𓆩♱𓆪 pairing: vampire!Jungkook x human!Reader (afab, she/her)
𓆩♱𓆪 content: 18+ explicit content, established relationship au, oh they are so in love
𓆩♱𓆪 series warning/tags: golden retriever boyfriend jk, 27jk 26 reader, vampire activities, blood drinking, fluff, some angst, smut, blood kink?? (Squint), Jungkook really likes your blood, my own vampire rules?? But similar to traditional vampire rules??, Jungkook is so whipped, past trauma, comedy, y/n is a little bit of a brat, Jungkook is very good at handling her but also loves her so much, they are soooo down bad for each other, vampire!Jimin, vampire!Jin, vampire!Hoseok, vampire!Yoongi, other vampire characters (the girlies) unprotected sex (Jungkook literally cannot get y/n pregnant), cream pie, fingering, dick riding, oral f and m receiving, discussion of feeding on animals and people, vampire turning trauma, Jungkook is severely afraid of garlic (lmao), vampire traditions and rituals, family trauma, family death
𓆩♱𓆪 description: So your boyfriend is a vampire…It’s actually not too different than having a human boyfriend. He is kind and caring and genuinely loves you. He’s just a touch afraid of garlic and he’s kind of cold. Other than that everything is the same and you couldn’t ask for anyone better. You cannot imagine spending your life with anyone else, except… it would be only your life going on.
which wasn’t a problem… right?
𓆩♱𓆪 comment on this page or any chapter to be added to the taglist!
Pairing: Vampire!Jimin x Human!Reader, BTS OT7 x reader (platonic)
Main Premise:
Five hundred years ago, the Crimson Queen was remembered as the vampire who betrayed her kingdom during the Red Moon. History calls her a traitor.
The seven immortal vampires who survived that night have spent centuries carrying the scars she left behind.
Then she returns. Not as a vampire. Not as a queen, but as an ordinary human woman with no memories of her past life.
As old memories begin resurfacing, the truth behind the Red Moon slowly emerges. And the woman everyone hated may have been the one who saved them all.
Chapter One: Welcome to Santa Carla
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Vampire!AU, Action, Horror, Suspense, Drama, Thriller, Comedy, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, ANGST, Fluff, Smut
Other Tags: Human!Jungkook, Thrall!Jungkook, Thrall!Reader, Vampire!Jimin, Vampire!Taehyung, Vampire!Yoongi, Young!Namjoon, Young!Seokjin
Word Count: 27.8k+
Summary: Teenage brothers Jungkook and Jung-Hyun relocate with their mother to a quiet town in Northern California. As Jung-Hyun bonds with two like-minded comic book enthusiasts, Namjoon and Seokjin, the more brooding Jungkook becomes captivated by Y/N. However, he soon discovers that Y/N is entangled with Jimin, the charismatic leader of a dangerous local vampire gang.
Warnings: Death, Blood drinking, vampire attack, emotional manipulation, mind manipulation, mean vampires, vampires acting like vampires, star-crossed lovers, mates, teen angst, dubious consent, oral (f receiving), conspiracy theorist teenage boys, self-hatred, depression, crying, self-blame, Jimin is not a good person, none of them are, because they're all vampires, banter, running away, missing people, ignoring red flags, strong language, voyeurism
A/N: I've been in my movie bag recently, and thought why not do one of my favorite movies of all time? The Lost Boys holds so much sentimental value for me. I remember watching it with my dad when I was little, and it's held a special place in my heart as an avid horror fan ever since. I hope I was able to convey that with this mini-series. Thanks so much for reading.
masterlist || next
The ocean stretched endlessly into the horizon, shimmering like diamonds beneath the pale, unblinking gaze of the moon. Each ripple on its restless surface danced with the ghost of starlight, alive and undulating with a rhythm as ancient as the earth itself. Waves rolled forward in a relentless ballet, their foamy crests glowing faintly in the moonlight before crashing against the shore with a soothing sound. Along the coastline, bonfires blazed fiercely, their flames licking the air as if trying to grasp the infinite night. Shadows played across the sand, flickering and elongating, casting a warm, golden hue on the faces of those who gathered around them. The air was heavy with salt and the tang of wood smoke, alive with laughter.
Just beyond the glow of the fires, the Santa Carla Boardwalk was packed. It was chaos and wonder wrapped together, a carnival of sound, light, and motion. Neon signs blinked in dizzying patterns, their colors reflecting off the ocean like shards of stained glass. The Ferris Wheel loomed large against the velvet sky, its glowing, lazy rotations casting halos of light onto the water below. The air was thick with the mingling scents of caramel corn, fried dough, and the faint metallic tang of machinery. Laughter and screams of delight collided with the booming bass of carnival music. Arcades buzzed and chimed, their flashing screens enticing would-be champions, while thrill rides screeched and spun, their passengers caught in a mix of terror and exhilaration. The boardwalk was alive—an unapologetic display of everything Santa Carla had to offer.
Near the center of the boardwalk stood the carousel house, its ornate structure glowing softly beneath strings of twinkling bulbs. Inside, the calliope wheezed out its hauntingly cheerful tune, a melody that felt slightly too jaunty against the restless energy the night carried. Painted horses and gilded benches spun in a slow circle, their colors worn but vibrant under the flickering lights. Children laughed as they climbed onto the carousel, while teenagers lounged carelessly, their voices loud and unrestrained. But the scene wasn’t all innocence. Looming at the edge of the carousel were the Swell Brigade, a pack of self-proclaimed kings of the beach, their arrogance as bold as the slogans stamped across their T-shirts: My Beach, My Wave. They moved as if they owned the boardwalk, laughing too loud, their swagger unmistakable.
Then, as if on cue, they appeared. Just outside of the lights and glamour, four teenage boys stood watching as people passed by.
The Lost Boys, a small rival group who did not seem intimidated by the Brigade as much as the others. The surfers all noticed when they arrived, as it was always at night, and the boys carried a strange, almost feral quality when they came to the Boardwalk.
Jimin was the first to step into the light, his tall, commanding presence impossible to ignore. He moved with a fluid confidence, a magnetism that turned heads instinctively. His smile was faint but piercing, and his hair was the color of freshly picked cotton. His pale skin matched the other three’s, and his eyes were black. They almost seemed hungry as he followed a particularly pretty girl as she passed by completely unaware of his presence.
Behind him, Taeyang, Yoongi, and Taehyung followed, each of them striking in their own way. They didn’t walk so much as glide, their movements casual but calculated, each step perfectly synchronized. Taehyung and Taehyung both had dark, black hair with equally sharp and pale faces. Yoongi was the softest in the group, his eyes the only thing carrying edge, and his skin the palest of the four. He had dark bags under his eyes and seemed perpetually bored.
Greg, the self-proclaimed king of the Swell Brigade, lounged on a carousel bench, his arm slung tightly around Shelly as if she were a trophy rather than his girlfriend. His smirk was a challenge, cold and smug, his eyes fixed on the group lingering too close to his territory. He despised the Lost Boys. Always skulking around the boardwalk like they owned the place. Freaks.
But Shelly’s gaze had wandered. Her eyes lingered just a little too long on Jimin—curiosity flickering like the bonfire's glow in her pupils. Jimin caught her look and smiled, warm yet distant, like he knew something Greg didn’t.
Greg’s smirk faltered. His grip on Shelly’s arm tightened, his fingers digging into her skin. When Yoongi passed too close, Greg saw his opportunity. With deliberate carelessness, he stretched out his foot and caught Yoongi’s ankle.
Yoongi stumbled, nearly sprawling face-first into the sand before catching himself. He shot Greg a murderous glare, knuckles clenching at his sides.
"Watch where you're walking, asshole," Greg drawled, his grin wide and mean.
Yoongi took a step forward, eyes flashing, but Jimin appeared beside him, placing a calming hand on his arm. Jimin moved like smoke, his presence quiet yet undeniable. He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t need to. Just standing there was enough to still Yoongi’s brewing anger.
The Swell Brigade shifted uneasily. A few had started laughing, but now their chuckles faltered. The Lost Boys weren’t loud or showy, but there was something unsettling about them. Something sharp, like walking barefoot on glass and not knowing when you’d get cut.
“Do we have a problem?” Jimin asked, voice smooth yet sharp. His dark eyes locked onto Greg’s.
Greg sneered. "Yeah, we sure do."
“And what would that be, dickhead?” Taehyung cut in, stepping closer with a lopsided grin. His squared smile stretched too wide, and the exaggerated amusement in his face made Greg’s stomach twist. Taehyung always looked like he was halfway between a joke and something much worse.
Greg shook it off. "Eyes off my girl, Casper."
The Swell Brigade laughed, but when Yoongi and Taehyung joined in, their chuckles died awkwardly. Taehyung’s grin was far too pleased, and Yoongi’s smile looked predatory, sharp and glinting.
“Casper?” Jimin chuckled. “That’s a good one. How long did it take you to come up with that joke?”
Shelly stifled a giggle behind her hand. Taehyung’s eyes flicked to her, and he winked, smug and deliberate. Shelly’s cheeks flushed crimson as she turned her face away.
Greg’s face darkened. His grip on Shelly’s arm turned to a shove, pushing her away from him so roughly she stumbled.
“You’re making eyes at them now?” he barked, voice rising. “Are you kidding me? You’re into these pale freaks who smell like they’ve been rotting behind a dumpster?”
“I-I wasn’t—” Shelly stammered, her voice trembling. Her eyes were wide and wet, but Greg cut her off before the tears could spill.
“Leave the lady alone,” Jimin said, stepping forward. His voice was calm, but there was steel in it now.
Greg spun on him, face twisted with rage. “Stay out of this.”
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to respect women?” Jimin’s voice stayed cold and even, his eyes glinting like a knife's edge. "Especially the ones you claim to love."
Greg’s face turned blotchy with anger. His fists clenched, shoulders rising. For a moment, it seemed like he’d swing. The Lost Boys stiffened, ready to retaliate.
Then the security guard appeared, lumbering into view with a flashlight in hand.
He was massive, his uniform straining at the seams, and he carried his nightstick with the authority of someone who believed himself untouchable. He wasted no time, striding forward and jabbing the tip of the stick against Jimin’s throat.
“I thought I told you to stay off the boardwalk,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that silenced the scene.
For a moment, Jimin didn’t move. His dark eyes locked onto the guard’s, unwavering. It was a battle of wills, a moment stretched taut. Then, slowly, that same disarming smile appeared on Jimin’s face.
“Come on,” he said softly to his friends, his voice calm and unbothered. “Let’s go.”
The guard’s gaze followed them, a mix of relief and suspicion etched across his face. Then he turned to Greg and the Swell Brigade. “You too. Off the boardwalk. Now.”
Greg hesitated, his wounded pride flickering across his features. Someone called his name and grabbed his arm. Reluctantly, Greg and his crew shuffled away, their bravado deflated.
Jimin turned to Shelly, his voice softer now.
“You okay?”
Shelly nodded weakly, brushing her hair back from her face. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Thanks.”
Jimin gave her a small smile and turned away, disappearing into the dark with his strange little group. The wind picked up, stirring the bonfire’s flames higher. Shelly lingered a moment longer, still staring after him.
Taehyung threw a look at her over his shoulder, and Shelly couldn’t help but smile.
“Come find me,” he shouted, his smile dazzling and radiant.
“I see you now,” she countered.
Detaching himself from the other three, Taehyung made his way over. Shelly seemed hypnotized by his presence and did not hesitate to take his outstretched hand.
As they walked away together, Taehyung grinned over his shoulder at Jimin. "See you boys later."
Jimin shook his head, unimpressed. "Back before sunrise," he muttered.
"Always, boss," Taehyung shot back, beaming. “Hope you three are just as lucky.”
"We will be," Jimin deadpanned, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Taeyang already saw something he liked earlier. We’re going to help him find her.”
“I found mine,” Taehyung leaned into Shelly, sniffing her hair. The ginger sighed dreamily, clutching his hand even tighter. “And she looks delicious.”
Jimin’s smile sharpened. “Enjoy your snack,” he called. “We’re in the mood for something... a little more fattening.”
Laughing darkly, the three of them melted into the shadows, leaving the boardwalk behind.
The boardwalk emptied soon after, the carnival’s vibrant energy fading as the rides powered down one by one. The neon lights blinked out, plunging the scene into a hollow, eerie darkness. Even the calliope music stuttered and stopped, leaving only the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Somewhere in the distance, the ocean shimmered on, indifferent and eternal.
The vast, empty parking lot stretched out like a graveyard of concrete, illuminated by the cold, flickering glow of a single streetlamp. The security guard leaned against his car door, phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low and tired.
“Yeah, I’ll be home soon,” he muttered. His gaze swept the lot, scanning the shadows like he expected something to lunge from the dark. “I just had to deal with those weird kids again... Yeah, those ones. They’re always hanging around.”
He paused, fingers drumming anxiously on his car roof. “No, no. Don’t wait up. I’ll grab something on the way home.” His voice dropped even lower. “Yeah... love you too.”
The call ended with a soft beep. He exhaled sharply and stuffed the phone into his pocket. The strange tension that had clung to the air all night seemed to thicken. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it felt wrong. Heavy.
He fumbled for his keys, fingers trembling slightly. His nerves felt shot, frayed at the edges by too many unsettling encounters on the boardwalk. The sound of his own breathing felt too loud in the quiet.
Then came a gust of wind—a rush of air so sudden and sharp it felt like the night itself had exhaled. It swirled around him, stirring up loose papers and dust, and with it came a sound. A screech, high-pitched and unnatural, like nails dragged across glass. The sound dissolved almost instantly, replaced by something worse: whispers.
They were soft, maddeningly quick, and layered over each other in a chaotic symphony. Words melted into words, impossible to parse, like a language spoken by something that had only recently learned how to mimic human speech. The guard’s breath hitched, his instincts screaming at him to move, to run. But fear rooted him in place. His head snapped up as he turned in all directions, eyes darting wildly for the source of the noise.
The whispers stopped.
In that split second of silence, he caught movement—a flicker of something above him. His lips parted, ready to shout, but he never got the chance.
It happened so fast. One moment, he was standing there, and the next, he was gone. Yanked upward into the night with such force that his body blurred, a flash of dull blue uniform vanishing into the blackness above. His lunch pail hit the asphalt with a metallic clang, bouncing once, twice, before settling on its side.
The silence returned, but this time it was charged, alive with the aftermath of something unnatural. The lot was empty again, save for the lunch pail and the eerie hum of the streetlamp. The wind shifted toward the beach, where the waves lapped against the shore with quiet indifference, as if nothing at all had happened.
Then came the sound of impact.
A sickening thud echoed across the shoreline. The guard’s body landed in the wet sand, a lifeless heap. He was grotesque now, drained of all the vitality that had once defined him. His skin was ashen, his face sunken, his eyes wide open in a glassy stare of horror. Veins snaked darkly across his deflated form, as if the blood within him had been pulled out with vicious precision. He looked hollow, almost weightless, like a balloon someone had sucked the air from but left untied.
Jimin crouched over the body, his lips stained a deep crimson, his breath heavy with exhilaration. The predatory gleam in his eyes flickered like molten gold under the moonlight. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood further, and grinned—a grin that was equal parts satisfaction and hunger, because for Jimin, the kill was never just about feeding. It was about the thrill of the hunt, the raw power that coursed through him every time he took a life.
Behind him, the others emerged from the shadows, their figures half-illuminated by the moonlight. Taeyang walked with an easy swagger, dragging his fingers through his dark hair as his sharp, gleaming fangs caught the light. Yoongi stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes glinting with approval. Taehyung leaned casually against a nearby boulder, his lips curled into a smirk as he observed the scene.
“That was messy,” Taeyang remarked, his voice low and smooth, tinged with dark amusement.
Jimin tilted his head, the grin never leaving his face. “Messy’s more fun,” he replied, licking a smear of blood from his thumb.
“Not for him,” Taehyung quipped, gesturing to the deflated corpse on the sand. The four of them erupted into quiet laughter, the sound sharp and mocking, a stark contrast to the quiet, lifeless night.
“Careful, Jimin,” Yoongi said, his voice honeyed but laced with warning. “You’re going to draw too much attention. We don’t need another hunt interrupted by cops.”
Jimin stood, brushing sand from his knees as he turned to face Yoongi.
“Let them come,” he said, his tone daring, almost eager. “They’ll end up just like him.” He jerked his chin toward the body without looking, as if it were nothing more than a discarded piece of trash.
The group moved closer to the shore, the waves crashing softly at their feet as the horizon began to pale with the first hints of dawn. They weren’t afraid of the approaching light—Santa Carla’s rocky cliffs and endless network of caves provided all the cover they needed. But even as the stars began to fade, the night still felt alive, charged with the chaos they left in their wake.
"So," Jimin asked, casually wiping his mouth again and adjusting his jacket with practiced ease, "how did you boys fare tonight?" His tone was light, but there was something colder, sharper beneath it, a sense of curiosity laced with a silent challenge.
Taehyung flashed a wide grin, his teeth gleaming white in the dim light. "I had a sip from Shelly," he said, his voice smooth, a dark chuckle rising in his chest. "Just enough to keep her docile. She won’t remember a thing by morning. Poor thing. She thinks she's in love with me." He let out a low, sinister laugh. "Humans are so easy to manipulate."
Yoongi’s laugh joined in, a low, almost animalistic sound rumbling in his chest as he leaned against the hood of a nearby car, his eyes glowing faintly in the shadows. “Yang and I found a couple parked near the cliffside,” he said, his voice still smooth but with an edge of satisfaction. “You should’ve seen their faces when I knocked on the window. Priceless.”
Taehyung’s grin widened, amusement dancing in his eyes. “And you shared?”
Yoongi shrugged lazily, the movement almost feline in its grace. “Seemed fair enough. We were hungry.”
Taeyang, who had been standing off to the side, grinned, his sharp features illuminated by the fading moonlight. “They were pretty drunk,” he added, his voice light with amusement. “Hardly even struggled. They didn’t know what hit ‘em.”
“And the car?” Jimin asked, his smile turning sharper, more predatory as he turned his gaze toward Taeyang. His curiosity was evident, but there was also something darker, a hunger in his eyes.
Taeyang’s grin turned wicked, colder than before. "Off the cliff," he said, his words slow and deliberate. "Tomorrow morning, when they fish it out, they’ll think the brakes failed. An accident. No one will ask any questions. It’ll be perfect."
Jimin’s approval was evident in his low murmur, a satisfied smile curling on his lips. "Nice," he said, his voice smooth like silk, his eyes glinting with something dangerous.
Yoongi stretched lazily, his silhouette dark and sharp against the pale light of the dying moon. His expression was relaxed, and a light smile spread across his face when Taehyung made his way over and kissed his cheek. "We should go," he said, his voice calm. "The night’s over."
Jimin glanced back at the body one final time, his grin melting into something far colder, more deliberate. The playful tone faded from his eyes as they turned steely, calculating. “Not for him,” he murmured, the words slipping out like a promise as he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows.
The waves continued to crash rhythmically against the shore, sweeping away the traces of the night’s activities, erasing the evidence left in the sand. The parking lot was silent once again, as though the horrors that had taken place there had never occurred. And as the sun began to rise, casting the first pale light over Santa Carla, the town stirred to life, blissfully unaware of the monsters that roamed the night.
Morning arrived on the Pacific Coast as it always did—effortlessly golden, washing the world in a soft, honeyed glow. The sound of waves crashing against the shore blended with the distant cries of gulls circling overhead, painting the perfect picture of a summer day. Along the coastal highway, a beat-up Land Rover rumbled steadily, towing a tired-looking U-Haul trailer. The vehicle was laden with the weight of more than just luggage—it carried the heavy, complicated promise of a fresh start. A new beginning. Or so Wanda Jeon liked to tell herself.
The Land Rover hugged the curves of the road as the ocean sparkled to one side, its surface catching the morning light like scattered diamonds. On the other side, jagged cliffs jutted up toward the endless sky, rugged and untamed. Wanda Jeon gripped the wheel casually, her tanned arm resting out the window, her dark hair fluttering in the salt-tinged breeze. She liked the feel of the air on her skin, even if the wind whipped in too aggressively. It was better than the stale, oppressive stillness she had left behind in the Midwest. This was freedom—or as close to it as a single mother dragging her two sons across the country in a car on its last legs could get.
Her given name was Won-Young, but no one called her that anymore. Not since high school, when her family first moved to California and she’d chosen “Wanda” as a way to make herself fit into a world that didn’t seem to have space for her. Even now, years later, the name stuck. No one but her late mother had called her Won-Young in years, and even her father avoided it. Wanda exhaled, shaking off the weight of the thought.
In the passenger seat, Jung-Hyun, her eleven-year-old, sat slouched with his arms crossed, a scowl firmly etched onto his face. The boy had mastered the art of disdain early, and he wore it like a badge. Outside the car window, the Pacific stretched endlessly, blue and shimmering, but Jung-Hyun regarded it with the same irritation he reserved for vegetables. “What’s that smell?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.
“That,” Wanda replied, inhaling deeply through her nose, “is the ocean. Salty, fresh, alive—nothing like it.”
“It smells like something died,” Jung-Hyun deadpanned, leaning further away from the window.
In the backseat, Jungkook, her seventeen-year-old, was no more cheerful. He lounged in sullen silence, his headphones firmly in place and his arms folded across his chest. Bam, his oversized Doberman, lay sprawled beside him, taking up more than his fair share of the seat. Bam’s massive head rested on Jungkook’s lap, the dog snoring softly, oblivious to the tension in the car.
Jungkook shifted slightly but didn’t bother removing his headphones. His dark eyes stared out the window, seeing everything but taking in nothing. Wanda glanced at him in the rearview mirror. He was a walking storm cloud, and no amount of sunshine from the Pacific Coast seemed capable of breaking through.
“We’re getting close,” Wanda said, her voice bright and hopeful.
“Great,” Jungkook muttered, though his tone suggested otherwise.
Jung-Hyun wrinkled his nose again and pointed out the window. “What’s with all the bikers?”
Wanda craned her neck and spotted a pack of motorcycles roaring past them, their riders clad in leather and denim, tattoos snaking up their arms. They disappeared into the distance, their engines growling like thunder.
“Welcome to California,” she said lightly, her attempt at humor falling flat.
The Land Rover crested a hill, and the town of Santa Carla came into view. It unfolded below them like a postcard, all charm and energy. The boardwalk stretched along the beach, dotted with colorful shops, carnival rides, and a steady stream of tourists and locals weaving through the crowd. Beyond it, the ocean sparkled invitingly, waves rolling toward the shore in endless rhythm. The town seemed alive, buzzing with the kind of vibrancy that only summer could bring.
Up ahead, a billboard loomed over the highway. Its cheerful, brightly painted letters read: Welcome to Santa Carla. Beneath it, the slogan promised endless fun: The Beach, The Boardwalk, The Perfect Summer. But as they passed the sign, Jungkook twisted in his seat, catching a glimpse of the back. Spray-painted in jagged black letters were the words: MURDER CAPITAL OF THE WORLD.
He stared at it for a long moment, his brows furrowing. But he didn’t say anything.
The car rolled into town, navigating the narrow streets lined with surf shops, diners, and street performers. Wanda pulled into a gas station near the boardwalk, its pumps weathered and faded but functional. She stepped out of the car, stretching her legs as she grabbed the nozzle to fill the tank.
Jung-Hyun practically bolted from the car, his earlier disdain forgotten as he caught sight of the boardwalk. “Mom! There’s an amusement park! Right on the beach!” he called, his voice tinged with rare excitement.
“That’s the boardwalk,” Wanda explained, smiling despite herself. “We’ll go later.”
Jung-Hyun groaned but didn’t argue, already craning his neck to take in the roller coasters and Ferris wheel in the distance.
Jungkook, meanwhile, had stepped out of the car, heading toward the trailer with a purpose. He yanked open the U-Haul and rolled out his motorbike, a sleek Honda with chipped paint that still managed to look impressive.
“I need to stretch my legs,” he said, his voice flat as he brushed past Wanda and wheeled the bike onto the pavement.
She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t disappear. Your grandfather’s expecting us, and we’ve got unpacking to do.”
Jungkook shrugged, the engine roaring to life beneath him. “I’ll be back,” he said, his tone not unkind, but distant.
Wanda sighed, watching as he sped off down the street, Bam barking in protest from the backseat. She ruffled the dog’s ears through the window before handing a crumpled five-dollar bill to Jung-Hyun.
“See those kids by the dumpster?” she said, nodding toward two gaunt teenagers rummaging through a trash bin nearby. “Give this to them. Tell them to get something to eat.”
Jung-Hyun frowned. “I thought we were poor.”
“Not that poor,” Wanda replied, her tone firm but gentle.
He hesitated, then jogged over to deliver the money. The teens looked up, startled, their hollow eyes lighting up briefly as they mumbled their thanks. Wanda watched them carefully, her expression softening. Something about them felt familiar—too familiar.
But before she could dwell on it, the sound of a distant carnival ride bell rang out, blending with the hum of the boardwalk. Santa Carla was alive with possibility, its surface dazzling and bright. But beneath it, something darker stirred. Wanda couldn’t feel it yet, but Jungkook had. And it was only a matter of time before they all did.
“Use some of it to call home!” Wanda shouted after the teenagers, her voice carrying across the gas station as they disappeared into the chaos of Santa Carla’s streets. One of them turned and waved, his gaunt face splitting into a grin.
“Hey, thanks, lady!” he called, his voice already fading into the hum of passing cars and the distant crash of waves.
Wanda watched them go, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she climbed back into the Land Rover. For a moment, her fingers lingered on the steering wheel, her gaze drifting to where the teenagers had been. “Those kids look like me twenty years ago,” she murmured, half to herself, her tone heavy with a mixture of nostalgia and something harder to define.
Jung-Hyun perked up from the passenger seat, glancing at her with a raised brow. “You mean when you ran away from home? Hitchhiked all the way to Berkeley? Spent the night freezing in Golden Gate Park and begged for spare change the next morning?”
Wanda groaned, leaning her head against the back of her seat before shooting him a playful glare. “You’ve heard this story before?”
“Only about a million times. I’m starting to think it happened to me,” he said dryly, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.
Wanda shook her head with a laugh, starting the car and pulling back onto the road. As the boardwalk faded into the distance behind them, she glanced in the rearview mirror. Santa Carla stretched out ahead, its secrets shimmering just out of reach, waiting for them to discover—or stumble upon—them.
The long, winding road that led to their destination seemed like it had been forgotten by time. Trees loomed on either side, their shadows stretching across the cracked asphalt as if trying to pull the Land Rover and its weary passengers into their embrace. The house appeared at the end of the road like a mirage—rugged, weatherworn, and sprawling. Its wood was dark and peeling, the paint long faded to a patchwork of gray and green.
“It looks like something out of a horror movie,” Jung-Hyun muttered as the car rolled to a stop, his eyes narrowing at the sagging porch.
The yard was wild and unkempt, overgrown grass swaying in the breeze as though it were alive. And there, on the porch, a figure slumped in an ancient rocking chair. He—or rather, it—was still, too still, with a wide-brimmed hat tilted low over his face and one hand dangling lifelessly off the armrest.
Wanda stepped out of the car, her boots crunching against the gravel as she shaded her eyes against the afternoon sun.
“That’s him?” Jungkook asked from behind her, his voice as unimpressed as ever. He pulled off his helmet, shaking his hair out in a way that was just a little too perfect, even in the glaring sunlight.
“That’s Harabeoji,” Wanda said, but there was hesitation in her voice.
“He looks dead,” Jungkook remarked flatly, leaning his weight against his bike as though he was ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
Wanda’s jaw tightened as she climbed the creaking steps, every one of them groaning under her weight. She paused, staring at the unmoving figure in the chair. Her fingers hesitated in midair before she finally reached out, her voice trembling just slightly. “Dad?”
Jung-Hyun leaned out of the car window, his expression somewhere between concern and opportunity. “If he’s dead, can we move back to Phoenix?”
Wanda shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass, but before she could speak, the man in the chair suddenly came to life. His head shot up, revealing twinkling eyes and a grin wide enough to split his weathered face in two.
“Playin’ dead,” Min-chul Jeon declared with a raspy chuckle. “And from what I heard, doin’ a damn good job of it, too.”
Wanda let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, laughing despite herself as she threw her arms around him. “God, Dad, you scared me!”
Min-chul patted her back, his voice warm. “Well, consider it payback for scarin’ me for the first twenty years of your life.”
Behind them, Jungkook and Jung-Hyun exchanged a glance, equal parts confusion and discomfort.
The interior of the house was exactly as Wanda had remembered—or maybe worse. Dust clung to every surface, catching the sunlight in golden motes that floated lazily through the air. The furniture looked like it had been there since the dawn of time, upholstered in fabrics that had seen better decades. Every available surface was cluttered with trinkets and oddities—wooden carvings, jars filled with mysterious contents, and stacks upon stacks of books, their spines cracked and faded.
“Cool place,” Jungkook muttered, dragging his weights through the door. He paused long enough to do a few bicep curls, the veins in his arms bulging unnecessarily.
“Can’t even go five minutes without flexing,” Jung-Hyun quipped, carrying an armload of comic books that he promptly dumped onto the floor.
“Will you give Mom a break?” Jungkook shot back, leaning on the doorway with the ease of someone who knew he was stronger and taller.
Jung-Hyun rolled his eyes dramatically, flopping onto the couch with the kind of flair that only an eleven-year-old could muster. “Fine. But seriously, has anyone noticed? There’s no TV. No malls. No Wi-Fi. How am I supposed to live here? I won’t even have MTV!”
“Hey, we’re broke,” Jungkook reminded him, grabbing a box and hauling it toward the stairs.
“Even broke people have TVs,” Jung-Hyun grumbled, crossing his arms.
“Knock it off,” Wanda said from the porch, her voice cutting through their bickering like a whip.
Outside, Bam darted across the yard, barking excitedly as he explored every corner of his new domain. Wanda and Min-chul worked side by side, unloading the U-Haul with practiced efficiency.
“You know,” Min-chul said, lowering a heavy box to the ground, “most women I know improve their situation by getting divorced.”
Wanda let out a breathless laugh, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Yeah, well, a long court battle wouldn’t have helped anybody. It was time to move on.” She hesitated, glancing toward the house. “Thanks for letting us stay, Dad.”
Min-chul patted her shoulder, his grip firm but kind. “We’re family, kiddo. That’s what we do.”
From upstairs came the unmistakable sound of a scuffle, followed by Jung-Hyun’s indignant yell.
“This room’s mine!” Jungkook’s voice rang out, muffled but unmistakably smug.
“Over my dead body!”
A crash followed, and then the thundering of feet down the stairs as Jung-Hyun bolted for safety. He rounded the corner into the kitchen, his face red and his voice trailing behind him. “Help me, Mom! Help!”
From outside, Wanda’s voice floated back, dry and amused. “Soon.”
Jung-Hyun’s footsteps pounded against the wooden floor as he sprinted into the living room, his heart hammering in his chest. He could hear Jungkook’s heavy boots thudding just behind him, getting closer with each step. Desperation sharpened his instincts as he skidded to a stop in front of a pair of large sliding doors. Without thinking, he yanked them open, slipped inside, and slammed them shut behind him, pressing his back against the smooth wood.
For a moment, silence. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving, but he thought he might have gotten away. Relief began to wash over him—until he took a good look at his surroundings.
The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, which cast long, eerie shadows across the space. It was a grotesque museum of death. Mounted animal heads adorned every inch of the walls—deer, antelope, a bear, and even a wolf, its lips pulled back in a permanent snarl. Below them were rows of shelves cluttered with jars filled with glassy, disembodied eyes and scraps of fur. Boxes stacked high in the corners spilled over with tools and materials: wooden molds, needles, and what appeared to be half-finished animal bodies, their forms unsettlingly lifelike yet incomplete.
Jung-Hyun swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the macabre display. He felt like he’d stepped straight into a horror movie, the kind where the audience screams for the character to get out, but they never listen. His stomach churned. Were the eyes on the wolf following him? He took a shaky step back, only to trip over something solid and fleshy. An antelope’s severed head rolled across the floor, its lifeless glass eyes staring up at him.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, shuddering.
The moment shattered as the door behind him burst open. Jungkook strode in, his face a mixture of triumph and annoyance. His shadow loomed over the younger boy, cast long by the single bulb swaying above them.
“Gotcha,” Jungkook said, his voice low and smug.
Jung-Hyun scrambled backward, his foot catching on a discarded pelt. “This place is so freaking weird,” he muttered, his gaze darting to a raccoon frozen mid-snarl on the nearest shelf. “What is wrong with this house?”
Jungkook was about to fire back with one of his usual quips when a gruff voice cut through the tense silence.
“Rules!”
Both boys froze as Min-chul appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. He stood like a sentinel, his sharp gaze flicking between them. The room seemed to grow smaller under his presence.
“I told you to stay outta here,” Min-chul said, his voice carrying an edge that left no room for argument. “This room’s not for kids.”
Jung-Hyun and Jungkook glanced at each other, uneasy, but Min-chul didn’t linger. He jerked his head toward the hallway. “Come with me. Both of you.”
Reluctantly, they followed. Min-chul led them to the kitchen, where he threw open the refrigerator door with an exaggerated flourish. He pointed to the middle shelf, which was marked with a piece of cardboard and scrawled black marker: “Old Fart’s Shelf.”
“This here,” Min-chul declared, tapping the shelf with authority, “is mine. Root beer, double-thick Mint Oreos, and leftover brisket. Nobody touches this shelf. You hear me?”
Jungkook raised an eyebrow but nodded solemnly, while Jung-Hyun mumbled something that might have been agreement. Min-chul slammed the fridge shut, but the lecture wasn’t over. He pointed to the corner of the kitchen table, where an ancient, dog-eared copy of TV Guide sat.
“And when the mailman brings the TV Guide,” Min-chul continued, “sometimes the address label peels up on the corner. You’ll be tempted to pick at it. Don’t. You’ll ruin the cover.”
Jung-Hyun furrowed his brow. “You... still get the TV Guide?”
Min-chul shot him a look, his lips quirking upward in amusement. “I don’t have a TV. But if you read the TV Guide, you don’t need a TV.”
Jungkook bit his lip to keep from laughing, but Jung-Hyun’s jaw dropped in incredulity. Before either of them could comment, Min-chul gave a satisfied nod and disappeared back into the depths of the house, leaving the boys to exchange baffled looks.
“This guy is certifiable,” Jung-Hyun muttered.
“Certifiable,” Jungkook agreed, grinning.
As the evening stretched on, the house began to settle into its peculiar rhythm. The chaos of the day—the chasing, the strange rules, the taxidermy horrors—faded into the background, leaving a kind of quiet harmony in its place. In the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and running water filled the air as Wanda, Jungkook, and Jung-Hyun tackled the daunting mountain of post-dinner cleanup. The sink overflowed with suds, the counters were crowded with plates and pans, and Wanda’s trusty old radio sat perched on the windowsill, tuned to her favorite oldies station.
Jung-Hyun, elbow-deep in soap suds, worked at scrubbing a particularly stubborn baking dish. He scowled as he scraped at the caked-on residue, muttering under his breath. “What did you even cook in this, cement?”
Behind him, Jungkook smirked as he dried a stack of plates. “Maybe if you didn’t spend half of dinner whining about the vegetables, you’d know.”
“Whatever,” Jung-Hyun muttered, rolling his eyes.
Wanda, humming along to the music, seemed oblivious to the bickering. She had the cheerful energy of someone who genuinely enjoyed the mundane rituals of life, even doing dishes. Her voice rose and fell with the tunes on the radio, a little off-key but endearing all the same. Jung-Hyun had long ago complained that her station played nothing but “ancient songs no one under sixty cares about,” but Wanda had just laughed and cranked the volume.
And then, it happened.
The unmistakable opening notes of “Land of a Thousand Dances” crackled through the speakers, breaking through the background noise of running water and clinking dishes. Wanda froze mid-scrub, her eyes widening as if she’d just been struck by divine inspiration. Her face lit up, her expression transforming from tired to electric in an instant.
“Oh, you guys have no idea!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with glee. Without another word, she carefully set the dish she was holding down on the counter, wiped her hands on her apron, and spun around to face the boys. She clapped her hands in rhythm to the beat, her hips already swaying.
“This is the song,” she declared, her voice rising over the music. “Watch and learn.”
Before either of them could react, she launched into an energetic dance, clapping and twisting like she’d been transported back in time. Her movements were unselfconscious and full of joy, the kind of dancing that didn’t care if anyone was watching. She spun in place, kicking her feet and clapping above her head, all while grinning like a teenager at a school dance.
Jung-Hyun stared at her, wide-eyed. “What are you doing?” he asked, incredulous.
“This,” Wanda said, grabbing his hands before he could escape, “is pony time!”
With a tug, she pulled him away from the sink. At first, he stood stiff and mortified, his arms limp as she tried to swing them. “Mom, stop! This is so embarrassing!” he protested, glancing nervously at Jungkook, who was leaning casually against the counter, clearly enjoying the show.
But Wanda was relentless. She kicked her feet out in a ridiculous two-step, her laughter bubbling over as she swung her arms like she didn’t have a care in the world. “Come on, kiddo, loosen up!” she urged, spinning him in a clumsy circle.
Jung-Hyun’s mortification started to crack under the weight of her sheer joy. He caught her rhythm, stumbling at first but then tentatively swaying his hips to the beat. A grin began to creep onto his face, and he added a little bounce to his steps. Wanda cheered, clapping wildly, and that was all the encouragement he needed.
To his own surprise, Jung-Hyun let go. He mimicked Wanda’s moves, exaggerating them to ridiculous proportions—a wildly uncoordinated shimmy here, a dramatic spin there. Wanda doubled over laughing, nearly collapsing from the effort of keeping up.
“Jungkook!” Wanda called out, waving her arms to beckon him. “Come on, don’t be a party pooper!”
Jungkook shook his head, still holding a dish towel. “No way. You two look insane.”
“Don’t be lame,” Jung-Hyun said, his face flushed but grinning ear to ear. He threw in another exaggerated shimmy for good measure, making Wanda laugh so hard she had to clutch the counter to steady herself.
Wanda wasn’t about to give up. She danced closer to Jungkook, her hands on her hips. “You’re not too cool to dance with your family, are you?” she teased, her voice sing-song and playful.
Jungkook sighed dramatically, setting down the plate he’d been drying. “Fine,” he muttered, stepping forward. “But only so you’ll stop bugging me.”
At first, his movements were stiff and awkward. He shuffled his feet and swayed half-heartedly, his face betraying his discomfort. Wanda whooped, clapping her hands, while Jung-Hyun burst into laughter.
“Wow, you’ve got so much rhythm,” Jung-Hyun teased. “Maybe take it down a notch before you hurt yourself.”
Jungkook shot him a look, but gradually, his reluctance began to melt away. He copied Wanda’s spins and kicks, finding the beat in his own careful way. Slowly but surely, he began to loosen up, his lips twitching upward in spite of himself.
The three of them danced together, their laughter echoing through the kitchen. Wanda threw her arms up and clapped above her head, Jung-Hyun tried (and failed) to moonwalk across the tiles, and Jungkook broke into an exaggerated, awkward robot dance that sent Wanda into a fit of giggles.
Soap suds clung to their forearms, and their mismatched socks skidded across the wet floor, but none of them cared. The music blared, the dishes were forgotten, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the house was filled with pure, unrestrained joy.
By the time the song ended, all three of them were breathless, leaning against the counters and laughing so hard their sides hurt. The world outside, with all its weirdness and worries, felt miles away.
In that kitchen, with the radio still playing softly and the laughter lingering in the air, everything felt lighter.
The beach pulsed with life, alive with the energy of the night. Bonfires dotted the shore like beacons, their golden flames licking at the dark sky. The firelight danced on the waves, casting fleeting shadows that wove in and out of the frothy surf. The air was thick with the mingling scents of salt, smoke, and the faint tang of sunscreen lingering on sunburnt skin. Everywhere, people moved in chaotic clusters, talking too loud and laughing like the night would never end.
Jungkook and Jung-Hyun navigated the throng, weaving between groups sprawled on blankets or perched on coolers, dodging the occasional stray Frisbee. Jung-Hyun was preoccupied, fussing over his appearance with the nervous energy of someone painfully aware of how much they didn’t fit in. His shirt was crisp, the kind of brand-new that still carried faint fold lines, and he tugged at the sleeves like they didn’t belong to him. His hands repeatedly flew to his hair, smoothing it, ruffling it, then smoothing it again, as though he could bully the stubborn strands into submission.
“Stop fidgeting,” Jungkook said, his tone hovering somewhere between teasing and affectionate.
Jung-Hyun shot him a look, his lips pressed tight. “I can’t help it. My hair sucks. My clothes suck. I suck.”
Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re fine.”
“I want to change everything—my hair, my clothes, my face,” Jung-Hyun muttered, his voice muffled as he glared down at his sneakers.
Jungkook grinned, nudging him lightly. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply.
Jung-Hyun snorted, the words bouncing off him like rain on a windshield. But before he could argue, the music crashed over them, huge and consuming. They had reached the boardwalk steps, where a makeshift stage had been set up, and a rock band was tearing into a blistering set. The bass thrummed in the air, so heavy it felt like a second heartbeat.
The crowd here was different from the groups scattered on the beach. It wasn’t casual. It was raw, electric. People danced with abandon, their bodies moving like they were possessed by the rhythm. The energy was infectious, a kind of wild freedom that made Jung-Hyun falter for a moment, unsure if he wanted to dive in or retreat.
Jungkook, however, was unbothered. He guided them through the chaos, stepping over discarded cups and swerving around flailing arms as if he’d done it a hundred times before. The heat of the crowd, the press of bodies, the unrelenting noise—all of it blurred together into a haze of sound and motion.
And then, Jungkook saw her.
She was standing just outside the crowd, close enough to feel the pulse of the music but far enough to remain untouched by the frenzy. The first thing he noticed was how still she was, like the eye of a storm. Her hair fell in loose waves that caught the light of the stage, glowing like a halo against the darkness. She was tall, or maybe it was just the way she carried herself—self-assured in a way that made the world seem to tilt ever so slightly around her.
Her eyes were what stopped him.
Even from a distance, they drew him in, dark and deep and filled with something he couldn’t quite name. She wasn’t staring at the stage like everyone else; her gaze flicked across the crowd with a kind of detached curiosity, as if she were observing rather than participating. She didn’t look like she belonged to the chaos, but rather like she had been dropped into it by mistake.
She wasn’t alone. A boy stood beside her, younger than her, with a mop of dark hair and a face that seemed too perfect, too polished. He clung to her presence like a lifeline, but something about the way she stood—the slight angle of her body, the distance in her gaze—made it clear she wasn’t his. She wasn’t anyone’s.
Then, as if pulled by an invisible thread, her eyes lifted and met Jungkook’s.
In that moment, the world stopped.
The music faded to a dull hum, the crowd blurred into shadow, and it was just the two of them—two strangers suspended in a fleeting moment that felt more real than anything around them. Jungkook’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with something he couldn’t explain. He didn’t know her, but somehow, it didn’t feel like the first time he’d seen her. She wasn’t smiling, but there was something in her gaze that made the air between them hum.
A smile tugged at his lips, tentative and genuine. His heart thudded against his ribs, faster now, like it was trying to keep up with the energy of the moment.
She didn’t smile back.
Instead, her expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across her face. She turned away, reaching for the younger boy’s hand. Without a word, she slipped into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of moving bodies as quickly as she’d appeared.
Jungkook blinked, as if waking from a dream. The noise of the world rushed back in, sudden and overwhelming. He stood frozen for a moment, his pulse still racing, before grabbing Jung-Hyun by the arm.
“Come on,” he said, his voice sharp with urgency.
“What?” Jung-Hyun protested, stumbling to keep up as Jungkook pulled him toward the spot where she had vanished. “What’s going on? Where are we going?”
But Jungkook didn’t answer. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t put words to the pull he felt in his chest. All he knew was that he couldn’t just let her disappear. Not yet.
A few blocks away from the chaos of the beach, the pier was quieter, though it still buzzed with its own brand of energy. The sound of waves lapping against the pilings mixed with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. Wanda walked along the weathered wooden boards, her soft summer skirt twisting and snapping in the ocean breeze. Strings of fairy lights hung between the posts of waterfront restaurants, their reflections shimmering in the dark water below. The air smelled of fried food, saltwater, and the faint tang of gasoline drifting from nearby boat rental stands.
She passed a souvenir shop, its windows crammed with snow globes, gaudy seashell necklaces, and T-shirts printed with slogans like I Survived the Santa Carla Summer! Farther down, a man with wild gray hair and a tie-dye shirt stood atop a crate, gesturing wildly as he shouted into the night about peace, love, and some convoluted conspiracy involving UFOs and the local mayor. Wanda slowed her pace, amused by the spectacle.
Nearby, a tourist couple paused, watching the man with wide-eyed curiosity. Wanda stepped closer to them, her voice light and teasing as she said, “I think I dated that guy once.”
The couple laughed, startled, and Wanda smiled briefly before moving on. They melted into the crowd, swept away by the flow of people enjoying the warm summer evening.
Her smile faded as she approached a weathered kiosk plastered with layers of flyers. Most of them were the usual clutter—ads for fishing charters, yoga classes, and overpriced apartments—but it was the other flyers, the ones with grainy, faded photos of missing children, that gave her pause.
She stopped, her eyes scanning the rows of somber faces staring back at her. A woman was standing nearby, taping up a new flyer. Wanda glanced at it. This one wasn’t for a child. It was a man—a security guard, his round, friendly face frozen in a photograph that seemed too cheerful for the bold “MISSING” written above it.
Their eyes met briefly. Wanda gave the woman a small, understanding nod, her expression softening with shared sadness, before moving on. She barely glanced at the "HELP WANTED" sign taped to the window of a nearby restaurant before something else caught her attention—a boy, maybe six or seven years old, standing alone in the swirl of tourists.
His small figure stood out, still and unsure amid the constant motion of the crowd. Wanda hesitated, scanning the area for someone who might belong to him. No one came forward. Her heart squeezed as she approached him, crouching down to his level.
“Hey,” she said softly, her voice gentle but steady. “Are you lost?”
The boy nodded, his eyes wide and glassy. His lip trembled, and Wanda could see the fear creeping up on him like a storm cloud.
“It’s okay,” she said, holding out her hand. “We’ll find whoever you’re looking for, I promise.”
The boy slipped his small hand into hers, and Wanda led him carefully through the throng of tourists. Her eyes darted from face to face, searching for someone who might be panicking, calling out a name, looking for this boy. But no one seemed to notice.
The glow of a neon sign caught her attention—a video store with the words REWIND PARADISE flashing in bright pink and blue. She pushed open the door, the buzzer overhead letting out a sharp metallic ding.
The store smelled faintly of dust and nostalgia. It was a strange mishmash of glossy VHS tapes, fading movie posters, and shelves of kitschy souvenirs. Dozens of small TVs mounted along the walls played a chaotic mix of cartoons, music videos, and movie trailers. Their colors bled together, turning the air into a kaleidoscope of light.
Behind the counter, Hoseok Jung looked up, his face breaking into a wide grin when he saw Wanda. Hoseok was younger than most business owners in town, with an easy smile and a perpetually relaxed demeanor.
“Wanda!” he greeted warmly, his hands resting on the counter. But before he could say more, the buzzer sounded again.
A group of boys sauntered in, their entrance marked by loud, cocky laughter. They moved with practiced swagger, dressed in leather jackets and ripped jeans, their energy brash and unapologetic. At the head of the group was Jimin, his sharp smile brimming with mischief.
Hoseok’s expression hardened instantly. “I told you not to come in here anymore,” he said, his voice firm but calm.
Jimin just smiled wider, unbothered. He led his crew deeper into the store, their boots scuffing loudly against the floor.
Wanda stepped forward, the little boy still clutching her hand. “This boy seems to be lost,” she said, her voice cutting cleanly through the tension.
Before Hoseok could respond, the door flew open again, and a young woman burst inside. Her face was flushed with panic, her eyes wild until they landed on the boy.
“Terry!” she cried, rushing forward to scoop him into her arms. Her relief was palpable as she hugged him tightly, tears streaming down her face. She turned to Wanda and Hoseok, thanking them over and over, her voice shaking.
Hoseok handed the boy a lollipop from a jar on the counter, giving him a kind smile before the two of them disappeared back into the night.
Then, with a playful flourish, he held another lollipop out to Wanda. “For you.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “No, thanks,” she said, smiling.
As she turned back to the door, the Lost Boys shuffled past, their presence leaving a faint charge in the air. Jimin lingered for a second, his sharp eyes flicking to Hoseok before he followed his crew outside.
“They’re just kids,” Wanda said, watching as the boys climbed onto their bikes, revving the engines before roaring off into the night.
“Wild kids,” Hoseok corrected, leaning casually against the counter.
Wanda’s lips curved into a wry smile. “We were wild once too. Only they dress better.”
Hoseok chuckled, his smile softening. “You’ve got a generous nature, Wanda. I like that in a person. My name’s Hoseok.”
“Wanda,” she replied, her tone light but sincere.
“So,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “what brings you into my fine establishment? Looking for a tape? I’ve got the best selection in Santa Carla.”
She shook her head. “Not looking for a tape.” She hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the counter. “What I need is—”
“A job,” Hoseok finished for her, his knowing grin widening.
Wanda sighed, half-laughing. “Do I look that desperate?”
“Desperate? Nah,” he said, waving a hand. “But you’ve got that look.”
Meanwhile, back on the boardwalk, Jungkook was still moving, weaving through the thick, lively crowd as though propelled by some invisible force. Jung-Hyun trailed behind him, his sneakers scuffing against the wooden planks in protest. The boardwalk was alive, bursting with sound and energy—music blared from arcades, vendors shouted about hot dogs and funnel cakes, and the occasional scream from a rollercoaster in the distance punctuated the cacophony.
“Where are we going?” Jung-Hyun demanded, his tone a mixture of irritation and confusion as he tried to match Jungkook’s pace.
“Nowhere,” Jungkook said distractedly, his eyes scanning every corner of the bustling boardwalk.
“Then why the rush?” Jung-Hyun huffed, throwing his arms up dramatically. He finally pieced it together, narrowing his eyes at Jungkook’s focused expression. “You’re chasing that girl, aren’t you? Just admit it! I’m at the mercy of your sex glands!”
Jungkook didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him. He simply picked up his pace, his head turning side to side as though he might spot her any second.
Jung-Hyun groaned, finally grinding to a halt. “You’re unbelievable. Chasing some random girl through a crowd like you’re in a bad romance movie. You know what? Forget it. I’ve got better things to do than play sidekick in your hormonal escapades.”
Jungkook barely acknowledged him, muttering, “Then go.” His attention was glued to the sea of faces ahead, his heart pounding as if she might be just around the next corner.
Rolling his eyes, Jung-Hyun turned on his heel and wandered toward a small, cluttered storefront that had caught his eye. Above the doorway hung a crooked sign that read Collector’s Den Comics and Oddities. The window display was crammed with stacks of faded comics, dusty action figures, and cardboard cutouts of superheroes whose colors had long since faded in the sun.
The inside of the shop was dimly lit and smelled like old paper and wood polish, the air heavy with nostalgia. The faint sound of a box fan hummed from somewhere in the back. Jung-Hyun stepped inside, the buzz of the boardwalk fading into a muffled background hum. He wandered the narrow aisles, his fingers grazing over the spines of comic books lined up in rows. Each one seemed to whisper a story, waiting to be uncovered.
As he turned a corner, he spotted two boys hunched over a large box of comics. They were lean, sharp-featured, and looked like they’d walked straight out of an action movie, all leather jackets and cocky attitudes. They moved with an air of self-importance, stacking comics on the shelves as though the task were life or death.
“You can’t put Superman DC #3400 with the #500s,” Jung-Hyun said casually, stopping in his tracks and pointing to the offending stack. “Different artist. Different era.”
The two boys froze, their heads snapping up to stare at him. It was as though he’d spoken some forbidden language. One of them, the taller of the two with sharp cheekbones and hair that flopped into his eyes, frowned and leaned closer to inspect the comics in question.
“He’s right,” Seokjin muttered, nudging the other boy, Namjoon.
Namjoon’s face twisted in annoyance. “Great. A critic,” he grumbled but began rearranging the stack begrudgingly.
Jung-Hyun smirked, stepping closer and glancing at the shelves around them. “And those Archies? Yeah, they don’t belong here. They go with the Richie Rich comics. Over there.” He pointed to the far corner of the store.
Namjoon shot him a look that could curdle milk. “Where the hell are you from, Krypton?”
“Phoenix, actually,” Jung-Hyun replied without missing a beat, clearly unbothered by the hostility. He reached out to pick up a nearby comic, flipping through the pages with practiced ease. “And no, I’m not just passing through. I’m a resident as of today. So yeah, you’ll probably be seeing a lot of me.”
Namjoon rolled his eyes and reached for a comic off the shelf. He thrust it into Jung-Hyun’s hands with a little too much force.
“If you’re gonna live here,” Namjoon said, his tone clipped, “you’ll need this.”
Jung-Hyun glanced down at the cover. Vampires Everywhere, the title screamed in bold red letters, the art depicting a grotesque vampire with sharp fangs and glowing red eyes.
“I don’t like horror comics,” Jung-Hyun said, holding it back out toward Namjoon.
Seokjin, who had been quietly watching the exchange, suddenly smirked. His expression was knowing, almost conspiratorial. “This one isn’t for fun,” he said, his voice low. “It’s for survival.”
Jung-Hyun raised an eyebrow, unsure if they were messing with him or if they were just that weird. Namjoon didn’t elaborate, just gave him a long, unreadable look before turning back to the box of comics.
“Okay,” Jung-Hyun said slowly, setting the comic down on a nearby stack. “Well, thanks for the… advice?”
Namjoon didn’t look up, but Seokjin gave him a sly smile. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
Feeling more puzzled than ever, Jung-Hyun turned and made his way back toward the front of the store. The boardwalk’s noise greeted him as he stepped outside, but he couldn’t shake the strange, lingering tension he’d felt in the shop.
Out on the boardwalk, Jungkook was still nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, Jung-Hyun stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked right back inside. The comic shop boys’ cryptic words buzzed faintly in the back of his mind, but he shook them off. This town was already weird enough without adding cryptic warnings about horror comics into the mix.
The boardwalk came alive at night, a kaleidoscope of lights, noise, and energy that felt almost electric. It was a place where the ordinary became extraordinary—where the sea breeze carried not just the scent of salt and funnel cakes but the promise of something strange and fleeting, something that could only happen here. Jungkook moved through the crowd with a quiet determination, his pace steady but purposeful. His eyes swept over the faces, the swirl of colors, the dizzying spin of carnival rides in the distance, all of it blurring into a background that didn’t matter. He was looking for her.
The music spilling from the rides and arcades thumped faintly in his chest, the sound layered with the shouts of vendors, the laughter of teenagers, and the occasional crash of the ocean against the shore. The air tasted alive, charged, and Jungkook inhaled deeply, his heart hammering in sync with the chaotic rhythm around him.
It wasn’t hard to spot her. Even in the sea of people, she stood out, moving through the chaos like a ripple of calm in a storm. There was something about her—something in the way she walked, like she existed on the edges of the world, separate and untouchable, carrying a quiet grace that the noise couldn’t reach. Beside her, the boy stayed close, clutching her hand as if it were his anchor. His wide, nervous eyes darted around, not quite fitting in with the dazzling, almost surreal energy of the boardwalk.
Jungkook trailed behind them, keeping a careful distance. He told himself it wasn’t obvious—just a passing coincidence that he happened to be walking the same direction. But the truth was harder to deny with each step he took. His heart pounded, louder than the music, louder than the carnival barker shouting about ring toss prizes. He didn’t know what he was going to say if he caught up to her, or even if he should say anything at all. Yet the idea of letting her slip away, of losing her in this sea of strangers, felt unbearable.
She stopped suddenly, turning on her heel so sharply that Jungkook nearly stumbled. Her eyes locked onto his, cutting straight through the crowd, the noise, the distance. They were steady and unflinching, a quiet challenge that made his breath catch.
“Are you following me?” she asked, her voice clear and calm, slicing through the din like a blade.
Jungkook froze. For a moment, he was nothing but a deer caught in headlights, all his bravado crumbling in the face of her directness. “Well, I...” he began, his voice faltering as the words tangled in his throat.
Her head tilted slightly, her expression more curious than hostile. She wasn’t accusing him—she was asking. It gave him just enough courage to speak.
“Did you want to talk to me?” she prompted when he hesitated, her tone laced with faint amusement, like she was humoring him.
He swallowed hard, scrambling for something to say. “Yeah. Sure. I mean—yeah.”
Her eyebrows lifted expectantly, her gaze steady as she waited. “Okay. Talk.”
Jungkook’s mind went blank. He wanted to say something meaningful, something that would make her stay, something that would explain why he felt like the world had tilted when he first saw her. But all he could manage was, “I, uh... I just thought you looked... different.”
Her lips curved, just barely, into the faintest hint of a smile. It wasn’t mockery; it was curiosity. Before he could say anything else—before he could even begin to gather his thoughts—Jung-Hyun appeared at his side, panting and clutching a comic book like it was a prize he’d fought to win.
“Mom’s here,” Jung-Hyun announced, his voice cutting through the moment with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.
The girl’s gaze flicked to Jung-Hyun, then to the comic in his hands. The almost-smile returned, softer this time, and she looked back at Jungkook. “Nice talking to you,” she said, her voice teasing but not unkind. Then she turned, the boy beside her clinging to her hand as they melted back into the crowd.
Jungkook stood rooted to the spot, watching her disappear until the lights and movement swallowed her whole. He let out a slow breath, his chest tight, his heart still hammering as though he’d run a mile.
Later, Jungkook leaned against the family’s battered Rover, arguing with Wanda while Jung-Hyun climbed into the backseat, already thumbing through his newly acquired comic.
“It’s early,” Jungkook protested, crossing his arms. “Why do we have to leave already?”
Wanda raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Early? It’s past ten, Jungkook. Bring your own wheels tomorrow night, and you can stay as long as you want. Well—until eleven thirty. Maybe.”
“I’ll hitch,” Jungkook shot back, his tone challenging.
“Oh, no, you won’t,” Wanda retorted, her arms folding across her chest in a way that brooked no argument.
From inside the car, Jung-Hyun chimed in with a smirk, his voice light and teasing. “Mom, you hitched all the way to Berkeley once, remember?”
Jungkook seized the opening immediately. “Yeah, Mom!”
Wanda sighed, shaking her head but unable to hide the flicker of amusement on her face. “Five minutes,” she relented finally, pointing a finger at him for emphasis. “Five. And if you’re not back by then, I’m leaving without you.”
Jungkook didn’t wait for her to change her mind. He was already disappearing into the crowd, his heart racing as he retraced his steps.
From the backseat, Jung-Hyun leaned out the window, grinning knowingly. “He met a girl,” he said, his tone dripping with mischief.
Wanda rolled her eyes, pulling the driver’s door open and sliding into the seat. “I guess no one cares that I got a job today.”
Jung-Hyun didn’t miss a beat. “Can we get a TV now?” he asked, deadpan.
Wanda laughed despite herself, shaking her head as she started the car. “Priorities, I swear.”
Jungkook’s heart pounded in his chest as he stepped back onto the boardwalk, his eyes scanning the familiar yet chaotic scene. The noise and colors blurred around him, but his gaze was fixed on her, the girl who seemed to haunt his thoughts even when she wasn’t there. He’d caught glimpses of her throughout the night, like an elusive shadow dancing on the edge of his perception, but this time, he knew he was close. He could feel it in the way his pulse quickened, the way his steps moved a little faster, almost instinctively, as if his body knew exactly where he was headed.
And then, there she was again, standing near the edge of the boardwalk. But this time, she wasn’t alone.
A group of boys surrounded her, each one with a presence that seemed to carve out space in the world around them. Their laughter was loud, reckless, the kind that echoed off the boardwalk like a challenge thrown out to the universe. They wore leather jackets, the worn, well-loved kind that had seen a thousand nights under neon lights. Their motorcycles were parked haphazardly nearby, engines still warm from the ride, the chrome shining in the streetlights like predators waiting to pounce.
Jungkook’s stomach tightened, the familiar knot of unease twisting deeper inside him. He stopped in his tracks, just a few steps away from the group, watching her. She was standing with them, her hand resting lightly on Moon’s shoulder—his girl, it seemed—but there was something about her that didn’t quite fit. Something in the way she stood, the way her eyes lingered a little too long on the horizon, as though she were somewhere else, somewhere apart from the chaos that swirled around her. She didn’t belong to them, not entirely. Not the way they belonged to each other.
Jungkook’s presence didn’t go unnoticed. The boys all turned their eyes toward him, their stares cutting through the noise. Their expressions were unreadable, too cool to be bothered, yet there was something about the way they looked at him that made his skin crawl. It wasn’t hostility, not the kind he’d expected. It was worse. It was indifference. They didn’t see him as a threat. They didn’t see him as anything at all.
A man with bright blonde hair, sharp features that could have belonged to a movie star, swung a leg over one of the bikes. His movements were smooth, practiced, like he had done this a thousand times before. His eyes found Jungkook’s for a split second, a look that seemed to say everything and nothing all at once. Without a word, he revved the engine, the sound booming in the night air like a challenge to the world itself.
The girl, his girl, climbed onto the bike behind him. She slid her arms around his waist, and for a brief moment, Jungkook saw something flicker in her eyes—a glance, a fleeting connection that made his heart tighten, his breath catch. It was there, and then it was gone, replaced by the cool, disinterested mask she wore whenever she was surrounded by them. She glanced back at him just before they roared off, the sound of the engine growing louder, pulling them into the night. A flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips, something soft, almost wistful, before she disappeared into the dark expanse of the boardwalk.
Jungkook stood frozen in place, his heart still pounding in his chest. The sound of the motorcycles faded into the distance, but it felt like an eternity had passed. The bright lights of the boardwalk seemed to blur, the edges of his vision fading as the night swallowed everything around him. For a moment, he felt like the last person left on Earth. Like the world had moved on without him, leaving him behind to stand in the silence.
The laughter, the chatter, the music—everything that had once felt so alive now seemed distant, almost hollow. Jungkook's gaze remained fixed on the spot where they had disappeared, the empty space where she had just been. His mind raced, chasing the echoes of her smile, the way she had looked at him, and the way everything had slipped away just as quickly as it had appeared.
He didn’t know why he had followed her, why he couldn’t let her go. It wasn’t like him to get caught up in something so... fleeting. But now, standing alone in the middle of the boardwalk, he realized that what he had seen wasn’t just a fleeting moment. It was something deeper, something that had grabbed hold of him when he wasn’t looking. Something he couldn’t quite understand yet.
But as the lights flickered around him and the boardwalk buzzed with life, Jungkook knew one thing for sure: this wasn’t the last time he would see her. Somehow, he was certain of it.
The early morning air on the beach felt cool and crisp, the first light of dawn filtering through the haze of leftover smoke from the bonfires the night before. The sand was still warm in places, remnants of the heat that had radiated through the night, but now it was peaceful, with only the faint hum of the ocean and the occasional rustle of blankets from the few runaways still curled up on the dunes, trying to capture a few more hours of sleep.
Jungkook parked his bike near the surf rental shack, the familiar crunch of gravel beneath the tires a comforting sound. He glanced over his shoulder to see Jung-Hyun trailing behind him, dragging his surfboard in the sand like it was the heaviest thing he’d ever carried. His little brother wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here, but Jungkook had made sure to bring him along. They had always stuck together, no matter how much they teased or picked on each other. A day at the beach might’ve seemed like the last place a kid his age would want to be, but Jungkook wasn’t about to let that stop him.
Jung-Hyun sighed loudly, his voice a little more dramatic than necessary. “Do I have to do this? The ocean’s not going anywhere, you know.”
Jungkook shot him a grin, clearly enjoying the torment. “Come on, Jung-Hyun. You know, before there were malls, there was, like... the ocean,” he said, his tone almost as if he were describing some great unknown frontier, the kind of thing that would make any kid curious—if they could just get over how terrible the idea sounded at first.
Jung-Hyun didn’t seem convinced. He rolled his eyes dramatically, muttering something under his breath that Jungkook didn’t catch, but he could guess. With a sigh that was as deep as the ocean itself, Jung-Hyun reluctantly grabbed his wetsuit, pulling it on with a little too much effort, like he was preparing to enter battle.
Jungkook watched him for a second before shaking his head, unable to hold back a small laugh. “You know, if you actually wanted to be good at this, you’d have to stop complaining,” he teased, pulling his board out from the shack.
Jung-Hyun stuck his tongue out at him, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. Despite the teasing, despite the near-constant bickering, there wasn’t anyone Jungkook would rather have by his side. Even if the age gap between them was huge—Jungkook was 18, and Jung-Hyun was just 11—the bond between them was undeniable.
Jungkook led the way into the water, his athleticism taking over as he practically glided across the waves. Despite not being a surfing pro, he was fast, and his natural skill at almost anything he tried was evident as he carved through the waves with ease. For a few moments, as the saltwater sprayed his face and the waves rolled beneath his board, he forgot about everything—the mess of the town, the confusion he sometimes felt in this new place, and even the girl who seemed to slip through his thoughts every time he thought he had a grasp on her. For those brief, blissful moments, there was nothing but the water, the board, and the rush of freedom.
Jung-Hyun, on the other hand, was having a less graceful time. He tried—oh, how he tried—but after a few disastrous attempts, his board more often than not ended up nose-first in the sand, and he sat down on the shore, scowling but secretly amused at his own inability to catch a wave. His eyes never strayed too far from Jungkook, though. There was a mixture of admiration and envy on his face, his gaze flicking between his older brother and the sea, wishing that just once, he could do it too.
Even the seals on the rocks seemed more impressed with Jungkook’s natural ease, letting out loud barks that, to Jungkook’s ears, almost sounded like laughter.
Still, no matter how frustrated Jung-Hyun got, he never complained. He always stuck by Jungkook, no matter how much he might grumble about it. The teasing, the poking fun—it was all part of their relationship, the way they understood each other without even having to say a word. Jungkook might have been the older brother, but they were equals in their own way, and they had each other’s backs no matter what.
That was, until the local crew showed up.
The Swell Brigade—the so-called kings of the beach—rolled in, cutting through the waves like they owned the ocean. Greg, the leader, was the first to spot Jungkook. With his wild hair and too-wide grin, he didn’t waste any time making his presence known. “My beach, my wave, dude,” he called out, cutting directly in front of Jungkook with a smirk that could only be described as the type of arrogance that came with knowing exactly how to rattle someone.
Before Jungkook could even react, the wave he had been riding disappeared beneath him. He wiped out spectacularly, falling hard into the water, the surfboard slipping out from under him in a tangle of limbs. From the shore, the seals barked again, their noisy calls sounding like they were laughing at him as the cold water rushed over his body.
Jung-Hyun couldn’t help but laugh from the beach, watching as his brother struggled to get back on his feet. “Guess it’s not just the ocean you have to fight against, huh?” he teased, clearly enjoying the rare moment of seeing Jungkook falter.
Jungkook pushed himself up, wiping the saltwater out of his eyes with a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talking. I’ll get you next time,” he called back, unbothered by the teasing. He was more focused on getting back out there. But as he paddled back into the surf, he caught his brother’s gaze, and for a brief second, Jungkook saw the admiration and the unspoken bond between them in his younger sibling’s eyes. It was always the same, no matter how many times they picked on each other—at the end of the day, they were in it together.
As the golden light of dusk began to fade into evening, Wanda stood behind the counter of the video store, her first day on the job stretching on just a little longer. The familiar scent of popcorn, old films, and a faint hint of mildew clung to the air. The hum of the neon sign outside cast a soft glow over the aisles lined with dusty VHS tapes. Maria, the sharp-dressed cashier who had taken her under her wing, leaned casually against the counter beside her. Maria was effortlessly cool in a way that Wanda admired, with her smart blazer and confident air. She had a quick smile and a sharp tongue, the kind of person who could talk her way out of anything.
Maria was giving Wanda a crash course in customer service, showing her the register’s buttons, explaining the peculiarities of their outdated card reader, and sharing odd bits of advice about the regular customers.
“I’d be out on the street if it wasn’t for Hoseok,” Maria said, tapping a fingernail against the countertop absentmindedly. “Nobody would’ve given me a job the way I looked when I walked in here. But he doesn’t care about that. He saw something in me. And now… well, here I am. Making it work.”
Wanda nodded, genuinely impressed. “He sounds like a good guy.”
Maria smirked, eyes glinting. “You’ll find out for yourself. He’s got his quirks, but he’s loyal. If you work for him, you’re family.”
Wanda glanced around the store, her curiosity piqued. “I haven’t seen him all day. Is he coming by soon?”
Maria shrugged, one eyebrow raised. “He only comes in at night, usually. He’s busy opening another store in Los Gatos. It’s much bigger than this one.” She made a motion with her hands as if to indicate something grand, perhaps a new adventure in the making. “You know, he’s been working on that for months. I swear, if I had that much on my plate, I’d be pulling my hair out. But he seems to handle it all. Like, no sweat.”
Wanda let out a breath, both fascinated and exhausted just thinking about it. Running a business—especially more than one—had to be overwhelming. Still, something about the way Maria spoke about Hoseok made it clear that there was a respect, maybe even an affection, there.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle engine pulling up outside, its roar familiar. She turned her head, squinting through the window to see Jungkook and Jung-Hyun rolling up to the curb on Jungkook’s bike. The older of the two leaned against the handlebars as the engine sputtered to a stop.
“I’ll be right back,” Wanda muttered, glancing at Maria for a quick second. Maria just gave her a thumbs-up, then settled back against the counter.
Wanda stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against her skin. She took a few strides toward the boys, a smile already forming on her face as she saw Jung-Hyun hop off the bike with his usual energy, nearly tripping over the kickstand as he rushed to the sidewalk.
Jungkook, however, didn’t immediately get off. He kept the engine running, his face blank but his eyes scanning the area, as if he had somewhere else he needed to be.
“Hey!” Wanda greeted, hands on her hips as she tried to gauge his mood. “I get off in twenty minutes. I thought maybe we could all grab a bite together.”
Jungkook’s lips twitched in a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He shook his head without hesitation, voice flat as he said, “I’ll pass.”
Wanda opened her mouth to protest, but before she could string together an argument, Jungkook revved the engine, the loud rumble filling the air. Without another word, he peeled off into the night, tires screeching briefly before he was swallowed up by the darkness.
Wanda watched him go, the warm glow of the store lights behind her seeming to pulse in rhythm with the pang of disappointment in her chest. She exhaled slowly, trying not to feel rejected. After all, it wasn’t the first time he’d brushed her off.
Jung-Hyun, still standing at her side, turned to look at her, a faint grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “I guess we’re not eating together, huh?”
Wanda shot him a sidelong glance, trying to hide the sudden melancholy. “Looks like it,” she said, trying to make it sound casual, but she could feel the slight sting at the back of her throat.
Jung-Hyun’s grin widened, though, as he elbowed her gently, his usual energy filling the space between them. “Well, maybe you’re better off. I mean, who wants to eat with that guy anyway?” His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of concern there too. Even though he was younger, Jung-Hyun could always tell when things weren’t quite right, even when Wanda did her best to hide it.
Wanda laughed softly, her attention now fully on him. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re on my side. You’re probably just as bad as he is.”
Jung-Hyun gave her an exaggerated look of mock offense. “What? I’m the good brother,” he protested, raising his hands as though in surrender. “You can’t blame me for his bad attitude. I’m a perfectly good influence.”
Wanda rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She glanced back toward the video store, the lights from inside casting long shadows along the sidewalk. “Come on. Let’s head inside. I have to finish my shift.”
“Right,” Jung-Hyun said with a dramatic sigh, pulling at the collar of his jacket as he followed her inside. “Guess we’ll have to find someone else to eat with.”
Wanda watched him disappear inside the store, and as she followed, her thoughts lingered on Jungkook. She wasn’t sure why his rejection stung so much. Maybe it was because she had hoped, even if just for a moment, that he might have changed his mind about her. Or maybe she was just too tired of being alone in a place that still felt unfamiliar. Either way, for now, she had to focus on her job, on the small, familiar comfort of being needed.
She let out a breath, adjusting the collar of her work shirt. Tomorrow’s another day.
Jungkook adjusted the black leather jacket for the third time, tugging at the sleeves as he studied his reflection in the cracked mirror propped haphazardly against the wall of the punk shop. The leather was still stiff, the smell of newness mixed with a faint scent of the store itself. But when he looked at it—really looked—he felt something shift, like it was made just for him. The jacket fit perfectly, hugging his shoulders and waist in just the right way, like it was a part of him that he’d only just discovered.
He tested its weight by rolling his shoulders, checking how the leather moved with him, how it felt almost like a second skin. He liked it. He liked how it gave him a sense of rawness, a sense of belonging in this strange new town. The boys from the pier would wear something like this. It made him feel... dangerous, in a way that he didn’t mind at all.
After a final glance at himself, he stepped outside, the bustling energy of the boardwalk hitting him immediately. The bright lights, the laughter of strangers, the clink of coins being dropped into machines. The smell of fried dough and sunscreen hung thick in the warm evening air, mixing with the salty ocean breeze. The world felt alive around him, buzzing with an almost magnetic energy that was as much a part of him as the jacket he was wearing.
Jungkook adjusted his boots, feeling the familiar thrum of excitement that came with a night out on the pier. But something shifted as he walked, a quiet hum under his skin, like there was something else in the air. As his boots clicked against the wooden planks, his gaze flicked to a piercing stand nearby, a sharp glint catching his attention. He stopped for a moment, looking at the needle glistening under the lights.
A silver hoop, maybe. Or a stud. He imagined it in his ear, how it might change his look, give him something new.
“It’s a rip-off,” a voice interrupted his thoughts, cutting through the noise around him.
Jungkook turned, blinking in surprise. There, just behind him, was the girl. Y/N. She stood effortlessly in the glow of the boardwalk lights, her hair catching the neon hues, her lips pulled into a teasing smile. He felt a flicker of warmth in his chest at the sight of her.
“Hi,” he managed, his voice coming out a little softer, a little more breathless than he meant it to. It was a little too loud in contrast to how quiet the moment felt.
“If you want your ear pierced,” she said, as casual as if she were talking about the weather, “I’ll do it.”
Jungkook blinked, not sure if she was serious or just teasing him, but when she began walking, he didn’t hesitate for a second. He was already following her, a pull in his chest guiding him toward wherever she was going.
“What’s your name?” he asked, matching her pace, his curiosity about her growing with each step.
“Y/N,” she replied simply, glancing at him sideways, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “My mom called me Star, but that was a long time ago.”
“Oh,” Jungkook chuckled, a grin creeping up on his face. “Your folks, too, huh?”
Her eyes flicked over to him, the corner of her lips dropping just a bit in confusion. “What do you mean?”
He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly realizing how personal that was. “Ex-hippies,” he clarified with a shrug. “My mom was one. I came this close to being called Moon Child. Or Moon Beam. Or something like that.”
Y/N's lips quirked up in amusement, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “But you’re Jungkook?”
“Yeah,” he said, the grin widening on his face, not even trying to hide the joy of the moment. “But Y/N’s great. I like Y/N.”
Her smile softened, her eyes not leaving his as she spoke with a quiet warmth. “Me too.”
Jungkook felt something—he couldn’t quite place it—flutter in his chest, like he’d just taken a step closer to something real, something important. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt like they’d already crossed some invisible line, something that made him feel oddly at ease around her. More comfortable than he’d ever felt with someone he barely knew.
“I’m Jungkook,” he said, almost as if the words had slipped out without him thinking about them.
Y/N glanced at him again, her smile growing wider as she echoed his tone, mirroring his playful inflection. “Jungkook’s great. I like Jungkook.”
The simple words, said with such lightness, made Jungkook’s heart skip. She wasn’t trying to impress him or charm him—she was just being herself, and something about it felt effortless. Almost like he was meant to be here, walking beside her, sharing this strange, beautiful little moment.
They walked in silence for a moment, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, like they had known each other for years. He could feel the space between them closing with each step they took, and the more they walked, the more he realized just how easy it felt to be around her.
“I guess you’re new around here,” she said, breaking the silence, her voice as steady as ever.
“Sort of,” Jungkook replied, glancing over at her, feeling that tug of connection again. “We used to come here in the summers when I was a kid. Now we’re here... permanently.”
Y/N’s eyes softened a little, and Jungkook could almost feel the quiet happiness that flickered across her face. It was subtle, but there—like she was glad to hear it, glad to know he wasn’t just passing through.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, his nerves catching up to him for a second. But before he could second-guess himself, he added, “Wanna get something to eat?”
She tilted her head slightly, like she was considering it for a moment. Her gaze locked onto his with an intensity that almost made him forget how to breathe, but when she spoke, her voice was light, almost teasing. “Okay.”
The simple word—so casual, so effortless—made Jungkook’s chest tighten in a way he couldn’t quite explain. But he didn’t have to. All that mattered was that they were walking together, side by side, and in that moment, it felt like nothing else mattered.
They walked side by side, their footsteps falling into a rhythm that seemed too easy to be real. The boardwalk lights flickered above them, casting long shadows that stretched and swayed like ghosts across the weathered wood beneath their feet. But the flicker of the lights, the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees—they didn’t matter. Nothing around them seemed to matter. It was just the two of them, the distance between them narrowing with each step, each shared glance, each word.
Jungkook couldn’t quite place it, the feeling gnawing at him. It wasn’t bad, but it was strange. They’d only just met, yet already, it felt like he’d known her for years. There was something about Y/N that made him feel like he was coming home to something familiar—something he didn’t know he was missing. Maybe it was the way she was so effortlessly herself, so sure of her place in the world. She didn’t seem rushed, didn’t seem burdened by the small things that typically weighed him down. And that made him feel lighter somehow, as if it was okay to just exist in the same space without needing anything to be different.
He could feel the pull to be around her without even trying. And the way she teased him—it wasn’t mocking, but a game. A game he wasn’t quite sure how to play, but he wanted to learn.
"So," Jungkook said, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence. "You really think you can pierce my ear?"
Y/N’s lips curved into that mischievous smile, the one that always made his stomach do that little flip. She glanced over at him, her eyes sparkling with a challenge. "Why not? I’ve got a steady hand." She said it with such confidence that for a moment, he almost believed her. Almost.
"I’m pretty sure this is a bad idea," Jungkook said, his voice betraying a laugh that bubbled up before he could stop it. "What if you give me an infection or something?"
Y/N raised an eyebrow, the playful seriousness of her expression making it hard to tell whether she was joking or not. "Well, Jungkook, if you want to not look like a total badass, that’s on you. But if you want to wear a hoop like a rock star, you’ve gotta risk it."
Jungkook snorted, the joke wasn’t even that funny, but the way she delivered it—so deadpan and serious—made it hilarious. It wasn’t just a laugh; it was a real laugh. The kind that made his chest warm and his stomach hurt in the best possible way. He hadn’t realized how much he needed something like that until it happened.
The distance between them continued to shrink, their laughter and easy conversation weaving the space between them into something comfortable, something almost… familiar. She didn’t mind his jokes, or the fact that sometimes, he wasn’t as quick with the witty remarks as she was. Instead, she laughed, genuinely, because she liked the way he saw things. And with every word exchanged, every laugh shared, Jungkook felt it—a pull, something deeper than just curiosity. He wanted to know more, not just about her, but about her, the kind of knowing that didn’t come with explanations.
"So," Jungkook said, his voice softening, the playful tone gone as quickly as it came. "Tell me about yourself. What’s your story? I mean, we’re talking about my potential ear piercing, but I don’t even know where you’re from."
Y/N’s expression shifted, her eyes losing focus for a moment, as if she were thinking about what to say. She wasn’t a stranger to silence, to careful words. He could tell that much. And when she spoke, her voice was quieter, the words more measured, as though each one held some kind of weight.
"I’m from Portland," she said, as if it was nothing, as if it was something everyone knew, and maybe it was, in her world.
She shrugged a little, the motion easy, but Jungkook could feel the tension in it, the way it tugged at her—she wasn’t giving him the whole story. And that was fine. He wasn’t in a rush to have her spill everything all at once. He could wait.
"And your parents?" he asked, curiosity slipping out before he had a chance to stop it.
Y/N’s smile twisted into something wry, and for the first time, she looked like someone who was used to telling stories she didn’t quite want to share. "Eh," she said. "My mom’s a character. You’d probably get along with her—she’s all about living life on the edge, never sticking to the rules. But she’s also a bit of a hippie. She’s got this whole free spirit thing going on. Dad’s the opposite. My brother is… indifferent, for the most part. He was my only friend for a while."
Jungkook’s grin matched hers, the corners of his mouth pulling upward in a way that felt good. "Sounds like my kind of people."
Y/N’s eyes glinted with amusement. "I thought you might say that," she teased, her voice dropping into that same playful rhythm. "So, what about you? You’ve got the whole ‘tough guy in a leather jacket’ vibe going on. What’s your deal?"
Jungkook rolled his eyes, but the smile that tugged at his lips couldn’t be suppressed. "I’m not tough. You just haven’t seen me cry yet."
Y/N’s laugh was loud and unrestrained. The kind of laugh that didn’t just fill the space—it took over it. Jungkook felt a warmth spread through his chest, something real and unforced. It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t because she had to. It was because she wanted to. She threw her head back, the sound of her laugh making her seem so much more carefree, so much more alive. In that moment, she wasn’t trying to hide anything. She wasn’t holding back.
"Yeah, I can see that," she said, still laughing. "You’re definitely more ‘brooding tough guy’ than ‘vulnerable softie.’"
"I can be soft," Jungkook protested, laughing at himself. "You just haven’t seen it yet."
"I’ll take your word for it," she replied, her eyes sparkling with something deeper now, something that felt like understanding. Maybe even acceptance.
The conversation shifted back into something easy, something familiar. Neither of them seemed to be in a rush to get to the car. The walk, which should have been a mere ten minutes, felt like it stretched into hours. Every moment between them felt too significant to let go of too quickly. Every glance, every word, every shared silence was like a promise. And Jungkook realized, somewhere in the middle of all of it, how strange it was—how close he already felt to her.
It wasn’t just the jokes, or the teasing, or the stories they shared. It was something else. Something deeper. It was the way she understood him, without him having to explain it. The way she seemed to know when he was holding back and when he needed to laugh, even when the joke wasn’t all that funny. She just… got him. In a way that didn’t require any kind of explanation, and for the first time in a long time, Jungkook felt that same understanding reflected back at him.
"You really know how to make me laugh," he said, his voice low, the words slipping out before he had a chance to think them through.
Y/N glanced at him sideways, surprise flashing across her face, before a small, shy smile tugged at her lips. "I’m glad I’m good for something."
Jungkook stopped walking for a moment, turning to face her fully. His words came out before he had a chance to consider the weight of them. "You’re good for a lot more than that."
Y/N looked up at him then, her gaze steady, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped. The sounds around them faded, the air thickened, and it was just the two of them, standing on the boardwalk, looking at each other like they were seeing something more than just the surface.
They didn’t move, didn’t speak for a few moments. The soft hum of the boardwalk was the only sound that remained. The lights overhead flickered in time with their steps, their rhythm so naturally synced it felt like they’d been walking together for years.
"So, Oregon, huh?" Jungkook asked, breaking the silence, his voice quieter now, a little softer.
Y/N stiffened just a fraction, only for a second, before she shook it off, her lips pressing together, as if the mention of home held more than she was ready to share.
"Yeah," she said after a beat, her tone casual but guarded. "It’s beautiful there, you know? The forests, the coast. It’s like a different world."
Jungkook nodded, sensing the hesitation in her voice. He didn’t push it. "Sounds nice. I’ve always wanted to go, actually. Never had the chance."
Y/N’s gaze shifted ahead, her eyes becoming distant, and for a second, it felt like she was somewhere else entirely. Jungkook caught the faintest tension in her shoulders before she shrugged, as if shaking off whatever thoughts had clouded her mind. “It’s nice, yeah. But I mean, you know how it is. Home’s just a place, right?”
The way she said it made something inside him stir, like there was more she wasn’t saying. More she wasn’t ready to share. Jungkook’s instincts told him to be careful, but his curiosity pulled him closer, even if just for a moment. He took a half step toward her, trying not to crowd her space, but close enough to show he was genuinely interested. “Yeah,” he said slowly, not wanting to press too hard but feeling something pull at him. “So, what’s it like… leaving all that behind?”
She didn’t look at him right away. Her eyes stayed trained on the path ahead, and he could see her jaw tighten ever so slightly, like she was steeling herself against the question. But just as quickly, she relaxed, the tension in her posture easing. A half-laugh escaped her lips, and when she finally glanced at him, there was that playful spark in her eyes again. “You sound like an interview or something.”
Jungkook blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her tone. She grinned, and for a second, he was unsure whether to feel relieved or more confused. “It’s not that bad, really. People always think it’s this big dramatic thing. But it’s not. You just... leave, and then you figure things out.”
He didn’t press further. There was something in her voice that told him she wasn’t ready to unpack it all. Instead, he smiled and decided to pivot to safer ground. “So what about that piercing thing?” he asked, keeping his tone light. “You serious about giving me a piercing?”
Her smile widened, the teasing edge back in full force. “You really wanna know about my ear-piercing skills?” she asked with a playful challenge in her voice. “Okay, fine. I don’t have a license for it, but I promise I’m great with a needle. You trust me, right?”
Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t know, Y/N. I think I’ll pass on that one.”
They both chuckled, and the conversation flowed with that easy, back-and-forth rhythm that felt familiar despite the newness between them. It was like they were already comfortable with each other, as if they’d been doing this forever. But still, Jungkook couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more beneath the surface of her words. The way she’d brushed off Oregon. The way her tone had shifted just a little too quickly when he’d asked about it. It made him wonder what she was really running from.
"Anyway," Y/N said, almost as if sensing the change in his thoughts, her voice light but the shift unmistakable. "What about you? How’d you end up here?"
Jungkook felt the weight of the question, and though a part of him wanted to keep the door open for her, to ask her about her story, he decided to answer first. After all, they were still strangers, and maybe it was too soon to dig deep into the stuff they both seemed to be hiding. He could feel the subtle distance between them now, but he didn’t mind. Not yet.
“Well,” he said, falling back into the easy rhythm of their conversation, “we used to come here for summers when I was a kid. But this time... it’s permanent. My family moved here recently.”
“Permanent, huh?” Y/N mused, her voice low, thoughtful. She glanced sideways at him, her smile soft but knowing. “That’s a big deal.”
Jungkook caught the look in her eyes, something like recognition, something like a shared understanding. She didn’t press, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew more about what “permanent” really meant than she was letting on. Instead of pushing, he laughed lightly, keeping the tone playful. “Yeah, same sob story as everyone else. Divorce, mom kept the kids, dad left never to be seen again, and we moved for a fresh start.”
For a moment, the silence between them felt like the weight of their unspoken stories hanging in the air. The conversation drifted on after that, touching on trivial things—movies they liked, music they both hated, the weirdness of growing up in a place that never quite felt like home. But even in those small moments, Jungkook felt like they were already sharing something deeper, something unspoken that didn’t need to be said. Every word, every glance, pulled him closer to her, like they were orbiting each other in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
They were almost to his bike when the sound of motorcycles roared into the parking lot, their engines loud and confident in the still night. The Lost Boys appeared in a rush of leather and chrome, the air around them thick with their presence. Moon was perched behind Yoongi, small but wiry, full of restless energy. Jimin’s Triumph gleamed under the boardwalk lights, its polished chrome a stark contrast to the dust and grit of the surrounding night.
Jungkook felt a knot form in his stomach. He didn’t need to count the bikes to know he was outnumbered. Outclassed.
Jimin’s gaze locked onto them, and more specifically, onto Y/N. “Where you going?” he asked, his voice casual but edged with something sharper, like a challenge that wasn’t quite obvious yet.
“For a ride,” Y/N replied, her tone even, unfazed.
Jimin tilted his head, his lip curling into a smirk, half amusement, half something else. “With him?” he asked, gesturing toward Jungkook.
“Yeah,” Y/N said, and for a moment, her words hung in the air between them, defiant, a challenge in their own right.
Jimin revved his engine, the sound vibrating through Jungkook’s chest, making his pulse quicken. The other Lost Boys exchanged quick, unreadable glances. Jungkook could feel the air thicken, like something was about to happen, something that was only just starting to unravel.
“I’m Jimin,” he said, his tone friendly in the way a lion might introduce itself to a gazelle. He gestured lazily toward the others. “Yoongi. Taehyung. Taeyang.”
From the back of Yoongi’s bike, Moon piped up, his voice eager. “Hi, I’m Moon!”
Y/N turned to Jungkook then, nodding toward him. “This is Jungkook.”
A heavy silence hung over the group, thick with unspoken words. Jungkook shifted, feeling the tension between them like a live wire in the air.
“So,” he said, trying to break the silence, “we still going?”
Jimin’s eyes flicked to Jungkook’s bike, then back to him, calculating. “Honda 250, huh?”
“That’s right,” Jungkook said, his voice steady, even though his hands were itching to just leave. To make it stop, to get away from the pressure building in his chest.
Jimin smiled, that sharp, knowing smile that made Jungkook feel like he was being sized up. “C’mon, Y/N. Climb on.”
Jungkook’s chest tightened, his heart racing. “Y/N?”
For a moment, she hesitated, and Jungkook saw it—just a flicker of something soft in her eyes, a small moment where she seemed to reconsider. But then, with a smile that was almost apologetic, she stepped past him, her movements fluid as she swung onto Jimin’s bike, her arms wrapping around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Jungkook’s jaw clenched.
“Know where Hudson’s Bluff is?” Jimin asked, his voice rising over the rumble of the engine. “Overlooking the point?”
Jungkook didn’t answer, but he knew exactly what Jimin meant.
“You don’t have to beat me, Jungkook,” Jimin said, his smirk widening, “Just try to keep up.”
And with that, Jimin gunned the engine, the Triumph roaring to life. The others followed in a rush, their bikes kicking up gravel as they tore into the night. Y/N didn’t look back.
Jungkook climbed onto his Honda, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t have a Triumph, didn’t have the raw power Jimin’s bike had, but he had something else—grit. Enough to try to keep up, at least. The boardwalk lights were shrinking in his mirrors, but he didn’t slow down.
The motorcycles roared down the wooden steps of the boardwalk, each jolt vibrating through Jungkook's arms and legs. His grip tightened on the handlebars as the bikes bounced over the uneven ground, the sound of the engines mixing with the crash of waves against the shore. Behind him, the beach stretched out—empty save for the scattered, startled couples who shrank back as the Lost Boys ripped through the sand, leaving behind a trail of chaos and dust.
Jungkook didn’t know why he was still following. The sand kicked up behind his Honda, the wheels spinning out, but he wasn’t about to back down. Not with Y/N’s laughter floating back to him, the sound carried on the wind like a promise of something wild. Not with the Lost Boys ahead, their faces glowing with the kind of reckless joy that came with living on the edge.
They hit the surf, the tires skimming the water’s edge, sending up sprays of salty mist. Jungkook squinted through the chaos, trying to keep up, watching as the others didn’t even think about slowing down. Instead, they sped up, racing toward the distant pier. It loomed like a giant in the darkness, the pilings reaching up like jagged teeth ready to rip through the night.
He was already too close to turn back.
The sound of the engines became deafening as the Lost Boys shot between the wooden pilings, weaving in and out like they had done this a thousand times. Jungkook’s heart beat faster, and despite himself, he slowed. The gaps between the pilings seemed impossibly narrow now, the wood rising up like an obstacle course meant to break someone who dared try.
But they didn’t slow down. Not Jimin, not Yoongi, not anyone. They moved through the gaps like they were born for it.
Jungkook hesitated for a breath, his hands squeezing tighter on the grips of his bike, but then he followed. The roar of his Honda filled his ears as he threaded his way between the pilings, the sand-slick tires skidding once, then catching, sending him sliding just a fraction too far. He bit his lip, pushing himself harder, focusing on the road ahead.
By the time he broke free from the pier, the beach stretched out wide before him, empty and raw, but no less dangerous. The dunes rose in the distance, their edges aglow with the orange flicker of another bonfire. He could hear the roar of engines ahead of him, and even though his heart was pounding in his chest, a part of him could feel it too—this pull, this challenge to be a part of something that felt just as reckless as he was.
Jimin led the charge, his bike climbing a dune like it was nothing. The Lost Boys followed one by one, their motorcycles soaring into the air, silhouettes against the firelight before they landed back on the sand, riding effortlessly as if they had always known how to defy gravity.
Jungkook pulled back, his stomach a tight knot as he approached the base of the dune. His mind screamed at him to turn around, but the roar of the bikes and the pull of the moment pushed him forward. The fire’s heat slapped his face for a split second before he gunned the throttle, his bike launching into the air.
The world spun for a heartbeat, the flames from the bonfire flashing by in a dizzying blur, and then—he hit the sand. The bike wobbled violently beneath him, but he hung on, teeth clenched, fighting the instinct to let go. The bike’s tires found purchase, and he shot forward, breathless and wild-eyed.
On the other side of the fire, the Lost Boys were waiting for him, grinning like they had just won a race. Y/N turned back toward him, her hair wild from the wind, her smile something that could have been meant for anyone, but he knew—he felt it. It was for him.
Before he had time to catch his breath, they were off again. The bikes roared forward, and the sand gave way to harder ground as they raced toward a railroad trestle, its dark silhouette etched against the starry sky.
Jimin fell back, pulling alongside Jungkook, his bike roaring at full speed. Y/N’s hair streamed behind her like a banner, and for a moment, her hand reached out toward him. Her fingers brushed his, and the sensation of it lingered, a jolt of something unspoken. His heart skipped in his chest.
Jimin caught his gaze, his grin sharp and knowing. “Now we race!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the night like a challenge.
Without waiting for an answer, Jimin revved his Triumph and shot forward, the roar of the engine almost deafening. Jungkook pushed the throttle harder, chasing after him.
The trestle was gone in a blur of speed, and ahead of them loomed Hudson’s Bluff—a flat, wide stretch of land that seemed endless in the night. But Jungkook knew it wasn’t. The edge was coming, a sheer drop that would send him five hundred feet straight into the crash of waves below.
Jimin didn’t even hesitate. His bike sped toward the edge, dangerously close, too fast—and for a moment, Jungkook thought he wouldn’t stop.
He didn’t. His bike screamed ahead, and Jungkook’s hands tightened on the brakes. His Honda skidded, the tires biting into the dirt as he fought to control it, heart in his throat, eyes locked on the horizon.
Just before the edge, his bike jerked to a stop, sliding sideways on the loose earth. He barely caught himself, the terror still squeezing at his chest. When he looked up, Jimin was already there, his Triumph’s front tire hanging perilously over the abyss, the cool calm of the moment in stark contrast to the chaos of the race.
Jimin was still grinning when he straightened, his eyes flicking to Jungkook with a challenge in them.
Without thinking, Jungkook swung his fist, connecting with Jimin’s jaw. The impact snapped through the air, the sound ringing out over the quiet. Jimin staggered back, but when he regained his balance, his grin was wider than before, dangerous now.
“How far are you willing to go, Jungkook?” he asked, his voice low but loaded with something Jungkook couldn’t quite place.
Jungkook didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could.
Jimin motioned to the others, who fell in behind him, their bikes roaring back to life. They moved toward the stairs, the old wooden steps creaking under the weight of the group. Jungkook followed, his breath still unsteady, heart still racing. But he wasn’t turning back. Not now. Not with Y/N’s smile burning through him like a brand.
When they reached the cave, he stopped dead.
It wasn’t just a cave. It was a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.
A Victorian hotel lay sprawled beneath the rock, half-sunken into the earth, its broken lobby tilted like something out of a forgotten era. Wrought-iron elevators, crumbling but still standing, and a mural that stretched across the walls in shattered pieces. Moonlight poured through the cracks in the ceiling, casting sharp silver light over the ruins.
Jungkook stood frozen, unsure if he should turn around or take another step further into the madness. But then Y/N smiled at him again, and it was the kind of smile that dared him to keep going. So, he did. He took one more step into the dark.
The cave was thick with a damp chill that pressed against Jungkook’s skin, the kind of cold that gnawed at the bones. The air smelled of wet earth and something ancient, like the earth had been holding its breath for years. Shafts of moonlight sliced through jagged cracks in the ceiling, casting harsh, silver beams that illuminated the ruins in uneven light. A Victorian hotel lobby, frozen in time and buried deep within the rocks, lay sprawled out before him. The walls, cracked and crumbling, were covered in layers of dust, and the remnants of a forgotten era whispered through the shadows.
The wrought-iron elevator stood frozen, rusted, and tilting at an odd, awkward angle, as though it had been abandoned in a hurry. The front desk—once grand—was now just a shadow of itself, its wood warped and split from years of neglect. Behind it, the murals—vibrant at one point, perhaps—now only offered faded traces of scenes that told half-forgotten stories. The plaster walls, peeling and cracked, barely held onto the ghosts of their former self. The whole place felt wrong, like it had been swallowed by the earth in some moment of chaos, as if the land had taken back what was never meant to be there in the first place.
Jungkook couldn’t tear his eyes away from the eerie grandeur of it all, the surreal sight of the forgotten hotel, but Jimin’s voice cut through the weight of the silence.
“This was the hottest resort in Santa Carla about eighty years ago,” Jimin said, his voice casual, but laced with an authority that made it impossible to ignore. He leaned against a broken column, one hand sliding casually into his pocket, the other holding a smirk that seemed as much a part of him as the shadows around them. His eyes glinted in the dim light, filled with mischief. “Too bad they built it right on top of the San Andreas fault.”
Jungkook turned his head, tearing his gaze from the decaying remnants of the hotel and trying to mask his unease. Jimin paused for a moment, his eyes holding the weight of a story that Jungkook hadn’t yet heard. The silence stretched, the shadows creeping closer, as though the cave itself was listening, waiting.
“In 1906,” Jimin continued, his voice dropping lower as he leaned in slightly, like he was about to tell a ghost story, “when the big one hit San Francisco, the ground opened up.” He let the words hang in the air, his eyes dancing in the moonlight. “This place didn’t stand a chance. Took a header right into the crack. Swallowed it whole.”
Jungkook felt the chill in the air deepen. The remnants of the hotel suddenly felt more like a tomb than a place once filled with laughter and life. His eyes darted around the cave, trying to make sense of it, but the room seemed to be closing in, pressing in on him. He didn’t want to ask questions; didn’t want to know how it was possible, but the words echoed in his head, unshakable.
“Man, you wouldn’t believe the cool stuff we’ve found in here,” Yoongi’s voice broke through the tension, dry as the brittle beams above them. His tone was casual, but there was something else behind it—a quiet, eerie fascination.
Jungkook shifted uneasily on his feet. The air felt thick, as though the cave itself was alive, breathing, watching him, its walls pressing in like the eyes of something ancient and knowing. He could almost hear it—like the ground beneath them was pulsing, waiting for something. For what, he couldn’t say, but the feeling crawled down his spine, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.
His gaze turned toward Y/N. He didn’t have to say anything—he just needed to see her, needed to feel like everything was still real. She caught his eye and smiled at him, soft but steady, her presence a quiet anchor amidst the creeping shadows. She reached for his hand, the warmth of her touch grounding him in the moment.
“C’mon, Jungkook,” she said, her voice gentle but firm, her fingers wrapping around his hand like a promise. “I want to go.”
He opened his mouth to reply, to offer something—an excuse, a reason to leave—but before he could speak, Jimin’s voice sliced through the air, cutting him off.
“No. Stick around,” Jimin said, his voice sharp, commanding, as if there was no room for argument.
Jungkook hesitated, caught between Y/N’s reassuring touch and the pressure of Jimin’s gaze. He opened his mouth, trying to deflect, to offer some sort of out. “We were gonna grab some food,” he mumbled, his voice trailing off like it didn’t belong in this place.
Jimin’s grin widened, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Good idea,” he said, his tone playful yet strangely firm. He turned slightly, calling over his shoulder, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. “Taeyang. We’re hungry.”
Taeyang, as silent as ever, nodded without a word and disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind only the faint sound of footsteps fading into the darkness.
Jimin lit a joint, the flicker of the lighter briefly illuminating his sharp features, casting them in an eerie glow. He took a slow drag, his eyes never leaving Jungkook’s face, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that curled lazily toward the cracked ceiling. “See?” Jimin said, holding the joint out toward Jungkook with an almost casual air. “All you gotta do is ask. How about an appetizer?”
Jungkook froze, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes in the cave fall on him. The joint hovered between them, suspended in the cool air, the dark shadows stretching long and deep. For a moment, time seemed to slow. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, like the entire cave was holding its breath.
Y/N shifted beside him, her expression troubled, but she said nothing. She didn’t pull away, didn’t step back—but he could feel the tension in her body, the subtle shift in her energy. She was waiting for him to make a choice, just as he was waiting for something to shift, for the right moment to step away.
But the longer he stood there, the more he felt the pull of something—something dark, something that felt just as much a part of this place as the broken walls and forgotten memories. The silence stretched on, heavy and thick with unspoken words. Finally, unable to stand the pressure, Jungkook reached out.
His fingers brushed the edge of the joint, and the moment he took it, the air seemed to thicken, the darkness around them pressing in even more. The cave felt darker now, the shadows deeper, more alive, as if the place was swallowing him whole. The weight of the eyes on him, the air heavy with the smell of smoke and damp earth, made it feel as though he had crossed some invisible line.
Y/N squeezed his hand tighter, her fingers wrapped around his like a lifeline, but even her presence couldn’t dispel the sense of wrongness that clung to the cave. Jungkook’s chest tightened, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the joint. The pull of the night, the others, it all felt too strong to ignore.
The cave waited. It watched. And Jungkook had just made his choice.
Across town, the atmosphere was quieter, yet the tension was no less palpable. The house, tucked away in a neighborhood that buzzed with the hum of distant traffic and the occasional bark of a dog, had a calm that felt almost unnatural in its stillness. Inside, Jung-Hyun lay sprawled on his bed, the soft rustle of pages filling the silence. His back was against the headboard, his legs bent at an awkward angle as he propped a comic book against his knees. Vampires Everywhere was emblazoned in bold, lurid letters across the cover, the artwork vibrant and chaotic, just the way he liked it. He flipped through the panels, his eyes darting back and forth, drinking in the fantastical scenes of bloodsuckers, supernatural creatures, and haunted cities. Each page seemed to draw him deeper, a temporary escape from the world beyond the paper.
He was so absorbed in the story that he didn’t even hear the soft footsteps approaching his room until the door creaked open, just a crack. Wanda, his mother, poked her head into the space, her figure briefly framed by the hallway light before it flickered out of sight. “Ten o’clock. Lights out,” she called out, her voice not unkind but firm, the way a parent’s voice often was when there was no room for argument. She tossed a sweater into the closet, not looking at him as she spoke.
Jung-Hyun barely acknowledged her, his gaze still glued to the page in front of him. “Mom,” he muttered, not looking up. His voice was laced with the exhaustion of adolescence—half rebellion, half resignation.
Wanda hesitated in the doorway for a moment, then let out a sigh. Her fingers curled around the doorknob, her eyes scanning the room like she was about to say something, but she didn’t seem to know how to frame it. “I can’t sleep with the closet door open, either,” she added after a long beat, the words lingering in the air. “Not even a crack.” There was a pause before she laughed softly, but the sound was hollow, as though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Your father didn’t mind, though. He could leave it wide open for all he cared. Actually…” She trailed off for a second, her voice dropping a bit. “I think one of the reasons I divorced him was because he never believed… in the horror of the closet monster.”
Jung-Hyun raised an eyebrow, momentarily distracted from the comic. “Closet monster?” His tone was dry, laced with curiosity but also amusement, like he was humoring her, but he didn’t expect any real explanation.
Just as Wanda opened her mouth to reply, a deep voice rumbled from behind them, sending both of them into a sudden jolt of surprise.
“Closet monster?” Min-chul’s voice boomed, rich with humor and mischief, coming from just behind them. Wanda and Jung-Hyun yelped in unison, as startled as if a ghost had materialized in the room. They spun around in tandem, both of them wide-eyed, only to find Min-chul leaning casually against the doorframe, his signature grin spread across his face, completely unphased by their shock.
“Dad!” Wanda scolded with a gasp, her heart still pounding in her chest. Her expression was a mix of exasperation and affection, but the edge of annoyance was clear in her voice. “Don’t sneak up on people like that.”
Min-chul raised a hand in mock surrender, his grin only growing wider. “It’s called the Indian walk,” he said proudly, his tone almost too pleased with himself. “Walking without making a sound.”
Jung-Hyun rolled his eyes, already used to his father’s antics. But before he could say anything, Min-chul stepped further into the room, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He was holding something behind his back, hiding it like it was some kind of secret treasure, but the way he was grinning, it was clear that whatever it was, it was meant to be a surprise.
Min-chul made a dramatic flourish, his free hand swooping outward as he revealed the object behind his back. “Brought you a little something to dress up your room, Jung-Hyun,” he said, his voice dripping with excitement.
Jung-Hyun blinked in disbelief as he looked at the grotesque thing in his father’s hands. It was a stuffed woodchuck, its fur matted and dirty with age, its teeth bared in a perpetual snarl, the glassy eyes wide and unblinking. The thing was so ugly, so unnervingly lifelike in its grotesque posture, that Jung-Hyun had to resist the urge to cringe. He forced a grateful smile, even though everything inside him recoiled. “Thanks, Harabeoji,” he said weakly, the words tasting foreign on his tongue.
Min-chul beamed with pride, placing the stuffed animal carefully on the dresser like it was the most precious thing in the world. His voice was warm, a deep affection in the way he spoke. “Lots more where he came from.”
Wanda shuddered, clearly not as thrilled with the gift as her husband was. She covered it with a polite nod, trying to mask the unease in her face. “Lights out, Jung-Hyun,” she said briskly, her voice now taking on that motherly authority. She took Min-chul by the arm and gently steered him toward the door, her movements a little quicker than usual, as though she was eager to get away from the unsettling addition to their son’s room.
Jung-Hyun sat there in silence, his eyes locked on the stuffed woodchuck, its glassy stare boring into him. The dim light from the bedside lamp made the creature’s teeth gleam eerily, as if it was alive, watching him with some hidden knowledge. The room suddenly felt colder, darker, the shadows stretching unnaturally around the strange gift. He shifted uncomfortably in his bed, trying to lose himself in the pages of his comic again, but it was impossible to ignore the grotesque figure sitting on the dresser.
Minutes passed, and Jung-Hyun found his gaze drifting back to the woodchuck. Its eyes seemed to follow him, every move he made—its sharp, bared teeth gleaming in the half-light. Something about it gnawed at him, as if it was waiting for him to do something, or perhaps waiting for something to happen. He couldn’t focus on his comic anymore. The words blurred in front of him, and the images lost their power. He could still hear the quiet, oppressive atmosphere of the room, the silence hanging heavy with an unsettling presence.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. With a frustrated grunt, he pushed himself off the bed, his feet hitting the cold floor with a soft thud. His heart was racing, his nerves frayed by the unsettling sensation creeping up his spine. Without thinking, he marched over to the dresser, grabbed the revolting stuffed woodchuck, and tossed it into the closet, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.
The closet door groaned in protest, but the room was suddenly quieter, almost calmer. Jung-Hyun let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his pulse still pounding in his ears. He stood there for a moment, staring at the closet door, the brief flash of fear slowly ebbing away. But even as he tried to calm himself, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the room wasn’t as empty as it seemed. The dark corners seemed to hold something, something that he couldn’t quite name.
Back in the cave, the atmosphere was undeniably shifting. The earlier tension that had filled the air was slowly melting away, like mist under the warmth of the sun. Music began to pulse through the cavernous space from a battered old boombox perched on a broken stone ledge. The bass reverberated off the jagged rock walls, a hypnotic beat that seemed to seep into the very bones of the cave. Taehyung, ever the free spirit, was in his element—gracefully gliding on his skateboard across the uneven stone floor. His movements were fluid, each turn, flip, and slide a perfect synchronization with the rhythm of the music. It was as if his body was made for the music, dancing in the air as much as it was skating along the ground. The others lounged around him, each of them in their own space, enjoying the break from earlier tension. Some sat casually on the rocks, legs dangling or stretched out lazily, while others leaned against the columns of stone or sprawled in the shadows. Laughter, casual chatter, and the steady thrum of the boombox formed a kind of strange harmony.
Jungkook, still feeling somewhat out of place and unnerved by the cave's overwhelming sense of otherness, was the one to break the spell. His voice cut through the music like a knife, his words awkward but genuine. “Where are you guys from?” he asked, his curiosity forcing the question out before he could think better of it.
Yoongi glanced at him from where he was lounging against a stone pillar, a lazy smirk stretching across his face. “We’re from right here,” he answered, his voice calm, almost like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Jungkook blinked in confusion. “No, I mean… where do you live?” His voice was hesitant, unsure if he was missing something, but his question felt too big to leave unasked.
The moment hung in the air for a second, and then Taehyung let out a sharp laugh—an almost mocking sound, but not unkind. It was as if Jungkook had just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. He spun his skateboard around, the wheels screeching against the stone, before leaning casually against a rock. “Right here,” Taehyung replied, gesturing widely around the cave as though the entire cavern was the answer. “This is where we live, Jungkook.”
The whole group chuckled at that, the tension from earlier dissolving completely as they fell back into their comfortable rhythm. But Jungkook, now even more bewildered than before, wasn’t letting it go that easily. “You live here? Your folks let you?” he asked, still incredulous. The question slipped out before he could stop it, and the group fell into a quiet pause.
Yoongi’s eyebrow arched, his expression both amused and mildly confused. “Is he talking parents?” he asked, looking at the others, as though Jungkook had just asked about some long-forgotten relic of the past.
Taehyung leaned back with a grin, his laugh bursting from him again. “What are they?” His voice dripped with playful sarcasm, and his smile only widened as the others joined in, their laughter echoing off the stone walls of the cave.
Jimin, who had been leaning lazily against a broken pillar near Jungkook, watched the whole exchange with a knowing gleam in his eyes. He sidled closer, his movements slow and deliberate. There was a strange glint in his eyes as he spoke, his voice low, seductive almost. “We do what we want, Jungkook,” he said, his words dripping with a kind of dangerous freedom. “We have complete freedom. No parents. No rules.” He tilted his head, his expression suddenly intense. “Hell, we’re as free as birds.”
The weight of Jimin’s words hung in the air like a promise, an invitation to something deeper, darker. But before Jungkook could process what he was hearing, a new presence appeared—Taeyang, emerging from the shadows, carrying cartons of takeout food. The sight of the food brought a strange sense of normalcy back, a grounding force amidst the bizarre and unsettling atmosphere. Jimin clapped him on the back in greeting, taking the containers from him with a flourish, as if he were presenting an offering.
“Chinese! Good choice,” Jimin said with an exaggerated smile, cracking open a carton of food and handing it to Jungkook with an almost ceremonial air. “Guests first,” he added, his voice laced with mock politeness.
Jungkook hesitated for a moment, eyeing the carton warily. The others watched him with barely contained amusement, their gazes flicking between him and the food. Jungkook’s stomach growled, betraying his discomfort. After a brief, tense moment, he took the carton from Jimin, feeling the weight of their gaze on him as if they were waiting for him to do something more than simply eat. Slowly, almost cautiously, he scooped a spoonful of rice into his mouth, trying to ignore the growing knot in his stomach.
Jimin, still watching him with an amused glint in his eyes, leaned in just a little closer, his voice lowering to a whisper of mock innocence. “So,” he said, “how do you like those maggots, Jungkook?”
Jungkook froze. His stomach dropped, and the world seemed to tilt. “What?” he asked, his voice tight with confusion and horror.
Jimin’s grin widened, dark and wicked. “You’re eating maggots,” he said, his voice full of glee. “How do they taste?”
Jungkook’s blood ran cold as he stared down at the carton in his hands. The rice, which had seemed so ordinary moments before, was no longer just rice. It was alive. He blinked in disbelief, but the writhing mass of maggots was unmistakable—thousands of tiny, squirming creatures crawling over one another, their translucent bodies glistening in the dim light. He gagged, his stomach lurching violently. Without thinking, he spit out the mouthful he had taken and threw the carton to the ground.
But when the carton spilled open, all that fell out was plain, harmless rice. No maggots. No worms. Just rice.
The entire cave erupted in laughter. It was loud, raucous, and the sound bounced off the stone walls, filling every corner of the space. Jungkook’s face burned with humiliation, his pulse racing with a mix of anger and confusion. He stood there, frozen, unsure of whether to laugh or to retreat.
Y/N, who had been sitting nearby, stood abruptly, her voice cutting through the chaos like a sharp blade. “That’s enough,” she said, her tone harsh, protective.
Jimin raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face. “Sorry, Jungkook,” he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. “No hard feelings, huh?” He offered him a new carton, this time filled with noodles. “Here. Try these noodles.”
Jungkook eyed the carton warily, his stomach still churning from the earlier shock. He opened it slowly, the feeling of dread tightening in his chest. But when he looked inside, his stomach flipped again. The noodles weren’t just noodles. They were alive—twisting, writhing, and slimy, the noodles moving in a grotesque dance of their own.
Jimin, unfazed, raised an eyebrow and echoed Jungkook’s horror. “Worms?” he asked with mock confusion, then tilted the carton back, letting the wriggling mass of noodles slide into his mouth. The sound of the noodles slithering over his lips and disappearing down his throat was obscene, a sickeningly satisfying slurp.
Jungkook couldn’t hold it in any longer. Panic surged through him, and he grabbed Jimin’s arm, his heart pounding in his chest. “Don’t! Stop!” he begged, his voice rising with fear.
Jimin simply grinned, swallowing the last of the noodles with ease. “Why? They’re only noodles,” he said casually, offering the carton back to Jungkook, as if the thing was completely normal. But this time, when Jungkook looked inside, the noodles were just… noodles. Harmless. Innocuous. No worms.
The boys around them howled with laughter again, their voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of amusement, as if they were all in on a joke that Jungkook didn’t understand. He felt a cold sweat break out along his spine, the ground beneath him seeming to shift and buckle. The sense of unreality clung to him, his grip on what was real loosening.
“That’s enough!” Y/N snapped again, her voice cutting through the ruckus like a whip. She stood tall, her eyes flashing with something protective, something fierce.
The music shifted again, the boombox crackling before a new song slammed into the space, deep and throbbing with a rhythm that vibrated through the entire cavern. The beat was alive, wrapping around the walls, seeping into the stones, flowing through every crack and crevice. The air hummed with it. It was so powerful, so immersive, that it seemed to pulse from the very walls themselves. Every note, every beat urged them all to move, to surrender to the music. It had a strange power—an irresistible pull that made the cave feel less like a place and more like a living thing, like it was breathing along with them.
Y/N, ever the force of nature, grabbed Jungkook’s hand without hesitation, pulling him towards the center of the room, toward the pulse of the music. Her grip was firm, but there was a lightness to her that made him want to follow her anywhere. She moved effortlessly, flowing like water, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. There was a kind of gravity to her, like she could make the whole world bend to her will without even trying. Jungkook felt himself moving along with her, his body reluctantly obeying her silent command. His laughter came out nervous, hesitant, as he tried to match her fluid movements, but his body was betraying him. The joint Jimin had handed him earlier was doing its work—his limbs felt heavy and loose, his movements sluggish, and his balance was slightly off. The world around him seemed to tilt, edges blurring, the lights flashing just a little too brightly, the music too loud, but somehow it was exhilarating. He felt caught in the undertow of it all, unable to fight the current.
Jimin, leaning against a crumbling pillar with a relaxed grin, watched them with a sly glint in his eyes. His posture was casual, almost lazy, but his eyes tracked them with predatory attention, as if he were amused by some private joke. Then, as if a thought had occurred to him, he reached behind him and pulled an old, dark bottle from a dusty shelf. It was a relic, something forgotten and weathered, the label too faded to read. He uncorked it with an exaggerated flick of his wrist, the sound sharp in the space, and poured its contents into a crinkled paper cup. The liquid inside was a dark, rich color—deep crimson, almost too thick to be liquid. He sauntered over to Jungkook, the smile on his face widening, and extended the cup toward him with a flourish, like it was a gift.
“Drink,” Jimin said smoothly, his voice as warm as honey, thick with something dangerous, something like temptation.
Jungkook hesitated, eyeing the cup with a mix of curiosity and caution. But before he could reach for it, Y/N's hand shot out, gripping his wrist with a surprising strength. Her fingers were cool against his skin, and her eyes were wide, urgent. Her face was close, close enough for him to catch the faint scent of her skin, the heat of her breath as she leaned in.
“Don’t, Jungkook. You don’t have to,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm, like a warning he didn’t know how to ignore. “It’s blood.”
Her words hit him like a punch, a sudden jolt of reality amidst the haze. For a second, everything paused. The world seemed to freeze around him. His eyes searched hers, trying to make sense of the words, but they didn’t make sense. Blood? He blinked slowly, his mind trying to process it, but all he could do was laugh, a low, amused chuckle escaping his lips.
“Blood. Right,” he said, as though he were indulging in some bizarre joke. He raised the cup to his lips, swirling the thick liquid inside, watching it glint in the dim light. “Good joke, Y/N.”
But before she could stop him again, Jungkook tipped the cup back and drank. The liquid was warm, thicker than any drink he’d ever tasted, and when it slid down his throat, it felt almost alive. The room seemed to hold its breath as everyone watched him. His skin prickled with the sensation of their eyes on him. The liquid slid over his tongue, and a strange taste bloomed in his mouth. It was iron—sharp and metallic—but there was something else, something deeper and darker, something that set his nerves alight. It was the taste of something ancient, something primal.
When the cup pulled away from his mouth, it left a streak of the liquid at the corner of his lips, the red stain a stark contrast against the paleness of his skin. For a moment, he just stared at the cup in his hand, a faint, bitter taste lingering in the back of his throat. But then, something inside him snapped. The edges of his vision blurred, the world tilting dangerously, like the ground had given way beneath him.
And then, it wasn’t just spinning—it was flying.
The sensation of weightlessness hit him all at once, like he was floating, like the air had turned to something thick and viscous. He felt himself rising, slowly, impossibly high, the room shrinking beneath him, the laughter, the music, the faces all blurring together into a kaleidoscope of sound and color. He drifted upward, weightless, his body a balloon on the wind. Everything around him began to feel distant, dreamlike—he could hear their voices, but they were muffled, like he was listening through a veil.
Jungkook’s head spun with the vertigo, the dizzying feeling of floating just above reality. He barely felt the impact as he stumbled, his body moving of its own accord, and fell forward, collapsing into Y/N’s lap.
The moment he made contact with her, everything shifted. Y/N went completely still beneath him, her body rigid with tension. He could feel it—her legs trembling with the effort to hold still, the tension in her muscles pulling tight like a string. It was strange against the loose, languid feeling that had taken over him, as if his own body were made of soft, flowing water. The contrast felt like a jolt, something electric running through him. The others, the Lost Boys, were still laughing behind him, their voices loud and jeering, but Jungkook didn’t care. He could hear the amusement in their voices, but it didn’t bother him. Not now. Not when Y/N smelled like everything he needed to breathe.
He buried his face into the soft folds of her skirt, his body relaxing further into the cushion of her lap. There was a heady, intoxicating scent wafting from her skin, something salty and sweet, mixed with the faint iron tang of blood. The smell was different from anyone else. It was a pulse, a steady rhythm that sent his senses spinning, tugging at something deep inside him. It was warm, and cold, all at once—a strange balance, woven together into something intoxicating. Something that made his head spin even harder, made him want to stay close, closer.
His hand moved almost of its own accord, lifting to gently rest on her knee, the warmth of her skin beneath his touch like fire against the coolness of his fingers. He looked up at her, his head heavy, his vision too soft, too slow. A smile curved across his lips.
“Give me a kiss, Y/N?” he asked, his voice thick with something else now. Something dreamlike, delirious.
Y/N froze. For a brief moment, she didn’t move, her gaze flicking to him like a darting bird. And then, almost too fast to follow, she turned her head away. The sudden shift in her energy was jarring, her tension radiating off her in waves. Jungkook’s heart stuttered in confusion.
Her voice trembled, laced with something darker than he could comprehend. “Jungkook, you’re covered in blood.”
Jungkook blinked, trying to process her words, before he twisted his body, lifting himself slightly to glance at his chest. His eyes followed the trail of crimson across his clothes, the deep red staining his hands, his lips. He raised a shaky hand to his mouth, wiping at the blood that had dripped down, and stared at his fingers. The blood was thick and sticky, the taste still heavy on his tongue.
“Whoops,” he murmured absently, the words coming out almost too lightly. He chuckled softly, a sound that felt both out of place and completely right.
It felt so absurd. So funny.
The realization hit him with a strange, almost unbearable humor. His mother would be so disappointed. She’d always told him not to play with his food.
The thought made him laugh, and it bubbled up from deep within him, a loud, infectious sound. The laughter echoed around him, mixing with the distant amusement of the others, the voices of the Lost Boys rising in a wave of shared mirth. The sound was light, fizzy, like champagne bubbles popping against his skin, in his veins. It warmed him from the inside, loosening everything left within him. Everything became soft, pliable, as if he were melting into the air itself.
He felt so good. So light. So... free.
But Y/N didn’t join in the laughter. In fact, the tension in her body seemed to heighten. She was shaking now, trembling beneath him. It was subtle, but it was there, and it immediately stopped the warm, drunken hum that had been surrounding him. Jungkook’s smile faltered as he turned to her, his hand reaching up to gently touch her cheek. He needed to understand why she wasn’t laughing, why she wasn’t joining him in this dizzying, euphoric feeling.
“Y/N?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer immediately, her body stiff beneath him, but when she turned to look at him, her eyes were burning with something he couldn’t place. They were full of something fierce—something accusing.
Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat. “Y/N?” he asked again, his voice more urgent now.
Her gaze flicked past him, up toward the curtain drawn around their alcove, her brow furrowing with anger. There was something in her look—something dark and knowing. She was staring at something behind him, beyond him, as if she could see into the heart of the cave.
Jungkook shifted slightly, his body sluggish, but he managed to raise himself on his elbows to follow her gaze.
And there, standing just outside the alcove, was Jimin.
His hands were tucked into the pockets of his overcoat, his stance relaxed, but there was a predatory edge to his smile, a cold, twisted satisfaction in the way his eyes flicked between them.
It takes two tries, his limbs all liquid and unfamiliar, but Jungkook manages to lever himself up onto his elbows. To put his mouth closer to Y/N’s ear. “Did he do something?”
A shudder races through Y/N’s whole body, a shudder that Jungkook, lying in her lap and pressed up close against her everywhere he can, can feel. It’s strangely fascinating. He wants to make her do it again.
There’s something almost like despair in her voice when Y/N says, “Jungkook…”
She says it, watching him, like he should know what she means. What’s going on. Why she’s so upset.
Jimin tucks his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and leans back against the wall, watching them both with a switchblade sliver of a smile.
For the first time, the dizzy haze of satisfied well-being that’s descended over Jungkook feels strangely uncomfortable. Like a soft, warm blanket that’s somehow got tangled over his face. Muffling. Smothering. Suffocating.
He flops himself over onto his side, resting his head against Y/N’s thigh, putting his back to Jimin and his eyes back on Y/N. “Ignore him,” Jungkook advises, and Y/N gives a choked little laugh in the back of her throat, pressing the heel of one hand against her mouth. “Y/N?”
“Jungkook -” Y/N starts, like she’s about to explain why it’s not that simple, and why Jungkook should be upset too, and a whole lot of other things that are going to ruin this moment of pure uncomplicated good that Jungkook’s already starting to realize isn’t going to last forever.
She stops, though, biting off whatever misery she has in mind, when Jungkook draws a finger up the inside of her leg.
He takes his time about it, tracing a lazy pattern around the jut of her anklebone and zigzagging back and forth up her calf to her knee. Y/N’s breath hitches, the hot pulse under her skin surging, as Jungkook doodles invisible circles around the hinge of her knee for a moment before spanning it with his hand and squeezing, digging his thumb into the soft place just above the joint. Her leg jerks, involuntarily Jungkook thinks, and she gives another of those fascinating shudders that he likes.
“Ignore him, Y/N,” Jungkook repeats, even though he can still feel Jimin’s laser-blue eyes boring into his back, Jimin’s attention brushing over him like the whisper of the lacy curtain drifting in the faintest swell of sea-breeze. He thinks of the ways Jimin had looked at him, when he had to watch Y/N walk away from him to climb onto the back of Jimin’s bike, and drags his grip a little higher, bunching up Y/N’s skirt to reveal the smooth expanse of her skin.
A little helpless whimper spills out of Y/N as Jungkook shifts away from his place against her thigh to settle between her legs.
Jungkook takes a moment to plant a gentle kiss to the inside of her knee where, a moment before, he’d dug his thumb in. The sob that catches on Y/N’s breath, heavy and harsh in their little bubble of lace-edged silence, cracks in half partway through.
Y/N smells amazing, and Jungkook can’t get enough. He kisses his way up the inside of her thigh, savoring the way her muscles quaver under his touch, and brushes his lips against the coarse dark curls spilling past the edges of her plain cotton panties as he buries his nose in the crook of her hip and inhales. She’s all sweet and salt together, like crackerjack, like cotton candy on the pier, with that iron rush just below the surface setting Jungkook’s back teeth buzzing and something wild clawing inside his chest. This close to the core of her, her animal musk, her heat, nearly drowns the sweetness out. And that moonlight-cold thing that Jungkook can’t describe slices through it all like vinegar dashed over the salty richness of fresh-from-the-fryer French fries, like the sting of sour candy in a penny-candy bag. She’s mouthwatering.
He wants to devour her.
He wants to make her feel better.
He thinks he can do two things at once.
Y/N lets out a hitching gasp as Jungkook presses a soft kiss to the tiny satin bow decorating the waistband of her panties, then directly over the damp patch of flimsy fabric that’s all that separates her from the world. He lingers there a moment, breathing her in, before he drags himself away to start ministering to the inside of her other thigh. He doesn’t have to. And he’s tempted not to draw this out, make them both suffer, any longer. Tempted just to plunge right in.
But he wants to make Y/N forget whatever it is that’s making her sad. Whatever it is that Jimin’s done that’s disappointed her.
Jungkook can – and he will – kiss it better.
Y/N’s shaking by the time he works his way back up, trembling with the effort, it seems like, of holding herself still. Jungkook can hear the fabric of her skirt shifting and shuffling as she bunches fistfuls of it up and squeezes, then carefully, slowly, releases.
He grins into the soft meat of her thigh, and then shifts over and licks a long stripe up the crotch of her panties.
Y/N jerks, her hips bucking up suddenly enough to catch Jungkook off his guard and bash her pelvic bone against his nose. He thinks he makes some muffled noise of protest, but if there’s pain, it’s gone again in the next thought, erased by the pure euphoria of finally, finally getting a taste of her. She’s soaked right through the thin fabric. Yet another piece of evidence to add to the growing pile that, no matter how she’s fighting for whatever reason not to show it, Y/N’s enjoying this.
Now that Jungkook’s had a taste, though, every thought he had about slowly teasing Y/N up to the edge flies right out of his head. Her restraint seems to crumble in tandem with Jungkook’s, if the way her fists are suddenly clawing into his hair instead of in her skirts is anything to judge by. She doesn’t sound like she’s even trying to bite back or disguise the ragged gasp and long, low, hungry moan that she lets out when he tears open the offending barrier between his lips and hers, when he breathes an almost rapturous sigh against her suddenly-bared flesh. The dark red gash that opens within her darker thatch of curls is as tantalizing, as irresistible, as the bottle of wine Jimin had opened in his face earlier tonight, and the last of Jungkook’s resistance melts as easily before it.
And the surrender is every bit as sweet.
Y/N’s fists tug at his hair as he buries his face into the wet heat of her, his scalp stinging in the pull of her directionless grip. Jungkook lets her yank him closer, force him deeper, as he tries to map out every crook and crevice of her with his tongue. The taste of her is as incredible as the smell of her was, but somehow just a thousand times more, and Jungkook enthusiastically hunts down every trace of ephemeral sweetness and bitter-bright acidity in the flood of hot slick juices smearing his face, coating his tongue.
And every needy sound he manages to wring out of Y/N, every twitch or buck or arch or quiver, sends a little thrill shivering through Jungkook. He’s half-hard in his jeans without even being touched. He might put a hand down to deal with that, if he weren’t so busy focusing on pinning Y/N’s hips down into the cushions, working a couple of fingers into her alongside his tongue.
There’s a prickling awareness that rises slowly up Jungkook’s spine that they’re still being watched, a sort of feeling of nakedness even though he’s still fully dressed in his bloodstained clothes. A feeling of being exposed, under Jimin’s cool, watchful attention.
Somehow, it doesn’t dampen the fire in Jungkook’s blood for this, for Y/N, for everything.
Actually, it’s very much the opposite.
Jungkook’s head is spinning, and for a moment, he’s entirely consumed by Y/N—by the heat and the softness of her, the way she feels against him, like she could melt him into the bed with a single breath. Her thighs tighten around his head, her body trembling, and he loses himself in her pulse, thundering loud enough to fill his ears. It’s a beautiful thing, that moment, when nothing else exists but the two of them—when he can’t remember how long it’s been since he’s felt so weightless, so free. He barely notices how time stretches, or how much of it passes, until her grip loosens, then tightens in his hair again, and her breath comes fast and shallow, full of tremors that ripple down to him.
And then it’s over. She collapses back against the cushions, her thighs falling away from his ears, and Jungkook watches as her chest rises and falls in time with her heart. She’s quiet now, peaceful in the aftermath, and the only sounds in the space between them are the unsteady rhythm of her breathing and the pulse in her throat.
Jungkook’s hands slide slowly from her body, the movement almost reluctant, but the heat between them is too much to ignore, and he can’t help himself. He lifts his torso off the bed, positioning himself on his elbows, wanting to look at her, to connect with her. The moment feels almost sacred, something shared between them that is impossible to put into words. He wants to see her face, to savor this, but when he opens his mouth to speak, he’s struck by the deafening silence that surrounds them. It’s thick, unsettling, almost suffocating.
“Now, how about… that… kiss...” His voice falters, the words hanging in the air like a fragile thread, but before he can finish, he stops himself. His eyes catch something that makes his blood run cold.
Her face is wet. The tears are rolling down her cheeks, leaving streaks through the mess of blood still marking her skin—marks from his hands. The realization hits him hard. She’s crying. His stomach tightens, and a wave of panic rises within him, threatening to overwhelm him. Why? Did he hurt her in some way? The thought grips him so intensely, his heart races and his breath catches in his throat. The weight of the unknown forces him into action.
He moves quickly, but his hands are clumsy, fumbling with her skirts, covering her with an urgency he doesn’t understand. His eyes scan her face, lingering on the tears, on the frown pulling at her features. His own heart skips a beat, and for a split second, he can’t breathe. "Y/N? What’s the matter?" he asks, his voice sounding raw, hollow in the wide gap between them.
For a moment, she doesn’t answer. The stillness stretches between them like an eternity. Her eyes don’t meet his; instead, they remain fixed on something unseen in the shadows, distant and unfocused. It unsettles him more than he’d like to admit. The silence is loud, deafening, and the chill in the air gnaws at his bones.
“No, Jungkook,” she says at last, her voice faint, almost lost in the stillness. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”
A rush of relief washes over him, the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding escaping his lips in a shaky sigh. The panic that had seized him begins to loosen its grip, but it doesn’t fully dissipate. There’s still something gnawing at him, a feeling he can’t shake. He shifts, sitting back against the alcove wall, pulling himself as far from her as the confined space allows. The dried blood on his shirt cracks with the motion, flaking off and falling in little pieces onto the soft sheets beneath them. It seems so insignificant now, a remnant of something that no longer matters.
“I never wanna hurt you, Y/N,” he mutters, mostly to himself, the words escaping in a quiet, almost desperate tone. His eyes drift to the empty space around them, the eerie stillness pressing in, and the distant sound of laughter from their friends outside feels like a memory from a lifetime ago. It doesn’t feel lighthearted anymore; it feels distant. Cold. His mind races as the weight of the silence becomes heavier.
Y/N remains still, her body slack against the bed, her eyes unfocused, lost in her own thoughts. Then, after what feels like an eternity, she exhales a deep, shuddering breath, the sound almost a release. The tension in the room seems to lighten, just a little, as if some unseen weight is lifted, but it’s not enough to ease Jungkook completely. “Come here,” she murmurs softly, her voice inviting him, pulling him toward her.
She shifts, making space for him, and Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He crawls up the bed, lying beside her, his head resting against her shoulder. The warmth of her body is a balm to the cold tension still hanging in the air. Her fingers begin to stroke through his hair, the movement so soft, so soothing, it almost feels unreal. His body relaxes at the sensation, his breathing slowing, becoming steadier, though something remains in the back of his mind, tugging at him, an unease that refuses to leave.
“You’ll need to leave before sunrise,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, as though speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment they’ve created. “The light can still make its way in here unless you go deeper.”
Jungkook hums softly in acknowledgment, but the urgency doesn’t sink in. He knows there’s time—there’s always time. The others won’t leave him to the sun. Whatever that meant. Jungkook was too tired to really think about it.
Yet, despite her warmth and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat under his ear, a quiet, unshakable dread lingers in his chest. It’s a feeling he can’t explain, a tug at the back of his mind, as if something is just out of reach, something he’s missing.
The sensation grows stronger as he drifts, a faint unease twisting in his gut. The last thing he’s aware of before sleep overtakes him is the sticky, uncomfortable feeling of dried blood on his skin, a reminder of everything that has happened—of everything yet to come.
Y/N lies still, her body feeling the comforting weight of Jungkook’s head against her shoulder, the soft, steady rhythm of his breath like a lullaby against her skin. She runs her fingers through his hair absently, the touch gentle, almost tender, but her mind is far from at ease. The afterglow of their intimacy lingers in her limbs, a warmth spreading through her chest, a comfortable ache that makes her smile even as it tugs at her muscles. It’s the kind of ache that signifies satisfaction, fulfillment. But even with that warmth, her thoughts keep pulling her away from the present moment.
The others.
She knows they heard. The sounds they made, the intimacy they shared—it wasn’t quiet. It was raw, too raw to be concealed. The thought makes her flush with embarrassment, heat crawling up her neck and into her cheeks. It’s not just that they heard—it’s that she couldn’t control herself. The way she gave in, the way she let go, her need overwhelming everything. She knows it wasn’t a mistake, that she enjoyed it, but the thought of the others knowing, of them hearing her give herself over to that craving—it makes her skin crawl with discomfort.
But it’s not about them. Not entirely. It’s Jimin.
Jimin, the one who has always been pulling the strings behind the scenes. She knows he orchestrated this, knows that he’s been playing her from the start. He knew how much she wanted Jungkook, how much she craved him, even when she didn’t fully admit it to herself. He’s been manipulating the situation, twisting her feelings, driving her toward the very thing she fears most.
Jimin wants her to drink from Jungkook. He wants her to cross the line, to take that final step into the darkness, to complete the transformation into what she’s meant to be—a vampire. And she can feel it now, deep within her veins. The craving. The hunger. The sharp, burning need that calls to her, a need she’s never been able to deny. It scares her.
Her hand tightens in Jungkook’s hair, her nails grazing his scalp lightly, and a shudder runs through her. It’s not his fault. She knows that. He’s just a pawn in Jimin’s game. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know that she’s being pushed, cornered, manipulated into something she’s not ready for. He doesn’t know that when he leaves, when the morning comes, he will forget all of this. But she knows she won’t.
The weight of that knowledge presses down on her chest, her heart quickening as the room grows darker and quieter. The others had heard, yes, but it’s not just them. It’s Jimin. He’s always known what was happening between them, what it would mean, what it could do to her.
And now he’s pushing her. Driving her toward something she’s doesn’t want to be.
Her breath hitches as she pulls Jungkook closer, holding him against her, as though clinging to something she can’t bear to lose. Her pulse quickens, the heat of his body against hers igniting a fire in her chest. But beneath it all, there’s fear. Fear of herself. Fear of the part of her that’s already too far gone.
But for now, she lets the fear slip away, allowing herself to sink into the comfort of the moment. Jimin may have his plans, but in this moment, all she wants is him—just him. She’ll deal with everything else in the morning.
The stillness of the room is broken only by the soft rhythm of Jungkook’s breathing, slow and steady against her shoulder. He’s asleep now, the weight of his body relaxed against hers, his warmth like a lifeline, grounding her in the chaos of her thoughts. The others are gone, their footsteps long faded from the halls, leaving her with nothing but the haunting silence of the night. She knows it’s late—too late, in fact, but the thoughts pressing in on her won’t let her rest. The shadows of her past are closing in, blurring with the present, and she can’t ignore them any longer.
Her fingers move absentmindedly through Jungkook’s hair, the strands soft beneath her touch. She should feel at peace, should let herself bask in the closeness between them. But there’s something gnawing at her, something she can’t shake, even with him right here, so close, his warmth seeping into her skin. She exhales slowly, allowing herself a moment of quiet reflection, a moment to think, to remember.
It feels like a lifetime ago, the first time she met Jimin.
She remembers how she had been drawn to him instantly, the magnetic pull of his presence undeniable. There had been something intoxicating about him, the way he spoke, the way he moved. He had an ease about him, a confidence that made everything else seem irrelevant. The first time their eyes met, something in her had shifted. It wasn’t love, not exactly—but it was something powerful, something she couldn’t ignore. At first, it was fascination, then admiration, then infatuation. He’d been so charming, so kind, so understanding. She hadn’t even known what she was getting herself into when she had started spending time with him, when he began to peel back the layers of her own desires, showing her things she didn’t even know she was hungry for.
He had taken her in, so carefully, so smoothly, and in a way, she had let herself be swept away by him. By the promises he’d whispered to her in the dark, by the way he had promised her strength, power, freedom. She had believed him then, believed in his every word, thinking that this—this life—was the answer. It was intoxicating, a beautiful lie wrapped in velvet words.
But now, as she lies in the dark, with Jungkook’s head resting on her shoulder, she wonders how much of her decisions were really her own. How much of what she’d felt for Jimin had been carefully orchestrated. Had he known all along? Had he planned this? Had he known she would be the one to cross the line, the one to fall so completely for Jungkook?
It’s been almost a year since her half-life began, and already, the edges of her human memories are beginning to blur, fading into nothingness. She’s forgetting things—small things, big things—the faces of her family, the warmth of the sun, the feeling of rain on her skin. It scares her more than she cares to admit.
The line between human and vampire is thin, too thin. She feels it every day, every minute, as if the very essence of who she was is being chipped away, leaving only fragments of the person she used to be.
She knows that vampires have mates, that there is something deeper, something unexplainable between them and the person they’re bound to. She’s seen it between Yoongi and Taehyung, how they’ve been together for almost twelve years. Yoongi was the first to be changed, by Jimin himself, and the moment he laid eyes on Taehyung, there was no question. Yoongi had wanted him. Needed him. It had been instinct, a magnetic pull that neither of them could resist.
And now, it’s her turn.
She feels it in her bones. The pull toward Jungkook is undeniable, powerful in ways she never expected. From the very first time they met, she had felt it, this bond that she couldn’t explain. The chemistry between them was electric, crackling with something deep, something primal. At first, she had been terrified. Terrified of how badly she wanted him, terrified of what that meant, terrified of what would happen to her, to him, if she gave into it.
But she couldn’t stop.
She couldn’t stop wanting him, needing him, and that terrified her even more. The pull to be with him was too strong to resist, too deep. It was like an ache that couldn’t be filled by anything else, a yearning that clawed at her chest with every breath she took. She can’t live without him, can’t imagine a future where he isn’t there by her side, where his hands aren’t tracing the lines of her skin, where his voice isn’t whispering in her ear.
But even as she craves him, even as she longs for him in a way that consumes her, there’s the undeniable truth that haunts her: it’s her fault that he’s here. It’s her fault that he drank Jimin’s blood, that his transformation has already begun. She had known, in that moment, that it was too late. That one decision had sealed his fate, tied him to her in ways she wasn’t sure he would be able to survive.
It was her fault.
Her fault that he had gotten pulled into the mess that is her life, that he had become a part of the twisted game Jimin had started. She knows that Jimin’s manipulations have played a part in this too, in pushing them both toward this inevitable conclusion. But still, it’s her fault. If she hadn’t been so reckless, so willing to give in, none of this would have happened.
Her fingers tighten around Jungkook’s hair, the pressure grounding her, but it does little to ease the ache in her chest. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know that, soon, he’ll be just like her. He doesn’t know that this bond they share will make it harder and harder for him to resist the pull of his own transformation. She wishes she could tell him, but she knows he would never understand. How could he? How could he understand that the very thing he’s wanted—wanted so badly—could destroy him?
A quiet sob rises in her throat, but she swallows it quickly, not wanting to disturb him. Her heart breaks for him. For them. For what they could have been, if only they hadn’t been swept into this dark, cruel reality.
She presses her face against the top of his head, inhaling the scent of him—of his skin, his warmth, his blood. It’s intoxicating, too much, and yet she can’t get enough. She feels herself unraveling at the thought of him changing, of what that will mean for both of them.
But no matter how much it terrifies her, there’s no going back. They’re tied together, bound in ways neither of them can fully comprehend. And as she lies there, with Jungkook in her arms, she realizes with a heavy heart that, no matter how much she wishes it weren’t true, she can’t live without him.
“I didn't kill any of them, it was them or me… And I don't remember making any rational decisions, it was all… instinct.”
And that served to portray him as a savage, an uncontrolled animal.
Jeon Jungkook is a werewolf far from home.
In the new city, he discovers that things work differently than in his old pack. When he finds himself alone in a delicate and violent situation, with his only safe space invaded, he needs to react and show his claws to defend himself.
Meanwhile, he reveals his deepest feelings to a reclusive vampire while lying to those of his own kind.
Read more about it on tasting your blood means I love you on ao3
Warnings: Blood, murder, angst, pain, loss, DEATH, disease, starvation, mention of suicide, cursing (it's a given at this point bruv)
~You brought me sunshine
when I only saw rain.
You brought me laughter
when I only felt pain.~
"I'm terribly sorry- you just remind me of someone I used to know."
Min Yoongi was never prideful, not once during his mortal life would he call himself romantic either, but with you- hell he was the most prideful and lovey-dovey man you had ever met, but only ever for you.
You a simple young woman of London's high society, the Queen's diamond of the season and him- nothing more than a artist for others including royalty. The two of you were never meant to cross paths but as luck would have it, you managed to catch his eye that fateful night.
A night that doomed him to a living hell the moment he first spoke to you- something the pair of you never saw coming.
The two of you had talked for most of the night and for once Yoongi was actually trying to impress a woman. His close friends Seokjin and Namjoon, two fellow artists, watched on as their usually guarded and reserved friend- charmed the woman in front of him.
He was everything you wanted and more, he was a man made of stone and soft silk. He was rough at the edges but soft in the middle. His hands were calloused from working with different materials over the years that he painted and sculpted with- he even did some woodwork for a few months which gave him a few more scars than he cared for.
Yoongi loved your hands, they were soft and delicate when he first got to hold them. He wasn't too sure about it at first, because a woman of high society London was to keep her gloves on at all times while she was being courted- though he wasn't courting you officially. Even so the two of you managed to escape your prying older brother and mother for at least an hour.
In that hour you and Yoongi had done nothing but laugh and enjoy each others company under a willow tree- keeping an eye out for your family all the while. He had told you about the many places he had visited over the years- the royal families he had painted on large canvases... really the royalty was nothing to bat an eye at- nothing but a bunch of self righteous, spoiled ass brats the lot of them.
Or so he would say at least twice, only because it made you laugh.
Eventually your eldest brother James had found the two of you under the old willow tree and scolded you right in front of him, like a child. Yoongi fumed at the exchange but was forced to keep his mouth shut- for if he was to say anything to your brother he would need to put a ring on it to have a say in anything pertaining to you.
A few weeks would pass and the two of you would send letters to each other, each one more poetic and lovesick than the last.
Yoongi was at the palace with the Queen- so getting letters to and from your residence was quick and easy since your family didn't live far from the palace. He would send you little snippets of how his day was, how insufferable the Queens brat children had been for their portrait- moving every minute it seemed. Why those little brats couldn't sit still was beyond him.
But he could never hold his excitement when you told him you missed him and wanted to see him soon. He held his head high and kept a smile on his face those days. Never once snapping at the royal children or the Queens grandchildren like he normally would, his head would always wander to the clouds when there was a small lull in the portrait process.
He would look to the bright blue sky outside the large, gold trimmed windows and imagine you're looking up at the same blue sky as he was in that very moment. He turned into such a lovesick fool he hadn't paid anyone else much attention anymore, not even his two closest friends. They had tried to get Yoongi to come out with them, to live a little instead of entertaining the thought of the two of you ever truly being together.
Did he listen to them?
Of course not.
Should he have listened to them?
Without a doubt.
But he was young, dumb, and in love- how was he to know the life he had promised you would go up in flames?
That night- oh that night was a whirlwind of emotion and hidden kisses- secret meetings between acts of some play that was going on at the opera house for the Queen who was in attendance. You two paid it no mind- especially when you were too lost in everything that was him, well hidden somewhere far from the opera stage.
Yoongi had mentioned in passing that you two were soulmates, destined to find each other in every lifetime no matter who you became. It was silly at the time but when he had snuck into your room one late night when he couldn't sleep- it began to make sense to you.
He had stayed a respectful distance from you to keep your reputation and honor intact and you understood that much. But as the hours wore on between hushed words and silent laughter you had grown restless- you wanted to be closer to him in everyway that was possible.
That was the first night he had let himself be selfish for once. He had memorized every curve, every dip of your body. Every freckle, every mole and blemish that made up your skin- leaving kisses on each one of them no matter their location. The way his large rough hands roamed over your bare skin was reverent, as if he was painting your body with his skilled hands- it sent shivers down your spine every time they ghosted over your naked body.
The very next day he had pushed by every single suitor that stood by the parlor door of your families generational home- ignoring the shouts and heinous words thrown his way. Really if those men were here to court you the least they could do was keep their words clean of profanities, honestly.
He had barely pushed by the last younger man, barreling into the vast parlor and nearly tripping over his own feet like a fool and maybe he was in that moment. Because when he looked up he saw your brother James, standing just in front of the floral loveseat looking at him like he had just disgraced his entire family by stumbling in the way he had- that was the first and last time Yoongi was a little cowardice.
Yoongi adjusted his collar and suit lapels- a suit he had used the last of his money to buy from the tailor, he wanted to at least look presentable for your family- maybe then they'd give him a chance, that's all he wanted. Your mother had looked him up and down with a searing gaze sizing him up like cattle meant for slaughter- it made Yoongi so damn nervous because even if your brother approved of him- the one who held his fate in her hands was your mother.
Yoongi swallowed thickly as he introduced himself to the only two of your family members present. He didn't have any flowers with him- he should have grabbed some when he passed by the floral shop in his rush to get here before someone could take you from him- since it was the last week of the season. But he was so focused on getting here that he didn't have much time to think after he left the tailors- he left in such a rush that he still had some lingering thread attached to his coat tail.
Your mother wasn't all that impressed with the artist but your brother- he was completely taken by Yoongi and his stories. The way he told them- it felt as if he was right there living it with him. Yoongi really did have a way with words or so he thought. All was going well until your mother stopped him mid-sentence stating that was enough and that she had heard all she needed and waved Yoongi off without so much as a glance in his direction.
Yoongi, who was once so sure he was going to be able to impress your mother, visibly deflated in front of the pair of them and James could only give him a tight lipped smile and a firm pat on the back. The artist walked back down the stairs he had earlier ran up with a racing heart and a dream, he knew it was foolish to think he could have you but goddamn it all to hell- he was in love with you and he would have you in the end. He had already taken your honor and by whatever God above he was going to marry you one way or another.
He stomped out of the manor that day fuming and seething with anger, how could your hag of a mother dismiss him so easily? Was it because he was nothing but a wandering artist? Sure he painted for royalty but the pay never kept his pockets full for long. He could give you the world and more- more beyond just money, he could give you a life full of travel and wonder. He could take you to Paris, Rome, even the Americas if you wanted to go. He would take you anywhere you wanted, all you needed to do was ask and he would move mountains for you.
That same night he had snuck into your room like he had so many times before- you were still awake reading a book by candle light, laying in your bed with your beautiful hair draped against your shoulders and across your pillow. You looked breathtaking to him, your pale face dusted in a light shade of pink when you heard him open your window after he scaled the fencing on the side of the manor leading to your bedroom.
Yoongi put a finger up to his perfect lips, silently telling you to keep quiet as he gently set his feet onto the wood below him. He was careful of the few spots where the old wood would creak under pressure and after a moment he was with you on your bed, his lips instantly finding yours in a passionate kiss. He caressed your cheek, his touch lingering down to your neck and pulling you closer to him as much as he could in that position.
He broke the kiss in need of air and once he caught his breath, he told you everything that had happened this morning since your father had chaperoned a stroll with you and another suitor before he got there. You were taken aback when he told you the events of the morning, your mother was never one to just dismiss someone so rudely but she did it to Yoongi, the man you loved more than anything in this world or the next.
With a wild look in his eyes- he asked you to run away with him, to leave all of this high society bullshit behind. He wanted to take you out of the ton and away from all of the prim and proper stuck up assholes in it- he didn't say it like that but you got the picture nonetheless. Of course you jumped into his lap happily and kissed him with a sunshine smile after but he had to hush you again and told you to keep it down and to find some clothes to ride a horse in and put them on.
The two of you climbed onto the back of the "borrowed" horse with nothing but the clothing on your back, a satchel full of food and a decent amount of coin to get you through your journey until you'd have to stop for food and maybe a room to sleep in for the night.
The days went on like just like that, the two of you staying no more than a night in a crappy hotel- to save some money of course. Most of your days were filled with laughter and sunshine- the ever present fear that Yoongi once held in his heart of never having the chance to really be with you- to marry you was gone. Stomped into the dirt- along with the pain in his chest he felt that day your mother basically told him to fuck right off.
Yoongi- the artist, married you a few months into your new life together and he couldn't be happier. You two had settled in a small town surrounded by people and as the times changed- more steam powered machines made their way into the world. That meant more bodies and the need for more housing- you two managed to keep your small one bedroom house all to yourselves for the most part.
The town had built more buildings and housing on either side of your home to accommodate the slew of people pouring in from all around for new jobs working the machines that powered the factories and among other things too.
Soon the small town was bustling into a city- a disgusting rat infested city. There was hardly a place the two of you could go without stepping on a rats tail or someones foot. There were people- adults and children too- everywhere, most of them were on the streets begging for food or coin to buy food.
You and Yoongi kept mainly to yourselves as a uncommon disease spread through the slums- taking nearly every man, woman, and child's life. If there was a need to go out Yoongi left you at home to keep you safe- giving you a sweet kiss goodbye before he walked out the door- the last time he didn't kiss you before he left he got held up by a few of the poor and sick, he swore to always kiss you before he left and maybe that way he could possibly avoid them. The dead also began to pile up in the streets leaving behind a foul odor of rot and decay- needless to say whatever this terrifying disease was it had a high mortality rate.
No matter how hard the two of you tried to stay healthy there was no stopping the disease- you had nearly every home remedy stashed in your pantry yet none of them seemed to help when Yoongi fell prey to this wild and terrifying disease.
First like many other diseases- it started with a fever then a horrible cough- if you were part of the lucky few the disease would go away on its own. But if you were one of the many unlucky few the cough would turn into throwing up anything you tried to eat, making your body weaker and weaker as the days dragged on.
Then came the blood- oh god the blood- Yoongi had been laying in bed for weeks and he began to cough up blood, so much of it mixed with whatever else came up. You didn't fair much better either but while Yoongi was knocking on deaths door, you had fallen ill as well.
It was difficult for the sick to take care of the sick but at least this way it wouldn't spread to others. The days were long an miserable- the two of you could hardly get out of bed to take care of one another.
But as Yoongi had somehow gotten better-still sick as hell but better- you were still laying in bed sweating bullets and coughing up too much blood for his liking. He begged many doctors to help you but none of them would even dare come to the district you two lived in. It was dark, damp and filthy which he understood but you were the love of his life, his wife and he couldn't just sit idly by and watch you die- if it came right down to it Yoongi would have taken his own life so he didn't have to live an empty existence without you.
Tonight was the night he would die, just not how he thought he would.
He had just sold one of his many paintings of you for a decent sized pouch of coin and was on his way back to you through a dark corpse filled alleyway. This money would pay for two weeks worth of food by itself and anything else you needed- Yoongi kept the pouch in his hand with a smile on his face as he walked down a few stairs and under an archway.
It happened so quickly he didn't have a chance to take a breath when something had ran by him and stabbed his neck with a sharp object.
Yoongi hissed and put his hand up to his neck and when he brought it in front of him he was mortified- eyes blown wide and he almost screamed but the pain that surged through his body stunned him into silence and he fell to the ground choking on air and soon blacked out.
When he awoke next everything felt new- like he wasn't sick at all. Colors were brighter- he could see everything from the flying birds to the smallest of insects.
The air around him didn't smell just of rotten flesh- he could smell the bakery a few blocks from where he stood, the perfume shop further down the road was an intense wall of different scents- so much so it made his head spin.
He could see the small specks of ash from the nearby factory floating in the air around him- he could hear the shop keep in the pottery shop to his right fight with his wife upstairs- he also heard two different speeds of rhythmic thumping.
What happened to him?
Yoongi didn't have a chance to question his new- whatever this was- as his head turned on a swivel when he heard a few men shout at each other down the street- close to his home, close to you. He barely heard any of their words but the few words he did hear made his heart drop to the ground at his feet.
Yoongi had never ran so fast in his life- it felt as if his surroundings blurred together and the wind like a hushed hum past his ears.
That's when he saw it- saw them...
They had torches and a few buckets of something clear and were pouring it on the houses surrounding his- and before he could act everything went up in roaring flames right before his eyes, everything including his own home where you laid helpless on the bed unable to scream or even shout.
The candles must have gone out because if they hadn't those idiots wouldn't have laid waste to the surrounding buildings by burning them like they do with diseased bodies.
Yoongi fell to his knees-tears streaming down his pale cheeks like waterfalls. He was angry-pissed even, but most of all he was in agony because he couldn't do anything to stop it.
Once the fire was out he tentatively walked into the charred remains of what was once the home you shared with him.
Everything was burned to ash- nothing was left of value to him... not even you.
When he saw your remains he fell to his knees once more beside the small bed you two once shared. The blood curdling scream that ripped through his throat was as if someone had stabbed him in the chest- straight through his undead heart.
He stayed there crying and sobbing over you for hours- but when he was done, his eyes glowed red- something had snapped inside him... Something that kept him sane during the hardships you two had endured together.
He was a man- or whatever he had become- on a mission. He knew what the men who had burned you alive smelled like so it was easy for him to hunt them down like animals.
These bastards wanted to act like animals- he was going to slaughter them all like animals and whoever got in his way would meet the same fate as them.
He skulked around the city- in the shadows moving as silent as death itself.
The first man he found was drunk at a pub about half a mile from the slum district. He was an older man with a round stomach and greying facial hair- Yoongi knew he was one of the eight men that had killed you... he could smell it on him.
He waited until the man stepped into the alley to take a piss and that's when he attacked. He didn't get the chance to scream in horror before Yoongi grabbed him by the throat and ripped it out of him- the man fell to the ground with a thud.
Yoongi quickly moved onto his next target. This one was another older man- only he was thinner and walking down the alley with a few of his friends.
Yoongi used his newfound speed to his advantagethis time- he slowly stalked closer at first... then just as the man turned around Yoongi plunged his hand into his chest and yanked his heart out if his chest with a wicked grin.
The man's friends screamed like little girls when his body fell limp onto the ground with a gaping hole in his chest- Yoongi was already gone by the time they began scanning the area for him, too consumed by his deep hunger for revenge.
When he found the last bastard he was at home eating dinner with his family. Yoongi watched from the darkness through their dining room window- his glowing eyes the only thing seen in the alleyway.
Once the family had all gone to bed he climbed the fire escape of the tall building- letting the mouth watering aroma of this man's blood guide him.
He broke locks with his bare hands as if they were made of butter- but he took his time getting to his last victim. He wanted to enjoy it this time, because this fuck was the one who lit it all up with a torch.
Yoongi broke the door handle to this assholes home quickly and slithered inside under the cover of night. He found the children's room first but closed and locked it by crushing the handle- not enough to break it but just enough to render it useless so they couldn't open it.
Then he found their parents room- the door was cracked open slightly. Yoongi pressed the pads of his slender fingers against the wood- opening the door as silently as possible.
He walked in- his steps feather light and stood on his side of the bed and watched him sleep. Yoongi shoved the man's shoulder after a moment passed- the man woke up with a jolt and his gaze instantly fell on the dark figure with glowing eyes standing in front of him.
He was about to scream when Yoongi held his index finger up to his lips to hush the man and surprisingly he complied. Yoongi's lips cracked into a creepy cheshire grin as he kneeled down to the man's height.
He grazed the man's head with his pale hand and hushing him pretending to be worried- then he grabbed the man by the back of his head and yanked it back to make the man look him into his cold dead eyes.
"You took the only one that kept me sane- and now you- and your family- are going to pay for her death with your life."
With deadly accuracy Yoongi wretched his head back and long, sharp fangs had pierced through his gums and around his eyes darkened- he bit into the man's throat forcing the scream that was caught in his throat to ring out into the room, waking up his wife.
Yoongi had swiftly grabbed her by the neck and ripped out her throat like he had so many others while he feasted on her husband like a man starved. He had no clue what possessed him to drink from the man's neck but fuck did it taste divine.
Once Yoongi had killed the parents and taken his vengeance for his beloved, he walked back home- back to you covered in blood from his mouth down his chest- the crimson liquid having stopped right at his belt.
It would be months before Yoongi even thought about leaving you alone ever again- maybe he was going insane but he like to pretend you were still alive. Going as far as to talk for you when he asked you a question but didn't answer.
There would be days he would cry over your charred body- others he would kill anyone who came near his home- his love. On those days he would scare everyone sometimes himself too, eventually his district became known as; The Blood District.
Most humans would stay far away from that area, scared for their lives and rightfully so- Yoongi liked it that way... at least now people would stop looking for him- the ripper. A name that would put fear into every man, woman and child for years to come.
That was well over 230 plus years ago and Yoongi never forgave himself for it- not a single day went by that he didn't blame himself for your death. He was so close yet so far that night, he couldn't stop those bastards as they lit the house on fire to keep the mystery disease from spreading- thinking nobody was inside.
That was the same night he had killed over a dozen or more men- ripped their throats out of their necks or wretched their hearts clean from their chest. He couldn't stop himself he was in pain and anguish- oh how he nearly became insane as he danced down the brick roads and allies- maybe he was insane. Yoongi knew that if he had his way- he would've painted that entire city blood red.
In today's world Yoongi was a doctor- a traveling doctor, he still got to travel all over the world- while helping both humans and vampires that had fallen on hard times.
It's something you would've done had you gotten the chance to- even during your last days you made it a point to try and help anyone who asked for it.
The few vampires that made up his clan- including his maker, Hoseok- who had managed to convince Yoongi to finally bury you somewhere your soul could be free nearly a year after your death- only one was younger than Yoongi the rest were eighty to three hundred years older than him.
Hoseok and Yoongi never got a long in the beginning- the younger vampire always, without fail- blamed his maker for keeping him from you that night. But as the years passed and the tears stopped- Yoongi learned to accept what was and what wasn't.
What was- Yoongi was a vampire who had endless wealth and an endless life. Free to roam the earth and anywhere he wanted to be- as long as he came home every couple months or so.
What wasn't was you- you were dead and long gone from his grasp for the afterlife was a place he could never reach. There was never a day he didn't think of you- looking up at the stars imagining you were looking down on him and his damned soul from the heavens.
Countless times Jimin- a vampire only older than him by eighty years- tried to comfort his brother. He would accompany Yoongi many times to your grave so he wouldn't be alone.
Hoseok and Jimin had made sure to give you the best headstone money could buy- Yoongi had engraved your portrait into the stone himself... with the same hands that once held you so close to him.
On days Yoongi would visit after he'd come home from wherever he was- he would stay with you most of the time, there were days he'd sleep by your grave- even if he had to pretend to sleep sometimes.
It brought him comfort and solace in the oddest of ways- Hoseok would worry for him and often came to your grave in secret... laying down a single tulip before waking Yoongi up from the trance he was in and going home.
Home was this old castle out in the woods- long forgotten but still in imaculent shape- sure the stones were older than dirt and covered in thick vines and moss- but inside was still as grand as a castle should be.
The castle had high walls with many large paintings- a few of which Yoongi had painted himself- and quite a few works of his old friends of the past- Seokjin and Namjoon.
The trim was golden of course with pearly white walls, a grand chandelier as you first walk in with a grand staircase leading up to the bedrooms- which most were used for storage but a few housed the vampires who were sired to Hoseok.
Yoongi kept the room with an old grand piano inside when he first arrived to his new home- the once cluttered and dusty room was cleaned and some furniture was put in to make it livable and over the years Yoongi had collected small trinkets that reminded him of you... each of them made him smile and wonder just how much you would cherish them if he could give them to you.
Yoongi had a difficult time going on without you- during his early years as a vampire he would always keep to himself- hugging the one poorly painted portrait of him you had done to his chest every night and quietly sobbing to himself.
Most days were always harder than the last but after 120 years he learned to cope with the empty feeling in his heart- he never truly moved on but what can one possibly do when you're immortal and not even your favorite whiskey tasted the same?
Their youngest- Jungkook- managed to coax Yoongi out for a night on the town after years of begging the older vampire, Yoongi only went to get him to shut the fuck up for once.
When he entered the club the flashing lights blinded him and the music made his sensitive ears feel as if they were bleeding. Nonetheless he pushed through the sea of bodies to a secluded corner of the club.
Jungkook and Jimin were having the time of their immortal lives- convincing young men and women alike to their corner of the world and nearly sucking them dry- they never killed anyone though, they simply drained them until they were too loopy to remember their encounters the next day.
Yoongi however hated feeding on humans- especially after his days as a ripper- the taste was like swallowing silver to him and he'd throw up any human blood he drank after.
Yoongi fed on animals in the woods- it wasn't much to keep his strength up but it kept him from starving and turning to ash, so he couldn't complain much. He'd always keep a pouch of animal blood on his person should he need it.
Jimin tried to get Yoongi to quote: to get over someone he needed to get under someone else. The thought repulsed him- to even think he could forget you by fucking another human was absurd.
But he tried to- he walked a young girl back to her apartment after talking with her all night- he didn't do much talking but the girl was like a broken record, doing all the talking for him.
That had to be the worst mistake of his long life that he had ever made. Nothing happened of course- nothing tangible at least- it was merely a simple kiss to her lips... after she had walked into her apartment and closed the door he was disgusted with himself.
Yoongi had sped down the two flights of stairs and into the dimly lit alley next to the apartment complex and wretched the blood bag from his pocket and sucked it dry just to get the lingering taste of her out of his mouth.
When he got back home though- he was seething pissed and went straight to his bedroom upstairs- slammed the door shut making the wood crack under pressure and fell to the floor in front of the last work he ever painted of you, in a few of your last days on earth.
The painting was mediocre at best because when he'd painted it he was still trembling with a high fever- but it captured some of your beauty, had the faintest hint of your perfume still on it and it was the only painting he never sold.
You were laying on your shared bed asleep- like you were for the most of your last living days- your wedding ring he had bought for you stood out the most against the pale colors he had used. Your long hair draped over the sweat soaked pillows- your pink cheeks pressed against them in a deep slumber.
It wasn't his best work but he had to keep your memory alive somehow- a Yoongi was on his knees in front of you his face void of all emotion until the tip of his index finger brushed your painted cheek and that's when he lost it.
Yoongi has screamed so loud and full of pain Hoseok and Taehyung who had just gotten home from hunting thought someone had plunged a silver dagger into his undead heart.
He stated in his room for days until a call came in from a vampire he had helped just last year- Yoongi didn't want to leave, it took him two days after the call just to get up and pack what he needed for the trip.
After he had made it to Rome he booked a hotel room for the night and out of the corner of his eye he barely caught long hair flowing past a corner and laughter that sounded just like you- bright, happy, and full of life.
He couldn't snatch his key card from the staff fast enough and just as the woman who sounded just like you had nearly shut the door it happened.
The two of them made brief eye contact before the door was closed and it was like his heart had started beating again- he knew those eyes, those beautiful mesmerizing eyes all too well.
Maybe this was father time playing a cruel joke on him- maybe this was a punishment from the gods perhaps. Either way Yoongi had to know- needed to know if what he saw was truly real and not a figment of his imagination.
But he couldn't bring himself to knock on her door- he stood there for a moment before shaking his head of the absurd thought and walked away to his hotel room- that so happened to be a few doors down from hers.
The next day he had exited the hotel without seeing the woman again- Yoongi kept telling himself it was all in his head, that what he saw was nothing but the ghost of you he longed to see.
Yoongi tried to keep his thoughts clear as he walked through the streets of Rome and he managed just fine until he heard your laugh again.
He was just three blocks down from his destination but he took a detour and followed the adorable melody around corners and small alleyways until he stopped a few feet from an old coffee shop.
Back when he was human Yoongi would frequent this very coffee shop nearly every time he'd visit Rome- but as he scanned the outside tables he saw her- he saw you.
Sure your hair was a different color and your skin was a shade or two darker but it was you- his love, his wife, his reason for being- sitting at a table with a few others he assumed were your friends.
You looked different yes but your laugh was the same and your eyes- oh gods your eyes we're still the same color and your eyes still squinted into little crescents when you laughed with your whole chest.
Yoongi was frozen to the spot, sticking out like a sore thumb with his black clothing against the colored buildings- you looked at him, right at him- it was as if time stopped and everything slowed down to this single moment.
Yoongi took a deep breath and forced his feet to move forward- he crossed the street like an idiot nearly hit by a speeding scooter- his gaze never left yours though. Once he had made it a foot or two from you he stopped- not speaking a single word just staring.
You weren't sick, you weren't pale as death itself- you were here smiling and full of life laughing with your friends- looking at him for the first time in centuries.
"Do we know each other?"
Oh hell your voice was even the same- if his heart was still beating it would've stopped for the second time in his life- he swallowed the lump in his throat and his gaze broke from yours when one of your friends coughed to clear their throats.
He felt small- nearly picked apart by their eyes like he had been with your mother all those years ago- he felt like the same lovesick fool he was when he was alive. His pale cheeks dusted in a light shade of pink as he kicked an imaginary rock- then he looked back to you.
"I'm terribly sorry- you just remind me of someone I used to know."
A/N: I decided to write differently for this one, it's giving Blood Sweat and Tears meets Bridgerton. (?) At least that's how I hope it came across in the very least.
I was also inspired by another vampire fic that I cannot seem to find fucking anywhere, like it fell off the fucking planet- I love that for me.
Please leave your comments or asks for me I really do love hearing from you guys!
ALL 133 OF YOU CRAZIES!!! <3
Also let me know if you'd like a part two or an epilogue to this because if so I'll definitely write it, all you have to ask me honest!
⟶ genres/aus: supernatural au, vampire au, fake dating au, ceo au, romance, smut
⟶ rating: 18+
⟶ wc: 10.7k
⟶ warnings: Yoongi is a bit mean but 😏, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, threats, dirty talk, mentions of blood, biting, blood drinking, blood play, a cheesy staircase scene, a shower scene, smut in the forms of: oral m & f receiving, unprotected sex, rough sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms
⟶ summary: you’ve been undercover at one of Min Yoongi’s many hotels in the city for the past week. you’re there because of the rumors that have been spreading regarding his vampire employees feeding off of his human guests. what you don’t expect to happen is Min Yoongi discovering your true intentions in his hotel and offering you a very interesting ultimatum: pretend to date the vampire CEO to help appeal to his human guests, or quickly find out just what kind of monster he can really be.
⟶ authors note: I know you all must be so surprised to see me posting since it’s been literal months lol. This fic is part of the To Love A Monster collab that I’m hosting with a bunch of really amazing writers. Please check out their fics as well! I have to give some big shoutouts here: M @here2bbtstrash, thank you for betaing what was obviously a mess and assuring me that it wasn’t complete trash, I so appreciate your help. Also to sav @jeonjcngkook who read it before it was even done to also assure me I wasn’t writing junk. And then to jai @gimmethatagustd for making this amazing banner all those months ago when I thought I wouldn’t procrastinate and get this done sooner lol.
I hope you all enjoy this, it’s mostly porn lol.
You have been sneaking around his hotel for a week trying to put any weight behind the rumors that were circulating.
Min Yoongi was a vampire and a very powerful one. He owns almost every luxury hotel within 500 miles of the city. He employs vampires and humans in his hotels and none of the humans you had been talking to seemed afraid to be here. So why are there rumors the vamps are feeding off humans in his hotels?
You have been unable to find any evidence of the unapproved blood drinking. There is, of course, plenty of approved blood drinking. Humans are paid handsomely to volunteer their blood to the vamps and Min Yoongi almost made a show of how much he paid them.
Your last night in the hotel is supposed to be spent at a masquerade party being held downstairs in the grand room, but ever curious you decided to take a small detour past the kitchens.
The dress you are wearing was sent to your hotel room with a note that simply stated “can’t wait to finally meet you tonight when you're wearing this.”
At first, you thought it was possibly delivered to your room by mistake. But the dress was exactly your size and fit like it had been made for you. You didn’t have a no clue who would have sent it, but you weren’t the type to turn down expensive gifts.
While taking your last minute detour past the kitchens, you hear something around the corner that quickly catches your attention.
“I don’t want you to if it’s going to hurt, Jimin.” A female voice says in a hushed whisper.
“I would never hurt you, princess. It’s going to feel so good,” a man with silver hair and a ridiculously pretty smile says to the female as you slowly peek around the corner. One of his hands strokes her cheek while the other holds her body against his.
“Do you promise?” Her voice trembles slightly and you’re immediately afraid for her.
“Of course.” He leans down to kiss her and she seems to melt into him.
There are two things you are absolutely sure about at this moment.
This man named Jimin is a vampire.
This girl is human and being coerced into letting this vampire bite her even though she is obviously terrified.
You watch as the vampire hikes up the girl's skirt, hitching her leg over his hip. You hadn’t noticed that he had removed his cock from his pants until you saw him slip inside the girl in front of him.
You can’t look away, but an even bigger part of you wants to see more. She moans his name and Jimin praises her for taking him so well.
Was this really what they had been talking about? Were they talking about fucking and not him drinking her blood?
But while you were distracted by the scene in front of you, watching tears roll down the girl's face when Jimin slammed her back to the wall, you hadn’t realized that someone else was watching you. A hand covers your mouth and an arm wraps around your waist and lifts you off the ground.
“You aren’t supposed to be down here,” a deep voice says against the shell of your ear. You try to scream to no avail, flailing your head around trying to hit them in the face, but they’re too quick.
You keep fighting against them, even as you feel a needle pierce the skin of your neck and a scream leave the mouth of that poor girl around the corner.
“Time to wake up.” You feel someone grip your face in their hand to keep your head up. Your mind feels like a fog has settled inside.
“You probably gave her too much, Namjoon,” a voice says.
“Impossible. I never miscalculate a dose.”
“Would you two please shut the fuck up,” a deep grumbly voice says from a little further away. “Open your eyes, little monster.”
You force them to flutter open, trying to focus on what’s in front of you through your blurry vision.
“Where…where am I?” You start to move your limbs; your legs move fine, but your arms are handcuffed behind the back of the chair you’re sitting in. “What the fuck?”
“We need to talk about why you’ve been snooping around my hotel for the past week. And I suggest you not lie to me or I’ll kill you now.” A man dressed in a very expensive suit comes around the front side of the desk he was sitting behind and leans against it.
“If you already know, what’s the point in me telling you anything?” Your vision clears more as you focus on his face: long black hair smoothed back off his forehead and eyes that could see through your soul.
“Humor me.” His voice is suddenly at your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.
“Is this how you treat all of your guests? Cuffing them to chairs and letting your employees drink their blood even though they’re terrified?” You glare at him as you speak. It didn’t take you long to realize that this man is Min Yoongi.
He laughs before placing his hands on the arms of the chair, leaning down until his face is level with yours.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, little monster.” His voice is low and his smirk is maddening.
“I’m calling the cops as soon as I get the fuck out of here. This is kidnapping.” You struggle against the cuffs to no avail. Yoongi leans down closer, his nose coming down to skim your throat and cause your body to freeze.
“I can smell it on you…the fear. Your heart is pumping too hard. It’s fucking divine.” His tongue ghosts along your skin and no matter how hard you try not to react, goosebumps appear after you shiver. “Does that turn you on, little monster? Knowing I could kill you…bleed you dry on my tongue?”
It does. God it fucking does. It’s so fucked up, but pain…pushing limits…a little bit of fear…you fucking love it.
“No.” You seethe through clenched teeth.
“Liar.” His words are hot against your ear before his inhuman speed takes him back to the other side of his desk in an instant.
“Bastard.” You cross your legs tightly and slump against the chair.
“You have a choice to make, Ms. ______.” Yoongi sits down in his oversized leather chair and leans back with his eyes on you. “I’m in need of a partner. A human one. Someone to make appearances with me and make it look convincing. I need the humans to book my hotels more often. You can either help me do that or I can kill you.”
“Gee, so glad you’ve given me so many options here,” you scoff.
“What will it be then?” His hand cards through his long hair but his attention stays on you.
You realize that this may give you an extra in for your article. You could have insider information about what’s going on in these hotels if you agree. Maybe this isn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened.
“Fine. I agree.” You know the smile on your face probably isn’t as convincing as you want it to be.
“Meet me back here tomorrow night to sign the contract.” Yoongi nods towards the vampires who have been lingering near the door and one of them comes forward to undo your cuffs.
“Perfect.”
“What the hell? You’ve got an entire clause in this thing that says I can’t write any piece of journalism regarding what I see and hear at any time while or after the contract is up? That’s bullshit!” You toss the thick packet of paper back onto his desk.
“I’ll compensate you for any money your magazine would pay you for the article you were going to write about me.” Yoongi says, as if he’s bored to death as he scrolls his phone.
“How much compensation are we talking about here? Because the magazine I’m working for pays pretty decently for pieces like…” Your sentence is cut off by the sound of your phone dinging on the table. You pick it up to see Min Yoongi has deposited $20,000 into your bank account. You choke, almost throwing your phone when you see the number. “You can’t be serious.”
“Now that your compensation is dealt with, is there anything else in the terms you want to discuss?” Namjoon says, steam practically pouring out of his ears. He turns to his boss next. “Or is there any more money you would like to just throw around?”
You glare at Yoongi, his eyes never leaving you as you reach onto the table and pick the packet of papers back up. He smiles, poking the tip of his tongue against one of his fangs.
Flipping through the rest of the contract, it occurs to you that one thing was never mentioned throughout that ridiculously long document.
“There’s nothing about sex in here.” You skim through a few pages again and Namjoon nearly chokes.
“Should there be?” Yoongi says with amusement in his voice.
“I just assumed…”
“If you want me to fuck you, little monster, we don’t need a contract for it. Just say that’s what you want.” He leans over the desk, his elbows resting on it.
“Obviously I don’t.” You cross your legs and pretend to look through the contract more.
“Get out,” Yoongi says, black eyes still staring at you.
“Excuse me?” You’re about to go off before he cuts you off.
“Not you.” He turns his eyes to Namjoon who was apparently pretending there was something more interesting on his phone. “You. Get out of my office.”
“Asshole,” Namjoon mumbles as he shoves his chair back and, quicker than any human ever could, rushes out of the door and leaves it slamming behind him.
“What is your problem? Why did you tell him to leave?”
“My problem is that you’re lying to me. So I’ll give you one last chance to tell the truth. Do you want to be fucked?” He starts to loosen the tie around his neck while standing up slowly from his desk.
“Why do you assume that I want you to fuck me?” Your mouth feels dry as you grip the arms of your chair.
“Does your cunt usually get ridiculously wet when you don’t want to be fucked?” He stops in front of you, the silky black neck tie sliding between his long fingers.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? So if I got my fingers between your legs I wouldn’t find you dripping?”
“It wouldn’t be because of you.” You tighten your jaw and lift your nose slightly into the air in defiance. “Maybe I thought your lawyer was hot.”
Yoongi has never looked more wicked than he does at this moment. It’s like any kind of mask he was wearing to hide the monster has slipped away, his eyes suddenly the color of blood and fangs elongated while he grips the arms of the chair you’re sitting in, crushing them in his hands. The suddenness of it all makes you yelp in surprise.
“Don’t forget who you’re talking to with that smart fucking mouth, little monster.” One of Yoongi’s hands lifts from the rubble of the chair arms so he can drag a finger up your chest. Even without his inhuman abilities, you know he can hear your heart.
You should be terrified. You are terrified. But you should be trying to get away. Fight him off of you. But you just want more. Want him to bend you over his desk and show you the monster he can truly be.
His wandering finger makes its way over your pulse thrumming in your neck, making him groan low and deep in his chest. But he doesn’t stop there; he keeps his torturously slow pace until the finger is resting on your chin just beneath your lips.
“Open,” he demands, the red of his eyes slowly retreating back to their normal dark color.
You decide not to argue this time, parting your lips just enough for him to slip his finger into the hot cavern of your mouth.
“Suck, little monster, like it’s my cock I know you’re dying to choke on.” He presses the long digit against your tongue, tilting his head to the side as he watches your lips wrap around his finger.
You suck gently at first, running your tongue along its length until you can taste the metal of the very expensive ring on his finger. You lift your eyes to meet his, desperate to see how it’s affecting him.
“You can do better, can’t you, beautiful?” His other hand cups your chin and tilts it up more before he pulls his finger from your mouth. “Well?”
You watch as he leans against his desk, spreading his legs slightly as he presses his palms to the top of the dark wood.
It only takes you a moment to realize what he’s suggesting, and then you’re sliding from the leather chair you’re sitting in down to your knees on the floor in front of him. You can tell he’s half hard already when you come face to face with his crotch.
“This doesn’t mean anything.” Your voice sounds strained and unfamiliar. Yoongi smirks, a small laugh slipping out.
“Don’t worry, little monster. Out there you can be my well put together princess. But here, you’re my whore.” He growls the last part, one of his fangs poking into his bottom lip as he watches you undo his belt and zipper.
You hate how hard your pussy clenches at his words. How much you’re craving exactly what you’re getting. It’s stupid. So, so stupid.
Running your hands up his thighs, you slip your fingers into the band of his underwear and pants, sliding them down to free his waiting cock. And of course it’s perfect. His cocky demeanor is well backed up by the size of the dick in your face alone. Your mouth waters.
“There will be plenty of time for you to gawk, but right now you should really start sucking.” His fingers lace into your hair and lightly grip at the back of your head. You roll your eyes at him, but take his cock into your hand anyways.
His skin is cool to the touch but still flushed as you stroke him. A hum of approval comes from above you. You look up again, taking him into your mouth and making sure to hold eye contact as you do.
Your tongue swirls around him while your head bobs slowly up and down his long shaft. His grip in your hair tightens each time you take him a little deeper into your throat.
“Good girl, fuck,” Yoongi groans, grabbing the bottom of his button up shirt and pulling it up to his chest so that he can see everything that you’re doing.
Closing your eyes for a moment, you let your throat relax and take him all the way down until your nose presses against his lower stomach. The groan you receive in return is nothing short of delicious.
“I could tell from the moment I saw you watching Jimin fuck that girl downstairs that you were going to be the sweetest little slut.” He grips your hair hard, making you yelp around his cock. “And I was so fucking right.” Yoongi uses your hair as leverage to start rocking his hips and fucking into your mouth.
This is exactly what you want. You want him to use you and say dirty things. Your pussy has been clenching around nothing and dripping all over your thighs the entire time. You open your mouth as wide as you can and let him corrupt your throat, holding on to the backs of his thighs for dear life.
“How badly do you want my cum, little monster?” His voice is breathy and full of lust.
Unable to answer him with your mouth occupied, you slide your hands up to his ass cheeks and dig your nails in, making him jolt further down your throat. God you want it so badly.
“Fuck, that’s so good. So fucking good.” Yoongi releases his grip on your hair and lets you bob your head up and down him again to finish him off.
You bring a hand around to stroke him in tandem with your mouth, squeezing at the head on each upstroke. You watch above you as his head finally falls back with a loud moan, his hand on the back of your head to hold you down as he cums down your throat.
He didn’t have to hold you there, you were gladly going to take it all, but it’s obvious this vampire loves control. So you continue to suck softly until he’s finished and pulls his cock from your lips.
You take in a deep breath when he releases you, falling forward slightly but catching yourself on your hands.
“Let me see,” Yoongi grumbles.
“See what?” you say, out of breath. He doesn’t answer, simply grabs your chin and yanks you back up to look at him.
“Open your mouth,” he demands and you obey. “Good girl. I like to see that it’s all been swallowed down your perfect throat.” He releases your chin, extending his hand for you to take to help you up.
As you stand on wobbly legs, you’re surprised by the sudden gentleness from the man who was fucking your throat raw just moments ago. Yoongi helps you straighten your clothes and then moves on to his own, fixing his pants back into place as if the whole thing hadn’t just happened.
“Are you going to put sex in the contract now?” you ask, genuinely curious. Yoongi laughs quietly as he rounds the other side of his desk.
“If you’d prefer it be in writing I can have Namjoon add it in.”
“That…might be best.” You don’t know why. Maybe to give yourself the illusion that this isn’t something you’re more than willing to do.
“As you wish.” He sits back in his chair and watches as you head for his door. “And little monster?”
“Yes?” You almost jump at the sound of his voice again.
“A member of my staff will be taking you shopping and helping you get settled into my penthouse in the next few days.”
“Your penthouse? I don’t remember living together being in the contract.”
“We have to make this as believable as possible. And I want to keep you close.” He opens his laptop, ignoring the surprised look on your face.
“Possessive much?” You glare at him, arms crossing over your chest. He hums with a smirk.
“Only when it comes to things that are mine.” His words send a shiver down your spine, and in that moment you aren’t sure if it’s out of lust or fear.
You don’t respond further, slipping out of his office so that you can breathe again.
“Was all of this truly necessary?” you ask.
“Yoongi said you were to get everything you wanted.” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders as he types into his phone.
Jungkook had come to your hotel room three days after you’d left Yoongi’s office. He’s apparently Yoongi’s assistant, and lucky for you, is much friendlier than his boss. He had other staff collect your things from your room and take them to Yoongi’s penthouse before rushing you out the door to shop.
“Yes, but you literally bought everything I even glanced at twice.” There are bags covering the entire floor of the elevator you’re riding up in, and the hotel attendants will be bringing tons more up from the car.
“Don’t overthink it. Just enjoy being the spoiled brat that you are for a few months,” Jungkook teases, making you roll your eyes with a laugh.
The elevator dings, signaling your arrival at the very top floor of the hotel. Your stomach twists as the thought of living here with Yoongi finally dawns on you. This is a ridiculous idea.
“Welcome home!” Jungkook shouts, scaring you for a moment.
You step out into the entryway of the penthouse, immediately overwhelmed by the beautiful set up. The entire far wall is windows, of course: it wouldn’t be a penthouse without ceiling to floor windows. But the way the sun is setting outside is breathtaking to see from this high up.
You move a little further inside, taking in the black leather couches and oversized fireplace in the living room area. Fur carpets cover the dark wood floors and abstract pieces of art sit on almost every table.
It’s an open concept, the kitchen taking up the other half of the first floor. Though you aren’t sure why a vampire would need a kitchen with their…special diet. It has lights that drop down low from the ceiling and a huge island with tons of seating. Does Min Yoongi enjoy entertaining guests? You can barely imagine it.
“Boss should be back soon. Want me to wait with you?” Jungkook says, still typing away into his phone. He’s rather sweet for a vampire.
“I’ll be fine, Jungkook.” You give him a small smile as you wrap your arms around yourself. “And thank you for today.”
“My pleasure. You’ve got my number, anything you need just give me a call.” He looks up at you, then inhumanly fast is out the door. How will you ever get used to that?
You decide to look a little closer at the kitchen, letting your fingertips ghost over the black marble countertops. Making your way to the fridge, you open its huge doors to find it fully stocked with food.
“What the fuck?” you mumble to yourself. Why did he need all of this food?
Before you close the doors, a bottle of wine on the top shelf catches your eye and you grab it before spinning around to face the kitchen island and search for a corkscrew.
What you don’t expect to see is Min Yoongi standing on the other side of the island, watching you carefully.
“Holy shit!” you screech, your heart lurching in your chest. “Can you please make some noise when you enter a room? Jesus.”
“Making yourself at home, little monster?” He smirks, likely loving the fact that you almost had a heart attack.
“I was just looking around.” You sit the bottle of wine down and lean over the counter, resting your elbows on the marble. “Is that okay?” You know that your cleavage is pushed up by the way you're bent over and you definitely did it on purpose.
“You’re welcome to look around.” He drums his long fingers against the countertop. “I’ve got nothing to hide from you.” You scoff.
“No bodies hidden in the closets? A coffin in your bedroom perhaps?” You reach up and carefully take a wine glass down from the rack hanging above the kitchen island.
“This isn’t the dark ages, little monster. The sun being a problem for vampires is something of the past.” He shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the chair next to him.
“It seems vampires evolve very quickly.” You say it casually, hoping he will spill information that most humans don’t know; information that you can use when you write an article exposing everything about them.
“Curious little thing, aren’t you?” He loosens his tie while slowly stalking towards you around the counter.
“It’s my job to be curious.” You try to pretend that him coming closer doesn’t affect you by pouring the wine into the glass you retrieved.
“Do you think you’re going to find a loophole in my contract? Something that would allow you to write your article? Foolish…” Yoongi wraps his tie around his palm and continues his slow movements towards you. Your stomach tightens, wondering when he’s going to get sick of you and kill you where you stand.
“We don’t need to talk about the article. It’s obviously not happening.” You take a drink, the sweet white liquid enticing your taste buds.
“Your heart gives you away.”
“What?” You’re taken aback by his words, taking them in a way he didn’t mean.
“It’s picked up speed. Almost a thrum. You’re lying…but that’s okay. You want to be brave, then go ahead. But I’m not your enemy, little monster.” He moves too quickly for a moment, coming too close all at once, causing you to drop your wine glass on the floor.
The glass shatters against the tile floor, the wine spreading out and filling into the space between the tiles. You don’t even think about your next move, bending down and immediately starting to pick up the shards of glass.
“Sorry…” you start to say, nicking your palm on a piece of glass in your rush to scoop them up. “Fuck, that hurts. Could you hand me a rag?” You don’t look up at first, but when Yoongi doesn’t say anything, you get impatient.
What you see is the monster you know you shouldn’t want so desperately.
His eyes are red and raging as he grips the counter top with one of his hands, the marble starting to crumble between his fingers.
“Get the fuck up.” Yoongi struggles but manages to get the words out between gritted teeth.
“What?” You scoot back across the floor, trying to put space between you. You watch as his hands shove into his hair, pulling at the long black strands as he makes pained groaning noises at the floor.
With that inhuman speed, Yoongi leans down and grabs your wrist, blood still leaking from the cut on your palm. The grip on your wrist is so hard you’re afraid he might break your bones.
“Yoongi, you’re hurting me. Let go,” you practically whimper as he drags you up from the floor and shoves you against the side of the island. “Stop. Please don’t…”
You know that if he wanted to kill you, he would have by now. He could have drained you dry and no one would ever know to even look for you here. But the fear makes you feel alive. It makes your heart hammer and your pussy clench. What the fuck is wrong with you?
Yoongi grabs your wrist again, making you yelp in surprise. He stares at it for a moment, intently watching your blood slide down your skin. He closes his eyes before making his final decision.
You decide to close your eyes too, not sure if you want to see what could happen next.
To your surprise, what you feel is the warm, wet muscle of his tongue licking along the inside of your wrist up to your palm. Your eyes shoot open immediately, meeting his ruby colored orbs.
“I want to kill you,” he whispers against the skin of your wrist, lapping at the blood once more.
“I know,” you whisper back.
“Why does that make your pussy wet, little monster?” He smiles wickedly before his lips attach to the cut on your palm, sucking gently. You can’t help the moan that slips past your lips as you watch your blood coat his mouth and run down his chin.
“I…I don’t know.” You reach out with your other hand to grab onto his shirt and anchor yourself to something.
“All of that insolence seems to disappear when your pussy is getting what it wants.” He licks one more long stripe up your wrist before he pulls away, his eyes in the beginning stages of returning to their normal dark.
“You haven’t given me anything that I want.” You yank your wrist out of his hold, rubbing at the bruise marks already appearing. Yoongi rolls his eyes, grasping your shoulders and turning you around to walk you towards the sink. He turns on the water and motions for you to put your hand underneath it.
You turn your back to him, washing your hand under the warm water until it seems to stop bleeding heavily. You start to reach for a towel before you feel his chest against your back, his arms suddenly caging you against the counter in front of the sink.
“Why don’t you tell me what it is you want then, hm?” His breath against your ear sends a shiver down your spine. “I can smell every bit of desire between your legs.” His knee comes up between your legs, making you brace yourself on the counter at the sudden pressure he’s putting against your pussy.
“Touch me…and don’t stop.” Your body shakes in anticipation. Yoongi chuckles in your ear, his tongue finding the lobe.
“You’ll take what I give you…and you’ll be fucking grateful.” His sharp fangs nip at your ear and cause your ass to press harder into his crotch. You don’t care what he wants to give you at this point, you’re too desperate.
“Please,” you whine.
“I’m feeling benevolent this evening…you sucked my cock so well the other day that I may even let you cum.” He presses his cock against your ass before pulling away from you all together.
“Asshole.” You scowl as you turn around to face him. Yoongi merely looks amused.
“I’m still hungry, little monster. Get on the counter.” He pats the marble top with his hand while he undoes the top few buttons of his shirt with the other.
“Why?”
“Are you always going to ask so many questions or are you just going to fucking listen?” He cards a hand through his long raven colored hair and sighs, drenched in annoyance.
“Fine.” You roll your eyes, walking towards him where he stands by the kitchen island. Before you even have a chance to call him more names, he’s grabbing you by the hips and practically tossing you onto the counter. “Fuck, Yoongi, can you try not to break me?”
“Where's the fun in that?” He smirks, coming to stand between your thighs, your face just above his from this height. “I think you may even beg me for it.” His voice is low, a rumble in his chest as he watches your face.
You want to reach up and push some of the stray hairs away from his face. But that would mean you have some kind of affection towards this vampire and you can’t let that happen. It’s almost painful to keep your hands at your sides.
“Get on with it then.” Your lips just barely ghost his when you speak, yet another thing you have to keep yourself from wanting.
Too quickly, your back is suddenly pressed against the cold marble countertop when Yoongi grabs your thighs and pulls your ass to the edge. You yelp when his lips press to the inside of your thigh.
“Maybe the human men you’ve slept with like that smart mouth of yours, little monster.” He shoves your skirt up over your hips, long fingers immediately finding your slit over your panties. “But me? It makes me want to devour you.”
You moan and don’t hold back the sound, shivering when you feel his fangs pressing against your skin. He sucks a trail up your thigh, leaving small blossoms in his wake. When you feel his tongue languidly slide over the outside of your panties, you almost come undone right there.
“Please don’t tease me anymore. I’m so wet already.” He licks at you again before raising his head to look at you.
“Be a good girl and take what I give you.” His hand reaches between your thighs and, with no effort at all, rips your underwear from your body in a single motion.
You don’t have time to be snarky again before his face is buried in your pussy. Your back arches off the counter, fingers gripping at the marble to no avail.
The long muscle of his tongue swirls around your clit before expertly diving back down inside you, licking up every bit of wetness that leaks from you. The world feels as if it’s tilting on its axis, that feeling of falling clouding your mind when you start to feel the urge to cum after such a short period of time.
“You’re going to give me at least three, so stop holding back and let me have what’s mine.” The rough grumble of his voice vibrates straight to your core as the pad of his thumb strokes your clit and his tongue disappears back inside you.
“Oh fuck,” you whine, chest heaving as your first orgasm wracks through you like a hurricane on a path of destruction with no end in sight.
“Your cum tastes almost as good as your blood, little monster. Again.” His long fingers slide inside you easily as your body shakes from being over-sensitive.
“Feels so good.” Your hands take on a mind of their own and make their way into the long, messy strands of his hair, gripping at the roots and pulling him closer.
“Greedy.” Yoongi sucks harshly on your clit, letting it pop from between his lips before he soothes it with his tongue.
“Asshole,” you moan, feeling your second orgasm hurtling towards you. Yoongi laughs quietly against the inside of your thigh.
“You like the pain. Stop pretending that you don’t.” He nips at your skin with his fangs, making you flinch. “You just gushed on my tongue.”
“I can’t go again, Yoongi. I need to stop.” You can feel sweat dripping from your forehead, your skin hot to the touch.
“You can and you will.” His arms wrap tightly around your thighs and yank you back to the edge of the counter, your sweaty skin squeaking across the surface.
Your body is telling you to scream. The pleasure and the discomfort are dancing a fine line and your head is absolutely swimming. You begin to think that you may not live through this when his mouth is back on your abused pussy.
Yoongi throws your legs over his shoulders and licks deeper than he had been before, the bottom half of his face drenched in everything leaking from you through the past two orgasms.
“Bite me,” you beg. You know if he bites you that it will intensify everything you feel, but also bring the possibility that the monster consuming your pussy kills you.
Yoongi practically rips himself from you, his breathing ragged and rushed.
“Don’t ask for things that you don’t understand.” His long fingers find your swollen clit while the other hand swipes across his mouth.
“Please…please I can’t cum again without it.” Tears start to slip down your face.
“I could kill you. It would be so fucking easy.” His eyes start to turn red, the crimson bleeding into his dark irises.
“It’s worth the risk, isn’t it? Please…” You’re so desperate you have no idea what you’re saying. Yoongi scoffs.
“You really are a little monster, aren’t you?” Yoongi smiles, his fangs elongating. Your heart beats so fast, somewhat with fear but mostly with the anticipation of what you’ll feel when he bites you.
In a flash, the vampire between legs is sinking his teeth into the inside of your thigh. You gasp, all the air leaving your lungs as your eyes fly open, the light fixtures on the ceiling blurring. You grab at your breasts when a sudden flood of heat starts to spread through your entire body.
Your body jolts when Yoongi takes the first long drag of your blood into his mouth. He moans at the taste, his hands gripping your hips in a bruising hold.
Another long pull of blood floods into his mouth and you start to see stars. Yoongi moves one hand back to your pussy, his fingers gathering wetness and spreading it up to your swollen clit.
“Yoongi…” You’re so light headed you aren’t sure if you can keep your eyes open much longer. Yoongi rips his mouth from your thigh, his chest heaving, blood dripping off his chin and down his neck where it stains the white collar of his shirt.
“Good girl. You’re doing so well, baby.” He pushes you back further onto the counter before climbing onto it himself.
You can feel the warmth of your blood coating your skin on your thigh, but the only other thing you’re desperately aware of is him. Him and the way he rips your dress off your body as if it wasn’t extremely expensive and brand new.
“I’m so close.” Everything between your legs aches but your greedy body still wants more.
“I’m going to keep you, little monster. You’re mine now.” He licks the inside of your thigh, dragging his tongue through the blood. “Say it.”
“Yours,” you sigh, his fingers gathering up the blood on your skin and spreading over one of your breasts.
“I’ll make you cum now, little monster. Good girls get what they need.” His sinful mouth attaches to your breast, licking and sucking the blood.
You arch up from the counter top, pushing your breast further into his mouth and spreading your legs wider when his fingers make their way back inside you, petting your walls and stroking your g-spot until he’s making you cum again.
Your cheeks are wet from tears and your body is weak from losing blood and orgasming a ridiculous amount of times. But somehow you manage to sit up on your elbows when Yoongi slides back off of the counter, wiping his mouth and licking his fingers clean of your juices and blood.
“You’re quite divine, even if you constantly test my patience.” He puts a hand out for you to take. When you do, he helps you down from the counter. “Let’s shower.”
“You want to shower with me?” Your legs wobble as you stand and Yoongi rolls his eyes.
“I need to make sure you don’t collapse while you’re in there. Don’t overthink it.” He looks around at the floor still covered in glass and the countertop covered in your blood. “I’ll have someone clean this up while we get you cleaned up.”
“Is it a normal occurrence for the cleaning staff to casually clean up blood?” You stumble a bit when you try to take a step. Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance.
“So many questions.”
“You could’ve picked any human to be your fake girlfriend, I’m sure there are plenty of them that wouldn’t ask questions.” You take another wobbly step. Yoongi sighs behind you, moving too fast for your eyes as he scoops you up into his arms. Your eyes have no time to adjust before you’re in the bathroom.
“Don’t make me regret that decision, little monster,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, carefully sitting you down onto a chaise lounge chair.
“Why is this here?” you ask, hands sliding over the soft material.
“Perhaps I’ll show you some time.” He smiles wickedly, turning away from you to turn on the water inside the giant shower. Water pours down like a waterfall from the ceiling.
You take a moment to appreciate the incredible shower before your eyes find Yoongi again, his fingers still stained with your blood nimbly beginning to unbutton his shirt and revealing the smooth planes of his chest and stomach. It’s the first time you’ve really had a moment to appreciate the details of his body.
Your eyes fall on the crotch of his pants, still tented and tight.
“Do you want me to…” you motion towards his obvious hard on.
“No. Not tonight.” He holds out his hand for yours again. “Come here.” You let him wrap his fingers around yours, helping you to your feet. He makes sure that you’re steady before walking you into the shower.
Yoongi stands back, watching you walk under the steaming waterfall and removing his pants as he does. He commits the shape of your body to memory, eager to continue defiling it every chance that he gets.
You don’t hear him approach, your skin merely explodes in goosebumps when the cool skin of his hands and arms wraps around your torso from behind you. His face finds the crook of your neck, lips seeking out your throat and up to your jaw. It’s surprisingly…soft.
“Does it hurt?” he murmurs against your ear, fingers ghosting at your lower stomach. Cool lips kiss your shoulder.
“Just sore.” You turn your head and meet his eyes when he lifts his head. “I’ll be fine.”
Looking at him in that moment makes you suddenly realize that you’ve never kissed Yoongi. Maybe he wants it that way. Kissing is intimate and this is supposed to be an arrangement with no feelings involved.
He looks at you a moment longer before he clears his throat, his arms leaving your body as he kneels down in front of you.
“What are you doing?” Your eyes widen.
“Relax, little monster. I’m going to make it better. Hold onto my shoulders.” He waits until you do as he asks before he carefully lifts your legs, turning your inner thigh towards his face.
Blood still slowly seeps from the puncture wounds he left behind, bruises forming around them. Yoongi looks up to meet your eyes once more, holding them as he sticks out his tongue and presses it to your thigh, swiping up the blood before he drags it over the punctures.
Shivering at the feeling, you watch as the bite marks seal themselves closed and the bruising quickly fades from your skin. It’s as if nothing had ever happened.
“That trick must get a lot of attention at parties.” You try to laugh at your own joke, but you’re honestly so taken aback by what just happened in front of you. Yoongi smiles, a real one that you aren’t sure you’ve seen until now.
“Vampire venom has healing properties. I’m not a fan of the idea of you being uncomfortable in any way.” He presses a kiss to your thigh, then stands from the shower floor.
He helps you wash your body and hair, rubbing your scalp and shoulders until you almost fall asleep standing up.
“Come to bed.” You suddenly realize that you’re no longer in the shower, but in Yoongi’s bedroom, a fluffy black towel wrapped around your body.
“Why am I in your room?” you ask, confused.
“Because you’re sleeping in my bed. With me.” He throws back the comforter and pats the mattress. “In the bed, little monster.”
“Why am I sleeping in here? Surely you have spare rooms in this ridiculously big penthouse.” The idea of Yoongi wanting you to sleep in bed with him feels strange.
“Of course there are, but you’re staying in my room. Stop asking questions for the night, I beg you.” He rubs his temple as he walks towards his closet, reappearing a literal second later with sleep pants on. “Sleep in this if you want.” He tosses a tshirt towards you and you barely manage to catch it.
“But I don’t…” you start to protest again and Yoongi is suddenly in front of you, his hand covering your mouth.
“I want you to sleep in here. You’re mine and that’s all the explanation I’ll be giving you. No. More. Questions.” When you nod in understanding, he slowly moves his hand down and holds your jaw. “Get into bed.”
You nod again and he releases you, walking around to the other side of the bed. Yoongi settles with his back against the headboard, watching as you drop your towel and slip on the T-shirt he had given you.
“Are all vampires as possessive as you?” You glare at him playfully as you climb into the bed.
“What did I just say about questions, _____?” He throws his hands up in the air.
“Fine. Goodnight.” You dramatically grab the comforter and pull it over you, turning to face away from him. You hear him laugh quietly before the bed shifts once more and sleep grabs hold of you faster than it ever has.
Weeks go by.
The arrangement becomes easier and easier to do.
Yoongi brings you to parties and meetings and formal dances, dressing you up in the most gorgeous and expensive outfits. He gets you anything that you want and all you have to do is talk about how amazing he is to all of his human investors and guests.
He keeps you close, doesn’t let you wander too far. His cool hand is always at the small of your back.
The possessiveness is something you thought you would find annoying. He explained it’s just in a vampire's nature to be that way. But it’s easy to just let it happen when deep down, you love it.
God there really is something wrong with you.
Yoongi being possessive, however, is not the biggest problem you’ve had over the last few weeks. The problem is that he refuses to fuck you.
There’s plenty of other things to keep the edge off. Using his mouth to possess you in an entirely different way. He buries his face between your legs every chance that he gets. In his office…on top of his desk…in every dark corner he can find. You repay the favor when he lets you, letting him use your throat as his own personal fuck toy. But it isn’t enough, and he brushes you off every time you try to bring it up.
Tonight is an extremely important night. Yoongi is throwing a party to celebrate the grand opening of his newest hotel. There will be hundreds of people in attendance that need to be impressed.
“Are you almost ready?” Yoongi’s deep voice startles you as you stand in front of the vanity mirror in his bathroom.
“Just finishing up.” You pop in your second very large emerald earring before picking up the matching necklace. It’s the heaviest piece of jewelry you’ve ever felt.
“Can I help with that?” He comes to stand behind you, holding out his hand for the necklace.
“Thanks.” You carefully place it in his palm and turn back to the mirror, watching his face intently.
“You understand how important this night is, don’t you?” His breath tickles the back of your neck as he speaks. “How badly I need it to go well?”
“I know.” His eyes meet yours in the mirror as he carefully brings the chain around your throat.
“Good girl.” His lips meet your shoulder, pressing a too-soft kiss to your already heated skin.
“You’re going to have to talk eventually.” Your eyes fall shut when his hands come around and cup your breasts from behind.
“I find it amusing that you think I owe you any kind of explanation for what I do or don’t do to you, little monster.” He pinches your nipples through the thin material of your dress, making you hiss through your teeth and lean further into him.
“Just tell me why you won’t fuck me, Yoongi. It’s been weeks.” You grind your ass against his growing erection.
“We’ll discuss this later. The car is waiting downstairs.” A scrape of his fangs across your shoulder before the feeling of his body against your back is gone.
“Asshole,” you grumble, straightening your dress and smoothing any hair that may have moved out of place.
He waits for you at the top of the stairs, offering his hand to help you walk down them in your heels. You brush past him, taking on the challenge unassisted and making Yoongi scoff.
The universe has other plans for you though, not allowing you even a single moment of holding your head up high before you trip on the edge of one of the stairs. It happens so quickly that you don’t even have time to make a sound.
There are arms abruptly wrapped around you, too quick for your human eyes to make sense of. The next thing you know, your back is being shoved against the railing, bent, with a vampire looming over you, his nose pressing to yours while his lips ghost just above you.
“Do you have a death wish, little monster?” Yoongi whispers, his hold on you tightening.
“I’m sorry…that was so…” You can’t think straight, let alone comprehend what just happened.
“Stupid? Yes, so very stupid.” One of his hands leaves your back and makes its way into your hair, pulling the strands to make you look up at him. “Do not ever endanger yourself that way again. I can’t be around all the time to keep you alive.”
“Okay.” You nod, lips brushing his in the motion. You shudder at their cool sensation. But when you move to try and kiss him, he immediately pulls back.
“Come on. We’re late.” When he offers his hand this time, you take it, letting him usher you into the penthouse elevator and down to the lobby. His bodyguards get the two of you into the car in a blur.
Yoongi doesn’t say a word in the car. He doesn’t even look at you the entire way to the new hotel. It’s fucking infuriating.
Once inside the hotel, you immediately grab a glass of champagne off of a passing tray, downing it quickly before you feel the familiar pressure of Yoongi’s hand on your lower back.
“Easy, little monster,” he says lowly. You roll your eyes, plastering on a fake smile and joining him to talk to some very rich humans.
“I don’t think we’ve met.” A tall man in a pristine suit and glasses says when you join them. He is incredibly handsome.
“Taehyung, this is my girlfriend, Y\N. Y/N, Kim Taehyung. He’s giving me a hard time about investing in my hotels.” Yoongi’s fingers gently stroke your bare back exposed from your dress.
“Girlfriend? A human?” Taehyung asks curiously.
“100% human,” you laugh, nervously gesturing towards yourself.
“Wouldn’t have imagined such a pairing. Especially for you, Yoongi.” Taehyung sips his whiskey, his eyes staying on you even as he speaks to Yoongi. You’re too busy trying to laugh at everything he says to notice the way Yoongi’s jaw tightens.
“Yes, well, sometimes humans can be rather surprising. Tolerable even.” Yoongi looks at Taehyung like he wants to drain him, while everyone else standing there laughs at what Yoongi has said.
“Indeed.” Taehyung sips his whiskey again.
“We should make our rounds, baby.” Yoongi runs his finger under your chin, bringing your eyes up to his. “Come,” he whispers, only loud enough for you to hear. You bite your bottom lip, nodding as you thread your fingers through his.
“I hope to see you again soon, _____,” Taehyung calls from behind the two of you. Yoongi starts to turn around but you pull him back.
“Don’t. He’s trying to get under your skin.”
“I could snap his neck…sever his throat…” Yoongi loosens his tie a little, pulling your hand to continue walking towards the outdoor balcony.
“You need him, don’t you? Just think about that.”
“He makes the best gambling games in the damn country, of course I need him.” He runs a hand through his long hair, the strands of it even longer now than they were when you had first met him all those weeks ago.
“So let it go,” you sigh, releasing his hand when the two of you are alone outside. “I don’t know why you care anyways.”
“I didn’t say I cared.”
“You were acting like a jealous prick back there. Seems like you might care a little.” You fold your arms over your chest, cool night air chilling your skin.
“I don’t, you ridiculously infuriating woman,” he half-laughs, pressing his palms to the stone wall that overlooks the hotel courtyard.
“Yeah, well, I don’t care about you either.” You’re practically pouting but you don’t care.
He groans, his fingers cracking the stone beneath them. You want to close the distance between the two of you, touch his chin and make him look at you.
“Why is it so hard for you to say?” you ask quietly.
“We’re talking about feelings here, little monster. I don’t do feelings,” he lies. You roll your eyes.
“Fine. I’ll go see if Taehyung wants to spin me around the dance floor a few…” you start to say, heading towards the door. You’re cut off by Yoongi grabbing the back of your neck and spinning you back around to face him. Your body presses to his, molding to the shape.
“You. Are. Mine,” he practically growls, a deep snarl on his face as he tries to keep the monster at bay.
But you aren’t afraid.
“Then act like it. Show me that you want me or let me walk away.” Your breaths come out rushed and uneven as the two of you stand there, nose to nose.
He thinks for a moment. Almost too long. But then he smirks, his grip on the back of your neck softening slightly.
“You’re not getting away that easily, little monster.” And then his mouth is crashing against yours, consuming, devouring.
You’ve thought about what it would be like to kiss Yoongi for weeks. You knew that you shouldn’t, but that didn’t stop you from imagining what he tasted like or how his lips felt.
The way he kisses you now is so incredibly unexpected, you have to remind yourself what planet you’re on.
It only takes a moment for you to respond, pulling him closer and molding your mouth to his, filling in the spaces with your tongues. It’s when your fingers find their way into his hair that you really begin to grasp that there’s no coming back from this. There’s no more pretending.
Your thoughts are shaken when his hands travel to the backs of your thighs, lifting you onto the stone wall of the balcony. You grip him tighter, afraid to look behind you and see the ground looming below.
“What’s wrong? You aren’t afraid of heights are you, little monster?” he teases, shoving himself between your legs and scooting you even closer to the edge of the wall.
“Anyone would be afraid of a two story drop.” You try to capture his lips again, anything to stop thinking about the possibility of falling, but he pulls back just enough to keep you wanting.
“As if I’d let you fall.” Yoongi whispers the words so quietly you barely hear them, his eyes staying on your lips.
“Maybe I already am.” You feel him stiffen, his body going rigid at your words.
“Don’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Stupid, stupid girl,” he sighs. “There’s too much good in you…too much humanity for you to be talking that way.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
He stares at you for what seems like hours, gauging what could really be going through that head of yours. Then he gently kisses you again, melting away any facade either of you were trying to keep playing.
“We’re leaving,” he says after a moment of soft kisses.
“But we just got here. What about all the schmoozing we need to be doing?”
“Screw the schmoozing. I want to fuck you.” He takes one of your hands and brings it between your bodies, helping you to cup his hardening dick through his pants. “This is what you want, isn’t it, little monster? So desperate to be filled with cock.”
You whimper, licking the seam of his lips with your tongue as you palm his cock, thoughts of literally anyone who looks out the window seeing the two of you out here turning you on even more.
“Take me home, please.” You’re no longer above begging.
“I’m going to leave you in ruins.” Yoongi means for it to be a threat, something to deter you from wanting this, but it only makes you wetter. The thrill and the danger and the possibility of devastation that making this choice could cause only make you want it more.
Yoongi grabs your wrist, walking with determination until you’re back inside the party where Namjoon immediately sees the two of you making your way through the crowd.
“Yoongi, what the fuck? There’s people looking for you.” Namjoon steps in front of Yoongi but it doesn’t stop him from his mission to get to the front door.
“Tell them I’m sick.” Yoongi opens the door, presses a kiss to the top of your hand and guides you outside. You can’t help the ridiculous smile that finds its way onto your face.
“Vampires don’t get sick.” Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you really going to do this to me?”
“I’ll make it up to you.” Yoongi guides you down the front steps of the hotel, your eyes landing on Jungkook at the bottom, leaning against the car and playing a game on his phone.
“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks, panic crossing his usually soft features.
“It’s okay, Jungkook. We just need the car.” You pat his shoulder reassuringly while Yoongi opens the door for you to settle into the passenger seat. You’re about to grab your seatbelt when he leans down into the car and kisses you. “What was that for?”
“It may be the last bit of sweetness you get from me tonight. Enjoy it while you can.” His teeth nip at your bottom lip.
“Who said I enjoy sweetness?” You make sure he sees the way you make your dress ride up your thighs. Yoongi groans.
“Perfect little monster,” he coos, taking one last look at your exposed thighs before he shuts the car door. You watch as Yoongi brushes off Jungkook and Namjoon’s protests of him leaving this important party and gets into the driver's seat.
His long fingers grip the steering wheel tightly as he immediately punches the gas. And while you’re not afraid of the vampire sitting next to you, his driving is an entirely different story.
Luckily the drive back to the main hotel is short and you find yourself pressed to the wall of the elevator before you can even think of scolding Yoongi for his driving.
“I’ve pictured thousands of ways I’ve wanted to fuck you.” He hikes your leg over his hip. “But this is going to be quick.”
The elevator dings for the penthouse floor and with his inhuman speed, Yoongi moves you into the entry way and through the apartment, his mouth devouring yours as he deposits you onto his bed.
“No foreplay. Please just fuck me.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he licks down the column of your throat.
“Are you ready for me already?” His breath tickles your skin.
“Yes.” You take his hand and move it between your legs, your dress bunching around your hips as you push it out of the way.
Yoongi takes your hint, his fingers delving into your underwear to find your soaking pussy. He groans, pushing his fingers inside to pet your walls.
“So you are.” He sits up on his knees between your legs, throwing his suit jacket off of his shoulders and tossing it across the room.
You sit up on your elbows, watching intently as he undoes the buttons of shirt and reveals the beautiful skin of his chest and stomach. The muscles are there, but he’s also unexpectedly soft as your fingers explore the planes.
You help him the rest of the way out of his shirt, leaning up further to kiss his chest. His hands grip your hair but he doesn’t move you away, letting you traverse his skin with your lips and tongue for a moment.
“Get this off of me.” You start to reach behind you for the zipper of the dress but Yoongi has other ideas.
He reaches down and grabs your hips, flipping your body over so that you’re on your stomach and face down on the bed.
“Allow me.” His mouth is on the exposed skin of your back, kissing a wet path down your spine as he unzips the dress. You can’t help the moan that escapes you, or the way your hips push back to try and find friction. “Greedy,” he mumbles against the small of your back.
“Please, Yoongi. Just hurry up.” You slide the sleeves off of your arms so that Yoongi can pull the dress the rest of the way off. It must’ve been expensive, but he still tosses it to the floor.
When you try to roll back over onto your back, he grabs your hips and holds you in place.
“No, I think I’ll have you just like this.” You hear him take off his belt and the mattress move slightly when he removes his pants. “Hold onto something, little monster.”
There’s no time to protest; you barely have time to grab the comforter before he’s sheathing his cock inside you in one fluid motion. You fall forward on your elbows, your face meeting the bed as you cry out from the intrusion.
“Fuck…” you whine, tightening your hold on the comforter as he starts to rock his hips, burying himself to hilt each time he pumps back into you.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? So desperate for cock that you’d let a vampire defile you.” His hands hold so tightly to your hips that you know there will be bruises immediately.
“Yes, I wanted it so bad.” You can feel drool begin to form at the corner of your mouth as he fucks you harder.
“Just remember, little monster, out there you’re the perfect princess for the public to see. But in here, in my bed, you’re my good little whore.” He thrusts particularly hard on the last word, shoving your top half flat against the bed when your arms give out.
“Yoongi…” It barely comes out a whisper, but you know he hears you.
“Come here,” he grunts, leaning over your body and wrapping his arms around your torso, pulling you up to press your back to his chest, his cock staying nestled inside you as he adjusts you the way he wants.
His thrusts stay deep, but slow down slightly. One hand grips your breast while the other spreads your legs wider over his lap.
“I’m going to cum…fuck I’m so close.” Your head flops back and rests on his shoulder, sweat coating your skin.
“You’re lucky that I want to feel this pretty pussy squeeze my cock, little monster. I’m going to let you cum.” Rough fingers find your clit, sloppy circles sending you into a frenzy as you chase your orgasm.
“Right there, yes yes, right there.” Your thighs start to shake as Yoongi pulls you down further on his cock, holding you there as you come apart, squeezing his cock just like he wanted.
“Good girl. Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.” He swipes your hair away from your shoulder and suddenly sinks his fangs into your throat.
His bite only elongates your orgasm…it could have been two, maybe even three orgasms all chained together. Your sight blurs at the sheer force of the climax that rolls through you.
You’re barely coherent when you feel Yoongi release inside you, hot spurts filling you up and leaking down your thighs. He moans against your neck, taking two more long pulls of blood before he pulls off, hungrily licking at the trails of blood that trickle down your throat.
Your body is completely spent as Yoongi gently lowers you onto the bed, covering you with the comforter before he gets up off the bed.
You watch with hooded eyes as he goes into his bathroom and comes back with a cloth to clean you up.
“Let me see the mess you made, baby.” He moves the covers off of your legs and cleans you up, making you whine at the contact of anything touching you there so soon. “Go to sleep.”
“I’m fine, I promise.” You snuggle deeper into the covers.
“We have a lot to talk about tomorrow.” You feel him join you in the bed.
“Talk about what?” Your eyes are too heavy to stay open.
“The contract.” His cool body presses against your back and his arm falls over your waist.
“What about it?” you mumble.
“The next phase of it, of course.” You feel his finger swipe at the blood still on your neck, popping it into his mouth.
