#teahyung bts

[oursvenus]

𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗒, 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝖾’𝗌 ꕤ 𝓯𝐨𝐥𝐤𝓵𝐨𝐫𝐞

☆ v ( bts ) lockscreens !

[raplinenthusiasts]

↳  home in 10 days

cr. 0613data

[nikist-4-n]

hi!! can you create some aesthetic usernames with blue and thv? please and thank you ♡

bluethvv th-vv thae-v

k-tahv v-hyunv

thv-blu blueptty aebluev

blu-eey bluediario

luvblues thvbby thyungg

[spiceofvy]

Can you please write dumb/cute/random things BTS members will do while they are crushing on reader?

BTS - Things they do when they are in love with you

cw: gender neutral reader, sfw, just pure fluff

Seokjin: Takes lots of photos with you. He just wants to remember everything he does with you. Would totally use every new selfie of the two of you as his new lockscreen. Even if you don't feel pretty or are in the middle of eating something he quickly whips out his phone to take a selfie with you. And of course taking a lot of candid pictures of you, to use as lockscreens too. And if you ever call him out for it he just pretends that he just likes to see his own face which definitely is also true but not the main reason.

Yoongi: Always lets you into his space. As soon as he realizes how much you mean to him you get the code to his studio. Free entry, no texts beforehand. He just wants you around him all the time and he doesn't mind sharing his space with you. May it be to eat together, so you can watch him work while you relax or even working simultaneously on different things. He is fine with all of it. And while everybody has to be cautious about not bothering him, you don't have to because he could never be annoyed with you.

Hoseok: Wants to be friends with your friends. He just loves spending time with you and there is no better way to get closer to you than with friend hangouts. Definitely adds everyone on social media after meeting them once and makes it a big deal to spend some time with them so not only they get a good opinion of him but also so you can see how well he fits into your already existing life. Also will ask for embarrassing stories about you.

Namjoon: Gets even more clumsy. All you need to do is to walk into a room for him to literally drop whatever he is holding. But also just trips over things, pushes things over and all that good stuff. Your presence is just too much for him and he doesn't know how to move his body when you are watching him. Also forgets how well spoken he is and says the dumbest stuff while stuttering. Congratulations, you burned his brain away.

Jimin: Texts you all the time. And I mean it. Nonstop. He is getting his makeup done? He texts you. He sits in the cab to get to the venue? He texts you. He is just about to fall asleep? He texts you. It's just his favorite activity and even if you can't answer immediately he just needs to tell you everything he thinks about. Also sends you so many selfies all over the day. No matter if they're funny or pretty.

Taehyung: Collects little trinkets for you. He almost always thinks of you and in turn always sees something that he thinks would be perfect for you to have. Maybe it's a rock that works well for your collection. Or a CD of your favorite artist you don't have yet. Or just a neat seashell he finds at the beach. Always also really proud about giving them to you, excited to see your happy reaction when he gives you something.

Jungkook: Is so excited to be around you. Whenever he sees you he gets like the brightest smile ever, jumping up and down so happy to see you. Will also maniacally laugh about everything remotely funny that you say. Just so happy to have your attention. He talks non stop, wanting to impress you and hopefully make you laugh. Asks everyone who was with you later if they noticed how you smiled at him or laughed about the joke he made.

[sashiimee]

Your Love Settled Into Me Too Well |Part 1

💬 ask | ✨ masterlist | Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Jealous Wreck!Namjoon x Not-As-Healed-As-She-Pretends OC

Summary: You see him before he sees you. It’s not cinematic. It’s worse. A party, a silver chain, and the girl who didn’t have to ask. You’re unraveling quietly — again.

Themes: heartbreak, jealousy, second chances, spiraling, emotional tension, slow burn

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: this was supposed to be 2k words of angst but apparently my fingers had other plans 🧍‍♀️ buckle up. I promise the angst won’t be too much but have so much saved up

….

Scene: Present Day, College Year three — House Party

Are you even listening?”

Jimin’s voice yanks you back to the present. He’s sprawled on your bed, head dangling off the edge, a hoodie bunched under his neck for support. He’s halfway through a rant about his psych professor, but you’ve heard maybe ten percent of it.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I spaced.”

He squints at you. “Spaced or spiraled?”

“Bit of both.”

He flips upright in one fluid motion, crossing his legs like a Disney princess with a grudge. “It’s happening again, isn’t it?”

You look up from your notes. “What is?”

“The Namjoon Spiral. Capital N, capital S.”

You say nothing.

Jimin sighs. “We need a distraction.”

“I have class.”

“We need a better distraction. Party tonight. Jungkook’s throwing it. Tae’s bringing half the dance department. It’ll be hell.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

He grins. “So, we’ll pregame at my place?”

You should’ve said no.

You should’ve stayed in.

Instead, you let Jimin curl your lashes and steal one of Dana’s black crop tops. You let him smear lip gloss over your bottom lip and hum something soft under his breath while doing it.

“Trust me,” he’d said. “You’ll feel better.”

You don’t.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It’s laughable, really, how someone can be gone and still manage to haunt a space like they own it.

Namjoon isn’t here. Not physically. You’d know if he was—you always know.

And yet… his presence is thick in the air. Lingering like cologne on an old hoodie you can’t bring yourself to throw away.

The party is loud, humid, and packed with too many people you almost recognize. People brush past, loud and alive, but you can’t seem to sink into it. Not really. Not like you used to.

You cling to a red Solo cup and pretend it’s a shield. Jimin has already disappeared into a crowd of flirty smiles and loud laughter. You spot Yoongi on a couch, half-listening to Hoseok while quietly peeling the label off a beer bottle. Taehyung is in the kitchen—laughing too hard, eyes flicking away from you every time you glance his way.

Bass from a portable speaker thuds beneath your feet, floorboards humming with every beat. Someone yells something about shots, and a blender whines from the kitchen. You try to pretend this is fine. That you didn’t spend half an hour sitting on Jimin’s bed, debating whether to come at all.

But now you’re here—and it’s like the air’s made of static.

Jimin pulls you through the doorway, glitter on his cheekbone and a drink in hand. His energy buzzes loud enough for both of you. “Let’s make some mistakes,” he says, grinning, and you nod like you’re ready.

You’re not.

You haven’t been ready for anything since him.

Jimin disappears for a bit, like a party host at an event that isn’t his. It’s not out of character—if anything, it’s perfectly on-brand.

You feel it again. That crack in the group. The split no one talks about.

It started around the time you left.

No one says it was your fault.

But no one says it wasn’t either.

You settle into the rhythm, a back and forth in your mind, just you and deep loneliness. Just in time for Jimin’s return, you stick to him like a shadow—your buffer, your anchor, your soft place to fall.

Jungkook appears not long after, shirt half-buttoned, neck glittering with a gold chain. He throws Jimin a smile that’s too sweet, too intentional.

You try not to feel like a third wheel.

You sip your drink. Laugh when you’re supposed to. Float through conversations like a ghost.

Across the room, Yoongi shifts on the couch.

He’s still half-listening to Hoseok, still peeling the label off that beer bottle like it owes him something. But his eyes flick toward you — just once, just long enough to notice the tight line of your mouth, the way your grip on your cup hasn’t relaxed all night.

He doesn’t say anything.

He just holds your gaze for a breath too long.

Then looks away.

That’s the thing about Yoongi. He never says much. But he always sees it first.

It’s only when you let your guard down—when you’ve just started to forget—that it happens.

You see him before he sees you.

It’s not dramatic—no movie moment with slow motion and a broken wine glass.

No, it’s worse.

It’s casual.

Namjoon walks in like he hasn’t been avoiding this party for weeks.

Like he didn’t turn down every invitation from Hoseok, Yoongi, even Jungkook.

Like he decided to come on his own.

He walks in like he owns the floor beneath him. Like the air adjusts for him.

And god help you—

he looks just like he did the first time you met.

Tall, effortless, dangerous in that quiet way that sneaks up on you. His black slacks sit low on his hips, casual but precise, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled to his elbows, forearms carved and golden under the lights.

A thin silver chain glints against his throat, delicate where he isn’t.

And somehow, that’s worse.

It’s worse because you remember the first time you noticed that chain.

Worse because he wore it the night he first kissed you.

Worse because he still wears it like it means nothing—

while you’re over here remembering everything.

His hair’s a little longer now, and he’s let the curl show. You hate how much that matters.

How much you miss touching it.

How your fingers ache with memory.

He walks in like it was his idea.

But you know better.

Because Sohee is right there.

Tiny skirt. Perfect hair. That smug, effortless air she carries like perfume.

The kind of girl who doesn’t have to try. Doesn’t have to chase. Doesn’t even have to ask.

She just… receives.

She looks good. Of course she does. Girls like her always do.

It’s not even the outfit — it’s the way she wears attention like it was made for her. Like it belonged to her before anyone else noticed.

You hate yourself for looking too long.

But you do.

Because you don’t remember what it’s like to be looked at like that without earning it first.

You’ve always had to explain your softness. Justify your want.

Sohee just exists, and people follow.

And Namjoon—

He came.

For her.

She’s the reason he’s here, not Yoongi, not Jungkook, not you.

Sohee didn’t need to beg. Didn’t have to text. Didn’t even have to ask.

She just showed up — and he followed.

And in that moment, it doesn’t matter how much he once loved you.

It only matters that he doesn’t now.

Your drink tips, just slightly, just enough to chill your wrist — and still, you don’t blink.

It was never a competition you think.

The music doesn’t stop. The crowd doesn’t part.

But your breath catches.

You want to look away. You try.

Instead, you plant yourself beside Jimin, fingers curling tighter around your drink, and pray that no one sees your chest cave in.

Jimin doesn’t notice at first. He’s too busy pretending not to flirt with Jungkook.

Their banter hums beside you, soft laughter and shoulder nudges, and you try to blend in—smile when they smile, sip when they sip.

But your eyes drift.

Back to him.

Namjoon is nodding at someone across the room. Saying hi to Hoseok. Smiling—but only a little.

You used to know the difference between all his smiles.

This one? You don’t recognize it.

Sohee presses close to whisper something in his ear, and your stomach lurches.

You’re not even jealous, not exactly. You’re just—

Displaced.

It’s like walking into your old bedroom only to find it redecorated. Nothing violent. Just unfamiliar.

Like you were erased.

⸻

You try to breathe.

The lights flicker pink and gold across the ceiling. Someone passes you with a tray of jello shots. A girl in rhinestone boots laughs too loudly behind you.

And still—your eyes won’t leave him.

He’s nodding at someone across the room

Sohee knew exactly what she was doing, didn’t she?

She’s the reason he’s here.

Because no one else could get him to come—not Yoongi’s birthday, not Jungkook’s art showcase, not even that stupid “Low Key Friday” night Hoseok threw two weeks ago.

But her?

Of course she could bring him.

And he came.

For her.

[idesani]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴀʙʏ ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏᴏ˗ˏˋ ‼️ ˎˊ˗

𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘺'𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥˗ˏˋ ‼️ ˎˊ˗

ɪ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ʟᴇᴛ'ꜱ ʟᴇᴛ ᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴜɴꜰᴜʀʟ˗ˏˋ‼️ˎˊ˗

[dailynnt]

I will stay forever! And I will follow the road that all of you will follow! Happy Festa to the dearest people in life 💜 Apobangpo 🫶🏻

[flufffantasy]

Rhythm of Revenge, Melody of Love - Chapter 1

Karina (AESPA) x V (BTS)

MATURE, ROMANCE, CRIME THRILLER, FLUFF

PROLOGUE

The shrill ring of her phone cut through the quiet hum of the precinct, the digital display flashing an urgent, anonymous number. Detective Karina, known to her team and whispered about in hushed tones throughout the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency as ‘the Goddess’ for her striking beauty and razor-sharp intellect, snatched the device from her desk. The late hour usually meant paperwork and wind-down, but the caller’s frantic tone instantly put her on high alert.

“Detective Karina speaking,” she said, her voice calm and steady, a stark contrast to the adrenaline that had already begun to pump through her veins.

“They… they found him. Murdered. Warehouse district, edge of the city,” the voice on the other end stammered, laced with fear and a hint of morbid fascination. “It’s… it’s bad. Real bad.”

Karina’s dark, obsidian eyes, framed by long, thick lashes, narrowed. Her long, black hair, usually impeccably styled, was slightly mussed from a long day, but it only accentuated the sharp angles of her face, the high cheekbones and determined jawline that spoke of her unwavering focus. Her physique, honed by years of rigorous training both in the academy and beyond, was lean and powerful, every movement possessing a fluid grace that belied her strength. Tonight, dressed in a tailored black blazer over a simple white top and dark trousers, she exuded an aura of quiet command.

“Team Leader Kang, get in here,” she called out, her voice carrying across the near-empty office. Beside her, Detective Lee, young and eager, was already on his feet, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

Team Leader Kang, a seasoned veteran with a gruff exterior but a sharp mind, appeared almost instantly. “What’s the situation, Detective Yoo?”

“Possible homicide, warehouse district. Caller sounded credible, though panicked. Let’s move.”

Within minutes, the team was assembled – Team Leader Kang, the steady anchor; Detective Lee, the tech whiz; Detective Park, the meticulous evidence gatherer; and at the forefront, Detective Karina, her mind already racing, piecing together the sparse information. The energy within their unmarked vehicle was palpable, a focused intensity that crackled in the air as they sped through the rain-slicked streets.

The night was a canvas of deep blues and blacks, the relentless rain drumming a steady rhythm against the car roof, blurring the city lights into streaks of neon. As they ventured towards the outskirts, the familiar urban landscape gave way to taller, sparser buildings, the air growing heavy with the scent of damp earth and looming shadows.

“Warehouse district, sector seven,” Kang confirmed, his voice grim. “Known for abandoned factories and not much else.”

Karina peered out the window, her gaze sharp despite the downpour. The road ahead was flanked by towering trees, their branches skeletal fingers reaching out into the darkness. This wasn’t just the edge of the city; it felt like the edge of the world, a place where secrets could easily be buried.

“Notice the tire tracks,” Karina murmured, her voice barely audible above the rain. Detective Lee, ever attentive, angled the headlights to illuminate the muddy verge. Deep grooves were visible, distinct from the usual wear and tear of local traffic. “Heavy vehicle, judging by the depth. And fresh.”

A little further down, she pointed to a cluster of broken branches, still hanging precariously from a tree. “Looks like they weren’t too careful getting in. A larger vehicle, possibly a van or a truck, went this way recently.” Small details, easily missed, but for Karina, they were breadcrumbs leading to a potential truth.

The warehouse loomed ahead, a hulking silhouette against the stormy sky. Rain lashed against its corrugated iron walls, and the wind howled through broken windowpanes, creating an eerie symphony of decay. The air felt colder here, a palpable sense of foreboding clinging to the dampness.

“Police! Everyone out!” Kang’s voice boomed as they exited their vehicle, the team fanning out, their movements precise and practiced. They approached the main entrance, a rusted metal door hanging precariously off its hinges. Inside, the darkness was thick, punctuated only by the beams of their tactical flashlights.

The interior was vast and cavernous, the air thick with the smell of dust, mildew, and something else… something metallic and sickeningly sweet. Their footsteps echoed ominously as they moved deeper into the warehouse, their training kicking in, every corner, every shadow scrutinized.

Then, they reached the far end of the building. The beams of their flashlights converged on a horrifying scene. Standing over a grotesque tableau was a lone figure, a man in a dark suit, his back to them. He was simply standing there, looking down at the dismembered remains of a body.

The scene was brutal, a macabre display of violence. The victim, a man judging by the clothing fragments, had been meticulously cut apart, separated at the joints, the limbs splayed out on the concrete floor in a disturbing, almost artistic arrangement. Blood, dark and viscous, pooled around the body, reflecting the stark white light of their flashlights.

“Police! Hands in the air! Turn around slowly!” Kang’s voice was firm, his weapon raised and aimed. The other detectives mirrored his stance, forming a perimeter around the suited man.

The figure remained motionless for a moment, a beat of unsettling silence hanging in the air, broken only by the relentless rain outside. Then, slowly, deliberately, he turned.

Karina’s breath caught in her throat. The man facing them was strikingly handsome. His dark hair was neatly styled, his suit impeccably tailored, clinging to a lean, athletic frame. His features were sharp, almost aristocratic, with a defined jawline and eyes that seemed to hold a strange mixture of amusement and something else… an unsettling calmness. An innocent, practically boyish smile played on his lips, a stark contrast to the carnage at his feet.

[flvrnne]

miyeon gidle icons and bts headers? :)

like or reblog, headers © to the owners.

[winterarchives]

You’re sugary-sweet. He can still taste you hours after he’s had a sip. Your blood was simply otherworldly- a concoction so addicting and saccharine that it gets his head spinning.

“I like the way it looks dribbling down your chin,” you’d told him once after a particularly heavy draw, and though the sentiment was cute, Taehyung mentally slapped himself for making a waste of your essence.

It doesn’t stop there, the attraction, can’t be pinned down to simple bloodlust. There’s something magnetic about you that goes beyond the amber liquid in your veins- something deeper. He’s heard Namjoon tell the others that he thinks it’s a soulmate connection, and he’s inclined to agree. The way his entire body feels as though it catches aflame when he’s around you is unbearably delectable- so painlessly blissful that he can’t possibly say you’re not his soulmate.

He wants you, in any way he can have you… and he has you, whether it’s on his lap, in his bed, or on any other conceivable surface in their lair- he has you. He knows that, can feel it like he can feel the rise and fall of your chest when he is near you… but he always finds himself wanting you more.

“I want you,” he whines at you, kissing a red mark against the hollow of your throat.

“You have me,” you reply, flipping the page in your book.

He does. But it’s not enough.

“I want you even more, though,” he huffs.

He feels lightheaded from the cute and exasperated look you shoot his way, feels slight triumph when you close your book and give the vampire your full attention.

“You have me,” you reiterate.

“I don’t know how to describe it,” he tells you, “it’s like I don’t have you enough, Jagi.” He pouts at you, his 103 year old brain finally at a loss for words.

“Sounds greedy, Tae,” you smile.

“I love you,” he smirks, can’t help himself from pressing a kiss to your lips.

Maybe it was the way he said it, or the look on his face… maybe it was the conversation you were having prior, but Taehyung feels the deep growl build in his chest when you deepen the kiss. Feels himself grow excited in his slacks when you card your fingers through his silken hair and tug.

“I love you too,” you murmur against his swollen lips, out of breath and voice lust-broken- so much so that it has Taehyung hitching a breath above you.

“You’re beautiful. My beautiful Star,” he whispers, tracing the swell of your bottom lip with a cooled-marble thumb. “I would retrieve galaxies for you if you so wished,” he continues, feels like regardless of the praise and words he etches into your being, he will never be able to fully express the emotion he feels for you, “paint your sky with them..”

He watches the way your eyes fill with unshed tears- feels his breath catch evermore when you look at him so vulnerably- and his want grows. He knows how to describe it now, when he’s looking at you so wanton with fervor and passion. He wants you in absolution- wants everything and more that you have to offer for now and always.

It’s only when you pad away a bloody-tear that he realizes he’s crying, realizes you must be his soulmate because this is something he doesn’t think anyone else has ever felt- this passion. This unbridled dedication to someone, it’s bone deep, or maybe it’s atom deep. He doesn’t know, doesn’t care when he undresses you and you do the same for him.

Loves the way you don’t rush it. He feels himself shiver from each touch you grace him with, feels his cock ache and twitch in trepidation. You’re his wants incarnate- so dangerously perfect to him that he thinks he might cum from a single flick against his thigh from you.

It’s so slow, so slow and heavy and he feels like a paper that’s been secured by a weight. It’s so good… every nip and lick, every tug and pull. He can feel his cock growing heavier with every pinch of his nipples- every scrape against his back… and when he’s finally inside of you, cock covered in your slick and saliva, he fears he might implode.

It’s that good. That heavenly that he’s fucking you deeper and harder than he ever has before, using more of his immortal strength and stamina than he’s exerted before because he wants you to feel him everywhere- wants you to have him in his absolution.

Consciousness is nearly lost when he cums, when he releases in you so deep and full. It’s hours of aftercare- of soothing the fucked-out high of his brain by listening to your panted breaths even out… of listening to your heart slow and ease from a crescendo to a diminuendo.

He knows he has you. He can feel it in every fiber that makes him Taehyung, all the way from his head to his feet… but he still wants you more

[oursvenus]

𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗒, 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝖾’𝗌 ꕤ 𝓯𝐨𝐥𝐤𝓵𝐨𝐫𝐞

☆ v ( bts ) lockscreens !

[keen-li]

Love when idols wear their natural hair colours we need more of this realness 💯💯

[jimzittos]

@cg1rl ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤℐ love you with my past ㅤㅤㅤㅤand ℐ love you for my future ࠜೄ

[wintrbears]

the tannies, who most certainly have a group chat: nah, I think I’ll just use jin’s live well after it’s over.

[i97l0-1]

So cute V & Jimin

[magic-shop-stories]

Hey, this might be a little out there, so feel free to ignore it if it’s too much, but I just wanted to say that I absolutely adore your writing and I’m so grateful for all the stories you share! Thank you so much for all the inspiration!

So here’s my request:

I’d love to read a fantasy AU where BTS are immortal guardians of the cosmos, each tied to a different constellation. Their soulmates are mortals who have a starfragment embedded in their palm.

Imagine this: Jungkook, the mysterious guardian of the Orion Nebula, falls for a human astronomer who’s spent her life studying his stars—only to realize she’s his destined soulmate. But as her starfragment starts to fade he defies celestial laws and shares his immortality with her, unknowingly setting off a chain reaction that could destroy both of their worlds, causing a cosmic disaster.

It’s a little wild, but I think it would make for an epic story!

💌Reply:

Hi there! ✨️

First of all, THANK YOU so much for your kind words and for trusting me with such a unique and creative idea! Your request was absolutely NOT too much—in fact, it was such a joy to write! I loved diving into this cosmic fantasy world and exploring the dynamic between Jungkook and Lyra (I guess I'm not very creative choosing names), with all the celestial drama, angst, and fluff that came with it. The concept of immortal guardians, star fragments, and forbidden love was so inspiring...

I hope the story I wrote captured the epic, emotional, and otherworldly vibe you were imagining! If there’s anything you’d like adjusted or expanded, just let me know—I’m always happy to tweak things to make it perfect for you.

Thank you again for such a creative and heartfelt request. It was truly a pleasure to bring your vision to life! ✨️💜

REQUEST NAME:

Nebula's Requiem

↳ Jungkook x f!OC Lyra (Soulmates); Fantasy AU, Angst with Fluff, Cosmic Romance

Rating: G maybe T (I'm bad at this and read too much stuff when I was too young so you better don't trust me)

Word Count: ~ 4k

Genre: BTS AU, Cosmic Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Mythic Romance, Action, Found Family, Epic Battle, Emotional Whump

Warnings: Intense action sequences, strong language, near-death experiences, existential horror, celestial body destruction, transformation trauma, godly devotion, cryptic foreshadowing.

Pairings: Jungkook × f!OC (Lyra) – Godlike Devotion, Fated Bond, Mythic Romance

Featuring: Taehyung as the chaotic Pleiades guardian, Yoongi as the stoic black hole keeper, and Jimin as the dazzling Andromeda protector. Celestial warlords, space-time anomalies, divine power struggles, supernova awakenings, galaxy-shattering battles, sarcastic Yoongi wisdom, Taehyung’s chaotic brilliance, Jimin’s flamboyant mischief, and Jungkook as a relentless force of cosmic love.

The abandoned Seoul observatory crouched atop its hill like a skeletal beast, its domed roof long stripped of copper, its telescopes rusted sentinels pointing blindly at the sky. Dr. Lyra Han’s boots crunched over shattered glass as she navigated the decay, her breath crystallizing in the subzero air. She came here every new moon, when light pollution dimmed enough to glimpse the truth—the Orion Nebula, bleeding crimson and gold through the observatory’s fractured dome. Tonight, its glow pulsed like a wounded heart.

Her gloved hand trembled as she adjusted the radio telescope, its gears shrieking in protest. Static crackled through her headphones, then...

Hiss

Click

Voice

...not her own.

Lyra froze. The frequency wasn’t hers. It wasn’t human. The voice wove through the static like smoke, low and resonant, speaking in no language yet understood by her bones. She’d heard it for months now, always when the nebula swelled brightest. Tonight, she’d record it. Prove she wasn’t hallucinating.

“Just… a few more adjustments,” she muttered, scribbling equations on the frosted windowpane with a half-frozen marker. Her breath fogged the glass, her left palm—always unnaturally warm—pressed against it for stability. The star-shaped scar there itched, as it did whenever the nebula flared.

Jungkook had not risen from his throne in three mortal decades.

Why would he? His realm was a graveyard. The Orion Nebula coiled around him, its once-vibrant gases now sluggish and dim, chained to his obsidian throne by filaments of dying light. His brethren called it a cage, and he its warden. They did not know it was his penitence.

But her voice...

It pierced the silence like a comet. Crackling through the radio waves, soft and stubborn, a mortal woman dissecting his prison with equations sharper than celestial steel.

“The Orion Nebula isn’t just a nursery for stars,” she’d murmured weeks ago, her words etching themselves into the throne’s armrests. “It’s a requiem. Something here is… grieving.”

Jungkook’s hand spasmed, fracturing the throne’s arm. Grieving. Grieving. How dare she...

He materialized in her realm in a storm of nebula dust.

Lyra didn’t hear him arrive.

She felt it.

The air thickened, tasting of ozone and burnt cinnamon. The radio static sharpened into a scream, then silence. When she turned, he stood haloed in the nebula’s bloody light—a figure carved from shadow and starfire.

His skin was not skin but a living tapestry of constellations, their patterns shifting like restless serpents beneath the surface. Hair as black as event horizons fell to his waist, threaded with filaments of gold that pulsed in time with the scar on her palm. His eyes—gods, his eyes—were twin supernovae, white-hot cores ringed with dying stars.

He wore armor forged from the remnants of collapsed suns, jagged and iridescent, and a cloak that billowed not with wind but with the gravitational pull of unseen worlds.

Lyra stumbled back, her hip striking the telescope’s edge. Hallucination. Sleep deprivation. Hypothermia. Her scientific mantras dissolved as he spoke.

“You are wrong.”

His voice was the death rattle of a star—a basso profundo that vibrated her teeth, layered with echoes of a thousand collapsing worlds. The observatory trembled, dust raining from the ceiling.

Lyra’s gloves slipped as she gripped the windowsill. “Wh-what—”

“It is not a requiem.” He glided forward, boots leaving scorch marks on the rotting floorboards. The nebula’s light bent around him, as though spacetime itself recoiled. “It is a cage.”

Her scar burned. She ripped off her glove without thinking.

The starfragment embedded in her palm—a shard of cobalt light she’d borne since birth—flared violently. Jungkook froze.

“You.” The supernovae in his eyes dimmed to embers. “You carry… my sorrow.”

Lyra’s knees buckled. The scar was reacting, tendrils of light snaking up her wrist. “What are you?!”

He did not answer. His armored hand hovered over hers, close enough that her skin blistered from the heat. The starfragment screamed—a sound only she could hear—and suddenly, she saw

A throne of blackened starlight.

Jungkook, younger but no less ancient, weeping diamonds as he shattered a star with bare hands.

A nebula screaming as chains of light cinched around its heart.

Her own infant fist, closing around a shard of celestial debris.

A voice -his voice- howling across the cosmos: “Forgive me "

Lyra wrenched back, gasping. “N-no. This isn’t—I don’t—”

Jungkook’s face contorted, the constellations beneath his skin roiling like storm clouds. “You should not see. You should not be."

“Be what?!”

“Mine.”

The admission detonated between them. The radio telescope exploded in a shower of sparks. Lyra screamed, shielding her face, but when the debris cleared...

He was gone.

Only the scar’s afterglow remained, throbbing in time with the nebula’s wounded pulse.

Lyra’s apartment was a cathedral of chaos. Star charts papered the walls, equations scrawled in red ink bleeding over coffee stains. Her telescope pointed defiantly at the boarded-up window, and her kitchen—now a warzone of half-empty ramyeon cups—still smoldered from Jungkook’s abrupt departure. She’d spent hours scrubbing scorch marks from the floor, her starfragment throbbing like a second heartbeat.

It’s not real, she told herself, scalding her tongue on bitter tea. A stress-induced hallucination. Sleep deprivation.

Then the ceiling screamed.

The black hole tore through her apartment like divine vandalism.

One moment, Lyra was glaring at her starfragment—now dimmer, smaller —and the next, spacetime itself ruptured above her stove. The air curdled, condensing into a singularity no wider than a dinner plate, yet radiating gravitational malice. Dishes levitated, her textbooks shredded into confetti, and the microwave imploded with a metallic shriek.

From the void emerged a figure wreathed in dying starlight.

Taehyung, Guardian of the Pleiades, tumbled onto her linoleum floor in a cascade of supernova debris. His cloak—woven not from feathers but from the souls of extinct stars—billowed with phantom winds, its fabric shimmering with the trapped light of a thousand dead galaxies. His hair, a nebula incarnate, shifted from violet to ultraviolet as he laughed, shaking comet dust from his brow.

“Apologies for the mess, mortal!” His voice was a symphony of chaos, notes clashing like colliding asteroids. “Black hole shortcuts are… unrefined.”

Lyra staggered back, her spine hitting the fridge. Another hallucination. Worse this time.

But the stranger’s eyes pinned her—one pupil a spiraling galaxy, the other a pulsing quasar. His grin sharpened. “Ah. You’re the reason Kookie’s been moping for eons.”

Jungkook materialized in a supernova’s afterglow, his armor crackling with contained fury. “Taehyung.”

The Pleiades guardian waved a hand, and Lyra’s toaster erupted into a miniature supernova. “Miss me, Orion?”

“You violate celestial law.” Jungkook’s throne-scarred hands flexed, nebulae churning in his palms. “The mortal realm is forbidden.”

“Says the god who branded his soulmate.” Taehyung flicked a finger, and the floating ramyeon cups aligned into a scale model of the Solar System. “Adorable, isn’t she? All fragile bones and borrowed time.”

Lyra’s breath hitched. “Soulmate?”

Jungkook’s gaze snapped to her—a supernova’s glare. “Silence."

“Oh, let’s not.” Taehyung levitated onto her countertop, legs swinging like a child’s. His boots were soled with dying white dwarfs, their light leaching into her tiles. “See, darling, that pretty shard in your palm?” He pointed to her starfragment, now flickering erratically. “It’s a piece of his prison. Which means...”

“Enough.” Jungkook lunged, but Taehyung dissolved into stardust, reappearing behind Lyra.

“...you’re bound to his suffering. And dying because of it.”

Lyra’s vision tunneled. The room tilted.

Taehyung’s hand—cold as the interstellar void—closed over her wrist. Her starfragment screamed, projecting holograms of Jungkook’s throne, the nebula’s chains, her own infant face bathed in celestial fire.

“Your mortal coil can’t contain cosmic grief,” Taehyung murmured, almost gentle. “His sorrow is killing you.”

Jungkook stood frozen, his constellation-kissed skin gone ashen. The Pleiades guardian laughed bitterly.

“Look at him! The mighty Orion, who shattered stars to build his cage. Now he’d let you die to keep his hands clean.”

Lyra wrenched free, her scar searing. “Stop—stop talking like I’m not here”

Silence.

Taehyung tilted his head. Jungkook’s fists clenched, neutronium armor groaning.

“You… feel nothing?” The Pleiades guardian drifted closer, galaxies swirling in his irises. “No cosmic pull? No recognition?”

Her laugh bordered on hysterical. “I’m a radio astronomer who hallucinates gods! What do you want me to..."

Jungkook moved.

One heartbeat, he stood across the room. The next, his hand—incandescent with dying stars—cradled her jaw.

“Look,” he commanded.

And she saw.

Scenes flashed...

A younger Jungkook, golden and laughing, weaving nebulae with Taehyung.

A council of gods sentencing him for crimes unnamed.

His hands, trembling as he carves a shard from his own nebula.

A newborn’s cry—Lyra’s first breath—as the starfragment grafts to her soul.

Centuries of watching, yearning, as her mortal life flickers like a guttering candle.

Lyra recoiled, tears boiling as they fell. “You… stole part of your prison. Put it in me. Why?”

Jungkook’s hand fell. "To remember.”

“To remember what?”

“That destruction is not all I am.”

Taehyung snorted. “Poetic. Now fix it.” He tossed Jungkook a jar brimming with stolen galaxy cores—primordial energy sources banned by celestial decree. “Share your immortality. Break the bond.”

Jungkook stared at the cores, their light refracting in his eyes. "The cost...”

“...is worth paying.” Taehyung’s levity vanished. “Or would you let her die a martyr to your pride?”

Lyra’s knees gave out. She slid down the fridge, staring at her dimming starfragment. “I’m… really dying?”

Jungkook’s silence was the answer that shattered her world.

The Cosmic Vault existed outside spacetime, a fortress carved into the ergosphere of a rotating black hole. Its walls were forged from quantum paradoxes—every step Lyra took fractured into infinite possibilities. To her left, a version of herself aged into dust. To her right, she became a god. Jungkook gripped her elbow, anchoring her to the present.

“Do not look. Do not think.” His voice was strained, the constellations beneath his skin fraying at the edges. "Mortals unravel here.”

“Too late,” Lyra muttered, her starfragment pulsing like a Geiger counter. The vault’s aura reeked of static and forgotten graves.

Taehyung materialized ahead, juggling three miniature neutron stars. “Remind me why I'm the distraction?”

“Because you’re expendable,” Yoongi said, emerging from the shadows like a wraith.

Yoongi, Guardian of Black Holes, was a study in controlled annihilation.

His armor was simpler than Jungkook’s—obsidian plates smoothed by aeons of gravitational erosion, their surface devouring light. His eyes, hidden behind visors of collapsed spacetime, glowed faintly with Hawking radiation. The gauntlets on his hands were twin singularities, humming with entropy.

“This,” Yoongi said, activating his gauntlets, “is why I hate poets.” The black holes whirred, unraveling the vault’s lock—a mechanism built from contradictions. “Sharing immortality? Might as well piss on the laws of thermodynamics.”

Lyra frowned. “But you’re helping.”

Yoongi didn’t glance up. “Taehyung owes me five hundred supermassive black holes. And Jungkook…” His gauntlets sparked, fracturing reality. “…deserves a second chance. Even if he’s an idiot.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened but he said nothing.

The vault door split with a scream.

Inside, the Font of Eternity churned—a liquid star contained within a cage of gravitational ropes. Its light was alive, lashing against the bonds like a caged animal. The air thrummed with the screams of every mortal who’d ever begged for forever.

Lyra gagged. “It’s… sentient?”

“It is a compacted timeline,”Jungkook said, stepping forward. “Every drop contains a million potential eternities.”

Yoongi crossed his arms. “Touch it, and those eternities become your problem. You ready to babysit entropy, princess?”

“Don’t call me...”

“...Focus,” Jungkook snapped. He unsheathed his dagger, its blade forged from the last light of a dying universe. “The bond must be severed at the quantum level. Lyra—your hand.”

She hesitated. The scar ached, whispering of Jungkook’s grief, his rage, his regret.

“What happens to you?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Liar,” Yoongi muttered.

Taehyung’s voice crackled through their comms a nebula fragment stuck in Lyra’s ear. “Enforcer drones incoming! Kindly hurry with the cosmic felony!”

Jungkook sliced his palm, letting godblood—thick and iridescent—drip into the Font. The liquid star hissed, morphing into a vortex of screaming faces.

“Now,” he ordered.

Lyra pressed her starfragment to the Font. Agony erupted—a supernova in her veins. The scar unfolded, tendrils of light fusing with the liquid eternity.

Yoongi cursed. “Her mortal frame can’t stabilize the merge! Jungkook, you idiot...”

“Hold. Steady.”Jungkook gripped Lyra’s shoulders, his eyes bleeding starlight. “You are not small. You are infinite!"

The Font erupted.

Lyra’s scream echoed through paradox walls.

Her body flickered—mortal, immortal,

other. The vault trembled, quantum walls fracturing. Yoongi swore, black holes flaring as he fought to stabilize reality.

“Get her out!” he roared.

Jungkook reached for her, but the Font’s chains snapped. Liquid eternity flooded the vault, birthing and erasing civilizations in its wake.

Taehyung’s voice cut through the chaos. “Incoming Enforcers! And—oh hell—is that a class-9 supernova?!”

Lyra glimpsed it then—a detonation wave rippling through the cosmic fabric. Her starfragment ignited.

“Jungkook!”

He tackled her as the vault imploded.

The asteroid belt was a graveyard of dead planets, its debris field stretching into infinity—jagged rock and ice glinting under the faint glow of a dying star. Lyra’s breath fogged her helmet visor, her body tethered to Jungkook’s by a cord of braided starlight. Behind them, the Celestial Enforcers’ warships loomed like steel leviathans, their hulls etched with runes of obliteration.

“Stay close,” Jungkook ordered, his voice fraying at the edges. The nebula in his veins pulsed erratically, dimmed by the Font’s backlash.

Lyra gripped his armored forearm. “Why? Because you’ll vaporize me if I wander?”

His jaw tensed. “Because I cannot lose you again.”

The words hung between them, charged and fragile. Then...

A missile of condensed dark matter struck their flank.

Lyra’s tether snapped. She spun into the void, the Enforcers’ gravity nets closing in. Jungkook roared, diving after her, but the second missile detonated inside his chest.

The supernova ignited.

Lyra caught him.

Or he caught her.

Their lips met in the electric silence between explosions.

Jungkook’s kiss was superheated plasma, a fusion reactor contained in flesh. Lyra’s tasted of stolen stardust and mortal defiance. For a heartbeat, the cosmos stilled...

Then her starfragment detonated.

The shockwave tore through the asteroid belt, vaporizing rocks into primordial dust. Lyra’s scream crystallized into a symphony of creation as light birthed from her scar—a supernova contained in a mortal shell.

Jungkook shielded her with his body, his armor disintegrating. “Lyra—control it...”

“I can’t...”

“...You must.” His eyes bled starlight, hands cupping her face. “You are not destruction. You are dawn.”

Yoongi materialized in a maelstrom of fury, black hole gauntlets devouring Enforcer drones. “ROMANCE IS CATASTROPHIC!” He annihilated a moon-sized asteroid, its fragments forming a temporary shield. “Jungkook! Contain your apocalyptic girlfriend!”

Lyra, half-blind with supernova energy, stumbled into a floating debris field. Her veins glowed like magma fissures, every exhale scattering starseed.

“Darling! Catch!”

Jimin’s voice. Then—weapons.

The Andromeda Stardust Nunchucks spun toward her, each chain forged from the galaxy’s spiral arms, their handles inlaid with pulsar cores. She grabbed them, and the universe sang.

“Flick the wrist!”Jimin called, his lithe form dancing across an asteroid in robes of living auroras. “Stardust is a language—speak it!”

Lyra swung. The nunchucks left comet trails, their impact rippling spacetime. A meteor shattered into glittering sapphire shards.

“Jealous?!” she taunted Yoongi, dodging an entropy beam.

He atomized a drone with a snarl. “Of what? Your impending supernova-induced death?”

Jungkook fought like a god unshackled.

Nebula tendrils lashed from his fingertips, binding Enforcer ships in cosmic vines. His blood—now liquid starlight—dripped into the void, crystallizing into black-hole daggers. But his gaze never left Lyra, a supernova blazing through her mortal frame.

“Kookie!” Taehyung’s comet skidded to a halt, Pleiades cloak singed. He hurled a galaxy core grenade, its detonation birthing a temporary star. “She’s not dying—she’s evolving!”

Jungkook froze. “What?”

“The starfragment wasn’t a leash—it was a cocoon!” Taehyung ducked an ion blast, grinning manically. “Her mortality was a lie! She’s the universe’s reset button—a primordial supernova!”

Lyra’s nunchucks faltered. Memories flooded her—not hers. Ancient ones...

A cosmos before light.

A council of gods fearing a power that could unmake them.

Her soul, forged in the first supernova, sealed into human flesh.

Jungkook, unknowingly binding her to his heart to protect her.

“No…” She gripped her head, supernova energy scorching her helmet. “I’m not—I’m not human?”

Jungkook reached her as the energy peaked. “You are Lyra.” He tore off her melting visor, forehead pressed to hers. “That is all that matters.”

The Enforcer flagship fired.

Yoongi intercepted the blast.

His black holes collapsed into a singularity shield, muscles straining as spacetime itself screamed. “Hurry!”

Taehyung tossed Lyra a galaxy core. “Take this!”

“What?”

“JUST DO IT!”

She swallowed the core.

The supernova erupted and shifted...

Lyra’s scream was not a sound but a rupture —a fissure in the fabric of spacetime that echoed with the agony of dying stars. Her body hovered at the epicenter of her own annihilation, limbs contorted as supernova energy ravaged her mortal shell. Skin crystallized into diamond fractals, hair unraveling into solar flares that scorched the asteroid belt to glass. The Enforcers’ warships disintegrated, their crews reduced to ash-motes singing requiems only she could hear.

Jungkook lunged through the inferno, his nebula armor sloughing off in molten ribbons. Beneath it, his true form flickered—a skeletal constellation, ribs cracked from eons of grief, eyes hollow supernovae. He crashed into her, their bodies skidding across a disintegrating asteroid.

“Lyra!" His voice was raw, bleeding stardust. “Anchor yourself! The power is yours—it does not own you!”

She clawed at her throat, veins pulsing with primordial fire. “It’s—too much...”

“You are more.” He cradled her face, thumbs smearing iridescent tears. “You are the dawn that outshines the dark.”

Their second kiss was not a collision but a symphony.

Jungkook’s lips burned with the desperation of a god who’d forgotten mercy. Lyra’s tasted of supernova ash and human defiance—salt, iron, and the faintest trace of peppermint chapstick. Where their mouths met, reality bloomed.

The supernova imploded.

Then... silence.

A newborn star ignited between them, its core a swirling helix of mortal DNA and celestial fire. Light rippled outward, mending shattered asteroids into delicate rings, repainting the Orion Nebula in hues of amethyst and gold. The Enforcers’ ashes coalesced into butterflies of condensed stardust, their wings whispering apologies as they scattered.

Lyra gasped, her crystallized skin softening into flesh. The starfragment scar now blazed as a constellation across her collarbone—Orion’s belt fused with a supernova’s heart.

“Jungkook…” She stared at the star, their star, orbiting them in lazy spirals. “What did we do?”

He laughed—a sound like nebulas relearning joy. “What you were born to do.”

Taehyung emerged from a supernova’s debris cloud, his Pleiades cloak now mostly scorched. “Dibs on naming the star!” He lobbed a galaxy core at Yoongi, who vaporized it mid-air. “Lyra’s Folly? Jungkook’s Redemption Arc? Sparkles McSparkleface...?”

Yoongi sat atop a black hole singularity, massaging his gauntlet-singed wrist. His visor was cracked, revealing eyes like event horizons—endlessly patient, endlessly exhausted. “Name it ‘Regret’ so I can christen it with your funeral.”

Jimin descended from Andromeda’s spiral arm on a comet, robes billowing with bioluminescent nebulae. His hair shimmered with stolen quasar light, and his smile could’ve jumpstarted dead stars. “A performance worthy of encores!” He tossed Lyra a thermos of liquid starlight. “Drink, darling. Supernova hangovers are brutal..."

Lyra sipped, warmth flooding her veins. “Why does this taste like… ramyeon broth?”

Jimin winked. “Andromeda’s secret recipe.”

Jungkook traced Lyra’s new constellation scar, his touch featherlight. “The council will come for you. For us.”

She leaned into him, their star nestled in her palm like a firefly. “Let them.”

Taehyung snorted. “Oh, they’ll try. But between your apocalyptic snogging and Yoongi’s chronic grumpiness...”

“...I will erase you,” Yoongi said mildly, summoning a black hole.

Lyra laughed, the sound harmonizing with the star’s hum. For the first time, her soul felt aligned—no longer a mortal borrowing time, but a cosmic equation balanced.

Jungkook pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths syncing. “You are stardust and supernova. Mine.”

“Yours,” she agreed. “But not only yours.”

Their star pulsed, casting shadows that danced like promises.

The Orion Nebula no longer wept.

Where chains of dying starlight once strangled its core, new stars now pulsed in rhythmic constellations, their light harmonizing into a symphony that echoed across the cosmos. Jungkook’s throne had been dismantled, its fossilized starlight repurposed into bridges that arched over nebula rivers, their waters singing with the memories of liberated suns.

Lyra walked those bridges often, her boots leaving trails of bioluminescent moss. The supernova tattoo across her collarbone shimmered with every step, its light fractalizing into miniature galaxies that drifted like fireflies. Jungkook trailed behind her, quieter now, his hands weaving stardust into intricate braids for her hair—each one a protective charm, a silent apology, a love letter written in celestial geometry.

“You don’t have to follow me,” she said one dawn-cycle, catching his wrist as he threaded a braid with pulsar beads. “I’m not going to dissolve into supernova debris.”

“I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her tattoo. It flared gently, casting his face in cobalt relief. “I follow because I choose."

Taehyung arrived unannounced, as always.

“Housewarming gift!” he declared, dumping a black hole bonsai tree onto Lyra’s dining table. Its event horizon swirled with tiny trapped stars. “Water it with starlight, talk trash about the Cosmic Council, and it’ll bloom into a portal to anywhere!”

Yoongi, nursing a mug of black hole coffee brewed in his singularity kettle, raised an eyebrow. “Or implode the quadrant.”

“Same thing!”

Jimin descended next, trailing Andromeda’s auroras like bridal veils. He gifted Lyra a mirror forged from the newborn star’s light. “For vanity,” he teased, though they all knew its true purpose—to track the Council’s approach.

Lyra caught her reflection: a mortal woman glowing with borrowed divinity, her eyes flecked with supernova remnants.

Not a god. Not human. Something… else.

Peace, Lyra learned, was a fragile nebula.

The Cosmic Council’s warships lurked beyond the galactic rim, their silhouettes blotting out star clusters. Jungkook’s spies brought whispers of tribunals and treason charges, of gods who feared her power—their power.

“Let them come,” Lyra said one night, her tattoo blazing as she stood atop the bridge. The newborn star orbited her like a loyal hound, its light painting Jungkook’s scars in gold. “We’ll turn their verdict into stardust.”

Jungkook’s smile was a rare, slow-blooming thing. “You are… terrifying.”

“You taught me.”

He kissed her then, deep and unhurried, as their star spun protective sigils into the void.

But in quiet moments, Lyra heard it—a dissonant chord in the nebula’s song.

The newborn star flickered when she wasn’t looking, its light dimming to blood-crimson. Strange symbols etched themselves into the bridges, vanishing when Yoongi inspected them. And Taehyung’s bonsai tree? It grew a single obsidian leaf engraved with a warning:

THEY ARE COMING.

BRACE FOR WAR.

Lyra tucked the leaf into her journal, between sketches of Earth’s moon and Jungkook’s sleeping face. Outside, the nebula sang sweeter, brighter—a lullaby for the calm before the storm.

Jungkook found her there, braiding stardust into her hair. “You should rest.”

She leaned into his touch, her tattoo humming. “Soon.”

Above them, their star pulsed once, twice, as if counting down.