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hellishjoel · 4 months

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on call

7.5k / pairing: cardiothoracic surgeon!javier peña x resident surgeon f!reader

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summary: Javier Peña - a shark of a surgeon - is the head of Cardiothoracic Surgery and you're on his service for the week. After letting you take lead on a risky surgery, you crave what else he can teach you. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), doctors performing surgery but no gore, medical talk (open heart surgery performed, mention of aneurysms and paralysis), both Javi and reader are surgeons, implied but unspecified age gap (Javier is an attending surgeon, reader is a resident surgeon), sex in an on call room (rooms in the hospital where the staff can catch some zzz's), swearing, size kink, praise & degradation kink with accompanied dirty talk, competency kink, (un)affectionate pet names, fingering, oral cleanup (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie reader is described having hair and wears surgical scrubs, but otherwise (I believe) no physical description, no use of y/n A/N: FYI the only knowledge about hospitals or doctors I know is from Grey's Anatomy, so expect some drama and inaccuracies! beta’d by the lovely @thetriumphantpanda! spanish assistance by the talented @undercoverpena! banner made by me!

Any doctor will tell you that smoking cigarettes has a well-documented history of negative health risks.

Smoking can significantly increase the risk of various health problems, including cardiovascular diseases, lung cancer, respiratory issues, and, most importantly, to a surgeon, how delicate your tissue is. It shreds during stitching, falls apart in between gloved fingers, and increases the risk of infection.

So why does Javier Peña, the Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, smoke?

Probably because he thinks he’s God. Galavanting through the surgical wing in his dark navy scrubs. The attending flirts with every nurse who passes his eyeline, sweet-talks his residents, and charms each patient he consults.

Beneath all that, he was a ruthless shark of a surgeon. Driven to the point of recklessness. Stealing surgeries out from under fellow doctors, commandeering ORs, and always proving to be the smartest in the room. He knew when to bark and, more importantly, when to bite.

Javier Peña was a piece of goddamn work.

The operating room is the only time he’s silent. Espresso eyes narrowed on the surgical field, fingers succinct and persuasive like he’s giving the most delicate organ in the world a compelling speech: to live, to keep beating, to pump blood until it simply cannot.

He’s impressive, really.

Standing on the opposite side of the patient on the table, watching him work, you nearly forget how handsome he is behind his mask. If you weren’t such a great resident, you’d be more impressed by his looks than his hands.

But his hands… they were brilliant.

Peña was steady. Every movement is filled with confidence; they don’t stutter or flinch. He operates with wonderful dexterity, switching between both hands, neither more dominant than the other. Instrumental and graceful, like a maestro conducting a large orchestra.

This was his stage, the surgical instruments were his props and everyone in his OR was simply an extra. He was a star; everyone knew it. But no one knew it more than you, his third-year surgical resident on his cardio service for the week.

His years of training bleed through his expertise, and shine in a way that makes you remember why you signed up for so many years of medical school, dropped top dollar on an education to get you here, and then granted residency at one of the finest hospitals in the country.

You were good. Peña was great.

As his resident, you must prove nothing but useful. He’s not a natural teacher, the way his brain drives allows no one in his passenger seat. But you’re keen on declaring on cardio, and you’ve been the resident by his side for most of this year. He doesn’t need your help. He can do this all by himself, so all you can do is prove yourself useful.

You must anticipate his needs and next move, watching him progress from step one to final completion.

But this surgery was unexpected. Unplanned. Most heart surgeries end up being accidental, arising from complications during a routine surgery. The patient on the table before you was scheduled for a general procedure but began presenting with heart issues during the operation.

Peña performs an aortic arch replacement. He starts with a #10 blade, making an incision along the sternum to access the aortic arch.

“Retract all this tissue,” he mutters.

It takes you by surprise because his OR is radio silent. He talks in his head, not to you, ever.

“Me?”

“Are you really asking me that?” His tone twitches with irritation, but you do as he asks before he can disregard and bury your anticipation. It allows for more exposure, and he’s back to work. He cannulates the patient for CPB, working through the right atrium and then the aorta.

“Proper placement?”

You nod before you remember he’s still staring down at the patient’s heart. “Yes.”

Doctor Javier Peña is the commander of his OR. Which makes you all the more confused as to why he decides to put you in the driver’s seat. Or rather, the hot seat.

“Okay, we’re going to arrest the heart using cardioplegia purposely. What’s next?”

Your mouth is going dry; it takes you a moment to find your words. You should know the answer, even without having prepared. He just makes you nervous. “We need to use myocardial protection techniques to minimize… ischemic damage?”

His eyes snap up, glaring, cold as ice. “Are you asking me? Or are you telling me?”

You force down the lump in your throat and take in a shaky breath. “Telling?”

He cocks his eyebrow in annoyance.

“Telling.” You say more confidently, nodding before he sighs. He wanes his options in his head before his eyes start to soften. He must feel at slight ease talking to a resident who isn’t a fucking moron.

“Okay. You’ll deliver the cardioplegia solution and monitor its function.”

You let out a breath of relief, perhaps too big of one, because Peña smirks and tuts at your shift in breath.

“You’re not a complete waste of space in this surgical program after all. Congrats.”

After willing yourself to bite your tongue, you watch him proceed with the arch repair. He returns to silence as he carefully dissects the aorta, amber eyes admiring each of the strong branches like that of a great oak tree.

“Name them.”

Eyes meeting his over the operating table, Peña waits. He’s testing you, pushing you towards greatness or failure. He wants to see where you fall—if you’re worthy to be in his OR, opposite of him, learning under his greatness, or if you’re a waste of his time and talent.

“You’re a third-year resident, I knew this by my second,” he grinds, “all the books I’ve seen you read in the cafeteria should have told you this. Name them.”

He watches you, it wasn’t just in your head - the magnetic stare you can feel from across the room that makes the hair on your arms stick up. He watches, he knows you’re capable. “Not gonna get by just on looks here, Doctor.”

Dragging your eyes away from his intense stare, you loosen your jaw and line your fingers over each strong branch, starting at the trunk of the tree. “The left subclavian artery, left common carotid artery, the innominate artery-”

Peña raises his gloved hand, seeing the gentle smear of blood along his fingertips and palm. “Stop.”

Your eyes squint heatedly, feeling your chest tighten. “I can finish, I know them-”

“Stop, damn it,” he barks louder, his eyes shifting away from yours and across the room. He wasn’t listening to you; he was listening to the heart. Doctor Peña tilts his head to the monitor, watching the heart shift its beats. “Doctor, identify the pathology.”

You shift on your feet, the nerves throughout your arms leave you feeling shaky. Something was wrong. “The aortic arch, it shows…” Closing your eyes helps you focus, ignoring the crowd in the overhead gallery, forgetting the patient on the table just for a moment, and only listening to the beat on the monitor.

“Pretty girl, not so smart,” he taunts with a shake of his head, the beeping on the monitor pitching louder and echoing hauntingly through your ears. You wished this room would swallow you whole, but that would be you admitting to cowardice.

Peña takes a deep breath and looks between you and the monitor, “Alright, come on, open your eyes,” he instructs, guiding your hand off the retractor and along the heart’s wall. “What do you see?”

The commanding tone in his voice brings you out of your head and back to the patient. The room wavers and it goes silent. You don’t hear the erratic beeping of the machines, you don’t see the movement in the gallery. Doctor Peña is in front of you, calm and focused. Because he trusts that you know what’s wrong.

The aortic wall bulged out of its normal shape. It looked weak, stretched out, thin, and nearly translucent. You see the saccular protrusion, lips parting at the discovery.

“He’s—was there an aneurysm? He had an aneurysm?” you ask with more panic in your voice than you had hoped. It must have been during the patient’s original procedure earlier in the day before you and Doctor Peña even scrubbed in. “We can’t do a repair or a replacement of the arch. We have to stop everything--”

“So what are we gonna do, Doctor?” He probes, piercing dark eyes on you. Suddenly, your height shrinks, and you feel only a few inches tall under his gaze. He’s so much older and wiser, and all you can do is panic. “What, you can't figure this out yourself? Four years of medical school, internship, and residency, don't fucking disappoint me now. Tell me how we fix it.”

Our brains hold endless files of knowledge. A doctor is not only supposed to keep files on how to perform a procedure but also what to do if one is horribly failing. But your brain only knows panic because until you become a brilliant surgeon, all you know is fear.

“Should we page neuro? A-A neuro consult, his blood flow isn’t reaching his spine. He might be paralyzed.”

Peña scoffs and shakes his head, “Hoping someone else comes to save you and fix your problems? What if I wasn’t standing here? You’re on your own, kid.” he spews, focusing his headlight back over the heart. “We don’t call neuro, the patient can’t wait that long. Come on,” he whittles away your confidence, fire in his eyes. “Come on!”

You can’t seem to control your anger, feeling it ween down to something brittle and broken. You snap. “Doctor Peña, respectfully shut the hell up. We’re gonna fix the aneurysm sac.”

“How?” He’s quick on the whip, and it feels like your lungs might give out. “Come on, smart girl, tell me how.”

“You’re-You’re gonna use the sac to bring blood back to the spinal cord. He’s only paralyzed because the aorta isn’t able to send blood to his spine. You replace the aorta with a Dacron graft and rebuild the aneurysm into a second aorta.” It’s spoken with half confidence, but your eyes are fiercely stubborn.

“Its only job is to send blood to the spine,” he mutters in agreement, hands already at work.

“Like the freeway being blocked by traffic, you take a side road. Or, in this case, you’re building the side road.”

He momentarily pauses his hands, pretty brown eyes searching yours. He stares you down longer than anticipated, and suddenly, the air feels charged. Heat tingles up your spine, and you find yourself challenging his stare.

You deserve to be in this OR. You’re good, but Peña is great. And you will be great once you learn more from him. Him and his stupid fucking- brilliant hands.

“I’m not building the side road; we are,” he corrects, and he asks the scrub nurses to give him the supplies for constructing the graph.

Finally, his cheeks perk up, and a small smirk hides under his mask. “Suction, Doctor. Prep some 6-0 of prolene. We’re gonna need it.” Peña spends the next few hours teaching you how to reroute the aneurysm and restore blood flow, allowing you to reconstruct and place the graph.

You and Peña are a well-oiled machine. He lets you take the lead under his supervision. It’s impossible not to scream inside your head about this moment. You feel like you’re floating, no longer panicking. Your fingers weave with an indescribable amount of delicacy. It feels like braiding hair, the way your fingers know where to move, the muscle movements natural despite never having done this procedure before.

What a fucking high. And you’ve always been such an adrenaline junkie.

Once word got out around the hospital that Peña was doing this incredible and unexpected surgery, the gallery was all standing and fighting for room to glance out the over-viewing window. And you were there, across from him the entire time. Every surgeon in your class is sitting in the gallery, damn jealous of you.

Peña watches you close up the patient and says nothing; you were perfection.

You huff loudly upon completion, watching as Peña wipes his forearm across the sweat on his forehead. You despise him in this moment. Thankfulness fights your need for social justice. He can’t talk to you like that, belittle you, squish whatever confidence you had left. But you’re exhausted now and don’t feel like snapping in front of half the hospital.

“We won’t know if he has full function until he’s awake. Page neuro and tell them they have a post-consult waiting for them.” His voice drips with exhaustion, rolling out his shoulders as he speaks, and you can’t help but watch as the broad muscles move under his shirt, tan skin now visible after the medical gown has been removed.

Trailing behind him out of the OR, you strip your surgical gloves, gown, and mask in the trash as you try to calm your adrenaline. It never stopped beating; your heart, the strong and beautiful organ that it was, never stopped pounding. You can hear it in your ears, in your pulse, even thudding excitedly against your neck.

It beat for your ambition, it beat for Doctor Peña. He’d never see you as his equal. Hell, he’d never see anyone as his equal. But today, he taught you. And you can’t think why. He has barely done his duty all year despite working at a teaching hospital where the residents are nearly quizzed on the minute by their attendings.

Peña didn’t think anyone was worth his time, but he saw something in you today. Despite being thankful, you can’t help the anger you feel bubbling up as he smirks at you from down the hall.

“What the hell, Peña?”

Oh shit.

The head of neurosurgery stomps down the hall in his navy blue scrubs, graying hair tucked under a scrub cap decorated by EEG waveforms. His eyes are narrowed on Peña, pointed finger at the ready.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Your patient goes into paralysis and you don’t think to page me?”

Peña merely shrugs and sets his hands on his hips. “I did think to page you. And decided not to.”

The head of neurosurgery scoffs in disbelief, raising his voice to a shout. “You’re too fucking- cocky for your own good! I could have done an assessment, they could gotten spinal cord ischemia- and a third-year resident of all people performing that surgery? What the hell were you thinking?!”

Fuck. Now you were brought into this, and standing at the end of the hallway couldn’t be farther away. Peña was as solid as stone, heat didn’t faze him. “She had it under control. She was perfect.”

Perfect.

Neuro seems to smirk lightly, brain doctors who love to play mind games. “You two screwin’ around in the on-call rooms, too? Is that why you let her in on that surgery a fifth year couldn’t even perform? You pull that shit again, and I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

Peña steps closer, narrowing his eyes on the short little man whose bark was louder than his bite.

Neuro stutters for a moment, his posture shrinking. You can’t help but smirk, almost a little lightheaded at the way he steps in to protect your credibility. Peña was a dangerous surgeon to stick around with. His arrogance, next to his skills in the OR, could be taught by accident.

Neuro grabs onto a slipping rope and sniffs as he glances around at the onlookers in the hallway. “Don’t think I won’t tell the Chief about what happened today. You and her are on thin ice.”

Peña smirks and pats his shoulder in a futile manner, pulling loose his scrub cap and running a hand through his jet-black tresses. “She had it under control. I wouldn’t have let her do anything she couldn’t handle. And if you talk about her like that again, I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth out.”

Peña’s already walking away, back to the angry little man.

Your stomach bubbles with something unfamiliar, slipping behind the elbow of the wall and taking a shaky breath. You can’t feel anything besides the buzzing in your brain and the tremble in your hands.

Doctor Javier Peña was defending your fucking honor.

In Javier’s eyes, any surgeon can walk into an operating room and follow the procedure's already-written steps. They can rehearse, practice, and prep all they want. But the beauty of surgery was that it was both a science and an art.

The heart was such an intricate, unpredictable thing. Healthy one minute, broken the next.

Javier loves to read, but only for the plot twist endings—the ones you don’t see coming—which add richness to the story and make you fall deeper into the mystery.

That’s why he loves the heart because it isn’t easy. It’s a challenge. He also loves that hearts make him feel special because not everyone can handle operating on a heart. That’s why people choose easier specialties. Cardio was hardcore. Javier was hardcore.

Despite how difficult a cardio surgery can be, the surgeon must be gentle. Going too fast leads to mistakes.

As if driving on black ice, you can’t twist your wheel too fast, or you’ll spin out and crash. He was like that during his internship, even into his residency, but he carried raw talent that no one else could compare to. He was the star of his class, a surgeon who felt like he was more than a doctor, more than a God. A preacher to the soulless, a guide to the lost. He was his patient’s light at the end of the tunnel. He saved their fucking lives.

In his eyes, heart surgeons needed to be sharks. He never met a shark who wasn’t fierce and damn near evil. It’s critical to success; to be a shark in the water, eager to see crimson.

You were no shark—not yet. But your drive, dedication to the art, and willingness to work with him set you apart. He knows he’s not easy. But he’s never liked easy anyway.

Javier slowly slumps down onto the edge of an on-call bed, smacking the light switch so damn hard that he thought he broke it. The room sinks into darkness, a velvet blanket of blue from the slight night sky slipping past the blinds.

He was exhausted after today, the hours of his day stolen by back-to-back surgeries. His back ached, and his knees were screaming at him. But the comfort of a bed wasn’t all that he craved.

You were brilliant, purring like a kitten whenever Javier stroked your ego. A younger colleague impressed him for the first time in months.

God, you were young. What—ten years his junior? More?

His face fell into his hands, heat flushing into his stomach at the thought of you.

When he’s in surgery, the heart is all he can think about. But your eyes were on him for hours, watching him, learning from him—God, the things he could teach you.

Suddenly, the door clicks open, and light floods the room, causing Javi to drop his head and squint.

“We need to speak, Doctor Peña,” your silken voice evokes a sense of long-lost courage.

You’re the last person who should be in his on-call room.

He groans and stands, eyes cast on your hand still nervously caught on the door handle. “Not now.”

“Yes, now,” your voice wavers as you click the lock and cross your arms. His eyes drag over your body, hugged by the comfort of your soft blue scrubs. He can tell it’s taking everything in your body to control your temper, as he is still technically your boss. “You can’t just belittle me in front of the entire OR. No more calling me princess, no more calling me pretty. I’m a lot more than those pathetic superficial names, and you know it.”

Javier runs his fingers down his nose, mutters something incoherent, and plants his hands on his hips before curtly jerking his head expectantly. “I said not now.”

“You push me, you push me around, you push me in the OR, you just don’t stop-”

He snaps.

“I push you to be great!” His brown eyes nearly turn obsidian as he locks you in his gaze. “You’ll be a better doctor when I’m done with you. You should be thanking me.”

You scoff indignantly and throw up your hands in frustration. You’re so fucking cute when you’re upset. “Thanking you?”

“Yeah. Thanking me. My ass is on the burner because I let you perform that surgery.”

“The one not even fifth-year residents could perform?”

Peña pauses, his jaw shifting from left to right as he glances at the room's corner. “You heard all that, huh?”

There’s a lull, one that signifies you both know that he stepped in to defend his choices in the OR; specifically defending you. He watches as you slowly nod, pulling your hand off the doorknob and crossing your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t have to do that. Now it looks like you favor me. I’m gonna get chewed out by the other surgeons, not to mention my entire class is going to think I’m sleeping with you.”

Pena shrugs and purses his lips. “Let ‘em.”

He watches as your lips part, taken aback by his words. After a few doe-eyed blinks from you, the room falls out of focus, and it doesn’t feel like he’s standing in the hospital anymore.

Javi imagines you in places he shouldn’t. At his place, in his apartment. On the couch. In his bed. He thinks about how different you’d look in the light of day, your body curved by jeans or even a sundress if the weather allowed. He’d be privy to the freckles on your back and shoulders, the dips of your hips, the slope of your body he wants to memorize with his eyes closed.

But fantasizing wasn’t enough.

“Let ‘em,” he mutters, low, and enclosing the space between your bodies. “If they already think that, let ‘em. Fuck ‘em.”

Your face visibly softens, and your head naturally leaning into his hand that rests on your cheek.

“I want you to teach me,” you whisper to him. And it’s so fucking soft, so sweet dripping from your lips, almost whining with need.

He slowly nods as the room falls silent, Javi’s opposite hand coming to your hip, flushing your body against his.

“Okay, cariño, I’ll teach you.”

“Teach me,” you plead again, your chest heaving with anticipation. His eyes fall to the way your breasts protrude with each breath you take in your scrubs. The emotion that stirs in the room is enough to start a full-blown hurricane.

Javi’s hands fall to the hem of your top, and you raise your arms swiftly, so pliant to his touches. But that’s your job, to anticipate his needs.

The sight of your skin alone is enough to make his shoulders tighten, seeing you all pretty and exposed. A knot begins to grow in his stomach. But no, you weren’t done yet.

“Please, Doctor Peña,”

No, don’t fucking beg.

“I want you to use your hands and teach me.” Insistently, your fingers dip into your scrub bottoms, his eyes catching the pretty black band of your panties before the material is pooled on the floor.

You stand there with soft eyes, wide and expecting. The longer he stands here, not touching you, it damn near looks like he’s hurting your feelings. But he’s not stupid enough to leave you abandoned.

“Fuck,” he grunts, closing the distance in a matter of a second, his hands on your hips as he yanks your body into his firm front.

The kiss is tangled and heated, desperate and needy, so different compared to the subtle dance you both played before. But now it’s so obvious the pure need that consumes you both.

Your small fists clutch his broad shoulders, and you moan into his mouth purely at the muscle built into his toned body. He licks into your mouth, and all he can think is how fucking sweet you taste. And how your pussy probably tastes just as sweet.

Your fingers blindly reach for the light switch, flicking them off and sinking you into midnight once again.

Javi tuts and shakes his head, breaking the kiss as he glares down at you. “You wanna see my hands work, cielo? Then you gotta watch.” He mutters as he flicks the switch back on, guiding you into the lower bunk of the on-call beds.

He likes the way your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his neck, fingers gentle at first before clutching at the hair on his nape.

Javi lets out an unexpected moan into your mouth as his body slots perfectly between your legs. His rough and calloused hands explore the smooth skin of your outer thighs. He squeezes and cradles the flesh with the perfect balance of strength and delicacy, the coarse hairs of his mustache scratching your skin as he presses kisses over your exposed breasts.

He craves every breath that you take because of him, because of his actions. Your reactions are honest and instinctual, watching as you bite down on your lip because God forbid anyone saw you sneak into his room.

Javi’s fingers are just as you expect, expertise as he unclips your bra with ease. He snatches away the black material, your nipples sensitive to the cool air as they peak under his eyeline.

“Christ,” he mutters, his hot mouth on them in an instant. His tongue circles them meticulously before he suckles, lifting his head and watching as your breast is tugged into his mouth. A whine slips past your lips and he feels your legs tug tighter around his waist. It’s enough to get him hard, the way you won’t let him go, because this feels way too fucking good to stop.

“Doctor Peña-”

“Javi,” he mutters upon letting your nipple go with a pop, moving to the other and showing it just as much affection, letting his teeth gently nip at the sensitive peak. “So fuckin’ pretty, princesa,” he mutters before sucking on a spot just above your breast, a place to mark his territory.

You gasp at the feeling of his hot mouth on your skin, goosebumps flooding to his touches. You glance down through barely-open eyes as the skin changes color, from red to a soft purple as he draws blood to the surface. His teeth marks are still there even after he leaves, a smirk on his face as he slips lower to between your legs.

“Javi, please,” you muster up, trying to regather air in your lungs.

He shifts to his knees, one arm straight and hand planted beside your head as he hovers over you, the other finally slipping between your legs. Your lips part as he slowly swipes two up your center, seeing what makes you tick.

His smirk widens as your eyes roll to the back of your head, biting down on the plush of your lower lip again to conceal a moan that surely would have slipped. He spreads you, letting his thumb pads delicately circle your clit experimentally. “So fucking wet for me.”

Just as a moan emits, his hand is clamped over your mouth.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he degrades, your eyes wide as the circles continue achingly. “Into my hand, baby girl, don’t want anyone else to hear you. Just me.”

Your thighs begin to tremble as his thumb experiments on you, and you realize he’s learning. Everything is about learning for him. He learns and studies the heart, now he’s studying what makes you fucking soaked for him.

The slow circles are enough to get you going, but as he continues to pick up the pace, he realizes you need more more more.

His thumb moves faster and surfs the edges, it makes you twitch under him. His smirk widens as two of his fingers glide up and down your wet center, your hips nudging upward with neediness.

“Wanna hear you,” he mutters, but you’re so scared to let out a peep. In this fog, you can’t even remember if you locked the door, and now your heart is pounding against your chest, the beautiful muscle that it is.

“Come on,” he says goadingly, pushing two fingers into your entrance. Your eyes blow wide as you let out a soft sigh into his palm, followed by a wimpy whine. “Give it to me,” he mutters as his fingers start to move through your tight heat. He’s trying to find it, working himself deeper and deeper, curling them just right and finally-

His hand clamps harder down on your mouth as you let out a loud cry, eyes shutting hard as your body writhes against him. You leak out against his fingers, hearing them squish with your arousal as he smirks. “That’s fuckin’ right, feels so good to let it out, doesn’t it? You can gimme more,” he encourages, and you don’t think you fucking can.

But he works against you so feverishly, the combination of his thumb on your clit and fingers fucking your entrance, once the seal was broken, it was hard to contain it.

“Fuck!” You cry out as he scissors you open, separating his fingers and forcing your entrance to work itself wider for him. The noises are obscene, soaking his fingers as he continues to plunge so deeply into you. Your hand shakily reaches up to the bicep bulging beside your head, nails sinking into his tan flesh.

His movements have your thighs beginning to shake as he searches, still learning, looking for that one spot that has you breathless. Then it fucking sucks the air from your lungs.

You gasp against his hand and clutch his wrist desperately, feeling him massage the sweet, spongy part inside of you that has sparks going off at the base of your spine. Your eyes begin to water at the overwhelmingness of it all, him and his stupid fucking perfect hands.

“Javi,” you pant against his mouth, because something indescribable is building. Your back arches against his body. He doesn’t even need to look at what he’s doing, he’s so distracted in watching you unfold.

Finally, it’s all too much, and he’s got you in the palm of his hand. You can’t help but bite into his palm as you sob against his hand, his fingers so perfect inside of you, leading you to the crescendo of your orgasm. The build leaves you lightheaded, your thighs twitching against his hips as he purrs your name.

“Just wanna little taste,” he mutters as he finally slips his hand from your mouth, still feeling the burn of your pretty bite. His chest lands on the mattress, and you sit up a bit to allow him space.

Javi’s arms wrap around your legs, hands now on your inner thighs as he helps spread you open. You whimper, still so sensitive that you nearly twitch away as he moves in. “Aww, come here, sweet girl. Know you taste so good, don’t you?”

You weakly nod and sink back into the mattress, your eyes falling closed as he slowly sponges kisses to your warm inner thighs. Your hole still puckers for the loss of his fingers, a groan leaving his throat at the sight. He teasingly flicks his tongue against your twitching clit, and it’s enough to make your entire body seize.

“So fucking sensitive,” he mutters adoringly, spreading your labia and letting his tongue flush against the juices that soak his tongue. He audibly grunts against you and works slowly to clean you up. His eyes meet yours, and he reads your wrecked face instantly.

You let out a hesitant moan, your fingers tiredly weaving into his dark locks and nails gently scratching along his scalp. His mustache tickles your clit and you try to breath through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

He was right, his hands were fucking perfect. Look at the way he learned your body, what it was chasing after, how it could be healed with his touch. You only with to give him the same.

You sit up off your elbows, and he looks up at you with your arousal sitting silkily across his mustache. You cup his jaw, and he sits up with you, your mouth landing on his. You taste yourself, and it almost makes you shy, knowing Doctor Peña has tasted you. More importantly, made you cum with nothing more than his fingers.

The opportunity to touch his body is one you didn’t realize you craved, small palms moving down his front. On instinct, he parts from your kiss and pulls his scrub top off. And God, you were right with every assumption.

You knew he worked out, all cardio Gods adhere to the rule of working out to keep the heart muscle strong, but this was a different kind of strong. He was a Greek marble statue, all arms and toned chest and a waist you could easily tangle your legs around.

“Jesus,” you breathe out.

Javi smirks confidently, his large hands cupping your face once more and tangling his tongue with yours. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your hand to his upper thigh, coasting your hand along until you feel his shaft protruding against his scrubs.

“Take ‘em off,” you whisper.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” He asks confidently, forcing a grunt out of your mouth as you tug against the hem.

“Telling. Now off with them.” You command.

He tuts as he stands from the mattress. “That’s my girl,” he mutters proudly, circling his thumbs along the waist of his scrubs before pushing them down, briefs included, stepping out of the material that pooled around his feet.

You slowly raise an eyebrow, your lips parting at his size. No wonder he was so cocky. You sit at the edge of the on-call bed and he steps forward knowingly.

“S’okay, pretty girl. Just wanna make you feel good.”

You stubbornly shake your head and take his hands, guiding him closer as your doe-eyes meet his melting brown ones.

“I can do it.” Wrapping a hand slowly around his length, your other hand rests on his thigh to allow some security.

He takes in a slow breath, his eyes growing heavy as you spit along his length.

“Fuck,” he mutters as his large hand gently comes to rest on the back of your head, fingers intertwining in your hair as he begins to clutch them possessively.

It felt so good to be the one in charge, to be his guidance. He wants you so badly, your hot mouth wrapped around him, begging for his own release just as you were.

You sponge kisses along his length, watching him almost in a taunting way, because you know he’s going to fall apart before you. Flatting your tongue and sticking it out, he grunts at the sight. Leaning forward, you take him in your mouth. Your tongue circles his beady tip and you get to enjoy the taste of his pre-cum on your tastebuds.

He’s salty and musky, hours after a long surgery and it tastes divine. All man. All Javier Peña.

Javi’s breaths are getting faster as you begin to bob your head, taking him inch by inch until you felt comfortable enough to really go for it.

“Such a fucking- overachiever,” he grins, your nose brushing against the coarse hair along his base as your eyes clench closed, choking around him but not letting off. “Holy fuck,” he moans. Your nails sink into his thigh and he hisses, your one and only reminder for him to stay quiet. He pulls off with a pop, leaving you pouting as you stroke over his impressive length. He twitches in your hand and he’s so heavy in your palm.

“Don’t want anyone to hear us, Peña,” you remind as you break to give kisses along his thigh where your nails created crescent moon shapes.

“Got me so close, baby. Don’t wanna cum yet, though.”

You pout but ultimately leave him with one last kiss to his shaft.

Javi can’t seem to get enough of your kisses, tracing his tongue along your bottom lip as he moves you back onto the mattress once more. Your fingers glide down his body, feeling the ripples of his muscles that you hope stays engrained in your mind forever.

Even if it’s just a one-time thing, you wouldn’t mind storing the way he makes you unfold so effortlessly, caring to learn your body and its cravings.

“Please, Javi,” you whimper against his mouth, feeling the warmth of his body slipping between yours once again, and it feels like a home. “Need you.”

He nods breathlessly against you, propping up the pillow behind your head. You’re not sure why it gives you butterflies, taking care of you more than just sexually. But he pats the pillow a few times nonetheless and centers it to the back of your head, not stopping until you’re smiling up at him.

Your hand cradles his jawline, thumb gliding across his chin before his mouth is back on yours. His lips part as your gasp enters his mouth, feeling his hand guide his tip from your clit to your leaking entrance.

“Wet all over again,” he mutters against your mouth, but acting surprised is pointless.

“Uh huh,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting him envelop you fully.

Javier listens to you, reads your body language. He feels you grow tense as his tip nudges at your entrance, feeling your legs tighten hesitantly around his waist.

Your hands are soft on his back, moving along the carved muscles and following their runs like wild rivers. Perhaps it is a way you calm your nerves, touching his warm skin relaxes your walls. He’s able to push onward.

“Jesus- Javi,” you whimper, letting him sink his length fully into you until he bottoms out in one thrust that leaves him groaning. The pillow he’s laid down for you is held by his fist, the veins down his arms bulging against your head.

“Fuck, that’s it,” his chest rumbles, Javi starting to find a rhythm as he guides his length in and out of you.

The first couple of strokes are dragging, aching. It’s hard to breathe and your nose brushes against his neck.

Javier is so lost in the feeling of you, your tight little cunt squeezing repeatedly around his cock. The hand not holding him up runs up the side of your body, first on the outside of your thigh, then moving upwards to squeeze your ass in his large palm. You moan into his ear, and he does it again, both of you smirking against the kiss. Then he’s on your hip, following the pretty curve before he wraps his arm on the underside of your body, cradling your shoulder.

It’s like a seatbelt clicking in, gasping as you feel him lock you into place. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, Javi coming to rest his forehead against yours as he begins to snap his hips.

With the change in pace, the energy becomes charged with something less delicate. It’s like you were witnessing Javier’s two-sided personality, trying to learn and teach, and now, the arrogant, cocky shark.

The drag, once painful, now feels heavenly, the ache becoming a sedative that has you cooing for more. He’s more relentless now, hips snapping into yours that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your jaw points to the ceiling, and he sees the opportunity for his lips to latch onto your neck.

At the height of sensitivity, you feel everything. The sweat trickling down your temple, his teeth carving marks on your neck, your breasts pressed against his toned front; he’s all encapsulating.

You whine as you squeeze around his cock, his hand on your shoulder pressing harder into your skin. He keeps you there, pounding into you, the coarse dark hair grinding against your clit so perfectly. Your core tightens, and you feel your second orgasm begin at its crest. He must be close, too, because he’s driving into you with ferocity.

“Javi,” you cry against his neck, your nose brushing against his tousled hair, “I-I can’t.”

Javier shakes his head and moves the hand on your shoulder down between your bodies, finding your quivering clit and adding pressure to the small ministrations he starts on. His lips move to your ear, placing a kiss against the outer shell.

“You can,” he demands in a stern tone, his hot pants fanning against your face as his aquiline nose nudges your cheekbone, “you can give me another one, cariño.”

He wants to see your star explode. See you dissolve before him into a million tiny sparks, fizzling into the night sky so he can take your beauty in fully, from inner soul to outer exterior. You were slipping into the void before him like a firework bursting.

“Fuck, I can,” you pant, your head dropping back onto the pillow as heat slips down your spine and your vision goes dark.

You squeeze his cock repeatedly as your orgasm surges through you, back arching off the mattress and your legs tightening around his slim waist. He can feel your pulsing clit against the pad of his thumb, feeling you gush around his dick as his balls slapping against your core grow slick with your arousal.

From below, your vision is hazy, and he looks so fucking handsome. The surgical mask doesn’t do him justice.

“You can come inside me,” you whisper as you lean in and nibble his earlobe, hearing him grunt at your comment.

“Christ,” he mutters, “you have no idea what you do to me.” Javi gently tugs on your lower lip before he distracts himself with your kisses. His snapping hips begin to lose their rhythm, becoming more sloppy and erratic.

He was chasing the feeling, distracted by how perfect you were for him today.

The vein along his temple bulges as his desperate espresso eyes meet yours. All he needs to see is that little smirk of yours, and it sends him over the edge.

His jaw drops, and a silent moan wants to slip out desperately, but somehow, he’s able to conceal it with low grunts of something that resembles your name.

You begin to feel his warmth spread through your core, making your insides fuzzy. He trembles; you both do. It feels like he comes for forever, but frankly, you don’t want it to stop.

This feeling sits still inside you, humbles you, and centers you with the universe. Your life is hectic, and for one hour today, you’re not running around from one room to the next or getting chewed out by the senior doctors. This was the perfect stress relief; Javier Peña was a damn good break.

His strong body collapses over yours, and any residual strength he has left is being held by a tiny string that keeps you from being crushed.

He lays on his side, shoulder blades pressed against the cold cinderblock wall. He buries his hand in his face, and you wonder if he regrets what he’s done.

Did he?

“Thanks,” you whisper, reaching blindly for scrubs and accidentally tossing on his scrub pants in your orgasmic haze.

“For what? And those are mine. You can have them in a few years when you’re an attending.” He hums, smirking as he pulls the sheets up to cover his lower half.

You scoff and pull off the pants, switching out for your own after you clasp your bra behind your back.

“For the lessons.”

He watches you change, slipping your shoes back on and fixing your hair in the mirror. You try to ignore the feeling of his come slipping out of you, your legs as wobbly as a newborn calf.

“Yeah? What did you learn?” He cocks an eyebrow and blindly reaches for a pack of cigarettes on the windowsill, propping open the window a few inches.

Your eyes scan over him slowly as you tighten the tie on your scrub bottoms, a slow smirk gradually growing on your lips.

“I know why you smoke.”

Ignoring his intrigued face, you flip off the lights and leave his on-call room in a midnight blue film. The heavy door inches open, light shedding through and inching into the darkness. It clicks closed behind you just as your pager goes off, seeing that there is a message coming through for your newly reconstructed aortic arch patient.

“Shit,” you mutter.

The door swooshes open behind you, and Peña reappears dressed in his navy scrubs, surging past you. His shoulder knocks yours on the way out, and you can’t help but scoff.

“Let’s go. Pick up the pace,” His voice is raspy and tired, but you keep his stride as you work your way towards the intensive care unit.

Doctor Peña glances back over his shoulder, his smirk mirroring your own.

Even a shark has its vices. Perhaps after tonight, you’re Javi’s.

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colormepurplex2 · 1 year

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On Wings of Mist & Memories | Burnished Heart

↳ DragonRider!Jungkook x FieldScribe!f.Reader ⤜ Enemies to Lovers, Exiled Royalty, High Fantasy ⤜ Rating: MA | angst, smut, fluff ⤜ WC: 20,184 ⚠️ Crass language, talk of war/death, descriptions of blood, lots of sexual tension, crude banter, fingering, kissing, dirty talk, teasing, shadow penetration/sex (it's exactly what you're probably thinking it is: fun af), lots of praise, sexual pleading/begging, endearingly awkward sexual tension, shameless flirting, oral m. receiving, shadow clit play, nipple pinching/teasing, v. sex, mild cum play & eating, multiple orgasms, sad feelings/thoughts of the future, fighting, mild violence, implied minor character death, minor character terminal sickness that leads to off-page death, talk of forced bonds, heartache, pregnancy, off-page childbirth ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to series masterlist

Glossary Mave - dragon rider who can wield magic, tethered to the soul of their dragon when they bond (death for both if one dies) Psion - infinite memory/recall Reaver - a dragon that can wield magic, tethered to the soul of the rider they bond (death for both if one dies) Noks - infantry soldiers, humanoids who can enter berserk/rage mode Rider - regular dragon rider, no magic, uses bows or scouts Brute - riderless dragon, usually wild and very dangerous Wielder - magic user, no dragon needed Signis - the designated/specific type of power someone wields Helnite - metal ore that can cut off magic from its user Golden Blight - incurable blood disease

Days go by in a blur of late-night war meetings and moments of early-morning self-reflection. It’s easier to cast off your old oaths and loyalties than you thought it’d be. Sure, you have plenty of fuel and reason to, but it’s still surprising—and maybe a little disappointing—that you are not struggling with it. You were prepared to face daily internal conflict. Instead, you’re more upset over the fact you’re not upset.

“Can I talk to Goris today?” you ask from the comfort of your bedroll, just as you have every afternoon since agreeing to help Jungkook.

And just like all those days, he responds the same. “Not yet. He’s not ready to hear it.”

“When will he be ready? What are you waiting for?”

His eyes are intense as they bore into the side of your face from where he’s sitting at the large table where you both take your meals. You ignore the urge to look at him, keeping your eyes locked on where you’re idly sliding the tip of the dagger that you stole from him under your fingernails. They’re not particularly dirty, but focusing here is better than getting lost in his gaze.

“Soon, maybe. He’s being well taken care of if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You sigh, slipping the blade back into the top of your boot, and lounge back on your elbows. “I know you’ve been accommodating to him, but I think he’s ready. I think he’d have been ready the first day. You might know Goris from ten years ago, but I know him now. He’d listen to me if only because of the care he had for Marvick.”

The tent feels smaller now that you’re taking up a portion of it with your bedroll. Jungkook refused to give you your own tent. He’s growing to trust you but still wants you to be where he can keep an eye on you. For now, the far corner of his tent is as far as he’ll allow.

“If I let you talk to him, what will you say?”

You sit up on your pallet, hope straightening your spine. “I’d start with the truth, of course. He can take it. He’ll listen to me. Aren’t you the one who said people would believe me because of my ability to discern fact from falsity? Let’s test that, starting with Goris.”

Jungkook sighs, shoving the bench away from the table and standing. “If this pushes me five steps back, I will bend you over my knee and make you regret insisting.”

He’s out of the tent before you can form a coherent reply. The words were said casually, with no bite or menace, just a statement of fact, and yet, heat curls in your chest, blooming up your neck and across your cheeks. The image of you bent over Jungkook’s knee with his firm hand—you shake your head, dispelling it before the sordid fantasy can fully form.

Ever since you agreed to help him, Jungkook has been continuously toeing the line between being a shameless flirt, snarking barely veiled threats that make your stomach flutter and your heart patter a little harder, and a cold enforcer, reminding you so much of the arctic chill of the Gilded Ranges. It’s giving you whiplash and has completely crumbled your plans of using your feminine wiles to gain the upper hand. Despite him no longer being your technical enemy, he’s still done enough damage in the past to warrant caution. Or so you think—thought, at least. It’s hard to be sure anymore.

He has a charismatic allure that is disarming but also has your hackles rising. It leaves you with little room to think of anything other than digging deeper, latching your claws into him, and figuring out what makes him tick. Somehow, you’re starting to believe that Shadowsword—the rebellious, power-hungry monster of stories—is a complex guy with qualities you can’t quite grasp. Is it really that simple?

You scramble out of the tent, catching a flash of black as Jungkook disappears into the tent Goris is being held in, just down the thoroughfare in the main camp. As you slip into the afternoon sun, a crowd barrels past you. Their raucous laughter and jovial back slaps make your lips twitch as you fight off a smile. Jungkook’s six friends have become a constant over the last several days, attending all the meetings where you spilled as much information as possible.

One of the figures on the end, shorter and less animated than the others, throws a look over his shoulder at you. For a brief moment, his dark eyes flash with mischief, and you feel a trickle of air slide right down your spine, the faintest scent of cedar filling your nose. They’ve all been testing you, some more than others. You stiffen as the knot of air twists and puffs out of the front of your shirt, hitting you in the face. Yoongi, in particular, seems to think you’re far more trouble than you’re worth.

Ignoring the group, you skirt around them and head for the tent Jungkook disappeared into. It’s not the same tent you were held in at first, Jungkook keeping his word about moving Goris somewhere closer to Ripley. The backside of the tent is open, giving a good view of the giant green dragon a hundred yards away, corralled in a makeshift wooden structure.

Her emerald wings are resting along her spine, and her sizeable mossy snout is resting on her forepaws, orange eyes trained on the tent you’re in—more specifically, the man dressed in all black with his arms crossed over his chest standing off to the side. Her eyes flick to you momentarily.

A cloud of dust kicks up as she snorts, her focus sliding away from you dismissively back to Jungkook. The collar around her neck glints wickedly in the late afternoon light. You never got to ride her like you did Lowren, but you spent enough time around her to be familiar—she knows you pose no threat, unlike Jungkook.

Goris looks good, considering. He’s sitting on a narrow camp cot, elbows on his thighs and chin perched on his folded hands. His amber eyes are dull, face slightly more gaunt than you’re used to, and his braid is unkept, hairs sticking out wildly. You realize he looks like a husk of the vibrant, if brooding, man you’re used to.

“Colonel Goris,” you say in greeting, but his eyes don’t shift from their lock on Jungkook.

“Not much of a Colonel from where I’m sitting, girl. Best you just call me Rit.”

Your nose wrinkles. The interior of the tent is clean, but the air stinks of defeat. “Even behind enemy lines, you still deserve the honor and respect of your title,” you state. Your words finally win you his attention, but the look in his eyes as they meet yours makes your stomach drop. “You have to remove the Helnite,” you implore Jungkook. “Please!”

A harsh chuckle sounds from Goris. “Like he’d listen to you. Nice try, sweetheart, but he’s already made up his mind for me.”

“You’d be surprised, Rit,” Jungkook murmurs. His eyes catch yours momentarily, and he nods toward the haggard man sitting on the cot. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Colonel Goris,” the title earns you a soft scoff. “Rit,” you say in a placating manner, holding back the smile when he looks at you again. “There’s so much you need to hear, so much I must tell you.”

“Can’t say I much feel like listening. As I see it, you’re walking around free as a songbird. Which means you’re now on his side and are now my enemy. As much as I like you and have enjoyed your company over the years, I won’t listen to an oath breaker.”

His words hold no bite, but they sting nonetheless. You swallow thickly, letting your pride slide down your throat with the bile threatening to come up with the reminder of your broken oaths. Nothing will ever be able to repair the betrayal staining your heart, but what you forsake your vows for makes it easier. You hope the same goes for Goris when you’re done.

“You’re right. I am an oath breaker. But, Gor—Rit, I’ll talk, and whether or not you listen is your prerogative, I guess. Just…if you ever cared for Poli the way I think you did, hear me out.”

Goris grunts, swinging his gaze out the back of the tent to where Ripley now has her eyes closed. Her chest rises and falls slowly, deeply, and evenly, though you doubt she’s truly asleep. “Go on then,” he sighs. “Let’s hear it.”

“What do you know about the new bonding that King Jeon discovered?” you ask, hoping to use his own knowledge to set the stage.

He shrugs his shoulders, dropping his hands to dangle between his knees. “Instead of a blood exchange for the bond, it’s now an enchantment. The spell binds the Mave and the Reaver together so they can still share magic, but it doesn’t require the soul tether like before.”

“Right, an enchantment that is supposedly bonding a Mave to a Reaver, allowing them both to access their Signis’ powers,” you repeat, just to confirm. “What if that enchantment isn’t as harmless as it was made out to be?”

Goris’ brow pinches, lips rolling between his teeth. “I’ve seen it first hand, and it seems as harmless as it’s said to be. I know plenty of Mave’s that have done the enchanted bond, and nothing has been amiss. What are you getting at?”

You reach into the small pocket sewn into your dark blue cotton trousers. The pin feels cold in your fingers, far colder than a chunk of gold should. “Does this look familiar?” you ask, holding up the dragon and crown emblem.

Recognition flares in Goris’ eyes, bringing some life back to them. “Of course it does. Why do you have it?” That recognition quickly melts into suspicion.

Glancing at Jungkook, you wet your lips, hesitating. He gives you a barely perceptible nod, so you explain, “The King was wearing it the day that Jungkook discovered the truth about the bond. During their struggle,” the words flow easily as the images bloom in your mind, still crisp and clear as the first time you saw them, “a piece of King Jeon’s robes got caught on Jungkook’s dagger, the pin was attached to it. He let me view it…use my ability on it.”

“I remember that day,” Goris mutters. He studies the pin still clutched in your fingers as if it can give him answers quicker than you are.

You swallow hard, the cold seeping in as you recall what else happened that day. “There had been a recent increase in dragon deaths. Specifically, Reavers bonded with Maves using the enchantment. Six in one week, more before that.” The gold is swallowed in your fist as you grip it tightly, anger shaking your shoulders. “You’ve seen the reports, Rit. You know just as well as I do that the Reavers bonded using the enchantment over the last two decades have seemingly always encountered some sort of tragic demise. Always written off as an accident, a training mishap, a run-in with the enemy, and any other bullshit excuse…while the Mave bonded with them walks away to just bond another Reaver a week later!” There is a flicker of uncertainty on Goris’ face. One more push… “I saw it with my own eyes, Rit.” You hold up the pin, tossing it at him. He snatches it out of the air and glares down at it. You know he can see the dried blood on it and smell that slightly hot metal scent of dragon’s blood.

“Dried dragon’s blood on a bit of gold means nothing,” Goris whispers, but there is no conviction in it.

“It’s the truth. I know it’s hard to swallow, but you know it’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you…not about something like that.” You watch as warring emotions cloud Goris’ face—a brief moment of defiance, uncertainty, pain, sorrow…acceptance.

Liquid amber eyes meet yours before they slide toward the open end of the tent. Ripley’s eyes are open, rounded, and brimming with unshed emotion. Despite the Helnite cutting them off from each other, the soul-bond still remains and is so deep, that they mirror each other even if they can’t feel it. She gives a mournful whiny, raising her head to look southward—toward the capital.

You spoke loudly and clearly, knowing Ripley could hear you from this distance. You hoped she would listen to the truth in your words and help you convince Goris. Reavers—dragons, deserve respect and care, not to be so carelessly used for their power by malicious humans.

“What can I do to help?” he finally asks, and it’s like the interior of the tent lets out a breath of relief. Jungkook’s stance sags a little, his shoulders relaxing as he drops his hands by his sides. You can’t hold back a soft, sad smile.

You leave Goris and Jungkook to talk, excusing yourself for some fresh air after that heavy exchange. It feels like a victory, which gives you hope for how things are going to go moving forward. If someone had told you a few months ago that you’d find yourself deep in the heart of the enemy camp with a smile on your face and a pep in your step, you’d have laughed right in their face.

Things are still so new for you here. Even though Jungkook has given you a lot of freedom, it’s rare when you truly get some time to yourself. Thinking to take advantage of that, you glance back over your shoulder and pause to listen. You can hear Goris and Jungkook still locked in conversation. Smoothing your hands absently over your thighs, you tuck your lips between your teeth to squash your smile—no need to draw additional attention by smiling like a kid with their hand in the sugar jar.

You’ve studied maps of the terrain in the Andos Forest extensively. You’re intimately familiar with the layout of the land, and you know the encampment is strategically settled close to the lake that’s connected to the inlet to the ocean. The season is just on the cusp of changing here in the lowlands. Perhaps only a few weeks remain of amicable weather. Perfect for getting in one last swim before the water becomes too cold.

The walk through the forest is quick, the underbrush cleared in a distinct and well-worn path. A large clearing dotted with oversized boulders is beside the lake, the sandy shore extending farther than you can see in either direction. The water is like a sheet of glistening sapphire, deep blue with green undertones obscuring its unknown depths.

You hesitate at the edge of the water, suddenly feeling a wash of guilt, having left without telling Jungkook. It’s bizarre to realize that you might care what he thinks of you and feel bad for potentially making him worry. But, deep down, you know the last thing you want to do is give him a reason not to trust you.

Pivoting on your heel, you fully intend to trek back to camp and let him know when you hear a loud crack echo from the treeline. Panic thunders through your chest, causing you to act without much thought, throwing yourself toward the closest boulder dotting the shore and crouching behind it.

Jungkook warned you that there are wild animals in these woods but also bands of mercenaries that come here for trade from Norkham, who won’t think twice about taking advantage of a lonely woman—even if she has magic. Your pulse thuds loudly in your ears as you peer around the side of the boulder. A shadowy figure appears a moment later, and you’re about to bolt into the woods and take your chances when you sag back in relief when Jungkook spills from the darkness between two trees.

You brace yourself on the boulder, intending to use it as leverage to help yourself stand when you pause, mouth going dry as you watch Jungkook rip his fighting leather top over his head. Your knees go weak, and your ass pops back down to rest on your heels. You know you should look away, that it’s inappropriate to be ogling him without his knowledge, but you can’t bring yourself to look away.

He is the epitome of power. The tattoo on his pec stands out in stark relief against his golden skin, the dragon standing like it’s ready to pounce right off his chest. Its long, sinuous tail wraps around his bicep, blending with the other intricate designs etched into his skin. It’s not just power that he exudes; it’s intrigue. Everything about him makes you want to get closer, crawl into his mind, and dig around.

Reading a person is forbidden, taboo…but Jungkook makes you want to break the rules. You watch as he unsheaths his long sword, the silvery blade catching the evening light and reflecting it across the water in front of him. His muscles flex and bunch as he fluidly moves from one stance to another, the blade whirring through the air with practiced movements.

You’re not sure how long you watch him, but by the time he shoves the blade back into its scabbard, he’s covered in sweat, and your legs ache from being in this crouched position.

“You can come out now,” Jungkook calls as he retrieves his top from the ground.

A confusing beat passes. You search the treeline, trying to see who he’s talking to. The hairs on the nape of your neck prickle, and a chill works its way down your spine. You can’t help but feel like you’re being watched like there’s a large presence behind you that you hadn’t noticed before.

Before you can think better of it, you slowly turn your head to glance over your shoulder.

“Fucking hells!” you scream, tumbling forward on your hands and knees and trying to scrabble away from the giant, black dragon that somehow snuck up behind you without you realizing it.

“Calm down, he won’t eat you,” Jungkook says, his tone teasing and light. You push up from the ground, uncaring of the sand clinging to your body and skirt around the still shirtless man, putting him between you and his dragon.

“He scared me.” You wring your hands together. “He snuck up on me.”

A thick, dark eyebrow arches. “Maybe he thought you were trying to sneak up on me.”

You should be embarrassed; you have every right to feel the flush of heat across your chest and cheeks, but it doesn’t come. No, instead, there is a heat of a different flavor. A bold and reckless flavor that you come to realize you like the taste of.

Jungkook makes you feel alive in ways you never have before. It’s surprising and catches you off guard, but it’s freeing in a sense, casting off your inhibitions in such a fashion.

“I wasn’t sneaking.” It’s not a lie, not really.

“Just watching, right?” Mirth colors his words and twinkles in his eyes; you’d almost think he was flirting with you. “Come, let me introduce you.”

The change in subject has you opening and closing your mouth like a fish out of water. “What’s his name?” you ask, warily eyeing the formidable scaly dragon waiting a few feet away. You heard him say it in the flashback you got from the golden pin, but for some reason, the juvenile dragon from the viewing is hard to picture being the same one as what stands before you.

“Onyx,” Jungkook says, giving the dragon an affectionate pat on its large snout. There is a moment where you’re pinned by his golden-eyed stare as he assesses you. You’ve heard dragons have an impeccable judgment of character, being able to sniff out a rotten egg with little effort. Only a genuinely deserving person is offered the soul-bond to a dragon.

Onyx gives a soft snort, the warm air smelling faintly of cloves catches in your hair and tickles along the tops of your cheeks. You have to clench the muscles in your legs to keep from jerking back a step as Onyx steps forward, his head looming in your direction. He taps the center of your chest with his snout—acceptance. A giddy feeling blossoms in your chest, made even more apparent when Jungkook steps around to stand beside you. His close proximity reminds your body of what it felt just moments ago crouched behind the boulder. He may no longer be your enemy, but he’s unknowingly started a war with your self-control.

🖤🖤🖤

Jungkook

It’s been almost four months now since Jungkook had Jimin remove the Helnite from Ripley’s and Goris’ necks. It’s still hard to believe that you were able to convince Rit so easily. If Jungkook knew that’s all it would have taken to sway some of his father’s most loyal commanders, he would have sought out a Psion much sooner. Though, he’s well aware of how much respect Rit has for you because of who you were to Poli. He sighs, fisting a handful of his hair and tugging at it, willing those thoughts away. That ache may never go away, which comes up whenever he thinks of General Marvick.

“You okay?” Namjoon asks from his seat on the bench beside him.

It’s late, far too late to be having another meeting, but Taehyung returned from a scouting trip around the Western Garrison and has urgent news to share.

“Fine,” Jungkook dismisses, straightening in his seat and dropping his hands into his lap. “Continue.” He gestures to Taehyung, who stopped his report for Namjoon’s question.

Jungkook can feel your eyes on him from the corner of the tent. He hates that he’s keeping you from going back to sleep, having woken you up with blaring mage lights when his six closest advisors crowded in. It’s a few hours past midnight, he’s pretty sure.

He forces himself not to look your way, not sure he could stop himself from kicking everyone else out if he allows himself to see the sleepy softness of your face. It isn’t helped by the fact that you’ve grown bold lately with lingering looks and touches. Jungkook is relatively sure you’ve been intentionally trying to catch him with his proverbial pants around his ankles.

It’s slowly becoming a problem, having you sleep in his tent. The tent might be larger than most, but it’s painfully intimate when you share it with someone else…someone who is as alluring and mysterious as you are. Jungkook fiddles with the front tails of his shirt. He didn’t bother lacing it up or doing more than swinging it over his shoulders and shoving his arms through. His leather breeches sit low on his waist, another slight oversight when he dragged them on under his blanket when he was alerted to Taehyung’s arrival.

The first few nights after you joined his cause, he went to bed in full gear. It was with a mix of caution but also out of mild discomfort. He’s never shared more than a fleeting few hours with a woman and never overnight. Your feminine presence put him on edge, but he also wasn’t fool enough to think you might not take the opportunity to stick a blade into his belly. Once he was sure he was safe, at least from the blade, he began to get undressed under his blankets, suppressing the blissful sighs when he could once again sleep comfortably.

He’s made it a point to wake up before you every morning so he could be dressed before you and avoid the awkwardness. But tonight is something that couldn’t be helped. It’s like thinking of it has his eyes sliding your way unbidden. He catches the briefest glimpse of you before jerking his attention back to Taehyung, but it’s enough. There is no way to know for sure, with your blanket tucked up under your chin, but he could almost swear you are naked under there. The thought has the hairs on the back of his neck prickling.

“I can lead this if you need me to,” Namjoon leans in and murmurs into Jungkook’s ear, ripping him from his thoughts once again.

Jungkook’s neck warms along with the tips of his ears. “It’s fine,” he retorts, clearing his throat before focusing intently on the man animatedly speaking. He can’t help but think of his last conversation with Namjoon; he was just as distracted then. Namjoon’s convinced you’ll find yourself in Jungkook’s bed before it’s all over. Jungkook vehemently disagreed—at least, on the outside.

“It looks like Jeon is pulling out some of the forward wings and sending them to assist at Fort Supret.” Taehyung drags his finger from the top of the map to the center. “Niharmer has been given the station of General, though I hear many aren’t happy about that, including Niharmer himself. Powers are shifting. Ta is now Colonel, and Lee has been promoted to Major. A new guy is taking over for Ta, but I’ve only heard whispers, nothing concrete. The golden machine churns on, even after taking such a big loss,” he grumbles that last bit, throwing an apologetic look in your direction. All of his friends are aware of what you lost that day, what Poli represented in your life.

“It might be the perfect time to strike, get on the inside,” Yoongi muses. He reaches out and taps a finger on the map spread out on the table, indicating the cluster of islands at the top. “With the Western Garrison being short a few wings and the chaos of troop movement, we could maybe slip a few far-flight scout wings around The Steppes and move in from the north.”

“You’d be better served to come in from the west,” you say, drawing all their gazes to you. Jungkook masks his surprise at seeing you standing, pulling your blanket tight around you. Your shoulders are bare, leading him to believe he was right in his assumption that you’re naked. The only thing separating his hungry gaze from your delectable body is a thin sheet of linen.

The curves of your body are not well disguised by the fabric. If anything, it hugs and pulls in a way that makes his teeth grind together. Saliva pools under his tongue when he sees your pebbled nipples stand out against the grey-colored linen. Thankfully, you drape an arm over your chest to help keep the blanket in place as you approach the table.

“The north is the easiest way into the compound,” Yoongi states, his eyes flashing silver as they narrow at the map. A sharp, warm puff of air slides the carved golden dragon figurine from its place by the Western Garrison toward the middle of the mountain range where Fort Supret is located. “They’re vulnerable along the north if they’re moving the bulk of their troops south.”

You lean over the table, giving Jungkook a tantalizing view of your cleavage above the makeshift blanket wrap. You have no qualms with your body, much to his personal detriment. He gets up early to get dressed first but also to avoid being in the tent when you crawl out of bed…completely nude. The first time it happened, he stormed out of the tent and spent half the day running Onyx through training drills so that he didn’t tackle you to the ground and become the monster you once thought of him as.

“The north will be vulnerable, yes, but I would guarantee that’s exactly what the King would think as well. He’ll send reinforcements from The Shield and The Serpent to cover the north, anticipating a likely attack with the shift. He’s likely baiting the attack. And it’ll leave his west flank even more vulnerable. It’s the same tactic he always uses. That’s the thing about King Jeon. He’s predictable.”

Jungkook sits back in his chair, allowing himself a moment to appreciate you—because of your well-honed military mindset, of course, and nothing else. “She’s right, Yoongi. We can monitor the movement of the north just in case, but the west will likely be the softest front. It’s what he did at Norkham and what he did when taking The Steppes, to begin with. It’s what he’s sure to do now.”

“Hoseok, Namjoon, Taehyung, I want you three to go. Hoseok and Taehyung, you’re on the west. Namjoon, stay to the north. Be sure to take some curlers with you and keep in touch. Take as many bodies as you need, but move swiftly. Go now, be there before the sun rises, use the dawn as cover for your approach. If we can take out the guards and infiltrate their breeding camp, we can cut them off at the knees. Jimin, Seokjin, you know what to do. Yoongi, we’ll move forward with our plans by the end of the week. It’s time, my friends. It’s finally time.”

This moment has been a long time coming. It was what pushed Jungkook to attack when he did, why he was targeting General Marvick, to begin with. He knew if he took out the central command, his father would have no choice but to shift things around, and in the chaos that followed, it would be the best time to strike.

“On it,” Hoseok nods to the other three. “I want to be in the air within thirty, two squads each. Pick wisely.”

Everyone files out of the tent, Jimin and Seokjin, with the intention of distributing the latest cache of weapons Jimin finished and the rations Seokjin just got done preserving for a mission such as this. Their heads are together, chattering away about the best way to spread that amount of resources in such a short amount of time, as they exit. Yoongi claps Jungkook on the shoulder before leaving, muttering something too low for you to hear.

“Are we really executing the plan in just a week?” Your sleepy voice sucks him in, drawing his attention to you. You adjust the blanket, tucking it tighter under your arms.

He nods, cutting his eyes away from you. “Get some more sleep. We’ll begin preparations first thing in the morning.” Jungkook stands from the table, moving over to his discarded coat. Winter has fully set in. The camp hearth crackling in the center of the tent keeps the interior warm enough, but outside, there is a bitter bite to the air.

“What about you? You haven’t slept a wink.”

That furrows his brow. How do you know he hasn’t slept? For all you should be aware, he was in his bed before Taehyung came and disturbed him. You couldn’t possibly know he was lying awake in bed…trying so hard not to think about you lying five feet away from him.

Before he can respond, you’re circling around the table and crowding into his space. “What are you doing?” he says, voice low and hoarse as you reach up and twirl the drawstring on his shirt around your finger. His stomach muscles flex as you trace the open line of his shirt, your nail dragging lightly along his exposed skin.

“I see the way you look at me,” you say. A slight smirk curls your lips as you look up at him through your lashes. “I know you toss and turn, trying to push away thoughts of inviting me into your bed.”

“Psions aren’t mind readers,” he states firmly. Though there is a slight hitch in his breath, that confirms your words regardless, when your finger glides back up to press against the black dragon head resting at the center of his chest. Jungkook barely breathes as you push up onto your toes and brush your lips against his cheek in a soft kiss.

“I don’t mind you having those thoughts,” you admit, dropping back onto your heels. “But, I do mind you losing sleep over them. So, next time you find yourself unable to sleep…well, all you have to do is ask.” And with that, you drop your hand and turn your back to him. He’s almost sure you exaggerate the sway of your hips as you pad across the ground back to your sleeping pallet. “A distracted commander makes mistakes. I’d hate for that to happen.” Your words drift to him on a whisper, blending with the soft sound of brushing fabric as you settle down and adjust your blanket around you.

Your eyes are closed, and Jungkook watches as your chest rises and falls with even breaths. He knows you probably didn’t fall asleep that quickly, but you’re obviously done with the conversation, and he’s not even sure what he could say to you at this point that wouldn’t be “get in my bed so I can fuck you back to sleep”. Biting his tongue until it aches, he snags his coat, throws it around his shoulders, and disappears through the tent flap, willing the cold to leech away his sordid thoughts.

🖤🖤🖤

“Again!” Goris growls, hefting his sword up, ready to deflect your next blow. You lunge, bringing the long sword down with both hands. He quickly smacks it to the side. “You’re too slow. Again!”

“You’re fucking…crazy…if you think…I can do this again,” you gasp between breaths. “We’ve been at this all day. I’m just getting slower each time. I need to rest for a bit…or forever.”

Goris swings his sword, catching you across the back of your knees with the flat of it, making you hit the dirt with a pained yelp. The sword in your hands goes flying, clattering noisily a few feet away. “You’d be dead if I were the enemy,” he grouses. “Go get cleaned up. We’ll resume this first thing in the morning.”

Once Goris was accepted into the fold of the rebel camp, he quickly took up a place as your personal trainer. You’re getting good, very good, according to Jungkook, who watches your training sessions on occasion. But, according to Goris, you’re as skilled as a newborn babe. Jungkook says it’s just how Goris is, a hardass through and through who will push you even when you’re successful. You appreciate it, even if your body detests the multitude of bruises and aches that are accumulating.

It’s only been a few days since Taehyung returned from the scouting mission, and many of the rebel forces moved in to take over The Stepping Isles. From what Jungkook has told you, they were successful, and you were right about the western flank being the most vulnerable. Even Yoongi murmured his appreciation to you for that insight once it was revealed.

Currently, The Steppes are controlled by Jungkook’s force, and the Crown is unhappy about it. When Dragonkind first left Lork, it’s said that The Stepping Isles were their preferred place of rest. It’s where all dragons reside before being bonded or employed into service. Before King Jeon took over and established his breeding farm, the dragons were always free to roam wherever they pleased as any other beings are. Most people assume they were still free and have always been, but it’s only because it’s so rare to see a Brute in the wild that no one is the wiser.

Cutting his father off at the source is nearly as big of a move as when Jungkook took down General Marvick. Though, the victory at The Steppes is far more palatable than the other. Without more dragons, the Brutes forced into bonds that die due to the enchantment can’t be replaced. The last roster you laid your eyes on quoted there being fifty-four Brutes with Wielders as their riders and nine Reavers with Maves. Six now, if you take away Goris, Krut, and Marvick.

The sun has barely passed its zenith, the weak light breaking through the surrounding trees. Even though there is a light dusting of snow on the ground, you’re sweating from the exertion of training. It won’t last long, you know. The steam rising from your body as you trudge through camp is already dwindling. If you don’t get out of the cold and rid your body of the moisture coating it, you could find yourself with a chill.

These daily training sessions have added to your arsenal of skills. When pointing out that you may not be proficient with a sword, but you had other talents, Goris never thought he might get the chance to remedy that. Once he’s done with you each day, he moves on to working with any of the soldiers and Noks who are willing to learn.

On more than one occasion, you’ve caught Jungkook with a fervent, proud look in his eyes as he watches his own childhood blade master teaching his friends and comrades of war. That’s something you’ve come to appreciate about him. Jungkook doesn’t consider his rebel army to be his lessers or his followers, people to control and throw against the grind wheel, but people who share a common goal and are his equal in worth. It’s highly contrasting to what you’re used to from leaders.

Pushing through the flap, you shudder as the heat of the interior of the tent hits you. It’s so warm against your chilled skin that goosebumps sheet across your skin with a light ache. You snag the ties holding your leather fighting top closed, and sigh softly as you shuck the sweat-drenched fabric. Jungkook is meeting with Yoongi right now, so you should have some time to wash before he comes in.

You can’t help the smile on your face as you peel off your breeches and toss them aside with your top, luxuriating in the instant comfort. The stretch of fabric you use to bind your breasts during training comes off, and you groan at the feeling of being able to take a full, unencumbered breath. The fighting garb you were given was made for a woman with a smaller chest than you, making the binding necessary to avoid pinching and chaffing. It’s a necessary evil if you expect to go to the capital with Jungkook, Yoongi, and Goris—which you do.

A pitcher of clean water is waiting behind the changing screen, just as always. But, considering you have some time, you grab it, bring it out, and set it on the table. The iron brazier in the middle of the tent is popping and crackling with heat, the enchanted stones crowding the bowl emit a bright lavender light and the perfect amount of warmth. It’s been months since you were able to bathe beside a camp hearth like this, and now’s the ideal opportunity to revisit that luxury.

Pulling your small bar of herbal soap and a clean cloth from your stash of things beside your bedroll, you move as close to the crackling rocks as you dare. You soak the fabric in the water, then ring it out over your chest. The water is tepid at best from sitting in the warm tent, but it feels warmer due to the proximity of the brazier. It feels heavenly, rewetting the cloth and repeating the process until your body is dripping. The ground below you dries just as quickly as water can soak into it, another advantage of the enchanted iron hearth.

As you work it into a lather on the cloth, the soap smells of fragrant jasmine and rosemary. You’re lost in the smooth glide of the soapy cloth along your legs when you hear the swish of the tent flap.

“I’m starv—“, the words cut off, strangled around a gasp.

You straighten from where you were bent over washing and glance over your shoulder. Your back is to the tent entrance, a deliberate placement just on the off chance of something like this happening. Turning so you’re facing Jungkook head-on, you reach beside you, dip the cloth in the water again, and hold it out toward him. “Just in time to help me with my back.”

Jungkook’s eyes are large, rounded, and constantly flicking over your body until they finally land on your hand holding the cloth. His lips twitch, and you’re confident he’s about to launch back through the tent flap, but mild surprise rises in your chest when he abruptly steps toward you and snatches the cloth from your fingers. This is a dangerous game, a line being crossed that neither of you can uncross…but if you’re honest with yourself, you can’t find it in you to care.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a siren sent to infiltrate my camp and suck me beneath your spell,” he grits the words out between clenched teeth. “A demon temptress come to steal my damned soul.”

A stilted gasp erupts from you as his chest presses tightly against yours. The rough weave of his shirt rubs against your breasts, eliciting prickles of sharp, pleasured-pain. His eyes look like endless black pools thanks to the violet light filling the tent from the stones in the brazier. They narrow down at you, one corner of his mouth curling up to expose his teeth in a goading sneer.

“You’re the one that stole me, remember?” you whisper. He’s so close you can see the tiny beauty mark under his bottom lip and the intricate closing mechanism of his ringed jewelry in his lip.

The washcloth pressing into the middle of your spine has you arching forward, your chest pressing more firmly against his. Wetness spreads along the front of his cream-colored shirt with water and soap leaching from your body to his. He slides the cloth along your upper back and shoulders in long, sweeping movements.

A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest. Your hands automatically come up and grip his sides, fingers fisting into the loose fabric that hides away his perfectly tapered waist. It’s that whiplash again. He was cold and indifferent this morning, grumbling to himself over breakfast before leaving without saying a word. Now, he’s hot enough to make the brazier feel chilled, devouring your sanity like a starving man.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks.

The ghost of his breath tickles across your lips. It wouldn’t take much effort to…your lips press against his in a brief yet searing kiss. “The same as you do to me, I’d wager.”

Jungkook groans, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck,” he curses. The wet cloth plops to the ground. His large hands grip fistfuls of your ass and haul you up, lips hungrily seeking yours. Your legs automatically wind around his waist, resting over his hips, ankles crossed in the small of his back. He fits perfectly between your thighs, and you’re intimately aware of the throbbing presence now pressed firmly against you.

The heady scent of clove fills your nose with your next inhale as Jungkook’s tongue seeks entry into your mouth. You open for him, welcoming the slick pressure of his tongue against yours. He tastes like sweet, toasted spices, a flavor you could get lost in.

A familiar darkness swirls around you, caressing along your hips, back, and ass to replace the grip of his hands. Bands of shadows wind around your thighs and hug the curves of your waist to cup the undersides of your breasts. You’re surrounded by shadows—by him. He invades your senses, drawing them all into one flagrant point.

You shudder under the shadows, realizing they’re holding your weight as his hands slip from your body. His lips remain plucking and strumming against yours, but the solid press of his hips against yours retreats. Your ankles fall off each other, and your legs spread further around his hips until they’re dangling in the air, suspended now by the support of his winding shadows.

He pulls away, lips finally breaking from yours. You can feel the lingering tingle with every thump of your heartbeat. “Jungkook,” you whisper his name like a prayer, an earnest plea for redemption.

“Look at you.” He angles his head down, eyes intently gazing at where you’re being held open by his shadows, wholly exposed to him. “What a mess, so dirty,” he chuckles, flicking a thick digit between your lower lips, then holds it up to shine in the soft, lilac glow from the brazier. His eyes meet yours as he presses his finger against the flat of his tongue before his lips close around it and he sucks. “Baths are supposed to make you clean.”

“I think I prefer being dirty. I was wondering how long it would take for you to break,” you taunt.

Delight sparks in his eyes, raising his brows as he licks his lips. “I should leave you like this as punishment for tempting me so much.” His finger swipes over you again, eliciting a bedraggled moan from you. “It’s been so fucking hard,” he emphasizes the word, drawing it out as he slowly slides his finger into your throbbing center, “trying to resist this bewitching pussy.”

Your lips part, another moan echoing through the tent as he drags his finger back out just to push it back in. “F-fuck me,” you mewl, not caring how wanton and needy you sound.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asks, fitting in a second finger alongside the first. “To have me stretching out your sweet pussy and filling you with my darkness?” All you can do is nod. “I don’t know if you’re ready for that. But there is something,” his words hitch with a smirk as his fingers withdraw, only to be replaced by something lighter and more spectral in feel. Something you’re familiar with, just not probing lightly in such an intimate place. “A small taste of my darkness,” he whispers, canting his hips forward in a mockery of fucking, as a thick tendril of shadow fills you the way you wish his cock would.

“Oh, fuck—Jungkook!” you cry out, arching between the shadows holding your body in the air before him. Your chin drops to your chest, giving you a clear view of the thick, dark inkiness that’s sliding in and out of your cunt, dripping with your arousal. His lips capture yours again, tongue exploring and emploring you to make sweet sounds for him. One of his hands fists into your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss further. The other lands in your lower belly, thumb pressed to your clit to rub teasing circles.

The sounds reverberating around the tent are obscene. You’re both moaning and breathing hard, the perversion punctuated by the slick sounds of the shadow filling you over and over and Jungkook’s thumb working over your arousal-covered clit. “Cum for me,” he pants, breaking from the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw and down your neck. “Take my darkness in like a good girl.” His teeth graze one of your nipples before gently clapping down.

It’s like a punch to your pleasure senses. Everything sparks and fires, creating a conflagration of all-consuming euphoria. Your body clamps down hard around the shadow, making Jungkook groan as if it’s directly linked to his own body. He shudders against you, slumping forward until his chest is pressed to yours again and his lips seal over yours.

As quickly as the shadows wrapped around your body, they disappear, leaving you feeling bereft of their wispy touch. Jungkook keeps you from hitting the ground, his hands catching you under your arms until you’re steady on your feet. “Thank you,” you say, unsure if you mean for catching you or giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever experienced. You’re just about to ask if he would like for you to return the favor when he jerks away from you and adjusts the front of his trousers.

He works his jaw, the muscles flexing as he clenches his teeth. “I—uh, I need to go,” he mutters. “Seokjin has invited us to have dinner with him.” You watch as the blatant lust on his face ices over and turns into an unreadable mask. “Oh, and next time, bathe behind the screen, or I’ll make sure the whole camp can hear how well you’ll be taking my cock.” The words are soft but forced out between taut lips before he turns on his heel and all but runs from the tent.

🖤🖤🖤

Jungkook

It’s clear you’re going to be the death of him. He knows he shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have fucked you with his shadows. Because now he’ll be able to think of little else. The fact his shadows are a direct extension of himself means he can feel the warm clutch of your pussy throbbing around his cock even though he didn’t even take it out. It jerks painfully behind the ties of his breeches, but he pointedly ignores it, hoping the erection will go away before he makes it to Seokjin’s tent.

Jungkook told you Seokjin had extended a dinner invitation. Though, he’s not sure if you’ll even show up, considering what he just did to you. There is a sweet, twisted satisfaction in thinking you might be too blissed out to join.

Don’t let it go to your head.

Oh, fuck off, Onyx. You’ve been silent for months, and this is all it took to get you to talk again? Jungkook scoffs, blowing out a breath that mists in the air.

I was busy mourning a lost friend, much as you have. Onyx’s deep timbre vibrates through Jungkook. It’s full of barely veiled emotion. Lowren and Onyx were hatch mates, practically brothers, until they separated to accept their individual bonds. You should have mated with the Psion.

What the hell? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. The last thing I need to do is make it weird.

What’s weird about mating? I know how she makes you feel. The happiness is unmistakable. Onyx huffs, the sound like dry leaves crinkling between Jungkook’s ears. I’ll never understand you humans.

It’s not that easy. I don’t even know if she likes me like that. That isn’t entirely true, at least based on how you react to him and how you constantly infiltrate his mind and break down his defenses. In fact, you admitted nearly as much just a few minutes ago, right before he filled your dripping cunt with his shadow. Jungkook clears his throat. It’s complicated.

The only thing he gets in reply from Onyx is an indignant snort, the sound rattling around in his head as he approaches Seokjin’s tent.

“Wait up!” He hears your breathy request from a few feet behind him. Jungkook glances back just as you close the distance. You’re securing the belt of your thick wool coat around your waist, a bright smile on your face. Your lips are still puffy, swollen from his kiss. The tremble in your hands might be from the cold, but Jungkook would rather see it as residual effects of what he did to you.

The inside of Seokjin’s tent is cozy and warm thanks to the smaller space and the bright yellow brazier erected in one corner. There’s just enough room for a small camp table and four chairs in the open area between the bedroll and trunk. The tangy scent of spices permeates the air, a promise of delicious food.

“Finally! I was worried you wouldn’t show. Hells know you took long enough, what kept you?” Seokjin asks, fiddling with a steaming pot on the table.

“Umm, well, uh…I, er, we—“

“I’m sorry, Seokjin, it’s my fault. I took too long getting ready once Jungkook told me of your invitation to dinner. I had a hard training session with Rit earlier and was feeling a bit sluggish after.” You move into the space, giving Jungkook a brief, private smile as you save him from having to lie to his friend…or tell the truth and thicken the air with embarrassment.

Seokjin gives you an appraising look. “Is that right? Well, no harm done. Please, have a seat, let’s eat.”

🖤🖤🖤

The steaming pot on the table is filled with a luscious stew with braised meat and chopped vegetables. Crusty bread sits on a plate with various cheeses and fruits, and Seokjin pours three healthy glasses of plum-spiced wine.

“This smells divine,” you say, inhaling the fragrant stew as Seokjin ladles it into the bowl before you.

Seokjin simpers under your praise. “Thank you.”

Jungkook sits across the table from you, forcing Seokjin into one of the chairs between the two of you. The fourth chair sits empty, but not for long. Jimin bustles into the tent a few moments later, grumbling about the cold. “Your asshole of a dragon was being difficult, Jungkook. He wouldn’t sit still while I outfitted the new saddle. It took twice as long as it should have. My fingers are ice!”

Seokjin swiftly fills a fourth bowl and sets it in front of the empty chair. “Well, stop your bellyaching and warm up with some stew. Here’s that chili sauce you like so much that’ll have you thawed and sweating in no time,” he titters, pushing a small glass jar of red liquid toward Jimin.

Conversation drifts through the tent easily. You’d almost think you’d been friends with these men for far longer than a handful of months with how comfortable you feel around them. Seokjin and Jimin have taken you into their graces, doting on you like a sister. Neither of them so much as give you the stink eye for having once been their enemy. When you had asked them about it, they both agreed that it’s not your fault the King is corrupt—you were just doing your job, much the way they were doing theirs when you considered them your enemy.

They’re both Wielders, magic users that don’t require a dragon for their Signis to manifest. Seokjin has an affinity for healing, and Jimin can melt any metal with his bare hands nearly as well as a dragon’s flame can. You’ve heard Jungkook refer to them as the backbone of the camp more than once. He views all of his friends that way, for that matter. The six of them are the brothers he never got to have since his older brother was lost to an illness before Jungkook could grow old enough to know him. At least, that’s what the stories say, and you’ve not had the heart to ask him about it.

“Onyx got a new saddle?” you ask curiously.

Jimin’s eyes widen a fraction, his cheeks coloring as he throws a furtive glance at Jungkook. “He, um, he did. The old one’s chest strap was a bit worn. We try to cycle the saddles every year or so to maintain integrity. The last thing you want is a saddle strap to snap mid-flight.”

“It’s okay, Jimin. We don’t have to keep it a secret any longer.” Jungkook gives his friend an affectionate pat on the shoulder before turning to you. “The new staddle is a dual seater, similar in build to the one Poli used for you. That way, you can ride comfortably on Onyx when we fly to the capital. I was going to keep it as a surprise, but…” he trails off, shrugging.

“Oh.” In all the planning and preparation work, you hadn’t even considered how you’d be traveling to the capital. Flying with Jungkook makes the most sense, considering it’s only two days by dragon and nearly two weeks up to two months by land since you’d have to either skirt around the Gilded Ranges or traverse them. The hold on The Steppes is secure but cannot be held indefinitely. The sooner you execute the plan at the capital, the better for everyone; time is a precious commodity that you have little of. “Well, thank you.”

Jungkook gives you a warm smile that contrasts so wildly with the hungry, salacious man who ravaged you in his tent not too long ago. You can still feel the phantom ache of his shadow between your thighs, the memory making you squeeze your thighs together under the table.

“Dinner was delicious, Seokjin, thank you,” Jungkook says once everyone has had their fill of the hearty spread. “Going to bed with a full belly will do us all some good. We leave as soon as the sun rises in less than two day’s time. Best we all get some sleep now so we can have a full day of preparation tomorrow.”

Jimin settles in for a cup of tea, deciding to have a chat with Seokjin about tomorrow’s work before turning in. You and Jungkook leave Seokjin’s tent with smiles on your faces.

“That was lovely,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself against the chill. There is a soft flurry of snowflakes lazily drifting from the sky.

You walk in companionable silence for a while, the low drone of the camp settling in for the night, filtering through the hush of the night. It’s eerily beautiful, with the moon full and bright in the sky, bleeding silvery moonlight through the barren tree branches overhead.

“I’m sorry if earlier was too much. I’m not sure what came over me,” Jungkook breaks the silence with quiet words. “But, I can’t say I regret it.”

“I would have said no if I didn’t want it. I have no regrets either,” you reply in kind. A fluttery feeling settles in your belly, and your heartbeat picks up a fraction when Jungkook slides his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in against his side. He’s warm, a welcomed comfort from the cold.

Never in all your years would you have imagined you’d be where you are right now. But as Jungkook leads you into his tent and pats the blankets of his bed in invitation, you know without a doubt that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. You both undress in silence, quickly doffing your clothes in heaps on the ground. His bed is warm, heated by the enchanted brazier.

A whole foot of space remains between your bodies, but even with all that room, there is no awkwardness. You lay on your side, facing him. His arm extends above his head, elbow bent, and his other lay atop the blankets. You can see the black dragon tattooed on his skin with perfect clarity now. It stands out so starkly against his creamy skin.

“I’m not sure what will happen,” he whispers into the quiet of the tent. “Even if everything goes according to plan and we are able to put a stop to my father’s misdeeds and expose the truth…I’ve worked constantly for the last ten years towards this one goal, and now that it’s within my grasp, I don’t know what there is for me after that.” He rolls onto his side, dark eyes finding yours in the low light. “But, whatever comes after, know that you’ll have a place by my side if you want it.” You go to open your mouth, intent on telling him your thoughts concerning that offer, but he reaches out and presses a finger to your lips, halting your words. “You don’t have to give me an answer now. Just think about it, okay?”

You nod, his finger falling from your lips. His hand searches under the blankets until it finds one of yours. His fingers lace with yours, and he lets out a slow, easy breath and closes his eyes. A few minutes later, his breathing is deep and even with sleep. You let yourself indulge for a moment, taking in every facet and detail of his serene face, filling it all away into your infinite space. You never want to forget him—no matter what comes after.

🖤🖤🖤

Jungkook

Jungkook is sure he could have laid in bed and stared at you all day. But duty calls, and as long as he plays his cards right in just a few day’s time, maybe he can spend an entire day laying in bed staring at you. Right now, though, he needs to focus on something other than your supple body stretched out on his bed.

Tugging on his discarded clothing and jacket, he snags an apple from the bowl on the table and slips out of the tent into the early pre-dawn light. The camp is just starting to wake up; fires crackling from hearths fill the air with fragrant breakfast smells. Someone is already stoking the forge fires in the smith’s work tent, Jimin most likely getting ahead on the day’s chores.

Yoongi is waiting for him at the far end of the encampment, near where there is a clearing for the dragons to take flight. Onyx and Yoongi’s green dragon, Holgrin, patiently wait a few feet from Yoongi.

You mated the Psion. It’s such a matter-of-fact statement that it catches Jungkook off guard.

He throws a glare in Onyx’s direction before turning to Yoongi. “Ready?”

“I’ve been the one waiting on you,” Yoongi drawls, giving Jungkook a knowing look. “Get caught up with the big brain?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call her that, and if you have to know, no, I wasn’t caught up with anything. I’m here at exactly the time we agreed on. You’re just early…as always.”

“How else would you explain a Psion other than a big brain? I’m just calling it as I see it. It’s a compliment.”

“We both know that’s not how you mean it.”

Your silence, along with the way her smell lingers on your body, is all the confirmation I need. Onyx sounds amused. Jungkook is sure if he looked at the dragon, there’d be a macabre smile on his snout—not that Onyx is inherently disturbing, but that’s really the only way one can describe a dragon’s smile…it’s the teeth, definitely the teeth.

I’m silent because you’re being too much right now. I didn’t mate with her, you nosy beast.

Jungkook jerks back when Onyx suddenly snakes forward and presses his snout firmly against his chest. He gives a large sniff that tugs at Jungkook’s clothes. No. He sniffs again. Perhaps not this time, just the tender half-coupling of last night…but you will. She will be a good mate for you. Tender, sweet-smelling, sturdy–

Quit playing around, and let’s go. Jungkook pushes at Onyx’s snout, firmly ignoring everything else he said.

“Holgrin says you smell like her. Are you sure you weren’t caught up?” Yoongi muses, his tone light with jest.

Grumbling under his breath, Jungkook vaults up on Onyx’s back and secures himself in the saddle. Once Yoongi is astride Holgrin, Jungkook meets his eyes. “I fucked her with my shadows last night.”

The surprise in Yoongi’s eyes is reward enough for sharing that intimate detail. He’d rather have held on to that secret a bit longer, but the opportunity was too great. He’s also not entirely sure how you’d react to knowing he’s let it loose to someone else. He’ll have to come clean once he returns tonight.

Before Yoongi can come up with a clever quip in response, Jungkook urges Onyx into the air. Holgrin follows a moment later, the heavy beat of his wings carrying him into position at Onyx’s left flank. They climb in altitude until the air is so thin and cold that there is a slight ache with every breath. It’s safest this way. No other dragon rider in their right mind would fly so high. It doesn’t bother the dragons. Jungkook is almost sure they could fly into the farthest reaches of the atmosphere without even flinching.

Are you ready to face your father?

Jungkook thinks about lying, embellishing his feelings with false bravado, but he knows Onyx would be able to tell instantly. I’m not sure. And that’s the truth.

I am unfamiliar with Vikmag as he was long bonded to your father when I was still only a hatchling, but I shall do my best to keep him from interfering.

That thought makes Jungkook feel queasy. He hates the idea of Onyx locked into battle with his father’s Reaver. Vikmag is a nasty dragon, just as vicious as his Mave. Jungkook never thought there would be a dragon in existence that would support his father’s nefarious deeds, but as far as he knows, Vikmag doesn’t care in the slightest.

Holgrin, Onyx, and Ripley will all be waiting to keep Vikmag and any other Reavers that might be left in the capital busy while Jungkook, Yoongi, and you slip inside. It’ll be hard to approach without King Jeon realizing it otherwise. It’s Jungkook’s hope that they can make it inside and to wherever his father is before all hell breaks loose.

You’ve been a critical piece of the planning when it comes to that. You weren’t wrong when you said the King was predictable. And it’s that predictability that Jungkook is relying on. His father has kept the same routine for years, so they know pretty much exactly where he’ll be and when.

Glancing back at Yoongi, Jungkook sees his mouth moving but can’t hear his words. He pulls his curler, a small enchanted conch-shaped piece of heartwood, from his pocket. It fits snugly into his ear. As soon as it seals into place, he hears the soft hubbub of chatter. Yoongi’s voice rings out louder against all the others as if the volume is turned up, but only for him.

“We’re close to Orit. Do we want to do a sweep just in case as we descend toward Supret?” His voice is crackly but clear enough. Their ability to use the curlers is all thanks to Namjoon. He found the enchantment for them rotting away in some dingy book he found on a raid mission in Ft. Dupre. If it weren’t for the small curved pieces of wood, they’d have no way of communicating over distances or while in flight. It’s how Jungkook has kept in the loop about what’s happening at The Steppes.

Jungkook glances over Onyx’s side, catching small glimpses of the mountain peaks through the grey cloud cover. “Let’s be quick about it. I don’t want to get caught in the storm brewing in these clouds.” Ice glitters on the reigns in his gloved hands, and he can feel the crust of it gathering in his hair. “Once we’re sure of the status at Supret, we need to head northwest to meet with Taehyung.”

At the mention of his name, Taehyung’s baritone filters in, sounding like he’s standing at the other end of a lengthy wind tunnel. “Take your time. It's better to be safe. There’s a rumor that Jeon has ordered a few ballista engines to be constructed at the garrisons. I haven’t spotted one myself, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there.” That knowledge churns sourly in Jungkook’s stomach.

“Thanks for the heads up,” Yoongi says. “We’ll see you shortly.”

Scoping over Orit and Supret takes little time. Jungkook keeps a keen eye out for the wooden scorpions but doesn’t see any. Perhaps it is just a rumor. The making of the large torsion weapons was outlawed after the peace treaty between the three nations of Filasdurn. If his father is making them, it shows just how desperate he is now to risk open war with Lork and Norkham.

The storm offers good coverage as they descend and sweep over the mountains. Onyx and Holgrin, being the dark colors they are, blend in against the harsh steel-colored rock. Only a few Reavers are in sight. Niharmer’s red, Petre, is the only one they recognize.

“I’ve seen all I need,” Jungkook says to Yoongi, pressing his knees against Onyx’s side in silent command. They bank to the right, gaining altitude with every sweep of mighty wings.

Relaxing in the new saddle, Jungkook can’t help but think about what it will feel like with your thighs pressed to the outsides of his hips. The saddle Jimin made has a cushioned back separating the two seats. If it weren’t a safety concern, Jungkook would have insisted there be nothing between his body and yours. But Jimin insisted on the safer aspects, and Jungkook begrudgingly relented.

He hates that he will be gone all day, leaving you alone. One of his favorite pastimes recently has been watching you train with Rit. You're quickly picking up the technique and honing your skills for someone who may have only had sparing weapon training prior. The way your body moves and even the grunts of frustration and exertion you make are things not easily forgotten. You invade his mind and have managed to sink your claws right into his soul—and he finds he likes it, probably more than he should.

Jungkook isn’t sure what to call the thing that’s blossoming between the two of you. It’s an enigma of feelings and actions. Never before has he been so drawn to someone so quickly. He’s also never met another being so capable and quick-witted. You breathe life into him and make him want to reach beyond his own limits. There’s no denying you recognized the hunger in his eyes the moment he first exposed your Psion rune. It was hard to mask his reaction. It was so visceral and sudden. He’s curious how it made you feel to be looked at like that. Did you think you were a morsel about to be devoured or a goddess about to be worshiped?

The sudden dip of Onyx’s wings pulls Jungkook out of his thoughts. The clouds break around his body until they’re swooping toward a clearing northwest of the Andos Forest. The sun is low in the sky, making it so Jungkook can barely see the pearl and pink coloring of Dallise, Taehyung’s white dragon, standing out against the brown and dark green of the grasslands where she and Taehyung wait.

Waves ripple through the knee-high grass as Onyx and Holgrin come in to land, their wings stretching wide to catch air and slow their momentum. Jungkook thumps to the ground beside Onyx, shaking out his limbs so they don’t stiffen up from being in the saddle all day.

I require food.

“Go for it, take Holgrin and Dallise with you. But steer clear of the mountains. Just because we didn’t see any ballistas at Supret and Orit doesn’t mean there aren’t any at Dupre.” Jungkook pats Onyx on his powerful flank before stepping away so the dragon has room to launch back into the sky. Dallise and Holgrin follow a second behind, the wind from their wings making all three men sway on their feet.

“What news do you have? How are The Steppes?” Yoongi asks, getting to the point.

Taehyung pushes a hand through his unruly brown waves, his hair longer than he usually keeps it, and thoroughly windswept. “The Steppes are fine…for now.” When Jungkook and Yoongi exchange a look, Taehyung continues, “We spotted a dozen fleet ships just south of the Western Garrison the day before yesterday. They’ll be upon the first island within the week.”

“Noks?” Jungkook asks.

“A mix,” Taehyung drops his hand, shrugging. “From what we could see without getting too close, there are Noks on deck but a few Wielders as well. Only one dragon in sight, a brown I didn’t recognize. But, based on the numbers, there are at least twenty squadrons and one wing—practically the entire reserves. I’d bet boots to buttons that only a handful of soldiers remain at The Shield and The Serpent. The capital will be empty, ripe for the plucking. Speaking of plucking, you get the Psion in your b—”

“That’ll be enough.”

Yoongi chuffs. “He’s sensitive about her.”

“I knew it. She’s far too pretty for you to keep in your tent without—“

“Say it, and I’ll punch you.” Jungkook crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at them both. It only lasts a minute before they all break into fits of laughter.

“Seriously, though, she’s nice, and I’m happy for you,” Taehyung says, elbowing Jungkook affectionately in the side. “It’s about time things started looking up for you.”

Not for the first time does Jungkook think about how he’d not come nearly as far as he has without his friends. When he ran away ten years ago, none of them so much as questioned his reasoning or called him insane for what he accused his father of. They simply packed a few scant belongings and helped smuggle him and Onyx out of the city.

They’ve been there since the beginning, his constant reminder that there’s good in a world of evil hidden under the guise of authority. Because that’s really what it is, why no one else thinks twice about questioning his father—power; they’re blinded by it, and kings can do no wrong in the eyes of people on their knees.

“Thanks,” Jungkook says with an easy smile. “We leave at first light in the morning. You’ll be keeping someone on the curler, right? Just in case.”

Taehyung taps the small wooden curve still nestled in his ear. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The dragons burst from over the Andos Forest, banking hard before dropping to the ground in a cascade of ground-shaking thumps. “Looks like they’re enjoying full bellies. I should be getting back. Hopefully, there will be more than crumbs left from dinner.” He pats his stomach and waves farewell before clamoring into the saddle on Dallise’s back. “Godspeed, my friends, I’ll see you at the top!”

Yoongi and Jungkook watch as Dallise and Taehyung turn into nothing more than a grey dot on the horizon. The sun is almost entirely down, the sky a deep blue with a blush of purple and orange.

“We best get back. Try to get as much sleep as we can before dawn.”

The ride back is silent except for the sound of the wind whipping by. Even Onyx is surprisingly subdued, considering all his banter earlier. The moon is high in the sky by the time they make it back. Yoongi offers Jungkook a parting squeeze on the shoulder before disappearing into the camp, heading toward his own tent.

🖤🖤🖤

A gentle hand on your arm pulls you from sleep. You blink your bleary eyes until Jungkook comes into focus. He’s kneeling beside your bedroll, his brow creased with a frown.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

The question is confusing, so you answer hesitantly. “Umm, sleeping?”

“Well, yeah,” he puffs out his cheeks, gesturing vaguely at your pallet. “I just thought—never mind, I’m sorry.” You watch as color suffuses his cheeks and the little sliver of his neck that you can see over his flight garb.

“No, what is it?” you press, even more curious now.

Jungkook straightens, shaking his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Jungkook, don’t be afraid to speak your mind with me. Please.”

He raises a hand, rubbing at the back of his neck as he intentionally angles himself away from you. “I just thought—perhaps hoped—that I’d return to find you in my bed.” He swings around and gives you an apologetic look. “But, I realize now that’s awfully presumptuous and really just…I don’t want you to think I expect anything from you that you’re not giving to me willingly, that’s all. I’m sorry for that.”

Tucking the blanket under your arms, you sit up. “I thought about it,” you say, standing and wrapping the blanket further around your body. “But, I wasn’t sure. You left this morning without saying anything, and well…I didn’t want to presume myself.”

“This is my first time doing something like…this,” he gestures between the two of you. “I didn’t mean to leave this morning without saying anything. But, I knew if I let myself linger, I would have just told Yoongi to go by himself.”

“How did the scouting and meeting go? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything is okay.” He winces. “Well, mostly. I’ll explain everything, but first, I want to give you something. I stopped by Jimin’s on the way through camp. He promised me he’d have it ready when I returned tonight.”

Jungkook moves over to a wrapped bundle lying on his bed. It’s large, bulky, and oddly shaped. Golden filigree fabric is gathered with a length of red ribbon, holding the bundle closed. He ushers you to sit down on his bed, the package beside you.

The soft, earthy scent of leather blooms in the air as you tug on the ribbon and rumple the golden fabric. Peeling back the folds of the package, you pause, hands lingering in the air over the exposed contents. “Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice laced with awe. “You didn’t.”

But he did. Nestled inside the wrap of the golden fabric are brand-new fighting leathers. The stitching is delicate, and the leather is supple and smooth under your trembling fingers, like soft chestnut-colored cream.

“It’s adjustable,” he indicates the cross bone lacing along the sides. “And there’s enchanted foam padding along the inside that will mold to your body. I know the tight banding you’ve had to use with the other fighting leather was restricting. I wanted to ensure you were as comfortable as possible going into tomorrow. You’ve been working hard, and you deserve it.”

You’re unsure you’ve ever received such a thoughtful and precious gift. “They’re beautiful,” you murmur, picking up the leather pants that were tucked under the top. It has the same fine stitching; you can tell it’ll form to your body like a second skin but not impede your movements. “Thank you, really and truly, thank you.”

Jungkook cups the side of your face, his palm resting solidly against your jaw. He slowly kneels in front of you, his hip pressing against the side of your thigh. “I may have told Yoongi I fucked you with my shadows last night,” surprise lights in your eyes, so he quickly presses on, “and there’s an entire fleet on their way from the capital to The Steppes. Taehyung thinks they’ll arrive by the end of the week. If we are unsuccessful tomorrow, I’ve arranged for every able-bodied dragon to be granted asylum in Norkham. All other dragons will be protected at all costs by everyone at The Steppes now.” He pauses and swallows, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Even with all that, it was hard for me to concentrate, to think of anything other than you and what comes after.”

“A distracted commander makes mistakes,” you repeat the words you said to him nearly a week ago. “What can I do to help alleviate your wandering mind?” You give him a demure look through your lashes, lips slightly parted as you let the blanket slide free from your body to puddle on the bed.

“Hells,” he curses under his breath. “Maybe if I drink my fill of you, it’ll help with this troublesome thirst.”

His lips find yours, kissing you with every ounce of desire coursing through his body. You can feel it in the way his lips pluck at yours, and his tongue invades your mouth to pull moans from deep in your chest. His flight garb is scratchy against your skin, so you tear at the ties and shove until you feel the warmth of his body instead.

The muscles of his chest and arms flex as he helps you rid him of his top. He stands, breaking the kiss as his hands move with yours to undo the stays on the front of his trousers. You push and tug, just as frantic as he is, until he’s standing before you in all his naked glory.

It’s the first time you’ve had more than a fleeting moment to appreciate his body. He’s lean but fit, broad shoulders complimenting his trim waist and muscled thighs. Your eyes track the smattering of scars covering his body, their puckered pink lines standing out against his golden skin, until you allow yourself to settle on the one thing you’ve tried so hard not to stare at.

The sight of his cock has saliva instantly pooling under your tongue. You instinctively swallow, your lashes fluttering along your cheeks as you take a shallow breath and try to gain control of yourself. A familiar ache blooms between your thighs like your body is keyed to respond to the proximity of his.

A phantom brush against your nipples brings your attention back to him. The heavy scent of cloves hangs in the air as his shadows fill the space around you. You can feel thin tendrils of darkness feathering over your body, caressing over your most intimate places.

“You’re beautiful.” The words slip out without your permission, but you don’t regret it as the praise swells his chest and the hunger in his eyes deepens. His skin feels smooth like velvet under your hands as you trace the lines of his body, mapping out the curves and peaks.

“And you’re going to make me lose my mind if you keep touching me like that,” Jungkook growls, the sound contrasting wildly with the gentle way he pushes you back. He follows you down as you move into the center of the bed. His weight settles over your body, hips fitting perfectly between your thighs.

He shudders against you, cock jerking where it’s pinned between his stomach and yours. Shadows continue to writhe over your body, bringing tiny blips of pleasure to the surface of your skin.

“Let me show you how thankful I am for your gift,” you whisper. He lets you easily push him until he’s on his back beside you. You soak in the sight as you slowly position yourself to kneel between his legs.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You don’t have to thank me for anything. I also don’t want you to think this is transactional or anything like that.”

“How about you just let me suck your cock because I want to, then?” Your teeth press into your bottom lip as you look up at him, trying to tell him with more than just your words how much you want this.

He blows out a shaky breath, chest hollowing. “I can deny you nothing.”

Satisfaction warms your cheeks. You curl your fingers around his bobbing length, angling it up and away from where it rested fat and long on his belly. You’ve never done this with a Mave before, but you’ve heard stories. The first swipe of your tongue over the crown of his cock confirms they’re true; a flavor that’s as sweet as honey with the faintest hint of clove bursts on your tongue. You moan, firmly wrapping your lips around him and sucking, chasing after that candied flavor. It’s pure rapture.

You jerk, mouth popping wetly off his cock as you let out a surprised, “Oh!” A thick, pulsing presence slides between your slick thighs. Your knees widen, automatically accommodating Jungkook’s shadow. The kiss of it against your clit has you bowing your back, jutting your ass out in supplication. “Fuck. That feels so good,” you babble as it pushes in, just as delicious and filling as you remember.

The sensation spurs renewed vigor into your lips and tongue as you take him in your mouth again. Your throat convulses, squeezing his cock as you take him as far as possible. “Look at you. You’re a goddess, delivering transcendence. Ah,” he groans, hips bucking up to meet each stroke of your mouth.

“I’m going to cum,” you whimper around the head of his cock. It slips from between your lips, smacking messily against his abs. As if on cue, the shadow pumping between your thighs increases its pace, and another thread of darkness snakes off to circle your clit. The orgasm snaps through you, ebbing away clarity and coherency until all you can feel is the intense pleasure contracting low in your belly.

“It’s no wonder I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Come here.” He beckons you up, guiding you with his hands until you sit astride his hips. It’s hard not to puddle atop him, your limbs feeling loose and gooey in the aftermath. The shadows slip away until it’s just him, your body alight at every point it’s pressed to his. “Allow me,” he whispers, kissing softly against your sweat-slick temple.

Jungkook eases you into changing positions with him. You stare up at him, marveling at how his lithe body moves. The violet brazier burning hotly in the middle of the space casts striking shadows across his features. It’s with certainty that you think you could get lost in this man if you’re not careful. Lost with him and never found again. Though, that doesn’t seem so bad…maybe—maybe in the after.

Something soft moves along your sides, his shadows cradling your body in an embrace of safekeeping. Your sensitive body reacts to him, goosebumps popping up in the wake of his fingers as they skim along your thighs. “I need you,” you voice lightly.

His eyes soften as they take you in, his hands pushing your thighs apart. “And you shall have me—all of me, I’m yours.”

The weight of him on your body is comforting as he lowers until his chest presses against yours. In the flickering light of the brazier, his lips find yours, and he swallows your moan as he notches himself against your pussy and drives his hips forward. The air wooshes from your lungs in a hard exhale. Your body quivers, accepting the entire length of him with ardor.

Your fingers dig into the muscles of his back as he retreats until only the tip of him remains before he languidly rocks forward again. Jungkook moves like the ocean, his body following the push and pull of the tides, guided by the moon. With each roll of his hips, you feel yourself drawing closer to another hedonistic release.

The indulgent way his lips ply yours, and his tongue fights for dominance, added to the decadent stroke of his cock kissing the perfect spot, has you reaching that peak and barreling right over the other side into oblivion. “Oh, gods, Jungkook! I ca—I’m cumming!” You dive through the waves, hurtle along the shoreline, and get sucked into the raging, swirling riptide that makes up Jeon Jungkook.

Warmth simmers in your chest, and suddenly, you can feel him, see him, breathe him in. Everything that is Jungkook—all the pain, loss, joy, and current toe-curling pleasure—files itself neatly away into your infinite space. His face goes slack, lids dropping low, a moan rumbling from deep in his throat as your power slithers up his spine and invades his mind.

“Fuck!” he pants, burying his face into your neck as his hips jerk and sputter. Heat floods around his cock in intense pulses as he cums. It pours from him in hot jets, filling you to the point it gushes and seeps out, sliding down your ass.

A chill replaces the warmth as you realize what just happened. “J-jungkook, I—I’m sorry, so sorry!” Panic grips you by the throat, stealing your breath. “Please, I didn’t mean to do that.”

One of his hands slides over your mouth, cutting off your next round of pleading. “Shh,” he croons. “It’s okay. I swear it by all the hells. It’s okay. You do not need to fear my retaliation for being what you are. Ever, okay?”

You watch him for a moment, trying to gauge whether or not he’s being truthful. There’s nothing but raw, open honesty in his eyes. You nod the best you can, with him still pressing against your mouth. His lips replace his hand, hushing you further into silence over the matter.

“Thank you,” you whisper when he finally relents. His lips are kiss-swollen and glistening, the sight making you feel a wave of smug satisfaction. Jeon Jungkook, Shadowsword, the exiled evil prince…brought to orgasmic ruin by you.

“Are you thanking me for the two orgasms or for accepting you for who you are?” It seems you’re not the only one feeling a bit of pride.

The words on your tongue become a gasp as Jungkook moves, sliding free from your body with a rush of sticky mess. “Mmm, both,” you answer. It’s silly to feel shy suddenly, but when Jungkook leans back, and his gaze locks onto your cum-filled pussy, you feel the urge to press your knees together.

“Uh uh, don’t you dare,” he chastises coyly. “I want to see what I’ve done to you.” With one hand, he swirls two fingers in the wetness gathered along your asscheeks. He holds it up for you to see, his digits covered in creamy white. One of his fingers goes into his mouth. He hums in satisfaction, then offers you the other.

As soon as his finger hits your tongue, you’re reminded of how delicious he tastes. There’s a subtle mint flavor that mixes perfectly with the clove of him. Jungkook’s other hand cups your pussy, reawakening that hungry ache as he gathers more of his cum and pushes it back inside.

“Gods,” you whine, arching your back as he begins to move his fingers, thumb stroking over your clit. Tingling pinches play over your nipples, the scent of clove in the air intensifying as his shadows come out to play again, wrapping around your breasts. “You’re going to make me cum again.”

A wicked gleam alights in his eyes as his fingers move faster, drawing your orgasm closer to the surface. “That’s the plan,” he smirks, a single brow raising in challenge.

A moment later, you’re cumming on his fingers, body squeezing and undulating around them. “Jungkook!” you cry his name like a prayer.

“I like it when you say my name like that,” he says between placing soft, nibbling kisses along your jaw.

It’s minutes, or maybe hours later when you’re lying in his arms on the cusp of sleep, entirely and utterly satiated, unsure of how many orgasms he plucked from your body. Dawn isn’t too far off, that much you’re sure of. You will the sun to hold out, wishing for a little bit longer in this hazy, bliss-filled bubble before you face the potential of having it all ripped away. Unknowingly, Jungkook has given you hope. He’s slowly rubbed away at the armor encasing your heart, turning it bright and burnishing, just as golden as he is.

As much as you hoped it wouldn’t, the sun rises, and it’s finally time to seek justice—not just for yourself and all the lies you’ve been fed over the years, but for all others who have been deceived, but most of all…for him.

🖤🖤🖤

Jungkook

The world is cruel. Jungkook is sure he’d give up just about anything if it meant being able to live out his life with you. Well, almost anything. The taut bond-tether to Onyx is a constant reminder that there is something bigger out there than his own personal feelings and desires.

You help him dress, cinching the stays and ties of his armor to keep it snugly in place. The new fighting garb he had Jimin make for you is exquisite quality. The smooth leather molds to your body, accentuating the feminine curves of your hips and breasts. Jungkook wishes he had your ability, if only so he could perfectly encase his vision of you right at this moment. You’re looking at him like he crafted the world and breathed life into your soul.

Last night is something he’s still trying to come to terms with. The moment your power reached out and slid within his psyche, he was a goner. It was the most intense and euphoric experience he’s ever had. He felt connected to you on such a deep, carnal level. It was similar to how it feels with Onyx, a connection that goes beyond the normal plane of existence. The feeling is still there, but more a phantom of what it was. There is no bond in place, not truly, but he can feel you beneath his skin all the same.

The air outside is cold, the sky still a deep, rich navy color. Yoongi and Rit are waiting in the fight field; Holgrin and Ripley are standing near Onyx. Three dragons, three Maves, and one Psion. That’s all there will be to execute this daring plan. Jungkook spent months—years, really—thinking about the best way to infiltrate the palace and confront his father.

It wasn’t until you started to paint the inner picture for him that he was able to decide small and quiet was best. The bulk of his force is far better suited to guarding The Steppes than trying to barrel through the gates of the capital anyway. It would just be messy and end up with more lives lost than necessary.

The citizens and people of The Golden Kingdom of Bolas are loyal to a fault. Though it’s not his father they’re inherently dedicated to, it’s the power he represents. This is where Jungkook is putting his whole trust into the knowledge you’ve gained in your years of service to the Crown. You’re confident that if the power shifts to him, the whole of Bolas will change their loyalties without a fight. It’s not a secret that many loved Jungkook before malicious lies were spread about him supposedly going rogue by his father, and more that defamed his character.

“Ready?” Jungkook asks, nodding at the two men waiting.

Rit flexes his hands, opening and closing his fingers before jerking a thumb toward the dragons. “Full bellies and clear heads. Ready as we’ll ever be.”

“Taehyung reached out a bit ago. The fleet of ships are still steadily drawing closer to The Steppes, but nothing else has changed,” Yoongi informs, stoic and unemotional as ever.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Onyx gives both you and Jungkook an assessing look as you approach him. Mated. As I said you would be. I approve. She is good for you.

Don’t let it go to your head. Jungkook repeats the very words Onyx used a few nights ago. We can talk more about this after—if there even is an after.

There will be. Onyx sounds so sure. Jungkook wishes he had as much confidence. But, truth be told, he’s terrified. All he’s wanted to do the last ten years is confront his father. Now that it’s finally happening, he can’t help the trepidation making his steps sluggish.

Once seated on Onyx, he reaches down and helps you up. Jungkook knows you’ve ridden a dragon before, but just in case…Don’t bank too hard, and try to keep above the clouds so we don’t get caught in any snow flurries.

A golden eye glares back at him as Onyx sways his head to the side. I am no hatchling. You’ll do well to remember that. Besides, I have no desire to make her sick all over my hindquarter.

Jungkook gives the rough scales at the base of Onyx’s neck a hearty pat. I didn’t mean any offense. I’m just full of nerves.

Then let’s be done with it so we can move past this, on to a better tomorrow.

Onyx rockets skyward, launching up with a graceful flap of his wings. Twin swooshes of air echo through the clearing as Ripley and Holgrin launch after him, taking up positions along his backdraft in a flanking formation. It’s been years since Jungkook has flown in such a dynamic. Hopefully, he never will have to again.

The sun begins to crest over the horizon just as they fly over the Gilded Ranges. It’s still quite dark above the clouds, but the blush from the sun slowly begins to filter through. By the time they’re over the mountains and approaching the Golden Wood, the sun is reaching above the clouds and spurring them on from behind.

Even with the bitter cold of the season as well as the high altitude, the sun is a welcomed warmth in addition to the heat of your thighs nestled against his hips. Not that conversation on the back of a dragon is easy, but you’ve been very quiet and withdrawn since getting dressed this morning. It’s been on the tip of Jungkook’s tongue several times to ask you to share your thoughts with him, but it never feels like the right time to do so.

When Jungkook gauges that they’ve passed the Gold Wood, he directs Onyx to begin the first descent, sending them below the cloud cover. The Kingdom stretches out before them, all rolling hills and farms. It doesn’t often snow this far to the west, but the cold leeches the brilliant greens and golds of the spring and summer crops leaving the landscape a drab palette of muted colors.

The last time Jungkook saw the Golden Palace was the day he fled from his parents' bedchamber. It’s odd to think he’s never once in the previous ten years thought to come back and execute any reconnaissance. His friends have always taken on that role, and he’s only realizing now how grateful he is for their vigilance and dedication to him, considering he’s not sure if he would have been able to stop himself from seeking instant gratification and storming the palace all on his own had he laid eyes on it.

It’s eerily quiet, the city walls completely devoid of guards. Jungkook catches a few glimpses of scurrying figures down below between buildings, but none with the notable golden armor. The capital looks meek, like a defenseless animal waiting to be plucked up by a dragon’s maw. It raises Jungkook’s hackles, his unease dripping down the bond to Onyx.

I don’t like it.

Maybe your father has grown desperate, throwing everything at his disposal at The Steppes. Dillase said there were enough Noks aboard those vessels to have withered the primary defenses.

Even if that were the case, he’d never leave the palace unmanned. Not while my mother is there. There’s only one thing my dad loves more than power, and that’s my mother.

Jungkook misses his mother every day. He’s wondered countless times since he left whether she missed him, too. After losing his brother to illness, she became as protective as a mother dragon over him. Yet, he never heard anything from or about her after he escaped. As far as he knows, she’s still willingly by his father’s side. Maybe she believes whatever lie his father spun for her. As soon as Jungkook finishes confronting his father, whatever the outcome of that, his next priority is finding his mother.

The dragon corral is a sobering sight as they land in the training yard. They wait for a moment, expecting a rush of guards to come busting through the postern door leading inside the palace, but after several long minutes of silence, they all share a look before dismounting.

There are no dragons resting in the corral, nor are there any dotting the training ground. The only sign of dragon life is the bloated body of a young yellow dragon lying in the dirt outside the corral doors. It’s a sickening sight, seeing this again, the careless way his father just disregards the dragons he’s forcing to die for him long before their time.

“The dragons will remain here, waiting for any air advancements from The Serpent. If anyone comes up from The Shield, there’s no way they’ll make it here in time to be a difference,” Rit says, pointedly ignoring the sight of the dragon, not out of disrespect but out of sheer will to not be sick. Jungkook can see the green tinge coloring Rit’s face as he surveys the expanse of the lower city and the road leading to The Shield. “I didn’t see any sign of Vikmag, and Ripley says his scent is only faint here like he hasn’t been within the corral for days.”

“Odd,” Yoongi states, narrowing his eyes at the large wooden structure that usually houses dozens of dragons. “Where is everyone? Taehyung said there was only one dragon with the fleet, a brown he didn’t recognize. It doesn’t make sense. We should be swarmed in gold and scales by now.”

Jungkook helps you down off of Onyx’s back when he deems they won’t be ambushed. “Are you okay?” he asks under his breath. He cups your face, eyes feasting on yours.

Onyx moves over to the yellow dragon, sniffing the air around it. He gives a mournful coo that Ripley and Holgrin echo before turning his fierce golden eyes on the sky above the palace, ever vigilant.

“I’m fine, let’s not waste time.” You glance around him at the yellow body, and he can feel the tension settling into your body. It’s no wonder he’s so attracted to you. The fact you’ve got your head in the game and can remind him to get back on track is more than he ever thought he’d get from a partner. That thought halts his thoughts. A partner? Is that how he sees you already, as his partner? The realization has an unbidden smile gracing his face. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips before nodding and stepping away.

Gesturing toward the lone postern door leading into the family quarters, Jungkook says, “Let’s find my father.”

He approaches the entryway, much like he did that fateful day all those years ago, brimming with just as much anger at his father as he was then. Yoongi and Rit fall into place behind him, with you between them. Even though you’ve gotten better at fighting and Jungkook is confident you could take on a cluster of guards on your own, he still feels better with them taking the brunt if it comes to it.

The smells of cedar and cinnamon flood the hallway, complimenting Jungkook’s own clove. A glance back shows Yoongi’s hands fisted around hazy balls of air, and as they pass by one of the enchanted fire sconces on the wall, Rit’s fingertips spark with teardrop-shaped flames. Pulling more on his own power, Jungkook directs shadows to slither along the walls, seeking ahead for any signs of life.

A crashing sound draws Jungkook to a stop. He holds up a hand, halting everyone else. Another wave of clamor echoes down the hall. There are faint voices, one pleading and the other full of acid. A feminine scream rings out, followed by another thunderous boom.

That starts Jungkook into a sprint. The slapping of feet behind him lets him know you’re all following. He careens around the last corner before barreling through the open doorway into his parents’ chambers. The door hangs off the hinges, splinters of wood scatter under his feet as he skids to a halt. The outer parlor is a mess. Furniture is overturned and scorched, feathers and stuffing dot the floor with swaths of cream looking like fallen snow on the charred remains of a house.

A crack of lighting illuminates the inner bedroom, drawing Jungkook’s attention. “I won’t stop!” screams a familiar voice, only it’s broken and far more frantic than he’s ever heard it before. His father crosses the doorway, steps churning across the floor as he continues to rave. “I can’t idly sit by and watch you die! I’ll go to The Steppes and murder them all myself if it means getting another hatchling for you!”

“Love, please,” rasps his mother’s voice, sounding as frail as glass.

The floor rumbles as more lightning flashes through the bedroom. His mother's whimper barely carries to his ears under his father’s anguished roar. The sounds are punctuated with another round of thunder.

Jungkook nods at Yoongi, jerking his chin toward the doorway. He points a finger at Rit, indicating from him to you. Rit moves closer to you, putting himself between the crumbled door into the hall and your body. Yoongi steps up between Jungkook, ready to do whatever needs to be done.

Stepping into the room, Jungkook barely recognizes the space. The furniture is even more destroyed than the parlor. The only thing not utterly decimated is the small chaise lounge his mother is lying on.

Her weepy, cloudy eyes find him first, and a choked cry sputters from her thin lips. Pale, veiny skin and rheumy eyes framed by thinning black hair. Her skeletal fingers grip the front of her robes as she heaves in sobs. There are songs written about the beautiful golden queen of Bolas. But now, she looks like a wisp of what she once was…all that beauty wasted away into a heart-wrenching reality. She’s dying. Somehow, someway…Jungkook knows it’s true.

“What’s happening?” he asks, his voice cold and distanced from the sorrow pounding away behind his breastbone.

King Jeon wheels around from where he was staring out the broken window. His eyes are wild, huge, and shot through with a spiderweb of red, ruptured vessels. “You!” he hisses, jabbing a finger in Jungkook’s direction. “It’s all your fault!”

Lightning careens across the room in arching jets of blue and blinding white. Jungkook’s mother screams, and the room explodes into motion. A wall of air sweeps around Jungkook, blowing the lightning strike apart and sending it scattering around the room, where it chars and causes even more destruction.

Exhaustion is evident in how his father wields his Signis, hurling bolt after bolt of light at Jungkook. Being tired doesn’t lessen the power to begin each attack. It just makes it more erratic and unpredictable. There’s a reason Maves should never wield for long periods of time without resting.

“Stop!” his mother cries. “Please, stop!”

Another concussion of air, mixed with Jungkook’s own shadows, deflects the next barrage of bolts. His mother’s plea turns into a curdling scream as an errant spark of light hits the chaise she’s on, the wood frame splintering and snapping under her, sending her toppling onto the floor.

The lightning stops instantly, Jungkook’s father wailing in anguish as he rushes across the room and throws himself on the floor beside his wife. Jungkook can’t understand the babbling from his father as he gathers her into his arms. The incoherent stream eventually clears to a constant string of apologies.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook tries again through clenched teeth. His muscles ache from holding onto such a large amount of power, but he knows he can’t let his guard down yet. Yoongi is vibrating with energy behind him. Surprisingly, Jungkook notes that you and Rit have also moved into the room behind Yoongi. Rit gives him a subtle jerk of his chin when their gazes meet momentarily. It’s clear; no guard is coming to intervene.

Onyx, what’s happening out there? Any sign of Vikmag?

We spotted him out over the ocean not long ago. He’s circling The Serpent but doesn’t seem intent to face us.

“I just wanted to keep her,” his father sobs. “I just wanted to keep her!”

“Keep who?” Jungkook takes a few tentative steps toward his parents. His mother’s eyes are closed, blood trickles from a shallow cut on her face from where she fell, but her chest still rises and falls. Tension, which he didn’t realize was there until he could ensure she was still breathing, bleeds out of Jungkook’s shoulders.

King Jeon tips his chin up, finally meeting Jungkook’s eyes. His father looks like a ghost. The dark, luscious mane of hair he always kept so well groomed is greasy and stringy around his gaunt cheeks. White flecked stubble covers his jaw, and dried spittle crusts at the corners of his mouth. His stare is lifeless, like he’s already been defeated by a foe bigger and darker than Jungkook.

“My sweet, sweet beloved,” he whispers before his gaze drops back to his wife. King Jeon smoothes a trembling hand over his wife’s hair, brushing it back from her face. It’s then that Jungkook sees it: the light golden webbing spreading out from her temples, down her neck, and over the backs of her hands. Golden Blight, the disease that stole his brother and is now eating away at his mother, named for the yellowing of the blood vessels as they die and no longer supply the body with vital blood.

“Impossible.” Jungkook balks. He retreats a step, bumping into Yoongi, who places a steadying hand on his shoulder. His mother always had a delicate constitution, easily catching coughs and fevers, but he never once thought she had the Blight. When he was old enough to understand, he spent countless hours sequestered in the royal archives, learning all he could about Golden Blight, wanting to know what cruel disease stole his brother away from him. How could he have not known? Where were the signs?

Jeon continues to stroke his wife’s hair as words dribble from his lips in a stream of emotion and lost hope. “She fell ill shortly after Junghyun died. The Magus believed it was brought on by her grief. I was desperate and did everything I could…even things that were unthinkable to others. I discovered the enchantment for dragon bonds. It worked. It kept the Blight at bay, but only for a short period. It worked, but I couldn’t just selfishly covet it for myself. People would have grown too suspicious of me…of your mother. It would have been found out, my weaknesses revealed to our enemies. So, I did what I had to.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Jungkook asks, his tone low and dangerous. No matter how much he loves his mother, he’s not sure he could damn an entire species to save her. However, a sinking feeling fills his belly when his thoughts turn to you. He’s not saying he loves you; it’s far too soon for that, but would he willingly enslave and condemn an entire race to death if it meant having you for a bit longer? He shudders to think of even having ever to decide something like that.

“The last dragon died two days ago,” his father proclaims instead of answering Jungkook, the anger returning to his tone. “And now you’ve sentenced your mother to the same fate, you hateful, insolent, backstabbing little shit!”

A swirl of light cracks through the room, buffeted by an onslaught of air and shadows. Fire erupts, the powerful heat seeming to absorb the stinging seer from the hot bolt before Rit directs it out the window. Flames pour out of the room, taking the lightning with it. “My mother!” Jungkook yells, using shadows to shove his father back from her unresponsive form.

He sees you dart forward in his peripheral, gathering her into your arms and sliding behind the ruin of the chaise. It’s not foolproof protection, but it’ll have to be enough. Jungkook is intimately aware you’ll do everything within your means to keep her from harm.

Fire rips through the room again, being spurred on by a gust of air as Yoongi and Rit combine their strength. King Jeon snarls, flicking a hand that sends a strike of power into the heart of the flame, making it bisect around him and crash into the walls, catching the hanging tapestries on fire.

“I’ll never forgive you! You’ll die for what you’ve done!” The words echo through the room before they’re swallowed by a staggering succession of blasts. Smoke and heat fill the room, forcing Yoongi to change focus and use his ability to funnel everything through the window.

“You should have told me!” Jungkook screams, lobbing a fistful of shadows forward. They snake around his father’s arms and legs, tightening until he’s struggling to extend his hands for attack. “I could have tried to help!”

“The only help you can offer me is your death,” his father hisses, blood covering his rictus smile. “Your death as payment for your mother’s!”

Energy pours from King Jeon, crackling and radiating through the room. Jungkook can feel his hair standing on end, chills coursing over his body. He’s unsure if there’s such a thing as a soul bond between humans. But, the unspoken solidarity with which Yoongi and Rit stand with him feels as close to that as he’d guess it would be. He doesn’t have to utter a word. They just move with him, pulling on their Signis’ to join with his, creating the perfect balance of wind, fire, and darkness.

The air in the room seems to combust, hurtling everyone back several steps. His father must have broken free from his shadows in a last-ditch effort, putting him directly in front of the giant, gaping hole where the window used to be. He catches a glimpse of his father stumbling backward from the blast, right before he disappears into the open air, much the way Jungkook did all those years ago when he flung himself from that very window. Only this time, no dragon is waiting below to break the fall. Vikmag is miles away, perhaps making his own peace with the end.

Rit makes to go toward the window, but Jungkook grabs his shoulder. “Don’t. He doesn’t deserve another moment of your life.” Jungkook knows Rit must be feeling similar things to what he is. The fact that most of his life was dedicated to the Crown in some form. There is an unreadable look in Rit’s amber eyes, but finally, his shoulders sag, and he gives him a subtle nod.

“Jungkook,” your soft voice carries to him from across the room in the silence that follows.

He leaps into action, sprinting across the room and swinging around the splintered chaise. Yoongi is already kneeling on the other side of you, one of the Queen’s hands tucked between his.

“Mom,” Jungkook whispers, dropping to his knees before you. He takes the paper-light weight of his mother from your arms, cradling her against his chest. “Mom, wake up.”

Her lashes flutter, and her eyes slowly peel open until cloudy, muddy-brown irises show around a sickly grey pupil. The whites of her eyes are shot through with faint tendrils of gold.

“My sweet boy,” she sighs. Her hand trembles as she tries to bring it up to Jungkook’s face. He catches it and holds it against his cheek, now wet with free-falling tears.

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry,” Jungkook quietly cries.

Tears gather along her lashes, making the gold slowly overtaking her waterline seem more prominent. “Never be sorry for standing up for what you believe in,” she says. “I never meant for anyone to get hurt, for this to go on for so long. He told me…he told me it was safe. It wasn’t until l-later that I found out the t-truth, and by then—” her words cut off as she’s overcome with a coughing fit. Gold flecks dot her lips, mixing with the crimson blood frothing at the corners of her mouth. “By then, it was too late. Nothing would stop him. Even when I refused a new dragon…he would force me.”

“Shh, Mom, you don’t have to explain. It’s over now. He’ll never hurt you again,” Jungkook coos, offering his mother assurances.

“Just p-promise me. When you find love,” her rheumy eyes glance your way, and her thin lips spread in a semblance of her once beautiful smile, “don’t lock her away in a cage.”

“Never, I swear it.” Jungkook holds his mother tighter, feeling the slow drain of her strength. Gold feathers along her cheeks. It blooms faster, snaking like roots beneath her skin, as the disease runs rampant for the first time in decades without a dragon bond to stop it.

Jungkook isn’t sure how long he’s been kneeling on the floor, but you rouse him with a soft shake to his shoulder. “Jungkook, it’s time to go.” He looks down at his empty hands. How long have they been empty?

“Where is she?” he asks, frantically gaining his feet and jerking in a circle to look around the destroyed room.

“Hey, hey, calm down. I’ll take you to her if that’s what you want?” you ask, hesitant to offer that option.

He knows then that she’s gone. You’re simply trying to be gentle with him. He wants to yell at you not to coddle him, but all he can do is gather you into his arms and shake his head. “No, no, it’s okay. There’s nothing left for me here…we should go.”

This is the after he’s so often spoken of, yet he never fully considered what he would do once he reached it. There’s a lot that needs to be taken care of, but right now, he could care less. Jungkook just wants to climb on Onyx’s back with you and launch into the sky, soaring into oblivion, just the three of you.

So, that’s precisely what he does.

🖤🖤🖤

One year later

“Jungkook!” you call out. After a few minutes of no response, you sigh, pushing up from the comfortable spot you had by the fire. “Jungkook!” you try again once you’re on the garden terrace just outside your chambers.

Grunts of exertion and whoops of laughter echo from down in the courtyard. “Just a moment, dear!” Jungkook responds, his voice carrying up to you.

“I swear, if you and Rit are at it again with those swords, I’m going to turn you over my knee!” you teasingly shout, repeating one of the first flirty threats Jungkook ever said to you, and earn yourself peals of laughter in response.

Life with Jungkook is easy. Everything has been, for the most part, since King Jeon fell from the window that fateful day. Things were initially chaotic in the aftermath of the Golden King’s downfall. Especially considering Jungkook whisked you away on the back of Onyx without so much as a word to Rit and Yoongi. But that seemed so insignificant in hindsight.

You spent nearly a month with him on the shores of Lork, just basking in the sun and eating fish and coconuts. When you had returned to the capital, Namjoon, and Yoongi were swift to hand the reins back over to Jungkook as if he hadn’t disappeared like that.

Just as you had assumed, the people of Bolas accepted the transition of power well. The guards took a little more convincing, but Taehyung got the point across real quick when the fleet landed at The Steppes.

There are no more forced bonds, and no dragon, regardless of their power or ability, must take on a Mave if they do not wish. However, the fact that Jungkook saved their entire race has curried him favor with them. It was worrying, at first, everyone thinking that dragons would simply refuse—not that anyone would blame them at all.

You glance at the inky-scaled egg soaking in the heat from the sun a few feet away. It’s nestled in a basket filled with soft blankets. It’s one of the first hatchlings to come after. Apparently, Onyx took a liking to Ripley during their time together at the rebel encampment, much to Jungkook’s dismay. He only grumbles about it occasionally now. But every time he looks at the egg and then at the swell of your belly, he can’t stop his smile or the warmth in his eyes.

The child growing in your belly will be a powerful Mave, or so Jungkook says. Though, everyone agrees with him just from the power that radiates from you. The hatchling from the egg is sure to be a powerful Reaver as well, considering Onyx’s teleportation ability—which you didn’t learn about until much later and left you shocked for hours—and Ripley’s chameleon ability.

Jungkook and Rit are barechested in the courtyard as you step up to the railing and lean over as far as your belly will allow. Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung are all sitting around the outer ring of the training pit, hooting and encouraging one man or the other. “Be up soon,” Jungkook grunts, swinging his sword in quick movements that Rit easily parries.

A shudder catches in your peripherals, drawing your attention to the egg in the basket. It rocks gently, with a slight vibration. “Huh,” you muse aloud to yourself. “I wond—oh!” you exclaim as a rush of liquid pours down your leg. “Oh, no.”

It’s sometime in the middle of the night that you watch Jungkook gently sway and dance around your bedchamber, cradling your newborn son in his arms. He sings softly, his gentle words filling the room with such beauty. You had no idea Jungkook could sing so well. It seems like he’ll never stop amazing you.

The last several hours are a blur. But, no matter what went on, you’ll never forget the surge of power that flooded the air around you when your son took his first breath. A mewling dragon cry joined him in testing out their lungs. Ripley and Onyx’s egg cracked the instant your contractions started. Both beautiful boys entered the world at the same time. Fate, Jungkook calls it.

Maybe it is fate; a story that will be passed down through the ages—one that will be carried on wings of mist and memories.

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