#so it's all fluff there's no danger or angst

[lieslab]

Where's my love? Pt. 2

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X afab reader

Summary: After reuniting with your boyfriend and making amends, your daughter has a variety of new people to meet.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3.5K

~ Part 1 ~

A/N: A lot of you asked for more, so here we are. There's a little angst here, but mostly lots and lots of fluff. Will there be a part three? Probably not. There was never meant to be a part two, but you all begged and flooded the comments of the first part, so hopefully this fulfills all your desires for a second part <3

_ _ _

“You weren’t lying, you really kept your apartment looking the exact same.” 

“Of course, I kept it looking the same. I wanted you to come back home. You lived here for so long, I couldn’t bother changing it.” 

Four years, seven months, and two days; nearly a thousand and seven-hundred days. The sun rose and the moon followed from a steady distance. Always yearning, always hoping, but never following and holding. 

You followed behind Chan, walking into his apartment, with your daughter sleeping soundlessly in your arms. Her head tucked safely in the crook of your arm. He offered to carry her, but you didn’t want to give her up. Still unsure of the situation and how he felt about you, an awkwardness slipped between the two of you. 

Odette refused to let go of Chan back at the grocery store. Even when the two of you headed to the checkout, she clung to him like a koala. Wolf Chan pressed between her arm and Chan’s chest. Utterly smitten with Chan’s presence, he couldn’t even put her down to pay for his groceries. 

When he pulled out his wallet and fumbled for his debit card, you had to reach out and assist. When you parted ways in the parking lot, promising to head back to his place and follow him, she screamed at the top of her lungs when you pulled her away. 

Shiny crocodile tears, a wiggling bottom lip, and outstretched hands. Kicking snow boots and ripping off her hat in the process. “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! I wanna stay with Daddy!” 

In her car seat, she screamed louder. Odette barely threw tantrums like that. The last tantrum resulted because you wouldn’t allow her to climb into the oven to watch the cupcakes bake. You tried your best to describe the heat and how dangerous the oven was. She insisted she was cold and needed to watch them rise from inside. 

After pulling her away from trying to jerk open the oven’s door, her tears stopped when you turned on the oven light. For minutes, you sat in front of the oven with her on your lap. She asked question-after-question about the cupcakes and you patiently answered all of them. 

In the car, buckled into her car seat, her legs kicked wildly. She shrieked as you shut the door. Tugging at the harness, squirming in her coat, and trying to free herself from the temporary prison you placed her in. Chan stared in disbelief and all you could do was offer a distressed apology. He nodded, hating to get in his car and drive off, worrying about Odette, but he trusted you’d follow him. 

To his relief, you did. Deep down, you’d never live down the regret of leaving. You owed him something and gave him nothing when you left. Not a good-bye. Not a real reason. Nothing, but the phantom of your shadow and the sound of his own beating hollowed heart. 

“Is she okay sleeping on the couch or-” 

“The couch is okay.” You kicked off your shoes and followed him through the entryway. Inside his apartment, all the memories flooded back. The taste of home cooked breakfast and laughter that bounced off the walls late in the evening. 

In the living room, you slowly placed a sleeping Odette down on the suede gray couch. You worked as carefully as you could, slowly unzipping her coat, and gently working her arms out of it. You didn’t want her to overheat in the warmth of Chan’s apartment. 

When you finished, you neatly folded it and placed it beside you. You wiggled off her boots and stood up, catching another glance of Chan in the process. Your eyes met his and before you could place the shoes back with your own, he squeezed you in a tight hug. 

“God, I missed you so much.” His arms wrapped around your back. You still smelled like you. Something sweet and fresh. Maybe it was your shampoo, or perhaps you just naturally smelled that way. Whatever it was, he missed it. 

The sheets lost your scent a few days after you left. It faded away and replaced itself with his. It didn’t mean he didn’t try to find it. You left behind your perfume, leaving him with only the temporary scent of you. Too many times, he sprayed his pillow with it. Burying his head into the fabric, cradling it to his body, praying it’d one day be you. 

“I’m sorry. It’s not enough, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Tears pushed into your own eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, really, I didn’t.” 

“I would have helped you with everything.” 

“I didn’t want you to have to make that choice. I didn’t want to put you in a position. You said you wanted to make music for a long time, so I left. I didn’t want to be the reason you gave up your passion, I couldn’t have.” 

“But I love you.” 

Your head shook and you weakly laughed. “That doesn’t matter, Chan. Once you put your mind to something, you go all in. You would have given up everything to help out with a newborn. We weren’t married. We weren’t anything, besides two people head over heels for each other.” 

You didn’t get a chance to put the shoes away. He grabbed your face, almost a little too desperately. His lips hit yours without a second thought. The fireworks disappeared a long time ago. The butterflies grew extinct, but with one kiss, they reappeared; monarchs flying back home in steady swarms after a cold winter. 

When he pulled away, you didn’t let him get far. Instead, you reached out with your free hand. Grabbing the front of his coat and yanking his lips back to yours. The words didn’t have to be said out loud. 

You still loved him and he still craved you. You might have left, but the intimacy never died. The love had been placed on pause, but it marched onward. Someone hit play on a frozen movie. A glitch took you a few years into the future. You both looked a little older, but the love remained as timeless as ever. 

You dropped Odette’s boots. Too caught up in the moment, you grabbed him with your other hand. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck. Bodies pressed so close, every heart beat from him condensed with your own. 

Personal space didn’t exist. Your lips mended together, as if you just kissed last night. Long and passionate. Your bodies each spoke in ways that your words couldn’t. You’d never be able to describe just how much you missed him. Not fully. 

Laying in a hospital room, giving birth entirely alone. The only visitors you gained were nurses and your doctor. When they placed Odette on your chest, tears welled in your eyes. Instead of love and support, all you felt was a nagging ache. Chan’s phantom stood at the edge of the bed, taking it all in. 

You nearly broke down then. His number was in your phone. All you had to do was unblock it and hit the call button. He’d do anything for you. Drop it all. Come running in, holding your hand, and promising you’d be okay, but you couldn’t. You refused to destroy everything he built. 

He worked so hard, you told him time and time again. You meant every bit of it. When you held him during his rough moments and coaxed the truth from him about his problems, he never felt like a burden to you. You wanted to unravel the tangled knots in his brain. Make him understand the way you saw him. 

Not someone imperfect and riddled with flaws, but someone full of burning passion and exploding with love. Finding strength in every little thing. You wanted to make him as happy as he made you. 

And then you left. 

To say you hurt him, it was an understatement. You didn’t just hurt him, you rocked his world. He never went out and tried to find love again. He didn’t do it and he couldn’t. How could he? The only person he loved so deeply, you left him without a good-bye. 

Ghosted. Gone. Good-bye. You didn’t just hurt his heart, you cut it out and ripped it from his chest. Wandering away, you took his heart with you. You didn’t bother returning it until now. 

When you pulled away, he hugged you tighter, not wanting to let go and risk you leaving again. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, don’t leave me again. Let me help you with all of this. I want to be part of her life, too.” 

“I don’t want you to give up everything, Chan.” 

“Do you still love me?” 

“It’s not fair for you to ask me that.” 

“But do you?” He leaned back, cupping your cheeks, eager for your response. His own tears wet his eyes. 

“Of course, I still love you, you idiot. I never stopped loving you. I left because I loved you. I know I hurt you, but I thought it was the right thing.” 

“Then come back and make it better. I still love you, too.” He chuckled and followed it with a sniffle. Reaching up, to wipe away a few falling tears. “Stay with me and we’ll make it work.” 

“I don’t wanna fuck this up. If I agree, I don’t want to leave. She really deeply loves you.” You glanced over, taking your attention back to your daughter. “If we’re going to do this, you have to mean it. I can’t introduce the two of you properly and have you leave. I can handle that, but she can’t. She’s just a kid, Chan.” 

“How old is she?” 

“She’ll be four in a few months.” 

“Four? It’s been that long? Oh god.” 

“Do you know what her birthday wish is?” 

“What?” 

“She wanted to meet you and her uncles.” 

His face softened instantly. “Really? That’s all she wanted?” 

“Yes. I tried to interest her in something else, but that’s all she demanded. She’s very chatty and incredibly demanding.” 

“She didn’t get that trait from me.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sure, Chan.” 

He chuckled and glanced back towards your daughter. “I think that birthday present will come sooner rather than later.” 

“You should probably tell the guys you have a daughter before you appear with her.” 

“Or maybe not. What’s the worst that can happen?” 

~ ~ ~ 

The next afternoon, you thought you might throw up. You trusted Chan’s band members, at least, you thought you did. After Chan asked if he could bring the two of you into the JYP building to meet the guys, you agreed. 

Now that you were actually walking through the halls, you were starting to regret your decision. These halls used to feel familiar, but it’d been so long, your heart twisted in turmoil. In front of you, Odette’s little snow boots stomped heavily along the ground. Last night, multiple inches of snow let loose. 

One tiny hand in Chan’s and the other wrapped around Wolf Chan’s arm, she followed Chan through the long hall. “Okay, Wolf Channie, we gotta behave now. We’re gonna meet my uncles.” Her dark eyes went down and back up to the distant hall. 

Chan’s heart melted and he glanced back at you with a dimpled grin. You returned his smile and kept a steady pace behind the pair. Odette never went anywhere without it and to the company building meant no different. 

“Odette, what are you going to say to the guys?” Chan asked. “Hello, Uncles! I’m Odette Berry Bang!” Her little arm shot forward and her plushie fell to the ground. He bounced once and stopped moving. “Uh-ohs.” Her body jerked down to pick him up, causing Chan to stop. 

“Oh no. Did you drop him?” 

“Only once.” 

“Is he okay?” 

She pulled her other arm away from Chan’s hand and wiped the back of her hand over his head. After she finished, her lips pursed out. A loud ‘mwah’ echoed throughout the hall and she tucked him beneath her armpit. Reaching back up for Chan’s hand, she grabbed one of his fingers and tugged. “All better. Let’s go.” 

He feared he’d explode from her charm. The dimples indented into the sides of her tiny rounded cheeks. The way she waddled in her heavy winter boots, rambling so happily. It made his heart soar with excitement and happiness. 

After walking a little further, Chan stopped. “Are you tired? Do you want me to carry you?” 

“No, Daddy. We go, go, go. Come on!” She led him forward, not sure where to go, but assuming it led to wherever her uncles awaited. 

A squeaky laugh fell from his lips and he continued to follow behind her. A few more wooden doors passed until they reached the right one. Your nerves grew, but you had a little faith. The guys couldn’t be too mad, right? Not when a kid would be there with them. 

“Woah, sweetheart, it’s this one.” Chan slowly steered the pair to the direction of the door. “Do you want to knock?” 

She reached up with a flat hand, hitting the door a few times. “Hello, Uncles! It’s me! Open, open!” 

You shoved a hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh. Chan chuckled, reached up, and pushed the door open. In the dance practice room, the guys were all sprawled out. Not sure what awaited them, Chan texted them and asked them to gather in the specific room for a surprise. 

A few glanced up when the door opened. Odette took off, letting go of Chan’s hand, and rushing to the center of the room. “Hello, Uncles! I’m Odettie Berry Bang!” 

Minho blinked a few times, taking in the kid a few feet away from him. His head instantly turned to Chan. “Is this a joke? We’re babysitting some random kid?” 

“No random! I’m Odettie Berry Bang! I’m fiove!” She held up two hands, showing off all ten fingers. 

Seungmin’s eyes squinted her way. “Hmm. You don’t look five. Aren’t you a little too short to be five?” 

She huffed, stomped her foot, and attempted to cross her arms over the Wolf Chan plush. “Bad puppy.” 

“Excuse me?”

Bang Chan burst into another fit of loud laughter, causing Felix to slap a hand over his mouth. Grins appeared around the room. Jeongin spoke up in the distance. “That’s right, bad puppy. Channie hyung, who is this? Seriously?” 

He glanced behind him. You stood outside the door, hidden behind the wall. He raised an eyebrow and you sighed and nodded. He shifted, allowing you to walk into the room. Eyes went wide at your sudden appearance. 

“Holy sh-!” 

“Oh my god!” 

“You’re back!” 

“YOU BRED WITH BANG CHAN? EW! HE’S OLD!” 

“Bad puppy.” Odette called out again. She picked up her plushie and chucked it, letting it bounce off Seungmin’s head. It bounced off and fell onto the floor, causing him to huff, and glare once more. 

Before you could respond, Changbin rushed over and scooped you up. “We missed you! Who is this? Is she really five?” The questions came out in rapid fire, but you couldn’t speak. Not with all the pressure squeezing your lungs. 

“Bin, you’re gonna hurt-” 

“Sorry, sorry. I got really excited. Odettie Berry Bang?” He spun around, dropping to his knees. “Are you really five?” 

She giggled and shook her head. Tendrils of black hair swished in every direction. “No, silly. I prank Uncles! I’m this many.” 

Changbin took his time slowly counting her fingers. “One, two, three. You’re three?” 

“And a half!” 

He beamed. “Wow! That’s so cool!” 

Han shifted and crawled closer on his hands and knees. “You look just like Chan.” 

“He’s Daddy to you.” 

“Okay, well, you look like your Daddy. You’re sassy like him, too.” Han nodded, agreeing with his own words. 

“Yep! You better listen or I-” 

“Shiver me timbers,” Felix whispered. Her eyes widened and her face fell. “Uh-oh. Did I make her upset or-” 

She screeched and rushed over with stubby legs. With barely any time to react, Felix reached out quickly to steady her as she clung to him. “Woah, there. Be careful, or you’ll fall.” 

“You’ve got me!” 

“You’re right, I do.” He reached up and gently patted her back. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Yep, yep, yep.” 

“Hyunjin?” Chan glanced to the other side of the practice room. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.” 

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Minho added. 

He waved them off. “Yeah, I’m just…” He shut his eyes and rubbed his face. “I can’t believe we’re uncles. I mean I figured it’d happen someday, but… wow.” 

“Surprised?” Odette’s tiny face popped up over Felix’s shoulders. “I pranked?” 

“You are very much a surprise.” He slumped to the floor, so she could visit him if she wanted to. “What do three and a half year olds like?” 

“Dinosaurs! Rawr!” Small fingers curled into raptor claws. She leaned forward, trying to lunge over Felix’s shoulder, but he grabbed her a little tighter. 

“Easy there, girl. You’re going to scare the rest of your uncles.” 

“Sorry, Uncles. I go back to Odettie Berry.” 

“Good choice.” 

Felix patted her back and let her go. She wandered through the maze of the guys, observing each of them up close. When she got to Minho, she paused and hesitated. Her feet shuffled in the direction of Chan. 

“Daddy?” 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“Is Uncle Minho going to air fry me?” 

“Only if you think Uncle Hyunjin is better than me.” 

Her eyes widened and her head shook. She spun back around to face him, hurried over, and hugged him. You and Chan couldn’t even be mad. The devious joy that lit up Minho’s face, it was hard to hate. 

“That’s rude. Miss Odette, I wouldn’t put you in the air fryer because I’m not a mean uncle.” Hyunjin pouted and sprawled back on the floor. 

In the distance, Jeongin crawled forward. He peeked over Minho’s shoulder with a shy smile. “She’s so cute. She reminds me of my little brother when he was younger.” 

“Uncle had a brother?” She stumbled back from Minho to place her attention on Jeongin. 

“Uncle Jeongin has two brothers.” He leaned forward and held up two fingers.

“Daddy?” 

“Yes, Odette?” 

“When is Mommy going to make me a brother?” 

That sent the guys roaring with laughter. Han and Hyunjin laughed the loudest. Seungmin’s hand found his stomach and he pointed to the two of you. Both of your faces turned bright red. 

“Um, well…” 

“When the time is right, maybe.” You finally uttered. “But we have you and really love you.” 

“Aw, man.” 

“Odette, do you want a little brother?” Seungmin took his attention back to the young girl. “Want to have someone to play with?” 

“I wanna boss him around like Daddy bosses around the uncles.” 

Another wave of laughter fell over the room. Changbin’s hands covered his face, each syllable of laughter came out louder than the previous. Chan playfully rolled his eyes and you shook your head. “Maybe in the future, honey.” 

“Aw, man.” She frowned with a sigh. She plopped on the ground, not thrilled about the news. 

“I don’t think it’s so bad. In the meantime, you have your uncles and we’ll be happy to play with you.” Felix squirmed over, plopping down next to her. “You can boss us around.” 

“Oh, speak for yourself. You can’t boss me around. Hwang Hyunjin doesn’t take orders.” 

“He does if he doesn’t wanna be put in my air fryer.” 

“And suddenly Hwang Hyunjin is vowing to do anything that Miss Odette asks him to do. Go ahead, child. Speak your desires and I shall make them happen.” 

“Be my pet dinosaur!” 

“Oh, hell n-” 

Chan shot him a warning glance and he sighed. “Yes, Miss Odette. Which kind of dinosaur shall I be today?” 

“T-Rex!” 

Hyunjin grumbled and held his elbows to his sides, mimicking a T-Rex’s arms. 

“Uncle Hyunjin, they roar and don’t speak.” 

You placed a hand over your mouth, trying not to interrupt your daughter’s demands. Hyunjin rolled his eyes and weakly let out a roar. Odette rushed over to him and grabbed the side of his sweatpants. “Dino, let’s walk.” 

And so they did. Hyunjin squawked and sauntered around the room. Wanting to join in, the other guys began morphing into their own dinosaurs. Chasing one another, roaring and trying not to laugh, they led Odette on her own dinosaur safari. 

You leaned against Chan, enjoying all of it. He glanced at you with another dimpled smile. “Thank you for coming back.” 

“I should be thanking you for allowing all this.” 

“Promise not to leave again?” 

“At this point, I’m vowing. We should get married or something.” 

His face fell and then reignited into an ear-to-ear grin. “Yes. Absolutely. We should pick out rings and get married. Then you can never leave me ever again and I-” 

“Mommy! Daddy! Come on! You’re ‘posed to be dinos, too. Yeehaw, Rexie!” 

Hyunjin’s shoulders slumped and he weakly made another noise. Somewhere between a faint roar and a defeated squawk. Your potential marriage would have to wait because Odette’s demands came with a hand on her hip. 

If you didn’t oblige, who knew what demands she’d conjure up next. 

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[vrstual]

ᯓ .ᐟ ⊹ The Girlfriend Contract

- part one.

ᯓ Pairing: Popular!Karina (Yu Jimin) × Cheerleader!Fem! Reader

ᯓ | When Jimin lies to her mom about being in a serious relationship, the last person she expects to drag into her mess is Y/n–the campus cheerleader she’s spent the last two years arguing with across lecture halls and parties. But now, to keep up appearances over the holidays, they have to fake date through family dinners, long car rides and even in school.

ᯓ Genre: Rivals to fake-dating to lovers, slow burn, college AU, family drama, soft angst, eventual fluff

ᯓ Warning: swearing, argument, a little toxic, family pressure.

ᯓ Content: 7k of words

part one. part two.

Yu Jimin wasn’t in love.

She’d made that clear enough times.

The guy from last week still texted her sometimes — a dumb meme or a photo of his cat — and she hadn’t blocked him, but she hadn’t replied either. Not because he did anything wrong. He just wasn’t what she wanted. No one ever was.

Not that her mom would believe that.

Jimin leaned against the kitchen counter, phone in one hand, a cooling cup of black coffee in the other.

She never understood how her best friend could be so different from her. Where she overthought, Heeseung floated. Nothing seemed to stick to him — not stress, not pressure, not the constant need to prove something. He just existed, unbothered and perfectly content in his own lane.

Sometimes she envied that. Other times, it annoyed the hell out of her.

She scrolled through her texts — mostly her group chat with Heeseung and some old party invites she never answered.

Half a pizza box balanced precariously on a pile of textbooks, a soda can sweated onto the corner of a magazine she never finished reading. The air smelled faintly like old takeout and peppermint gum.

“I swear to god, if Meredith cries one more time…” Heeseung muttered.

Jimin didn’t answer. She was too focused on the vibration of her phone lighting up again. It was her mother

Jimin stared at it for a second.

“You gonna answer that?” Heeseung asked, glancing over.

“She’s just gonna ask when I’m coming home,” Jimin muttered, already standing up. “And why I’m still single. Can’t wait.”

She slipped into her bedroom and closed the door gently behind her, pressing accept as she sank down onto the edge of her bed.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her mom’s voice was warm but clipped. “Jimin-ah. I’ve been calling.”

“I was busy. Sorry."

“Too busy to talk to your mother?” she teased lightly. “Are you still planning to come home on the 23rd?”

“Yeah. I already finished my suitcases."

A pause.

“You know, I don’t like you driving alone. That highway gets dangerous in the winter.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve done it every time to come home.”

“Just… you know I worry.” Her mom sighed.

Jimin nodded, even though her mom couldn’t see it.

“You don’t have to come alone, you know,” her mom said. “Wonyoung is bringing her girlfriend. They’ve been together almost a year now. Very sweet girl. Thoughtful. Studying medicine.”

Jimin didn’t reply.

“And Giselle’s new boyfriend is coming too, he's American. Apparently he’s learning Korean just for her. Isn’t that romantic?”

Still, silence.

“I just think… maybe it’s time you stopped pretending this doesn’t matter to you.”

Jimin blinked. “What doesn’t?”

“This. Being with someone who cares about you. You’re always so… distant. I know you’re busy with school, but you don’t even talk about anyone.”

“It's nothing to worry about, mom." Jimin said quietly.

Her mom sighed again — soft, but full of meaning. “I just want to see you happy, Jimin. That’s all. Not just smart, not just successful. Happy. With someone who looks at you like you matter.

That was the part that stuck. Jimin sat frozen for a beat too long, the lump forming quietly in her throat.

So she did what she always did when emotions got too close.

She lied.

“I’m not alone,” she said suddenly. “I… I’ve been seeing someone.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and for once, her mom sounded surprised.

“Oh? Really?” Excitement was running through her mother voice, she could sense it.

Jimin’s brain stalled. And then, without thinking, she said it.

“It's uh... Y/n."

A pause.

Her mom’s tone changed instantly — from excited to genuine curiosity.

“Y/n? That girl from the cheer team? The one from last summer Giselle's gala? She’s very pretty. I didn’t know you two were close, I thought you hated her."

Jimin forced a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Neither did I.”

“Well, I’m glad,” her mom said gently. “I really am. You could bring her over to Christmas you know!"

Jimin didn’t know what to say. She mumbled something about studying and hung up as soon as she could without seeming suspicious.

She sat in the quiet of her room afterward, staring at the floor.

Y/n?

Out of everyone?

She was so screwed.

-

Heeseung bit back a laugh, but it slipped out anyway — low and sharp. He couldn’t help it. For two years now, it had been tradition: every time Y/n’s name came up, he and Jimin would roll their eyes in sync, trading sarcastic commentary like it was a sport.

She’d complain about Y/N’s perfect routines, and he’d mock her perfect smile. It was a shared hobby at this point — hating on Y/n from the sidelines. So when Jimin stood in the doorway, looking vaguely shell-shocked and muttered, “I told my mom I’m dating her,” Heeseung practically choked on his drink.

“You’re joking,” he said between wheezes. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not—stop laughing, it’s not funny, Heeseung!” Jimin whined, smacking his shoulder with the back of her hand.

Heeseung doubled over, laughter spilling out now, almost gasping. “No, it’s hilarious. You? Dating Y/n? You’ve literally called her a walking ego devil in a cheer skirt.”

“That was one time,” Jimin muttered, crossing her arms.

“You said she practices her fake angelic smile in the mirror like a villain!"

"Okay, two times.”

Heeseung just shook his head, still grinning. “How the hell are you gonna fake-date someone you can’t even make it through a room with?”

Jimin flopped onto the couch with a groan. “I don’t know. But now my mom thinks we’re soulmates or something.”

“Well, good luck with her."

-

Jimin had been waiting—maybe an hour, maybe two—just outside the gym, tucked under the edge of the overhang by the side door. Rain slid off the roof in steady sheets, cold and relentless, soaking the tips of her shoes.

She’d run out of things to scroll through on her phone half an hour ago. Now all she could do was stare at the wet pavement and rehearse what she’d say.

“Hey, so this is going to sound insane, but I need you to pretend to date me for the sake of my mom’s sanity.”

No. Too direct.

“I told my mom I’m dating you, and now I might need your help not getting disowned.”

Even worse.

She exhaled, breath fogging in the cold. Practice usually ran late — Jimin knew that. She’d walked past the gym enough times to hear music blasting well past dinner. But it was really starting to feel like Y/N wasn’t coming out at all.

Maybe this was stupid. Maybe Y/N would laugh in her face. Or worse — tell the whole squad. Jimin could already picture it: her name and the word desperate flying through the hallways by tomorrow.

Still, she stayed. Because this was the only way. And if she didn’t ask — if she didn’t try — she’d be walking into Busan with a lie and no backup. That wasn’t an option.

The gym door creaked open. Jimin’s breath hitched.

There she was. Hoodie pulled over her cheer uniform, earbuds in, completely oblivious.

Jimin stepped out from under the overhang, heart pounding.

It was now or never.

“Y/n!” Jimin called out, but her voice barely cut through the rain — or the music playing through the girl’s headphones. “Y/n!”

Still nothing.

Frustrated, Jimin jogged forward, slipping slightly on the wet concrete before reaching out and grabbing Y/n’s shoulder. The other girl flinched, startled, twisting around sharply.

Y/n pulled one earbud out, blinking. “What the hell—?”

Jimin let go immediately, a little breathless. “Sorry. I just— I’ve been waiting.”

Y/N looked her up and down, taking in the damp hoodie, the ruined sneakers, the obvious nerves. Her brows lifted slightly. "Are you okay?"

Y/n didn't cared, in fact she was just confused.

“No,” Jimin admitted, voice sharp and awkward. “I mean, yes. Kind of. Can I talk to you? It’s… important.”

Y/N crossed her arms, skeptical but curious. “Did you really wait out here in the rain for me?”

Jimin nodded.

A beat passed.

“This better be good,” Y/n muttered, stepping back under the cover of the overhang. “Talk.”

“I thought we could discuss this in a café, it’s pouring rain and it’s—uh—cold…” Jimin said, her voice trailing off awkwardly as she realized how lame it sounded.

Y/N rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, but the edge of a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You’re gonna drag me out of the rain to talk in a café? What’s next? Do I get a flower and a soft jazz playlist too?”

Jimin rubbed the back of her neck, feeling the heat rise to her face. “No, it’s not like that. I just—It’s a lot to explain, okay?”

Y/N sighed but didn’t walk away. “Fine, whatever. Lead the way.”

Jimin exhaled in relief, hoping the warmth of a café would settle her nerves and that somehow, she could make this mess work.

-

“Okay, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” Y/N asked, her voice incredulous as they sat down in the café. She crossed her arms over her chest, still soaking wet but visibly irritated.

“It’s the first name that came to my mind, I swear!” she shot back, desperate to defend herself. “I panicked, okay?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Panic doesn’t usually make you pick someone you can’t stand and that can't stand you either!"

“I know, I know,” Jimin groaned, slumping in her seat. “But it just… happened. I thought I could get away with it. But then she—my mom—asked me to bring you home for Christmas.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, clearly thrown off. “What? Me? You want me to pretend we’re dating and then go home with you for Christmas? Unbelievable."

“Exactly,” Jimin muttered, looking anywhere but at her. “It’s not like I want to ask you, but… she’s really pushing it. And I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Y/N just stared at her, blinking slowly. “You’re asking me to fake-date you in front of your whole family… so your mom won’t be disappointed?”

“Please,” Jimin begged, her voice low. “I can’t go back home without some sort of backup. I can’t just let her think I’m this messed-up failure. You don’t know what she’s like.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment, then leaned back in her chair, still processing. “And what’s in it for me?”

Jimin bit her lip, her eyes flickering up to meet Y/n's. “I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Please.”

Y/n exhaled, a small smirk forming at the corner of her mouth. “Anything? Interesting…”

Jimin’s stomach dropped. “Yeah. I mean it.”

Y/N looked at her for a long, hard beat, and Jimin couldn’t tell if she was about to laugh in her face or agree. Finally, Y/n shrugged.

“Alright. I’ll help you out. But just so you know, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it because I broke up with Jeno weeks ago and this will make him furious.”

Jimin let out a relieved breath. “Deal.”

A long pause.

Then Y/n spoke again, casually stirring the straw in her iced drink.

“So… what’s the storyline?” she asked, eyes narrowing just a bit. “What exactly are we supposed to do? Am I supposed to sell Minjeong on the idea that I fell for you in a night?”

Jimin sank further into her seat, visibly cringing. “I mean… yeah. Basically.”

Y/n snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I didn’t say it made sense!” Jimin shot back, flustered. “It was a heat-of-the-moment, life-flashing-before-my-eyes type of decision.”

Y/n leaned in a little, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Right. So what’s our epic love story, then? Did we bond over our mutual hatred for each other? A steamy hallway makeout after cheer competition?”

Jimin blinked. “…Wait, that’s not bad.”

Y/n raised a brow, deadpan. “You are so lucky I’m bored enough to play along." She sighed. "Let's at least make it romantic."

Jimin blinked at her. “Wait… you’re actually taking this seriously?”

“If I’m going to lie to your mom and sit through family dinners between your family members, yeah—might as well make it convincing.” Y/N shrugged, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “Besides, if I have to pretend to like you, I deserve Oscar-worthy levels of drama.”

Jimin scoffed, but there was the tiniest smile threatening to break through. “Fine. Romance it is.”

Y/n eaned forward, mock-serious. “So? What’s our meet-cute? Something dramatic. I want tension. A little forbidden energy. Give me the enemies to lovers arc.”

Jimin stared at her. “You want me to plot out a fake fanfic?”

“Exactly,” Y/N said with a satisfied nod. “You started this. Now we’re doing it right."

Y/n grinned, resting her chin on her palm as she eyed Jimin across the table.

“Also,” she added, voice almost playful, “I’ve always liked K-dramas with the worst tropes. So please, get creative.”

Jimin narrowed her eyes. “Worst tropes?”

Y/n nodded, unfazed. “Give me a tragic backstory. I want a dramatic rooftop scene. A tension-filled rain fight. Maybe even my jealous ex. I want to suffer.”

Jimin blinked. “You’re unhinged.”

“No,” Y/n said with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’m committed to the bit.”

Jimin leaned forward, tapping her nails against her coffee cup. “Alright. New story. We met by accident. Late night. Campus convenience store.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“It’s pouring rain,” Jimin said, eyes distant like she was setting a scene in her head. “I was out of ramen. You were there for honey butter chips and cold brew.”

Y/n nodded slowly, already picturing it. “We reach for the same drink?”

“No,” Jimin smirked. “You drop your chips. I step on them. Instant tension.”

“Classic.”

“I apologize, kind of. You roll your eyes, say something smart. I snap back. But we’re both too tired to really argue. So we leave it there.”

Y/n sipped her drink, clearly invested now. “And then?”

“We run into each other again. Couple nights later. Same store. This time it’s late. Like, past midnight late. No one else around. You’re in sweats. I’m in my stupid hoodie. You ask if I always eat instant food this late.”

“And you say?”

"I say, 'Only when I can’t sleep.' And then you pause, just a second too long, and say, 'Same'"

Y/n smiled softly, leaning into the vibe. “So then what, we just keep running into each other?”

Jimin nodded. “Like fate. We never plan it, but somehow, we’re always there around the same time. We start sitting outside together. Talking. Bickering. You offer me your chips. I start bringing an extra drink.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Then something shifts.”

“Exactly,” Jimin said. “It’s three in the morning. We’re sitting on the curb, legs stretched out, talking about family and futures and shit we never tell anyone. You lean your head on my shoulder.”

Y/N blinked. “And that’s when we kiss?”

Jimin grinned. “Almost. But we don’t. Not yet. Just enough tension to make it hurt.”

“Oh, I love this one. It’s giving sad gay indie K-drama energy.”

“Right?” Jimin smirked. “Now we just have to convince my mom we’re emotionally intertwined and have a history that no one else could understand.”

Y/n smiled slowly. “She won’t stand a chance.”

-

The car ride to Busan started off in near silence. Rain tapped lazily against the windshield, and the highway stretched ahead like it was daring them to speak.

Jimin had one hand on the wheel, jaw tense. Y/n sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, headphones in — but the music was off. She just didn’t want to talk.

Until she did.

“You drive like you’re allergic to speed limits,” Y/n muttered, not even glancing over.

Jimin scoffed. “I’d rather get there fast than be stuck in this car with you for an extra hour.”

“Charming,” Y/n said dryly, turning to look at her. “Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jimin snapped, “maybe because you begged for a dramatic K-drama moment and I handed you one on a silver platter?”

“Right, because nothing says romance like you glaring at me every time I breathe too loud.”

“I’m driving,” Jimin bit back. “I need to focus.”

“You need to unclench.”

Jimin hit the signal light a little too aggressively and merged lanes. “If you hate this so much, you could’ve said no."

“If I said no, I wouldn’t get to witness you crash and burn in front of your family. That’s worth the ticket.”

They were quiet for a beat. Just the low hum of tires on wet road, the occasional flick of windshield wipers.

Then—

“You always think you’re so much better than everyone,” Jimin muttered, not looking at her.

Y/n blinked, taken off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You walk around like you own every hallway. Like no one can touch you. Even now, sitting in my car, doing me a favor, and still acting like you’re above it all.”

Y/n stared at her. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not,” Jimin shot back. “But you make it really easy to hate you.”

Another beat. The silence this time was heavier. Then Y/n laughed — just once. A dry, disbelieving sound.

“Well,” she said, settling back in her seat, “that makes two of us.”

Jimin’s fingers tightened on the wheel.

They didn’t speak for the next twenty minutes.

But their thoughts were loud.

“I don’t pretend anything,” Y/n said sharply, sitting up straighter. “You’re the one lying to your mom.”

“Oh my god,” Jimin muttered, eyes fixed on the road. “Are we really doing this right now?”

“You started it.”

“You agreed to this!”

“Because I thought it would be funny, not—this.” Y/n gestured vaguely, annoyed. “I thought we’d take a few fake couple pics, smile through some awkward dinners, go home. Not—argue like we’re married in your beat-up Hyundai on the highway to hell.”

“It’s a Kia,” Jimin snapped, glaring briefly. “And you made it personal.”

“I made it personal?” Y/N laughed, incredulous. “You’ve been picking fights with me since sophomore year.”

“Because you’re infuriating.”

“Because you take everything as a personal attack!”

They were both breathing hard now, voices raised, heat building fast.

Then—

“You’re exhausting,” Jimin muttered.

“So are you,” Y/n said, quieter this time, not quite looking at her.

A long stretch of silence settled between them again, except now their breathing had slowed, tension simmering instead of boiling.

Outside, the rain picked up. Inside, the heat from the vents started to fog the windows a little.

“…I didn’t mean to pick you,” Jimin said eventually, her voice low. “Your name just came out. I didn’t even think.”

Y/n looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “I know.”

“I guess,” Jimin continued, “if I’m honest, it’s because… you’re always there. Like, in my head. Whether I like it or not.”

Y/n's brows furrowed, confused. “So you hate me but I live rent-free in your mind?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Jimin groaned, but the corner of her mouth tugged upward anyway.

Y/n bit back a smirk, then looked away. “You’re still annoying.”

“You’re worse,” Jimin muttered.

A small pause.

Then Y/n spoke, softer. “Do I look okay?”

Jimin glanced over, confused. “What?”

“For your family,” she said. “Do I look like someone you’d… bring home?”

Jimin blinked at her, eyes flicking from her face to the slight slump of her shoulders.

And despite everything — the tension, the insults, the years of barely tolerating each other — she answered honestly.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “You do.”

Y/n didn’t say anything after that. But she smiled. Just a little.

And Jimin didn’t admit it, but she saw it in the reflection of the windshield.

That was the first time the silence between them felt almost peaceful.

-

Y/n was stressed.

She told herself she didn’t care — obviously she didn’t care — but the second Jimin put the car in park in front of the house, her chest tightened like it had something to prove.

It was just a stupid lie. A favor. One awkward week with Jimin’s polished Busan family, pretend to hold hands at dinner, maybe smile for a few photo. That was the plan.

So why did her palms feel clammy? Why did her heart jump into her throat the second Jimin looked over at her and said, quietly,

“We’re here.”

The house was bigger than she expected. Not mansion-big, but definitely expensive. Warm yellow lights glowed from the windows, laughter spilled faintly from inside, and the front door was already cracked open like they’d been watching the driveway all evening.

Jimin didn’t move to get out yet. She just sat there, keys still in the ignition, fingers twitching on her lap.

Y/n swallowed hard.

She was used to pretending.

It was her thing, actually.

Hide her true emotions. No one ever saw past it — not her teammates, not her classmates, not the girls she flirted with when she was bored and didn’t feel like going home.

And for the longest time, Y/n liked it that way.

But something about this felt different.

Maybe it was the way the front door swung open and warmth spilled out — real warmth.

Or maybe it was the fact that the second Jimin’s hand brushed against hers at the threshold — not even holding, just a touch — something inside her chest flinched.

Not in fear.

In recognition.

She was good at pretending. Always had been.

They stepped out of the car, the cold evening air biting at Y/n’s exposed skin. Jimin walked around to the trunk, popped it open, and pulled out the suitcases with a grunt. Y/n didn’t move to help—just stood there, arms crossed, watching with her usual unreadable expression.

Jimin rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“What?” Y/n said, feigning innocence. “You looked like you had it handled.”

Jimin groaned under her breath, dragging the suitcase toward the walkway just as the front door burst open.

“Jimin, sweetie!” a voice called out, full of warmth and sugar and just a pinch of chaos.

A woman rushed out into the night, arms already stretched wide, face glowing. She wrapped Jimin into a hug so tight it made the younger girl lose her grip on one of the bags.

“I missed you!” she said into Jimin’s shoulder, then pulled back to look her over like a mom checking for battle wounds. “Why do you look skinnier? Have you been eating? I told you to stop drinking iced americanos for dinner!”

“Hi, Mom,” Jimin replied, almost shyly. Her smile softened the edges of her usual sarcasm. She bent to pick up the suitcase again.

Then the woman turned to Y/n.

“And you must be Y/n! I'm Taeyeon!"

Y/n froze like a deer in headlights for a second before schooling her features into something charming — the soft smile she used at cheer fundraisers, the kind that got her free coffees and made teachers forgive late assignments.

“That's me” she said, stepping forward and offering a hand, just a beat too stiff.

But Jimin’s mom didn’t shake it — she hugged her.

Y/n’s eyes widened as the woman pulled her in, warm and familiar, like she’d known her for years.

“You’re gorgeous, oh my god,” Jimin’s mom gushed, stepping back and holding her at arm’s length. “And tiny! Jimin always had a thing for tiny girls, didn’t you, honey?”

Jimin choked. “Mom.”

“What?” she grinned, waving it off. “I’m just saying! When she was younger—”

“Okay, inside, now,” Jimin interrupted, grabbing the last suitcase and brushing past them, ears turning red.

Y/n stood there for another second, a little smirk on her lips, before Jimin’s mom looped her arm through hers.

“Come on, dear. You’ll sit next to me at dinner. You’ll tell me everything about how you and Jimin met.”

Y/n glanced ahead, saw the slight panic in Jimin’s shoulders as she disappeared through the doorway.

She smiled.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

As soon as they stepped into the house, warmth wrapped around them — the kind of lived-in, cozy heat that smelled like soy sauce, steamed rice, and something baking in the oven.

And there were a lot of people.

“Well, well,” a voice called from the hallway, smooth and teasing. “Jimin didn’t tell us she was bringing someone this cute.”

Y/n looked up, caught off guard by the tall boy leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed. He looked familiar — must’ve been her brother.

“She did,” Y/n replied coolly, raising an eyebrow. “You probably weren’t listening.”

Sunghoon smirked, clearly amused. “Feisty. I like it.”

“She’s my girlfriend, Sunghoon.” Jimin cut in flatly as she dropped the suitcase by the stairs. “So stop being weird.”

Y/n fought a grin as Sunghoon dramatically clutched his chest. “Girlfriend? You didn’t say she was taken!”

“I said she was coming,” Jimin muttered. “And I said to behave.”

“Jimin,” her father said warmly, stepping forward to hug her. “You should’ve called when you were getting close.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” she mumbled, hugging him back, softer now.

Then he turned to Y/n and gave a polite, reserved bow. “You must be the girl we’ve heard so little about.”

Y/n smiled awkwardly and bowed in return. “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/n.”

“Well I'm Misook, Jimin's father." he said, stepping aside and motioning toward the living room, “Make yourself at home."

The house had already started filling with noise — the comforting kind. Plates clinking, someone laughing down the hall, a pot of stew boiling gently on the stove. Jimin and Y/n had barely finished setting the table when the front door swung open again, snow blowing in with the familiar chaos of family arrivals.

Jimin muttered under her breath, “And here comes the entire circus.”

Y/n looked up from folding napkins, eyebrows raised. “You weren’t joking.”

Aunt Haeun came in first, cheeks rosy from the cold, tugging off her scarf. “Where’s your mother? Oh, something smells amazing—”

Behind her, Uncle Hyunsoo carried two suitcases and a box of mandarin oranges like he was preparing to stay a month. “Why do we always pack like we’re moving in?”

Then came Wonyoung, tall and glowing even in the oversized coat she shrugged off effortlessly. Her girlfriend Yujin followed, already slipping out of her gloves and handing over a small gift bag with a shy smile.

Wonyoung’s eyes scanned the room — and landed on Y/n.

“Oh,” she said. “This must be her.”

Y/n stood a little straighter. “Hi, I'm Y/n.”

Yujin gave her a polite nod. “Nice to meet you.”

Wonyoung, however, looked her up and down without hiding it. Not rudely. Just… observantly. “You’re even prettier than your Instagram.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Thanks… wait you stalked me– how?”

“Wanted to know who my cousin was dating, just saying” Wonyoung added, stepping inside. “Jimin usually likes chaos. You look a little too put-together for her.”

Jimin rolled her eyes. “Nice to see you too.”

Before anyone could dwell on that, the door flew open again and Giselle arrived with her usual flair, dropping her weekender bag dramatically in the hallway. Her boyfriend trailed behind, carrying a cake and visibly regretting not wearing thicker socks.

Giselle’s gaze found Y/n almost immediately.

“Wow. You’re the girlfriend?”

Y/n offered a polite smile. “Yes. I think that’s me.”

“You look like someone who gets invited to the cool rooftop parties and never shows up.” Her tone wasn’t exactly mocking — more amused, a little intrigued. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Y/n said, eyes steady. “I do get those invites.”

From the living room, someone called out, “Stop crowding the hallway!”

Soobin appeared then, towel slung over his shoulder like he’d just helped clean something — tall, soft-eyed, and entirely too charming for his own good.

He gave Jimin a quick hug before turning toward Y/n. “And you must be the famous girlfriend.”

Y/n shook his hand, noticing the dimpled smile right away. “Famous really?”

"Well it's been only a week since Jimin told aunt Taeyeon and she kept talking about you. Anyway, I’m Soobin. Jimin’s cousin — sadly still single, in case that wasn’t obvious.” He winked.

Jimin groaned. “Can you not.”

Mrs. Yu popped her head in from the kitchen, apron tied around her waist. “Everyone’s here? Good. Come help me set the soup, please!”

Y/n was about to follow, but Soobin cut in again. “You cook too?”

“I try,” she said.

“She does,” Jimin mumbled, grabbing the stack of bowls. “She’s basically Miss Perfect.” She says trying to show that she knew her–fake–girlfriend.

“Wow,” Giselle said under her breath, exchanging a look with Wonyoung. “So that’s new.”

Wonyoung smiled tightly. “Can’t wait to hear that story.”

And just like that, Y/n felt it — not hostility, not even dislike. Just curiosity. A little skepticism. Like they were all trying to figure out where she fit in the picture. If she was just a visitor in Jimin’s life — or something more.

Jimin passed her a bowl and gave her a look.

“You okay?”

Y/n nodded, quietly. “Yeah. It’s just… a lot.”

Jimin paused, then added, “It always is. But they’ll get used to you.”

-

The dinner had been… surprisingly pleasant. Y/n couldn’t deny it. The food had been delicious, and as much as she tried to stay neutral, she found herself laughing with Wonyoung and Giselle more than she’d expected. They’d shared funny anecdotes about Jimin’s childhood, embarrassing family moments that made her realize how normal Jimin’s life was outside of the walls of college, outside the walls they’d built up around each other.

Y/n had laughed, genuinely. It felt so… human. Like they were showing her parts of Jimin that she’d never even considered before. She found herself liking it, maybe too much.

But Jimin had been quiet through it all, picking at her food, her eyes darting between Y/n and the rest of the room. It was subtle, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Every time Y/n made a joke or spoke a little too easily with her cousins, Jimin’s smile seemed to falter, just for a split second.

It was like she didn’t want Y/n to get too comfortable. To become too familiar with her family.

To cross a line.

Home.

Y/n thought about that word as she sipped her drink, the weight of it settling in her chest. It wasn’t just where they were sitting right now, under laughter ringing in the background. It was the way Jimin’s face had softened just a little when talking about her mom earlier. Or how her brother, Sunghoon, had cracked a stupid joke and Jimin had genuinely laughed — not the sarcastic kind, but the real one that reached her eyes.

For a second, Y/n let herself consider it — maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I really fit in here. If I could stay a little longer, get used to them…

But then she glanced over at Jimin, who was still sitting at the edge of the table, half turned away from the conversation, looking like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get the words out. The shift in her mood was palpable.

She didn’t want her to get close. That was obvious.

Maybe she didn’t want Y/n the warmth of home — it was too real. Too personal. And the thought of someone else, especially someone like Y/n, having access to it? That was too much for Jimin to handle right now.

Still, as Y/n looked across the table at her, she realized something else, too. Maybe Jimin wasn’t as cold as I thought. Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t hate the idea of being trusted with someone.

-

Y/n lay awake in Jimin’s old room, the one of her childhood — memories frozen in time. After a long and tiring Christmas dinner with Jimin’s family, everyone had finally retreated to their rooms. But something about the stillness in the air, the way everything seemed to breathe a different kind of quiet here, kept Y/n wide awake.

Her eyes wandered around the room, taking in the familiar yet unfamiliar sight. It was cozy, yet clearly a room from another time. There was a mix of things: an old, dusty teddy bear tucked in the corner, a few scattered school trophies on the shelf, and colorful plush pillows that had been there since Jimin’s middle school days. Her room, untouched by time, told the story of someone trying to hold onto childhood, even in the face of growing up.

Y/n rolled over and glanced at the photos hanging on the walls. There were a few frames of young Jimin, her face so different from the confident, polished woman Y/n had come to know. Here, Jimin was just a girl — a middle schooler, awkward and shy, posing for the camera with her family and friends, her eyes shining with innocence. There were pictures of her grinning with friends Y/n would probably never meet.

The one that caught Y/n’s attention the most was a picture of a much younger Jimin, standing beside a smiling boy who looked remarkably like her brother, Sunghoon. The two were at what appeared to be a family picnic, both holding ice cream cones. Jimin’s smile was wide, carefree — a stark contrast to the guarded look she wore now. Her eyes softened as she studied the picture.

She had never considered Jimin as someone with a life before everything — before the fierce exterior, before the social circle and the reputation. She wondered, briefly, what had shaped Jimin into the person she was now. Who was she before all of the expectations? Before her family’s high standards and the pressure of being in the spotlight?

Y/n reached up and gently traced the edge of one of the frames, her thoughts drifting to how little she actually knew about Jimin’s past. She felt a small pang of guilt, realizing how little she had ever really cared to know. She had always seen Jimin as a barrier, a target of her own insecurities and fears. She had never stopped to consider what Jimin had been through to become the person she was today.

The silence in the room grew thicker, and the weight of everything they had both been pretending began to settle over Y/n’s chest.

Suddenly, Jimin’s voice cut through her thoughts as she opened the door coming back from shower.

“You’re still up?”

Y/n snapped out of her thoughts, looking over at the doorway where Jimin stood, her face partially obscured by the dim light from the hallway. She was wearing a loose shirt and pajama pants, her hair slightly messy as she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Y/n replied softly, her voice betraying a hint of surprise. “Just… looking around.”

Jimin walked into the room and sat down on the edge of her bed, glancing at the photos the cheerleader had been looking at. “I see you found my middle school pictures,”

Y/n gave a faint nod, feeling awkward for lingering over something so personal. “You were… really different.” Her voice was quiet, as if not wanting to intrude too much.

Jimin let out a small, dry laugh. “I guess. People change.”

Y/n paused for a moment, unsure whether to ask the next question. But her curiosity got the best of her. “Do you ever miss it? The… before?”

Jimin’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, her fingers tracing the edge of her blanket. There was a long pause before she answered, her tone surprisingly soft. “Sometimes,” she admitted quietly. “But I think I had to grow up too fast. I didn’t really have a choice. My mom… she wanted me to be perfect, and I guess… I tried.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Y/n wasn’t sure what to say, not sure if she was crossing a line or not. But the vulnerability in Jimin’s voice felt different from anything she had ever heard from her.

“I think your mom wanted you to be happy, to build your future so you could be happy. She must have done it wrong.... It's a lot.” Y/n finally said, her voice quieter than before.

Jimin shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “It is what it is. You can’t change the past.”

They both sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation lingering in the room like an unspoken truth. It was the first time they had really opened up to each other, even if just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

After a few more minutes of quiet, the two of them, still sitting in the dimly lit room, began to realize just how awkward the situation was.

Jimin shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to the bed, and then to Y/n, before finally settling on the door as if it might suddenly offer an escape. But of course, there was no escaping the reality of the room. There was one bed. And they were both stuck here for the night.

Y/n, sensing the tension, turned to look at Jimin. Her gaze met Jimin’s for a split second before both of them awkwardly glanced away. It was strange, they were forced into an entirely new situation. They had been at each other’s throats for so long, but now, it felt like the walls were starting to crack.

“Uh,” Y/n began, breaking the silence with an awkward laugh. “I guess we’re supposed to… sleep here?”

Jimin, her arms crossed tightly in front of her, didn’t seem thrilled about the prospect. “Yeah, looks like it,” she muttered, eyes narrowing as she looked at the bed, as though it had personally offended her.

Y/n glanced at the single bed again, then back at Jimin. A thought occurred to her. “So… how do you usually do this? I mean, not like… ‘this’—but… you know…”

“Well,” Jimin started, her voice almost hesitant, “my family thinks we are a couple, one bed is actually normal…” She let out a deep breath, clearly at a loss for words. “This is beyond the usual.”

Y/n bit her lip, her mind racing for a solution. They couldn’t exactly sleep side by side in the same bed. That would be far too strange. The thought made her skin crawl a little, and she saw that Jimin was just as uncomfortable as she was. The idea of sharing such a small space for the night—close quarters like this—seemed impossible for two people who barely tolerated each other.

“Wait!” Y/n suddenly exclaimed, the idea coming to her as she looked around the room. “Pillows.”

Jimin blinked at her. “What?”

“No, hear me out,” Y/N said, her voice gaining confidence as she scanned the room. “We can make a pillow barrier, a—uh—‘fortress’ between us. We’ll each have our own side of the bed, and it’ll be like an invisible wall.” She motioned to the pillows on the bed and around the room.

Jimin paused, staring at her like she’d just suggested something absurd. “A pillow fortress?”

Y/n grinned. “Yeah, it’s genius, right? Just a row of pillows between us, and we’ll have our own little spaces. It’ll work.”

Jimin rolled her eyes but finally relented. “Fine. Let’s build your… fortress.”

Y/n wasted no time. She started pulling pillows from the bed and stacking them between them, creating a makeshift barrier down the middle. Jimin watched her for a second before grabbing the remaining pillows and joining in, her usual sarcasm temporarily forgotten.

When they were done, they stepped back and admired their work. The fortress of pillows between them was not exactly elegant, but it served its purpose—each side was now officially off-limits.

“Well,” Jimin said after a moment of silence, raising an eyebrow. “At least now I have some distance from you. It’s like a little… wall of peace.”

Y/N leaned back against her side of the bed, satisfied. “Exactly. Now we can both sleep peacefully without worrying about invading each other’s space.”

There was a pause. Then, a soft, unexpected chuckle escaped from Jimin. “This is ridiculous.”

Y/n grinned, unable to help herself. “It works, though.”

Jimin shook her head, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I don’t even want to know how long you’ve been plotting this.”

Y/n laughed. “You have no idea.”

And for the first time since they had started this whole fake dating charade, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, even if just for a moment. The fortress was still silly, still an odd solution to an odd problem, but it somehow brought a sense of lightness that neither of them had expected.

As they lay there in the dim room, the pillow wall between them, they both found it a little easier to breathe.

-

The apartment door clicked shut behind them, the hum of Seoul’s city noise instantly muffled. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable. It was tense, like a storm waiting to break.

Jimin kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag by the door, heading straight for the kitchen without saying a word. Y/n followed, arms crossed, scowl already forming on her face.

“Where's Heeseung?" Y/n asked earning only a small shrug from Jimin. "So, are you gonna tell me what your problem is?” she snapped.

Jimin scoffed as she opened the fridge, staring inside like it had answers. “My problem? You’re really asking me that?”

“Yeah, I am. You’ve been acting like a brat ever since we got off the car.”

Jimin shut the fridge a little too hard and turned around. “Because my mom wants to invite you to her spring birthday lunch. Because Wonyoung asked if you’d come for Chuseok. Because suddenly everyone loves you, Y/n.”

Y/n blinked. “Okay, and?”

“And now I have to explain why my so-called girlfriend disappears before my mom can start sewing you into the family tree.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault that your entire family likes me?” Y/n said, voice rising. “You dragged me into this lie and now you’re mad that it worked well?”

Jimin’s jaw tensed. “It was supposed to be a week. A performance. You were supposed to be a cold and indifferent cheer brat—like you usually are."

“Well, sorry for having manners,” Y/n bit back. “Maybe your family’s just desperate to see you with someone who isn’t a Tinder hookup.”

Jimin’s face snapped toward her. “Watch it.”

“No, you watch it. I helped you. I played the role. I met your weird aunt and sat through your cousin’s playlist of EXO dance covers. You’re mad because your lie worked too well.”

Jimin paced, dragging her hands through her hair. She wasn’t yelling anymore—she was spiraling. “They’re already talking about summer. Asking when I’m gonna bring you again. My mom was glowing.”

Y/n leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “Then tell her we broke up.”

Jimin froze.

Y/n raised a brow. “Simple solution, no?”

“Yeah. Except she’ll want to know why. And how. And when. And then she’ll cry and say it’s because I don’t try hard enough with people and that I ruin everything.”

Silence.

Y/n let out a slow exhale. “Okay. So… what now?”

Jimin hesitated, then sighed. “We fake it a little longer.”

Y/n blinked. “How much longer?”

“Until May.”

“May!?”

Jimin shrugged, already sounding resigned. “That’s when your cheer nationals are, right? It makes sense. We break up after—‘distance’, ‘conflicting schedules’, whatever. Clean timeline.”

Y/n stared at her, baffled. “You really thought this through.”

“No, I’m thinking it through now, because my mom just texted me again asking what your favorite color is.”

Y/n stared. “What is wrong with her?”

“She’s a hopeless romantic. She thinks you’re the one.”

Y/n dragged a hand down her face. “Fine. We fake date until May. But you’re driving me to every practice and buying my coffee. Non-negotiable.”

Jimin rolled her eyes. “Deal. But you’re texting my mom on my behalf until she stops sending me couple bracelets on Instagram.”

They locked eyes, and for a split second, something like amusement flickered between them. But it passed as fast as it came.

The war was still on.

Only now… it had a timeline.

Jimin reached for her phone, already typing a reply to her mom, something about Y/n loving the color navy blue and tulips. Y/n watched her from the kitchen doorway, still not quite sure how the hell this became her life.

“This is so dumb,” she muttered.

Jimin didn’t look up. “You agreed.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t complain about it.”

They locked eyes again, this time without yelling, just the sharp simmer of something complicated brewing beneath the surface.

“Just survive until May,” Jimin said, voice flat.

Y/n nodded, grabbing her bag again and heading toward the spare room. “Easy,” she muttered under her breath.

Neither of them believed that.

-

[gdinthehouseee]

Bridge The Gap: CHOI SU-BONG x READER

summary: after another sleepless night, you find su-bong out alone and you offer him a place to stay… even if you don't know each other that well. not yet, at least.

word count: 4343

tags: fluff, light angst, no games au, reader smokes

ao3 link

It was another one of those nights. Another night where you had accidentally stayed up throughout most of the night, so now, trying to sleep—while the city started waking up and beginning their day—was a hopeless venture. Another night that ended up with you doom-scrolling through every social media you had on your phone, the fan in the corner barely reaching you with a blanket half strewn over your body, half practically melting onto the floor. 

Damn it. 

You figured maybe an extremely early morning snack run would help. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but was there really any point in sleeping now? At least you could stay up, and turn in early later on in hopes of fixing your sleep schedule, right?

Feeling the unusually warm night air on your bare arms, you decided to take a more scenic route. It’s not like you were doing anything important, and you had nothing to do when the sun really did rise. In fact, it was a much needed walk. If only these late night/early morning strolls could solve all of your problems. Just as you were thinking about the irony of it all, you made it onto the bridge and spotted a familiar figure—

“Su-bong?”

You would recognise his lean figure and purple hair anywhere, even when the only lighting is coming from some distant streetlamps. Leaning over the safety rail, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard your voice calling his name out. The tension was radiating off his body—well, based on what you could see under his neon green t-shirt that was a little too baggy for him. The usual fruity vape he carried everywhere was replaced by a regular cigarette. 

Everything about this sight screamed something was wrong. Very wrong. Although, you weren’t entirely sure how to approach the topic without feeling like you were overstepping. You ran in the same circles. Friends of friends. Enough for nods at parties, a clinked beer bottle here and there, the occasional shared laugh from across a room. But you’d never really talked. Not when you had only exclusively seen him at loud house parties and even louder nightclubs.

“Didn’t think anyone else was stupid enough to be out at this hour,” he murmured, dragging from his cigarette. This was the quietest you had ever heard him. His voice was lower at night. Rougher.

You gave a weak smile, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He nodded once, eyes drifting back to the water. “Yeah. Me neither.”

You stood beside him, not too close. Just enough to show you weren’t afraid of the silence. After a beat, you glanced sideways at him. 

“You should probably head home. It can be dangerous out here.”

He let out a small snort. Not a laugh—more like a breath that wanted to be one and didn’t quite make it.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly. “Thing is…”

He flicked ash over the railing, pausing like he had to decide how honest he wanted to be.

“…Home’s not really an option anymore.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

He turned his head, gave you this lazy smile like he was about to say something casual—but his eyes didn’t match it.

“Got myself kicked out.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh.”

He gave you a slow once-over, eyes dragging from your loose t-shirt down to the worn-out sneakers on your feet, like he was trying to decide whether to take you seriously or just brush off whatever was going on so he didn’t have to feel guilty for taking up your time. His head tilted slightly, studying you. Then, like flipping a switch, the corner of his mouth lifted into that familiar smirk, the kind that usually meant he was about to say something infuriating, or worse—charming on purpose. But there was a flicker of something else under it, too. Something tired. Grateful. Like maybe your offer had hit a little deeper than he wanted to admit.

“Don’t look so concerned, sweetheart. I’m not about to throw myself in the river.”

You frowned. “I wasn’t— That’s not what I thought.”

“I just didn’t feel like pretending I had somewhere else to be.” He clarified, almost proud of himself for catching you off-guard. 

You didn’t know what to say at first. Part of you wanted to scold him for making a joke out of something that was clearly hurting him more than he was letting on. The other part just wanted to offer him a blanket and a safe place to crash, even if you didn’t truly know each other. Not yet, at least. You blurted out the first thing you could think of. 

“Do you wanna come to mine?”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“Just to crash,” you added, stumbling. “You can have the couch. And I have those spicy ramyeon cups everyone likes. And heat. I mean… it’s better than standing out here all night.”

He stared at you for a long moment, then leaned back on his heels, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

“You always invite sad boys off bridges into your home, or am I just special?”

You rolled your eyes, but your ears burned a little. “Don’t make it weird.”

He smiled—softly this time, no smirk. Just something tired and appreciative flickering behind it.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

The walk to your place was quiet, but not heavy. Su-bong kept pace just behind your shoulder, his steps slower than yours, like he wasn’t in a hurry to get anywhere—even if he had nowhere else to go. His hands stayed deep in his cargo pockets, and every so often you’d hear the quiet tap of his supposedly limited edition sneakers on the pavement or the soft sigh of his breath.

“You always take this route?” He asked suddenly, his voice low, rough with disuse or maybe just his natural tone.

You glanced over. “Yeah. It’s quiet. And there’s a convenience store that makes decent pastries if you catch it before 6AM.”

“Huh.” He nodded slightly. “Didn’t think you were the late night wandering type.”

You shrugged. “Didn’t think you were the quiet, thinking type.”

That earned you a faint smirk. “Fair enough.”

You walked in comfortable silence for a few more streets. The city was soft at this hour—neon lights buzzing like lullabies and apartment windows glowing like tiny stories you’d never get to read. You weren’t sure why you weren’t more nervous. Maybe it was the hour. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t once tried to act cool about what he was going through, even if he was trying to laugh it off.

When you reached the front of your building, you slowed to a stop and glanced at him again, thumb hesitating near the key code.

“You sure?” You asked. “I meant it when I said you could crash, but… if it’s weird or whatever—”

He gave a soft scoff, barely shaking his head as he stepped closer, gaze flicking between the building and you.

“I mean, let’s see—sleep on the street or sleep in a pretty girl’s place,” he drawled, lips curling. “Doesn’t seem like a hard decision, does it?”

You rolled your eyes, but your face warmed anyway. “You’re lucky I feel bad for you.”

“Oh, don’t ruin the fantasy,” he murmured, grin widening as he leaned lazily against the wall beside the entrance.

You punched in the code, trying not to let him see you smile too hard. The door clicked open with a soft beep, and you led the way up the short flight of stairs to your apartment. You could feel him behind you, not looming, exactly, but present—quiet in a way that still took up space.

Inside, the warmth of your place hit immediately. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but it was yours. Soft lighting, a few half-filled bookshelves, a small couch with a throw blanket tossed across the back, and a faint scent of something clean—lavender, maybe, or laundry detergent. Su-bong stood just inside the door for a moment, his hands still in his pockets as he scanned the space. His eyes lingered on a stack of records by the shelf, the open notebook on your coffee table, the slippers by the door that didn’t match.

“Didn’t expect your place to feel like this,” he said eventually, not looking at you.

You raised a brow as you slipped off your shoes. “Like what?”

He shrugged, stepping further in. “Like… someone actually lives here.”

You snorted. “Wow. Thanks.”

He gave a low chuckle and kicked off his shoes without being asked, leaving them neatly by the door. You could tell he was trying not to seem like he was looking for a place to land, but his eyes kept flicking to the couch, the floor cushions, anywhere he might sit without intruding. Had the context not been depressing, you would have found it cute.

“Sit wherever,” you said, heading into the small kitchen nook. “I’m gonna make something hot. You want tea? Or like… sad instant noodles?”

“Sad noodles,” he said immediately, settling onto the edge of the couch. “Tea feels too well-adjusted.”

You laughed under your breath, pulling down a couple of ramen bowls. “Sad noodles it is.”

Behind you, you could hear him shifting, the soft creak of the couch as he leaned back just a little. He didn’t talk while the water boiled—just watched the way you moved in your space, like he was still trying to piece together who you were outside of mutual friends and party lighting.

When you handed him the steaming bowl a few minutes later, he took it with both hands.

“Thanks,” he said, voice softer now. Less performative.

You sat down a cushion away from him, tucking your legs under yourself and blowing on your own noodles.

Neither of you said anything right away, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… still. Like maybe this was the first time in a long while someone had made space for him to be quiet.

The noodles were too hot, but neither of you complained.

Su-bong ate like someone who hadn’t had a warm meal in longer than he’d admit, slurping with none of his usual smugness. It made you weirdly protective—like maybe the cocky front was wearing thin now that he was off the street and under soft lighting with food in his hands.

You didn’t talk for a while. The silence stretched, not tense, just heavy with the kind of calm that only comes around after sunrise. You glanced over once to find him staring into his bowl, chopsticks paused midair, like he’d forgotten what he was doing.

“You always wander around bridges at night?” You asked quietly, nudging the silence just a little.

“Only when I get kicked out of places.”

You blinked, pausing mid-bite. His tone was flat—too casual, like he’d said it a hundred times. But his eyes stayed fixed on his own bowl like he didn’t want to see your reaction.

“…Your mother?” You asked gently.

He nodded once. “Got tired of my shit, I guess.”

The way he said it was light, like it wasn’t a big deal, but you caught the way his knee bounced slightly. You didn’t try to force sympathy into the air. That wasn’t what he needed right now. Instead, you nudged his shoulder with yours, just enough to make him glance over.

“Well,” you said, in a tone just as casual as his, “my place isn’t fancy, but you’re not sleeping outside. So congrats. You’ve been upgraded to shitty couch privileges.”

That pulled a small, tired laugh from him—barely there, but real. He looked over at you, then back down at the nearly-empty bowl in his lap.

“…Thanks,” he said again, quieter this time. But then, after a beat, he added, almost like he didn’t mean to out loud, “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Your eyes flicked over to him. He didn’t look at you when he said it. And something about the way his voice dropped just slightly made your chest ache.

You set your bowl down on the coffee table and leaned back on your palms, giving him space to breathe. “I know I didn’t,” you said. “But I wanted to.”

That was it. No big emotional speech. No digging deeper than he was ready for. For a second, he just sat there, looking at the floor like he was trying to figure out how to process being wanted anywhere. Then he let out a slow breath and leaned back beside you, bowl balanced loosely in one hand, the other resting in his lap.

“Your couch better be as soft as your heart,” he mumbled.

“I take it back. Go sleep on the bridge.” You joked, certainly not meaning it. 

He smiled and this time, it didn’t feel like a mask. It just felt like him.

After the food, the calm settled deeper. Su-bong didn’t seem in a rush to stand, and you didn’t push him. But eventually, you rose and stretched, giving him a small smile as you made your way to the hallway closet. He stayed on the couch, eyes following you this time, quieter than before. You came back with a pillow and a thick grey blanket—well-worn but clean, the kind you always ended up pulling out when nights got too cold. You handed it to him without a word, letting him take it from your arms. He held the blanket for a second, fingers brushing over the edges like he didn’t know what to do with something soft.

“I’ll grab you some clothes if you want,” you offered, thumb hooked toward your room.

He shook his head, still staring at the fabric in his lap. “This is… fine.”

You nodded, hesitating as you watched him unfold the blanket and start to spread it over the couch like someone who didn’t quite believe it was meant for him.

“You okay?” You asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back and looked up at the ceiling like he might find something there to anchor him.

“Yeah, just… forgot what this felt like.”

You swallowed, chest tightening a little.

“You don’t have to talk,” you said gently. “Not tonight. Just rest.”

He looked at you then—really looked—and for a second, his whole face softened. There was something in his eyes, some unspoken thought sitting right on the tip of his tongue. You could see him almost say it. Almost let it fall. But instead, he just gave a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and said, “You’re nicer than you look, you know.”

You smirked. “I have my moments, I guess.”

That earned a genuine laugh, quiet and low.

You turned to head toward your room, the smile still tugging at your lips. But as you walked away, you felt his gaze still on you—heavy, lingering, like he wasn’t ready for the silence to swallow the space you left behind. Like part of him was afraid that when he woke up, it would all be gone again. At your bedroom door, you paused, hand resting on the frame.

“If you need anything,” you said over your shoulder, “I’m just down the hall.”

“Yeah… okay.”

But you heard the way his voice dipped again. Like he already needed something, but didn’t know how to ask for it yet.

Su-bong managed to get a couple hours of some light rest, chalking it down to the fact he had never been here before. Not just physically, at your place, but he had never felt so low before. Never felt more helpless. He hated it. But he was too tired to pretend like he was fine. Too closed off to directly ask for help. Yet, he realised, if there was anyone in your shared circle of friends to offer help without tearing into him or expecting something in return, it would be you. 

He saw it in the way you looked after the people who had exceeded their limits at the many parties you’ve both attended, whether it be holding back a girl’s hair as she threw up into the toilet bowl and making sure she got home safe, or ensuring the people weren’t alone if they got paranoid after taking hallucinogens. It has always been you.

Hours later, when Su-bong stirred, the first thing he registered was the warmth.

A strange kind of warmth—not stifling like too many layers, or sharp like heat trapped in a subway tunnel. This was gentle. Still. The kind of warmth that soaked into skin without asking for anything back. It curled around him under the weight of the blanket, wrapped in the scent of detergent and something faintly floral. Yours, he guessed.

His senses returned one by one. The couch beneath him, lumpy in places but leagues better than concrete. The dull ache in his shoulder from sleeping in one position too long. The faint murmur of the city beyond the windows—cars humming in the distance, a dog barking half-heartedly down the block.

And then—

Cigarette smoke.

Soft. Fresh. Just enough to ghost through the cracked window above the balcony door, curling into the living room like it belonged there. He blinked slowly, the light already different. The kind of light that only came just before sunrise—cool and blue near the floor, streaks of warm gold bleeding across the ceiling like brushstrokes. He didn’t move right away. Just lay there, eyes on the slanted light, letting the silence press against his ribs.

Eventually, he sat up. The blanket slipped from his shoulders, pooling in his lap, and he scrubbed a hand over his face, palm dragging along the stubble on his jaw. His hair was a mess. His t-shirt clung to one side of his neck with sleep-sweat, and his mouth was dry. But he moved anyway, quiet as he padded toward the balcony, bare feet brushing against cool floorboards.

Through the glass, he saw you.

You were perched on the narrow ledge of the balcony railing, one foot tucked up, the other dangling over the side. Your hoodie swallowed your frame, sleeves pushed up to your elbows, a single lit cigarette balanced between your fingers. The smoke swirled around your wrist in slow, lazy spirals, catching the pink edges of dawn like it was part of the sky itself.

You didn’t look tense.

You looked… far away.

He opened the door with a soft click, the cool morning air slipping in as he stepped outside.

“You smoke?” He asked, voice rough with sleep.

You didn’t jump. Just glanced over your shoulder and offered the faintest shrug.

“Sometimes…”

He hummed, stepping out fully onto the balcony beside you. The railing creaked under your shifting weight, and he caught the way your eyes returned to the horizon, smoke curling from your mouth on an exhale.

“Didn’t peg you for it,” he said, leaning against the wall just beside the railing. “Thought you were all herbal tea and incense.”

You cracked a small smile, still looking ahead. “Depends on the day.”

He let out a quiet breath, the corner of his mouth twitching. The cigarette burned between your fingers, the tip glowing orange in the pale morning. He didn’t reach for it. Not yet. He just watched you. Watched the way the early light caught in your lashes. The way your expression softened when you weren’t aware of being seen. You looked a little tired, sure—but something about you in this light, at this hour, with no noise and no walls up.

It made his chest ache in a strange, unplaceable way.

And maybe it was the fog of sleep still clinging to his mind. Or maybe it was something else entirely. But for once, Su-bong didn’t try to fill the silence. He just stood there beside you, watching the city stretch awake beneath a soft pink sky, and wondered why it suddenly didn’t feel so bad to stay still.

You didn’t speak right away. Just took another drag, slow and even, exhaling toward the street below like you were releasing a thought you didn’t want to say out loud. Beside you, Su-bong shifted—just enough to reach, fingers brushing yours as he took the cigarette from between them. His touch was unhurried, deliberate, like he was giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

He brought it to his lips, eyes fixed on the skyline as he inhaled.

“Not bad,” he muttered, smoke curling from the edge of his mouth. “I figured if you smoked, it’d be some overpriced imported shit that burns out in two pulls.”

“That was very specific.”

“Yeah, well. I have opinions.”

He turned slightly toward you now, leaning his shoulder against the wall, one arm crossed over his chest while the other held the cigarette loosely at his side. The air between you was light, but not empty. There was something weightier beneath it—unspoken but present. A mutual awareness. A kind of closeness born from the quiet, from the softness of being seen in the early hours, before either of you could armour back up.

He passed the cigarette back. But instead of pulling his hand away, his knuckles lingered near yours.

“You always up like this?” He asked.

You glanced at him, smoke slipping between your lips as you tilted your head. “Could ask you the same thing.”

“Guess I’m not the only insomniac with poor coping mechanisms.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. “Wouldn’t call sharing a cigarette with a half-asleep bad boy my usual routine, no.”

“Bad boy, huh?” He raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “What gave it away? The chain, or the crippling emotional repression?”

You laughed—quiet, but real.

He watched you for a moment, eyes softening just a fraction.

“...Thanks,” he said suddenly, voice a little rougher now. “For letting me crash. I mean it.”

You didn’t tease him for the shift in tone. Didn’t deflect. You just nodded once, offering him the cigarette again. He took it—maybe a little closer this time. The silence stretching warm and full between you both now, as the sun finally began to crest the edge of the city.

After he handed the cigarette back and you took the last pull, you stubbed the cigarette out, flicking it into the ashtray with a little click before leaning both arms on the balcony rail. The city was slowly warming to life in the soft blush of dawn, but you were still in the quiet part of the morning—the part where the streets were mostly empty and everything felt like a secret.

Beside you, Su-bong stretched, his shoulder brushing yours as he let out a slow breath. You didn’t look at him when you spoke.

“…If you don’t have anywhere else to go, you could stay here for a while,” you said, voice calm. Unassuming. “At least until you figure things out. You don’t have to keep sleeping on benches or couches or wherever.”

There was a pause—too long to be casual.

“Ah, so you’re saying you do want me around,” he drawled, smirk sliding back into place like it never left. “Was wondering how long it’d take before you cracked.”

You glanced at him, unimpressed. “Wow. And here I was, thinking this was a genuine offer.”

“Oh, it’s very genuine,” he said, turning toward you. “But now I’m starting to suspect you’ve got ulterior motives.”

“Like what?”

He leaned in slightly, eyes flicking over your face. “Maybe you just want to watch me walk around your apartment shirtless.”

“Right. That must be it.” You retorted, sarcasm practically dripping from your voice.

“Can’t blame you,” he added, smug. “I’m great morning entertainment. Better than coffee.”

You tried to hide your smile. Failed. “Do you ever stop flirting?”

“Only when I’m sleeping. Maybe.”

The teasing should’ve irritated you. But instead, it just felt like… him. A wall made of charm, built fast and wide to keep things at a safe distance. So you stayed quiet for a moment, watching the street far below. When you spoke again, your tone was softer. Quieter.

“I meant it, Su-bong. You don’t have to keep pretending like it’s all fine.”

He blinked, and though the smirk didn’t disappear entirely, something gentler curled at the edges of it. “Didn’t realize I was pretending.”

“You joke when you’re uncomfortable.”

“You psychoanalysing me now?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” you said, nudging his elbow with yours. “Seriously. You can stay. We’ll go to the store later, pick up whatever you need. Toothbrush, clothes, snacks. Maybe even a boring mug to match mine.”

He looked at you, really looked, and for a second you saw it—how close he was to brushing it off again. Making another comment. Putting the mask right back on. But he didn’t. Instead, he let his hand drop to his side, fingers twitching like they wanted something to do. “You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low.

“Why?”

“Because I like being around you,” he said, and there was no smirk this time. Just honesty, surprisingly bare. “Too damn much.”

You tried not to let your breath hitch. “That’s not dangerous.”

He tilted his head. “Not to you, sweetheart.”

You looked at him for a long second before reaching for the sliding glass door. “Come on, Shakespeare. Let’s get you inside before you start reciting poetry.”

He chuckled and followed you in, slower this time. When he passed by, he dipped close enough for his breath to skim your ear.

“You sure you’re ready for me to stick around?” He murmured, voice like silk.

You didn’t flinch.

“You sure you’re ready for someone who gives a shit?” You shot back without missing a beat.

That stopped him in his tracks. Just for a second. And then he smiled—smaller than before, softer.

“…Guess we’re about to find out.”

lmk if you'd like to be added or removed now that im making squid game fics too

taglist: @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @aizshallnotbefound @sevendaysummer @ttturnitup @mashtatosworld @ilovethe141 

[shimmerandink]

Gifts of Chaos pt 3 - Final part

Jinx x Vi´s Girlfriend! Reader

Angst/fluff

Tags: Jinx x reader, sfw, romance

Summary: After following Jinx, leaving Vi, your guilt is slowly making you doubt your decision, will your life with Jinx work?

The days after that night passed in a haze. The choice you made, the one that felt so certain in the heat of Jinx’s words, now felt heavier. Every breath you took, every glance you stole in the mirror, reminded you of the decision you had made.

Jinx was always close. Always present, with her chaotic energy and her wild grin, pulling you into her world. She was exciting, unpredictable in all the ways that Vi used to be. And yet, there was a part of you that still felt the tug of something you couldn’t name. Guilt? Regret? Maybe it was all of it.

You woke up the morning after, alone in a bed that didn’t feel quite like your own. Jinx had kept you up late, her presence warm beside you, her words soft as she spoke of her world, her past. You had listened, caught between the thrill of it all and the cold reality of what you had just walked away from.

But that morning, you were alone.

Jinx wasn’t there. But her presence lingered in the air, in the slight disarray of the room, and in the way your body still ached from the intensity of the night before.

You dressed slowly, your mind working over everything that had led you here. The argument with Vi, the quiet desperation that had been growing between you two for months. The moments when you had questioned whether she even saw you anymore.

And then there was Jinx. The way she saw you. The way she knew all your vulnerabilities, all your unspoken desires. You couldn’t lie to yourself, Jinx had given you a sense of freedom, of something that you didn’t know you were missing.

But it was a dangerous freedom.

You didn’t know where things were going, but you knew you had already crossed a line. There was no going back to Vi now. That chapter was closed.

It was the sound of Jinx’s voice that broke through your thoughts, her energy unmistakable even from the other room.

“Hey, hey,” she called, her voice high-pitched and giddy as she poked her head through the doorframe. “You awake, gorgeous?”

You turned slowly, offering a half-smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. I’m up.”

She bounded into the room like a whirlwind, all messy hair and infectious enthusiasm. “Good! You’re not gonna believe what I found in the city today.” She stopped just in front of you, leaning in too close, her mischievous grin wide. “We’re gonna have some fun, yeah?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her antics, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. But there was still a pit in your stomach. Something you hadn’t addressed, something you couldn’t avoid forever.

You met her gaze, your voice quieter than before. “Jinx… about last night…”

She cocked her head to the side, a playful glint in her eyes. “What about it? You’re here, aren’t you? And you look like you’re enjoying yourself. No regrets, right?”

Her words hit you like a wave. Was it that easy for her? To throw herself into everything with no hesitation? No second thoughts? You couldn’t say the same for yourself.

“I…” You stopped yourself, unsure of how to put it. “I just—what happens now?”

Jinx’s grin softened, and for a brief moment, there was something almost vulnerable in her gaze. “What happens now?” she echoed, her voice a little softer than usual. “We have fun. We do things my way. And we leave all the crap behind, yeah? No more pretending.”

Her words should have reassured you. But they didn’t. You were too torn, too conflicted about what you’d left behind. The part of you that still cared for Vi, that still felt that ache, the guilt of leaving her without any closure.

But when Jinx leaned in, brushing her lips against your cheek with a teasing whisper, you felt the doubt slipping away, just a little.

“You don’t need to worry about her anymore,” Jinx said, as though she could sense the turmoil inside you. “I’ll make sure you never look back.”

You stayed with Jinx for the next few days, her world a whirlwind of laughter, chaos, and spontaneous adventures. But with each passing day, the nagging thought in the back of your mind grew.

You were with Jinx, but the space Vi once occupied in your heart was still there. You couldn’t forget her that easily. It wasn’t that simple.

But as you looked into Jinx’s wild, manic eyes, you felt the draw, the pull, the excitement of a love that was all-consuming and unpredictable. A love that could burn you alive, or make you feel alive again.

The days blurred into one another. Jinx’s world was chaotic, unpredictable, and thrilling, and yet there was something comforting in the way she never expected anything from you. She didn’t ask for explanations or apologies, she just wanted to be with you, in whatever way you allowed.

But no matter how much time you spent with her, the feeling of guilt, that heavy knot in your chest, never truly disappeared. It sat there, a constant reminder that you had walked away from someone you once cared for.

One night, after a particularly wild day full of laughter, adrenaline, and the freedom you thought you’d been missing, Jinx pulled you into her arms as the night crept over the city. You were both sitting on the edge of a rooftop, the city lights flickering below, a cool breeze sweeping through the air.

“Hey,” Jinx said softly, breaking the silence between you two. Her voice was quieter than usual, almost vulnerable. She leaned back against the cool stone of the building, her head resting on your shoulder as she looked out over the horizon. “You’re not… regretting this, right?”

You turned to her, surprised by the tenderness in her voice. There was an openness there that you hadn’t expected, a side of Jinx that she rarely let anyone see.

You hesitated for a moment. The truth, your feelings, your inner conflict, swirled inside you. "I don't know," you admitted quietly. "Sometimes... it feels like I’m living someone else’s life."

Jinx didn’t pull away, though. She stayed close, her fingers gently tracing circles on your wrist as she seemed to think for a moment.

“Well,” she began slowly, “we’re both a little bit lost, aren’t we?”

You chuckled softly, feeling the weight of her words. “Maybe. But you’re right. I’m... I’m here, and I don’t know where else I should be.”

A flicker of something passed through Jinx’s eyes, something raw, something tender. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual playful grin. “Good. Because I like having you here with me,” she said, nudging you with her shoulder, the teasing edge returning to her tone.

You smiled in return, but this time, it wasn’t forced. The playful energy between you two felt genuine, and the distance that had lingered for so long seemed to close, just a little.

Jinx leaned in slightly, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “You’re mine now, you know that?”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but respond, “Am I?”

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, her breath hot against your skin. “And I’m not letting go.”

The words hung between you, a promise. The way she looked at you, unwavering, determined, almost possessive, made your heart skip a beat. It was a feeling you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

You turned to face her fully, your heart racing as her eyes locked onto yours. “Jinx...” Your voice came out softer than you intended, caught between hesitation and longing. “What is this?”

Jinx’s gaze softened, her fingers gently lifting your chin to meet her eyes. “It’s us. Finally. No more running. No more hiding.”

She closed the gap between you with a sudden, urgent kiss. It was different from the reckless, teasing moments you had shared before. This one was tender, slow, like she was trying to communicate everything she felt in that single moment.

For a few heartbeats, everything else faded away. There was no Vi. There was no past. Just the warmth of Jinx���s lips, the soft touch of her hands as they held you close, grounding you in the here and now.

When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against yours. Her breath was ragged, and so was yours, the world around you forgotten. The connection between you was undeniable.

"I don’t want to let you go," Jinx whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Not again.”

For a moment, there was a silence, just the two of you in the quiet of the night. It was a peace you hadn’t known in so long. And as the minutes passed, you realized that, for the first time in a while, you didn’t need to make sense of everything. You just needed to feel. And Jinx was right here, making you feel.

“I don’t want to go either,” you murmured, your hand gently cupping her face. “But this… it feels like it’s too much. Too soon.”

Jinx’s grin softened, and she kissed you again, this time, slower, with a promise that wasn’t laced with chaos or wildness, but with something deeper, something rooted in the present.

“Then take your time,” she said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

----------

Time had passed since that night on the rooftop, where everything between you and Jinx had shifted. The uncertainty, the guilt, and the heartache that had plagued you seemed to fade into the background, replaced by something more certain, more real.

You had spent countless hours with Jinx, and though her world was filled with chaos, there was a peace that she offered you, a comfort you hadn’t known you needed. She wasn’t perfect, no one in her world was, but she made you feel alive. She made you feel like you mattered in a way that wasn’t dependent on anyone else’s expectations.

For the first time in months, you felt seen.

And, for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like you were running away. You were simply living. And Jinx, in her own wild way, was exactly the kind of person who could make you forget the past, even if it was just for a little while.

But the past had a way of catching up, didn’t it?

It was an ordinary night when Vi appeared.

You were sitting at the small table in the corner of Jinx’s hideout, the two of you sharing a quiet dinner. The peace between you and Jinx was a new sensation, something you had never imagined could feel so natural. But then the door creaked open.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Vi’s voice cut through the room, low but filled with the weight of old memories. “I thought I’d find you here.”

You stood up, your heart twisting in your chest. You knew this moment was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Jinx stood from the table, her expression unreadable but her posture tense. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here, Vi.”

Vi’s eyes flickered between you and Jinx, her jaw tightening. “I came for her. Not for you.”

The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife. You looked at Vi, and for the first time in months, you didn’t feel the need to hide the hurt, the confusion, or the anger. There was a painful sting in your chest, one you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel until now.

“I don’t belong to you anymore, Vi,” you said softly, your voice steady but filled with a deep ache. “I’m not who I was before. And I can’t go back to that.”

Vi’s eyes softened for a split second, as if she had been bracing for this moment and was now hearing it in a way that felt final. But then the walls went back up, her gaze hardening.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m still here. You know that. I always will be.”

But you shook your head, the weight of her words suffocating in the space between you two. “I know. But you’re not who I need anymore, Vi. I need someone who lets me be me, without all the pressure. Without all the expectations. Someone who loves me for who I am, not who they want me to be.”

Jinx took a step forward, her presence commanding, protective. “She’s mine now, Vi. And she’s not going anywhere. So, you can either walk away, or you can stay. But don’t expect me to let you tear her down again.”

Vi met Jinx’s gaze, and for a moment, there was an unspoken challenge. Then, something shifted, something that felt like the last remnants of the old world dissolving.

Vi exhaled deeply and turned toward the door. “I came to say goodbye. But I see now that you’ve already moved on.”

With that, she left, and the door closed quietly behind her.

The silence that followed felt different this time. There was no tension, no unspoken words. Just you and Jinx, and the world that was starting to feel a little more like your own.

You sat back down, your eyes meeting Jinx’s. There was a softness to her now, a quiet understanding that spoke volumes.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice gentle.

You nodded, your lips curving into a small but genuine smile. “Yeah. I think I finally am.”

Jinx reached over, her fingers brushing yours. Her smile was faint but filled with warmth. “I’m glad. You deserve to be happy, you know that, right?”

“I do now,” you replied, feeling the weight of the past lift just a little bit more. You had made your choice, and while it hadn’t been easy, it felt right. You were no longer tethered to the past. You were free to build something new, with Jinx by your side.

And as the evening stretched on, you realized that, for the first time in a long time, you had everything you needed right here.

[chimcess]

The Lost Boys || jjk

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

masterlist || next

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Greg sneered. "Yeah, we sure do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin turned to Shelly, his voice softer now.

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

“I see you now,” she countered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The whispers stopped.

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

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

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

Then came the sound of impact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Over my dead body!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit,” he whispered, shuddering.

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

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

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

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

“Rules!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Certifiable,” Jungkook agreed, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

And then, it happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, Jungkook saw her.

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

Her eyes were what stopped him.

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

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

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

In that moment, the world stopped.

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

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

She didn’t smile back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was, until the local crew showed up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook’s jaw clenched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was already too close to turn back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When they reached the cave, he stopped dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The moment he made contact with her, everything shifted. Y/N went completely still beneath him, her body rigid with tension. He could feel it—her legs trembling with the effort to hold still, the tension in her muscles pulling tight like a string. It was strange against the loose, languid feeling that had taken over him, as if his own body were made of soft, flowing water. The contrast felt like a jolt, something electric running through him. The others, the Lost Boys, were still laughing behind him, their voices loud and jeering, but Jungkook didn’t care. He could hear the amusement in their voices, but it didn’t bother him. Not now. Not when Y/N smelled like everything he needed to breathe.

He buried his face into the soft folds of her skirt, his body relaxing further into the cushion of her lap. There was a heady, intoxicating scent wafting from her skin, something salty and sweet, mixed with the faint iron tang of blood. The smell was different from anyone else. It was a pulse, a steady rhythm that sent his senses spinning, tugging at something deep inside him. It was warm, and cold, all at once—a strange balance, woven together into something intoxicating. Something that made his head spin even harder, made him want to stay close, closer.

His hand moved almost of its own accord, lifting to gently rest on her knee, the warmth of her skin beneath his touch like fire against the coolness of his fingers. He looked up at her, his head heavy, his vision too soft, too slow. A smile curved across his lips.

“Give me a kiss, Y/N?” he asked, his voice thick with something else now. Something dreamlike, delirious.

Y/N froze. For a brief moment, she didn’t move, her gaze flicking to him like a darting bird. And then, almost too fast to follow, she turned her head away. The sudden shift in her energy was jarring, her tension radiating off her in waves. Jungkook’s heart stuttered in confusion.

Her voice trembled, laced with something darker than he could comprehend. “Jungkook, you’re covered in blood.”

Jungkook blinked, trying to process her words, before he twisted his body, lifting himself slightly to glance at his chest. His eyes followed the trail of crimson across his clothes, the deep red staining his hands, his lips. He raised a shaky hand to his mouth, wiping at the blood that had dripped down, and stared at his fingers. The blood was thick and sticky, the taste still heavy on his tongue.

“Whoops,” he murmured absently, the words coming out almost too lightly. He chuckled softly, a sound that felt both out of place and completely right.

It felt so absurd. So funny.

The realization hit him with a strange, almost unbearable humor. His mother would be so disappointed. She’d always told him not to play with his food.

The thought made him laugh, and it bubbled up from deep within him, a loud, infectious sound. The laughter echoed around him, mixing with the distant amusement of the others, the voices of the Lost Boys rising in a wave of shared mirth. The sound was light, fizzy, like champagne bubbles popping against his skin, in his veins. It warmed him from the inside, loosening everything left within him. Everything became soft, pliable, as if he were melting into the air itself.

He felt so good. So light. So... free.

But Y/N didn’t join in the laughter. In fact, the tension in her body seemed to heighten. She was shaking now, trembling beneath him. It was subtle, but it was there, and it immediately stopped the warm, drunken hum that had been surrounding him. Jungkook’s smile faltered as he turned to her, his hand reaching up to gently touch her cheek. He needed to understand why she wasn’t laughing, why she wasn’t joining him in this dizzying, euphoric feeling.

“Y/N?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer immediately, her body stiff beneath him, but when she turned to look at him, her eyes were burning with something he couldn’t place. They were full of something fierce—something accusing.

Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat. “Y/N?” he asked again, his voice more urgent now.

Her gaze flicked past him, up toward the curtain drawn around their alcove, her brow furrowing with anger. There was something in her look—something dark and knowing. She was staring at something behind him, beyond him, as if she could see into the heart of the cave.

Jungkook shifted slightly, his body sluggish, but he managed to raise himself on his elbows to follow her gaze.

And there, standing just outside the alcove, was Jimin.

His hands were tucked into the pockets of his overcoat, his stance relaxed, but there was a predatory edge to his smile, a cold, twisted satisfaction in the way his eyes flicked between them.

It takes two tries, his limbs all liquid and unfamiliar, but Jungkook manages to lever himself up onto his elbows. To put his mouth closer to Y/N’s ear. “Did he do something?”

A shudder races through Y/N’s whole body, a shudder that Jungkook, lying in her lap and pressed up close against her everywhere he can, can feel. It’s strangely fascinating. He wants to make her do it again.

There’s something almost like despair in her voice when Y/N says, “Jungkook…”

She says it, watching him, like he should know what she means. What’s going on. Why she’s so upset.

Jimin tucks his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and leans back against the wall, watching them both with a switchblade sliver of a smile.

For the first time, the dizzy haze of satisfied well-being that’s descended over Jungkook feels strangely uncomfortable. Like a soft, warm blanket that’s somehow got tangled over his face. Muffling. Smothering. Suffocating.

He flops himself over onto his side, resting his head against Y/N’s thigh, putting his back to Jimin and his eyes back on Y/N. “Ignore him,” Jungkook advises, and Y/N gives a choked little laugh in the back of her throat, pressing the heel of one hand against her mouth. “Y/N?”

“Jungkook -” Y/N starts, like she’s about to explain why it’s not that simple, and why Jungkook should be upset too, and a whole lot of other things that are going to ruin this moment of pure uncomplicated good that Jungkook’s already starting to realize isn’t going to last forever.

She stops, though, biting off whatever misery she has in mind, when Jungkook draws a finger up the inside of her leg.

He takes his time about it, tracing a lazy pattern around the jut of her anklebone and zigzagging back and forth up her calf to her knee. Y/N’s breath hitches, the hot pulse under her skin surging, as Jungkook doodles invisible circles around the hinge of her knee for a moment before spanning it with his hand and squeezing, digging his thumb into the soft place just above the joint. Her leg jerks, involuntarily Jungkook thinks, and she gives another of those fascinating shudders that he likes.

“Ignore him, Y/N,” Jungkook repeats, even though he can still feel Jimin’s laser-blue eyes boring into his back, Jimin’s attention brushing over him like the whisper of the lacy curtain drifting in the faintest swell of sea-breeze. He thinks of the ways Jimin had looked at him, when he had to watch Y/N walk away from him to climb onto the back of Jimin’s bike, and drags his grip a little higher, bunching up Y/N’s skirt to reveal the smooth expanse of her skin.

A little helpless whimper spills out of Y/N as Jungkook shifts away from his place against her thigh to settle between her legs.

Jungkook takes a moment to plant a gentle kiss to the inside of her knee where, a moment before, he’d dug his thumb in. The sob that catches on Y/N’s breath, heavy and harsh in their little bubble of lace-edged silence, cracks in half partway through.

Y/N smells amazing, and Jungkook can’t get enough. He kisses his way up the inside of her thigh, savoring the way her muscles quaver under his touch, and brushes his lips against the coarse dark curls spilling past the edges of her plain cotton panties as he buries his nose in the crook of her hip and inhales. She’s all sweet and salt together, like crackerjack, like cotton candy on the pier, with that iron rush just below the surface setting Jungkook’s back teeth buzzing and something wild clawing inside his chest. This close to the core of her, her animal musk, her heat, nearly drowns the sweetness out. And that moonlight-cold thing that Jungkook can’t describe slices through it all like vinegar dashed over the salty richness of fresh-from-the-fryer French fries, like the sting of sour candy in a penny-candy bag. She’s mouthwatering.

He wants to devour her.

He wants to make her feel better.

He thinks he can do two things at once.

Y/N lets out a hitching gasp as Jungkook presses a soft kiss to the tiny satin bow decorating the waistband of her panties, then directly over the damp patch of flimsy fabric that’s all that separates her from the world. He lingers there a moment, breathing her in, before he drags himself away to start ministering to the inside of her other thigh. He doesn’t have to. And he’s tempted not to draw this out, make them both suffer, any longer. Tempted just to plunge right in.

But he wants to make Y/N forget whatever it is that’s making her sad. Whatever it is that Jimin’s done that’s disappointed her.

Jungkook can – and he will – kiss it better.

Y/N’s shaking by the time he works his way back up, trembling with the effort, it seems like, of holding herself still. Jungkook can hear the fabric of her skirt shifting and shuffling as she bunches fistfuls of it up and squeezes, then carefully, slowly, releases.

He grins into the soft meat of her thigh, and then shifts over and licks a long stripe up the crotch of her panties.

Y/N jerks, her hips bucking up suddenly enough to catch Jungkook off his guard and bash her pelvic bone against his nose. He thinks he makes some muffled noise of protest, but if there’s pain, it’s gone again in the next thought, erased by the pure euphoria of finally, finally getting a taste of her. She’s soaked right through the thin fabric. Yet another piece of evidence to add to the growing pile that, no matter how she’s fighting for whatever reason not to show it, Y/N’s enjoying this.

Now that Jungkook’s had a taste, though, every thought he had about slowly teasing Y/N up to the edge flies right out of his head. Her restraint seems to crumble in tandem with Jungkook’s, if the way her fists are suddenly clawing into his hair instead of in her skirts is anything to judge by. She doesn’t sound like she’s even trying to bite back or disguise the ragged gasp and long, low, hungry moan that she lets out when he tears open the offending barrier between his lips and hers, when he breathes an almost rapturous sigh against her suddenly-bared flesh. The dark red gash that opens within her darker thatch of curls is as tantalizing, as irresistible, as the bottle of wine Jimin had opened in his face earlier tonight, and the last of Jungkook’s resistance melts as easily before it.

And the surrender is every bit as sweet.

Y/N’s fists tug at his hair as he buries his face into the wet heat of her, his scalp stinging in the pull of her directionless grip. Jungkook lets her yank him closer, force him deeper, as he tries to map out every crook and crevice of her with his tongue. The taste of her is as incredible as the smell of her was, but somehow just a thousand times more, and Jungkook enthusiastically hunts down every trace of ephemeral sweetness and bitter-bright acidity in the flood of hot slick juices smearing his face, coating his tongue.

And every needy sound he manages to wring out of Y/N, every twitch or buck or arch or quiver, sends a little thrill shivering through Jungkook. He’s half-hard in his jeans without even being touched. He might put a hand down to deal with that, if he weren’t so busy focusing on pinning Y/N’s hips down into the cushions, working a couple of fingers into her alongside his tongue.

There’s a prickling awareness that rises slowly up Jungkook’s spine that they’re still being watched, a sort of feeling of nakedness even though he’s still fully dressed in his bloodstained clothes. A feeling of being exposed, under Jimin’s cool, watchful attention.

Somehow, it doesn’t dampen the fire in Jungkook’s blood for this, for Y/N, for everything.

Actually, it’s very much the opposite.

Jungkook’s head is spinning, and for a moment, he’s entirely consumed by Y/N—by the heat and the softness of her, the way she feels against him, like she could melt him into the bed with a single breath. Her thighs tighten around his head, her body trembling, and he loses himself in her pulse, thundering loud enough to fill his ears. It’s a beautiful thing, that moment, when nothing else exists but the two of them—when he can’t remember how long it’s been since he’s felt so weightless, so free. He barely notices how time stretches, or how much of it passes, until her grip loosens, then tightens in his hair again, and her breath comes fast and shallow, full of tremors that ripple down to him.

And then it’s over. She collapses back against the cushions, her thighs falling away from his ears, and Jungkook watches as her chest rises and falls in time with her heart. She’s quiet now, peaceful in the aftermath, and the only sounds in the space between them are the unsteady rhythm of her breathing and the pulse in her throat.

Jungkook’s hands slide slowly from her body, the movement almost reluctant, but the heat between them is too much to ignore, and he can’t help himself. He lifts his torso off the bed, positioning himself on his elbows, wanting to look at her, to connect with her. The moment feels almost sacred, something shared between them that is impossible to put into words. He wants to see her face, to savor this, but when he opens his mouth to speak, he’s struck by the deafening silence that surrounds them. It’s thick, unsettling, almost suffocating.

“Now, how about… that… kiss...” His voice falters, the words hanging in the air like a fragile thread, but before he can finish, he stops himself. His eyes catch something that makes his blood run cold.

Her face is wet. The tears are rolling down her cheeks, leaving streaks through the mess of blood still marking her skin—marks from his hands. The realization hits him hard. She’s crying. His stomach tightens, and a wave of panic rises within him, threatening to overwhelm him. Why? Did he hurt her in some way? The thought grips him so intensely, his heart races and his breath catches in his throat. The weight of the unknown forces him into action.

He moves quickly, but his hands are clumsy, fumbling with her skirts, covering her with an urgency he doesn’t understand. His eyes scan her face, lingering on the tears, on the frown pulling at her features. His own heart skips a beat, and for a split second, he can’t breathe. "Y/N? What’s the matter?" he asks, his voice sounding raw, hollow in the wide gap between them.

For a moment, she doesn’t answer. The stillness stretches between them like an eternity. Her eyes don’t meet his; instead, they remain fixed on something unseen in the shadows, distant and unfocused. It unsettles him more than he’d like to admit. The silence is loud, deafening, and the chill in the air gnaws at his bones.

“No, Jungkook,” she says at last, her voice faint, almost lost in the stillness. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”

A rush of relief washes over him, the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding escaping his lips in a shaky sigh. The panic that had seized him begins to loosen its grip, but it doesn’t fully dissipate. There’s still something gnawing at him, a feeling he can’t shake. He shifts, sitting back against the alcove wall, pulling himself as far from her as the confined space allows. The dried blood on his shirt cracks with the motion, flaking off and falling in little pieces onto the soft sheets beneath them. It seems so insignificant now, a remnant of something that no longer matters.

“I never wanna hurt you, Y/N,” he mutters, mostly to himself, the words escaping in a quiet, almost desperate tone. His eyes drift to the empty space around them, the eerie stillness pressing in, and the distant sound of laughter from their friends outside feels like a memory from a lifetime ago. It doesn’t feel lighthearted anymore; it feels distant. Cold. His mind races as the weight of the silence becomes heavier.

Y/N remains still, her body slack against the bed, her eyes unfocused, lost in her own thoughts. Then, after what feels like an eternity, she exhales a deep, shuddering breath, the sound almost a release. The tension in the room seems to lighten, just a little, as if some unseen weight is lifted, but it’s not enough to ease Jungkook completely. “Come here,” she murmurs softly, her voice inviting him, pulling him toward her.

She shifts, making space for him, and Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He crawls up the bed, lying beside her, his head resting against her shoulder. The warmth of her body is a balm to the cold tension still hanging in the air. Her fingers begin to stroke through his hair, the movement so soft, so soothing, it almost feels unreal. His body relaxes at the sensation, his breathing slowing, becoming steadier, though something remains in the back of his mind, tugging at him, an unease that refuses to leave.

“You’ll need to leave before sunrise,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, as though speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment they’ve created. “The light can still make its way in here unless you go deeper.”

Jungkook hums softly in acknowledgment, but the urgency doesn’t sink in. He knows there’s time—there’s always time. The others won’t leave him to the sun. Whatever that meant. Jungkook was too tired to really think about it.

Yet, despite her warmth and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat under his ear, a quiet, unshakable dread lingers in his chest. It’s a feeling he can’t explain, a tug at the back of his mind, as if something is just out of reach, something he’s missing.

The sensation grows stronger as he drifts, a faint unease twisting in his gut. The last thing he’s aware of before sleep overtakes him is the sticky, uncomfortable feeling of dried blood on his skin, a reminder of everything that has happened—of everything yet to come.

Y/N lies still, her body feeling the comforting weight of Jungkook’s head against her shoulder, the soft, steady rhythm of his breath like a lullaby against her skin. She runs her fingers through his hair absently, the touch gentle, almost tender, but her mind is far from at ease. The afterglow of their intimacy lingers in her limbs, a warmth spreading through her chest, a comfortable ache that makes her smile even as it tugs at her muscles. It’s the kind of ache that signifies satisfaction, fulfillment. But even with that warmth, her thoughts keep pulling her away from the present moment.

The others.

She knows they heard. The sounds they made, the intimacy they shared—it wasn’t quiet. It was raw, too raw to be concealed. The thought makes her flush with embarrassment, heat crawling up her neck and into her cheeks. It’s not just that they heard—it’s that she couldn’t control herself. The way she gave in, the way she let go, her need overwhelming everything. She knows it wasn’t a mistake, that she enjoyed it, but the thought of the others knowing, of them hearing her give herself over to that craving—it makes her skin crawl with discomfort.

But it’s not about them. Not entirely. It’s Jimin.

Jimin, the one who has always been pulling the strings behind the scenes. She knows he orchestrated this, knows that he’s been playing her from the start. He knew how much she wanted Jungkook, how much she craved him, even when she didn’t fully admit it to herself. He’s been manipulating the situation, twisting her feelings, driving her toward the very thing she fears most.

Jimin wants her to drink from Jungkook. He wants her to cross the line, to take that final step into the darkness, to complete the transformation into what she’s meant to be—a vampire. And she can feel it now, deep within her veins. The craving. The hunger. The sharp, burning need that calls to her, a need she’s never been able to deny. It scares her.

Her hand tightens in Jungkook’s hair, her nails grazing his scalp lightly, and a shudder runs through her. It’s not his fault. She knows that. He’s just a pawn in Jimin’s game. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know that she’s being pushed, cornered, manipulated into something she’s not ready for. He doesn’t know that when he leaves, when the morning comes, he will forget all of this. But she knows she won’t.

The weight of that knowledge presses down on her chest, her heart quickening as the room grows darker and quieter. The others had heard, yes, but it’s not just them. It’s Jimin. He’s always known what was happening between them, what it would mean, what it could do to her.

And now he’s pushing her. Driving her toward something she’s doesn’t want to be.

Her breath hitches as she pulls Jungkook closer, holding him against her, as though clinging to something she can’t bear to lose. Her pulse quickens, the heat of his body against hers igniting a fire in her chest. But beneath it all, there’s fear. Fear of herself. Fear of the part of her that’s already too far gone.

But for now, she lets the fear slip away, allowing herself to sink into the comfort of the moment. Jimin may have his plans, but in this moment, all she wants is him—just him. She’ll deal with everything else in the morning.

The stillness of the room is broken only by the soft rhythm of Jungkook’s breathing, slow and steady against her shoulder. He’s asleep now, the weight of his body relaxed against hers, his warmth like a lifeline, grounding her in the chaos of her thoughts. The others are gone, their footsteps long faded from the halls, leaving her with nothing but the haunting silence of the night. She knows it’s late—too late, in fact, but the thoughts pressing in on her won’t let her rest. The shadows of her past are closing in, blurring with the present, and she can’t ignore them any longer.

Her fingers move absentmindedly through Jungkook’s hair, the strands soft beneath her touch. She should feel at peace, should let herself bask in the closeness between them. But there’s something gnawing at her, something she can’t shake, even with him right here, so close, his warmth seeping into her skin. She exhales slowly, allowing herself a moment of quiet reflection, a moment to think, to remember.

It feels like a lifetime ago, the first time she met Jimin.

She remembers how she had been drawn to him instantly, the magnetic pull of his presence undeniable. There had been something intoxicating about him, the way he spoke, the way he moved. He had an ease about him, a confidence that made everything else seem irrelevant. The first time their eyes met, something in her had shifted. It wasn’t love, not exactly—but it was something powerful, something she couldn’t ignore. At first, it was fascination, then admiration, then infatuation. He’d been so charming, so kind, so understanding. She hadn’t even known what she was getting herself into when she had started spending time with him, when he began to peel back the layers of her own desires, showing her things she didn’t even know she was hungry for.

He had taken her in, so carefully, so smoothly, and in a way, she had let herself be swept away by him. By the promises he’d whispered to her in the dark, by the way he had promised her strength, power, freedom. She had believed him then, believed in his every word, thinking that this—this life—was the answer. It was intoxicating, a beautiful lie wrapped in velvet words.

But now, as she lies in the dark, with Jungkook’s head resting on her shoulder, she wonders how much of her decisions were really her own. How much of what she’d felt for Jimin had been carefully orchestrated. Had he known all along? Had he planned this? Had he known she would be the one to cross the line, the one to fall so completely for Jungkook?

It’s been almost a year since her half-life began, and already, the edges of her human memories are beginning to blur, fading into nothingness. She’s forgetting things—small things, big things—the faces of her family, the warmth of the sun, the feeling of rain on her skin. It scares her more than she cares to admit.

The line between human and vampire is thin, too thin. She feels it every day, every minute, as if the very essence of who she was is being chipped away, leaving only fragments of the person she used to be.

She knows that vampires have mates, that there is something deeper, something unexplainable between them and the person they’re bound to. She’s seen it between Yoongi and Taehyung, how they’ve been together for almost twelve years. Yoongi was the first to be changed, by Jimin himself, and the moment he laid eyes on Taehyung, there was no question. Yoongi had wanted him. Needed him. It had been instinct, a magnetic pull that neither of them could resist.

And now, it’s her turn.

She feels it in her bones. The pull toward Jungkook is undeniable, powerful in ways she never expected. From the very first time they met, she had felt it, this bond that she couldn’t explain. The chemistry between them was electric, crackling with something deep, something primal. At first, she had been terrified. Terrified of how badly she wanted him, terrified of what that meant, terrified of what would happen to her, to him, if she gave into it.

But she couldn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop wanting him, needing him, and that terrified her even more. The pull to be with him was too strong to resist, too deep. It was like an ache that couldn’t be filled by anything else, a yearning that clawed at her chest with every breath she took. She can’t live without him, can’t imagine a future where he isn’t there by her side, where his hands aren’t tracing the lines of her skin, where his voice isn’t whispering in her ear.

But even as she craves him, even as she longs for him in a way that consumes her, there’s the undeniable truth that haunts her: it’s her fault that he’s here. It’s her fault that he drank Jimin’s blood, that his transformation has already begun. She had known, in that moment, that it was too late. That one decision had sealed his fate, tied him to her in ways she wasn’t sure he would be able to survive.

It was her fault.

Her fault that he had gotten pulled into the mess that is her life, that he had become a part of the twisted game Jimin had started. She knows that Jimin’s manipulations have played a part in this too, in pushing them both toward this inevitable conclusion. But still, it’s her fault. If she hadn’t been so reckless, so willing to give in, none of this would have happened.

Her fingers tighten around Jungkook’s hair, the pressure grounding her, but it does little to ease the ache in her chest. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know that, soon, he’ll be just like her. He doesn’t know that this bond they share will make it harder and harder for him to resist the pull of his own transformation. She wishes she could tell him, but she knows he would never understand. How could he? How could he understand that the very thing he’s wanted—wanted so badly—could destroy him?

A quiet sob rises in her throat, but she swallows it quickly, not wanting to disturb him. Her heart breaks for him. For them. For what they could have been, if only they hadn’t been swept into this dark, cruel reality.

She presses her face against the top of his head, inhaling the scent of him—of his skin, his warmth, his blood. It’s intoxicating, too much, and yet she can’t get enough. She feels herself unraveling at the thought of him changing, of what that will mean for both of them.

But no matter how much it terrifies her, there’s no going back. They’re tied together, bound in ways neither of them can fully comprehend. And as she lies there, with Jungkook in her arms, she realizes with a heavy heart that, no matter how much she wishes it weren’t true, she can’t live without him.

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  @artaxlivs! ArtaxLivs has 21 fics posted to AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by ArtaxLivs:

Nobody's Baby

Off the Shelf

Even Flowers Have Their Dangers

An Accidental Flogging

There's Something Wrong With Steve

"I really love the ideas and character voices ArtaxLivs has for Steve and Eddie in her fics. She writes canon and AU's that all feel distinct and true to the characters, ranging from angst to fluff and everything in between. There's a little something for everyone in her works, and she's still actively writing new things in the Steddie tag!" -- anonymous

Below the cut, ArtaxLivs answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I really love a “golden boy” who questions his own existence. Steve’s worldview got rocked in S1 and instead of reacting by running away or digging in his heels and continuing to be a jerk, he reevaluated, allowing himself to relearn how to approach the world. And Eddie is just a gremlin, a force of anarchy who bucks the societal norms but, really, that’s a cover for how vulnerable he feels because he’s gay in a world and time that sneers at the gentle parts of him. He’s terrified but if he’s loud and obnoxious, maybe no one will get close enough to find out. Together, they just make sense. Because Steve is seeing who people are instead of looking at what they present now, he sees what Eddie’s hiding. And instead of hurting him, he wants to support him. And Eddie, despite his brash words about “King Steve,” he just really wants to believe in a hero. No matter what AU they’re in, I try to maintain those core traits for each of them because that’s what I love about them.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

To read? Oh man, all of them? I’m a slut for variety so I’ll read any trope really. I do love a good soulmate trope though. Especially with unlikely soulmates who just go all in when they find each other - regardless of how they’d felt before the match.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Found family. Found Family has carried me through the toughest of times. That trope finds it’s way into all of my fics, so much that I forget to tag it most of the time because I don’t really exist without it. I was a young bisexual in a time when we were told “bisexual aren’t real” so even the gay spaces were not always safe. Drag Queens and older gay men saved me from pretending to either be straight or be a lesbian when I was 21 and felt so unaccepted by both sides. We all lived in an apartment building together and they accepted me as is. They loved me and let me be myself. They would hit on the dudes I brought home and gush over the girls. Throughout my adult life, I’ve done my best to be that for all the queer kids who’ve come through my wardrobe room at the theater. Be the family I so desperately needed and was lucky enough to eventually find.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I don’t think I could pick a favorite favorite but I have read and listened to Roll for Initiative by Alchemystique (the podfic by Silverkat1620) an embarrassing amount of times.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I actually haven’t written a Steddie soulmate fic yet. I had an idea sitting in my google docs for like two years and I’ve currently got just the opening scene. I’m writing it for an event so it’ll get finished and see the light of day in the fall. I’m excited to see where it takes me.

What is your writing process like?

I have an idea and I throw it into a google doc. If it’s a fully formed idea, I’ll just get it all out right away. It’s like a giant wall of “then this, then this, then this” that I then write a semi-cohesive outline for but if it’s just an errant idea, I’ll leave it in the docs untitled and when I stumble upon it again, it will often spark that wall of text and I’ll plan it out. After the wall of “idea,” I give it a title because I like for the fic to gravitate around the title, I like for the reader to get to a point in the fic and have an ah-ha moment where they look at the title and realize that’s where the meaning is. I usually put a few keywords at the top of my google doc that will carry out through the fic, reminders like mood settings I guess? And then I start writing. Usually I’ll pick a song to play before I start working on it each time. To get my brain in the mindspace for that fic. 

Do you have any writing quirks?

I only listen to piano instrumental covers of time period correct music while I’m actively writing. So piano covers of 80s music for Steddie. 

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

I prefer to write a fic completely, editing and everything, before I post. The only time I didn’t, it took me a year and a half to finish it and it wasn’t even that long. Apologies to the people who waited for me to finish “There’s Something Wrong With Steve.”

Which fic are you most proud of?

Probably “Even Flowers Have Their Dangers.” I don’t see images in my head, just ideas or knowledge of an object/place etc. so writing out a battle scene with so many moving parts and people was complicated. And sometimes when we have that many people in a scene, we lose the less important characters in the shuffle. In real life, no one stands around in a group without saying anything for hours. That would be weird. In that fic, I had multiple scenes where there were more than five people, one that had eleven people and a ton of action and I feel like I did them all justice. I used DnD minis on a map I’d drawn out of the scene and when I edited the scene days later, I tally marked the minis to make sure I’d referenced everyone enough to keep the flow moving and had them speaking enough that we didn’t forget they were there. I’m really proud of that.

How did you get the idea for There's Something Wrong With Steve?

Actually, my husband was re-watching Lost and the guy who plays John Locke played the stepfather in the 80s movie The Stepfather and for a big chunk of that movie, you’re not sure if he’s actually a bad guy. He is, he’s terrifying. And I just thought about how most of the Steddie monster fics go with DnD lore and it’s Eddie as Kas but what if it was Steve and even Steve didn’t know…And I tried to maintain that balance of is he?/isn’t he? for as long as I could. I also wrote Eddie’s thoughts in a choppy cadence that sort of built and became clearer toward the end so the reader would feel unsure and anxious right up until I went in for the kill. And then when they thought they were safe, I pulled the rug out from under them again.

When writing An Accidental Flogging, what was something you didn’t expect?

The towel. Originally, it was just Eddie slapping Steve’s ass and it was called “An Accidental Spanking.” But it built itself around so much locker room type teasing in the kitchen that it just worked so well to have him use a towel. The whole fic is them kind of falling into kink because they can’t figure out how to admit their feelings and towel snapping always looks like naked jock flirting to me so…

What inspired Even Flowers Have Their Dangers?

The white outfit that El wears through most of S4. It’s such a male director trope and I’m so over it. I’m a costume designer so I spend a lot of time looking at costumes and color choices. It’s such a virginity trope to put the young teenage girl in all white to show her innocence. She’s wearing color at school, and again at the rink but after she hits that girl with the skate and the agents come for her, she’s in white pants, a white thermal and a blue plaid. Because she did hit that girl, so not completely innocent. But unlike earlier seasons where her scuba suit is gray, it’s WHITE this time. Because we, the viewers, are hunting for the REAL monster. The white pants and shirt into the white scuba outfit and back into her white pants and shirt for the trip home - so if we are paying attention, we know that El is innocent. That she didn’t kill everyone in the lab, no matter how they’re setting it up. And that made me think of the song “I know things now” from Into the Woods and how El thinks Henry is nice, but we know he isn’t good because we already know that nice adult men don’t build relationships with little girls. And we know that “nice is different than good” but El, innocent and sequestered in a lab, has never strayed from the path, so she doesn’t know the difference. And then I made the party all wolves and put Henry in “human clothing” to kind of flip our imagine of what constitutes a monster.

What was your favorite part to write from Even Flowers Have Their Dangers?

The scene with Henry wearing “Max.” It was horrifying and I cried through it. I cry everytime I read it. Having the opportunity to write a scene that hurts my own soul is such a rush. I got done with it and I had to go outside and take some deep breaths. Children in mortal danger is kind of triggering for me and everything with Max in this is both traumatic and cathartic. I also love the moments when Joyce accepts and hugs Eddie. Because at the end of s3, after Hop dies, Joyce hugs Will but El is standing there alone. She and Joyce look at each other and Joyce just hugs Will tighter and turns away leaving El to cry alone and that’s bullshit. I would never. No parent would ever do that, leave her to cry alone? No. So anytime I can have Joyce rewrite that moment by hugging one of the kids, I do it. And so many people have commented on it so it makes me really proud to have made them feel that hug too, you know?

How do/did you feel writing Off the Shelf?

Ha, this fic is so…unapologetically raunchy? I guess that’s a good word. I wrote it thinking about all the gay men I’m friends with and what they think is hot, the body parts they focus on, the times they say “that’s hot” when I’m like “oh jesus, my eyes!” And I think I achieved it? Hopefully? That’s the fic that I’ve had the most gay men, trans men, non binary peeps reach out and be like “this one - mmhmm yup.” And damn, that’s so nice to hear.

What was the most difficult part of writing Nobody's Baby?

Staying within the outline of Dirty Dancing and keeping the time period just as nebulous. That movie is costumed like it’s the 60s, the historic events referenced put them in like the 50s and the soundtrack is 80s music. Makes no sense. I tried to let it stretch between the 80s and a modern setting without really setting it in one specific time. But still somehow making a queer relationship something that wasn’t a plot point. Because I didn’t want it to be about that at all. 

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I really love the bonding that happens between Steve & Mike in “Let Me Be Your Man (I Want to Hold Your Hand)” as Steve is teaching Mike how to make a mixed tape for his secret crush. Who Steve has already figured out is Will. It’s a Steddie fic but it centers around Steve letting Mike know that he’s not alone. And Mike letting his guard down just a little. It has a podfic recorded by Rattlandhum (thirdeye1234) and their voice is gorgeous. It’s the icing on the cake for that fic for me. And I love when Steve tells Robin in “Right From the Start, I Gave You My Heart” that they’re “just two chocolate chip cookies in a world full of oatmeal raisin.” because platonic love is pretty damn beautiful. (That one also has a podfic by the amazing Flowerparrish)

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I’m currently writing a fic for the Steddie BigBang 2025. And Flowerparrish and I have been brainstorming a Steddie & the Party fic that zer will podfic that’s got some cool dream elements happening. I’ve also decided to finish my “18 Candles” Steddie fic that I’ve been sitting on for far too long that has a really fun Eddie & Robin friendship that I love so much. They get to be weird and awkward together. And Flowerparrish is currently recording a podfic of my “Even Flowers Have Their Dangers” and I’m GIDDY about it.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Just a very heartfelt thank you. This fandom has been incredibly supportive and fun. I’ve made so many friends - some fellow writers but some people who are just really amazingly supportive readers and cheerleaders. And the entire fandom’s fics are so varied. It’s been a blast not just writing them but also reading other writers fics right alongside everyone else.

Thank you to our author, @artaxlivs, and our nominator! See more of ArtaxLivs's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[addledmongoose]

Good Omens Fanfic Friday (18 Apr 2025)

We have one human AU, one fantasy AU, and the rest in this week's list are all canon (adjacent, mostly).

The Painted Veil (90K; Rated E) by @createserenity

Crowley lives a life of leisure in 1920s London and when they meet at a party, Aziraphale is instantly smitten with him, whilst Crowley thinks Aziraphale is kind, but dull. When circumstances force them into an ill-advised marriage Crowley finds himself undertaking the journey of a lifetime, first to Shanghai and then beyond into the heart of China, where he faces challenges he never expected and is forced to confront not only outside dangers, but also his beliefs about himself, Aziraphale and what their marriage could be. Sometimes the greatest journey is the distance between two people.

Human AU. I was recommended this when I was talking about arranged marriage fics. It's not precisely an arranged marriage, but it's close enough. This is a stunningly beautiful fic that I read in one day. It's gorgeous and sad and watching their relationship grow through Crowley's eyes was worth every minute of angst. Based on a book and a 2006 film of the same name, but if you know the film, understand this one ends differently. Includes SFW art by @mirjam-writes.

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Only Face To Face (2K; Rated T) by @entanglednow

Fantasy AU. Crowley falls down a well and gets rescued by a handsome blond who's not what he expected. Includes gorgeous art.

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The Serpent's Angel (66K; Rated T) by @puffmunch-queen

It is the year 1717, and Crowley has been dabbling in the art of piracy. Unfortunately, after he steals a map to a certain flaming sword from Sandalphon, Heaven sends Gabriel and Aziraphale to deal with him. Chaos, love confessions, and shenanigans ensue. It's approximately 70% fluff/pining/banter/romance, 20% crack, 9% angst, and 1% plot.

This was just so fun to read. Funny situations, an adorable crew, OFMD Easter Eggs, very little angst, and one of the only versions of God I've ever actually liked.

***

Somebody To Love (3K; Rated T) by @fandoms-of-allie

When Crowley decides he's in need of a new hobby, he turns to the bookshop to distract himself from having to actually find one.

A sweet and cute post-Armadidn't short with great footnotes. This is the author's first GO fic!

***

and the antichrist makes three (3K; Rated G) by @pepperfield

What if, instead of raising Warlock, Crowley and Aziraphale move to Tadfield and raise the kid they think is the Antichrist but is actually Baby B? Or, the story of what happened to the third baby on the night of the Antichrist's birth.

***

I give him curses, yet he gives me love (4K; Rated T)

Shortly after Aziraphale opens his bookshop, he asks Crowley to curse it, just to make it easier to keep customers away.

[keepittrillfr]

as you are- d. winchester

dean winchester x angel!reader | angst & fluff

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“i don’t get it, why the hell won’t you just leave! i mean, i damn near drove away my own brother..cas…just. why?”

angel looked at him with a blank expression, not at all disturbed by his outburst. she was already used to his constant avoidant mechanisms and knew of how he treated others. her fingers twitched at her side like she posed a threat.

“everyone comes and goes. i get them killed or i shove them away. y’know angel, im surprised you haven’t scorn me for what i done. gone off to father almighty and just tell him how screwed—how…how many times i’ve gotten everyone into this shit?!” he bitterly scoffed, throwing his arms out.

she stood, and just took it.

“what? you not gonna say anything? oh who am i kiddin’. i forgot about your peabrain emotions…you can’t even try to get mad at me,” dean ran his hands over his face in exasperation.

he glared at them, debating whether he should yell at her again before feeling a cool sensation behind him. hands wrapped around his waist tightly and firmly, angel laid on her cheek on his head.

“you don’t mean that.”

dean could only freeze and feel the frigidity through his white shirt. he opened his mouth, throat bobbing in confusion.

“you think i’m some inept creature; that i cannot possibly grasp your feelings. dean, i see beneath you,” angel murmured in his ear as uncertainty trickled down the hairs of his neck.

dean’s breath hitched slightly, his voice nearly choked out. he tried to get his tongue to move, to enunciate a word in desperation. it all failed.

“you make yourself out to be a monster. you do this to yourself, in order to think you’re doing everyone a favor.”

for once, he could hear a slight tremble in her authoritative voice.

“dean. i do not understand you, nor do i understand your way of thinking. yet, i’ve grown to cherish you. to appreciate every piece of you. your heart—is one so massive—so genuine and cracked. although altruism is your strength, it’s your greatest weakness.”

dean gasped slightly while shaking in her hold, but he relaxed as he moved his hands on top of hers.

“i wasn’t sent here just to watch over you. i’m your protector. protect you not only from dangers, but from yourself.”

angel pulled back and moved in front of him to lift his chin, “look at me.”

he shuddered as he felt her fingers, complying immediately. dean looked in her piercing gaze, taking note of how her eyebrows furrowed.

her lips were tugged in a pout as her eyes scrunched in concentration. dean anticipated the next words to leave out her mouth as he looked at angel.

“you may not deter me, for i have already chosen you,” she ran her thumbs on his cheek, “i am certain that you have as well.”

dean had to hold himself back from leaning into her touch. he also would never admit it out loud that he’d fallen.

“me? y-you’re kidding. claimin’ me like I’m some piece of meat? what’re you saying—”

“you know. you know it because i needn’t say more. i feel it.”

dean parted his lips, but involuntarily leaned forward. angel’s forehead met his and he finally let out a breathy sigh.

“please.” his voice cracked, “i dunno what i am.”

“you don’t need to know. i’ll take you as you are.”

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[reinerismwrld]

You Drew Stars Around My Scars

PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x Reader x Ominis Gaunt (implied poly-relationship)

SUMMARY: Sebastian and Ominis knew better. NEVER ask about how you got your face scar, but you’ve known them for 2 years now, almost 3, and curiosity got the best of them.

GENRE: Fluff, angst

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood, violence, torture, and traumatic past.

WORD COUNT: 1.6k words

“You know, a painting would be better and will last longer.” You didn’t move your sight from the book in front of you. The seventh year had just started, but somehow, you managed to have enough homework, and you felt like you were already falling behind.

Sebastian didn’t move. It wasn’t like it was the first time you caught him staring intensely at you.

“Well, not my fault you’re such a beauty.” You shook your head and chuckled at Sebastian’s comment. You knew he was looking directly at your scar, but who were you kidding? You always loved the attention he and Ominis gave you.

“Well, maybe if you actually started to study, you would actually improve.”

“Please, I’m already good. I even dare to say the perfect student,” Ominis snorted. After Sebastian hadn’t said anything to Omins, you knew he was up to something.

“Spit it out, Sallow.” The silence that filled the Room of Requirement was unsettling. You could hear the faint rain coming from one of the potting tables, which you may think could be relaxing, but when you are used to hearing Sebastian and Ominis (and even yourself) banter, the silence was more than telling. It was Ominis who finally decided to say something.

“We’ve known each other for some years now, we are even together now, so… Can we ask you about something? I will understand if you feel uncomfortable, sweetheart.” 

“Ominis, what’s happening?” You were starting to get nervous.

“Do you trust us?” What kind of dumb question was that? Of course, you trust them. They’ve been by your side since your first year in Hogwarts, the 3 of you have been in the most dangerous situations, which brought you even closer. Why the sudden and stupid question?

“Of course I do.”

“Well, then. How did you get that scar?” You tensed up. It always amazed you how, sometimes, Sebastian had zero tact.

“For Merlin’s sake Sebastian, couldn’t you be more insensitive?” 

“It’s ok, Omi,” you sighed. “A cat scratched me when I was 5.” You could’ve been honest, but you weren’t that sure if you wanted to tell them the truth now.

“Please, I’ve heard you tell better lies to Professor Weasley,” Sebastian said.

“Fine, fine… I was struck by lightning right on my face. But well, not even the gods could get rid of me,” you giggled. The lack of comments from Sebastian and Ominis was everything you needed to decide to finally open up to them. You sighed. “Just, promise this won’t change anything.” You could see Ominis’ questioning expression and Sebastian’s expectant one.

“I never knew who my parents were. From what I managed to know is that my mother passed away after giving birth, and my dad just left me there. I didn’t know that was even possible.” For the first time since you’ve known Sebastian, he was listening attentively.

“I ended up in an orphanage, which you already knew,” Ominis nodded. You always tried to leave your past, well, in the past, trying your best to get rid of the memories and self-concept you used to have, so bringing it up in front of them was challenging.

“I didn’t consider myself a troublemaker. I mean, I was always scared of the punishments the other kids said they would get whenever they did something bad. But…” you took a deep breath. “Even if I tried my best to behave well and not get in trouble, I managed to get the worst outcome out of all of them.” You closed your eyes. For a reason, telling the story was making your scar itch.

“There were these twins, a girl and a boy. Not really sure of what their names were. It’s not like I want to remember them now. They used to be the golden kids, the teachers’ pets if you can call them one way, and because of this, they always thought they could get away with everything, and they would get away with everything.” You started to scratch your scar, getting nervous.

“Because of this, they always liked to make fun of the other kids, bully them and basically be a pain in the ass for everyone but the adults. And well, I didn’t like the fact that the younger ones got the worst of it, so naturally I intervened. Let's just say that things got heated and I ended up punching the girl. She fell down, and well, as the “perfect little girl who couldn’t do any wrong,” she got away with it and I got in trouble.” you must have been scratching your left cheek harder than you noticed since Sebastian took your hand stopping you from doing it and smiled at him.

“I was on kitchen duty for about a month. Since it was my first time getting in trouble, they went easy on me. And I really thought that was it.” You felt a lump start to form in your throat. Somehow, Ominis knew the worst hadn’t happened yet, and he began to get nervous.

Maybe he wasn’t able to see how big your scar was, but Sebastian’s description and the glowing mark that he was able to see thanks to his wand was enough for him to know this wasn’t just a small scar you could get in a normal way.

“One night, I was woken up by someone who was sitting on my chest and someone who was grabbing my head to the right so I couldn’t move at all. It was the twins.” You summon all the courage inside you. But stopped. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t continue speaking. You’ve fought trolls, dark wizards, goblins, and gigantic spiders, and somehow, this was harder.

“Love, it’s ok. If you don’t want to tell us, we will understand.” Sebastian finally spoke, and your heart warmed at his comment. You felt a tear roll down your cheek and shook your head. You decided to continue.

“The brother, who was the one on top of me, had a blade in his hand. Even if his sister managed to hold my face to the right, I was able to take a look at him. He had this insane and unsettling look on his face.” Your whole body shivered at the memory. “He… Well, it’s not hard to guess, am I right?” You tried your best to defuse the tension, but it didn’t work. Sebastian and Ominis weren’t dumb. They have lived through so much that they already knew the next part. But still, they hoped they were wrong.

“He just started to cut and carve these.” You freed your hand from Sebastian’s hold and moved your finger, pointing at the area where your scar was. “And that’s it.” You decided to stop there. They didn’t need to know the details. How, even when you screamed the loudest you’ve ever screamed, no one ever came to help, how your tears burned the new marks that the kid made for weeks. How you used to hide the left side of your face every day until you knew you would go to Hogwarts. 

For the first time in the 2 years that you’ve known them, Ominis and Sebastian were speechless. 

“It’s fine, I guess. I like how I look now. And it’s basically a reminder that, if I was able to go through that, then life cannot be that bad now.” You really wanted them to relax since you noticed they were tense. 

“God, I love you so much.” Sebastian grabbed your hand again and kissed it. Ominis kissed your temple, and you smiled.

“I’m sorry if we pushed you to tell us this, sweetheart,” Ominis said.

“It’s ok. I wanted to be honest with you. I just… I was nervous. You have this image of me. The brave and reckless girl that became the Hero of Hogwarts. I don’t want you to think I’m faking it, or that I’m weak just because of this.”

“We would never think you’re weak. I would even dare to say that you are braver than we thought.” Sebastian nodded at Ominis’ comment.

“You went through that and even more, and you still managed to put a smile on your face. You are still one of the most compassionate, sweet, and incredible girl we’ve ever met.” Sebastian moved his chair so he was closer to you. He started to caress your cheek, the cheek that had the scar. It tickled.

“I speak for both of us that we are now here to protect and love you, even if you don’t need the protection, since you are the most powerful witch there is,” you laughed. “What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to go through something like that ever again. You won’t go through anything like that since you have us, sweetheart.” Ominis gave you a quick peck.

The more you thought about it the happier you were feeling.

Since the first day, they have been there for you. Even if the beginning was rough, with so much pain and loss, they never stopped talking to you. Even if at the beginning you didn’t open up to them like they did, they still continued to be there for you, with the hopes of you opening up little by little, and it worked. 

For the first time in years someone knew the truth you tried so hard to hide and ignore. And for the first time in your life you knew that with them, you didn’t have to hide your past or be scared of it anymore. And it felt good.

h o g w a r t s l e g a c y m a s t e r l i s t

m a s t e r l i s t s

n a v i g a t i o n

[thecoffeelovingfreak]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒚

Inspired by Kingcrawler // Miles Kane | [lyrics]

pairing: ███!acheron x gn!███!reader, genres: ████████!au, angst, fluff, song-based, word count: 426 warnings: mild depictions of violence, mild angst, mentions of alcohol & blood, notes: the blocked out text is in red at the end to simulate her character story! ;)

Read it on ao3!

~~~

There are faces in the wall. Some scrunched in rage, others posed with fear. None bear even a relative grin. The knight beside you cannot make sense of your visions – she blames it on too much wine. But you see it, hidden in the stone’s patterning. The anthem of this rotten empire. Its pride is what brings the two of you to this glimmering hall tonight.

Burgundy met your tongue once more, rolling like smooth velvet. It’s nigh metallic scent reminiscent of times when blood once did the same. Unwavering steel danced over corrupted flesh in a grand spiritual battle all while their essence snuck past your lips. Life was simple then, at least for you and your steadfast companion. Few challenges and even fewer risks.

Until word reached your realm of invaders who sought your country and each between, all in the name of prosperity and betterment. You were the first operative unit’s sole survivor – all eleven others perished among conquest and political games. You met your knight shortly after that widowing, journeying over mountains and rivers with a retaliatory goal of your own.

Purple hair vanished as the ceremony commenced, each performer finding their position. Acheron was naught but a shadow along the mezzanine as the king began his speech. You rested docile in the gathering of courtiers, glass in hand and expression satisfied. He spun stories of victory; of a greater, moral society filled with riches.

Your advancing steps blended in amongst his strong voice and the guests hypnotic whispers. His drivel seemed endless, each stretch of red to his throne like a string of fate. His conclusion came and went, his attention instead focused on arrogance and belittlement. The simmering horseman of vengeance roared through your veins seeking violent relief.

Flashes of violet streaked over the mezzanine as crimson splattered the walls. The sickened herald of revenge became fed as your excessive attire was ruined. The king’s head fell first, a beat within the crowd’s melodic shrieks. Her blade cut like a wisp, the graceful antithesis to your roguish methods. In a near instant, the first step of your goal was finished.

Acheron’s icy hand reached for yours among the sea of death, soothing its heated shake. Effortlessly, she guided you through windows and halls; passageways known and secret. The night sky had never felt so freeing, so welcoming and lovely. A miniscule grin cracked over your lips, meeting hardened iris eyes. For an expression so foreign, in an environment still dangerous, her matching smile could have razed your heart to pieces.

~~~

pairing: spy!acheron x gn!spy!reader | medieval!au

- - - - - - - - - -

If you would like to read similar works, why don't you check out more playlist drabbles?

masterlists | hsr masterlist

[floorpancakes]

btw catverse isnt yuuko agnostic because of any dislike for yuuko I fucking love her I just don't like the way her possible reincarnation has been handled in canon so far and side:canary is kinda a morphing of and thought process of my mixed feelings abt rou+rei and i think it's more interesting to explore in both positive and negative ways if we don't know if she'll ever come back

[artficlly]

his girls [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x reader alpine barely tolerates anyone but bucky, so when she curls up in your lap without a second thought, the team is left reeling—especially when it leads to the not-so-subtle revelation that you and bucky have been sneaking around for months.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, alpine is a troublemaker, secret dating, swearing, kissing, alcohol, tony knows all, natasha too, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: hello! once again a fic no one asked for lol. i'm supposed to be on hiatus buuut i took some time this afternoon to write this because i'm procrastinating a uni assignment. i'm sure this concept has been done before, but i was thinking about that scene in rivals with the dog (iykyk) and yeah! step away from the usual angst and heartbreak i normally provide you all with. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

You were careful.

Or at least, you thought you were careful.

For months, you and Bucky had kept your relationship under wraps. It wasn’t that you wanted to keep secrets from the team, but there was something thrilling about stolen moments and hushed conversations. About Bucky’s hand on the small of your back as he guided you through a crowded room, or the way he’d brush a kiss against your temple before disappearing down the hall.

You figured no one had noticed.

Until today.

It all started with one of many white hairs stuck to your t-shirt.

Natasha plucked it off you mid-conversation one morning in the kitchen while you were praying—desperately—to whatever all-seeing god might finally make the coffee machine work faster. Between the groaning, spluttering sounds and the blinking lights, it felt like the damn thing was possessed. With flawlessly manicured nails, Natasha held the hair up to the morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the compound.

“Is this Alpine’s fur?” she mused aloud, twirling the long, pale strand between her fingers.

“Probably.” you replied absently, more concerned with the coffee machine’s latest refusal to cooperate. You jabbed the buttons harder, ignoring the way Natasha’s eyes flickered with something dangerously close to amusement. 

“For all of Tony’s money, you’d think we’d have a coffee machine that actually works,” you grumbled.

“Turn around?” Natasha asked. There was a particular lilt to her voice, that barely concealed intrigue she tried—and failed—to mask whenever she was onto something. It set you on edge instantly, the tone that meant she was clicking a mystery into place, giddy with excitement beneath a thin veil of indifference. You didn’t trust it for a second.

“No, just—” You smacked the machine in frustration. It whined pathetically before the lights blinked off entirely. You let out a long, exasperated groan. “Why won’t this stupid fucking thing ever work—”

“Jesus, you’re covered in it—”

You froze mid-motion as Natasha yanked at your shirt, effectively grooming you like a monkey. Her sharp lips had turned up into a wicked smirk, the type of smirk that made dread pool in your gut. 

“Everything is covered in her fur,” you said quickly, still trying for casual. You reached for the plug, praying Natasha would drop it. “She sheds everywhere, especially on the couch.”

“Mm.” Natasha tilted her head, her smirk deepening. “And yet, I thought Tony hired cleaners for that? Especially with Kate always bringing Lucky around?”

You yanked the plug from the socket a little too forcefully. “Honestly, Nat, I don’t know. I just want this damn machine to work.”

Right on cue, a familiar voice rumbled behind you.

“Machine giving you trouble again?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest before resuming its normal rhythm—though maybe a little faster. You turned just as Bucky strolled in, looking frustratingly good despite the early hour. His hair was a little dishevelled, sleep still clinging to him in a way that made him look too soft for someone who could snap a man’s spine in half.

“There’s a trick to it, remember?” He stepped in close beside you, skin brushing yours as he reached for the machine. The scent of his aftershave lingered, warm and familiar. You tried—and failed—not to watch the way the muscles in his forearm tensed, veins shifting beneath his skin as he pressed a series of buttons.

“Barnes, you’ve got cat hair all over you,” Natasha noted, not even bothering to be subtle. You didn’t dare look at her. Instead, you busied yourself wringing your hands, pretending you weren’t hyper-aware of Bucky standing so damn close.

“Huh?” Bucky barely spared a glance at his shirt, where Alpine’s fur was unmistakably clinging to the fabric. “Oh. Yeah, guess I do. She always wants attention in the morning.”

Then, with one final smack, the machine roared to life. The rich aroma of coffee filled the air as liquid finally poured into your mug. You sighed in sheer relief.

“There you go,” Bucky said, looking down at you with a small smile, a few strands of dark hair falling across his forehead.

Your stomach did a stupid little flip. You smiled back, warmth creeping into your face. “Thanks.”

The machine beeped again, snapping you back to reality. You quickly grabbed the mug with both hands, muttered another thanks, and let Natasha tug you away.

“What was that?” She hissed, voice low as she turned to you with narrowed eyes.

“Huh?” You weren’t entirely listening to her words. You found yourself glancing over your shoulder, a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. You could still see Bucky standing in the kitchen, both hands braced on the counter as he waited for his own coffee. His back was turned, but even through the thin material of his fur-covered t-shirt, you could see the way his muscles shifted beneath it—

Natasha didn’t even humour your innocence. She crossed her arms. “You and Barnes?” 

“What about him?” You mumbled, pulling your gaze away as the elevator dinged, doors sliding open.

Her lips twitched, amusement clear. “Are you two—?”

You made a face at her. “What are you on about?” 

Natasha didn’t look convinced, but she let it go.

For now.

As the elevator hummed and Bucky was cut from your view as the doors shut, you took a sip of coffee, the liquid a few degrees between too hot and burning. It scalded your tongue, and with the phantom smell of Bucky’s aftershave no longer haunting you, you felt your mind snap back into action.

Right. Focus.

“We’re going to be late for the meeting,” you declared, shaking your head. “And that damn machine is the reason. You know what? Let’s take a detour to Stark’s lab and demand a better one.”

Natasha chuckled, pressing the button for a different floor.

“I like the way you think.”

—

You knew Alpine would be your downfall.

The little white menace was notoriously selective. If you weren’t Bucky, she wanted nothing to do with you. Everyone at the compound had suffered her wrath at least once—Sam even had the scars to prove it. Alpine liked to play dangerous games that usually ended in blood or a yowl of pain. You swore the Avengers bled more dealing with the feline than fighting aliens, wizards, or whatever else tried to obliterate Earth every other week. She was a cunning little creature, lurking around corners, hiding under tables, prowling along bookshelves. And just when you least expected it—bam. Teeth and claws bared, she would pounce, latching on like a tiny, vengeful spectre. This was her idea of fun. The Avengers had learned to tread carefully, tip-toeing around the compound whenever they knew she wasn’t safely curled up in Bucky’s room, where she ruled with an iron paw.

So, when you sat down on the couch one evening, and Alpine immediately hopped onto your lap, you knew you were fucked.

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t so much as sniff at you in consideration before curling right up, purring loud enough to be heard over the football game droning on in the background—which you were only half paying attention to. 

You stiffened, caught between awe at the rare privilege and sheer dread at the witnesses currently gaping at you.

Bucky, for his part, had been sitting at the other end of the couch, flirting with danger in his usual way—stolen glances, conveniently placed touches as he shifted in place. Alpine, just as obsessed with him as you were (Bucky had taken to calling you both ‘his girls’ in private, which always managed to make you swoon.), had immediately perched in his lap when he sat down. Only when he carefully pried her off to grab another round of beers did the little white she-beast decide you were a worthy substitute, strutting over with lazy, languid confidence before settling down, blissfully unaware of what she had just unleashed.

The room fell into stunned silence. Several pairs of eyes locked onto you, breath collectively held. They were waiting for the yowl, for the inevitable attack, for you to tense up and leap to your feet in pain. But to your horror, the little sadist simply settled in. Cosy, unbothered, as if this had been the plan all along.

“Okay, what the hell is this?” Sam finally demanded, pointing an accusing finger.

You blinked down at Alpine, then up at Sam, stroking the soft fur like nothing was amiss. “Uh… a cat?” 

You were foolish and desperate enough to pretend this was completely normal, to gaslight the others into believing Alpine was a perfectly gentle and affectionate cat. A sweet, loving companion. Not a tiny, vengeful menace who had terrorised them all—and definitely not a creature who had only warmed up to you in recent months because you spent more time in Bucky’s bed than your own.

“The same cat that tried to claw out my eyeball for getting too close? And now she’s just—” He gestured wildly at Alpine, who flicked her tail with the smugness of a queen on her throne. “—cuddling with you like you’re her best buddy?”

“She likes me, I guess.” You blinked innocently, turning back to the TV, hoping he would drop it, but Sam, ever the dramatic, was not satisfied.

“Are you kidding me? That cat has tried to kill me.”

Natasha snorted into her drink. 

Alpine smugly licked her paw before resting her head upon your thigh and blinking her wide blue eyes at Sam, who shook his head with an exaggerated shudder.  “This is bullshit, and you know it—”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like you, Sam.” You huffed, scratching Alpine behind her ears. “She’s always been fine with me.”

“That is not true!” 

“She took a chunk out of my arm once,” Natasha added, ever the instigator.

“Remember when I gave her a treat and she bit me?” Steve piped up.

Bucky returned at that moment, frowning as he saw the conversation unfolding before him. You turned to him with wide, desperate eyes, silently pleading for help. Alpine, the little traitor, merely pressed her pink nose to your hand, rubbing her face against you with a contented sigh.

“She only likes people she’s comfortable with,” Bucky offered, setting the beers down with a clink, but his pitiful attempt to be helpful only added fuel to the fire.

The room exploded into a series of overlapping voices.

“I didn’t realise you spent so much time with Alpine?” Natasha’s sharp gaze flicked between you and Bucky, her smirk primed to taunt you both. 

“Buck, doesn’t she spend all her time in your room—?” Steve leaned forward, forearms braced against his thighs, invested now.

Sam jolted upright like he’d just solved a murder case. “Now, hold on a second—”

“You have been covered in cat fur a lot lately,” Natasha mused. “And you two have been suspiciously close—”

As you glanced over at Bucky, you couldn’t tell if his repeated blunders were intentional or borne out of genuine panic. He cleared his throat, his brows raising as he casually popped off the cap of one of the beers with his vibranium thumb in faux nonchalance.

“Coincidence.” He muttered with a shrug, tipping back a mouthful of the brew. 

Alpine, completely oblivious (or entirely aware of the chaos she’d caused), didn’t budge as Bucky sat back down beside you, levelling you with a look that screamed we are so screwed.

“You two aren’t even going to try to lie?” Natasha pressed.

“Lie about what?” You feigned innocence, but the act was flimsy at best. The jig was well and truly up.

Bucky, clearly done with this little charade, let out a long-suffering sigh that might’ve sounded exasperated if not for the telltale smirk tugging at his lips. Without another word, he slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you effortlessly against his chest, Alpine still coiled contentedly in your lap. The smug little she-beast didn’t even stir. She just purred loudly—too loudly, like she was taking credit for the entire thing.

“Wait a second!” Sam pointed a dramatic finger between the two of you. “How long has this been happening?”

“How long has what been happening?” Tony strolled into the room, a glass of amber liquid that looked suspiciously like whiskey in hand.

“Her,” Steve announced, gesturing between the both of you. “And Barnes.”

Tony didn’t even blink. “Oh, I already knew that. You didn’t know that?”

Bucky turned so fast you were surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash.  “You what?”

“Oh, come on,” Tony drawled, making himself comfortable on the armrest of the couch like this was all just another day at the office. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice her sneaking out of your room at ungodly hours for the past six months? F.R.I.D.A.Y. kept flagging intruders, and, shocker—it was just you two, utterly failing at stealth.”

Sam threw up his hands. “Did you say six months?!”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but instead of answering, he just turned to you and, without hesitation, kissed you.

It was sudden but warm, his lips soft against yours like he’d been waiting for an excuse. The room erupted into even more noise, Sam shouting something unintelligible, Natasha making a sound of smug satisfaction, and Steve groaning like he should’ve known, but it all faded into the background.

You laughed against Bucky’s lips, breathless but entirely unbothered. “This is definitely her fault.”

Alpine, still purring in your lap like the devious little mastermind she was, flicked her tail.

Bucky just hummed, brushing his nose against yours. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Not complaining, though.”

And, truthfully, neither were you.

[coffee-and-geto]

BETWEEN FORMULAS, FLOWERS AND FEELINGS - SATORU GOJO

You are the imbalance in Satoru’s logical and rational reasoning.

pairing: nerd! gojo x student council president! reader

summary: being the student council president isn’t the easiest job in the world. It’s not like gojo — with his trademark glasses, his awkward smile hiding the most dangerous brain. because for him, he can resolve every problem, right? there is no formula that can escape his smart mind. not even you. so when he accepts to tutor you, could he really be sure feelings won’t become a new variable?

warnings: +18 MDNI, nsfw, smut, virgin! gojo, first time, oral (m! receiving), pinning, college AU, shojo vibes, quantum physics subject, slight angst, fluff, idiots in love, insecure! gojo, nerd gojo with glasses is hot, art by @/3-aem.

wc: 9,922

Ever since he was little, Satoru Gojo seemed to have been blessed with knowledge.

His very first Christmas toy — when he was finally old enough to have one — was a huge playset containing chemical transformation recipes to prepare by himself, using a handful of formulas and calculations.

When he turned ten, his parents gifted him a kit that allowed him to build his own electric train circuit, which he had to assemble using physics methods so that real electricity could power his trains — and sometimes even his cars.

By the time he reached middle school, scientific subjects like physics and chemistry became his second mother. Nothing escaped him. Formulas, molecular mechanisms, and chemical transformations held no secrets. This passion for complex methods shaped his logic.

For every problem, Satoru always found a solution. To him, the world was nothing but a set of solvable scientific probabilities, where nothing could slip through his grasp.

But growing up with barely controllable hormones… poor Satoru had experienced firsthand just how bitter that could taste, even at university.

The first time he asked a girl from his middle school to go out with him in his third year, Satoru never would have thought she’d laugh right in his face before calling him a useless nerd.

He didn’t let anything show. And yet, it was from that very day that Satoru’s glasses, his passion for science, and his own self-confidence betrayed him.

He decided to give up on feelings — classifying them as a deceitful, unscientific belief with a complete lack of logic, something better suited for grotesque purposes like the movies or romantic TV series that entertained uncultured people.

Satoru didn’t need emotions when logic always prevailed, never once disappointing him.

But upon entering university, he could never understand why — despite his silence and absolute discretion, buried in his studies — his cerulean blue eyes always seemed to find their way back to you.

You were the student council president of the school. Known for your upright mind, flawless organization, and a sense of justice so firm it sometimes bordered on harshness.

You had no time for anyone. You spent your days planning university events without wasting a single second — a notebook always pressed against your chest, and occasionally, a pair of glasses perched on your nose during intense activities like studying for exams or arranging event halls, which were regularly occupied by you and your staff.

What intrigued Satoru the most about you was your logic.

You planned everything, organized everything, all while maintaining grades nearly as excellent as his. You never wasted time hanging around with those ridiculous girls who would likely reject him if he ever dared to speak to them, and he had already admire witnessed you standing up for people like him — those trapped in their introversion and buried in their books — refusing to tolerate the injustice caused by the school’s most popular students.

A deep respect radiated from you.

Something Satoru refused to admit. Even though he knew you could short-circuit his brain in an instant.

Like that time when you had asked him for a pen at the library during your study session because he wasn’t far from your table. His face had turned crimson, and he could have sworn smoke was coming out of his ears. His mouth — so used to speaking with precision and efficiency — completely failed him in front of you.

The words got stuck in his throat, and the few sounds that miraculously managed to escape were nothing but incomprehensible stutters, earning him a confused frown from you.

In the end, he gave up on any attempt at conversation and simply handed you the best pen in his pencil case — his favorite. And he had almost silently prayed in his head that you would forget to return it so that you would keep it with you.

And he hated that.

This power you had over him — the way you made him nervous, shy, and desperate for you.

Just like in middle school.

Something he had sworn to leave behind.

~~~~

“NO, NO, AND NO!”

The event hall falls into a deathly silence as you shout your words with such force and vehemence that your fists crush the few sheets of paper still clutched between your tense fingers.

No one dares to move anymore — a part of the staff is busy moving boxes of decorations, two others are handing you papers to sign, some are hovering around you with questions, and others are amusing themselves by climbing ladders to place Christmas decorations — as if your scream alone has just pierced through the entire university.

With your jaw clenched, a vein pulsing at your temple, your cheeks flushed with anger, and your throat slightly irritated, you struggle to breathe as all attention shifts onto you.

“I said I haven’t decided on the organization of the Spring Formal yet, that nothing is supposed to be taken out, signed, or even requested until I’ve given the order, so what the fuck are you all doing here?!” you exclaim.

You push past the students in your way and snap your fingers at the two idiots fooling around with the decorations.

“You two — you’re fired.”

Then, you turn to the rest of the group handling the boxes. “If you don’t want to be fired too, hurry up and put that away!” Next, to the members waiting for you to sign papers. “Out!”

As the room empties in silence, filled with sulky and terrified faces at the thought of dealing with you, you take a deep breath before crouching down to the floor, burying your face between your knees, your arms trembling.

There isn’t much time left.

Director Yaga has given you a deadline to organize the Spring Formal, leaving you in charge of the theme, the venue, and the entertainment.

But, for the first time in your role, you are literally overwhelmed.

For the first time as well, no inspiration comes to you. The stress of classes, exams happening at the same time as the event date, your poor grades lately, and the pressure your team keeps adding on top of all that—at some point, you were bound to explode.

With all of this piling up, how are you supposed to manage?

That’s exactly what you asked yourself during your class that very afternoon, staring at your 40/100 in quantum physics.

With your heart sinking into your stomach, you hastily shove the paper into your bag, not caring in the slightest if it gets crumpled.

No one must see that the student council president allows herself to yell at her team while having such catastrophic grades. But your overloaded schedule no longer allows you to focus on your studies alone — how can you concentrate and stay organized when all you want to do is throw yourself out the window?

~~~~

“You need to register to require a tutor.”

“But I don’t need one.”

The male student raises an eyebrow. “So what are you doing here?”

You scoff. How dare he talk to you like that?

You’re in the library, one of the most soothing and stressful places in the world. You’ve had to find a way to get your grades up while you sort out your problem with Spring Formal, but in the meantime, you need to find a student who can tutor you without anyone knowing.

So what better way to find out than from the librarian’s assistant — who is also one of the Tutoring Center’s organizers?

“I need to know who’s the top student in quantum physics here,” you insist with a firmer tone.

Forgetting you’re at the entrance to the library, you purse your lips, a little embarrassed.

“We don’t have ‘top students’, prez,” he replies with a bitter smile — ah, so he knows who you are.

“So how do you help the students?” you ask with almost indignation.

He shrugs. “If you need help—”

“I do not,” you cut him off coldly, cheeks on fire as you adjust your bag over your shoulder. You sigh in annoyance at the student’s lack of efficiency.

“Then, how can I help you?” He gives you the most impertinent smile in the world, as if he’s just waiting for you to get the hell out.

You tuck a stray lock of your hair back behind your ear before rolling your eyes. “I need to talk to a top student in quantum physics, that’s all.”

The student looks at his fingernails as if they're the most important thing in the world and mimes huffing. “We don’t have any.” He looks up at you. “If you’re looking for one, there’s a nerd who’s the best in his class.”

Curiosity pricks the back of your neck, causing you to sit up straight. “Who?”

“Gojo, I think,” he said, frowning as if to remember his name. “Sato-thing, if I remember. Anyway, a nerd. You should know him, I guess.”

You shake your head, eyes almost squinting as you seek the memory of a Gojo name. But nothing comes to mind. So you shrug.

“What does he look like?”

“Albino. Blue eyes, nerd glasses, always dressed in a sweatshirt or shirt and he always has a book under his arm.”

“All right, thanks.”

Then you hurry out of the library and its oppressive walls, leaving the assistant to sigh with relief — as much as you do.

~~~~

“So, you are… Gojo Sato-thing?”

He has a little disappointed smile. “Satoru Gojo, prez.” With a nervous gesture, he places the strap of his shoulder bag back on his shoulder and adjusts his glasses, which slide down his nose.

You stare at him motionless for a few seconds, speechless at the all-too-perfect likeness of the Tutoring Center manager’s description. He’s got a book under his arm, a Digimon t-shirt over a dark blue plaid shirt and an innocent look on his face — he really wasn’t wrong.

You blink. “Um… yeah. Whatever.”

You check that no one in the corridor of the quantum physics wing has left any students lying around who might surprise you with him, then let out an exhausted exhale.

Faced with his 6'3, you owe it to yourself to raise your eyes and chin a little higher.

“I need your help. You're the best physics student in the class, right?”

He turns the toe of his shoe as a tic on the floor and nods imperceptibly.

“Perfect. I’ve got a little problem right now and—”

“Do you need me to do an assignment for you?” he says almost as if trying to divine your thoughts — is that hope you see in his eyes?

“No.” You knit your brows. “I’m having a problem with my grades and I’m swamped with my event responsibilities and I'm starting to get grades...” You chew the inside of your cheek to hide your pride before muttering, “...pretty bad. And I don’t feel like being given help publicly.”

In his confused expression, you add, “Otherwise it would be a real shame...”

From his height, Satoru’s shyness almost flies away in a gust. He’s got you there at last. In front of him. Talking about something. Like a dream come true — a reality where he no longer knows what his name is but whatever.

He even perceives a blushing creeping up your cheeks as you drift your gaze a little lower to your own shoes and your lips crumple into an adorably embarrassed and frustrated little pout.

Then of course he’ll help you.

He would give you more if he could, and he promises to himself he’ll do it.

“So you need me as your secret tutor?” he clarifies so softly.

You look up at him, clearing your throat. “Basically… yeah.”

“Fine. I can do that.” A small smile spreads across his pink lips and he digs his hands into his jeans, which are a little baggy for him.

You flicker your eyes, confusion animating your features. “Is that all?”

“Do you need anything else?” And you’d have sworn you saw hope still shining in his ocean-blue irises.

“What? No,” you retort incredulously. “But don’t you need something in return? Like, money or something?”

“...No,” he exhales, reducing his smile — though it still lingers. “I don’t mind helping you. Just give me your free hours so we can set a date. If that’s okay with you, of course,” he hastens to add, as if afraid of upsetting you.

Your lips part slightly. “O-Okay,” you finally say. “I’d like to do this as soon as possible.”

“How about today?” Satoru suggests, with a little more enthusiasm than he had anticipated himself. “Or even now, if you want.”

“Now?”

“Yeah,” he says with a happy nod.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too earl—”

Barely ten minutes later, you find yourself sitting next to him once again in the library, which, for once, is not too crowded, pretending to have a casual conversation while, in reality, he is analyzing your failed test papers with an expert eye.

One elbow resting on the polished wooden table, one hand holding one of your sheets between his fingers, and the other with his index and thumb supporting his chin, Satoru lets his gaze travel line by line over your flawless handwriting—so much so that he forgets he’s supposed to be concentrating on helping you.

And not on the pretty way you write the letter ‘S,’ wondering how close he’d be to a cardiac arrest if he ever saw his name written by your hand.

When he finally manages to analyze the mistakes on your paper, Satoru straightens slightly in his seat, adjusting the collar of his unbuttoned shirt that suddenly seems to be strangling him with an invisible noose, despite his neck remaining completely free. His heart pounds at the speed of light — almost literally.

Calculations and formulas have always been child’s play for Satoru; his brain has always been wired for logic, rationality, and the addictive thrill of adrenaline coursing through his veins when he makes a new discovery, a new analysis that falls perfectly into place — like completing a puzzle and watching it come to life, or like a house of cards standing strong until the slightest imbalance brings it all crashing down.

You are the imbalance in Satoru’s logical and rational reasoning.

For Satoru, love is not a science. It’s just hormones that one must learn to control and not be fooled by.

And yet, even though he has devoted his body and soul to science, his heart will never cease to be yours — under your implacable and irrevocable hold.

Even with all the scientific weapons in the world, he will always be powerless before you.

With a flutter of snowy lashes, he returns to reality, setting his gaze on yours; persistent, waiting for him to say something, to give some kind of critique.

His mouth goes dry, heat rushes to his cheeks as he clears his throat, embarrassed.

“Well, uh... I guess we can start revisiting the notion of The Uncertainty Principle, if that’s okay with you.” He gives you a quick glance so unconfident that you restrain yourself from doing what you're thinking of: ripping off his adorable cheeks — adorable? Since when do you find nerds adorable?

“Okay,” you say, pulling a draft sheet closer.

As you move your chair closer to his to concentrate better thanks to the proximity, the effect is quite the opposite on poor Satoru. He nearly loses all composure when his trembling fingers close around his pencil.

“W-Well… Um, do you want me to give you a quick lesson on this again? You didn’t seem to grasp much of the concept.”

“If you can use simple words…” you mumble without much hope.

He swallows hard before explaining, “A rule in quantum physics says: you can’t know both the exact position and momentum of a particle at the same time. The more you know about one, the less you know about the other. Got it?”

You squint, uncertain, as you rest your chin in the hollow of your palm. “Mh-hmm…”

“So,” he draws two Delta symbols, each followed by an x and a p, then an equal sign, “this one represents the uncertainty in position while the other represents the uncertainty in momentum.” He leans slightly forward to clearly define the terms for you before breaking down the formula, trying not to sweat under the ghost of your breath caressing his hand because of how close you are.

“Okay. I don’t think I quite got all that.”

“It’s okay,” Satoru replies with a slight smile as he adjusts his glasses on his nose before returning to the sheet. “You confused uncertainty with actual errors in measurement, and you tried to calculate exact values for both position & momentum, which isn’t possible.” He draws an example of throwing a ball vs. tracking an electron. “You can’t pin down a quantum particle perfectly — it’s like me trying to figure out what you’re thinking all the time. Impossible, right?”

“...Right.”

“You don’t understand anything, right?” he sighs, a slight frown curling his lips.

“Honestly? Not a word,” you chuckle, a soft, honest melody that caresses his ears.

“Let’s make it more real for you, prez, then,” he snorts too, wiping away a big smile that deepens his dimples. “Imagine you’re running around campus planning this big Spring Formal thing. If I try to track exactly where you are at one moment, I have no clue where you’ll be the next second. But if I focus on how fast you’re moving between meetings, I can guess you’ll end up in the library… but I won’t know the exact second you get there. That’s basically the Uncertainty Principle — can’t have both at the same time.”

“Ohhhh, okay!” you say, a light illuminating your face. But a second later, your features drop. “But, wait… that doesn’t make sense. If we have better tools, we can just measure both, right?”

He chuckles softly. “Nope. Even if we had the best measuring tools in the universe, the universe itself won’t let us know both at the same time. It’s not a technology problem — it’s just how nature works.”

You groan, frustrated, and slump over your notes. “Physics is pain.”

He shakes his head, a lighter smile blooming on his lips. “You’ll get it, I promise. You just need time… and a good tutor.”

“You?” You snicker, but not meanly — just teasing him in this mood that feels so comfortable with him, something you never thought you’d experience. “You’re losing me more than I was before.”

You both sigh after a while, and he gives you a practice exercise, which you rush to complete so he can correct it.

For the first time in maybe weeks, or even months, you haven’t felt this light. Quantum physics has always been a difficult challenge to overcome, despite your habit of planning everything to avoid stress. But sometimes, doing everything alone has led you to not ask for help when you needed it the most.

So when someone reached out and showed you how relieving some of that weight could feel, the sensation sparked a desire in you — one that didn’t want this to end.

But you’re afraid it will make you dependent.

So it’s best not to get too attached, right?

~~~~

The following week, even though your understanding of quantum physics has somewhat improved, your stress refuses to do anything but skyrocket toward a full-blown anxiety attack.

Principal Yaga summoned you to his office because some students — the two you expelled last week — went to complain about your nervous and excessive behavior, claiming it warranted psychological support.

Outraged, you defended yourself by pointing out the inefficiency of your team, who fail to meet your needs without considering the mental load that comes with your responsibility as the student council president. And yet, that wasn’t enough to calm Yaga, who dismissed you with a stern reminder that if you don’t finalize the Spring Formal preparations soon, he won’t hesitate to replace you with a more competent organizer.

The mere thought — no, the haunting fear—of being replaced like a cheap supermarket doll plagues your nights with nightmares.

So, the obvious anxiety growing inside you bleeds into the most crucial moments — the moments when you’re supposed to stay focused instead of silently wallowing in your situation.

“Need help, prez?”

Ripped from your daze, you lift your gaze to the voice beside you, only now realizing that he’s been sitting next to you since the start of the lecture — completely unnoticed, completely ignored.

It’s Satoru, his laptop open in front of him, a small, friendly smile turned toward you—and only you. That tiny detail sends a strange, foreign wave through your stomach — not unpleasant, though.

“Oh, you’re here,” you mumble, turning your attention back to the professor.

“Since the very start, yes,” he replies, his voice softer now, tinged with a faint hint of disappointment as he twirls his pencil between his long, nimble fingers.

A silence settles between you, neither of you seeming inclined to break it.

In the lecture hall, only the sound of keyboards clicking and the amplified voice of the professor fill the large room. You try your best to follow along, scribbling notes as diligently as you can, but at this point, it feels like trying to form words by randomly pressing keys — you understand nothing.

“Need help?”

You slowly lift your head toward the familiar voice.

“You can explain it to me later, you know?” you mutter, careful not to let anyone else overhear your conversation — it could cost you.

“And we could save time by explaining it now.” His tone is soft, rational, kind, altruistic — every synonym that embodies maturity and gentle responsibility.

He’s made of sugar. Just for you.

You sigh, finally giving in with a nod, as Satoru flips his laptop into tablet mode to explain the purpose of the chapter — the name of which you’ve only just learned, despite an hour and a half of lecture on Wave-Particle Duality.

“So,” he says, writing the formula on his tablet with a stylus. “The general concept is quite easy. Quantum objects — like electrons — can act as both particles and waves, okay?”

You nod, leaning in closer to his shoulder to observe the definitions of the formula’s terms — a faint scent brushes against your senses. Clean laundry and a subtle drop of cologne. The scent imprints itself in your lungs pleasantly enough that you have to mentally slap yourself to keep from getting distracted from Satoru’s explanations.

He glances at you with those sharp blue eyes and raises an eyebrow. “You know what wavelength means?”

“It’s just for light, right?”

He snorts quietly. “Particles.”

“Oh.”

He holds back another laugh and continues his explanations.

Several minutes later, you find your eyes glued — no, entranced — by Satoru, this nerd with glasses that hide a brain far too brilliant for you. Maybe even for the entire university.

You notice it in everything he does — setting aside his physical appearance, which you’re starting to find cuter and cuter without even realizing it — every cell of his body breathes science, logic, the thirst for discovery. His brain analyzes every possibility, his fingers manipulate rationality, and his glasses help him weigh the pros and cons. His long, straight nose gives him an infallible instinct, a sixth sense that never fails, and his smile — his pretty, thin, pink lips—illuminate hypotheses with a dangerously innocent charm.

But he himself doesn’t even realize it.

“See? It’s like… imagine if you could be both a super serious president and a total mess at physics at the same time. Oh wait — that’s already happening,” he teases, a playful, cute smile blooming on his lips as he glances at you with sparkles in his eyes.

Oh, that damn smile.

And without meaning to, you join in his laughter, covering your mouth with your palm so as not to be heard as, for the first time in weeks, a weight is lifted from your shoulders. The little analogy that might have irritated you a few days ago seems silly to you. Why do it when he’s here?

The bell rings, announcing the end of class, and the hubbub of the students urges you to put your things away as much as possible before the teacher gives you more homework than you already have just to understand the lecture.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you make your way towards the exit, at the end of the herd of students who have made you lose sight of Satoru. A little disappointment contracts your heart, but after all, why should he be waiting for you? There was no need. You’re not friends. Just two students who are nice to each other (well, mostly Satoru).

So as you walk out of the lecture hall, you almost come face to face with a 6’3. Your nose collides painfully with a hard, bumpy surface — wait, of abs?

Impossible.

A hand much larger than yours wraps around your elbow to steady you and meets your eyes down on your wincing face.

“Oops, sorry,” Satoru apologizes as his smile evaporates. “Are you okay? I just wanted to wait for you.”

Was it abs?

“No worries, I'm fine,” you assure with a smile as self-conscious as it is forced, one hand rubbing your sore nose. “That's sweet.” Then you look away to calm the blush that spreads like a puddle from your neck to your scalp and pray it's unseen.

“You sure?” he insists with a concerned frown.

“...Sure.”

Once your face has cooled, your eyes stare at the spot on his torso where your nose collided. That flat spot under the shirt that appears a little less to you now, seen up close. It's as if with every swell of his breath, you can see the beginnings of an abdominal bulge, but you shake your head to get this far-fetched idea out of your head.

Letting your hand fall back, you offer him a more confident smile and lead the way. “Shall we?”

With a slower nod, he follows you.

To bridge the silence between the two of you in the deserted corridors, you nudge him in the ribs and say, “You know, I still don’t get how you find physics fun.”

He feigns pain and smirks — does he only smile when he’s with you?

“I don’t find it fun, strictly speaking, but really very interesting. At least, enough to make me face my major.” He pauses to give you a teasing look. “And I still don’t get how you survive on four hours of sleep.”

“I am a vampire,” you grin stupidly, “I love working at night. I feel productive.”

“I see that. Your bags speak for you,” he chortles.

“For real?” you mouth, running your fingers over your dark circles as if to check his words when it makes more sense to look in the mirror rather than feel you up.

“Just joking,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze on the floor a second before looking up back at you. “But you seem very stressed lately, am I wrong?”

You don’t answer right away, reluctant to tell him about your doubts and what’s been bothering you for weeks. But you can. This is just two friends from the same quantum physics class strolling around campus at the end of a long day, isn’t it?

But maybe not close enough for him to be really interested in you? Maybe he’s just asking questions out of politeness and not out of any real concern for you. After all, you’re not really close.

“It's alright, just uni and student council stuff, as always,” you murmur with averted eyes. “We also need to plan our next tutoring session.”

“Yeah...” Satoru shoves his hands in his pockets and lets silence fill the gap between the two of you before resuming. “Maybe we could do it somewhere else this time, couldn’t we?” he offers without much hope in his voice.

You knit your brows. “What?”

“I mean... do you—uh, never mind.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Huh?”

He seems to chicken out and look away but you catch it before he could hide it — the tips of his ears are red.

“Nothing. Just... you’re really into this whole Spring Formal thing, huh?” he mumbles.

“Of course. I have a lot of work to do on it. But what were you asking me?” you insist with a softer tone and your hand wrapping around his arm — remarkably built, you note internally.

He finally twists his neck toward you to face you, lips pursed into a conflicted pout.

“You’re going to refuse.”

“You didn’t even try to ask,” you almost in a mid gasp and chuckle.

He runs a hand through his tousled snowy hair, then slips it around the back of his neck, rubbing it like a nervous tic. “I see that you’re stressed — even if you deny it. So would you accept to... maybe do work on our tutoring lessons in a better place?” He panics slightly under your unfathomable gaze, just waiting for the next part of his words. “I mean... I know a place where it could be less stressful and more relaxing because you deserve it... But of course,” he adds hastily, “it doesn’t commit you to anything and you don’t have to accept and we can totally carry on doing it at the library because really it’s just a stupid idea and I should just keep my mouth shut—”

“Satoru.”

His heart stops beating and he thinks his brain has short-circuited as he realizes it’s the first time you've said his first name in that tone.

Softly, reassuringly, and with obvious joy.

“Of course I’d like to work with you somewhere else. It means a lot to me that you thought of me like that,” you say softly as you stop in front of some stairs so you can look him straight in the eye. “I can give you my phone number and you’ll just have to send me the address, how’s that?”

Okay. His brain really has just short-circuited.

He doesn’t even remember how he managed to hand you his phone and record your number, wish you a good evening and return to his dormitory after being subjected to your beaming smile — of a particular radiance he’s never seen before on your face in all the time, however long, he’s spent gazing at you wherever you are — radiant even.

Lying on his bed, he stares at the ceiling. The silent night allows his thoughts to grow louder, as if several were trying to express themselves at once.

However, one image takes root in his eyelids when he closes them before sleeping.

You.

~~~~

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Do you really need to make this even more embarrassing?”

You shake your head. “It’s not fair.”

His features sag, and he lets out a tiny sigh. “Just please, accept it. I made it for you.”

At your feet lies a picnic blanket with red and white checkered patterns. On top of it are homemade sandwiches, cans of fruit juice, berries, cakes, and even a tub of ice cream resting inside a mini cooler. Satoru has even arranged the space to avoid a chaotic mess while working and has brought ultra-comfortable cushions to make the tutoring session as pleasant as possible.

He can’t do this.

Not with you, who arrived at the quiet, sparsely crowded city park, right under the most magnificent Japanese cherry blossom tree.

The cool breeze blows gently around you both, sweeping away a few strands of your hair that you’re forced to tuck behind your ears.

“Sit your ass down,” Satoru mumbles, looking away to hide an obvious embarrassment, though his hand pats the empty space he left just for you.

So, reluctantly, you sit cross-legged, grabbing a random sandwich — just so he won’t sulk — and try not to cry because it’s so ridiculously delicious. The berries couldn’t be fresher or juicier than any you’ve ever tasted, and not to mention the cakes he brought. The majority of the food is sweet — his sweet tooth showing up a little too obviously.

“Hope it tastes good,” he adds, his lips forming a slight pout.

“Never ate something that good,” you respond, mouth full of food. “You’re an angel.”

The word makes him freeze for a solid thirty seconds before he shakes his head and lets his gaze drift away — always avoiding — toward the nearby lake.

The ground is sprinkled with pale pink petals, blending into the vibrant green grass of this March afternoon. A few birds chirp in the distance, hardly anyone comes near your secluded spot, and the peaceful silence reigning over the park creates the perfect environment for getting work done.

Swallowing his own mochi, Satoru watches you take out your notes on the latest physics chapter, and instead of sitting across from you, he allows himself to settle beside you this time — without you pulling away.

He was hesitant from the start and may never be able to stop feeling nervous around you. No matter how often he’s around you or how much more familiar he grows with your presence, he can’t control those sudden spikes of nervousness that hit when he’s already comfortable — only for one small action or movement to give his poor little heart a crisis.

You hand him the exercises you worked on last night, and while he reviews them, you take out your planner and notepad — the ones you carry everywhere (even to bed and the bathroom)—to go over the organization of the upcoming Spring Formal.

An event that’s happening soon. An event with absolutely nothing planned yet.

You quietly jot down notes on possible themes, but after another glance at the endless, sprawling branches of the massive cherry tree, you sigh and toss your notepad aside onto the picnic blanket. No ideas in sight. You have no choice but to admit your incompetence. Your failure is inevitable.

“Here.” Satoru hands you back your corrected exercises, and you quickly scan through them.

Since the beginning of your sessions with him, you have to admit — you’ve improved.

This time, there are fewer scribbles and corrections from Satoru. Your formulas and applications are more precise, clearer, and better developed. All thanks to your hard work and Satoru’s expert guidance — the science genius himself.

There are still some non-negligible mistakes to fix, but at least the encouraging smile from your tutor warms your chest, silently telling you that you’re on the right track.

“This is really not bad,” he murmurs softly near your shoulder. “You’re seriously improving.”

“Thanks to my good tutor,” you reply, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

“What flattery. I don’t deserve this much.” Yet his so-called humility is betrayed by the deep red blush dusting his ears.

“Quite the opposite. I wish I could pay you back somehow.”

“You don’t need to. I told you it was my pleasure to help you.”

“And I feel bad about it,” you confess in a whisper.

“Don’t,” he insists — and dares to wrap his slightly trembling, warm hand over yours on the blanket.

Your heart flutters, like a butterfly trying to take flight, only to be tossed around by the wind.

“Thank you,” you whisper, with more honesty than you’ve ever given anyone.

“For being a good friend? Don’t worry, I’m glad to have you as well, honestly,” he murmurs back, punctuating his words with a light squeeze of your hand.

“And I—” he clears his throat, “...really appreciate you.”

Friends. Appreciate you.

“I appreciate you too. Really. I’m sorry if I mess up every move you try with me to help me,” you add with an apologetic smile. “Stress always ruins my life.”

“I told you that you couldn't deny it.” He raises his eyebrows and lift up an uncertain arm — seeing you not reacting has reassured him enough to pluck up the courage to pass it around you to console you. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You let yourself go against him, burying half your face against him. “I’m in deep shit about organizing the Spring Formal. I haven’t prepared anything, I have no idea, and yet I’ve got plenty to do. Mr. Yaga warned me that he might replace me if I went on like this, and I feel like everything’s going to shit,” you say in a breath, a tiny barrier of vulnerability cracking.

His arm tightens in an attempt at comfort. He nods slowly, inhaling long breaths of fresh air before making a clicking sound with his tongue.

“Where’s your notepad?”

You hand it to him without protest, and he immediately grabs it and flips through it. Then, when he finds a blank page, he grabs a pen lying near the two of you and jots down a few sentences, the words of which you can only read when he hands you the notebook.

“An alignment of the planets?” You raise a curious, surprised eyebrow.

He nods with his chin and sketches a smile.

“It only happens in spring, practically. And there will be one before long.” He squeezes his arm around you again and chuckles. “A theme about planets might be nice, don’t you think?”

Lips parted, you gaze into the azure sky. Himself a little disarmed by your lack of reaction, he frowns without giving up his smile and softly pronounces your first name.

With zero control over your movements, there’s nothing to stop your lips from pressing tenderly against Satoru’s smooth, soft cheek — a firm but gentle kiss leaving an invisible, indelible trace on his radiant skin as you pull away to look into his eyes again.

“You're an angel,” you repeat a second time.

Well, the second time too, when Satoru’s heart, no longer knowing how to beat, simply stops beating.

~~~~

“Move them a little more to the right— Yes, that’s perfect.”

Your trusty notepad clutched against your chest, you admire the preparations unfolding in the venue for the upcoming Spring Formal, where the theme of planetary alignment is set to make this year’s university event truly unforgettable.

Finally, you’re no longer spending your time yelling at your team and barking orders fueled by the vibrant sparks of your stress. Instead, you’re giving clear instructions, each one accompanied by an encouraging smile for everyone.

“Maybe we could add midnight blue velvet curtains,” Satoru suggests, leaning over your shoulder, his chest brushing pleasantly against your back as he glances at the list of missing decoration orders. “We could stick fake stars on them, and it’ll draw more attention to the planets. What do you think?”

“I like the idea,” you giggle, despite the way your insides somersault when his warm breath grazes your ear, sending waves of goosebumps down your skin. You jot down a few notes as Satoru leans in even closer, gently resting his chin on your shoulder. “Not surprising, coming from the quantum physics genius of the entire university.”

Even though there’s nothing official between you — not if you ignore the feelings and trust that make Satoru more confident and relaxed in your presence — nor any concrete relationship, the warm intimacy settling between you two is anything but uncomfortable.

It’s like a mutual friendship, fully acknowledged by both of you, yet intertwined with threads of love left unspoken — often betrayed by moments of closeness like this one.

“You’re gonna make me blush again,” he admits with a light laugh, soft and delicate as a cherry blossom petal.

“Oh yeah?” You turn your head toward his — just enough for your faces to be so close that the tips of your noses brush. “Why?”

He sighs, fluttering his eyes closed for a brief moment before opening them again. “You know why…”

“I’m clueless when it comes to guessing thoughts, my hot nerd tutor,” you coo, a little grin spreading across your lips — those same lips he wanted to kiss until he couldn’t breathe anymore for the rest of his life.

“Maybe I could show you, then.” And gently, he places his hands around your waist, an easy, soothing smile on his face. “Is that okay if I do that?” After your nod, his smile grows even wider. “Also, could we do our next session at my place? I can’t stay at the library today because my mom is waiting for a package while she’s at work, so she asked me to take care of it.”

“Of course.” You take note of his suggestion while the rest of your team rushes to decorate the room and move boxes — some opened, some not. Then, you turn back to him, feeling the slight tremor of his hands against your body, the way the blood rushes alarmingly fast to his face, and how his eyes avoid yours.

“Blushing?” you giggle.

“You’re not embarrassed? I mean— It’s my place, not my dorm or the library, you know,” he mumbles.

You graze a kiss on his soft cheek and grin. “You’re freaking cute.”

“I’m not joking,” he whines lowly, a small, worried furrow forming between his brows.

“As am I.” You give his arm a little squeeze. “Everything’s gonna be alright. I don’t mind having you all alone in your house, though.”

And you burst into laughter when he chokes on his own saliva at your words — having never seen someone turn so red before.

~~~~

“I knew you liked physics, but not that much.”

Before coming to set foot in Satoru’s room for the first time, you expected to be dealing with a simple, uncluttered, organized room, and above all far more filled with bookcases overflowing with books rather than...

...the opposite.

Stepping into Satoru’s room feels like entering a nerdy galaxy of controlled chaos. His desk is cluttered with thick physics textbooks, some stacked neatly, others left open mid-read, pages filled with complex equations you can’t even begin to understand. Among them, a few manga volumes peek out, half-hidden like a guilty pleasure. Above, a whiteboard covered in messy formulas and doodles dominates the wall, the marker strokes chaotic but somehow full of purpose. His ceiling is scattered with glow-in-the-dark stars, forming actual constellations if you look closely, and a floating moon lamp sat on his nightstand, casting a soft glow over his unmade bed.

Everywhere you turn, there is something to mess with — a plasma ball that lit up at your touch, a Newton’s Cradle clicking rhythmically on his desk, even a weird futuristic clock displaying time in some incomprehensible format. His monitors hum with life, one running a sci-fi screensaver while another had what looks like a physics simulation he’d probably forgotten about. 

And yet, despite the overwhelming nerd energy, it was… comfortable. Lived-in. A place where ideas sparked and theories came to life — exactly what you could imagine his space would be if you’d thought things through a bit more.

“Wow,” you murmur, entranced. “It’s… just beautiful. Like a museum.”

“Heh? You’re flattering me really too much,” he chuckles nervously, scratching his neck where his undercut is. “But I’m glad if you like it. I want you to feel home,” he adds softly.

“Home?” You turn to him with a slightly embarrassed and moved smile. “You’re my home, actually.”

Nothing you say makes sense. Your racing heart lets your mouth babble nonsense and scare Satoru away. You’re far too embarrassing—

“I feel the same for you.”

Like a needle piercing a balloon, your vital organ explodes in your chest.

The next second, your brain regains control and orders your legs to move towards him, until your torsos brush against each other and your breaths mingle, giving birth to a gentle flame that burns only to be consumed.

Satoru whispers your name. “Can I try something?” he mouths.

You nod imperceptibly, your gaze lost in his ocean eyes.

Tenderly and with the most delicate gentleness, he cups your cheeks, tilting your head so that your face faces directly forehead to his. So close, you have a detailed view of the number of his light eyelashes, the different shades of blue mingling in his irises, the pleasant warmth of his tepid breath against you.

Then, his lips brush yours first, as if testing your reaction. But when your fingers latch onto his light-brown V-neck sweater, he feels the pressure rise in his blood and slowly, but suddenly, crushes his lips against yours.

It’s not rushed — just a soft press of lips, tentative, almost careful. As if he's afraid of breaking something fragile. So to encourage him, you sigh softly in contentment, then tilt your head the slightest bit to fit better, closer... Your hands remain gently clasped to his sweater.

He seems to get your message, because the next thing you know, he’s relaxing, moving more slowly and comfortably against yours. The world outside that moment doesn’t exist. Just him, just this — his lips, softer than you expected, the careful way he kisses you, as if he is memorizing every second of it. Time stretches thin, and even when you finally pull apart, neither of you move far.

Slowly, you open your eyes, only to find him already looking at you. His gaze is different now — quieter, warmer, like he is seeing you in a way he never had before.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence is soft, not awkward, filled with a kind of understanding that doesn’t need words. And then, just barely above a whisper, Satoru exhales a quiet, shaky laugh.

“Oh.”

Just that — like he hasn’t expected this, like he’s still processing the fact that it happened at all. And maybe it’s the way he looks at you, stunned and a little breathless, or maybe it’s just the warmth still lingering between you, but you find yourself smiling, a tiny, barely-there curve of your lips.

“Yeah,” you murmur back, voice quieter and warmer than you intended.

Neither of you moved away. Not yet.

You lower your head, a hot flush creeping up your cheeks and neck, and that's when you also understand where his “oh” is coming from.

Oh.

While he turns away to hide his face in his hands and prays to be buried in a grave on the spot, you burst out laughing — a frank, non-judgmental laugh. Simply savoring this pleasant moment with him (albeit with one small problem).

“Just with a kiss? Satoru, I swear you’re the cutest!” you continue to laugh, half-folding with your arms hugging your belly.

“It’s not f-funny!” And the poor guy doesn’t even dare turn around as he adjusts his pants, which is where his “problem” lies.

Smiling, you move closer to him, your lips still prickling from the perfect kiss. One of your hands slips to his shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he mumbles, hiding his face again from your sight.

“It is,” you insist, wrapping your hand around his wrist to look at him. “I’m not judging you, I swear. It’s not like you can control that, is it?”

“I know, but— It’s so embarrassing. I feel like a poor virgin nerd that — well, It’s not like I am not but—”

You freeze, slowly losing your smile. “Wait… you’re a virgin?”

He nods, a little shameful pout creasing his lips.

“I—” you trail off. Taking a short breath, you lower yourself a little more to look at him as he covers his crotch with one hand. “I can help you with that, you know.”

His eyes widen, heart hammering in his rib cage. “W-What?”

An umpteenth laugh shakes your chest. “I mean, yeah. I don’t mind and I like you.” Then an idea pops into your head, like a lamp regaining its light. “Like, it would make up for the effort you put into helping me get good grades. What do you think?”

He straightens abruptly and gently but firmly pushes your hand away by the wrist. A serious look despite his embrace adds.

“No way. I already told you I don’t want anything in return.”

“But it’s just to please you,” you insist, flickering your eyes. “Don’t you want to know how it feels?” You take a few steps forward until you can wrap your arms around his perfect torso — the ideal balance of slim and muscular.

Your chin rests on his breastbone, a little imploring pout on your lips.

“C’mon, just an oral, I promise. I want to return the favor.”

He swallows hard, lips parted as if the words are stuck somewhere between embarrassment and want. His gaze flickers between your face and the floor, a mix of reluctance and curiosity in his eyes.

“But I—” His voice cracks slightly, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I don’t know what I’m doing…”

You smile, a quiet, knowing smile, and slide your fingers slowly down his arm, your touch lingering on his skin. “It’s okay,” you say, your breath barely above a whisper. “I’ll guide you.”

You can see him shiver at the words, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You take your time, moving in closer, making sure to leave no space between you. Your lips brush against his jaw, a delicate kiss that makes his entire body stiffen for a split second. He doesn’t pull away, though, and that’s enough to encourage you to go further.

“Just relax,” you tease, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “I promise I’m not going to bite.”

“I know, I just need to sit a bit,” he whispers, a wave of uncertainty in his eyes.

You pull away from him, feeling the palpable tension between the two of you. “Of course.” You take his hand in yours and guide him onto his bed. When he sits down on the mattress, you find yourself kneeling between his legs.

As your hands busily unzip his straight gray twill pants, you maintain eye contact. “Tell me if it’s too much or if you wanna stop, okay love?”

Love.

He nods gently, his elbows pressed into the softness of the mattress to get a view of your movements without him lying down completely. Lips trembling, Satoru feels obliged to bite them to calm himself as the heat almost suffocates him while all he has left is his boxer shorts hiding his growing erection under the thin fabric.

You can feel the air thickening between you, charged with the kind of quiet intensity that makes your pulse race. Your fingertips wrap around the waistband of his boxers and tug them down gently, letting the fabric rub against his length while he’s hissing.

“Sweetheart—”

“Relax, I’m just getting started,” you chuckle fondly.

When the underwear is pulled down, his erection springs free, slamming on his half-covered abdomen. The poor little thing, left alone, twitches painfully — dragging sounds like cute and innocent whimpers from Satoru — like it’s begging for your touch for a decade.

You curl your lips together, genuinely stunned by his size. 7 inches isn’t nothing.

“So you’re packing this from the start?”

“I— No…” He sighs, clenching his jaw as his eyes flutter closed. “Please, it’s already embarrassing.”

“But why? You’re beautiful, Satoru. And I’m not talking about your dick,” you snort. Your gentle, affectionate tone makes Satoru forget how to breathe and open his eyes again. “You’re beautiful on the inside too.”

“You’re only flattering—”

“I am not,” you state firmly, getting up from your knees to straddle his hips and cup his cheeks until they puff like mochi’s and he’s pouting.

Fucking adorable.

“Have you ever been into a relationship?” you whisper after pecking a kiss on the corner of his lips.

He shakes his head, stuttering a no.

“So  can I call you mine? Because I’d be yours if I could,” you mutter next to his jaw where you peck another kiss that makes him shiver and grip your hips with his hands.

He opens his mouth to say something and hesitates. “A-Are you sure?” he asks, eyes filled with doubt. ‘I’m a nerd and—”

“And my type is nerd guys,” you cut him off before pulling him into a passionate kiss. He gasps, tightening his grip on your as his lips gently taste your and steal his breath away. “I love you, Satoru.”

“Love you more. Since the first time I laid my eyes on you,” he murmurs back between kisses, eyelids shut.

You slightly pull away, a smile springing to your lips. “Pinning on me for so long? Aw, sorry to have been blind for this long too, then.”

He resists the urge to take you in his arms and lets you back down onto your knees, this time with his oversensitive cock throbbing in your hands as you begin to stroke it up and down, base to tip with all the slowness you can manage so as not to make him cum too quickly.

Satoru’s hips jerk up instantly, his chest rising and lowering because of his stuttering breath.

“Your hands feel so good and soft,” he whispers, sliding his big hands up to your shoulders, which he gently massages to relax you too. What a gentleman. “So much better than mine…”

“Yeah? You like it?” Eager to please him for his first time, you place a kiss on his angry red tip, licking a little strop with the tip of your own tongue.

“Hgn— easy,” he pants, hands shaking slightly as they interrupt their massages on your shoulders when yours lead them on your head, tangled with your locks. “What are you—”

“You can use my hair, if you want.” And you punctuate your words by taking his length back between your hands and kiss the fat head. It twitches in response, stealing little giggles from your sweet lips. Beads of precum leak along his length, helping you to wet him enough to stroke him faster as you part your lips and slide them down the length of him.

Satoru’s breath hitches when you take him, sucking in slow, deep strokes as your hand grips the base of him. You pull back slightly, your lips sliding back up, and you hear him groan, a sound that makes you ache. You repeat the motion, taking him deeper, sucking harder as you run your tongue along the underside of his cock, feeling him twitch in your mouth before you pull back again.

“Feel good?” you ask sweetly.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes out — even whimpering in neediness, “thank you so much…” His hands tighten in your hair, pulling you even closer, but it’s not enough.

You don’t stop. Instead, you take him deeper, your lips tightening around him as you move faster, the sound of your mouth on his cock filling the room, drowning out everything else. Satoru’s breath grows shallow, irregular, his body starting to tense, his legs flexing as he tries to hold back.

But you can feel it. The way he is so close, the way his body is winding tighter with every flick of your tongue. His fingers pulled at your hair, unsure to guide you just how he wants because what you were doing is already something he’ll owe you all his entire life — he is desperate, needing his release.

“F-Fuck,” he stutters, fingers digging in your scalp deliciously for you pleasure. “I love you, but please, g’nna—”

“—cum? Yeah, do it, love,” you purr affectionately as you teasingly suck his sensitive tip until he’s whining and fighting for his hips to not thrust up and hurt you.

He is there — at the edge — his cock twitching in your mouth, and you know he can’t hold on much longer. With one last deep, slow pull, he cums, his hips jerking as he releases into your mouth with a long, desperate groan. You swallow every drop, sucking him clean, your hands gently massaging his thighs as he slowly comes down from the high.

Satoru’s breath is ragged, his body shuddering as he slowly opens his eyes. He looks at you like you’re some sort of angel from heaven, and you smile, wiping the corner of your mouth before standing up.

“Feel better?” you ask teasingly, your voice light despite the heat still pooling in your stomach.

He sighs deeply, rubbing his eyes before carefully sitting up and hugs you in a tight embrace. He blows kisses all over your face, murmuring thank yous and how much he loves you and you find yourself in awe.

“You’re welcome, it’s the least that I can do for you, after all.” You press a big, firm, and sincere kiss on his cheek, and cannot stop smiling.

~~~~

The main room is bathed in a deep blue, soft, ambient light, the atmosphere almost otherworldly. Stars shimmer faintly on the walls, and delicate, hanging lanterns cast a stunning cold glow, like constellations scattered across the ceiling. The whole room seems alive, breathing with energy, as guests drift through the space, their laughter and chatter blending into a gentle hum.

At the center of the hall are huge telescopes, available for anyone curious enough to observe tonight’s planet alignment. The most important event of the Spring Formal.

Around the perimeter, tables are set with shimmering candles, their flames flickering softly, casting shadows on the faces of the students who’ve come to admire the setup. The smell of roses and lavender lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of freshly baked treats at the snack table. It feels like a dream — a celebration of the night sky brought to life.

Satoru stands beside you, his hand lightly brushing against yours as you both take in the beauty of the room. His smile is small but warm, his gaze drifting from the decorations to the crowd. There’s an unspoken pride in the way he looks at you, knowing you had a hand in making all of this happen, bringing the theme of the planets to life with such care.

“This is... perfect,” he says, voice soft but full of admiration. His words are simple, but they carry weight. You feel a soft warmth settle in your chest at the sincerity in his tone.

A small smile blooms on your lips. “Yeah…” you agree, turning to face him fully, now a grin spreading across your face. “It really turned out great. Thanks to you.”

His cheeks tint pink at the praise, and he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but the pride in his eyes is unmistakable.

“You really made this all come together,” he says, voice full of admiration. “It’s amazing.”

For a moment, you simply smile at each other, a comfortable silence settling between you. The warmth of his gaze makes your heart flutter in your chest.

“Want to dance?” you ask, already knowing his answer, but wanting to ask all the same.

He hesitates for a moment, that same shy, unsure side of him creeping back, but the smile on his lips says everything.

“Yeah,” he says, his hand finding yours once again, this time with more confidence. “I’d love to.”

As you both step onto the dance floor, the lights change again, and for a moment, the two of you are surrounded by the glow of the stars and lanterns, your bodies moving to the soft music that fills the room. It’s not a fast, frantic dance — just slow and gentle, like you’re in your own little world. You feel the gentle sway of the music, and the weight of everything around you fades, leaving just the two of you in perfect harmony.

Maybe it’s the magic of the planets aligning, or maybe it’s just him — but either way, you think, you wouldn’t mind orbiting around Gojo Satoru a little longer.

a/n: there we go! I AM DRAINED BC OF SCHOOL AND COURSES GUIDANCE BC LAW IS SO HARDDDD!! hum hum, beside that, i hope you guys had a nice week and that you are all taking care of your little faces (if not i'm gonna do it for you). writing this felt like... refreshing? i mean, nerdjo is the little mochi i'm eating when i go to the supermarket lol. and gosh, he's so cute that i'm going crazy haha.

reblogs, comments, and likes are very appreciated as always <3

also, this is how i pictured this cutie pie:

tags: @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wisheclairr @sanemistar @monokaix

[shimmerandink]

Between two worlds pt 2

Ekko x Piltover! Reader

Angst/fluff

Tags: Ekko x reader, piltover reader, conflict, sfw, angst, fluff, forbidden love

Summary: After getting conflicted you take your separate ways, however, the distance is to much for you to handle

The taste of him lingered on your lips, hot, desperate, and reckless. For a brief moment, it felt like the world had shifted, as if nothing mattered but that kiss. But reality had a way of crashing back in, much harder than you had hoped.

A voice cut through the air, sharp and accusatory. “What the hell is this, Ekko?”

You pulled away instantly, your heart pounding. Ekko’s grip on you tightened for just a second before he reluctantly let go, his golden eyes filled with shock and frustration.

Turning slowly, you saw Jace standing in the doorway, his expression tense, his posture stiff with disbelief. His eyes flickered from you to Ekko, narrowing as the weight of the situation sunk in.

Ekko took a deep breath, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. “Jace, it’s not what you think—”

“Not what I think?” Jace cut him off, stepping further into the room. “You’re kissing a topsider? Are you out of your damn mind, Ekko?” His voice was low, but every word hit with the force of a slap. “This could get us all killed.”

You felt a cold knot form in your stomach. The passion you’d felt just moments before evaporated, replaced by a surge of guilt and fear.

“I know what I’m doing,” Ekko said, his voice firm, but there was an edge to it now. He looked at you, as if trying to convey something unspoken, something that had always been between you two, something that couldn’t be undone.

But Jace wasn’t convinced. “Ekko, you’re not just risking your life here. You’re risking everything. We can’t afford to play these games, not now, not with them.” He jabbed his finger in your direction, a sneer twisting his lips.

You flinched, even though you knew it wasn’t directed at you. Still, it stung. The reminder that you didn’t belong here, that you were just a pawn in a world you didn’t fully understand, made you feel small, helpless.

Ekko stood his ground, but his jaw tightened, the weight of the decision clearly weighing on him. “I’m not playing games, Jace. I don’t expect you to understand, but she’s not just some ‘topsider.’ She’s...” He paused, his voice faltering for a split second. “She’s not the enemy.”

You caught your breath, looking between the two men, Jace, with his loyalty to the Firelights, and Ekko, who had always been a fighter, but now seemed torn between two worlds.

“You’re making a mistake,” Jace warned, his voice a mix of frustration and fear. “This isn’t just about us anymore. It’s about everyone. You’re risking the Firelights, Ekko. And for what? A kiss?”

It stung more than you wanted to admit. You could feel the tension building, the chasm growing between you and Ekko, even though you were so close.

Ekko turned toward you, his eyes softer now, filled with something deeper than frustration. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m not going to just walk away from this.” He shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t.”

You swallowed hard, your emotions a tangled mess inside you. “Maybe we should both walk away,” you said quietly, not sure if you were talking to Ekko or to yourself. “Maybe this was never meant to be.”

Ekko’s gaze hardened, but there was something else beneath it, regret, pain, and the weight of everything he had to lose. “Don’t say that. You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You took a step back, your chest tight, your heart aching. “I never should’ve come here. I never should’ve gotten close.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating the room with an unspoken truth. You didn’t belong here. You never had. And now, you were both caught in something far too dangerous to continue.

The space between you and Ekko felt like an eternity now, the fragile connection you had built in moments of stolen glances and whispered words slipping further away with every passing second.

Jace’s presence loomed over the room, but it was Ekko’s silence that truly choked the air. His eyes flickered toward you briefly, but there was something different about them now, a sharp edge, a distance that hadn’t been there before.

“I can’t do this,” Ekko muttered, his voice low but steady. “Not like this.”

You didn’t understand at first, your heart pounding in your chest as you searched his face for some trace of the warmth he had shown just moments ago. The man who kissed you, who promised there was more than just the Firelight cause, more than just a world of endless fights. But now, it felt like he was closing himself off from you, a wall rising between you faster than you could react.

“What do you mean?” you asked, voice trembling despite your best efforts to remain composed.

“I mean…” He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, before turning away from you. “I’m not gonna let you get caught up in this, not when I can’t promise you anything. You have to leave.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. “Ekko…” Your voice broke, the emotion bubbling up despite your attempts to stay calm. You hadn’t wanted this. You hadn’t asked for this chaos. But now it was here. And it was like a heavy weight, crushing your chest.

“No. You don’t understand.” Ekko turned back to face you, his eyes soft but filled with conflict. “This is bigger than us. You’re a target, and I won’t let you get hurt because of me.” His voice grew more intense as he took a step closer, but not enough to close the distance completely. “I’m not just a kid from the Undercity anymore. I’m leading the Firelights, and we’re at war. If anyone finds out, if anyone thinks you’re aligned with me...” He didn’t need to finish the thought. The danger was clear.

A knot formed in your throat, but you refused to let it show. “So that’s it? You’re just going to push me away? Like I’m nothing?”

Ekko flinched at the words, his expression pained. “It’s not like that. I—” He paused, looking like he was searching for the right words, but nothing came. “I’m doing this to keep you safe. You don’t deserve to be dragged into this.”

The frustration you felt surged to the surface. “I’m not some fragile thing that needs protection, Ekko. I’m not going anywhere. You can’t just decide what’s best for me!”

He winced at the fire in your voice, clearly torn, but he didn’t back down. “You’re wrong. I can decide. And I’m deciding this—for you.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The weight of his decision sat between you like an invisible wall, pushing you further away from him with each passing moment.

“I can’t just leave,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him. You weren’t sure if it was the shock or the rising anger that kept you rooted to the spot, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

“Maybe you should,” Ekko muttered, his voice thick with emotion as he finally turned away. “You should go back to Piltover, where you belong. You don’t belong here, not with me.”

The finality in his tone cut through you like a knife. You had never imagined that the man you’d trusted, the one who had pulled you into this world, would be the one to shut the door on you.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You stood there, watching him retreat into his thoughts, feeling more isolated than ever. His choice was made. And in the back of your mind, you knew he was right. This was dangerous. You were dangerous to him.

But that didn’t mean you were ready to walk away.

----------

For days, you stayed away from Ekko, even though every part of you screamed to reach out to him. You threw yourself into your work, into the city of Piltover and its constant hustle, trying to drown out the nagging feeling in your chest.

You had tried to move on. But with every passing day, it only got harder. The city felt emptier without Ekko, the weight of his absence pressing down on you every time you walked through the streets you had once shared together.

You thought you understood why he had pushed you away. He was trying to protect you. But was it worth it? Was it worth losing him? You couldn’t answer that yet. Not until you saw him again.

You didn’t expect it. The knock on your door came in the middle of the night, a sound you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever. Hesitant, you stood up, your heart racing as you made your way to the door. When you opened it, there he was. Ekko, standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his eyes still carrying the same weight of conflict you had seen the last time you saw him.

But this time, something was different.

“I couldn’t stay away,” Ekko said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m not asking you to come back. I’m not asking you to understand. I just... I needed to see you one more time.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air was thick with the unsaid things between you. You both knew that this meeting could change everything.

Finally, you broke the silence. “So… what now?”

Ekko hesitated, his eyes filled with a quiet resolve. “I can’t promise anything. But I can’t let you go, either.”

Ekko stood in the doorway, his presence both a relief and a reminder of everything you’d tried to forget. The way his eyes met yours, soft, yet full of the same burning intensity, was enough to send a wave of emotion crashing through you. But even then, you hesitated.

The space between you felt heavier than ever, as if every step you took toward him would be a mistake. You couldn’t deny that you missed him, that your heart had never fully let go of him, but everything was different now. The worlds you both inhabited were pulling you in opposite directions, and no matter how much you wanted him, you knew the dangers.

“Ekko…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, yet the sound of his name felt like a lifeline. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know anymore,” he admitted, his voice raw, honest. “I can’t stay away from you. I never could. But this—” He gestured vaguely, his hand trembling slightly as if he didn’t even know how to explain what was at stake anymore. “This is more than I can handle.”

You stepped forward, closing the gap between you. His eyes never left yours, the connection undeniable despite everything that stood in your way. “I don’t care about what’s at stake, Ekko. I care about you. And I can’t just walk away.”

His breath hitched, the tension in his shoulders softening, but his expression remained conflicted. “You don’t get it. You think you can just waltz into this world, into my life, and everything will be fine? You’re not just in danger from Piltover. You’re in danger from me.” He didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but the weight of his words hung in the air, and you felt it.

“I know the risks,” you said quietly, taking another step closer to him. “But you don’t get to decide what I can handle. I’m not weak, Ekko. I’m not some innocent bystander in this. I chose this, you, just as much as you chose me.”

Ekko’s eyes softened at your words, but the doubt still clouded his gaze. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, the conflict clear. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he muttered, almost to himself. “But I can’t lose you, either. Every time I think I’m doing the right thing, I end up pushing you away.”

You reached out, placing a hand gently on his chest. The warmth of his skin under your fingers was enough to steady your heart, even if you knew the consequences. “Ekko, you’re not going to lose me. But you can’t keep pushing me away. You don’t get to make that decision for me.”

The silence between you stretched, thick with all the things unsaid, until he finally sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his uncertainty. “I don’t know how to make this right. I can’t promise you anything, not with everything that’s going on, but I can’t let you go either.”

“You don’t need to promise anything,” you said softly, your thumb tracing the edge of his jawline. “We just need to figure it out together.”

Ekko closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting out a breath as though he was trying to steady himself. Then, slowly, he opened them again, meeting your gaze with a renewed intensity. “I’m not going to let you down, not again,” he whispered. “But I can’t protect you if you’re not willing to fight for us too.”

And with that, the last of the tension between you melted away, leaving behind nothing but the shared understanding of the path you were both about to walk.

[chimcess]

Chapter Three: The One Thing About Living in Santa Carla Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre: Vampire!AU, Action, Horror, Suspense, Drama, Thriller, Comedy, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, ANGST, Fluff, Smut Other Tags: Human!Jungkook, Thrall!Jungkook, Thrall!Reader, Vampire!Jimin, Vampire!Taehyung, Vampire!Yoongi, Young!Namjoon, Young!Seokjin Word Count: 32k+ Summary: Teenage brothers Jungkook and Jung-Hyun relocate with their mother to a quiet town in Northern California. As Jung-Hyun bonds with two like-minded comic book enthusiasts, Namjoon and Seokjin, the more brooding Jungkook becomes captivated by Y/N. However, he soon discovers that Y/N is entangled with Jimin, the charismatic leader of a dangerous local vampire gang. Warnings: Changing into a vampire, Hoseok is a little suspicious, or are the conspiracy theorists just being dramatic?, ANGST, jumping off of a bridge, flying vampires, vampire not knowing how to fly, ear piercing, peer pressure is putting it lightly, mind manipulation, emotional manipulation, honestly lots of manipulation on the vampires' part, how would you react if you found out your brother's a vampire changeling? Probably a lot like Jung-Hyun, Wanda and Hoseok have no chemistry but they're really trying, conflicting feelings, arguing, feeling betrayed, mates, some backstory, Y/N is losing her human memories, she clings to them desperately, bad family relationship, YEARNING, PINING, LOVING, worried mom, mean dog, vampire tests... results may vary, hand job, vaginal fingering, kissing, biting, nipple play, oral (f receiving), "good girl", "I'm proud of you", multiple orgasms, soft dom Jungkook, romantic sex, outside sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), let me know if I missed anything else... A/N: We're at the final chapter! Thank you for reading, and to everyone who engaged with the story as it went on. Hope to see you again!

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The room was swallowed by an unnerving darkness, thick and oppressive, as if the walls themselves were closing in. Every corner seemed to absorb the faintest sliver of light, turning the space into an endless pit of shadow. Jung-Hyun’s eyes glinted with a sharpness that made the air around him feel colder, more suffocating. His pupils flickered as they caught the faintest movement—the soft creak of the bedroom door slowly edging open. A figure stepped in, barely visible at first, like a shadow merging with the dark. But as it solidified, became unmistakably clear, his breath hitched.

Jungkook.

“Jungkook…?” Jung-Hyun murmured, his voice low and uncertain, as if testing the silence that had stretched so tightly in the room. He wasn’t sure what was worse—the darkness or the silence that seemed to cling to every corner. He reached for the switch on the lamp, flicking it on, and the sudden burst of light cut through the blackness like a knife. It illuminated the room in a harsh, sterile glow, casting long shadows across the walls and revealing the mounted owl that hung just above the closet.

Its eyes, wide and unblinking, locked onto him with a cold, glassy stare.

“I wish he'd stop giving me these things,” Jung-Hyun muttered to himself, his voice thick with distaste. He didn’t bother to hide his disgust as he crossed the room, his boots thumping softly against the floor. With a practiced motion, he opened the closet door and scanned the shelves stacked with other lifeless trophies—small animals, stuffed and frozen in time, caught in mid-flight or mid-pounce. They were all the same, disturbingly still, their glassy eyes staring out into the empty space with an unsettling emptiness.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Jung-Hyun tossed the owl in with the others, its eyes glimmering faintly under the cold light above. He slammed the closet door shut, but the sound felt too loud in the silence.

That was when Jungkook’s voice sliced through the stillness, so soft and yet so chilling.

"I know everything."

Jungk-Hyun’s heart skipped a beat at the words, his skin prickling with a mix of unease and suspicion. Before he could form a response, a voice from outside—the faintest whisper on the wind—cut through the tension.

“Jungkook! Jungkook!”

Both of them snapped their gazes toward the window, their eyes locking on the yard below. There she was. Y/N. Bathed in the silver light of the moon, standing beneath the window like a spectral presence, her figure illuminated against the dark backdrop of the night.

“It’s that girl from the boardwalk,” Jung-Hyun muttered, his voice low, thick with suspicion. “Is she one of them?”

Jungkook’s answer was slow, almost reluctant, as though he himself wasn’t sure. “I don’t know.”

Y/N’s voice rose again, clearer now, her words almost pleading, carried upward by the night air. “I have to talk to you. Can I come up?”

Jungkook’s heart lurched in his chest, the sound of her voice sending an involuntary shiver through him. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. Without a second thought, he turned from the window and bolted for the door, his breath quickening, as though a part of him instinctively knew something important was about to unfold, something that could make sense of the chaos, of what he was becoming.

But before he could take another step, Jung-Hyun’s voice sliced through the tension, sharp and commanding.

“She’s one of them!” he hissed, the words thick with a palpable fear. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, Jungkook.”

Jungkook froze in his tracks, his heart pounding. He turned, and what he saw in that moment made his blood run cold. There, standing in the doorway, was Y/N. But not in the way he had expected—not in the way that he had imagined. She was standing there as though she had materialized from thin air, her presence so sudden, so eerily quiet that he couldn’t even recall hearing her enter.

Jungk-Hyun stood frozen, his face pale, wide-eyed, too stunned to move, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief.

The room was thick with an oppressive silence, as though the very air had turned heavy with secrets and unspoken truths. Jungkook’s breath came in shallow bursts as his heart raced with the fear that had slowly begun to consume him. His mind was clouded, too many questions pulling him in every direction, too many pieces of a puzzle that he couldn’t quite make sense of. The weight of it all was almost unbearable, and his hands trembled as they balled into fists at his sides. He could feel the pull of something dark inside him, something that had been awakening since that night in the cave, since the blood he had drunk.

The thought of it made him sick, but there was no denying it—he had changed. The hunger, the thirst, the growing sense that something inside of him had shifted in ways he couldn’t understand. It all pointed back to them—their world, their darkness—and it was too much. Too much to carry alone.

"Do you know where Jimin took me tonight, Y/N?" Jungkook demanded, his voice ragged, his words tumbling out in a rush, desperate, almost frantic. The anger rose like a storm inside him, but it was the dread that really made his chest tighten. The dread that something terrible was unfolding, something that he couldn’t quite grasp but knew, deep down, was unraveling him.

Y/N stood there, her gaze dropping to the floor as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. Her lips pressed tight, her body tensed, as though gathering strength to speak. There was a frailty about her now, a vulnerability he hadn’t seen before. She was always so strong, so confident, and yet now she looked fragile, like the weight of everything between them was more than she could bear. The silence stretched on, dragging on for what felt like forever, and with each passing second, the air grew colder, suffocating.

Finally, her voice broke through the silence, soft and thick with regret, "Yes... and I’m to blame for it." The words hung in the air like a confession, heavy and irrevocable. "If you hadn’t met me... if I hadn’t liked you... I tried to warn you…" Her voice faltered at the end, as though the very admission was tearing her apart.

Jungkook felt the world shift beneath his feet. Her words hit him like a physical blow, and his chest tightened in ways he couldn’t explain. The weight of it all settled over him like a storm cloud—dark, oppressive, and suffocating. Every word she spoke made the truth more and more real, more undeniable. He could feel it deep in his bones, the truth he had tried to deny, the truth he had tried to outrun.

“That night in the cave…” Jungkook’s voice trembled, his throat dry, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "That wasn’t wine they gave me to drink… it was blood. Jimin’s blood. And now… now I’m one of them. Just like them." The words tasted like ash in his mouth, and as he spoke them, he could feel the horror of it wash over him in waves. The sickness, the disgust—he could feel it deep in his gut, like a knot that tightened with every breath he took. The emptiness that had begun to take root inside him was growing, and it made him want to scream.

Y/N stepped forward, her gaze locking onto his with a sorrow that cut through him like a blade. There was no comfort in her eyes now, only a quiet, resigned pain. It was the kind of pain that came with knowing something was inevitable, something that could not be undone. "Not yet," she whispered, her voice low, filled with a quiet ache. "You’re like Moon and me. Half-vampires... You’re not a full vampire until you’ve made your first kill…" Her voice trailed off, and Jungkook could hear the unsaid in her words—the unspeakable truth of what was to come. "You were supposed to be mine, Jungkook. But I couldn’t do it." Her lips quivered, and he could see the rawness of her emotions in the way her hands trembled.

"Why not?" Jungkook whispered, his voice hoarse, desperate. He needed answers, needed to understand why, why she couldn’t do it. His mind was spinning, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that nothing about this made sense. None of it.

"Because I love you," Y/N whispered, her voice so soft, so fragile that it felt like a confession meant only for him. And in that moment, everything else fell away—the confusion, the fear, the dread—they all faded into the background, leaving only her words, those three little words that held more weight than anything else could. It was all laid bare in the quiet of the room, and Jungkook’s chest tightened as the rawness of her admission cut through everything he thought he knew about himself, about them.

He stepped toward her, almost instinctively, his voice cracking as hope—real, fragile hope—shone through his desperation. "Then it’s not too late for us."

Her eyes softened, but the sadness in them didn’t fade. She shook her head ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. “It’s not too late for you to be saved... but each night... it becomes harder and harder for me to resist. For me to stop myself...” Her voice trailed off like a whisper in the wind, barely there at all, but it carried the weight of everything between them. “I’m weak, Jungkook. Soon, I’ll need to feed.”

Jungkook could feel it then—the pull, the gnawing hunger inside him. It was familiar now, that darkness that called to him. The thirst, the need. It was growing stronger, harder to ignore. And in that moment, he realized that he wasn’t just battling the pull of the hunger inside him. He was battling the pull of her. Of Y/N. “I know,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he met her gaze. “I’ve felt it too.”

The air between them was thick, heavy with the weight of their unspoken truths, their desires, their fears, all tangled together in a way that made it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Without thinking, without care for the consequences, Jungkook reached for her. His hands, trembling with the weight of everything that had been building between them, found her face, and his lips pressed against hers in a kiss that was too desperate, too tangled in everything they had become. It was messy, frantic, but it was all they had left—the only thing that could connect them, that could save them from the darkness that was closing in.

But just as quickly, Y/N pulled away. Her eyes were wide, and she was listening—listening for something he couldn’t hear. Fear flooded her expression, and her breath came in short, shallow gasps. "Jimin’s looking for me," she said, her voice trembling with an urgency that made Jungkook’s heart stop. "I have to go."

Jungkook reached out for her, his hand grasping at the air as she turned to leave. “Y/N… please.” His voice cracked with desperation, but she was already slipping through the window, vanishing into the night like a shadow. He stood there, frozen, his heart aching, his chest tight with the weight of everything left unsaid, everything left undone.

The cool night air whipped through the open window as Jungkook and Jung-Hyun leaned out, their gazes locked on the darkened street below. Y/N had disappeared into the night, her form swallowed by the shadows, leaving behind only the faintest trace of her presence. Jungkook’s chest ached with a rawness he had never known, a desperation clawing at his insides, urging him to follow her, to keep her safe.

"Y/N!" Jungkook’s voice cracked, the cry spilling from his lips like a plea for salvation. It was ragged and frantic, as though calling her name was the only way to tether himself to reality, to the hope that maybe—just maybe—he could pull her back from whatever abyss she was falling into.

Jung-Hyun, ever the voice of reason, shot him a look before leaning out the window further, his voice hardening with panic. "Don’t kill anybody until we get back to you..." His words rushed out in a breathless hurry, a frantic plea wrapped in practicality. Without another word, he whipped around and darted toward the phone, already dialing with a sense of urgency.

Jungkook stood frozen for a moment longer, his heart pounding in his chest, his body numb with cold. The night air had begun to seep into his very bones, but it wasn’t the chill that made him shiver—it was the knowledge that they were losing her, that they couldn’t keep her from the hunger that had begun to take root in her. And the thought made his chest tighten, the weight of unanswered questions gnawing at him.

"Who are you calling?" Jungkook asked, his voice strained, hoarse with emotion.

Jung-Hyun didn’t hesitate for even a second. His tone was clipped, precise. "The Marines," he replied, and though the answer was simple, it carried with it an undercurrent of finality. There would be no turning back after this.

As Jung-Hyun moved toward the phone, the door to the house creaked open sharply, and the Kims stepped inside with the quiet confidence of men used to urgency. Namjoon entered first, his posture stiff, his aura commanding the space as always, while Seokjin followed close behind, bouncing on his heels as if he couldn’t wait to say something, to crack a joke, or to offer the kind of easy humor that seemed out of place in such a grim moment.

"So, where's Nosferatu?" Namjoon asked, his voice dry and dry like the dust in the air. His words were a casual dismissal, a way of cutting through the tension as if the weight of the situation couldn’t touch him.

Seokjin flashed a wicked grin, his teeth glinting in the low light. "The Prince of Darkness," he teased, as though he were making light of the entire situation.

"The nightcrawler," Namjoon added, his words dripping with sarcasm as he rolled his eyes at Seokjin’s antics. He was no stranger to the occasional joke, but this wasn’t the time. "The bloodsucker," he continued in a deadpan tone, his voice thick with disinterest.

Seokjin picked up on the cue, eyes glinting as he leaned in, his humor still unshaken by the gravity of the situation. "El Vampiro," he said with an exaggerated Spanish accent, like the joke had already been played out too many times.

Jung-Hyun snapped his fingers, impatient and stern as he shifted his gaze between the men. "Enough with the jokes. They're here, Jungkook! Come down here!" He barked, his voice harsh as he gestured for Jungkook to make an appearance.

The sound of slow, hesitant footsteps echoed through the house, heavy and laden with uncertainty. Jungkook appeared at the top of the stairs, looking like a shadow of himself—frail, fragile, a far cry from the confident, unstoppable force he had once been. His dark glasses were perched awkwardly atop his ashen face, and his usual swagger had been replaced with a shuffling gait, as though the weight of what had happened to him had drained the very life from his body.

Namjoon eyed him carefully, his gaze sharp as ever. He raised an eyebrow, taking in Jungkook’s appearance. "This guy looks more like a zombie," he remarked, his tone unreadable, though it could easily be taken as a jab. But it was hard to say whether Namjoon meant it seriously or if it was simply a remark born out of frustration.

Seokjin, who never missed an opportunity for some dark humor, reached into his backpack with a flourish. "Should I run him through?" he asked, pulling out a sharpened wooden stake and holding it up with a mischievous grin.

Namjoon shot him a look, one that spoke of his deep weariness with the ongoing jokes. "We’re not here to joke around, Seokjin," he muttered, his gaze turning back to Jungkook. His tone shifted, more serious now, the weight of the moment pressing in on them all. "I’ve only got one question for you, and I need an honest answer. Have you taken any human victims yet?"

Jungkook’s breath hitched at the question. He could feel the blood drain from his face as he stiffened, his body betraying him with how weak he still felt. His heart raced in his chest, each beat thumping painfully in his ears. "Of course not!" His voice came out strained, defensive—almost too defensive.

Namjoon studied him for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. The silence between them stretched out, suffocating and thick with the tension of the unknown. Finally, Namjoon spoke again, his voice softer, but no less firm. "If you’re telling the truth," he said, his eyes never leaving Jungkook, "then there’s still hope. We can save you."

Jung-Hyun didn’t hesitate to speak up, his voice full of conviction as he nodded toward Jungkook. "He’s telling the truth!" he affirmed. Then, after a beat, his eyes flicked nervously to Jungkook, his confidence waning for a brief moment. "Aren’t you, Jungkook?"

Jungkook’s gaze held steady. His pulse raced, but he didn’t falter. His voice was small but resolute. "Yeah," he murmured, meeting Jung-Hyun’s gaze directly. "I’m telling the truth."

Namjoon didn’t waste any time on sentimentality. He didn’t need to hear the empty words of hope—they weren’t what mattered. "To free you," he said, his voice sharpening, "we have to destroy the leader of the vampires."

Jungkook flinched at the words, his body tense as the horror of the situation crashed down on him. "Jimin," he whispered, the name tasting like ash in his mouth. The weight of it, the connection it signified, left him feeling cold.

Namjoon didn’t flinch at the name. "I don’t care about names. Just take me to him," he snapped, his words final and full of urgency. "Where’s their nest?"

Jungkook opened his mouth, about to speak, but his voice faltered, caught in a tangled mess of emotion. The truth he was about to reveal, the path he was about to lead them down—it terrified him. "I’ll take you there," he said finally, his voice shaking, his resolve breaking under the weight of everything.

Seokjin’s voice sliced through the tension with a sharp edge. His skepticism was thick in the air. "You can barely stand up," he remarked, crossing his arms. "How do we know we can trust you? You’re practically one of them."

Before anyone could respond, Jungkook’s resolve hardened, and with a sudden move, he lunged forward. He gripped Namjoon’s arm with a ferocity that made Seokjin take a step back. "I said I’ll take you there," Jungkook growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Nobody’s going near Y/N without me."

Namjoon didn’t flinch, though there was a sharpness to his eyes that made it clear he wouldn’t hesitate to put Jungkook in his place if necessary. "Alright, alright," he said tersely, trying to defuse the situation without losing the momentum they had. "Let’s get this over with."

Jungkook released his grip, but the tension in the room didn’t fade. Namjoon absently rubbed his arm, his lips curling into a wry smile. "Vampires have such rotten tempers," he muttered under his breath.

The car ride the next morning felt like a blur, the sleepy haze of early morning lingering in the air like a fog that clouded everything. The tires screeched against the pavement as the car reversed, its sound cutting through the stillness of the morning. Jung-Hyun leaned out the driver’s side window, calling to Min-chul, who was working outside.

"Harabeoji! Okay if we borrow the car?" he shouted, already halfway through the sentence as the car shot off toward town. Before Min-chul could even respond, they were gone, the tires kicking up a cloud of dust as they tore down the road.

The Chevy rumbled sluggishly through the town now, the engine purring low in the early quiet. But when they reached the intersection, it came to an abrupt halt. The car sat there, unmoving, blocking traffic with a purposeful slowness that felt deliberate, like everything around them had suddenly slowed to match the weight of what was about to unfold.

Inside the car, Jungkook was slumped over the wheel, his forehead resting against it, his body sinking into exhaustion. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and his face, though still handsome, looked worn and drained from the turmoil of the past days. The engine hummed softly, the rhythmic sound lulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The quiet of the early morning was abruptly shattered by the blaring honk of a car behind them. The sharp, impatient noise snapped Jungkook awake with a jolt. His eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused, as his hands fumbled to start the car again. His fingers fumbled over the gear shift, struggling to regain control of the vehicle. The car jerked forward awkwardly, its tires skidding slightly on the road as he fought to regain composure.

From the backseat, Namjoon’s voice cut through the disarray, cold and unyielding. “Just so you know,” he said, his tone low and controlled, “if you try to stop us, or if you vamp out in any way, I’ll stake you without hesitation.” The warning was calm, but it held an undeniable weight of finality, as though it were already a given.

Jung-Hyun, sitting beside Jungkook, shot Namjoon a weary glance. Despite the tension hanging in the air, he was oddly composed, his features cool, almost detached. “Chill out, Namjoon,” he muttered, sinking back into his seat with a frustrated sigh, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. “We’ve got enough problems without you adding more.”

Jungkook’s grip tightened on the wheel as the car rumbled on, his exhaustion pressing down on him with every passing mile. The engine sputtered slightly, and he couldn’t help but feel every minute drag by with an almost tangible weight. Still, he forced himself to focus, his mind working on autopilot. They were getting closer. Closer to what he had no idea, but at least it was something—anything.

Eventually, the Chevy’s tires crunched against the gravel, the sound of it slowing as the car came to a halt. The engine sputtered into silence, leaving a thick, suffocating silence in its wake. The air hung heavy with anticipation, each of them bracing for whatever was about to unfold.

The Kims were the first to move. They spilled out of the car with purpose, their backpacks slung over their shoulders like a second skin. Flashlights and stakes clinked together as they moved, the sharp metallic sound of them a reminder of what they were about to face. They moved quickly, ready for whatever awaited them in the dark recesses of the cave. Namjoon led the charge, his posture alert and stiff, while Seokjin followed with a touch of enthusiasm that seemed almost out of place in such a grim situation.

Jungkook, already lagging behind, took a moment to gather himself before following. His steps were uneven, his body trembling as the weight of his condition caught up with him. Every movement felt like an effort, as though his body was betraying him with every second that passed. His breath was shallow, his pulse racing, but he didn’t slow down. Not when they were so close.

Jung-Hyun noticed immediately. Without a word, he stepped in close, his hand falling onto Jungkook’s arm with steady reassurance. It was a silent support, the kind that needed no explanation. Jungkook didn’t look at him, but the firm grip of Jung-Hyun’s hand grounded him in a way nothing else could.

"Down there," Jungkook muttered hoarsely, his voice strained as he pointed toward the set of weathered stone stairs leading into the dark void below. The air down there was thick with danger, with the looming sense that they were not just walking into a cave but into something far worse.

As the Kims pushed ahead with purpose, Jungkook stumbled once more, the exhaustion and pain threatening to overtake him. A sharp wince crossed his face, but he bit back any sound, swallowing his weakness as best he could. Before he could take another step, Jung-Hyun’s grip tightened on his arm, steady and unwavering. He didn’t question, didn’t hesitate, just moved in close to support his friend without a second thought.

Jungkook’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a thousand unsaid words. His eyes, dark and haunted, found Jung-Hyun’s. “Jung-Hyun…” The name was thick with emotion, as though it carried everything he couldn’t say aloud. “If something happens to me… If I don’t have the strength to go on… promise me you won’t let them hurt Y/N.”

The words struck Jung-Hyun like a physical blow, the weight of the promise sinking into his chest with an almost unbearable heaviness. His throat tightened, the lump of dread sitting heavily in his stomach. The responsibility in those words was too much, too final, too much of a burden. He swallowed hard, trying to push back the feeling of suffocating fear that threatened to drown him.

“I… I promise,” Jung-Hyun said finally, his voice tight, thick with the emotion he couldn’t quite put into words. The knot in his stomach refused to go away, but there was nothing he could do now. His promise was a vow, an unspoken bond that he knew would come with unimaginable cost. The fear of what might happen next loomed over him like an ever-present shadow, but he had no choice but to accept it.

They moved forward, step by careful step, as the darkness around them seemed to swallow the last remnants of daylight. It felt as though time itself had stopped, the silence growing heavier with each descending step. When they finally reached the entrance to the cave’s lobby, the air was frigid—a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the sun they had just left behind. The coldness cut through Jungkook like a knife, but he barely felt it anymore. His body had grown accustomed to a much deeper chill.

Namjoon and Seokjin stepped into the lobby first, their eyes scanning the cavernous space with wide-eyed wonder. It was almost as if they were tourists in an ancient tomb, their gazes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. The eerie silence that greeted them only made the air feel thicker, the danger more palpable. They stood still for a moment, letting the magnitude of the place sink in, before moving forward with a sense of purpose.

Jungkook followed close behind, his eyes immediately seeking out the far corner of the cave. There, in the shadows, lay Y/N—her body unmoving, her face peaceful in the kind of sleep that looked almost angelic. Her chest rose and fell with the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding around her.

Jungkook’s heart lurched in his chest as he stepped closer, kneeling beside her. His fingers trembled as he gently shook her, trying to rouse her from her slumber. “Y/N… You’re coming with me,” he said softly, his voice full of something fragile—something between hope and desperation. Every part of him wanted her to wake up, to see her eyes again, to know she was still there.

Her eyelids fluttered open, the surprise in her eyes quickly fading as recognition set in. But the softness that replaced it only deepened his worry. “Jungkook?” she murmured, her voice hoarse and barely audible. She looked like she had been asleep for an eternity.

Jungkook’s gaze flicked to the bed beside her, where a long, hooded cape lay, its fabric pooling in the dim light. “You’ve got to put this on,” he urged, his voice urgent now, the desperation creeping into his tone.

Y/N barely seemed to register the words, her eyes unfocused as she whispered in a distant, detached voice. “Take Moon,” she murmured weakly, her eyes filling with an unspoken plea. “Save Moon first.”

Jungkook’s heart clenched painfully as his eyes followed her gaze to the far corner of the room. There, still asleep in a curled position, was Moon. His heart sank at the sight of her request, but the command in her voice was clear. Her plea was unspoken, but the weight of it was undeniable. Without hesitation, he moved swiftly to Moon’s side, wrapping him in a blanket with tender care, making sure he was secure and warm before lifting him gently in his arms.

In the far corner, Seokjin had found something else—a narrow grate in the ceiling. His voice rang out, low but filled with excitement as he pointed it out. “Feel it?” he asked, his voice tight with anticipation. “Feel the draft?”

Namjoon, ever the problem solver, quickly whipped out a flashlight, its beam cutting through the darkness as he scanned the grate. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. “It’s an opening, all right,” he muttered. “Let’s try it. Somebody give me a boost.”

Jungkook, still carrying Moon, glanced at them for a moment before his eyes returned to the cave. He could feel the intensity of the moment pressing in on him. The sun blazed outside, but inside the cave, the world seemed to grow smaller with each passing second. They were close now—so close.

With Moon carefully bundled in his arms, Jungkook stepped out of the cave and into the harsh light of day. The sun was blinding, its heat harsh against the chill he’d left behind. Moon stirred slightly in his arms, her face twisting in confusion as he began to wake. His eyes flickered open for a brief moment, but the confusion in his gaze was overwhelming.

Jungkook adjusted the blanket around him, trying to shield him from the intense sunlight. His own exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him, each movement more labored than the last. But there was no time to rest. Not yet. They were so close.

He started the long climb up the stairs again, every step slow, every movement more difficult than the last. His strength was failing him, each breath more shallow than the one before. But he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when they were so close to saving everything.

In the suffocating darkness of the tunnel below, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Jung-Hyun pressed on, the air thick with the acrid stench of decay and centuries-old dust. The oppressive silence was only broken by the rhythmic buzz of flies, which seemed to be everywhere, their persistent hum a constant, unwelcome companion. The air felt heavier here, as if the tunnel itself had absorbed the grim history of everything that had passed through it. It was a suffocating, claustrophobic kind of quiet that seemed to cling to their skin and rattle their nerves.

Jung-Hyun swatted at a fly that had landed on his face, his movements sharp and jerky as discomfort settled deep into his bones. He hated this place. The air felt wrong, like it had been poisoned by something darker, older, than anything he could comprehend. The oppressive atmosphere only seemed to grow heavier as they continued forward, the weight of their mission and the unknown pressing down on them with each step.

"We’re on the right trail," Namjoon’s voice rang out in the stillness, a calm that contrasted sharply with the unsettling surroundings. His voice was steady, but even he couldn’t hide the edge of unease that lingered in his words. "Flies and the undead go together like ham and eggs."

Seokjin, ever the pragmatic one, pulled a can of bug spray from his backpack and gave the air a sharp burst. The sound of the nozzle hissing was loud in the silence, and a mist of chemical-laden air filled the space for a moment. Jung-Hyun coughed sharply, the fumes biting at his lungs, but they kept moving. The stink of decay was thick in the air, and no amount of bug spray seemed to do anything about it. They had to keep pushing forward.

The tunnel stretched on, endless in its darkness, and the further they ventured, the more it seemed to consume them. The stillness of it was unnerving, the kind of silence that made everything feel too quiet, too stagnant. The air felt charged, as though something were waiting just out of sight, ready to pounce. The walls seemed to close in around them, their footsteps echoing louder than they should have, each one a reminder of how isolated they were.

Then, without warning, they stopped in their tracks. A sudden tension filled the air, like an invisible pressure pushing them down. The glow of their flashlights flickered, illuminating something that made their hearts skip a beat. They stood frozen, their eyes wide, mouths slightly agape, as if they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing. It was like walking into a tomb, but one that had been forgotten for years, centuries even.

The beam of Seokjin’s flashlight landed on the floor ahead, revealing the horrific scene that lay sprawled before them. Bones, brittle and yellowed with age, scattered across the dirt and stone floor like discarded relics of a time long past. The skeletal remains of what once were people lay strewn about, still dressed in the tattered remnants of their former lives. One skeleton, clutching a suitcase with bony fingers, stared back at them from the floor, its hollow eye sockets empty and accusing. Another, dressed in a bellman’s uniform, lay crumpled in a heap, the fabric torn and frayed, a once-proud figure now reduced to nothing more than a forgotten corpse.

The reality of what they were seeing settled over them like a weight, chilling their bones, but they didn’t have time to linger in disbelief. Slowly, as if each movement required a surge of courage, they took a step forward, pushing past the horror of the scene before them. There was no time to be afraid. They had a job to do, and no matter how much their minds screamed at them to turn back, they couldn’t afford to stop now.

Jungkook’s return to the lobby felt like the final nail in the coffin of everything that had gone wrong. The door creaked open, and he stumbled in, his face ashen, his body so worn down it looked as though it might fall apart at any moment. His eyes were bloodshot, his movements sluggish, and it was clear that his exhaustion wasn’t just physical—he was hanging on by sheer willpower alone, fighting the overwhelming urge to collapse from sheer fatigue.

Y/N’s hand found his almost instinctively, warm and soft, her fingers curling around his like a lifeline. Despite everything, despite the hell they had been through, she was still there. Her presence grounded him in a way nothing else could. She squeezed his hand, her touch gentle but firm, as if to remind him that he wasn’t alone, that she was still with him.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice low and strained as he bent to lift her. His fingers brushed over her, draping the hooded cape carefully over her fragile form. Every movement was slow, deliberate, as though he was afraid of breaking her. She was light in his arms, but that weight, that fragile weight, was a constant reminder of everything they were fighting to protect.

The tunnel that lay before them was as ominous as ever, stretching out like an uninviting maw, its darkness swallowing up everything in its path. The air grew colder, and the buzzing of the flies seemed to grow louder, mixing with the nauseating stench of decay that clung to everything. Jung-Hyun wrinkled his nose and quickly covered it with the sleeve of his jacket, his stomach lurching at the overpowering smell.

“What is that smell?” he muttered, his voice thick with disgust, but his eyes darted around, trying to make sense of the overwhelming presence of death that hung in the air.

Namjoon, unfazed, didn’t even flinch. His voice was calm, steady, like this was all just another part of the job. “Vampires, my friend. Vampires.”

The words hung in the air, as matter-of-fact as if Namjoon were simply stating the weather. Jung-Hyun couldn’t bring himself to respond, his mind racing as they pushed forward, crossing into a small cavernous area. The space opened up before them, and a bitter wind whipped through the entrance, cutting through their clothes and stinging their skin. The sound of their footsteps echoed eerily in the vast emptiness, and the low, hollow drip of water somewhere in the distance only added to the sense of isolation.

The beams of their flashlights sliced through the darkness, illuminating jagged rock formations that jutted out from the floor like teeth, their sharp edges casting eerie shadows. Vines and webs hung from the ceiling, suspended in the stale air like remnants of some ancient, forgotten world. But there was no movement, no sign of life. It was a cavern frozen in time, its silence deafening.

They moved cautiously, scanning every inch of the space with wide eyes, ready for anything. But the deeper they went, the more it felt like they were being watched, like the shadows themselves were waiting for the right moment to strike. The flicker of their lights revealed nothing but emptiness and decay, a silence that grew heavier with every step they took.

Outside, Jungkook was barely holding himself together. His legs felt like jelly, his body betraying him at every turn. He had made it to the car, but the strain of it was too much. His knees buckled beneath him, and he hit the ground with a sickening thud, his breath catching in his chest. For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Y/N’s hood had slipped back, revealing her ashen, fragile face, and in that instant, time seemed to stand still. She reached out toward him, her hand brushing against his with a tenderness that felt like it might break him.

Her eyes, though tired and heavy, held a softness that gave him strength. She was still there, still alive, still holding on. And in that moment, something shifted within him. A surge of energy, borne from the depths of his will, pushed through him, igniting a fire he didn’t know he had left. He gripped the Chevy, using it to pull himself shakily to his feet. He couldn’t afford to fail her—not now. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he staggered toward the car, dragging himself forward with fierce determination. It wasn’t just exhaustion that had kept him going—it was something deeper, something stronger. His love for her. His need to protect her. And it would carry him forward, no matter what.

“Jungkook!” Jung-Hyun’s voice cut through the chaos, urgency lacing every syllable. “Get behind the wheel, now!”

Jungkook blinked, his mind still foggy from exhaustion and adrenaline. His hands gripped the seat, his gaze unfocused as he tried to process what was happening. “Huh…?” His voice was groggy, not fully awake, his head spinning from the whirlwind of fear and confusion.

“They’re gaining on us!” Seokjin shouted from the backseat, his voice sharp and frantic. His eyes darted nervously to the rearview mirror, where the flicker of headlights was growing steadily brighter. The unmistakable sound of tires screeching on asphalt confirmed the worst—they were being chased.

“Jungkook!” Jung-Hyun repeated, his tone harsher this time, tinged with a frantic edge. His hands reached out, trying to help guide Jungkook into the driver’s seat. The car swerved dangerously, the wheel slipping from Jungkook’s grip as he fumbled, trying to take control. “You have to drive!”

The tension in the air was suffocating. What had begun as a desperate escape had devolved into something worse—out of control and unraveling at the seams. The Chevy hurtled down the road, bouncing off the uneven pavement as the boys scrambled to keep it on track. The car veered dangerously toward the edge, the world outside a blur of lights and shadow.

“Red light!!” Seokjin screamed, his eyes wide with fear as the car barreled toward an intersection.

Jungkook, still groggy from his near-collapse, glanced ahead. The stoplight was looming, and they were heading straight for it, too fast to stop. The screech of tires, the rushing wind in his ears—it was all too much. He couldn’t think.

“Brake, Jungkook! Brake!” Jung-Hyun’s voice was now a desperate shout. Panic was rising, his tone laced with the urgency of the moment. The seconds felt like hours as Jungkook’s fingers scrambled to find the brake. His hands were slick with sweat, his muscles trembling, but the brake was too far. Everything was happening too fast.

It felt like eternity, the world spinning, until—finally—Jungkook slammed his foot down. The car lurched forward, the tires squealing as it came to a slow, halting stop just inches from the intersection. The sudden silence that followed was deafening.

Jung-Hyun quickly seized the wheel, his hands steady as he maneuvered the car through the light, the police car looming just beside them. The officer’s gaze was cold and calculating, his eyes flicking over the battered Chevy and its visibly nervous occupants. There was no mistaking the suspicion in his eyes. The car was too beat-up, too out of place, and everyone inside looked too on edge.

Namjoon’s heart thudded painfully in his chest, the rising panic making it difficult to breathe. “They’re looking at us,” he muttered under his breath, barely able to keep his voice steady.

Seokjin, sitting beside him in the backseat, whispered harshly, “They’re gonna book us. I can feel it.”

Jung-Hyun remained calm, his posture unyielding as he met the officer’s gaze head-on. He rolled down the window just a crack, enough to speak. “Uh… excuse me,” he said with forced nonchalance, his voice steady. “Which way to the Punk Rock Festival? We’re the opening act.”

The officer didn’t respond, merely giving a slow shake of his head, an almost disappointed smile tugging at his lips before he rolled forward, his patrol car pulling away as the light changed.

The moment the officer’s car disappeared into the distance, the boys collectively let out a breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding. The tension was so thick it almost felt like a physical weight pressing down on them. The car fell into an eerie silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, but the danger wasn’t gone. It hung over them like a dark cloud, threatening to descend again at any moment.

When they finally pulled up to the house, the weight of the night pressed in around them. Jungkook carefully cradled Y/N in his arms, her form delicate and fragile in his grasp. He could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest, but there was something unsettling in the way she felt against him—too light, too still. It was as if she were caught between life and death, a ghost of the girl she used to be. Behind him, Jung-Hyun and the Kims carried Moon, trying their best to keep the dog from jostling too much, aware of how easily even a slight movement could disturb the fragile peace.

The house felt unnaturally quiet when they stepped inside. It was an unsettling quiet, the kind that comes before something terrible, and just as they began to process the eerie stillness, a bark shattered the silence.

“No, Bam! Quiet!” Jung-Hyun’s voice was sharp, but it did nothing to calm the dog.

Bam’s barking grew louder, more insistent. He could sense something wrong. The dog wasn’t just barking at the usual things—this felt different. Namjoon, already tense from the close call with the officer, shot a glance at the door where the dog’s barks echoed. “Your dog knows flesh-eaters when he smells 'em,” he muttered under his breath, eyeing the vampires by his side, his words laced with unease.

The dog’s barking only grew louder, as if he were trying to make his point known to everyone in the room.

“Take him outside, Jung-Hyun!” Jungkook snapped, his voice tight with frustration. He shifted Y/N in his arms, adjusting her position ever so slightly, trying to make her comfortable. But her weight, the hollow feeling of it, only made his unease grow. The night had taken its toll on all of them, and it felt like they were carrying a burden no one could understand.

Jung-Hyun grabbed Bam by the collar, his frustration evident in the way he pulled the dog out of the door, casting a quick, irritated glance at the others. With a sharp tug, he guided Bam outside, away from the tension inside. The rest of them trudged upstairs, each step heavier than the last, as though the gravity of their situation was physically weighing them down.

But before they could reach the top of the stairs, Min-chul appeared at the landing, his figure framed against the dim light from above, blocking their path.

“Jungkook!” His voice rang out, commanding and authoritarian, the tone of someone used to being obeyed.

Everyone froze, caught in a tense moment of hesitation. Min-chul’s sharp gaze swept over the group, pausing as his eyes lingered on the strange mix of company they were keeping. Vampires, blood-suckers, flesh-eaters—certainly not a typical guest list. His gaze seemed to pierce through them, as though he could see the truth of what they were.

“Do you know the rule about filling the car up with gas when you take it without asking?” Min-chul’s voice was even, measured, but the undercurrent of disapproval was palpable.

Jungkook blinked, thrown off guard. “No, Harabeoji…” He stammered, not quite sure how to respond.

“Well, now you know,” Min-chul said with a tone that left no room for further discussion. Then, just as swiftly as he had appeared, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving the boys standing in awkward silence.

It took a moment for the weight of his words to sink in. Then, without another word, they all hurried upstairs, eager to escape the awkwardness and get back to the task at hand.

Upstairs, Namjoon and Seokjin lingered in the hallway, silent witnesses to the unfolding chaos. They stood like statues, neither of them speaking as Jungkook carefully placed Y/N and Moon on the bed. The room felt colder than it should have, the silence pressing in around them. The only sounds were the soft shuffle of sheets and the faint rustling of Bam’s paws on the floor below.

Jung-Hyun appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyes darting between the bedroom door and the Kims, still catching their breath from the frantic rush.

“Well…” Jung-Hyun muttered, rubbing a hand through his hair. “We blew it. Plan A is a bust.”

Seokjin didn’t even blink, his eyes cold and focused. “Time to activate Plan B.”

Jung-Hyun shot him a look, unimpressed. “What’s Plan B?”

Namjoon glanced at his watch, a long sigh escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “We don’t have one yet.” His gaze flicked toward the bedroom door, where Jungkook had just finished settling the others. “And we only have two and a half hours to come up with one.”

Jung-Hyun’s eyes widened in alarm. “What happens in two and a half hours?”

Namjoon turned to face him, his expression grave. His voice was steady, though the weight of his words was undeniable. “The sun goes down. And when it does, they’ll be coming for us.”

Outside, the sky was darkening, the amber hues of sunset giving way to the first hints of night. The sun, a fading ember behind the archway cross, cast long shadows over the grounds, its descent a reminder of the urgency of their mission. The boys charged up the steps of the church, their footfalls echoing in the otherwise still air. They had no time to waste, not a second to lose, their minds singularly focused on the task at hand. Their bikes, abandoned at the bottom of the stairs, were left forgotten, their wheels still spinning in the breeze, as though time itself had stopped in their haste. No one thought to look back; their only thought was forward, towards the goal that loomed ahead of them—the gathering darkness and the dangers it would soon bring.

Inside the church, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the storm raging outside. The peaceful hum of a christening ceremony drifted through the air, filling the sacred space with an odd sense of calm, as if nothing at all was out of place. The quiet murmurs of the congregation, the soft rustle of fabric as families gathered, all seemed miles away from the reality the boys were facing. Yet, amidst this serenity, the Kims moved with quiet urgency, slipping past the pews, unnoticed by the congregation.

At the back of the church, by the entrance, were the holy water bowls—small, humble vessels brimming with the sacred liquid. The boys approached them silently, their movements deliberate, practiced. Jung-Hyun, with a fluid motion, dipped one of the empty canteens into the water, filling it with the cool, clear liquid. The water sloshed softly as it filled the container, a small but vital comfort in the midst of the chaos that was about to descend upon them. They knew what they had to do. The holy water, a simple but potent weapon, would be their first line of defense against the monsters that hunted them, that hunted anyone foolish enough to cross their path. The weight of the canteens in their hands felt reassuring, a small reminder that they had the tools to fight back.

The stillness of the church seemed to swallow them as they moved with quiet efficiency, gathering what they needed. Every step was deliberate, no wasted movement. The boys knew what was coming, knew that time was slipping through their fingers. Every second they spent here, inside this tranquil church, was one less second they had to prepare for what awaited them outside. The tension was thick in the air, an almost palpable sense of dread that clung to them like a second skin.

With their canteens now filled, they exchanged quick glances, silent acknowledgment passing between them. There was nothing more to do here. The holy water was essential, but it was only the beginning of the arsenal they would need to survive the night. The weight of their task settled back on their shoulders, a grim reminder that the night had only just begun.

Without a word, the boys turned and made their way out of the church, moving as one, the urgency of their mission propelling them forward. The world outside had darkened further, the first stars beginning to twinkle in the deepening sky, their presence a stark reminder of the limited time they had left.

Jung-Hyun didn’t waste a moment. He swung his leg over his bike, his movements quick and practiced. He didn’t spare a glance at his friends as they mounted their bikes and rode off into the night, their destination clear in their minds. They would stop at the video store, a small, unassuming place tucked away on a side street, where Jung-Hyun’s mother worked. It was the last place anyone would expect them to go, but it was where they needed to be. The video store was more than just a business—it was a source of information, a place where knowledge could be found in the most unexpected of places.

The ride through the darkened streets felt like a blur, the wind whipping past them as they sped through the quiet neighborhood, their destination in sight. The neon lights of the video store flickered in the distance, casting long shadows on the sidewalk, the sign overhead casting a sickly greenish glow onto the street.

Without slowing down, Jung-Hyun pulled up to the curb. He didn’t bother to park properly, the bike skidding slightly as he hopped off, his heart already racing with anticipation. His hands were steady as he dismounted, but the urgency in his movements was clear. He glanced briefly at his friends as they followed, but his eyes were already on the door. Time was of the essence. He had to get inside. He had to find what they needed, and fast.

Without another thought, he sprinted towards the door, the sound of his footsteps quickening as he neared the entrance. His mind was already focused on the task ahead, already lost in the flood of thoughts that raced through his mind.

Jung-Hyun pushed the door of the video store open with a force that made the bell above it jangle loudly, alerting everyone inside. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving with urgency as he scanned the store. The familiar scent of popcorn and old film reels filled the air, but it did nothing to calm the tension tightening in his chest. His heart hammered as his gaze landed on Wanda, his mother, who was behind the counter. She was sorting through a stack of VHS tapes, unaware of the storm that was about to hit.

He wasted no time. “Mom!” he shouted, his voice frantic, his pulse racing. "Listen to me! This is very important! Santa Carla is crawling with vampires!"

Wanda looked up slowly, her brows furrowing slightly, but she didn’t immediately grasp the gravity of his words. Her gaze was calm, almost detached, as she processed the intensity in his voice. The store was quiet enough that a customer, an older man browsing the horror section, looked up at Jung-Hyun’s outburst, raising an eyebrow. But Wanda’s attention never wavered from her son.

“What did you say?” she asked, her voice low and hesitant, almost as if she thought he was joking.

“Vampires, Mom! Everywhere!” Jung-Hyun’s words spilled out in a rush, sharp and insistent, his eyes wide with barely-contained panic. He leaned across the counter, lowering his voice but not hiding the desperation in it. "You’ve got to tell the police! The newspapers! The TV stations! They’ll listen to you. They’ll believe you… you’re a mom!"

He was practically begging now, the words tumbling from him in a desperate hope that his mother would understand, that she’d take him seriously.

Wanda didn’t seem moved by his plea. Her eyes narrowed as she took a step back, away from the counter and out of the line of sight of the customer who had been eyeing the scene. She glanced at Jung-Hyun, her expression unreadable but tinged with something like confusion.

“Not funny, Jung-Hyun,” she said, her voice strained, but with a hint of disapproval, like she thought he was being melodramatic or attention-seeking.

“This is not a joke!” Jung-Hyun’s voice cracked as he leaned in closer, almost pleading. "They know we know about them, Mom. They’re coming to the house as soon as it gets dark! The house! They’re coming for us. You have to warn people!"

But Wanda wasn’t listening. Her face hardened, frustration settling in like a heavy weight, her posture stiffening with annoyance. “Stop it, Jung-Hyun. Stop it right now,” she snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence.

His words faltered for just a second. “But, Mom—”

“No more! I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Her voice rose in volume, sharp with anger now, the tension between them crackling like static. “I’m going to see Hoseok tonight, and you’re trying to ruin it for me again!”

Jung-Hyun's patience snapped like a taut wire. “No, I’m not—”

“There’s nothing wrong with Hoseok!” Wanda’s interruption was like a blade, her voice cutting through the air with a finality that left no room for argument. She took a deep breath, her face reddening. “I don’t know why you don’t—”

“I’m not talking about Hoseok!” Jung-Hyun’s voice exploded, louder than he intended, his frustration too much to contain. “To hell with Hoseok!”

The words hung in the air, thick and heavy. The store went eerily quiet for a moment, as several customers turned to stare, their eyes wide. Wanda’s face went pale, her shock evident, her lips parting in disbelief. The old man who had been browsing at the counter cleared his throat uncomfortably, but Jung-Hyun was beyond caring. His own face flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, but the words had already left his mouth, and now they seemed to linger in the room like an accusation.

Wanda’s eyes widened in disbelief, her face twisting with anger. She sucked in a breath, steadying herself before speaking again, her voice low and dangerous. “I’ll deal with you later, young man,” she muttered, her tone so cold it could freeze the air between them.

Jung-Hyun’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the argument heavy on him. His shoulders sagged for just a moment, exhaustion settling in, but there was no time to waste. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the store, the door swinging shut behind him with a harsh clang that seemed to echo in the sudden silence.

Outside, the cool evening air hit him like a slap, and his mind raced with everything that had just happened. His mother, the one person who should have been there to help, wasn’t listening. No one was. They were on their own. The Kims were waiting for him just outside, their faces grim as they saw the look on his.

“We’re on our own,” Jung-Hyun muttered, his voice hollow, a sharp edge of bitterness lacing his words.

Seokjin and Namjoon exchanged a glance, an unspoken understanding passing between them, their faces hardening.

“Good,” Seokjin said, his voice firm, resolute. The tension that had been building inside him snapped into focus, his stance unyielding. “Let them think we’re crazy. We’ll do it ourselves.”

Namjoon nodded, his gaze steady. The faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s just the way we like it.”

Jung-Hyun stepped into the workroom, the familiar scent of sawdust and leather enveloping him, instantly grounding him in a place that had always been a refuge from the outside world. The low hum of a faint radio filled the air, blending with the steady rhythm of Min-chul’s work. The elder was hunched over a mounted deer head, his hands moving deftly as he worked on some task Jung-Hyun couldn’t quite make out. His focus was absolute, the kind of deep concentration that suggested nothing in the world could pull Min-chul’s attention away from his craft. It was a scene that could have been frozen in time, an image so constant and unchanging that it almost felt like nothing else mattered. In this room, the world outside didn’t exist.

“Harabeoji,” Jung-Hyun called out, his voice a little breathless from the frantic running around he had been doing all evening. He barely had time to breathe, let alone pause for rest. “The Widow Johnson called. She said to pick her up at seven instead of eight.” His words were a mix of urgency and humor, the kind of quick remark that often passed between them.

Min-chul’s hands froze mid-motion, the knife he was holding stilling in the air. He blinked a few times, brow furrowed, clearly caught off guard. “Did we have a date tonight?” he asked, the words coming out with a hint of confusion, as if the very notion of a scheduled evening out was foreign to him.

Jung-Hyun let out a short, dry laugh, a sound that held little humor, more of a release of tension. “I guess so,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “She said not to be late.”

The confusion lingered on Min-chul’s face for a moment longer, his eyes searching Jung-Hyun’s as though trying to understand the situation. He slowly put down the tools in his hands and exhaled with a sigh. “I better get cleaned up, then.”

A few minutes later, the engine of the old pickup truck rumbled to life. The sound echoed through the still evening air, mingling with the distant chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the light breeze. Min-chul’s truck grew smaller in the distance as he drove off toward the setting sun, leaving behind the house—its windows dark and quiet, as if holding its breath. It was the kind of evening that felt like a suspended moment in time, pregnant with something unspoken, like the house itself was anticipating something to come, something beyond its control.

Inside the house, though, the mood was starkly different. The air felt thick with tension, each person moving with purpose, as though every movement carried the weight of the impending night. Jungkook, with his jaw set in a grim line, moved through the rooms with speed and precision. His footsteps were heavy, purposeful, as he locked doors and bolted windows, taking care with each movement. The hammer in his hand made a dull thudding noise as he drove nails into the boards, securing the windows with a kind of finality. His expression was stoic, almost haunted, as if the magnitude of what they were about to face had finally settled on his shoulders.

In the kitchen, Jung-Hyun worked with the same intensity. The clatter of the knife against the cutting board was sharp in the otherwise quiet house as he sliced each garlic clove with a careful, practiced hand. The smell of garlic filled the air, pungent and strong, mixing with the other scents of the house—wood, leather, and something heavier, like the thick pressure of a storm about to break. Each slice was deliberate, a small act of defiance in the face of the darkness creeping closer. He didn’t dare think of anything else—there wasn’t time. The preparations had to be finished. Now.

Elsewhere in the house, the Kims were busy in the bathroom, filling the large tub with holy water. Their movements were slow but steady, efficient in a way that spoke of deep familiarity with what had to be done. They poured the sacred liquid into plastic bottles, their hands careful but quick. There was no excitement, no sense of triumph—just the quiet finality of the task at hand. Once the bottles were filled, they transferred the water into squirt guns, the sound of plastic clacking against plastic punctuating the otherwise silent room. It was almost comical, if the situation weren’t so dire, yet there was no humor to be found here—only the cold reality of what they were preparing for. Everything they feared had finally arrived, and there was no turning back.

In the next room, Namjoon and Seokjin worked together, sitting at the dresser and leafing through an old Soldier of Fortune magazine. Their faces were painted in camouflage makeup, the green and brown streaks a stark contrast against their otherwise clean skin. They followed the magazine’s instructions as best they could, though the results were less than professional. Still, it didn’t matter. The makeup didn’t need to make them look like soldiers—it simply needed to make them feel like they were ready for whatever would come. Ready to fight, if it came to that.

Jungkook stood by the window in his bedroom, his fingers gripping the heavy curtain. He pulled it back just enough to peek outside, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the sleepy town of Santa Carla below. The view was deceptively peaceful, the town caught in that fragile moment between day and night. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a soft, fading glow. And yet, with the fading light came an eerie sense of stillness, as if everything was holding its breath—waiting for something, anything, to shift.

The town felt as if it were suspended in that moment, unaware of the impending chaos, unaware of the danger lurking just beyond the shadows. The night had fallen, and with it, everything seemed to change. Jungkook’s heart beat a little faster as he pulled the curtain shut again, turning back toward the others. The time for waiting had passed. Whatever came next, they would face it together. But for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to hold onto the quiet, the peacefulness of that final dusk before the storm. It wouldn’t last long.

Jungkook moved slowly across the room, the weight of the evening pressing down on him, each step deliberate, as if he were carrying the entire world with him. The silence that filled the house was suffocating, thick with anticipation and the hum of uncertainty. Every second that passed felt like it stretched into eternity—each one heavy with the knowledge that everything they had prepared for was about to unfold. The sun had long dipped below the horizon, and in its absence, the night had crept in like a shroud, casting the world in darkness. It felt as though they were standing on the edge of something they could neither control nor escape. The air was electric with tension, and it was impossible to ignore the sense that whatever was coming, it was unavoidable.

Jungkook’s gaze turned once more toward the window, his fingers tightening around the curtain as if holding onto the last shred of daylight. He looked out at Santa Carla below, the town sprawled beneath him, blissfully unaware of the danger that hung over it like a shadow. The streets were quiet, the familiar scene of a sleepy town fading into the night. But he knew better. There was no safety here, not anymore. The world had changed, and there was no going back.

The soft rustling sound of Moon shifting on the bed beside him pulled Jungkook from his thoughts, and he turned to find Y/N blinking up at him. Her eyes were half-lidded with sleep, but there was no mistaking the weariness that lingered in them. The weight of the room seemed to settle even more heavily as she stirred, her movements slow, deliberate. She looked at him, and in that fleeting moment, their shared understanding passed between them without a single word. They didn’t need to speak—they both knew what was coming. The fear and the dread that had been creeping up on them for days now, finally coming to a head. It was all here, in this room, in their hearts.

Her voice broke the silence, soft but thick with the vulnerability of someone who had been carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders for too long. “They’ll be coming for Moon and me, won’t they?” The question hung in the air, fragile and uncertain. She was asking, but she already knew the answer, just as he did. The truth was undeniable.

Jungkook’s heart twisted in his chest at the sound of her voice, a twinge of sorrow and guilt cutting through him. He wanted to reassure her, to say something comforting, but he couldn’t lie. Not now, not when everything felt so raw, so fragile. He met her gaze and saw the fear in her eyes—the same fear that mirrored his own. His breath caught in his throat, but he stepped forward, closing the space between them. He placed a hand gently on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric.

“They’ll be coming for all of us,” he said quietly, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of the truth. Even though every word felt like it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken fears, he spoke them plainly. There was no pretending anymore. “But we’ll face it together. All of us.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her eyes locking with his. The world outside, the threat that loomed, seemed to fade for a moment. There was only the quiet understanding between them, a shared resolve. They didn’t need to speak it aloud, but they both knew. They were in this together, no matter what.

Jungkook turned toward his closet, his movements purposeful, as if he were preparing for a battle he knew was coming. He reached for his hunting bow, the cool wood and taut string familiar in his hands. The weight of it was both reassuring and unnerving at the same time. The bow was a tool—a weapon—but it was also a symbol of the fight ahead. He grabbed the quiver of arrows from the shelf beside it, the soft rattle of the shafts filling the room with a sound that only deepened the tension. As he slung the quiver over his shoulder, his gaze lingered on Y/N. She was sitting up now, her movements slow but steady as she adjusted Moon beside her, the dog’s soft whine breaking the silence.

Y/N caught his eyes, and in that moment, the world outside seemed to blur. Their bond, the quiet strength they had always shared, anchored them in this uncertain reality. She didn’t need to ask him to stay; she knew he would. She didn’t need to remind him of the promises they had made to one another—he remembered them all, as vividly as if they had been spoken just yesterday. Their love had woven them together in ways neither of them could fully explain, but it had always been there, growing stronger with every challenge they faced.

Jungkook moved back toward the bed slowly, his expression softening as he knelt beside her. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against her hand. It was a simple touch, but it spoke volumes. In that fleeting contact, there was reassurance, there was love, and there was a promise that transcended words.

“I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The promise came from a place deep inside him, a place of love and desperation to protect the people who meant everything to him. His thumb traced gentle circles over her hand, grounding them both in the moment. “And I won’t let anything happen to the people we love. Not Moon. Not the boys downstairs. Not anyone.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she squeezed his hand in return, her fingers curling around his with a reassurance that anchored him even more. The connection between them was undeniable, unshakable. It always had been, and it always would be. No matter what the world threw at them, they would face it together.

“I know,” she murmured, her voice steady despite the fear that clung to them both. “I’ll fight with you. I won’t let them take us. We’ll keep fighting. Together.”

Her words were a lifeline, a reminder of the strength they had drawn from each other throughout everything that had come before. They wouldn’t face this alone. No matter what happened, they would stand side by side. Their hearts beat in unison, and together, they would protect what mattered most—each other, and the people they loved.

Jungkook leaned in slowly, his forehead resting gently against hers. The gesture was simple, but it held everything—comfort, intimacy, understanding. In this moment, the chaos of the world outside felt distant, irrelevant. It was just the two of them, locked in this quiet exchange.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words a breath against her skin. They weren’t just words; they were a promise. A promise that ran deeper than anything either of them could express.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed, a soft smile curving her lips despite the fear that still lingered in the depths of her eyes. “I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice just as quiet but no less sincere. “And no matter what happens, we’ll always have each other.”

The words hung in the air, soft and sure, like a secret shared only between them. In that moment, the fear that had been gnawing at them both seemed to fade, replaced by something stronger—something unbreakable. They weren’t alone. Not now. Not ever.

Jungkook pulled back slightly, his hand still holding hers, his eyes searching hers as if looking for some final reassurance. “We’ll make it through this. I promise.”

Y/N nodded, her grip tightening on his hand, a shared determination burning in her eyes. “We will. And we’ll keep everyone safe. We’ll protect the boys downstairs too.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicked briefly toward the door where the young teenagers were gathered, blissfully unaware of the danger that was quickly approaching. They were too young, too naive to truly understand what was coming. But Jungkook would make sure they were ready. He would protect them, just as he would protect Y/N. He would protect anyone he loved with everything he had.

At Hoseok’s house, the air was thick with tension, but Wanda barely noticed. Her mind was miles away, lost in a swirl of thoughts she couldn't untangle. She had hoped for a moment of peace, just a fleeting break from the constant chaos that seemed to follow her boys wherever they went. But as she pushed open the door, the warmth of the room met her, a soft contrast to the coldness she felt inside.

Hoseok stood at the door, his smile welcoming and sincere. His eyes held a quiet optimism, the kind of hope that was rare these days. “Maybe this is the night where everything finally goes right for a change,” he said, his voice bright and full of hope.

Wanda paused, her hand still on the doorknob as his words floated in the air between them. Her expression remained tense, the weight of everything she carried pressing down on her chest. Despite herself, she forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I hope so,” she replied, the words more out of habit than belief.

Hoseok's keen senses didn’t miss the hesitation in her voice. He raised an eyebrow, pouring her a glass of wine with a calm ease. His movements were smooth, practiced, but there was a certain softness in his touch, a sense of care that Wanda wasn’t used to. “Something the matter?” he asked, his tone gentle but probing.

Wanda shifted on her feet, her thoughts momentarily drifting back to her boys. The worry that clung to her like a second skin never seemed to dissipate. The boys... the chaos that followed them... the danger. It was all a constant hum in the back of her mind. She forced herself to focus on the moment, the warmth of the home, the calmness that Hoseok’s presence always seemed to bring. “No, no. Just worrying about my boys. As usual,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hoseok chuckled softly, the sound like a balm to her frayed nerves. He handed her the glass of wine, settling beside her on the couch with a casual grace. “Let me tell you something about boys,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes, the tension in the air starting to ease. “They’re like weeds. They grow best when they’re ignored.”

Wanda took the glass, the cool crystal against her skin grounding her. She could feel his warmth beside her, the closeness oddly comforting. Their fingers brushed for a brief moment, an accidental touch that made her heart skip. She raised the glass to her lips, taking a sip of the wine, the warmth of it spreading through her chest, soothing the tightness that had settled there. “I thought you said they needed discipline?” she teased, arching an eyebrow at him.

Hoseok shrugged, a lazy grin spreading across his face. He leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out as if the weight of the world didn’t press down on him the way it did on her. “Well… what do I know? I’m a bachelor,” he said with a half-hearted shrug, his tone light and carefree.

Wanda couldn’t help but smile at that, the small, fleeting moment of humor breaking through her tension. The corners of her mouth lifted, and for a moment, she let herself forget about the weight of everything she was carrying. She took another sip, savoring the taste, the comfort that the wine and Hoseok’s presence offered.

But even as she relaxed, a subtle shift in Hoseok’s demeanor caught her attention. His smile softened, the lightness in his expression fading just enough for her to sense the seriousness beneath. “Wanda,” he said, his voice quieter now, the playful tone gone, replaced by something deeper. “This is going to be a very special night. I promise you.”

The sincerity in his voice made her heart ache, and she could feel the tension in her own body tighten again, though this time for an entirely different reason. There was something in the way he said it, a promise of something more, something beyond the surface of the evening. It made her pause, her breath catching in her throat.

Hoseok stood up, but Wanda instinctively reached out, her hand brushing against his arm, a touch so gentle it was almost imperceptible. He stopped, his gaze meeting hers, confusion flickering in his eyes for a brief moment. Then, slowly, as if understanding something unspoken between them, he let her pull him closer.

The air between them shifted, the tension suddenly thick in a different way. Wanda’s heart was pounding, and she didn’t know where the impulse came from, but it was there, undeniable. She pressed her lips to his, a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, like both of them were testing the waters. But as the moments stretched on, the kiss deepened, their emotions spilling out in ways neither of them had expected. It was longer than either of them had anticipated, lingering with a quiet intensity, as if time itself had paused to allow them this one moment.

Wanda’s hand slid up to rest against the back of his neck, pulling him closer, her fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepened. It was a kiss of relief, of longing, of something both familiar and new. In that moment, there was no chaos, no fear, no worries about the boys or the unpredictable future. There was only the warmth of Hoseok’s arms around her, the taste of the wine still lingering on their lips, and the certainty that, for this brief moment in time, everything felt right.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other, the world seemed to fall back into place, but in a quieter way, a softer way. Wanda’s breath was uneven, her chest rising and falling in the same rhythm as Hoseok’s. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher—one that held everything, yet nothing at all.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” she whispered, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, even as her heart raced in her chest.

Hoseok let out a soft chuckle, his fingers gently brushing her cheek. “Neither was I,” he admitted, his voice low and hushed, like they were sharing a secret between the two of them. “But I think... maybe it was exactly what we both needed.”

Wanda’s smile grew, a mixture of relief and affection filling her eyes. She leaned into him, her hand still resting on his arm, the warmth of his touch grounding her. “Maybe you’re right,” she murmured, her voice soft with a newfound sense of peace.

And for that one perfect moment, as the night stretched on and the chaos of the outside world faded into the distance, Wanda allowed herself to believe that everything would be okay for once.

Night had settled completely over Santa Carla, cloaking the town in a thick blanket of darkness, the kind that seemed to swallow up every shred of light. The sky above was a deep, velvety black, pierced only by the occasional glimmer of distant stars. A cool, salty breeze from the ocean whipped through the streets, carrying with it an unsettling tang, like the scent of something decaying beneath the surface of the town. Something was about to change, and it felt as though the town itself could sense it—tense, as though it were holding its breath.

In the distance, a sharp, eerie sound shattered the stillness—a sharp, haunting flutter that carried across the air like a warning. The sound of wings—broad, leathery wings—beating through the night sky. It wasn’t the sound of mere birds or even the wind; it was the unmistakable, unmistakable sound of the Lost Boys, the terrifying creatures who had once ruled this town with ease, their reign interrupted only by the darkness of the underground cave that had been their prison.

Now freed, they soared high above the sleepy town, their silhouettes cutting through the inky sky with a deadly grace. There was no sign of hesitation, no fear—just the sharp, predatory gleam in their eyes that could only come from centuries of hunting and bloodshed. Jimin, the leader, the angriest of them all, led the way, his gaze locked forward, focused on the target ahead. His eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the raw power and desire coursing through him. Behind him, Yoongi and Taehyung flew with equal fluidity, their wings flapping in perfect unison. Their hunger was palpable in the way they cut through the sky, their bodies slicing effortlessly through the air like sleek predators on a hunt.

Jimin's thoughts were consumed by one thing—revenge. His mind, dark and twisted with rage, churned with thoughts of the one person he wanted to destroy. Y/N. She was the one who had defied him, the one who had slipped through his fingers, the one who had taken something from him that he would never get back. She had been his first, the first woman he’d changed, the first one he had ever had full control over. He had shaped her, molded her into his perfect creation, bound to him both mentally and physically. But now, she had slipped away from him—gone with Jungkook and the others, forming a ragtag group of humans and vampires, and worst of all, she’d aligned herself with Moon, that damn mutt. The mutt and the girl—Jimin could feel the blood boiling beneath his skin at the thought of them. How dare they.

Worse still, Jimin knew it was because of them that Taeyang was dead. The boy was supposed to have been one of them—part of their group, part of their world. But now he was gone, killed by Jungkook and his little gang of foolish children. They thought they could beat the Lost Boys. Jimin had no intention of letting that go unpunished. No. Tonight, he and his boys were going to carve a path of destruction through the town, and they would make Jungkook and his gang pay—pay dearly for the loss of their brother.

He didn’t just want to kill them. He wanted to destroy their spirits, to wipe them off the earth and take back what was his. But it wasn’t just about Taeyang anymore. It was about Y/N. She was supposed to be part of their world, to complete her transformation and become what she was always meant to be: a vampire. If she had fed, if she had fully embraced the darkness, none of this would have happened. There would be no rebellion, no chaos. She would have been his. But now, with her going to Jungkook, with her clinging to humanity, Jimin was left to deal with the mess she had created. And if anyone was going to make sure things went back to the way they were meant to be, it was going to be him.

As they soared higher into the sky, Jimin's thoughts flicked to the others, Yoongi and Taehyung. Yoongi was quiet, as always, but Jimin could feel the same burning rage pulsing beneath his cool demeanor. Taehyung, on the other hand, wore his anger on his sleeve. The boy’s sense of justice had always been as sharp as his fangs, and now, in this moment, that sense of justice was burning for revenge. The three of them were a force to be reckoned with. Together, they would take back what was theirs.

Their flight carried them over the ocean, where the water churned angrily beneath them, crashing against the jagged rocks of the shore, sending sprays of salty mist into the air. The dark waters seemed to mirror their thoughts—chaotic, deep, and cold. The waves hissed as they collided with the rocks, an eerie reminder of the darkness that had been brewing for far too long. The town of Santa Carla lay just ahead, its lights twinkling in the distance like false promises.

The boardwalk appeared on the horizon first, a faint glow that flickered weakly under the weight of the night, casting long shadows across the sand. It was familiar, yet unfamiliar—there was an eerie quality to it tonight, as if even the town itself knew that the Lost Boys were coming for it once more.

Beneath them, the streets of Santa Carla were bathed in the faint glow of streetlights, casting eerie shadows on the pavement. The town looked peaceful from up here—too peaceful. It was the calm before the storm. The town’s heartbeat was slow, and in its quiet, Jimin could almost hear the fear. The fear that was about to rise. No one here knew what was coming, but Jimin knew. And he couldn’t wait to get started.

He hovered above, his dark eyes scanning the streets below. He could feel the weight of everything pressing down on him. The need for vengeance. The need to take back what had been lost. His grip on his anger tightened as the minutes ticked by, knowing that in a few moments, everything would be chaos. The Lost Boys were coming for their prey—and they would not stop until it was over.

As Jimin looked down at the town, his gaze narrowed, a flash of murderous intent lighting his eyes. Tonight, it was all going to burn.

Back at Hoseok’s house, the evening had slipped into a warm, intoxicating haze. The kiss between him and Wanda had deepened, pulling them closer, their world shrinking to just the two of them on the couch. The weight of the world seemed to disappear as their lips met, and for a fleeting moment, Wanda forgot about the chaos, the tension, the struggles of the outside world. There was only Hoseok, his gentle touch, and the soft, rhythmic connection between them.

Hoseok’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her just a little closer, the heat between them intensifying. Wanda’s heart raced in a way that had nothing to do with fear or worry—it was something entirely different. His lips were warm against hers, and his touch was so steady, so reassuring, that she allowed herself to melt into him, to get lost in the moment. She could feel the tension in her body easing, her thoughts drifting away as she let herself enjoy the simplicity of this intimate connection.

For Hoseok, everything felt natural, effortless. He had always been good at reading people, at knowing when to be gentle and when to push a little further. But tonight, everything was different. There was something about Wanda that had him completely captivated—something in her eyes, the way she leaned into him, the way she responded to his every touch. He didn’t want to think about anything else. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate, as if they were both trying to hold onto this moment before the world outside could intrude.

But then, just as the kiss reached a new level of intensity, a noise broke through the quiet of the room. A faint sound—something distant, almost like a rustling in the wind. Wanda paused, her lips still against Hoseok’s, but her attention momentarily shifting. She broke away from him, her eyes flicking toward the window. The faintest unease stirred in her, but it was so fleeting that she quickly brushed it off. Her gaze lingered outside, but Hoseok, too caught up in the moment, didn’t seem to notice the change in her demeanor. He only saw her, only felt the warmth of her presence next to him, and that was all that mattered.

“Mmm…” Hoseok murmured, his voice low, sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m not sure if I want this night to end.”

Wanda blinked, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she looked back at him, the moment almost as if it had never been interrupted. But then, the noise came again—this time more distinct. A long, drawn-out howl that seemed to vibrate through the walls of the house. It was a sound so strange, so unnatural, that for a split second, Wanda’s thoughts sharpened, her senses returning.

But just as she started to pull away from Hoseok, Mickey, who had been lying lazily at the foot of the couch, let out a howl of his own. It was deep, almost mournful, and filled with an eerie urgency. The sound echoed throughout the house, reverberating in the air like it had a life of its own.

Wanda sat up, blinking at Mickey, who was now looking at her with wide, alert eyes, his ears flat against his head. She frowned, her eyes moving toward the window again. “What’s got him worked up?” she murmured, her voice still soft, but tinged with concern.

Hoseok, however, didn’t seem fazed. He chuckled lightly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face as he leaned closer. “Oh, Mickey’s just being dramatic. You know how dogs get.” He gave her a warm smile, his eyes sparkling with charm. “Probably just a squirrel or something. Don’t let him ruin the mood.”

Wanda hesitated, her gaze shifting back to Mickey, who had now started pacing restlessly, his eyes trained on the door. The house was still, too still. But Hoseok’s presence was grounding, his smile contagious. He reached out, gently cupping her cheek with his hand, his thumb brushing over her skin in a way that made her heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he murmured, his lips dangerously close to hers once more. “There’s nothing out there. Let’s not let the night go to waste.”

Wanda felt a wave of warmth flood her chest at his words, and she let out a soft laugh, her worries fading as quickly as they had come. The world outside could wait—nothing else mattered right now. Mickey, the strange noise, the rest of the world—it all seemed so distant as Hoseok’s lips met hers again, soft and insistent.

The moment between them deepened again, the kiss once more taking center stage as the air in the room thickened with unspoken desire. Wanda’s thoughts blurred into a haze of sensation, the faint howl of Mickey growing quieter in her ears as she gave herself fully to the warmth of Hoseok’s touch. Nothing could ruin this feeling—not now, not tonight.

Jung-Hyun stood in the middle of the living room, trying to steady his breathing. The weight of the situation pressed against him, thick and suffocating. The others gathered around him, each holding something that felt both foreign and essential. The room was tense, the air heavy with a mix of anticipation and fear. His heart raced as he took in the faces of the people around him, each one carved with determination, but there was no mistaking the fear that lurked beneath their hardened expressions.

The Kims stood together, carrying loaded water guns, their faces serious and their movements practiced. They were ready, but it was clear they knew the odds were against them. Jungkook, ever the silent one, had his bow in hand, the arrows strapped to his back with a casual readiness that belied the gravity of the moment. His calm demeanor, as always, was a shield for the storm brewing inside him.

Namjoon stood at the center, the leader, eyes scanning the group with an analytical sharpness that came from years of experience. His posture was stiff with readiness, but there was a subtle tension in his jaw that betrayed his nerves. He cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. “I think I should warn you all,” he said, his tone low and steady, “It’s never pretty when a vampire buys it. No two bloodsuckers ever go out the Jung-Hyun way. Some scream and yell. Some go quietly. Some explode. Some implode. But all of them will try to take you with them.”

The room fell silent as his words settled over them like a cold, suffocating blanket. A chill ran down Jung-Hyun’s spine as the full weight of the danger ahead hit him. Vampires were relentless, unpredictable. Their kind didn’t go down easily, and they always fought to the death. The mention of explosions, implosions, and screams felt like the prelude to something worse than any of them could imagine. Jungkook met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. Neither of them needed to say anything—they both knew the truth of Namjoon’s warning.

The calm before the storm was shattered by the sudden, frantic barking of Bam outside. The sound sliced through the silence, sharp and alarming. Jung-Hyun froze, his body stiffening.

"Bam!" he shouted, his panic rising. "I left him tied up in the yard!"

Namjoon’s voice rang out, urgent and commanding. “Don’t go out there! Stop him!”

But it was too late. Without thinking, Jung-Hyun was already bolting toward the door, his feet pounding against the wooden floorboards. The door slammed shut behind him with a finality that rang in his ears, but the sound only fueled his urgency. Every muscle in his body screamed as he pushed forward, running into the night.

The moon hung high above, its pale light bathing the yard in an eerie glow, casting long shadows across the grass. Jung-Hyun’s breath came in sharp bursts as he sprinted toward the garden where Bam was tethered. The dog’s frantic barking echoed through the yard, each bark sounding more desperate than the last.

As Jung-Hyun reached the garden, his eyes searched for Bam in the dark. The leash was tangled, the knot stubborn, and his hands trembled, making the task harder than it should’ve been. He could hear the distant rush of wings above, the sound growing louder, closer. A chill of recognition ran through him—the unmistakable presence of a vampire, hunting.

His fingers fumbled with the leash, heart hammering in his chest as he struggled to untie the knot. Every second felt like an eternity. He cursed under his breath, his frustration mounting. The wind howled around him, carrying the promise of danger.

Suddenly, the shape cut through the night air, a dark figure hurtling toward him with terrifying speed. Jung-Hyun’s breath caught in his throat as he finally freed Bam. The dog yelped in relief, bolting toward the house, its paws pounding on the ground in a blur of frantic movement. Without thinking, Jung-Hyun turned and sprinted after him, his body screaming with exertion.

But the vampire was closing in—too close, too fast. The air seemed to hum with the presence of the creature behind him. Jung-Hyun’s pulse thrummed in his ears as he pushed himself harder, his legs burning with the effort. The door was in sight, just a few more yards. The house was close, but the vampire’s speed was like an invisible hand gripping his back, dragging him closer to the inevitable.

As he reached the door, he felt it—Taehyung’s presence. Cold. Unyielding. The weight of it pressed against him like a vice, a sharp, chilling breath at the back of his neck. But with one last desperate surge, he shoved the door open, slamming it shut just in time. The impact rattled the frame, but he didn’t look back.

Inside, he leaned against the door, gasping for air. His heart thudded in his chest, the adrenaline still rushing through his veins. The others were staring at him, their eyes wide with a mix of relief and fear, but there was no time for words, no time for anything other than the realization that this was just the beginning.

The quiet didn’t last long. From the fireplace, a sudden noise exploded in the air—a violent, crashing sound that tore through the stillness. Before anyone could react, Taehyung shot out from the flames, his body twisting and contorting with unnatural force. His movements were a blur, a primal energy radiating off him.

The room erupted in chaos. Taehyung was everywhere at once—his fist slamming into Jungkook’s face with brutal force, sending him crashing to the floor in a dazed heap. But Taehyung didn’t stop. He moved with the kind of speed and precision that made it feel like there were multiple versions of him, each more dangerous than the last.

Jungkook barely had time to react, his vision spinning from the force of the blow. But Taehyung wasn’t done with him. He was already shifting his attention, his eyes locking onto Jung-Hyun. In the blink of an eye, Taehyung had lifted him off the ground with ease, his iron grip around Jung-Hyun’s arm. His predatory eyes burned with hunger, the kind that was only satisfied by the suffering of others.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She scooped Moon up, her hands trembling as she rushed up the stairs, away from the madness that was unfolding below. Every step felt like a lifetime, but her focus was singular—get Moon out of harm's way.

Seokjin and Namjoon were quick to respond. Baseball bats were swung with precision, a desperate attempt to push Taehyung back. But Taehyung was too fast, too strong. He didn’t flinch when the bat connected with his side. He held Jung-Hyun in mid-air, his grip tightening with each passing second, and the struggle felt hopeless.

Jung-Hyun fought to keep his composure, his heart racing as panic surged. With his free hand, he drew his water gun, aiming it at Taehyung’s face. The water shot out with perfect precision, hitting its target dead center. Taehyung’s eyes widened in momentary shock, his body recoiling as he stumbled backward. His form crashed into the stereo, sending the speakers flying, and the music blasted to life. The loud, chaotic rock music filled the room, cutting through the tension like a knife.

In the bedroom, Y/N was frantically hiding Moon under the bed. Her heart hammered in her chest, her breath coming in frantic bursts. But something caught her attention—a sudden chill in the air, a draft. She turned and saw it: the window, wide open.

Before she could react, the window shattered, glass exploding outward, and Yoongi flew through, his eyes glowing with hunger, his twisted face filled with malice.

Y/N’s scream echoed through the house, a sound of pure terror.

Downstairs, the boys froze at the sound of Y/N’s scream. It cut through the house like a blade, sharp and full of raw panic. Their hearts hammered in their chests, every second of silence after the scream stretching out like an eternity. Seokjin and Namjoon exchanged a quick, silent glance, a shared understanding flashing between them. Without another word, they bolted for the stairs, urgency fueling their every step. They had to reach her before it was too late.

As they sprinted up the stairs, the house seemed to tremble. The hallway was shrouded in a palpable darkness, an oppressive atmosphere settling over them. Taehyung’s guttural bellow echoed down the hallway, a roar of pure rage that seemed to shake the walls. And then, with a flash, a beam of light shot from his mouth, illuminating the hallway like a flare in the night, casting harsh, angular shadows across the walls. The sudden brightness was almost blinding, but it was enough to reveal the twisted creature Taehyung had become.

Jung-Hyun didn’t falter for a second. He kept his hand firmly on the water gun, relentlessly spraying Taehyung, the holy water searing into his skin, making him recoil in pain. Taehyung’s face twisted in fury, his features contorting into something monstrous. No longer the charismatic, ethereal figure he had once been, his fangs were bared, eyes glowing a sickly yellow as his skin took on a grotesque purple hue. The vampire was no longer human in any sense, and it was clear that he wouldn’t go down easily.

Meanwhile, upstairs, the chaos had already taken hold. Y/N’s heart was in her throat as she collided with Seokjin and Namjoon at the top of the stairs. Her face was pale, eyes wide with fear, but there was no mistaking the urgency in her voice. “It’s Yoongi…” she gasped, breathless from the sprint. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the desperation in it was clear.

Namjoon’s sharp eyes immediately swept the area, calculating, assessing the next steps. The layout of the house flashed in his mind. The boys' rooms were to one side, Wanda’s room to the other. Without missing a beat, he barked out orders. “Check that room,” he said, pointing toward Wanda’s room, and Y/N was already moving before he could finish the sentence.

Namjoon didn’t hesitate either. “You take Jung-Hyun’s room,” he directed Seokjin, “I’m going to check on Jungkook.” His voice was calm, but there was a quiet intensity in it.

Y/N nodded and ran down the hallway, her water gun gripped tightly in her hand. Every step felt heavy with the weight of the uncertainty hanging over them. She reached Wanda’s door, her pulse quickening. She was ready.

Inside, the air was thick with tension. Namjoon crept through the door to Jungkook’s room, his movements deliberate, cautious. The faint scent of musty wood and the low hum of the house’s old pipes surrounded him, but his focus was razor-sharp. His eyes darted around the dimly lit room, scanning for any sign of movement. The bathroom door creaked open slowly, just enough to let him hear the faint shuffle of feet.

Out stepped Yoongi.

Yoongi’s form was a nightmare. His face had taken on a sickening, decayed appearance—flesh hanging in tattered strips, bloodshot eyes glaring with a twisted hunger. His fingers, sharp and elongated like claws, flexed with unnatural grace. The moment their gazes locked, a chill crawled up Namjoon’s spine. The instinct to run screamed at him, but he didn’t. Instead, his hand tightened around the grip of his water gun, the only weapon he had against the abomination before him.

Before Namjoon could react, Yoongi lunged. His movement was lightning-quick, the ferocity of it impossible to anticipate. But Namjoon was faster. Without hesitation, he squeezed the trigger, sending a burst of holy water directly into Yoongi’s face. Yoongi’s scream echoed through the room, sharp and inhuman, as the water seared into his rotting skin. He staggered back, howling in agony as the burning liquid blistered his flesh.

Namjoon didn’t stop. He squeezed the trigger again and again, the water hissing as it hit Yoongi’s decaying body. The vampire stumbled backward, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, until he was cornered in the bathroom. Namjoon’s hand trembled with the effort, but his resolve didn’t waver. He wasn’t about to let Yoongi escape.

Back in the living room, Taehyung was still looming over Jung-Hyun, his expression twisted with sadistic glee. Jung-Hyun barely had time to react before Taehyung’s hands shot toward him, fingers curling like claws. He could feel the cold, suffocating darkness of the vampire’s presence pressing in, but then, out of nowhere, Jungkook’s voice cut through the tension. “Duck, Jung-Hyun!”

Jungkook’s words were a command, sharp and decisive, and Jung-Hyun didn’t hesitate. He dropped to the floor just as an arrow whizzed through the air, slicing through the space where he had just been. The arrow hit its mark with precision, embedding itself deep into Taehyung’s throat.

The impact was brutal. Taehyung roared in pain, a guttural sound that shattered windows and sent light bulbs popping all around them. His body twitched violently as the arrow dug into his flesh, but the worst was yet to come.

Taehyung’s body began to glow. Electric energy crackled from within him, making his skin shimmer as though it was about to burst into flames. His form writhed in agony, crackling with unnatural power as he fought against the pain. Then, with a final, horrific hiss, he vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but a faint scorch mark in the air where he had been.

In the bathroom, Namjoon could hear the chaos unfolding in the living room. His heart pounded in his chest as he sprayed another wave of holy water at Yoongi. The vampire was writhing, still howling in pain, but the struggle was growing harder. His fingers were trembling now, the last of the holy water dwindling in the bottle. He was nearly out of ammunition, but he couldn’t stop now.

“Seokjin! I need backup!” Namjoon’s voice was urgent, raw, desperate. He was at his breaking point, but he refused to give up.

A moment later, Seokjin appeared at the door, his expression grim but determined. He didn’t need any more words. He saw the desperation in Namjoon’s eyes and knew exactly what had to be done. Without hesitation, Seokjin slid across the floor, creeping behind Yoongi, who was still reeling from the holy water’s sting.

Understanding the plan, Namjoon surged forward. He slammed into Yoongi with all the force he could muster, headbutting him with every ounce of strength. Yoongi stumbled backward, and before he could regain his balance, he fell over Seokjin and crashed into the bathtub with a loud, resounding splash.

The water in the tub bubbled and churned as Yoongi thrashed, his screams turning into something inhuman. The holy water bubbled and fizzed, turning the water in the tub a sickly shade of pink and yellow. The two men leapt backward just in time, narrowly avoiding the geyser of boiling liquid that shot into the air. A moment later, Yoongi was gone, his body a charred, smoking husk left to float in the now-steaming water.

Up on the roof, the house continued to tremble, the sounds of destruction filling the air. Jungkook and Jung-Hyun, visibly shaken but still determined, had just made it to the stairs when the glass in the living room shattered. A dark shadow filled the room as Taeyang crashed through the window, blocking their path. They both jumped back, hearts racing, but neither was ready to give up the fight just yet.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

But before they could even process the aftermath of Taehyung's sudden disappearance, another sound ripped through the air—a powerful gust of wind followed by the unmistakable crash of breaking glass. Jimin, his silhouette momentarily silhouetted by the moonlight, flew through the shattered window, twisting in mid-air as his body flipped and hovered above them, his back pressed flat against the ceiling. He was like a nightmare come to life, the darkness of his form blending with the shadows in a seamless blend of terror.

In the blink of an eye, Jimin swooped down, claws extending with unnatural precision, his fangs gleaming ominously in the dim light. Jungkook barely had time to react before Jimin was upon him. His claws raked across Jungkook's back, tearing through his shirt with terrifying ease and drawing a line of blood. Jungkook's body lurched forward from the pain, but his instincts kicked in, forcing him to push through the agony.

Meanwhile, Taeyang, enjoying the chaos from his perch in the corner of the room, darted through the space like a bat, moving in an erratic, unpredictable manner. He knocked over lamps, casting the room into darkness with his reckless flight. The whole room became a blur of glowing vampires and frenzied movements, as Taeyang and Jimin weaved through the air, reveling in the superiority of their aerial advantage. They flew circles around the group, taunting and teasing, seeming to enjoy the terror they caused with every passing moment.

But Jungkook had had enough. His eyes narrowed in determination. He felt the adrenaline flooding through his veins, his heart pounding against his chest. He wasn’t about to let these monsters keep doing as they pleased. With a burst of reckless courage, he leapt into the air, his body momentarily awkward and uncoordinated, but his resolve unshakable. He collided with Jimin mid-flight, the impact sending them both careening through the air like ragdolls. They crashed into the walls with a resounding thud, ricocheting from one side of the room to the other before tumbling to the ground. Jungkook landed hard, his knees buckling under the force, but Jimin was sent spiraling in the opposite direction, flailing in an attempt to regain control.

While the others scrambled to their feet, Y/N wasn’t standing idly by. The chaos in the room had not only spurred the others into action, but it had ignited a fire within her as well. She had watched, helpless, for too long, her heart hammering with the desire to help. She wasn’t just going to hide and wait for someone else to save them. With a steadying breath, she grabbed the first weapon she could find—a spare water gun left carelessly on the counter—and charged into the fray.

She moved with purpose, her eyes scanning the room. As Taeyang soared above them, she fired a well-aimed shot, spraying him with holy water. The effect was immediate—he screeched in agony, his form flickering as the water sizzled against his skin, burning him from the inside out. He lost control for a split second, which was enough for Jungkook to land another hit, throwing him off balance.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She pressed forward, her eyes locked onto Jimin, who was attempting to recover from his fall. With a quick, fluid motion, she sprayed him as well, catching him in the face with a direct hit. Jimin recoiled, howling in fury, but Y/N wasn’t done. As Jimin tried to regain control, she closed the gap, stepping closer, and shot another burst of holy water into his chest. He collapsed to the ground with a tortured screech, writhing in pain as his body began to burn from the inside.

While Y/N continued to fight, in Jungkook's bedroom, Namjoon and Seokjin took a brief moment of respite. Their breath still heavy from the battle, they sat on the edge of the bed, reloading their water guns with renewed urgency. The adrenaline of their victory over Yoongi still buzzed in their veins, but the relief was short-lived.

“Did you see that sucker burn?” Seokjin laughed, his voice laced with excitement and disbelief, trying to mask the tension still coiling in his chest.

Namjoon grinned, the edge of satisfaction lingering on his face. “Man, we totally annihilated his night-stalkin’ ass!” His tone was lighter now, but a dark undercurrent of something more dangerous simmered beneath his words.

Seokjin’s grin widened, clearly proud of the victory. “Two down, two to go,” he said, but Namjoon’s face darkened, his mood shifting from playful to grim.

Namjoon’s eyes flicked to the floor, and his voice dropped lower. “Four to go,” he corrected, his tone serious and foreboding.

Seokjin frowned, confusion clouding his features. “What do you mean?”

Namjoon’s gaze was cold, his jaw tightening. “Those two we brought back with us—the girl and the kid. I don’t trust them. I say we terminate ‘em while we can.” His words were calm, almost calculated, but there was a dangerous finality in them that sent a shiver down Seokjin’s spine.

Seokjin considered Namjoon’s words for a moment, then nodded, a cold look entering his eyes. “You know what? You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, his voice colder than usual.

Meanwhile, beneath the bed, Moon lay in wait, his human eyes turning blood-red as they rolled back into his skull. He had been listening intently to the Kims' conversation, and the words about their betrayal stirred something dark within him. A hunger began to rise from deep inside, and with a vicious snap, his braces popped off, leaving behind only sharp, deadly fangs.

With a surge of energy, Moon opened his mouth, releasing a powerful beam of light that shot across the room like a laser. The Kims were frozen, their eyes wide as they looked at the glowing slits that had replaced his pupils. But Moon wasn’t interested in talking. He moved toward them with a predator’s certainty, his eyes locked on Namjoon and Seokjin's exposed ankles, his hunger unmistakable.

Namjoon and Seokjin, however, were too distracted in their plotting to notice the danger creeping toward them. As they talked, they failed to realize just how close Moon had gotten, until the mattress between them started to bulge and shake. A low, menacing growl filled the room, vibrating through the floorboards, the tension in the air palpable.

Before they could react, Moon ripped through the mattress with terrifying ease, the springs groaning in protest as he tore himself free. He moved with eerie grace, his glowing eyes never leaving the Kims, who were now cornered, their faces drained of color.

In the moment before Moon could strike, a voice cut through the tension, low and firm, yet full of authority.

“Moon... NO.”

Y/N appeared in the doorway, her presence like a beacon in the chaos. She stood tall and unafraid, her posture radiating a strength that silenced the room. Her eyes locked onto Moon’s, and her hands slowly stretched out toward him. “Moon,” she said again, her voice calm, soothing, and filled with the kind of empathy that made the room feel less suffocating.

The Kims watched in stunned silence as Y/N stepped forward, her fingers brushing against Moon’s chest. Her touch was gentle, but it carried an unspoken power. Moon froze, his glowing eyes dimming slowly as the anger and hunger within him seemed to dissipate, replaced by something quieter, something more human. He blinked several times, as if waking from a deep trance, before his body visibly relaxed, the feral energy draining away.

The transformation was almost imperceptible, but it was undeniable. Moon was no longer the terrifying creature he had been moments ago. He was… himself again.

The Kims stared, their mouths agape, unable to comprehend what they had just witnessed. Y/N had done the impossible. She had calmed the monster within Moon and brought him back from the brink.

The kitchen was alive with the tension of impending violence. Taeyang stalked toward Jung-Hyun with deliberate, measured steps, his presence as chilling as the silence that hung between them. His eyes gleamed with a malevolent hunger, and each movement he made felt as if it was drawing them both toward an inevitable collision. The air crackled with an electric charge, heavy with the promise of violence. Jung-Hyun could almost taste the danger, the overwhelming sense that his life hung in the balance.

Bam, the ever-loyal dog, was at his side, teeth bared, standing as a formidable protector. Despite his size and strength, however, Bam knew his limits. He growled low in his throat, his posture tense, but it was clear that Taeyang was no mere creature to be intimidated by brute force. Jung-Hyun’s heart raced in his chest, but he wasn't about to back down. Panic threatened to rise, but he fought it back with every ounce of his resolve. He had to fight, no matter the cost.

Grabbing anything within reach—a plate, a toaster, even the empty cereal box on the counter—Jung-Hyun hurled it at Taeyang. The items flew through the air, but Taeyang didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge the oncoming objects. The plates crashed harmlessly to the floor, bouncing off him as though they were made of paper. It was as if he were a stone wall, impervious to any threat. Taeyang’s focus remained solely on Jung-Hyun, his gaze unbroken, never wavering.

Taeyang’s tongue flickered out, serpentine and grotesque, licking at the foam from his face as though the damage was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. His movements were fluid and confident, making it clear that he was the predator, and Jung-Hyun was the prey.

Jung-Hyun’s chest tightened with fear, but his mind stayed sharp. He grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher with desperate hands, spraying a thick mist of foam directly into Taeyang’s face. The white mist filled the room in an instant, clouding everything, but Taeyang didn’t falter. The foam hit him like a passing breeze, offering no resistance, no sign of discomfort. In an instant, his mouth opened wide, releasing a blinding beam of light that shot toward Jung-Hyun, accompanied by the gleam of jagged fangs that looked capable of tearing through flesh like tissue paper.

The heat from the beam singed the air, but Jung-Hyun’s instincts kicked in before he could even think. His hand shot out to grab a wooden napkin ring from the counter. His fingers were shaky, but he jammed it into Taeyang's mouth with all the strength he could muster, forcing it open wider. Taeyang's eyes burned with fury, and the vampire’s body shuddered in an attempt to dislodge the obstruction. But Jung-Hyun didn’t hesitate. He had prepared for this.

Reaching for a nearby garlic bulb, his hands moved with a precision that only desperation could bring. He grabbed the garlic cloves—dozens of them—and shoved them into Taeyang’s mouth, one after the other, filling it with the pungent, poisonous cloves. Taeyang’s eyes widened in horror as the smell and the power of the garlic began to hit him. His skin flushed a sickly purple as the poison seeped through his veins, a slow, agonizing death toll ticking away from the inside.

Taeyang's body trembled violently, the sensation of the garlic tearing through his system. His veins swelled beneath his skin as the garlic worked its slow, painful magic, but there was no escape. He tried to scream, but the sound was choked, swallowed by the swelling of his own body. His face puffed up, growing grotesque, turning a deep, dark purple. Taeyang’s body began to expand rapidly, as if the very flesh beneath his skin was inflating like a balloon, stretching and distorting with every agonizing second.

"Bam!" Jung-Hyun shouted, his voice frantic. "He’s going to burst!"

Without thinking, he grabbed Bam by the collar and yanked the dog away just as Taeyang’s body reached its breaking point. It was too late to escape the horror.

With a sickening, audible pop, Taeyang’s body exploded in a grotesque shower of gooey, green slime. The walls, the counters, and even the ceiling were splattered with the disgusting remnants of the monstrous vampire. The room stank of putrid, foul decay as the last remnants of Taeyang’s form fell to the floor with a sickly squelch.

Jung-Hyun stood frozen for a moment, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, the weight of the moment crashing down on him. He had done it—he had defeated Taeyang—but the victory was bittersweet. The kitchen was now a chaotic mess, slime and broken objects littering the floor. And though he should have felt relief, a sinking dread began to settle in the pit of his stomach.

That’s when the air shifted.

Before Jung-Hyun could even process what was happening, something sharp and unyielding gripped him by the neck. It was like a vice, pulling him into the air, lifting him off the ground. His feet dangled helplessly beneath him, the room spinning as his heart pounded in his chest. Panic rose in his throat as he struggled to breathe.

He looked up to see Jimin, his claws tightly wound around Jung-Hyun’s throat, his eyes glowing with deadly malice. With a flick of his wrist, Jimin sent Jung-Hyun flying through the air. The world around him blurred as he was hurled across the kitchen, crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. The impact left him breathless, his limbs aching as he crumpled to the ground.

Jimin was no longer the playful creature he once was. He had become a terrifying, ruthless predator. He landed lightly on the floor, his eyes flashing with a deadly gleam. Without a word, he took to the air again, his wings beating once, twice, lifting him higher, and before Jung-Hyun could even think to react, Jimin was soaring across the room, dragging him through the hallway and straight toward Jungkook’s bedroom.

The room was a battlefield. The others—Y/N, Moon, Namjoon, and Seokjin—stood nearby, their eyes narrowed, preparing for the inevitable. Jimin threw Jung-Hyun against the wall with a brutal force. The boy hit the surface with a sickening crack, his body slumping to the floor in an unmoving heap.

Jimin’s eyes flicked toward the others, his gaze dark and predatory. In the next moment, he raised his finger, and a ribbon of flame shot out from it like a blazing torch. The air around them heated instantly, a wave of scorching heat radiating out from the flames. Everyone instinctively backed away, their eyes wide in horror as the fire inched closer.

Before anyone could make a move, Jimin flicked his wrist, sending the flames spiraling, tracing a wreath of fire around the windows and door. With an effortless movement, he sealed them inside, trapping them within the burning circle. The room filled with the acrid scent of smoke, the temperature rising steadily.

And just as quickly as he had come, Jimin vanished. The heat of his power still lingered in the air, a reminder of the overwhelming force he carried. The room fell into a tense, suffocating silence, the flames still licking the edges of the room, creating a dangerous trap. They were sealed in, with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered open, his vision swimming in and out of focus. The world spun around him in chaotic circles, the sharp, throbbing pain in his head making it hard to think. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he tried to move, the aftermath of his last battle weighing on him like a lead blanket. His hand reached instinctively toward the ground, but the cold wood beneath his fingers offered no comfort. And then he saw him.

Jimin stood over him, calm yet imposing, his gaze sharp and predatory. The air around him seemed charged, humming with suppressed power. Jungkook’s heart sank as a cold wave of dread washed over him. He knew he was at a disadvantage, but his instincts screamed at him to get up, to fight, to survive.

“Just you and me now, Jungkook,” Jimin said, his voice low and almost amused, like a cat playing with its prey. His head tilted slightly as he regarded the boy beneath him, a flicker of dark satisfaction in his eyes. “One on one. Fight to the finish.”

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. Adrenaline surged through him, overriding the pain as he pushed himself off the floor. His legs wobbled, but he growled through clenched teeth, forcing himself upright. He glared at Jimin, defiance burning in his gaze. His body ached with every movement, but the fear of what Jimin might do to him—or worse, what might have happened to the others—drove him forward. He couldn’t afford to give in.

Jimin watched him rise, the smirk on his face deepening. “It’s over, Jungkook,” he said, his tone dripping with finality. His words were like a knife twisting in Jungkook’s chest. “You’re the only one left. They’re all dead. Jung-Hyun, Y/N, the others... All dead.”

For a moment, Jungkook faltered. His breath caught in his throat as the words echoed in his mind, each one sinking deeper. Dead? He didn’t believe Jimin—not entirely—but the possibility gnawed at him like a parasite. The worry clawed at his insides, threatening to overwhelm him. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. There was no time to dwell on doubts, no time to let fear take hold. He had to fight.

And then Jimin moved.

It happened so fast that Jungkook barely had time to react. Jimin lunged at him with the speed and precision of a predator, his movements almost too fast to track. Jungkook dodged to the side, his hands scrambling for anything he could use as a weapon. His fingers closed around the wooden hat rack by the door. Without hesitation, he swung it with all his strength, the crack of the wood against Jimin’s head reverberating through the room.

But Jimin didn’t even flinch.

The blow that would have felled a normal man barely registered. Jimin’s eyes burned with cold fury as he reached up, grabbing the hat rack with one hand. His grip tightened, and the wood splintered with a sharp snap, breaking in two like it was nothing more than a twig.

“Damn it,” Jungkook muttered under his breath. He barely had time to react before Jimin was on him again. With a primal roar, Jungkook charged, slamming his shoulder into Jimin’s chest. The impact sent them both stumbling, their bodies colliding with enough force to shake the walls.

The fight escalated into a whirlwind of chaos. They tumbled through the house like a storm, crashing from room to room. In the dining room, chairs were overturned, the table splintering under their weight as they grappled. Jungkook landed a solid punch to Jimin’s jaw, but it only seemed to fuel the other boy’s rage. Jimin retaliated with a powerful kick to Jungkook’s stomach, sending him sprawling into the kitchen.

Pots and pans clattered to the floor as Jungkook stumbled, barely managing to stay on his feet. He grabbed a knife from the counter, slashing at Jimin with desperation. The blade sliced through the air, but Jimin dodged effortlessly, his movements smooth and calculated. He caught Jungkook’s wrist in a vice-like grip, twisting it until the knife clattered to the floor.

They barreled through the back door, crashing onto the porch. The wooden boards groaned under their weight as the fight reached a fever pitch. Fists flew, kicks landed, and the sound of their struggle echoed into the night. Jimin’s strength was overwhelming, but Jungkook’s sheer determination kept him in the fight.

Inside the house, upstairs in the bedroom, Jung-Hyun and Namjoon pressed their ears to the floor. The sounds of the fight below were deafening—fists hitting flesh, furniture splintering, and walls trembling under the force of impact. It wasn’t just a fight. It was a war, and every crash, every shout, felt like another piece of their world falling apart.

On the back porch, Jimin finally gained the upper hand. With a surge of strength, he grabbed Jungkook by the shoulders and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. Jungkook struggled, but it was no use. Jimin hurled him backward with brutal force. Jungkook’s body crashed through the back door, sending shards of wood flying. He was propelled through the kitchen, through the dining room, and back into the living room, where he landed in a heap.

Jimin followed, his steps slow and deliberate as he stalked toward his prey. Jungkook tried to push himself up, but his body refused to cooperate. He barely had time to catch his breath before Jimin was on him again, pinning him against the wall. Jimin grabbed a nearby barbell from the floor, pressing it against Jungkook’s throat. The cold metal bit into his skin, cutting off his air supply.

“Give up, Jungkook!” Jimin snarled, his face inches from Jungkook’s. His voice was filled with rage, but there was something else beneath it—something darker, almost pleading. “You’re one of us. Don’t you understand that? You’re one of us!”

Jungkook’s hands clawed at the barbell, his fingers straining to pry it away, but Jimin’s strength was unrelenting. His lungs burned as the air was forced from his body. Every ounce of energy seemed to drain from him, his vision beginning to blur. He could feel his body weakening, his resistance fading.

“Don’t make me kill you!” Jimin’s voice cracked, the threat hanging heavy in the air. His grip on the barbell tightened, his eyes blazing with a dangerous mix of anger and desperation.

Jungkook’s lips parted, a faint gasp escaping as he fought for breath. Even as the darkness closed in around him, he refused to give in. His gaze locked onto Jimin’s, and despite the pain, despite the overwhelming odds, a flicker of defiance burned in his eyes. He wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot.

Upstairs, the air was thick with tension, each sound from below making their hearts pound harder. The echoes of the fight—shouts, crashes, the sharp clang of something metallic—cut through the silence like a blade. It wasn’t just noise. It was desperation, raw and consuming, and it was coming from someone they all cared about.

Jung-Hyun crouched near the floor, his ear pressed to the wood as if that would bring him closer to the chaos below. His breath came in shallow bursts, his voice tight with fear. “We have to help him! He can’t do this alone!” His hands trembled as he looked up at Namjoon, silently begging for a plan, a solution—anything.

Namjoon stood by the window, his jaw clenched, his mind racing. He was the strategist, the one who always had a plan, but now? Now, they were trapped. The flames Jimin had conjured weren’t ordinary fire; they were alive, burning with a supernatural heat that sealed every exit and defied logic. The room felt like a cage, the walls closing in on them as every second ticked by.

“How?!” Namjoon finally snapped, his voice a mixture of frustration and helplessness. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. “We can’t get out! If we touch those flames—” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. They all knew what would happen.

But then, Y/N stepped forward.

She had been standing in the corner, quiet and still, her arms wrapped protectively around Moon. Her eyes, however, were sharp, darting between the door and the people around her. Always the observer, always the one in the background, Y/N had stayed quiet during their debates, during the chaos that had led them here. But now, something shifted. The room seemed to pause, the air holding its breath, as she spoke.

“I can.”

Her voice was steady, calm, but it carried a weight that made everyone turn to look at her. Jung-Hyun froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. Namjoon’s lips parted as if to question her, but no words came out. Even Moon stirred in her arms, sensing the change in her.

The burning door loomed before them, its flames dancing like living things, eager to consume anyone foolish enough to come close. But Y/N’s gaze lingered on it, unwavering. She wasn’t afraid—not of the fire, not of what lay beyond it. No, her fear was something deeper, something she had carried with her for far longer. It wasn’t the fire that scared her; it was what she knew she had to become to walk through it.

Namjoon finally found his voice. “Y/N, no. You can’t—”

“I can,” she interrupted, her tone firmer now. She met his gaze, and there was something in her eyes that made him stop. Determination. Resolve. Something darker, too, something she had kept hidden from them all.

“What are you talking about?” Jung-Hyun whispered, his voice trembling. “You can’t just—”

Y/N set Moon down gently, her hands lingering on the child’s shoulders for a moment. “Stay here,” she murmured, her voice soft. Moon’s wide eyes filled with worry, but Y/N smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’ll be back.”

And then she turned to the door.

The flames roared, licking at the edges of the frame, but Y/N didn’t hesitate. As she stepped closer, a subtle change came over her. It wasn’t physical—not at first—but it was palpable, like a shadow creeping along the edges of the room. Her presence grew heavier, the air around her thickening as if the world itself were reacting to her. Her hands clenched at her sides, and for a moment, she closed her eyes.

She let it come.

For so long, she had kept it buried, hidden beneath layers of restraint and denial. She had been the quiet one, the calm one, the one who avoided conflict at all costs. But that wasn’t who she truly was—not entirely. There was something else inside her, something wild and untamed, something she had feared for years. And now, as the lives of those she loved hung in the balance, she let it rise.

Her eyes snapped open, and they weren’t the same. A glow flickered in their depths, faint but unmistakable, like embers in the dark. Her movements became fluid, almost otherworldly, as she approached the door. The flames seemed to recoil slightly as she reached out, her hand hovering just inches from the fire. Then, without hesitation, she pushed the door open.

The fire should have consumed her. It should have burned her skin, reduced her to ash. But it didn’t. The flames parted around her like a curtain, crackling angrily but unable to touch her. Y/N stepped through, her figure illuminated by the fiery glow, and for a moment, the others could only watch in silent awe.

Namjoon’s voice broke the silence, barely above a whisper. “What… what is she?”

Jung-Hyun shook his head, his eyes fixed on the door. “I don’t know.”

On the other side of the flames, the living room was chaos incarnate. Furniture lay in splinters, the walls bore deep gouges, and the air was heavy with the mingled scents of blood and smoke. Jimin’s shadow loomed over Jungkook, the barbell pressing relentlessly into his throat. The metal groaned under the force, and Jungkook’s gasps grew weaker. Jimin’s voice, low and venomous, carried a twisted blend of triumph and desperation.

“Give up, Jungkook,” Jimin hissed, his eyes blazing with an unnatural light. “You’re one of us! Stop fighting what you are.”

Jungkook’s vision blurred, the edges of his world going dark as his fingers scrabbled weakly at the barbell. It felt like the end. The weight of Jimin’s strength and the oppressive energy in the room crushed down on him, suffocating, inescapable.

And then, Y/N stepped into the room.

She emerged through the doorway like a ghost, her figure silhouetted against the flickering remnants of dying flames. The fire that had once sealed them in was gone, reduced to embers that flickered out as she passed. Her presence cut through the chaos, sharp and unyielding, and for a moment, even the raging storm of the fight seemed to pause.

Jimin’s head snapped toward her, his expression twisting from smugness to confusion, then to something darker. He released the barbell, letting Jungkook collapse to the floor in a coughing, gasping heap. Jimin’s lips curled into a sneer. “Well, well,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

Y/N’s gaze was locked on him, unwavering, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Let him go, Jimin,” she said, her tone calm, but beneath it was an edge of steel, a resolve she hadn’t shown before.

Jimin chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “Or what? You’ll stop me?” He took a step toward her, his movements predatory. “You forget, Y/N. You’re mine. I made you. You can’t touch me.”

His words hit her like a blow, the truth of them stirring something deep and ugly inside her. She could feel the connection between them, the thread of power he had woven into her the night he turned her. It was like a leash, a chain that pulled tight every time he spoke. Her instincts screamed at her to obey, to kneel, to submit—but she fought it. She clenched her fists tighter, her nails digging into her palms as she took a step forward.

“I’m not yours,” she said, her voice shaking but defiant. “Not anymore.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed, his smile fading. He could feel her resistance, and it infuriated him. “You think you can fight me?” he snarled, his voice laced with fury. “You can’t even stand against what’s inside you. You’ll always belong to me.”

Y/N staggered, her body trembling as his words struck at the core of her being. The bond between them pulsed, a dark, oppressive force that threatened to drag her under. Memories of his control flooded her mind—his voice, his power, the way he had bent her will to his time and time again. For a moment, she faltered, her knees buckling as the weight of it all crashed over her.

But then she thought of Jungkook. She thought of Moon. She thought of the life she wanted to build, the life she deserved. The bond might still exist, but it didn’t define her. She wasn’t just Jimin’s creation—she was more than that. She had to be.

“No,” she said through gritted teeth, forcing herself to stand upright. Her voice grew stronger with each word. “You don’t own me. You never did.”

Jimin’s growl reverberated through the ruined living room, a guttural sound that sent a shiver up Y/N’s spine. His frustration was palpable, his control slipping away as she stood before him, defiant. His face twisted with rage, and then he lunged, a blur of motion too fast for the human eye to follow.

Y/N barely sidestepped in time, her instincts sharper than she realized, her movements quicker than they had any right to be. She spun away, her heart pounding in her chest as Jimin’s outstretched hand narrowly missed her. He turned, his eyes blazing with a fury so raw it felt like the heat of it could scorch her skin.

“You’ll regret this,” he snarled, his voice a deadly promise.

Y/N didn’t answer. She steadied herself, breathing hard, every muscle in her body screaming for rest. But she couldn’t stop—not now. Not ever. The bond that tied her to Jimin still pulled at her, a heavy chain wrapped around her soul, but she pushed against it with everything she had. It was like swimming against a tidal wave, but she refused to drown.

Jimin launched himself at her again, faster this time, and Y/N barely managed to block his strike. His hand collided with her forearm, and the force of it sent her skidding backward across the floor, her boots scraping against splintered wood. The impact jolted through her entire body, her bones rattling like brittle glass, but she held her ground.

The fight was brutal. Jimin was a storm, all overwhelming power and precision. His strikes came faster than she could track, and every blow he landed felt like it could break her. He slammed her into the wall, the plaster cracking behind her, and she gasped as the air was forced from her lungs. His strength was monstrous, his fury unrelenting, and for every move she made, he seemed to have a counter, a way to cut her down.

But Y/N kept going. She ducked under his next swing, rolling across the shattered remains of a coffee table and grabbing a broken table leg as she came up. With a cry, she swung it at him, putting all her strength behind the blow. The wood cracked across his jaw, and he staggered back, more surprised than hurt. His lip split, a thin line of blood trickling down his chin.

Jimin’s hand shot up, brushing the wound with his fingertips. He looked at the blood, then at her, and his expression darkened. “You think you can beat me?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I made you, Y/N. I gave you everything you are. Do you really think you can stand against me?”

Y/N tightened her grip on the table leg, her knuckles white. “I don’t care what you think you gave me,” she said, her voice trembling with anger and resolve. “I’m taking it back.”

Jimin roared and rushed her, his movements a blur. Y/N barely managed to sidestep him again, but this time, he was ready. He spun, his hand lashing out to grab her by the arm. Before she could react, he yanked her toward him and slammed her into the ground. Pain exploded through her back as she hit the floor, the wind knocked from her lungs.

Jimin was on her in an instant, his hand wrapping around her throat. He pressed down, his strength suffocating, and Y/N clawed at his arm, desperate for air. His face was inches from hers, his eyes glowing with that unnatural light, his lips curled into a snarl.

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he hissed, his voice a deadly whisper. “You can’t escape me. You can’t fight me. You’re nothing without me.”

The bond surged between them, stronger than ever, and Y/N felt her will falter. The weight of his power pressed down on her like a physical force, and for a moment, she thought he was right. She couldn’t win. She wasn’t strong enough.

But then she thought of Jungkook, of Moon, of all the people Jimin had hurt and destroyed. She thought of the life she wanted—the life she deserved. And something inside her snapped. She wasn’t nothing. She wasn’t his.

Y/N’s hand fumbled at her side, searching desperately for a weapon, anything she could use. Her fingers closed around a jagged shard of wood—the broken hat rack. Summoning every ounce of strength she had left, she gripped the shard and drove it into Jimin’s side.

Jimin howled in pain, his grip on her throat loosening just enough for her to twist out from under him. She scrambled to her feet, gasping for air, and turned to face him. He was clutching at the shard embedded in his side, his face twisted in agony, but he wasn’t done. He ripped the shard free and threw it aside, his blood staining the floor as he rose to his full height.

“You’ll pay for that,” he growled, his voice shaking with rage.

He attacked again, faster and more vicious than before, and Y/N barely held her ground. His blows came like a hurricane, each one heavier and more brutal than the last. He knocked the table leg from her hands and slammed her into the wall again, his hand wrapping around her throat once more.

But Y/N didn’t stop fighting. She kicked at him, her foot connecting with his knee, and he grunted in pain. She twisted in his grip, reaching for the splintered shard he had thrown aside. Her fingers brushed against it, and she grabbed it just as Jimin dragged her back toward him.

With a cry of pure defiance, Y/N drove the shard into his chest, right over his heart.

Jimin froze, his eyes widening in shock. His grip on her throat faltered, and he staggered back, clutching at the stake protruding from his chest. “You… can’t…” he choked, his voice breaking as the light in his eyes began to fade.

Y/N stepped forward, her legs trembling but steady, her gaze locked on his. “I’m not yours,” she said, her voice steady and unwavering. “Not anymore.”

With one final push, she drove the stake deeper, and Jimin let out a scream that shook the very foundation of the house. His body convulsed, the darkness inside him ripping itself apart as the bond between them shattered. Y/N felt it snap, the chain that had bound her breaking into a thousand pieces, and for the first time, she felt free.

Jimin’s body crumpled to the floor, lifeless and still. The room fell silent, the chaos and fury replaced by an eerie stillness. Y/N stood over him, her chest heaving, the splintered stake still in her hand. Her knuckles were white, her whole body trembling, but she didn’t look away from his fallen form.

Behind her, Y/N heard a weak voice. “Y/N…”

She turned, her eyes softening as she saw Jungkook struggling to his feet. He was battered, his face pale and streaked with blood, but his dark eyes were locked on her, wide with concern. Relief flickered briefly in his expression before fading into something darker. She let the splintered stake fall from her hand—it clattered to the ground with an eerie finality—and stumbled toward him. Jungkook caught her, his arms wrapping around her, his hold shaky but secure.

“It’s over,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she leaned against him. “He’s gone.”

Jungkook’s arms tightened around her, but he didn’t respond. His breathing was uneven, his body trembling against hers. When he finally pulled back, his face was etched with unease. He wasn’t relieved—he was terrified. His gaze shifted past her, lingering on the spot where Jimin’s lifeless body lay. “I... I don’t feel any different,” he murmured, his voice low and unsteady. He turned back to Y/N, his grip on her arm firm. “Do you?”

Y/N shook her head slowly, her face pale. She searched herself, trying to find some sense of release, some indication that the nightmare was truly over, but all she felt was the same crushing weight, the same suffocating bond that had held them all captive. It hadn’t lifted. Nothing had changed.

Behind them, Moon stood with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression grim. She gave a slight nod, agreeing in heavy silence.

Namjoon, standing near the shattered remnants of the coffee table, ran a hand down his face. His jaw clenched as realization dawned, the words spilling from him like a curse. “That means we still haven’t destroyed their leader,” he said, his voice hard and clipped. His eyes flicked to Jimin’s corpse, then back to the others. “It’s not over. It won’t be over until the true source of this—whatever it is—is gone.”

A low rumble suddenly broke the heavy silence, the grinding sound of tires on gravel cutting through the night air like a warning. The headlights of a truck swept across the broken front window, casting long, distorted shadows across the room. Everyone froze, their tension crackling like static.

“Someone’s here,” Jung-Hyun whispered, his voice barely audible as he crouched behind the remnants of an upturned chair, his sharp gaze fixed on the door.

The door creaked open, slow and deliberate, the sound dragging out like a harbinger of doom. Wanda stepped in first, her eyes wide and filled with panic, her hands gripping the doorframe for support. Behind her, Hoseok followed, his face a mask of anguish. His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed, but his eyes were locked onto Jungkook, and they gleamed with something darker than sorrow.

“Oh my god...” Wanda whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the destruction, the bloodstains, and the still figure lying on the floor.

“Mom!” Jung-Hyun gasped, his voice breaking as he stepped toward her. Relief flickered across his face, but it quickly turned to confusion when his gaze shifted to Hoseok. Something wasn’t right.

Wanda’s voice broke through the tension. “What happened? Is everybody all right?!” Her panic only grew as she scanned the room, her expression desperate. But her words were cut short as Hoseok finally spoke.

“Where are my boys?” he demanded, his voice sharp and filled with a strange intensity. His eyes scanned the room, pausing briefly on Jimin’s lifeless body. “Where’s Jimin? Where are the others?!”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of his words pressing down on everyone like a suffocating fog. Y/N’s stomach twisted, her instincts screaming that something was very, very wrong. Jungkook stiffened beside her, his grip on her arm tightening.

Namjoon stepped forward, his voice hard and accusing. “You’re not looking for them,” he said, his words deliberate and cold. “You already know where they are.”

Hoseok’s gaze flicked to Namjoon, his expression twisting into something feral. His lips curled back in a humorless smile, his teeth unnervingly sharp. “Very perceptive,” he said, his voice smooth, mocking. “But you’re missing the bigger picture.”

Wanda, still trembling, looked at Hoseok with wide, disbelieving eyes. “What are you talking about?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Who’s Jimin? What’s going on?”

Hoseok’s grin widened, and his gaze turned to Wanda, dark and hungry. “It was all supposed to be so perfect,” he said, his tone almost casual, as if recounting a fond memory. “One big, happy family. My boys... and yours.”

Wanda staggered back, her hand flying to her mouth as realization hit her like a freight train. “Vampire?” she choked out, her voice shaking. “You’re... you’re one of them?”

Hoseok’s features shifted, his human façade melting away to reveal the monster beneath. His eyes burned yellow, his skin taking on a sickly, ashen hue. His lips peeled back to reveal fangs, sharp and glinting in the dim light. He was no longer the man they had known—he was something far worse.

Jung-Hyun stumbled back, his voice shaking with disbelief. “But... you passed the test!” he shouted, his mind racing. “You can’t be—how did you—?”

Hoseok chuckled, the sound low and menacing. “Jungkook invited me in,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “That’s all it takes. An invitation. It renders you powerless.”

Namjoon’s expression darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. “The invitation protects them,” he muttered, his voice filled with regret. “I should have warned you.”

Jung-Hyun turned to Namjoon, his face twisted with anger and betrayal. “You knew?!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “You knew this could happen, and you didn’t say anything?!”

Before Namjoon could respond, Hoseok took a step forward, his presence commanding and terrifying. “Wanda,” he said, his voice soft but menacing. “It’s you I’ve wanted all along. To be our guardian. Our protector in the daylight. I knew if I could bring Jung-Hyun and Jungkook into the family, you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

Wanda backed away, her face pale, but Hoseok advanced, his eyes gleaming with cruel delight. “And now,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you don’t have a choice.”

The room erupted into chaos as Hoseok lunged forward, his fangs bared, his monstrous form towering over them all.

Jungkook stepped forward, his body a solid wall between Hoseok and his mother. His legs felt like lead, and his hands trembled ever so slightly at his sides, but his resolve was unshaken. Hoseok’s cruel grin cut through him like a blade, but the fear in Wanda’s wide eyes ignited something primal in him. He wouldn’t let Hoseok take her—not now, not ever.

“I didn’t invite you in this time,” Jungkook growled, his voice hoarse but brimming with defiance. Every word was like steel, cutting through the oppressive tension that filled the room.

“Jungkook!” Wanda cried out, panic swelling in her voice as she instinctively tried to move toward him.

“Get out, Mom! Run!” Jungkook shouted, his tone urgent, commanding. He didn’t look back at her, his focus locked entirely on Hoseok.

But before Wanda could move, a deafening roar tore through the room—a monstrous, guttural sound that made the walls tremble and seemed to shake the very foundation of the house. It was a roar so powerful it seemed to come from deep within the earth itself. The force of it sent everyone crashing to the ground, their bodies pinned down by an invisible weight that seemed to crush the air out of their lungs. Everyone, except Jungkook.

As the others struggled against the overwhelming force, Jungkook remained standing, his body the lone pillar against Hoseok’s towering shadow. His chest rose and fell heavily, his heart hammering so loudly he thought it might burst, but he stood firm, his eyes blazing with determination.

Hoseok let out a low, mocking laugh, the sound like nails scraping against glass. His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as he stepped closer to Jungkook. “Come on, boy,” he sneered, his fangs glinting in the dim light. “Come and save your mother. Let’s see if you’re strong enough.”

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He lunged at Hoseok, fists flying, but the vampire moved faster than human eyes could follow. In an instant, Hoseok sidestepped him and grabbed him by the ankle. With terrifying strength, he lifted Jungkook off the ground and swung him through the air like a ragdoll. Jungkook’s body slammed into the wall, the impact splintering the wood and leaving a deep dent. The sound of shattering glass and cracking plaster filled the room.

Hoseok didn’t stop there. He swung Jungkook again, slamming him against the bannister, the wooden railing exploding into jagged shards. Jungkook gasped in pain, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud. He tried to rise, but Hoseok grabbed him by the collar and hurled him across the room. He crashed into the far wall, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth, and his limbs felt like lead. He tried to move, but his battered body refused to respond.

Outside, Min-chul’s truck rumbled down the gravel road, the sound distant compared to the chaos unfolding inside. The headlights illuminated the house for a brief moment before the truck came to a stop. Min-chul sat inside, his eyes locked on the front window, watching the struggle through the cracked glass. He hadn’t yet moved, but his hand gripped the gearshift tightly, his knuckles white with tension.

Inside, Hoseok’s laughter echoed through the house as he stepped over Jungkook’s limp form. He reached for Wanda, his long, pale fingers gripping her arm and pulling her to her feet. Her eyes filled with tears as she tried to wrench herself free, but his grip was like iron.

“It’s over,” Hoseok hissed, his voice soft and cruel. “You’re mine now.”

Wanda’s panicked gaze darted past Hoseok’s shoulder, and in that moment, she saw something—a flicker of light through the window, the glare of headlights piercing the darkness. Her heart leapt as a plan began to form, desperation giving her strength. Summoning every ounce of courage she had, Wanda twisted violently, shoving Hoseok with all her might. He staggered back, his face twisting in fury, but before he could react, the room was rocked by an earth-shattering crash.

The house shuddered as Min-chul’s truck came barreling through the front of the building, reversing at full speed. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass filled the air as the truck smashed through the wall, sending debris flying in every direction. A volley of large, sharpened fence posts strapped to the back of the truck launched forward, propelled by the force of the crash. The metal spikes tore through Hoseok’s body with brutal precision, impaling him in several places.

Hoseok let out a bloodcurdling scream, his body convulsing violently as the spikes pinned him to the floor. His face twisted in agony, his hands clawing at the air as he writhed like a wounded animal. The air around him began to shift, a dark, swirling energy emanating from his body. The vortex grew rapidly, sucking in everything around it.

The furniture, drapes, and shattered remnants of the walls were pulled into the swirling void. The house groaned under the immense pressure, the walls shaking and cracking as if the very structure were being torn apart. The air was filled with the deafening sound of the vortex, a howling wind that seemed to scream with the voices of the damned.

Wanda clung to the edge of the overturned couch, her knuckles white as she held on for dear life. Y/N and the Kims grabbed onto each other, their bodies pressed against the floor as the pull of the vortex threatened to drag them in. Jung-Hyun wrapped his arms around Bam, holding the terrified dog back as it yelped and clawed at the floor.

Jungkook, still dazed and bleeding, felt himself being pulled toward the vortex. His fingers scraped against the floor, desperately searching for something to hold onto. “Jungkook!” Y/N screamed, her voice barely audible over the chaos. She lunged forward, grabbing his arm just as his legs were lifted off the ground. Her grip was firm, but the force of the vortex was relentless.

The storm of destruction seemed endless, the suction growing stronger with each passing second. The walls began to buckle, the roof creaking ominously as chunks of plaster and beams were torn away. And in the center of it all, Hoseok’s body continued to writhe, his screams growing weaker as the vortex consumed him.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the vortex collapsed inward, sucking Hoseok’s body into nothingness. The howling wind ceased, leaving the house eerily silent. Debris rained down from the ceiling, the air thick with dust and the acrid smell of burnt wood.

Jungkook collapsed to the floor, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. Y/N pulled him into her arms, her face pale and streaked with tears. Wanda staggered to her feet, her eyes wide with disbelief as she surveyed the wreckage. The house was in ruins, but they were alive. Somehow, against all odds, they had survived.

Outside, Min-chul tilted his head back, his expression frozen in awe and disbelief as he watched the strange phenomenon erupting from the chimney. Glowing embers and dark, ashen fragments spiraled upward, blending with the night sky in a ghostly dance. It was as if Hoseok’s very essence was being consumed by the universe itself, dissipating into nothingness. The fiery rain carried with it an unnatural energy, sparkling faintly before vanishing into the ether. The distant sound of the wind howling through the trees seemed to mourn the end of something ancient and terrible.

Min-chul muttered a low curse under his breath, the surreal sight tugging at something primal within him. For a man who had seen his fair share of horrors, this moment stood apart—a strange, poetic finality to a nightmare that had loomed for far too long.

Inside the shattered remnants of the living room, the chaos finally began to settle. The vortex that had consumed Hoseok and nearly everything else in its path slowed to a stop, leaving only a heavy, eerie silence in its wake. The air was thick with dust and the faint, acrid scent of something burnt and bitter—like charred wood mixed with decay. Hoseok’s limbs and head, the last remnants of his form, dissolved into the void with an unsettling, almost pitiful sound, like the last gasp of a dying beast. And then it was gone. Completely, utterly gone.

Wanda sat on the floor, her back pressed against the ruined remains of the couch. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath, her hair disheveled and her face pale. Her trembling hands pressed against her heart as she took a shaky look around the room. “Everybody okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with exhaustion and relief.

Slowly, one by one, they began to stir. Jung-Hyun, sprawled near the corner with Bam curled tightly against his side, pushed himself up first. His wide eyes scanned the room, his analytical nature already piecing together the aftermath. Jungkook groaned softly as Y/N helped him sit up, her hand resting on his shoulder for support. Moon brushed dust from his jacket, his expression grim but relieved, his wolf-like eyes darting between the others to confirm everyone was alive.

“Think so,” Moon muttered, breaking the silence. His sharp gaze caught sight of something on the floor. “But that... was close.”

Jung-Hyun, ever composed despite the chaos, reached down and picked up Hoseok’s driving cap from where it lay near the fireplace. He stared at it for a moment, his lips curling in distaste. Without a word, he tossed it into the fading remnants of the vortex. It spun once in the air before vanishing into the void, like an offering to whatever dark force had finally consumed Hoseok. “Good riddance,” Jung-Hyun muttered, dusting off his hands as if physically ridding himself of Hoseok’s taint.

Jungkook’s arms wrapped tightly around Y/N as he sat upright, pulling her into an embrace that spoke of relief and gratitude. His body ached from the battle, his muscles screaming in protest, but for the first time in what felt like years, his heart felt light. “It’s gone,” he whispered, his voice raw but filled with an unshakable certainty. “I feel it. He’s gone.”

Y/N pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her own filled with the same dawning realization. “So do I,” she said softly, her voice trembling with the weight of the moment. The oppressive heaviness that had shadowed them for so long had finally lifted, leaving behind a strange, quiet peace.

Moon, standing near the shattered remains of a window, nodded in agreement. His sharp features softened as he spoke, his tone reflective. “Me, too,” he murmured. The words carried an unspoken gratitude, an acknowledgment that they had survived something none of them truly believed they could.

As the tension in the room began to ease, Wanda climbed unsteadily to her feet. She leaned against the wall for support, her legs still shaky beneath her. “Everyone accounted for?” Jungkook asked, his voice softer now, though still laced with concern. He glanced around the room, doing his own mental count of the survivors.

“Looks like it,” Jung-Hyun replied, his tone steady but tired. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing down at Bam, who wagged his tail weakly but seemed unharmed. “Even Bam’s okay.”

The faint sound of crunching glass drew their attention as Min-chul stepped through the wreckage of what had once been the front of the house. His boots left dusty imprints on the debris-strewn floor as he entered the room, his posture as calm and unaffected as ever. The destruction around him seemed to have no effect on the man. If anything, he looked mildly annoyed, as though a minor inconvenience had interrupted his evening plans.

Min-chul’s eyes swept over the scene, taking in the wreckage, the battered survivors, and the faint remnants of the vortex that had finally died out. Without a word, he made his way across the room, stepping over broken furniture and shards of glass with deliberate precision. The others watched in stunned silence as he headed for the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the chaos he’d just been part of.

Min-chul opened the refrigerator door, the faint creak of the hinges breaking the silence. He reached inside, ignoring the slime and soot that clung to the walls of the fridge, and pulled out a can of diet root beer. The faint hiss of carbonation filled the room as he popped the top and took a long, slow drink. For a moment, no one spoke, their eyes fixed on the bizarrely mundane scene unfolding before them.

Min-chul finally broke the silence, his voice low and dry, tinged with an understated bitterness. “The one thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He took another swig of his root beer, his gaze distant. “All the damn vampires.”

The weight of his words hung in the air for a moment before Jung-Hyun snorted softly, the absurdity of the situation breaking through the tension. Y/N laughed quietly, leaning against Jungkook as exhaustion overtook her. Wanda let out a shaky breath, her lips twitching into a faint, tired smile.

One year later

Six months had passed, but the Oregon air still felt foreign to Jungkook. The city of Eugene had a slower rhythm than Santa Carla, with its bustling chaos and perpetual haze of saltwater. Here, the world was quiet, wrapped in the scent of pine and freshly turned earth. It was a change Jungkook welcomed, even if it still felt a little strange.

He stood at the base of an old oak tree, his head tilted back to where Y/N had perched herself high above. She looked perfectly at home, swinging her legs as she leaned casually against the trunk. The moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows over her face.

"Are you sure we're both gonna fit up there?" he called, squinting up at her. She smirked, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Your butt isn’t that big yet," she shot back, laughter in her voice. "Come on, just use the branches like a staircase. You'll figure it out. And try not to fall—you've got a whole college career ahead of you."

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. "Oh, thanks. That's real reassuring." He grabbed hold of the first branch, testing its strength before pulling himself up. "If I fall, you're carrying me to the hospital."

"I'll just tell them you were too distracted by Orion's Belt to watch your step," Y/N quipped, leaning slightly to watch his progress.

"Yeah, yeah. You're hilarious," he muttered, swinging his leg onto the next branch. By the fourth one, he had to jump to reach it, grumbling under his breath. "You sure you didn’t plant this tree just to mess with me?"

Y/N winked. "You're smart enough to figure it out."

With a final heave, Jungkook reached her level, settling himself beside her with a triumphant exhale. He wedged himself securely between her and the trunk, his legs dangling over the edge. The wind tugged at their clothes, carrying the cool, earthy scent of Oregon's forests.

“So,” he began, glancing at her with a crooked smile, “what’d you drag me up here to see?”

Y/N took his hand, their fingers intertwining, and pointed toward the glittering expanse of stars. “There,” she murmured. “See that cluster over there?” She traced a shape in the air, guiding his gaze. “That’s Orion. If you look close, you can see his bow over here”—she made a sweeping motion—“and then his belt. That’s how most people find him.”

Jungkook tilted his head back, his eyes wide with wonder as he followed her gestures. “You can’t see any of this from the rest of the city,” he said softly. “It’s… beautiful.”

“This place reminds me of the clifts back home,” Y/N rested her head against his shoulder, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I used to go there a lot,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “Back when I… wasn’t myself. When the others were out, well, you know.” She trailed off, staring at the stars as though they might offer her some clarity. “Sometimes I’d bring Moon. He loved guessing what shapes the constellations were supposed to be.”

The mention of Moon brought a soft smile to Jungkook’s lips. Moon was doing better now. After being adopted by Jungkook’s mother, the boy had finally found some stability. He was attending school again in California with the help of an IEP and a 504 plan. Though he was a grade behind his peers, Moon was thriving. Jungkook’s little brother, Jung-Hyun, had been a huge help—since the two boys were the same age, they had naturally become close. Namjoon and Seokjin were over at their mother’s house almost every day, offering support and keeping Moon company. They played games, helped with homework, and made sure the house was always filled with laughter. It was healing, in its own way. Everyone was trying to move on, and Moon was at the center of it all, slowly piecing himself back together.

The Oregon night was crisp, the cool air tingling against their skin, but neither of them cared as they huddled together in the sturdy embrace of the old oak tree. The stars above them glittered like a scattering of diamonds on black velvet, their light soft and soothing.

“What’d Moon say this one looked like?” Jungkook asked, his voice soft, his gaze fixed on the sky. He tilted his head toward Orion, the familiar cluster of stars standing out amidst the vastness.

Y/N’s lips curved into a tender smile as she thought back. “He said it looked like a sword. See?” She guided their intertwined hands upward, her fingers light against his. “That’s the hilt, down there,” she said, tracing a line near the bottom of the constellation. “And up here…” She moved their joined hands higher. “That’s the blade.”

Jungkook chuckled, the sound rumbling low and warm in his chest. He glanced at her, his eyes soft and adoring, as though the stars could never hold a candle to the glow in her face. “A sword, huh? That fits Moon. He’s always been a little fighter.”

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured, her voice gentle. “It really does.”

They sat in companionable silence after that, the quiet of the forest wrapping around them like a cocoon. The wind rustled the leaves, and the faint, sweet smell of damp moss filled the air. Y/N began pointing out more constellations, her voice soothing as she whispered their stories. Her words floated on the cool breeze, and Jungkook listened intently, his gaze flickering between her animated expressions and the stars above. Their shoulders brushed as they leaned against each other, a steady and familiar closeness that spoke of trust and affection.

At one point, Y/N turned her head to look at him, her gaze searching. “You know,” she said, her tone suddenly playful, “you could make your own constellations if you wanted. They’re just stars. You can make them look like anything.”

Jungkook’s brows lifted thoughtfully as he scanned the sky. “Anything, huh?” He grinned after a moment, turning his attention to a small cluster of stars. “That one kind of looks like Bam,” he said, pointing upward with their joined hands.

“Bam?” Y/N laughed, her voice a sweet melody in the quiet night. “Okay, show me.”

“Yeah, see, that’s his tail.” Jungkook carefully traced a gentle curve with their hands, mimicking the wagging sweep of his beloved dog’s tail. “And over here, that’s his body. He’s standing up.”

Y/N squinted at the stars, her lips curving into a delighted smile. “I can see it. That’s definitely Bam. All loyal and proud.”

Jungkook chuckled softly, his head leaning against hers as his laughter faded into a content hum. He turned slightly, brushing his lips against her temple in a quiet kiss. “You’re the best,” he murmured, his voice low but full of sincerity.

Y/N tilted her head up to meet his gaze, her eyes shining with something unspoken but deeply felt. “You’re not too bad yourself,” she teased, her grin softening as she reached up to trace his jawline with her fingertips.

Jungkook’s expression melted, his lips tugging into that boyish smile she adored so much. Without another word, he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was gentle but lingering, filled with all the things he couldn’t say out loud. Her hand slid up to cup his cheek as she kissed him back, her heart swelling with the kind of love that felt endless, like the stars above them.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the cool air. “I love you, you know that?” Jungkook whispered, his voice barely audible but carrying the weight of his feelings.

Y/N smiled, her thumb brushing across his cheekbone. “I know. And I love you too.”

They stayed like that for a moment, their world shrinking down to just the two of them. The worries of life—college, careers, the lingering pain of the past—faded into the background, replaced by the steady warmth of their connection. Jungkook pressed another kiss to her forehead before pulling her closer, his arm wrapping securely around her shoulders.

“You sure you don’t wanna give college another shot?” he asked after a while, his voice hesitant but laced with hope. “You’re so into history. You’d be amazing at it.”

Y/N shook her head gently, her fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest. “I appreciate it, Jungkook. I really do. But I need time. My head’s still… messy, you know? I can’t even remember half the stuff I learned before. I just want to take things slow for a while.”

He exhaled softly, the sound both understanding and reluctant. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I will be,” she said firmly, lifting her head to look him in the eyes. “I’m looking into that apprenticeship at the tattoo parlor downtown. And being back here… close to my brother, close to home… it’s enough for now.”

Jungkook nodded, his gaze steady and full of love. “Okay. But if you ever change your mind…”

“I’ll let you know,” she promised, her lips curving into a smile that made his heart skip.

He kissed her again then, slower this time, his hands cupping her face as though she were something precious. Y/N melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she poured all her feelings into that single, unhurried moment.

When they pulled away, Jungkook rested his chin on her shoulder, holding her close as the night stretched on. “We’ve got time,” he murmured, his voice soft but certain. “No rush.”

“Yeah,” Y/N whispered, her cheek pressed against his. “No rush.”

Before she could respond, before she could even breathe, Jungkook closed the distance between them, his lips finding hers in a kiss that felt both familiar and brand new, like something that had been waiting in the shadows, waiting for them to find it. The world around them seemed to fall away, and all she could focus on was the way his lips moved against her own—warm and soft—each second carrying a lifetime of things unsaid.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, her fingers tangling in his hair as they kissed. She felt his arms tighten around her, his body pressing into Y/N’s, a warmth blooming between them that she hadn’t let herself feel in so long.

His fingers slipped beneath her shirt, the touch featherlight, sending a shiver through Y/N. He looked into her eyes as he moved, his gaze steady, as if asking for permission. She nodded, and he smiled, his fingers moving higher, brushing the edge of her bra. He wanted Y/N to feel every moment, to know that this was about them—about both of them.

"Patience, baby," he whispered against my lips, his voice warm and teasing. "We're not in a rush. Forever, remember?" His eyes held a hint of mischief, and she bit her lip, trying to stifle a smile.

Y/N pulled away, gasping for air, her body pressing against his, her need growing stronger. "Please," she whispered, my voice raw. She wasn't even sure what she wanted, but she needed more—more of his touch, more of him, more of the feeling that threatened to swallow her whole.

Jungkook chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through her. "I know," he said, his lips brushing against her ear. "But I want you to feel every second of this. I want you to remember it." His voice was soft, but there was an edge of command there that made her body respond.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. She managed to undo a few, her hands trembling with urgency. Jungkook laughed again, a low, warm sound, his lips pressing against her neck. His hair brushed against Y/N’s skin, and he felt like a furnace in the cool night air, making her senses come alive.

His hands moved higher, cupping my breasts, and she sighed, her body arching into his touch. This was what she wanted—this closeness, this connection. He took his time, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, the sensation making her moan. Y/N quickly bit her lip, muffling the sound, and Jungkook gave me a knowing smile.

"It’s okay, baby," he whispered, his voice a mix of teasing and affection. "No one’s around. Do you feel good?"

She shook my head, her cheeks heating at the thought of being caught. His hands were warm but felt like ice against her newly exposed skin, and she ached for more.

Jungkook’s breath quickened, and he pulled away just enough to shrug off his shirt. Y/N’s eyes roamed over him, taking in every detail, and even though she'd seen him like this before, it still made her heart skip a beat. He was beautiful—strong, vulnerable, perfect.

Y/N was so focused on him that she didn't even notice him reaching for her shirt until it was gone. He let her fall back, the grass cool against her skin, his fingers tracing light patterns along her stomach, and her breath caught as his hands moved lower, to the waistband of her jeans. He moved with confidence, his touch deliberate, and in one smooth motion, he lifted Y/N, sliding her jeans off, leaving her half-naked in the cool night air.

"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice soft, his hand gliding up her leg, his touch gentle but possessive.

Y/N laughed, the sound shaky but filled with warmth. "Not even a little," she said. Y/N felt like she was on fire, every nerve alive, her body humming with sensation.

"That's my girl," he murmured, his fingers brushing over her skin, finding every sensitive spot, making her shiver. Y/N closed her eyes, surrendering to the feeling, wishing it could last forever.

Jungkook paused, and she blinked up at him, confused. It took her a second to realize his pants were gone, discarded on the ground.

"When did—" Y/N started, but her gaze shifted, caught by the sight of her bat-covered boxers.

"Bats?" She asked, her voice a little dazed.

He shrugged, giving me a sheepish grin. "Thought they were funny."

Y/N laughed, a real, genuine laugh that broke through the tension. "They are. Especially on you."

Jungkook snorted, then leaned down, his body pressing her into the soft grass. "You're far too coherent—I must not be doing this right."

"Oh, you're doing it very—oh!" Y/N’s words were cut off by a gasp as he reached beneath her, unhooking her bra and sliding his hand beneath the fabric. Her hips lifted instinctively, her body responding to the heat of his touch, a need building inside her that made her heart race.

"Patience," he whispered again, his tone firmer this time, his fingers slipping her bra down her arms and tossing it aside. "I'm going to take care of you."

He lowered his mouth to her breast, and any protest Y/N had vanished in an instant. His lips were warm, his tongue flicking over her skin, and she let out a soft cry, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. Her body felt too hot, too alive, and Y/N thought she might fall apart if he stopped.

"Y/N," he breathed, her name like a promise, his hand moving to her other breast, his touch sending shivers through her. Y/N gripped his shoulders, holding on tight, as if he was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Please, more," She panted, her voice raw, her fingers digging into his back. He smiled against her skin, teasing her, and she groaned, desperate for more.

"Do you need something, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice soft but commanding, his free hand sliding down to brush against the edge of her panties.

"Yes, please," She begged, her body arching towards him, her voice filled with need.

"Tell me," he said, his lips trailing down her stomach. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and another wave of heat washed over her.

"I need you," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling, her desire almost too much to bear.

"That's my girl," he said, his fingers brushing up her thigh, "always so honest." He sat back, his hands moving to her hips, his fingers curling around the fabric of her panties as he began to pull them down, slowly, too slowly.

Y/N wished she had his strength—she'd have torn them off in an instant. She gasped as the cool night air touched her bare skin, her legs instinctively trying to close, but his hands stopped her, gentle but firm.

"Don't hide from me," he whispered, leaning over her, his voice a gentle command.

Y/N couldn't hide from him—she never could—and she let herself relax, her legs parting as their mouths met again. His skin brushed against her own, their bodies fitting together perfectly, and his fingers found her, cool and deliberate.

A gasp slipped from Y/N’s lips, her body jerking at his touch. "You feel amazing," he murmured, his voice rough against her ear. His fingers moved, slow and steady, building a rhythm, and Y/N felt herself respond, the heat inside her growing, her skin feeling too tight.

His gaze never left her face, and there was something almost reverent in the way he looked at her, like she was the most important thing in the world.

"Please," Y/N begged, her voice cracking, her hands clutching at him. He shushed her softly, his lips brushing against her neck, his touch soothing.

"Look at me, baby," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth and control. "I want to watch you cum."

The night seemed to wrap around them, holding the two in that moment. Y/N’s breath hitched as he leaned closer, his touch drawing her deeper into the feeling, like there was nothing else in the world but him. She could feel the fire inside her, the sensation building, and she knew she was close.

"Kook," Y/N gasped, his name slipping from her lips like a prayer, and she let herself fall into the feeling, her body tensing, her nerves sparking as the pleasure rushed over her. Y/N heard him groan, her name on his lips, and she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be—here, in the darkness, with him.

Before Y/N could say anything, Jungkook cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. It was a tender kiss, slow and filled with restraint, as if he was holding himself back. Y/N could feel the heat rising inside her again, a spark igniting even though she was already spent. But the fire was still there, making her want more.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, letting herself get lost in the moment. There was no room for doubt now, no fear that he might pull away. He was here, with her, and she wanted all of him. His body pressed closer, the urgency in his movements making her head spin. His kisses turned more intense, his hips pressing against hers, and Y/N gasped at the feeling of him against her, a primal need making her shiver.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice strained, his lips brushing her skin as his hands slid up her sides. His question caught her off guard—there was vulnerability in it, like he was giving her one last chance to pull away.

"There's no one else I would trust," She replied, her voice steady despite the chaos inside her. No matter what, her heart had always come back to him. He was her protector, her anchor, and she loved him. She trusted him completely.

Jungkook closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping him, and Y/N saw the weight of her words settle into him. It hit her then—how much power she had over him. She could hurt him deeply if she chose to, and that thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. But more than anything, Y/N wanted to make him whole.

"Good girl," he whispered, his voice full of warmth and control. He moved his hands to her back, his fingers tracing her spine, feeling her shudder under his touch. He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue exploring her mouth as he pressed closer.

"You're mine, aren't you?" he murmured against Y/N’s lips, his tone soft but with a hint of dominance that made her stomach flutter.

Y/N nodded, her voice barely a whisper, "I'm yours, Kookie. Always."

His eyes darkened with desire, and he smiled, his hand moving lower to her waist. He wanted to explore every part of her, to know what made her tremble. Y/N’s hands found his hips, the waistband of his boxers, and suddenly, she felt nervous.

Slowly, she eased her fingers under the waistband, sliding his boxers down. She couldn't see him, but she could feel him—the smooth planes of his body, every detail etched into her memory. He was perfect, and yet so human.

Jungkook kicked off his boxers with surprising impatience, and she glanced down, her breath catching. He was always so beautiful. Y/N swallowed, feeling her cheeks heat up.

"Satisfied?" he asked, his voice teasing, though there was an edge to it, like he was holding his breath. She giggled, caught staring, and he smiled, brushing his fingers against her cheek. "Don't be embarrassed," he murmured. "If anyone's allowed to look, it's you."

Y/N smiled back, her fingers trailing down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. "I'm your girlfriend. I think that comes with certain privileges." She traced the lines of his abdomen, marveling at the strength there, feeling his breath quicken.

"Mutual privileges, I hope," he said, his voice thick with emotion, his hand sliding up my thigh, fingers brushing against her core, making her gasp.

Y/N laughed, her eyes meeting his. "I think you've already exercised yours pretty thoroughly," she teased, her hands continuing their exploration, her touch gentle but deliberate, a promise of more to come. His eyes darkened, his breath hitching, and she knew—they were just getting started.

"I guess it's your turn, th—oh, oh God!" Jungkook gasped, his composure cracking as her hand wrapped around him, stroking. Y/N marveled at the way something so hard could still feel soft, her thoughts drifting to the feeling of him inside her, filling her completely.

"Y/N—I—oh, you should probably stop," he groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder as if he couldn't hold himself up any longer.

"I'm sorry," Y/N whispered, pulling her hand away, feeling a pang of disappointment. "Was that too much?"

He laughed, a dry, frustrated sound. "Not in the way you're thinking."

"In the teenage boy way?" She teased, a sense of triumph filling her. He nodded, almost weakly, and she had to bite back a laugh. She’d pushed him past his limits, and that was exhilarating in its own way.

"Are you... okay?" he asked, his voice hesitant, his hand brushing her lower stomach, the touch sending a jolt through her.

"Yes," She breathed, meeting his eyes as he moved lower, pressing against her. Y/N resisted the urge to move, to rush him—something told her it was better to let him lead.

The first sensation was strange, a mix of awkwardness and pleasure as he stretched her, filling her. He paused, his breath shaky, his eyes searching.

"Let me know if you want to stop," he said, his voice heavy.

She shook her head, her voice barely a whisper, "Please don't stop."

Jungkook gave her a reassuring smile, his hands cupping her hips as he began to move, slowly at first, each thrust deliberate and deep. "That's it," he whispered, his voice dripping with praise. "You're taking me so well, baby."

Y/N nodded, pulling him down for a kiss, trying to erase the guilt she saw in his eyes. This wasn't a sad moment—it was beautiful, and she was happy. Even here, outside, the cool grass beneath us, it was perfect.

He kissed her harder, his tongue finding hers, and she gasped, surrendering to him. It wasn't until the sharp burst of pain that she realized he'd been trying to distract her. She dug her nails into his shoulder, her body tense, but she didn't pull away. He stayed still, his lips gentle, giving her time.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice soothing as he pressed kisses along her jaw. "You're doing so well. Just breathe."

When the pain dulled, Y/N turned her head, her lips brushing his jaw until they reached his ear. "I'm okay now," she whispered, her fingers tangling in his hair. He smiled, then kissed her again as he began to move.

The second thrust made her gasp, her body coming alive at the sensation. It was incredible—the heat, the friction, the way he filled me. Her legs wrapped around his hips, seeking more. Even now, he moved with that same careful grace, each movement deliberate. Only his rapid breathing and occasional moans betrayed his control.

Y/N, on the other hand, felt anything but composed. Her body burned, the fire too slow, too steady. She needed more—something to push her over the edge.

Y/N clenched around him, her hips moving against his. "Y/N, please," he groaned, his voice strained. "Don't—I can't—"

"You can," She panted, her voice desperate. "Please, just a little harder… I need more… I can't… take it… oh God, Jungkook—"

He cut her off with a kiss, his thrusts becoming faster, more urgent. "That's it, baby," he whispered against her lips, his voice a mix of command and adoration. "Take everything I give you. Let go for me."

The pleasure hit her in waves, and Y/N clung to him, her fingers digging into his back. It was almost too much, the sensation building, her whole body alight. His breath was cool against her neck, his lips brushing mine, and she thought she might explode.

"Kook—Jungkook," She moaned, her voice raw. "More—please—I'm so close." And she was—the pleasure was right there, just out of reach.

"Y/N… Y/N…" His voice was reverent, strained, and she realized he was just as lost as she was. His movements grew more erratic, his control slipping, a low growl escaping him.

"You’re so fucking good," he whispered, his voice rough, each word sending a shiver down her spine. "Come for me, baby. I want to feel you."

Y/N’s body tightened, her nerves sparking, and she cried out, her body clenching around him. The pleasure drowned her, and the only sound she heard was Namjoon's groan. The only thing she saw was him—his dark hair, his eyes, dark and endless.

As the hush settled around us, like the calm after a summer storm, Jungkook whispered my name, a low, reverent murmur that seemed to hang in the air longer than it should have. Y/N felt his body tremble, and in that single, breathtaking heartbeat, it was as if every last barrier between them dissolved, slipping away like sand in the tide. Jungkook, usually so controlled, had let his guard fall, and for once, it was her holding him together. A fierce, aching love swelled within her, mixed with a longing so deep it felt like it might tear her apart. She wanted to keep him here forever—this quiet, strong soul who moved through the world with such understated grace. Y/N wanted to share everything with him, every dark corner of her heart and every bright flicker of hope.

"Y/N?" His voice was gentle, almost tentative, as though the rawness of the moment had left him exposed. "Are you okay?"

She smiled, dazed, her fingers grazing his hair as he rested his head on her chest, his gaze heavy-lidded, filled with a rare softness that made her heart stutter. "I’m perfect," She whispered, the words barely brushing the night air.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest, warm and sleepy. "Good," he murmured, his voice drowsy and content. "Because I don’t think I can move just yet."

She laughed softly, a sound that seemed foreign to her own ears, as though it had been locked away for years. "Neither can I. Maybe we should just stay here forever—under the stars, in this moment, like this."

They stayed like that, entwined and content, until sleep began to creep in. The stars above twinkled like quiet witnesses to their love, and even as the chill of the night seeped into their bones, neither of them cared. They were exactly where they were meant to be: together, dreaming of a future as infinite as the constellations they traced in the sky.

[bluebeary-jay]

Crawlin' back to you

Joel Miller x f!sunshine!Reader

Summary: you ask Joel for help while preparing for your upcoming date with another man. (or so it seems)

Tags: grumpy x sunshine, idiots in love, sweet sweet fluff, age gap, a drop of angst, peepaw is insecure abt his age :(, Jackson era, Joel is kind of slow but it's okay we still love him (pookie doesn't realize how hot he is), me dancing around the smut like i'm a fucking circus acrobat

Word count: 4K

A/N: sooo very long time no see 🙈 ever since the start of 2025 i'm telling myself to get back into writing but it still felt like a chore lol. but i REALLY wanted to finish this fic before tlou s2 drops so here it is!!! i'm really proud of how it turned out and i hope to write more in the near future. love you all so so much and as always, happy reading!! 💕

dividers by @saradika 🩷

Joel Miller didn't have friends.

He had a couple of buddies before the outbreak with whom he used to watch the game sometimes, but nothing more than that. Tommy didn't count, of course, because he was his brother and therefore had to be nice to him. The only other person who could put up with him was Ellie, but the kid was… a kid. As for the other people in Jackson, they were wise to keep their distance from Joel, not wanting to hang around a shadow of a man such as him.

He didn't mind. He liked the peace and quiet, and it didn't bother him one bit that everyone seemed to give him a wide berth, whispering about the danger that he was.

Well, almost everyone avoided him. You, the exact person that should stay far away from a man like Joel Miller, gravitated to him with an almost effortless ease. Even amongst all the hopeful people that created Jackson, you were the purest, brightest ray of sunshine, always helpful and compassionate towards anyone who came your way. And even though Joel wasn't exactly welcoming to you in the beginning, you never gave up and persisted – and eventually, befriended him.

And ever since the first time you spoke to him, he didn't stand a chance. You were young and pretty, and so charming with your innocent optimism… Before Joel realized, he was fantasizing about you during the lonely evenings, dreaming of your voice late in the night, and looking for you in the crowd when he was out of the house.

He was way too old to feel this kind of way, and every now and then it felt like he was balancing on a tightrope between being stupid and borderline creepy. Such a sweet girl like you wouldn't look twice at an old man like him if she knew the things that sometimes ran through his mind when he was seeing other men flirting with you, seeking the same warm light that Joel grew addicted to.

That was the poison mixed with your sweetness – even though it was irrational, with you everything seemed easier than it was.

…even falling in love.

And fall Joel Miller did. It was an embarrassing, tainted experience, especially when he remembered how much older than you he was. But he couldn't help it, and once this burning want became clear to him, he didn't really want to fight it, either.

You were everything he should stay far away from – young, pretty and so bright with your smiles, your hope, your innocence. A sinner like Joel Miller had no place in your life, and yet he couldn't muster the courage to let you go. It was selfish of him, he knew, but spending time in your company was one of the few brightsides of his life… and he didn't have many of those, lately. He genuinely enjoyed being near you – a lot more than he probably should.

That's why, when he noticed you skipping his way with a bright smile splattered across your cheeks, he felt his heart instantly lighten. It was a hard day of work at the construction site and he was relieved to finally be heading home, but just the sight of you made the weariness disappear from within his bones.

“Joel! Hi!” Something must have stirred you quite strongly, for you were practically bouncing with excitement. The words were spilling out of your mouth before he even had a chance to say hello. “I need your help, right now. Please.”

“Slow down, darlin’,” he chuckled, letting you drag him by the arm to a wall of the nearest building and away from the crowd. “You alrigh’?”

“Yeah, yes, of course.” You waved to someone passing by, totally unfazed – or maybe just ignorant – that you were being seen with him in public. “I just need your help.”

“Well, what is it?” he repeated the question and finally, you turned to face him. Joel couldn't help but match the pretty smile on your face, but it quickly faded when you blurted out your next words.

“I like someone.”

That short, simple sentence wrecked Joel’s world by the foundations. For a couple of seconds he just stared at you with his mouth slightly agape while you fidgeted with your hands nervously, but still overjoyed.

“Wh– uhh, sorry?”

“I like someone,” you repeated excitedly, as if your words weren't piercing right through Joel's heart. “And I need your help.”

All of the sudden, the world lost all its colors, as if all the meaning was sucked out of the universe just by your words.

Why it was such a surprise to him, Joel didn't know. Of course you'd sooner or later get together with someone. He should have expected it. You were young, pretty and such a joy to be around, people were gravitating towards you instinctively. Like moths to a flame.

Just like him – yet he was always destined to only get burned.

“Joel?”

You leaned closer and Joel's eyes instinctively focused on your lower lip worried between your teeth.  You were obviously oblivious to his feelings, as well as the effect you had on him – otherwise he doubted you'd tempt him like that, unknowingly making his mind fixate on how perfect your lips would have felt under his touch.

But no, it wasn't his caresses you wanted. There was someone else, someone far more deserving of you, and you were asking Joel only for his help. And though it hurt him – it killed him to lose this small sliver of affection you had been giving him so far – he nodded supportingly.

“Wha… what do you need help with, sweet girl?” he asked softly, trying not to show how devastated he felt inside. Joel had no desire to hear about whoever was fortunate enough to gain your favor, but again, luck wasn't on his side.

“I made a plan to meet him,” you explained enthusiastically, grabbing his forearm. Joel looked at where your fingers touched his skin, barely listening to your words. “Tonight. And I need you to come with me.”

That woke him up from his reverie. Joel huffed and shook his head sharply, looking at you like you were out of your mind.

“No.” His tone was almost biting, but through his firm refusal, a trace of panic was slipping through. You pouted, squeezing his forearm lightly.

“Oh, come on, please? I just want to make sure everything’s perfect.”

“No,” Joel repeated, much weaker this time. “Hell no. Why would I–” Then, a dark thought bloomed in his mind and his face turned concerned. “You're worried he'd do somethin’ to you?”

“Oh, no, no!” It was your turn to shake your head, and you actually cracked a smile at Joel's worried tone. “No, he'd never hurt me.”

Your voice got softer; your smile turned serene. Joel wanted nothing more than to turn away when your eyes started to wander across his features, but again that proved to be too herculean of a task compared to the hold you had over him.

“He's kind,” you continued absentmindedly, and on the edge of consciousness Joel remembered your hand was still on his arm, tracing small lines with your thumb. “Respectful and thoughtful… A real gentleman.”

“A-and who’s he?” Joel found the courage to ask, breaking you out of your daydreams. You smiled happily again – that damned, sweet smile of yours – and removed your hand. He immediately started missing the feeling of your touch.

“You'll see.” You looked over your shoulder when someone shouted your name a street away, and waved from the distance. You gave Joel one last pleading look, clasping your hands together. “Come to the Tipsy Bison at 9. Please? You can just sit in the corner but I'll feel so much better and safer with you there.”

Once Joel looked into your beautiful, pleading eyes, he was a goner. He never could deny you anything either way.

Even when he would kill for a chance to go on a real date with you.

“Okay,” he finally caved in. “Alrigh’. I'll be there.”

The overjoyed smile you gave him was almost enough to soothe the hollow pain in his chest.

Almost.

Great. Fucking great.

Joel made another turn around the street, trying to build up the courage to approach Tipsy Bison. The flannel shirt he wore was itching uncomfortably, but he was already half an hour late and there was no time to go back home and change.

He regretted ever setting foot in Jackson. It was a nightmare situation for him, having to spend the evening in a room full of loud, drunk people and watch as you go about your date with another man. Joel thought a dozen times about making up some excuse as to why he can't chaperone your date after all. He even went as far as to beg Tommy to accompany him, just that he wouldn’t have to suffer alone, but his younger brother just gave him a pitying look, saying something about spending time with Maria tonight. Joel could always cancel, lie that he can’t make it after all… but then he remembered how hopeful and thankful you looked, and all his resolve was wavering again. He couldn't ever say no to you, even though he desperately wanted to.

He looked at his broken watch, sighing at the hour. He delayed the inevitable long enough, so with heavy steps he approached the bar at last. You asked him to go through the back door, for whatever reason, and he was too tired at the time to point out there’s nothing back there except for the kitchen and storage rooms. Whatever. You probably were already in the main hall, with your date, and either you were angry at Joel for being late, or not thinking about him at all. He wasn’t sure which one would be worse.

Once he stepped over the threshold, he carefully closed the door behind him. The racket from the bar was muffled here, but from the nearest room he could hear someone muttering. Joel swallowed heavily and cleared his throat to alert whoever was on the other side of the wall.

“Joel?” he heard your voice before you appeared in the doorway. At the sight of him your shoulders dropped and with confusion he noted that you didn’t look angry or disappointed – you seemed relieved. “Goddammit, finally you’re here. You took your sweet time, huh?”

Before he could answer, you walked forward and took his sleeve, half-dragging him behind you. Words of protest bubbled on his tongue, but they all died quickly when Joel saw the room you emerged from.

The storage shelves were decorated with fairy lights and in the middle of the room stood a small table with two chairs opposite each other. The only other source of light were a couple of candles on the table and around the room. There was food on the table – probably cold by now – and a bottle of wine. But most importantly – there was no one else in the room except for Joel and you.

While he was looking around like an absolute fool, searching for an explanation for this situation, you cautiously closed the door and walked around the man, coming to a stop by the set table with your hands clasped in front of you.

“...Well?” you asked after an uncomfortably long silence, letting out a nervous laugh. “What do you think?”

Joel blinked, not sure if you were talking to him.

“Where's the guy?”

You threw him a confused look, but truly, it was the only thing Joel could think of. He glanced around the room again, as if his mysterious competition was going to jump up from behind one of the shelves, but there was no trace of anyone else here.

“Your… your date,” he clarified after a moment and cleared his throat once more. A spark of understanding flashed in your eyes and you pressed your lips together. “It's late. Is he… He didn't set you up, did he?”

“That depends,” you finally answered softly, keeping your wary but hopeful eyes on him. “Are you finally gonna sit down?”

A cog clicked into its place in Joel's mind and he turned his head, not sure if he had heard you right. You smiled nervously and motioned to the table.

“The food’s probably cold by now, but I can heat it up. It’s your own fault, though, since I asked you to be here forty minutes ago–”

“I don’t…”

He didn’t understand. Nothing made sense, but he had to make sure, “So there’s no… there’s no date?”

You were clearly nervous, judging by the way you were fidgeting with your hands, but you sent him a shy smile nonetheless. “I mean, you’re here…”

Joel didn’t answer – frankly, he didn’t know what to say. So many conflicted emotions were swirling in his chest, blocking his throat from squeezing out even a sound. It created almost a physical pain between his ribs, especially when your eyes were still on him, so hopeful and patient.

After another pregnant pause, you let out a quiet breath and took a step forward, throwing him a lifeline since he clearly must’ve looked like an idiot. “There’s no one else coming, if that’s what you’re asking. I made all of this for you – for… us, maybe. I just…” You half-shrugged, and only now Joel realized how nice you looked, wearing a dress he never before saw you in, “didn’t know how to tell you.”

Joel swept his gaze over the room once more – the dinner, the lights, your pretty dress… and you. And it was all for him, apparently.

“Why?” he breathed, the weight of his age almost making him collapse to his knees. He desperately wanted to say something more profound than one word at the time, but his voice was failing him. Thankfully, you were always kind enough to fill in the silence.

“Why did I lie to you or why did I drag you here of all places?” You rounded the table, eyeing the decorations with a proud smile. “Well–”

“No, darlin’, why…” He shook his head. Everything felt too unreal, too sudden. And he felt so tired. “Why me?”

That made you pause and you turned to him with a surprised look, like what he just said was the last thing you expected to hear.

“What do you mean, why you?” you huffed incredulously, leaning forward against the back of the chair, and though you tried to look casual, the nervousness in the tension of your body was apparent. “You’re just… I mean, it must be pretty clear that I really like you… And I thought you might have felt the same. You know, with all the ‘darling’s’ and looking at me, and stuff…”

Was it a dream? You always looked like you were out of a dream, but something about this moment… the fairy lights, your shy demeanor, the words he never thought he’d hear from you… Joel didn't know if he was still alive or maybe that's what the afterlife looked like.

“...You could say something,” you half-joked with a trace of worry in your voice, obviously growing uncomfortable at his lack of reaction. “You know, Tommy only let me have this place ‘til midnight before they come by to restock the bar. We can at least eat and talk a little, right?”

“Did Tommy put you up to this?” Joel asked bitterly, unable to stop himself at the mention of his brother’s name. He recalled the look Tommy gave him earlier today, his excuses as to why he can’t come with him... What other explanation could there be for such a gorgeous, young woman to be interested in Joel of all people, if it wasn’t just a product of his kin’s poor humor? However, he instantly regretted asking you this when your soft smile disappeared altogether, and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“You can just say if you don’t feel the same way,” you said dryly with an angry and hurt furrow on your brow. “No need to be a dick about it.”

You walked by him, apparently done with Joel’s accusations and grumpiness, but he quickly caught your arm before he could think better of it. You spun around, probably ready to tear into him, but he wouldn't hear a word either way – no while a vortex of doubts and questions raged in his mind. Joel didn’t know how or why you’d ever take interest in an old man like him, but he was now certain of two things.

One, you were telling the truth. For whatever reason, you really liked him – enough to plan and prepare a whole dinner date just for him.

And two, if Joel let you walk out now, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

You must’ve noticed the change on his face when his eyes flickered to your lips because you froze, the words of hurt and disappointment drying out on your tongue. Joel swallowed and wet his lips, looking for any sign of hesitation or regret on your face, but there was nothing in your eyes but pure, fragile anticipation. He delicately put his hand on the side of your face, the rough pad of his thumb brushing your cheek slowly. Your eyelashes fluttered closed and you let out a shaky breath, and that was all it took for Joel to lean down and press his lips to yours.

The kiss started delicate, but almost immediately turned into a fervent, hungry thing, which you ardently reciprocated. Joel wanted to take his time, to test the waters and build up the anticipation until you were ready to beg for him, but he didn’t expect just how fucking good kissing you would feel – and how eager you were for his touch. The smell of you, the feel of your hands on his chest and arms… it was driving him crazy with want, and without thinking twice, he spun you around and pinned your back against the edge of the table, making you whimper into his mouth.

“Goddammit, baby…” The term of endearment slipped out before he realized it, but judging by your reaction you didn’t mind at all. Your breath hitched, making him smirk to himself as he started to realize just how much power he held over you. It certainly shouldn’t excite him as much as it did. “Are you absolutely sure that’s what you want?”

“Joel, if you don’t stop questioning me…” you started, and although your words were firm, your voice leaned into a deliciously needy pitch, the kind of which he yearned to hear for far too long. Joel groaned into your mouth, moving down to press hot kisses against the line of your jaw and down your neck, greedily drinking in the noises you were making.

“Tell me, darlin’,” he asked in a low voice, experimentally running his palm up your thigh under the pretty dress you wore. The effect was immediate, and you pressed your body closer to him, seeking his touch the moment it left your skin. “I need to know if you really mean all this.”

“For fuck’s sake, Joel–” You made a surprised noise as he hoisted you up and onto the table, but it turned into another needy whimper when he knocked your knees apart and slotted himself between them with ease. You glanced behind you, worried that you'll push the silverware off the table, and Joel took this moment to resume the onslaught on your neck, kissing and sucking every inch of skin he could reach. You choke back a moan as his touch made a shiver run up your spine. “Joel, please…”

“I need to hear it, sweetheart,” he murmured lowly against your skin, slowing down to tease you when he felt your heartbeat quicken up beneath his lips. “Need to make sure you know what you're gettin’ into.”

“I do, I promise,” you assured him fervently while your hands went to the back of his head, fingers tangling into his gray locks. “You have no idea how many times I thought about this. I wanted you for so long, Joel, please…”

“Wanted you, too, darlin’.” He put one of his hands on the small of your back, pulling your lower half closer to the edge of the table so you could feel what you were doing to him. “God, every time you smiled at me it was all I could think about… So kind and beautiful, never thought you'd look twice my way.”

You didn't bother to answer this time, instead angling his head up to kiss him deeply again. The doubt and fear were still present in Joel's mind, but he honestly couldn't focus on them with you in front of him. You were so warm under his palms, so pliant and eager, a literal putty in his steady hands. He could never imagine how incredible it felt to be wanted by someone so much, but at the same time he knew he had to take his time. As much as he wanted to keep going, to make you see stars and sing his name, it was more than just lust with you.

So when you reached for the buttons of his shirt, he gently grabbed your wrists and moved them away, finally regaining his self-control. You whined disapprovingly, but the crease between your brows quickly disappeared when Joel kissed your fingers softly, not taking his eyes off you.

“Shh, sweetheart, don’t rush,” he cood, earning a small disappointed pout. He had to close his eyes, lest he caved in. Fuck, the sight of you before him – your pupils blown wide, lips swollen from his ministrations, your heavy breath and the dress bunched around your hips… Joel was sure you’d let him do anything to you right now. And God, he couldn’t wait. “Let me do this properly, yeah? Have a nice date with you, then maybe take you home if you don’t change your mind…”

“We can skip the dinner,” you quietly offered, your breath still uneven and cheeks flushed. He huffed a laugh with fondness and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead, his own breathing also slightly erratic.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured against your skin before taking your face in his hands. “Someone did say I’m a gentleman, no?”

You seemed to regret your previous choice of words, accentuating it with a disappointed whimper and a buck of your hips. Joel groaned and kissed you deeply again, almost able to taste all the impatience and desire on your tongue. Surprisingly, you didn’t fight him further and instead obediently slid off the table, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck to be as close to him as possible.

Joel was grateful for this moment of calm before even more excitement – and he didn’t mind spending it by watching you, standing so close and smiling up at him as brightly as the sun itself.

“You believe me now?” you asked teasingly, stifling your giggles when Joel rolled his eyes playfully. “Good. You will have to make it up to me, then.”

Worry crept back onto Joel’s face, but you were quick to calm him down with a tender kiss to his jaw, and then another one lower, on his pulse point. “You were late. If you got here on time, we could’ve been doing this at least half an hour longer.”

Joel chuckled and lifted your chin with his finger, before kissing you briefly one last time.

“Baby, let’s enjoy the dinner you prepared, first. After that, I swear I’ll make it up to you in however many ways you want.”

Judging by your smile, you didn’t seem to mind at all.