Even shackled, Jungkook radiated menace, his stillness more unnerving than motion ever could be.

Y/N barely registered him. Her focus was on Shields. His body trembled beneath her hands, breath thin, ragged. She pressed her palm just above the wound, steadying him. He was shaking. Not from pain. From fear.

His eyes locked onto hers, searching—desperate. “I can’t die like this.”

The words were barely a whisper. Her throat tightened. “You won’t,” she lied. Because that’s what you did for the dying. You gave them something to hold onto. Even if it wasn’t real. She tightened her grip on his hand, let her voice drop to something softer. “This is going to hurt,” she murmured.

The suns hit like a clenched fist, brutal and unrelenting. Twin orbs, one molten red, the other a vicious yellow, scorched the sky and stretched jagged, overlapping shadows across the cracked, barren earth. The heat wasn’t just heat—it was something alive, something with teeth, pressing in, coiling tight around their throats, stealing breath with every shallow inhale. The air was dry, acrid, thick with dust that swirled at their boots, carried by a wind that keened through the desolation like a dying thing whispering its last confession.

The survivors stood in uneasy clusters, their movements wary, shapes distorted against the shimmering horizon. No one strode forward with confidence. Every step was measured, hesitant—like the planet itself might open its mouth and swallow them whole if they made the wrong move.

Daku and Bindi stood apart from the rest, a fortress of two. Daku was stillness carved from stone, his sharp gaze sweeping the alien expanse with the quiet calculation of a man who had survived worse. Bindi, by contrast, was all coiled energy, lean muscle stretched taut over bone, every movement precise. Not panicked. Just prepared.

Peter lingered at the edge of the group, dabbing at his sunburned face with a monogrammed handkerchief that belonged in a boardroom, not here. He let out a brittle, humorless laugh. “Welcome to paradise.” His voice was thin, dry as the air, and it barely made it past his chapped lips. No one laughed. There was no room for humor here.

In the distance, the wreckage of their ship lay sprawled against the cracked earth like the carcass of some great, wounded beast. Twisted metal jutted at odd angles, blackened from the crash, half-buried in the dust like the bones of something the sky had spit out and abandoned. It was silent now, but it didn’t feel still. It felt like it was waiting.

Inside, Y/N moved through the ruins, hands working mechanically, searching through the wreckage for anything salvageable. The silence pressed against her like a second atmosphere—thick, oppressive, wrong. The ship had once been their salvation. Now it was nothing more than a graveyard.

Near the wreckage, the Chrislams had gathered in a tight circle, white robes stark against the dust-streaked ground. Their heads were bowed, their lips moving in silent prayers—or grief. It was hard to tell which. Namjoon stood at their center, broad shoulders squared, his presence anchoring them even as doubt flickered across the younger pilgrims’ faces. Their hands fidgeted at the wooden crosses and crescent pendants hanging from their necks, symbols of faith that suddenly felt like relics of a world too far away to matter anymore.

A boy, no older than fifteen, broke the silence, his voice raw with desperation. “Which way is New Mecca?” His hands were pressed together, pleading. “We need to know where to pray.”

The words hung in the air, weightless, useless. There was no north here. No compass points. No stars to guide them. Just endless wasteland stretching toward an indifferent horizon. Jagged hills clawed at the sky like broken teeth, dark silhouettes against the searing light.

Namjoon lifted his face, squinting against the blinding suns, searching for something—an answer, a direction, a sign. But the sky gave him nothing.

Lee fumbled with a battered compass, flicked it open, watched the needle spin uselessly before snapping it shut with a frustrated hiss. “Even this thing’s lost.” He shoved it back into his pocket.

The ship groaned behind them, a deep, wounded sound, like something exhaling its last breath.

Inside, Y/N sat on the scorched floor, her back pressed against cold metal. Shields’ body was cradled in her lap, his head resting against her chest. The rod that had impaled him was still there—a grotesque, final punctuation mark. His blood was thick and dark against her hands, its metallic tang heavy in the air.

She had tried. God, she had tried. She had shouted orders, whispered reassurances, prayed to gods she never believed in. But none of it had been enough.

The others had moved on, their voices distant through the ruined hull. But Y/N stayed.

Because this wasn’t just a wreckage. It was a grave. And she was the only mourner.

The twin suns poured their merciless light through the jagged tear in the hull, turning dust into molten gold. It shimmered, beautiful in the way cruel things often were—dazzling, deceptive. The light exposed everything. Every failure, every flaw. There was nowhere to hide.

Y/N shifted, her muscles trembling, stiff with exhaustion as she eased Shields’ body to the floor. Her fingers lingered at his shoulder, unwilling to sever that last, fragile tether to the man he had been. The warmth was already leeching from his skin.

Then, slowly, she rose.

Outside was worse.

The heat struck like a hammer, thick, oppressive, pushing against her lungs with every breath. Dust swirled in restless eddies at her feet, the wind sharp as glass, carving at her skin, splitting her lips. A few yards away, the Chrislams knelt in the dirt, heads bowed, lips moving in murmured prayers. Their voices were barely a ripple against the keening wind, but it was the only human sound left in this place. For a moment, she let it fill the cracks inside her, a balm against the unraveling edges of her sanity.

Lee stood apart, one hand raised to shield his eyes against the glare. His jaw was tight, his shoulders locked, a silent fortress against whatever storm raged inside him. When Y/N stepped down from the wreckage, his gaze flicked to her, brief but cutting. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. Some things didn’t need to be said.

The land stretched before them, vast, indifferent. Jagged hills rose like broken ribs, their peaks tearing into the sky. Shadows pooled in the valleys, deep and impenetrable, as though the planet itself was swallowing the light. There was no refuge. No soft place to land. Only the brutal reality of survival.

Y/N swallowed against the rawness in her throat. “We’re on our own now.”

The words weren’t a revelation. They were a sentence.

No rescue was coming. No help would break through this alien sky.

She squared her shoulders beneath the weight of it, forcing one foot in front of the other, because the only way out was forward. Even when everything inside her begged to turn back.

The suns glared down, merciless and unblinking, turning the wreckage into a molten skeleton of what it had once been. Heat shimmered off the twisted metal, a feverish mirage making the debris seem like it was still shifting, still alive. But it wasn’t. It was dead—just like the people who hadn’t made it out.

Y/N climbed the jagged remains of the hull, her boots slipping against scorched metal, her fingers gripping the torn edges of a fractured panel. Her muscles ached, her breath came too short, too shallow. The air was too thin. Too dry. It scraped against her throat like sandpaper, and every inhale felt like a battle she was losing.

Below, the Chrislams knelt in the dust, their white robes dirtied and torn but still stark against the wasteland. Their soft prayers were barely audible over the dry, keening wind—a thread of humanity in a place that had none. Y/N let it wash over her for just a moment, a faint tether to something beyond survival.

Further up the wreckage, the others waited—Lee, Peter, Daku, Bindi, Leo. Their faces were carved with exhaustion, their silence heavier than the heat pressing down on them. Smoke curled from the wreckage behind them, black tendrils rising into the hazy sky. The crash had scarred the earth itself, leaving a deep trench of twisted metal and scorched rock, a wound with no hope of healing.

Y/N reached the top of the wreckage and let her gaze sweep the horizon. The planet stretched out before them in a wasteland of jagged rock and dust, the ground cracked and splintered like old bone. Sharp-edged hills rose in the distance, their peaks like broken teeth against the sky. There was no movement. No color. No life.

Only death, waiting for its turn.

“No one else made it,” she said, her voice low, steady. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an observation. It was a fact, as solid as the wreckage beneath her feet.

Silence stretched between them until Lee finally spoke, his voice dry and edged with bitterness. “They said there’d be a scouting party here.” He gestured toward the empty valley below, his words laced with grim sarcasm. “Guess they forgot the welcome committee.”

Peter coughed, dabbing at his sunburned face with that ridiculous monogrammed handkerchief. “Lovely spot,” he muttered. “Really. I mean, who doesn’t love the sensation of their lungs turning to parchment? Very exotic. Five stars.”

Y/N barely acknowledged him. Her focus was on the facts. The data. “The air’s too thin,” she said, voice clipped, clinical. “Not enough oxygen. Our bodies aren’t used to it. We’ll adjust, but it won’t be comfortable.”

Leo wiped sweat from his forehead, his face pale despite the heat. “Feels like breathing through a straw,” he muttered.

Peter waved his handkerchief dramatically. “Asthmatic here. Literal hell. Can I file a complaint, or is that not an option?”

“Enough,” Daku said, his voice cutting through the noise. His stance was firm, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked onto Y/N. “What happened?”

Y/N exhaled, rolling her shoulders against the weight of the question. “Debris. A rogue comet. A navigational error. I don’t know.” The admission felt like acid on her tongue. “What matters is that we’re here.”

“And alive,” Bindi added. Her tone was even, but there was something behind it—reluctant gratitude. “You got us down. That’s more than most pilots could have done.”

The words stung. Not because they were meant to, but because they weren’t true. Y/N knew that. They thought she’d saved them. But she knew better.

It wasn’t skill that had brought them down in one piece. It was luck. And luck never lasted.

She led them into what remained of the equipment bay, stepping over shattered panels, ducking beneath dangling wires. The air was thick with the scent of burned circuits and something else—something metallic and bitter. Blood.

Failure.

She knelt by a pile of debris and yanked free a suit, its fabric stiff with scorch marks. It would have to do. Holding it up, she said, “Liquid oxygen canisters. We rip them out. Short bursts, make them last. We don’t know how long we’ll need them.”

The group moved into action, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the face of survival. Leo lingered near her, watching her with an unsettling calm.

“Is someone coming for us?” he asked, voice steady in a way that made her stomach turn. “Or are we just gonna die here?”

The question hit like a stone dropped into deep water, sending ripples through the group. Y/N didn’t answer immediately. Her fingers tightened on the suit, knuckles whitening.

The others had paused, their movements stilled by the weight of the words.

Leo tilted his head. “I can handle it,” he said, softer now. “If we’re not making it out, you can just say so.”

Bindi stepped in, resting a firm hand on his shoulder. “We’re not giving up,” she said, her voice calm but absolute. “Not today.”

Leo hesitated, his bravado slipping just enough to reveal the scared kid underneath. Then he nodded.

The cabin reeked of sweat, scorched metal, and desperation. Shadows stretched long in the dim light, pooling in the corners, turning everything into a graveyard of broken machinery and shattered hope.

Y/N’s gaze drifted to the far side of the bulkhead, where Jungkook sat shackled and still, his presence more a quiet threat than anything else. The dark goggles covering his eyes reflected the dim light, a black void revealing nothing—no fear, no anger, no desperation. Just absence.

He didn’t fidget. Didn’t test his restraints. Didn’t move at all. That was what made him dangerous.

Yet, despite the cold knot of unease tightening in her stomach, Y/N couldn’t help but notice—he was beautiful.

Not in the clean-cut, manufactured way of men who knew they were being watched. No, there was something raw about him, something untamed. He was tall, all lean muscle wrapped in pale skin, the sinew of a predator coiled beneath the surface. His inky black hair was too long, falling into his face in uneven layers, the kind of overgrowth that should’ve looked unkempt but only made him more striking.

And then there were the tattoos.

They climbed up his arms in a chaotic symphony of ink, patterns and symbols weaving together into something intricate, something deliberate. Black ink against pale skin. A story written in the language of the damned.

Y/N’s throat went dry. Did they stop at his arms? Or did they go further, trailing over his ribs, down his back, curling against his hips? The thought hit like a static charge, sharp and unbidden. She swallowed, dragging her gaze away before she could entertain it any further.

“What about him?” she asked, her voice low, unsure despite herself.

Lee snorted, smirking. “Big Evil? Leave him locked up.”

Y/N forced herself to focus. “We don’t have forever,” she snapped, frustration bubbling up before she could reel it in. She exhaled sharply, running a hand over her face. “He broke out of a max-slam facility. Do you really think a pair of cuffs is enough?”

Lee shrugged, careless. “Only dangerous around humans,” he muttered, his voice thick with implication.

Before Y/N could fire back, movement caught her eye—a thin, silver thread trickling down the hull, glinting against the harsh twin suns.

Her stomach clenched.

Water.

Everything else vanished.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up, scrambling over the wreckage, boots slipping against warped metal. The sting of sharp edges against her palms didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was reaching the cistern before it was too late.

She wrenched open the hatch, metal scorching beneath her fingers. Sunlight flooded in, illuminating the nightmare inside.

A thin, glistening stream dribbled from a deep fracture in the steel, seeping into the cracked earth below. The ground drank greedily, dark stains blooming where the precious liquid had been only moments before.

Y/N’s breath hitched. A curse slipped past her lips, low and raw. This wasn’t just a leak. This was death.

Footsteps crunched behind her, the others approaching in hesitant silence. No one spoke. They didn’t need to. The truth lay bare before them, glinting in the relentless light.

Y/N leaned heavily against the hatch, her fingers pressing against the scalding metal as if to steady herself. Her gaze stayed locked on the dirt, watching helplessly as the last of the water disappeared, vanishing like hope itself.

The planet wasn’t just going to kill them. It was going to make them watch while it did.

A muscle ticked in her jaw. Her nails bit into her palms until pain cut through the spiraling thoughts. No. There wasn’t time for this—not for despair, not for grief. The planet would take everything if they let it, and she refused to give it that satisfaction.

She turned away from the empty cistern, shoulders squared against the weight pressing down on her. The others were watching, sweat streaking their dirt-smeared faces, fear barely concealed behind exhaustion. They were waiting for her to tell them what to do.

“We keep moving,” she said, her voice steady despite the scream clawing at her insides. “We’ll find more. There’s always something out there.”

The words tasted like lies. But lies could keep people alive. And right now, survival was the only thing that mattered.

The cargo hold reeked of scorched wiring and failure—the kind of failure that clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and made itself at home. The air was thick with it, stifling, oppressive. Y/N wiped a grimy hand across her forehead and pressed on, stepping over shattered panels and the twisted wreckage of what had once been their future.

Somewhere in this mess, there were MRAs. Mobile Resource Augmenters. Compact, efficient, life-saving. They were designed to extract moisture from the air, convert it into drinkable water, and they sure as hell weren’t cheap. NOSA wouldn’t have sent them on a long-haul mission without at least a few onboard.

She knew they were here, but no one else seemed to care.

Y/N was used to working with the best—astronauts trained to push beyond the limits of human endurance. On Aguerra Prime, her name meant something. She was a government official, a veteran of deep-space missions, one of the top-ranked astronauts in NOSA’s fleet. She had survived hostile environments before.

This, though? This was worse. Because she was surrounded by people who should have been fighting to survive—but weren’t.

Peter moved through the wreckage with a magician’s flourish, fingers dancing over the lock of a sealed crate like he was about to unveil something miraculous. The lid groaned open, dust puffing into the stale air, and inside lay…

Furniture. Tiffany chairs. Polished bronze lecterns. An entire crate filled with useless, gaudy antiques.

Lee let out a sharp whistle, nudging the crate with his boot. “King Tut’s tomb,” he muttered. “Just what we needed.”

Peter’s face lit up, eyes gleaming as he ran a reverent hand over an antique desk. “This,” he murmured, “is Wooten. A very rare piece, mind you.”

Y/N stared at him, patience fraying like old wiring. “A desk?” she asked, her voice sharper than the heat outside. “Not food. Not water. A desk?”

Peter waved her off, as if she were the one being unreasonable. “Not just a desk,” he corrected, prying open a hidden compartment.

Nestled inside, gleaming like a sick joke, sat a row of liquor bottles. Sherry. Scotch. Vintage port.

Y/N felt something snap. “We’re dying of thirst, and you brought booze?”

Peter stiffened, his hand hovering protectively over the bottles. “Two-hundred-year-old single-malt scotch,” he said, tone dripping with wounded pride. “To call it ‘booze’ is like calling foie gras ‘duck guts.’”

Lee barked a laugh, already reaching for a bottle. The seal cracked with a soft pop, and the sharp scent of aged alcohol filled the air, thick and cloying. He raised it mockingly. “Here’s to survival—or whatever the hell he just said.”

Y/N clenched her jaw so tightly it ached.

She had spent the last hour shifting wreckage, trying to move beams twice her weight, searching for anything that could actually keep them alive.

And these idiots were getting drunk.

Her gaze flicked to the scattered debris. There were still places she hadn’t checked, still a chance the MRAs were buried under the twisted metal, waiting for someone to dig them out.

But as she looked around, at Peter cradling his precious scotch, at Lee tipping his bottle back like this was some kind of vacation, at the rest of them barely pretending to care—she felt the fight drain out of her.

No one was going to help her, and she was done trying to save people who didn’t want to be saved.

She exhaled sharply, the decision settling like a stone in her stomach. Without a word, she turned on her heel, stepping away from the wreckage, away from the lost cause unfolding in front of her.

She had been trained to adapt, to survive no matter what. But NOSA had never prepared her for this. The footsteps came before the words.

Namjoon and his followers stepped into the wreckage, their white robes streaked with dust but still somehow immaculate, like they existed just outside the filth and chaos consuming the rest of them. The Chrislams moved with that same unsettling calm, like they hadn’t yet realized the depth of their predicament.

Y/N barely spared them a glance. She was past caring.

But Lee—still riding the high of finding nothing useful—wasn’t about to let them pass without commentary.

He slammed his bottle onto a metal crate with a hollow clink, his frustration breaking through the haze of heat and exhaustion. “For what?” he demanded, voice sharp. “There’s no water. No food. Just rocks, dust, and death as far as the eye can see.”

Namjoon met his glare without flinching. “All deserts have water,” he said softly. “Somewhere.”

Lee let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Great. You talk to God, then? He got directions?”

Namjoon didn’t blink.

“God will lead us there.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and immovable, like the wreckage around them. Y/N bit down on the retort bubbling up in her throat, but the pragmatist in her screamed louder than any prayer. Water didn’t come from faith. It came from work, from tearing apart this wreck until her hands bled.

“While God’s drawing up a map,” she muttered, turning back to the containers, “we’ll keep looking.”

Namjoon inclined his head respectfully and led his followers away, their murmured prayers fading into the distance. For a moment, Y/N envied their calm. Then Peter’s humming broke the quiet, his fingers trailing lovingly over the polished wood of the desk as if cataloging a museum piece. Her jaw tightened, but she swallowed the urge to snap. Wasting energy on him wasn’t worth it.

Lee pried open another container with a sharp kick, sending a plume of dust into the air. Inside was a heap of torn fabric and broken machinery, tangled and useless. He swore under his breath and shoved it aside, his frustration vibrating in every movement. “This is a goddamn joke,” he muttered. “We’re supposed to survive with this?”

“Keep looking,” Y/N snapped. Her voice cracked like a whip, harsh and desperate. The panic simmering just beneath her surface slipped through. “We don’t find water soon, no one’s making it out of here.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the scrape of metal and the mournful whistle of wind through the wreckage. Outside, the suns continued their relentless assault, the wind carrying dust and the heavy weight of despair. Y/N pressed her hand against the ship’s hull, the heat seeping into her palm. Every moment without progress felt like another step closer to death.

She moved toward the equipment bay, her focus narrowing. Somewhere in the wreckage were the pieces of the ship’s water generator. If she could just find them—just piece it together—they wouldn’t have to rely on the barren, unforgiving land outside. But her concentration splintered, fraying with every glance at the others.

Peter’s oblivious grin. Lee’s sharp frustration. Namjoon’s calm certainty. All of it clung to her like the heat, pressing in, pulling her mind away from the task at hand.

Her fingers brushed against a bent panel, her breath hitching as she caught sight of something familiar—part of the generator’s casing. Relief surged, but it was fleeting. The casing was twisted, its edges sharp and useless without the core components. Her chest tightened as she knelt, wrenching it free, her hands shaking as she turned it over in search of something—anything—that could still work.

Behind her, Leo’s small voice cut through the haze. “So,” he said, too calm for a kid his age. “What happens if we don’t find it? The water?”

The question hit her like a blow, her grip tightening on the casing. Around her, the others stilled, their movements halting under the weight of Leo’s words.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” he added, his tone flat, unflinching. “I can take it.”

Y/N closed her eyes, her breath shaky. When she finally spoke, her voice was brittle, scraping against the silence. “We’ll find it.”

It wasn’t an answer. It was a promise. And God help her, she didn’t know if she could keep it.

The ship groaned like a dying animal, its ruptured hull straining against the inevitable. Twisted metal rasped against itself, the sound a constant needle under the skin, an itch that couldn’t be scratched. Dust hung thick in the air, turned to gold by the merciless twin suns that stabbed through the fractured ceiling. Every breath tasted of scorched circuitry and hydraulic fluid, the scent of ruin and slow decay.

Jungkook sat in the shadows, chained to the bulkhead, utterly still. Not the stillness of resignation—but of patience. Of calculation. His wrists, raw from steel cuffs, rested against his thighs, fingers loose, body deceptively relaxed. The dark goggles strapped over his eyes reflected slivers of fractured light, a predator’s gaze hidden behind black glass. The mouth-bit locked over his teeth was meant to make him less dangerous.

It only made him look like a caged beast waiting for the lock to fail.

The ship shifted again, the wreckage settling into itself. He ignored it. The ship was already dead. That wasn’t his problem.

But Y/N’s absence was. Not that he cared. Not really.

But she was the only one in this mess who wasn’t an idiot. The only one who thought ahead. Moved with purpose. Her voice carried weight, her commands cutting through chaos like a blade. That kind of control was rare. Most people shattered when things got bad. She didn’t.

Still, he’d expected more when he first got a good look at her. Too lean. Too sharp. Built for function, not decoration. No softness, nothing extra. Not the kind of woman who caught his eye.

But then she’d spoken. And the way the room shifted around her—the way even the air seemed to move when she did—had made him reconsider.

Not beautiful, but something. And that something was more interesting than pretty.

Jungkook rolled his shoulders, cataloging the weight of his restraints, the tension in his muscles already fading. The nickname he’d overheard while half-conscious surfaced in his mind.

Frenchie. Too small. Too soft. Didn’t suit her at all.

The cutting torch lay just out of reach, its dull gleam a whisper in the wreckage. His head tilted slightly, lips curling behind the bit—not a smile, something colder. The ship was quiet now, save for the occasional creak, but Jungkook had already mapped every fracture, every weakness, every way out. The crack in the hull above him was subtle, barely there.

To anyone else. To Jungkook, it was an invitation. A flaw. A way through.

He shifted, testing the give of his chains. Metal rasped against metal, a whisper swallowed by the ship’s dying groans. He didn’t flinch. He just moved slower, smoother—a shadow moving through shadows.

Then, without hesitation, a sickening pop shattered the silence.

His left shoulder dislocated, tendons twisting, bones shifting in a grotesque ballet of control. Pain flickered at the edge of his consciousness, a distant thing, irrelevant. His breath remained steady.

Another pop. The right shoulder went next.

He exhaled slowly, muscles flexing, and with a sharp, brutal motion, his arms twisted through the narrow gap between his head and the bulkhead. His hands, now free, hung limp at his sides. For a moment, nothing moved. Then, with a precise, measured force, he rolled his shoulders back into place. The snap of bone meeting socket reverberated through the cabin, a sound that made most men sick.

Jungkook barely noticed.

The cuffs slipped from his wrists, hitting the floor with a final, hollow clatter.

He rose in one smooth motion, unfolding to his full height, presence suddenly too much for the cramped space. The air felt different. Thicker.

He stepped forward, moving toward the torch, his bare feet silent against the floor. The chains lay abandoned behind him, the weight of them meaningless now. The torch was warm against his fingers as he picked it up, rolling it once in his palm, adjusting to its feel.

Then he turned.

The goggles hid his eyes, but the smirk behind the bit was unmistakable.

The cutting torch hummed to life in his grip, a low, vibrating growl that filled the silence.

He was free.

The world beyond the wreckage was a graveyard—heat and silence stretched endlessly in every direction, oppressive, unyielding. Twin suns hung in the sky like merciless sentinels, their light leeching color from the landscape until only stark, blinding desolation remained. The ground was a cracked, scorched wound, dust spiraling in restless eddies, threading through jagged rock formations and yawning craters. In the distance, hills wavered like mirages, ghostly illusions rippling in the heat, always there, never reachable.

Lee stood at the edge of the ruin, half in shadow, half in the unrelenting blaze of the suns. The tang of sweat and burnt metal clung thick in the air, catching at the back of his throat. His pistol rested loosely in his grip, a lifeline more than a weapon. A thing to hold onto. A reminder that he wasn’t defenseless, even if the planet seemed indifferent to the concept of survival.

The silence pressed in, heavy. Wrong.

Silence should’ve been relief. Silence should’ve meant safety. But this wasn’t that kind of quiet. This was the kind that watched. The kind that waited.

His gaze swept the horizon, scanning the brittle, broken ground for something—anything—out of place. But the emptiness was deceptive, shifting, playing tricks on his eyes. The wreckage groaned behind him, metal expanding under the punishing heat. The ship was dying, settling into its grave. He ignored it. There were more immediate concerns.

Then—movement.

Not much. Just a glint, half-buried in the dust. A sliver of something reflecting the twin suns. Lee exhaled slowly, crouched, and reached for it, brushing aside the grit with careful, practiced efficiency.

The object came into view. A curved piece of metal. Scuffed. Worn. Unmistakable. His stomach dropped. The mouth-bit. Jungkook’s.

Lee straightened too fast, the bit still clutched in his hand, his fingers tightening around it like it might bite him. His other hand curled reflexively around the pistol’s grip, knuckles bloodless. The planet, empty and endless just moments ago, now felt like a set of teeth closing in.

Jungkook was loose. The realization landed like a hammer blow, cold despite the heat.

Lee had seen what the man could do—shackled. What he could be, even when restrained by steel and sedation. Now, the shackles were gone. The bit that had kept him contained was nothing more than a useless scrap of metal in Lee’s hand.

And Jungkook was out there. Somewhere. Lee scanned the landscape again, but the terrain mocked him. Too much space. Too many places to disappear. Too many places to hunt from.

The wreckage of the ship loomed behind him. The others were still inside—Bindi, Namjoon, Peter. Oblivious. They had no idea what had just been set loose into their already precarious existence.

Lee’s jaw clenched. Like we needed another way to die.

He turned the bit over in his palm, its edges smooth from use, from time, from teeth. He should’ve known. They all should’ve known. But it had been easier to ignore the truth than to face it.

Now, that denial had come at a cost.

The wind kicked up, whispering through the wreckage, sending dust scuttling across the cracked earth. The sound of it sent a chill down his spine, because it wasn’t the wind he was afraid of.

Lee shoved the bit into his pocket, a grim token of what lurked beyond the ship’s broken hull. Jungkook wasn’t just a problem. He wasn’t just dangerous. He was intentional. A force of nature with purpose. Whatever he wanted, whatever he was planning, it wasn’t going to end well for anyone.

He turned back toward the ship, every muscle wired tight, every step measured. The pistol was steady in his grip now, but the weight of it felt inadequate.

This wasn’t over. Not even close. The silence had changed. It wasn’t just emptiness anymore. It was a warning. Jungkook wasn’t watching from a distance.

The cargo hold was a machine of chaos—loud, desperate, and running on the thin fuel of fear. People moved like scavengers, tearing through storage lockers, prying open crates with bloodied hands, dragging whatever they could find into the nav-bay. Metal clattered, plastic scraped, breathless grunts and muttered curses filled the stale air. Dust spiraled in the fractured sunlight slanting through the ship’s wounds, turning the space into a golden, suffocating haze.

Y/N stood on the outskirts, arms crossed, watching. It wasn’t much of a stockpile, but it was all they had.

The room—once a hub of order and precision—now looked like a battlefield before the war even began. Broken panels, exposed wiring, the remains of shattered instruments littered the floor. In the middle of it all, their growing pile of salvaged weapons stood like an altar to survival.

Lee stepped up first. No hesitation, no wasted motion. He crouched beside the pile and inspected his finds: a pistol, a shotgun, a baton. Well-used, well-loved. The shotgun bore the scars of a hard life—scratched barrel, faded stock—but the way Lee handled it left no doubt. The weapon was an extension of him. He loaded it with quiet efficiency, each metallic clink settling into the uneasy silence.

Behind him, Daku and Bindi added their contributions. A battered pickaxe, a handful of digging tools, and an old hunting boomerang—its edges worn, its surface scarred. Daku flicked his wrist, testing its balance. He nodded once, satisfied. Bindi, hovering close, scanned the room with sharp eyes, daring anyone to question their worth.

Then Namjoon stepped forward.

A ceremonial blade. Ancient. Ornate. The kind meant for rituals, not combat. The hilt gleamed under the dim light, its intricate carvings whispering of old traditions. But the edge—thin, honed—was made to cut. He set it down carefully, with a reverence that stood in stark contrast to the chaos around him.

And then there was Peter.

He stumbled into the room, arms overfilled with weapons that didn’t belong on a battlefield. His face was red, breath heavy, but he carried his haul like it meant something. He nearly tripped over a loose wire before dumping his findings onto the pile.

Silence followed.

Polished war-picks. A blow-dart hunting stick. A collection of relics that belonged in a museum, not a fight for survival.

Lee stared. “The hell are these?”

Peter straightened, his expression hovering somewhere between pride and offense. “Maratha crow-bill war-picks,” he declared, lifting one like a trophy. “Northern India. Extremely rare.”

Daku snorted. He picked up the hunting stick, turning it over in his hands, unimpressed. “And this?”

“Blow-dart hunting stick,” Peter shot back defensively. “Papua New Guinea. One of a kind.”

Daku let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, tossing the stick back onto the pile. “Looks like they went extinct for a reason.”

Peter’s face darkened. His fingers curled around the remaining items like they might be snatched away. “Why are we even bothering with this?” he snapped. “If Jungkook’s gone, he’s gone. Why should we care?”

The air changed. The tension turned solid.

Lee was the first to break the silence. He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, his voice razor-edged. “First,” he said, his tone like the cocking of a gun, “because he can only survive out there for so long. Sooner or later, he’s coming back—for supplies. For water. For us.”

He let that settle, let them feel the weight of it.

“Second,” he continued, lowering his voice even further, “because killing is the only thing he’s ever been good at. And he likes it.”

No one spoke. No one moved.

Y/N felt the weight of those words settle into her chest, heavy as a loaded weapon. Jungkook wasn’t just a problem. He wasn’t a rogue element in their calculations.

He was a predator. And they were his prey. As if on cue, the group reached for their weapons.

Lee holstered the shotgun, his grip firm. Daku tested the boomerang again, tracing its edges with quiet precision. Even Peter, reluctant as he was, finally set one of his prized war-picks on the pile, his fingers lingering before he let go.

Y/N reached for the ceremonial blade.

It wasn’t made for this, but it would do. The weight of it felt strange in her hand, but solid. Steady. A promise.

The wind howled through the ruined hull, carrying the dry, metallic scent of the wasteland beyond. The horizon remained still, jagged peaks unmoving, but inside the ship, something had shifted.

The air felt electric. Like the moment before a storm. Y/N glanced at the others, their faces cast in flickering shadows. They were ready—or as ready as they could be.

Jungkook wasn’t gone. He was out there. Watching. Waiting. And now, so were they.

The ship jutted from the earth like a rusted blade, its jagged metal edges catching the dying light of twin suns. One burned a deep red, sinking low on the horizon, while the other clung stubbornly to the sky, casting long, broken shadows across the wasteland. Wind whispered through the wreckage, carrying the dry scent of scorched metal and sand, a faint, restless sound in the vast stillness.

Lee perched high on the hull, rifle balanced against his shoulder. His silhouette was razor-sharp against the sky’s bleeding colors. He moved only when necessary, scanning the horizon with a hunter’s patience, the kind of stillness that meant survival.

Then—movement.

A flicker. A distortion at the edge of his vision. His grip tightened. His breath held. What the hell was that?

The words barely escaped his lips, lost to the wind before anyone below could hear them.

On the ground, the others worked against time, piecing together survival from the ship’s remains. Daku and Bindi crouched over a makeshift workbench—little more than a pile of salvaged crates and twisted panels. They moved with careful efficiency, assembling breather units from scavenged tubing and half-broken filters. Each strap tightened, each valve checked, because failure wasn’t an option.

“Try it now,” Daku muttered, handing one to Leo.

The boy lifted it to his face, inhaling tentatively. A soft hiss, the measured release of oxygen. Relief flickered across his face, there and gone in an instant.

A few yards away, the Chrislams worked in silence, layering cloth over their heads, tying knots with practiced hands. Their transformation was seamless—fluid—turning them into nomads, figures that belonged to this land in a way the rest of them never would. Namjoon moved among them, his presence steady, guiding younger pilgrims as they secured their wrappings.

Y/N stood apart.

Her focus was on Shields. Or rather, what was left of him. His body was wrapped in salvaged cloth, the material rough, inadequate. But it was all she had. She tied the final knot, her fingers lingering for a moment, grounding herself in the task. When she straightened, her shadow stretched long and thin in the fading light.

“Namjoon.” Her voice was steady, though exhaustion clung to its edges. “We need to move before nightfall. While it’s still cool.”

Daku wiped a streak of sweat from his brow, glancing up. “What, you’re heading off too?”

Y/N nodded, jaw tight. “Lee’s leaving you a gun. Just one favor—bury my crew. They didn’t deserve to die here.”

Bindi met her gaze, expression soft but resolute. “We’ll take care of them.”

Then the sound came. Faint at first. A whisper. A reverence.

"Namjoon… Namjoon…"

The wind carried it toward them, weightless yet insistent. The group stilled. One by one, they turned toward the voice, rounding the wreckage to see where it came from.

And then, they saw it.

A blue star.

It flared against the horizon—impossibly bright, too large, too deliberate. It rose slowly, cutting through the burnt reds and oranges of the sunset like a blade. The light spread, stretching long shadows across the cracked land, shifting as if the planet itself had taken a breath.

Bindi exhaled sharply. “My bloody oath.”

“Three suns?” Leo whispered, his voice thin with disbelief.

Daku shook his head, his expression dark. “So much for nightfall.”

“And so much for cocktail hour,” Peter muttered, but the joke died the second it hit the air.

Namjoon stepped forward, bathed in the blue glow. The light painted his face in something almost holy. His voice was calm, steady, carrying the weight of quiet conviction.

“We take this as a sign. A path. A direction from God.”

Before anyone could respond, Lee moved.

He slid down the wreckage, boots kicking up dust as he landed. He straightened, brushing himself off, his rifle still slung across his shoulder. His face was unreadable, his eyes sharp.

“A very good sign,” he said, nodding toward the blue star. “That’s Jungkook’s direction.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered to him, unreadable. “Thought you said you found his restraints over there,” she said, jerking her chin toward the opposite horizon, where the red sun was slipping beneath the cracked earth.

Lee didn’t flinch. “I did.” His voice was even, final. “Which means he’s moving toward sunrise.”

The words settled like a stone in the pit of Y/N’s stomach. Jungkook wasn’t wandering. He wasn’t lost. He had a direction. A purpose. And it was moving closer.

She looked back at the star, its eerie light shifting the landscape into something foreign, something watching. A slow exhale left her lips, her mind sharpening.

“Then we move,” she said, her voice unyielding. “Before he decides to double back.”

No one argued. No one hesitated. Because the truth was simple. They weren’t just running from Jungkook anymore. They were following him.

The horizon shimmered, a mirage of heat and shifting color, an alien dream unraveling in the distance. The landscape stretched out before them like an open wound, raw and unrelenting, bruised in shades of violet and ochre under the double glare of the twin suns. To stare too long was to feel the world slip sideways, the very fabric of reality twisting under the weight of its own unnatural stillness.

They moved in a thin, fragile procession, their figures small against the vastness, nothing more than a line of ghosts fading into the endless heat.

The Chrislams led the way, their voices rising and falling in quiet, hypnotic rhythm. Their steps were deliberate, measured, faith woven into every movement. Incense pots swung gently from their hands, sending tendrils of spiced smoke curling into the air—an offering, a prayer, a plea for something greater than themselves. The scent tangled uneasily with the metallic tang of dust, the dry crackle of a world long since abandoned to silence.

Lee followed at a short distance, shotgun resting easy in his arms, though his grip spoke of exhaustion more than readiness. Sweat streaked through the dust on his face, his makeshift visor—a jagged scrap of plexiglass tied down with wire—biting into his skin. He ignored it. The pain was secondary. His eyes never stopped moving, scanning the horizon with the wary focus of a man who understood that stillness could kill just as surely as motion.

Beside him, Y/N shifted the weight of Peter’s ridiculous war-pick across her back. The ornate handle dug into her shoulder with every step, a mockery of their situation. A relic in a place that demanded survival, not sentiment. She had given up rolling her eyes after the first hour—exhaustion had a way of dulling even irritation.

Peter trailed behind, his face pink from the sun, his every step labored. And yet, he cradled his remaining artifact like a sacred object, a lifeline to something that only made sense to him.

The sky loomed, too vast, too fluid, its colors seeping into one another like ink bleeding through paper. The heat distorted the air, turning the horizon into something unreal, something that moved even when it shouldn’t. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t mean peace.

It meant something was waiting.

Y/N fumbled with the cloth she had tried—and failed—to wrap around her head. Her fingers, slick with sweat, kept losing their grip, the fabric slipping no matter how many times she adjusted it. The suns beat down, relentless, burning through her scalp, through her bones.

Namjoon noticed.

He didn’t speak. Just stepped closer, his movements calm, measured. Before she could protest, his hands brushed against hers, taking the cloth with quiet certainty. He wrapped it with the efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times, securing each fold, each knot, with practiced ease.

Y/N stiffened. She wasn’t used to small kindnesses.

“It’s too quiet,” she muttered, her voice too loud in the stillness. “You get used to the hum of the ship, the engines… then suddenly, it’s just… nothing.”

Namjoon tied the last knot, adjusting the fabric slightly. “Do you know who Muhammad was?” he asked, his voice low, conversational—like they were discussing something as ordinary as the weather.

She blinked at him. “Some prophet guy?”

His lips twitched. “Some prophet guy.” He stepped back, eyes scanning his work before meeting hers again. “He was a city man, but he had to go to the desert—to the silence—to hear the words of God.”

Y/N squinted against the glare. “So, you were on a pilgrimage? To New Mecca?”

He nodded. “Chrislam teaches that once in every lifetime, there should be a great hajj—a journey. To know God better, yes. But also to know yourself.”

A dry laugh slipped from her lips, brittle as the ground beneath their boots. “Sounds terrifying.”

Namjoon just watched her, waiting.

She exhaled. “I grew up on Helion Five,” she admitted, tugging the cloth slightly, testing its weight. “Not as nice as Prime.”

Something flickered in Namjoon’s expression—recognition, maybe respect. “Least religious of all the Helion planets,” he said. “And the poorest.”

Y/N nodded. “I studied botany on Prime. Spent eight years at the technical institute.”

Namjoon’s face shifted, surprised but pleased. “Then you’ve been to New Mecca.”

“I have.” Her voice softened slightly. “Studied under Dr. Abbas.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head in wonder. “Dr. Abbas was a mentor to my uncle. I met him once, when I was young. Brilliant man.”

Y/N nodded. The memories flickered behind her eyes—the towering spires of New Mecca, the hydro-gardens sprawling across the academy, faith and science woven together in delicate balance. It had been an oasis of learning, a place of possibility.

A place that should have led her somewhere better than this.

But then Helion Five ran out of money, and so did she. Her funding dried up, and she ended up back in the dirt, scraping by, until a flight school opportunity on Aguerra Prime sent her halfway across the galaxy.

She didn’t say that part.

At least NOSA paid well. At least the benefits were better than anything in the Helion System.

Namjoon studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, he said, “You’re full of surprises.”

Before Y/N could respond, Lee stopped. His entire body locked, every muscle wound tight. His breath sharpened. Then—his voice, low, razor-sharp. “Hold up.”

The words carved through the air, snapping every nerve in Y/N’s body to attention.

Lee lifted his rifle, scanning the horizon. His stance had changed—tight, predatory, every line of his body braced for whatever came next.

A ripple of unease passed through the group.

Y/N stepped forward, pulse quickening. “What is it?”

Lee didn’t answer immediately. He just handed her the scope, his expression grim.

She pressed it to her eye, adjusting to the warped, heat-rippled view. At first, she saw only what she expected—the same endless wasteland, stretching as far as the horizon. The cracked ground, desiccated and lifeless. The swirling dust, shifting restlessly in the dry, scorching wind. The emptiness, vast and absolute.

Then—something.

A cluster of thin, vertical shapes disrupted the monotony of the landscape.

She frowned. Her first instinct labeled them as trees, but the thought was dismissed as quickly as it formed. That was impossible.

She adjusted the focus, scanning for details, but the air above the superheated ground distorted everything. Waves of refracted light bent and twisted the landscape, making the objects shift in and out of coherence. She knew how easily the mind could be deceived under conditions like this—optical illusions born from extreme temperature gradients.

Still, she studied them.

They stood upright, dark against the glare of the horizon, irregular in height and spacing. They weren’t moving. Not even a fraction. No branches trembling in the wind. No leaves fluttering. Just still, rigid silhouettes.

Her jaw tightened.

If they were plant life, they shouldn’t be here. The conditions were too extreme. The heat alone would desiccate any surface vegetation in hours—if not outright kill it. Water, if it existed at all, would be buried deep underground, far from the sun’s reach. Any life here would have adapted to that reality. It would stay hidden, evolving in subterranean networks, safe from radiation and exposure.

But these things stood exposed, unyielding beneath a sky that could boil blood.

She exhaled slowly. If they weren’t trees, then what? Rock formations? But they were too slender, too irregular, lacking the weathered smoothness she’d expect from geological structures shaped by the elements.

Her mind cycled through possibilities.

Dead stalks of something that once lived? Artificial structures? Or just a mirage—some trick of light warping the landscape into false patterns?

She lowered the scope, blinking hard, then looked again with her naked eye. The shapes were still there, but less distinct, as if they faded into the background when not magnified.

That unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Her fingers tightened around the scope.

"Those aren't trees," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.

Y/N lowered the scope, pressing her lips into a thin line. The shapes still lingered on the edge of the horizon, indistinct and unreal, but her mind refused to place them in any known category. That alone made her uneasy.

“They aren’t trees,” she repeated, calmer this time. More certain.

Lee scoffed. “And you know that how?”

She turned to him, pulse steady despite the irritation curling in her chest. “Because trees don’t grow in places like this. Not on a planet this hot, this dry. Any plant life would be subterranean—assuming there’s life at all. Whatever those are, they’re not—”

“We’ll check it out.”

Y/N stiffened. “That’s not what I—”

Lee was already moving, waving for the others to prepare. “Not gonna stand here debating with a pilot who thinks she’s a scientist,” he muttered, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

Her fingers curled into a fist at her side. “I have a PhD in botany, actually,” she said flatly. “Which is why I’m telling you—”

“And I have a gun,” Lee cut in, not even looking at her. “So we’re gonna make sure.”

Y/N inhaled sharply through her nose. Of course. Of course, he was like this. She’d had his type figured out in the first ten minutes—loud, condescending, the kind of man who couldn’t stomach the idea of someone else knowing more than he did.

“You could just listen to her,” Namjoon interjected, stepping up beside her. He didn’t raise his voice, but there was an edge to his tone, subtle but firm. “She’s probably right. We don’t know what’s out there, and heading straight toward something unknown isn’t exactly smart.”

Lee exhaled sharply, turning back just enough to give Namjoon an unimpressed look. “Yeah? And what’s your plan, genius? Stand around and argue?”

“I think his plan,” Y/N said coolly, “is to use common sense.”

Lee barked a laugh. “Right. Common sense is what gets people killed. We don’t assume, we confirm.” His gaze flicked back to her, sharp with challenge. “Unless you’re scared?”

Y/N’s expression didn’t change, but inside, something clenched. Not in fear—just exhaustion. She’d dealt with men like this her entire career. She knew exactly how this argument would play out. She could cite a hundred scientific reasons why approaching those things was unnecessary at best, dangerous at worst, and it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.

Lee wanted to stomp over there just to prove he could.

Fine. Let him.

“Whatever,” she muttered, shoving the scope back into his hands. “Let’s go, then.”

She didn’t miss Namjoon’s concerned glance, but she ignored it. If following Lee into a potential death trap was what it took to get him to shut up, so be it.

At least when this inevitably turned out to be a waste of time, she’d get to say I told you so.

The wrecked ship knifed through the barren skyline, its twisted metal ribs jutting like bones against the backdrop of twin burning suns. The land stretched endlessly in every direction—cracked, lifeless, shimmering under the weight of an unrelenting heat. The ship’s remains had become a monument to survival, a jagged scar on an already brutal world.

Perched atop the wreck, Peter reclined as if he were sunbathing at a luxury resort instead of stranded on a hellscape. His misting umbrella—a ridiculous contraption of indulgence and pure audacity—hissed softly, releasing a cooling vapor laced with alcohol. The mist shimmered in the dry air, enveloping him in a cocoon of decadence, as if the wasteland were merely an inconvenience rather than a death sentence.

Below, Daku appeared, dragging a makeshift sled across the scorched earth. The thing groaned under the weight of scavenged supplies—tarps, cables, tools lashed together with salvaged wiring. Sweat slicked his skin, dust clinging to every exposed inch, the heat pressing down on him like a living thing. He barely spared Peter a glance before barking out a sharp, humorless laugh.

“Comfy up there?”

Peter angled his umbrella, peering down with a lazy grin. “Incredible, really,” he said, voice dripping with mock sincerity. He lifted his polished flask in a casual toast. “Turns out food and water are highly overrated when you have the finer things in life.”

Daku’s scowl deepened, his fingers tightening around the sled’s rope. “Just keep your bloody-fuckin’ eyes peeled,” he muttered, his accent sharpening with irritation. “Don’t need that ratbag sneakin’ up and takin’ a bite out of my bloody-fuckin’ arse.”

He turned and trudged toward the distant hills, the sled dragging behind him with a slow, agonized scrape. Peter smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his flask before pouring a precise splash into a delicate glass—somehow unbroken despite the crash. He lifted it to his lips, savoring the moment like he wasn’t marooned on a planet actively trying to kill him.

Then—the blade. Cold steel against his throat.

Peter’s breath hitched. His body went still, every instinct screaming don’t move. The pressure was light but undeniable, the knife’s edge sharp enough that even the slightest shift could draw blood. The air around him changed, tightened.

Then a voice, soft, almost amused. “He’d probably get you right here.” The blade tilted, just enough to let Peter feel the danger. “Right under the bone,” Leo murmured. “Quick. Clean. You’d never hear him coming.”

Peter’s fingers twitched toward the war-pick resting across his lap, but he didn’t move. He barely breathed. Because Leo wasn’t bluffing.

Peter’s eyes flicked sideways, catching the boy’s gaze. Those too-bright green eyes—steady, unblinking, holding something that didn’t belong in a face so young. The knife didn’t waver in his hand. His grip was sure, practiced, casual in a way that turned Peter’s stomach.

Peter swallowed carefully, feeling the blade shift with the motion. “Aren’t you a little young to be playing assassin?” he asked, voice light, strained. “What’s the story, then? Did you run away from your parents, or did they run away from you?”

A flicker of something dark passed over Leo’s expression—anger? Amusement? It was gone before Peter could name it. The blade stayed where it was.

Then, after a heartbeat too long, Leo stepped back. The knife withdrew with a flick of his wrist, a smooth, deliberate motion. The tension didn’t break—it just stretched, coiled between them, an unspoken thing that settled heavy in the heat. Leo turned and walked away.

Peter let out a slow, measured breath. His hand brushed over the war-pick in his lap—too late, too useless now—but the weight of it felt like reassurance. His fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the umbrella, tilting it just enough to cast his face back into shade. He exhaled, steadied himself.

Then, forcing his voice back into something closer to normal, he called after him.

“What exactly are you trying to prove, kid?”

Leo didn’t stop. Didn’t turn. The knife in his hand caught the light as he walked, glinting with every step. A warning. A promise.

Peter watched him disappear into the waves of heat, unease settling like a stone in his chest. He lifted the flask, poured another sip of sherry, and swallowed it down. It tasted bitter now.

The edge of the wreckage was quieter than anywhere else, a pocket of solitude carved into the heat and ruin. Leo sat cross-legged in the dust, her back to the others, their voices distant, muffled by the wind that swept across the barren expanse. The shadow of the hull stretched thin, barely offering relief from the twin suns, but she didn’t care.

She just needed to be alone.

The knife rested across her knee, a sliver of light catching on the steel, glinting as if it had something to say. Her hands hovered above it, fingers twitching, uncertain.

Her curls clung to her forehead, damp with sweat, itching at the back of her neck. They’d been a nuisance all day, an unwanted reminder of something she wasn’t anymore. Something she couldn’t be.

The first time she cut her hair, she’d done it with a shard of broken glass in a back alley on Taurus I, shivering, starving, her hands sticky with someone else’s blood. She’d shed her name that night too, left it behind like the curls that littered the filthy street.

Audrey had died there. Leo had crawled out of the wreckage. Now, here she was again.

Her fingers curled around the knife, steadying it despite the faint tremor in her hands. The first cut was clumsy, the blade snagging against a tangle before slicing through. A curl tumbled down, landing against the dust, dark against the pale ground. She exhaled sharply. Then she cut again.

Each slice was an act of erasure. A deliberate, necessary violence.

The curls fell in thick, heavy strands, coiling like dead things at her feet. She didn’t stop, even when sweat stung her eyes, even when her breath came short and fast. She worked until there was nothing left but uneven stubble, rough against her fingertips.

A breeze ghosted across her scalp, cool and startling, and for a moment, she felt untethered. Unmoored.

She stared down at the pile of curls, scattered like broken promises. Pieces of a girl who no longer existed. Pieces of soft hands and warm voices, of braids woven by someone long dead, of a life stolen before she ever had a chance to claim it.

Her throat tightened, but she swallowed hard, shoving the feeling down. Then, with one sharp motion, she ground her boot into the curls, sweeping them away with a harsh kick. The wind took them, lifting them into the air, scattering them across the wasteland.

She watched until they disappeared.

The knife was dull now, the edge dulled by the thick, stubborn strands it had cut through. She ran her thumb along the blade, then slipped it back into its sheath.

Leo stood slowly, brushing dust from her knees, rolling her shoulders back. She could already feel the questions rising in her mind. Did she cut enough? Would it pass? Would they see through her?

No. They wouldn’t. They saw what they expected to see—a wiry, sharp-edged boy, too young to be dangerous, too hard to be soft.

And that’s all they needed to know. She wasn’t going to tell them. Not Daku. Not Peter. Not even Namjoon. It wasn’t about trust. It was about survival.

She knew what happened to girls out here. She’d seen it. Felt it. She knew how softness got twisted, exploited, broken apart piece by piece. Leo wasn’t going to let that happen to her. Not again. Out here, softness wasn’t just a weakness. It was a death sentence.

Her green eyes flicked toward the horizon. The jagged hills stood like teeth in the distance, waiting for them. They would bring more pain. More danger. That was inevitable.

But Leo would meet them head-on. She had no other choice. Squaring her shoulders, she turned back toward the ship. The others would see her return. But they wouldn’t see her. Not really.

To them, she was just another boy. Just another survivor. Another body moving through this relentless, unforgiving world. And that was exactly how she needed it to be. Audrey was gone, scattered like dust on the wind. Leo was all that was left. And there was no space for softness now.

The rise gave way to something wrong.

Y/N had never expected to find trees—hadn’t even humored the idea. This planet was too hot, too dry, too merciless. Nothing should be growing here, least of all something as delicate as surface-dwelling vegetation. If life existed, it would be underground, hidden away from the blistering heat, surviving on whatever moisture remained trapped beneath the surface.

But what lay ahead wasn’t life at all.

It was bones.

They weren’t scattered remains or the weathered fossils of something long forgotten. No, these were enormous, structured, standing like a grotesque forest of the dead. Ribs the size of starships arched toward the sky, their jagged edges worn by time, bleached to a sickly green by lichen clinging stubbornly to their surfaces. They loomed over the wasteland, casting long, skeletal shadows that twisted and bent under the relentless double suns.

The ground beneath them was no better. Littered with shattered fragments, hollowed-out vertebrae, and the occasional half-buried skull, it was as if something had torn through this place—something big, something merciless.

The young pilgrims, Namjoon’s people, had begun to murmur prayers, their voices hushed and wavering.

“Allahu Akbar… Allahu Akbar…”

Their reverence was tinged with unease, their steps hesitant now, their awe tempered by something much colder.

Y/N lingered at the edge of the rise, adjusting the strap of her pack with a quiet exhale. She had no desire to move forward. Whatever happened here, however long ago it had been, it wasn’t natural. This wasn’t a graveyard. A graveyard implied burial, rest, peace. This?

This was a battlefield.

Lee, of course, had no such caution. He stepped up beside her, his shotgun slung low but ready, his face streaked with sweat and dust. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was sharp, assessing. Always acting like he was in charge. Always acting like he knew best.

"This doesn’t feel right," he muttered.

Y/N barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "No kidding," she murmured, voice dry.

They reached the others just as Namjoon translated a question from one of the younger pilgrims.

“He asks what could have killed so many great things.”

No one answered.

Y/N didn’t think they wanted to know.

They moved deeper, their earlier eagerness replaced by a silent, collective caution. She reached out, running her fingers over one of the towering ribs. The grooves carved into the surface were too precise, too intentional. Not the work of time, nor of nature.

“Killing field,” she murmured, stomach twisting. “Not a graveyard.”

Lee crouched near a pile of smaller bones, picking up a fragment. He turned it over in his hands, brushing away the dust. The surface was smooth, polished by age, but the ends—the ends had been broken.

“Whatever it was,” he said grimly, “it was a long time ago.”

A little ways off, Kai drifted toward one of the massive skulls, its hollow sockets wide and empty, a monument to something long dead. The structure was vast enough to shelter them all, its surface ridged with comb-like formations. Curious, Kai pressed his palm against one of the ridges. The wind shifted, catching within the grooves.

Namjoon, unlike the others, wasn’t entirely lost in the spectacle. His gaze flicked back to Y/N, watching the way her expression remained tight, the way her fingers twitched with irritation.

“You don’t like this,” he observed quietly.

Y/N huffed out a breath. “I don’t like being here at all. This is pointless.” She cast a glance at Lee, who was still inspecting the bones like he was the first person in the universe to ever see a skeleton. “And I don’t like being dragged around by someone who acts like he’s in charge just because he’s loud and armed.”

Namjoon smiled faintly. “That’s just Lee. Cop acting like a cop.”

Y/N snorted. “Yeah, well, I didn’t sign up to be bossed around by some overzealous authority figure with a superiority complex.”

Namjoon chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a dick.” Then, after a beat, “But mostly harmless.”

She side-eyed him. “Mostly.”

He shrugged, the ghost of amusement lingering.

A pause settled between them, quieter, more thoughtful. Y/N glanced at him, debating, then sighed. “Call me Frenchie.”

Namjoon blinked. “What?”

“It’s my call sign,” she explained, shifting her weight. “Got it when I was working on the docks with my uncle, and it stuck around. All my friends and family call me. You might as well, since I actually like you.”

Namjoon’s expression softened, something warm flickering behind his eyes. “Frenchie,” he repeated, testing the name with obvious care. A slow smile curved his lips. “I like it.”

Y/N nodded, satisfied.

Then Namjoon hesitated. “My mom used to call me Joon.” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “I haven’t heard it in a long time.”

Y/N looked at him, tilting her head slightly.

“She passed away a few years ago,” he admitted.

Y/N’s chest ached, just a little. She understood that feeling too well. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Namjoon nodded once, accepting, before offering her a small, sad smile. “It’s okay.”

Y/N hesitated, then said, “My parents died when I was little. My aunt and uncle raised me.”

Namjoon’s gaze met hers, understanding passing between them in the space of a heartbeat.

For a moment, they stood there, two people from different worlds, bound by quiet losses and shared irritation for the man currently barking orders at Kai like he had any authority.

Namjoon sighed. “We should probably go stop Lee from doing something stupid.”

Y/N smirked. “Or we could let him and watch what happens.”

Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. “Tempting.”

But they both knew they’d step in. Because Lee might be a pain in the ass, but he was still on their side.

A low, hollow hum resonated through the bones. The sound rippled outward, vibrating through the air, sinking into their chests like a pulse of memory. It was deep, mournful—a ghost’s sigh.

Kai’s face lit up, wonder momentarily eclipsing fear. “I’ve never heard anything like this,” he said, turning toward the others, his voice tinged with awe.

His smile froze. Something moved in the skull’s shadow. A face—pale and grinning—emerged from the dark. Kai stumbled back with a strangled yelp, his hands flying up instinctively. It wasn’t a monster. It was Soobin.

He stepped from the depths of the skull, laughter bright and sharp. “Got you good,” he said, grinning.

The tension cracked—momentarily.

Lee was already moving, instincts pulling him into the cavernous space of the skull. The shadows stretched long inside, pooling in uneven recesses. Bones littered the ground, but not the smooth, time-worn ones outside.

These were fresh. Chipped. Splintered. His shotgun swept low, the muzzle nudging against a shattered fragment. The air inside the skull carried an edge, something faintly electric—like the charge before a storm.

Lee exhaled through his nose, slow. "Nothing," he muttered, but his gut said otherwise.

Outside, the group gathered near the towering ribs, unease thickening as the wind hummed through the combed ridges of the skulls, filling the air with a sound too unnatural to be ignored. The massive remains stood like silent guardians over a forgotten tragedy.

High above, Jungkook watched. He was a shadow within the bone, his body pressed into the dense curves of the cavernous skull. The faint light filtering through the ridges illuminated only fragments of him—a glint of movement, a slow, steady breath. He didn’t stir. Didn’t make a sound.

His gaze flicked over the group below. He had been tracking them for hours. From where he crouched, Y/N was the closest. She leaned against the skull’s base, fingers twisting off the spent oxygen canister at her belt. The hiss of escaping air broke the silence.

Jungkook’s grip tightened around the bone-shiv in his hand. Its jagged edge gleamed faintly, a relic carved from the remains of this place. His muscles coiled. His breath was measured. He waited. The hunt hadn’t begun yet. But soon.

Y/N shifted her weight, pressing her back against the massive skull. The warmth of the bone seeped through her clothes, and for a moment, she let herself close her eyes. Just a second—just long enough to exhale, to let the exhaustion settle beneath her ribs before she pushed forward again.

Above her, in the hollowed-out depths of the skull, Jungkook did not blink. He moved with the silence of something bred for patience, for hunting. The bone-shiv in his hand hovered steady, his fingers curling around the carved handle as he leaned forward, the comb-like ridges of the skull framing his motion.

Her hair, damp with sweat, swayed just within reach. A flick of his wrist. A whisper of steel. The blade caught a single lock, slicing it away with surgical precision. Dark strands drifted into his palm, weightless, a piece of her claimed without her ever knowing. He studied them for a moment—expression unreadable—before tucking them into the folds of his makeshift belt. A keepsake. A marker.

Below him, Y/N shifted, oblivious to how close she had come to the edge of her life. She pushed off from the skull, stretching out her sore muscles before turning. “We’d better keep moving,” she said, her voice even, but tired.

Lee’s arrival had been perfectly timed—though she had no idea how perfectly. He stood a few feet away, flask in hand, smirking beneath the sunburned grime on his face. “Care for a sip?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t alcohol supposed to dehydrate you faster?”

Lee shrugged, tipping the flask toward her. “Probably. But it makes you care a whole lot less.”

She hesitated, then took the flask anyway. The liquid burned a path down her throat, hot and punishing, but she swallowed it without complaint. She handed it back, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. The boneyard stretched behind them, vast and silent, too silent.

“We don’t want to be out here when it gets dark,” she said briskly.

Lee nodded, tucking the flask back into his jacket as they fell into step. The group ahead was just visible now, their silhouettes shrinking against the dying light.

The crunch of bone fragments beneath their boots was the only sound between them. They climbed the rise overlooking the wasteland, and then—Lee froze. He moved fast, stepping onto a rock, rifle raised, the scope pressed tight against his eye. Every muscle in his body went rigid.

Y/N felt the shift instantly. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her knife. “What is it?”

Lee didn’t answer at first. He adjusted the scope, lips pressing into a tight line.

“I thought maybe he’d double back,” he muttered, voice barely audible. “Could be trailing us.”

Y/N’s stomach coiled tight. “And?”

Lee exhaled, lowering the scope. “Nothing.” He shook his head. “Left the flask as bait. No bites.” He climbed down, his boots hitting the earth with a crunch. “Guess he’s smarter than that.”

But Lee was wrong. So, so wrong. Back in the shadows of the skull, the truth was different. The flask, once brimming with scotch, now sat empty. Its contents had been poured out—replaced with a handful of coarse, reddish sand. Carefully. Deliberately.

Jungkook crouched deep in the graveyard of bones, his body a seamless part of the ruin, woven into the wreckage of something ancient. The strands of Y/N’s hair were still tucked securely into his belt, their faint scent rising with the heat.

His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled movements, his fingers adjusting the bone shards strapped across his body like armor. He was a ghost. A specter inside the carcass of a long-dead god. Watching. Waiting. And as the group moved farther away, he smiled.

The spired hills rose like shattered teeth against the sky, jagged and sharp, their edges blurred by the feverish shimmer of heat. The ground cracked beneath the weight of the twin suns, a vast, unrelenting plain stretching between the wreckage and the emptiness beyond.

Beneath the meager shade of a tarp strung between two rusted poles, Daku worked in silence.

Each swing of the pickaxe landed with a dull, defiant thud, the ground resisting him at every turn. This planet didn’t want to give up its dead.

A few yards away, the bodies lay wrapped in scavenged cloth. The makeshift shrouds clung awkwardly, shifting slightly in the breeze, as if reluctant to settle. A corner of one cloth lifted—just enough to reveal the curve of a hand, frozen in stillness—before the wind set it back down, as if even the air knew better than to disturb the dead.

Daku didn’t look at them. He didn’t have to. Their presence pressed against his skin, heavy as the heat, heavy as guilt. He drove the pickaxe into the ground again, his muscles burning, his breath ragged. The wreckage of the ship loomed behind him, twisted metal stark against the sky. It felt farther away than it was, separated by more than just distance.

Movement at the edge of his vision made him pause. Bindi stood in the shadow of the ship, watching. She lifted a hand in a slow, deliberate wave. Daku raised his own in return. A small gesture. Too heavy for what it was. But enough. Then he turned back to the earth.

The ground cracked beneath his next swing, reluctant but yielding. The rhythm of digging gave him something to focus on—something other than the weight pressing at the edges of his mind.

“Daku.”

Bindi’s voice carried across the dead landscape, firm but quiet.

He didn’t stop. “You need something?”

She stepped closer, hands on her hips, her presence solid, steady. “You good out here?”

Daku leaned against the shovel, wiping sweat from his brow. His voice came out rough. Flat. “Depends. How good does digging graves in an oven sound to you?”

Bindi snorted. “You could take a break, you know.”

“They deserve better than that,” Daku muttered. No room for argument.

Bindi didn’t try.

She stood there for a moment, gaze lingering, unreadable. Then she turned and disappeared back into the wreckage, leaving him alone with the dust, the heat, and the dead.

Daku worked until his muscles ached, until his hands blistered, until the trench was deep enough to matter.

Then, finally, he turned to the first body. The cloth fluttered slightly as he crouched beside it. Too light. That was the first thing he noticed. The weight was all wrong, the shape beneath the fabric too empty. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t let it settle. Didn’t let himself think.

He lifted the body carefully, arms straining as he carried it to the grave. Lowered it into the earth like it meant something.

A breath. A pause. The world around him held still, as if watching. He swallowed hard, then reached for the shovel.

The first shovelful of dirt hit with a dull thud. Then another. Then another. The sound of finality. The sound of something being buried that would never be dug up again.

When it was done, he stepped back, brushing dust from his palms. It wasn’t much. But it was enough. The sound of footsteps behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Bindi.

“You need help?” she asked.

Daku shook his head. “I’ve got it.”

She didn’t argue. She just stood there with him, both of them framed against the endless, indifferent horizon. The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was everything they couldn’t say. Everything they’d lost. Everything they still had left to lose. Daku exhaled, his gaze fixed on the hills in the distance. The sun was sinking, but the heat never left.

“They’ll rest easier now,” Bindi murmured.

Daku tightened his grip on the shovel. “Let’s hope we can say the same for us.”

The canyon yawned ahead, its ribbed spires stretching toward the twin suns like the remains of some ancient beast, clawing at the sky in its final death throes. Heat shimmered off the cracked earth, turning the horizon into something warped and restless. The silence was thick, not the absence of sound, but the kind that pressed in on all sides, heavy with the unshakable feeling that something was watching.

Y/N adjusted the strap of her pack, fingers brushing absently over the worn hilt of her knife as she scanned the terrain. Every step felt heavier, dragged down not just by exhaustion, but by the weight of the stillness.

Ahead, Yeonjun suddenly crouched, his voice low but urgent.

"Captain… Captain!"

Y/N was at his side in seconds, her brow furrowing as she followed his gaze. Half-buried in the dirt was something small and round, coated in dust and split slightly down the middle. At first, it looked like some alien fruit—leathery, weathered, its exposed core stringy and fibrous.

The Chrislams gathered close, murmuring in soft Saramic, their voices tinged with something fragile—hope.

"Could it be food?" one of them asked. "Something edible?"

Y/N brushed the dirt away, fingers tracing the rough, familiar stitching. The realization sank in like a stone dropping into deep water. She lifted it slowly, turning it over in her palm.

Her voice was flat when she spoke. "It’s a baseball."

The murmurs stopped. The small circle of bodies tensed, shoulders tightening, breath catching. The dirt-smudged ball sat in her palm like an artifact from another world. In a way, it was.

Namjoon stepped closer, the usual calm in his eyes sharpening into something watchful. He scanned the canyon’s winding path, his voice measured but weighted.

“We are not alone here, yes?”

Y/N didn’t answer, but her grip on the ball tightened.

Behind her, Lee shifted, his rifle held easy but ready, the sharp cut of his jaw betraying his unease. His fingers brushed the scope, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Never thought we were,” he muttered, the resignation in his tone carrying something else beneath it. Something like readiness.

The canyon widened, opening into a plateau that led toward the spired hills. And there—standing against the base of the jagged rock formations—was a settlement. Or what was left of one.

Rust-streaked shipping containers, stacked into makeshift buildings, leaned into each other like forgotten bones. Tattered sunshades, barely clinging to their rusted poles, flapped weakly in the heated wind, their edges frayed and curling.

The group stopped.

Namjoon moved first, stepping forward with a reverence that didn’t match the decay before them.

"Assalamu alaikum!" Yeonjun called, his voice carrying across the empty space, bouncing off the metal walls.

Nothing. No answer.

Lee peeled off toward a rusted-out moisture-recovery unit, crouching near the battered jugs scattered at its base. He picked one up, shook it. Nothing. Just a hollow rattle of grit inside brittle plastic.

“They ran out,” he said grimly, setting the jug down with finality.

Namjoon’s gaze lingered on the machine, his voice quiet. “Water,” he murmured. “Once, there was water here.”

The pilgrims sank to their knees, hands raised, their voices rising in unison. Allahu Akbar. The sound filled the empty settlement, a prayer swallowed by the bones of a place long past saving.

Y/N watched from the outskirts, the weight of the baseball still heavy in her grip. The prayers filled the space, but they didn’t fill her. Her gaze drifted to the shipping containers. Too still. Too empty. She moved toward one, her steps careful, deliberate. The doors hung crooked, their rusted hinges straining against time. She pushed one open.

Inside, the remains of lives left behind: A tipped-over chair. A rusted lantern. A faint, smeared handprint on the wall.

Y/N dragged her fingers along the broken edge of a table. Her voice was quiet, more to herself than anyone else.

“What happened here?” Lee’s voice, closer than she expected.

“Doesn’t look like they had much of a choice,” he said, gesturing to the scattered jugs, the rusted-out machinery. “This place dried up.”

Namjoon’s voice broke through the weight of the silence. "We search. See what remains."

The group spread out, their movements slow, careful. The air was thick, heavy with something unspoken. Y/N turned the baseball over in her hands, a cold certainty settling deep in her chest.

The air inside the structure was stale—not just old, but abandoned. A vacuum where life had once existed and then receded, leaving only the sediment of its passing. The particulate composition of the dust—fine, unbothered—told Y/N that no one had been in here for years.

She stepped forward, careful with her weight distribution, feeling the floor shift just slightly under her boots. Disuse. Wood degradation. Subsurface rot. The building wouldn’t collapse under her, but it was tired.

She cataloged details as she moved—mental notes stacking like research entries in her mind. The table in the center of the room: wooden, refectory-style, approximately two meters in length. Surface dull with oxidized grime. Deep scratches. Cup rings. The wood had absorbed more than just liquid over time—it had absorbed history.

The walls bore framed images—early settlers, hands dirt-streaked and competent, smiling children, a boy gripping a baseball bat. Domesticity in an unrelenting world. A psychological anchor. And yet, they were gone. The structures stood, the ghosts remained, but the people who built them—who bent this world to their will—had vanished.

Where?

Y/N moved deeper inside, her fingertips trailing along the tabletop’s edge. Oil deposits in the grain. Sweat, grease—human residue. She withdrew her hand quickly, as if touching the past too much might make it real again.

She reached for the wall, searching by muscle memory for a switch. “Lights,” she muttered, though she already knew—futility.

Her hand skimmed rough plaster—no switches, no panels. Not even the residual tackiness of adhesive where something had been ripped away. No artificial power grid at all.

Her mind started turning. She moved toward a window, the fabric blackout blinds stiff under her fingers. Why blackouts? She yanked them back, expecting the room to flood with sunlight—

A face stared back. Y/N jerked backward, pulse spiking. Her breath hitched before recognition caught up. Lee. Standing just beyond the glass, his features cut sharp by the exterior glare. He grinned, bemused, almost lazy.

"Try not to get lost in there," he said through the window, voice muffled.

She exhaled sharply, tension bleeding from her muscles. A short, nervous laugh escaped her as she nodded. "Not planning to," she called back.

Lee gave a small wave and stepped away, disappearing into the light. She was alone again. But the silence inside the building had shifted. A creak from behind her.

Y/N pivoted, knife half-drawn, instincts running ahead of her thoughts. Something in the corner caught the light. An orrery.

It sat on a low table, its frame dulled with oxidation but intact. She took a slow, deliberate step forward. The gears inside clicked, stuttered, then began to turn.

The device came to life. Tiny planets, caught in orbits dictated by age-old mechanics, began to move. Uneven. Jerky. The largest celestial body, positioned where a primary sun should be, pulsed faintly—bathed in a perpetual glow.

Y/N stilled. No darkness. Her fingers brushed the frame. "No darkness," she murmured. "No lights, because… no darkness." Her scientific mind caught the pattern before her gut did. Something prickled at the base of her skull. A realization forming too slow to stop the chill crawling up her spine. She turned sharply, stepped back into the sunlight.

The porch creaked beneath her boots, the glare of the twin suns almost too much after the dim interior. She squinted, eyes scanning the barren land for movement.

Then—a flicker. Far out, something glinted. Not naturally. A deliberate reflection. Her breath caught. She moved fast, pushing past a line of laundry still clinging to rusted wire, the faded fabric brushing her arms as she pushed forward.

The glint again. She broke into a jog.The ground crunched beneath her boots, fractured stone and sand shifting as she reached the source— A skiff. Partially buried in the desert’s hungry mouth.

Y/N’s pulse pounded. The fabric wings, tattered and skeletal, flapped weakly in the wind. The hull, sleek despite its damage, bore faded markings—symbols etched by a language older than the ruins around it.

A vessel. A departure. Or an arrival. Her fingers traced the surface—metal, pitted and worn, but solid. Heat radiated from it, even in the already blistering environment. Residual energy storage? Possible thermovoltaic components? Her heart stuttered.

"Allahu Akbar," she whispered, voice trembling between awe and calculation.

She didn’t believe in miracles. But she believed in science. And the science told her one thing: Someone else had been here.

The others caught up within minutes, their footsteps crunching against the fractured ground, but Y/N barely registered them. Her mind was already dissecting, calculating, breaking down the skiff in front of her.

Namjoon reached her first, his approach slow, deliberate—a reverence she couldn’t afford. He placed a hand on the hull, fingers splayed over the scarred metal, his eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. A prayer. A plea. The Chrislams behind him murmured their own, their voices threading through the air like a quiet current of faith. Y/N wasn’t praying. She was analyzing.

Her fingers traced the hull, mapping out the pitting from sand erosion, the carbon scoring along the intake vents, the microfractures spiderwebbing across the surface. Heat residue. That meant energy retention. That meant—

"Think it’ll fly?" Lee’s voice broke through her thoughts. He stood just behind her, rifle slung loose, his gaze sweeping over the vessel with a mix of hope and skepticism.

She exhaled sharply, tilting her head, already formulating possibilities, probabilities, limitations. "I don’t know," she admitted, but the words thrilled her. Not in uncertainty, but in possibility.

Her hands moved instinctively, pushing against the skiff’s frame, testing its stability, density, material integrity. The hull composition felt wrong—light but strong, too smooth to be traditional alloys. Not purely terrestrial. Some kind of composite—low-weight, high-tensile resilience.

The intake vents told her more—angled for atmospheric entry, but the heat scoring was shallow. This thing hadn’t been through a rough descent. It hadn’t crashed. It had landed. Her pulse ticked up, the rush of discovery washing over her, every neuron firing at once.

"This isn’t just wreckage," she muttered under her breath. "It was left here."

Lee frowned. "What are you saying?"

She stepped back, surveying the machine as a whole, not just its parts. "Scorch patterns are too controlled for a crash. The way the sand's drifted against it—it's been here a while, but not long enough for total burial. And the material—" she pressed her palm flat against the hull "—it’s still holding latent heat. That means an energy core. That means—"

Lee caught on before she even finished. His breath left him in a short, sharp laugh. "—it might have power," he finished.

Y/N nodded, her mind already racing ahead. If there was power, there was a chance. The skiff wasn’t just a symbol of escape. It was a machine—a problem to solve, a system to understand, a puzzle begging for hands smart enough to unlock it.

For the first time in too long, she felt the familiar pull—not just survival, not just endurance, but science.

"If we can get inside, if the controls are intact, if we can access the core—" she turned to Namjoon, who was still watching her, still measuring her words against his faith.

"We might not be stuck here after all."

The group fell silent. Even the wind seemed to hesitate, as if waiting for the verdict. Y/N’s hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms, not in doubt but in determination. For the first time in days, she wasn’t just reacting to survival. She was chasing it.

She looked up, toward the endless stretch of sky. For once, it didn’t feel like a ceiling. It felt like a destination.

Perched atop the ruined ship, Peter reclined in the only way Peter could—utterly unbothered, delicately indulgent, as if this wasteland was nothing more than a minor inconvenience to his standard of living. A toast point rested between two fingers, smeared with glistening caviar, because apparently, nothing—not even being marooned on a hostile planet—could persuade him to lower his standards.

The heat wavered in thick, rippling waves, and yet Peter sat immaculate, his linen trousers untouched by dust, grime, or the creeping dread curling at the edges of reality.

He lifted the toast toward his lips, prepared for the luxury of a bite, when— Scrabbling.

Soft. Imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t listening. A faint, almost instinctual sound. Dirt shifting. Small rocks tumbling. The suggestion of movement.

Peter froze. The toast hovered, suspended between indulgence and survival, as he tilted his head toward the edge of the ship. His sharp gaze narrowed. His hand lowered the toast with slow, deliberate precision onto a neatly folded napkin. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, brushed nonexistent dust from his trousers, and peered over the side.

Nothing. Just the dirt ramp, the heat waves, the small rocks still rolling a little too lazily, as if something—or someone—had climbed up. A muscle ticked in Peter’s jaw.

"This," he muttered under his breath, voice edged with his usual dry sarcasm, "now qualifies as the worst fun I’ve ever had. Stop it."

The wasteland offered no reply. The silence was thick, viscous, wrapping around him, pressing against his skin. The heat crackled off the ship’s hull, and suddenly, the toast and caviar felt obscenely misplaced.

Peter grabbed his war-pick—the ornate, polished relic, absurd in his hands, its weight foreign despite its promise of violence. He descended cautiously, every footstep deliberate, scanning the fractured shadows of the hull.

Still—nothing. His pulse was too fast. He did not like this.

“Leo?” Peter’s voice was low, edged with tension. "Oh, Leo… if this is one of your charming pranks—"

A voice rang out.

“What?”

Peter nearly dropped the war-pick. Leo’s voice was too casual, too far away. That meant—whatever had been up there with him, hadn’t been Leo. Cold certainty locked around Peter’s spine.

His tension sharpened into movement, feet carrying him faster now, deeper into the ship’s fractured belly, where he found Leo and Bindi, elbow-deep in a stubborn storage container, dirt streaking their faces. Both looked up, annoyed.

"Tell me that was you," Peter snapped, his grip tightening on the war-pick.

Leo’s brows furrowed. “Okay, sure, it was me. What’d I do now?”

"You’re assailing my fragile sense of security, that’s what,” Peter shot back. His voice cracked—just slightly—betraying his nerves.

Bindi straightened, her sharp gaze zeroing in. “He’s been right here, mate," she said, unimpressed. "What are you going on about?"

Peter opened his mouth, but— A shadow moved. A flicker across the fractured beams of sunlight slicing through the hull. The three of them froze. The air thickened, pressing in on all sides.

“Daku?” Bindi called, voice tight.

No response.

Leo darted to a narrow crack in the hull, pressing his face to the dusty glass. His breath fogged the surface as his gaze locked onto something.

Daku. Outside, hunched over the graves. Moving slow. Deliberate. Leo’s voice dropped to a whisper. His lips barely moved when he spoke the name they had all been avoiding.

"Jungkook."

Peter went rigid. The war-pick slipped in his sweaty grip. Bindi didn’t hesitate—she ripped the weapon from his hands in one clean motion, her body already moving, her muscles tensed like a spring waiting to snap. Leo followed, boomerang gripped like a lifeline.

The shadows deepened. The air grew heavier. And then—he appeared. Bindi swung first. Her aim was perfect—too perfect. The war-pick sliced through the air— and missed.

“No—!" Leo’s voice cracked. Panic ripped through him.

The man staggered back, arms raised defensively. Not Jungkook. Sunburned skin, blistered raw. A gaunt frame, weak, trembling. He clutched the lever of an emergency cryo-locker, his breath ragged, desperate.

"I thought—" he rasped, voice hoarse. Relief bloomed across his face. His eyes darted over them, hopeful, human, just a survivor—

The gunshot tore through the moment. Louder than the wind, louder than the sky. The bullet hit center mass. Blood sprayed across Bindi’s arm. The man’s body jerked, crumpled. His eyes went wide, confusion etched into his sunburned features before the light in them went out. A single breath. Then silence.

The group turned. Daku stood yards away, pistol still raised. His hands trembled. His chest rose and fell too fast.

"I thought it was him," Daku stammered. His voice cracked, unraveling. "The murdering ratbag. I thought—"

Leo’s face was ashen. His throat bobbed as he whispered, "He was just somebody else."

Daku’s gaze dropped. His hands fell limp at his sides. The pistol slipped from his fingers, clattering against the dirt. His knees buckled. His voice—wrecked, broken, crumbling.

“I thought it was him.”

And in the shadows behind the graves Jungkook watched. Still. Calculating. Amused. The goggles over his eyes caught the light, glinting. For a breath, he lingered, his gaze flicking to the breather strapped to Daku’s chest. Assessing. Weighing. Measuring. Then—like smoke he was gone. Leaving behind nothing. Just the echo of his presence and the weight of a mistake they could never take back.

The skiff crouched on the cracked earth like a carcass picked clean by time. Its fabric wings, once sleek and functional, hung in limp surrender, their edges frayed by wind and heat. The sand had already started reclaiming it, creeping up the landing gear, seeping into every exposed seam. Whatever this ship had been, whatever mission had left it here, was long over.

But it still had answers.

Y/N dropped from the cockpit, her boots crunching against the gritty surface below. She straightened, brushing sand off her hands, her mind already unraveling the mystery beneath the wreckage.

“No juice,” she called over her shoulder. Dead cells, fried circuits, a nest of corroded wiring—this thing hadn’t powered on in years.

Lee stood a few yards away, rifle slung over one shoulder in that lazy-but-ready way of his. He was watching her work, but also watching everything else.

“Controls are fried,” she continued, fingers running over the sun-bleached hull, searching. “Wiring’s a mess, but maybe we could adapt—”

“Shut up.”

Lee’s voice was sharp, cutting through her sentence like a blade. His hand came up, commanding silence. Y/N froze. Not because he had spoken—Lee was an ass, and abrupt orders weren’t new—but because of how he had said it.

His entire posture had shifted. The lazy stance was gone. His body was tight, coiled, head tilted slightly—like a wolf catching the scent of something just out of sight. Predator mode. Y/N’s stomach knotted.

“What?” she asked, voice low.

Lee didn’t answer immediately. His eyes swept the horizon, scanning the jagged rock formations, the dunes shifting lazily under the heat. The air around them felt wrong. Too still. Too heavy. Like the world itself had paused, waiting for something to happen. Y/N’s fingers drifted toward her knife, her pulse accelerating.

“Like my pistola,” Lee muttered.

Y/N frowned. He was hearing gunfire?

No—not gunfire. Something else. Before she could ask, the silence fractured. A sound—soft, metallic, deliberate. Like a latch being tested. Like steel on steel. Like someone was inside the skiff. Y/N’s grip tightened. She glanced at Lee. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. He heard it too.

“From the ship?” she whispered.

“Maybe.” His voice was clipped, low. “Or it could be him.”

Jungkook. The name didn’t need to be spoken aloud—his presence was a constant shadow, thick and inescapable. Even when he wasn’t there, he was. A shiver traced down Y/N’s spine, but she swallowed it. Fear wouldn’t help. Answers would. Her focus snapped back to the skiff.

If she could find a serial number, a registry plate, even a manufacturer’s mark, she could start piecing this together. Where had it come from? Who left it here? And more importantly—what planet were they even on? She ran her hands over the hull, searching.

The paint was stripped, the weathering extreme, but beneath the peeling surface, she spotted a faint etching—small, almost invisible, tucked just beneath the intake vent.

Her pulse spiked. Identification markings. Y/N dropped to her knees, yanking out her multi-tool. The tip of the blade scraped carefully over the surface, clearing away grit and oxidation. There. Her brain moved fast.

“PT-221…” she whispered, deciphering the numbers as they appeared. A familiar format.

“This is a personnel transport skiff.”

Lee glanced toward her, but his focus was still half-outward, scanning the horizon. “That mean anything?”

Y/N exhaled hard, her mind racing.

“PT-series ships were manufactured in the Helion System. Specifically” —she brushed away more dirt—“On Prime. However, this one looks weird. An older model from Aguerra Prime or Earth. I'd sixty years, but there's a lot of copycat rebuilds out there. Depending on where we are, it's unlikely that anyone would leave a ship for sixty years with no plan of retrieving it.”

That meant something huge. If this skiff had been manufactured in the Helion System or any of the others that she mentioned, then it had originated from human-inhabited space. That meant they were somewhere mapped. Somewhere reachable. Which meant—they weren’t lost. Not completely.

“This is good, Lee,” she said, voice breathless with revelation. “If I can get into the onboard system—if the black box is still intact—we might be able to pull location logs. Nav data. Even a distress signal history.”

Lee wasn’t looking at her. His grip had shifted on his rifle, tighter. His jaw clenched. Y/N’s excitement fractured.

“Lee,” She barely whispered it.

He didn’t blink. His face was off. For a second, Y/N thought it was just the heat. The pale sheen on his forehead, the way his fingers flexed against the grip of his rifle—subtle signs of dehydration, maybe, or just the endless tension grinding them all down to bone. But then she really looked.

His breathing was wrong. Not labored, exactly, but uneven, like his body was reacting to something before his brain could catch up. His pupils looked a little blown, his skin too clammy for the dry heat pressing down on them. He was sweating, but not the normal kind. A slow, cold kind. Like someone had just ripped a secret out of his chest.

"Lee." Y/N’s voice dropped an octave, sharp with something she wasn’t sure she wanted to name. "What’s wrong?"

No answer. His jaw flexed. His fingers twitched, just once, against the trigger guard. Y/N’s stomach twisted. She barely had time to register it—to react, to decide if she should be worried or just pissed off—before Lee suddenly exhaled hard, shook himself like a man breaking out of a fog.

Then, just like that, his entire expression changed. The tension? Gone. The weird, distant look? Gone. He rolled his shoulders, blinked twice like shaking off a bad dream, then turned toward her with forced nonchalance.

“Sorry—what?” His voice was too normal, too casual, like he hadn’t just short-circuited mid-thought. “Say that again?”

Y/N stared at him. His breath was steadier now. His hand had relaxed on the rifle, no longer clenching like he was waiting for something to spring out of the dark.

But his skin still looked a little too pale under the sunburn. His lips pressed together too tightly. Like he knew she had clocked it. Like he was daring her to push the issue. Y/N narrowed her eyes but didn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, she rolled her eyes and turned back to the skiff. "Nothing important, Lee. Just, you know, information that might actually save our lives."

She dropped to her knees again, blade scraping against the etchings on the hull, scanning for anything else. Serial numbers, flight logs—hell, even a maintenance sticker would help. Something to tell her where the hell this thing had come from. Because if she could figure that out, then maybe she could figure out where the hell they were.

The grave site shimmered under the twin suns, the heat so thick it seemed to press against Daku’s chest with every breath. The ground cracked beneath his boots as he dragged the dead man’s body across the dirt, the sled groaning under the weight.

The sound was grating, a harsh scrape against the silence, but the world swallowed it whole. Daku was alone.

The shipwreck loomed behind him, just out of sight, the sun-tarp sagging under the oppressive weight of dead air. The shade did nothing. It just made the place feel more hollow.

He braced himself, hands on his knees, and tried to ignore the way his lungs felt like sandpaper. Sweat burned down his back, soaking into the fabric of his shirt, but he didn’t stop.

The grave wasn’t deep. Couldn’t be. The ground was fighting him, resisting every strike of the shovel like it didn’t want to give up its dead.

Then he saw it. Something in the dirt. Daku froze. Half-buried at the bottom of the shallow grave, nestled beneath the loose soil, was an opening. Not just a crack in the earth. Not a burrow. Something else. Too smooth. Too deliberate.

He knelt, breath hitching, his fingers brushing over the edges of the hole. The walls were lined with something fibrous, a texture that wasn’t quite plant, wasn’t quite animal. Dried husks, webbed together in intricate layers. Organic, but wrong.

His stomach twisted. He reached for the handlight clipped to his belt, flicking it on. The beam cut through the dark, illuminating the tunnel’s slope.

The walls reflected faintly. Not like rock, not like dirt—something else. Something that almost looked wet. Then the smell hit him. Acrid. Chemical. Like something had been burned too clean, stripped too sterile.

Daku tilted the light. The tunnel curved downward, disappearing into a place the light couldn’t reach. And then—it moved. Not the tunnel. Something inside it. A ripple. Small at first. Then again. Daku’s heart slammed against his ribs. At first, it looked like shadow, just the way the light played against the uneven walls.

But then he realized it wasn’t the light moving It was something in the dark. Something that was watching him. Then it lunged.

The edges of the burrow split apart with a wet, tearing sound. Like flesh peeling open. A tendril shot out, fast—too fast. It wrapped around Daku’s wrist, cold, slick, unnervingly strong. Panic detonated through him.

He yanked back instinctively, but the thing was stronger. Its grip tightened, pulling him toward the tunnel. Daku screamed. His free hand fumbled for his pistol, but his fingers couldn’t get a grip. The thing’s skin—if you could call it that—was slick, shifting, like oil trying to hold a shape.

Finally, his hand closed around the gun. He fired. The shot shattered the silence. The muzzle flash lit up the hole for a split second, and in that moment, Daku saw it.

Not just a tendril. Not just something reaching. A mass. It was writhing, growing, expanding from the darkness. Daku fired again, his pulse a drumbeat in his skull. The tendril spasmed, rippling like disturbed water. The grip loosened.

Back at the ship, Peter flinched so hard the toast point in his hand toppled, caviar-first, onto the dusty hull. He stared at it. Then at the horizon. Then back at the toast. Then back at the horizon. His mind scrambled for an answer that didn’t exist.

Leo’s head snapped up, boomerang held tight, his knuckles bloodless against the grip.

“That was a gunshot,” he whispered. Like they needed the reminder.

Bindi didn’t hesitate. She dropped into a crouch, war-pick in hand, her eyes locked onto the grave site. Something had happened. Something bad.

Peter scrambled down the side of the ship, his usual swagger gone.

“Tell me that wasn’t just me,” he said, voice pitched too high. “You heard it, right? I’m not going mad?”

Bindi didn’t even look at him. Her focus was all horizon, all muscle, her expression unreadable.

“Course I bloody heard it.” Her voice was clipped, sharp. “The question is, what are we gonna do about it?”

Leo swallowed hard. “That was Daku, wasn’t it?” His voice cracked. “It has to be him.”

Bindi’s head snapped toward him. “Don’t assume.” Her voice was hard, commanding, no room for argument. She rose from her crouch, grip shifting on the war-pick. “Could be anything,” she said. “Or anyone.” A beat. “We stay sharp.”

Leo’s green eyes flickered with something raw. His grip tightened.

“If it wasn’t him…” His voice was barely audible now. “…Then what?”

Peter opened his mouth, ready to quip, ready to deflect—but the look in Bindi’s eyes stopped him cold. She wasn’t joking. This was real.

He shifted uncomfortably, licking his lips, eyes darting toward the ship. “I’m just saying… maybe we think before running headlong into—” He gestured vaguely. “Whatever that was.”

Bindi cut him off.

“Stay here.” Leo flinched, but Bindi didn’t soften. “If anything moves that isn’t me or Daku,” she said, “you scream like the world’s ending.”

Peter opened his mouth again, but she was already moving, slipping toward the gravesite, war-pick held ready. Leo and Peter watched her go. The heat rippled around her, warping the horizon into something unreal.

Leo exhaled sharply, crouching beside Peter, boomerang in a death grip. “…Do you think it’s him?”

Peter didn’t answer. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His gaze was locked on the grave site. Because something was wrong. He could feel it. Finally, he swallowed, dragging a hand down his face.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He glanced toward the horizon, his brow furrowing. “But whatever it is…” His voice dropped. “…It’s close. Too close.”

The second gunshot shattered the graveyard’s silence, the sharp crack tearing through the thick, suffocating heat. The bullet found its mark.

A tendril snapped apart in midair, black ichor spraying outward in a violent arc, sizzling where it struck the dry earth. The air reeked instantly—something acidic, chemical, a stench that clung to the back of Daku’s throat, making his eyes water.

But the thing didn’t stop. The next tendril lashed out, wrapping around his calf before he could react. Then it pulled.

Daku hit the ground hard, his back slamming against the dirt with a dull thud. His breath ripped from his lungs, the wind knocked out of him as he slid toward the gaping burrow.

The thing wasn’t just strong. It was fast. He aimed blind—fired blind, his pistol flashing bright in the gloom. The muzzle flare lit up the nightmare for half a second.

A tangle of limbs. Writhing. Folding in on itself. Not solid. Not liquid. Something in between. The bullets tore through it, but it didn’t bleed right. It shuddered—jerked, rippled like disturbed water—but the tendrils kept coming.

One sliced across his chest, razor-thin but unforgiving, carving deep into his skin. Daku gritted his teeth against the pain, his vision blurring at the edges. His free hand scrambled for purchase, fingers clawing at the dirt, but the earth beneath him was giving way.

The grave was getting deeper. Or maybe he was just getting pulled in. His boots dug into the edge, small rocks tumbling down into the void below. Daku kept shooting, kept fighting, even as his grip weakened.

Another shot. Then—something different. One bullet hit deep. Not just flesh. Something inside it. The thing jerked back for a split second, a violent convulsion rolling through its mass.

Daku felt a spark of hope. But hope never lasted long on this planet. The creature lurched forward with renewed fury, its remaining tendrils snapping around his arms, his waist, his throat.

Everything constricted at once. His lungs spasmed. His vision narrowed. The last scream he tried to release died before it even left his throat.

His gun slipped from his fingers, tumbling into the abyss. Daku was going under. The ground crumbled beneath him. His boots skidded, slipped- Then he was gone. Yanked down. Swallowed whole.

The grave collapsed inward. The dirt settled. The sled sat untouched, its cargo neatly stacked, as if nothing had happened at all.

Overhead, the twin suns burned on. Their heat didn’t care. Their light reached everywhere. Except down there.

Deep in the burrow’s black throat, something shifted. The sound was wet, sickly, like flesh being pulled apart and put back together again. The darkness pressed down, thick and suffocating, as something dragged itself deeper. The creature retreated, its tendrils folding inward, pulling Daku’s motionless body into the abyss.

Deeper. Deeper. The light from the surface faded to nothing. The planet consumed him whole. And the silence that followed was final.

The ground burned through Bindi’s boots, the heat relentless, but she didn’t feel it. She sprinted across the packed, unforgiving earth, her breath tearing from her throat in ragged gasps. The twin suns bore down, their light merciless, the air thick and smothering, clinging to her skin like a second, unwelcome layer.

The makeshift sun-tarp came into view, its edges flapping against the crooked poles, the sound barely a whisper over the thunder in her chest.

She felt it before she saw it. Something was wrong. Bindi skidded to a halt, kicking up a cloud of dust. The world tilted slightly, her stomach dropping as she yanked the fabric aside—

And froze. Jungkook was standing there. Still. Silent. Waiting.

He was on the far side of the grave, body eerily relaxed, one hand hanging loosely at his side. In it, a bone-shiv. The blade gleamed faintly, catching the light in a way that shouldn’t have felt threatening—but did.

He didn’t flinch at her arrival. Didn’t step back. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, the slight tilt of his head the only indication that he even acknowledged her presence.

His goggles hid his eyes, but Bindi felt them—felt the weight of his stare like a blade against her ribs. Her gaze dropped and her lungs locked. The grave was empty.

The sled overturned, its contents scattered across the dirt like the remnants of a struggle. Blood smeared the earth, thick, dark, soaking into the fractured ground.

And at the bottom of the pit, something worse. A hole. No—a burrow.

Its edges weren’t normal, weren’t clean or mechanical or natural. The fibrous lining trembled, quivering like raw nerve endings, as if the planet itself had breathed a wound open.

Bindi’s body went cold, even as sweat stung her eyes.

She saw it then- Daku’s boot. Just the boot. Lying a few inches from the grave’s edge. Torn. Scuffed. One lace half-untied, like he’d been dragged right out of it.

Her scream tore through the air. "Daku!" Her voice broke, raw, desperate. "DAKU!" The grave swallowed the sound.

Jungkook still hadn’t moved. The silence around him was louder than her cries, pressing down like a living thing.

Bindi’s hand tightened around the war-pick, both hands now clutching it as though it could anchor her, keep her from falling into the same void. Her chest heaved, her throat aching from the scream, but her rage cut through the fear like a blade through flesh.

Her voice shook, but her fury didn’t. "What did you do?"

Jungkook tilted his head, lips barely twitching. A smirk. Or maybe not. Maybe just a reflex, something almost human, but Bindi knew better. He didn’t answer. Didn’t even acknowledge the accusation.

Her gaze snapped back to the grave—the blood, the torn earth, the quivering maw of the burrow. Something else had been here. Something alive. Something that wasn’t Jungkook.

Her breath hitched, the pieces snapping together in her mind with the speed of pure, visceral instinct. "What is down there?"

It wasn’t a question for him—it was a question for herself. Jungkook finally spoke, his voice low, measured, almost curious.

"Not me."

The words crawled under her skin. Her legs weakened. The hole at the bottom of the grave pulsed faintly. Bindi felt it. Like it was waiting.

Jungkook flicked his head toward the burrow—a gesture so small, so deliberate, it made her stomach lurch. He wasn’t explaining himself. He was telling her to look. Telling her to understand.

Her fingers tightened around the war-pick’s handle. And then—she broke. Her scream ripped from her throat, raw and violent.

"Liar!"

The word shook the air. Jungkook didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. Didn’t deny it. He just turned. His body moved fluidly, like an animal slipping back into the shadows, a creature untouched by morality, by fear, by regret. And he walked away.

Bindi stood there, breathing hard, hands shaking, staring at the grave like it might come alive beneath her feet. It already had. And whatever had taken Daku was still there.

Waiting. Watching. Hungry. Her chest heaved, her grip white-knuckled on the war-pick. The silence returned, heavier now, an oppressive weight of knowing. And she thought, for the first time, that maybe the real question wasn’t what happened to Daku. Maybe the real question was— How much time did they have left before it came back for them too?

Jungkook ran.

His body moved like liquid through rock, weaving through the towering spires that clawed at the sky like the fossilized ribs of some ancient, long-dead colossus. The terrain twisted violently, sharp-edged canyons and jagged drops designed to kill the unskilled, but Jungkook flowed through them without hesitation. Every step was measured, every movement deliberate, his muscles adjusting instinctively to the unpredictable ground beneath him.

The planet breathed heat and silence, thick and watchful, as if the land itself was waiting for the inevitable collision between predator and prey.

The boots behind him never stopped. Lee was close. His footsteps were methodical, unhurried despite the speed, a hunter keeping his quarry exactly where he wanted it. Then—

CRACK.

A gunshot split the air, shattering the fragile quiet. Jungkook felt it before he registered the pain—a sharp, white-hot kiss slicing across his shoulder. The impact sent him off balance, his body crashing into the ground in a violent sprawl.

Dust exploded around him, thick and blinding. He tumbled, skidding hard, his skin tearing against the brutal terrain. His lungs seized, inhaling grit as his momentum carried him forward—too fast, too out of control—until his body came to a bone-rattling stop.

Jungkook braced, muscles tensed to spring back up, keep moving, keep running— He never got the chance.

A boot slammed onto the back of his neck. Hard. Hard enough to rattle his teeth. The force drove him down, his face pressing into the burning dirt, the rough grit scraping against his cheek. His fingers twitched, instinct clawing at his spine, screaming at him to fight, fight, fight, but the weight was unrelenting.

Lee. Jungkook didn’t need to look. Didn’t need to see the satisfied smirk he knew was on the bastard’s face. Didn’t need to hear his smug, infuriating drawl to know exactly what was coming next.

“Same crap, different planet, huh?”

Jungkook’s breath came shallow and steady, his muscles coiled like a trap waiting to spring. The heat of the twin suns pressed against his exposed skin, but it wasn’t what burned.

Lee leaned in, his boot grinding just a little harder against Jungkook’s spine. “You’re fast. I’ll give you that.” A casual chuckle, like they were discussing the weather and not locked in a decades-long, vicious game of hunt-or-be-hunted. “But you should’ve figured it out by now—” He bent closer, his breath warm against the back of Jungkook’s neck. “You can’t outrun me.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his breath still even, controlled. Lee wasn’t invincible. No one was.

Lee shifted slightly, his shotgun gleaming in the sunlight, still pointed directly at Jungkook’s skull. “I’ll admit,” he continued, his voice dropping to something almost amused, “for a second there, you almost had me. Thought you might actually make it.” A pause. A beat of silence, stretching taut. “But here we are.” Lee sighed dramatically, pressing just a little more weight into his hold. “Same story, different setting.”

Jungkook’s fingers twitched against the dirt. His mind moved faster than his body, calculating every shift in weight, every possible angle to escape. Lee was underestimating him. Not enough to be careless—not yet—but enough to assume this was over.

Jungkook tested the pressure against his neck, shifting just slightly. Lee noticed. The boot pressed down. Hard.

“Don’t,” Lee warned, voice dropping into a growl.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, forcing his body to still, to wait, to let Lee think he’d won. His lips twitched. A fraction of a smile. Lee’s grip on the gun tightened, the movement subtle—a hunter sensing the shift in the air, the moment before a predator strikes.

He leaned down, close enough that Jungkook could feel the smirk in his voice. “Go on,” he whispered. His breath was warm. His tone was taunting. “Try something. I dare you.”

Jungkook’s body went still. Too still. The silence stretched unnatural and tight, buzzing with something unspoken, unreadable. Lee frowned slightly. Jungkook smiled.

By the time Y/N and the Chrislams stumbled back into the settlement, the twin suns hung low and merciless, stretching shadows across the cracked earth like skeletal fingers reaching for something they could never quite grasp.

And then she saw him. Jungkook. Sprawled in the dirt. His wrists shackled, his body wrecked.

One lens of his goggles was shattered, exposing the swollen ruin of his right eye, a bruise blooming deep and dark beneath the glass. Blood caked his face, dried in jagged streaks along his jaw, pooling at the corner of his split lip. His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths—the kind that meant he was keeping himself from making a sound, from showing weakness.

The dirt beneath him was stained with sweat and blood, mixing into the dust like he was being absorbed into the planet itself. And standing over him, fists still trembling, was Lee.

His knuckles were raw, his breathing sharp, his entire body locked tight like a spring stretched too far, too long. He wasn’t gloating. He wasn’t even speaking. Just watching. Waiting. Y/N felt the violence in the air before she heard it.

Lee’s voice came low and razor-sharp. "I don’t play that." His fists clenched again, his jaw tightening like he was holding himself together through sheer force of will. "I don’t play that, so just try again." His breath was heavy, sharp, every word weighted with rage barely kept in check. “C’mon, Jungkook. Tell me a better lie.”

Y/N moved without thinking. She grabbed Lee’s arm, yanking him back hard. "Ease up!" she snapped, her voice slicing through the oppressive silence. The moment her hand connected, she felt how hot he was—burning with anger, with exertion. His pulse hammered beneath his skin, barely contained.

Lee didn’t turn to her. Didn’t move. And then—Bindi screamed. It was raw, guttural, the kind of sound that didn’t just come from the throat—it came from the bones, from the marrow, from something breaking inside.

She lunged.

Her fist hit Jungkook’s jaw so hard his head snapped sideways, blood spattering from his already-battered lip. His body didn’t even flinch, like he had already been beaten past the point of feeling it. Y/N reacted instantly, throwing herself between them, shoving Bindi back with both hands.

“Bindi! Stop!” she shouted, struggling to hold her back.

Bindi fought against her grip, her whole body shaking, tears streaking clean paths through the dirt on her face.

"You bloody sick animal!" she screamed, her voice splintering. "What’dja do with my Daku?"

Jungkook didn’t answer. Didn’t even lift his head. His expression was eerily blank, his face tilted just enough that one shattered lens reflected the fading light like a dying star. Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs.

She turned to Lee, eyes blazing. “Where’s Daku?” she demanded. “What the hell happened out here?”

Lee finally looked at her. His expression was unreadable—too tight, too locked down. His fists unclenched slowly, like it was taking all his effort not to hit something else. With a sharp nod, he gestured toward Jungkook.

“Ask him.”

Y/N dropped to a crouch beside Jungkook, her voice shifting—softer, but no less urgent.

“Jungkook,” she said, staring at the wreck of his face, at the mess of blood and sweat and silence. “What happened to Daku?”

For a moment, he didn’t move. His chest rose and fell, slow and even, like he was holding on to the only thing he could still control. Then, finally—he lifted his head. His cracked lips parted. But all that came out was a rasping sound. Low. Broken. Like the faint whisper of someone who had screamed themselves hoarse.

His eyes flicked to the horizon. To the jagged spires looming in the distance. Then back to her. His lips moved again. A single word, barely audible.

"Gone."

The world tilted. Bindi let out a choked sob, her legs buckling as she sank to the dirt. Lee’s jaw locked, his knuckles going white as his fingers tightened on the stock of his rifle. Y/N’s stomach plummeted. The weight of Jungkook’s answer pressed down on all of them, thick as smoke, suffocating.

She swallowed hard. Forced the words out. "Gone where? What do you mean gone?"

But Jungkook didn’t answer. His head tipped forward, his chin resting against his chest, his entire body folding in on itself like the fight had finally bled out. Like there was nothing left. Like he had already decided—whatever happened next wasn’t up to him anymore.

Y/N and Lee stood at the edge of the grave, their shadows stretching long over the ruined earth. The silence between them was thick, suffocating, the kind that only came after something had gone horribly, irreversibly wrong.

The scene was a crime scene without a body, a massacre without a corpse. Blood streaked the dirt in wild, erratic patterns, like the desperate brushstrokes of a painter losing control. The grave itself was a wreck, its edges collapsed inward, as if the ground had been alive when it happened, twisting, convulsing, devouring.

Nearby, Daku’s sled lay overturned, its contents scattered across the dirt—a mess of supplies, tangled cables, a crushed water jug. A single boot, scuffed and worn, sat half-buried in the dust, the laces flapping lazily in the wind. But Daku was gone.

Not a body. Not a single trace of him. Just this. This wreckage of struggle and silence. At the bottom of the grave, the hole yawned open, its edges lined with something fibrous and strange, something that looked almost… organic. It pulsed faintly in the breeze, like the twitch of a dying thing.

Y/N swallowed hard. It didn’t look natural. Nothing about this looked natural.

Beside her, Lee crouched, his sharp eyes scanning the ground like he was reading a language only he understood. In his hands, the bone-shiv gleamed, its smooth, curved edge catching the last slivers of dying sunlight. He turned it slowly, letting the light skim its surface, watching how it reflected in sharp, fleeting flashes.

Y/N’s stomach twisted. “He used that?” she asked, her voice low but tight. She didn’t know what answer she wanted.

Lee didn’t look up. Just kept turning the shiv over, like it was some kind of sacred artifact. “Sir Shiv-a-Lot,” he muttered, dry and detached. “He likes to cut.”

The words settled like poison in her gut.

“So why isn’t it bloody?” she pressed, her voice sharper now, her eyes flicking between the blade and Lee’s unreadable face. “If Jungkook did this—if he killed Daku—then where’s the blood?”

Finally, Lee looked at her. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth, but there was no humor in it—just something cold and bitter, something dark sitting behind his eyes.

“Maybe he licked it clean.”

The joke hit like a slap. Unwanted. Cruel. Y/N recoiled slightly, shaking her head as if trying to dislodge the thought. She turned away from the grave, her arms crossing tightly over her chest, her breath uneven. The wind picked up, whipping dust around them, as if the planet itself was shifting, restless.

“This doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind. “None of this does.”

Lee stood, brushing the dirt from his hands, slipping the shiv into his belt. He glanced down at the grave one last time, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark.

“It’s not supposed to make sense,” he said, his tone flat, emotionless. He turned to her, his silhouette washed out against the light. “It’s just supposed to scare the hell out of you.”

The cabin felt too small. Too damn small. The walls creaked, thick with heat and the weight of unspoken things. The air reeked of sweat, blood, and the faint, metallic tang of rusted iron—or maybe that was just him.

Jungkook was slumped against the wall, his shackled hands resting lazily in his lap. His dark hair was damp with sweat, half-hiding the wreck of his face. One lens of his goggles was shattered, exposing a swollen eye already blooming in shades of deep purple and red. Blood stained the cut of his jaw, a slow, sluggish trickle from his split lip. He looked like hell.

But he looked at her. And that was what made Y/N hesitate for half a breath too long. She stormed in, boots hitting the floor hard enough to rattle the metal beneath them. She was pissed. But more than that—she wanted answers.

“Where is he?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the thick, suffocating air.

Jungkook didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, but his stillness was a lie. The tension was there, coiled beneath the surface like a blade waiting to strike.

“I’m serious,” she pressed, stepping closer, her fists clenching. “You told them you heard something right before it happened. What was it?” Her jaw tightened. “Talk, or I’ll let Lee finish what he started.”

Something dark flickered across Jungkook’s face—a twitch of amusement, a shadow of something cruel. And then, in a voice roughened by exhaustion and something else, something deeper, he rasped,

“You mean the whispers?”

Y/N frowned. “What whispers?”

Jungkook’s busted lip curled into something feral. Dangerous. Amused.

“The ones that tell you where to cut,” he murmured. His voice was so casual it made her skin crawl. “Left of the spine. Fourth lumbar down. That’s the sweet spot.” He smiled, slow and lazy, like a man reciting a bedtime story. “Gusher. Every time.”

Her stomach twisted, but she didn’t look away. Didn’t let him see that he’d rattled her. Because that’s what he wanted.

“Stop it,” she snapped. “Just stop.”

Jungkook didn’t. He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded like this was all one big joke. “Metallic taste, you know.” His voice was silk stretched thin over barbed wire. “Human blood. Coppery. But add a little peppermint schnapps…” He dragged his tongue over his split lip, smirking when her expression didn’t change. “Almost palatable.”

Y/N clenched her teeth. She could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell the sweat and iron on his skin. He was playing with her. She wasn’t in the mood.

“Why don’t we skip the theatrics and try the truth?” she said coldly.

For a moment, Jungkook just watched her. His smirk softened—not gone, but different now. Something quieter. Something that almost looked like… regret.

“You’re all so scared of me,” he said softly. “Most days, I’d call that a compliment.” His voice was low, nearly lost to the hum of the ship. “But today…” His jaw ticked, his fingers flexing against the cuffs around his wrists. “Today, I’m not the monster you need to be worried about.”

Something in her chest pulled tight.

She took a step closer. “Take off the goggles.”

Jungkook went still. “No.”

Y/N didn’t wait for permission. She reached out and yanked them from his face, snapping the broken strap with a sharp crack. The goggles hit the floor.

Jungkook flinched, like she’d stripped away something vital. Then his eyes opened. Y/N froze.

His pupils were wide, swallowing the dim light. But it was the color that stopped her breath. A ring of shifting hues, flickering between deep emerald and burning amethyst, like oil-slicked glass catching fire. It was mesmerizing. Unnatural. Beautiful.

Her voice came out lower than she expected. “You did this to yourself?”

Jungkook let out a bitter laugh. “Slam doctor.” He tilted his head. “That’s what we called him.”

Y/N nodded. “I’ve heard about it. Never seen it.”

“Lucky you.”

His lips curled, but the smirk didn’t reach those strange, hypnotic eyes. “You’re locked in max-slam. Barely any light. Your eyes feel like they’re burning out of your skull.” He flicked a glance toward the slats of light bleeding through the metal walls. “Some back-alley butcher says, ‘Hey, I can fix that.’” His voice dropped, mocking. “And then you end up here. Three suns frying you alive. Makes you wish for the dark.”

Y/N folded her arms. “You think this is funny?”

Jungkook’s smirk sharpened. “You gotta laugh, sweetheart. Otherwise, you cry. And crying makes you thirsty.” He tapped his temple with one shackled finger. “Pro tip for desert living.”

Y/N let out a slow breath. “You killed before. You don’t deny that. But this one? Daku? You expect me to believe you didn’t?”

Jungkook went still. For a fraction of a second, something cracked in his expression. Then, it was gone—buried beneath that infuriating smirk.

“No, ma’am,” he said smoothly. “Not this time.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Then where is he?”

Jungkook leaned forward, just enough for the heat between them to become noticeable. The chains at his wrists rattled softly, but his focus was all on her. “Look deeper,” he murmured.

The way he said it—low, deliberate, dripping with something she didn’t like—sent a cold, involuntary shiver down her spine.

“What does that mean?” she demanded.

Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. He tilted his head, studying her like he was measuring how much she could take before she broke. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper—a voice that sent her stomach twisting with something she didn’t want to name—he said, “Wrong questions.”

She swallowed hard. “What are you talking about?”

Jungkook sat back, his expression unreadable. Deadly.

“Daku ain’t the only one who’s not where he’s supposed to be,” he said softly. “Or haven’t you noticed?”

A chill slid down her spine. His words settled in her chest like a loaded gun.

Y/N’s breath hitched. “What are you saying?”

Jungkook tilted his head, his bruised lips curling slightly. “You’ll see.” His voice was calm, certain, almost amused. And then—softer, darker, almost like a promise: “And when you do? You’ll wish you hadn’t.”

Taglist: @fancypeacepersona @ssbb-22 @mar-lo-pap @sathom013 @kimyishin

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borathae · 1 year ago

Text

"You and he aren't supposed to fit so well together. You aren't supposed to work and yet somehow destiny seems to tie you to him tighter and tighter. Will you be able to cut the string of fate before the knot gets tight enough to suffocate or will you accept it and allow yourself to entangle with him?"

Pairing: Queen!Reader x Knight!Jimin

Genre: Forbidden Love!AU, Fantasy!AU, Childhood Friends to Lovers!AU, Romance, Smut

Warnings: fluffy moments are sprinkled in between, but also angst :(, so much yearning, secret kisses & secret meetings, multiple smut scenes where one is more detailed while the others are implied-ish, she's fighting her feelings for him, he loves her so much, death, grief & guilt, the tension!!!, i'm clawing my skin off i fucking love yearning and forbidden love, consumption of alcohol, oral (m. & f.receiving), indications that she jerks off with his sword handle, strength kink, body worship, sex in nature, semi-public sex, the next warnings are for the detailed smut: sub!Jimin, Dom!Reader, sex in a broom cabinet, mutual stripping, desperate making out, handjob, he kneels as he gives her sloppy head, she pins him against a shelf, and rides him on the floor, he's sensitive and needy, fuck besties they need each other so bad, cumming too soon ehehe, this has a happy end!!!!!

Wordcount: 23.9k

a/n: i blame you guys for making me suffer. you fucking begged me for more knight!jimin and therefore gave me PAIN i am not oKAY OMFG them them them 😭 i don't think i'll ever shut up about them and their bond and the fact that they've known each other since childhood fndnafn have fun besties, this is so fndnfnasnf 🖤

~ To Prologue ~

His gasps are the loudest thing in this silent night. He tries not to make any sounds, but it is difficult when your touch drags pleasure to his skin.

“Mine. All mine”, your whispers are quieter than his gasps, swirling against his length before your warm mouth replaces them again.

“Please”, Jimin begs, feeling his knees buckle as his senses begin to blur.

You ambushed him tonight. One of your queendom’s viscountess hosted a dance in her castle today and you visited it with your most trusted members of the council. Jimin escorted you as well. As your Queen’s Guard and nothing more. The dance was a two edged sword. You had incredible fun, the food was delicious and wine plenty but the knowledge that you couldn’t even steal as much as one dance with Jimin laid a sad blanket over the evening. And so you danced. You danced with everyone but Jimin, whilst having to resort to sneaking longing glances at the dark haired knight. Glances he retorted with just as much longing in his beautiful eyes.

You arrived back at your castle late into the night. Drunk on wine and good dance, but also burning up in yearning for your knight. And so you visited him in his chambers once your servants helped you get ready for bed and the castle was asleep.

Jimin came out of his bathing chambers when you ambushed him. He wore nothing more than a drying cloth around his hips and pearl necklaces around his neck, while his black hair was pushed out of his face. You kissed him right where he stood, pushing him until he collided with his dresser and you could touch his every inch.

“I need to have you”, you sighed against his lips.

“I need to have you as well, my Queen”, he allowed you and while he believed the night to bring the taste of your cunt, you proceeded to worship every inch of his sculpted torso. With your fingers, your palms, your lips and tongue. You traced every outline, kissed every scar, licked the spots most sensitive and left marks where he arched his back the most. He will trace the marks once he is alone in his chambers and you weren’t with him.

And Jimin felt weakened in pleasure, barely keeping himself upright when you proceeded to fall to your knees, take off the drying cloth and worship his aching length.

“You taste so heavenly, oh Jimin”, you moan as you abandon his length for the sake of worshiping his heavy balls. Your hand is busy jerking him. He is so wet already, pulsating in your hand.

“Oh- it, it feels so good ah”, Jimin moans squeakily, scrunching his face, “my Queen...”

It hasn’t been long since you fell to your knees, but Jimin is already grasping the edge of the dresser for strength. He hasn’t experienced such untamed hunger from you before. Such gluttony for his length. It is difficult to handle for someone as sensitive as your beloved knight.

“Please, I will soil you please”, his voice is breathy in ruin, his eyes are glassy as they look down at you, “please, you have to slow down. Ah please.”

His begs have the opposite effect on you. Instead of giving him a break, you take him into your mouth until his groomed hair tickles your nose and he throbs in your tight throat.

“No I-”, Jimin whimpers and throws his hand over his own mouth to muffle the loud moan escaping him as you force him to climax down your throat. He throws his head back, squeezing his eyes shut as pleasure courses through him. His knees buckle and make him stumble. If he wasn’t that strong, he would have crumbled to the floor.

It isn’t often that you are the one on your knees. But tonight you were drunk, jolly from dance and starved for him. He didn’t wear his usual armour tonight. He dressed in leather attire adorned with your queendom’s symbols and wore a pale, silken shirt underneath. He topped it off with pearl jewellery and his sword and styled his hair in a noble way. Truly, every second spend with looking at him was agonising paradise and turned you into the hungry woman you were right now.

You slip off his length as he whimpers for a break, finding your heaven by kissing his hard abdominal. It is sculpted from the strenuous training your Queen’s Guards have to do daily and ripples under your lips as he fights for air.

“This was incredible”, you moan, swirling your tongue over his lower abs. You are panting and gasping with him, looking up at him with love drunk eyes, “you are the sweetest thing I tasted tonight.”

Jimin swallows heavily, meeting your gaze. His heart swells. He grabs your face and pulls you to your feet, claiming your soiled lips in a passionate kiss. His tongue tangles with yours, feasting on his lingering taste like a starved animal. Seconds later, your feet leave the ground as he lifts you to carry you to bed. Even more seconds later, your dress is lifted up and his length is breaching you as he rocks his hips into you in a desperate rhythm.

The only thing which keeps the castle from knowing what was happening, are the passionate kisses you share. Otherwise you would be way too loud.

Jimin is part of your life. It began when thirteen full moons ago, you claimed his innocence and loved him passionately for a night. Since then, he began trickling into your life more and more. You invited him to your bedroom more and more under the guise of wanting his services, which most nights ended in his length deep inside you. You began sneaking to his bedroom more and more and at first, you always left after the fun ended, but then those nights where you stayed with him began. And after that, the nights where he stayed in your bed began.

And while you should have stopped it then because it reached levels such a secret should have never reached, you didn’t stop. You kept going. And so you kept going until one night, Jimin stood by your door in nothing but his sleeping clothes and he asked to have you. He asked for the first time since you began this forbidden love affair. And while you should have send him away and ended it because it had become something too much, you dragged him into a kiss and allowed him to have you. And he stayed the night.

That is when the secret became something which never should have happened. You continued to visit him and Jimin began visiting you more and more. You stayed the night, he stayed the night and then one faithful morning, you woke up with him still next to you. Until this point, you and he had always made sure to sneak away before the other – and most importantly, the castle – woke but not that morning. He stayed with you, meeting your gaze as you opened your eyes for the new day. And he gave you a smile, cupped your cheek and whispered that you are the most beautiful person on earth and then he kissed you.

And you kissed him back eventhough you should have sent him away and ended it. You and he became a secret so forbidden and yet you didn’t send him away.

Jimin stays with you tonight. Your bodies were spent and your dress has found its new home on the floors. You are on your stomach, propped on your elbows and covered by the blanket as you look up at Jimin. He is returning from his small dining table with two jugs of water, climbing back under the warm sheets.

“Thank you”, you accept the water, drinking it gladly, “I felt truly parched”, you say, handing him the half empty jug. He discards it on his nightstand, placing his own jug next to it once he took a healthy sip.

“Yes, I felt the same”, he says and shimmies under the blanket. He rests on his side, propped up on one elbow and with his head supported by his hand. He places his hand on your lower back, rubbing circles on your skin, “it’s not often that you ambush me in such ways”, he says with a smile that reaches his eyes. His damp hair is terribly tousled, his soft cheeks flushed. He looks so beautiful after sex. You could look at him for hours.

“I feel no shame in what I did tonight. The dance was agony. All I wanted was to dance with you and you looked so dashing in your clothes that I almost made a whore of myself in the middle of the room.”

“Oh heavens”, he flusters, letting out little giggles as he throws his head back. He covers his mouth with his hands, speaking in a higher voice, “don’t say such things.”

“I am truthful”, you laugh.

“Oh, I’m aware that you are”, he says, leaning in for a gentle kiss to your temple. You lean into the kiss with closed eyes, feeling utterly calm in his presence, “you looked beautiful as well. I wanted to steal you away from all others.”

You giggle, “you talk the sweetest things.”

Jimin chuckles, nuzzling his face against yours to begin kissing you.

“Mhm and you talk the most indecent of things”, he coos, tickling your face gently as he nips on your cheek.

“Jimin, please”, you squeal and moments later, you are on your back while Jimin attacks your face with loving kisses and shares in your giggles.

There is this tree not far outside the capital’s walls. It wasn’t really alive, but it also wasn’t really dead. All its branches were bare, except for one which climbed high enough to reach the light. One has to walk a narrow path along the cliff side, find their way through a cave and climb natural stairs down until one reaches a small plateau in the high cliffs to find it. It is a secluded spot, only the sea and its birds are witness to what happens there. It is the middle of the day and Jimin is beneath you with his mouth latched onto your heat while you stroked his length. You left the castle for a walk and because Jimin was your most trusted guard, he escorted you to keep you safe. At least that is what you let the court believe. You held his hand the second you entered the cave and haven’t let go of it since then. Well, until you couldn’t take the yearning any longer and began kissing him with the sole purpose of connecting with him in the most pleasurable of ways.

“Oh this feels so good. Ah Jimin”, you moan, arching your back as his tongue laps at your heat eagerly. He growls against you, rolling his hips into your touch as he chases the pleasure you bring him.

It has been a few weeks ever since you last touched each other. The night after the dance was long ago and since then, you weren’t able to be with one another again. Your husband returned from his travels, bringing stories to tell, clothes to try on and foreign foods to taste. And so you had to pretend to be a wife most delighted to see him, while Jimin had to pretend to be nothing more than your guard. Your husband didn’t sleep in your bed, but he stayed in your chambers long into the night, telling you stories of his adventures or fulfilling his duties as your husband. He wasn’t terrible and knew not to touch until you allowed him, but he also wasn’t Jimin. That is all the knowledge one needs about this topic as you didn’t truly want to remember the nights with your husband. Yes you allowed him, but you only did so because you feared that if you didn’t at least pretend to want him, he would grow suspicious about how you could go so long without a touch and not be starved for it. And so you shared intimacy with him, finding your release only once you began thinking of Jimin.

Other than the nights of duties you had to share with your husband and having to push away Jimin, having your husband back at the castle wasn’t terrible.

You and he are good friends after all and you always shared wonderful conversations with each other. He also knew how to make you laugh and brought many books filled with stories about foreign cultures. You enjoyed learning about other cultures, so his presents were truly appreciated by you.

Once the sixth week passed, your husband left again, taking his favourite ship to sail east. He promises to return by spring and you told him to be safe and to come back bearing wonderful stories and books filled with knowledge. You kissed him goodbye and he told you that he would write to you the moment he had a quiet moment to himself and then you stood by the shore until his ship was but a small dot on the horizon.

Frigga, your advisor, was with you, as was a small group of the court, some guards and Jimin as your personal guard. You turned to him once your husband’s ship was gone.

“I want to take a walk to clear my heart of the agonies of seeing my beloved leave”, you lied and gave Jimin a look.

“Shall we come with you, my Queen?” Frigga asked.

“No, I want to be alone with my thoughts”, you told her and left the shore.

Jimin followed you and nobody in the court questioned it because he was your personal guard after all, meant to tail you like a shadow and keep you safe. It was truly the perfect disguise to keep the truth hidden. That you left so you and Jimin could finally catch up on six weeks of distance and that you couldn’t wait for the moment your husband’s ship disappeared on the horizon.

“Jimin! Now!” you gasp, throwing your head back as his tongue pushes you over the edge.

He moans into you, intoxicated by your high and charmed by your touch, he finds his own release in the palm of your hand.

Jimin wasn’t always part of the Queen’s Guard. Only a handful of knights will have the honour of serving you in their lifetime. Selected by you and with hard training keeping them strong, the Queen’s Guard is truly a small yet mighty group of knights.

Jimin became leader of it seven full moons ago. Not only because he was a capable and strong warrior and he proofed himself worthy of such a position, but also because being your personal protector, and the leader of the Guards, meant that people would ask lesser questions about why he was always leaving your chambers or following you to secluded places. After all, you and he must be talking strategies in your chambers and he most definitely follows you to keep you safe. Truly the court was a credulous bunch.

You roll off of Jimin, lying down on the ground beside him. It happens naturally that Jimin stretches out his arm so your head wouldn’t touch the dirty ground. You rest on it comfortably, looking up at the high cliffs. A rock overhang hides the sky from your eyes. The harsh, salty air of the sea made it so that over thousands of years the black rock became dark grey in colour.

“You truly feel like no other”, you say, “I feel breathless.”

“Yes, I feel breathless as well”, Jimin says as he rests beside you with closed eyes.

You turn your head to study his features. It is as if every single inch was sculpted by magic. His proportions are perfect for his face. He is so beautiful.

“I missed you, Jimin.”

“I missed you as well”, he says and turns his head. He looks into your eyes, smiling softly, “you look ruined.”

“Do I? I feel ruined”, you say and laugh.

Jimin laughs with you, reaching out to brush your cheek with his thumb, “I love when you look this way.”

You draw closer to him until your head rested on his upper arm and you could steal a kiss.

“Mhm”, Jimin smiles into the kiss, stubbing your nose with his own.

“I feel so lucky that he will be gone till spring. Eight months, Jimin. We will be able to do so many wonderful things during this time.”

“I know. I’m excited.”

“Yes, me too.”

You fix your head so you could look at the rocks again. Jimin does the same, smiling to himself as you reach up to hold his hand.

You share a few moments of silence until suddenly you break it with chuckles.

“Why are you laughing?” Jimin asks.

“Oh, I was just thinking.”

“Tell me.”

“I was just thinking that I can be lucky to have such skilled sorceresses in my castle. Imagine if they didn’t use their prevention magic on my belly. Oh Jimin, we would be producing children like rabbits.”

Jimin laughs, “you think of such crude things, my Queen.”

You giggle, “I know, oh I know. I’m terrible. I can’t help it. I always think of you and what we did.”

Jimin rolls to his side, pulling you into a gentle forehead kiss.

“I think of you as well. Most of my days even.”

You giggle, seeking his closeness, “oh Jimin, you are wonderful.”

He rubs his hand up and down the back of your head.

“It saddens me that I can’t share my stories with Frigga.”

“It doesn’t sadden me. Don’t make me an indecent man in front of her”, Jimin jokes, making you laugh.

“Oh you”, you nudge his chest, “I wasn’t speaking of our intimacies. I just meant that I find it saddening that I cannot tell her how happy you make me”, you look up into his eyes, “and that I think of you every waking second.”

A sense of sadness washes over Jimin’s face as quickly as a wave crashes the shore. A smile replaces it.

“I know”, he whispers, tracing your brow with his fingertips, “it is already enough that you and I know”, his eyes fill with insecurities, “isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, of course it is enough”, you say and lean in for a kiss.

It has to be enough.

“The Queen Consort is dead! He is dead!”

It was a sunny day when the news reached the castle. You enjoyed the ray of warm light in your courtyard, playing card games with Frigga and your maids, when a messenger interrupted the peace.

“He is dead”, he wheezes with tears in his eyes, “the sea took him. Him and his crew! He’s dead!”

It was a sunny day when the funeral happened. There wasn’t much of him to say goodbye to. Only pieces of his ship and a small heap of books survived. They washed up on the shores and at first you didn’t want to believe that they belonged to his ship. Until your guards found two members of his crew. Their bodies were bloated from the waters and their eyes were already missing from their sockets. Animals must have gotten to them.

Their funeral was held two days after.

It is sunny. It is blinding your eyes. It hurts. You cried all night. And the night before. And all day when the news met you. It has been sunny since. You hate that it is. How dare the sun shines when life is so cruel.

It is custom in your Queendom to give a dead beloved a sea burial. The body was sent out on a wooden boat with food, drink and riches for a safe journey to the afterlife and then the best archer will light an arrow and sent it straight to the boat to set it aflame.

Your husband can’t have such a burial. An empty boat with useless riches and food is sent from shore. You are tasked with shooting the arrow. You light the resin soaked tip and draw the bow. You let go. The arrow flies fast and misses.

The people stay silent, but the humiliation is there in your heart next to the paralysing grief. Most of your queendom is standing by the shore and watches you. You feel useless now that you missed.

One of your servants hands you a new arrow wordlessly, avoiding your eyes. You light it, draw the bow and miss again.

The same servant hands you a third arrow. The boat is getting further and further away. You force down a sob and try again. It misses.

The first whisper sets off a choir of whispers. It isn’t your fault. The sun is too bright and your heart aches too much. You have no strength in your arms. Why are they whispering?

Another arrow is handed to you. You light it with shaking hands and try to draw. The string barely wants to budge. The boat is far away. The whispers grow.

“She won’t do it.”

“She’s not strong enough.”

They don’t know that you can hear them, but you can. You struggle with holding the string, but you have to draw more. It is so difficult to do.

“Her husband’s already died at sea without proper burial and now she can’t even send him off.”

You fight for air and lower the bow. The gasps are deafening in your ears. You can’t do it. You couldn’t love him right and now you can’t even send him off right. You are a failure of a wife.

You try again. You have to send him off properly. The string barely moves. A small sob escapes you. The whispers are so loud. You can’t do it and all they can do is whisper. Your head turns. You are going to pass out.

Strong arms lie themselves around you, an armoured chest presses into your back. You tense up, but feel yourself relax when Jimin’s face comes into your vision.

“Trust in me, I can help you”, he whispers as he helps you draw the bow.

The whispers are still in the back of your head, talking about how you cannot do it alone.

“Don’t listen to them. Concentrate on me. They don’t know what they’re saying”, he tells you and aims the bow, “once I stopped talking, we will let go together. Understood?”

You nod your head.

“Okay. Let go.”

The arrow flies fast and it flies straight, connecting with the boat far, far in the distance. It lights up within seconds, painting a bright orange spot on the blue ocean canvas.

The music starts and people behind you begin cheering. It is custom to send off the dead with song and cheer. But you can’t cheer. You are humiliated and at the end of your strength. You turn, falling into Jimin’s arms as you sob uncontrollably. Only a handful of people look at you, while the rest was busy celebrating your husband’s safe journey to the other life.

“I do not wish to be here. Please take me away”, you beg Jimin.

“Of course. Come, hide in me”, Jimin tells you and leads you away from the festivities. Some people try to fetch a touch, but he pushes them away skilfully, sending each a deathly glare.

You can still hear the festivities from your castle. The building is empty as everyone is by the shore wishing your husband and his crew a safe journey. You wanted silence and yet the music and cheers still meet your ears.

Jimin manages to lead you as far as the dining halls and then strength forsakes you.

“I can’t do this”, you wail, falling to your knees.

“Oh”, Jimin gasps and stumbles as the sudden drag surprised him. He catches himself quickly, helping you back to your feet. Together, you and he manage to stumble to a bench, “sit down here. Sit down”, he tells you, helping you with it.

You sink into yourself once you are seated, burying your face in the clammy palms of your hands. Jimin squats down before you, trying to calm you down by rubbing your arms.

“I can’t do this anymore”, you cry.

“Oh my treasure”, Jimin gets out with comradery tears in his eyes, “I’m here. I’m right here”, he promises and pulls you into a hug. He kisses the side of your head, swaying you from side to side gently, “I’m here.”

You and he will hug by this bench until the first voices of people returning meet your ears. And you won’t be able to tell anyone, but you were so incredibly happy to have Jimin by your side.

It shouldn’t have to be mentioned that the weeks after your husband’s early death were filled with grief. You didn’t spend a lot of time doing things a Queen should do. Your once colourful clothing caught dust in your dressers as only the blackest of garments cover your body. Your jewellery stayed untouched and if it wasn’t for your servants, you wouldn’t even have bothered to do your hair. Jimin brings food to you each night. Sometimes Frigga is faster than him and they meet in your chambers with slight awkward surprise between them. Thankfully nobody questions why he spends time with you each night. The court thinks that Jimin is solely doing his duty as your guard and he does. Of course does, but more than anything he attempts to be there for you as your lover, offering you arms to fall into when you needed it and a shoulder to cry on when the tears didn’t want to stop.

“My Queen?”

He brings dinner tonight as well. Your chambers are empty and the scent of vanilla oil fills the room. He knows the origins of this scent like a lover knows the scent of his beloved’s skin. You are bathing.

Jimin places the tray of food on your dining table and takes the path to your bathing chambers.

You have your back turned to him as you look outside at the sea. The full moon reflects in the unruly waves. A storm is brewing. The kind of storm which took your husband. Jimin knows by just looking at your hunched posture that this is what you are thinking.

“My Queen?”

You turn your head upon hearing Jimin’s voice, meeting his gaze with exhausted eyes. You hum as acknowledgement but otherwise stay quiet.

“Why are the windows open? Aren’t you cold?” Jimin asks, hurrying to the open windows. He closes them, locking out the cold winds. He turns back to you. You are looking at him with tired eyes and your chin resting on your knee.

“Do you want to leave the water?”

You nod your head.

“I shall call the servants.”

“No. Stay. Don’t call them.”

Jimin watches you stand up and point at the drying cloth. He hurries to it and picks it up instantly, carrying it to you. He holds your hand as he helps you out of the stone tub and wraps you up in the cloth. You lean into him, resting your head back against him as he rubs his hands along your body to dry you.

“A storm is brewing on the horizon”, you whisper.

“I know. It will be a cold night, but we are inside where it is warm.”

“Do you think that Mino was cold before he died?”

Jimin falters in his touch, looking at the side of your face. You never called your husband by his name before. At least not in front of him.

“I cannot say”, Jimin says quietly.

“To imagine that he died wet and cold. Storms are so scary. Oh, he must have been so frightened.”

“I am sure that he thought of you, which made it easier to bear.”

“Don’t say that”, you gasp and tear up, “why would you say such a thing?”

“I didn’t think that it would hurt you. Forgive me, oh please don’t cry.”

“I was such a terrible wife to him. He thought of me as he died while I laid in your arms and wasted not a second with thinking of him.”

Jimin would be lying if he said that your words didn’t leave an ache in his heart. He swallows it down and wraps his arm around you.

“Perhaps he didn’t think of you. I just merely said such words because this is what I would do.”

“Oh”, you let out, spilling tears, “oh what have I done?”

“Come. Let us get you in some clothes. Come”, Jimin says and leads you outside the bathing chambers and also hopefully away from your emotions.

He sits you down by your dressing table and hurries to your drawers to get a warm sleeping gown.

“Jimin, do you believe me to be a terrible person?” you ask him with emotion in your voice, but thankfully no sobs.

“No, my Queen. I believe you to be the most precious person on this planet.”

“If you didn’t love me, would you still think this way?”

“Yes. But I love you and I do not want to imagine a world where I don’t”, he says and hurries back to you, “now, stand up and allow me to dress you.”

You allow him. You stand up and raise your arms so he could slip the sleeping gown on. Then you turn and allow him to tie it in the back. Jimin gives your shoulders a gentle massage once you are dressed, pushing you down carefully until you fall onto the chair. He leans down and places kisses from your dressed shoulder up to your neck.

He looks at you in the mirror, expecting you to have your eyes closed as you always have when he kisses your neck but instead you are looking at him with sad eyes.

“I’m frightened”, you confess.

Jimin furrows his brows in worry.

“I should be relieved that I am not betraying my husband behind his back anymore, but I am not. I grieve for him deeply and I am frightened.”

“Frightened of what?”

“I do not wish to marry into royalty again. I want to marry you.”

Jimin smiles.

“And yet I am frightened that I will have to. My queendom is so small compared to others. What if people want to attack us now that we lost such a strong ally?”

“Who would want to attack us? We are a peaceful queendom.”

“We are, but the Queens of Stormveil aren’t, neither are the Naritauri. Danger lies beyond the sea and I am frightened.”

“Please don’t be. Those are futures which won’t happen”, Jimin assures you and wraps his arms around you. His cheek is resting against yours, he is swaying your bodies slowly, “for tonight the future you should think about is dinner and how I will rub your back until you fall asleep.”

He expects a smile but receives a sad frown.

“What’s the matter? Do you not want me to?”

“I have to send you away tonight”, you press out.

Jimin feels weird in his stomach. This isn’t going to end well. This is going to hurt him.

He keeps holding you in an attempt to drag out the inevitable.

“I am sure that none of your maids will come here tonight”, he acts oblivious in hopes of steering the conversation into another direction.

“No. No, I have to send you away. I cannot do this right now.”

“Do you want me to stop hugging you?”

“No, of course I don’t, but I have to send you away. I need time.”

Jimin falters. He shakes his head.

“Please, Jimin”, you whisper, placing your hands on his lower arms, “find it in yourself to understand me. I have too much going on, I cannot drag you along for it.”

“I’m your guard. There is no situation more suited for me than what you are currently experiencing. It is my duty to protect you from harm”, he slides his hand to where your heart races, “especially harm on the heart”, he whispers.

“Jimin please”, you beg, “I cannot do this right now. I need time.”

Jimin blinks his tears away.

“Time for what?” he asks quietly.

“Time to think and to come up with what I should do and how I should handle the dangers of being such a small, unmarried country with such dangerous neighbours.”

“You can do those things with me by your side.”

“Yes, indeed I can. As my guard.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can think about these things with me as your lover as well.”

“I’m sorry. I need time. Everything feels like too much.”

“I don’t want to leave tonight.”

“Neither do I want you to, Jimin!” you say loudly, standing up and therefore breaking the hug. You turn, placing your hands on his chest, “I have to do all this thinking so I do not have to send you away anymore. Do you not understand? I am widowed, Queen of a weak country and I cannot be caught with my guard sleeping in my bed. If people caught you, rumours would start. Rumours that you were compliant in my husband’s death so you could seduce me.”

You shake him by his collar, squeezing out tears.

“And I would have to choose between executing you to make an example or running away from here and making us a target for every possible assassin on the continent.”

Jimin shakes his head.

“You speak of impossible futures. Such things would never happen.”

“I cannot risk it, Jimin. I just simply cannot. Please give me time. Please, I will fix this. Please, I simply need time.”

Jimin takes a deep breath. He will do something that he will hopefully not regret.

“Very well”, he gives in, “I will give you time. I will fulfil my duties as your guard and give you time.”

“Thank you so much”, you say, cupping his cheeks to pull him into a kiss. This is the last thing you should be doing right now, but you can’t help yourself. You need him like you need air.

Jimin deepens the kiss with his hand on your lower back and his other cupping your cheek. He doesn’t want to stop, to let go, to end this. Once that kiss ends, you will send him away and he will return to being nothing more than your guard. You speak of temporary distance. Jimin sees that you need it as your mind produces futures most impossible and you clearly need the time to rid your mind of them. But he is scared that this isn’t temporary. That perhaps your heart won’t change, but fate will. That life will be cruel enough to force it to change.

You break the kiss.

“Not yet please”, Jimin begs, chasing you.

“Jimin, please”, you beg, fleeing him, “please make it easier for me.”

“Then you shouldn’t have kissed me. You shouldn’t have given me a glimpse of you.”

“Please…I….please.”

“Just one more kiss. Please.”

“And then you will beg for one more and then we will end up in bed and I couldn’t possibly send you away.”

“And what would be so terrible about this? A storm is coming. The night will be cold. Allow me to keep you warm”, he caresses your cheek, “___.”

You let out a small whimper, twisting the hair at the back of his head.

“I curse you”, you get out and pull him back into a kiss.

Jimin doesn’t leave your chambers tonight. But he leaves them tomorrow with the same promise between you and him which he gave you last night. He will give you time.

He shouldn’t have given you time.

Jimin finally knows why he never should have made such a promise.

Fate proved him right and now he has to pay the consequences. Your queendom was attacked. But not in the way one might expect, but in a way far worse anyone could have ever imagined. It was attacked by a flood of suitors begging for your hand in marriage. It has been weeks and the proposals won’t stop. He has to stand by your side and has listen to the disgusting yapping of boring men while you pretended to be somewhat interested in what they had to say.

Perhaps the weeks would have been easier to bear if you gave him a feeling as if you and he weren’t over. But you didn’t. You didn’t call for him at night, didn’t visit him in his chambers, stopped visiting the secret spots you and he so often had found yourselves in to kiss and hug. You even stopped looking at him from the other side of the room or going on walks just so he could follow.

You acted as if he was just another one of your guards and it ripped him apart. He aches for you and yet you seem so indifferent about him. Jimin already began wondering if you ever really loved him as he loved you.

Today, the fates were especially cruel to him.

One of your suitors invited you to a hunting party and because Jimin was your most trusted guard, he had to come along, trailing behind you as this boring, ugly man spit his attempts at seducing you. Jimin could speak to his fellow knights or listen to some of the other noble people coming along for the hunt, but he didn’t want to listen. Not when he had to watch you get seduced by someone as ugly as Lord Frail. It should be a crime that someone like him even looks at you.

The hunt takes your party of ten noble people, a handful of servants and ten guards deep into your queendom’s forests. Tough conifer trees filled the forests and sharp thorns covered the parts which weren’t paths. Dark green ferns broke up the thick thorn carpets and the scent of the ocean followed you.

“The weather’s good for a hunt. Wouldn’t you say, Sire?”

Jimin turns his head to the right as someone clearly addressed him. One of his fellow Queen’s Guards. He joined them a year ago and looked up to Jimin a lot.

“I guess”, Jimin murmurs, looking back at you and the boring Lord Frail.

“The winds are in our favour. I am sure we’ll be successful.”

“I am sure we will.”

“Have you been on many hunting trips before, Sire?”

“Yes, the late Queen, ___’s mother, took me on trips the moment I began serving as her knight.”

“Huh. I sometimes forget that you and the Queen shared adolescence with each other. I would never dare to call her by her name, but it must be common to you.”

Jimin tenses his jaw for a moment. It stopped being common when you and he both passed your second decade on this earth. Before then, you and he always addressed each other with the other’s name. You played together, danced together, ate at the same table and called each other like two childhood friends. But as age changed you and him, your different ranks became so painfully obvious to both of you. You grew up to be the Princess and future Queen of Windfell, while Jimin stayed a common knight. But even as your name stopped being a common thing for Jimin, you and he never grew apart. Age just tied you tighter together until your husband died and you asked for time. The cliff between you and him had never been that big before and Jimin is aching.

“Yes”, he presses out with a heavy heart, “yes, it was common once.”

“I see. You seem to care a lot for her, Sire.”

Jimin sneaks a glance at the knight.

“As someone, who watched her grow up to be the Queen she is these days, can care about her. Yes.”

“This is good, Sire”, the knight says and takes a deep breath, “the winds are on our sides, I can smell it.”

Jimin relaxes his shoulders now that the conversation shifted back to something less nerve wrecking. One wrong word and he could destroy what you and he built. He glances at you. That is, if fate hadn’t already destroyed it.

The hunting party reaches a clearing, gathering in a small circle so you could converse. Jimin places himself next to you, scanning his eyes over your surroundings.

“We shall go in five groups so we can cover more ground”, you order, “I shall take Lord Frail and we shall meet back here once the sun moved past this mountain.”

The hunting party looks at the high mountain in the distance. The sun will take some time to pass the mountain peak.

“Understood.”

“Very well, take two guards each and be careful not to get hurt. We have seen enough death this year”, you say and turn your horse, looking into Jimin’s eyes, “I want you to come with me.”

“My Queen”, he says, nodding his head. He waves his hand so the knight, who talked to him, follows as well and then your small group is already off.

The hunt turns out to be less painful as Jimin imagined it to be. And it was Lord Frail’s fault. Your small group had put some distance between the party and the group when he broke the silence.

“You spoke of death this year. Have you lost someone, your highness?”

Jimin almost cursed at the stupid man, but stayed silent, looking at your face instead. Shock, anger, disbelief. It all washed over your features upon being asked such a tactless question.

“Did you truly just ask me that?” you press out angrily, “I lost my husband but two months ago.”

“Oh yes! Oh how stupid of me! That is why I am here!” Lord Frail laughs, “please forgive me, I am quite forgetful in my old age.”

“Yes, you seem to be”, you say and turn your head away from him. It was clear to Jimin that you were furious.

“The weather seems to be on our side today, wouldn’t you agree?” Lord Frail continued the conversation as if nothing happened.

“Yes, indeed it is”, you answered each of his questions coldly.

“It is already long into the year, but the autumn takes its time this year. I am quite pleased with it. My old joints do not agree with the cold.”

“That is awful.”

“Yes, yes indeed it is. However, colder weather also means more frequent baths. I do not believe in bathing for cleanliness, but I enjoy warming my old bones in a bath once the weather is cold.”

“I couldn’t even tell that you do not believe in baths, my Lord.”

Jimin has to bite down on his tongue in order not to laugh. The sarcasm drips from your voice.

“Of course, of course”, Lord Frail runs his eyes up and down your body, “do you enjoy baths, Your Highness?” he asks and the implications are obvious in his voice.

Jimin almost drew his sword on him, sending him a deathly glare over your shoulder.

“Yes I do.”

Jimin looks at you in surprise. Why would you say that?

“I prefer to take them alone.”

Jimin relaxes again.

“Oh, ohuohuo”, Lord Frail laughs, “you are a jester, Your Highness.”

“Hahaha”, you practically pronounce your laughter, “I am indeed. A fucking jester.”

“Forgive me?” Lord Frail gasps.

You look away, studying the trees, “nothing”, you murmur and roll your shoulders, “we should split up. I believe that I heard a hog along this path. You should check it out, Lord Frail. I will take this path down along this stream.”

“But shouldn’t we-”

You do not give him time to finish his sentence and then you have already turned your horse and nudged it into a full sprint.

“Hya! Hya!” you encourage it.

Jimin follows you close by, keeping a careful watch on you because a sense of recklessness surrounds you.

“Slow down!” he calls out, “there is a slippery bridge coming!”

He knows that it is slippery because the ground never dries in these forests and nature has grown over the stone bridge and made it slippery. You and he took this path countless times before. Up until now these forests witnessed nothing but good memories between you and him.

“My Queen, slow down!” he tells you.

You are too fast, speeding up on the last meters.

“___ no!” Jimin screams and watches with horror as you leap over the small stream. He tugs his horse into a stop, gasping for air as he tries to recover from the shock.

You slow the horse down on the other side, turning it skilfully. Your face is glowing from your skin catching the fog, the creases between your brows disappeared.

“Did you see that?” you call out to him, smiling, “I managed this so easily.”

“Yes and almost killed me from fright in the process”, Jimin says, trotting over the bridge.

You laugh, “nothing happened. You worry too much.”

“Worrying is my duty, of course I do”, he says, joining your side.

You snicker. You and he have a comfortable tempo with your horses, swaying from side to side naturally. You take a deep breath, lifting your head.

“I haven’t ran like this in ages. It felt good to do.”

“I worried that you might hurt yourself.”

“Wasn’t I the one to teach you how to ride?” you ask in a chuckle, “you should trust in me more.”

“Of course you taught me, but I also remember the countless times where you ran recklessly and fell.”

“Indeed and yet I never hurt myself.”

“I remember differently. You cried each time you fell.”

“This is a lie and you know that”, you say, reaching over to slap his arm gently.

Jimin laughs with you, reaching over to slap your arm right back.

“I don’t lie.”

You nudge him again, “yes, you do. You liar.”

You and he laugh together and in this moment it felt as if you were fourteen of age again, laughing in the forests after an afternoon of mischief. You and he exchange a look. It was clear to each of you that you thought the same. Growing up is cruel when it meant that two friends of mutual respect have to act as if one was more important in society than the other.

You break the eye contact first, taking a deep breath. Jimin twists the reigns, swallowing down the heavy lump in his throat.

“I cannot stand Lord Frail”, you confess.

“I could tell. You cursed.”

“You heard that?” you laugh, throwing your head back.

It has been too long since Jimin last saw you laugh so honestly. It fills his heart with happiness and so he finds himself laughing with you.

“Oh, I couldn’t help myself. He angered me so much”, you are still laughing as you speak, shaking your head in disbelief, “I mean, who in their right mind forgets something as detrimental as my husband’s death? That is the very reason why I agreed to this charade in the first place.”

“As you said, he’s not right in the mind. He doesn’t believe in baths.”

“Yes, one couldn’t smell this at all.”

You and Jimin laugh and it felt so good to do. Life was correct right now. Life wasn’t cruel because you and he could laugh together.

“Oh, how wonderful”, you end the laugh with a soft swipe under your eyes as if to dry your tears.

“You know”, Jimin begins.

“Mhm?” you hum, granting him a warm look.

“Jinus made me think of us and how long we have known each other already. How long has it been? Fifteen years?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen?”

You nod your head, “we were eleven when I found you on the streets of your village. Remember? You were covered in ash and threatened to beat me with a stick.”

Jimin laughs, “I did! Oh, I forgot.”

You laugh with him, “but you changed your mind once I brought you food. Remember?”

“Of course I remember. I was starving and scared. I wouldn’t have been able to beat you.”

“Oh, I was aware. You looked weak.”

You and Jimin laugh. The forest paths fill with sunlight and the sweet scent of resin. Neither he nor you had noticed until now, how much sunlight fell down on the earth today.

“But we helped you grow strong, didn’t we?”

“Yes, you really did. I found my home with you.”

“Oh”, you let out, exchanging a sheepish look with him.

“Forgive me”, he whispers.

“Don’t worry”, you assure him quietly.

The sunlight dies down again. The scent of resin gets less.

You slow down your horses as the path melts into a small clearing. You jump off the horse. Jimin does the same. You and he choose two small trees to secure your horses on. Equipped with your bow and his sword, you leave the path to wander through the denser forest instead. He is by your side because right now, it is just the two of you and there is no societal rule keeping you apart.

“I apologise for what I said”, Jimin says.

“Don’t apologise”, you assure him, giving him a warm yet yearning look, “I feel glad that you found a home here. Life wouldn’t be the same without you”, you tell him and it is the first time in weeks where you show him that you cared for him. Jimin swallows down his overwhelming emotions to instead give you a smile.

When you retort it, he takes a step closer to you, brushing his finger against your hand. When you don’t pull away, he reaches for you truly and intertwines his fingers with you. You give him a squeeze instinctively.

“Fuck”, you whisper, looking away, “you have to stop doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Reminding me what I feel for you”, you say.

“I won’t ever stop doing this”, he says, eliciting a small laugh from you.

You shake your head, looking at him with fond eyes.

“You are too stubborn.”

“I know”, Jimin says and tugs you closer. You let him, falling into him while he places his hands on your waist. You and he stop in your tracks. Ferns surround you. The sunlight breaks through the trees and illuminates his features beautifully.

You want to kiss him. You want to cup his cheeks and trace his features. You want to call him yours and love him openly.

Seventeen years. There is no constant in your life which has been with you for as long as Jimin has. There is no person in this world who knows you as well as Jimin does. In front of everyone else you have to pretend, to act a certain way, to hide parts of yourself. But not in front of Jimin. There is no person who makes you feel more like yourself than he.

And there is no person you want to be with more than him.

He moves in, nudging your cheek with his nose to test the waters. You close your eyes because you couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Jimin please”, you whisper, exhaling deeply as you move your head away slightly. You look at him even if it is difficult.

“It’s been weeks.”

“We had to go longer than this in the past.”

“But this is different.”

“Jimin, why can’t you-”

A blood curling scream interrupts you before the situation could escalate into a fight. You and Jimin look at where it came from.

“Did you hear this as well?”

“I did.”

“Help! Help!”

You and he exchange a look and spring into a sprint. The fight lies forgotten for now.

You reach your horses quickly, working skilfully to mount them and gallop off. You and Jimin ran together and rode horses next to each other ever since you were children. You taught him how to ride a horse and he taught you how to climb a tree. You didn’t even need words to find perfect synchronisation in your jumps and gallops because acting like a team has been a part of you ever since you were children.

The owner of the screams turns out to be Lord Frail. Covered in muddy water from the stream and without a horse or guard in sight.

“Lord Frail, what happened?” you gasp, slowing down your horse carefully.

“The foolish horse slipped on this bridge and threw me off! It ran off without me!”

You and Jimin exchange a look. What a fool.

“How terrible. Did you hurt yourself, Lord Frail?” you ask without honesty in your voice.

“Of course I did! Look!” he shows off the small graze on his elbow.

Jimin snorts, hiding his laughter behind his hand. You send him a warning look, fighting the toughest battle in trying not to laugh as well.

“How terrible. Where is your guard?”

“I sent him off to get the cursed animal. Horse stew should be made with it! Foolish horse.”

“I am sure that it merely startled”, you tell him and send Jimin a look. He retorts it. He thinks the same. Of course someone like Lord Frail would blame the horse and not his own inability to ride.

Lord Frail stomps his foot.

“So what now? Should I walk?”

You take a deep breath in order not to curse at him.

“Of course not”, you say with a faked smile, “Jimin, give Lord Frail your horse.”

Jimin tenses his jaw, “yes, my Queen”, he says and gets off. He leads his horse to the clumsy man and presses the reins into his hands roughly. The man seems confused at the dark look he receives from the knight, but doesn’t say anything.

He merely points at the ground.

“You know what to do.”

Jimin considers drawing his sword and slicing this idiot’s belly open. But he doesn’t, instead he gets on all fours so the clumsy sack can climb on his horse. He presses into Jimin’s back painfully, forcing him to growl angrily. It goes unnoticed by the man as he is too busy yapping about how much taller this horse is and that it was too good for a knight.

Jimin stands back up, cleaning off the dirt from his clothes aggressively while his eyes murdered the man.

“Now where to next?” Lord Frail asks, sitting proudly on the horse which you gave Jimin after he became a knight.

“The castle. I grew rather cold”, you say dryly, studying Jimin with guilty eyes.

“Cold you say? That is a bother. Let’s go then”, Lord Frail says and looks at Jimin, “I assume he walks. Oh, ohuohuo how tragic”, he says and rides off with snickers leaving him.

Jimin feels hot in anger. Perhaps if he threw his sword just right, he could knock this twat off his horse without killing him.

The sound of hooves beside him rips him back to reality. He turns and lifts his head. You are shielding the sun from him, standing right beside him and looking down from your horse.

“I understand. I’m walking”, he hisses and sets off.

He gets as far as three steps and then he realises that you are riding next to him. He stops again, looking up at you.

You scoot to the front of your saddle.

“I do not want you to walk.”

Softness washes over his features.

“Come up here”, you tell him, nodding your head behind you.

“Very well.”

Jimin gets on your horse without hesitation. The saddle is built in a way so that you and he could share it with some discomfort. It results in his middle to press against your behind. You rub against each other with every step the horse takes. You try to ignore how it makes you feel, while Jimin tries not to close his eyes.

“Is this comfortable for you?” you ask.

“Yes”, Jimin places his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. His hands run up and down your corseted waist. His warmth seeps deep into your skin, “it’s comfortable”, he speaks softly and steals a kiss to your neck.

Lord Frail is enough steps ahead of you that he doesn’t notice it.

Your heart is beating unbearably. Jimin is so close to you, touching you and sharing warmth. His neck kiss still lingers on your skin, even now that he is resting his chin on your shoulder again. You brought yourself into this situation, but it is still almost impossible to bear.

“What if he sees us?” you whisper.

“I truly wish that you wouldn’t consider this twat as a husband”, Jimin ignores your warnings, staring holes into Lord Frail’s head.

“I’m not. It wasn’t mannerly of him to use you as a stool. I apologise. He is indeed a twat.”

“Mhm, one that stinks as well. I will have to buy a new saddle and burn the other.”

He makes you laugh. Loudly. Lord Frail looks over his shoulder. Jimin was thankfully quick enough to change his position so he wasn’t resting his chin on your shoulder and his arms around you. His hands rest on your hips now, hidden from view in your coat. The touch is heavy on your skin, seeping into your deepest fibres.

“That is a peculiar view. I thought he would walk.”

“It is quite far to the castle. I take great care of my knights.”

“I can see that. He’s an ill-mannered lad. He sent me dirty looks.”

“That is merely how he looks when he is on duty.”

Lord Frail looks at Jimin and his darkened eyes. He looks away again, fixing his collar.

“I see. Well, I don’t like it.”

“If you know yourself to behave, you mustn’t worry.”

“I am a very mannerly fella.”

“I doubt that, Lord Frail”, you say, masking the poison with a laugh, “after all, you used my knight as a stepping stool.”

“Oh well, yes”, Lord Frail laughs because he thought the situation to be a laughing matter, “he is sturdier than I thought.”

“You misunderstand me, Lord Frail. I wasn’t jesting. You do not use my knights as stepping stools.”

Lord Frail stops laughing. He looks at you with widened eyes. The smile from your face was gone. You weren’t jesting.

“My apologies, Your Highness”, he presses out even if it clearly hurts his pride.

“I am not the one to apologise to.”

Lord Frail looks at Jimin. The dark haired knight is carrying triumph on his features.

“His name is Jimin. Say it with respect”, you say coldly.

Lord Frail flares his nostrils and opens his mouth.

“My apologies, Sir Jimin”, he mumbles, frowning in distaste afterwards.

“Very well”, you say and click your tongue, telling your horse to speed up with a gentle nudge of your feet.

The horse listens well, galloping off so you could put some distance between you and the ill-mannered lord. He should know that he wasted his chance.

Galloping on a horse with Jimin behind you is difficult. Not only because sharing a saddle minimises the support you have, but also because he is rubbing against you. The thick, sturdy leather of his pants against your own thick leather thankfully masks some of the sensation, but it was there nonetheless.

You slow down soon, passing the convoy in a slow trot. You ignore the curious looks people send you, calling out orders instead.

“If one may see a horse without a rider, return it to Lord Frail. The fool lost it!”

“Yes, Your Highness”, they answer you and pretend that seeing your knight ride behind you without any distance between you and him was a normal sight to see.

“We will ride straight back to the castle. Is Jinus back already?”

“Yes, my Queen he is back with the others.”

“Very well.”

There were two reasons for why you decided to ride to the front. You were the Queen and you needed Lord Frail to know that he lost his spot by your side. And being in the front meant that Jimin couldn’t touch you again. He has been running his hands up and down your hips and thighs ever since you put Lord Frail into his place and it is getting very difficult to concentrate. Thankfully, your riding coat covers his hands from creeping eyes, but you knew that they were there and it is making your thoughts blur.

“I will assume that your sword needs fixing”, you tell him quietly enough that hopefully only he can hear.

“Mhm yes, my sword needs polishing”, Jimin answers you, sending heat to your face.

You hide the giggle wanting to escape by covering your mouth, lowering your head for just a second. Jimin squeezes your softness under the coat, chuckling deeply. Even through the thick layer of leather you could feel the strength behind his touch.

You straighten up, “Jimin, I am serious. Please fix your sword.”

“It is hard to fix when it’s in my pants.”

“Lower your voice”, you hiss.

“It is hard to fix when it is in my pants”, Jimin whispers, letting the words swirl against your neck.

“I am not jesting.”

“Neither am I.”

You swallow heavily. His touch is unbearable to handle.

“My Queen”, thankfully – or perhaps sadly – Frigga catches up to your side. Jimin slides his hands from your coat, placing them on your waist instead. He needs to hold on somewhere and this was the most logical place. It isn’t easier to bear.

“Yes, Frigga?” you ask her, hoping that your breathlessness goes unnoticed.

“What shall I tell the cooks to prepare tonight now that the hunt bared no fruit?”

“Whatever they find on the markets. I am certain there are lovely fish to buy.”

“Understood. Is Lord Frail staying for dinner?”

“No. No, as a matter of fact I wish to eat dinner in my chambers. I have had enough of dutiful chattering.”

“I understand”, Frigga looks at Jimin with a sense of knowing in her eyes, “will Jimin bring you dinner?”

The knowing grows. You feel yourself panic. Jimin’s presence behind you feels burdensome.

“Why would you ask such a thing?” you gasp.

“Because he always brings you dinner. My Queen, what did you believe that I was saying?”

“Nothing. I, uhm, nothing. It doesn’t matter”, you stutter.

Frigga studies you and Jimin together.

“I understand”, she says and slows down her horse to put some distance between you and her.

The rest of the ride back was silent until Lord Frail gallops to the front clumsily.

“Your Highness, I must ask for clarification. Am I staying for dinner?”

“No, you are not.”

“Is it because I used your knight as a stepping stool?”

“It is because you are ill-mannered and quite frankly, you reek.”

Jimin laughs quietly behind you, squeezing your waist. You could swear that he rolled his hips against you. You bite down on your tongue to distract yourself.

“Oh that is”, Lord Frail searches for words. In the end, he decides on scrunching his nose in distaste and leaving with a mumbled, “manner less wench.”

“What did you just call her?” Jimin hisses, trying to draw his sword.

“Let him be”, you say, “he’s just a lord. His house consists of him and his servants.”

Jimin sends Lord Frail one last dark look and then he won’t ever see him again.

The ride home continues to be silent from then on and Lord Frail will leave the castle without receiving another word from you.

The horse Lord Frail borrowed from your castle waits by the stables once you return. You greet it with pets behind its ears and apologies for having to carry someone as smelly as Lord Frail. The horse seems to care rather little about what you say. You leave it by the stables, making your way to your chambers.

Jimin follows you.

You turn when you realise his presence.

“Why are you following me?”

Jimin glances down at his crotch. Your eyes follow his line of sight.

“I think you misunderstood something. I am leaving to get changed.”

“So am I”, Jimin says, taking a step closer.

“Jimin, please.”

“Riding with you messed with my mind”, he says, closing in on you until he could touch your waist.

“I could feel it.”

“I couldn’t help myself. I keep thinking about you and being so close to you, it reminded me how much I want to be with you.”

You are so weak in his presence. You truly wanted to keep distance to him, to give yourself time to think and to perhaps give him a chance to move on and yet you are back where you started, craving nothing but his presence. You miss him when you wake, when you fall asleep and when you see wonderful stuff you know he would love to see. Sharing such a laughter-filled afternoon with him, having him close as you rode and being reminded of how far you and he go back, reignited every single flame you tried to kill.

“Jimin, I…” you begin, placing your hands on his chest. His heart is racing just as quickly as yours does.

Jimin closes in, lowering his eyes halfway as he gazes at your lips. You inch closer, getting lost in the view of his lips.

“Oh, there you are my Queen”, Frigga says, stopping in her steps as he watches you and Jimin scramble to break apart.

“Are you feeling better now, my Queen? Do you still feel weak in the knees?” Jimin lies, holding your waist.

“Yes, I feel better. Thank you for catching me, Sire”, you lie, meeting Frigga’s eyes, “oh Frigga, how lucky that you are here. Might you help me out of my clothes? I suddenly feel terribly weak from riding.”

Frigga clears her throat, keeping her thoughts to herself. She hurries to your side and supports you, taking over for Jimin this way. She leads you away from him.

“Yes, my Queen. Shall I send for the physician?” she asks.

“No, no I am sure that food and something to drink will help me greatly.”

“I understand, then we will…”

The rest of the conversation dies out in Jimin’s ears as you and Frigga cross the corner and therefore disappear from his sight.

Jimin takes a deep breath, touching his chest where his heart races. He doesn’t feel bad, he feels hopeful. Of course he is upset that you and he got interrupted, but if Frigga hadn’t interrupted you and him, he would have been close to you again. You leaned in for a kiss. You haven’t given up on him yet. He giggles to himself, doing a small jump before he hurries away in happy skips. Today wasn’t as terrible as he thought it to be.

He will wash up and then wait for you in the hallways. Knowing your traditions, you will leave your chambers for a book from the library and that is when he will catch you again. Yes, that is his plan for the remaining day.

Jimin eats food in the dining hall with the others. He listens to Jinus talk about how awful Lord Frail’s company was and in return, Jimin tells him how he had to act as his stepping stool. The two knights proceed to call the lord many names, which will not be documented in these writings but one can imagine of what nature they were. After dinner, he still had to partake in an hour of training, but different than on other days, Jimin felt good. He felt happy and hopeful and terribly excited for what the night will bring.

Jimin tells the knights to have a good sleep after training and he makes his way to the library. He meets Frigga and your maids on his way, greeting them with a bright smile. Frigga’s eyes keep lingering on him, but Jimin ignores it, continuing his way to the library. He won’t be witness to the knowing gasp Frigga releases once she realises where his path will take him.

The library is empty during this hour of the day, but Jimin doesn’t let it intimidate him. He knows where to find you. You particularly enjoy the cultural section and always find yourself lost in the books. Tonight is no different. Dressed in a simple night gown and with your hair vast of jewellery, you stand by the cultural section with a book in your hand.

Jimin increases his steps, smiling so brightly his cheeks hurt. He begins running those last few steps. He cannot wait to be with you again.

You turn your head at the sound of steps in sync with Jimin sweeping you off your feet and pressing you against the shelf. You wanted to scream in shock, but don’t get to as Jimin claims your lips in a deep kiss.

The book falls to the ground, your lips tremble against his'. Your surprised sounds get swallowed by him.

Jimin rolls his hips into you and sighs, sucking on your lower lip as his heart races in his chest. He missed your kisses so much. He missed surprising you with them and how you always clutch him especially tightly as a result.

Tonight however, your desperate touch doesn’t come. Tonight, your hand presses itself between your lips as you begin wiggling in his hands until he can’t help but drop you.

“I don’t understand”, he confesses.

“Why would you do this? I gave you no permission”, you spit, carrying anger on your features.

“I, I thought that, that. You love when I surprise you here.”

“You have no idea what I want. All you care about is yourself”, you spit and push him away.

Jimin stumbles back, hitting the opposite bookshelf. His heart aches in his chest. Your words cut so very deep.

You turn and run away.

“I don’t understand. Why are you saying this?” he gets out, running after you, “my Queen what happened? Why are you acting this way?”

“I never should have come here. I’m such a fool”, you murmur to yourself.

“My Queen”, Jimin insists, touching your wrist gently, “what happened? I’m sorry for surprising you, I never wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

You turn around, looking at him with glassy eyes. Jimin closes in on you, carrying honest regret in his eyes.

“What’s the matter? Is it me? I’m sorry for acting like this.”

“She asked me about you, Jimin”, you get out with fear in your voice, “she knows what we are”, you add and continue your way back to your chambers.

“What? Wait, what?” Jimin stutters, “wait. What are you saying?” he asks as he begins running after you.

“Go away, Jimin”, you tell him, increasing your steps.

“Who asked about me?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. We are so wrong.”

“Who asked about me?” Jimin insists with increasing panic in his chest. He doesn’t like how you talk or how you act.

“Frigga. She saw that we touched each other and asked what it meant.”

“And what did you say?”

“Please, leave me alone. Please”, you beg, leaving the library. It isn’t far to your chambers anymore.

“My Queen”, Jimin follows you, “my Queen, please.”

You increase your steps. Tonight is not a good night for this. You feel weakened in spirit and crave his gentle touch. Frigga asked about him. She asked if perhaps you felt more for him than just friendship. You didn’t know what to say and so you sent her away. Now you are frightened. You do not want the public to find out and therefore shame Jimin. You can’t be responsible for him losing his honour. You are so scared and the worst of this situation was, that you craved his hugs as remedy.

“My Queen, please allow me but a moment”, he begs, taking one step where you take two. He knows these hallways well enough to be aware that he doesn’t have long until you can flee into your chambers, “please just a fleeting moment. I do not require much time.”

“You should go to bed, Jimin. It is too late”, you tell him, taking a sharp turn to the left. Your chambers are so close to reach.

“___ beloved, please.”

You falter in your steps. Your name from his lips stole your ability to walk. No one knows that he calls you beloved, whispered when he is deep inside you or gasped when you sink down on him. It happened naturally, he didn’t realise at first that these syllables fell from his tongue until you kissed him deeper than you ever had before and stole his breath in the process. Ever since then, your name followed by a term of endearment leaves him during moments most intimate. To be called this way right now, here in the dark, cold hallway where longing gets so painful to bear, robs you of every step you wanted to take. Jimin stops in order not to run into you. You don’t turn, but you also don’t run away anymore. You are breathing heavily, balling your hands into fists.

Jimin steps closer and brushes his hand down your arm. You tense up, biting your own lower lip to stop it from trembling. His touch returns warmth to your skin. Warmth, you missed like lungs miss air and plants miss sunlight.

“Please stop pushing me away. We can solve this together”, he speaks quietly, sharing a secret only meant for you.

A step closer.

His calloused hand closes around your elbow. You close your eyes. To be touched by him is the most painful of dreams. Why must he feel so good?

“I know that you are hurting. Please allow me take care of you”, he whispers, looking at your neck with longing, “allow me to ease the aches. Like I always did.”

You want to speak, but can’t. You can’t form words as the only word your tongue craves to produce is his name.

His arm lays itself around your waist and tugs you into his chest.

His heart is hammering against his ribcage. His warmth engulfs you in burning flames. Tears escape your eyes and leave cold trails down your cheeks.

His hand closes on your waist and squeezes. The touch digs into the deepest parts of you. It is so familiar and yet so foreign. A comfort estranged because of the distance you forced yourselves to be in.

“I miss you”, Jimin whispers with trembling emotion in his voice and brushes his nose against your neck. Vanilla and honey. He missed your scent so much.

You miss him as well. You miss his laughter, his voice, his embrace and the tenderness of his kisses. You miss him when you fall asleep, you miss him when you wake up and you miss him during the day. The grief for your late husband is only for the public, for the true reason you are grieving is your lost love with Jimin. You ache without him.

“It’s late Sire, go to bed”, you force the words out, stepping out of the hug even if you didn’t want to.

“My Queen…”

You leave without looking back because if you did, you would have fallen around his neck and begged him to stay. You can’t allow yourself to give in.

Jimin doesn’t follow you that night and you cry yourself to sleep.

He is talking. He should be the one asking questions and listening, but instead he has been talking about himself for the past hour. His name was Landor. Another suitor begging for a chance to be your second husband. He promises you lands in the north and strong children in the belly. Both of which sounded terrible to you.

He is currently laughing at one of his fooleries. You don’t think it entertaining and so you don’t laugh. He snorts as his way of stopping his bone twisting laughter, looking at you with self-assured confidence. He must think himself to be the most entertaining of fellow. He probably hadn’t even realised that you didn’t join his laughter.

“Thank you Sire, I shall send word with my decision”, you tell him and send him away with a flick of the wrist.

“My Queen, I await the splendid news with longing in my heart”, Landor says and leaves thinking that he completely charmed you. He won’t ever receive word from you.

The doors close and so you turn to your advisor.

“How much yapping do I still have to bear?” you ask her.

“There are still six contestants left, my Queen”, Frigga tells you and shows you the list. You skim over the names. None seems familiar to you and none catches your attention. Because none formed the name of the man you truly yearn for. You catch yourself looking at him.

He is standing behind Frigga, staring at the closed throne room doors with a stern expression. To others he seemed concentrated, but you know that he was upset. The tension in his jaw is familiar to you. You know that it only tortures his muscles when he is upset. He had this habit ever since he was a boy and on many nights, you soothed it away with soft touches to his jaw.

Jimin’s eyes flit to you, meeting your gaze for but a moment before you quickly look away. Your heart races unbearably. He caught you staring.

“Six, I see”, you press out, touching your own chest in hopes of calming down your heart, “bring in the next contestant.”

The doors open. You hope that it is enough to distract the people in the room and most importantly to distract Jimin. You glance at him again, feeling your heart twist in your chest. He is still looking at you, carrying heartbreaking longing in his dark brown eyes. The longing grows when your gazes meet, the tension in his jaw riffles and tightens.

You seemed tired today. Jimin felt tired as well. He didn’t find a lot of sleep last night, repeating what happened in the dark hallways over and over again. He tried to find answers to understand why you keep pushing him away. He fell asleep without finding what he looked for. Even now, as he looks into your eyes, he can’t find it.

You are plagued by thoughts of your own. You miss him. You miss his embrace, his kiss and his hands which fit so perfectly in yours. You miss him.

“My Queen!”

The voice of the next contestant rips you back to reality. You break your eyes away from Jimin and look at the man before you.

The next contestant for your hand in marriage was taller than Landor. His hair was grey and a lot thinner already and he seemed to have used some sort of animal grease to smudge it back. You scrunch your nose at the view, already hating the interaction.

“My Queen!” he speaks loudly and bows deeply, “my name is Sir Kanneth from Kanneth Height and I am here to ask for your hand.”

“Yes I am aware. Tell me why I should consider taking you as my husband.”

“I shall tell you through song, my Queen!” he says and slides a lute from his back.

You bite back your exhausted sigh. He is one of those men. Annoying peacocks who believe their mediocre singing and terrible song writing will impress you. You listen to the man sing about his great adventures, wishing that it was over soon.

No voice could impress you, not when you know how Jimin sings. He doesn’t sing often, mostly during quiet moments of the night when the candles are almost burned down and you feel relaxed in his arms, but whenever he does, you find yourself wishing for time to slow down just so you could listen to him longer. You glance at Jimin again. He is furrowing his brows as he is forced to listen to the contestant sing. He turns his head, meeting your gaze.

The terrible melodies drown out in your ears as you get lost in Jimin’s eyes. If you got up and ran away with him, would your life be happy?

“Wonderful! Oh how wonderful!” the cheers and applause of the court rips you back to your sad reality.

Sir Kanneth finished his song, bowing his head at you. You lift your hands and begin clapping.

“Impressive”, you say coldly, carrying no honesty in the statement.

Sir Kanneth leaves the throne room twenty minutes later. He won’t receive word either.

Neither will the third nor fourth contestant of the day. The fifth one enters the throne room, bearing gifts. Foreign food, which seem to be of his home country. He appears to be of your age and carries himself well. His ruby hair was long and reflected the light and his clothes were made of the finest of silks. You watch him with interested eyes.

He bows.

“Thranduin is my name. I come from far, far in the west”, he bows deeply, “my dearest condolences for your incredible loss, Your Highness. I too lost my first wife to the seas and I understand your grief.”

“Thank you for your well wishes”, you tell him, running your eyes up and down his body, “you don’t look like my other suitors.”

“Oh no”, he laughs and you think his laugh to be passable, “but when I got news that Queen ___ of the beautiful country of Windfell seeks a new husband, I had to get on my dragon and see you.”

“You have dragons in your country?”

“Yes indeed we do. We receive our companions once we pass two decades. Smogwyn is his name and he is a wonderful companion. I could introduce you to him if you wish.”

You don’t think that conversation with Thranduin is terrible or boring. As a matter of fact, he intrigues you, which hurts one person in the room more than anyone else. Jimin, stood behind you and with a careful eye on you, he stands witness to the laughable attempts of charming you the other men perform. He celebrates whenever one of your suitors gets send away by you, he judges whenever one says ridiculous stuff and he suffers now that you are standing up from your chair to descend the stairs.

“I would love to meet your companion, Sire. I have always dreamed of seeing a dragon.”

“Then I shall introduce you to him. I promise he doesn’t bite.”

You laugh and while Thranduin seems delighted, Jimin almost bites his own teeth out from tensing his jaw so tightly.

His agonies continue as his duties drag him with you. He follows behind while you and Thranduin talk. He clutches the handle of his sword tightly while his mind produced the most sinister of thoughts. If he was quick enough, he could cut Thranduin’s head off and throw his body over the edge of the railing. The cliff would be high enough and the sea punishing enough to take care of the rest. Naturally, he doesn’t give in to his thoughts even if every laugh you spill because of this stranger makes him wish he did.

Smogwyn, the dragon, is outside the capital gates. Down the windy road which leads to the rocky beaches of the capital. People had already gathered on top the walls to look at the foreign animal. The dragon covers an impressive amount of land, dragging a gasp out of you.

“By the heavens, this animal is enormous!”

“Indeed he is, eventhough he is still growing.”

“He is? Oh how incredible. How big will he be once he stops growing?”

“About twice his current size.”

“Oh, I am awestruck. This is the most unbelievable thing I have ever seen.”

“Shall I call him to us?”

“Oh heavens I am a little frightened, but yes call him.”

Thranduin whistles with the help of his fingers.

The red scaled dragon lets out a grumble so deep the earth shakes and lifts his head. He takes a step where humans would have to take seven, shaking the water each time he connects his clawed foot with the ground.

You are standing on the high bridge which connects the capital with the Queendom’s many islands. The dragon reaches above the bridge, taking up your entire vision as he moves his head close.

You squeak in frightened excitement, stumbling back. Your hand closes around Jimin’s in instinct. His heart stops in his chest, his stomach clenches. You haven’t noticed that you are holding his hand as you are mesmerised by the dragon. Thranduin hasn’t noticed either, he is too preoccupied with petting his scaled companion.

“Oh, this is frightening”, you say and squeak in laughter.

The dragon moves his head, taking in your scent.

“Oh heavens”, you squeal, squeezing your eyes shut as the dragon’s nose stubs your body. He breathes in and exhales, blowing warm winds around your body and Jimin’s. The dust on the ground swirls, your dress sways aggressively. The air smells like glowing coal. But everything Jimin can take in, is your hand squeezing his’ and your back pressing against his chest as you flee from the dragon.

The dragon grumbles and lifts his head.

“Oh this was thrilling!” you exclaim, letting go of Jimin’s hand to clap. You jump on the spot, beaming at Thranduin, “a dragon smelled me! Oh Sire, I am bouncing in excitement. This was incredible!”

Jimin balls his hand to a tight fist, staring at your glowing face with pain in his heart. You gave him so much happiness with the touch and yet you haven’t even realised that you did it.

“He seems to enjoy your company, Your Highness”, Thranduin says, “I must say that I share this feeling with him.”

“Oh dear”, you fluster.

Jimin tenses his jaw, gripping the handle of his sword. He would most definitely be eaten by the dragon if he tried anything right now, but it would be worth it. This man angers him beyond imagination.

You step closer to Thranduin.

“May I touch him? Please just once.”

“Of course. Give me your hand, I shall guide you to him.”

And so Jimin has to watch as you place your hand into the palm of a stranger. This is the hand he held mere moments ago and now you are giving it away. Jimin forces down tears and turns his back to you. He can’t bear to watch this any longer. He can hear you squeal and squeak behind him as Thranduin, the twat, guides your hand over the rough scales of the dragon. He can hear you laugh and giggle as Thranduin calls out your beauty once again. And he can hear you talk with great vigour in your voice as you ask more questions about the dragons and the customs of Thranduin’s country.

He doesn’t look at you until it was time to leave for the castle again. And while he puts more distance between you and him, you seem to walk closer to Thranduin.

You stop by the throne room doors.

“Will you stay in Windfell for long, Sire?” you ask Thranduin.

“I can stay for as long as you wish me to, Your Highness. I have many more stories to tell”, Thranduin says, making you smile.

“Then you shall stay for dinner. I want to know everything you have to tell and try the foods you brought.”

“As you wish, Your Highness. I shall stay for dinner. I am certain that my country’s cuisine will bring you great enjoyment. Food is very important in our culture.”

“You have me interested, Sire. I enjoy food a great lot.”

“It seems that we share yet another similarity, Your Highness”, he says and makes you laugh.

Truly, Jimin wishes that he could slice him.

The sixth contestant of the day gets sent home with the promise that tomorrow will be another day, while Thranduin gets led to one of the empty guest quarters to prepare for dinner.

You hurry to your own chambers, followed by Frigga and Jimin. While Frigga helps you with getting dressed behind your privacy screen, Jimin is destined to stand by your door. He tries not to, but still looks at you. The privacy screen feels like mockery to him. Your naked body is a landscape most familiar to Jimin and yet you hide away from him. He is aware why you do it, as his explorations were secret to even Frigga, and he also knows that he has no right to your body even if you and he were husband and wife, but he still feels mocked today. Your friendly nature with Thranduin made him irrationally jealous and upset.

“He seemed to have caught your attention, my Queen”, Frigga says, twisting a knife in Jimin’s heart with her words.

“Oh yes, his dragon is most interesting”, you say, “I hope to hear many more stories about them.”

“My Queen, you make it sound as if everything which was intriguing about the man was his dragon”, Frigga jokes and laughs.

You falter for a moment. Frigga can’t see it as she is busy tying your dress at the back, but Jimin can. The privacy screen is low enough that your heads are still poking out. Jimin watches how a sort of realisation washes over you and how embarrassment replaces it.

“Well, I”, you let out a breathy laugh, lowering your head as you shake it, “you speak of silly things, Frigga.”

Frigga giggles, “my apologies. You know that I jest way too much.”

You laugh, nodding your head. But the realisation still remains on your features.

Jimin stares at it with a racing heart. Perhaps he looked at the entire situation with incorrect eyes. Perhaps Thranduin was never exciting to you, but the dragon and stories he brings. Perhaps the man will ruin his chances with you just as all the other men did. A dragon and little stories will only be interesting to you that long before you realise that the man itself won’t bring you satisfaction.

Your eyes flit to Jimin and meet his gaze and for the first time today, he feels confident in holding eye contact. You break it sooner than him, touching the side of your own neck. You don’t look at him again while Jimin feels his lips curl into a triumphant smile. Your eyes said everything he needed to know. You just lost interest in the man.

Fate however soon shows him that it wasn’t as easy as he thought it to be. You seem entirely entranced by the man’s every word during dinner. You look at him, laugh at his jokes, ask for more stories and once dinner ends, you ask him if he felt in the mood for honey wine in the castle gardens. And while Jimin wanted to follow you as your guard, you told him that he was free for the night, leaving him behind as you left for wine with Thranduin. Jimin felt so angered by the entire situation that he dared to kick the sturdy stone wall when nobody saw him.

The castle sleeps except for a few night owls still playing card games in the dining halls. They share wine and sweet delicacies of your country. Butter cookies with a pinecone jelly filling. The taste is most exquisite and goes excellent with the honey wine of the castle’s brewery. You drank quite a lot of the honey wine tonight, so much in fact that you try not to let the people see you as you hurry to your bed chambers. It would be beyond humiliating to show yourself in such a state to the public. It is already embarrassing enough that Thranduin had to help you to your feet as you felt too drunk to walk on your own. Speaking of the latter, you left him by his guest quarters, promising him breakfast in the dining hall tomorrow.

Frigga and your maids are asleep by now. You are glad that they are, because you couldn’t bear to hear their teasing comments about your intoxicated state. They would most definitely think your jolly nature to be of love drunk origin, but it wasn’t. You were drunk. Nothing less and nothing more. Thranduin was good company, his stories were thrilling and you loved learning about dragons. He was also very handsome and a scent of what he called a “coconut” surrounded him. But you didn’t find your heart beating faster for him. He felt more like a good friend to you than a potential husband. You were too drunk to think about the meaning of said feelings however, all you knew is that you had a good evening and that you felt ready for bed.

You slip inside your chambers, closing the doors behind you. You use them to catch your balance for a moment, propping your hand against the wood as you take a few deep breaths. You are jolly drunk, by the heavens.

You let a small giggle escape. It has been too long since you last felt that carefree. You missed the feeling so incredibly much.

“Ah heavens”, you let out and turn to hurry to the dressing area. You want to get out of your clothes. They have been torturing you for too long.

It is a rather difficult task to undress. It is already very hard to do alone on a sober day and with the additional help of alcohol, it gets almost impossible. You find yourself sitting down on the floor and undoing the intricate lacing of your dress this way. You also take off your jewellery this way, giggling to yourself because you felt rather silly sitting on the floor. Truly, you feel so entirely carefree tonight.

You abandon your clothes and jewellery on the ground, stepping from behind the privacy screen in nothing but your undergarments. You need to take the hair jewellery out and take care of your skin and then you can finally fall into bed. You stumble past your bed, letting out a loud scream when you see a figure sitting on it. You squint your eyes to see better.

“Jimin?!” you exclaim, stumbling closer, “by heavens, you gave me such a fright! I believed you to be an intruder. Oh dear”, you giggle at first until realisation overcomes you, “why are you in my chambers? Have you always been here? Did you sit in silence like a ghost while I undressed?!”

Jimin nods his head. He is wearing nothing more than a thigh-length sleeping tunic and some comfortable linen pants. His sword is on the mattress beside him and his hair lacks volume from brushing it.

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“You seem drunk”, he ignores your question, scanning his eyes up and down your body.

“Indeed I am. I drank way too much honey wine.”

“I can see that. You shouldn’t drink that much. You’re the queen.”

“Oh come now”, you let out a mocking scoff, “did you truly just say that?”

He nods his head, tightening his jaw.

“This isn’t yours to say.”

“I worry.”

“Well, don’t. It soils my mood.”

Jimin tongues his cheek, lowering his eyes in annoyance.

You break your eyes away from him and walk to your dressing table. You don’t feel as jolly drunk anymore as you did before. As a matter of fact, you feel rather terrible. He was the reason why you drank so much. You wanted to forget him and the burning feelings you harbour for him and seeing him on your bed presented in such an intimate way brought everything, you managed to forget about, back to the surface. You are so irrationally angry at him.

Jimin watches you barely manage to sit down. If the chair wasn’t as sturdy in its balance as it was, you most definitely would have doubled over.

You begin taking out your hair pearls, doing so with swaying shoulders and lazy eyes.

Jimin takes a deep breath and gets up from bed. He walks to the dining area of your room and prepares a jug of water for you. The waters in your queendom are as clear as crystal and healing to drink. While other queendoms struggle to find safe drinking water, your queendom lives in abundance. You especially enjoy the taste of it when you wake up in the middle of the night and its temperature feels especially cold on your tongue.

Jimin places the full jug on the dressing table. You look at it, then at the reflection of him in your mirror. His jaw carried tension.

“Drink it. You will get a headache otherwise”, he tells you.

“I didn’t ask for water.”

“And I didn’t ask to be treated like shit. It seems we both didn’t get what we asked for.”

You break your eyes away from him, gulping the water down in an attempt to rid yourself of the painful lump in your throat.

The silence is suffocating. He keeps staring at you, standing right behind you. You feel so much aching pressure on your heart, struggling to undo the pearls in the back. Jimin nudges your hands away gently and takes over for you. Your eyes meet in the mirror. He is frowning while you can barely keep the eye contact alive. He breaks it first, looking down at your head as he helps you with your hair.

Jimin helped you with your hair on many occasions in the past. He studied as your hair dressers styled it and studied how they prepared it for bed and then one night he asked if he could be the one preparing it for you. You allowed him and ever since that night, he often took care of your hair while you looked at him through the mirror.

To have him take care of you tonight breaks your heart into a million pieces. You are so lonely without him.

Jimin removes the last of your hair pearls, leaning over to place them in the big sea shell on your table. The seas of your queendom were filled with the most wonderful of shells, some even bigger than your head. It is a common occurrence that empty shells wash up at the shores and for the bowl makers of the capital to create the most wonderful bowls and trinkets out of them. Shell bowls and boxes are scattered all throughout your chambers, holding your jewellery and other treasures.

Jimin’s middle presses into your back as he leans over. The sensation steals your air. It ends too soon for your taste, but you know not to reach behind you and pull him closer like you so often did in the past. You shouldn’t do this anymore. As a matter of sad fact, you never should have allowed it to come this far that you began pulling him closer for more.

Jimin picks up the brush which your brush makers fabricated out of shells and natural bristles especially for your hair. It always leaves your hair feeling healthy and Jimin learned how to use it correctly in order to care for you.

It feels so good to have him untangle your hair, but it also makes you ache. He knows you so well and takes such great care of you. You miss him so much.

You reach for the jug of water quickly to distract yourself from your feelings.

“You held my hand today”, Jimin says into the heavy silence.

You choke on your water, spilling some as you set the jug down hastily. You cough, looking at Jimin again.

The latter lands gentle slaps to your upper back to get rid of your cough. It helps.

“What are you saying?” you get out, clearing your throat to rid yourself of the last tickles.

“Down by the beach, when the dragon came close. You held my hand.”

You shake your head, “I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. And then you gave it away to Thranduin”, Jimin scrunches his nose in jealous disgust, “the only thing this man can bring you, is the stench of dragon and boring stories. Even his food lacked flavour and I am sure he fucks just as bland.”

“What’s wrong with you?” you gasp, feeling honestly shocked at his harsh words. It is unlike him to allow his dialect to come through.

“Nothing. I am merely saying it how it is.”

“Well, you are incorrect. I shared a wonderful evening with him. He is good company.”

“Good’s just passing in disguise. You deserve more than good company.”

“He has potential to become great company.”

“Of course”, Jimin says and scoffs, turning his back to you to walk back to the bed, “you’re a terrible jester.”

You stand up, looking at him with dark eyes.

“I felt so jolly tonight. Why must you ruin it like this?”

“Because I’m in misery and I’m selfish and awful enough that I don’t want you to be happy with someone who isn’t me.”

“I see”, you let out and scoff, “you truly are selfish.”

“Yes, indeed I am. I am the most selfish bastard you will ever meet and you know who I learned this from?”

You don’t answer him.

“You. You made me your servant, took my innocence, gave me glimpses of a life with you only to push me away once your joke of a husband spent his time and rotted away and you finally began feeling guilty enough. You are the most selfish person I have ever seen.”

“Why would you say that?” you gasp, feeling yourself tear up.

“Because I am tired of being treated this way by you.”

“Treated this way? You are my knight and nothing more. Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“Leave you alone? I went from holding you in my arms and feeling your love to being pushed away and treated like vermin by you within the blink of an eye. Tell me how this should make me feel. How I should live with the ache in my heart.”

“You know why I had to push you away.”

“No. No, I don’t because you never gave me an explanation. He died”, Jimin points out at the sea, “and suddenly I wasn’t good enough anymore, because we are both well aware that your horrific futures wouldn’t ever have happened. They were never the reason why you pushed me away. I merely stopped being good enough and I am tired of running after you. Please just give me a reason why I stopped being good enough for you.”

“I do not owe you an explanation, I am your Queen.”

“Yes, you are my Queen, but you are also my best friend and the woman I love and you loved me as well. The least I deserve is an explanation.”

You loved him.

The word hurts.

Loved is incorrect.

You love him.

You still do.

You still love him. You never stopped.

But you have to push him away. You and he are wrong for each other. There are no two souls which are actually so right for each other, but society makes you wrong. In another life where no ranks or duties differentiate you and him, you could be happy. But not here. Not in the real world.

“There is no explanation. I am your queen and you did your duties. I apologise if I made it seem as if there was more behind it.”

Jimin tears up, but continues to talk. His heart aches too much not to. He isn’t rational right now, led by emotions and he needs to say everything which was on his mind.

“Why are you saying this? Why would you lie? Who are you pretending for? It’s just us right now. Why do you pretend to feel nothing for me?”

“I am not pretending. I feel nothing for you.”

Jimin closes the distance between you and him. You stumble back until the edge of the desk digs into your thighs. Jimin acts quickly, lifting you up on the table with such vigour that you make a sound without wanting to. He is between your legs, pressing his middle against your own while his hands are on your waist. You feel short of breath, gulping repeatedly in an attempt to get air back into your lungs.

“Go on tell me that this doesn’t make you feel anything”, Jimin whispers, drawing patterns between your eyes and your lips with his mesmerising gaze, “tell me that this means nothing to you and I will leave you to find unhappiness with a stranger.”

“Jimin I…” you breathe shakily, fighting your eyes as they flit to his lips. You lose the fight. His lips are glistening in the candle lights, looking like rose petals in colour even in the dim room. The scent of his vanilla lip oil meets your nose. You crave his kiss like water “…please.”

“Push me away, ___.”

“Why would you do this to me? Why can’t you listen?”

“Because I can’t give up on you. Not without help, so push me away. That is all you have to do. Push me away.”

You place your hands on his chest. His heart is racing uncontrollably. You give him a gentle nudge.

“This isn’t enough. Push me away”, Jimin insists, fighting your weak pushes.

You try again, spilling tears.

“Push me away. Do it, ___.”

You can’t push him away. You need him. You can’t survive without him.

“No”, you whimper, shaking your head. You drop your hands from his chest, grabbing his waist, “no”, you whisper and tug him into a hug. You rest your head on his chest, shaking it, “no. You are good enough, Jimin. You are too good for me in fact. I have to marry for power, but you should marry for love. I’m so selfish to keep you with me. You are not supposed to be a secret.”

Jimin closes his arms around you and presses you close.

“It’s alright. I’m just as selfish.”

“No. No, it’s not fair to you”, you shake your head.

“Sending me away will break me more than being your secret”, Jimin insists, stopping your vigorous head shaking gently. He brushes his palm down the back of your head repeatedly, “I know you are scared, but we will figure this out. We will do it together like we always did. Please don’t let seventeen years go to waste, ___.”

You exhale shakily, looking up at him with tears covering your cheeks.

Jimin’s eyes are filled with reassurance, a warm smile curls his lips. He cups your cheeks to dry your tears. You lean into the touch, finally finding the comfort you craved for too long.

“We will find a way together. Yes?” he whispers.

You nod your head.

“Yes, we will”, he says and watches as you furrow your brows sadly, “what’s the matter?”

“I want to marry you”, you confess, “but if I can’t find a strong companion, my queendom will be without protection. My late husband never expected love from me, we were friends and I loved him dearly as such and now he is dead and I am destined to find someone to fill his place. I am frightened, Jimin. I do not want to pretend to love a stranger. Why did he have to die and leave me to fend for myself?”

“You are not alone. I’m by your side. I will always be by your side.”

“I know”, you blink your tears away, “I’m so grateful that you are”, you say and cup his cheeks.

He leans into the touch, lowering his eyes in the fondest of ways. He slides his left hand to the small of your back, while his right engulfs the nape of your neck. He tugs you closer, eliciting a whimper from you. You tilt your head up, closing your eyes to get lost in the kiss. But the kiss never comes. At least not on your lips. He kisses the tears from your cheeks before placing soft kisses on your sensitive neck, on the spots where it feels the best.

“Jimin….” you sigh, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. Your fingers grasp his tunic and twist it desperately, your legs close around him to tug him closer. You feel breathless. This is the kind of feeling you know to be attraction. This is how you feel when you crave someone’s touch. One kiss to your neck is enough to send your body into a blurred state of happiness.

Jimin lifts his pillowy lips from your neck. You chase him, even going so far as to slide your hand to his neck to pull him back, but he is stronger. He brushes his lips over your ear as he speaks.

“I won’t go further than this tonight. You are drunk and I am the last person who would make an indecent woman out of you.”

“I don’t care. I’m indecent with you”, you say, grabbing his hair to pull him close, “kiss me, Jimin. Please.”

Jimin allows you to win the fight and drag him into a kiss. It is a messy kiss. You are so drunk that you barely have coordination over your mouth. To you it felt like the most wonderful of kisses, but to Jimin it felt wet and just a little sloppy. He still kissed you back because he missed your kiss so much it became hard to breathe. He swallows the crude moans you let out while his hands touch your backside. You arch your back, rolling your hips into him. His calloused hands slide under your behind and lift you from the table. You moan, wrapping your legs around him as he carries you to bed. You are rubbing yourself against him, feeling suffocated in need. You missed him so much. You missed him. Missed him. Missed him.

Jimin places you in the sheets, but doesn’t climb on top of you. Instead he keeps one foot grounded on the floor, while the knee of his other rests between your opened legs. He breaks the kiss, brushing the back of his hand down your cheek.

“Sleep tight, ___ beloved”, he whispers and steps back.

“Jimin…please…”

He gives you a bow before turning his back to you and leaving your chambers. He keeps his sword on your bed as a symbol that he hasn’t left your life tonight.

The doors fall closed.

You touch your lips, gasping for air. He left you. He did so little tonight and yet your heart is hammering in your chest.

“Fuck”, you whisper, staring at his sword.

That night you do unspeakable things with its handle. Things so indecent that they couldn’t possibly be mentioned in these writings. And the most humiliating part was that you weren’t ashamed of them.

You don’t let the court know how hungover you felt. Frigga and your maids woke you two hours after the sun rose and helped you freshen up. They asked how you enjoyed the evening with Thranduin and you could simply smile and tell them that you had a good time with him. They missed how you ogled Jimin’s sword as you spoke the words.

Once they dressed you for breakfast, you left your chambers. You take Jimin’s sword with you, even if your servants seemed confused about its presence for a moment.

“He must have forgotten it as I got ready for the evening with Thranduin”, you lied and they didn’t probe any further.

“My Queen”, Jimin joins your side on the hallways. He is dressed in his armour and carries his spare sword. He bows at you, giving you a miniscule smile as he straightens up again. Happiness surrounds him today and you feel the same.

“Sire”, you greet him with a curtsey, stifling a giggle, “I noticed that you forgot your sword in my chambers.”

“Truly? I did? Oh how clumsy of me. I already looked for it everywhere this morning”, he says, “I must have forgotten it as you got ready for your evening with Thranduin.”

“I already figured that much. Worry not, I brought it with me”, you say and offer it to him.

Jimin accepts it with a bow of his head. He holds it by his sheath at first, furrowing his brows as his eyes scan over the handle.

Your heart flutters. He noticed.

He touches it, lifting his brows in surprise when he feels the sinful residue you left on it.

His eyes meet yours and widen. He knows. You allow a small smile to curl your lips. Oh how you are fighting with your giggles. His shocked face is such a delight.

“You should take better care of your swords, Sire”, you tell him and continue your strut to the dining hall.

Jimin stands and stares until even the last of your servants passed him. He waits until their chatters and giggles became quieter in the hallway and only then, he dares to brush his fingers against his nose. If he wasn’t yet sure about what covered his sword, he received all the reassurance he needed with just one inhale. He gulps and finds himself feeling dizzy. You pleasured yourself with his sword. With burning cheeks and his heart racing in his chest, he sets off to follow you. Today will be a difficult day. Oh how he yearns for you.

Thranduin is already in the dining hall when you enter it. He stands up and closes the distance between you and him. “Your Highness, you look lovely this morning”, he greets you and reaches for your hand to kiss it.

Jimin places the sword on his wrist. He kept it in its sheath, holding it by its soiled handle. Only he gets to touch it on this spot. You feel beyond excited at the view, which further proves how no other man could ever inflict the same feelings in you. You have a handsome suitor kissing your hand and yet the thought that Jimin touches the handle you marked brings you more joy than such a romantic gesture.

“The Queen prefers to be asked before she gets touched”, Jimin tells a baffled Thranduin. He glances at you, giving you a small smile. One you retort with a fluttering heart.

“Oh? I, I”, Thranduin stutters, “please forgive my manners. I must have believed that I had a right to a hand kiss after last night.”

You pull your hand free.

“No please, I took no offense. You must forgive my guard. He is overly protective”, you say and strut to the tables, “now, shall we have breakfast? I must say that I am starving.”

Conversation with Thranduin is great again. You feel comfortable with him and honestly laughed. Jimin didn’t mind bearing witness to them today. He knew of your true feelings, the sword he keeps clutching was proof enough. What you are currently doing was for show.

You ask Thranduin if he and his escorts felt in the mood for a game of Stickball in the castle’s garden. He agreed and so you find yourselves playing stickball in the gardens.

Stickball was an incredibly fun game which originated in your queendom long, long before your time. Back in its beginnings, people used sticks they found on trees to carry a spherical stone to a basket on the ground without dropping it. Over time one basket became multiple baskets placed over the playing field. These days, there are tools for the game and it is played whilst sharing honey wine and pine cone jelly biscuits. You refuse the wine today.

Thranduin is busy with his play and the others on the court are busy with exchanging cultural stories, so only Jimin bears witness to your refusal.

You stand under the shadow of a tree, leaning your weight onto your sticks, when he closes in to whisper.

“Does someone regret last night?” he is teasing.

You still feel drunk enough to feel the need to tease as well. You turn your head so your noses almost touch.

“You carry proof of how much I regret last night in your hand. Need I say more?” you whisper, ending it with a seductive look to his lips.

Jimin flusters, taking a step back.

You chuckle, leaving him under the shadow as you join Thranduin’s side.

“You seem to know your way around this game very well, Sire.”

“You must be mocking me right now. I am truly terrible at it.”

You laugh.

“But you are talented for your first time. Not everyone manages to keep the ball balanced for such a long time.”

“You believe so? Well, then I feel good in my play”, he jokes and seconds later, drops the ball. You and he share in laughter.

“See? I am terrible.”

“Fret not, it took me a long time to get good at the game”, you say and pick up your ball, “I shall show you how it is done.”

“I have to look thoroughly then”, Thranduin says and laughs when seconds later you drop the ball as well.

“Oh by the heavens, I-”, you let out and glance at him, “I must insist this only happened because I am still drunk.”

“Yes, yes tell yourself such lies, Your Highness”, Thranduin teases and picks up his ball for another try.

The game is amazing fun. Thranduin is wonderful company. You joke, exchange stories, laugh and have fun. He feels like a friend you have known for a long time. But this is as far as your interest for him goes. Friendship.

Your feelings for the situation became so painfully obvious to you now that you had the memory of last night replaying in your head. You liked Thranduin as a friend and hope to continue this friendship, but your heart lies with your knight. You do not want to deny those feelings any longer.

Thranduin is currently busy exchanging stories with Frigga. You and he already moved on to the fifth basket on the playing field. There were still ten more to go. Now experiencing a moment of silence, you begin looking for Jimin. He is standing with the other guards under the shade of the trees. His eyes meet yours instantly and light up. He smiles, you retort it.

The heat of the sun, the lightheartedness of the game and the lingering wine in your veins blurs your sense of care today. And so you listen to the voices of your heart and make your way to Jimin.

Not before interrupting Thranduin’s story for a quick, “I feel the need to freshen up. I shall return shortly. Frigga, you can play in my stead.”

“Are you feeling alright, my Queen?” she asks.

“Yes, yes I just drank too much and need to use the private chambers.”

“Understood, my Queen”, she says with a nod of her head.

“I shall attempt to get better till you are back”, Thranduin jokes, eliciting a small laugh from you before you officially excuse yourself.

Jimin straightens up in giddy nervousness once he sees you strutting to him confidently. His heart is racing. He didn’t expect to be approached with such confidence.

“I need to freshen up”, you tell him.

“Yes, my Queen”, he says and leaves his spot to tail behind you.

You pass a few people on your way through your gardens. They greet you with bows while you greet them with a smile. You manage to get as far as the lower hallways and then loneliness surrounds you. No other people are in sight.

Jimin looks around. Left, right, front and back. You and he are alone. There is a broom cabinet to your right. Jimin looks at you and grabs his soiled sword. This is his chance.

He closes the distance and touches your waist.

“Oh”, you gasp in surprise, squeaking when he twirls you and pushes, “what are you doing? Jimin, what-”, an unflattering, yet honest cackle leaves you, "heavens, you."

Jimin pushed you into the broom cabinet. It is big enough to house hip high dressers and ceiling high shelves. Your gardeners use it to store their equipment in here, as well as pillows for the garden. He kicks the door closed and uses the soiled sword to seal it from inside. Then he turns, grabbing you again to lift you off your feet and onto the dresser.

You grab for him, pulling him into a kiss in sync with him leaning into it. It results in your teeth colliding with each other.

“Careful”, you giggle, smiling into the kiss.

“Forgive me”, he mumbles and claims your lips in a passionate kiss. He doesn’t care about the clumsy mess-up, not when he wants you achingly.

You moan and pull him closer. Your limbs wrap around him, your hands grasp him desperately. You need him closer and no matter how close you and he are, it isn’t enough. This is everything you wanted for weeks. To go without his kiss was torture.

“I can’t breathe”, Jimin confesses between kisses, “I’m ruined.”

“Jimin, closer”, you beg, pulling him into a kiss. Your tongue traces his lips. He grants you access instantly, allowing you to show him the tempo. Desperate. Messy. With barely any honour. You grind yourself against him and in return, he can’t stop rolling his hips into you. This is scandalous. No decorum is left. You have never needed each other more than you do right now. You can’t be mannerly, not when your very souls need to be connected.

You tug at the straps of his shoulder plates. It takes some time to take off his armour, but you have practice with it. Too many times you and he had to be quick. Too many times, you had to be fast in undressing each other because little time was all that you had. You learned how to do it in a haste. You studied his armour until you knew where it was easiest to open.

You tug the correct strap open. His shoulder plates fall off of him. Jimin moans and pulls you closer. His right arm is around your waist, pressing you into him. The kiss to your lips breaks because he needed to worship your neck. He does it sloppily and with desperate whimpers leaving him.

“I can’t stop thinking about you”, he moans between kisses, “what you did with my sword. It drives me mad.”

“I had to. You left me alone”, you moan, struggling as you open the straps for his chest plate. He is sucking on your skin, kissing the spots most sensitive and kneading your flesh with desperate fingers all while his hips keep rolling into you as if he was already fucking you.

You open the strap. His chest plate falls off, his back plate follows as well. Now he is before you in nothing but his linen shirt tugged into his pants. You grab it desperately, feeling him up through the fabric. It is damp because it was a hot day and armour makes one very hot. The sensation makes you moan. He is so heated up, so undoubtedly him. There is no one else who gets to feel him when he is this way.

“I need to have you, please”, he begins begging because your touch through such a thin shirt is hard to bear.

“Open my dress”, you order as you are busy tugging his shirt from his pants.

“You have too much lacing. Why must you wear such a dress today?” he whines as he tries to open it.

You giggle, Jimin does as well. You and he shared this struggle on many occasions, but today it feels special. It fills your hearts with happiness because such a struggle meant that you and he were finally together again.

“I felt beautiful.”

“You are beautiful”, Jimin says and struggles, “fuck, I can’t do it this way”, he says and swoops you off the dresser to put you down in front of him. He twirls you so your back is facing him.

“You are so indecent”, you giggle, pressing your behind into him while he gets busy with your lacing.

“I learned from you”, he answers you, meeting your hips in rolls of his own.

Jimin manages to unlace your dress quickly in this position. He tugs it open and pushes it down your shoulders. It falls to the floor. You turn and allow him to lift you out of the fabric heap. You squeak and giggle as you do, pulling him into a kiss.

He feels weakened. He stumbles and falls against the shelves, sliding you down until your feet touch the ground. You pin him against the shelves instantly, kissing him so deeply Jimin finds it difficult to stand. His hands are holding you by your waist, his fingers dimple your flesh. Your underdress is made out of a thin fabric. It is as if he was already touching your bare skin. You are heated up as well, forcing moans to the tip of his tongue. There is no better feeling than that of your warm body.

His sword falls to the ground. You opened the belt, allowing it to drop. The sound doesn’t startle Jimin. In fact, he barely hears it as his ears are filled with nothing but your moans and heavy breathing.

Seconds later, he feels your hand slide down his pants. You find him instantly, rubbing him vigorously.

“___”, he moans breathily, breaking the kiss just so he can rest his forehead against yours and shudder in pleasure. He throbs in your hand, soiling your palm with his wet pleasure.

“You are so hard”, you croak, playing with his sensitive tip. You squeeze it gently, forcing more of his wetness to leak.

“Please can I h-have you?” he begs in a pitched voice and his knees trembling uncontrollably.

“I shouldn’t allow you. As punishment for abandoning me last night”, you taunt.

“Please, oh-” he nips at your jawline, “I wanted to be respectful, I- oh please.”

“I had to pleasure myself with your sword. Do you have any idea how desperate that left me? How humiliating it was? I couldn’t stop until my legs shook, Jimin.”

“Please”, he breathes out, collapsing into you before he catches himself again. His forehead rests against the side of your face, his pillowy lips brush over your cheek as he fights for air, “I’m sorry.”

“Mhm Jimin, you are such a treasure when you beg”, you rasp, slipping your hand out of his pants, “you can fuck me.”

“My Queen”, Jimin mewls and falls to his knees before you. He runs his hands up your legs, gazing at you with utter devotion in his eyes, “my beloved ___”, he croaks, punching up your dress with his hands as his lips worship your inner thighs.

Your breath shudders, your heart skips too many beats. He is so out of breath, so obviously ruined, kissing his way up your inner thighs until your heat is under his lips. The dress covers most of his face this way, his strong hands are on your hips keeping you close.

His wet tongue suddenly laps at your heat, sending fiery pleasure through your veins.

“Ah! Jimin!” you moan loudly, throwing your head back as your hands try to grab his hair. You sway because it gets difficult to keep yourself standing when he is using his mouth in such desperate manners.

He is sucking and licking you vigorously, producing the most sinful of sounds. He is moaning as well, letting you know how much enjoyment he finds in the taste of you. His strong, calloused fingers keep kneading you desperately, leaving marks of sensitivity all over your skin.

“I missed you”, he gets out, pulling you onto his face until there is nothing but your scent filling his nose and your taste coating his tongue. He flicks it quickly, slurping up the masses of saliva his greedy mouth produces. He is untamed in the way he tastes you.

Jimin is a very mannerly lover. Too much he worries to soil your treasured heat with disrespectful oral. Most times it was you who had to tell him to let manners by the door. So to have him so unapologetically feast on you as if you were his last meal truly ruins you. Especially when you had to go without his touch for months.

Jimin takes your clit between his puffy lips and sucks, growling and moaning around you as his lips truly come to good use in massaging you just right.

“Oh Jimin, I’m close”, you confess in a squeak, fighting gravity. Your fingers tug on his hair painfully.

Jimin chuckles, sucking on your clit one more time before he tilts his head up. Your dress ruffled his hair, his puffy lips are wet in your sweetness, as his chin. His eyes gleam in dark pleasure and hungry desire, running up and down your body.

“I barely did anything”, he is teasing because he knows that he is allowed to do so.

“It has been months for me as well”, you defend yourself, giving his hair a gentle tug, “do not make fun of me.”

“I’m not. I love when you are like this”, Jimin smiles, squeezing your hips, “I want to fuck you so good”, he rasps as he rests his chin against your lower tummy, gazing up at you like a love drunk puppy. He sticks his behind out for it, looking truly to die for.

You ruffle his hair, “you and your dirty mouth. Get your cock out. Now.”

“Yes, my Queen”, Jimin obeys.

He takes his cock out of his pants, sitting on the ground as you keep him down with just a look. Jimin loves following your orders and there are no orders sweeter than when you tell him exactly what to do during sex.

He kneels once he is bared, keeping his hands on his sculpted thighs. His tunic, punches up on them, hiding his cock from you. You glance at it. Jimin fixes it instantly, stuffing the fabric behind his cock so it was visible to you.

“So good for me”, you praise, running the back of your hand down his cheek.

Jimin closes his eyes halfway, chasing your touch with a sigh.

“Sit down so I can get comfortable.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

You place your hands on his shoulders once he fixed the position and lower yourself, sitting comfortably on his lap. He touches your waist, meeting your fond gaze with even greater fondness.

“I’m happy”, you confess.

“I’m happy too”, he answers you and gives you a gentle tug, “I want you. Please.”

“Yes. Yes, I want you as well”, you say and lift yourself to fix your positions. Jimin wraps his hand around his length, keeping it straight so you could slide down on him with ease. There is no friction, no discomfort. Just warmth and the overwhelming feeling of reconnecting with each other.

“___”, Jimin moans, looking up at you with glassy eyes. His lids flutter, his fingers dimple your behind, “I missed you so much. Oh, you feel so good.”

“I missed you as well”, you croak, bottoming out. You grab his face, “Jimin. Beloved”, you whimper, pulling him into a kiss.

“Beloved”, he sobs, keeping you close as his trembling lips kiss you back desperately.

Your hips dance on his lap, chasing the feeling of him. There is no other person who fits as well as Jimin does. He makes you feel whole, as if a missing piece finally returned. Being with him not only heals your body from the aches of desire but also heals your heart from loneliness.

“You feel so good”, you keen, panting desperately as your lips chase him. It is difficult to kiss, but you just can’t get yourself to stop. You need to make up for months of lost connection.

“Yes, yes, you do”, Jimin moans, holding you close. He is helping you with the movements, finding his only support by grasping your hips.

It doesn’t matter if you and he love each other slowly or if you fuck like animals, it always heals your hearts. Because what you and he are doing isn’t just simple fucking, it is yet another way to confess each other’s love. And today it leaves you especially breathless.

You were so lonely without each other, your hearts were so broken. Every second spent reconnecting with each other mends the deep cracks in your hearts.

“Oh, my Queen”, Jimin whimpers and drops his head into the crook of your neck. He hugs you against his chest, forcing your desperate hips to slow down. Like this, he is deep inside you while your movements are reduced to movements back and forth.

“Jimin”, you whimper, dropping your own head as your arms close around him. He rubs against the most sensitive spots this way, reminding you how wonderful it felt to be with him.

“I love you”, Jimin presses out, twisting your dress at your back to pull you closer.

“I love you too”, you answer him, spilling tears while your warmth convulses around his length.

“I love you so much”, Jimin sobs, squeezing you tightly.

“I love you too”, you moan, twisting his hair, “I want to be so much closer.”

“Me too. Oh me too, it isn’t enough”, Jimin croaks and grabs your behind just to press you against him. Your clit rubs against his toned stomach, his cock bends just right to stimulate your favourite spots.

You tighten in reaction, struggling with your movements.

“Ah”, your voice pitches, “ah, Ji-Jimin.”

“You’re so warm and, and ah…tight”, he keens, “does it hurt?”

You shake your head vigorously, “no, but it, it brings me close. Please don’t stop.”

“If you let go, I have to as well.”

You shudder, grabbing for him. You want to hold him so much closer but you can’t. You feel charged in pleasure as if his touch enchants you.

“I love you, Jimin beloved. I love you, I love you”, you chant, finding it harder and harder to move whilst at the same time, speeding up more and more. You need to be with him. You need to experience sensations only he can make you feel. You need all of it. You need him and him and him.

“I love you too. I love you, so much”, he answers you each time a new confession of your deepest feelings roll off your tongue. He means it more and more with every repetition, finding it hard to function when you feel so good. His toes keep curling, he keeps gasping for air between his pitched moans.

“I have to let go”, you confess, muffling your desperate moans in his neck.

“Please don’t hold back, I need it”, he begs, squeezing your hips.

“Jimin”, you moan, letting go of the tension.

“___”, Jimin follows instantly, spilling tears as his arms cradle you tightly.

You and he had orgasms more intense in your time together. Orgasms which left you disoriented and out of breath and yet somehow the high you share today feels the most intense a high has ever felt. You and he stood at the edge of the cliff, you tasted how it would feel to live without each other. So to be finally reconnected and to share such a vulnerable state with each other feels like medicine to you and him.

You are finally together again. The painful loneliness is no more.

You stay seated on Jimin after your highs died down, sharing silence. You fill it with heavy breaths and small whimpers of recovery. Jimin does the same, holding you so tightly without once moving his hands from the spots he has grabbed. He needs to make sure that you stay with him, that he can truly live out the full potential of the hug.

“Do you feel alright?” he checks up on you

“I feel so good. You?”

“I feel so good”, he says and exhales shakily, “I don’t want you to leave again”, he whispers.

“I do not wish to leave”, you answer him, squeezing him gently, “I will tell Thranduin that I do not wish to marry him. I never did.”

“I’m so happy to hear that. My heart ached unbearably these past months”, Jimin says and squeezes you back, “my beloved ___, don’t ever push me away again.”

You shake your head, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for causing you so much grief. I wanted to keep you safe and yet hurt you in the process. It hurt me as well, my Jimin, you mustn’t think that it didn’t.”

“Don’t apologise, I understand.”

You take a deep breath of relief, scratching your nails over his scalp softly.

“It will be difficult. We are still a small country without a strong ally on our side.”

“No matter what will happen, I will stay by your side”, Jimin promises.

A warm smile curls your lips. You lift your head, meeting his eyes. They soften instantly. His left hand comes up to cup your cheek. He caresses it with his thumb.

“You’re my best friend as well, my Jimin and you’re the man I love. I do not want to hide my feelings anymore”, you say, painting soul-consuming love onto his features.

“I love you too”, he whispers, cradling your cheek in his calloused hand, “and I always will.”

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes halfway.

“Now we must figure out how to get back to the game without causing suspicion”, you say, making Jimin laugh.

“Ah putting on your dress will be a bother”, he chuckles, making you laugh with him.

“As will be your armour. Do not pretend to wear easier clothing”, you tease him, basking in how much more he laughs because of it.

Now everything is truly right in the world again.

You invite Thranduin into the garden for a conversation come the next day. You were a little sad to see him go because he had the potential to become a great friend, but more than anything you were excited for what was to come. You will be with Jimin and that is the sweetest future you can imagine.

“I think that I might not be ready for new marriage yet. The loss of my late husband affects me deeper than I thought it does”, you tell Thranduin.

You expected Thranduin to meet your confession with shock and disbelief, but instead he is smiling.

“I understand”, he says, “but you mustn’t feel as if you needed to lie to me.”

“What are you saying?”

“I know when someone’s heart is already taken. I can advise you to follow it, even when he is merely your guard.”

“Oh. Heavens, I- how did you…”

Thranduin laughs.

“It is as simple as that I was on the way to the private chambers when I passed the broom cabinet as you…well, I am certain that you are aware of what you did.”

“Oh by the heavens, this is humiliating. I must apologise. Such behaviour isn’t like that of a Queen.”

“Fret not. From one ruler to another, I can keep a secret. However, I wish that your love can be public soon. He seems very fond of you and very protective as well. He would make a good husband for you, Your Highness.”

You fluster, “I thank you Sire, for keeping this secret and for understanding. I deeply regret if I gave you hopes of a future together.”

“There is nothing to apologise. I came here to meet the wonderful Queen of Windfell and I will leave having made a new friend. If that is what you desire as well, that is.”

You smile.

“I like the sound of that. I grew quite fond of you as a friend.”

“Then it is decided. From this day forward, Windfell and Dragonrock are united by friendship. We will aid each other in times of need, stand side by side in battle and trade with our countries’ finest goods. And we shall meet up for more Stickball. I must win at least once."

You laugh, "I am quite certain that you will, Sire. And I cannot wait to meet you again. You are always a welcome guest at Windfell.'

“As are you on Dragonrock. I must show you around the capital then and the white sand dunes.”

“Yes, I would enjoy this a great deal. I will try coconuts as well.”

Thranduin laughs, nodding his head, “you must bring your knight with you then.”

Your cheek feel hot, your heart flutters.

“Heavens”, you murmur, fanning air to your face.

Thranduin chuckles fondly.

“So it is decided then. Our nations are united by friendship. Shall we shake hands on it or will your knight slap my hand away again?”

You laugh, “I am sure that he can excuse a friendly handshake.”

You enter the throne room. It is busy with the court. They bow as you pass them.

“Frigga!”

Conversation dies down now that you are talking.

“Yes, my Queen?”

“Send word to every possible suitor that I have decided to stop looking for one.”

“My Queen, I don’t understand.”

“It is easy, dear Frigga. I have found my husband.”

Jimin stiffens up in his chair, feeling his heart sink. You promised him that you would send Thranduin away and yet you come back bearing news of marriage. His heart is shattered and he feels like death would be easier to bear.

“Oh truly that is wonderful-”, Frigga stops in her celebrations when outside your window, Thranduin leaves Windfell on his dragon, “-but why is he leaving?”

“Oh no, you misunderstand. Windfell gained a loyal and strong friend in Dragonrock. I will visit his country soon and we shall seal our friendship bond with a contract. But he is not who I want to marry”, you say, walking up the stairs to your throne.

“My Queen, I don’t understand. Who caught your eye then?”

You smile.

“Jimin.”

The court gasps, staring at the baffled guard. Jimin stares at you with disbelief on his features.

“If you feel the same as me and it is what you want as well, come up here and allow me to make you my husband.”

“What are you saying?” Jimin gets out. He is already crying.

“You heard me”, you say and laugh in unbearable happiness, “come up here and be my husband.”

Jimin squeaks and jumps into a sprint. He takes two steps at a time. You laugh with him, welcoming him with open arms. You squeak when seconds later, he sweeps you off your feet to twirl you and him as squeals of contagious happiness leave him.

“Are you certain? Are you truly certain?” he asks, beaming up at you.

“As certain as breathing is, my beloved Jimin.”

“Oh my beloved ___”, he gets out and kisses you.

And to your happy surprise, the court celebrates with cheers and laughter. It may be terribly confused, but your happiness was truly contagious. Frigga exchanges a knowing and happy look with your maids. It was about time you and your knight showed the world your feelings. She had hoped that you would.

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peoniesnro · 8 months ago

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Chapeter Index

In Another Universe

Synopsis- When you're just another iteration of Park Jimins girlfriend in a different universe.

Genre- Parallel universe au/ Strangers to ??/ Smut/ Angst/ Fluff/ Infidelity

Warnings - Smut / Infidelity/ Language

Status - Ongoing

Taglist?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter #1. Park Jimin

Chapter #2. A Lil' Roll

Chapter #3. Perfect Strangers

Chapter #4. F.R.I.E.N.D.S

Chapter #5. A beautiful memory

Chapter #6. A day in paradise

Chapter #7. GOOD FUCKING BYE!

Chapter #8. The Burning Pit of Fire

Chapter#9. Make It Right

Chapter#10. The Other Woman

Chapter#11. Jeon Jungkook

Chapter#12. RUINED and DESTROYED

Chaprer#13. Falling Deep and Down

Chapter #14. Beginning of the END

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1343401 · 2 months ago

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masterlists ⋆｡𖦹 °🐋⋆｡˚♡

ot7 series -

echos of the sea

synopsis: dragged into the pages of a novel she can’t escape, noh jiah finds herself serving yiseo, the kingdom’s flawless heroine. but as the men who adore her best friend begin to look at jiah with hunger in their eyes, a dangerous game of passion and power ensues. each man more captivating than the last, and with a world full of secrets and temptations, jiah realizes she’s no longer a mere background character. she’s the one who might just break the hearts of all seven men, or have them bow to her will. the lines between loyalty, love, and lust blur as she dares to rewrite her fate.

pairing: bts x reader

started: 01.20.25

status: ongoing

word count: 68.7 k

warnings: depictions of violence, smut (eventually), death, family trauma, insecurities, mentions of blood

captive desires

synopsis: after the passing of her grandparents, myah inherits their mansion, the only home she’s ever known. but when she stumbles upon a hidden basement, she uncovers a chilling secret: her grandparents weren’t just caretakers, they were notorious hybrid hunters, and the seven hybrids they captured are still alive. horrified, myah vows to set them free, but the hybrids have a darker plan. in a twist of retribution, they demand she care for them in exchange for their freedom. now, trapped in a deadly game of desire, control, and obsession myah must decide how far she’s willing to go to survive and whether she can resist the pull of the very creatures her grandparents sought to control.

pairing: bts x reader

started: 02.06.25

status: ongoing

word count: 24.1 k

warnings: depictions of violence, smut (eventually), death, family trauma, mentions of blood, slight yandere-ish behavior, (animal) abuse, kidnapping

requiem of the broken

synopsis: park minji's entire existence had been confined to the cold, sterile walls of the breeding facility. a place where women were no more than vessels for the insatiable hunger of the vampiric elite. she had known nothing but fear, awaiting her fate: to be chosen for breeding, or sold as food to the bloodthirsty. but when she is selected by the coven of the damned, she is thrust into a dark, twisted world of power, lust, and unimaginable cruelty. now, minji is not just prey, she is the object of their relentless, carnal desires, a pawn in a deadly game of dominance. as the vampires take turns bending her to their will, minji must decide: will she submit to their hunger, or will she burn the world down in a desperate, blood-soaked rebellion of her own? in the coven's grip, there's no mercy, only the unrelenting thirst for power and pleasure that threatens to consume her whole.

pairing: bts x reader

started: 02.09.25

status: ongoing

word count: 3.1 k

warnings: depictions of violence, 18+, death, non con, mentions of blood, vampires, selling of people

one shots -

beneath burning skies

synopsis: in the quiet village of jangsu, seojin’s life changes the moment she finds a dragon and its rider, both broken and vulnerable. as she tends to their wounds, the air crackles with something dangerous, something forbidden. the dragon’s touch leaves her skin burning, while jungkook’s quiet presence pulls her into a world of desire she’s never known. trapped between the two, seojin finds herself falling deeper into a passion that threatens to consume her, each stolen touch a promise of something darker, hotter, and far more irresistible than she ever imagined.

pairing: dragon!namjoon x reader x dragonrider!jungkook

word count: n/a

warnings: depictions of violence, 18+, mentions of blood, shifters,

taglist: @canarystwin @sathom013 @gracefulsakura98 @ihatesnakeu7 @dachshunddame @moonxxlover @lovelyglares @multifandomfreakster-blog @dawnzephyr @seomta @mar-lo-pap @chroniclesofbts @minjianhyung @wannaghostbts @kpopdreamer95

join taglist!

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run-its-moon · 2 months ago

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A Song Once Forgotten - Chapter One

Pairing: BTS (OT7) X Reader

Genre/Themes: Dragon!AU, Shifter!AU, Pioneer themes, Powers, War, possible/Eventual smut

Warning's: 18+ for gore, minor swearing, possible smut, Character Death (not OT7), Animal death, Religion/history being rewritten, topics that relate to climate change, Eventual War, humanity is kind of Oppressed,

Hi everyone! I'm really ecstatic about posting this on here, there is also some character profiles on my page to check out for a little bit of a sneak peak of whats going to be coming.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Here in a clearing that a small settlement has taken upon to live in. Near the outskirts of the settlement, a small Spindly path leads up to a cabin in the woods, trees cluttered around the home, much further away from others. The cabin bears home to a Father and Daughter. Though her father is dying and the settlement has plans for her that have been set for generations. Will she leave or stay?

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Mornings are the coldest this time of the year, with frost thickening the ground and leaves falling. Crops were always harvested before the frosty mornings came. Father used to be out chopping wood right as the sun rose, but with his sickness he stays inside near the fireplace. Saying his limbs need the warmth to stay loose. Although those topics hardly cross my mind that morning, while I'm stuffing my boots on. Keeping my layers thick, it may not be the cold stretch officially but it was nearly here.

I tugged my cloak to sit on my shoulders just right while I chewed the inside of my cheek, a habit I couldn’t break. Pushing a little on the wooden floor just to hear the creaking. Just as I reached for my bow I heard the creaking of a door.

“y/n?” I looked over my shoulder to see father standing just outside of the door to his room. The sun hadn’t peaked up through the trees just yet, though there he stood still in his bedwear, with sleep clinging to his old face.

“Father?” I made my way around the lumber pile near the front door, standing nearly infront of him. I went to question why he was out of bed, instead being met with his calloused hand instead as he started to speak.

“Be careful out there today, yesterday your Uncle Ty said there was a bear lurking around close to the cattle.” he gripped my shoulder lovingly with a small squeeze. “I meant to say something yesterday but you know how I am.”

A smile gripped my lips, I more than appreciated that my father cared to warn me so early even though he was obviously tired.

He’s always been genuine. Even with his health getting worse every day. “Thank you father, I'll keep low, and stray from there.” he nodded, closing his eyes, and sighed. Over time his eyes have developed crows feet even more so since the last few years. Losing most of his muscle as well due to his sickness. But the old man held onto life the best he could, still working with wood and bone. Even when his body doesn't cooperate.

“I'm off to bed again, I’ll be up later on in the day.” he turned around while running a hand through his greying hair. “Bring back something for dinner, we're low again...” unable to clearly hear the last part he muttered.

“Pardon Father?” I asked, grabbing my bow off the old rack near the front door.

“Nothing Deer, I was just talking to myself.” I nodded at his retreating figure. Chewing on the side of my cheek while slinging the quiver over my shoulder. Once my quiver was secure I made sure to check my clothes and the bow before I put my arm through it to keep it on my shoulder.

“I’ll be back soon!” I let out a shout as I closed the door behind me. Stilling for a moment in the cold morning air I sighed. Taking note of the darkened ground around me.

I watched the sky for a moment, the rain clouds still grey from last night’s late shower. ‘Hopefully the hunt won't be too difficult with the mud.’ It definitely wasn’t ideal to hunt but even a rabbit would suffice. I licked my lips, “Rabbit stew sounds delicious right now.” Setting forward, I picked a direction away from the farm in the settlement to enter the depths of the forest.

The brush was usually thicker during the warmer parts of the year, but now it was near barren with nothing but some gold-yellow leaves left. Although we live so far from the rest of the settlement it was better this way, living close to the woods. The settlement wasn’t that busy often, especially since there’s not many people that come to and fro to trade with, were truly just a group of humans grouping together for survival.

I love my life, though with my fathers declining health it wasn’t perfect. He had some issue the healer couldn’t pin point, all they know is that it drains him more and more. They say he doesn’t have too much longer, maybe a year or so, but each cold stretch took more of his body away.

Choosing to ignore the thoughts of impending doom I focused fully on the world around me to begin my hunt.

I Watched a rabbit closely with an eagle eye, pinpointed on every movement it made. The rabbit chewed on the lower leaves of a bush that had yet to turn gold. Keeping my feet light on the soil, while avoiding the twigs and large branches on the brush around me. ‘I can't scare it away.’ I think to myself almost as if it was a matra. I pulled one of my arrows out of the quiver, notching the arrow into the bow and aimed towards its back. Keeping my arms completely still, I hadn't noticed when I started holding my breath, but I didn't move a muscle.

I kept still for a moment, holding the bow close to my lowered body as I simply watched the rabbit eat. Just as it lifted its body up to sniff I let the arrow loose.

I watched as the arrow struck the rabbits neck. Releasing the breath I was holding. Slinging my bow back around my body while walking towards the rabbit, still kicking its feet before it stilled.

I Grabbed the rabbit by the back feet, and pulled out the arrow. “May your life be blessed, the trip to your after life be quick, may you rest easy knowing you gave purpose.” then tied the rabbit by the feet with a string of twine after my prayer for the catch. ‘Thankfully I saw it, Father will be quite glad about this.’

Putting the rabbit under my arm for the walk home. The forest felt as though it loomed larger than life, the branches swayed far above. An odd creak would echo through the forest. it was unsettling with all the noises, the wind was definitely stronger. Bringing cold bursts with it and crow calls, making all the sounds feel so much closer.

I'll just stop by the settlement quickly after getting home, I don't particularly want to be out in this cold for much longer anymore. Even with my lined cloak I could still feel the odd burst of cold fly past me. Shivering more than that morning, the sun was still up watching it peak through the near barren branches.

My heart dropped with a sudden rumble of a roar striking the silent forest. I dropped to the ground hiding in the brush. Holding a breath, above me so far above, I watched the clouds caress the flying shape of what could only be a dragon. Shocking me that it was almost the same size as the clouds, I watched it roar again before veering northwards.

“Oh my world..” I'd never seen one with my own eye’s rather I only heard tales of them from others in my village. One of the newer members said one burnt down his old settlement, which is why he came from the forest burned and scraped up carrying nothing but a small bag. Others claimed they were vicious cruel monsters with no thoughts or feelings.

No one truly knows.

I allowed my heart to slow back to a normal pace before I moved forward. Though I couldn't hold myself back from looking up towards the sky wondering if I'll ever see another dragon in my lifetime.

My Walk ended by the sight of the wooden cabin, just being able to see the shaky two story building from my spot near the border of the woods. I trudged through the little bit of the woods I had left before I reached the clearing. Taking my time before I had to go inside. “ I should mention how little prey there is to hunt out, especially with how soon the cold stretch will be here.” muttering to myself as I breached the line between the forest and home.

Once inside I made sure to lock the door with the wooden beam, usually father didn't bother to lock it all too often but it should be more often with his health. “Why didn’t you lock the door again?” I called out towards the back room where I knew he’d be. Huddled up beside the fireplace whittling some wood.

“Because I didn't want to get up to unlock it once you got back deer.” I turned around like deja vu to see him standing leaning against the door frame. Rolling my eyes while I hung my bow and quiver up on the rack he made years ago.

“I see you caught a rabbit, run into any bears?” he laughed a little, before clutching his side, missing his look of pain i just smiled while i took my cloak off. Hanging it up beside the bow. “Why don’t we sit by the fire for a moment?”

Shaking my head while walking into the Disheveled mess of a kitchen. “Can’t I’m going into town and see Aunt Petunia and trade this pelt with Ivern for some carrots.”

“Why don't you turn the hide into some new boot linings?” I stopped myself from giving him a dirty look and just sighed.

‘If he's not mentioning the dragon from earlier maybe he didn't see it..’ I smiled to myself briefly before facing my father again. “I think getting carrots will be better, I’m going to go out for a while tomorrow like last year.” he grimaced then opened his mouth to speak, but i interrupted him. “Yes i already know what you're going to say, but it's better if i go hunt down a deer, the cold stretch will be here sooner then later and it's better if i do this now. Father please you can’t do it anymore and it’s better done sooner than later.”

My father trailed into the kitchen, leaning against a wobbly table as he spoke. “Your boots are old, and yes that's fine just make sure to ask petunia for one of her horses so you're not walking back with a dead carcass.” Then he bent over to pull out a tuff of fur from a boot. “And yet you tell me these are fine for the cold?” I rolled my eyes at him while I reached around to grab a knife.

“The boots are fine father, why did you do that anyways.” He had this smug look on his face while he moved around me to grab the other rabbit pelt.

“Just go get new boots, deer you’re crazy if you think you’ll last out there.” I shrugged and ignored him, continuing to cut up the rabbit I had in front of me.

He grunted and left the kitchen. “I'll just make a hat from the pelt father so don't fret too much.” No response from him left me peacefully cutting up the rabbit and prepping the stew to cook on the fire place for later. I may not have eaten lunch or breakfast but he didn't need to know that.

“Father excuse me old man.” I bumped his shoulder with my hip while I carried the old stone pot full of water and rabbit pieces.

“Oh now you're mentioning my age? Are we going to talk about you being 20 and unmarried yet?” Two years passed the traditional marriage age, with no plans on it either.

“I'm not that old, I haven't even killed a caribou yet.” What I really wanted to say was that I just saw a dragon for the first time in my 20 years of life. Yet I kept my mouth shut and just smiled at him.

Before I realized it the sun was past the middle point, The hide was wrapped with twine and under my arm for a trip to the settlement. Hopefully the walk would end up too long, my bones felt a little weak with how much i had travelled already. “Father? Could you keep an eye on the stew please? I'm going to head down to the settlement and trade this with Ivern.” I headed back towards the door, then shoved my feet into my boots and threw my cloak on a little bit in a hurry. I was already ready by the time I had heard from him.

Rolling my eyes I simply left. Shutting the door behind me, I made sure the door was closed a second time before I left for the settlement. The trail to the settlement was a little worn path in the ground from the years we have travelled to see the other’s.

Although the settlement was usually nicer during the warm stretches, with some flowers around the homes people built, especially around the pond in the middle.

The walk was over with my fast paced walk because of how badly i wanted to get out of the cold. Standing just at the entrance of the clearing they had created before I was even a thought. Around 13 cabins sprawled about, along with a few garden patches at the backs of them. Everyone around is fairly self sufficient, we can't grow crops very well on the rockier terrain where father has his cabin. Usually everyone is willing to trade with us since father creates some of the best wood working in town, he gets commissioned often, but with his health he no longer does larger pieces like he used to, and with no black smith anymore it gets difficult to get decent tools for his work. But I like to believe we're comfortably living, even if it is all we know how to live.

Not far from where I stood, there was a smaller pen with a single cow and donkey, the two of them moved towards the gate when they saw me. The donkey was doing his little call to me while I moved towards the pen. “Hi guys! How are you two doing?.” The donkey, henry and his friend tulip who was an all white milk cow, the two of them were owned by the newer resident of the settlement coming here around 4 years ago. He was a nice fellow only a few years older than me. I got closer to the fence line, where tulip immediately turned around to try and lick my face. “Tulip! I don't want you to slobber on me girl.” laughing while I tried to pet the top of her head while avoiding her tongue.

“I gotta go you too, bye henry bye tulip.” A smile was on my face while I pet the two of them. The house next to it was Iverns. Setting at a quick pace again, the sooner I was home the better. I really hated going to the settlement without my father, but it was becoming more and more common as the year got colder.

Iverns home was a single story cabin with a small deck on the front, only a little bit off the ground but it made a huge difference when it got muddy from the snow. Stepping up onto the wooden planks of the deck, then knocking on the door for a few beats. A small grunt came from inside then he was at the door, holding it open just a crack until he saw me.

“Hi Ivern.” I waved with a small smile before he opened the door full. Eye’s lit up at the sight of me.

“Y/N! What do I owe the pleasure of seeing out today?” He then moved to standing on the porch with me. I knew he was looking for a rabbit pelt for his wife, so I was really hoping to trade him for carrots. I held up the rabbit pelt with a small smile on my face as I watched his face light up.

“It's got a nice density, and I know your wife likes rabbit pelts, bet she’d like this one.” The rabbit was a nice brown colour, and with how I hit it earlier with my arrow little damage was done to the pelt.

“You have me there y/n what do you want for it.” putting the pelt back under my arm while I pretended to think for a moment.

“Carrots.” was all i said for him to turn back inside to go get what i asked for.

Moving to sit on the end of the porch. I watched a duck swim in the pond from across the settlement. Every so often it would go under water then come back up, keeping myself occupied by watching the bird while I waited for Ivern to return.

“y/n?”

‘Shit.’ To the left of me stood Alexander, one of the reasons I avoid going to the settlement without my father. He was an overly annoying boy around my age. A thin, scrawny one with a sunken look to his face. Which was ironic because of who his parents were. I waved at him, not bothering to look away from the duck again.

The floorboards creaked a little and before I knew it he was sitting inches away from me. I quickly moved away from him.

“Hi, is there something you need help with?” now looking directly at him. ‘Why doesn't he ever take the hint? Maybe that dragon should come back and eat me where I sit.’

He was average looking in all aspects, but if he’d put some muscle on himself maybe he would look more appealing but the sunken look on his face would always be unsettling to me.

“No not of that sort, just haven't seen you in awhile. How have you been?”

‘Ivern, save me please.’ I mentally groaned to myself. Trying to not grind my teeth with how uncomfortable I was.

“I'm doing well. Thank you, but I'm waiting for Ivern, then I'm off to my uncles for something quickly before going home.” he nodded, barely able to see him out of the corner of my eye.

“It's also getting darker, I can also walk you back home.” It was still a little while after sun high.

“No thank you, I appreciate it though.”

“Oh, come on y/n how would you be able to defend yourself if that bear showed up?”

‘I guess everyone here didn't see or hear the dragon then. But he's fully aware I can hunt, I've dropped off plenty of meat to trade with his parents.’

“No truly it's okay, i’ve got the self defence covered, don't worry.” now chewing on the side of my mouth. I tried occupying myself by going through my bag but he continued talking.

“Oh surely y/n-”

“y/n! I've got the carrots.”

‘What took so long Ivern, I was about to smack the boy.’ Hurrying to Ivern so quickly I almost tripped on the lip of the porch.

“Thanks Ivern! Really appreciate it! I hope the wife likes the rabbit pelt! By the way, I caught it this morning." taking the carrots, i walked away.

“Oh alexander! I was looking for you.” I glanced back towards the two, then watched as Alexander begrudgingly agree to whatever it was that Ivern wanted from him.

Petunia or as I prefer to call her Aunt Petunia, was married to my fathers best friend Ty, technically we are family somewhat in a way. With a little more pep in my step I made my way across the settlement to their house. They owned most of the horses in the settlement, especially after my mother passed.

Their Cabin was smaller than Ivern’s, only 3 rooms with a little out house in the back. I made my way to their front door, knocking politely while I waited.

I waited for a few moments outside as I listened to Petunia yell at Ty from what I could only assume was their kitchen. A mere moment later a tall man with a greying beard and a knitted hat stepped outside.

“Uncle Ty? I was wondering if aunt petunia was around, I have a question for the both of you.” He nodded then turned around still holding open the front door.

“Pea! y/n’s here!” A few shuffles came from inside, then before I knew it Petunia was warping her arms around me and ruffling my hair.

“Hi honey! How are things!” I pulled back from the hug a few inches to get a good look at her face. Petunia, a red headed woman that's just starting to get her grey hairs, though her face was beautifully freckled. The freckles covered the entirety of her face, and with her slightly pointed nose I always thought she was beautiful, especially her green eyes.

I smiled at the woman again before she released me from her death grip of a hug. “Things have been good Auntie, Father’s watching the stew while I come ask you guys something.”

“Must something pretty important for you to come all this way just to ask a question?” Nervously I started running a hand through my hair.

“Well I also got carrots!” holding up the 3 carrots I got from Ivern. ‘I'm pretty sure he gave us an extra one too.’ Lowering the carrots back down to my side. “I wanted to know if i could borrow one of the horses for a hunting trip, father says its the only way i can go.” mustering up a nervous smile waiting for their reaction.

Ty and Petunia both looked at each other for a moment, Tys eyes squinting for a moment before he nodded. “Yes you can, just make sure they get enough food and water please. Meet me here tomorrow morning as well and I'll saddle up with you.” Petunia was wiping her hands on the front of her dress while she talked. Then she turned back to look at me again. “I'll have it decided tomorrow which one you’ll take with you.”

“Thank you auntie!” I smiled at her before we both enveloped the other into a hug again, she kissed the side of my temple before letting go.

“Please stay safe honey, it's dangerous out there and it's getting colder.” I nodded at the two of them before walking away. I could hear them both go back inside a few moments later.

Suddenly I felt a grip on my upper arm, shocked a little I turned to see Ty holding my arm in a fairly tight grip. “y/n we should talk, me and your father-”

“If it's about me being married I'll pass.” I pulled, more like ripped my arm out of his grasp.

“y/n you need to realize you don’t have much time before-”

“No I will not aheed to the traditions-”

“y/n you are not above traditions and rules. You must realize that before he is dead. All your parents want from you is a good husband.” At this point we were in a staring match. Though I took a moment and looked away.

“No, I may not be above tradition. But I will not wear a dress, I don't want to stop hunting, I don't want to be stuck in this settlement with a man that doesnt love me!” I turned around to break out into a sprint. ‘How fucking dare he, its not his place.’

“y/n come back here were not done this fucking conversation!”

I got home a little later than I would have liked, exhaustion already getting to me from the event’s of today. I reached the front door a little more sluggish than earlier, hunger getting to me finally. With my one hand cramping from holding onto the carrots so tight, and the last bit of adrenaline leaving my system finally.

Even with the sky starting to get dark, as the older folks say it gets darker up here near the mountains compared to the settlements near the beaches.

“Father, how's the pot looking?” I asked the moment I walked into the cabin. The fireplace was still going from what I could hear.

In the back room my father sat on his stool beside the fireplace, hunched over and staring down at the pot. “Almost done y/n. Deer, come sit down and look at the fire with me.”

“In a moment father, I'm going to cut the carrots to add.” In the kitchen I cut up a carrot with a knife, chopping them into thinner slices, leaving the other two carrots in a basket in one of the cupboards. Dumping the handful of carrot slices into the pot near my father, I then moved to sit beside him.

“Father, how was your day?” he gently smiled to himself before meeting my eyes.

“It was well deer, thank you for asking.”

“I'm glad father, Oh and that boy alexander came up to me today again. Saying that he’d walk me home because of the bear.” laughing a little before I continued. “But Ivern saved me from his miserable chatter, and took him inside claiming he was looking for him. That boy's insufferable father.” his eyes crinkled at the sides when he smiled.

“y/n I know you dislike that boy but give him some slack he's got a big family at home." I snorted at his response.

“So? Doesn't make much of a difference when he assumes I can't take care of myself father.”

“I suppose you're right, deer.” I chewed on my cheek at the mention of Alexander's family. I simply nodded in response.

Me and father sat beside each other, my hand on his knee while we waited for the carrots to sink into the soup. I wasn't sure how long we stayed like this, silently enjoying the company of each other. With the fire roaring in the background licking at the bottom of the pot.

Our dinner was the same, eating out of hand carved bowls. Sipping on the stew while watching the fire. He didn't move from his stool, and i didnt move from my spot on the floor beside him. Life felt perfectly normal, and that itch on my side left me alone while I enjoyed the peace.

After dinner we both went to bed, his room was on the main floor, the door way into there was in the living room, while I climbed the stairs to head to bed. “y/n, i love you goodnight.” he called out, smiling to myself before replying.

“Love you too father, goodnight.”

The next morning i was rushing around to pack, though when i looked out one of the windows there was already snowfall, a nervous ghost of a feeling crept up my spine at the sight. Doubling up on pants and two shirts was my solution to it.

Though I still struggled to not feel nervous, biting on the inside of my cheek. While I packed up some food, which included a half carrot and some leftover chicken jerky from earlier that season. I was aware of my limits for food and how to cook food at a fire, i would be self sufficient when it called for it.

Packing up a satchel with the food and two hunting knives for my excursion. I also made sure to bundle up more than yesterday, putting on my thicker fur cloak, and gloves.

“I didn't expect the snow to fall so early this year.” The moment I stepped outside it was my first thought, usually we had a few more days for all the leaves to fall from the sky but oddly enough the cold stretch already began.

Though I ignored the nervous itching on my side. I needed to leave for Petunia and ty’s soon if I wanted to be gone before sunrise. ‘Even if Ty pissed me off, I need to head out.’

It was increasingly colder compared to yesterday, but now I stood in front of the gates to Petunia's pasture. It wasn't very large. Just big enough to hold 6 horses without getting too close to Alexander's family’s cattle pen behind it.

When I opened the gate a few of the horses looked up from their hay. Though i stood there for a moment in the cold, letting the snow whip around my cloak. Watching the small streaks of sunrise above the tree’s. “y/n!” I turned quickly to see petunia leaning against the fence.

“Hi Auntie, did you decide on which horse I'd bring?” she smiled softly, looking back towards the back end of the pasture.

“Well there's that big buckskin named Adonis, The red spotted one blue, she's a good girl but she's a little small, Rocky is a little out there. Hera’s got a foal coming in a few month’s at the start of planting. I'll need your help with her. She's that round palomino. The last two are blue and hera’s from two years, do you remember that.” while petunia talked to me i had watched each of them Blue looked like a good choice, even if she was a broodmare. I also have ridden hera before she was usually a really good mare.

“Of course I remember those two, I named blue’s foal that year comet. I'll take adonis if that's okay? Rocky almost kicked me before while I was bringing them hay." Petunia was standing beside me, arm warped around my shoulder in a half embrace.

“He got too excited that time I'm guessing?” Nodding to her, while we walked over to Adonis, up close he was a little bit bigger than I am, his withers just above my head, but his black mane and tail were a beautiful striking contrast from the snow.

“Hi boy.” she chuckled, smiling brightly at me while I held my hand out to the stallion, he simply nuzzled my hand before going back to his hay. We both smiled at each other, while she pretended to wrap a leed over his neck to have him follow us.

We stopped near a small wooden storage box behind her house. Adonis had followed us the entire way close behind her. “I'll help you saddle him, auntie don't worry.” I waved off her protests and saddled him up myself, leaving the bit for last.

“How long do you think you'll be y/n?” I stilled once she asked. ‘How long was I going to be?’ shrugging at her while I slipped a foot into the stirrups. We adjusted the stirrups once I was seated, giving her a nod once they were corrected.

“I'm unsure as of now, though I won't be returning till I hunt something large enough to last.” A firm nod was all I received from her. We stared at each other for a long moment, silence so loud my ears rang. Suddenly a single caw let loose from behind us. Turning in the saddle only to see a crow, huddled on the branch of a singular tree near us. It shifted, time froze, feeling the little beady eyes upon my soul before it disappeared into the cold morning.

“That was strange.” Petunia said before I could get my bearings together and startled me. I swung around to face her, she was smiling a little. But her brows were creased, barely visible under her bangs. I sighed before looking down at my hands, she was right it was in fact a little odd.

Nevertheless i must still leave’. I gave Petunia the best smile I could muster. “I'll be off now, i don't think i'll be gone long with this guy.” A simple curt nod was all I received before me and Adonis took off, heading northward towards the forest.

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morbidpandabear-blog · 24 days ago

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Farming Feline

Date posted — March 13 2025

Hybrid! Yoongi x Reader

Warning! — Down on his luck Yoongi, and fluff.

———————————————————————————

Y/N had always enjoyed the simple life on her farm. There was something about the steady rhythm of farm life that kept her grounded. The early mornings, the soft rustle of the wind through the wheat fields, the clucking of the chickens—all of it had become a comfort. It was just her, a small house, a few horses, and a whole lot of hay.

But one night, everything changed.

It started with the horses. They were whinnying, stomping their hooves, and generally making a racket that would’ve woken the dead. Y/N, groggy and annoyed, slipped out of bed and pulled on her thick flannel robe.

"Great," she muttered under her breath. "Probably just some raccoons again. Or maybe a fox... Who knows, at this point."

Y/N grabbed a flashlight and trudged out to the barn, hoping to quiet the animals and go back to sleep. But as soon as she stepped inside, she froze.

There, in the far corner, curled up like a cat in a sunbeam, was a man. Or, well, sort of a man. He had the body of a human, but his ears? Feline. Pointed, twitching ears. His eyes gleamed in the flashlight’s glow—bright, slitted pupils, the kind of gaze that made you think he could see through you.

She blinked. Then blinked again.

"Uh… hello?" she called out, trying to sound casual despite the fact that there was a hybrid in her barn.

The figure stirred, lifting his head. His hair was dark, almost black, and messy in a way that somehow still looked deliberate, like he had spent hours perfecting that disheveled look.

His voice was low, and a little gruff as he yawned, "What?"

Y/N took a cautious step forward. "What... are you doing here?"

The man, cat? looked at her as if the question was completely ridiculous. "What does it look like? I’m napping."

Y/N stared. "In my barn."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "I like barns. Good hay here."

"Right," Y/N said, trying to process what she was seeing. "Okay, um... you can't just sleep here. This is my barn."

The man—Yoongi, as it turned out after a few awkward moments of trying to get his attention—grumbled something incomprehensible. "I’ll leave in the morning."

Crossing her arms she spoke. "What’s your deal anyway?” Ignoring her question Yoongi began to pick at the hay underneath him.

"Right listen man," she said slowly. "I’m... I’m gonna need some answers. Like, why are you here? And—"

"I could ask you why you live on a farm in the middle of nowhere," he interjected, his tone still as gruff as ever, but Y/N couldn’t help noticing the flicker of humor in his eyes.

Y/N paused, biting back a laugh. "Fair point. But you still have to leave."

Yoongi sighed dramatically and stretched out, his tail flicking in an almost annoyed manner. "Look, lady. I’m... in between jobs. It’s hard enough to keep a job as a hybrid, let alone an apartment. So I thought I’d take a little nap before I figure out what to do with my life. Didn’t know the barn came with a roommate."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "How about we make a deal?"

"Yeah? What kind of deal?" he asked, his tone skeptical.

"It’s simple, I’ll let you have the spare room and you can have all the food you want, but in exchange you work here around the farm." she said, hands on her hips. " I don’t know if you could tell but I could use an extra set of hands around here."

Yoongi gave her a blank stare. “A farmhand? Really? I’m not exactly cut out for... whatever this is.”

Y/N crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Well, you're gonna have to do something or it wouldn’t be fair."

Yoongi grumbled something incoherent under his breath, clearly not thrilled with the idea. “Fine,” he muttered. “But don’t expect me to do anything that involves getting dirty. I’m a very clean person.” Y/N rolled her eyes. "You were trying to sleep in a barn, Yoongi."

———————————————————————————

The next few weeks were... interesting, to say the least. Yoongi wasn’t exactly what one would call a “hard worker.” He spent most of his time sitting around on hay bales, occasionally giving the chickens a half-hearted glare when they pecked too loudly. But Y/N had a feeling things would change sooner or later.

"Yoongi!" Y/N called one afternoon, holding a rake as she surveyed the field. "Why aren't you working?"

Yoongi, lounging on a pile of hay under the shade of an old oak tree, didn't even open his eyes. "I am working. I’m supervising."

“Supervising the hay bales?”

“I have a lot of experience in management,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head and yawning. Y/N huffed, trying not to laugh. “Alright, you manage that hay and I’ll get to the rest of the farm. And no more napping, okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Yoongi muttered, reluctantly hopping off the hay and walking toward the barn. “But only because you’re making me.”

———————————————————————————

As time went on, something started to change. Yoongi began to open up little by little. It started with small, random comments. When she made lunch one afternoon, he commented on how good the smell of her homemade bread was. He’d make remakers with only a hint of sarcasm now about how “ Maybe your food is better than scraps." though Y/N knew he secretly enjoyed every meal. And even though he was still aloof, he started showing up more regularly to help her with things—mending fences, feeding the animals, and even walking the horses when she needed a break.

One evening, after a long day of work, Y/N and Yoongi sat together on the porch, watching the sun dip below the horizon. She turned to him, sipping her lemonade, and noticed that he was... actually looking at her. Not just glancing, not looking past her, but genuinely looking, his coal black eyes thoughtful.

"Hey, Yoongi," she said, trying to break the silence. “You’re... not as bad as I thought you’d be.”

Yoongi smirked, though it was less cold now and more... fond. “Yeah? You’re not as annoying as I thought either.”

Y/N laughed, enjoying the lighthearted teasing. “Well, I guess that makes two of us.”

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence. Then Yoongi, looking at her more seriously, and spoke, his tone full of sincerity, "Thanks for letting me stay here. I know I’m not exactly the ideal farmhand, but... I appreciate it."

Y/N smiled, setting her glass down. "You’re starting to grow on me. Don’t get used to it, though."

He raised an eyebrow. "What, am I supposed to become some lovable farm cat now?"

She chuckled. “Maybe.”

———————————————————————————

A few months later, Y/N could no longer deny it. She’d developed feelings for the quirky, sarcastic man with the cat ears. Yoongi had somehow wormed his way into her life, and she found herself smiling now when she saw him perched on hay bales or tossing a sarcastic quip her way.

One night, after they had finished up a long day of chores, Yoongi dropped his usual detached attitude and looked at her earnestly as they stood by the barn.

“I’ve... uh... been thinking,” Yoongi said awkwardly. “I’m not exactly great with feelings, but... maybe this isn’t just a work arrangement anymore.”

Y/N tilted her head, her heart racing. “What are you trying to say, Yoongi?”

Yoongi scratched the back of his neck, his tail flicking nervously behind him. “I don’t know. I guess... I kind of like being here with you. More than I should. You make things... better.”

Y/N’s heart melted. “I feel the same way, you know.”

Yoongi smiled—a rare, soft gummy smile that made her heart flutter. “Yeah?”

"Yeah," she replied softly, taking a step closer. “You’ve grown on me too.”

And just like that, Yoongi, the aloof, sarcastic cat hybrid, had gone from being an unexpected farmhand to the person she couldn't imagine her life without.

———————————————————————————

From then on, Y/N and Yoongi became more than just farm partners. They worked together, laughed together, and even did the little domestic things that made life so special. They cooked dinner together (and occasionally bickered about who was better at making pasta). They did laundry, each pretending to be the expert in folding, but secretly stealing each other’s shirts when the other wasn’t looking. And, yes, they even took turns herding the chickens—though it was clear Yoongi was much more graceful at it, given his cat-like reflexes.

Before long, the farm felt more like home than it ever had before. It was theirs—Yoongi’s and hers—full of laughter, love, and, of course, a little bit of sass.

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staytinyville · 2 years ago

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Stay Alive (11)

BTS poly!ot7 x Reader

Magical Creatures AU

Series Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N NOT BETA READ (I did try the best to my ability). We're heading into the chapters where I tell you guys about their creatures. I want to hear your thoughts for each one! Shoutout to @laymegentlytorest and @kingarthurscat for your reblogs and comments. I love you guys lol. Keep them coming!

That day you had walked into work, you had thought it was going to be like any other. You had grown accustomed to the normal notes you would take on a daily. There had been nothing new to write about so you had no idea on how to deal with one of your patients withering in pain on the floor.

You hadn’t been able to find the boy in his room until you walked further in and heard his distressed breathing on the other side of the bed. You rushed over to find him curled up in a fetal position, breathing harshly.

“Kook?” You gasped, falling to the floor as you hesitated touching him. “What hurts?” You asked, trying to look him over and find the problem.

“Get away.” He gritted out, hands slapping onto the floor as he tried pulling himself up.

“No, you have to tell me.” You moved your hands to help him, tightening up your body as his hands gripped tightly onto your scrubs. “I have to take care of you.” You told him, helping him onto the bed.

“(Y/N). Please.” The boy whispered, panting. “It's not a good day.” He curled back up on his bed, groaning as his body seemed to twitch in pain.

From what you could see, he wasn’t physically hurt. Not to the naked eye at least. Whatever it was that was causing him pain was on the inside of his body. You figured it must have to do with his condition.

“Let me get you something.” You told him, moving to find the first aid kit. As you found some pain meds, you quickly filled a cup with water and moved back towards him. “Here take these.” You told him, handing him the pills.

Jungkook looked at your hand, smiling stiffly at your way of helping him. “They won't help, Tokki.”

He almost broke down when he saw tears well in your eyes. “Please, Kook.” You whispered. “I don't like seeing you in pain.” You sniffled.

He tried his best to get up to take the medicine, but someone shoving the door open stopped him from moving more. You both turned to the intruder, frowning at the nurse who had interrupted.

“(Y/N).” She said, looking between you and Jungkook. “ Doctor Hanseol would like to see you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you watched Jungkosk shiver from pain, clenching his muscles to soothe them. “I can't leave Jungkook.” You spoke up, shaking your head.

“He's in the lab.” The lady told you, not caring about Jungkook’s stability. You frowned deeply, looking at the man in worry.

“Will you be alright?” You softly asked him.

“Nothing I'm not used to.” He gave you a grin, wincing as his body shuddered again. You hesitated in getting up to leave, however seeing the stare the other nurse gave you made you rush outside.

You walked out into the main lobby to get access into the lab. While your badge had access to most rooms in the facility, the lab was not one of them. It seemed much more secure that not even the lab workers could get in. They needed someone to buzz them in. You understood all the security, however it was a bit excessive.

“Sir.” You bowed when you noticed your boss looking through a window.

As you grew closer you noticed it was to show the lab where the medicines were produced. They didn’t have large machines doing the work. Rather it was a variety of researchers hand making the drugs. There were a total of 5 each, being careful with whatever it was they were mixing.

You knew the company wasn’t large, even after 10 years. They had spent a good while with research from what you saw. They had barely started to give out their drugs for trials a few years ago which meant that they weren’t out to the public yet. It takes a long while to create the right medicine. And by the looks of it HYBE was heading in the right direction.

“Hello, (Y/N).” Hanseol kept his eyes on the window. “How are you?”

You tried not to frown at the small talk. “I'm fine. It's a very nice day today.” You spoke up.

“Yes.” Hanseol said. “Indeed it is.”

You hummed, turning to him as your anxiety flowed over. “Is there anything you need, sir?” You asked, trying to be polite. “Jungkook is not feeling well and I need to check up on him.”

“Is he now?” Hanseol squinted his eyes. “I think I know why.” He turned to you finally. “Not to worry, he goes through those episodes monthly.” He explained to you.

“He does?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Such a terrible thing for him really.” Hanseol hummed, turning back to the lab.

Just as you were about to ask for more of Jungkook’s information, an alarm started beeping from the lobby. Both you and your superior rushed out to the lobby following after the security that ran into the facility.

A large gathering had formed towards the bedroom sections, which made you have to push through the crowd. Your eyes went wide as you realized the security were all in Jungkook’s room. Without thinking you ran forward to enter. However, you were held back by someone.

“Jungkook!” You yelled. You watched as the man wildly thrashed around in the arms of some larger men. He had his teeth pulled back as growls seemed to ripple from his chest. He was hunched over, trying to throw off the people holding him down.

“Hey!” You tried to punch at the arm that was tightly holding you back. “What's wrong with him?” You cried out.

“Miss you need to step back.” The security man spoke.

“No, he's my patient!” You screamed. “I need to check on him.” You wriggled more, feeling tears well in your eyes as you felt frustrated with the security. When a whimper left Jungkook’s mouth, your head shot up, wide eyes on the man.

“Jungkook!” You cried, grunting as you started kicking and thrashing.

The man quickly looked up hearing your voice. When he saw the tears in your eyes and the man holding you back, the loudest of growls ripped from his throat, scaring those in the hallway. He grew angry seeing you be held in such a horrendous manner. He pulled a security guard off his arm, throwing him to the side.

“Let her go!” He screamed, throwing the guards off him. They were quick to hold him back once more, Jungkook going back to fighting them off.

Outside in the hallway, all of Jungkook’s brothers were trying their best to rush in and calm him down, however they too were being held back. Hanseol had a scowl on his face as he watched the boy beat the best security his kind had. He guessed even ogres couldn’t hold down an angry dog.

“Hoseok sedate him.” Hanseol told the boy.

Hobi quickly looked up to Hanseol, a worried expression on his face. “But he's not in the right state of mind.” He told the man.

There were consequences to doing things wrong. With how fragile Jungkook was at the moment, hypnotizing him would put him into a deep sleep that almost resembled a coma. Hobi would need more energy to wake the boy up.

“Do it.” Hanseol sneered.

Hobi glanced at Namjoon, getting a deep sigh from the taller man. He nodded his head once, glancing back into the room where Jungkook started to break furniture by throwing bodies over them.

Hobi moved past all the guards, making quick work to enter Jungkook’s room. He had been turned around which allowed Hobi to place his hands on the boy’s head. “I’m sorry.” Hobi whispers as purple mist flowed out of his fingers and into Jungkook’s eyes.

Jungkook didn’t do any else other than fall over onto the ground in a heep. “No!” You cried, tears falling down your cheeks. “Stop! Let him go!”

“Hey.” Namjoon spoke up, taking you out of the guards arms. As the guard tried to take you away from Namjoon, the dimpled man only gave him a death stare causing him to back off.

“(Y/N), he's going to be okay.” Namjoon soothed your, wiping your cheeks. “It'll pass.”

“What happened?” You began to hiccup, soflty rubbing your face into Namjoon’s clothing. The other boys gathered around you, trying their best to calm you down.

“It's what he's here for.” Jin told you, rubbing your back lightly. “He'll be fine.”

Hanseol sighed deeply as he rubbed at his nose bridge, turning aorund to head out his god forsaken facility. When he turned up at the lobby, he found his co-founder watching from the securtity cameras. The man turned to his friend, hands in his pockets.

“He's never acted out in that way before.” He spoke up nochalanty. “He's protective of the girl.” He added looking down at the computers that showed the hallway camera.

“She's not the first one.” Hanseol rolled his eyes. “However, you are right.”

The man turned to his friend, a deep frown on his lips as he suddenly felt annoyed. “Where have you been? You know we have three patients who are affected by the full moon. I only need you two days out of the month and you weren't even here.” He glared.

“Stop calling them patients.” Kyong rolled his eyes. “You harvest from them.”

“No. That is inhumane.” Hanseol shook his head, looking appaled. “What I do is simply extract certain things at a certain time to get the DNA I need. It’s to help those who need it most.” Hanseol smiled to himself, thinking about all the sick people he was helping.

“I don't see the difference.” Kyong deadpanned.

“Of course you don't, you big idiot.” Hanseol returned to glaring. “Now come on. You got two patients to sedate.”

I'm a bitch for people using the nickname Tokki when it comes to Jungkook.

Series Masterlist

@h3arteyes4mingi , @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh , @rinkud, @rln-byg ,

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minxmut-cafe · 1 month ago

Text

FUCKING MACHINE

Pairing : BTS Members x Reader.

Warning : smut, dirty talk, uses of a fucking machine, accidental voyeurism.

Authors note : Ehe.

Synopsis :

They come home expecting a nice warm welcome but the sight that greets them...oh my

NAMJOON

You don’t hear the front door open.

You don’t hear the keys dropping onto the table or the sound of footsteps moving through the apartment. You’re too far gone—too deep in your own world, panting, trembling, as the machine works its relentless pace, dragging out pleasure until you’re barely coherent.

But you do hear his voice.

"Baby?"

Your eyes snap open, panic flashing through you just as you feel the weight of his presence in the doorway.

Namjoon is standing there.

Still in his airport clothes, a backpack slung over one shoulder, his face slack with shock. His lips part slightly, his brows furrow, and for a moment—just a moment—he doesn’t move.

His gaze flicks down. And then he sees.

Sees the machine. Sees you, trembling, ruined, with your thighs spread wide to take every inch of the thick, pulsing replica of his cock. Sees how your body jerks every time it fills you, how your chest heaves, your lips parted on silent, desperate cries.

Sees everything.

His breath stutters. His fingers tighten around the strap of his bag.

"What…what are you doing?"

His voice is so soft. Confused. Almost innocent.

But then he notices—how wrecked you are. How long you must’ve been at this. How your pretty eyes roll back, how hoarse your cries sound, how your body twitches like you’ve already come too many times to count.

"Oh, baby."

The backpack drops.

Your whole body locks up when you see his shoulders tense—the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard, the way his usually gentle eyes darken into something you’ve never seen before.

"Turn it off." His voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s not a request.

With shaking fingers, you fumble for the remote, pressing the button to shut the machine off. The moment it stops, your body collapses, a wrecked whimper falling from your lips at the sudden loss.

And then—Namjoon is on you.

"Baby…" His large hands are everywhere—cupping your cheek, stroking your trembling thighs, his brows drawn together as he takes in your wrecked state. "How long have you been doing this?"

You can barely think, barely speak, but when you don’t answer fast enough, Namjoon’s fingers wrap around the base of the toy still inside you, shifting it slightly—just enough to make your body jolt.

"Too long," he murmurs, answering his own question.

Your breath hitches. "Joonie—"

"Shh." He presses his forehead to yours, his voice achingly soft, but his grip on the toy tightens. "Baby, you know I love you, right?"

You nod frantically.

"You know I’d do anything for you?"

Another nod.

His thumb brushes over your bottom lip. "Then tell me, sweetheart—why did you need this when I’m right here?"

Tears prick your eyes. "I missed you—"

"Oh, baby." His voice is so sweet, so full of warmth, but the way he pulls the toy out in one slow, devastating motion is anything but.

A broken sob rips from your throat. Your walls clench around nothing, your body aching with the loss, but Namjoon just watches—eyes dark, lips parted, fingers twitching as he studies the toy now slick and glistening in his hand.

And then, he does something unexpected.

He brings it to his lips.

Drags his tongue along the length—his length—tasting the evidence of just how badly you needed him. His eyes flutter shut, a deep, guttural groan vibrating in his chest.

And when he opens them again—

"I think it’s time you remember why the real thing is better."

And then—he ruins you all over again.

KIM SEOK JIN.

"Honey, I’m home!"

Seokjin’s voice is full of warmth, lighthearted as he kicks off his shoes, already smiling at the thought of surprising you. He wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow, but the thought of seeing you sooner had been too tempting.

But then—

He hears it.

A soft, rhythmic whirring. A noise that doesn’t belong. A noise coming from your bedroom.

His brows furrow. He steps closer, the sound growing clearer with each step—accompanied by something else. Something wrecked.

A moan.

His stomach tightens.

Jin reaches the doorway, pushing it open with ease, ready to call out to you—

And then he sees.

Sees you—spread out on the bed, shaking, your hands clutching the sheets as your body jerks helplessly with every deep thrust of the machine. Sees the way your pretty mouth falls open, drool glistening on your lips, your chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.

Sees the thick, veined toy inside you.

And then—realization hits.

Because he knows that shape. That curve. That size.

It’s him.

His first reaction is disbelief. His second is offense.

"Are you kidding me?"

Your whole body jolts. Eyes fluttering open, you meet his gaze—wide, shocked, completely fucked out.

"J-Jin—"

He scoffs. Actually scoffs.

"So let me get this straight—" He crosses his arms, looking so unimpressed despite the flush creeping up his neck. "I leave for one tour, and suddenly I’m replaceable?"

You whimper, trying to reach for the remote, but Jin is faster.

He snatches it before you can, holding it up with a slow, dangerous smirk.

"Oh, no. You wanted this, right? You went out of your way to get a perfect replica of me—so why don’t we see how well it compares?"

Before you can protest, Jin’s thumb presses down.

The machine speeds up.

A cry rips from your throat, your body convulsing as the mechanical thrusts deepen, pushing you right to the edge again.

Jin watches.

Leaning casually against the wall, he studies the way you fall apart—how your back arches, how your legs shake, how your lips tremble. His tongue clicks against his teeth, his head tilting slightly.

"Mm. I don’t know, sweetheart—" His voice is mocking. "You look like you’re enjoying this a little too much."

Tears gather at the corners of your eyes. You’re so close, right there, just one more second—

And then—

Click.

The machine shuts off.

You sob.

"Aw, baby." Jin pouts dramatically, tossing the remote onto the bed. "Did I ruin it for you?"

You glare at him, but it’s weak—your body too wrecked, too needy to do anything but tremble.

Jin chuckles, finally stepping forward. He kneels on the bed, his warm hands gliding up your shaky thighs, his gaze softening—just slightly.

"You really missed me that much, huh?" His voice drops, his thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles into your skin. "Couldn’t wait for the real thing?"

You nod frantically, lower lip trembling. "Jin, please—"

"Shh." He leans in, lips brushing over yours, but not quite kissing. "I got you, baby. Let me remind you why the original is always better."

MIN YOONGI

You’re completely gone.

Sweat clings to your skin, legs trembling, fingers gripping the sheets in a desperate attempt to ground yourself as the machine continues its relentless pace.

You don’t hear the door open.

You don’t hear the soft shuffle of footsteps.

You don’t even sense him until—

"Huh."

Your entire body freezes.

Your heart stops.

And then, in pure horror, your head snaps toward the door.

Yoongi.

Standing there.

One hand in his pocket, the other holding a plastic bag—probably takeout from his favorite spot.

Expression?

Completely. Blank.

Oh, fuck.

You scramble to shut the machine off, body still twitching from the aftershocks, but Yoongi just lets out a slow, low exhale through his nose.

"Don’t stop on my account."

Your breath hitches.

You should say something. Apologize. Explain. Anything.

But you’re still too dazed—too wrecked—and Yoongi knows it.

Knows it, and uses it against you.

He steps closer.

Slow. Unbothered. Like this is just another Tuesday.

And then—finally—he speaks.

"You must’ve been real desperate, huh?"

Your face burns.

But Yoongi?

He just tilts his head.

"Really couldn’t wait for me?" His eyes drop—zeroing in on the toy still buried inside you. "Had to go and get a little… substitute?"

You swallow. Hard.

His tone is unreadable—calm, flat—but his eyes are a different story.

They flicker—something dark, something knowing, something that makes your stomach flip.

And then—his lips part.

"Looks like it did a number on you, too."

Your breath catches.

Because it has.

You know what you must look like—skin damp with sweat, thighs trembling, body still buzzing from the aftermath.

Yoongi sees it, too.

Sees it, and—finally—his lips twitch.

The barest hint of amusement.

"Cute."

You die.

Because that tone? That expression? It’s not mocking like Jimin’s.

No.

It’s worse.

It’s pleased.

And then—before you can even process what’s happening—he sets the takeout bag down, shrugs off his jacket, and—

"Alright."

Your breath shudders.

"Alright?" you echo, voice raw.

Yoongi just hums, rolling his shoulders.

"Go on, then." He gestures lazily at the still dripping toy between your legs. "Show me how badly you needed it."

Your lungs collapse.

"Yoongi—"

"Come on, baby." His voice is softer now—low, warm, dangerous. "You’ve already put on a show. Might as well finish it."

Oh, fuck.

Oh, you’re in trouble.

And from the way Yoongi smirks, slow and satisfied, he knows it too.

JUNG HOSEOK

You’re too far gone to notice him at first.

Body trembling, breath ragged, lips parted as the machine mercilessly works you open.

But then—

"What the fuck?!"

Your soul leaves your body.

Your entire existence pauses.

And when your dazed, blurry vision finally manages to focus—

Oh.

Oh, no.

Hoseok.

Standing in the doorway, hand clutching his chest like he’s just witnessed a murder.

Mouth hanging open in sheer, unfiltered disbelief.

Eyes wide, scandalized—as if you’ve just personally offended his ancestors.

Your hand slams down on the machine’s switch, body still twitching as you try to scramble for the sheets—

But Hobi gasps.

"Oh, don’t you dare!"

You freeze.

He points accusingly. "Don’t you dare try to act shy now!"

Your face burns. "Hobi—"

"No. No." His hands are on his hips now—looking you up and down like you’ve insulted his entire bloodline. "You mean to tell me—I leave for a little while, and you replace me with a machine?!"

You open your mouth—no idea what you’re even going to say—

But then his eyes drop.

To the toy.

The toy that’s still inside you.

And suddenly—his jaw drops too.

"WAIT A DAMN MINUTE—"

You whimper. "Hobi, please—"

"IS THAT ME?!"

Oh, fuck.

Your entire existence caves in on itself.

Because—yeah. It is.

The attachment on the machine? It’s modeled after him.

And Hoseok—

Hoseok sees it.

Sees it, realizes it, processes it—

And immediately starts pacing.

"Oh my GOD." He rakes a hand through his hair. "You—this—you actually—" He turns back to you, expression an absolute mess of emotions.

Scandalized. Confused. Weirdly proud?!

"Babe." He gestures wildly at the machine. "You commissioned a replica?!"

Your whole body burns. "I didn’t—"

L*"Who made this?! Is there a company?!"

You groan, covering your face. "Hobi—"

"Oh, my God, this is crazy!" He runs a hand down his face, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is—I mean, I get it, baby, I do, but—"*

And then—suddenly—he stops.

Goes completely still.

And when he looks back at you—

Oh.

Oh, you’re in danger.

Because his expression has shifted.

The shock is still there—sure.

But underneath it?

Amusement.

And something else.

Something dangerous.

"Wait." He takes a slow step forward. "So you mean to tell me—"

You gulp. "Hobi—"

"—That this whole time—while I was gone—" He’s right beside you now—voice dropping, taunting. "—You’ve been sitting here, legs spread, fucking yourself stupid on my dick—"*

Your breath shudders.

Hoseok just grins.

And then—he chuckles.

"Oh, baby." He tilts his head. "You are so in trouble."

PARK JIMIN

You’re so gone you don’t hear the door open.

You don’t hear the soft click of footsteps, the sharp inhale of breath—don’t see the shadow that lingers in the doorway, watching you with dark, unreadable eyes.

You don’t notice him until it’s too late.

Until a smooth, wicked voice cuts through the heavy air.

"Oh, baby… that’s just pathetic."

Your soul leaves your body.

Your head jerks up—eyes blown wide, a desperate whimper slipping from your throat as you lock onto him.

Jimin.

Standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, lip caught between his teeth.

And he is smirking.

Your whole body freezes. Shame, panic, devastation—it all slams into you at once, but before you can even think about scrambling to turn the machine off, Jimin tuts.

"Ah, ah—don't stop now, baby."

Your breath hitches.

His voice is low, silky—a slow drag of heat over your already ruined body.

And then—he steps closer.

"Look at you," he murmurs, eyes devouring the mess you’ve made of yourself. "Drooling, shaking… completely wrecked. And I was only gone for a few weeks?"

You open your mouth—no idea what you’re even going to say—but he just grins, tilting his head.

"You missed me that much?"

Oh, he’s enjoying this. He’s enjoying this way too much.

And then—

His eyes drop.

To the toy still buried deep inside you.

The toy modeled after him.

And suddenly, his smirk turns sharp.

"Oh, baby…" He hums, stepping forward until he’s standing right beside you. "Is that what I think it is?"

You whimper, heat flooding your face.

Jimin just chuckles.

"Wow." His fingers trace the base of the toy, mockingly pressing down just enough to make you twitch. "So needy you had to make yourself a little… replacement?"

Your breath stutters—a desperate whimper slipping out before you can stop it.

Jimin grins.

"Mmm. That’s cute."

You don’t trust that tone.

And you shouldn’t.

Because the next thing you know, Jimin twists the toy inside you—just enough to make you gasp, body jolting against the sheets.

"Tell me, baby," he purrs, watching your reaction with open hunger. "Did it feel just like me?"

You swallow, heart pounding. "Jimin—"

"Be honest," he interrupts, fingers still teasingly toying with the base. "Did it fill you up the way I do? Stretch you open? Make you whimper and beg?"

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Not when his voice is like this—all slow, all taunting, dark with amusement.

And then—he leans in.

His breath ghosts against your ear, his lips barely brushing your skin as he murmurs, "Did it make you scream my name?"

And just like that, you snap.

You jerk under his touch, hips instinctively rolling up, chasing something more. A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, and he pulls back, grinning.

"Mmm. Thought so."

You hate him.

You love him.

And then—suddenly—his smirk sharpens.

"Alright, baby," he hums, eyes glinting with something dangerous. "Since you like using my dick so much—why don’t we see if the real thing is still your favorite?"

And then—he ruins you.

KIM TAEHYUNG

One second, he’s walking into your shared apartment, humming softly, Tannie tucked in his arms. He’s thinking about surprising you, about cuddling up together, about how much he missed you while he was away.

And then—

He hears it.

A low, rhythmic whirr—a mechanical hum that definitely wasn’t there before.

He pauses. Brows furrow.

Tannie lets out a soft woof, like he can sense something is off.

"You hear that, bud?" Taehyung murmurs, adjusting his hold on the little dog as he walks toward the bedroom. "Maybe she’s fixing something?"

Oh, if only.

Because nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for the sight that greets him when he pushes open the door.

You.

On the bed.

Absolutely wrecked.

Your legs are spread, your hands are clutching the sheets, your eyes rolling back, drool slipping from your lips as your body jerks with every deep thrust of the machine.

A machine that—

Taehyung chokes.

That’s—that’s him. That’s his dick.

The realization slams into him so hard he almost drops Tannie.

And then—

"HOLY SH—"

The shriek he lets out is ungodly, so loud that Tannie lets out a startled bark, squirming in his arms.

"TAEHYUNG?!" You scream, eyes snapping open, pure horror flashing across your face as you scramble for the remote.

But Taehyung is already spinning on his heel, face aflame, clutching his dog to his chest like a shield.

"I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING—" His voice cracks— "I—OH MY GOD—TANNIE, COVER YOUR EYES—"

Tannie, oblivious, just lets out another woof.

You die.

You fumble to turn the machine off, still reeling from the absolute chaos unfolding before you. Taehyung is pacing in the hallway, one hand clamped over his eyes, the other still gripping his very confused dog.

"I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS—"

"TAEHYUNG, JUST STOP YELLING—"

"YOU’RE—YOU WERE—WITH A ROBOT ME—WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT INFORMATION?!"

"PRETEND YOU NEVER SAW IT—"

"I CAN’T—" He wails, voice cracking all over again. "IT’S BURNED INTO MY BRAIN—"

You groan, dragging a hand down your face.

"Tae, baby, please—"

"I NEED HOLY WATER—TANNIE, WE NEED HOLY WATER—"

At this point, you don’t know if you want to laugh, cry, or die. Probably all three.

Meanwhile, Taehyung is still reeling in the hallway, mumbling something about needing to rewire his entire memory.

And somewhere in all of this, Tannie just lets out another woof, tail wagging—completely unbothered.

JEON JUNGKOOK

You don’t hear him come in.

Too lost—too wrecked—you don’t notice the door creak open, don’t see the shadow that lingers in the doorway, arms crossed, watching.

But you do hear it.

A snort.

"Oh, no way—"

Your soul leaves your body.

Your eyes snap open, mortified, your whole body locking up in horror as your gaze meets his.

Jungkook is standing in the doorway.

And he is grinning.

His massive eyes are wide with amusement, his perfect teeth on display as he watches you, shoulders shaking like he’s trying to hold back his laughter. Spoiler alert: He fails.

"Babe—babe, what is this?" He wheezes, stepping into the room, one hand on his chest like he’s just witnessed the funniest thing in his entire life. "Is that—oh my god—is that me?"

You make a dying noise, scrambling to shut the machine off, but the second you fumble with the remote, Jungkook is there.

He snatches it.

"Ah-ah, don’t be shy now!" He wiggles the remote between his fingers, his shameless bunny grin on full display. "You were so into it just a second ago."

You groan, hiding your face, but he just laughs harder.

"No, seriously, baby—" He plops down onto the edge of the bed, beaming. "I leave for a few weeks, and you go out of your way to get a mechanical version of my dick? Like—how did you even do that? Did they take measurements? Did you show them pictures?"

You whimper. "Jungkook, I hate you."

"No, you don’t," he singsongs, clearly having the time of his life. "You love me. Too much, apparently."

You’re dying. Absolutely perishing. But Jungkook? He’s thriving.

His head tilts, tongue poking out between his teeth as he eyes the toy still inside you. His grin turns wicked.

"Damn, baby," he murmurs, gripping your trembling thigh. "You really went all out, huh? Look at you—absolutely wrecked."

You glare at him through your fingers. "If you’re gonna make fun of me, at least help me first."

Jungkook gasps—all fake offense, hand clutching his chest. "Me? Make fun of you? Baby, I’m honored."

You groan again, but before you can say anything else, Jungkook’s fingers wrap around the base of the toy.

You squeak.

"Wait, wait—!"

But he just grins—and turns the machine back on.

A cry rips from your throat as the vibrations resume, your overstimulated body twitching beneath him.

"Ohhh, baby," Jungkook coos, eyes twinkling as he watches you squirm. "Let’s see if my twin here can keep up, yeah?"

And then—he ruins you all over again.

#bts smut #bts x reader #park jimin #jimin smut #fluff #namjoon #bts army #bts jin #bts jungkook #fantasy #jin x reader #bts jung hoseok #bts hoseok #bts yoongi

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mochii0park · 3 months ago

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Don't speak; pjm

Title: Don't speak

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: angst I fluff

Pairing: doctor!reader x businessman!jimin

Release date: February 10th 2025 (due to illness, last delay I promise)

Summary: Love, trust, mutual respect and intimacy are often the keys to a successful marriage. Something your marriage with Jimin has been lacking for the better part of it. Five years of dating and three years of marriage were thrown down the drain after a gruesome fight. In an attempt to salvage your reputation and respect for each other, you agree to settle the matter with a divorce. However, faith had other plans which included erasing the last 4 years of Jimin's life and turning the clock back to 2021.

Oneshot: ONE I TWO

Masterlist

Taglist: If you want to be tagged when the oneshot is posted do write on this post or sent me a message :)

#jimin x reader #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #bts fanfiction #jimin angst #bts fanfic #park jimin #bts jimin #park jimin x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin x you #jimin smut #jimin fanfiction #bts fantasy #bts reaction

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chimcess · 3 months ago

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Pitch Black Masterlist || jjk

— Pitch Black: the masterlist

"Stranded on a barren planet lit by three suns, a group of survivors struggle to survive after their transporter crash-lands. Their situation grows dire when pilot Y/N discovers that every 22 years, an eclipse plunges the planet into darkness, unleashing swarms of flesh-eating creatures. Facing both external threats and internal tensions, the group forms a fragile alliance. As mistrust and secrets surface, Y/N's complicated dynamic with convict and murderer Jungkook intensifies, making the fight for survival against the darkness and the creatures even more perilous."

Status: Ongoing

Prologue 01 02 to be continued...

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bluelavendre · 3 months ago

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Title: "Surviving Together"

Fandom: BTS

Pairing BTS ot7 x Reader

Major Genre: Survival, Zombie apocalypse

Zombie Au inspired a bit by All of us are dead series

Chapter 12: "The Truth Unraveled"

The streets are chaotic. Infected swarm in all directions, their relentless pursuit of anything human blurring the line between life and death. You’re on edge, adrenaline pumping through your veins, your hands shaking as you grip your weapon. The tension from earlier—between you and Hana, between you and Taehyung—is pushed to the back of your mind, replaced by the fight to survive.

Hana is next to you, but the silence between you two is heavier than ever. There’s still a sense of unfinished business lingering in the air, but you can’t afford to dwell on it. The infected grow in numbers as you push forward, battling your way through the streets. The group moves as one, each of you expertly maneuvering through the chaos, protecting one another as best as you can.

You glance over to Taehyung, your gaze meeting his briefly. There’s a sense of connection there, but it's fleeting, clouded by the immediate danger. He’s still too caught up in the survival game to focus on anything else.

And then, it happens.

The infected come at you in a flash, faster than you expected. You swing your weapon, knocking one of them back, but you barely have time to react as another lunges toward Hana. You shout, trying to warn her, but it’s too late.

With a sickening sound, one of the infected’s teeth sinks deep into her arm. Hana screams in agony, her body jerking as the infected drags its mouth deeper into her flesh.

"No!" you shout, rushing forward, but it’s too late. The infected’s grip is unrelenting, and Hana’s screams echo in your ears as she struggles to break free.

Without thinking, you charge in, slamming the infected away and managing to cut it down. But Hana is left panting on the ground, clutching her bitten arm. Her face is pale, her breathing erratic, and the reality of what just happened sinks in.

"You’re bitten," you say, your voice trembling with disbelief.

Hana stares at you, her eyes wide, and then her expression hardens. "I know," she breathes, her voice a strained whisper. "But that’s not the point."

Before you can say anything else, she stands up shakily, her body swaying as she steadies herself. Her eyes scan the group—Jimin, Jungkook, Jin, and Taehyung are all still fighting off the infected, unaware of what’s just transpired.

She stumbles forward, her voice hoarse with pain. "Taehyung!" she yells, her voice frantic. "Taehyung, you need to listen! Y/N—"

You can’t let her finish. You grab her by the shoulder, spinning her around to face you. "Hana, stop!" you warn, your voice firm. "You’re not going to lie about this."

But Hana isn’t listening. Her eyes dart to the group, and she forces the words out between ragged breaths. "Y/N—Y/N got bitten too! She’s infected! She’s the one who’s dangerous! You need to protect yourselves!"

Your stomach drops, and your heart hammers in your chest. The words hang in the air, and for a moment, everything stops. The world around you—Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook, Jin—seems to freeze.

Taehyung is the first to react, his eyes narrowing in confusion and disbelief. "What are you talking about, Hana?" he asks, stepping forward. "Y/N hasn’t been bitten."

You open your mouth to deny it, to tell him it’s all a lie, but the words die in your throat. Hana’s accusation lingers like poison in the air, and for a brief, terrible second, you wonder if she’s right.

Your heart races, but you can feel it—the eyes of the boys, their suspicion rising. It’s like they’re all waiting for you to confirm it. They’re waiting for you to admit the truth.

The group stands frozen, every pair of eyes now locked on you. You try to speak, to clear the air, but the words are stuck. You can feel your pulse thudding in your ears, the weight of their stares suffocating. Taehyung’s face falls as he searches for any hint of truth in your eyes, but you know the damage has already been done.

"Y/N..." Taehyung says, his voice full of uncertainty. "Is it true? Did you... get bitten?"

The silence stretches between you like a chasm. Your mind races, your heart aches. Why would Hana lie like this? Is she trying to tear you apart? But the look in Taehyung’s eyes—this mixture of concern and doubt—makes your breath catch in your throat. You’re not sure if you can make them believe you anymore.

"No!" you finally choke out, shaking your head vehemently. "I’m not infected! I’m fine, I swear! You’ve seen me—"

But Hana interrupts you, her voice cutting through your explanation with venom. "You’re lying! I saw it! I saw the mark! She’s infected, Taehyung! I’m trying to protect all of you! If we don’t do something now—"

"Enough!" Taehyung’s voice booms across the street, a sudden sharpness in his tone that cuts through the chaos. His eyes shift from Hana to you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something—anything—that will clear your name.

But instead, he simply stands there, torn, his gaze flickering back and forth between you and Hana. His jaw tightens, his hands clenching at his sides. “I need to think.”

That’s it. The words fall like a hammer, sealing the silence. His gaze is full of indecision, the weight of the world crashing down on him. In that moment, you feel utterly alone. The warmth you felt from him moments ago has vanished, replaced by something colder—something distant.

Jin steps forward, his voice measured but full of concern. "We can’t keep arguing. We need to focus on surviving right now. If Y/N is lying—" He pauses, glancing at you briefly, then at Hana. "We deal with it. But not here. Not like this."

Jimin, usually the peacekeeper, stands beside him, his face hard. "We don’t have time for this. We need to move out, now. The infected are closing in, and we’re all in danger. Let’s figure this out later."

But it’s too late. The damage is done. The doubt has been planted. The seeds of distrust have taken root.

The group moves out in silence, but the tension is unbearable. As you walk, you can’t shake the feeling that they’re all watching you—waiting for any sign, any moment of weakness. The weight of Hana’s words hangs over you like a cloud.

As you move forward, your eyes dart to Taehyung’s figure in the distance. He hasn’t looked at you once since he heard Hana’s accusations. You want to reach out, to pull him back, to show him that you’re not infected—but every time you try, the words get stuck in your throat. What can you say now? How can you prove it when they’ve already begun to doubt you?

And Hana—Hana’s gaze is burning into the back of your neck. Her smirk, twisted with satisfaction, is almost unbearable. She watches you closely, like a predator waiting for its prey to break.

You don’t know how much longer you can keep it together. The virus isn’t the only enemy you have to fight now. The truth—whatever it is—is slipping through your fingers, and you don’t know how to stop it.

To be continued...

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peoniesnro · 4 months ago

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In Another Universe

#12. RUINED and DESTROYED

Synopsis – When you are just another iteration of Park Jimin’s girlfriend in a different universe.

Park Jimin × Reader

Genre – parallel universe / kind of fantasy/ strangers to ??/ SMUT/ maybe romance/ angst/ fluff /Infidelity

Warnings- Language/SMUT- Making out/ Dirty talks/Public sex (I have done it in the end dear freinds) /Unportected sex/ Pussy slaps/ Cumming inside/Rough sex/ Word 'slut'/ Oral (m.recieving)/ Angst / INFIDELITY

Word count- 22k (╥﹏╥)

a/n- My fingers slipped and I accidentally wrote too much. Then I tried to reduce the word count and ended up writing some more. So, here we are. I give up. (Thankyou for reading babies❤️)

Taglist?

Chapter Index

Previous - Next

“Okay, I really don’t get it.” Taehyung furrows his brows before raising them in question. “You cheat on your girlfriend with someone who exactly looks like her?” He blinks at Jimin’s face. “I mean, what’s the fucking logic in that?” His mouth falls open in a perfect 'O' of disbelief.

Jimin sighs heavily. Throws his head up searching for answers he usually finds in the ceiling. This time, though, he finds none. This is not how he expected this conversation to happen. When he said he’d talk to Taehyung and there’d be no problems, he had really believed it. Except that there are so many problems now. Currently, Jimin is standing in the middle of Hoseok’s office room. This is neither the way nor the place he wishes to have this conversation. He desperately needs his genius of a best friend to shut the fuck up right now. He doesn’t.

“I mean I’m the worst person here- we all know that- but you know what’s wrong with me. I have fucking commitment issues.” Taehyung gestures at himself before continuing. “I can’t stick to one person. I mean it’s bad as it sounds but what I don’t get is what’s your reasons Jimin? Like it’s understandable if you’re looking for different tastes. That’s not the case here though. They’re literally the same person. Carbon copies. Why would you choose her when you can fucking buy a brothel for yourself.” Shakes his head.

Jimin cringes visibly at the sound of it. Just a taste? What’s wrong with his best friend? That’s not how Jimin regards you at all. How dare Taehyung would assume that. Yet, before he can say anything a second voice interrupts him. “For fucks sake, Kim Taehyung, is that the problem here? This stupid fucker here is cheating on his girlfriend and you’re wondering why he’s not doing it with multiple women?” Seokjin’s voice booms through Hoseok’s office. Everyone inside winces at the sound. Seokjin is the last person Jimin wants to be here.

That sure was a hell of a surprise when he was confronted by Seokjin instead of Taehyung this morning. Jimin was too stunned to speak at first. Then his older friend has dragged his ass inside Hoseok’s office. Where Taehyung and Hoseok were waiting patiently for them with guilty faces. In the end, it turned out that it has nothing to do with Hoseok, but it had everything to do with dear Taehyung. Jimin badly wanted to smack his best friend right across the head when he heard how Taehyung had accidentally spilled the secret for Seokjin, because he thought Seokjin knows- as Taehyung claims. See, Taehyung is a genius. Jimin can’t even bring himself to wonder why on the fucking earth Taehyung thought Seokjin would be taking part of such sordid matter. Why would Taehyung ever think Seokjin would know when he, Jimin’s fucking best friend didn’t.

Doesn’t matter now, however. Taehyung had made the entire thing worse in ten folds when Jimin returned to his workplace. Maybe if he hadn’t avoided coming here yesterday like a coward, this might’ve not happened. The thing is though, he felt like he couldn’t. So, he had paid an unannounced visit to his parents after he woke up in a hotel room. Bed empty and you not being anywhere in his sight. He simply didn’t want to talk about it with anybody even though it’s just Taehyung. But now here he is.

“That’s not what I asked Hyung. I asked him why he chose his girlfriend’s twin sister out of many other─” Taehyung starts with a very serious face, only to get thrown off guard when Seokjin yells through top of his lungs again.

“YEAH? And that’s the problem here? It’s fucking worse that he’s doing it with her but that’s not the damn problem Taehyung! He. Is. Fucking. Cheating. That’s the problem here.” Seokjin points at Jimin. Taehyung shuts his mouth immediately. Even takes a step back. Jimin feels his patience wearing thin. Why do his friends treat him like a kid. He’s a grown adult who can do whatever he wants.

“For fucks sake Hyung, can you please not do this. I really have work to do.” Jimin glares at Seokjin. He only scoffs.

“You do? Now you’re a responsible CEO? But if I can recall correctly, you decided to run away with your miss─”

“Oh my god Jin. This is not that much of a problem. Nothing happened.” Hoseok decides to bring the attention to him for Jimin’s pleasure. Yet it’s a very foolish idea on Hoseok’s part it seems. The moment those words leave his lips, Jin’s head snaps to Hoseok at lightning speed. His glare sharp enough to burn the entire universe down to ash.

“Yeah? You think so? Nothing happened? Not a problem? What the fuck are you thinking Jung Hoseok? This is all half your fault?” Seokjin nearly stands up from Hoseok’s chair where he’s been seated at. Hoseok almost takes a step back as if Seokjin might hit him. Jimin think that might be the case after all. Seokjin looks feral. Is going berserk. Jimin feels like a kid getting scolded by their father. Taehyung and Hoseok are his innocent siblings.

“Wh-what? How’s this my fault? What did I do?” Hoseok questions in genuine curiosity. Offended. Again, a foolish idea.

“You have to ask that.” Seokjin scoffs loudly. Tilts his head to the side. Pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. Takes a moment to compose himself before turning his attention back to Hoseok, who looks bewildered. “You, my stupid friend, is the one who knew what’s going on from the very beginning. You apparently knew it wasn’t Liya but his sister who was in the cottage and also knew your asshole friend is fucking her. You decided to keep quiet you little…” Jin swallows whatever he wanted to say. This time gets to his feet. Leans forward for more emphasis and points a finger at Hoseok. “And guess what, we can forget that part. Can forget it ever happened because it could’ve ended there, and you decided to bring her here? For what Hobi? You wanted to be the fucking hero of a pathetic love story?” Levels Hoseok with a pointed look.

Hoseok gapes back at Seokjin for a minute. And when Jimin thinks Hoseok is not about to answer that question, he does. “No. I- I just- I don’t know Hyung. Maybe I wanted him to realize that he doesn’t have to be fucking obliged to someone for the rest of his life. So, sue me Hyung, for caring.” Hoseok returns the pointed look Seokjin is giving to him.

Jimin wants to laugh. Hard. This situation is ridiculous. What the fuck is his friends are talking about. He knows that they all care, but this is just too much.

“Can you guys just not make fucking decisions for me. And don’t talk like I’m not here. I can fucking hear you.” Jimin obstructs the staring competition that is going on inside the room. They both turn their heads toward Jimin. Taehyung just stands next to Jimin. Apparently, resigned to himself after Seokjin yells at him.

“What? You’re blaming me for bringing her here?” Hoseok is the one who questions, however. And that’s not the case at all. Jimin could never blame Hoseok for that. Even though he feels like conned. Like Hoseok had conspired behind him. And he certainly feels annoyed at the fact that Hoseok tried to control his life. See now, he loves his friends dearly, but if they think they have a say in his life, then they are just as wrong as Liya. Yet, Jimin can’t blame Hoseok for bringing you back to his life. No, that’s the best thing Hoseok has ever done. So, he remains silent. “See, he wants that.” Hoseok says to Jin at Jimin’s silence in the end.

“Course he wants that.” Seokjin plops back into his seat. “So, what now? What do you want Jimin to do now that your genius of a plan worked because your idea of caring means helping your best friend fucking cheating on his girlfriend. Okay, fine. Now he is happily doing that, what’s your next step Hobi? Want him to break up with Liya?” Asks mockingly.

There they go again. Jimin scowls in irritation. Apparently, his request hasn’t reached his friends’ brains.

“Well, why can’t he?” Hoseok shows his hands inside his pant pockets. Jimin wants to punch him in the face.

“Oh, she’d definitely take that very well. She’d just sit there and wish Jimin good luck.” Jin sneers.

“Why? What would she do?” Taehyung perks up back again.

“What do you think she would do Tae? Do you guys really think she’d just back away?” Jin rubs his face in frustration. This conversation needs to end now.

“No one’s breaking up with anyone. Just drop the damn topic guys. Just mind your own fucking business, will you? I can make decisions for myself verry well.” Jimin doesn’t let Jin answer Taehyung’s question. Says in a stern voice. His CEO voice. Almost leaves the scene when Jin and Hoseok both scoff at the same time.

“You’ve been doing it very well, lately.” Jin is the one who speaks in the end. “Okay, what’s your plan Jimin? Keep going on? Keep cheating on your girlfriend with her twin sister?” Asks Jimin. Well, Jimin has no answer for that. Why his friends can’t let it go. “And then what’s you gonna do when Liya eventually and inevitably finds out? What do you think will happen then?” Keeps questioning and fuck Jimin has no answer for a single one. Gladly, though, before Jin can add something more to his never-ending list of questions, Taehyung offers his two cents.

“Okay, but really, what’s the worst Liya can do? Threat Jimin? Kill Jimin? It’d be an ugly breakup and that’s it.” He innocently gapes at the three of them. An awful silence falls down before Taehyung starts again. “I mean she would yell at Jimin. She’d hate him but clearly, she wouldn’t do anything else right? She- uh she won’t….” Looks expectantly at Jimin.

“Of course, she won’t.”

“Fucking yes she will.” Jimin and Jin say at the same time. Jimin being the one to deny while Jin being the one to acclaim. Jimin snaps his head toward Jin. Questioning him.

“What’s that supposed to mean Hyung?”

“You know what Jimin. You all little shit heads know. I really don’t want to voice this out Jimin, but Liya is a snake and she’s gonna bite in revenge.” Turns his attention to Hoseok. “I don’t know what you were thinking Hobi but if you ever thought that your stupid games are gonna work, you’re the most stupid person I’ve ever seen. This is not a fucking drama.” Gets to his feet. Appears to be done with this stupid conversation slash fight but apparently is not. Walks toward Jimin. But looks at all three of them when he starts again. “Whether it’s you break up or keep cheating on her, that’s only going to end one-way Jimin. Only one way. She’s going to make the mighty Kim pull out from the company. You know she’s his princess, he’s gonna do anything she says and when that happens─” He stops for moment. Takes a deep breath. “─that shit is going to destabilize the damn stock values and look forward for that power vacuum Mr. Park.”

Everything goes into a deep silence. Jimin inhales a shaky breath. Jin isn’t just pointing out anything new. Jimin already knew. He isn’t an idiot even though he has his fair share of stupid moments. After what feels like a year in a void, Taehyung chuckles. Humorless.

“Oh, c’mon, she won’t walk that far now. Besides, we’re a valuable asset. Kim isn’t a stupid to just ruin business over private matters.”

“Really Tae? You think that naively? Dude, listen to me close, okay? We’re a valuable asset as long as we have him. The king of this world. Have him pull out and we. Are. Done.” Jin grits his teeth. Nobody says anything else for another long moment. Jimin knows there’s nothing he can say to defend the situation. Hoseok knows that too. Taehyung does too but the guy always sticks to the better part. Always finds a way to work it out. Is one of those people who thinks there’s a solution to every problem.

“Well, then we have this new launch. You know people are already crazy about it. We can make ourselves self-sufficient. I mean it would take time but….”

“You’re not seeing it Tae. Sure, we do have the new launch but that’s fucking months ahead. And in any case if you’ve forgotten, Kim is the fucking main sponsor. If he pulls out that one, do you think we’d have enough time to find a new one?” Jin rubs his face again. He’s a little red. None of these are new information for Jimin. He’s the CEO for fucks sake. He knew all. He knew what could go wrong in the end. There’s a reason for him saying to you that he can’t just break up with Liya. He would be responsible for more than broken heart if he does that. Yet, in the very end, Jimin doesn’t know what to do. And he’s glad when Hoseok raises the same question.

“So, what? You want to use Jimin as a fucking leverage for the rest of his life?”

“No- what? No for the sake of fuck.” Jin looks taken aback. Jimin feels a headache emerging. This is a complete mess. And the headache quickly turns into a throb in his head when Jin turns to him. “Nobody asked you make yourself a fucking pawn Jimin. Nobody ever did. And if you wanted an out from your pain-in-the ass relationship, you could’ve done it way before and the reason should’ve not been Li. Now bro, this is too late. You can’t fucking play around like a college student. So, maybe just fucking grow up and do the right thing.” He takes a step toward Jimin. Presses a finger to Jimin’s chest. “Figure your shit Jimin. There’s thousands of people on your hand.” Jimin just gulps harshly when Jin turns around. This time he actually walks toward the door. For Jimin’s great relief.

A relief that lived very short since Jin stops right as he opens the door. Not because he has something else to say but clearly there’s someone outside the door. Jin curses lowly which follows by a quick apology. Then he steps away to make way for the newcomer. And Jimin’s heart sinks to the pit of his stomach when you walks in. Your head is low as you bow to Jin. You don’t look at anyone. Mood somber and painful. You heard. Oh, fuck you heard. Jimin gapes at you with wide eyes when you meekly look at him.

“Can we talk please?”

……………………………………

You heard. Of course, you did. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but who could blame you for having perfectly fine two ears that work well. It was a complete accident. You didn’t even hear the whole conversation. It was just the last bit and you’re glad. It would’ve been a great heart ache if you heard everything. The bit you heard was enough to let you know that Jin was so against your sordid affair. As he should be. It seems Jin is the only normal person here. And so did you heard Jin asking Jimin to do the right thing. That 'right thing' meant Liya. Jin wanted Jimin to end things with you.

You felt as if it was hard to breathe while you stood there outside the door. Fear getting a tight grip over your heart that it physically hurt. You know Jin was right. You know what you and Jimin do is wrong. But you can’t get yourself to care. No, not now. Suddenly, the limited time you worried about wasn’t your priority anymore. Not being able to spend that time with the person you want is your new priority. Morality be damned. Everything else will be damned. You don’t want Jimin to make that decision. Hence, your terrified stare at Jimin’s face now after guys left you alone with him.

What if he ends it now?

What if he tells you that he finally got his senses back?

What if….

What if…

What if….

“Lil, I─”

“I only have a year.” You blurt out. You surprise even yourself with how quickly and suddenly the words spill out. You don’t care about that part, but you need to bide your time. Have your chances. How selfish. Desperate. And definitely stupid. But you want Jimin in a sickening way. Jimin closes his mouth instantly. Brows furrowing and expression morphing into something confused.

“What?”

“I only have a year Jimin.” You start to retell everything that happened yesterday for a second time that day. So fast that you find it hard to breathe. And when you finally stop talking like a crackhead, you’re gasping for air and Jimin is gaping at you. His expression is void of any emotions. This is one of those rare moments where you can’t read him. Your pulse is thundering, and you can feel your chin start to wobble. You desperately need Jimin to say something. And he really comes close to doing so and put you out of your misery when the door suddenly opens. Startling both of you. It’s Hoseok who interrupts this serious situation. Apparently, has a good reason, however.

“Sorry to interrupt but the mighty Kim is here and unfortunately, I don’t think you can avoid his ugly face this time boss.” He states to Jimin. Despite his effort to make the situation looks easy with his words, the tension in the room remains the same.

This is not a good time for Jimin to leave you. Maybe he can give you a simple answer like ‘it’s okay’. Maybe he can just hug you before he leave. He doesn't do either. Just nods to Hoseok.

“I’ll text you.” Says. Hands you your phone before leaving you with a Hoseok who has an empathetic look on his face.

………………………………

You had waited your whole damn life for that text. Okay, maybe you’re being a little extra but that’s how it had felt. A whole lifetime until you received the text.

Meet me at 8 PM. I’ll pick you up at Jungkook’s.

You replied to it with a simple okay. And now you can’t wait to run home. You feel nervous. There’s a whole damn battle happening inside your stomach. The anticipation is killing you. It had been that way ever since you received the text. There are two ways that this meet up can go. You’re afraid of the bad way. Yet, the best you can do for yourself now is to get the thing done as soon as possible. You haven’t seen Jimin for the entire day. It’s fairly late now. You can retire for the day in couple more minutes. All you have to do is bring Hoseok, a last cup of coffee. The moron isn’t listening to your advice not to drink coffee at night. That shit is going to mess up with his sleep. Yet, you can’t do anything about that in the end. Guess, you’ll have to listen to the boss.

You rush to his office with the cup of coffee in your hand. The faster you take it to him, faster you can go home. There’s a sense of relief building inside you even at the thought. You come really close to Hoseok’s outer office when a sudden voice interrupts you. The relief which has been building up inside you vanish instantly.

Fuck, no.

You turn around feeling annoyed to find Jin just casually stands there.

God, no.

Not now. You’re in a rush. You can’t have this unavoidable but can be delayed talk now. Maybe the next or after that day. Anytime but now.

“C-can we do this later Jin. I’m in a─”

“Do what later?” He stalks toward you slowly. Cooly. You expect him to look pissed. Annoyed. Disgusted. But he looks nothing sort of that. Just a calm look on his face. You sigh heavily. Why does he have to act like that? There’s no reason to be smug. You know your faults.

“Oh, c’mon, I know you’re here to lecture me about- uh- you know this whole thing and to tell me how wrong that is... stuff. But can you do it later?”

Jin chuckles softly at that. His eyes glinting. “Why would you think that I have to do that?” Asks with a soft smile. You just gape at his face. Not finding any other reason for Jin to wanting to approach you. It surely can’t be business related. “You’re a grown woman Li. Why the hell I would have to teach you the right and wrong.” Explains further at your dumbfound state.

Oh, that feels a lot like sarcasm. It feels like Jin is making fun of you. Pointing out how much of an evil person you are to choose the wrong when you know it’s wrong. Then he surprises you with his next words.

“No, Li, that’s not my business. Maybe, Jimin is my business but you’re not.” Another chuckle escapes him. “I’m not a crazy rich dad who’s going to pay you a billion to stay away from my son. God, I have my own problems going on. I just want to know if we are cool. Like you’re not mad at me, right?”

“Huh?” You’re truly and utterly surprised. Those words are not expected at all. “Why- why would I be mad at you?”

“I’m sure you heard me yelling at Jimin and asking him to do- you know, the right thing. I think it must sound as if I’m asking him to toss you aside. I want you to know that’s not what I meant. You’re a good person and you don’t deserve to be treated like someone’s possession—used and tossed aside just because I or anyone else says so. Want you to know that I’m- uh- it’s not like that I have something against you. But what’s wrong is wrong and I’ll say it because I’m not Taehyung or Hoseok.”

“I know that, Jin. I mean, I understand it... uh...” You shrug, seemingly at a loss for words. Why does Jin would ever think he’d have to make amends with you when you’re just no one. Jin and you are not that close. It can be understandable if this is Hoseok. Even Taehyung would be fine. Why Jin? “Why are you worried about us not being cool anyway? It’s not like─”

“Don’t hurt my feelings now saying we’re not close. Because we are. I prefer you to make me coffee every day than drinking that nasty one my secretary makes; don’t tell her I told you that. But─” He sighs. Square his shoulders. “We are kind of friends Li. Like I don’t want you to think I have anything personal with you. Or I disrespect you. It’s just that what you’re doing is wrong. But I’m not going to lecture you about it. So, just know that I’m not the bad guy, okay?”

You take a moment at that. What Jin says makes perfect sense. Jin is the guy who won’t eat your food when you asked him not to. He’s the good guy. You know it. So, you simply nod. There’s no reason of having a beef with this sweet guy. Not that you ever thought that way. Simply because you knew he’s telling the truth. And the fact that he thinks that he has to tell you this in person touches your heart oddly. “I know. We’re cool, old man.” You give him a soft smile. He scrunches up his face.

“No, don’t do that. I didn’t give you any privileges to do that. Besides, I look way younger than you people. I mean c’mon I can hear your knee cracking when you sit down.” He gesture at your poor knees. You gasp, feigning offense.

“They do not crack.” You raise your leg to flex your knee. Just prove him your point. “See. Works silky smooth.” Jin snorts.

“Yeah, let’s think so.” You try to argue but he continue before you can. “So, we’re cool right?”

“We are.”

“Fine. And hey, I know I said I’m not gonna lecture you but uh... maybe don’t put yourself in this mess. Sure, you know how ruthless they can be. They are your family, after all.”

No, you don’t.

You just smile at that. Jin’s amused expression changed into a serious one. You know he means good. And it’s really nice of him to think about you too. It’s just too bad that you are already in this mess. You can’t find a way out. Jin nods in response. Mumble something about it being over then and almost turn around when you stop him. You don’t know why you ever thought to meddle with other people’s businesses.

“Um Jin?”

He turns back to you at your call.

“I know I called you an old man but trust me, you’re not too old for J. I like to ship two Js.” A giddy smile creeps on your face at the look on Jin’s face. He looks mortified.

“That’s- we- that was a one-time thing.” He stammers. Hoseok told you Jin knows the complete truth. That’s the only thing you were able to get out from your boss’s mouth. He was adamant that the rest of it was none of your business. And you guess that by the complete truth, Hoseok means that Jin knows it was you who were at the cottage. The one who had to hear J blatantly stating that she got Jin’s dick wet. It kind of feels liberating to be able to talk freely now. No secrets. Expect the part that you’re not really Liya’s sister.

“Sure, let’s think so.” You throw his own words at him. “But if you decide it wasn’t a one-time-thing, her birthday is coming.” Add before turning around and walking to Hoseok’s office. The coffee must be cold now, but your boss would have to do with it. You’re already running late.

………………………………….

Jungkook was late. Too late. When he sorted out his own head and decided he needed to hurry up, it was already too late. You were already drowning in the mess Jimin created. And here he is sitting on his couch, having to watch you fussing around. Stressing out about an outfit to wear to a- not a date as you claim. But then again, you’re worrying too much. Too fucking much for Jungkook’s liking. In fact, he hates this. You told him that this meetup might happen so Jimin can end things with you. Which Jungkook finds good. That’s how it should be. And it’s not entirely about jealousy. He’s jealous yes. There’s a monster roaring inside him to see you all worked up over a stupid outfit. But above that, Jungkook is scared.

See now, he might be too late already. But you told him that it was physical. You don’t love Jimin. And that leaves Jungkook with hope. He has this weird competitive side to him. He doesn’t like to lose. You’re not a prize to win. No. You’re too precious for being played to satiate his competitive ego. That’s not it. Simply, Jungkook doesn’t want to lose you. He might be sitting here watching you change ten outfits within ten seconds. Without having a say about your life. Yet, he still can try. There’s no such thing called ‘too late’. He can still very well try. Unless you’re not already in love with Jimin. That’s what scare Jungkook. If you don’t care about Jimin in any non- sexual way, why would you be so worried about this.

“How about this one?” Jungkook snaps out of his trail of thoughts at your voice. Raises his head to find you in a white dress this time. Short. Puffy- long sleeves. A low neckline. There’s a delicate necklace sitting on your neck. The dress hugs your godly curves perfectly. Then there’s your hair. Instead of putting it down, you had opted for a ponytail. Said something about a ponytail being the most casual hairstyle a girl can use without screaming overdoing it. But there are two strands of hair falling into your face. A deliberate action.

You apparently want to appear casual. But not so casual at the same time. You had budged Jungkook for more than an hour saying how you want to look beautiful- which you haven’t said in exact words- but not looking like you’ve put in effort to it. Jungkook knows exactly what you’re doing. You want to impress Jimin but at the same time you don’t want Jimin to know that. Because you believe Jimin is going to toss you aside. Yet still you want to impress him.

And you’re doing a damn great job at it. You look God damn beautiful in that. Jungkook feels a vein in his forehead throbs. In annoyance. That monster inside him roars loudly. He doesn’t want you to look this beautiful. Especially, when that motherfucker is playing you like you’re a tennis ball. Why would Jimin get to decide whether he wants you or not. Why would you give the jerk such kind of power.

“Why are you worrying so much Noona? You just look fine in anything.” Jungkook grumbles. To which you sigh.

“I’m not worrying.”

“You said this isn’t a date.”

“It isn’t.”

“Then why thinking too much?”

You don’t answer that. Just close your mouth which you open to counter back. Just shrug. And Jungkook feels bad. You look adorable. It’s not your fault that he feels annoyed to see you doll up to see another man. He gets up from the couch slowly. Stalks to you. You just watch him approach and offer him a tiny smile as he grabs your shoulders.

“You’re fucking stunning Noona. You don’t have to stress so much.” He gives you a smile of assurance. Shakes you a little. “Besides, this isn’t a date. This is just you two meeting to talk about- uh- whatever happening and… if Jimin is about end things, just do it before him. He can’t just play you like that.” Adds for the sake of himself than you. He needs reassurance here. You roll your eyes. Snort.

“Wow… such a good advice Jungkook.” You grin. Jungkook loves that smile. “It’s not that I’m worried about that.” You start slowly. Your smile drops. “It’s just uh- I don’t know Kookie. I don’t even know why I’m worried.” Your sigh in resign. Jungkook mirrors your actions. It seems like he won’t get that reassurance. He would have to sit here in his empty apartment, imagining how it might be going. Praying selfishly that it would go the way he wants. But he can’t do anything about it. He can’t press you too much. When he asked you to stay with him. Not to move out. He promised you to be on your side. Said he’ll be fine with you despite what you do. And he is fine. You don’t disgust him. If anything, you make him forget to breathe.

Especially when you look like this. Even though it’s not for him, it’s not like he can’t appreciate it. He roams his eyes over your delicate features. You have applied a pink creamy lipstick to your perfect lips. It goes too well for you. It makes your lips look more luscious. Inviting. Your eyes sparkle under the dim light of his living room. The faint blush in your cheeks make you look hot and bothered. Not to mention that God damn eyeliner. In hindsight, you look like an art. Seductive. Deserves to be praised and appreciated. Worshipped. He would do that. Worships you like a goddess. How unfair the opportunity is, however, is in someone else’s hands. Someone who doesn’t deserve it.

Well, life isn’t fair anyway. He would just have to let you go for now. And wait. He’ll wait. Wait with you or for you. Either way he will stick to his promise, and he’ll keep trying. There’s no ‘too late’ s or ‘giving up’ s in Jungkook’s vocabulary. He drops his hands from your shoulders. Bring one hand to squeeze your cheeks. It’s not foreign for both of you. He’s always been touchy. He knows you’re comfortable. Now, he just wants to distract himself from your luscious lips. Hence, his playful squeeze to your cheeks.

But fuck! Bad idea! Wrong move.

It makes you pout. Those lips looks even more inviting now. Jungkook wants to accept that invitation. What would happen if he just presses his lips to yours. Kiss you hard till you can’t breathe. Ruin that lipstick. He wants to ruin that lipstick. Oh, this is bad. So bad.

He was sexually attracted to you from the very first day he saw you. Since the day he thought you were Liya. Could’ve actually fucked you despite knowing you were with Jimin in that time, if you ever gave a so much of a sign to him. You didn’t. That, however, didn’t make his life easy. You are hot. Undeniably and undoubtedly. No healthy man would be able to resist. Then Jungkook is not just attracted to you that way. There’s no denying that he likes you. More than in a way friend should. And it makes his situation more pathetic. He doesn't want to ruin anything. You see him as a friend, and God, it’s hard to be the Jungkook you expect him to be. He does it somehow.

“I think you have more than enough reason to be worried. That’s fine. And for the hundredth time Noona, you look effortlessly beautiful. So, stop fussing and go get this shit done.” Jungkook lets your cheeks go. You take a minute but eventually nod with a grin.

“Yeah.” You give a firm nod. “It’s not like I’m going to meet my boyfriend. It’s not like I’m about to breakup. It’s just a complicated situation but what’s the worst that can happen right? I mean, the sex is good but if Jimin thinks he doesn’t want this, then Imma gonna find me a new man. Thanks for the moral support Kookie.” Pat his arm before you turn around.

At least Jungkook got the reassurance he needed, eventually. Even though you lost the sparks in your eyes when you say that. Jungkook would believe your words. And he would keep trying. A woman like you worth a good fight.

………………………………….

Despite what you told you Jungkook, you’re nervous as hell. See now, you don’t really know why it’s hard to let Jimin go. Just like you told Jungkook and yourself, whatever happening between Jimin and you is just sex. Yet, you can’t let Jimin go. You’re afraid Jimin will say those words the moment you enter his black Élite. You don’t want Jimin to go. You don’t know a reason and you don’t care to find one now. All you want is to keep going. Hell, even your palms are sweaty as you throw a nervous glance at the man at the driving seat. In his effortless glory. He is still in his work clothes minus the tie and the coat. Yet, looks stunning.

“You, okay?” Jimin breaks the awful silence that has been filling the air since you got inside. He hasn’t started the car yet. You’re still parking near Kim’s.

“Y-yeah. I- uh… I’m good.” You try to smile. Fail. Your smile probably looks like a sneer.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t meet you sooner. Had a bunch of work.”

“That’s fine Park. I know you have work.”

“Okay.” Jimin nods. Why’s it so uncomfortable? Why are you being awkward around each other? Another pause. Silence. Nobody says anything. Like you’re strangers. You absolutely hate feeling this way. If Jimin really is going to end this, he needs to do it faster before you explode. Or you need to start the conversation. This isn’t going anywhere this way. You curl your fists. Take a deep breath. Almost open your mouth at the same time Jimin does. He beats you up to it by a millisecond. “No, but seriously Lil, are you okay?” Asks before you can ask him anything else. It takes you by surprise that you remain silent for a moment. Just gaping at Jimin’s face until he raises a brow in question. Well, there’s nothing you’ll gain from beating around the bush anymore.

“You gonna do as Jin said?” You blurt out before you can overthink and cower again. It’s Jimin’s time to be surprised. Only for a fractured second. Then a small smile grazed his lips. His eyes instantly started to sparkle. Amusement. You know that look. That doesn’t ease your nerves, though. If anything, it makes you irritated. What’s so funny in this situation. Especially, when you feel like throwing up.

“I have something for you.” And to worsen the situation, Jimin doesn’t answer you either. You give him an annoyed but curious look as he starts to rummage through the center console. Pulls out a small box from there. His small smile widen into a full-blown grin while he thrusts the box into your hand. You don’t take it. Just look at it with skeptical eyes. What the fuck is this man doing?

“What is it?” You question. Eyeing the box as if it would contain drugs. It’s black. Matte. Has a golden butterfly carved into the lid. There’s a capital E under it. Looks beautiful. Expensive. Doesn’t make any sense to you.

“Go on Spring Roll. Look for yourself.” Jimin shows the box into your hand. Forcefully. His eyes are still glinting. Leaking lights from the restaurant makes them even more beautiful. Ethereal. You keep your gaze on him for minute, enjoying the sight before paying attention to the box in your hand. If he wants you to find out yourself, then you might as well do so. So, you slowly open it. Carefully. Still confused. Skeptical. Brows furrowed as the elegant box lid slowly opens. An instant and quick gasp leaves your mouth. There’s two crystal clear earrings. Like two rain drops. Delicate. Beautiful. Something that requires a skillful hand to create.

It takes your frozen and surprised brain time to register it. Then it suddenly hits. You’ve seen them before. Months ago. At a luxurious shopping mole. This was too expensive for you to at least consider buying it. And Jimin offered to buy it and called you homeless. You whip your head toward him. Eyes wide in surprise. In disbelief. He sure didn’t buy you the exact same pair.

“J-Jimin.” You whisper. Jimin’s bites his bottom lip.

“You like it Spring Roll?”

“Isn’t this uh- that day from the mall…”

“It is. Don’t tell me you don’t like it anymore because I had to start a mini protest until they found me the exact pair I wanted. It was sold out.” He gives you a look. That piece of information makes it worse for you. Why would he walk that length to buy you an expensive pair of earrings.

“B-but why? Jimin, you didn’t have to─”

“I know Lil. I wanted to.” You try to protest but he shuts you off by leaning forward. Coming closer to your face until you feel his breath on your face. “And don’t start complaining. Don’t talk about how expensive it is. Don’t refuse. Don’t go talking about how you don’t want my gifts because…” Pause for a moment to stare at you teasingly. “If you do, I’m really gonna get you down, bend you over the hood and fuck you out in the open where every patron inside the restaurant can see us, till you accept it. I’m not joking baby.” His voice drops an octave down as he finishes it. You stare at him dumbly. Throat suddenly dry. You’re baffled.

“Oh, wow.” You manage to mumble softly in the end. Still very stunned. Jimin really doesn’t look like he’s joking.

“So… you gonna accept it?” Asks without withdrawing from your personal space. You take your time in answering that.

“Mm.. it’s not like I have an option. I mean...” You tilt your head, so your mouth is hovering over his. “The threat is tempting Park. I’m only accepting this because I don’t want Mrs. Kim to see me. The poor woman will have a heart attack. So, yeah, I am. But can I still know why?” You don’t withdraw either. Jimin is visibly buzzing with amusement at this rate. He loves this game of teasing, it seems.

“Why?”

“Mhm. Why are you bringing me gifts?”

“No reason. Just wanted to.” His voice is a low murmur now. His eyes drops to your lips. And your heart skips a beat. Park Jimin will always have this effect on you. No matter how many times he does this. Even now you’re dying to feel his lips on yours. Excitement vibrates through your body. All your previous worries pushed behind your head. Temporarily. It’ll come back to the front when this is over. Now, however, you’re starting to get lost on this magnetic force of a man. His pull being too strong for you to think straight.

But in the end, it seems, you don’t have to delay the talk after all. Just as you think he is about to give you that highly anticipated kiss, Jimin starts speaking again. “And I wanted to apologize. You overheard us earlier. I don’t want you to think that we’re talking behind your back. Because we’re not. And baby, this is my life. I know it’s fucked up and I’m a coward to do this to both of us. But as long as you want me, I’m not gonna let you go. Jin will have to work with it. So, do you still want me?”

You thought the surprises were over. Hell, you feel like your heart is swelling like a balloon. It’s getting damn emotional. You avert your gaze down from his face. Not being able to look at him. You force yourself to talk steadily. Not wanting to appear desperate. Yet you can’t hide the way your entire body relaxes. Relief washing over you. “Of course, I want you Jimin.” You say as he brings his hand to your chin. Forcing you to look at him before that kiss finally lands on your lips. Not a hard and deep one. Just a sensual one. You don’t know what you are doing here.

“And Lil?” He calls you at the very moment he stops kissing you. Takes your hand in his. “About you having a year…. We will work on that. We have year. That’s a long time and I promise we’d figure it out.” Squeezes your hand. “Who knows whether you’d decide that you don’t want to be here anymore. Who knows if you grow to hate me and this world.” Chuckles softly. You find comfort in that. “So, let’s see where we go. What we want and if we both want the same thing in the end, I promise you I’m gonna turn the world upside down to find a way.” Your throat is starting to clog. See, what the hell are you two doing here. Exchanging gifts. Panicking about breaking ups when you’re really not in a relationship. Giving promises. Thinking about a damn future. “Until then Spring Roll, let’s just live in this moment. Okay?”

This is not normal. You are the other woman. You need to fuck and get done. That’s how casual relationships work. You and Jimin might be losing your minds. And he makes it worse again. Just after you nod in agreement to worry about your long-time problems later. To accept his promise just like his gift. Jimin softly smiles at you.

“Let’s go then.”

“Where?”

“There’s something I want to show you.”

This is not normal at all.

……………………………………

You gaze in awe at thousands of tiny lights twinkling in the distance. From the hill where you are right now, the city looks like a distant world that is a part of a fairy tale. Not something that is real. Your heart is thumping against your rib cage madly. This is stupid really. Cliché. Cheeky. Something a sweet couple in a stupid romance movie would do. Which means you shouldn’t be doing this. You’re not a couple and certainly not from a movie. Then what the hell are you doing here. Sitting on Jimin’s car hood. Sipping beer. Inhaling fresh air and enjoying a fairy scenery. Nothing about this is normal. Jimin bending you over his car hood fucking you to the next week is normal. He taking you to his favorite place isn’t. Yet you can’t help but express your gratitude over the sweet act.

“It’s so fucking beautiful.” You breathe out. Enchanted by the vision.

“It is, isn’t it? I came here often back then.” Jimin sips from his beer can. You’re sitting on the hood with your legs crossed while Jimin just leaning against it. You watch him carefully as he avert his gaze to you.

“You don’t anymore?”

“Well, I grew up.”

You scrunch up your nose in displeasure. “That’s a lame excuse Park.” Jimin chuckles. You both shift your attention back to the city sparkling in distance. You’re not really alone here. There are a few other vehicles on halt. Few other couples- surely lovers, people who are not in a messed up, wrong, and pathetic situation like you- leaning against their vehicles. Enjoying their date night. A single streetlamp provides light to the surrounding. Adding beauty to the scenery. This is nice. Sweet. Too sweet, in fact.

You can’t keep the little voice in your head suppressed. You’re thinking too much. Maybe this is just fine. Everything is just fine. You need to enjoy the moment. You only have a year after all. In any case, if you can’t find a way or you decide you want to go back, these moments will be the only memories of your time together. You shouldn’t waste it like this. Lost in your head. Maybe everything don’t need to have clear reasons. Maybe Jimin himself is enough reason. For everything. Because he is him. Park Jimin. Your dirty little secret. Your sin. A man you found from another world. Your poison and your antidote. He is enough reasons.

“Want to come here with me often then? It’s good to have company than being alone.” Jimin’s sudden voice brings you back to the earth. You slowly turn your head to him. He isn’t looking at you. Just occasionally sipping at his beer and eyes glued forward. He looks ethereal as always. There’s more black roots in his hair now. You wonder how he would look with black hair. Will a year be enough to know everything about Park Jimin? To see various versions of him. “Hm?” Jimin hums in question again when you don’t answer. You blink. Forcing yourself to focus.

“You want to come here with me often?” Reply with another question. Jimin nods. You’re not surprised at his question anymore. He gave you a pair of expensive earrings after all. “Why not then. This nice, beautiful. As long as you’d buy me food on our way back. Do you know I’m hungry Park?” You finally manage to ease your head up. Ease your nerves. Relax and enjoy the moment.

“Oh yeah? Is your stomach grumbling?” Jimin widen his eyes in mock concern. “Let me check.” Gives you no time to prepare before he is leaning his head against your lap. Ear pressing into your stomach. A loud giggle erupts through your throat after a loud gasp.

“Really Park?” You ask through your giggles. Leaning back to give him enough room.

“Oh, my poor Spring Roll is so hungry.” Jimin mumbles sadly. Dramatic. “What do you want to eat princess?” Asks but doesn’t make any efforts to get away from you.

“Something unhealthy.” You say without a beat.

“Mhm, like a cheeseburger with extra cheese.”

“And chips.”

“And chips.” Jimin finally straightens up. “You wanna leave now?”. Asks. Eyes watching you with genuine concern now. You shake your head, though.

“No ─” You cup your tummy with both of your hands. As if it’s your most prized possession. Take a moment. “My tummy says she can wait few more hours.” Say very seriously that both of you burst out laughing. Well, when you think about it, you laugh more when you’re with Jimin. He does too. You’re happy, aren’t you? Insanely happy. You take a swig from your own beer cane to calm down from laughing. Take a deep breath after. “Park?” Call him in the end. Jimin raises his brow in question. “Thank you.” You whisper. You feel like he deserved to be thanked. It’s Jimin’s time to be confused now. So, you opt to provide an explanation. “I was nervous and worried. I don’t know why but I was. Now I really feel relaxed so, thank you for that.” Shrug. Don’t want to appear so sentimental now. Think Jimin will tease you. He doesn’t.

“I’m glad.” Mutters instead. You nod in acknowledgement. Oh, how relaxed you really feel now. How nice it would be if you could stay in this moment forever. You tilt your head up, fixing your eyes upon the starry sky instead of the city lights. Let your mind wander through different possibilities and scenarios. About your insane life. Isn’t it ridiculous that you’re stargazing in a world you don’t belong in?

“You know what Park,” You start suddenly. Without any prior thoughts. It just popped on your head while you’re watching the stars. You can see Jimin is mirroring you through your peripherals. “We’re not looking at the same sky when I’m in my world.” You don’t know why you said that. You did and suddenly the air turns heavy. You regret your words immediately. It feels depressing. It’s already out now, so, you turn to look at Jimin again. He has a serious expression on his face now.

“That- uh- I never thought about it that way. It’s strange, isn’t it?” He voices out after a long beat. It really is strange.

“It is. Sorry, I shouldn’t have start talking about─”

“But do you know what I always think when I look at the sky?” Jimin interrupts your apology. You don’t ask him what. Just wait for him to continue. “You came from a star.” He answers his own question. Your heart doesn’t skip a beat, it stops altogether. A shaky breath leaving your lips. Jimin always surprises you. You can’t learn a way to not to be surprised. That’s so unexpected. And you’re getting emotional again. Why would he say that?

“I- I- uh─” You stutter on your words. Not knowing what to say.

“What? You are. You came from a star.” He says so casually. Matter of factly. Holy fuck, he makes you feel so damn special. Like you’re the only woman exist. You don’t want to feel this way. It’s so good but scary as hell at the same time. So, you’re glad when an unexpected voice interrupts you from nowhere. Slightly startling you.

“Hey, I’m sorry but can you take a picture of me and my boyfriend?” You turn around to look at a petite girl with a polaroid camera in her hands. She holds it toward you when you finally pay attention to her. You look past her to see the said boyfriend there. The girl looks at you expectedly.

“Oh,” You give a quick glance to Jimin. He gives you a soft smile. “Yeah, sure. Gimme.”

She mumbles to you a quick thank you as you start to take their pictures which quickly turns into a well-planned photo shoot. You must have ended up taking pictures for more than half an hour and are grumpy as hell when you return back to Jimin. He looks happy, though. A wide smile on his face.

“For fucks sake!” You curse under your breath as Jimin stretches his arm to catch you. You gracefully fall into his arms. “I’m sorry that took so long.” You mutter an apology to his chest.

“It’s okay, you’re a good photographer.” He rubs his hand on your back soothingly. You click your tongue in annoyance when that same voice come behind you for a second time. You really have to bunch your fists in Jimin’s shirt to hide your annoyance. You can hit her if she’s bothering you again for one more picture.

“Excuse me, do you want me to take a picture of you too?” But she surprises you. You just turn your head to look at her while staying in Jimin’s hold. “Yours and your boyfriend’s?” She adds. Here’s a second person who misunderstood you and Jimin. Because it’s easy to do so. You definitely look like a couple. Your eyes widen. You almost shake your head in denial and declining her offer, when you’re suddenly turned around in Jimin’s hand. Facing the camera.

“Why not. Thank You.” Jimin says aloud as you snap your head toward him. Brows knitted in confusion and seriously questioning his life decisions. Jimin just stare back at you with his eyes glinting and smiling wide. Beautiful. You really want to protest but your heart is back to beating madly. Especially when Jimin holds from your jaw to turn your head forward. Then he hides his face in your neck, arms circling around your figure protectively. You stare at the girl in front of you with the camera raised to her eye. Still surprised. It takes you a second to register what’s really happening. To adjust your face to the photo. Your photo face. Your gentle smile. Or at least you try to do so. Just to fail. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Not even when you bite on to your lower lip. Jimin simply follows you. And you’re certain that you ruin three perfect shots.

Only that you don’t. Not at all. She hands you the three polaroids. It wasn’t ruined. It’s perfect if anything. Perfect in the way Jimin is looking at you in the first. All the while you’re furrowing at him. Makes Jimin burst out in laughter at that one. It’s perfect how you are so surprised when Jimin is hiding his face in your neck. Above all it’s perfect how genuine you both look while you’re crackling with laughter. They would’ve looked better if you have pulled your photo face on. But this way, they are real. It’s real you and Jimin frozen there.

“Perfect. I’m keeping all the three.” Jimin snatches the one in your hand. Pockets them immediately.

“No what? That’s no fair.” You try to grab his arm as he walks away. Ready to leave this place.

“How come? You didn’t want to take them.” Jimin easily avoids you as he opens the car door.

“No but... You gonna give me one or else I’m gonna kick your rich ass so hard. You hear me?” You get into the car as well. Glaring at Jimin. He’s grinning from ear to ear.

Isn’t this perfect?

……………………………………

You turn to face the window as far as the passenger seat permits.

“I’m not giving you my milkshake, Park. You could’ve ordered one.” You grumble as you’re stuffing your mouth. All the while trying your best to protect your large milkshake.

“Well, I didn’t.” Jimin leans over the center console. There’s no space for you to turn now. Yet you try your best to keep the cup away from his grabby hands.

“And how’s that my fault?”

“You made me order coffee. At this hour.”

“I did no such thing. I’m gonna bite you if you─” Your threat instantly drops dead when Jimin snatches your cup of milkshake from your hand swiftly. “Yah!” You scream as he opens the car door in light speed. How the fuck does he move that fast?

“Too bad princess.” He leaves the car promptly. Leaving you blinking at the now- empty spot. Only until you register what happens, though. When it does your entire body goes rigid. Brain switches to full-on massacre mode.

“Yah, Park Jimin!” You open the passenger door as well. Abandon your burger. Poke your head out first. Looking at the Jimin who just stands there few feet away from you. Looking smug. “You gonna regret it you know. No one’s messing with my food. You’re dead.” You’re very serious here. Jimin looks adorable, yes. Still, you’re not going to give away your food. Even though he’s the one who paid. Who cares.

You curse lowly as you hurriedly get out of the car. Regretting the decision you made to remove your shoes. Yet you don’t have enough time to pull on your sneakers when your milkshake is in a threat. So, you ignore the way how rough the asphalt on the parking lot of the fast-food restaurant where you brought your food- feels under your bare feet. Just squint your eyes threateningly. For a minute. And you’re sprinting toward a grinning Park Jimin. He breaks into a run at the same time you do, though. It’s too bad he has shoes for added leverage. Not that you’ll give up though. You’ll run over ice and fire barefoot if what it means to take your milkshake back. That is your plan. And so do you nearly come succeeding before a sharp gravel stop you mid- running. You have stepped on it squarely. A sharp sting courses through your sole as you abruptly stop. Wincing. A yelp leaving your mouth as you fight for your balance. Jimin halts immediately as well.

“Lil?” Turns around quickly to run back to you. It’s impressive how he reaches you so fast. Playful expression completely changed into a one of concern. “What happened?”

You stop hopping on one leg while clutching the other for your life. “Fuck, I stepped on this shit.” Grumble as you kick the gravel away. Just like that Jimin’s concerned expression changes back into an amused one. His teasing voice echoing around. Making fun of you for your death threat which ended up in you hobbling on one leg. You pout at him. “It’s your fault.” Complaint. Eyeing your milkshake which is still in Jimin’s possession. Brain planning on ways to snatch it away. How bad that Jimin can read you too well. Even before you could properly stretch your hand Jimin puts the straw in his mouth. Draws a long gulp that you’re certain the entire drink is gone. You whine loudly as you place your forehead in his chest. “Not fair.”

Jimin curls his free hand around your figure, holding you close. Chuckles. Ruffles your hair a bit before he brings the cup down to your lips. “Want me to buy you a new one?” Questions softly as you wrap your lips around the straw. You shake your head. Lips stretching into a smile. You take the drink from his hand. Straightening up and turning around. Jimin warps his hands around you. Hiding his nose in your hair.

“You’re mean”

“You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You huff. It’s not that you’re really mad at him. You would’ve shared the drink with him anyway. It’s more fun this way though. You blindly raise the cup to him again. “I like this.” You let out a breath. A relaxed one. Because you really do like this.

“Like what?” Jimin rubs his hand over your tummy. Takes another swig.

“Being reckless.”

“How?”

“Like how I’m drinking a milkshake, barefoot, with the CEO of RUN, in a parking lot of a fast-food restaurant, as if we are ten years old.” Jimin laughs at that. The vibration of his body reverberating through you. Making your smile wider. “What else?” He questions. Places a soft kiss in your hair. You take a minute to think.

“Mmm, like boarding a random bus and travelling without knowing where we are going.” He hums in acknowledgement. So, you continue. “Like eating extra cheese, cheeseburgers late at night when I know I’d regret this soon.” You pause to snort. Jimin uses that pause to plant a soft kiss into your ear. Hums again. This time though, that hum makes you slightly shiver. Probably because it’s a whisper in your ear. Or the way he’s mindlessly nibbling on your ear. You take a breath. Contemplating what you should say next. Feel playful. Decide you want to play with fire. Jimin is fire. And you love pouring gasoline on him.

“Like making out with you on a public lane or giving you footjobs out in the open.” It works. A mischievous smile creeps on your lips as you feel Jimin goes rigid. “Or... like allowing you to finger me outside a convenience store while all our friends were just inside.” Jimin’s grip suddenly tighten on you. Your smile grows into a grin. Easy. He might be the one who always play but isn’t it amazing how you can fluster a man like Park Jimin just with your words. See, he makes you feel special.

“Yeah, you like that?” Oh, you know that voice. It’s low and dangerous. Enough to make you shiver. You nod. Turn your head to catch his lips. “I like it a lot, Park.” Whisper against his after you pull away. Who can blame you for not being able to get enough of Park Jimin. It’s not playing with fire anymore. You’re slowly starting to get riled up. “Want to be reckless then? I have an idea.” Mumbles in your ear. And you have to close your eyes at the shiver that runs down your spine. A spark of fire igniting inside your stomach.

“Idea?” You smile. He reciprocates. Nods. “Your ideas are dangerous Park Jimin.”

“But your sweet cunt loves them.” Jimin purrs before turning you around to face him fully and kissing you hard.

Well, you love those ideas too.

……………………………

“Holy fuck, are you serious?” You shriek in mortification. Eyes wide as you take the sight of an aged wall of a neighborhood park. Small. Closed. Vacated. Except for the patrolling guards. And Park Jimin, being the idiot he is, wants you to climb over the wall and trespass. To add more to the ridiculous picture, he’s going to fuck you after.

What the actual fuck?

“Very, princess. C’mon” He holds his hand for you. You take it yet make no movements to go near the wall. He must be kidding you. He’s a darn CEO. Old. Matured. Or he is supposed to be mature. Taking a random bus to Namiseom Island is another thing. This? This is far too risky. You’ll end up in jail. And his face will be on every platform. His career will be ruined. Liya will kill you both. His friends won’t look at his face again. Still, though, he doesn’t care. “Lil?” He tugs gently from your hand. Inspects your mortified expression for moment. His expression softens “Hey!” Turns around to face you fully. Cups your cheek. “I’ve been here before. I won��t take you to a place that’s gonna harm you. But if you really don’t want to, it’s okay baby.” Gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Smiles.

You inhale sharply. You know. Of course, you know he won’t. And he’s giving you full control. You’re completely allowed to say yes or no. To tell the truth, you’re nervous as hell. Your heart is beating violently, and your stomach is churning awfully. There’s goosebumps on your skin. This is risky. How humiliating it’d be to get caught. Yet, with everything, you can’t ignore the tingle in your lower abdomen. Can’t ignore the way your clit pulses. Maybe there’s an exhibitionist in you. Or it’s simply the adrenaline rush. Paired with Park Jimin. Whatever the reason, this is too compelling. Tempting. Besides, you’re with Park Jimin, aren’t you?

“Why the hell you’ve been here before this late anyway? Were you dealing drugs before RUN happened?” You sigh as you make your way toward the decaying wall. Jimin’s eyes sparkle at your agreement. He comes up behind you, placing his hand on your waist.

“Highschool. Taehyung was a bad influence.” He explains the reason.

“You knew each other that long?”

“Mhm. Lucky me.” Jimin chuckles before making you walk even closer to the wall. “Gonna lift you up, okay? Think you can make it? Jump to the other side?” Gives a reassuring squeeze to your waist. You nod in confidence. The wall isn’t that high. So, you grab the edge of the wall fairly easily once Jimin lifts you up. Putting your weight on your hands with the help of Jimin to climb up. You make sure to sit on the edge before jumping to other side. It’s a bit of a collide when your feet hit the floor. You can’t remember the last time you climbed a wall. You have. As a kid. This feels like you’re doing it after a lifetime. Your adult body hasn’t been trained to jump from walls. Yet, it isn’t something hard. Even easier for Jimin, it seems. Despite his suit pants and designer shoes he jumps to your side swiftly after you.

You eye him eagerly. Not believing you’re actually doing this. You’ve climbed over a wall to enter a closed park. And he is going to fuck you here. Excitement builds up inside your stomach. Replacing all the nervousness you felt earlier. It’s becoming pure desire slowly. Jimin smirks at your state. Nothing happened yet. Nothing besides the initiation of sex. But here you are trembling with anticipation. Jimin intensifies it by slowly walking to you. You stay rooted to your spot as he grabs your hips. “Sure, you wanna do this baby?” Drags his palms from your hips to your ass cheeks. Squeezes them gently. Repeatedly. Until a low moan erupts from you. You hum in answer with a nod. Chase his lips needily when he deny you of the pleasure. Steps away from you for much of your dismay. Takes your hand in his, however. “Let’s go then. Gonna make my pretty slut forget her name, hm?” Mumbles as he starts to walk forward. You just follow him. Too excited to even being able to talk.

He doesn’t take it much further. Only until you spot the first bench. Everything is quiet and still as Jimin takes a seat and makes you straddle him. Your dress bunching up. You put your hands on his shoulders. This is a very familiar place to you now. Park Jimin’s lap. You’ve seen how he looks at you when you make yourself home in his lap before. Not that it makes it older. No. Your tummy is fluttering violently as you nudge your nose against him. Your cunt clenching around nothing while he just soothingly rubs your sides. There’s no light in the park. Only the moon and the distance streetlamps give you the gentle light to make each other’s features. And that is quite enough to see the lust in his eyes. Droopy and heavy. Enough to see the sparkle.

The wind ruffles your hair and soothes your burning skin. It’s weird. To be in this position here. But at the same time, it’s relieving. You’re the one who pull him into a kiss first. Your patience is running thin with every passing second. Jimin willingly gives into you. Allowing you to have control of the kiss. Tongues dancing together. He guides you gently to adjust your hips to slot your aching cunt over his already hardened bulge. Then into a slow grinding. Just builds the tension slowly. Working you into a brainless frenzy within few minutes. You pick up the speed. Deepen the kiss. Make it messy and moan into his mouth. And lastly pull away breathless.

“Fuck!” Jimin pants. Immediately seek purchase in your neck and jaw. You align your head to give him what he’s looking for. Moaning his name when he starts to suck new purple marks into your skin. It’s a low and subtle moan. Yet in the chilly night air it sounds so loud that you involuntarily bite on his shoulder to muffle your noises. You know there’s no one around. Except for some security guard who’s probably nodding off somewhere. You’re safe for the most parts. But the thought that you’re out in the open. Under the sky. No four walls to keep your privacy and above all, the knowledge that there’s still a risk even though it’s low, riles you to no end. Gets you panties drenched in seconds. Brain blank with pure raw desire.

“J-Jimin…”

“Hm, princess?”

“Wanna suck you off.” You whine. Pressing your mouth into his ear. Peppering kisses to his cheek. Then jaw. Nuzzling your nose into his skin and drinking up his scent. He smells good. So good. Nothing unfamiliar. But something that always makes your arousal worsen. You bury your face in his neck. Jimin gives you a light spank. Then rubs the sting away. Groans when you attack his pulse point. Hips bucking up to yours.

“Fucking hell, baby, you want that. How bad do you want that?” Touches you everywhere he can reach. Your back. Ass. Thighs. You pull away to look at his face.

“So, fucking bad.” Give him the puppy eyes, unnecessarily. Jimin won’t say no. You know he can’t say no. He curses again. Nods. Gives you a searing kiss before you start to climb down from his lap. Taking your sweet time kneeling in front of him. Keeping your eyes locked with his. Slowly start to play the game where you have control. You start it by pressing soft kisses to his visible bulge over his pants. Gets him clenching his jaw hard. Hand coming to rest in your hair. Yet, he doesn’t control your movements.

“Baby, you sure, you can- fuck- isn’t your knees- holy fuck Lil.” You interrupt his question by rubbing your face on his bulge. You know it’s involuntary how his hips jerk up seeking more friction. And so do you know what he was about to ask. Because hell yes, your knees hurt on the gravel road. Another reckless decision that you’ll regret the coming morning. But in the end, you don’t care. Jimin sounds magical above you. So, you ignore the sting. Just proceed to undo his pants. Hurriedly. Want to tease him but are too afraid to bide your time. What if someone comes and you don’t get to do this here.

“I’m fine.” Mutter quickly as you pull down his pants. He raises his hips in aid. Just enough to free his throbbing cock. Leaking pre cum already. Jimin hisses the moment the cool air hits him. You take a moment to be in awe. Appreciate. Licking your lips in anticipation.

“Take it in baby, make a mess hm? Make it wet and nice so, I can slide into your tight hole easily.” Jimin tangles his fingers in your hair again. He is getting impatient. You like it when that happens to him. When he can’t control himself. He brings you closer to his twitching cock. Holds his length upright with his free hand. Waits with hooded eyes watching intently down at you. You give him another simple nod before wrapping your lips around him. You both moan at the same time. You fall into action right away. Swirling your tongue around the leaking tip and tasting the pre cum. Moaning and whimpering at the taste. Jimin keeps a tight grip on your hair. Not controlling. Just keeping it there. Hips thrusting up ever so gently. “Deeper baby. Go fucking deep. I know you can. Fucking hell, Lil.” Grunts and groans.

And you live for those sounds. Who are you to decline his demands. You do exactly as you’re asked for. Going deeper and deeper till he hits the back of your throat. “Yes, fuck. You’re so good princess. Your mouth feels like heaven.” Jimin praises you as you try to adjust to the size and control your gagging. Slowly start to bob your head up and down. Drooling over his thick cock and making the mess he asked you to make. Sounds of slurping fill the night air with occasional gags you try to control and Jimin’s heavenly moans. You pick up your speed with every bob, dragging your tongue along his soft shaft. Tracing the veins. Curling it around his tip every time you go there. Play with his balls. Putting Jimin into a haze.

“That’s it baby, shit, I’m close, Lil.” His grip on your hair tightens. He doesn’t have to voice that he’s close. You can feel his thighs tense. Feel his cock twitch in your throat. You moan around him in acknowledgment. Whole body filling with determination to pull him over the edge in a way he’d never forget. Determination to taste his cum on your tongue. You pick up your speed. Only that his words aren’t a phrase, it’s a warning.

Just as you think he’s about to shoot those hot seeds into the warmth of your mouth, he pulls your head up with your hair. Fast and rough that your scalp stings. His cock slips out of your mouth, connecting to your lips with a trail of saliva that breaks soon as he raises your head to look at him. You wince in pain. Jimin lets go of your hair immediately. His chest heaving. Face flushed red and mouth agape. Is fighting for breath. “Sorry, I’m sorry baby. Was so close.” He rolls his head back. Then look back at you. You look at him with questioning eyes. He reads you well. “No. Not like that Lil. Want to fuck you. C’mon baby.” Bends down to help you to your wobbly feet. “On my lap.” Taps his muscular thighs. You whine in complaint but relents. Reluctantly. Ready to straddle him again. But this time he stops you. Turns you around and pulls you onto his lap, smoothly.

“Jimin.” You gasp softly as he drags your body closer to him. Back pressed against his chest. Makes you bend your legs. Your shoe soles on his knees. Just like the day he fingered you outside that convenience store. You think that’s his plan when he plays with the hem of your dress.

“Want you to cum before me baby.” He breathes in your ear. Pulls your dress up, baring your lower half to the cool air. Spreads your legs. You moan at the sensation of cool air turning your hot slick covered panties cool. Which turns into a broken tangled noise in your throat when Jimin palms your cunt. Cupping your heat tightly. Drags a finger through your slit. Smears the wetness across your cute lacy panty, ruining it. You buck into his hand gracefully. “Feel good slut? Do you like this?” Jimin teases. Keeps his ministration going. You let your head fall back into his shoulder. Closing your eyes.

“Yes, Jimin. Need more.”

“You always need more minx.” He chuckles. Yet gives you what you want. Pushes your panty to the side. Touches your drenched folds bare. Gathering the wetness in his fingers to bring them to your aching clit. Drawing figure eights at an agonizingly slow pace. You know he plays. Know he’d tease you no matter what. Disregarding the place. Just how you like it. So, you allow him. Just moaning and crying for more. Dripping a river that you stain his pants. Till you can’t anymore and desperate like a bitch in heat. The warmth of his fingers and the contrast in the night air creating a heavenly friction on your heated cunt.

“Pleasepleaseplase, oh Jimin fuck, more.” You buck into his hands like you’ve lost your mind. No, scratch that. You have lost your mind. You want his hot, hard cock. Want him to fuck you senseless. Are so glad when he relents at your first beg. His hand disappear from your cunt instantly. Your panty falling back to its place. You whimper while he brings his own cock in his hand. Stroking slowly.

“More? You want more slut? Want me to fuck you on this bench? Out in the open?” Adjusts on you in his lap so, he can rub his hard cock on your slit. Over your panties. You mewl desperately. Wanting the damn fabric to vanish. Wanting to feel his cock on your bare pussy.

“Yes, yes, yes please. Want you to fuck me like the slut I am. Holy fuck Jimin.” You turn your head down to see his cock rubbing against your slick folds. Making you almost cry at the desperation.

“Oh, I’m gonna do that baby. Gonna fuck you till you scream. But don’t you want me to play then? You love it when I play.” Jimin taunts. In your ear. You don’t know what to say. Brain hazy and a mush. Words fail you as you only whimper in return. Jimin is enjoying this. You know he is. A law chuckle rumble in his chest as proof. He takes your whimper as a yes to whatever he wants to do. And so, he does what he wants. In a second, he pushes your panties to the side again. Nudges his cock head against your folds. You sigh in relief at the contact. But then instead of dragging his cock down toward your entrance he just lets the fabric fall into its place again. Making it keep his cock pressed between your nether lips, comfortably. Your clit pulse at the sensation. More and more arousals seeping out from your needy and empty hole. You can feel his cock throbs as well.

“Fuck, Jimin.” You thrust your hips upward slowly. Making his cock drag against your slit. Making Jimin groan.

“Oh, yes. Keep doing that.” He coaches while bringing his hand to hold his cock in place. You keep rocking your hips up and down to make him rub against you. And you have no idea when you stop moving and Jimin starts it. All you know is every nudge of his dick head against your throbbing clit makes you sob. Both of your essence creating a mess inside your lacy underwear. So, you have no idea how long you goes at it. Just rubbing his cock in your slit like horny rabbits. Not even the cold night air could calm your hot skin anymore. You’re long gone.

“That’s enough. J-Jimin. Please that’s enough. Inside me please.”

Jimin is long gone too. He doesn’t complain. Doesn’t tease. Nods. You make space between your bodies by raising your hips up. Enough for him place his hard cock against your entrance. And you sink down. Taking him easily at how wet you are after all the teasing. You both groan in relief after he is fully sheathed inside you.

“So tight baby. Sh-shit so tight.” Jimin wraps a tight arm around your torso. Gives you a minute to adjust. “Make space princess. Gonna rail your cute cunt.” Mumbles as he pulls the neckline of your dress down. Together with your bra. Making your nipples pebble. “Is this fine?” Asks as he gives a light slap to one of your tits. Makes it bounce. You nod violently.

“Yes. Please move. Can’t take it anymore.”

“Got you princess.” He soothes you. Delivers another slap to your other tit as well. Then finally gives you what you want. Strating as a slow but heavenly thrust. You make space for him the best you could. Allowing him to pick up his speed. He does. Slowly but surely building up his pace. Turning it into a brutal plunging to your hole. Drags the neckline of your dress the furthest he can. Keeping your soft mounds out in the open. Occasionally squeezing and slapping them in between his harsh movements. Brings his free hand to your clit. Shifting between pinching and circling.

“Fuck yes baby. So, fucking good for me. Look at you my pretty slut. Getting fucked out in the open. Imagine someone walking in baby. They’d see how much of a fucking slut you are for me baby. You’d like that, don’t you?” Jimin picks up the speed of circling your clit. You don’t think it’s possible to feel more aroused. More heated. Yet you do. His words shooting straight to your core. Making your clit pulse and walls clenching around him hard. Yet you fail to answer him again. Jimin groans at how tight you get. Presses a kiss to you ear at the same time his hand withdraws from your cunt. You don’t get to mourn the loss, however. His hand lands back on your clit harshly. Slap. Light. But enough to make your back arch in pleasurable pain.

“Fuck!” You choke. Jimin starts rubbing your clit again. Soothing the pain. “Asked you a question baby. Answer me.” Commands. “Would you like that?” Repeats.

“Yes. I do. Fu-fuck J-Jimin. Baby yes.” You sputter, not knowing what you’re talking about. “D-do that again, J-Jimin, holy fuck do that again. Please.” Cry out so hard it should be humiliating. You don’t bring yourself to care, however. And Jimin doesn’t think that way either.

“Fuckfuckfuck, you want me to slap your cunt baby? What a slut you are?” Grunts while he does as you ask. Another slap lands on your aching clit. Making you whimper but taking you dangerously close to the edge. “You’re so damn perfect Lil. Such a good slut for me.” Slap. “Take it like that.” Slap. “My pretty slut. Is this what you wanted?” Slap. His cock drills into your spasming walls relentlessly.

“That’s a good slut. Ah keep squeezing me baby. Keep dripping for me.” Lands another slap to your clit. And just like that everything dissolves into pleasure. Your eyes rolling back as you go rigid in his hold. Crying out his name repeatedly as your intense orgasm washes over you. “Jesus. Fucking hell Lil. God baby.” Jimin moans. Trying to fuck you through your orgasm. To keep thrusting inside your tight walls. “Oh fuck, too tight. Gonna cum baby. Gonna fucking- where do you─” Jimin’s words breaks into strangled noises as you try to relax and let him keep using your spent cunt to his pleasure. He is losing the precision of his rhythm. You know he’s too close. Clenching his jaw tightly and fingers digging into your flesh bruising. “Where d-do you want me Lil? Want me to pull out.” He hides his face in your neck. Teeth lightly scraping your shoulder.

“No. Please no. Inside. Jimin inside. Fill me up.” You wail. Feeling a feral desire to have him cum inside you. To feel the otherworldly sensation of his hot cum shooting inside your walls.

“Fuck. Yes, Lil. Again. Do it again baby. Beg for my cum.”

You jump into action without any hesitation. “Please baby please. Cum inside me, hm? Want it so bad. I need you to cum inside me. J-Jimin please.” And that’s all it take. Jimin’s teeth sink it your shoulder, muffling his cry of your name as he stills his hips. Pushing your hips down to press against his. You shiver at the sensation of rope after rope of hot seeds spilling inside you. It’s heavenly. Everything about Jimin is heavenly to you.

Jimin keeps his face hidden in your neck. His bruising grip on your body lightning but his hands never leaving. Instead, he starts to rub your tummy soothingly. You wait there in blissful silence. Finally starting to feel the cold air on your heated skin again. Senses coming back to your mind as you feel Jimin starting to soften inside you. It’s getting cold now. Yet he is warm against you. You both are covered in sweat. Sticky. Yet you can’t complain about him holding you so close. It’s so good. Jimin and this moment. Crazy. Unbelievable. But yet so good.

Jimin is the one who proceeds to make a move first. Raises his head from your shoulder. Breathing slowly calmed down. “You good baby?” Asks tenderly. You just nod. “Yeah? Can you move?” Again, you don’t give a verbal answer but raise your hips, so he slips out of you. Jimin fixes your underwear into its place. You wince at the drenched feeling. It’s only getting worse as his cum has started to seep out of you. You open your mouth lazily to complain when a sudden sound of dry leaf crunching reaches your ears. Undoubtedly footsteps. You both snap your heads to where the sound came from. Eyes wide and suddenly alerted. Your gazes falling on a white spot in the close distance. Moving. A torch. Patrolling guards.

You suck in a sharp breath. Your brain starts blaring alarms. Jimin curses aloud, immediately pulling your neckline up. Makes you stand up. He does the same. Starting to fix his pants. Your legs are a little shaky but there’s nothing you can do about it now. You look at Jimin with wide panicked eyes. The beam of light getting closer to you. You both look like shit. There’s a hard stain of both of your cum on Jimin’s pant. And you know that his cum will start to leak down through your thighs soon. There would be no more humiliation than getting caught in this state.

No. This can’t be happening right now.

“What would we do?” You whisper yell in your shaky voice. Jimin looks around you frantically. The light is coming closer and closer. You feel your heart beating in your throat. Faer turning your blood into water. You clutch Jimin’s hand for emotional support. “Jimin.” Call him frantically. It feels like you’re about to get hunted down by a predator. Jimin turns his attention to you. For a moment he looks like he doesn’t know what to do. Then it disappears. A small smirk displays on his mouth. You merge your eyebrows in confusion. Jimin’s smirk widens into an amused smile before he bends down. Plants a soft peck on your lips. Pulls away to stare at your scared eyes.

“We run princess.” States slowly. That’s the only warning you get before he takes your hand in his. Turns around and start running at the same time when you hear a loud gasp behind you. Beam of white light directly lands on you. Showing you the path ahead.

“Yah! What the hell are you doing here you little pricks? Stop right there!” A loud voice booms across. You wince in horror. But you’re already on the run. Through the lane you walked inside. Jimin’s hand clutching yours protectively. This is ridiculous. Just like how it was to drag Jimin inside a random bus. Who can complain though. You wanted to be reckless. Stupid. And this is exactly what you wanted. The rush of adrenaline as you run away from a yelling man. Wind sweeping past your face. You don’t even care about the wetness dripping down your legs. You let Jimin guide you. And you run.

A wide grin appears on your face.

……………………………

You had plans for J’s birthday. Or Jungkook did. A surprise. You were supposed to help him with planning. That’s not what’s happening apparently. It turns out that your surprise really wasn’t a surprise when J had called Jungkook. To tell him to stop planning her surprise birthday party. You had snorted so hard when a somber looking Jungkook broke the news to you. Had comforted him saying it was fine. And her reason was that Jin was giving you all this fancy dinner at a fancy restaurant where broken college students like you could never afford to go. So, of course, J would choose Jin’s invitation above all. You’re more than surprised at the fact that Jin actually had taken your words seriously. It’s good. Really.

Only that Jungkook isn’t happy. He huffs as you stand in the entryway to the lavish restaurant. Five fucking stars. You bump into his side. “Oh, c’mon Kook, no need to look like a grumpy old dad. This is good for your pocket.” You reason with him as you did all day long. Ever since the day J asked him not to throw a party for her. Jungkook clicks his tongue.

“She’s a bitch to turn me down.” He pouts hard. You know he isn’t truly mad at J. Maybe he’s feeling insecure. Jealous. You’re not sure.

“She didn’t turn you down. Besides, you’re here, aren’t you Jungkook. You should be happy she’s getting a fancy dinner.”

“I am.” He purses his lips. “This is ridiculous though. I mean J and Jin? Since when?” Jungkook turns to look at you with wide doe eyes. Lights of the restaurant reflect in them. You roll your eyes.

“You were so observant of me, but you didn’t know your best friend fucked Jin at the cottage? Way to go Jungkook.” Jungkook gasps loudly at your words. Now looking at you with his mouth hanging open too.

“And she didn’t tell me?” Questions with disbelief.

“Have you asked her? Oh, c’mon, let’s go inside, can we? Don’t act like a jealous boyfriend.” You hook your arm with his. Starting to walk forward, dragging him with you. He asks some more questions about how on earth he would’ve missed it. You ignore them. Smile to the pretty hostess. Tell her about your reservation and keep dragging Jungkook as you follow her lead. Your table is a corner one. Secluded. Private. Large. Enough to fit all of your friends. It’s mostly empty as you arrive, however. Seems you’re early. It’s just J, Jin, Yoongi, and your dear boss Hoseok there. They all raise their heads to acknowledge you as you approach the table. J gets to her feet immediately. She looks elated. Pretty. A little tiara on her head. And you’re definitely not surprised to see her hair pink. That’s just J.

You let go of Jungkook’s arm to hug J. “Happy birthday baby!” You squeal as she hug you back tightly, practically squeezing the life out of you.

“Thank you.” She pats your back. Slightly pulling away from you, grinning. Opens her mouth to tell you something only for it to turn into a surprised yelp. And she isn’t the only one who yelp. You yelp as well when something collides with your back, plunging you forward to plaster with a wide-eyed J. It takes your brain two good minutes to realize what collided with your back is Jungkook’s chest. He wraps his arms around you and holds you and J at the same time. Sandwiching you between himself and J.

“What the fuck?”

“Jungkook.” You and J exclaim at the same time. Annoyed and irritated.

“Happy birthday traitor. I do not wish to touch you at this time, so, this is how I’m gonna wish you a happy birthday. Using Noona as my shield.” Jungkook ignores your yelps as he states in a calm voice. You groan.

“For fucks sake Jungkook!” J whine, trying to wriggle herself free. Making it worse for you. Jungkook doesn’t even budge. You and J both start to complain. Halfway starting to giggle as well.

“Are you serious Kid.” Jin butts in too. Jungkook turns his head to throw a glare at the older guy.

“Yes, very. What’s your problem?” He asks Jin in a low growl as you do your best to free your hands at least. Until you realize it’s a lost game and give up. Accept your fate. Just look over J’s shoulder to wave at your boss. Who looks frustrated sitting next to a bored Yoongi.

“What is this? Everyone has a date?” Yoongi is the one who speaks first though. There’s no proper greetings will be exchanged between you, considering Jungkook would never let go you or J. J is still struggling while Jungkook is at a staring competition with Jin. Who looks taken aback. “And you didn’t tell me to bring one?” Yoongi gives an incredulous look to Hoseok. He rolls his eyes.

“As if you have someone to bring.”

“Of course, I do.” Yoongi gasps. Which Hoseok completely ignored as he pays his attention to you.

“Would you mind letting my assistant go Jungkook. I want her alive please.” Talks to Jungkook instead. In vain. Jungkook dramatically explains how he’s not going to allow these men steal all of his friends. You are really making up your mind to eat your dinner while being squeezed between two people when a voice behind you saves you.

“Okay, what did we miss? Why’s Jungkook trying to kill those two?” You recognize Yoona’s voice. Jungkook’s grip loosens on you as he tries to turn around. Both you and J sigh in relief. You immediately step away from Jungkook. Not wanting to risk it again. Nearly turn around to face Yoona and Namjoon when Yoongi lets out a groan.

“See, you prick, everyone has a date!” He levels his cousin with a pointed look. You catch a faint glimpse of Hoseok flipping Yoongi off as you turn around. Grinning brightly. Eyes landing firstly on Namjoon who is crushing J in a tight hug. Then your eyes dart to someone who has arrived now. Taehyung and Seoyeon. Taehyung in his always cheery mood as he shows Namjoon away to take his chance to hug J. You chuckle softly to yourself before letting your eyes wander behind Seoyeon who stands beside Taehyung. And like that, the wide grin that has been adorning your face drops to the floor. Instantly. Not even a sign of a faint smile is left on your face.

Blonde man is the first one who you notice. He should’ve been a reason to even deepen your grin. That would’ve been the case, if it isn’t for the woman, you notice next. Casually leaning against Park Jimin. Her arm hooked with his. A faint smile on her lips. Glowing. Elegant.

You didn’t know Liya was coming.

How come no one has warned you. You feel your heart sink to the pit of your stomach. Creating a void in its place. A strange sensation clouding over you. You can’t help but turn around to look at Hoseok. In question. You don’t know why you expect he should’ve been the one to warn you. It’s not his responsibility. If anything, it’s Jimin’s. Yet Hoseok gives you a surprised look. Shrugs. Shakes his head. That tells you one thing. He didn’t know that either. So, you turn back to newly arrived guests. Jin is now on his feet greeting everyone. Your eyes land on Jimin. He looks abashed. As if he would like to be anywhere else than here. Troubled. Your eyes meet for a second. Only for a second as you turn your gaze away immediately.

This is not good at all. You really don’t wish to be in the vicinity of Kim Liya at all. With people or alone. But above all, you don’t wish to be in her presence when she’s with Park Jimin. Her boyfriend. The man who fucks you behind her back. How ridiculous. You have no right to feel any remorse at this moment. Yet here you are. You hate to be in the same room as Kim Liya when you feel your insides twist uncomfortably at the sight of them. A feeling you can’t quite explain. It’s uncomfortable. Makes you want to run away. That shitty feeling only intensifies as you assess Liya. The way she looks. You think it’s amazing how she looks that gorgeous when you and she are the same person.

Jungkook snaps you out of your misery by placing his hand on the small of your back. “Noona? You, okay?” Mumbles. You nod. Forcing yourself to snap your eyes away from Liya. Away from Jimin. To pull on a smile. You can’t appear moody all of a sudden. It’s true that most people here know about your pathetic situation. Yet, there are people who don’t, and you wish to keep it that way. Besides, you need to act indifferent in front of Liya. So, you just allow Jungkook to guide you towards a chair. Next to Hoseok. And you’re so grateful for Taehyung when he beats Liya to the chair right across from you. It would’ve been fun to look at her face directly throughout the entire night.

You don’t want that at all. Yet, the thing is though, it’s quite hard to keep your gaze focused on anywhere else than the said woman. Or the man sitting next to her. You feel irritated. Partially at yourself for feeling this way. Partially at Jimin for what reasons, you don’t know. It’s such a shame how a great night turns into a full-on torture. The food must taste heavenly considering how your friends react after your table is full of a feast. You don’t feel that, however. Every bite you take turns into ashes in your mouth. You find it impossible to keep up with the conversation that is flowing around.

You’re getting heavily distracted every time you catch a glimpse of Jimin. He sits on the other side of the table from you. To your left. You can see him in your peripherals easily. Not to mention the amount of time you turn your head too. He locks his eyes with you more than hundred times. Something clearly written on them. The gut twisting, irritated feeling you’re getting, however, makes you turn away immediately without trying to read him. You’re mad at him. He should’ve texted you. Told you that Liya would be here. You don’t know what you’d have done if you knew but it feels like Jimin ignored you.

And to add more to your irritation, you hate the way Hoseok, Jin, and Taehyung glance at you occasionally. As if they’re afraid you’re a bomb about to explode. Tonight is going to be great for you.

“Noona, you want to leave?” Jungkook whispers in your ear. You bite back your annoyance as you pay your attention to the man sitting with you instead of the man sitting with another woman. No, you’re the other woman. Jimin is with his woman.

Fuck you need to stop.

You can’t stop.

“No, Kook, I’m fine.” You stab at your food as your eyes wander back to the couple back again. Liya laughs at something Seoyeon tells her. Damn, she looks so fine even when she cracks up with laughter. Then she turns to Jimin. Probably to recite the same story. Her sweet lips grazed over Jimin’s ear. It hurts your hand how hard you clench your fingers around your fork. You want to scream. Pull Liya away from Jimin. What the fuck? Why would you want to do that now? You know who you are. Know your place. You’re the secret. You have no right to feel this way. This is immature of you, really.

You need to put your shit together.

Only if it’s that easy. Because it isn’t. Entire dinner feels like a dream to you. You offer so many fake smiles and laughs. Opinions about things you have no single idea of. And by the time you’re finished with dinner and Hoseok is obviously doing a shitty job at conversing with you, you want nothing but to disappear. Jungkook has his hand on your thigh. Talking with Namjoon.

“Hey guys!” J suddenly perks in. Has been mumbling with Jin all the time. Everyone turns their head to look at her. You think she’s about to deliver a thank you speech. Good. Since you can leave after that. “Want to hit a club? I don’t want the night to end.” And like that all your eager hopes are crumbled into dust. J looks elated. Excited. Is giddy like a schoolgirl. Maybe you can excuse yourself. The table breaks into a messy conversation where everyone is trying to decide what to do next.

“We can leave if you want to. I’m fine.” You turn your head toward Jungkook to find him giving you a soft smile. You sigh heavily. If you want to leave, then Jungkook will follow you. Which seems very unfair to you. He shouldn’t be missing out on his best friend’s birthday because you feel shitty to see your secret fuck buddy lives his life with his girlfriend. What is wrong with you? Maybe hitting a club would be good for you. A drink or two would help you to clear your mind. So, you shake your head. Let Jungkook knows that you don’t want to miss out at all. And apparently, everybody else on the table decide the same thing.

………………………

J chose a club that is within walking distance of the restaurant where you had dinner. And just five minutes into clubbing, you’re regretting it greatly. You shouldn’t have come. Then you wouldn't have to keep looking at Jimin and Liya. You sit in your booth. Eyes boring holes on to Liya’s head. She’s standing near the bar with Seoyeon. Jimin being nowhere in your sight. That’s really good. A short lapse of relaxation for you. Liya has been clinging to Jimin like a leech. And how your blood was boiling.

Now though, since she is alone and the man in question who makes you feel this irritated, has disappeared you need to take your eyes away from Liya. Yet you find yourself unable to do that. You annoyingly take into notice about every single detail about Kim Liya. The way her hair is longer than yours. The way she has applied her makeup. Yours is bold. Maybe you shouldn’t have done a bold look. Her dress. It’s fancy and long. Doesn’t quite fit for a club but she wasn’t prepared to come here. It was an addition to the plans. The way she dressed perfectly suits for a fancy ass restaurant. You look at your dress. Short. Black. Flared. Strappy. It definitely suits a club. Damn, you shouldn’t have worn this to the restaurant. Jungkook had whistled when he saw you. Had told you that you are the human version of hot. But maybe he lied.

“Careful now, I might think you’re jealous of her.” A sudden voice next to your ear gets you jump on your seat. A loud curse spilling through your mouth as you turn to catch the intruder. Frowning. Your eyes find a smug looking Yoongi. Gracefully sitting next to you in your booth. Hell, you haven’t even noticed him arriving.

“What the fuck, Yoongi.” You huff in annoyance. Not paying attention to his earlier words.

“Sorry for startling but you need to learn how to do poker face better than that, woman. Jesus, you’re burning with jealousy.” Yoongi chuckles softly. Leaning against the back rest. Crosses his arms. You deepen your frown.

“Sorry, what? What are you talking about?” Yoongi doesn’t answer but point his finger at Liya. You follow his finger. Scoff. “Really? You’re telling me that I’m jealous of my own sister? Please Yoongi, I’d rather be jealous over that poor woman over there.” You point at a woman who’s evidently on a fight with a man who you assume to be her boyfriend. It looks steamy. Probably leading to a breakup. Yoongi laughs softly. Looks at where you are pointing at briefly.

“Well, that’s not your face and your actions say. You’ve been ogling your sister and her boyfriend for the entire night. And glaring like you want to murder them with just your eyes.” That’s not true. You want to laugh. Yoongi doesn’t let you. “And we’re at a club Li Li, there’s plenty of fun things happening but here you are, staring at your sister like she’s offended you in hundred ways possible.” Shows you a gummy smile. In another time, you would’ve found that adorable. Now, though, you’re annoyed at this man. What is he even talking about. Jealous? That’s not the case at all. You’re not jealous. Right? It’s just that Liya makes you uneasy.

“Oh, c’mon, why would I be jealous of her now? Business? I don’t give a fuck about business Yoongi. Success? I─”

“Maybe, him.” Yoongi cuts you off by pointing at someone else. This time as you follow his lead you meet with the man who’s been not around for a while. Park Jimin. With Taehyung. And his eyes are already at you. You don’t know how long he’s been there. Eyeing you. You’ve caught plenty of times Jimin staring at you. He looks like he’s having the worst night of his life. You haven’t seen him smile let alone laugh at least one time tonight. He’s tense. For some reason, that realization makes you relieved in a sickening way. You really feel relaxed. Boring into Jimin’s eyes from such a distance between you. How odd.

You get so enthralled by Jimin’s eyes that you almost forget that Yoongi had initiated something. Had pointed the cause of your jealousy- which you’re not- is Park Jimin. Which is quite dangerous. And you only come back to the earth and to your senses when you catch the sight of the woman who waltz toward him. Delicately. Her long hair flowing around her. Like that, insufferable, gut-wrenching sensation consume you whole again. You click your tongue in annoyance. “You should think about what you’re talking about Yoongi. That’s really outrageous of you. Accusing me of─”

“I’m not accusing Li. My stupid cousin doesn’t know how to keep secrets from me.”

You snap your head toward Yoongi so hard that you’re certain you break your neck. “What? What the hell? Hoseok told you?” Your eyes instantly start to roam over the club for any hint of your so-called stupid boss. “I’m gonna fucking cut him into little pieces and…” You grit your teeth hard. Hard enough that your jaw hurts.

“It’s not really his fault. I know how to make him talk.” Yoongi provides excuses for his cousin. You scoff.

“Oh, yeah? So, then it’s your fault?” You turn back to him. Shoot a glare. “What’s your point then Yoongi? Now, what to do you want from this shit?” You’re thoroughly annoyed, you can actually strangle this man to death. Yoongi’s eyes widen as he shakes his head slightly.

“Nothing. I want nothing. Why would I want anything from you when I barely even know you?”

“Then what’s the point of bringing this on? Why would you press Hoseok to tell you something that won’t affect you at all?”

“Because I love making my cousin suffer and tea is tea Li.” Yoongi shrugs. Nonchalant. The nerve of this guy to bring up this conversation like this when your brain is frying.

“Good. No this is great. Let’s start a fucking club with all the people who know I’m fucking my sister’s boyfriend and─ fuck, who doesn’t know it at this rate? Do you think Namjoon knows too? Yoona? J? Fucking hell, I think Liya might know too”

“I don’t think so.” Yoongi turns back to the two people in the far corner of the club. You force yourself not to follow his line of vision. “I’m the only one who heard it from Hobi. I can assure you he’s good at keeping secrets. It’s just he’s not good at keeping them from me. I know the guy too damn well.”

“He told Jungkook too.”

“He didn’t. He just told him you’re with Jimin and Jungkook put two and two together.” You throw a skeptical glance at Yoongi. He knows that too? Is he and Hoseok just cousins or are they fucking married? He’s right, though. You know that’s what happened. A heavy sigh leaves your mouth. You don’t know what you’re doing. Feeling riled up. Sitting in a club. Having this conversation with Yoongi out of all the people. What’s wrong with your life. “And if you are planning on keeping it a secret, you shouldn’t visibly show how jealousy you are.” Yoongi adds. You groan loudly.

“I’m not jealous Yoongi… I just─” You don’t know what to say. It’s hard to explain what you’re feeling. And Yoongi makes it even harder with the small smirk he gives you. You try to rake your brain for suitable words. Feeling frustrated. That’s when Jungkook’s voice interrupts you. You turn your head upward to look at him. Grateful for the distraction. Even more appreciative when he shows you a pack of cigarettes.

“Wanna have a smoke Noona?” He shakes the pack. You jump to your feet without a beat of hesitation. “You wanna join too, Hyung?” Jungkook asks Yoongi too. For your pleasure he shakes his head. Says that he’s not in a mood. Gives you a soft smile. Enough to melt your irritation slightly. So, you return the smile before you sigh.

“Well, welcome to the family, Yoongi.” Mumble before you allow Jungkook to lead you away. Explaining to him that Yoongi knows too. Yoongi just chuckle as he waves you off.

……………………….

There’s a smoking area inside the club. But of course, Jungkook brought you to the dark alleyway behind the club. Having CEO friends’ privileges. You’re glad though. It’s refreshing to be outside. Away from the blaring music of the club and Liya’s hovering presence. You lean against the wall next to Jungkook. Your head resting against his upper arm as you share a one cigarette as always.

“You’re on edge Noona.” Jungkook blows out a puff of smoke. Brings the cigarette to your lips. You don’t raise your head as you wrap your lips around it.

“I don’t like Liya. “Simply state a half truth.

“Yeah? Why is that? Because you feel guilty?”

“Maybe yeah. I don’t know. It can be that. She makes me nervous.” You’re not being completely honest or dishonest. Because you don’t know what’s the uncomfortable feeling for yourself either. It’s not jealousy, though. It’s not. Why would you be jealous? Then it should be the guilt. Not being able to look her in the eye. Jungkook sighs. Not a heavy one. Takes another puff.

“Then you don’t have to do this Noona. You can always stop it.” Says as he exhale. You chuckle. Get comfortable in your position.

“It’s not easy as it sounds.”

“Why not? If it’s just sex, you can always just end it. He’s not the only man alive. I’m pretty sure, there’s plenty of men who can make you cum better than Park Jimin.”

That’s exactly the thing. It’s not just sex now, is it? Only if you can find words to describe it the way you want. “It is sex, yes but I’m enjoying it Kookie. It’s not about good orgasms. He kinda make me feel fucking special.” You fix your eyes upon a distant streetlamp. You can feel Jungkook tenses as you speak. “You see, I’m not a person who had the best kind of life. It’s not bad either but I’m from a middle-class family. I had everything and had nothing at the same time. You know like my parents brought me a phone, but I had to budge them for weeks kind of life.” You tug from Jungkook’s hand for another puff before continuing. “My sister was the rebel. She didn’t want to get a degree or work hard for her life. So, she got married early because she thought college is a waste of money. And my parents thought it was their fault. They were disappointed, heartbroken, and there was I, who thought it was now my duty to fulfil the things my sister couldn’t. I know it’s silly, but I did.”

You finally raise your head to look at Jungkook’s face. He’s expressionless. Still tense. Yet is listening to you intensely. You take that as your cue to keep going. “I’m not saying my life is bad. But it isn’t good either. I feel like I never had a life. I have a best friend who loves me, a good family, I’ve dated, I drink, smoke, and hell I go to clubs. But I don’t think I have ever enjoyed anything. I always wanted to balance it out, control it. It was uh…” You avert your gaze to your heel clad feet. “Dull.” Start playing with an old cigarette but someone had left there. “But this─” Raise your head to look around you. Gesture to your surroundings with your both hands. “Is exhilarating Jungkook. I never had a friend group. It was just Key and me. Now look at me, I’m surrounded by people whom I never thought would take notice of me at all. I’m in love with this life. And Jimin is a huge part of it. I know it’s very wrong and I’m a bitch, but I think… uh… maybe I love the thrill.” You perk up. Suddenly feeling like you’ve found an answer for the math problem you’ve been stuck at for hours. “Yes. I love the fucking thrill. Doing something dangerous. I feel like living.” Look at Jungkook expectantly. He still looks emotionless.

“So, that’s it. You’re ruining yourself because you love the thrill?” Questions with a strained voice. It’s weird. You blink at his face. “Then will you end it if you’ve ever found something more thrilling than that? If you found someone who makes you feel special, better than him?” Adds. You become motionless. Will you? You honestly don’t know. Will there be anyone who will do it better than Park Jimin?

“I… will…” You shrug. Jungkook is waiting for your answer. “But now since I only got nearly a year I think, maybe I can live this life and then leave it behind.” You rumble. Starting to become uncertain again.

“So, you would leave?”

“What else I can do?”

“You were panicked and so worried about leaving before.”

“I still am Jungkook. It hurts to think that I have an end date to this life. And it’s not only about Jimin. It’s about everything. I mean I don’t think I’d ever find a hot, tattooed, pierced, buff housemate, who’ll share his cigarette with me.” You nudge him with your shoulder. That finally got Jungkook’s stony face to crack. A small chuckle escapes his pink lips. “But a year is a long time apparently, and I’m trying to live this life to the fullest. And I’d like to pretend what I’m doing is fine.” He nods finally. Brings the cigarette back to your mouth.

“But will you consider it if I ask you to stay in the end. Like you did with Jimin? Am I important enough for you to consider it?” He watches how you suctioned your cheeks to take a long drag. You stop it midway through to look at him surprised. He looks serious back again. You don’t know an answer to it. Jungkook isn’t Park Jimin. Yet he is very important to you. He is your comfort person. You’ve become really attached to each other. You take the cigarette to your hand. Your expression softening.

“Course you are important. Very.” You offer him a soft smile as his entire demeanor changed into something bright. His Bambi eyes sparkling. He bites on to his bottom lip to contain the smile that is threatening to spill. And you feel relaxed too. Your earlier discomfort disappears. See, Jungkook is your comfort person. Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, but his moment get ruined as the back door opens suddenly.

You both turn your head toward the newcomer. You half expecting to see Hoseok or Taehyung for no reason. But your smile falters at the not expected sight of Jimin there. The relaxed feeling you felt pops out like a bubble. That uncomfortable feeling settles back inside you. You know you’re not being reasonable, but you really feel mad at him. Childish. Jimin’s eyes flicker between you and Jungkook. You think he looks pissed for a moment. Then he changes it into a calm one quickly. He can’t be mad at you. Despite his words saying he’d be jealous, and you’d be his, he can’t hold the same words toward Jungkook. You live with Jungkook. Just like Jimin lives with Liya. And you have no reason to feel any resentment toward Jimin or Liya. You do, however.

“What are you doing?” Jimin’s voice sounds strange to you at this moment. He looks like he’s battling an invisible battle. Trying hard to keep a fire from blaring. You hold the cigarette in front of his face. Forcing yourself to act normal because being mad at Jimin is embarrassing.

“Smoking. What does it look like?” Fuck, you fail miserably. Resentment and malice pour off with each word. Jimin clenches his jaw. His calm exterior starting to break down.

“Can we talk?” Yet he’s doing it better than you. Manages to ask it in a normal voice. Not without gritting his teeth or sounding bitter.

“I don’t want to.” You’re making it worse. You need to act like an adult. Not a jealousy bitch- because you’re not. What’s wrong with you. You take a step back, away from Jimin and press yourself against Jungkook. And finally, Jimin fails too. You visibly notice the fire inside his eyes.

“I’m not asking.” Jimin takes a step toward you. Your heart skips a beat. He looks dangerous. A wild combination for angelic looking Park Jimin. You love that look. But you’re mad at him. You open your mouth to ask him to fuck off. Jungkook beats you up to it, however.

“I think she said she doesn’t want to Mr. Park.” Jungkook grabs your wrist instantly. Pulls you back at the same time he steps between you and Jimin. Everything falls into a deafening silence. Everything goes still. So quiet that you can hear the music very clearly now. Your irritation replaces with a sudden panic as Jimin looks dead in the eye with Jungkook. Jungkook does the same. They both look like two bulls ready to fight till death. Waiting for starting signal. Even the sight is enough for your mouth to go dry. This is not good. You step away from Jungkook abruptly. Drop the cigarette in your hand to the floor. Step on it.

“I need to use the bathroom.” Walk around the two men who stop their glaring competition to pay you attention. “I’m fine Kookie.” Reassure Jungkook before opening the door and disappear behind it, knowing very well that Jimin would follow you.

……………………………..

He does. You only get to make it halfway toward the bathrooms when you are yanked back with a rough grip on your upper arm.

“You’re moving out.” Jimin shouts as he turns your around. You feel a ringing in your ears. All the frustration and anger you've felt the whole night explode at his tone. Fucking authoritative. Demanding. As if he owns you.

“Like hell I would.”

“Who the hell does he think he is?”

“I don’t know. Maybe my friend. Let me go, Park.” You try to wriggle your arm free. Clenching your teeth. You’re standing in a corridor leading to the bathrooms. Mostly empty save for the two people who walk past you without giving a fuck about what’s happening.

“Why the fuck are you mad at me, Lil?” He pulls you toward him. Eyes boring into yours. Hell, what’s your answer now?

“Why the fuck are you mad at me?” So, you answer him with a question.

“Because I’m fucking jealous.” Jimin’s grip tighten so hard that you whimper. He brings his face closer to you. So close that his nose nudges against yours. “I’m fucking jealous Spring Roll.” He lowers his voice. It turns into a grumble. You blink at him in surprise. Reveling in his warmth. Can smell alcohol on him. Your heart starts to hammer inside your chest. He got you speechless. Dumfounded. Park Jimin is always annoying when he is honest. When he admits. Oh, how freely he admits that. “I told you I’d be jealous Lil. Told you I’m gonna be fucking annoying to you. Told you I won’t be sharing you, in any. Fucking. Way.” He manhandles you roughly. You don’t even realize what’s happening until you’re pressed against a wall. Jimin’s bruising grip never leaves you. He brushes his lips over yours.

“I’m mad because I couldn’t be the one to sit next to you whole night. I’m mad because Jungkook had his hands on you every fucking time I look at you. And you didn’t even look at me. I’m fucking mad you stepped toward Jungkook instead of me Lil.” His hand finally leaves your arm. Just to cup your cheeks. “Don’t do that, dammit.” You suck in a sharp breath when presses his lips hard against you. It’s fleeting kiss. Bites your lower lip gently. Pulls away too fast for your liking. Making you fruitlessly chase his lips. Wanting more. He doesn’t give it you. “Don’t fucking chose someone else.” Presses his lips hard to yours again. “I understand that you live with him and he’s a good friend and all that shit but don’t walk to him.” Another kiss. Then another. Starts pressing fleeting kisses to your lips like he’s gone mad. “You’re mine, princess. You agreed to be mine. And fuck baby, you look so damn good.” Lets go of your cheeks too. “You have no idea how bad I wanted to rip this damn dress off you.”

Wraps his arms around your body and finally gives into a deeper kiss. Rough and bruising. Tongue pushing past your lips harshly. Shifts between nibbling and sucking. Gets you breathless. You pull away from him with a struggle. Jimin doesn’t let you go far, however. Presses his lips against you the moment you suck in a short breath. Not enough. Your lungs are screaming for oxygen. At the same time, you can feel the fire inside your stomach. Making you curl your hands around his neck. Pull from his hair as you kiss him tenderly. His soft lips work seamlessly against yours. Slotting perfectly. He drags his tongue across your teeth as you press your body tight against him. Wanting more friction. Arousal is already starting to seep out and your nipples grazing your bra uncomfortably. You groan into the kiss. This time managing to escape his lips and panting for much needed air.

Jimin uses the opportunity to bury his face in your neck. His arms drops to your ass. Pushes you harder onto him. Peppers your neck with wet kisses. Trailing them toward your shoulder and teething at the thing strap of your dress. You let your head fall back, hitting the wall behind you. How fascinating it is that your moods are changing faster than thunder. Gone is the irritation and anger you felt mere seconds ago. Desire replacing it. And you’re at ease all of a sudden in Jimin’s arms. You don’t worry about finding the reasons for your irritation anymore. What does it matter, anyway? Despite everything, Jimin is here, isn’t he? Despite everything he was mad and jealous that he couldn’t be with you. He wanted to talk. He followed you. That is just enough for you. Weird how that makes you content but all that matters is the feeling. So, you give into that feeling willingly. The comfort of Park Jimin.

Jimin’s hands wander over your ass cheeks. Squeezing your soft flesh while he grinds his hips onto your body. Letting you feel the evidence of his arousal. Hard against your stomach.

“Jimin..” You call him breathlessly. He drops one of his hands from your ass to your thigh in response to that. Hikes up your dress as he rubs and touches your sensitive skin. Hooks his hand under your thigh to lift your leg up. Place it on his waist. Grinds hard.

“Are you wet?” Jimin purrs in your ear. You stare at him with lustful eyes. Nod. “Yeah? Shall I check?” Doesn’t wait for you to finish nodding as his hands sneak under your dress. Two fingers dragging along your slit. Over your panties. Hums in approval at the wetness he finds there. “Shit baby, you’re always fucking wet for me.”

“Yes, like you’re always hard for me.” You make your point by bucking your hips onto him. You both chuckle in unison. Oh, you’re not mad at all. It’s all past. Your laughter dies down when Jimin presses his finger to your clit. You moan softly before pulling him into another kiss. Starting to fall back into a senseless state. Head spinning. Everything around you dissipate in that state. Leaving you and Jimin alone in your own world. His hand working over your wet slit relentlessly as you grind against his hard cock. It’s just you two. Nothing else. His lips on yours. You close your eyes to delve deeper into that. Clinging to Jimin for your dear life. Deeper and deeper. Losing your minds on each other─

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

You snap your eyes open at the sound that suddenly blares over the loud music. Lips still on Jimin’s. He is the one who pulls away first. Both of your heads turn to catch the person who interrupted you. Breathless. It takes your lust induced brain a split second to realize what’s happening. When it does, Jimin has already dropped your leg down to the floor. Withdraws from you so fast as if you’ve burnt him. His eyes wide. Skin turns pale. You’re sure you don’t look anything different. Your stomach sinks as you feel your legs buckle.

“L-Liya!” Jimin stutters uncomfortably. Painfully rooted to his spot and gaping at Liya like she’s a ghost. Liya takes a step forward. Then stops. You watch stupidly how her face changes from disbelief to anger in a fractured second. She opens and closes her mouth like a fish. Says nothing as she turns around. Storms away. “Fuck! No, Liya!” Jimin calls after her in vain as Liya disappears from your view in a heartbeat.

To you it feels like things are happening in slow motion as Jimin turns to look at you. Hastily. It’s a quick glance. Then he breaks into a sprint. Following Liya. Disappearing after her. Leaving you to stand in a corridor leading to a bathroom. Alone. He follows Liya. Like he should.

……………………………

You stand there, rooted to the floor, with no idea how long it has been. Your heart is beating in your ears. Your sight blur. Your head is spinning. To say you’re shocked is an understatement. It’s a mixture of shock, guilt, fear, shame, and sadness. And above all you feel utterly stupid.

You can’t believe that you’ve allowed yourself to do something stupid like that. To get carried away. You were in an open corridor for fucks sake. How could you have let that happen. You steady yourself by pressing your hand to the wall. Your legs are shaking badly. Your mind races, replaying everything you could have done to avoid this. But every stupid mistake you made led you to this. Now you’re standing here while people walk past you here and there. You can’t stay here forever, though. You can’t hide away. It happened. It’s already too late. The very thing you feared the most has happened.

Now there’s no good that will come by just standing here. You take a step forward. Slow. Feeling like your feet are suddenly heavy. You can’t move them freely. Then another. One by one. Yet it doesn’t really feel like moving to you. It’s like your body is leaving without you. And with every step you take, your heart comes close to exploding. You turns around the corner to meet with the flashing lights. People going on with their happy, exciting night. Nothing has changed. Everyone is oblivion to the inner turmoil you’re feeling. World is going on normally. You can’t really hear any sounds, though. Can’t see anyone else either. It’s all blurry and sounds are hazy. Still, you manage to drag your heavy feet forward. Slowly nearing your booth.

You don’t know what you expect really. To have Jimin already gone or waiting for you. But when your eyes finally land on the figures next to your booth you realize that it would’ve been much better if they’ve left. It would have caused you a great heart ache to think, Jimin once again chose Liya, but that would’ve been much better than this. You can’t face them. Absolutely cannot. So, you freeze. Just few feet away from them. Everybody is there. Liya is standing near Jimin. You can’t hear what they are talking about. But you know Liya is yelling at Jimin, who’s trying to calm her down, if his raised palms are anything to go by. Liya points a finger at him. Says something animatedly. Looks like she’s on the verge of crying. You feel your heart twist.

You can’t walk there like nothing happened. You’re oh so fucking ashamed. You’re the one who caused this ruckus. Their relationship is crumbling and you’re the reason. How can you walk there like nothing happened. You need to hide away. Wait till they leave. That’s exactly what you’re trying to do. Nearly succeeds at it when Liya’s eyes averts away from Jimin. Landing directly on you. Jimin turns around to check what she’s looking at too. So, does everybody else. And it all happen so fast. You don’t even get to take a proper breath before Liya strides past Jimin. He tries to catch her in vain. She’s too quick. Is standing before you with a burning glare. Her glorious face twisted ugly in anger. She only says two words.

“You bitch!”

And her palm hits your cheek with a loud smack.

For the initial shocking period, you feel nothing. Then there comes the sting. And the loud music that had been a white noise in your ears comes all clear to you. Sounds of people talking becomes all clear and noisy. You turn your head back to Liya. Slowly. Eyes starting to prick with tears. Due to the embarrassment. The shame. Humiliation. Liya has slapped you in a club full of people. You don’t dare to look around you, but you know people are watching. Seeing. Talking. Mumbling. This is drama here. You want the floor to split up and swallow you as a whole.

Unfortunately, though, that isn’t an option for you. Liya yells something else that doesn’t reach your ears as you look back at her. Then she nearly lunges at you again. This time though, Jimin drags her back. His hands tightly wraps around her to keep her in place.

“Enough Liya. That’s fucking enough!” His voice booms through the hundreds of other noises. A pair of hands do the same to you as well. Drags your limp body a step back.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You recognize that voice to be Jungkook’s. Then as you look down you recognize his tattooed hand as well. Encircled around your middle. You feel like dreaming. Liya tries to escape Jimin’s grip. Ready to attack you like a sow who lost her cub. What a slip in Liya’s demeanor. She always stays calm. At least in front of people. In your eyes she always looked matured. The power woman. CEO. Now, however, she is going berserk. Well, she just found her boyfriend’s hand inside another woman’s dress. Fair. You don’t even realize that you’re surrounded by people. Seoyeon reaches Liya as well. Trying to aid Jimin. You don’t hear what they are saying. You only catch glimpses of your friends. Saying million different things. It all comes down to you one minute and then vanishes.

“Have it with your motherfucking boyfriend crazy woman.” Jungkook bellows from behind you. Still keeping you close. You don’t know to whom or for what he’s replying. Your hazy eyes catch J reaching you.

“Are you okay?”

Your ears ring.

“Dude, we can’t do this here.”

Your ears ring.

“Press is going to have field day.”

Nothing.

“Take her away you idiot.”

Rings. Nothing.

“Calm down please.”

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

“We’re leaving Noona.” Nothing. A shake. “Hey! Baby, let’s go.” You zero your eyes on Jungkook. “Let’s leave, okay?” You nod. Without knowing what you’re agreeing to. Your eyes wander back to Jimin as Jungkook starts to half walk and half drag you away. Liya is calmer now. Jimin has his arms around her still. Around her. Not you. Someone else is taking you away. Jimin is staying with Liya. Like he should. Everything is a mess. Utter chaos. You finally notice how troubled and furious everyone look. You caused that.

You ruined everything. J’s birthday. This night. Liya. Maybe your friendship with these people. So much more than you can even fathom. You ruined it all. Above all, you ruined you and Jimin.

Fuck, you ruined it. All because you were so stupid. Wasn’t thinking straight. You try to keep your eyes on him as long as you can. And at the right time Jungkook drags you through a door, Jimin lifts his head to look at you. Eyes emotionless.

I just can’t go and break up with Liya.

He made it clear from the first day. If it ever come to this kind of situation, he’s going to choose Liya. Because you are the other woman. See, you’ve done it. Even before it starts properly, you have ruined it.

That’s what happened.

RUINED and DESTROYED.

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a/n- Leave a note if you enjoyed this one!

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