#bts vampire fluff

[jeonstudios]

anatomy of a vampire | 01

a young man returns to a small town he hasn't seen in years, and a house he hasn't lived in since before the last president was born, only to find that a stray cat has given birth to kittens in his closet.

pairing: vampire!jk x nerdy f veterinarian!reader (with a special interest in the science and biology aspect of the supernatural lol)

genre: sorta scifi-ish, fluff, minor angst, some smut later on

word count: 4.7k

warnings: none in this part (maybe anatomy talk/vet talk?), but there's gonna be like... inspection kink-stuff later on 🤪 more detailed warnings to come <3

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 1/? 

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© anatomy of a vampire is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

You’re halfway through your lunch when Namjoon pokes his head into the break room, a stethoscope around his neck and thick-rimmed glasses low on his nose.

“Reception just got a call about a home visit.”

“Today?” you ask, your mouth full of chicken sandwich as you glance at your wristwatch. You and Namjoon are way too close for you to care about being ladylike.

“Mhm.”

You pause. Not many clinics in your small town offer home visits, and even fewer do it on short notice. For your clinic, it’s usually about an old dog being put to rest at home—incredibly sad, but not an emergency. 

“Is it urgent?”

“Not on the minute, but needs done today.”

You glance at the patient chart on the table in front of you. “I think this’ll be quick. I’ll go after this one.”

“You sure?” Namjoon asks. “Technically, it’s my turn.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. You should see Oakley when he comes; he’s not very fond of me.”

Oakley, a returning patient with chronic stomach issues, has managed to spray paint you a yellowy brown on three different occasions. From both ends. It’s like he aims.

Namjoon snorts. He hasn’t been hit once.

Checking your watch again, you push the last bite of your sandwich into your mouth, chewing it while you grab the chart. Namjoon is already on his way to greet another patient and their owner, and you take a second to swallow and wipe any crumbs off your scrubs before you follow his lead, heading into the waiting area.

“Millie?” you call, smiling when a young woman rises from a chair, her red dachshund's nose practically glued to the clinic floor.

It’s two-thirty when you pull out of the clinic parking lot, the clinic’s old station wagon rattling faintly as you steer onto the main road. The address in the confirmation email is farther out than you expected but still technically within the town limits, and you watch the short apartment buildings give way to larger, more spaced-out houses as you drive.

You don’t often find yourself in this part of town these days, although you’re very familiar with at least one house here. Many Halloweens were spent here back in the day, kids dressed up as various creatures daring each other to fight through the overgrown lawn and peek inside the dark windows. Countless stories were told about the abandoned house, each one slightly more insane than the last. Of course, you were like… eight, and a large, seemingly empty white house with a big, black gable was doomed to be haunted.

Still, you’re very surprised when you stop at the red pin on your phone’s screen, and it’s outside that very house. Momo, who works the reception, must’ve forgotten to fill out the pet owner’s name on the confirmation form she sent you, so all you have is this address and a brief line of patient info.

Even though the sky is gray—fittingly enough threatening September rain—it’s not as scary as you remember. Probably because it’s not a dark Halloween night, and you’re not a kid anymore. It also doesn’t actually seem to be abandoned. To be fair, it was never really run-down aside from the lawn, but now there’s a big black SUV parked outside. 

Getting out of the car, you grab the rectangular veterinary kit bag, accidentally shutting the trunk a little too hard. The sound echoes down the quiet street, letting anyone who wasn’t already aware know of your arrival. A chilly breeze has you pulling your softshell jacket tighter over your light blue scrubs as you lock the car. When you turn back to the house, you pause to take it in once more. It’s a pretty house—two-story, painted white probably a long time ago but still holding up surprisingly well. Black shutters frame the dark windows, and the tall, black gabled roof reaches impressively toward the gray sky. The lawn has either been trimmed within the last few years, or your childhood imagination really exaggerated it because you can clearly recall it looking more like a thicket with tall grass than just… an overgrown lawn. You distinctly remember more... shrubs.

Climbing the shallow steps, you stop in front of the black-painted door and raise your hand to knock. As you wait, you tilt your head back, once again letting your gaze linger on the house. Who exactly are you here to meet? Maybe it’s some introverted old woman who rarely leaves her house? Or a grumpy old man? But then again, the SUV looked awfully modern. Maybe the ancient resident has a grandchild visiting?

A short moment later, the door opens with a slight creak.

It’s not an old lady; it’s a young man. A tall young man—probably the most attractive one you’ve ever seen—looking down at you. He’s broad-shouldered and lean, visibly fit even despite the thick, black hoodie and baggy jeans he wears. You try not to stare at the shadow created in the fabric between his pecs, or the way the oversized hoodie still somehow manages to cling to the top of his bicep as he keeps one hand on the door handle. His black, relatively straight hair doesn’t look styled, just like it naturally falls into its part, the sides of it a little shorter than the top. Everything about him screams effortless, like he just wakes up looking like that.

One thing’s for sure: he wasn’t who you expected to open the door.

“Uh, hi,” you introduce yourself, telling him your name, “Did you… call for a vet?”

For some reason, he looks almost as surprised as you. “Hey. I did, yeah. I’m Jeongguk.”

Though he smiles politely, he doesn’t offer his hand for you to shake. It’s not something you dwell on. Quite a few of the pet owners you meet prefer not to shake hands.

“Come in.”

You nod and step inside, having to almost squeeze past him in the narrow hallway as he shuts the door behind you. Like always when you enter a strange man’s home alone, you say a little prayer in your head. If it came to it, you’ve got a bunch of pointy things in your bag, but you’d still prefer it if he wasn’t crazy to begin with.

As you move past him, you’re almost surprised that you don’t… smell him. Men—at least in this town—are very fond of their colognes and sprays, but you don’t catch even the slightest whiff of him. You wouldn’t say that you particularly enjoy the strong… scents, but the total lack of one from a hunk like this is almost disappointing.

When you go to slip your shoes off, he stops you. 

“Keep them on,” he says, voice kept low due to the distance. Or rather, the lack thereof. “It’s… not very clean.” 

There’s something in the casual smile he gives you besides an attractiveness you’ve never seen before. Maybe it’s a tad of… sheepishness? It doesn’t matter; your skin still heats under his gaze

“Oh, okay,” you say, trying to remain unbothered and professional while waiting for him to take the lead. Luckily, you don’t think he notices.

Even with the heads-up, you’re not sure what surprises you more as you follow him into the house—the layers and layers of dust, or the Edwardian, neoclassical interior design. The faded, beige walls are paneled, and as he leads you toward a staircase, you catch a glimpse of what appears to be the living room through an open archway. In it, you spot a pale green velvet sofa and two upholstered armchairs, fitting right in. There’s also a rectangular fireplace, a gold-framed mirror above it, and what catches your interest the most: a chandelier. Its size is impressive, and so is the fact that it looks like it was made for real, live candles. The same goes for the brass wall sconces placed on either side of the fireplace. You’ve only ever seen those in movies.

“They’re up here,” he says, and you nod, reaching for the wooden railing as you follow him up the stairs.

The steps creak loudly beneath your weight—another reminder of just how old this house probably is. At the landing, he turns, leading you to a bedroom. It’s surprisingly small for a house this size, but it’s cozy and warm in a way you weren’t expecting. You guess the clouds outside have eased up a little because the smallest ray of sunlight filters through the practically sheer beige curtains and highlights the dust particles floating in the air.

The four-poster bed is made from dark wood, its canopy rails bare and the headboard curled softly. Like most things, the white sheets appear pretty much untouched, and the only real signs of life are the footsteps disturbing the dust on the floor. You've followed a path all the way from the door, and when you look closer, you see paw prints venturing outside it.

Noticing your lingering gaze, Jeongguk scratches the back of his neck.

“I haven’t been here in a while.”

You figured. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here since… the late 1800s. Although it’s certainly a stylistic choice—and one you wouldn’t have expected from someone so young and otherwise modern-looking—it has its charm. Even if you’re not sure there’s even electricity or running water.

“I arrived earlier today and found them here,” Jeongguk continues, approaching a standalone wooden wardrobe placed against the wall. One door is already slightly ajar, but when he carefully opens it wider, you see them. The cat with kittens. “I read that you’re not supposed to move them.”

The mother cat, who looks to be all black, has made a little nest on top of a crisp white shirt that’s fallen from its hanger above.

“Oh,” you breathe, crouching slowly to get a better look. “They’re brand new.”

“Yeah. And I think one is smaller than the others.”

Your eyes travel over the small beings, each with varying patches of white to go with the black. None of them, from what you can tell, have even opened their eyes yet. The mother cat stops licking one of the kittens to give you a warning hiss. You listen, rising to your feet and turning away, a plan already in mind.

“Okay, I brought some food that might help lure her out,” you say, setting the bag down on the floor and crouching to reach into it. “This stuff’s usually pretty irresistible…”

But when you look back at the man—a jar gripped in your hand—he’s already holding the mother cat. Just straight around her middle, as if he’s never held a cat before. She doesn’t seem to mind very much, just hangs there, looking around.

Jeongguk looks at you, a little surprised too.

“Oh, okay. She seems to like you better,” you smile. You can’t help but think that he looks… sweet. A big, clearly very muscular and attractive man who’s liked by animals? It’s definitely both a green flag and a personal weakness for you.

The food goes back into the bag, and you reach for the equipment you’ll need instead. With a stethoscope around your neck, a small kitchen scale, and a thermometer, you kneel in front of the wardrobe. In the meantime, Jeongguk sits down on the bed, the cat perched on his lap. He keeps his large hands around her, gently keeping her in place in case she changes her mind.

Very gently, you reach for the smallest kitten first. It squirms in your hands, mouth open and paws sticking out in a silent protest. 

“Sex is notoriously tricky to tell on kittens, especially this small, so I’m not even gonna try,” you say with a smile, giving the kitten a general once-over before focusing on its face. It’s a sweet little thing, crying a little as you inspect it. This one is mostly black but with two white front paws.

“Well, I’d definitely say they’re only a day or two old. This one has a suckle reflex but hasn’t opened its eyes yet. That usually happens between day five and fourteen. The umbilical stump is still attached too, and that usually falls off around day two to four.”

“So that’s… good?” Jeongguk asks, and when you look at him, the mother cat is bumping her head against his abdomen. He peers down at her on his lap, extending his veiny hand in a wordless offer. She accepts it, rubbing her head against his palm and letting him pet her.

“Yeah. That’s normal.”

You return your focus to the little being in your hands, carefully looking into its mouth again to check its gums and palate. 

“Pink gums and no cleft. That’s good, too.”

With one hand, you grab the stethoscope from your neck, putting the earpieces in place. Getting a clear heart or lung reading on kittens this tiny isn’t easy. Their heart rate is fast, making it easy to miss abnormalities, and their small, wriggling bodies make it hard to even position the chestpiece properly in the first place.

Focusing, you hold the kitten still, placing the stethoscope on the left side of its chest just behind the elbow. Then you listen closely, trying to ignore the soft purring from the adult cat.

It sounds… good. Alright, at least. Shifting the stethoscope slightly, you first listen to one lung and then the other. You don’t notice anything abnormal there, either.

“Heart and lungs sound okay,” you declare, slipping the stethoscope back around your neck.

“What’s next?”

“Temperature,” you answer, reaching for the digital thermometer.

“What should their temperature be?”

“Somewhere between thirty-six and thirty-six point five degrees Celsius.”

“Isn’t that a little low? I mean, compared to a human?”

“Adult cats are more similar to humans, but kittens generally run a little colder,” you explain, focusing on getting the reading right. “They don’t have the ability to regulate their body temperature properly for the first couple of weeks.”

The thermometer beeps.

“Thirty-six point two,” you mumble. “So that’s within the range. A little low, but not necessarily dangerous.”

With one hand, you reach for the kitchen scale, setting it on the floor in front of you. It powers on, and once it’s ready, you place the kitten on it, keeping your hand floating above in case the little animal tries to wiggle off the tray.

The number settles, and you read it out loud. “Eighty-one grams.”

“Too small?” Jeongguk wonders.

“On the lower side, but not dangerously so. At least not yet.”

You take the kitten and carefully place it back in the makeshift nest for the moment. Before reaching for another kitten to examine in the same way, you grab a small notebook in your bag, quickly jotting down the numbers so you don’t forget them.

Jeongguk looks on as you inspect the rest of the four kittens, occasionally asking another question. It’s not unusual for pet owners to ask questions, but considering these aren’t even his cats—and from what you gathered, he only found them today—it makes your chest warm. Not everyone would go to such lengths for stray cats. It also doesn’t help your growing soft spot that you get to talk about animals and their anatomy to someone who seems to want to listen. After all, you’re a bit of a nerd, and this is your number one fascination.

One by one, the kittens get their clean bill of health and are placed back on the shirt, and then you shift your focus to their mother. She’s standing on Jeongguk’s lap, still headbutting his chest. While she’s preoccupied, you quietly reach into your bag for the microchip scanner, but the moment you try to get close, she notices and hisses. 

“Give it a try, please?” You hold the scanner out to Jeongguk, keeping as much distance as you can. “Press this button and move the scanner over her, focusing on her neck and back.”

Jeongguk takes the scanner from your outreached hand, doing as you instructed and pressing the button. It beeps, and he begins to move it over her.

“Like this?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed almost angrily as he focuses.

You nod encouragingly. “Yeah.”

“Is it to see if she has an owner?”

“Yes. But sometimes, even if they are microchipped, there's not a registered owner. But we can hope.”

He continues to search for a chip, but when nothing happens, he looks at you with those dark eyes, silently asking what to do.

“Try her belly and even her legs. Sometimes, they migrate.”

Adjusting his grip on the scanner, he moves it lower.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” he says a moment later, handing the scanner back to you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, taking it to put it back in the bag. Although disappointed, you’re not surprised. “Would you mind helping me check her out? She seems to really like you. A whole lot better than she likes me, at least.”

He matches the soft smile you give him. “Sure.”

“Okay, well, she seems to be in okay condition, but I need to rule out any birth-related injuries. 

“What do I do?” he asks, scooting closer to the edge of the bed, the cat still happy to receive his attention. 

“Just… hold her like that… Yes, exactly. And with your other hand, move her tail away for me?”

A little awkwardly, he follows your instructions again, and while you don’t think the cat particularly enjoys it, she doesn’t fight it. You move closer, trying to get a better look while doing your best not to stare at his veiny hands instead. In any other setting, they’d be way too much of a distraction, but knowing that this cat depends on you to evaluate her health, you divert your gaze.

“Alright… I don’t see anything... unusual, no swelling, no blood, no discharge. If she were injured, you’d usually spot it, but she’s not thrilled with me, so I won’t push it,” you chuckle, leaning back.

Having animals dislike you is unfortunately part of the job. Sometimes, it hurts your heart a little, but when you remember that it’s easy for an animal to associate the scrubs or equipment with something unpleasant and maybe even painful, it makes more sense. Briefly, you wonder if this cat has ever been to a vet or if her dislike for you stems from something else. It’s definitely normal for new mothers to have a bit of an attitude, but you’d think that would include every human in the room. Or maybe she doesn’t dislike you in particular; maybe she just really likes Jeongguk. Which... you know, fair.

Almost as if sensing that the examination is over, the black cat jumps down from Jeongguk’s lap, leaping past you to get to her babies. 

“Alright,” you say, wiping your hands on your pants before you stand up. “It’s important not to disturb them too much, but they’ll still need some supervision—especially the small one—just to make sure they continue to eat and grow. And they’ll need a better place to nest, somewhere a little warmer, softer, and less… dusty. No offense.”

Jeongguk chuckles, standing up as well and brushing some cat hairs from his hoodie. “None taken.”

“So, if you want me to, I can take them with me. We have a foster program and a few great volunteers.”

Jeongguk looks down at you, his brows furrowed in confusion this time. “I thought they were too small to be moved?”

“Yeah,” you nod, bending down to quickly gather the rest of the used equipment and put it back in the bag. “Ideally, they wouldn’t need to be. But I understand if you can’t or don't want to look after a stray cat and her kittens.”

“No, it’s… uh… It’s fine,” he says, appearing to land in a decision and sticking by it, his eyes traveling to the little bodies nestled into the white shirt. “It’s not that hard, right? Just keep an eye on them? If you think I can do it, of course. I already have a litter box.”

You blink, a little surprised. “You just happened to have a litter box?”

“No, I asked some neighbors after I called you. I figured you'd have some tips about the other stuff. Like food and such.”

Your smile grows as you watch him. He is… oddly endearing. “Yeah. Of course,” you say, your voice softening. The fewer cats and kitten taking up the very limited space at the volunteers', the better. “Okay.”

You begin drafting an email to send to him. It includes everything you've talked about plus cat food recommendations for the mother cat and a link to a cat bed that’s cheap but comfortable enough for a nursing litter. While you write, you talk him through everything again, like what to watch for, when to weigh them, and what to do if anything seems off.

He asks a few questions, making it very clear—if it wasn’t already—that he doesn’t really have any experience with animals. While he’s never appeared scared or nervous during your visit, you can tell that he’s not quite sure what to do. He moves slowly, almost a little awkwardly around the cats, but it’s more like he doesn’t want to scare them.

“You really like animals,” he points out, watching you tuck your notebook back into the bag.

You glance up at him. His tone isn’t mocking but more... curious. Still, you nod, a little self-conscious of how nerdy you can be.

“Yeah, animals are incredible. Not only because they’re such good companions—some of them at least—but, they’re so fascinating? How they function and how they’ve evolved.”

But there’s something else in his curious gaze that you finally pick up on, and it dawns on you.

“You think I’m a freak too, don’t you?” you say with a smile, pulling the stethoscope you’d forgotten to pack from around your neck and tucking it into the bag as well.

“No, no,” he shakes his head.

You lift an eyebrow. “But you know about it? My paper?”

His eyes are so dark. “Yeah…”

You look away, trying not to let it affect your professionalism. Speaking about it brings up memories you’d rather not be reminded of. “I thought you said you hadn’t been here in forever?”

It’s weird, right? If he doesn’t live here and hasn’t been around in a long time, how would he know the gossip?

“Town called a few years ago. About the electrical wiring needing to be upgraded. So I came here to fix it.”

Oh. That makes sense, you guess. A few years ago was when it first happened. That’s probably also why the yard looked different from what you remembered.

“And you heard about it?”

He smiles apologetically. “Yeah. It’s a small town, I guess.”

“It’s not like I think Ariel is real. Or that dragons roam the sky or that Dracula lives in a dark castle somewhere, wearing a black cape over a white, frilly shirt,” you defend, slinging the bag over your shoulder. “I just wrote about how much we don’t actually know about the living organisms around us and how some of the 'supernatural' traits aren't really that crazy, anatomically speaking.”

“No, I get that,” he assures, sounding like he genuinely didn’t mean to upset you. “I found it very interesting.”

“So is that why you looked so surprised to see me? Because you recognized me?”

“No. Or… well, yeah. I spoke to the receptionist, and she told me a man’s name—Namjoon, I think—would come.”

“Oh.”

“But I did also vaguely recognize you, I think. From the image.”

Lifting your wrist, you glance at the watch. “I should start to head back. Lock the clinic up.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Jeongguk says, and when you meet his dark eyes again, he looks genuine. “I don’t think you’re a freak, I promise.”

“It’s alright,” you say, offering him a quick smile. “I’m not supposed to be out this long anyway. I have to get back and finish up the bill. I’ll email it to you along with the advice, is that okay?”

He nods, clearly accepting that he did in fact upset you to some degree. “Okay. Thank you for the help.”

You smile again, relaxing your shoulders and taking a deep breath. Maybe you should cut him some slack. Technically, he wasn’t even the one to bring your paper up; that was all you. And besides very, very handsome, you haven’t once thought of him as anything other than sweet.

"No problem."

The drive back to the clinic is quiet. You don’t even turn the prehistoric radio on. It doesn’t matter because your thoughts are loud enough anyway, circling back to one thing. One thing and one person.

The paper you wrote in vet school was a mistake. Not that it was bad per se—it was a perfectly science-based paper, focused on the more unusual biological traits found in the animal kingdom. 

Unfortunately, you made the grave mistake of connecting some of those traits to various mythical creatures and their ‘unbelievable’ biology. Some of your peers—predominantly men—found it absolutely ridiculous and teased you for it. The more you tried to defend yourself, the funnier they thought it was.

You’d think it at least would’ve stayed within whatever small circle vet med is, but when your small town happens to be known specifically for the vet med program, a surprisingly large chunk of the population has some connection to it. You’re lucky that not many wish to stay in town after graduating, or you would’ve been last on the list to get a job. You still remember your current boss’s inspecting eyes as she interviewed you, trying to make sure you weren’t actually batshit crazy. That was maybe five or so years ago, and you haven’t really had to think about the paper in probably at least a year. 

Until today. Again, it wasn’t Jeongguk’s fault, you don’t think he even meant for it to be brought up. It still caught you off guard, though, because even if you don’t know him, he didn’t give off the same vibe as the people who laughed at you. And now, you can’t stop thinking about him. About his build, and how the oversized clothes hung off his strong, muscular body. Or his large, veiny hands as he gently pet the mother cat. His dark eyes, sharp jaw, and strong eyebrows. Even his nose—with its straight bridge and softly rounded tip, creating such a striking, masculine profile—had a way of completely mesmerizing you.

Not only is he probably the most attractive man you’ve seen in a long time—maybe ever, but he seemed… warm. You wouldn’t expect a man like him to care for a stray cat and her newborn kittens, much less call a vet out to help, but he did.

Back at the clinic, you take a seat in front of the desktop computer, typing your notes into the chart and updating the bill. Besides the obviously tragic parts of dealing with sick and injured animals, the worst part is probably billing the owners. You need money to live just like everyone else, but you’ll always feel wrong charging worried owners to care for their family members. Even now, as you’re adding the services to… Jeon Jeongguk’s bill, you think about how the cats don’t even belong to him.

The cursor hovers over his name. Who is he? How did he come to be the owner of that house, and why own it if he’s not living there or at least visiting regularly? Why bother even fixing the electrical wiring if it’s just gonna stay empty? And just how long had it been empty?

The questions whirl in your head. Though it’s not really any of your business why he returned, maybe you could’ve at least asked him where he’s from? It would’ve been acceptable small talk, right? Could you also have asked why he felt the need to take care of the cats, even when you offered to take them off his hands, or would that have been rude? 

Realizing that you’re not getting anywhere, you bill him for a standard home visit of half an hour—even though you stayed closer to one—and for the gas just so you don’t lose money on the visit. You don’t add the same day fee or charge him for the used materials.

<previous | next>

author's note: i hope you liked it and are excited for the rest because i think it's gonna be good!!! i also had some moodboard pics of the house made so let me know if you'd like to see them <3

[smartkookiee]

Vampire Boy || Teaser

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𓆩♱𓆪 pairing: vampire!Jungkook x human!Reader (afab, she/her)

𓆩♱𓆪 content: 18+ explicit content, established relationship au, vampire au

𓆩♱𓆪 series warning/tags: golden retriever boyfriend jk, “27” jk 26 reader, oh they are so in love, modern day, vampire activities, blood drinking, fluff, silly, some angst, smut, some gore and blood, blood kink?? (Squint), Jungkook really likes your blood, my own vampire rules?? But similar to traditional vampire rules??, Jungkook is so whipped, past trauma, comedy, y/n is so sweet but also is a little bit of a brat, they are soooo down bad for each other, vampire!Jimin, vampire!Jin, vampire!Hoseok, vampire!Yoongi, other vampire characters (the girlies), these two are little freaks, unprotected sex (Jungkook literally cannot get y/n pregnant), cream pie, fingering, dick riding, oral f and m receiving, discussion of feeding on animals and people, vampire turning trauma, Jungkook is severely afraid of garlic (lmao), vampire traditions and rituals, family trauma, family death

𓆩♱𓆪 description: So your boyfriend is a vampire…It’s actually not too different than having a human boyfriend. He is kind and caring and genuinely loves you. He’s just a touch afraid of garlic and he’s kind of cold. Other than that everything is the same and you couldn’t ask for anyone better. You cannot imagine spending your life with anyone else, except… it would be only your life going on.

which wasn’t a problem… right?

𓆩♱𓆪 teaser word count: 1.4k

Comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list!!

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Jungkook was extremely nervous. 

This was a conversation he had meant to have for a long time. A year, maybe longer. He always found reasons to delay it, to avoid it. It wasn’t going to be a problem telling you; he had gotten the go-ahead from everyone. Actually, he’d had it for over a year now, but their approval didn’t matter. What mattered was what came after he told you.

Were you going to freak out? Would you believe him? Would you be mad? 

A million different scenarios had run through his head all week about how this could go. The possibilities gnawed at him so deeply that he had unintentionally been avoiding you. Not responding to texts or calls as quickly. Avoiding hanging out or dates. It was entirely out of character. The longest the two of you had ever gone without seeing each other was five days, and that was only because of a vacation. Now, over a week had passed, and his silence was suffocating you.

You didn’t think anything was wrong but this sudden distraction and silence from Jungkook was freaking you out. Had you done something or said something to make Jungkook mad? Did you do something that was upsetting? Was he just not feeling it anymore? You had broached the topic of moving in together recently and you wondered if that had made Jungkook uneasy.  Everything seemed fine up until now. Almost perfect even, then suddenly Jungkook had completely distanced himself. 

You were jumping to the worst conclusions, the biggest one, a break up. Which is what you had been emotionally preparing for. Jungkook was going to dump you and you would just have to deal with that. Easily, you could already feel this would be the biggest break up of your life. The both of you had already shared and done so much together, you couldn’t imagine giving yourself to someone else the same way. 

That’s when Jungkook said he wanted to come over tonight to talk about something, you were doing everything in your power to keep yourself composed. You had been shaking and anxious since you got the text. 

Even worse when you get the knock on the door. 

With your hands still shaking and your heart pounding in your ears. You twist the knob and pull the door open, Jungkook standing with a soft smile on his face standing in front of you. The smile disarming you slightly. 

“Hi,” you said, forcing a smile back as you tried to hide the storm brewing inside you.

“Hi baby.” Jungkook hesitates a step forward, but can sense some unease coming from you. “Can I come in?” 

You hadn’t realized that you hadn’t opened the door enough that he could enter. You clear your throat, “Yes… obviously.” You open the door and step to the side so he can come in. The pet name was a good sign but you are still on edge. 

As he walked in, the silence in your studio apartment felt deafening. Every creak of the floorboards, every breath you took, seemed to echo. You closed the door, the sound reverberating through the small space, amplifying the tension. Jungkook paused in the middle of the room, uncharacteristically quiet, his steps heavy with unspoken words.

You moved around him, trying to read his face. He looked tired and conflicted, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip. He avoided your gaze. With your anxiety spiking, you retreated to the bed, the only real place to sit in your tiny space. Perched on the edge, you gripped the blanket beneath you like a lifeline.

“You wanted to talk?” Your voice was a little hoarse. Feeling like your entire body was about to start shaking. 

Jungkook nodded, his fingers fidgeting as if searching for something to anchor him. “I… I don’t really know how to say this,” he began, pacing back and forth. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long, and now that I’m here, I… I don’t know how.”

The growing sense of dread in your chest felt unbearable. You couldn’t take it anymore. “If…” You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat. “If you’re just going to dump me, please don’t drag it out. Just say it.”

Jungkook's eyes widened for a moment, “What?” 

You look at him, seeing the visible confusion on his face. “That’s what this is right? You wanted to talk… and that typically means you want to end things.” 

“Y/N.” Jungkook starts but with a wave of your hand you cut him off. 

“No, it’s okay. If that’s what this is, it's fine, just please don’t make me wait to hear it.” You hadn’t realized but you were digging your fingers into your mattress now. So hard your knuckles had gone white.

Jungkook paused for a second before he laughed, tilting his head. Eyes sympathetic.  “Oh baby.” He comes over and kneels on the ground in front of you. 

“Don’t laugh at me.” You whine, his smile felt almost mocking now. 

“I’m not laughing at you. I’m not breaking up with you.” Jungkook sighs, he reaches and takes your hands in yours. Lacing your fingers together, “I love you, I don’t want to break up.” 

You stay silent, his face has returned to its familiar soft nature versus the stressed one a moment ago. He wasn’t lying. “What?” 

“We aren’t breaking up.” Jungkook kisses both of your hands, soothingly. Holding them close. Watching your face morph from concern to relaxation as his words settle in. “Why would you think that?”

You let out a heavy sigh you didn’t realize you were holding in, “Oh… We had talked about moving in. I thought I had freaked you out or something and you were going to bolt.” 

Jungkook laughed some more, just a quiet laugh under his breath. “You really think asking me to move in together freaked me out? We basically live together already.” 

Your mouth falls into a pout, “I don’t know! You were all quiet and weird! I didn’t see you this week and you were barely talking to me!” You lay back on your bed, covering your face with your hands. Maybe you did jump to too many conclusions, but all the behavior this week was weird. 

Jungkook gets to his feet but lays down next to you on your bed. “I do have something to tell you and it is serious. I just didn’t know how I wanted to tell you yet so I didn’t want to talk to you until I figured out how I wanted to do it.” He rested his hand on your stomach, wanting to pull you closer but letting you stay where you were. 

You peak between your fingers to look at him. Jungkook's eyes are full of love only for you and no malicious intent behind them. “Is it going to give me a heart attack? Like the one you almost just gave me?” 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Might be confusing but hopefully no heart attack.” 

“Well tell me. I can handle basically any news you have for me now.” You both sit back up on your bed. You pull your legs under you so your legs are crossed together. 

Jungkook paused. Now he really had to face the music. You could tell whatever it was really was serious and probably wasn’t going to be easy. He just needed to do it. He just needed to rip the band aid off and say it. Get it off his chest. There was no easy way to say it, and he would spend a lifetime explaining if he needed to. 

“Okay.” He stayed quiet for a moment, “I-... shit this is hard.” 

You watched as he figured this out in his mind. You could tell he was really jumping through hoops. “You’re not pregnant right? I’m not ready to be a dad.”

You laugh at your own joke but Jungkook just rolls his eyes with a smile. Knowing you aren’t serious and just trying to break the tension. “This is serious!”

“Sorry. Take your time. You know you can say anything to me.” You say with sincerity, reaching a hand to rub his arm. 

“I know.” He nodded, “It just changes a lot.” 

“Okay now you are really making me nervous.” You shift uncomfortably on the bed, you really hoped something wasn’t seriously wrong. Like he was sick or something.

He looks between your eyes for a moment, the whole nature of the relationship you two had built will change. Everything that you knew would suddenly be different. That terrified him. He couldn’t predict what would happen next. He can say everything perfect and could be just right and still not know what you would do next. 

He just needed to say it. 

“I’m… I’m a vampire.” Jungkook whispers.

Your eyebrows knit together, “What?”

Jungkook takes in a long long deep breath, meeting your eyes. “I’m a vampire.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A/N: Happy New Year Everyone!!! This was one of the surprises I had for the new year! This is going to be a four part mini series that I have wanted to do for a couple of months!! I hope you all will enjoy it!! I'm not sure when the first part will be posted but I wanted to get the teaser out in the new year so you all could get a little sneak peak (I adore these two and I know you all will love them too, they are so silly).

I was really wanting to do an established relationship but didn't want to do a full story so this will fulfill that for me hehehe. Oh also every chapter is going to be very long so the updates may take some time but will be full of so much content.

[hamburgerndsprite]

Sprite's Favourite Fics {Bangtan Fics} Part 1

Note: This is my first time creating a list of my favorite fanfics. I’ve been on Tumblr for quite a while, and it can be exhausting to sift through all my liked posts to find a specific story. So, I'm putting together this list to make it easier for myself and others looking for some good fanfics to read. I’m still a bit unsure about how to structure this list, but let’s give it a try! Also, all the moodboards are edited by me and therefore I request everyone not to repost them as theirs.

[Masterlist]

[OT7]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ Coming Home by moonstruck-poet

Pairing- Kang Taehyun x sister!OC, BTS x platonic! OC Summary - Kang Ari comes back from the military for a couple of days to surprise her brother on his birthday.

➺ The Gateway to Your Heart by justimajin

Pairing: OT7 x Reader  Genre: Fluff, Cuteness, Sprinkles of Angst ↳ Magic Shop AU Words: 7.2k Warnings: None!  Summary:  ❝You gave me the best of me, so you give you the best of you.❞  

➺ Requested Drabble by minniepetals

Genre: CEO AU Synopsis: “I love you and I thought everything was okay but I guess not...“

[KIM NAMJOON]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ Nervous by etherealacoustic

Pairing - Kim Namjoon x Female! Reader Summary - Your husband Namjoon and BTS get an invitation to the White House. He's nervous so you comfort him.

➺ His Goodluck Charm by etherealacoustic

Pairing - Kim Namjoon x wife Reader Summary - It'll soon be Namjoon's performance but you had been travelling and were not present during the start.

{SERIES}

➺ Nine Months by gimmesumsuga

Summary: “Your due date has come and gone. Namjoon’s excited and you’re uncomfortable, but you’re both equally as impatient to meet your little girl.” Pairings: Namjoon x Reader Rating: 15+ Warnings:  Pregnancy, Birth, and all the icky bodily fluids that come along with it.

➺ A Dangerous Game by chaoticpuff17

Genre: A Yandere Mafia Au

➺ Guilty by xjoonchildx

pairing: namjoon X reader summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

[KIM SEOKJIN]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ Real by Jiminrings

pairing: seokjin x reader wordcount: 13k glimpse: single dad!jin has all the money to blow off in the world but not time, and swim instructor!y/n just nEEDS to meet this student’s dad who’s never there to pick her up :D ft. someone’s ex that just had to be an olympic swimmer

{SERIES}

➺ The Profit & Love Statement by justimajin

↠ Pairing: Seokjin x Reader ↠ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst ↳ Office AU ↠ Word Count: 105.9k / 24 parts ↠ Summary: The workplace isn’t for everyone. It can be mundane and repetitive, with some describing it like a nuisance and others as a blessing. You’re the kind that leans more towards the latter and while it does make you an ideal candidate for many things, nothing could have prepared you for the whirlwind that is the new employee.

➺ The a-listers by httpknjoon

pairing | actor!jin x famous!reader genres | humor/crack, fluff, angst, actors!au plot | Meet Y/N and Jin, two of Hollywood's hottest celebrities and couple — or are they? Media and fans have been wanting to hear a confirmation for years now. But you two are always good at confusing everyone. Watch as everyone else play this guessing game of what's the relationship between Y/N and Jin.

[MIN YOONGI]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ CEO Yoongi by jungshookz

→ pairing: min yoongi x secretary reader  → genre: ceo!au, clumsy!y/n because that’s always nice, jimin is ur best friend, floofy fluff, a touch of nsfw aka office sex → wordcount: 21k+

➺ Requested Drabble by jungshookz

summary- oc has this big ol crush on yoongi and she’s like hella shy around him and they’re paired up for a project and oc is debating if she should say “can you help me” or “can you hold this” but it comes out like “can you hold me” and cheeky yoongi actually does it hehe

➺ Like flowers we bloom by cupofteaguk

pairing: yoongi x fem!reader genre: bad boy au | fluff warnings: slow burn, some knowledge of flowers, yoongi is a meanie in the beginning </3  word count: 5k  summary: in which a garden isn’t the only thing you’re building with Min Yoongi 

➺ No Choice (next to you) by gukyi

pairing: yoongi x reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 13k summary:the pros of your last-minute senior year apartment sublet: cheap, furnished, close to campus, in a gorgeous old victorian conversion home, and right next to the greek takeout place. the cons of your last-minute senior year apartment sublet: min yoongi, senior member of the beta tau sigma fraternity, and his party-throwing, vodka-loving, ruckus-making fraternity buddies, are your neighbors.

➺ One Chance by out-of-jams

↠ Summary ↞ Min Yoongi was a lot of things. A musical genius, a guy with a bad reputation, your assigned partner for your final project. And the last thing you ever would have expected. Word Count: 7.4k Warnings/Genre: College!au. Music producer!Yoongi x Singer!Reader. Fluff. Explicit language. Some angst. Mentions of alcohol. s2l. Oneshot.

{SERIES}

➺ It's a Reverse Basket by justimajin

⇝ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader ⇝ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst ↳ Basketball AU, Crossdressing AU ⇝ Word Count: 90.5k / 21 parts   ⇝ Summary: The goal has never been in your favor, and despite all your best efforts, you don’t think it ever will be. But that’s right when you finally get the chance to turn things around, to do things the way you’ve always wanted to, and to go after what you truly love. However the problem isn’t if you can do it, it’s how much are you willing to do...?

➺ Love is... on tour by httpknjoon

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader genre | enemies to lovers synopsis | Tell everyone you know, Love Is... On Tour! Popstar!YN is set to start her sophomore world tour with her new hit songs, sparkly outfits, and talented live band. There are 352 days of this tour, which means 352 days of YN and her new bassist, Yoongi getting on each other's skin in every way possible.

➺ Fail-Safe by Jiminrings

pairing: yoongi x reader glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration. alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least. warning: [ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

➺ Greedy by xjoonchildx

Pairing: yoongi x reader Summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now. until you.

[JUNG HOSEOK]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ No Time For Love by Jiminrings

pairing: doctor!hoseok x nurse!y/n wordcount: 3k glimpse: "If something happens to you, you come to me — not to the receptionist you like chatting with on your lunch breaks."

➺ Base Line by Jiminrings

pairing: hoseok x y/n wordcount: 3k glimpse: hoseok swears that you’re intolerable, but maybe that’s just because you don’t greet him good morning like you usually do

{SERIES}

➺ Guarded by xjoonchildx

Pairing: Hoseok x reader Summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

[PARK JIMIN]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ A Bite of Sin (M) by sangsanghaebwa

Genre: Smut, vampire!AU, (a bit of angst?) Word count: 4748 Description: After one fateful accident your entire life changes, but so does Jimin, leaving you bitter and lonely until you both break down. Warnings: Mature content

➺ While You're Sleeping by parkdatjimin

warnings: heavy angst, reader unleashes some insecurities to Jimin while he's sleeping, mentions of divorced parents and anxiety wc: 1.6K

➺ To Love You by alessiamalfoyzabini

Pairing | wanted!Jimin x princess!Reader Word Count | 16,1k Summary | You have been separated from your beloved and your kingdom is under the rule of a heartless man, but all is not lost.

➺ Sweetheart by indgio

↳ pairing park jimin x f!reader ↳ genre e2l / lawyer!au / wc 2.8k ↳ warnings very heated make-out session LMAO / ft. bff!taekook / oc is honestly just full of rage

➺ Blooming Days by bluekyun

Genre: fluff, smut, angst & humour Word Count: 15.390 Rating: NC-17 Summary: A typical night for you begins at the library in your favorite chair underneath the lamp in the corner, only to be picked up at 3am by your best friend, Jimin. Despite having slept over in his room several times before, this certain night in Sigma house leads to far more than you ever imagined. But what is to come of your friendship once you reveal those two little lines that will change your lives forever?

➺ Rebound by out-of-jams

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Word Count: 7k. Warnings/Genre: College!au. s2l. Explicit language. Alcohol use. Slight angst. Jealousy. Pining. One shot. PG 16. ↠ Summary ↞ Who cared if Kim Taehyung slept with other people? You sure as hell didn’t. That was what friends with benefits meant, right? No, it didn’t matter that you were halfway in love with him. And no, you sure as hell weren’t going to try and make him jealous with a complete stranger. Nope, not at all. Right? Right.

➺ What I did for Love by krreader

pairing: park jimin x reader genre: angst ; fluff ; mentions of smut summary: Park Jimin had long given up on hope of finding love and thought being a sugar daddy was just an easier way to get what he wanted. but when you start developing feelings for him, to a point where he knew you loved him, he couldn’t help but wonder what love might feel like... 

{SERIES}

➺ Heartburn by Jiminrings

pairing: jimin x reader glimpse: you know it’d happen eventually and you’ve been preparing yourself for the impending hurt — you just don’t want it now. Not now when it’s nearing jimin’s little sister’s birthday; not now when you can swear love isn’t the only thing you can put on the table. alternatively, jimin emotionally cheats on you while your wedding’s six months away. warnings: heavy angst (pls i am once again apologizing to the people that cried bc of this ily), emotional cheating, emotional constipation n baggage, insecurities, broken relationship w parents, intense longing and hurt i can't put into words + specified tags in each installment!

[KIM TAEHYUNG]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ Falling in crayolove by jungshookz

✎ pairing: kim taehyung x reader ✎ genre: kindergartenteacher!au, workingman!au, F L U F F, tiny bit of angst at the start :-( but this is literally 98% fluff; y/n and taehyung are like two little kids with little crushes on each other ✎ trigger warning(s): implications of getting an abortion!!   ✎ wordcount: 10.5k ✎ summary: y/n is a single mom and taehyung is a single kindergarten teacher. emma knows exactly what she needs to do.

➺ Stuck with You by jungshookz

❥ pairing: kim taehyung x reader ❥ genre: university!au, enemies-to-lovers, fratboy!tae??, comedy that’ll either make you chuckle out loud or roll your eyes and snoRT or maybe u won’t laugh that’s cool too, domestic fluff because i want to go grocery shopping with tae toO (but also fluff in general!!), smutty smut so make sure to read this with your phone’s brightness lowered all the dang way, hi @ librarian!namjoon!!! fratboy!jungkook is also in here  ❥ wordcount: 37k ❥ summary: kim taehyung becoming your new roommate is definitely up there on the list of the worst things that have ever happened to you. 

➺ In Bloom {M} by untaemedqueen

Pairing: Tattooed&Pierced!Taehyung x Wife!Reader WordCount: 6.2k Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut Summary:  A tattoo artist taehyung, and a florist's wife reader, have their shops side by side, and one day they fight, and taehyung feels bad because of which he visits her with their daughter but she’s very angry, so he plans a trip to take her to a garden where they met for the first time and they make up, with some smut and the reader revealing she’s expecting.

➺ Swoon by minisugakoobies

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader Genre: fluff, enemies to lovers, non-Idol!AU Word Count: 3.6k Summary: “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”  Warnings: swearing, kissing, Tae's wearing his red leather jacket from his Paris trip, we've also got Disco Jungkook and Harley Quinn Jimin in here

➺ Soft Spot by v-hope

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader Genre: Fluff Word Count: 2k Summary: "where Tae is super soft for the reader who is a part of the staff and everyone starts noticing."

{SERIES}

➺ Catching a Case of Doctor Blues by justimajin

⇢ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader  ⇢ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst ↳ Doctor/Surgeon AU, Enemies to Lovers AU  ⇢ Word Count: 67.4k / 20 parts ⇢ Summary: When asked about Dr. Kim, a string of beautifully aligned words are ready spew from your lips. You could possibly go on and on about how his wonderful stubbornness wasn’t similar to talking to a brick wall, or how his observation skills were especially great in preparing your blood vessels for a drastic rupture or even how one gracious stare of his nearly had you on the verge of ripping your essential documents in half. But it seems that, perhaps, there was a lot more to Dr. Kim then what meets the eye...

[ JEON JUNGKOOK]

{ONE-SHOTS}

➺ Requested drabble by jungshookz

summary- jungkook and yn do this thing where they fake marriage proposals to get free stuff in restaurants until jungkook is actually seriously proposing to his long time gf yn and she doesn't get the clue

➺ if-then by Jiminrings

pairing: jungkook x reader wordcount: 7k Glimpse: you're an alien in prince jungkook's planet — both literally and figuratively. alternatively, jungkook gives his nickname for you to someone else in a fit of anger, and you've never been more upset. Warning: [ fluff, angst, painfully oblivious n dense alien koo, mutual pining (yes MUTUAL!!!!), the glaring concept of not being good n whole enough to deserve love (yikes but i Swear it gets better), mentions of injuries ]

➺ Mature by Jiminrings

pairing: jungkook x reader wordcount: 8k Glimpse: the good thing about professing your feelings to jungkook is that it'd be over with, whether or not he likes you back — the bad thing is that he rejects you, even if you haven't confessed. alternatively, crushing on jungkook who's in your friend group is, has, and will never be a good idea. Warning: [ push n pull fic YIPPPEEEEE, fluff, angst, So Much Yearning, friends to lovers trope, jealousy, dunking on a stewpid jk (as one does), arguments that kinda hit home, redemption!! ]

➺ Out of Gas? {M} by 97kuu

Paring: Jungkook x reader! Genre; jungkookbestfriend! Friends to lovers! WC; under 3k Summary; It was a setup between Taehyung, namjoon and Jungkook to get him to hook up with you in the car. However, his guilty heart and physical desire revealed that he wanted more than what he was willing to confess that night..

➺ Fifth Wish by Jiminrings

pairing: jungkook x reader wordcount: 18k Glimpse: jeon jungkook, world-class socialite and nepotism baby, should be out every night to celebrate while he’s at his prime. why should he fake-date his bodyguard instead? alternatively, jungkook regularly throws coins to wishing wells with only one desire in mind — to get rid of you. Warning: [ angst, unrequited love (at first), emotional constipation, jk is Very Frustrating to be with, so much pining, the constant repetition of the notion that one must amount to something to be deserving of love, rlly wholesome fluff, mentions of blood n injuries, whole 360 redemption arc dw i am not evil ]

➺ Tutus & Tiaras (M) by 1kook

DILF!JK SPECIAL! rating m (18+) word count 10k summary: your first pregnancy through the lens of your husband

➺ Gamer Boy {M} by hoebii

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader Genre : Established Relationship!Au, Smut Rating : 18+ Warnings : sexual content, unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism I guess?  Wc : 2.3k

[jincapableoflove]

Bloodstained Oath | One-shot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre: immortal knight! jungkook x vampire queen! reader, vampire au, fantasy, dark romance, SMUT, angst.

Summary: You are untouchable. Feared and worshipped by all. And he's the knight who has sworn himself to you. When you finally call him to your chambers, he offers everything, his blood, devotion, and his very being. After all, you are no ordinary woman. You are a creature of the night, and Jungkook has longed to be yours.

Word count: 5.6k+

Warnings: unprotected sex, bloodplay, biting, devotion/worship, oral (m receiving), dom/sub, jungkook is a sub, edging, slight pain play, marking/claiming, overstimulation, light breathplay. (lmk if I missed smth)

MOODBOARD

A/N: minors dni. count how many times I used the word 'devotion' in this fic lmaoo

Slash.

Your blade cuts through flesh like a knife through wet parchment. The soldier barely has time to gasp before crumpling at your feet, eyes wide in shock as the life drains from them. You don’t stop to watch them fall. Another comes at you, sword raised in a desperate arc, but it’s slow. Clumsy. Predictable.

A flick of your wrist, and your steel pierces their throat.

The battlefield reeks of smoke, sweat, and the sharp metallic tang of fresh blood. The cries of the dying mix with the clash of steel. The sky above is thick with storm clouds, swirling dark and furious as if the heavens themselves bear witness to this slaughter.

And beside you, he fights.

Jungkook moves like a wraith through the carnage, every strike precise, every motion an extension of his unwavering devotion. His sword is slick with the blood of your enemies, his armor streaked with crimson, but his expression remains unreadable. He never falters. Never hesitates. If you turn, he is there. If you advance, he follows. He is as much a part of your being as the dark and endless power that flows beneath your skin.

And the battle is over before it truly begins.

The last of the opposing army collapses under the weight of your might. Those still standing are stripped of their weapons forced to their knees in the mud. Their leaders are dragged forward, their bodies shaking in fear. The field is silent now, save for the ragged breathing of the survivors and the occasional pained groan of the wounded who still cling to life.

Victory is yours.

It had been inevitable the moment your secret was exposed. Only your inner court knew the truth of what you were. Someone had let the secret slip. Someone had turned the kingdom against you. Whispers of the Queen’s unnatural longevity, of her insatiable hunger, of the power lurking in her veins were well spread now.

At first, they had dismissed it as a myth. But then the whispers turned to fear. And fear breeds rebellion.

So they rose against you, gathering armies under banners of righteousness. They spun tales of salvation, of freeing the land from the “monster” who sat upon the throne.

And now, they kneel. Trembling and waiting for judgment.

Jungkook stands at your side, as he always does. The blood-splattered sword still clutched in his hand, his breathing steady despite the massacre. His hair is damp with sweat, dark strands sticking to his forehead, but his posture remains unshaken.

And even now, with bodies strewn across the battlefield, with the scent of death thick in the air, he looks at you as if you are a goddess.

The captured traitors kneel before you, their wrists bound and heads bowed in fear. They know what is coming. Some weep. Some pray to whatever gods they believe in. None will be heard.

“Please have mercy,” one dares to whisper, voice hoarse.

Mercy? You smile cruelly. “Let this serve as a lesson.”

With a tilt of your head, Jungkook moves. And one by one, the betrayers fall beneath his blade.

His movements are precise, methodical. There is no hesitation, no wasted motion. A sword raised and then a clean, effortless beheading. Blood spills into the soil, pooling at your feet. He does not flinch, does not falter. He has done this before. He will do it again.

Your most loyal knight. A perfect executioner.

But still, you watch him closely. His hands are steady. His gaze never wavers. But would they tremble if he knew you were watching him the way he watches them?

When the last head rolls, silence falls over the battlefield. Your remaining army stands at attention, waiting. The air is heavy, thick with expectation.

Jungkook turns to you then, falling to one knee. His sword rests at your feet, and then his dark eyes flicker upwards to meet yours.

You notice his hands twitch at his sides. Always ready. Always waiting.

A thought takes root in your mind, one that has lingered for far too long. You tilt your head, voice low, teasing.

"Tell me, my knight. Does your devotion extend beyond the battlefield?"

Jungkook does not hesitate.

He bows his head, breathes the words like an oath.

“My Queen, I am yours.”

The air in the palace is thick with the scent of burning incense curling in slow tendrils toward the vaulted ceiling. Somewhere beyond these walls, the echoes of victory can be heard, laughter spilling from drunken lips, the rhythmic pounding of drums, the distant sound of celebration as your court feasts in your honor.

Yet here, within the throne room, there is only silence.

You sit upon your throne, fingers tracing absent patterns against the cool metal of your crown. It is a symbol of power and dominance, showcasing the centuries you have ruled. But at this moment, it is nothing more than cold weight against your skin.

Victory should be satisfying. It should be absolute. And yet… something lingers. Something unfinished.

You know what it is.

With a flick of your wrist, you summon him. The guards bow, disappearing into the halls to retrieve your knight.

Jungkook.

Your most devoted, your most trusted. And yet, the one who has unsettled something within you for longer than you care to admit.

The wait is not long. It never is with him.

He enters without hesitation. His steps are disciplined each movement precise and controlled. He bows low, but his eyes never leave you.

His armor gleams under the dim candlelight, polished as if to erase the evidence of battle. Yet traces remain. Stubborn stains on his gauntlets, dark smudges along the edges of his breastplate, the last remnants of war clinging to him like a shadow that refuses to fade.

There is no fear in his gaze. No hesitation. No uncertainty.

He stands before you as he always has, as if he has always known you would call for him.

His devotion is unquestionable.

But as you watch him, as you take in the quiet intensity of his stare, the way his hands remain at his sides yet never truly still… you wonder if he even knws the depth of his own obedience.

You rise from your throne, slow and deliberate. The faint clink of your jewelry is the only sound as you step forward, circling him like a predator sizing up prey.

Jungkook does not move. His posture remains impeccable, his shoulders squared, and his chin lifted not in defiance but in unwavering submission. His expression is unreadable, but you know him well enough to sense what lingers beneath the surface.

Tension. Restraint. A quiet anticipation that vibrates in the air between you.

You test him. Fingers grazing his jaw, tilting his chin up just enough to force his gaze to yours. A lesser man would flinch, would shy away from your touch, uncertain whether it is a gift or a warning.

Jungkook does neither.

He remains perfectly still, his breath measured and controlled. But you feel the unspoken war raging beneath his calm exterior. His hunger is not for power, not for freedom.

No, it is something far more primal. Far more dangerous.

You wonder if he has spent centuries waiting for this moment. Waiting for you to look at him, not as a knight, not as a tool, but as something more.

He has given you everything including his blade, his loyalty, his blood.

But is that truly all he desires?

You do not grant him what he seeks so easily. That would be too simple. Too merciful. Instead, you test him. A test with words.

“Would you give me anything I desire, Jungkook?”

His answer comes without hesitation. “Yes, my Queen.”

His answer is steady and certain. But is it instinct, or something deeper?

You step closer, close enough that the candlelight flickers in his dark eyes. His breath remains even, his shoulders squared, but you know him too well. You see the slightest tension in his throat, the way his fingers flex before stilling at his sides.

“You have given me everything,” you murmur. “Your loyalty. Your strength. But do you give it freely?”

For the first time, there is a pause. So brief, so fleeting, it might have gone unnoticed if you weren’t watching him so intently.

Then, reverently, he answers.

“What is freedom to a man who has only ever lived for you?”

Satisfaction hums through you at his reply. It is the answer you expected, the answer you demanded, and yet it still pleases you to hear it fall from his lips.

Without another word, you turn, stepping past him, knowing he will follow.

He does.

Your steps are slow, deliberate, echoing through the dimly lit corridors as you lead him toward your chambers. You do not look back, yet you feel his presence. There is no hesitation in his footsteps, no question of where this night will lead.

When you finally reach your doors, you pause only to push them open, stepping inside without waiting. He follows as if drawn by an unseen force, as if this is inevitable.

The heavy doors shut behind him, the iron lock sliding into place with a finality that seems to settle between you both.

Jungkook stands before you, shoulders squared, gaze steady. No surprise lingers on his face, no uncertainty. If anything, there is something else in his dark eyes, something like quiet acceptance.

Almost as if he had been waiting for this. Expecting it.

You tilt your head, watching him, searching for any sign of fear. You find none. Lifting a hand, you trace your fingers along the collar of his armor, feeling the warm metal beneath your touch. Then, softer now, more dangerous, you ask,

"Will you give me your body, your blood? Would you let me consume you?"

His breath shudders, but his answer does not waver.

"Yes. Anything."

That’s all it takes before you pull him toward you, baring your fangs.

Your hands move with urgency, pushing aside the heavy layers of armor that shield him. The breastplate clatters to the ground, followed by the straps and clasps of his pauldrons. Beneath the steel, his tunic clings to his skin, damp with the heat of battle, the lingering scent of blood still fresh on him.

Jungkook does not resist. He never does.

His chest rises and falls, controlled but uneven, as you tilt his head to the side, exposing the column of his throat. The skin there is marred with old scars, remnants of wars fought in your name. Yet, he offers it freely, tilting into your touch, showing is full submission.

And then, you strike.

Your teeth sink into his neck, piercing skin and flesh, and a gasp wrenches from his throat. His body tenses, then melts into you as though he was made for this. Made for you.

You feed slowly at first, savoring the way he trembles, the shudder that rolls through his frame. He does not pull away. If anything, he leans into it, his hands gripping your waist, fingers pressing into you as if to anchor himself.

The act is unmistakably intimate. Erotic.

His breaths come in shallow pants, growing heavier as you drink from him, your fangs buried deep in his flesh. The wet, sinful sound of blood sliding over your tongue fills the space between you. You feel the way his pulse flutters beneath your lips, how his body tenses when you drink a little faster.

The hunger in you stirs, insatiable. The blood seeps from the wound, trailing down his throat, and you press your tongue against it, lapping at the warm liquid before soothing the punctures with a slow, deliberate drag.

A shudder wracks his body, a breathless sound spilling from his lips, raw and wanting.

And still he does not pull away.

By now, his arousal is undeniable, straining against the confines of his pants. The evidence of his desire presses against the fabric, aching nd desperate, but he says nothing. He wouldn’t dare.

Your hand drifts downward, fingers trailing along his abdomen before slipping lower, cupping the rigid length of him through the thick material. Even through the fabric, he is burning, his cock heavy and throbbing in your palm.

Jungkook sucks in a sharp breath, his body going rigid for a moment before he exhales, shuddering. His hips twitch ever so slightly, barely perceptible but you notice.

His need is palpable, almost suffocating in the way he holds himself back, trembling beneath your touch, yet refusing to beg. He wants more. more friction, more of you but he knows he has no right to ask for it.

So he takes what you give him, whimpering when you press your palm harder against him, dragging slow, deliberate strokes over his length. The friction is both a relief and a torment, not nearly enough to satisfy, yet too much to bear in silence.

A strangled moan catches in his throat, and his fingers tighten around your waist. He wonders how you haven’t reprimanded him for touching you, how you allow his hands to rest upon you so freely. The thought only makes his restraint waver further.

He wants to explore. To let his hands roam, to feel the curves of your body beneath his fingers, to worship you in ways he has only imagined for centuries. But he does not dare.

So he remains still, trembling, waiting, hoping.

You are pleased with his reactions, the way he trembles under your touch yet holds himself back, waiting for your command.

So you decide to be merciful just a little.

“Undress,” you say, voice smooth and commanding. “Lay yourself bare for me.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. His hands move with practiced efficiency, unfastening the ties of his tunic and pulling it over his head in one swift motion. The fabric falls to the floor, revealing the expanse of his chest, skin scattered withth scars from healed wounds.

His fingers work at the laces of his pants next, undoing them swiftly. There is no shame in his movements, only purpose. He is shedding more than just clothing; he is offering himself to you, wholly, completely.

The moment he tugs down his undergarments, his cock springs free, hard and eager, flushed at the tip.

Your eyes trail down, taking in the sight of him. The length is impressive, thick enough to stretch, with prominent veins running along the shaft. A bead of precum gathers at the tip, glistening under the candlelight.

It almost makes your mouth water.

Jungkook lies himself down on the massive bed, his body tense with anticipation. His chest rises and falls with slow, controlled breaths, but you can feel the heat radiating from him, the barely restrained need coursing through his veins. He is waiting for you to take what is yours.

But you are not so kind as to grant him relief so easily.

You climb atop him, your body pressing flush against his, your weight a deliberate reminder of his submission. His cock twitches against his abdomen, but you ignore it, focusing instead on the way his lips part ever so slightly as you lean in.

Then you kiss him hard.

Jungkook gasps into your mouth, and you take advantage, deepening the kiss, your tongue claiming him in a way he has only ever dreamed of. He tastes of devotion, of longing, and you drink him in, reveling in the way he trembles beneath you.

Your fangs descend, sharp and eager, and you sink them into his lower lip, puncturing the soft flesh. A sharp inhale—his body stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away. Warm, coppery blood floods your mouth, rich and intoxicating, and you moan as you suck at the wound, savoring every drop.

Jungkook’s hands hover beside you, uncertain. He has fantasized about this moment for centuries, imagined all the ways he might worship you if ever given the chance. And yet now, with you consuming him, he doesn’t know what to do.

But one thing he knows for certain: he must not defy you.

Jungkook waits patiently, his hands hovering just shy of your body as if he dares not touch without permission. You revel in his obedience, but you are not yet satisfied. You lean in, pressing your lips to his ear, whispering dark, sinful things, watching for the cracks in his restraint.

His breath hitches, his fingers twitch at his sides, but he does not break.

Not yet.

His hands finally come to rest against your body, ghosting over the fine fabric of your royal robes. The heavy garment is embroidered with intricate gold patterns, the deep crimson fabric flowing like blood with every movement. It drapes over your shoulders, cinched at the waist with delicate chains, leaving only hints of skin visible. It feels like a barrier he is not yet worthy of removing.

You pull away from the kiss at last, leaving him breathless. His lips are swollen, slick with the remnants of his own blood. His head spins slightly, whether from the loss of blood or the sheer intensity of your presence, he does not know.

You sit up, bringing him with you, guiding him to move as you wish. His hands find their place on your body, worshipful, mapping the curves and dips of your form as if committing you to memory.

Then, he hesitates slightlyhis gaze flickering up to meet yours, seeking permission.

You offer him the barest nod.

Emboldened, his hands cup your breasts through the fabric, molding around them, squeezing slightly. His thumbs graze over your nipples, teasing through the layers of silk and embroidery, but you offer him no further mercy.

You watch as frustration flickers in his darkened gaze. He wants to feel your skin beneath his hands, to see you bared before him. But he knows better than to demand.

He will have to earn it.

Your hand trails downward, fingers wrapping around the thick length of his cock, the heat of him burning against your palm. His breath stutters as you stroke him slowly, teasingly, letting your fingers glide over the flushed tip where precum beads and drips onto your skin.

You spread the slickness down his shaft, your grip firm but agonizingly measured. He groans, hips twitching into your touch, though he restrains himself from outright thrusting into your palm.

"Already so desperate," you murmur, watching the way his muscles tense beneath you. "And I’ve barely even touched you."

A moan escapes him when you finally lower your head, lips brushing over the sensitive tip before you take him into your mouth in one smooth motion.

His fingers clutch at the sheets before moving to the back of your head, hesitant at first, then bolder when you don���t stop him. His grip tightens as you suck harder, tongue tracing every vein, every ridge.

Your pace quickens, the obscene sounds of your mouth working him over filling the chamber. His control begins to slip, hiip stuttering forward, his need overcoming his restraint. He starts to fuck into your mouth, his groans raw, breath ragged.

But just as he nears the edge, just as his thighs tremble and his grip turns bruising, you pull away.

His cock slips from your lips with a wet pop, slick and throbbing, denied the release he so desperately craves.

Jungkook lets out a frustrated, needy whine, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes are dazed, his lips parted, his expression utterly wrecked.

You simply smile, dragging a finger across your swollen lips before tilting your head.

“Are you pouting, my knight?” you tease. “How unseemly.”

You lean back once again, taking your time, unfastening each clasp, each layer of fabric that conceals your body from his desperate gaze. Your fingers move with deliberate slowness, teasing the anticipation that already has him trembling.

The first thing to go is the heavy outer robe, the rich fabric slipping down your shoulders, pooling at your feet like discarded silk. Next, the delicate material covering your torso, barely shielding the bare skin beneath. You tug it down, exposing the soft swell of your breasts, but you not fully, just enough to torment him, to watch the way his cock twitches in response.

His breathing grows uneven, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, fighting the urge to reach for you.

“You’re holding back,” you observe, amused.

Jungkook swallows hard, his jaw tightening. “I have to.”

You hum in approval and continue, letting each remaining piece of clothing slide down your form, revealing inch by inch of bare skin. His eyes darken, pupils blown wide with hunger.

And then, as you shift slightly on the bed, his gaze catches on something else. The faint, glistening stain beneath you, the proof of your arousal soaking into the sheets.

His breath hitches.

You smirk, tilting your head. “See what you do to me?”

His cock twitches again, the need in his expression almost unbearable. But he still does not touch. He waits because you have not given him permission.

You spread your legs for him, your fingers trailing downward, parting your slick folds with a slow, deliberate motion. The tiny pink pearl at the center of your arousal glistens in the dim candlelight, and Jungkook gasps, his hands flexing at his sides as if physically restraining himself from reaching for you.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his voice hoarse with longing. “May I…?” He hesitates, swallowing. “Do I have the luxury of tasting you, my Queen?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Not tonight.”

A flicker of disappointment crosses his features, but he does not argue. He wouldn’t dare.

“This is your reward,” you remind him, tilting his chin up so he meets your gaze. “For fighting so fearlessly beside me. For all those centuries of devotion.”

His breath shudders as he exhales, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him as if to ground himself.You spread yourself wider, letting him see every glistening inch of what he’s denied. “Tonight, you take. And I will give.”

You lift yourself onto his lap, your thighs framing his hips as you settle against him. The moment your soaked folds press against his length, Jungkook lets out a strained moan, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. But you don’t grant him what he craves.

Instead, you roll your hips, dragging your slick heat along his length, coating him in your arousal. The friction is intoxicating, a slow torment that has you both gasping. His cock twitches beneath you, so hard it aches, while your pwn need pulses, demanding more.

He groans, fingers digging into the sheets as if holding himself back. “Please…” he rasps, voice wrecked with desperation.

You shush him, pressing a single finger to his lips. “Not yet.”

He exhales shakily, his thighs tensing beneath you. He is so close already, you can feel it in the way his body trembles, in the way his cock jerks against your clit with every glide. He’s terrified he’ll spill before you even take him inside but that’s exactly what you want.

You halt your movements abruptly, lifting yourself just enough to deny him the pleasure he was chasing. His breath hitches, a frustrated whimper slipping past his lips, but he knows better than to protest.

Placing both hands on his chest, you push him backward until his back meets the mattress, his body fully beneath yours. You grip the base of his cock, aligning his tip with your dripping entrance, teasing the head against your slick folds. His breath stutters, muscles taut with anticipation.

And then, slowly, you sink onto him.

The stretch is exquisite, a delicious burn that has you both moaning in unison. He fills you so perfectly, your walls clenching around him as you take him in inch by inch. His fingers twitch at his sides, his restraint admirable, but you can see the way his throat bobs, the way his eyes glaze over as pleasure overtakes him.

Leaning back, you brace your hands against his strong thighs, lifting yourself slightly before rolling your hips. Jungkook lets out a strangled groan, his hands fisting the sheets beside him. His eyes flutter shut, lost in the pleasure coursing through his body.

But that will not do.

“Open them,” you command, your voice firm.

He obeys instantly, dark eyes locking onto yours. They’re wild with hunger, with devotion.

Your nails dig into his thighs, sharp enough to break skin, a thin trail of blood beading at the surface. But if he feels the pain, he does not show it. His pleasure is too consuming, too overpowering. And so, he gives himself to you fully, offering his blood, sweat and tears to you like he always has.

His vision turns hazy  pleasure clouding his thoughts, but his eyes never stray from you. He watches, entranced, as your breasts bounce with every movement, your body moving above him like something divine, yet here you are, claiming him, taking everything he has to give.

He feels it building, the telltale tightening in his abdomen, the coil about to snap. His breath stutters, his hands twitch where they grip the sheets, but before he can even manage to stammer a warning, his release overtakes him.

His body shudders violently beneath you, pleasure ripping through him as his cum spills inside you, hot and thick, painting your walls in spurts. The sensation is blinding, overwhelming, pulling a guttural moan from deep in his chest.

But you do not stop.

You keep moving, keep bouncing on him, greedily milking every last drop, your walls clenching around his still-sensitive cock. His whimpers are near-pained, overstimulated, but he does not beg you to stop. he wouldn’t dare.

Not when he belongs to you.

The heat of you around him is unbearable, intoxicating. Even as he shudders from the aftermath of his release, his cock twitches, hardening again inside you. The warmth of your walls, the way you squeeze around him, milking every last drop—it’s too much, yet not enough.

He is lost in you, in the way your slick coats him, in the sensation of being fully sheathed inside your tight, wet heat. It is maddening, the way you move, the way your body clenches down on him like you never want to let him go.

His hands tremble as they grip your waist, not to control but to ground himself to remind himself that this moment is real, that you are truly allowing him to have this, even if only for tonight.

The pleasure builds faster this time, his cock throbbing inside you, desperate for another release. He can feel your walls fluttering around him, your own peak drawing near.

“My Queen,” he gasps, voice wrecked, “I’m close.”

Your pace does not falter. Instead, you ride him harder, faster, pushing both of you over the edge.

He spills inside you again just as you come, your walls clenching down around him in a vice-like grip. His moans mix with yours, your cries of pleasure perfectly in sync. The feeling is euphoric, all-consuming, leaving him breathless beneath you.

He has never felt more complete, more worshipful. Even in pleasure, he is nothing but yours.

You pull yourself off him with deliberate slowness, letting his length slip free from your warmth, leaving him raw and sensitive. He barely has time to catch his breath before your mouth is on him again, lips wrapping around his overstimulated cock.

A sharp gasp leaves him, body twitching violently at the sudden contact. The pleasure is unbearable now, his sensitivity turning every flick of your tongue into something dangerously close to pain. But he does not push you away.

His queen, his goddess, the only being he will ever worship, is indulging in him, in his body, in his weakness. He exists for you to ruin.

His hands fist the sheets, muscles locked as his body fights against the onslaught of sensation. He groans, voice breaking, and you hum around him, sending vibrations through his length. He knows he won’t last, can’t last under your relentless hunger.

His hips jerk involuntarily, his entire body shuddering as his release tears through him again. This one is painful, forced from his exhausted body, his cock barely able to keep up with your immortal stamina.

A strangled moan escapes him as he spills into your mouth, the last remnants of his pleasure drawn from him until he has nothing left to give. His vision is blurred, his limbs trembling.

And then you kiss him.

His breath catches as your tongue slides into his mouth, the taste of his own seed spreading across his tongue. A cruel reminder of how utterly you have taken him, consumed him, claimed him.

You straddle him, hand at his throat, pressing down.

His body reacts instantly, his muscles coiling beneath your touch, a sharp inhale drawn between parted lips. But it is not fear that darkens his gaze. It is something else, something raw and consuming. His pulse flutters against your palm, quick and eager, a silent plea without words.

Beneath you, he is utterly vulnerable.

Your grip tightens. He exhales shakily, a strangled sound caught in his throat. You can feel him growing hard again, his body responding to the cruel intimacy of your touch. He doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t fight you.

His devotion is absolute. Even as the air leaves his lungs, even as his vision begins to blur at the edges.

You lean in, your lips grazing his ear as you whisper softly, like a lover’s confession, yet laced with something far deadlier.

"I know what you did."

A shudder runs through him. His breath catches. His fingers twitch against the sheets, as if resisting the urge to hold onto you. To anchor himself.

But he does not beg.

He does not deny it.

Instead, he smiles.

As if this was always meant to be. As if this is what he wants.

Your grip tightens further, pressing deep into the delicate skin of his throat, cutting off the last remnants of air. His body jerks beneath you, muscles tightening, chest heaving in a desperate, instinctual attempt to pull in breath. His lips part in a soundless gasp, but no words come.

His eyes remain locked on yours. Glassy and devoted.

Even as the fight leaves his body.

Even as his pulse weakens beneath your fingers, fading into nothing.

Even as his body finally stills, lips parted, frozen in the ghost of his final worship.

You end him.

Jungkook is immortal but only because you willed it so. He has always been untouchable to the rest of the world, his life tethered to your mercy alone. And now, as you stare down at his lifeless body beneath you, the realization slams into you, cold and final, like a blade driven straight through your chest.

He let you kill him.

He never betrayed you to defeat you. That was never his goal. No, his crime had always been one of devotion, not treachery. He forced your hand because there was no other way. He knew you would never let a traitor live.

A final act of love, masked as betrayal.

And even now, in death, his body betrays his yearning. His arousal lingers, stiff and undeniable, a grotesque echo of his devotion. His final gift to you.

For centuries, he had yearned to be more than just your knight. He had watched you take countless lovers, while he stood guard outside your door, hearing the sounds of pleasure that would never be his. It had gutted him, wounded him more than any battlefield ever could.

You had gifted him immortality as a token of his loyalty, his unwavering service. But in doing so, you had condemned him to a fate crueler than death. To live on forever, knowing he would never be anything more than a weapon at your side. Knowing that no matter how many lifetimes passed, he would never be the one you reached for.

So he did the only thing he could.

He betrayed you.

Because he knew that you would never let a traitor live.

The room is silent. The air is thick with the scent of blood.

Jungkook's body lies beneath you, utterly still, his skin cooling beneath your touch. You should feel satisfied. You should feel victorious.

Instead, there is only a hollowness, a slow, creeping thing curling inside you like smoke.

You stare at him, the man who had knelt before you in unwavering devotion, the warrior who had spilled blood in your name, the fool who had loved you enough to orchestrate his own demise. He had yearned for this, had wanted to be consumed by you in every way possible. And you had granted him his wish.

Then why does it feel as if something vital has slipped through your fingers?

Your fangs remain stained with his blood, the taste of him still thick on your tongue. You should have savored it more. Should have recognized what it meant when his hands had trembled against your skin, not with fear, but with desperate reverence.

Perhaps this had been his final lesson to you.

Perhaps his betrayal had not been a betrayal at all, but the greatest act of devotion.

You sit in the silence, staring at the body of the only one who had ever truly belonged to you. And for the first time in centuries, you wonder…

Had you ever belonged to him, too?

taglist: @sftlrmin @mar-lo-pap @jnghs @sebastianlover @darklove2020 @satisfied18 @fancyearthquakecreation @solephile @senaqsstuff @kooko007 @sky-23s-world @11thenightwemet11 @youngdreamlandfun @eakth @miraclekay97 @jksusawife @svnbangtansworld @mellyyyyyyx @skatazz

lmk ur thots <3

[borathae]

Boyfriends? | JJK x MYG

“Yoongi doesn’t do labels, while Jungkook loves labels. So one night, he asks Yoongi ‘what are we?’, hoping that the last four years together weren’t just casual for him.”

Pairing: Vampire!Yoongi x Vampire!Jungkook

Genre: established relationship!AU, Fluff, Slice of Life, slight suggestive themes

Warnings: just some anxious thoughts, this is a post sex cuddles scene, Koo being a little brat, Yoongi being a fond brat tamer, he tickles him hehe, snuggles & kisses, also! mention of blood drinking as part of his training to become a good vampire <3

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on an alternative fictional universe and does not correlate with any real life people. I do not support the shipping of the actual members.

Wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: i love sanguis!yoonkook so much :( omfg this hurt me because i just love them so much and my heart exploded :( istfg this break was so good for me, i have so many new ideas already heheh i can't wait to bring a very lore-y multi chaptered fic very soon hoohoh <3 but for now enjoy this lil yoonkoo fluff <3 also! whenever i write something for them just know that i am channeling hyyh!yoonkook 💔

Yoongi doesn’t define his sexuality. Neither his romantic attraction. He thinks that it is a rather stupid thing to do. He never truly understood the appeal of it nor felt it necessary to do.

“Why should I put a label on myself just so other people are satisfied?”

Because that is what it is for him. Satisfaction of other people. He should put himself into a box just so they can sleep better at night. Well, fuck them. Yoongi is way too old to live for strangers. He knows what he likes and other people can get fucked. They’ll find out who he likes when he allows it.

Jungkook defines his sexuality. And his romantic attraction. For most of his life, he felt like he didn’t belong. Into society, into groups, into life. So learning control and finally being able to be part of something again, Jungkook also feels it important to define who he is.

“I can finally be part of a group. I’m so happy.”

Because that’s what he is these days. Happy. A very happy bisexual man who doesn’t care about the gender of his lovers and who falls for personality.

And so it happens that “I hate labels”-Yoongi and “I love my label”-Jungkook are dating. At least Jungkook thinks that they are. They never really defined it – put a label on it so to speak.

But it must be that they are dating. After all, they are sharing a blanket as they are relaxing in front of the fireplace. They each only wear boxers and a tanktop which in itself is such an intimate look to share. The rug under their bodies is soft and heaps of pillows surround them.

Yoongi is using a few of them to keep himself propped up as he writes anecdotes in the book he is reading. Jungkook is lying on his tummy, watching the flames dance. Music is playing. Lofi hip-hop. Sometimes, he feels Yoongi’s fingertips dance down his back. It makes him shiver every time it happens. Jungkook feels exhausted, but he can’t fall asleep.

He flips his head to the other side, looking up at Yoongi.

The latter notices and gives him a glance. He runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, making him shudder in a good way.

“How is your head doing?” he asks.

“Heavy.”

“But no pain?”

He shakes it, “no, just so heavy. Hyung, it’s so heavy a-and I’m so tired.”

“Relax, bub. That’s normal.”

Yoongi is Jungkook’s mentor. Before Yoongi, Jungkook was unable to exist within the human world because he would have ripped through anything that breathed. With Yoongi’s help, he learned how to be normal again and because the road to perfection wasn’t finished yet, they used tonight to train.

“You are ready for the next step in mastering your urges”, Yoongi told him and then monitored Jungkook as he drank from a blood bag filled with human blood.

Up until this point, they merely trained with animal blood. At first Jungkook was very confused, “but I thought that I shouldn’t drink human blood? At all. Never.”

To which Yoongi assured him, “completely staying away from it, will only do the opposite. You need to learn how to handle it, so that if you accidentally drink it, you don’t become violent.”

With Yoongi’s reassurance, Jungkook choked down the blood deliciously and if it wasn’t for the older vampire, he would have lost control.

But he didn’t. Yoongi took his mind off of it in the typical, amazing way Yoongi often takes Jungkook’s mind off the bloodlust. And Jungkook wanted it. It felt so good. Quite frankly, he didn’t want it to stop.

Yoongi pulls his hand back and continues to scribble in his book. Jungkook is thinking. Yoongi calls him bub and bun and Kookie, but does it mean anything? Yoongi allows him to cuddle into him, but does he want the same? Yoongi fucks him, but does the sex even mean anything to him?

It has been two years since the world became peaceful and four years since they met and not once has this relationship been defined. Yoongi doesn’t call Jungkook his boyfriend. He calls him “my boy” or “my Kookie.” But never my boyfriend. What if he is just a good friend to him? What if Yoongi doesn’t want to put a label on them?

“Yoongi?”

“Yes, bub?”

“Are we dating?”

Yoongi lowers the book, “what do you mean?”

“Am I your boyfriend?”

Yoongi widens his eyes, blinking them in confusion.

“Why are you asking that all of a sudden?”

“Just feeling anxious.”

“Jungkookie, hey”, Yoongi softens his voice, “just relax. You’re okay, everything will be okay.”

“Please don’t avoid my question”, Jungkook insists anxiously. Is this it? Four years of intimacy, of building trust and bonding and it never meant the same to Yoongi?

“Of course you’re my boyfriend.”

Jungkook’s chest instantly stops tightening. His body tingles.

“You silly boy, do you seriously think I’m like this with someone I’m not dating?”

“You’re a really kind person.”

Yoongi chuckles, eyes soft in adoration. He pinches Jungkook’s cheek.

“You little bun, that’s not the same.”

“We never made it official.”

“I didn’t think it necessary. I thought it was pretty clear that we are dating once this”, he gestures between them, “became regular.”

“I guess, but I was thinking. About labels and how you hate them and yeah. I got scared that we aren’t official for you.”

“We are.” Yoongi pushes the pillows aside and lies down to face Jungkook. He tugs a strand of hair behind his ear. “If I’m not showing it enough for you, you have to tell me. I’m not good with reading signs or getting hidden messages. You gotta tell me directly what you want.”

“I know.”

“So? Do you want me to show it more?”

“No, you’re showing me that you love me. I think I just needed to hear it tonight.”

“I understand. You can tell me if you need that. You know me, I’m not gonna recite love poems to you on my own.”

Jungkook chuckles, “I know you, hyung. I think it’s cute.”

Yoongi grimaces. “If you say so.”

“I do. You are so cute.”

Yoongi chuckles, “you’re aware that I rearranged your insides just moments prior?”

“I know.” Jungkook closes his eyes and settles into the pillow. “Only cute people can do that.”

Yoongi laughs, “okay, okay you’re being an idiot. I get it”, he says, leaning in to kiss the shell of Jungkook’s ear.

Jungkook relaxes his muscles, enjoying the soft tingles rising all over his skin as Yoongi kisses every inch of his upper back. His face next. Jungkook rolls to his back so Yoongi can reach it better. Their eyes meet. Yoongi cups his cheek and kisses him. Jungkook seriously thinks that it feels so much better now that he knows it’s official. Every second, every moment, every touch exists to strengthen their relationship as boyfriends. Seriously, if Jungkook’s heart was still beating, it would race like crazy.

He giggles. Yoongi smiles.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I’m happy.”

Yoongi kisses him with a smile before he begins littering his face with kisses.

“I’m happy too, bub.”

“Oh, Yoongi”, Jungkook lets out and unable to control the surge of happiness, he shoots up to take Yoongi into the tightest hug human- and vampirekind has ever seen.

“Okay. This is happening”, Yoongi chuckles, letting it happen without hugging him back. It’s not because he doesn’t want to, but simply because Jungkook is squeezing his arms against his sides.

“I love you so much”, Jungkook giggles, shaking Yoongi from left and right.

“I love you too, but please stop that”, Yoongi laughs, head thrown back and bouncing around.

“No. You’re my stim toy”, Jungkook says and squeezes him tighter, making a cute sound for it.

“Whatever that is”, Yoongi laughs, taking the squeezing until it starts hurting. Then he begins to fight back. Softly of course, finally using his strength to shove Jungkook’s arms open.

“How are you doing that?” Jungkook gasps, trying with all his might to bear hug Yoongi again, but it is useless.

“I’m the strongest, remember?”

Jungkook’s back hits the rug, his wrists get pinned by one hand. Yoongi looks at him as if he wanted to take him to euphoria and back. Just for a second because then pure mischief burns in his eyes. Jungkook feels said mischief very soon as Yoongi begins tickling his sensitive side.

“No! Stop! Hyung please stop”, Jungkook squeals, laughing so loudly it bounces off the walls. He tries to fight his wrists free, kicking his feet helplessly. But it is useless. Yoongi is stronger and he is hellbent on getting Jungkook back for always being a little brat.

“Hyung I’m sorry”, Jungkook laughs, crying tears.

“Not enough”, Yoongi coos, changing sides.

“Ah! Please I’m gonna pee myself, stop! Please”, Jungkook squeals, laughing oh so much that his mouth truly cannot open any further.

“Mhm, alright”, Yoongi rasps and stops. He lets go of his wrists, sliding his hands to the smallest part of his waist to hold him. Somehow in their tickle match, Yoongi slid between Jungkook’s legs. They are thrown over his lap, resting their weight on him.

Jungkook recovers with little gasps and gulps. The first thing he does is wipe the tears from his blushy cheeks then he pouts at Yoongi.

“This was totally not necessary and very mean.”

Yoongi chuckles, “for all the bratting you did this week? It’s a mild punishment.”

Jungkook pouts harder, “I can’t help it. Besides, you’re too sensitive. I’m not even bratting.”

“Careful”, Yoongi squeezes Jungkook’s waist. The latter squeals and writhes.

“Sorry.”

“Better.” Yoongi smiles, bending down. His hands run along Jungkook’s torso until he has to rest them on each side of his head. “You’re so fucking pliable.”

“Hyung…” Jungkook sighs, melting into a puddle.

Like this. Underneath Yoongi and with his head foggy in feel good emotions, Jungkook gets kissed. He wraps his limbs around Yoongi and deepens the kiss. This might be one of the best nights of his life. He is his boyfriend. And now he is making out with him. This is the best night ever.

[rpwprpwprpwprw]

kim seokjin serving edward cullen vibes in that twilight scene…. grrrr he’s so cool when he looks like a vampire 😵‍💫

cr: kooxfia x

[hisunshiine]

—eternal reign | knj |

🥀 pairing: vampire king!namjoon x concubine!namedreader 🥀 au/genre: arranged marriage au, joseon era au, s2l, fluff, smut, angst 🥀 rating: M 🥀 wc: 7,748 🥀 warnings: some Joseon Dynasty research, reader starts as a concubine, mentions of murders, minor character deaths (off screen, minimal detail), patriarchal society, this is a vampire story, so some things come with the territory, like: mentions of blood, dubious consent, blood drinking, bleeding, scars, predator/prey feelings, explicit smut: unprotected vaginal sex, blood play, marking, eating out, nipple play   🥀 an: I used some of the historical figures of the Joseon Dynasty, and while I researched a lot for accuracy of this time period to respect the culture to the best of my knowledge, some historical information has been shifted and molded as this is a fiction story. For more information on Korean Coronation Events. Dual POV of 3rd and 2nd person, but the reader is named.

special thanks to the beta readers: @moonleeai, @colormepurplex2, @downbad4yoongi, @heathfritillary-blog, and @pars-ley

🥀 summary: In the shadowed courts of the Joseon Dynasty, a new King rules—one who holds a centuries-old secret that could unravel the kingdom. Namjoon, cloaked in mystery, is forced into a political marriage with the cunning yet unknowing Taelani, who soon discovers that her husband is no mere mortal. Drawn into his dark legacy and a web of alliances that could seal their fate, Taelani faces a choice: fulfill her family’s long-hidden destiny or defy it in pursuit of a forbidden love. As whispers of blood and betrayal rise, the throne itself may be the ultimate sacrifice.

🥀 an#2:🎃This wicked treat was written for Theresa - @mrsparkjimin18 as part of the “Sweet Tricks & Wicked Treats” BWHQ Fic Gifting Event 🎃and was also written for the @bangtanwritershq’s 4th Quarter Writing Event: Monster Mash

masterlist ❁ ao3

Joseon Dynasty year 1483

🥀🥀🥀Namjoon🥀🥀🥀

Namjoon never expected to sit upon the sacred altar in Changdeokgung Palace, as the recipient of the Three Cheers from the crowd, where the people hurrahed for his longevity and for the dynasty. 

“We are meant to rule from the shadows,” the memory of his grandfather’s voice flits through his head as if he’s standing beside him. “An absolute and eternal reign relies on the eternal flame which burns with our dedication and loyalty, and which must remain out of sight from those who wish to douse our light.” 

And yet, mere hours ago, under the beating heat of the Korean sun, he participated in the Transfer of the State Seal with Queen Sindeok, listened to the Three Solemn Calls, watched as the Three Kowtows were performed, and returned it with the Four Ceremonious Bows.   

The room around him is loud, and Namjoon struggles to focus for a moment as he gazes across the crowded space. The gilded walls encapsulate the refreshments and revelry as the noble families celebrate his ascension to ruler of the country. He looks around, eyes finally landing on his family members split between being wall flowers blending in and meteor showers glittering as they shine across the night sky. 

He takes an unneeded deep breath, sighing in his discomfort. He knows it was his idea; something had to be done to maintain the balance in the realm, but he’s not used to being a figurehead for something so much larger than himself—for the very thing he sacrificed everything for to protect. 

“Ah, Yi Bang— I mean, King Namjoon, my apologies,” the greasy-haired Chief State Councillor Jeong Dojeon bows lowly in apology at using the given name of the prince and not his newly appointed royal title now that the transition to king has been completed. 

That is one upside to this position, Namjoon thinks as he stares at the man. Even if I must hide my identity, at least I am able to keep my true name. 

“I wanted to present to you my family’s gift for your coronation.” His eyes, small and squirrely, gleam with a dark intent that Namjoon has always detested. As one of the government officials appointed by the previous Queen’s father, Dojeon craves ultimate power, pushing for the Councillors to make decisions for the King, instead of enacting and enforcing the King’s decisions. “This is Jeong Taelani, my eldest daughter. She is now yours, Pyeha.” 

The honorific term is not lost on Namjoon. The Chief State Councillor’s schmoozing actions are as oily as his hair, but Namjoon’s not a squeaking door, and his disdain only grows as he tracks the sweep of Dojeon’s hand towards the girl next to him, as if he needs a concubine to loosen him up. 

But Namjoon has to work hard to school his features back to stoic boredom when his eyes fall onto the—unable to believe he called her a girl—beautiful woman standing a pace behind her father. 

Red hanbok lace and silks flow over her curves. Gold threading is woven intricately at the hem, along the cuffs engulfing her delicate hands, and at the lapels that tie above the swell of her breasts, glimmering, resplendent swirls that captivate him. He doesn’t show it, though. Despite his next words, his tone is full of boredom and his eyes barely linger on her. 

“Thank you, Dojeon, she is a true beauty.”

The older man smirks, rubbing his bearded face thoughtfully. “She has been trained for, ahem, her position—assisting your every need—in the palace her whole life, and vetted through the steps to be placed here just last week. I am sure that you will find her to be up to your standards.” He bows once more, this time much lower, before backing away from the elevated seating area and disappearing back into the party. 

“Emperor,” Taelani bows deeply, her knees gracefully meeting the floor as she pays him the respect of a ruling monarch. Her voice is a deeper honey sound, more seduction than the tittering pitch of the female nobles Namjoon is used to. 

“Jeong Taelani,” Namjoon tests her name in his mouth, her jasmine fragrance invading his senses as she resumes her previous standing position. Her large eyes look away from his gaze quickly, but that’s all he needs to feel the heat of the lightning they struck him with. He can feel his pants tightening—thankfully, his gujangbok covers his crotch from the view of both Taelani and his attendees. 

He stiffens, feeling something else begin to lengthen in need, and he turns his eyes swiftly away from Taelani, looking at the palace guards nearest him. 

“Please escort Taelani to her chambers, and send for the Huwon guards. I will meet them shortly.”

🥀

Sharpened ivory glistens under the moonlight before piercing the unblemished bronze skin of the woman’s throat, his venom silencing the beginnings of a guttural shriek before it can really begin. He settles in the gazebo with a jimil nain, or lady-in-waiting, straddled across his lap. Her throaty sounds transition instead to a pleasurable moan as she attempts to grip the lapels of his ceremonial robes. 

He grasps her hands, pulling them away from him and moving them behind her back, clutching both wrists in one hand so his free hand can resume controlling her head for his monthly feeding. One that he should not have needed just yet, thanks to the retaliatory massacre last week, but he ignores that fact for now. 

The blood fills his mouth, sharp pulls draining the essence from the woman as her movements against his body slow. He’s thankful—her body is not the one he craves to be writhing above him in pleasure, despite her lovely sounds and curves. 

He has to play this role smartly. His family’s legacy is on the line. He withdraws his fangs, feeling the dull ache of thirst dissipate fully as his blood lust retreats. The woman is nearly unconscious, and the two guards who brought her approach her limp form silently.

“Thank you,” he says to his younger brothers, both adorned in the traditional wear of the Naegeumwi Royal Guards. They take the woman from him as he stands before the youngest of the two, Jungkook, takes her fully and holds her almost in a lover’s embrace. Namjoon looks at them as he steps several paces away and Taehyung, his other sibling, approaches him and straightens his robes to help him look presentable again.

“NaBi was the only one we could get on such short notice,” he explains quietly as the sounds of Jungkook feeding crescendos and subsequently drops as he heals the bites on the now sleeping woman’s neck. “She was already in Kook’s room waiting for him.”

Namjoon runs his fingers over his silks, tightening the belt at his waist. “Tell him I’m sorry I didn’t mean to mess up his feeding schedule. The hunger just took over and I…”

“He understands.” Taehyung places his hand on his older brother’s shoulder. “We’ve never taken on something like this, so we didn’t know what to prepare for. We’ll move more of the feeders into the palace in various positions, and Jimin can oversee them. Your plan was the best one, and we will find a way to make it work.”  

Jungkook cradles the woman’s body in his arms bridal style as he steps towards the door. He and Taehyung lead Namjoon out of the garden and back towards the main palace. Jungkook turns to the left down a hallway after they enter shelter as Taehyung and Namjoon continue toward the Emperor's chambers. 

“Have Jimin order more of the blood tea for the feeders. I’m not sure how often I’ll need to feed now that…” he trails off as they walk, thoughts conflicted with this strange turn of events. He stops once he reaches the doorway of his room. “And Taehyung? Discretion, please.”

Namjoon feels the tension leave his body once he is in his own space. He didn’t expect to feel the voracious pull to feed so soon—he drank more than his fill merely a week ago. Typically, he feeds once a month, so the blood lust he just quenched is strange. Could it be because of his new concubine? Her scent is oddly alluring to him, and his attraction to her is undeniable. He hasn’t ever experienced such a thing, but maybe one of the elders knows something more. 

🥀🥀🥀Taelani🥀🥀🥀

Confused. That’s how you feel as you are led away from the king, his eyes regarding you cooly before you disappear into the quiet halls of the palace. Your slippers and the silks you wear are the only sounds you hear as you are shown the pathway to your quarters, and then the low hum of the maids' voices as they help you undress and prepare for bed. 

The next week continues much the same as your first night in the castle. The other court members are seemingly always busy, leaving you bored and unsure of yourself. On the one hand, you are happy that you haven’t been called upon like you were warned would happen—like you’ve been trained for. Your womanhood remains intact, something you did not expect to happen, but it allows your time of the month to come and go without any issues. 

A part of you did fear that your menstrual cycle would agitate the new king should he come upon you that first night, but instead, he had shied away, allowing you time to spend in the royal library reading and writing letters to your sisters. At the end of the first week, you squeal with happiness when a courtier brings you a sealed parchment marked with your family’s crest. 

Dearest Taelani, 

How have you been? We are so pleased that you’ve had time to write to us. Is it nice there? I so wish we could have joined you on the trip, but Father said no. Are the rumors true? Is the king as bloodthirsty as his predecessors? Is there war on the horizon? Will you be able to throw a fancy ball so we can visit? I know you’re his only concubine right now, do you think you will become his wife? Father is not telling us much, and he’s making it seem like we shall never get to travel to see you. 

Don’t forget us!

As if you could ever forget your sisters. And a ball sounds like a lovely idea…really. You wonder if the king would allow you to do such a thing and if your father would allow your sisters to come. Maybe if the king demanded their presence. Your sister made a good point that right now, there’s no one else to compete with for his affections. If you can charm him, is there a possibility..? If only he would see you or talk to you. How else could you convince him of this one favor, or even that you’re worthy of a more legitimate role? 

It couldn’t be so easy as to show up at his bedchamber tonight and try and convince him with a well-placed massage? Could it?

Deciding to reign in all of your thoughts, you hold off on writing back so as to see first if you could plan a soiree of some sort, and turn back to the book you were reading before the courtier arrived. It was not written all that long ago, but it details some of the more recent history of the country, including the king’s grandfather. 

You had always thought it to be an urban legend, the stories whispered in the dark about when his grandfather was in power, but as you read through the history of the family, you realize with each story of the king’s grandfather that he truly was blood thirsty for power—he apparently murdered all of his older siblings for the throne. 

There is a massive family plot to the south of the palace that holds his deceased siblings, and ever since, despite the number of enemies the crown has acquired over the years, his family line has been the only one to rule. Every attempt to maim and murder the royal family has been thwarted, and the groups leading the coups are never to be seen or heard from again. Bloodthirsty isn’t even half of it. 

Closing the handwritten tome, you gather your skirts about you so that you can climb off the comfortable lounging spot. You have spent all week reading through to try and understand this family that you now reside with, but all you seem to find is death and despair. Through the window you can see the sun is setting, and now that you have a plan in mind, you decide to seek out the king instead of waiting for him to come to you. With your cycle gone, you feel confident enough to seduce King Namjoon. As his first concubine, you are sure you won’t be the last, but you want to make an impression. 

As a woman in this world, your power is lacking. The power you do hold will be in the sons you can bear for the king, and in the ability to wield your feminine wiles to seduce and keep the king wrapped around your finger. Best to start now. 

🥀

The palace corridors are well-lit as you traverse the pathway towards the king’s chambers. You made a quick stop at your own rooms, shedding the hairpins that bound your hair tightly, allowing your tresses to fall in subtle waves from the earlier styling. You also shed some of the layers you typically wear, allowing you to show off more of your curves. 

There doesn’t appear to be anyone outside the door to his room, so you slip in easily, taking a look around. The room is tidy, with barely anything on display on the walls or in cabinets to show his personality. Cold, just like he was the first time you met. A few minutes pass as you observe what you can, until voices outside the door alert you to the king’s approach. You position yourself on his bed, sitting at the edge with a leg crossed over the other and your palms behind you as you lean back slightly. 

Your loose hair is over one shoulder, and you attempt to flutter your eyes demurely as King Namjoon steps into his bedchamber. 

🥀 

Ten minutes later, you stand in your own room again, confused by what had occurred. The King, a young, virile man, sent you out after you all but threw yourself at him. If anything, he seemed in a rush to get you out of his rooms, all but promising that you had nothing to worry about when you voiced not carrying out your duties. 

“I know you worry about your standing in the palace, but you have nothing to fear. I will not be taking in any other women—you are the only one for me. You will be my Queen Consort. So please, you don’t have to stoop to these levels. You are excused.”

You definitely hadn’t prepared what to do in the event that the King said you didn’t need to seduce him and that you would be his Queen Consort. All of the stories the women told you about had prepared you for losing your virginity and other sexual acts to seduce the King and win his favor. Nothing they shared with you implied you wouldn’t have to do anything sexually with the man and he would raise your status one step, though a large one in the eyes of the nation. A wedding already in the works, unbeknownst to you. How strange this new king is. 

🥀

The royal wedding that everyone has been waiting for a month to arrive is nearly here, with you in your red gowns of silks and satin, awaiting your cue for the ceremony. As much as you’ve enjoyed not having to behave wantonly, a part of you is drawn to your betrothed, and you realize: you want to. His movements as he walks through the palace, the grace with which he moves and speaks, all of these small things seem to thrum through your body, lighting all of your nerve endings on fire. 

Why he denies himself the access he has to your body, you aren’t sure, but you hope that this wedding means that will come to an end. Maybe he’s just been waiting for tonight to consummate the marriage, instead of behaving how you were warned all men with power behave. 

Everything is a blur as the hours pass, the sun crossing the sky until it descends below the horizon, allowing the moon to rise into its rightful place. With all of the revelers now sated in thirst or hunger or desire, they’re all sequestered away in the places that allow them to unwind. Most of the palace is now quiet, and you tiptoe with feather-light steps across the bedchamber towards your newly betrothed. 

The King sits at an ornamental desk, metallic paints wrapping around the curves of the furniture as he leans over and writes, the scratches of the quill on the parchment revealing the short strokes he writes in Hangul. He’s shirtless, wide shoulders unblemished and you want nothing more than to mar the skin with signs of pleasure.  

Your fingers lift to lightly trace along his right shoulder, but before you can touch him, his left hand grasps your fingers as he half turns to face you. You let out a small gasp in surprise—you didn’t think he would have heard you sneak up on him.

“Perhaps you should head to bed, Taelani, it was a long day.”

He barely looks at you as he speaks, and you feel yourself wilting. It’s fascinating, but deeply disturbing to you that it seems like he’s attracted to you but keeps turning you away. Everything you’ve been told about men is wrong. You want him to have his way with you, and he can’t be bothered to even stop drafting a letter to look at you for more than a second. 

You feel yourself pouting, and it seems to work for a moment. Namjoon’s eyes soften, and he tugs you closer when you attempt to pull your hand out of his. 

“I know this is not the most normal of situations, but I won’t stop you from seeking out your needs. You can take up with anyone as long as it is discreet, and any children you should bear will all be raised as if they are my own.” You freeze as he releases his hold on you and turns away, back to his missive.

You step away from him, trekking backward until the backs of your thighs touch the silk sheets on the bed. Embarrassment heats your neck and cheeks, because you do not understand why your husband turns away from you. It makes you feel…unwanted. Sitting down, you can only blink as you attempt to understand the man before you. But nothing thus far has made any sense.   

🥀

The movement of the bed slowly wakes you, and you stretch your limbs out as your eyes blearily try to take in the low lighting in the room. 

“...need the Huwon guards as soon as possible, I will meet them there.”

You stay still when you hear his voice, your brain instantly becoming more alert as you try to hear more of his request, but it only grows quiet again as the door shuts. You can barely hear his footfalls as he flits about the room, and you sneak a peek through cracked eyes as you keep your breathing level. He’s grabbing his upper garments and re-dressing, and in only a few more moments, he’s slipping out of the door.

You get up, immediately grabbing for your robes as you slip from the satin sheets to follow your new husband.

You stay as far back as you can, drifting between shadows as you make your way towards what you now know is the Huwon Secret Garden. While the garden grounds themselves take up a large expanse of the palace area, there is a beautiful and intimate pagoda of sorts that lies in the rear after crossing a small bridge with a tiny waterfall. You lose sight of Namjoon, but you know he must be headed there, so you continue on your way, avoiding the minimal guard presence. 

Approaching the enclosed garden pergola, a gasping moan sounds and you quicken your steps, evermore the curious. Peering through one of the open slats of the enclosure, you see your king—your husband—with his arms wrapped around another woman. His mouth is to her neck as she straddles him, and though her face is hidden between the shadows and behind his bulky build, you know you heard the pleasure she felt. When he pulls back from her, you watch, entranced, as he laves his tongue along the skin he’s just marked. A burning jealousy shoots through your veins until a cloud moves out of the moonlight and a beam shines straight through. 

Your eyes widen as they take in the elongated fangs, the blood dripping from the corners of his mouth, and the way the woman now lay limply in his arms. Spinning on your heel, you flee back to your room, praying that your pounding heart calms enough before he returns.

🥀🥀🥀Namjoon🥀🥀🥀

It’s almost debilitating to Namjoon having his new wife around him. It’s been only a week—one mere week of his eternal life—and you have made him into a ravenous, salacious blood fiend. This lust for the iron-smelling essence that runs through mortal veins, and one in particular more so than the others, means that he hasn’t been handling all of the new changes to his life well. 

Going from the shadows and becoming the face of the nation he loves so much, that his whole family has given their lives for, is not exactly what he expected. He is much more used to using violence with his bare hands—and teeth—for their gain. Having to navigate politics with his wife’s father, Chief State Councillor Jeong Dojeon, is a whole new experience for him.

Not to mention that he’s insatiably drawn to his titillating wife, but knowing that her father is actively working against the reigning family has Namjoon’s guard up. The way she keeps trying to throw herself at him… Admittedly, he knows he’s spied on her letters and conversations, and she seems none the wiser to what her father is doing, but too much is at stake for him to risk it without knowing where she stands for sure.

Namjoon stretches his arms above his shirtless torso, then sets down the quill to mull over the letter he needs to finish and send to the front lines of their war efforts against the rival faction. They’ve quieted down some, ever since their attack on the true prince which led to an almost absolute destruction of said rival faction, but money will unite anyone against a common enemy if paid enough. 

His ears perk up as he takes in the thrumming melody of your heartbeat as you move around the adjacent bathing room to your communal bedchamber. It’s late, much later than a person would typically bathe, and without the aid of maids, but he’s in no hurry to overwhelm his senses with you. He focuses on the sounds; of the water draining from the side of the palace, of the soft garments sliding along your skin as you dress, and he tenses—readying himself for your scent to overtake him as he turns and stands to face your re-entrance into the room.

Beautiful. Your large eyes are bright, warm even, and the way your body gracefully moves in that—he forcefully exhales as you approach him in an ornately sewn, semi-transparent lace robe. The vision of your full breasts with lace flowing over the peaks stuns him momentarily, and he allows himself a moment to drink you in. He’s so focused on trailing his eyes along the cupid’s bow of your full top lip that he doesn’t realize you’ve spoken to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

“Oh,” you look down demurely, taking him by surprise. “My king, please. I would like just a moment of your time.”

“Of course,” Namjoon replies, but hesitates as he sits back down, unsure of what could have triggered such a formal conversation. Though, to be fair, he knows he hasn’t been the best conversationalist with his own wife.

He watches as you pull a small, stuffed stool closer to him and sit on it regally. The robe parts with the movement and he’s able to see that only a thin sliver of fabric covers your mound. Everything else is revealed to him. Your navel, your thighs, so much skin… 

“I know that you’ve given me permission to seek out other men, but I—I don’t want that.” 

Namjoon is still as he reigns in his impure thoughts and focuses all of his attention on you. “What is it that you want?”

“I want my husband. I–don’t you also feel—I just…” you sigh, and the weight of your next words would bring Namjoon to his knees had he not been sitting. “I know who you are. And I don’t care. I—”

Namjoon stands to his full height, eyes slightly narrowed at your small frame. 

“You know who I am?” he questions with disdain. Of course, you were too good to be true and exactly what he expected of your father. 

“Yes, you may be the king, but more than that, you’re my husband.” 

Namjoon pauses, listening on, but can see how tense you remain to continue speaking. “And what exactly don’t you care about?” He questions.

“I don’t care that you’re a—a vampire,” you rush out and continue speaking. “So please, don’t hold yourself back from me, I don’t want you to seek out your pleasure from others in the castle when I’m right here.”

His brain reels with an overwhelming amount of thoughts as you look up at him from where you sit, shoulders tight and lifted towards your ears as your chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath you take as you wait for him to speak.

You know he’s a vampire. How, he isn’t sure, because he knows that your father is not aware of that fact. No, he only assumed that your father had figured out that he was not the true prince, and instead a cousin filling in for the role, and shared this information with you. Nope, you meant you knew that he was immortal and knew of his late-night proclivities. He slowly lowers himself into the chair he vacated, wholly unprepared when you throw yourself forward onto your knees before him.

“Please, I’m right here. I only want you to touch me. No one else.”

Unable to resist, Namjoon does touch you, reaching beneath your arms to lift you to him. Even while standing, your eyes are only a few inches above him as he sits, and you step between his parted legs when he gently tugs you further into his space.

“I didn’t realize that my words made you feel unwanted.” Namjoon speaks slowly as he gathers his thoughts to organize his words. “I’m unsure how you came about this information, but I.. th-there’s some things we should clear up.”    

Your eyes appear to study him intently, brows inching closer as your face wrinkles with apprehension. The flooding of your veins as your heart rate increases leads Namjoon to pause and hold his breath before speaking.

“There is a reason that I have been so distant, and yet have only sought out to take one wife and no others. It came to my attention that your father has been one of the main financial supporters of a rival political party that supports more control from Chief Councilors and less from me. This money helped supply weapons and mercenaries, and there was an…attempt on my life recently. It was nearly successful at bringing down this clan’s reign and ending our family line.”

You gasp as he reveals this partial truth, and say, “I swear to you, my king, I knew not of such plans, I know my father has ambitions and a dislike for the lack of his power due to the crown, but not that he would steep to such levels for gain.” Namjoon can feel the way your pulse reacts as he holds your wrists in his large hands. You truly were not aware, and this knowledge helps quell any lingering doubts he has about sharing more information with you. 

“I believe that you had no knowledge of his plans or his financial support. But, because of that event, it is what led me to say yes to you as my concubine. You see, I felt that by having his daughter in the palace and by my side, that he would pull back his support of any rivals, and even decide to stop pushing for less control, especially since any heir would be his own grandchild to be on the throne.” Namjoon knows this last part is a lie, since he could not provide you with any children and the plan that is in place would not allow any child of yours to be on the throne, but he can’t tell you that. 

You nod, eyes rapt with attention as they pour over his face, gleaning any additional information you can. 

“My king, I do not support my father in his ventures. I promise you, I…he has never been much of a father to me. More like a tyrant or like…like he believes that my life does not matter more than what I am able to provide for him. You have saved me from him in so many ways, and I just want to show you my gratitude. I want you to feel my appreciation.” 

Your tone holds not an ounce of seductive undertones as you continue, “I care not that you are a vampire, I—” he allows you to pull free from his hold, turning your hands so that your palms lay on the outsides of his and you guide them carefully through the opening of your robes to your bare bosom, cupping his hands around your full chest. “I ache for you, Namjoon. I have never felt such a desire before, have never sought out the affections of a man. In truth, I’m terrified, but not because of what you are, but because I have never crossed this line before.” 

And Namjoon, still a man with carnal desires despite his blood lust, wants to be the one you cross that line with. He can feel the weight of your breasts as you move closer, stepping in such a way so that you can straddle him—which you do moments later. He feels his hands tighten around your chest without your fingers leading the motion, and the tiny, breathy moan that you release brushes against his lips from your proximity. 

He’s hardening, lengthening; his cock pressing against your clothed heat and his fangs inching from his parted lips, both aching to open you up for him. And just as the circling press of your pert nipples to the pads of his thumbs begins, you cover his mouth with yours, moaning for his ears only as you lean into his touch at all junctions where your body touches his.

It’s intoxicating; your scent wraps around him and the feel of your blood thrumming within your body as you tremble from the pure lust that seems to ooze from your pores as you, you! devour his lips with no care of his fangs. Your tongue is tentative, but curious—seeking to glide along his and taste all of him. 

When you pull back, he presumes to breathe since he need not this human action, his fang nicks your tongue on retreat. That one drop makes his muscles spasm—you pull back from him faster as his touch turns painful for a moment and then you are flying, landing on the bed in a frenzy and in a blink Namjoon is pressed to the wall farthest from you, his fists clenched tightly as he holds himself back from you. 

“There is…still much you need…to know and understand.” Namjoon strains to get the words out, actively fighting his thirst for his wife—for you—whose blood has never been tasted by another, and whose tight cunt has never been taken by another. “Please, walk slowly to the door and get the Huwon guards…”

“No, please, Namjoon, I want—”

“Now!” he roars, watching fear filter into your eyes as you spring from the bed and rush towards the door. With a speed rivaling light, he is in front of you before you can make it three steps from the bed. His predator instinct couldn’t allow you to leave the room now. Grasping you under your thighs, he lifts you effortlessly, drawing his nose along your neckline.

Instantly, your fear melts away from your body, leaving you boneless as he deposits you forcefully to the bed you just vacated.

“You will take me, and I will drink from you, and then, I will tell you everything, but I can’t…can’t let you go. I must have you.”   

🥀🥀🥀Taelani🥀🥀🥀

The gentle husband whom you had straddled mere moments before, who had kissed you with a softness that you have never known, was no longer the man above you. Instead, a predator climbs onto the covers as you scramble backwards, but his hand grips your wrist and slides you along the silk sheets back underneath his body.

His hands box in your head, with his knees bracing either side of your hips. Your heart is pounding, and you freeze beneath him, finally understanding why he said to walk slowly. 

~~

“Grandfather, what do I do if I encounter a bear or something of the like in the forest?” Five-year-old Taelani asks as she walks along her family grounds with her maternal grandpa. 

“My dear Taelani, you must never run if you encounter a large animal. Predators are wired to chase after prey. Be steadfast, like a deer or a hare. Freeze and watch first. They may not mean you any harm, but if you should run, they cannot stop themselves.” 

~~

Going stockstill seems to work, just as you remembered learning about as a child. Namjoon mimics this, freezing his own body and his dilated eyes close as he leans closer into you and…inhales. 

“I’m sorry, but I—I need to feed.” His voice is tense, a quiet murmur that fills the silence.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” you say, proffering your own neck. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

“This is not—I wanted this to be different, I don’t want to hurt you. You deserve—”

“—a husband who will make love to me, and feed from only me. Because I am yours, and you are mine.”

His eyes open with a blazing, hungry stare and before you can do anything else, he descends on your lips with a fierceness. His hands move from the sheets to your robe, ripping it open to expose your dusky nipples to the chilled air. He grips the hem of the clothing preventing you from full nudity and all but destroys it as he pulls it from your body in a feral show of strength.

“Mine.” His words are a low growl before his mouth is once again on yours, this time his hands now free to roam your body without clothing to hinder him. His deft hands move in symmetry to cup your breasts, giving them a supple squeeze before drifting down your hips and he moves his body lower along yours so he can hook his arms around the backs of your thighs. 

The silks beneath you allow him to easily slip between your skin and the satin, giving him the right angle to push your legs up and bare all to him. You shiver in anticipation, feeling how wet you are by the air now meeting the heat between your thighs. You want him. The throbbing of your clit makes you want to clench your thighs together for some relief, but the way he’s holding you won’t allow it. 

His kisses trail lower, mouth hovering over your nipple until his lengthened teeth graze the sensitive skin. Arching your back, he takes this as a sign to suck the peak into his mouth, tongue swirling as you moan. He switches sides, treating them equally before continuing lower, tongue dancing across your navel. The caress of the wet muscle has your body jumping with desire. 

“Oh!” You can hardly keep quiet when his tongue tastes you, laving flat across your open warmth before making short, quick passes along your clit. Your hands grip the sheets in desperation—for him to stop, for him to continue—the pleasure is overwhelming. 

“You taste…divine,” his voice rumbles, and you try to keep your eyes on him but squeeze them shut when his mouth returns to devour you. Sensual, plump lips kissing you, sucking you, tongue fucking you—you writhe beneath him. His hands press you wider, keeping you open as your muscles fight against the pleasure and threaten to close around his head.

And he doesn’t stop. Not until you're dripping, and the lower half of his face is glistening with you. You barely register his movements, can barely tell that he’s naked and climbing above you until he’s suddenly in your eyeline. Floating…that’s what this feeling is, like floating on a cloud, carefree. And when the blunted tip of his cock nudges at your still quivering heat, you widen your legs and welcome him, urging him to fill you. 

And, oh! You don’t expect the pressure to build as he thrusts within you, and you cry out in pain, in pleasure, in ecstasy at the fullness he brings as your walls quiver around him. 

Your hands tighten on his shoulders as he begins to move with more gusto, continuing to keen at the feeling—all of the feelings—and slowly the pain lessens and he glides with less stilted motion, bottoming out again and again and again.

A rhythmic chanting sounds, and it takes a few moments for you to recognize your own voice, so laced with desire and lust, pleading for him. “Please, gods, don’t stop, please!” along with a guttural reply, “I won’t,” filling the bed chamber that surely the others in the palace must be awake and able to hear. Namjoon appeases your request and his hips continue to piston fluidly, his strong thighs creating a cacophony of sounds as they meet the backs of yours. 

An inhale, sharp and stilting—a grunt, with hips stuttering—his fangs piercing the tender skin at the crook of your neck as you feel the blood weeping from your vein as he drinks deeply of you. And you shatter from the ecstasy, like a fallen vase of porcelain, pieces scattering like twinkling stars across the galaxy in a vibrant bursting of flames. 

🥀

“I am…older than I look.” You lay with your head upon Namjoon’s chest, fingers dancing along the smooth, glistening skin of his chest. His voice reverberates in your head as his low timbre continues. “And I am not truly the Queen Mother’s son, but her relative.”

You tilt your head to look up at him.

“I died a little over 50 years ago. Many of my family within these walls are like me. Forever frozen in time. When my father was just a boy in 1390, his uncles and aunts all fell ill of the fever. One by one, they passed away, and his father, fearing death, sought out the answer to life. When all was said and done, the only one to survive the fever was my grandfather’s youngest brother. In order to secure his place on the throne, stories spread that the youngest son killed all of his older siblings for power. In reality, my grandfather helped spread this and protected him all the while from assassination attempts.”

Looking with wide eyes at him, you almost can’t believe that what he says is true. Almost.

“This became our family’s mission. To protect the youngest sibling's line. For all of the children born to the older siblings who did not pass from the fever, upon approaching their 30th year and after having a family if they so wished, would endure the change and live forever. We have grown in our numbers and have always worked to protect the one line that history can know about. The Queen Mother’s great-grandfather is that youngest sibling. Merely days before I took the throne, her son, the true heir, was murdered.”

With a gasp, you sit up, clutching the satin sheets to your naked breasts.

“In order to hide that this attempt was successful, I stepped into his place and took the throne. And the Queen Mother will have another child, one who we will raise as our own and be the next successor, rightfully restoring the line to power once more.”

 “I have so many questions, I can’t even begin to list them!” you pout, stifling a yawn at the late hour. You understand that you will have to raise the Queen Mother’s son as your own child so that the correct lineage remains on the throne, but what of your own children? 

“We have plenty of time for your questions, my love. Maybe I shall answer some of them as I tell you more?”

As Namjoon continues to regale you with his tale, spelling out exactly how your lives will be, you settle back into his body and listen intently to his deep tenor rumbling against your cheek, curling your naked body around his own, until you fall asleep. 

🥀🥀🥀

Epilogue

Eighteen years have passed since Taelani first entered the palace as Namjoon’s concubine. 

Eighteen years since you learned the truth about your husband and his family, and full of questions and curious for more information, had kept him up the following nights with all of your thoughts until he lay you down and forced you quiet with his lips on yours and his hands seeking other truths between your legs. 

Now, you are a mother to twins—at least, as far as the kingdom was concerned. Your daughter, Seojin, is truly yours and Namjoon’s, a miracle that even Namjoon’s family had not anticipated. Due to most everyone else in his family waiting until they had chosen a mate and had kids to turn, this was an unprecedented event. And Seojin’s twin brother, Jiho—though not truly siblings—but instead cousins, is the answer to keeping the family line on the throne. 

Queen Mother Sindeok had hidden away, where she bore a son and then quietly returned to the palace with you and Namjoon, cradling a secret that only your family knew. A secret that she bundled tightly for the trip back and handed into your arms a mere day before your Seojin was born.  

By royal decree, the news of the double royal birth spread across the lands, and in short, the Queen Mother’s pregnancy had never happened. Instead, Taelani, beloved Queen Consort to King Namjoon, had given birth to twins—a boy and a girl, heirs to a prosperous future. Together, the twins' birth was celebrated by the populace and secured the power that Namjoon’s grandfather had cultivated over the years, maintaining their hold of the throne their line refused to give up.

The birth of your twins also made sure that your father no longer tried to challenge the current rulers for power over the people. The Chief Councilor must have immediately withdrawn his money and support of the rival factions, as their attacks and their false propaganda dwindled to almost nonexistence. 

With the belief that his grandson would take the throne, as the twin who was born minutes before his sister, your father seemed to think better of his past alliances, and instead made to be a better grandfather to them than he was a father to you, in the hopes that his name would be next to theirs in historical records as a formative familial link to the throne. 

You still watched over his actions, even now, knowing that he may no longer hunger for the death of the emperor, but that his gusto for power and manipulation was never far from the surface. You and Namjoon had raised your children well though, teaching them to think for themselves and avoid manipulation tactics from even the most persuasive of grandparents. 

At eighteen, Seojin showed no outward signs of her father’s affliction, but for a glint in her eyes that she could do more, hear more, see more, smell more—than her human counterparts. Her brother Jiho was smart, empathetic, and set to be a great ruler, carrying on the legacy his forefathers set before him.

It may have been a little over a decade since you joined your husband in an everlasting life, but you have never regretted that decision, not even for a moment. Standing next to him as he pens his speech for Jiho’s coronation, you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair as you stare out at the full moon, large against the backdrop of the stars and dark clouds. 

“My love, come to bed,” you suggest, wanting to lay with him, to embrace him, to love him.

“One more line and I’ll join you,” he promises with a smirk. He still looks the same, jovial eyes crescenting as his lips quirk up at you. “Strip, and I’ll make sure to keep you warm.”

His lustful gaze watches as you step backwards towards the bed, eyes staying on his face.

A few moments later, he replaces his quill and caps the ink, fingers tugging at his pants to loosen them from his waist. Your giggles carry with the evening breeze as it whistles quietly through the slats in the window, rustling the parchment Namjoon was writing on and drying the last lines he had written. 

“And for our country, with Yi Jiho as emperor, this nation will finally have all we have fought for: strength, power, and a promising future.”

And for you and Namjoon, your sacrifices eighteen years ago continue the legacy of a kingdom destined to be ruled by a lineage of

eternal reign.

↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2024. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.

[liveyun]

sweetest thing | k.th 🎃

title. sweetest thing

pairing. kim taehyung x reader

genre. halloween au , fantasy au, baker au, friends to lovers (?)

wc. 1.9k

warnings. vampire!tae , human!reader, halloween night !! mentions of supernatural beings and co-existence with humans, baking stuff heehee, very light angst if you squint very hard, fluff, tatamic cameo, our taetae 🐻

main masterlist | taglist 🥮

Eat, drink, and be scary.

In your case, there was a small addition — bake. And god damn, it was a hell of a busy night, your small bakery feeling a bit smaller than usual with the amount of people flooding in with costumes bigger than themselves, faces painted with creativity of the night and hands full of treats to hand away.

It was Halloween.

It felt like the one night the world let its boundaries fade, letting all kinds of beings drift seamlessly among the neighborhood — changing the otherwise cold air of the town to a bit warmer feel. Beneath foggy street lights, creatures of every kind — witches with flickering, real candlelight in their eyes, goblins in patched-up scarves, vampires with their scarlet irises, hybrids who usually preferred to stay in their own colonies or even werewolves with their massive bodies — blended seamlessly among the crowd — are mingling with humans.

You watch, enchanted by it all.

Halloween is something you’d only heard gossips of previously — a night where reality softened itself, allowing creatures and humans to celebrate together. It’s mesmerizing, truly, to see ghouls and fairies roam, joining in the strange joy of humans’ games, even if some seem to find the idea of tricks and treats amusingly silly.

Yet, tonight, they all play along, indulging in the world of Halloween, and you feel something childlike stirring in your chest, a thrill just to be a part of it, even if you’re not necessarily trying to trick people with candies or so.

You’re content to be within the smell of sourdough baking up in the oven.

Outside, laughter rises as trick-or-treaters fill the sidewalks, while your bakery hums with activity as people and beings of all kinds come in for a taste of Halloween magic. Inside, you’re shoulder-to-shoulder with Taehyung, who, if not for the slight glimmer in his gaze, a golden rim circling his pupils, would seem almost too human.

The apron wrapped around him is decorated with little ghosts and bats, and under it, he wears simple clothes that only highlight his warm, honey-toned skin with that soft, dark hair curling boyishly around his face.

Honestly, he looks like anyone else on a Halloween evening, blending so easily that his vampiric nature might be overlooked altogether.

Except for you, of course.

However, tonight, even time falls short on you. The counters are a mess of bowls, cookie cutters, and ghost-shaped éclairs. Dark berry syrups bubble in pots, rich and fragrant, mingling with the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg.

And while Taehyung tends to the syrups, you’re focused on decorating the cookies and piping frosting on pumpkin cupcakes, hands moving quickly to keep up with the demand as customers in costumes drift in and out, some pausing to snap photos of the treats or chat about their plans for the night.

And somehow, it feels that you two are not enough tonight.

Taehyung is busy preparing every sauce and filling — poor fellow is trying his best despite his strong dislike towards the particular “pungent” smell of vanilla (his exact words, not yours) and you can tell by the way how often his nostrils flare down or scrunch when the crowd of your bakery gets too overwhelming.

Shit. You’d nearly forgotten about the chocolate melting over the double boiler!

Initially you were a bit surprised — the bread which you just got an order for, usually is a top seller when the weather calls for hot chocolate and itchy sweaters. You’re running to the counter opposite yours to grab the fresh batch of Hoska when you feel his oddly warm, cool touch on your wrist — Taehyung’s voice finding you, calm yet laced with a quiet curiosity. “Try this,” he says, offering a spoon of dark, vicious looking syrup.

You think it’s kind of sweet because he blows over the spoon gently before offering it to you.

His eyes, dark as the night outside, are fixed on you, watching as you taste the syrup.

You lick the spoon thoughtfully.

It’s rich, sweet, with just a hint of something darker underneath — like the tartness of fresh raspberries.

“It’s sweet,” you hum, licking your lips as you hand him the spoon back. Ah, the bread!

“How sweet?” he asks, his voice soft against the background noise.

You look around, your eyes finding your customers still waiting. They are on your phone as of now, giggling over something. You shouldn’t keep them waiting. “This sweet,” pressing a soft, quick peck to his cheek as you murmur with a smile, not missing the way his eyes widen slightly.

You don’t need to turn to see his reaction; the faint pause says enough.

It’s there in the brief stillness, in the way his hand hovers just a moment too long before he continues stirring.

After a beat, you hear the faintest sound — a small, disbelieving chuckle, soft and unsure, just as rich as the syrup. “That. . . that was. . . ” he trails off, words just a little slower than usual, cheeks flushed even when his body, you know, doesn’t truly circulate blood.

Your order sweeps you back before he can react further as you turn toward the waiting group of teenagers who’ve been watching from a nearby table, their faces alight with barely-contained laughter. You give them a small smile and nod as they bark out their joy, high-fiving.

The group leaves with fresh bread and happy faces.

You turn back to Taehyung who seems to be a bit too concentrated in stirring the syrup which he’s been doing since ten minutes. “That was a dare,” you tell him, trying to stifle the laugh which threatens to bubble up your throat.

There’s a small shift in his expression.

So slight that you might’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention. The smile on his lips fades a fraction, replaced with a look you don’t often see from him — a pout which has his lips jutting out, a sight so adorable that it pulls at something inside you.

“So. . . . you didn’t mean it?” he murmurs, eyes lowering as he turns away, almost as if he’s shy.

And there it is — that softness, a note in his voice you hadn’t expected, something almost tender, scared. His question lingers in the air, hanging on to a thread you’re not quite ready to pull.

Did it have to be this specific moment where there are no customers barging in anymore. . . ?

“Would you . . . would you . . . . mind if I did ?” The words slip out, your heart beating a little faster as his gaze meets yours, steady yet gentle, pulling you closer without even trying.

His eyes flicker to your lips before finding your gaze again, and for a moment, the world beyond the bakery fades into nothing. He leans just a little closer as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, voice low enough that only you can hear.

“Well,” he murmurs, lips curving up in that familiar, lazy smile that oddly resembles something in between a box and a smirk. “you might just have to find out.”

And when you feel his arms cage you in between the counter, you think maybe — just maybe — this is the sweetest thing of all.

a/n : happy halloween!! 🎃 i live in an area where halloween is barely known, let alone celebrated. so it’s always going to be a fascinating to me ! while i saw my oomfs online dressing up as characters, i was busy lighting up earthen lamps xD i hope you enjoyed this smol baby and as always, your feedback means a lot to me ! here’s an anonymous feedback box for you just in case 🍁

[chimcess]

Chapter Three: The One Thing About Living in Santa Carla Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre: Vampire!AU, Action, Horror, Suspense, Drama, Thriller, Comedy, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, ANGST, Fluff, Smut Other Tags: Human!Jungkook, Thrall!Jungkook, Thrall!Reader, Vampire!Jimin, Vampire!Taehyung, Vampire!Yoongi, Young!Namjoon, Young!Seokjin Word Count: 32k+ Summary: Teenage brothers Jungkook and Jung-Hyun relocate with their mother to a quiet town in Northern California. As Jung-Hyun bonds with two like-minded comic book enthusiasts, Namjoon and Seokjin, the more brooding Jungkook becomes captivated by Y/N. However, he soon discovers that Y/N is entangled with Jimin, the charismatic leader of a dangerous local vampire gang. Warnings: Changing into a vampire, Hoseok is a little suspicious, or are the conspiracy theorists just being dramatic?, ANGST, jumping off of a bridge, flying vampires, vampire not knowing how to fly, ear piercing, peer pressure is putting it lightly, mind manipulation, emotional manipulation, honestly lots of manipulation on the vampires' part, how would you react if you found out your brother's a vampire changeling? Probably a lot like Jung-Hyun, Wanda and Hoseok have no chemistry but they're really trying, conflicting feelings, arguing, feeling betrayed, mates, some backstory, Y/N is losing her human memories, she clings to them desperately, bad family relationship, YEARNING, PINING, LOVING, worried mom, mean dog, vampire tests... results may vary, hand job, vaginal fingering, kissing, biting, nipple play, oral (f receiving), "good girl", "I'm proud of you", multiple orgasms, soft dom Jungkook, romantic sex, outside sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), let me know if I missed anything else... A/N: We're at the final chapter! Thank you for reading, and to everyone who engaged with the story as it went on. Hope to see you again!

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The room was swallowed by an unnerving darkness, thick and oppressive, as if the walls themselves were closing in. Every corner seemed to absorb the faintest sliver of light, turning the space into an endless pit of shadow. Jung-Hyun’s eyes glinted with a sharpness that made the air around him feel colder, more suffocating. His pupils flickered as they caught the faintest movement—the soft creak of the bedroom door slowly edging open. A figure stepped in, barely visible at first, like a shadow merging with the dark. But as it solidified, became unmistakably clear, his breath hitched.

Jungkook.

“Jungkook…?” Jung-Hyun murmured, his voice low and uncertain, as if testing the silence that had stretched so tightly in the room. He wasn’t sure what was worse—the darkness or the silence that seemed to cling to every corner. He reached for the switch on the lamp, flicking it on, and the sudden burst of light cut through the blackness like a knife. It illuminated the room in a harsh, sterile glow, casting long shadows across the walls and revealing the mounted owl that hung just above the closet.

Its eyes, wide and unblinking, locked onto him with a cold, glassy stare.

“I wish he'd stop giving me these things,” Jung-Hyun muttered to himself, his voice thick with distaste. He didn’t bother to hide his disgust as he crossed the room, his boots thumping softly against the floor. With a practiced motion, he opened the closet door and scanned the shelves stacked with other lifeless trophies—small animals, stuffed and frozen in time, caught in mid-flight or mid-pounce. They were all the same, disturbingly still, their glassy eyes staring out into the empty space with an unsettling emptiness.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Jung-Hyun tossed the owl in with the others, its eyes glimmering faintly under the cold light above. He slammed the closet door shut, but the sound felt too loud in the silence.

That was when Jungkook’s voice sliced through the stillness, so soft and yet so chilling.

"I know everything."

Jungk-Hyun’s heart skipped a beat at the words, his skin prickling with a mix of unease and suspicion. Before he could form a response, a voice from outside—the faintest whisper on the wind—cut through the tension.

“Jungkook! Jungkook!”

Both of them snapped their gazes toward the window, their eyes locking on the yard below. There she was. Y/N. Bathed in the silver light of the moon, standing beneath the window like a spectral presence, her figure illuminated against the dark backdrop of the night.

“It’s that girl from the boardwalk,” Jung-Hyun muttered, his voice low, thick with suspicion. “Is she one of them?”

Jungkook’s answer was slow, almost reluctant, as though he himself wasn’t sure. “I don’t know.”

Y/N’s voice rose again, clearer now, her words almost pleading, carried upward by the night air. “I have to talk to you. Can I come up?”

Jungkook’s heart lurched in his chest, the sound of her voice sending an involuntary shiver through him. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. Without a second thought, he turned from the window and bolted for the door, his breath quickening, as though a part of him instinctively knew something important was about to unfold, something that could make sense of the chaos, of what he was becoming.

But before he could take another step, Jung-Hyun’s voice sliced through the tension, sharp and commanding.

“She’s one of them!” he hissed, the words thick with a palpable fear. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, Jungkook.”

Jungkook froze in his tracks, his heart pounding. He turned, and what he saw in that moment made his blood run cold. There, standing in the doorway, was Y/N. But not in the way he had expected—not in the way that he had imagined. She was standing there as though she had materialized from thin air, her presence so sudden, so eerily quiet that he couldn’t even recall hearing her enter.

Jungk-Hyun stood frozen, his face pale, wide-eyed, too stunned to move, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief.

The room was thick with an oppressive silence, as though the very air had turned heavy with secrets and unspoken truths. Jungkook’s breath came in shallow bursts as his heart raced with the fear that had slowly begun to consume him. His mind was clouded, too many questions pulling him in every direction, too many pieces of a puzzle that he couldn’t quite make sense of. The weight of it all was almost unbearable, and his hands trembled as they balled into fists at his sides. He could feel the pull of something dark inside him, something that had been awakening since that night in the cave, since the blood he had drunk.

The thought of it made him sick, but there was no denying it—he had changed. The hunger, the thirst, the growing sense that something inside of him had shifted in ways he couldn’t understand. It all pointed back to them—their world, their darkness—and it was too much. Too much to carry alone.

"Do you know where Jimin took me tonight, Y/N?" Jungkook demanded, his voice ragged, his words tumbling out in a rush, desperate, almost frantic. The anger rose like a storm inside him, but it was the dread that really made his chest tighten. The dread that something terrible was unfolding, something that he couldn’t quite grasp but knew, deep down, was unraveling him.

Y/N stood there, her gaze dropping to the floor as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. Her lips pressed tight, her body tensed, as though gathering strength to speak. There was a frailty about her now, a vulnerability he hadn’t seen before. She was always so strong, so confident, and yet now she looked fragile, like the weight of everything between them was more than she could bear. The silence stretched on, dragging on for what felt like forever, and with each passing second, the air grew colder, suffocating.

Finally, her voice broke through the silence, soft and thick with regret, "Yes... and I’m to blame for it." The words hung in the air like a confession, heavy and irrevocable. "If you hadn’t met me... if I hadn’t liked you... I tried to warn you…" Her voice faltered at the end, as though the very admission was tearing her apart.

Jungkook felt the world shift beneath his feet. Her words hit him like a physical blow, and his chest tightened in ways he couldn’t explain. The weight of it all settled over him like a storm cloud—dark, oppressive, and suffocating. Every word she spoke made the truth more and more real, more undeniable. He could feel it deep in his bones, the truth he had tried to deny, the truth he had tried to outrun.

“That night in the cave…” Jungkook’s voice trembled, his throat dry, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "That wasn’t wine they gave me to drink… it was blood. Jimin’s blood. And now… now I’m one of them. Just like them." The words tasted like ash in his mouth, and as he spoke them, he could feel the horror of it wash over him in waves. The sickness, the disgust—he could feel it deep in his gut, like a knot that tightened with every breath he took. The emptiness that had begun to take root inside him was growing, and it made him want to scream.

Y/N stepped forward, her gaze locking onto his with a sorrow that cut through him like a blade. There was no comfort in her eyes now, only a quiet, resigned pain. It was the kind of pain that came with knowing something was inevitable, something that could not be undone. "Not yet," she whispered, her voice low, filled with a quiet ache. "You’re like Moon and me. Half-vampires... You’re not a full vampire until you’ve made your first kill…" Her voice trailed off, and Jungkook could hear the unsaid in her words—the unspeakable truth of what was to come. "You were supposed to be mine, Jungkook. But I couldn’t do it." Her lips quivered, and he could see the rawness of her emotions in the way her hands trembled.

"Why not?" Jungkook whispered, his voice hoarse, desperate. He needed answers, needed to understand why, why she couldn’t do it. His mind was spinning, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that nothing about this made sense. None of it.

"Because I love you," Y/N whispered, her voice so soft, so fragile that it felt like a confession meant only for him. And in that moment, everything else fell away—the confusion, the fear, the dread—they all faded into the background, leaving only her words, those three little words that held more weight than anything else could. It was all laid bare in the quiet of the room, and Jungkook’s chest tightened as the rawness of her admission cut through everything he thought he knew about himself, about them.

He stepped toward her, almost instinctively, his voice cracking as hope—real, fragile hope—shone through his desperation. "Then it’s not too late for us."

Her eyes softened, but the sadness in them didn’t fade. She shook her head ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. “It’s not too late for you to be saved... but each night... it becomes harder and harder for me to resist. For me to stop myself...” Her voice trailed off like a whisper in the wind, barely there at all, but it carried the weight of everything between them. “I’m weak, Jungkook. Soon, I’ll need to feed.”

Jungkook could feel it then—the pull, the gnawing hunger inside him. It was familiar now, that darkness that called to him. The thirst, the need. It was growing stronger, harder to ignore. And in that moment, he realized that he wasn’t just battling the pull of the hunger inside him. He was battling the pull of her. Of Y/N. “I know,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he met her gaze. “I’ve felt it too.”

The air between them was thick, heavy with the weight of their unspoken truths, their desires, their fears, all tangled together in a way that made it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Without thinking, without care for the consequences, Jungkook reached for her. His hands, trembling with the weight of everything that had been building between them, found her face, and his lips pressed against hers in a kiss that was too desperate, too tangled in everything they had become. It was messy, frantic, but it was all they had left—the only thing that could connect them, that could save them from the darkness that was closing in.

But just as quickly, Y/N pulled away. Her eyes were wide, and she was listening—listening for something he couldn’t hear. Fear flooded her expression, and her breath came in short, shallow gasps. "Jimin’s looking for me," she said, her voice trembling with an urgency that made Jungkook’s heart stop. "I have to go."

Jungkook reached out for her, his hand grasping at the air as she turned to leave. “Y/N… please.” His voice cracked with desperation, but she was already slipping through the window, vanishing into the night like a shadow. He stood there, frozen, his heart aching, his chest tight with the weight of everything left unsaid, everything left undone.

The cool night air whipped through the open window as Jungkook and Jung-Hyun leaned out, their gazes locked on the darkened street below. Y/N had disappeared into the night, her form swallowed by the shadows, leaving behind only the faintest trace of her presence. Jungkook’s chest ached with a rawness he had never known, a desperation clawing at his insides, urging him to follow her, to keep her safe.

"Y/N!" Jungkook’s voice cracked, the cry spilling from his lips like a plea for salvation. It was ragged and frantic, as though calling her name was the only way to tether himself to reality, to the hope that maybe—just maybe—he could pull her back from whatever abyss she was falling into.

Jung-Hyun, ever the voice of reason, shot him a look before leaning out the window further, his voice hardening with panic. "Don’t kill anybody until we get back to you..." His words rushed out in a breathless hurry, a frantic plea wrapped in practicality. Without another word, he whipped around and darted toward the phone, already dialing with a sense of urgency.

Jungkook stood frozen for a moment longer, his heart pounding in his chest, his body numb with cold. The night air had begun to seep into his very bones, but it wasn’t the chill that made him shiver—it was the knowledge that they were losing her, that they couldn’t keep her from the hunger that had begun to take root in her. And the thought made his chest tighten, the weight of unanswered questions gnawing at him.

"Who are you calling?" Jungkook asked, his voice strained, hoarse with emotion.

Jung-Hyun didn’t hesitate for even a second. His tone was clipped, precise. "The Marines," he replied, and though the answer was simple, it carried with it an undercurrent of finality. There would be no turning back after this.

As Jung-Hyun moved toward the phone, the door to the house creaked open sharply, and the Kims stepped inside with the quiet confidence of men used to urgency. Namjoon entered first, his posture stiff, his aura commanding the space as always, while Seokjin followed close behind, bouncing on his heels as if he couldn’t wait to say something, to crack a joke, or to offer the kind of easy humor that seemed out of place in such a grim moment.

"So, where's Nosferatu?" Namjoon asked, his voice dry and dry like the dust in the air. His words were a casual dismissal, a way of cutting through the tension as if the weight of the situation couldn’t touch him.

Seokjin flashed a wicked grin, his teeth glinting in the low light. "The Prince of Darkness," he teased, as though he were making light of the entire situation.

"The nightcrawler," Namjoon added, his words dripping with sarcasm as he rolled his eyes at Seokjin’s antics. He was no stranger to the occasional joke, but this wasn’t the time. "The bloodsucker," he continued in a deadpan tone, his voice thick with disinterest.

Seokjin picked up on the cue, eyes glinting as he leaned in, his humor still unshaken by the gravity of the situation. "El Vampiro," he said with an exaggerated Spanish accent, like the joke had already been played out too many times.

Jung-Hyun snapped his fingers, impatient and stern as he shifted his gaze between the men. "Enough with the jokes. They're here, Jungkook! Come down here!" He barked, his voice harsh as he gestured for Jungkook to make an appearance.

The sound of slow, hesitant footsteps echoed through the house, heavy and laden with uncertainty. Jungkook appeared at the top of the stairs, looking like a shadow of himself—frail, fragile, a far cry from the confident, unstoppable force he had once been. His dark glasses were perched awkwardly atop his ashen face, and his usual swagger had been replaced with a shuffling gait, as though the weight of what had happened to him had drained the very life from his body.

Namjoon eyed him carefully, his gaze sharp as ever. He raised an eyebrow, taking in Jungkook’s appearance. "This guy looks more like a zombie," he remarked, his tone unreadable, though it could easily be taken as a jab. But it was hard to say whether Namjoon meant it seriously or if it was simply a remark born out of frustration.

Seokjin, who never missed an opportunity for some dark humor, reached into his backpack with a flourish. "Should I run him through?" he asked, pulling out a sharpened wooden stake and holding it up with a mischievous grin.

Namjoon shot him a look, one that spoke of his deep weariness with the ongoing jokes. "We’re not here to joke around, Seokjin," he muttered, his gaze turning back to Jungkook. His tone shifted, more serious now, the weight of the moment pressing in on them all. "I’ve only got one question for you, and I need an honest answer. Have you taken any human victims yet?"

Jungkook’s breath hitched at the question. He could feel the blood drain from his face as he stiffened, his body betraying him with how weak he still felt. His heart raced in his chest, each beat thumping painfully in his ears. "Of course not!" His voice came out strained, defensive—almost too defensive.

Namjoon studied him for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. The silence between them stretched out, suffocating and thick with the tension of the unknown. Finally, Namjoon spoke again, his voice softer, but no less firm. "If you’re telling the truth," he said, his eyes never leaving Jungkook, "then there’s still hope. We can save you."

Jung-Hyun didn’t hesitate to speak up, his voice full of conviction as he nodded toward Jungkook. "He’s telling the truth!" he affirmed. Then, after a beat, his eyes flicked nervously to Jungkook, his confidence waning for a brief moment. "Aren’t you, Jungkook?"

Jungkook’s gaze held steady. His pulse raced, but he didn’t falter. His voice was small but resolute. "Yeah," he murmured, meeting Jung-Hyun’s gaze directly. "I’m telling the truth."

Namjoon didn’t waste any time on sentimentality. He didn’t need to hear the empty words of hope—they weren’t what mattered. "To free you," he said, his voice sharpening, "we have to destroy the leader of the vampires."

Jungkook flinched at the words, his body tense as the horror of the situation crashed down on him. "Jimin," he whispered, the name tasting like ash in his mouth. The weight of it, the connection it signified, left him feeling cold.

Namjoon didn’t flinch at the name. "I don’t care about names. Just take me to him," he snapped, his words final and full of urgency. "Where’s their nest?"

Jungkook opened his mouth, about to speak, but his voice faltered, caught in a tangled mess of emotion. The truth he was about to reveal, the path he was about to lead them down—it terrified him. "I’ll take you there," he said finally, his voice shaking, his resolve breaking under the weight of everything.

Seokjin’s voice sliced through the tension with a sharp edge. His skepticism was thick in the air. "You can barely stand up," he remarked, crossing his arms. "How do we know we can trust you? You’re practically one of them."

Before anyone could respond, Jungkook’s resolve hardened, and with a sudden move, he lunged forward. He gripped Namjoon’s arm with a ferocity that made Seokjin take a step back. "I said I’ll take you there," Jungkook growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Nobody’s going near Y/N without me."

Namjoon didn’t flinch, though there was a sharpness to his eyes that made it clear he wouldn’t hesitate to put Jungkook in his place if necessary. "Alright, alright," he said tersely, trying to defuse the situation without losing the momentum they had. "Let’s get this over with."

Jungkook released his grip, but the tension in the room didn’t fade. Namjoon absently rubbed his arm, his lips curling into a wry smile. "Vampires have such rotten tempers," he muttered under his breath.

The car ride the next morning felt like a blur, the sleepy haze of early morning lingering in the air like a fog that clouded everything. The tires screeched against the pavement as the car reversed, its sound cutting through the stillness of the morning. Jung-Hyun leaned out the driver’s side window, calling to Min-chul, who was working outside.

"Harabeoji! Okay if we borrow the car?" he shouted, already halfway through the sentence as the car shot off toward town. Before Min-chul could even respond, they were gone, the tires kicking up a cloud of dust as they tore down the road.

The Chevy rumbled sluggishly through the town now, the engine purring low in the early quiet. But when they reached the intersection, it came to an abrupt halt. The car sat there, unmoving, blocking traffic with a purposeful slowness that felt deliberate, like everything around them had suddenly slowed to match the weight of what was about to unfold.

Inside the car, Jungkook was slumped over the wheel, his forehead resting against it, his body sinking into exhaustion. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and his face, though still handsome, looked worn and drained from the turmoil of the past days. The engine hummed softly, the rhythmic sound lulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The quiet of the early morning was abruptly shattered by the blaring honk of a car behind them. The sharp, impatient noise snapped Jungkook awake with a jolt. His eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused, as his hands fumbled to start the car again. His fingers fumbled over the gear shift, struggling to regain control of the vehicle. The car jerked forward awkwardly, its tires skidding slightly on the road as he fought to regain composure.

From the backseat, Namjoon’s voice cut through the disarray, cold and unyielding. “Just so you know,” he said, his tone low and controlled, “if you try to stop us, or if you vamp out in any way, I’ll stake you without hesitation.” The warning was calm, but it held an undeniable weight of finality, as though it were already a given.

Jung-Hyun, sitting beside Jungkook, shot Namjoon a weary glance. Despite the tension hanging in the air, he was oddly composed, his features cool, almost detached. “Chill out, Namjoon,” he muttered, sinking back into his seat with a frustrated sigh, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. “We’ve got enough problems without you adding more.”

Jungkook’s grip tightened on the wheel as the car rumbled on, his exhaustion pressing down on him with every passing mile. The engine sputtered slightly, and he couldn’t help but feel every minute drag by with an almost tangible weight. Still, he forced himself to focus, his mind working on autopilot. They were getting closer. Closer to what he had no idea, but at least it was something—anything.

Eventually, the Chevy’s tires crunched against the gravel, the sound of it slowing as the car came to a halt. The engine sputtered into silence, leaving a thick, suffocating silence in its wake. The air hung heavy with anticipation, each of them bracing for whatever was about to unfold.

The Kims were the first to move. They spilled out of the car with purpose, their backpacks slung over their shoulders like a second skin. Flashlights and stakes clinked together as they moved, the sharp metallic sound of them a reminder of what they were about to face. They moved quickly, ready for whatever awaited them in the dark recesses of the cave. Namjoon led the charge, his posture alert and stiff, while Seokjin followed with a touch of enthusiasm that seemed almost out of place in such a grim situation.

Jungkook, already lagging behind, took a moment to gather himself before following. His steps were uneven, his body trembling as the weight of his condition caught up with him. Every movement felt like an effort, as though his body was betraying him with every second that passed. His breath was shallow, his pulse racing, but he didn’t slow down. Not when they were so close.

Jung-Hyun noticed immediately. Without a word, he stepped in close, his hand falling onto Jungkook’s arm with steady reassurance. It was a silent support, the kind that needed no explanation. Jungkook didn’t look at him, but the firm grip of Jung-Hyun’s hand grounded him in a way nothing else could.

"Down there," Jungkook muttered hoarsely, his voice strained as he pointed toward the set of weathered stone stairs leading into the dark void below. The air down there was thick with danger, with the looming sense that they were not just walking into a cave but into something far worse.

As the Kims pushed ahead with purpose, Jungkook stumbled once more, the exhaustion and pain threatening to overtake him. A sharp wince crossed his face, but he bit back any sound, swallowing his weakness as best he could. Before he could take another step, Jung-Hyun’s grip tightened on his arm, steady and unwavering. He didn’t question, didn’t hesitate, just moved in close to support his friend without a second thought.

Jungkook’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a thousand unsaid words. His eyes, dark and haunted, found Jung-Hyun’s. “Jung-Hyun…” The name was thick with emotion, as though it carried everything he couldn’t say aloud. “If something happens to me… If I don’t have the strength to go on… promise me you won’t let them hurt Y/N.”

The words struck Jung-Hyun like a physical blow, the weight of the promise sinking into his chest with an almost unbearable heaviness. His throat tightened, the lump of dread sitting heavily in his stomach. The responsibility in those words was too much, too final, too much of a burden. He swallowed hard, trying to push back the feeling of suffocating fear that threatened to drown him.

“I… I promise,” Jung-Hyun said finally, his voice tight, thick with the emotion he couldn’t quite put into words. The knot in his stomach refused to go away, but there was nothing he could do now. His promise was a vow, an unspoken bond that he knew would come with unimaginable cost. The fear of what might happen next loomed over him like an ever-present shadow, but he had no choice but to accept it.

They moved forward, step by careful step, as the darkness around them seemed to swallow the last remnants of daylight. It felt as though time itself had stopped, the silence growing heavier with each descending step. When they finally reached the entrance to the cave’s lobby, the air was frigid—a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the sun they had just left behind. The coldness cut through Jungkook like a knife, but he barely felt it anymore. His body had grown accustomed to a much deeper chill.

Namjoon and Seokjin stepped into the lobby first, their eyes scanning the cavernous space with wide-eyed wonder. It was almost as if they were tourists in an ancient tomb, their gazes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. The eerie silence that greeted them only made the air feel thicker, the danger more palpable. They stood still for a moment, letting the magnitude of the place sink in, before moving forward with a sense of purpose.

Jungkook followed close behind, his eyes immediately seeking out the far corner of the cave. There, in the shadows, lay Y/N—her body unmoving, her face peaceful in the kind of sleep that looked almost angelic. Her chest rose and fell with the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding around her.

Jungkook’s heart lurched in his chest as he stepped closer, kneeling beside her. His fingers trembled as he gently shook her, trying to rouse her from her slumber. “Y/N… You’re coming with me,” he said softly, his voice full of something fragile—something between hope and desperation. Every part of him wanted her to wake up, to see her eyes again, to know she was still there.

Her eyelids fluttered open, the surprise in her eyes quickly fading as recognition set in. But the softness that replaced it only deepened his worry. “Jungkook?” she murmured, her voice hoarse and barely audible. She looked like she had been asleep for an eternity.

Jungkook’s gaze flicked to the bed beside her, where a long, hooded cape lay, its fabric pooling in the dim light. “You’ve got to put this on,” he urged, his voice urgent now, the desperation creeping into his tone.

Y/N barely seemed to register the words, her eyes unfocused as she whispered in a distant, detached voice. “Take Moon,” she murmured weakly, her eyes filling with an unspoken plea. “Save Moon first.”

Jungkook’s heart clenched painfully as his eyes followed her gaze to the far corner of the room. There, still asleep in a curled position, was Moon. His heart sank at the sight of her request, but the command in her voice was clear. Her plea was unspoken, but the weight of it was undeniable. Without hesitation, he moved swiftly to Moon’s side, wrapping him in a blanket with tender care, making sure he was secure and warm before lifting him gently in his arms.

In the far corner, Seokjin had found something else—a narrow grate in the ceiling. His voice rang out, low but filled with excitement as he pointed it out. “Feel it?” he asked, his voice tight with anticipation. “Feel the draft?”

Namjoon, ever the problem solver, quickly whipped out a flashlight, its beam cutting through the darkness as he scanned the grate. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. “It’s an opening, all right,” he muttered. “Let’s try it. Somebody give me a boost.”

Jungkook, still carrying Moon, glanced at them for a moment before his eyes returned to the cave. He could feel the intensity of the moment pressing in on him. The sun blazed outside, but inside the cave, the world seemed to grow smaller with each passing second. They were close now—so close.

With Moon carefully bundled in his arms, Jungkook stepped out of the cave and into the harsh light of day. The sun was blinding, its heat harsh against the chill he’d left behind. Moon stirred slightly in his arms, her face twisting in confusion as he began to wake. His eyes flickered open for a brief moment, but the confusion in his gaze was overwhelming.

Jungkook adjusted the blanket around him, trying to shield him from the intense sunlight. His own exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him, each movement more labored than the last. But there was no time to rest. Not yet. They were so close.

He started the long climb up the stairs again, every step slow, every movement more difficult than the last. His strength was failing him, each breath more shallow than the one before. But he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when they were so close to saving everything.

In the suffocating darkness of the tunnel below, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Jung-Hyun pressed on, the air thick with the acrid stench of decay and centuries-old dust. The oppressive silence was only broken by the rhythmic buzz of flies, which seemed to be everywhere, their persistent hum a constant, unwelcome companion. The air felt heavier here, as if the tunnel itself had absorbed the grim history of everything that had passed through it. It was a suffocating, claustrophobic kind of quiet that seemed to cling to their skin and rattle their nerves.

Jung-Hyun swatted at a fly that had landed on his face, his movements sharp and jerky as discomfort settled deep into his bones. He hated this place. The air felt wrong, like it had been poisoned by something darker, older, than anything he could comprehend. The oppressive atmosphere only seemed to grow heavier as they continued forward, the weight of their mission and the unknown pressing down on them with each step.

"We’re on the right trail," Namjoon’s voice rang out in the stillness, a calm that contrasted sharply with the unsettling surroundings. His voice was steady, but even he couldn’t hide the edge of unease that lingered in his words. "Flies and the undead go together like ham and eggs."

Seokjin, ever the pragmatic one, pulled a can of bug spray from his backpack and gave the air a sharp burst. The sound of the nozzle hissing was loud in the silence, and a mist of chemical-laden air filled the space for a moment. Jung-Hyun coughed sharply, the fumes biting at his lungs, but they kept moving. The stink of decay was thick in the air, and no amount of bug spray seemed to do anything about it. They had to keep pushing forward.

The tunnel stretched on, endless in its darkness, and the further they ventured, the more it seemed to consume them. The stillness of it was unnerving, the kind of silence that made everything feel too quiet, too stagnant. The air felt charged, as though something were waiting just out of sight, ready to pounce. The walls seemed to close in around them, their footsteps echoing louder than they should have, each one a reminder of how isolated they were.

Then, without warning, they stopped in their tracks. A sudden tension filled the air, like an invisible pressure pushing them down. The glow of their flashlights flickered, illuminating something that made their hearts skip a beat. They stood frozen, their eyes wide, mouths slightly agape, as if they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing. It was like walking into a tomb, but one that had been forgotten for years, centuries even.

The beam of Seokjin’s flashlight landed on the floor ahead, revealing the horrific scene that lay sprawled before them. Bones, brittle and yellowed with age, scattered across the dirt and stone floor like discarded relics of a time long past. The skeletal remains of what once were people lay strewn about, still dressed in the tattered remnants of their former lives. One skeleton, clutching a suitcase with bony fingers, stared back at them from the floor, its hollow eye sockets empty and accusing. Another, dressed in a bellman’s uniform, lay crumpled in a heap, the fabric torn and frayed, a once-proud figure now reduced to nothing more than a forgotten corpse.

The reality of what they were seeing settled over them like a weight, chilling their bones, but they didn’t have time to linger in disbelief. Slowly, as if each movement required a surge of courage, they took a step forward, pushing past the horror of the scene before them. There was no time to be afraid. They had a job to do, and no matter how much their minds screamed at them to turn back, they couldn’t afford to stop now.

Jungkook’s return to the lobby felt like the final nail in the coffin of everything that had gone wrong. The door creaked open, and he stumbled in, his face ashen, his body so worn down it looked as though it might fall apart at any moment. His eyes were bloodshot, his movements sluggish, and it was clear that his exhaustion wasn’t just physical—he was hanging on by sheer willpower alone, fighting the overwhelming urge to collapse from sheer fatigue.

Y/N’s hand found his almost instinctively, warm and soft, her fingers curling around his like a lifeline. Despite everything, despite the hell they had been through, she was still there. Her presence grounded him in a way nothing else could. She squeezed his hand, her touch gentle but firm, as if to remind him that he wasn’t alone, that she was still with him.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice low and strained as he bent to lift her. His fingers brushed over her, draping the hooded cape carefully over her fragile form. Every movement was slow, deliberate, as though he was afraid of breaking her. She was light in his arms, but that weight, that fragile weight, was a constant reminder of everything they were fighting to protect.

The tunnel that lay before them was as ominous as ever, stretching out like an uninviting maw, its darkness swallowing up everything in its path. The air grew colder, and the buzzing of the flies seemed to grow louder, mixing with the nauseating stench of decay that clung to everything. Jung-Hyun wrinkled his nose and quickly covered it with the sleeve of his jacket, his stomach lurching at the overpowering smell.

“What is that smell?” he muttered, his voice thick with disgust, but his eyes darted around, trying to make sense of the overwhelming presence of death that hung in the air.

Namjoon, unfazed, didn’t even flinch. His voice was calm, steady, like this was all just another part of the job. “Vampires, my friend. Vampires.”

The words hung in the air, as matter-of-fact as if Namjoon were simply stating the weather. Jung-Hyun couldn’t bring himself to respond, his mind racing as they pushed forward, crossing into a small cavernous area. The space opened up before them, and a bitter wind whipped through the entrance, cutting through their clothes and stinging their skin. The sound of their footsteps echoed eerily in the vast emptiness, and the low, hollow drip of water somewhere in the distance only added to the sense of isolation.

The beams of their flashlights sliced through the darkness, illuminating jagged rock formations that jutted out from the floor like teeth, their sharp edges casting eerie shadows. Vines and webs hung from the ceiling, suspended in the stale air like remnants of some ancient, forgotten world. But there was no movement, no sign of life. It was a cavern frozen in time, its silence deafening.

They moved cautiously, scanning every inch of the space with wide eyes, ready for anything. But the deeper they went, the more it felt like they were being watched, like the shadows themselves were waiting for the right moment to strike. The flicker of their lights revealed nothing but emptiness and decay, a silence that grew heavier with every step they took.

Outside, Jungkook was barely holding himself together. His legs felt like jelly, his body betraying him at every turn. He had made it to the car, but the strain of it was too much. His knees buckled beneath him, and he hit the ground with a sickening thud, his breath catching in his chest. For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Y/N’s hood had slipped back, revealing her ashen, fragile face, and in that instant, time seemed to stand still. She reached out toward him, her hand brushing against his with a tenderness that felt like it might break him.

Her eyes, though tired and heavy, held a softness that gave him strength. She was still there, still alive, still holding on. And in that moment, something shifted within him. A surge of energy, borne from the depths of his will, pushed through him, igniting a fire he didn’t know he had left. He gripped the Chevy, using it to pull himself shakily to his feet. He couldn’t afford to fail her—not now. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he staggered toward the car, dragging himself forward with fierce determination. It wasn’t just exhaustion that had kept him going—it was something deeper, something stronger. His love for her. His need to protect her. And it would carry him forward, no matter what.

“Jungkook!” Jung-Hyun’s voice cut through the chaos, urgency lacing every syllable. “Get behind the wheel, now!”

Jungkook blinked, his mind still foggy from exhaustion and adrenaline. His hands gripped the seat, his gaze unfocused as he tried to process what was happening. “Huh…?” His voice was groggy, not fully awake, his head spinning from the whirlwind of fear and confusion.

“They’re gaining on us!” Seokjin shouted from the backseat, his voice sharp and frantic. His eyes darted nervously to the rearview mirror, where the flicker of headlights was growing steadily brighter. The unmistakable sound of tires screeching on asphalt confirmed the worst—they were being chased.

“Jungkook!” Jung-Hyun repeated, his tone harsher this time, tinged with a frantic edge. His hands reached out, trying to help guide Jungkook into the driver’s seat. The car swerved dangerously, the wheel slipping from Jungkook’s grip as he fumbled, trying to take control. “You have to drive!”

The tension in the air was suffocating. What had begun as a desperate escape had devolved into something worse—out of control and unraveling at the seams. The Chevy hurtled down the road, bouncing off the uneven pavement as the boys scrambled to keep it on track. The car veered dangerously toward the edge, the world outside a blur of lights and shadow.

“Red light!!” Seokjin screamed, his eyes wide with fear as the car barreled toward an intersection.

Jungkook, still groggy from his near-collapse, glanced ahead. The stoplight was looming, and they were heading straight for it, too fast to stop. The screech of tires, the rushing wind in his ears—it was all too much. He couldn’t think.

“Brake, Jungkook! Brake!” Jung-Hyun’s voice was now a desperate shout. Panic was rising, his tone laced with the urgency of the moment. The seconds felt like hours as Jungkook’s fingers scrambled to find the brake. His hands were slick with sweat, his muscles trembling, but the brake was too far. Everything was happening too fast.

It felt like eternity, the world spinning, until—finally—Jungkook slammed his foot down. The car lurched forward, the tires squealing as it came to a slow, halting stop just inches from the intersection. The sudden silence that followed was deafening.

Jung-Hyun quickly seized the wheel, his hands steady as he maneuvered the car through the light, the police car looming just beside them. The officer’s gaze was cold and calculating, his eyes flicking over the battered Chevy and its visibly nervous occupants. There was no mistaking the suspicion in his eyes. The car was too beat-up, too out of place, and everyone inside looked too on edge.

Namjoon’s heart thudded painfully in his chest, the rising panic making it difficult to breathe. “They’re looking at us,” he muttered under his breath, barely able to keep his voice steady.

Seokjin, sitting beside him in the backseat, whispered harshly, “They’re gonna book us. I can feel it.”

Jung-Hyun remained calm, his posture unyielding as he met the officer’s gaze head-on. He rolled down the window just a crack, enough to speak. “Uh… excuse me,” he said with forced nonchalance, his voice steady. “Which way to the Punk Rock Festival? We’re the opening act.”

The officer didn’t respond, merely giving a slow shake of his head, an almost disappointed smile tugging at his lips before he rolled forward, his patrol car pulling away as the light changed.

The moment the officer’s car disappeared into the distance, the boys collectively let out a breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding. The tension was so thick it almost felt like a physical weight pressing down on them. The car fell into an eerie silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, but the danger wasn’t gone. It hung over them like a dark cloud, threatening to descend again at any moment.

When they finally pulled up to the house, the weight of the night pressed in around them. Jungkook carefully cradled Y/N in his arms, her form delicate and fragile in his grasp. He could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest, but there was something unsettling in the way she felt against him—too light, too still. It was as if she were caught between life and death, a ghost of the girl she used to be. Behind him, Jung-Hyun and the Kims carried Moon, trying their best to keep the dog from jostling too much, aware of how easily even a slight movement could disturb the fragile peace.

The house felt unnaturally quiet when they stepped inside. It was an unsettling quiet, the kind that comes before something terrible, and just as they began to process the eerie stillness, a bark shattered the silence.

“No, Bam! Quiet!” Jung-Hyun’s voice was sharp, but it did nothing to calm the dog.

Bam’s barking grew louder, more insistent. He could sense something wrong. The dog wasn’t just barking at the usual things—this felt different. Namjoon, already tense from the close call with the officer, shot a glance at the door where the dog’s barks echoed. “Your dog knows flesh-eaters when he smells 'em,” he muttered under his breath, eyeing the vampires by his side, his words laced with unease.

The dog’s barking only grew louder, as if he were trying to make his point known to everyone in the room.

“Take him outside, Jung-Hyun!” Jungkook snapped, his voice tight with frustration. He shifted Y/N in his arms, adjusting her position ever so slightly, trying to make her comfortable. But her weight, the hollow feeling of it, only made his unease grow. The night had taken its toll on all of them, and it felt like they were carrying a burden no one could understand.

Jung-Hyun grabbed Bam by the collar, his frustration evident in the way he pulled the dog out of the door, casting a quick, irritated glance at the others. With a sharp tug, he guided Bam outside, away from the tension inside. The rest of them trudged upstairs, each step heavier than the last, as though the gravity of their situation was physically weighing them down.

But before they could reach the top of the stairs, Min-chul appeared at the landing, his figure framed against the dim light from above, blocking their path.

“Jungkook!” His voice rang out, commanding and authoritarian, the tone of someone used to being obeyed.

Everyone froze, caught in a tense moment of hesitation. Min-chul’s sharp gaze swept over the group, pausing as his eyes lingered on the strange mix of company they were keeping. Vampires, blood-suckers, flesh-eaters—certainly not a typical guest list. His gaze seemed to pierce through them, as though he could see the truth of what they were.

“Do you know the rule about filling the car up with gas when you take it without asking?” Min-chul’s voice was even, measured, but the undercurrent of disapproval was palpable.

Jungkook blinked, thrown off guard. “No, Harabeoji…” He stammered, not quite sure how to respond.

“Well, now you know,” Min-chul said with a tone that left no room for further discussion. Then, just as swiftly as he had appeared, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving the boys standing in awkward silence.

It took a moment for the weight of his words to sink in. Then, without another word, they all hurried upstairs, eager to escape the awkwardness and get back to the task at hand.

Upstairs, Namjoon and Seokjin lingered in the hallway, silent witnesses to the unfolding chaos. They stood like statues, neither of them speaking as Jungkook carefully placed Y/N and Moon on the bed. The room felt colder than it should have, the silence pressing in around them. The only sounds were the soft shuffle of sheets and the faint rustling of Bam’s paws on the floor below.

Jung-Hyun appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyes darting between the bedroom door and the Kims, still catching their breath from the frantic rush.

“Well…” Jung-Hyun muttered, rubbing a hand through his hair. “We blew it. Plan A is a bust.”

Seokjin didn’t even blink, his eyes cold and focused. “Time to activate Plan B.”

Jung-Hyun shot him a look, unimpressed. “What’s Plan B?”

Namjoon glanced at his watch, a long sigh escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “We don’t have one yet.” His gaze flicked toward the bedroom door, where Jungkook had just finished settling the others. “And we only have two and a half hours to come up with one.”

Jung-Hyun’s eyes widened in alarm. “What happens in two and a half hours?”

Namjoon turned to face him, his expression grave. His voice was steady, though the weight of his words was undeniable. “The sun goes down. And when it does, they’ll be coming for us.”

Outside, the sky was darkening, the amber hues of sunset giving way to the first hints of night. The sun, a fading ember behind the archway cross, cast long shadows over the grounds, its descent a reminder of the urgency of their mission. The boys charged up the steps of the church, their footfalls echoing in the otherwise still air. They had no time to waste, not a second to lose, their minds singularly focused on the task at hand. Their bikes, abandoned at the bottom of the stairs, were left forgotten, their wheels still spinning in the breeze, as though time itself had stopped in their haste. No one thought to look back; their only thought was forward, towards the goal that loomed ahead of them—the gathering darkness and the dangers it would soon bring.

Inside the church, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the storm raging outside. The peaceful hum of a christening ceremony drifted through the air, filling the sacred space with an odd sense of calm, as if nothing at all was out of place. The quiet murmurs of the congregation, the soft rustle of fabric as families gathered, all seemed miles away from the reality the boys were facing. Yet, amidst this serenity, the Kims moved with quiet urgency, slipping past the pews, unnoticed by the congregation.

At the back of the church, by the entrance, were the holy water bowls—small, humble vessels brimming with the sacred liquid. The boys approached them silently, their movements deliberate, practiced. Jung-Hyun, with a fluid motion, dipped one of the empty canteens into the water, filling it with the cool, clear liquid. The water sloshed softly as it filled the container, a small but vital comfort in the midst of the chaos that was about to descend upon them. They knew what they had to do. The holy water, a simple but potent weapon, would be their first line of defense against the monsters that hunted them, that hunted anyone foolish enough to cross their path. The weight of the canteens in their hands felt reassuring, a small reminder that they had the tools to fight back.

The stillness of the church seemed to swallow them as they moved with quiet efficiency, gathering what they needed. Every step was deliberate, no wasted movement. The boys knew what was coming, knew that time was slipping through their fingers. Every second they spent here, inside this tranquil church, was one less second they had to prepare for what awaited them outside. The tension was thick in the air, an almost palpable sense of dread that clung to them like a second skin.

With their canteens now filled, they exchanged quick glances, silent acknowledgment passing between them. There was nothing more to do here. The holy water was essential, but it was only the beginning of the arsenal they would need to survive the night. The weight of their task settled back on their shoulders, a grim reminder that the night had only just begun.

Without a word, the boys turned and made their way out of the church, moving as one, the urgency of their mission propelling them forward. The world outside had darkened further, the first stars beginning to twinkle in the deepening sky, their presence a stark reminder of the limited time they had left.

Jung-Hyun didn’t waste a moment. He swung his leg over his bike, his movements quick and practiced. He didn’t spare a glance at his friends as they mounted their bikes and rode off into the night, their destination clear in their minds. They would stop at the video store, a small, unassuming place tucked away on a side street, where Jung-Hyun’s mother worked. It was the last place anyone would expect them to go, but it was where they needed to be. The video store was more than just a business—it was a source of information, a place where knowledge could be found in the most unexpected of places.

The ride through the darkened streets felt like a blur, the wind whipping past them as they sped through the quiet neighborhood, their destination in sight. The neon lights of the video store flickered in the distance, casting long shadows on the sidewalk, the sign overhead casting a sickly greenish glow onto the street.

Without slowing down, Jung-Hyun pulled up to the curb. He didn’t bother to park properly, the bike skidding slightly as he hopped off, his heart already racing with anticipation. His hands were steady as he dismounted, but the urgency in his movements was clear. He glanced briefly at his friends as they followed, but his eyes were already on the door. Time was of the essence. He had to get inside. He had to find what they needed, and fast.

Without another thought, he sprinted towards the door, the sound of his footsteps quickening as he neared the entrance. His mind was already focused on the task ahead, already lost in the flood of thoughts that raced through his mind.

Jung-Hyun pushed the door of the video store open with a force that made the bell above it jangle loudly, alerting everyone inside. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving with urgency as he scanned the store. The familiar scent of popcorn and old film reels filled the air, but it did nothing to calm the tension tightening in his chest. His heart hammered as his gaze landed on Wanda, his mother, who was behind the counter. She was sorting through a stack of VHS tapes, unaware of the storm that was about to hit.

He wasted no time. “Mom!” he shouted, his voice frantic, his pulse racing. "Listen to me! This is very important! Santa Carla is crawling with vampires!"

Wanda looked up slowly, her brows furrowing slightly, but she didn’t immediately grasp the gravity of his words. Her gaze was calm, almost detached, as she processed the intensity in his voice. The store was quiet enough that a customer, an older man browsing the horror section, looked up at Jung-Hyun’s outburst, raising an eyebrow. But Wanda’s attention never wavered from her son.

“What did you say?” she asked, her voice low and hesitant, almost as if she thought he was joking.

“Vampires, Mom! Everywhere!” Jung-Hyun’s words spilled out in a rush, sharp and insistent, his eyes wide with barely-contained panic. He leaned across the counter, lowering his voice but not hiding the desperation in it. "You’ve got to tell the police! The newspapers! The TV stations! They’ll listen to you. They’ll believe you… you’re a mom!"

He was practically begging now, the words tumbling from him in a desperate hope that his mother would understand, that she’d take him seriously.

Wanda didn’t seem moved by his plea. Her eyes narrowed as she took a step back, away from the counter and out of the line of sight of the customer who had been eyeing the scene. She glanced at Jung-Hyun, her expression unreadable but tinged with something like confusion.

“Not funny, Jung-Hyun,” she said, her voice strained, but with a hint of disapproval, like she thought he was being melodramatic or attention-seeking.

“This is not a joke!” Jung-Hyun’s voice cracked as he leaned in closer, almost pleading. "They know we know about them, Mom. They’re coming to the house as soon as it gets dark! The house! They’re coming for us. You have to warn people!"

But Wanda wasn’t listening. Her face hardened, frustration settling in like a heavy weight, her posture stiffening with annoyance. “Stop it, Jung-Hyun. Stop it right now,” she snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence.

His words faltered for just a second. “But, Mom—”

“No more! I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Her voice rose in volume, sharp with anger now, the tension between them crackling like static. “I’m going to see Hoseok tonight, and you’re trying to ruin it for me again!”

Jung-Hyun's patience snapped like a taut wire. “No, I’m not—”

“There’s nothing wrong with Hoseok!” Wanda’s interruption was like a blade, her voice cutting through the air with a finality that left no room for argument. She took a deep breath, her face reddening. “I don’t know why you don’t—”

“I’m not talking about Hoseok!” Jung-Hyun’s voice exploded, louder than he intended, his frustration too much to contain. “To hell with Hoseok!”

The words hung in the air, thick and heavy. The store went eerily quiet for a moment, as several customers turned to stare, their eyes wide. Wanda’s face went pale, her shock evident, her lips parting in disbelief. The old man who had been browsing at the counter cleared his throat uncomfortably, but Jung-Hyun was beyond caring. His own face flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, but the words had already left his mouth, and now they seemed to linger in the room like an accusation.

Wanda’s eyes widened in disbelief, her face twisting with anger. She sucked in a breath, steadying herself before speaking again, her voice low and dangerous. “I’ll deal with you later, young man,” she muttered, her tone so cold it could freeze the air between them.

Jung-Hyun’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the argument heavy on him. His shoulders sagged for just a moment, exhaustion settling in, but there was no time to waste. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the store, the door swinging shut behind him with a harsh clang that seemed to echo in the sudden silence.

Outside, the cool evening air hit him like a slap, and his mind raced with everything that had just happened. His mother, the one person who should have been there to help, wasn’t listening. No one was. They were on their own. The Kims were waiting for him just outside, their faces grim as they saw the look on his.

“We’re on our own,” Jung-Hyun muttered, his voice hollow, a sharp edge of bitterness lacing his words.

Seokjin and Namjoon exchanged a glance, an unspoken understanding passing between them, their faces hardening.

“Good,” Seokjin said, his voice firm, resolute. The tension that had been building inside him snapped into focus, his stance unyielding. “Let them think we’re crazy. We’ll do it ourselves.”

Namjoon nodded, his gaze steady. The faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s just the way we like it.”

Jung-Hyun stepped into the workroom, the familiar scent of sawdust and leather enveloping him, instantly grounding him in a place that had always been a refuge from the outside world. The low hum of a faint radio filled the air, blending with the steady rhythm of Min-chul’s work. The elder was hunched over a mounted deer head, his hands moving deftly as he worked on some task Jung-Hyun couldn’t quite make out. His focus was absolute, the kind of deep concentration that suggested nothing in the world could pull Min-chul’s attention away from his craft. It was a scene that could have been frozen in time, an image so constant and unchanging that it almost felt like nothing else mattered. In this room, the world outside didn’t exist.

“Harabeoji,” Jung-Hyun called out, his voice a little breathless from the frantic running around he had been doing all evening. He barely had time to breathe, let alone pause for rest. “The Widow Johnson called. She said to pick her up at seven instead of eight.” His words were a mix of urgency and humor, the kind of quick remark that often passed between them.

Min-chul’s hands froze mid-motion, the knife he was holding stilling in the air. He blinked a few times, brow furrowed, clearly caught off guard. “Did we have a date tonight?” he asked, the words coming out with a hint of confusion, as if the very notion of a scheduled evening out was foreign to him.

Jung-Hyun let out a short, dry laugh, a sound that held little humor, more of a release of tension. “I guess so,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “She said not to be late.”

The confusion lingered on Min-chul’s face for a moment longer, his eyes searching Jung-Hyun’s as though trying to understand the situation. He slowly put down the tools in his hands and exhaled with a sigh. “I better get cleaned up, then.”

A few minutes later, the engine of the old pickup truck rumbled to life. The sound echoed through the still evening air, mingling with the distant chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the light breeze. Min-chul’s truck grew smaller in the distance as he drove off toward the setting sun, leaving behind the house—its windows dark and quiet, as if holding its breath. It was the kind of evening that felt like a suspended moment in time, pregnant with something unspoken, like the house itself was anticipating something to come, something beyond its control.

Inside the house, though, the mood was starkly different. The air felt thick with tension, each person moving with purpose, as though every movement carried the weight of the impending night. Jungkook, with his jaw set in a grim line, moved through the rooms with speed and precision. His footsteps were heavy, purposeful, as he locked doors and bolted windows, taking care with each movement. The hammer in his hand made a dull thudding noise as he drove nails into the boards, securing the windows with a kind of finality. His expression was stoic, almost haunted, as if the magnitude of what they were about to face had finally settled on his shoulders.

In the kitchen, Jung-Hyun worked with the same intensity. The clatter of the knife against the cutting board was sharp in the otherwise quiet house as he sliced each garlic clove with a careful, practiced hand. The smell of garlic filled the air, pungent and strong, mixing with the other scents of the house—wood, leather, and something heavier, like the thick pressure of a storm about to break. Each slice was deliberate, a small act of defiance in the face of the darkness creeping closer. He didn’t dare think of anything else—there wasn’t time. The preparations had to be finished. Now.

Elsewhere in the house, the Kims were busy in the bathroom, filling the large tub with holy water. Their movements were slow but steady, efficient in a way that spoke of deep familiarity with what had to be done. They poured the sacred liquid into plastic bottles, their hands careful but quick. There was no excitement, no sense of triumph—just the quiet finality of the task at hand. Once the bottles were filled, they transferred the water into squirt guns, the sound of plastic clacking against plastic punctuating the otherwise silent room. It was almost comical, if the situation weren’t so dire, yet there was no humor to be found here—only the cold reality of what they were preparing for. Everything they feared had finally arrived, and there was no turning back.

In the next room, Namjoon and Seokjin worked together, sitting at the dresser and leafing through an old Soldier of Fortune magazine. Their faces were painted in camouflage makeup, the green and brown streaks a stark contrast against their otherwise clean skin. They followed the magazine’s instructions as best they could, though the results were less than professional. Still, it didn’t matter. The makeup didn’t need to make them look like soldiers—it simply needed to make them feel like they were ready for whatever would come. Ready to fight, if it came to that.

Jungkook stood by the window in his bedroom, his fingers gripping the heavy curtain. He pulled it back just enough to peek outside, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the sleepy town of Santa Carla below. The view was deceptively peaceful, the town caught in that fragile moment between day and night. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a soft, fading glow. And yet, with the fading light came an eerie sense of stillness, as if everything was holding its breath—waiting for something, anything, to shift.

The town felt as if it were suspended in that moment, unaware of the impending chaos, unaware of the danger lurking just beyond the shadows. The night had fallen, and with it, everything seemed to change. Jungkook’s heart beat a little faster as he pulled the curtain shut again, turning back toward the others. The time for waiting had passed. Whatever came next, they would face it together. But for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to hold onto the quiet, the peacefulness of that final dusk before the storm. It wouldn’t last long.

Jungkook moved slowly across the room, the weight of the evening pressing down on him, each step deliberate, as if he were carrying the entire world with him. The silence that filled the house was suffocating, thick with anticipation and the hum of uncertainty. Every second that passed felt like it stretched into eternity—each one heavy with the knowledge that everything they had prepared for was about to unfold. The sun had long dipped below the horizon, and in its absence, the night had crept in like a shroud, casting the world in darkness. It felt as though they were standing on the edge of something they could neither control nor escape. The air was electric with tension, and it was impossible to ignore the sense that whatever was coming, it was unavoidable.

Jungkook’s gaze turned once more toward the window, his fingers tightening around the curtain as if holding onto the last shred of daylight. He looked out at Santa Carla below, the town sprawled beneath him, blissfully unaware of the danger that hung over it like a shadow. The streets were quiet, the familiar scene of a sleepy town fading into the night. But he knew better. There was no safety here, not anymore. The world had changed, and there was no going back.

The soft rustling sound of Moon shifting on the bed beside him pulled Jungkook from his thoughts, and he turned to find Y/N blinking up at him. Her eyes were half-lidded with sleep, but there was no mistaking the weariness that lingered in them. The weight of the room seemed to settle even more heavily as she stirred, her movements slow, deliberate. She looked at him, and in that fleeting moment, their shared understanding passed between them without a single word. They didn’t need to speak—they both knew what was coming. The fear and the dread that had been creeping up on them for days now, finally coming to a head. It was all here, in this room, in their hearts.

Her voice broke the silence, soft but thick with the vulnerability of someone who had been carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders for too long. “They’ll be coming for Moon and me, won’t they?” The question hung in the air, fragile and uncertain. She was asking, but she already knew the answer, just as he did. The truth was undeniable.

Jungkook’s heart twisted in his chest at the sound of her voice, a twinge of sorrow and guilt cutting through him. He wanted to reassure her, to say something comforting, but he couldn’t lie. Not now, not when everything felt so raw, so fragile. He met her gaze and saw the fear in her eyes—the same fear that mirrored his own. His breath caught in his throat, but he stepped forward, closing the space between them. He placed a hand gently on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric.

“They’ll be coming for all of us,” he said quietly, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of the truth. Even though every word felt like it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken fears, he spoke them plainly. There was no pretending anymore. “But we’ll face it together. All of us.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her eyes locking with his. The world outside, the threat that loomed, seemed to fade for a moment. There was only the quiet understanding between them, a shared resolve. They didn’t need to speak it aloud, but they both knew. They were in this together, no matter what.

Jungkook turned toward his closet, his movements purposeful, as if he were preparing for a battle he knew was coming. He reached for his hunting bow, the cool wood and taut string familiar in his hands. The weight of it was both reassuring and unnerving at the same time. The bow was a tool—a weapon—but it was also a symbol of the fight ahead. He grabbed the quiver of arrows from the shelf beside it, the soft rattle of the shafts filling the room with a sound that only deepened the tension. As he slung the quiver over his shoulder, his gaze lingered on Y/N. She was sitting up now, her movements slow but steady as she adjusted Moon beside her, the dog’s soft whine breaking the silence.

Y/N caught his eyes, and in that moment, the world outside seemed to blur. Their bond, the quiet strength they had always shared, anchored them in this uncertain reality. She didn’t need to ask him to stay; she knew he would. She didn’t need to remind him of the promises they had made to one another—he remembered them all, as vividly as if they had been spoken just yesterday. Their love had woven them together in ways neither of them could fully explain, but it had always been there, growing stronger with every challenge they faced.

Jungkook moved back toward the bed slowly, his expression softening as he knelt beside her. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against her hand. It was a simple touch, but it spoke volumes. In that fleeting contact, there was reassurance, there was love, and there was a promise that transcended words.

“I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The promise came from a place deep inside him, a place of love and desperation to protect the people who meant everything to him. His thumb traced gentle circles over her hand, grounding them both in the moment. “And I won’t let anything happen to the people we love. Not Moon. Not the boys downstairs. Not anyone.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she squeezed his hand in return, her fingers curling around his with a reassurance that anchored him even more. The connection between them was undeniable, unshakable. It always had been, and it always would be. No matter what the world threw at them, they would face it together.

“I know,” she murmured, her voice steady despite the fear that clung to them both. “I’ll fight with you. I won’t let them take us. We’ll keep fighting. Together.”

Her words were a lifeline, a reminder of the strength they had drawn from each other throughout everything that had come before. They wouldn’t face this alone. No matter what happened, they would stand side by side. Their hearts beat in unison, and together, they would protect what mattered most—each other, and the people they loved.

Jungkook leaned in slowly, his forehead resting gently against hers. The gesture was simple, but it held everything—comfort, intimacy, understanding. In this moment, the chaos of the world outside felt distant, irrelevant. It was just the two of them, locked in this quiet exchange.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words a breath against her skin. They weren’t just words; they were a promise. A promise that ran deeper than anything either of them could express.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed, a soft smile curving her lips despite the fear that still lingered in the depths of her eyes. “I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice just as quiet but no less sincere. “And no matter what happens, we’ll always have each other.”

The words hung in the air, soft and sure, like a secret shared only between them. In that moment, the fear that had been gnawing at them both seemed to fade, replaced by something stronger—something unbreakable. They weren’t alone. Not now. Not ever.

Jungkook pulled back slightly, his hand still holding hers, his eyes searching hers as if looking for some final reassurance. “We’ll make it through this. I promise.”

Y/N nodded, her grip tightening on his hand, a shared determination burning in her eyes. “We will. And we’ll keep everyone safe. We’ll protect the boys downstairs too.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicked briefly toward the door where the young teenagers were gathered, blissfully unaware of the danger that was quickly approaching. They were too young, too naive to truly understand what was coming. But Jungkook would make sure they were ready. He would protect them, just as he would protect Y/N. He would protect anyone he loved with everything he had.

At Hoseok’s house, the air was thick with tension, but Wanda barely noticed. Her mind was miles away, lost in a swirl of thoughts she couldn't untangle. She had hoped for a moment of peace, just a fleeting break from the constant chaos that seemed to follow her boys wherever they went. But as she pushed open the door, the warmth of the room met her, a soft contrast to the coldness she felt inside.

Hoseok stood at the door, his smile welcoming and sincere. His eyes held a quiet optimism, the kind of hope that was rare these days. “Maybe this is the night where everything finally goes right for a change,” he said, his voice bright and full of hope.

Wanda paused, her hand still on the doorknob as his words floated in the air between them. Her expression remained tense, the weight of everything she carried pressing down on her chest. Despite herself, she forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I hope so,” she replied, the words more out of habit than belief.

Hoseok's keen senses didn’t miss the hesitation in her voice. He raised an eyebrow, pouring her a glass of wine with a calm ease. His movements were smooth, practiced, but there was a certain softness in his touch, a sense of care that Wanda wasn’t used to. “Something the matter?” he asked, his tone gentle but probing.

Wanda shifted on her feet, her thoughts momentarily drifting back to her boys. The worry that clung to her like a second skin never seemed to dissipate. The boys... the chaos that followed them... the danger. It was all a constant hum in the back of her mind. She forced herself to focus on the moment, the warmth of the home, the calmness that Hoseok’s presence always seemed to bring. “No, no. Just worrying about my boys. As usual,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hoseok chuckled softly, the sound like a balm to her frayed nerves. He handed her the glass of wine, settling beside her on the couch with a casual grace. “Let me tell you something about boys,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes, the tension in the air starting to ease. “They’re like weeds. They grow best when they’re ignored.”

Wanda took the glass, the cool crystal against her skin grounding her. She could feel his warmth beside her, the closeness oddly comforting. Their fingers brushed for a brief moment, an accidental touch that made her heart skip. She raised the glass to her lips, taking a sip of the wine, the warmth of it spreading through her chest, soothing the tightness that had settled there. “I thought you said they needed discipline?” she teased, arching an eyebrow at him.

Hoseok shrugged, a lazy grin spreading across his face. He leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out as if the weight of the world didn’t press down on him the way it did on her. “Well… what do I know? I’m a bachelor,” he said with a half-hearted shrug, his tone light and carefree.

Wanda couldn’t help but smile at that, the small, fleeting moment of humor breaking through her tension. The corners of her mouth lifted, and for a moment, she let herself forget about the weight of everything she was carrying. She took another sip, savoring the taste, the comfort that the wine and Hoseok’s presence offered.

But even as she relaxed, a subtle shift in Hoseok’s demeanor caught her attention. His smile softened, the lightness in his expression fading just enough for her to sense the seriousness beneath. “Wanda,” he said, his voice quieter now, the playful tone gone, replaced by something deeper. “This is going to be a very special night. I promise you.”

The sincerity in his voice made her heart ache, and she could feel the tension in her own body tighten again, though this time for an entirely different reason. There was something in the way he said it, a promise of something more, something beyond the surface of the evening. It made her pause, her breath catching in her throat.

Hoseok stood up, but Wanda instinctively reached out, her hand brushing against his arm, a touch so gentle it was almost imperceptible. He stopped, his gaze meeting hers, confusion flickering in his eyes for a brief moment. Then, slowly, as if understanding something unspoken between them, he let her pull him closer.

The air between them shifted, the tension suddenly thick in a different way. Wanda’s heart was pounding, and she didn’t know where the impulse came from, but it was there, undeniable. She pressed her lips to his, a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, like both of them were testing the waters. But as the moments stretched on, the kiss deepened, their emotions spilling out in ways neither of them had expected. It was longer than either of them had anticipated, lingering with a quiet intensity, as if time itself had paused to allow them this one moment.

Wanda’s hand slid up to rest against the back of his neck, pulling him closer, her fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepened. It was a kiss of relief, of longing, of something both familiar and new. In that moment, there was no chaos, no fear, no worries about the boys or the unpredictable future. There was only the warmth of Hoseok’s arms around her, the taste of the wine still lingering on their lips, and the certainty that, for this brief moment in time, everything felt right.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other, the world seemed to fall back into place, but in a quieter way, a softer way. Wanda’s breath was uneven, her chest rising and falling in the same rhythm as Hoseok’s. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher—one that held everything, yet nothing at all.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” she whispered, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, even as her heart raced in her chest.

Hoseok let out a soft chuckle, his fingers gently brushing her cheek. “Neither was I,” he admitted, his voice low and hushed, like they were sharing a secret between the two of them. “But I think... maybe it was exactly what we both needed.”

Wanda’s smile grew, a mixture of relief and affection filling her eyes. She leaned into him, her hand still resting on his arm, the warmth of his touch grounding her. “Maybe you’re right,” she murmured, her voice soft with a newfound sense of peace.

And for that one perfect moment, as the night stretched on and the chaos of the outside world faded into the distance, Wanda allowed herself to believe that everything would be okay for once.

Night had settled completely over Santa Carla, cloaking the town in a thick blanket of darkness, the kind that seemed to swallow up every shred of light. The sky above was a deep, velvety black, pierced only by the occasional glimmer of distant stars. A cool, salty breeze from the ocean whipped through the streets, carrying with it an unsettling tang, like the scent of something decaying beneath the surface of the town. Something was about to change, and it felt as though the town itself could sense it—tense, as though it were holding its breath.

In the distance, a sharp, eerie sound shattered the stillness—a sharp, haunting flutter that carried across the air like a warning. The sound of wings—broad, leathery wings—beating through the night sky. It wasn’t the sound of mere birds or even the wind; it was the unmistakable, unmistakable sound of the Lost Boys, the terrifying creatures who had once ruled this town with ease, their reign interrupted only by the darkness of the underground cave that had been their prison.

Now freed, they soared high above the sleepy town, their silhouettes cutting through the inky sky with a deadly grace. There was no sign of hesitation, no fear—just the sharp, predatory gleam in their eyes that could only come from centuries of hunting and bloodshed. Jimin, the leader, the angriest of them all, led the way, his gaze locked forward, focused on the target ahead. His eyes glowed faintly, reflecting the raw power and desire coursing through him. Behind him, Yoongi and Taehyung flew with equal fluidity, their wings flapping in perfect unison. Their hunger was palpable in the way they cut through the sky, their bodies slicing effortlessly through the air like sleek predators on a hunt.

Jimin's thoughts were consumed by one thing—revenge. His mind, dark and twisted with rage, churned with thoughts of the one person he wanted to destroy. Y/N. She was the one who had defied him, the one who had slipped through his fingers, the one who had taken something from him that he would never get back. She had been his first, the first woman he’d changed, the first one he had ever had full control over. He had shaped her, molded her into his perfect creation, bound to him both mentally and physically. But now, she had slipped away from him—gone with Jungkook and the others, forming a ragtag group of humans and vampires, and worst of all, she’d aligned herself with Moon, that damn mutt. The mutt and the girl—Jimin could feel the blood boiling beneath his skin at the thought of them. How dare they.

Worse still, Jimin knew it was because of them that Taeyang was dead. The boy was supposed to have been one of them—part of their group, part of their world. But now he was gone, killed by Jungkook and his little gang of foolish children. They thought they could beat the Lost Boys. Jimin had no intention of letting that go unpunished. No. Tonight, he and his boys were going to carve a path of destruction through the town, and they would make Jungkook and his gang pay—pay dearly for the loss of their brother.

He didn’t just want to kill them. He wanted to destroy their spirits, to wipe them off the earth and take back what was his. But it wasn’t just about Taeyang anymore. It was about Y/N. She was supposed to be part of their world, to complete her transformation and become what she was always meant to be: a vampire. If she had fed, if she had fully embraced the darkness, none of this would have happened. There would be no rebellion, no chaos. She would have been his. But now, with her going to Jungkook, with her clinging to humanity, Jimin was left to deal with the mess she had created. And if anyone was going to make sure things went back to the way they were meant to be, it was going to be him.

As they soared higher into the sky, Jimin's thoughts flicked to the others, Yoongi and Taehyung. Yoongi was quiet, as always, but Jimin could feel the same burning rage pulsing beneath his cool demeanor. Taehyung, on the other hand, wore his anger on his sleeve. The boy’s sense of justice had always been as sharp as his fangs, and now, in this moment, that sense of justice was burning for revenge. The three of them were a force to be reckoned with. Together, they would take back what was theirs.

Their flight carried them over the ocean, where the water churned angrily beneath them, crashing against the jagged rocks of the shore, sending sprays of salty mist into the air. The dark waters seemed to mirror their thoughts—chaotic, deep, and cold. The waves hissed as they collided with the rocks, an eerie reminder of the darkness that had been brewing for far too long. The town of Santa Carla lay just ahead, its lights twinkling in the distance like false promises.

The boardwalk appeared on the horizon first, a faint glow that flickered weakly under the weight of the night, casting long shadows across the sand. It was familiar, yet unfamiliar—there was an eerie quality to it tonight, as if even the town itself knew that the Lost Boys were coming for it once more.

Beneath them, the streets of Santa Carla were bathed in the faint glow of streetlights, casting eerie shadows on the pavement. The town looked peaceful from up here—too peaceful. It was the calm before the storm. The town’s heartbeat was slow, and in its quiet, Jimin could almost hear the fear. The fear that was about to rise. No one here knew what was coming, but Jimin knew. And he couldn’t wait to get started.

He hovered above, his dark eyes scanning the streets below. He could feel the weight of everything pressing down on him. The need for vengeance. The need to take back what had been lost. His grip on his anger tightened as the minutes ticked by, knowing that in a few moments, everything would be chaos. The Lost Boys were coming for their prey—and they would not stop until it was over.

As Jimin looked down at the town, his gaze narrowed, a flash of murderous intent lighting his eyes. Tonight, it was all going to burn.

Back at Hoseok’s house, the evening had slipped into a warm, intoxicating haze. The kiss between him and Wanda had deepened, pulling them closer, their world shrinking to just the two of them on the couch. The weight of the world seemed to disappear as their lips met, and for a fleeting moment, Wanda forgot about the chaos, the tension, the struggles of the outside world. There was only Hoseok, his gentle touch, and the soft, rhythmic connection between them.

Hoseok’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her just a little closer, the heat between them intensifying. Wanda’s heart raced in a way that had nothing to do with fear or worry—it was something entirely different. His lips were warm against hers, and his touch was so steady, so reassuring, that she allowed herself to melt into him, to get lost in the moment. She could feel the tension in her body easing, her thoughts drifting away as she let herself enjoy the simplicity of this intimate connection.

For Hoseok, everything felt natural, effortless. He had always been good at reading people, at knowing when to be gentle and when to push a little further. But tonight, everything was different. There was something about Wanda that had him completely captivated—something in her eyes, the way she leaned into him, the way she responded to his every touch. He didn’t want to think about anything else. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate, as if they were both trying to hold onto this moment before the world outside could intrude.

But then, just as the kiss reached a new level of intensity, a noise broke through the quiet of the room. A faint sound—something distant, almost like a rustling in the wind. Wanda paused, her lips still against Hoseok’s, but her attention momentarily shifting. She broke away from him, her eyes flicking toward the window. The faintest unease stirred in her, but it was so fleeting that she quickly brushed it off. Her gaze lingered outside, but Hoseok, too caught up in the moment, didn’t seem to notice the change in her demeanor. He only saw her, only felt the warmth of her presence next to him, and that was all that mattered.

“Mmm…” Hoseok murmured, his voice low, sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m not sure if I want this night to end.”

Wanda blinked, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she looked back at him, the moment almost as if it had never been interrupted. But then, the noise came again—this time more distinct. A long, drawn-out howl that seemed to vibrate through the walls of the house. It was a sound so strange, so unnatural, that for a split second, Wanda’s thoughts sharpened, her senses returning.

But just as she started to pull away from Hoseok, Mickey, who had been lying lazily at the foot of the couch, let out a howl of his own. It was deep, almost mournful, and filled with an eerie urgency. The sound echoed throughout the house, reverberating in the air like it had a life of its own.

Wanda sat up, blinking at Mickey, who was now looking at her with wide, alert eyes, his ears flat against his head. She frowned, her eyes moving toward the window again. “What’s got him worked up?” she murmured, her voice still soft, but tinged with concern.

Hoseok, however, didn’t seem fazed. He chuckled lightly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face as he leaned closer. “Oh, Mickey’s just being dramatic. You know how dogs get.” He gave her a warm smile, his eyes sparkling with charm. “Probably just a squirrel or something. Don’t let him ruin the mood.”

Wanda hesitated, her gaze shifting back to Mickey, who had now started pacing restlessly, his eyes trained on the door. The house was still, too still. But Hoseok’s presence was grounding, his smile contagious. He reached out, gently cupping her cheek with his hand, his thumb brushing over her skin in a way that made her heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he murmured, his lips dangerously close to hers once more. “There’s nothing out there. Let’s not let the night go to waste.”

Wanda felt a wave of warmth flood her chest at his words, and she let out a soft laugh, her worries fading as quickly as they had come. The world outside could wait—nothing else mattered right now. Mickey, the strange noise, the rest of the world—it all seemed so distant as Hoseok’s lips met hers again, soft and insistent.

The moment between them deepened again, the kiss once more taking center stage as the air in the room thickened with unspoken desire. Wanda’s thoughts blurred into a haze of sensation, the faint howl of Mickey growing quieter in her ears as she gave herself fully to the warmth of Hoseok’s touch. Nothing could ruin this feeling—not now, not tonight.

Jung-Hyun stood in the middle of the living room, trying to steady his breathing. The weight of the situation pressed against him, thick and suffocating. The others gathered around him, each holding something that felt both foreign and essential. The room was tense, the air heavy with a mix of anticipation and fear. His heart raced as he took in the faces of the people around him, each one carved with determination, but there was no mistaking the fear that lurked beneath their hardened expressions.

The Kims stood together, carrying loaded water guns, their faces serious and their movements practiced. They were ready, but it was clear they knew the odds were against them. Jungkook, ever the silent one, had his bow in hand, the arrows strapped to his back with a casual readiness that belied the gravity of the moment. His calm demeanor, as always, was a shield for the storm brewing inside him.

Namjoon stood at the center, the leader, eyes scanning the group with an analytical sharpness that came from years of experience. His posture was stiff with readiness, but there was a subtle tension in his jaw that betrayed his nerves. He cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. “I think I should warn you all,” he said, his tone low and steady, “It’s never pretty when a vampire buys it. No two bloodsuckers ever go out the Jung-Hyun way. Some scream and yell. Some go quietly. Some explode. Some implode. But all of them will try to take you with them.”

The room fell silent as his words settled over them like a cold, suffocating blanket. A chill ran down Jung-Hyun’s spine as the full weight of the danger ahead hit him. Vampires were relentless, unpredictable. Their kind didn’t go down easily, and they always fought to the death. The mention of explosions, implosions, and screams felt like the prelude to something worse than any of them could imagine. Jungkook met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. Neither of them needed to say anything—they both knew the truth of Namjoon’s warning.

The calm before the storm was shattered by the sudden, frantic barking of Bam outside. The sound sliced through the silence, sharp and alarming. Jung-Hyun froze, his body stiffening.

"Bam!" he shouted, his panic rising. "I left him tied up in the yard!"

Namjoon’s voice rang out, urgent and commanding. “Don’t go out there! Stop him!”

But it was too late. Without thinking, Jung-Hyun was already bolting toward the door, his feet pounding against the wooden floorboards. The door slammed shut behind him with a finality that rang in his ears, but the sound only fueled his urgency. Every muscle in his body screamed as he pushed forward, running into the night.

The moon hung high above, its pale light bathing the yard in an eerie glow, casting long shadows across the grass. Jung-Hyun’s breath came in sharp bursts as he sprinted toward the garden where Bam was tethered. The dog’s frantic barking echoed through the yard, each bark sounding more desperate than the last.

As Jung-Hyun reached the garden, his eyes searched for Bam in the dark. The leash was tangled, the knot stubborn, and his hands trembled, making the task harder than it should’ve been. He could hear the distant rush of wings above, the sound growing louder, closer. A chill of recognition ran through him—the unmistakable presence of a vampire, hunting.

His fingers fumbled with the leash, heart hammering in his chest as he struggled to untie the knot. Every second felt like an eternity. He cursed under his breath, his frustration mounting. The wind howled around him, carrying the promise of danger.

Suddenly, the shape cut through the night air, a dark figure hurtling toward him with terrifying speed. Jung-Hyun’s breath caught in his throat as he finally freed Bam. The dog yelped in relief, bolting toward the house, its paws pounding on the ground in a blur of frantic movement. Without thinking, Jung-Hyun turned and sprinted after him, his body screaming with exertion.

But the vampire was closing in—too close, too fast. The air seemed to hum with the presence of the creature behind him. Jung-Hyun’s pulse thrummed in his ears as he pushed himself harder, his legs burning with the effort. The door was in sight, just a few more yards. The house was close, but the vampire’s speed was like an invisible hand gripping his back, dragging him closer to the inevitable.

As he reached the door, he felt it—Taehyung’s presence. Cold. Unyielding. The weight of it pressed against him like a vice, a sharp, chilling breath at the back of his neck. But with one last desperate surge, he shoved the door open, slamming it shut just in time. The impact rattled the frame, but he didn’t look back.

Inside, he leaned against the door, gasping for air. His heart thudded in his chest, the adrenaline still rushing through his veins. The others were staring at him, their eyes wide with a mix of relief and fear, but there was no time for words, no time for anything other than the realization that this was just the beginning.

The quiet didn’t last long. From the fireplace, a sudden noise exploded in the air—a violent, crashing sound that tore through the stillness. Before anyone could react, Taehyung shot out from the flames, his body twisting and contorting with unnatural force. His movements were a blur, a primal energy radiating off him.

The room erupted in chaos. Taehyung was everywhere at once—his fist slamming into Jungkook’s face with brutal force, sending him crashing to the floor in a dazed heap. But Taehyung didn’t stop. He moved with the kind of speed and precision that made it feel like there were multiple versions of him, each more dangerous than the last.

Jungkook barely had time to react, his vision spinning from the force of the blow. But Taehyung wasn’t done with him. He was already shifting his attention, his eyes locking onto Jung-Hyun. In the blink of an eye, Taehyung had lifted him off the ground with ease, his iron grip around Jung-Hyun’s arm. His predatory eyes burned with hunger, the kind that was only satisfied by the suffering of others.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She scooped Moon up, her hands trembling as she rushed up the stairs, away from the madness that was unfolding below. Every step felt like a lifetime, but her focus was singular—get Moon out of harm's way.

Seokjin and Namjoon were quick to respond. Baseball bats were swung with precision, a desperate attempt to push Taehyung back. But Taehyung was too fast, too strong. He didn’t flinch when the bat connected with his side. He held Jung-Hyun in mid-air, his grip tightening with each passing second, and the struggle felt hopeless.

Jung-Hyun fought to keep his composure, his heart racing as panic surged. With his free hand, he drew his water gun, aiming it at Taehyung’s face. The water shot out with perfect precision, hitting its target dead center. Taehyung’s eyes widened in momentary shock, his body recoiling as he stumbled backward. His form crashed into the stereo, sending the speakers flying, and the music blasted to life. The loud, chaotic rock music filled the room, cutting through the tension like a knife.

In the bedroom, Y/N was frantically hiding Moon under the bed. Her heart hammered in her chest, her breath coming in frantic bursts. But something caught her attention—a sudden chill in the air, a draft. She turned and saw it: the window, wide open.

Before she could react, the window shattered, glass exploding outward, and Yoongi flew through, his eyes glowing with hunger, his twisted face filled with malice.

Y/N’s scream echoed through the house, a sound of pure terror.

Downstairs, the boys froze at the sound of Y/N’s scream. It cut through the house like a blade, sharp and full of raw panic. Their hearts hammered in their chests, every second of silence after the scream stretching out like an eternity. Seokjin and Namjoon exchanged a quick, silent glance, a shared understanding flashing between them. Without another word, they bolted for the stairs, urgency fueling their every step. They had to reach her before it was too late.

As they sprinted up the stairs, the house seemed to tremble. The hallway was shrouded in a palpable darkness, an oppressive atmosphere settling over them. Taehyung’s guttural bellow echoed down the hallway, a roar of pure rage that seemed to shake the walls. And then, with a flash, a beam of light shot from his mouth, illuminating the hallway like a flare in the night, casting harsh, angular shadows across the walls. The sudden brightness was almost blinding, but it was enough to reveal the twisted creature Taehyung had become.

Jung-Hyun didn’t falter for a second. He kept his hand firmly on the water gun, relentlessly spraying Taehyung, the holy water searing into his skin, making him recoil in pain. Taehyung’s face twisted in fury, his features contorting into something monstrous. No longer the charismatic, ethereal figure he had once been, his fangs were bared, eyes glowing a sickly yellow as his skin took on a grotesque purple hue. The vampire was no longer human in any sense, and it was clear that he wouldn’t go down easily.

Meanwhile, upstairs, the chaos had already taken hold. Y/N’s heart was in her throat as she collided with Seokjin and Namjoon at the top of the stairs. Her face was pale, eyes wide with fear, but there was no mistaking the urgency in her voice. “It’s Yoongi…” she gasped, breathless from the sprint. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the desperation in it was clear.

Namjoon’s sharp eyes immediately swept the area, calculating, assessing the next steps. The layout of the house flashed in his mind. The boys' rooms were to one side, Wanda’s room to the other. Without missing a beat, he barked out orders. “Check that room,” he said, pointing toward Wanda’s room, and Y/N was already moving before he could finish the sentence.

Namjoon didn’t hesitate either. “You take Jung-Hyun’s room,” he directed Seokjin, “I’m going to check on Jungkook.” His voice was calm, but there was a quiet intensity in it.

Y/N nodded and ran down the hallway, her water gun gripped tightly in her hand. Every step felt heavy with the weight of the uncertainty hanging over them. She reached Wanda’s door, her pulse quickening. She was ready.

Inside, the air was thick with tension. Namjoon crept through the door to Jungkook’s room, his movements deliberate, cautious. The faint scent of musty wood and the low hum of the house’s old pipes surrounded him, but his focus was razor-sharp. His eyes darted around the dimly lit room, scanning for any sign of movement. The bathroom door creaked open slowly, just enough to let him hear the faint shuffle of feet.

Out stepped Yoongi.

Yoongi’s form was a nightmare. His face had taken on a sickening, decayed appearance—flesh hanging in tattered strips, bloodshot eyes glaring with a twisted hunger. His fingers, sharp and elongated like claws, flexed with unnatural grace. The moment their gazes locked, a chill crawled up Namjoon’s spine. The instinct to run screamed at him, but he didn’t. Instead, his hand tightened around the grip of his water gun, the only weapon he had against the abomination before him.

Before Namjoon could react, Yoongi lunged. His movement was lightning-quick, the ferocity of it impossible to anticipate. But Namjoon was faster. Without hesitation, he squeezed the trigger, sending a burst of holy water directly into Yoongi’s face. Yoongi’s scream echoed through the room, sharp and inhuman, as the water seared into his rotting skin. He staggered back, howling in agony as the burning liquid blistered his flesh.

Namjoon didn’t stop. He squeezed the trigger again and again, the water hissing as it hit Yoongi’s decaying body. The vampire stumbled backward, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, until he was cornered in the bathroom. Namjoon’s hand trembled with the effort, but his resolve didn’t waver. He wasn’t about to let Yoongi escape.

Back in the living room, Taehyung was still looming over Jung-Hyun, his expression twisted with sadistic glee. Jung-Hyun barely had time to react before Taehyung’s hands shot toward him, fingers curling like claws. He could feel the cold, suffocating darkness of the vampire’s presence pressing in, but then, out of nowhere, Jungkook’s voice cut through the tension. “Duck, Jung-Hyun!”

Jungkook’s words were a command, sharp and decisive, and Jung-Hyun didn’t hesitate. He dropped to the floor just as an arrow whizzed through the air, slicing through the space where he had just been. The arrow hit its mark with precision, embedding itself deep into Taehyung’s throat.

The impact was brutal. Taehyung roared in pain, a guttural sound that shattered windows and sent light bulbs popping all around them. His body twitched violently as the arrow dug into his flesh, but the worst was yet to come.

Taehyung’s body began to glow. Electric energy crackled from within him, making his skin shimmer as though it was about to burst into flames. His form writhed in agony, crackling with unnatural power as he fought against the pain. Then, with a final, horrific hiss, he vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but a faint scorch mark in the air where he had been.

In the bathroom, Namjoon could hear the chaos unfolding in the living room. His heart pounded in his chest as he sprayed another wave of holy water at Yoongi. The vampire was writhing, still howling in pain, but the struggle was growing harder. His fingers were trembling now, the last of the holy water dwindling in the bottle. He was nearly out of ammunition, but he couldn’t stop now.

“Seokjin! I need backup!” Namjoon’s voice was urgent, raw, desperate. He was at his breaking point, but he refused to give up.

A moment later, Seokjin appeared at the door, his expression grim but determined. He didn’t need any more words. He saw the desperation in Namjoon’s eyes and knew exactly what had to be done. Without hesitation, Seokjin slid across the floor, creeping behind Yoongi, who was still reeling from the holy water’s sting.

Understanding the plan, Namjoon surged forward. He slammed into Yoongi with all the force he could muster, headbutting him with every ounce of strength. Yoongi stumbled backward, and before he could regain his balance, he fell over Seokjin and crashed into the bathtub with a loud, resounding splash.

The water in the tub bubbled and churned as Yoongi thrashed, his screams turning into something inhuman. The holy water bubbled and fizzed, turning the water in the tub a sickly shade of pink and yellow. The two men leapt backward just in time, narrowly avoiding the geyser of boiling liquid that shot into the air. A moment later, Yoongi was gone, his body a charred, smoking husk left to float in the now-steaming water.

Up on the roof, the house continued to tremble, the sounds of destruction filling the air. Jungkook and Jung-Hyun, visibly shaken but still determined, had just made it to the stairs when the glass in the living room shattered. A dark shadow filled the room as Taeyang crashed through the window, blocking their path. They both jumped back, hearts racing, but neither was ready to give up the fight just yet.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

But before they could even process the aftermath of Taehyung's sudden disappearance, another sound ripped through the air—a powerful gust of wind followed by the unmistakable crash of breaking glass. Jimin, his silhouette momentarily silhouetted by the moonlight, flew through the shattered window, twisting in mid-air as his body flipped and hovered above them, his back pressed flat against the ceiling. He was like a nightmare come to life, the darkness of his form blending with the shadows in a seamless blend of terror.

In the blink of an eye, Jimin swooped down, claws extending with unnatural precision, his fangs gleaming ominously in the dim light. Jungkook barely had time to react before Jimin was upon him. His claws raked across Jungkook's back, tearing through his shirt with terrifying ease and drawing a line of blood. Jungkook's body lurched forward from the pain, but his instincts kicked in, forcing him to push through the agony.

Meanwhile, Taeyang, enjoying the chaos from his perch in the corner of the room, darted through the space like a bat, moving in an erratic, unpredictable manner. He knocked over lamps, casting the room into darkness with his reckless flight. The whole room became a blur of glowing vampires and frenzied movements, as Taeyang and Jimin weaved through the air, reveling in the superiority of their aerial advantage. They flew circles around the group, taunting and teasing, seeming to enjoy the terror they caused with every passing moment.

But Jungkook had had enough. His eyes narrowed in determination. He felt the adrenaline flooding through his veins, his heart pounding against his chest. He wasn’t about to let these monsters keep doing as they pleased. With a burst of reckless courage, he leapt into the air, his body momentarily awkward and uncoordinated, but his resolve unshakable. He collided with Jimin mid-flight, the impact sending them both careening through the air like ragdolls. They crashed into the walls with a resounding thud, ricocheting from one side of the room to the other before tumbling to the ground. Jungkook landed hard, his knees buckling under the force, but Jimin was sent spiraling in the opposite direction, flailing in an attempt to regain control.

While the others scrambled to their feet, Y/N wasn’t standing idly by. The chaos in the room had not only spurred the others into action, but it had ignited a fire within her as well. She had watched, helpless, for too long, her heart hammering with the desire to help. She wasn’t just going to hide and wait for someone else to save them. With a steadying breath, she grabbed the first weapon she could find—a spare water gun left carelessly on the counter—and charged into the fray.

She moved with purpose, her eyes scanning the room. As Taeyang soared above them, she fired a well-aimed shot, spraying him with holy water. The effect was immediate—he screeched in agony, his form flickering as the water sizzled against his skin, burning him from the inside out. He lost control for a split second, which was enough for Jungkook to land another hit, throwing him off balance.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She pressed forward, her eyes locked onto Jimin, who was attempting to recover from his fall. With a quick, fluid motion, she sprayed him as well, catching him in the face with a direct hit. Jimin recoiled, howling in fury, but Y/N wasn’t done. As Jimin tried to regain control, she closed the gap, stepping closer, and shot another burst of holy water into his chest. He collapsed to the ground with a tortured screech, writhing in pain as his body began to burn from the inside.

While Y/N continued to fight, in Jungkook's bedroom, Namjoon and Seokjin took a brief moment of respite. Their breath still heavy from the battle, they sat on the edge of the bed, reloading their water guns with renewed urgency. The adrenaline of their victory over Yoongi still buzzed in their veins, but the relief was short-lived.

“Did you see that sucker burn?” Seokjin laughed, his voice laced with excitement and disbelief, trying to mask the tension still coiling in his chest.

Namjoon grinned, the edge of satisfaction lingering on his face. “Man, we totally annihilated his night-stalkin’ ass!” His tone was lighter now, but a dark undercurrent of something more dangerous simmered beneath his words.

Seokjin’s grin widened, clearly proud of the victory. “Two down, two to go,” he said, but Namjoon’s face darkened, his mood shifting from playful to grim.

Namjoon’s eyes flicked to the floor, and his voice dropped lower. “Four to go,” he corrected, his tone serious and foreboding.

Seokjin frowned, confusion clouding his features. “What do you mean?”

Namjoon’s gaze was cold, his jaw tightening. “Those two we brought back with us—the girl and the kid. I don’t trust them. I say we terminate ‘em while we can.” His words were calm, almost calculated, but there was a dangerous finality in them that sent a shiver down Seokjin’s spine.

Seokjin considered Namjoon’s words for a moment, then nodded, a cold look entering his eyes. “You know what? You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, his voice colder than usual.

Meanwhile, beneath the bed, Moon lay in wait, his human eyes turning blood-red as they rolled back into his skull. He had been listening intently to the Kims' conversation, and the words about their betrayal stirred something dark within him. A hunger began to rise from deep inside, and with a vicious snap, his braces popped off, leaving behind only sharp, deadly fangs.

With a surge of energy, Moon opened his mouth, releasing a powerful beam of light that shot across the room like a laser. The Kims were frozen, their eyes wide as they looked at the glowing slits that had replaced his pupils. But Moon wasn’t interested in talking. He moved toward them with a predator’s certainty, his eyes locked on Namjoon and Seokjin's exposed ankles, his hunger unmistakable.

Namjoon and Seokjin, however, were too distracted in their plotting to notice the danger creeping toward them. As they talked, they failed to realize just how close Moon had gotten, until the mattress between them started to bulge and shake. A low, menacing growl filled the room, vibrating through the floorboards, the tension in the air palpable.

Before they could react, Moon ripped through the mattress with terrifying ease, the springs groaning in protest as he tore himself free. He moved with eerie grace, his glowing eyes never leaving the Kims, who were now cornered, their faces drained of color.

In the moment before Moon could strike, a voice cut through the tension, low and firm, yet full of authority.

“Moon... NO.”

Y/N appeared in the doorway, her presence like a beacon in the chaos. She stood tall and unafraid, her posture radiating a strength that silenced the room. Her eyes locked onto Moon’s, and her hands slowly stretched out toward him. “Moon,” she said again, her voice calm, soothing, and filled with the kind of empathy that made the room feel less suffocating.

The Kims watched in stunned silence as Y/N stepped forward, her fingers brushing against Moon’s chest. Her touch was gentle, but it carried an unspoken power. Moon froze, his glowing eyes dimming slowly as the anger and hunger within him seemed to dissipate, replaced by something quieter, something more human. He blinked several times, as if waking from a deep trance, before his body visibly relaxed, the feral energy draining away.

The transformation was almost imperceptible, but it was undeniable. Moon was no longer the terrifying creature he had been moments ago. He was… himself again.

The Kims stared, their mouths agape, unable to comprehend what they had just witnessed. Y/N had done the impossible. She had calmed the monster within Moon and brought him back from the brink.

The kitchen was alive with the tension of impending violence. Taeyang stalked toward Jung-Hyun with deliberate, measured steps, his presence as chilling as the silence that hung between them. His eyes gleamed with a malevolent hunger, and each movement he made felt as if it was drawing them both toward an inevitable collision. The air crackled with an electric charge, heavy with the promise of violence. Jung-Hyun could almost taste the danger, the overwhelming sense that his life hung in the balance.

Bam, the ever-loyal dog, was at his side, teeth bared, standing as a formidable protector. Despite his size and strength, however, Bam knew his limits. He growled low in his throat, his posture tense, but it was clear that Taeyang was no mere creature to be intimidated by brute force. Jung-Hyun’s heart raced in his chest, but he wasn't about to back down. Panic threatened to rise, but he fought it back with every ounce of his resolve. He had to fight, no matter the cost.

Grabbing anything within reach—a plate, a toaster, even the empty cereal box on the counter—Jung-Hyun hurled it at Taeyang. The items flew through the air, but Taeyang didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge the oncoming objects. The plates crashed harmlessly to the floor, bouncing off him as though they were made of paper. It was as if he were a stone wall, impervious to any threat. Taeyang’s focus remained solely on Jung-Hyun, his gaze unbroken, never wavering.

Taeyang’s tongue flickered out, serpentine and grotesque, licking at the foam from his face as though the damage was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. His movements were fluid and confident, making it clear that he was the predator, and Jung-Hyun was the prey.

Jung-Hyun’s chest tightened with fear, but his mind stayed sharp. He grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher with desperate hands, spraying a thick mist of foam directly into Taeyang’s face. The white mist filled the room in an instant, clouding everything, but Taeyang didn’t falter. The foam hit him like a passing breeze, offering no resistance, no sign of discomfort. In an instant, his mouth opened wide, releasing a blinding beam of light that shot toward Jung-Hyun, accompanied by the gleam of jagged fangs that looked capable of tearing through flesh like tissue paper.

The heat from the beam singed the air, but Jung-Hyun’s instincts kicked in before he could even think. His hand shot out to grab a wooden napkin ring from the counter. His fingers were shaky, but he jammed it into Taeyang's mouth with all the strength he could muster, forcing it open wider. Taeyang's eyes burned with fury, and the vampire’s body shuddered in an attempt to dislodge the obstruction. But Jung-Hyun didn’t hesitate. He had prepared for this.

Reaching for a nearby garlic bulb, his hands moved with a precision that only desperation could bring. He grabbed the garlic cloves—dozens of them—and shoved them into Taeyang’s mouth, one after the other, filling it with the pungent, poisonous cloves. Taeyang’s eyes widened in horror as the smell and the power of the garlic began to hit him. His skin flushed a sickly purple as the poison seeped through his veins, a slow, agonizing death toll ticking away from the inside.

Taeyang's body trembled violently, the sensation of the garlic tearing through his system. His veins swelled beneath his skin as the garlic worked its slow, painful magic, but there was no escape. He tried to scream, but the sound was choked, swallowed by the swelling of his own body. His face puffed up, growing grotesque, turning a deep, dark purple. Taeyang’s body began to expand rapidly, as if the very flesh beneath his skin was inflating like a balloon, stretching and distorting with every agonizing second.

"Bam!" Jung-Hyun shouted, his voice frantic. "He’s going to burst!"

Without thinking, he grabbed Bam by the collar and yanked the dog away just as Taeyang’s body reached its breaking point. It was too late to escape the horror.

With a sickening, audible pop, Taeyang’s body exploded in a grotesque shower of gooey, green slime. The walls, the counters, and even the ceiling were splattered with the disgusting remnants of the monstrous vampire. The room stank of putrid, foul decay as the last remnants of Taeyang’s form fell to the floor with a sickly squelch.

Jung-Hyun stood frozen for a moment, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, the weight of the moment crashing down on him. He had done it—he had defeated Taeyang—but the victory was bittersweet. The kitchen was now a chaotic mess, slime and broken objects littering the floor. And though he should have felt relief, a sinking dread began to settle in the pit of his stomach.

That’s when the air shifted.

Before Jung-Hyun could even process what was happening, something sharp and unyielding gripped him by the neck. It was like a vice, pulling him into the air, lifting him off the ground. His feet dangled helplessly beneath him, the room spinning as his heart pounded in his chest. Panic rose in his throat as he struggled to breathe.

He looked up to see Jimin, his claws tightly wound around Jung-Hyun’s throat, his eyes glowing with deadly malice. With a flick of his wrist, Jimin sent Jung-Hyun flying through the air. The world around him blurred as he was hurled across the kitchen, crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. The impact left him breathless, his limbs aching as he crumpled to the ground.

Jimin was no longer the playful creature he once was. He had become a terrifying, ruthless predator. He landed lightly on the floor, his eyes flashing with a deadly gleam. Without a word, he took to the air again, his wings beating once, twice, lifting him higher, and before Jung-Hyun could even think to react, Jimin was soaring across the room, dragging him through the hallway and straight toward Jungkook’s bedroom.

The room was a battlefield. The others—Y/N, Moon, Namjoon, and Seokjin—stood nearby, their eyes narrowed, preparing for the inevitable. Jimin threw Jung-Hyun against the wall with a brutal force. The boy hit the surface with a sickening crack, his body slumping to the floor in an unmoving heap.

Jimin’s eyes flicked toward the others, his gaze dark and predatory. In the next moment, he raised his finger, and a ribbon of flame shot out from it like a blazing torch. The air around them heated instantly, a wave of scorching heat radiating out from the flames. Everyone instinctively backed away, their eyes wide in horror as the fire inched closer.

Before anyone could make a move, Jimin flicked his wrist, sending the flames spiraling, tracing a wreath of fire around the windows and door. With an effortless movement, he sealed them inside, trapping them within the burning circle. The room filled with the acrid scent of smoke, the temperature rising steadily.

And just as quickly as he had come, Jimin vanished. The heat of his power still lingered in the air, a reminder of the overwhelming force he carried. The room fell into a tense, suffocating silence, the flames still licking the edges of the room, creating a dangerous trap. They were sealed in, with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered open, his vision swimming in and out of focus. The world spun around him in chaotic circles, the sharp, throbbing pain in his head making it hard to think. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he tried to move, the aftermath of his last battle weighing on him like a lead blanket. His hand reached instinctively toward the ground, but the cold wood beneath his fingers offered no comfort. And then he saw him.

Jimin stood over him, calm yet imposing, his gaze sharp and predatory. The air around him seemed charged, humming with suppressed power. Jungkook’s heart sank as a cold wave of dread washed over him. He knew he was at a disadvantage, but his instincts screamed at him to get up, to fight, to survive.

“Just you and me now, Jungkook,” Jimin said, his voice low and almost amused, like a cat playing with its prey. His head tilted slightly as he regarded the boy beneath him, a flicker of dark satisfaction in his eyes. “One on one. Fight to the finish.”

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. Adrenaline surged through him, overriding the pain as he pushed himself off the floor. His legs wobbled, but he growled through clenched teeth, forcing himself upright. He glared at Jimin, defiance burning in his gaze. His body ached with every movement, but the fear of what Jimin might do to him—or worse, what might have happened to the others—drove him forward. He couldn’t afford to give in.

Jimin watched him rise, the smirk on his face deepening. “It’s over, Jungkook,” he said, his tone dripping with finality. His words were like a knife twisting in Jungkook’s chest. “You’re the only one left. They’re all dead. Jung-Hyun, Y/N, the others... All dead.”

For a moment, Jungkook faltered. His breath caught in his throat as the words echoed in his mind, each one sinking deeper. Dead? He didn’t believe Jimin—not entirely—but the possibility gnawed at him like a parasite. The worry clawed at his insides, threatening to overwhelm him. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. There was no time to dwell on doubts, no time to let fear take hold. He had to fight.

And then Jimin moved.

It happened so fast that Jungkook barely had time to react. Jimin lunged at him with the speed and precision of a predator, his movements almost too fast to track. Jungkook dodged to the side, his hands scrambling for anything he could use as a weapon. His fingers closed around the wooden hat rack by the door. Without hesitation, he swung it with all his strength, the crack of the wood against Jimin’s head reverberating through the room.

But Jimin didn’t even flinch.

The blow that would have felled a normal man barely registered. Jimin’s eyes burned with cold fury as he reached up, grabbing the hat rack with one hand. His grip tightened, and the wood splintered with a sharp snap, breaking in two like it was nothing more than a twig.

“Damn it,” Jungkook muttered under his breath. He barely had time to react before Jimin was on him again. With a primal roar, Jungkook charged, slamming his shoulder into Jimin’s chest. The impact sent them both stumbling, their bodies colliding with enough force to shake the walls.

The fight escalated into a whirlwind of chaos. They tumbled through the house like a storm, crashing from room to room. In the dining room, chairs were overturned, the table splintering under their weight as they grappled. Jungkook landed a solid punch to Jimin’s jaw, but it only seemed to fuel the other boy’s rage. Jimin retaliated with a powerful kick to Jungkook’s stomach, sending him sprawling into the kitchen.

Pots and pans clattered to the floor as Jungkook stumbled, barely managing to stay on his feet. He grabbed a knife from the counter, slashing at Jimin with desperation. The blade sliced through the air, but Jimin dodged effortlessly, his movements smooth and calculated. He caught Jungkook’s wrist in a vice-like grip, twisting it until the knife clattered to the floor.

They barreled through the back door, crashing onto the porch. The wooden boards groaned under their weight as the fight reached a fever pitch. Fists flew, kicks landed, and the sound of their struggle echoed into the night. Jimin’s strength was overwhelming, but Jungkook’s sheer determination kept him in the fight.

Inside the house, upstairs in the bedroom, Jung-Hyun and Namjoon pressed their ears to the floor. The sounds of the fight below were deafening—fists hitting flesh, furniture splintering, and walls trembling under the force of impact. It wasn’t just a fight. It was a war, and every crash, every shout, felt like another piece of their world falling apart.

On the back porch, Jimin finally gained the upper hand. With a surge of strength, he grabbed Jungkook by the shoulders and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. Jungkook struggled, but it was no use. Jimin hurled him backward with brutal force. Jungkook’s body crashed through the back door, sending shards of wood flying. He was propelled through the kitchen, through the dining room, and back into the living room, where he landed in a heap.

Jimin followed, his steps slow and deliberate as he stalked toward his prey. Jungkook tried to push himself up, but his body refused to cooperate. He barely had time to catch his breath before Jimin was on him again, pinning him against the wall. Jimin grabbed a nearby barbell from the floor, pressing it against Jungkook’s throat. The cold metal bit into his skin, cutting off his air supply.

“Give up, Jungkook!” Jimin snarled, his face inches from Jungkook’s. His voice was filled with rage, but there was something else beneath it—something darker, almost pleading. “You’re one of us. Don’t you understand that? You’re one of us!”

Jungkook’s hands clawed at the barbell, his fingers straining to pry it away, but Jimin’s strength was unrelenting. His lungs burned as the air was forced from his body. Every ounce of energy seemed to drain from him, his vision beginning to blur. He could feel his body weakening, his resistance fading.

“Don’t make me kill you!” Jimin’s voice cracked, the threat hanging heavy in the air. His grip on the barbell tightened, his eyes blazing with a dangerous mix of anger and desperation.

Jungkook’s lips parted, a faint gasp escaping as he fought for breath. Even as the darkness closed in around him, he refused to give in. His gaze locked onto Jimin’s, and despite the pain, despite the overwhelming odds, a flicker of defiance burned in his eyes. He wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot.

Upstairs, the air was thick with tension, each sound from below making their hearts pound harder. The echoes of the fight—shouts, crashes, the sharp clang of something metallic—cut through the silence like a blade. It wasn’t just noise. It was desperation, raw and consuming, and it was coming from someone they all cared about.

Jung-Hyun crouched near the floor, his ear pressed to the wood as if that would bring him closer to the chaos below. His breath came in shallow bursts, his voice tight with fear. “We have to help him! He can’t do this alone!” His hands trembled as he looked up at Namjoon, silently begging for a plan, a solution—anything.

Namjoon stood by the window, his jaw clenched, his mind racing. He was the strategist, the one who always had a plan, but now? Now, they were trapped. The flames Jimin had conjured weren’t ordinary fire; they were alive, burning with a supernatural heat that sealed every exit and defied logic. The room felt like a cage, the walls closing in on them as every second ticked by.

“How?!” Namjoon finally snapped, his voice a mixture of frustration and helplessness. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. “We can’t get out! If we touch those flames—” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. They all knew what would happen.

But then, Y/N stepped forward.

She had been standing in the corner, quiet and still, her arms wrapped protectively around Moon. Her eyes, however, were sharp, darting between the door and the people around her. Always the observer, always the one in the background, Y/N had stayed quiet during their debates, during the chaos that had led them here. But now, something shifted. The room seemed to pause, the air holding its breath, as she spoke.

“I can.”

Her voice was steady, calm, but it carried a weight that made everyone turn to look at her. Jung-Hyun froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. Namjoon’s lips parted as if to question her, but no words came out. Even Moon stirred in her arms, sensing the change in her.

The burning door loomed before them, its flames dancing like living things, eager to consume anyone foolish enough to come close. But Y/N’s gaze lingered on it, unwavering. She wasn’t afraid—not of the fire, not of what lay beyond it. No, her fear was something deeper, something she had carried with her for far longer. It wasn’t the fire that scared her; it was what she knew she had to become to walk through it.

Namjoon finally found his voice. “Y/N, no. You can’t—”

“I can,” she interrupted, her tone firmer now. She met his gaze, and there was something in her eyes that made him stop. Determination. Resolve. Something darker, too, something she had kept hidden from them all.

“What are you talking about?” Jung-Hyun whispered, his voice trembling. “You can’t just—”

Y/N set Moon down gently, her hands lingering on the child’s shoulders for a moment. “Stay here,” she murmured, her voice soft. Moon’s wide eyes filled with worry, but Y/N smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’ll be back.”

And then she turned to the door.

The flames roared, licking at the edges of the frame, but Y/N didn’t hesitate. As she stepped closer, a subtle change came over her. It wasn’t physical—not at first—but it was palpable, like a shadow creeping along the edges of the room. Her presence grew heavier, the air around her thickening as if the world itself were reacting to her. Her hands clenched at her sides, and for a moment, she closed her eyes.

She let it come.

For so long, she had kept it buried, hidden beneath layers of restraint and denial. She had been the quiet one, the calm one, the one who avoided conflict at all costs. But that wasn’t who she truly was—not entirely. There was something else inside her, something wild and untamed, something she had feared for years. And now, as the lives of those she loved hung in the balance, she let it rise.

Her eyes snapped open, and they weren’t the same. A glow flickered in their depths, faint but unmistakable, like embers in the dark. Her movements became fluid, almost otherworldly, as she approached the door. The flames seemed to recoil slightly as she reached out, her hand hovering just inches from the fire. Then, without hesitation, she pushed the door open.

The fire should have consumed her. It should have burned her skin, reduced her to ash. But it didn’t. The flames parted around her like a curtain, crackling angrily but unable to touch her. Y/N stepped through, her figure illuminated by the fiery glow, and for a moment, the others could only watch in silent awe.

Namjoon’s voice broke the silence, barely above a whisper. “What… what is she?”

Jung-Hyun shook his head, his eyes fixed on the door. “I don’t know.”

On the other side of the flames, the living room was chaos incarnate. Furniture lay in splinters, the walls bore deep gouges, and the air was heavy with the mingled scents of blood and smoke. Jimin’s shadow loomed over Jungkook, the barbell pressing relentlessly into his throat. The metal groaned under the force, and Jungkook’s gasps grew weaker. Jimin’s voice, low and venomous, carried a twisted blend of triumph and desperation.

“Give up, Jungkook,” Jimin hissed, his eyes blazing with an unnatural light. “You’re one of us! Stop fighting what you are.”

Jungkook’s vision blurred, the edges of his world going dark as his fingers scrabbled weakly at the barbell. It felt like the end. The weight of Jimin’s strength and the oppressive energy in the room crushed down on him, suffocating, inescapable.

And then, Y/N stepped into the room.

She emerged through the doorway like a ghost, her figure silhouetted against the flickering remnants of dying flames. The fire that had once sealed them in was gone, reduced to embers that flickered out as she passed. Her presence cut through the chaos, sharp and unyielding, and for a moment, even the raging storm of the fight seemed to pause.

Jimin’s head snapped toward her, his expression twisting from smugness to confusion, then to something darker. He released the barbell, letting Jungkook collapse to the floor in a coughing, gasping heap. Jimin’s lips curled into a sneer. “Well, well,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

Y/N’s gaze was locked on him, unwavering, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Let him go, Jimin,” she said, her tone calm, but beneath it was an edge of steel, a resolve she hadn’t shown before.

Jimin chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “Or what? You’ll stop me?” He took a step toward her, his movements predatory. “You forget, Y/N. You’re mine. I made you. You can’t touch me.”

His words hit her like a blow, the truth of them stirring something deep and ugly inside her. She could feel the connection between them, the thread of power he had woven into her the night he turned her. It was like a leash, a chain that pulled tight every time he spoke. Her instincts screamed at her to obey, to kneel, to submit—but she fought it. She clenched her fists tighter, her nails digging into her palms as she took a step forward.

“I’m not yours,” she said, her voice shaking but defiant. “Not anymore.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed, his smile fading. He could feel her resistance, and it infuriated him. “You think you can fight me?” he snarled, his voice laced with fury. “You can’t even stand against what’s inside you. You’ll always belong to me.”

Y/N staggered, her body trembling as his words struck at the core of her being. The bond between them pulsed, a dark, oppressive force that threatened to drag her under. Memories of his control flooded her mind—his voice, his power, the way he had bent her will to his time and time again. For a moment, she faltered, her knees buckling as the weight of it all crashed over her.

But then she thought of Jungkook. She thought of Moon. She thought of the life she wanted to build, the life she deserved. The bond might still exist, but it didn’t define her. She wasn’t just Jimin’s creation—she was more than that. She had to be.

“No,” she said through gritted teeth, forcing herself to stand upright. Her voice grew stronger with each word. “You don’t own me. You never did.”

Jimin’s growl reverberated through the ruined living room, a guttural sound that sent a shiver up Y/N’s spine. His frustration was palpable, his control slipping away as she stood before him, defiant. His face twisted with rage, and then he lunged, a blur of motion too fast for the human eye to follow.

Y/N barely sidestepped in time, her instincts sharper than she realized, her movements quicker than they had any right to be. She spun away, her heart pounding in her chest as Jimin’s outstretched hand narrowly missed her. He turned, his eyes blazing with a fury so raw it felt like the heat of it could scorch her skin.

“You’ll regret this,” he snarled, his voice a deadly promise.

Y/N didn’t answer. She steadied herself, breathing hard, every muscle in her body screaming for rest. But she couldn’t stop—not now. Not ever. The bond that tied her to Jimin still pulled at her, a heavy chain wrapped around her soul, but she pushed against it with everything she had. It was like swimming against a tidal wave, but she refused to drown.

Jimin launched himself at her again, faster this time, and Y/N barely managed to block his strike. His hand collided with her forearm, and the force of it sent her skidding backward across the floor, her boots scraping against splintered wood. The impact jolted through her entire body, her bones rattling like brittle glass, but she held her ground.

The fight was brutal. Jimin was a storm, all overwhelming power and precision. His strikes came faster than she could track, and every blow he landed felt like it could break her. He slammed her into the wall, the plaster cracking behind her, and she gasped as the air was forced from her lungs. His strength was monstrous, his fury unrelenting, and for every move she made, he seemed to have a counter, a way to cut her down.

But Y/N kept going. She ducked under his next swing, rolling across the shattered remains of a coffee table and grabbing a broken table leg as she came up. With a cry, she swung it at him, putting all her strength behind the blow. The wood cracked across his jaw, and he staggered back, more surprised than hurt. His lip split, a thin line of blood trickling down his chin.

Jimin’s hand shot up, brushing the wound with his fingertips. He looked at the blood, then at her, and his expression darkened. “You think you can beat me?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I made you, Y/N. I gave you everything you are. Do you really think you can stand against me?”

Y/N tightened her grip on the table leg, her knuckles white. “I don’t care what you think you gave me,” she said, her voice trembling with anger and resolve. “I’m taking it back.”

Jimin roared and rushed her, his movements a blur. Y/N barely managed to sidestep him again, but this time, he was ready. He spun, his hand lashing out to grab her by the arm. Before she could react, he yanked her toward him and slammed her into the ground. Pain exploded through her back as she hit the floor, the wind knocked from her lungs.

Jimin was on her in an instant, his hand wrapping around her throat. He pressed down, his strength suffocating, and Y/N clawed at his arm, desperate for air. His face was inches from hers, his eyes glowing with that unnatural light, his lips curled into a snarl.

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he hissed, his voice a deadly whisper. “You can’t escape me. You can’t fight me. You’re nothing without me.”

The bond surged between them, stronger than ever, and Y/N felt her will falter. The weight of his power pressed down on her like a physical force, and for a moment, she thought he was right. She couldn’t win. She wasn’t strong enough.

But then she thought of Jungkook, of Moon, of all the people Jimin had hurt and destroyed. She thought of the life she wanted—the life she deserved. And something inside her snapped. She wasn’t nothing. She wasn’t his.

Y/N’s hand fumbled at her side, searching desperately for a weapon, anything she could use. Her fingers closed around a jagged shard of wood—the broken hat rack. Summoning every ounce of strength she had left, she gripped the shard and drove it into Jimin’s side.

Jimin howled in pain, his grip on her throat loosening just enough for her to twist out from under him. She scrambled to her feet, gasping for air, and turned to face him. He was clutching at the shard embedded in his side, his face twisted in agony, but he wasn’t done. He ripped the shard free and threw it aside, his blood staining the floor as he rose to his full height.

“You’ll pay for that,” he growled, his voice shaking with rage.

He attacked again, faster and more vicious than before, and Y/N barely held her ground. His blows came like a hurricane, each one heavier and more brutal than the last. He knocked the table leg from her hands and slammed her into the wall again, his hand wrapping around her throat once more.

But Y/N didn’t stop fighting. She kicked at him, her foot connecting with his knee, and he grunted in pain. She twisted in his grip, reaching for the splintered shard he had thrown aside. Her fingers brushed against it, and she grabbed it just as Jimin dragged her back toward him.

With a cry of pure defiance, Y/N drove the shard into his chest, right over his heart.

Jimin froze, his eyes widening in shock. His grip on her throat faltered, and he staggered back, clutching at the stake protruding from his chest. “You… can’t…” he choked, his voice breaking as the light in his eyes began to fade.

Y/N stepped forward, her legs trembling but steady, her gaze locked on his. “I’m not yours,” she said, her voice steady and unwavering. “Not anymore.”

With one final push, she drove the stake deeper, and Jimin let out a scream that shook the very foundation of the house. His body convulsed, the darkness inside him ripping itself apart as the bond between them shattered. Y/N felt it snap, the chain that had bound her breaking into a thousand pieces, and for the first time, she felt free.

Jimin’s body crumpled to the floor, lifeless and still. The room fell silent, the chaos and fury replaced by an eerie stillness. Y/N stood over him, her chest heaving, the splintered stake still in her hand. Her knuckles were white, her whole body trembling, but she didn’t look away from his fallen form.

Behind her, Y/N heard a weak voice. “Y/N…”

She turned, her eyes softening as she saw Jungkook struggling to his feet. He was battered, his face pale and streaked with blood, but his dark eyes were locked on her, wide with concern. Relief flickered briefly in his expression before fading into something darker. She let the splintered stake fall from her hand—it clattered to the ground with an eerie finality—and stumbled toward him. Jungkook caught her, his arms wrapping around her, his hold shaky but secure.

“It’s over,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she leaned against him. “He’s gone.”

Jungkook’s arms tightened around her, but he didn’t respond. His breathing was uneven, his body trembling against hers. When he finally pulled back, his face was etched with unease. He wasn’t relieved—he was terrified. His gaze shifted past her, lingering on the spot where Jimin’s lifeless body lay. “I... I don’t feel any different,” he murmured, his voice low and unsteady. He turned back to Y/N, his grip on her arm firm. “Do you?”

Y/N shook her head slowly, her face pale. She searched herself, trying to find some sense of release, some indication that the nightmare was truly over, but all she felt was the same crushing weight, the same suffocating bond that had held them all captive. It hadn’t lifted. Nothing had changed.

Behind them, Moon stood with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression grim. She gave a slight nod, agreeing in heavy silence.

Namjoon, standing near the shattered remnants of the coffee table, ran a hand down his face. His jaw clenched as realization dawned, the words spilling from him like a curse. “That means we still haven’t destroyed their leader,” he said, his voice hard and clipped. His eyes flicked to Jimin’s corpse, then back to the others. “It’s not over. It won’t be over until the true source of this—whatever it is—is gone.”

A low rumble suddenly broke the heavy silence, the grinding sound of tires on gravel cutting through the night air like a warning. The headlights of a truck swept across the broken front window, casting long, distorted shadows across the room. Everyone froze, their tension crackling like static.

“Someone’s here,” Jung-Hyun whispered, his voice barely audible as he crouched behind the remnants of an upturned chair, his sharp gaze fixed on the door.

The door creaked open, slow and deliberate, the sound dragging out like a harbinger of doom. Wanda stepped in first, her eyes wide and filled with panic, her hands gripping the doorframe for support. Behind her, Hoseok followed, his face a mask of anguish. His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed, but his eyes were locked onto Jungkook, and they gleamed with something darker than sorrow.

“Oh my god...” Wanda whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the destruction, the bloodstains, and the still figure lying on the floor.

“Mom!” Jung-Hyun gasped, his voice breaking as he stepped toward her. Relief flickered across his face, but it quickly turned to confusion when his gaze shifted to Hoseok. Something wasn’t right.

Wanda’s voice broke through the tension. “What happened? Is everybody all right?!” Her panic only grew as she scanned the room, her expression desperate. But her words were cut short as Hoseok finally spoke.

“Where are my boys?” he demanded, his voice sharp and filled with a strange intensity. His eyes scanned the room, pausing briefly on Jimin’s lifeless body. “Where’s Jimin? Where are the others?!”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of his words pressing down on everyone like a suffocating fog. Y/N’s stomach twisted, her instincts screaming that something was very, very wrong. Jungkook stiffened beside her, his grip on her arm tightening.

Namjoon stepped forward, his voice hard and accusing. “You’re not looking for them,” he said, his words deliberate and cold. “You already know where they are.”

Hoseok’s gaze flicked to Namjoon, his expression twisting into something feral. His lips curled back in a humorless smile, his teeth unnervingly sharp. “Very perceptive,” he said, his voice smooth, mocking. “But you’re missing the bigger picture.”

Wanda, still trembling, looked at Hoseok with wide, disbelieving eyes. “What are you talking about?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Who’s Jimin? What’s going on?”

Hoseok’s grin widened, and his gaze turned to Wanda, dark and hungry. “It was all supposed to be so perfect,” he said, his tone almost casual, as if recounting a fond memory. “One big, happy family. My boys... and yours.”

Wanda staggered back, her hand flying to her mouth as realization hit her like a freight train. “Vampire?” she choked out, her voice shaking. “You’re... you’re one of them?”

Hoseok’s features shifted, his human façade melting away to reveal the monster beneath. His eyes burned yellow, his skin taking on a sickly, ashen hue. His lips peeled back to reveal fangs, sharp and glinting in the dim light. He was no longer the man they had known—he was something far worse.

Jung-Hyun stumbled back, his voice shaking with disbelief. “But... you passed the test!” he shouted, his mind racing. “You can’t be—how did you—?”

Hoseok chuckled, the sound low and menacing. “Jungkook invited me in,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “That’s all it takes. An invitation. It renders you powerless.”

Namjoon’s expression darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. “The invitation protects them,” he muttered, his voice filled with regret. “I should have warned you.”

Jung-Hyun turned to Namjoon, his face twisted with anger and betrayal. “You knew?!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “You knew this could happen, and you didn’t say anything?!”

Before Namjoon could respond, Hoseok took a step forward, his presence commanding and terrifying. “Wanda,” he said, his voice soft but menacing. “It’s you I’ve wanted all along. To be our guardian. Our protector in the daylight. I knew if I could bring Jung-Hyun and Jungkook into the family, you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

Wanda backed away, her face pale, but Hoseok advanced, his eyes gleaming with cruel delight. “And now,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you don’t have a choice.”

The room erupted into chaos as Hoseok lunged forward, his fangs bared, his monstrous form towering over them all.

Jungkook stepped forward, his body a solid wall between Hoseok and his mother. His legs felt like lead, and his hands trembled ever so slightly at his sides, but his resolve was unshaken. Hoseok’s cruel grin cut through him like a blade, but the fear in Wanda’s wide eyes ignited something primal in him. He wouldn’t let Hoseok take her—not now, not ever.

“I didn’t invite you in this time,” Jungkook growled, his voice hoarse but brimming with defiance. Every word was like steel, cutting through the oppressive tension that filled the room.

“Jungkook!” Wanda cried out, panic swelling in her voice as she instinctively tried to move toward him.

“Get out, Mom! Run!” Jungkook shouted, his tone urgent, commanding. He didn’t look back at her, his focus locked entirely on Hoseok.

But before Wanda could move, a deafening roar tore through the room—a monstrous, guttural sound that made the walls tremble and seemed to shake the very foundation of the house. It was a roar so powerful it seemed to come from deep within the earth itself. The force of it sent everyone crashing to the ground, their bodies pinned down by an invisible weight that seemed to crush the air out of their lungs. Everyone, except Jungkook.

As the others struggled against the overwhelming force, Jungkook remained standing, his body the lone pillar against Hoseok’s towering shadow. His chest rose and fell heavily, his heart hammering so loudly he thought it might burst, but he stood firm, his eyes blazing with determination.

Hoseok let out a low, mocking laugh, the sound like nails scraping against glass. His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as he stepped closer to Jungkook. “Come on, boy,” he sneered, his fangs glinting in the dim light. “Come and save your mother. Let’s see if you’re strong enough.”

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He lunged at Hoseok, fists flying, but the vampire moved faster than human eyes could follow. In an instant, Hoseok sidestepped him and grabbed him by the ankle. With terrifying strength, he lifted Jungkook off the ground and swung him through the air like a ragdoll. Jungkook’s body slammed into the wall, the impact splintering the wood and leaving a deep dent. The sound of shattering glass and cracking plaster filled the room.

Hoseok didn’t stop there. He swung Jungkook again, slamming him against the bannister, the wooden railing exploding into jagged shards. Jungkook gasped in pain, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud. He tried to rise, but Hoseok grabbed him by the collar and hurled him across the room. He crashed into the far wall, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth, and his limbs felt like lead. He tried to move, but his battered body refused to respond.

Outside, Min-chul’s truck rumbled down the gravel road, the sound distant compared to the chaos unfolding inside. The headlights illuminated the house for a brief moment before the truck came to a stop. Min-chul sat inside, his eyes locked on the front window, watching the struggle through the cracked glass. He hadn’t yet moved, but his hand gripped the gearshift tightly, his knuckles white with tension.

Inside, Hoseok’s laughter echoed through the house as he stepped over Jungkook’s limp form. He reached for Wanda, his long, pale fingers gripping her arm and pulling her to her feet. Her eyes filled with tears as she tried to wrench herself free, but his grip was like iron.

“It’s over,” Hoseok hissed, his voice soft and cruel. “You’re mine now.”

Wanda’s panicked gaze darted past Hoseok’s shoulder, and in that moment, she saw something—a flicker of light through the window, the glare of headlights piercing the darkness. Her heart leapt as a plan began to form, desperation giving her strength. Summoning every ounce of courage she had, Wanda twisted violently, shoving Hoseok with all her might. He staggered back, his face twisting in fury, but before he could react, the room was rocked by an earth-shattering crash.

The house shuddered as Min-chul’s truck came barreling through the front of the building, reversing at full speed. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass filled the air as the truck smashed through the wall, sending debris flying in every direction. A volley of large, sharpened fence posts strapped to the back of the truck launched forward, propelled by the force of the crash. The metal spikes tore through Hoseok’s body with brutal precision, impaling him in several places.

Hoseok let out a bloodcurdling scream, his body convulsing violently as the spikes pinned him to the floor. His face twisted in agony, his hands clawing at the air as he writhed like a wounded animal. The air around him began to shift, a dark, swirling energy emanating from his body. The vortex grew rapidly, sucking in everything around it.

The furniture, drapes, and shattered remnants of the walls were pulled into the swirling void. The house groaned under the immense pressure, the walls shaking and cracking as if the very structure were being torn apart. The air was filled with the deafening sound of the vortex, a howling wind that seemed to scream with the voices of the damned.

Wanda clung to the edge of the overturned couch, her knuckles white as she held on for dear life. Y/N and the Kims grabbed onto each other, their bodies pressed against the floor as the pull of the vortex threatened to drag them in. Jung-Hyun wrapped his arms around Bam, holding the terrified dog back as it yelped and clawed at the floor.

Jungkook, still dazed and bleeding, felt himself being pulled toward the vortex. His fingers scraped against the floor, desperately searching for something to hold onto. “Jungkook!” Y/N screamed, her voice barely audible over the chaos. She lunged forward, grabbing his arm just as his legs were lifted off the ground. Her grip was firm, but the force of the vortex was relentless.

The storm of destruction seemed endless, the suction growing stronger with each passing second. The walls began to buckle, the roof creaking ominously as chunks of plaster and beams were torn away. And in the center of it all, Hoseok’s body continued to writhe, his screams growing weaker as the vortex consumed him.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the vortex collapsed inward, sucking Hoseok’s body into nothingness. The howling wind ceased, leaving the house eerily silent. Debris rained down from the ceiling, the air thick with dust and the acrid smell of burnt wood.

Jungkook collapsed to the floor, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. Y/N pulled him into her arms, her face pale and streaked with tears. Wanda staggered to her feet, her eyes wide with disbelief as she surveyed the wreckage. The house was in ruins, but they were alive. Somehow, against all odds, they had survived.

Outside, Min-chul tilted his head back, his expression frozen in awe and disbelief as he watched the strange phenomenon erupting from the chimney. Glowing embers and dark, ashen fragments spiraled upward, blending with the night sky in a ghostly dance. It was as if Hoseok’s very essence was being consumed by the universe itself, dissipating into nothingness. The fiery rain carried with it an unnatural energy, sparkling faintly before vanishing into the ether. The distant sound of the wind howling through the trees seemed to mourn the end of something ancient and terrible.

Min-chul muttered a low curse under his breath, the surreal sight tugging at something primal within him. For a man who had seen his fair share of horrors, this moment stood apart—a strange, poetic finality to a nightmare that had loomed for far too long.

Inside the shattered remnants of the living room, the chaos finally began to settle. The vortex that had consumed Hoseok and nearly everything else in its path slowed to a stop, leaving only a heavy, eerie silence in its wake. The air was thick with dust and the faint, acrid scent of something burnt and bitter—like charred wood mixed with decay. Hoseok’s limbs and head, the last remnants of his form, dissolved into the void with an unsettling, almost pitiful sound, like the last gasp of a dying beast. And then it was gone. Completely, utterly gone.

Wanda sat on the floor, her back pressed against the ruined remains of the couch. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath, her hair disheveled and her face pale. Her trembling hands pressed against her heart as she took a shaky look around the room. “Everybody okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with exhaustion and relief.

Slowly, one by one, they began to stir. Jung-Hyun, sprawled near the corner with Bam curled tightly against his side, pushed himself up first. His wide eyes scanned the room, his analytical nature already piecing together the aftermath. Jungkook groaned softly as Y/N helped him sit up, her hand resting on his shoulder for support. Moon brushed dust from his jacket, his expression grim but relieved, his wolf-like eyes darting between the others to confirm everyone was alive.

“Think so,” Moon muttered, breaking the silence. His sharp gaze caught sight of something on the floor. “But that... was close.”

Jung-Hyun, ever composed despite the chaos, reached down and picked up Hoseok’s driving cap from where it lay near the fireplace. He stared at it for a moment, his lips curling in distaste. Without a word, he tossed it into the fading remnants of the vortex. It spun once in the air before vanishing into the void, like an offering to whatever dark force had finally consumed Hoseok. “Good riddance,” Jung-Hyun muttered, dusting off his hands as if physically ridding himself of Hoseok’s taint.

Jungkook’s arms wrapped tightly around Y/N as he sat upright, pulling her into an embrace that spoke of relief and gratitude. His body ached from the battle, his muscles screaming in protest, but for the first time in what felt like years, his heart felt light. “It’s gone,” he whispered, his voice raw but filled with an unshakable certainty. “I feel it. He’s gone.”

Y/N pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her own filled with the same dawning realization. “So do I,” she said softly, her voice trembling with the weight of the moment. The oppressive heaviness that had shadowed them for so long had finally lifted, leaving behind a strange, quiet peace.

Moon, standing near the shattered remains of a window, nodded in agreement. His sharp features softened as he spoke, his tone reflective. “Me, too,” he murmured. The words carried an unspoken gratitude, an acknowledgment that they had survived something none of them truly believed they could.

As the tension in the room began to ease, Wanda climbed unsteadily to her feet. She leaned against the wall for support, her legs still shaky beneath her. “Everyone accounted for?” Jungkook asked, his voice softer now, though still laced with concern. He glanced around the room, doing his own mental count of the survivors.

“Looks like it,” Jung-Hyun replied, his tone steady but tired. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing down at Bam, who wagged his tail weakly but seemed unharmed. “Even Bam’s okay.”

The faint sound of crunching glass drew their attention as Min-chul stepped through the wreckage of what had once been the front of the house. His boots left dusty imprints on the debris-strewn floor as he entered the room, his posture as calm and unaffected as ever. The destruction around him seemed to have no effect on the man. If anything, he looked mildly annoyed, as though a minor inconvenience had interrupted his evening plans.

Min-chul’s eyes swept over the scene, taking in the wreckage, the battered survivors, and the faint remnants of the vortex that had finally died out. Without a word, he made his way across the room, stepping over broken furniture and shards of glass with deliberate precision. The others watched in stunned silence as he headed for the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the chaos he’d just been part of.

Min-chul opened the refrigerator door, the faint creak of the hinges breaking the silence. He reached inside, ignoring the slime and soot that clung to the walls of the fridge, and pulled out a can of diet root beer. The faint hiss of carbonation filled the room as he popped the top and took a long, slow drink. For a moment, no one spoke, their eyes fixed on the bizarrely mundane scene unfolding before them.

Min-chul finally broke the silence, his voice low and dry, tinged with an understated bitterness. “The one thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He took another swig of his root beer, his gaze distant. “All the damn vampires.”

The weight of his words hung in the air for a moment before Jung-Hyun snorted softly, the absurdity of the situation breaking through the tension. Y/N laughed quietly, leaning against Jungkook as exhaustion overtook her. Wanda let out a shaky breath, her lips twitching into a faint, tired smile.

One year later

Six months had passed, but the Oregon air still felt foreign to Jungkook. The city of Eugene had a slower rhythm than Santa Carla, with its bustling chaos and perpetual haze of saltwater. Here, the world was quiet, wrapped in the scent of pine and freshly turned earth. It was a change Jungkook welcomed, even if it still felt a little strange.

He stood at the base of an old oak tree, his head tilted back to where Y/N had perched herself high above. She looked perfectly at home, swinging her legs as she leaned casually against the trunk. The moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows over her face.

"Are you sure we're both gonna fit up there?" he called, squinting up at her. She smirked, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Your butt isn’t that big yet," she shot back, laughter in her voice. "Come on, just use the branches like a staircase. You'll figure it out. And try not to fall—you've got a whole college career ahead of you."

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. "Oh, thanks. That's real reassuring." He grabbed hold of the first branch, testing its strength before pulling himself up. "If I fall, you're carrying me to the hospital."

"I'll just tell them you were too distracted by Orion's Belt to watch your step," Y/N quipped, leaning slightly to watch his progress.

"Yeah, yeah. You're hilarious," he muttered, swinging his leg onto the next branch. By the fourth one, he had to jump to reach it, grumbling under his breath. "You sure you didn’t plant this tree just to mess with me?"

Y/N winked. "You're smart enough to figure it out."

With a final heave, Jungkook reached her level, settling himself beside her with a triumphant exhale. He wedged himself securely between her and the trunk, his legs dangling over the edge. The wind tugged at their clothes, carrying the cool, earthy scent of Oregon's forests.

“So,” he began, glancing at her with a crooked smile, “what’d you drag me up here to see?”

Y/N took his hand, their fingers intertwining, and pointed toward the glittering expanse of stars. “There,” she murmured. “See that cluster over there?” She traced a shape in the air, guiding his gaze. “That’s Orion. If you look close, you can see his bow over here”—she made a sweeping motion—“and then his belt. That’s how most people find him.”

Jungkook tilted his head back, his eyes wide with wonder as he followed her gestures. “You can’t see any of this from the rest of the city,” he said softly. “It’s… beautiful.”

“This place reminds me of the clifts back home,” Y/N rested her head against his shoulder, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I used to go there a lot,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “Back when I… wasn’t myself. When the others were out, well, you know.” She trailed off, staring at the stars as though they might offer her some clarity. “Sometimes I’d bring Moon. He loved guessing what shapes the constellations were supposed to be.”

The mention of Moon brought a soft smile to Jungkook’s lips. Moon was doing better now. After being adopted by Jungkook’s mother, the boy had finally found some stability. He was attending school again in California with the help of an IEP and a 504 plan. Though he was a grade behind his peers, Moon was thriving. Jungkook’s little brother, Jung-Hyun, had been a huge help—since the two boys were the same age, they had naturally become close. Namjoon and Seokjin were over at their mother’s house almost every day, offering support and keeping Moon company. They played games, helped with homework, and made sure the house was always filled with laughter. It was healing, in its own way. Everyone was trying to move on, and Moon was at the center of it all, slowly piecing himself back together.

The Oregon night was crisp, the cool air tingling against their skin, but neither of them cared as they huddled together in the sturdy embrace of the old oak tree. The stars above them glittered like a scattering of diamonds on black velvet, their light soft and soothing.

“What’d Moon say this one looked like?” Jungkook asked, his voice soft, his gaze fixed on the sky. He tilted his head toward Orion, the familiar cluster of stars standing out amidst the vastness.

Y/N’s lips curved into a tender smile as she thought back. “He said it looked like a sword. See?” She guided their intertwined hands upward, her fingers light against his. “That’s the hilt, down there,” she said, tracing a line near the bottom of the constellation. “And up here…” She moved their joined hands higher. “That’s the blade.”

Jungkook chuckled, the sound rumbling low and warm in his chest. He glanced at her, his eyes soft and adoring, as though the stars could never hold a candle to the glow in her face. “A sword, huh? That fits Moon. He’s always been a little fighter.”

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured, her voice gentle. “It really does.”

They sat in companionable silence after that, the quiet of the forest wrapping around them like a cocoon. The wind rustled the leaves, and the faint, sweet smell of damp moss filled the air. Y/N began pointing out more constellations, her voice soothing as she whispered their stories. Her words floated on the cool breeze, and Jungkook listened intently, his gaze flickering between her animated expressions and the stars above. Their shoulders brushed as they leaned against each other, a steady and familiar closeness that spoke of trust and affection.

At one point, Y/N turned her head to look at him, her gaze searching. “You know,” she said, her tone suddenly playful, “you could make your own constellations if you wanted. They’re just stars. You can make them look like anything.”

Jungkook’s brows lifted thoughtfully as he scanned the sky. “Anything, huh?” He grinned after a moment, turning his attention to a small cluster of stars. “That one kind of looks like Bam,” he said, pointing upward with their joined hands.

“Bam?” Y/N laughed, her voice a sweet melody in the quiet night. “Okay, show me.”

“Yeah, see, that’s his tail.” Jungkook carefully traced a gentle curve with their hands, mimicking the wagging sweep of his beloved dog’s tail. “And over here, that’s his body. He’s standing up.”

Y/N squinted at the stars, her lips curving into a delighted smile. “I can see it. That’s definitely Bam. All loyal and proud.”

Jungkook chuckled softly, his head leaning against hers as his laughter faded into a content hum. He turned slightly, brushing his lips against her temple in a quiet kiss. “You’re the best,” he murmured, his voice low but full of sincerity.

Y/N tilted her head up to meet his gaze, her eyes shining with something unspoken but deeply felt. “You’re not too bad yourself,” she teased, her grin softening as she reached up to trace his jawline with her fingertips.

Jungkook’s expression melted, his lips tugging into that boyish smile she adored so much. Without another word, he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was gentle but lingering, filled with all the things he couldn’t say out loud. Her hand slid up to cup his cheek as she kissed him back, her heart swelling with the kind of love that felt endless, like the stars above them.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the cool air. “I love you, you know that?” Jungkook whispered, his voice barely audible but carrying the weight of his feelings.

Y/N smiled, her thumb brushing across his cheekbone. “I know. And I love you too.”

They stayed like that for a moment, their world shrinking down to just the two of them. The worries of life—college, careers, the lingering pain of the past—faded into the background, replaced by the steady warmth of their connection. Jungkook pressed another kiss to her forehead before pulling her closer, his arm wrapping securely around her shoulders.

“You sure you don’t wanna give college another shot?” he asked after a while, his voice hesitant but laced with hope. “You’re so into history. You’d be amazing at it.”

Y/N shook her head gently, her fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest. “I appreciate it, Jungkook. I really do. But I need time. My head’s still… messy, you know? I can’t even remember half the stuff I learned before. I just want to take things slow for a while.”

He exhaled softly, the sound both understanding and reluctant. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I will be,” she said firmly, lifting her head to look him in the eyes. “I’m looking into that apprenticeship at the tattoo parlor downtown. And being back here… close to my brother, close to home… it’s enough for now.”

Jungkook nodded, his gaze steady and full of love. “Okay. But if you ever change your mind…”

“I’ll let you know,” she promised, her lips curving into a smile that made his heart skip.

He kissed her again then, slower this time, his hands cupping her face as though she were something precious. Y/N melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she poured all her feelings into that single, unhurried moment.

When they pulled away, Jungkook rested his chin on her shoulder, holding her close as the night stretched on. “We’ve got time,” he murmured, his voice soft but certain. “No rush.”

“Yeah,” Y/N whispered, her cheek pressed against his. “No rush.”

Before she could respond, before she could even breathe, Jungkook closed the distance between them, his lips finding hers in a kiss that felt both familiar and brand new, like something that had been waiting in the shadows, waiting for them to find it. The world around them seemed to fall away, and all she could focus on was the way his lips moved against her own—warm and soft—each second carrying a lifetime of things unsaid.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, her fingers tangling in his hair as they kissed. She felt his arms tighten around her, his body pressing into Y/N’s, a warmth blooming between them that she hadn’t let herself feel in so long.

His fingers slipped beneath her shirt, the touch featherlight, sending a shiver through Y/N. He looked into her eyes as he moved, his gaze steady, as if asking for permission. She nodded, and he smiled, his fingers moving higher, brushing the edge of her bra. He wanted Y/N to feel every moment, to know that this was about them—about both of them.

"Patience, baby," he whispered against my lips, his voice warm and teasing. "We're not in a rush. Forever, remember?" His eyes held a hint of mischief, and she bit her lip, trying to stifle a smile.

Y/N pulled away, gasping for air, her body pressing against his, her need growing stronger. "Please," she whispered, my voice raw. She wasn't even sure what she wanted, but she needed more—more of his touch, more of him, more of the feeling that threatened to swallow her whole.

Jungkook chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through her. "I know," he said, his lips brushing against her ear. "But I want you to feel every second of this. I want you to remember it." His voice was soft, but there was an edge of command there that made her body respond.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. She managed to undo a few, her hands trembling with urgency. Jungkook laughed again, a low, warm sound, his lips pressing against her neck. His hair brushed against Y/N’s skin, and he felt like a furnace in the cool night air, making her senses come alive.

His hands moved higher, cupping my breasts, and she sighed, her body arching into his touch. This was what she wanted—this closeness, this connection. He took his time, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, the sensation making her moan. Y/N quickly bit her lip, muffling the sound, and Jungkook gave me a knowing smile.

"It’s okay, baby," he whispered, his voice a mix of teasing and affection. "No one’s around. Do you feel good?"

She shook my head, her cheeks heating at the thought of being caught. His hands were warm but felt like ice against her newly exposed skin, and she ached for more.

Jungkook’s breath quickened, and he pulled away just enough to shrug off his shirt. Y/N’s eyes roamed over him, taking in every detail, and even though she'd seen him like this before, it still made her heart skip a beat. He was beautiful—strong, vulnerable, perfect.

Y/N was so focused on him that she didn't even notice him reaching for her shirt until it was gone. He let her fall back, the grass cool against her skin, his fingers tracing light patterns along her stomach, and her breath caught as his hands moved lower, to the waistband of her jeans. He moved with confidence, his touch deliberate, and in one smooth motion, he lifted Y/N, sliding her jeans off, leaving her half-naked in the cool night air.

"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice soft, his hand gliding up her leg, his touch gentle but possessive.

Y/N laughed, the sound shaky but filled with warmth. "Not even a little," she said. Y/N felt like she was on fire, every nerve alive, her body humming with sensation.

"That's my girl," he murmured, his fingers brushing over her skin, finding every sensitive spot, making her shiver. Y/N closed her eyes, surrendering to the feeling, wishing it could last forever.

Jungkook paused, and she blinked up at him, confused. It took her a second to realize his pants were gone, discarded on the ground.

"When did—" Y/N started, but her gaze shifted, caught by the sight of her bat-covered boxers.

"Bats?" She asked, her voice a little dazed.

He shrugged, giving me a sheepish grin. "Thought they were funny."

Y/N laughed, a real, genuine laugh that broke through the tension. "They are. Especially on you."

Jungkook snorted, then leaned down, his body pressing her into the soft grass. "You're far too coherent—I must not be doing this right."

"Oh, you're doing it very—oh!" Y/N’s words were cut off by a gasp as he reached beneath her, unhooking her bra and sliding his hand beneath the fabric. Her hips lifted instinctively, her body responding to the heat of his touch, a need building inside her that made her heart race.

"Patience," he whispered again, his tone firmer this time, his fingers slipping her bra down her arms and tossing it aside. "I'm going to take care of you."

He lowered his mouth to her breast, and any protest Y/N had vanished in an instant. His lips were warm, his tongue flicking over her skin, and she let out a soft cry, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. Her body felt too hot, too alive, and Y/N thought she might fall apart if he stopped.

"Y/N," he breathed, her name like a promise, his hand moving to her other breast, his touch sending shivers through her. Y/N gripped his shoulders, holding on tight, as if he was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Please, more," She panted, her voice raw, her fingers digging into his back. He smiled against her skin, teasing her, and she groaned, desperate for more.

"Do you need something, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice soft but commanding, his free hand sliding down to brush against the edge of her panties.

"Yes, please," She begged, her body arching towards him, her voice filled with need.

"Tell me," he said, his lips trailing down her stomach. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and another wave of heat washed over her.

"I need you," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling, her desire almost too much to bear.

"That's my girl," he said, his fingers brushing up her thigh, "always so honest." He sat back, his hands moving to her hips, his fingers curling around the fabric of her panties as he began to pull them down, slowly, too slowly.

Y/N wished she had his strength—she'd have torn them off in an instant. She gasped as the cool night air touched her bare skin, her legs instinctively trying to close, but his hands stopped her, gentle but firm.

"Don't hide from me," he whispered, leaning over her, his voice a gentle command.

Y/N couldn't hide from him—she never could—and she let herself relax, her legs parting as their mouths met again. His skin brushed against her own, their bodies fitting together perfectly, and his fingers found her, cool and deliberate.

A gasp slipped from Y/N’s lips, her body jerking at his touch. "You feel amazing," he murmured, his voice rough against her ear. His fingers moved, slow and steady, building a rhythm, and Y/N felt herself respond, the heat inside her growing, her skin feeling too tight.

His gaze never left her face, and there was something almost reverent in the way he looked at her, like she was the most important thing in the world.

"Please," Y/N begged, her voice cracking, her hands clutching at him. He shushed her softly, his lips brushing against her neck, his touch soothing.

"Look at me, baby," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth and control. "I want to watch you cum."

The night seemed to wrap around them, holding the two in that moment. Y/N’s breath hitched as he leaned closer, his touch drawing her deeper into the feeling, like there was nothing else in the world but him. She could feel the fire inside her, the sensation building, and she knew she was close.

"Kook," Y/N gasped, his name slipping from her lips like a prayer, and she let herself fall into the feeling, her body tensing, her nerves sparking as the pleasure rushed over her. Y/N heard him groan, her name on his lips, and she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be—here, in the darkness, with him.

Before Y/N could say anything, Jungkook cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. It was a tender kiss, slow and filled with restraint, as if he was holding himself back. Y/N could feel the heat rising inside her again, a spark igniting even though she was already spent. But the fire was still there, making her want more.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, letting herself get lost in the moment. There was no room for doubt now, no fear that he might pull away. He was here, with her, and she wanted all of him. His body pressed closer, the urgency in his movements making her head spin. His kisses turned more intense, his hips pressing against hers, and Y/N gasped at the feeling of him against her, a primal need making her shiver.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice strained, his lips brushing her skin as his hands slid up her sides. His question caught her off guard—there was vulnerability in it, like he was giving her one last chance to pull away.

"There's no one else I would trust," She replied, her voice steady despite the chaos inside her. No matter what, her heart had always come back to him. He was her protector, her anchor, and she loved him. She trusted him completely.

Jungkook closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping him, and Y/N saw the weight of her words settle into him. It hit her then—how much power she had over him. She could hurt him deeply if she chose to, and that thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. But more than anything, Y/N wanted to make him whole.

"Good girl," he whispered, his voice full of warmth and control. He moved his hands to her back, his fingers tracing her spine, feeling her shudder under his touch. He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue exploring her mouth as he pressed closer.

"You're mine, aren't you?" he murmured against Y/N’s lips, his tone soft but with a hint of dominance that made her stomach flutter.

Y/N nodded, her voice barely a whisper, "I'm yours, Kookie. Always."

His eyes darkened with desire, and he smiled, his hand moving lower to her waist. He wanted to explore every part of her, to know what made her tremble. Y/N’s hands found his hips, the waistband of his boxers, and suddenly, she felt nervous.

Slowly, she eased her fingers under the waistband, sliding his boxers down. She couldn't see him, but she could feel him—the smooth planes of his body, every detail etched into her memory. He was perfect, and yet so human.

Jungkook kicked off his boxers with surprising impatience, and she glanced down, her breath catching. He was always so beautiful. Y/N swallowed, feeling her cheeks heat up.

"Satisfied?" he asked, his voice teasing, though there was an edge to it, like he was holding his breath. She giggled, caught staring, and he smiled, brushing his fingers against her cheek. "Don't be embarrassed," he murmured. "If anyone's allowed to look, it's you."

Y/N smiled back, her fingers trailing down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. "I'm your girlfriend. I think that comes with certain privileges." She traced the lines of his abdomen, marveling at the strength there, feeling his breath quicken.

"Mutual privileges, I hope," he said, his voice thick with emotion, his hand sliding up my thigh, fingers brushing against her core, making her gasp.

Y/N laughed, her eyes meeting his. "I think you've already exercised yours pretty thoroughly," she teased, her hands continuing their exploration, her touch gentle but deliberate, a promise of more to come. His eyes darkened, his breath hitching, and she knew—they were just getting started.

"I guess it's your turn, th—oh, oh God!" Jungkook gasped, his composure cracking as her hand wrapped around him, stroking. Y/N marveled at the way something so hard could still feel soft, her thoughts drifting to the feeling of him inside her, filling her completely.

"Y/N—I—oh, you should probably stop," he groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder as if he couldn't hold himself up any longer.

"I'm sorry," Y/N whispered, pulling her hand away, feeling a pang of disappointment. "Was that too much?"

He laughed, a dry, frustrated sound. "Not in the way you're thinking."

"In the teenage boy way?" She teased, a sense of triumph filling her. He nodded, almost weakly, and she had to bite back a laugh. She’d pushed him past his limits, and that was exhilarating in its own way.

"Are you... okay?" he asked, his voice hesitant, his hand brushing her lower stomach, the touch sending a jolt through her.

"Yes," She breathed, meeting his eyes as he moved lower, pressing against her. Y/N resisted the urge to move, to rush him—something told her it was better to let him lead.

The first sensation was strange, a mix of awkwardness and pleasure as he stretched her, filling her. He paused, his breath shaky, his eyes searching.

"Let me know if you want to stop," he said, his voice heavy.

She shook her head, her voice barely a whisper, "Please don't stop."

Jungkook gave her a reassuring smile, his hands cupping her hips as he began to move, slowly at first, each thrust deliberate and deep. "That's it," he whispered, his voice dripping with praise. "You're taking me so well, baby."

Y/N nodded, pulling him down for a kiss, trying to erase the guilt she saw in his eyes. This wasn't a sad moment—it was beautiful, and she was happy. Even here, outside, the cool grass beneath us, it was perfect.

He kissed her harder, his tongue finding hers, and she gasped, surrendering to him. It wasn't until the sharp burst of pain that she realized he'd been trying to distract her. She dug her nails into his shoulder, her body tense, but she didn't pull away. He stayed still, his lips gentle, giving her time.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice soothing as he pressed kisses along her jaw. "You're doing so well. Just breathe."

When the pain dulled, Y/N turned her head, her lips brushing his jaw until they reached his ear. "I'm okay now," she whispered, her fingers tangling in his hair. He smiled, then kissed her again as he began to move.

The second thrust made her gasp, her body coming alive at the sensation. It was incredible—the heat, the friction, the way he filled me. Her legs wrapped around his hips, seeking more. Even now, he moved with that same careful grace, each movement deliberate. Only his rapid breathing and occasional moans betrayed his control.

Y/N, on the other hand, felt anything but composed. Her body burned, the fire too slow, too steady. She needed more—something to push her over the edge.

Y/N clenched around him, her hips moving against his. "Y/N, please," he groaned, his voice strained. "Don't—I can't—"

"You can," She panted, her voice desperate. "Please, just a little harder… I need more… I can't… take it… oh God, Jungkook—"

He cut her off with a kiss, his thrusts becoming faster, more urgent. "That's it, baby," he whispered against her lips, his voice a mix of command and adoration. "Take everything I give you. Let go for me."

The pleasure hit her in waves, and Y/N clung to him, her fingers digging into his back. It was almost too much, the sensation building, her whole body alight. His breath was cool against her neck, his lips brushing mine, and she thought she might explode.

"Kook—Jungkook," She moaned, her voice raw. "More—please—I'm so close." And she was—the pleasure was right there, just out of reach.

"Y/N… Y/N…" His voice was reverent, strained, and she realized he was just as lost as she was. His movements grew more erratic, his control slipping, a low growl escaping him.

"You’re so fucking good," he whispered, his voice rough, each word sending a shiver down her spine. "Come for me, baby. I want to feel you."

Y/N’s body tightened, her nerves sparking, and she cried out, her body clenching around him. The pleasure drowned her, and the only sound she heard was Namjoon's groan. The only thing she saw was him—his dark hair, his eyes, dark and endless.

As the hush settled around us, like the calm after a summer storm, Jungkook whispered my name, a low, reverent murmur that seemed to hang in the air longer than it should have. Y/N felt his body tremble, and in that single, breathtaking heartbeat, it was as if every last barrier between them dissolved, slipping away like sand in the tide. Jungkook, usually so controlled, had let his guard fall, and for once, it was her holding him together. A fierce, aching love swelled within her, mixed with a longing so deep it felt like it might tear her apart. She wanted to keep him here forever—this quiet, strong soul who moved through the world with such understated grace. Y/N wanted to share everything with him, every dark corner of her heart and every bright flicker of hope.

"Y/N?" His voice was gentle, almost tentative, as though the rawness of the moment had left him exposed. "Are you okay?"

She smiled, dazed, her fingers grazing his hair as he rested his head on her chest, his gaze heavy-lidded, filled with a rare softness that made her heart stutter. "I’m perfect," She whispered, the words barely brushing the night air.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest, warm and sleepy. "Good," he murmured, his voice drowsy and content. "Because I don’t think I can move just yet."

She laughed softly, a sound that seemed foreign to her own ears, as though it had been locked away for years. "Neither can I. Maybe we should just stay here forever—under the stars, in this moment, like this."

They stayed like that, entwined and content, until sleep began to creep in. The stars above twinkled like quiet witnesses to their love, and even as the chill of the night seeped into their bones, neither of them cared. They were exactly where they were meant to be: together, dreaming of a future as infinite as the constellations they traced in the sky.

[jeonstudios]

fontana di trevi | 01

you seek out a vampire to help you with something.

pairing: vampire!jk x sadgirl, blood donor!reader

genre: vampire au, angst, fluff (really a sadgirl fic lol)

word count: 7.6k

warnings: blood, needles, talking about how you euthanize cows and such? suicidal thoughts (not graphic or elaborated? very straightforward?)

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 1/2

<previous | next>

© fontana di trevi is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

It’s a freezing cold December night when you step into the dark alleyway, your thighs having gone numb under your jeans a while ago. The sun set hours ago, and the only light present is that of a few scattered streetlights. 

Your pulse quickens as you take another cautious step. Something moves further in, where the light barely reaches, and since there’s no snow yet, you hear the slight crunch of frozen fall leaves under… footsteps. From the dark, a tall figure approaches slowly in a way that would have anyone’s blood chilling.

“I have a proposition,” you state, trying to stand somewhat tall.

"A proposition?” a low voice inquires, and you have to tilt your head up to look at the face that emerges from the shadows. “I’ll fuck you, but I’m not turning you for sex.”

“That’s not what—I don’t want sex or to be turned.”

He directs his full attention to you, and in turn, you get a better glimpse of his features. He looks like a man; incredibly handsome with jet black hair, eyebrows, and eyes, but his skin is paler than anything you’ve seen, and there’s the tiniest smudge of something red tinting the corner of his mouth. Though his eyebrow is raised, he doesn’t look very entertained.

“You can have my blood. All of it, if you just take it quickly.”

He lifts his hand to slowly wipe the red from his face. The outfit he wears—a black leather jacket and black pants—looks human but is definitely too cold to wear this time of year.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t simply take it if I wanted to? Why would I need your permission?”

“I’m just saying. Take it if you want it?”

He looks at you, seemingly at least a little intrigued by the odd human in front of him. You definitely understand that most people run the other way at the sight of this big, intimidating being. 

“You realize ‘all of it’ means you’ll be dead, right?”

You nod. “Do we have a deal?”

“Regardless of if I wanted to or not, I literally just… ate, so I physically can’t. Not for another week or so.”

You feel your shoulders drop slightly, and you blink, trying to improvise a plan.

“Okay, well… Do you want to meet here in a week, then?”

At that, he tilts his head. “You want to die here, in a dirty alleyway?”

“I don’t care. So yes or no?”

“If you want me to do this, give me something in return first, okay?”

You look at him in confusion. “You’re getting my blood?”

“Who's to say your blood is even good?”

Trying not to let his words discourage you, you look around, thinking. Maybe you should’ve played harder to get? At least in the sense of giving him a hunt? You don’t want to waste any time, but he might not be your best option. 

“Fine, do you know if there are other vampires around here? How do I find them?”

It took you three weeks to even find this one, and maybe it was more luck than anything, so setting off on another search doesn’t sound too exciting. These creatures really do live in the shadows.

“No, listen. Whether your blood is delicious or not, it would certainly be helpful to have it. But…”

“But?”

“Let me stock up on it first. Meet me at my place and let me take some every week for two months and then I’ll take the rest.”

You look around again, unsure if you should just try to find someone else. Two months is not ideal; it’s too long, and you’re sure you could manage to find someone else in the meantime. 

The vampire senses your hesitation and takes a step closer.

“You want it to be quick, which means you’re scared of pain. People around here, my kind, tend to drag it out. Pain and fear equal adrenalin, which gives the blood a certain… flavor that some enjoy. Agree to my compromise, and I’ll make it quick and practically painless.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles, barely a hint of one, but it feels wicked and makes a cold shiver run down your spine. You know he’s not trustworthy, but he’s getting a lot out of the deal, and you have nothing to lose, really.

“Okay. What’s the address?”

In the middle of the day a week later, you find yourself in front of a big two-story house. It’s nice, looks pretty expensive but… like a regular house? It’s painted white and definitely not blood-red or even black. Aligning more with your expectations is how the house is partially obscured from the road by huge, towering spruces and how it seems to lie just a little bit further from the neighboring houses. There’s a thin layer of snow on the ground now, but you’re not sure whether it’ll stick.

After confirming that no, there is no door bell, you lift your fist to knock on the door. Vampires have crazy good hearing anyway, right? You’d assume so, given the fact that they’re always portrayed as super fast, super strong, super… attractive, and with super hearing, super vision, just… super all around. The mythical creatures don’t officially exist to the world, but in your little town, everyone knows they do. And they do. You found one. So if they drink blood and are super attractive—at least this one—it’s not too weird to assume there’s more truth to their pop-culture portrayal. 

You can see how the town’s vampire believers and enthusiasts shake their heads in disappointment at your relative indifference, but truth be told, you’d probably be more curious about the vampire whose home you’re about to step into if the situation was different. Or maybe you’d have some self-preservation and run the other way?

The door opens almost soundlessly, and when you look up, you meet those black, bottomless eyes. It really is his color, you think, your gaze drawn to the short-sleeve, black button-down he’s wearing, the top three buttons or so left undone. With it, he’s wearing black pants on the looser side. He looks incredibly handsome, and very effortlessly so. His hair is shiny and looks soft, and like it naturally falls into that slight side-part.

“Are you gonna come in or just stand there and ogle me?” He isn’t smiling teasingly; he just looks at you, unimpressed.

“Sorry.” 

He turns to retreat back into the house, and you’re left to enter through the open door. There are no lights on inside, and when you close the door behind you, cutting off a majority of the daylight, you start to feel like you’re truly inside a vampire’s home. Still, it’s light enough for you to follow said vampire’s back after hastily removing your coat and folding it to leave over the boots you step out of. Since you assumed he needs access to the veins in your arms, you picked out a gray t-shirt and a black zip-up hoodie that’s a little too big on you, paired with jeans. Nothing fancy—you’re not there to impress him.

With quickened steps, you catch up to him as he wordlessly leads the way into his kitchen, a place you doubt he uses much. Vampires don’t actually eat, do they? Either way, the room is clean and feels almost... sterile, despite the walnut cupboards and dark gray countertops.

On the short end of a wide, matching walnut dining table, a bunch of supplies are laid out. He gestures to one of the two chairs positioned around the corner of the table, but as you sit down, he turns to leave.

“Uhm, I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, pulling the zipper of your hoodie down and slipping one arm out. “I mean, I’m sure it can’t be that complicated in… theory, but I don’t think I can do it on myself.”

“I’m just gonna wash my hands,” he explains, and there seems to be a very slight trace of emotion in his voice and on his face that you interpret as amusement. He thinks you're dumb.

Oh. Well… does it really matter if his hands are squeaky clean or not?

Water hits the sink with a familiar sound as you focus on the table, inspecting the supplies. There’s a needle with a tube attached to it, a tourniquet, some syringes, antiseptic wipes, and a few empty blood bags. A voice in your head wonders if maybe he changed his mind and will simply take everything at this moment because those bags look pretty big, and you’re not sure you can fill them and still walk out of this place. 

The water stops, and you sit pretty and wait until he positions the other chair in front of you, a little to the side. You’ve never been a fan of needles or having your blood drawn, so you focus your eyes the other way, to a specific part of his kitchen window and the overcast outside. You hear the sound of paper and plastic ripping, and you feel his cold fingers place and tighten the tourniquet around your upper arm and feel for your veins before he wipes the area clean.

“Scared of needles?” he teases arrogantly, and you see how he reaches for the sharp object on the table.

“Bodily reaction. I can’t help it,” you explain before holding your breath and waiting for the poke.

It comes soon after; an uncomfortable but not too painful prick. With one hand, he moves some things around on the table, and you try to keep as still as possible, loathing the feeling of a needle jolting around in your vein.

“You’re not curious as to why I know how to do this stuff? Or worried that I don’t?” he wonders, releasing the tourniquet and seemingly fastening the needle to your skin with some tape.

“No. I guess it doesn’t surprise me; blood and vampires seem to go hand in hand.”

He surprises you by letting out a quiet chuckle before placing a red stress ball in your hand. “Squeeze this. I’ll be back to change the bag in a few minutes.”

Nodding, you watch him rise from his chair and leave the room.

Left to your own devices and with the filling blood bag taped to the chair’s armrest by its thin tube, you close your eyes. 

The house is entirely silent, and you have no idea where the vampire went. After he moved the stuff around on the table, you were able to count exactly three blood bags with a printed 450 ml on them. That adds up to somewhere between one and one and half liters and around 30% of your blood volume if you’ve calculated correctly. According to your brief research, a human doesn’t typically survive losing more than 40% of their blood unless given emergency medical attention. You probably won’t feel too great after today, but you most likely won’t die. You think.

Slowly, the minutes start to tick by, but you feel okay so far. You’ve got a good rhythm going for the stress ball, squeezing, holding, releasing. Squeezing, holding, releasing. The silence has your mind wandering.

“You can stop for a bit.”

The vampire’s sudden voice has your eyes flying open. He hadn’t made a single sound, returning to the kitchen. Catching your breath, you nod, keeping the ball still in your hand. You don’t look at the needle in your arm, but you see the bag full of dark red that the vampire sits down and trades for an empty one, attaching the tubes before he fastens them in the same way to the armrest. 

When he’s done, he lifts his hand, and you spot one of his fingertips covered in red. For a split second, he observes it, and then he puts the finger to his tongue. At first, it’s weird to see, and you almost want to tell him that it’s not hygienic to taste other people’s blood. That is before you remember that other people’s blood is what sustains him.

He looks to be assessing something, and suddenly, you’re worried he might not like it.

“B positive," he focuses on you, but you give him a slight, confused shrug because you have no idea what blood type you are or what it means in this context. 

“Is that… okay?”

“It’s… meh. Not the most common but also not the rarest. Most of my kind prefer A or even AB, though.”

“Oh."

Of course, your blood is substandard. You nod toward the filled bag on the table. “Will you have any use for this then?”

Truly, it would be just your luck to not even have the scary creatures, who roam the night in search of victims to drain, want your blood.

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter. I can always use it as a backup if I don’t get the chance to feed in time. Squeeze.”

Per his order, you resume squeezing. The rest of the process goes relatively smoothly, although you’ve started feeling a lot… weaker by the time the second bag is full and the vampire is about to switch it for the third. 

There’s a lot about blood and the human body that you don’t know, and you’re silently wondering what the recovery rate is and if you can really give him this much every week. Does he plan on taking less next time or has he not taken it into consideration?

“Why do you want to die?”

You blink at his bluntness, looking at his uncaring face. He obviously doesn’t care to hear the longer story, and you don’t care to tell it, so you settle for a shorter, more condensed version.

“There’s something wrong with me. I don’t belong here.”

“Didn’t taste like it.”

“Maybe not physically.”

He doesn’t dig further, but when your blood starts trickling into the third bag, the vampire stays seated. You still close your eyes, afraid that you’ll stare at his face otherwise, and he didn’t particularly seem to like that. 

You’re not sure if it’s just the blood loss or a combination of having slept poorly for the last few weeks and being in a calm, silent environment, but you’re feeling tired. Really tired. And cold. 

“Squeeze harder,” his voice instructs, void of emotion. You do your best to follow his instructions, squeezing the ball tighter even though it’s getting difficult.

“We’re done.”

You open your eyes, finding the vampire much closer than before and his fingers swiftly removing the needle from your arm.

“Okay, so… uh…” you start, finding it hard to choose words or even think of what you want to convey in the first place. “Do I come back… same time… next week?” 

“No. Make it two weeks.”

You look at him, confusion written across your features, but it’s hard to focus your eyes on his face. It’s blurry, and there are dark spots infiltrating your vision.

“I took as much as I could, and while you won’t have time to replenish everything in two weeks either, I’ll at least get more out of you than in just one week.”

He smiles, and if you had the energy and maybe (mostly) the common sense, you’d be scared by the way he truly looks so wicked. 

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

The vampire takes the stress ball from you and rises from the chair with the used supplies in his hands. You grip the armrests best you can, but your right hand slips, and you stumble a little, trying to stand. It’s so incredibly cold, and you feel dizzy, nauseous, and weak, putting your hoodie back on properly.

Very quietly, you hear him move around the kitchen, and while he hasn’t explicitly told you to leave, you’re very much assuming he wants nothing else. So on unsteady legs, you make your way back to the front door, where you grab your coat to haphazardly put it on, and you step into your boots, unable to bend down to tie them properly.

You’re able to make it to your old but trustworthy car that you parked on the street, but when you sit down in the driver’s seat and close the door behind you, you realize that you definitely can’t drive as it’s proving more and more difficult to even keep your eyes open. You can’t walk home, you have no one to come pick you up, and even if there probably is a bus stop somewhere around here, you don’t think you’d make it there. 

So with your last burst of energy, you pull the lever under the seat to push it back a little, leaving your boots on the floor as you bring your feet and knees up. Your coat finds a new purpose as a makeshift blanket, and you cover as much of your body as you can with it. Fully knowing that as you close your eyes, you might never open them again, you don’t care that much. Dying is what you want, anyway.

Surprisingly, you do open your eyes again. It’s dark when you do, and it’s so, so cold. Your heart is beating hard as it tries to circulate blood that just isn’t there anymore, and it’s with a low groan that you move, trying to reach for the phone in the pocket of your coat.

It’s seven p.m.. You met with the vampire at two p.m., and the visit took less than an hour, which means that you got into your car at maybe a bit before three, and so you’ve been passed out for four hours. It takes you a while to come to properly, and even when you do, you feel weak, groggy, and stiff. Ideally, you shouldn’t drive, but you have no other means of getting home, so you decide on a route consisting of smaller roads with lower speed limits and less traffic.

It’s no wonder you feel like you’re on death’s doorstep because when you do some further Googling on blood donation and blood volumes at home, you calculate exactly how much someone of your size would have. And you find that the vampire took 38% of that.

Three weeks later, you’re knocking on his door again. He opens it, an eyebrow raised and looking even more unimpressed than last time. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t show last week, but I was sick,” you inform, hoping he’ll accept your apology. “Didn’t think you would’ve wanted to see… that.”

“You’re right.”

That’s all he says before he turns, leaving the door open for you just like last time. Well, you take that as a sign that you’re forgiven, and so you follow him inside. 

Trying to keep up with him, you’re feeling even smaller and weaker around the tall vampire than before, and truth be told, you are. Because according to those Google searches, while it takes the body only approximately 24-48 hours to replace the blood plasma, it takes four to six weeks to replenish the red blood cells and recover fully. And that’s from having one bag of 450ml donated; you left three and it’s only been three weeks since. Essentially, the vampire is taking your blood a lot faster than you can produce it.

Like last time, you sit down on the same chair in his kitchen, but since he wasn’t expecting you, he has to retrieve the supplies from elsewhere. You remain quiet while he organizes everything, stealing a few glances at him in the meantime. This time, he’s wearing a black t-shirt and black shorts, and you’re amazed at just how… ordinary he looks. In the best way possible, of course. 

Without being too tight, the shirt does a very good job at showing off his physique: it hangs wonderfully off his shoulders and dips slightly between his pecs. It exposes the prominent veins stretching across both his arms and hands, and you wonder if vampires also ‘live’ in the way that he has a heart that pumps blood around his body. Or if he’s really ‘dead’ or ‘undead’ like some media describe them?

“What?” he questions, having caught you staring.

“You look very human,” you say quietly. “Like a college guy.”

An athletic college guy. The one who’s just a little too handsome to be exact.

The trace of amusement that flashes across his face is so faint that you’re not sure you didn’t simply imagine it. He doesn’t respond to your observation, only sitting down and reaching for your arm. His large hands feel a little warmer against your skin than you remember them doing last time, and you turn your head when he prepares the needle. There’s a pinch and then the immediate relief when he loosens the tourniquet.

“Here,” the red stress ball is placed into your hand again. Looking down briefly, you watch your own hand squeeze it, but the red fluid flowing through the transparent tube is too off-putting, and so you close your eyes again.

A minute or so passes while you keep squeezing the ball to some sort of rhythm tied to your breaths. It won’t be long. Soon, everything will be over. 

Somewhere, you lose track of time, and to regain some sense of reality, you flutter your eyelids open. Only to see the vampire stare coldly at you. You freeze.

“I thought you left,” you admit, the surprise clear in your voice.

“I’m keeping an eye on you,” he explains, face still stoic.

You look at him dumbly. “No offense, but why? The point is to kill me, anyway?”

“No, it’s to take as much as possible,” he corrects you. “To a reasonable extent. And then kill you. Here, let me change the bag.”

You close your eyes once more as he switches the full bag to a new, empty one. The dizziness comes a lot quicker than it did three weeks ago, but then again, you’ve been feeling more or less weak and faint ever since that first donation.

“Okay, we’re done.”

You look at him, surprised. “Already? But you didn’t even fill the second bag fully?”

“I took too much last time, and like I said, I want to get as much out of you as possible.”

For the first time, you think you see a hint of a discreet fang when he gives you a blood-chilling smile.

The process of removing everything is quick, and before you know it, you’re putting your feet into your boots again. You feel faint, like your knees might buckle under you any second, but you don’t feel weak to the point of passing out for hours in your car; you do that when you’re home in bed instead.

Suffering from what you gather is immense anemia, you don’t have the energy to really do anything between your visits to the vampire besides lie on the couch and watch TV. You quit your retail job the Monday after finding him in that alleyway, confident (and correctly so) that you wouldn’t be able to handle really any job at all. 

Even rotting away on the couch with your eyes glued to the screen, you can barely understand what the shows are about. Your brain struggles to place the people and remember the plot lines, and you find yourself almost daydreaming instead. Though it’s mostly just flashing images of the vampire whose name you still don’t know.

If your heart wasn’t already so strained, it would beat harder for him in some kind of fear-filled attraction. He’s absolutely gorgeous—and there’s definitely something almost drawing you to him—but he’s also so, so intimidating. If the end goal wasn’t to die, you’d for sure be running for the hills and looking over your shoulder late at night.

Next time, there’s a slight smile pulling on the vampire’s lips when he opens the door.

“Still alive?”

You chuckle quietly, looking down at your boots. “Unfortunately.”

Taking off your coat reveals another simple outfit with no other purpose than granting the vampire access to your arms while keeping your freezing body warm. This time, it’s a thick, brown cardigan over a t-shirt, paired with somewhat baggy jeans.

The contrast between your clothes is almost funny. Even indoors, you’d be freezing in the half-open thin, white dress shirt he wears messily tucked into black, also thin-looking slacks. The gap in his shirt makes you want to reach out and touch his pale chest, but of course, you keep your hands to yourself.

Once again, you follow him inside, and while you don’t need him to, he guides you to the same spot in his kitchen where the stuff is all laid out. 

Sitting down, you slip your arm out of the cardigan and place it on the armrest. The vampire washes his hands and then comes to sit down in front of you, reaching for the tourniquet to position it around your bicep. With the elastic band tightened, he rips open an antiseptic wipe to clean the inside of your elbow, and then, he prepares the needle like always. 

You look away, holding your breath until the pinch comes and for a few seconds after. 

“The whole thing about vampires losing control around blood… I take it that’s just storytelling?”

“Depends,” he answers, and despite not looking at him, you just know he’s got one eyebrow raised and a hint of a cocky smile on his lips. “If we’re hungry and someone happens to bleed around us, yeah, it can be more… tempting. Also depends on what sort of blood we prefer.”

“And you don’t like mine,” you state, your foggy brain concluding it the reason he seems to not care about the vulnerable blood right in front of him.

He laughs this time, a really nice sound that has your strained heart almost skipping an important beat. “I changed my weekly feeding to Thursdays, so I’m still quite full. And your blood isn’t vile, it’s just not what I personally go crazy for.”

“Oh,” you let out, looking at him before something dawns on you. “Wait. You eat once a week only? How much do you eat then? Or… drink?”

He nods toward the bag he just secured to your arm. “Someone of my size typically only needs about two of these a week to survive and not maniacally hunt and kill, but to really thrive? Between two and three liters, so four to six bags. I usually go hunting Friday or Saturday night when most bars and pubs are full. It’s surprisingly easy to find a few drunks stumbling around who won’t even realize what happened the day after.”

“So you don’t… kill?”

“Not if we can help it. There’s been… an increase in vampires around here, and if people drop dead? No, it’s less suspicious and only a little more work to find a few victims instead of draining one dry.”

“Makes sense.”

“Mhm. I typically don’t have to beg women to come with me, either.”

Something ice cold travels through your body at that last sentence. You wonder whose blood was on his lips that night when you found him.

“I can’t believe you’re telling me this, though? You seem like you’d tell me to mind my own business.”

Even more, you can’t believe you asked.

He smiles. “I don’t know. Like I said, people will occasionally find out what I am, find me fascinating, and ask a thousand questions. I’ve always thought it to be incredibly annoying, and I’m not really supposed to tell them anything even if I wanted to—which I don’t—but it’s been… odd, not being questioned by you. At all. Almost boring, like I’m not interesting to you.”

His answer surprises you, and for a moment, you imagine teenage you, not bubbly per se but at least a bit more naive than the current version. Would she be the type to annoy him? You don’t think so. 

“Objectively, you are interesting, but I can’t believe how brave people are? If things were different, I wouldn’t have gone out looking for a vampire in the first place. And if I somehow stumbled upon you, I would’ve run the other way because you’d terrify me.”

Slowly, he smirks at your honesty. 

“I scare you?” 

You’d be lying if you claimed the cold, calculating aura around him didn’t.

You’re not sure if he has any super powers like in the movies, but honestly, he wouldn’t need to be able to lift a bus to kill you. The scariest thing about him isn’t how he could end your life in a hundred different ways either way, it’s how he could drag it out and extend your suffering before doing so. Of course, your body and instincts find him scary, but in a way, your mind… doesn’t? Then again, you’re here because your mind wants him to kill you.

“I don’t know.”

“Hm,” is all he says, his eyes falling to the blood bag. “I have to change it. Hold on.”

“Okay,” you mumble, finding it hard to concentrate. Your heart beats so hard it hurts, but at the same time, your breathing is slowing down. Closing your eyes, you feel him move stuff around.

“How are you feeling?” he suddenly asks, but it doesn’t sound like he cares too much.

“Honestly? Terrible,” you admit, keeping your eyes closed. 

You keep still when you feel his hands on your arm, but then you hear a little… rip.

“Fuck.”

Curiously, you open your tired eyes, seeing the vampire hold the empty bag up to inspect it. 

“This was the last one I had. This brand is fucking terrible quality; how do you make blood bags so weak they rip?”

“You don’t have anything else to collect it in?”

He sighs defeatedly, “No, it needs to be in these kinds of bags so I can store and freeze it properly.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I’ll have to stock up on them and maybe take more next time.”

You nod slowly and understandingly. That will probably be the last time, then.

About a week and a half later, you find yourself on a bench downtown, your hands in the pockets of your coat to keep them warm. It’s Saturday, and on the other side of the street, a few people are standing in line to be let inside your town’s best version of a nightclub. You’re not certain what exactly brought you here, and you’re sure that if the happy, club-dressed people took the time to observe their surroundings, they’d notice you staring and look at you weirdly in turn.

“Hello?”

Registering the almost rude-sounding voice, you blink as you turn your head. It’s a guy. 

“Huh?”

His face looks skeptic, and he’s got his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He’s not wearing a jacket or coat of any kind over his white t-shirt, so you gather he’s in the middle of a night out. Probably left a bar for a smoke and spotted you.

“I asked you what your name is? Like three times?”

He’s good looking with black hair and dark eyes, but the tone of his voice is very unattractive, and you have no interest in him whatsoever, knowing he isn’t just looking to be your friend.

“Oh. Uh…”

You don’t say it. It’s not that you don’t remember your name or that you’re making a conscious effort to deny him the information, but it’s like your thoughts are at a standstill. 

“Beat it.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. His lips didn’t move.

“And who are you?” he asks, irritation dripping from his words, and this time, his lips are moving. However, his eyes are not on you but on something behind you.

Just as you’re about to turn around, the man in front of you leaves. His steps are quick, his mission abandoned.

“What are you doing here?”

Of course. It clicks the moment the vampire comes into view, and you’re surprised you didn’t immediately recognize his deep voice. He’s wearing that same leather jacket and some black pants, an outfit still very much inappropriate for winter. Though, something about him feels… wilder, almost a little uncontained? You can’t put your finger on what exactly.

“Uh, people-watching,” you inform as he rounds the bench, sitting down next to you.

Because he’s beautiful like no other, you glance discreetly at his face. He’s so masculine, but in certain lights, you glimpse something softer. You particularly like his nose and its rounded tip. It gives him such an attractive profile, you think, gaze traveling over his features and lingering on his dark eyelashes.

“Why? Isn’t it cold as hell for you?”

“Uhm, I don’t know? And I guess?”

From looking straight ahead, he turns his head, redirecting his full attention to you. The light from the closest street lamp reflects in his dark eyes.

“Is there any truth to that whole ‘vampires are designed to lure humans in’ thing?”

He grins. “I lure you in?”

“You’re more intimidating than you are attractive, actually,” you admit earnestly, wincing a little on the inside at how it came out a bit like an insult. He’s definitely attractive, and maybe the fact that he is so attractive is part of why he’s also so intimidating. “I’m just wondering what you looked like before.”

“I’ve always looked like this,” he explains casually, once again peering out over the cold, dark street. “Vampirism doesn’t change anything besides, like, skin impurities and conditions. I would’ve shown you a picture, but there were no cameras around when I was human,” he smiles cheekily.

“Anyway, you should go home. It’s really cold and not really safe at this time either,” he encourages.

You nod, realizing that he wants to protect his backup supply. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll see you next week.”

“Mhm.”

You expect him to get up and leave, confused when five seconds pass and he hasn’t moved. The feeling seems to be mutual because he turns his head to look at you again.

“So, are you leaving or not?”

“I am.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You look away, clearing your throat a bit awkwardly and realizing that you might just have to tell him, since he doesn’t seem to be leaving before you. “I don’t think I… can. I walked here, but I think I overestimated myself.”

The vampire looks you over briefly, probably just to be sure, but you both know that your main health concerns aren’t visible. 

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, not that far. Like less than a ten minute walk, but I…”

“What’s your address?”

“124 Conch Street.”

“Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up.”

Puzzled, you follow his instructions and slowly rise to your feet. Though you’ve been sitting stranded on the bench for almost two hours, the dizziness returns the moment you stand.

But the vampire isn’t satisfied. “Get up on the bench and undo your coat up to your waist.”

This time, you give him a skeptic look.

“Just do as I say,” he holds his hand out for you.

Slowly and still confused, you take it, and with his aid, you step up onto the bench.

To your surprise, he lets go, and before you know it, he’s unzipped your coat from the bottom up to your waist, positioned himself in front of you, and grabbed your thighs. Instinctively, you place your arms around his neck as he hoists you onto his back and starts walking.

“What are you doing?” you breathe quietly.

“Taking you home in an inconspicuous way. It looks like we’re a couple, does it not?”

“Definitely an odd and unexpected couple if so, but I guess?”

“You’re a pretty girl, you know?”

Your lungs hold your breath for an extra second before slowly releasing it, and then you hum, but it’s only to actually provide him with an answer. You definitely don’t think you’re anywhere near pretty enough for someone like him. He doesn’t call you out on your vague answer.

You’re not the most common sight, couple or not, and people still watch you as you pass them. Unsure as to how to meet their curious gazes, you don’t; turning your head forward instead. When you’re so close, you inevitably catch his scent, only to find that he doesn’t smell like a whole lot. There are traces of soap, laundry detergent, and maybe a hint of cologne, but not much else. No lingering smell of sweat or anything like that.

He walks you through the city and past the alleyway where you first found him. It’s quiet, except for the muted sound of his footsteps as well as those of a man a bit ahead, evidently hurrying to get home and away from the cold.

“Are there more vampires here?” you wonder, looking around the silent street and thinking it might not be as empty as it seems. 

“Yes,” he confirms casually.

It has your brain working, and the surroundings reminding you of why you’re with him in the first place.

“How are you going to kill me?”

If he’s caught off guard by your straightforward question, he does a good job of not showing it. 

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. But I’d rather not bleed out,” you say, body aching at the mere thought. Although you’re certain there are much worse ways to go, you really don’t like the feeling of severe blood loss.

“It’s the easiest way though,” he explains. “It’s not as easy to drain a body without a heartbeat to move the blood around.”

“Are you familiar with livestock?” you ask, thinking back to what your three-year-older cousin once told you as you biked past a field of cows one summer when you were ten. “You can kill the animal and then ‘deblood’ them by hanging the body upside down and cutting their throat. The blood will drain easily. Do you have a bathtub?”

“You’re… a person though, still,” he says, and though he doesn’t falter in his steps, you can tell your words don’t sit quite right with him. “There’s no dignity in an ending like that. And don’t you care what happens to your body?”

To say you’re surprised is an understatement. You thought vampires were all bloodthirsty monsters, only biding their time until they can rip someone new apart. The messier, the better. The vampire, who’s carrying you on his back, made no effort to appear nice either. At least not at first. Now, you don’t even know.

You shrug slightly. You’re not a spiritual person, and you’ve never believed in something like an afterlife. “It’s just meat and bones. I won’t be here anymore, and no one’s going to be looking for me, anyway. There’s no use in keeping things ‘pretty.’”

He doesn’t say anything in turn, and you wonder how much about you he knows. How much about your life he realizes.

The vampire’s smooth movement lulls you further into relaxation, and you lean your head partly against your own arm, partly against him. He doesn’t say anything.

Way sooner than if you would’ve walked with your own two legs—if you would’ve made it home at all—he puts you down in front of your apartment complex. You search your pockets, locating your keys in the left one. 

“Going home now? Since you can’t enter without permission,” you joke tiredly, unlocking the front entrance with the key fob. 

The vampire raises his eyebrows. “I might as well make sure you don’t somehow trip and spill all my blood on the way to your apartment,” he smirks, grabbing the door and opening it wide without breaking eye contact. “And you shouldn’t believe everything you see or read.”

The smile he’s wearing as he makes a show out of stepping inside the building is another chilling one. You can’t say that you expected him to hit an invisible wall or anything, but for some reason, it would’ve almost felt… nice if that were the case. Considering your situation, you’re not sure why. 

The elevator is empty and waiting for you, and after getting inside, you press the button for floor two, the vampire coming to stand beside you.

“Is there anything that is true regarding vampires?” you ask quietly as if someone would hear you inside the elevator.

“Besides the fact that we drink blood?”

“Yeah. Are you like, immortal and stuff? Super old?”

He chuckles. “Kinda. I don’t think anything’s truly immortal, but we do have a longer life span, yes.”

“What about senses? Can you hear my heart beat right now?”

“Yes. It sounds like it’s about to burst through your chest.”

Yeah, because it’s strained to hell and back, trying to keep you alive even in the condition you’re in.

“And super speed, super strength and all that?”

“Mhm, although we’re not so fast we go blurry. Are you impressed?”

“I don’t know? What do you use it for? I can’t think of even one thing having those powers would improve in my life.”

“Tough crowd,” he chuckles, avoiding your question as he follows you out of the elevator. 

You understand that being physically superior is helpful when you’re a literal predator, and yeah, maybe being able to walk a tiny bit faster to work every morning would’ve saved you some time, but what else? Oh, yeah, one time, you had to throw away a jar of pickles because you simply could not get it open. Being stronger would’ve definitely helped you then. 

Reaching your door, you’re quick to unlock it and pull it open to head inside, ignoring the two envelopes lying on the floor in your hallway. The vampire stays at the door, watching as you start to remove your coat two or so steps away from him.

“Are those… bruises?”

Turning your head as you make your way to the wardrobe to put the coat away, you see the vampire looking almost worried. You look down at the skin on your arms. 

“Yeah.”

“Let me look at them,” he urges, holding his hand out.

“Why? They come with anemia; why does it matter?”

“Still, I want to see. Come over here.”

Despite looking oddly insistent, he makes no effort to actually enter your apartment.

Your eyes widen as you look at him. “You really can’t come inside without an invitation, can you?”

He sighs exasperatedly. “Technically, no, I can’t step inside unless you give me permission.”

It makes you laugh a little in wonder. “Wow.”

He rolls his eyes, but you can tell it amuses him a little too.

“Listen, I’ll be fine until we meet again and if the bruises are still there, you can look at them then. I kinda don’t actually want to invite you in, is that rude of me?”

“No, it’s not. Very reasonable, actually.”

“Okay, then I’ll see you Friday?”

He nods politely and steps back. “See you.”

You watch him leave, his footsteps sounding through the hall as you bend down to pick up the envelopes you’ve been ignoring for days. They’re probably bills, and you’ll be dead soon, so who really cares if you pay them or not?

Mindlessly, you approach the door to close it, your focus on the white paper in your hands. You put your finger under the fold to rip the first envelope open, wincing when the paper cuts through your skin instead.

Holding your finger up, you inspect the damage and the little bead of red that’s forming next to the invisible cut. You look at it, furrowing your eyebrows at how you feel like something’s… missing? A moment later, you realize what it is, and your body freezes. 

The footsteps have stopped.

It dawns on you, as you look at the blood, what the vampire was actually doing tonight and why he looked wilder than usual. Early Saturday night, lurking around the clubs until he found you and had to abandon his plans. 

He was hunting.

Your eyes widen and your heart stops as you hear it. One footstep. Then another. And another. They’re speeding up, and soon enough running toward you.

Before you’ve had a chance to shut the door, it flies wide open. Panicked, you move farther into the apartment, but you fall backward and by pure instinct, crawl back as quickly as you can.

Despite claiming that he couldn’t enter without your permission, the vampire falls to his knees, then all fours, to reach you. You’ve never seen anything as scary as the bloodthirsty creature grasping the air, trying to get you. He moves so quickly, and his hand is just about to grab your foot when it’s like… he’s held back by something. 

You're breathing heavily, trying to understand what’s happening. Why doesn’t he just move another three centimeters? He licks his lips in frustration, exposing fangs that are definitely longer than you remember. Meeting his eyes, they’re cold like never before, and he exhales angrily. He’s still reaching for you, and frozen in your spot, you look over at him, briefly wondering if his feet got stuck or something when it hits you.

He can’t step inside.

You sit there, your feet mere centimeters from his grasping hand when there’s a sound down the hall, and in a split second, the vampire seems to snap out of it. He looks at you, appearing to realize what he’s doing and somehow gaining control over himself. Looking around, he gets up, and he leaves. Quickly and without a word.

Wide-eyed and with your heart beating painfully, you remain on the floor, wondering what the hell just happened. Even when his footsteps are long gone, you’re too afraid to get up and close the door, worried that he’ll return and be able to reach you. 

You’d like a very serious word with whoever established the ‘no entering without permission’ rule but also decided that the vampires could cheat it by keeping their feet outside and crawling inside.

You sleep a little uneasy the following nights, thinking a lot. Of course, your thoughts are mostly occupied by those cold, black eyes, thirsty for your blood.

<previous | next> happy halloween <3<3

[smartkookiee]

Vampire Boy || Series Page

Jeon Jungkook Series

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𓆩♱𓆪 pairing: vampire!Jungkook x human!Reader (afab, she/her)

𓆩♱𓆪 content: 18+ explicit content, established relationship au, oh they are so in love

𓆩♱𓆪 series warning/tags: golden retriever boyfriend jk, 27jk 26 reader, vampire activities, blood drinking, fluff, some angst, smut, blood kink?? (Squint), Jungkook really likes your blood, my own vampire rules?? But similar to traditional vampire rules??, Jungkook is so whipped, past trauma, comedy, y/n is a little bit of a brat, Jungkook is very good at handling her but also loves her so much, they are soooo down bad for each other, vampire!Jimin, vampire!Jin, vampire!Hoseok, vampire!Yoongi, other vampire characters (the girlies) unprotected sex (Jungkook literally cannot get y/n pregnant), cream pie, fingering, dick riding, oral f and m receiving, discussion of feeding on animals and people, vampire turning trauma, Jungkook is severely afraid of garlic (lmao), vampire traditions and rituals, family trauma, family death

𓆩♱𓆪 description: So your boyfriend is a vampire…It’s actually not too different than having a human boyfriend. He is kind and caring and genuinely loves you. He’s just a touch afraid of garlic and he’s kind of cold. Other than that everything is the same and you couldn’t ask for anyone better. You cannot imagine spending your life with anyone else, except… it would be only your life going on.

which wasn’t a problem… right?

𓆩♱𓆪 comment on this page or any chapter to be added to the taglist!

fic is cross posted to ao3

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𓆩 one 𓆪 || 𓆩 two 𓆪 || 𓆩 three 𓆪 || 𓆩 four 𓆪

𓆩 PLAYLIST 𓆪

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[hamburgerndsprite]

Sprite's Favourite Fics {Bangtan Fics} Part 5

(Also, all the moodboards are edited by me therefore I request everyone not to repost them as theirs)

[Masterlist]

[OT7]

{ONE SHOT}

➺ Nothing New by myg-butterfly

Pairing: Ot7! BTS x Choreographer! Reader (Seokjin x Reader focused) Genre: ANGST, eventual fluff, Injured!Reader Summary: You get hurt and have to find a replacement. You just didn't think that replacement extended to your relationship with the BTS members. Will they still want you when you're nothing new?

{SERIES}

➺ The List by inthelow [ONGOING]

Pairing: fashion girl f!reader x ot7! BTS Genre: literally porn with a plot; a lil fluff but mostly smut and crack Parts: 1/8 Summary: after finding out that some girls have a list of their hookups and how they rank them on different aspects, the boys are eager to know their scores and show you how they can be better than the others.

➺ Peculiar Pack by daydreamindollie [ONGOING]

— pairing: poly hybrid bts x f.reader — genre: fluff, poly!au, hybrid! au — parts: 9/17 (The parts are not connected. It is an unsystematic catalog of poly hybrid bts x f.reader imagines) — summary: you're a successful hybrid writer and psychologist, who takes in seven hybrids one stormy night after finding one of their pack stealing from your garden

➺ War of Hearts by namjooningelsewhere [ONGOING]

✽Pairing - OT7 x reader (DJ) and OT7 x Lily ✽Ratings - 18+ ✽Genre(s) - Mafia Au, Angst, Fluff, mentions of smut. ✽parts: 9 parts updated ✽Summary- You’ve been lurking in the shadows, protecting the seven of Bangtan even if it means you must give your own life. After all, that’s what you do when you are in love with someone irrevocably. That pain seems to be minuscule in light of their safety. But it was never about you, for all you are is a speck of dust in the universe they have created for them and their girlfriend. Your heart’s at war, but it’s fine, you can smile through the pain as long as it means they smile- for her.

➺ Chantaje by numinousher

pairing: ceo!bts x actress!reader (poly!au) genre: fluff, angst, ceo au, extremely powerful ceo’s that they get their hands dirty (by having someone killed) parts: 29/29 summary: being under the watchful eye of the media and your fans, your managers are in desperate need of regaining back your popularity after other influencers who hate you cause mayhem to your life. what best way to do so by having you pretend to be in a relationship with the popular 7 who are known to be intensely wealthy and stoic? will you be able to regain their trust or will they go with their promise of damaging your reputation even more?

➺ The Little Fox by purpleyoonn

Pairing: eventual polyBTS x hybrid reader Genre: hybrid au! fluff, angst, poly, mentions of abo, slow-burn, eventual smut Parts: 18/18 + Drabbles Summary: Just as you escaped the Little Fox, a bidding house, you find yourself at war with your thoughts, not wanting to go to another shelter. You didn’t expect yourself to find a home anywhere, especially not with the men who found you, and their pack. “The idea of being free was a foreign concept. Being free meant having choices, having opportunities. Being a hybrid meant never being free.”

[KIM NAMJOON]

{ONE SHOT}

➺ On With The Show by Joheunsaram

pairing- retired bassist!Namjoon x lawyer!Reader rating- R genre- rockstar!au, s2f2l, fluff, smut, angst, slight slow burn, single dad!au word count- 33.9k summary: Eight years after announcing their retirement, Dark & Wild seems to have been left behind. For Namjoon, he could never forget the time his dreams became a reality, and he's determined to retake the charts by storm once again. Struggling with raising a teenage daughter, the loss of his wife and poor writing projects with terrible bands, he’s now had enough. So with a little help from the only remaining active fan site, he embarks on a mission to convince his bandmates that a comeback might not be the mid life crisis they think it is.

➺ Breaking The Ice by raplinesmoon

pairing: hockey player! namjoon x f. reader genre/au: ice hockey au, college au, roommates au / smut, fluff, slow burn rating: explicit/18+ summary: after last season, namjoon knows he can’t afford anymore mishaps. when you show up on namjoon’s doorstep looking to share his apartment, he thinks it couldn’t be more perfect. medical school has you even busier than he is, but what happens when what used to be the perfect arrangement turns into a bigger distraction than either of you bargained for? word count: 911 {I couldn't really find the complete fic but this teaser can itself be enjoyed as a cute standalone}

➺ Emotions of the Soul by oddinary4bts

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader ☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI) ☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff ☆word count: 36.3k ☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

{SERIES}

➺ To be loved by taevbears

⤑ pairing: Namjoon x reader ⤑ genre: hybrid au, romance, hurt/comfort ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ parts: 5/5 ⤑ summary: Here's where she meets prince charming.

[KIM SEOKJIN]

{ONE SHOT}

➺ Forever by oddinary4bts

☆pairing: Kim Seokjin x female reader ☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI) ☆genre: ex-fiancés to lovers, idol!au, angst, smut, fluff ☆word count: 25.2k ☆summary: three years ago, your relationship with jin ended in fights and tears. When life puts him back on your path, you catch a glimpse of light in his eyes that you thought had died when you broke up. Will your relationship blossom into a well-deserved forever or will you lose the love of your life again?

➺ Very Familiar by Champagneher

pairing: kim seokjin x reader based on: being jin's girlfriend brings good moments with the members as well. genre: established relationship, fluff, jin and reader acting like a married couple, low-key they're already married. warnings: just fluff.

➺ Already Mine by i-am-baechu

Pairing: Dad! Seokjin x Mom! Reader Genre: Lovers to strangers!, strangers to lovers!, office worker! Seokjin, stay at home mom! reader, established relationship, fluff, angst, and smut Summary: “I do.” Two simple words that changed her whole world. The man that gave her love that she never had before and a child that looked just like him with her eyes, a story for the ages. It wasn’t until the mornings changed and the warmth he once had turned cold. Nothing made sense but at the same time everything did. All she wanted was him but maybe that's not what he wants...

➺ Fools by namfinessed

pairing: seokjin x reader genre: angst, fluff, strangers to lovers wordcount: 6.7k summary: only fools fall for you. (fools!universe)

➺ In you, I lay by namfinessed

pairing: Seokjin x reader genre: fluff, strangers to lovers wordcount: 7.8k summary: one night was all you needed to come back to him or a story in which love grows where seokjin goes, and you can’t help but follow.

[MIN YOONGI]

{ONE SHOT}

➺ Roll & Dice {M} by lostberet

Synopsis: Your parents never approved of your boyfriend. Your dad loves his car, your boyfriend loves to win, and you love to celebrate his victories. Genre: smut racer boyfriend!yoongi, established relationship, racer au, inspired by fast and furious kinda, ODETARI inspired, slight age gap (reader is 19, yoongi is 22).

➺ Dad!Yoongi Scenario by sevenforeverbulletproof-deactiv

Pairing: Yoongi X Reader Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life Summary: His son calls to tell him you've got a fever

➺ fxck a fxckboy [M] by yoongifis

; pairing: flirty/smartass!y/n x fuckboy!yoongi ; genre: smut (18+), pwp, jealous yoongi ; wc: 11k+ ; summary: where you sort of hooked up with one of the school’s biggest fuckboys but end up leaving him hanging and never contacting him because…well…why not? somehow the universe brought you two together and now you’re left with dealing with him because he apparently caught feelings for you.

➺ What's Up, Doc? by untaemedqueen

Pairing: Idol! Yoongi x Veterinarian! Reader WordCount: 9.8k Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff Synopsis: "Yoongi (11:49) - Too many to list, maybe I should tell you them in person.  Doc (11:56) - Some would say that it’s a bit late but I’m more of a night person. Gwanmunsijang-5-gil."

{SERIES}

➺ Desolate by angelicyoongie

— pairing: cat hybrid yoongi x  reader — genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut — parts: 14/14 — summary: you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so, you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult.

➺ bbydaddy!yoongi by muniimyg

Pairing: Yoongi x fem! reader Genre: accidental pregnancy au, fluff, nsfw Parts: 20/20

➺ Enigma by neonlights92

Pairing: Mafia! Yoongi x Reader Genre: Arranged Marriage au, Mafia Au, Angst, Fluff Parts: 6/6 Synopsis: After the death of your father leaves you in a lot of a debt to Bangtan - Seoul’s most nefarious crime syndicate - you are offered a way out:  marry Min Yoongi - Bangtan’s most elusive member-  and produce him an heir and your father’s debt will be forgotten.  Without a choice, you are soon tied to a man who you are absolutely terrified of.  But you cannot ignore the part of you that is thrilled by Yoongi.  And what scares you the most isn’t the blood on his hands, or the gun he always carries in his pocket.  It’s the things he’s capable of doing to your heart.

[JUNG HOSEOK]

{ONE SHOT}

➺ Coffee [M] by untaemedqueen

Pairing: Idol! Hoseok x Stylist! Reader WordCount: 7.8k Genre: Fluff, Smut Synopsis: "It's about how a cup of coffee can change someone's life. How someone can find their home in a person."

➺ Step Back by Champagneher

PAIRING | f!reader x idol!hoseok BASED ON | How dare she come back and try to steal your man? GENRE | established relationship, fluff WARNINGS | Jealousy, swear words.

➺ Defining Heaven by akinnie75

Pairing: J-hope x Reader Genre: Fluff, Slow Burn, Romance, Angst Word Count: 24k Summary: “If I try to fly, will I make it to heaven, or will I fall straight down? But what exactly is heaven?” It’s a question that’s been in Hoseok’s mind a lot after cutting ties with his parents and ending his relationship with his ex-girlfriend. Dreaming is his fear, but you tell him that it’s not as scary as he thinks it is. Even in the depths of his own despair, you reach your hand out, but will he take it?

{SERIES}

➺ Charred by neonlights92

Pairing: Mafia! Hoseok x Reader Genre: Arranged Marriage au, Mafia Au, Angst, Fluff, Smut Parts: 7/7 Synopsis: Jung Hoseok never thought he would find love.  So when his wife - the woman he has somehow fallen madly in love with - leaves him for somebody else he is heartbroken. Of course, Bangtan waits for no one.  Soon Hoseok is roped into yet another marriage, and this time he’s determined to keep himself safe. When the man you thought you would spend the rest of your life with runs away with Jung Hoseok’s wife, you find yourself suddenly tied to a man you think is a monster.  But beneath the darkness in Hoseok’s eyes is a warmth you can’t help but yearn for.  Perhaps love truly does work in mysterious ways.

➺ Where Do Broken Hearts Go? by back2bluesidex

Pairing: Model, ex-boyfriend!Jungkook X Child psychologist, Fem!Reader X Lawyer, Single Dad!Hoseok.  Theme: Angst, drama, eventual smut, fluff.  Parts: 7/7 + drabbles Warnings: mentions of infidelity, mentions of cheating, broken relationship, reader is suffering so bad, pining, more will be added to each part.  Summary: Jungkook stripped your emotions naked, left you bare in the chilly wind of despair and self-doubt with an unending heartache. You tried your hardest to move on from him, to live for yourself but failed miserably. Each night you had to come back to your empty home where memories and broken dreams were scattered all around the floor, until one day a little angel and her unbelievably beautiful father came into your life. Finally, when you find yourself healing, maybe falling too, Jungkook had to show up! Again!

➺ College social media Au by notevenagoodgirl

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Roommates Au Parts: 80/80 Summary: An AU where Hoseok and Y/N don’t really get along even though they’re in the same group of friends. What happens when shitty roommates and monthly bills bring them closer than ever?

[PARK JIMIN]

{ONE SHOT}

➺ Important Ass-et [M] by lavienjin

pairing: CEO! Jimin x employee! reader word count: 8,489 genre/au: office romance au, coworkers to lovers (?) | smut Summary: You've been tasked with a very important job that you absolutely can't fuck up. After a long day at work, you're at your wit's end, and who better to end the evening with than your boss?

➺ Flirt Buddies by jimilter

pairing: jimin x reader wc: 1.4k genre: humor | fluff | frenemies(?) to lovers!au | college!au summary: A mean girl pestering you is what it takes for you and Jimin to move further with the flirting going on between you two for months now. Who would’ve thunk?

➺ Call and Response by youtifulhobi

➴ Pairing: EMT/paramedic! Jimin x doctor! reader ➴ WC: 4.1k  ➴ Warnings: minor character death, grieving, crying ➴ Genre: e2l, angst, fluff, coworkers, hospitals, h/c, mutual pining that both YN and Jimin refuse to acknowledge but show in petty arguments ➴ Summary: Park Jimin is the bane of your existence, but also the receiver of your begrudging respect. He’s the one you love to hate, except…maybe he’s not as bad as you thought. Maybe.

➺ The Trials and Tribulations of a Mcflurry by btsmosphere

~pairing: jimin x reader ~word count: 1.9k ~genre: devil!jimin, established relationship, crack ~summary: hell is great, but what does a girl have to do to get a mcflurry around here?

➺ Brand New Eyes [M] by missgeniality

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader ➺ Trope: Idol!AU, Established Relationship ➺ Genre: Smut ➺ Word Count: 1.8k ➺ Summary: Jimin's eyes had potential to ruin you, and tonight you test the damage.

➺ Snow Don't Tell by stutterfly

❄ Word Count: 27.2k ❄ Pairing: Jimin x Reader ❄ Genre:  Neighbors AU / Friends to Lovers / Fluff / Smut / Humor ❄ Granny Park’s Gossip: Jimin is the sweetest boy around, no comparison. Always ready to listen to my stories, visits me regularly, and tells me all sorts of tales about those friends of his. Might as well adopt them all, I know so much about them! Jiminie’s the best grandson anyone could ask for, really, a little angel and his little gang of friends is quite the hoot. He’s been a little quiet about himself lately, though. Kept going on and on about that neighbor of his, how cute she always looks, and how he likes to help her with her groceries, but I think maybe I teased him just a little too much about that crush of his. Maybe he’ll figure out a way to get closer to her this holiday season, because who knows how much longer he’ll pine over the girl if he doesn’t. 

➺ In this light by jiminrings

pairing: jimin x reader wordcount: 2k genre: married + established relationship au, jimin's a NICU nurse and reader's a pediatrician, fluff n comfort all-rounder, they're expecting first-time parents <3 glimpse: love, within normalcy. alternatively, jimin has a routine at 5:35 in the afternoon.

➺ Flowers by taleasnewastime

pairing: Jimin x reader genre: fluff word count: 354 synopsis: “I’ll bring you flowers in the pouring rain if it makes you happy.”

[KIM TAEHYUNG]

{ONE SHOT}

➺ Marshmallows and Report Cards [M] by untaemedqueen

Pairing: Single Dad!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader WordCount: 7.6k Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Fluff, Smut Synopsis: "Peppermint or marshmallows?" He questions as he reaches the back of the room.  "Marshmallows." You tell him before bowing your head. "A woman after my own heart. Y/N, take care." He goes to bow his head before being tugged out of the room by his daughter.

➺ Seventeenth Century Girls by untaemedqueen

Pairing: Single Dad!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader WordCount: 1 k Genre: Fluff, Crack, Drabble Synopsis: “Why is your mother like a seventeenth-century feminist icon and I’m like an English chef that yells at people? Because I own a restaurant?!” Based In The World of: Marshmallows and Report Cards

➺ Get You The Moon [M] by bymoonchild

Pairing | Taehyung x Reader Genre | Fluff, smut, angst / College!AU, enemies to lovers!AU, football!AU,  jock!Taehyung x student reporter! OC Word count | 19.6k  Summary | Life has its ways of fucking with you, but you know you’ve hit 50 feet below rock bottom after being tasked to do a profile feature on Kim Taehyung, the varsity football captain, for your school newspaper. Pure torment awaits you, but this is alongside glassy eyes, pink cheeks, and conflicted feelings that you’ve never dared to imagine with the likes of the devil incarnate.

{SERIES}

➺ Monster by neonlights92

Pairing: Mafia! Taehyung x Reader Genre: Arranged Marriage au, Mafia Au, Angst, Fluff Parts: 6/6 Synopsis: You live in a world dominated by monsters.  Monsters who make it their life’s work to control everything around them.  When you’re forced to marry Kim Taehyung - the indecipherable son of the leader of Bangtan, Seoul’s most feared gang - you are at first afraid of him.  But as you learn what it means to be Taehyung’s wife you find yourself inexplicably drawn to him.

[JEON JUNGKOOK]

{ONE SHOT}

➺ Peregrination by untaemedqueen

Pairing: jungkook x reader ft. ot6 Genre: friends to lovers, angst, fluff Revelation (n.) -   a surprising and previously unknown fact, especially one that is made known dramatically. {I'm not sure how to explain this, but after reading this chapter, I discovered that "Peregrination" is a series. I tried looking for the entire series to read it in full, but I couldn't find it anywhere. Even though it’s a series, this chapter can still be enjoyed as a standalone one-shot.}

➺ The Second by untaemedqueen

Pairing: husband! Jungkook x wife! reader Genre: pregnancy au, angst, fluff Synopsis: Jungkook and the reader are becoming parents for the second time however they're both scared because their first child was a preemie!. An argument erupts when the reader reveals her pregnancy, and Jungkook yells at her for the first time, expressing his fear for her safety. However, when he hears her crying, he instantly regrets his outburst.

➺ Interruption [M] by untaemedqueen

Pairing: Husband!Jeongguk x Pregnant Wife!Reader Genre: fluff, smut Synopsis: Jeongguk is dying to have sex with his wife while she's pregnant but his son keeps getting in the way. Based in the world of: The Second

➺ Requested Drabble by minniepetals

Genre: Neighbor au Synopsis: "Why are you in your underwear?"

➺ Drabble by onlyswan

summary: in which jungkook doesn’t understand you sometimes. > fluff, suggestive / wc: 2.8k > warnings: making out, oc likes calling him baby boy okayyyy

{SERIES}

➺ bbydaddy!jk by muniimyg

Pairing: jungkook x fem! reader Genre: exes au, fluff, nsfw Parts: 30/30 + drabbles

➺ Angel in the Darkness [M] by icyhobi

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ft. Jin, but not romantically) Genre: Smut (M), angst, mafia!au, prostitution!au  Word Count: 5,468 Summary: After a patient urgently pleads you to go and help a friend of his, you naively agree to it. Little did you know, that you would get more than what you agreed to, when he leads you to a brothel, to help a dangerous prostitute named Jeon Jungkook.

➺ Brown-eyed Baby by jeonstudios

synopsis: a lost child at the mall. eyes from a different time. pairing: single dad!jk x reader genre: exes 2 (friends 2) lovers, smut, angst, fluff. word count: 11.4k parts: 2/2

[jincapableoflove]

Bloodstained Oath [COMING SOON]

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre: immortal knight! jungkook x vampire queen! reader, vampire au, fantasy, dark romance, SMUT.

Summary: You are untouchable. Feared and worshipped by all. And he's the knight who has sworn himself to you. When you finally call him to your chambers, he offers everything, his blood, devotion, and his very being. After all, you are no ordinary woman. You are a creature of the night, and Jungkook has longed to be yours.

Smut warnings: bloodplay, biting, devotion/worship, slight pain play, marking/claiming, overstimulation, light breathplay.

Word count: 5k - 6k (approx.)

A/N: just finished with the outlining of this fic. I've never written vampire stuff before so this should be fun. I'm also venturing into diff kinds of smut hehe hopefully this turns out well

[TAGLIST OPEN]

[hisunshiine]

—immortal lust |myg|

🧛🏻 pairing: vampire!yoongi x vampire hunter!reader  🧛🏻 au/genre: vampire au, e2l, angst, smut  🧛🏻 rating: M  🧛🏻 wc: 8,783 🧛🏻 warnings: mentions of parent death (off-screen). creepy themes associated with graveyards, vampires, and vampire hunting. explicit smut: fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, implied bdsm, implied orgy, biting, blood drinking (vamps, duh!), use of blood for lubrication (again, vamps!) 🧛🏻 an: thank you to my beta readers @downbad4yoongi and @lo1k-diamonds and @mrsparkjimin18. I know this ws rough at first, but I think it became a very enjoyable piece of literature in the end. @colormepurplex2, thank you for the prompt to write, and congrats on earning the most points for the network in the semi-annual tally! You earned it! 🧛🏻 summary: In the shadows of a world where the supernatural breathes just beneath the surface of the mundane, you are a skilled vampire slayer from a revered family harboring a secret desire that contradicts your very existence. 

🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻

This story is written for @colormepurplex2 as her gift for being the top leading point earner for our network, @bangtanwritershq and for our Quarter 2 event: Seven Deadly Sins

ᥫ᭡ AU Type: Lust — Vampire AU ᥫ᭡ Themes: Enemies 2 Lovers & Forbidden Desires ᥫ᭡ Inclusions: Bargains & Contracts, Confessions and Secrets, Explicit Sexual Content, Blood & Violence 

masterlist ❁ ao3

24 Years Ago

“Why are you crying, Uncle Sol?” Eight-year-old you stands in the darkened doorway of the study, bleary eyes struggling to take in the scene in front of you.

Soleil Belmont sits in the overly stuffed, brown leather armchair in front of the fireplace. Your uncle by choice, thanks to the life-long friendship between him and your mother, Valkyrie Blake, is how he came to be in your life. The hands that cover his damp eyes wipe furiously at his cheeks, as if to hide the evidence of his tears from your sight. You didn’t even notice how he looked—the mud caked on his boots, the tattered look of his shirt under his leather jacket, the small cut by his hairline or the bruises starting to appear along his face. 

“Come here, sweetie,” he asks, voice breaking as you walk in your thin nightgown across the wood floors, feet making quiet sounds with every step you take closer to him. Once within his reach, he places a clammy hand on your shoulder.  

“There’s been an accident.”

The funeral itself was one of the worst days of your life, watching the twin caskets of your parents lower into the rectangular cutouts in the  earth. The gleaming black lacquered wood was polished to perfection, only to be marred by the small handful of dirt you’d thrown before begging to be taken away from the graveyard, away from the scent of death and decay. 

That day is when you decide you never want to experience death. You never want to be so badly injured in a car accident that your family has to have a closed casket. That you’d never see your child grow up, and leave her abandoned in this world. You hate that death is the inevitable end to life, and that fear leads you down the path you’re on now.

You - Present Day

The dream begins much like all of the other ones you’ve had as of late. You’re in an old cemetery—gothic gravestones coated in thick moss with flora obscuring the names and dates of the not-so-recently deceased. Large tombs with crumbling marble and ivy-covered wrought-iron fences, the overgrown oaks with Spanish moss reaching eerily towards your figure in the shadows from the waxing crescent moon. The dirt beneath your feet feels malleable as you step quietly past the final resting places of all of the former slayers. You’ve traversed these grounds before, more than several times in your adult life, as you’ve learned about your family, the work that they did—that you are supposed to continue—and can name all of the family lines that take their final rest here. 

An eerie fog begins to rise from the ground, permeating the air until it covers your boots and ankles, weaving its way along the marble and stone placards, hiding the Lord’s Prayer epitaphs and angelic motifs from sight. A shiver raises the hair along your arms and the back of your neck and you sense him. He’s here, watching you with his luminous eyes and heightened, immortal beauty. You know he can hear the way your heart thrums in your chest, can smell the prickles of adrenaline that drip from the sweat at your hairline, and possibly the arousal as it seeps through your panties.

You attempt to refocus your thoughts away from the nervous energy, standing still.  You wonder if he believes that you are doing this so as to not trip or step on dead wood littering the ground to make too much sound. You know it wouldn’t matter. Quiet as a mouse or trampling like an elephant would make no difference to this being. He is well over three centuries old, exact years he has been alive though are not documented anywhere. No one has lived after a close encounter with him to document his life pre-turning, according to the various journals and tomes housed in the slayer library. 

All you know for certain is that the earliest records of the vampire known only as ‘Yoongi’ appear in the late 17th century, identify his maker as ‘Namjoon’, and his three known fledglings as ‘Heizi’, ‘Taehyung’, and ‘Hoseok’. Only one of his creations is dead—the one who killed your parents. A loud crack of lightning whips your head to the left, the flash revealing the amber backlit eyes embedded in the dark silhouette of the famed vampire crouched on the edge of the cremation tomb several yards away. Your amygdala reacts, heart rate spiking as he moves faster than you can capture—one second he’s atop the Van Helsing columbarium, the next he’s standing in front of you, strong hands clamped to your arms holding you tight, keeping you from moving. Your small but deadly sharp stake is rendered useless by your side.

There’s no time to scream, no time to do anything but hear the rush of blood through your veins as his mouth grows from a smirk to a downright smile, fangs glowing from the reflection of moonlight.

“You made it too easy, kitten,” he purrs, bringing his face closer to yours before dipping his face into your neck. He takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent as he scrapes the tips of his pointed teeth across the sensitive skin of your neck. “And to think you were able to kill Heize. I must do better at training my progeny. Oh well, another slayer to add to the crypt. You didn’t even last two minutes.”

Squirming in his grip, you try to disengage his clenched fists from your arms as his mouth descends to your thrumming artery. You wake with a gasp, hands flying to your neck to check for puncture wounds. 

🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻

Down in the gym at the bottom floor of your house—if you can call it that—you push your muscles to their extent, fists flying into the punching bag. You whip around, grabbing the thin bladed stake from the side pocket of your athletic leggings and plunge it into the second bag made for staking. 

With a deep breath, you step onto the bag to pull your weapon loose, watching small bits of fluff flutter to the mat beneath you. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you check the time on the clock, noting it’s near lunchtime. Sheathing your weapon, you head up the staircase to sunlight. 

On the ground floor, your eyes easily slide past the neoclassical designs along the hallway, high ceilings with blank walls, and columns lining the open floor plan with large arched floor-to-ceiling windows. The protein shake you prepared earlier sits on the top shelf in the fridge, and you grab it along with the jelly to make yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You’ve just finished when Soleil Belmont walks into the kitchen, a gentle squeeze to your shoulder as he bypasses you to the fridge.

“Can we talk?” he asks you, but you don’t want to argue with him, not when tonight could be the last time you ever talk to him. 

“Sol, I have to do this. You can’t change my mind about this. He sired the vampire that killed my mom and dad. He’s killed countless people for sport, leaving behind orphaned children like me.” You hope the finality in your tone will keep him from prying or asking more questions. 

It works.

“I love you. And I won’t try to change your mind. You’re much like your mother, stubborn to the very end.” Your mother’s best friend and your legal guardian until you turned 18 joins you at the table with a bowl of grapes, a look of acceptance in his eyes. “You know, if anything happens to you, I’m selling this house. It’s much too big for me and I’m getting older.”

Your eyes gaze across his features: the greying hair at the edges of his hairline, crow’s feet meeting the creases of his eyes, the weariness in the undereye circles and fine lines. He’s nearing 60, an age you don’t think you’ll live to see. An age your parents never got to be. At 32, you live on your family estate alone, with Soleil in the pool house you had renovated years ago as a Mother-in-Law suite once you turned 21 and gained your inheritance—and learned the truth about your parents’ death. 

Just as much as you probably could have lived without ever knowing the truth of your parents’ lives, and their demise, you didn’t need all the space he was trying to give you, but he wanted to allow you the chance to be an adult, have a social life and you assume a sex life without having to hear it. You appreciated it in the moments you brought men back from the bar or campus library, but other times, it was just…lonely. 

As a Belmont, Soleil knew about vampires. His family is well known across Europe for their work in Romania slaying creatures of the night, and Soleil’s great-grandparents moved here in the early 1800’s to spread their knowledge to others to continue hunting as the new world grew and vampires spread to the new continent. This is how your families came to be friends and fight alongside each other. Until Heize killed three of the four hunters tasked with taking her out, leaving you and Sol as the only survivors of the Belmont’s and the Blake’s. 

“I think you should. I only keep it because it has everything I need to train. I could practice in peace without worrying about people judging me for all of my weapons. Most people think it’s a little weird to have wooden stakes and crossbows when working out.”

Sol chuckles, making a joke about how between the gym being littered with staked bags and the UV lights that line the entire property at night, people would be confused when purchasing, but then the light leeches out of his eyes as he looks you over.

“Remember to keep your wits about you, okay? I never wanted kids because I knew that hunters' lives never end happily, and when I lost…we lost your parents and my fiancee, I wouldn’t have had a reason to keep living if it weren’t for you.”

You decide now is best to give him the ticket and the envelope.

“Sol, I think…I think it’s best for you to go away on a trip. I think I’ll be able to focus better knowing you are out of harm’s way if you leave.” You slide the ticket across the table towards him, the envelope underneath it. “It’s a one-way ticket to Paris and enough money to be comfortable for as long as you want.”

“You don’t think you’ll survive this, do you?” Sol asks, eyes searching yours for clues, but you remain steadfast.

“Don’t worry about me, Sol,” you say and he makes to interrupt you, but you don’t let him, dealing the killing blow. “I’m not your daughter, so you don’t have to stick around anymore. Go live your life. I want you to go and live your life.”

The hurt in Sol’s eyes is visible, but your plan works. His hand reaches out to grasp the ticket, leaving the envelope of money where it’s at. 

“I don’t need Blake money; the Belmont’s have enough of their own.” He takes a moment to pause, eyes locking back all emotions as he stands. “I’ll pack and leave town. Don’t be distracted.”

Soleil walks to the hallway, turning back just once. “Goodbye.”

🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻🧛🏻

The past 11 years seem to be coming to a head. You’ve spent all of your time after graduating from college training for today. Ever since you learned the truth of how your parents and Sol’s fiancee died, you’ve been plotting for this moment. 

As a member of the famed Blake family, vampire hunting is in your blood. As a child, you obsessed over vampires because of the ability to avoid dying, and as an adult, that obsession helped you with your training. You knew more about vampires than one would expect having been brought into the fold so late, but you put your head down and studied more, learning all you could from previous journals and occult texts to gain insight into the vampires with ties to the one called Min Yoongi. 

Several years ago you went out to avenge your parents, trapping Heize in a classic bait-and-switch. You didn’t think it would be so easy since she was estimated to be around 200 years, but she fell for it simply because Soleil was the only one she didn’t kill, and in her blood haze, she underestimated you. A simple ‘accidental’ dropping of a message from Sol that said where to meet, coupled with thoughts that you and Sol made sure to keep in your head to continue the ruse allowed Heize to willingly walk into the decrepit mausoleum that was booby-trapped with the thinnest of steel wiring criss-crossing the doorway several yards inside with you and Sol on the other side. 

In her haste to grab Soleil, she blurred—her speed too fast to stop her from splicing herself into pieces and effectively decapitating herself was a pleasure to watch. Grabbing the blow torches stashed in the room, her body quickly lit up with flames licking the marble walls as you made your exit. 

It’s been over 5 years since then, and every second since has been spent planning for tonight. 

Min Yoongi - Present Day

Laying in the coffin in his home, Yoongi awaits dusk. His body is antsy for the moment the sun is below the horizon; even in his slumber, he knows that you are out there waiting. For him. He’s followed your movements since the death of his fledgling, Heize, watching to see how this novice of a hunter could have overpowered one of his chosen flock. Imagine his surprise when it turns out that it was you—the last remaining survivor of the Blake family who knew nothing of vampires true existence until you were an adult. 

But over time, he realized as novice as you were, you were skilled. Your lithe movements and ability to track his kind was a novel experience for him to observe. You took down creatures of the night in preparation for what you expressed to your guardian as training for taking out him. Yoongi laughs to himself. 

He admits you’re smart, the plan you laid out is a good one, but you forgot to block your mind from thoughts of the plan several times, which allowed Yoongi to plan his counterattack. In the light of the midday sun, even from outside of his home, he sensed you as you approached and left a note. He could hear your heartbeat, hear the rustle of the paper as you placed it through the mail slot of the front door.

His eyes shot open the moment the sun fell below the horizon. Yoongi hated that he was not yet able to avoid the forced slumber that overtook his kind when the sun rose, nor that he was not averse yet to the fatigue that set in beforehand, warning him of the lack of time remaining to the night. Elder vampires, of which he’s only met two who had lived over a thousand years, were almost immortal. The ability to walk in the sun and thus are not affected by the need to sleep when it rises. Yoongi envies them, but he plans to join them one day. 

He flits to the main hallway, hand reaching for the note and taking in your handwriting in seconds. 

I know what you are. I want to be one of you. Please meet me tonight and turn me, or I will tell everyone vampires exist. 

An address is scrawled at the bottom of the note, but he doesn’t need it. He can follow the heady scent of you to wherever you are. Even in sleep, he sensed when you drew near and his subconscious couldn’t help reading the thoughts that lay in your mind. You truly thought this ruse would work? Hell, it would’ve worked on Heize, or his other fledglings, had they not known who you were. There is fear to be had with mortals knowing of their existence; vulnerability lay in the moments that the sun is out, and a house fire could destroy a whole flock in minutes if their kind is not careful. Yoongi cursed their inability to wake while the sun was out, and now that he knows you know where he resides, he must find a new place to live out his days. 

A glance at the old grandfather clock in the hallway shows him that the sun is now well and truly gone, allowing him to slip through the entrance of the home and out onto the sidewalk. He takes a deep breath, searching for your scent through the others that encompass the air around him; the grass along the road, the burnt rubber of tires in traffic, the lingering warmth of the sun before its descent, and then the faint smell of jasmine flowers after a fresh rainfall. You. 

Blurring into motion, Yoongi travels several miles towards the city, slowing once other scents begin to emerge. Thin crust pizzas covered in meat and cheese, overflowing trash and body odor, and a desperation that covers the city’s nightlife with a humming buzz. The fading jasmine keeps him moving, though now at a human pace as he approaches what appears to be a dance studio. The sign above the door confirms as much, and he’s not surprised that the glass door is unlocked despite the red and white closed sign hanging at eye-level for passersby. 

The floral scent grows tenfold, as if Yoongi has stepped into what he assumes your bedroom would smell like. There is a strange undercurrent that he isn’t used to associating with you, but he assumes it’s just lingering from the studio. As he walks past the lobby area, the shadows of the fake potted plants and the empty chairs intrigue him. Why you chose this place is beyond his comprehension, as a dance studio such as this one, owned by the Blake family—your family—for years, is in the middle of the city and one of the few places not related to the hidden career path of hunting. Unless you count using dance as a way to build agility for fighting those who cannot die, well at least not die easily. 

Yoongi’s cockiness as he meanders closer to the hallway towards the various dance rooms leaves him caught off guard when the sound of whirring behind him causes him to move unnaturally before going eerily still. The slightest misstep is only noticed by Yoongi, whose barely beating heart seems to pick up minutely—not that anyone living or dead would be able to tell. He chuckles at your meager attempt to lock him in; a motorized grate lowering across the lobby door and windows. 

His strength could easily rip the grate off of its frame, but this little game you’re playing is just too good to walk away from without seeing what you’ve planned with his own eyes. It only pops into his thoughts once he’s walked through the back studio where your scent is the strongest, that the grate lowering was not part of the plans his Mind Gift overheard from you. 

So it’s only to his own surprise when the undercurrent rises to an overwhelming level and he realizes what his hubris blocked out. The mirrored room before him is splashed floor to ceiling with blood. 

You - Present Day

With the scent of your blood so overwhelming to the centuries-old vampire, you watch from the corner of the room as he drifts towards the mirrors and closer to where you need him to be. Your fingertips itch on the small switchboard you hold, ready for your plan to unfold. He looks almost dazed, eyes unfocused as his fangs poke his bottom lip. He looks so different, from the way the journals make him out to be, in person he’s much more attractive, and you have to really focus to make sure you don’t miss your mark. 

When Yoongi enters the area you’ve marked off with tape, you release your hold on the button that allows two things to happen simultaneously: a set of low UV flashbang grenades are set off, the mirrored walls reflecting the blinding light with a cacophony of sounds to drown out any thoughts he might try to detect, and a 4x4 cage made of the thinnest wire springs into place trapping him within its confines. 

You watch him through your military-grade glasses, the lenses preventing the bright lights from disorienting you as his brilliant eyes shut against the danger they sense. He is a few centuries old, and you know that despite the direct hit of the UV light, which only lasts for a split second, the slight damage dealt to his skin heals seconds later. 

But your aim wasn’t to kill him. He laughs, a loud bellyful that sounds almost joyous until you flip the second switch, which sets the alkali metal aflame. His laugh is silenced almost immediately, a growl rumbling lowly in his throat. 

“What game are you playing at, little mortal?” His voice carries an edge, and you shiver with delight. You’re sure that it’s never been this easy to capture a vampire that is several centuries old, but sometimes the best laid plans are the most simple. You step forward from the corner you were in, no longer hidden as the flames light the room and you pull off the tinted lenses.

“I’m not playing any games at all.”

He glares at you, the slits of his eyes glowing an intense amber shade—an enhancement to what you predict were originally beautiful brown eyes—and you bravely take a step closer. 

“Then what, praytell, would you call this,” his hand waves gingerly towards the room around him, “smoke and mirrors set up you have me in?”

“I…I want to experience being bitten.”

This time, the vampire does laugh fully, his head thrown back exposing his fangs and the long lines of his neck from his sharp jaw. His milky white collar bones are barely exposed in his black, button-down, long-sleeved shirt.

“No hunter,” he spits the word as if spitting a foul taste from his mouth, “would willingly subject themselves to a bite, to risk becoming that which they hunt.” 

“I would.” Your answer rings with sincerity, at least to your own ears, and you hope that the vampire can see the longing in your eyes.

“What reason would I have to give in to this request? The promise that you’ll let me out of here before daylight comes to burn me into ash? That you’ll let me out of this fire prison you’ve created? Do I look like a fool, mortal?”

“I think you’re desperate enough to make sure tonight is not your last night on Earth, and you should know that you hold all of the cards.” You take a deep breath before sharing your deepest secret with the immortal being before you, your voice rushing with a frenzied speed. “I only learned of your existence once I was an adult. Before that, I prayed to whatever gods would listen to find a way to avoid the inevitable—to escape death. You know I grew up without parents, right?” 

Yoongi only stared at you, glowing embers following your every move.

“Of course you know. I killed your progeny for their murder once I knew the truth.”

He hissed at you then, fangs extended fully as his eyes deepened with rage. He looked as if he had half a mind to grip the flame-laden cage and come after you, but held back—barely. You wait, quietly assessing him as he reins in his anger, chest no longer rising and falling in unbidden anger.

“That was a death that I deserved, and your anger will not sway how I feel about it. But it also doesn’t change what I am requesting of you. I want you to bite me.”

Min Yoongi - Present Day

Min Yoongi doesn’t believe the predicament he’s currently in. A fool! He curses himself. A damned fool to walk right into the trap you laid out for him.

The flames entrapping his body are low, but still, the heat has him on edge. His search of your mind as you speak shows no pretense, but he remembers how easily you fooled him with your thoughts just earlier today. The scent of your blood sang to him, luring him deeper into the dance studio until his mind couldn’t handle the amount; it overwhelmed him just long enough for you to pounce. 

Now that the flames have had time to thrive, the smell of burning metal drowns out the worst of your scent, and he asks you questions to buy himself time to think. But he can’t understand you fully. Your actions and words do not align with what he knows of hunters, of what he knows of you from afar. To hear you earnestly wish for him to bite you, despite knowing how hard you trained to kill his fledgling, contradicts everything he thinks he knows about the prominent hunting families. 

And still, your request piques his interest. The calmness of your body belies no deceit, no racing heart or skittered words as you barter with him as if discussing what to have for breakfast with a partner. And he’s studied your body, unbeknownst to you. He’s watched as you brought home men to fuck, heard the way your body reacted to their attempts at pleasure, the way your nervous system changed when you lied about seeing them again. Has smelled your jasmine scent and can’t lie that he’s wanted a taste…if only to then rip your pretty throat out.

He realizes in that moment that you do not know fully and truly what it is you are asking for. There are mysteries yet hidden from the mortal world about vampires, about their bite and the effect it has on the living when not immediately drained. 

Yoongi grins, finally deciding to answer your request after long moments of thought. 

“I accept your demands, hunter. I shall bite you in exchange for sparing my life.”  

You - Present Day

Your heart beats loudly in your ears as you walk away from his gaze to shut the door to the dance studio. You take a few deep breaths before turning around to walk back towards the switchboard, where you activate another switch. 

A low hum reminiscent of fluorescent lights quietly fills the quiet of the room, to which Yoongi questions. 

“Another precaution?”

You glance at him over your shoulder with a smirk.

“Just my way of making sure that you stick to your end of the bargain. Should you harm me against my will, I have a way to activate those lights lining the room, which are high-powered UV lights, and not just the ones that last for a second.” You look back at the switchboard, finger searching for the one to shut off the fire and disengage the cage. “The only way out of here safely is with my blessing.”

“Afraid of me, hunter?” His query has you pause your movements.

“Afraid of you? No. You’re my best bet at getting what I want.”

Facing the vampire, you maintain eye contact as you grip the hemline of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in as fluid a motion as you can to leave you in just a simple underwire t-shirt bra and your denim jeans—you assume his bite will still be messy, and walking out of here covered in blood seems like a sure way to attract police attention. Again, you see Yoongi take on that supernatural stillness that only creatures of the night can achieve. His eyes are like focused lasers on your body, and you feel a thrill as you reach behind you to release him. 

With unnatural speed, he blurs into your space, forcing you back towards the wall—a cold hand on your exposed hip and the other leaving a dent as it braces against the wall by your ear. 

“Any of my kind could’ve given you what you wanted. It need not be me,” he murmurs as his nose trails along your jawline seductively. But in the next moment, his fingers tighten into your skin as he growls. “So why strip and offer yourself to me?” 

You squirm in his grip, a sense of deja vu taking over as you remember the dream you had a couple of nights ago. “Because,” you gasp out, “you’re the oldest vampire I know in existence. Newer vampires have no control, killing almost immediately.” You arch in an attempt to create space off of the wall—you hate the way you feel trapped. You question whether you should have trusted your instincts about Yoongi. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Why would a hunter want to be bitten?” His hand leaves the wall to grab your chin. A chill sweeps down your body from the points of contact, sending goosebumps along your exposed skin. His eyes flash a luminous amber. “Tell the truth.”

Your mind feels hazy from his command, almost as if you’ve stepped outside of yourself to watch your mouth open. “I’ve always been fascinated by vampires,” your voice sounds dreamy, a wistful look upon your face, “ever since my parents died. I want to escape that fate, I want to master death.”

A low hum from Yoongi helps break the spell as his eyes ever so carefully appear to peel back the layers until he sees through to the real you. The little girl who cried at her parents funeral and vowed never to meet her maker. You sense when he makes his decision, his eyes growing lighter and his hand tilts your head to the side.

“There is much you do not know, and you know not truly what you ask for.” He inhales a breath he doesn’t need, and his voice changes, a different tone taking over. “But your body reacts—it longs for this, does it not?” he teases. “I can smell your lust, your desire.” He presses his body to yours, firm planes and muscle meeting your softer curves. You feel the closeness of his lips as they graze across yours.

A small whimper escapes your mouth. “Please,” you softly beg so your lips caress.

Yoongi’s tongue slips between your teeth in a kiss of seduction. There is no rush to his movements, only a controlled, steady pace as he meets your tongue with his. You feel his teeth prick your lip as his hand moves to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer. There’s no sound, except for the hum of the device and your heavy breathing. Yoongi doesn’t need to breathe. 

You gasp for air when he trails featherlight kisses along your carotid artery, his hand sliding along your side and over your covered chest and onto your shoulder. Once there, he pushes your bra strap down and removes the fabric covering your breast, freeing it from the holster. His thumb circles the peak of your breast, taught from the friction. He must be enjoying the way he’s building the tension in your body, and you wonder if humans taste better to vampires when they’re aroused. 

You don’t get a chance to ask. The insertion of his fangs into your neck is nothing like your dreams. The prickle of pain as they lance open your skin fades almost instantly when you feel the first pull of your blood through your veins and into his mouth. 

You gasp, astonished as the euphoric feeling settles over you like a warm blanket and Yoongi’s arms wrap around you as he drinks from you in deep swallows. He’s taken in a few mouthfuls before he pulls away with a shudder that shakes his whole being. 

“Divine,” he whispers, blood trailing along the sides of his chin as his hands move to fully free you of your bra, then trail along your curves. The contact is exquisite, the coolness of his hands doing wonders for the flames licking underneath your skin. 

“More, touch me more, please,” you sigh, wanting nothing more than the creature who holds you in his arms. The feeling of him seems to burrow under your skin to the very depths of your soul as if he’s leaving a permanent stamp embedded. 

His deft fingers cup your breast, causing you to moan with barely any movement. “Not enough!” you whine, uncaring at your petulance. Yoongi chuckles at you. 

“Where do you want me to touch you, kitten? How do you want me to touch you? Under your jeans? Gentle or rough? Perhaps you want much more than that?”

You blink coquettishly, nodding yes and begging him to take more of your blood from you. Your hands reach for him, fingertips pulling at the edge of his clothes as if to free him of them. You’re rewarded with his alabaster skin, the light dusting of hair below his navel leading into the very pants your fingers fiddle with the button on. 

His tongue laps at your heaving chest, and you watch as he cleans away the blood that ran from the bite he left. His fingers tug at your nipples, and you give up tugging at his pants as the sensation causes your head to fall back in a breathy whine. Your fingers have worked efficiently enough though—his pants fall to the floor and he kicks them aside to join the growing pile of clothes, and you add your jeans next in haste. 

Another mewling sound leaves you when his tongue toys with your pert nipple, fangs scraping along the soft contours of your breast as he chases the last of your blood. When you feel your back hit a mirrored wall behind you, you welcome the cooling feel of the glass, though unsure of when you moved. Yoongi’s leg pries apart your thighs, hand dropping to the heat between as he presses against your still-clothed core in search of your clit. When his fingers push your panties aside and he begins to rub slippery circles against you, he chuckles lowly. 

“How wet you are, indeed, pet. Yes, I think you want much more than just my bite.”

In your own mind, you agree with his words. You want so much more than just his bite because you want all of him—his bite, his touch, his cock filling you over and over as you crest in shuddering waves of insurmountable pleasure—for all of eternity. His lips drag along your neck as he speaks, leaving small kisses between his sentences. His fingers dance along your slick opening, teasing but never broaching. Not in the ways you want him to fill you. 

He hikes up one of your legs so that it rests on his forearm, opening you up to him and at the same time that he plunges his fingers into you, he returns his mouth to your skin, placing a bite in the swell of your breast and drinking deeply. Your body thrums, blood pulsing slower to be in sync with Yoongi’s at every swallow of your life force. 

You’ve never felt this way—no one has ever finger fucked you like this, and through the roaring of your blood in your veins, you distantly hear your own voice begging him for more. The heel of his hand makes contact with your clit, and you keen when he holds the position, fingers deep inside you to rub against the spongy patch of nerves as his wrist makes circular movements to stimulate your clit. Your hands work at the buttons along his shirt, pulling with haste and faintly recognizing the ping of the buttons as they ricochet free. Shoving the cloth off his shoulders, you’re exposed to delicate collarbones, a lean torso with blush nipples and a toned chest that tapers into a narrow waist. A small smattering of unruly black hair leads a path down the center into the briefs low on his hips.

You see starbursts behind your eyes as you cum, hard, walls fluttering rapidly around his long fingers. The air in the room is thick with need, desire running so deeply in your veins that you feel lightheaded. All you want is more, more, more. It’s not enough that he bit you, not enough that he brought you to ecstasy with just his fingers. You crave everything he has to give you. As if not of your own volition, you rock against the fingers still inside you, hands reaching to pull Yoongi’s face back towards yours. 

Fingers twine with the hair at the nape of his neck, and with reckless abandon, you kiss him hard. The metallic taste of your blood mixes with a taste all his own and you relish the way the two mix into a delightful cocktail on your tongue. His fingers thrust shallowly into you as he slowly makes to remove them from your body. Your hips cant towards him, chasing the feeling until he drops your leg from his arm and you’re left empty and wanting. 

The hollowness he’s left you with makes you want to cry, but when you try to pull away from the kiss and complain, he chuckles against your lips. “Hush, kitten, we’re just getting started.”

It seems like an eternity that he’s abandoned your pleasure, but with his supernatural strength, it takes mere seconds for his hands to rip your panties from your body, rid himself of his remaining clothes, bend his knees for access to hook his elbows around the backs of your knees, and lift you up. Your back slams into the glass mirror, and you feel the way it shatters around your body, but you feel no pain. Not when the new position has your core exposed to him and his velvet, steel cock is positioned at your entrance, teasing you with what’s to come. 

The view of him between your thighs is amazing. Your eyes trail down his body, showing no shame as you rest them upon his cock, a blushing hue color fueled from your blood now pumping in his body. It’s erect, his lust for you is apparent as he flexes his hips. The tip sinks inside you with help from your first orgasm lubricating his entry, but he doesn’t let it get far before pulling back. He edges you with languid pumps, and you watch in anguish each time he retreats from your warmth. His cock glistens farther up each time he dips inside of you, and the unhinged, sex-craved and cock thirsty being inside you wants him covered in you, the smell of sex so overwhelming that people on the street can smell it. 

“Oh, yes, kitten, everyone will know all of the depraved and debaucherous things I’m going to do to you.” He thrusts in with one fluid movement, and you swear you feel him in your chest. The fullness his girth offers splits you open like you’ve never experienced before, while his length reaches deep inside you. 

A glance at Yoongi's face as he takes in your naked body proves that he too feels the snug way he fits inside of you, and is also expecting to see the bulge from the tip of his glorious cock pressing against your skin. A flash of disappointment when it doesn’t happen flits across his face, and you realize he was not joking about the depraved things he wants to do to you. 

A press of his palm to your lower abdomen has your mouth open in silent pleasure as his hips swirl delectably; the pressure provides the perfect grind of his flexing muscle against every part of you that squeezes him, and the sound as he slips through you just to thrust in again only makes your lust rage more. It’s sinful, everything about the way he’s fucking you roughly is. 

Gasping out sensual curses mixed with your name, Yoongi’s eyes flash an intense color, and as if reading your deepest thoughts, he pulls out of you and shifts away from the pane of shattered glass to one still intact. He flips you so that your breasts press to the mirrors. His fingers dig into your hips as he pulls them backward, his feet nudging your own apart. You brace yourself with your hands on the glass, breath leaving a hazy fog with each shuddering exhale of air as you find reprieve from the fire beneath your skin with a pressed cheek to the reflective wall. 

“Fuck…me…” you moan out the curse when he seats himself fully inside of you, his pelvis pressed tightly against your ass cheeks as he lets out a low, throaty growl. 

“I thought I was,” he replies smartly, but the shake to his voice shows how much restraint he’s showing. You press your ass into him as much as you can, rising onto your toes for leverage. Your eyes stare at his reflection behind you, watching as he curls his body around yours to lick at your earlobe. “I had plans of killing you, dreamt of the way I would torture you before I snapped this pretty little neck of yours, did you know?”

You didn’t know for certain, but you feel like all creatures of the night have the goal of killing humans one way or another, so it doesn’t really bother you. In fact, his words make you clench around him, because the way he’s worded it seems like these are no longer his plans. He confirms as much as his hips rock back and forth in a teasing rhythm that barely sates your needs for him. 

“I’ve decided that this pussy is just too good to go to waste, kitten.” His head drops into the crux of your neck, breathing deeply. “Your sweet blood calls to me, and will taste even more decadent when you cum around my cock,” his tongue swipes over your skin before his fangs burrow into you with such an all-consuming lust, you nearly sob with how good it feels. His hips begin a punishing pace as he wraps his arms around you, one hand going to hold your right breast as the other hand drops between your thighs. 

The pads of his first two fingertips slip around his thrusting cock, stimulating your weeping core before moving back up to strum along your clit, matching pace with each press inside of you. “You will make such a lovely creature, don’t you think? Cum for me, kitten, and I will make sure of it.” His words trigger a deep need inside you, words that soothe an ache you’ve carried since you were a child. 

Your orgasm bursts from you in an earth-shattering explosion, so heady and rippling that you fear you will black out from the strength of it. You barely feel when his teeth sink into you again. He takes a deep pull from your artery, and your high gives him exactly what you think he was searching for. It’s almost shameful the way he moans against your skin as he drinks you in, but you’re so lost to his thrall that it only makes your desire for him deeper. 

His thrusts stutter until he is no longer able to hold back, and he fills you as he rips his fangs from you. His head is thrown back as he growls through his ecstasy, and you blink slowly at his reflection, eyes tracing the veins in his neck now running red with your blood trailing from his mouth. 

With more restraint than you thought he had left, he turns to you and you feel a fog take over as he asks you a series of questions about getting out of this room safely. You answer them each methodically, as if you have no control over your words. 

You feel yourself growing more and more tired, watching every few seconds when your eyes decide to open again from each blink, bleary-eyed as Yoongi dismantles the failsafes you put in place should things go wrong. Your chest aches for him, wanting him closer to you, touching you, drinking from you. 

“Soon, 달달한 피.” He kneels before you, dressed once again, hiding his body from you. You hate it. “It’s time for us to go somewhere safe.”

He pulls you into his arms and you preen, if you could purr, your chest would be rumbling in the pleasure of the feel of him. Your head rests on his shoulder and you try to stay awake; some part of you wants to pay attention to where you’re going, but blood loss wins as you sink into a deep slumber. 

Yoongi - Several Days Later

Pain. 

Your body thrashes with pain as the blood you just consumed spreads throughout your system. The last few days after leaving the ballet studio and entering Yoongi’s…home, for lack of a better word, has been full of the most exquisite satisfaction your body has ever experienced. You told him as much each night since arriving.

He’s reveled in giving into his most debased fantasies, and your body is covered in the proof; bruises littering your skin, chafing around your wrists and ankles, blood staining the rug beneath his feet where he now stands, watching you. 

Yoongi hasn’t turned a mortal in almost 200 years—not since he turned the one you killed. You make a better replacement for her in many ways, he thinks. Your beauty, your mind, your 달달한 피, or sweet blood, which he can’t wait to taste once you’re resurrected. And because this is the longest he has gone since bestowing the Dark Gift upon a being, not to mention that he is closer to 400 years than he likes to admit, he is sure you will be powerful beyond belief. 

He heals his wrist and glances at the time; he chose to turn you at sunset so he had time to prepare before he needs to rest. The marble walls that surround the underground basement bedroom of Yoongi’s home echo with your sounds of pain, so Yoongi leaves you in the bed as he ventures towards another wing. He knows that when the sun sets again, you shall be ravenous, and he needs the help of his brothers to bring in enough sustenance for when you wake. 

His maker, Namjoon, lounges in his study with a beautiful woman straddling his hips. Her skin tone is darker than his, and their coloring makes a beautiful picture of caramel and chocolate swirls. She is draped over him, arms wrapped around Namjoon’s neck as she bucks her hips slowly against him, no doubt riding his cock now for several hours. Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to enter and approach him; he’s used to such displays.

Namjoon licks his lips as he pulls his mouth from her neck, and then smiles up at Yoongi from his couch. 

“Well done, enthralling the last of that hunter family. One less family we need to worry about.”

Yoongi focuses on Namjoon’s face, trying to ignore the whimpering moans from the woman getting off in front of him. It’s making his own cock stir, and he’s tempted to join in, but then he wouldn’t have time to gather the blood you need. He indulges for a few moments longer though, watching the way her supple breasts press against Namjoon’s firm chest as she kisses along his neck. 

“You can join, brother. Would you like her mouth or her ass?”

Yoongi shakes his head but continues to enjoy watching the beautiful woman as she rides his maker. He’s tented in his jeans, but that’s also a normal occurrence for all of the men living here, since you can always find someone having sex at any moment. 

“I wanted to let you know that I will be inviting a few mortals over. I plan to head out with the others and gather a few.”

Glee arises on Namjoon’s face. “You’ve given her your blood, brother? Oh, this is brilliant. Another one to add to our flock! We haven’t had anyone else in years.” He sighs out in content and then murmurs something into the woman’s ear which has her shuddering. He sinks his fangs into her to enjoy her orgasm before turning back to Yoongi. 

“I can’t wait to meet your newest fledgling, Yoongi. I must know though…will you be possessive or is she one we all can share?”

Yoongi smiles, his fangs poking into his bottom lip as he grins at his maker over the shoulder of the woman who is now leaning away, head thrown back as she bounces on Namjoon’s cock with a fierceness of someone chasing a fourth or fifth orgasm.

“I think she may be open to sharing, brother, she should awake tomorrow at sunset.”

Yoongi turns away with a chuckle as he heads to find any of the other five of their flock to accompany him to the bar.  

You - The Next Sunset      

It’s disorienting how clear everything looks to you. You gasp as a hunger you’ve never felt before takes you into its grip and takes over your mind. Lurching out of the bed you’ve been fucked in every which way since arriving, you clutch at your neck. The hunger burns. 

“Come here, kitten, I’ve got what you need right here.”

You turn to the voice, and a bright splash of scarlet comes into view. You don’t even think about it, you just bring it to your mouth and drink messily. You latch on and slurp down as much as you can, wanting every last drop to sate the intensity, but the voice tugs you away. You feel anger but then you’re given another warm mouthful of scarlet and indulge gluttonously. 

This time, when the voice calls to you, there is no anger, only a need to follow, to go to the voice and await more from it. From him. Yoongi. Your memories flood you all at once, a pulsing thrum as your pussy throbs now that the blood from the drowsy humans is in your veins, and you search for him. 

When you find him, you stumble up from your knees away from the bodies and throw yourself into his arms. You realize you’re still naked when he maneuvers your body so that your thighs are on either side of his, bulge from his jeans rubbing your core from the friction. Leaning into you he kisses you languidly, tongue cleaning up some of the mess you left behind before swirling with your tongue to share the taste of the humans in a kiss. 

Your hips grind against him, the kiss turning sexual in moments and Yoongi growls in response to your libido, now heightened after death. 

“Fuck,” he groans as you unzip his jeans and reverently pull his cock from his boxers, and using a combination of the blood dripping on your chest and your spit, begin to stroke him with firm movements.  

Moments later you return to your first position, straddling Yoongi as you sink onto him repeatedly, one hand gripping your ass and the other in your hair, keeping your mouth on his. 

‘Just like that, beautiful, he likes when his cock is buried deep inside a pretty girl.’

You gasp as you hear a melodic voice in your head, turning your head behind you to see six men watching you take Yoongi’s cock as his lips trail down your neck and chest.

You cock an eyebrow at the men, all so beautiful, you could cry at their jaw lines and angles, broad shoulders and dilated eyes. 

“Yoongi, I didn’t realize you liked an audience,” you tease as you slow your movements and put on a show, pushing Yoongi’s shoulders down to the mattress so that when your chests meet, the view of how well you take him, how well he splits you open as you sink down and envelop him to the hilt, is visible to all of them. 

“I like an audience, kitten, and sometimes I like when the audience joins in.” The look he’s giving you as you continue to ride him lets you know the question he’s asking you. 

“With this new immortal lust of mine, I think I’d like that too.”

Sealing your decision with a bite to Yoongi’s neck, you take a deep pull as you feel the bed dip with the weight of the others joining you for what you hope will be the height of immortal lust that will last an eternity.  

The END

달달한 피 (daldalhan pi)- “sweet blood”

↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2024. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.

[borathae]

"You might not know who will find this tape and watch it or if anyone ever will, but whoever might find it will see that the days you and Taehyung spent together were bright."

Pairing: Vampire!Taehyung x Witch!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, Slice of Life, Fluff, Romance

Warnings: they're in love :(, running in the rain, kissing the rain, hugging in the rain, yeah there's rain if y'all didn't know yet lmao, a romantic little holiday, non-sexual nudity, sharing of a shower to warm up, they're playing dress up in the living room, they pretend to be newly weds, slow dancing, so much laughter and giggles and happiness, like besties i might actually sob this is so romantic, also she is smaller than him i'm sorry besties i know i normally try not to add too many height descriptions but i'm smaller than tae and i needed to feel something hahahah a bitch just wanted to be immersed ✊🏻😔

Wordcount: 2.7k

a/n: this is based on anonie's idea and inspired by IU's song. i love him so much, you guys. i miss him so much, i might actually start crying :( have fun besties, this is so lovely and sweet 💙

“Quick! We have to be quick!” 

“Tae, slow down please. You know that I could just open us a portal?” 

“No. It won’t work. Quick, we are almost there.”

You and he are running, trying to escape the inescapable. Your hand is clutched in his’. He is leading the way, looking over his shoulder every third step to make sure you are still keeping up with him. 

You barely are at this point. It is difficult to see. Thick stripes of his hair stick to his face, your clothes stick to your bodies. The trees shake above your heads. The birds had stopped singing a long time ago.

“How far? Tae, I can’t run anymore.”

“Just past this clearing. One last time”, he promises and looks back front. 

The end of the forest is within reach. One. Two. Three steps and you have left it behind. The inescapable still follows you, making it hard to see. 

“There! It’s there!” you call out and point at the small house in the distance. 

Taehyung turns on his heels, “one last time. Come”, he says and runs off. His hand slides from yours this way. He is so much faster than you.

“Tae! Wait for me, I’m not that fast!” you call after him, stumbling through the meadow.

He throws his arms over his head and laughs, twirling and skipping in the high grasses. 

The storm surprised you. It wasn’t supposed to rain today. That is why you and he went on this forest walk in the first place. You were deep in the woods, surrounded by nature and with the song of bird keeping you company, when the weather changed drastically and rain began pouring down. You were soaked within minutes. No matter how fast you ran, you couldn’t outrun it. You still ran. Hand in hand and with your visions blurry from the water. 

It was fun at first, but soon became less fun. You were soaked and you were cold and you wanted to be back at the house. 

Taehyung is by the lowest stairs of the front porch, watching you run to him. He is bouncing on the spot, encouraging you to speed up with squeaky cheers. 

You and he left the estate behind for the sake of going on a little holiday. Taehyung asked one of his vampire friends if they could rent him one of his forest houses for a few days and off you went. It is just you and Taehyung here, surrounded by forest and the steep cliffside with the ocean in the back.

You reach Taehyung’s side. He meets you in the middle, picking you off the ground by your waist. He twirls with you. The force of the twirls swings your legs high in the air until it feels as if you were flying. 

You squeak in laughter, holding tightly onto his shoulders as Taehyung makes you fly.

“I have you now”, he laughs.

“This is so much fun!” you squeak, throwing your head back as around you, the world blurs. 

He stops once your heads are dizzy, using the momentum to swing your legs past his body and back again to repeat it with the other side. He did this move a million times before whenever you and he went swing dancing. It never loses its spark. You are still squeaking and giggling as if it is the first time he is doing it.

Taehyung is laughing just as much. His face is contorted in happiness, his eyes barely want to stay open from smiling so brightly. 

He keeps you in his arms once he stopped swinging you, holding you under your butt and gazing up at you. You caress his shoulders and the nape of his neck, looking down at him. He is a little blurry in your vision because your head needs to recover from being twirled so much, but you don’t mind. You have Taehyung to keep you safe.

“I love when you do that”, you tell him.

“Me too. Oh darling, this was so much fun.”

“Yeah, it was”, you say, flinching in sync with him when sudden thunder and lightning strikes the earth at the same time, “holy cow, that was so loud.”

“I think it might be time for us to go inside”, Taehyung says.

“Yeah, I think so too”, you snicker.

Taehyung grins and turns to carry you inside.

You laugh, “are you going to carry me?”

“Of course. It is the least I can do after dragging you along like this.”

“Yeah true. You did drag me quite a bit, you big meanie.” 

“But you must admit that it was terribly fun to run in the rain.”

“Yes, it was. I’m cold now though. I really need something to warm me up.”

“Worry not, I shall warm you up in no time.”

“You shall?” you giggle.

“Mh-hm of course. This is what I am here for”, he says with a playful lift of his brows.

“Oh Tete, you cutie”, you smile, snuggling your face into the crook of his neck. You rub it against him this way, letting out little sounds of comfort.

Taehyung loves the affection. You give off the image of a love drunk cat this way. Taehyung really, really loves when you are this way. 

With one hand under your butt, he opens the door and slips inside the small cottage. He locks the door and with it, turns the storm into an outside friend. It grumbles and rumbles in a constant melody, lighting up the darkening day with flashes of bright electricity every now and then.

Taehyung sometimes listens to thunderstorms and thinks of you. You love thunderstorms. Taehyung sometimes listens to thunderstorms and thinks of you and as he does, he places roles onto the different elements of nature’s sky showers. You are the lightning while he is the thunder, because you will always come first while he only exists because of you.

Taehyung sets you down in front of the shower. He disappears from your side for just a second to turn on the water, then returns. He touches you, running his big hands up your waist until he has your upper back under his palms. He smiles at you, blinking his eyes slowly like a cat in love.

“May I undress you?” he asks.

“Yes”, you allow him and lift your arms.

Taehyung takes off your clothes with utmost care. Your body is sacrilegious to him. Unwrapping it must happen with respect and tender love, for you should never ever feel as if the beautiful vessel for your soul was nothing but desirable flesh to him.

He throws your wet upper clothing onto the tiled floor and lowers his lips to your right shoulder so he could worship the paths of it with tender kisses. You sigh his name in reaction, sliding your hands under his soaked jumper.

“You are beautiful”, he whispers and lifts his head again. He rises his arms, allowing you to take off his jumper. He has to lower himself a little when you reach his head, giggling with you because he thinks it’s adorable that you couldn’t reach.

“Tiny darling one”, he teases, earning himself a nudge to his chest.

“You’re just too tall”, you throw back and laugh when he wraps his arms around you to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. You squeak and cackle, fleeing him as much as you press into him, “your hair’s so cold and wet, Tae”, you whine.

“I know, oh I know. Quick, let’s undress and get under the water”, he says and facing each other, you each take off your pants.

You discard them on the tiles as well, stepping into the shower afterwards. Taehyung lets you enjoy the water first because you are his lightning. You tilt your head up, closing your eyes and smiling softly. You are so beautiful. Oh, he feels jealous of the water kissing your face and the warmth touching your skin.

He reaches out, resting his hands on the softest part of your waist. You open your eyes, looking up at him. He feels vast of air for a blink of an eye.

“Come inside, Tae”, you tell him and drag him under the water by his waist.

Your bodies connect, your skins finally share one warmth.

“Mhm”, Taehyung lets out and tilts his head back so the water can trickle down on his face.

“It’s so warm, isn’t it?” you ask, gazing up at him. He is so beautiful.

“It’s so wonderful. Oh, I felt the cold within my bones”, he says, lowering his head so he could meet your eyes again.

“Me too. I don’t regret it however.”

“Me neither, my darling”, he says and closes the small distance between you and him by hugging you against his chest.

You melt into him, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around him. You rest your hands on his back while he cradles the back of your head and traces your spine. You and he sway from side to side slowly, sharing the warm water while outside it storms.

Being cold with him will always be okay, because at the end of it, you and he will share warmth again. There is truly no sweeter future than this.

You and he dry the other’s hair after the shower. You loved each other for long enough to know how to do it perfectly. You learned the language of his hair, while in return he learned yours. You know how to touch, what to use and where to start. You come first of course because you are his lightning. He comes second, leaning into your palm when you cradle his cheek and call him beautiful.

You wrap the other in a soft bathing robe afterwards, leaving the bathroom together. The storm and the passage of time darkened the sun by now and so you turn on the lights to see.

“I want to drink some tea. Do you want a cup as well?” you ask him.

“I would love to, thank you”, he says and points down the hallway, “I shall get clothes for us. I promise to get only the warmest of jumper for you.”

“Alright, my darling. Thank you”, you say and kiss his lips chastely.

You and he part ways for only a few moments. You use it to prepare tea and he uses it to get clothes. Just like you had agreed to do.

The tea has finished brewing when Taehyung enters the kitchen.

“My darling”, he makes his presence known in a soft spoken voice.

You turn, meeting the lens of a camcorder.

“What’s this?” you ask him, “darling, why are you wearing a suit?”

“I found it. Alongside this camera and this dress”, he explains, lowering the camera for now. He slides a white dress from his shoulder, handing it to you.

“A wedding dress?” you ask him.

“I do not know who it belonged to once, but it is your size. The suit is my size as well”, he says and smiles shyly, “do you want to put it on? For only a little while?”

You feel your heart flutter. With a fond smile on your lips, you nod your head.

“Don’t peak. If we pretend to be newlyweds, we have to follow the rules.”

“Yes, true. I shall meet you in the living room”, Taehyung says and turns away with a happy skip in his steps.

You watch him with a fluttering pulse. Taehyung is such a tender person at heart. His soul is colours of golden oranges and warm yellows like that of a young sunset seeing the world for the first time. Only he would think of something like this. Only he would see no strangeness in pretending to be married and he was right. There was no strangeness in it.

The dress smells like lavender and violets. It looked too small at first, but then you slipped it on and it fit as it was made for you. The dress smells like lavender and violets and perhaps just a little like magic. Perhaps that would explain why it found you and Taehyung when it did. 

You abandon the mugs of tea because there was something else keeping you warm now. The excitement of being with Taehyung.

“Tae?” you call for your lover, “are you ready?”

“I am”, Taehyung answers you from the living room. Lively music accompanies his voice. He must have put on a record.

With a racing heart, you step through the threshold.

Taehyung stands at the end of the room by the lit fireplace. The camcorder is propped on some books, filming the scene unfolding.

“My darling”, he gasps and exhales shakily, “my darling, oh, look at you.”

“How do I look?” you ask him and grab the dress on two spots so you could twirl and swing it as you dance to him. 

He meets you in the middle, sweeping you off your feet as he grabs you in the midst of your jump. You squeak, throwing your head back as Taehyung twirls you in the small living room.

“Oh my beautiful darling, my sweetest light. No art could ever capture the beauty of you. My darling, oh my darling”, he gushes and laughs, gazing up at you with sparkling eyes.

“I’m getting dizzy, Tae”, you squeak with tears of happiness welling up in the corners of your eyes.

Taehyung stops twirling, sliding you down his body gently until your tiptoes touch the ground. He keeps you close, running his hands along your torso lovingly. His eyes are glistening, gazing at you with soul-consuming love in them.

“You bring light into my life”, he speaks softly.

“I do?”

“You do. Oh darling, you do”, he smiles with his eyes, “you truly do.”

“You make life brighter as well, my darling”, you say, caressing his chest gently, “and you look so handsome in your suit.”

“I look miniscule in your light, my darling. Oh I want to pick you up and twirl you until the world stops turning.”

“Please don’t. I’d probably throw up”, you laugh, making Taehyung chuckle and scrunch his nose.

“Then at least show the camera, please my darling”, he says and turns you to where the camera stands. He pulls you close, resting his head against yours, “this is my darling, dear future person who might find this tape. Say hello.”

“Hello there, future person”, you say, doing a little courtesy. You crack up afterwards, looking at Taehyung, “this is so silly.”

“No it isn’t”, he says and drags you closer to the camera. He uses the momentum to tug you against him, squishing his cheek with yours, “this is my dearest darling, my universe”, he says and kisses your cheek, “I love her so much”, he adds and hugs you tightly.

You giggle, snuggling into him. Taehyung picked a fitting nickname when he called you his light, because your smile in this moment could light up even the darkest of days.

“I love you too, my darling”, you tell him, turning in his arms to kiss his lips, “now may I have this first dance with you, my husband?”

Taehyung giggles, lifting his shoulders to his ears shyly. He nods his head vigorously, laying his hands into yours. You drag him away to a free space, beginning your dance with a twirl of him. He laughs loudly, falling into your arms with his head thrown back in joy.

“How was that for a twirl?” you ask him, guiding him to the music.

“It was perfect. Oh darling”, he rests his cheek on your shoulder, pulling you close, “I am so happy. My beautiful wife”, he says and giggles, “it has a wonderful ring to it.”

You close your eyes as your fingers begin playing with his hair.

“It really has, my darling husband.”

Taehyung giggles. You join him. You and he will dance until the tea is cold and the camcorder falls asleep.

You might not know who will find this tape and watch it or if anyone ever will, but whoever might find it will see that the days you and Taehyung spent together were bright.

[chimcess]

Chapter Two: Never Grow Old, Never Die... Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre: Vampire!AU, Action, Horror, Suspense, Drama, Thriller, Comedy, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, ANGST, Fluff, Smut Other Tags: Human!Jungkook, Thrall!Jungkook, Thrall!Reader, Vampire!Jimin, Vampire!Taehyung, Vampire!Yoongi, Young!Namjoon, Young!Seokjin Word Count: 33.3k+ Summary: Teenage brothers Jungkook and Jung-Hyun relocate with their mother to a quiet town in Northern California. As Jung-Hyun bonds with two like-minded comic book enthusiasts, Namjoon and Seokjin, the more brooding Jungkook becomes captivated by Y/N. However, he soon discovers that Y/N is entangled with Jimin, the charismatic leader of a dangerous local vampire gang. Warnings: Changing into a vampire, Hoseok is a little suspicious, or are the conspiracy theorists just being dramatic?, ANGST, jumping off of a bridge, flying vampires, vampire not knowing how to fly, ear piercing, peer pressure is putting it lightly, mind manipulation, emotional manipulation, honestly lots of manipulation on the vampires' part, how would you react if you found out your brother's a vampire changeling? Probably a lot like Jung-Hyun, Wanda and Hoseok have no chemistry but they're really trying, conflicting feelings, arguing, feeling betrayed, mates, some backstory, Y/N is losing her human memories, she clings to them desperately, bad family relationship, YEARNING, PINING, LOVING, worried mom, mean dog, vampire tests... results may vary, let me know if I missed anything else... A/N: Thank you <3

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Jungkook didn’t know when or how it ended, but the next thing he knew, he was waking up in his room, the faint taste of metal still lingering on his tongue. The world around him felt thick with confusion, his body heavy, as though he were submerged in water, struggling to break free. His mind was a haze—snippets of memories floating just out of reach, leaving behind a sense of disorientation.

He blinked, trying to make sense of the room, but the sunlight spilling through the curtains made his head pound in protest. He tried to shift, to push himself up, but his body refused to cooperate, a dull ache settling deep in his bones.

“Jungkook!”

The voice sliced through the fog, sharp and impatient. He groaned, half burying his face into the pillow as if to escape the reality of the world around him. His head was killing him, and the last thing he wanted was to deal with anyone—especially his younger brother.

"Go away," Jungkook mumbled into the pillow, trying to will himself back to sleep.

But it was no use. The door to the shared bathroom flew open, and Jung-Hyun's footsteps were already echoing in the room.

“Come on, it’s already one o’clock,” Jung-Hyun said, sounding far too chipper for someone Jungkook was certain had no concept of hangovers.

Jungkook’s brain screamed at him to ignore his brother, to just let him go away, but the light in the room was too much, and the sounds of the house—the creak of the floorboards, the distant hum of life outside—felt too loud in his ears. Reluctantly, he peeked out from under the covers, squinting against the harsh sunlight.

“Entertain yourself,” he grumbled, pulling the blanket back over his head, desperate for the warmth and comfort of sleep.

But Jung-Hyun was already off on his next adventure, his restless energy impossible to ignore. Jungkook heard the rustling of papers, the shuffle of his little brother’s feet as he dashed out the door, dragging their massive, slobbery dog Bam along with him.

The sound of Jung-Hyun’s voice floated back into the room as he tiptoed toward Min-chul’s taxidermy room, the door creaking slightly under his brother's cautious steps. Jungkook didn’t pay attention—his thoughts were too scattered—but a faint chuckle broke through the fog in his mind as he imagined Jung-Hyun peering inside. The old man was always up to something, hunched over one of his strange projects. The fact that he stuffed animals for a living never ceased to weird out Jung-Hyun, and Jungkook couldn’t help but smile at the thought of his little brother’s mild horror.

The next thing he heard was the soft bark of Bam as Jung-Hyun climbed onto Min-chul’s old, beat-up pickup truck, inspecting the pile of wood stacked haphazardly in the bed.

“This is my life, Bam,” Jung-Hyun said solemnly, his voice carrying in the stillness. “I come from a broken home. My mom works all day. My brother sleeps all day. And my harabeoji—who might actually be an alien—stuffs chipmunks.”

Bam barked in agreement, wagging his tail, and for a moment, Jungkook allowed himself to relax, just the faintest trace of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. It was absurd, really, the way his younger brother saw the world.

Spurred by sudden inspiration, Jung-Hyun dashed back into the kitchen, returning moments later with a box of matches. Jungkook was too far gone in his headache to pay much attention, but the soft rustling from the backyard kept nudging at him, forcing his mind to wander again. A faint thud sounded, the sound of a leaf being crushed underfoot, and then—nothing. Just silence, followed by the unmistakable sound of his brother’s voice, panicked but tinged with humor.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered open, groggily, barely processing the exchange, but he heard Min-chul’s voice as it rose, gravelly, cutting through the air like a knife.

“Gotta keep in practice,” Min-chul grinned, adding that it was a "dyin’ art." Jungkook couldn’t even imagine what they were up to. The day was slipping by too quickly, and the dizziness wasn’t helping.

“Good,” Jung-Hyun muttered under his breath, stuffing the matches into his pocket, clearly eager to escape the awkwardness of his misstep.

Jungkook smirked softly at the thought of his brother’s defiance, his antics. Even in the midst of his headache, Jungkook couldn’t ignore how much Jung-Hyun had changed in the past few years. From the loud, unpredictable kid who’d been the constant source of frustration, to someone who seemed more thoughtful, even self-aware.

Min-chul was always an enigma—Jungkook couldn’t quite figure out what to make of him. The old man had been around long enough to witness the changing tides of their lives, and though his eccentricities were often off-putting, there was something about him that kept people around. Maybe it was the way he seemed to know things before anyone else did, or perhaps it was the odd sense of peace he managed to bring to even the most chaotic situations.

Jung-Hyun wasn’t the only one to see Min-chul’s habits with a mix of awe and confusion. The old man’s quirks had a strange way of bonding everyone to him, but just as easily, pushing them away.

“So, wanna come into town with me?” Min-chul had asked, breaking Jung-Hyun’s train of thought.

Jungkook could imagine the excited grin on his brother’s face as he lit up at the offer, his worries momentarily forgotten. They’d drive to town, Min-chul behind the wheel of his beloved 1957 Chevy—his pride and joy. Jungkook had never been too enamored with the car, but there was something undeniably charming about the way Min-chul treated it like a living, breathing thing.

“She’s gotta warm up a bit,” Min-chul had said affectionately, patting the dashboard. Jung-Hyun would have soaked up the moment, eagerly listening to Min-chul’s ramblings, living for the experience. It was a reminder of how different their lives were, how disconnected Jungkook had become in his own world, and how Min-chul could still manage to make everything feel like an adventure.

Except that this time, just as quickly as the engine had roared to life, Min-chul killed it again.

Jungkook’s mind briefly wondered why. Why did Min-chul always have these sudden stops, these spontaneous decisions to retreat?

“Are we having fun or what?” Min-chul’s voice had trailed back to Jung-Hyun, who was left standing there, perplexed by the abrupt end to his brief joyride. It was another strange quirk, another mystery within Min-chul’s many, many oddities.

Jungkook sighed deeply, rolling over onto his back as the sound of Jung-Hyun’s voice faded with the wind.

As the haziness of his hangover began to lift slightly, he tried to push aside the sharp tug of unease that had settled in his chest. Something didn’t feel right. He knew that, deep down, there was more to his life than what he had allowed himself to see. Something about his brother’s antics, Min-chul’s cryptic behavior, the blood that still lingered in his mind—all of it felt like pieces of a puzzle he was desperately trying to solve, but the image never seemed to come together.

Jungkook closed his eyes again, trying to ignore the rising sense of dread building inside him. He had no idea what was coming, but he felt it like an unshakable weight, pressing against his chest with every passing moment.

-

Later, the back porch was silent except for the rhythmic clink of metal. Jungkook stood in front of his barbells, the weight of the world hanging heavily on his shoulders. His body was a collection of tense muscles, each movement a battle against exhaustion. He looked like he hadn’t slept in years, his hair wild and disheveled, his eyes bloodshot and clouded with the remnants of a night that refused to release him. The sun, though faint, felt like a dagger against his skin, but he pushed forward anyway, determined to reclaim something of his strength.

He gripped the bar with both hands, the cool metal digging into his palms as he attempted to lift it. The strain was immediate, his arms quivering as he powered through the first rep. His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored it, pressing on, fighting against the overwhelming ache that had settled deep into his bones. On the second try, his arms burned, sweat dripping down his forehead, his chest heaving with each labored breath. His focus wavered, and on the third attempt, his arms buckled under the weight. With a loud clatter, the bar dropped to the ground, echoing in the quiet morning air. Jungkook winced at the noise, the sound like a sharp crack to his already fragile mind.

His head pounded mercilessly, and the sunlight creeping over the horizon felt like knives, stabbing into his already sensitive skin. He closed his eyes, leaning against the cold, unyielding metal of the weight set, trying to center himself, trying to forget the taste of blood, the strange haze of memories that didn’t quite belong to him, and the gnawing sense of something wrong.

Inside, Jung-Hyun was rummaging through the fridge, his movements erratic and overly energetic, clearly on a mission to find something edible. The house was still too quiet, too still. Everything felt off. Jungkook was almost grateful for the interruption when his brother’s voice broke through the fog in his mind.

“What did you do last night?” Jung-Hyun asked, his voice light, teasing, but there was an edge of concern beneath it. He poked his head around the fridge door, eyeing Jungkook with a raised brow. “You look wasted.”

Jungkook groaned, rubbing his temples as if that could somehow chase the pain away. “I can’t remember much after the Chinese food that looked like maggots,” he muttered, his voice thick with a mix of exhaustion and something darker that he couldn’t quite name.

Jung-Hyun wrinkled his nose, slamming the fridge shut with exaggerated drama. “Gross,” he muttered, clearly done with his lunch. “I can’t believe you ate that stuff.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. The weight of his brother’s words seemed too heavy, too full of unspoken things. Things Jungkook wasn’t ready to face.

Instead, Jung-Hyun shifted his gaze, as if something had just occurred to him. “You don’t suppose Min-chul’s an alien, do you?” he asked, half-joking, half-serious, as he leaned against the counter.

Jungkook snorted, half-amused, half-bitter. “What would that make Mom?” he shot back, his mind racing to keep up with the absurdity of the conversation.

Jung-Hyun tilted his head in mock contemplation, narrowing his eyes. “You’re right… not even to mention you and me,” he said thoughtfully, crossing his arms, his gaze settling on his older brother.

Before Jungkook could process the words, Bam trotted into the kitchen, tail wagging with eager energy. The dog immediately made a beeline for Jungkook, his tongue lolling out as he began to lick the bottoms of Jungkook’s feet, seemingly oblivious to the irritation it caused. Jungkook blinked in surprise, his eyes narrowing as the warmth of Bam’s tongue sent an uncomfortable shiver through his body.

“Beat it, Bam,” Jungkook mumbled, shaking his foot lazily, but Bam didn’t listen. The dog was persistent, licking as if he were on a mission.

“Jung-Hyun. Make him stop,” Jungkook said, his patience wearing thin.

Jung-Hyun, unfazed, pulled the dog away but stopped, his gaze fixed on Jungkook’s feet, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Did you spill something?” he asked, a trace of concern threading through his voice.

Jungkook glanced down at his feet, the faintest trace of salt visible on his skin. He shrugged, trying to dismiss it. “No. Why?”

Jung-Hyun’s frown deepened. “The bottoms of your feet are covered in salt,” he said slowly, his words hanging in the air like a riddle. His eyes narrowed, as if he had just stumbled upon the final piece of a puzzle that made everything else click into place.

Jungkook shook his head, his thoughts swirling in a hundred different directions. “I told you, it was pretty weird Chinese food,” he muttered, brushing off the comment. He got up, his body still heavy, still aching, and shuffled toward the door. The grogginess had settled deep into his bones, the fatigue dragging him down with every step.

“Wanna go to the comic book store?” Jung-Hyun called after him, his voice tinged with the excitement of something mundane.

“No,” Jungkook responded flatly, not bothering to look back.

But his refusal didn’t deter Jung-Hyun. A little while later, Jung-Hyun was on his bike, pedaling furiously toward the comic book store. The bell above the door jingled as he walked in, the scent of old paper and ink filling the air. He made his way to his favorite section, his fingers brushing against the spines of the familiar volumes, but his attention was soon drawn to a strange sight: the Kim brothers.

Seokjin and Namjoon stood behind the counter, whispering conspiratorially, their heads together like they were discussing some grand, secret plan. Their eyes met Jung-Hyun’s across the room, and for a moment, the temperature in the room seemed to drop, as if the atmosphere itself recognized something that was meant to remain unspoken.

“How do you like Santa Carla?” Seokjin asked, leaning forward with that crooked smile of his, the one that never quite reached his eyes.

Jung-Hyun didn’t skip a beat. “It’s a pretty cool place if you’re a Martian,” he shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Or a vampire,” Namjoon added, his tone lowering as if he were sharing a secret with Jung-Hyun, something important, something dangerous.

Jung-Hyun snorted, rolling his eyes. “Are you guys sniffing old newsprint or something?” he asked, genuinely baffled.

Namjoon’s expression darkened, his gaze hardening. “You think you’re cool, don’t you? You think you know what’s really happening. Well, you don’t know shit, buddy,” he snapped, his words laced with something colder than just annoyance.

Seokjin chimed in, his arms crossed, completely unbothered. “Yeah, you think we just work here for our dad, huh?” His voice was mocking, but there was something else underneath, something that suggested there was more to their little comic book shop than met the eye.

Jung-Hyun narrowed his eyes, his skepticism growing. “This isn’t a comic book store,” he said dryly. “It’s a bakery.”

Namjoon’s face remained impassive. “This is just our cover. We’re dedicated to a higher purpose.”

Jung-Hyun rolled his eyes, unfazed. “Oh, I get it now. You’re like those people at the airport who try to get you to join their cult.”

Seokjin crossed his arms, still completely unbothered by Jung-Hyun’s jabs. “We’re fighters for Truth, Justice, and the American Way,” he said, his voice flat, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jung-Hyun grinned. “Yeah, well, you should probably get some fresh air,” he replied, clearly unimpressed.

Namjoon, however, didn’t miss a beat. He thrust a comic into Jung-Hyun’s hands, his tone suddenly serious. “Take this. It’s on the house,” he said, his voice carrying an undertone of urgency.

Jung-Hyun glanced at the title: Destroy All Vampires. He frowned, not quite sure what to make of it. “I don’t like horror comics,” he muttered, holding it out as if it might bite him.

Seokjin gave him a knowing look. “Think of it more as a survival manual,” he said. “Our number’s on the back. Pray you never need to call us.”

Jung-Hyun smirked, the corners of his mouth curling up in amused defiance. “I’m gonna pray I never need to call you,” he said, before turning on his heel and walking out without looking back.

Across town, the evening sun bathed the streets in a golden hue, casting long shadows on the cracked pavement as Wanda stepped out of the video store, the door chiming softly behind her. She was balancing a small stack of DVDs in one hand, her mind still occupied by the film she’d just rented. It had been a while since she’d indulged in one of those old-school, feel-good movies she used to binge-watch when she needed a break from everything.

As she walked down the sidewalk, a sleek sports car roared to a stop just in front of her, its polished exterior glinting in the fading light. The engine hummed and then fell silent as the door swung open, and Hoseok popped out with that signature grin of his plastered across his face. Mickey, his large, imposing dog, sat proudly in the passenger seat, his head held high, eyes alert and intelligent as always.

"Say hello to Mickey," Hoseok said, his voice cheerful, his grin widening as he gestured toward the dog, who was now eagerly wagging his tail. The sound of the dog’s tail thumping against the leather seat made a deep, rhythmic echo inside the car.

Wanda paused, her eyes softening as she stepped closer, reaching out to pet Mickey’s head. The dog was large, intimidating to some, but to Wanda, he was nothing but a big, gentle teddy bear. She scratched behind his ears, earning a contented sigh from the animal.

"Hi, Mickey," she said softly, her lips curving into a smile. The dog’s eyes softened as he leaned into her touch, his tail wagging even harder. There was something deeply comforting about the simple connection between human and animal, something Wanda often wished she had more of in her busy life.

Hoseok fell into step beside her as she stood back up, still smiling at Mickey. His usual buoyant energy was tempered by a hint of something more serious now, an underlying tension that Wanda couldn’t quite place. He was still grinning, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as it usually did.

"You know," Hoseok began, his tone turning slightly sheepish as they walked side by side, "this isn’t working out like I planned." He glanced over at Wanda, his usual confidence replaced with an unexpected vulnerability.

Wanda looked at him in surprise, her brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice steady but tinged with concern. She could tell there was more beneath his casual demeanor, something he was hesitant to share.

"I never get to see you," Hoseok continued, his expression now uncharacteristically serious, the joking tone from earlier gone completely. "Which, of course, is why I hired you in the first place." His words hung in the air between them for a moment, making Wanda’s heart beat just a little faster. She didn’t quite understand what he was getting at.

Hoseok’s grin reappeared, but this time, it was less about teasing and more about the attempt to break the tension. "I was supposed to be all charming and mysterious, and you were supposed to be impressed and fall head over heels for me," he said with a wink, trying to lighten the mood again. "But, instead, we just keep missing each other."

Wanda shook her head, a laugh escaping her lips as she glanced at him sideways. "You’re cute, Hoseok," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. The irony was not lost on her—she wasn’t sure why she always felt the need to push back against his charm when it was exactly that which made her smile.

"I know," Hoseok replied with a smirk, raising his eyebrows at her with that cocky, confident air that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. He opened her car door for her, the gesture so old-fashioned, it almost seemed out of place, yet it made Wanda feel something unexpected, like a little flutter in her chest.

"It’s so ’80s," he said with a self-aware wink, "The Cute Decade."

Wanda rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at the corner of her lips. "You really need to stop thinking you're in a John Hughes movie, Hoseok," she said dryly, though the affection in her tone was clear.

"I’ll never stop," he replied, his voice laced with playful defiance. He stood back, watching her climb into the car, looking insufferably pleased with himself as always. Wanda took her seat, adjusting the seatbelt before she glanced up at him through the window. He was still standing there, a slight smugness in his posture, arms crossed, as if expecting something more.

The moment stretched longer than it should have. Wanda gave him a teasing shake of her head, her smile lingering as she settled in the car. "You’re impossible," she called out to him, though the fondness in her voice was undeniable.

"Can’t help it," Hoseok responded, not moving an inch. "I was born this way." He flashed her that signature grin, the one that had disarmed countless people before her.

Wanda shook her head again, laughing softly. "Yeah, well, you’re still cute," she muttered to herself as she started the engine.

Hoseok waited until she was nearly pulling away before calling out to her, his voice now tinged with a mix of playfulness and something else—something more genuine. "Dinner. This week," he said, as though he were offering her a challenge, a way to make up for the lack of time they'd spent together.

Wanda’s hand hovered over the gearshift as she glanced at him once more, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You got it, Hoseok," she said with a grin. She shifted the car into drive and gave him one last look before she sped off, leaving him standing there, a pleased look still plastered on his face.

He watched her go, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck, his thoughts suddenly much more focused on the possibility of that dinner than he had expected. There was something about Wanda that intrigued him, that made him want to spend more time with her in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He had the feeling this wasn’t going to be as simple as he had originally planned.

Jungkook winced as Y/N pressed the needle through the soft cartilage of his ear.

“Ouch,” he hissed, instinctively pulling away, his face twisting slightly in mock pain.

“Don’t be a baby,” Y/N teased, her lips curving into that playful, almost wicked grin that never failed to get under his skin in the best way possible. She twisted the needle free with a slight flourish. “That didn’t even hurt, and you know it.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the tiny pout that tugged at his lips. He was definitely playing it up for effect, but there was something about the way she looked at him, eyes dancing with mischief, that made him feel like he was floating, like the world outside of this moment didn’t even exist.

“I swear you’ve got the hands of a torturer,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his ear for emphasis, even though it really hadn’t been that bad.

She chuckled, her voice soft and light, like the sound of a breeze rustling through trees on a summer day. Jungkook found himself smiling at her effortlessly, that warm, melting sensation spreading through his chest. It wasn’t just her laugh, or the way she made even the smallest moments feel significant—it was everything. Every glance, every subtle brush of her hand, every glint of humor in her eyes felt like she was slowly peeling away the layers he didn’t even know he had, leaving him unguarded in front of her.

Her fingers gently slid the tiny silver earring into place, and for just a moment, Jungkook froze, caught in the gravity of the moment. She stepped back, tilting her head as she appraised her work, her gaze narrowing with that familiar mix of focus and satisfaction. It was like she could sense every tiny thing that shifted in the space between them. And the way she looked at him then, so intensely, it made his heart stutter in his chest. It was more than just the care in her touch—it was the way she looked at him, like he mattered. Like this simple, shared moment was important.

“Done,” she murmured, her voice soft but sure, as if she was marking the end of something and the beginning of something else, an invisible shift in the air between them.

Jungkook couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He flicked his hair back with an exaggerated flourish, the motion only half about showing off the new earring, and the other half a little act of deflection, as if to cover up the sudden, overwhelming warmth in his chest.

“Does it look good?” he asked, his voice a little lighter than it should have been, as though he wasn’t sure if it was just the earring that had him feeling this way, or something else entirely.

Y/N didn’t answer immediately. She just stood there, studying him in silence, her expression unreadable, her gaze sweeping over him with a careful intensity. And then, almost as if she couldn’t hold it back, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and something inside him swelled, like a breath held too long finally being exhaled.

“Yeah,” she said finally, her voice soft but tinged with something more than just agreement. “It looks great.” Her words, simple and casual, felt like a secret shared between them. There was a softness in her tone, a gentleness in the way she said it that made his heart flutter deep in his chest, sending a wave of warmth to his cheeks.

They stood there for a beat, neither of them speaking, the only sounds being the ocean’s relentless crashing against the jagged rocks below and the occasional gust of wind rustling through the leaves around them. The world seemed to fade away, and for just a moment, it felt like time had stopped. It was just them, and the weight of her gaze was like a pull, a magnetic force he couldn’t break free from even if he wanted to.

Jungkook scratched the back of his neck, trying to break the tension that had thickened around them. “Now what?” he asked lightly, as though he didn’t feel the subtle shift in the air, as though the energy between them wasn’t crackling in a way that made his heart race.

But Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t look away either. Instead, she just looked at him, really looked at him, with an intensity that made his breath catch in his throat. It was unsettling and exhilarating all at once, and he couldn’t help but feel exposed under her gaze, like she was peering into something deeper, something he hadn’t even fully understood about himself. It was as if she was deciding whether to trust him with something unspoken, something fragile, and Jungkook couldn’t look away. He couldn’t even move.

And then, without thinking, the words tumbled out of him before he could stop them. “I wouldn’t have given my mom such a hard time about moving here if I’d known I was going to meet you,” he blurted, his voice almost too quiet, as if he hadn’t meant for them to be spoken out loud.

Y/N blinked, clearly startled by his sudden honesty. She wasn’t used to seeing him like this—vulnerable, open in a way that was uncharacteristic of him. He was always so guarded, always the one with the teasing remarks, the jokes, the easy smile. But this was different. This was real. And for a second, she didn’t know how to respond, because this was a side of him she hadn’t seen before.

She didn’t immediately speak. Instead, she seemed to shrink a little, the walls she usually kept so firmly in place momentarily crumbling. “I used to fight with my family all the time,” she said quietly, her voice distant, as though she were speaking from some far-off place in her mind. “I got so fed up... I just ran away.” The words were like a quiet confession, a part of her she didn’t show often.

Jungkook’s heart squeezed at the admission, at the way she seemed to retreat inward, the soft sadness in her eyes. He wanted to reach out, to say something comforting, but he didn’t know what would make things better, what could fill the gap that had formed between her and the rest of the world.

“Now you and Jimin—” he started, trying to ease the distance between them, trying to make her feel less alone.

But she cut him off, her face hardening slightly, her voice sharp with an edge of defensiveness. “No. They made me one of them, but I miss my family.”

The words hung in the air, heavy, and Jungkook’s throat tightened. He didn’t know how to make it better, but he wanted to.

“We could go see them,” he offered softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the very thought of it might make her feel less isolated.

Y/N flinched, her eyes flickering with a vulnerability she quickly masked, a defensive edge settling over her once more. “No,” she said, her voice tight, almost too tight. “Everything’s different now.” She shook her head, turning away from him, walking toward the edge of the cliff where the waves crashed louder than before, as though the sound of the ocean could drown out the emotions she was keeping locked inside.

Jungkook watched her, the weight of his longing pressing down on his chest like an anchor. His heart thudded in his ears, and yet, there was this inexplicable pull between them that made it impossible for him to step away, even though every part of him wanted to. She was standing just inches away, but she might as well have been a world apart. There was a quiet distance between them, an invisible barrier that neither of them seemed to know how to cross.

The wind whipped around them, tugging at his hair, but it felt so much softer than the storm of emotions inside him. Her gaze was distant, her body turned slightly away from him, as if she was shielding herself from something she didn’t want him to see. He could feel the tension building, thickening the air around them like a cloud waiting to burst, and yet it was the silence that weighed the heaviest on his heart. The crashing waves below seemed distant in comparison to the ocean of words left unsaid between them.

He stood there, torn. He wanted to reach out, to pull her close and tell her everything he was feeling—how every moment spent near her made him feel alive, how every glance, every laugh, every breath she took in his presence made his heart race. But the words stuck in his throat, and it was like the more he wanted to speak, the harder it became to find the right way to say it.

But he couldn't let her walk away, not like this. Not when everything inside him was screaming to be near her.

Without thinking, he moved. His heart thundering in his chest, he took one step closer, and then another, until he was standing beside her, his arm gently reaching for hers. He didn’t pull her roughly, didn’t yank her toward him. It was a slow, deliberate motion, as if to ask permission even without the words. His hand wrapped around her arm, tender but firm, and he felt her body stiffen for a split second before she allowed him to pull her closer.

Her breath caught, and he heard it—a soft hitch in her throat. It was all the confirmation he needed, that she hadn’t expected him to make the first move, that she was unsure, just as he had been. And yet, in that moment, he felt an overwhelming need to close the distance between them, to bridge the gap that had kept them both so far apart.

Without waiting any longer, without a second thought, he leaned in. His lips found hers, soft at first, like a question waiting for an answer. But the second they touched, everything inside him settled, like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place. Her lips were warm, soft against his, and when she responded, even if it was hesitant at first, it felt like the world had finally made sense.

Her hands found the front of his jacket, fingers curling into the fabric as though she needed something to hold on to, something steady to keep her grounded. He could feel the urgency in her movements, the way she clung to him, and it only fueled his desire to kiss her harder, deeper, to lose himself in the warmth of her.

Everything outside of them faded—there was no more awkwardness, no more hesitation. The doubts and the questions disappeared, leaving only the certainty of this moment. It was as if, for the first time, there were no walls between them. Nothing but this. Her breath mingled with his, and he could taste the salt of the ocean on her lips, combined with something sweet, something uniquely hers. It was intoxicating, addicting, like he never wanted to let go.

She pulled back for just a moment, her lips brushing his softly as she whispered his name—“Jungkook...” The sound of it, quiet and breathless, stirred something inside him that was beyond words. But he wasn’t ready to stop. He couldn’t stop. Not when she felt like this, not when everything about her made him want more, made him feel more.

He leaned back in, kissing her again, but this time with more certainty, more force, as if to tell her everything he hadn’t said. She responded eagerly, her hands sliding up his chest, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer, her lips moving against his in sync, like they were meant to be this way. It was deep, and it was gentle, and it was everything in between. The kind of kiss that spoke of promises, of things unsaid, of everything they could be if they both just let go.

The world outside—the ocean, the wind, the crashing waves below—vanished. All that remained was them. The sound of their breaths, the rhythm of their hearts, the quiet way they moved together, as if they had always known this was how it was meant to be.

The fog was thick, swallowing the landscape, its chilling embrace crawling up his spine as he stumbled through it, his heart still racing in his chest. The trestle stretched out before him like a forsaken skeleton, its rusted beams sagging under the weight of years and history, its presence foreboding. The sound of the bikes fading into the distance felt like a ghost chasing them down. Jungkook could still hear the engine growls in his head as his pulse thrummed faster with each step toward the group.

The shadow of doubt that had hung over him since Jimin’s first mischievous grin tightened now, gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He had always been good at reading people, good at seeing through facades, but with Jimin, things were different. This moment, this scene, felt like something out of a fever dream.

Jimin’s eyes glinted, sharp as knives in the dim, mist-laden light. He took one smooth step toward the rusted bridge, like he’d done it a thousand times. Like he owned it. The others followed suit, their expressions brimming with smug amusement, as if they were part of some unspoken joke that Jungkook hadn’t been clued into.

“Perfect time,” Jimin said, his voice a smooth drawl, and Jungkook couldn’t shake the unease settling in his chest.

Jungkook shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, his jaw clenched. “What’s going on?” The words came out shaky, and the hesitation in his voice frustrated him more than it should. It was like something inside him had been stoking the fires of doubt, and now it was starting to burn him alive.

Jimin’s lips curled into an almost smug smile, and he glanced over his shoulder, tossing the question toward the others with effortless cool. “What’s going on, Taeyang?”

Taeyang’s response came in a smooth, almost practiced tone. “I don’t know. What’s going on, Yoongi?”

Yoongi, leaning casually against his bike like he couldn’t care less, smirked. “Who wants to know?”

Jimin flicked his gaze back to Jungkook, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Jungkook wants to know.” The way his voice lingered on Jungkook’s name, sweet and teasing, sent a shiver up his spine.

The laughter that followed was wild, unhinged, and it made his skin crawl. It wasn’t the carefree kind of laughter—it was the laughter of something darker, something uninviting. It made him feel like the punchline of a joke he didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand.

Before Jungkook could respond, the group moved as one—Yoongi, Taeyang, Taehyung—all climbing down onto the trestle with ease, boots scraping against the rusted beams. The sound echoed through the gorge, a hollow, metallic resonance that seemed to vibrate in Jungkook’s bones.

He watched them, the sense of dread growing heavier by the second. And then, they disappeared into the thick mist below the trestle, their bodies vanishing like smoke. The feeling of unease twisted deeper, and Jungkook’s gut churned with a sudden and urgent need to understand why. What was this? What were they doing? And why the hell was he involved?

Jimin’s voice was low, calm, almost coaxing, but Jungkook could hear the dare in it. “Now you, Jungkook,” he called, his words cutting through the fog like a whip.

Jungkook froze. The sound of the train reverberated in his chest before he even saw it—a low rumble that hit them first through the beams, vibrating deep in their bones. His breath hitched, his heart pounding in his throat as the fear hit him in a wave. His grip tightened around the beams, the cold metal seeping into his skin, and his palms grew slick with sweat. The air felt too thick, pressing against him, suffocating him.

“Are you serious?” His voice cracked as he called back to Jimin, the train whistle screaming in the distance, growing louder, closer.

Jimin’s expression didn’t falter, his grin growing more dangerous, more insistent. “Do it, Jungkook. Now.”

The others were watching, all of them staring up at him with expectant eyes, grinning like they knew something he didn’t. Like they were all in on a secret. The weight of their stares felt like a heavy cloak, suffocating him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking between Jimin and the deep, unrelenting fog below. The trestle swayed with the vibrations of the oncoming train, a chilling reminder of just how precarious this moment was. And yet... his pride flared. It was the only thing that seemed to burn through the fog of fear. If I don’t do it, I’ll be nothing more than a joke.

With shaky breaths, Jungkook climbed down, one hand gripping the cold metal beam, the other trailing behind him as he carefully lowered himself. The air grew thicker, like the fog was trying to swallow him whole. The fog seemed alive, swirling around him, making the world feel off-kilter, like he was walking through a dream. The others had disappeared into the mist, their laughter still echoing faintly, as if mocking him. Jimin was right behind him now, climbing down with ease, the motion fluid, practiced—like he belonged here, like he had done this a thousand times.

And Jungkook? He felt like an outsider.

The rumble of the train grew louder, reverberating through the beams, shaking his very bones. Jungkook looked up, his eyes wide, heart hammering in his chest as he saw the headlights of the train approaching, faster than he expected. The rails groaned under the weight of the speeding machine, and the whistle sliced through the fog, its sharp wail so loud it drowned out everything else.

“Hang on!” Jimin shouted above the noise, his voice almost lost in the chaos.

Jungkook gripped the beam tighter, his knuckles white, his body trembling as the heat from the train reached him. The ground seemed to shake beneath his feet as the train rumbled past overhead, the pressure suffocating, making it hard to breathe. Dust swirled, and the noise was deafening. He could feel the vibrations deep in his chest, like his body was about to break under the weight of it all.

And then it happened. Yoongi let go first, his body vanishing into the mist like a shadow. Taeyang followed, then Taehyung, all of them slipping into the unknown like it was nothing.

Jungkook stared, his stomach twisting into tight knots. What the hell was this?

“Let go, Jungkook!” Jimin’s voice sliced through his thoughts, low and taunting. He grinned, his eyes gleaming with something wild. “Come on, Jungkook. Do it.”

The fog swirled around them, thickening, suffocating. Jungkook’s body was shaking, his heart pounding so hard he could barely hear the others laughing below. His grip was slipping, his hands too sweaty to hold on much longer.

“You’re insane!” Jungkook shouted, his voice hoarse, the words catching in his throat. He didn’t know what to do—he didn’t know if he could do this.

But Jimin’s grin never wavered.

Then, with a deep breath that felt like the last one he would ever take, Jungkook released his grip.

For a brief, dizzying instant, Jungkook felt suspended in time—his body weightless, free, as though the world had momentarily forgotten its rules. The air rushed around him, a deafening silence, and for a heartbeat, there was no sense of falling. No sense of danger. Just the strange, almost peaceful sensation of being untethered. The world had slowed, and the very laws of gravity seemed to bend, wrapping him in a cocoon of space and stillness.

But just as quickly as it had come, the weightlessness shattered, and the fall hit him all at once—a brutal, gut-wrenching sensation that tore through his chest. The world seemed to collapse around him, the wind howling, tearing at him with relentless force. It felt as if the very air itself wanted to swallow him whole. His heart pounded in his chest, an insistent thrum of panic as the ground rushed up toward him with terrifying speed.

His limbs flailed wildly, desperately searching for something solid to grab onto, but there was nothing. The wind howled louder in his ears, shrieking like a living thing, drowning out all reason, all thought. It was suffocating, closing in on him from all sides. Every part of him screamed in panic, every instinct telling him that this was it.

The ground—it was too close.

His breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening as if the weight of it was crushing his lungs. It felt as though time itself had stopped, stretching the moment out into an eternity. His body trembled with the overwhelming realization that there was no way out. No way to change what was coming.

And then—bang.

A jolt, sharp and violent, as if his very bones were being shattered. The world tilted. His vision blurred, the ground approaching with unbearable force. The taste of salt and dust filled his mouth as the world spun, a flash of pain and light overwhelming him. His body jerked from the impact, but before he could register anything, everything turned to black.

But then, through the darkness, something changed.

A sudden force, a pull—gentle but strong—yanked him back from the brink. His body was lifted, weightless once more, but this time, it wasn’t the air carrying him. He was caught, held by something else, something... someone.

He blinked rapidly, struggling to clear his vision, but his body refused to respond. Was this a dream? Was he seeing things?

And then, he saw her. Y/N.

She hovered in front of him, her arms steady as they wrapped around him, holding him like he was nothing more than a fragile thing. The world around him was a blur, the edges soft, as if everything had gone hazy, but there she was—there she was, glowing, suspended, her eyes filled with a sense of calm that was so foreign in the midst of his spiraling panic.

“You—” Jungkook's voice was ragged, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he tried to speak, but it was as if the words wouldn’t form properly. He couldn’t focus. His chest felt too tight, his vision spinning, like everything was slipping away again.

Y/N’s grip tightened around him, her arms securing him as she hovered effortlessly, holding him steady in the air. Her hair floated around her, and for a moment, Jungkook thought he was losing his mind. She wasn’t real. She couldn’t be real. How was she—?

But the next thing he knew, his breath caught again, and everything spun violently. His heart raced, thundering in his chest, as if he couldn’t quite breathe. The reality of what had happened—what he had almost lost—crashed down on him in waves. The dizziness overwhelmed him, the confusion too much to bear.

And then, just like that, the darkness claimed him. His body went limp in her arms, his last thought of Y/N fading as everything around him went silent.

When Jungkook’s mind finally dragged him back from the depths of oblivion, it was like rising from a murky sea. His senses were dull at first, the world too loud, too bright. He groaned, his body aching as if every inch of him had been ripped apart and put back together again. But then—something—a warmth, a pressure, a steady, familiar feeling beneath him, like the arms of someone who had been there, waiting.

His eyes flickered open, and the first thing he saw was Jimin’s face, hovering above him, his eyes wide with an unreadable gleam. The edges of the world were still blurry, but that grin—that grin was sharp, unmistakable, the kind that made Jungkook’s blood run cold.

“Almost,” Jimin said, his voice low and teasing, his grin far too smug for Jungkook’s liking. The sound of his words was like a cruel reminder of what had just happened—of the dizzying fall, the fear, the strange weightlessness—and now, the reality of where he was.

Jungkook blinked, trying to shake off the lingering fog in his mind, his thoughts racing to catch up with his surroundings. He tried to push himself up, but his body was sluggish, his muscles protesting with every move. His legs felt weak, shaky, like he might collapse at any moment. He tried to sit up, but his stomach churned, and he swayed, disoriented by the sensation of the world tilting beneath him.

Jimin’s hands were steady, firm against his shoulders, keeping him from falling back. There was an almost possessive pressure to his touch, as if Jimin was both making sure he didn’t go anywhere and somehow enjoying the vulnerability in the moment. His smile remained, even as Jungkook tried to move away, shoving at Jimin’s chest with trembling hands.

The sensation of Jimin’s hold on him, his strength, it felt suffocating now—like a chain wrapped around him, pulling him closer when all he wanted was space, distance.

Jungkook forced himself to stand, his legs unsteady beneath him. He stumbled back a step, his balance off, heart still hammering in his chest. His breath came in shallow bursts, and the familiar ache of adrenaline coursed through his veins, a sharp reminder of how close he had come to falling, to being lost forever.

Jimin didn’t let him go immediately. His eyes tracked Jungkook’s every move, every shaky breath, the smirk still playing at the edges of his lips. "You okay?" he asked, voice smooth and laced with something darker, something hidden just beneath the surface. His tone was too casual, too... knowing.

Jungkook swallowed, trying to steady himself, trying to shake off the dizziness that clouded his vision. He was still trying to make sense of what had just happened. The others—Yoongi, Taeyang, Taehyung, Y/N—they were nowhere to be seen now. It was just him and Jimin, standing on the edge of something unpredictable. Something dangerous.

He didn’t trust Jimin. Not now. Not after everything.

Jungkook straightened, meeting Jimin’s eyes with a defiant glare, his chest tight, his pulse still erratic. He brushed his hands off his jeans, pushing away the lingering sensations of Jimin’s touch. "Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse but steady, refusing to let his weakness show. "I’m fine."

But as he spoke the words, something inside him cracked. It wasn’t just the fall. It wasn’t just the danger of it all. It was the knowledge that Jimin had orchestrated it, that he had known all along exactly what was going to happen—and Jungkook had just played along.

Too easily.

Jimin’s grin didn’t falter. “I’m glad,” he said softly, but the undertone was clear. “I’m sure you learned something tonight. About who you are. About who we all are.”

Jungkook’s stomach twisted, and he took another step back, his mind racing, trying to regain control over the panic swirling just beneath the surface. His thoughts were too jumbled, too overwhelming. He wanted to say something, to demand an explanation, to yell at Jimin for this ridiculous game they were playing—but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, all he could do was stand there, trying to catch his breath, feeling his heart still thudding in his chest, drowning in the echo of almost—the sense that he had almost lost everything.

Jimin, ever calm, ever composed, didn’t seem in a rush to break the silence. His gaze lingered on Jungkook, intense and searching, as though he was reading something in his eyes, something Jimin knew would reveal more than just the chaos of the moment.

Jungkook couldn’t stand it. Without another word, he turned, stumbling away from Jimin, the fog swirling around him, shrouding everything in a disorienting haze. He needed to get away. To think. To understand why it all felt so wrong, why he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was spiraling into something far deeper, darker, than he could ever imagine.

But Jimin’s voice followed him, faint, almost too soft to hear, like it was just for him.

“We’re not done yet, Jungkook.”

The next afternoon, Jungkook woke to the jarring sound of his bedroom door slamming open. The force of it sent a jolt through his body, and he groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow, willing the world to leave him alone.

“Jungkook, wake up!” Jung-Hyun’s voice rang through the room, sharp and insistent, like a hammering knock on the door of his groggy mind. “It’s Mom!”

Jungkook squinted at the ceiling, his mind struggling to catch up with the words. “Mom’s home?” he mumbled, his throat dry, scratchy from too much sleep and not enough water.

“On the phone,” Jung-Hyun clarified, standing in the doorway with a frown on his face, his arms crossed over his chest like he was trying to hold the world together.

Jungkook groaned again, the pressure in his head like a drumbeat that wouldn’t stop. He glanced at the clock—two in the afternoon. Shit. He reached for his sunglasses on the nightstand, sliding them over his eyes, the cool tint offering him some relief from the glaring brightness of the room. His hand then found the phone, the device cold and slick in his fingers as he dragged it toward him.

Jung-Hyun lingered by the door, his gaze flicking nervously to Jungkook’s hands. His younger brother didn’t say anything, but the unease was palpable, like he wanted to ask but was too scared to.

“What?” Jungkook snapped, irritation clawing at his throat as he brought the phone to his ear.

“Your nails,” Jung-Hyun’s voice wavered, a mix of curiosity and something darker. “Are you, like, freebasing or something?”

Jungkook glared at him, the sharp edge of his stare enough to silence his brother for the moment. He raised the phone to his ear as if to signal he needed space. Jung-Hyun shifted uncomfortably, shrugged, and walked out, but not without a lingering glance at the doorframe like he was still unsure whether to say something else.

Jungkook sighed, dialing the phone number and forcing his voice into something sweeter, more normal. “Hi, Mom.”

“Jungkook,” Wanda’s voice came through, her tone a mix of frustration and a mother’s tired love, “are you still in bed?”

“No,” Jungkook lied, sitting up, dragging a hand through his messy hair, trying to shake the fog from his brain. He could feel the weight of her stare even through the phone. “I’m up.”

“Listen, I need you to stay home with Jung-Hyun tonight. I’m meeting Hoseok for dinner after work.”

Jungkook’s lips curled into a frown, irritation seeping into his voice. “Mom, come on. I watch him all day. I need some time to myself.”

Wanda’s sigh crackled through the phone. “You have all the time in the world, Jungkook. You sleep until the middle of the day. You come and go as you please. Tonight, do what I ask for once. Stay home.”

Jungkook didn’t argue. He knew that tone. When his mother’s patience had run out, there was no changing her mind. “Okay,” he muttered under his breath, the word tasting bitter on his tongue.

“Thank you,” Wanda said with a small note of relief in her voice before hanging up.

Jungkook tossed the phone onto the bed, letting it slide off and land face down on the blankets. His hands twitched, restless, but his eyes were drawn to his fingernails. Long, sharper than usual, like they were growing on their own without permission. He felt a tight knot of unease twist in his stomach.

He dragged himself out of bed, his body feeling heavy, his movements sluggish. His feet carried him to the bathroom, and he turned on the shower, the water coming out in a rush, cold at first. The shock of it hit his skin with a stinging jolt, but he didn’t care. He needed something to snap him back to reality, to make him feel normal again. He stepped under the freezing spray, letting it pour over him until his skin tingled and the pain started to cut through the haze in his brain.

At first, the cold was like a tingling sensation, faint and almost pleasant, but then it grew, creeping deeper, searing his skin like it was burning him alive. His breath hitched, the pain intensifying until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He yelped, stumbling backward, fumbling with the faucet to turn off the hot water, but it didn’t matter. The cold had already taken hold, the chill crawling under his skin, making him feel like he was coming apart.

Jungkook stumbled out of the shower, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, his heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. He caught his reflection in the mirror, and for a moment, he didn’t recognize the pale face staring back at him. His skin looked drained, too thin, like it had been bleached of all color. His eyes, usually so sharp, now seemed too wide, too hollow. Something was changing, something he couldn’t control, couldn’t stop. He wanted to look away but couldn’t.

The kitchen was quiet, filled with the stale scent of bread and the clatter of empty routines. Jung-Hyun stood at the counter, his brow furrowed in concentration as he slapped together two bologna sandwiches. His movements were methodical, like he was trying to do something right—anything right. The fridge door hung open, the pale yellow light spilling out, painting the room in a sickly glow.

Behind him, cupboard doors banged open and shut, disturbing the silence like it was an old, dusty secret. Jung-Hyun didn’t turn around.

“Anything in here that might pass for aftershave?” Min-chul’s voice called from somewhere in the back, a rough, cheerful grumble that seemed out of place in the otherwise mundane kitchen.

Jung-Hyun didn’t answer, but without looking up, he grabbed a bottle of Windex from under the sink and handed it over. Min-chul examined it like it was an exotic perfume, squirted a little onto his palm, sniffed it, then shrugged.

“Eh, good enough,” he muttered and splashed it on his face like it was cologne. The smell of ammonia filled the room, sharp and cloying.

“Thanks,” Min-chul said, his voice carrying an odd kind of breeziness as if the world were his playground.

Jungkook shuffled into the kitchen, looking like a man who hadn’t slept in a year, a stranger in his own skin. The sunglasses were still perched on his nose, despite it being night, hiding his eyes from everything, even himself. His skin looked deathly pale, and Jung-Hyun couldn’t help but stare, his unease growing.

Min-chul froze when he saw him, his eyes narrowing, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe he thought better of it. Or maybe he just didn’t want to know.

“What’s the big date, Harabeoji?” Jungkook asked, his voice dry, laced with sarcasm.

Min-chul smirked, adjusting his tie in the reflection of the microwave door, then straightened up. “Just dropping off some of my handiwork to Widow Johnson.”

“Oh yeah?” Jungkook’s voice was sharp, nasty, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “What’d you stuff for her? Mr. Johnson?”

The smirk on Min-chul’s face vanished, replaced by a long, hard look that could flatten anyone else. But Min-chul didn’t speak, just grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

“See you later, boys,” he said, his voice hollow as he walked out.

“That wasn’t funny,” Jung-Hyun muttered the second the door clicked shut behind him.

Jungkook didn’t respond, his mind still lingering on the strange tension in the air. The sound of Min-chul’s truck roaring to life was the only noise now, the gravel crunching under the tires as it disappeared down the driveway.

“I’m making you a sandwich,” Jung-Hyun said quietly after a moment, his hands still working on the sandwich as if it would ground him.

“Don’t bother,” Jungkook replied flatly, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose even though no one was around to hide from.

Jung-Hyun glanced up, frowning. “Lose the earring, Jungkook,” he said lightly but with an edge of finality in his voice. “It’s not happening. It’s just not happening.”

“Piss off,” Jungkook snapped, the words biting, sharp.

“You have such a great personality,” Jung-Hyun shot back sweetly, raising an eyebrow. “You should open your own charm school.”

Before Jungkook could respond, something strange happened. The headlights outside swept across the windows in quick succession, like the world was spinning too fast. The light darted and danced, erratic and dizzying, accompanied by a low roar that made the walls vibrate.

Jungkook stiffened, his pulse quickening. “What’s that?” he asked, his voice tight, a feeling of dread creeping up his spine.

Jung-Hyun froze, the sandwich still in his hands. He glanced toward the windows but didn’t move.

Jungkook didn’t wait for an answer. He moved toward the living room, his steps deliberate but slow, as though he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t afraid. But he was. The roar of engines outside grew louder, a chaotic sound that swirled around the house like a storm. The whispering followed—soft at first, almost like the wind, but growing louder, pulling at his name.

“Jungkook... Jungkook... Jungkook,” the voices called, overlapping, twisting around him, like they were inside his head.

“Don’t open it!” Jung-Hyun’s voice cracked, panic rising, but Jungkook didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The roar of the engines circled the house, a sound so wild and untamed it felt like the world itself was closing in on him. The voices grew louder, more urgent, calling his name over and over.

His hand hovered over the doorknob.

“Jungkook, no!” Jung-Hyun shouted, his voice breaking, but it was too late.

Jungkook threw the door open.

Nothing.

The front yard stretched out before them, wide and empty, bathed in the soft, eerie glow of moonlight. The house loomed behind them, its silhouette dark and imposing, as if it were holding its breath along with them. The air was thick with silence—unnerving, almost suffocating. The night was still, like the entire world was waiting for something, something neither of them could name.

A cold wind swept through the yard, and the chill of it bit into their skin, crawling beneath their clothes, sharp and unrelenting. It was the kind of cold that felt unnatural, as though the very air itself had turned against them. For a fleeting moment, a strange, echoing sound rippled across the sky. It wasn’t quite a voice, not exactly. It was like the wind itself was trying to speak, but it wasn’t saying anything they could understand. The sound seemed to vibrate in their bones, filling the space between them, a low hum that echoed in the distance.

Jungkook's breath hitched, a soft tremor running through his body as he scanned the yard, his eyes narrowing against the darkness. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was out there, something just beyond the veil of the fog that had begun to gather on the ground. It crawled slowly across the grass, winding around the steps, thick and creeping like it was alive, like it had a mind of its own. The fog twisted and swirled as though something invisible was moving within it, a presence just beyond sight, waiting.

He felt his heartbeat quicken, but his legs refused to move, locked in place by some primal instinct that told him to stay still, to watch. His mind screamed at him to turn away, but his body betrayed him, forcing him to stare into the fog as if it might offer him some kind of answer, some kind of release from the tension building inside him. He wanted something to emerge, something tangible, even if it was terrifying. Anything that would make sense of the suffocating uncertainty that clung to the air.

“Close the door,” Jung-Hyun’s voice came from behind him, small and strained, barely above a whisper. It was as though speaking any louder might alert whatever was out there, as if the very air was listening, waiting for the slightest disturbance.

Jungkook’s fingers twitched, the tremor in his hand growing more pronounced as he slowly turned back to the door. He didn’t want to take his eyes off the fog, but he knew Jung-Hyun was right. They couldn’t just stand there, couldn’t leave the door wide open to whatever the night might bring.

His hand shook as he gripped the door handle, his knuckles white with the force of it. He pulled the door shut with a soft click. The sound of the lock snapping into place should have brought him comfort, but it didn’t. There was no safety in the simple act. It felt like a false promise, a temporary measure against something far more dangerous than a locked door could contain.

Jungkook turned slowly, his expression drained, the pallor of his face only made more striking by the sunglasses that still shielded his eyes from the outside world. His gaze was distant, unfocused, as if he was still seeing the darkness outside, still hearing the strange hum that seemed to reverberate through the air. His fingers lingered on the edge of the door, as though he could still feel the pull of whatever had been out there, whatever had whispered in the wind.

“Weird,” Jung-Hyun said, his voice cracking on the word. It was the understatement of the century, but it felt right, like it was all they could offer each other in that moment. The words hung in the air between them, fragile, like they might shatter if spoken too loudly.

Jungkook didn’t respond. He couldn’t. There were no words that could make sense of the moment, no explanation for the feeling that had settled deep in his chest, like the weight of something unspeakable pressing down on him. His body still trembled, and despite the door being shut, despite the lock being secure, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the world outside hadn’t stopped. It was still there, waiting.

He took a deep breath, the air tasting stale in his lungs, and slowly pulled his gaze away from the door. But it didn’t matter. The fog still lingered in his mind, as did the unsettling hum.

Jungkook moved into the room, his steps heavy.

Wanda's Land Rover rolled smoothly into the dimly lit parking lot, the heavy rumble of the engine almost drowned out by the hum of the evening air. The headlights pierced through the night, cutting through the shadows of the parked cars, illuminating the sleek lines of Hoseok’s sports car as it followed closely behind her. The two vehicles came to a stop in perfect sync, the sound of tires kissing the asphalt echoing softly in the quiet of the lot.

Before the engine had even stopped idling, the car door slammed open with a sharp thud, and Hoseok was out in an instant. His movements were fluid, practiced, and fast—he practically jumped from the car, his figure already in motion, almost as though he were performing a carefully rehearsed act. He grinned widely, his expression so bright and infectious that it almost seemed to spill over into the air around him, lighting up the night with an energy that felt almost otherworldly.

Without missing a beat, Hoseok moved with dramatic flair, striding toward Wanda’s Land Rover with the exaggerated grace of a seasoned performer. He reached the door just as Wanda was beginning to unbuckle her seatbelt, and with a smooth, almost theatrical motion, he opened it for her. His posture was impeccable, his shoulders squared, and he gave a slight bow, just enough to suggest the charm of a gentleman from a black-and-white film, the kind who would sweep a lady off her feet with a perfect bow and a wink.

Wanda looked up at him, her face unreadable for a moment, before a polite, practiced smile tugged at the corners of her lips. It wasn’t the kind of smile that said she was impressed—it wasn’t even a smile of enjoyment—but rather the kind that was worn like a well-fitted coat. She had seen this routine countless times before. It wasn’t new. It wasn’t special. But she offered it anyway, because it was expected, and because it was the kind of thing that smoothed over the rough edges of familiarity.

"Thank you, Hoseok," she said in a voice that was soft but neutral, a polite acknowledgment of his efforts. Her tone was warm, but just enough distance lingered in the words to suggest that this was all part of the dance, a series of rituals they had both long ago agreed to play out without thinking.

Hoseok straightened up from his bow, the grin never wavering, as he offered his hand to her with a flourish. He seemed completely at ease, as if he had done this a hundred times and would continue to do so a hundred more. But there was a certain excitement in his eyes, a spark that hinted at something more—something beyond the polite gestures and practiced smiles. His eyes shone in the glow of the parking lot lights, a mixture of anticipation and amusement as he watched Wanda rise from the seat and slide smoothly into the night.

"Always a pleasure, my lady," he said with a wink, his voice laced with playful charm, as though he were fully aware that the theatrics were not lost on her, but equally aware that she didn’t mind them. At least, not enough to say anything.

Wanda chuckled softly to herself, shaking her head as she stepped out of the car, adjusting her coat as the cool night air hit her skin. She didn't answer his remark, but the slight curve of her lips spoke volumes, more than any words ever could. It was clear that, while she appreciated the gesture, it was hardly something that would ever sweep her off her feet. She had seen enough of Hoseok's antics to last a lifetime, and yet, they never seemed to lose their charm entirely—just enough to keep things interesting.

Hoseok, satisfied with his performance, straightened his posture and gestured toward the restaurant, his grin widening just a fraction more. "Shall we?" he asked, his voice warm and inviting, but with a hint of playfulness in the way he looked at her.

Wanda didn’t hesitate. With a glance that was both affectionate and weary, she nodded, her heels clicking softly against the pavement as she followed him toward the entrance of the restaurant. Their footsteps echoed in the stillness of the night, the soft murmur of conversation and laughter from the building ahead mixing with the low hum of distant traffic, blending into the soundtrack of the evening as the door swung open to greet them.

Miles away, in the warmth of the bathroom, Jung-Hyun sat submerged in the deep tub, the water hot enough to make beads of sweat form on his forehead. The steam from the water created a hazy, almost ethereal atmosphere in the small room, wrapping around him like a cocoon. His muscles, sore from the day’s activities, began to relax with each passing minute as the heat seeped into his skin. His mind drifted lazily from thought to thought, the calming scent of soap, shampoo, and the faint metallic tang of the plumbing mixing with the steam in the air. The smell wasn’t pleasant, but it was familiar—a sign of home.

Bam, ever the loyal companion, lay sprawled on the bathroom rug, his ears twitching to the beat of the loud rock music blasting from the tiny radio perched on the counter. The sound quality wasn’t great, but it was enough to fill the space with a steady rhythm, one that matched Bam’s rhythmic ear twitches. The dog’s eyes were half-closed in contentment, his tail gently wagging now and then, matching the energy of the music as it pulsed through the small, cramped bathroom.

Jung-Hyun, however, was far more energetic than Bam. With the radio cranked up, he submerged his hands in the soapy water and began sculpting his hair into ridiculous shapes. He molded spikes, a mohawk, and whatever else popped into his head, laughing at himself in the mirror as he watched the foam transform into chaotic, over-the-top hairstyles. The absurdity of it all made him grin even wider, the sound of his own laughter drowned out by the music's loud guitars and the rhythm of the drums. In this small, secluded bubble, nothing else mattered. There was no need for words or expectations. It was just him, the water, and the music—a rare moment of unbridled joy, even if no one else would ever call it that.

Downstairs, however, Jungkook was not so carefree. The house was too quiet, too still. He moved through the kitchen with the same heaviness that had settled in his chest, each step taken more out of habit than necessity. His movements were automatic, like a ghost in his own home, as if he were simply going through the motions without truly being present. The fridge door creaked open under his hand, and he reached for the milk with the kind of aimless energy that made everything feel distant and hollow.

But then, just as he was about to pull the carton from the shelf, the pain hit him with the force of a lightning bolt—sharp, searing, and relentless. It shot through his stomach like a jagged spear, and he doubled over in an instant, clutching at his abdomen. The milk carton slipped from his grasp, its contents spilling violently across the floor in a rush of white liquid, splattering across the tiles in a messy, sticky explosion. The sound of the carton hitting the ground echoed in the otherwise silent house, and Jungkook stood frozen for a moment, gasping for breath. The sharp pain was enough to make him feel dizzy, his body already threatening to give in to the pressure. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the pulse so loud it seemed to reverberate in his eardrums.

Slowly, shakily, he straightened up, his chest heaving, his eyes staring at the mess he’d made—the spilled milk a testament to the strange, sudden pain that had seized him. But his mind was too clouded to care about cleaning it up right away. Without a word, he turned toward the pantry, moving with the same mindless, automatic steps he had before, hoping to grab the mop and get the mess under control.

But as his hand reached out for the familiar wooden mop handle, the pain returned—sharper this time, like a fire spreading through his insides. His knees buckled under him, and he dropped to the floor, his breath caught in his throat. For a split second, everything went still. His eyes widened in disbelief as he lifted his head—and froze.

The walls.

They were moving.

At first, it was subtle—like a trick of the light, or maybe his vision playing tricks on him. But no, it wasn’t that. The walls were breathing. He blinked, staring at the shelves, and they expanded and contracted like the slow, steady rise and fall of a chest. Cans of soup, once still and unmoving, puffed out as though they had been overfilled, bulging out at the edges. Jars of preserves trembled on their shelves, the lids rattling faintly as if they had a life of their own. The lightbulb overhead flickered, its light swelling like a balloon, then shrinking back down in erratic pulses, casting strange shadows on the walls. The floor beneath him rippled like water, shifting in a way that made his stomach churn with unease. It was as if the entire world around him was warping, twisting, and bending in on itself.

His heart thundered in his chest, the beat erratic and loud, each thump echoing in his skull. His hand gripped the mop handle with such force that his knuckles turned white, the veins in his arms bulging painfully. He could feel the skin over them stretching tight, as though something inside him was trying to break free, pushing against the confines of his body. He gasped for air, his breathing shallow, trying to steady himself, but the world around him refused to stay still.

Upstairs, Jung-Hyun was blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding below. His towel was now draped over his head, drying his hair between songs, his movements casual, easy. He hummed along to the music as it blared from the radio, the upbeat rock filling the bathroom, drowning out any other noise. Bam, content and relaxed, had shifted slightly on the rug, let out a contented sigh, and returned to his nap, unaffected by anything at all.

But Jungkook? He was still frozen in the kitchen, staring wide-eyed at the warped world around him, trying to breathe through the growing panic that gripped him. The walls felt as though they were closing in, suffocating him, and he couldn’t make sense of it. The more he tried to move, the more everything seemed to shift, like the very fabric of reality was slipping through his fingers. The house was alive, and he was caught in its terrifying embrace.

Wanda sat at a pristine table draped in white linen at the dimly lit restaurant, her fingers elegantly curling around the stem of a glass of red wine. The light from the overhead chandelier bathed the room in a soft, golden glow, casting delicate shadows across the crisp tablecloth. She took a slow sip, the wine smooth on her tongue, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Across from her, Hoseok was practically bursting with energy, his words tumbling over one another as his hands sliced through the air, painting a picture of his latest business venture with the fervor of someone who truly believed in his own genius. Something about video stores. Something about Los Gatos. He spoke with the kind of charisma that could make even the most mundane topics sound like they held the key to the universe.

Wanda nodded at all the right moments, her eyes polite but distant, the kind of indifference that came from years of being asked to feign interest in things that didn’t truly matter. She wasn’t really listening—his words a mere hum in the background of her own thoughts as she swirled the wine in her glass, her mind drifting to places far from the white tablecloth and expensive wine.

Just as she was beginning to let herself fade into the quiet of her own mind, the waiter appeared at their table, his polite smile framed by the crisp white of his uniform.

"Ready to order now, sir?" he asked, his voice measured and professional.

Wanda didn’t hesitate. “I’ll just have the filet of sole,” she said, her tone light, almost absent. It was the kind of dish she’d always ordered when she wasn’t in the mood to engage fully, something safe and understated.

“No, you won’t,” Hoseok said, his voice cutting through her indifference. He shook his head with a confident smile, the kind of smile that suggested he had already won whatever little battle he imagined was at play. He turned to the waiter with the ease of someone who had never once had to worry about the price of anything.

“We’ll start with caviar. Caesar salad and your two biggest lobsters. And another bottle of wine—Dom Perignon this time,” he said, his words flowing smoothly as if they were part of a well-rehearsed script. He didn’t wait for confirmation before reclining into his chair, arms stretched out on the backrest as if he were settling in for a much-needed victory lap.

The waiter nodded respectfully, his posture perfectly in line with the calm professionalism expected of him, and turned to head back to the kitchen.

Hoseok leaned back, hands still resting on the chair, waiting for Wanda’s reaction. But when she didn’t immediately respond, his smile faltered. He frowned slightly, studying her with narrowed eyes.

“Not impressed, are you?” he asked, his voice betraying a slight crack of vulnerability beneath the confident facade.

Wanda’s fingers gently set her wine glass down, the sound of crystal meeting porcelain echoing briefly in the space between them. Her gaze flicked to him for a moment, but she didn’t rush to answer. She regarded him with quiet amusement, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Oh, I would have been,” she said casually, her voice light, almost playful, “one marriage ago.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, sharp and effortless. Hoseok’s laughter followed immediately, but it wasn’t the kind of carefree laugh he had expected. It was quieter. More subdued. There was a trace of something real in it—something less practiced, something raw. It made his smile waver, just for a moment.

“So I’ve met the one woman on the planet who’s going to hold my success against me,” he said, his voice dipping into something more thoughtful than he’d intended.

Wanda’s eyes softened just slightly, the faintest trace of warmth creeping into her expression. "You seem like a terrific guy," she said with a smile that wasn’t quite an approval but more like a knowing acknowledgment. “And I’m grateful for the job—”

“But it’s not what you really want to do,” Hoseok interrupted, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. His gaze was steady, intent. “Is it?”

Wanda’s gaze shifted for a moment, her eyes drifting toward the window, where the shadows of the city stretched like dark fingers against the skyline. She paused, as if weighing her words carefully, before finally answering with a soft exhale.

“If I had my choice,” she said, her voice a little quieter now, more introspective, “I’d want to do something with kids. Teenagers, maybe. I don’t know. There’s just something about that age, about how everything feels so big and raw and important.” Her voice trailed off slightly, her eyes lingering on the view for a beat longer than necessary. “And Santa Carla seems to have no shortage of them.”

Hoseok’s face softened, his gaze shifting away from her for a moment as he absorbed her words. “Runaways, mostly,” he said, his voice losing some of its earlier bravado. "They come from everywhere. The boardwalk, the ocean... it draws them in." He paused, the air between them thickening with a kind of quiet understanding. "Listen, I know I have no right to ask this, but... don’t look for another job just yet. Besides being the best employee I have, I think you’re cute.”

Wanda let out a soft laugh, the sound light but laced with something unspoken. "I hear this is the decade for cute," she said with a raised eyebrow, her smile slipping into something a little more guarded.

Hoseok blinked, clearly not expecting that response. But it didn’t shake him—he was used to women laughing off his advances, or, at the very least, making a show of it. What he didn’t quite expect was the subtle warmth in her eyes, the flicker of something deeper hidden behind the lightness of her words.

As the waiter returned with their wine, Hoseok leaned back, his earlier tension eased just a fraction, the game of words continuing to unfold between them.

Upstairs, Jung-Hyun remained blissfully unaware, still reclining in the warm water of the bathtub, lost in his own little world. The soft sounds of rock music filtered through the room, drowning out the rest of the house. He was absorbed in the task at hand—shaping his wet hair into bizarre, ridiculous shapes. He let the music take him further into his bubble of peace, unaware that outside the bathroom door, things were beginning to change.

Jungkook, meanwhile, moved through the house like a shadow, his pace slow and deliberate. His breathing was steady, each inhale and exhale calm, but there was an emptiness in his eyes, something that had gone still and quiet. His face was pale, but his expression was composed, as if the chaos that had just gripped him had been set aside—his body still, but his mind barely tethered. The world around him seemed distant, far-off. His fingers trembled slightly, but his resolve held firm.

He stopped outside the bathroom door, his hand hovering above the doorknob. His heart thudded in his chest, an ever-present drumbeat that echoed through his body with terrifying intensity. His entire being seemed to resonate with the pounding rhythm. He pulled his hand back, curling his fingers into a fist, but the compulsion to move forward still simmered just beneath the surface. The air around him felt thick and oppressive, like the weight of a storm that hadn't yet broken.

Inside, the music blared, drowning out every sound. Jung-Hyun was laughing, blissfully unaware of the growing tension just outside his door, lost in his own private world, completely oblivious to the war waging inside his brother. Bam, the dog, seemed to sense something was wrong before Jung-Hyun did. His ears twitched, and a low whine escaped from his throat, a sound that began soft but quickly grew sharp and intense. It was a warning, a primal instinct kicking in, but still, Jung-Hyun didn't notice.

As Bam sat up abruptly, his growl deepening into something more menacing, Jungkook's body tensed, every muscle wound tight as though ready to spring. The silence seemed deafening to him, the stillness unbearable, yet his heart thundered in his chest, each beat louder than the last. He closed his eyes, breathing in deep and slow, trying to ground himself. The voice in his mind urged him forward, pushing him to act. Don't go in, it whispered. But then, almost as if from a distant place, a new thought sliced through the fog in his mind: You can’t fight it.

Bam’s sudden howl, guttural and bone-chilling, tore through the tension in the air like a sharp blade, snapping something in Jungkook’s resolve. Something broke, something inside him fractured, and before he could stop himself, he shoved the bathroom door open and stumbled into the room.

For a split second, everything froze.

Bam stood between Jungkook and the bathtub, his body tense, every muscle straining as his fur bristled, the growl vibrating deep in his chest. His eyes were wide with intensity, his teeth bared like a weapon. The dog was no longer just a pet—he was a force, a protector, something primal and untamed. His stance was defensive, unyielding. He was ready to fight.

Jungkook’s own lips curled back into a snarl, and his teeth—sharper than they should have been—gleamed in the dim light of the bathroom. The air between them crackled with an energy that neither of them could control.

Without hesitation, Bam lunged, his powerful body launching forward with the kind of speed that left little time for reaction. His claws scraped across the bathroom tiles with a high-pitched screech, and the sound of their bodies colliding rang out like thunder. Jungkook barely had time to brace himself as Bam’s massive frame slammed into him, throwing them both into the hallway. The force of their collision sent them crashing into the walls, the sound of their struggle deafening. Bam snarled, snapping his teeth, but Jungkook fought back with terrifying ferocity. His own growls were inhuman, echoes of something dark and primal that were foreign even to him.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind them with a bang, cutting off the music. Silence descended, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was only the calm before the storm.

Jung-Hyun, still in the tub, resurfaced, gasping for air. The first thing he noticed was the silence—the absence of the rock music that had been playing so loudly just moments ago. His brow furrowed in confusion, and he strained his ears, listening for any hint of what had caused the sudden quiet. And then, in the distance, the sounds started—thuds, bangs, the deep, feral growl of Bam, and the almost human cries coming from Jungkook.

The noise intensified, violent and chaotic, before suddenly stopping as quickly as it had started.

"Jungkook?" Jung-Hyun’s voice trembled as he wrapped a towel around his waist, feeling a chill run through him. The air felt colder now, the once-warm bathroom almost unbearably chilly.

He stepped cautiously into the hallway, the shadows around him stretching unnaturally long. The lights were off, and everything felt off—wrong. His heart thudded in his chest, fear gnawing at his insides.

“Jungkook?” His voice wavered, panic creeping into his tone.

Then, from the bottom of the stairs, a soft, shaky voice answered. “Don’t turn on the light.”

It was Jungkook. His voice was so soft, almost pleading, like it came from someone who was utterly lost.

Jung-Hyun froze, his hand hovering over the light switch. The air around him seemed to thicken. He hesitated, but then—compelled by something he couldn’t quite explain—he flicked the switch.

The lights came on, and the sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.

Jungkook was crumpled at the base of the stairs, his body slumped in a way that was almost unnatural. His hands shook violently in his lap, and his face—pale, lifeless—was streaked with blood. It dripped from his fingers, pooling onto the wooden floor. His eyes were glazed, unfocused, like he wasn’t even truly there.

"Jungkook?" Jung-Hyun’s voice cracked as he rushed to his brother’s side, kneeling in front of him. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath quick and shallow.

"What happened?" Jung-Hyun asked, his voice breaking under the weight of the question. "Jungkook, what—what did you do?"

Jungkook didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained distant, unfocused. Finally, his voice came, a strained whisper. “Bam…”

The single word hit Jung-Hyun like a punch to the gut. “What about Bam?” His voice rose, panic threading through it. “What did you do to my dog?!”

Jungkook’s head snapped up, and for the first time, his voice was sharp, full of a fierceness that shocked Jung-Hyun. “I didn’t hurt him!” he snapped. “He bit me! This is my blood!” He lifted his hand, showing the gaping wound in his palm, blood still flowing freely from the gash.

Jung-Hyun’s gaze darted to the hallway, and his eyes widened in horror as Bam emerged from the shadows, his body low to the ground, eyes fixed on Jungkook. The dog growled softly, positioning himself protectively against Jung-Hyun’s leg, never once breaking his gaze from Jungkook.

“What did you do to him?” Jung-Hyun demanded, his voice trembling with fear. “Why would he bite you?”

Jungkook’s voice was quieter now, almost reverent. “He was protecting you.”

The words hung in the air, thick with a meaning Jung-Hyun couldn’t yet grasp. He opened his mouth to respond, but something else caught his attention—something in the reflection of the mirror at the end of the hallway.

“Jungkook,” Jung-Hyun whispered, his voice barely audible. “Look at your reflection.”

Jungkook frowned and turned his head. In the mirror, the bloodied, battered version of himself stared back—but it was faint, blurry, almost ethereal. His reflection wasn’t solid—it was barely there, like it was on the edge of vanishing altogether.

“You’re…” Jung-Hyun swallowed hard, his heart racing. “You’re a vampire.”

Jungkook blinked, clearly confused. “What?”

Jung-Hyun’s voice was raw now, breaking with panic. “You’re a vampire, Jungkook! Just like in the comic books! A... a shit-sucking, goddamn vampire! My own brother!” His words fell into a desperate jumble. “Wait till Mom finds out!”

Jungkook flinched, and something dark flickered in his eyes. He took a step forward, and Jung-Hyun instinctively took a step back, his body filled with dread.

“Stay back!” Jung-Hyun shouted, fear flooding his veins. “Stay back!”

He spun and bolted for his room, slamming the door behind him. Bam followed closely, the dog’s growl a constant presence at his side. Jung-Hyun twisted the lock into place, his hands shaking violently.

He collapsed onto the bed, his hands trembling as he grabbed for the comic book from the shelf—the one with the number for the Kim brothers scrawled on the back.

The phone rang three times before someone picked up.

“You did the right thing, calling us,” Namjoon’s voice was calm, steady, like he was speaking to someone who already understood the gravity of the situation. “Does your brother sleep a lot?”

“All day,” Jung-Hyun whispered.

“Can’t stand light?”

“He wears sunglasses in the house.”

Namjoon’s voice grew more serious. “Bad breath? Long fingernails?”

Jung-Hyun hesitated. “His nails are a little longer... but he’s always had bad breath.”

“That’s him,” Seokjin chimed in. “Salt sticks to the bottom of his feet?”

“Yes,” Jung-Hyun said, his voice barely audible.

Seokjin’s tone was cold, final. “He’s a vampire, all right.”

Jung-Hyun’s mind raced. “What do I do?”

“Get a stake. Drive it through his heart,” Seokjin said sharply.

“I can’t do that,” Jung-Hyun said, shaking his head, even though they couldn’t see him. “He’s my brother.”

There was a long pause. Then Namjoon’s voice came back on the line, grim and certain. “Then get yourself a garlic T-shirt. Or it’s your funeral.”

The line went dead.

Jung-Hyun stared at the phone, his heart hammering in his chest. In the distance, he heard the faint creak of a window opening. He turned, and there, hovering just outside his bedroom window like a ghost, was Jungkook.

“Oh no,” Jung-Hyun whispered, his voice barely audible. “Oh, God.” He dropped the phone in horror. “Mom!” he screamed. “Mom, he’s coming to get me!”

And as he screamed, Wanda—still at her table in the restaurant—heard her son’s voice through the receiver, the panic in his words cutting through her like a knife. Without thinking, without hesitation, she bolted from the table, leaving her purse behind.

Hoseok blinked, his mind still reeling from the strange shift in energy that had just unfolded. He glanced around the table, expecting to see Wanda still sitting across from him, casually sipping her wine as if nothing had changed. But the chair she had occupied just moments ago was now empty, and her glass, half-full of wine, sat untouched on the table.

The waiter approached, a slight confusion in his posture, perhaps sensing the abrupt departure of the woman he had just served. With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he placed two enormous lobsters, their vibrant shells still glistening with freshness, in front of Hoseok. Along with them came an unopened bottle of Dom Perignon, its dark green glass reflecting the low light of the restaurant. The luxury of the items in front of him seemed almost out of place given the sudden and unexplained shift in the atmosphere.

Hoseok stared at the table for a long moment, his mind trying to catch up with what had just happened. Wanda had been here, laughing, engaged in the conversation about his latest business venture, but now… she was gone.

A glance out the window caught his attention—through the darkened glass, he saw the tail lights of her Land Rover disappearing into the night. The tires screeched as she sped away, a sharp, frantic sound that seemed to echo in his chest. It was impossible not to feel the weight of her absence, the suddenness of it, and something else too—something that made his pulse quicken. He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but it was a mix of confusion, concern, and a nagging sense that something was terribly off.

He turned back to the table, eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of it all. The waiter stood still, waiting for a cue from Hoseok, his hands clasped behind his back. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, stretching between them like a fragile thread about to snap. Hoseok’s fingers twitched toward the bottle of Dom Perignon, but he couldn’t bring himself to pop the cork. Something about the whole evening felt… wrong.

"What the hell just happened?" Hoseok muttered under his breath, mostly to himself. He rubbed his temple with his thumb, a gesture of frustration mixed with disbelief. Had he said something wrong? Had something been left unsaid, some hidden trigger that had set her off? She hadn’t seemed upset when she left, just… hurried. But the fact that she hadn’t even said goodbye, that she had disappeared so abruptly, gnawed at him.

He glanced at the waiter, who seemed to be trying to remain inconspicuous, unsure whether he should speak or retreat. Hoseok waved him off. He needed a moment to think—too much was happening in his head, too many questions without answers. Wanda’s reaction, the sudden exit, her almost panicked departure, all of it felt like a puzzle that was now scattered on the floor, pieces that didn't seem to fit together.

His mind wandered back to the conversation they had been having moments before. Was it something he’d said? The business deal, the lavish dinner, the lavish indulgence? He had meant it to impress her, to show her he was more than just another businessman in a suit, but now it felt superficial, like it had triggered something deeper in her—a hidden frustration or unease he hadn’t noticed.

But no, she had smiled faintly when she mentioned her work with teenagers. It was a genuine moment, one where he’d thought they connected, even if the conversation was brief. It didn’t make sense. She had seemed fine.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” The waiter’s voice cut through his thoughts, an interruption that made Hoseok blink in surprise.

He looked up at the man, still standing by the table with his hands folded neatly in front of him.

“No,” Hoseok replied sharply, waving him off again. “I’m fine.”

The wind outside howled with an unnatural force, relentless in its pursuit, tugging at Jungkook's body as it was pulled higher into the sky. His feet swung below him, completely weightless, and the sensation of helplessness washed over him as the rope tied around his waist strained against the pull of the storm. Each gust seemed determined to lift him farther from the earth, dragging him upwards like a kite caught in an unpredictable current. The rope creaked in protest, but it was the only thing holding him back from disappearing into the vast expanse of the night sky, lost to the void. Up, up he went, the wind making a whistling sound as it howled past him, leaving him to feel like a marionette tossed about by forces far beyond his control.

Inside the house, Jung-Hyun stood frozen at the window, his breath shallow as his mind struggled to comprehend the madness unfolding before him. His brother’s muffled cries—desperate and pleading—carried over the roar of the wind, distant but unmistakable. Jungkook’s voice, distorted by distance yet tinged with such unmistakable fear, shattered the fragile silence of the moment. "Help me! Jung-Hyun! I’m your brother!" The words rang in his ears, each syllable cutting into him like a dagger, leaving him gasping for air. His heart raced, the sound of it thudding in his chest, drowning out everything else in the room. The terror began to creep up on him in waves, thick and suffocating. He was paralyzed for a moment, caught between fear and disbelief.

The window shattered without warning, a sound that was deafening in the silence that followed. Glass rained down, glittering like jagged stars falling from the sky. Jung-Hyun staggered back from the broken pane, his heart pounding so fiercely in his chest it felt like it might break free of his ribs. Instincts kicked in, sharper than logic or reason, and before he could fully process what was happening, his feet were already carrying him down the stairs. The familiar layout of the house blurred around him as he ran, each step a frantic beat in a symphony of panic. He raced past the old hallway, the wallpaper peeling with age, and toward his brother’s room, the one place that felt like the last place he could find any semblance of control.

The wind met him like an angry slap, icy and sharp as it forced its way through the broken window, howling into the house as though trying to drag them all into the storm outside. Jung-Hyun pressed forward with all his strength, every step an effort against the fierce wind that battered his face, whipped his hair around, and threatened to throw him off balance. His breath came in short bursts, freezing in the air, but he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when his brother needed him.

At last, he reached the window. His hands, numb from the cold, grasped at Jungkook’s wrist, pulling his brother back from the edge. The force of the storm seemed to try to push him further into the sky, but with one final heave, Jung-Hyun managed to drag him inside, tumbling into the room in a heap. Jungkook, breathless and shaking, immediately sprang into action, his panicked movements betraying the gravity of the situation. He rushed to the bed, his hands fumbling as he quickly tied himself to the frame with the blind cord, as though the tattered rope was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. It wasn’t just the wind pulling him away—it was something deeper, something dark, a force beyond comprehension that was threatening to consume him whole.

"We’ve got to stick together, Jung-Hyun," Jungkook whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling with desperation. His eyes were wide, filled with something close to terror, and there was an urgency to his words that Jung-Hyun couldn’t ignore. "You’ve got to help me."

Jungk-Hyun’s throat was tight, his voice breaking as he tried to respond. "What about Mom?" His mind raced, his thoughts spiraling out of control as the weight of the situation pressed down on him.

"No," Jungkook hissed, his voice low and insistent. "We can’t tell her. Please… please don’t." His eyes were pleading, raw with emotion. "Just for a few days," he added, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Give me a chance to figure this out."

Jungk-Hyun stood frozen for a moment, the weight of his brother’s plea hanging in the air like an impossible decision. His mind screamed to argue, to demand answers, but his heart—his loyalty to Jungkook—silenced those instincts. There was no time to argue, not when the door to the room creaked open, and their mother, Wanda, stepped inside. Her face was painted with panic, her eyes scanning the room frantically for answers she couldn’t see. She took in the scene—Jungkook tied to the bed, Jung-Hyun standing near the window, breathless—and immediately the worry on her face deepened.

"Jung-Hyun!" Wanda cried, her voice sharp with panic. "What happened? You had me scared to death. Are you okay?" Her gaze locked onto him, the concern in her eyes almost overwhelming. She moved toward him, reaching for his shoulders, but Jung-Hyun stepped back instinctively, his hands coming up in a protective gesture.

He struggled to steady his voice, to keep the lie from spilling out. "Sorry, Mom. It was a mistake. I thought I saw something out the window." He laughed weakly, but it sounded forced, unnatural. "I was reading this horror comic, and I guess I just… I got a little carried away." His heart pounded as the words tumbled out, but he prayed she would believe him.

Wanda’s gaze lingered on him, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could sense the deception in his voice. Too many questions hung in the air, unsaid but palpable, thick like a fog between them. She opened her mouth to speak again, but Jung-Hyun was already turning away, his body tense with the need to get out of the conversation before it escalated.

"Where’s Jungkook?" she asked, her voice more insistent now, the edge of suspicion creeping into her tone.

"He's already gone to bed," Jung-Hyun said quickly, his voice too flat. He refused to meet her gaze, his eyes darting toward the stairs. "He’s not feeling well. Let him rest." His words were rushed, and he didn’t wait for her to press any further. He didn’t want to give her any more reason to question him.

Upstairs, Jungkook lay in his bed, his body curled tightly beneath the covers as if he could shield himself from the storm outside and the storm raging within him. His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling as if expecting something—anything—to crawl out of it. His breath was shallow, and he couldn’t stop the trembling that wracked his body. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. And no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew there was no going back now.

Wanda’s fingers drummed lightly on the kitchen counter as she listened to the faint static on the other end of the line. The conversation had been brief, another dead end. She’d tried reaching the restaurant where she had last spoken to Hoseok, but he was nowhere to be found. Her mind was spinning, trying to connect the dots, trying to understand why the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t let up. She spoke softly into the phone, her voice tight with something unspoken. "Well, thank you, anyway." She didn’t wait for a response before ending the call, the click of the receiver sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet kitchen.

Her eyes drifted to the spilled carton of milk on the floor, the white liquid pooling out like a silent accusation. It spread across the tiles in slow, deliberate waves, and Wanda’s heart clenched at the sight. She bent down, reaching for a dish towel, but as she wiped the milk away, her gaze lingered on the crumpled carton sitting awkwardly on the counter. The image of a smiling child grinned up at her from the packaging, with the chilling words "MISSING" printed beneath it in bold, red letters. The carton seemed to mock her, reminding her of the gaps in her understanding, the things she had yet to piece together. Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to look away, focusing instead on the mundane task of cleaning up the mess. Still, something gnawed at her insides, that insistent feeling that something was terribly wrong.

But she didn’t have time to dwell. Time had been slipping through her fingers like sand, and there were more immediate things to attend to. Wanda stood up, wringing the dish towel in her hands before hanging it over the sink. She turned toward the stairs, her mind clouded with exhaustion, but the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders made it hard to focus on anything other than the need for rest. She could hardly remember the last time she’d had a full night’s sleep. The thought of collapsing into her bed was enough to push her forward, even as the dread that clung to the corners of her mind refused to be shaken.

Just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, though, she was interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps behind her. She turned to find Jung-Hyun standing there, his face clouded with unease. He hesitated for a moment before speaking in a small, timid voice that sounded so unlike him. "Can I sleep in here with you tonight?" he asked, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. The uncertainty in his eyes pulled at her heart. He was her son, and she had always tried to protect him from the things that lurked in the shadows of the world, but something tonight was different. Something was wrong, and the vulnerability in his voice made her want to shield him from whatever was haunting him.

Wanda sighed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the day’s tension. She hadn’t expected this request, but it wasn’t like she could say no. Not when he was so obviously shaken. "In here?" she asked, her tone not angry, but tired, the exhaustion leaking through her words. "You’re sure?"

Jung-Hyun nodded, his eyes wide and filled with a kind of unease she hadn’t seen in him before. "It was a real scary comic," he muttered, not meeting her gaze.

Wanda softened, her heart aching for him. "Okay," she said, her voice gentle, though she wasn’t sure if she was agreeing to the request out of love or simply because she didn’t have the strength to argue. She stepped aside, allowing him to slip past her and into her room. But as he settled into bed beside her, she caught a faint, unmistakable smell in the air. She sniffed, raising an eyebrow. "Have you been eating pizza? You smell like garlic."

Jung-Hyun froze, his body stiffening as he tried to avoid her gaze. His mind was racing, torn between the fear that still gripped him and the desperate need for comfort. He quickly slid under the covers, hoping she wouldn’t press further. "Uh... no," he muttered, his voice faltering slightly as he tried to mask the unease in his chest. "I think it’s just... the comic, Mom. It’s nothing."

Wanda frowned slightly, but she didn’t push him. She could tell he was hiding something, but tonight wasn’t the night for it. She let out a quiet sigh, her own thoughts turning inward as she lay back against the pillows. She could feel the weight of the silence in the room, thick and oppressive, pressing against her. Her eyes closed, but sleep wouldn’t come. Not with everything that had been happening, not with the strange series of events unfolding around her.

As the minutes stretched into hours, her thoughts were scattered, spinning in circles, chasing things that remained just out of reach. She glanced over at Jung-Hyun, his face half-hidden in the pillow, his body curled up in a protective ball, but even in sleep, he seemed troubled. His breathing was shallow, his body stiff as though he was bracing for something, anything, to happen.

Outside, the night remained eerily quiet. The wind had died down, leaving behind a calm that felt unnatural, like the silence before a storm. It was then that the faint sound of a motorbike’s engine rumbled through the stillness, far in the distance. At first, it was a whisper, barely audible, but it soon grew louder, the roar of the engine cutting through the air like a dark omen. The sound of the bike grew closer, and then, suddenly, the roar faded away as the rider pulled off to the side of the road. Jungkook’s body was tense, his grip tight on the handlebars as he sat there, shrouded in the shadows, away from prying eyes. His thoughts were clouded with an overwhelming sense of confusion and fear, his mind lost in a fog that only deepened the further he tried to understand what had happened to him. There was a darkness inside of him now, something he couldn’t explain, something that had twisted him into something unrecognizable. He didn’t dare look back, knowing that if he did, there would be no going back.

As the truck of Min-chul, the local mechanic, passed by, Jungkook remained still, hidden in the shadows. Min-chul was humming a cheerful tune as he drove, oblivious to the storm that was brewing in the boy who had once been his grandson. The man’s truck rumbled past, its engine a dull hum in the background, but Jungkook didn’t feel the relief he thought he might. No one was watching. No one cared. He was invisible now, both to the world and to himself. The motorbike’s engine fell silent, and the darkness enveloped him once more.

When Min-chul’s truck finally disappeared from view, Jungkook’s fingers clenched tighter around the handlebars, and with a deep breath, he roared off in the opposite direction. The engine of his motorbike cut through the still night air, the wind whipping around him like a living thing, howling in his ears as he sped down the deserted boardwalk. The strip that usually teemed with life in the day was now a silent ghost town, the neon lights of the attractions dimmed, their colorless glow casting long, eerie shadows. The booths were all shut tight, the carnival rides frozen in place, lifeless in the moonlight. The boardwalk, once vibrant with laughter and the sounds of excited crowds, now seemed like a forgotten relic of a world that had moved on without him.

Jungkook’s eyes were fixed ahead, the vast emptiness stretching before him, but his mind felt far away, lost in the storm of emotions that twisted within him. He had always been able to count on the comfort of the night, the solitude that came with it, but now even that was slipping through his fingers. Everything was quiet, too quiet, and yet he couldn’t escape the rising turbulence inside himself. He was caught between who he had been and the monster he was becoming, a bridge he could no longer cross without falling into the abyss.

The familiar path along the cliffs beckoned him, pulling him further into the darkness. His bike skidded to a halt at the edge, tires screeching against the rocky terrain as he dismounted. He looked up toward the cave—the cave where everything had changed, where he had first discovered the horrifying reality of what he was becoming. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs as his senses heightened, and he inhaled deeply, trying to find the one thing that would anchor him to something familiar. Y/N’s scent still lingered, faint but undeniable, as if she had never truly left. It was a ghost, haunting him, tethering him to the past. The mix of blood, lavender, and something deeper, darker, made his head spin.

Jungkook stepped into the cave, the air heavy with the silence of abandonment. The walls, once echoing with voices and laughter, now stood mute, their secrets hidden in the shadows. His breath hitched in his chest as his eyes scanned the familiar surroundings, and the emptiness of it all pressed down on him like a physical weight. The memories surged forward, relentless and suffocating, but it was one thing that anchored his gaze—a wine bottle, half-crushed beneath the rocks in the far corner. The scent of blood clung to it, thick and unmistakable. His hands trembled as he reached for it, his fingers grazing the glass, but then, with a snarl, he hurled the bottle across the room. It shattered against the far wall, the sound of glass breaking like a brief, cathartic release of the fury that had been building within him.

But even the destruction didn’t feel like enough. The rage, the confusion, the guilt—all of it bubbled to the surface in a maddening blur. Memories flooded his mind, fragmentary and jagged, sharp flashes of the ritual, the blood, the unbearable hunger that had clawed at him. His heart raced, and for a moment, he could almost hear the screams—the deafening roar of his own voice in the midst of his transformation. The fire in his veins burned hotter as the memory of the kiss played in a loop inside his mind, like a twisted song he couldn’t escape. The world had shattered in that moment, and there was no going back.

He collapsed to his knees, his breathing heavy and erratic, as the images and emotions swirled in a vortex he couldn’t control. The weight of what he had done, what he had become, threatened to crush him. There was no room for redemption, no easy path to forgiveness. The guilt gnawed at him like a poison, and he could feel himself slipping further into the dark abyss.

As the intensity of the memories began to fade, Jungkook found himself drawn to the far corner of the cave, his body moving almost mechanically. His eyes landed on the bed Y/N had left behind—the one she had used to lay in the stillness of the cave, her presence once a comfort now a cruel reminder of what had been lost. The bed, a silent witness to everything that had transpired, seemed to beckon him. With shaky hands, he sank onto it, curling into himself as if he could hide from the world, from everything that he had become.

The cave, once a place of shared intimacy, now felt cold and hollow. Jungkook pulled the blankets around him, but the warmth they provided was fleeting, unable to chase away the coldness that had settled deep within his bones. His mind began to slow, but the thoughts refused to quiet. The hum of the world outside faded as sleep crept in, but it was a restless, dreamless sleep—one that offered no comfort, only an escape from the painful reality of his waking hours.

And yet, through the oppressive silence, through the dark weight of his thoughts, there was one thing that refused to fade entirely. The song. The haunting melody that had started this entire spiral into madness. It echoed through the cave, distant but clear, as if it had been playing in the background of his soul all along. Its notes lingered in his heart, filling the empty spaces, the voids that nothing else could touch. The song, and everything it represented, would follow him forever.

Jungkook closed his eyes, but even in the darkness behind his eyelids, the melody played on, a reminder that some things could never be forgotten. The song continued to echo through the empty spaces of his heart, a constant reminder of the choices he had made and the consequences he could never outrun. And so, he lay there, trapped in his own thoughts, surrounded by the remnants of a life that felt like it had already ended. The world outside might have been asleep, but inside him, everything was wide awake.

Jungkook sat slumped in the dim corner of the cave, his knees drawn up to his chest, his hands tangled in his hair as he stared at the empty space where Y/N had once been. The scent of her—faint but unmistakable—lingered in the air, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape it. His chest ached with a force so strong it threatened to suffocate him. He felt a magnetic pull, as though the cave itself was pulling him into its shadows, binding him to the painful memories that refused to let go.

Why had this happened? Why had he become this? A monster. A creature of the night. He should have been strong enough to resist, strong enough to see what was coming, but instead, he had fallen. He had let the darkness take him. The transformation hadn’t just changed his body, it had stained his soul, every inch of him tainted with guilt and regret. And Y/N, she had known. She had tried to stop him.

She had been there, hadn’t she? She had warned him. But instead of listening, he had laughed at her. Dismissed her as if her concerns meant nothing, as if her discomfort was just an inconvenience. Y/N had tried to pull him back from the edge, to stop him from making the same mistake his heart had already decided on. But he had ignored her. Pushed her aside, as if she didn’t matter. As if what she was feeling, what she was seeing, was irrelevant. He could almost hear her voice again in his head, desperate, pleading with him.

“It’s blood.”

The words echoed through his mind, and a sickening wave of shame washed over him. How could he have been so blind? How could he have been so arrogant? Y/N had known. She had seen the danger. She had seen what would happen if he drank the wine, if he gave in to the lies Jimin had fed him. But Jungkook had refused to listen. He had thought she was just messing with him, teasing him, like it was all some joke.

But it wasn’t a joke.

She had been the only one who understood. She had been the only one who had cared enough to try and warn him. But he had brushed her off, laughed in her face. The guilt gnawed at him like a physical wound. He clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms, but the pain didn’t matter. It was nothing compared to the pain of knowing what he had done to her—what he had dragged her into.

But then, as his mind struggled to grasp the enormity of his mistakes, something shifted. No, he thought, Y/N hadn’t wanted this. She hadn’t wanted him to become this. She had tried to stop him. She had begged him to leave, to run. To get away from Jimin, from the Lost Boys, from the darkness that had taken root in him. She had been afraid. Afraid of what he might become. Of what would happen to him if he gave in to the hunger, to the transformation. She had known the risks. And yet, he had ignored her. He had kept going, driven by something inside him that he couldn’t explain.

And now, he was here—alone, a monster in the dark.

His anger twisted into something darker, something deeper, something colder. Jimin. Jimin was the one who had set all of this in motion. Jimin, with his manipulative ways, his whispers in Jungkook’s ear, his twisted game. Jimin had led him to this point. He had played with his mind, made him see things that weren’t real, made him do things he never would have done otherwise. And the others—the Lost Boys—they were complicit too. They had all pulled him deeper into their world of shadows and lies.

But Jimin was the one who had truly deceived him. The one who had shown him just enough of the power, just enough of the darkness, to make him think it was worth it. To make him think he needed it. The wine—what he had thought was just some trick, some ritualistic nonsense—had been more than that. It had been blood. Real blood. Y/N had told him. And he hadn’t believed her.

Jungkook’s head throbbed, his thoughts whirling with a storm of anger, guilt, and regret. Jimin had manipulated him. He had twisted his thoughts, his perceptions, until Jungkook didn’t even know what was real anymore. He had been a pawn, a fool, and now he was left in this cursed state—his skin hypersensitive, his eyes burning, his hunger never satisfied.

But what was he now? What was he supposed to do with all this guilt, all this rage, all this shame? The pull to Y/N was unbearable, but how could he face her? How could he explain the monstrosity he had become, when it had been his choice to follow down this path? And what about her? Y/N had been so uncomfortable, hadn’t she? So out of place in this world Jimin and the others had created. She had kept her distance, kept Moon away, as if trying to protect them from the chaos.

He had never stopped to consider her feelings. He had been too consumed by his own hunger, his own thirst, to notice. He had touched her, and she had shivered beneath his fingers, pulling away, clearly uncomfortable. But he hadn’t cared. He had been too absorbed in his own needs, in his own desires. And now, that thought churned in his stomach, eating at him like acid.

Y/N didn’t deserve any of this. She didn’t deserve him—not like this. She didn’t deserve to be dragged into the mess that he had made of his life. And yet, he had pulled her into it. He had turned his back on her, treated her as if she didn’t matter. She was gone now, and all he had left was the hollow echo of her absence, a memory that twisted in his gut and reminded him of how much he had ruined everything.

The darkness in the cave pressed down on him, and his thoughts spiraled further into the abyss. His exhaustion—physical and emotional—began to overwhelm him, making it harder and harder to focus. His vision blurred, his limbs felt heavy, and before he could even process the enormity of what he had done, sleep finally took him.

The moment Y/N first laid eyes on him, her heart skipped a beat, as though the world had briefly frozen around her. A quiet, secret smile tugged at her lips, one only she could understand, a reflection of something she couldn’t quite grasp. There was something about him that stirred an unfamiliar feeling deep inside her, a stir of curiosity and longing that she couldn’t explain. His black hair, messy and soft, framed his face in a way that made her ache to touch it. His deep, dark eyes—those eyes—seemed to look right through her, like he could see every thought she tried to keep hidden. It wasn’t just his looks that drew her in; it was the way he carried himself, the quiet confidence that radiated from him without effort. He was like a puzzle she desperately wanted to solve, a mystery that tugged at the very core of her. He stood there, just within her reach but somehow always out of it, and she couldn’t help but look, unable to stop herself. How had he gotten under her skin so easily, so quickly?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the smooth memory of his voice cutting through the boardwalk, gentle but firm. “What’s your name?” The question was simple, yet it made her pulse quicken in a way she couldn’t explain.

Y/N instinctively ran a hand through her hair, as though the gesture could steady her racing heartbeat. She tried to hide how much he affected her, how his presence made her feel like she was on the edge of something far beyond her control. “Y/N,” she said, her voice soft and almost a whisper. She couldn’t bring herself to say more, but the words spilled out anyway. “My mom used to call me Star, but that was a long time ago.”

His response was immediate, and it came with a grin that seemed to reveal some secret only he understood. “Your parents, too, huh?” The grin wasn’t teasing, but knowing—like he’d already figured something out about her that no one else had ever seen before.

She blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. The warmth in his eyes sent an inexplicable chill through her. What does he know?

With a light laugh, he explained, his voice playful. “Ex-hippies. I came this close to being called ‘Moonbeam’ or ‘Moonchild.’”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and free. It was a laugh that slipped out before she could stop it, a sound that felt like a secret shared only between the two of them. For a moment, everything else faded into the background, leaving just the two of them, wrapped in an unspoken connection. The world around them, with all its noise and distractions, didn’t exist—only him, only her, caught in the warmth of this shared moment.

"I’m Jungkook," he said, his voice softer now, almost as if he was letting her in on something precious. She repeated his name, her heart racing as it rolled off her tongue, tasting it like a secret meant just for her.

“Jungkook,” she whispered, feeling a warmth rise in her chest. It felt so right, so natural, like the name had always belonged there, waiting for her to say it. “Jungkook’s great. I like Jungkook.”

Her smile was genuine, unforced, and the truth behind it felt deeper than words could express. She meant it, more than she could ever say. Unknowingly, in that moment, she realized how much of herself she had already given away, how much she was already falling without even understanding it. It was like an invisible thread had tied them together, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pull away.

That moment marked the beginning, the moment that would change everything. She couldn’t imagine her life without him in it, not now, not ever. He had become something indispensable, something so deeply rooted in her heart that the thought of him not being there was almost unthinkable.

But as she lay awake in the dark, her thoughts tangled and torn, Y/N couldn’t shake the weight of guilt that pressed down on her chest. She watched him sleep, the rise and fall of his chest in the quiet of the night, his face peaceful, untouched by the turmoil inside her. The soft, rhythmic sound of his breathing only made her heart ache more. How did she end up here, so tangled up in him? Her eyes traced the lines of his face as he slept beside her, and she felt a sharp pang in her chest, a mixture of awe and overwhelming guilt.

I’ve ruined him, she thought bitterly, her mind spiraling. I’ve dragged him into this world. The thought consumed her. If it weren’t for her—if she had just kept her distance, if she hadn’t gotten so close—he wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be caught in the chaos she carried with her.

She thought back to their conversation earlier, the way his eyes had softened when he spoke of his younger brother, his voice filled with warmth and affection. But that warmth had vanished the moment he spoke of his parents, of their broken marriage and the constant fighting that echoed through their home. Y/N had noticed the change, the way his face had tightened, the sadness that crept into his eyes. The same sadness that haunted him, that had been a part of him long before she came into the picture. She could see the weight he carried, the way it weighed on him, and it broke her to think that he was now carrying even more—because of her.

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve me. The words echoed in her mind, and her heart clenched in response. But despite that, despite the guilt and the fear that had wrapped themselves around her like chains, there was something else, something deeper—something she didn’t understand. She looked at him, and every time their eyes met, there was an undeniable pull. She wanted to protect him, to make him feel safe, but that wasn’t all. She wanted him, needed him in a way that terrified her. In a way she couldn’t explain.

Her whole life, it had always been easier to keep people at a distance, to shield her heart and her emotions from anyone who might get too close. But with Jungkook, it was different. He was pulling her in, making her want things she had never allowed herself to desire. And now, as she lay beside him, she realized she was falling. Falling hard. And she couldn’t stop it.

What if I ruin him? The question whispered through her mind like a warning she couldn’t ignore. The thought of him becoming like her—of losing himself in the darkness she had come from—was unbearable.

She recalled that night—the night his eyes had glazed over with memories, when the pain of his parents' broken marriage had seeped into his voice. He had looked at her with that searching, vulnerable look, and in that moment, Y/N had known the truth: I can’t leave him. I can’t let him go. Her hand had reached out instinctively, finding his in the dark, and she had whispered words she wasn’t sure she believed. “It’s going to be okay.” But now, as she watched him sleep, she knew she had lied.

It’s not going to be okay. Not unless she could somehow protect him from the world she had pulled him into, a world that was dangerous and unknown. A world where love and light seemed so far away.

Y/N's mind drifted back to her childhood, to simpler times when everything felt light and full of possibility. She remembered the carefree sound of her younger self laughing with her brother, hiding in the bushes during a game of hide and seek, feeling the safety of her innocence. She remembered love that was pure and simple, the kind of love that only existed when you hadn’t yet been touched by the weight of the world.

But now? Now she was drowning in it. In him.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present, to the weight of what she had done, of how she had dragged Jungkook into her mess. Into the darkness. She had made him hers, but at what cost? She hated herself for letting him get so close, for allowing him into a life that wasn’t fit for someone like him. He deserved better. He deserved more.

But as she watched him sleep, her heart twisted with a mixture of love and guilt so intense she could hardly bear it. She didn’t know how to pull away, how to stop herself from falling further into something she knew could destroy them both. But deep down, she knew she didn’t want to stop. She couldn’t.

Because in loving him, she had already given up something precious—something important—and she feared it was too late to ever get it back.

Jungkook’s heart was full, brimming with an indescribable joy that settled deep within him like the warm embrace of a perfect moment. It wasn’t the kind of happiness that could be pinned down with words or measured by any single event—it was the kind that flowed through you quietly, a steady undercurrent that made everything feel just right. They rode together, side by side, on the motorcycle, the wind tugging playfully at their clothes, pulling them along at a pace that matched the rhythm of their hearts. The engine hummed beneath them, a deep vibration that resonated in their chests, and the steady beat of the tires on the road seemed to blend effortlessly with the soft, comforting melody of music that curled through the air like a protective cocoon, wrapping them in warmth and peace. Time, in that moment, felt like it had paused, or maybe it had slowed down just for them, allowing the world to fade away.

Her arms were wrapped around him, tightly and securely, her fingers pressing gently into the fabric of his jacket, as if anchoring herself to him, to this moment. He could feel the warmth of her body against his back, the soft rise and fall of her breath, each inhale and exhale in perfect synchrony with his own. Her presence was a comfort, an unspoken reassurance that he wasn’t alone. There was a quiet trust in the way she held him, a trust that went beyond the physical act of clinging to him—it was deeper, something more profound. She wasn’t holding on out of fear or necessity; no, she was holding on because she wanted to, because she was there with him, truly present in this moment, as they shared something unspoken and timeless. This wasn’t just a ride. It was them, existing together in this perfect, fragile space.

The night felt like a dream, half moonlight, half fantasy—an ethereal, almost otherworldly experience. Everything around them seemed to belong to them, as if the night itself had conspired to create a world that existed solely for them. The air was cool but comforting, filled with the scent of earth and sea, and the road beneath their tires seemed to wind and stretch out infinitely, like it was leading them toward something unknown, yet full of promise. Above them, the stars glowed faintly, scattered across the sky like forgotten wishes, and the moon cast a soft light on everything it touched. The night was alive with a magic that felt both fragile and eternal, as if the universe itself had paused just to witness them, to let them feel the weightless bliss of now.

It was the kind of moment that you wanted to freeze in time. A perfect symphony of feeling and time, played in the space between one heartbeat and the next. As Jungkook glanced at her, he couldn’t help but notice the soft curve of her face, illuminated by the pale light of the moon, the way it seemed to glow with a subtle radiance, as though she were more than just a part of this world—she was of this world, a creature of the night, of the stars, of the moment. He smiled to himself, the corners of his mouth pulling up in quiet satisfaction. He had never felt so content, so at peace with the world. The happiness he felt wasn’t just fleeting—it was deep, rooted in something timeless, something he could never quite explain. It was the kind of happiness that lived in the quiet rush of wind through his hair, in the steady hum of the motorcycle beneath him, in the feeling of her body pressed against his in perfect harmony. It was a happiness that didn’t demand anything from him—it simply was, and in its simple, unspoken nature, it was enough.

For a fleeting second, Jungkook thought that maybe, just maybe, this was what it meant to be truly happy. The world, with all its chaos and noise, had ceased to matter. In this moment, the road before them seemed endless, the future wide open, just waiting for them to take it. It felt as if they were standing on the precipice of something infinite, something beautiful and unbreakable, something that would never end. If only it could last forever, he thought.

But then—

The first light of dawn broke over the horizon, a soft, pale light creeping across the sky and painting it in hues of pink and gold, as if the world were being reborn with every passing second. The dreamlike haze that had settled over Jungkook began to dissipate, and with it, the stillness of the night seemed to vanish into the soft rush of morning. His eyes fluttered open, the cold morning air rushing in through the cave, ruffling his hair and stirring him from his sleep. His body was heavy, still weighed down by the remnants of slumber, but his mind was beginning to sharpen, becoming alert. The wind whispered through the cave, carrying with it the faintest rustling of wings in the distance, the murmur of voices that seemed to drift just beyond his reach, as if the air itself was alive, aware of something he couldn’t yet grasp.

He blinked, trying to shake off the grogginess that clung to him, his thoughts foggy, uncertain. As his gaze shifted to the side, his heart gave a sudden lurch as he saw Y/N lying beside him, still deeply asleep, her chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic pattern. She looked like she belonged in the night, her skin glowing softly in the dim light, as though she had somehow become part of it. She was peaceful, undisturbed by the awakening of the world around them, and for a moment, Jungkook found himself simply watching her, unable to tear his eyes away. The feeling of warmth and security that filled him was almost overwhelming. But it wasn’t enough to keep him tethered to the quiet joy of the night before.

He reached out, his fingers grazing her arm, his touch gentle as he tried to wake her from her dreams. “Y/N,” he whispered softly, the sound of her name delicate, fragile in the stillness of the cave. “I have to talk to you.”

But she didn’t stir. Her body remained still, her face serene in the depths of sleep. Her lips parted slightly, and a soft, sleep-filled murmur escaped her.

“I have to sleep,” she whispered, her words barely audible, like secrets only the morning could hear. “I have to sleep, Jungkook.”

A knot of frustration tightened in Jungkook’s chest. His brow furrowed in confusion. What was going on? There was something in the air, a strange sense of urgency that he couldn’t shake, something he couldn’t quite explain. Why did it feel like something was wrong? He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear, his voice now edged with urgency, desperation creeping in. “When?” he asked, his tone rising slightly. “When, Y/N?”

Her response came slowly, wrapped in the haze of sleep, her voice soft and distant. “Tonight. At the boardwalk...” she murmured, her words trailing off as if they were drifting into the ether.

And just like that, her voice faded into the silence, her breathing evening out again as she slipped back into the depths of untroubled sleep. Jungkook was left staring at her, his heart aching with a hollow feeling he couldn’t explain. Her absence in the wake of her words left him feeling as if something precious had slipped through his fingers. Something had shifted, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. What did she mean? What had she meant by tonight?

The silence around him grew heavier, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t lift. He sat up, his legs unsteady, his mind racing as he struggled to piece together the meaning of her cryptic words. The cave was eerily quiet. Moon, her ever-present companion, was curled up in the corner, lost to the world, but the rest of the Lost Boys were nowhere to be found. The emptiness of the cave was suffocating.

He glanced around, searching for something, anything, that could help him make sense of this strange, unsettling feeling twisting in his gut. He stood up, his muscles aching from the lingering heaviness of sleep, and stepped outside into the cool morning air, the world outside waking up in the soft light of dawn. The sky was shedding its colors from the night’s darkness into the soft glow of day, and Jungkook’s motorcycle roared to life beneath him.

Without thinking, he sped off toward Min-chul’s house, his mind a blur, his thoughts swirling with confusion and doubt. The journey ahead of him was nothing more than a streak of motion, each mile further into uncertainty. The road before him seemed endless, the destination unknown, and the only thing he knew for certain was that he couldn’t shake the feeling that something—something crucial—was slipping away, just out of his reach.

When Jungkook arrived at Wanda’s house, the morning light was still soft, casting a warm glow over the front porch. Wanda was sitting there, alone, her legs tucked under her, her coffee mug in hand. The steam from the hot drink curled lazily into the crisp morning air, rising in tendrils that seemed to catch the light before dissipating into the cool breeze. The scene was peaceful, almost serene, yet the quiet surrounding her was broken by the tension that hung between them.

She looked up as he approached, her gaze softening when she recognized him. The muscles in his face tensed, his footsteps heavy, but he didn’t slow down as he neared her. Wanda offered a small, quiet greeting, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. It wasn’t the kind of smile she usually gave. There was something behind it, something she couldn’t quite hide.

"Hi," she said, her voice light but carrying a weight that made it feel like more than just a casual greeting. The way her words lingered in the air, hung between them, felt almost like a question, like she was asking if everything was still okay, if things were still the way they used to be.

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. He didn’t even look her in the eye as he walked past her, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like a heavy cloak. His mind was swirling, tangled in a mess of confusion, and he wasn’t ready to face what lay ahead. Not yet. His gaze remained fixed ahead, and his pace didn’t falter as he walked toward the door of the house, trying to escape whatever it was that was clawing at him from within. He wasn’t ready to talk. Not today.

Wanda, however, wasn’t going to let him slip away that easily. Her voice broke through the silence, sharper now, her concern turning into something more urgent. "What’s the matter, Jungkook? Aren’t we friends anymore?" The question wasn’t just a casual inquiry—it was a crack in the wall she’d built around her own emotions. She had been watching him for days, seeing the way he carried himself with a weight too heavy for someone his age, the way he withdrew from conversations, from everyone, like he was afraid to let anyone in. Her heart clenched in her chest, a mix of worry and frustration. She didn’t know what was happening to him, but she knew something was wrong.

He stopped for a moment, his feet frozen on the porch, the space between them growing uncomfortable. His eyes flicked to the ground as he considered her question. There was a hesitation, a pause that lingered far too long, as if he was weighing the words in his mind. His shoulders were tense, and the hollow ache in his chest seemed to take root, spreading through him. "Sure," he muttered, but even to him, the word felt empty, a mere formality. It lacked conviction, and he could feel it. His heart clenched as soon as it left his lips, as if a part of him knew it wasn’t the truth.

Wanda didn’t let him off the hook that easily. Her brow furrowed, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice rising just enough to show the urgency in her words. "Does that mean we are, or we aren’t?" she pressed, trying to dig deeper, trying to reach him in a way that she knew only a friend could. There was a vulnerability in her voice now, a rawness that she didn’t normally allow to show. She wanted him to talk, to tell her what was wrong, because she knew—she knew—that he wasn’t just acting distant for no reason.

"We are..." Jungkook mumbled again, but this time, it felt like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. His voice lacked the warmth it usually had when he said those words to her. There was no certainty there, no assurance that everything was okay. It felt fragile, as if the idea of friendship itself was something he was barely holding onto, slipping through his fingers like sand.

Wanda didn’t look convinced. She stood up, the concern in her eyes deepening, and she pressed him again. "Then let’s act like friends. Let’s talk." Her voice softened, but there was an edge of persistence in it, an unspoken plea that he wouldn’t walk away from her just yet. "I know this is a new place for you, and—"

Jungkook cut her off before she could finish, the frustration that had been building inside him finally breaking through. His jaw clenched as he rolled his eyes, the impatience surging in his chest like a storm ready to burst. "If there’s a girl, we could talk about her," Wanda said lightly, as if it were nothing more than a passing thought, but it was enough to tip him over the edge.

Without warning, the storm broke. His words were sharp, cutting through the calm like thunder. "I’m tired now," he snapped, his voice edged with something darker, something heavier than he could explain. The weight of everything—the dreams, Y/N, the chaos swirling inside him, the pressure of trying to make sense of it all—pressed down on his shoulders like a boulder he couldn’t move. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like the world around him was too much.

Wanda didn’t let him go that easily, though. She wasn’t going to just let him retreat into silence. "Wait a minute, kiddo," she called after him, her voice gentle but firm. There was a softness in the way she spoke, a tenderness that came from years of caring for him, watching him grow up, seeing the good in him even when he couldn’t see it himself. But Jungkook didn’t stop. He didn’t even turn around.

"Mom... please," he muttered under his breath, barely audible, but it was enough to stop her in her tracks. The words hung between them, unfinished, like something left unsaid. The ache in his chest grew even deeper, but he kept walking, his steps heavy, his mind too clouded to process everything that was happening. The words he didn’t say, the things he was too afraid to confront, stayed with him, echoing in the space between them.

Wanda stood there for a moment, staring at his retreating form, her heart heavy with frustration and concern. Her hand instinctively tugged at her ear—an unconscious habit she had when she didn’t know what to do next, when she was unsure of how to handle a situation that felt too big to fix. She glanced at his earring, a symbol of his rebellion against the world, a part of him that she didn’t fully understand, but it was a part of him nonetheless. She wanted to ask him about it, to understand why he wore it, but now wasn’t the time. There was no room for that conversation now, no space to talk about the things that had been gnawing at her.

Her eyes lingered on the empty space between them, feeling the distance grow, knowing that there was something more, something unsaid, that neither of them was ready to confront. She didn’t know how to bridge that gap, how to reach him when he was so determined to shut her out. But somehow, she knew it was coming—the storm, the reckoning, the moment when everything would spill out and they would have to face it. She only hoped they could both handle it when it did.

Jung-Hyun sat at the kitchen table, absently pushing a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, his attention fully captured by the vampire comic in front of him. His brow furrowed as he flipped a page, the glossy paper catching the light filtering in through the window, the bright colors of the panels almost too vivid to be real. The comic was intense, filled with dramatic moments of gory action and dark, fantastical imagery. One vampire—a gaunt, pale figure with fangs bared—was being staked through the heart in a grotesque explosion of blood. The sound effects on the page felt almost deafening as the scene unfolded. Jung-Hyun couldn’t tear his eyes away, his mind absorbed in the story.

Across the kitchen, Min-chul stood by the counter, pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee. The liquid hissed as it splashed into the mug, sending up faint clouds of steam that mingled with the warm morning air. He glanced at his brother, taking a slow sip from his mug, letting the silence settle between them. It was the kind of silence only siblings could share—comfortable, familiar, and oddly content. No need for words. Just a quiet acknowledgment of each other’s presence. But that didn’t stop Min-chul from breaking the moment with his usual smirk.

"Looks like I wasn’t the only one who got lucky last night," he said, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest.

Jung-Hyun didn’t even blink. His eyes flickered down to the page of the comic, where the vampire was bleeding out in a grotesque spray. His stomach churned, the image too graphic, too visceral. A cold wave of nausea hit him unexpectedly, and without a word, he pushed away from the table, his legs unsteady as he left the kitchen behind. The rhythmic beat of his pulse thundered in his ears as he tried to push the discomfort away.

Outside, the sharp light of the morning sun glinted off the sleek black Land Rover as it rolled to a stop in front of the house. Jung-Hyun leaned forward in the passenger seat, squinting up at the massive structure in front of them. The house loomed large and imposing, its dark windows reflecting the sunlight like an uninviting fortress. He nudged the window down a fraction, letting the cool breeze brush against his face as he looked out. "That it?" he asked, his tone skeptical, as if expecting something more.

Wanda glanced at him for a moment before checking a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. "Yeah. Not bad, huh?" she said, a hint of pride in her voice, as though the house somehow measured up to her expectations. She reached down and grabbed a wine bottle with a note taped to the neck, holding it out in front of her. "An apology for running out on Hoseok last night…" Her voice shifted toward teasing as she shot a quick glance toward her son. "Actually, you should be making this apology."

Jung-Hyun snorted but didn’t argue. He could feel the tension of the morning pressing down on him, a quiet unease he couldn’t shake. Wanda swung open the car door, her boots clicking against the pavement as she stepped out with a purposeful stride. She didn’t waste any time, heading directly toward the main gate. She gave it a quick push, but the metal bars didn’t budge. Locked.

"I’ll leave it on the porch," she muttered under her breath, scanning the area to make sure no one was watching. "Otherwise, someone’s just gonna take it." Without another word, she climbed over a low section of the fence with surprising grace, her movements fluid and practiced. She landed lightly on the other side, barely making a sound.

Jung-Hyun leaned back in the seat, watching his mother with a mix of admiration and disbelief. She was still as capable as ever, but something about this situation felt off—too quiet, too still. His unease only grew as Wanda made her way toward the front porch, her focus fixed on the task ahead.

As she approached the front porch, Wanda’s eyes scanned the yard, noting the absence of people. The house was unnervingly quiet. Too quiet. The only movement came from Mickey, Hoseok’s massive black-furred dog, who was sprawled lazily on the ground in the sun. His heavy breathing was the only sound that broke the stillness as his chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm.

Wanda slowed her pace, her gaze softening as she looked at Mickey, who appeared to be napping peacefully. She didn’t want to disturb him, but she couldn’t leave the bottle on the porch for too long. "Hi, Mickey," she murmured as she stepped carefully toward the door, trying not to make too much noise. The dog’s eyes were closed, his body relaxed, but Wanda was cautious—always cautious around the large dog.

But then, in a blink, everything changed.

Mickey’s eyes snapped open, his pupils narrowing with a sudden, sharp intensity. In one fluid motion, the dog surged to his feet, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest. Wanda froze, her heart skipping a beat. Before she could react, Mickey was already in motion—a blur of black fur and muscle. The sound of his teeth snapping shut echoed through the yard as he lunged forward, faster than Wanda could process.

The snarl that left Mickey’s throat was primal, a warning that didn’t need any translation. Wanda’s breath caught in her throat as she realized the dog wasn’t playing—it was attacking. For just a split second, time seemed to slow down as she stood frozen, unsure of what to do.

And then, her survival instinct kicked in.

"Mom!!" Jung-Hyun’s voice rang out from behind her, breaking through the chaos. The panic in his tone made her heart race. She didn’t look back. Her only thought was to get over the fence—get away from the dog.

With a surge of adrenaline, Wanda bolted, her feet pounding against the ground as she made a beeline for the fence. The wine bottle slipped from her grasp, crashing against the pavement with a sharp, shattering sound. The glass scattered in all directions, but there was no time to think about it. Mickey was close—too close—and the sound of his furious barking seemed to shake the air itself.

Wanda reached the fence just as Mickey collided with it, his massive frame slamming into the metal bars. The fence groaned under the force, the impact reverberating through the ground beneath her feet. Wanda’s foot slipped as she scrambled to climb over the low section of the fence, her hands struggling to find purchase.

In the next instant, she was on the other side, her body hitting the sidewalk with a painful thud. She winced as her knees scraped against the rough pavement, blood welling up from the scrapes, but the pain barely registered. The only thing that mattered was getting away.

Jung-Hyun was already there, rushing toward her with wide eyes. His face was pale, his breath coming in frantic bursts. "You okay, Mom?" His voice cracked with worry, his hands hovering over her as if he wasn’t sure how to help.

"I’m okay," Wanda panted, her heart still racing as she tried to steady herself. She forced a smile, though it was weak and strained. "I’m okay."

Behind them, Mickey continued to pace back and forth along the fence, his eyes glowing with aggression. His bark was relentless, rattling the frame of the gate, and his teeth gleamed in the sunlight, his body vibrating with frustration. Wanda couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze, knowing that the dog’s fury hadn’t yet subsided.

Jung-Hyun stayed close to his mother, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. But there was no comfort in the moment. Only the sound of Mickey’s barking filling the space between them, and the realization that something wasn’t right with the world around them.

-

The Pacific breeze tugged at their clothes, its cool touch mingling with the warmth of the morning sun as Jung-Hyun and the Kim brothers made their way down the boardwalk. The salty scent of the sea curled around them, carrying the rhythm of the waves crashing on the shore. The sun shone brightly, casting a golden glow over the beach, but the group of three barely noticed the peaceful scene around them. Their minds were focused elsewhere, their thoughts a tangled mess of suspicion and fear.

Jung-Hyun’s stomach churned as they walked. The weight of the situation—the strange, unexplainable events that had been happening recently—pressed down on him, and he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something was terribly wrong. His thoughts kept drifting to his brother, the subtle changes that had begun to appear, and the eerie presence of the man who had been visiting his mom. The Pacific breeze barely registered as his mind reeled, his footsteps feeling too heavy for the carefree environment.

Namjoon, ever the stoic one, adjusted his glasses and glanced over at Jung-Hyun. "We’ve been aware of some very serious vampire activity in this town for a long time," he said in a low, measured tone, as though he were sharing a piece of classified information. His voice was steady, but there was an undertone of urgency that Jung-Hyun couldn’t ignore.

Seokjin nodded solemnly, his usual easygoing demeanor momentarily absent. "Santa Carla’s basically a haven for the undead," he said, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and resignation. "Vampires, ghouls, werewolves—it’s like a supernatural melting pot around here."

Namjoon’s voice dropped even lower, a hint of conspiracy in his words. "As a matter of fact, we’re almost certain ghouls and werewolves occupy high positions at City Hall. They’ve infiltrated the system, making it easier for their kind to thrive under the radar."

Jung-Hyun glanced between them, his mind racing. The brothers were calm, collected, like this was all routine to them. But to him, everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. The connection between his brother’s strange behavior and his mom’s new boyfriend—who, Jung-Hyun was starting to suspect, wasn’t exactly human—had hit him like a freight train. He had to share this with them.

They plopped down on the wooden steps overlooking the beach, the worn wood creaking beneath them. Sunbathers stretched lazily across the sand, but Jung-Hyun barely noticed them. His mind was consumed with the weight of his next words, the confession that had been eating away at him for days.

"I have something to tell you guys," he said, his voice uncertain. He hesitated for a moment, chewing nervously on his lip. The words seemed impossible to say out loud. But he knew he had to. "Not only is my own brother showing signs of being a vampire…" He trailed off, trying to steady his breath. "But now I’m convinced my mom’s dating one."

Namjoon didn’t even blink. He didn’t need to. His eyes remained fixed on Jung-Hyun, calculating, taking in the gravity of what was being said. "That’s very probable," he said, his tone devoid of judgment or surprise. "What’s your reasoning?"

Jung-Hyun shifted uncomfortably, his fingers tapping nervously against his knee as he tried to find the right words. "Well…" He struggled for a moment, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of events. "He only shows up after dark, and whenever he’s around, there’s something… off. And today—" He swallowed hard, the image of the dog’s attack still vivid in his mind. "Today, his dog tried to rip my mom apart."

Seokjin’s eyes widened, his expression changing from casual to alarmed. "Wait—what?" He leaned forward, listening intently.

Jung-Hyun yanked a crumpled comic book from his back pocket and flipped it open, pulling it from the dog-eared page. "Listen to this," he said, his voice low. "From Vampires Everywhere…"

He cleared his throat and began to read aloud, his voice steady but heavy with disbelief. "'Vampires require a daytime protector—a Guardian—to watch over them as they sleep. Since they hold sway over animals, fierce dogs—the hounds of Hell—are often employed for this purpose.'"

The words hung in the air like a dark omen. Seokjin’s jaw dropped as the realization hit him. "Holy crap," he muttered, his eyes wide with shock.

Namjoon smirked, a hint of pride flickering in his gaze. "I told you that comic would save your life," he said, his voice tinged with smug satisfaction.

Jung-Hyun almost laughed in relief, but before he could, a shadow fell across the page. His stomach dropped.

Greg and the Swell Brigade.

The worst kind of trouble.

Before Jung-Hyun could react, Greg snatched the comic from his hands, his large frame looming over them with a predatory grin. In a flash, the pages were ripped and torn, fluttering to the ground like confetti in the wind.

"Oops," Greg said, his grin razor-sharp and mocking. "Guess you’re not getting that back."

The Swell Brigade cackled as they walked off, kicking up sand as they went, their laughter carrying across the beach like a taunt.

Namjoon shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching in frustration. "I wish they were vampires so I could nuke them in their hearts," he muttered under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides.

Jung-Hyun shot him a sideways glance, a small spark of defiance in his voice. "How do you know they’re not?"

Seokjin, ever the practical one, chimed in with a dismissive shrug. "They wouldn’t be out in the daytime," he pointed out. "Vampires can’t risk the sun, remember?"

Jung-Hyun narrowed his eyes at Seokjin. "Exactly how many vampires have you actually destroyed?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Namjoon hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the question. "All together?" he asked, as though trying to calculate. "None," he admitted, sounding a bit sheepish.

Seokjin held up a hand, forming a small circle with his thumb and forefinger. "Zero," he said, his tone deadpan as he glanced at Jung-Hyun, who stared at them both, incredulous.

Jung-Hyun shook his head, still processing the conversation. "Seriously?" he asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and frustration. "You guys have been dealing with this stuff for how long and you haven’t even destroyed one vampire?"

Namjoon squared his shoulders, his expression turning serious. "Hey, just because a Marine hasn’t seen combat doesn’t mean he still isn’t a Marine," he said, standing up and brushing off his jeans with a determined air. "Let’s check out your mom’s boyfriend. Maybe we’ll learn something."

Jung-Hyun stood, following them, but the unease in his gut only deepened. The fear that had been gnawing at him for days was turning into something darker, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The feeling of being watched—of being surrounded by shadows—was growing stronger, and his instincts screamed that something bad was coming.

His stomach churned, and despite the resolve of his friends, he knew it wouldn’t be easy to uncover the truth. If no one else was going to figure it out, then he would. Something was off, and Jung-Hyun wasn’t about to sit idly by and let it unfold without understanding what was really going on. He wasn’t just going to let his family get caught up in whatever this was.

Jungkook stood in front of the mirror, his fingers working the zipper of his jacket with practiced ease. The fabric was dark, a deep shade of black that seemed to swallow light, its worn edges adding character to the sleek silhouette. The collar was sharp, crisply folded, and it sat just right, framing his face in a way that made his sharp jawline stand out even more. His hair, tousled in that perfect, rebellious way, fell across his forehead in a messy sweep, casting shadows over his eyes. It wasn’t intentional—just a natural result of his disinterest in meticulous grooming—but the more he looked at himself, the more he realized it was happening. He was starting to resemble them. The Lost Boys. The ones who had a wild, untamed air about them, the ones who lived outside the boundaries of convention. Jungkook felt a strange tug in his chest as he inspected the image in the mirror, his reflection becoming a stranger to him.

Downstairs, the kitchen was alive with the sounds of simmering sauce and the warmth of home. Wanda, standing over the stove, stirred a pot of what smelled like something incredible—garlic, tomatoes, and a hint of herbs floating in the air. The rich scent filled the entire house, weaving its way through the rooms. Min-chul, standing behind her with his arms crossed, leaned in closer to inhale the fragrance.

“Smells good,” he said, his voice thick with appreciation as he lifted the lid to peek inside. “When do we eat?”

Wanda, without missing a beat, glanced over her shoulder at him. “I told Hoseok eight o’clock.”

Min-chul’s eyebrows furrowed at the mention of the name. “Hoseok? You mean we’re having company again?”

Wanda turned fully, spoon in hand, her expression softening slightly at the question. “‘Again’? Dad, you haven’t had company in this house since Mom died eight years ago.”

Min-chul gave a grunt of dismissal, crossing his arms. “Right. And now we’re having company again. I’ll take mine to go.”

Before Wanda could muster a response, Jungkook appeared in the doorway. His jacket was half-zipped, and his expression was a mix of determination and detachment, the look of someone heading out to escape the mundane.

“Hoseok is coming for dinner,” Wanda said carefully, her eyes studying him, as if weighing his mood. “I’d like you to meet him.”

Jungkook didn’t slow down. His steps barely faltered as he moved toward the door, his voice drifting back to her, casual and dismissive. “Can’t. Got plans.”

“There’s only three weeks left of summer,” Wanda said, her tone shifting into something softer, more coaxing. “Things are going to change around here when school starts.”

Jungkook didn’t seem to hear her. His hand was already on the door, and in one swift motion, he yanked it open—only to stop dead in his tracks, his chest colliding with the doorframe as he nearly walked straight into someone.

Hoseok stood on the other side of the threshold, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. One hand was raised halfway, like he’d just been about to knock. His warm gaze met Jungkook’s, and for a split second, Jungkook felt something shift in the air—a tension he couldn’t place. “Hey. How ya doin’? Jungkook, right?”

Jungkook blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. Hoseok… right?” His voice was a little flat, his usual confidence tempered by the strange situation. The air between them felt thick with something unspoken, an odd mix of familiarity and distance.

An awkward beat stretched between them, neither of them moving forward. Hoseok’s half-smile lingered, like he was waiting for something—some kind of invitation, some form of acknowledgment that was just beyond reach. Jungkook frowned, unsure of what to make of it.

“You’re the man of the house, Jungkook,” Hoseok said after a long pause, his voice deliberately casual. “I’m not coming in unless you invite me.”

Jungkook stared at him for a moment, the words not quite registering at first. That was… weird. A little too formal for his taste. But whatever. He shrugged it off, unwilling to entertain the oddness of the situation any longer. “Come in, come in. I’m inviting you.”

Hoseok stepped inside with a slight nod, but Jungkook didn’t stick around. He made no effort to extend the greeting further, simply pushing past him and stepping out onto the porch. The evening air hit him in a rush, the cool breeze brushing against his skin as he made his way to the bike resting against the porch railing.

“See ya,” Jungkook called back over his shoulder without looking.

As he hopped onto the bike and pushed off the ground, the familiar hum of the tires on pavement settled beneath him. He glanced back toward the front of the house, his eyes briefly catching on Hoseok’s sleek black sports car parked out front. The vehicle gleamed under the fading sunlight—black and chrome, looking like something out of a movie. It was undeniably cool. Even Jungkook had to admit that. There was a sharpness to it, a certain kind of dangerous appeal.

But still, he couldn’t shake the unease that had been settling into his chest all afternoon. Hoseok—his mom’s new boyfriend—was different. There was something about him that didn’t quite fit. Something about the way he carried himself, how calm and composed he seemed, even in moments when a more human reaction would be expected. Jungkook’s instincts, usually sharp, were telling him to be cautious, but he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the road ahead.

Whatever this was, he would figure it out. He always did.

But tonight—tonight, he had to be somewhere else. Somewhere where he didn’t have to think about his mom’s boyfriend, or the strange shift in his own reflection, or the way things were starting to feel like they were slipping out of his control. He had plans.

Inside, Wanda nearly jumped out of her skin when Hoseok appeared in the kitchen doorway, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Hello,” he said, his voice smooth, effortlessly charming.

Wanda spun around, her hand flying to her chest, her breath hitching in surprise. “God, you scared me,” she admitted, letting out a nervous laugh as she placed the spoon she had been stirring back into the pot.

Hoseok chuckled softly, watching Wanda carefully as she placed a fresh loaf of bread onto the table, its warm, crusty exterior tempting anyone nearby. “Is it okay for the guest to see the food before dinner?” he asked, a playful glint in his eye as he leaned against the doorframe, clearly at ease.

Wanda glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re thinking of the groom not seeing the bride before the wedding,” she replied, smirking as she worked.

Hoseok’s smile widened, his eyes glimmering with humor. “Oh, right. I always get those two confused,” he joked, stepping further into the kitchen with a mock sheepishness that was endearing, even though Wanda couldn’t help but wonder if it was all just a bit too rehearsed.

He followed her into the dining room, where everything was set with careful precision—the fork handles gleaming, napkins folded neatly, and the dimming light from the evening sun casting a golden glow over the scene. Wanda placed the loaf of bread gently on the table, and for a moment, the two of them just stood there, sharing a quiet moment. Then, suddenly, Hoseok stepped closer, his breath warm against her neck. His arms slipped around her waist with a natural ease, pulling her into him. She could feel his lips brushing against her skin, his touch light but intimate.

For a heartbeat, Wanda felt herself soften, a smile tugging at her lips, until—

“Mom…”

The voice rang through the room, cutting the moment short. Both Wanda and Hoseok froze, looking toward the doorway. Jung-Hyun stood there, flanked by two younger men—both tall, both silent, their expressions unreadable.

“These are my dinner guests,” Jung-Hyun continued, his tone far too casual for the tension in the room. “Namjoon and Seokjin. The Kim brothers.”

Wanda blinked, thrown off by the unexpected arrival of both her son and his companions. She quickly glanced between Jung-Hyun and the two men, who were already sizing up Hoseok. Their eyes never left him, measuring, calculating, but saying nothing. Their scrutiny was palpable.

“Well,” Jung-Hyun quipped, his voice dripping with a teasing tone, “if we’re in your way, we can just eat peanut butter out of the jar in the kitchen.”

“No, no… there’s plenty for everybody,” Wanda insisted, flustered by the intrusion. She waved her hand in an attempt to recover, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “Oh, Hoseok, this is Jung-Hyun… and the Kim brothers…”

She eyed the trio carefully as they walked into the room, her confusion evident. She hadn’t expected company, especially not in the middle of everything, and certainly not with a strange tension hanging in the air. But the Kims and Jung-Hyun weren’t paying attention to her or her attempts to introduce them; all their focus was on Hoseok, like the rest of the world had faded into the background. Wanda stood there, still trying to grasp the situation, but it was as though something else was unfolding right under her nose.

Dinner started off awkwardly. The only sounds that punctuated the silence were the occasional clink of silverware and the faint scrape of plates being shifted. Namjoon and Seokjin didn’t seem to care much about their food, their attention entirely fixed on Hoseok. They watched his every move, silent but clearly taking stock of him with a kind of cold, calculating intensity. Wanda, thankfully, was busy serving spaghetti, her focus on the task at hand, which allowed her to ignore the strange atmosphere hanging thick in the air.

“This looks terrific, Wanda,” Hoseok said after a long, heavy silence, picking up his fork and flashing her a warm smile.

Wanda, still distracted by the flurry of serving, muttered without looking up. “Boy, somebody around here sure has bad breath!”

The room fell immediately silent as everyone turned their gaze toward Hoseok, who sat frozen, fork halfway to his mouth, wondering if he was the one being referenced. His confusion was palpable, but Wanda wasn’t talking about him. She glanced under the table, where the large dog, Bam, had been breathing a little too close for comfort, his heavy panting filling the space between them.

“Bam, stop breathin' on me,” Wanda snapped, shaking her head as she glanced down at the dog, who lazily raised his head in response to her irritation. Jung-Hyun, seizing the moment, immediately called the dog over to him, and the focus shifted from Hoseok to the slightly problematic canine.

The Kims exchanged looks of quiet disappointment, clearly hoping for something more interesting, more dramatic to unfold. But the attention stayed on Hoseok, who now appeared somewhat uncomfortable as he stared at the large plate of spaghetti in front of him, unsure what to make of the situation.

“Need some Parmesan on that?” Jung-Hyun asked, leaning in with a subtle grin that barely hid his amusement. It was almost as if he enjoyed watching Hoseok squirm, though he did his best to remain nonchalant.

Hoseok nodded, reaching for the cheese. “Okay, Jung-Hyun. Thanks.”

As he sprinkled the Parmesan, Namjoon and Seokjin exchanged another quiet, meaningful glance, but Hoseok didn’t seem to notice. He was too preoccupied with taking his first bite of the spaghetti. But as the bite hit his tongue, his expression immediately shifted. His face contorted, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“It’s garlic!” Hoseok sputtered, holding his fork out as if it might bite him. “I like garlic, but… this is too much!” His eyes were wide, his reaction completely over the top, though it wasn’t entirely clear whether he was serious or just playing it up.

Wanda’s eyes widened in concern. “Hoseok! What’s wrong?” she asked, genuinely startled by his reaction.

Jung-Hyun, almost too casually, grinned. “Quick—drink some water!” he called out, his voice holding a mocking edge.

Before Hoseok could even react, Jung-Hyun leaned in and spilled an entire glass of water right into Hoseok’s lap. The water splashed loudly, soaking into his clothes, and Hoseok immediately jumped to his feet, flailing in a desperate attempt to mop up the spill with his napkin.

“Hey! Easy!” Hoseok protested, his face flushed with both surprise and frustration. “What the hell?”

Jung-Hyun grinned wider, clearly amused by the whole spectacle, leaning in as if it were all some kind of inside joke. “Does it burn?”

“Burn?” Hoseok shot back, incredulous. “Are you kidding? It’s freezing!”

Wanda stood up instantly, horrified by the sudden chaos. “Hoseok, I’m so sorry,” she said, rushing to his side, her voice filled with panic as she tried to help him clean up.

Before anything else could happen, Namjoon, his expression one of disdain, leaned back in his chair, clearly above it all. Without so much as a glance at anyone else, he casually reached over and flicked the light switch. The room fell into sudden darkness, the only sound the shuffling of feet and the scrape of chairs as everyone fumbled in the unfamiliar blackness.

The room was eerily silent. Wanda stood frozen in the dark, her hand still half-raised as if she were reaching for the light switch, her voice barely a whisper. “Oh, no. Now what?”

Jung-Hyun, seemingly unfazed, didn’t even blink as he spoke. “Must be a circuit breaker,” he said, his calm voice cutting through the tension as though he were merely stating a fact.

In the dark, the sounds of shuffling feet, bumping into one another, and the occasional crash of furniture moving around were the only things that punctuated the stillness. It was almost as if they were all trying to act like everything was normal.

Namjoon’s voice broke through the dark, barely more than a whisper. “He’s not glowing.”

Jung-Hyun’s response was almost immediate. “Hit the lights again.”

The switch flicked, and the lights blared back to life. But it wasn’t the brightness that shocked everyone. It was the sight of Jung-Hyun, standing there with a small mirror held up, its reflective surface directed straight at Hoseok. The mirror glinted in the light, reflecting Hoseok’s startled face back at him.

Hoseok’s reaction was immediate—he jolted back in shock, his face flushing in embarrassment at the sight of his own reflection. “Ah!” he let out, his voice sharp and panicked, as if he’d been burned by the sight itself. He backed away from the mirror like it might bite him.

The Kims exchanged looks of quiet annoyance, clearly unimpressed by the result, and not at all interested in the bizarre spectacle unfolding before them. Jung-Hyun leaned in, still holding the mirror in front of Hoseok, his eyes sharp and focused as he watched Hoseok's every move. The irritation in his gaze was undeniable.

Wanda, her cheeks flushed with a mix of confusion and frustration, shot to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Jung-Hyun! What’s gotten into you tonight?!” she exclaimed, her voice rising with a mixture of anger and disbelief. Her hands, trembling slightly, were planted firmly on her hips, a clear sign of how thrown off she was by the sudden tension in the room.

The atmosphere in the dining room felt electric, charged with the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. Hoseok, who had been standing with his back to the table, finally allowed a slow, controlled exhale to escape his lips. His body was rigid, the muscles in his shoulders stiffened with the weight of the situation. He turned his head slightly toward Wanda, offering a look of quiet understanding before his gaze shifted to Jung-Hyun, who was still standing at the center of the room, his face unreadable.

“I think I know what’s going on here,” Hoseok finally said, his voice steady, though there was a strained edge to it. He wasn’t yelling or panicking, but there was no mistaking that the words were hard for him to say.

Jung-Hyun’s brows furrowed at the comment, and he glanced at Hoseok with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. “You do?” he asked, his tone laced with uncertainty. It wasn’t clear if he was trying to figure out Hoseok’s thoughts, or if he was challenging him outright.

Hoseok nodded slowly, his expression unwavering, but his gaze was intense, locking eyes with Jung-Hyun. “Sure. I understand what you’re thinking, Jung-Hyun. But you’re wrong,” he said calmly, though there was a quiet firmness behind his words, as if he was trying to reassure both of them, even if only for a moment.

Jung-Hyun tilted his head slightly, his expression shifting into one of quiet disbelief. “I am?” The challenge was there, but it wasn’t as biting as before, almost as if he was waiting for Hoseok to clarify.

Hoseok’s lips twitched into a half-smile, though it was small and uncertain, like he wasn’t quite sure how to navigate this conversation. “Yeah,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m not trying to replace your dad, or steal your mom,” he added, his words almost a whisper, but they carried a weight that seemed to settle in the room. “I just want to be your friend.”

Jung-Hyun’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something that could have been shame crossing his face. His shoulders seemed to drop a fraction of an inch, but it was a fleeting moment. He wasn’t ready to back down entirely, but for a brief second, there was a change in him. It was as if Hoseok’s words had cracked through the wall Jung-Hyun had built up.

The Kims, however, were entirely still. Their faces remained impassive, unreadable. They didn’t react to the moment of vulnerability between Hoseok and Jung-Hyun, their attention fixed somewhere else, as though this was a sideshow to whatever they were focused on.

Wanda, feeling the weight of the moment, crossed the room with a soft exhale, her steps slow, purposeful. She reached out to Hoseok, her voice low with regret as she spoke. “I’m really sorry, Hoseok,” she said, her words thick with an emotion Hoseok couldn’t quite name. She stopped just a few feet away from him, her hand brushing against the edge of his arm in a gentle, almost hesitant gesture.

Hoseok turned toward her, letting out a quiet, resigned sigh. “Our batting average isn’t very good, is it? So far, we’re zero for two,” he said with a small, rueful smile, but there was a tiredness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. His attempt at humor didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Wanda could see the weariness there—of both the situation and the attempts to connect that had so far fallen short.

Wanda pressed her lips together tightly, her eyes flicking down to the floor in a moment of quiet reflection. “I don’t understand Jung-Hyun,” she confessed, her voice tinged with hurt. She looked up at Hoseok, her gaze searching his, like she was looking for answers he didn’t have. “He’s just not like this...”

Hoseok leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed but still tinged with an underlying tension. He studied her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Boys Jung-Hyun’s age need a good deal of discipline,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. “Or they walk all over you,” he added, the statement so blunt that it seemed to hang in the air for a moment, waiting for a reaction.

Wanda immediately bristled, her chin lifting slightly, the defensiveness creeping into her tone. “He doesn’t walk all over me,” she countered quickly, her words sharp, as if she was trying to defend herself, to protect the bond she shared with her son.

Hoseok softened his expression, his eyes gentle as he met hers. “I don’t want to fight with you, Wanda,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper, like he was trying to ease the rising tension. He sighed, running a hand through his hair in a familiar, almost defeated motion. “Come on,” he continued, his words a quiet plea, “Let’s give it one more try.”

The silence between them stretched for a moment before Hoseok’s lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Dinner at my house tomorrow night,” he added, the playful tone returning to his voice as he tried to lighten the mood. “I’m cooking.” The promise of something different, something to look forward to, was a welcome change in the midst of the strained atmosphere.

Wanda hesitated for a long moment, her eyes still searching his, as if she were weighing whether this was the right thing to do, or whether the friction between them would follow them there too. The tension between them had been palpable, but Hoseok’s invitation seemed to soften something in her. Finally, she nodded slowly, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction, as if the burden of the evening had lightened, if only a little.

With a quiet exhale, Wanda nodded, the tension in her frame easing just enough. “Alright,” she said, her voice a little softer than before. “One more try.”

Jungkook’s heart pounded in his chest as he made his way down the boardwalk, his steps quick and uneven as he searched desperately for Y/N. His eyes flicked to the flickering lights ahead, the dim illumination barely cutting through the thickening darkness. The sounds of the night—the distant crash of the waves, the rustling of leaves in the wind—did nothing to calm the storm brewing in his mind. He hadn’t meant for this to happen, hadn’t meant for things to spiral so far out of control. The tightness in his chest was suffocating as the images of Y/N’s face, her eyes filled with confusion and fear, flooded his mind.

But then, he saw them—the figures ahead—shadows flickering against the fading light. The familiar silhouettes of the Lost Boys. His frantic search for Y/N was momentarily forgotten as his eyes locked onto the group. His stomach twisted, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw Jimin. Standing off to the side, his back to Jungkook, Jimin looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, completely oblivious to his presence.

Jungkook didn’t stop to think. His body moved on its own accord, every step driven by the anxiety and anger that surged through him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he crossed the distance between them in three long strides. His hands, trembling with a mixture of adrenaline and fear, gripped Jimin’s shoulders. He spun him around so quickly that it startled even him, the force of it enough to make Jimin stumble. "Where is she?!" Jungkook’s voice was rough, demanding, the words barely more than a growl. His chest heaved with the urgency of his question, his body radiating with the need for an answer.

Jimin’s eyes widened in surprise, but his expression remained annoyingly calm, even detached. His lips curled into a knowing, almost lazy smile, but his eyes were too sharp, too aware of the situation. "Hey, take it easy," he said, his voice smooth, too smooth for Jungkook’s liking. There was an edge to his tone, like he was relishing this moment of control.

"Where’s Y/N, Jimin?!" Jungkook’s voice rose again, the demand more forceful this time, his hands tightening on Jimin’s shoulders.

Jimin didn’t flinch, not even slightly. His gaze flickered to the others, but he didn’t look away from Jungkook. Instead, he held his ground, his eyes darkening with an almost unreadable intensity. "If you ever want to see Y/N again," Jimin said, his voice low, but carrying a weight that sent a shiver down Jungkook’s spine, "then you better come with us."

Before Jungkook could protest or ask more questions, Jimin swung his leg over his bike, the engine rumbling to life with a low growl, cutting through the stillness of the night. Without waiting for Jungkook to respond, Jimin gave him one last look, his gaze almost daring Jungkook to argue. But Jungkook didn’t know what else to do. Fear twisted in his stomach, but he followed, the dread in his gut growing with every step. Reluctantly at first, then with an increasing sense of helplessness, he mounted his own bike, the engine sputtering to life beneath him.

The ride was a blur of wind and noise, but it couldn’t drown out the chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind. The night stretched on like an endless road, each turn taking him further into the unknown. The moon hung high above, casting pale shadows over the path ahead, but they rode in near silence, the only sound the hum of their engines and the rush of air against his face. His thoughts were consumed by fear, his chest tight with a mounting sense of unease. The trees closed in as they veered off the main road, the forest swallowing them whole as they entered the woods.

They parked their bikes in the shadows of the towering trees, the once-familiar world outside now nothing more than a distant echo. The air was thick with the smell of earth and pine, and the eerie silence of the woods made everything feel amplified. Every sound—the soft crunch of their boots on the dirt, the rustle of leaves—felt loud, unnatural in the stillness.

The Lost Boys dismounted with practiced ease, their movements fluid, almost predatory. They were like shadows in the moonlight, their faces barely visible as they made their way toward the dense woods. Jimin paused, just a step behind, his eyes never leaving Jungkook as he studied him with an almost calculating gaze. The weight of Jimin’s stare pressed heavily against Jungkook’s chest, and he could feel the tension in the air, thickening with every passing moment.

Jungkook’s throat was dry as he swallowed hard. "What is this, Jimin?" His voice was barely a whisper, his fear rising like a tidal wave. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, threatening to break free.

Jimin raised an eyebrow at the question, his lips quirking into a small, mocking smile. His tone was laced with something darker, something more sinister. "You’re one of us now, aren’t you?" His voice was thick with a promise, something dangerous, something that made Jungkook’s skin crawl.

Jungkook hesitated, his feet rooted to the ground, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. He wanted to turn around, to run, to find Y/N and take her far away from this place. But Jimin’s words held him in place, locking him in a prison of fear. "You’ll never see Y/N again if you’re not," Jimin added, the finality of his words crashing over Jungkook like a wave, drowning him in the suffocating weight of their truth.

There was no turning back now. Jungkook knew that, felt it in the pit of his stomach. His only choice was to climb, to follow. And so, with a last glance at the ground beneath him, he began the slow, reluctant ascent. His body trembled with each movement, his muscles aching as he forced himself higher, toward the looming silhouette of the trees. The familiar sound of Jimin’s footsteps behind him was a constant presence, a reminder that he wasn’t alone, that there was no escape.

When he finally reached the top, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. What he saw made his blood run cold. Below him, Greg and the Swell Brigade were gathered around a fire, their laughter ringing out into the night, too carefree, too oblivious to the dark presence looming above them. The smell of beer mixed with something sharper, something heavier, and Jungkook felt his stomach lurch in response.

The Lost Boys—silent, watching, waiting—were like predators in the shadows. Their eyes gleamed in the dim light, their forms just barely distinguishable against the blackness of the night. They were predators, and the Swell Brigade were the prey.

Then, the chaos erupted. It happened so fast, so violently, that Jungkook barely had time to process what was happening. There was the sudden rush of movement, the crash of bodies colliding, and the air seemed to ripple with the noise of struggle. But none of it made sense. It was all just flashes—shadows, movement, pain. Jungkook couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t even make sense of the carnage unfolding below him. The sounds of violence were deafening—fists pounding against flesh, bodies crashing to the ground, the desperate cries of the Swell Brigade. The terror in the air was palpable, but it wasn’t the terror that made his chest tighten—it was the disgust that roiled in his gut.

Jungkook stayed in the tree, too afraid to move, too horrified to join in. His breath caught in his throat as he turned his face away from the brutal scene. His skin felt clammy, his heart pounding harder, faster, as if it were trying to escape his chest. His vampire instincts stirred inside of him, urging him to join the frenzy, to feed. The desire was overwhelming, a roaring need that threatened to consume him.

But something—some small flicker of humanity—fought against it. He clenched his fists, his breath shallow and ragged, the battle between his instincts and his humanity waging fiercely inside him.

Finally, when he could no longer bear the sight, the sounds, when the terror became too much to stand, he scrambled down the tree, his body trembling. He didn’t stop until his feet hit the forest floor with a dull thud. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the soft earth, his body shaking uncontrollably. The sounds of the massacre slowly faded into the distance, but the emptiness inside him remained. He lay there, motionless, trying to steady his breath, trying to ground himself, but all he could do was listen to the fading echoes of violence.

And then, it was quiet. Too quiet.

Jungkook stayed frozen, unable to bring himself to move, afraid even to breathe. The forest was eerily still around him, and the oppressive silence seemed to weigh heavily on his chest, pressing down on him like a thick blanket, suffocating and inescapable. Every breath he took was shallow, every muscle in his body frozen in place, as if he feared that even the slightest movement might alert the shadows that surrounded him. His heart beat in his ears, a frantic rhythm that only deepened the tension in the air.

For what felt like an eternity, the silence stretched on, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves in the wind, or the occasional snap of a twig, but none of these sounds compared to the heavy silence that pressed against him. It was unnatural, unnerving—a silence that was more than just the absence of sound. It was the kind of quiet that felt like it was waiting, watching, for something to break it.

Then, a sound pierced through the stillness—a crunch of leaves, the snap of twigs under heavy boots. The unmistakable sound of footsteps, deliberate and steady, approaching from the shadows. Jungkook's breath hitched, and his eyes widened as he slowly turned his head toward the source of the noise. The Lost Boys began to emerge from the darkness, their figures slowly materializing in the faint moonlight, like ghosts rising from the earth. Their faces were glowing faintly, an unnatural sheen that made them appear almost spectral, their expressions twisted in a strange satisfaction, as if they had just feasted on something intoxicating, something that had filled them and now left them sated.

Jimin was the first to step forward, his face illuminated by the pale light, a smile stretching across his lips. But it wasn’t a warm smile, nor one of amusement—it was cold, calculating, predatory. His eyes, dark and piercing, locked onto Jungkook with an unsettling intensity. His smile didn't waver, but there was something dangerous lurking beneath it, something sharp and knowing. “Now you know who we are, Jungkook,” he said softly, his voice smooth, calm, almost too calm, as if he were stating a simple fact, not revealing the horrifying truth that seemed to hang in the air between them. “And who you are, too.”

Jungkook’s heart dropped into his stomach, the weight of Jimin’s words pressing down on him like a vice, choking the air from his lungs. The horror he had witnessed earlier—the violence, the bloodshed—seemed distant now, almost trivial, compared to the sinking feeling in his chest. This wasn’t just about the brutality of the attack he had witnessed. This wasn’t just about the violence in the forest. This was something far worse, something deeper, something that tore at the very core of his existence.

Jimin’s words continued to echo in his mind, each one landing with the force of a heavy blow. The calmness in Jimin’s tone, the casual way in which he spoke, made it all the more chilling. Jungkook felt as though the ground beneath him had disappeared, leaving him to float in an endless void, suspended between his former life and whatever twisted reality he was now a part of.

“You’ll never grow old,” Jimin continued, his voice steady, unyielding. “You’ll never die.” The words seemed to reverberate in the stillness, hanging in the air like a curse, a promise, a threat. Jungkook’s mind spun, unable to process the meaning behind those words. Never grow old… never die…

Jimin paused, his smile growing colder, more knowing. He let the silence stretch between them, letting the weight of his words settle like a shadow across Jungkook’s chest. “But you must feed.”

The finality of those words struck Jungkook like a physical blow, his body freezing once more, caught in the horror of what Jimin was implying. His mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of reality that had shattered before him. The attack, the blood, the laughter of the Lost Boys as they tore into their prey—it wasn’t just violence. It wasn’t just a fight. It was something darker, something far more monstrous. Jungkook’s stomach churned at the thought, and for a moment, he thought he might be sick. The images of the bloodshed, of bodies writhing and screaming in pain, were burned into his mind, each one more vivid than the last.

He could still hear their laughter—loud, mocking, cruel—as they tore into their victims, but the sounds now felt distant, fading into the background of his consciousness. The horror was no longer in the bloodshed. It was in the realization that he was now a part of something that craved that very violence, that very death. The sickening truth settled in his chest, and for the first time, he understood. He was one of them now.

Jimin, Yoongi, Taehyung, and Taeyang didn’t wait for a response. Their footsteps were light, almost inaudible, as they turned away from Jungkook, their movements fluid, predatory. They moved through the woods like shadows, their figures dissolving into the night. For a moment, Jungkook remained motionless, his body still, his mind racing with the weight of the reality he had just been thrust into. He felt as though the darkness had closed in around him, swallowing him whole, leaving him with nothing but the faint echoes of their voices and the haunting silence that now surrounded him.

Jungkook was left standing alone in the woods, consumed by the weight of their words, by the darkness that now hung over him. The air felt heavy with it, thick with the promise of something more to come, something darker and more terrifying than anything he had ever imagined. The remnants of the violence still lingered in the back of his mind, the blood, the screams, the sickening sounds of bodies hitting the earth, but now it all felt distant, muffled beneath the suffocating presence of the Lost Boys’ words. He had never asked for this. He had never wanted to be a part of their world, but now, it seemed, there was no way out. The darkness had claimed him, and there was no going back.

Jungkook’s breath came in short, uneven gasps, his body trembling with the realization of what he was now, what he had become. His gaze drifted toward the trees, the moonlight filtering through the branches, casting long, haunting shadows across the ground. It all felt surreal, like a nightmare he couldn’t escape. The weight of his new reality pressed down on him, crushing him, until all he could do was stand there, lost and broken in the woods, consumed by the endless darkness that had now become his life.