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“𝘼𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙧?” ~𝙏𝙖𝙚𝙝𝙮𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜~ | Recommending best bts au | ot7 | Gemini | rec.list incoming!!!

[pennyellee]

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐒𝐊𝐀𝐑

title: drakskar pairings: general!jungkook, yandere!jk x duchess/cadet f!reader  genre: fourth wing au, dark romance, arranged marriage au, smut, porn with plot, fanstasy au  word count: 16,5 K beta read: lovely @chaoticpuff17

summary: To escape an arranged political marriage to the infamous marked-one general, Jeon Jungkook, you enroll in the Riders Quadrant instead—choosing dragons and near-certain death over becoming his wife. But fate proves crueler than politics when you bond a dragon mated to his.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | fourth wing lore, sexual tension, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, explicit content, strong language, sparring training, kissiiinnngggg, messy kissing, dub-con, oral (f!receiving), brief nipple play, penetrative sex, doggy style, missionary, breeding kink, biting, creampie, second round... etc.

disclaimer: this is a Fourth Wing AU and therefore borrows lore, concepts, and certain dynamics from Rebecca Yarros’ original worldbuilding. This oneshot was inspired by chapter 22 and explores the idea of what if xaden never taught violet how to shield from the mating bond? all recognizable elements belong to their rightful owners.

author’s note: happy conscription day cadets!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Cadets enrolled in the Riders Quadrant are hereby forbidden from entering into holy matrimony while under active training and service. Any marriage contract, ceremony, or binding recognised outside military authority shall be considered null and void for the duration of enrollment. Violation of this clause is treated as a breach of Quadrant discipline and subject to command review. A rider’s allegiance belongs first to their dragon, then their wing. Marriage is not prohibited. It is deferred until survival is no longer uncertain. –ARTICLE SEVEN, SECTION TWO THE DRAGON RIDER’S CODEX

You land on both of your feet on the dried grass of the courtyard of Basgiath and breathe the humid summer air of July. You’ve done it. You’ve crossed the parapet. 

Behind you, boots still scrape against stone as the next cadets attempt the crossing, some cursing, some praying under their breath. Ahead, the vast courtyard sprawls beneath iron-gray skies, crowded with survivors trying—and failing—to look unaffected by the fact that they’re still alive.

Your pulse is still pounding hard enough to rattle your ribs. A laugh threatens to escape you, wild and disbelieving. You made it. No carriage waiting at dawn. No wedding dress on you but black leathers instead.

A familiar voice cuts through the ringing in your ears before you can properly enjoy your victory.

“Well,” it says, equal parts disbelief and accusation, “either I’m concussed from too many sparring matches, or you are the last person I expected to see standing on this side of the parapet.”

You turn sharply. There, weaving through the scattered cluster of first-years and unimpressed officers, is your cousin.

Third-year rider leathers fit her like they were sewn onto her body—dark, weathered, practical. A relic scar nicks across one brow from some incident your aunt had dramatically described in three separate letters.

You hadn’t seen her for a hot minute. Not since she’d left for Basgiath and your family had started speaking about your future in increasingly transactional terms.

Her eyes narrow as she takes you in, from your windswept hair to your death grip on your pack. Then her expression shifts from surprise to outright suspicion.

“…What are you doing here?”

 “Lovely to see you too.” You exhale, still trying to regulate your heartbeat. She ignores that entirely.

“No…” she says, stepping closer, voice dropping. “Seriously. What are you doing here?” There’s a beat. Then realisation dawns across her face with almost comical horror.

“Oh, gods.”

“Yes.” You grimace, trying to downplay this even though you don’t have to. But you cannot let yourself to feel any guilt.

“No!”

“Yes.”

“You ran?” Her mouth actually falls open.

“I prefer strategically redirected my future,” you throw your hands around, nervously laughing. Out loud, it all seems so…weird.

“You fled your marriage by voluntarily attempting the parapet?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds dramatic,” or maybe the word dramatic indeed suits your current predicament better than weird.

“It is dramatic.” She glances over your shoulder as if expecting armed guards to descend at any moment. “You were supposed to be halfway to the capital by now, drowning in ceremonial silk and regrettable life choices.”

“Exactly the issue.” A small smile tugs at your mouth and she drags a hand over her face.

“You cannot possibly understand how insane this is,” she mutters. “Do you have any idea what kind of diplomatic incident you’ve just caused?”

“Hopefully a memorable one,” you say as if turning this into some kind of a joke will save your ass once someone will dig into this.

“This isn’t funny.” Her tone lowers further. “You weren’t being married off to some forgettable noble heir from the infantry.”

You know. Of course, you know. There has not been a single conversation in your family home for the year he was courting you that didn’t somehow circle back to him.

General Jeon Jungkook.

Youngest general in active command. Marked one. Rider. Political liability turned military necessity. A man spoken about in one of two ways: with fear or careful diplomacy. Never casually. Never lightly. Never as though he were a person.

“You were engaged to the general Jeon.” Your cousin folds her arms.

“Betrothed,” you correct automatically.

“As if that distinction matters.”

“It matters to me,” or you thought so the past year.

She studies you for a long moment, like she’s trying to determine whether you’ve lost your mind somewhere between your estate and the parapet.

“When he’ll get to know–” Then, with the kind of timing the gods reserve purely for cruelty, her gaze shifts over your shoulder and all the color drains from her face. Slowly, suspiciously, you turn. The noise of the courtyard seems to dim. A cluster of professors parts near the stone staircase leading toward the academic buildings.

And there he is.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed not in ceremonial uniform but dark rider leathers lined with a general’s insignia at the collar. A relic mark disappears beneath the edge of his throat, curling just above the neckline like spilled ink. General Jeon Jungkook looks less like a political arrangement and more like a very well-dressed threat.

He’s speaking to some professor, expression unreadable. Fuck. He got here way too fast? You were counting on having some time before he’d come to confront you. At least until threshing, which would give you three months to think of what you’ll say to him. Well… it seems you have about half an hour before the conscription day ends. 

Then, as if sensing the exact moment your life begins to deteriorate in real time, he lifts his gaze and looks directly at you. Not through the crowd. Not past you.

At you.

Your stomach drops harder than it did on the parapet. Shit.

“Oh, you are so screwed.” Your cousin mutters, being deeply unhelpful.  You tear your gaze away first.

Cowardly? Maybe.

Necessary? Absolutely.

The alternative is standing frozen in the middle of Basgiath’s courtyard while your almost-husband stares you into an early grave.

“No,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “He can wait.”

 “Can he?” Your cousin lets out a sound suspiciously close to a laugh.

“Yes.”

“No, I mean biologically. I’m not entirely convinced General Jeon has ever waited for anything in his life.”

You shoot her a glare, adjusting the strap of your pack higher on your shoulder.

“He waited for a year; he can wait three more.”  

All remaining chatter dies almost instantly. A commanding officer steps onto the raised platform at the center of the grounds, voice amplified with the kind of authority that suggests insubordination is a hobby punishable by death.

“First-years, line up by section markers! Conscription processing begins now!”

Movement erupts around you. Cadets scramble into formation, some jogging, others practically sprinting as if late arrival might somehow disqualify them after surviving the parapet. You take one last glance toward the staircase.

Jungkook is still there, his eyes still dark, overlooking all the outcasts that made it through the parapet and you…among them. He’d probably never anticipated that you’d go to such measures to avoid marrying him. It’s the codex you did it for. Once you cross the parapet, there is nothing he can do for another three years. There is no way they would grant him any exception just because he is a general. Right? You count on all the codex worshipers that are you won’t have any exception.

Your best wish is that he won’t wait, just like Maelys suggested; he doesn’t have it in him to wait. Not three years at least. If you’re lucky, he’ll let you be useful somewhere other than as his bride. You’ll be a rider…if you’ll be seeing the daylight.

You pivot sharply and join the stream of first-years before your body can betray you by doing something humiliating—like turning around and fleeing back across the parapet.

Later that day, a healer presses a blade to your thumb. You hiss as blood wells across your skin.

“Name.”

“Y/N Y/S,” you state it.

The second year rider glances at the roster. Pauses. Looks up at you. Then looks back down again.

Ah.

Recognition.

Wonderful.

By the time you’re handed your assigned temporary quarters and formation details, at least four people have stared at you with varying degrees of confusion, curiosity, or poorly concealed horror.

Apparently, word travels fast. Or perhaps your spectacularly failed political disappearance plan was never as discreet as you’d hoped.

The sun has dipped lower by the time the final orientation announcements conclude. You’re halfway through considering whether hiding in your newly assigned bunk until winter is a viable life strategy when someone stops directly in front of you.

A red-haired girl in rider leathers—older, scar across her jaw, expression carved from stone—regards you with open disinterest.

Your…. section leader.

Or maybe…..wingleader? Or whatever delightful title belongs to the person most capable of ruining your evening.

“You.” You look behind you. There is no one there even though you hoped. Excellent.

“Yes?”

“You’re wanted.”

Every muscle in your body goes rigid. There are only so many ways that sentence can go wrong here. And none of them is fun.

“Wanted,” you repeat carefully, “by whom?”

“The board.”

Of course.

Naturally.

Why let you survive one life-threatening experience today when administrative terror is still available? You suppress a sigh and stare at her for a moment longer, briefly considering pretending you didn’t hear that. Unfortunately, military environments tend to frown upon selective deafness.

So with all the enthusiasm of someone marching toward their own execution, you nod.

“Lead the way.”

The corridors of Basgiath are colder inside. Stone walls. Torchlight. Echoing boots. Your footsteps sound far too loud as you follow the redhead girl deeper into administrative halls, which you definitely should not already be familiar with.

This is it, then.

Perhaps they’ve decided your enrollment was legally questionable. Perhaps your mother has already sent formal complaints. Perhaps someone finally realized accepting a runaway noble bride into the deadliest quadrant in the kingdom is poor institutional judgment.

Perhaps you’re fucking thinking too much.

You round one final corridor. The redhead girl stops outside a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron. She gestures toward it.

“You’ll go in alone.” You blink. Shouldn’t she come with you as your section slash wingleader or whatever she is? 

“Aren’t you—”

“No.”

That seems unnecessarily ominous. Your pulse quickens. Something about this feels… off. Before you can interrogate her further, she turns on her heel and leaves. Just walks away. Actually walks away. Leaving you alone outside the door like some offering left at a shrine.

You inhale once. Twice. Then shove the door open. The room beyond is dimly lit, lined with shelves and maps pinned across stone walls. A war room, not a board chamber… and very much not occupied by a panel of professors.

Just one person.

General Jeon Jungkook stands near the far table, one hand braced against its edge, head lowered over a spread of maps. He doesn’t look surprised when you enter. Which means he is, of course, the one who summoned you.

Sure thing. As if you expected him to just stare at you. Okay….you can do this.

The door clicks shut behind you with a deeply offensive finality. For one long moment, silence stretches between you. Then Jungkook lifts his head. Dark eyes settle on you with maddening calm.

“Are you alright?” 

“…What?” You blink at him with confusion. 

Jungkook straightens from the table, expression unreadable. Is he…?

“I asked if you’re hurt.” His gaze drags over you with clinical precision, like he’s conducting an inventory. Your shoulders. Your hands. The scrape on your palm from the parapet stone. A loose strand of hair plastered to your temple from dried sweat. As if he is checking for damage.

“I survived.” You recover just enough to lift your chin. 

“That was not my question.” There’s an edge to his voice now. Sharper. More personal than a general should sound.

You stare at him, thrown off balance by the fact that he seems genuinely annoyed by your refusal to elaborate.

“No,” you say at last. “I’m not hurt.”

His shoulders loosen so subtly you almost miss it. Almost. Only then does he exhale. A slow breath through his nose, like he’s been holding onto a very specific kind of rage since the moment someone informed him of your location.

“Good,” he says. And then his expression hardens. There it is. There’s the version you expected.

Because when he speaks again, his voice is calm in the way storms are calm right before flattening entire villages.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

“In my defence, your proposal was always deeply inconvenient.” You fold your arms.  A dangerous pause, you’re waiting for him to snap at you, which…he does.

“We were supposed to be married by now!”

“No, right. My apologies.” You gesture vaguely. Something dark flickers behind his eyes. He pushes off the table and begins walking toward you. His boots echo once. Twice. You hate that your body registers each step as he keeps walking.

“You crossed the parapet,” he says, like he still hasn’t fully accepted the reality of it. “Without training.”

“Yes. I made it.”

“Barely.”

“Still counts.”

He stops in front of you now, close enough that you have to tilt your head back slightly to maintain eye contact.

“You disappeared before dawn,” he says, voice lower now. “Left your family in chaos, your escort unconscious and half the capital convinced you’d been abducted.”

You wince. In fairness, the unconscious escort had been a regrettable necessity. Unhinged move that you’ll be apologising for later…in life.

“They’ll recover.”

“That is not the issue,” you swear you can hear his teeth grind against each other.

“No, I gathered–”

A humourless breath escapes him. For a second, he just looks at you. Not with anger, exactly. Something more exhausting. Like you have personally shortened his lifespan by several years.

“This,” he says quietly, gesturing once toward you, toward Basgiath, toward all of your terrible life choices, “was a deeply irritating move.”

“You thought enrolling here would solve your problem?” Jungkook continues in his…lecture? Preaching?

“It actually did,” you retort.

“No–” his voice is maddeningly certain. “It changed the location of your problem.”

“The Codex is clear.” You fold your arms tighter. That earns you the faintest shift in his expression. Almost amusement. Almost.

“Yes,” Jungkook says dryly. “I’ve finished this death college. I lived by the codex…sort of.”

“Then you understand the complication.”

“You seem to be under the impression that a bureaucratic clause is what was keeping this arrangement intact.”

That… is not the answer you wanted. Your stomach tightens.

“You cannot possibly mean—”

“If you wish to be here,” he cuts in, “then be here.” His tone is level. Controlled. Too controlled.

“I will not drag you from the Riders’ Quadrant because you wanted to prove a goddamn point.”

That surprises you. Enough that your guard slips, just slightly. Jungkook notices. Of course, he notices and continues.

“You crossed the parapet. You earned your place.” There’s something almost respectful in the words. Almost.

Then:

“But let’s be very clear.” His gaze sharpens, pinning you in place more effectively than any physical restraint could.

“This changes absolutely nothing.” The words land like stones. Your jaw tightens and you tighten your fists. 

“You don’t get to decide that alone anymore–”

“No,” he agrees, infuriatingly calm. “But you do not get to vanish into a death college and pretend I will simply… what? Move on?”

Well. When he says it like that, it sounds almost ridiculous. Which is inconvenient.

“I entered the Riders’ Quadrant,” you say, forcing steadiness into your voice, “because I–”

“Because you don’t want me? Is that it?” The interruption lands like a blade thrown with terrifying precision. He steps closer, but you don’t move back. Your lips part, but for one humiliating second, absolutely nothing comes out. 

Because of all the responses you’d prepared for this conversation—anger, threats, political manipulation, outrage—that was not one of them. Not even remotely. Jungkook watches you carefully. Not like a general assessing a cadet. Like a man waiting for an answer he actually intends to remember.

“Because Basgiath is the only place in this kingdom where my name belongs to me.” 

For the first time, something in his expression softens. Not much. Just enough to be dangerous.

“You think I don’t understand that?” That throws you. Because no, actually—you hadn’t considered that possibility. Not really when he was eager to give you his name.

Jungkook studies your face for a long moment before speaking again.

“If being a rider is what you want,” he says, quieter now, “then I’ll allow this.”

“How generous of you.” You bristle instantly. His mouth twitches. But his next words erase any satisfaction you might have gotten from that.

“However,” he says, “if this becomes too much for you—if you are overwhelmed, too injured, or one reckless decision away from becoming dragon food—I will remove you myself.”

“You can’t do that.” Your eyes widen at his proclamation.

“Watch me.”

“The Codex—”

“Fuck the Codex.”

The sheer bluntness of it knocks the air from your lungs. Jungkook leans in slightly, voice dropping low enough to feel less like conversation and more like a threat wrapped in velvet.

“If you thrive here, then fine. Stay. Bond a dragon. Graduate. Become the most insufferable rider Basgiath has ever produced but you will be my wife.”

“The Codex says no cadet can marry while enrolled,” you say, clinging perhaps a little too hard to the one technicality currently standing between you and total loss of autonomy.

As if a paragraph in military law is somehow stronger than the man currently looking at you, like bureaucracy is a mild inconvenience.

Jungkook’s expression doesn’t so much as flicker.

“Yes–” he says. “And eventually, you will no longer be a cadet.”

That is… annoyingly logical. You open your mouth, then close it again. He steps just slightly closer—not enough to crowd you, but enough to make the air feel tighter.

“You seem very attached,” he says, voice low and maddeningly calm, “to the idea that this was an escape.”

“It was.”

A pause. Then Jungkook tilts his head, almost considering you.

“No,” he says, almost gently. “This was an inconvenient delay, more for your father than me.”

“You’re awfully confident for a man whose intended bride fled before sunrise.” That actually gets him. A very slight exhale through his nose. Not quite a laugh, but adjacent.

“Mm.” Not enough reaction. Unacceptable.

“I’m serious.” You narrow your eyes.

“So am I, love.”

The ease with which he says it is honestly offensive. Like he’s discussing weather patterns, not the deeply inconvenient trajectory of your future. Jungkook folds his arms.

“I’m gonna trust the Gods and be patient–” he leans back, looking down at you.

“You are welcome to continue staging elaborate acts of rebellion,” he says. “They’ve been entertaining so far.”

Your jaw drops slightly and he puckers his lips, smiling at you. You must have pissed him off less than you intended. Shame.

“Entertaining?” you muse.

“You drugged an escort, escaped a guarded estate, crossed the parapet with no formal training and enrolled in the most lethal quadrant in the kingdom to avoid one conversation.” He studies you, something almost admiring, buried beneath the exasperation.

“It was, indeed, dramatic.” He adds which makes you stare at him, standing strong and proud in front of you.

“You’re impossible.” Then scoff. His gaze doesn’t waver, though.

“And you,” he says, infuriatingly calm, “are still going to be my wife.”

Heat climbs your neck so fast it should qualify as a medical emergency. Absolutely not. You turn sharply toward the door, yanking it open with significantly more force than necessary.

“And Dunne, I want this union to happen even more.” You look over your shoulder when he says that.

“We’ll revisit your delusions after I survive the first year, General.”

Behind you, his voice follows—low, steady, far too confident.

“I look forward to it.” You hate him. You really, really hate him, which is unfortunate because that voice is probably going to live in your head for the foreseeable future.

“I can’t believe you did that.” 

Maelys bites down on the chicken while you sit in the dining hall for lunch, staring at you from across the table as you’ve personally offended her ancestors. The air smells like smoke, sweat, and over-seasoned meat. You stab aggressively at something that might once have been a potato.

“Which part?” you ask. “The parapet, the enrollment, or basically telling General Jeon to his face that he was inconvenient?”

“You said what?” Maelys nearly chokes on her chicken. Her hand shoots to seize her cup of water to save yourself.

“In my defence, he was being irritating.”

She sets her chicken down with exaggerated care, as if sudden movement might worsen your already alarming condition.

“You are clinically incapable of self-preservation.”

“That feels dramatic.”

“You entered the Riders Quadrant to avoid marrying a marked general and then immediately antagonised him in private.” She leans forward. “Do you have some kind of death wish I should know about?”

You glare at your tray.

“No.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“He summoned me under false pretences.” You tear off a piece of bread.

“Please. You’re lucky he didn’t summon you by physically dragging you out of formation.” Maelys scoffs. That….is unfortunately true. But even he knows better. He cannot touch you here, and he couldn’t touch you before, not with all the chaperone prying eyes.

Not during negotiations, not during formal dinners, not across carefully monitored estate visits where every interaction was observed by at least three politically anxious adults pretending not to eavesdrop.

Jungkook has always maintained a maddening level of restraint around you; even when he seemed to break it, he would rather leave you pressed to the wall with the faint memory of his warm breath on your cheek than ruin the prospect of marriage.

“He wants the alliance,” you say, though it sounds less convincing out loud. Maelys gives you a long, knowing stare.

“No,” she says flatly. “He wants you. The alliance is a pleasant administrative bonus.”

“That is an absurd conclusion.” You nearly inhale your own drink.

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“He crossed three provinces to personally attend your family’s negotiations.” Maelys leans back in her chair.

That is true.

“He declined two stronger political offers beforehand.” Also, unfortunately true.

“He somehow knew within what—an hour?—that you’d enrolled here?”

You open your mouth. Close it again. Because yes, that had also felt aggressively efficient.

“I don’t understand him,” you mutter. That, finally, seems to earn something like sympathy from Maelys.

“Well,” she says, “that at least makes two of us.”

The next time you have to see him will be after Threshing, if…you’ll bond a dragon. Because after Threshing, all bonded riders are formally presented. That’s when high-ranking officers and generals attend.

Ceremonial, strategic, deeply inconvenient. But until then? Freedom. Relative freedom, anyway.

You don’t receive any letters until you finish your first year, and for the sake of your sanity, you don’t subject your mind to venturing into the thoughts of how fuming your father must be. Your province needed the alliance with Tyrrendor, military and civilian enforcement. 

Tyrrendor’s military reach, trade access, and civilian enforcement agreements would have strengthened your territory more than any alliance your father could realistically secure elsewhere.

But you technically didn’t break the engagement, you simply stalled the I do part for the foreseeable future of three years. During which you can find out how to get out of it fully.

Without, of course…dying. 

Until then, your father has to settle for whatever Jungkook demands…without you in the picture.

Threshing comes dangerously quickly, and as you expected, General Jeon did not seek you. He couldn’t, not with reasonable cause. Not after that disastrous conversation in the war room. Not in the weeks that followed. Not during training. Not after squad challenges. Not even during the handful of events where high-ranking officers briefly appeared to evaluate first-years like livestock with better weapon access.

As far as what you heard from Maelys or the battle brief, he was busy and kindly said….you were too.   

“You’ll be fine, it’s not as scary as it looks,” one of the second-year cadets of your wing says to you. You spoke to him on occasion during sparring matches or the gauntlet, but beyond that, you never really talked to anybody; people were sort of…avoiding you. Which is not surprising at all, considering who you are beyond the walls of Basgiath. 

You’ve been carrying your reputation like a second set of armour since the moment you crossed the parapet, which is to say: heavier than necessary, and entirely unhelpful in close combat. You shift your weight, rolling your shoulders as if that might settle the tension coiling beneath your skin. 

By the third hour, your muscles are screaming. Not dramatically. Not in a way that would earn sympathy. Just a steady, grinding ache that settles into your bones like it plans to live there permanently.

The valley beyond Threshing is quieter now—most dragons have already chosen or discarded their cadets. What remains is the aftermath: injured pride, broken bones, and the rare cadet still stupid enough to believe there’s something left for them out here.

You adjust your grip on your blade as you move between jagged stone outcroppings. You’re running out of time; it’s almost dark. You need to find her. From one of the professors, you got to know she likes to hide and make the cadet earn her so you knew you wouldn’t find her in the open field. It’s worth a try, even if you’d be leaving unbonded tonight. That would sure suit general Jeon.

One you now only hear in whispers at family gatherings when adults thought children weren’t listening. A dragon your great-grandfather rode. The last bonded rider of your bloodline. A legend your family stopped speaking about properly after the war—like silence could erase history. But you remember. You remember sitting too close to the hearth, listening anyway. You were very little when you saw her with your own eyes.

Red dagger tail. Crimson scale ridge. Old-world intelligence. Ferocious loyalty.

And a name spoken with reverence.

Virelia.

You step carefully over fractured rock, scanning the narrow cleft ahead. Something feels… wrong here. Not danger. Recognition. Your foot slips. The ground gives way beneath you before you can correct.

“Shit—”

Gravity wins.

You fall hard.

Stone scrapes along your side, your shoulder slamming into jagged rock as you tumble into darkness. The world spins—dust, pain, impact—and then stillness. For a moment, there is only your breathing and the distant drip of water somewhere deeper inside the earth.

Fuck. How far down did you fall into the cave? 

“You have got to be joking,” you mutter into the dark. Your voice echoes back at you—thin, swallowed quickly by the stone. The cave doesn’t bother responding beyond that. No comforting signs of life. No convenient lantern-lit exit. Just cold air and the slow, rhythmic drip of water somewhere deeper inside the earth.

Fantastic.

You push yourself up anyway.

Pain flares immediately along your side, sharp enough to steal your breath for a second. Blood runs warm down your temple, sticky against your skin when you swipe at it with the back of your hand.

“That’s just perfect,” you mutter into the dark, wiping it away with the back of your hand. “Really elegant way to die, honestly.” 

You take another careful step forward. Then another. The cave feels wrong in a way you can’t name—too still, too aware, like the air itself is holding its breath.

Blood has dried hot along your temple and every movement sends a dull ache through your side. You ignore it. Pain is irrelevant now when you’re running out of time. The cave widens and the air changes. Not colder. Not warmer. Heavier. Like the space itself has been occupied for longer than anything alive should be able to measure.

Your breath slows without your permission. Something is here. That thought makes your stomach tighten.

You round the fractured edge of stone—

—and stop.

Because she is there. Or at least you hope it’s her. You cannot see her colour, nor tail, but something tells you your search is over, you can feel it deep down. Maybe even your life if she decides that you’re not worth being her rider and eats you–

That’s such a nonsensical thought.

The dragon’s large head lifts and her chest expands. A low sound builds in her throat—not warning, not hesitation.

Decision.

Then—

Fire.

It erupts upward in a violent, controlled column of crimson-gold flame. The ceiling of the cave explodes in light. Heat slams into you so hard you stagger back, throwing an arm up instinctively as molten brightness floods the space. Stone blackens instantly, ancient rock cracking and hissing as centuries of cold are erased in seconds.

The roar is deafening. Not just sound—pressure. A living force that vibrates through your bones. You drop into a crouch on instinct, shielding your face as embers rain down around you like burning snow.

For one terrifying heartbeat, you think—she’s rejecting me.

That this is it. That you’ve misread everything. That you’ve fallen into a cave just to be incinerated by a dragon your family never even deserved to name aloud.

But then—

you feel it.

Not rage or rejection. Control. Absolute, terrifying control. The fire doesn’t spread. It doesn’t consume the cave. It clears it.

Burning away loose stone. Shattering weak rock. Carving open a jagged path upward through the ceiling like the mountain itself is being rewritten.

Light pours in.

Moonlight. Cold air rushes down through the new opening, mixing violently with the heat until the entire space shimmers between fire and night.

We’ll be late, girl.

“…Late?”

A pause. Then, with the patience of something that has watched civilizations make worse decisions:

Yes, I don’t like being late, but someone had to fall down and hit her head.

That lands something into your stomach. Isn’t she funny large–

I can hear you. Let’s go or I’ll let you walk your way back. She huffs a hot air in your direction and looks up.

You whip your head toward the opening she just carved—toward the sky, the valley, the world outside this cave that is still full of cadets, dragons, chaos, and one very specific general you have been doing your best to avoid thinking about.

Virelia exhales once, smoke curling lazily from her nostrils as if time itself is optional, then she steps forward so you can climb her.

“We’re absolutely going to be late–” and your voice catches as you scramble to your feet, adrenaline snapping back into place. 

A faint ripple of amusement answers you.

Then move your ass.

Air slams into you as Virelia tears upward through the opening she made herself, massive wings catching moonlit currents with predatory ease. The valley drops beneath you in a dizzying rush of cliffs, forest, and scattered dragons still circling lower fields.

Gods.

This is flight.

You used to talk more. Virelia remarks dryly in your mind.  The cold air bites through your leathers, sharp enough to sting against the blood drying at your temple.

“YO-HOOOOOOOO!” You scream from the top of your lungs. “BETTER?” 

Virelia releases a powerful huff through her nostrils, warm air curling past your legs. Approval. You decide to count that as affection. And for one reckless, glorious second—

nothing exists except this.

I didn’t think you’d find me, little one.

“Me neither!” You scream back to her. Virelia banks slightly, moonlight washing over the crimson ridges of her scales until she looks less like a creature and more like a moving ember against the darkening sky.

So you…a rider?

The last person reckless enough—or brave enough—to choose dragons over obligation. After him, your house had changed. Or maybe simply corrected itself. No more riders. No more unnecessary risks. Just politics. Land management. Strategic marriages. Children raised to be useful in ways that required less dying. You stare out at the horizon.

“My father would probably rather eat stone than admit I’m here by choice.”

I gathered as much.

You grin faintly. 

“So you do judge people.”

Constantly.

That feels correct. A comfortable silence settles between you. Wind whistles past. The Threshing field is still active, though quieter now. Torches have been lit around the perimeter, their flames flickering gold against deepening twilight.

You are definitely late. Very late. Catastrophically late.

“Wonderful,” you mutter into the wind. You’re about to land. Virelia begins her descent with terrifying calm. Unlike you.

Your stomach flips as the field rises to meet you, details sharpening with every beat of her wings—officers near the command tents, upper years gathered in loose clusters, dragons resting across the valley like living mountains.

And then—

people start noticing. At first, it’s subtle. A few heads tilting upward. A pause in conversation. A second-year student nudges someone beside them. Then the effect spreads outward in visible waves.

You dismount Virelia once she lands; the ground vibrates under her weight. You’re dizzy and light-headed from your fall, but you have to make it to the scroll keeper to sign your names. 

Your eyes scan the gathered officers—

and immediately land on him. Standing near the command line as if personally summoned by narrative cruelty itself.

Jungkook.

His eyes are not on you more than they are on your dragon. You glance towards Virelia one more time, but her focus is also not on you or anybody else in particular, they are looking up beyond on the cliff where the dragons of the board and commanders are alongside Jungkook’s….oh. 

“Lia?” You call her name to get her attention, but she isn’t turning her head.

Hm?

“How’d you know I was looking for you?” You ask and then realize “and how’d you no my father–” you stop yourself mid sentence. Oh no. You feel it—her awareness shifting, a slow amusement brushing against your mind like heat curling from banked coals.

Your great-grandfather was my last rider, we figured–

“Who’s we?” 

You stare at Virelia for one long, terrible second. Then at the cliff. At the black dragon. At the way, his entire focus has narrowed onto Virelia with unnerving intensity. Not casual interest. Not curiosity. Something far more instinctive. Ancient. Possessive.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Your stomach drops so violently, you’re surprised it doesn’t physically hit the ground. The pieces slam together in your mind with horrifying precision. You turn slowly toward Virelia. Disbelief first. Then betrayal. Then the pure, unfiltered horror of comprehension.

“…No…” Virelia remains infuriatingly calm. You lower your voice, as if speaking softer will somehow make this less real.

“No!”

Her silence is a confirmation so loud it may as well be shouted. Your eyes widen.

“You cannot possibly be serious.”

“That dragon?”

A pause.

Then, with all the dignity of a creature ruining your life through logistics:

Yes.

Your jaw drops. No. Absolutely not.

Of all the dragons in all of Navarre—

of all the ancient, powerful, terrifying creatures you could have bonded—

yours had to be mated to his.

This is not luck. This is targeted harassment from the gods.

You look back. Jungkook. He’s no longer standing still. He’s crossing the field now. Fast. Not rushed enough to look undignified. But with enough purpose to make your pulse spike. Your entire body goes on alert on instinct. Not because of him. Not entirely. Because you suddenly become excruciatingly aware of how you must look.

Gods.

Blood. You are still covered in blood, and soot, and cave dust. Your sleeve is partially torn. There is dried crimson all over your temple, your knuckles, your throat. Your hair is somewhere between windblown and post-apocalyptic. You look less like a newly bonded rider and more like something Lia dragged home as a conversation starter.

Wonderful. Just perfect. You straighten instinctively, which is ambitious considering your ribs currently feel like shattered architecture. Jungkook closes the distance. His expression remains controlled. Unreadable. Infuriatingly composed. Until he gets close enough. Then he properly sees you and everything changes.

It’s subtle. So subtle, most people would miss it. But you don’t. His eyes sweep over you once. Quickly. Efficiently.

Temple.

Blood.

Shoulder.

Sleeve.

Hands.

The visible stiffness in your posture. Assessing damage. Calculating.

And then—

his jaw tightens.

“You’re injured.”

“It’s mostly decorative.” You immediately bristle. His gaze lifts slowly to meet yours. Unimpressed.

A truly extraordinary amount of judgment packed into one look. Behind him, his dragon descends from the ridge with powerful, controlled grace, landing several yards away with a heavy impact.

The ground trembles. Virelia shifts beside you immediately. Not away. Toward him. Toward his dragon.

You close your eyes briefly thinking that this might be a dream, but it isn’t.

The black dragon lowers his head slightly, releasing a low sound from deep in his chest. Not threatening. Not territorial. Something intimate enough to make you deeply uncomfortable on principle. Virelia answers with a softer rumble. You physically flinch.

Jungkook glances toward them. Then back at you. His expression shifts by approximately half a degree. Which, on him, is basically emotional upheaval.

“You bonded Virelia.”

It wasn’t a question when he already knew the answer. He fucking knew she was your grandfather’s dragon and that the most logical step for you would be to look for her in the field.

“Yes,” you say dryly. “Though I’m beginning to suspect there were external influences involved.” You cross your arms despite the immediate protest from your ribs.

His gaze flicks, almost imperceptibly, toward the two dragons. Virelia and his black dragon are still entirely too occupied with each other, their attention narrowed into something old and intimate and deeply inconvenient. The black dragon lowers his head further, brushing his snout along the side of Virelia’s neck with slow familiarity. The gesture is unmistakably affectionate.

Jungkook watches you for a beat too long, something dangerously close to amusement threatening the corner of his mouth.

“You seem distressed.”

“Your dragon is emotionally compromising mine.” You stare at him.

“That is not how dragon bonds work–”

“That sounds exactly like something a person benefiting from this arrangement would say.” You look at Jungkook. “This is somehow your fault.”

“Is it?” His brow lifts faintly.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“You knew they are bonded!” You gesture wildly toward the dragons. Virelia, infuriatingly, looks entirely at ease. Like she hasn’t just detonated your life with ancient reptilian matchmaking.

“How would I know you’ll go looking for her out of hundred dragons out there?” Jungkook exhales slowly. Not frustrated. Not surprised. Just… resigned in a way you deeply distrust.

Before either of you can continue this deeply productive conversation, movement stirs around you. The gathered officers are closing in. Board members, commanders, scribes. The whole dreadful administrative ecosystem.

A rider in command leather steps forward, clearing his throat with the solemnity of someone about to ruin your evening.

“Cadet Y/S.” 

“Yes?” You already hate him.

“The Board requests your immediate presence.”

Why would your first successful day as a rider conclude in anything other than bureaucratic suffering? You pinch the bridge of your nose. Behind you, Virelia shifts, wings rustling softly as if none of this concerns her in the slightest.

Traitor.

Virelia and Kaelor are a confirmed mated pair, which you had no idea before you ventured far enough to find her. Only for her to betray you–

I did not betray you.

You nearly laugh, a short offended sound you manage to disguise as a cough. 

Sure, you just let me bond with you when you knew you had a mate whose rider is my betrothed I specifically came here to escape.

You were looking for me. 

Yes.

And you found me. 

That is not the point.

You wished to become a rider.

Well….kinda.

You wished to avoid a life chosen for you by others.

Possibly–

So I gave you what you asked for. 

I wanted to be away from him–

Why?

Mentally scrambling for an answer that feels simple enough to survive being spoken aloud. 

Because he acts like I’m already his.

Well–

Don’t. 

You won’t admit it. You won’t admit defeat when there is still a lot to fight for.

When he looks at me it feels like he already knows what I’ll do before I do it.

And you dislike being known.

That is—

rude but uncomfortably accurate.

I dislike being predictable.

That is not the same thing. 

No, it isn’t and that is somehow worse.

Because suddenly this feels less about escaping a marriage and more about escaping the deeply destabilizing possibility that Jungkook sees through you with alarming consistency.

That he reads you too well. That he understands parts of you you’ve worked very hard to keep inaccessible. He spent the whole year learning everything about you. Courting you, trying to capture your heart, only for you to screw him over by becoming cadet.

And all that—

that is terrifying.

The Board, after what felt like an offensively long amount of discussion over your life as though you were a scheduling inconvenience rather than an actual person, reached what they proudly called a reasonable compromise. 

Due to the confirmed mating bond between Virelia and Kaelor, prolonged separation was deemed operationally unwise—not only for dragon wellbeing, but for rider stability and flight performance. Which, translated from military language into something more honest, meant: your dragon would become increasingly insufferable if kept from her mate, and everyone preferred avoiding that scenario.

As such, a formal exception was entered into Basgiath records granting you temporary leave every third day to fly to Tyrrendor under supervised authorization. The destination? Aretia—but, more specifically, a smaller fortified island territory under General Jeon Jungkook’s jurisdiction.

Officially, these visits were classified as necessary dragon accommodations and advanced rider instruction. Unofficially, the Board had managed to weaponize your betrothal into a logistical arrangement so absurdly intimate it felt like a personal insult.

You were now, by written military decree, required to report to your betrothed every three days so your dragons could spend time together. A line of text in an official record that would haunt you for the foreseeable future. 

So it’s been a few months of you two flying back and forth. They even allowed Jungkook to substitute for some of the classes you’d miss. He always gets what he wants; his high standing allows him to do so.

The morning air is sharp with sea salt and early frost as Virelia cuts through a pale sky, her massive wings beating steadily over the endless stretch of water separating Tyrrendor and Drakskar. 

Drakskar was less an island and more a weaponised hidden outpost carved into rock. Watchtowers lined the perimeter, their silhouettes sharp against the grey horizon, while the estate itself sat at the highest point like something designed by a man who considered comfort suspicious. It was isolated, brutally practical, and impossible to reach without a dragon. Which, you suspected, was exactly how Jungkook liked it. 

Waves crashed violently below, white foam exploding against jagged black shoreline. There was no softness here, no ornamental architecture, no attempt at charm. Just defense. Height. Distance. A place built for command, secrecy, and people who preferred being unreachable.

Only Virelia knows precisely where the place is, and now…you. 

The Board still believes your authorised residence during leave rotations is Aretia proper. Which, to be fair, had been true at first. For approximately four visits. Long enough for your presence there to become an immediate logistical headache.

Too many people. Too many guards. Too many officers with eyes and functioning pattern recognition. And, according to Jungkook, far too many security vulnerabilities.

His exact phrasing had been: If someone wanted to leverage you politically, Aretia is the first place they would look. A sentence that had somehow resulted in you being quietly relocated to Drakskar. 

You were now being housed on Jungkook’s aggressively isolated island stronghold like a very politically inconvenient treasure. You are still undecided on how to feel about this. Actually. No. That is a lie. You know exactly how you feel.

Annoyed.

Vileria lands with practised precision in the centre of the stone courtyard, claws scraping against weathered rock as her wings fold in around you. 

Maybe next time I don’t have to land at all?  

You slide from Lia’s back onto the weathered stone with significantly more grace than you had during your first humiliating weeks as a rider. 

No stumbling.

No nearly-dislocated shoulder.

No accidental public embarrassment.

Months of flying had finally taught your body how to move with Virelia instead of against her. Dismounting now feels almost natural, boots hitting the courtyard with an ease you would have once found deeply suspicious. But not quite ready for flying dismount yet.

Virelia lowers her head slightly. 

If you like me to fall face-first on concrete, be my guest. 

“That would certainly stain your beautiful face with bruises.” A familiar voice echoes from the other side of the courtyard. 

Jungkook stands near the base of the stone staircase leading toward the upper terrace, one hand resting loosely against the hilt of a training blade at his hip.

Dark riding leathers. Hair windswept by the violent coastal air in that annoyingly effortless way that feels strategically designed to worsen your life. He must have land just minutes before you. But you didn’t see Kaelor in the sky; he must be down in the cave. 

He looks entirely too comfortable here. Of course he does. This is his island. His fortress. His aggressively isolated piece of weaponised rock in the middle of nowhere. 

Beside you, Virelia emits what feels suspiciously like amusement through your bond. Traitor. You ignore her. Mostly because Jungkook is already approaching. His gaze shifts from your face to your harness, then your gloves, then briefly to the still-settling position of Virelia behind you.

Assessment mode.

Again.

Honestly, at this point, you’re considering asking if he was born like this or professionally trained to be incapable of greeting someone normally.

“You landed well,” he says. That almost sounded like praise. Almost.

“I know.” You cross your arms.

“Confidence.”

“I’m trying it out.”

“It suits you.”

You stare. Again.

There is a beat of silence in which the sea crashes violently below the cliffs, and your brain very helpfully forgets how language works. He’s being way too nice today. Usually, his teaching style consists of relentless criticism.

Your footing is weak.

Your grip is inefficient.

Again.

Always followed by some variation of: I’m trying to keep you alive long enough to become a competent rider. 

Even Virelia doesn’t let on what is going on in his head and you don’t know how to use the bond you all have to your advantage just yet. Simply because…you have yet to manifest a signet. No manifested power. No sharpened access to the deeper mechanics of your bond.

Something is clearly wrong. You eye him suspiciously as you follow him toward the western terrace, where you usually train. When exactly he changed his mind about you being a rider remains a mystery. In the beginning, he tolerated it at best, but you knew deep down he wanted to pull you out of there numerous time.

He allowed it, technically, because he had promised he would. But there had always been an undercurrent to it—an expectation that perhaps eventually you would realise Basgiath was too brutal, too dangerous, too much. That you would leave yourself if he gave you the chance.

Now?

Now he trains you like he fully expects you to survive. To stay. To thrive, even. Which is significantly more disorienting. You haven’t managed to figure out what shifted.

The worst part of your arrangement here, however, is not the logistics. Not the forced travel. Not even the fact that you are now essentially military paperwork away from being professionally supervised by your own betrothed.

No. The worst part is sparring. Without question. Because sparring with Jungkook is a uniquely miserable experience. Not because he is cruel. Though he can be ruthless.

Not because he is impossible to beat. Though he absolutely is. But because sparring requires proximity. Far too much of it. You get way too close in those sessions, and he enjoys that way too thoroughly.

You spit a strand of hair out of your mouth.

“This island is actively hostile.”

Jungkook glances toward the darkening sky. Heavy clouds have begun gathering over the sea, low and bruised, swallowing what remained of the afternoon light.

Rain.

Imminent.

The coastal kind, which on Drakskar likely translates to biblical punishment. He lowers his blade.

“We’re moving inside.”

You don’t argue. A rare and deeply humbling occurrence. Mostly because your fingers are already beginning to numb despite the suspiciously well-fitted gloves currently betraying your principles. He gifted them to you on your second visit when you complained that your hands are always cold here even when the sun is shining. 

Jungkook leads you through a side corridor branching off the main fortress and down a curved stone staircase you haven’t explored before.

The air shifts gradually as you descend. Less salt. Less cold. Warmer. Humid, almost. Interesting. The corridor opens suddenly into an enormous glass conservatory built into the cliffside. You stop walking. Oh.

Floor-to-ceiling arched windows rise overhead, framed in black iron and fogged faintly at the edges from the warmth trapped inside. Rain begins tapping softly against the glass almost the moment you enter, droplets racing downward in silver lines.

The space is absurdly beautiful.

Wild greenery spills from enormous stone planters—climbing ivy, dark ferns, flowering vines twisting around wrought iron columns. Strange herbs and medicinal plants line raised beds near the centre, their leaves glossy in the filtered evening light.

It is the softest room you have seen on this island. Which feels almost scandalous.

“Did you build this?”

“No.”

“How disappointing.”

A faint brow raise.

“You seem surprised I didn’t personally construct an entire glass botanical structure.”

“I’m still learning where your unnecessary competencies begin and end.” That almost earns another smile. Almost. 

You stop beside a citrus tree growing improbably well near one of the windows. Rainwater streaks down the glass behind it, blurring the violent coastline beyond. The contrast is strange.

Outside: cliffs, storms, cold sea, black stone. Inside: warmth, greenery, quiet.

“This feels suspiciously peaceful for somewhere you spend time voluntarily.” You glance over your shoulder.

Jungkook has removed his outer jacket now, setting it over the back of a chair near the mats. Rolled sleeves. Bad. Deeply unhelpful visual. He catches you looking. You immediately focus very intently on a nearby fern. Botany is suddenly fascinating.

“This space belonged to my mother,” he says.

You freeze.

That—

you did not expect. Slowly, you turn back toward him. His tone is neutral. But quieter somehow.

Less guarded. Something about the admission feels unexpectedly intimate. Not because the information itself is dramatic. But because it sounds unpolished. Unstrategic. Simply offered.

“Oh.” An incredibly eloquent response. Well done. You glance around again, this time differently. Not as an anomaly in this island. But as something preserved.

That changes things. Subtly. Enough.

“She liked plants?” A small pause.

Then:

“She liked things that required patience.”

He must have inherited that part of her, because Jeon Jungkook must be the most patient and thorough man you’ve ever met. 

No other general would ever let you get away with this. Everyone had apparently been deeply convinced Jungkook would drag you out of Basgiath by your elbow within a week and punish you for your misbehaving. 

As far as Maelys has very helpfully informed you, most commanders in Navarre would have treated your enrollment as either an insult or a logistical inconvenience to be corrected immediately.

Not accommodated. Not entertained.

But he didn’t and now you’re almost at the end of your first year, which means one thing: your time is shortening, and you still haven’t thought through how you’ll get out of this, which now seems very impossible with the fact that your dragons are mated.

Several rounds later, you are beginning to suspect Jungkook is enjoying this far more than necessary. Not the sparring itself. Though he is, infuriatingly, still barely winded while you are starting to feel every muscle in your body protest.

No. He is enjoying you being frustrated. A deeply different problem. Wood clashes again, dull and ringing in the warm conservatory air. You drive forward with more force than precision, aiming a strike toward his left shoulder. He blocks immediately. Predictably.

You twist, trying to force an opening. He counters. Your blades lock. Too close. Again. This is becoming an issue.

Your breathing is heavier now, chest rising faster from exertion while warmth has begun gathering annoyingly beneath your leathers. The conservatory is warmer than the terrace.

Humid. Dense with heat trapped beneath glass and rain. And sparring, as it turns out, is significantly less enjoyable when your body has decided to become acutely aware of temperature. 

“This is tactical bullying.” You break apart from the lock with a frustrated sound.

“You’re overcommitting.” Jungkook lowers his blade slightly, dark hair fallen messily across his forehead now from movement.

“You say that like it’s a character flaw.”

“It is.”

Rude. You lunge again. He sidesteps. You miss. Badly. Your momentum carries you farther than intended, and Jungkook catches your wrist before you can fully lose balance. His hand is warm around your wrist. Your body stills instantly, and you swear all you hear is your heartbeat and his ragged breath.

For one deeply unfortunate second, neither of you moves. Rain drums harder overhead. Your pulse immediately begins behaving like it has lost all military discipline. Jungkook releases you first. A tactical retreat you are grateful for.

He steps back, gaze briefly dropping to the collar of his shirt where damp fabric has begun sticking lightly against skin. Then, with infuriating calm, he sets his training blade aside.

What is he—

Absolutely not.

You stare in mounting disbelief as he pulls the shirt loose over his head in one efficient movement and tosses it onto a nearby bench.

And—

well.

This feels like targeted psychological warfare. Your brain stops functioning for approximately three full seconds. Which, in combat terms, is catastrophic.

Jungkook is built exactly like a man who spends his life fighting wars and making deeply controlling logistical decisions.

Broad shoulders. Defined muscle cut sharply beneath warm lanternlight. A scattering of old scars crossing his torso and ribs like quiet evidence of every life he has apparently survived.

There is a relic mark curling darkly over one shoulder and along part of his collarbone, disappearing lower where your eyes absolutely should not be following. This is deeply inappropriate. You look away immediately. Then, accidentally look back. A tactical failure.

Your throat feels dry. Too dry. The conservatory suddenly seems approximately ten degrees warmer. You tighten your grip on your weapon. Trying very hard to recover some degree of composure. Trying harder not to notice absolutely anything. A losing battle. Jungkook settles back into his stance. Completely unbothered.

The audacity. What does he think he’ll achieve?

You’re getting distracted by the handsome general.

Virelia’s voice cuts through your scalp. The sheer betrayal of it nearly has you dropping your blade on principle.

Excuse me? You grip the practice sword harder, glaring at absolutely nothing in particular. Do not start. 

It is an observation. A fairly obvious one. Virelia sounds unbearably amused.

You are supposed to be on my side.

I am. This is very entertaining.

Fantastic. Wonderful. Your own dragon has decided to become a commentator on your rapidly declining emotional stability.

Across from you, Jungkook remains infuriatingly composed, blade angled lazily at his side as though he is not currently responsible for approximately eighty percent of your internal distress.

You narrow your eyes at him. This is somehow his fault too. You haven’t worked out how yet, but spiritually? Certainly.

“What?” he asks. His tone is neutral. Suspiciously neutral. Like he’s aware something has changed and is waiting to identify the threat. 

You blink. Had you been staring? No. Absolutely not… Probably.

“Nothing.” 

A pause.

Then Jungkook glances briefly upward, as though he could somehow locate Virelia through several floors of stone and an aggressively rainy sky and smirks. He is surely talking to Kaelor. You hate when he does that. 

Don’t you dare tell him Lia!

You are flustered. All the fucking time. Virelia remarks helpfully. 

I am not flustered.

Your pulse is elevated.

I’m sparring.

You have sparred before.

Traitor.

Absolute traitor.

You inhale once through your nose, attempting to recover what remains of your dignity.

Jungkook rolls one shoulder, loosening his grip slightly before resetting his stance. Still shirtless. Still unfairly calm about it.

Thunder rolls somewhere over the sea. The lanternlight catches gold against the sharp line of Jungkook’s jaw, across old scars, along the planes of muscle in his shoulders and arms.

You look away so quickly it nearly gives you whiplash. Absolutely not. Not happening. Not acknowledged. You raise your blade again with renewed hostility.

Enough. 

If he insists on being distracting, then you are at least going to make him work for it.

You lunge.

Fast.

Not reckless this time. Focused. Jungkook blocks immediately, but you’re already anticipating it. You pivot left, letting his blade glance off yours before dropping lower and shifting your weight.

He moves to counter—

too late.

You duck beneath his arm, twist sharply, and hook your foot behind his ankle with far more force than elegance. A dirty move but an effective one. His balance falters, just enough for him to fall and before he can fully recover, you use the opening.

One hand catches his forearm that holds his weapon and pins it to the ground. The other drives your practice blade upward—

stopping with the flat edge pressed firmly against his throat.

Silence. You are breathing hard. Chest rising too fast. Hair is partially stuck to your forehead from heat and exertion. Your pulse is so loud it should qualify as a military announcement. But none of that matters right now.

Because for once—

finally—

Jungkook is still. Not because he chose to be. Because you put him there. His back pressed to the cold stone ground while you straddle him, your body far closer to his than is remotely strategic. Victory, glorious and intoxicating.

“There.” Your mouth curves before you can stop it.  

“I win.” Breathless. Triumphant. For one beautiful second, satisfaction floods through you. Pure and untouched. Then you realize exactly how close you are.

Oh.

That is—

less ideal. Your smile falters by approximately half a degree. Jungkook hasn’t moved. Hasn’t even attempted to disarm you. Which feels suspicious. His chest rises once beneath you. Steady. Controlled. Far too calm. Slowly—dangerously—his eyes lift to yours.

Not to the weapon. Not to your hand. Just you and something in his expression changes, subtly, but enough. The playfulness is gone. The instructor’s detachment is gone with it. Replaced by something lower. Darker. Focused in a way that immediately sends heat racing beneath your skin.

Your grip tightens involuntarily. A terrible instinct.

“You should have followed through.”  His gaze flicks once toward the wooden blade at his throat. Your heart stumbles. That is not remotely what this moment needed.

“With a wooden sword?”

“Everything can be made into a weapon.”

There is something deeply unfair about the way he says that. Like it means two things at once. You narrow your eyes. Mostly because you are losing control of this situation at an alarming rate.

“Do not make this weird.”

That—somehow—makes his mouth twitch. Barely, but enough.

“You’re the one straddling me.”

You freeze. Horror. Immediate. You glance downward. And yes. Yes, this is visually catastrophic. Wonderful. You should simply throw yourself into the ocean. The conservatory windows are right there. Easy access.

You let his hand go and move to step back—

but Jungkook’s hand closes lightly around your waist to keep you in place.

Not forceful. Not trapping. Just enough to stop you. Your entire body stills. Oh no. Your pulse is now actively treasonous. Slowly, your gaze lifts back to his. 

“You did well.” His voice is lower now. Almost lost beneath the rain hammering against the glass overhead.

That should not be the thing that undoes you.

And yet.

Something about the quiet sincerity of it—here, now, like this—hits harder than any teasing ever could. Your pulse immediately abandons all remaining loyalty to your dignity. 

Jungkook is looking at you like he has forgotten every single thing outside this room exists.

“What are you doing?” 

Jungkook’s thumb shifts almost imperceptibly against your waist. A tiny movement. Devastating consequences. His gaze flicks once to your mouth. Then back to your eyes. Your stomach drops somewhere into the ocean below Drakskar. His voice is low enough that you barely hear it over the storm.

“Stopping you from running away.”

That—

that is not helpful.

His hand remains steady at your waist.

Grounding.

Possessive in a way that makes your entire nervous system light up like a distress signal. Your voice is barely above a whisper now.

“You are making this very difficult.”

“I’m aware.” His gaze doesn’t leave yours.

At least he has the decency to admit it. That should annoy you. Instead, it makes something warm and traitorous unfurl low in your chest. Terrible, absolutely terrible.

You look down briefly, mostly because maintaining eye contact has become a high-risk activity. A mistake. A fatal one.

Because all that does is make you more aware of proximity, of his sweaty, muscular torso right under you.

You exhale slowly. Trying for composure. Failing. Spectacularly.

When you look back up to his face, Jungkook is already watching you with an intensity that feels almost unfair. He sits, still keeping you in place, straddling his hips. You instinctively put your hands on his chest to push yourself in case he’d let his hands fall from your waist. Which doesn’t happen and now you’re in more trouble.

If that position felt close before, this is even worse. Close enough that one more inch would be a terrible idea and judging by the way Jungkook’s gaze lowers once more, very briefly—

he is thinking the exact same thing.

The firm grip of his hand still settled at your waist, not restraining exactly—but making it very clear you are not being allowed another graceful retreat.

Not this time.

Not when you are already here.

Not when you are practically straddling his hips in the middle of a conservatory during a thunderstorm like the gods themselves have lost all subtlety.

Your entire body feels like a tactical liability. Jungkook’s hand shifts just slightly higher at your waist. 

The fact that for all his possessiveness, for all his maddening certainty and terrifying competence—

he has never once taken what wasn’t willingly offered.

Your breath catches. Something in your chest shifts.Dangerously. Your gaze flickers from his  eyes to his mouth. Back up again. A fatal hesitation.

Jungkook goes still beneath you. Not frozen. Focused. Like he is one breath away from losing whatever carefully maintained control he has been operating under.

“If you keep looking at me like that—” His voice is low. Rougher now. “Fuck that.” 

The words barely leave his mouth before his hand at your waist tightens just enough to pull you the rest of the way in.

And then his lips are on yours.

Gods.

Every coherent thought simply evaporates. Gone. Reduced to static.

Because Jungkook kisses exactly the way he does everything else—like he has spent an unreasonable amount of time thinking about it and is now executing with terrifying precision. 

The kiss is warm and immediate and entirely capable of ruining your week. Possibly your life.

You kiss him back. Which is arguably the most reckless thing you have done since enrolling at Basgiath.

Out of…pure curiosity.

Not because the way Jungkook kisses you feels alarmingly like something you could get addicted to with catastrophic efficiency. Certainly not because his hand is still warm against your waist, thumb brushing absentminded circles there like he has forgotten he is doing it.

No. Scientific inquiry. That is all.

You kiss him back again—more deliberately this time. As if testing a theory. A hypothesis. One requiring immediate and repeated verification. For research purposes.

Jungkook makes a quiet sound against your mouth that completely dismantles whatever remained of your internal logic.

That—

you hate how much you like this kiss. Something is irresponsibly pulling you to continue kissing him back. 

“We shouldn’t—” you manage to mutter through the smooches of your intertwined lips.

“Yes, we should—” he replies, as breathless as you are.

You feel the tip of his tongue demanding an entrance you are hesitating to give, but when his hand slides to grasp your ass, you cannot help but yelp into his mouth. The kiss deepens, growing messier as your tongues tangle together. Jungkook tastes faintly of mint and something uniquely him that makes your head spin. Saliva mixes as the kiss grows increasingly frantic, your breathing coming in ragged pants between moments of feverish connection. Jungkook’s hand tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him as his other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. The slight pressure against your scalp sends another wave of desire through you. 

The kiss becomes a dizzying spiral of sensation—wet heat, probing tongues, and the occasional scrape of teeth against lips that sends jolts of pleasure through you. Jungkook sucks gently on your tongue, drawing it deeper into his mouth before releasing it to resume. You’re completely lost to sensation, your earlier hypothesis forgotten as you abandon yourself to the overwhelming pleasure of his kiss. 

When you briefly break apart to gasp for air, Jungkook’s lips immediately seek yours again, as if unable to bear even a moment of separation and as if the thunder wasn’t loud enough, the epiphany of what you just let happen is louder. 

Mortified. 

Somewhere deep in the bond, Virelia radiates a wave of smug satisfaction so intense it nearly gives you psychic whiplash. 

Were you observing that? 

Yes, we were.

You close your eyes for half a second. Of course they were. Of course the dragons are worse than the humans.

The distance between you is still dangerously small—small enough that your breath keeps catching on the space where his mouth had just been, small enough that your pulse refuses to settle back into anything resembling normalcy.

His forehead brushes yours again, slower this time. Controlled, but not entirely steady. Like he is trying to reassemble something he just deliberately broke and failing. You swallow.

It does not help. You have to get away.

“That cannot happen again.” You stand up from him abruptly, taking advantage of his guard falling. You walk away a few steps, your back turned to him.

Something in Jungkook’s expression changes when you look back at him still sitting on the ground.  

He exhales once, slow, like he is physically containing a reaction before it becomes visible.

When he speaks, his voice is lower than before.

“Why?”

You straighten slightly, forcing your thoughts back into alignment, back into something resembling reason.

“Because it—” you start, then stop, because anything you say next feels dangerously inadequate for what just happened.

Because it was a mistake.

Because it changes things.

Because it cannot be repeated.

All of those feel correct, yet none of them feels strong enough.

“You kissed me back.” 

“That doesn’t change anything,” you say quickly.

“Doesn’t it?” Jungkook’s gaze sharpens slightly.

Your stomach drops. Because there it is again. That unsettling certainty. Like he has already accounted for this outcome in a future you haven’t seen yet. 

“Everything happens for a reason. Dunne be my witness Y/N–” he says instead, voice steady enough to cut through the heat still lingering between you. 

“You don’t get to reduce this to fate,” you say quickly, forcing steel back into your voice. “Not when you’ve been steering every outcome since my father said yes–”

Jungkook doesn’t deny it. That is the worst part.

“I didn’t steer Lia, bonding with you was her own decision Kaelor just told her you entered the quadrant—” he says quietly. So he did tell her afterall.

He’s telling the truth. She says. But you refuse to believe he didn’t persuade her any further.

“That doesn’t make it destiny–” Your throat tightens as you speak to both of them. 

“No,” he agrees, calm as ever. “It makes it confirmation.”

Before you can respond, the corridor outside grows louder. Footsteps. Voices. The approaching certainty of interruption.

Jungkook exhales once, like he is setting something aside—not abandoning it, just postponing it.

“This doesn’t end here,” he says, quieter now.

Not a threat but a structural fact. You feel it in your bones anyway.

The door opens.

Cold air spills into the warm conservatory, breaking the fragile heat between you like a snapped thread.

“General Jeon. The dinner will be ready in half an hour if you wish to dine—” A steward stands in the doorway.

“Prepare the table,” he says evenly still looking at your rose colored cheeks.

“As you command, General.”

The dining hall in Drakskar is nothing like Basgiath. It’s small and private. It is carved into the cliff like everything else—long stone walls, high arched windows facing the restless ocean. Wind rattles faintly against the glass panes. Inside, everything is too controlled. Too quiet. You sit where you are told to sit. A long stone dining table entirely too large for two people, lit by low candlelight that softens absolutely nothing. 

Just you..and him again. 

You got used to being alone with Jungkook. He never took advantage, up until today’s sparring lesson, which after some thought, you admit you didn’t do anything to stop it. 

Sea fish rests on your plate, seasoned with herbs probably from the conservatory, alongside roasted vegetables and fresh bread still warm enough to steam when torn apart.

It should be comforting, but anxiety is beating you to it. You don’t wanna talk about it. But your mind would be at ease if you two established some boundaries. You didn’t need them before but after today…you’re not entirely sure.

He eats with infuriating calm. You, yourself, focus on your food with militant precision.

Knife.

Fork.

Fish.

Chew.

Do not make eye contact. A flawless system. It lasts approximately three minutes.

Then—

“We should talk about it–”

You close your eyes briefly. There it is. Of course. You don’t even bother looking up.

“No.” Across from you, a beat of silence and a deep groan.

“That was not a question, Y/N.”

You set your fork down slowly. Very slowly. As slowly as you look up to him. He’s already watching you. Not with the detached composure he uses in meetings or strategy briefings or while dismantling your sparring technique with surgical precision. This is different. Like this conversation has occupied his thoughts since the second you fled the conservatory. Or perhaps even longer.

You fold your hands neatly in your lap, mostly so he cannot see how restless your fingers suddenly feel.

“There is nothing to discuss.” A lie so transparent it should embarrass you. 

Jungkook leans back slightly in his chair, studying you with that maddening patience that somehow always feels more dangerous than outright confrontation.

“You kissed me back.”

Heat immediately floods your face. A physiological betrayal. Unacceptable.

“I got carried away–will never happen again.” Your jaw tightens while you breathe in as much air as you can muster in your lungs. 

“Will it not?” The calmness of the question is almost worse than if he had argued.

“No.” You say sharply. One dark brow lifts. “It was a lapse in judgment.” 

“A lapse in judgment,” he repeats, nodding his head with a stead rhythm. “You’ll realise that we’ll do much more once you’ll come to your senses?” 

Your grip tightens around your glass. 

“Excuse me?” you stare at him across the candlelit table, genuinely offended by the sheer audacity of his existence. 

“You continue speaking as though our relationship is temporary—Y/N, you’re my—.” 

“Because it is–” Your brows knit with anger as you interrupt him. Jungkook exhales once through his nose, gaze never leaving yours. 

“No.” Just that. Flat and certain. The single syllable lands harder than anything louder might have. 

“I am still a rider at Basgiath and when–” You straighten slightly in your chair.

“And I am still the man you are betrothed to.” He snaps back at you, clearly losing his patience but you simply stare back at him with the same anger that reflects in his eyes. The candlelight catches against the sharp planes of his face, throwing shadows across the relic mark disappearing beneath his collar.

“I have been very patient with you.” That gets your attention. Not because the words are dramatic. Because they are true. Painfully, inconveniently true. It took him years up until now to dare to kiss you. And kiss he did. If you close your eyes long enough, you can still feel him on your tongue.

He could have made your life significantly more difficult. Instead, he gave you distance. Space. Too much time, perhaps. Enough for you to mistake patience for surrender. A tactical error.

“You enrolled in the Riders Quadrant believing it would place enough distance between us to make this avoidable.” When he says it aloud like that, it sounds embarrassingly naive…and perhaps it was….at least partially.

“But–” a faint pause, as if he stopped to answer Kaelor in his mind. Virelia is oddly quiet this evening, usually she jabs at you with snarky remarks about how you should give this a shot. Or that it would make your life entirely easier if you’d just bend and accept this union.  

“Your dragon is mated to mine.”

The unavoidable, catastrophic truth of your existence. You’ll never be away from him. Can’t. As though fate itself saw your carefully constructed escape plan and laughed. 

“You will continue returning to this island–” 

Your pulse does something deeply unhelpful.

Because hearing it laid out like this—

so plainly, so clinically—

makes the situation feel even more absurdly intimate than it already is.

“Until you stay here as my wife—” Jungkook’s gaze holds yours steadily. “Willingly.” 

He stands up, throwing the napkin he had on his lap onto the table and walks right to where you’re sitting. You don’t pivot to see him, instead, you keep your gaze fixed stubbornly on the arched windows ahead, where the black ocean churns violently beneath moonlight. White foam crashes against jagged cliffs below. A fitting visual representation of your internal state.

Behind you, you hear the quiet shift of fabric as Jungkook rests one hand against the back of your chair. An impossible awareness at your shoulder. You can feel him bending down, his nose nudging your hair away before he whispers into your ear.

“The sooner you accept that there is no version of future in which we remain separate,” he says quietly, “the easier this will be for you.” 

And with a warm kiss to your cheek, he leaves the dining room.

Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him.

Your room at Drakskar is quieter than Basgiath ever was. You sit at the edge of the bed, fingers absently unfastening the leather straps at your wrists one by one. The room is dimly lit by a single candle already burning low, throwing amber light across rough stone walls and the neatly folded blankets at the foot of the bed.

The mattress dips slightly beneath your weight. You let out a slow breath and lean back onto your palms, staring at the wooden beams overhead. This was manageable before—

that is what keeps circling in your head.

Before today, whatever strange arrangement had formed between you and Jungkook was at least functional. Predictable, in its own infuriating way.

You came to Drakskar. You trained. He criticized approximately every aspect of your technique like it was a sacred duty. You returned to Basgiath. Simple. Contained. Annoying, but manageable. Then today happened. 

Because the second darkness settles behind your eyelids, your mind immediately betrays you. His lips.

Warm.

Intentional.

The way everything in your body had gone utterly still for half a heartbeat—not from shock, not entirely, but from the unbearable realization that this was happening. The heat of his skin beneath your palms because apparently at some point you had decided holding onto him was an excellent idea. 

A truly catastrophic lapse in judgment. You groan softly and drag both hands over your face. You should have never kissed him back. You should have slapped him the moment he let you breathe again. 

That is the worst part. Not the kiss itself. Gods, no. If anything, that may somehow be the more alarming issue. No. The problem is that you had wanted to.

Like some traitorous part of you had been waiting far longer than you were prepared to acknowledge. Which is absurd. Completely absurd.

You sit up abruptly. As if changing position will somehow disrupt your own thoughts. It does not. You kick off your boots with more force than necessary and begin removing the rest of your leathers, folding them onto a nearby chair with rigid efficiency.

You should stop thinking. Immediately. A wise decision. One you are unfortunately denied.

Because suddenly—

heat floods through you so sharply you physically jolt. Your breath catches in your lungs. 

What is it?

A pulse. Hot and immediate, racing through every nerve like liquid fire. Your hands grip the edge of the mattress.

“Oh, no–”

Another wave hits. Stronger. Deeper. Is…is Lia channeling her magic? Right now?

A warmth low in your stomach unfurling with alarming speed, curling outward through your limbs until your skin feels entirely too sensitive. You just gotta get to bed and sleep it through. Right?

You make it approximately six minutes.

Six.

A humiliatingly short amount of time before pride, dignity and every sensible instinct you possess lose the ongoing war against whatever this is. You yank your chamber door open and step into the corridor, breathing sharply as cooler air brushes overheated skin. They are mating. She started to channel right when they are fucking mating. You feel almost every single bit of it.

You don’t know where you’re running off barely dressed, but it seems that there is a red thread in front of you that you follow.  

It does not help. Nothing helps. The fortress is mostly quiet at this hour. You walk faster. Then faster still. Not running. Certainly not. Just… urgently relocating.

Another pulse rolls through the bond. You stop so abruptly your palm hits the wall beside you.

“Oh, for the love of all the gods.” Your forehead briefly meets stone. Cold. Marginally useful. Virelia offers nothing except a smug warmth that feels deeply personal at this point.

How do I stop this? You are met with silence. 

You push off the wall and continue. You need distraction. Water. Fresh air. Possibly divine intervention. 

Any of the above.

What you do not need is company.

Which is why naturally, when you round the final corner and push open the heavy doors to what you vaguely hoped was an empty common room—

you freeze.

Because of course.

Of course.

There is one person here.

Seated near the massive hearth, one arm resting lazily along the back of a dark leather sofa, a glass of amber liquid loose in one hand. The entire setting looks offensively intimate. But that is not the worst part.

No.

The worst part is what he is wearing.

Or rather—

what he is not.

AGAIN.

Jungkook is wearing only loose black sleep trousers slung low on his hips. That is it.

Nothing else. Bare chest. Bare shoulders. Bare arms. Fucking again. You physically stop breathing for half a second. Fucking again.

He looks up. Sees you and immediately knows something is wrong.

Or rather—

not wrong.

His gaze sharpens with quiet recognition. A slow, deeply knowing expression settling across his features. Not smug. Worse. Aware.

“No–I–ehm–” You stutter. Defensively. A warning or maybe a plea. Hard to tell.

“Running from something?” he asks, voice low and rough. Jungkook sets his drink down on the low table beside him with measured calm.

“I think Lia started to channel and they are–”

“You lasted longer than I expected.” He interrupts you.

“You expected this?” Your mouth falls open. Pure offense.

“Our dragons are mated.” He arches one brow as if this was indeed inevitable. “It was inevitable.” 

You step backward slightly unfortunately, your body betrays you again with another sharp wave through the bond, warmth curling low and immediate enough to make your knees feel briefly unreliable.

You grip the doorframe. Jungkook watches the motion. Entirely too calmly. The fire crackles behind him. Outside, thunder rolls faintly somewhere over the ocean. There has been a storm the whole day.

“I’m fine. I just needed air,” you lie, taking a step back toward the hall. He turns then and the intensity in his eyes makes you freeze. 

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N. I can feel it too, you know. What they’re doing.”

Another pulse of heat courses through you at his words and you grip the back of a nearby chair to steady yourself. 

“That’s them. Not us.”

“Is it?” He rises slowly, muscles flexing with the movement. “Then why does your heart race when I look at you? Why do your pupils dilate like you want me to devour you?”

He crosses the space between you, stopping just short of touching. The heat radiating from his skin feels like a physical caress.

“You can’t hide from this," he murmurs, fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “From us.”

“We shouldn’t—” Your body betrays you, leaning into his touch despite your mind screaming at you to pull away. 

“Why not?” he challenges, thumb brushing your lower lip. “This is not the last time they are mating, it will help to ease the–”

The mating bond surges again—stronger this time—and you gasp as pleasure coils tight in your belly. Jungkook’s eyes darken with understanding and something else—primal satisfaction.

“Feel that?” His voice drops to a husky whisper.  “Your body wants this. Wants me–” 

His voice drops to a husky whisper as his thumb presses harder against your lip, parting them slightly. “Tell me you don’t feel it. That emptiness inside you that only I can fill.”

You can’t answer. The mating bond of your dragons pulses through you again, a searing wave of desire that makes your knees weak. Your hands, which had been clenched at your sides, now reach instinctively for him, fingers curling around his biceps.

“That’s it,” he murmurs in approval, his other hand sliding around your waist to pull you flush against him. “Stop fighting me.”

His tongue sweeps against yours with practiced dominance, tasting and taking as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. The thin fabric of your clothes does little to dull the sensation of his hard body against yours.

You moan into his mouth, hands coming up to grip his shoulders as the dragon bond pulses through you again. Every nerve ending feels electrified, hypersensitive to his touch. His fingers work the fastenings of your tunic, deftly loosening them until cool air kisses your heated skin.

“Jungkook,” you gasp as his lips trail down your neck, teeth scraping lightly over your pulse point. “We can’t—” 

You’ve said these words today already, but this time you don’t believe yourself one bit. It’s easing the painful knots in your body. 

“We fucking can,” he corrects, nipping at your collarbone. “We will.” His hands slide beneath your tunic, palms rough with calluses from dragon riding as they map the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine. 

The mating bond intensifies again and you arch against him helplessly as pleasure coils tight in your belly. Jungkook chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating against your throat.

“Our dragons are enjoying themselves,” he murmurs, lifting you effortlessly until your legs wrap around his waist. The position presses you intimately against his hardness and you both groan at the contact. 

“Why shouldn’t we?” He moaned. Jungkook carries you in front of the fire, laying you down gently on the armchair near it despite the urgency in his movements.

Jungkook kneels before the chair, his eyes dark with hunger as they sweep over your body. “I’ve been wondering what you taste like,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the edge of your tunic. “Since that first day I saw you.”

Your breath hitches as he slowly lifts the fabric, exposing your stomach, then higher still until your breasts are bare to the warm air and his heated gaze.

With practiced movements, he strips away the last of your clothing until you’re completely exposed before him. The vulnerability should terrify you, but all you can feel is anticipation as his eyes drink in every inch of you.

“Perfect,” he breathes, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your inner thigh. “All mine.”

His mouth continues its upward journey, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When he reaches the apex of your thighs, you’re already trembling with need. His thumbs part your folds gently, exposing your slick center to his gaze. 

“Look at that…your body knows who it belongs to.” He teased, voice thick with satisfaction, smiling into your sore skin.

Before you can respond, his hot mouth kisses your sex making you moan from satisfaction. His tongue flicks against your clit, exploring every inch of you with a thoroughness that makes your head spin, until you’re writhing in the chair. Your legs slide onto his shoulders, covering the dragon tattoo on his back. Your hands fisting in his hair as you hold him to you.

Jungkook groans against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through your body. 

“Jungkook–” you gasp, hips bucking against his mouth.

He responds by sucking gently on your clit, drawing it between his lips as his tongue continues its wicked dance. The dual sensation is overwhelming, pushing you closer to the edge with each passing moment.

“So close,” you manage, breath coming in ragged pants. His tongue delves deeper, thrusting into you in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. One hand slides up to grip your breast, thumb circling your nipple in time with the movements of his mouth. The combination is too much—too intense, too perfect. 

“If you come–” he heaves “you’ll come clenching my cock.” 

He doesn’t wait for your answer. Instead, he doubles his efforts, tongue thrusting deeper as his thumb presses harder against your nipple and when he senses your trembling, he tears himself away from your cunt.

He wipes his chin from your juices and looks into your eyes for any kind of resistance. When he finds none, he grips your hips, pulling you down to the ground with him, only to spin you so your ass is up. 

His large hand presses your naked chest onto the chair. His hand remains firm between your shoulder blades, holding you in place as you hear the rustle of fabric behind you. He hooks one of his fingers into the black sleeping trousers and pushes them down. 

You daren’t look back to see him. Afraid of your own body’s reaction upon doing so.

The head of his cock presses against your entrance, teasing, threatening. You push back instinctively, desperate for the fullness he promised, but his grip on your hip tightens, holding you still.

“Promise.” He demands. 

“Promise what?” you manage, voice ragged with need despite the position of submission.

His free hand traces the curve of your spine, a stark contrast to the firm pressure holding you down. 

“Promise you won’t run again. That this—” he presses forward slightly, enough to make you ache without giving you what you need to release the pain that is holsting through you “—is ours. Not just tonight, but always.”

The mating bond keeps surging through you one with his words, a searing wave of desire that makes your knees weak, that makes you not think clearly. You need this to stop and he…is your only release. You want to resist, to maintain some semblance of control, but your body betrays you, pushing back against him again.

“Say it, Y/N.” His voice drops to a husky whisper. “Swear that you’re mine.”

“I—” you begin, but the words catch in your throat as he circles his hips, the head of his cock teasing your entrance in a way that makes you tremble.

“Say it, love” he commands, thumb pressing into the dimple above your ass. “Or I’ll stop. I’ll leave you here, painfully wanting, while our dragons finish what they started.”

The threat is effective. The thought of being left like this—aching, empty, desperate—is more unbearable than surrendering to his claim.

“I promise,” you whisper, the words tasting like defeat and something else—relief. “I won’t run again. I’m yours.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and then he’s pushing into you—slow, deliberate, stretching you until you’re completely filled. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and possession that makes your head spin.

“Feel that?” he murmurs once he’s seated fully inside you. “This is where you belong. Wrapped around me, taking what I give you.”

His movements start slow—deep, measured thrusts that stoke the fire building in your core again. Each push forward is punctuated by a possessive word or phrase.

“Mine.”

Thrust.

“Made only for me.”

Thrust.

The bond pulses in time with his thrusts, amplifying every sensation until you’re pushing back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. His pace increases, one hand gripping your hip while the other slides around to find your clit. 

There is something so satisfying about the way his head hits all the right spots inside of your  cunt, your walls clenching around him as a silent thank you for pleasuring them. 

You are lost in him, in between his praising words how good you’re for him and the way his cock stretches the rim of your cunt. The pressure builds like a storm gathering over the Drakskar—inevitable, devastating, absolute. Your cheek presses against the chair, the leather texture sticking to your skin as Jungkook drives into you with a rhythm that has lost its patience. He is no longer teasing. He is claiming. 

“Look at you, love” he pants, the sound of his voice ragged, ruined. “Taking me so well. Made to be fucked by your husband, weren’t you? Even if you won’t say it yet.”

The word husband sends a spike of heat through your belly, dark and forbidden. You want to deny it, to remind him that you ran precisely to avoid that title, but your body arches into him, meeting each thrust with a desperation that makes a liar of you.

“Jungkook—” You gasp as his fingers on your clit press harder, circling in time with the snap of his hips. “I can’t—it’s too much—”

“Not yet.” He pulls out suddenly, leaving you hollow and keening at the loss and before you can draw breath to protest, he’s flipping you onto your back on the furs before the hearth. The firelight paints his skin in gold and shadow, highlighting every lean muscle, the dragon-scale scars that mark him as Kaelor’s rider, the absolute focus in his eyes as he settles between your thighs.

This position is different. Intimate. Inescapable. Woman and man. Wife and husband. Apart…you are yet to be wed and this would be absolutely scandalous if anyone got to know he bed you before you tied the knot. He isn’t…your first. But he sure thinks he’ll be your last.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the word almost a purr as he settles his weight more fully against you, his cock pressing hard and insistent against your entrance. “I’m the one whose name you’ll scream when you’re desperate, whose seed you’ll carry.”

He enters you slowly, torturously slow, watching your face with an intensity that feels like it could burn through steel. You are stretched around him, filled completely and the intimacy of this position—face to face, heart to heart—makes you want to look away. But his hand catches your chin, holding you captive to his gaze. 

“Look at me,” he demands, his thrusts becoming relentless, punishing, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the chamber like war drums. “Look at me when I claim you. When I fill you. When I breed my future wife for the first time.” 

You feel him swell inside you, feel the tension coil in his spine, feel through the bond his absolute determination to fill your womb, to plant his seed so deep you’ll feel it for days, to ensure that even if you ran again, you would carry him with you. You know it can’t result in  the outcome he’d probably want due to the fertility suppressant you are taking, but you know it’s Kaelor speaking through him and this…is merely a desire for now.

His hips snap against yours with such deliberate precision it makes you catch onto him. You bite down on his shoulder to stop yourself from screaming how good this feels. How good is his cock hitting your cervix, making you gasp loudly each time it does.

“Show me you accept it. Accept me. Show me you want my child growing inside you.”

The orgasm crashes over you with the force of a dragon’s wingbeat, tearing a scream from your throat that echoes off the stone walls. Your body seizes around him, milking him, your walls clamping down in rhythmic pulses that draw out his own release.

Jungkook buries his face in your neck too, his teeth finding the juncture of your shoulder, biting down hard but not enough to break skin as he spills inside you with a groan that sounds like your name and mine and finally all tangled together. 

The bond flares blindingly bright, Virelia and Kaelor’s pleasure cresting and breaking through your consciousness as Jungkook marks you from within, hot and deliberate and endless, his hips jerking in short, possessive thrusts as he empties everything he has into you.

He collapses atop you, his weight a blanket that you should push away but can’t, his cock still twitching inside you, his breath ragged against your sweat-dampened skin. For long moments, there is only the sound of the Drakskar wind and your thundering heartbeats, synchronized through the bond.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your temple, his voice rough, sated, and still terrifyingly possessive. “I’ve been loving you for very long time–”

You go still beneath him, your fingers pausing their tracing of his scars, your breath catching in a way that has nothing to do with the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through you. He has laid himself bare in a way that frightens you more than his dominance ever could. It is one thing to be claimed by Jungkook the rider, the relentless general. It is another to be loved by him.

“—and I won’t stop until you’ll be truly mine.”

“Truly yours,” you repeat, your voice barely a whisper, testing the weight of the words.

He shifts above you, his hips rolling in a slow, deliberate circle that makes your breath hitch, a reminder of where he’s still seated deep within you.

“Your heart is still running–” He leans down, his teeth grazing your earlobe, his voice dropping to a growl that vibrates through your bones. “And I will chase it. I will chase you. Through every argument, every denial, every time you look at me and see the contract instead of the man.” 

The dragon bond flares, Kaelor’s determination bleeding into Jungkook’s, a mirror to Virelia’s restless stirring in your own mind. You feel his love through it—not soft, not gentle, but fierce and unyielding as stone, as fire, as the dragons themselves. 

“You’re mad,” you breathe. 

“Mad for you,” he agrees. “Mad enough to burn the world down if it tries to take you from me.”

He captures your mouth in a kiss that tastes like desperation and devotion, his tongue sweeping through yours in a rhythm that matches the snap of his hips against yours. 

“So run if you need to,” he murmurs against your lips, his hand sliding across your body, his thrusts intensifies, eager to make you cum again.

“Hate me if you must. But know that I will be here. Every time you fall, I will catch you.” 

The pleasure builds again, relentless and you arch beneath him, meeting his thrusts, your body betraying your fear even as your heart pounds warnings. 

“Every time you hide, I will fucking find you.” 

He drives you to the edge with devastating precision, his cock hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, and when you come—screaming, shattering, breaking apart beneath him, yet again—he follows, spilling inside you with a groan that sounds like a prayer and a battle cry tangled together. 

“Until you look at me and see not your cage, but your sanctuary.” 

I N T E R L O G U E

You exploited her. 

Kaelor is coiled somewhere in the caves below, wings tucked, scales black as obsidian in the dim light, but his rage burns bright enough to sear through the connection.

Jungkook presses your sleeping form against his chest tighter. 

I didn’t.

You let her go through our mating heat when you could teach her how to shield.

I could have, he admits to the darkness, to the dragon, his thumb tracing idle patterns across your stomach—possessive even in his guilt. Jungkook buries his face in your hair, inhaling the scent of sea salt and sex and something uniquely you. 

I felt her burning and I chose to let her burn. 

Why? After all the work you've done to have her.

Because once she learns to shield, she’ll use it against me. Against my love for her.

And that terrifies you? That she could shield herself from you?

I’m afraid of waking up to silence. Of reaching through the bond and finding walls. 

When she wakes—truly wakes, not dazed by heat and hormones—she will know what you denied her. 

Your hand clenches against Jungkook’s forearm, nails digging crescent moons into his skin, and he wonders if you’re fighting him even now, unconscious, building those walls in the dark. 

We’ll see. 

Far beyond the chamber walls, Drakskar breathed beneath the night like something ancient and half-awake, all black stone and sharpened edges, guarding its secrets with the same ruthless devotion as the man beside you.

.

.

.

.

THE END.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

author’s note: i’ve been obsessing over the dragon bond/mating bond concept from Fourth Wing ever since reading chapter 22 and couldn’t stop thinking about how much darker and more possessive it could become if shielding was taken out of the equation entirely. i also drew a lot of inspiration from Game of Thrones while writing this—especially the isolated island atmosphere, political marriage dynamics, morally grey devotion and so on. So I hope there are some fairies that will enjoy this Jungkook fantasy au at least a little bit. Love you all!

[wannaghostbts]

You are my fate..

No words can express it enough..

Salvation that saved a wearied me..

Is that easier to grasp..

Those few words that saved me..

I'll be by your side after many nights..

Oh, yeah (Those few words)..

I'll stay by your side even if my feet bleed!~

[vinylopall]

Green vs Red | j.jk

⤷ One-shot!!! in which...Jungkook, a 7th year pure-blood Slytherin, is secretly in love with you, a 7th year half-blood Ravenclaw. His only obstacle from consuming you is your Gryffindor boyfriend, Minjae, whom he hates with his entire heart. Jungkook hexes him in the hallways whenever he gets the chance and silently wishes for his downfall.

Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new (Do i wanna know?-Arctic Monkeys)

pairing: 전정국 x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers | slice of life | smut | angst|

warnings: 18+, nsfw, jk is a manace, he's cocky but he's SOO in love, love triangle, dom!jungkook, swearing, multiple orgasms, making out, drinking, teasing, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, class differences, power imbalance, teasing, pet names, arguing

word count: 11.3k

Click here for the characters' moodboards and information!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1eOWN5rSgkkQVZvTDhfoYoRlM-H5tli95dDw8rGXLJ0k/edit?usp=sharing

The Hogwarts library was, for once quiet.

Taehyung slid into the chair opposite you. "You're hiding. Minjae is looking for you. He wants you to help him with some Quidditch strategy diagrams, again."

You sighed, the sound barely disturbing the quiet. "Tell him I'm studying."

Taehyung gave you a look that said he knew exactly what kind of "studying" you were doing… which was none. The heavy book in front of you was, in fact, upside down.

"Mhm, I will tell him you're studying… whatever," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "He'll probably believe it. You're the smart one."

Then, the heavy oak doors of the library swung open, and a very specific brand of chaos walked in. Or more accurately, two brands.

Jeon Jungkook and Park Jimin. Slytherins. Pure-bloods.

"I'm telling you that it's a terrible idea," Jimin's voice was a strained whisper.

"All of my ideas are terrible, that's why they're fun," Jungkook said, his voice loud enough to carry.

You didn't need to look up. You knew that voice. Jeon Jungkook's eyes scanned the room until they landed on your little corner. He quickly looked away, a disinterest that was more telling than a stare.

"Besides, what else are we supposed to do? Study?" He snorted, leaning against a bookshelf, his arms crossed over his chest. He paused, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "I heard Whitmore's new strategy involves trying not to fall off his broom this time. It's revolutionary, really."

Jimin let out an exasperated sigh. "Keep your voice down JK, for Merlin's sake."

Taehyung mumbled just loud enough for you to hear, "He has the emotional range of a teaspoon, I swear."

Jungkook's head snapped toward your table, his smirk widening. "What was that, Taehyung? Working on your NEWTs in stating the obvious?"

Jimin grabbed Jungkook's elbow. "Oh, we're leaving now, before you make a scene and Madam Pince bans us for life."

You finally looked up as Jimin was steering Jungkook toward the door, but not before Jungkook shot a sharp look in your direction and called over his shoulder, "Don't strain yourself, Y/n. It would be such a shame if a Ravenclaw Head Girl failed her exams."

The library door finally shut.

Taehyung closed his book with a soft thump. "That was so subtle."

You muttered, "What's his problem anyway?"

Taehyung laughed a bit. "His problem is about 5'10", wears red and gold, totally reminds him of a golden retriever, and he can't help but bring up Quidditch at the worst moments."

He gave the book cover a little tap. "But honestly, I'm more worried about into these books you’re getting. They read from bottom to top, you know."

You shut the book, a bit embarrassed. "Come on, quit it."

While you were packing up, Minjae burst into the library, his usual lively energy brightening the mood.

"There you are! I've been searching everywhere for you!" He waved from across the tables, completely unaware of the drama that just unfolded. "You won't believe the new formation I've come up with for the Hufflepuff game, it's genius, and I need your help to map it out."

"Oh, sure," you said, the words feeling hollow.

Minjae plopped down in the chair next to you, pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment from his robe pocket without even noticing the upside-down book or how flustered you were.

"Alright, picture this: instead of doing a regular starter formation, we flip it. Chasers fly in reverse! It’s a bit risky, but if we pull it off…"

Taehyung cleared his throat as he packed up his stuff. "I’m outta here. Try not to burn the library down with all this revolutionary brainstorming."

You nodded. "Catch you later." Then you looked back at Minjae. "It's a bold move..."

Minjae was grinning, totally wrapped up in his 'genius' idea, scribbling messy lines on the parchment with a quill that was leaking ink everywhere.

He was so focused on his plan that he didn’t see Jungkook come back into the library this time without his usual buddy, Jimin. Jungkook leaned against a bookshelf, not looking at you at first. He was too busy fixing the cuff of his green robes, his silver Slytherin tie just loose enough to seem a bit rebellious.

"A starter formation...? How ambitious of you. Did you come up with that all by yourself, Whitmore, or did you have help from a first-year's Quidditch practice picture book?"

Minjae was startled and turned to face him. "Jeon, we're in the library."

Jungkook pushed off the bookshelf and took a few steps closer. "I know, I can smell the desperation from here." His eyes flickered to you for a split second.

"Can you two take this somewhere else?" Your voice cut through the tension like a knife. Both boys turned to look at you, Minjae with surprise, and Jungkook with a mask of indifference that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Minjae held up his hands. "Sorry, you're right." He turned back to Jungkook. "This isn't the place."

"Don't sweat it, Y/n. We definitely wouldn’t want to interrupt your… studying," he said, giving you a pointed look at the upside-down book on the table.

Minjae let out a sigh. "What’s his deal? Seriously, he’s been acting like this for ages." He glanced at you, his expression softening. "Anyway, sorry about that. Let’s hit the Great Hall, I'm starving."

You nodded, grabbing your bag while Minjae quickly picked up his crumpled parchment.

"Lead the way, beautiful. I swear no more Quidditch talk for at least ten minutes," he said with a grin.

As you both headed out of the library, you noticed a quick shimmer of a disillusionment charm hastily casted . Next to where Jungkook had been standing was a small, crumpled piece of parchment. You bent down and snatched it up fast, folding it clumsily and shoving it into your robe pocket before Minjae noticed it.

The walk to the Great Hall was filled with Minjae chatting about random stuff, the upcoming Hufflepuff match, the treacle tart he was hoping would be dessert, and a funny story about a Gryffindor first-year. He didn’t mention Jungkook again, and he totally missed how often your fingers brushed against that folded parchment in your pocket.

Once you got to the Great Hall, it was loud and warm, buzzing with the usual dinner noise. Minjae walked you to your table and hung out with you for a moment. Across the hall, Jungkook sat at the middle of the Slytherin table, surrounded by a bunch of younger Slytherins who were clearly hanging on his every word. His eyes were locked on you.

Jimin elbowed him sharply. "You're staring, again."

Jungkook's gaze snapped back to his friend, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm observing; it's called strategy."

Jimin sighed. "Right. The only thing you're strategizing is how to not get another detention for hexing Minjae."

Jungkook's jaw tightened, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the table as he tried his best to look casual.

You sat down at the Ravenclaw table, Minjae next to you as he wanted to stay a little longer.

"Here, tart," Minjae said, pushing a small plate toward you.

You thanked him and took the food, trying to pay attention to his story about the team’s latest practice, but your mind kept wandering. A table over, Jungkook had his arm casually draped over the back of the bench, cracking up at something a seventh-year girl said, but his laugh didn’t reach his eyes.

He raised his voice just enough. "-think the best parties are the ones Filch doesn't find out about until the next morning, right, Jimin?"

Jimin stabbed a roasted potato. "I think the best parties are the ones where you don't set anything on fire."

Jungkook chuckled, his cocky grin showing. His eyes caught yours again, and he raised his goblet in a mock toast in your direction before returning to his friends.

Minjae finally noticed your distraction. "Oh, don't let him get to you. He's just trying to get a rise out of you. Out of everyone."

At the Slytherin table, Jimin whispered to Jungkook, "What do you think you're doing?"

Jungkook shoved him lightly away. "I'm having dinner."

Jungkook stood up suddenly, his chair scraping across the stone floor. The Slytherin side of the table went silent. He didn’t look at you again. Instead, he stuck his hands in his pockets and left the Great Hall. Jimin let out a sigh, rubbing his face in frustration, before getting up to go after him.

Minjae shook his head. "See? Drama. Everything is a performance with that guy." He cleared his throat. "More tart, pretty?"

You shook your head, your heart pounding. "No, thank you. Excuse me, I have to use the bathroom."

You quickly ducked into the girls' bathroom, hoping there wasn’t a ghost hanging around tonight. You leaned against the sink and pulled out the parchment you had in your pocket.

As you unfolded it, the writing was all over the place. It wasn’t a letter; it was a list.

• Charms essay (ask her for notes? Stupid) • Check broomstick polish • Tell Jimin to mind his own business • Don't look at her in the Great Hall • Don't look at her in Potions • Don't look at her. Period. • Yule Ball (who is she going with? Don't care.) • I care • Stop caring • Her hair is beautiful in the sun. • Merlin, I'm pathetic.

The last line was crossed out so violently that the quill had torn through the parchment in one spot. At the very bottom, written smaller, was:

• Tell her

Everything except one thing was crossed out, and that one thing was circled over and over, with the ink soaking through the paper. Suddenly, the door creaked open. You jumped, clenched the paper in your fist, and quickly shoved it back into your pocket.

And then Moaning Myrtle decided to make her entrance with a dramatic sob. "Oh, what's that in your pocket? Is it a secret? I love secrets!"

Myrtle swooped down, her translucent form passing close to your pocket. You clutched the paper instinctively.

"Nothing and nobody wants to hear you wail for the next hour," you said, your voice sharper than you intended. "Go bother someone in the prefects' bathroom. I hear they have better bubbles."

Myrtle let out a piercing wail and flew into a nearby toilet. You took a shaky breath, your mind racing. The list, the messy and crossed-out thoughts of the boy who tormented you at every turn. The boy who, it seemed, was just as tormented by you.

You stepped out of the bathroom, the crumpled paper crammed in your pocket feeling like a heavy rock. The Great Hall was still loud, but it all felt far away, like it was muffled. Minjae was still at the Ravenclaw table, chatting excitedly with one of your classmates. He noticed you and his face brightened up with a smile.

"Hey! Everything okay? You were gone a while," he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

You forced a smile, the muscles in your face feeling foreign and stiff.  "Everything's fine. Just a headache." The lie tasted like ash in your mouth.

Minjae, bless his oblivious heart, accepted it immediately, his brow smoothing out as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

"Ah, the perks of being the smartest and the most beautiful witch in the room. Come on, let's get you back to the common room, you need rest."

You let him guide you, you couldn't bring yourself to glance at the Slytherin table to see if Jungkook had returned. You weren't sure you could handle it. The walk to the Ravenclaw tower was a blur of Minjae's comforting chatter. You murmured noncommittal and monosyllabic responses, your mind a thousand miles away, replaying the crossed-out words on the parchment.

Finally, you reached the bronze eagle knocker. Minjae waited patiently for you to answer

"I have cities, but no houses live there. I have mountains, but no trees. I have water, but no fish. What am I?"

"A map," you answered automatically.

The door swung open, revealing the circular common room. Minjae followed you in.

"Well," he said, dropping onto one of the blue sofas. "That was… eventful. Jeon really needs a hobby." He leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head. "You know, I sometimes wonder what his deal is. We could probably be friends if he wasn't so… Slytherin about everything."

You froze by the window, your hand tightening on the sill. The crumpled parchment in your pocket seemed to burn.

"He's not just 'Slytherin', Minjae," you said, your voice quiet but sharp. "He's cruel."

Minjae sat up, his easy-going expression replaced by one of confusion. "Cruel? He's just an arrogant boy who takes the house rivalry too seriously. It's not personal."

"It's always personal with him," you whispered, turning to face him. "Don't you see that? The hexes, the comments… It's all aimed at you."

"Because I'm the Gryffindor Captain and he is the Slytherin Captain! It's part of the game!" Minjae insisted, his voice rising slightly in frustration. "Why are you defending him all of a sudden?"

"I'm not defending him!" you shot back, "I'm just… I'm saying it's not just a game to him. Nothing with him is just a game."

The silence that fell between you was heavy and unfamiliar. Minjae was looking at you like he'd never seen you before, a flicker of hurt and confusion in his hazel eyes.

"What's going on with you, Y/n? You've been distant for weeks. And now you're defending Jungkook? Is this about that note he passed you in Potions? Because that was just him being a jerk as usual."

You stared at him, and he remembered the note Jungkook had "accidentally" dropped on your desk that simply said, "Your tie is crooked, Head Girl." You had seen the way Jungkook's fingers had brushed against yours, the panicked look in his eyes before he'd masked it. You had thought it was a strange moment, now you knew it was a desperate move.

"I'm tired," you said finally, turning away from him and heading towards the girls' dormitory. "I'm going to bed."

"Y/n, wait," Minjae called out, standing up.

 But you didn't stop and walked up the spiral staircase, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the common room.

You flopped onto your bed in your dorm, leaning back against the headboard. The room was quiet; your roommates were already out cold. You pulled the crumpled paper from your pocket, feeling your fingers shake as you laid it out on your lap. You read it over and over again.

Your eyes wandered to the bedside table, where a photo of you and Minjae was sitting. He had his arm around you, and that grin on his face was just full of happiness. It was a perfect snapshot of a couple in love.

You picked up the frame, tracing Minjae's smile with your thumb. You glanced back down at that frantic, ink-stained paper in your lap, and a scary thought crept in: maybe being safe just wasn’t enough anymore. Maybe it never was.

The prince in the dungeon

The decision was born of a desperate, reckless curiosity. For two days after you had found the list, the piece of parchment in your pocket felt like it was burning a hole through your robes.

 "You've been a million miles away,” Minjae said on Friday afternoon, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you stared out a window. "Is it NEWT stress? Because if it is, we can have a fun study session with snacks."

You forced a laugh, leaning back into his warmth. "Something like that, just tired."

It was always the same damn excuse, and he bought it every time.

That evening, as you sat in the Great Hall, the announcement came. Jungkook was throwing a party tonight in the Slytherin common rooms.

"He's going to get himself expelled," Minjae muttered “and probably take half his house with him."

Taehyung, sitting across from you, caught your eye. He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. He knew, he knew you knew, and he knew this was your chance.

"I think I'm going to skip the study session tonight" you said.

Minjae looked at you, surprised. "Oh? Okay, we can just relax then, maybe sneak up to the Astronomy Tower?"

"No," you said, a little too quickly, "I mean… I heard about that party in the dungeons."

Minjae's fork clattered onto his plate. "You want to go to Jungkook's party? Y/n, why? It's just going to be a bunch of Slytherins getting drunk and being… well, Slytherins."

"I'm curious," you lied, your heart starting to pound. "I'm Head Girl, maybe I should… make an appearance, show them I'm not afraid."

It was a flimsy excuse, and you both knew it, but Minjae wanted to believe it.

"Okay," he said slowly, "If you think that's a good idea, but I'm coming with you. I'm not letting you go down there alone."

Panic flared in your chest. This wasn't part of the plan. You needed to see him, to talk to him, alone.

"No, Minjae, it's fine, really. You hate that stuff anyway. I'll just pop in, make a scene, and leave. It'll be good for my reputation."

He looked unconvinced, but you gave him your most convincing smile, the one that usually made him agree to anything.

"Alright but be careful.”

You nodded, your throat tight. "I got it."

An hour later, you find yourself wandering down a dark, unfamiliar hallway, your footsteps echoing off the stone walls. . You're making your way to the dungeons, drawn in by the muffled music. As you reach the bottom of the last staircase, the noise hits you first, and the air is thick with the smell of Firewhiskey.

The password, told to you by a cheeky Slytherin, is "Pureblood."

When you step into the common room, it's like a whole different world. The place is packed with students, a sea of Slytherin green mixed with a few from other houses, all dancing, laughing, and drinking. You can’t help but feel like you stand out in your blue and silver colors.

And then you notice him.

Jungkook is up on a raised platform, drink in hand, looking like he owns the place. His gaze sweeps over the crowd. He definitely gives off the cocky pureblood prince vibe, and you think about bailing.

But then he spots you.

His eyes lock with yours, and the smirk he had disappears for a moment. He looks genuinely surprised, but then a slow, confident grin spreads across his face. He says something to Jimin, who’s next to him, and starts pushing through the crowd, still keeping his eyes on you.

"Well, well," he said, his voice low and raspy, just for you. "Look at you, come to bust the party, Head Girl?"

"I came to see what all the fuss was about."

"The fuss is about not caring. You should try it sometime." His eyes flickered down to your pocket. "Or maybe you already are."

Your breath hitched. He knew you'd taken the list, he had to. This was a game of cat and mouse. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" He was so close now you could smell the Firewhiskey on his breath. "You're in my world, Y/n. You should learn the rules."

"And what are the rules?" you challenged him, your chin held high, your arms crossed.

His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a heart-stopping moment, you thought he was going to kiss you right there, in the middle of his own party, but then he smirked.

"The first rule is that you don't belong here."

He looked entirely too proud of himself. He was playing with her, treating the conversation like a Quidditch match where he already had the lead. He liked the way she crossed her arms, it was a defensive gesture, but it didn't hide the way she was still flushed.

"Besides, if you leave now, you're just proving me right. You're just a little bird who's too scared to stay in the dark for more than five minutes."

"Fine," Y/n said, the word defiant.

"Now that's more like it."

Your gaze shifted without meaning to a couple making out in the corner of the room. His eyes followed your line of sight to the couples, and Jungkook let out a low, mocking hum.

"Careful, Y/n. If you stare too long, you might actually learn something. What's the matter? Is the Gryffindor too gentle? Does he only hold your hand and kiss your forehead?"

Y/n felt the heat creep up her neck. "None of your business."

Jungkook chuckled sarcastically. He turned away from you and rejoined his friends. You didn't leave, and you grabbed a bottle of something that smelled like cinnamon from a nearby table and took a sip. It burned all the way down.

You spent the next hour watching him from across the room. You saw him charm a pretty sixth-year girl, saw him win a round of wizard's chess, saw him laugh with Jimin, and through it all, you felt his eyes on you, quick glances that he thought you didn't notice.

Finally, you'd had enough, you set your bottle down and pushed your way through the crowd towards the exit. You'd seen enough for tonight and you knew what you had to do.

You were almost at the door when a hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a small, dark alcove behind a tapestry. He slammed his other hand against the wall beside your head, caging you in. The noise of the party was suddenly muffled, replaced by the sound of your own breathing.

“What the-”

"Where do you think you're going?”

"Home," you said, your voice trembling.

He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours. "You shouldn't have come here," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "You shouldn't have seen that."

"Seen what? The perfect party?"

"This," he said, gesturing vaguely at the party beyond the tapestry. "This is all I have. This is all I am, a joke, a performance. Is that what you wanted to see?"

"No," you whispered, your anger melting away. "That's not what I see at all."

His eyes searched yours, desperately "Then what do you see?"

You saw the boy who wrote the list, the boy who was desperately lonely, the boy who thought he was unlovable.

"I see you-," you whispered, the words hanging in the charged air between you.

"You don't, you see him." He jerked his head in the direction of the party, in the direction of where Minjae would be. "You see the charming Gryffindor hero. You don't see this."

"This?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. "What is this, Jungkook? This party? This… mask? Is this all you think you are?"

"It's all I'm allowed to be!" he said angrily, his eyes blazing.  "Do you have any idea what it's like? To be told, every single day, that your worth is tied to your name, your blood, your ability to be ruthless?”

He was so close, his body trembling with the force of his confession

"I look at you and I see everything I'm supposed to hate, everything I can't have. You're good, you're brilliant, you’re beautiful and kind, and you're with him, the perfect Gryffindor. It's a fucking fairytale, and I'm the monster in the dungeon."

"You're not a monster," you breathed, your hand coming up to rest on his chest, over the frantic beating of his heart.

He didn't pull away. "Aren't I?" he challenged, his voice a bitter whisper. "I hex your boyfriend in the corridors, I spread rumors about him, I do everything I can to make his life miserable because I'm jealous of him. I'm jealous of the way he gets to hold your hand, I'm jealous of the way you look at him, I'm jealous of the air he breathes because it's the same air you're breathing. If that's not a monster, what is?"

"Why?" you asked, your own voice shaking. "Why do you do it? Why not just… tell me?"

"And say what?" he laughed, a harsh, broken sound. " 'Hey, Y/n, I know I've been a bastard for the past seven years, but I'm secretly in love with you, please leave the wonderful, decent guy you're dating for the messed-up son of a Death Eater sympathizer who doesn't know how to feel anything without hating himself for it?' How well do you think that would go?"

"I would have listened" you said, your heart aching for him.

"No. You wouldn't have. You would have seen me as a joke. A pathetic Slytherin pining after something he can't have. It's better this way, the enemy part, at least that's real."

"It's not real," you insisted, your fingers curling into the fabric of his robe. "None of it is real. This…" you said, gesturing to the space between you, "…is real. This is the realest thing I've felt in years."

For a moment, you thought you had reached him. The wall of arrogance and cruelty crumbled, leaving just the boy who was lost and scared and so incredibly in love with you, it was destroying him. He leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut, his lips parting slightly. He was going to kiss you. And you were going to let him.

You licked your lips

You swallowed

Your stomach did the flip thing

But then, a loud cheer erupted from the party, followed by the sound of a shattering bottle, and Jungkook's eyes snapped open, everything you’ve tried to build tonight crashed down.

"No," he whispered, pulling back from you, running a hand through his hair, his eyes wild. "No, we can't, I can't."

"Jungkook, wait-” you reached for him, but he flinched away.

"Don't," he said, his voice flat "This was a mistake, a big stupid mistake.” He straightened his robes, the mask was back on. "You should go."

"Jungkook, please…," you begged, your heart breaking.

"Go back to your tower, Y/n." He didn't look at you, he looked at the stone wall behind you, as if you were no longer there. "Go back to your boyfriend.”

He turned his back on you and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of laughing, Slytherins. He had pushed you away, but not before he had given you everything.

You stumbled out from behind the tapestry. You didn't look back, you couldn't. The walk back to the Ravenclaw tower was a nightmare.

The rest of the weekend drifted by in a quiet silence. You stayed away from the Great Hall, saying you had a terrible headache at the NEWT level, and Taehyung kindly brought your meals to your room. Minjae kept sending owl messages, each one cheerier than the last, checking in on how you were feeling and letting you know he was thinking of you. But, somehow, you just couldn't find the words to reply to any of them.

By Monday, the bubble of your isolation had to burst. You had Charms with the Gryffindors, and you knew you couldn't avoid Minjae forever. Walking into the classroom felt like marching to your own execution.

"Hey! You're back!" he whispered as you sat down, his hand immediately finding yours on the desk. "I was so worried. Are you feeling better?"

"I'm fine," you lied, pulling your hand away to retrieve your wand. "Just needed some quiet."

"Right," he said, his smile faltering slightly. "Well, I'm glad you're here, maybe you can help me with the wrist flick, I always mess it up."

You tried to focus, you really did. You tried to listen to Flitwick and to perform the practiced flicks of your wand, but all you could think about was the way Jungkook's body caged you in, and the sound of his voice as he confessed everything.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a concerned whisper. "Y/n, seriously. What's going on? Is this about Jungkook's party? Did he say something to you? Did he hurt you?"

"I think we should talk, Minjae," you said, your voice barely audible over the chatter of the class. "Meet me by the Black Lake, after class."

He didn't know what, but he knew something was fundamentally wrong. "Okay, the Black Lake, after class."

The next twenty minutes were the longest of your life. When the bell finally rang, you packed your bag with shaking hands and walked out of the castle. He found you a few minutes later, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He looked at you with those honest, hazel eyes.

"So, this sounds serious."

"Don't," you whispered, turning away from him to look at the water. "Please don't be kind right now."

"What? Why? Y/n, whatever it is, we can fix it. Just talk to me."  

"I am trying to talk to you! I'm breaking up with you."

"You're… what? No, you're not. You're just stressed."

"It's not that," you said, finally turning to face him. His face was pale. "This isn't working, Minjae."

"Not working?" he repeated, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. "What does that even mean? We've been working for years! We work!"

"We were," you corrected gently. "But we're not anymore."

"Is this because of him?" he demanded, his voice rising with anger. "Is this because of Jungkook? That party? What did he do to you?"

"He didn't do anything!" you insisted, the words feeling more and more like a lie. "This is about me. This is about… us. We're a fairytale, Minjae. We’re a lovely story, but it's not real."

"It is real!" he shouted, stepping closer. "What I feel for you is real! Is this a joke? Are you breaking up with me because you're bored? Because you've decided you want some drama in your life? Is that what this is?"

"No!" you cried, tears finally welling in your eyes. "It's because I don't love you! Not the way you deserve, not the way I should."

"You don't… but you said…"

"I know what I said," you whispered, the tears now streaming down your face. "And I meant it when I said it. But things change, and people change."

"So you've changed," he said, his voice flat. " You've changed so much that you just throw away two years? Don't I deserve a real reason? Don't I deserve the truth?"

"The truth is that I'm not the person you think I am. And you deserve someone who is, someone who can give you all of this, without hesitation." You gestured between you, to the life you had built together. "I can't. I’m sorry."

"So that's it," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Just like that."

"I'm so sorry, Minjae," you choked out. "I am so, so sorry."

He shook his head, a sad, broken little smile touching his lips. "Don't be. Just… go. Please. Just go."

You didn't want to. You wanted to stay and explain, to take the pain away, but you knew you couldn't. You turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone; the perfect hero had just lost its heroine.

You skipped dinner that night and found yourself hiding in the back of the library, acting like you were researching some potion you already knew by heart. You felt like such a coward for breaking a good guy's heart, and now you were just avoiding the fallout. Every time the library doors opened, you freaked out, hoping it wouldn’t be Minjae or, even worse, Taehyung, showing up and wanting to know what the hell happened.

It was nearly curfew when a shadow fell over your book.

"Rough day, Head Girl?" He slid into the seat opposite you, his movements fluid and predatory. He looked rested, composed, a stark contrast to the emotional wreckage you had become.

"What do you want, Jeon?" you asked, not looking up from your book. Your voice was hoarse from crying.

He reached across the table and deliberately closed your book.

"I want to know why," he said. “I want to know why you did it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you lied, your voice a pathetic whisper.

"Don't even think about lying to me. You dumped him, the so-called hero of your fairytale. So I'm gonna ask you again. Why?"

You had no answer. How could you explain that his confession changed everything?

"I… I had to," you stammered, looking away.

"Had to?" He laughed harshly. "No one has to do anything, Y/n. You wanted to end it. Why? Was it because of me?"

Your head snapped back to his. "What?"

"Was it because of me?" he repeated. "Did you see me on Friday night and decide your perfect little life wasn't so perfect anymore? Did my 'performance' finally get to you?"

"It wasn't a performance!" you shot back, your own anger rising to meet his. "I saw you, Jungkook. The real you."

"The real me?" he laughed again, that same broken, bitter sound. "You saw a pathetic, drunken mess in a dungeon who spilled his guts because he couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut. That's not the real me. The real me is the one who hexes your boyfriend and makes your life hell. That's the one you should be afraid of."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be," he hissed, leaning even closer. "You took it, the list. The one thing, the one stupid, pathetic piece of parchment in the entire world that was just for me, and you took it. You read it, and then what? You decided to do what? Pity me? You felt so sorry for the monster in the dungeon that you threw away your prince?"

"No," you breathed, shaking your head.

"Then what?" he demanded, his voice rising in frustration. "Give me one good reason why you would throw away everything for… for this."

You couldn’t tell him the whole story. You couldn't admit that all those mean things he’d said now felt like love notes. You couldn’t say that his broken confession stuck with you more than two years of Minjae being all sweet and easygoing. So, you did the only thing you could think of: you dug into your pocket.

His eyes followed your movement, his breath catching in his throat. You pulled out the crumpled, worn piece of parchment, his list. You didn't unfold it.

"This," you said, your voice shaking. "This is why."

"I don't understand," he whispered.

"You told me to tell you what I see. You said I see the hero, and honestly, you’re right, I did. I saw that boy who was kind, good, and safe. But he wasn't really mine, not really." You glanced down at the parchment in your hand. "This… this is mine. This chaotic, messy, broken thing. This is real, and I'm over pretending it's not.

He looked at the paper, then back at you, his eyes wide with realization. He hadn’t pushed you away; he’d actually pulled you in.

“No,” he whispered, like it was both a prayer and a curse. “You can’t. You shouldn’t.”

“I already did,” you replied softly.

The days after the breakup blurred into a week. You were… on your own. The castle felt off. Minjae kept his distance, which was both good and bad. You’d catch sight of him in the Great Hall or outside on the lawns. Taehyung was always around, his sharp eyes catching everything, but he gave you your space.

And then there was Jungkook.

Nothing much happened, at least on the surface. He went back to being Jeon Jungkook, the cocky Slytherin prince, but it felt different now. You noticed the cracks, you saw how his eyes searched for you across a crowded room, not with his usual teasing. He was giving you space, which had to be tough for him. He was waiting, you realized. Waiting for you to make the next move. The ball was in your court.

However, things hit a boiling point on Friday morning.

The Great Hall was buzzing with the pre-weekend energy. You were picking at a piece of toast when Taehyung slid onto the bench beside you.

"You look like a dead pufferskin," he stated, not unkindly. "Have you even slept?"

"Shut it, Taehyung," you mumbled, pushing your plate away.

He sighed, pulling a bowl of porridge towards him. "Look, I know you're going through… whatever this is. But you can't just exist on air and angst forever.”

"I'll be fine."

"No, you won't," he said flatly. "And neither will he."

You didn’t need to ask who ‘he’ was. Your eyes automatically shifted to the Slytherin table. Jungkook was staring blankly at his plate, pushing food around like he was annoyed but didn’t have the energy to care. Jimin was chatting with him, looking worried, but Jungkook wasn’t really paying attention. He looked just as miserable as you felt.

Just then, the main doors of the Great Hall creaked open, Minjae. He wasn’t his usual bubbly self. He scanned the Ravenclaw table and finally locked eyes with you. For a moment, you could see a flash of something cross his face before it turned cold, and he focused on someone else.

Jungkook.

Before you could even wrap your head around what was going on, Minjae was confidently walking across the Great Hall.

Taehyung grabbed your arm under the table. "Oh no. Y/n, don’t just sit there."

But you were totally frozen. You could only watch as Minjae stopped right in front of the Slytherin table, staring straight at Jungkook.

"We need to talk, Jeon," Minjae said.

Jungkook slowly lifted his head. The tired look was gone. He leaned back in his chair, throwing an arm over the back in a way that showed he didn’t care.

"What’s up, Whitmore?" Jungkook said with sarcasm. "Your amazing new plan to lose tomorrow’s match?"

A few of the younger Slytherins laughed. Jimin looked like he was about to be sick.

"This isn't about Quidditch," Minjae said, his voice tight with restraint. "This is about Y/n."

At the sound of your name, Jungkook's entire posture changed. He sat up straight.

"Ah," Jungkook said, his voice now dangerously soft. "The Head Girl. What about her? Did she come crying to you, telling you the big, bad monster scared her in the dungeon?"

Minjae's fists clenched at his sides. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Jungkook stood up, towering over Minjae. "I saw you sulking around for a week. I know she finally got fed up with pretending to be happy with the perfect Gryffindor. She woke up and realized she wanted something real."

That last part hit hard. A gasp went through the students nearby. You felt your face go pale.

"You're lying," Minjae shot back, stepping closer. "You manipulated her. This is all your fault."

"My fault?" Jungkook chuckled, but it sounded nasty. "How's it my fault she finally realized you're just a boring, safe placeholder? I didn't even have to lift a finger. You messed up all on your own."

That was all Minjae needed to hear.

He charged at Jungkook, hands stretched out, ready to grab the collar of Jungkook's fancy robes. But Taehyung was quicker. "Immobulus!" A blast light hit Minjae mid-lunge, freezing him in a goofy pose.

Jungkook didn’t even blink. He ignored Taehyung, the professors rushing in. He locked eyes with Minjae. Slowly, he raised his wand.

“Finite Incantatem,”

The spell hit. Minjae stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance before he caught himself, breathing hard, embarrassment flaring in his eyes. Jungkook just saved him from making things worse.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” Minjae growled, his voice strained. “Don’t even look at me after what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve done?” Jungkook took a step closer, stepping into Minjae’s space, holding his wand loosely at his side like a casual threat. “I haven’t done anything. That’s the issue, right? I stayed out of it. I kept quiet. And she still left you.”

"You messed with her head!" Minjae shot back, his voice shaking. "You've been filling it with your garbage for years!"

Jungkook laughed, “Garbage? I told her the truth. I told her I was a wreck. I told her I was a monster. The only thing I’m guilty of is wanting her. What about you? You had her! You had everything anyone could want, but you were so boring that you let her slip away."

"I loved her!" Minjae yelled, fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, "I would have done anything for her!"

"Anything except what she actually needed," Jungkook shot back, his words hitting hard. "You loved the idea of her, the smart, pretty girlfriend to make you look good. Did you ever really see her? Did you notice how she bit her lip when she was deep in thought? Did you know she hates treacle tart but ate it every time you offered it because she didn't want to hurt your feelings?"

Each question was a fresh blow, and you watched Minjae's face crumble. He didn't know. He didn't know any of it. And Jungkook, the boy who supposedly hated you, knew everything.

"She was happy with me," Minjae whispered, a last, desperate defense.

"Was she? Or was she just comfortable? There’s a difference. She was settling for a life that was easy, safe, and a bit empty. I just… I gave her a reason to stop."

Minjae looked completely shattered. He locked eyes with Jungkook, pleading for him to deny it, to tell him it was all a lie. But Jungkook said nothing. Eventually, Minjae’s gaze slipped past Jungkook to you across the silent hall. The anger had faded from his eyes, replaced by deep sorrow. He understood now, he saw everything. With that final, heartbreaking look, he walked out of the Great Hall.

Jungkook's shoulders drooped for a moment, the weight of his victory pressing down on him. Every eye in the room was on you, judging silently. You were the reason for this chaos, the girl at the center of a storm you hadn't known how to stop.

In that crowd, his eyes found yours. His eyes locked onto yours, and in them, you saw not a question but a command. Come.

You pushed your chair back, the sound slicing through the quiet like a shout. Keeping your head up and your expression blank, you made your way over to him. You didn’t glance at Taehyung’s worried expression or Jimin’s cautious look. All that mattered was reaching him.

He met you halfway, right before the huge doors of the hall. He didn't say a word; just turned and brushed past you, and you fell in step beside him. Instead of dragging you down to the dungeons or some creepy hidden spot, he took you up on the moving staircases. As you climbed higher, the noise of the castle faded away, replaced by the sound of your own racing heartbeat. He was guiding you to a place filled with ghosts and memories, somewhere you hadn’t been in ages.

The Room of Requirement

"Are you happy now?" you finally asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He turned slowly. "Happy?" he repeated, the word a bitter taste on his tongue. "No. I'm not happy."

He closed the distance between you in two long strides.

"I'm furious. I'm furious at him for being so blind. I'm furious at you for being so stupid. And most of all, I'm furious at myself for thinking for one second that this could ever end well."

"You didn't have to do that," you shot back, he grabbed your wrist.

"Didn't I?" he chuckled. "What was I supposed to do? Let him keep living in his little fantasy? Let him keep looking at you like you were his trophy? I had to show everyone. You’re not his. You never were."

"And I'm yours?" you whispered.

His eyes grew dark as he lifted his other hand, fingers gently tracing your jaw, his touch surprisingly soft compared to the tight grip he had on your wrist.

"You've always been mine, little raven," he said quietly, his thumb brushing your bottom lip.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn't soft or sweet at all. His mouth was demanding, pushing against yours with an urgency that took your breath away. He pressed you back until your shoulders hit the cool stone of the wall, trapping you in.

He let go of your wrist and tangled his fingers in your hair, tilting your head to make the kiss deeper. His other hand moved down your back, pulling you against him so you could feel his arousal through your robes. A gasp slipped out, and he seized the chance, slipping his tongue inside to explore and claim you.

 Your hands flew around his neck, pulling him closer. You wanted to crawl inside his skin, to consume him, to be consumed by him.

He broke the kiss, both of you panting, your foreheads pressed together. The night air was cold on your swollen lips.

He leaned in again, but this time his kiss was softer. It felt different, almost like he was cherishing the moment after that intense passion from before. His lips moved against yours slowly, setting a rhythm that made your legs feel a little wobbly. One of his hands slid from your back to your hip, his thumb drawing little circles, sending shivers all over you.

"Y/n," he murmured against your lips, making your name sound almost sacred. "You’ve gotta tell me this is real."

"It's real," you promised.

That was all the permission he needed.

His mouth reclaimed yours with a renewed hunger, his hands growing bolder. He found the clasp of your school robes, his fingers fumbling with it for a moment before it came undone with a soft click. The heavy wool pooled at your feet, leaving you in the thin white blouse and skirt.

He reached out and slowly, deliberately, began to unbutton your blouse. His fingers were calloused from Quidditch, rough against your skin. One button. Two. Three. He took his time, his eyes never leaving yours, watching your every reaction.

When your blouse was open, he pushed it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the stone floor. You stood before him in your simple white bra and skirt.

"You're so beautiful, little raven." He reached out and traced the lacy edge of your bra with his fingertips. "Merlin, I've thought about this. About what you'd look like. In bed, under me."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you. He leaned down and kissed the hollow of your throat. His kiss felt warm and open, and he traced a line down your neck to your collarbone. You tilted your head back, letting him have better access, a soft sigh slipping from your lips. His hands were on your waist, holding you steady.He found the sensitive spot behind your ear, and you couldn't stop the moan that rose in your throat. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound against your skin.

"I knew you'd be sensitive here," he murmured. "I spent an entire Transfiguration lesson once just watching the way you'd twist your hair when you were concentrating, wondering if you'd make that same little sound if I put my mouth right… here." He punctuated his words with a sharp nip of his teeth, and you jolted, a gasp torn from your lips.

"Jungkook," you breathed.

"Tell me what you want, pretty," he commanded, his mouth moving back up to claim yours in a searing kiss. "Tell me, Y/n."

You couldn't form the words.  All you could do was hold on tighter, arching against him, a silent, desperate plea for more.

He seemed to understand. He broke the kiss, breathing heavily, "Can't talk? That's okay. I can do all the talking."

His hands moved from your waist to the small of your back, tracing the curve of your spine before sliding down to grab your ass through the fabric of your skirt. He squeezed, pulling you tight against him, and you gasped as you felt his hard cock pressing into your stomach.

"You feel that?" he said, his lips close to your ear. "That's what you do to me. You've been doing it for years. Every time you walked into a room, every time you answered a question in class, even when you just breathed in my direction."

His hands were restless now, roaming over your body, learning the shape of you. He slid one hand up your side, his thumb brushing against the side of your breast. You whimpered, pushing into his touch, needing more.

"Patience, I've waited too long for this to rush it."

But his own patience was running out. He let out a frustrated groan, reached behind you, and struggled a bit with your bra's clasp. It clicked open, and he tossed it aside with the rest of your clothes. The night air hit your bare skin, and your nipples instantly got hard.

Jungkook stilled, his gaze fixed on your chest. "Fuck, you're perfect."

He reached out, his hand lingering for a second before he grabbed one of your breasts, his palm warm and heavy. He ran his thumb over your already hard nipple, and you let out a gasp.

"Shh," he murmured, leaning down to take the other into his mouth. "We don't want to bring the whole castle up here, do we?"

His mouth was hot and wet, a shocking contrast to the cold air. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive peak, then sucked, hard. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands, holding him to you.  He gave attention to your breasts, alternating between them, his mouth and hands working in rhythm.

Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he pulled back, his breathing ragged.

"I need to see all of you," he said, his voice a raw, rough command.

He dropped to his knees before you, He looked up at you from his position. He reached out and placed his hands on your hips, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your skirt. You nodded.

Slowly, he peeled your skirt down your legs, his fingers tracing the path of the fabric as it went. He followed it with his mouth, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your hips, your stomach, the tops of your thighs. You were trembling.

When your skirt was around your ankles, you where in nothing but your simple cotton underwear.

"You're shaking," he observed, his voice soft.

"You're doing this to me," you managed to say, your voice barely audible.

"I haven't even started yet."

He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and slowly pulled them down. You stepped out of them. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss under your navel, his lips soft and gentle. You gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself.

"Jungkook," you pleaded, not even sure what you were begging for.

"I know," he murmured against your skin. "I know."

He shifted, settling between your thighs. He looked up at you one last time, and then he lowered his head.

The first touch of his tongue against your clit was a lick and it sent a shockwave of pleasure through you so intense your knees buckled. He held you steady, his hands gripping your hips, while his mouth working its magic.

He didn’t hold back. He explored you with his. He circled your clit, then flicked it, then sucked it into his mouth. Your world was just the sensation of his mouth on you, the rough slide of his tongue, the desperate sounds of your own breathing.

You were babbling now, a stream of incoherent pleas and praises. "Please, Jungkook, yes, don't stop, please, please, please…"

He didn't stop. He increased his pace, his movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. He slid one hand from your hip, his fingers finding your entrance. He teased you for a moment, circling the opening, before sliding one long finger inside you.

You cried out, your inner walls clenching around him. He began to move his finger in time with the movements of his tongue while you were closer to the edge. He added a second finger, stretching you.

"Come for me, Y/n, let me feel it, let me taste you."

With a final, desperate cry, you orgasmed. It left you breathless and shaking, and he held you through it, his mouth and fingers milking every last drop of your slick.

Once the shaking finally stopped, he stood up and wrapped his arms around you. You sank against him, your head on his chest, listening to his heart. He just held you for a while, gently running his fingers through your hair.

"You're gorgeous," he murmured.

You looked up and kissed him. You could taste yourself on his lip, his tongue sliding into your mouth. He was still fully dressed, and the rough texture of his robes felt amazing against your bare skin. All you could think about was wanting to feel him fully, wanting to see him.

You pulled back, your hands going to the front of his robes. "Your turn."

He watched you as you fumbled with the clasp of his robes. Your fingers were clumsy with urgency, but you finally managed to get it open. You pushed the heavy fabric off his shoulders, and it joined yours on the stone floor.

He was wearing a simple black shirt underneath. You made quick work of the buttons, your hands brushing against the warm, hard plane of his chest. He was lean and muscular, his body a testament to years of Quidditch training.

Your fingers trembled as they traced the lines of his chest, feeling the steady, rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. You pushed the black shirt off his shoulders, and it joined the growing pile of discarded clothing on the cold stone floor. You reached out, your fingers tracing the lines of his abs, feeling them tighten under your touch. He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands coming to rest on your waist.

"Your hands are cold," he murmured, a low rumble in his chest.

"Sorry," you whispered, but you didn't stop touching him.

"Don't be," he said, his voice thick.

His skin was warm, and you could feel the fine tremor running through him, a mirror to your own. He was magnificent, and he was all yours.

Your gaze drifted downward, to the very obvious bulge straining against the fabric of his trousers. You swallowed hard.

"Like what you see, little raven?" he asked, his voice a low, husky rumble.

Instead of answering, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his chest, right over his heart. You could feel it thumping against your mouth. You kissed your way across his chest, your tongue darting out to taste the salty skin, to trace his collarbones. His hands came up to rest on your back, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he needed to anchor himself.

With a surge of confidence, you let your hand drift lower, palming him through his trousers. He groaned. His hips jerked forward instinctively, seeking more friction.

You knelt before him, just as he had done for you, your gaze fixed on the button of his trousers. Your hands shook as you undid it, the sound of the zipper loud. You looked up at him, your eyes wide, and saw the raw, naked hunger on his face.

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulled them down. His cock sprang free, hard and thick. It was bigger than you'd imagined, the head flushed, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip.

Your breath hitched in your throat. You'd seen boys before; you’d seen Minjae, but this was different.

You reached out a trembling hand and wrapped your fingers around him. He was hot and hard in your grasp, the skin velvety soft over the rigid core. He let out a harsh groan, his hips bucking forward instinctively.

"Fuck, Y/n," his head falling back. "Don't… don't tease."

You weren't teasing. You were exploring. You ran your thumb over the head, smearing the bead of pre-cum over the sensitive skin. He shuddered, a full-body tremor that ran through him like a wave.

"You don't have to."

“Shut up, Jeon, I want to.”

You leaned in and flicked your tongue against the tip, tasting the salty, slightly bitter flavor of him.

He hissed, his hands flying to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. "Y/n," he warned, his voice strained. "I'm serious. If you… if you do that…"

You looked up at him, your lips hovering just a breath away from his cock. "If I do what?" you whispered boldly.

"Gods," he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut. "If you put your mouth on me, I won't be able to control myself. I'll… I'll fuck your mouth. And I don't want to do that. Not yet."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat to your core. He wanted you so much he was afraid of his own reaction.

You took a deep breath and made your choice. You wanted to taste him, to feel him, to give him the same mind-blowing pleasure he had just given you. You wanted to see him lose control.

You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around the sensitive tip. He cried out, his fingers tightening in your hair, his hips jerking forward. You took more of him into your mouth.

 You couldn't take all of him, not at first, but you tried. You relaxed your jaw and took him deeper, your hand working the base of his shaft in time with the movements of your mouth. He was breathing heavily now, his head thrown back, his eyes closed. The sounds he was making were driving you crazy.

He was right. He couldn't control himself. His hips began to move, a slow, shallow rocking at first, then faster, deeper, his cock hitting the back of your throat.

"Y/n, fuck, your mouth… so good… gods.”

"Fuck, yes, just like that. Your mouth is so fucking good."

You hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder, and he cried out, his whole body tensing. You could feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

“Y/n, I'm gonna…"

He tried to pull back, to warn you, but you held on. With a final groan, he came, his hot, salty release flooding your mouth. You swallowed, your throat working, milking him for every last drop.

“You crazy little witch,” he murmured against your lips, his voice hoarse.

You chuckled softly.

He shifted, his body covering yours. He was already hard again, his cock pressing against your thigh.

"I need to be inside you. Are you ready for me, little raven?" he murmured against your lips.

You nodded frantically. He reached between your legs, his fingers finding your clit. You were still wet from your earlier orgasm, and his fingers slid easily through your folds. He circled your clit, then slid two fingers inside you, testing your readiness.

"Mhm, You're so wet for me," he said.

"All for you," you echoed.

His fingers stroked and teased you until you were squirming beneath him, begging. He reached between you, guiding his cock to your entrance.

"Look at me, clever girl," he commanded, his voice low and intense.

You forced your eyes open, and he held your gaze as he slowly, deliberately, pushed into you.

There was a brief, sharp sting as he stretched you, and you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders. He stilled.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

You took a deep breath, the pain already starting to fade. "I'm okay," you said. "Don't stop."

He began to thrust slowly and deeply at first, then faster, harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the silent room.

"Harder," you gasped, your voice a raw, desperate plea. "Jungkook, harder."

His movements becoming almost brutal, his cock pounding into you, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

"You're so tight, sweetheart," he gritted out, his fingers digging into your thighs. "So fucking perfect."

He reached between you again, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, and you felt your orgasm building again. Your entire body tensed, your muscles locking up as the pleasure increased.

"Come for me, Y/n," he commanded, his voice strained. "Come with me."

With a final, brutal thrust and a hard pinch of your clit, you orgasmed. You screamed his name, your body shaking underneath him, your inner walls clamping down on his cock in a series of powerful, rhythmic spasms.  He fucked you through it, his thrusts becoming erratic, his control finally breaking as your body milked him. With a loud, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, his own orgasm crashing over him, and you felt the hot, powerful pulse of his release as he spilled into you.

He collapsed on top of you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You were both panting, your bodies sweaty and trembling. He didn't move for a long time, and you didn't want him to. You wrapped your arms around his back, holding him close.

“Hi," he whispered, a small, crooked smile playing on his lips.

You laughed, a breathy, soundless puff of air. "Hi," you whispered back.

He leaned down and kissed you gently. "Are you okay?" he asked again, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

"I'm more than okay," you whispered.

He smiled, a genuine, brilliant smile that lit up his entire face. He kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips.

“Me too," he murmured against your skin.

With a soft sigh, he carefully withdrew, the loss of his warmth making you shiver. He grabbed the heavy wool of the discarded school robes and draped them over you both.

"You’re going to have bruises," you murmured. "I'm sorry," you said, your voice thick with regret. "I got... carried away. I didn't hurt you, did I? Truly?" You shifted, propping yourself up on your elbow to look down at him.

He reached up and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking his skin. "No, little raven. You didn't hurt me. Plus, I like them, they're a reminder."

"A reminder that you’re mine?" you asked.

"Mhm, always," he confirmed. "So. What do we do now, Y/n?"

"We walk out of here, and tomorrow, we sit together at breakfast. And I’ll sit at your table, and you’ll hold my hand, and we won't care who sees."

"Just like that? You know…Y/n, my father-"

"Just like that," you confirmed.

He buried his face in your hair, his arms tightening around you like he was afraid you might disappear.

"I love you," he whispered, the words muffled against your skin. "I think I've loved you since the 4th year.”

You laughed, "I thought you were an arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed boy. and I love you too."

"I am," he said, pulling back to grin at you. "But I'm your arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed boy."

Eventually, you knew you had to move, because the night couldn't last forever, but this time you risked it for the biscuit and walked down with him in the dungeons. Jimin had luckily gone somewhere, maybe also dealing with his little secret.

When morning came, Jimin's jaw practically hit the floor, his eyes darting from Jungkook's smug face to the copper hair peeking out from the duvet.

Jungkook pulled the duvet higher over the still asleep Y/n, shielding her, and looked at Jimin with a look of absolute, smug triumph. His voice was a low, morning rasp.

"Morning, Jimin. Close the door."

"Close the door? JK, you have a Ravenclaw, a Head Girl, in your bed!" He gestured wildly with one hand. "Do you have any idea what happens if a Prefect walks in? Or a professor? Or the entire school?"

Jungkook yawned lazily, not moving an inch, his arm remaining locked around you. His voice was thick and rough, devoid of any guilt.

"Then they'll know." He looked down at you, his gaze softening into something sweet, before he looked back at Jimin. "Now, I said, close the door, Jimin. Unless you want to be the one to tell the Gryffindor Golden Boy that his ex-girlfriend spent the night in the snake pit."

Jimin scoffed and left the room.

Jungkook didn't move to get up. Instead, he shifted, his chest vibrating as he chuckled. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a teasing, low vibration. "Wake up, little monster. We have an audience."

Y/n groaned and buried her face deeper in his chest. "Five more minutes. Are we doomed?"

"We're not doomed," he said, his eyes soft. "We're just beginning." He leaned in and kissed you. When he pulled back, he was smiling. "Now, get dressed, Head Girl. You have a castle to run. And I have a rumor to start."

You looked at him, "What rumor?"

He grinned, "The one that says Jeon Jungkook finally got his girl."

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰

a/n: I hope you guys enjoyed this. i have been obsessed with H.P. and Hogwarts Legacy lately, and I couldn't bring myself to not write something, even if I'm graduating next month and my mind is everywhere ;-;

divider: div 1, div 2. main masterlist

[wannaghostbts]

Take you like my last breath..

Took me, that's the first step..

Closer with the silk dress..

Feeling your warm embrace..

Devil always tempting..

But who gon' end the sentence..

Wе're not meant to blend in..

Blеnded with all your friends..

Push and pull to get closer, closer!~

[ttabacco]

Suits and Sigils | 1

wheel of fortune

⤷sypnosis: Kim Taehyung's worldview relies on three absolute truths: the law is malleable, his Tom Ford suits are impeccable, and every woman in the city wants him. Then he gets hijacked by a stranger who forces him to pay a luxury-car-sized vet bill for a stray puppy and looks at him like he's an annoying fly. He thinks your "mysterious intuition" is just a high-effort tactical play to get into his bed. You're just trying to survive your day job while your tarot deck screams that this idiot's logic is about to violently implode. It's fine. Everything is fine.

⤷pairing: kim taehyung x f!reader

⤷genre: lawyer!taehyung, witch!reader, rom-com, urban fantasy, workplace/legal!au, fast-paced flirtation, one-sided slowburn.

⤷warnings: corporate arrogance, heavy wealth flexing, swearing, mild supernatural peril later on, taehyung getting completely humbled. also features some highly unprofessional legal counseling that eventually violates several workspace boundaries (yes, there is smut, he's a womanizer, what did you expect?).

⤷word count: 5.7k

a/n: upon my ok-ish exam today i decided to release a brand new story for you. i think we can all agree we need a little cocky flirty bastard taehyung in our lives. and i'm here to deliver. i hope you'll all enjoy this story as much as i do because i'm already obsessed lol. (what a stupid thing to say as i'm the author but oh well)

this isn't Faux Colors. this is lighter. (as light as magical entities and witches can be). taehyung is a different breed of arrogant. he's not like jeongguk in fc. he is annoyingly arrogant and it works in different ways. getting-you-in-his-bed ways.

please enjoy and lmk if you like it! <3

—

"Help me!"

Taehyung stopped in his tracks, one hand pausing on the door handle of his matte-black Mercedes. He adjusted the lapels of his tailored suit jacket, his sharp eyes instantly tracking the source of the frantic shout.

A girl. In the middle of the city sidewalk, looking entirely out of her depth.

Taehyung's lips twitched into a practiced, effortlessly charming smirk. He was used to people asking him for help—usually clients begging him to get them out of a legal chokehold, or women looking for an excuse to get his phone number. He could already see the headline in his mind: Brilliant, handsome defense attorney rescues citizen on his lunch break.

He closed the distance, smoothing down his tie. "Is everything alright? If you're looking for directions, or perhaps a—"

He stopped. You weren't looking at him. You were crouched on the concrete, staring down at a tiny, shivering, wounded baby puppy tucked against your chest.

"I just moved here for a new job, I don't know where any vet clinics are, and he's hurting," you said all in one breath, finally looking up at him. Your eyes were wide, but underneath the panic, there was a strange, unsettling groundedness to you. Like you were looking straight through his expensive suit and reading his entire energy profile in three seconds flat.

Taehyung blinked, his smooth-talking brain taking half a beat to recalibrate. A puppy.

Right.

"Right. Well," Taehyung cleared his throat, gesturing toward his idling car where his chauffeur was already watching through the rearview mirror. "Luckily for you, I happen to be nearby. Take my car. My driver will take you to the nearest 24-hour vet clinic."

"Great," you said, immediately standing up with the puppy securely in your arms and marching right past him toward the luxury vehicle. As you tucked yourself into the pristine leather backseat, you looked back out the open door at him.

"You're paying for this, by the way."

Taehyung stared at you, dumbfounded. The smirk completely vanished from his face. "Excuse me? You found the dog."

You didn't even blink. You just gave him a deadpan, incredibly unimpressed look that no woman had ever given Kim Taehyung in his entire life.

"You have a chauffeur and a Mercedes, dude. So you pay."

Before he could even construct a logical argument against that—because logistically, legally, and financially, that made absolutely no sense—you pulled the door shut.

Taehyung stood on the sidewalk, his hand still suspended in the air, watching his own luxury car pull away with a stranger and a stray dog. His sharp, calculating mind was completely short-circuiting.

Taehyung stood on the pavement for a grand total of two seconds before his brain rebelled against the sheer absurdity of the situation.

You pay dude.

The words echoed in his head like a direct insult to his law degree. No one talked to him like that. Women usually tripped over themselves trying to thank him if he so much as held a door open. He was Kim Taehyung. He had a track record that made corporate executives weep, a face that belonged on a billboard, and a tailored Tom Ford suit that cost more than this girl's likely annual coffee budget.

Before the chauffeur could even put the Mercedes into drive, Taehyung strode forward, yanked the front passenger door open, and slid inside.

"To the nearest emergency vet, loosen the speed limits a little, Marcus," Taehyung commanded, adjusting his cuffs as he looked back at you through the rearview mirror. He turned around in his seat, draping one casual, expensive arm over the leather headrest to look at you properly.

He flashed his signature, high-wattage smile—the one that usually got him out of speeding tickets and into exclusive clubs. "You know, usually people ask for my name before they ask for my credit card. I'm Taehyung. And you are?"

You didn't look up. You were gently stroking the shivering, scruffy little animal in your lap. "Busy."

Taehyung's smile rigidified. His mind genuinely could not compute the lack of a reaction. Were you blind? Deaf? Objectively speaking, he was a catch. He waited for the inevitable blush, the nervous tuck of hair behind the ear, the something.

Nothing came.

Clearing his throat, he decided to pivot to the only other occupant of the backseat. He leaned a bit closer, looking down at the creature tucked against your chest. "So... what's the deal with the dog?" He stared at it, trying to find something analytical to say. I mean... it was a dog.

Two eyes, a mouth, four legs. Standard animal blueprint.

"He's cute. Is it a he?"

"Yes," you murmured, keeping your thumbs moving in soothing circles over the pup's ears. "And he's terrified."

"Clearly has poor taste in company if he's turning down my chauffeur's driving," Taehyung quipped, his tone smooth, trying to inject some playful banter into the suffocating lack of interest you were throwing his way.

"So, you mentioned you're new to the city. For a job. What is it you do?"

He braced himself for something mundane. Marketing? Accounting? A corporate desk job where you probably dreamt of marrying a guy like him? He was ready to smile patronizingly and offer some witty insight about the city's corporate ladder.

You finally lifted your gaze. Your eyes met his in the rearview mirror first, then locked onto his face. There was a faint, knowing tilt to your lips—not a flirtatious one, but the look of someone who knew exactly what kind of game he was playing and found it entirely amusing.

"Don't bite off more than you can chew, counselor," you said softly, your voice carrying an unsettlingly calm weight. "You might find out my line of work doesn't fit into your neat little ledger."

Taehyung's chest tightened slightly, a bizarre prickle of heat racing up the back of his neck. Counselor? He hadn't told you he was a lawyer. He wasn't carrying a briefcase, and his lapel pin was just a subtle geometric shape, not a scales-of-justice badge.

He opened his mouth to demanding how you'd made that deduction—his sharp, logical brain already scrambling to find the data point you must have stolen from him—but the car smoothly pulled up to the curb of the veterinary clinic.

"We're here, sir," Marcus announced.

You didn't wait. You threw the door open, cradling the puppy safely, and stepped out into the afternoon air. But right before you shut the door, you peered back inside at his stunned, processing face.

"Bring your black card. The clock's ticking."

The automated glass doors of the 24-hour veterinary clinic slid open, letting in a blast of sterile, fluorescent-lit air that smelled faintly of antiseptic and wet fur.

You hurried right past the rows of plastic chairs, cradling the shivering puppy securely against your chest, completely focused on the front desk.

Taehyung followed a step behind, though his pace was noticeably more deliberate. He was adjusting the cuffs of his Tom Ford suit, resetting his posture after the sheer indignity of being ignored in his own vehicle. But as you marched ahead, his eyes naturally dropped.

On your ass.

He was a man, after all.

He was an incredibly successful, highly sought-after man who appreciated the finer things in life—whether it was the crisp silhouette of a tailored jacket, the sleek lines of a luxury sports car, or the view currently walking right in front of him. Even God enjoys what is beautiful; it would practically be a sin against his own impeccable taste not to look. He let his gaze linger for a shameless, calculating beat, tracing the curve of your backside with the practiced appreciation of a man who was very used to getting exactly what he wanted.

Alright, his mind rationalized, a faint, arrogant smirk threatening to return to his lips. Maybe having my car hijacked isn't an entirely unmitigated disaster.

By the time he caught up to the reception desk, you were already leaning over the counter, completely oblivious to his mental inventory.

"Hi, please, I need some help," you said all in one breath to the young guy working the  shift, your voice tight with genuine worry. "I just found this little guy on the sidewalk a few blocks away. He's shivering, his back paw is bleeding, and I think he might be in shock. I don't know his medical history, but he's hurting really badly."

The receptionist blinked, his eyes darting from the scruffy, bleeding pup in your arms to the towering, incredibly expensive-looking man standing right behind you like a disgruntled bodyguard.

Taehyung stepped up to the desk, sliding one hand casually into his trouser pocket while the other tapped his black credit card against the polished laminate counter.

"Put whatever he needs on that," Taehyung commanded smoothly, flashing a brief, authoritative smile at the receptionist. "And ensure he gets the premium suite. Or whatever the veterinary equivalent of first-class is."

Taehyung shifted his gaze from the receptionist back to you, leaning his shoulder slightly against the counter. He arched a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a victorious, self-satisfied glint returning to his eyes.

"See?" he murmured, his voice dropping into that smooth, rich baritone he usually reserved for closing arguments. He tapped the black card against the laminate one more time for emphasis. "Paying. Just like you ordered, boss."

You didn't look even remotely breathless or impressed by the heavy wealth flex. Instead, you just rolled your eyes, a small, completely unfazed huff escaping your lips as you kept your arms secure around the puppy. "I knew you would."

Taehyung's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his brain scrambling to process how seamlessly you had just dismantled his grand gesture.

Before he could mount a defense, the vet tech behind the counter cleared his throat, holding up a clipboard. "Alright, I need you to fill out these intake forms as much as you can. We're going to take the little guy back right now so the doctor can assess the injury and check his vitals. You two can wait in the lounge."

You nodded gratefully, carefully handing the shivering puppy over to the tech, though your chest felt a little lighter once he was in professional hands.

Taehyung watched the exchange, then turned to look at the "lounge." His sharp eyes instantly locked onto the row of bolted-down, violently orange plastic chairs against the wall. A subtle, deeply offended pout pulled at his lips. He looked at the plastic, then down at the flawless fabric of his trousers, as if the mere act of sitting there might permanently damage the integrity of the Tom Ford weave.

With a heavy, dramatic sigh, he walked over and sat down, carefully pulling the fabric at his knees so it wouldn't wrinkle.

You sat down two chairs away, leaving a deliberate gap between you, and pulled the clipboard into your lap.

Taehyung didn't last three seconds in the silence. He was a man used to dominating a room, and the suffocating lack of attention you were throwing his way was driving his ego entirely up the wall. He leaned back, draping one casual, expensive arm over the empty plastic seat between you, turning his high-wattage charm right back on.

"So," he began, his eyes tracing the line of your jaw, letting his gaze turn deliberately heavy and flirtatiously slow. "Since I'm currently financing this little rescue mission, I feel like I'm entitled to a few basic data points. Where exactly did you move here from?"

"North," you muttered, your pen scratching aggressively against the paper.

"North. Riveting. Very specific," he quipped, his lips twitching into a practiced smirk. He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "And did a boyfriend pack up the moving truck for you, or am I dealing with a completely solo operation here?"

You finally stopped writing. You turned your head slowly, giving him a deadpan, incredibly unimpressed look that made him feel like a particularly loud insect.

"No boyfriend. And I don't do corporate sharks," you said, your voice entirely blunt as you went right back to filling out the form. "So you can turn the smarm down a notch, counselor. It's wasting your billable hours."

Taehyung's chest tightened, that bizarre, supernatural prickle of heat racing up his neck again at the word counselor. He blinked, his mind genuinely short-circuiting as he stared at the side of your face. He was trying to play a tactical seduction game, and you weren't just refusing to play—you were actively kicking his game board over.

Taehyung didn't flinch. In fact, his smirk only deepened, shifting from a practiced sales pitch into something genuinely amused. Most women became flustered when they tried to bite back, but your sharp tongue was just a new boundary he wanted to cross. He leaned his head back against the wall, his gaze tracking the precise movement of your pen.

"Ouch," he drew out the syllable, completely untroubled by the rejection. "Corporate shark? That's a bit harsh for a man who just handed over his black card for a dog he doesn't even know." He tilted his head, his dark eyes glittering with dangerous, playful arrogance. "But you still haven't answered my question. I never told you my profession. How exactly did you deduce I was in law?"

You didn't look up from the clipboard. You just lifted the tip of your pen, pointing it vaguely toward his lower half without a single ounce of hesitation.

"Oxford dress shoes. Perfectly shined. A Patek Philippe watch that says you care about billable hours down to the exact second. And a bespoke Tom Ford suit that screams you spend your days lying to judges or twisting corporate liability clauses." You finally turned your head, your face completely deadpan, refusing to let him see even a single glint of amusement or interest in your eyes. "Oh. And you have a Marcus."

Taehyung blinked, his analytical brain pausing for half a beat. "A Marcus?"

"A chauffeur," you clarified dryly, looking right back down at the intake form. "Normal people don't have an entire human being named Marcus idling in a luxury vehicle waiting to drive a stray puppy to the vet."

A low, rich laugh vibrated in Taehyung's chest. He absolutely loved this. He loved the data profile you had compiled on him in seconds flat, even if you were using it to roast him. He shifted his weight, closing the distance between your chairs just enough that you could catch the faint, expensive scent of his cologne.

"Well, Marcus is highly efficient," Taehyung murmured, his voice dropping into a low, deliberately smoky register as he leaned toward you. "But if you're that impressed by him, I could always make him yours too. He can be at your beck and call whenever you need to navigate the city. Consider it a perk of knowing me."

You didn't even pause your writing. "Pass."

"Come on," he chuckled, his eyes sliding down to your lips before locking back onto your gaze with unshakeable, heavy flirtatiousness. He was Kim Taehyung; he didn't take no for an answer, especially not from someone who looked at him like a fly. "New to the city, no boyfriend, just a day job... you're going to need a guide. And I happen to know a very specific, incredibly exclusive penthouse apartment downtown with a flawless view of the skyline. I could take you there tonight. We can skip the legal talk entirely."

You finally stopped writing. You tilted your head toward him, resting the clipboard against your knee as you looked him up and down.

"Does this usually work for you?" you asked, your voice dripping with genuine curiosity, as if you were studying a strange specimen under a microscope. "The expensive cologne, the penthouse invite, the whole charming shark routine?"

Taehyung didn't even have the decency to look sheepish. Instead, he flashed a dazzling, devastatingly confident smile, leaning in just a fraction closer.

"Honestly?" he murmured, his dark eyes brimming with dangerous amusement. "I wouldn't know. I never actually have to get to this part, usually. They're usually in the car before I can even mention the apartment." He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over your face, thoroughly fascinated by his own lack of progress. "This is highly unmet territory for me. It's thrilling, really."

You just stared at him, completely unmoved by his confession. "Fascinating."

"You're a tough crowd," he chuckled, though his analytical brain was privately scrambling to find a single crack in your armor. He couldn't find a single data point to exploit. You read him like an open legal brief, yet he couldn't grasp a single thing about you. Frustrated but intensely intrigued, his eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you? A witch?"

For the first time since you had hijacked his Mercedes, your deadpan expression cracked.

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of your lips—sharp, mysterious, and entirely amused by the absolute irony of his question. Your tarot deck was practically screaming in your bag, but you didn't say a single word. You just let the silence stretch, letting him drown in his own confusion.

Before Taehyung could demand an answer to the sudden shift in your energy, the heavy door to the back clinic clicked open.

"For the stray puppy?" a middle-aged vet called out, holding a digital tablet. "We have the initial assessment ready if you both want to come back."

You immediately stood up, tossing the clipboard onto the plastic chair and completely cutting Taehyung off.

Behind you, Taehyung let out a massive, highly dramatic, and completely visible sigh. His shoulders dropped in pure, unadulterated defeat as he stared at the back of your head. He was Kim Taehyung. He was a master of closing arguments, a man who controlled entire courtrooms, and he had just been thoroughly cock-blocked by a veterinarian and a three-pound dog.

Muttering something entirely unprofessional under his breath, he smoothed down the front of his flawless suit jacket and marched after you into the clinic.

The doctor gestured for you both to step up to the examination table, where the puppy was resting on a clean towel. He looked significantly less pathetic now, though his eyes were still wide and sleepy.

"Alright, good news," the vet began, tapping his digital tablet. "He's a resilient little guy. We cleaned up and properly bandaged his back paw—it was just a superficial laceration, no broken bones or tendon damage. We also administered a fast-acting oral pill for deworming, because he did test positive for a rather hearty round of worms."

Taehyung, who had been leaning against a stainless-steel counter with his hands elegantly folded over his front, froze. His face instantly contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated corporate horror. His top lip curled back, his nose wrinkling as he looked at the puppy as if it had just morphed into a biohazard.

Worms.

Literal, living parasites. And this girl had been cradling the creature directly against her chest—the same chest he had been shamelessly admiring not even ten minutes ago. He subconsciously took a half-step back, his mind calculating how many layers of dry-cleaning his suit was going to require to purge the invisible microscopic trauma of this room.

"He's also going to need his initial round of vaccines," the doctor continued, completely blind to Taehyung's internal existential crisis. "But his system is a little stressed right now, so I want to wait exactly a week before we do that. Other than that, he's stable, medicated, and ready to be taken home."

The moment the words left the vet's mouth, a massive, radiant smile broke across your face. The deadpan, guarded look you'd been throwing at Taehyung the entire afternoon completely vanished, replaced by pure, genuine relief. You leaned over the table, your eyes sparkling as you gently cooed at the puppy, utterly thrilled that he was going to be okay.

Taehyung stared at you, his short-circuiting brain completely stalling out for a completely different reason now. Oh. So you could smile. And it wasn't the knowing, cryptic tilt of the lips you'd given him earlier. It was blinding. Beautiful.

"Thank you so much, doctor, seriously," you murmured, your voice warm as you began discussing the post-care instructions and the specific schedule for the follow-up.

Taehyung, feeling entirely excluded from the mutual appreciation society, crossed his arms and muttered to the side, "Yes, thank you, doctor. Mostly for ensuring my black card was utilized to eradicate an alien species from a three-pound mammal."

You ignored him seamlessly. Once the final paperwork was signed, Taehyung reluctantly swiped his card at the terminal, keeping his fingers at a strictly professional, sterile distance from the counter.

The afternoon air hit them the second they exited the clinic doors. Marcus was already waiting by the curb, the matte-black Mercedes idling silently. Taehyung let out a breath, adjusting his cuffs, feeling like he had finally survived the chaotic detour. He turned to you, fully prepared to deliver a sleek, final closing argument that would hopefully salvage his dignity and land him your phone number.

Instead, you turned around, scooped the bandaged puppy up, and smoothly deposited the entire animal right into Taehyung's tailored, expensive arms.

"Take it home."

Taehyung went completely rigid. His elbows locked at a perfect ninety-degree angle, holding the puppy away from his chest like a live bomb. He was utterly flabbergasted.

"What do you mean, pretty girl?" Taehyung stammered, his smooth, rich baritone cracking just a fraction. He stared down at the scruffy creature in his hands, then up at you, his eyes wide. "I think I misheard you. No—definitely misheard you. My ears are playing tricks on me from the clinic's acoustics."

"You didn't mishear anything," you said, entirely casual as you adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder. "I can't take him. I just moved into a tiny apartment and I have an incredibly feisty, highly territorial cat who will literally try to murder him. The dog needs a home. You helped rescue him, you paid the bill, so he's yours."

Taehyung opened his mouth, but his highly analytical, Ivy League-educated brain completely failed to articulate a single coherent thought.

What the actual fuck?

His legal mind was spinning out of control. The math was not mathing. He had walked out of his office to grab lunch, spotted a beautiful woman on the sidewalk, deployed his maximum high-wattage charm to try and woo her into his bed—and somehow, through some twisted, chaotic sequence of events, he was now standing on a public street holding a dewormed stray dog.

"Logistically—legally—financially—" he sputtered, his voice rising as the puppy let out a tiny, soft yawn right against his pristine sleeve. "You can't just bestow a canine upon a man! I don't do pets! I do multi-million dollar corporate contracts!"

You just gave him another one of your signature, unimpressed looks, turning on your heel to walk away. "Figure it out, counselor. See you around."

"Wait! Hold on!" Taehyung called out, his polished composure completely shattering as he took a clumsy step forward. The puppy shifted in his grip, and he immediately frozen in place, terrified the animal might slip or—God forbid—wipe something on his lapel. "Where exactly do you think you're going? What am I supposed to do with this? I don't know anything about managing a dog!"

You paused, looking back over your shoulder with a highly amused, deadpan expression. "Wow. Admitting he doesn't know something. That's a first."

"I'm serious!" he hissed, his eyes darting frantically from you to the scruffy creature currently blinking up at him. "You can't just leave me on a sidewalk with a contractually unbinding pet!"

"Relax, counselor," you said, turning around fully but keeping your distance. "I'll see you around. Soonest? Next week, right here. You heard the doctor—he needs to come back in a week to check on his paw and get his vaccines."

Taehyung's sharp mind immediately seized on the opening, his deeply ingrained, predatory legal instincts kicking back into overdrive. If he was being forced to play the part of a foster father to a stray, he was absolutely going to extort a prize out of it.

"Right here? Fine. But what hour?" he demanded, his voice dropping back into that smooth, heavy, boardroom register. He tilted his head, flashing a sharp, unbothered smirk despite the literal dog in his arms. "And more importantly, I'm going to need your number. Logically speaking, of course. For updates. Maybe you want daily pictures of the dog to ensure your rescue investment is thriving... or maybe you want pictures of something else." He let his gaze drop to his own impeccably tailored silhouette, throwing in a confident, high-wattage wink.

You didn't even blink. "Gross."

Taehyung didn't lose his smirk for a second. "Okay, so maybe I want pictures of something else. A man has to have some form of leverage in a negotiation."

"Next week. 12 PM. Here. Don't forget," you stated flatly, completely shutting down his corporate flirting routine without a single hint of a blush. You turned back toward the crowded sidewalk, ready to disappear into the city.

"Wait," Taehyung called out, his tone shifting into something genuinely frustrated. His massive ego was practically bruised and bleeding on the pavement. "Do I really get nothing? No name? No digits? No tactical advantage whatsoever?"

You stopped, looking back at him one last time. There was that strange, unsettling groundedness in your eyes again—the look that made him feel like you were peering straight through his Tom Ford armor and reading the exact energy profile of his soul.

"Trust me," you said softly, your voice carrying that bizarre, calm weight that always made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "This isn't the last time we're meeting."

Taehyung scoffed, adjusting his rigid hold on the puppy. "Except next week is the last time. I pay for the vaccines, you find a permanent shelter, and we terminate this absurd arrangement."

You gave him a faint, cryptic, completely knowing smile—the kind that belonged to a woman who knew the threads of fate were already tightly knotted around his pristine wrists. 

"I wish that was the case," you murmured.

And before his  brain could even begin to dissect what the hell that meant, you stepped into the flow of the afternoon crowd and completely vanished.

Taehyung stood frozen on the sidewalk for exactly three seconds after you vanished, his arms still locked at that perfect, panicked ninety-degree angle. The puppy let out a tiny, soft wheeze against his forearm, and that was enough to break his trance.

He spun around and marched toward the Mercedes, throwing the door open with his foot since his hands were entirely occupied by a biological hazard.

"Marcus," Taehyung barked, his voice tight as he hovered outside the open door, refusing to sit down just yet. "Tell me you have a towel. A plastic bag. A clean rag. A piece of industrial tarp. Anything."

Marcus blinked, looking back through the rearview mirror at his boss, who was currently holding a scruffy, bandaged puppy like it was an active explosive device.

"Sir?"

"Do not 'sir' me, Marcus. The creature has a medical history that includes an alien invasion of parasites, and I am wearing four thousand dollars of unwashed wool," Taehyung hissed, his eyes wide. "Find a barrier. Now."

Thankfully, Marcus was a professional. He reached into the glove compartment and produced a clean, folded microfiber cloth usually reserved for dusting the dashboard. Taehyung snatched it, laid it down on the pristine leather backseat with the precision of a surgeon prepping a sterile field, and carefully deposited the puppy onto it. Only then did he slide into the opposite side of the seat, plastering himself against the far door to maximize the distance between his suit jacket and the dog.

"To the office," Taehyung commanded, letting out a long, exhausted breath. "And call ahead. Tell my assistant I need my second latte macchiato waiting on my desk the second I step out of the elevator. Make sure she doubles the milk. I'm going to need the lactose-induced serotonin to survive the rest of the day."

Usually, Taehyung's afternoons were an exercise in flawless, predictable luxury. He handled sleek leather briefcases filled with multi-million dollar contracts. He dismantled opposing legal teams before the judge could even finish pouring a glass of water. His assistant made a mean, velvety second latte macchiato because, despite his rigid corporate exterior, he deeply indulged in a rich, milky coffee to power through his post-lunch paperwork. He would have a superb, ridiculously expensive lunch, dominate a boardroom, and get off early—simply because he was that good at his job. He didn't work overtime; the law worked on his clock.

This afternoon, however, was a complete and utter glitch in the matrix.

Instead of a sleek mahogany boardroom, Taehyung found himself standing in the middle of a brightly lit, aggressively colorful mega-pet store. The air smelled entirely of cedar shavings and synthetic chew toys. And instead of a high-powered corporate client, his companion was his best friend, Jimin.

"I'm just saying, Tae, if you don't buy the orthopedic memory foam, you're basically a terrible father," Jimin said, his voice dripping with dramatic gravity as he lifted a minuscule, pastel-pink plush dog bed shaped like a crown. He held it up to his chest, looking over at Taehyung with wide, teasing eyes. "Look at it. It matches his legal trauma. It screams royalty."

"First of all, I am not its father. I am its temporary financial sponsor," Taehyung snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose as he steered a shopping cart that was already embarrassing him. "Second of all, that bed is pink. He is a masculine, street-hardened dog who survived a sidewalk laceration. He doesn't want a crown, Jimin."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did the three-pound fluff-ball tell you his aesthetic preferences while you were hijacking your own Mercedes?" Jimin snickered, tossing the crown bed into Taehyung's cart anyway. He wandered over to the next aisle, picking up a tiny, neon-yellow plush bone that squeaked violently when he squeezed it. "What about this? You can squeak it in court when the opposing counsel starts annoying you."

Squeak! Squeak!

"Put that down, you look ridiculous," Taehyung hissed, though he secretly checked the price tag on a premium, memory-foam orthopedic mattress in sleek charcoal gray. "Look at this ledger. Look at these price points. Why is a bed for an animal that licks its own paws costing more than a pair of Italian loafers? The economics of this industry are completely unregulated. I should sue the distributor on principle."

"You are a multi-millionaire defense attorney, and you're complaining about a thirty-dollar dog bed because a pretty girl humbled you on a sidewalk," Jimin deadpanned, leaning his elbows on the handle of the cart, a massive, cat-like smirk spreading across his face. "Tell me more about her again. The one who called you 'dude' and handed you a worm-infested animal like you were a glorified dog-walker?"

Taehyung's chest tightened, that bizarre, phantom prickle of heat racing up the back of his neck again just thinking about the way you had looked right through him.

"She didn't humble me," Taehyung muttered defensively, throwing a bag of premium, grain-free puppy kibble into the cart with unnecessary force. "She simply deployed an unorthodox negotiation tactic. And for the record, next week at twelve o'clock, the contract is terminated."

Jimin stopped dead in his tracks, his hands dropping off the neon-yellow plush bone as he stared at Taehyung. "Terminated as in... what, exactly? You're going to file a restraining order against a stray animal?"

"Terminated as in the legal and social contract between me and this mystery girl ends next Tuesday at precisely twelve-fifteen PM," Taehyung declared, tossing a sleek, titanium-plated dog bowl into the cart with a definitive clink. He adjusted his watch, a dark, fiercely competitive glint returning to his sharp eyes. "She thinks she's impervious to my usual tactics. She thinks she can just drop a biological entity into my arms, call me 'dude,' and walk away untouched."

"And she did," Jimin pointed out helpfully, grinning. "Beautifully, might I add."

"It was a fluke. A statistical anomaly based on the high-stress environment of a medical emergency," Taehyung corrected, leaning over the handlebar of the cart, his voice dropping into a confident, arrogant purr. "Next week, she definitely won't resist my charms a second time. She will fall. Hard. Right on her ass."

Jimin snorted, crossing his arms. "Oh, really? Is that your closing argument?"

"It's a absolute guarantee," Taehyung smirked, his ego fully re-inflated as he mapped out the entire strategy in his head. "I am going to change my approach. I'll decode her energy profile, play the part of the doting, wealthy savior, and I will woo her. Then, I'll take her to bed. We will have a wonderful, entirely mutually beneficial time, I will fulfill my objective, and then—"

He gestured toward the cart full of luxury puppy supplies.

"—she will get the dog back, and we will locate a rightful owner. Someone who actually needs a dog. A family with a white picket fence, or a lonely retiree. Not a multi-million dollar defense attorney with a packed litigation schedule and zero tolerance for parasites."

Jimin just stared at him for a long, quiet beat, before a slow, pitying smile spread across his face. "Taehyung, my brilliant, corporate genius friend... you do realize you are currently planning a multi-step, tactical seduction campaign all because a girl refused to give you her phone number, right?"

"It's about maintaining a flawless record, Jimin," Taehyung stated flatly, wheeling the cart toward the checkout lanes with absolute purpose. "Kim Taehyung does not lose a case. And he certainly does not get out-negotiated by a girl with a feisty cat."

next chapter | prologue

tags: @daisydi23 @thedelulusafespace @tan-veee @sweetcloudie

[wannaghostbts]

Come before it's too late..

I got things to say..

Before I go..

And there's no time to wait..

We can hide away..

Need to let you know that..

Ohhh..

I wish I could stay with you!~

[mint-yooxgi]

Haunted - Yandere!Ghost!Jungkook X Reader

Yandere!AU - Part of the Yandere!BTS X Reader Series

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Smut (Things get dreamy~ I mean, steamy…)

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader

Words: 14,123

Warning: This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Happy Halloween~ I know you’ve all been patiently waiting for this story as much as I have been prepared to write it. I really do hope you enjoy this one, and I hope it serves as a good first story to the series! I think it does! As always, I do not believe Jungkook, nor any member of BTS would act like this. This is just my interpretation of the archetype. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, enjoy!

Keep reading

[wannaghostbts]

We're like parallel lines, looking at the same spot but so different..

You're the only one I have..

But why do I feel like you're not there..

You ask me 'Are you mad?' when I'm down..

Have you ever done anything to make me down?..

You're cute and I'm just pathetic..

Hope a miracle happens so that you love me more than I love you!~

[rosaetae]

tales of the purebloods

➣ genre: vampire!au, soulmate!au 

➣ pairing: maknae line x reader

In the Upper World, hidden from a mere mortal’s naked eye, holds the naturals of nothing but super. These stories encompass the tales of three brothers who have been born with vampire’s blood in their system, their names bringing goosebumps when mentioned for they have been feared by both the Upper World and the mundane world over many centuries. Kings of their glorious kingdom in the Upper World, they struggle with unworldly conflicts, their own existence, and their asphyxiating ties to their Complements. These are the tales of the Purebloods. 

Keep reading

[wannaghostbts]

If you wanna be animals..

Baby, we can be animals..

Eat this life 'til your heart is full..

(Heart, untameable)..

If you want, you can have it all..

(Heart, is, take it all, oh)..

[jimlingss]

Annihilation of You [1/2]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 (finale) Words: 8.4k Genre: Fluff, Slight Crack, Soulmate!Au, Evil Genius!Au, Post Apocalyptic!Au  Summary: You have one goal: destroy the world. Only one thing stands in your way: your soulmate. Looks like you’re going to have to destroy him first. → Inspired by this and this.

You will destroy the world.

Mankind will be eradicated and the plains will be ravaged. The human species will be vaporized and Earth will be brought back to it’s previous natural state; luscious greenery and vegetation with thriving lifeforms. Warm sunlight will filter through tall and overgrown trees, animals will return to their indigenous habitats and the air will become freshly crisp once more.

No longer will decaying bodies lay on dirt. No longer will the smog pollution fill the sky in shades of brown and gray. The selfish desires of the elite and the mindset of materialism won’t rule over hearts, blind eyes with greed. War won’t be a word in the dictionary or a concept in existence.

No one can stop you.

MUHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAA!

Keep reading

[wannaghostbts]

We'll be running wild..

Lovin' 'til the sun is out..

Running 'til there's nothin' left..

'Til our last breath..

We'll be running wild..

Lovin' like it's made for us..

Running 'til there’s nothin' left..

'Til our last breath!~

We’ll be running wild

[jimlingss]

A Promise of Freedom

↳ This oneshot is a continuation of this drabble

➜ Words: 8.8k

➜ Genres: 60% Angst, 40% Fluff, Wartime!AU

➜ Summary: War is cruel and its inhumanity has not spared you. Captured by the enemy, you were brought to the front lines to heal their wounded. But after one night of saving a particular man’s life, he swears to fulfill any wish of yours.

Keep reading

[wannaghostbts]

Please give me a remedy..

(So is this success, I came back)..

A remedy that will make my heart beat again..

(I'll concentrate on reaching you no matter what, falling, stumbling)..

What should I do now?..

(This familiar pain seizes on me again)..

Save me..

(It's not easy this time either)..

Please give me another chance..

(Am I giving up? No, no never)..

I won't give up!~

[jimlingss]

A Piece of the Moonlight

➜ Words: 22.1k

➜ Genre: Angst, tad of Fluff, Historical, Mulan!Au

➜ Summary: For your loved ones, the people who are waiting at home, the people who have died - you will fight. And sometimes to fight means to sacrifice: who you really are and the person you really love.

➜ Warnings for underlying misogynistic themes, blood, war and death.

In one simple command, the comrades scream at the top of their lungs as they rush forward.

A blizzard of arrows swoop across the horizon and the enemies sprint. Swords clash in the middle as the two seas of men meet like the seams of two fabrics sewn together. It’s barbaric and vicious, a brutality that no one can ever be immune to.

The horses roar out, galloping ahead and leaping over the corpses, hooves marking into the dirt. Friend or foe, there is no fear. It is the destruction of humankind; a horrific massacre of chaos. There is mangling of flesh, pummeling down swords and battering skin. The sound of choking and strangled screams play like broken recordings, driving people to insanity. The battle ensues.

Every stitch and seam is mended by silk threads, each movement vital in order to keep the embroidery accurate; it is an art. An art that you are unfortunately unskilled at. One tug with too much strength and the strand would…snap.

Keep reading

[wannaghostbts]

So, I'm gonna hate you..

I'm gonna hate you..

Paint you like the villain that you never were..

I'm gonna blame you..

For things that you don't do..

Hating you's the only way it doesn't hurt!~

[jimlingss]

A Kiss of Poison

➜ Words: 29.2k

➜ Genres: Angst, A Pinch of Fluff, But Still Mostly Angst

➜ Summary: You are the princess of the kingdom, ready to marry the prince/your childhood friend, Jeon Jungkook. But when you visit the forest one last time, an unsightly witch curses you. Now you wait for your prince’s rescue—but someone else might just beat him to the punch instead.

Or alternatively….

In fairytales, the prince saves the princess from the evil witch. No one ever expects the princess and the witch to be the same person.

➜ Warnings: gruesome and horrifying details, curses, lots of sad times, details of deformations, blood.

➜ Notes: this blog has gotten too soft lately. time to bring back the angst…Enjoy!

Keep reading

[wannaghostbts]

You know that I can’t..

Show you me..

Give you me..

I can’t show you a ruined part of myself..

Once again I put a mask on and go to see you..

But I still want you!~

[jimlingss]

Love Pages

➜ Words: 18k

➜ Genres: 60% Angst, 40% Fluff, Yandere!AU, Inspired by Death Note

➜ Summary: You’ve always had feelings for Park Jimin, star soccer player and cute boy-next-door. But it’s been unrequited for years and you expect it to continue that way. Or at least until a certain notebook falls into your hands.

➜ Warning: toxic relationships, loosely implied smut, some victim blaming. This is not your typical love story.

Keep reading

[wannaghostbts]

People say..

That I’ll end up a fool..

But I don’t wanna use my head..

I don’t wanna calculate..

Love ain’t a business..

Rather like a fitness..

I’ve never been in a calculating love..

I know it’ll be cold like winter..

But I still wanna try..

If you push me, I’ll fall, just raise me up again..

Even if I pull, you don’t have to come..

Let them be them..

Let us be us..

Love is a maze damn..

But you is amaze yeah!~

[jimlingss]

Starlet and Moonstruck [1]

Chapter 1||Chapter 2||Chapter 3||Chapter 4||Chapter 5

Words: 8.7k Genre: Fluff & Humour, Actress!Au Summary: As a newcomer actress struggling to make a name for yourself in the tough industry, you’re absolutely ecstatic to see your Dispatch pictures on the front page of Naver….but..what is this?! This isn’t about you! 

Who’s the third guy from the left?!

Cr.

Lights. Camera. Action.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” The chanting of your name begins simultaneously as the car door slides open and you step out. Your mouth draws into a huge smile, cheeks swelling, hand waving and the shrieking elevates. The screams from your fans beg you to spare any amount of attention to them. The journalists lean over the metal fence barrier, shoving their microphone in your direction and yelling out questions to supposed rumours. The artificial light flashes of the cameras provide you with luminescence, reminding you of a rave show, capturing your best angles with the long lenses. The shouts and clicking frenzy ricochets off the midnight sky.

You continue with black heels strutting against the red carpet, offering a last smile as you turn into the building. The life of fame is such a tough one.

“Uh, miss….did you pay for your ticket?”

Unfortunately, it’s a mere mirage.

Keep reading

[wannaghostbts]

This pitch-black night with no stars..

Onto the stage with the lights off..

Remaining like a late afterimage..

I'm still wandering..

Maybe in another place, another time..

If I could turn it back..

Would I be by your side then?..

Me, waiting for you, I'll be here in the background!~

[jimlingss]

Lovesick

Words: 4.7k Genre: Angst, smidgen of Fluff Summary: In a world where love is a disease…your heart skips one too many beats. Warnings: Mentions of illness and medication

Love is a sickness.

It’s an illness that once too far gone becomes incurable; terminal.

Scientists have discovered it as an infectious disease, a parasite that crawls its way under skin to the heart. It can cause numerous complications, including delusion and blindness. Those who are affected by ‘love’ may be susceptible to mood swings, an increased dependency, a feeling of loneliness and obsessive thinking. It can cause stress, shortage of breath and mental disorder. In severe cases, it could cause physical aches to the chest - a term known as ‘heartbreak’.

Keep reading

[wannaghostbts]

All this is no coincidence..

Just, just, by my feeling..

The whole world is different from yesterday..

Just, just, with your joy..

When you called me..

I became your flower..

As if we were waiting..

We bloom until we ache!~

[jimlingss]

The Leather Loafers

Words: 11.2k Genre: Fluff & Humour, Cinderella!Au Summary: Yes. You went to the ball. Yes. You ran into the prince. Yes. The shoe fits. BUT-! You aren’t that Cinderella bitch. THEY’VE GOT THE WRONG PERSON! Warnings: Swearing…that’s really it. lol

Midnight strikes the clock.

A child is curled up at the fireplace to stay warm. The cinders crackle, dusting along her cheeks but the girl pays no mind, staring straight into the flickering flames. A few of the orphans behind her snicker beneath their hands. “Look at the new kid! She’s so dirty! We should call her Cin-”

A chunk of coal smacks the boy right in the forehead and he falls back on his butt, outright stunned. The mischievous smiles of all the other orphans fall as she holds a steaming fire iron like a sword.

“You want to fight?! Fight me like a real person instead of laughing behind my back! Huzzah!”

The children scream in terror, arms in the air as they scatter and run. A bunch of them end up toppling over each other in a heap and you laugh, swinging the device that’s used to poke the fire. The mother of the orphanage comes over in hysterics, dragging you away. “Let go of me!”

“Y/N!” She screeches, “This is unacceptable!”

The small, meager dwelling is in absolute chaos.

Keep reading

[wannaghostbts]

Twenty-four hours in the tub..

Twenty-four hours of your thought..

Z-z-z, don't wake me up..

If it's a dream, don't wake up my fantasy!~

[jimlingss]

O SHOOT REQUESTS !!! ill take my chances and ask for a zombie apocalypse or pirate au ft. hoseok 👀 i couldnt choose between the two aus and im hoseok biased but i can honestly see any member so do as who u see fit. i will not let my pairing/au choice limit the authors talent 😤 and i dont doubt anything from you will satisfy. and pshhh,, where are my manners. please and thank u! love u 💛

↳ Crocodile Tears

1.8k || 98% Fluff, 2% Angst || Jung Hoseok || Pirate!AU

“Look what I nabbed, Cap’n.”

Gunner Taehyung’s grinning with all teeth, a golden chain wrapped around his fingers that’s so shiny it’s blinding with the sunlight. Hoseok’s intrigued and flips the locket in his hand. It’s heavy with a wild rose engraved on the front and once he pops it open, there’s a faded painted portrait of a young woman inside.

“It’s a booty, eh? Caught if off milady right over ‘ere.”

Hoseok hums and narrows his eyes on the wrench tied in rope sitting amongst the captives. Your face is dirtied, hair drawn in a bun at your crown but with many strands fallen around your face. Your gown rat’s coloured, dull gray. You are entirely unremarkable. Like any other peasant.

But it’s not often captives have something of value on them.

“Bring her to my cabin.”

“Aye, aye.”

The ship sets sail again. Taehyung keeps the captives quiet with the threat of throwing them overboard while the cabin boy Jungkook swabs the poop deck. Helmsman Seokjin mans the helm with navigator Namjoon by his side. The ship’s heading to dock at Port Galigeo to get a pretty penny for all the loot and treasures they’ve gotten after four months’ voyage.

Once steep waters are reached and everything’s been taken care of, Hoseok resumes to his cabin. There, he finds you, sitting in the corner on the floorboards with tears in your eyes. You gasp as he enters and shuts the door.

“Please! Spare me!” you beg sorrowfully. “Let me go!”

“Why should I?” Hoseok tosses his hat onto his table and his coat to his rickety chair. You look so frightful, even when he’s still in his drawers and shirt, held together by the red sash.

He fiddles with the many golden rings across his fingers, a habit since he began his adventures, and he comes over to you. Hoseok’s boots are heavy against the floorboards, and he crouches down to meet your trembling eyes.

“I-I am just a peasant,” you sob. “I have nothing to give to you! My father is merely a farmer.”

“Oh? Then what be this here?” Hoseok dangles the priceless locket in front of you as the corner of his lip curls. It catches the light from the tiny window of the cabin and the gold gleams against your eyes, practically sparkling like a jewel. 

Your eyes flicker from it to him, hiccuping and frame quivering like a damn leaf. “It’s my grandmother’s. She left it for me before she passed.”

Hoseok hums a low note. “An’ if this be your grandmother’s, how she pay for such a treasure? Unless she been a thief.”

Your downcast head shakes. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

He pops the locket open before taking a good look at it. “This here be a portrait of you, isn’t it? You look different. Lavish. Like a noble’s daughter.”

“T-That isn’t me.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know.” 

There’s something rather pretty in the way tears drip down your cheeks, so soft and gentle like jewels of their own right. But Hoseok has seen many women, children and men cry. It’s nothing astonishing.

Hoseok smirks, a rush of air leaving his nose. “I’ve been cap’n of this ship for nearly a decade, dearest. I’ve held treasures you could only dream of, been in battles that nearly lost my leg, sailed ‘cross the seven seas with me mates. I know when a wrench lies.”

His eyes are narrowed in on yours. And Hoseok comes closer, hand lifting to grab a hold of your chin. But before he can, before he can blink or breathe — suddenly, you brandish a piece of glass against his exposed neck. 

The ropes around you clatter to the ground. Hoseok feels the sharp edge of the glass digging into his skin, a moment away from nicking him and drawing blood. But more notably, your eyes are aflame. Your expression is dark and you’re scowling at him. 

Gone is the fragile little girl weeping for mercy.

“Don’t come closer,” you warn in a low voice without a single tremble.

He leans back, but his gaze stays on yours. “You reckon you could kill me?”

“I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Hoseok’s mouth curls, grin stretching into his cheek. His interest is piqued. He knew there was more to you beneath the surface, and he’s happy you haven’t disappointed.

His hand latches onto your wrist to force your hand away. It's a battle of strength. One that he ultimately wins as the piece of glass goes clattering on the ground out of your reach. He sees it’s part of a broken bottle. But Hoseok’s much too put off guard and when your leg kicks out at him, he’s smacked square in the chin.

He grips it as he lands on his ass, sharply exhaling. But then he bursts into chuckles.

“You got some mean spirit in you, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately for you, Hoseok has far too much experience in combat and capture. Even if you try to kick, strike and even bite him, it’s not too difficult to get you tied into ropes again. Except this time, he makes sure to use his special knots and get you so wound up, no sharp edge could free you. 

“Let me go, bastard!”

“Settle down. You’re only gettin’ yourself riled.” Hoseok crouches in front of you again and comes to wipe away the stray tear on your cheek with the pad of his thumb. You angrily scowl at him, chest rising and falling. Crying won’t get you far now, not when he knows they’re just crocodile tears. “Don’t get yourself worried about someone hurtin’ you. Everyone on this ship swears by our code, me included.”

You scoff. “As if I’d trust a pirate.”

Hoseok smirks. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done so already. It isn’t pleasin’ for me to force a girl like yourself either. Not when I have plenty o’ gold to play with a wrench at the dock. Now I suggest you behave or my Quartermaster’ll throw you overboard.”

“Then do it!” you shout at him with your entire body, only to flop over to the floorboards.

He grips the knob of the door and looks over his shoulder. “No. You’re too much of a treasure, sweetheart.”

The sun is falling over the horizon when Namjoon approaches. “Everything go well with the girl?”

Hoseok hums and turns with a glint in his eye. “Tell all hands to keep her separate.”

Port Galigeo is reached within two days time. The waters are calm without storms and the stars are clear at night. The sailing is smooth and so the docks are reached faster than ever before.

The men aboard are eager to sell the loot, to spend a few days ashore, spend nights at the brothel and replenish the rum. As follows, their steps are quick and they move the crates of jewels and tools to the harbour. Seokjin also takes care of the captives, leading them in a straight line off the gangplank to be sold.

“Cap’n! What ‘bout the beauty ‘ere.” Taehyung points to you.

Hoseok meets your eyes and you’re seething, glaring back at him. The corner of his mouth curls in amusement.

“Leave her. Tell the lad to watch over her till we return.” He points to Jungkook and Taehyung nods with an ‘aye, aye’. 

Most of his crewmen take care of business, getting as much gold for the loot as possible. But Hoseok fiddles with your pendant in hand and heads to a jeweler. Said jeweler is an old man who quivers upon seeing him, Namjoon and Seokjin in his shop. He hides behind his table and cries, “Please! Spare me! Take what you must!”

Hoseok sighs. He doesn’t know why everyone thinks so badly of him. Maybe because he’s a pirate and he and his crew have pillaged countless. That’s fair, he supposes.

“Stop yer quivering,” Seokjin spews out, leaning against his table. “We need you to look at somethin’. Hurry before I steal your silver!”

Hoseok lifts your golden locket, letting it dangle from his hand. 

The old man eventually slinks out when he realizes they won’t do anything, and he takes out his magnifying glass. He motions for him to bring it forward and Hoseok does. The old man hums, studying the locket before flipping it over in his hand. His thumb brushes against the wild rose engraving.

“Where did you get this from?” he asks.

“Don’t matter,” Namjoon says curtly. 

Hoseok studies the man’s face and leans closer. “What is it?”

“It is a very valuable locket. I happen to recognize this symbol as well. It is the emblem of the Crochetta Kingdom.” He pops the locket open to the portrait of the young woman and looks up at Hoseok, clearing his throat. “I believe this locket belongs to the youngest princess of that kingdom. The runaway.”

Hoseok’s brow cocks.

The three of them leave in a hurry. 

Seokjin’s eyes are glazed as his mouth starts to spew how Lady Luck is truly on their side, how they’ll be able to get their hands on a high ransom or sell you for countless riches. Namjoon is perplexed at how a princess like you managed to get here when Crochetta was countries away.

But Hoseok remains quiet. He doesn’t plan to trade you. He doesn’t ask questions.

He is entirely and wholly intrigued. Like never before.

“Blimey, the ship!” There’s a shout at the docks and Hoseok is torn from his thoughts. Taehyung has his hands in the air, cursing aloud. And Hoseok’s eyes trail from him to his ship that’s off the dock and disappearing over the horizon. “It’s sailing away!”

Seokjin is aghast. “How?!”

“Who’s still on?!” Hoseok shouts, looking around the dock to all his shocked men and their mouths drawn open big enough to catch flies.

“That girl,” Namjoon says, looking at the captain.

Hoseok tied you tightly, he made sure of it. Unless you freed yourself again. But it’s not possible that you lifted the anchor. 

No. You must’ve cut the rope.

“Where’s Jungkook?”

At the same time, there’s a high-pitched shriek in the distance. All of the men are held to their spots on the docks as they watch a tiny figure in the horizon get pushed off the ship’s deck and then plopped into the waters. 

There’s a loud splash.

You stole the ship.

Hoseok is quiet when his men turn to him. They don’t dare utter a single word, far too afraid their captain is boiling with anger. But what frightens them far more is when Hoseok suddenly bursts out into chortling laughter.

He laughs and grins as he watches his ship sail into the distance.

You were truly a treasure hard to find. He knew it when he saw you.

And now, he’ll just have to catch you again.

[wannaghostbts]

Splash (Splash), drift (Drift)..

I make waves with my two fins (Two fins)..

Splash (Woo), drip (Drip)..

I just wanna take it across the line..

Under here, we don't chase the time..

Baby, everything can't be so sad (So sad)..

Turn my face from the land..

I just wanna dive, I just wanna dive!~

[crystaljins]

Gleaming Silver

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 3.3K

Synopsis:  You love and trust your captain above all. But perhaps he’s not the man- or rather human you thought him to be.

Pirate!Jimin x firstmate!Reader

Notes: Things to do while in quarantine: Write about pirate/merman Jimin, I guess?? (JK i’m not in quarantine don’t stress guys) dedicated to @tuserendipia​, who apparently misses seeing me on their dash ;)

Warnings: Conversations while not maintaining 1.5m social distance, mentions of violence and piracy.

Keep reading

[wannaghostbts]

Water, water so deep, water so deep..

Take it off the ground, I ain't never gettin' cold feet..

Yeah, you know me, yeah, you know me..

Sittin' on the shore, now I'm ready for the whole sea..

I can feel the high waves comin' (Yeah)..

Why you run away? You can run in (Yeah)..

Salt on my tongue, she's stunnin' (Oh)..

You're the only place that I wanna be, yeah!~

[archivekoo]

THE SEA DOES NOT FORGIVE- 01.

You are a pirate captain’s daughter caught between your father’s war and Jungkook, the enemy captain you shouldn’t want. After a battle at sea, you’re taken aboard his ship, where tension, loyalty, and attraction blur into something you can’t escape.

전정국 x fem!reader | pirate!au • mentions of weapons • angst • sexism • smut • kidnapping/hostage • 1600s •

explicit warnings for this chapter: sexism • mentions of weapons • mentions of blood • violence •

word count: 6.5k

series m.list • next ->

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The sea had never once loved you gently.

It had raised you on splintered wood and saltwater prayers, on the deep groan of ship hulls during storms and the sharp metallic smell of gunpowder lodged permanently in your lungs. Your earliest memories were not soft ones. They were rough hands tightening ropes during rainstorms, blood being scrubbed from decks before sunrise, sailors laughing too loudly after surviving another battle they should not have survived at all.

Other young women your age learned piano and embroidery and court etiquette beneath candlelit ceilings in warm estates far from danger. Instead, you learned how to brace yourself against violent waves before you learned proper handwriting, you learned how to hold a knife before you learned how to dance, you learned how to spot approaching enemy ships before you learned what love was supposed to feel like.

Your father liked to say the ocean only respected the ruthless, which was probably why he spent more time speaking to his crew than to you. Captain Seo was feared across half the known waters, cruel in the way storms were cruel - not because they enjoyed destruction, but because they did not care enough to stop it. Men whispered his name in taverns with lowered voices and stiff shoulders while merchants cursed him over spilled whiskey and missing cargo.

You had heard the stories constantly whenever your ship docked in crowded ports. “The Black Crest.” “The Sea Devil.” “The Butcher of the South Passage.” Your father? You were naive once, you couldn’t believe your precious father could ever hurt a man, let alone take multiple lives with a flick of his sword.

They never mentioned his daughter, never mentioned the girl standing ten feet away with a dagger hidden beneath her coat and enough fury buried inside her ribs to drown kingdoms whole. Surprisingly, you preferred it that way, because being underestimated kept you alive.

The ship rocked violently beneath your boots as rain hammered against the deck hard enough to sting your skin raw, but you barely reacted anymore because storms had stopped frightening you years ago. Above you, thunder cracked across the black sky while sailors shouted over one another trying to secure ropes before the mast split clean in half. Harsh waves slammed against the hull with terrifying force, seawater spraying across the deck in freezing bursts that soaked through your clothes instantly.

The storm had arrived faster than expected, swallowing the horizon whole until the world became nothing but darkness, roaring wind, and chaos. You should have been below deck. Your father ordered it nearly an hour ago with that cold commanding voice he used whenever he stopped speaking to you like a daughter and started speaking to you like another sailor beneath his authority. But storms always made you restless, they reminded you there was still something larger than your father in this world, something even he could not command or threaten into obedience.

So instead, you stood near the starboard railing gripping soaked wood while rain drenched your coat completely, your braid sticking heavily to the back of your neck. Lightning illuminated the horizon every few seconds, brief violent flashes revealing endless black ocean before darkness swallowed everything again. You closed your eyes briefly and inhaled deeply. Salt, rain, smoke, freedom. It was the closest thing to peace you had felt in weeks.

“Miss!” one of the crewmen hurried toward you through the storm, struggling to keep his footing while water crashed across the deck around him. “Your father said below deck immediately.”

You barely glanced at him because you already knew exactly how this conversation would go. “Then he can come drag me there himself.”

The poor sailor looked exhausted before you even finished speaking, like arguing with you had physically aged him over the years. “Please do not make me repeat that to him.”

“He already dislikes me. One more disappointment won’t kill him.”

“Your father does not dislike you, miss.”

“No?” You turned toward him fully then, rain dripping down your face while thunder growled overhead. “Then why does everyone on this ship act like my only purpose is surviving long enough for him to trade me to someone useful?”

The crewman opened his mouth immediately, probably searching for some comforting lie, but closed it again because neither of you knew how to answer honestly. Your father had never officially promised your hand to anyone, but men spoke openly enough around ships when they assumed women weren’t listening. Political alliances, merchant families, powerful captains.

Your existence was valuable because of your father’s reputation, not because anyone cared what you wanted. You were a woman, after all. Having grown up with no mother, some would say you’ve no proper etiquette or understanding of your role in society, making you appear animalistic and impolite, just like the men on your father’s ship. Sometimes you wondered if he loved you at all or if he simply protected what belonged to him. The thought made your chest ache in ways you never admitted aloud.

Lightning split across the sky suddenly, illuminating the horizon bright enough to burn white across your vision for half a second, and that was when you saw it. Another ship. Massive. Dark. Moving through the storm like it had been born there. Your stomach tightened immediately because there was only one crew reckless enough to sail directly into weather like this.

The Arirang.

It was a beauty. Your father’s greatest enemy. A pirate vessel infamous from the eastern colonies to the northern trade routes, commanded by a captain whose name was spoken almost like a warning prayer in every port you had ever visited. Jeon Jungkook. You had heard stories about him since you were fourteen years old. Some called him a devil blessed by the sea itself, while others swore he had survived executions, mutinies, impossible storms, ambushes that should have killed entire crews. At twenty-two, he was already one, if not the most, feared captain in your seas.

Tavern girls spoke about him with flushed cheeks and dreamy smiles while merchants cursed him for stealing cargo worth kingdoms. Your father spoke of him differently though, with restrained hatred sharpened by reluctant respect he refused to admit existed. “That boy is dangerous,” he once muttered after too much rum and too little sleep. “Not because he kills. Plenty of men kill. He’s dangerous because people want to follow him.”

You were seventeen when you first heard Jungkook’s name. You were twenty now, and somehow fate had dragged his ship directly into yours in the middle of a storm violent enough to swallow fleets whole.

“CAPTAIN!” One of your father’s men pointed toward the approaching vessel while panic spread immediately across the deck like spilled oil catching fire. Cannons rotated, sailors scrambled toward battle positions while others shouted over the storm trying to secure damaged rigging before the ship tore itself apart completely.

Your father emerged from his quarters with fury already carved into his face, long dark coat snapping violently in the wind behind him. The second his eyes landed on the Arirang, everything in him sharpened dangerously.

Then he noticed you standing there. The rage redirected instantly. “I told you to stay below deck.”

“And I told you storms are prettier up here, father.” You weren’t lying. From where you were standing, you could see everything perfectly.

“This is not the time for your mouth.”

You rolled your eyes, turning towards the sea again. “When is it ever?”

“Enough.” Your father strode toward you through rain and smoke, seawater dripping from dark hair while thunder shook the sky overhead. Even exhausted and soaked through completely, he carried authority like a weapon. Men twice your size feared him instinctively, you had your entire life.

“I told you to get inside,” he ordered again, voice low enough to be dangerous.

“I can fight.”

“You can obey.” obey. obey. obey - your life story, to shut your mouth and obey.

“I am not a child.”

“No,” he snapped sharply, stepping closer until you could feel the fury radiating from him despite the storm. “You are my daughter. Which means every man on that ship becomes a threat the second they realise who you are.”

You crossed your arms despite the freezing rain soaking through your sleeves, because refusing him had become an instinct years ago. “Maybe I’m tired of being treated like something breakable, as though I’m not capable of protecting my ship as-well as my life.”

Your father’s jaw tightened immediately, that familiar look crossing his face - equal parts frustration and fear he never admitted existed. “The sea breaks everyone eventually.”

“Maybe I’d rather it break me than lock me below deck forever.”

“Do you think this is about control?” His patience was thinning now, with the Arirang close by and the storm worsening? you were bound to be doomed.

“Isn’t it always?” Another wave crashed violently against the ship hard enough to shake the deck beneath your feet, but neither of you moved. Around you, sailors rushed frantically preparing for battle while cannons were loaded and ropes secured, yet somehow this argument still felt louder than the storm itself.

“You know nothing about what men become during war,” your father said finally, quieter now but somehow more frightening because of it.

“I know exactly what men become during war,” you answered immediately, anger now quickly building up inside you. “I was raised by them.”

Something flickered across his expression then. Hurt maybe. Regret? It disappeared too quickly to study properly. “This conversation ends now.”

You scoff, not surprised your words were enough to shut him up. “Convenient.”

Before he could answer, a cannon blast exploded through the storm violently enough to rattle your bones. The entire ship shook beneath you while screams erupted across the deck. Splintered wood burst through smoke and rain as sailors stumbled backward from the impact. Somewhere above, ropes snapped loudly enough to sound like gunfire. Another cannon roared from the Arirang. Then another. War, as always, came quickly at sea.

The Arirang tore through rain and smoke like something alive, black sails towering against lightning while men moved across its deck with terrifying precision. Even from this distance, you could see the crimson insignia painted near the mast - a crown dripping blood. As far as you knew, around 120 men worked on that ship alongside Jungkook, yet you’d heard that he’d chosen another six sailors to actually command with him, the ones he trusted the most, allegedly.

Cannons erupted from both ships, explosions shaking the ocean itself while smoke swallowed the storm whole. Sailors shouted over one another carrying ammunition, dragging injured men across bloody wood while seawater mixed with blood near your boots. Yet somehow, your attention fixed entirely on one thing.

Him.

Jungkook stood at the helm like the storm belonged to him, tattooed hands gripping the wheel steadily while rain soaked through dark hair hanging across his forehead. He was younger than you expected, that thought struck first. Not soft - never soft - but young enough to still carry traces of boyhood beneath the brutality carved into him.

Gold rings flashed beneath lightning while black ink crawled up one arm disappearing beneath rolled sleeves. He stood unnervingly calm while chaos exploded around him, expression unreadable as cannons roared beside his crew.

Then he looked directly at you. Your breath caught instantly. Impossible. At this distance? Through smoke and rain and darkness? Yet somehow his gaze found yours immediately, sharp enough to feel physical. You should have looked away, every instinct screamed at you to move, but you didn’t.

Something dangerous passed between you then. Recognition maybe, curiosity? The strange terrifying awareness of meeting someone who might ruin, or even end your life completely. A cannon fired beside you suddenly, shattering the moment violently while smoke burst across the deck thick enough to choke on. Your father grabbed your arm hard enough to bruise. “Inside. Now.”

You yanked your arm free immediately despite the pain. “Stop treating me like I’m helpless.”

“And stop acting like the world won’t destroy you for being careless.”

“You think hiding me below deck changes anything?”

“It keeps you breathing.” Hardly, you’ve been the target countless times during a battle or raids, the perfect hostage for any sailor who craves your father’s treasure.

“You mean controlled.” Your tone was accusing, but not untrue.

His expression darkened instantly, eyes narrowing with dangerous warning. “This is not the conversation to have during a battle.”

“Then maybe stop starting them.” For half a second, genuine anger flashed across his face - not captain’s anger, but father’s frustration. The kind he only showed you when you pushed too far beneath his skin. Then another cannon blast interrupted everything again, your father turned sharply toward the battle while smoke swallowed the deck.

Across the storm, Jungkook smiled. Not kindly, not cruelly either, but like he had just discovered something interesting. Like really seeing you there during battle amused him more than it should have. And somehow, despite everything happening around you, your pulse betrayed you instantly.

:<:<:<:<

Your father barked another order across the deck while sailors rushed past carrying cannon ammunition through smoke thick enough to burn your lungs, but your attention remained fixed entirely on the man standing aboard the Arirang. Jungkook still watched you like the battle around him was background noise instead of active warfare.

Rain slid down the sharp line of his jaw while lightning flashed across tattooed skin disappearing beneath his soaked shirt. Even from this distance there was something deeply unsettling about the way he carried himself - too calm, too confident, too alive in the middle of destruction. Men screamed around him, cannons exploded beside him, the ocean itself looked seconds away from swallowing both ships whole, yet he stood there smiling faintly like this was all some entertaining game only he understood properly.

Your pulse hammered painfully beneath your ribs because there was something horribly intimate about being noticed during chaos. Like out of everyone aboard your father’s ship, Jungkook had chosen you immediately. Another cannon blast shook the deck hard enough to send sailors stumbling sideways, but your eyes never left his. You hated yourself for it instantly. Hated the heat curling low in your stomach despite the freezing rain soaking through your clothes completely. Hated the dangerous curiosity spreading beneath your skin every time his gaze found yours again. Most of all, you hated that part of you wanted him to keep looking, wanted his eyes to keep raking over every inch of your soaking skin.

“MOVE!” Your father shoved one of the sailors away from falling debris before turning toward you again with fury written across every sharp line of his face. “This is the last time, y/n. Below deck now before I lock you there myself.”

“You’re impossible,” you snapped back immediately, raising your voice over the storm while seawater crashed violently across the ship around you.

“And you are too reckless.”

“You raised me this way.” The words struck harder than intended. Your father froze briefly, rain dripping from dark hair while cannon smoke curled around both of you thick enough to blur the world. For one small second, something almost guilty flickered across his face before disappearing beneath anger again. “I raised you to survive.”

“No,” you answered sharply, chest tightening painfully. “You raised me to obey.”

Another explosion erupted nearby, sending splintered wood flying across the deck while sailors shouted warnings over one another. Your father stepped closer instantly, lowering his voice despite the chaos surrounding you. “You think I keep you hidden because I underestimate you?”

“Don’t you?”

“I keep you hidden because this world destroys women first.” The confession caught you off guard immediately, he rarely spoke honestly enough for his words to hurt.

“And men?” you asked quietly.

Your father looked toward the Arirang briefly before answering. “Men become monsters trying to survive it.” Then his eyes found Jungkook standing across the storm. “Especially men like him.”

:<:<:<

Across the water, Jungkook leaned slightly against the helm while Taehyung appeared beside him laughing about something completely unrelated to the battle, because apparently pirates aboard the Arirang treated warfare like a casual inconvenience instead of near death.

“Oh? has someone caught your eye, jungkook?” Taehyung remarked with obvious amusement while reloading his pistol lazily. Everyone on the Arirang knew about their captain’s growing interest in you, it was no secret between them that Jungkook was determined to get his hands on you, and not let go. “She’s pretty enough to drown over.”

Jungkook ignored him entirely, eyes still fixed on you standing soaked through beside Captain Seo. There was something deeply wrong about the image in front of him. Captain Seo was notorious for brutality, for cruelty sharpened into leadership through fear and bloodshed. Men like him kept daughters hidden behind locked doors and political marriages, not standing openly on battle decks during storms with fury burning in their eyes brighter than lightning.

Yet there you were refusing to retreat even while cannons fired close enough to kill you instantly. Interesting. Very interesting.

“You’re doing the thing again,” Taehyung continued, grinning wider when Jungkook finally looked toward him.

“What thing.”

“The obsessive thing.” Even though Taehyung was still a sailor supposed to serve and obey jungkook, he didn’t hesitate to call him out on anything.

Jungkook’s eyes immediately went dark, his tongue poking his cheek. “I am not obsessed.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows rose at his denial. “You’ve kept your eyes on her for nearly two full minutes during active combat.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes immediately. “She’s Captain Seo’s daughter.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung answered dramatically. “Which means this ends terribly for everyone involved.”

Somewhere nearby, Jimin laughed loudly enough to be heard over cannonfire while Hoseok shouted from the rigging about damaged sails. The crew moved seamlessly around Jungkook despite the storm, each man terrifyingly capable in his own way. They were pirates, yes, but more than that - survivors tied together by loyalty stronger than blood. Jungkook trusted them with his life. There were few people in the world he could say that about anymore.

Another blast rocked the ship violently while Namjoon approached the helm carrying maps soaked nearly beyond recognition. “The storm’s getting worse,” he warned calmly despite the chaos around him. “If we continue this fight much longer, both ships sink before dawn.”

Jungkook finally tore his eyes away from you long enough to glance toward the horizon where waves rose taller by the minute. He knew Namjoon was right. Continuing this battle would be reckless even for him. But something stubborn twisted inside his chest at the thought of leaving now.

“Board them, then.” Jimin suggested casually while wiping blood from his mouth like he had simply bitten his tongue instead of surviving a fight. “Seo’s crew is already scrambling.”

“And drown halfway there?” Yoongi muttered from nearby while reloading another pistol with practiced calm.

“Brilliant strategy.” Seokjin sighed dramatically before pointing toward Jungkook. “He’s distracted.”

“I am not distracted.” Lie. Lie. Lie.

“You looked personally offended when the girl almost got hit by that cannon blast.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened immediately, because unfortunately they were not wrong. When debris exploded near you moments earlier, genuine panic had shot through him before he could stop it. Ridiculous.

He did not know you. He barely knew your face. Yet something about watching you stand there beneath the storm made his chest feel painfully tight in ways he disliked immediately. “Not tonight,” Jungkook decided finally, voice quieter now. “We pull back before the storm worsens.”

Taehyung smirked instantly. “Ah. So we’re sparing Captain Seo because his daughter has pretty eyes.”

“We’re sparing Captain Seo because I enjoy surviving.”

“Sure,” Jimin answered with a grin. “That’s definitely the reason.”

The Arirang began turning slowly through the storm while cannonfire finally lessened between both ships, though tension still hung heavy across the ocean thick enough to choke on. You watched the movement carefully, confusion tightening your chest immediately because Jungkook had the advantage now. Your father’s ship had taken heavier damage. Several cannons were unusable. Half the crew looked seconds away from collapsing from exhaustion. If the Arirang continued attacking, there was a real possibility your father would lose.

Yet somehow Jungkook chose retreat instead. Your father noticed it too.

“Coward,” one of the sailors muttered nearby under his breath while watching the pirate ship disappear slowly into rain and darkness. “No,” your father answered coldly, eyes narrowed toward the horizon. “Strategist. He’s intelligent.”

The word settled heavily in your stomach because there had been nothing cowardly about the way Jungkook looked at you moments earlier. If anything, he looked dangerously certain, like meeting you had changed something inside him already. The thought should have terrified you more than it did. Instead, warmth spread low beneath your ribs remembering the faint curve of his mouth during battle.

Remembering the way his eyes held yours through smoke and thunder like he could see straight through every wall you spent years building around yourself. You hated how quickly your body responded to the memory. Hated the way your pulse still raced violently despite the battle ending.

Your father turned toward you sharply then, expression unreadable beneath rainwater and exhaustion. “You were looking at him.”

The accusation landed instantly. “No, I looked at an enemy ship.”

“No,” he answered quietly enough to frighten you more than shouting would have. “You looked at him.”

Before he could say anything, you turned away from the railing and went down below deck to your quarters. Your father’s eyes followed you the whole time, trying to figure something out.

:<:<:<

Your father’s accusation followed you long after the storm finally settled into uneasy silence. Even hours later, after sailors stopped shouting and the wounded were dragged below deck for treatment, the words still echoed painfully inside your head. You looked at him. The problem was that your father was right, and both of you knew it. You had looked at Jungkook too long. Longer than necessary. Longer than safe.

There had been hundreds of things demanding your attention during battle - blood soaking through the deck, cannons splitting wood apart, sailors screaming through smoke thick enough to suffocate on - yet somehow your focus narrowed entirely onto one man standing across the ocean like the storm itself answered to him. You hated how easily he lingered in your thoughts afterward. Hated the way your body betrayed you every single time you remembered his eyes finding yours through rain and darkness.

Your quarters felt unbearably small that night. Candlelight flickered softly against wooden walls while the ship creaked beneath restless waves, but sleep refused to come no matter how tightly you shut your eyes. Every time you tried, all you saw was Jungkook standing soaked by rain with gold rings flashing beneath lightning and that infuriating almost-smile tugging at his mouth like he already knew something about you no one else did.

Worse, your mind kept replaying the exact moment his gaze dragged slowly down your body - brief enough to deny, deliberate enough to ruin you completely. No man had ever looked at you like that before. Not hungry exactly, not soft either, like he wanted to take you apart carefully just to see what lived beneath all your sharp edges. The realization made heat crawl beneath your skin despite the cold air filling your cabin, your cheeks flushed as you began to think about how those gold rings would feel against the soft skin of your-

A sharp knock sounded against your door suddenly, pulling you violently from your thoughts before they could spiral further into dangerous territory. “Come in,” you called quickly, forcing your voice steady while sitting upright on the edge of your bed. The door opened immediately, revealing your father standing there looking older than usual beneath dim candlelight.

Exhaustion carved harsh shadows beneath his eyes while fresh cuts lined one hand from the battle repairs still happening above deck. For a moment neither of you spoke. Silence between you always felt heavier than arguments somehow. Your father finally stepped inside slowly, shutting the door behind him while the storm outside groaned softly against the ship. “You disobeyed me today,” he said at last, voice calmer now but no less dangerous because of it.

You crossed your arms instinctively. “You noticed.”

“Do not start again, y/n.” His exhausted tone made you almost feel bad, almost.

“Then do not come here looking for another fight.”

His jaw tightened immediately. “You think this is amusing?”

“No,” you answered quietly, anger slipping through despite yourself. “Usually your anger isn’t amusing at all.” Another silence settled heavily between you. Your father moved toward the small table near the window where maps and books he had purchased for you lay scattered carelessly across the surface.

His fingers brushed one absentmindedly before he spoke again. “Do you know what pirates do with daughters of rival captains?” The question sent something uneasy twisting through your stomach instantly because you understood what he was really asking. Do you understand what kind of man Jungkook is? You did know what they did; rape, extortion, kidnapping, murder.

You swallowed carefully before answering. “I know what you do with rival captains.”

Your father’s eyes darkened immediately.

“You think because I taught you navigation and knives that the sea will spare you?” he asked quietly, turning toward you fully now. “It won’t. Men out there would tear kingdoms apart for leverage.”

“And what about you?” The words escaped before you could stop them. “What exactly am I here for besides leverage?” The room went completely still. Your father stared at you as if the question physically struck him somewhere deep beneath years of hardened cruelty. For one devastating second, genuine hurt crossed his face so openly it nearly shattered your anger completely.

Then it vanished again beneath the familiar coldness he wore like armor. “You are my daughter.”

“You are my captain before anything else.” The honesty between you suddenly felt unbearable. You watched his throat tighten slightly while he looked away toward the window where black ocean stretched endlessly beyond the glass.

“Do you think I wanted this life for you?” he asked eventually, voice rougher now. Your mother had died soon after your birth. There was no one your father trusted enough on land to keep you, so he took you with him, forever cursing you to a life of danger, uncertainty, and overall lack of peace.

“I think you stopped asking what I wanted years ago.” Another painful silence followed immediately. Somewhere above deck sailors shouted while ropes strained against wind, but inside your cabin everything narrowed painfully between you and the man who raised you to survive without ever teaching you how to feel safe.

“The Arirang has been spotted near Blackwater Port,” your father finally said, changing the subject so abruptly it almost gave you whiplash. “We dock tomorrow.”

Your pulse betrayed you instantly. Your father noticed, of course he did, he was surely not going to let this go. His eyes narrowed slowly while suspicion sharpened across his expression like a drawn blade.

“I know you looked at him too long,” he repeated quietly.

Heat rushed violently into your face. Damn you. “I told you i looked at an enemy ship, our enemy.”

“You were looking at him, the whole time. Not at the ship. I may be ageing, y/n, but my eyes do not deceive me yet.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Men like Jeon Jungkook survive because they know how to charm weakness out of people to get what they want.” Something sharp flared inside your chest immediately at his words.

“Maybe people follow him because he treats them like people, not like conveniences.” The second the words left your mouth, regret crashed into you hard enough to hurt. You didn’t even know Jungkook, only that he was an enemy, but here you were defending him?

Your father stared at you in complete silence afterward, but somehow that silence frightened you more than shouting ever could. The hurt disappeared entirely from his face then, replaced instead by something colder. Disappointment maybe. Betrayal.

“Careful,” he warned softly, and somehow the quietness of it made your stomach twist harder than rage would have. “You know nothing about that boy.”

“And you do?”

“Enough.” He stepped toward the door slowly before stopping beside it without turning around. “Blackwater Port is full of men waiting for opportunities. You will remain beside the crew while we dock.”

“I am not a prisoner.”

“No,” he answered flatly. “You are my daughter. Which means people will use you the second I stop protecting you.”

“Protecting?” You laughed bitterly despite yourself. “Is that what this is?” Your father finally looked back at you then, exhaustion dragging heavily across his face.

“One day you will understand the difference between control and fear.”

“And one day maybe you’ll understand they feel exactly the same.” The words landed brutally between both of you, he said nothing afterward, just opened the door and left quietly while your chest ached with emotions too tangled to separate properly.

The second he disappeared, frustration crashed through you violently enough to steal your breath. You shoved away from the bed immediately and crossed toward the window, pressing your palms against cold wood while staring out at the dark endless ocean. Everything inside you felt restless suddenly. Angry, lonely, guilty.

Because part of you understood your father’s fear even while resenting it completely. The world was dangerous for women like you. Men would use you against him if given the chance. But another part of you burned with fury, because survival had become your entire life before you even had the opportunity to choose anything else for yourself. And somewhere beneath all of that confusion lived the far more dangerous truth - the thought of seeing Jungkook again sent heat curling through your body so intensely it frightened you.

:<:<:<

Blackwater Port smelled like smoke, whiskey, sweat, seawater, and sin. You loved it instantly. Music spilled from crowded taverns into narrow streets while merchants shouted over one another selling stolen goods beside crates of fresh fish and expensive fabrics. Pirates wandered openly here because no kingdom held authority strong enough to stop them. Wanted posters decorated walls like artwork while drunken sailors laughed loudly enough to drown out crashing harbor waves nearby.

Your father hated this place, which made you enjoy it even more. “Stay close, miss.” one of the crewmen warned while escorting you through crowded streets lined with gambling dens and overflowing taverns.

You grinned, too focused on the wild ambience around you to consider his words. “I know how ports work.”

The crewman just shook his head, he had known you for long enough to know you weren’t sensible at all. “You know how trouble works too, and yet somehow you still run toward it.”

“Maybe trouble is more interesting than being guarded constantly.” To you, it was true. You were sick of being followed around everywhere even through adulthood, sick of being treated as if you could not handle yourself.

“Your father specifically said not to let you wander.”

“My father says many things.”

The sailor sighed dramatically like he already regretted being assigned this responsibility. You hid your smile beneath your hood while weaving through crowded market stalls overflowing with stolen jewelry and imported silks. Blackwater felt alive in ways most ports didn’t. Messy, dangerous, honest about its corruption instead of hiding it beneath noble titles and polished manners.

Women laughed loudly here, men fought openly. Nobody pretended morality mattered more than survival, it should have felt ugly and uncivilised. Instead, freedom pulsed through the streets like another heartbeat entirely. You nearly forgot all about the night before while wandering through crowded alleys drenched in golden lanternlight. You nearly forgot about Jungkook, too, until you noticed sailors whispering suddenly near the docks.

“The Arirang arrived this morning.” Your pulse stumbled immediately. “Captain Jeon’s crew took half the eastern taverns already.” Heat curled low in your stomach before you could stop it. The Arirang was here. Jungkook was here, somehow that realization felt less like danger and more like temptation.

:<:<:<

The Arirang cut through Blackwater Port like it had never needed permission to exist in anyone’s waters, and the moment it anchored, the entire harbor changed its rhythm without asking. You noticed it in the way conversations lowered without stopping, in the way merchants suddenly looked twice before shouting prices, in the way sailors stopped laughing mid-sentence as if something in the air had reminded them that survival was not guaranteed here.

The ship itself was darker than anything around it, sails heavy and still like they were holding their breath, ropes creaking softly under the wind as if even wood understood who had arrived. At its edge stood Jungkook, not announcing himself, not performing authority, simply being it in a way that made everything else feel temporary. He didn’t move much at first, just scanned the harbor slowly, deliberately, like he already knew every person watching him was pretending not to.

Then his gaze shifted, cutting through distance, noise, and motion with a precision that felt almost unfair. When it landed on you, everything inside your chest tightened instantly, sharp and involuntary, like your body recognized something your mind refused to name. You told yourself it was anger, you told yourself it was caution, but neither explanation accounted for the heat creeping beneath your skin.

Jungkook didn’t smile, didn’t change his expression dramatically, but something in his eyes shifted - like confirmation, like memory returning, like he had already carried your image with him since the storm. You hated how your breath slowed instead of quickened, how your body didn’t move away even though every instinct said you should. That single second stretched longer than it had any right to, and when he finally moved again, it was only slightly, enough to make it feel like the world had chosen sides.

Your father instantly stepped up beside you like a storm given human shape, and you felt his presence before he spoke, heavy and controlled in a way that always meant he was calculating damage before it happened. His eyes locked onto the Arirang immediately, narrowing in recognition so sharp it looked almost like pain disguised as anger. “So he’s here,” he said quietly, though nothing about his tone was calm beneath the surface.

You didn’t look at him, not yet, because your attention still refused to detach from the ship across the water, from the man who stood there like he had no fear of anything alive or dead. “He was always going to come here eventually,” you answered, your voice steadier than you felt, because admitting uncertainty in front of your father always felt like surrendering something permanent.

“You say that like you’ve been expecting him,” He replied, and there was something in that observation that made your throat tighten slightly.

“I expect all threats eventually,” you said carefully, finally turning your head just enough to meet his eyes. That was a mistake, because he was already watching you instead of the ship.

“That is not what I asked,” he said, quieter now, more controlled, and somehow worse because of it. The wind between you both felt colder suddenly, like it had heard too much. “Do not look at him again,” your father added, not as a request, not even as an order spoken loudly enough for others to hear, but as something more personal than either of you liked acknowledging. You almost laughed at that, almost, because it was already too late for commands like that to mean anything.

Across the harbor, Jungkook had shifted slightly again, and you felt it immediately before you saw it - that subtle awareness, like his attention had sharpened even further as if he could sense the exact moment your father had spoken. And then Jungkook looked at you again, properly this time, longer than before, slower than before, like he was studying something that had already decided not to leave his thoughts easily.

The distance between ships meant nothing anymore. Not in the way it should have. Not in the way logic insisted it did. Because the moment Jungkook held your gaze this time, it didn’t feel like observation - it felt like intrusion, like he had stepped too close without moving his body. You felt it in your ribs first, then lower, then everywhere at once, an unsettling awareness that made your pulse behave incorrectly. His expression didn’t change much, but there was something undeniably focused in it now, something that made your skin feel too exposed even though you were fully clothed, fully aware, fully in control of absolutely nothing.

You should have turned away, you should have stepped back toward your father, toward the safety of structure and authority and rules you understood. Instead, you stayed exactly where you were, and that fact alone made something dangerous settle into place between you and the ship. Jungkook leaned slightly forward on the ship’s railing, just enough to shift the angle of his presence, and your breath caught immediately when you realized he was no longer simply looking at you - he was acknowledging you. Like the storm had not ended for him, like it had simply changed shape.

His lips parted slightly as if he might say something, though distance made it impossible to hear, and still you had the irrational certainty that whatever he was thinking was meant specifically for you. Behind you, your father’s voice lowered again, tighter now. “We leave this port tomorrow.” You didn’t respond immediately, because your attention was still trapped across the water. “Do you hear me?” he pressed.

“Yes,” you answered finally, though it sounded like it came from somewhere else entirely. Jungkook’s gaze held yours a moment longer, and then - slowly, deliberately - he tilted his head just slightly, as if acknowledging something unspoken between you. It wasn’t a greeting, or invitation. Something sharper, something that felt far too close to understanding. Then he turned away from the edge of the ship, but not before that final second of contact burned itself into you like it had weight.

:<:<:<

Night fell over Blackwater Port like a curtain that did not care what it covered. The harbor lights flickered against dark water, ships creaking softly in their moorings, voices fading into tavern walls and alleyways. You should have been asleep, you should have been anywhere else. Instead, you found yourself walking alone along the quieter edge of the docks, hood drawn up, footsteps slow and deliberate as if you were testing whether the ground itself would betray you. You told yourself you were thinking clearly. You told yourself you were simply restless after the day’s tension. But every step felt like it was leading somewhere you had already been warned not to go.

And then you saw him again. Not on his ship this time. On the dock below it. Jungkook stood partially in shadow, one hand resting loosely against a wooden post as if he had been waiting without urgency, without doubt, without concern for time at all. When he looked up and saw you, there was no surprise in his face. Only confirmation again, like earlier. Like always. “You came,” he said, voice low enough that it barely carried over the water.

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thanks for reading :< stay tuned for next chapter

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[wannaghostbts]

Swim, swim..

Water falling off your skin..

Swim, swim..

I could spend a lifetime watching you..

Swim, swim..

This is how it all begins..

Swim, swim..

I just wanna dive, I just wanna dive!~

[krreader]

save me | chapter 1.

pairing: suk hansung x reader ; kim taehyung x reader (platonic) fandom: hwarang ; bts warnings: non idol!au ; alternate reality!au ; mentions of death ; language genre: angst ; fluff ; possible smut

summary: taehyung has been your best friend for so long, almost as long as he has been sick. but now it was getting worse and for some reason, the only person that has any idea as to why that is, is a lunatic that tells you it’s because taehyung is connected to someone from another universe. and then you suddenly find yourself on a quest in an alternate reality, trying to prevent the death of a boy named hansung, so that your best friend could live. however, developing feelings for the hwarang member hadn’t exactly been the plan..

a/n: listen, I really didn’t plan on posting this today, but this might be the happiest I’ve ever been with any fanfiction I have written. and I’ve been meaning to write something with hansung for ages anyways so I REALLY hope you’re going to enjoy this fanfiction because it means a lOT to me. (also, bts’ save me fits this fanfiction so well, I’m crying, hence the title)

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“Hey beautiful,” he said weakly, almost as pale as a ghost, even though he once used to be quite tan.

“Hello handsome,” you chuckled and leaned down to press a kiss against his forehead, “How are we feeling today?”

“Better, now that you’re here.”

Taehyung has been your best friend ever since you could remember. But it was almost just as long that he was sick. At first it wasn’t impacting his life that much. He stayed at home more than other children during his school days, because he was often sick and had to visit the doctors every once in a while, but none of them ever knew what was wrong with him. They said it was the flu, a cold, an infection. Anything that they could come up with, basically.

But now he was 23 and permanently tied to a hospital bed because it had gotten so bad.

Now, they knew that the reason for his weakness was the loss of blood. But the crazy thing? There was no wound anywhere on his body. It just seemed to vanish into thin air. And even though they were giving him blood transfusions, they couldn’t pump it back in fast enough, because he was losing it at such a high rate.

Doctors were at lost, even the specialists from all over the world that had visited had no idea what was wrong with him.

Some even said he might be the first to have this ‘disease’, but that fact wouldn’t help him in any way, unfortunately.

What he needed was a cure.

Desperately.

Keep reading

[wannaghostbts]

In my cracked heart..

Your cold sighs..

Like a slowly withering flower..

Fall onto my heart..

This damn love, because of you..

I can't move even if I'm hurt..

Even if I die, it's definitely you..

Without you, tears fill up my heart..

It's just black hell..

To me, that's who you are!~