#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

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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

[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/25

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 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 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]

TAKE ME |

Pairing : Namjoon x Reader

Word count : 3K

Authors note : Ik I've been focusing more on Jimin so I'm trying to write more About other Members as well BUT ITS SO HARD TO IMAGINE THEM SEXUALLY 😫. I hope I did Namjoon justice and if you like it MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

Warning : Smut, fluffy, Dom Namjoon, explicit sexual content, oral sex (M & F receiving), multiple rounds, creampies, cum ring, un-protected sex (wrap it before you tap it y'all), sub reader, virgin reader, rough sex.

Synopsis :

"Namjoon is a smart guy but sometimes...you have to spell certain things out for him, like how you want him to bend you over backwards on his couch"

Namjoon was a smart man.

Brilliant, even.

But when it came to you—his sweet little girlfriend, always so innocent-looking, always giving him those big eyes—

He could be a bit dense.

Because lately?

You’d been acting… different.

Dropping all these strange little comments.

Like when you sat in his lap, playing with the collar of his shirt, and murmured, "You know… I always imagined my first time being with someone as big as you, Joonie."

And Namjoon, sweet clueless Namjoon, just smiled and kissed your forehead, saying, "Aw, baby, that’s sweet."

Or when you twirled your hair between your fingers and sighed, "I bet you’d feel so good inside me, Joon…"

And he just patted your thigh and said, "You always say the nicest things, baby."

And then—

When you literally sat across from him, wearing his biggest hoodie with nothing underneath, and went, "Joonie, I want you to take my virginity."

And Namjoon froze.

His fingers tightened around his book, his jaw going slack. "…Wait. You—" His brows furrowed. "You actually mean that?"

You just blinked at him. "*Joon, I have been dropping hints for weeks."

Namjoon’s brain short-circuited. "Oh."

And then—

It clicked.

"Oh…"

And then—

"Oh."

His book dropped to the floor.

"Baby—" His voice lowered, his gaze darkening in an instant. "Come here."

You bit your lip, crawling into his lap—

And the moment you settled against him, Namjoon’s big hands gripped your waist.

"So you’re telling me—" His fingers tightened on your hips. "You’ve been waiting for me to ruin you this whole time?"

Your breath hitched. "Yes, Joonie…"

His jaw ticked. "And you just let me be oblivious this entire time?"

"Well—" You shrugged, toying with the hem of his shirt. "It was kinda cute how clueless you were—"

And then—

Namjoon flipped you beneath him.

You barely had time to breathe before Namjoon’s mouth was on you.

His lips crushed against yours, hot and urgent, his big hands spreading over your hips as he pulled you into his lap.

"Mmm—!" You whimpered into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair. "J-Joon—!"

"Shhh, baby." His deep voice was low, breathless against your lips. "Been teasing me all this time, hmm? Letting me be clueless while you sat here thinking about me fucking you?"

Your breath hitched. "J-Joon—!"

He just chuckled, dark and gravelly. "Naughty little thing."

And then—

His hands slid under your hoodie.

"Been waiting for me to ruin you, hmm?" His lips ghosted over your jaw, his fingers dancing along the inside of your thigh. "Let’s see just how bad you need it, baby."

And then—

His hand slipped into your panties.

And you gasped. "J-Joon—!"

Namjoon froze.

Because, holy fuck—

"Baby…" His voice dropped, his fingers gliding over your soft, slick heat. "You’re so wet…"

Your cheeks flamed. "Joon—!"

He let out a low groan, his fingers teasing at your entrance. "God, baby—" His other hand gripped your waist, keeping you still. "This all for me?"

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Y-Yes, Joonie—!"

And then—

He pushed a finger inside.

"Ohhh—fuck—!"

Your whole body jerked, your head falling back against the couch. "Joon—!"

Namjoon groaned, his lips trailing down your throat. "Oh, princess—fuck—so tight—" His voice was wrecked, his fingers stretching you open. "You’ve been waiting for this, hmm? Letting me be clueless while you were sitting here, soaking for me?"

You could barely breathe. "J-Joonie—!"

"Bet you were thinking about this every time I touched you." His fingers curled inside you, making you arch off the couch. "Thinking about how it’d feel when I finally fucked you open—"

"YES—!"

And Namjoon grinned.

"Oh, darling—" His voice dropped, his lips brushing against your ear. "You have no idea what you just got yourself into.”

He continued his ministration, trusting his fingers in and out until he felt her throb, “that's right gorgeous— come on, cum on my fingers hmm”

And you did, your back arching against him as he kissed you.

You could barely breathe.

Your body was still shaking, your thighs trembling around Namjoon’s hand, your head thrown back against the couch.

And Namjoon?

He looked wrecked.

His lips were parted, his chest rising and falling, his fingers still buried inside you, coated in your slick.

And then—

He smirked.

"Oh, honey…" His voice dropped, low and raspy. "Look at you."

You whimpered, your whole body still twitching from your orgasm. "M-Moni—!"

He let out a low groan, his free hand cupping your jaw. "Came so pretty for me, baby…" His thumb brushed over your swollen lips. "But we’re not done."

And then—

He picked you up.

"J-Joon—!"

You gasped, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he stood, lifting you like you weighed nothing.

Namjoon just chuckled, dark and gravelly, his grip tightening under your thighs. "Think I’m just gonna let you go after that, baby?"

Your breath hitched. "Joon wai—!"

"Oh, no, baby." His voice was low, his lips grazing over your ear as he carried you down the hall. "You wanted me to take your virginity, hmm?"

You could barely nod, your fingers clenching around his shirt. "Y-Yes, Joonie—!"

His teeth grazed your throat. "Then I’m gonna do it right, baby."

And then—

You were in his bedroom.

He dropped you onto the mattress, his big hands spreading your thighs—

And the way he looked at you—

Like he was going to devour you—

And from the way he tore his shirt off—

You knew he meant it.

Namjoon was sculpted.

Tall, broad, muscles taut under golden skin, his abs flexing as he hovered over you.

And the way he looked at you—

Like he was going to devour you—

Made your breath catch.

"J-Joon—!"

He just grinned, his fingers hooking under your hoodie. "Shhh, baby…" His voice was low, dark, as he peeled it over your head. "Let me see you."

And when you were bare beneath him—

Namjoon groaned.

"Fuck…" His hands gripped your thighs, his gaze raking over your body. "You’re so fucking beautiful."

Your cheeks burned. "J-Joon—!"

But then—

His lips were on you.

Trailing down your throat.

Over your chest.

Your stomach—

Until his head was between your thighs.

"J-Joon—!"

Your breath hitched as he kissed your inner thigh, his big hands spreading you open.

"Oh, baby…" His voice dropped, his hot breath ghosting over your slick heat. "Look at you…"

And then—

He licked you.

"OH—!"

Your whole body jerked, your fingers fisting the sheets. "J-Joon—!"

He just groaned, his hands tightening on your thighs. "Oh, baby… you taste so fucking good."

And then—

He buried his face in you.

"OH FUCK—!"

His tongue fucked into you, hot and sloppy, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking until you were screaming.

"J-JOON—!"

His arms locked around your thighs, holding you down as you thrashed, his tongue delving deeper, his nose nudging against your clit—

And it was too much.

"J-JOONIE—!"

Your whole body arched, your thighs shaking around his head as you came—

And Namjoon?

He just groaned, lapping up every drop, fucking you through your orgasm like he was starving for you.

And when you finally collapsed, panting, trembling beneath him—

Namjoon just grinned.

"Oh, baby…" His voice was wrecked, his lips glistening as he pulled back. "I hope you’re not too tired…”

Namjoon unbuckled his belt—

And holy fuck.

Your eyes widened. "J-Joon—!"

He just grinned, his big hands pulling you up onto shaky legs. "What’s wrong, darling?" His deep voice was low, teasing as he pushed his pants down. "Getting shy now?"

Your throat went dry. "Joon—!"

Because fuck.

He was huge.

Thick, heavy, his tip already leaking as he wrapped a hand around himself—

And when he stepped closer, tilting your chin up—

You knew you were screwed.

"Come here, baby." His thumb brushed over your lips. "Open up."

Your breath hitched. "J-Joon—!"

But then—

He slid inside.

"Ohhh, fuck—!" Namjoon groaned, his head falling back, his grip tightening in your hair. "Oh, baby—fuck—your mouth is so fucking perfect—"

Your throat stretched, tears pricking your eyes as he eased in deeper, his other hand cupping your cheek. "Look at you, sweetheart… taking me so well—*"

And then—

He thrust.

"Oh, fuck—!" His voice was wrecked, his hips rolling forward, his cock filling your throat. "Shit—look at you—so pretty choking on my cock—"

Your nails dug into his thighs, saliva dripping down your chin as he fucked your mouth, his deep groans spilling into the air.

"Fuuuck—my pretty girl—fuck—" His hands fisted in your hair, his breath ragged. "Such a filthy little thing, hmm? Letting me fuck your throat before I ruin your sweet little cunt—"

And then—

He pulled out, a string of saliva connecting you—

And your whole body shook.

"Oh, princess…" His dark gaze raked over your wrecked form. "You look so fucking pretty like this."

And then—

He flipped you onto the bed.

"J-Joon—!"

"Shhh, baby…" He grinned, his big hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wide. "This is what you wanted, hmm?"

Your breath hitched. "J-Joon—!"

His cock dragged against your soaked heat, his tip teasing your entrance. "You wanted me to take your virginity, hmm?"

You could barely nod, your body trembling. "Y-Yes, Joonie—please—!"

Your breath was ragged, your body trembling beneath him as he dragged his cock against your soaked entrance—

But he still wouldn’t give it to you.

"Joonie—please—!"

Namjoon just smirked.

"What’s wrong, baby?" His deep voice was teasing, his big hands tightening on your thighs. "So desperate already?"

"Joonie—!"

Your fingers clawed at his arms, your hips lifting, trying to get him inside—

But he just chuckled, rolling his hips slowly, his thick tip teasing your clit.

"Oh, my sweet girl…" His voice was dark, gravelly, his cock dragging over your folds. "You’re so wet for me… look at you.*"

Your whole body burned. "J-Joon—!"

And then—

He pressed in.

"Ohhh, fuck—!"

Your back arched, your nails digging into his biceps—

But just as you got a taste—

He pulled out.

"J-JOON—!"

He just grinned, his lips brushing your jaw. "Not yet, baby…"

"Joonie—please—!"

"Mmm…" His teeth grazed your throat, his cock teasing your entrance again. "I don’t know, sweet heart…" His breath was hot against your ear. "Do you deserve it?"

"YES—!" Your voice was desperate, your body shaking. "Please, Joonie—please, please—!"

And then—

He thrust.

"OH FUCK—!"

Your whole body jerked, your mouth falling open as he filled you inch by inch, stretching you wide.

Namjoon let out a low groan, his forehead pressing to yours. "Oh, darling…" His voice was wrecked, his big hands gripping your waist. "You feel so fucking good—"

And then—

He pulled out.

"J-JOON—!"

"Shhh, my good girl…" His thumb brushed over your swollen lips, his cock dragging against you again. "I’m gonna make this so good for you…"

And then—

He thrust back in.

"OH—!"

His hips rolled in deep, stretching you all over again, making your head spin.

And Namjoon?

He just smirked, watching you fall apart.

"Oh, princess…" His voice was low, teasing. "You like it like this, hmm?”

Your breath came in shaky gasps, your fingers clutching at his arms as he rolled his hips slowly into you—

But he still wouldn’t go faster.

"J-Joon—please—!"

Namjoon just grinned.

"Shhh, princess…" His deep voice was low, teasing as he dragged his cock out inch by inch—

Then pushed back in at the same agonizing pace.

"Ohhh, fuck—!"

Your head thrashed against the pillow, your body arching into him, trying to make him go deeper—

But he just chuckled, his big hands gripping your waist, holding you still.

"So desperate, fuck…" His lips brushed against your ear. "But I wanna take my time with you."

"J-Joonie—!"

And then—

"Ohhh, fuck—!"

Your whole body jerked, your breath catching in your throat as a shock of pleasure shot through you—

And Namjoon?

He felt it.

His lips curled, his voice dark. "Oh, baby… you feel that?" His hips rolled slowly into you again. "Right there?"

"OH—!"

Your nails dug into his back, your thighs shaking as he brushed that perfect spot again—

And then he did it again.

"J-Joon—!"

"Mmm…" His tongue dragged over your throat, his cock pushing against that same spot, over and over. "So fucking tight, princess… squeezing me so good—"

"Joonie—please—!"

"Please what, baby?" His voice was gravelly, teasing as he rocked into you slowly, letting you feel every inch. "You want me to go faster?"

"YES—!"

"Mmm…" He grinned, his big hands pinning you down. "I don’t know, honey… you sound so pretty like this…”

"J-JOON—!"

Your whole body shook, your voice breaking as he rolled his hips into you—

Just a little faster, still dragging against that spot every time.

He slowly fastened his pace more and more, making his thrusts more intense as he fucked you.

"Ohhh, fuck—baby—" Namjoon groaned, his deep voice wrecked, his big hands tightening on your thighs. "You’re so fucking perfect—"

"J-Joonie—!"

And then—

"OH—!"

His hand slid between you, his fingers finding your clit—

And when he rubbed in slow, tight circles—

Your back arched, your breath catching in your throat.

"Ohhh, princess…" His lips curled against your jaw. "You like that, hmm?”

“Like being my cocksleeve?”

You could barely nod, your whole body trembling. "J-Joon—!"

And then—

His mouth latched onto your nipple.

"OH FUCK—!"

Your fingers fisted in his hair, your legs wrapping around him as he sucked hard, his tongue flicking against you—

All while he kept fucking you, his thick cock hitting that spot over and over, his fingers rubbing your clit just right—

Until you were screaming his name.

"Ohhh, princess…" His voice was dark, teasing as he rolled his hips deeper, sucking your nipple harder. "Let me hear you, honey…”

Your whole body jerked, your voice breaking as he rubbed your clit just right—

His cock dragging against that spot over and over—

Until you felt it.

The build-up. The heat. The way your whole body tightened—

And just when you were about to burst—

He stopped.

"J-JOON—!"

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling, your fingers gripping his arms—

But Namjoon?

He just smirked.

"Mmm…" His voice was teasing, his lips brushing your ear. "Not yet, darling…"

And before you could beg—

He flipped you over.

"OH—!"

Your back pressed against his chest, his big arms locking around you, pulling you up—

And then—

"J-JOONIE—!"

Your legs were spread wide, your body completely open to him, his strong arms trapping you in a full nelson.

"Ohhh, my pretty girl…" His breath was hot against your ear, his fingers digging into your thighs. "You look so fucking pretty like this…"

"J-Joon—please—!"

And then—

He thrust.

"OH FUCK—!"

Your whole body arched, your breath choking in your throat as he slammed back into you—

Deeper. Harder.

His hips rolling into you at a punishing pace, his cock hitting that spot over and over, sending shockwaves through you—

While his fingers rubbed your clit relentlessly.

"Ohhh, sweetheart…" His voice was wrecked, his grip tightening. "You gonna cum for me now? Hmm?”

"J-JOON—!"

Your whole body shook, your voice breaking as he slammed into you—

Deep. Hard.

His hips rolling at a brutal pace, his cock dragging against that spot over and over—

"Ohhh, baby…" His breath was hot against your ear, his deep voice wrecked. "You feel that? Hitting you right there—"

"J-Joonie—!"

"Mmm… I can feel you, princess… you’re so fucking close, aren’t you?"

Your fingers clawed at his arms, your whole body trembling in his hold—

And then—

His fingers rubbed your clit harder.

"OH FUCK—!"

A shockwave ripped through you, your head snapping back onto his shoulder, your breath choking in your throat—

And then you broke.

"J-JOON—!"

Your whole body jerked, your legs shaking as you came around him—

So hard that your walls clenched tight, your slick coating his cock, a milky ring forming around the base.

And Namjoon?

He saw it.

And he groaned.

"Ohhh, fuck—look at you, baby…" His deep voice was gravelly, his fingers tightening on your thighs. "You came all over me… so fucking pretty—"

"J-Joonie—!"

"Mmm…" His lips curled, his hips still rolling into you, dragging his cock through your orgasm, making you feel every inch. "You think I’m done with you, pretty?”

Your whole body jerked, your breath still coming in ragged gasps as he dragged his cock through your aftershocks—

And then—

"Joon—!"

He flipped you over.

"OH—!"

Your back hit the mattress, your body still trembling, your limbs still weak—

And before you could even catch your breath—

He grabbed your thighs, pushing them deep against your chest.

"J-Joonie—!"

You were folded beneath him, your legs spread wide, your body completely open to him—

And then—

"Ohhh, princess…" His voice was low, teasing, his dark eyes locked onto you. "You’re gonna take it all, hmm?"

"J-Joon—please—!"

And then—

He thrust.

"OH FUCK—!"

Your breath choked in your throat, your back arching off the bed—

Because fuck.

He was deep.

So deep that you could feel him in your stomach, so deep that it felt like he was in your soul.

"Ohhh, darling…" Namjoon groaned, his grip tightening on your thighs as he rolled his hips, dragging his cock slowly out before slamming back in. "This is where you want me, huh? This deep?*"

"J-Joonie—!"

And then—

"Mmm…" His lips curled, his hips snapping into you at a brutal pace. "You’re taking me so well, my good girl… look at you—"

You could barely think, your whole body shaking with each deep, hard thrust, his cock pounding that spot inside you so perfectly—

"J-JOON—!"

You were soaked, your whole body trembling as he slammed into you, his cock hitting that spot over and over—

And then—

"Ohhh, darling…" His deep voice was gravelly, his big hand cupping your throat as his other hand slid lower. "Look at you, my sweet little thing…"

And then—

SMACK.

"OH FUCK—!"

Your whole body jerked as his hand came down hard on your clit—

A sharp shock of pleasure-pain making you clench around him.

"Mmm… That’s my good girl. Now count for me."

"O-One—!"

SMACK.

"T-Two—!"

His cock was still pounding into you, his voice still praising you, his hand spanking your clit over and over—

Until you broke.

"J-JOON—!"

Your whole body arched, your head snapping back as you came—

So hard your eyes rolled back, your walls clenching around him, your slick coating his cock.

And Namjoon?

"Ohhh, sweetheart…" He groaned, his grip tightening on your thighs. "That was so fucking pretty…"

But he wasn’t done.

"Mmm… Get up here, darling… I wanna see you."

And before you could catch your breath—

He flipped you over.

"J-Joon—!"

Now you were on top, your legs shaky as you straddled him—

But Namjoon?

He grinned.

"Come on, sweetheart…" His voice was low, his big hands gripping your waist. "Ride me."

You tried.

But you were too weak, your body still wrecked from your orgasm—

And Namjoon?

He smirked.

"Mmm… That’s not good enough, honey…"

And then—

His hands gripped your waist tight—

And he slammed you down.

"OH FUCK—!"

You screamed, your whole body jerking as he fucked up into you, forcing you to ride him, using you to chase his high—

And when you got too weak—

"SMACK."

"AH—!"

His big hand spanked your ass, his other hand gripping your throat.

"Mmm… You wanna be my good girl, hmm?*" His voice was wrecked, his cock still thrusting up into you. "Then you’re gonna take it all.”

You were wrecked, your whole body shaking as he slammed you down on his cock, his hips still thrusting up into you—

"Mmm… That’s it, darling…" His deep voice was gravelly, his grip tight on your waist, his big hands controlling you. "Take it all, hmm? Let me use you—"

"J-Joon—!"

You couldn’t even think, couldn’t even breathe—

Your eyes were rolling back, your soft tits bouncing with every deep, hard thrust—

And fuck.

Namjoon?

He loved this sight.

"Ohhh, princess…" His breath was hot against your ear, his deep voice wrecked. "Look at you… so pretty like this, hmm? So dumb on my cock—"

"J-Joonie—!"

"Mmm… That’s my sweet girl, hmm?*" His big hand gripped your throat, tilting your chin up so he could see your fucked-out face. "My perfect little fucktoy—"

And then—

"Ohhh, sweetheart—fuck—!"

His hips snapped up one last time, his grip tightening on you—

And he came.

"J-Joon—!"

You felt it, felt his cock throb inside you, felt him fill you up—

Deep. Deep inside you.

So much that you could feel it dripping out, so hot that it made you shudder in his hold.

And Namjoon?

"Mmm… That’s it, sweetheart…" His deep voice was low, his hips still rolling into you, making you feel every last drop. "Take it all.”

You were soaked, still dripping with his cum, your whole body shaking in his arms—

And then—

"Mmm…" Namjoon grinned, his deep voice teasing. "I’m not done with you yet, darling…"

And before you could even catch your breath—

He flipped you over.

"OH—!"

Now you were upside down, your legs draped over his shoulders, your head tilted against his lap—

And then—

"Mmm, sweetheart…" His voice was low, his big hands spreading your thighs wide. "Look at this messy little pussy…"

And then—

His tongue dragged through your folds.

"J-Joon—!"

"Mmm… You’re so sweet, baby…" His deep voice was wrecked, his tongue lapping at your soaked, wrecked pussy, savoring the creampie he just gave you. "Tasting myself on you like this—fuck—"

You could barely think, your whole body jerking as he devoured you, his big hands holding your hips still—

And then—

"Mmm, sweetheart…" His cock pressed against your lips. "You wanna be my good girl again?"

"J-Joon—!"

You nodded, your lips parting, taking him deep into your mouth—

And Namjoon?

"Ohhh, fuck—" His deep groan vibrated against your pussy, his cock throbbing against your tongue. "That’s it, baby… Take me deep—"

You hollowed your cheeks, your throat relaxing as his hips snapped up, fucking your mouth just as thoroughly as he fucked your pussy—

And when you whimpered, when you moaned around him—

He sucked hard on your clit.

"J-JOON—!"

And then—

"Ohhh, sweetheart—fuck—"

His hips jerked, his breath ragged—

And he came.

Hot. Deep down your throat.

And you?

You swallowed every last drop.

"Mmm… That’s my good girl, hmm?" His deep voice was sweet, his big hands stroking your body as he gently flipped you back over—

And then—

He kissed you.

"Sweetheart…" His voice was soft now, his lips pressing against your temple, his arms holding you close. "You did so well for me, hmm?"

You whimpered, your whole body still buzzing—

And Namjoon?

"Mmm… Let’s get you cleaned up, princess…"

He just smiled.

Because fuck.

He adored you.

[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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Greg.”

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

“Take a walk. Now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

22 Weeks Later

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

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

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

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

Get up. Get up.

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

There had to be survivors. There had to be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sixty meters.

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

Thirty.

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

Ten.

The ship screamed. And then—impact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. Not like this.

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

Swing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pull it out!”

“No, leave it! You’ll kill him!”

“We don’t have a choice—just do it!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyone. Back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had tried. God, she had tried. She had shouted orders, whispered reassurances, prayed to gods she never believed in. But none of it had been enough.

The others had moved on, their voices distant through the ruined hull. But Y/N stayed.

Because this wasn’t just a wreckage. It was a grave. And she was the only mourner.

The twin suns poured their merciless light through the jagged tear in the hull, turning dust into molten gold. It shimmered, beautiful in the way cruel things often were—dazzling, deceptive. The light exposed everything. Every failure, every flaw. There was nowhere to hide.

Y/N shifted, her muscles trembling, stiff with exhaustion as she eased Shields’ body to the floor. Her fingers lingered at his shoulder, unwilling to sever that last, fragile tether to the man he had been. The warmth was already leeching from his skin.

Then, slowly, she rose.

Outside was worse.

The heat struck like a hammer, thick, oppressive, pushing against her lungs with every breath. Dust swirled in restless eddies at her feet, the wind sharp as glass, carving at her skin, splitting her lips. A few yards away, the Chrislams knelt in the dirt, heads bowed, lips moving in murmured prayers. Their voices were barely a ripple against the keening wind, but it was the only human sound left in this place. For a moment, she let it fill the cracks inside her, a balm against the unraveling edges of her sanity.

Lee stood apart, one hand raised to shield his eyes against the glare. His jaw was tight, his shoulders locked, a silent fortress against whatever storm raged inside him. When Y/N stepped down from the wreckage, his gaze flicked to her, brief but cutting. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. Some things didn’t need to be said.

The land stretched before them, vast, indifferent. Jagged hills rose like broken ribs, their peaks tearing into the sky. Shadows pooled in the valleys, deep and impenetrable, as though the planet itself was swallowing the light. There was no refuge. No soft place to land. Only the brutal reality of survival.

Y/N swallowed against the rawness in her throat. “We’re on our own now.”

The words weren’t a revelation. They were a sentence.

No rescue was coming. No help would break through this alien sky.

She squared her shoulders beneath the weight of it, forcing one foot in front of the other, because the only way out was forward. Even when everything inside her begged to turn back.

The suns glared down, merciless and unblinking, turning the wreckage into a molten skeleton of what it had once been. Heat shimmered off the twisted metal, a feverish mirage making the debris seem like it was still shifting, still alive. But it wasn’t. It was dead—just like the people who hadn’t made it out.

Y/N climbed the jagged remains of the hull, her boots slipping against scorched metal, her fingers gripping the torn edges of a fractured panel. Her muscles ached, her breath came too short, too shallow. The air was too thin. Too dry. It scraped against her throat like sandpaper, and every inhale felt like a battle she was losing.

Below, the Chrislams knelt in the dust, their white robes dirtied and torn but still stark against the wasteland. Their soft prayers were barely audible over the dry, keening wind—a thread of humanity in a place that had none. Y/N let it wash over her for just a moment, a faint tether to something beyond survival.

Further up the wreckage, the others waited—Lee, Peter, Daku, Bindi, Leo. Their faces were carved with exhaustion, their silence heavier than the heat pressing down on them. Smoke curled from the wreckage behind them, black tendrils rising into the hazy sky. The crash had scarred the earth itself, leaving a deep trench of twisted metal and scorched rock, a wound with no hope of healing.

Y/N reached the top of the wreckage and let her gaze sweep the horizon. The planet stretched out before them in a wasteland of jagged rock and dust, the ground cracked and splintered like old bone. Sharp-edged hills rose in the distance, their peaks like broken teeth against the sky. There was no movement. No color. No life.

Only death, waiting for its turn.

“No one else made it,” she said, her voice low, steady. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an observation. It was a fact, as solid as the wreckage beneath her feet.

Silence stretched between them until Lee finally spoke, his voice dry and edged with bitterness. “They said there’d be a scouting party here.” He gestured toward the empty valley below, his words laced with grim sarcasm. “Guess they forgot the welcome committee.”

Peter coughed, dabbing at his sunburned face with that ridiculous monogrammed handkerchief. “Lovely spot,” he muttered. “Really. I mean, who doesn’t love the sensation of their lungs turning to parchment? Very exotic. Five stars.”

Y/N barely acknowledged him. Her focus was on the facts. The data. “The air’s too thin,” she said, voice clipped, clinical. “Not enough oxygen. Our bodies aren’t used to it. We’ll adjust, but it won’t be comfortable.”

Leo wiped sweat from his forehead, his face pale despite the heat. “Feels like breathing through a straw,” he muttered.

Peter waved his handkerchief dramatically. “Asthmatic here. Literal hell. Can I file a complaint, or is that not an option?”

“Enough,” Daku said, his voice cutting through the noise. His stance was firm, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked onto Y/N. “What happened?”

Y/N exhaled, rolling her shoulders against the weight of the question. “Debris. A rogue comet. A navigational error. I don’t know.” The admission felt like acid on her tongue. “What matters is that we’re here.”

“And alive,” Bindi added. Her tone was even, but there was something behind it—reluctant gratitude. “You got us down. That’s more than most pilots could have done.”

The words stung. Not because they were meant to, but because they weren’t true. Y/N knew that. They thought she’d saved them. But she knew better.

It wasn’t skill that had brought them down in one piece. It was luck. And luck never lasted.

She led them into what remained of the equipment bay, stepping over shattered panels, ducking beneath dangling wires. The air was thick with the scent of burned circuits and something else—something metallic and bitter. Blood.

Failure.

She knelt by a pile of debris and yanked free a suit, its fabric stiff with scorch marks. It would have to do. Holding it up, she said, “Liquid oxygen canisters. We rip them out. Short bursts, make them last. We don’t know how long we’ll need them.”

The group moved into action, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the face of survival. Leo lingered near her, watching her with an unsettling calm.

“Is someone coming for us?” he asked, voice steady in a way that made her stomach turn. “Or are we just gonna die here?”

The question hit like a stone dropped into deep water, sending ripples through the group. Y/N didn’t answer immediately. Her fingers tightened on the suit, knuckles whitening.

The others had paused, their movements stilled by the weight of the words.

Leo tilted his head. “I can handle it,” he said, softer now. “If we’re not making it out, you can just say so.”

Bindi stepped in, resting a firm hand on his shoulder. “We’re not giving up,” she said, her voice calm but absolute. “Not today.”

Leo hesitated, his bravado slipping just enough to reveal the scared kid underneath. Then he nodded.

The cabin reeked of sweat, scorched metal, and desperation. Shadows stretched long in the dim light, pooling in the corners, turning everything into a graveyard of broken machinery and shattered hope.

Y/N’s gaze drifted to the far side of the bulkhead, where Jungkook sat shackled and still, his presence more a quiet threat than anything else. The dark goggles covering his eyes reflected the dim light, a black void revealing nothing—no fear, no anger, no desperation. Just absence.

He didn’t fidget. Didn’t test his restraints. Didn’t move at all. That was what made him dangerous.

Yet, despite the cold knot of unease tightening in her stomach, Y/N couldn’t help but notice—he was beautiful.

Not in the clean-cut, manufactured way of men who knew they were being watched. No, there was something raw about him, something untamed. He was tall, all lean muscle wrapped in pale skin, the sinew of a predator coiled beneath the surface. His inky black hair was too long, falling into his face in uneven layers, the kind of overgrowth that should’ve looked unkempt but only made him more striking.

And then there were the tattoos.

They climbed up his arms in a chaotic symphony of ink, patterns and symbols weaving together into something intricate, something deliberate. Black ink against pale skin. A story written in the language of the damned.

Y/N’s throat went dry. Did they stop at his arms? Or did they go further, trailing over his ribs, down his back, curling against his hips? The thought hit like a static charge, sharp and unbidden. She swallowed, dragging her gaze away before she could entertain it any further.

“What about him?” she asked, her voice low, unsure despite herself.

Lee snorted, smirking. “Big Evil? Leave him locked up.”

Y/N forced herself to focus. “We don’t have forever,” she snapped, frustration bubbling up before she could reel it in. She exhaled sharply, running a hand over her face. “He broke out of a max-slam facility. Do you really think a pair of cuffs is enough?”

Lee shrugged, careless. “Only dangerous around humans,” he muttered, his voice thick with implication.

Before Y/N could fire back, movement caught her eye—a thin, silver thread trickling down the hull, glinting against the harsh twin suns.

Her stomach clenched.

Water.

Everything else vanished.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up, scrambling over the wreckage, boots slipping against warped metal. The sting of sharp edges against her palms didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was reaching the cistern before it was too late.

She wrenched open the hatch, metal scorching beneath her fingers. Sunlight flooded in, illuminating the nightmare inside.

A thin, glistening stream dribbled from a deep fracture in the steel, seeping into the cracked earth below. The ground drank greedily, dark stains blooming where the precious liquid had been only moments before.

Y/N’s breath hitched. A curse slipped past her lips, low and raw. This wasn’t just a leak. This was death.

Footsteps crunched behind her, the others approaching in hesitant silence. No one spoke. They didn’t need to. The truth lay bare before them, glinting in the relentless light.

Y/N leaned heavily against the hatch, her fingers pressing against the scalding metal as if to steady herself. Her gaze stayed locked on the dirt, watching helplessly as the last of the water disappeared, vanishing like hope itself.

The planet wasn’t just going to kill them. It was going to make them watch while it did.

A muscle ticked in her jaw. Her nails bit into her palms until pain cut through the spiraling thoughts. No. There wasn’t time for this—not for despair, not for grief. The planet would take everything if they let it, and she refused to give it that satisfaction.

She turned away from the empty cistern, shoulders squared against the weight pressing down on her. The others were watching, sweat streaking their dirt-smeared faces, fear barely concealed behind exhaustion. They were waiting for her to tell them what to do.

“We keep moving,” she said, her voice steady despite the scream clawing at her insides. “We’ll find more. There’s always something out there.”

The words tasted like lies. But lies could keep people alive. And right now, survival was the only thing that mattered.

The cargo hold reeked of scorched wiring and failure—the kind of failure that clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and made itself at home. The air was thick with it, stifling, oppressive. Y/N wiped a grimy hand across her forehead and pressed on, stepping over shattered panels and the twisted wreckage of what had once been their future.

Somewhere in this mess, there were MRAs. Mobile Resource Augmenters. Compact, efficient, life-saving. They were designed to extract moisture from the air, convert it into drinkable water, and they sure as hell weren’t cheap. NOSA wouldn’t have sent them on a long-haul mission without at least a few onboard.

She knew they were here, but no one else seemed to care.

Y/N was used to working with the best—astronauts trained to push beyond the limits of human endurance. On Aguerra Prime, her name meant something. She was a government official, a veteran of deep-space missions, one of the top-ranked astronauts in NOSA’s fleet. She had survived hostile environments before.

This, though? This was worse. Because she was surrounded by people who should have been fighting to survive—but weren’t.

Peter moved through the wreckage with a magician’s flourish, fingers dancing over the lock of a sealed crate like he was about to unveil something miraculous. The lid groaned open, dust puffing into the stale air, and inside lay…

Furniture. Tiffany chairs. Polished bronze lecterns. An entire crate filled with useless, gaudy antiques.

Lee let out a sharp whistle, nudging the crate with his boot. “King Tut’s tomb,” he muttered. “Just what we needed.”

Peter’s face lit up, eyes gleaming as he ran a reverent hand over an antique desk. “This,” he murmured, “is Wooten. A very rare piece, mind you.”

Y/N stared at him, patience fraying like old wiring. “A desk?” she asked, her voice sharper than the heat outside. “Not food. Not water. A desk?”

Peter waved her off, as if she were the one being unreasonable. “Not just a desk,” he corrected, prying open a hidden compartment.

Nestled inside, gleaming like a sick joke, sat a row of liquor bottles. Sherry. Scotch. Vintage port.

Y/N felt something snap. “We’re dying of thirst, and you brought booze?”

Peter stiffened, his hand hovering protectively over the bottles. “Two-hundred-year-old single-malt scotch,” he said, tone dripping with wounded pride. “To call it ‘booze’ is like calling foie gras ‘duck guts.’”

Lee barked a laugh, already reaching for a bottle. The seal cracked with a soft pop, and the sharp scent of aged alcohol filled the air, thick and cloying. He raised it mockingly. “Here’s to survival—or whatever the hell he just said.”

Y/N clenched her jaw so tightly it ached.

She had spent the last hour shifting wreckage, trying to move beams twice her weight, searching for anything that could actually keep them alive.

And these idiots were getting drunk.

Her gaze flicked to the scattered debris. There were still places she hadn’t checked, still a chance the MRAs were buried under the twisted metal, waiting for someone to dig them out.

But as she looked around, at Peter cradling his precious scotch, at Lee tipping his bottle back like this was some kind of vacation, at the rest of them barely pretending to care—she felt the fight drain out of her.

No one was going to help her, and she was done trying to save people who didn’t want to be saved.

She exhaled sharply, the decision settling like a stone in her stomach. Without a word, she turned on her heel, stepping away from the wreckage, away from the lost cause unfolding in front of her.

She had been trained to adapt, to survive no matter what. But NOSA had never prepared her for this. The footsteps came before the words.

Namjoon and his followers stepped into the wreckage, their white robes streaked with dust but still somehow immaculate, like they existed just outside the filth and chaos consuming the rest of them. The Chrislams moved with that same unsettling calm, like they hadn’t yet realized the depth of their predicament.

Y/N barely spared them a glance. She was past caring.

But Lee—still riding the high of finding nothing useful—wasn’t about to let them pass without commentary.

He slammed his bottle onto a metal crate with a hollow clink, his frustration breaking through the haze of heat and exhaustion. “For what?” he demanded, voice sharp. “There’s no water. No food. Just rocks, dust, and death as far as the eye can see.”

Namjoon met his glare without flinching. “All deserts have water,” he said softly. “Somewhere.”

Lee let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Great. You talk to God, then? He got directions?”

Namjoon didn’t blink.

“God will lead us there.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and immovable, like the wreckage around them. Y/N bit down on the retort bubbling up in her throat, but the pragmatist in her screamed louder than any prayer. Water didn’t come from faith. It came from work, from tearing apart this wreck until her hands bled.

“While God’s drawing up a map,” she muttered, turning back to the containers, “we’ll keep looking.”

Namjoon inclined his head respectfully and led his followers away, their murmured prayers fading into the distance. For a moment, Y/N envied their calm. Then Peter’s humming broke the quiet, his fingers trailing lovingly over the polished wood of the desk as if cataloging a museum piece. Her jaw tightened, but she swallowed the urge to snap. Wasting energy on him wasn’t worth it.

Lee pried open another container with a sharp kick, sending a plume of dust into the air. Inside was a heap of torn fabric and broken machinery, tangled and useless. He swore under his breath and shoved it aside, his frustration vibrating in every movement. “This is a goddamn joke,” he muttered. “We’re supposed to survive with this?”

“Keep looking,” Y/N snapped. Her voice cracked like a whip, harsh and desperate. The panic simmering just beneath her surface slipped through. “We don’t find water soon, no one’s making it out of here.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the scrape of metal and the mournful whistle of wind through the wreckage. Outside, the suns continued their relentless assault, the wind carrying dust and the heavy weight of despair. Y/N pressed her hand against the ship’s hull, the heat seeping into her palm. Every moment without progress felt like another step closer to death.

She moved toward the equipment bay, her focus narrowing. Somewhere in the wreckage were the pieces of the ship’s water generator. If she could just find them—just piece it together—they wouldn’t have to rely on the barren, unforgiving land outside. But her concentration splintered, fraying with every glance at the others.

Peter’s oblivious grin. Lee’s sharp frustration. Namjoon’s calm certainty. All of it clung to her like the heat, pressing in, pulling her mind away from the task at hand.

Her fingers brushed against a bent panel, her breath hitching as she caught sight of something familiar—part of the generator’s casing. Relief surged, but it was fleeting. The casing was twisted, its edges sharp and useless without the core components. Her chest tightened as she knelt, wrenching it free, her hands shaking as she turned it over in search of something—anything—that could still work.

Behind her, Leo’s small voice cut through the haze. “So,” he said, too calm for a kid his age. “What happens if we don’t find it? The water?”

The question hit her like a blow, her grip tightening on the casing. Around her, the others stilled, their movements halting under the weight of Leo’s words.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” he added, his tone flat, unflinching. “I can take it.”

Y/N closed her eyes, her breath shaky. When she finally spoke, her voice was brittle, scraping against the silence. “We’ll find it.”

It wasn’t an answer. It was a promise. And God help her, she didn’t know if she could keep it.

The ship groaned like a dying animal, its ruptured hull straining against the inevitable. Twisted metal rasped against itself, the sound a constant needle under the skin, an itch that couldn’t be scratched. Dust hung thick in the air, turned to gold by the merciless twin suns that stabbed through the fractured ceiling. Every breath tasted of scorched circuitry and hydraulic fluid, the scent of ruin and slow decay.

Jungkook sat in the shadows, chained to the bulkhead, utterly still. Not the stillness of resignation—but of patience. Of calculation. His wrists, raw from steel cuffs, rested against his thighs, fingers loose, body deceptively relaxed. The dark goggles strapped over his eyes reflected slivers of fractured light, a predator’s gaze hidden behind black glass. The mouth-bit locked over his teeth was meant to make him less dangerous.

It only made him look like a caged beast waiting for the lock to fail.

The ship shifted again, the wreckage settling into itself. He ignored it. The ship was already dead. That wasn’t his problem.

But Y/N’s absence was. Not that he cared. Not really.

But she was the only one in this mess who wasn’t an idiot. The only one who thought ahead. Moved with purpose. Her voice carried weight, her commands cutting through chaos like a blade. That kind of control was rare. Most people shattered when things got bad. She didn’t.

Still, he’d expected more when he first got a good look at her. Too lean. Too sharp. Built for function, not decoration. No softness, nothing extra. Not the kind of woman who caught his eye.

But then she’d spoken. And the way the room shifted around her—the way even the air seemed to move when she did—had made him reconsider.

Not beautiful, but something. And that something was more interesting than pretty.

Jungkook rolled his shoulders, cataloging the weight of his restraints, the tension in his muscles already fading. The nickname he’d overheard while half-conscious surfaced in his mind.

Frenchie. Too small. Too soft. Didn’t suit her at all.

The cutting torch lay just out of reach, its dull gleam a whisper in the wreckage. His head tilted slightly, lips curling behind the bit—not a smile, something colder. The ship was quiet now, save for the occasional creak, but Jungkook had already mapped every fracture, every weakness, every way out. The crack in the hull above him was subtle, barely there.

To anyone else. To Jungkook, it was an invitation. A flaw. A way through.

He shifted, testing the give of his chains. Metal rasped against metal, a whisper swallowed by the ship’s dying groans. He didn’t flinch. He just moved slower, smoother—a shadow moving through shadows.

Then, without hesitation, a sickening pop shattered the silence.

His left shoulder dislocated, tendons twisting, bones shifting in a grotesque ballet of control. Pain flickered at the edge of his consciousness, a distant thing, irrelevant. His breath remained steady.

Another pop. The right shoulder went next.

He exhaled slowly, muscles flexing, and with a sharp, brutal motion, his arms twisted through the narrow gap between his head and the bulkhead. His hands, now free, hung limp at his sides. For a moment, nothing moved. Then, with a precise, measured force, he rolled his shoulders back into place. The snap of bone meeting socket reverberated through the cabin, a sound that made most men sick.

Jungkook barely noticed.

The cuffs slipped from his wrists, hitting the floor with a final, hollow clatter.

He rose in one smooth motion, unfolding to his full height, presence suddenly too much for the cramped space. The air felt different. Thicker. 

He stepped forward, moving toward the torch, his bare feet silent against the floor. The chains lay abandoned behind him, the weight of them meaningless now. The torch was warm against his fingers as he picked it up, rolling it once in his palm, adjusting to its feel.

Then he turned.

The goggles hid his eyes, but the smirk behind the bit was unmistakable.

The cutting torch hummed to life in his grip, a low, vibrating growl that filled the silence.

He was free.

The world beyond the wreckage was a graveyard—heat and silence stretched endlessly in every direction, oppressive, unyielding. Twin suns hung in the sky like merciless sentinels, their light leeching color from the landscape until only stark, blinding desolation remained. The ground was a cracked, scorched wound, dust spiraling in restless eddies, threading through jagged rock formations and yawning craters. In the distance, hills wavered like mirages, ghostly illusions rippling in the heat, always there, never reachable.

Lee stood at the edge of the ruin, half in shadow, half in the unrelenting blaze of the suns. The tang of sweat and burnt metal clung thick in the air, catching at the back of his throat. His pistol rested loosely in his grip, a lifeline more than a weapon. A thing to hold onto. A reminder that he wasn’t defenseless, even if the planet seemed indifferent to the concept of survival.

The silence pressed in, heavy. Wrong.

Silence should’ve been relief. Silence should’ve meant safety. But this wasn’t that kind of quiet. This was the kind that watched. The kind that waited.

His gaze swept the horizon, scanning the brittle, broken ground for something—anything—out of place. But the emptiness was deceptive, shifting, playing tricks on his eyes. The wreckage groaned behind him, metal expanding under the punishing heat. The ship was dying, settling into its grave. He ignored it. There were more immediate concerns.

Then—movement.

Not much. Just a glint, half-buried in the dust. A sliver of something reflecting the twin suns. Lee exhaled slowly, crouched, and reached for it, brushing aside the grit with careful, practiced efficiency.

The object came into view. A curved piece of metal. Scuffed. Worn. Unmistakable. His stomach dropped. The mouth-bit. Jungkook’s.

Lee straightened too fast, the bit still clutched in his hand, his fingers tightening around it like it might bite him. His other hand curled reflexively around the pistol’s grip, knuckles bloodless. The planet, empty and endless just moments ago, now felt like a set of teeth closing in.

Jungkook was loose. The realization landed like a hammer blow, cold despite the heat.

Lee had seen what the man could do—shackled. What he could be, even when restrained by steel and sedation. Now, the shackles were gone. The bit that had kept him contained was nothing more than a useless scrap of metal in Lee’s hand.

And Jungkook was out there. Somewhere. Lee scanned the landscape again, but the terrain mocked him. Too much space. Too many places to disappear. Too many places to hunt from.

The wreckage of the ship loomed behind him. The others were still inside—Bindi, Namjoon, Peter. Oblivious. They had no idea what had just been set loose into their already precarious existence.

Lee’s jaw clenched. Like we needed another way to die.

He turned the bit over in his palm, its edges smooth from use, from time, from teeth. He should’ve known. They all should’ve known. But it had been easier to ignore the truth than to face it.

Now, that denial had come at a cost.

The wind kicked up, whispering through the wreckage, sending dust scuttling across the cracked earth. The sound of it sent a chill down his spine, because it wasn’t the wind he was afraid of.

Lee shoved the bit into his pocket, a grim token of what lurked beyond the ship’s broken hull. Jungkook wasn’t just a problem. He wasn’t just dangerous. He was intentional. A force of nature with purpose. Whatever he wanted, whatever he was planning, it wasn’t going to end well for anyone.

He turned back toward the ship, every muscle wired tight, every step measured. The pistol was steady in his grip now, but the weight of it felt inadequate.

This wasn’t over. Not even close. The silence had changed. It wasn’t just emptiness anymore. It was a warning. Jungkook wasn’t watching from a distance.

The cargo hold was a machine of chaos—loud, desperate, and running on the thin fuel of fear. People moved like scavengers, tearing through storage lockers, prying open crates with bloodied hands, dragging whatever they could find into the nav-bay. Metal clattered, plastic scraped, breathless grunts and muttered curses filled the stale air. Dust spiraled in the fractured sunlight slanting through the ship’s wounds, turning the space into a golden, suffocating haze.

Y/N stood on the outskirts, arms crossed, watching. It wasn’t much of a stockpile, but it was all they had.

The room—once a hub of order and precision—now looked like a battlefield before the war even began. Broken panels, exposed wiring, the remains of shattered instruments littered the floor. In the middle of it all, their growing pile of salvaged weapons stood like an altar to survival.

Lee stepped up first. No hesitation, no wasted motion. He crouched beside the pile and inspected his finds: a pistol, a shotgun, a baton. Well-used, well-loved. The shotgun bore the scars of a hard life—scratched barrel, faded stock—but the way Lee handled it left no doubt. The weapon was an extension of him. He loaded it with quiet efficiency, each metallic clink settling into the uneasy silence.

Behind him, Daku and Bindi added their contributions. A battered pickaxe, a handful of digging tools, and an old hunting boomerang—its edges worn, its surface scarred. Daku flicked his wrist, testing its balance. He nodded once, satisfied. Bindi, hovering close, scanned the room with sharp eyes, daring anyone to question their worth.

Then Namjoon stepped forward.

A ceremonial blade. Ancient. Ornate. The kind meant for rituals, not combat. The hilt gleamed under the dim light, its intricate carvings whispering of old traditions. But the edge—thin, honed—was made to cut. He set it down carefully, with a reverence that stood in stark contrast to the chaos around him.

And then there was Peter.

He stumbled into the room, arms overfilled with weapons that didn’t belong on a battlefield. His face was red, breath heavy, but he carried his haul like it meant something. He nearly tripped over a loose wire before dumping his findings onto the pile.

Silence followed.

Polished war-picks. A blow-dart hunting stick. A collection of relics that belonged in a museum, not a fight for survival.

Lee stared. “The hell are these?”

Peter straightened, his expression hovering somewhere between pride and offense. “Maratha crow-bill war-picks,” he declared, lifting one like a trophy. “Northern India. Extremely rare.”

Daku snorted. He picked up the hunting stick, turning it over in his hands, unimpressed. “And this?”

“Blow-dart hunting stick,” Peter shot back defensively. “Papua New Guinea. One of a kind.”

Daku let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, tossing the stick back onto the pile. “Looks like they went extinct for a reason.”

Peter’s face darkened. His fingers curled around the remaining items like they might be snatched away. “Why are we even bothering with this?” he snapped. “If Jungkook’s gone, he’s gone. Why should we care?”

The air changed. The tension turned solid.

Lee was the first to break the silence. He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, his voice razor-edged. “First,” he said, his tone like the cocking of a gun, “because he can only survive out there for so long. Sooner or later, he’s coming back—for supplies. For water. For us.”

He let that settle, let them feel the weight of it.

“Second,” he continued, lowering his voice even further, “because killing is the only thing he’s ever been good at. And he likes it.”

No one spoke. No one moved.

Y/N felt the weight of those words settle into her chest, heavy as a loaded weapon. Jungkook wasn’t just a problem. He wasn’t a rogue element in their calculations.

He was a predator. And they were his prey. As if on cue, the group reached for their weapons.

Lee holstered the shotgun, his grip firm. Daku tested the boomerang again, tracing its edges with quiet precision. Even Peter, reluctant as he was, finally set one of his prized war-picks on the pile, his fingers lingering before he let go.

Y/N reached for the ceremonial blade.

It wasn’t made for this, but it would do. The weight of it felt strange in her hand, but solid. Steady. A promise.

The wind howled through the ruined hull, carrying the dry, metallic scent of the wasteland beyond. The horizon remained still, jagged peaks unmoving, but inside the ship, something had shifted.

The air felt electric. Like the moment before a storm. Y/N glanced at the others, their faces cast in flickering shadows. They were ready—or as ready as they could be.

Jungkook wasn’t gone. He was out there. Watching. Waiting. And now, so were they.

The ship jutted from the earth like a rusted blade, its jagged metal edges catching the dying light of twin suns. One burned a deep red, sinking low on the horizon, while the other clung stubbornly to the sky, casting long, broken shadows across the wasteland. Wind whispered through the wreckage, carrying the dry scent of scorched metal and sand, a faint, restless sound in the vast stillness.

Lee perched high on the hull, rifle balanced against his shoulder. His silhouette was razor-sharp against the sky’s bleeding colors. He moved only when necessary, scanning the horizon with a hunter’s patience, the kind of stillness that meant survival.

Then—movement.

A flicker. A distortion at the edge of his vision. His grip tightened. His breath held. What the hell was that?

The words barely escaped his lips, lost to the wind before anyone below could hear them.

On the ground, the others worked against time, piecing together survival from the ship’s remains. Daku and Bindi crouched over a makeshift workbench—little more than a pile of salvaged crates and twisted panels. They moved with careful efficiency, assembling breather units from scavenged tubing and half-broken filters. Each strap tightened, each valve checked, because failure wasn’t an option.

“Try it now,” Daku muttered, handing one to Leo.

The boy lifted it to his face, inhaling tentatively. A soft hiss, the measured release of oxygen. Relief flickered across his face, there and gone in an instant.

A few yards away, the Chrislams worked in silence, layering cloth over their heads, tying knots with practiced hands. Their transformation was seamless—fluid—turning them into nomads, figures that belonged to this land in a way the rest of them never would. Namjoon moved among them, his presence steady, guiding younger pilgrims as they secured their wrappings.

Y/N stood apart.

Her focus was on Shields. Or rather, what was left of him. His body was wrapped in salvaged cloth, the material rough, inadequate. But it was all she had. She tied the final knot, her fingers lingering for a moment, grounding herself in the task. When she straightened, her shadow stretched long and thin in the fading light.

“Namjoon.” Her voice was steady, though exhaustion clung to its edges. “We need to move before nightfall. While it’s still cool.”

Daku wiped a streak of sweat from his brow, glancing up. “What, you’re heading off too?”

Y/N nodded, jaw tight. “Lee’s leaving you a gun. Just one favor—bury my crew. They didn’t deserve to die here.”

Bindi met her gaze, expression soft but resolute. “We’ll take care of them.”

Then the sound came. Faint at first. A whisper. A reverence.

"Namjoon… Namjoon…"

The wind carried it toward them, weightless yet insistent. The group stilled. One by one, they turned toward the voice, rounding the wreckage to see where it came from.

And then, they saw it.

A blue star.

It flared against the horizon—impossibly bright, too large, too deliberate. It rose slowly, cutting through the burnt reds and oranges of the sunset like a blade. The light spread, stretching long shadows across the cracked land, shifting as if the planet itself had taken a breath.

Bindi exhaled sharply. “My bloody oath.”

“Three suns?” Leo whispered, his voice thin with disbelief.

Daku shook his head, his expression dark. “So much for nightfall.”

“And so much for cocktail hour,” Peter muttered, but the joke died the second it hit the air.

Namjoon stepped forward, bathed in the blue glow. The light painted his face in something almost holy. His voice was calm, steady, carrying the weight of quiet conviction.

“We take this as a sign. A path. A direction from God.”

Before anyone could respond, Lee moved.

He slid down the wreckage, boots kicking up dust as he landed. He straightened, brushing himself off, his rifle still slung across his shoulder. His face was unreadable, his eyes sharp.

“A very good sign,” he said, nodding toward the blue star. “That’s Jungkook’s direction.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered to him, unreadable. “Thought you said you found his restraints over there,” she said, jerking her chin toward the opposite horizon, where the red sun was slipping beneath the cracked earth.

Lee didn’t flinch. “I did.” His voice was even, final. “Which means he’s moving toward sunrise.”

The words settled like a stone in the pit of Y/N’s stomach. Jungkook wasn’t wandering. He wasn’t lost. He had a direction. A purpose. And it was moving closer.

She looked back at the star, its eerie light shifting the landscape into something foreign, something watching. A slow exhale left her lips, her mind sharpening.

“Then we move,” she said, her voice unyielding. “Before he decides to double back.”

No one argued. No one hesitated. Because the truth was simple. They weren’t just running from Jungkook anymore. They were following him.

The horizon shimmered, a mirage of heat and shifting color, an alien dream unraveling in the distance. The landscape stretched out before them like an open wound, raw and unrelenting, bruised in shades of violet and ochre under the double glare of the twin suns. To stare too long was to feel the world slip sideways, the very fabric of reality twisting under the weight of its own unnatural stillness.

They moved in a thin, fragile procession, their figures small against the vastness, nothing more than a line of ghosts fading into the endless heat.

The Chrislams led the way, their voices rising and falling in quiet, hypnotic rhythm. Their steps were deliberate, measured, faith woven into every movement. Incense pots swung gently from their hands, sending tendrils of spiced smoke curling into the air—an offering, a prayer, a plea for something greater than themselves. The scent tangled uneasily with the metallic tang of dust, the dry crackle of a world long since abandoned to silence.

Lee followed at a short distance, shotgun resting easy in his arms, though his grip spoke of exhaustion more than readiness. Sweat streaked through the dust on his face, his makeshift visor—a jagged scrap of plexiglass tied down with wire—biting into his skin. He ignored it. The pain was secondary. His eyes never stopped moving, scanning the horizon with the wary focus of a man who understood that stillness could kill just as surely as motion.

Beside him, Y/N shifted the weight of Peter’s ridiculous war-pick across her back. The ornate handle dug into her shoulder with every step, a mockery of their situation. A relic in a place that demanded survival, not sentiment. She had given up rolling her eyes after the first hour—exhaustion had a way of dulling even irritation.

Peter trailed behind, his face pink from the sun, his every step labored. And yet, he cradled his remaining artifact like a sacred object, a lifeline to something that only made sense to him.

The sky loomed, too vast, too fluid, its colors seeping into one another like ink bleeding through paper. The heat distorted the air, turning the horizon into something unreal, something that moved even when it shouldn’t. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t mean peace.

It meant something was waiting.

Y/N fumbled with the cloth she had tried—and failed—to wrap around her head. Her fingers, slick with sweat, kept losing their grip, the fabric slipping no matter how many times she adjusted it. The suns beat down, relentless, burning through her scalp, through her bones.

Namjoon noticed.

He didn’t speak. Just stepped closer, his movements calm, measured. Before she could protest, his hands brushed against hers, taking the cloth with quiet certainty. He wrapped it with the efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times, securing each fold, each knot, with practiced ease.

Y/N stiffened. She wasn’t used to small kindnesses.

“It’s too quiet,” she muttered, her voice too loud in the stillness. “You get used to the hum of the ship, the engines… then suddenly, it’s just… nothing.”

Namjoon tied the last knot, adjusting the fabric slightly. “Do you know who Muhammad was?” he asked, his voice low, conversational—like they were discussing something as ordinary as the weather.

She blinked at him. “Some prophet guy?”

His lips twitched. “Some prophet guy.” He stepped back, eyes scanning his work before meeting hers again. “He was a city man, but he had to go to the desert—to the silence—to hear the words of God.”

Y/N squinted against the glare. “So, you were on a pilgrimage? To New Mecca?”

He nodded. “Chrislam teaches that once in every lifetime, there should be a great hajj—a journey. To know God better, yes. But also to know yourself.”

A dry laugh slipped from her lips, brittle as the ground beneath their boots. “Sounds terrifying.”

Namjoon just watched her, waiting.

She exhaled. “I grew up on Helion Five,” she admitted, tugging the cloth slightly, testing its weight. “Not as nice as Prime.”

Something flickered in Namjoon’s expression—recognition, maybe respect. “Least religious of all the Helion planets,” he said. “And the poorest.”

Y/N nodded. “I studied botany on Prime. Spent eight years at the technical institute.”

Namjoon’s face shifted, surprised but pleased. “Then you’ve been to New Mecca.”

“I have.” Her voice softened slightly. “Studied under Dr. Abbas.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head in wonder. “Dr. Abbas was a mentor to my uncle. I met him once, when I was young. Brilliant man.”

Y/N nodded. The memories flickered behind her eyes—the towering spires of New Mecca, the hydro-gardens sprawling across the academy, faith and science woven together in delicate balance. It had been an oasis of learning, a place of possibility.

A place that should have led her somewhere better than this.

But then Helion Five ran out of money, and so did she. Her funding dried up, and she ended up back in the dirt, scraping by, until a flight school opportunity on Aguerra Prime sent her halfway across the galaxy.

She didn’t say that part.

At least NOSA paid well. At least the benefits were better than anything in the Helion System.

Namjoon studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, he said, “You’re full of surprises.”

Before Y/N could respond, Lee stopped. His entire body locked, every muscle wound tight. His breath sharpened. Then—his voice, low, razor-sharp. “Hold up.”

The words carved through the air, snapping every nerve in Y/N’s body to attention.

Lee lifted his rifle, scanning the horizon. His stance had changed—tight, predatory, every line of his body braced for whatever came next.

A ripple of unease passed through the group.

Y/N stepped forward, pulse quickening. “What is it?”

Lee didn’t answer immediately. He just handed her the scope, his expression grim.

She pressed it to her eye, adjusting to the warped, heat-rippled view. At first, she saw only what she expected—the same endless wasteland, stretching as far as the horizon. The cracked ground, desiccated and lifeless. The swirling dust, shifting restlessly in the dry, scorching wind. The emptiness, vast and absolute.

Then—something.

A cluster of thin, vertical shapes disrupted the monotony of the landscape.

She frowned. Her first instinct labeled them as trees, but the thought was dismissed as quickly as it formed. That was impossible.

She adjusted the focus, scanning for details, but the air above the superheated ground distorted everything. Waves of refracted light bent and twisted the landscape, making the objects shift in and out of coherence. She knew how easily the mind could be deceived under conditions like this—optical illusions born from extreme temperature gradients.

Still, she studied them.

They stood upright, dark against the glare of the horizon, irregular in height and spacing. They weren’t moving. Not even a fraction. No branches trembling in the wind. No leaves fluttering. Just still, rigid silhouettes.

Her jaw tightened.

If they were plant life, they shouldn’t be here. The conditions were too extreme. The heat alone would desiccate any surface vegetation in hours—if not outright kill it. Water, if it existed at all, would be buried deep underground, far from the sun’s reach. Any life here would have adapted to that reality. It would stay hidden, evolving in subterranean networks, safe from radiation and exposure.

But these things stood exposed, unyielding beneath a sky that could boil blood.

She exhaled slowly. If they weren’t trees, then what? Rock formations? But they were too slender, too irregular, lacking the weathered smoothness she’d expect from geological structures shaped by the elements.

Her mind cycled through possibilities.

Dead stalks of something that once lived? Artificial structures? Or just a mirage—some trick of light warping the landscape into false patterns?

She lowered the scope, blinking hard, then looked again with her naked eye. The shapes were still there, but less distinct, as if they faded into the background when not magnified.

That unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Her fingers tightened around the scope.

"Those aren't trees," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.

Y/N lowered the scope, pressing her lips into a thin line. The shapes still lingered on the edge of the horizon, indistinct and unreal, but her mind refused to place them in any known category. That alone made her uneasy.

“They aren’t trees,” she repeated, calmer this time. More certain.

Lee scoffed. “And you know that how?”

She turned to him, pulse steady despite the irritation curling in her chest. “Because trees don’t grow in places like this. Not on a planet this hot, this dry. Any plant life would be subterranean—assuming there’s life at all. Whatever those are, they’re not—”

“We’ll check it out.”

Y/N stiffened. “That’s not what I—”

Lee was already moving, waving for the others to prepare. “Not gonna stand here debating with a pilot who thinks she’s a scientist,” he muttered, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

Her fingers curled into a fist at her side. “I have a PhD in botany, actually,” she said flatly. “Which is why I’m telling you—”

“And I have a gun,” Lee cut in, not even looking at her. “So we’re gonna make sure.”

Y/N inhaled sharply through her nose. Of course. Of course, he was like this. She’d had his type figured out in the first ten minutes—loud, condescending, the kind of man who couldn’t stomach the idea of someone else knowing more than he did.

“You could just listen to her,” Namjoon interjected, stepping up beside her. He didn’t raise his voice, but there was an edge to his tone, subtle but firm. “She’s probably right. We don’t know what’s out there, and heading straight toward something unknown isn’t exactly smart.”

Lee exhaled sharply, turning back just enough to give Namjoon an unimpressed look. “Yeah? And what’s your plan, genius? Stand around and argue?”

“I think his plan,” Y/N said coolly, “is to use common sense.”

Lee barked a laugh. “Right. Common sense is what gets people killed. We don’t assume, we confirm.” His gaze flicked back to her, sharp with challenge. “Unless you’re scared?”

Y/N’s expression didn’t change, but inside, something clenched. Not in fear—just exhaustion. She’d dealt with men like this her entire career. She knew exactly how this argument would play out. She could cite a hundred scientific reasons why approaching those things was unnecessary at best, dangerous at worst, and it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.

Lee wanted to stomp over there just to prove he could.

Fine. Let him.

“Whatever,” she muttered, shoving the scope back into his hands. “Let’s go, then.”

She didn’t miss Namjoon’s concerned glance, but she ignored it. If following Lee into a potential death trap was what it took to get him to shut up, so be it.

At least when this inevitably turned out to be a waste of time, she’d get to say I told you so.

The wrecked ship knifed through the barren skyline, its twisted metal ribs jutting like bones against the backdrop of twin burning suns. The land stretched endlessly in every direction—cracked, lifeless, shimmering under the weight of an unrelenting heat. The ship’s remains had become a monument to survival, a jagged scar on an already brutal world.

Perched atop the wreck, Peter reclined as if he were sunbathing at a luxury resort instead of stranded on a hellscape. His misting umbrella—a ridiculous contraption of indulgence and pure audacity—hissed softly, releasing a cooling vapor laced with alcohol. The mist shimmered in the dry air, enveloping him in a cocoon of decadence, as if the wasteland were merely an inconvenience rather than a death sentence.

Below, Daku appeared, dragging a makeshift sled across the scorched earth. The thing groaned under the weight of scavenged supplies—tarps, cables, tools lashed together with salvaged wiring. Sweat slicked his skin, dust clinging to every exposed inch, the heat pressing down on him like a living thing. He barely spared Peter a glance before barking out a sharp, humorless laugh.

“Comfy up there?”

Peter angled his umbrella, peering down with a lazy grin. “Incredible, really,” he said, voice dripping with mock sincerity. He lifted his polished flask in a casual toast. “Turns out food and water are highly overrated when you have the finer things in life.”

Daku’s scowl deepened, his fingers tightening around the sled’s rope. “Just keep your bloody-fuckin’ eyes peeled,” he muttered, his accent sharpening with irritation. “Don’t need that ratbag sneakin’ up and takin’ a bite out of my bloody-fuckin’ arse.”

He turned and trudged toward the distant hills, the sled dragging behind him with a slow, agonized scrape. Peter smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his flask before pouring a precise splash into a delicate glass—somehow unbroken despite the crash. He lifted it to his lips, savoring the moment like he wasn’t marooned on a planet actively trying to kill him.

Then—the blade. Cold steel against his throat.

Peter’s breath hitched. His body went still, every instinct screaming don’t move. The pressure was light but undeniable, the knife’s edge sharp enough that even the slightest shift could draw blood. The air around him changed, tightened.

Then a voice, soft, almost amused. “He’d probably get you right here.” The blade tilted, just enough to let Peter feel the danger. “Right under the bone,” Leo murmured. “Quick. Clean. You’d never hear him coming.”

Peter’s fingers twitched toward the war-pick resting across his lap, but he didn’t move. He barely breathed. Because Leo wasn’t bluffing.

Peter’s eyes flicked sideways, catching the boy’s gaze. Those too-bright green eyes—steady, unblinking, holding something that didn’t belong in a face so young. The knife didn’t waver in his hand. His grip was sure, practiced, casual in a way that turned Peter’s stomach.

Peter swallowed carefully, feeling the blade shift with the motion. “Aren’t you a little young to be playing assassin?” he asked, voice light, strained. “What’s the story, then? Did you run away from your parents, or did they run away from you?”

A flicker of something dark passed over Leo’s expression—anger? Amusement? It was gone before Peter could name it. The blade stayed where it was.

Then, after a heartbeat too long, Leo stepped back. The knife withdrew with a flick of his wrist, a smooth, deliberate motion. The tension didn’t break—it just stretched, coiled between them, an unspoken thing that settled heavy in the heat. Leo turned and walked away.

Peter let out a slow, measured breath. His hand brushed over the war-pick in his lap—too late, too useless now—but the weight of it felt like reassurance. His fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the umbrella, tilting it just enough to cast his face back into shade. He exhaled, steadied himself.

Then, forcing his voice back into something closer to normal, he called after him.

“What exactly are you trying to prove, kid?”

Leo didn’t stop. Didn’t turn. The knife in his hand caught the light as he walked, glinting with every step. A warning. A promise.

Peter watched him disappear into the waves of heat, unease settling like a stone in his chest. He lifted the flask, poured another sip of sherry, and swallowed it down. It tasted bitter now.

The edge of the wreckage was quieter than anywhere else, a pocket of solitude carved into the heat and ruin. Leo sat cross-legged in the dust, her back to the others, their voices distant, muffled by the wind that swept across the barren expanse. The shadow of the hull stretched thin, barely offering relief from the twin suns, but she didn’t care.

She just needed to be alone.

The knife rested across her knee, a sliver of light catching on the steel, glinting as if it had something to say. Her hands hovered above it, fingers twitching, uncertain.

Her curls clung to her forehead, damp with sweat, itching at the back of her neck. They’d been a nuisance all day, an unwanted reminder of something she wasn’t anymore. Something she couldn’t be.

The first time she cut her hair, she’d done it with a shard of broken glass in a back alley on Taurus I, shivering, starving, her hands sticky with someone else’s blood. She’d shed her name that night too, left it behind like the curls that littered the filthy street.

Audrey had died there. Leo had crawled out of the wreckage. Now, here she was again.

Her fingers curled around the knife, steadying it despite the faint tremor in her hands. The first cut was clumsy, the blade snagging against a tangle before slicing through. A curl tumbled down, landing against the dust, dark against the pale ground. She exhaled sharply. Then she cut again.

Each slice was an act of erasure. A deliberate, necessary violence.

The curls fell in thick, heavy strands, coiling like dead things at her feet. She didn’t stop, even when sweat stung her eyes, even when her breath came short and fast. She worked until there was nothing left but uneven stubble, rough against her fingertips.

A breeze ghosted across her scalp, cool and startling, and for a moment, she felt untethered. Unmoored.

She stared down at the pile of curls, scattered like broken promises. Pieces of a girl who no longer existed. Pieces of soft hands and warm voices, of braids woven by someone long dead, of a life stolen before she ever had a chance to claim it.

Her throat tightened, but she swallowed hard, shoving the feeling down. Then, with one sharp motion, she ground her boot into the curls, sweeping them away with a harsh kick. The wind took them, lifting them into the air, scattering them across the wasteland.

She watched until they disappeared.

The knife was dull now, the edge dulled by the thick, stubborn strands it had cut through. She ran her thumb along the blade, then slipped it back into its sheath.

Leo stood slowly, brushing dust from her knees, rolling her shoulders back. She could already feel the questions rising in her mind. Did she cut enough? Would it pass? Would they see through her?

No. They wouldn’t. They saw what they expected to see—a wiry, sharp-edged boy, too young to be dangerous, too hard to be soft.

And that’s all they needed to know. She wasn’t going to tell them. Not Daku. Not Peter. Not even Namjoon. It wasn’t about trust. It was about survival.

She knew what happened to girls out here. She’d seen it. Felt it. She knew how softness got twisted, exploited, broken apart piece by piece. Leo wasn’t going to let that happen to her. Not again. Out here, softness wasn’t just a weakness. It was a death sentence.

Her green eyes flicked toward the horizon. The jagged hills stood like teeth in the distance, waiting for them. They would bring more pain. More danger. That was inevitable.

But Leo would meet them head-on. She had no other choice. Squaring her shoulders, she turned back toward the ship. The others would see her return. But they wouldn’t see her. Not really.

To them, she was just another boy. Just another survivor. Another body moving through this relentless, unforgiving world. And that was exactly how she needed it to be. Audrey was gone, scattered like dust on the wind. Leo was all that was left. And there was no space for softness now.

The rise gave way to something wrong.

Y/N had never expected to find trees—hadn’t even humored the idea. This planet was too hot, too dry, too merciless. Nothing should be growing here, least of all something as delicate as surface-dwelling vegetation. If life existed, it would be underground, hidden away from the blistering heat, surviving on whatever moisture remained trapped beneath the surface.

But what lay ahead wasn’t life at all.

It was bones.

They weren’t scattered remains or the weathered fossils of something long forgotten. No, these were enormous, structured, standing like a grotesque forest of the dead. Ribs the size of starships arched toward the sky, their jagged edges worn by time, bleached to a sickly green by lichen clinging stubbornly to their surfaces. They loomed over the wasteland, casting long, skeletal shadows that twisted and bent under the relentless double suns.

The ground beneath them was no better. Littered with shattered fragments, hollowed-out vertebrae, and the occasional half-buried skull, it was as if something had torn through this place—something big, something merciless.

The young pilgrims, Namjoon’s people, had begun to murmur prayers, their voices hushed and wavering.

“Allahu Akbar… Allahu Akbar…”

Their reverence was tinged with unease, their steps hesitant now, their awe tempered by something much colder.

Y/N lingered at the edge of the rise, adjusting the strap of her pack with a quiet exhale. She had no desire to move forward. Whatever happened here, however long ago it had been, it wasn’t natural. This wasn’t a graveyard. A graveyard implied burial, rest, peace. This?

This was a battlefield.

Lee, of course, had no such caution. He stepped up beside her, his shotgun slung low but ready, his face streaked with sweat and dust. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was sharp, assessing. Always acting like he was in charge. Always acting like he knew best.

"This doesn’t feel right," he muttered.

Y/N barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "No kidding," she murmured, voice dry.

They reached the others just as Namjoon translated a question from one of the younger pilgrims.

“He asks what could have killed so many great things.”

No one answered.

Y/N didn’t think they wanted to know.

They moved deeper, their earlier eagerness replaced by a silent, collective caution. She reached out, running her fingers over one of the towering ribs. The grooves carved into the surface were too precise, too intentional. Not the work of time, nor of nature.

“Killing field,” she murmured, stomach twisting. “Not a graveyard.”

Lee crouched near a pile of smaller bones, picking up a fragment. He turned it over in his hands, brushing away the dust. The surface was smooth, polished by age, but the ends—the ends had been broken.

“Whatever it was,” he said grimly, “it was a long time ago.”

A little ways off, Kai drifted toward one of the massive skulls, its hollow sockets wide and empty, a monument to something long dead. The structure was vast enough to shelter them all, its surface ridged with comb-like formations. Curious, Kai pressed his palm against one of the ridges. The wind shifted, catching within the grooves.

Namjoon, unlike the others, wasn’t entirely lost in the spectacle. His gaze flicked back to Y/N, watching the way her expression remained tight, the way her fingers twitched with irritation.

“You don’t like this,” he observed quietly.

Y/N huffed out a breath. “I don’t like being here at all. This is pointless.” She cast a glance at Lee, who was still inspecting the bones like he was the first person in the universe to ever see a skeleton. “And I don’t like being dragged around by someone who acts like he’s in charge just because he’s loud and armed.”

Namjoon smiled faintly. “That’s just Lee. Cop acting like a cop.”

Y/N snorted. “Yeah, well, I didn’t sign up to be bossed around by some overzealous authority figure with a superiority complex.”

Namjoon chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a dick.” Then, after a beat, “But mostly harmless.”

She side-eyed him. “Mostly.”

He shrugged, the ghost of amusement lingering.

A pause settled between them, quieter, more thoughtful. Y/N glanced at him, debating, then sighed. “Call me Frenchie.”

Namjoon blinked. “What?”

“It’s my call sign,” she explained, shifting her weight. “Got it when I was working on the docks with my uncle, and it stuck around. All my friends and family call me. You might as well, since I actually like you.”

Namjoon’s expression softened, something warm flickering behind his eyes. “Frenchie,” he repeated, testing the name with obvious care. A slow smile curved his lips. “I like it.”

Y/N nodded, satisfied.

Then Namjoon hesitated. “My mom used to call me Joon.” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “I haven’t heard it in a long time.”

Y/N looked at him, tilting her head slightly.

“She passed away a few years ago,” he admitted.

Y/N’s chest ached, just a little. She understood that feeling too well. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Namjoon nodded once, accepting, before offering her a small, sad smile. “It’s okay.”

Y/N hesitated, then said, “My parents died when I was little. My aunt and uncle raised me.”

Namjoon’s gaze met hers, understanding passing between them in the space of a heartbeat.

For a moment, they stood there, two people from different worlds, bound by quiet losses and shared irritation for the man currently barking orders at Kai like he had any authority.

Namjoon sighed. “We should probably go stop Lee from doing something stupid.”

Y/N smirked. “Or we could let him and watch what happens.”

Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. “Tempting.”

But they both knew they’d step in. Because Lee might be a pain in the ass, but he was still on their side.

A 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

[mochii0park]

Don't speak; pjm

Title: Don't speak

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: angst I fluff

Pairing: doctor!reader x businessman!jimin

Release date: February 10th 2025 (due to illness, last delay I promise)

Summary: Love, trust, mutual respect and intimacy are often the keys to a successful marriage. Something your marriage with Jimin has been lacking for the better part of it. Five years of dating and three years of marriage were thrown down the drain after a gruesome fight. In an attempt to salvage your reputation and respect for each other, you agree to settle the matter with a divorce. However, faith had other plans which included erasing the last 4 years of Jimin's life and turning the clock back to 2021.

Oneshot: ONE I TWO

Masterlist

Taglist: If you want to be tagged when the oneshot is posted do write on this post or sent me a message :)

Masterlist

[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

[keen-li]

PREDESTINED

Mortal/commer jk x goddess reader

Jk x fem reader.

Fantasy au

Wc: 4.1k

Oneshot

☆☆☆

You release a moan at how the water touches your body and how the bubbles of heat tickle your breasts. You hum your beautiful melodies, your melodious voice calling out to all the little night lights that luminate your night bath. Your body glows and causes the pool you're in and anything you touch to glow. You continue to rub your smooth and soft skin when you hear a rustle in the bushes behind you. No one and absolutely no one is allowed in your forest inclosed pool. Not even the servants. Anyone who dares to trespass your territory by your guarantee will be banished. There's only one person allowed, he's the main reason why you have this place enclosed. It's the only place where you to can meet freely. And so you already know that it's him

"You shouldn't be here" you say with a smile. Legally he shouldn't be here but personally you're glad he's here.

"I'm to be married tomorrow"

You can hear the cling of his belt and the his trousers hit the floor. By the sound alone you feel yourself clench. You don't have to be a genius to know how he's feeling. "And that's why im here..." his husky voice speaks.

"...to give you a goodbye" you hum at his words and see the ripples caused by the entrance of his body into the water. And in a second he's standing in front of you, muscles and tattoos on show for you. You've always loved his tattoos especially the effect you had on them.

"This is no goodbye, jeon" your hand touches his as your fingers trace the muscles of his chest. When your hand traces his tattoos, each little inked pattern begins to light up. You loved that and so did he, telling by the smile on his face as he watches his tattoos light up. "I love when you do that"

"I love to do it" your hands leave his now fully glowing tattoos and he takes the moment to take your hand in his. He places a kiss on your hand eyes still on yours.

"love your hands and the power they have" kiss. "the power they have on me" kiss. "on my mind" kiss, "and on my heart"

"And wont say where else..but you know"

He winks at you making you blush. His hands trace your hips feeling your curves. It took him sometime to get used to the power your body emits, but he's like a pro now, knowing how to hold and handle your body. Its like your power has become used to his touch and hold. You certainly have. You give into his touch immediately moving your neck to allow his lips to make a move. and they do. They're soft and gentle against your skin. If you could you'd pull him even closer into your body by his waist.

Your voice gives in to his contact. You whine at each touch. "its like you've got a spell on me, y/n" he says against your skin.

"you dare call my name, jeon" you say seriously but you're everything but serious.

He chuckles "should I shy away from calling my love's name?" he stops his kisses to look into your bright eyes.

"a goddess's name"

"my wife's name" you scoff at that. His fingers tickle your waist knowing your follow up statement. "kookie I can't be your wife" just by the way you his name electricity is sent to his crotch.

"you can be if you just get the tattoo" you know what he means he's been telling you ever since he knew his love for you that you should get the tattoo, but its not that easy. He already has your name tattooed on his. Right on his heart, magically, and on his left chest peck, physically. You knew all you had to do in order to be married to jungkook is if you got the tattoo, but its hard for you. You're timed to be married to someone else tomorrow and your family would never allow a god like you to be married to a mortal like him,

That's what your father said when you brought the idea to him. He even threatened to banish the mortal who had caused you thoughts like that. And after that you pushed away all thoughts of introducing jungkook. You knew it was never fated for a mortal and a god to be intertwined, but you swear you and jungkook's names are written in gold side by side and hearts tied by the red strings of fate. you believe its true and so does he.

"you know its not that easy" you say and sigh. Jungkook knows how hard this is for you, its also hard for him. The thought of being banished is scary but the thought of having you taken away from him is terrifying. he never wants that to happen and he's not gonna let it, whether because of the man you're to marry or because of your father.

"if you just get my name tattooed, you won't be able to marry him" he tries to convince you. "jungkook" you whine and each time you call his name it physically pulls at his heart where you engraved your name.

"baby" he whines back and his whimpery tone causes your core to throb. "if you dont want to I underst-" he says completely honest.

"no, I want to. I want to so badly" your face falls after your statement.

"im just scared..for you" he knew you were. But you didn't need to, and even though he can't compete with the gods, he'd rather be banished than live a life where he can't be with you. And he always wants to show you that. You give in to the touch of his palm on your cheek as you hum feeling his warmth. He stares warmly into your eyes as they stare back, if he wasn't already used to it, he'd go blind from the stars that shine in your eyes. Literally.

"remember when I first met you?" he asks and you nod.

"you were so stupid, how could you cross the garden? You could've been killed" you slap his chest playfully. Your slaps no longer feel like thunder claps now that he's used to them.

"I could've but I didn't, and I never will" he shows you his cheeky grin.

"don't be so cocky"

"speaking of-" he says his eyes dropping to his crotch, your eyes follow his vision and you chuckle.

"fine I'll do it"

"do what? My cock?" you slap his arm.

"no... The tattoo. I'll do it" he looks at you to see if you're serious and you are, you genuinely want to.

"What? afraid you might have to live life without my cock?" you want to slap his arm but he catches it at your wrist and grins at you. You cheekily smirk back.

"Maybe" you shrug "but mostly afraid of living without you"

"Aaa. You're so cute my goddess" he squints his eyes and grabs his chest feigning to be in pain. You're cute little laughter brings him back.

"why don't we change the mood. It's our last day together"

"its not, you need to stop joking about that"

"I'm sorry" he pecks your lips. "let me apologize" he says his lips now by your ears and his hands hooking behind your thighs.

He lifts you and soon enough your core meets his.

  "Fuck, you feel so good " he curses

"don't curse around me jeon" you can barely say by the way he's rolling into you.

...

You sit drenched in gold and jews on a throne that costs more than the lives of the people sitting below you tripled. You never liked sitting in elevated positions and degrading the commers with the way you're towering over them. But your father always said you should do so to remind them of your power and glory. you were never one to feel validation from power and glory, it never impacted you in that manner. Its hard staring into the eyes of the happy crowd knowing the event that is going to occur but what makes it worse is staring into the eyes of your lover while your 'husband' is sat next to you in his own throne. And unlike you he definitely likes the power and glory.

Jungkook is sat straight in line with your vision and he doesn't move his eyes away from you, not even once. You on the other hand keeped on shying away from his burning gaze and when you do he whipsers your name and says how beautiful you look and how your husband-to-be is ugly. he knows when he whipsers your name you can't ignore him and you hear all he says, it's like a prayer. It reminds you of the first time you taught him how to reach you directly.

"Just whisper it gently and passionatly" you say legs swing froma tree as he pays close attention to you. "I don't like it when people yell or say it aggressively." he notes down your likes and dislikes. Mentally and physically.

"you dont have to carry a physical note book to note down, jeon" you say to the man next to you.

"I want to remember everything, so that even if old age catches me and I cant remember anything I can always look back and remember" he turns his face from his book to face you with his warm and cute doe eyes. You love his eyes and unlike him you're not able to hold contact with them, its like their power overpowers yours. He's eyes have and unspeakable power that have captured you since the first day.

"You wont forget, kookie" a nickname he gave you gave to call him. "and I'll never let old age catch you" he chuckles at that as he feels your hand on his cheek. In an event where you to ended up together forever, because of his humanly fate, he'd grow old and die. While you live forever with your everlasting immaculate beauty. it was a sad fact for him but he accepted it. Atleast he gets to live his entire life with you. Even though you Suggested making him immortal, he declined. He never wanted to be with you so that he could be immortal, some moratls would call him foolish for saying no but they don't understand, they don't understand what he feels. He's not here to use you he just to be with you for however long he can.

"Let me make you immortal" you say so passionately hoping he says yes this time. "take it as my gift to you for bringing such joy into my life"

There you go speaking gibberish again, he thinks "i don't need a gift for making you happy, you're a gift for me already" he says and his eyes do sorcery on you, enchanting you not to argue with what he's said.

"I love you and I want to spend this little humanly life I have with you, not arguing about me becoming immortal" you can't argue with him. And all you can do is place a passionate kiss onto his lips which he happily accepts.

Somewhere in jungkook he knew the reason why he didn't want to become immortal, was the fear of living forever with her father's wrath for taking his daughter.

"And now we are gonna have the gift ceremony" the voice of the officient draws you out of your wonders. The gift ceremony is where offerings are given to the couple and even though you're gods and their gifts are meaningless, in value of course but you still appreciate the fact that people give them to you even though you know they do it to get blessings. It's an important part of the process and even though you don't like it you have to do it.

You watch people in the queue present their offerings. Some to you and some to the man next to you, you bless them as they do so. You scoff at how the man next to you feeds off the offerings of the people, that's one of the reasons you love jungkook. He's a selfless man, he doesn't feed off the power and glory. You remember the time he saved a litte bird and set it back in it's nest after you fixed its broken wing. Even though he never had any magical powers he did his best to help others.

"you don't need magical powers to be a good person" he once said to you. And you always smile at the memory.

Speaking of smiling, you watch jungkook smile in the queue as he aproaches quickly. You keep your eyes on him as you wonder what gift he could possibly give you.

Soon enough its his turn and you watch as he bows for you, something you never wanted him to do, but he always insisted. He lays down his gift.

"I hope you like my gift and can bless me adequately" he says as though he didn't just fuck you blind yesterday. His head is bowed to you and his knees on the the golden floor. When you catch his gift you gasp.

Oh jeon what have you done, do you not care for your life. You say in your mind. And like he can hear your thoughts he whipsers your name and speaks. "you are my life"

The ashes of a golden phoenix, given to a goddess on her wedding day by her husband. A symbol for the new golden life that will rise from the ashes. It's a gift only given by gods cause no human and afford the golden ashes of a golden phoenix. This gift is only given once and shows the enternal union between the giver and the receiver, if the receiver accepts.

"what type of gift is this?" the man seated next to you exclaims angrily. "how dare you give my wife a gift I'm meant to give her? How can you afford the ashes of a golden phoenix" at this point people start to stare and whisper at the scene.

"He must be a thief" he accuses. You watch jungkook's body which is still bowed to you. You cant believe he actually risked his life like this. Stupid mortal. Jungkook chuckles like he isn't being yelled at by a god and at risk of death.

"You dare laugh?" he dares to strike but you stop him.

"Leave him" everyone stares at you with surpise.

"Why should I leave someone who dares to discredit my honour and glory"

Fuck your honour and glory, you dont deserve it. Jungkook is the one who deserves to be seated in that seat, you want to say but you can't instead you keep it in your heart.

"I say leave him cause he's just a foolish and stupid mortal who doesn't know what he's doing" you say and jungkook's head lifts to finally meet your eyes. There is truth in your statement but its not as harsh as you say it, and jungkook knows he can see it in your eyes that avoid his. He knows what he's doing.

"And its not like im going to accept it anyways, he probably stole it from the poor phoenix. I don't accept stolen gifts" you finally meet his eyes and he can hear lies you're telling.

The man seems to have relaxed by your reassurance. "Fine I wont punish him because of my wife's mercy"

You and jungkook gag at that internally. "But wont you bless me?" jungkook asks you confidently.

"The nerves, you dare ask her to bless you after the scene you have just caused you." he spits at jungkook. "its her duty t-"

"Fine ill bless you" you say stopping jungkook from ruining his chance at life. "What would you like me to bless you for" jungkook smiles at the opportunity you've given him

"I ask that fate may always be on me and my lover's side" your heart pulls at his request. What is jungkook doing, he could've taken this chance to free himself from you and the danger you carry for them. He could've gone in to find maiden who he would spend the rest of his life with and have children with, even if it hurts you its better for him. But he's so stubborm. He's a very attractive man no maiden would say no to him. So why doesn't he just go that route.

I don't want to go into road where you won't be.

"it is done" you say, and it surely is done.

You don't know how to feel, a part of you wishes jungkook could have just gone away to a better life, but then another part of you knows a better life is when you're with him.

Jungkook knows the consequences, the risk, the challenge. he knows it all and he still wants to be with you as he said nothing is going to stop him not even you and your attenpt to push him away by not accepting the gift. He didn't do all this for nothing, he's not going to let his efforts go into water. And lucky for him fate is on his side even though you don't want to accept it, worrying about what will happen.

"What do you mean his name won't write" your father asks the officiant his voice thunderous at the revelation. Everyone is in a panic and in a shock, your mother, your father and your never-gonna-be husband. Even the people are whispering and gossiping theories. But you arent surprised. Jungkook is not surprised. You knew this would happen you expected it.and your heartbeat grew strong as the moment drew closer amd Jungkook's smile grew wider. People were gonna know who you were fated with.

"His name cannot be written for fate has written another's name" the white bearded officiant speaks. Fate is never wrong and there are no take backs with fate. What fate decides is what's gonna be and even if you try to run from it fate will bring you back to what's destined for you, even if it takes a million more tries.

"Who's name?" your father asks angry from this embarrassment.

"It's a mortal" you can hear a thousand plus gasps in the hall "his name is jun-" it's like he's taking his time saying it on purpose, when he gives you a look you immediately turn to the crowd scared eyes meetng jungkook. You know what's gonna happen when they find out the name of the mortal and so before he says his name. You immediately scream.

"JUNGKOOK GO!" Your voice thunders in the hall. And he does. He goes, to where? he doesn't know but he knows you'll know and you'll find him.

Just as the crowd opens up so jungkook can run out your father screams for thunder. But jungkook is protected not by you, but by yor mother's power and the part of you that's in him.

You turn to your mother who rushes to grab you from the chaos. She takes you to the open room, where all official meeting are held.

"is he -" she knows what your worry is.

"He's gonna be perfectly fine" she comforts you. And you begin to weep and you're glad you have your mother's arms to fall into. She understands and knows your pain, she to was once in love with a mortal, unlucky for her fate was not on her side but love was, it wasn't enough and he died.

"where is it?" your father walks in yelling "where is the tattoo that bound you to that mortal" you shiver under your mother's hold as your father grabs your arm to pull you from your mother. Which he does. "I will srcap it myself" he says to you coldly and you don't expect more from him. "if I have to I will cut the limb its on... NOW WHERE IS IT?" he says starting to tear the sillk covering your body. You cant do much apart from scream and try and stop him.

"you cant disobey fate!" Your mother exclaims and he drops your hand now approaching your mother who doesn't coward from him.

"i don't care about fate, I am a god and I'm  more powerful than fate" he exclaims. "my word is fate"

"And after I scrap that tattoo off her, she'll be married to Min-ho" you sob even more your cries causing a storm outside. And whereever jungkook is , he knows by the way the thunder roars and the lighting strikes he can tell what you feel. Anger, fear and sadness. He wishes badly to be with you but your mother warned him he should go away for a while. And she promised to help him when the time is right.

"Where is it ?" he asks and you try to collect your thoughts.

Before he can ask you again you speak "my heart..." you speak finally saying  where it is.

"You let a mortal engrave on your heart?" he's pissed and you can tell but you aren’t afraid of him. All you're thinking about is jungkook. Is he okay?, is he safe, is he even alive? "a mortal?" he asks again. He knows a mortal does not contain enough power (or any at all) to engrave on a god's heart.

"He's not a mortal" both you and your father turn to your mother who speaks. "He's not a mortal" she repeats.

"What do you mean?" he asks and you too pay attention to her as you wonder what she means. "you made that idiot immortal" his anger is now moving to your mother, but she doesn't fear him.

"No I didn't, she did" your mother nods to you and you widen your eyes prepared to defend yourself.

"I never made him immortal" you defend when your father's eyes burn holes in you.

"Actually you did" your mother says and you wonder if your mother is on your side. But she is on your side. "gods don't engrave their names on mortals hearts and then nothinghappens after" she continues.

"whoever told you to engrave your name on his heart might not have told you, but by doing that you made him immortal."

And then you remember who you went to for help.

Hoseok, the cast out god himself; your uncle.

"You're so rebellious huh? Wanna be like me" he asks you mockingly when you explained everything to him.

"If I do end up like you atleast I'll have somewhere to go" you say and he chuckles at that. He's always told you that if you ever became rebellious you'd have a home with him and that still stands.

So hoseok helped you, he got jungkook's name engraved in his. He's the god of marriage and prosperity after all.

He's the one who told you to engrave on jungkook's heart, in any other situation he'd be worried for jungkook that he might die but the fact that jungkook and you we're fated (he doesn't know how and he still wonders) he knew instead of killing jungkook it'd make him immortal.

Unlike in his sister's case she had begged hoseok for the same thing that you are begging for, but only she was not fated to the mortal. And even if he told her what would have happened she still begged and he did it. And expectedly  the mortal died.

Your mother still feels guilt and curses her hope and how hopeful she was that maybe he would've survived.

You wonder if jungkook knows he's immortal and if he did know why didn't he tell you. Now you understand why jungkook's presence and gaze caused much pressure, no mortal could've had such an effect on you. And why he became immune to you gaze and touch.

Your heart relaxes knowing that your father can't kill jungkook, but that doesn't stop him from being cast out like hoseok.

Wherever jungkook is he grunts and groans at the feeling that pulls at his heart. He lays down as his tattoos flicker on-off like a bulb.

"Hurts to be away from your love right?" Hoseok asks giving him something to drink.

Jungkook nods. He knows who hoseok is, so it's not weird being in his presence but he doesn't know how he got here. But hoseok remembers he's sister's instructions.

"Watch for him and when you see him take him with you" she says the day of the wedding knowing what would unfold.  After hoseok told her what was going in with you, she knew what was going to unfold and she needed a plan. "He needs your help. Train him to embrace and use his power"

Hoseok's home was simple, warm and comforting, but he misses your presence.

"Well you're going to have to deal with it a little longer cause you won't be able to see her anytime soon"

☆☆☆

[peoniesnro]

Chapeter Index

In Another Universe

Synopsis- When you're just another iteration of Park Jimins girlfriend in a different universe.

Genre- Parallel universe au/ Strangers to ??/ Smut/ Angst/ Fluff/ Infidelity

Warnings - Smut / Infidelity/ Language

Status - Ongoing

Taglist?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter #1. Park Jimin

Chapter #2. A Lil' Roll

Chapter #3. Perfect Strangers

Chapter #4. F.R.I.E.N.D.S

Chapter #5. A beautiful memory

Chapter #6. A day in paradise

Chapter #7. GOOD FUCKING BYE!

Chapter #8. The Burning Pit of Fire

Chapter#9. Make It Right

Chapter#10. The Other Woman

Chapter#11. Jeon Jungkook

Chapter#12. RUINED and DESTROYED

Chaprer#13. Falling Deep and Down

Chapter #14. Beginning of the END

[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

[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.

[1343401]

masterlists ⋆｡𖦹 °🐋⋆｡˚♡

ot7 series -

echos of the sea

synopsis: dragged into the pages of a novel she can’t escape, noh jiah finds herself serving yiseo, the kingdom’s flawless heroine. but as the men who adore her best friend begin to look at jiah with hunger in their eyes, a dangerous game of passion and power ensues. each man more captivating than the last, and with a world full of secrets and temptations, jiah realizes she’s no longer a mere background character. she’s the one who might just break the hearts of all seven men, or have them bow to her will. the lines between loyalty, love, and lust blur as she dares to rewrite her fate.

pairing: bts x reader

started: 01.20.25

status: ongoing

word count: 68.7 k

warnings: depictions of violence, smut (eventually), death, family trauma, insecurities, mentions of blood

captive desires

synopsis: after the passing of her grandparents, myah inherits their mansion, the only home she’s ever known. but when she stumbles upon a hidden basement, she uncovers a chilling secret: her grandparents weren’t just caretakers, they were notorious hybrid hunters, and the seven hybrids they captured are still alive. horrified, myah vows to set them free, but the hybrids have a darker plan. in a twist of retribution, they demand she care for them in exchange for their freedom. now, trapped in a deadly game of desire, control, and obsession myah must decide how far she’s willing to go to survive and whether she can resist the pull of the very creatures her grandparents sought to control.

pairing: bts x reader

started: 02.06.25

status: ongoing

word count: 13.9 k

warnings: depictions of violence, smut (eventually), death, family trauma, mentions of blood, slight yandere-ish behavior

requiem of the broken

synopsis: park minji's entire existence had been confined to the cold, sterile walls of the breeding facility. a place where women were no more than vessels for the insatiable hunger of the vampiric elite. she had known nothing but fear, awaiting her fate: to be chosen for breeding, or sold as food to the bloodthirsty. but when she is selected by the coven of the damned, she is thrust into a dark, twisted world of power, lust, and unimaginable cruelty. now, minji is not just prey, she is the object of their relentless, carnal desires, a pawn in a deadly game of dominance. as the vampires take turns bending her to their will, minji must decide: will she submit to their hunger, or will she burn the world down in a desperate, blood-soaked rebellion of her own? in the coven's grip, there's no mercy, only the unrelenting thirst for power and pleasure that threatens to consume her whole.

pairing: bts x reader

started: 02.09.25

status: ongoing

word count: 3.1 k

warnings: depictions of violence, 18+, death, non con, mentions of blood, vampires, selling of people

taglist: @canarystwin @sathom013 @gracefulsakura98 @ihatesnakeu7 @dachshunddame @moonxxlover @lovelyglares @multifandomfreakster-blog @dawnzephyr

join taglist!

[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.

[hufflepuffwriter1995]

 Finding The Pack 

 Pairing: Plus Size!Named Reader x BTS  

Pack Status: Pack Alpha Namjoon. Alphas: Jin, Yoongi, Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook. Omega: Lilith (Reader) 

Warnings: Brief Mentions of Omega Abuse (not by BTS), Mentions of Kidnapping, and Eventual Smut. 

Themes: Omegaverse, Fantasy, Supernatural, Reverse Harem, 

Ratings: 18+  

Summary:  On the night before she is set to marry the abusive Dorian Redfern, Lilith takes matters into her own hands and escapes. While life without a pack is dangerous, she knows she’s better off alone. At least, that is until she meets seven males, who quickly show her not only her worth but how beautiful life can be. She can only hope now that they are enough to keep her old life from catching up to her.

Chapter One

Prologue: 

  “Jin darling be careful.” Jisoo Kim laughs as she carefully pulls her three-year-old little boy away from the crib that holds her newest addition to the home-run daycare. Jin let out a whine of protest, little hands gripping the side of the crib as he freed himself, his face pressed against it. 

  “Gotta keep safe!” He cries, hazel eyes never leaving the slumbering baby. As a beta, his mother immediately knows what is happening and can’t help the grin that crosses her face. She will need to befriend the older couple that brought the pup in, if only because she will be damned if she takes away her son’s mate. Fears of him hurting the baby vanish with this newfound information and she smiles as she heads back to make lunch. Unaware that the text she sends along the way to the mother, a picture with the caption “It looks like we will be quite close” will cause the life she imagines for her son to vanish. 

  When the little girl is picked up that night, she is never returned and all of Jisoo Kim’s desperate attempts of contact go unanswered. When she finally goes to the address they had given her, she finds that oddly enough the family that just moved in moved out just as quickly. She will never be able to forget the look of pain in her youngest eyes or shake the feeling that something is very wrong. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

  As an Alpha, Eliza Min hates being told what to do, especially by a Beta. However, when the couple arrives, begging for her help to watch their daughter, the same daughter that her youngest has been watching like a hawk from the safety of their backyard, she doesn’t decline. Even when the woman all but snarls her demand to keep any male child away from her daughter. Eliza Min finds the wording of the demand odd, especially on the insistence of it only being a male child. Odd enough she doesn’t stop Yoongi when he sits down and begins to play with the now almost one-year-old. 

  It’s because of her stubborn nature and the fact that she just does not like these people that she keeps the fact that Yoongi plays daily with the daughter for a year and a half. The truth only being discovered when the precious little thing that is that baby girl tells her father with so much excitement that she just can't wait to play with her boyfriend Yoongi. 

  The odd couple move in the middle of the night, leaving Eliza furious and her son heartbroken, demanding to know why they would take his little flower away from him. Eliza attempts to get the law involved but really, there isn’t a law stating that parents can’t be strange. As the years go on, Eliza can’t forget about the little girl and finds herself worrying that maybe, just maybe, her wolf is right and the strange marks were never just accidents. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

    Sana Jung meets the family at a park. Her children, Hoseok and his twin Ryoko, are playing happily in the sandbox when a shy little girl approaches and asks to play. At once, Hoseok, her little Alpha in training, agrees and hands her most of his snack as they play. Insisting that she eat. Sana watches the three with a proud, motherly smile, a smile that turns sour at the look of fury on the other woman’s face as she drags her screaming child away. Her hissed words ringing in Sana’s ears. “Didn’t we tell you to stay away from boys?” 

  That night over dinner, she tells her Alpha’s everything, begging for them to do something. For the next three weeks her alpha’s look for the strange family. Finally coming back with the news Sana didn’t want to hear. They moved and no, they didn’t leave a new address. They don’t stop looking though, if only because of the way Hoseok had responded to the little girl's cries of distress, his first true snarl rumbling through his chest in a way that told Sana all she needed to know. Her son’s luna had just been ripped away and she would be damned if she allows that to continue. 

~~~~~~~~ 

   Crystal Kim was a true alpha, a pack leader among alphas. She was a force to be messed with. This is why, when the new couple across the street had a little girl who looked exactly as her friend Sana had described, she marched over there and introduced herself. As a couple of betas, neither could close the door on her, the wolves reacting to her despite not being a member of her pack. They couldn’t stop her from kneeling and speaking softly to their daughter, nor could they stop her from letting the little girl go and play with her Namjoon. She could tell both hated it, especially when Namjoon began presenting the same signs, the same protective displays an alpha has over their mate.  

  It didn’t come as a surprise to find that they had once again fled in the middle of the night. But it gave her all the information she needed to know. Something was up with the seemingly kind older couple and she would be damned if she didn’t figure out what was going on. 

  ~~~~~~ 

   SangHee Jeon had been watching her neighbour's children, Taehung and Jimin, along with her own little Jungkook when she met the couple. They were exhausted and cranky and left the girl on her doorstep with a list of very strict instructions. She had done her best to keep the little girl away from the three boys, but it was hard. The three boys did not want to be kept away from the girl and took it upon themselves to plot ways to go around her. She spent the better of her afternoon trying to explain to the three boys that it was not her insisting they kept away from the girl, but her parents and begged them to just listen. They would agree, for all of twenty minutes before she made some sound that had them gathered together in the corner whispering as they plotted a new way to get to her. 

  In the end, Sanghee had carefully asked if maybe next time they just allow the children to play together, only to be met with a snarled curse of “Fuck off” and “She’s a little slut, it's for their own good, not her’s.” She had bristled at the words and decided that the next time they showed up, she wouldn’t allow them to take the girl back. Only they never did come back and Sanghee was left with the itch that maybe she never should have allowed them to take her after that night. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

  When Lilith turned sixteen she was hit with an ache in her soul. An ache that left her feeling empty, as if something was missing. She didn’t know what and didn’t dare try and broach the subject with her parents. They hated, HATED when she asked questions. Even something as simple as “What is for dinner” was met with a hard slap across the face and a cold reminder to not ask questions. 

  She spent most of her time since her sixteenth birthday locked away in the basement, kept hidden from everyone outside of her pack or rather her parent's pack. Their Alpha, a cold man named Carter, had told her that he knew the truth and wouldn’t accept a whore into his pack. So any hope she had of finding freedom was torn away by his cold words. Still, sometimes, in the dead of night, she remembered the comforting touch of a memory, of a boy she couldn’t quite remember and the gentle hands that had made her feel safe. 

   She had no idea that on her twentieth-ninth birthday, everything would change.