#pitch black/reader

[phaticserpent]

Can you please do a Pitch x Reader thing? :3 When Pitch playfully seduces the s/o into coming to bed with him (with A LOT of kisses and touches)?

Yes >:) absolutely!

Warning: fluff, suggestive

“I’ll go to sleep eventually..I just have to finish this.” You insisted. Pitch peered over your shoulder to see that you were still occupied with the book he lent you. 

“Love, that book isn’t going anywhere.” Pitch chuckled. His breath briefly hit the shell of your ear, and that action alone made you pause. He hummed as you turned to face him, his face mere inches away from yours but he backed away. “Hmm? Finally coming to bed with me?”

“Once I finish one more chapter.” You whispered, teasingly. Pitch pouted as you turned your back to him, diving right back into the book. He wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you flipped another page. You glanced at him, and he only shot you a devious smirk. “What?”

“Come to bed with me.” He whispered breathlessly against your ear. You shuddered when he placed small kisses on your neck, pulling you towards him.

“Pitch–”

“Yes?” He hummed, still placing soft and gentle kisses to your neck. Desperate and craving his touch, you leaned into him. The kisses stopped and you let out a whine. “What’s this? Getting desperate?”

“Pitch–”

“Mm, you’ll get more when you join me.” He smirked. A hand went under your chin, turning your head to face him as his lips finally embraced yours; he smiled with satisfaction as he heard the book shut close. Swiftly, he moved on top of you as he grabbed both of your hands to pin them above your head, still moving his kisses from your lips to your neck. Pitch let out a rather satisfied hum and chuckle as you moaned out his name like a continuous chant. “That’s it.” 

You held onto him, squirming under his figure as he bombarded you with kisses; quick pecks to your collarbone and neck, long and deep kisses for your lips, and soft kisses everywhere else. You let out a gasp as his lips began kissing the top of your breasts, and whining softly when his hands finally roamned your body. Blindly, you reached out to hold onto one of his hands. “P-Pitch, we should sleep.” 

“Mmm, just one more minute.” He teased, chuckling hungrily. You let out a whine in protest, which quickly changed into a moan as Pitch began marking your neck, peppering it with kisses. You couldn’t find the words to protest or form coherent thoughts or sentences, you were simply silenced with his kisses. “...just one more…”

Finally, he pressed his lips to yours, stealing your very breath from you. You arched your back, pressing deeper into the kiss as he continued to stay connected. Still, the two of you pulled away for air, you gasped heavily as Pitch leaned in to place a lazy kiss to your cheek. You muttered breathlessly, “...stole my damn breath…I’m so tired…” 

“That was my plan, love.” Pitch grinned. You rolled your eyes as you tried to playfully hit him, but he dodged and hooked his arm around you, dragging you onto the bed. 

“...gods you’re so annoyingly coy, like I love you for it but do you have to use it on me–?” He pulled you in to capture your lips once again. “Mmph!”

He pulled away after a while. “You talk too much.” Pitch laid his head on the pillow to rest, pulling you close to him.

“Well, you love me.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

“I love you too, jeez.” 

“...I love you.” He huffed out quickly. You smiled, pressing your head closer into his chest and fell into slumber to the soothing sound of his breathing.

[maluustrawberry]

I wanted to make a request about what it would be like Bunnymund (ROTG) to fall in love with Reader who is the Guardian of Spring ❤️

Bunnymund X Guardian of Spring Reader. (Headcanons)

A/N: I thought this request was really cute, WHY IS HE SO HOT??!!! He was my childhood crush. I hope you like this Headcanon, I made it with great care.

-•❥❥• Spring and Easter had always worked together, so it was obvious that he knew you and admired your work. You never actually spoke to each other, but there were times when he watched you from afar, always surrounded by the animals you had awakened at the beginning of spring. The first impression you made was that you were very gentle, delicate and shy.

-•❥❥• He was surprised when you were chosen as guardian by the man in the moon. Being skeptical, at first he doubted whether you would really be able to protect The children from Pitch Black, because you had such a delicate and shy manner.

-•❥❥• The two of you became closer when you became guardian. Bunnymund didn't want to admit it, but he loved being around you because of your presence, always bringing calm.

-•❥❥• It was after a few years that he realized he was in love with you, when he was staring at you for too long, and admired how cute it was when butterflies landed on the flowers in your hair.

-•❥❥• One day, North caught him looking at you absent-mindedly and made fun of him for several months.

-•❥❥• He's very protective and loves to defend you by always standing next to you or behind, even though he knows you're powerful and can defend yourself.

-•❥❥• Often, when Bunnymund least expected it, he found himself very vulnerable in your hands when you paid too much attention to him. Because of your touch, he could become so vulnerable that he was almost submissive to you, almost desperate to be the only thing you saw at that moment.

-•❥❥• He likes to take you to flowery places that make Easter much more magical and colorful, especially because of your presence. And of course your meetings were in his den and painting Easter eggs.

-•❥❥• You know about the little feud between Bunnymund and Jack Frost, he gets jealous when Jack gets too close to you, and the winter spirit knows this and does it on purpose to provoke him.

-•❥❥• To calm him down from his constant jealousy, you would stroke behind his big ears or just give his muzzle a little touch. This quickly calmed him down, as it's the rabbit's most sensitive spot, almost like a drug... maybe even causing him more than that.

-•❥❥• When he confessed his love for you, he was completely nervous. He invited you to a flowery glade, almost enchanted by the beauty of the place and all the nature around. He knelt down humbly and took one of your hands, looking at you as if you were his goddess. That moment was overly dramatic because of his lack of knowledge about love or being in love, so he did it out of "common sense", but he really had no idea what he was doing at the time, almost like a desperate improvisation. He has trouble with very complex words all of a sudden, but, with his courage, he says everything he feels while looking at you with his piercing green eyes.

-•❥❥• He likes to call you by nicknames (my flower, my sweetheart, lovebug, cutie, darling... and of course, in hot times, he likes to call you "My bunny" or "Baby bunny").

-•❥❥• You can bet that in this relationship you would eat a lot of chocolate.

(I love those scenes when he turns into a little bunny OMG!!!😭💕✨🐰)

[niranutcake]

❌ “Kill them with kindness“

✅ Confuse them with kindness. Absolutely baffle them. Catch them off guard so bad they stop and seriously question your sanity for a moment. "Are they really this gullible, or just stupid??" Be the small gentle ray of candour that blinds them when looking at your innocent smile. Show them the warmth that never grazed their frigid soul before. There are only two paths for you after that: you're either dead or become the light of their life. Maybe even changing their ways for the better. For both of you.

Be that change.

[ciciyup]

Lessons.

cw: nsfw, masturbation, overstimulation, spanking, fingering, blowjob, squirt.

━━━━━━✧ 🦢 ✧━━━━━━

You had been a peculiar child, a mix of sweetness, shyness, and insatiable curiosity. Unlike other children, who eventually left behind their faith in the extraordinary, you never abandoned your beliefs. You fervently believed in the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, and surprisingly, the boogeyman as well. As a child, your nights were a strange and charming game: while others feared the darkness, you ventured into it, looking for a certain figure that you sometimes felt close by. Ever since you noticed a pair of eyes watching you and a certain figure with great height at the end of your bed when the lights went out waiting for you to close your eyes and fall asleep to sow small doses of fear in your dreams, you used to pretend to sleep just to catch it and be able to see it. It was a game they had. When you found it, you approached it with cautious steps and touched the ethereal robe that used to cover it; Your nervous smile lit up the dim light, and he couldn’t help but watch you with curiosity as you wrapped yourself in it like sheets and then ran back to your bed, taking shelter under the covers.

But as you grew up and left behind your childhood fears, your belief remained intact, something that many people at a certain age of adulthood tended to abandon. You no longer feared him; rather, you considered him an almost familiar presence, a shadow that had accompanied you throughout your life. He had become an occasional presence, watching you from the shadows without interfering too much. However, that connection you had shared in your childhood remained, even if it was not always admitted. Now, at university, you had changed a little. Although you were still the same, you had also learned to laugh at things that you had previously taken seriously, as a way of fitting in with your friends.

That afternoon you had gone out to the park with your group of friends, some closer than others, but friends nonetheless. Between lively conversations, the subject of supernatural beings came up. Between laughs, your friends began to joke about the beliefs they used to have before, calling them “kid stuff.”

—It’s silly to believe in them now —one of your friends commented while laughing. You simply smiled weakly, feeling out of place. —But as kids we all had that idea, right? That magic existed and all that.

—And what about the boogeyman? —another boy joked, exaggerating his voice to make it deeper. —Maybe he’s listening to us right now.

Laughter filled the table, and although you joined in at first to hide your discomfort, your laughter wasn’t completely sincere. You ended up laughing genuinely when the jokes took a lighter tone. Even though you knew your friends didn’t mean anything bad, a small part of you felt like you were betraying something very personal by laughing. In the shadows, Pitch was there, watching you with golden eyes filled with amusement and disdain. He’d been nearby all afternoon, intrigued by your interactions and your changes over time. But when he heard you, the same girl who’d played with him and believed in his presence, join in the laughter, something in him stirred. He couldn’t let that little betrayal go.

You came home exhausted that night, flopping onto your bed with a sigh, kicking off your shoes and staring at the ceiling wearily. You barely closed your eyes when you felt an unmistakable chill. Something was wrong. Opening your eyes, you saw him. Standing in the shadows, his tall figure illuminated by the dim moonlight.

—What a lovely evening. Looks like you’ve been enjoying yourself.

You quickly sat up straight, turning your head in his direction, heart pounding. There was Pitch, emerging from the shadows with his elegant demeanor and enigmatic smile.

—Pitch —you murmured, feeling a mix of surprise and slight nervousness as you watched him slowly approach with his movements as fluid as smoke.

—Don’t get me wrong. I’m flattered that you still believe in me. But that little scene with your friends… —Pitch pretended to think, touching his chin. —Laughing at me, even if it’s just to fit in, that doesn’t go unpunished.

—I wasn’t making fun of you —you protested, looking at him and trying to explain your side of the story.

—No? Because from my perspective, it seemed exactly that. —His voice took on a darker tone, though it was still loaded with mockery.

—I wasn’t making fun of you; I was just following the mood —you clarified, trying to defend yourself.

—Excuses. —Pitch moved closer to you, leaning in so far that his face was just a few inches from yours. —Spoiled girls always get what they deserve. —He spoke in a theatrical tone, enjoying the confusion on your face.

Before you could excuse yourself again, Pitch holds you by the waist, placing you face down on his lap after sitting on the edge of the bed, holding you there firmly. You felt your face heat up as he began to lift your skirt up over your hips, revealing your ass. Although you felt embarrassed, there was something else you didn’t want to identify; perhaps it was the brush of his fingertips across your exposed skin or the knowledge that you were under his eye. Pitch raised his hand and brought it straight to his target, giving you a gentle slap firm enough to resonate in the quiet room. It wasn’t painful, but it was clear enough to make you let out a surprised gasp. Pitch continued, administering a few more slaps to your ass, enjoying your reaction, while you couldn’t help but feel indignation and a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Pitch bowed his head once he was done, caressing your ass now with a red mark that would stay there for several minutes. He knew that, despite your apparent anger, you weren’t really upset. If he knew you as well as he thought, you probably would have liked it more than you were willing to admit. It was something you thought too, and it left you grumbling, given the truth of this, but you wouldn't admit it, even if your flushed face and silent actions proved otherwise. Seeing you discreetly move your hips seeking more intimate contact and close your legs tightly, ignoring his gaze, Pitch couldn't help but smile mockingly at this.

—Despite everything, you're still very predictable —he comments as he separates your legs and guides his hand further. —And what is this? —He murmurs, running one of his long fingers over the line of your slit marked by the moisture that was beginning to wet your panties. He moves his hand away from your crotch, rubbing his fingers as he brings them closer to his face to check the slimy moisture between them, then looks at you with disdain. —How pathetic.

With agile hands, he quickly pulls down your panties until they fall to your feet, observing the small, pearly, wet shine that peeked around your area. You let out a squeal as you felt one of his fingers touch your sensitive parts, then bury itself inside. With pitiful slowness, he began to move his finger in and out of your hole, making you sigh in annoyance, which made Pitch smile. He roughly added two fingers, beginning to fuck your pussy with speed and exquisite expertise, making you unconsciously moan as you clung to his knees, almost hugging them. His fingers began to get more and more soaked as he moved them quickly and his thumb rubbed considerably at your clit, noticing how you opened your legs more to feel him deeper. You moaned breathily as he began to hit his fingers against that special spot, making you see stars as you tightened around his fingers and came.

He barely managed to let you enjoy your euphoria enough when he straightened you up to stand, gently pushing you onto the bed, forcing you to stay seated on the tip while he remained in front of you. Your eyes widen with palpable excitement as he releases his cock and grabs you by the back of your neck, pulling you closer with clear intentions. Your tongue darts out and sucks on the tip to start, causing Pitch to flick his tongue, quickly pushing his cock to explore your throat; the action causes you to take him in with surprise and let out a small cough, making him laugh. You suck hard as your head bobs up and down taking in his entire cock, nearly dripping onto his tunic with the drool that built up from sucking him; your hands grip his thighs for support with your mouth doing the work.

—That’s it, that’s it, so good —he murmurs as he strokes your head, enjoying the intense heat of your mouth surrounding his phallus, feeling every touch and every suck until he releases his load.

Pulling away from you, he grabs your cheeks, running his fingers over your wet lips and catching the remnants of his cum that escaped, bringing the rest with his fingers into your mouth so you could swallow it all without wasting a single drop. With a sly grin, he pushes your body face down onto the bed; removing your skirt so it wouldn’t get in the way, he positions himself over you and brings his cock to your hole as he spreads your ass cheeks, entering slowly and unhurriedly, enjoying your warmth. Your eyes roll back as he starts fucking you in a good rhythm; his pelvis slapping against your ass like firm slaps; his cock invading your slick pussy mercilessly, going in and out, forming a ring of cream at its base the harder he went. You moaned, hiding your face in the pillow and gripping the headboard of your bed as he kept your ass in the air, fucking you with everything he had, your legs shaking as you felt like you couldn’t keep up for too long. Pitch lets out a quiet gasp at the feeling of how hard you were clenching as you came, but not letting you rest he continues to fuck your walls, keeping your juices inside without letting them out. Rubbing your clit as he still held himself inside giving you everything he had, smiling at the sight of your exhausted and overstimulated image, though you seemed to be holding it in without even saying a single word, wanting more.

Your tired eyes widen as he pulls out of you forcefully and lays you down this time on your back to look at you; grabbing one of your legs he pulls you towards his body, lowering himself on top of you to take his cock inside your pussy again, now a mess with mixtures of your juices, staining the sheets. Your legs wrap around his hips out of instinct as you feel him bury himself in you, and in response he holds onto your hips firmly, showing no mercy as he begins to drill into your pussy again. You raise your arms, trying to grab onto whatever your hands find as Pitch holds you open, rubbing your clit with his thumb. Your hands ball into fists as you grip the sheets tightly and try to move your hips to match his rhythm, feeling your stomach churn, your body searching for something more. The sound of skin slapping against skin was the only thing you could hear in the dark room apart from their voices. Pitch pants in your ear as he hits your spots, burying his nose in your neck after brushing away strands of hair that covered your face and stuck to his sweaty chest. You let out a small cry as you release a stream that wets your belly and his; your vision became blurry and your mouth opened drooling in pure ecstasy. squeezing his cock as you feel the clear liquid wet your sheets beneath your ass, you come undone beneath Pitch as you take it all in. He stops rubbing your clit, then releases long ropes of hot cum that fill you again and make a mess between so many bodily mixtures together. Coming down from your high, Pitch smiles, showing his teeth in an unkind smile, bringing his face close to yours to plant a slow kiss and then grab you by the hair.

—I can still hear you teasing me. Do you think that’s something I can let go? —His deep voice echoed in the room and the sudden grip made you let out a moan. His hand closed around your hair forced you to look at him. —Are you going to learn not to lie again?

—Yes, I promise. —Your voice came out shaky as you tried to recover, still coming down from your euphoria. Pitch smiled, a smile that was anything but reassuring, caressing your face with the tips of his fingers, which made you shudder knowing that nothing would end yet.

—But why risk it? —He murmured. His eyes seemed to shine with an almost hypnotic intensity, smiling at the sight of your expression.

When dawn finally broke through the darkness of the night and the doors of the university opened, as you reached the entrance to meet your friends in a turtleneck sweater, frequent yawns, and a sleepy expression, you attracted curious glances from the group.

—Are you okay? You look exhausted. —One of them asks, raising an eyebrow.

—Yeah, I just didn’t sleep very well last night. —You force a smile, trying to hide any strange traces that could be noticed as if you didn’t already look strange that morning.

—Nightmares? —another asked, laughing softly.

—Not exactly… —you murmur, your thoughts returning to memories of last night. Without thinking too much, you continued firmly:—I really believe in him. The boogeyman.

Your statement was met with incredulous and amused laughter, but without malice; Your friends didn't give it much importance, thinking it was just one of your quirks.

—Well, to each his own. —one of them replied, and soon the conversation turned to another topic.

Hidden from the shadows, Pitch smiled, pleased with your words. Although he didn't show it, he could perceive the subtlety emanating from your face, as if you wanted to play with him indirectly, which intrigued him. For your part, an idea began to form in your mind. There was something addictive about the intensity of his presence, the way he made you feel small and wanted at the same time. Maybe you should push him and make him angry more often.

━━━━━━✧ 🦢 ✧━━━━━━

🏹 a/n: A few days ago I watched this movie again and I honestly didn't remember the characters like that, so now I have a hyper fixation on Pitch Black. There aren't as many stories about him as I would like so here is my contribution.

—cici🏹

[chimcess]

⮞ Chapter Two: Last Exodus Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ft. Taehyung x Reader, Jungkook x OC) Other Tags: Convict!Jungkook, Escaped Prisoner!Jungkook, Piolet!Reader, Captain!Reader, Holyman!Namjoon Genre: Sci-Fi, Action, Adventure, Thriller, Suspense, Strangers to Enemies to ???, Slow Burn, LOTS of Angst, Light Fluff, Eventual Smut, Third Person POV, 18+ Only Word Count: 18.9k+ Summary: When a deep space transporter crash-lands on a barren planet illuminated by three relentless suns, survival becomes the only priority for the stranded passengers, including resourceful pilot Y/N Y/L/N, mystic Namjoon Kim, lawman Taemin Lee, and enigmatic convict Jungkook Jeon. As they scour the hostile terrain for supplies and a way to escape, Y/N uncovers a terrifying truth: every 22 years, the planet is plunged into total darkness during an eclipse, awakening swarms of ravenous, flesh-eating creatures. Forced into a fragile alliance, the survivors must face not only the deadly predators but also their own mistrust and secrets. For Y/N, the growing tension with Jungkook—both a threat and a reluctant ally—raises the stakes even higher, as the battle to escape becomes one for survival against the darkness both around them and within themselves. Warnings: Strong Language, Side Character Death, Main Character Death, Aliens, Vicious Carnivorous Aliens, Violence, Blood, Jungkook is a huge prick, Cocky too, Talks About Past Characters Dying, Trauma Bonding, Bickering, Arguing, If Kook is a prick then Lee is a dick, Child Death, Graphic Death Scenes, Sexual Tension, Y/N is just trying her best, Jaded Characters, Religious Themes (I mean no harm and do not want to offend anyone), Bad Character Choices, Peter is Iconic (and a dumb ass), Surviving, Sexual Tension, Alcohol Consumption, Aliens killing more people, SUSPENSE, ANGST, Lee is genuinely the WORST person here, and he's in competition with a murderer so, I love how much of a jerk JK is, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: We are so back. I love writing high fantasy/sci-fi and this has been a treat for me. I hope you're enjoying everything so far! Thanks so much for taking the time out of your day to read my too-much gene come to life.

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The group moved across the barren landscape, their figures cutting stark silhouettes against the twin suns. Heat shimmered off the cracked earth, warping the horizon into something dreamlike, something deceptive.

Y/N led the way, her stride relentless, her jaw tight. She wasn’t in the mood for theories. She wanted proof. Hard, undeniable proof.

Lee followed, a few paces behind, his shotgun slung over his shoulder in that lazy way of his. But his glances—sharp, quick, too frequent— betrayed his nerves.

“I know what happened,” Lee said, his voice dripping with cynicism. “He snapped. Went off on Daku. Buried him somewhere else. Now he’s sitting back, watching us run in circles like idiots.”

“Let’s just be sure,” Y/N cut in, her tone sharp as a blade.

Lee scoffed. “I am sure.” He picked up his pace until he was walking beside her. “Murders aside, Jungkook’s got one skill—being a world-class bastard. He lives for this. Keeping you scared. Keeping you guessing. And you’re playing right into—”

Y/N stopped so abruptly, Lee nearly walked into her.

“We’re gonna find the body,” she snapped, turning to face him, her eyes burning with resolve. “Christ, you’re a cop. Why am I the one telling you this?” She exhaled sharply. “We have to go down and look.”

Lee’s smirk faltered. For the first time, she saw something almost like concern in his face.

“Hey,” he said, dropping his voice. He reached for her arm, gripping it just enough to make her stop. “Being ballsy with your life now doesn’t change what came before. It’s just stupid.”

Y/N met his eyes, her gaze unwavering. “Thanks for the tip, Lee,” she said coolly, shaking off his grip. “Now get out of my way.”

He let her go.

The grave gaped open, its jagged edges crumbling slightly as she approached. A damp, metallic tang seeped from the darkness below, curling in the back of her throat.

Y/N knelt, fastening the chain to her web belt, testing the tension. Above her, the others formed a loose circle, their faces pinched with concern.

She looked up one last time.

The sunlight behind them cast them in silhouette, but the brightness felt wrong. Oppressive. A silent warning.

Y/N exhaled sharply and lowered herself into the pit.

The grave swallowed her whole.

The air inside was thick, moist, pressing against her skin like a second layer of flesh. The heat above was suffocating, but this? This was worse.

Darkness closed in, broken only by the faint light filtering from above. Y/N adjusted her grip on the chain, her breath steady but shallow. Her boots scuffed against the tunnel floor, loose dirt shifting beneath her.

Her fingers brushed the walls.

She yanked her hand back.

The lining of the tunnel wasn’t just earth. It was fibrous, damp— something between plant matter and flesh.

Her stomach turned, but she pressed forward.

Jungkook was probably sitting back in the ship, laughing his ass off, knowing he’d manipulated her into crawling into this.

The thought lasted right up until she entered a chamber.

The space yawned open, a vaulted cavern stretching high above her. Light seeped through fissures in the rock, not illuminating, but distorting. The shadows moved.

Something shifted along the walls.

Y/N went still.

She knelt, sweeping her hand through the dirt. Something cold met her fingertips.

Daku’s handlight.

It was half-buried, scratched and smeared. She flicked the switch. Nothing. Broken. Like everything else.

She tossed it aside, adjusting her headlamp. The beam cut through the gloom, revealing more of the chamber’s unnatural structure.

Then, she saw them.

Bones.

Old, yellowed, cracked and splintered. They littered the chamber floor, scattered like discarded leftovers. Some were hollowed out. Others bore deep grooves—teeth marks.

Y/N’s stomach lurched.

The walls of the cavern twisted upward, forming a jagged funnel stretching toward the surface. The spires.

She whispered, almost in awe: “They’re hollow.”

The realization barely settled before she heard it.

Click-click.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Click-click-click.

Her headlamp swung toward the sound, the beam trembling slightly. Something moved.

Just beyond the light.

A shadow unfurled, slow and deliberate.

Cold, primal fear rushed through her veins. She started backing up—slow, measured steps.

Her hand brushed against something solid.

A boot.

Relief surged—until she looked. Daku’s boot. And part of him was still inside it.

Her mind snapped into perfect clarity.

Jungkook’s voice, amused, mocking—"Metallic taste, you know. Copper. Bit of peppermint schnapps.”

The air was thick with it. The smell. The taste. Her stomach flipped.

Clickity-clickity-clickity.

The sound multiplied. From everywhere. A cacophony of tiny knives tapping against stone. The shadows burst into motion. The walls moved. The entire chamber pulsed.

The chain jerked.

Y/N wasn’t alone.

She turned to run.

The sound multiplied, filling the chamber like a cacophony of tiny knives tapping against stone.

Click-click. Click-click-click.

Fast. Too fast. Shadows burst into motion, circling the perimeter with quick, predatory movements. The air thickened, a buzzing hum vibrating through the cavern like the thrumming of unseen wings.

Y/N’s breath came in short, ragged bursts. She had seconds. Maybe less.

She spun, her headlamp swinging wildly, but the shadows only taunted her, slithering just beyond the reach of her light.

Then, the ground moved beneath her. No—it wasn’t the ground. The bones. They were shifting. Something was underneath them. Something big. The first claw burst from the pile of remains like a blade through soft flesh.

Y/N didn’t scream. Not yet. Not until she saw the eyes.

A dozen pairs, glowing like smoldering embers, blinking in unison from the darkness.

Then she screamed.

"PULL ME UP!"

Her voice ripped through the cavern, raw and desperate, bouncing off the walls in an echo that seemed to stretch too long.

The chain jerked above her, but it wasn’t moving fast enough.

They were coming.

Click-click-click.

Shadows poured from the walls.  Tiny, winged things, their translucent bodies sleek and armored, their razor-thin mandibles snapping open and shut. And they were fast.

Y/N kicked back, scrambling to reach the chain as one of the creatures dove for her.

Too late.

A flash of pale wings. A piercing pain exploded in her arm, right above her elbow. Its jaws sank in. Y/N screamed again, more anger than fear this time, and ripped the thing away. It took flesh with it. Hot, wet blood slid down her arm.

She barely registered the pain before another one latched onto her calf.

No. No. No.

She reached for her knife, but the chain yanked upward, nearly dislocating her shoulder. They were pulling her up. She slashed wildly, her blade connecting with something soft, and the creature on her leg let go. She didn’t look down. She couldn’t.

She was almost there—

Something hissed below her. A deep, guttural sound, too big to belong to the flying things.

Oh, God.

The eyes in the dark blinked again. And then they moved.

Y/N felt it in her bones before she saw it—the heaving shift of something massive, something crawling toward her, something not supposed to exist.

The air turned putrid, thick with the smell of rot and metal. The thing in the dark exhaled, and the cavern walls trembled. It was rising. Coming for her.

"FASTER!"

Her scream hit the surface before she did.

She burst from the grave, thrown onto the dirt like a fish yanked from black water. The hands that caught her weren’t gentle. Namjoon and Lee hauled her back, her body skidding across the packed earth, her lungs fighting for air.

Her ears were ringing. She was shaking. But she was out.

She grabbed Namjoon’s collar, pulling him close, her voice a broken rasp:

"Seal it. Now."

Lee didn’t argue. He threw the tarp over the grave, slammed the largest crates on top, his hands moving like he already knew what was coming.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she twisted, her headlamp still on. For a split second, she saw it. A flash of something huge, slick, white. Jaws full of too many teeth. Pale wings.

And then the cavern swallowed itself whole. The sound vanished. The ground stilled. Silence. Just the wind, blowing soft, unbothered, as if the world beneath them hadn’t just tried to devour her whole.

Y/N lay sprawled in the dirt, her chest heaving, lungs raw from screaming, her body still vibrating from the adrenaline dump. Every nerve felt fried, every muscle quivering as if trying to shake loose from her bones. Her heart pounded against her ribs, hard enough that she half-expected it to break through. The taste of copper and sweat coated her tongue, and when she swallowed, it burned like she’d just drunk fire.

Above her, the sky stretched in an endless, indifferent expanse, the twin suns beginning their slow descent. The heat still pressed down on her, but she barely noticed it. Not after that.

Not after what she had seen.

Namjoon was the first to move. He dropped to his knees beside her, his breath ragged but steady, his hands hovering over her shoulders as if unsure whether to touch her or just make sure she was still breathing. His dark eyes, usually so measured, so careful, were wide with a fear he hadn’t quite shaken.

"You're okay," he said, though his voice wavered slightly. It wasn’t reassuring—it was a hopeful guess.

Y/N blinked up at him, her vision unfocused, her brain still clawing its way back to reality. The world was spinning slightly, a delayed aftershock of fear and exhaustion.

"Am I?" she rasped. Her voice barely made it past her cracked lips.

Namjoon didn’t answer.

The weight of what had just happened hung thick in the air, suffocating them both.

A few feet away, Lee crouched, his shotgun resting across his lap. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be found. His knuckles were white around the stock of his weapon, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and reluctant fear.

"What the hell was that?" he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. His gaze flickered toward the grave, still gaping, its jagged edges casting fractured shadows in the fading light.

Y/N shuddered.

It wasn’t just a grave anymore. It was a door. To what, she didn’t know. But something had been waiting behind it. Something that had taken Daku.

"It wasn’t Jungkook," she said suddenly, her voice shaking but firm. She forced herself upright, her body protesting the movement. Every inch of her screamed hurt, but she pushed through it.

Lee’s eyes snapped to her, sharp and skeptical.

"Oh yeah?" he drawled. "Then what was it?"

The words felt poisonous in her throat, but she had to say them.

"I don’t know."

Bindi stepped forward, her face pale, her arms trembling at her sides. The way her hands clenched and unclenched told Y/N she was barely holding it together.

"Then where is he?" Bindi demanded, her voice cracking. "Where’s Daku?"

Y/N swallowed hard. She didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit what she’d seen—or rather, what she hadn’t.

The clicking sounds. The inhuman movements. The way the shadows had crawled across the walls like they were alive. She could still feel it, still hear the whispering hush of brittle wings against the cavern walls.

Her throat tightened. Her hands felt empty without her knife.

"I don’t know," she whispered, hating the way her voice broke. "It’s not... It’s not human. It’s something else."

Bindi's hands flew to her mouth, a muffled sob escaping. Namjoon stepped in beside her, murmuring something too soft to hear, but it didn’t seem to help. Bindi shook her head, tears carving streaks through the grime on her face.

"Something else," Lee echoed. Disbelieving. Not quite mocking, but close. He stood, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder in one smooth motion. "Great. That’s helpful."

Y/N’s fear flashed into anger.

"It got Daku," she snapped, her voice hoarse, raw. "It almost got me. So unless you want to end up in pieces like he did, maybe don’t go poking at it."

Lee's eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue. For once, he had nothing to say.

Namjoon broke the silence, his voice calm but firm, "We need to get out of here. Back to the ship. Now."

Bindi looked like she wanted to argue, her grief twisting into defiance, but she caught something in Namjoon’s expression.

He wasn’t suggesting—he was commanding.

She nodded, reluctantly, wiping her tears away with shaking hands. Y/N cast one last glance at the grave, its dark, gaping mouth now a silent reminder of the nightmare beneath.

Then—

A sound. Faint. Almost like a whisper through the earth.

Click-click-click.

Y/N’s stomach lurched.

She took a step back, but the sound was already gone. Had it even been there? Or had she imagined it?

The others were already moving. She followed.

The suns had dipped lower, the sky bleeding into shades of red and deep gold. The air cooled, but Y/N could still feel the heat clinging to her skin, mixing with the sweat drying against her back. Every step felt wrong. Like something was watching. 

No one spoke. Not Bindi. Not Lee. Even Namjoon, the one who always had a plan, a course of action, was silent. Y/N clenched her fists, the dirt beneath her nails grounding her.

She focused on that. The pressure of her own fingers digging into her palms. The rhythm of her boots hitting the dirt. The distant hum of the wind shifting across the landscape.

It wasn’t enough.

The questions swirled, relentless, circling her like scavengers. What had she seen? What had she barely escaped? And, most terrifying of all—

Was it done with them yet?

The settlement roiled with motion, a frantic, desperate energy thrumming through the air. Voices clashed, rising sharp and panicked over the clatter of salvaged supplies. Hands seized anything and everything—scraps that once held no value now deemed indispensable. Oxygen canisters. Bottles of liquor. An umbrella missing half its ribs. A battered copy of the Koran, its pages thin and worn from time and touch, was bundled up with the same reverence as a lifeline.

Leo hesitated, breath caught in his throat as his gaze drifted to the hills. There was something about the way the light slanted against them. Something wrong. The jagged spires stretched high, their peaks curling like skeletal fingers grasping at the last embers of the sun. Shadows twisted at their base, too deep, too consuming, like the land itself was caving inward. His skin prickled. He couldn’t shake the sensation that those hills were watching him back.

“Keep moving, kid!”

Bindi’s voice cut through the air, snapping him out of it. She was already straining under the weight of a supply crate, sweat streaking through the dust caked on her face.

Leo gave a quick nod, swallowing the unease as he bent to grab another bundle. The ship was nearly stripped bare.

Y/N and Namjoon wrestled with a heavy power cell, their bodies straining as they fought against rusted bolts and time itself. The thing gave way with a violent lurch, sending them both stumbling as it crashed onto the deck with a deafening clang. The sound echoed, hollow and final, through the gutted remains of the ship.

Namjoon straightened first, rolling his shoulders, dragging the back of his hand across his forehead. Sweat and grease smeared over his temple, but his eyes were already locked on the single cell they’d managed to pull free.

“That’s it?” His voice was edged with doubt.

“For now.” Y/N exhaled sharply, though exhaustion seeped into her words.

They needed at least two. Three, if they wanted any chance beyond sheer dumb luck. But time was a currency they no longer had. She pressed her hands into the small of her back, stretching against the deep-set ache in her spine. Her gaze flickered past Namjoon, past the ship, toward the horizon.

The feeling was there again. A slow, crawling awareness, like something was pressing against the edges of her mind, watching, waiting.

“We don’t have time to get picky.” Her voice was quieter now, more to herself than to him. “We survive on this.”

Namjoon studied her for a beat, something unreadable flickering across his face before he nodded. That was the thing about them—words weren’t always necessary. The understanding was silent, steady. They’d figure it out. They always did.

Together, they hefted the power cell onto a sled, their movements mechanical, efficient, but tense.

The spires loomed in the distance. Silent. Motionless. But not empty.

Their long shadows crawled over the barren land, their peaks carved black against the burnt-orange sky. A presence hummed in the air, thick and suffocating, like the land itself was bracing. Y/N felt it settle deep in her gut, a sick, gnawing certainty—

They weren’t the only ones preparing.

The chains rattled, a dull metallic whisper swallowed by the dry wind. Jungkook sat still, slumped just enough to feign exhaustion, his wrists resting limply in his lap. The angry red welts beneath the iron stood out against his sweat-slicked skin, but his posture was loose, deceptively relaxed. His hair, damp and tangled, hung in front of his face, masking his expression. He wasn’t broken. He wasn’t even tired.

He was waiting.

The sun baked the cracked dirt beneath him, heat rising in shimmering waves, but he remained unmoved, the picture of effortless patience. He had all the time in the world.

A shadow loomed. He didn’t bother looking up.

"Found something worse than me, huh?” His voice, rough from disuse, carried a dry amusement, the kind that slithered under the skin, just sharp enough to make you second-guess whether he was joking or simply waiting for the moment to rip you apart.

Lee stepped closer, shotgun cradled against his chest, grip deceptively casual. But Jungkook saw the tension, the twitch in his fingers against the stock, the weight of unspoken violence hovering between them.

“We’re moving,” Lee said, as if that explained anything. "And I’m just wondering if I shouldn’t lighten the load right now.”

Jungkook finally tilted his head up, dark eyes gleaming behind the fractured glass of his goggles. His lips curled, slow and measured, into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

The air thickened, the kind of silence that pressed against the ribs, waiting for the inevitable snap.

The shotgun rose.

The hammer cocked.

From the corner of his vision, Y/N tensed, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t interfere. Not yet.

Jungkook’s smirk widened, sharp as a blade. “Woof, woof.”

The blast split the air.

Iron exploded, smoking fragments clattering across the dirt. The chains shattered.

Jungkook’s arms fell forward, unbound at last. He flexed his fingers, watching with quiet satisfaction as blood rushed back into them, warming flesh that had been starved of movement for far too long.

Lee leaned in, voice just above a whisper, breath hot against Jungkook’s ear. “Want you to remember this moment,” he murmured. “The way it could’ve gone—and didn’t.”

Jungkook turned his head, slow, deliberate, his grin curling at the edges. He liked this game.

“Say that again,” he murmured, soft, almost coaxing, but his gaze was a different story. There was nothing gentle in the way he looked at Lee. Nothing human.

Lee didn’t flinch. “Help us get off this rock,” he said, tightening his grip on the shotgun. “No chains. No shivs. You work with us, and we all get out of here alive.”

Jungkook arched a brow, considering. “And what’s in it for me?”

Lee’s jaw ticked. “Truth is, I want to be free of you as much as you want to be free of me. But right now?” He glanced at the wasteland stretching beyond them. “Neither of us has that option.”

Jungkook inhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders now that he was unburdened. He weighed the odds, measured the numbers, calculated the likelihood of survival.

And then, just for a second, his eyes flickered to Y/N.

Not trust. Not exactly. But something close enough to make him hesitate.

The grin widened, razor-sharp. “You’d cut me loose, Boss?” he drawled, feigning mock disbelief.

Lee shrugged, extending a hand—not an offer, not a truce. Just an inevitability. “Only if we both get out of this alive.”

Jungkook stared at it. Nobody breathed.

Then, with the kind of speed that defied logic, he moved.

In one fluid motion, he ripped the shotgun from Lee’s grip, flipping it in his hands with a practiced ease that made it clear he could have done it blindfolded. The barrel swung up, aimed squarely at Lee’s chest.

Click.

The safety flicked off.

Jungkook’s smirk never wavered. “Want you to remember this moment,” he said, throwing Lee’s words back at him, reshaping them into something entirely his own.

He pumped the shotgun.

Ejected the spent shell.

Then—deliberately, almost lazily—he spat a handful of blue shells onto the ground at Lee’s feet.

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the shotgun aside. It hit the dirt, useless, forgotten.

And then, without a word, he turned and walked away. Loose. Confident. Untouchable.

Like he’d never been shackled. Like he’d never been caught.

Y/N exhaled, pulse hammering in her throat.

She had been waiting for Jungkook to be released.

But watching him now, watching the way he moved—like nothing had changed, like he was just slipping back into the skin that had always been his—she realized something that made her stomach twist.

She trusted Jungkook more than she trusted Lee.

And that terrified her most of all.

The horizon was a violent masterpiece, an ever-shifting war of light painted by three merciless suns. The blue sun dipped lower, casting its eerie glow across the scorched desert, while the yellow and red giants stretched their fingers of fire over the barren wasteland. The sky bled color, deep purples and burnt golds tangled together in something both breathtaking and apocalyptic.

Against this surreal backdrop, the survivors pressed forward—a ragged procession of exhaustion and desperation, their hope worn thin, stretched past the point of breaking.

Y/N and Namjoon moved as one, their shoulders braced beneath the crushing weight of the power cell, their steps synchronized out of necessity rather than intent. Each footfall was a reminder of the stakes. There was no second plan. No backup. This was it. If they failed, the desert would take them, piece by piece.

But even their burden paled in comparison to the one Jungkook carried.

He was no longer the feral thing that had hunted them in the dark. No longer the prisoner bound in chains. Now, he was something in between, something undefined, something dangerous in its own right. A beast of burden, pulling a makeshift sled behind him, piled high with scavenged supplies, jury-rigged tech, and the last scraps of survival they had left. His chains were gone, but freedom—true freedom—was an illusion. The weight on his shoulders hadn’t lessened. It had simply changed shape.

Trailing alongside Lee, Peter tilted the neck of a half-empty wine bottle toward Jungkook, his expression laced with disbelief and something dangerously close to amusement.

“So, just like that?” he drawled. “You wave your little wand, and he’s one of us now?”

Lee snorted, shotgun slung casually over one shoulder, but the way his fingers flexed on the stock said he wasn’t relaxed. Not really.

“Didn’t say that,” Lee muttered. “But this way, I don’t have to worry about waking up with him standing over me with something sharp.”

Namjoon turned his head just enough to glance back, his voice measured, diplomatic. “Perhaps we owe Mr. Jungkook some amends.”

Bindi let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “Right. Because now’s the perfect time for an apology tour. Let’s all line up and beg for forgiveness. That’ll fix everything.”

“At the very least,” Namjoon insisted, “he should have oxygen.”

Lee waved a dismissive hand. “He’s happy just being vertical. Leave him be.”

Behind them, Leo shifted hesitantly before speaking, his voice tentative. “So… can I talk to him now?”

“No,” Lee and Bindi snapped in unison.

Leo deflated immediately, shrinking back in silence, eyes dropping to the ground.

Peter, unfazed by the tension, let the wine bottle slip from his fingers, watching as it tumbled toward the dirt.

Jungkook caught it mid-stride, smooth as a pickpocket, never breaking pace.

Peter didn’t notice until it was too late. “Hey—”

Jungkook twisted the cap off in one effortless flick and took a slow, deliberate sip, his head tilting back just enough to make a point. He handed the bottle back without a glance, without a word, without even acknowledging Peter’s indignation.

Peter gaped, then swore under his breath. “If I owned Hell and this planet, I’d rent this out and live in Hell.”

The ground beneath them shifted, narrowing into a canyon, jagged spires of rock rising around them. The golden light caught the edges, casting long, uneven shadows like serrated teeth lining the pathway.

The silence thickened.

Y/N felt it first.

A ripple in the air. The electric prickle of something shifting just out of reach.

Clickity-click.

The sound was faint, barely there.

“What is it?” Namjoon asked, his voice low.

Y/N’s eyes swept the canyon walls, her breath shallow as she strained to hear it again.

Silence.

Then—

Clickity-click-click.

Closer this time.

Her stomach dropped. Her hand shot to her knife, fingers curling around the hilt.

The sound came again, to her right.

Click-click-clickity.

It was coming from—

She exhaled sharply, shoulders loosening as she rolled her eyes, tension bleeding from her body.

“It’s his beads,” she muttered, flicking her chin toward Yeonjun’s belt.

The prayer beads clacked softly as he walked, oblivious to the panic they’d caused.

Namjoon let out a slow breath, shaking his head. Lee smirked, tossing her a knowing look. “Jumpin’ at shadows already, princess?”

Y/N ignored him.

She wasn’t jumping at shadows.

She was jumping at what lived in them.

The suns bled into the horizon, dragging streaks of orange and violet through the sky as the settlement came into view. The ruins sprawled before them—rusted shipping containers, skeletal structures collapsed under years of neglect, the remnants of a place that had long since lost the battle against the elements.

Peter wrinkled his nose, eyes sweeping over the decay with unimpressed detachment. “Usually, I can appreciate antiques,” he mused. “But this is hardly a collector’s dream.”

Y/N ignored him. Her gaze locked onto the skiff. Their way out.

The wreck sat hunched on its battered landing struts, its fabric wings in tatters, its hull pitted with corrosion. It looked more corpse than vehicle, and yet, it was their last chance. She and Namjoon muscled the power cell toward it, their grunts of exertion the only sound in the hush of the dying settlement.

Lee circled the skiff, his scowl deepening. “Ratty-ass thing.” He gave one of its struts a sharp kick, as if that would somehow restore it to working order.

“Nothing we can’t fix,” Y/N ground out, angling the cell into place. “So long as the electrical adapts.”

Bindi crossed her arms, skeptical. “Not a star-jumper. Won’t get us far.”

Jungkook had been silent until now, leaning against a rusted container, arms folded, watching. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Too calm.

“Doesn’t need to be.”

The group turned to him.

His expression didn’t shift, but there was something in his gaze—calculated, knowing. Like he’d already mapped their escape before they even set foot in this place.

“We use this to get back up to the Sol-Track Shipping Lanes,” he said. “Stick out a thumb.” Then, after a beat, he glanced at Y/N, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Right?”

She hesitated. His reasoning was sound. That didn’t mean she trusted him.

Her gaze flicked to Lee.

A convict. A cop.

And somehow, she trusted one more than the other.

“Little help here?” she snapped, shattering the moment.

Together, they shoved the power cell into the skiff’s empty housing, the metal groaning under the weight. Jungkook moved to follow, but Lee stepped into his path.

“Check those containers,” Lee said, his voice clipped, his stance rigid. “See what we can patch the wings with.”

For a fraction of a second, something dark passed through Jungkook’s gaze. A flash of something that coiled beneath his skin like a wire pulled too tight.

But he didn’t argue.

Without a word, he turned and stalked toward the scattered remnants of the settlement.

The suns continued their descent, stretching long, jagged shadows across the ground.

And somewhere, deep in the canyon beyond, something clicked.

The settlement stirred, the quiet murmur of movement threading through the thickening twilight. The survivors worked with purpose, though the weight of the unknown pressed against them like an iron yoke.

At the edge of the ruins, the Chrislams moved in solemn reverence, their hands steady, precise, as they repaired the moisture-recovery unit. Every twist of a wrench, every careful turn of a valve, was an offering. Their voices wove through the air in a soft, murmured hymn, a thread of devotion stitched into the fabric of the evening.

For them, this was not just survival.

It was proof.

That they had not been abandoned.

That this planet had not swallowed them whole.

The power cell clicked into place with a sharp, mechanical snap. A low hum pulsed through the battered skiff, its ancient circuits shuddering back to life. The cockpit’s displays stuttered, blinking sluggishly as though dragging themselves out of a years-long coma. One by one, the dashboard lights steadied into a dim, uneven glow—proof that the thing wasn’t entirely dead yet.

Y/N wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, smearing sweat and grime into a single, indistinguishable streak. “Okay,” she muttered, leaning back to inspect her work. “That should buy us enough juice for a systems check. But we’ll need more cells if we actually want to get this thing off the ground.”

Lee stood in the skiff’s doorway, shotgun slung over his back, his stance casual but his eyes never still, constantly scanning the dark corners of the settlement. He snorted. “How many more?”

Y/N ran the numbers, a rapid-fire equation of weight, energy output, and sheer impossible odds. “Fifteen six-gig cells here, ninety gigs total. The other ship uses twenty-gig cells, so…” She exhaled sharply, tapping her fingers against the hull, calculating. “Five. We need five more.”

Lee let out a slow, unimpressed whistle. “Twenty-five kilos each, huh?” His voice was dry, laced with something dangerously close to amusement. “Great. Let me guess—you want me to haul ‘em myself?”

Bindi scoffed, wiping her hands on her torn pants. She jerked her chin toward the rusting skeleton of a sand-cat vehicle half-buried at the edge of the settlement. The sun had bleached its frame white, but the treads and chassis still looked intact.

“Old sand-cat out there might still have some life in her,” she said. “I’ll see if I can get it up and chuggin’.”

Lee gave a curt nod. “Do it. And if you need an extra hand, tap our problem child.”

Y/N barely looked up from the power cell’s console. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Lee shrugged. “No clue. Doesn’t matter to me.”

Jungkook moved through the dead town like a shadow, his stride unhurried, his presence an unwelcome interruption in the unnatural silence.

The settlement was a graveyard. A place abandoned in a hurry.

Overturned chairs, scattered belongings, rusted-out tools lying in the dirt where hands had once gripped them with purpose. Dead gardens, their vines clawing through cracked pavement, creeping back over what had been taken from them.

The silence wasn’t empty.

It was full.

Full of whispers. Of memories. Of lives that had been lived and then erased, leaving nothing but footprints fading beneath the shifting dust.

Behind him, Leo and Soobin trailed at a careful distance, their movements hesitant, their curiosity gnawing at them like hungry animals. They whispered—low, uncertain—but Jungkook didn’t acknowledge them. If he heard, he gave no sign.

At the far edge of the settlement, the Chrislams gathered around the moisture-recovery unit, their faces tight with something between anticipation and disbelief.

A single bead of water formed at the base of the pipette, clinging for a moment before finally dropping into the waiting cup below.

Tongues fought for it.

Another drop. Then another.

A slow, uneven trickle began, and a breathless murmur rippled through the gathered crowd.

Not a celebration.

A prayer answered.

A few meters away, Peter was humming. Some jaunty, ridiculous tune that felt wholly out of place in the crumbling remains of the world. His fingers moved carefully, unwrapping crystal goblets—absurd in the face of their circumstances, but somehow perfectly in character. He had claimed a long, dust-covered refectory table, brushing off the grime and rearranging mining scraps into makeshift centerpieces.

He even found a faded Christmas garland tangled in an old storage container, shook off the dust, and strung it across the table with an unnecessary flourish.

“If we’re dying out here,” Peter mused, adjusting a vase filled with broken drill bits, “we might as well die with a bit of class.”

The bridge was unnervingly silent, the kind of quiet that felt like an inhale before a scream. Outside, chaos churned—voices rising, metal groaning, the slow unraveling of control—but in here, nothing moved. Nothing but her.

Y/N worked quickly, hands steady even as her mind spun. The main console’s housing face came loose with a soft, mechanical click, revealing the smooth crystal core of Captain Marshall’s log. It was nestled there like a relic, untouched, waiting.

She plucked it from its slot, the surface cool against her palm.

Then she turned it over, and her stomach twisted.

The blood was dried, flaked brown, but unmistakable. A smear of it streaked across her fingers, sinking into the lines of her skin like it belonged there.

Her breath hitched. “Fuck.”

The log disappeared into her back pocket, shoved deep, as if that could undo what she had seen. Her hand trembled. She scrubbed it against her thigh, hard enough to sting, but the stain remained. The more she rubbed, the more it felt like the blood was seeping inward, like it wasn’t just on her skin but under it.

A memory hit.

Red pooling across the dirt, too bright under the glare of the suns. The metallic tang of it thick in the air. The hole she had crawled into. The boot she had found there. Daku’s boot. He had been tall. Serious. Steadfast. And now? Now, he was nothing.

Just a smudge on her hand.

She didn’t hear Jungkook until he was right beside her. By then, it was too late to steel herself. He crouched in front of her, his shadow stretching long under the merciless light of the three suns. His movements were easy, unhurried, as if this brutal, dying world bent to his will.

“It won’t come off that easily.” His voice was quiet, edged with something unreadable—not a warning, not a threat, but something closer. Something dangerous in its softness.

Y/N’s head snapped up, her breath shallow. Their eyes met. For a second—just a second—she faltered.

Jungkook was always a storm, something violent waiting to happen. But in this moment, in the stifling heat and unnatural stillness, there was no trace of chaos in him. Just watchfulness. Just something steady, patient. Not just looking. Seeing. His hand reached for hers before she could react, fingers warm and sure as he turned her palm upward.

“Let go of my hand,” she snapped, yanking against his grip.

He didn’t.

His thumb traced over the dried blood, slow and deliberate, his brow furrowing slightly. His breath was even, unbothered, like he had all the time in the world to unravel her. Then, he blew across her palm, a whisper of air stirring the dust. Her fingers twitched before she could stop them. He noticed. Something flickered across his face—amusement, curiosity. Or maybe something else.

“It’s not yours.” His gaze lifted, sharp as a blade.

The words landed like a brand, sinking deep beneath her skin. Before she could jerk away, he licked his thumb and pressed it against the stain. Heat. A sudden, shocking warmth against her palm, slow and deliberate. Her pulse stuttered.

“Damn it, Jungkook,” she hissed. “Stop—”

His grin curled, wicked and unrepentant. “Relax.” His thumb moved in steady, patient strokes. “I’ll get it off.”

She wanted to shove him away. Wanted to snap, to curse, to remind him that he was insufferable, impossible, unbearable— but her body refused to listen. Because his touch wasn’t cruel. It was precise.

His thumb traced the lines of her palm, lingering over the tiny creases, his fingers moving with a familiarity that made her stomach twist. Around them, the camp hummed on—Namjoon’s low voice, Bindi’s grief-tinged frustration, the Chrislams murmuring over the water unit. But all of it felt distant. Because there was only this. Only him.

Jungkook’s smirk faded as his thumb stilled. His head tilted, his gaze sweeping over her face, searching. She looked different in this light—lips parted slightly, stray strands of hair curling against her temple, the sun catching gold in her lashes. And for the first time in a long time, he felt off-balance. Not in a fight. Not in a hunt. But here—with her. Unarmed. Vulnerable. And it made no damn sense.

“There.” His voice had gone quieter. “No more blood.”

The spell shattered. Y/N yanked her hand back like his touch had burned her. The loss of contact sent a jolt through her, sharp and immediate. Her fingers curled into a fist. Her pulse was too fast. Too loud.

“Fuck,” she muttered, voice tight, body tense with something she couldn’t name.

Jungkook rocked back on his heels, his smirk sliding back into place—but it was different now. A little too forced. A little too knowing.

“Bit public for my tastes,” he said smoothly. “But if you’re game—”

She shoved him. Hard.

He swayed, balance shifting for half a breath before he caught himself. For the briefest moment, she saw real surprise flicker in his expression—before he laughed. A rich, unbothered sound. Like he wasn’t fazed in the slightest. But something in his eyes had changed. Something raw. And neither of them knew what to do with it.

Y/N took a step back, still glaring, still trying to breathe normally.

Jungkook didn’t move. He just stood there, loose and unreadable, but his gaze wasn’t. And then he smirked. Not the usual lazy, cocky kind he wore like armor, but something slower, something that settled deep, like he had just seen something she hadn’t meant to show. Like he knew.

Y/N’s pulse slammed against her ribs. She clenched her jaw, willed herself to speak, to move, to do anything except stand there and let him see her like this. Jungkook stayed exactly where he was, hands easy at his sides, head tilted just enough to catch the light, casting sharp shadows along his jaw. The goggles hid his eyes, but she could feel them on her, cataloging every breath, every tiny shift in her stance.

It was infuriating.

The ship groaned, its metal bones adjusting to the temperature drop outside. Night was closing in, and with it, things they weren’t ready for. She should have walked away. Should have focused on the job, ignored the heat still crawling up her spine, the phantom weight of his touch lingering against her skin.

Instead—

“You’re an asshole.” The words tumbled out, sharp but breathless.

Jungkook chuckled, slow and lazy, his tongue running over his bottom lip. “And yet, here we are.”

Her fingers twitched. A reckless part of her wanted to swing, wipe that smugness clean off his face. But another part—one she refused to acknowledge—was still caught in the moment before, in the press of his thumb against her palm, in the softness of his voice when he had murmured no more blood.

She exhaled hard through her nose, forcing herself to let it go. “We need to finish the systems check,” she muttered, stepping past him, her shoulder barely grazing his as she moved.

Jungkook didn’t stop her.

But he didn’t step away, either.

Instead, just as she reached the console, his voice followed, a quiet hum beneath the ship’s reviving power. “You didn’t flinch.”

Her fingers hesitated over the controls.

His tone was unreadable, but something about it sent a slow chill through her. “What?”

“When I touched you.”

She turned, her glare sharp. “I told you to let go.”

He nodded, considering, then tilted his head, voice maddeningly calm. “Yeah. But you didn’t flinch.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Because he was right.

She had pulled away after, once her mind had caught up, once the moment had settled in. But in that instant? When his fingers had curled around hers, when his thumb had pressed slow and certain against her skin—

She hadn’t flinched.

And that unsettled her more than anything.

Jungkook knew it, too. It was written all over his face.

She turned back to the console, jaw tight, forcing herself to focus. Behind her, she heard the quiet rasp of his boots against the metal as he finally moved, finally put space between them.

But the weight of his presence lingered.

And she hated that she felt it.

“JUNGKOOK?”

The shout cut through the air.

Lee.

Sharp. Hunting. Demanding.

Jungkook’s expression shifted instantly. His shoulders tensed, that easy confidence sharpening into something colder, something lethal. Without hesitation, he pressed a finger to his lips—a silent command—before slipping into the ship’s shadows. Effortless. Like he’d never been there at all.

Y/N hesitated, then nodded once. Oddly, it felt natural to trust him in this. Even though she had no reason to. Even though she wasn’t sure she ever should.

Lee rounded the corner, his bloodshot eyes narrowing the second they landed on her. He looked wired, his movements too quick, his fingers twitching like they wanted to be wrapped around a trigger.

“You seen Jungkook?”

Y/N tilted her head, brushing stray strands of hair from her face. “He was around a few minutes ago.” Her voice was neutral, careful.

Lee squinted, eyes dragging over her a little too long. “What’re you doing just sitting out here in the hot sun?”

Y/N’s expression sharpened. “Enjoying the peace and quiet.”

The words were a warning. Lee either missed it or ignored it. Somewhere, hidden in the dark, Jungkook smirked. She wasn’t playing along. Not with Lee. But with him? With Jungkook? She already had. And neither of them knew how deep they’d fallen in already.

Jungkook, tucked just beyond sight, grinned. Lee was floundering, barely keeping up with the sharp barbs in Y/N’s voice. It was tempting to stay, to see just how thoroughly she would dismantle the man. She had a way of cutting straight through the bullshit, and Jungkook would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching it.

But there were more pressing matters.

He slid his goggles up to his forehead, forcing himself to push thoughts of her aside. She had already distracted him enough, and he couldn’t afford to lose focus now. Something about this planet had been gnawing at him since they’d crashed.

It wasn’t just the oppressive brightness of the three suns, or the eerie silence that stretched between the gusts of wind. It was something deeper. Something wrong.

Jungkook scanned the horizon, wishing for the impossible. If the suns would just set, he could orient himself—trace the constellations, find a way off this rock. But that didn’t seem likely. Not here.

Instead, he turned his attention to the ground, to the faint clicking noises that had been scratching at his senses since they’d landed.

The wrong kind of quiet.

He moved carefully, his footsteps soundless, his breath even. He didn’t know what he was looking for yet. But he knew it wasn’t far.

On the outskirts of the settlement, where the land cracked and the wind carried whispers of what once was, Jungkook crouched in the dirt. His fingers sifted through a scatter of forgotten relics—discarded, broken, yet still clinging to the ghosts of their past lives. A pair of fractured eyeglasses, a rusted flashlight, the battered frame of a child’s tin robot.

Leo and Soobin lingered a few steps behind, silent observers in the fading twilight.

“What’s he doing?” Soobin’s voice barely disturbed the hush.

“Being weird,” Leo muttered, but he, too, remained rooted in place.

Jungkook’s hand hovered over the tin robot’s solar panel, the remnants of its once-bright paint dulled by time and filth. With a swipe of his sleeve, he cleared the grime. A stuttering whir broke the silence, and the robot jolted to life, its joints creaking in protest.

Static crackled through a tiny, corroded speaker. The voice that emerged was distorted, broken, yet eerily resolute:

"...to all intruders. I am the guardian of this land. I will protect my masters at all costs. Death to all intruders..."

Jungkook smirked, watching as the tinny proclamation faltered, fading into silence. But his amusement didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze shifted, drawn to the looming structure beyond the debris.

A building. It stood tall and defiant, its windowless facade riddled with rust, its heavy metal doors sealed tight beneath a corroded lock. He stepped closer, dragging his sleeve across a weathered sign bolted beside the entrance.

CORING ROOM.

Something shifted behind the glass. A flicker of movement.

Jungkook stilled. His breath shallowed. His muscles coiled. He squinted into the dimness, searching. But whatever had stirred was gone. The silence inside felt too thick, too absolute. Jungkook hated that kind of quiet.

“Missin’ the party.”

Lee’s voice cut through the stillness, a tether yanking him back to the present. There was a warning threaded in his tone. A reminder.

Jungkook exhaled sharply. With a muttered curse, he upended a rusted trash bin, sending its contents scattering across the ground.

“Missin’ the party,” he echoed, voice laced with mockery. “C’mon.”

Leo and Soobin hesitated. Their gazes lingered on the coring room, the secrets it swallowed whole. Then, wordlessly, they turned to follow.

But Soobin lagged behind. His pulse tapped against his ribs as he stared at the building’s darkened glass. The window was streaked with dust, but something about it set his teeth on edge. A shiver crawled up his spine, slow and deliberate. Curiosity won out.

One glance over his shoulder—once, twice—confirmed that no one was watching. He moved forward, drawn in by something nameless, something wrong. The door was ajar. Just enough for him to slip inside. He hesitated.

Then he stepped into the dark.

The main room of the settlement was dimly lit, its air thick with dust and unspoken tension. The Chrislams sat in a tight circle, handling their crystal goblets with the kind of care reserved for sacred relics. Each drop of cloudy, sediment-laden water felt like a fragile victory, stolen from the clutches of an unforgiving world.

Namjoon’s voice rose in solemn prayer, threading through the silence like a beacon.

“For this, our gift of drink, we give thanks in the name of our Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, and to our Lord, Jesus Christ of Nazareth, and to His father, Allah the Compassionate and the Merciful.”

The survivors listened in silence, their weariness momentarily replaced by something hovering between respect and reverence. Even Peter, the ever-cynical bastard, muttered under his breath, “Strangest religion I’ve ever seen…” But for once, there was no venom behind the words.

Goblets passed from hand to hand, each survivor taking a slow, measured sip. Jungkook received the last glass, thick with grit and unfiltered debris. Without hesitation, he tilted it back, drinking deep. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, the moment stretching long enough for someone to say something—a joke, a jab, a challenge.

No one did. Instead, they drank slowly, savoring the water like it was a rare vintage. The silence in the room spoke louder than words.

Peter finally broke the quiet, raising his goblet with a wry smile. “Perhaps we should toast our hosts. Who were these people, anyway? Miners?”

Bindi’s eyes swept the room, taking in the scattered remnants of lives abandoned mid-motion. “Looks like geologists,” she murmured. “Advance team, moving from rock to rock, probably surveying for resources.”

Y/N’s head snapped up, her gaze locking onto Bindi’s. “What makes you say that?”

Bindi shrugged, gesturing vaguely around the room. “The equipment. Field packs, sample cases. That storage unit back there? It’s filled with core samples. If they were miners, we’d be seeing drills, not rock collections.”

Y/N’s stomach coiled tight, the pieces falling into place in a way she didn’t like. The skiff they found… it was at least forty years old. She ran through every geological mission she could recall in the past few decades. Helion research teams. Corporate-funded surveyors. Independent prospectors. There had been plenty, but none that immediately fit.

Unless—

Her breath caught.

Unless it was one of those missions. The kind no one talked about. The kind that never made it to public records. Things like the Nexus missions.

She knew those more than most because she had been part of three different Nexus missions. Her mind raced as she thought of the possibilities. The planet didn’t match the usual colonization efforts, but sending geologists over a different type of crew would mean it was a resource operation—a good gauge to see the value of a planet otherwise unlikely to gain any real traction as a colony due to the weather and conditions.

They couldn’t have known what lived here at the time, or the creatures did not pose any real threat. Still, that did not explain the abandoned equipment. There were only five human-funded missions that ended badly that she could recall, and only two of them matched the description of this world.

The only thing she could hope for was that she was wrong.

Y/N forced her voice into neutrality, not wanting to show her hand just yet. “Could’ve been anything,” she muttered, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Geologists, miners, explorers. Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Bindi frowned, sensing something unspoken, but didn’t press.

Lee grunted, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Musta crapped out here, huh?”

A beat of silence.

“But why did they leave their ship?”

The question came from Leo, cutting through the fragile stillness. His voice was quiet. But the tremor in it betrayed him. Nobody answered. The question lingered in the air like a ghost, heavy and unwelcome.

Y/N swallowed hard, glancing toward the skiff, its battered frame silhouetted against the dying light. Her gut twisted. She had a terrible feeling. The kind that usually turned out right. But she wasn’t ready to say it out loud. Not yet. Because if she did, it would mean they were already too late.

Outside, something stirred.

The coring room—unnoticed by those inside—began to wake up.

A solar panel tilted upward, catching the harsh light of the twin suns. Metal joints groaned, storm shutters on the roof creaking open like the exhalation of something long-dormant. Deep inside, old ventilation systems whined as they adjusted to the change. Machines hissed, sluggish but waking.

Something clicked. Something shifted.

Soobin stood frozen inside the coring room, his breath shallow, his heart pounding against his ribs like a warning drum.

The first sound had startled him—the metal shifting, the machinery adjusting—but it was the next one that rooted him to the spot.

A soft, skittering shuffle. It was faint. Barely there. But instinct wrapped its icy fingers around his spine. Soobin didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Because some part of him—some deep, animal part of his brain that still remembered the old fears from when humanity huddled in caves—was already screaming.

You are not alone.

The main room of the settlement felt smaller than before, as if the walls were closing in, pressing against the survivors with the weight of unspoken fears. The conversation continued, but the unease was growing.

“Well, just a skiff,” Lee said, shrugging in response to Leo’s earlier question. “Disposable, really.”

Peter, ever the cynic, swirled the last of his water as if it were a glass of fine scotch. “Like an emergency life-raft?”

“Sure,” Bindi agreed, her voice casual, too casual. “Coulda had a proper drop-ship take them off-planet. Long gone by now.”

Peter raised his goblet in mock cheer, his smirk returning. “A toast to their ghosts, then—”

A new voice cut through the air like a blade.

“They didn’t leave.”

The room froze.

Jungkook leaned forward, his dark eyes gleaming, the weight of his words settling over them like a curse no one wanted to name. “Whatever got Daku got them.”

His tone was flat, certain, unshakable. “They’re all dead.”

Silence swallowed the room whole. The words hung there, clawing at their nerves, too terrible to dismiss. No one moved. No one breathed. The idea had been spoken aloud. And now, it couldn’t be taken back.

Jungkook’s voice lowered, but the intensity remained razor-sharp. “What, you don’t really think they left with their clothes still on the lines?” His gaze cut through them, demanding they face the truth. “Photos still on the walls? Equipment still powered up?”

He let the question hang. “C’mon. You don’t walk away from a settlement like this unless something’s coming for you.”

Bindi’s jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists. “Maybe they had weight limits,” she snapped. Denial. Pure and desperate. “You don’t know.”

Jungkook didn’t flinch. “I know you don’t uncrate your emergency ship unless there’s a fucking emergency.”

The words landed like a blade to the throat. No one argued.

Lee exhaled sharply, frustration edging into his voice. “Rag it, Jungkook,” he growled. “Nobody wants your theories—”

But Y/N leaned forward, her expression grim, her voice dead calm. “So what happened? Where are they, then?”

She silently agreed with Jungkook, though she kept it to herself. She admired his boldness, the way he spoke without hesitation, without concern for how his words landed. He didn’t sugarcoat, didn’t try to make things easier. She wished she could be more like that, less careful, less afraid of shattering hope.

Her question landed like a hammer. The silence that followed was suffocating. Because no one wanted to answer. Because the answer wasn’t one they wanted to accept.

Namjoon was the first to break. His voice was quiet, but insistent.

“Has anyone seen the young one? Soobin?”

A new kind of silence settled over them. A silence that hissed. That slithered. That felt like something pressing against their chests, waiting to squeeze.

Heads turned. Eyes searched. No one saw him.

Jungkook’s expression didn’t change—didn’t even flicker—but something sharpened in his gaze. His posture shifted, muscles coiling beneath his skin. He spoke slowly, each word deliberate.

“Has anyone checked the coring room?”

The air grew colder, despite the relentless heat of the three suns outside.

Y/N’s stomach turned to stone. And then, somewhere in the distance—

Clickity-click.

Clickity-click.

The sound wasn’t the beads this time.

The coring room was too quiet. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but full—waiting.

Grooooooan.

The storm shutters inched open, metal scraping against metal in a slow, tortured protest. The sound echoed through the chamber, rattling rusted beams, disturbing the dust that clung to the air like a ghost. A sliver of alien sunlight sliced through the dark, pooling across the cracked concrete floor.

It revealed just enough. Just enough to see that the room was not empty.

Soobin’s breath hitched. The air smelled wrong. Faintly metallic, faintly organic—something sickly, something rotting. His muscles locked, every nerve on edge.

Above him, the rafters stretched high into the dark. And something hung from them. His stomach lurched. Nests.

Bulging, fibrous masses clung to the ceiling, webbed together with thick, sinewy strands. They weren’t abandoned. They pulsed—faint, rhythmic, as if something inside them was breathing.

Click. Click.

The sound was soft. Claws against metal. A faint, deliberate skittering. Above him. Soobin didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The noise multiplied. Spreading. Growing. Closing in.

His pulse hammered against his ribs. The narrow gap in the shutters—the sliver of daylight he’d squeezed through to get in—was his only way out.

Move.

Boots scuffing against the floor, he bolted for the light. His fingers stretched toward it, desperate—

Something shifted in the rafters. He glanced up. His breath died in his throat. The light had caught something. Something inside the nests. The fibers weren’t just woven strands of plant matter. They were glistening. Wet from the inside. And moving.

CRACK.

The nest erupted. A seam split down the middle, splitting like overripe fruit. And from inside— the swarm. A mass of writhing bodies, too many legs, too many claws, too many mouths.

The screeching hit him like a physical force. High-pitched. Layered. Crawling into his skull, filling every space between thought and fear. Soobin stumbled, his lungs locking, the instinct to run slamming into his chest. But the swarm had already seen him. And it was hungry.

The scream tore through the thick, humid air—raw, desperate, a sound so sharp it felt like it could cut.

Namjoon’s head snapped up.

For a second—just a second—everything else disappeared. The murmuring voices. The shifting bodies. The low hum of the failing generators. Gone. Only the scream remained.

Soobin. The name formed in his mind like a bullet in a chamber.

He didn’t say it—he breathed it. An exhale of dread. And then he was moving. Not thinking. Just running. Boots pounding against the dirt, lungs burning, heart slamming against his ribs.

Nothing else mattered. Not the others shouting after him. Not the sudden scramble of bodies trying to keep up. Not even the cold, creeping terror twisting around his spine, sinking its claws into his skin. Because he knew.

He knew before he even reached the coring room. Knew that the scream wasn’t just fear. It was a warning.

The nests, once silent and pulsing like dormant sentinels, began to rupture. One after another, they tore open with sickening, wet tears that echoed through the air. The sound was visceral—like overripe fruit, splitting under unseen pressure, spilling its dark contents into the dim, suffocating chamber.

A jagged, screeching noise filled the room, like knives dragged against stone. Sleek, winged horrors poured from the ruptured shells, their chitinous bodies glistening in the faint light. The reflection of their obsidian skin danced across the walls, catching every sliver of light that dared to pierce the gloom. Their wings churned the air, beating in frantic rhythm, an unnerving metallic hum that sank deep into the bones—a vibration that spoke of death.

Their talons, curved like fire-tipped scythes, slashed through the air with a terrifying precision. The darkness seemed to pulse with their frantic movement, the sharp sound of claws cutting through the dust and decay filling every corner of the chamber.

Soobin’s breath hitched, the overwhelming sense of dread crashing over him like a tidal wave. The exit, his only hope, was gone. The sliver of daylight, the promise of escape, had been obliterated, swallowed whole by the writhing, slashing black tide.

And then the swarm descended.

A flurry of wings, claws, and screeches filled the room, overwhelming his senses, suffocating him in a sea of terror. Soobin stumbled, his body moving on instinct, panic clawing at his ribs. Every muscle screamed at him to run, to survive. His mind raced for a way out—anything, anywhere.

But before he could think, one of the creatures dove toward him, its talons flashing like a streak of death. The pain was instant—a burning sting across his side that tore through him like a knife. He barely registered it, the world narrowing to a single thought: escape.

To the left—a door. A storage room.

He lunged, ignoring the sting, the weakness in his legs, the pounding in his chest. He ran with everything he had, the screeching swarm closing in behind him. Their claws scraped the air, reaching for him, and he pushed harder, slamming into the door with all his remaining strength. The door swung open and he hurled himself inside.

The second it clicked shut behind him, he collapsed, his body crashing against the shelves. Dust billowed up around him as his chest heaved, gasping for air. The creatures outside battered the door, their talons scraping across the metal like nails on a coffin lid. Each strike sent a shiver down his spine, the reality of his situation sinking in with brutal clarity.

His hands trembled as he fumbled for the bolt, his fingers slick with blood as he pressed them to his side. He slammed the bolt home, the creaking sound of rusted metal locking him into the room with a finality that echoed in his bones. Silence followed. Almost.

His breath was ragged, his pulse pounding in his ears. The blood—warm and slick—seeped through his fingers. It wasn’t deep, but it burned, as though the wound itself was alive, feeding on him. Poison? Infection? He didn’t know. Not yet. It didn’t matter.

He sucked in a breath and forced his vision to clear, blinking against the dizziness that threatened to take over. The room was dark, the shadows pooling thick in every corner, stretching across the forgotten shelves. The air was stale, thick with the weight of time and neglect. He couldn’t focus on that now. He had to find a way out.

His eyes scanned the clutter—boxes, long-forgotten tools, shattered glass. Anything. He needed a weapon. He needed something—anything—to give him a fighting chance.

Because this? This was just borrowed time.

The survivors ran, their boots hammering against the cracked earth, sending plumes of dust spiraling into the air as they sprinted through the settlement. Breath came fast, shallow, their bodies pushed to the edge of exhaustion. The air was thick with panic, vibrating with the frantic pulse of their flight, the sound of their desperation weaving into an unbearable rhythm beneath the oppressive glare of the twin suns.

Behind them, Jungkook didn’t move.

He stood by the water goblets, fingers idly tracing the rim of one as he drained the last, murky remnants in a single swallow. His silvered eyes flickered, watching the chaos unfold with a calm that was almost predatory—detached, observing, as if the terror around him were nothing more than an inconvenient distraction.

The supply room door exploded outward.

With a scream of tortured metal, it was torn from its frame, sending a tremor through the coring room. Namjoon surged forward, shoving past Lee, his heart pounding in his chest, his face drained of color. There was something about the way his skin had gone pale, the way his pulse seemed to freeze in his veins, that twisted the air into a suffocating knot of dread.

“Soobin?”

The name fell from his lips, a whisper of desperation, half prayer, half fear.

A rustling sound echoed from inside—soft, uncertain.

Soobin?

Namjoon’s pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything but the rising terror. He reached for the handle of the supply room door, his fingers trembling. The world inside was chaos.

Wet, fibrous husks split apart, spilling out a writhing, living storm of pale, winged horrors. The swarm burst from the shadows, their bodies gleaming like polished obsidian, their talons flashing like serrated razors catching the last fragments of light. They screamed, a sound that pierced the air, alien and unholy, like something crawling beneath the skin. The creatures poured into the room, their wings slicing through the dust-choked light, moving with an unnerving precision, as if their every movement had been calculated, predatory.

Namjoon stumbled back, gasping—but then his eyes locked onto something.

The thing that tumbled to the ground. A bloodied, shredded heap of flesh and bone.

Once, it had been Soobin.

Namjoon froze.

The sight stole the breath from his lungs—the torn limbs, the vacant brown eyes staring into nothingness, the way his body had been hollowed out, broken, like the creatures had made a home inside him before deciding to leave. The swarm had claimed him.

A sound clawed its way from Namjoon’s throat—grief, raw and staggering, choking him as he dropped to his knees beside the mangled remains of the boy. His hands shook violently as he reached out, fingertips brushing the cold, lifeless skin. Soobin had been young. Too young. He had whispered prayers, had laughed, had been here. And now he was nothing but remains, scattered across the floor like discarded refuse.

Behind him, Lee and Y/N inched forward, drawn by the silence that had followed the chaos. Their eyes flicked downward, following the trail to the open coring shaft. The bones, littered along its jagged walls, were picked clean, stripped bare. A graveyard, hidden beneath their very feet, had remained undisturbed all this time.

Under the pale blue sunrise, the Chrislams gathered, their voices weaving solemn, whispered prayers for the dead. Peter and Leo stood among them, their heads bowed in respectful silence.

Jungkook lingered at the edge of the settlement, his back turned, his eyes fixed on the horizon—as if waiting. But for what, no one knew.

Bindi broke first.

“Why the hell was the door chained up?” she demanded, her fists clenched, voice cracking with fury. “Why would they lock themselves in like that?”

Lee’s expression was unreadable, his eyes dark with something like frustration or maybe grief. He exhaled sharply. “Not sure,” he muttered, but his voice was edged with something harder. “But I’ll tell you this—the Chrislams better not be out there diggin’ another grave.”

Jungkook’s voice sliced through the tension, cutting across the conversation like a blade.

“It wasn’t about graves.”

All eyes turned toward him.

He stood leaning against the doorframe, his silvered eyes glinting in the dim light. His posture was relaxed, but there was an edge to him now, something sharper, knowing—a quiet threat beneath his calm exterior.

He took a slow step forward, his gaze flicking between the group.

“The other buildings weren’t secure,” he said flatly, his voice a quiet certainty. “So they ran here. Heaviest doors. Thought they’d be safe inside, but…” His gaze shifted toward the coring shaft, toward the bones that littered the space. He gestured with a slow flick of his wrist. “Someone forgot to lock the back door.”

Bindi’s jaw tightened, her breath catching in her throat as she followed his gaze.

To the evidence of the dead.

Her voice was barely a whisper, thick with the weight of grief and a fury that clung to her every word. "So that's what came of me, Daku. And you saw it. You was right there."

Jungkook nodded, a small, deliberate movement. He didn’t look away from her, his expression unreadable.

Bindi’s anger flared, her trembling hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her words hit like a hammer, the accusation sharp and biting. "You were tryin' to kill him too."

It wasn’t a question. It was a truth she was forcing him to face.

Jungkook didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. Instead, he shrugged—a slow, calculated motion, as if weighing her anger and finding it lacking.

"Just wanted his O-2," he said, his voice flat, the words hanging in the air between them like a challenge.

There was no apology. No remorse. Only cold, unvarnished truth.

Then, after a beat, he added, "Though I noticed he tried to ghost me first."

A smirk played across his lips—razor-sharp, unrepentant.

Bindi’s expression faltered, just for a moment. Because she knew. Because he was right. Soobin had tried to avoid them all. Tried to slip away before anyone could get close enough.

The silence stretched, thick and taut like a wire pulled too tight, waiting for the snap.

Without a word, Bindi reached up and pulled off her breather. She held it out to him.

"Take it."

Jungkook’s silvered eyes narrowed, studying her with a calculating gaze. "What, it’s broken?"

She shook her head. "Startin’ to acclimate, anyhow."

Her voice softened, as if the harshness that had defined their conversation up to that point had somehow dulled. "Take it."

For a long moment, Jungkook hesitated, his gaze flicking between the breather and her steady hands. Then, with a sharp breath, he accepted it. He held it to his face, inhaling deeply, his chest rising as the oxygen filled his lungs.

Across the room, Lee scowled. His arms were crossed tight, his expression unreadable, but the disapproval in his posture was unmistakable. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to—but it sat heavy in the air like a weight they were all too familiar with.

No one acknowledged it.

Y/N didn’t even notice. She had drifted toward a metal counter, her fingers brushing absently over the rows of coring samples lined up neatly in glass containers. Each sample had a date etched into its side, preserving a history in stone, a silent record of time passed.

Her eyes flicked over the samples, reading each number carefully, until she stopped.

Her stomach dropped.

"Sixty years ago," she murmured, almost to herself.

Lee’s head snapped toward her. "What?"

"These samples," she said, her voice tight. She pointed. "The last one’s from sixty years ago. This month."

Bindi frowned, uneasy. "Yeah? What’s special about that?"

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She hovered over the glass, her fingers still, her mind spinning, calculating the pieces of the puzzle before she could stop herself.

She had known. The skiff. The design. The outdated, forgotten metalwork that had felt both familiar and wrong. It wasn’t eleven years old. No. It was almost sixty-three. It had been updated a few times, yes, but she now realized what she’d missed. The wires were made of copper.

And then it hit her.

A single word formed in her mind, cold and stark, a death sentence wrapped in syllables.

Hades.

M6-117. The failed colony. The graveyard of Aguerra Prime’s last great ships. And the birthplace of the creatures that had torn it all apart.

The blood drained from her face as the realization slammed into her chest.

The eclipse.

The darkness here wasn’t just a few hours of nightfall. It wasn’t a half-day cycle, not some minor inconvenience they could wait out.

It would last for three days.

Three days in which this planet would become a breeding ground for nightmares.

And they wouldn’t have that long.

Her breath shallow, Y/N’s mind raced through the calculations, faster than she could stop them, faster than she could control them. The truth came crashing through her, each piece falling into place with a sickening clarity.

This place would be swarmed.

The bioraptors wouldn’t wait. They wouldn’t wait for the sun to rise again. They would come the moment the last sliver of light disappeared. And once they did, they wouldn’t stop. Not until everything was consumed.

Y/N turned sharply toward the group, her heart pounding in her chest. Her voice, barely above a whisper, trembled as she spoke.

“The planet…” She swallowed, fighting to keep her composure, “…it goes dark.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, thick with the weight of the truth. The silence that followed was suffocating, pressing in on them from every side. It was as if the very room had turned cold with the realization of what she’d just said.

Lee stared at her, his face unreadable, though his eyes seemed to flicker with disbelief—or perhaps with the refusal to understand.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” His voice was hoarse, raw, as if the concept itself was too monstrous to grasp.

Bindi went still, her breath catching in her throat. She wasn’t sure if she had heard her right, but the dread that crept up her spine told her otherwise.

Namjoon’s fingers curled into tight fists, the knuckles whitening as his body tensed, his mind racing to catch up with the horror of the revelation.

Peter let out a slow breath, his usual sarcasm nowhere to be found. His face had gone pale, the sharp edge of his humor dulled by the gravity of the situation.

Jungkook, still leaning against the wall, tilted his head slightly, studying her with those unreadable silvered eyes.

And then, a smirk.

"Not afraid of the dark, are you?" His voice was low, almost teasing, but there was a sharpness to it that didn’t belong.

The settlement hummed with nervous energy, the kind that thrummed beneath the skin, palpable in the tense air. People moved frantically through the dusty yard, scrambling to prepare for whatever was coming. There was no time to waste, no room for hesitation. Y/N crossed the yard with wide, purposeful strides, boots kicking up small clouds of dirt with each step. Her mind raced ahead of her body, her thoughts colliding in a jumble as she muttered to herself.

“…need those cells from the crash ship. Shit, still gotta check the hull, patch the wings—”

Before she could take another step, Lee was in her path, blocking her way with that familiar, steady presence. His voice, calm but firm, sliced through the air like a sharp blade.

“Let’s wait on the power cells,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument, though he fully expected one.

Y/N came to a halt, her eyes flashing with disbelief. She shot him an incredulous look, her frustration bubbling over. “Wait for what? Until it’s so dark we can’t even find our way back to—”

Lee interrupted her, his gaze unwavering. “We don’t know when it’s going to happen. So let’s not—”

“Get the fucking cells over here, Lee,” she snapped, her voice tight with irritation. “What’s the discussion?”

For a moment, Lee said nothing. He studied her, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he seemed to weigh his response. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he asked, “Ever tell you how Jungkook escaped?”

The sharp edge of Y/N’s anger dulled immediately, replaced by confusion. She froze, her brows furrowing. “No,” she replied cautiously, unsure of where this was heading.

Lee crossed his arms, the shift in his stance giving nothing away. “Do you want to know?”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers brushing nervously against her thighs as she tried to suppress a growing unease. “Depends,” she muttered, a sigh escaping her lips. “Is it important?”

Lee didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned, his pace unhurried as he walked toward the skiff. Over his shoulder, he threw her a glance. “Come on. It’s not a short story.”

The interior of the skiff was dim, the air thick and stifling, heavy with the hum of the systems. Y/N leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed tightly over her chest, trying to contain the swirling questions in her mind. Lee paced slowly in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes distant as if recalling something buried deep within.

“Jungkook’s story starts at Ribald S Correctional Institute,” Lee began, his voice low, measured. “Hell of a place—high walls, razor wire, guards who shoot first and ask questions never. He didn’t last three years there before he made his move. Overpowered a guard, took his uniform, and shot two more, along with the pilot of the only space freighter on the planet. He was gone before anyone knew what was happening. Left bodies behind like they were breadcrumbs.”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably, but she didn’t interrupt. Her eyes followed Lee’s every movement, her mind trying to piece together the strange, dangerous man she thought she knew.

“The Company slapped a million-credit bounty on his head,” Lee continued, his voice turning colder. “And every bounty hunter, mercenary, and wannabe tough guy with a blaster went after him. He didn’t just escape them—he killed them. One after another. Every death added to his list, and that list grew fast. You know what they called him? A serial killer. A damn sociopath. Psychological evaluations said he was irredeemable, nothing but violence wrapped in flesh. And I believe it.”

Lee paused, his gaze hardening as he leaned in, the weight of his words sinking deeper. Y/N’s pulse quickened, her body tightening as the truth began to unfold.

“Ribald wasn’t the only place,” Lee went on, his voice growing more intense. “He broke out of Hubble Bay, Tangiers, some place called Psychological Restraint Station Q9—you name it, he’s escaped it. Killed guards, medics, other prisoners—hell, he even killed people who tried to help him. Once, during a war, he joined up with a mercenary outfit. Five hundred men in that unit, and guess how many made it off the planet alive? One. Him. The rumor is he killed most of his own men to save his own skin.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of Lee’s words settling heavily in her stomach.

“And then there was Slam City,” Lee continued, his voice dropping lower, colder. “Ursa Luna Penal Facility. Maximum security, the kind of place people don’t walk out of. He was brought in cryosleep, but when they woke him up to prove he was alive, he killed one of the mercs who delivered him and stole the other’s gear. Used it to bribe his way through the facility. It took him less than half a day to break out, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. And when I say bodies, I mean everyone. Guards, prisoners, anyone in his way.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening into fists at her sides. “And no one stopped him?”

“Oh, plenty tried,” Lee replied, a bitter smile twisting at the edges of his lips. “Every time they caught him, he’d find a way to escape. He escaped Butcher Bay, one of the most secure prisons in the galaxy, by working the system. Stabbed me in the ribs once, damn near killed me. Then there was the Dark Athena, a merc ship. He slaughtered most of the crew—some of them were drones, sure, but a lot of them weren’t. Killed them all the same. There was a little girl onboard, Raye. Rumor is he helped her, but who knows why? Maybe he’s got some twisted code, maybe not. Either way, he left a pile of corpses in his wake.”

Y/N’s voice dropped, quieter now, almost hesitant. “You said he can pilot?”

Lee’s expression hardened, his gaze like granite. “Damn right he can. Jungkook’s not just some thug with a gun. He’s hijacked ships, stolen freighters right out from under their crews, outmaneuvered entire squads of mercenaries in space battles, and made it look easy. You put him in a cockpit, and he’ll turn that ship into a weapon faster than you can blink. Ex-Military. Ranger from Sigma 3. Smart fucker, I’ll give him that.”

Y/N furrowed her brow, her lips pressing into a thin line. The weight of Lee’s words hung heavy in the air, but a flicker of something else sparked in her. A hope. She wasn’t blind to Jungkook’s past—hell, she knew the kind of man he was. But it wasn’t lost on her that, despite his history, he’d been nothing but helpful to them. He’d risked his life more than once. And maybe… maybe that was worth something.

“Okay,” she said slowly, a hint of uncertainty in her voice as she pieced something together in her mind. “Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I can use him—use that—to help with—”

Lee cut her off, his voice like a knife. “He kills the pilot he steals from, Y/N.”

The flicker of hope died instantly, snuffed out by the coldness in his words. Y/N felt the blood drain from her face, her stomach churning. A shiver crept up her spine, and for a moment, she thought she might actually feel sick.

“You said we were going to trust him now,” she said, her voice lowering, almost accusing. “You said there was a deal.”

“That’s what I said,” Lee replied, his tone measured. But the way he looked at her—the steady, unyielding gaze—spoke volumes. He didn’t expect her to like it, but he didn’t care, either.

Y/N’s jaw tightened, a spark of anger flaring behind her eyes. She wasn’t about to back down. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Lee.”

Lee shrugged, unbothered, his tone turning as matter-of-fact as if he were describing the weather. “May’ve noticed chains don’t work on this guy. Prisons don’t either. The only way we’re truly safe is if he believes he’s going free. But the moment he stops believin’—”

“You mean,” Y/N interjected sharply, her voice tinged with disbelief, “if he figures out you’re going to royally fuck him over?”

“—we need a fail-safe,” Lee finished, ignoring her jab completely, his gaze unflinching. His words carried the weight of absolute conviction. “Bring the cells over at the last possible minute. When the wings are patched, when we’re fueled, when we’re ready to launch. Not a second before.”

Y/N stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face. She didn’t find any flicker of doubt, any hesitation. It was all cold calculation. She hated it.

“You know,” she said softly, the words slipping out before she could stop them, “he hasn’t harmed any of us. Not once. As far as I can tell, he hasn’t even lied to us. Just stick to the deal, Lee. Let him go if that’s what it takes to keep the peace.”

Lee shook his head slowly, his expression darkening like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon. “He’s a murderer,” he said, his voice low, filled with finality. “The law says he’s gotta do his bid. What kind of lawman would I be if I let him walk?”

Y/N sighed, her shoulders slumping as she turned away from him, frustration etched into her features. “We’re dancing on razor blades here, Lee. Every step you take just makes it worse.”

Lee’s jaw tightened. His words became even colder, sharper. “I won’t give him the chance to grab another ship—or to slash another pilot’s throat.” His words landed with the finality of a verdict, his stance unyielding, like the rocks surrounding the settlement.

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She stared at him, her expression unreadable. Finally, her voice, when it came, was quiet, but laced with a warning that cut deeper than any shouted words.

“Careful, Lee. You’re playing god with a devil who doesn’t miss a chance to prove he’s smarter than everyone else. Just hope you’ve got it all figured out before he does.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and left the skiff, her footsteps fading into the distance, leaving Lee standing there, unmoved but not entirely certain. His hand rested lightly on the weapon at his side, as if he wasn’t fully convinced his plan would hold.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting the settlement in fiery hues of orange and deep blue. The day’s heat lingered in the air, thick and suffocating, as shadows stretched long and sharp across the cracked earth. A faint hum of repairs blended with the buzz of insects, creating a low, constant undertone to the scene. The atmosphere was heavy with more than just the oppressive heat—it was the unspoken tension that clung to everything, to every person, like dust that couldn’t be shaken off.

Y/N wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, smearing grit and heat across her skin. It seemed to stick to her no matter how many times she wiped it away, the dust, the weight, the burn of it all pressing down like a constant reminder that there was no escape here. She glanced toward the skiff, where Jungkook was setting up a makeshift field table. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He was a study of unhurried confidence, every motion drawing the eye without effort.

And damn it, she couldn’t stop herself from looking.

He wore his miner’s goggles, the thick black lenses reflecting the dying light of the sun, making his face unreadable—yet no less striking. His sharp jawline, the way his lips curved with a silent smirk—there was something about him that didn’t belong in this world. His presence, his beauty, it felt out of place among the grime and the chaos. But it was more than just his face. It was the way he moved—fluid, deliberate—like every gesture was calculated to leave an impression.

Her gaze lingered, unwillingly drawn to the strength in his shoulders, the calloused hands that knew how to handle a blade as easily as they handled tools. She hated how easily her thoughts strayed, how attractive she found him even in the middle of all this dirt and sweat. Maybe especially then. It infuriated her.

And Jungkook wasn’t helping. He thrived on attention, basked in it like it was air. He knew exactly how to command a room without saying a word, and he’d caught her watching him before—dark eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and something far more dangerous.

Now, as he straightened from the table, blade in hand, he glanced her way, and she felt the weight of his gaze even through the black lenses of his goggles.

“You’re gonna overheat staring like that, Frenchie,” he teased, his voice smooth and cool, laced with that same edge that both irritated and captivated her.

Y/N scowled, her jaw tightening. She hated that damn nickname. He’d picked it up after overhearing Captain Marshall call her that, a name she’d liked—until Jungkook twisted it, turned it into something that made her skin prickle.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back, pretending to refocus her attention on the monitors inside the skiff.

But of course, she couldn’t stop the awareness of him as he moved closer, the scent of sweat and sun-warmed leather trailing behind him like an unfairly appealing cloud. Damn him.

Jungkook leaned casually against the skiff’s hatch, spinning the blade idly between his fingers. “You always this charming when you’re working, or is it just me?”

“It’s just you,” she muttered, keeping her eyes fixed on the screen, but the words came out sharper than she intended.

He chuckled, low and rich, a sound that sent an unwelcome shiver racing down her spine. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, trying to focus on the task at hand. The hull integrity test was inching closer to completion, the numbers climbing steadily—but her thoughts were scattered, tripping over the presence of the man who refused to let her focus. His proximity didn’t help. His presence was maddening, impossible to ignore.

“You know,” Jungkook said, his voice softer now, almost catching her off guard, “you’re damn smart. Resourceful, too. I’d trust you to fix just about anything.”

Her fingers faltered for a second, just a brief hesitation that betrayed her. She hated the way his words snuck under her skin. “Thanks,” she muttered, keeping her eyes locked firmly on the screen.

“And you smell nice,” he added, the teasing lilt unmistakable. “Even covered in sweat and blood.”

Y/N’s head snapped up, her glare immediately locking onto him. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jungkook grinned, clearly entertained, and straightened up from his casual perch. “What? Can’t a guy give a compliment?”

She stepped closer, her irritation outweighing her better judgment. “If you’re done being a nuisance, maybe you could actually contribute to the mission.”

His smirk deepened, his eyes sweeping over her before settling on her face, as though he were reading her every thought. “Careful, Frenchie. You’re starting to sound like you might actually enjoy having me around.”

“I’d enjoy it more if you kept your mouth shut,” she snapped back, but her pulse betrayed her, quickening under his gaze, her body betraying the sharp edge of her words.

Jungkook leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low and smug. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Before Y/N could respond, the sound of boots crunching on the dirt broke the tension between them. Lee approached, his blond hair tinged red from the dust swirling in the air. His face was as unreadable as ever, but Y/N couldn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on them—just long enough for her to catch the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicked between her and Jungkook.

She had noticed it before—the way his eyes followed her, burning into her skin as she moved through the space, a constant weight she couldn't shake. But confronting it would only make things worse. The tension within the team was already fraying, edges ready to snap, and adding more fractures wasn’t going to help anyone. Still, today was different. Jungkook’s movements were off—less sure, more erratic. His hands shook faintly as they worked. Y/N’s stomach twisted with concern. This planet, with its oppressive atmosphere and constant pressure shifts, wasn’t a place for humans to thrive, and the toll it was taking on him, despite his attempts to hide it, was beginning to show.

Jungkook noticed too. He didn’t address Lee right away, but when his gaze finally landed on him, it was with unnerving precision—an almost predatory focus that made Y/N uneasy. A slow smirk spread across his face, sharp and mocking. “Bad sign, shakin’ like that in this heat,” he drawled, his voice smooth but biting.

Lee stiffened, his jaw tightening at the remark, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he brushed past Jungkook, his focus now set firmly on something else.

The Chrislams arrived then, carrying a roll of Vectran. Their quiet voices mingled with the low hum of the skiff’s systems as they conferred about their next steps. Namjoon patted his side absently, searching for a knife.

“I’ll cut,” Jungkook offered, his voice calm but firm. With a fluid motion, a blade appeared in his hand, as though it had materialized from thin air. He handled it with precision, his fingers steady and confident as the blade sliced through the Vectran, its gleaming edge catching the dim light for a fleeting moment.

He passed the trimmed pieces to Yeonjun, who moved with a swift, graceful agility, scaling the wing struts of the skiff with the ease of someone who belonged in the air. Yeonjun delivered the material to Namjoon, who worked silently, his focus unwavering as he stitched the Vectran with meticulous care. For a moment, everything fell quiet, suspended in the weight of their work.

Yeonjun paused, his gaze shifting toward the horizon. The low-hanging sun cast long, eerie shadows across the barren landscape, and the air seemed to hold its breath. But the horizon remained still—quiet, for now.

Inside the skiff, Y/N exhaled, trying to refocus her mind on the monitors in front of her. The hull integrity test was nearly done, the numbers climbing steadily, but her thoughts kept straying, clinging to something she couldn’t quite shake. Jungkook’s presence. It lingered behind her like an invisible shadow.

The air inside the skiff was cooler, quieter—but Y/N felt anything but calm. Her fingers moved over the controls with methodical efficiency, scanning the gauges, but her mind churned, caught in the storm of unfinished business.

“Looks like we’re a few shy,” Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence, smooth and confident, slicing through the tension that had built up between them.

Y/N spun around, her pulse skipping in her chest. Jungkook stood near the depleted battery bay, Namjoon’s blade still twirling effortlessly between his fingers. His posture was relaxed, but the sharpness in his gaze, the way he was looking at her, made her blood run cold.

“Power cells,” he said, his tone light but probing.

“They’re coming,” she replied, her voice steadier than her nerves would suggest.

Jungkook tilted his head, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. “Strange,” he mused, eyes flicking briefly to the controls. “Not doin’ a run-up on the main drive yet. Strange… unless Lee told you the particulars of my escape.”

Her breath caught in her throat, but she forced her face into neutral. “I got the long-and-ugly version,” she said, the words clipped, terse.

Jungkook stepped closer, unhurried but deliberate, the faintest tension in his movements. His voice dropped to a soft, dangerous murmur. “So you’re worried about a repeat performance?”

Y/N’s chest tightened. “It crossed our minds,” she bit back, her pulse quickening, her words sharper than she intended.

Jungkook’s smirk widened, but his tone shifted, softening into something almost tender. “I didn’t ask what crossed Lee’s mind. I asked what you think.”

Y/N squared her shoulders, fighting to keep her composure, but something in his eyes made her feel uncomfortably exposed. “You scare me,” she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “Happy now? Can I get back to work?”

She turned sharply, focusing all her attention back on the monitor, but the tremor in her fingers betrayed her, just enough to make her feel vulnerable.

Jungkook didn’t let up. He moved closer, his voice quieter, dropping into a dangerous intimacy. “You think Lee’s the kind of man to keep his word? Think I can trust him to cut me loose?”

Y/N hesitated, her gaze flicking to him despite herself. “Why? What’d you hear?”

A deep smirk stretched across Jungkook’s face, slow and deliberate. “Oh, nothing much. Just a thought. If it were treachery, he’d have done me by now. But I’m worth more alive, you see. Twice as much, in fact.”

The words hit hard, and Y/N’s stomach tightened. But she recovered quickly, her voice cold and sharp. “Save the mind games, Jungkook. We’re not gonna turn on each other, no matter how hard you try.”

Jungkook chuckled—a low, dark sound that sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned in just enough that she could feel his warmth, the proximity almost unbearable. His voice dropped to a whisper, each word deliberate, a quiet warning against her resolve. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen when the lights go out, Frenchie. But once the dyin’ starts, this psycho family of ours is gonna tear itself apart. You better figure out who’s standing behind you when it does.”

The monitor beeped sharply: HULL INTEGRITY—100%.

The hatch hissed open, letting in a cool rush of air, breaking the heavy tension. Jungkook straightened, his smirk returning to its usual infuriating curve.

“Oh,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with dark amusement, “ask him about those shakes. And why your buddy screamed like that before he died.”

And with that, he was gone, slipping out of the skiff like smoke, leaving her standing there, heart pounding and frustration simmering. Y/N forced her eyes back to the monitor, but her thoughts lingered on his parting words, the heat of his breath still lingering in the air. She hated how attractive she found him, how easy it was to fall into his rhythm, his dangerous charm.

And she hated even more that he probably knew it.

The box of red-metal shotgun shells sat on the table, gleaming faintly under the dim light of the cabin, a silent testament to the secrets they held. Lee’s hands moved methodically, his calloused fingers selecting one from the neatly arranged row. With a small twist and a quick snap, he cracked it open, revealing a tiny glass ampule hidden within the casing. The amber liquid inside caught the light for just a moment before he slid it into the barrel of a syringe. The hiss of the plunger followed, and he pressed the needle against the eager vein in his arm. For a fraction of a second, his muscles tensed, his body rejecting the foreign substance—but then, the drug took hold. His expression smoothed into something unreadable, the tension melting away.

“Who are you? Really?”

The voice startled him, pulling him from the haze of the drug’s effect. Lee’s head snapped up, his dark eyes meeting hers. Y/N stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her gaze sharp and unyielding. There was a new edge to her—something colder, more dangerous than the familiar tension between them.

“You’re not a real cop, are you?” she pressed, her tone sharp, accusatory, as she stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

Lee remained silent, his eyes betraying nothing. He set the syringe down on the table, the sharp clink echoing between them.

“Just some mercenary who goes around talking about the law like—”

“I never said I was,” Lee interrupted, his voice calm, but laced with a warning that hung heavy in the air.

Y/N didn’t miss a beat. “And you never said you were a merc, either.” Her eyes flicked to the paraphernalia scattered across the table, and without hesitation, she began rummaging through his belongings. Her movements were bold, almost daring him to stop her.

It didn’t take long. She pulled out a stash of the red-metal shells, each one unmistakably designed to conceal a dark secret. Holding one up, she turned it over in her fingers, studying it with a piercing gaze.

“You have a little caffeine in the morning, I have a little morphine. So what?” Lee’s voice was flippant, the tone almost dismissive as he leaned casually against the wall.

Her lips curled into a humorless smirk. “And here you’ve got two mornings every day. Wow, were you born lucky?”

“It’s not a problem unless you make it one,” he shot back, narrowing his eyes as the tension simmered between them.

Her expression darkened, and her voice snapped out, like a whip cracking through the air. “You made it a problem when you let Shields die like that. When you had enough drugs in your stash to knock out a fucking mule team.”

Lee straightened, his casual facade slipping away, replaced by a defensive edge. “Shields was already dead,” he snapped, his tone sharper now. “His brain just hadn’t caught up to it yet.”

The words hit her like a slap. Y/N froze, her grip tightening on the shell in her hand, the metal pressing into her skin as her knuckles whitened. “Anything else we should know about you, Lee? Christ, here I am letting you play games with our lives when—”

Before she could finish, he moved, his hands grabbing hers with a firm, unyielding grip. He pulled her hands to his back, forcing her fingers against the jagged, uneven scar that stretched beside his spine.

“My first run-in with Jungkook,” Lee said quietly, his voice a low growl. “Went for the sweet spot and missed. They had to leave a piece of the shiv in there. Couldn’t risk taking it out without paralyzing me. I can feel it sometimes, pressing against the cord.” He released her hands, stepping back with a hardness in his gaze that matched the stone-like resolve in his posture. “So maybe the care and feeding of my nerve endings is my business.”

Y/N’s hand hovered in mid-air for a moment, then dropped to her side. Her gaze remained fixed on him, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. “You could’ve helped.”

The accusation hung heavy between them, sharper than any blade.

“And you didn’t.”

Outside, a voice broke the charged silence, calling urgently, “Captain! Captain!”

Lee’s lips curled into a faint, bitter smirk, and his voice dropped low, mocking. “Yeah, well,” he said, “look to thine own ass first. Right, Captain?”

The words stung more than she wanted to admit, the bitterness cutting deep. But Y/N didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Without a word, she turned on her heel and walked out, her steps quick and purposeful, leaving the weight of their conversation to linger in the cabin behind her.

Behind her, Lee leaned back against the wall, watching her retreating form with a hard expression. The smirk faded, leaving something heavier in its place. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. The ampule was empty now, the drug’s effects wearing off, but the weight of what had just been said hung in the air, heavier than any substance he’d ever injected.

There was more to the story, more that he hadn’t shared. A deal made before takeoff, a decision that had led them off course, straight into the hands of their attackers. The memory of the deal he had struck with Shields, taking a back road to move Jungkook under cover of darkness, still tasted bitter in his mouth. They hadn’t been hit by accident. They’d been led there.

Lee had kept that part to himself. But maybe it was time to admit it. He wasn’t sure if Y/N was ready for the truth. But the way she’d looked at him—cold and accusatory—suggested she might already have figured it out. Still, the thought of telling her made his stomach tighten. The truth was a dangerous thing, and some pieces were better left buried.

Outside, the group stood scattered across the clearing, their faces tilted upward, eyes wide, mouths slightly open in silent awe. The air around them felt thick, charged with an almost unnatural stillness. The faint rustle of the wind seemed to pause, holding its breath, as if reluctant to disturb the moment. The universe, it seemed, had gone quiet—waiting.

“What do my eyes see?” Peter’s voice trembled, fragile and filled with wonder, as though afraid to break the spell that had fallen over them.

“It’s starting,” Y/N replied softly, her words barely more than a breath, the reality of the moment sinking into her bones.

Above them, an ethereal arch of light began to stretch across the twilight sky. It shimmered, ghostly and delicate, like a phantom river gliding across the heavens. It started as a mere glimmer on the distant horizon, but even as they watched, it grew, expanding outward with deliberate grace. The light painted the two suns in soft shades of lavender and gold, casting a surreal glow that seemed to fight against the encroaching darkness creeping from the opposite side of the horizon. The juxtaposition of light and shadow created an almost sacred atmosphere, as though the heavens themselves were about to reveal their secrets.

The group stood frozen, entranced, their minds suspended in the beauty of it all. It was as if time itself had taken a breath and held it, letting the moment linger. But then, as if on cue, Bindi’s voice sliced through the trance, cutting through the reverence like a knife.

“If we need anything from the crash site,” she said, her tone brisk and unyielding, “I suggest we move. That sand-cat’s solar.”

Her words ignited a spark of urgency in the group. The serene silence that had enveloped the settlement shattered, replaced by a rush of movement and purpose. People scrambled to grab supplies—water containers, solar lanterns, climbing gear, weapons. There was no time for hesitation now.

Bindi was already at the sand-cat, her movements precise and practiced as she cranked the engine to life. The vehicle roared to life, its solar panels straining to catch the last rays of the fading light. “Now or never, folks!” she barked, her voice carrying above the sudden flurry of activity as the others piled aboard, their hands eager and hearts racing.

“Let’s get those cells!” Y/N shouted, her voice sharp, commanding, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

The sand-cat lurched forward, kicking up a cloud of dust as it sped toward the wreck site. Jungkook leapt onto the rear bed with ease, his body moving with an effortless grace that made the jump seem like child’s play. Peter and Leo sprinted after the vehicle, boots pounding against the packed dirt. They reached the back just as the sand-cat hit a bump, hauling themselves aboard with a mix of desperation and adrenaline.

“We stay together!” Bindi called, her voice like iron, grounding them in the midst of the rush.

Lee emerged from the settlement’s private quarters, a shotgun slung over his shoulder and a pouch of red-metal shells strapped to his hip. His boots pounded against the ground as he sprinted toward the departing vehicle. The sand-cat veered past the settlement’s incinerator, and Jungkook reached out, his smirk sly and confident, hauling Lee aboard with a single, fluid motion.

“Don’t wanna miss this,” Jungkook said, his teasing tone laced with something darker, something that lingered beneath the surface.

Lee shot him a sidelong glance, his expression unreadable, but he said nothing. He gripped the railing as the sand-cat accelerated, the wind whipping around them.

“Look!” Leo cried, his voice breaking with awe.

The sand-cat crested a ridge, and the horizon stretched wide before them. A massive planet began to rise, its curvature vast and unimaginable. Its surface shimmered with swirling hues of green and silver, like the very earth itself was alive. The planet’s colossal rings spread across the sky, glowing with an eerie luminescence, their edges jagged with the glittering remnants of ancient collisions. The sheer scale of it all—this cosmic behemoth—was enough to make the two suns below seem small and insignificant, their light swallowed by the immensity of the rising planet. Its presence cast a heavy shadow over the land, threatening to swallow them whole.

The sand-cat plunged into a canyon, the roar of its engine reverberating off the jagged walls. The bones of a massive creature littered the path, ribcages arching overhead like grotesque monuments to a long-dead past. The roll cage scraped against them with an ear-splitting screech as they barreled through, the noise amplified by the canyon walls.

The wrecked ship came into view, its once-proud hull now a crumpled husk against the canyon floor. The group sprang into action as the sand-cat skidded to a halt, the urgency of their mission pushing them forward. Bindi barked orders, her voice clear and firm, cutting through the growing darkness around them.

Peter paused for a moment, his feet rooted to the ground as he turned back toward the sky. The planet loomed higher now, its rings casting shifting shadows across the desert floor. The sheer scale of it all was staggering, its presence so overwhelming that it seemed to consume the entire world. The planet wasn’t just rising—it was swallowing the sky, the suns, and perhaps them along with it.

“Peter, move!” Y/N’s voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him out of his daze.

With a final, reluctant glance at the celestial titan above, Peter turned and joined the others. His pulse raced, and as he caught up with the group, he could feel the weight of what was coming. Above them, the arch of light began to ripple, as if alive, its movement almost sentient. The shadows deepened around them, and the air grew thick with the anticipation of something monumental on the horizon.

Whatever was coming next, they had precious little time to prepare.

Inside the battery bay, the air was thick with the sharp tang of ozone, a heavy scent of burnt metal mingling with the faint, acrid smell of aging wiring. Dim emergency lights flickered weakly, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch across the cramped space. Towering rows of depleted power cells loomed in silence, their massive forms resembling sentinels guarding a forgotten realm. The room was cold, the only sound the soft hum of the failing lights and the metallic scrape of Lee's boots as he worked.

Lee gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched against the weight of the first power cell. It resisted him, the massive cylinder a stubborn and unwieldy thing. Age and neglect had conspired against him, its weight pulling him off balance with each strained tug. His muscles screamed as he wrestled it free from its docking cradle, finally yanking it loose with a forceful jerk. The sudden shift nearly sent him tumbling backward, but he regained his footing, dragging the cumbersome unit across the deck. His boots scraped against the scuffed metal floor, the sound an irritating reminder of just how much work was left to do.

Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, running down his face and disappearing into the collar of his worn jumpsuit. His arms trembled with the effort, and his breath came in short, ragged bursts, but he pressed on. There was no time to waste. Each step was a battle, but he couldn’t afford to stop. Not now.

Behind him, a sound broke through his concentration—confident footsteps. Lee glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see Jungkook effortlessly hoist a second power cell onto his shoulder, his movements smooth and practiced. The younger man carried it like a feather, his lithe frame betraying the surprising strength that lay beneath. To Lee, it seemed almost like mockery, the ease with which Jungkook handled the massive weight. The cell, which was easily a hundred pounds, rested against Jungkook’s shoulder like a sack of grain, the young man’s posture impeccable, like a man who’d done this a thousand times before.

As Jungkook passed, he flashed a grin that was all teeth, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Try to keep up, old man," he teased, the words light, but the challenge hanging in the air. His tone was mocking, and beneath the humor, there was something sharp—something dare Lee to respond.

Lee’s scowl deepened, the jab landing harder than he wanted to admit. He adjusted his grip on the cumbersome power cell, its bulk weighing him down with each dragging step. The scrape of metal on metal echoed in his ears as he made his way toward the loading ramp, his body aching from the strain. Jungkook’s effortless pace only fueled the fire in his chest. He wasn’t going to be outdone, not by a cocky kid.

Ahead, Jungkook moved with ease, his steps light as he descended the ramp, the power cell balanced with casual precision on his shoulder. He hopped the last step, landing with a controlled bounce before setting the cell down onto the sand-cat with a resounding thud. He glanced back at Lee, one eyebrow raised, a silent dare in his expression.

“Need a hand?” Jungkook’s voice was laced with mock sincerity, his lips curling in that infuriating smile.

“Don’t push your luck,” Lee growled, teeth gritted as he made his way up the ramp, finally catching up. His arms burned from the strain, but he refused to stop. Not with the eclipse looming, not with everything on the line.

Bindi’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding, as she expertly maneuvered the sand-cat into position. The vehicle’s treads kicked up plumes of dust as it came to a halt, the grinding sound of metal on rock a steady reminder of their dwindling time. She parked just far enough to give the team room to work, the scrap-metal sled trailing behind, its battered frame a makeshift lifeline. The Chrislams were already at work, their hands moving in practiced synchrony as they lashed the sled securely to the sand-cat’s rear with frayed ropes and makeshift clamps. Every motion was swift, efficient, driven by necessity—and the growing urgency in their eyes.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. With a grunt, he hoisted the power cell from his shoulder and dropped it onto the sled with a resounding clang. The metal groaned beneath the weight, but it held firm. Lee wasn’t far behind, dragging his own cell with grim determination etched into every line of his face. He shoved it into place beside Jungkook’s, their movements synchronized by the same unspoken understanding: this was a race against time, against the impending darkness, and against each other.

Overhead, the yellow sun began to dim, its light swallowed by the planet’s encroaching rings. The sky shifted into a strange, eerie twilight, casting long, distorted shadows across the crash site. The last remnants of daylight seemed to be fading into something far darker, the air growing thicker, heavier. The sudden gloom was accompanied by a faint, high-pitched whine—a sound that crawled under the skin and made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end. It started low but steadily grew louder, a vibration that seemed to pulse in the air itself, like a warning from something ancient and waiting.

“Keep moving! Don’t stop!” Y/N’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent, cutting through the tension. Fear laced her words, but there was something about her command that only made her more forceful, more determined.

Most of the team obeyed without question, their hands moving faster, breaths coming in short, panicked bursts. But Peter, ever the curious one, faltered. His gaze drifted to the jagged spires rising in the distance. He squinted, his curiosity sparking even in the midst of the growing chaos. He didn’t notice the way his body stiffened, the hairs on his arms rising as the air seemed to pulse with something alive.

“Peter, now is not the time!” Bindi’s voice was a whip-crack of authority, cutting through the tension like a blade.

The yellow sun was gone, swallowed entirely by the planet’s vast rings. Its twin—the red sun—followed moments later, plunging the world into an oppressive darkness that felt almost sentient, like it was pressing down on them, suffocating them. The whine crescendoed into a keening wail, a sound that rattled the bones and sent panic rippling through the group. And then, like some sleeping giant disturbed, the spires began to stir.

Taglist: @fancypeacepersona @ssbb-22 @mar-lo-pap @sathom013 @kimyishin @ttanniett @sweetvoidstuff @keiarajm @sathom013 @miniesjams32

[theladyheroine]

ROTG OC Ideas! 💡❄️

❥ Hello everyone! 👋🏽 I know I already posted the other day but I came up with this quick one for fun lol, enjoy!

New Year’s Eve/Day - Global

Lady Justice - Global

The Bluebird of Happiness - Global

Diwali - India

Holi - India

Lunar New Year - China

Mid-Autumn Festival - China

The Monkey King - China

Jade Rabbit - China

La Calavera Catrina - Mexico

The White Knight - England

The Rose Queen - Britain

Lady of the Lake - Britain

Old Man Winter - Greece

Nymphs - Greece (Universal)

The Mermaid King - Denmark (Universal)

The Snow Queen - Denmark

La Befana - Italy

The Brave Little Tailor - Germany

Lady Columbia - America

The Coyote - America (Native American)

The Rainbow Crow - America (Native American | Lenape)

The Golden Mermaid - Thailand

Momotaro - Japan

Moon Rabbit - Japan

[nxtaliaistyping]

Been thinking about being Pitch Black's plaything for years now

Authors note: yeah watching this film when i was like 12 really cemented my taste in fictional characters, for better or for worse. Definitely for worse.

18+ smut, blindfolds, dom/sub vibes

Thinking about waking up in a cold sweat after a vivid nightmare, hair a mess and nightgown loosely hanging off your shoulder as you sit up. That's when you notice the man, or is it a creature, stood in the corner of the room, head tilted.

From Pitch's perspective, him being in your bedroom was merely a coincidence. Usually he preys on the nightmares of children, their fear being more palpable. But he was desperate to regain his strength, desperate to feel the sharp sting of fear running through his veins again. So he'd poison your dream, watching the way your pretty head tossed and turned in your anxious state, the way the room got colder and your nipples poked through the soft fabric of your nightdress.

But when your teary eyes fall on him, he realizes you can see him.

"Fascinating. Many adults lose their belief in me, but not you?"

Despite his better judgement, he'd keep coming back to see you. Whenever your dream would turn dark and harrowing, you knew you'd wake to his piercing eyes from the shadows of your room. And after a while, he began to...indulge you.

God, him finding out you like his voice? He's insatiable; his long dexterous fingers curling deep in your soaked pussy as he looms over you, your bedroom much darker than usual.

"Look at you, letting the king of nightmares satiate you. Do you have no shame? No fear? Perhaps I should remind you what I am capable of."

Black sand would wrap around your eyes, a blindfold of the purest black as your body arches off the bed at his touch. Pressing against your g spot with every thrust of his fingers. At that moment it would be clear to you just how powerless you truly are, at the whims of the boogeyman.

"See what I could do to you? I could have you screaming, in multiple different ways."

He'd chuckle at his own words, fingers speeding up their assault on your cunt, feeling your walls tighten before you make a mess all over his hand. Since he can't taste your juices, he'd simply push his digits between your parted lips and demand you describe the flavor.

Sending you back to sleep after this, in the morning he'd be gone, not a trace that he'd ever been there apart from the stain beneath you of your wetness. But you'll know that the next night he'll come back, and make you gush all over again <3

[doiliedaze]

Thin Ice: part two

Hockey! Vi x Ice skater! reader

Warnings: dumb lesbians being dumb and avoiding their feelings!! Reader is a bit mean and vi is easily annoyed, I write a corny fight scene, goofy intoxicated sex, drunk driving but they are fine, eating out (reader receiving), choking (vi receiving), tribbing

Genre: smut, fluff and angst the whole nine yards lol

A/N: this is the final part guys!! This series was fun!! It gives me confidence in my other series as this is my first one!! I hope you enjoy my writing as I still experiencing with my writing style and how I want to portray these characters and represent reader so thank all 100+ of you guys which is crazy that’s there over 100 of you reading my stuff I appreciate all you horny freaks ʕ>⌓<｡ʔ

1, 2

───────┈ · ·

Vi and I have gotten closer since the day in the library. Honestly if she wasn’t so seductive we could’ve been best friends in the first place.

We live off campus because it works with our schedules better, and we’re both private people. So private I realize I’ve never seen her room so now that I’m sitting on her bed I’m taking it in. We started living together late sophomore year. It was complicated but it worked for the moment! If we were fucking it was on the couch or counter, and if we wanted to avoid each other we went to our rooms.

I sink further into her mattress as she goes on about the drama on her team. So glad I don’t have to deal with that bullshit!

“Are you listening at all?” She pouts as she lays on me. I run my hand through her pink hair, “of course vi” I exhale.

“Am I annoying you?” She whispers as she tucks her head into my neck. “No I exhaled because you’re heavy…you don’t annoy me.” I lift her face up and kiss her forehead.

She puckered her lips and I gave her a quick kiss. I know fucking is what made us awkward in the first place but we aren’t fucking just kissing as friends.

“Okay enough of that let’s get ready for this party!” She exclaims as she gets off me. We are party girls through and through however I’ve been enjoying them less recently.

“You don’t wanna stay in maybe?” I whisper playing with my hair. Vi sits back down on the bed, “do you not want to go anymore? You okay?”

“Just feel like being alone with you…”

“I don’t think we should be alone together.” She laughs and something about that pisses me off so I push myself off the bed and say I’m going to get ready.

Before I could enter my room door Vi grabs my wrist. “Don’t pull that distant bullshit with me, if I hurt your feelings say that!”

“Why can’t we be alone together?” I huff

“C’mon cupcake you know why.” She states softly as she lets me go and leans on the wall. She’s right, even though we kiss we have been very platonic with each other and it’s the healthiest we’ve ever been. It’s nice having a friend in her but I want more I just don’t know how to truly express that!

“Your right…”

That’s what I play in my head as I mock myself while I get ready.

When I left my room vi was in a wife pleaser, baggy pants and docs. She likes to get creative in her style so we made our own patches and attached them to her jeans. “Aww your wearing them!” I say as I bend down to look at her pants. I hear her flustered giggle, “of course can’t let my cupcakes skills go to waste.”

I fluff her hair, “you look good” and that breaks a soft blush on her face. “You look beautiful” she takes my hand and spins me. “Wait before I forget, here.” She attaches a heart shaped carabiner onto my shorts that had her name on it. “And I got a matching one!” She shows me her heart shaped carabiner that had my name on it.

“Let’s leave before I make love to you.” I declare as I quickly walk out with a laughing but flustered Vi tailing me.

The party was loud and crowded. I probably had four shots at this point and was dancing with one of my senior friends Mel. We were shouting lyrics and giggling until I had to jump off to grab us sims more drinks.

Vi and I don’t always stick close during parties but I feel like everywhere I turn I see her in the crowd. It could be the alcohol or she could be watching.

I should’ve token that as a sign because some bitch bumped into me when I had our drinks in my hands. Now it’s crowded so I understand but I would’ve appreciated an apology but her ass laughed so I grab the closest drink and throw it at her! Leading her to punch me and now we’re tussling on the floor. It was all happening so fast and I knew my nose was bleeding but I was on top of her and was wailing on her until Vi picked me up by my waist.

“Get off me!” I yell and thrash in her arms until she yells at me to chill out. I calm down once I’m in the car and Vi drives me back in silence.

“Is my hair fucked up?”

She gives me a once over, “do you want me to tell you the truth?”

I gasp at my ponytail, “that bitch made me fuck up my slick back!” I cry the alcohol definitely kicking in.

Vi laughs, “I’ll fix it when we get back.” That alone made me cry harder.

Once we’re home I get all the supplies I need and we fix my hair in the living room. I allow Vi to help me if she listens to every single detail I give her! One time I let her just do it and she cut my wig into a fuck ass bob…she’s lucky I’m pretty enough to pull that shit off.

“See good as new baby!” Vi exclaims as she’s very proud of herself. “All you did was gel it back…”

“Can I have a win please?” She pouts and I just kiss her

“There a win” I giggle as I move onto the couch next to her.

Vi pulls me onto her lap and we cut on any random movie, it’s background noise as we talk.

“You think I’m a pushover?” She whispers, “honestly you can be, but it comes out of love!”

“Yay I’m an loving pushover.” She snorts but I know she was kinda hurt. “I’m saying you do all you do for people because you love them, but you gotta do more for yourself Vi.” Her fingers interlock into mine and squeeze.

I turn to face her, “like if you want something you should just go for it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah” I whisper as I lean in and meet her lips.

Quickly she shoved her tongue into my mouth. She’s always been a desperate kisser. Her hands leave mine so she can cup my face. I slow down the kiss by sucking her tongue then biting it, causing a whimper to come from her mouth.

We move to her bedroom in the process knocking down furniture. We laugh against each other as she pushes me onto the bed. We’re quick to take each others clothes off.

Sloppily she trails kisses down my body causing a mixture of giggles and moans. She doesn’t even take my panties off just kissing through it till it’s wet enough. “Vi you have to move them.” I laugh as she mumbles that she doesn’t.

I try to pull them down so she bites my finger and I laugh. She sucks my clit through the cloth but pulls it aside a little to get three fingers in there. My back arches and I reach for her hair, “still sensitive?”

“Fuck you” I whine

“You will, be patient” she laughs into my cunt.

My whines turns to moans as she moves my panties further so she can flatten her tongue against my pussy.

“You taste so good, just for me” she says as she looks up at me. “Just for you.” I moan as I grip her hair and push her in further causing her nose to nuzzle into my clit.

“Fuck!” I repeat as I feel myself orgasm as she continues to thrust her fingers into me. I pull her head away and stare into her fuzzy eyes. “C’mere” I say shakily and she crawls over to me to kiss me.

I wrap my legs around her so I can flip us over. I don’t break the kiss as I place my cunt on top of hers. She moans in my mouth as I slowly grind.

Wanting to get a better rhythm I pull away so I can press my weight down on her.

She reaches for my tits to squeeze them and I moan feeling her coarse fingers pinch my nipples.

Her moans intensify as I move one of my hands from her shoulders to her neck. VI’s eyes are half lidded and have nothing behind them. I squeeze till her moans are breathy and broken.

“You sound so beautiful baby.” I whisper and I feel a sense a satisfaction knowing she can’t respond.

I know she’s close as her moans get high pitched. My hips stutter as I reach my peak too and I fall into her as we cum in unison.

Vi holds me as I release my grip on her neck and move it to rub her face. “Is this a good time to ask you out?” I laugh after catching my breath.

“It’s the perfect time” She laughs shakily, “just promise me you’ll talk to me please.”

“I promise, I want to be better for us.” I say rolling over so I can look at her. “You have to promise to stop trying save everyone including me.”

“I promise” she whisper as she gives me her pinky.

As our fingers interlocked and our foreheads touched I knew I’ve found the love of my life.

───────┈ · ·

A/N: omggg this took me forever!! I hope this doesn’t feel rushed but I knew I wouldn’t write a third part of this cause I’m not gonna do miscommunication and I feel like the problem wasn’t them as a couple but them as people (more so reader lol); I love how this isn’t really about their sports at all lol. I hope you like it @lemon-criminal !!

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven

(Dividers- @dollywons)

[m-musings]

Dating requests of bunnymund and pitch black (separately) where they’re dating the guardian of love?

A/N: i feel this is utter garbo, but i hope it's still good enough to post 😭😭😭

NOTICE (7/10/24) : NO LONGER WRITING FOR ROTG

Word Count:430 Warnings: none i think

Headcanons E. Aster Bunnymund and Pitch Black with a Guardian of Love! S/O

Bunny:

Bunnymund is fantastic to date!

As the Guardians of Hope and Love, you compliment each other very well. You take care of and respect each other more than anyone else on earth.

He's still tough and agile on the outside but when the two of you are able to get some peace and quiet, he's a gentle giant who just wants to cuddle.

He'd definitely be the one to call you cheesy but sweet nicknames (i.e. lovebug, cutie, muffin and of course, the ever so classic darling.)

He adores you and would do almost anything you asked if it would make you him happy, and the same applies for you.

You would both be fiercely protective of each other too. If either of you has any little inkling that the other maybe in trouble, you're rushing off to find each other.

There are times when he thinks that you may have used your powers on him to make him love you, but when he sees the look of true affection your eyes, he knows what you have together is real.

Bunny would joke that you're his own personal Cupid sent straight from the Man in the Moon and tells you he wouldn't trade you for anything.

Pitch:

Pitch is a rather reserved man. All dark corners and silent contemplation but that changes once you enter the picture.

You bring the perfect amount of color and liveliness into his monotone world.

He doesn't understand how someone could be so different from him yet be the perfect match for him. Pitch loves you more than he thought possible for someone like himself.

And while he's still bitter about his place in the world, he's less so truly angry about it with you by his side.

He will still get mad at the way humans and the other guardians have treated him, but he could never find it in himself to be angry at you.

He really tries to be a better person but if anything bad were to ever happen to you, he'd burn the entire world to the ground to take revenge.

Pitch may not always verbally express it, but its clear that he loves you just by the way he behaves around you.

Around others, he's stiff and stoic but when he's alone with you, his entire demeanor visibly softens and relaxes.

Whenever you're alone, he will secretly relish in any bit of physical affection you might give him. He was so lonely for such a long time but you changed his life simply by being there for him.

[phaticserpent]

could you maybe write something for pitch x jealous reader?

YES! Sorry this is so late kejfjdkrnjker I'm going through my drafts!

Warning: suggestive

Tonight was going to be special, Pitch had promised you a date and you were ecstatic. Smiling softly, you had picked out an outfit to wear and you were now staring at your selection of accessories. You had to go with gold, since it matches his eyes....right?

Meanwhile, Pitch was busy wondering how the date would go, his anxiousness clearly showing as he paced his room. The shadows seem to bend unnaturally and the Fearlings watched as he stared for a ridiculous amount of time at his wardrobe.

".....He's been like this ever since he asked her." A Fearling sighed.

"Tch, it's so hard to see the Master so worked up." Another agreed. "What did he have in mind?"

"He won't tell us." One wailed. "He doesn't want us ruining anything and even threatened to disintegrate us if we interfere." The Fearlings all wailed in protest while Pitch got ready.

Once the sun had set and the stars peeked out in the dark night sky, Pitch waited outside for you, his hands clasped behind his back while he tried to appear casual. When you appeared at the doorway with your back turned to lock the front door, his breath hitched just a little. And then you smiled at him.

"Hey." You smiled. "You look -" you took this time to step back to examine him up and down. "-Amazing! Stunning? Hot.....honestly, you know me...I suck at words."

He chuckled sheepishly, gently taking your hands into his. "And you look as elegant and divine as always." Your face flushed, his words and voice would never fail to make you nervous and hot.

"So, where are you taking me this time?" You raised an eyebrow at him, gently nudging him with your shoulder as he peered at you. There was a slight pause in his strides as he looked up in contemplation, and you wondered if he was improvising at the last minute.

"Close your eyes." He smirked. "And no peeking." With a teasing huff and pout, you closed your eyes, even going so far as to cover your eyes with your hands.

"Satisfied?" You shot him a cheeky grin. Without your sights, you could only rely on your other sensations. You felt a light touch to your back and waist as Pitch slowly guided you; you noted the sudden shift in environment as it felt colder and almost suffocating, assuming that he was now guiding you through the shadows. And then, the two of you were through.

The two of you stilled, his hands gently massaging your shoulders as you felt his breath tickle your ear. "You can look now." He said with a light chuckle.

You slowly opened your eyes, in case you had to adjust your eyes to light, but there was none. It was nothing but darkness. "...Where?"

He placed a hand under your chin, tilting your head up. "Look up." The view of the night sky completely captured your breath, it was more than breathtaking. There was simply no way to describe it, the color of the galaxy, the amount of twinkling stars, the expanse of it all made you feel so......small.

".....Oh wow~." You finally took in a breath. Pitch stared at your reaction, smiling in the cover of darkness. "Where are we?"

"A small Island south of New Zealand." Pitch replied casually. "One of my favorite spots to visit....just whenever I feel.....troubled."

Your smile faded and you took this time to look at him. "I'm glad you shared it with me.....it's beautiful." He smiled softly at you. "That must mean that I mean something to you."

Pitch chuckled, his face flushed but you couldn't tell. "What gave you that idea?" You shrugged with a smile. "Is it really that obvious?"

"Pft, you're cute."

While the two of you spent most of the night walking around leisurely and enjoying each other's company, Pitch had been approached by someone in the midst of your date. He appeared almost anxious and irritated but kept a calm front. Just as you were about to shrug off the entire approach, you watched as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down.

You don't know what came over you, but you found yourself at Pitch's side and held his arm, tugging him away from her. With a smile, "He's with me."

The two of you walked away before she could do anything else and Pitch just let out a short an amused chuckle. "You just angered the local spirits."

You raised a brow at him and shrugged. "I guess I'll be stuck by your side forever if you want to protect me."

"Oh? Is that so? Heh." Pitch laughed softly. "I'd enjoy that."

"You're such a tease."

He stopped, his hand landing on your waist as he pulled you in. "Who said I was teasing?" Your face flushed as you struggled to get words out of your mouth, much less a coherent sentence. "You're cute."

"Pitch~," You whined. "It's like it's your job to get me flustered." His gaze darkened momentarily at your whining and implication.

Instead of responding, he leaned down and closer to you. "Stop me if you don't like it." Your eyes said everything that needed to be said, how you wanted it as much as he did. So he pressed his lips to yours in such a feverish and hungry daze. Meanwhile, you were overjoyed as you pulled him in, pulling at his dark locks so that he would never pull away. As you were distracted, he pushed you through the shadows and back into his lair, pushing you against the wall.

From the impact, you gasped and moaned out his name. "Please~," Before capturing your lips again. You wrapped your legs around his waist, rolling your hips and grinding against him.

Pitch let out a groan before pulling back to see the mess he's made of you. With a smirk, he ultimately says, "It is my job to get you flustered." And he carried you to his bedroom.

[wakandama2]

I wanna Black Carrie-inspired movie, real rep for us stuck in a white country town Black girls. So, walk wit me real quick-

Locational Background: We still set in the late 70's. Set in multiple rural towns, the main town being Chamberlain, Missouri when the meat of the story takes place. We are firmly in the upper south/Midwest tho.

Our Carrie inspired MC is named Alanna(will be relevant and fucked up later)

Alanna's Mama, Evette, is a Black white passing woman and was the daughter of the town's Black tailor and his wife a music teacher and a righteous choir leader for the Black church who was known for a 'voice of power' that was known to shake the church foundations and make people run around the building in glory.

This gift is passive in Evette leaving her with just a beautiful singing voice. Evette's voice and virtuous image and ways draws the attention of a traveling white Evangelistic-leaning cult leader, Alan Hobbs (he's kinda Jim Jones esc) who whisked her off to join his 'missionary' in order to travel around the country to warn of the rapture and demand repentance of sinners.

He unofficially marries her and gets her pregnant and when Alanna comes out looking very visibly Black, he tries to kill her as a baby because he would expose him as being 'sinful'. Alanna's gift activates through her cries and controls Evette's body and makes her stop Alan from killing their baby. Evette screams in despair and her own gift kills him. Evette's feverish (and kinda delusional) faith of what Alan taught her is the only thing that keeps her together when she has to hide his murder and head back to Chamberlain, taking care of Alanna the whole way.

When Evette gets back to her hometown and relays the story to her mother in distress. Her mother is relieved and reveals that the women in their family having Powerful Voices is a gift from their greatest grandmother as she had been blessed to use it to protect her daughters and sisters during slavery. She also confirms to Evette that Alanna's voice has the potential for Powers Grander than the last four generations of women.

Evette skews this information with the teachings of "women's sinful nature" that Alan had taught her and concluded that the gift is actual evil and a curse of sin. She convinces herself that Alanna is the sign of the devil's return and it's her job to quell her.

Evette cuts herself off from her family (especially her maternal side) and runs away to raise Alanna by herself in Chamberlain, pretending that Alanna is actually her niece and taking a public vow of silence (both for her faith and her misplaced guilt for killing Alan) She uses the tailoring skills her father taught her to work as a laundress and commission dress maker for the local tailor.

Between baby to 15 years old for Alanna, It's very much like the movies, Evette being incredibly strict and abusive in teaching Alanna that simply being a woman, was being sinful and to bundle down her emotions because having a temper or tone, to be anything other than submissive and quiet was just as sinful as womanhood. This lesson was particularly to stop Alanna from activating her powers again. There is an additional impact of insecurity she puts into Alanna with her looking Black and being one of the very few colored girls in the town.

Like Carrie, our poor Alanna gets her period for the first time during gym and none of her classmates, besides her only friend an equally shy Creek girl named Talia, are kind to her about it. Her distress makes the showers freak out and ground shake Talia is the only one that calms Alanna enough for the gym teacher to intervene and actually be of use. The gym teacher calls Evette to the school to get Alanna and explain menstruation to her.

After explaining how menstruation is all Eve's fault to Alanna, Evette has her take a cold bath and to read the story of Adam and Eve over and over again. During her bath time as she reads, rage fills Alanna as she gathers feelings that the biting of the apple and getting kicked out of Eden was a trick done on Eve, not her being sinful and selfish. This jolts her powers and with an angry whisper about how wicked the snake was, Alanna suddenly heats the bath water to a temperature that helps with her cramps and is intrigued.

Cue her being excused to the library that entire week. When Talia sneaks out to join her one day she relays all her questions and findings to Talia. Talia confirms that yes, it is NOT normal to heat water or cause quakes with her voice. Period of not. Talia explains how she was an early bloomer like her mother and grandmother and inspires Alanna to look into her mother's side to get explanations.

Now cue Alanna and Talia hijinks as they secretly research and test Alanna's powers for the rest of the week and weekend. Alanna finds all the letters her grandmother had set to Evette trying to convince her that their gift is a good thing and that she is a good woman. Reveling the deep history and various ways the powers of their voice can manifest. Alanna actually contacts her grandmother (call or letters idk what was more efficient for the 70s lol)

During all of this, the other girls are still hazing Alanna (and y'know being both macro and micro racist in their bullying). This comes to a head that next week where the prank they do gets Alanna nearly drowned during swim day.

This causes rage to rear up in Evette that she hadn't felt in years and she lays into the principal and gym teacher to actually give the girls repercussion for their actions. Leading to the three ringleaders to get suspended for a week and banned from prom that following week. They also have to write an essay about kindness.

One of the girls (uh, let's call her Cynthia) actually learns that damn, I was being a mean racist bitch for no damn reason, this girl hasn't done anything to me to warrant this treatment. She becomes cordial with Talia, then works with her Football Captain brother to put Alanna on the radar of the Black boy, Adam, and help him to woo Alanna.

At the same time this outburst of herself and near reemergence of her powers scares Evette and she confronts Alanna to see if it was actually her daughter's powers that caused it (just like at her birth). Alanna says no it was Evette's own and this causes her mother to break down and force a confession from Alanna that yes, she knows about their gift of a Powerful Voice and had been writing letters/calling her grandmother for information.

The two get into basically a battle of Powerful Voice in the argument, nearly causing a damn tornado to hit the town. Alanna proves that she has the greater voice just like her grandmother predicted (also because Alanna has been practicing). This puts her mother into submission and Alanna starts to demand and affirm more kindness (or at least being left tf alone) from her mother.

That whole week of suspension, Alanna is smitten from the soft wooing from Adam and coaxing of Talia and Cynthia for her to accept his prom proposal. While all this happens, the other ringleader (Uh, Susan!) is planning to do the whole public humiliation thing and to have her equally loser boyfriend slash Adam's tires and ruin his battery so Alanna can't get away afterwards.

Alanna grows into her powers, Evette grows more paranoid and passive aggressive. Constantly pestering Alanna that this was a test of the devil. Alanna talks to her about how much she's been hurt by her and for her to confront who hurt her before she loses her daughter. Alanna continues prepping for prom with Talia and her mother's help instead. Alanna gives her mother one more chance to be happy or show support to her daughter. Evette blows it (They are all gonna laugh at you!)

Prom... Happens. Y'all know the drill. Cynthia learns about the prank, tries to get to prom in time. Susan and her dickhead BF scare her by threatening to lie to her father that she's been hooking up with Adam putting both their lives in danger. Alanna is living it up at Prom with Adam and Talia. Cynthia is able to risk it and get Talia's attention to try and earn her, however they end up getting locked out and harassed by the dickhead boyfriend's greasy ass buddies and have to lock into Adam's car for safety.

Pig Blood (or maybe motor oil and chicken feathers) happens, Adam is KNOCKED UNCONSCIOUS ( bad gash and concussion fosure) by the bucket falling, racist bs happen.

Alanna clutches Adam close as everyone hollars and taunts her. The school official barely doing anything to try and quell them or laughing along. The few other students of color use their sense of danger to either get the fuck outta there or try to help Alanna and Adam.

Alanna whispers them all to sleep. Prays for protection and calm for them.

Then. She. Screams.

I want FIRE, SCALDING SPRINKLERS, MFUKAS BEING CRUSHES SLAMMED AND CHOKED.

BLACK GIRL MUTHAFUCKIN RAGE TO RIP THEM ALL APART AND RUBBLE THE BUILDING THAT HOUSED ALL THAT HATE

Talia and Cynthia witness it all. The guys that were cornering them are fucking smite by one loud sigh coming from Alanna's mouth when she spots them. Alanna takes in the chaos and can only nod and start walking home, locking her friends into the car for safety.

Say what y'all want about 2013 Carrie, that car wreck scene? Happen exactly to Susan and Dickhead BF when they try to run Alanna over.

Alanna gets home to find Evette crying over the letters from her own mother. The phone has been shattered into pieces and Alanna breaks down and tells Evette everything.

Evette comforts Alanna, true comfort, for the first time in a decade. Bathing, dressing, cleaning and greasing Alanna's scalp as she sings delicate lullabies to her. She makes hot coca and wraps Allan up in a family quilt, reciting the story of Mary and the birth of Jesus to her in a cozy whisper.

As this happens the rescuers are only able to dig out Adam and the few others that tried to help Alanna, out the rubble whole and alive. They break Talia and Cynthia out of the car and the two girls run to Alanna's house. They are barely a block away then the earth rips open and screams. Quake after quake as a twister roars over them and heat snaps into the air, forcing them to huddle into a ditch as God gets angry.

Cars suddenly come to life and speed down the road to crash into the Hobbs' household.

7 minutes later. All is calm. Just a regular spring night, the only thing left is chaotic debris and soft wind.

All that's left of Evette within the mangled and smoldering remains of her home is her charred corpse clutching a pristine crucifix and the ribboned ends of Alanna's braids. The MD determined that the support beam tore through her chest and killed her first before the fire got to her. That the fire is what left just ash and braids of Alanna.

"Good. That Black Devil is banished back to hell." Is what the white pastors and the police chief says.

"My she burn and my child rest." Says parents that don't realize they raised nothing but viscous bullies.

"My friend is gone and I don't blame her for the mess it left behind. But...now I gotta go." Is what Talia tells Cynthia as she and her family flee the town just three days after it all.

Adam is sent to Chicago with his first broken heart.

But little do any know, about the green pickup that flew down the dirt roads, back to a lazy and quiet rural town that Alanna never got a chance to remember before.

Her Grandmother strokes her hair as she drives and tells the mute and shaking girl the story about the slave mother who would rather her baby be dead and free then living and in chains.

[maluustrawberry]

I saw that you are accepting fic requests. Do you write about some DreamWork's characters too? I wanted to request a Pitch Black from the rise of the guardians.

And I wanted to say that I love your work, your fanfiction are very good and I love the way you manage to write the characters so well!!!😭❤️❤️❤️

“My Dear Cupid.”

(Pitch Black X Fem!Reader)

Synopsis: Pitch, better known as the boogeyman, ended up developing a new feeling that he had never felt in all his years, feeling for the new guardian who was your total opposite, for you the guardian of love, the cupid.

A/N: By great coincidence I was watching this film recently. Of course I'm going to write about Dreamworks characters too!! You can ask me, but it will take me a while to make some fanfiction because there are already a lot of requests in front. The next one will be Clopin Trouillefou and Hades from Hercules.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

He hadn't imagined that this could happen, no one had, least of all her, who he thought had deliberately made the enchantment so powerful that it affected the king of nightmares.

That flame and that heat disturbed him. Pitch had never felt that burning in all his millennia of life, but everything changed after his first encounter with the guardian of love, Cupid.

After a meeting of the guardians at the North Pole on the subject of the new guardian, The Man in the Moon determined that the new guardian should destroy Pitch and protect the children, along with the duty of bringing joy to them.

Knowing this information for himself, Pitch decided to face the chosen one personally, after all, a simple cupid couldn't do anything against him; or so he thought.

The blizzard and the intense cold dominated the place, but that didn't bother the bogeyman at all, because everyone knows that cold and fear combine perfectly with each other; leaving only agony and suffering. When he saw a silhouette in the middle of all that snow, he deduced that it might be you and sneaked up from behind to destroy you with just one blow from his scythe, and you wouldn't even know who hit you.

That's when he saw your face. The moment you sensed that you were being pursued, you quickly turned around and aimed your bow and arrow, surprising him and leaving him static in that position holding his scythe.

The two of you stood in silence, staring deeply into each other's eyes. Pitch seemed awestruck by your appearance, not imagining that you looked so angelic and delicate. Seeing you pointing your arrow and looking deeply at him, while the snow from the blizzard stuck to your hair, was a sight worthy of a painting.

It was hard to say what kind of look he was looking at and where the flame that was coming from him was coming from. Pitch wasn't as expressive, but his gaze showed that he had never been as perplexed as he was at that moment; it was one of admiration, and therefore full of disturbance and turmoil.

And you looked at him confused, but also wary. "Why doesn't he just attack me?" You asked yourself, and you couldn't attack him either, you were overcome with trembling and the cause of this was the intense cold. Before you could shoot your arrow, he quickly disappeared, using your shadow, to his advantage, which was close to him. That was so fast that a small gasp of fright escaped his lips. You lost sight of him, but looked around, still holding your arrow and bow tightly in case he appeared by surprise, but no, he was really gone.

That was your little encounter. After that day, his thoughts were dominated by you, appearing in such strong colors that this unknown feeling and the desire to tear you apart grew more and more. Your wings were so delicate, your neck so fragile and graceful that he wanted to squeeze and twist it using just one of his hands.

He removed all the hatred and evil from his heart and recognized that this hatred and evil was only love, which had become terrible things in the heart of the bogeyman, a poisonous, hateful and vicious love that seemed more like an obsession. In all these years it never occurred to him that the guardian of the nightmare, the terror of every child, could fall in love with such a fragile, angelic creature, the complete opposite of him, and therefore one of his enemies, but unfortunately it did.

That's when a thought came to him: you were a cupid, the guardian of love, and you made people fall in love with each other. Could that be? It had to be, there was a great possibility that you had put a spell on him. The fixed idea kept coming back and torturing him, he had to get rid of this doubt in his mind by going to you and putting an end to this agony once and for all.

*****

You were flying to your temple after several hours of work. Of course bringing couples together was your specialty, but you also worked on preserving the sympathy, innocence and gentleness of children, because love was related to all that too, and your work only worked with the power contained in the substances you put in your arrows.

On the way there, you sensed that something was wrong, and unfortunately your intuition was right. Your temple was being invaded by Pitch's "horses", but they quickly left as a figure, and when you looked a little further, you noticed that they were stealing your arrows and the vials containing the substances. This made you extremely worried because your arrows and those vials were your most important things, they were what made you the cupid and guardian.

When the last creature left your temple as fast as a shadow, you followed it trying to catch up with it as it flew, it was hard to keep up as the nightmare was fast, but you didn't give up for anything, you weren't so focused on catching up with the nightmare that you didn't even remember to call the other guardians to help you.

With that chase, the nightmare took you into a forest and disappeared among the trees, you landed and looked around. The place was totally dark and gray with a certain evil malice, as if there was no life, only melancholy, which made you immediately become defensive and walk among those trees and hold your bow and arrow.

You looked around for that smoky black creature as you entered the forest, until your ears caught the sound of a neigh and you knew it wasn't just any horse. The cupid ran quickly to where the sound was coming from and stopped at the sight of a broken, old bed in a deep hole, getting closer cautiously, a bad energy taking you over more and more and you were slightly startled to hear the neighing again, but this time inside that hole. You had no choice, had to get back what had been stolen from you. So you entered that deep, dark hole, using your wings to land gently without hurting yourself.

As you stepped into the room, you looked around. It was a poorly lit cave, the lights were just a few rays of sunlight that invaded the deep cavern, who knows how many meters you were underground, the cold dominated the place, but it was bearable. You managed to discover Pitch's hideout, but you also wondered whether you would make it out alive or sane. You gathered your courage and decided to explore the place while your guard was still up, but even so, your fear was palpable, and he loved it, little did you know that he savored your fear.

You stood out in that dark, gray place, with your angelic appearance, lively and so delicate, it was obvious that you shouldn't be there, that environment didn't suit you. The negative energy in that place was so strong that it gave you the creeps, and you also felt the sensation of being watched. You just wanted to take what was yours and leave.

As you walked around the place, you could see the large globe with the little lights on, and you came closer to look at it. You knew that each light was a child who believed in you, but how could he have that in his cave? Your thoughts were interrupted by a voice:

“Looking for something?”

When you looked back, you saw only his shadow on the wall and wasted no time in shooting your arrow, but the shadow quickly disappeared, slipping into one of the corridors of that cave and you followed him, but lost sight of him when you reached that dimly lit corridor:

“Put the arrow down, dear. Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you.” His voice echoed around, in that calm tone of his that could put a child to sleep.

“Afraid? I'm not afraid of you.” You said, still holding your bow and arrow, looking around and turning quickly to look for any sign of him.

“Don't lie cupid, my specialty is understanding people's fears...” Then he stepped out of the shadows, standing in front of you with that smile on his face as he looked you up and down. “...just as you can understand love, but don't seem to understand when it comes from a certain person...”

The bogeyman walked quietly around you, and you couldn't take your eyes off him as aimed the arrow. Both of your hearts were beating fast at the presence of the other, but for different reasons, yours being of fear, but his being of love and eagerness to put his hands on you, if only for the slightest touch.

“Give me back what you stole from me.” You said commandingly. “You don't need my things.”

“Don't you see that I did this just to bring you to me?” He asked seriously and stopped walking.

“And what do you want from me?”

As you asked this, a small smile formed on his lips and he disappeared back into the darkness behind him. You quickly followed him and as you passed through the darkness you felt like you had been teleported to another corner of the cave. He was toying with you, you were desperate, feeling lost and wondering how you got there. You dropped your guard and felt the bow being quickly taken from your hands, one of his horses had picked it up and carried it away, now leaving you unarmed:

“I just need some answers on a specific matter that's been bothering me for days.” You heard his voice echoing again and his shadow walked around the corners of the wall as he explained. “I've never felt a feeling like this in all these years, I feel weak and anxious when it comes to you, but at the same time it's such a pleasant warmth and delicious anxiety when you're around.... Oh! My cupid... What have you done?”

He asked with a sigh. You were confused and stunned by this information, you knew exactly what he was describing and what that feeling was. He was in love with you? But how?...

“My spell doesn't work on myself, I can't make someone fall in love with me. I didn't even know you could fall in love...”

You said as you took slow steps backwards, suddenly you felt a presence at your back and a shiver ran through your body as you felt two icy hands on your shoulders and a whisper close to your ear:

“We seem to have discovered something together. So why would I, the bogeyman, be in love with you, such a delicate cupid who is the complete opposite of me?”

The sensation of the king of nightmares' icy touch on your warm skin brought a small thermal shock to both of them, his presence so close exuded a very strong negative energy, but at the same time transformed it into a pleasurable adrenaline and fear. His question made you quiet and also thoughtful:

“Did that leave you speechless, love?” he asked, speaking close to your ear while his hands rubbed your shoulders and squeezed them lightly, making him inhale deeply as he felt satisfied and relaxed at finally being able to feel you and satisfy his curiosity about what it was like to touch your soft skin.

“I don't know what to say... I can only say that we don't decide who we fall in love with, it's impossible to control the desires of the heart. And I can't undo that since it wasn't my spell, it was natural.”

“I confess I wanted you to undo that...” He explained as one of his hands left your shoulder and went to your waist, bringing you closer to him until your back and wings brushed against his chest. “It made me so weak, but I changed my mind when I realized how good this feeling was, but also how torturous... It's an almost addictive sensation, and so new.”

As he spoke close to your neck with the sensation of his lips almost touching your sensitive skin, your attention went to his hand, which was on your shoulder and slowly descending, tracing its way down your skin, to your elbow and arriving at your small and delicate hand. His long, slender fingers intertwined with yours, and the energy of that touch gave you a different sensation, of course there was no good energy coming from Pitch, but somehow you felt a warm, protective feeling, therefore of great danger and you felt the same anxiety.

Your gaze shifted from your entwined hands to his face, your heart softening as you saw the way he looked at you, revealing the deep burning desire in his eyes. For the first time you discovered that there was love in the eyes of the king of nightmares. But you were uncertain, he was your enemy, you couldn't trust the man who was as treacherous as a snake, and besides, what would your friends think of that? You snapped out of your thoughts when you heard a small laugh from him:

“I don't understand love, but there's something that leads me to believe that we were meant for each other. It's evident from the mere contact of our hands.” He spoke in a calm, enveloping voice as he lightly squeezed your waist and caressed your hand. That's when you pulled away and faced him, and he felt an emptiness at that.

“I can't.” You said thoughtfully and with a hint of sadness, this couldn't happen, you were a guardian and you were supposed to protect the children from the bogeyman. Unfortunately he was right, however wrong it was, it seemed certain that you were soul mates. That smile wouldn't leave his face.

“You're afraid of giving yourself to me, afraid of finding out what the other guardians will think, afraid of disappointing them.” The taller man approached you and grabbed your chin, lifting your face, forcing you to face him once more. “Am I right, my cupid?”

“But my goal is to destroy you.”

Holding your chin firmly, he moved even closer, and you stared into the deep golden eyes that were fixed on your lips. That man's ability to bewitch you and influence you to give in was remarkable, and it was practically impossible to resist after so many looks, touches and closeness... He was bewitching you like a snake that grabs its prey so cautiously to strike next:

“You already destroy me completely just by your presence... Don't you see that I'm totally at your mercy, darling? You have me in the palm of your hand.”

Cupid, which was you, felt almost as if you were being seduced into opening Pandora's box, about to unlock the doors to dangerous territory with no turning back. It was slowly turning into a game of pride and hesitation. Their faces were so close that you could feel them both breathing, a chill went through his stomach and he felt his cheeks start to heat up. Before you could say anything, you were surprised by his kiss on your red lips, breaking the distance and forcing you to give in to your hidden desires. Your eyes widened in surprise at the bogeyman's audacity, but you returned the kiss after closing your eyes.

While you were kissing with such fervor, Pitch slid his hand around your waist, drawing you close to him, joining your bodies, while his other hand went up to the back of your neck, gently pulling your hair. This made you moan involuntarily during the kiss, at which point he took the opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue. Pitch held you so close to his body that he seemed to have waited years for this moment, he was desperate to feel you, your body, your lips and hear your sweet moans. You had never experienced a kiss like this, it was so needy, possessive and deep, you felt as if you were the only creature that mattered to him and his most valuable possession, and indeed, you were.

He interrupted the kiss, both of you panting, trying to catch your breath, you realized you were wrong that it was over when he started kissing your neck, distributing light bites and sucking on the sensitive, soft skin of the cupid, marking it like an animal marking territory. Your wings fluttered softly as you felt his cool fingers caressing them and his knee sliding between your legs, teasing you. Knowing he wanted to push the limits, you pushed him away from your neck, and your hands rested on his chest as your eyes met:

“That can't happen again...” He laughed when you said this and gradually let go of your arms and pulled away, feeling the flaming trail of your palm on his chest.

“Deny it all you want, I know you'll come back again and we'll have lots of dates like this, love.” The taller man removed the small lock of hair from your face. “You know where my hideout is, just visit me.”

That man knew very well how to manipulate someone, especially a creature as sentimental and romantic as you. He magically took your little bow and arrow from his back and handed it to you, and as soon as you took it you looked at him doubtfully:

“Until another day, my cupid.”

As he said this he snapped his fingers and suddenly you no longer felt the ground around your feet and you fell into that darkness, desperately trying to find a position to fly to, but as soon as you did you were teleported back to your temple, specifically into your bedroom and fell onto your bed. You were breathing heavily from the adrenaline and the unexpected fright, so you sat on the bed thinking about what had happened and running your hand through your hair.

Your enemy had just declared his feelings to you, given himself to you completely, and then kissed you and you gave in to that temptation. Taking a deep breath, you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling empty for having stopped such bold caresses.

When you got out of bed, confused by your feelings, you wondered what your next meeting would be like, if it would be the same and if you should give in next time, or if there would be a next time. And as you looked in the mirror you also wondered how you were going to hide those marks on your neck from your guardian friends...

End...

[assortedvillainvault]

thanks for the lovely response!! originally, i rediscovered your account by searching pitch black x reader, so I was wondering if you'd write for him?? How about a pitch who used to terrorize and the scare the living hell out of the reader 🤣 (all in good, fun banter of course!!) And the reader eventually grows used to him and ends up loving his company, but-

one day, out of the blue he just up and disappears! Just like that. The reader gets worried, and it turns out he did it because he thought it would be for the readers own good, because in the end, she's still human. she would still end up passing wayy before him. Now that I think abt it, it sounds a lot like it's more for him than her, actually?? Anyways. Jack frost ends up getting involved somehow and finds out about this, goes to confront pitch who's an absolute miserable mess, and one thing leads to another, and Jack's comment of "wow you're afraid," triggers him somehow and he goes to face the reader who's angry at him, rightfully so, and they make up??

It could be in hcs or whatever format which would be most comfortable for u. Of course, I realize this is a very demanding and long request, so u obviously don't have to do it if it hinders you in any way!! Once again, love you and your writing ❤️❤️ wish you the best

I do indeed write for Pitch! I love this stupid lanky bastard- mostly because you know that behind every interaction there is a 3 part act and a soliloquy of desperation because he lives in a cave and can’t even touch grass without getting weird about it.

Pitch x Reader - Disappearing Act

Pitch you BASTARD.

You missed him so much it ached.

Years of your life he had spent dipping in and out of your nights, scaring the absolute piss out of you well into your twenties.

Slowly though, nightmares that had once been borderline torture became spooky weekly catch ups, his laugh leading you through mortal terror into something...not nice, but tolerable as you slept. You’d while away whole nights chatting, playing, stealing time, and now he just-!

You roll back onto your bed with a scowl, wiping your eyes harshly. He hadn’t shown up in weeks.

Ironically, your nightmares now revolve around his absence, or him being hurt nearby, his voice ringing out in pain through your subconscious maze - but no matter which way you turn you only get further away, your efforts fruitless.

You wake every time to find no trace of black sand, and it makes you want to cry and hit something.

Maybe the conveniently sheepish looking shadow on your bedroom floor, with a shit eating white haired child sat on his back, would be a good target.

“Pitch?! And, uh, who the fuck-”

The white haired child cheerfully waved his shepherd’s crook, and you felt a winter’s brisk breeze gleefully whiz around the room. “Hi! Name’s Jack Frost – nice to meet you – here on boogeyman special delivery service!” He gleefully bonked the staff down and froze Pitch’s arms to the ground with a crackle. Pitches voice ticked into the kind of strangled swearing you’ve only been able to manage when you accidentally got too mushy and turned his sand golden.

Jack skipped to his feet and dived for the window. “He’s got something he wants to saaaayyy!!! Bye bye!” Aaaaand he’s gone in a swirl of snowflakes.

You turn back to the scrabbling form of your longtime headache, still awkwardly stuck to the floor via his hands and forearms. Pitch caught your gaze for a second before turning away, mortified.

You sighed, sitting next to him. “Hello stranger. Been a while.” You plapped your hand on the ice, hissing at the cold as it began to melt a little faster. “...missed you.”

Pitch jerked around, golden eyes wide and oooh, was that guilt? That looked a lot like guilt, but you wouldn’t know given how he normally looked haughtily down at the world via his nose.

He chuckled humourlessly, biting out his answer. “...You shouldn’t.”

Ah. One of those bouts of self pity and needless flagellation was it? Well.

Luckily you’ve developed a longstanding tactic for such events.

You snorted and flopped elegantly on top of him, squishing him down and snuggling in even as he sputtered. “Well. I do. Despite your best efforts.” You poked him in his gaunt ribs, taking full advantage of the fact his hands are stuck to really snuggle in there as the room becomes swallowed in shadow. Good luck escaping with you in limpet mode, Pitch. You figured out ages ago he can’t teleport away if you’re holding onto him.

“C’mon, love.” You squeezed gently. “Talk to me.”

Pitch grumbled and sighed as though opening his mouth was tantamount to the world collapsing around his ears. Your weight on top of him always made his head go fuzzy, and you’re distractingly, stupidly warm.

You wait a little longer. The world doesn’t end when the words quietly come.

[kaidabakugou]

if you’re a city girl through and through like me when bakugou invites you to go hiking or camping with him he’s the most affectionate before he asks, drowning you in kisses and random gifts on top of the ones he regularly gets you, breakfast in bed the day he’s gonna ask and getting off work early just to pick up your favorite treats at the bakery before they close

he knows you’ll always say yes, it’s just a little added plus since he knows you’ll hate the part with the mosquitoes and the random sounds in the dark when it’s pitch back out and you’re clinging to him inside the tent or the distant howling in the silent night inside the old cottage

[chimcess]

⮞ Chapter Four: Dark Fury (Part Two) Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other Tags: Convict!Jungkook, Escaped Prisoner!Jungkook, Piolet!Reader, Captain!Reader, Holyman!Namjoon Genre: Sci-Fi, Action, Adventure, Thriller, Suspense, Strangers to Enemies to ???, Slow Burn, LOTS of Angst, Light Fluff, Eventual Smut, Third Person POV, 18+ Only Word Count: 16k+ Summary: When a deep space transporter crash-lands on a barren planet illuminated by three relentless suns, survival becomes the only priority for the stranded passengers, including resourceful pilot Y/N Y/L/N, mystic Namjoon Kim, lawman Taemin Lee, and enigmatic convict Jungkook Jeon. As they scour the hostile terrain for supplies and a way to escape, Y/N uncovers a terrifying truth: every 22 years, the planet is plunged into total darkness during an eclipse, awakening swarms of ravenous, flesh-eating creatures. Forced into a fragile alliance, the survivors must face not only the deadly predators but also their own mistrust and secrets. For Y/N, the growing tension with Jungkook—both a threat and a reluctant ally—raises the stakes even higher, as the battle to escape becomes one for survival against the darkness both around them and within themselves. Warnings: Strong Language, Side Character Death, Violence, Blood, Talks About Past Characters Dying, Trauma, Graphic Injury scenes, Jaded Characters, LIGHT Religious Themes (I mean no harm and do not want to offend anyone), Smart Character Choices, This is all angst and action and that's pretty much it, Reader is a bad ass, Survivor Woman is back baby, preforming surgery on one's self, Gardening, terraforming, some mental health issues, survivor's guilt, lots of talking to herself, and recording it, because she'll lose her mind otherwise, bad science language, honestly all of this has probably had the worst science and basis ever, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: So, because Tumblr makes no sense, I'm having to cut this chapter in half because of a text block issue. So, you'll technically be getting two updates at once (even though it's the same chapter). Yay. I love this flatform so much. Thanks for reading!

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The skies above M6-117 were quiet now. Empty, wide, and harsh. The kind of quiet that didn’t mean peace—just the absence of screaming.

The eclipse had ended. The suns had returned, casting a bleached-blue glare across the scorched landscape. The heat came fast, drying blood, baking bones, erasing evidence. The bioraptors had vanished back underground, like the monsters they were—real, but unseen.

The wind hadn’t stopped. It kicked up grit in steady waves, howling across the dunes and cliffs. Thin, high-pitched. Like something still mourning.

In the shadow of a broken rockslide, part of a cave lay half-buried in sand and debris. Inside, it was cooler. Still. The air stank of blood and dust and something darker.

A body lay on the ground, facedown in the red sand.

It twitched.

Then again.

A low, strangled gasp broke the silence. Y/N Y/L/N dragged in a breath like it hurt. Her fingers clawed at the sand, trying to push herself up, but her muscles didn’t answer right away. She blinked, dust clinging to her lashes, and saw only the ground in front of her face.

Her mind spun. Pain screamed at her from every direction. Her ribs were cracked. Something deep in her gut pulsed with fire. But she was alive.

She wasn’t sure how.

She shifted—and the pain in her side became unbearable. She cried out, a rough, animal sound, sharp enough to echo. Her hand pressed instinctively to the source, only to feel the jagged, cold edge of something unnatural jutting from her body.

It was part of a bioraptor. The broken tip of its antenna—long, thin, sharp—embedded just below her ribs.

She stared at it.

Her breathing turned shallow.

She could feel the warm trickle of blood around it. Too much blood.

Her hands trembled as they hovered near the wound.

“Okay,” she whispered. It didn’t sound like her. “Okay… okay…”

She took a breath. Just one. Then wrapped her fingers around the antenna and yanked.

It came free with a wet pop.

The pain dropped her flat again. She couldn’t even scream—her breath caught in her throat like broken glass. For a second, everything went gray at the edges. She fought to stay conscious. One hand pressed into the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Her other hand dug into the sand, anchoring her.

Move. Just move.

She rolled onto her side, breath ragged. Her fingers found the antenna again and, slowly, shakily, she used it like a crutch to pull herself up.

The suns outside were merciless. Light poured through the cracked stone above, stinging her eyes. She squinted, shielding her face as she staggered toward the cave’s opening. Each step was an argument with gravity. Her legs barely held.

But she made it.

Outside, the wind hit her like a slap. Sand scraped at her skin, got into her wounds. Her jumpsuit was torn, crusted with blood and dust. Her lips were cracked. Her throat burned.

She looked out over the desert.

Nothing but dunes. Heat shimmered off the sand in waves. But in the far distance, barely visible, was the broken spine of the Hunter-Gratzner. Half-buried. Still smoldering.

She stared at it like it was a promise. Or a curse.

Then she started walking.

She leaned hard on the antenna, every step like dragging dead weight. Her breath came in low, steady huffs. No room for panic. No energy for hope.

Her mind kept flashing images—pieces that didn’t fit right. Screaming in the dark. Jungkook’s voice, sharp and close. Leo. Namjoon. The ship rising into the sky without her. Or maybe that was just a dream. Maybe it hadn’t made it off the ground.

She didn’t know.

She walked anyway.

At some point, her knees buckled and she hit the sand hard. She stayed there a while, staring at nothing, waiting for her legs to stop shaking. Then she pushed herself back up.

The wreck was closer now.

It took everything she had left.

When she reached the wreck, her legs gave out. No dramatics—just gravity, and her body finally saying enough. She collapsed at the base of the scorched hull, the heat from the metal pressing into her cheek. For a second, she stayed there, breathing shallow and fast, the air burning in her lungs.

She pressed her face to the ship’s skin like it might recognize her. Might remember what she’d given to get back here.

It didn’t.

She dragged herself through the narrow corridor, her hand leaving a smearing trail of blood across the wall. The inside of the ship was hollowed out, quiet in a way that felt too final. Sunlight leaked through bent panels in thin, golden shafts. Dust floated in the beams. Everything else was still.

She found a corner—small, cramped, out of the sun—and dropped there. Her back hit the wall, and she slid down with a grunt, her body one long, dull scream of nerves. The jumpsuit clung to the wound. She peeled it back slowly, trying not to scream when the fabric tore away dried blood.

The wound was worse than she’d let herself believe. Deep. Angry. Still bleeding. She swallowed hard as she probed it with trembling fingers—and felt it. A shard of something still inside her. Bone? Metal? No. She knew exactly what it was: the antenna. A piece of that thing. Still with her.

She almost laughed. She didn’t.

Instead, she grabbed what was left of her belt and tied off a section of fabric over the wound. It was sloppy. Crude. But it was what she had. Her fingers hovered there a moment, pressing, breathing.

Her head dropped back against the wall, her jaw clenched. Every breath came with a spike of pain. And exhaustion… it was creeping in fast. The kind that didn’t ask for permission. The kind that felt like sleep—but leaned closer to surrender.

Memories came in flickers. Not in order. Not clear.

Darkness, wet and full of teeth. The glowworm bottle shaking in her hand. Screams she didn’t know if she’d imagined or made. The taste of her own blood. The moment the antenna had gone in.

But there’d been something else.

Another one of them—bigger, meaner—crashing into the one that had pinned her. Claws raking flesh, jaws tearing. It hadn’t been mercy. Just hunger. A bigger predator taking down the competition. It didn’t come for her. Not then. Just devoured its own.

She didn’t remember crawling to the cave. Didn’t remember sealing the entrance. Just remembered the sound—their claws dragging across the rock, trying to dig her out. The pressure in her ears. Her own heartbeat louder than everything else.

And then, nothing.

Until now.

She blinked the sweat from her eyes and forced herself to move. The med bay wasn’t far. She didn’t think about what would happen if it had already been stripped. She just moved. Every step was calculated, robotic.

The medical kit was still there. Dusty, kicked halfway under a cabinet, but untouched.

She didn’t let herself feel relieved. Just opened it.

Anesthetic. Forceps. Needle. Thread.

Her hands shook too hard to hold anything steady. The syringe took two tries before she got the plunger back. She jammed the needle into the flesh around the wound. Didn’t flinch. Just exhaled, slow and ragged.

The numbing was partial. That was enough.

She picked up the forceps.

For a long time, she didn’t move. Just stared at the open kit. At her own bloodied fingers. At the wound.

Just get it over with.

The forceps slid in.

The pain was savage. She didn’t scream this time—just clenched her teeth so hard her jaw locked. Her body tried to curl in on itself, but she kept going, deeper, until she felt it.

A click of metal against metal.

She yanked.

It came out slick and sharp, the jagged end of the bioraptor’s antenna glinting red in the dim light.

She dropped it to the floor. Let it roll where it wanted.

She had to rest. Just for a second. Just a second.

But the blood kept coming.

She forced herself upright. Threaded the needle with shaking fingers. She didn’t think. Didn’t let her mind go anywhere but forward.

Each stitch was its own nightmare.

When it was done, she slumped again, panting, her skin cold despite the heat. Her hand rested on the bandage, her eyes tracking the slow drip of blood still escaping.

She tilted her head back. Stared up at the ceiling like it might say something useful.

Nothing came.

No voice. No rescue. No answer.

Just her.

She licked her dry lips, voice cracked and flat.

“…Fuck.”

It had been about a week since she’d dragged herself back to the wreck, bloody, broken, and sure she'd die there. Time didn’t work the same on M6-117. There were no nights anymore—just the relentless weight of heat and light from the planet’s three suns, painting everything in bleached gold and bruised shadow. Days blurred. Pain blurred. All of it became one long stretch of surviving.

The wound in her side was still tender, stitched tight by unsteady hands and whatever thread she could scavenge from a torn flight jacket. Every movement tugged at it—sharp reminders that she wasn’t out of danger, just walking beside it now.

But she was moving. That was something.

Her world had shrunk to a routine. A grim, necessary rhythm of searching for water in fractured pipes, picking through twisted metal for anything she could turn into a tool, a weapon, or fuel. And when she wasn’t scavenging, she was listening—really listening. For breathing that wasn’t hers. For claws. For the scratch of something still out there.

The wreck had gone silent after the eclipse ended. No bioraptors. No screaming. Just the groan of stressed metal and her own footsteps echoing off bulkheads.

She'd made a corner of the cryochamber hers. The cryo unit was done for, split open like an overripe fruit, but the space was small, shielded, and out of the way. She’d insulated the floor with old uniforms and a couple ruined blankets. It stank of old coolant and dried blood, but at least it stayed cool when the heat got bad.

The walls still bore remnants of what the ship used to be—old NOSA placards peeling at the edges, blinking panels that flashed error codes in dying green light, and soot trails streaked across the ceiling from the fire suppression system kicking in too late. It was a grave, really. She lived inside a grave. But it was better than nothing.

That morning, she forced herself to explore farther.

Her muscles ached—worse in the mornings, like her body needed convincing to keep trying. She kept her hand on the wall as she moved through the corridor, half for balance, half to feel something solid beneath her fingers.

She found herself at a section they hadn’t touched much before. Starboard storage, mostly sealed during the worst of it. Back when there were others to consider—people who needed her to be strong, fast, efficient. No time for curiosity. Only priorities: food, light, defense.

Now there was only her. And time. Too much of it.

The first door barely gave under her weight—half-crushed, bent inward like it had tried to fold itself shut during the crash. Y/N pressed her shoulder to it, felt the resistance, then forced it open just enough to slip through.

The metal scraped against itself with a harsh groan. She ducked low, her breath catching as the movement tugged at the stitched wound in her side. She winced but kept going, inching through the narrow gap until she was inside.

The air was dry and stale. Hot. It smelled of scorched plastic and oxidized metal, and when she moved, a thin layer of ash and dust rose around her in lazy swirls. Her hand instinctively covered her mouth as she coughed.

The space was wrecked—storage bay maybe, or a utility room. Hard to tell. The walls were blackened with soot, panels popped loose from their bolts. Most of the crates had been crushed flat or ripped open, their contents spilled and warped from heat. Burned rations. Melted circuitry. Garbage.

She kept digging anyway. You couldn’t afford to pass anything up. Every scrap might mean one more hour alive.

Then her hand brushed something solid. Cold. Square-edged.

She froze. Reached again, slower this time. Whatever it was, it was lodged under a twisted shelf. She gave it a hard yank, and it came loose with a pop of static from the surrounding debris.

A camera.

NOSA-issued. Military-grade. Tough build. Matte black casing scuffed and scratched, the sort of thing meant to survive impact, weather, time. Her fingers curled around it like it might vanish. She turned it over, thumb brushing against the ridged power switch.

The screen blinked on with a low whir, grainy at first, then steadier.

The timestamp burned on the corner of the display: the day of the crash.

Her stomach turned. Not from the wound, not this time.

She stared at the date. Blinked. Her thumb hovered near the playback button.

What could possibly be on here? Footage from the wreck? A log? A view of her, maybe, shouting over the storm, trying to keep people alive, trying to outrun the dark.

Or something worse.

She let the camera rest in her lap. Leaned back against the edge of a crate and rubbed her hand across her face. Her skin felt dry and cracked, caked with dirt and dried sweat. The heat in this part of the wreck was worse. Less airflow. Fewer cracks in the hull.

“Right,” she muttered, looking down at the device. “Like any of this would’ve made a difference.”

The camera didn’t reply. Just sat there, screen glowing, lens aimed up like it was waiting. Like it was listening.

She hated that it almost felt alive. Too many days with only your own voice bouncing off the walls, and you started assigning souls to objects.

Still… the idea didn’t leave her. Not all the way. She could use it. Record something. Not a distress call—she wasn’t dumb enough to believe that kind of miracle was coming. But maybe just to talk. Something to anchor her to herself.

She didn’t press record.

Not yet.

Instead, she set it gently on the edge of a crate and stood, steadying herself with one hand. Her legs ached, and the muscles around her wound were starting to throb. She ignored it. There were more rooms to check. More corners of this grave to dig through.

She climbed through a low break in the wall, into another part of the ship—this one better preserved. Still messy. Still broken. But more intact. Storage crates littered the space, some cracked open, some still sealed.

She knelt beside the nearest pile. Pain flared up her side again, sharp and deep. She sucked in a breath and kept going.

Found food packs—sealed. Clean. Enough for maybe another week, if rationed right. A length of rope. A hand torch. Small wins. The kind that could mean everything.

She carried it all back to the cryo chamber in two trips. Set it down carefully on her makeshift bedding. Let herself breathe.

Her eyes drifted back to the camera.

It hadn’t moved. Of course it hadn’t. But it felt like it was waiting. Still. Quiet. Expecting something.

“Maybe later,” she said, mostly to herself.

But even as she turned away, the idea lingered. Not hope. Not exactly.

Just... the need to remember she was still a person. And that maybe, somewhere down the line, someone would want to know what happened here.

Even if it was only the walls.

The camera sputtered awake with a groan, like it resented the effort. The motor’s whine was sluggish, hesitant—like something half-dead remembering how to breathe. The lens jittered before settling, the flicker reminding her of a dying candle—just barely clinging on. It wasn’t a victory, not even close. But after the fire, the impact, and the soul-crushing silence of the days that followed, the damn thing still worked. She didn’t feel triumphant. If anything, it felt like the universe was mocking her.

She leaned into the frame, face streaked with dirt, sweat gleaming under the camera’s dull red light. Her eyes were hollowed by fatigue, lids heavy like sandbags. Hair plastered to her temples in grimy clumps, tangled and wild, a clear message that survival had long since outranked vanity. She squinted at the screen, muttering under her breath as she adjusted the focus. Her fingers, stiff and awkward, moved like they didn’t remember what finesse was.

“Okay,” she said hoarsely, voice cracked like the desert floor outside. She swallowed and tried again, quieter this time. “Okay…”

The timestamp blinked to life: HUNTER GRATZNER – SOL 19 – 06:53. She stared at the numbers, let them sit there, heavy as lead. Nineteen sols. Almost three weeks since the crash. Almost three weeks since everything splintered apart. Somehow it felt like forever and yesterday at the same time.

She leaned back, dragging a hand across her brow and only smearing more dirt across it. “This is… Y/N Y/L/N. Pilot.” Her tone was flat, too drained to bother with formality. She could’ve been filling out a form, not recording what might be her last words. “Logging this… just in case.”

Her voice trailed off into the heat-thick air. The only sound was the low whir of the camera. Then, suddenly, a bitter laugh escaped her—sharp, involuntary. “Just in case I don’t make it.”

Her eyes drifted toward the cramped walls of the survival shelter. They looked closer than before, like they were shrinking inward. She blinked hard, tried to focus. But her thoughts had a way of slipping off-course these days. She blamed the heat. She blamed the silence.

The first week after the crash was a mess of pain and blackout stretches. That damned bone had punctured her side—jagged and deep—and pulling it out nearly knocked her out cold. She’d spent two full days sprawled across the remains of the cockpit, bleeding into the floor, half-conscious and half-delirious. Every movement felt like a death sentence. The bleeding slowed eventually, and she’d tied together enough scraps of uniform to hold herself together.

By day three, she’d clawed her way to what was left of the storage compartments and scavenged a crude medkit. Nothing sterile, nothing proper, but enough to keep the infection at bay. Enough to survive.

Since then, survival had been a matter of cataloging and rationing. What was left? What still worked? Most of the ship was scrap—gutted, burned, twisted beyond recognition—but there were pockets of salvage. A stash of dehydrated meal packs. Some intact water lines, though who knew how long they’d hold. The pressure unit was holding, barely. The oxygen regulator had hairline fractures she hadn’t figured out how to seal yet. Time was running out. Breath by breath.

And the heat. Gods, the heat. The planet didn’t cool. Ever. With three suns in staggered orbit, there was no real night, just a dimming. A pause. She wasn’t sticking around for the next sunset—not when that was a couple of decades away. The constant pressure of it was maddening. Sweat pooled beneath her clothes, dried in salty crusts. Finding a tube of half-used sunscreen in one of the cabins had felt like discovering gold. She'd applied it like it was sacred, smoothing it over her arms and face with a reverence she didn’t even know she had left. For a few moments, she’d felt like a person again.

Now, she stared into the camera, her voice quieter. “Probably won’t make it,” she said, almost like she was sharing a secret with herself. “Not unless I can fix the ship… or find something better.”

Her gaze hardened, locking onto the lens like it was someone to talk to. “It’s oh-six-fifty-three, Sol nineteen. And I’m still here.” She let the words hang, heavy and strange. “Obviously.” It was meant to be sarcasm, but it landed like an empty shell.

She rested her elbows on her knees, her body folding in on itself. “I bet this’ll come as a shock. To NOSA. To… whoever’s watching. Surprise, I guess.” She exhaled slowly, one corner of her mouth twitching in what might have been a smile if there’d been any humor left in her.

“They think I’m dead. All of them. Honestly? So did I.”

Her hand curled into a fist, knuckles pale. Then she held something up—a jagged, bloodstained piece of bone. It caught the light like something sacred and awful. “This tore through me,” she said, eyes locked on it. “Ripped me open like tissue paper. I thought I was done.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I should’ve been done.”

She turned the bone slowly in her hand, studying it like it might tell her something. “But it saved me. Long enough for the bleeding to stop. Long enough to crawl somewhere safe.” She paused, jaw tightening. “Three days. Three godsdamn days. Hiding in a fucking cave. Praying those bioraptors wouldn’t sniff me out.”

She looked toward the viewport, her eyes following the jagged line of the horizon. Nothing but dust and rock and heat as far as she could see—like the planet had been built just to wear people down. No signs of life. No movement. Just stillness and that same bone-dry silence that stretched forever. A place that didn’t give a damn if you lived or died.

Her voice came out barely above a whisper. “Jungkook…”

She paused, swallowing around something thick in her throat. It took effort to keep her voice steady. “If you ever hear this… just know it wasn’t your fault. None of it was. Shit just went sideways.” Her jaw tensed. “You did what you had to. I get it.”

She let the silence sit for a second, then added, softer, “If I’d been in your shoes… I would’ve done the same.”

Her eyes dropped to the floor, and her whole body seemed to cave in on itself, like the weight of everything finally settled on her shoulders. “I’m glad you made it,” she said quietly. “All of you.”

The quiet that followed was thick and suffocating. After a moment, she let out a sharp breath and dragged a hand down her face, like she could wipe off the fatigue. “So yeah,” she muttered, the edge in her voice dulled by exhaustion. “That’s where we’re at.”

She straightened up a little, like it was some kind of formality. “Y/N Y/L/N. Stranded on planet M6-117.” Her eyes scanned the room, as if it still surprised her that this cramped little pod was all she had left. “No comms, because—” She gave a small, humorless laugh. “Well, the ship’s a fireball now. So, there’s that.”

Her hand swept vaguely around the tiny habitat. It trembled a little as she gestured. “Even if I could send a signal, the closest manned mission isn’t anywhere near this quadrant. Not for years. Maybe decades. And I’ve got thirty-one days’ worth of supplies. That’s my clock.”

She took a breath, slower this time. “If the oxygenator dies, that’s it. No backup. I just… stop breathing. If the water reclaimer fails, dehydration’s next. If there’s a breach and this place heats up?” She shook her head slightly. “I’ll cook before I even know what hit me.”

Her voice cracked, barely holding together. “And if none of that happens... I still run out of food.”

Her eyes lingered on the camera lens, but they were distant now, like she wasn’t really seeing it. Like she was already somewhere else in her mind, farther away than the stars.

After a long beat, she reached for the console. Her fingers hovered for a second—then pressed the button.

The screen flickered off, and the silence rushed back in like a wave.

Y/N sat on the makeshift bunk she’d pieced together, her back pressed against the icy metal wall. The chill seeped through her jumpsuit, a sharp contrast to the constant, oppressive heat of M6-117. Her stitches pulled faintly with every shift of her weight, a dull, nagging reminder of how fragile her body had become. Heavy lifting? Out of the question. Even breathing too hard felt like it might tear her apart. Every motion had to be slow, deliberate, calculated—none of which came naturally to her.

Her fingers drummed lightly against the wall in an uneven rhythm, the faint sound filling the silence around her. The days had started to blur together, stretching endlessly into a haze of pain and exhaustion. Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days. She had no way to tell how long she’d been sitting there, staring at the opposite wall and letting her thoughts wander like loose debris floating in zero gravity.

The ship was a wreck. It had been from the moment it slammed into the desert, but with every passing day, it seemed to decay further. Panels hung precariously from the ceiling, some blackened and melted from electrical fires. Wires dangled like severed vines, swaying faintly every time she moved or the ship groaned in the wind. Dust—or maybe ash—coated the cracks in the floor, a constant reminder of the violence that had brought her here.

The smell was the worst: a mix of burnt plastic, old sweat, and something metallic that she couldn’t quite place. It clung to her skin, her clothes, the walls. There was no escaping it.

She shifted slightly, wincing as her stitches tugged again. Her fingers fell still, resting limply in her lap, as her thoughts drifted to the others. She hoped they were safe now, wherever they were, but the not knowing gnawed at her.

Jungkook’s face appeared unbidden in her mind, sharp and vivid as though he were standing in front of her. His eyes came first—those strange, unnerving, beautiful eyes. They were like polished silver, catching the light in ways that didn’t seem possible. They’d always made her feel a little unsteady, like he could see through her, into the parts she tried to keep hidden.

Where was he now? Safe on some station, no doubt, his cocky smirk driving everyone around him crazy. The thought made her stomach twist, a mixture of relief and something else she didn’t want to name.

And yet, her mind refused to let him go. She remembered his laugh, low and rough around the edges, and the way his shoulders always seemed too broad for whatever cramped space they were stuck in. She thought about the time he’d leaned close to her after she went back for Captain’s log, blood dried to her knuckles, and licked the blood off her hand like it was nothing.

The memory hit her like a jolt, and she flinched, physically recoiling from the thought. What the hell was wrong with her? Thinking about him like that, here, now, when she didn’t even know if she’d survive the week?

Her jaw tightened, and she shook her head, forcing the memory down into the depths of her mind where it belonged. Jungkook was gone. Namjoon and Leo were gone. And she was here, alone, on a planet no one cared about, clinging to life in the ruins of what used to be a ship.

She ran a hand over her face, exhaling shakily. Forcing her mind away from Jungkook, she thought about Namjoon and Leo instead. Namjoon, steady and calm even when the world was crumbling around them. He’d been the one to keep everyone together after the crash, the one who made everything seem so miniscule in the grand scheme of things. Who hoped and prayed to a God that she openly mocked. Well, look where that got her.

She hoped he’d found some semblance of peace, though she doubted he’d ever let himself rest.

And Leo—sweet, quiet Leo, who’d seemed so afraid and brave all at the same time and had a laugh that could light up a room. She could still hear her humming softly to herself as she worked, could still see the way her hands moved with the boomerang that she’d grown fond of during the short stay here. She deserved safety. She deserved a future.

Y/N could only imagine what the girl faced on these ships that made her pretend to be a boy.

Y/N knew because she had her own stories to tell. It was a shame the two of them never got to bond. She was a good girl, a sweet girl, and needed a home like Jimin had. 

Oh God, Jim… He must think I’m dead.

Her chest ached with the weight of it all. She wanted to believe they’d made it, that the escape shuttle had gotten them somewhere safe. But hope was a dangerous thing out here.

Her gaze drifted to the cracks in the floor again, her fingers tapping absently against her knee. The silence pressed in around her, heavy and suffocating, as her thoughts spiraled in slow, relentless circles.

She wanted to move. To do something—anything—to break the stillness. But her body rebelled against her, reminding her with every ache and throb that she wasn’t ready yet.

"Tomorrow," she muttered, her voice hoarse and thin in the empty room. "Tomorrow, I'll start again."

But tonight, she would sit in her makeshift bunk, staring at the scorched walls, and try not to think about the eyes she couldn’t forget or the faces she might never see again.

The horizon had that strange, muted glow again, the kind that came when only one of the planet’s three suns was awake. It wasn’t exactly dawn—not in the way she remembered it from Helion 5—but it was the closest thing this godforsaken rock could offer. Y/N sat on a flat patch of charred metal outside the remains of the Hunter Gratzner, watching the pale orange light crawl across the jagged landscape. She knew the second sun would start peeking over the horizon soon, and if her mental clock was still reliable, that meant it was about six or seven in the morning back home.

When the third sun joined the party, it’d feel more like late afternoon, and the heat would grow even more unbearable. For now, the air was heavy but tolerable. A small mercy. She stretched her legs out in front of her, boots scuffed and battered, and stared out at the endless expanse of sand and rock. Nothing moved out there, not even a whisper of wind. This planet didn’t do “gentle.” It just existed, glaring down at her with its triple suns, daring her to survive another day.

She sighed and got to her feet, wincing as her muscles protested. The Hunter Gratzner was more like a wreckage with a roof than a proper ship these days, but it was home—for now. She ducked through the hatch and into the cramped quarters, the smell of metal and stale air greeting her like an old, annoying friend.

Her first stop was the toilet. Not glamorous, but necessary. The vacuum system roared to life, sucking the waste away and beginning its overly complicated drying procedure. Y/N stood there, half-listening to the machine whine and hum, her mind wandering. When it finished, she glanced back at the result—a silver bag sealed tight like a little alien gift.

She tilted her head, studying it. An idea started to form, half-baked and ridiculous, but the beginnings of something useful. “Huh,” she muttered under her breath, filing it away for later.

The rest of the morning was dedicated to inventory. Again. It wasn’t exciting, but it was important. She crouched next to the ration packs she’d pulled from the wreckage over the last few days, stacking them into neat, slightly obsessive piles. Most of it was unremarkable—protein bricks, nutrient paste, the kind of stuff that made eating feel more like a chore than a comfort. But one case caught her eye.

“DO NOT OPEN UNTIL SOLVARA,” the label read in bold, almost cheerful letters.

Solvara. Y/N snorted. The odds of her making it to Solvara felt about as likely as the suns setting on this planet anytime soon. Still, she tapped the edge of the case thoughtfully before moving on. Maybe it was worth saving. For morale or whatever.

The hours blurred after that. She worked on autopilot, sorting through supplies, patching what she could, ignoring the gnawing hunger in her stomach. By the time the second sun was high enough to heat the air into its usual suffocating blanket, she found herself sitting in the semi-darkness of the ship, surrounded by stacks of rations and scattered tools. She stared at the walls, at the faint flicker of the broken console, at nothing in particular.

It was the kind of stillness that didn’t feel restful—just hollow. Her thoughts circled back to the same questions, the same numbers. How long could she last? How much water did she really have? What if the pressure machine gave out tomorrow? Or the oxygen pack? There were too many variables, and the math was starting to feel like an enemy she couldn’t outsmart.

Y/N shook her head, forcing herself to sit up straighter. Enough. She needed to do something, anything, to stop the spiral. “Get up,” she muttered to herself. Her voice was rough, dry from dehydration and disuse. “Come on. Move.”

She pushed herself to her feet, scanning the room with purpose now. Her fingers trailed over the scattered wreckage, pausing every so often as she searched for... something. There. Tucked into the corner of a storage compartment. A pencil. It was small and unassuming, the kind of thing that would’ve been forgettable on any other day.

But not today.

She yanked a notecard free from one of the ship’s dusty manuals, the paper slightly yellowed but intact. Back to basics. No screens, no touchpads, no malfunctioning tech—just pencil and paper, like it was the old days.

Y/N sat down at the tiny table bolted to the floor and started writing. The pencil scratched across the card, leaving behind numbers and symbols, equations that didn’t look like much but felt monumental in her mind. Water consumption rates. Oxygen usage. Repair estimates. She wrote it all down, no matter how grim the answers looked.

“Let’s do the math,” she whispered, her voice steady this time. She kept writing.

The camera was rolling again, its tiny red light blinking steadily as Y/N adjusted its angle. She leaned into the frame, her face slightly less tragic than it had been in previous recordings. She’d cleaned up—sort of. The layers of grime and sweat were still there, and her hair, while still tangled, no longer clung to her forehead like a second skin. She looked more human. Barely.

She exhaled slowly, straightened her back, and looked directly at the camera lens. “After arriving in New Mecca,” she began, her voice steady but edged with dry sarcasm, “my crew was only supposed to be awake for thirty-one days before going back into cryosleep. For redundancy, NOSA sent enough food to last for sixty-eight days. For three people.”

She paused, letting the weight of the numbers settle in her mind—and maybe for whoever might watch this someday. “So for just me, that’s three hundred days. Four hundred if I get creative.” Her lips twisted into a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Which means I still have to figure out how to grow food. Here. On a planet where nothing grows.”

Reaching for one of the mission briefs, she held it close to the lens. The bold, official lettering across the top read Co-Pilot, but just above it, in her own handwriting, the word “Botanist” had been scrawled in jagged letters. She tapped the scratched-out title with a finger. “Luckily, I’m the co-pilot for a reason,” she added with mock cheer. “God, I’m so glad I studied botany.”

Her voice turned deadpan, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “M6-117 will come to fear my botany powers.” She let the silence hang for a moment before cutting the feed.

The camera’s perspective shifted as Y/N carried it outside, the glare of the twin suns washing the screen in a harsh, blinding white before the auto-filter finally kicked in. Slowly, the barren world beyond the wreckage came into focus. Jagged red sands stretched endlessly in every direction, the dunes rippling like frozen waves. It was beautiful, in a way, but beauty couldn’t hide its cruelty. The planet was desolate, a hostile wasteland that mocked her with its emptiness.

Her boots crunched against the sand as she trudged forward, every step a deliberate effort. The sharp tug of her stitches with each movement was a constant reminder of her limitations, a small but insistent pain that kept her grounded in the reality of her fragile survival.

Tucked securely under her arm was a stack of sealed silver bags, their reflective surfaces gleaming in the oppressive sunlight. Compost material. Every single one of them. It wasn’t glamorous or pleasant, but it was necessary. She’d scrounged every bit of organic waste she could find over the past weeks, hoarding it like treasure. If her plan had even a sliver of hope, she would need it all.

Her destination loomed ahead: the Hab. It wasn’t much to look at—a mismatched structure cobbled together from the remains of the ship. Panels that once carried vital systems now served as patchwork walls. Observation deck glass had been repurposed into crude, dusty windows. Dented cryochamber lids insulated the roof. The entire thing leaned slightly to one side, as though daring the wind to knock it down.

But it wouldn’t. Y/N had made sure of that.

It had taken her weeks of slow, painstaking effort to build the Hab, every minute a struggle against her aching body and the unforgiving heat. Every bolt she’d fastened and panel she’d secured had been an act of stubborn defiance. It wasn’t pretty. It didn’t have to be.

As she stared at the Hab, she couldn't help but remember Koah Nguyen, her old crew mate. She still saw his face in her mind, the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about engineering, his hands always moving in that precise, methodical rhythm. Koah had been the pilot of the Starfire, and an engineer to boot. He’d been a walking encyclopedia of mechanics, someone who could fix anything—from starship engines to the tiny gadgets that never seemed to work quite right on the ship.

When she first met him, Y/N had been a little intimidated by how effortlessly Koah could repair everything. She’d been content to stay in her co-pilot role, figuring her job was keeping the ship flying while he handled the nuts and bolts of it. But Koah had a different idea. “You’re gonna need to know this stuff if you're gonna make it,” he’d told her one night, flashing her that crooked grin of his as he set down a welding torch. “A ship doesn’t fly itself, you know?”

The two of them had spent hours together, over the course of many trips, with Koah showing her the basics of engineering. He’d taught her how to patch a hull, how to recalibrate a plasma vent, how to wire a circuit when it wasn’t quite cooperating. At first, it was just another thing to tick off her list, but soon she found herself enjoying it. The rhythmic process of taking something broken and making it whole had its own kind of satisfaction. Sometimes, after long days of flying, they’d meet up outside of work and work on one of Koah’s welding projects. It wasn’t just about fixing things anymore. It was about creating something, about making beautiful things out of metal scraps and old, discarded parts.

Koah was an artist with metal. He’d often bring out pieces he was working on—small sculptures made of twisted pieces of scrap metal, intricate shapes that, at first glance, seemed like chaotic messes but came together in unexpected ways. Y/N had always admired his ability to see art in something that most people would throw away. They’d spend evenings together in his workshop—sometimes laughing, sometimes in complete silence as they both focused on their projects. He always made her feel like she was part of something bigger than just the ship and the mission.

If she had stayed on the Starfire, she wouldn’t be here now.

She shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered like a stubborn fog. He would’ve found it hilarious, Y/N thought, glancing back at the Hab. She could almost hear his voice teasing her now, the lighthearted tone he’d use when he saw her struggling with the wiring or the metalwork. “Not bad for a botanist,” he’d say, giving her a sarcastic wink, “but you still can’t hold a candle to my welds.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. She could practically see him there, grinning, as he passed her a welder’s mask. They’d work on metal together until the stars outside began to dim, the quiet hum of the ship their only company.

Now, the Hab stood as a testament to everything Koah had taught her, and she hated to admit it, but it was comforting in a way. Each metal panel she’d carefully cut and welded into place, each beam she’d reinforced, each crooked corner—was a small victory. She could hear his voice now, an echo in her mind: “You’ve got this, Y/N. Just one piece at a time.”

And she had done it, one painful piece at a time. She had taken scraps and forged something functional from the wreckage, just as Koah would have.

It wasn’t pretty, but it didn’t have to be. The Hab was a survival mechanism, built from the remnants of her past crew, from the skills Koah had shared with her. He’d never have imagined that she’d be here alone, making a home out of the wreckage of her ship, but Y/N could almost hear his voice in her ear: "You always did make the best of things."

Inside, the air offered little relief. The temperature was only marginally cooler, but it was enough to keep her moving. She placed the silver bags onto a counter made from a scavenged section of the hull, then walked to the water reclaimer in the corner. It hummed faintly as it dispensed lukewarm water into a container. Not fresh. Not clean. But drinkable.

She carried the container back to her makeshift kitchen station, where a rudimentary compost bin waited for its next grim addition. The bin was a patchwork creation, much like the Hab itself, built from leftover crates and reinforced with scraps of metal. Its lid hung open, waiting expectantly.

Y/N set the container down and stared at the silver bags. Her stomach twisted in anticipation of what came next. “Okay,” she muttered, more to herself than anything. ���You can do this. It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

Her fingers hesitated on the seal of the first bag, but she forced herself to tear it open.

The smell hit her instantly—a wave of rot and decay so pungent it felt like a physical blow. She gagged, stumbling back a step, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she choked out, her voice muffled behind her palm. “What have I done?”

The answer was obvious, but there was no turning back. She squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath of what passed for fresh air, and tore open another bag. The stench deepened, an unholy mix of decomposition and an odor she couldn’t identify but knew she’d never forget. She dumped the contents of each bag into the bin, one after another, her hands trembling as she worked.

By the time she finished, her stomach churned, her mouth dry. She leaned heavily on the counter, gasping for air that didn’t reek of death. Her eyes watered, and she swiped at them with the back of her hand, determined not to lose her nerve. The compost bin was full now, its contents a nauseating slurry of organic matter that sloshed slightly as she moved.

She stared at it, her nose wrinkled and her expression grim. This mess—this putrid, rancid soup—was supposed to be the start of her plan. Her first step in growing food on a planet that had never known life.

She let out a heavy sigh, running a hand over her face. “M6-117 will definitely fear my botany powers,” she muttered, her tone dry, almost bitter. She glanced at the camera perched on the counter, its red light still blinking. “Don’t laugh,” she added, pointing at it as though it could respond.

Turning back to the bin, she grabbed a stirring rod and braced herself for the next unpleasant step.

The dirt was dry. Too dry. Each grain of sand seemed to mock her, unyielding, as if the planet itself had conspired to make her struggle just a little bit harder. Y/N scooped it into the container with a small shovel she’d salvaged from the wreckage. Her movements were slow, deliberate, each scoop a reminder of the reality she couldn’t escape. The relentless heat pressed down on her like a weight, suffocating any energy she might have had. She’d been at this for hours, maybe days—it was impossible to tell anymore. The days had blurred together into an endless cycle of exhaustion and tiny victories, and she could no longer tell when one bled into the next.

With each scoop, the shovel hit the ground with a faint clink, like a tiny rebellion against the barren land. It wasn’t much—just a handful of dry dirt, nothing more—but it was all she had to work with. She winced as her wrist twinged from the impact, shaking it out before continuing, her fingers raw from the constant effort. She couldn’t afford to stop. Not yet. Not when she was so close.

The walk back to the Hunter Gratzner was short, but the container felt heavier with each step, its weight dragging at her arms. By the time she reached the airlock, her muscles were burning, her joints screaming in protest. She muttered something under her breath—probably a curse, probably aimed at the planet itself—and trudged through the airlock, her face set in grim determination.

Inside the Hab, she placed the container down in the corner she’d cleared a few days ago. The dirt spilled out in a dry cascade, joining the small pile she’d started. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It had to grow. She needed it to.

Time continued to pass in a blur, but by the time Sol 25 rolled around, the pile of dirt had grown considerably. Y/N stood in the doorway, arms full of another container, her face a mix of exhaustion and determination. The pile of dirt looked almost ridiculous in the center of her Hab, a mountain of Hexundecian soil in the middle of a place that was meant to be her shelter. But it didn’t matter. Ridiculous was better than dead. She wasn’t going to let herself fail.

On Sol 28, the plan began to take shape. Y/N spread the dirt across the Hab’s floor, smoothing it out with her hands, the reddish dust caking beneath her nails as her fingers worked through the dirt. It was tedious work, but it was necessary. The heat made everything feel like it was happening in slow motion, each movement taking more energy than it should. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, not even pausing to think about the pain in her body. Her stitches tugged uncomfortably, but she ignored it. There was no time to slow down.

As she spread the dirt, her gaze flicked toward the compost bin in the corner. The smell that radiated from it had only gotten worse in the past few days, growing stronger and more unbearable. She glared at it for a long moment, nose wrinkling. She had to deal with it. She had no other choice.

“Okay,” she muttered, steeling herself. “Let’s do this.”

Taking a deep breath, she opened the compost bin. The smell hit her immediately—sharp, rancid, and overwhelming. She gagged, instinctively covering her nose with her arm, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Every step she took, every task she completed, was part of the bigger plan. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the bin and began dumping its contents over the dirt. The mixture of decaying organic matter sloshed out in a wet mess, and her stomach churned. It smelled worse than she’d imagined, like something was rotting inside of her, and her throat burned. She stumbled back, gasping for air, but forced herself to move forward. She couldn’t afford to stop now.

“Oh God,” she wheezed, stumbling back a step. “That’s... that’s horrible.”

But she kept going. She opened bag after bag, each one worse than the last, the smell making her gag and her vision swim. She couldn’t even tell if the foul stench was from the bags or the sour taste in her mouth. When she finally finished, she stood there, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling in sharp gasps. The pile was an ugly, soupy mess now, but it was a necessary evil. The dirt and compost would have to be the foundation for something greater. She wasn’t sure what that would be yet, but she had to try.

By Sol 31, the Hab had transformed. It wasn’t just the floor anymore; the dirt had spread across every available surface. The countertops were covered, the bunks cleared away and replaced with layers of soil. Even the table was buried beneath a thick layer of dirt. The Hab looked like a mad scientist’s lab, chaotic and strange, but there was no other way. She had to make it work.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, a knife in hand, carefully cutting into a pile of potatoes. She sliced them into neat quarters, making sure each piece had at least two eyes. The process was slow, meticulous, but it was soothing in its own way. It gave her focus, something to ground her mind as her thoughts often spiraled. She placed the potato quarters into neat rows in the soil, pressing them gently into the dirt. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t much. But it was a start. It was the first step in building something that could sustain her.

As she worked, her hand brushed against something small and metallic in the corner of one of the bunks. Curious, she reached down and picked it up. A data stick. She squinted at it, turning it over in her fingers. “Huh,” she muttered to herself. She hadn’t seen one of these in ages.

Plugging it into the computer, she leaned back in the chair, fingers crossed as the contents loaded. A list of files appeared on the screen, and she clicked on the first one. The screen flickered to life, and a cheesy title card filled the frame. It was Star Trek. She couldn’t help but laugh. Of course it was. Shields had loved this show. He’d talk about it for hours during quiet moments in between shifts—rambling on about warp drives and the Prime Directive like they were the truth, his excitement contagious. Y/N had rolled her eyes at the time, dismissing it as childish, a distraction from the mission. But now, as she sat there in the silence of her broken Hab, the sight of the show made her smile.

“Of course,” she murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

It was strange, the little things that could make her smile now. She hadn’t known how much she’d miss these trivialities, these small bits of normalcy.

But then it hit her. The smile faded as the reality settled in. Shields would never watch this show again. He was gone, just like Captain Marshall, just like the rest of the crew. The weight of that truth hit her harder than the barren landscape outside. She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as she pushed the thought away. There was no room for grief now. She had no time for it.

Instead, she leaned forward, determined, as if making a silent promise to herself.

“Star Trek it is then,” she said quietly, her voice just above a whisper. She would make it her new favorite show. And in doing so, she would keep a piece of them alive.

"The problem is water," Y/N muttered to herself, her voice barely more than a whisper. It came out thin, brittle, like the very air she was dragging into her lungs. It wasn’t the first time she’d voiced this frustration, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. There was always something, wasn’t there? Water. Food. Air. The constant gnawing feeling that the planet itself was conspiring against her, as if Hades resented her every step. Today, though, it was water. That was the issue that was eating away at her with the most urgency.

Her eyes narrowed as she adjusted the straps of her gear, the weight of the shotgun pressing against her chest. The weapon felt reassuring against her ribs with every step—solid, reliable. A reminder that she wasn’t entirely defenseless out here, not yet. It wasn’t much in the face of an unforgiving world, but it was something. She needed to keep moving, keep thinking. Focus. She had to focus.

The walk to the settlement was long—longer than it used to be—and the terrain was uneven, with cracks and ridges that slowed her pace. The air was thick with dust, the ground coated with a fine layer of reddish sand that clung to her boots like an ever-present reminder of the planet’s hostility. Every step left a trail, as if the planet itself wanted to track her every movement. The twin suns hung overhead, relentless, their heat pressing down on her, baking everything in sight. The light was harsh, unforgiving, and it made the shadows look sharper, more dangerous, more alive.

She tried not to think about the cracks in the stone, or what might be lurking within them—whether some predator was watching her from afar, or something worse was silently biding its time. The thought gnawed at her, but she pushed it back. There was nothing to be done for it, not right now.

Her breath came in shallow bursts, steady but strained. Her body was moving almost automatically now, one foot in front of the other, the path she’d been following for what felt like forever etched into her muscle memory. Her stitches tugged at her side with every step, but the discomfort was dull compared to the burning ache in her chest, the weight of the abandonment still heavy there.

When the settlement came into view, Y/N couldn’t help but pause. The place looked even worse than she remembered. It had once been a bustling outpost, a last chance for survival, but now it was a graveyard—metal skeletons, shattered hopes, rusting away under the relentless assault of the Martian elements. There was nothing left here, nothing but the bones of a failed dream. This was the place where Jungkook, Leo, and Namjoon had found the skiff that they used to escape. The same skiff they’d used to leave her behind. She could almost picture them, as if they were still here—Jungkook’s quiet determination, Leo’s nervous energy, Namjoon’s steady faith in something greater than themselves.

They had thought she was dead. Y/N couldn’t blame them for leaving. Not really. The wound she’d sustained—it had been deep, jagged, the kind of wound that should have finished her off. But somehow, she’d survived. She’d dragged herself back from the edge of death, stitched herself back together with the same stubbornness that kept her walking every day. She remembered Jungkook’s face as they left, that final glance filled with hesitation, confusion, guilt. He’d thought she was gone. And for a moment, she almost had been.

Shaking her head, Y/N forced herself to focus. She didn’t have the luxury of self-pity here. Not anymore. Not with survival on the line.

The settlement was eerily silent as she approached, the kind of silence that pressed in on her, thick and suffocating. The only sounds were the faint crunch of her boots against the dirt and the soft hum of the wind that stirred the dust in lazy eddies. Her shotgun felt heavier in her hands now, the weight comforting as she scanned the area. Every instinct in her screamed at her to stay alert. The place had been abandoned for weeks, but that didn’t mean it was safe. This planet had a way of surprising you when you let your guard down.

Y/N moved carefully through the wreckage, her eyes flicking over the scattered debris, looking for anything useful. The first thing she found was a set of blueprints, the faded paper curled and torn but still legible enough to be useful. They had to be. She rolled them up tightly, tucking them into her bag. Something else caught her attention—small, solar-powered gadgets, scattered haphazardly across a broken table. They probably wouldn’t do much, but they could come in handy later, and right now, she couldn’t afford to leave anything behind.

Her fingers brushed over the eclipse dial next. The metal was cold beneath her gloves, smooth and unyielding. She paused for a moment, her heart skipping a beat as memories of that suffocating darkness washed over her—an endless void that had pressed down on her, stealing her breath, her sanity. She hated that dial. It wasn’t just a tool; it was a reminder of that terrible night when everything had gone wrong. A symbol of how close she had come to losing it all. But sentiment didn’t have a place here, not anymore. With a resigned exhale, she grabbed the dial, shoving the memories to the back of her mind.

The next stop was where the skiff had been, the spot where it had been hastily abandoned in the wake of their escape. The sand around the area was still disturbed, the evidence of their flight still visible in the shifting dunes. Y/N scanned the ground, her eyes sharp, looking for anything they might have left behind. She needed anything that could help her survive—anything at all.

Her gaze landed on something distant, something that caught the light in a way that made her heart skip. She moved toward it, her boots crunching softly against the sand, her shotgun still at the ready, even though she knew the chances of something hostile were slim.

It was another sandcat—or rather, what was left of one. The vehicle’s frame was bent and crumpled, its front half caved in like it had been struck by something massive. It wasn’t going anywhere, not in this lifetime. But Y/N didn’t care about that. Her eyes swept over the wreckage, and then—there it was. Beneath the undercarriage of the sandcat, barely visible from where she stood, something caught her eye.

A Hydrazine tank.

Her breath caught in her throat. She knew exactly what this meant. It wasn’t much, not yet, but it was something. Something that could be useful. She crouched down, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her glove. The heat from the suns was relentless, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The connections on the tank looked fragile, delicate. This wasn’t a job for brute strength. No, she needed patience, steady hands—things she didn’t exactly have in abundance right now.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself, trying to steady her breathing. “One thing at a time.”

Her fingers were trembling as she reached for the first connector, the metal cool against her skin. She took a slow breath, steadying herself before loosening the first piece, then the second. It wasn’t easy. The tank was heavier than she’d expected, the connections stubborn. Every movement felt like it took more energy than she had. But she kept going. She had to.

With a final grunt of effort, she managed to free the tank from the wreckage, setting it down carefully beside her. She sat back on her heels, breathing hard, the effort of the task still making her pulse race. For a long moment, she just stared at the tank. Her mind raced with the possibilities. It wasn’t the solution to her water problem—not yet.

“I’ve created one hundred and twenty-six square meters of soil,” Y/N said into the camera, her voice steady despite the rivulets of sweat dripping down her temple and disappearing into the grime streaked across her face. Dirt clung stubbornly to her skin, and her hair stuck to her neck in damp, wild tangles. She wasn’t trying to look triumphant—it wasn’t like there was anyone left to see her—but there was a flicker of pride in her voice anyway. “But each cubic meter needs forty liters of water to be farmable. So, I gotta make a lot of water.”

She paused, leaning forward slightly. The faintest twitch of a smile ghosted over her lips, but it didn’t last long. “Fortunately, I know the recipe. Take hydrogen. Add oxygen. Burn.” She held the word, let it hang in the air, her tone dipping into something darker. “Unfortunately… burn.”

Her breath escaped in a long sigh as she leaned back in the chair, turning her head to glance at the chaos behind her. The Hab looked less like a living space and more like the aftermath of an explosion in a junkyard. Piles of salvaged parts cluttered every available surface, jumbled together with tools, wiring, and half-built contraptions. At the center of it all, sitting smugly on her workbench like a prize, was the Hydrazine tank she’d dragged from the wreckage of the sandcat. It gleamed under the weak artificial light, a reminder of just how thin the line was between salvation and annihilation.

“I have hundreds of liters of unused Hydrazine,” she continued, gesturing toward the tank. “If I run the Hydrazine over an iridium catalyst, it’ll separate into N2 and H2…” Her voice trailed off as she stood, picking up the camera and swinging it toward her workbench. “Science time.”

The next few hours were a blur of sweat, ingenuity, and no small amount of duct tape. She started with the basics, piecing together a crude laboratory using whatever she could scavenge. Torn trash bags became the walls of a makeshift tent draped over her workbench, their edges secured with layers of tape. It wasn’t pretty, and it sagged in the middle, but it would do the job—or so she hoped.

“Not bad,” she muttered, stepping back to inspect her work. Her hands were already filthy, her gloves doing little to protect her from the grime that seemed to coat everything in the Hab.

Next, she turned her attention to ventilation. She’d torn an air hose from an old EVA suit earlier, the edges still jagged from where she’d ripped it free in a fit of frustration. Now, she taped it to the top of her makeshift tent, securing it to the ceiling to act as a chimney. “That’ll do,” she murmured under her breath, wiping her brow with her sleeve.

The room was quiet except for the faint hiss of the oxygen tank as she vented it. She leaned in close, sparking the gas with a few frayed wires from a battery pack. The flame that leapt to life was small but bright, and Y/N couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. “Whoosh,” she whispered, as if narrating the moment for an audience that wasn’t there.

The next step was more delicate. She adjusted her goggles, the scratched lenses fogging slightly as she exhaled. Her hands hovered over the Hydrazine tank, careful and deliberate as she started the flow. The liquid sizzled the moment it hit the iridium catalyst, disappearing in a flash of vapor that shot up the chimney. Her eyes followed the plume, watching as small bursts of flame sputtered out the other end.

“It’s working,” she whispered, her grin widening. Her gaze flicked to the instruments she’d rigged up—a mix of actual equipment and salvaged scraps—monitoring the temperature and flow rate with hawk-like focus. She repeated the process again and again, each cycle of vaporized Hydrazine bringing her one step closer to the water she so desperately needed.

By the time she sat down in front of the camera again, her muscles ached, and her hair clung to her face in damp, sweaty strands. The chaos of her makeshift lab spread out around her like a disaster zone. She wiped her goggles clean with the edge of her shirt, leaving a streak of dirt in their place. “Then I just need to direct the hydrogen into a small area and burn it,” she said, leaning slightly toward the lens. “Luckily, in the history of humanity, nothing bad has ever happened from lighting hydrogen on fire.”

She stared at the camera for a long moment, her expression blank but faintly amused. Then she blinked, shrugged, and continued. “Believe it or not, the real challenge has been finding something that will hold a flame. New Oslo hates fire because of the whole ‘fire makes everyone die in space’ thing. So, everything we brought with us is flame retardant. With one notable exception…” She reached off-camera and pulled a pack into view, unzipping it with practiced ease. “Namjoon Kim’s personal items.”

Her grin turned sharp as she pulled out a small wooden cross, holding it up to the camera and turning it over in her fingers. “Sorry, Mr. Kim,” she said, her tone mock-apologetic. “If you didn’t want me to go through your stuff, you shouldn’t have left me for dead on a desolate planet.”

She reached for the knife strapped to her belt and began shaving thin curls of wood off the cross, each stroke precise and steady. The sound of the blade against the wood filled the room, a rhythmic counterpoint to the hum of the equipment around her. “I figure God won’t mind,” she added, glancing up at the camera with a raised eyebrow. “Considering the situation.”

The knife moved slowly but deliberately, the pile of shavings growing with every careful pass. Y/N’s hands never wavered, her focus razor-sharp. This was survival, messy and dangerous and imperfect. And she’d take it over nothing every time.

Y/N was still at it, even though every muscle in her body begged her to stop. Her arms felt like lead, her shoulders stiff from hours hunched over her workbench. The air in the Hab was thick and stale, clinging to her skin along with the sweat and grime that had become her constant companions. Time blurred here—had it been hours? Days? She didn’t know, and she didn’t care to check. Survival was the only clock that mattered, and it kept ticking, whether she kept up with it or not.

She swiped her forearm across her forehead, smearing a dark streak of grease across her temple. Her hair clung to her damp skin, strands sticking out at odd angles where the heat and her helmet had flattened them earlier. Her lips were dry, cracked from dehydration, and her throat burned with each shallow breath, but none of that mattered. Not yet. Not until this worked.

The steps were second nature by now, her hands moving with the kind of automatic precision that came from repetition rather than confidence. Vent the oxygen. Ignite the torch. Burn the hydrogen. She murmured each step under her breath like a mantra, her voice thin and raspy, barely audible over the quiet hum of the equipment.

Her eyes flicked to the atmospheric analyzer. The numbers blinked back at her, steady and impersonal. She frowned, leaning in closer. Was that reading… higher than usual? It was a tiny discrepancy, just enough to tickle the edges of her exhaustion-fogged mind. She should have stopped. She should have double-checked the setup, recalculated the variables. But she didn’t. The weight of her own fatigue pressed the thought down until it slipped away entirely. It was fine. It had to be fine.

She struck the torch.

The explosion was immediate, a roar of heat and light that sucked the air out of the room. For a single, terrifying moment, Y/N was weightless, her body thrown backward as the force of the blast ripped through the Hab. She slammed into the wall hard, the impact jarring every bone in her body.

Her ears rang with the deafening aftermath, the sharp, high-pitched whine drowning out everything else. She lay crumpled on the floor, her chest heaving as she struggled to pull in air. Her lungs felt tight, her ribs screaming in protest with each shallow inhale. Her head spun, a dull ache blooming at the base of her skull where it had struck the floor.

For a moment, she stayed there, staring up at the ceiling with wide, unfocused eyes. Her brain scrambled to piece together what had just happened, but the only coherent thought she could muster was: I’m alive. Somehow.

She pushed herself upright slowly, her arms trembling with the effort. Every inch of her body ached, and her skin prickled uncomfortably where the heat of the blast had singed her clothes. The edges of her sleeves were blackened, threads curling like burnt paper. Her hair, already a tangled disaster, now sported uneven patches that smelled faintly of burnt keratin.

She groaned, a hoarse, broken sound, and crawled toward the camera, which, miraculously, had stayed intact. It blinked at her like a curious bystander, untouched by the chaos surrounding it.

Y/N collapsed in front of the lens, sitting back heavily against the wall. For a long moment, she said nothing, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Then, finally, she looked up, meeting the camera’s unblinking gaze.

“So,” she began, her voice scratchy and uneven, “yes. I blew myself up.”

Her lips quirked into a weak smile, the expression more wry than amused. She gestured vaguely toward the wreckage behind her. “Best guess? I forgot to account for the excess oxygen I’ve been exhaling when I did my calculations. Because I’m stupid.”

She leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before she forced them open again. The ringing in her ears hadn’t stopped, but she was getting used to it now, the noise settling into the background like white noise.

“Interesting side note,” she said, her tone conversational, almost detached. “This is how the Jet Propulsion Laboratory was founded. Five guys at Strikeforce Academy were trying to make rocket fuel and nearly burned down their dorm. Rather than expel them, General… East? I want to say East? Anyway, he banished them to Aguerra Prime and told them to keep working.”

She waved a hand lazily, the movement more a suggestion than an actual gesture. “And now we have a space program. See? I pay attention.”

Her gaze drifted back to the camera, her expression softening into something more resigned. “I’m gonna get back to work. As soon as my ears stop ringing.”

She didn’t move. Instead, she stayed where she was, her legs sprawled out in front of her and her shoulders slumped against the wall. The Hab was eerily quiet now, the earlier chaos replaced by a strange, heavy stillness. Smoke hung faintly in the air, curling upward in lazy spirals, and the faint smell of singed metal lingered in her nose.

Y/N let her head fall forward, staring at the ground with unfocused eyes. For a while, she just sat there, her body too tired to move, her mind too drained to think. She wasn’t done—not even close—but for now, she let herself rest.

Y/N was back at it. Her movements were steady, almost methodical now, but there was still a hint of tension in the way her shoulders hunched and her jaw tightened. She checked her math for the fifth time, fingers tapping absently against the edge of the table. The numbers were good. The O₂ levels were where they needed to be. Everything was in place.

She glanced at the camera, raising an eyebrow as if daring it to witness her fail. Then, with a small, humorless smile, she crossed her fingers. “Okay,” she muttered under her breath, wincing as she lit the torch.

Nothing exploded. She exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Phew.” The Hydrazine started to vent, the faint hiss of the gas escaping into the controlled environment a comforting sound. Controlled chaos—her specialty now.

Hours later, she stepped back from the table, her body aching but her mind alight with hope. She wiped her forehead with her sleeve, smearing sweat and grime into the creases of her skin. Her hands were clammy, slick with sweat that hadn’t been there earlier. Something caught her eye, and she turned toward the walls.

Condensation. Tiny beads of water dotted the smooth surfaces, glinting faintly in the artificial light. She reached out, tracing a droplet with her fingertip, watching as it slid down the wall. It felt surreal, like a rainforest trapped inside the sterile walls of her Hab. She blinked, then turned toward the water reclaimer.

Her hands trembled as she lifted the lid from the tank. It was full. Not just damp, not just a few measly drops, but filled with water. Her breath caught, and then, finally, she smiled. A real, honest-to-God grin that lit up her tired face. She let out a shaky laugh, the sound breaking the heavy quiet of the room.

Over the next few weeks, time became a blur of movement and repetition. Days stretched endlessly under the triple suns of M6-117, each one bleeding into the next as Y/N worked tirelessly. The sun wouldn’t set again for another twenty-five years, not on this planet, but she’d already lived through its terrifying darkness once. She didn’t need a reminder of what the eclipse brought. For now, the constant daylight was her ally, even if the heat and pressure made every task harder.

Inside the Hab, every surface was a testament to her persistence. Soil covered the floors, tables, bunks—anywhere she could make room. Her equipment, rigged together with salvaged parts and duct tape, gave the place a chaotic, mad-scientist vibe. The atmosphere was a strange mix of desperation and ingenuity, every corner filled with evidence of her determination to survive.

Her days followed a relentless cycle. She vented Hydrazine, checked the readouts on her makeshift lab, and collected water from the reclaimer. She spread the precious liquid over the soil, making sure each patch got just enough to stay damp. She ate quickly, barely tasting the nutrient-dense food bricks she rationed so carefully. Then she went back to work.

She slept when her body forced her to, collapsing onto her makeshift bed in the corner of the Hab. Her dreams were restless, filled with flashes of her crew, the skiff disappearing into the sky, the dark shapes that had hunted them during the eclipse. But when she woke, she put the ghosts aside and pulled on her patched-up spacesuit. The air on M6-117 was technically breathable, but the higher pressure and lower oxygen levels made every task feel like running uphill. With the suit, she could work faster, longer, without the constant ache in her chest.

She hauled more dirt inside, her arms burning with effort as she carried the heavy containers. She vented Hydrazine again. She ate, she slept, and she worked.

Days sped by, a blur of movement and monotony, but Y/N never stopped. The pile of soil in the corner grew larger, spreading across the Hab like a living thing. Her hands were constantly dirty now, the dark grime of the soil embedded under her nails, a permanent part of her.

In the quiet moments, when the work slowed, her gaze would drift toward one particular patch of soil in the corner. It was smaller than the rest, a deliberate experiment within the larger chaos. She’d spent extra time on that spot, watering it carefully, checking the light, running her fingers through the dirt like she was coaxing it to life.

And then, one day, it happened.

The first sign was small. A tiny green sprout, barely breaking the surface, its fragile stem trembling as if unsure of its place in the world. Y/N froze when she saw it, her breath catching in her throat. She crouched down and all she could do was stare at her miracle.

[peachyys-posts]

TW:kidnapping

Author note:I wrote this around 5am and just wanted to finish this and go to bed.

The guardians were getting worse and you felt overwhelmed by the guardians. Who can blame you? With Bunnymund being overprotective,Jack being clingy,north being loud,tooth being too motherly,and the sandman putting you to sleep whenever you leave for too long,no one could blame you for leaving.

Pitch saw you in the middle of the forest,trying to warm yourself up with a pitiful fire. You looked pathetic,easy for him to take you. He walks slowly and quietly,letting his presence give him away. You looked up at him,scared of him because of who he was and what he could do. He could’ve done something to you as a warning for the guardians but seeing you like that…

…it reminded him of something so long ago. Pitch kneels down next to you,trying to make himself seem as non threatening as he could make himself. It wasn’t much but he did try. “What troubles you,child?” He cooly asked you. You looked up at him with a look of tiredness and fear. “Please don’t hurt me” you quietly begged him. He couldn’t help but to let out a dark chuckle. “Since you asked so nicely I won’t. Why are you alone? Where are the other Guardians?”,he couldn’t help but to ask about them. How could they let you slip away? Seems like they wanted him to take you.

Your voice shook a little bit as if trying to keep yourself from crying. Was it out of fear? Or something else? “I just wanted to be alone for a while…” you said. Alone? He knows too much about being alone. He should use your sadness to your advantage but he chose to stay with you in silence. It was a tense silence like you were waiting for an attack from him.

“I know a place where the guardians cannot find you. You’re here because of them yes?” What was he saying? He knew you were here because of them. He just needed you to admit it. “…yes” you hesitant to admit,maybe it was because you knew he was up to something. Or maybe you felt guilt for running away. “I could take you away from them. Make sure they wouldn’t find you unless you wanted them to.” You looked at him with wide eyes like you couldn’t believe he was helping you. “Why would you do that?” He knew you were smart but unfortunately, you were vulnerable at the moment. “I just wanted to be to help you. Is that such a crime?” Despite trying to come off as a kind person you could clearly see that he was trying to pull you away from them. You did feel overwhelmed and watched 24/7 with the guardians. What would happen if you took up pitch’s proposal? You couldn’t help but to give into curiosity. Before you could answer,pitch already took your silence as a yes to him taking you for himself away from the guardians.

He knocks you out with a small amount of nightmare sand. Easy to keep you asleep and dependent on him. He takes you back to his place. He’ll make sure the guardians will never find you. You’ll be alone. Just with him.