luckydraww

[luckydraww]

Dusk

Do Monsters Mourn - Prologue

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Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader, Additional/Implied ships Word Count: 2.5k Chapter Warnings: Supernatural Horror, Violence, Mild Gore (?) Synopsis: It should've been a simple solo hunt. Author's Note: I know this is a hongjoong fic, I promise he and Ateez show up more in the next few chapters! Txt does play a role in the plot though, so I wanted to set them up early 💔

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A steaming cup of coffee is pushed towards you from across the table, the dark liquid sloshing inside the paper cup. The heat warms your hands as you grab it. Beomgyu gives you a slight smile, before he slides another paper coffee cup to the man next to you, Taehyun. Taehyun grabs it with a slight nod, taking a sip immediately before wincing slightly from the heat against his tongue.

The smell of dust and old paper mixes with the coffee, a sense of nostalgia hitting you for a moment. Beomgyu sinks down into his own chair with a sigh, and opens a few folders on the table diagonal from you. Taehyun’s hand darts out to snatch one of the files from him, earning a slap from Beomgyu on his scarred hand. 

“Seriously? That’s not even the right file, genius.” Beomgyu chastises, as he sorts through the papers. 

The shuffling of parchment fills the air as Taehyun grumbles, rubbing his hand. 

The bunker door groans, two figures coming in as the heavy metal creaks behind them. The metal slams against the stone walls, rattling the air before slowly swinging closed behind them.

Yeonjun waltzes in first, dust and dirt smudged on his face and clothing. A large canvas bag sags under its own weight across his shoulders, as he flashes a brilliant smile at his team, then you. Items inside his bag clink together—iron, mirrors, salt, vials of holy water, as he swings it off of his back and onto the table haphazardly. The impact of the bag sends the cups of coffee rippling, with a disgruntled “Hey!” breaking from Taehyun's lips. 

"Didn't know we'd have a guest today." Yeonjun smiles, "Long time no see, how's the solo hunting going? Any new scars?"

The other man moves a bit more gracefully, taking his time to ensure the door closes properly behind him before walking forward. He stands stiffly, almost awkwardly next to the table, before remembering to sit down. He slowly settles down next to Yeonjun at the table, his eyes glancing over the bag before returning to Yeonjun’s face.

“Was it necessary to throw your bag on the table?” the man asks.

“Does it matter Soobin? It’s a creaky ancient table. It’s been through more than just a bag being thrown on it.” Yeonjun shrugs, before he reaches out for Taehyun’s cup.

A loud smack.

“Mine.” Taehyun scoffs, pulling the paper cup closer. “Should’ve answered Beomgyu’s text earlier when he asked if you wanted some.” 

Yeonjun scoffs, before leaning back in his chair to put his feet up on the table. “We were out in the field, I don’t have time to answer a text when I’m going toe-to-toe with a spirit.”

“You weren’t though?” Soobin interrupts, slightly confused.

“Not literally, Soobin. It’s a figure of speech.”

Soobin lets out a soft “ah”, before nodding to himself.

Yeonjun finally glances at you, nodding his head slightly in your direction.

“And what’re you doing here, y/n? You don’t stop by often.”

As he says that, Beomgyu at the other end of the table makes a triumphant noise, before whipping out a few papers from his folder and sliding it towards you.

You grab the files in your hand—newspaper clippings, witness reports, maps of the area.

Beomgyu taps on a spot on the map, marked with a red circle.

“That’s the area I was talking about. Normal creepy stuff, almost cliche really. I mean, what kind of ghost actually haunts cemeteries nowadays, am I right?” 

You inspect the area on the map, eyes tracing the streets and walkways nearby. Interesting indeed. Most of the ghost and spirit cases you’ve worked on recently mostly revolved around them being tied to spirits or people. 

The area around the location marked isn’t one you’re familiar with, though from the clipped photos Beomgyu provided, it looks rather desolate. Blurry images of gravestones, a crumbling mausoleum, and family tombs.

“And you said hunters have been going missing in the area?” You press.

“Right. I was going to ask if you’d want to scout it out with—“ Beomgyu starts, but you promptly cut him off.

“I can check it out. It’s going the way I was planning to travel, anyways.” You say, flipping to the newspaper clippings.

Five missing persons. Odd marks on the trees nearby. A grave or two dug up, with an accompanying article about grave vandalism. Sounds like an angry spirit, maybe a wraith. You wrack your brain for a moment, complaining a list of things you might need for this job. Salt, matches, chalk. Probably should make sure you’re loaded up on silver bullets—never hurts.

Beomgyu sighs. He’s known you for years, and you still insist on working alone even now.

“Y/n, experienced hunters have been going missing there. I know you’re capable, but one of us can probably—“

“No.” Comes your curt reply. “I’ll be fine. I’ve worked alone for years, I don’t need to be backed up. It sounds like a simple wraith case, it was probably a bunch of amateur ghost hunters meddling with more than they could handle.”

Yeonjun tsks across from you, nudging Soobin’s side.

“Told you she’d say no.”

Soobin���s eyes finally land on you, the slightest frown on his face.

“I don’t think it’s wise to take this on alone.”

Of course he says that. Soobin, ever the vigilant angel. Literally. Even if you didn’t know better, just the way he interacts with the world would make you suspicious. 

“You say that every time. When are you going to stop breathing down my neck? I’m not helpless, Soobin.” Your fingers tap against the table in annoyance, drumming a rhythm as you try and choke back a snarkier response.

“I’ve been alive far longer than you, I know better—“

“And I’ve been hunting here longer than you’ve been on the mortal plane. I can take care of myself.” You snap, irritation flooding through you as you stand up. 

The chair screeches against the floor as you push it backwards, tucking the files under your arm.

“I came here for intel from Beomgyu, not to be chastised like a child. Maybe I should’ve just had him message me the details instead of showing up.” Your voice rises slightly. You snatch the rest of your items, before beelining for the door.

“Y/n, you know that’s not what I meant—“ Soobin tries, standing up to follow you.

Yeonjun, for once, has the forethought to grab his arm, shaking his head as you slam open the bunker door. 

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You step into another puddle, the smell of petrichor filling your lungs as you take a deep breath. The sun is barely starting to set, turning the cemetery ahead of you a golden color as the light slowly sinks down the horizon. Overgrown ivy climbs hungrily up the sides of few mausoleums dottinh the distance, while dirt and mud cover the path ahead of you. A pitiful chain link fence, locked with a rusted bike chain, bars you from the main cemetery path. A sign hangs against the gate, the words “KEEP OUT” barely visible under layers of sun-bleached spray paint. 

Vaulting easily over the low gate, the metal chains of the sign jingle from the movement as you land. Your bag hits your back, one of the contents digs into your side uncomfortably until you readjust, thumbs slipping under the straps to tug it slightly higher. 

Your eyes scan the area, mapping out routes through tangles of overgrown brush and mud-slick walkways. Finding a decently shady spot, you lay your items out, pulling out a few sticks of chalk to set up a perimeter around the cemetery. Following the uneven stone path, you mark off each corner of the cemetery with sigils–something simple but potent. The chalk swoops and curls, arcane symbols you know by heart taking shape against cracked stone and mossy crevices. Dust coats your fingertips as you trace the shapes. A slight shimmer in the air, and this corner is sealed. You do that three more times, making your way around to each corner of the area you deem active, before returning to your bag and items. 

Time passes slowly, with little to no activity. The sun slowly sets, as you’re left twiddling your thumbs under a tree. The bark scratches and catches against your top, while the leaves sway listlessly above you with the occasional breeze. You take to plucking grass at some point, then counting headstones in view. It’s hard to tell which graves, if any, were the ones mentioned in the vandalized graves newspaper clipping. They all seem just as equally messy and overgrown.

Stars rise in the sky as the air grows colder—and your stomach finally breaks the peaceful ambience by growling.

Stretching languidly, your arms reaching above your head as you try to shake something more ancient from your bones. Reaching over to your bag, you fish around blindly for a moment, before sighing, finally twisting around to properly look inside it. 

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You’re partway through opening a second granola bar, when you see movement out of the corner of your eye, on the other end of the cemetery. The crinkle of the wrapper halts as your gaze snaps towards it, only to see a figure disappearing into a mausoleum, its form misty and obscured as it steps into the archway’s shadows. 

Shooting upright, you drop the snack, half-opened and crumbling, into your bag as you sling it over your back, sending crumbs flying everywhere. The worn canvas rubs against your hands, a weathered gift from a friend many years ago. The ground, still damp despite the passing hours, squelches underfoot, coating the underside of your shoes with sludge. 

As the sky descends further into inky stillness, you creep around the tree and back onto the path–before thinking better of it. The wet sound of mud underfoot, with obvious tracks against the yellowed cement would do you no favors in staying hidden. Sticking to grassy areas, while trackable, at least wouldn’t be as blatantly obvious as dark bootprints against a pale background. No matter the lighting, you know it’s better to stay hidden and safer as a lone hunter. One too many close calls taught you that much, especially earlier in your career.

Your hands slide under your jacket and into your pocket, fingers curling around the cool metal of the gun you take everywhere. Reassured you still have it, you advance slowly, sticking close to the bushes and trees along the path. The old path crumbles up ahead, and a misstep nearly sends you tumbling face-first into the mud, though your hand catches you mid fall to brace against a partially broken tombstone. The plot is still fresh, overturned wilting weeds dotting the soft top of a fresh mound of now-soggy dirt. Mumbling a soft apology to whomever’s grave it is, you stand back up, shaking yourself off.

As you re-orient yourself, a male voice saying something soft and incoherent floats out into the night air, catching your attention. The voice has a unique timbre, it’s smooth cadence drawing you in. Ears strain to listen to what it says—to no avail. 

When no movement can be seen outside the mausoleum, you inch closer, making sure to watch your step this time. Once again, you reach under the cool leather of your jacket to your waist, hand settling around your gun, thumb running over the engraving on the grips as your other hand reaches out for the door to the mausoleum, brushing over the worn bronze coating it.The door, by some miracle, doesn’t creak or groan as you open it further, chancing a peek past the doorway and into the dark. 

A figure stands in the corner, mumbling something to himself. His hands twirl a blade—one with the same silvery sheen as her own hunter’s blade. It’s tossed and spun mindlessly, as his eyes dart over the names on the walls. He rests a hand on his hip for a moment, the blade angled away so as to not stab himself on accident. His flashlight turns on a moment later, aimed at the more weathered nameplates along the wall as he steps to the side.

“Brinely…Sofia…Diane…Priscilla…” he mumbles to himself, pausing in front of one of the plates to sigh.

He runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. Dark fluffy hair falls back into place haphazardly, before he’s smoothing it back down. You catch a few stitched details on his jacket—likely repaired from past run-ins that damaged it—as well as what looks like a chain hanging out of one of his pockets. 

“I’m starting to think that tip-off was a false lead…”

As the man continues to speak out loud to himself, a dark silhouette emerges from the opposite corner of the room. Inky black, and looming, it moves slowly towards the man. The hunter, as you presume, seems unaware, his back turned and posture relaxed as the creature darkens the room. Black bits fly off the creature as it spreads wings like an abyss, blocking your vision.

He hums in thought, tapping the flashlight to his chin.

“You don’t think-”

“GET DOWN!” You shout, stepping through the doorway into view as you cut the man off.

The dark mass whips around, right as your hand closes around the familiar weight of your hunting gun. Deftly taking it out, you brace yourself and pull the trigger without a second thought. A loud crack splits the air, as the acrid scent of gunpowder fills your senses. You’re already lining up a second shot, when the world goes sideways.

Literally. You feel yourself being lifted up, as your gun wrenched from your hands as the dark mass shoves you to the side and against the wall harshly. The metal of your handgun bounces across the floor as the creature kicks it away. It’s icy grip is cold and firm against your shoulders as it pushes you down against the ground, your cheek grinding uncomfortably against the dusty rough stone. 

“Shit-” The male voice says, as the sound of heavy footfall echoes around the room. 

You try to turn your head to look up, thrashing against the creature holding you down. It doesn’t budge, it’s hold firm and unmoving. Your neck is craned at an angle, unable to see what’s happening. The musty smell of dust and mold make it hard to breathe with the creature pressing weight against the center of your back. You manage to slide your hand down enough to grab your blade from its spot against your waist, before angling it and plunging it into the closest bit of the monster you can reach. A shimmering liquid beads around the knife, before the creature lets out what sounds like a snarl.

“HWA! DON’T!” The man yells, though you can’t see him from how you’re pinned.

Milliseconds tick by in what feels like forever. This creature has you in a tight spot, you’re out matched. You can feel it’s grip turn painful, the shadow of it against the wall swallowing light as it grows. The hunter doesn’t sound like he’s helping, whatever it is he’s doing–so you do the only thing you can think of in the moment.

You pray to the only thing you think might hear you. 

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luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

Taglist: @euphoricem , @juicyjaxxy, @green-moon, @maidens-world If you'd like to be removed from or edit how you get tagged, send me a DM!

[luckydraww]

Do Monsters Mourn | M.List

Back to the Table. ← (Navi) Back to Main ← (Main Masterlist)

Status: Upcoming Started: 8/16/25 Last Update: 8/16/25

"What are you willing to lose, and who are you willing to damn?"

Main pairing - Hongjoong x reader

Additional/Implied ships (no one is safe we're ot8 in this house)

Supernatural AU, Hunters AU

genre warnings: Supernatural AU, Dark Urban Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Action, Thriller/Horror, Paranormal Investigation, Hunters and Monsters, Morality and Moral ambiguity, Magic and curses

Synopsis: In a world ruled by monsters, who gets to mourn — and who gets to survive? She's a hunter who toes the line, works alone. Trusted by few and understood by even fewer. When unexpected paths cross, alliances are forged not by choice, but necessity. Beneath the surface of shaky loyalties, shaky truths, and whispered promises, something shifts. Old rules break and new dangers stir. The lines are blurred, and the question isn't who you can trust...but if trust can survive at all.

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Prologue - Dusk Chapter 1 - In Progress

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luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

[luckydraww]

I adore Fracture!!! Can’t wait for the next one

Thank you so much!! I’m glad everyone’s enjoying it so much, I was honestly so worried people wouldn’t like the series 😭

But I’m glad you’re looking forward to the next one!! Hopefully I can keep up the momentum 💕

[luckydraww]

Warmth

M.List | Navi

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Pairing: Mingi x Reader Word Count: <1k Tags: Fluff, Comfort, established relationship Author's Note: Just some fluff! Thought of this a while ago, and wanted something to post for Mingi day. Completely forgot I also had Fracture’s next chapter ready, so you guys get two posts in one day!

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Mingi was several things. Loud, attentive, affectionate. This, you knew from the start. It’s what drew you to him. His smiles were infectious, always trying to make you smile too. A bit dramatic at times, but that was his charm.

What you weren’t prepared for though, was just how clingy he was even in his sleep. In the daytime, you expected it. He was one to love giving it and receiving, and made it rather clear that was his favorite form of affection. Nighttime however, proved to be a different story.

Waking up felt like you were being slow roasted in an oven. Heat crawled across your skin, uncomfortable and sticky.

You kick the blankets off of you, glancing bleary-eyed at the clock. 3am. Far too early to be awake, and far too warm to be cuddling. Your boyfriend presses against you, his large frame enveloping yours. You try and wiggle away—-to no avail.

Mingi, however, seems utterly unbothered. His warm hands wrap around your waist, as his steady breath fans over the back of your neck. The blanket still lays partially over his form, as he tugs you closer unconsciously.

You turn your head to look at him. His hair is messy and unkempt from tossing and turning. The faint smell of his body wash hits your nose—-he must’ve taken a shower before laying down last night after you fell asleep.

“Min.” You whisper, gently prodding his side.

He grumbles, nuzzling his head closer to the crook of your neck.

“Min.” You try again.

Mingi doesn’t respond this time, peacefully sleeping. His face is content, as he has your back pressed to his chest. His legs tangle with yours after a moment, his body seeking yours in his sleep.

“Mingi.”

His eyebrows furrow, his eyes drooping slightly with sleep when he opens them. A soft confused hum leaves his lips, as he finally removes his arm from around you to rub at his face.

“Babe?” His voice is soft, still raspy with sleep.

You feel him shift slightly, before the blanket is being tugged back over you both, trapping you under it against your personal heater. He absent-mindedly tucks the soft blanket around you both, before sighing happily. He’s already drifting back off within moments, but you removing the blankets from yourself again has him opening his eyes again in worry.

“You okay?” He asks again, eyes a bit brighter from concern.

You can’t help but laugh softly. He’s so attentive, even half-asleep.

“I’m okay Min. It’s just really warm. The blankets aren’t helping.” You say softly, flipping around to face him.

He makes no move to remove himself from your vicinity, content with where he’s at.

“Too much?” He asks, his hand moving up to run soothingly against your scalp.

“Yeah…” you respond softly, before glancing back up at him. His eyes are warm, affectionate, soft. He looks at you like you could’ve hung every star in the sky for him. Like you’re his everything—-and here you are, trying to push him away. That thought makes your chest more uncomfortable than the heat possibly could.

“You’re making that face again.” He says softly, a lopsided sleepy grin adorning his features.

“What face?”

“The one you make when you feel bad about something.” He teases lightly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You need space?”

“Maybe…” you respond hesitantly.

“You just have to ask, pretty.” He says softly, before untangling himself from you. “Don’t feel bad.”

God, he’s just perfect sometimes.

He yawns, pulling the blanket largely over himself as he swaddles himself under the blanket. He looks less man, and more ambiguous-lump with how he’s piled the blanket onto himself. The top of his head pokes out from the blanket, just his hair visible. He sticks his arm out towards you from under the blanket, his hand finding yours across the bed, before he intertwines your pinkies together.

“Goodnight, lovely.” He whispers, drifting off again.

You can’t help but smile softly to yourself. Your pinky curls lightly around his, the connection in the dark warming you—-but not from the heat.

“Goodnight, Min.”

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══════♤══════♧══════♡══════♢══════ luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

Taglist: @euphoricem, @juicyjaxxy

[luckydraww]

Burn

Fracture - Chapter 3

<<previous | M.List | Next>> Navi | intro i | intro ii | | Y/N intro

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Pairing: ot8 x Reader Word Count: 4k Chapter Warnings: Emotional Distress, Anxiety, Insomnia mentioned/implied, Mild medical themes, Ostracism, Emotional Manipulation, Depictions of conflict and aggression. Also I rarely proof-read these so I'm sorry for typos... Synopsis: Unexpected comfort and harsh accusations arise, with demands for answers and unanswered questions rising. Author's Note: Happy Mingi Day! I didn't realize I was posting this on his birthday until now, but I hope you enjoy it despite the lack of Mingi </3

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You’re not sure how you found yourself here, but your hand hovers just above the heavy wooden door in front of you. It’s late in the evening, the buzz of the day already settling down as the sun slowly sinks on the horizon, painting it a gorgeous golden color. Warm, but fleeting. 

Just knock. The worst that can happen is you get sent away.

Your chest tightens, a shaky breath flows in and out of you. Just knock, you repeat to yourself like a mantra. 

Before you can muster the courage, however, the door swings open. A very surprised Seonghwa stands in the doorway, foot halfway across the threshold before he realizes you’re there. His hand tightens around the handle of the door for a moment.

“Can I help you, cadet?” He inquires, eyes scanning the hall behind you, before they return to your face. 

Words seem to leave your mind, as you stare blankly at him for a moment. Eyes dart between his as if his own steady gaze can explain back to you why you showed up at his door in the first place.

“Cadet?” He repeats, firmer.

You think of the first thing you can say, instead of what’s really eating at you. The loneliness.

“I don’t know,” you say, voice wavering slightly. “I just haven’t been able to sleep?”

Your voice rises ever so slightly in pitch, like you’re not even sure of what you’re saying.

He shifts his weight for a moment, glancing one more time behind you, before sighing. The wood of the floor creaks as he steps inside and gestures for you to go inside. 

When you don’t move forward, he huffs, somewhat miffed, before gesturing again.

“Anyday now, cadet.” 

You scramble inside, ducking your head slightly, cheeks warming in embarrassment as the door clicks shut behind you both.

His room is larger than yours, though that’s standard for anyone in the rider’s quadrant with a leadership role. His room isn’t highly decorated, to your surprise, but still had a quiet order to the few personal items he did have. Seonghwa’s bed, a dark navy, was tightly made and spotless. His desk looked just as tidy, with files in neat stacks along the edge. A single worn leather-bound notebook sits neatly in the middle, a pen laying atop it and ready for use.

Seonghwa opens a drawer in his desk, “You can sit on the bed. I have a report to finish writing up.” he says quietly. Casually. 

He pulls a folder from his desk drawer out. He opens it, scanning over the contents briefly as you sit down.

You teeter awkwardly on the edge of the bed as he turns and drops the folder in your lap. 

“Sort those alphabetically for me while I finish.”

You glance down at the folder. Not exactly what you expected when he ushered you into his room. Especially when he had looked ready to leave only a moment ago.

You know better than to argue with leadership, though. You nod silently, opening the folder to glance through it.

Seonghwa takes his coat back off, throwing it across the back of his chair as he sits down. His hands tap against the wood as he thinks for a moment, before he picks up the pen on his desk, pulls a file from the top of a neat stack in the corner, and starts writing. 

There’s a stillness that envelopes the room, with just the sound of pen against paper and the files being shuffled in your hands. Your breathing is slow and steady, the moment feels like you’re finally treading water after drowning in a sea of sorrow.

“I didn’t see you on the flight field earlier when I checked in on how drills were going.”

He says it cooly, not glancing up from the file on his desk he’s filling out. His hands brush over the parchment, black ink spilling from the pen in gorgeous looping letters. The light on his desk casts a soft glow on his face. He looks softer here, warmer than the usual section leader you’ve known.

Your eyes dart back down to the files in your folder, hands pausing as you glance over the paper once. Twice. Three times. You’re unsure how to respond.

“Were you sent off the field again?” He asks again.

He chances a glance up at you for a moment. His eyes hold more questions underneath, like he wants to pick you apart. Figure out what’s making you tick. 

When you don’t respond, he lets out the ghost of a breath, and reaches for the thermos on his desk. The smell of something earthy but floral wafts out, the steam rising from the container as he takes a sip. 

“It was a yes or no question, not an attack.” He sighs softly, placing the thermos down again. His movement is slower, thoughtful. The thermos barely makes a noise as it’s set down. 

He doesn’t push you further, just glances at you again from the corner of his eye, before going back to writing. The time is filled again with silence, though it demands nothing of you.

You slide the last file into the folder, before closing it.

Seonghwa is still focused on his own task, finishing another page to his report without looking.

You hesitate, unsure if you should interrupt his train of thought. If you should say something. Thank him. Apologize. Both.

Instead, he breaks the silence.

“Done?” 

You nod, before remembering he’s not looking at you.

“Yes, sir.”

A brief pause, as he finishes writing a sentence, before he’s putting the pen down.

You stand up off the edge of the bed, the frame creaks slightly as you do. A few steps, and you’re next to him, handing him the folder. His demeanor is what you’ve come to expect. Unreadable. Composed. 

He briefly glances through it, eyes skimming the pages, before he nods curtly. He shifts in the seat, leaning to the side, and places the files in a drawer.

“Looks good.” He comments, sitting back up to finally focus his eyes on you. 

You shift your weight, nodding, before glancing at the door. 

You shouldn’t linger.

You awkwardly take a step away, and towards the door. You’re nearly able to grab the doorknob, before his voice softly cuts through the air.

“Wait.”

He stands up, going around to the side of the desk where a small chest sits against the wall. It opens with a soft click, before he’s pulling out a small cloth-wrapped bundle. He inspects it for a moment, before standing up and striding over to you.

“Take these.” He says, holding the bundle out.

Reaching for the bundle, the cloth is soft and well-worn. Like a child’s comfort blanket, or a favorite sweater. A smell hits you as you take it from his hands. Green. Earthy. Floral.

“It helps sometimes.” He tries to explain, as you unwrap the cloth bundle.

Several little teabags sit inside of it. Green tea, from the look and smell of it.

“Better than those bitter tinctures they give you for sleep.” He adds on as you look down at them.

You glance up at him, but he’s already looking away from you, heading back to his desk.

“Thank you” you say softly. The words feel foreign on your tongue, but the warmth you feel in your chest says otherwise.

He hums, already picking the pen back up and waving you out the room.

“Don’t make this a habit, cadet.” 

But his voice is quieter. Careful, but not cold.

You take the hint, shuffling out of his room and back into the hallway. As you step over the threshold, the calm atmosphere breaks, and you feel the familiar tightness in your chest comes back as the door clicks behind you. Though, tonight, it doesn’t feel as painful. You hold the bundle closer, and feel like for a moment, you can breathe again. 

That night, you sleep without waking once. No nightmares haunt your rest. 

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Gravel crunches under your feet as you follow behind the squad up to the flight field. Ahead of you, the squad has formed a messy semi-circle around Yunho as they blabber about plans later in the day. You lag a bit behind on purpose, convinced that maybe they don’t want you too close.

The flight field is still a bit of a trek ahead and up the hill, and if it weren’t for Dan’s palpable presence in your mind at the prospect of flying after so long, you would’ve turned around and cited “medical” as a reason to miss out on today’s training. 

Lost in your own head, you barely notice when one of them breaks off from the group to walk beside you—at least until the silvery string of his bonds floats into your field of vision. If you could touch it, you have the feeling it would feel cool to the touch, but you don’t get to contemplate for long when his voice meets your ears, smooth and low, like he’s trying not to grab the others attention now that he’s speaking to you. 

. 

“You were cleared for flight drills.” Yeosang states, hands at his sides as he falls into step beside you.

It’s not a question, just an almost deadpan remark. A moment of silence. He keeps his eyes trained on ahead of you both—likely on San and Yunho rough-housing up ahead.

“You sure you’re good to fly?” He asks after a moment.

He turns his head to glance at you, the sunlight catching his hair just right for a moment to make it almost glow golden. It would be gorgeous—if not for the pit that forms in your stomach at his question. You can’t decide whether it feels like concern, or condemnation on his part. Does he not think you’re good to fly?

“Yes, sir. Healers said–”

“Healers said, but we all know they’re absolute shit when it comes to gauging mentality. I’m asking you, not the healer. Are you good to fly?” He cuts you off, a slight huff escaping his lips. 

Your lips twitch down just for a moment, but you can tell by how Yeosang’s gaze shifts slightly that he caught it. His eyes dart over your features, cataloging every little change. The tenseness in your jaw, the slight hike in your shoulders.

“Dan has been rather… restless lately. At least according to Sidhe.” He tilts his head, looking up to the sky. The sides of the canyon ahead loom, though the clouds above are near non-existent.

What does Sidhe know. He’d be restless too if he couldn’t see his rider. A voice snarks in your mind. Dàn.

“I don’t see how Dàn’s behavior would make you think I’m unfit to fly.” You shoot back, before remembering an important detail—He’s technically a superior.  “Sir.”

His face is entirely unreadable, and he seems lost in thought for a moment, before shrugging. 

“Just checking. I have a squad to monitor. You’re technically a part of that squad.” 

The way he says it makes your stomach twist. It’s not said coldly on purpose, but it does paint a clear picture of how he still views you. An outsider. 

“I’m just making sure the healer’s didn’t preemptively clear another rider for drills without doing a thorough check just because Hongjoong is being pushy. Last time that happened, we lost San for another two weeks.” He smoothly adds on, before looking back at you again. Just as indecipherable, prying for something under the surface. It’s infuriating, how his tone of voice and stance are so confusing. You can’t tell if it’s out of care, obligation, or if he really is just the kind to stand there and state facts. 

He turns his head away again, stepping away from you to catch up to the rest of the squad, where San is now warily glancing backwards between the two of you.Dark eyes look you up and down, then Yeosang, mild confusion darting across his face. He smiles awkwardly at Yeosang–and you, to your surprise—before turning back to Yunho. 

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Up on the flight field, you see a few dragon silhouettes already in the distance. They circle high above you, as they bank down to land on the field ahead of you. Shadows pass over the field, and the wind pushes you from the force their speed generates as they dip down low in the sky. 

Brùth—Yunho’s brown swordtail—lands first rather gracefully. Just behind him, flies the orange scorpiontail that belongs to Mingi, flanked by the reds that belong to San and Wooyung–One swordtail and one daggertail. Tùra, Mingi’s dragon, angles down first to land, her claws kicking up dirt as she lands rather messily nearby. The other two dragons splay their wings out to billow in the air as they slow themselves down to land next to her. Unlike the former, neither of the reds send gravel and dirt flying as they land. 

Another brown clubtail appears over the edge of the sheer cliffs, coppery scales catching light as she circles a few times before touching down a bit farther away. Jongho is already peeling away from the group to greet his dragon, as she strides towards the group. Cairn’s golden eyes focus on you for a moment, as she tilts her head to stare you down. After a moment of watching you, she lets out a puff of smoke, before lowering her head to look her own rider in the face.

Over the ridgeline on the horizon, two final shadows emerge. Wings carving through the air at the same pace, rising and falling like a single heartbeat. At this distance, they almost look like the same dragon. The same cobalt gleam along broad frames, same daggered tail slicing through the air behind them. As the sunlight hits them a bit clearer, their differences sharpen.

Dàn has a bit more power to each stroke, the muscles rippling, while Sidhe drives forwards far more deliberately. One a blade through the air, the other a force of nature. Sidhe’s scales are a stormy darker blue, while Dàn is a brighter steel-blue sheen. 

Sidhe trails just a hair behind Dàn, close enough to blur their size difference, like an echo chasing itself across the sky. Dàn banks down first, though Sidhe banks down in a sharper line. When both blues land, the ground shakes from the twin impact, sending dust curling through the air.

Just behind you, a low whistle from one of the other squad members catches your attention.

“Didn’t realize she’d be almost as big as Sangie’s.” Says a warm voice.

You turn your head to look at who’s speaking, only to see San looking at Dàn in the distance. His eyes hesitantly dart to you.

“Guess I should’ve paid more attention to others during threshing last year.” He says, cracking an awkward smile. 

He shifts his weight a few times, one foot to another and back. His fingers run through his hair for a moment like a nervous habit, before he lets out a soft laugh. 

“I can’t imagine how you—or him—could bond a blue like that.” he pauses, before letting out a puff of air and holding his hands up in surrender. “No offense. It’s impressive for sure–it’s just, you know…Blues are rare enough as it is. And daggertails? Both of you? Definitely something else.”

Before San can say more, a sharp voice cuts in.

“Seriously, San? It’s not impressive. It’s concerning. The fact she has a blue should be setting off alarm bells for you. A squad killer like her should’ve been sentenced to fire for breaking the codex—”

San’s eyes widen slightly, as he glances over at his best friend. The words hang heavily over you for a moment, as Wooyoung waltzes up and grabs San by the elbow to pull him away. San looks at you helplessly—almost apologetically—as his feet shuffle to follow.

Heat rises through your chest as you clench your hands so hard they shake. In the distance, Dàn’s head whips around to stare straight at you.

What is it little one? Her voice echos in your head, as she watches unblinkingly from her spot on the edge of the field.

“What did you just call me?”

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. You can’t help it.

Squad Killer. It echos through your head, bouncing off the sides so hard you swear its reverberating through you. Your hands are shaking now, after all.

Their faces flash through your head briefly. The feeling of warmth and belonging. Of family. Their smiles and names bounce around your mind, laughter and screams mixing in a cacophony that makes it hard to think. 

“Squad. Killer.” Wooyoung shoots back unflinchingly. 

San blinks like he's shocked to hear this kind of tone from his friend, before his eyes are glancing around at the others on the field. His eyes find Mingi’s first, as Wooyoung continues.

“That’s what you are, right? A squad killer. Whole squads don’t just disappear into thin air.” Wooyoung prods.

Mingi nearby doesn’t move, and just lets out a soft amused scoff. San just glances between you two lost, unsure of what to do.

“I’m not a squad killer.”

“But you could be. No one else has proven otherwise—and I’m not trusting whatever narrative you're spinning either.” He scoffs, haughty. 

“And, even if you weren’t, you’d still be a bad luck charm. I’m sure your dead friends would agree.” Mingi cuts in, smirking as he crosses his arms from across the field as he stands with his dragon. Tùr looks almost amused by the tension, her eyes sparkling with an eerie glint. 

You feel like cold water is doused over you at his comment. Your breath chokes up for a second—

A low growl echoes across the field, as Dàn’s whole body tenses up. Her lips curl up slightly, as you feel her own anger and protectiveness flood your veins. In a stronger moment, you’d shut down the door that links you two, but the wounds being poked at are still much too raw to ignore. 

“Either way, you got your squad killed. Why else would you be the last one standing?” Wooyoung sneers, letting go of San so he can stalk towards you. His hand points at you threateningly.

“Awfully convenient you came out unscathed. Why were you on medical leave? You weren’t hurt.” He continues, getting into your face.

“Just because I’m unscathed physically doesn’t mean I didn’t fight! You think I’d leave my squad high and dry for my own sake?” You snap back. “Maybe you should stop assuming you know the best. You’re not as smart as you think, Wooyoung.” 

He narrows his eyes, jaws clenching.

“I’ve seen what happens when people like you show up,” His voice lowers. “And I’m not risking my squad because of some ‘survivor’ bullshit that no one believes. I don’t like this one’s attitude. Dàn snarls in your head.

You can’t tell whether it’s your own frustration, or Dàn’s now palpable anger flowing through you, but before you can think, your hands are harshly showing him away from you. 

“Of course you only believe what you want to believe.” 

He laughs–something bordering sinister, before his hands lunge for you.

His eyes are furious, and his signet flares not only across his palm, but all the way up his arms. He looks like fury incarnate.

The world feels like it slows for a moment. This isn’t a petty scrap. 

You don’t get the chance to freeze.

You manage to deflect him with a quick flick of your arm against his, short enough to avoid a burn, but long enough to feel heat lick up your side.

You whip around in a defensive stance just as he turns around himself. The air around him shimmering from the heat he’s radiating, as his fury climbs. The dry grass around his boots crackle, as his eyes lock in on you like a predator. 

You barely manage to sidestep when fire bursts from his palms and catches the ground next to you on fire. 

San lets out a noise of surprise, stepping back out of shock. Mingi nearby even freezes, eyes widening at Wooyoung’s blatant attack. 

I’m biting his puny head clean off. You hear Dàn’s voice seethe through your head, as she moves from the side of the field.

Wooyoung advances on you like a wildfire. Overwhelming, untamed, and and feral. 

“You’re a threat to this squad” He growls, sending another burst of flames and sparks at you. The flickering light paints his face in wild shadows, eyes burning with something far more dangerous than anger. “I’m not letting you bring us down.”

Your eyes dart around him, trying to calculate your next move. The maroon string that connects him and Las pulses with power, and you take that as your cue to dodge. You tumble through the dirt in a messy roll, managing to stand just as flame envelops the spot you were just standing. He’s not holding back.

“Wooyoung! You need to stop—” A shout cuts through the chaos, though you don’t have a chance to glance as Wooyoung advances.

His relentless attacks have you gasping for breath, as Dàn’s increasing rage floods your veins.

A thunderous roar shakes the ground, as a flash of red lunges towards you and Wooyoung—only for it to be intercepted by a blue blur crashing into it with such force that dust and gravel go flying like shrapnel.

You feel unfiltered, overwhelming rage flood your system for a moment, as you land a solid jab on Wooyoung, though it burns for the moment your hands connect to his skin.

Wooyoung stumbles backwards, before stumbling for a moment like the breath was knocked out of him. 

You watch as the maroon string over his heart tugs hard, as Las and Dàn snap their teeth at each other. The dragons tumble across the field, clawing and snarling. The ground gets torn up under them, as the other dragon’s on the field fold their wings closer and step closer to their respective riders.

Wooyoung’s anger dissipates quickly, as Las starts to lose against the larger blue.

“C-Call her off. Call her off!” He snaps, shaking off his momentary freeze to grab you by the shoulders. His hands, still warm, dig harshly into your shoulders. 

Dàn growls as she pins Las down to the ground, her jaws against his dragon’s neck. The red growls, staring Dàn down despite being trapped. Dàn responds by clenching her jaws down harder, the smaller red freezing in fear for a moment.

“CALL YOUR DAMN DRAGON OFF!” Wooyoung snaps, shoving you harshly. His eyes are wide with fear, feeling Las’ emotions flooding him the same way Dàn’s anger is flooding you. His hands shake as adrenaline hits his system. 

Dàn responds in kind by biting down even harder.

You freeze too, watching helplessly as Dàn threatens another cadet’s dragon. 

I’m going to make an example of this one. Dàn growls, her words echoing in your head. She’s more than willing to end Las’ life to prove a point… and in turn Wooyoung’s. After all, the bond between a dragon and rider is so strong, the rider dies if their dragon does.

Seems Dàn says the same thing to Las, as Wooyoung’s panic spirals.

“Y/N! CALL DAN OFF!” He shouts in your ear, his hands burning you as his own emotions get out of control, clawing against you.

“Y/n!” You hear a second cadet call, but you’re frozen.

You can’t be the reason a cadet dies. He was just worried for his squadmates–

“Dàn!” You finally scream, panic and guilt crashing in.

This squad needs a lesson. Her sharp reply.

Just before her jaws can clamp down completely—

Sidhe barrels in from the side, crashing into Dàn’s side. His jaws close around Dàn’s own neck, as he uses the momentum to rip her off the red. Both the blues go tumbling across the grass, as Las scrambles to sit up, wings puffed up defensively. 

Dàn snarls, wings flaring out angrily. Sidhe matches in perfect tandem, both of them snapping and growling at each other. Where the fight between Dàn and Las was clearly one-sided, this one is close. Blue scales thrash and twist across the field, their sheer size shaking the ground with every growl.

Eventually, Sidhe gains the upper hand. His jaws clamp down, as he forces Dàn’s head down into submission against the dirt. A deep growl reverberates through the air—both warning and correction. 

Dàn’s snarls falter, before she finally folds her wings and averts her gaze and surrenders to Sidhe’s display.

Only then does the growling finally cease, as the field falls into an uneasy silence. The other dragons on the field keep their heads low, folding their wings tightly against their body’s in deference to Sidhe. 

You feel the weight of everyone’s gazes turn to you. Fear, uncertainty, hesitation.

“Cadet L/N. Cadet Jung. Care to explain what the fuck just happened?” A voice snaps.

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luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

Taglist for this is open!

Taglist: @euphoricem, @asweetblueberry2, @Addi-3, @juicyjaxxy

[luckydraww]

Hi!! First of all, I love how you themed your navigation, it's so fun and clever!

Secondly, ateez and dragon riders is suuuuuuch a top tier concept and you're already doing it justice 😌👌 I hope reader feels a bit better soon, I can't wait to see her in action! 👁👁💜

Hi hi!!

First off, thank you!! I spent an embarrassing amount of time deciding on a theme and trying to make everything fit it, so I’m glad it paid off 😅

Secondly: I literally spent weeks thinking of Ateez + Dragon riders and it wouldn’t leave my head. Quickly spiraled from a “haha imagine…”, to “I can’t find anything that scratches the itch” to “fine, I’ll write it myself”, so I’m very happy to hear you think I’m doing well. 😭

It’s actually my first fanfic I’ve ever published, I legitimately debated on actually posting it for a few days… which is why I spent so long on the theme. I was procrastinating. 💔

Reader’s journey is probably going to be a long-haul thing, my outline for the story is embarrassingly detailed and long for some plot points. Rest assured, she will eventually feel better… eventually. 👀👀

[luckydraww]

Spark

Fracture - Chapter 2

<<previous | M.List | Next>> Navi | intro i | intro ii | | Y/N intro

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Pairing: ot8 x Reader Word Count: 2k Chapter Warnings: Emotional Distress, Violence/Threats of Violence, Ostracization, Gaslighting, Implied Suicidal Ideation, Authority Conflict, Survivor's Guilt Synopsis: Eyes are all on you, even if you can't see them. Mounting suspicions erode already fragile trust, and lines are drawn in the sand.

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Daylight barely starts to stream in through your window, as you sit on the edge of the bed. You know you need to get up. Breakfast just started, and you didn’t eat much for dinner yesterday. Your appetite had been killed after you were forced to sit out after the first few rounds of sparring–but this morning your stomach feels like it’s gnawing at itself. 

Pulling yourself out of bed, you fix up your appearance in the mirror on your wall. Donning your boots, you ensure your daggers are strapped to your sides, running a hand over the cool steel for a moment before sheathing them. Today will be different.

You shove the bitter dark feelings in the pit of your stomach lower, as you open your door and step out into the hall. Better to not feel them at all. The walk to the food hall is relatively quiet, and it soothes some of the tension you feel in your shoulders. As you approach, there’s a few cadets milling about just outside. You walk past them through the doorway, and immediately get hit by both the smell of food and hundreds of shifting colors of threads. They criss-cross over the cafeteria, but coupled by the smells and noise it’s overwhelming. 

Taking a deep breath, and closing your eyes, you will the threads to dim. It feels like it takes more willpower to do today, but you manage. When you open your eyes, you see a familiar face staring you down across the cafeteria–Jongho.

He tilts his head curiously, stares you down for a solid few seconds, before blinking and turning back to his squadmates. Odd. 

You grab a honeyed biscuit and some fruit, opting for something a little lighter. Your stomach still feels a bit queasy from nerves or maybe grief–you’re not sure–but you doubt it’ll go away soon. Something is better than nothing, though. 

  Glancing around, most tables are pretty full. Yet again, your eyes catch Jongho’s. 

There’s no warmth nor hostility in his gaze, just pure intrigue. Like he’s trying to figure you out. This time, he doesn’t bother glancing away as quickly, his eyes darting down to the food in your hands, and back to your face. Something unreadable passes across his face, before his attention is forced back to the table by San wrapping an arm around his shoulder and laughing at something.

An uneasy feeling settles in your stomach. Why was he staring? It feel like something about you is being logged. He’s observant—almost too much. Whatever he’s looking for, he seems to be close to finding it. If he hasn’t already.

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Drills are basically the same, though when it comes to flight maneuvers you find yourself kicking at dirt. The sun shines down, the shadows of your squad and their dragons passing over you from far above. Well, most of your squad. 

One other squad member stays grounded with you, though it seems more like he took it upon himself to hover nearby than by a direct order.

Mingi has his arms crossed, seemingly bored out of his mind. His eyes are following the squad’s individual dragons in the air, though occasionally glances at you. He watches as you kick yet another rock around in frustration. 

You should be up there, too.

Mingi lets out a soft scoff, a very obvious eye-roll gracing his face.

“You’re acting like a first year. It’s just a probation period. You’ll be back in the air eventually. Stop pouting.”

A flood of irritation hits your system. 

“I’m not acting like a first year. I’m just annoyed I’m grounded for no real reason.” You try to argue, foot connecting to another rock on the ground. Dust flies up from the spot.

Mingi stays quiet for a moment, before glancing back up at the dragons in the air.

“Squad leaders and Wing leaders don’t just ground random cadets on a whim. Given your…circumstances… I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a good reason.” His eyes fall down to your signet patch. 

Your hand instinctively reaches up to cover your signet patch, as if hiding it could make him forget. His gaze seems to burn through your hand regardless, before his eyes finally meet yours. They’re intense, burning, like he’s trying to pry into something he knows damn well he has no excuse to. 

“Hiding it doesn’t make you any less suspicious.”

Mingi lets out a slow exhale through his nose, shifting his stance. The woosh of wings high above slicing through the air is the only sound that meets your ears for a moment, before he speaks again.

“Some of the others may not say it outloud, but you’re a risk to the squad. None of us know what happened to your old squad. Hell, even Yunho hasn’t let anything slip, if he does know something.” Mingi’s hand goes to his waist idly, ghosting over what you assume is a knife hidden in his flight leathers.

Behind the both of you, Mingi’s dragon touches down, sending gravel and debris finding from how hard she lands. You feel a lick of heat ghost up your spine, as Tur lets out a warning huff of smoke against you. Your feet dig into the dirt under your boots, standing your ground.

“Are you trying to imply something?”

“Imply? No. It’s a warning, plain and simple. Stay down. Don’t cause trouble. I’m not the only one with an issue.” Mingi replies cooly.

Silence stretches out for a few moments, thick as smoke. The kind that clings to your throat and lungs and makes it hard to breathe. Tur’s presence behind you is still, like a snake waiting for you to give her any reason to strike.

“I don’t owe you answers for your own comfort.”

Mingi’s lips are ghosted with a smirk, as he takes out the knife his hand hovered over. He twirls it in his hands easily, the metal shining ominously in the light.

“No,” His hand tosses the knife up, “you don’t.”

Like two cogs in a very well oiled machine, Tur’s flames arc over his head, heating the knife up, and as it arcs down, a single well timed flick and the knife is whizzing past your face to embed in the tree just behind you. 

Mingi smiles, like he didn’t just hint at the fact him and his dragon are more than willing to end your life in a second. He turns towards Tur, mounting with a practiced ease. Though Mingi doesn’t bother looking back at you, Tur’s Golden eyes pierce through you, untrusting and hostile. As Mingi gets a grip, Tur launches into the air, her wings sending waves of air that buffet against you and whip at your loose hair.

You don’t flinch. Don’t move. They already think you a weak link, no need to make yourself more of a target.

You chance a glance up, and see Tur and Mingi already high in the sky, practiving maneuvers alongside the reds in your squad. San and Wooyung. 

You hear a distant cackle, and then one of the reds–the daggertail–tilts just enough in the air for her rider to look down below at you. The smug face of Wooyoung looks down at you, before Las is already course correcting and leveling out.

You let out a shaky breath, some of the adrenaline finally hitting your system. You feel Dan prod again, but you quickly cut off the stream in your head before she can question what happened. The last thing you need is Dan to come flying in pissed to high heaven, and get you in even more trouble.

Turning to the tree, the blade Mingi sent sailing towards your head is sunk down near to the hilt, the metal still glowing faintly from the heat. The tree chars slightly, the smell hitting your nose.

Stepping closer, you really finally see just how close the shot was. One half-step to the left, and the blade would’ve taken your eye.

A warning shot.

Your hands move before you can stop yourself, already wrapping around the blade to yank it free. The heat burns your palms, but you hold it regardless. A moment, a single breath. Just to feel some pain that's simple. Clean. Uncomplicated.

You drop it a moment later, when the burn gets a bit too overwhelming. You flex your hand, hissing in pain.

One last glance at the knife on the ground.

A reminder.

Or maybe it’s a challenge.

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A shadow passes over you again from high above, and you glance up to see a giant black dragon blot out the sun for a moment. 

Tor.

Hongjoong’s dragon.

Even from the ground, hundreds of feet below, his dragon’s form causes unease to coil through your gut. Massive, with obsidian scales that seem to swallow light. Wings that span further than your own Blue’s ever could. Torv is all intimidation and power. Nothing like Dan.

Dan is wind and mystery, thinly veiled fire and ice. But Torv? Torv is a predator, built in silence, power, and precision. Just like his rider.

He hovers in the air, next to the Brown Swordtail that Yunho rides. A Blue Daggertail banks down to meet them both. Sidhe and Yeosang. They hover midair for a few moments, before Yunho and Yeosang separate away from Hongjoong, the rest of your squad falling in line behind them. 

As they depart, Hongjoong and Torv descend downwards. He circles once, slow and calculating, before his eyes hone in on you. Torv lands far more gracefully than he should, wings billowing out to soften a landing as his claws touch down on the soft earth.

Torv stays still as a statue as Hongjoong dismounts. No need for theatrics or extra motion. His stature speaks enough.

Hongjoong’s boots crunch on the gravel as he lands, observing you and the area with an unreadable expression. His eyes dance across your figure, to your hand that’s still red and irritated from the blade, to the knife still hot on the ground. They settle on your face with the same cold calculating gaze he gives all cadets.

“He could’ve taken your eye.” He says flatly. “Or your life.”

He pauses again, eyes assessing you closely. You don’t dare speak.

Hongjoong looks down at the knife, stepping close to retrieve it from the ground. He turns it over in his palm, assessing the warmth of it still radiating. Torv’s golden eyes settle on you as Hongjoong’s are preoccupied.

“You let it fly.” The knife turns over again in his hand, glinting in the sunlight.

It’s not an accusation, nor is it a question. 

It’s disappointment. 

Your throat suddenly feels dry and scratchy. You clench your hand a few times, before responding. 

“I wasn’t going to dodge. I knew he wasn’t going to-”

“No. You froze.” He turns his gaze away from the knife in his hand to you. “You’re lucky he didn’t aim to kill.”

You feel a chill run up your spine. The way he says those words–it’s like he knows something more. Like he’s seen something darker in your squadmate. 

“Drills are over for you for the day.” He turns back to Torv, already slipping the knife into his pocket.

Frustration wells up again. You keep being benched from practices, and you inhale sharply. 

“I can keep going.”

“No,” he says over you, not turning back. “You think you can. I’m not sending a cadet out to active training or the front lines when they’re suicidal.”

He mounts Torv, the dragon spreading its massive wings to lift off.

“Get yourself together cadet. Your squad won’t wait on you.”

A beat later, and he’s gone, and you’re left in silence on a now empty training lot.

Your hand throbs, your pride is wounded. You’re damn sure now that the other cadets have it out for you.

Unsure if today was a warning, a lesson, or something worse, you heave out a shaky breath.

Next time, you may not have the luxury of freezing.

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luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

Taglist: @euphoricem, @asweetblueberry2, @Addi-3, @juicyjaxxy

[luckydraww]

Going to see the Ateez in Cinemas in a few hours 👀👀

Lowkey scared but that’s okay I know I’ll be fun. I’ve seen them in concerts before so idk why I’m so intimidated by a movie 😭

Also I just want to say a thank you to all the love and support I’m getting on Fracture 🥺

It’s actually my first piece I’ve ever released on anything (I go big or go home), and you’ve all been so sweet and supportive!! ❤️❤️

I hope it continues to meet everyone’s expectations!

[luckydraww]

Ashes

Fracture - Chapter 1

<<previous | M.List | Next>> Navi | intro i | intro ii | | Y/N intro

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Pairing: ot8 x Reader Word Count: 5.6k Chapter Warnings: PTSD, Survivor's Guilt, Mentions of character death, Verbal Harassment, Isolation, Panic, Dissociation, Emotional Supression, Self-Doubt, Unreliable Narrator (trauma informed). Synopsis: You navigate the newly-found discomfort that comes with being an outsider, haunted by trauma and loss. Tensions start rise as fresh wounds are poked at.

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The next morning…

The bed underneath your hands is far too stiff. Devoid of blankets, with only a flimsy cover, it feels just as apathetic as the facility. You miss the feeling of a proper bed, or a proper room. One unbothered by the constant checks from medical staff and the incessant scribbling of the scribes that pop in and out without warning.

The overpowering smell of medicinal herbs and tinctures sting your nose, as you stare at the bag the healer left on the table in your room. There’s several packets in it, consisting of different blends they think might help your insomnia. You hate the taste. You hate how they cloud your mind. How they make memories of the fallen slip away through your fingers like sand.

A quick glance around the room reveals nothing new, it’s the same dull room you’ve been staying in for the past two weeks. At least it has some decor, unlike the isolation room you were originally placed in when you were found. A flower vase sits on the table side bed, holding a handful of little blue flowers with yellow centers. They’d be gorgeous, if they weren’t already half wilted. A petal detaches, driftung pitifully to the table. 

A knock at the door. Your eyes snap up and away from the bag to it, only to see the doorknob already turning. You tense up, hands twitching as you instinctively reach for your dagger—only to remember it’s not on your person. You twist and reach for the small vase instead, only to freeze when you recognize the voice that greets you.

“Planning on using that against your Wing Leader of all people?” 

You finally glance over to see your Wing Leader, Hongjoong. His expression is relatively neutral as he glances you over, though his eyes seem to pierce your soul. It’s like he’s logging every little reaction you make in his mind for future reference. 

“Get up, grab your bag. I trust the healer already went over your discharges with you.” He says, hand still on the doorknob. It’s not a question. 

He doesn’t wait for you to get up, already turning on his heel to leave the room. You quickly get up, reaching for the bag full of herbal mixes and slinging it across your back as you follow him out into the hallway. The mage lights in the room slowly dim, and you find yourself falling in step behind him as he heads towards— wherever it is you’re going.

“You’re being reassigned to Squad 3. The paperwork was finished yesterday but medical wanted you to stay one more night before discharge. The items that the recovery team were able to find have been sent to your new room already, though I’d double check to see if anything’s missing. Your room will be on the second floor with the other cadets in your new squad. You haven’t been cleared for much past basic training exercises, and Dàn is still grounded until she’s cleared—“

He cuts himself off when you let out a scoff. Dàn has to be cleared for flight maneuvers? Since when did they get to decide what you do or don’t do with your own dragon?

“Is there something wrong, cadet?”

“No sir.” Comes your quick reply, rolling off your tongue before you can make things worse.

Hongjoong stops and stares at you for a moment, before continuing down the hall and out the door towards the bridge that connects the healers quadrant to the rider quadrant across the canyon. His entire demeanor is distant. This is the wingleader in his element. Cold. Efficient.

There’s only a second of silence before he comments.

“The tension in your shoulders would suggest otherwise.” He comments, as you step into the hallway. Add on observant.

The hallway has small windows that line the walls, letting you look out and down to the valley below. The thud of Hongjoong’s footfalls ahead of you keep you moving forward, though your eyes are trained to the distance below. It’s sunny outside, and the valley below is relatively green and lush. Normally, you’d be able to appreciate the beauty, the serenity the valley and its view can bring. However, today is not the day. 

Instead, a swirling of a chaotic mess of apprehension, anger, loneliness, and grief eat away at your stomach. You miss your squad mates, but you can’t get the visions of that day out of your head. A stray flower growing off the cliff side—yellow and vibrant— seems to taunt you. 

“Can you think any louder, little one? I almost didn’t hear you.” Comes a snarky, slightly irritated comment from Dàn.

“You decide to comment on that after being basically MIA for the past three days?” You counter. 

“I had matters to attend to.” Comes her cryptic reply.

The cool, pearlescent bond between you and Dàn had felt stifled the past few days. Where the bond typically felt like clear, silvery-blue water, it instead was a dried up creek. A trickle instead of a steady stream.

“Right.” You think at her bitterly, hoping to portray even a fraction of your hurt and anger.

“It was not a slight against you.” She growls in your head, her own irritation reverbing in your skull. “I am simply covering my bases. You were safe.”

You cut the connection off, not wanting to hear her lecture for today. She could likely crash through your barriers if she pleased, though it seems today she’s more lenient than normal. You can feel her hovering at the edges of your mind, before her presence ultimately fades to the normal hum. 

“— and he’ll be the room to your left. I expect to see you on the mat later today. I’ll ensure you have a sparring opponent, since you were likely left off the roster today dud to your stay in the infirmary.” Hongjoong’s voice grabs your attention again. He looks at you expectantly, awaiting a reply. You must’ve missed something—not that you’re willing to admit.

You nod, trying to be as believable as you can be, as he leads you to the dorm rooms for second years and up.

“This one’s yours. If there’s any issues, bring it up with your squad leader. Also,“ he reaches into his pocket, handing you a patch. “Swap out your signet patch for now.”

You turn the patch over to look at it, noticing it’s the same compass design he wears on his own jacket. You furrow your brows, glancing at him silently in question.

“Your signet has been escalated to tier three. Classified.” He explains smoothly.

As you open your mouth to ask why, he holds a hand up and shakes his head.

“I also believe that keeping you off of training is poor judgment from the medical staff, seeing as you’ve already been off training for the past two weeks, so you are going to sparring today. I have a meeting to get to with the other leadership, though, but I trust you’ll find the training room just fine considering you’re a second year. Just make sure you swap out the patches. I expect to see you after lunch, on the mats.” He says, before whipping around and heading towards the exit. The thuds of his boots against the floors fades away slowly as he strides away, leaving you with more questions than answers. 

══════♤══════♧══════♡══════♢══════

Your new room is bare. Functional, but lifeless.

It has the basic furniture, a desk, chair, bed, armoire, and bedside table. A small mage light sits on the bedside table. The walls are bare, save for the standard issue clock seen in every cadet’s room.

The bed is simple, but notably the blankets have changed. The color is different, navy instead of black. A small, inconsequential change, but it unsettles you nonetheless. They may have just run out of the black blankets when they were assigning you a new room, but you already miss your old blankets. On the bed are several standard issue sets of folded leisure wear.

You turn your attention to the armoire, opening its creaky wooden doors to peer inside. Several sets of your flight leathers sit inside, though you note that the squad patch on all your uniforms has been replaced with a different number. You feel dizziness take hold as you stare at the flame with a “III” embroidered inside, instead of the “I” you’ve known the past two years. 

The floor spins. It’s somehow too loud, too quiet, too fast and slow at the same time as your breathing picks up. 

Laughter. Smiles. Celebration. Tears. Pain. Anguish.

Memories of your fallen squad mates threaten to overwhelm you in the moment, and your spiral is only relieved when you realize you’re digging your nails into your palms.

“Little one.” Comes Dàn’s concerned voice in your head. Her constant presence seems to flood you momentarily, as her vigilance pokes at the edges of your mental walls.

You let out a shaky breath, glancing down at your hands. In. Out. In. Out. You take a moment to try and calm your breathing, before glancing down at the patch still in your hands. You still need to put it on your uniforms.

Except, you can’t get them out your head. You try your best to block it out, shoving it deep down, but it somehow comes back stronger. Your chest feels heavy as a creeping sensation of dread and fear climbs up, threatening to choke you, rob you of your voice.

“Little One.” Comes Dàn’s voice again, much sterner than earlier. “your breath stutters. Focus.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the shimmery silvery-blue thread that connects you and Dàn. It’s hard, and you find yourself fighting off the memories and echoes of your old squad’s final moments.

“You’re reacting to shadows, not steel. You are spiraling. Anchor yourself.”

“We were fine, Dàn. I—we were laughing. I looked straight at them. They looked at me like—like I wasn’t—“ You respond, but Dàn cuts you off again.

“They were compromised. That is not your fault.”

“But—“

“No. They were taken by something vile. You cannot mourn what they were in the end— cannot let it haunt you. Not when it wasn’t truly them.”

You feel a lump rise in your throat, as you clench your jaw in an attempt to ground yourself. You feel pitiful, losing out over ghosts of all things. A rider reduced to a coward in seconds, simply because of a patch.

“Lean on me. Endure. Remembering the dead keeps them here. Let them rest, little one. Do not let the darkness drag you down to join them. You can worry about the useless patch later.”

You exhale, shakily backing up to sit on the edge of the bed, sinking into the soft mattress. Your hands grip the signet patch in your hands harshly, but your breathing evens slightly. After a few moments, the worst of the feeling ebbs, leaving you tired but slightly more composed. Dàn goes back to being silent, though her presence is still felt.

“You should get some rest. Lunch hour is soon, and afterwards you’re expected on the mat for sparring. Don’t let your emotions cloud your abilities.”

You nod, putting the patch down on the pile of folded clothes on the edge of the bed, before moving it all onto the bedside table. You pull back the blanket, sliding in under it and yanking it up close to your chest. You lay your head down for a quick nap, unsure if sleep will bring peace—or ghosts of familiar faces.

══════♤══════♧══════♡══════♢══════

The waking world calls you back far sooner than you’d like.

For a fleeting moment, it’s blissful. Then reality comes crashing back down. The sheets are navy, not black. There’s no little carving on the headboard. Not yours.

You take the opportunity to shove your heart into a little box before it can overtake you. You are not weak, you remind yourself.

Blankets fall off the bed as it dips under your weight when you shift to sit up. You could care less, as you get up and stretch the ache in your neck and back. Must’ve slept awkwardly.

You reach for the armoire. Your hand pauses to hover over the handle, frozen in hesitation. Then, gripping it with more force than necessary, you open the door to snatch the first set of leathers within reach.

Your eyes catch the silver stars — second year. An open eye, encircled by a starburst. Your old signet patch, tier two. Vague enough to hide what you actually see. Above those two— A winged emblem with a two emblazoned on it, your name and rank nestled right under it. Cdt. L/N Y/N, Second Wing. Finally, a flame for your sections Except it’s wrong. You stare at it, as if glaring might burn away the “III” and bring back what’s supposed to be there. It doesn’t.

Throwing the leathers on your bed, you reach for the new signet patch sitting on the bedside table. The patch is a simple compass, though its meaning implies—to most cadets at least—that you’re likely far more dangerous than you seem. A frown graces your face as you start to pick at your old patch, ripping the stitching off to remove it. Your movements are a bit agitated, though from what you can’t tell. Once the final piece of string is pulled and discarded, you press the patch against the leather, trying not to think about its implications. Changed. Watched. Dangerous.

Once you deem it passable, you throw the old patch onto your table, and start to shrug on the uniform. You give yourself a cursory glance, ensuring it’s on properly, before reaching into the bag of things the recovery team had found. After a moment of rustling, your hand finally meets steel—your daggers. You pull them free, the cool weight grounding you. Familiar. Steady. You slide them into their sheaths. 

══════♤══════♧══════♡══════♢══════

Finally feeling somewhat ready, you reach for the door and head out the room to the food hall. The walk there, the hallways are relatively devoid of people aside from the occasional cadet passing by. It gives you a moment to mentally prepare.

Reaching the door, your hand rests against the smooth wood as you steady yourself. Here goes nothing.

Opening the door, you’re met with the sounds of a busy hall. Cadets chattering, sharing meals, memories. The sound of something clatters to the floor, followed by a high pitched laugh. It’s overwhelming—but not nearly as much as the crisscrossing filaments you see between everyone. They shimmer with every color under the sun, creating an intricate spiderweb over the entire room. 

Blinking your eyes rapidly, you will the colorful threads to dim. The faintest of outlines of them linger on the edges of your vision, but it’s much less overwhelming now.

You turn your attention to the side of the room, picking up one of the trays as you round the corner. The food line up seems lackluster today, you end up grabbing one of the dry turkey sandwiches. A cup of water finds itself onto your tray, along with a mush medley of vegetables. 

Your feet steer you to the table you used to share with your squadmates on instinct. The lack of people sitting there wrenches something in you painfully. This is wrong. There’s no laughter or life here. The table is too clean and untouched. There’s no messy crumbs, or spilled water. No papers flung haphazardly to the side by your squad leader.

And yet? You still sit. Almost in denial, like you expect one of them to pop up and say it was all a joke. A hand on your shoulder, a tray dropping loudly next to you. Anything. Where are they? Why aren’t they here yet? 

A lump forms in your throat as you stare down at your food. You’re suddenly not hungry, if you ever were. The sandwich, normally unappetizing, looks downright sickening. Your eyes sting, and you can’t stop your vision from blurring as unshed tears gather. Biting your tongue, you reach to at least take a sip of the water. The cup is paper and flimsy, while the contents are borderline metallic. The taste has you setting the cup down again, unwilling to take another sip. Hands grip it tightly, and you feel it crush in your hand, water overflowing. It drips down your hands and fingers, onto the table, but all you can think of is the memory it evokes. Blood. Warm, and horribly sticky. Bile rises in your throat, but you push it back down. Just an hour. You didn’t need to eat anyways.

That’s what you tell yourself, but every minute feels like an eternity. You feel like you’re stuck in a bubble, wanting to scream. Even if you did—no one would hear. Or care. 

══════♤══════♧══════♡══════♢══════

Lunch was more performative than anything. You managed a bite of your sandwich, but it makes you feel queasy. The table drank more of your water than you did, the liquid having seeped into the wood and floor underneath. Most of your tray ended up in the trash.

Gathering your things, which really isn’t much, you get up to head to the training room. As you exit the lunch hall, a handful of cadets stand hovering just outside. Mostly first years in squad 2, their faces and names evade you. A glance at them reveals that they’re staring straight back at you. One of them leans in to another, whispering something in their ear, causing a gasp to escape as the first year glances back at you. Ignorong them, you hurry past them without a second glance.

Entering the training room, you notice most of the second years in squad two and three are already there. Your eyes dart over the groups, letting the threads flood back into your vision for a moment. The vividness of your new squad’s threads hit you hard. Vibrant reds and yellows, blues and greens. It’s almost intimidating, how closely knit they are. Their threads weave together in a complex net, overlapping and shifting constantly. Squad two’s on the other side of the room look dull in comparison.

You stand awkwardly by the entrance, unsure if you should approach—until a a head looks up and away from the group at you. Warm brown eyes meet yours, and a smile breaks out across his face. Yunho. Your new Squad Leader.

“Over here!” He calls, beckoning you over. “We’re about to start.”

You square your shoulders and walk over before the anxiety can say otherwise. The rest of the group parts to let your through, though most of them already look less than pleased by your arrival. 

One of them eyes you up and down—as if searching for something. A taller cadet, next to him smiles at you, but the smile is more taunting than welcoming. 

Yunho pats a hand on your shoulder, and attempts to pull you closer to look at the list in his hands. You stiffen, sidestepping away to create space again. The man seems utterly unbothered by the cold shoulder, and just angles the paper for you to see.

“Today you’ll be paired up with Jongho—“ he starts, but a scoff cuts him off.

“No. I want to go against her. Me and Jongho can switch.”

Yunho looks up from the paper, smile faltering for a second. You can practically see his mind rapidly sorting through thoughts as he shakes his head at the cadet.

“No. I was asked to pair her against Jongho, Woo.”

The cadet—who’s name clicks as Wooyoung—crosses his arms.

“By who? Because last I checked, you’re the one that makes the spar matchups. Professor could give less of a shit about second years pairing.”

Yunho shakes his head again.

“No. That’s final. If we have time after matches, maybe, but-“

“Good,” Wooyoung interjects, his eyes finding yours, “Jongho, you better kick her ass.”

The cadet he looks at as he says that—Jongho— shrugs. He looks utterly unbothered. Either he doesn’t care what Wooyoung thinks, or had that much faith in his abilities.

Yunho turns to you again, and claps his hands together. 

“So— Y/N, correct? This is Squad Three. I’m the Squad Leader, so if you have any questions or concerns feel free to bring them up to me!” He starts, beaming.

As he introduces the squad, you can’t help but feel a bit removed. He refers to each member so warmly, the threads between them practically hum with unspoken devotion. When it comes to you, however, there’s nothing. No bond. No thread. The way he refers to the squad as separate from you rubs you the wrong way. Like his personality is directly at odds with how he truly feels. The Squad. No welcome. No acknowledgement that he’s your squad leader now.

“Anyways, this is Jongho, he’ll be your sparring partner for today.” 

You glance at the cadet Yunho gestures to again. His expression is neutral, but he regards you with mild curiosity. His eyes dart down to your patches, where his eyes linger. Likely the flame patch marking your new squad number. That is, until you realize he’s staring at the signet patch. The compass. Unknown. Dangerous. His face for the briefest of moments looks wary, before it’s back to unreadable.

“If you need me, I’ll be sparring with San. Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung glances back to his squad leader.

“You’ll be sparring with Mingi. No funnny business like last time. Understood?” Yunho asks.

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, but mumbles out the faintest “yes sir”.

“Good. Yeosang, you’ll be on standby babysitting. We’ll rotate out whoever finishes their spars first.”

The quiet one in the back—who’s been staring at you this entire time— nods. You assume that’s Yeosang, based on his and Yunho’s reaction.  As your gaze shifts back to Yunho, you do a double take. A single stripe falls just below Yeosang’s name plate. 

Executive officer. 

You didn’t realize this squad had one.

When your eyes wander back up to his face, he has the faintest smirk on his face, but it quickly dissipates.

“Right. We all know the rules. Pick a mat, and get started.“

The squad disperses, picking mats and laughing while you’re left standing awkwardly next to Jongho. He waits for everyone else to pick mats, before zeroing in on a open one. He nods his head towards it silently, indicating where to go.

Getting into position comes easily. You’ve drilled these hundreds of times before. The room sounds die down as you all wait for the start call. Trying to gauge the man before you, you’re only met with the same unreadable expression. 

“Start!” Yeosang calls out.

The sound of the other scuffles starting echoes through the room. Squeaks of shoes against the floor, sounds of cadets dodging and weaving. Yet, Jongho doesn’t move immediately. He meets your eyes for a moment, dark brown, unreadable. Then it sharpens into something more. Focus. There’s no arrogance. No taunts, no feints. Just calm, unshakeable readiness. Healthy caution.

It rattles you more than if he had underestimated you.

You take the first move, finally breaking the eye contact. Where you’re good, he’s great. His moves are clean. Efficient. He’s infuriatingly composed, and moves as if he can almost see your thought process. He parries every move, counters every strike. There’s no hesitation, just calculation and unwavering determination. 

It only takes one wrong move—one wrong misstep. Your legs are swept out from underneath you, and you’re face-first on the mat below. His hand is square in the middle of your back, the rest of him pinning your lower half down.

You tap the mat, indicating you yield, cheeks burning with humiliation. First day with the squad, and you’re barely holding your own. 

”Good form.” He offers hesitantly, before he’s leaning back. 

You nod, your voice stuck in your throat. You’ve never been beat that fast. You don’t think you’ve seen any other cadet tap out at that speed for that matter. You don’t offer a thanks, your pride too wounded already. Sitting up, and taking a breath, you rub where you got kicked on the leg.

“Guess surviving doesn’t always mean you know how to fight.” A voice rings out across the room, drawing everyone’s attention. 

Wooyoung.

He’s standing off to the side of his mat, arms crossed. His hair is messy, the tie holding it back seemingly having snapped during his own spar with Mingi. He tilts his head, as a smile spread across his face, but there’s something darker to it. Something sharp. Suspicious. 

“Cat got your tongue? Or are you always this quiet? Is that why you lost your squad? Because you don’t know how to make proper call outs on the field?” He goads, smile widening.

He makes his way over to your mat before Yeosang can stop him. He gets into fighting stance, eyeing you. There’s a dangerous sparkle in his eye.

“Or maybe you were too much of a coward to step in and save them?” He adds on. His smile is twisted as he sees you get into your own stance across from him.

Your pulse quickens, but not in fear. It’s anger. You’ll be damned if you let some pompous asshole of a cadet say you didn’t try. You’ll cry about it later. Right now? You need to get your frustration out.

The match starts before Yeosang can step in and stop you two. It’s less a spar and more an outlet for both of you.

Wooyoung moves like he’s intentionally trying to trip you up. Feints designed to frustrate more than gain an edge. Punches that are a bit too hard for a friendly spar. He’s grappling you, trying to throw you off balance. Every hit he lands that makes you flinch just makes him smile more, like he’s proving a point.

“You move pretty well for a someone who ran from the scene.” He quips during a close exchange.

Anger and sadness flood your being, and you find yourself pulling punches less and less. Your hits are more by emotion than proper technique. 

“Careful Y/N, losing your cool?” He smirks, ducking under one of your swings to make a lunge at your lower half. 

You manage to side step for a moment, reel yourself in, and defend. He knocks you off balance momentarily, but you plant your foot when it lands. Managing to kick him off and away, you re-center yourself. With a few well timed hits, you back him up towards the edge of the mat.

A grapple, a twist to his arm. He’s slightly off balance and on the defensive—he’s not smiling now.

Then, you feel it.

Heat.

You glance down to see his hand is glowing red. In the moment you falter, he beaks free, grabbing for you with the hand.

“Cheap.” You spit out, dodging to the side. His momentum sends him sailing forward to the other end of the map.

“Maybe,” he says, grinning again. “Or maybe I don’t buy the whole survivor act.“ 

He’s not even trying to conceal his signet use anymore, when he lunges at you again. Heat kicks up your side as a hand connects to your armor. A char mark is left, and the smell of burnt leather hits your nostrils.

The world shifts. 

Mirror images of yourself and Wooyoung appear everywhere. The floor tilts yet stays still. The walls and mat warp constantly. It’s sickening—like floating and falling all at once. 

Wooyoung stumbles, caught off guard by the sudden change.

Yeosang stands amid the mess, completely unbothered by the constant warping and shifting.

“That’s enough.” growls a voice, low and firm.

A moment later, the world turns back to normal. For a beat, no one moves. 

“You know well what you did wrong, Wooyoung. Me and you are talking after this.” Yeosang says firmly, his eyes icily staring down the cadet. 

Wooyoung scoffs and turns away. He mutters something under his breath, before stalking back to the mat where he originally was with Mingi.

You don’t move or say anything—just glance down silently at your armor. A very clear hand-shaped scorch mark is apparent, a charred divot where his hand connected to you for a moment. It’s still warm.

Yeosang watches you a second longer than necessary, before turning away.

══════♤══════♧══════♡══════♢══════

The rest of the training is much less intense, though you do still catch Wooyoung occasionally glare at you across the room.

Following the match against him, you notice you’re slower. Sloppier even. Every mistake you make, you fixate on. 

If you were faster, could you have stopped your squad from destroying itself? If you were stronger, could you have fought off the first one to be infected? 

“Their deaths were not caused by you.” A voice in your head cuts in.

You ignore Dàn, feeling too lost in your head to listen to reason. Your next strike to Yunho—that’s right. You’re in your last soar of the day—misses again. 

Yunho furrows his eyebrows, confused at how you miss that easy of an opening. 

Your next move is a little too slow, and he parries it effortlessly.

He stops moving all together, sighing.

“I think that’s enough for today. You’re still recovering.” He says, backing off.

You lower your hands in confusion. 

“You’re not completely off medical restrictions yet. You’ve had enough. I’m calling it.” He repeats.

You blink for a moment, mind blank, before straightening yourself up. Nodding stiffly, you look around the room. Everyone’s stopped to stare at you, like you’re some kind of show. 

Weakness gets you singled out—and you’ve just been dismissed. 

Yunho hums, before pointing at a bench near the exit.

“You can stay over there until the block is over. Maybe observing will help.” He says. 

There’s no outright malice in his words, but they still sting. Observe. As in—watch and learn because you’re doing horribly. Watch and learn how to actually fight. Watch and learn how to actually protect yourself, so you can protect us.

You can’t tell if those thoughts are your own being projected—or if they’re plausibly what’s going on in his head. Either way, you defeatedly sit yourself down.

The bench is worn smooth, and creaks under your weight. You watch half-heartedly as the others spar. Without you in the mix, everyone gets an even turn. Six squad mates. Three duos. You’re the outlier.

They all work so well together. Each member seems to understand the other in a way you could never hope to comprehend. And then there’s you. A piece in a machine that never belonged. You’ve already gotten one of them in trouble with his executive officer—maybe you are the problem. Who’s to say you didn’t do something to piss Wooyoung off?

Creak.

Someone else sits next to you.

The scent hits you first. Green tea, sandalwood, and soemthing clean. Almost floral. A quiet kind of calm. You don’t glance over.

Not until the voice speaks up, at least

“Is there a reason you’re not sparring with the others, cadet?” 

The voice is smooth. Warm, measured. One that doesn’t need to be raised to be heard.

Seonghwa.

You tense up. Not out of fear, or wariness—but because it’s him. His presence right now isn’t loud, or brash, or energetic. It’s off putting because it’s the opposite. Calm. Composed. It’s the presence of someone who’s reading you better than you could ever read him.

“I was dismissed. Squad Leader cited medical reasons.” You reply.

He glances at the mats, humming softly. 

You chance a glance at him finally. He’s alert, but relaxed. The mentality of someone always ready to step in, but not high-strung. 

“I saw. However—you’re not injured. So, I’m asking again. Why aren’t you sparring with the others, cadet?” 

“I think… that I shouldn’t be over there. I make things worse.” You say softly.

“Worse? You think your presence makes things worse?”

You don’t respond—but you don’t need to. Your silence is far more telling than any words could be.

Seongwha sits still, watching as San throws Wooyoung to the floor with a loud whoop.

“The squad has been through everything together. Been together since parapet—“ he starts

Dread hits you in your stomach. You know. You had that too. 

“What you see between them—“ he gestures broadly to the area they’re all in, “wasn’t built overnight. Failure, mistakes, loss—it’s what bound them together. You won’t match that overnight, or anytime soon.” 

There’s no softness to his voice, but there’s no malice either. Just unwavering conviction.

“I’m not here to coddle you,” he continues, “but I also won’t stand by and watch you be useless to the squad because you’re feeling blue. You’re a rider, not infantry. If you’re unfit to spar? Say so. If you are, act like it."

His words are unapologetic. Direct. They sting, but they’re necessary. 

You meet his eyes finally. For a brief second, you see it: Caution. Not unkindness—but a leaders wariness, tempered by experience. He doesn’t explicitly trust you, especially not with the squad he originates from—but he’s willing to give you the chance. The briefest look of relief crosses his face, though you think you may be searching for something that isn't actually there.

“I’ll be back on the mats tomorrow. Ready.” You say.

He nods his head, accepting it, before standing.

“Good. Tomorrow? Act like someone who deserves a place here.”

He walks off to speak to your squad leader without another word. Like he had only stopped to tie his shoe, or fit in a quick stretch. 

You’re alone again—but you don’t feel as invisible. Even if the burdens still weigh on your shoulders.

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luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

Taglist: @euphoricem

[luckydraww]

House Rules (Req Guidelines)

Status: Open ══════♤══════♧══════♡══════♢══════

Welcome to the table, darling. Before you play your hand, read the rules. No cheating, no whining, and no funny business.

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1. No NSFW at this time. We deal clean hands here—for now. Mature themes (violence, psychological content, dark topics) may be allowed case-by-case, but explicit smut is off the table.

2. Don’t double-down on spam. Repeat asks, spam messages, or demands will be folded and tossed. Persistent offenders get the boot—blocked without warning.

3. Patience is the name of the game. Your dealer juggles a full-time job and school. Requests are answered at my pace. Rush me, and you’re playing the wrong table.

4. Requests may be posted out of order. I play by inspiration, not by the stack. If the muse bites, I follow it.

5. Tip your dealer: be specific. Include any relevant tropes or vibes you’re craving—slice of life, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc. The clearer your hand, the better I can deal.

6. I reserve the right to fold. Not every request will be accepted or answered. Some hands just aren’t worth playing.

7. I write for who I know. ATZ, SKZ, SVT, TXT and ONEUS are safe bets. Others might be considered if I’m comfortable, but no guarantees.

8. No minors at the table. Absolutely no requests for or about minors. This is a hard rule—non-negotiable.

9. No series requests. At this time, I’m only taking drabbles, one-shots, imagines, scenarios. No multi-part series, unless I'm particularly intrigued.

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Know the rules now? Make your move. Drop your request with care—or try your luck elsewhere.

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Questions? Feel free to place your bet.

[luckydraww]

The Eighth Night

Fracture - Prologue

<<previous | M.List | Next>> Navi | intro i | intro ii | | Y/N intro

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Pairing: ot8 x Reader Word Count: 1.6k Chapter Warnings: Panic Attack, Grief Synopsis: You awake in the middle of the night again. Memories threaten to take over, and you find yourself venturing out of the infirmary room you've been stuck in for some fresh air.

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You jolt awake for the eighth night in a row. 

Screams of your Squadmates. Smoke that burns the lungs, and a blistering, suffocating pain in the chest. Wind, Fire, and Freefall.

You sit up quickly, taking rapid breaths in the darkness of your room. Breathe.

Your hands grapple at the sheets in an attempt to ground the emotions quickly spiraling out of control, the blankets providing little respite.

Memories continue to flash through your minds eye as you attempt to suppress them. Thick black fog. Red eyes. The feeling of your squad mate being ripped from your hands-

“You’re awake again.” Dànshael’s voice echoes in your head, interrupting the spiral. Of course your ever-annoyingly-present blue Daggertail is up at this hour, too.

“Go back to sleep.” You counter. You’re not in the mood for another one of Dàn’s lectures.

“Your pain tore through the bond sharper than any blade, and the silence after was deafening. Of course I’m up.” Dàn quips. “If my sleep is to be haunted by your grief, I will haunt your waking hours.”

A quick huff, and you’re kicking your legs over the side of the bed. Grabbing only your winter flight jacket and a dagger out of habit, you slip on your boots and head to the door.

“Why don’t you just block it out then? I don’t need a babysitter, Dàn.” You snap back, irritation bubbling out of the anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

Your room door swings open with a swift push, slamming into the wall far louder than intended. No matter, you think, as you’re already halfway down the hall when the sound of your door clicking closed behind you reaches your ears. You don’t care where you’re going, or if you’re caught. You just need to get out. It’s not like there’s anyone in the infirmary hall to hear you, anyways.

Reaching the stairs, you head up to the old battlement walkway, not caring it’s off-limits for renovations currently. The walk up the stairs is slightly tricky — rocks have been dislodged and steps are crumbling — but you manage fine. Magelights don’t reach this far in the battlement’s dilapidated state, so you rely on memory and reflexes to make it up the last stretch. Gray dust coats your hands when you finally get to the top. The weather outside whistles fiercely, and the cold nips at your face, but you could care less.

Finding a suitable spot against the stone where the wind doesn’t immediately whip hair into your face, you sink down. Your back rests against the cold stone, and you curl into yourself, knees hugged to your chest as you stare at the floor in front of you, trying to block out the memory of that night.

“You act like you wish to disappear.” Dàn’s voice hisses slightly at you, displeased at her rider’s sullen attitude.

“Maybe I do. Just for a moment.” You reply outloud, voice wavering slightly.

Dàn doesn’t respond immediately, as you take in the quiet night. Clouds block the moon out, and it’s cold enough it might snow before sunrise. The air is bitter and cold, while the wind continues to howl around you. The tower seems to creak, as if the weight of all its seen is catching up to it for a moment. Maybe, it too remembers things that haunt this school, holding space for ghosts between the cracks of wood, stone, and cement.

“Are you a coward then, Little One?” Comes her dragon’s reply after a moment. Part challenge, laced with a hint of concern. 

“Maybe I am.” 

“No. I do not choose cowards, and I am never wrong.”

You let out a scoff, rolling your eyes as you pick at the crumbling stone under you. White bits of worn stone crumble in your hands, like chalk. 

“There’s always a first time for mistakes.” You respond.

Dàn’s presence in your mind floods you for a moment, irritated as she tries to reach through your bond as you attempt to ice her out in your pain. She persists regardless, not in a way that’s invasive or nosy, but rather an instance of attempting to help ground you, comfort even, though she’d never admit to doing that.

“You are haunted by memories. Laughs, smiles, smells. That does not make you a coward. You don’t flinch when you’re free falling off my back mid battle. That’s not the mark of a weakling.” Dàn challenges again.

“I’m not in the mood to talk.”

“You did not need to be. Your thoughts are already akin to screaming.”

You slam the walls down on your connection, icy blocks severing the sparkling silvery-blue tether between you and Dàn. Despite this, Dàn pushes through them easily, set on continuing.

“Closing yourself off is unwise, little one.”

You prepare to snap at your dragon again, but your petty argument is interrupted by the sudden glow of magelights shining on you, and the clearing of a throat. You turn your head to see who it is — only to feel your heart drop to your stomach. The Section leader.

Seonghwa eyes you up and down, his expression carefully neutral.

“Care to explain why you’re up on a crumbling battlement in the middle of the night, cadet?” Seonghwa asks, holding the mage light up as he frowns in disapproval.

You stiffen under his gaze, mind racing. The wind whipping around you is nothing compared to the chill you get down your spine from being caught, and you’re well aware nothing you say can get you out of this — not a lie, and certainly not the truth. Not unless you wish to chance being reprimanded for openly grieving. 

“Couldn’t go back to sleep, sir. I thought some air might help.” You weakly manage.

Seonghwa stares at you for a moment, before pulling himself up the final bit and onto the battlement. His boots crunch against the ancient stone, as he lowers the mage light to get a better look at you.

“So you decided breaking protocol and hiding on top of a battlement — one that’s closed mind you — was the best idea?” He asks, voice smooth. He shifts slightly, the sword against his back clanking against whatever metallic item he has strapped to the back of his flight leathers.

You look away, refusing to look at him and instead choosing instead to stare into the dark night sky. Memories of that night replay in your mind. A thick fog, air that burns the throat. Screams, burnt cloth. He hums, shifting to hold the light higher, as he squats next to you.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Seonghwa finally comments, cutting through the momentary silence. His voice seems almost imperceptibly softer, as he joins you in gazing into the distance. 

You fiddle with the edge of your coat, jaw clenched uncomfortably. He stands next to you like this for a moment, waiting to see if you’ll respond, before sighing.

“Whatever it is that bothers you…” he trails off. Knowing him, his rank, and the fact news spreads quickly — he likely already knows what bothers you — but he at least has the decorum to not mention it directly. Understanding crosses his face for a moment, before he holds his hand out to help you up.

“If it keeps you up, know you don’t have to face it alone, cadet. My door is always open.” He adds softly.

The offer catches you off guard, but it helps soothe some of the pain, if only for a moment. Riders don’t make room for softness — let alone officers. Not when grief can be seen as weakness. Not in a school where it’s kill or be killed.

A moment passes, before you’re grabbing his gloved hand with your own apprehensively. The leather of his glove is smooth, and surprisingly warm to the touch, despite the cold outside where he’s likely been patrolling all night. As you finally stand, a snowflake falls onto your joined hands, before he pulls it away.

“Now get down from here before I have to write up a report on a cadet out past curfew, let alone in a restricted area.” He says, as he gestures for you to start the climb down, before letting out the faintest snort. “Or before you catch a cold.”

He waits for you to get a decent way down, before following. There’s a heartbeat of silence, followed by the heavy thud of his boots as he reaches the ground just behind you. Dust and debris are kicked up, before he dusts his gloves off on his leathers. He glances up at you, making eye contact. A silent understanding seems to pass between you, before he nods curtly, before turning to walk away down the hall. He’s only a few strides down the hall when he pauses.

“Oh, and Y/N? Pack your things. You'll be moved out of the infirmary and to Squad Three's Dorms in the morning. Hongjoong is not nearly as patient as I am.”

That’s all he adds on before disappearing around a bend in the hall. The magelights slowly flicker off after behind him, as you’re left alone with your thoughts again.

You linger for several moments. The silence is loud, but it doesn’t feel so suffocating at this moment. One minute. Two, maybe. It's comforting, and doesn’t ask for anything in return. You take it in, before heading back to your room, the hallways still thankfully empty.

Sleep doesn’t come easily when you get back to your room, though it seems slightly easier tonight. It eventually takes over somewhere between worries about officially being cleared for field training in the morning, and melancholic memories of your old squad.

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luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

[luckydraww]

Y/N Intro - Fracture

Navi | Fracture M.List | intro i | intro ii | Prologue

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"Vice-Commandant sent me to give you this."

“Is this the report on the incident?”

"Yes sir."

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CONFIDENTIAL RIDER REPORT -Y/N

Recipient: WL Kim Hongjoong, Second Wing From: V-Cmdt █████████ Subject: Cdt. L/N Y/N - Incident Debrief & Squad Transfer

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Rider: Y/N L/N Current Assignment: Wing 2, Flame Section—Squad Pending Previous Assignment: Squad 1 - Declared dissolved, all members KIA with exception. Dragon: Dànshael - Female Blue Daggertail - Aethelynor Line Signet: Heartstring - Observation based. Secondary anomaly noted but unverified. Classification escalated to Tier III pending further analysis. See Addendum.

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Incident Summary: Cadet Y/N is the sole survivor of the destruction and following dissolution of Squad 1 (Wing 2, Flame Section), following a low-risk perimeter patrol along the Western perimeter on ██/██/████. Operation was routine and not expected to encounter resistance beyond baseline. No significant enemy movement was reported within a 15-mile radius.

Post-Incident analysis and secondary reconnaissance indicate corruption of an unidentified nature. Evidence and survivor report strongly suggests that one rider was affected first. Mental compromise or effects of an unknown influence spread rapidly through the squadron, likely or suspected to be psychological in nature, possibly facilitated through dragon bonds. Behavior degraded within moments; squad turned in on self. Chain of command rapidly collapsed, squad was decimated in approximately eight minutes.

Cadet Y/N remained unengaged in the violence, and was found two hours later by recovery team, physically intact but visibly shaken. Dànshael—here on referred to as Dàn—was notably found unconscious but unharmed next to her rider. The cause of the dragon's condition is currently unknown, as there were no external wounds or signs of magical interference detected, and there is no precedent for a dragon to enter an unconscious state without severe trauma.

Cadet reported a phenomenon referred to as "thread distortion", it is believed to be in reference to her signet's perception-based abilities. Cadet was transferred to isolated medical containment for 48 hours before being transferred to standard medical facility. Cadet is set to resume training under probationary terms after finality of transfer to Squad 3—Wing 2, Flame Section—following WL and SL approval. In the event that it is not approved, Cadet is likely to be transferred to Squad 1, Tail Section, Wing 2.

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Signet Analysis (Provisional)

Officially recorded in file as Heartstring, signet manifests as a passive perception-based ability that allows Cadet to visually "perceive" connections between people, dragons, information, and systems as glowing filaments that shift in color based on dynamics or relations.

During the incident with Squad 1 that led to it's breakdown, this ability appeared to allow the cadet to distinguish which individuals were compromised, tracking the corruption to point of origin, allowing her to predict the spread pattern. This likely enabled her to avoid engagement and isolate from further influence.

However, field observations and recorded reactions during the incident, as well as basic training exercises, suggest a secondary, active component—currently undocumented. Cadet has not exhibited conscious awareness of dual Signet functionality. It is suspected that what has been observed is an advanced use of her signet, with differential suggesting it could also be a layered or compound signet manifestation. This latent function appears to allow her to manipulate or apply pressure to weak points within a system—tactical, social, physical, or psychological. This function has previously been overlooked, relating to the cadet's ability to physically perceive how things connect and therefore break, this manifestation blends closely with her signet's primary function and sensory framework. Continued observation without disclosure to cadet is recommended at this time.

NOTE: While there is no conclusive evidentce, internal investigations have flagged the possibility that the unconscious use of a potential secondary signet function may have contributed to Squad 1's instability. Whether this was a catalyst or simply a reactive measure remains unknown.

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Behavioral and Psychological Report:

Post-recovery evaluations show acute survivor's guilt, heightened pattern-recognition, and relational aversion. Cadet demonstrates composure under stress but evades direct discussion regarding squad's final moments. Cadet's heightened awareness following trauma has led to a tendency to "read" others before engaging, indicating instinctive Signet usage.

Cadet's dragon, Dàn, exhibits heightened protectiveness, uncooperative behavior, and appears to actively discourage close proximity from unfamiliar dragons or riders following incident. Engage with caution.

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Recommendations:

Escalation of Signet Classification from Class II (Restricted) to Class III (Classified).

Maintain Tier III Classification of Incident at this time.

Restrict mission exposure to controlled or supervised scenarios until confirmation of stability.

Do not disclose dual-signet theory to Cadet at this time.

Psychological review to be administered quarterly under indirect protocols.

Approve integration into Squad 3 with standard probationary Surveillance. Recommended pairing in Squad 3 with low-conflict cadets.

Flag as potential asset - corruption detection and containment. Monitor for corruption resistance markers.

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Addendum A - Signet Irregularity Study

Resonance testing post-incident reveal fluctuating cognitive output during high-stress situations, particularly in emotionally charged or relationally unstable environments. Theoretical modeling suggests an inherited signet structure that has yet to stabilize, that may either be:

Dual-Signets manifesting in close synchorny (Currently indistinguishable as separate abilities), or

A rare, multi-functional signet with both perceptive and manipulative properties, likely passed down matrilineally.

It is noted that the Cadet's mother reportedly displayed a similar, though less intense, anomaly during her active service in the Rider Quadrant, though records were sealed following discharge and ultimately death. Lineage analysis suggests maternal inheritance is likely.

Observations confirm heightened activity or signet under emotional or interpersonal duress. Effects include targeted influence over psychological or structural vulnerabilities.

Operational implications are significant. Cadet's capabilities may prove advantageous in:

Identification, isolation, or neutralization of corrupted personal and double-agents.

Stealth and infiltrative scenarios requiring emotional or hierarchical manipulation and perception.

Targeted destabilization

Therapeutic restoration of units post-engagement

However, overuse of signet complex presents escalating risks: relational dissociation, neural fatigue, cognitive fragmentation, and involuntary use of manipulation function of signet. Without further study and control, Cadet may pose an internal security risk.

Cadet to remain under active observation. Recommended structured stress-evaluation trials, temporary restriction from command-critical missions, and close monitoring of signet manifestations.

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luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

[luckydraww]

intro ii - Squadmates

Navi | Fracture M.List | intro i | Y/N intro | Prologue

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"These are your squad mates, and quite possibly the best squad of your year so far. Don't expect them to hold your hand, or play nice. You're joining as an outsider. Remember that."

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Choi San

Rank: Cadet Dragon: Solas - Male Red Swordtail Signet: Lightshow Designation: Wing 2, Flame section, Squad 3 Note: "Don't take his kindness as weakness, or politeness as acceptance. There's more than meets the eye."

Song Mingi

Rank: Cadet Dragon: Tùr - Female Orange Scorpiontail Signet: Concuss Designation: Wing 2, Flame section, Squad 3 Note: "Close to your squad leader. Maybe you can use that to your advantage."

Jung Wooyoung

Rank: Cadet Dragon: Las - Female Red Daggertail Signet: Combust Designation: Wing 2, Flame section, Squad 3 Note: "Arguably just as quick to temper as his dragon. That kind of temperament, paired with his signet? I'd be careful."

Choi Jongho

Rank: Cadet Dragon: Cairn - Female Brown Clubtail Signet: Titan Designation: Wing 2, Flame section, Squad 3 Note: "The rising star of the squad. He's set to likely take an executive officer role within the next few years."

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luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

[luckydraww]

Intro i - Squad Leadership

Fracture M.List | intro ii | Y/N Intro | Prologue

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“Welcome to Squad 3. We hope that your transfer here goes smoothly. To ensure you’re caught up to speed, I’m sending you some basic information files on your new squadmates. Please read carefully.”

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Kim Hongjoong

Rank: Wingleader Dragon: Tor - Male Black Morningstartail Signet: Classified Designation: Wing 2 Note: "This one you should know already, considering he's your wingleader. Try not to piss him off?"

Park Seonghwa

Rank: Section Leader Dragon: Gleann - Male Green Clubtail Signet: Sanctuary Designation: Wing 2, Flame Section Note: "Your Section leader. You should be familiar with him as well, at least on a base level. If anything, your dragons at least seem to get along."

Jeong Yunho

Rank: Squad Leader Dragon: Beùth - Male Brown Swordtail Signet: Momentum Designation: Wing 2, Flame Section, Squad 3 Note: "Your new squad leader. While not my personal choice due to his disposition, whatever he's doing to lead the squad seems to be working."

Kang Yeosang

Rank: Squad Executive Officer Dragon: Sidhe - Male Blue Daggertail Signet: Fantasma Designation: Wing 2, Flame Section, Squad 3 Note: "Your squad's executive officer. Your blue's aren't exactly fond of the other, so I'd tread carefully."

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luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

[luckydraww]

Fracture | M.List

Back to the Table. ← (Navi) Back to Main ← (Main Masterlist)

Status: Ongoing Started: 5/2/25 Last Update: 8/9/25 (Chapter 3)

"Pressure. Apply it to all the right points, and it can make or break you."

Ateez - ot8 x reader

Fourth Wing inspired AU/Dragon Riders AU

genre warnings: Angst, Loss, Grief, Slowburn, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Dark fantasy, Trauma Recovery, Reluctant Alliance, Fluff, Violence, Specific warnings in chapters

Synopsis: Following the devastating loss of her squadron, Y/N is transferred to the Iron Squad of her year, Squad 3, in hopes that their close knit bond would help her cope and return to being one of the top riders of the section. Met with varying levels of suspicion to downright hostile behavior, she’s left to navigate the maze of grief along with adjusting to a new squad and schedule alone.

══════♤══════♧══════♡══════♢══════ intro i | intro ii | reader intro ══════♤══════♧══════♡══════♢══════ Prologue - The Eighth Night Chapter 1 - Ashes Chapter 2 - Spark Chapter 3 - Burn Chapter 4 - In Progress

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See something you like? Want updates? Join the taglist! Interested in being a beta reader? Sign up here!

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luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

[luckydraww]

Your Dealer

M. | 24 | ENTP ♊︎ ☉ || ♋︎ ☽ || ♑︎ ↑

inbox: Open Status: Active Requests: Open Ao3: LuckyDraww Main Blog: @falsedraww Languages: EN (Native) - KR/DE (배우는 중/Lerne noch) Favorite Genres: Angst, Slowburn, Hurt/Comfort

Back to the Table. (Navi)

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🎰 Latest Bet 🎰 ♣ Most Recent - Warmth (Mingi x Reader) 🃏 Best Hand played🃏 ♥ Favorite Work - The Eighth Night (Fracture Prologue) 🎲 Join the Game 🎲 ✦ Taglist Application (updated periodically) - Open

🕯️ In the Cards... 🕯️ ♦ Upcoming - Do Monsters Mourn

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🎤 K-pop Bias Lineup 🎤 ♔ Ult Group – Ateez ♕ Bias(es) – Seonghwa and Hongjoong (but also ot8) ♘ Wreckers – Everyone 🎧 Fandoms – Atiny, Carat, Stay, Tomoon, Purki, InSomnia, P1ece, MOA, For X, Black Rose

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🕴️ The Dealer’s Secrets 🕴️ ♣ Current Obsessions: Astrology, Tarot, Fashion, Journaling, Photography, Language learning and Linguistics. ♦ Favorite Vice: Caffeine too late at night ♥ Soft Spots: Tragic characters, redemption arcs ♢ Side Quests: Fashion designer, writer, artist... anything creative I've done or am doing.

🗣 Talk the Dealer's Ear Off 🗣 ♣ K-pop Lore and theories ♦ Comebacks or your favorite groups (I'm open to learning!) ♥ Angst tropes and slow burns that hurt so good ♠ Tarot pulls, dream symbolism, and Astrology readings ♢ Artistic struggles or ideas ♤ That one OC you can't shut up about ♡ Fashion (I'm a sucker for Balmain/Olivier Rousteing, Issey Miyake, Off-White/Virgil Abloh, Stella McCartney, Martin Margiela)

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luckydraww © 2025 - all rights reserved to luckydraww. Do not steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without prior permission.

[luckydraww]

Welcome To The Table. All Bets are Final.

♣︎ Navigation ♣︎

♠ Rule 1: Know the Game — About Me ♣ Rule 2: Play Your Hand — M.list ♥ Rule 3: Speak Carefully — Ask ♦ Rule 4: Don’t Cheat the Dealer — Taglist 🃏 Rule 5: No Refunds — Upcoming Release 🎰 Rule 6: The Game Never Truly Ends — Latest Release 💼 Rule 7: The House always Wins — Request Guidelines 💰 Rule 8: Deal Me In — Beta Reader Sign-Up 🎲 "Life is a game. I play to win."

Requests: Open

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