#jungkook fantasy

[borathae]

“They were brothers brought together by tragedy and best friends separated by destiny. Seokjin, now freed of his Raven mark and unaware of his little brother’s whereabouts, visits the Queen’s castle with promises of healing the other freed Ravens. Jungkook, now living his life as the Queen’s Consort and uninformed of Seokjin’s fate, doesn’t know that today will be the day he will finally reunite with his bigger brother.”

Pairing: Best Friends!Jungkook x Seokjin | Seokjin x f.Reader OC 1 | Jungkook x f.Reader OC 2

Genre: Fantasy!AU, Slice of Life, Childhood Best Friends!AU, Found Family!AU, Royalty!AU, Queen Consort!Jungkook, Healer!Seokjin

Warnings: there is plot hehehe, they're best friends who got separated only to reunite again!!, they're like brothers, they share & talk about past trauma, hinted child abuse (they experienced it), but more than anyhing this is so healing and soft and lovely, Jungkook shows Seokjin the castle and Seokjin is all like "my lil bro is royalty now <3", they love each other so much like you guys they're brothers!!, they also bicker in typical jinkook fashion <3, i love this story so much you guys

Wordcount: 11.1k

a/n: because this is based on (and set after) their main stories, the boys each have a female lover which i won't name here because in their main stories it's supposed to be the reader but as a different OC each, you get me? i know you do. if you don't, just read their stories and come back to this. okay then, enjoy besties! istfg i love this universe so much :(

𓄿 Index 𓄿

Seokjin is nervous. It was his idea and yet he is still terribly nervous. He hasn’t been back in the castle since he climbed the walls and fled. It has been thirteen full moons since then and also thirteen full moons since he found his true destiny. She is with him today, because she will do most of the talking and work while he will assist her. She found him washed up by the riverbank next to her house and took him in. He was lucky because she was a healer – the trusted healer of the Queen even – and despite his past, she nurtured him until he felt whole again. His past, Seokjin aches in guilt when he thinks about it, is also the reason why he felt so nervous about today despite it being his idea.

He was a Raven once. A Raven of the Black Forest. The Ravens are a group of young boys and men poisoned by the twisted worldviews of their cruel leader Rafkan. He is one of the Nïuri, a peaceful people which use their immortality to nurture the earth, but not Rafkan as he uses his immortality to ruin young boys’ futures and kill innocent people. A black tattoo of a raven brands the members of Rafkan’s group and lets everyone know that the wearer was unlucky enough to fall into Rafkan’s hands.

Seokjin thankfully escaped his claws and managed to free himself of the marks which once ruined his chest.

The reason for today’s visit to the Queen’s castle was based on this exact mark. Most Ravens didn’t want to get tattooed. Most were not older than five when Rafkan drilled the tattoo deep under their skin, ignoring their screams of pain and cries for mercy. Seokjin still remembers how he screamed and cried as the thick needle repeatedly punctured his skin. He was seven.

With the help of Seokjin’s true destiny and forever partner, he was able to rid himself of the mark and he wants to grant the same opportunity to his fellow freed Ravens. It is well known in the Queendom that the Queen’s castle serves as refuge for many Ravens, who were lucky enough to escape Rafkan’s poisoned grip. Although Rafkan still tells his boys that the Queen and her late mother kill Ravens for sports, it isn’t the truth. Ravens get a second chance at the castle. They are free to stay in her castle and they are free to leave to wherever they crave to go. Seokjin could have stayed as well and he could have left if he wanted to, but back then he was still too stubborn to see that. So he fled in the dark of the night, swearing to himself never to return to the castle.

And now he is back. He is back at the place he swore never return to, but he isn’t guilty, he is just so very nervous. What if his idea fails? What if the marks of his freed brothers won’t fade? Seokjin watched it with own two eyes as his love removed it from his chest and yet he is scared that somehow the healing spell won’t work today.

There are also other worries plaguing him. He worries that he won’t be welcome at the castle anymore. That he will be captured and thrown into prison. His love assured him that this won’t happen, as she knows the Queen to be of very forgiving nature, but Seokjin was still nervous. He has been clutching his love’s hand ever since the castle gates came into view.

“Don’t be scared, my dearest”, she tells him, giving him a reassuring smile.

“I know, but I truly am. I do not want to be thrown into prison”, he says.

“There is no reason for that. Yes, you left in secrecy, but if the queen sees that you used your freedom to find happiness and a purpose, she will be happy”, she says and pulls him closer, “you will be alright, my dearest. And perhaps if we are lucky, Jungkook will be there as well.”

Seokjin smiles at the mention of his lost brother. He is happy, but he also aches. This is the last worry which plagues him and which makes it difficult for his heart to beat normally.

What if Jungkook wasn’t in the castle? What if he is still caught in Rafkan’s fangs? What if he didn’t find freedom? What if he died?

Seokjin spent his night sleepless and repeating the worrying questions over and over again. He is so scared. So, so scared that today’s journey will bring news of grief for him.

The Queen knew of the healer’s visit to the castle. She sent a letter a week ago, telling her that she had a cure for the Raven mark and that she can offer her services to the freed Ravens living in the castle. The Queen instantly agreed and sent word to all neighbouring villages that whoever wanted to rid himself of his marks may do so in one week. The halls and courtyard are buzzing in life. Ravens, who haven’t seen each other in years have come to the castle, celebrating their near future of true freedom. The emotions were high and food was plenty.

Jungkook has been excited all day. He was the first to know of the healer’s arrival. The letter met his love at night when they were already in bed, getting ready for sleep. She opened it next to him and then began crying in happiness.

“What’s the matter, my destiny?” Jungkook asked her back then, feeling worried until she told him of the good news and Jungkook joined her in her tears of happiness. Being freed of the mark was all he dreamt of ever since he escaped Rafkan and in a week he will finally make his dream a reality.

Today was finally the day. The healer will arrive any second now and Jungkook will finally be free. Truly and visibly free. He has been spending his day talking to all his fellow Ravens. Many still lived in the castle and became his friends, but many came from the villages and towns and felt more like distant relatives to Jungkook. Today however they all felt connected and high in spirits.

Jungkook has already drunk two mugs of mead and ate way too much of the flavourful pork belly. He feels overjoyed, but also very needing of the bathroom.

He excuses himself from the courtyard to hurry inside.

“My starlight, there you are”, the Queen - and his fiancée - greets him inside, taking his hands, “I looked everywhere for you.”

“Forgive me, I was in the courtyard talking to all of my brothers.”

Jungkook gives her a kiss on the cheek because he loves her a lot. She leans into the kiss with her fingers squeezing his hands.

“Don’t apologise. I merely wanted to tell you that the healer and her apprentice will be here soon. Our warriors saw them coming up the roads.”

“Really? Oh heavens, I need to hurry up then”, Jungkook says, slipping his hands out of his finacée’s loving hold.

“Why? What are you doing?”

“I need to relieve myself. I drank too much and my bladder is going to burst.”

“Oh heavens, well”, she chuckles, “hurry up then, you precious boy you”, she says and gives his butt a gentle pat as if too speed up his steps.

“I will, worry not”, Jungkook says and hurries away in hasty steps.

He will reach the toiletries in time with the healer and Seokjin arriving at the castle. He will be relieving himself as the Queen welcomes them with smiles and music. And he will wash his hands thoroughly as the healer and Seokjin set up their healing station and the Ravens begin lining up for their freedom. He doesn’t know of Seokjin yet.

Truly, it is such an awful twist of fate that Jungkook’s bladder decided to give up mere seconds before Seokjin entered the courtyard. The dark haired healer scans his eyes over the dozens and dozens faces, hoping to see the face of his brother in them. He knows most of the Ravens gathered here and the joy of seeing them is grande, but none of them was Jungkook. Jungkook was special to Seokjin. Jungkook was like a little brother to Seokjin. 

Only five years younger than Seokjin and with fear in his big eyes, Jungkook became a Raven when Seokjin was ten years of age. Jungkook hid the moment Rafkan and the older Ravens left him at the camp to hunt for food. Jungkook refused to come out of hiding for hours. Even when dinner was promised, he didn’t leave his hiding spot, which ended in Rafkan punishing him for “ignoring his body’s needs”.

Seokjin and the other boys always had to watch when one of them was punished and Jungkook’s punishment was no exception. Seokjin always felt terrible when he watched his fellow young brothers cry because of what Rafkan did, but there was something about Jungkook crying that night which hit Seokjin especially hard. The poor, frightened boy hid again the second the punishment was finished and only his small, pained sobs were heard in the camp. The other boys were too frightened to check up on him, but Seokjin was overtaken with a sense of protectiveness and so he crawled under the thorny bushes Jungkook was hiding in and offered the younger boy a hug. Jungkook didn’t want to take it at first, but all it took was one smile from Seokjin and he fell into his arms and cried his broken heart out.

Ever since that night, Seokjin and Jungkook shared a special bond and a deep, honest love. They hugged each other when they were sad or scared or in pain, they shared every meal with each other, shared blankets when the nights were cold, shared laughter when the days weren’t as dark and shared every stage a young boy goes through as he grows into a man. They would have shared adulthood as well, but Seokjin decided to leave to kill the Queen and till this day he regrets leaving without Jungkook.

Their last conversation ended in anger and hurtful words. Rafkan managed to influence Jungkook and poison his mind. Seokjin never truly allowed the poison to take hold of him and wanted to use the opportunity to flee together from Rafkan. So he told Jungkook of his plans and had to realise that his younger brother met it with anger and resentment. They fought, Jungkook called him hurtful things and Seokjin left without Jungkook. Until this day, Seokjin regrets that he left that night, that he didn’t try harder to convince his little brother and that he left even when the last words they shared were of angry nature.

If Seokjin has to realise that Jungkook wasn’t at the castle or that he had already died, he won’t ever forgive himself and he might never truly be himself again.

Seokjin shifts in his seat restlessly. He and his love have already healed ten Ravens of their marks and yet he still hasn’t spotted Jungkook. He asked each of them if they knew of Jungkook, but most were too old to know of him. They must have been Ravens before their time. Perhaps the Queen’s mother rescued them when she was still alive.

The Queen hasn’t come back either. She excused herself once she exchanged a few friendly words with Seokjin and his love and hasn’t returned since. Seokjin grows worried that she had went to get her warriors. After all, she looked at him as if she saw a ghost and then spoke of needing to go.

Seokjin keeps scanning the crowd for warriors out to get him and for Jungkook. Truly, he might need to excuse himself to the toiletries soon for his stomach keeps twisting in nervousness.

He sees the Queen then. She is hurrying over the courtyard with a man by her side. His face is shielded from his vision, but he can see that she is holding his hand. Seokjin gulps. He can’t explain it, but he feels uncomfortably nervous all of a sudden. Anxious even.

“Hello.”

One of the freed Ravens drags his attention away. He sits down in front of him and presents his bared chest to him.

“You have no idea for how many years I dreamt of ridding myself of this cursed mark”, he says.

“Oh, I know how you feel”, Seokjin says and begins spreading the purple cream on the man’s chest, “what’s your name?”

“Bartholomew.”

Seokjin gasps, looking at him with widened eyes.

“Bartholomew?”

He laughs, “you didn’t recognize me, did you? I blame the good food in the castle. I eat wonderfully these days”, he says and slaps his belly as a happy laugh shakes his shoulders.

“I didn’t recognize you. You look so healthy”, Seokjin says and bites back tears, “I can’t believe my eyes. You survived.”

“As did you, sweet boy”, Bartholomew says and caresses Seokjin’s cheek, “you look healthy, my boy.”

“I am. I am so healthy and I’m in love”, Seokjin says, sending his love a chaste look.

Bartholomew smiles, “this is good. Yes, love makes the life sweet. I’m in love as well. His name is Derrec. He’s a weaver in town and we met as I shopped for fabrics.”

“This is so wonderful. Oh, I am so happy for you”, Seokjin says and pulls his hand back, “you can go to my love and she will activate the magic. Your mark will be gone once you wipe the cream.”

“Oh, I can’t believe that I can still witness this day”, Bartholomew says and stands up from his chair.

“Bartholomew?” Seokjin calls his attention one last time.

“Yes, Seokjin?”

“Did you…” gulps in nervousness, “did Jungkook come here?”

“Jungkook?” Bartholomew says and widens his eyes, “my sweet boy, you do not know yet?”

“Know what?” Seokjin jumps off his chair, “what happened to him? P-please what happened?”

Bartholomew shifts his eyes to his side. Seokjin follows his line of sight and feels hit in shock.

The Queen is before him and the man holding her hand is Jungkook.

“Brother”, he presses out as his eyes fill with tears.

“Brother”, Seokjin gets out and sobs, “are you real?”

Jungkook nods his head vigorously and sobs.

“Jungkook….”

“Seokjin….”

Seokjin rounds the table, Jungkook breaks away from his fiancée. They fall into each other’s arms, crying miserably as they tighten the hug as best as their bodies allow it. Seokjin forgets all about the cream on his fingers, smearing it into Jungkook’s hair as he holds his little brother closer. Jungkook doesn’t care about the state of his hair as he sobs into the crook of Seokjin’s neck and cradles the back of his older brother’s head.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything I said that night. I’m so sorry”, Jungkook wails.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m not angry. Oh, I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m so sorry, I never should have left”, Seokjin cries.

“It’s okay. I’m not angry at you. Not anymore. Seokjin”, Jungkook sobs and pulls him closer, “oh Seokjin, you’re real. I love you so much.”

“I love you too. Oh Jungkook, my brother”, Seokjin sobs and turns his head to kiss Jungkook’s ear. It is the first thing his lips grazed and Jungkook leans into the kiss as a sob and laugh leaves him at the same time. Seokjin laughs with him just as much as he sobs.

All his worries turned out to be exactly that. Worries. Jungkook is alive. He is well. He is free. And he is finally by his side again. Seokjin has his little brother back.

He has to take a step back and cradle Jungkook’s face. The latter leans into the touch. His face is contorted in sobs, but the happiness practically bounces off of him. Seokjin mirrors his state, rubbing his thumbs over Jungkook’s teary cheeks over and over again.

“You’re real”, he gets out, “and you look so healthy. Oh Jungkook, you look so healthy.”

“You look healthy too”, Jungkook answers him, cupping his cheeks, “brother, your cheeks are actually soft. Not fallen in from hunger.”

“As are yours”, Seokjin squishes Jungkook’s cheeks, “are you eating well? Are you warm? Can you sleep in peace?”

Jungkook nods his head vigorously, “yes, yes. Yes to everything. And you? Are you living well?”

“Yes, oh yes I am.”

Jungkook whimpers and smiles, spilling tears.

“I’m so happy”, he confesses in a squeaky voice.

“Me too. Come here”, Seokjin says and pulls him back into a tight hug.

Jungkook squeaks in laughter, hugging him back. The two men stumble as they hug, painting a little circle with their feet as if they were dancing. Their bodies were filled with too much happiness. Only moving around could help them relieve it. 

It is Jungkook who breaks the hug, holding Seokjin’s cheeks.

“Did you become a healer? Is that your destiny?”

“Yes. Yes it is. Oh Jungkook, I am so happy and I’m in love.”

Jungkook’s eyes lighten up, “you are?”

“Yes. Jungkook, please meet my love”, Seokjin says and turns his little brother to his love. He tells him her name and Jungkook repeats it with a smile.

“I know you. My fiancée talks greatly about you and I truly love your bathing oils when the sickness season arrives”, Jungkook says, bowing his head at her.

“Oh thank-”

“Your fiancée?!” Seokjin falls into her words accidentally for Jungkook’s confession shocked him greatly, “you found love as well? Who is she?”

“That would be me”, the Queen says and for just a moment, Seokjin feels unable to speak. He gawks at the Queen, knowing that it was rude to do so, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“What?” he gets out and parts his lips.

The Queen smiles fondly, while Jungkook lets out a giddy giggle.

“Yes, you heard correctly. We are soon to be married”, he says and hugs her waist as he squishes his cheek against hers, “she asked me to be her husband a month ago and I said yes. We ought to marry in autumn, but don’t spread the news yet. We want to announce it soon.” 

“I do not know what to say. Jungkook”, Seokjin steps closer, “my dearest Jungkook, you are engaged and, and. And you’re marrying the Queen?!”

“Yes. Yes, I am”, Jungkook giggles.

“Oh Jungkook”, Seokjin tears up, “I am so happy for you.”

“Don’t cry”, Jungkook says even if his own eyes are glassy. He lets go of the Queen to take Seokjin’s hands instead, “it was you who made it possible. If you hadn’t left that night, I never would have left as well and I never would have found my destiny.”

“What do you say? I barely did anything.”

Jungkook shakes his head, “I volunteered to leave because I wanted to find you”, he confesses and tears up, “I was frightened without you, I regretted our last night together and I was scared that I would never see you again, so I volunteered to be the next to leave so I could look for you. I am sorry that I never found you.”

“Jungkook….”

“Seokjin”, Jungkook breathes.

“Oh my little one”, Seokjin says and cradles Jungkook’s cheeks. Jungkook leans into his touch with sparkly, half-lidded eyes, “you do not apologize to me. Please, allow me to get rid of your mark. It is the least I can do to repent for leaving you that night.”

“I dreamt of this day. I dreamt of ridding myself of the mark”, Jungkook confesses. 

“And it will become reality soon. Sit. Sit right here and I will free you.” 

Jungkook allows Seokjin to sit him down on a chair and because it was Jungkook, Seokjin sits him down on his chair behind the table. He prepares the cream while Jungkook unbuttons his expensive tunic. 

The Queen is by his side, caressing his shoulder. Jungkook places his hand over hers’, looking at Seokjin with his chest bare.

“Are you nervous?”

“No. I can’t wait for it.”

“It will become very warm. Hot almost.”

Jungkook squeezes the Queen’s hand, “I can take it”, he says with a smile. 

Seokjin moves his fingers closer to Jungkook’s chest. He is trembling. Jungkook meets his eyes 

“Are you nervous?” he asks Seokjin.

“I am.”

“Why?”

“I am frightened that it won’t work all of a sudden.”

“I am certain that it will”, the Queen throws in with warmth in her eyes.

“Yes, me too”, Jungkook agrees and smiles, “I trust in your abilities and that of your love”, he says and looks at the healer with a smile.

One she retorts. Work at the table has stopped ever since Jungkook arrived here. Everyone understood. Not only because Jungkook was soon to be Queen Consort and therefore important, but also because the emotional reunion between two separated brothers moved many Ravens to tears. They shared their emotions well. Some knew exactly how such a reunion feels like, while others still wished for the experience. 

The Ravens closest to the table are watching as Seokjin spreads the purple cream on Jungkook’s chest. 

“It is done”, he says and turns to his partner, “my world, may you do the rest, please?”

“Of course”, she says and stands up. She bends down in front of Jungkook, meeting his eyes. 

Jungkook spots warmth and comfort in her eyes. He understands why Seokjin loves her, because goodness surrounds her. Seokjin has always had a good heart, of course he would fall for someone with a kind heart. 

“May I?” she asks.

Jungkook turns his head to look at his fiancée. She smiles, squeezing his shoulder gently. Jungkook retorts her smile and looks back at the healer.

“Yes.”

With his consent, she hovers her hands over his chest and whispers ancient words of healing. The cream begins heating up on his chest. 

“Oh?” he lets out, furrowing his brows in surprise.

“Is it bearable? It will still get hotter”, she makes sure.

“Yes, it’s just really warm”, Jungkook says and shifts. The Queen gives his shoulder little caresses of encouragement, “oh. Oh, it’s getting very warm. Oh, it feels really hot.”

“You are almost done”, Seokjin says and holds his hand, “you are very brave.”

Jungkook forgets all about the discomfort and looks at Seokjin. The familiarity of those words. It tightens his throat in emotion. Seokjin said them to him countless times before when they were children and Jungkook needed comfort. When he woke after a nightmare about his dead parents and cried in Seokjin’s arms, he always whispered them to him. When he hid and sobbed after a punishment, Seokjin always found him and said them to him as he mended his wounds. When the Black Forest shook his body in fear and the two boys stayed with each other for support, Seokjin repeated them like a mantra until the monsters didn’t feel so scary anymore. They fell often between the two boys and yet they never lost their meaning. Jungkook missed hearing them and in this moment he feels as if he could do anything.

“It is done.”

“Really? Already?” 

Seokjin nods his head.

Jungkook looks at the piece of cloth Seokjin offers him.

“Wipe the cream away.”

Jungkook slips his hand from the Queen’s loving hold and accepts the cloth. He looks at his own chest as best as possible and wipes at the cream. It is an easy task to remove it.

“No”, Jungkook gasps, tearing up, “the mark is gone”, he whispers and looks at Seokjin, “it is gone”, he gets out and looks at the Queen, “my mark is gone!”

“Truly?” she gasps and rounds him so she could look at his chest, “Jungkook”, she chokes out and cups his cheeks. She spills tears, “your mark is gone.”

“It is gone”, he repeats and cups her face. He stands up and pulls her into a kiss.

Seokjin turns away for now, wanting to be respectful. He closes in on his own love and rests his chin on her shoulder, hugging her waist gently. She rubs her hand up and down his lower back, resting her head against his’.

“We are doing something good here”, he whispers.

“We are”, she agrees and turns her head to give his lips a chaste kiss, “are you happy?”

“Yes”, Seokjin smiles a soft smile. The kind which lifts his cheeks, “I found Jungkook.”

“I know. I am so happy for you that I feel like crying.”

“Seokjin”, Jungkook interrupts their moment, “my mark is gone!”

Seokjin breaks away from his love and looks at Jungkook. The younger man is smiling brightly, bouncing on the spot.

“I know. How do you feel?”

“Free. I feel finally truly free.”

“You are.”

Jungkook laughs and falls around Seokjin’s neck, “we are free.”

“We are. We are free”, Seokjin agrees and hugs his little brother.

“You will all be free soon”, the Queen says to the waiting Ravens, “now come my friends and get your marks removed. We held up your freedom for too long.”

“We didn’t mind, my Queen!” one of the Ravens screams from the back. The others agree with nods of their heads and smiles on their faces.

The Queen claims the chair Seokjin sat in before and picks up the bowl of purple cream.

“Come now, come”, she calls the next Raven to the table.

“My Queen?” he seems confused, but she merely smiles at him.

“I am certain that Seokjin and Jungkook have lots of catching up to do”, she says, grinning at Seokjin and her fiance.

Jungkook nods his head, while Seokjin looks at her shyly.

“I will take over for Seokjin so he can talk to my starlight”, she explains and points at the chair opposite of her, “now sit down and receive your true freedom.”

“Yes, my Queen. Oh, I feel honoured”, he says with a giggle, “I am helped by the Queen. I will tell my Mahryon about it.”

“Yes? How is the sweet woman?”

“Same old, same old. She started…”

Their conversation dies out in their ears as Jungkook turns Seokjin to the healer.

“Can I steal him away?” he asks her.

“Of course. You two have lots of catching up to do.”

“Are you certain? I do not want to burden you”, Seokjin makes sure.

“I am certain. Go, my beloved. I have my friend helping me”, she says.

“Thank you so much”, he says and kisses her lips, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I promise to return him by nightfall”, Jungkook jokes, making her laugh.

She rubs his arm sisterly, “I am certain you will.”

He gives her one last grin then turns to Seokjin.

“Do you want to see my rooms?”

“Of course I do.”

“Come, follow me.”

The Queen and the healer watch as the two men hurry over the courtyard. They managed around half of the way when they watch Seokjin take Jungkook into a gentle headlock, which the younger man fights off with gentle punches into Seokjin’s side. The two men continue to stumble to the castle as they playfight each other. It is as if no time had passed between them.

“I am happy that they found each other again”, the Queen says.

“Yes, me too. Brighter days will be on the horizon for them.”

“Indeed, there will be.”

Jungkook turns, holding the golden door knob between his fingers. Seokjin is looking at him after having scanned the hallways. The castle hasn’t changed since the last time he was here. At least not what the eye can see, the heart can sense times of love in those hallways. Jungkook and his love must have filled them up day by day.

“Welcome to my chambers”, Jungkook says and opens the door. He steps inside the room. Seokjin follows, letting out gasps of utter bafflement. 

Jungkook closes the door and bounces as he rounds Seokjin.

“And? What do you think?” 

Seokjin doesn’t know where to look first. Jungkook’s room looks like a golden dream of riches and wealth. The stone walls were covered in oil paintings and hand-woven tapestry. One even showed Jungkook’s portrait in warm colours. Golden thread framed the portrait in shapes of ornamental flowers and leaves. The otherwise cold stone floors were covered in thick hand knotted carpets all held in shades of red, green and gold and warm furs truly managed to keep the cold from meeting the feet. Thick curtains framed the windows and the same fabric - it looked expensive - also served as curtains for Jungkook’s bed.

The bed was of impressive size. Made from the sturdiest of wood and with a canopy. Countless pillows covered the head end of the bed and a warm blanket was placed neatly over the mattress for later use. 

“I don’t know what to say. This is….”

“Do you like them? These are my chambers. I spend some time here, but I must confess that I spend more time in my fiancée’s room”, Jungkook explains and giggles, “I love to hold her as we fall asleep.”

“I understand you so well. I love to hold mine as well”, Seokjin says and continues to scan the room, “I can’t believe my own eyes…”

There is a fireplace in one corner of the room. A red chaise lounge asks to be used right in front of it and a small side table made of sturdy wood offers jugs of wines and meads. In another corner, a working table offered heaps of books and stacks of drawings. Jungkook seems to use it for art and studying. Sturdy bookcases were filled with books, art supplies and expensive trinkets and in handmade wall mount, Jungkook’s swords were presented.

“Do you like it? You are so quiet”, Jungkook asks, fumbling nervously.

“Because I am lost for words. All of this…it looks so…so expensive.” 

“It is. I think. She doesn’t tell me how much she spends on me”, Jungkook shies away, “I think it’s a lot.” 

Seokjin meets his eyes. Jungkook’s cheeks are flushed. Seokjin smiles.

“Good. You deserve all the riches in the world.” 

“Oh, uhm”, Jungkook flusters. He clears his throat, “I want to show you more. Look what I have.” 

Seokjin follows him past some sturdy curtains of red fabric into a spacious bathing room.

“This is bigger than both our bedroom and bathing room together”, Seokjin gasps, widening his eyes.

“It is so big, isn’t it?” Jungkook agrees with a laugh, “and look. In all these shelves I store my jewellery. She always gets me stuff, even though I never ask for them. I don’t store my clothing here because I have my own room for them and Bartholomew tells me that it is important to keep fabrics away from moist bathing air because of mould, but I like to keep my jewellery here because then I can come here and look at them.”

“This is just….wow…”

“Then over here is where I take care of my skin”, Jungkook says and sits down in front of his mirror table. He mimics applying cream on his face, pouting for it, “like this. And then I go like this and pat it in”, he says, slapping his own cheeks gently, “and then one of my servants brushes my hair or I have my love brush my hair. I really like it when she does that.”

Jungkook stands up and hurries to his bathing room chaise lounge. He lies down on it, stretching out his legs. 

“This is where I lie when I do a facial pack and someone massages my feet”, he sits up, “did you know that all of your body’s zones are connected to your feet and that by regularly massaging them, you become healthier?”

“I did. I learned about it during my apprenticeship”, Seokjin says.

“Isn’t it remarkable?” 

“It is”, Seokjin says and looks at the bathtub, “you even have a tub. You truly have everything, haven’t you?” 

“Ah yes, this is my tub”, Jungkook says, scrambling to his feet. He runs to it and slaps his hand on its edge. It makes a metal sound of impact, “I take baths with my love in here. We love to use your bathing oils.” 

“You do?”

Jungkook nods his head excitedly, “my favourites are vanilla and wolf lily. I think they smell really nice.”

“Thank you”, Seokjin says and lowers his head as he studies the bathtub. He strokes his hand over the edge.

Jungkook gnaws on his lower lip nervously, taking a small step closer.

“Do you not like it?” he asks quietly.

“No, no it’s not that”, Seokjin says, shaking his head.

“But?”

“I always wanted to have a bathtub.”

“Do you not possess one?” Jungkook gasps.

“No. Well, at least not yet. We are trying to save up as much as possible, but a good bathtub is expensive these days. We want one in which we both fit.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Jungkook says and takes Seokjin’s hands so he can sway them excitedly, “I can buy you whatever bathtub you wish for.” 

“What? No”, Seokjin shakes his head, “no, you don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.”

“No, Jungkook no. This, this”, Seokjin exhales sharply, “these are your riches. I do not want to rob you of them.” 

“Rob me?” Jungkook snickers, “you could never rob me. You’re my brother”, he smiles sweetly.

Seokjin feels his heart warm at the sight.

“And I want you to possess the grandest, most luxurious bathtub in the whole Queendom. No”, he grins, “the whole continent.” 

Seokjin smiles, letting out a breathy chuckle of fondness. Jungkook snickers, scrunching his nose.

“Sooo? What say you?” he asks, nudging Seokjin’s chest as he wiggles his brows.

“You won’t accept a No either way, will you?” 

Jungkook shakes his head, smiling with his eyes so brightly, they sparkle.

“Fine”, Seokjin gives in, “fine, I’ll allow you. By Frenya, how should I bring the news to my love?”

“Tell her that your little brother wants to treat you”, Jungkook says and leads Seokjin out of the bathing room with an arm around his shoulder, “and that I find great happiness in the thought that I can make it possible that you and her share warm baths.”

“Oh Jungkook”, Seokjin says and sighs, “you truly grew up so much. Look at you and, and look at this room.” They are in Jungkook’s bed chambers again. It still feels like a dream of riches to Seokjin. “You deserve all of this. Yes, every single treasure in this room.” 

Jungkook leans his head on Seokjin’s shoulder, “thank you. Oh my brother, you’re so…” he turns and hugs Seokjin, “…I missed you so much.” 

“I missed you too, little one”, Seokjin says and rubs Jungkook’s back, “now I have to ask. Can you show me your clothing room?”

“You want to see?” Jungkook looks at him excitedly, “I didn’t know if I should ask, because I don’t want to seem as if I am boasting.”

“You aren’t. Please. Show me where you store your clothes.” 

“Okay, so follow me”, Jungkook says and skips to the door.

Seokjin follows him with a fond smile on his lips.

“You will really like the room. It has a mirror and a seat to relax on. Also, so many clothes”, Jungkook tells him excitedly.

“You never struck me as a clothing person.”

“I’m not. I’m really not, but my love likes to dress me up”, Jungkook says and giggles, “she always gets me the latest fashion and compliments me when I wear it, so I really like it that she does. And Bartholomew always makes me clothes in black. I really love black.”

“I know. You always did. It fits your skin tone so well.”

“Yes, I agree”, Jungkook says and opens the door next to his chambers, “now don’t judge me, but it is a little messy in here, because I needed to pick out an outfit for today. I didn’t have time to put my clothes away yet.” 

“Do not worry. I don’t judge.”

“Yes, well then. Come in”, Jungkook says and leads Seokjin inside.

“Jungkook, by Frenya”, Seokjin gasps, widening his eyes as the beauty of the room overwhelms him.

It is smaller than Jungkook’s bedroom and its walls are covered in ceiling high wardrobes all bursting in the finest of clothes. On one wall, more jewellery is presented and on the lower racks, Jungkook stores his shoes.

“It is unbelievable, isn’t it?” Jungkook says and laughs, “I always have to pinch myself when I realise what life I am living these days.”

“Understandable. You are living in dreams.” 

“Yes, I really am. Oh, I love it here so much”, Jungkook says as he is busy clearing the seat of his clothes.

“It is such an improvement to the Black Forest, isn’t it?” Seokjin asks.

Jungkook laughs, “yeah”, he agrees with a nod of his head, “it truly is”, he says and looks at himself in the mirror, “and now we are actually free of the mark”, he meets Seokjin’s eyes in the reflection, “aren’t we?”

“We are”, Seokjin says and smiles.

Jungkook retorts it, closing the distance between him and the mirror afterwards. He stops in front of it and opens his tunic. Seokjin watches him. Jungkook traces his chest. His fingers still know which paths to take to replicate the tattoo. His skin is unmarked however. Sunkissed and velvety just like the rest of his body and finally unmarked.

“It is truly gone”, Jungkook whispers.

“It feels unbelievable, doesn’t it?”

Jungkook nods his head.

“I know. I spent the first few days after the removal staring at my chest in disbelief.” 

“I will do the same. I cannot fathom that it is really gone”, Jungkook says and does a little twirl so he could sit down on the two-seater. He lets out a heavy sigh.

Seokjin sits down next to him, looking at him. He can sense that the emotion in the room changed, he can see it on Jungkook’s features as well.

“Do you remember how it felt?” Jungkook asks. 

“The removal?”

“No. Getting the tattoo.”

“Ah. Yes, I remember.”

“I wanted him to stop.”

“I know. I did too.”

“But he said that I had to keep going because I needed to be strong and make him proud. I wanted to make him proud.”

Seokjin studies the regret on Jungkook’s features.

“You were five of age and lost your parents. Of course you wanted to make him proud”, he says because he knows that Jungkook blames himself right now, “he was the adult taking up the role of a parent for your young mind, so do not blame yourself.”

Jungkook looks at Seokjin as if he hadn’t expected to hear such words of comfort and understanding. 

“Do not feel ashamed of it. Instead feel anger at Rafkan for giving you such a nightmarish parental figure to lean on.”

“It is hard not to feel shame. I never should have seen him as my father.”

“I know. It is easy to blame yourself, but don’t. You were a child. Every child needs parents. Do not blame your young heart for doing what every young heart would have done.”

Jungkook nods his head in understanding.

“I try not to think about everything he did for too long”, he confesses.

“Why?”

“It makes me feel helpless.”

“Helpless?”

“Yes. Helpless. Helpless because I feel so many emotions at once and it is as if I am drowning because not one of the emotions is good.”

“I understand how you feel. I felt the same as you and sometimes when the day is darker, those feelings return. I cannot tell you a cure to the helplessness because time healed me more than anything else, however I can offer you my shoulder to lean on.”

Jungkook leans in, resting his head on Seokjin’s shoulder just like he did a million times before. There were many nights in the Raven camps where Jungkook fell asleep with his head on Seokjin’s shoulder, while the older brother watched over him. The days after such nights were exhausting for Seokjin, but he never showed his tiredness to Jungkook even if Jungkook already knew. He felt guilty whenever it happened, but life back then exhausted him so much that oftentimes he didn’t realize that it was happening. 

Jungkook doesn’t feel guilty right now. He feels tranquil. His eyes are closed and his heart beats at a normal pace. Seokjin rests his head against Jungkook’s.

“You can always talk to me about what plagues you, Jungkook”, he speaks quietly, “I managed to heal as much as I did these days because I had my love listening to me. Does the Queen listen to your griefs?”

“She does. She helped me heal a lot, but I think….” Jungkook takes a shaky breath, “I think that there is still a lot to do. I feel so happy, but sometimes the memories come back. I think about everything he did and said and I look at them in a new light now that my mind is cleared of his lies and I get so inexplicably angry. Then I get sad. Heartbroken. And helpless. Does this happen to you? Are you sometimes doing something which brings you joy when suddenly the memories come back again?”

“Of course. This is how one heals from traumatic events.”

“Really? So I am not broken?”

“Of course you aren’t broken. You are doing everything right.”

Jungkook shakes his head, “I feel as if I could do more.”

“You are doing everything right. You are healing at the perfect speed.”

Jungkook inhales and it sounds steady.

Jungkook exhales and it sounds relieved.

“I missed you so much”, he whispers and throws his hand over his own eyes. 

Seokjin kisses the crown of Jungkook’s head.

“I missed you too.”

“You always know what to say.”

“I try to at least.”

Jungkook laughs. Seokjin laughs as well. Jungkook lifts his head and meets Seokjin’s eyes. Seokjin cups his cheek and wipes his tears. 

“I love you so much”, Jungkook whispers.

“And I love you, my little one”, Seokjin whispers and smiles.

Jungkook retorts it, “I feel as if all I do is cry. I promise I am not like this on normal days.”

Seokjin laughs, “you do not have to explain yourself. We are all humans with emotions. Today is an emotional day.”

Jungkook studies Seokjin’s features. He always knew that his big brother was wise and knowledgeable beyond his age even if he oftentimes hid his wisdom behind silly jokes. Jungkook could always rely on Seokjin and his words of wisdom were perhaps the reason why the Queen spotted goodness in his eyes all those months ago. Jungkook is certain that if he didn’t have Seokjin by his side, comforting him and guiding him secretly when Rafkan wasn’t looking, he would have become as rotten as some other devoted Ravens. It was Seokjin’s guidance and love which kept the goodness in Jungkook’s heart. He is certain of it. 

“I want to show you something”, Jungkook says.

“Yes? Show me.”

“We have to get to the woods for it. I know the way”, Jungkook says and stands up, “follow me.”

And so the two men hurry through the castle until they reached the courtyard again. The sun has travelled quite some distance on the sky as the two men chatted in Jungkook’s room. Their loves are talking to each other. Seokjin and Jungkook pay them a visit before they leave.

“I want to show Seokjin the Life Oak”, Jungkook says.

“Oh yes, please do”, the Queen says and smiles, “you will find great healing in this place, Seokjin.”

“I, uhm”, Seokjin doesn’t quite know what to say because it is still unbelievable to him that he is talking casually with the Queen. Yes, he did so before when he was her guest back then, but this is different. He is a free man and her people and his well-mannered heart tells him to speak respectfully. 

“Have fun, you two”, his love tells him and gives his hand a little kiss, “try not to stumble over roots. The tree fairies are especially naughty around the Life Oak.”

The Queen giggles, leaning into her friend, “indeed they are. Oh, how wonderful.”

The healer snickers, sharing in her laughter by touching her knee.

Jungkook and Seokjin soon bid their goodbyes with smiles on their faces, kissing their destinies on their lips because they loved them. 

“I still cannot fathom that you are to marry the Queen”, Seokjin says as he and Jungkook hurry to the gate leading to the woods.

“Me neither. I feel so lucky. She is too good to me”, Jungkook says and sighs dreamily, “I love her so much.”

Seokjin smiles, “it feels good to be in love, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. Oh yes, it does. My heart races all the time, I feel warm all over and when I listen to her talk, my tummy flutters.”

“I understand you. I feel the same with mine”, Seokjin says and sighs, “she is the most wonderful person. The first thing she taught me was how to read and write.”

“Yes? Oh, this is exciting. So you can read as well?”

“You too?”

Jungkook nods his head, “my love taught me. It was very difficult at first, but she told me that I learned insanely fast.”

“Of course you did. You are such a fast learner and you are good at everything.”

“That isn’t correct. I hate maths.”

Seokjin laughs. Jungkook joins him.

“I hate it as well. Frustrating business indeed.”

“Yes”, Jungkook agrees in snickers.

Seokjin retorts them. Their eyes meet seconds later. There is a certain emotion in the air. One which makes both men shy away. Jungkook is brave enough to break the silence.

“Did”, he begins, “did your love also teach you what…what bodies can do?”

“Maybe”, Seokjin confesses and blushes.

“Mine did too”, Jungkook confesses with his cheeks just as flushed.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

The two men giggle in coyness, drawing closer as they share in the naughty secret. 

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Jungkook asks in a whisper.

“It does”, Seokjin whispers and covers his own eyes, “this is so embarrassing to talk about. Oh by Frenya.”

“Yes”, Jungkook agrees and covers his own ears as he scrunches his nose, “we’re such men these days.”

“Oh Jungkook, will you stop”, Seokjin whines and slaps his arm gently, “you are making me burn up.”

Jungkook giggles, burning up himself.

Jungkook knows the way to the Life Oak like he knows his way to the courtyard. He walks the paths regularly, finding healing in nature and the quiet of the forest. Seokjin feels the powers as well. Ever since he set foot into the dense forest, breathing feels easier to do.

It takes the young men around thirty minutes to reach their destiny. They spend the time greatly, talking and joking with each other every passing second. There wasn’t a second of silence between them as new stories of their lives came to their minds over and over again.

They grew silent however once they reached the clearing where the Life Oak fills the space with her presence. It happened naturally that the two men became silent. As if the Life Oak makes one do so.

“This is it”, Jungkook says quietly and closes the distance to the oak tree.

“This is it?” Seokjin whispers and steps closer to the oak, “it is…so tall. And beautiful. Why is it bleeding black…substance?”

“It’s not hurting. Not right now. Those are marks that She is happy. That She is crying tears of joy because Her earth is healthy.” 

“Her earth?”

Jungkook nods his head, “touch Her.”

Seokjin places his hand on the oak tree’s trunk, flinching back in shock.

“What?” he gasps, touching it again, “what is that? Why can I….I-I feel a heartbeat.”

“Yes”, Jungkook says and places his hand next to Seokjin’s, “this tree is life itself. She gives this Queendom nourishment and makes it live. She can talk to every plant, animal and nature itself through Her roots.”

“This is”, Seokjin blinks his tears away, “I don’t know what is happening”, he says and wipes his eyes, “oh by Frenya, why am I crying?

“It is okay to cry. I cried the first time as well”, Jungkook assures him, rubbing his upper arm gently, “it is overwhelming to touch life itself. Don’t hide it and let it happen.”

Seokjin sobs softly, lowering his face into his own palm. Jungkook touches his shoulder in comfort, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

“I am not sad. I just haven’t felt like this before”, he explains.

“This is normal, let it happen. Give Her a hug if you want to”, he tells him and because Seokjin is overwhelmed in life, he does. 

He hugs the ancient tree and he sobs as he does. His arms barely take up space on the thick trunk, but Seokjin still feels cradled. As if his mother was holding him and rocking him to sleep. The oak tree sings to him just like his mother would in the rustling of its leaves and croaking of its branches. 

“This is life itself, Jungkook. It has a pulse as if it was alive”, Seokjin gets out, “and, and it feels as if…as if…I can’t describe it.”

“As if you are hugged by your mother”, Jungkook says.

“Yes. Oh Jungkook, I miss my mother”, Seokjin sobs. 

“I miss my mother too”, Jungkook says and whimpers, “oh Seokjin, come here”, he chokes out and hugs his brother from behind, caging him in between the tree and his body. 

He rubs his hand up and down Seokjin’s tummy, resting his chin on Seokjin’s shoulder. 

“I’m here. You aren’t alone.”

And as they cry for their lost mothers, the Life Oak cradles them like Her sons, swaying Her branches and filling their hearts with new hope. Their mothers might have left the earth already, but She will always be there for them and in Her, their mothers will live on eternally. For every life form, no matter how small, will find its place in Her endless roots, Her never rotting foliage and Her countless branches. So in a way, as the two men hug Her for comfort, they are hugging their mothers.

“We still have each other”, Jungkook comforts him. 

“We do. Oh Jungkook, thank you for showing me this place. I haven’t felt such a hug in years”, Seokjin says and turns to cradle Jungkook’s cheeks, “it felt as if my mother was holding me.

“I know. She is beautiful, isn’t She? I come here and talk to Her often, I hug Her and find comfort in Her. I believe that our mothers are continuing to live through Her.” 

“I love this thought ”, Seokjin meets Jungkook’s warm gaze, “it is so beautiful and I can feel my mother. We can feel them, Jungkook.”

“We can”, Jungkook says and hugs him.

Seokjin hugs him back, combing his fingers through his hair.

“Thank you. Thank you for showing me this place”, he whispers.

“There is so much more to show you”, Jungkook whispers.

“There is?”

“Do you want to see?”

“Yes. Yes, of course I do. Oh Jungkook, please show me everything in your life.”

Jungkook steps back and gives Seokjin a loving smile before turning his back to him. He takes a deep breath and calls into the silence. Seokjin watches him with parted lips. 

Jungkook finishes his calls with a content sigh and his eyes glancing at Seokjin bashfully.

“What did you do?” Seokjin asks him.

“I called for them.”

“For who?”

The forest grumbles and cracks. The small trees and thick shrubs begin dancing. Seokjin inches closer to Jungkook in fear.

“Someone is coming”, he whispers.

“I know. It’s them.”

“Them?”

Woltron steps out of the shadows. His pack follows. They build a circle around Jungkook and Seokjin, growling deeply.

“What is that? Jungkook, we need to flee”, Seokjin gasps and tries to tug Jungkook away.

Jungkook stumbles and laughs, tugging Seokjin back.

“Don’t be frightened. They’re my friends.”

“Your friends? Jungkook, this is Woltron and His pack, he will eat us.”

“No, he won’t. Look”, Jungkook says and slips out of Seokjin’s tight grasp to walk to Woltron.

“Jungkook. No”, Seokjin gasps, reaching for him but grabbing air. He has to watch with horror as Jungkook places his hand on Woltron’s nose, “I can’t watch this”, Seokjin chokes out and squeezes his eyes shut.

There is silence for a few seconds, then Jungkook speaks all of a sudden.

“Open your eyes.”

Seokjin follows even if he is scared.

“What?” he gasps.

Jungkook is sitting atop of Woltron, carrying a smile on his face.

“They’re my friends”, he says and taps Woltron’s shoulder, “Woltron, this is my big brother Seokjin.”

Woltron closes the distance between him and Seokjin. Seokjin tries to stumble back, but collides with the nose of another wolf.

“Forgive me!” he squeaks and jumps away, which makes him collide with Woltron’s nose, “ah! Forgive me! Please, don’t eat me!”

Jungkook laughs, “calm down, brother. They don’t want to eat you. Take a deep breath and look into Woltron’s eyes.”

“But-”

“Trust me.”

Seokjin studies Jungkook’s features.

“Trust me”, the younger man repeats and smiles.

It gives Seokjin enough strength that he takes a deep breath and then meets Woltron’s piercing gaze. The wolf growls deeply, keeping Seokjin hostage. Seokjin trembles and shakes, forgetting all about breathing until Woltron breaks eye contact. The wolf lets out a low grumble and lifts his head. He turns his side to Seokjin.

“See? You’re their friend now as well”, Jungkook says.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Woltron and his pack are old gods. They have been on this continent long before humans lived on the lands. Woltron can look into people’s hearts and see their truest truth in them. He accepted you in His pack, which means your heart is good.”

“Good?” Seokjin gasps, “and if it wasn’t good? What would he have done then?”

“It doesn’t matter. I wanted to show you this place and introduce you to Him because I knew you were good. I also passed their test when I first came here and I only passed it because I had you secretly guiding me. You kept the good in my heart, so I knew that you would pass.”

“But if I hadn’t?”

Jungkook shakes his head, “this never would have happened, but if you hadn’t then Woltron would have eaten you.”

“What?!” Seokjin squeaks, “and you didn’t tell me? Jungkook, how dare you?!”

Jungkook snickers, “I didn’t tell you because I knew that you would have been way too scared. Now climb onto Eudora’s back and let me show you one last thing.”

“You are such a trickster. You didn’t change one bit”, Seokjin murmurs and turns his back to him.

The wolf whose nose he accidentally collided with, lowers herself so Seokjin could climb onto her back.

“Hello Eudora, will you bite me?” Seokjin says quietly, taking cautious steps closer.

Eudora stays quiet, watching Seokjin with half-lidded eyes. Her eyes are emerald green just like Woltron’s.

“She won’t bite. Trust Her”, Jungkook assures him.

“Don’t talk to me. I don’t trust you anymore”, Seokjin jokes, making Jungkook laugh, “okay, I am doing it. I am getting on your back, yes?”

Eudora stays still and allows Seokjin to climb on top. Once he is safely on top, she stands up, forcing Seokjin to squeak and twist bundles of her fur.

“This is so scary”, he squeals, “I’m sorry, oh heavens, eek.”

“Calm down, you are tugging her fur”, Jungkook laughs and reaches over to caress his shoulder, “don’t be too scared. You know how to ride a horse, don’t you?”

“Yes, but this is insanity. We are on top of gigantic wolves.”

“They’re such better runners. Ready?”

“What? Runners? Jungkook, what are you planning to do?”

“I will show you my favourite place.”

“What do you mean runners? Jungkook, talk to me”, Seokjin asks nervously.

“The wolves will bring us. Don’t worry, it will feel as if you are flying”, Jungkook assures him and pets Woltron’s back, “can you takes us to the plateau, Woltron?”

The wolf straightens his head and howls. His pack answers him.

“What is happening?” Seokjin yells over their howls, looking at Jungkook.

“Hold on tight”, he says.

“What? Eeek!” Seokjin squeals and falls to the front in a desperate attempt to hug Eudora as she takes off with her pack, “this is the scariest thing I have ever done!” he screeches while beside him, Jungkook squeals and squeaks in laughter.

He looks at his little brother and how happy he looks riding the giant wolf. His dark hair catches the wind, his clothes dance in it and his face is crinkled in laughter.

“This is so much fun!” he calls out and looks at Seokjin, “sit up, trust me.”

“I hate this! Why are you doing this to me? Ju-Ju-Jungkook”, Seokjin screeches.

“Sit up, trust me”, Jungkook laughs.

Seokjin sits up even if his heart was racing in fear. The wind makes his eyes tear up instantly and messes up his hair. He feels it on his skin and smells the freedom in the air.

“This is insane! Jungkook you rascal, this is insane!”

“No, this is freedom”, Jungkook calls out and lets go of Woltron to stretch his arms far away from himself. He closes his eyes and laughs loudly. 

Seokjin looks at the wolf under him. Her fur is reflecting the sunlight, glowing like ambers in a fire. He barely feels her movements, except her shifting muscles under her thick fur. 

The wind is dancing around them. The world feels so vast. Seokjin doesn’t feel as if he will fall off. He lets go of her fur and stretches his arms from his own body. It feels as if he is lifting off the ground. Freedom, Jungkook called it. This is freedom.

“Hah!” Seokjin lets out and looks at Jungkook. He laughs, “I’m riding a wolf!”

“I know! Isn’t it so much fun?”

“Yes!”

Jungkook laughs and holds onto Woltron again as the wolf speeds up. Eudora follows, speeding up with Seokjin on her back. Seokjin squeaks in laughter, throwing his head back as the world passes him in blurs of colour.

The wolves take the two giggling men all the way up the Snowy Mountains. They climb the steep stones easily and while Seokjin screeched and clutched Eudora in fear, Jungkook laughed and assured him that nothing will happen to them. And he was right. Except for wobbly knees and his nerves stretched thin, Seokjin arrives atop the plateau unharmed. He slides off of Eudora, colliding with the ground as he catches his breath.

“Hey, are you alright?” Jungkook gasps, jumping off of Woltron’s back. He kneels down in front of Seokjin, touching his arms, “what’s the matter?”

“This was insanity. We just climbed a mountain”, Seokjin gets out and wheezes for air, “I think I might pass out. Did this actually happen?”

Jungkook chuckles and strokes his hand down the back of Seokjin’s head.

“You did well. I know the first time is really frightening. I thought I soiled my pants the first time my love took me here.”

“You did?” Seokjin gets out and lifts his head to look into Jungkook’s eyes.

“Yeah”, he snickers, nodding his head, “but I promise you that it is worth it.”

“I truly hope it is because I think that I might have shat myself right now.”

Jungkook laughs, “you are fine. Now come on, I need to show you”, he says and helps Seokjin to his feet.

“You will kill me one day, I am telling you. I’m too old for such adventures.”

“You are twenty and six of age, brother. You are not too old”, Jungkook laughs as he leads him to the edge of the plateau.

Seokjin stumbles back, squeezing Jungkook’s hands.

“Jungkook, you madman what are you doing?”

“Don’t be scared.”

“This is so high.”

“I know, but don’t be scared. Look. We still have five steps to take before it becomes dangerous.”

“You”, Seokjin exhales deeply, “you have always been fearless. No, I have to sit down.”

Jungkook laughs, joining him on the ground. He stretches out his legs while Seokjin sits with his legs crossed.

“You are okay, brother”, he assures him.

“I guess. Oh, you made my heart race”, Seokjin says and sighs deeply, “first you tell me that a wolf god could have eaten me, then you make me ride on top of one and climb a mountain and now this. Do you want to kill me? My heart is too weak for all of this.”

Jungkook snickers, giving Seokjin a small look before he lets his eyes drift at the view before them. The Queendom lies before their eyes. The Black Forest in the far distance, the Singing River reflecting the sunlight and the Nourishing Fields as green phantoms in the distance.

“But I must say this view makes up for it”, Seokjin says.

“Doesn’t it?” Jungkook agrees, “my love tells me that this is the whole of the Queendom and even more”, he says.

“It is?”

“Yes. Look, the green in the distance are the Nourishing Fields. The river over there is the Singing River. These are the forests of the Castle, the Life Oak and my home and back there in the distance is the Black Forest”, Jungkook explains, pointing at everything so Seokjin could see.

“Wow”, Seokjin whispers, “so this is everything.”

“Yes it is and when you look beyond the Black Forest in the really, really far distance you can see the Glass Mountains.”

“Glass Mountains?”

“Yes, Glass Mountains. They’re a foreign queendom. Their lakes are emerald coloured and all their valleys are filled with trees with ruby coloured foliage. Their Queen fell in love with her warrior and possesses healing magic”, Jungkook explains and looks at Seokjin, “like your love. She can heal with just a touch.”

“Oh. Oh, no. My love can’t heal with a touch. The queen of the Glass Mountains must be a Mender.”

“A Mender?”

“Yes, Mender. They posses magic in their blood, which they can use to heal all wounds and aches. My love needs potions and creams to heal.”

“I see. Menders. I didn’t know about them yet”, Jungkook says and sighs in contentment, “it is so wonderful to learn. We were kept so blind to the world, weren’t we?”

“We really were”, Seokjin agrees, “but we are free.”

Jungkook touches his own chest. Seokjin does the same to his’.

“We’re free”, Jungkook whispers and smiles, “and we can learn all the knowledge in the world.”

Seokjin does the same, “indeed we can.”

Jungkook lifts his hand, pointing at the Queendom.

“Where exactly is your home?”

“I don’t know. I have never seen the queendom this way”, he says, “but I think it has to be around there”, he says and points at a forest in the distance. The Singing River digs its path close to it and a small town neighbours it.

“In this town?” Jungkook asks.

“No, through this forest. There is a clearing next to the river and we have our cottage there. The forest is filled with tree fairies which like to play tricks by growing roots in front of your feet or dropping acorns on your head.”

“Really?” Jungkook snickers.

“Yes, really”, Seokjin chuckles.

“And have you ever encountered such a tree fairies before?” 

“Indeed I have. One dropped snow on my head in winter and another grew a branch directly in front my face. I swallowed leaves that day.” 

Jungkook laughs, leaning back as he does. Seokjin joins him. Their heartfelt laughter echoes through the whole queendom. At least it feels like that to them as they sit and overlook everything as the mountains play catch with their voices.

“Ah this is so funny”, Jungkook says and sighs.

“Indeed it is”, Seokjin agrees and exhales in contentment. 

The two men dance their eyes over the endless view. And while Seokjin tries to take in everything as best as possible, Jungkook studies the area where his brother lives. It isn’t that far from the castle. He will be able to visit his brother often and in return, Seokjin can visit him as well. Jungkook feels his heart flutter in happiness at the thought.

“A cottage”, Jungkook whispers and sways from side to side as complete contentment fills his chest, “is it a nice home?”

“It is the best home I could have ever wished for. We grow flowers and herbs for our healing potions and in the warmer months, our garden is filled with vegetables and fruit we can eat”, Seokjin explains excitedly, “and we have chickens. They lay so many eggs that we can always have fresh eggs for breakfast. The river is always filled with fresh fish and sometimes we go to the market in town and buy meat, which will last us for days.”

“This sounds like a dream.”

“It is a dream. We even have a cat.”

“A cat? Really?” Jungkook gasps.

“Yes, really. His name is Kukuruz and we can talk to him.”

“What? Talk?”

“Yes, talk.”

“How?”

Seokjin lifts his arm, showing a delicate leather armband to Jungkook.

“There is a sorceress in town, who can make these animal talking bracelets and we each got one.”

“Wow”, Jungkook says, touching it gently, “and it works?”

“It does.”

“So you can understand Woltron and his pack?”

The two men look over their shoulders at the old god. He and his pack are slumbering peacefully behind them.

“No”, Seokjin turns back around, “no sadly, you can only choose one animal. We chose a cat.”

“I understand”, Jungkook looks back at the view, “it is still so amazing. I want to be able to talk to animals. I imagine that it must be so interesting.”

“I can tell you from experience that most conversation with Kukuruz are about him wanting more food.”

Jungkook laughs. Seokjin joins him.

“I see. Well, this does sound like what a cat would talk about most.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Silence replaces their laughter like sunlight replaces rain. It comes because it always follows and it feels natural. The two men looked forward to the silence like people look forward to sunlight after long rain. And as they share in the wonderful silence, they take in the views. Their world once reached to the borders of the Black Forest and not one step beyond and now they are sitting atop the Snowy Mountains, overlooking their freedom.

“Should we visit the Nourishing Fields together?” Seokjin asks.

“We could, couldn’t we?”

“We could.”

Seokjin drapes his arm over Jungkook’s shoulder. The younger man leans into him.

“Then we will.”

[jooheonspinky]

From the Ashes

Characters: Jungkook x Female reader

Genre: Fantasy!au, angst

Synopsis: I am ready to confess my feelings to Jungkook, but his older brother, a wizard, has other plans. Plans with devastating consequences that I could never have prepared for.

Warnings: major character death, various mentions of fire, mentions of panic attack

A/N: This story came about from a dream I had. Actually, two dreams I had last month. You can read them before the story if you'd like. I did have to change a lot in order for it to make a little more sense.

Dream Log 56

Dream Log 57

•• ━━━━━ ••🔥•• ━━━━━ ••

Part 1 

Word Count: 3.2K

“Are you sure?” My cousin stares at me with a mixture of disbelief and elation. “Once the words are out of your mouth, that’s it. There’s no taking them back.”

I giggle, my cheeks flushing with warmth from the terror and excitement coursing through me.

“I know, Merrick,” I say breathily. “But we only live once, right? If I never tell him, how will I know how he feels? I just don’t want to have any regrets later on.” Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly to calm my rapidly beating heart, I ask, “Do I look okay?”

She side-eyes me as I run my hands over the smooth material of my cap-sleeved attire, trying to ensure everything is in place. The empire-waist dress hugs my breasts tightly, giving them a little lift. A butterfly embroidered sheer pink tulle overlay hangs beautifully atop the mint green satin length of the dress’s skirt that cascades down to the tops of my slippered feet. My hair is half-up, half-down, and a large mint green bow pinned to the back of my head completes the outfit I have chosen for the university’s Halloween festivities.

“I can’t believe you just asked me that.” She stares at me with feigned anger. “Didn’t you check yourself out in the mirror? You look absolutely gorgeous in that.”

The warmth in my cheeks intensifies, and I glance away momentarily.

Exhaling, I whisper, “I just want to make sure everything goes goo- no, great.”

She hugs me tightly, and I welcome not only the warmth the gesture provides but also the encouragement and love she is wrapping me in. My soul soaks it all up, steadying my heart. Though I am not a witch like her, we are extremely close and often find ourselves inadvertently sharing what the other is feeling. Merrick still believes I, too, am a witch, but at this age, nothing has manifested yet, and I don’t expect it to either.

And I am ok with that. 

Stepping out of her arms, I tug open the matching reticule that hangs from my wrist and pull out my phone. A quick message asking my crush to meet me at the top of the library tower, where we both love to spend time as we study, read books, or listen to music is sent off. It should be empty now as everyone prepares to go to the auditorium for the costume ball. No one should be there to interrupt. No one there to witness the rejection if things don’t go how I would like them to. As of yet, he has not given the impression that he thinks of me as anything other than a good friend.

I shake my head, pushing away the negative thoughts before they can convince me to keep my confession to myself.

“Go,” she urges me. “You shouldn’t leave Jungkook waiting.”

“Ok, ok,” I laugh as I turn to push the door open and step outside.

The air is brisk as it hits my flushed skin. I can feel Merrick’s eyes on me as she watches me speedily walk across the courtyard. Scattered mounds of melted snow collected on the sides of the square I walk across are evidence of the remnants of a mid-autumn snowfall that had surprised us earlier in the week. I am a bit too exposed to the elements with my wispy dress and primarily bare arms, but I don’t seem to feel the cold. I’m too nervous and excited about what I’m getting ready to do. 

Up ahead, I catch sight of Jungkook stepping into the archway that leads to the library tower. Though his face is not visible, his way of walking is unmistakable and gives him away. From this distance, I can make out that he’s wearing what appears to be black leather pants with a billowy white shirt that is only tucked into the front. A pair of black boots adorn his feet, and I wonder if he is dressed as a pirate or maybe a vampire just as he disappears deeper into the tunnel.

I speed up, soft, giddy giggles escaping my lips as I reach the archway. I pause to straighten my dress and take a few deep breaths as my slippered feet carry me forward. Footsteps echo across the cement walls, and the hair on the back of my neck instantly stands on end. I swirl around to find the silhouette of a slightly hunched figure clad in black floor-length robes. There is a hint of deep purple satin that lines the inside of the cloak, visible only when he steps closer.

I instantly recognize the pallid face that smiles at me. A chill shivers down my spine, and I have only a moment to wonder why it is that Jungkook’s older brother always gives me the heebie-jeebies whenever he is around despite his friendly demeanor. He’s never done anything to make me question his genuineness, yet I can sense something just behind those eyes that doesn’t quite fit the expression that sits on his face.

His hand darts forward to grab my wrist, pulling me from my inner thoughts. Though I gasp, nothing else comes out as I attempt to follow it with a scream. Utter fear and confusion locks me in place. It’s like his grip has control over my body’s functions, and nothing I do can override it.

“I knew it,” he hisses, his face contorting into disgust. His dark eyes hold my gaze as he tugs me into him. “You will not get the chance to tell him a thing, do you hear me?!”

My eyes widen. How does he know…

“Please,” I manage to croak out. “Let me go.”

“Oh, I’ll let you go, alright,” he sneers.

His fingers tighten, digging into my skin, as he begins to murmur unintelligibly. I don’t need to hear what he’s saying to know precisely what he’s doing. He is a wizard, after all, and wizards, just like witches, have magic powers. The possibilities are endless as to what they can do with that power, power he’s not supposed to use while on school grounds unless authorized by a professor or the Dean.

But here, in the middle of the tunnel, where anyone can see or hear if they pass by, he is chanting a spell without a care, and there is nothing I can do. A sensation similar to vertigo washes over me, and I fight the feeling of nausea as my body begins to transform. It only takes a few seconds before I am no longer human. Whatever words he has recited has converted me into a bird. He laughs as he gazes down at me, pleased at his work.

“It’s nothing personal, little raven,” he confides. “I’m just tired, ya know? Tired of him getting everything he wants. Tired of everyone saying he’s better at everything. The ‘golden boy’,” he mocks. “He’s just a measly human. He has no powers. Can’t cast spells or make charms. I can, though. I can, and no one cares. It’s always about Jungkook. I won’t let you make your confession to him and give him yet another thing he wants.”

My beady eyes can only stare up at him, absolutely dumbfounded at what is occurring. I let out a caw, and he chuckles.

“I’ve given him a little snack to munch on while he waits for you to meet up with him. We both know the kid can eat.” He grins at me as if he’s just chatting with a friend. “But little does he know I’ve added something extra to it. He’ll be dead before you can even reach him.”

He exits the archway with another laugh, leaving me in absolute shock. I flap my wings frantically, unsure of what to do. 

“Y/N!” My cousin’s voice has me frantically skittering towards her. “Ohmygosh! What the hell happened to you? Did he do this? I saw him come in here after you, and I just got this really bad feeling in the pit of my stomach…”

Merrick doesn’t wait for an answer. She squats down and sets her hand gently on my head. Closing her eyes, I let the images and the conversation run through my mind like a piece of CCTV footage and focus on pushing them toward her. 

“Oh, shit!” she shoots up. “I gotta go get the Dean. You go and stop Jungkook!” 

Scooping me up, she rushes out of the small arched tunnel and straight to the library doors. With fear guiding me, Merrick opens her hands, and I find I can instantly fly. I hear the door close behind me as she rushes across campus toward the Dean’s office, cell phone pressed to her ear. 

I fly up the spiral staircase, my voice calling to Jungkook, screaming and begging him not to eat anything as I try to reach him as fast as I can. No words come out, only cawing sounds that reverberate against the walls as I circle my way up. Though new to flying, I make it to the top in record time, as if I have flown all my life. 

It’s not fast enough, though.

As I reach the landing, my eyes catch sight of a bright pink and red box of Kancho (칸쵸) choco biscuits lying on the floor. My gaze shifts from the box to Jungkook’s form. A newspaper he must have been reading while he snacked was under his feet, the crinkling of the crisp paper sounding amplified in the ordinarily quiet space. His hands are clutching his throat, his eyes wide in desperate panic. From inside my head, I can hear his brother laughing maniacally. 

The spell must allow him to see what I see, and I hate that I’m giving him a front-row seat to Jungkook’s dire predicament. 

I need to figure out how to help Jungkook. My mind races as I try to lock in on what I can do. Jungkook falls to his knees, and I swoop toward him. Maybe I can pluck the food from his mouth and stop any further reaction the morsel is causing. I bump my beak under his chin, trying to tilt his head up, but there is a slight pfft sound as soon as I make contact with his skin. I stare on in disbelief as Jungkook disappears, and a pile of ashes materializes on top of the newspaper where he had just been, a thin tendril of smoke undulating up in front of me.

Footsteps pound up the stairs, and Merrick falls to her knees next to my now human form, her chest heaving. The thought that perhaps Jungkook turning to ash broke my spell sits at the back of my mind as my eyes continue to stare at the remains in front of me in sheer disbelief. I can feel hysteria trying to claim me, my cousin’s voice sounding miles away as she attempts to bring my attention to her. The elevator dings behind us, and in comes the Dean with several guards, their presence making the space feel cramped. Voices resonate up the stairs, the commotion sounding as if it were in the same room. 

“Y/N was practicing magic,” Jungkook’s brother is saying. “I heard her say she was going to kill Jungkook, and then she changed into a bird. I was just on my way to find the Dean, actually.”

 Tears burn down my cheeks at the betrayal. How can a brother commit such a heinous act against his own flesh and blood? How does he have the ability to push that familial bond aside and go through with extinguishing the life of his younger brother? It just doesn’t seem fathomable to me.

It’s not long before the world comes flooding in, and I begin sobbing hysterically, folding the paper gently to contain his ashes, even as my body shakes violently. It’s too much: too much feeling, too much pain, too much anguish. It’s all just too much. So I hug him to me, feeling like I’m suffocating. I am overwhelmed with so much grief I can’t even speak. 

“Miss Y/N,” the Dean’s stern voice cuts through the cacophony in my head. His tone is not unkind and softens when he continues.  “I’m afraid that is evidence, and I must confiscate it.”

I look down at the newspaper clutched between my trembling hands, my grip tightening.

“Sir,” Merrick steps in. “If I may?”

She raises her hand, reaching out towards the Dean.

“Go ahead,” he nods.

Her fingers touch his temple lightly, and they both close their eyes as I can only assume she is sending him the information and images I had given her earlier. His eyebrows pinch together, and his lips tighten into a thin line as he receives the information. 

Merrick lowers her hand, solemnly replying, “That’s what happened.”

“I’m at a loss,” he shakes his head. Pulling out his walkie-talkie, he radios to the guards downstairs. “Arrest him. Use the magic suppressing cuffs.” To us, he admits, “His own brother. I would never have expected such condemnable actions from him.” The Dean sighs heavily, and it's full of disbelief. “Such an exemplary student. One of my best.”

“I never would have expected that from him myself,” Merrick agrees.

I would have. I think to myself. I felt something was off about him but had no proof of what. And now here we are. If only I had said something anyway.

“I will be contacting the family,” he tells us as we enter the elevator, my legs too shaky to take the stairs. Merrick holds me up as we descend. “I know I can trust you with his remains,” the Dean says gently. “You can hold on to them for us until they are able to come and retrieve them.”

I can only nod, the events draining me of energy. The elevator ride is quiet except for my sniffles and ragged breaths that sound extremely loud to my ears. This couldn’t be happening. There just could be no way Jungkook was dead. His brother. His freaking brother just-

The doors slide open, and I have a clear view of the offending man being escorted away, his hands cuffed at his back. Two guards hold him by the elbows on either side. My heart lodges in my throat when he looks over his shoulder, a small smirk adorning his lips as his eyes lock in on mine.

My knees buckle as rage and agony tighten my heart to the point it feels as if I’m about to have a heart attack. I crumble to the floor, and air refuses to enter my lungs. Black dots begin to dance before my eyes, but I don’t let go of the newspaper… of Jungkook.

“Dammit!” the Dean curses, and I can sense Merrick’s shock at his outburst. “Get her to her room before she keels over.”

My cousin nods, her arms hooking under my armpits to lift me.

“Come on, Y/N,” she coos. “You’re going to be ok. Just breathe and you’ll be okay.”

The Dean takes long, swift strides to the door and opens it quickly.

“Get him out of here, ASAP!” he roars before the door closes.

My focus turns to my cousin, who is begging me to breathe with her. I follow her guidance, and soon, the panic attack subsides, the darkness at the edge of my eyes slowly pulling away until I’m able to breathe and walk on my own.

“It hurts too much,” I whimper.

“I know,” she swallows thickly. “Believe me, I know.”

I have no doubt she does. Our connection so strong that I know she can feel just how grief-stricken I am, and it makes me feel guilty, selfish even as I allow her to guide me to my room. 

The adrenaline must be wearing off because I begin to shake as soon as we enter my studio. The rugged stone walls are still holding onto the chill from outside. As I step further into the room, Merrick immediately gets a fire going in the fireplace. A warm, soft orange glow fills the center of the room.

“Let's get you outta this dress and into your jamas.”

I nod, too lost in the horrors I had experienced to do anything other than shiver and allow her to take over. After rummaging through my drawers, she returns with one of my ankle-length long-sleeved nightgowns and a shoe box I had been meaning to discard for some time.

Unzipping the back of my dress, she turns me to face her. “You’re going to have to put this down in order for me to take this off.” 

I shake my head and whisper a desperate, “No.”

Merrick strokes my head as if I were a child. “I know this is difficult, but he wouldn't want you to be like this.”

I lift my eyes to hers, the tears distorting her face. “I can't,” I plead.

“Y/N.” She exhales before continuing. “Listen to me. You are in shock. You need to warm up, and in order to do that, you need to put this down so I can get you dressed properly and get you in bed.

I know you’re hurting, but standing here like this is not going to help anyone. You need to be strong for when his parents arrive. You understand?”

Oh, his parents! They are going to be so devastated. My heart breaks even more, but she's right. I have to get my shit together so I can be there for his family. They have two terrible pieces of news to deal with: the death of their youngest son and the fact that their eldest child committed the act.

“Ok,” I murmur.

“Ok,” she smiles at me. “Here’s a box you can keep him safely in.”

She holds it out, and I gently place the folded newspaper with Jungkook’s ashes inside the box. Just as carefully, she sets the box on my rounded table that sits across the fireplace, the two chairs neatly tucked in. Now that my hands are free, she is able to remove the dress and replace it with the nightgown. She walks me to my bed before disappearing into the bathroom.

I take that moment to remove my shoes and sit on my full-size bed. The frame is made of wood, with bulky square-shaped short posts. It has a rustic look, as I loved nature and enjoyed having pieces of it in my living space. The bed fits along the shortest wall of my rectangular-shaped room. 

Merrick returns with makeup remover wipes and a wet face towel. I allow her to gingerly swipe the makeup from my face and eyes before she wipes off any remaining residue with the cloth. Pulling back the navy and cerulean blue comforter, Merrick helps me slide in and lie down.

“I can stay,” she insists, pointing her thumb over her shoulder towards the wall beside the door. “I don't mind sleeping on your futon.”

“No,” I shake my head, my eyelids heavy as the exhaustion from the evening's events starts claiming me. “I just need to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, hesitant to leave. I nod my head, already between the waking world and sleep. “Alright then.”

She strokes my hair a few times, the gesture lulling me further into dreamland. I barely catch the click of the door when she leaves.

•• ━━━━━ ••🔥•• ━━━━━ ••

I hope you enjoyed Part 1. Happy Friday the 13th! Please look forward to Part 2. Coming soon.

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3

•• ━━━━━ ••🔥•• ━━━━━ ••

Moodboard by me

Image credits

Smoke

Fire

Jungkook 1 and 2

Flame in hand

Fire and Sparks

[yoongsreblogs]

I LUVVVV THE PIRATE AND MERMAID AU SLAM PACKED TOGETHER ILL TELL YA WHATTTT!!!!!!! excellent, give me fifteen of these right now because the rate in which i ate this up is concerning, and i NEEEEDDDD MORE!!! excellent, brilliant, thank u shanna!! (i force all of u to say)

Paralian

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Rating: 18+ (mature themes, character death – not main)

Genre: Pirate!AU + Merfolk!AU + Royalty!AU

Synopsis: Far away, under the sea exists the merfolk Kingdom of Venetus. Y/N is a warrior princess, sworn to protect the nation she loves. Each night she and her unit are tasked with patrolling the ocean, until one night they come across an unmarked ship. The ship carries a dangerous secret which tears Y/N’s ideals apart. In the midst of escaping said danger, Y/N is forced to rely upon a Prince. The Prince of Pirates, whose fate and Y/N’s seem inexplicably entwined. Whether their meeting will end in joy or heartbreak remains to be seen. (A -very- loose retelling of The Little Mermaid).

Word Count: 41,783

[[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]]

[[ Paralian II (NSFW) found here ]]

Keep reading

[muniimyg]

BAD HABIT // JJK

unsure if it's a gift or a curse; jungkook chooses you in the midst of it all

+

in a world where jungkook lives through manipulation, he finds himself on his knees—honest, vulnerable, and desperate to keep his invisible string tied to you

navi | m. list | ask kimi !

pairings: jungkook + oc

au/genre:

fantasy / soulmate au

strangers / friends ??? to lovers

fluff / angst /smut (x)

smau + written

parts: ongoing/30

00 | prologue

01 | chest pain

02 | the glow

03 | dump him

04 | nothing

05 | avoiding

06 | big dipper

07 | rematch

08 | hike

09 | stars in your eyes

10 | childhood friend

11 | hello kitty bandaids

12 | dream of u

13 | mine

14 | bossy

15 | tiger lilies

16 | 17 | 18 | 19 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 end.

© 2025 muniimyg on tumblr

[pennyellee]

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 '𝟐𝟒 - 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐬

a/n: welcome to my little reading corner! This post is my love letter to the fics and authors that stole my sleep, left me clutching my heart, or made me shed tears. These are the stories that left their mark on me last year. New or older, re-reads or first times. I hope you’ll find something here that speaks to you as deeply as it did to me. And if you have a recs to share or a favourite trope to gush about, my comment section is always open or jump here to tell me! Let’s keep celebrating the beautiful chaos of what this fandom can bring. Love you fairies. PS: I cannot wait to dive into the projects I have started on my own ♥

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 @sailoryooons Namjoon x female reader; werewolf au - absolutely astonishing, amazing rendition of the trope, kept me in the world from beginning till the end, an unmissable gem; i've found it difficult to find good namjoon!werewolf content on this app for a long time and this just embodies everything and even more that I was hoping for.

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐲 @personasintro min yoongi x reader; zombie apocalypse au - I actually revisited this fic and it was just as perfect as when I read it the first time, heck, if I wasn't sucker for Min Yoongi then, this made me crush on that man even more.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐲 @solecize jungkook x reader; friends to lovers, inspired by stardew valley - beautiful, beautiful and beautiful, cutest fic ever, i was rooting for them so much and I just might go and re-read this now as this was so touching to read.

𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 & 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐛𝐲 @lostberet min yoongi x female reader; racer boyfriend; smut - HOT, HOT, HOT, did I say HOT?

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍’ 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊! 𝐛𝐲 @lovieku fuckboy!jungkook x female reader; fwb - I actually re-read this today, or yesterday, whenever, depends on when I post this, and the way the narrative flows is so captivating, and I love me some miss grande inspired content, naturally fell in love with this fic

𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐲 @hollyhomburg polyamory bts x reader; omegaverse au, mafia au; dom-sub dynamics - like what do you mean that I cannot marry this fic, tsk, i want to, i need to, so many sleepless night because i just wanted know what happens next; to confess, i did avoid this fic, and now i can tell that this is just the kind that you avoid and avoid and then you're completely soft and fluffy for it. such complex themes being incorporated into the narrative in a way that's going to tight your aorta enough for you to cry and cry and then it will release and you'll feel the dopamine and excitement flowing through your body. bravo.

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 & 𝐋𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @ktownshizzle dad yoongi x teacher female reader - when i say that this fic slapped me you won't believe why, but it did. Cutest, emotional, and just so captivating to read. ps: capybara capybara capybara capybara capybaraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

𝐚𝐦𝐲𝐠𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐚 𝐛𝐲 @chaoticpuff17 yandere yoongi x named mc; mafia au - Becca the queen has always a way to characterize the shit out of her yandere male characters and MIN YOONGI is something here! I perceive this masterpiece as a good reinvention of fics with named MCs coz we gradually forgot about that it seems. Becca to the whitehouse pls!

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐲 @angelicyoongie yandere ot7 x female reader; soulmate au - as someone whose academia expertise became the study of narratology, I propose this to be a new submission to the field because this narrative structure is illegally good. Excellently crafted, scenes are gradually built upon from chapter one till the very end, and the end makes your heartbeat faster and in unison the oc (ain't gonna spoil).

𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @97kuu jungkook x reader; smut, friends to lovers au - car sex became underrated trope and we should all learn and f*cking worship this smut area, pleaaaseee, I love car sex smut, I need to read about it more often and this fic is just chef's kiss.

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐛𝐲 @hueseok jungkook x reader; inspired by purple hearts - since the movie came out I was waiting who will jump to do a fic with the boys inspired by it and this one did not disappoint. Remarkable, amazing rendition, and I wish I could read it again and again for the first time.

𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐲 @chaoticpuff17 yandere namjoon x female reader; mafia au, forced marriage - words will never be enough to talk about how this fic has my brain occupied for years. it holds a special place in my heart, as this was the first ever bts mafia fic i've ever read. hence, i am doing annual re-read. sometimes even several times a read. covid times were rough and i'm glad we all had something to hold space for at the time. this fic it is for me, a sanctuary, albeit its themes, and subsequently its sequel 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧

until we meet again fairies. love, p.

[minxmut-cafe]

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.

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—

[mochii0park]

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.

[chimcess]

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!

prev || masterlist || next

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 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.

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.”

© chimcess, 2025. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Taglist: @fancypeacepersona @ssbb-22 @mar-lo-pap @sathom013 @kimyishin

[1343401]

captive desires - chapter three

pairing: hybrid bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 12.9 k

warnings: depictions of violence, death, family trauma, mentions of blood, yandere-ish, hybrids, animal abuse, implied murder, raw meat, animal attacks

prev | next | m.list

"is someone there?"

the voice comes again, soft, careful.

"who’s there?"

myah freezes.

her grip tightens around her phone, her breath locked in her throat.

it’s a man’s voice. low, smooth, too human.

too normal.

she expected something else. something that fit the unease coiling in her gut. a growl. a snarl. something scratching at the door, desperate to claw its way free.

but this?

this is something worse.

because there’s no panic. no aggression. just quiet, measured patience.

like whoever is on the other side already knows she’s standing there.

"please..."

a second voice now, softer, hesitant.

"please don’t hurt us."

chae-eun tenses beside her, fingers twitching like she wants to grab myah and drag her away.

"we don’t want trouble."

the way they speak, it’s too careful. too controlled.

too intentional.

the words aren't rushed or desperate, not the kind of thing said in a frantic bid for freedom. they're spoken like a warning. or maybe a test.

“myah,” chae-eun hisses, voice tight with warning.

but myah isn’t listening.

because something is wrong.

if they were dangerous, if they were monsters, why would they be pleading?

why would they sound like this, like they expected her hesitation?

she swallows hard, her mind racing.

"we need to go," chae-eun presses, barely above a whisper. her eyes flick toward the door like she expects it to burst open at any second. “now.”

myah shakes her head, her heart pounding. "no, chae-eun, think about it. they’re locked in.”

“for a reason.” chae-eun glares at her. "you don’t know what’s in there."

“exactly.” myah’s voice is sharp, more sure now. “i don’t know. and neither do you.”

“i know enough,” chae-eun snaps. “we found logs, myah. they were keeping something down here, documenting it like science experiments. you saw what they wrote.”

"which is why we can’t just walk away!" myah argues, her pulse hammering against her ribs. "they need help."

“exactly,” chae-eun bites out, frustration tightening her features. "which is why we need to call the Hybrid Protection Unit, not send in two twenty-year-old girls with no plan and no backup!”

"please..."

the voice is softer this time, more fragile, curling into the silence between them like a plea.

it doesn’t sound like something dangerous.

it doesn’t sound like a monster.

because what if they aren’t monsters?

what if they’re victims?

her grandparents had done terrible things. things she didn’t even know about until now.

what if this is just another part of their twisted legacy?

what if they locked them up, experimented on them, kept them in the dark for years.

myah swallows, realization crashing down on her.

it’s been days since her grandparents’ bodies were found. how long have they been trapped down here? without food, without answers, without knowing if anyone would ever come for them? they must be starving, confused, what if,

what if they’re hurt?

what if…

"we don’t want trouble."

her breath shudders.

chaos crashes through her thoughts, battling every instinct screaming at her to run.

but she can’t.

not until she knows the truth.

"we have to get in," she says.

chae-eun stares at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "are you insane?"

myah doesn’t answer. she steps closer instead, fingers grazing the edges of the door, feeling the cold metal beneath her touch.

she knows she shouldn’t.

but she has to.

"there has to be a way to open it," she mutters, eyes scanning the rusted locks, the worn edges of the frame.

"myah." chae-eun grabs her arm, forcing her to turn. her grip is tight, urgent. "this is stupid. even if they’re trapped, even if they sound harmless, we don’t know what they are."

"and if we leave, we never will," myah fires back. her pulse is a frantic rhythm against her ribs, her mind racing. "chae-eun, we don’t know how long they’ve been in there. it’s been days since my grandparents were found. what if no one’s fed them? what if they have no food, no water? they could die down here."

something flickers across chae-eun’s face. hesitation, doubt, the same war waging inside myah’s own head. she swallows hard, jaw clenching.

"this is a bad idea," chae-eun mutters.

"maybe," myah says, voice steady. "but leaving them could be worse."

chaos flickers through chae-eun’s expression. fear, frustration, something desperate, before she curses under her breath.

but she doesn’t stop her.

instead, she exhales sharply, eyes flicking toward the rusted tools scattered across the room.

“if we’re doing this, we’re doing it carefully.”

myah nods.

chae-eun exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over her face. “this is the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.”

myah doesn’t argue. because yeah, maybe it is. maybe this is the point where she finally loses it, where she stops making rational choices and starts making reckless ones.

but something deep in her gut tells her this isn’t just about curiosity anymore.

it’s about guilt.

about the blood on her grandparents’ hands.

about the weight of whatever was done in this house, in this basement.

about the quiet, too careful voices behind the door.

"thank you."

the whisper is barely audible. just a breath of sound curling into the air between them.

chae-eun flinches.

"we haven’t done anything yet," myah mutters, but her fingers are already tracing the edges of the door, searching.

there’s no obvious handle, no visible keyhole. just thick, bolted steel and the weight of something waiting on the other side.

"there has to be a mechanism," chae-eun murmurs, glancing around the room. "some kind of release. if your grandparents were keeping them down here, they had to have a way to access it."

she moves toward the far wall, scanning the rusted filing cabinets, the shelves stacked with dust coated objects.

myah keeps her focus on the door.

"how long have you been here?" she asks, her voice low.

"awhile."

the answer is careful. measured.

not desperate.

not frantic.

just… patient.

like they knew someone would come eventually.

like they’ve been waiting.

myah swallows. “how many of you are there?”

a pause.

"seven."

her pulse stutters.

seven.

seven.

the weight of it sinks deep into her bones.

"myah," chae-eun calls, voice tight. "i think i found something."

she turns.

chae-eun is standing beside an old, rusted panel on the wall, half-hidden behind a shelf. the metal is corroded, the edges barely visible beneath years of dust and grime.

but it’s there.

a switch.

a release.

"i don’t know if it still works," chae-eun mutters, fingers hovering over it, uncertain.

myah takes a slow breath.

her heartbeat thunders against her ribs.

"only one way to find out," she says.

chae-eun looks at her.

"are you sure?"

no.

she’s not sure.

but she nods anyway.

because there’s no turning back now.

chae-eun exhales sharply as she reaches out, pressing her fingers against the rusted switch.

and pulls.

the basement shudders.

the air shifts.

and behind them they hear heavy locks beginning to turn.

the sound of metal groaning echoes through the basement, vibrating through the stone walls, rattling through myah’s chest.

she should run.

she should turn, grab chae-eun, and leave.

but she doesn’t.

because the door,

it’s opening.

the heavy locks shift, one after another, the deep clunk of metal sliding free making her pulse roar in her ears. dust rains down from the ceiling as the old mechanism grinds into motion, the steel groaning as it begins to inch open.

the air changes immediately.

the cold that seeps through the widening gap is different, thicker, weighted, carrying something alive. something watching.

chae-eun steps back, tense, her breath quick and sharp. "myah," she hisses, panic edging her voice. "i don’t know—"

but it’s too late.

the moment the door fully swings open, myah’s breath locks in her throat.

the room is massive, stretching far beyond what she expected. the dim light from her phone flickers against thick iron bars, cages lining both sides of the basement, the scent of rusted metal and something wild thick in the air.

cha-eun grabs her wrist, grip like iron. "you sure about this?" her voice is low, urgent, barely above a whisper.

myah doesn’t answer. can’t.

because now that the door is open, she can feel it. the weight of unseen eyes pressing into her skin, the silence heavy enough to suffocate.

a shape shifts in the darkness. slow. deliberate.

myah swallows hard. "we need to know."

chae-eun exhales sharply, her hesitation a tangible thing between them. but after a beat, she steps forward, shoulders tense, muscles coiled like she’s ready to bolt at any second.

together, they cross the threshold.

golden eyes gleam in the darkness, reflecting the light like fire catching on glass. shadows shift, slow and watchful, movement rippling through the space like something caged but not yet tamed.

she barely has time to process before a voice calls out again,

"please..."

her flashlight sweeps across the first cage, and her breath catches.

a massive lion hybrid sits against the bars, his golden mane wild, tangled, his amber eyes locked directly onto her. his ears flick at the sound of her footsteps, but he doesn’t move, just watches. waiting. his thick tail curls around his paws, the tuft at the end flicking once, betraying the tension in his frame.

in the next cage, sprawled in the darkness, what looks to be a black panther lifts his head just enough for her to catch the sharp glint of his slit pupiled eyes. his inky fur blends into the surrounding shadows, only the faintest twitch of his whiskers giving him away. he doesn't make a sound. doesn’t blink. just tracks her with a slow, deliberate intensity.

"who are you?"

the voice is softer, coming from further down.

her flashlight flickers over a second pair of golden eyes, no, two.

one belongs to a cheetah hybrid, its lean frame curled against the bars, shoulders hunched like its trying to make itself smaller. They’re fully shifted, spotted fur sleek beneath the dim light, its tail flicking anxiously against the floor. honey-gold eyes dart between her and chae-eun, wide and uncertain, like the cheetah is unsure whether to be relieved or terrified.

the other, is human, well mostly.

a tiger hybrid, perched in the corner of his cage, bare feet planted firmly against the cold concrete floor. his thick tail curls lazily around him, but his shoulders are too tense, his expression too carefully blank. golden brown eyes hold hers, unwavering, unreadable.

she grips the flashlight tighter.

they look scared. but not fully.

but something in her gut twists.

because it doesn’t make sense.

her grandparents had locked them in here. that much was obvious.

but why?

and if they were truly just scared, just victims, then why did the air feel so thick with something she couldn't name?

why did their golden eyes gleam too much in the dark?

"please," the soft voice comes again, breaking through her thoughts. "we don’t want trouble."

it comes from the farthest cage, the hybrid curled against the bars, his hazel eyes wide, flickering with something fragile, something aching. his wispy silver-brown hair falls in soft waves around his face, his delicate ears twitching, tail swaying in slow, rhythmic motions behind him.

"are you here to help us?"

myah hesitates.

her pulse thunders in her ears.

"i—" she starts, then stops. because is she?

"we’ve been here for so long," the clouded leopard hybrid murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "we don’t even know how long it’s been."

her chest tightens.

the plea in his voice feels real.

but chae-eun isn't buying it.

"myah," she murmurs, voice low, sharp. "this isn't right."

myah swallows. "they’re locked up, chae-eun."

"and why do you think that is?" chae-eun hisses, taking a step closer, keeping her voice low. "you know your grandparents myah, do you really they just threw them in here for no reason?"

the words sting.

because no, myah doesn’t trust her grandparents. not anymore.

but something doesn’t add up.

her flashlight shifts again,

and that’s when she notices the scars.

not deep, not fresh, but there.

along the lion hybrid’s arms, faint and barely visible against his warm, tawny skin. a slash across the leopard’s hybrid’s collarbone. claw marks raked along the black panther’s ribs.

her stomach turns.

"who did this to you?" myah asks, voice tight, her grip on the flashlight unsteady.

a pause.

the silver haired hybrid’s gaze flickers, something unreadable passing through his hazel eyes before he finally speaks.

"the man who put us here."

the words settle like ice in her spine.

"the man who—" she swallows hard, her pulse roaring in her ears, dots being connected.

no one says responds immediately, but the lion hybrid, broad, golden, imposing even in confinement, lifts his head just enough to meet her gaze.

his amber eyes flicker.

he doesn’t nod. doesn’t confirm.

but he doesn’t deny it either.

myah’s stomach twists.

the silence is enough.

"myah," chae-eun mutters, sharp and urgent. "we need to go." but myah can’t move. because this, this is real. this isn’t just a locked door. this isn’t just another one of her family’s secrets. her grandfather did this.

"how long have you been down here?" she whispers.

"too long."

her chest tightens.

she turns to chae-eun, her breath shallow. "we have to get them out."

"myah," chae-eun hisses, "we don’t even know what they are."

"they’re hybrids," myah snaps back. "they’re prisoners."

"and they were kept here for a reason," chae-eun argues, eyes sharp, voice low. "your grandfather wouldn’t have kept them down here without one."

myah wants to fight her on that.

but she can’t.

because she doesn’t know if chae-eun is wrong.

but she does know one thing.

"we’re not leaving yet," she says firmly. "not until I understand what happened here."

chae-eun exhales sharply, muttering a curse under her breath, but she doesn’t argue further.

instead, she moves toward the shelves, scanning the walls for something, anything that could explain why this place exists. behind the bars however the hybrids stay still.

watching.

waiting.

and myah swears,

just for a moment,

she sees the panther smirk.

as she turns back toward the cages, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. her fingers twitch at her sides, the weight of their gazes pressing into her like something tangible.

she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing.

but she can’t walk away.

"why did he keep you here?" she asks, voice steadier than she feels. "why not just… get rid of you?"

the lion hybrid’s ears twitch, his thick tail flicking once behind him. he’s watching her closely, those deep amber eyes calculating, slow and deliberate.

but it’s the tiger hybrid who finally speaks.

"maybe he liked having pets," he murmurs, voice smooth as silk, golden-amber eyes gleaming in the dark. "or maybe he just liked knowing we couldn’t leave."

the way he says it sends a shiver down her spine.

"how long has it been?" another hybrid hums, tilting his head. "do you know what year it is?”

"of course i do," myah mutters. "it’s—"

she stops. because the way he’s looking at her,

the way the tiger hybrid shifts slightly beside him, the cheetah’s ears flicking, and the jaguars rolling his shoulders like they’re all waiting for something,

her stomach twists.

"you don’t know," she breathes.

none of them confirm it.

but none of them deny it, either.

chaos crashes through her thoughts, her grip on her phone tightening.

"we need to get them food," she says suddenly, turning to chae-eun. "they’re hybrids, not machines. if they’ve been trapped down here—"

"absolutely not," chae-eun snaps. "no way in hell am I leaving you down here alone with them."

"i’ll be fine," myah insists. "just check the fridge—"

"no." chae-eun’s voice is sharp, her jaw tight. "myah, listen to me. we don’t know what they’re capable of. we don’t know anything about them. i’m not leaving you down here like some kind of—"

"bait?"

the voice is too smooth, slipping through the air like a knife.

both of them freeze.

the raven haired hybrid is watching them with lazy amusement, his sleek tail curling around his wrist, golden-amber eyes half-lidded.

"if it makes you feel better," he purrs, "we can promise not to eat her while you’re gone."

chaos erupts.

"nope," chae-eun snaps, grabbing myah’s wrist. "we’re leaving. now."

but myah digs her heels in. "they’re starving, chae-eun."

"and we are not their goddamn saviors," chae-eun hisses. "whatever your grandfather did, it’s not our problem to fix—"

"so you’d just leave them here?" myah cuts in, her voice rising. "leave them to rot?"

"they’re still alive," chae-eun points out. "which means they’ve survived this long without our help. we can’t do this on our own."

silence stretches between them, thick and tense.

behind the bars, the hybrids watch.

assessing. waiting.

"fine," myah mutters. "then we’ll both go."

chae-eun’s eyes flick toward the cages one last time before she exhales sharply. "fine."

she doesn’t look at them as they turn toward the stairs.

but myah can feel their eyes on her.

heavy.

lingering.

like they already know,

she’s coming back.

chae-eun’s car is as neat as she is. clean, organized, everything tucked away exactly where it should be.

except for the backseat.

myah stares at the mess of medical supplies crammed into the space behind them. bandages, antiseptic wipes, surgical scissors still in their sterile packaging. a neatly packed emergency trauma kit sits half-zipped on the floor, a few vials of painkillers barely peeking out. the interior smells faintly of rubbing alcohol and lemon-scented wipes. it should feel sterile. safe.

but now it just feels clinical. like a place built to respond to the aftermath of violence.

it’s not the first time she’s noticed it. she’s ridden in chae-eun’s car more times than she can count. on grocery runs, late-night drives to clear their heads, weekend trips to nowhere in particular. she’s seen the supplies. but she’s never really seen them.

this time, after everything that just happened in the basement, it feels different.

“you never told me how bad it got,” myah says, voice quieter than before, eyes still fixed on the mess of gauze and blood-stained tape peeking from beneath a box of gloves.

chae-eun doesn’t look at her as she starts the car. “i didn’t think i needed to.”

the engine hums low as they pull out of the driveway, the headlights casting long, pale streaks across the empty street. her hands are tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white. the kind of white that comes from trying not to let your hands shake.

myah shifts slightly in her seat, unsettled by the silence, by the weight of what they’d just seen. the hybrids. the cages. the way one of them, unshifted, bleeding had flinched when chae-eun so much as moved.

“you work with hybrids,” she says finally, almost accusingly. “why are you so—”

“those hybrids aren’t the same.”

the words land like a slap. sharp. cold. not cruel, but close.

cha-eun exhales through her nose, gaze flicking to the rearview mirror before settling back on the road. the city lights are beginning to blur past them, red and blue and green glowing against the windshield like reflections from a dream.

“i work in sector four,” she continues, voice clipped, tightly measured. “mostly human and female hybrids. the ones who get hurt the most. the ones who end up on my table covered in bruises, missing teeth, stitched up from some feral hybrid attack or worse.”

myah swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry. she’s heard stories. seen the news reports that play like clockwork every time a hybrid-related crime occurs. not all hybrids are victims. not all of them want help. some of them hunt.

some of them kill.

and chae-eun has seen the worst of it.

“you think they’re different because they looked at you like that,” chae-eun says quietly, her voice flattening into something tired, something brittle. “but scared doesn’t mean safe. it just means desperate. and desperation makes things dangerous.”

myah doesn’t respond. her stomach is twisted too tightly, thoughts tangled too thickly.

the silence stretches between them, thick with everything they’re not saying.

and then chae-eun adds, more quietly this time, almost like she’s afraid to say it out loud: “your grandparents died in a hybrid attack.”

myah turns sharply, staring at her. “what?”

“the reports, they said they were mauled. claws, bite marks. there were signs of struggle all over the kitchen. your grandfather had a shotgun. it didn’t help.”

the blood drains from myah’s face. she feels it leave her fingertips, cold creeping up her spine.

“and in that basement?” chae-eun’s voice is quieter now. measured. grim. “there are seven hybrids in eight cages.”

myah’s breath catches.

“you do the math.”

a cold sweat breaks across her back. she grips the edge of her seat, the world tilting slightly, the basement reassembling itself in her mind, seven sets of eyes, seven shadows behind bars. but she hadn’t counted the cages. hadn’t even thought to.

what if one had gotten out? what if that’s how they died?

what if it’s still out there?

“and you want to help them,” chae-eun continues, voice low, almost pained. “you want to free them. play savior. what if the one that escaped is the one that killed your family? what if the others knew and didn’t stop it?”

myah’s hands tremble. her chest aches.

but her mind,

her mind flashes again with soft eyes and silver hair, the gentle tilt of his head, the way he’d spoken to her like he saw her.

she should be running from this. from all of it.

but she can’t.

because something about him, about them, won’t let her go.

“so forgive me,” chae-eun says tightly, “if i’m not exactly in the mood to play savior to seven unregistered hybrids your grandfather locked in his basement.”

the car goes quiet.

outside, the neon of the city pulses like a heartbeat, flickering in the windows—restaurants, strip malls, pawn shops, each glowing with artificial warmth. it doesn’t reach her. nothing does.

myah turns back toward the windshield, her reflection faint in the glass. she stares through it, but she doesn’t really see.

because all she can think about is  the soft voice that asked her to come back. the way he’d looked at her like she was something safe. Something he knew.

and that’s the part that scares her most.

chae-eun exhales sharply, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the steering wheel, the sound too fast, too tight. “and what exactly are we supposed to tell jisun when we get back?”

myah drags a hand down her face, the weight of the night starting to catch up to her. her head aches, tight and persistent like her thoughts. “i don’t know. that we went out for a drive?”

chae-eun lets out a humorless snort. “right. because that’s gonna fly. we both probably still reek of that place.”

myah goes still.

the basement.

she can feel it clinging to her now that chae-eun’s said it, the stale scent of dust and rust, old blood and sweat and something sharper beneath it all. something animal.

and not just that.

them.

the scent of fear. of power barely restrained. of too many eyes watching her through bars like they already knew her bones.

“i’ll shower before she gets too close,” she mutters.

chae-eun’s jaw ticks. “you could shower in bleach and she’d still know. myah, she’s obsessed with you.”

“she’s not—”

“don’t even try.” chae-eun cuts in, voice flat. “you know exactly what she’s like. the moment you walk through that door with a weird look on your face and half a story, she’s gonna dig.”

myah doesn’t deny it.

she can’t.

because jisun is smart. terrifyingly so. and worse, she’s protective. of myah, specifically. her moods turn fast. sweet like sugar one second, sharp like a snapped snare the next. and if she so much as suspects that myah’s hiding something,

"then we don’t give her anything to suspect,” myah says finally, her voice low. “we keep it surface. vague. just enough to make sense.”

“so we lie.” chae-eun doesn’t say it like a question. more like a dare.

myah glances out the window. the city’s creeping closer now, closer than she wants it to be. neon signs blinking against the dark like slow, mechanical winks. streetlights bending through the windshield, casting soft gold over the dash.

“we don’t tell her about the basement,” she says after a long pause. “not yet.”

“not ever,” chae-eun mutters, hands tightening around the wheel again. “jesus, myah, do you know what she’d do if she found out? she’d drag you out of bed, chain you to the damn radiator, and torch the house herself.”

the image is uncomfortably believable.

they both fall quiet for a beat, the air in the car growing thicker by the second.

“so,” myah says finally, voice barely above a whisper, “we agree, then. we figure it out.”

it’s not a real plan. it’s a compromise born out of exhaustion and panic and a shared instinct not to poke the sleeping bear that is jisun. it’s flimsy. reckless.

but it’s all they have.

“yeah,” chae-eun says after a long moment, the word more like an exhale than a commitment. “we figure it out.”

neither of them says anything else for a while. the car hums forward down the quiet road, the lights growing closer, brighter, sharper. they’re almost back now.

and myah can feel it in her chest—that tight pull, that creeping dread curling around her ribs. the apartment is safe. normal. filled with warmth and noise and the scent of jasmine tea. the kind of place that’s supposed to ground her.

but tonight, it feels too far away.

because the only thing she can hear, beneath the rumble of the tires, beneath the rush of blood in her ears, is that soft voice echoing in her head.

“thank you for not giving up on us”

and she knows, she’s not going to.

no matter what it costs.

they don’t speak again until chae-eun’s pulling into the lot.

the hum of the car engine fills the silence, low and steady, but it’s not enough to drown out the noise in myah’s head.

she watches the familiar curve of the building come into view—the warm orange glow of the hallway lights in their apartment complex, the too-small parking spots, the dented railing someone’s been complaining about fixing for months. it’s home. safe. normal.

and it feels so far away.

cha-eun shifts into park but doesn’t kill the engine.

her hands stay tight on the wheel.

“you’re already planning to go back, aren’t you.”

myah doesn’t answer.

not out of guilt, or because she’s trying to be clever, but because yes. she is. she’s been planning it since the moment she walked away. since she saw silver eyes in the dark and heard a voice that made something inside her sit up and listen.

cha-eun exhales through her nose, her knuckles pale. “of course you are.”

“i’m not going tonight,” myah says after a beat. she tries to keep her voice light. it doesn’t work. “besides, you’re working a double tomorrow. you need sleep.”

cha-eun’s head jerks toward her, sharp. “that’s your reason for waiting?”

myah doesn’t answer.

cha-eun exhales hard. “are you planning to go alone?”

“no,” myah says. and then, after a beat too long: “i’ll bring someone.”

“who?” she says, though she already knows.

“…kai.”

cha-eun stares at her for a second like she’s trying to figure out if she misheard before letting out a sharp, breathy sound that isn’t quite a laugh, too horrified for humor.

 “kai. okay. great.”

“he’s a hybrid,” myah says, starting to defend it, already hearing how weak it sounds.

“exactly,” chae-eun snaps. “and do you honestly think that makes him qualified?”

“he understands how things like this work—”

“no, he understands what it means to survive,” chae-eun cuts in, voice sharp. “and the second you drag him into that basement and he sees what’s waiting down there? he’s not going to help you, myah. he’s going to shut it down.”

myah’s mouth opens. then closes.

“you think he’s just going to stand there and smile while you get cozy with a bunch of unregistered, starved, male hybrids?” chae-eun’s voice keeps climbing. “you think he’s going to just let that panther keep looking at you like that?”

myah’s stomach twists.

“kai’s not like that,” she says, too quickly.

cha-eun slams her hand against the steering wheel, voice cracking. “kai would rip him apart. rip all of them apartthe second he felt you were being threatened. and it won’t matter if you don’t feel threatened, because he will.”

the car is thick with silence again. this time heavier. uglier.

“he’s not going to let you go back,” chae-eun says finally, quieter now. “not once he knows what’s actually going on. not once he sees what they want.”

myah looks away, but that hits. hard.

because she knows what it looked like.

and she knows what it would look like to kai.

and he wouldn’t understand, not the way she needs him to. not without exploding. not without violence.

“then what,” myah says, voice tight. “just call it in? let some half-interested social worker show up and ‘assess the risk’? let the hybrids get drugged and shoved in a van and carted off to some overrun shelter in the middle of nowhere?”

“yes,” chae-eun says, like it’s obvious. “that’s exactly what needs to happen.”

“you can’t be serious—”

“i am. dead serious.” she leans forward, eyes flashing. “you’re not trained for this. you don’t know what you’re doing. this isn’t your responsibility, myah. it never was. this is government-level, containment-level shit, and you dragging in another hybrid, especially one who’s already attached to you, isn’t going to make it better.”

that lands harder than anything else.

and it hurts, because part of her knows she’s right. she is. but still, something in myah recoils.

“i need to know what they were doing,” she says finally, voice low. “my grandparents. the house, the cages, all of it.” she shakes her head. “it doesn’t make sense. none of it fits. and nobody else is going to care enough to look.”

“you think you’ll find some neat little explanation down there?” chae-eun snaps. “a confession letter taped to the underside of the freezer? myah, you could dig for months and still end up with more questions than answers.”

“maybe,” myah admits, “but at least i’d know i tried. i can’t pretend it didn’t happen. that basement is real. they’re real. and if it’s connected to my family, then i need to understand how.”

cha-eun exhales, eyes dropping to the dash.

“i’m not saying forget it,” she says, softer now. “i’m saying let it go before it swallows you.”

myah swallows hard.

and for a second, she almost says okay.

almost.

but when she closes her eyes, she still sees the silver-haired one, how he’d looked at her like he knew something. like the answers she was chasing weren’t in the paperwork, or the lawyer’s files, or the old photographs in her grandparents’ bedroom.

they were down there.

in the silence.

in them.

and it’s reckless. she knows it’s reckless.

but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

“…i just need time,” she says quietly.

“you don’t have time,” chae-eun whispers back.

but neither of them says anything more after that.

neither of them move. not yet.

the hum of the engine is steady beneath them, but everything else is cracking. shifting. realigning into something neither of them asked for.

chae-eun finally leans forward and turns the key in the ignition.

the car goes silent.

myah had barely registered the motion of getting out of the car. her feet felt like they were dragging, her mind too clouded to focus on anything other than the feeling of dread that had settled deep in her chest. as they made their way inside, the building’s lobby seemed colder than usual, and the air hung heavy with the kind of stillness that always felt like something was about to break.

she had barely gotten her keys out when the door to the apartment swung open. there, standing in the doorway, was jisun, eyes wide with concern.

“where were you two?” she asked, her voice soft but demanding, like she knew something was wrong, like she could already feel the shift in myah’s energy.

myah hesitated for a moment, then gave a small shrug, trying to brush it off. “oh, we just went to grab a bite to eat,” she said, glancing at chae-eun for confirmation.

chae-eun nodded, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “yeah, we went to that cute little restaurant my coworkers have been talking about. the one with the soft, fluffy pancakes.”

jisun raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “you went to a restaurant in sector two?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. she sniffed the air once, then again, her nose twitching slightly as she processed the scent. her eyes narrowed. “you smell like... ferals,” she said, her voice quieter now, the concern creeping in.

chae-eun tilted her head. “ferals?” she echoed, glancing at myah with a raised brow.

“yeah,” jisun said, her gaze sharpening as she studied myah. “ferals... or someone’s trying to mark you.” she sniffed again, her posture becoming tense. “why the hell were you in that sector anyway? I get you were hungry but there’s a mcdonalds is down the street. you know how dangerous it gets this late.”

“someone marked us?!” chae-eun exclaimed, worry laced in her tone, her eyes darting between myah and jisun. “we didn’t—”

“no, not you,” jisun cut in, taking another deep sniff, her nose circling back to myah with an almost predatory precision. her eyes sharpened as she focused entirely on myah. “just her.”

myah’s stomach dropped at the implication. her chest tightened as jisun’s words settled in the air like a weight. she swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “marked me? what does that even mean?”

jisun’s expression darkened, her lips pressed together in a tight line. “it means someone or something has claimed you, myah. not necessarily in the way you might think, but,” her voice trailed off as she looked myah up and down, her sharp eyes never leaving her. “this scent, this… feeling, it’s not a coincidence. and it’s not good.”

chae-eun shifted nervously beside her, crossing her arms tighter. “but how? how could anyone just claim her? what does it mean?”

“i don’t know,” jisun admitted quietly, her voice softer now, a flicker of concern breaking through the cool edge. “but it’s not something you want to mess with. you’re in danger now. and it’s worse the later it gets. someone’s definitely watching you.”

myah’s heart raced, her breath catching in her chest. “so what should we do? what now?”

“now,” jisun began, her gaze lingering on myah as she stepped closer, lowering her voice, “you stay close to home. you stay away from sector two. don’t go out alone. and if you feel anything off, anything at all, anything, you call one of us, or even that stupid fox, no questions. got it?”

myah nodded quickly, the weight of jisun’s warning settling heavily in her bones. the air around her felt thick with something more dangerous than she had realized, and she wasn’t sure how to navigate it. everything felt too uncertain now.

“we’ll stick together,” chae-eun added, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of concern. “no more risky moves. we’ll figure this out.”

jisun’s expression softened, but her eyes still held a trace of that intensity, as if she wasn’t fully convinced it was safe. “yeah, well. don’t get complacent. that’s how people end up disappearing.”

myah felt her skin prickle at the word. disappearing. it echoed in her mind like a whisper.

"we'll be careful," she said, though her voice felt small against the heaviness in the room.

the warning was clear, stay away from that house, that basement. yet myah knew tomorrow she would be back.

the morning light filtered softly through the blinds, casting a pale glow across the room. myah blinked awake, the gentle warmth of her bed pulling her into a moment of peace before the reality of the day ahead sank in. for a split second, she let herself sink deeper into the mattress, the faint hum of the city outside the only sound in the quiet apartment. it felt like a different world, a world where she could just stay here and forget. but that wasn’t her life anymore.

she shifted in bed, rubbing her eyes and groaning quietly. the bed beside her was empty, the sheets crumpled from when jisun had left for her early class. myah had barely noticed when she’d gotten up, the soft sound of her roommate’s footsteps and the creak of the door the only clues. jisun had always been considerate about her early classes, never wanting to wake myah up. it was one of those little things she did that made myah appreciate her so much more.

she pushed the blankets off her body, sitting up slowly, her limbs heavy from the lack of sleep, though it wasn’t from exhaustion, it was the tension of the night before still weighing on her. her heart beat slower now, but the unease from the warning, from the knowledge of what she had to do, lingered like a shadow.

as she stood and moved toward the window, myah caught sight of chae-eun in the kitchen, her back to her as she prepared breakfast. the soft clink of the kettle being set down, the smell of something rich and warm in the air. it felt oddly comforting. something familiar amidst everything else that had gone wrong.

“morning,” myah mumbled, rubbing at her eyes again, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep.

chae-eun turned with a soft smile, a cup of tea in her hand. “good morning. how’d you sleep?”

myah sighed, stretching her arms above her head as she walked over to the counter. “like crap,” she admitted, settling into the chair, her gaze flickering to chae-eun. “just can’t shake the feeling of... everything.”

“yeah,” chae-eun murmured, setting the cup down before her, her eyes softening as she studied myah. “it’s been a rough night. did you talk to jisun?”

myah shook her head, her hands wrapped around the warm mug. “she had an early class, didn’t want to wake me up.” she sighed again, this time louder. “i didn’t even want to wake up myself. it’s just one of those mornings.”

cha-eun nodded in understanding, but the way she looked at myah, that lingering thought on her mind. it was clear she wasn’t letting this go.

“you sure you’re okay?” cha-eun asked, her voice lighter but her eyes serious. “you don’t look like it.”

myah gave her a tired smile, but it was thin, strained. “i’ll be fine. just a little shaken up, that’s all.”

the moment hung between them for a beat, and cha-eun didn’t press. instead, she moved toward the stove, fiddling with the pots. “well, if you want to talk, i’m here. just don’t bottle it up, okay?”

myah gave a slight nod, watching her in silence as the air shifted, becoming thicker with the weight of their unspoken thoughts. cha-eun, always the one who saw the smallest details, could tell something was off, something deeper. and myah knew the next question was coming. she braced herself, trying to steel herself for the inevitable.

but when it came, it wasn’t gentle.

“you can’t seriously think about going back, right?” cha-eun’s voice was low, but sharp enough to cut through the tension. her eyes narrowed as she turned to face myah, the concern evident on her face. “especially after what jisun said? they claimed you, myah. claimed you. marked you.”

myah’s breath hitched, the word “claimed” hanging in the air, ringing in her ears like a warning bell. her heart skipped a beat, but she pushed it away. “i don’t have a choice, chae-eun,” she said quietly, her voice a little too steady. “i have to go back. i need answers. i need to understand what’s going on.”

“but—” cha-eun stepped closer, her face softening, her hands placed flat against the counter as if grounding herself. “you’re not thinking straight. you don’t know what’s out there, what’s waiting for you. What if jisun’s right, what if they’re not just marking you. they’re hunting you.”

myah opened her mouth to argue, but the words felt too heavy in her throat. cha-eun was right. she wasn’t thinking straight. but she couldn’t back down now. she had to know what happened, what her grandparents were involved in, what she had inherited by stepping into that house. something had happened there, and she wasn’t going to back away from it, no matter how many warnings or how much fear clawed at her chest.

“i don’t care,” myah finally said, her voice firm despite the cold dread spreading through her veins. “i have to go. i’ll figure it out. i just... i can’t leave it hanging over me.”

chae-eun watched her for a long moment, her lips pressing together in a tight line. she exhaled sharply, almost as if giving up, but then the words came, filled with that quiet edge of concern.

“okay, fine,” she said, her voice low. “but you’re going to need more backup than kai. you’re going to need... more.”

“more?” myah echoed, raising an eyebrow. “more backup? what do you mean?”

cha-eun leaned against the counter, her gaze shifting from myah’s face to the window, where the early morning light cast long shadows across the street. “call the police, myah. get professionals involved. you don’t know what’s out there. you’re not just going to walk in there and walk back out. and kai’s not enough. if something happens, you need to be prepared.”

myah swallowed, the weight of cha-eun’s words sinking deep into her chest. she hadn’t thought about it that way. she’d been so focused on going back, on finding out what was really going on, that she hadn’t considered how unprepared she really was. what if something happened? what if they were waiting for her?

“you’re right,” myah murmured, her voice quieter now, weighed down by the growing realization that she couldn’t do this alone. “i’ll call a hybrid service office. one that’s ethical and figure out what to do from there.”

“good,” cha-eun said, her voice softening as she reached over and squeezed myah’s shoulder. “this isn’t your responsibility. your grandparents might have fucked up, but you shouldn’t carry this burden alone.”

myah nodded, her chest tight with the unspoken promise. they would face it together. she didn’t know what was coming, but she wasn’t walking into it blind anymore.

the tension in the room began to lift slightly, the quiet comfort of their usual dynamic slowly returning as cha-eun began to gather her things to head out for work. myah remained seated for a moment, lost in thought. she could still feel the weight of the decision ahead of her, the uncertainty hanging like a cloud over her head. but for the first time that morning, she felt like she wasn’t carrying it alone.

“you’ll be okay,” cha-eun said, her voice light, though there was still concern in her eyes. “just remember to reach out if you need anything. me, the police... call whoever you have to.”

“i will,” myah promised, a small but genuine smile pulling at her lips. “thanks.”

with a nod, cha-eun picked up her bag and headed toward the door. “you’re stronger than you think,” she said over her shoulder, her words lingering in the air. “don’t forget that.”

and with that, she was gone, leaving myah alone in the quiet apartment once more. but the stillness felt different now. not so heavy. not so uncertain.

myah stood up, straightening her clothes, taking a deep breath.

she wasn’t going to back down, no matter how much she wished she could. chae-eun had been right, she needed more help, more backup. but who could she rely on?

her only family just died and everyone else was too far away or busy. school, work, their own lives. they wouldn’t be able to help, let alone understand the gravity of the situation.

and the police?

hybrid services?

the thought made her chest tighten.

her heart ached with something she couldn’t quite name. not guilt exactly, not fear either, something sharper. something heavier. like grief, but still forming. a knot of determination that hadn’t quite settled yet, tangled with something raw and restless and aching to make sense of all of it.

the truth was, if she called it in, if she let hybrid services come in and "handle" it, it would be the end.

they’d be torn from that basement, sedated, evaluated, assigned numbers, and locked away again. not for weeks.

forever.

because most of those hybrids, especially the predatory ones, would never make it out of a shelter once they were placed in one.

not the adults.

not the ones like them.

they were labeled too dangerous. unadoptable. unpredictable. too violent for re-entry into the workforce, too scarred for family placement. society had long since decided they were problems to be managed, not people to be saved.

and once they were in the system, that was it.

they'd disappear.

just like so many others.

but myah had seen them. not just down there in that cold, rotting basement, but years ago, back in high school, volunteering at a hybrid recovery center during summer break. she remembered the ones with hollow eyes and clipped ears, the ones who flinched at sudden movements and kept their heads down.

but she also remembered the way they moved when they thought no one was watching, silent, graceful, brilliant. she remembered the quiet strength in their bodies, the soft, unguarded moments when their masks slipped.

the kind of resilience no government file could capture.

no one ever looked long enough to see that part.

but myah had.

and now, she was seeing it again.

only this time, it wasn’t behind plexiglass and safety protocols, it was behind rusted iron, in the glow of a single swinging lightbulb, with eyes that watched her like she mattered.

and him.

the silver-haired one.

he haunted her thoughts more than the rest. not because he was the most beautiful, though he was, but because there was something in his voice when he spoke to her. something she couldn’t forget.

something human.

no judgment. no bitterness. just…

quiet gratitude.

warmth.

trust.

as if he already knew she wouldn’t leave him there.

as if he’d been waiting for her.

it made her chest hurt. made her wonder what he knew.

what he’d seen.

and that was the other thing, the part she hadn’t said out loud yet, not even to chae-eun.

they were the key to understanding everything.

the whispers sealed in her grandfather’s safe. the secret side of her family she never knew existed. who they really were. what they’d done.

there was a rot at the center of it all, and the only place she’d ever felt close to it was in that basement.

standing in front of those cages.

staring into those eyes.

no one deserves to be locked away.

not forever.

and that was why she couldn’t let it go.

even if it meant risking everything.

even if it meant lying to her friends.

even if it meant stepping straight into something she might not walk out of.

she wasn’t going to let them vanish into the system like they were nothing. she wasn’t going to let her life be defined by silence, by ignorance, by the same kind of cage her family had apparently helped build.

if she was going to get answers,

if she was going to help them,

if she was ever going to understand what the hell her grandparents had really been involved in,

then she had to start by going back.

even if every part of her said she shouldn’t.

even if it already felt too late.

she had to face it.

she shook off the lingering doubt and made her way to the door, grabbing her keys from the hook by the entrance. she stepped out into the hallway, the familiar scent of the building’s damp concrete filling her lungs, but it did nothing to ease the unease crawling up her spine.

the city was alive around her, bustling with the usual chaos, but she felt completely disconnected from it all. she moved quickly, trying to block out the intrusive thoughts, the questions of whether she was making a mistake.

as she made her way to the train station, the streets felt emptier than usual, the buildings casting long, looming shadows over the sidewalks. the rain had stopped, leaving the pavement slick and reflective, but the tension in the air was palpable, like the whole city was holding its breath.

her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag as she walked, the familiar route to the house feeling foreign under her feet. she glanced around, half-expecting someone to be following her, but there was no one.

just the hum of the city, the occasional car speeding by, the echo of her own footsteps.

when she arrived finally at the house, it seemed even more intimidating in the daylight. it loomed before her, quiet and brooding, as if it had been waiting for her return. myah paused at the gate, her heart thudding in her chest.

the house hadn’t changed, its faded, weather beaten exterior, the overgrown ivy clinging to the walls, the windows dark and lifeless. everything about it screamed abandonment. and yet, it was calling to her. pulling her back. demanding that she come inside.

with a deep breath, she pushed open the gate, the rusty hinges creaking in protest. the sound echoed through the stillness, making her flinch. she moved up the cracked stone steps, each one heavy under her feet, until she reached the door. she paused there for a moment, hand resting on the handle.

do i really want to do this?

 the thought hit her like a punch to the gut, but she didn’t flinch this time. she couldn’t afford to. she had already made the choice.

she turned the handle and stepped inside.

the air was the same as yesterday, thick with dust. the old house holding its breath, as though waiting for her to make her move.

the floor creaked beneath her feet, the familiar scent of must and aged wood filling her lungs. the hallway stretched ahead, dark and silent, the faded wallpaper peeling in some places, revealing the skeleton of the house beneath. everything looked the same as it had when she left. and yet, it felt different. darker.

she made her way through the house, the silence pressing in around her as she moved towards the hatch to the basement. the steps leading down felt narrower than before, the air getting colder as she descended. her heart pounded louder now, the anticipation building in her chest with every step. she wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but she knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

when she reached the bottom, the basement stretched out before her, dimly lit by a flickering light bulb that cast eerie shadows on the stone walls. the cages were still there, stacked in rows against the walls. and there they were.

the hybrids.

the ones she had met just yesterday.

the ones whose eyes she could never forget.

the silence was suffocating. they didn’t make a sound. they just watched her. their eyes, so full of life and longing, fixed on her, waiting. expecting.

one of the hybrids, the lion, shifted slowly inside his cage, the bars groaning faintly as he leaned into them.

his movements were deliberate, graceful in a way that spoke of restrained strength. golden eyes, deep and piercing, locked onto hers, holding her captive in their intensity. the rounded ears atop his head flicked just slightly, attentive to every tiny sound she made, and his thick tail curled languidly behind him, swishing in silent contemplation.

“you came back,” he murmured, his voice a deep, rumbling vibration that seemed to ripple through the darkness, touching places within her she didn't fully understand. it carried a heaviness, something hidden beneath layers of calm control.

myah froze in place, her heart hammering against her ribs. his words echoed through the basement, hanging in the air between them, charged with meaning she couldn't decipher. she didn't know if she felt relief or fear, or some intoxicating mixture of both, but there was no turning back now.

“i had to,” she whispered back, voice barely audible, trembling slightly beneath the intensity of his stare. “i’m not leaving you here.”

he remained motionless for a heartbeat longer, gaze unyielding, a flicker of something unreadable.

something darkly possessive passing through those golden eyes.

his lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile, subtle enough to almost seem imagined, but unmistakably there. her breath caught as the realization settled heavily into her bones.

the silence stretched between them, deeper and more charged now, until it felt as though the room itself were waiting, holding its breath.

and in that quiet, myah sensed something else begin to take shape, something dangerous, enticing, and far beyond her control.

the silence lingered, dense and heavy, pressing in around her until myah felt like she could barely breathe. she let her eyes drift away from the golden-haired hybrid in front of her, shifting instead toward the others trapped in their cages.

they watched her carefully.

silently.

their eyes, so piercing and full of guarded curiosity, seemed to catch the faint, dim lighting in the basement, each gaze following her movements with a predatory focus she tried desperately to ignore.

she swallowed hard, the lump in her throat painfully tight, before realization suddenly flooded her chest. her heart twisted sharply as she took in the hollowed look to their faces, the subtle way their ribs pressed sharply against skin.

god, when was the last time they had eaten?

"oh my god," she whispered, voice breaking slightly, guilt stabbing sharply in her chest. "you all must be starving."

the golden eyed hybrid’s gaze softened, something almost amused flickering behind the predatory calm in his eyes. he tilted his head slightly, studying her carefully, his long tail flicking lazily behind him.

From across the room another hybrid, with midnight dark hair spoke up,

"you care," he drawled slowly, voice deep and smooth like honey, though an edge lingered beneath the surface, subtle and dangerous. "how interesting."

myah’s cheeks heated at the weight behind his words, but she forced herself to stay steady, stepping a little closer despite the warning bells going off in her mind. she ignored them, shaking off her hesitation. she had to help. she couldn't turn her back, not now.

"of course i care," she replied, voice stronger now, her chin lifting slightly with defiance. "no one deserves this. i won’t leave you hungry."

from one of the cages behind her came a quiet chuckle, a low, husky sound that sent shivers down her spine. turning sharply, she caught sight of another hybrid in the shadows, his silvery-white hair glowing softly even in the dimness, eyes glittering like shards of ice as he regarded her from behind the rusted bars.

"brave little human," he murmured softly, tone playful but dangerously sharp around the edges, "you have no idea what hunger really means."

myah tried not to let his words unsettle her further, tried not to let his icy stare cut beneath her skin. instead, she focused again on the lion hybrid, meeting his steady golden gaze head-on. "i’ll get food. just, wait here."

another amused sound drifted from the raven haired hybrid, his amber eyes peering at her from the darkness. his lips curved faintly into something sharp and unsettlingly knowing.

"we're not going anywhere," he drawled, voice silky but cold, dripping with quiet menace. "take your time."

myah took one last glance at their eyes, sharp, glowing, hungry, and turned quickly, racing back up the creaking basement stairs. her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she emerged into the stale air of the house, her mind spinning wildly.

food.

she had to find food. but what did they even eat?

hybrids, predators, they probably needed meat.

fresh meat.

her stomach turned uneasily at the thought, memories flickering through her mind of childhood visits spent here. her grandfather had hunted regularly, she remembered vividly.

yet, somehow, she’d never once seen a deer carcass or anything remotely like it inside the house.

no, there had never been any raw meat in the fridge. not even once. her grandparents had always kept their kitchen pristine and tidy, a place of warmth and home-cooked meals. there had never been anything bloody or raw tucked away.

so where had it all gone?

myah spun around slowly in the kitchen, pulse quickening as realization dawned on her.

the shed.

her grandfather’s old hunting shed. the little wooden shack that had always felt eerie and had been forbidden during her childhood.

it sat tucked back in the shadowed corner of the backyard, concealed by overgrown bushes and towering trees. she’d never been allowed near it as a child; her grandfather had always warned her away, claiming it was dangerous.

She always assumed it was because her grandparents didn’t want her to get ahold of her grandpa’s rifles and knifes, but now, she understood the true reason.

it must’ve been where he’d stored the meat, fresh from his hunts, hidden away from innocent eyes.

myah rushed out the back door, stepping quickly through the tall grass, the yard eerily quiet around her. the old shed loomed at the edge of the property, dark and weathered with age. ivy crept up its sides, tendrils gripping tightly onto rotting wood. it felt like something from a nightmare, shadowy and foreboding. but she pushed down the dread, forcing herself forward.

with a trembling hand, she grasped the rusty door handle, wrenching the creaking door open. the interior was dark, dusty, smelling strongly of leather, oil, and something sharp and metallic. the air inside felt colder than outside, raising goosebumps along her arms.

she fumbled for the old light switch beside the door, praying it still worked. after a tense moment, the dim bulb flickered to life, casting pale, sickly yellow light across the cluttered space.

her grandfather’s hunting gear lay scattered everywhere, rifles mounted on racks along the walls, knives and traps piled haphazardly on a workbench, old hunting boots lined up beside crates stacked high against one wall. but at the far end of the shed stood something else,

a large industrial freezer, humming quietly.

myah swallowed hard, stepping hesitantly toward it, her throat dry. her heart beat wildly in her chest as she placed her hand on the cold metal handle.

she’d come too far now to turn back.

with a firm tug, she opened the heavy door, a blast of freezing air rushing out to meet her, carrying with it the metallic scent of frozen blood. inside, neatly stacked on shelves, were wrapped cuts of raw meat, large and small. each package labeled meticulously in her grandfather’s neat, cursive handwriting.

deer.

elk.

rabbit.

even something labeled boar.

her stomach churned again at the sight, but relief flooded through her just as quickly. at least there was enough here to feed them. to ease some of their suffering.

carefully, myah pulled out several packages of meat, ignoring the sharp chill that bit at her fingers. she had no idea how much they’d need, but she grabbed enough that her arms strained under the weight. the freezer door slammed shut heavily behind her, echoing sharply in the quiet of the shed.

as she made her way back across the yard, she felt a prickling at the back of her neck, the creeping sensation of being watched. she glanced around quickly, but saw nothing.

just the still, empty yard, the trees looming silently. she shook her head, dismissing the feeling.

she had other things to worry about right now.

by the time she reached the hatch in the kitchen again, her heart was hammering so loudly she feared the hybrids would hear it. she steadied herself carefully, balancing the frozen packages awkwardly in her arms as she descended the steps, back into their cage lined darkness.

their eyes were waiting for her, glowing softly in the shadows, sharp and calculating. watching. hungry.

"i found something, i hope this helps," myah said quietly, steadying her voice as she lifted the heavy packages of frozen meat onto the worn wooden table. her pulse quickened under the weight of their gazes, each hybrid watching her with an intensity she stubbornly refused to show intimidated her.

The same hybrid stepped forward, his amber eyes narrowing slightly, glinting with predatory curiosity. his movements were smooth, deliberate, exuding a controlled menace barely contained behind rusted bars.

"oh, it helps," he purred softly, voice smooth and dangerously alluring, eyes never leaving her face. "you have no idea just how hungry we've been."

myah forced herself not to flinch under his stare, silently holding his gaze with quiet defiance. she wasn't going to let him see how easily he could rattle her. her composure was her armor, and right now, she needed every bit of it.

"interesting," the lion hybrid remarked softly, gaze steady and quietly evaluating. "you returned without your friend this time. was she too frightened to come back?"

myah paused slightly, she vividly remembered how tense chae-eun had been yesterday when they first discovered the hybrids; the way her friend's eyes widened at the creatures who'd seemed so fearful, so vulnerable in their cages. at that moment, they’d looked more frightened of them than the other way around.

myah couldn't help but wonder what had changed. were they simply hungry, exhausted, or was it something else?

"she thought it was better to stay behind," myah replied carefully, keeping her voice even. "after yesterday, i can't say i blame her."

from the cage closest to the stairs, another hybrid chuckled quietly, lounging with casual elegance against the bars. his deep brown curls drawing attention even in the shadowy basement, his tiger-like eyes playful and subtly teasing as he watched her reaction.

"shame," he drawled lightly, a lazy smirk curving his lips. "we barely got a chance to say hello."

myah raised an eyebrow slightly, managing a faint, wry smile despite the unease fluttering in her stomach.

"i think your idea of a greeting might be a bit different than ours," she replied dryly, masking her nerves beneath humor.

a quiet grunt slipped from the cage across from his, containing what looked to be a jaguar.

the hybrid was still shifted, however his gaze held a quiet amusement, silently studying her reaction with careful, thoughtful intensity.

the subtle tension shifted again when a gentler voice drew her attention, familiar, soft, and inexplicably comforting. her heart quickened slightly in recognition. this was the hybrid she’d spoken to through the door yesterday, the gentle voice that had quietly pleaded with her, easing her doubts.

the hybrid who had asked her to return, who she had been unable to forget about.

stepping slightly closer to his cage, she saw his delicate features more clearly, soft hazel eyes wide with sincerity beneath wispy silver hair.

"you shouldn't blame yourself," he murmured quietly, his gaze gentle, reassuring, yet tinged with subtle sadness. "we knew you'd come back. thank you for keeping your promise."

myah’s breath steadied subtly at his quiet sincerity, inexplicably comforted by his voice, his gentle expression. she couldn’t help but trust him, despite the uncertainty that still prickled at the edges of her mind.

"i just want to help," she said softly, earnestness slipping into her tone as she held his gaze briefly.

from the back again, the black-haired hybrid shifted slightly, regaining her attention effortlessly. his eyes narrowed subtly, golden gaze glittering with quiet amusement. "help," he echoed smoothly, voice dripping with subtle skepticism, yet somehow alluring in its challenge. "an interesting way to describe bringing raw meat to caged predators."

myah glanced at him, forcing herself not to react outwardly, though his words did send a small spike of anxiety through her chest. she knew there was truth in his statement, but she refused to let him control the moment. she held her composure steady, lifting her chin slightly.

"would you prefer vegetables instead?" she asked lightly, refusing to be baited further. "because i'm not sure rabbits were on the menu."

another soft laugh drifted from near the stairs again. the curly headed hybrid grinning wider now, openly amused by her retort. "see?" he murmured teasingly, eyes glinting with clear interest. "i knew she had claws."

the silver-haired hybrid, sensing the subtle tension rising again, spoke gently, quietly soothing the room once more. his voice was careful, gentle, subtly pleading for calm. "we're grateful for anything you can do," he assured her softly, hazel eyes earnest. "we just want freedom from this."

the quiet sincerity in his voice tugged deeply at her chest, melting some of the tension still clinging to her shoulders. despite everything, she felt drawn to trust him above all the others, instinctively believing the gentle sincerity he offered.

"i’m trying," she promised softly, sincerity clear in her tone. "i won't leave you stuck here."

silence briefly settled between them, and myah felt the weight of their collective stares again, heavier than before, each hybrid watching her carefully, some with amusement, some curiosity, others quiet calculation.

finally, she stepped back slightly, glancing around the basement thoughtfully, determination steadying her again despite the lingering uncertainty inside her chest. "alright," she said firmly, gaze flickering back to the silver-haired hybrid, quietly finding reassurance in his gentle, hopeful expression. "let's see if i can figure out how to get you out."

a charged silence followed her words, the air in the basement feeling suddenly heavy with cautious hope. myah drew in a slow breath, steadying herself as she glanced around again at the cages, searching for anything she might've missed before.

"do any of you remember how you got out last time?" she asked carefully, keeping her voice calm and gentle as she moved closer to the nearest cage, the one containing the lion. she kept her movements deliberate, careful not to startle or upset them.

he regarded her with quiet authority, eyes steady and watchful. after a brief moment, he shook his head slightly, the thick waves of his golden hair shifting softly against his shoulders.

"we've never been out of these cages," he replied evenly, his deep voice resonating softly in the quiet basement, laced with subtle yet firm certainty. "at least, not since we were put in them."

myah’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion, her heart giving a sharp, anxious twist. that didn't make sense. something wasn't adding up. "but, someone got out," she murmured, mostly to herself, recalling the reports of a hybrid attack, the police statements. her grandparents' fate. she swallowed hard, pushing down the sharp sting of grief. there was no time for that now.

the dark-haired hybrid with the intense amber eyes watched her closely, clearly noting her distress. his voice was soft, velvet-smooth, edged with quiet menace.

"perhaps someone’s not telling you the whole truth," he suggested quietly, his amber gaze narrowed and thoughtful, subtly unsettling in its quiet intensity.

she glanced sharply at him, feeling another small flicker of unease.

was he implying something about her grandparents?

about someone else entirely? she forced herself to shake the thought away, not ready to entertain those suspicions yet. not until she had more answers.

determined, she carefully checked the locks and hinges, examining each door for weakness. her fingers brushed against cold, rusted metal; the surfaces worn but still frustratingly secure. each latch held firm beneath her attempts. frustration began to gnaw at the edges of her composure, her pulse quickening anxiously with every fruitless test.

the curly headed hybrid leaning lazily against his bars tracked her with slow, interested eyes. his posture was relaxed, lounging like a cat sunbathing, but there was a flicker of something sharper beneath it.

something watchful.

"you seem pretty determined," he drawled, his voice light with amusement, but the glint in his eyes wasn’t playful. "but i doubt you’ll get these open by hand. believe me, we’ve tried."

myah let out a quiet breath, running a hand through her hair, trying to mask the growing tension pressing in behind her ribs.

"there has to be another way," she muttered, stepping back to scan the room again. "they can’t have just locked you down here without some kind of system."

"oh, there’s a system," came a voice from the farthest cage, low and smooth like velvet over blades. "you’re just not the one they built it for."

she turned sharply. the one in the shadows hadn’t moved much, but his golden eyes glinted in the dim light, watching her with quiet calculation.

like he was waiting for this moment.

"what does that mean?" she asked slowly. "how did the eighth hybrid get out?"

a beat of silence.

the silver-haired one shifted where he sat, his eyes suddenly distant. he didn’t speak.

the one lounging by the stairs stilled too, his expression folding in just slightly, the casual edge softening into something unreadable.

"there was no eighth predator," the black-haired hybrid said finally. deliberate. calm. like it was a truth he’d held in his teeth too long. "that cage wasn’t for one of us."

myah stared at him. "then who was it for?"

"prey," another voice answered, quieter, softer from the left side of the room. "they kept them there overnight. until they were…taken."

"they never returned," said the deep voice in front of her, steady but heavy. "not ever."

her breath caught.

"you mean prey hybrids? like rabbits? deer?"

"among others," the dark headed hybrid said smoothly. he shifted just slightly in his cage, his golden eyes never leaving hers. "kept in that cage. fattened. frightened. sometimes sedated if they cried too much. usually just…quiet. they knew what was coming."

myah shook her head. no, that didn’t make sense. it didn’t fit. "but no. my grandfather didn’t do that. he,” she paused, sucking in a breath, “he hunted, yeah, but he wasn’t like that. he believed in clean kills, in ethical tags and permits and—"

"you think he was dragging whitetail out of the forest?" the hybrid tilted his head slightly, amusement curling at the corner of his mouth. it wasn’t a smile. it was a warning. "those went extinct in this region before you could even walk."

her stomach dropped.

"there’s no wildlife left out there," the one with the golden hair said, his voice calm but edged. "you’d be lucky to find a squirrel. the ecosystems are gone. wiped out. pollution, over-harvesting, fires—take your pick. all the original prey species are either dead, relocated, or too protected to touch."

"but he had meat," she whispered as she slid to the ground. "the freezer, there was venison, rabbit, he said he hunted in the northern woodlands—"

"hybrids are the only remaining source," the hybrid’s voice quiet now. almost gentle. "the gene carriers. you want deer meat, you need a deer hybrid. they harvest from us. still do. just not out in the open."

her blood went cold.

"you’re lying," she said. but it came out wrong. weak. like she was asking.

the one sitting near the stairs scoffed, his eyes gleaming. "do we look like the liars in this story?"

she turned toward the table, staring at the empty meat packages, the ones she’d pulled out of the freezer herself. her stomach twisted violently. she’d brought that meat down here like a gift. like an offering.

"no," she whispered, voice cracking. "he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t feed people—"

"who said it was for people?" the black haired hybrid murmured, almost too low to hear. "some of it, sure. the best cuts went to buyers. the rest? maybe to the staff. maybe into his own freezer. maybe right back down here to us, to see what we'd do."

her hands curled into fists. the nausea burned in her throat.

she looked at the cage again. that cage, noticed its smaller size, the lack of locks to hold it shut. it had never been meant to hold someone like them.

it had been a pen. a prep table.

livestock containment.

"i didn’t know," she said. her voice shook. "i didn’t know any of this."

"you do now.”

the words weren’t cruel. they weren’t sharp or cutting.

they were just…

final.

and somehow that made it worse.

myah stood there, frozen, the truth settling around her like dust after a collapse. heavy. choking. inescapable. she could still feel the cold metal of the cage beneath her fingertips, the weight of the meat she had carried down, the flicker of pride she’d felt for thinking ahead. thinking she was helping.

but that meat had come from someone.

someone who had slept in that cage. breathed in this basement. cried out in the dark and gotten no answer.

someone who had never left.

and her grandfather had known.

not just known, he had organized it. built it. maintained it. made it look normal. made it look ethical.

and she’d never questioned it. not once.

"i grew up in that house," she murmured, not to any of them, not even to herself, but to the ghost of something that had once felt solid inside her. "i used to sit on the porch with him while he cleaned his arrows. i used to help him label the cuts. i thought…"

her voice broke. she blinked hard.

"you didn’t put us here," a voice said quietly.

she looked up.

he was sitting near the front of his cage now, close enough to reach the bars, close enough that she could see the way his pale lashes caught the light.

the silver haired one.

his fingers were loose around the rusted metal, not clutching, just resting. like he’d been waiting. like he wasn’t in a cage at all. just keeping her company.

"but you came back." his voice was soft, careful, like he knew her heart was still in pieces. like he didn’t want to step on the shards. "that has to mean something. doesn’t it?"

myah blinked at him.

there was no accusation in his face. no push. just that unbearable calm, that gentle gravity he carried, like he was built to be safe, even in a place like this.

and that was the problem, wasn’t it?

he made her want to believe in something again.

she stood slowly, brushing her palms off on her jeans. her legs ached, but she kept her gaze on him, watching him watch her.

he tilted his head, just slightly.

and smiled.

not wide. not teasing. just this soft little thing that tugged at her ribs.

“you have a name?” he asked, voice low and warm, like it didn’t matter if she answered or not, he’d remember the way she looked when she did.

“myah,” she said, after a moment. “it’s myah.”

his smile deepened, just a breath.

like he was tasting it.

like he already knew it would ruin him.

“myah,” he repeated, slow and deliberate, like it was a word worth savoring. “that’s a beautiful name.”

her stomach did something embarrassing.

something fluttery.

and then he leaned forward, just a little, just enough for the light to catch on the golden flecks in his eyes, and said, softer, almost conspiratorial, “you can call me jimin.”

like it was a secret. like it was just for her.

she stared at him for a beat too long, her lips parting slightly, caught between suspicion and the stupid, impossible urge to smile back.

“thank you jimin,” she said finally, voice quieter than she meant it to be.

“anytime,” he murmured, leaning dangerously close, like the rusted bars weren’t even there.

"excuse me, sweetheart," a voice drawled from somewhere off to her right. "but some of us would like to eat."

her head snapped toward the sound, heat crawling up her neck like she’d just been caught doing something she hadn’t meant to.

the one who’d spoken leaned lazily against the bars, grinning like he’d been watching the whole thing and was thoroughly entertained.

her stomach twisted. because the grin didn’t reach his eyes. and his gaze, sharp and golden, wasn’t just amused.

it was hungry.

she looked back at the table.

the meat was still sitting there, thawed now. bleeding slowly through its plastic.

but when she turned her gaze back to the hybrid watching her, there was something in his expression that made her feel like that wasn’t the dinner he meant.

she swallowed.

hard.

and the room suddenly felt just a little too warm.

a little too quiet. like the real hunger in here had nothing to do with the meat behind her.

authors note: hey... um i am so sorry about how long this took me to get out. idk why this story is so difficult for me to like what i write, but i hope you guys enjoyed it !! finals are coming up soon so it might be a sec for the next part but then it should be good. also i think every member has been mentioned now (two have been quiet in scenes with myah but i wont say who for rn) , but take your guesses as two whos what hybrid (i'm planning on making like a post just about whos what i'll link it here when i do!) thank you guys all for the support, ik this chapter was kinda boring, but i wanted to set up some relationship dynamics, idk if its just me but i personally hate when a story introduces characters but then leaves them super one dimensional so i used this chapter to kinda flesh out chae-eun as well as start exploring some of the grandparents backgrounds. thank you guys once again i hope you enjoyed it !!

next →

taglist: @moonxxlover @sassy-snassy @kameko-ko @jnghs @captainhoook @yoonjoongles @canarystwin @sathom013 @gracefulsakura98 @jungshaking @haileyisboring @pookieb99 @starlight-1010 @svnbangtansworld @ihatesnakeu7 @dachshunddame @iyeeeverydee @multifandomfreakster-blog @peachmarien @dawnzephyr @ukndtwme @steddie-steddie @plainoldalexis @vantelover07 @justasadb1tch @seomta @shakespeare-in-the-park7 @mar-lo-pap @chroniclesofbts @borahaetelevision @charlielecrayongris @minjianhyung @wannaghostbts @therealjaken @kpopdreamer95 @selfishlittlebeing @official-angi @calmyourtitts7 @wonder-and-wildflowers @cosmotannie @flowinj @riu @euphoricduck @sketchy-racoon @shadequeen712

join taglist!

[7brownsuga7]

The God who answers after dark ☆ The intro:

Summary: You used to pray to the Gods after dark before you went to sleep, always thinking that you were praying to the good kind. The kind that showed mercy. However you were mistaken, as time passes and you grew older and wiser it will be revealed that your prayers were answered, but not by the Gods you thought you knew, but the dark kind. The kind that your grandmother used to warn you about. Ones you hear in stories. The kind that you should fear, but how can you when it's all you know. How can you when he was the only one who answered?

Tags&warnings: Jungkookxfemreader, mostly fluff I guess, a bit of smut if you would call it that?!?? age gap I guess?!!? Jungkook is obsessed with reader, a bit delusional. Slight manipulation???! MDNI!!!

Word count: 3k+

Note: making this into a series🫶🏽 this is just a little something that I wrote when I was bored. Be prepared for more obsessive and possessive Jungkook!

Was inspired by the book invisible life of Addie-Larue

The God who answers after dark ☆ series master list: Here ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

It was dark.

The night creating shadows in the corner of your room, allowing your imagination to run wild, creating things scary to imagine.

You wasn’t scared though, because you knew it was your imagination. And because you’ve experienced something way darker. You invited him into your home with a simple whisper, let him talk to you throughout the many dark nights, telling him your dreams and wishes of a better life where you are happy and loved.

You was always an imaginative child. While you watched others make friends, you created your own, that grew along with you. Who only came out at night.

You first called upon him when you were only seven. Mindlessly talking to the open air. You had wanted a friend. A friend you could talk to, play with, share secrets with. So you stared off into the dark and talked about nothing and everything. However, when you saw the shadows in the corner of your room move, and sit before you did you realise that you summoned something else. Not a friend, not an imaginary one, something much darker. Still you spoke to it, and it spoke to you like rough winds in the cool night. It comforted you like a cool breeze in a summers heat.

You found comfort in him. You would mindlessly tell him your dreams. He would make empty promises of giving you that dream felt life. Empty, because they came with a price that you were not willing to pay for. Still he would sit beside you and listen to your stories and dreams.

You had asked him what his dreams were and he had told you that he was the son of a God - he had none, but he could grant them within due time. When he himself became a God. So he settled with telling you stories about Gods and wars. Desperate souls and deals. The kind his father spoke to him about, the kind he experienced himself.

Then, he was an angel, the son of a God he refused to speak of. Now, he is a God himself, the God of Darkness. Like the type you’d find deep in a forest, hidden behind the shadows of the trees, infused within the night that covers the sky like a blanket. Comforting to some, suffocating for others.

You was a child who had a lot to wish for and no control of your imagination back then. His company grew on you so much that he was like an accessory to your room. Like a cushion that decorated your bed, a small plant that had a home on your desk, a stack of books that rested in a pile on your bedside table. He felt like home.

The man that would sit before you, appearance created from your imagination - answered you everytime you called on him. He was always there with you. When you looked out of your window at night, when you wrote in your diary about the stories he’d tell you. In your dreams. He was always there.

It was dark.

So you did what you’ve always done when the lights went out, and people lay deep asleep. The night silent and still.

You called for him.

“Yes my love?” He appeared from the dark corner of your room. Once a shadow, now a man that sat before you on your bed. The only bit of light was the shine from the moon and the small warm lamp next to your bed.

You always expect the bed to shift as he sits down, but his weight is like a feather held in one’s palm. Light and weightless. Proof that the form you see before you is none other than what he has stolen from your imagination. His true form something like a stream in the night. Dark and shallow.

His lean body presented in a white button up shirt and black slacks. Very simple, but styled so well. He was always so well presented, dressed so elegantly. You knew that that wasn’t your imagination that created the fine attire, it was simply him, the Darkness who was a charmer, who had lived many years before you. Of course he’d picked up some style on the way.

“I want to be loved” you spoke out, tone delicate like a whisper, too embarrassed, too afraid.

“Y/n my dear, you are loved by many. Your mother adores you, friends cherish you, need I say more?” His eyes match his soul, dark and intense, yet they still seem to be so warm, inviting. It’s either that or his voice that draws you in. So soothing yet so deep. Like a calm ocean that holds many depth below.

“Not that kind of love. I want to be loved by a man. I want to feel that type of love I read in books and see in movies. The type of love my grandparents have. The type of love that won’t make me feel so alone anymore”

He chuckles a beautiful melody.

You always surprised him. The things you’d speak and dream of so bizarre yet so intriguing. Out of all the souls who begged for his help and all the humans he’s encountered, you’re the one that amused him most. A girl who asked and wished for so much, yet all she needed to do was look in the mirror and realise her worth, her power.

But he of all people knew that wishes were easy to slip from one’s lips. Words slide out of people’s mouths just as easy as a balloons string slips out of a child’s hand, so effortlessly. People are so careless when it comes to words. If only they knew the power it holds.

Wishes, prayers. They were all the same to him. It didn’t matter because they both had the same outcome, the same deal, the same promise, the same fate and the same desperation. The person was always begging and pleading in the end, too desperate to have their prayers answered to form a logical sentence, and to understand a twisted deal.

“You are not alone my love. I am here, I’ve always been here. I am the breeze that embraces you in the night, the darkness that lulls you to sleep. I am here. And you are loved.”

“You are not a man, even if you choose to be in this moment.” Your words are harsh, yes, but that’s what he loved about you. You were honest with him, you weren’t afraid.

“I can be the darkness of the night, a friend when you need company, I can be a man…”

When you make no move to respond to him, he rolls his eyes and sighs. “But before all of that I am a God. A God that answers wishes, say the words and I’ll give it to you, for a price”

This isn’t the first time he’s said this, and this isn’t the first time you’ve asked for something. But it always ends up with the same outcome, an offer of a sacrifice that you refuse. And then the whole interaction is swept away in the night, forgotten.

“Im not sacrificing my soul to you”

“My dear, you’ve called upon me countless of times, I’ve stayed by your side for years, you must know by now that you’re mine. I may not have your soul entirely, but yours is bound with mine, through shared memories and dreams, nights and years.”

“Don’t you get tired of chasing something that doesn’t belong to you? That will never be yours?”

“I have patience” is the only thing he says before he changes the subject back to your previous wish.

“I’d love to help you. You know I always do. But you should know by now that I can’t just give you that. I can’t just muster up a man for you that will make love to you. You want me to grant your wish of being loved by a man, that I can’t do, but like I said, I can be a lot of things.”

His hand reaches out to touch your jaw, thumb caressing it. His touch light, smooth. And despite everything, you wish he would touch you more, so you lean into his touch.

“I can be a God, an Angel, a Devil, a Human. Whatever you’d like me to be, as long as I am yours and you are mine”

“That’s not the type of love I’m talking about” your voice is shaky, unsure of what you want. What you need.

“Oh isn’t it? All those nights you would touch yourself to images of me… where you would talk to yourself about wanting to be touched. Those days where you would listen to all your friends stories about being with another, being touched by another. You envy them. You want to be loved in a way that has your skin littered with goosebumps, chills running down your spine” his fingers brush along your collarbone and you feel a shiver come across your body.

You think back to the nights where you would dream of his fingers against your skin. Light, cool and delicate.

“You must know by now that your body is mine. Your mind, your heart, your soul. Stop wasting your time being stubborn and let me give you what you want. The love you hope for, a world where you’re happy, things go your way. I can give you all of that if you would just be mine”

You hate the fact that he’s partially right. You have dreamt about him and thought of many nights where he would lay you in bed and take you as his. It was one of your dark fantasies that you never spoke of, you couldn’t , not to him.

Just as much as you were, he was stubborn. And as a God that always gets his way, he hates being told no.

“I see you’re making it a habit of calling me yours. You may be a God, but I don’t belong to you. I won’t”

“Within due time”

You don’t say anything else, instead you focus on the stillness of the room. The way his presence is so strong, the way you feel relaxed around him.

“You want me to grant your wish of being loved by a man? I can’t give that to you if you don’t sacrifice, but I can show you how to be loved, y/n. I can show you what it feels like to be touched” his hand brushes the side of your face. His eyes pouring into yours, if you didn’t know his games you would almost fall for his tricks. Almost.

“Is this how you get people to give you their souls? Is this one of your twisted games? I give you my body and you take my soul as a keepsake.” Your breath is shaky as his touch takes over your body, so intense, so wrong but so right.

“I don’t just want your soul y/n. I want your heart, I want your touch, I want your love and your word that you will be mine.”

“You aren’t capable of feeling those things. you’re n-“

“Not human, I know. You’ve told me many times” his fingers brush along your thigh. “But when you have lived amongst humans and dealt with them for as long as I have, you begin to understand real emotions. I’m more human than you’ll ever know ”

His lips brush along your earlobe. “Let me show you”

He lays you down on the bed, hovering over you.

“No man on earth can give you what I can give you. I’ll take their souls if they tried. I can give you the world, the luxury of never having to worry about anything. A life of happiness, a life of freedom. If only you would let me have you”

He spoke so much about making things happen. He could make things happen with the click of his finger. And you wondered if he ever manipulated you in anyway. And why he hasn’t so far. If he really wanted you like he said he does, then why doesn’t he use his power to get you?

He spoke so softly in your ear, his voice like a blanket of silk. You don’t realise that you have yet again leaned in to him. Drawn in by his words, the way he spoke them so effortlessly and so passionately.

“You have me, I’m here right now” you give up your fight and give in to what your body craves.

Your eyes flutter close as you let yourself escape in everything that is him.

Just like when you were a child, you use your imagination to create your own little world. Just you and him for the moment.

You’re lost in his earthy scent. The night sky drawn around you like a blanket, protecting you. A sense of freedom as you seep into the darkness of the night that is him. But when you open your eyes you see more than just the darkness. You see the stars in the night. His eyes mimicking the galaxy as he watches you with so much want.

There in that moment is when you realised how powerful he was. How powerful his words were, his presence was. And his touch…

His touch that had your body reacting in ways you never knew it could.

His touch light, like a cool embrace of the wind.

Except your skin is like the sun, setting your skin on fire as his hands caress your body. You hate that your body reacts so easily to his touch. But over anything else, you hate how he knows your body when you don’t even know it yourself.

He knows just where to touch you, just where you crave another’s touch.

Just where to touch to have the hairs on your body stand up. Eager for more.

His face is in the crook of your neck lightly running his lips along the service, just before he litters small pecks to it. He smells you, breathes you in, humming in the process.

“I’m so full of everything I can have in life, and yet I still crave you”

You shiver when he pauses just by your earlobe.

“What are you doing to me my love?”

You both lock eyes for a second, the world stopping in the moment that is just yours. You don’t answer him. He seems elated with just watching you anyways.

“You’ll let me have you?”

You hold your breath, unsure of what to say. Yes because you want him to take you here right now, but you know how sneaky he can be, you’re afraid that your words would be used against you.

When you make no move to speak, he smirks against your skin and whispers, “Smart girl, I’ve taught you well.”

He takes no time in playing with the lace of your panties. You feel wetness stick to the fabric, something that started once he laid his fingers on you.

He’s always been good with his fingers. One night he played you a song on your guitar, his fingers moving effortlessly over the strings. In this very moment you feel like an instrument. The way his fingers work on you, you creating sounds so melodic you don’t even recognise yourself. The way he holds you so gently as one would with their instrument. You’re not afraid when you’re with him. There’s no need to be when he holds and touches you so gently.

His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks to you. His fingers working inside of you making your back arch and toes curl. Your fingers grab your sheet, mind going crazy because you know you shouldn’t be doing this. This is crazy and it’s not like you at all. And with him?

“You’re so stubborn. Why won’t you be mine? Look how your body is reacting to me. The moment I made myself present, your breathing changed rhythm and heart increased pace. You don’t think I know how you feel?”

You release a pathetic moan. A desperate one that has you cringing with embarrassment because of how needy you sound.

He leans in towards the crook of your neck with a low, “hmm?”

You look away. Too embarrassed and too in awe at the way he’s making you feel - making you act.

“Look at me”.

You find the courage to look at him. His fingers that work inside of you have your pussy creating sounds you never knew it could. You take deep breaths, slight frown on your face as your body’s taken over by the pleasure.

“You’re so wet for me. So needy.”

He continues to watch you with half-lidded eyes. Taking in the moment. Taking in everything that is you.

As the night progresses, you find yourself sinking deeper and deeper into it.

You’ve given yourself to him in this moment - not entirely as he had hoped, but having his way with you in this point in time is more than enough.

He takes you there on your bed. The same place you would speak to him every night, dream of him every occasion.

He’s gentle, careful. His motions precise, enough to have your breath stuck in your throat.

Your mind has been lost in the darkness that is him. You don’t even want to find it.

He’s hovered over you, your legs wrapped around him. Kisses given with each thrust.

He speaks beautiful words to you, hand caressing your face every now and then.

And in this moment you’re sure you’re making love. Even though you know it can’t be because you both know nothing of the sort, but this is exactly how it feels like.

You reach a hand out to him, brushing back his dark stringy locks that fall in front of his face.

He kisses you with so much passion, speaks to you with words that has your heart aching for more.

In this moment you almost give him your word. Your life, your soul. Your head clouded by this intense emotion, a feeling that you can’t grasp. He’s taken you to a whole different universe, mind lost in everything that is him.

You almost give him your word, almost.

And when he brings you to your climax you sink deeper into him, into his embarace. Letting your body infuse with his.

You both lay there in silence for a while until he voices, “Even if you deny it. I’ve given you my word that I’ll stick by your side. There’s no getting rid of me”

You don’t need to ask him about what he means.

You know.

His fingers caress your skin as you close your eyes, letting his words fill the air.

“A soul as beautiful and pure as yours is a soul to wait a lifetime for. And I’ve got a lot of time”

And when you open your eyes, you’re met with nothing but the darkness of your room.

The God who answers after dark ☆

- mimi ☆

[hongjoongscafe]

Bloody Love.

Chapter: X-Rose-

♠︎Pairing: yandere!king!jungkookxoc(coronis)

♠︎Genre: angst, smut, yandere, gore, dark romance, horror, creepy (dark fantasy).

♠︎Summary: "you happen to be in a world where wrong is right and right is wrong."

♠︎Word count: 6k+ 👀

♠︎Warning: ghosts, manipulation (it is kind of a positive one here so🐒)

♠︎Note: lemme know if you wanna be added to the permanent or specific taglist!

♠︎Masterpost

♠︎Serieslist.

Ring… the ring of promise was a tricky piece of ornament. For one it was love, peace, destiny. For others, it was a burden, slavery, anguish.

The faithful oaths, the ones that made life full of colour, hope, and laughter, made the weight of the ring feathery light. Those rings were the honour of love, the reminder of a family at the house that made it home, a lover who kissed his beloved or his wife with love.

The deceiving oaths, the ones that break your soul and crush it under the weight of the ring. The reminder of the unspeakable. It feels like you have been sold to serve the aristocrats who abuse you for their luxury.

Coronis’s finger tingled, her cheeks, her neck… they all tingled as the heat of His fingers lingered on her. The bloody necklace because of which she was brought here was around her neck again, burning her skin.

Thinking back at the time, she wondered if she had never removed the damn thing, would she have been saved?

She would have been back at the village, with her little family. Just existing. Poor Circe, she had always been Coronis’s closest. Her little eyes were most likely waiting for her older sister to come back and pick her up and tell her how everything was fine. She wanted that to be true. She wanted to hear that that was what was going to happen.

The palace was enormous, but her little shack was what gave her peace. This was a prison but that was home.

Oh, Nori, she thought. She never got to talk to her and tell her how wrong she was. Out of every person, Nori was the only one who made her screaming mind shut. Her soft touches against Coronis's skin, her tiny pecks… everything about her was perfect.

The desperate look when Coronis talked to her was heartbreaking—the way she forgave her in a breath.

Just one more night, that's all Her Highness wanted with Nori, where they could desperately engulf each other in their arms and touch, and make love all night. Just somewhere she could be herself and leave the pain behind. Somewhere she could dump all her obligations and responsibilities away.

She wanted to feel like a woman she never was. But with Nori, she was that. More than ever, she realized how much that one girl affected her life and gave her so much without even realising it.

Love, she gave her love.

Then her heart dropped into her stomach as the face of Nori flashed in front of her eyes from the time when He took Coronis by her hair. Nori was confused but more so betrayed.

The hurt in her eyes was fierce.

Coronis rubbed her eyes vigorously to remove the vision from her brain. Everything was already enough. Now thinking about how she hurt an innocent wasn't going to change anything. She had no way to go back and tell her. So she could only proceed in her life and pray for Nori to find someone who could love and cherish her like no tomorrow.

She was interrupted as the heavy door to her chamber opened. Turning around, she saw the guard- Jimin standing there. She sat up straight on her bed.

“Your Highness,” He bowed. “The Lord has commanded me to make you acquainted with the palace,” he informed. “And I am obligated to look after you till the sixth night.”

“Oh…” she said, knowing nothing about how to act in the royal palace. Ana did say that she would guide her around and teach her the etiquette necessary for a Queen-to-be before she left.

“I’ll guide you to the gardens,” he said as he stepped aside, gesturing her to follow him out.

“Right away?” she asked, eyes wide in surprise at the sudden need to get acquainted with the palace.

Jimin looked at her, “Pardon me, Your Highness, if I could, I would rather you rest however it is the perplexity of the concern. The Lord has demanded that you should be well-versed with the gardens as Your Highness might need it this instant.”

Hesitantly, she stood up and followed him. Anything against the orders of His Majesty was only going to put her in danger along with the helper who was ordered so. “It is fine. I do wish to get away for a while…” she said leaving the fact that she was feeling asphyxiated by the stiffness in her chamber. If she did stay there for more, she might indeed end up losing her consciousness.

The long hallways opened up to the thorny gardens, distinct from the one at the entrance of the palace. She noticed that it was at the back of the main palace and other structures were standing tall, not connected by any means. It was all beautiful to look at. The top of older towers next to each structure was covered by the thick mist, only the dark shadow could be seen through the blur.

The palace was what she thought the death house would look like. All grim and ruined. How many screams and blood trails did this hell-bound face throughout agonising time? She thought.

In front of her, there was an endless sea of dead ground, covered in dying shrubs. The chilling winds threaded through her long luscious hair. She could faintly hear the whispers again although it was harder to make what they were trying to tell her.

“Your Highness,” Jimin called. “This way,” he gestured towards the right corridor from the door. She followed the guard and passed many more who bowed their heads for her. Every single soul in the palace was now aware of their, His and Her Highness’, engagement.

Would they have respected her if she was here as a commoner and not their Highness’ love interest? Presumably not. Why would these rotting men care for that? The men in the shackle would have used her and discarded her long ago.

She looked at Jimin’s back. Only he was different, carrying fear in his tiny eyes and secrets in his shivering chest. She wondered if he would reveal them to her. Thinking about her thoughts, she scoffed. Everyone here was His loyal. No one. No one would betray him under His nose.

Jimin opened another door that led to the garden which was closed from all four sides. There were doors but not a single body guarding them, maybe it was guarded by the souls...

The garden was still large. The faded trails between the beds of dead black and red roses led to a bench and a tiny crumbling table between the flowers by the old fountain that had no water in it.

The flowers needed love. They were dried, empty and deprived of love. Coronis’s aching instinct wanted to replenish the garden. It seemed like once, this place had that love and care it needed to thrive.

“His Highness has gifted you this precious garden in hopes that you will bring back life to these dead hopes,” Coronis looked at the guards’ distant eyes.

She inhaled the stale scent of the roses as she took in the beauty of the ruin. “Bring back to life?” she slowly asked. “Did this place have any life before?”

He did not say anything. she, again, looked at him. The pain was shining in the guard’s eyes and delicate face. Maybe the once-forgotten memory pained him. He lowered his head, “Forgive me, Your Highness.” before Coronis could ask why, Jimin straightened up and turned around, “Please make yourself cosy, Your Highness. This garden is all yours now.” he then bowed and left her alone, closing the door behind him.

Nothing in this palace was remotely relaxing. Every edge of this folly buzzed with the fear of the unknown. Had she known that day that just getting her calf back for the meadows would cost her whole life, she would never have gone out or at least worn her cloak to hide her troubled head.

But now she was here, in the palace of the devil, waiting to get tied with the devil himself.

Sighing, she carefully stepped down the steps and slowly walked towards the table. Her benign fingertips brushed the delicate, withered petals of the roses. The thorns scratched her tips as she walked through them. The red against her porcelain skin was a contrast.

Upon reaching the table, she saw a pair of scissors, a big pretty black, dusty vase with some dead roses in it and some still on the table. ‘Why would anyone leave them half done?’ she thought as she picked the dusty roses off the table. They have been there a long time. Why haven’t the rain washed them away? Another question invaded her mind. The palace was as if it had a mind of its own. It seemed that it worked on its own laws, separated from the rest of the realm.

This garden was stuck in time.

This palace was guarded by the spirits, she could believe that now, especially after the encounter with spirits in the hallway a few moments ago when she was being taken for the gathering for the announcement of the marriage in the Lord's court.

The marriage…

Coronis felt weak in her knees and dropped on the chair that was already out of its resting place. The marriage was in just six nights. She was fated to be His Queen. She felt like the end of her life was laughing at her.

His Highness was a man of a wicked character. She found Him disconnected. He was a man of impulse and did what his stone heart demanded even though it was wrong-headed.

He was packed with secrets. There was much more to him than just his surface. His cruelty had an origin.

When Coronis was little, she was aware that the King, His Highness’ father, was a man perceived by the black spirits. His soul was black and when he died, the black soul flew in the sky like a rag and busted away. Finishing him and passing the curse.

Nobody knew how he passed away. The secret was buried in the palace she was sitting in. The legends said that the King’s own flesh would finish his throne. But the throne was still intact. Could it mean that His Highness ended His father's life?

Though it was an enticing question, the present was more dreadful. The King was dead. Coronis wasn’t. She needed to find a way to survive this tarnishing life before it gave up upon her. Glancing around the garden, she thought maybe she could indeed bring back life to this beauty.

She sighed and stood up, her knees were shaky but she roamed around, taking in every small detail of the surroundings.

As she was walking around the fountain she saw a red peaking out. When she got closer she saw a book lying there, covered in a dense layer of dirt. However, it seemed like it had been touched as there were faint streaks of fingers running down the book. But who would have touched the book? It is quite prevalent that this place has been opened now after who knows when. Maids were not allowed considering the dusty, dirty being of the garden. It wasn’t maintained. And thinking about a moment back when she entered the place, the only foot marks were by the door. Not this far.

Slowly she bent down and picked up the book. With the inside of her gown, wiped the dirt away as best as could from the velvety lining. She opened the book; on the first page, in beautiful handwriting was written “Dear Moon”. The ink was black but there were splotches of red painting it. As if it were dried blood spots. Coronis’s shaky fingers turned the page but before she could see what was written in the book, her fingers felt a piercing pain of burn making her drop the book on the ground.

Before she could react any further, on the dirty ground next to the book, in an elegant writing, it scribbled “Not Yet, Dear…”

Coronis’s scream stuck in her throat, she abruptly backed away and ran out of the garden, the thorns of the roses scratched much harshly, her skirt stuck between them, tearing it ever so lightly.

Panting, she managed to knock on the door, “Open the door, please!” she banged. “Please open the door! I wish to go back to the chambers!”

In an instant, Jimin opened the door for her. “Your Highness,” he bowed and led her to her chamber in the deafening silence. He wanted to ask what happened but he knew what conceivably must have happened. He could hear Her Highness sniffling behind him as she followed him like a wet puppy.

“Soon it will be dinner assemblage… His Highness expects you to attend it. He is organising a feast in respect of the marriage and he wishes Queen-to-be’s presence, diligently.” Jimin reports her.

…

The ballroom was filled with the scent of the delicious feast, packed with people. They all carried themselves like they owned the world which they did. They are the bloodhounds that rule over the realm. They may not be as powerful as His Highness himself but they were no less guilty in making this murderous realm.

Their hands were caked with the blood of millions and millions from the past. Their eyes were dead, no emotions reflected in them… just dead of the night sky. They were just puppets, in the end. But they were on the other side of the puppet world. These men taught their people how to be like them; the dangerous killers of humanity and dignity.

Coronis felt suffocated among them. She didnt belong there. She was an outdated lowlife in their eyes but they couldn't voice it out to His Highness. They preferred to be on the good side of the Master. They witnessed Amos’s dismissal. His screams, they could still hear them.

Amos was marched around in the palace for all the guards and ministers and maids to see what would happen if they even peaked at Her Highness. She was unattainable. They all were lowlifes in front of Coronis. This is what His Highness wanted to pass to everyone in this feast.

However, Coronis couldn’t find Him. Everybody bowed to her, the maids paid their courtesy to the Queen-to-be.

Some maids tried to win her over by offering some tidbits and drinks to her. But Coronis didn’t pay them any mind. She was escorted down here by Ana. Jimin was not there either. Even though Ana was there with her, she did not feel protected. She wished Jimin had been there by her side with his soft yet protective aura.

It was all a display of regard. The moment they turned around, they whispered among themselves, mocking her. She could hear but what stand did she have? She was just a girl. A captive of their Highness that He will use and throw away like a broken toy down the bridge where they threw the rest who were dead or half dead.

She felt like a prey in the grounds of predators. It was the reality but now it was dawning on her. There were most likely a handful of people who wanted revenge or wanted to kill the Master but they might take it through her. Who knows what goes on behind the closed doors of these sinister ministers?

She didn't need to think more. The ballroom on the opposite side opened and there stepped in the Great Lord himself. He was a handsome man. Coronis knew it but more so now when He came in dressed in His official attire. He wore His heavily jewelled crown with pride, His ears were decorated with long earrings, and His fingers were looped with rings but the ring on His ring finger of His left hand outshined the rest. He was dressed in a white blouse with huge necklaces lacing down the front; black silk-patterned pants hugged His thighs and ended under His leather boots. His cloak was of maroon velvet with black fur around it. It was long enough to trail behind Him.

His face… Coronis had to suck in a deep breath. He was breathtakingly handsome. His eyes were shadowed by the black kohl. His pretty lips were tinted with natural red. His jaw was sharp, and cheeks defined. His long, thick neck disappeared under the neck of his blouse.

His luscious hair was left open down to his narrow hips. The curtains of His shorter hair framed around his face. They looked soft and shiny. She wouldn’t have minded running her fingers through his mane if he were…

Her thoughts halted when the eyes of His Highness found her. Then she realised that they had all bowed down to give Him the courtesy. Quickly, she, too, bowed her head and waited.

The heavy boots thudded across the ground and stopped right by her toes. His Highness drank the beauty of His beloved. She was a good girl for bowing. He saw how her eyes ranked up and down His body. He could feel the heat of her eyes on His body, making His cock twitch in His pants. But he needed to wait for her to be ready before He could do anything. In the end, the fruit of patience is always sweet.

Coronis was wearing the gown that He had given Ana for Her Highness. A tiny smirk grew on his face. She looked immaculate in it. It fit her like a glove. The blouse of the gown hugged her perky breasts and pumped them up. The shoulders of her gown draped down her arms, beautifully. The skirt was long and a train followed her. It was black lace over the dark maroon velvet, it was flowy and not stiff. The bony necklace rested prettily just below the hollow of her neck.

Her hair was tied in a messy bun on top of her head, with pretty twists in the front. A piece of jewellery decorated them. He pinched her chin gently and raised her face, her eyes glancing into his cold ones.

“Oh, my dear Little Birdy…” His Highness purred with tenderness. Her smoky eyes, similar to His were beautiful with a pair of shaky black pupils. Her cheeks were tinted with blush and her lips dark maroon. They looked pretty against her porcelain skin. Her soft hair brushed against her cheeks. “Exquisite, you, my love, are exquisite…” His eyes were dazed as He gapped, hypnotised by her.

His large, warm hands cupped her face. His thumb rubbed tiny circles on her cheeks. She was home to him. His heart cracked as He felt warm. He wanted her to see what leverage she held over Him. She had become His strongest strength and the weakest weakness within a few weeks.

“My pretty, pretty Birdy…” He whispered. “The mere idea of you fills me with the desperate need to touch you, ravage you, eat you out in front of everyone just to claim you as mine and then fucking kill them all for seeing you,” He hummed, His hands lowering on her neck.

She was frozen under his warm touch. Unwantingly, her heart started to beat faster and her body flushed with heat. There was a throbbing in her ears and between her thighs. She hated that He was unresistible. But she kept herself at bay.

“Tell me, Little Birdy,” He purred. “Do you like the gown I got for your pretty body?”

She bit her lip, to keep her scared whimper in and nodded her head, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. Her pulse was throbbing against His palm.

“Words,” He bellowed.

“Yes, Your Highness,” she whimpered. “I- I like the gown that you got for me,” she barely said.

He hummed with joy. “As you should! Have you even seen yourself tonight?”

“No, Your Highness,” she shook her head. Looking at herself was the last thing she had in her mind when she was going to get married to her doom in just six nights.

His big hands enveloped her small one in His and took her to the wall that was decorated with gold, and glass. She followed Him with her head lowered. Upon reaching, He made her stand in front of Him and raised her head with his two fingers under her chin.

She slowly opened her eyes and glanced at the glass between the clean gold plates. A gasp left her mouth upon seeing herself in the glass piece. It was as if she was looking into the eyes of some elite lady who was seasoned to be a Queen by birth.

Coronis couldn’t believe what she was looking at. The reflection in the glass was- was resplendent; so sublime.

She never thought she could be so charming ever. Her natural beauty was breathtaking already and with the right care and proper feed, she was splendid. She hasn’t seen herself in a reflection in a long time. Even the fountain in the gardens was dried up, with not a drop of water.

Her mouth remained ajar. She felt a spark of confidence coursing through her veins. Her body shook not with fear but with the suffocation of the feeling that she had never seen herself like this before. All this time everyone told her that she was fabulous. Nori once told her that once she (Coronis) would see for what she truly was, then she would realise what power she held over the minds.

Coronis’s beauty was hypnotic. It was a means of manipulation and she never realized it.

“Look at yourself and tell me you see the most enchanting woman in this world,” He lowered his face to her ear and whispered. “Tell me you see what I am seeing.” He nuzzled his nose in her silky hair, sniffing her sweet scent. “Tell me what you see, my Little Birdy…”

Her mind was running fast, not registering what was happening. But she nodded, “I see… myself,” she muttered to Him. “I see myself. I look— I look good…”

His Highness chuckled, His warm breath hitting her ear. “Just good, My love? I say you are not even real,” He straightened up and held her by her shoulders. “I see everything. I know everything. Nothing goes past me,” He began. “Your pretty face screams your inferiority but you do not realise that you are superior to all these jesters here. You do not realize your worth. It is not only the beauty of yours but your little nature of being,” He rested his chin on top of her head and whispered, “You are more than what you see yourself for, Coro…”

The way He called her name sent a shiver down her spine. But it also scared her how much He was correct. All this time she considered herself as a lowlife but they were truly beneath her feet. She was better than any of them combined.

“Do you know what power you possess?” she shook her head no as He chuckled, “You will soon find out. You are more than what you let yourself take praise for. You, my Little Birdy, are more than what you realize…” He moved back a bit, giving her a space. “Now I enjoin you to turn around and walk right before me with your pretty head held high up. Be the Queen you deserve to be. Show them your authority. Do not bow down in front of any of them. They are beneath you… if not because of me then let it be because of your kindness and love. You have something they don’t– love and kindness… and the power!”

Coronis looked at the glass. There was a new fire burning in her eyes against all present there. At that moment, what His Highness was expressing was getting into her head, rightfully so. She looked at both of them standing. She noticed how they were dressed similarly. Smoky eyes, black and maroon attire, the burning eyes with superiority. The only thing she was missing was her crown.

She felt as if she was above them all but He was still above her. She could see it in the way His menacing eyes were gleaming in the burnt yellow glow of the mashals and candles. But He wanted her to hold more than them but a bit less than what He had.

“Didn't you hear, Little Birdy? Turn around and show these lowlives what you are,” He pressed.

Taking in a deep breath, Coronis straightened up. She raised her chin and broadened her body. “Now you will command them and start the feist. Make them pay respect to you the way they pay me. You have gained more control than them.”

With a nod, she turned around towards the crowd where they were still in a bow. Not a single tsk was heard. If a pin dropped, it could be heard. The orchestra was paused too as they bowed. Everything was paused, waiting for a command so that they could finally become the beasts and get drunk and tear through the roasted pigs.

His Highness looked from where they were standing. Jimin who was asked to accompany His Highness bowed down as the Queen-to-be passed him, with her giving him a tiny nod. She walked with her newfound spirit, her head held higher than the sky. Her hips moved swiftly with each step. Her demeanour made His Highness want to devour her right away. She was the only woman who made Him wait and crazy. He was not mad. He loved what she brought with her.

From the nearby tray, she picked up the goblet filled with red wine and climbed the stairs of the podium.

She glanced at Him once more before she began in a loud, confident voice, “I will become your Queen in less than six nights. You shall respect me like so,” she spat. “One more word uttered in disrespect of me will be your nightmare. This feist is for me and I will fucking rule over you. You will bow down to me, and beg for my mercy every day. My command shall be your duty from now on. If I say the day is night, then the day is night! Am I clear?!” she was a whole new being on the podium.

The people looked up with wide eyes at her. They frantically looked between her and His Highness. But He just smirked and stood pridefully.

That night, she didn’t only become their Queen but His pride as well.

“I said, AM I CLEAR?” she roared.

The people snapped out of their shock and complied.

“LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!”

…

The night was long. But still not enough to stop the storm inside His Highness.

He was still wide awake. It was closer to the morning, and raining and yet He was still cooped in His bochord. His cloak was gone, the crown was resting in its place, and the blouse was undone but draped over His broad shoulders. The adrenaline of the feist died down as soon as His Little Birdy was escorted back to her chambers.

After a few glasses of the wine she let herself feel breezy. Her cheeks were twice as red. She was magnetic. He made sure that she was by His side. Not behind but right next to Him. He wanted them to see how He saw her. She was braver than most of his ministers and officials. The way she demanded respect made His heart swell.

His Highness never wanted to marry anyone. He never wanted any woman to be important to him after Her but Coronis was… she was…

There was no word yet discovered for what she was.

His Highness was reading a book that She used to read. There were many lines that She had drawn under the words which She thought were moving. It was an epic. Like any other epic, they were fighting over a girl. They were killing and killing, only for one girl.

But there was more to it. In the book, the hero was a typical heroic man. He saved the girl and gave her a beautiful life away from the eyes of the hateful world. However, the villain was left alone, deprived of any love and care.

Not long after, the girl left the hero and ran away with someone else. It wasn’t the hero or the villain. The girl just couldn’t live with a man who was more worried about who was looking at her than the relationship they had built. She had left everything behind for the hero but the hero was fixated on the fact that someone else might take her.

The girl didn’t like it, she felt as if she was just living there with a strange man and then she left with a man who loved her and wasn’t fixated on the idea of having her but was truly in love with her and not like a price but luck.

His Highness always found this book to be fascinating. He never truly understood it but knew why She read it all the time. She was, just like the girl in the book, suffocated in the ordeal.

The train of His thoughts halted as a faint piano started to hum through the door of the bochord. He frowned and got up from His seat. Opening the door, He followed the sound of the music. He walked down the corridor towards the open space on His floor where the piano was.

As He rounded the pillar, He saw Coronis’s dark hair glowing under the candles. She was hunched over the piano while sitting on the stool and playing a sullen tune. Something in His heart stirred. The piano and the rain made His throat fill up to the brim. Her fingers danced across the keys as the sadness poured out of the big instrument.

Closing His eyes, He leaned His back against the pillar and let Himself get drowned in the tunes of His beloved.

With each passing moment, the grief through the tunes grew stronger and stronger. They forced the rain outside to match the thunder of her feelings. The ruthless winds grew stronger as if they were in grief with the Queen. The windows shuddered and banged under their pressure and the lightning bolted. But nothing stopped Coronis. She let herself go through the music.

His Highness opened His eyes to look at her. She was still unaware of his presence. He now noticed a crow sitting on the piano, looking intensely towards Him. it was as if that thing was trying to protect Coronis.

His Highness just kept peering at them in silence.

Her tunes slowed down as her shoulders shivered. The cold wind from the storm made her locks wave around her, gracefully. He could now see the wetness down her soft cheeks.

Finally moving from where He was standing, He gently touched her shoulders and rubbed her arms to give her some warmth from His palms. Coronis froze under His touch.

“Don’t stop, my Little Birdy,” He whispered. “Keep dancing your fingers across the keys, my Love.”

She obediently followed His words and resumed her tunes. The warmth of His palms warmed her. His presence was heavy behind her. His figure was towering over her, looking intently at the way she was playing the piano.

“I feel like you will be the reason for my death,” He muttered in her ear. “I am incapable of feeling but you, my Little Birdy, make me feel more than I can ever imagine.”

Coronis didn’t say anything but kept playing the keys. Her heart was heavy and needed to let it out. The confidence wore her down like a curse. She realized she could win over anybody but not Him. He was still her captor. She was still away from her family and Nori.

While she was here being gifted lavish gowns and being fed delicious foods, they were back at the shack. They were still fighting day and night for everything. Circe must have been a mess.

Coronis wanted to shut her mind now. It was too much guilt to carry for her. She let herself focus on the notes and played the piano.

“I am aware of the fact that you are not fond of me,” His Highness said. “But I will make you love me soon,” he kissed the top of her head. Her tears slipped down her cheeks far more furiously as a painful sob pulled out of her chest.

Coro was by the window of her shack by the moment Coronis returned from the feast. Coronis quickly opened the window after Ana left her alone after helping her change into her white nightgown.

The crow flew in and landed in her extended arm. “Coro, what are you doing here,” she whispered, feeling too many things at once as she saw him after so long. Only Coro could visit her like this. “Oh, what is this?” she questioned as she saw something stuck on his feathery back.

Letting the crow rest on the table, she removed the bag from his back and opened it. She gasped as she saw a tiny book inside it. She pulled it out and with it, a tiny ink pot with a feather was there.

Turning the the book open she saw the first page written in her father’s handwriting. Her eyes filled with tears as she traced the letters with her shaky fingers and started to read–

‘My beautiful girl, Coronis. It is your father. Upon returning, I couldn’t take the fact that you were gone. Everyone is devastated. The home doesn’t feel like home anymore. I do not think getting you married would have worked for any of us either. We can’t live without you. No one has smiled since you have left. No one wants to talk either.

I get it now why your mother was always so attached to you. You are different, Coro. No wonder why His Highness took you for himself. We were made aware today by the guard that you were getting married to His Highness in six nights.

We don’t know how we feel but you will become the Queen. We can only hope that you are being treated like one. My princess deserved good things but fell into this. I am sending you this notebook so you can write down what you can’t say out loud to anyone. Hide it smartly, yeah?

It will be alright, okay? Do not fear anyone. You are stronger than them. And do not worry about any of us. We are fine and getting by. Onyx was missing you so was Martha. Circe has been a good girl. She hasn’t created any trouble since you left. She said she made a promise to you to be a good girl for you. She is being a good girl, she wanted me to let you know.

If you can, write back to us… tell us how you are, okay?

Much love, princess.’

That event left her vulnerable and sensitive. She turned to the piano that was here. If only she could go and meet her parents once.

“Little Birdy?” she was snapped back by the raspy voice of the King. “have you heard about the legends regarding the one and only in this world?”

“No…” she whispered.

“You should,” He hummed against her cheek. His warm lips brushed against her cheek ever so lightly yet making her flinch away.

intrigued by the great legends of this realm, she asked, “W-what does it say?” she whimpered when He tightened the hold on her arms and let go.

Without waiting He turned around and unhurriedly stepped away. She kept glancing at Him. He was intimidating as He was walking away. His long hair brushed against His hips and flew with the wind around Him. before disappearing in the corridor, He halted and turned His face slightly so could only see His law and cheek. He inhaled and finally spoke–

“The lone will birth, carry the black of the vault. The ember will come back to life. The omen will attune. The lone would behold and no one shall rebel…”

…..

Sanaa's note:

The behaviour of all the characters is visualized.

Taglist:

@veneziamadness @cheline @sansmilkbread @jayb17 @constantlydelulusional @8tinytings @tea4sykes @chimmisbae @demonshauntingthedoves

@darkuni63 @mageprincess7 @whipwhoops @ackercute @ane102 @kimseokjinsmirror1233 @unhingedgf @jungkooks21 @namjoonscrabjuice @yluv-damara-13 @jksgirlhere @lavenderymoons @passionandsuga @posionapple24 @blueberry711 @shawtylilsalty @gukiebaby @vantelover07 @douknowbts @andioppsworld @xicanacorpse @ttanniett @koohrs @crazy-eight17 @jesshujk @sadxaries @fantasticwarl @catlove83 @iveivory @lippynabiii @igotnojamsz @deadgolgibody @jjk174 @captainengineer-trixie @shakespeare-in-the-park7 @kosmosjkookie @junecat18 @missmunchkin @kookies-n-spice

[jooheonspinky]

From the Ashes 2

Characters: Jungkook x Female reader

Genre: Fantasy!au, angst

Synopsis: I am ready to confess my feelings to Jungkook, but his older brother, a wizard, has other plans. Plans with devastating consequences that I could never have prepared for.

Warnings: various mentions of fire

A/N: This story came about from a dream I had. Actually, two dreams I had last month. You can read them before the story if you'd like. I did have to change a lot in order for it to make a little more sense.

Dream Log 56

Dream Log 57

•• ━━━━━ ••🔥•• ━━━━━ ••

Part 2

Word Count: 2.5K

My nose crinkles, a quiet huff slipping past my lips in agitation. Curling up tighter into myself, I snuggle deeper into the pillow. Waking up was the last thing I wanted to do, but a peculiar scent was drawing me out of the depths of my grief-stricken slumber. Reluctantly, I open my eyes. 

The room has considerably warmed since Merrick left. I pull the covers off of me and sit up, glancing around the room. All appears as it should be. Nothing is out of place, as far as I can tell. Though the fire has died down some, it glows red-orange in the hearth while the shoe box is still sitting in the center of my table.

I stand, gasping as I clutch at my chest. A thin wisp of grey smoke is drifting up from the newspaper. Did a coal from the fire somehow project out into the shoe box? Was the box perhaps too close to the fireplace and overheated while I slept? Whatever the reason, I need to douse the fire that is trying to catch before there is nothing left of Jung-

The newspaper ignites! 

Brilliant golden-yellow sparkles illuminate the room as if pyrotechnics have been set off. Wincing, I shield my eyes until the bright light extinguishes on its own. Panic fills me even as I try to tell myself that there was nothing I could have done. It happened so suddenly. But what was I going to say to the Dean? How could I face his parents now?

I blink several times, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dimness that now permeates the room. A frown creases my brow as I shift my attention to the table. There was something there: something that should not be, something that defied all logic.

“Jungkook?”

I can’t keep the quiver from my voice as the realization hits. Jungkook’s naked form is curled up in the fetal position on the very spot where the box of ashes had been. His skin is pale and glistening, his hair soaked and plastered to his scalp and forehead.

“Jungkook?” I call again as I approach on hesitant steps. 

I wonder if I imagine his toes twitch when he suddenly lets out a soft groan. He’s alive! How can this even be? I rush around to face him and watch as his eyes flutter open. Though his head shifts to look at me, his eyes roam around as if struggling to focus.

“Hurts,” he murmurs before his eyes close again.

“What does?”

“Everything.”

“I can’t imagine,” I say softly. I reach out to brush the hair from his forehead and find he’s feverishly warm. There is a clear, viscous substance that I can’t even pretend to know what it is that covers his entire body. “You can’t stay on this table, Jungkook. You can fall and hurt yourself. We really should get you in the shower. I have no clue what this stuff on you is.”

“Mmm,” comes his reply.

“Ok, up you go.”

Jungkook lets me pull him up, my grip tight on his biceps for fear that he would slip right out of my hands. His feet dangle over the edge, and I move the chair to make it less hazardous for him.

“Too hot,” he tells me, his voice husky. 

“Yes, you are,” I agree. “Hopefully, the shower will help. We’re almost there.”

“Everything’s blurry,” he swallows thickly. “What’s wrong with me?”

My heart rate quickens and my hands grow slick with perspiration. Does he really not remember? 

“Let’s take things one at a time, yeah?” I opt for a vague reply.

“Yeah,” he sighs, his brows drawing down.

I make a conscious effort to avert my gaze from his exposed form as he leans into me because the moment my mind truly realizes that Jungkook is in my room naked would be the moment my cheeks warm with the unmistakable flush of a schoolgirl's embarrassment.  Instead, I channel my focus into helping him through this traumatic situation—a scenario no one could possibly have foreseen or prepared for.

Once we’re in the bathroom, I get the water running to tepid before allowing him to step in. As his feet touch the lukewarm water, he sighs in relief. I help him sit in the tub, his long, muscled legs bending to accommodate their length. As the tub begins to fill, a hint of steam rises from his body, and I’m bewildered, not just at the phenomenon but all that has happened. Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would never believe it.

“Is it too cold?” I ask.

“No. No, it feels really good.”

“I’ll be right back.”

In the dimly lit hallway, I patter over to the laundry room's lost and found bin, sifting through its contents until I lay my hands on a pair of sweatpants and basketball shorts, accompanied by a tank top and a hoody that I hope will fit. Even though Jungkook radiates heat now, I’m uncertain how the bath will affect his temperature. These findings promptly go into a speedy wash cycle, and I set a reminder alarm on my phone so as not to forget them.

Back in my room and now armed with a cup from my cabinet, I return to the bathroom. Gently, I pour water over Jungkook's head, massaging in the body wash and patiently working out the slimy residue. The rest of his body receives a thorough yet gentle scrub with a washcloth, which I then hand over to him to handle his private areas. Once I'm satisfied he's clean enough, I begin to drain the water while simultaneously turning on the showerhead to ensure all remnants of the slick fluid and body wash are thoroughly rinsed away.

Goosebumps spread across his flesh as I towel him dry. I’m as delicate as I can be as I pat the cloth over his skin, unsure if it’s sensitive after his… resurrection? I’m not even sure what to call it, but I treat him like a newborn baby experiencing sensations for the first time, just in case. My alarm rings in the room, and I hand him the towel.

“Here, you finish up, but be careful. I’ll be right back.”

I stop the alarm and rush out to the laundry room to move the wet clothes to the dryer. Once back in the room, I set another alarm. I find Jungkook swaying slightly on the bathroom mat as he shivers, the towel tied precariously at his hips. The bath water must have cooled him off too much.

“Cold,” he chatters, confirming my suspicions, and I offer him an apologetic smile.

“Let’s get you tucked in under the covers. I found you some clothes, but it will be a little bit before they are dry. Come on.”

I guide him to my bed and allow him a little privacy as he discards the towel and slides beneath the thick comforter. I busy myself bringing the dying fire back to life, hoping the warmth would quickly fill the room to regulate Jungkook’s temperature. I then move on to spraying down the table and chair, cleaning off any remnants left behind from the substance that had coated him, as well as the bits of ash from the incinerated shoe box and newspaper.

I frown at the black and umber scorch marks streaked across the wooden table. That’s going to require a bit more attention. Attention I’m not willing to give it right now. Sighing, I leave the items in the sink to be washed or put away later. I look over to find Jungkook’s eyes have been following me as I move about the room.

“Can you see now?” I ask as I approach the bed with a smile.

“It’s getting clearer, but still a little fuzzy.”

I hum, adding, “That’s good. I think that means your eyesight will be back to normal soon.” 

He nods. “I think so, too.”

“Is there anything I can get you?”

“Water?”

“Yeah, sure. I can imagine coming back from the dead can be a bit dehydrating.”

Jungkook smirks sleepily at me as he sits up. I bring him back a bottle of water, and he chugs the entire thing down without taking a breath.

“Well damn.” I hand him another, but this one he drinks more slowly. The alarm startles me, and I laugh. “Your clothes. I’ll be right back.”

One last time, I head out into the empty hall to the laundry room. As I hug the warm clothes to me, I’m shocked to see the clock reading 3:05 in the morning. A ton had happened in such a short amount of time. Soon, the sun would rise, and we’d have to explain to the Dean and his parents that Jungkook hadn’t died after all.

I better leave the Dean a message.

Locking the door behind me, I set the clothes on the bed.

“Pick what you want to wear. I need to call the Dean,” I inform Jungkook. Giving him my back, I call the Dean’s office, reaching his voicemail as expected. “Hello, Dean. This is Y/N Y/LN. Before you speak with Jungkook’s parents, I need you to call me. This is very, very important.”

I also make sure to leave a message on his secretary's line as a precaution. Taking my phone off of 'Do Not Disturb' mode, I place it on the bedside table. When I turn around, I see Jungkook donned in cargo-style sweatpants and a grey hoody. The clothing, despite his well-defined physique, is extremely baggy on him, giving an air of vulnerability and childlike innocence to his appearance.

“My parents are going to freak out,” Jungkook nibbles his bottom lip anxiously.

“They are, but in a good way,” I assure him as I urge him back into bed. “You’re alive. That’s all that’s going to matter to them.”

“You’re right.”

“Get some rest,” I smile down at him. “You’re going to need your strength to get you through everything.”

I turn to walk away, but Jungkook’s hand shoots out to grab my wrist, halting me in place.

“Where are you going?” he queries, and his tone holds a hint of panic.

I pat his hand. “There’s a futon on the other side of the room,” I point out. “I’ll sleep there.”

“No,” he pleads, gently tugging me closer. “Please stay here. I…” he pauses as if searching for the right words to say. “Everything that happened is still hazy, and there’s this anxious feeling in my stomach. I can’t be by myself right now.”

I stare down into his doe-like eyes and how he nibbles his bottom lip, lending truth to his words. He needs comfort and reassurance that all is going to be okay, despite the severity of what has occurred. How could I deny him that?

“Ok,” I relent.

If anyone would have told me I would see my crush naked and that I would be lying in bed with him as well, I would have cackled at the absurdity of it. Jungkook and I had been good friends for some time now. Both of us being in our first year, we had many of the same courses and spent a substantial amount of time studying together, whether in the library tower on campus or at the nearby twenty-four hour diner, where we ate fries with strawberry banana milkshakes as we went over our notes. But it was never anything more than that. Last night was supposed to be the day I finally changed all that.

He pulls back the comforter to allow me to slide in. My full-size bed was definitely not made for two people, so we lay on our sides facing each other. I take note that he’s starting to get his color back.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and I smile. A few moments pass before he breaks the silence. “I don’t remember much, but I do remember you wanting to meet up before the dance. Was there something you needed?”

Of course he’d remember that. My lips tighten into a thin line as I fight the urge to smile. 

“Right,” I squeeze my eyes shut briefly. “It’s not important right now. Once everything settles down, then we’ll talk.”

“But everything is calm now,” he remarks.

I shake my head, “Sorry, it’s really not the right time anymore.” He frowns but doesn’t push further. Wanting to change the subject, I wonder aloud, “So, is this what it’s like to come into your power? I’m just a human, so I have no idea what it’s like.”

He toys with his lips as he ponders the question, “Honestly, up until now, I thought I was just human, too. It wasn’t like this for my brother; I was there when he discovered he had powers. I guess it’s different for everyone. I’m really not even sure what I am and what powers I’ve actually been given, if any.”

“The Dean will help you with that,” I point out, a yawn tugging from me on the last word.

Jungkook chuckles, “Let’s go to sleep.”

“Mhm,” I murmur affirmatively, the warmth from his body, the covers, and the fire drawing me down into sleepy land.

I faintly hear him whisper ‘sweet dreams’ before darkness claims me.

•• ━━━━━ ••🔥•• ━━━━━ ••

Music wiggles its way into my dreams, trying to coax me fully awake. My disgruntled hmphs and whines are mixed in with a more masculine one, and my eyes open immediately. 

What is happening?!

My head is lying on Jungkook’s chest, my hand casually on his abdomen. His arm cradles my shoulders while the other hand rests loosely on the arm that’s on his torso. My bare thigh is sandwiched between his legs, my nightgown having risen up high up around my hips, and this all seems way too intimate that my cheeks begin to burn.

I sense the exact moment he realizes I'm awake, his heart rate quickening beneath my ear. With an awkward throat clearing, I gently disengage myself from him. As I rise to my feet, I swiftly snatch up my phone and activate the speaker.

“Good morning, Dean,” I greet with as calm a voice as I can muster.

“Y/N,” the Dean’s voice is sympathetic as he says my name. “I received your message. What is so urgent?”

“Hello, Dean,” Jungkook calls from beside me.

There is just a moment’s pause before the Dean’s stunned voice hesitantly asks, “Jungkook?”

“That’s right,” he replies.

“Jeon Jungkook?” the Dean questions again.

“I know,” Jungkook chuckles. “I can hardly believe it myself.”

“I need you to come to my office immediately,” he orders, flustered at the miracle. “And you need to be as discreet as possible.”

“Yes, Dean.”

“And come alone!” the Dean insists.

Jungkook’s eyes meet mine as he replies, “Ok. I will be.”

With that, he hangs up.

“It’s ok,” I assure him. “I need more sleep anyway.”

He stands, taking my hand in his. He brushes a kiss onto the knuckles. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Of course,” I scoff, my cheeks burning scarlet. “You don’t even need to say thank you.”

“But I do,” he insists.

“You’re welcome, then,” I offer a small smile. “By the door, there are a pair of slides. Go ahead and take those.”

“You’re the best. I won’t ever forget what you’ve done for me.”

With that, he steps into the black slides. Jungkook gives me a small wave before exiting the room.

•• ━━━━━ ••🔥•• ━━━━━ ••

I hope you enjoyed Part 2. Please look forward to Part 2. Coming soon. Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think.

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3

•• ━━━━━ ••🔥•• ━━━━━ ••

Moodboard by me

Image credits

Smoke

Fire

Jungkook 1 and 2

Flame in hand

Fire and Sparks

[peoniesnro]

In Another Universe

#14. The Beginning of the END

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/ Angst / INFIDELITY /SMUT- Making out/ Oral (F. and M. recieving) (Rough and soft)/ Dirty Talk/ Grinding/ Sex against a window/ Jealousy Fucks/ Mastrubating (F.)/ Rough sex / Unporected sex/ Pussy slpas/ Cumming inside/ Impregnation Kink!!!!!/ Safe words/ Edging/ Multiple orgasms (F.)/Overstimulation/ Spit play/ Jimin is jealous af/ Jimin is rough

Word count- 23K (I'm sorry. So so so sorry)

a/n- Some anonnie asked me how many more chapters there on the series and unfortunately I lost the ask. So, anon if you're seeing this, it's probably 20 plus the epilogue. We are slowly nearing the end now. I'm sad... (Anyway... like always thank you for reading babies, luv u ❤️)

Taglist?

Chapter Index

Previous - Next

You walk through the busy sidewalk in silence. Your arm is hooked with Key’s. She’s been rambling about something that doesn’t quite reach your ears. You’re not paying attention to whatever she’s saying at all. Instead, your mind is racing with your latest discovery. It’s absurd how long it took you to realize something that has been happening for so long. It doesn’t make it less scary, however. 

It’s scary. Falling for Park Jimin. Scary as hell. For so many reasons. He’s in a relationship. He’s from a different world. You’ve not meant to be together at all. And above everything, he probably doesn’t like you at all.

And your greed, little thing, is about to consume you whole!

Yes, that’s exactly what’s about to happen now. You’ve been too greedy for something you couldn’t have and now you’re stuck in this no win situation. What are you ever going to do? A frustrated groan strangles in your throat. You need someone’s advice on this. Someone who isn’t Jungkook. Because Jungkook has been giving you the cold shoulder ever since the day at the restaurant. Since the moment you returned to the kitchen after talking with Jimin. You don’t know what’s wrong but it just adds more and more frustration to your stressed out mind. 

It’s been more than a week since your talk with Jimin. He has promised you that he’ll explain everything to you. Yet until this very moment, he hasn’t brought up the topic at all. Frustrating. You’re getting mad at him.  Not that you met him, true. It’s just text messages. Nothing crazy. Just mundane things. Asking about how each other’s days went or just gentle reminders to drink water. Yet he hasn’t asked to meet you or anything.

You feel neglected. Feel as if he has given you a fake promise. As if he has tricked you into something while bribing you with candy. It certainly feels like he’s avoiding talking about it on purpose. Then there is the fact that you like him. You no longer can deny it. And it hurts even more to think Jimin might not hold on to his promises. See, everything frustrates you. Hurts you. To add in to everything, there’s a teeny tiny part of you that is mad at him because he hasn’t made any efforts to at least meet you. Not just to hear his explanation. But to see him. Just see him. You miss him. 

Now since you don’t work at RUN, you don’t get to see him every other day. Another reason to be frustrated. Then there’s Jimin. Just going on with his life. Considering how desperately he seeked an opportunity to talk with you, this clearly looks odd to you. That leaves you with one conclusion. He’s purposefully avoiding you just to avoid the talk. Despite his words he doesn’t wish to actually tell you the truth. Right? That has to be it. Or you think so. Maybe that’s not the case at all. Maybe he’s just busy. 

You feel an overwhelming urge to pull from your hair. This is why you need someone else’s opinion. It would have been so nice if you could have talked about this with Jungkook. Someone who knows everything about you, inside out. Unfortunately, he’s going through PMS. He’s not available. And the only other option is your best friend. But she doesn’t know everything about you. Doesn’t know about your bitchy side to be specific. Maybe it’s time you should tell her. She’d call you out. Yell at you. Maybe even hit you. Yet in the end, she’s just like Jungkook. Will never leave your side. And in the end, you can have that advice you seek. 

You eye your best friend nervously. Without you realizing she has stopped rumbling. Her eyes are fixed ahead. Looks like she’s lost in her own thoughts as well. 

Should you tell her?

Wouldn’t you be able to solve everything on your own? But then, you know that this problem isn’t going to solve that easily. Sooner or later you would want her help yet again. And when that moment comes, she’d be more furious to know that you’d hidden something from her. 

You should tell her.

You stop abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk. Pulling Key into a stop with you. She frowns at you for a minute before her expression turns into something unreadable. If you didn’t know better, you’d say she looks almost nervous. She doesn’t have a reason to be nervous. You’re the one who’s nervous here. You drag in a deep breath to build the courage you need for this. 

“I have to tell you something.” You both blurt out at the same time. 

Oh.

You shut your mouth. It takes you a split second to register that she needs to tell you something as well. “You go ahead first.” You gesture at her, feeling a bit relieved that you can bide your time for a bit. Key shakes her head, however. “No,no, it’s fine, you can go ahead first.” She chuckles nervously. You give her a look. What is this? Why are you two acting like these polite strangers? It makes you feel weird. It seems like Key thinks so too. She heaves a heavy sigh. 

“Okay, fuck.” Mumbles. Looks briefly at you before averting her eyes to the road. Now it’s your time to frown. Why’s she so nervous?

“What is it?” You ask hesitantly. Another sigh from Key. A chuckle and you’re getting antsy. 

“It’s nothing really…uh.. I don’t know how to tell you this but-”

“Oh my god, what the fuck Key? What is it?” You almost yell. A passerby throws you an odd look. You bow to him slightly in apology. 

“Okay, okay, no need to fucking yell,” Key pouts. You wait patiently till she continues. “It’s about Chan actually, he uh.. He- the other day, actually he-” You narrow your eyes as Key starts to stutter horribly. You think you’re getting a hunch as to where this is going. Of course, you know. Corners of your mouth start to twitch, struggling to perform a smile. You find Key to be adorable right now. 

“He asked you out, didn't he?” You save her from the trouble. She immediately closes her mouth. Eyes wide and gaping at you like you’ve told the most unbelievable shit in the world. A throaty laugh escapes you. “What?” You question while raising one of your eyebrows. 

“H-how do you kn-know that?” She whispers. And your smile drops. Replace with guilt. You knew all along but you never told her because you were selfish. You nibble on your bottom lip for a minute before finding your words.  

“He told me.” You admit. Feeling bitter. Key gasps.

“When?” Her eyes widened even more. You shrug, trying to act as if this is nothing. “Eh…. the day I confessed- I mean the day I tried to do soー” Your sentence got interrupted when Key suddenly stepped forward. Grabs your shoulders.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” You watch as something akin to guilt slash across her wide eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head. Oh, you hate this. Key doesn’t have to feel guilty. She has done nothing wrong. You shrug her hands off you.

“It’s nothing Key. I mean I was hurt back then but I’m fine now. I’m way over it.” You wave a dismissive hand in front of your face. Change the topic as you opt into an excited mood. “So, tell me? What did you tell him?” You smile giddily. Key, however, doesn’t share your enthusiasm. She gasps again. Scandalous. Now looks at you like you’ve grown two heads.

“Of course, I said no woman. I won’t do that to you.” She scoffs in disbelief. “How could I? I mean why would you ever think that I would do something like that to you.” Key appears as if you’ve betrayed her. You sigh exasperatedly. 

“Yah!!” Give her a serious look. “I’m seriously over it dude, I’m telling you. Trust me I don’t have an ounce of feelings toward him now.” And you’re telling the truth. A you from a few months ago would have bleed right at the spot to hear what Key just told you. But now, you don’t feel anything except the giddy feeling of knowing the dirty deets of your best friend's life. It has a lot to do with your new life. You’re no longer pinning over your boss. No. Instead now you’re pinning over a rich CEO, who has a far better girlfriend than you. If Chan’s situation hurts you, this is about to kill you. But besides Jimin, you think you’ve developed a teeny bit. You can understand that Chan doesn’t like you. And that did hurt but now you’re fine. 

“How come?” Key scowls deeply. “Your feelings just evaporated. Just like that?” Throws a skeptical glance at you. Maybe this is your time to tell her your secret. But something she said suddenly piques your interest.

“Yes it did, but wait-” You tilt your head to the sight. Feel amused. “Did you say that, you said no to him because of me? Not because you don’t like him?” You’re not asking out of spite. Just genuinely curious. And the prospect she actually likes Chan makes you happy. Not bitter. Key pales. 

“I mean yeah, that also. I don’-”

“Key.”

“Yes.”

“Hey,” It’s your time to grab her shoulders. She avoids your eyes as she turns her head down. “Do you like him?” You ask softly. No answer. “Listen, I know he really likes you. And if you really like him-” You tilt your head to look at her eyes. Fail. “if you really like him-” So, you continue. “You should give it a chance.” You finish when she finally looks at you. Already shaking her head. 

“No. Fuck no. I will never ever do that to you. What kind of friend-”

“I like someone else.” You blurt out. Interrupting her ramble. It works. Key shuts her mouth as if you’ve just slapped her. 

“Huh?”

“I like someone else, Key. I don’t like Chan anymore.” Just like that the entire conversation takes a 180- degree. You’re not the one who’s asking questions anymore. You’re being interrogated in the middle of a sidewalk. Key bombards you with so many questions at once that you barely catch a single one of them. She starts from ‘who’ and ends with cursing you for not letting her know earlier. You on the other hand don’t answer any of her questions. She doesn’t let you. “Will you calm down?” You mutter lastly. Key hisses at you.

“No.. I will not calm down. Not until you tell me who this mystery man is.”

“Well, that's what I'm trying to do but you’re not letting me.” You complain. 

“Okay, so, tell me who he is? Do I know him? Is he from the communication class? Is he from our college or did you meet him online?” Key looks genuinely excited. Just like how you looked a minute ago. You feel a pang in your chest. She’s not going to like what you’re about to tell her. You shake your head. “No?” She asks. Takes a minute. Her face falls as you watch the realization hit her. “He’s not from here.” It sounds like a statement not a question. Yet you nod anyway. Key curses aloud. “Dude. Fucking hell! That’s not good.” States the obvious. “You only have a year, man. How are you… oh, god- who is he? Jungkook? It makes sense that you’d fall for him. You live together. To be honest I was afraid of something like this ha-”

“It’s not Jungkook.” You interrupt her yet again. A silence falls between you two. Key doesn’t ask you who he is again. But you just casually reach for your bag. Fumble inside for a second before finding what you want. Your fingers tightly wrap around the picture as you hold it for Key. The polaroid you manage to get from Jimin the day of your little- not a date. It took you great effort. Lots of convincing. But you won in the end. That’s how you now hold the one where you’re frowning at Jimin when he’s just looking at you. Not just looking at you. No. You chose the specific photo just because of the way he’s looking at you. He looks at you like you’re his entire world. Like you’re his entire universe. Like he hasn’t seen something more beautiful before. Like he’s so whipped for you. Trapped with you and he doesn’t want to be freed. 

Of course, that can’t be the truth now. It’s just your stupid heart making things up. 

Key takes the polaroid from you. Slowly. Scans her eyes over the image. A beat passes. 

“Holy fuck! This is fucking worse.” Mumbles ever so slowly.

…………………………

Key wasn't helpful in giving you advice. Like you wanted her to be. Or maybe she was but simply didn’t say what you wanted to hear. What you wanted to hear was that you need to wait until Jimin reaches you. You wanted to hear that Jimin is just busy and not purposely avoiding you or anything. But what you heard was the complete opposite. She said that Jimin is an asshole, which is nothing new. And how you have to immediately get rid of your feelings. No matter what. Your attempt at reasoning with her didn’t work at all. That’s how you find yourself in the same situation the next day. Sitting at Jungkook’s couch. He’s getting ready to leave for classes. Is giving you the same silent treatment like always. It’s raining heavily outside but the gloom inside his apartment has nothing to do with that. 

You’ve tried several times to ask Jungkook what’s wrong but he’s been avoiding that successfully. He would just click his tongue. Would walk away. Would shrug or say simply ‘nothing’. Now, it’s getting unbearable. You feel suffocated. And you miss your Jungkook. The one who’s always positive. Joke around. Being clingy and annoying to you. You sigh desperately when he walks past you for the tenth time without even sparing you a second glance. He’s being stupid, really. It’s not like you’ve done anything to upset him. He needs to grow up and learn how to talk. If he’s not going to do that on his own, then you should.

“Kook.” You call him out just as he’s about to enter his room. He halts. Doesn’t turn around, however. You get to your feet. Take a couple steps forward. Wait for a second to see if he’d turn around. He still doesn’t. So, you decide to ask what you wanted to ask. “Okay, what’s happening? Why the hell are you ignoring me? What the fuck did I do?” You blurt out all the questions you wanted to ask from him. This time he just turns partially to look at you. You wait with a bated breath until he answers when he just shakes his head. Disappointment washes over you. 

“It’s nothing.” Jungkook mutters. Almost disappears inside his room when you shout at him. 

“It’s clearly not nothing!” You take another step. Jungkook stops again. 

“I told you it’s nothing. Really.” He says again. This time with a stern edge in his voice. As if he’s warning you to let it go. Well, the hell you would do that. This pisses you off. 

“Something’s been up with you for weeks Kook. Are you gonna keep that up? If you have a problem with me, you need to let me know.” You feel your frustration slowly turn into anger. You’ve been on the edge already. “C’mon, Jungkook, don’t fucking act like a stubborn mule and talk to me for fucks sake. What’s your problem?” You clearly expect him to not answer your question and walk away. Hence your surprise when he suddenly turns around like a flash. Even a surprised gasp leaves your mouth when he storms toward you. Closes the distance between you completely. 

“You want me to talk?” Questions. His jaw slack. You gulp harshly, clearly not expecting the sudden outburst. Still, you stay rooted in your place. Returning the glare he’s shooting at you. You hate fighting. You especially hate fighting with Jungkook. It’s not normal. But you need to know what the hell is going on inside his head. So, you give him a firm nod. 

“Yes, Jungkook. If you have a problem with me or anything else, you need to talk that shit out. Maybe I can help you.” You grumble. Jungkook lets out a bitter chuckle.

“Problem.” He mutters to himself. “You wanna know what my problem is?” Asks from you this time. You nod again. Glad that he’s finally about to talk. Yet what he says next leaves you even more confused. “You.” Jungkook shouts so loud that you visibly wince before a deep scowl adorns your face. You gape at him. Not understanding what he just said. 

You?

You’re his problem?

How and why? You open your mouth stupidly like a fish. Wanting to ask him what he meant but no words leave you. Too stunned to speak. Jungkook doesn’t wait for you to process that though. “You are my problem Noona.” He brings his face closer to you. “There you go. Now you know what my problem is. Happy?” Taunts. You feel an ache in your chest. Nothing too harsh. Not yet at least. You’re in too much of a shock to process it and feel pained. 

“J-Jungkook.” You finally manage to call him weakly. “Wh-what are you-”

“You wanted to know. So, I told you. You. Are. My. Problem.” Jungkook repeats through clenched teeth. And that ache finally deepens. Your shock subsiding and a deep pain replacing it. As if Jungkook has just stabbed you right across your chest. Of course, it hurts. Jungkook is someone who you have grown to adore. He’s basically a part of your life. It hurts like a bitch when he treats you like this. Especially when you have no idea what’s the reason. 

“Why? What did I do?” You question meekly. Your voice is barely audible. Jungkook’s hard face softens at that immediately. He sighs heavily. 

“Gosh Noona, just fucking-” Groans. “You’re my problem because you’re a fucking idiot who keeps falling into Park fucking Jimin’s trap. You’re my problem because I no longer know how to protect you.” He doesn’t yell anymore. Voice soft and visibly pained.

Your frown deepens at his words. Your confusion easing as your anger gets back to you again. That’s his reason. Well, you never asked him to protect you. You're a grown woman who can manage things yourself. You know Jungkook cares deeply but this is just too much.

“Well, then don’t try to protect me.” 

“That’s the exact fucking problem here.” He raises his voice again. “ I don’t know how not to. I don’t know a way to sit back and watch you fuck up. All because of what? Why the hell can’t you just ask him to fuck off? Why on the earth would you always let him play with your life?” 

Well, a few weeks ago, you would’ve wondered as to why you’re doing it as well. Now though, you know the answer. But you’re not sure whether you should tell Jungkook that now. You try to come up with an answer when Jungkook doesn’t let you. 

“Why are you doing it,Noona? When he always fucks up. He left you alone for God’s sake. He let you get slapped in front of a fucking club. He followed his girlfriend and left you to manage your own shit and after all those things, you just let him fuck with you even more. I was the one who saw you crying like it was the end of the damn world. If that one time hurts like that, then do you have any idea how much it would hurt in the future.” Jungkook looks you dead in the eye. Everything he says is true. But you can’t help it. You just can’t. You feel your eyes prick with unshed tears. Your chin is starting to wobble. “Jimin is a fucking douchebag who doesn’t deserve a second in your life and you know that too. He treats you as a piece of trash and you let him in when he just follows you around and simply says sorry?” 

“Well, I can’t fucking help it.” You allow those unshed tears to roll down. Jungkook’s words cut you through like a sharp blade. Jimin doesn’t treat you like that. When you’re together Jimin treats you like you’re his sun and moon. But to others, you’re certain this is how your relationship must look like. You’re the piece of meat he uses and tosses away. And it hurts. You don’t want Jungkook pointing it out to you among everyone. Not him. He promised to be on your side no matter what. 

“Why the fuck not?” Jungkook’s loud voice booms across his living room. You almost take a step back before you catch yourself. Emotions overwhelm you so much that you can’t help but crack. 

“Because I like him!” You match his voice in sound. “I like him so damn much that I can’t help it.” A loud sob breaks through your throat. And that’s the only sound that fills the air as everything else falls into a deafening silence. Jungkook exhales a shaky breath. Takes a step back. You watch as a visible tremble goes through his entire body. You don’t know why he appears more hurt than surprised. His entire face turning dull. A stretched minute passes just like that. Jungkook is just gaping at you and you are just waiting for him to tell you something. Anything. But it’s just his pained eyes peering at you. Until he breaks it. 

“Okay. Fine… Thought you said it was just physical.” He mumbles. 

“Well, it was at f-”

“I don’t care, Li.”

What?

Jungkook turns around. You jump into action as you grab his arm. “J-Jungkook, where are you-” He yanks his arm away from your hold.

“Just let me be alone, will you please? I just don’t want to talk with you.”

That’s all he says before he disappears inside the bedroom. Door closing loudly behind him. You blankly stare at the now closed door. Not understanding why he’s so mad. But it doesn’t make it less hurt. It hurts so much.

Fuck your life.

You turn around as you wipe the tears away roughly using your hoodie sleeve. 

If he needs to be alone, then you’ll respect it. 

You simply walk toward the front door, not knowing what you should do.

………………………….

Jungkook thinks he’s about to explode. The urge to break something is overwhelming. If he could just  beat someone into a pulp that would help maybe. No, not anyone but that certain someone with blonde hair and a killer smile. The motherfucking oh so great CEO of RUN. Does Jungkook give a fuck about who Jimin is? Not at all. Not a single fuck. If he could find him right now, he’d make sure that Park Jimin never smiles that way again. That’s how much anger is brewing inside Jungkook. So much that his head pounds. Your words echoing inside his skull.

Because I like him!

I like him so damn much that I can’t help it.

A loud groan leaves Jungkook’s throat as he grabs the coffee mug on his table. It’s unfortunate how the mug has to pay the price when Jungkook hurls it across the room. But he needs to break something. He needs a way to release his pent up frustration. It feels satisfactory when the mug shatters into tiny pieces when it hits the wall. Only for a split second though. It’s clearly not enough. He can destroy this entire room if he wants to. Maybe then he’d feel satisfied. Or not. Either way Mrs. Kim won’t be happy to see the damage. Jungkook rubs his face frustratingly before dropping into his desk chair. 

He just needs to relax.

Deep breaths maybe. 

And fuck, breathing hurts. His chest hurts. He knows it’s not physical. But it certainly does feel physical. The squeeze in his heart. He absolutely doesn't want his anger to morph into pain. No. But that’s what is happening. It hurts so much. So damn much his sight is getting blurry with tears. There’s a lump forming in his throat. 

“Fuck!” Jungkook curses aloud. His cheap desk lamp faces the same fate as his mug when he sweeps it off the table. 

He can’t cry.

He doesn't want to cry.

Why does it even  hurt this way? It’s fucking ridiculous. It’s not like you and he have been in love or something. It’s just a stupid crush. And maybe, just maybe he knew this was coming all along. That you were starting to fall for that motherfucker. Of course, he knew. He saw that happen but he just decided to ignore it. Turn a blind eye just because he was too selfish to let go. He chose to believe your words for it. When you said you don’t like Jimin, Jungkook decided to just hang onto that hope. Who was he kidding? You were always too worried. Too heart broken. Too invested. Signs were always there. But he didn’t want to acknowledge them. 

Even now, when you had admitted it with your own mouth, Jungkook doesn’t want to believe it. To him it feels like Jimin has lured you into that. Like it’s not your fault but entirely Jimin’s. Jimin does not fucking deserve you. He puts you through so much pain probably because you’re a good fuck to him. Hell, Jimin probably doesn't like you. It pains Jungkook to think how you still want Jimin. 

Why the fuck does it have to be like this? Why can’t it be easy? 

Jungkook curls his fists into tight balls as the squeeze in his heart intensifies. 

This is the most pain he’s been in after his so- called ex broke up with him to follow her dreams. This is exactly why J and Namjoon were worried. Jungkook always gets too attached. Too smitten. And he always ends up being heart broken. Just like this. What’s most pathetic is how he never even had a chance. You don’t even know what’s happening. You must be so damn confused why he is so rude to you. You don’t know that he’s not just being a good friend. 

He cares about you. Of course, he does. He doesn’t want to see you hurt and crying. It hurts him too. But also, he wants you to want him too. How much of a beautiful dream it would be. But it’s too late now isn’t it? 

Funny, how he thought he’d actually have a chance. How he had thought you’d actually end things with Jimin. Oh, how he wanted to kill Jimin that day at the restaurant. He knew you had given yourself to Jimin yet again, the moment you came back inside the kitchen. Can you blame him for being mad? Ignoring you because it had hurt him? Waiting just to see if you’d put effort for him? You did, yes. But at what cost, though? Look at him now. 

Jungkook takes a deep breath. Blinking back the tears. There’s no reason to cry. It’s just a silly crush and it’d go away. He just liked you and you don’t like him in return. That’s how sometimes the world works and he needs to accept it. Now since you’ve told him yourself that you like Jimin, he should let you go. Maybe he’ll learn not to care too much and everything will be fine. He can be the friend you want him to be. Right?

Yes, of course. Everything’s going to be fine.

Jungkook averts his gaze to the window by the table. He has his curtains pulled aside but there’s no light coming through them. Outside is too gloomy. Harsh rain drops are beating against his window. Rain has swelled into a deafening cascade. 

Wait!

Jungkook perks up suddenly in alert. Glancing back at his closed bedroom door. He sure did hear the front door opening and closing. A warning alarm starts to ring inside his head. You left the apartment for sure. But where did you go? It’s fucking down pouring. Did you go to the restaurant? If you did then that’s fine but what if you- stupid stubborn brat- have gone outside. Jungkook stands up abruptly. Worry etching into his whole body. 

So much for learning how not to care too much. Will he ever be able to learn that? 

Will he?

Jungkook takes a minute. A minute to think you are in danger. Hurt. Physically or mentally. A shiver runs down his spine at the prospect. Your pained face flashes across his mind. The way you had looked at him when he called you Li. The way you called after him and your vain attempt to stop him. The hurt in your eyes. Fuck! He hurt you. And above all the fucked up emotions he’s feeling, guilt roars. 

He hurt you. 

Jungkook stumbles toward the door in a rush. Not even knowing where he’s going as he storms out of the apartment. 

……………………..

A breath of relief escapes Jungkook’s lips just as he enters the back alley of Kim's restaurant and his eyes fall upon your curled figure on an empty beer crate. A cigarette between your fingers as you exhale a slow drag. The heavy rain pelting the asphalt roads sends tiny splashes around, wetting your small figure. Jungkook clenches his jaw out of frustration. It had taken him a good ten minutes to find you. Mrs. Kim was the one who finally pointed him in the right direction. And you’ve been here this whole time getting drenched like an idiot?

“Are you a fucking idiot?” Jungkook walks toward you with furrowed brows. You jerk as you turn your head toward him. That’s when he catches the redness in your eyes. Puffy. His heart aches painfully. He’s the one who made you cry. Not Jimin. He’s just like Jimin, after all. Hurting you. Jungkook hides his pain behind the mask of annoyance as he grabs another empty crate and turns it upside down. “Can’t you see it’s fucking raining? What the hell are you doing here dressed like that and-” He rakes his eyes over your figure. You’ve not even wearing any shoes for fucks sake. “- God, it’s cold Noona, you’ll get sick.” Sits on the crate. Examining your features. You say nothing. Just look away. Nor do you protest when Jungkook steals your cigarette. “Yah!” So, Jungkook has to make you look at him. He does it by grabbing your chin. You still don’t say anything but just gaping at him. Then you push his hand away. 

“Thought you wanted to be alone.” Finally speak. Eyes back on the road. 

“Yes, and I changed my mind.” Jungkook takes a drag from the cigarette before he throws it to a puddle near him. 

“Yah!” Your whiny protest is drowned out by a loud thunder. “That’s the last one I had.” Yet you continue to complain.

“It’s okay. I have a pack with me. Let’s go inside, hm?” He eyes you apologetically. You pout adorably. Don’t answer his question, however. 

“Why did you change your mind?” You ask instead. 

“You know why Noona. Because I care too fucking much.” A silence falls. Stretches.

“I really don’t want you to care, Jungkook.”

“Well, I already told you once that it’s not up to you to decide. It’s up to me.”

“Then don’t fucking get mad at me because I don’t know what to do either. I can’t fucking-”

“Help it. Yes, I know.” Jungkook completes for you. Not because he doesn’t want to listen to you. But because he knows. He knows you can’t help it. Just like he can’t help it either. You turn your glassy eyes toward him. You’re about to cry again. You’re hurting. Jungkook feels his feigned annoyance evaporate into thin air. He throws his arm around you. Drags you into his side. You snuggle against him immediately. “I know you can’t, baby. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have-” Jungkook has to swallow hard to get rid of the lump in his throat. “- yelled at you. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.” 

“I really don’t want to fight with you Kookie. Don’t want you to be mad at me. Don’t want to lose you either. You’re so precious to me.” You mumble against his chest. He tightens his grip on you. 

“I know, Noona.” He presses a gentle kiss in your hair. He knows exactly how you use the word precious. You’re just telling him how important he is to you as a friend. A fucking friend. Only if you knew the truth, though. The way he wants to kiss you hard now. Hard enough that you’d forget any other man’s name but his. It’s not fair on you really. He had lashed out on you earlier because he was so hurt to hear you say that you like someone else who’s not him. Because he likes you. Too much. And it’s not your fault. But he can’t tell you that now, can he?

He should. He should let you know what a messed up situation this is. Should let you decide what you’re going to do. Then there's his selfish part. He cares about you dearly, but at the same time he doesn’t want to let you go. Even when he knows you like Jimin. Even when he knows he is just a friend to you. He doesn’t want to. He still wants to keep you with him someway. It’ll hurt even more if he does that. To see you with Jimin. Still, Jungkook wants loads of moments just like now. With you. Just you and him. How selfish. 

Jungkook places his chin on your head. Looking past you. A moment ago he was so hurt that he thought it’s really time he should let go. Until now. At this moment when he finds solace in you. Peaceful. Painful, yes but also peaceful. Fuck everything else and future heartbreaks. If Jimin can be fucking selfish, then he can too. He’s not just going to let you go. No. Because he can’t. He’s too fucked up. Can’t even imagine how it’d be to not have you in his place. It’s already hard in the days you’re not here. So, yes. He’s messed up everything already.

He’s in trouble. He likes you a little too much. And he’s ready to fight. So is he ready to get hurt and pretend like he’s mad just because he cares. “I’m so sorry.” He mumbles again. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know but Jimin isn’t going to hurt me. Not intentionally anyway.” You finally raise your head. Jungkook lets you reluctantly. He wants to laugh at your words. Doesn’t, however. Just scoffs. 

“We’ll see about that. I mean, I’m on your side like I always said but,” He looks at your tear stained face. “I’m gonna break his bones one of these days. I’m on your side, not his. He’s still a fucking shithole and someone needs to knock some sense into him.” Looks away from you. 

“Yah! You won’t do such a thing, Jeon Jungkook.” You nudge him with your shoulder. Jungkook just looks at you with a stern face. “I mean, he does things..uh.. but he has his reasons.” You reason weakly. Oh, how Jungkook hates when you defend Jimin. 

“Yeah? Like what?” You don’t answer that. “Exactly what I thought.” Jungkook doesn’t want to be rude to you. But can’t help but pointing you at the truth either. For selfish reasons, of course. Your face falls. Oh, fuck he doesn’t like to see you upset. “Okay, then I won’t break all of his bones, just one maybe.” Jungkook sighs heavily as he adds. He’s in no mood to joke. Yet he wants to lift up yours. Wants to make you laugh. It doesn’t give the desired effect, however. You scowl deeply at him. “Oh c,mon,he has 206. I can totally break one and that’s not a big deal.” He rolls his eyes. You gape at him for a minute before a laugh slips through your beautiful lips. 

“Oh my god, Jungkook. You’re the fucking worst.” You shove him away. Playfully. And Jungkook really can’t help the way his mouth stretched into a wide grin. It’s scary how you can do that to him. Well, he’s not going to dwell on that. This is going to end very badly. But until then he’s going to be selfish and keep you. Makes you happy and be the shoulder you come to cry. He’d not think about his own sanity. He’s fucking crazy anyway. So fucked up. 

Jungkook snakes an arm around your figure again. You rest your head on his shoulder. “But seriously, Noona, I’m so sorry for- uh- earlier-”

“You don’t have to apologize, Kookie.”

“Yeah? How about Ice cream then?”

“Hm, that sounds acceptable.” A soft giggle escapes you. 

“Deal.” Jungkook mutters. “Oh, and Tae wants us to hang out at his place tonight. Dinner or something. And he specifically said drinks are on him. I think he wants to pay back Namjoon since those animals just inhaled all the alcohol that day.” He quickly adds. You straighten up immediately. 

“Really? And you want to go? I thought you don’t like any of them. You looked like you wanted to kill Tae.” You blink at his face confused. To tell the truth, Jungkook doesn’t like them. Because Taehyung and the rest are helping Jimin to ruin you. Helping Jimin to take you away from him. But if he thinks about it, if it wasn’t for that, Jungkook would have become best buddies with Taehyung. Jungkook likes Taehyung. Or at least he did before all this. Their energy just matches. So, he thinks maybe he'd be able to look past everything. Besides, you look like you need all the distractions in the world. 

“Yes. I want to go. I mean free drinks Noona. Who’s gonna turn that down? Not me for sure.” He gives you a smug look. You accept that excuse. “And if I have time, I’ll find a way to kill our host. Now-” Jungkook stands up from the crate. Holds his hand for you. You take it without questions. “-let’s just bribe you with Ice cream.” He pulls you to your feet. 

You giggle adorably.

Jungkook thinks his heart just exploded. 

………………………..

There were two main reasons for you to be excited about a hang-out at Taehyung’s place. Much needed distraction and a fun night was obviously the second reason. Your first and main reason for wanting to be here tonight undoubtedly was Jimin. You expected to see Jimin for the first time after weeks at Taehyung’s place. You were giddy and excited like a silly school girl about the prospect. Butterflies were swarming inside your tummy as you got ready for the night. Beautifully. Putting up extra effort to appear a little bit more sexy than you already were. You didn’t even want a chance to talk with Jimin. No need of hearing any explanations. You just wanted to see him. Wanted to see the way he beams to see you back. A little boyish smile from him. 

But now when you’re here. Sitting at Taehyung’s couch, obviously third wheeling two J’s- Jin and J- you feel utterly stupid. Oh, so stupid. There’s not a sign of Park Jimin. At first you thought he’s just late. It’s been more than two hours now, however. At this rate you’re positive that he isn't attending. How ridiculous. All the effort you put in is for nothing. 

You throw a sneaky glance at your phone. You have texted him like five times now. No reply. Not for a single one. Oh, how you want to scream. You’re getting restless. This puts you on edge. It makes you sad if he’s not going to be here but what makes you mad is the fact that he’s ignoring you. The night is going to be exhausting for you. At least Jungkook is enjoying himself. You look at him at the other corner of the living room. Being so enamoured about Taehyung’s little figurine collection. Despite claiming he didn’t like Taehyung, he seemed to be getting along with him quite well. Is clinging to Taehyung at his hip. 

Funny thing. Jungkook is. 

As though he sensed your stares Jungkook turns around at the right moment. Meeting your eyes and beaming. “Noona. Have you seen this? This little shit has the entire collection of Eclipse Vanguard.” Walks toward you with a figurine that looks like a frog. A frog eating a sandwich. You throw a skeptical glance at it when Jungkook holds it for you. You don’t know what that movie is. But have heard Jungkook talk about it before. 

“I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear you calling me a little shit.” Taehyung grumbles as he joins you two. Both you and Jungkook ignore him. 

“Why’s it a frog and why is the damn frog eating a sandwich?” You inspect the figurine on your hands. 

“That’s the snack guardian. That’s why he’s eating a sandwich.” Jungkook plops next to you on the couch with a grin. You snort loudly. Guardian of what now? Open your mouth to tell him how ridiculous that sounds when Taehyung interrupts you. 

“Wait? You haven’t watched Eclipse Vanguard? How’s that even possible?” He questions in disbelief. Sits at the armchair right across from you. A glass of whiskey in his hand. 

Oh, fuck!

You stare at his face dumbly for a second before averting your gaze to Jungkook. In hope that he’d save you from the situation. He does.

“Why not? She doesn’t like that movie.” Jungkook states, matter of factly. Even nods to prove his point. You agree with Jungkook by violently nodding. 

“Yes. I hate it.” Add just for the sake of it. Taehyung lets out a loud gasp in offense. Turns his mouth into a wide ‘o’ and clutches his chest. Tries to say something when Yoona butts in. 

“Really? You hate it? I mean, as a person who loves art, I normally don’t watch shitty movies but I loved the Eclipse V. Series. Not so bad.” She hands over another drink to Namjoon before sitting on his lap. Taehyung is apparently showering everyone with drinks. And everyone seems to be in a good mood. Except you, of course. 

“No, no. It’s the shittiest I’ve ever seen.” J suddenly perks up. Leans forward so she can look at you over Jin. “If you haven’t seen it yet, Li, just trust me, don’t watch it.” 

“Yah! Do. Not. Fucking. Shit. Talk about my favourite movie.” Jungkook bellows as he throws a cushion at J, which Jin catches easily.

“But it is the shittiest. I can’t even understand why you guys like it.” J flips off Jungkook before turning his attention to Jin. “Don’t tell me you like it too?” Questions. Jin opens his mouth awkwardly. Just to close it back and give J a sheepish smile. 

“If you tell you don’t like it Hyung, I’m gonna burn your entire CD collection and steal your figurines.” Hoseok mindlessly says as he’s scrolling through his phone. The guy looks surprisingly sober compared to other gatherings you’ve had before. Yoongi snorts. “You have a collection too?” Asks Jin smugly when Jin groans. Ignores Yoongi.

“I’d like to see you try stealing my collection Hobi. In case you don’t know I can be pretty violent if I want to.”

Everyone breaks into stating their own opinions following that. Someone arguing why Seokjin would never be violent while someone going on about why Eclipse Vanguard is a good movie. None of it makes any sense and is not related to each other. Yet, it’s getting heated, nonetheless. Taehyung even has to sit up and guard his little figurines from J. Jungkook joins him as well. A small smile graces over your lips at the sudden chaos in the wonderland as your eyes drift to your empty wine glass. You’ve already downed flour glasses. Are getting there while already being more than tipsy. But you’re up to get drunk until your vision turns black tonight.

You get up on your feet while Jin tries to explain to an offended J, why she has an awful taste. 

“Well, if I have a bad taste, then what does that tell about you, Mr. Kim. Seok. Jin. You’re obviously one of my choices and are you telling me that you’re an awful one.” J tilts her head sassily as you pass her. 

You quickly glance at Jungkook to check if he wants another drink but he’s busy creating a pillow fortress around Taehyung’s figurines. Drunk. Is already drunk. Just like Taehyung. Two men are giggling like teenage girls. You shake your head as you walk past everyone toward the kitchen. Namjoon and Yoona are in their own world while Hoseok and Yoongi are in a serious conversation. You guess the topic of that very serious conversation is about the same movie. 

You enter the silent and empty kitchen. You’ve had pizza for dinner. Empty pizza boxes are still lying on the kitchen counter, surrounded by different liquor bottles. Seoyeon isn’t going to be happy about the mess. You pick up the red wine bottle thinking that you should get this cleaned before you leave. 

When you asked Taehyung about Seoyeon’s whereabouts he had just vaguely mumbled she had work. No one questioned anything more. 

You fill the glass to the brim with expensive wine. Well, you want to get drunk and Taehyung is giving you free drinks. Who can complain? You sip your drink a little as you turn around to join the crowd again. Only to come into a dead halt and jump in your spot at the sudden figure just appears in front of you. 

“Holy shit!” You curse aloud as some of the wine spills onto your black top. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Jimin blurts out as he grabs some tissues. Walking directly toward you and starting to dab at your blouse, right away. You just peer at his face with an open mouth. 

Oh!

Jimin.

He’s here finally. Jimin made it.

You feel that giddy sensation inside you. Almost makes you grin wide but you catch yourself. He’s here. But he hasn’t replied to your texts and has been putting you on the edge. You click your tongue in annoyance. Snatch the tissues from Jimin’s hand, making the poor guy startle. 

“I can do it myself.” You grumble. Start to dab away the spilled wine from your top. Trying not to look at Jimin but he makes your attempt futile by softly grabbing your chin. Tilt your face upward. Peers at your eyes.

“Hey!” Mumbles oh, so softly that you’re positive you just melted into a little puddle. Your annoyance starts to dissipate under his warm gaze. You hate the effect he has on you. “Someone’s in a mood.” Jimin adds. Gives you an amused smile. Bites on his bottom lip that you can’t help but drop your gaze into his pink lips. 

“I am in a mood. You didn’t even reply to me.” You pout. Now you look at him closely and carefully, you can see how tired he looks. There’s that glint in his eyes but he looks exhausted. You can understand he has a job to do. And maybe you  shouldn’t give him a hard time too. So, you sigh heavily, ready to apologize and say that it’s okay. Jimin beats you to it, however. His amused smile vanishes. Entire expression turns so serious that you feel your stomach churn uncomfortably. A prickle of sensation that something isn’t right engulfs you whole. 

“I’m sorry. I had to uh…” You flicker your gaze between Jimin’s brown orbs. Waiting patiently for him to tell you what happened while he hesitates. You want him to tell you. You want to know. Not because you’re nosy and curious but it makes you happy to think that Jimin tells you about his problems. How funny. But you need that. Yet his next words make you regret ever wanting to know that at all. “Was with Liya’s family. A dinner.” Jimin drops his hand down. 

You feel your stomach drop. 

“Oh!” That’s all you could come up with. There’s a sudden bitterness in your tongue. Your blood starts to boil. 

Jealousy! 

There’s no way you can deny it anymore. No way you can mistake it as something else. You’re undoubtedly, unmistakably are getting fucking jealous. Well, of course, you are. You like Park Jimin. A lot in that case. Anything and everything that has him to do with another girl makes you burn with jealousy. Even though you have no right to. Jimin would think you’re crazy if he ever knew. So, you bite inside your cheeks to calm yourself. Try to say it’s cool when a sudden voice interrupts you. 

“No Seoyeon, I can’t drink tonight. It’s an early morning tomorrow.” You recognize the voice right away. Jimin steps away from you. Just a little. You pretend that it doesn't hurt you when Seoyoen enters the kitchen first, closely followed by Kim Liya. Why would you even be surprised? This is Seoyeon’s place and Liya is going to be here. That doesn’t make you feel any better, however.  

Seoyeon stops dead at the track right as her eyes land on you. Liya stops behind her. Her eyes darting between you and Jimin. You feel small under the attention. 

“Why are you here?” Seoyeon questions with a sharp edge in her voice. Heat rushes to your face instantly. 

Oh, how embarrassing. You don’t even know how to answer her.

“Probably because she’s invited.” Jimin answers on your behalf. Which you don’t appreciate much by the way Seoyeon throws him a scandalous look. A moment passes. 

“Why are you speaking for her? She can’t talk?” Seoyeon scoffs. “It’s okay Seo.” Liya breaths out. Steps around Seoyeon to walk toward the drinks. You throw a skeptical glance at her. Seoyeon, however, isn’t ready to listen to her best friend, it seems. 

“It’s not okay, Liya.” She mumbles before pointing a finger toward you. “You.” She grits. “How fucking dare you come here, after all the shits you’ve done? To my place at that? After you went behind my best friend's back? What kind of a sister are you? And you have the fucking audacity to step inside my house-”

“Okay, shut the fuck up Seoyoen. It’s none of your fucking business.” You wince when Jimin’s sudden voice booms across the spacious kitchen. 

“How’s that not my business? This is my house for fucks sake!”

“Then ask your damn boyfriend why he invited her.” A silence falls. For a second before Taehyung breaks it by barging in. Just by the look on his face, you know people heard the commotion inside the kitchen. Taehyung is scowling deeply and his jaw is slack when he makes it next to Seoyeon. 

“What’s happening?” He asks Jimin. Jimin chuckles. In a very taunting way. “Ask your rude little girlfriend. You forgot to get her permission before inviting people here.” Jimin glares at Seoyeon so hard that you worry she’d actually burn for a minute. Taehyung throws Jimin a look in displeasure. It’s a low blow, after all. 

“I don’t need anyone’s permission to invite my friends to my place.” Taehyung puts extra emphasis in the last few words. Averts his gaze to his girlfriend. Seoyeon doesn’t look back at him. Her eyes are still on you. You feel beyond uncomfortable at this rate. And that intensifies when you catch Jungkook entering the kitchen. A murderous glare in his eyes. This is not good. You don’t want anyone to fight. 

“Yeah? But you can’t fucking invite sluts to our home, Kim Taehyung.”

“What the fuck did you say?” Jimin steps forward just a second before Jungkook does. You just want to shrink. Want the floor to split open and swallow you whole. 

“I called her a slut, Jimin. Why? Does that bother you?”

“For fucks sake Seoyeon, will you just shut up?” Teahyung doesn’t let Jimin tell anything else. You feel your head spin. Seoyeon yells something that doesn’t quite reach your ears. So does Taehyung. You wander your gaze from the fighting couple to Jungkook. Just standing there like an animal ready to attack his prey any minute. 

God this is not good.

You notice with your blurry gaze that the rest of your friends have made it to the kitchen as well. Great! Now you’re making a fool out of yourself in front of everyone, again. You’re causing chaos everywhere you go. The argument is getting heated by every passing minute. You need to end this. Or at least you need to remove the cause of this stupid fight. Which is you. 

“I’ll just leave.” You shout over everyone’s voice. Everything falls into silence at once. All eyes are dropping on you. “Kookie, can we go?” You ask Jungkook. Don’t wait for his answer as you almost step away. Almost since even before you can take a step forward, Jimin’s hand grabs your wrist tightly.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

What?

You feel your heart beating in your throat. This is ridiculous. See now, you’d be very glad that Jimin is standing with you. Defending you. Taking your side. But at this moment, you think it’d do more harm than any good. The way Jin’s- who’s standing behind a horrified looking J- face tightens is the best proof for that. These people might have forgiven your sins once but now you’re sure they’d just want to kill you with their bare hands. 

“Jimin.” You whisper yells to no avail. Jimin gives you a look. You’re getting embarrassed. 

“Gosh, this is-” Seoyeon rakes her fingers through her raven hair. “Why the fuck are you just watching this Liya?” Suddenly turns to Liya. Who’s been awfully quiet all these times. Hell, you nearly even forgot her. You turn your head toward her to catch her just sipping wine. 

Really?

She straightens up when attention falls on her. “What? It’s not like that anyone would listen to anyone, anyway.” She shrugs. Looks like she’s made a point but no one seems impressed. “Okay.” So, she sighs after a beat. Looks at Jimin. “I mean, it’s good that my boyfriend is sticking up to my family.” States as a smile spreads across her face. You feel Jimin tense beside you. Something is wrong. “I really appreciate you taking my side Seo,” Liya averts her eyes to Seoyeon again. “But, it's a little rude and impolite that you’re asking to leave a guest who’s clearly invited here.” Places her wine glass away. 

Okay, now this doesn’t make any sense. What the fuck is Liya doing. Even Seoyeon looks baffled. Her entire face turns red. Opens and closes her mouth like a goldfish. “Are you serious, right now?” Mutters almost inaudibly.

“Yes. Very. Besides, even though I didn’t expect to see my sister here, I’m glad that you’re here.” Liya pays her full attention to you now. Her eyes flicker to where Jimin is touching you. It feels like her gaze can burn you. You get the urge to yank your hand away but Jimin doesn’t allow you. “Since you miss the family dinner and all.” She smiles again. A smile that oozes venom. You watch her smug expression. Not exactly knowing whether you want to hear what she has to say or not. Before anything, however, Jimin steps up. Drags you behind him. As if he’s afraid that Liya’d hit you again.

“Not now, Liya!” States sternly. That voice doesn’t do anything to falter Liya’s smile, though. 

“Why not? She’s family. She deserves to know it. And so does everyone here. Taehyung here would be heartbroken if you hide something so important from him, baby.” Liya gestures to Taehyung, who’s looking at Jimin intently. 

“Okay, what’s going on?” Seoyeon is the one who raises the question, however. Liya gives Jimin a ‘see what I said’ kind of look. Jimin ignores her. Turns to you. Looks past you and glance at the still very dangerously calm and collected Jungkook. 

“You’re both drunk. Let me drop you both off.” Mumbles. You know he’s trying to avoid whatever Liya is about to say. And for some reason, you don’t want to listen to that either. You nod lightly and almost turn to Jungkook to see if he agrees when Liya chuckles. 

“We’re getting engaged.” Her voice comes out loud and clear. Enough to be heard by everyone in the vicinity. And you freeze. Completely. Your ears start to ring and your heart beat slows down.

They are doing, what now?

“Wait? What?” You don’t know who asks that. Maybe, Hoseok. Or Taehyung.

“Engaging? When? Why all of a sudden?” That’s definitely Jin and he steps all the way inside the kitchen. You look at Jimin. Confused. He looks stressed. Pissed but also guilty. That’s not good. 

“No. It’s not-” Jimin starts only to get interrupted. 

“No? Oh, but I thought we both agreed, Jimin. When my parents asked about it?” Liya steps toward Jimin and he finally lets go of your hand. His full attention on Liya. 

“You agreed, not me.” Jimin shouts.

“Then what? Did you say no? I didn’t hear you say no.”

“Wait? Just tell us what’s the fucking rush?” Hoseok butts in. His voice is serious. You don’t want to be here. 

“There’s no rush Hoseok. We’ve been together for like five years and my parents think it’s time. I think it’s time.” Liya answers Hoseok dismissively. You want to go. 

“Can we fucking talk about this later? This is ridiculous that you brought this up in front of everyone.” Jimin grabs Liya’s attention back to him. “I just announced the happy news, Jimin.” Liya counters. 

Happy news!

How funny that you don’t see a single happy person here. Half looks surprised, Seoyeon being the most surprised one. And the other half looks angry, Jimin being the most angered one. This is humiliating. You don’t know what other people are thinking about you. Do they pity you? Disgust you? 

You just want to leave. 

Well, no one’s stopping you right now. Jimin is no longer holding you. You can leave. You turn to Jungkook instantly. Don’t give a fuck about what’s happening here anymore. It doesn’t matter anyway. It hurts, yes. So damn much but you think this is how it’s always meant to end. You were and always will be the other woman. You shouldn’t have let Jimin drag you back into this mess. Maybe Jungkook is right. Jimin is playing you skillfully. 

“Kookie, let’s leave.” You mumble to Jungkook. Jungkook perks up. His expression is unreadable. He says nothing, however. Just nods. 

You turn to Liya at the same time Jimin turns to you. “Congratulations, you both!” You mutter looking between Jimin and Liya. You don’t want to appear weak. You like Jimin but only you and Jungkook know. You think it’s embarrassing to let other people know the truth as well. It’s better to keep your dignity and walk away like this is nothing. You force yourself to smile. 

“No, what? Lil, no. I’ll just- wait for me, I’ll drop you both off.” Jimin tries again to stop you but you avoid his hands successfully this time. 

“No need Jimin. We’ll take a cab. Just- uh.. Yeah, see you guys later.” You bow lightly to everyone. Yes, you can pretend everything’s fine and leave. Can cry later and nobody would ever know how hurt you are. As long as they don’t know it’s not humiliating. Jimin, however, doesn’t appear to understand at all. 

“No, fuck no. I’m coming with you or you’re staying here.” You look at the way that familiar fire inside his eyes. And that fire ignites the gasoline inside you. You feel your nerves lit up. How dare he think he can demand you? After everything? Yet before you can say anything else a hand comes landing on Jimin’s chest firmly.

“She said she wants to leave, asshole.” Jungkook shouts at the same time he pushes Jimin back. Gets Jimin in surprise that he loses his balance for a minute before he catches himself. Then before you know it he's grabbing from Jungkook’s t-shirt. 

“The fuck is your problem, Jeon. Fucking stay away.” Jimin grits. Pushes Jungkook too. A shiver runs through you. Jungkook mutters something incoherent as he lashes at Jimin. This time Jimin being ready to avoid it and fight back but you step between them immediately. 

“No. Kook. No..” You place your hand on his chest. 

“Fucking stay away Noona.” Jungkook doesn’t listen to you. So, you have no other options but to yell.

“Fucking stop acting like a kid, will you?” It works. He halts. Turns his furious glare at you. Takes a minute then a soft chuckle leaves him. “I want to leave. Just fucking go.” That’s all you say before you grab his hand. Starting to storm away. Jimin says something else in panic. You’re positive he tries to follow you. Last thing you hear is Taehyung stopping him.

“Let them leave Jimin. Not like you’re gonna solve this mess, anyway.”

Exactly! 

He’s not going to solve this mess at all.

……………………..

The entire cab ride into Jungkook’s place happened in silence. In deafening silence but the tension and the anger brewing inside both of you screamed so palpable it felt almost audible.

You were mad at lots of things. Mad at yourself for falling into Jimin’s spell again when you knew deep down that it would never end well. Mad that you allow yourself to walk into this mess. Fall for Jimin. You’re mad at Jimin for being so selfish. For giving you false promises about everything getting better one day when he probably doesn’t even like you. Mad at Jimin for acting that way in front of everyone and making them hate you even more. Mad at Jimin for making you like him when you have no hopes at all. 

Then you’re mad at Jungkook. For trying to fight Jimin like a mad cow when it wasn’t his battle to fight. For letting his emotions get the best of him.For making you feel and appear weak. Making you look like you can’t stand up for yourself. But above all you’re mad at this stupid situation that has put you in this mess. 

Fuck everything.

You are still vibrating with your anger by the time you enter Jungkook’s house behind him. You close the door behind you. Glare at his retreating figure. Not even caring to remove his shoes. 

“Remove your fucking shoes, Joen.” You shout, making him stop. Just for him to ignore you and continue walking. “Yah!” You kick away your own shoes. Follow after Jungkook to stop him by grabbing his arm. “You’re making a mess of the floor.” You turn him around. 

“And why the fuck would you care?” He matches your voice. 

“Because you’re dirtying the floor.” Both of you know that you don’t give a damn about the floor. You’re just trying to pick up a fight. And you feel frustrated when Jungkook just removes his shoes without a word. Steps out of them. 

“Happy?” Asks. Starts to walk away again. You feel like crying due to the burning anger inside you. 

“Why did you do that?” You just won’t let Jungkook off the hook that easily. It’s not fair really. Sweet Jungkook doesn’t deserve to be the target of your wrath for many different things. But you’re too deep in your emotions to care. 

“Did what?” Jungkook breaths out. 

“Fight Jimin?”

“Really?” Jungkook turns around again. “Well, I did tell you that I’m going to break his bones one of these days, didn’t I? And that fucker need to know his place. I don’t give a fuck about his status or anything else Noona. He just can’t demand you around like that when he’s the one in the wrong. Who the fuck does he think he is?”

“I could’ve handled it perfectly fine by myself. I don’t want you to fucking fight on my behalf.” 

“Then fucking do it, dammit.” Jungkook closes the distance between you like a flash. Cups your cheeks and pushes you back so fast that you don’t even register your back has hit the wall. “Then do it. Call him now, ask him to fuck off and leave you alone. Tell him that it’s fucking over. You didn’t fight for yourself, Noona. You just stood there looking like a broken doll. You were so worried and looking forward to seeing him  when he was planning his damn engagement. And then you just congratulate them? What the fucking is wrong with you? Why are you letting them belittle you that way?”

“I-I..” You try to come up with something. Just to realize that you don’t know what to say. You didn’t know that you looked broken that moment, after all. 

“I don’t even get why you like Jimin, anyway. He’s a rude asshole like I always said. Why do you like him, Noona? What the fuck does he have? He made you cum so hard that you fell in love with him?” Jungkook brings his face inches closer to you. You gulp harshly. “Well, guess what, he’s not the only one who can do that. I can do it, you know. I can make you cum harder than him and can treat you way fucking better.” 

“Ju-jungkook.” You feel dumb. Stunned. Completely speechless. Among everything, this is something you’ve expected the least. What’s Jungkook even talking about? No. No, he can’t be serious. 

“I can do it all better, Noona.” Jungkook’s raised voice suddenly drops. Whispers against your mouth, instead. That’s the only warning you get before you feel his soft lips on yours. Harsh. Hard. Instantly falling into moving against your mouth. A surprised gasp leaves you as your eyes go wide. It takes your fogged mind a damn minute to register what’s happening. Too surprised. When it does, an alarm blares in your mind. 

No. No. Not Jungkook. 

You bring up a hand to push him away by his chest. Or at least try to. Jungkook just grabs that hand and holds it to your side, firmly. Not breaking your kiss. 

No… you can’t do this. This is Jungkook. He’s too precious. You can’t allow a single mistake to ruin things between you. 

Jungkook deepens the kiss. Muffles your weak protests. Bites onto your lower lip. Seek entrance into your mouth but when you don’t give it, he finally breaks apart. 

“Noona, please.” He whines. Pleads. “Just let’s try one time.” Kisses the corner of your mouth. “Please.”

An involuntary shiver runs through your body. 

No, no, no. You shouldn’t even think about this. It’s your Jungkook. 

Then Jimin’s smile flashes across your mind.

You shouldn’t do this at all.

“C’mon baby, let me show you.” Jungkook inches his trail of kisses down toward your neck. Wet and sensual. You can’t help but whimper. Your head starts spinning. Alcohol in your system makes the electricity you’re feeling intensifies. You’re drunk and angry. If you do this, it’s going to be a huge mistake. But it feels good. And you can’t deny how attractive Jungkook is. He is no Jimin but still he’s a godly looking man and you’re just a woman. Besides, a distraction can do you good. A way to release this anger. It’s not like you’re obliged for Jimin, are you? If he can fucking plan on an engagement while you were pathetically waiting for his explanation, then you’re allowed to do anything you want. And Jungkook wants this too. He’s the one asking and begging. 

You allow another beat to pass before you tangle your fingers in his black hair locks. Pull from them to get him facing you. Don’t even let Jungkook comprehend what’s happening as you attack his lips with yours. This time you don’t wait till he seeks entrance. Just push your tongue past his lips without any reluctance from his side. Jungkook groans in appreciation. Starts kissing you like he’s lost his mind. Rough and hard. Like he wants everything from you. Never breaks the intense kiss when he slips his hands past your ass. Toward your thighs. You moan aloud which he swallows when he picks you up from the floor easily. You tangle your legs around his waist. Keep kissing him ignoring your lungs’ protests until he walks both of you toward the couch.

Jungkook drops you into the couch. Bending down with you and still not breaking the kiss. You expect him to push you into your back and get on top of you. Then for much of your dismay, he just breaks the kiss. A trail of saliva connecting your kiss bitten lips. You whine in complaint when he smiles wickedly. But also somehow innocently. Kisses your throat. A shudder ripples through you. 

“Gonna fucking worship you baby.” Kisses your shoulder. “Gonna treat you so well.” Kisses your nipple over your top. Your back arches. 

“Kookie.”

“Treat you so so well.” Kisses your stomach. You tread your fingers in his hair again. Nearly comes on the spot when he goes into his knees. He urges your legs apart by your ankles. Bends them on your knees. Your skirt bunches up around your waist. He places a hard kiss into your pulsing core over your skirt. Rubs your thighs softly before bringing his hands closer toward the waistband of your panties. “Let me, baby.” Looks at you with the most hungriest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. Waits for your approval. You nod almost frantically. “Thankyou.” Jungkook mumbles. Drags your panties down through your legs. 

You moan at the sensation of cool air at your heated core first. Then you moan at the way Jungkook’s eyes darken at the sight of your core. He audibly moans. Fucking moans.

“Holy shit, Jungkook.” You rasp while you feel a little shy under his scrutinising gaze. 

“Holy shit, indeed. Fuck, Noona.” He averts his eyes from your core to your face. You blush hard. Almost cover your face with your palms when he acts faster than you. Holds into your hands. “Don’t please. You’re so fucking beautiful.” He purrs. Eyes back on your glistening pussy. “And wet. God you’re so wet, pet. Dripping.” Coos. Licks his lips. You buck your hips toward his face. Burning up from lust. 

“Kookie please.” You croak. And Jungkook doesn’t let you suffer at all. Just as the words leave your mouth, you feel his nose nudging at your clit. Then his lips replace his nose. A tender kiss at your pearl. Your toes curl and your head falls back into the headrest. Then he places another kiss. Then another. A kiss after a kiss. Until you lose your mind. Jungkook pulls away after what felt like an eternity. Pauses to admire your core before looking directly in your eyes. Keeps his eyes on yours when he spits onto your clit.

“You’re so damn beautiful, Noona.” You tremble violently. Jungkook rubs his spit into your slit using two fingers. Slowly. Sensually. As if he has all the time in the world. Keeps rubbing over and over again. Making you gasp and moan. “The prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” Stares at your throbbing core as if he’s in a trance. Kisses your clit, yet again.

“Oh, God.” You press his face into your core, impatiently. He doesn’t complain. Just let you rub your aching cunt on his face. You whimper and whine. Which turns into broken moans when Jungkook parts his lips and wraps them around your clit. Starts sucking. Grazes his teeth softly. And you’re melting. So far gone in the pleasure Jungkook is creating between your thighs. 

You just rock your hips mindlessly while Jungkook alters between sucking on your clit and licking your slit. His tongue poking at your entrance. 

“Please, fuck.” You urge him to give you more. Jungkook apparently is an impatient lover. He can’t deny you nor can he control himself. His tongue enters you almost immediately. Fucking your quivering hole with his tongue. Coming up to make out with your clit. “Yes. Yes. Kookie, yes.” You choke out every now then. Lose your mind completely when his fingers replace his tongue soon. He waits for your permission like a good boy before he enters. But as soon as you just nod, he’s fingering you violently like it’s the last day on earth. As if you’re the last girl he’d ever get to finger. It takes a few experimental thrusts for Jungkook to find your sweet spot but he does rather quickly. 

“Tastes so sweet, pet. God, you taste so sweet. Want your cum, hm. Want to eat your cum.” Jungkook mumbles against your slippery core. Like a mad man. And he looks so beautiful. Covered in your slick and eyes peering at you. “Cum on my tongue baby, please.” Pleads for no reason. You just nod. Fingers pulling from his hair. Hips keep rocking against his face. And his fingers relentlessly stroking that spot. Making your high goes higher and higher. Until there’s no place to go and it explodes. Explodes with you moaning inhumanly and almost ripping Jungkook’s hair away. With you screaming his name and Jungkook nearly crying as he starts to ravish on your cunt. He keeps doing that till it starts to hurt you. Until you start to push his face away. 

He gives you one last sloppy lick. From your hole to your clit. Pulls his fingers out and cleans them as well. You just watch him in awe. Chest heaving. Expecting him to get to his feet and continue but he just lowers your legs. Smiles softly. “You okay?” Asks from you. You on the other hand are gaping at Jungkook like you’ve never seen him before. 

He doesn’t want to continue?

“Kookie, what are you? You’re not going to?” You question. Confused. Jungkook grins. In adoration. 

“No. It’s fine. Wanted you to feel good.” Stands up. 

Hell, no. What you did was wrong. So, wrong. But to think that Jungkook doesn’t even receive anything in return makes you feel nauseous. Like you’ve used him. No. You don’t want that. You stumble into your feet immediately. Get Jungkook by surprise when you kneel in front of him in such a hurry.

“No-noona?” He stutters. You bunch up your fists in his pants. 

“Sit down Jungkook. You’re not getting away that easily.”

“No. You don’t have to-”

“I know, I just want to. Please.” You bat your eyelashes. Places a kiss on his visible bulge. “I want to suck your cock Kookie. Want to taste you.” Jungkook curses aloud. “Fuck!” He has a weak self control, after all.

…………………..

Jungkook really believes that he’s about to die from the pleasure. That’s how good this feels. Your pretty lips are wrapped around his cock. Your teary eyes looking up at him. You, down on your knees for him. Worshipping his cock. Drooling and choking on his cock. His. It feels like a dream. 

“Fuck, Noona.” He uses your hair to push you further into his cock. Hitting your throat. You gag. Close your eyes. Jungkook nearly bust a nut right there. He has to look away from you to prevent that from happening. “Oh, baby fuck.” He moans aloud. You’ve given him the permission to fuck your throat. But still, Jungkook is afraid of hurting you. You look like you’re enjoying this to the fullest, though. You moan around his cock right at the clue. “Yeah? You like this, pet?” Jungkook asks. You nod around him in answer. Oh, how delectable you look. How pliable and the things he wants to do to you. Can’t afford to scare you away, however. Jungkook bites back his questionable thoughts away to buck his hips into your mouth.

You gag again which soon turns into another moan. You’re a complete mess. Mascara running down your cheeks and makeup ruined. And the thought that he’s the one who made you that way gets Jungkook drunk without alcohol. Tears roll down your cheeks uncontrollably just like your spit drool down his cock. Making it slippery and messy. Complete, utter mess. But the most beautiful mess he’s ever seen, undoubtedly. Jungkook pushes your head down and keeps you there for a second before letting you go. You swirl your tongue around his tip when you come up. Then you’re pushing his cock back again into your throat. 

“Oh, god you’re so good at this. You’re taking my cock so well baby. Keep going.” Jungkook lets you take the pace. Doing it in your own way and pleasuring him to a point of blacking out. Jungkook doesn’t want to think about anything beyond this moment. But for a fact, he knows that you’re currently ruining him for any other girl. He’d never be able to receive this kind of pleasure again. And just as he thinks this is the best and worst it can get you start shuffling. Jungkook watches in confusion when you adjust yourself in a way that you can straddle his leg. Your knees on either side of his leg and you lower yourself down. 

“Holy fuck no. God, Noona. I’m-” Jungkook fists your hair hard and violently starts to thrust into your mouth just as you start to rub your cunt on his leg. He’s definitely going to die today. Your moans reverberate through his entire body, starting from his throbbing cock. “You’re such a pretty slut Noona. So fucking beautiful.” Jungkook bends down to move your skirt away. So, your cunt can rub directly onto his leg over his pants. He wishes he could just remove that too. But is too greedy to take his cock out from the warm confines of your mouth. 

“Yeah, like that baby. Keep going. Rub your sweet cunt on my leg. Cum again for me.” So, he just encourages you while keep fucking your mouth. Over and over again. Using your pretty face he’s been dreaming of kissing for months. Letting himself fall into an endless pit of pleasure. His groans and your moans fill his otherwise quiet apartment together with your occasional gags and slurping sounds. Adding more fire to his desire. And just at the moment when your movements lose their rhythm and you come into a tense halt. Cumming all over his leg and crying out, Jungkook lost it too. He swears that he wanted to ask you if you wanted him to cum down your throat but it’s already too late. He shoots ropes after ropes of his cum into your throat. But you don’t seem to mind. 

“Oh fuck Noona. Take that, yes.” He keeps you that way until his high rides down. “Good  pet, yeah. Ahh.. You’re so good to me.” Until he has nothing to give you more. That’s when he lets you go. His softening cock slips from your mouth as you heave for air. Wipe your chin with the back of your hand. 

It takes Jungkook another minute to come into his senses. You are still on your knees and straddling his leg. He lowers his gaze to you. Takes in your ruined appearance. This time, though, instead of a new spark of fire, he feels a pang in his chest.

Holy fuck! What has he done?

Jungkook’s heart beat starts to slow down. Weight of his action weighs heavy down his shoulders. 

He just made you suck his cock. He made you do that when you were vulnerable and hurt. Angry and drunk. He let his primal instinct get over him and used you. Jungkook’s heart squeezes painfully. You make it worsen when you peer at him with innocent wide eyes. 

Oh, no.

Jungkook works in autopilot mode when he bends down. Pulls you into your feet and then into his lap. You straddle him immediately. Your eyes are glistening. He can’t really read your expression. But he thinks you look sad. Broken. Hurt. Guilty. Jungkook completely ignores the fact that you both are still very half naked when he crushes you with a tight hug. You hide your face in his neck. 

“I’m so sorry!”

You breathe out at the same time as he does. He freezes for a moment. Then it hits him. You’re apologizing for the same reason as he is. Even though you don’t have to. You never used him. It’s the other way around. But here you are. Jungkook presses you into his chest even tighter. Not being able to get enough of you. Not knowing how to fix anything.

“I’m so sorry, Noona.” He whispers in your ear when you hug him back with the same kind of fervour. 

“Me too Kookie. I’m so sorry.” You pull away to peer at his face. “This won’t change anything right? You’d stay the same. Don’t want to lo-lose y-uou.” Jungkook’s heart physically hurts  at the way your voice cracks. He hugs you back. Oh, how broken you look. Why would you ever think he’d change? 

“Of course no, Noona. Nothing’s changed. I’m just your Kookie you always knew.” Even his voice sounds distant to him. But he can feel you nodding into his neck.

“Thankyou.”

………………………

You feel sick. You’ve felt this way ever since your shenanigans with Jungkook. It’s not that you despise Jungkook or anything. Quite the opposite to tell the truth. It’s just the fact that you’ve crossed a boundary you shouldn’t have. The fact that you could’ve easily ruined everything. And then there is the guilt. Guilt toward Jungkook. When you used him as your stress releaser. No matter how many times Jungkook would tell you that’s not the case and he’s at fault, you can’t shake off the guilt. And the guilt toward Jimin. You know very well that, despite Jimin’s jealousy and his words, you hold no obligation to stay faithful to him. He’s getting engaged for fucks sake. But yet you can’t help but feel sick. Can’t wipe off his beautiful smile from your mind. And the way that smile would falter if he knew what happened. 

You feel like a cheap whore. 

Funny, since you’ve always done worse. With Jimin. But you can put everything aside. Yet not the feeling that you betrayed Jimin. 

You tried your best to make up your mind. To convince yourself that you’re not wrong and are allowed to do anything you want. It isn’t working, however. Not even after a day. You’ve had a very restless night after you went to sleep that night. After what happened with Jungkook. Then you had the worst day possible yesterday. Even got scolded from your favourite lecturer and of course, Chan. You were too caught up in your mind. Not being able to get rid of the guilty feeling, no matter how hard you try. And you’ve come to a decision last night. 

You have to come clean. 

You need to meet Jimin and tell him what happened. You know you don’t have to. That Jimin doesn’t deserve to know. But you need to do that. Otherwise these emotions would eat you up. 

Hence the reason why you’re not standing in front of Jungkook’s apartment right now. Instead, you’re standing in front of a once very familiar lavish apartment building. You don’t even know what you’re about to do. Hell, you don’t even have an idea whether Jimin is home or not. Or if Liya is there or not. All you know is that you want to come clean. You’ve just given into your impulse and had only sent a text to Jungkook saying you’d be late. 

Maybe you should check with Jimin. But something makes you hesitant.

So, you just walk inside the lobby. You don’t want permission. Know the password already. Have been here multiple times now. Yet it feels like your first time as you wait patiently inside the elevator. Are trembling like a leaf while you walk across the familiar hallway toward Jimin’s apartment. Your heart beats in your throat when you knock on his door. 

Maybe this is a mistake. You shouldn’t have come. 

Maybe you should turn-

You hold your breath when the door opens suddenly. You exhale that breath when you see it’s the exact person you wanted to see. 

Jimin.

He genuinely looks surprised. Eyes wide. And glinting. A small smile spreads across his lips as well. 

“Spring Roll?” 

He gaps softly. Yet beside his glinting eyes, he looks even worse than the last time you saw him. Lips dry and blackness under his eyes. Nose a little red and hair tousled. Is in his work attire- minus the coat, but doesn’t look like the handsome CEO that he is. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he’s sick. “This- uh-” He stutters a bit. Nervously. Almost like a boy meeting his crush for the first time. In another context you would’ve swoon to see that. Not now though. The nerves are eating you up to be able to feel any butterflies. The prospect of what to come next makes you sweat like a pig. 

Jimin, who’s very oblivious to your inner turmoil, opens the door wide for you. Still stuttering. “I'm a bit surprised. I mean you came- wait? You’re okay right? Nothing’s wrong?” Waits for you to answer. When you don’t he continues. Clasps his hands. “Listen baby, I know I’m always fucking up and all but I swear-”

“Jimin.” You stop his rambling. You don’t even know what he’s talking about. For a moment Jimin looks like he doesn’t want to listen to you. Looks like he’s about to plead and beg. Then probably at the sight of your paled face, he closes his mouth. Brows furrowing. 

“What? What happened, baby? You’re okay, right?” 

Oh, you feel like you’re about to faint. 

“I- I….” Now you’re here, you have no idea what you should say. 

Hi Jimin, Jungkook and I gave each other oral and now I feel like a slut. Just wanted to let you know. 

Oh, how stupid you are. Why did you ever decide to come here this way?

“What is it, Spring Roll? You’re fucking making me worried.” Jimin takes a firm step toward you. His face is stony and concerned.

Okay, okay you got this. Just rip the bandaid off.

“Jungkook and I.. uh- I mean we…” You trail off again. Not knowing what to say. “We- it just happened but- uh-” Try again. Fail. But then Jimin’s stony face falls for a split second. A realization dawns upon him as you watch. You stand there like an idiot, feeling nervous when his eyes darken dangerously. There’s no need to explain everything. Of course, he picked up the pieces and connected them. His expression morphs into something predatory.

“You did what?” Yet when Jimin questions, his voice is calm. Too calm for your likings. Icy rage. 

You shouldn’t have come. 

“I- we- it just happened-”

“What the fuck did you do, Lil. Did you fuck?” Jimin shoves his hands in his pockets. His calm exterior breaking down. Your knees buckle under his icy gaze. 

“No.. No..”

“Then what?”

You gulp harshly. Soothing your parched throat. This is fucking ridiculous. Why would you be so nervous talking to Jimin as if he’s your boyfriend. It’s not like you actually did something wrong. You should leave. 

“Nothing. I shouldn’t have come here.” You ramble. Almost ready to turn around and run away when Jimin grabs your forearm. It all happens so fast for you to comprehend. The way he drags you inside. The way he closed the door behind. The way you’re trapped between him and the door. 

“Well, you fucking did Spring Roll. And now you can’t just throw a bomb at me and walk away.” Jimin doesn’t touch you. Just keep you caged between the door and his body. “Tell me what the hell you did.” You just blankly stare at him. Previous nervousness you felt replacing with familiar anger. True that you came here to come clean and all but you don’t like the way he talks to you right now. And he makes it worse with his next words. “You wanted to do something to be even. Revenge. Because of what happened at Tae’s. Is that why? You wanted to make me jealous and you decided to go and fuck someone else?” Oh, your vision is turning red. “Guess what, princess, it’s fucking working. I’m burning from jealousy right now. I can kill that bastard. You. Win.”

“Oh, for fucks sake Jimin. Do I look like I want to do that?” You finally manage to talk back normally. Rage makes your nervousness disappear.

“Then what the fuck do you want? You came here to let me know after all?”

“So, you’d rather prefer I kept it a secret? Like you always do with everything. I fucking came because I feel oh so fucking guilty, Jimin. Like I’ve done something bad to you. I didn’t mean it to happen. I was mad, hurt, and fucking drunk. So was he. But I couldn’t shake off the guilt and I wanted to talk to you. Wan- wanted-” Your voice cracks making you stop rambling for a second. You breathe out before starting again. This time slowly. “Wanted to apologize. I’m not the one-”

That’s all you get to say when your words get muffled suddenly by Jimin’s lips. So sudden that you gasp loudly in surprise. He crushes his lips against yours without any warning. Starts to devour you right away. Takes advantage of the gasp you left out and enters his tongue inside your mouth immediately. Tangling with yours. Bites on your lips and sucks on your tongue. Hard. Swallows all your moans and squeezes your ass. You do what your instincts ask you to do. Wrap your hands around his neck and deepen the kiss. This is not how you should do this. But you can’t worry. There’s no use trying to fight it anymore. Jimin is your drug and you’ll always get addicted just with a simple touch. 

Jimin keeps kissing you until you’re both breathless and panting. Pulls away right when you both can’t do it anymore. 

“Fuck you, Lil.” He groans. Pants.

“Fuck you, too Park. You fucking ass-” 

He kisses you again. Doesn’t let you finish your insult. Unfortunate how you don’t try to push him away. Instead you’re bringing him even closer. Grinding against him. 

“You sure you want this?” Jimin withdraws just enough to ask you that. You nod without a beat. “Yeah? Cause, I’m gonna fucking ruin you, Lil. No one’s touching what’s mine. I told you that you’re mine.” Asks again. And his words make your blood liquid fire. You’re blazing. 

“I’m positive. Whatever you want.” You peck his lips. Jimin takes a minute and then nods. Withdraws completely just to grab your wrist. And is walking inside his apartment while dragging you with him. You just let him do what he wants. Excitement bubbles inside you. You can feel your heart beating in your ears and your core throbs in anticipation. You missed Jimin. 

Jimin stops in the middle of his living room. You take a quick glance around you. It looks the same. The couch. The coffee table. The book rack. And floor to ceiling windows. Leaking bright morning sunlight inside since the curtains are drawn open. You look at Jimin confusedly when he motions you to walk forward. Until you’re standing before one of the windows. You turn to look at him. Questioning with your eyes. Jimin holds both of your hands in his. Gently. A stark contrast to how sinister he looks. 

“We need a safe word.” Mutters. 

“Huh?” Your eyes widen. This is new. Jimin has always tried new things with you. Hell, he has made you cry during sex. And of course, was rough. But you never wanted a safe word. His words reverberated through your body. Making your clit throb. 

“A safe word Lil. I don’t want to do anything you don’t like.” 

You inhale a shaky breath. Take a minute. Then nod. “Yeah, fine. Um.. red.” State. It’s the first thing that comes to your mind. Can anyone blame you for not being damn creative when your panties are getting drenched and your clit is throbbing for any attention?

“Red, it is. Say the word and I’m gonna stop.” Jimin’s lips hover above you. You nod and wait patiently till he kisses you again. Only to be disappointed when he pulls away. Smirking.

Oh, this is going to be intense.

You watch in anticipation when Jimin takes a few steps back. You don’t dare to move or ask anything. Just clenching around nothing and rubbing your thighs together. An agonizingly slow beat passes in silence. You can hear your heart beat and the roar in your ears. Then Jimin just casually drops down into one of the arm chairs. Facing you directly. Relaxes. 

“Strip.” Then his lowered voice echoes through the apartment. Such a simple and clear command. No complexities or confusion. Yet, here you are gaping at him with an open mouth. 

What did he say? 

“Don’t make me repeat Lil. Fucking strip.” Jimin repeats calmly. 

Oh okay.

You turn around partially to look at the window behind you. You’re pretty high on the building. There’s not many other buildings reaching up to a similar height but there's one. Right across from Jimin’s apartment building. And you can clearly see inside the apartment on the same level. That means if someone is there and if they looked your way they would see you. A shiver ripples through your body. Jimin picks up on your hesitation. “Don’t care Lil. Just strip.” His dangerous rumble makes you turn your attention back to him. His predatory gaze is burning your skin.

You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. You know it. You even have a word now. Jimin’s not going to push you if you really don’t like something. But who are you kidding? You know that you won’t use the word. He knows that you won’t use it. You both know you’d just do as he says. And that’s exactly what you do. Doing as he demands. Getting rid of your clothes one by one. Until you’re bared down into your underwear. “Those too.” Jimin just casually coaches you. You relent. In a second, you’re standing completely naked in front of his eyes. Morning sun rays make your naked skin warm behind you. It’s warm but you’re trembling with excitement. Rubbing your thighs uncontrollably.

Jimin gaps. Groans. Bites down on his bottom lip. For a moment it looks like his control has slipped. Then he takes it back. 

“Tease your nipples.” Instructs. You bring your both hands hesitantly toward your already hardened pebbles. Start doing as he says. Twirling your fingers over them and pinching. “Fuck, you look beautiful slut. But you let someone else see that?” You want to tell him that’s not exactly what happened. And that he’s currently risking letting the same thing happen with a stranger. You don’t, however. Are too turned on to be able to talk, let alone argue. So, you just keep teasing your nipples. A moan slips through your mouth. 

“Squeeze your tits.” Jimin coaches again. You jump into action. Stop playing with your nipples and start massaging your soft mounds. Until Jimin finds it’s enough. 

“That’s enough. Touch your clit, baby.” 

You comply with his demands rather fast. Feel a little bit mortified. The whole situation is embarrassing. The window. The fact that Jimin is still very much clothed and you’re stark naked. The fact that you’re putting on a show for him. All of that is embarrassing. Humiliating. But also arousing. Your slickness is dripping down your thighs. And the moment your fingertips touch your bundle of nerves, your legs almost give up. 

“Jimin.” You whimper as you start to rub figure eights on your throbbing clit.

“Ugh, fuck.” Jimin groans. Stars rubbing his bulge over his pants. “You like this, slut? Like being put on display?” You just nod. Frantically picking up the speed you’re working on yourself. Bringing yourself embarrassingly close to an orgasm. This turns you on into no end that your head is spinning. Just few more flicks and-

“Stop.” Jimin grunts. You slow down your fingers reluctantly. Whining and whimpering. Stop your movements altogether. Jimin lets a few seconds pass. “Again. Touch again.” Demands again. The fire inside you swallows you whole. It’s becoming a struggle to stay on your feets. Yet you relent and start rubbing again. Starting slow and doubling up your efforts. Making the coil inside your stomach tightens again. 

“Stop.” 

You bend down to stop yourself from cumming as you stop your movements. Tears start to prick your eyes. Another minute. Another command. “Again.” Your fingers move around your clit again. “And keep your eyes on me.” He adds. You comply with him, yet again. Rub your clit slowly as you watch the way Jimin rubs his cock over his pants. 

Oh, this is so good.

“Stop.” 

You do. 

“Start again, Lil.” 

You do. 

“How are you feeling princess, good? Is your clit throbbing? Yeah? You wanna cum?” Taunting and teasing. 

“Wanna cum Jimin, please.” And you're begging. Tears are finally starting to roll down your cheeks. 

“No. Stop.”

“Oh, please.”

“Fucking stop you little whore.”

So, you do it again. And then it goes on and on. Over and over. An endless circle of torture. Until your legs really give up and your knees almost hit the floor. That’s only when Jimin finally stops it. Finally gets to his feet and walks to you leisurely. While you struggle to be on your feet and keep your eyes away from his bulge. Trying so hard not to salivate at the sight. 

Jimin cups your heated cheeks. Brings his mouth closer to your ear. “You good, baby?” Whispers making tingles run across your whole body. You know he’s asking for real. Genuinely want to know if you’re okay. 

“Yes.” You exhale. Clutching his dress shirt desperately. “Please.” Begs. You feel like dying from the throbbing pain between your legs. You just need something. You’re aching for a little touch from him. And so you’re positive that you’ll come undone the second he touches you. He doesn’t, however. At least doesn’t touch you where you want him to. Just turns you around you by your shoulders. Guides you toward the window. Pushes your body into it, making your hard and perky nipples grazing the window. You bring your hands to place on the not so cold glass on instinct. Balancing yourself. Your back is arching and searching for any kind of friction.  

Jimin’s lips hover again in your ear. “What do you want, princess? Use your words.” Teases. You shudder. But you’ve played this game enough times before to know that Jimin won’t give you anything unless you ask him to. And after all those times you’re not so shy anymore.  “You. Need you Jimin. Please, I need you.” You cry out. Desperately. Like the needy slut you are right now. Jimin only chuckles, though. Low. So low that you moan at the sound. 

“Yeah? Now you want me? I thought you didn't, baby.”

“Oh, Jimin please.” This time you cry out in impatience. He’s being difficult. Childish. “Am I wrong? You have people to please you. Why would you need me? Thought you have Jungkook now.” Almost pulls away when you finally snap. 

“I didn’t- fuck- it was a damn mistake and I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it to happen.” You turn your head to look at him. He pulls away, anyway. You miss his warmth right away. 

“Well, I don’t think you’re sorry.” Jimin takes another step away from you. You’re losing your mind. 

“I am, I- oh god fuck Jimin. I’m sorry.” You barely get to finish that when his palm suddenly hits your core. A choked moan elicits from your parched throat. “Oh, god yes.” 

“Yeah? Are you sorry?” His palm hits your cunt again. You cry out  a ‘yes’. “Yeah?” Another time. Harder than before and you moan even louder. Pleasurable sting causing you to see stars. You will cum and embarrass yourself if he keeps doing that. But of course, he keeps doing that. “Then show me how sorry you are, slut.” Another slap. And you have no idea how to do as he says. Are about ask how when he gives you the answer soon. You swear that you didn’t even hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. Jimin enters you without any prior warning and catches you completely off guard. The cry you let out is inhuman. Due to pleasure. You’re slick enough that it doesn’t hurt. Just a tiny burn which subsides immediately. Jimin’s rock hard cock glides against your slick warm walls quite easily. 

“Holy fuck, so wet. You’re so fucking wet.” Jimin groans. “And so tight. Feels so good, slut. Do you know how good your cunt feels?” Finally touches you properly. Snakes his hands around your body to cup your breasts. Starts pounding into you without any further ado. No waiting, no adjustments. Opts on a bruising primal pace. “Show me you’re fucking sorry Lil. Take my cock like a good slut, hm?” Your body presses against the glass with his every animalistic thrust. Your loud moans and sobs fill the entire apartment. “You can’t expect me to just be all cool after you let someone else see this damn body, princess.” Pinches your nipples so hard. “You’re mine.” Fucks you even harder. “Told you always that you're mine.” Gives your neck a fleeting kiss. Then another. Soon it turns into a harsh suckings on your sensitive skin. Covering you with purple blossoms all over. 

Every thrust. Every kiss. Every nibble. Every bite. Every rub brings you closer to your release faster than a flash. Yet just as you’re about to fall over, Jimin stops. Of course, he does. You find yourself even incapable of protesting. So far gone inside your head. So drunk on Park Jimin. 

“On the couch, c’mon.” He commands, yet again. Pulls his hard cock out from you. You follow, yet again. Force your shaky legs to take you to the couch. Lay down with your legs spread apart. Watch with a hazy sight as Jimin at last gets rid of his clothes. Showing you his sculpted body. The kind of body that only he has. You wait impatiently till he joins you on the couch. Pumping his cock hard. This time he doesn’t waste any time. Just bends you in half and puts your legs over his shoulders before entering you again roughly. Then is pounding into your spasming hole again. Over and over. His dick head hitting all the right spots. 

“What should we do about this baby?” Jimin questions breathlessly in between his deep plunging. “About people not understating that you-fuck- you’re mine, hm?” Brings one hand to touch your neck. Drags his fingers over the purple marks he left there. 

“Jimin… oh god, I-I… please..” All you can do is pathetically moan. Jimin ignores whatever you’re trying to say. 

“You know, I’ve always covered you in hickies. And he always saw them, didn’t he? What is that? Fucker can’t pickup a sign? Can’t understand that you’re mine.” Jimin squeezes your cheeks. Presses a hard kiss into your pouting lip. Gives a hard thrust and stops moving. Making himself buried deep inside you. Grinds his hips making you wail. “What should we do baby? Tell me?” Straightens back and falls back into his hard pounding. So hard that the couch skids across the floor with a squeaking sound. You watch how hard his jaw is locked. How flushed his face is. How dark his eyes are. Your throat is turning sore at how loud you’re moaning. Jimin is killing you. In a good way. And you think this is the worst he can do. How wrong you are. 

“Should I get you fucking pregnant? Get you full and round of me so everyone-”

Jimin doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Just because you drown his voice with your screaming. Back arching and cumming right there at his words. Embarrassing. But you can’t care. Not when his words make you feel consumed by a heat that you can’t satiate. You don’t want to get pregnant. Of course, not. You’re still so young and there’s a lifetime ahead. You haven’t even thought about children. But the way his words make you feel should be illegal. It’s not possible to get this aroused right? Yet, here you are. Screaming his name and trembling. 

“Fucking hell, Lil. Oh god, woman you’re gonna fucking kill me.” Jimin slows down his hips a notch just to pick back up the speed and keep fucking you hard. Fucking you through your orgasm. Not even slowing down when it starts to hurt from the over sensitivity. “You want that? You want to fucking get pregnant? Want me to fuck a baby in to you?” Questions. You don’t answer. Completely because you can’t properly understand what he’s talking about. Then Jimin never appreciated your silence, did he? He takes his hand to your clit. Doesn’t stop his thrusts when suddenly pinches your clit hard. Hard enough for another unexpected orgasm to ripple through you. Making Jimin laugh and groan at the same time. “Shit! You little slut.” Mutters. Slaps your sensitive clit again. “Answer me baby? Do you like it?” Slaps your thigh this time while keep fucking you hard. “Either you gonna answer me or-”

“Yes, yes-” You don’t want to know what he’ll do. This is enough torture already. “I want it, Jimin. P-please…. W-want you to get me so full- ugh fuck- so full of you. I want it please.” You sob. Can feel Jimin twitch inside you. 

“Yes?” 

“Yes please. G-get me pregnant?”

“Hell yeah, so everyone would know you’re mine, right baby? Tell me who you belong to? Who’s fucking cunt is this?” 

“Yours. I’m yours.” 

Jimin groans. “Fuck, yes. Mine.” Leans forward again. Looks you dead in the eye. You watch in anticipation. Knowing he needs more. Something more. You have no idea what that is but you nod in agreement anyway. You trust him with all your might. Besides, you have a safe word you can use any time. “Open your mouth.” Jimin commands. His mouth is just mere millimeters apart from your lips. And like that you understand what he wants even before he says anything. You like it. Of course, you do. That’s the exact reason why you’re clenching around his hard cock like you’ve gone mad. You do as he says without any other questions. Too fucked up and too horny. Keep your mouth open and wait for his next step. Jimin takes another cautious look at your face. For any sign of discomfort. When he finds none, he does it. Spits into your mouth. 

You cry pathetically. Tears rolling down. Your cunt feels like it's on fire. “Swallow.” Jimin barks. You comply like a good pet. Make Jimin moans like a beautiful symphony. “Fuck, again. Lil again baby, open your mouth.” You do. He does it again. You can tell he’s close. Too close. Is losing the precision in his movements. Yet demands you do it again. “Again princess, one more time.” And that’s all it takes for you to fall apart for a third time. Just as he spits on your mouth again. 

And like a chain reaction, that’s all it takes for Jimin as well. He falls forward. Captures your lips in a searing kiss as he stills his hips. Cuming deep inside you. Making you cum again one more time. Nails digging into Jimin’s back and your legs locking him in place. Allowing him to shoot his cum into your womb. 

You wait there until you both can’t breathe. Kissing each other like it’s the last time you’ll get to kiss. Until your high calms down. That’s only when Jimin finally withdraws from you. Eyes frantically going over your tired and spent features. 

You close your eyes. Feeling your head spin. Feeling hard to breathe. Your ears still roar and your heart beats a mile a minute. Cunt still on fire and throbbing painfully. You bring your forearm to cover your face. Allowing yourself to fall into exhaustion. Basking in the euphoric sensation. Finding solace in the darkness enveloping you. Peaceful, blissful dark-

“Lil? Holy fuck, baby. Hey? Are you with me?” 

You open your eyes at the sensation of Jimin’s hands cradling your cheeks. Oh, so soft and gentle. His voice sounds like it's coming from another dimension. You catch the sight of his worried expression. 

“Huh?” You mumble weakly. 

“Are you okay, love? Did I- did I hurt you?” 

Your heart flutters violently. The rest of his question doesn’t reach you. Your ears stop listening after the word ‘love’. 

Oh no… he didn’t.

You feel like crying. But that doesn’t mean anything. Of course,not. He’s just concerned and is a sweet person. That’s it. That doesn’t mean anything. You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself. So, you just shake your head to tell him that he didn’t hurt you. 

“I- I’m fine. Jimin- I- I’m so sorry-” He doesn’t let you finish. Pulls your weak and spent body into his arms immediately. Starts pressing tender kisses into your hair as you hide your face in his neck. Inhaling his familiar smell. 

“Hey, I know. I know, baby. I know you didn’t mean it and it’s okay. Sorry I was a jealous jerk. But it’s okay, alright?” Pulls away to look at your face. You gape at him. 

Really?

“You won’t mind?” Ask timidly. 

“Course I do mind. Hell, lady.. next time I’m gonna murder that bastard if he so much as lays a finger on you. You’re mine. I just- uh- I know it’s a mistake. I know you didn’t mean and I just wanted to claim back what’s mine.” Presses a soft kiss to your lips. You feel relief wash over you. Finally feels relaxed. All the weight on your chest evaporating. Oh, how Jimin has become your solace. Your safe place. You smile into his kiss. 

“Thank You.”

“No, thank you for coming here. Thankyou for not just asking me to fuck off after everything. Thank you for letting me know.”

You pull away. Fall back onto the couch. This is the time. You need to get this done.

“Well, you promised me an explanation, Park.” Jimin chuckles. Starts fumbling around. Lays down next to you. Manhandling you on top of him. Holds you tight. 

“You got it. Sorry I couldn’t make it earlier. Had to make sure Liya’s father doesn’t lose his shit after seeing that video.” 

………………………..

You have no idea how long it has been since you’ve been just cuddling on a couch and listening to Jimin’s story. Naked. About how Mr. Kim has a partial ownership of the company as the biggest shareholder. How four of them- even with combining all their shares- don’t have enough to fight him. Now you understand why they call Liya’s father mighty Kim. And how Jimin can’t risk him pulling out from the company which will create a destabilising power. How he would lose his damn position and the company- the dream- he and his friends worked so hard for. 

You don’t know how hard boys worked for the company.

All of a sudden, Liya’s words make so much sense to you. 

And Jimin told you about the upcoming launch. The fact that Kim is the main sponsor. And everything falls back into one position. If he breaks up with Liya, she’d take revenge. Mr Kim would just say bye to RUN and sell or transfer his shares to an external party. If that happens Jimin is fucked up. 

“And you can’t do anything about it?” You snuggle against his chest. It’s just not a question but also a statement. 

“Not unless we find a way to get him to sell his shares to us before anything happens. Or we find another sponsor who can fund us. That’s not easy. Especially with the fact that Kim rules this world. No one would ever want to be on his bad side.” Jimin rakes his fingers through your hair softly. 

“So, what’s your plan then? You said you need time.”

“Do one of those things. I’m on the hunt for a new sponsor. And I’m looking for a way to get him to sell his shares without offending him. Or any other loophole I can find to use against him. Everyone has their dirty shits. I should’ve already maintained an account for him. With all the blackmail materials. I was just stupid that I didn’t do that. Now I have to dig from the surface till I reach deep enough.” 

You understand it. Makes you wonder why he hadn’t told you earlier. 

“Why didn’t you want to tell me earlier?” You question in genuine confusion. Raise your head to find him turning red. He groans.

“I was embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed of what?”

“Of you finding out that I’m such a loser.”

“What?” You almost get away from him completely in disbelief when he pulls you back on to him. So, you just opt to keep your head up and stare at him. 

“Oh c’mon, Lil, you look at me like I'm some kind of God. A man who has everything. Someone who accomplished every goal. I mean you have a nasty mouth and you’ll always talk me down but I see the way you look at me.” Jimin sighs heavily. You feel your heart swell. You didn’t know that mattered to him. “You know even though I kind of have everything, I just can’t shake off the fucking feeling that I don’t deserve it. That I.. uh.. Got it with the help of someone-”

“Help of someone?” You interrupt him. Jimin nods. 

“Yeah. I-um- this makes it fucking worse, like when we started we really didn’t have the budget to start developing a game. Just four boys fresh out of college. Just dreams and ideas. We had the talent, knowledge and all but not the money. We could’ve made it either way. Starting slow and making it from scratch but I had Liya. The queen bee. Daughter of the Kim and she didn’t want to date a man struggling to build something up.” He laughs softly. 

“Besides, why would we bother when she can help us? It was nothing on her part. At first I didn’t want to do that but it sounded too compelling- tempting. All I wanted was to start something. For my idea to be out in the world and eventually I accepted. I built my empire with Kim’s money.” Jimin holds you so tight against him. As if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if not. “I didn’t want you to see me as that person. You made me feel like that I’ve actually made it by myself and that I deserve it. I know it’s stupid but I liked the way you treated me. So,” He touches your cheek. “Do you think I’m a loser? I’m an asshole and we both know it but I didn’t want to use Liya. But that’s what’s apparently happened, so, do you wish you never had started anything with me?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You would really hit him if he doesn’t have such a tight grip on you. 

“Really, Park?” You raise a brow. “That- that’s, oh gosh no. Why would you even think that way? It really is such a stupid reason.” You sigh heavily. Softening at his expression. “You didn’t use anyone Jimin. She’s the one offered. And you were already dating her. Not the other way around. You saw the opportunity and you took it. And it was just money they offered. Rest was on you. I’d always see you as the same way Mr. CEO. You’re a man who accomplished a lot on your own and you deserve it all. I can’t believe I’m saying this but I admire you a lot.” You hide your face instantly. “Now if you ever bring it out again… I’ll just-”

Jimin’s laugh cut you off. “Okay. But are you serious like, you don’t think that-”

“No, Park. Stop it.” You raise your head back again to kiss him shut. Pull away. “Why the sudden engagement, tho?” Not that you want to ruin the mood but you have to ask. 

“The video. We got rid of everything before it reaches the public but there are some higher profiles who've seen it. Not that anyone recognizes you but they’re questioning. And there were some people in the club that day, kids of those rich assholes. People are apparently talking and it’s not good on anyone’s reputation. Especially Kim's. I don’t know if you know this but Liya is not his blood-”

“I do. I just happened to know.”

“Okay. So, he’s doing his utmost best to keep everything under the carpet and to keep his image spotless. He doesn’t want any rumors around his daughter. The sole heir to the Kim’s group. If one thing comes to the surface, it’s only a matter of time until everything does. If anyone ever finds out that shit, that’s not going to go well with his businesses. So, he wants the rumors to stop fast. And they think an engagement would solve the problem before it gets bigger.”

You feel a clench in your heart. Yet just nod. Jimin’s the one who kisses you this time. “I’m not doing that. I’ll come up with something. I mean I don’t know what yet but I’ll not get engaged to Liya. This is not the eighteenth century and they can’t force things on me.”

“But what if they threatened to pull out?”

“They won’t. I’m really not going to use the fact that Liya is not his real daughter. That’s such a low blow. Liya and I- we have history and they’ve helped me somehow. But still I’m gonna use that to make the engagement delayed if needed. I know that’s such a shitty thing to do but I refuse to become a puppet.” 

“Okay. This is so fucked up, but thank you for telling me. It feels good to be in the light.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t think I’m such a shitty person?”

“Well, you’re an asshole but not shitty. When I say you’re an asshole, I say it affectionately. But Jimin,” He hums in question. “What does Liya get from all this? Is she just worried about the reputation? Like can it cause that much harm? If you broke up with her?”

“It can. People can be nasty. Especially when it comes to famous people. They will take any opportunity to drag someone down.”

“So, it isn’t because she loves you.” 

Jimin scoffs at that. “No. Hell, no. Maybe she loved me back then but not anymore. I don’t even know why she chose me. The college fuck boy. I was a mess and a disaster. I was the trouble but I pulled the queen. I don’t know why she dated me. I loved her, though.” You have to look away to hide the way it makes a tiny pang in your chest. 

“What happened then?” Yet ask nonetheless. 

“I don’t know. All I know is that we’re no longer in love and just trying to use each other. I want to stop that. She doesn’t.”

It makes sense. They are in a convenient relationship. Which is messy and complicated. And you understand Jimin completely. So, you just nod at his next question. Agree completely. 

“So, just give me time, hm? I know it’s hard but uh.. Just a little time. That’s all I want and I promise the moment I figure this shit out, we’re gonna find a way to keep you in my life.”

You don’t question why he wants that. You know that you want to keep going because you like him. Maybe more than that. You’re so whipped. But what’s his reasons? And you don’t think about all the complications that would come up and the things you’d have to sacrifice, if you chose to keep living this way. Or if you decide to stay in this world. If it’s even possible. You’ll have to solve one problem at a time, after all. 

You’ll not question for now.

………………………….

Jimin ends his call with Hoseok right at the moment you enter the study. After showering together he had left you to dry your hair to take care of the hundreds of missed calls he’d received for the past few hours. Hoseok’s was about an art exhibition. A fundraiser. Hoseok wants all of them to attend since it’s the perfect opportunity for networking. They might even be able to land a new deal for a new sponsor. Who knows? And the event is apparently happening in the gallery where Namjoon’s girlfriend works. Even though Jimin doesn’t want to see them right now, he’s no fool to turn down the opportunities. 

“Hey.” You softly mumble as you walk toward him. Just in one of his hoodies and nothing else. You look content. And he loves to see you content. 

“Hey!” Jimin mumbles back to you. Spreads his arms so you can fall right between them. You do. Like you’ve come home. “Everything okay?” Ask him in such an adorable voice that Jimin’s heart does skip a beat, literally. 

“Yep. Hobi is making us attend a fundraiser.” Jimin answers your question. You withdraw from him, nodding in understanding. Don’t ask any more questions as you just drag your eyes across the study. Stop on one of his opened drawers. Jimin follows your vision. His own gaze dropping inside the drawer. Finding out exactly what catches your attention. And it’s too late when he notices that and jumps into action. You let out a shriek before you successfully grab the picture.

“Holy shit!” You exclaim. Amused. While Jimin feels mortified. It’s a picture of him and Taehyung. Back from the college days. First year. Just barely eighteen. He has no idea what the fuck they were doing, dressed up like two lunatics. It was taken during a party for sure. And they both look extremely stupid. 

“Give that back.” Jimin states calmly. You don’t give a fuck after all. Just turn around facing your back to him. 

“How old were you?” You question. Inspecting the picture. Jimin rounds you to look at your glinting eyes. “Doesn’t matter. Oh God, that’s so embarrassing. Give it back, Spring Roll.” 

You ignore him. Just coo at the picture. “You look tiny.”

“No I do not. I had the same body back then. Girls were dying for my abs.”

“Did they? What about your eyeliner, tho?” You quirk brow in challenge. Know what you’re doing. Jimin groans. You giggle prettily. “And it’s blue.” Add as if he doesn’t know it. “Why the hell are you wearing a blue eye liner in here, Park.” 

“C'mere you little gremlin.” Jimin stretches his arm to catch you which you dodge skilfully. Take a few steps back. Jimin doesn’t give up, however. He lunges forward again. You yelp as you try to run away from him. This time you fail. Jimin catches you successfully but you hide the picture behind you. Keep it hidden even when he picks you up and puts you on the table. “Oh c’mon, give it back you idiot. Why would you even need that?” So, he whines. You press your lips into the tip of his nose. There goes his heart skipping beats again. He feels warm. Inside, out. 

“Because you’re so adorable in that. Can I keep it?”

“Why?”

“Just so I can keep it.” You pout. Puppy eyes. Jimin is becoming weak. Oh, he is weak. “Will you promise me not to show it to anyone?” He’d give up eventually anyway. No use of fighting and dragging this up. You nod excitedly. Look so damn beautiful. “Okay, deal. But I need something in return too.” Jimin adds causing your face to fall. He’s a businessman after all. He’s good at deals. 

“What?”

“Let’s keep that spot empty. I’ll come up with something creative in the future.” You grumble but agree anyway. Jimin just smiles and captures your lips in his. He just wants to be close. Every way possible. Can’t help but touch you. You taste good. You feel good. Drives him mad. You pull away first. A soft smile on your lips. 

“Okay, what are you getting at? Haven’t you had enough?”

“What are you talking about?” Jimin feigns ignorance causing you to palm his hardened length through his sweats. A low groan erupts from his throat. 

“I’m talking about this.” You squeeze him. Well, he can’t help it. Can’t have enough. His hips buck into your touches involuntarily. 

“Well, you wanted to get pregnant.” Jimin teases you, reveling in the way you audibly whimper. Just for a second, though. You compose yourself rather fast for his liking. 

“Stop getting obsessed, Park.” You gasp. Tease. Wait till he denies. But then Jimin doesn’t want to deny it. So, he just spreads your legs rough. Finding your bare core already glistening with arousal. You’re the one to talk. He doesn’t point it out, though. Just kisses you again. Pulls away to whisper against your lips. 

“Too late, Spring Roll. I’m already obsessed.” 

Oh, how he loves the way you gasp. The way your breath hitch. And he means his words. Because that’s what he is. Obsessed. With you. Utterly deeply madly obsessed with you. 

“Are you too sore, baby? Can you take me again?” He asks cautiously. You just nod, like he knew you would. 

“Just go slow.” You spread your legs even wider.

“Of course, love.”

Such a shame that he’s focusing on your cunt. 

Such a shame how he doesn’t notice the way you look at him. 

…………………………..

Finally, after weeks of torment, life feels good again. With Jimin. With Jungkook. With your friends in both worlds. You feel relaxed after knowing what makes Jimin, Jimin. You feel valued and important after knowing Jimin trusted you enough to let you in. Sure, there's still no answers to his problems. He’s still a taken man and you're still being the bitch of your own story. Fucking a man in a relationship, despite everything that happened to you. But then, you think there’s hope now. Not that Jimin’s story justifies all your actions. Yet you can hope for a moment that you’d get to do it the right way. 

Even when you don’t get to see Jimin often now, life still feels good. You won’t go back to work at RUN again. No. The biggest favor you can do everyone is keeping your distance. Still, you find solace in his little texts. That’s enough. You’ll find a solution to everything soon. You trust Jimin. 

Then there’s Jungkook. Being the Jungkook you always knew. You’re oh so relieved when he agreed to let what happened slip. Agreed that it happened because both of you were emotional and drunk. He still won't side with Jimin. Never. But he’d be on your side. Forever. His own words. Then you had convinced Key to go on that date with Chan. Everything is going pretty fine. You’re in such a good mood that you’ve been waltzing instead of walking for the past few days. 

Everything is good. You don’t think anything would be able to ruin your good mood at all. Even when you find yourself at the fundraiser Jimin told you about a few days ago. Even when you know Jimin would probably attend this with Liya. You think you’ll be able to handle it. Knowing his story, you know it’s just a pretense. Of course, you can handle it. 

See, life is thriving. You’re back into going to these kinds of special events which a college girl has no business being in. It just happened because of Yoona apparently. It's the gallery she works at. And they are apparently allowed to bring in guests. More guests mean more funds. Yet you know, you’re not the kind of guests they want here. But who’d care in the end. You and Jungkook are here on the extended invitation by Yoona. J is here as the date of Jin. You’re all here to have a good time. Even though you can’t find Jungkook anywhere in your sight at this moment. 

You’re standing at a corner table with Taehyung. All glammed up. Feeling nervous since you’re not used to visiting such events. 

“You know who that is?” Taehyung asks you, pointing at an old man casually talking with Hoseok. You shake your head. “That’s the minister of culture.” He states. You gasp. 

“Yah! Really? Please remind me what the fuck I’m doing here again?”

“Same thing as me honey. Just wasting your time.”

You chuckle at his comment. You spend a lot more time with Taehyung these days. He comes over to Jungkook’s quite often. Saying you’re surprised would be an understatement. Jungkook’s sudden change of behaviour toward Taehyung makes you more than surprised. 

“I thought this is an opportunity for you. Jimin mentioned something about a new sponsor or something.” You look around the hall. To search if the said guy is here. Apparently not yet. Taehyung just clicks his tongue. Retrieves two new champagne flutes from a passerby server. Hands you over one. 

“I’m bad at that. I always get distracted by women.” He sips from his drink before continuing. You scrunch up your nose at that. “That’s why we have Jin and Hobi. Look at them, doing a god damn great job.” Gestures at the said people. You catch J walking toward you at the same time. Pouting. 

“Boring. This shit is boring as hell man.” She whines just as she reaches your table. Steal your champagne flute. You decide not to say anything. 

“Tell us about it. I just want to go home and watch a movie.” Taehyung agrees with his whole heart. You ignore him when you turn to J.

“Where’s Kookie?”

She shrugs. “No idea. I think he’s annoying Yoongi. He really wants to be Yoongi’s editor, you know?” You chuckle at the mental image of Jungkook pestering an annoyed Yoongi. 

“Maybe I should give up this job and start a vlog. What do you, pretty women, think?” Taehyung butts in.

“We think you’d make the perfect cam boy.” J states with a straight face. Nods in confirmation. Now you don’t know what she expects Taehyung’s reaction would be. But you expect it fully when he beams. Excited. A little too much.

“Exactly. I knew I would be. Jimin didn’t let me pursue my dream job.”

“Yah! Seriously?” J quips exasperatedly. 

“Yeah…” Taehyung sighs heavily. “It’s so fucking unfair isn’t it? Everyone should have the right to pursue their dreams.” Sips from his drink again. J gives Taehyung a look that is torn between annoyance and amusement. You don’t think that’s what she asked by ‘seriously’. You snort very unpleasantly at her expression when Taehyung continues. “But if I have been a cam boy, you two ladies would be my biggest fans,” He lets out a dreamy sigh. You and J both roll your eyes. “And of course you’ll pay me tons of money. And I’ll do my best to satisfy you both.” 

“We won’t pay you shit Taehyung. That’s a lot of over-fucking-condifident there. Why would you be so sure about that? Like do you have a monster cock or something?” J scoffs. Wrong move. Taehyung is the last person you should talk about cocks with. Too late, however. He smirks cockily. Wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

“I don’t know, do I? Maybe… Wanna see?” 

You fake gag when J clicks her tongue. “No thanks, no monster cock would be able to compete with Jin’s.” J looks away from Taehyung to Jin. You think she’s fascinating to be able to just not give a fuck about what anyone thinks. She’s so bold to admit that she likes Jin. Even though Jin doesn’t do the same. She’s obviously so smitten for the man and does nothing to hide it. 

Taehyung takes great offense in that, it seems. “Yah! That’s so not true.”

“It is true.” 

“Wanna bet?”

“Hell yes. How much?” 

You look back and forth between your two friends. A headache is starting to form. You think Taehyung learnt to put bets on everything from Jungkook. He says something about 20 000 Won. And J agrees. You feel mortified. 

“Gosh guys, will you stop?” You bow in apology to an old man who just walks past you. 

“No. She insulted my precious item and I need justice.”

“Eww don’t call it a precious item.” J counters.

“Why not? It is precious. Now I’m about to show you and prove you wrong.”

“Fucking stop, you guys.” You slap Taehyung’s hand which he just puts on his belt buckle. “Nobody wants to see your fucking dick, Tae.” You hiss. 

“No. No, let him Li. This is my chance to earn an easy 20 000.”

“Oh my god J, don’t fucking encourage him. He’ll do it for real.” You groan in annoyance and mild horror. Knowing Taehyung, you’re eighty percent positive that he’d do that. Taehyung chuckles. Says something about how good you know him when you suddenly catch a flash of blond in the corner of your eye. You stop trying to keep Taehyung’s hands away from his pants to turn around and find the man you wanted to see. 

Park Jimin.

In his iconic black suit. That damn earring back on one of his ears and smiling widely. Bowing to someone older. You feel your lips spread into a huge grin at his sight. He makes small talk with a few people before his eyes scan the room. Land on your corner table. A similar kind of a grin spreading across his own face. And oh, he’s alone. There’s no woman tangled up in his side. You scan the room quickly to find the said woman. Feel giddy when you’re unable to spot her anywhere. Jimin bows to the man he’s talking to and starts stepping toward your table. Almost waves to you when a sudden voice behind you interrupts. 

You think you saw Jimin’s smile suddenly drop and his face darken just before you turn around to see who’s the owner of the voice. 

“There you are, Honey. I was looking for you everywhere. That author is here- Owen someone and I want you to meet him. C’mon.”

You’re met with a middle aged woman. Her words don’t exactly register with you but you take her appearance in one go. And you freeze. 

“Mom?” You whisper in confusion. 

Mother.

This is your mother. The woman who gave birth to you. But looks far younger. All glammed up and in a black dress. Eyes bright. Not a single grey hair on the sight. Skin glowing. 

This is your mother. 

But something’s odd. 

“Yes. Let’s go Liya, before your father can find him.” She mumbles. 

And it hits you like a flash of lightning. You’re not in your world. Your mother can’t be here. This is not your mother. 

Liya. 

A painful pang erupts in your chest. Shoots across your body. Not unbearable but it’s definitely there. 

This is Liya’s mother and she just mistook you for her child. You open your mouth stupidly but before you can say anything Taehyung steps in.

“Hey, this is ridiculous. I mean it's one thing when other people can’t tell them apart but their own mother? That’s such a rude thing to do to your own daughter Mrs. Kim.” 

You turn your head slowly toward Taehyung. Feeling like your body is growing weaker by every passing second. Taehyung is scowling at Liya’s mother. Displeasure evident in his features. 

“What?” The older woman scowls deeper than Taehyung. “What are you talking about Taehyung? I have no time for your stupid jokes. C’mon LIya. This is your opportunity. She grabs from your wrist. And the pain intensifies when she calls you Liya, yet again. You feel nauseous. So close to bend down from pain. 

“Really? How come a mother can’t recognize her own children apart?” Taehyung doesn’t let her off the hook that easily. 

Oh, gosh, this is turning into a nightmare for you. The pain is becoming unbearable. Your sight is turning blurr. You’re trying so bad not to clutch your chest. Liya’s mother gives Taehyung an odd look. This is not good. 

“What on the earth are you talking about? What children?” She questions. Visibly irritated.

“Your children. How can you not identify your own daughters apart?” 

Oh, you want to throw up. How are you ever going to explain this to Taehyung and J. 

“What daughters Taehyung? Are you drunk this early into the event?” Liya’s mother clicks her tongue in disapproval. “That’s such a lowly-” The rest of her words drowns by a loud ring in your ears. Pain in your chest doubles up unbearably. You almost give up and bend down in pain when you feel a pair of hands wrap around you. Then you hear the familiar soothing voice. Like it’s from a dream.

“Hi Mrs. Kim.”

“Oh Jimin-ah, good thing you’re here. Your friend is drunk.”

“I-I’m not drunk.” Taehyung protests but no one pays him any mind.

“Yeah? Ah- I’ll take care of him later. I’ll just need my girlfriend for a minute.” You feel Jimin slowly pulling you into him. Tears are starting to prick your eyes. It hurts. Oh, it hurts. 

“No. No. There’s this author she needs to meet. Right Liya?” She turns her attention to you again. And freeze. Probably taking in your appearance. 

“Why do you keep calling her, Liya?” That’s a female voice. You guess it’s J. Liya’s mother ignores her completely. 

“Oh my god, are you alright, honey? You’re pale.” Instead she cups your face immediately. And everyone breaks into a sudden chaos. 

“Of fuck! Are you okay, Li?”

“What’s happening?”

“It’s just like that day at Jungkook’s?”

“We need to call an ambulance.”

“Oh my god, oh my god. Liya, talk to me honey. What’s happening? Where does it hurt?”

You don’t know who’s saying what. Every time the name ‘Liya’ slips through her mothers lips you feel like you’re a step closer to your death. You give up trying to hide your pain. Should’ve fallen down onto the floor if it wasn’t for the tight grip Jimin is having around you.

“No. Guys she’s fine. Just let me take her somewhere private.” Jimin tries in vain to take you away from the three concerned people. But then you hear a new unfamiliar voice too. 

“Oh, hi Liya!”

It’s turning dark.

“This is my fiance. This is Kim Liya honey… wait are you okay?”

That’s all you hear. Everything goes black. You fall into Jimin’s hands. Everything goes into a pitch black stillness. Yet then you swear you saw a mop of silver hair. And a pair of lifeless eyes. So, you know you heard someone mumbling against your ear. 

“You should've heed my warning, little thing. You just put yourself in this misery and you know what’s going to happen…”

It’s just darkness. Painful darkness. 

“You’re about to turn into ashes and….”

Jimin, you need Jimin. 

“This is it…”

All you need is Jimin. 

“The beginning of the END.” 

..............................................................................................................................

a/n- Leave a note if you enjoyed this one!

..............................................................................................................................

Taglist - @chimmy-licious @graydolan12 @smoljimjim @likemeforme @sugas-baby-girl @canarystwin @jkayy @floboo6 @sunshinenmidnight @fiddlebiddls @unlikelycheesecakeenthusiast @mar-lo-pap @angelicsmilesworld @jimincrystal @datspjm @shakes0peare @butterymin @angellekookie @futuristicenemychaos @minijagiya @anumita-2007 @joulekanitz @llallaaa @fancypeacepersona @annyeongbitch7

[muniimyg]

BAD HABIT // JJK

09 | stars in your eyes // series m.list

note: jealousy jealousy <3 mwah ;) ,, sorry this ch took forever ... i think u'll understand why lol

//

you’re proud of yourself.

over the past few weeks, you’ve adjusted well—faster than expected, even. part of it is because you belong here. the other part is because the people around you make you feel like you’re truly home. for a long time, you’ve craved that feeling. living outside the palace had never been easy... especially not when you spent your whole life keeping being a part of the divinity a secret.

although, you still keep the friends you made outside these walls close to your heart, but the ones you’re making here… they feel different.

they are different.

for the first time, it feels like you’re falling into place. like everything is falling into place.

even being soulmates with jungkook feels lighter these days.

it’s conflicting, really—this soulmateship with him. stranger than any situationship, more serious than any relationship. maybe that’s why you’ve been trying so hard to perfect your friendship with him. if you can make that work, maybe everything else will follow.

but you’re an idiot if you think you can ever just be friends with jungkook.

yes, friendship is the foundation of any partnership. but who are you kidding? you two are bonded. the string is tied, glowing, dusted in gold. there’s no undoing it. there’s no pretending you don’t feel the weight of it, the way it tugs—the way he tugs.

and, not to mention, you’d rather die than be his friend (that’s the bond talking).

being away for the past week has been rather... reflective on your end. aside from the silyl groupchat messages the guys initiated and the random check-in ones jungkook would send you; you haven't really seen them around.

but it's fine.

it's nice to get some space. since you've been here, you've spent every waking minute with them. during your rest days, your parents came up to see you too. it was fun catching up with them and spending time together.

but you're so ready to be back.

you miss them.

some more than others.

today, you arrive early, ditching jimin and yoongi. jungkook’s grey hoodie is bunched up in your hands as you step into the classroom, the fabric warm and worn. you hadn’t meant to keep it this long.

the plan was simple:

walk in. toss it onto his desk. say something casual like, “here.” pretend like it didn’t make a home in your closet for too many nights.

pretend like you weren't holding onto it for this long because it smells like him. like you didn’t sleep in it once…

twice, if you’re counting the nap you took in it yesterday. pretend like it wasn't the one thing that made you smile during your week off.

but the moment you step inside, all that excitement fizzles out.

something blooms in your chest. warm and haunting. unsettling. you struggle to understand it—until you see it.

then, you feel the string tug inside your chest.

you feel it before you even realize why... then, when you do; you don't know what to do say or feel. it happens too fast. your vision blurs and then it focuses on her.

her.

there’s a girl sitting in your seat.

your freaking seat.

with jungkook.

your jungkook.

jungkook isn’t half-asleep with his hood drawn over his eyes. for once, he’s awake. engaged. talking to her. and worse—he’s smiling. that stupid boyish smile, the one that softens him in a way you’re sure he doesn’t even realize. he says something, and she laughs. bright. airy. the sound of it curls around your chest.

your heart races, a tight, erratic thump against your ribs. and maybe—just maybe—in a split second, you let your guard down. because jungkook’s breath hitches.

quickly, you tighten your grip on his jacket and shove it deep into your bag.

jungkook scans the room.

his eyes find you.

before he can do anything, you move past him. you don’t look. you don’t acknowledge him. you just walk.

he shifts, taken aback by the blatant rejection of his (attempt at a) greeting. the girl beside him notices. she follows your movements, then looks back at jungkook. then back at you.

“hey,” she says sweetly as you pass. "recover well?"

"yeah. thanks," you force a smile. short-lived. fleeting. half meant.

then she gives you a look.

not quite smug. not quite innocent. just knowing.

your stomach turns. your gaze drops, your mind suddenly heavy with overthinking thoughts.

from behind you, jungkook watches without watching. eyes half-lidded. head tilted against the back of his chair. fingers drumming against the desk in a slow, lazy rhythm. he doesn’t turn, doesn’t follow your movements outright—but he doesn’t need to.

he already knows exactly where you’re going.

you reach namjoon’s desk. it’s a placement he’s long past rolling his eyes at. he may not be able to manipulate you, but it’s honestly no problem when you’re this fucking predictable.

just as you reach for the chair—

it moves.

the wood scrapes against the floor, the legs dragging in one long, grating noise before it stops. a loud thud makes it known what just happened. the chair is set... well...

beside him.

the sound cuts through the low hum of the classroom and heads turn. at the door, jimin, yoongi, jin, and hobi watch, poorly concealing their amusement. namjoon huffs, lips parting, already prepared to scold jungkook for using his aura.

you freeze. your fingers twitch at your side.

god.

what do you even do in times like these?

when jungkook makes it excruciatingly obvious that he does whatever he wants, whenever he wants? when everyone just…

lets him?

from the corner of your eye, jungkook shifts.

his arms uncross. one hand rises slightly. and with the subtlest motion—two fingers flicking out, then curling in—he gestures at the chair.

his aura hums faintly. a ripple in the air.

you feel it.

your jaw clenches. slowly, you turn, eyes narrowing.

"jungkook," you seethe, voice low, controlled. "you can’t just—"

"you were gonna sit here, right?"

his tone is bored.

like he didn’t just drag a whole piece of furniture across the room with his aura. like it’s not a big deal. like he hasn’t been watching your every move since you walked in.

more snickers echo around you. and he enjoys it, doesn’t he? the attention? the fact that he’s just so fucking sly?

he knows perfectly well that he shouldn’t be using his aura for stupid things like this.

you don’t get it.

is he trying to boast? is he trying to prove something? the gesture is too sudden. too early. yet, it earns looks and murmurs.

jungkook doesn’t acknowledge it.

instead, his gaze flickers—just briefly—to your bag. the fabric of his jacket peeks from the unzipped opening, barely visible. but he catches it.

he notices it. then, slow and deliberate, his gaze returns to yours.

"sit here, princess."

the air shifts when the guys crowd around your desk.

hobi’s already perched on top of it, swinging his legs like a kid while namjoon leans against jungkook’s, arms crossed, lips pressed in thought. jimin and taehyung pull up chairs, dragging them across the floor with a grating screech that earns a sharp look from the professor at the front—but neither of them care.

"glad you aren't limping anymore," yoongi says.

you smile and nod. "yeah. my parents sent a nurse in once a day to check up on me. it felt a little... overprotective but it's whatever."

nam joon huffs. "you're telling me."

"why? what did they do?" you ask curiously. honestly, a part of you answers frantic. you know how your parents can be... "i can talk to them—"

"it's fine," he assures you. "i just got a speech from the council about safety and making sure that i'm not only encouraging divine quality behaviour, but also monitoring it."

you're eyes widen at his words. was he serious? how could he possibly have that much responsibility? besides, jumping into the lake was your idea.

"nam joon," you start. "i'm so sorry. my parents are—"

"it's fine," he repeats. "you're the princess. they're your parents. we’re the divinity. this shit has to be taken seriously whether we like it or not. just... try not to get hurt again, okay? really pissed your parents off and jungkook."

your eyes shake.

jungkook doesn't flinch. he doesn't even breathe. he's just... still.

then, the focus shifts.

“so... the game’s tonight.” jin says, earning a few groans from the guys. then, he rubs his temples like he’s dealing with a personal crisis. “i need to see it in high quality. i will not accept buffering.”

namjoon sighs, tipping his head back. “problem is, we have, what? one couch and a ten-inch laptop?”

“it’s embarrassing,” hobi groans. there’s a growing frustration in his face that makes you a little curious. was the game really this important?

jimin frowns, eyes darting to taehyung. “can’t you get us into the lounge?”

taehyung scoffs. “not after last time.”

“which wasn’t my fault, by the way,” jin mutters, but no one acknowledges it.

a pause.

jungkook, who’s been silent the entire time, exhales sharply through his nose. his knee bounces under the desk, fingers tapping against the wooden surface in a steady rhythm. truth be told, he’s fighting the urge to touch you right now. in any and every way… he wants to put his hand on top of your bare knee so bad. he wants to touch your skin and feel your warmth. 

is it the bond?

he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. sitting beside you, controlling himself—this is fucking torture. yet, he pushes through the distraction. 

“i mean, if it comes down to it, we can just—”

but before he can finish, you shift forward, resting an elbow on the desk.

“you guys can just sleep over at mine.”

silence.

then—

“wait, what?” taehyung blinks.

“i have the highest view in the palace,” you say easily, tilting your head. “i mean… as someone previously mentioned… it’s perfect view of the city, and the biggest room. jin can project the live game with his aura. i can put a few paintings down to make the walls bare. i have a kitchen so we can cook some things up. it’s basically a studio—w-what? why are you guys looking at me like that?”

a beat.

then—without a word, jungkook shrugs off his uniform jacket. the fabric crinkles as he bunches it up and drops it onto your lap, as if it’s second nature. no glance, no explanation. just a quiet, instinctive action. you glance down at the skirt you’re wearing. before your focus shifts, the guys chaos keeps you in place.

"are we allowed?" taehyung blinks. "because if we are... then i'm really fucking upset you're not my soulmate."

"that’s actually genius."

"yo, what about your guards?"

“again, are we even allowed?”

you just laugh, shrugging. “who said i was gonna ask for permission?”

namjoon shakes his head, but there’s amusement in his eyes. “___, you’re insane. i don’t want to get disciplined for this—”

“then i’ll take responsibility,” you urge him. “please, nam joon? come on... is it that horrible that i want to spend time with my friends? i think my grandparents have bigger things to worry about. and my parents? i'll just tell them the truth. i missed my friends. oh! how about we invite others too so it's a bigger gathering and we can all chill?”

again, silences follows. 

then—

“uh, she’s kinda the coolest person ever?” hobi throws an arm around your shoulders, grinning. “we should’ve been best friends sooner.”

“you’re just saying that cos she solved your problem,” jin points out.

“and i’m grateful!”

the energy crackles between everyone—everyone except jungkook.

he stays quiet, but not in a way that goes unnoticed by you.

jimin nudges jungkook’s arm. “you’re in, right?”

jungkook leans back in his chair, stretching slow.

“dunno.”

for some reason, he answer upsets you.

clearing your throat, you pretend not to hear what he said and push the conversation forward. jungkook stays leaned back, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.

clumsily, everyone sneaks inside the west wing. 

laughter fills the hall as steps hurriedly make it to your door. before you know it, taehyung appears in front of your door with a wide grin and drinks. 

“you sent the guards away?” taehyung practically giggles, as he looks over his shoulders. “this is so fucking thrilling. i can’t lie… i feel like i’m meant to be a spy or something.”

you laugh at his words and open your door wider. 

“i scattered them around with errands,” you reply. “they’ll be held off for at least three hours… and then, i’ll be known as the picky princess for at least three months.” 

popping his head in, nam joon lets out an impressed hum. quickly, the guys all make it to your door. you step aside, gesturing for them to come in. as they do so, pure adoration fills the room. 

for a moment, their laughter dies down. 

“fuck,” yoongi breathes. “this is truly ‘eat the rich ’ kind of shit.”

your dorm has to be one of the most unreal places in this palace. the ceilings are high with golden accents threading through the marble walls. it’s a studio-like layout that unfolds so elegantly. the kitchen is to the side, there’s a huge living space near a fireplace, and your bed—is massive, draped in sheer silks. there’s a canopy above, completing the perfect princess flow of the tower. 

yet, what really takes the boys breath away is the window. 

it takes up nearly an entire wall and gives access to a balcony. the window stretches from floor to ceiling, revealing the glowing city below. the garden view is utterly romantic too. one thing is for sure—their dorms do not look like this. 

“holy shit.”

“ohhh, this is nice… girl,” taehyung sings. “this all you do right here? okay…. it don’t smell like roaches in here or nothing!” 

you burst into laughter and gesture for everyone to make themselves feel at home. to which, jimin mumbles; “unlikely, but if you insist...” 

just then, jungkook walks in.

his hair is freshly washed and he’s wearing this oversized black t-shirt that hugs his chest nicely. he’s scanning your dorm before his eyes fall to you. just as you’re about to take a step towards him with some teasing remark already forming on your tongue—

“jungkook!”

a presence. a laugh. a shift in the air. 

then, she appears. 

the same girl from this morning. except, now she’s even more pretty? it’s strange. you’ve never really felt much for comparison but it’s hard when she… looks like what could be jungkook’s type. in a swift way, she breezes in front of you.

“oh!” she breathes, brushing shoulders with you in the process. she doesn’t seem to notice. “sorry—just wanted to give this back. thanks for inviting us here by the way, ___! your place is great. wish all our dorms looked like this.”

your stomach dips. 

suddenly you hate the fact that you brought this unto yourself. what were you thinking? wanting to invite more people aside from the seven of them? 

fuck. 

this is all your fault. 

jungkook blinks, visibly caught off guard, but reaches out, his fingers brushing the material.

“oh—uh, thanks.”

she lingers, arms crossing over her chest. “also, didn’t think you’d actually be that bad at giving directions. thanks for that.”

she laughs. light, teasing.

and then it hits you. 

it’s an inside joke.

and worse—jungkook chuckles back.

it’s brief, casual, a mere breath of amusement. but it’s enough to make something cold settle in your chest. enough to have your fingers curling into the hem of your sleeves, nails pressing faintly into your skin.

she glances at you then, finally acknowledging your presence in full. her smile is polite, and unassuming—nothing malicious in her gaze. 

it's annoying really... how she's so easygoing.

so... opposite of you? because in times like this, she's the kind of girl that can push through and smile. you? not so much. though you know you should smile back, you don't. rather, you can't.

so, instead, you nod.

with that, she lets out a small laugh and excuses herself, the warmth of her presence fading as quickly as it came.

but the damage is done.

your thoughts race, irrational and loud, clawing at the inside of your head. jungkook barely gets the chance to turn before he notices—the way you’ve gone still, the shift in your expression, the way your shoulders have tensed ever so slightly.

“she’s into jimin,” he murmurs, voice low. like it's barely above a whisper. like it's just for you.

you blink. 

then, a wave of relief crashed over. 

jungkook lifts the jacket in his hands, his fingers pressing into the fabric as he exhales. “this isn’t mine. it’s jimin’s.”

your brows furrow, processing.

“ai and jimin have this… thing.” he grimaces. “on and off again situationship, i guess… he never likes to talk about it so ai does this thing where she makes it everyones problem but jimin’s. i don’t know. i just keep getting caught in the middle.”

oh. 

oh.

something in your chest eases—just a fraction.

but not entirely. 

it’s stupid.

completely, utterly stupid… because why should it matter? it’s not like you—

you shift on your feet, suddenly hyperaware of the way jungkook is watching you. the way his gaze lingers, studying, picking up on details you wish he wouldn’t.

“you okay, princess?” he asks.

you clear your throat. “y-yeah—i just…” you glance toward the girl, now chatting with someone else across the room. “i didn’t know that about jimin.”

jungkook hums, tilting his head slightly. 

“you sure that’s all it is?”

you scoff at him. “what else would it be?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he just watches you… like he’s waiting for something... the way he waits, makes you fidget.

you hate that it makes you fidget. 

that it makes you feel seen in a way you don’t want to be.

“i’m gonna go greet the others,” you mutter, turning on your heel, and moving toward the others. "catch you later—"

"___—"

as you step away, annoyance still lingers beneath your skin. your chest feels so tight still… meanwhile, jungkook places his hand on his chest and clenches it. 

something is wrong. 

and you can’t hide it from him.

it starts off slow. subtle.

almost like a silent war.

at first, you ignore him. at least, you try to.

for the past half-hour, you’ve kept yourself busy, drifting from one conversation to the next, laughing at half-hearted jokes, nodding at stories you aren’t fully listening to—all while avoiding his gaze.

but jungkook is relentless.

he stares, unwavering, dark eyes burning through the space between you. it makes the people you talk to uneasy, shifting under the weight of his presence. he doesn’t care. doesn’t even blink. he just watches, jaw clenched, frustration simmering under his skin.

weren’t you two fine before?

what changed?

it’s not fair. you’re being unfair.

by the hour mark, he’s done waiting. his patience—thin and fraying—snaps. he moves, weaving through the crowd with a single-minded focus, no longer shooting daggers at anyone in your orbit. now, his attention is solely on you. people try talking to him, but he brushes them off with a distracted nod, a quiet hum. jungkook has never been the most social, but tonight? he’s something else.

steady. controlled. purposeful.

and everyone can see it.

everyone except for you.

he wants something.

he wants you.

so, he decides he’s getting you. one way or another.

this distance? this coldness? he hates it.

it’s not like you. not with him.

his feet move before he can stop them, a sharp exhale leaving his lips as he finally closes the space—

but just as he reaches you, you stand.

his steps falter.

you’re heading towards the kitchen, slipping past taehyung, ready to lose yourself in the crowd there.

his jaw tenses.

then—

“the guards!”

your voice cuts through the room, loud and urgent. “everyone hide!”

chaos erupts.

yoongi flicks his wrist and darkness swallows the space. shadows stretch across the walls, flickering like ghosts. your breath catches, adjusting to the sudden shift. silhouettes blur, people scrambling into hiding—under the bed, behind curtains, pressed against the ceiling with their auras. you move toward the door, but—

then you see it.

or, more accurately, you feel it first.

a sharp pang, like a fist tightening around your stomach.

jungkook brushes past you, fast, purposeful. he heads for the closet, but then—

his hand reaches out.

not for you.

for ai.

he pulls her close, murmuring something low in her ear as he guides her across the room. she laughs, light and breathy, before slipping inside the closet with him.

the sight is gut-wrenching.

sickening.

heat rises to your face, burning at the back of your throat. you don’t know if you want to yell or walk away. your fists clench at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

you shouldn’t care.

but you do.

knock.

“princess?”

another knock.

“we’ve returned from the errands you sent us on. you'll be pleased to know everything went well... princess, is everything alright? we heard some noise... do you have company?”

your heart pounds and your hands shake as you answer the door. yet, regardless of how you feel; you smile.

“yes,” you breathe, voice smooth despite the chaos in your chest. “everything is fine. t-thank you for running those errnads... i’m having a self-care night and streaming a game with friends. excuse the noise. please, take your posts at the guard house. i'll be fine for tonight. it's late anyway and your shifts are ending soon. take the extra hour off."

the guard hesitates, then nods. “as you wish.”

you wait until their footsteps fade before closing the door and locking it. the second the latch clicks, the tension collapses.

everyone exhales, heavy and relieved.

laughter spills into the space, nerves unraveling. yoongi flicks the lights back on, dimmer than before. jin groans. taehyung lets out a breathless chuckle.

but you barely hear it.

because the closet door creaks open.

jungkook steps out, ai right behind him. she grins at something he murmurs under his breath.

and just like that, the feeling returns.

tight and suffocating. curling deep in your gut.

he didn’t hesitate.

not even for a second.

it presses against something inside you, something sharp and unwelcoming.

so you turn away.

“you good?” taehyung side-eyes you from the couch.

“yeah. i'm fine.” you answer him rather too quickly. too sharp.

taehyung's mouth twitches, unconvinced. but he doesn’t press. you sink down beside him, trying to ground yourself, but the moment you do—the couch jerks backward.

your body stumbles.

the guys groan. you look up and see jimin glaring at jungkook.

“jungkook!” jimin whines. “don’t use your fucking aura right now. stop messing with us.”

“jungkook,” namjoon warns. “don’t move furniture for attention.”

but it works.

he has yours.

your head snaps toward him. he tilts his head, slow and assessing, as if you’re the problem.

frustration bubbles under your skin. you take a deep breath, standing to head to the kitchen. you need space. you need something to do.

you reach for a piece of bread. but suddenly, it's taken out of your hand.

jungkook then takes a slow, deliberate bite.

“did you want this?”

you stay silent.

his eyes glint. “use your words like a big girl.” he’s teasing. but it’s different. charged and edged with something unreadable.

you reach for another piece—

his aura glows.

suddenly, all the bread lifts into the air, floating just out of reach.

your patience snaps.

“jungkook—”

“not so fun, is it?” he murmurs. “having something right in front of you, but never being able to reach it.”

it’s a loaded statement.

the bread drops.

his mood shifts. his aura flickers between you, pulsing hot and heavy. before you can react, his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you to the side.

eyes snap to you both.

“don’t make a scene—”

he chuckles. “this isn’t a scene.” his voice drops lower. “do you want me to make a scene?”

you grab his hand, gripping it tight. “stop.”

“you stop,” he hisses. everyone begins to whisper around you two. then, louder, to the room—“holy shit. watch the fucking game.”

the command in his voice—his aura—shifts the air. he lifts his hand in the air and waves it towards the projection. suddenly, everyone turns to the screen, despite the protests, despite the groans. they don’t have a choice. they're under his control.

jungkook leans in.

“what’s wrong, princess?” he asks, eyes dark and searching. “why are you mad at me?”

you hesitate.

“i’m…”

“you’re?”

you swallow, looking around. everyone's eyes are fixed on the screen and you can tell they're all uncomfortable. you are too.

then, you take a deep breath in. you turn to everyone and notice how his aura still radiates through them. with pleading eyes, you ask him; “can you… not do this? let them watch if they want to watch. let them talk if they want to talk. let them stare—”

“only if you talk to me. like, really talk to me.”

you nod, accepting the exchange.

jungkook shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. as he exhales, so does the room. everyone’s posture goes back to normal and they continue on with whatever they were doing before. once you see that everyone is comfortable again, you look at jungkook and tilt your head at him.

“you can’t always use your aura to get what you want.”

jungkook shrugs. “using it or not, there’s not much difference.”

“what do you mean?”

“you don’t like me regardless,” he assumes. “right? you hate that i have this aura.”

you shake your head.

“i hate the way you use it.”

then, he snaps.

“i hate the way you make me use it.”

silence.

and then, the weight of it crashes down.

“i don’t hate you.”

… is all you manage to say. 

jungkook’s lips twitch.

just like that, ease takes over his eyes. he can’t help but feel a sense of hope. like every negative thought he made up about himself throughout this entire night ceases to exist because of your four words… but it still stings. how you treated him tonight… how much of a fucking pull you have on him that he acts like a manchild. how badly he wants your attention… and how suffocating it is to be without it. 

“you don’t?”

“no.”

the air stills between you two. 

jungkook doesn’t know how to explain it… but there’s a warmth that blooms in his chest. like a relief takes over. it’s so.. special to him. he’s never felt better so fast. he has never… believed anyone so fast. your words cut deep into him, carving themselves into his heart. then, the familiar feeling of wanting to touch you kicks in. he knows it’s not the time, so he fights the urge. 

but it’s difficult. 

so, just as he reaches—

“did you find it?” you ask.

he tilts his head, confused. “find what?”

“your hoodie.”

“my hoodie?”

you nod. “yeah. it was in the closet.”

slowly and then all at once, jungkook’s face falls. 

the warmth in his eyes dim like the sunset swallowed by night. i’s slow, almost imperceptible—the slight twitch of his brows, the way his lips part as the realization sinks in. but then, it’s unmistakable. his expression shifts, unraveling from confusion into something softer, something edged with regret. you swallow, but it does nothing to ease the ache blooming in your chest, jealousy and hurt tangling like thorns in your throat. 

you shouldn’t care. 

you shouldn’t. 

but the weight of it sits heavy in your lungs, pressing against every breath. and jungkook sees it—sees the way your fingers curl in your sleeves, the way your gaze flickers away like you can’t bear to hold his. the air between you turns fragile, laced with something unspoken, something that trembles on the verge of breaking.

“you…” he pieces it together and sees the picture whole. “you can’t be serious? are you upset that i hid her? ___, we were going to get caught—”

“but did you have to hold her waist?” you hush him. “why couldn’t she just hide on her own? why was that your responsibility—”

“okay, fuck. do you want me to hold your waist so you two can be even or something?”

“what?” you raise your voice. “are you insane? no. a-and… we’re not even. she and i are—”

“you’re what?” 

you pause. 

“well… she’s not your soulmate. she’s not supposed to be even with me.” you choke out, almost cringing at your own words. "i... i'm your soulmate."

jungkook huffs. then, a small chuckle comes out. soon enough, a laugh. 

“sorry,” he attempts to stop himself. “this is kind of ridiculous. i mean, i told you she’s into jimin, didn’t i? why can’t you trust me—”

“because i don’t know you!” you cry. “god, i don’t know you enough to trust you. and it’s confusing because my heart—or rather, the bond—tells me i do. but my mind… spins every time you do something that i don’t expect. like… why didn’t you just let jimin bring her to the closet? why was it your responsibility? do you know how i felt during those two minutes? what you could’ve done in two minutes?”

“two minutes?" jungkook's eyes widen. "___, are you seriously jealous about me spending two minutes with ai in a closet—”

“yes!” you breathe. “because… w-why did you just leave me—”

“what did you want from me?” jungkook asks rather sincerely. “to stand by you and get caught? they would’ve thrown my ass out. soulmate or not, they would have thrown me out and everyone would have been caught.” 

you swallow. 

then, you mumble, “you just… you didn’t have to go in the closet with her.” 

to your surprise, jungkook nods.

there’s no defensiveness in his expression, no sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. just quiet acceptance, like he’s already replayed it in his head and realized there’s nothing to argue.

his shoulders drop, the fight leaving him all at once. a slow exhale pushes past his lips, and when he speaks, his voice is softer—lower, like an admission he doesn’t want to make.

“okay.” his gaze flickers to yours, holding it. “i didn’t have to go inside the closet with her.” a pause, then the slightest huff of a breath, something like regret tugging at the corners of his mouth. “you’re right. my bad.”

he says it so simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to agree with you. and maybe that’s what surprises you the most—not the words themselves, but the way he says them, like he means them.

“do you forgive me now?” his voice is quiet, careful, like he already knows the answer.

you exhale, pressing your lips together. “jungkook, you didn’t even say sorry—”

before you can finish, the room is swallowed in darkness.

a sharp inhale. 

the shuffle of feet. jimin’s voice cuts through the quiet. 

“someone’s coming.”

you freeze. 

jungkook does too. 

the air weighs down on you two. thick, unmoving. somewhere in the dark, a faint rustle of fabric, the soft creak of wood settling under shifting weight. muffled whispers. hurried footsteps. you hear everyone scrambling into hiding, bodies pressing into corners, behind furniture.

but jungkook doesn’t move.

he stays beside you.

then, a gentle nudge against your arm. deliberate. teasing.

"hey, p?"

his voice is low, quiet, but the way he says your name—it curls at the edges, soft and familiar.

"hmm?"

you feel him shift closer. not much, just enough. enough that the warmth of him bleeds into your skin, enough that the air between you turns thinner, charged.

"do you think we have two minutes?"

his voice is impossibly close now, warm against the shell of your ear. and even though it’s dark, even though you shouldn’t be able to see him—somehow, you do.

you feel him.

the slight tilt of his head. the barely-there curve of his lips, smug and knowing. the way his lashes dip, his gaze dropping to your mouth before flicking back up, unhurried, unreadable.

your breath catches.

"for what?"

you don’t know why you ask. maybe you do. maybe you just want to hear him say it.

but he doesn’t.

he just lingers—close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off him, the faint scent of something warm and clean, something undeniably him.

his silence stretches, heavy, expectant.

and you think he’s waiting but—

instead, he tugs you forward, slow and certain, hands skimming down your arms before settling at your waist. his grip is light—tentative. 

now. 

now he’s waiting. it’s like he’s giving you the chance to step away.

but you don’t.

and the moment you don’t, something changes. in fact, you feel it in your heart. something glows.

his hands tighten, just barely. his head dips, his breath warm against your cheek, and then his lips brush yours—once, then again, like he’s memorizing the feeling, like he’s giving you another chance to stop him.

but you don’t.

the world suddenly stops as jungkook’s lips meet yours. he kisses you. your soulmate kisses you for the first time.

slow and deep, careful and desperate all at once. his fingers press into your waist like he’s trying to tell you something without words… and maybe he is. maybe you are, too, because your hands find his shirt, fisting the fabric, pulling him closer, letting him steal another second, another breath.

then—

a flicker. a buzz.

light floods the room, washing over you both like a wave crashing against shore.

you break apart instantly, breathless, dazed.

jimin blinks at you both, unimpressed. 

“sorry everyone! false alarm.”

just like that, the room shifts back to life. conversations pick up, laughter hums through the air, the moment folding neatly into the chaos like it never existed at all.

except it did.

you can still feel it—still feel him. the heat of his hands, the ghost of his lips, the unspoken words lingering between you.

you stand side by side, staring ahead, breathing uneven.

your fingertips still linger, barely brushing.

your heart still races, pounding against your ribs, aching for a moment that belonged only to the two of you.

jungkook turns to you, searching, chasing your gaze as if the answer is there—written in the spaces between your lashes, in the soft parting of your lips. and maybe it is. because when he looks at you now, really looks at you, he sees something he hasn’t noticed until now.

something familiar. something timeless. something extraordinary.

a glint.

a sparkle.

your breath hitches when you realize how close he is, how his eyes trace over you like he’s trying to commit you to memory. and for a second, just a second, it feels like the universe quiets—like nothing exists outside of this moment, outside of you.

then, he sees it.

and when he does, a breath slips past his lips, soft, relieved. because there’s no need to split the sky or rearrange the cosmos. this entire time, he hadn’t realized it before—hadn’t seen it, the same way people forget that the stars don’t disappear in the daylight. they’re always there, quiet and constant, just waiting for the right moment to be seen. and this? this is his time to see—to know it.  

yes, he’s right. 

there are stars in your eyes.

[luvmist]

I WONT SAY (IM IN LOVE) 1 · جونغكوك

‘no man is worth the aggravation, that’s ancient history been there, done that!’ oh but who do you think you’re kidding?

wc: 9,126

pairing: fem reader x hero jeon jeongguk

genre: smut, romance, angst, humour, drama, hercules au, fantasy au, grumpy x sunshine, forbidden romance

warnings: v self indulgent fic based on my fav song of all time.

an: my debut is here, how daunting. sm stuff in the works but i decided to just bite the bullet + start posting in hopes to gain some traction. so hi guys, im nani and im new to writing. gen hope u enjoy cuz putting myself out there is insanely scary. much more 2 come unless this flops in which case i will be crawling back into the hole from which i came. pls reblog if ud like. and pls leave some constructive criticism, ive never written before lol. srry if this is ass. still finding my rhythm as a writer.

“get off me you salivating little salamander!” you screamed, nessus’ hands wrapped tight around your waist as you thrashed about in his determined grip.

“oh, cmon, sweetheart. all i want is a little kiss” his disgustingly gravelly voice turns even more sinister, “besides. who was it wanting a favour, huh?” his hands squeeze your torso even tighter as he leans in. “cut it out, fish-lips.” you snap back, fingers clawing at his enormous arms. his laughter boomed across the swamp, raising you higher in the air. “oh i like ‘em firey!” he laughed with ecstatic perversion. you struggled against his hold, contorting your face in utter disgust at his proximity.

“now, now. let’s play fair. ill make nice with your boss, if you make nice with me.” he grinned.

“keep your mangy mouth away from mine—“ you began, kicking at his chest. but the brute persisted anyway, pulling you down towards him until you could feel his rancid breath fanning over your face. you shuddered.

“drop her.” said a sudden voice.

nessus halted his actions, holding you mid-air as both he and you turn your heads simultaneously.

the voice belonged to a man, a tall, lean man. standing proud in the the water below you. you knew who this was, how could you not? you were working for sedah, after all.

jeon jeongguk. athens’ beloved saviour and number one hero — a ‘prodigy of justice plucked from the masses,’ they called him. and, as it so happens. your boss’ life-long obsession and entirely one sided arch-nemesis. you hadn’t had any direct involvement in any of the orchestrated schemes sedah had constructed specifically to kill jeongguk — not that any of them had worked, anyway. but oh yes, you knew who this was. however, nessus seemed not to.

“keep moving, squirt. you’re interrupting my playtime.” scoffed nessus, a cocky smirk now covering his revolting face. he was much, much bigger than jeongguk and clearly was living under the misapprehension that he had the upper hand here. you knew better.

“looks more like a harassment case from where im standing.” answered jeongguk, clenching his jaw.

you didnt have time for this pissing contest, you had work to do. part of that was getting nessus to pledge allegiance to sedahs’ cause in preparation for the uprising. so you decide to interrupt them both, “he’s right, junior. get lost.”

nessus looks at you with the most surprised expression you’ve ever seen on any man’s face in all grecian history, eyebrows raising so high they almost disappear into his nonexistent hairline — this is quickly replaced by deluded smugness.

jeongguk’s face, on the other hand, turns into a portrayal of utter confusion. wonderboy clearly wasn’t used to being turned down. “b-but aren’t you a damsel in distress?” he stammered out, looking up at you with wide doe eyes. cute. you’d never seen him up close before. athens’ number one hero stutters, huh?

“im a damsel” — you struggled against nessus’ grasp again, “im in distress” — you stretched yourself further “i can handle it.” — you looked up at him with a smirk of your own. “have a nice day” you smiled, brushing a strand of wet hair away from your cheek. jeongguk was dumbfounded.

“ha!” spat nessus. you scowled at him. pompous ass. “you heard the lady, pipsqueak. now scram.” he laughed.

jeongguks turned his gaze from you to him, his eyes going from wide genuineness to narrow disdain. “listen here, you overgrown, balding hippogriff. if i see a beleaguered woman i have a responsibility to intervene.”

“what if you see a woman dying of boredom from watching a wimpy male turf war, what then?” you mutter under your breath, your elbow now on nessus’ hands as you rest your cheek into your own palm. jeongguk turns his eyes to you for a split second to furrow his brows in indignant disbelief. as if to say, ‘really?’

you keep your stern eyes on him and answer with a bored nod. as if to say, ‘really.’

unfortunately nessus decides to interject into your silent conversation, “well i dont really see what you can do about either of those scenarios, puny boy.” you raised your eyebrows in mild amusement. who’da thunk nessus had a word as big as ‘scenario’ lurking inside is hollow noggin?

jeongguk however, was not amused.

“did you just. call me. puny.” he gritted out. oh, brother.

it happened fast — jeongguks clenched fist colliding with nessus’ face, sending the colossal monster plummeting back through the swamp at least a hundred yards. having released you from his clutches during, you were falling quickly through the air. but you never hit the water, jeongguk caught you seconds before. strong hands supporting your thighs as you coughed into his chest from the shock. you knew he was strong, inhumanly so — you’d heard the stories of his performances through the nearby city, and knew the reason behind his superstrength, even though he didnt know it himself. but actually seeing it in person, that close, well. it was glorious, and fucking impressive. maybe all those fawning girls at his feet weren’t so laughable, after all. your friends being a few of them. you felt yourself being placed gently on one of the rocks by the swamps aperture.

“gee miss, im really sorry. that was dumb.” he says sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

you pull your wet hair in half to reveal your now recomposed face, “yeah.” you deadpan. another interaction was short-lived, as both of you became privy to the sound of nessus’ hooves furiously galloping back through the water towards you.

jeongguk gave you a shy smile and held up a finger, excusing himself by mouthing ‘one minute.’ before turning around.

you furrow your eyebrows in amusement, straining some more murky water out of your locks as you watch the fight.

“now that’s what im talking about, kid! aha!” said a new voice next to you, you turned to your left, a satyr. god. haven’t you dealt with enough bald hoofed men for one day?

you keep your eyes on the fight in front of you, “so wonderboy is actually for real, then.” you say, mostly to yourself. “what are you talkin’ about? a’course, he’s for real!” says the satyr, tone and demeanour becoming suggestive after he gets a better look at you, “and by the way, sweetcheeks, im real too. the names jyp.” he sits his compressed little half-man body onto your lap and puckers up his lips, giving you a racy wink.

“ugh.” you snub, shoving him off into the water.

jeongguk and nessus seemed to be busy still, until jeongguk lands a tremendous punch under nessus’ chin, sending him flying up and away until he was nothing but a blue little blip in the sky. he laughed in triumph and ran his way back up through the bog towards the satyr — or jyp, whatever his name was.

“hell yeah! you see that, j?” celebrated jeongguk, clapping his wet hands and grinning as he shook water out of his sandals.

“alright, reign it in, rookie. you almost slumped it by getting distracted by that gammy doll-face over there.” spat jyp, hoisting himself up and pulling a flapping fish out his horns. that ‘gammy doll-face’ clearly being you, but you paid it no mind. more concerned with your drenched skirts. still, you listened a little further to the conversation happening a few feet away from you. curious about the strange dynamic between jeongguk and the satyr, who seemed to be his…. coach. or at least an authority figure in one way or another. this little imp was lecturing athens’ number one hero. seriously?

“you can get away with mistakes like those in the minor decathlons, but this is the big leagues! we’re in thebes now.” scolded jyp.

“at least i beat him, didnt i?” jeongguk groaned.

“that’s not the point, kid. you stalled. next time dont let your guard down because of a pair of big goo-goo eyes!” jyps’ naked head was so red you could’ve fried an egg on it. he kept at it, droning on about training and rules and a disciplined approach. you stopped listening after that. letting out a sigh, you got yourself off the rock and made your way to river bank, leaning down gather some clean water into your palms. but you couldn’t help but gaze back at jeongguk who was still being reprimanded by the goat. you watch as jeongguks face goes from attentive to distracted and awe-struck as he meets your stare, and suddenly — much to jyps angered indignance — he starts walking towards you. his manner completely dazed. an extreme contrast to his previous confident violence towards the swamp centaur nessus. was he always so gentle outside of combat? either way, his disorientation seemed to be strong given he walked past his pegasus, ignoring the high-five it had held out to him to make his way to you. now both the pegasus and jyp were seething. you stifled a laugh and turned away.

it wasn’t long before you heard his timid voice behind you, “a-are you alright miss—“

“yn. yn ln. and you are?”

“y- uh, well. m-“ he laughs nervously,

“they didnt give you a name with all those rippling pectorals?” you look down at his abs and back up at him.

“h- no! ah, jeongguk! my name is jeongguk. jeon jeongguk” he managed to get out, rubbing his bashful face with his calloused palm.

“i like the name jeongguk” you nod, popping a dimple.

he blushed at that. hard.

“sh- oh, wow. huh. th-ank. uh, ha” he muttered looking down.

“are you always this articulate?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow. what you really wanted to ask was ‘why are you behaving like a crushing schoolgirl when you have every girl in athens at your feet, famous boy?’

“thank you. fuck, i meant to say thank you.” he let out, big bunny teeth biting down on his bottom lip. sweet.

you sit back down and start fiddling with the strap of your dress.

jeongguk clearly didnt want the conversation to end there though, given he was lingering, rocking back and forth on his feet like a toddler about to ask his mummy for a lollipop. “so uh- how, how’d you get mixed up with that pinhead?” he asks, referring to nessus.

you obviously cant tell the truth so you plaster on an unbothered smile and told yet another, plausible and evasive lie. this has become something you’ve had to do several times a day for almost two years now. you were not only good at it, you were accustomed to it. so why the odd twinge of guilt?

“well, you know how men are. they think ‘no’ means ‘yes’ and ‘get lost’ means ‘take me, im yours’,” you answered, and then added “present company included.” for good measure.

he didnt like that.

“i think you mean excluded.” quips jeongguk.

“nope. told you to get lost too, didnt i?”

“w-well, yes.” he starts, embarrassed again, “but i can’t not help if i see someone in need, that’s just who i am.” he states somewhat confidently. his demeanour switches straight back to shy after he’s met with your unimpressed stance, arms folded across your chest.

“that’s alright, shorty—“ you nod your head at jyp, “—can explain the concept of rejection to ya later.”

jyp basically growls at that, glaring up at you.

by the way the sun is sitting in the sky you can already tell you’re late, sedah said not more than an hour to complete the nessus task. you’d wasted enough time already. “well thanks for everything, jeon. its been a real slice.” you give him a mock salute as you turn away.

“wait! can we give you a ride?” asks jeongguk, almost desperately. little sucker wanted you to stick around so badly, and for what?

there was no need to make up an excuse for all that, though. his pegasus snorted before pouncing up into the tree above, neighing at you very matter-of-factly.

“i dont think your pinto likes me very much.” you laugh.

“pff! bam? dont be silly! he’d be more than happy to—“ jeongguk never got to finish that sentence, bam having dropped an apple onto his head before whistling away to himself in faux-innocence as jeongguk rubbed his head.

you actually laughed at that. you might actually like this horse. but you had to get rid of wonderboy, “ill be alright. im a big, tough girl. i tie my own sandals and everything.” you tell him, giving his broad chest a small punch. “bye, bye wonderboy.” you give him one last look, he towered over you with the softest, most entranced expression. “b-bye” he sighed.

you dont turn back as you walk off but you can hear tiny bits of the dialogue between jeongguk and jyp that’s happening —

“woah, she’s something isnt she?” jeongguk, enamoured.

“oh, yeah, yeah. something. a real pain in the patella!” jyp, absolutely livid.

you get too far and the voices die out after that, but you allow yourself a little snicker. shame that wonderboys’ time will be over soon enough once sedah eventually manages to make it happen, cause he’s actually kinda nice. all the same, you cant let yourself dwell. good people die all the time. that’s the way things are. so you fix your face back to indifference and make your way to the part of the forest where the sun doesn’t shine. you have a very painful meeting to get to.

reaching the dark forest you knew he’d be there waiting for you. sedah. your boss, or rather — the man who owns you, and spends every waking moment deriving sick satisfaction from reminding you of that fact. you saw a swirl of smoke, before you saw it morph back into an arm. and there he was, leaning spitefully against a tree.

but his smirk quickly turned into a scowl, “why are you alone?” he barked, “where’s the swamp centaur?”

“i gave it my best shot but he made me an offer i had to refuse.” you state, pursing your lips and looking away.

his smoke swirled again and came flowing from him to your chin, with it he tilted it up and brought your body floating towards him, a habit of his.

“yn, my little flower, my little vixen, my little puppet. what exactly happened here? i thought you were gonna persuade the swamp guardian to join my side for the uprising, and here i am sorta swamp guardianless,” he grumbled, voice dripping with sarcasm and mockery. “so i think instead of subtracting two years from your sentence, im gonna add two on.” he went on, faux-nonchalance encasing his every word. this was his favourite game, giving you impossible tasks and then adding time to your sentence, which was now standing at 36 long years. this came as no shock, given you had spent 2 years under his tyrannical enslavement already and were familiar with his merciless manner.

“you enjoying this, huh, puppet? you know if i didnt know any better, id say you really dont try hard enough to earn your freedom,” — now he was in the mood to taunt you, his temper festering under his fabricated cool exterior — “i mean, as i recall, you did sell me your soul so willingly. oh, how sweetly you begged me. all to save your poor boyfriends life. and how’d that go again, im a little fuzzy on the details, remind me? no? no matter. i think i remember, ah yes,”

“enough.” you interrupt, not wanting painful reminders of your shadowed past and your ex lovers’ betrayal which got you into this predicament in the first place.

“look it wasn’t my fault, ok? it was your wonderboy hercules.” you defended. this seemed to get his attention.

dropping you from his smoke he stood, eyes fixed, mouth open, sharp teeth almost chattering in outrage.

“he’s here? in thebes now? that little mutt left athens and now he’s trying to become the number one hero in the country!”

“seems so. fighting crime, that’s for sure. guess he’s putting your plan in action before you could.”

sedah takes a moment to compose himself. “well, well then. i guess we’ll have to speed up his elimination process—“

“the one you’ve been trying to get done since he started?” you interrupt, taking your own turn to taunt.

sedah’s scowl was chilling. “yes, the very one. but this time we have him in the city. and ill be there to supervise, so todays the day we correct this egregious complication. instead of relying on my inefficient connections in athens.”

“you won’t beat him easily, sedah. boys a hunk.”

“i’ve heard the stories.”

“they dont do him justice. i saw it in action myself, today.”

“yn, yn, yn. now, don’t tell me you’re sweet on him?”

“dont be daft. he sauntered about with his innocent farm boy act but i could see through that in a minute.”

sedah was clever, but he was also ill-tempered and impulsive. he wasn’t heeding your warnings, more preoccupied with his malicious teasing. but you were telling the truth. the poison potion pain and panic — sedahs henchmen, had bottled jeongguk with when he was only a baby, the one that backfired and gave him godly strength — it was beyond anything you’d ever imagined. no matter how wild and exaggerated you had allowed your visions to go when you’d heard the tales. truly, they didn’t come close.

“i have something no mortal man can withstand up my sleeve,” sedah promised, “and this time. no foul-ups.”

the city of thebes. bustling, grimey and downright unsalvegable. nicknamed the city of turmoil. you made your way to the city center, your orders were simple. find jeongguk, lure him to the gorge. upon his last breath, you’d be free.

you only had to look for the biggest crowd of doting fans and there he was, right in the middle. in his element. charming smile adorning his feautures as he greeted and grinned, shaking hands and signing urns. letting little boys sit on bams’ back and doing reps with young, giggling women as they hung from his bicep. must be nice to be so loveable, you thought for a second. then you quickly swatted that away. remembering what people are, and how little their love truly means.

you gasped a few times, and ran a hand through your hair, trying to make yourself look breathy and tired from the running you hadn’t done. its go time.

when you were within range you quickened your pace and started shouting, “help! help! somebody, please help!”

his head turned instantly. eyes morphing into crazed worry and recognition. “yn!” he yelled, jogging to meet you halfway. so the little chuck remembered your name and everything. you almost felt bad, here he was gripping your arms with all the care and attention in the world, unbeknownst to the fact that you were leading him straight to his death.

“oh, jeongguk! thank god. you have to help me,” you exclaim, putting on your best desperate expression.

“yn? what is it, what’s wrong?” he demands, big hands coming to hold your waist as you pretended to feel faint.

“there’s been a terrible accident! right across town, two little boys they were playing in the gorge. there was this rockslide, a terrible rockslide. they’re trapped!” you rush out, panicking as best you could.

it was like a switch went off, his eyes narrowed, his shoulders stiffened. the same switch you had seen in the swamp. “im on it,” he said, the crowd around gushing praises and anecdotes of his bravery, everyone dashing in the direction of the gorge. the citizens of thebes clearly giddy with anticipation to see jeongguks heroic performance for the first time. he was moving fast too, about to climb onto bam who’d doubtlessly have him by the gorge in a matter of seconds. but he broke his focus, for the tiniest of moments, turned his head back to you, softened his gaze into the most tender look you’d ever seen any human give another. he whispered “its good to see you.” giving your cheek a small peck. you didnt have time to process or react, before you could so much as open your mouth, he had mounted bam and was off and away. civilians chasing after him on foot on their way to the gorge.

you were left in the center, alone. with nothing but silence and a heavy heart. you’re doing this for your freedom. you told yourself. but your hard heart softened regardless, you stood and looked at the fountain. you allowed yourself a true moment of atonement. you had just played a major role in ridding the nation of a hero, from his warm, giving hands you were placing everyone into the claws of an evil man, who’s reign will bespeak an eon of terror. you stare at your reflection in the fountain. you touch the part of your cheek he kissed and allowed a single tear to flow down your face. “im free,” you murmured. “its over, now. im free.”

that night you slept in your own bed, not returning to sedahs’ crypt. it was a tiny, rented shack in the woods. but your own nonetheless. you heard the rain pitter-pattering outside the window before you opened your eyes. so thick with sleep, you couldn’t understand why you had woken up so early given your exhaustion, the rain surely wasn’t loud enough for that. you waited a second more and you heard something else, a rapping against your door. an intentional, conscious action. ah. rubbing your eyes you rose and made your way to answer it, must be the neighbours. but before you could reach for the doorknob the rapping halted abruptly, and something was slipped under the door. you picked it up, a copy of this mornings paper.

your eyes widened in disbelief. no. it cant be, its impossible! the dragon had regenerating heads, for fucks sake!

but yes, there it was. clear as day. an article on jeongguks monumental success yesterday in the gorge. he was alive, your heart began to race, thundering against your ribcage. he was alive. he won. he made it. you turned the paper over, there in black, scratchy handwriting was the aftermath of the news you were stunned to hear —

“BOYS ALIVE. DEALS OFF, BABE. MEET ME IN MY LAIR IN A HALF-HOUR, AND MAKE HASTE. IVE GOT A NEW PLAN.”

you gripped the paper so hard your nails dug through it. no. this wasn’t the deal, you’d done your part. you got him to the gorge, didn’t you? this couldn’t be happening. you were back in sedahs slimey possession after not even a day. you fell to your knees and wept, but only for a time. you hadn’t long to pull on your frock and meet him. you knew better than to be defiant, sedahs temper was especially supple after a defeat. you had a sickly feeling dancing about inside you. what could he possibly want from you now?

“so, what’s the plan?” you muttered in disinterest, staring hard at the rain pouring outside.

“yn, yn. my mangy little muttercup, always so……aloof,” taunted sedah.

you found your jaw jerking on its own from impatience, vexation and strong homicidal desire. your back was turned, facing the window you kept your eyes trained steady on the trees, the droplets of former rain slipping down the leaves. arms crossed, and very still.

“would’ya look at me,” he taunts again, “would’ya?” the sly, conniving, smirk in his voice was so evident it made you heave dryly before you turned around.

“there’s my girl!” he slams his hands against the desk. black, beady eyes sparkling with scorn.

“did you or did you not call me here to go over the plan?” you huffed.

“so serious. always so, so. serious.” sedah kicks his feet up onto his desk and stretches, hands behind his head. sick. fucking, smirk. widening. “loosen up, my lugubriousness! todays the first say of the rest of our lives. well, my life.” chuffed, he was.

you kept your face very still.

“alright fine, fine, i get it, tutz. we’ll get to it.” he takes his feet of the table and leans forward.

“you wanna start by giving me the outline?” you jabbed,

“the outline? babycakes, you don’t take jeon jeongguk down with an outline! don’t be demented. what i have is a masterplan.” every spiked tooth showed in his dark mouth.

“god, you’re obsessed.”

“with taking my place as greece’s mogul and ridding the world of a do-gooding toddler with a sleeve of tattoos? you bet i am.”

“well? what’s this masterplan then?”

sedah stands, in a few short strides right in front of you, but he doesn’t speak immediately. instead, he begins pacing. slowly, around you — like a shark circling its prey. you hold your breath.

you can tell he’s in the mood to vent, and he does just that: “you know, i know, i mean, let’s face it, we all know its been a long time comin’ it has. meddling, magnifying, manipulating, maximising! ha! but todays the day. see now, i was sulking last night — after he tore out my dragons heart that is, then this morning when the grecian paper published that preposterous article claiming jeon jeongguk to be the best hero our century has ever seen. and in my festering heart i saw the reality of it all, we dont need another monster, or another scheme. we just need to find his weakness. i mean, i’ve been going about it all wrong. silly of me, really.”

“none of this has anything to do with me, sedah.” you retort.

“see now, that’s where you’re wrong, puppet. you know i was gonna let you off the hook, really i was. til panic let me in one a little secret i deem irrefutably useful.

“yeah, what’s that?” you snapped.

“your little act last night in the square — dazzling exhibition, by the way — and the itsy bitsy kiss our loverboy left on your little cheek.”

your mouth fell open. shit. panic had seen that?

“holding out on me, are we? you could’ve told me wonderboy melts for you, but you didn’t. why’s that?” sedah was seething, he wrapped a hand around your throat and got closer.

he leaned right into your ear, “enough curveballs. he seems to be immune to them, now, we’re gonna throw the right set of curves at him.” his hand glided down to your hips and you tried to calm your erratic breathing. you could tell he was smiling despite the fact that your eyes were closed and he was standing behind you.

“this wasn’t the deal!” you sputtered, “you have no claim on me anymore. you said if i lead him to the gorge you’d free me,” tears threatened to break free from your eyes.

he tightened his grip of your throat, “did i, sweetheart? or did i say your freedom would come with jeongguks last breath?” you felt your stomach drop. “fellas still breathing.” he released your neck. you gasped, frantically bringing your hands to your aching throat.

“get me that weakness, yn.”

jeongguk was distracted, to say the least. he was missing his shots during training, chewing his lunch with his mouth open and found staring at nothing in particular repeatedly. his mind was full of you. he just couldn’t help it. you were so pretty. so pretty and so guarded. but why? what was hiding behind those big, brown eyes that seemed to be glossed over in a shield of your own making. he found himself missing you, so badly he couldn’t focus. every ounce of mental energy zeroing-in on trying with all his might to replicate your voice in his head perfectly, just so he could hear it again. having been a hero for a good couple of months now after leaving his home-town, he’d met plenty of girls, and after spending the entirety of his childhood and adolescence as the outcast no one wanted to talk to yeah, he allowed himself the indulgence of being with a few, now that he could. but woah, he’d never felt like this. since the minute he’d seen you in that swamp its like his every emotion and thought depended on you. he wanted you. craved you. needed to know everything that was lurking behind that flippant facade. then he thought he’d never see you again, until you showed up in the square. you, that violet frock. those dark locks, cascading down your back. you looked so scared, so needy. so beautiful. entirely disparate to the disposition you’d had only hours prior. and in that moment the only thing that mattered in the world to him was fixing whatever was making you feel that way. then he had the kids in the gorge to tend to, he knew he had to go. this is what he did, and they needed him. but god, how he wanted to stay with you then. feel your skin and hold you close. he told himself he’d see you when he was done. surely, you’d come to the gorge to watch like every other civilian. but if you did, he couldn’t find you after, no matter how much he looked — which was no easy feat given he was surrounded by the masses celebrating him and dragging him from one feast to the next which he tried to politely excuse himself from with little success. where were you? hours went by. he went back to the fountain in the city center and stared at the water for a while. he didn’t know why. just hoping you’d show. why didn’t you come? didn’t you want to see him after he defeated the dragon and saved the two little boys from the boulder? did you stay to watch and then leave after? how could you leave, was he not clear? did you think he kissed every girl he’d met briefly in passing just once before on the cheek? he meant it as a demonstration, he hoped you’d understand. he was reaching for you, putting the ball in your court. but maybe he was kidding himself. maybe there was no court, maybe you didn’t care enough for there to be one. plausibile, you were basically strangers. and you were a withdrawn, detached, gorgeous one.

yeah, you probably didn’t care. didn’t like him. didn’t think of him. didn’t feel anything when you looked at him at all. he cant recall a single moment of his first interaction with you where you displayed any emotion other than brazen boredom. that’s why the second time meant so much more to him, because you were animated, actually displaying some kind of sentiment. there was a strange tugging in jeongguks subconscious that told him the display had something disingenuous about it, but he pushed that thought away. jeongguk believed people, that’s who he was. he trusted and had faith in others. jeongguk didn’t have much experience with feelings, or women — but how was it possible that you possessed his every waking thought and you could feel nothing at all for him? he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. he knew, rationally, that he should…. but he couldn’t. jeongguk thinks he’d give anything to see you again, even if it was just for a minute. as badly as he wanted you in every way imaginable, he’d settle for a sixty a second interaction in which you insult him again like you did last time. jeongguk thinks of your silhouette, the way it moves — cautious, poised and casual all at once. its like you had built a cast around yourself, enclosing your true essence in relaxed exchanges. what were you hiding? he found himself thinking of you as a treasure chest pretending to be an open book. dismissing anyone who got near with your natural, informalities. but my god, you made him nervous. when you were around it waslike the air around him twisted itself around his lungs when he inhaled. like something was clenching his heart, hard enough to draw blood from the muscle. and he was better for it, happier for it. giddy and tense, his body was weightless and immobilised all at once. and his cheeks hurt like hell from the sheer level of smiling he couldn’t seem to stop doing. even when you caught him out, made fun of him. and when bam dropped that apple on his head and you laughed for the first time, a real laugh. true and girlishy sweet. yet another small smile creeps onto his face. smart mouth. smart girl. pretty girl. pretty girl with a smart mouth he wants to smother with his own lest he—

“oi. earth to jeon. earth to jeon!” yelled jyp waving his little hands and stomping his hooves.

“huh, what?” jeongguk seemed to be snagged out of his trance.

“what is the matta’ with you, kid? d’you hear anythin’ i just said?”

“uh, yeah. fff… yeah.”

jyp rolled his eyes, “at one ya got a meeting with king aegues. he’s got a problem with his stables. at two, ya gotta get a girdle from some amazons, at two thirty ya got—“

“alright, alright. i get the picture. full day, same shit.”

“well that doesn’t exactly sound like the attitude i was lookin’ for, dummy. wasgoin’ on with you, anyway?”

“nothing.” muttered jeongguk, letting his arms go limp.

jyp narrowed his eyes and let that sit a moment, then he was laughing.

“hah? what’s so funny?” jeongguk let a slight, confused smile break out on his face.

“you’re thinkin’ of someone with long eyelashes,”

“what!”

“oh yeah, yeah yeah, kid. dont deny it. blushin,’ gushin,’ barley eatin.’ i seen this before. hell, i been there myself more than a few times. its a girl, huh?” jyp couldn’t hide his amusement, “which one?”

“there’s no girl.”

“oh, sure, sure. and im six feet tall.”

“shut up.”

“not so friendly, huh? you must really like her.”

“what do i have at three?”

“defensive and evasive. you’re in love, chum.”

“whatever.”

they go over the schedule, sign some urns and then jyp takes begins to his leave — jeongguk has an hour or so of down time before his day gets busy. but just as he was about to let him get to it jeongguk stops him,

“hey, j?”

he turns around, “yeah, kid?”

“how do you know if you’re in love or not?”

“you just know, champ.”

your hands were shaking, your breath was shallow. you were beyond nervous, you had past the brink of nerves and fallen headlong into trepidation. to make matters worse, you couldn’t figure out why.

why had you become this jittering mess? all the high-strung tension of total defeat that had poisoned your blood-stream so long ago, the very same wounds you had absolved yourself of by giving up on the idea that change was possible, that good could come from others — the wounds you thought you had silenced from accepting that fact, the ones you thought you had ended, well, they seemed to be alive and well. flailing inside you erratically, and what’s more, is that they seemed to be completely outraged. but why now? this wasn’t your first rodeo, you had completed an innumerable amount of tasks for sedah, many of which involved utilising your skills of seductive flirtation to beckon men into divulging comprising and incriminating information. you knew how to make a man vulnerable, how to open him up and have him bare himself to you raw, all while remaining coy and inclosed within your own protection. many of these tasks had resulted in the death and demise of innocent men, and you’d trained yourself to exhaustion to forget self-sacrificial tendencies and ideations, and do what you must to earn your freedom. after all, self-sacrifice and the deluded misapprehension you used to live under, that any good could come from putting anything — or, anyone — ahead of yourself was the very reason you had sold your soul to sedah in the first place. the very reason for torturous incarceration which seemed to have no end whatsoever. you thought of jeongguk, just for a minute you let yourself wonder about those big, pure eyes. like a puppy.

like something you could never bring yourself to loathe or resent. but you must. you must or you’ll find yourself gasping for breath under sedah’s oppression forevermore. tomorrow was day one, day one of the task, day one of the nine days sedah had granted you to complete your mission. nine days, you had nine sunsets to get close to jeongguk, find his weakness, thereby allowing sedah to end his life, and issue his uprising on the tenth sunrise. you remembered his words now, clear as glass,

“by the last light on the ninth sunset, should jeongguk still be breathing,”

“you’ll make my sentence permanent, i know.”

“oh no, puppet. you won’t just be my slave for the rest of your days. ill kill you.”

[minxmut-cafe]

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.